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Three shots.
Three shots is all it takes for Ivan to fall limp to the ground. Black dances around his vision, along with falling stars where rain droplets once were. Till finally looks at him, really looks at him.
That’s all he could’ve ever asked for.
–
“...keep him awake,”
“...ts a lot of blood…”
“Ivan! Ivan, please look at me,”
His eyes feel heavy. So unbelievably heavy. Specters come in and out of his vision; he sees faces familiar and new. A girl who looks uncannily similar to Mizi holds his face. Next to her, he sees Sua.
Her lips are turned into a frown.
He blinks once, and she’s gone. He blinks again, and doesn’t bother trying to keep his eyes open. Death, and whatever lies beyond, feels warm. Like hands grabbing onto different parts of his body, tugging him gently towards the abyss.
–
In this afterlife, he remembers his scraps with Till from their childhood. The way red smeared across Till’s cheek as droplets tainted the fake grass of Anakt Garden will forever be carved into Ivan’s black heart.
Till never looks at him. Despite all their time together, Till never looked at him. Not in the way that mattered, and not in the way Ivan needed . It’s okay, though. Ivan was born to survive off scraps. While he accepted he’d never get the gentle intimacy and praise he wanted, he was more than happy with the violent and bruising kind. Till’s blood tasted like copper, yet also something incredibly sweet. Painting fresh purples and greens onto his skin with his own fists was an adequate declaration of his devotion, even if Till didn’t quite get it.
No matter how he expressed those feelings though, Till’s own’s gaze always drifted to galaxy colored pink and round-wire glasses.
His chest squeezes and aches .
Ivan wakes up in a second afterlife and sees an auburn ceiling with dim, yellow lights. He’s laid on something firm; the spring of a mattress digs into his thigh. His eyelids don’t feel as heavy as before. They flutter a couple times, adjusting to the new environment. It’s grimy and dirty – nothing like back home.
His arms feel soft and are difficult to move, but he manages. After agonizing movements, he’s no longer laying flat on his back, and is instead seated. He’s on a cot; rudimentary medical equipment surrounds him. There’s an IV drip of something into his arm.
Why bother trying to fix him if he’s already dead? He wonders if Sua had gotten this treatment when she died. Are they at the same afterlife? He doesn’t know. He wants to move though. He feels incredibly stiff all over. He wants to find a way to visit Till. If that’s even possible.
Ivan’s hands grab onto the side of the cot and brace themselves. With a heavy inhale, Ivan gathers enough strength to drag them to the side of the bed. He’s about to stand up, or at least try , when the door to the room slides open.
“Ivan! Ivan, what are you doing ?!” A girl with short pink hair rushes toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder hesitantly. She bites her lip, worrying the skin between her teeth as she begs him to lay back down. Her eyes are so distinctly Mizi like.
Mizi’s doppelganger successfully helps him back into the cot. She readjusts his pillows and helps him lay back down. Her hands still hover, twitching with obvious nerves.
Ivan blinks up at her, his mind filled with fog. “Who… r’you?” He rasps, then coughs. His chest squeezes with effort. Death, and whatever afterlife it may bring, was supposed to be peaceful. Why does this hurt?
“It’s… me, Ivan. It’s Mizi,” She tells him. She looks and sounds so similar despite the haircut that he believes her. “From Anakt. The garden,” Mizi whispers.
“Oh,” He hums, and then slurs out his next words. “So we’re both dead, then.” It makes sense; Ivan’s never heard of a human escaping their master and living to tell about it. Considering Mizi’s final act on stage, too, there’s no way she would have gone unpunished.
“What?!” Mizi squeaks. “No! No, Ivan, no,” she shakes her head. Her hands begin to tremble again. “We’re not dead. We’re alive . We’re alive with other humans; ones that don’t think we’re just… pets .” Mizi whispers the last word with an uneven voice, like it pains her to say it.
He doesn’t understand why , since that’s what they are .
Alive… how, though? He was shot by robotic guards after attacking Till on stage. Mizi must sense his confusion as he glances up at her. Her eyes dart from his face and to the wall rapidly. “Um, do you… want to know how we, uhm, brought you back? Here, I mean, to camp? To prove to you that we’re… alive,” She fiddles with the hem of her black turtleneck.
Ivan blinks up at her, his body still sluggish. She takes his gaze as a yes.
“We were… waiting for the song to almost end. Hyuna says that the best time to attack is when the song is still going, but just near the end. Something about an easy distraction, I don’t know, I’m not really sure how this all works,” She rambles. Ivan listens; he has nothing else to do, anyway.
“There were gunshots, though. And they came really early. Not to mention, Hyuna got hurt earlier; security was really tight this time around, she said. We don’t know why they fired early, or at you specifically. Or, well, Hyuna and Isaac won’t tell me why,” Her words tumble out of her. Ivan wants to snap at her, get to the point , is Till alive or not , but he was trained with better manners than that.
“They uh… left you there, while they took Till off the stage. I’m guessing they were going to do clean up after, but we, thank god , got to you first. Then we snuck you out due to the stage’s blackout. I think that sums it up,” Mizi trails off.
“Till’s alive?” Ivan forces his jaw to move. Mizi blinks at him.
“Y–yeah. He’s alive. He’s up against that man, Luka , next,” Mizi mutters. The way she says Luka’s name feels agitated – personal.
Explosions of comets and stars rain down inside Ivan’s heart in relief. Till’s alive. He didn’t throw away Till’s life along with his own.
But, he’s still trapped. Trapped with the creatures Ivan knows he loathes, trapped in a cage forced to sing prettily whenever demanded. Trapped, with those collars around his neck and mouth, keeping him controlled. All while Mizi galivants out here, with other humans.
Ivan wants Till to know – his sacrifice, the reason he had slipped his hand out of Ivans all those years ago, wasn’t even there anymore. His chest fills with sticky, black tar. He feels disgusting; it’s hard to breathe.
“Are… uhm, are you okay, Ivan?” Mizi asks, leaning in a little to get a better look at him.
“My chest hurts,” Ivan mumbles.
“Oh, um, should I undo the bandages? Are they too tight?”
“It’s fine.”
“Oh – okay, sure,” Mizi fidgets.
Ivan’s universe isn’t out here, with a gang of misfits and galactic criminals. This cosmos is far too alien for him to appreciate it, not without his center of gravity in it. His hands itch with the need to feel that soft, easy to bruise, delicate skin again. Despite everything, he wants to go back.
“We’ll rescue him,” her voice, which earlier had twinkled meekly like stardust, burns hotter like a sun with resolve.
“Huh?” Ivan slurs.
“We’ll save him, Ivan. We’ll get him out of there; no one else is going to die. Hyuna and I are going to make sure of it,” Mizi moves to gently sit on the edge of Ivan’s cot, where his body doesn’t touch.
“I promise,” she vows.
Ivan blinks at her. The tar, the frigid abyss inside, doesn’t melt away. It does feel a little lighter though. Her conviction worms through him, and despite his better judgment; he believes her.