Chapter Text
Saturday
12 November 2028
25 Years Later
(Day 9,125.)
(Week 1,304.)
(Month 300.)
(Year 25.)
(The only reason you’re even able to count days anymore is the rot in the drywall that seals off the Safe Room.)
(Slivers of daylight shine through.)
(It hurts.)
(It hurts so blinding much.)
(Springs recoil.)
(All goes lightless.)
(Motors roar.)
(Metal impales your rotting, decaying flesh.)
(You’ve been forsakened to this Stars-cursed suit.)
(The suit that took your son.)
(35 years later, it’s barely holding together.)
(Only intact because of your tendons pulling the suit together.)
(You make a strangled, laborous breath.)
(A familiar pang of sharp pain fills your throat.)
(You look up.)
(Your precious Starlight is the one watching over you, today.)
(Louis was the one on watch last.)
(You lower your jaw, resisting the pain.)
“St….ar….ligh…….”
(Siffrin looks over.)
“...Svk, Busta?”
(Ah.)
(You’d almost forgotten about their… injury.)
(You still refuse to even acknowledge Halastjarna when she’s watching over you.)
“...H…Hel….p…….me……….”
(Starlight tilts their head for a moment.)
(They flicker closer to you.)
“…Vll Hucs suzv I'g egt mlhpijwd nf zefg…”
“Pl….ease…St’rligh………h..el…..p…………”
(Your body twitches, pain shooting to your rotting brain.)
(You won’t die.)
(Your own words to Siffrin so many years ago echoes in your head.)
(You won’t die.)
(You pray that Siffrin does not remember your actions here, 33 years ago.)
(You won’t die.)
(Siffrin’s face fades in, one darkless eye.)
“...”
“...Myz, die'l tycd Hucs…”
(Starlight disappears.)
(You hear a metallic thud, and…)
(...)
(Voices.)
“–at was that?”
“Probably a rat…”
“I’ll go check it out, though.”
“Who knows if we can find real stuff over there?”
“Sure, I guess…”
(People.)
(Your heart soars.)
(You cough wetly.)
(You look over at the door.)
(You see shadows move.)
“...Did we find this room, before?”
“I don’t think so–”
(A spring recoils as you twitch.)
“...Did you hear that?”
“Whatever.”
“It’s prolly just a rat again.”
“Let’s check it out, dude!”
(The Safe Room door opens, dust kicking up.)
(Two people enter.)
(A young woman–maybe 19?)
(Constellian.)
(A man–probably mid-20s.)
(Vaugardian.)
(The Constellian woman holds a Craft lantern.)
(The lantern’s glow sears your eyes.)
(You flinch, instinctively.)
(Metal grinds.)
(Springs snap.)
(Rust creaks.)
(The woman yelps.)
“Stars above– What was that?”
“Woah, back up, back up–”
(The man pulls her behind him, looking around.)
(You can smell them.)
(Fresh air.)
(Fresh life.)
(Fresh blood.)
(Your jaw hangs open, tendons creaking.)
(You try to speak.)
“.....H………..hel…….”
(The man raises the lantern, squinting.)
“...Is that– a suit?”
(The woman squints as well.)
“No, that’s–”
(She gasps.)
“...That’s a person in there.”
“Are they alive?”
(You twitch.)
(Coils compress.)
(She flinches.)
“Okay, nope, blind this, we’re leaving–”
“Wait, hold on.”
“Look at the wall.”
(The man changes his grip on the lantern.)
“This is a safe room.”
“No way. Those were just supposed to be rumors.”
“Then what’s that?”
(He gestures to you with his free hand.)
(You feel Siffrin’s absence like a missing limb.)
(You feel the rot in your throat.)
(You open your jaw.)
“....H…..el……….p………..me……….”
(The woman freezes.)
“...It talked.”
(Her voice cracks.)
(The lantern’s light dims.)
(You feel the heat fade from your faceplate.)
(You feel the shadows reclaim your form.)
(No.)
(Not again.)
(Not again.)
(Not again.)
(You hear the man exhale.)
“Okay, okay, it’s…”
“It’s probably just some old voicebox glitch.”
“These things used to have prerecorded lines, right?”
(The woman shifts.)
“Yeah. Yeah, like– like those old mascots.”
“They’d say stuff when you walked by.”
(You try to laugh.)
(It comes out as a wet rattle.)
(The man steps closer again, emboldened by his own lie.)
“Look at the joints. Look at the frame. This thing’s ancient.”
(He sighs.)
“If we bring this to the attraction? We’d make a fortune.”
(Attraction.)
(Your molding brain stirs.)
(Your heart–what’s left of it, anyway–lurches.)
(Attraction.)
(Rumors.)
“Do you really think people would pay to see… this?”
“Are you kidding?”
“It’s perfect.”
“Real metal. Real rust. Real history.”
“People love that kind of horror.”
(He crouches.)
(He reaches for your arm.)
(You want to pull away.)
(Your body refuses.)
(His fingers brush the suit’s plating.)
(He shivers.)
“Cold as a grave.”
(You flinch internally.)
(He doesn’t notice.)
“Help me lift it.”
“What? No. No way.”
“Come on. We can’t leave this. This is our ticket out of this dump.”
(The woman hesitates.)
(Then sighs.)
“...Fine. But if it moves again, I’m running.”
(They grab you.)
(Your limbs dangle uselessly.)
(Your tendons strain.)
(Metal groans.)
(Your spine scrapes the wall as they drag you forward.)
(Dust erupts.)
(The Safe Room breathes for the first time in decades.)
(And you–)
(You cross the threshold.)
(Your vision swims.)
(Your ears ring.)
(Your body screams.)
(But you move.)
(You move.)
(You move.)
(Dragged like a carcass.)
(Carried like a trophy.)
(Lifted like a relic.)
(They grunt under your weight.)
“...Stars, this thing’s heavy.”
“No kidding. How did they even move these back then?”
(You want to answer.)
(You want to tell them.)
(You want to warn them.)
(But your jaw hangs open, slack and useless.)
(They haul you through the old hallway.)
(Past peeling murals.)
(Past collapsed ceiling tiles.)
(Past the place where your son–)
(You shut that thought down.)
(You shut it down hard.)
(The man kicks open the back door.)
(Cold night air rushes in.)
(It hits your exposed flesh like knives.)
(You twitch.)
(The woman yelps.)
“Dude! It moved!”
“It’s just settling! Old springs! Stop freaking out!”
(They drag you outside.)
(Into the parking lot.)
(Into the world.)
(For the first time in 25 years.)
(You feel the moonlight.)
(You feel the wind.)
(You feel the earth beneath you.)
(And beneath that–)
(Something else.)
(Something older.)
(Something hungry.)
(Something that remembers you.)
(Something that has been waiting.)
(The woman shivers.)
“Do you… feel that?”
(The man laughs nervously.)
“It’s just the cold.”
(It isn’t.)
(You know it isn’t.)
(You can feel the ground humming.)
(You can feel the air breathing.)
(You can feel the decay beneath the asphalt.)
(They load you into the back of a rusted cargo van.)
(The doors slam shut.)
(Darkness swallows you whole.)
(And in that darkness–)
(A whisper.)
(Not from outside.)
(Not from inside.)
(From below.)
(From the earth itself.)
“...Vrtbu...”
(Your rotting heart stops.)
(Your rotting mind reels.)
(Your rotting soul knows.)
(You are going back.)
(Back to the place you deserve.)
(Back to the grave you made.)
(Back to the curse you earned.)
(And they–)
(They have no idea what they’ve just dug up.)