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They’re closing in.
In a few minutes, hell, in a few seconds, they’ll come bursting through the door, and they’ll take everything away.
Everything is such a weird word, Gerb thinks.
They’ve already poisoned the planet. They’ve already pilfered everything they possibly can with their machines and technology. They’ve already pushed the people around enough, even to the point of claiming lives.
Gerb is the next one on death’s row. He knows that. They’re chasing after him, trailing behind with advanced weaponry and guns. And yet, he’s here, inside an abandoned laboratory, running for life, thinking about the word everything.
How much more will they take until everything is finally gone? What does everything mean in this situation anymore?
To Gerb, his home was everything. They ruined it.
To Gerb, his friends were everything. They took them away.
To Gerb, his life is everything. They’re about to claim it.
He runs through a maze of hallways, his footsteps echoing around the empty walls. His lungs are on fire, and his legs want to give up. He wants to give up, but he keeps on running. He keeps his arms close to his chest, nestling a warm bundle of cloth close to him.
He cries. A baby’s wail. It comes from the lump pressed closely to Gerb. The child in his arms tries to struggle and move around, but Gerb’s arms only tighten. His chest hurts.
There’s one thing that hasn’t been taken away from him just yet. This too, is everything.
And Gerb will not let him get taken away.
He finally finds the room he’s been trying to look for, and he slams it shut behind him. With a single hand, he barricades the door with whatever is around, but he knows that it won’t help him at all. His other arm loosens around the child.
It won’t save him, but he knows that it will save Saku.
His legs are shaking tremendously, but he takes a deep breath. He’s in a room full of escape pods, but only one of them is going to make it out of this place.
FORTF has long cut off any means of escape for the inhabitants of A12, but Gerb knows that there’s still one more that functions. He’s been working on a means of escape, just in case things got more violent. He’s been working relentlessly for a way out, but he isn’t even going to take it.
The oxygen capacity per pod is only good for one person per flight, and knowing that sends chills through his weary body.
It’s dark in the room, and he can barely see a thing but the glow of the gems on his pendant. Saku starts grabbing at a large red gem. Gerb doesn’t pay attention to that.
He spots a few lights coming from a capsule, and he frantically rushes over to it.
He’s found it.
The one way of escape.
The one way out of here.
The one way to sanctuary.
Gerb sets Saku down inside the capsule gently, as if he was gingerly tucking him into bed. He wishes that was the case. That wish for mundanity easily slips from his mind as he starts working around with the wires behind the machine to get it started.
It’s going to be okay, he thinks. It’s going to be alright. It’s going to be safe—
Thump, thump, thump.
Oh god.
They’re here.
They’re getting closer.
He’s going to die.
Gerb’s hands work faster, but he fumbles between the wires. He curses at himself, plugging them together in a panic. He turns on a few dials, and the capsule emits a steam of hot smoke around it.
It’s ready.
The button to launch the capsule is right in front of him, and his hand hovers over it, but he stops.
What is he doing?
You fool, what are you doing?
He pauses, completely frozen.
He doesn’t have to die. He doesn’t have to meet his end here, fighting for a planet that’s long been abandoned by its own people. He doesn’t have to keep on fighting for people that have turned his back against him. He doesn’t have to keep on suffering, being tormented by cruel soldiers.
All he has to do is
get
inside
the—
For the first time in this whole ordeal, Saku looks up at him. Despite the lack of light, Gerb could see the brightness in his pink eyes. He was always told that they had the same eyes.
“Pa… pa?”
You fool.
Gerb’s hands tighten into fists, and he realizes that he’s crying, and he realizes that the footsteps are getting louder and louder towards the door. One of Gerb’s hands shakily reaches out to Saku, who has both of his hands stretched out to the other.
But the other hand presses the button, and Gerb is left with touching a glass pane that barricades him from getting inside the capsule, right when Saku was about to touch his hand.
Saku looks confused, and he looks like he’s crying, but Gerb can’t hear anything. He crumples onto the cold, musty floor. There’s soldiers at the door, trying to knock it down.
It’s over.
He forces himself to weakly look at Saku one more time, and he can’t even see anything with the amount of tears blurring his eyesight. So, he shakily presses his forehead to the glass, closes his eyes, and whispers a small prayer to whatever holy being is still there to have pity upon this abandoned planet.
“Please keep my everything safe.”
The pod launches soon after, and Gerb is left alone, with the sound of death knocking loudly at the door.
Soon, everything will fade away. It will all stop. Gerb will stop moving, and he will not be able to see what comes once he’s gone.
Ironically, he finds some hint of solace in that. He doesn’t know if he’s truly made the right decision, even after everything is long gone. He doesn’t know if what he did was right, or if it will even help at all. For all he knows, maybe he just sealed his own child off to a crueler fate. Thinking about that makes his heart sink even more, finding that even more devastating than his own death.
But he did what he could.
He did everything he could.
All he can do now is pray, until everything turns to nothing.