Chapter Text
I am bathed in a sea of flashing red, being crushed by gravity under an excessive centrifugal motion, and Rocky is shrill and caked in mercurial blood in his xenonite tunnel. My lungs are uncooperative, and my head spins impossibly fast. I think that thump thump thump in my skull is my heart beat, and I see a streak of blood just in my periphery. Dizziness overcomes me, and as I reach for the switch, I fall into darkness.
Something is happening.
Rocky is grabbing me.
It burns.
Wait, Rocky is dragging me.
He is in my atmosphere.
Please, no.
Is that Armando?. That’s right. Armando is pulling me onto a bed. It hurts. I watch Rocky’s smouldering form, I try to grab at him as Armando goes to strap an oxygen mask on my face.
Rocky-!
…
Nausea.
I am sitting down. I’m sitting down at a table. There is a table in front of me.
I gasp sharply, jolting from the swivel chair I am sitting in, and collapse onto the floor. The floor is cold, and I am panicking. Pain erupts in my head, in my chest, and my right arm. How is it that I am in a room with a table and these chairs…and-?
Tears cloud my vision as I scramble upright. I need to find Rocky. He is in danger. He could be dead for all I know. This isn’t right. I hear murmurs and shouts around me. They might as well be that freaking alarm on the Hail Mary. In a frantic yank, I free my arm from the jumpsuit I am wearing and scream at the friction it causes around the burn I know is there.
My vision isn’t right, and I am hyperventilating as I stare at the fresh injury that I just tore fabric from. Blood. There is blood in my eyes and blood on my arm. Red jumpsuit. Everything is red, and muddled.
“Dr. Grace…?”
That’s-that’s a human’s voice.
I know her.
It’s a battle turning my head, but I see them in the blurred mess. They are standing just a few feet away. I squint, swaying against the table. It’ll do. I grab onto it as if my life depends on it.
I count my breaths.
One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…
In and out. Slow, just like Armando instructed me one miserable day on that ship. That was before Rocky careened into my life, saving me from further despair.
“R-Rocky,” I cough out, “Where is Rocky?”
“Dr. Grace,” Stratt sounds strained.
“What is this?” I choke on the laugh bubbling in my throat.
The shapes are becoming slightly clearer, but I am not wearing my glasses. This is the conference room in Baikonur. The one we met in when they told me I had three hours to decide if I wanted to go on this lovely suicide mission. Not like I had a choice. Crap. What is this hallucination? It is inevitable that I will pass out soon, but…I want to understand.
“You are in Conference Room 4B. Commander Yao and Ilyukhina are present. I have just told you-”
“Y-You’re alive. Told…t-that I am…tertiary science…?” I stutter out.
Eugh, I think I'm going to vomit. I think the force of gravity is throwing me off.
Russian and Mandarin curses and words flit around to my right. Human hands are touching my skin, and the urge to let myself go into darkness consumes me.
“Glad…alive…”