Chapter Text
What is your name?
This is the first question he asked himself. It’s almost the only thing he did, sleep and ask himself questions. But he had to do it, he used them as an alarm. He forgot where he read it, but apparently these types of questions are good for your brain.
He knew his name. It’s Ryland Grace. It was the only thing he was confident about when it came to his situation.
Grace unfurled from the ball he had contorted himself into. His two arms could only really cover one leg, since the other was just an ugly little-
What is your favorite color?
The questions also helped him remember his own inner voice. It grounded Grace with a sense of control, however small it seemed. Being well assured about your sanity is a luxury he had taken for granted before all this.
Grace never really had a favorite color. Back at the station, he had always liked the color of yellow. It was a lighter shade than his dirty blonde hair and it reminded him of all those stories his grandfather told him of the years before The Quiet Rapture. But since he left Grace hadn’t had time to think of his favorite color…or his family for that matter.
His leg stub ached. Grace tried wrapping it with some of the leftover gauze that wasn’t covered in tainted blood, but it quickly bled through, leaving Grace with an open wound that throbbed every freaking second of the day.
What can you see?
This question never really helped. It was standard procedure back at the station, but here… it just reminded Grace of his unlucky predicament. He still did it, of course. Grace loved the sense of routine more than his own comfort.
Grace could see blood. Blood caked every orifice of the SM-13. Slivers of gray could be seen, but mostly it was just that nauseating, queasy red. The slight scent of copper still lingered around the ship. Mixed together with the smell of rusty iron, it created a gross combination that had become the only air Grace could breathe.
Stretching his three remaining limbs, Grace proceeded to float over to the control system at the front of the ship. Yes, float. Grace could float now, apparently. It was a recent development, which caused him to start his grounding exercises.
It was an unsettling and anxious feeling, waking up without the ground beneath you. Grace didn’t really have any theories as to why the gravity was suddenly gone on AT-5. There was one, but it was one he didn’t want to entertain because it would really mean that Grace was dead and there was no way out of this hell-
Who was the last person you talked to?
Grace hated this question. It made him feel paranoid, and he didn’t need another reason to feel that way.
The last person Grace talked to had to be Eva Stratt. He could still hear her garbled voice through the intercom.
“Grace! Ryland, are you there?! Please, just confirm you have the black box and I’ll pull you up.”
She had slipped up, calling him his real name instead of his label. In the moment, it mattered to Grace. A little light of hope flickered within him, the rekindling of an old flame long extinguished. But of course he knew now that it wasn’t real. It was just a slip up. Eva would’ve called him anything to get him to listen to reason.
Nothing. The console was still down. None of the lights were on, the controls were locked, and the compass was out of commission. Grace remained stuck in place, wherever he was. He sighed and leaned his hand on the lever. His phantom leg still throbbed and he wanted so badly just to stand but Grace knew he couldn't. He couldn’t let it win.
What is the last thing you remember?
This question had only been different once, when Grace woke up after everything. He had been gasping for air, under the assumption he would still be drowning in waves of blood but was instead greeted by emptiness. He hadn’t wanted to remember but his brain didn’t listen and flooded him with gruesome memories of all seeing eyes, large haunting skeletons, and an all powerful light that knew no form.
But what Grace really remembered was the darkness. He remembered pulling away from the intercom and willing himself not to cry. He remembered leaning his head against the pipes and wishing he still believed in the stars. Wishing that someone would save him despite everything that happened. Wishing that someone still cared. Grace felt shame looking back at it now.
Coward.
The word was quick. It zipped through his mind. Grace tried to pay it no attention but it still stung. He let go of the lever and sloppily maneuvered himself to the speaker. He grasped onto the wall as tight as he could and cleared his throat.
“This is Convict 89, also known as Ryland Grace. I am once again radioing in to let you know that I retrieved and sent out the Black Box from the SM-8 but still am in need of rescue.” Grace eyed the open hole in the floor.
“I don’t know my coordinates because my ship is currently out of power and I can’t get the emergency breaker to work again. But I have to be somewhere nearby so when you pick up the black box just… don’t forget me.” Grace winced. He sounded so pathetic and his voice was already dry. He waited five seconds for a response and like usual, nothing came. He slowly slid himself down onto the floor. It was a poor attempt, since he was still floating, but he managed to sit/float crosslegged near the wall. Well, as crosslegged as someone can be with one leg.
Grace began to cough, chest spasming. Gosh, if only he hadn’t used up his water. Grace was surprised he hadn’t died of dehydration now. His younger self would’ve joked that Lady Luck was on his side. Now though, it seemed like another cruel punishment to add to the ever growing list of “The Consequences of One Big Mistake".
Well, his inner voice reminded him, if you wanna get technical, it was actually a bunch of tiny mistakes that led to one big failure thanks to your constant lack of a backbone-
“Yes, thank you. That’s enough.” Grace cut off his own tirade. His inner monologue could be rather annoying but it was better then the alternative. Grace shuddered at the thought.
He finished his questions early this time. Usually, he would be extra lethargic and slow after a longer sleep cycle. Now Grace had nothing to do but just hear time pass by and feel it as the last of his oxygen ran out. With the power out, he had no way of knowing when his air was all gone. That fact was not helping the rampant anxiety that sat deep in Grace’s stomach. It was why he had stopped talking out loud to himself and when his “inner voice” began to take over. He reserved his breath for the messages.
It was pointless. Grace knew it was. There was absolutely no way the COI was actually going to send something down to save him. They probably saw the black box, took it, and assumed he had died. No one would even try to save him. No one would care.
Stratt would’ve cared. Stratt would’ve gotten you out if you hadn’t made her come get you. She still would’ve been up there.
Grace swallowed and closed his eyes. This was the only downside to being awake. The longer he was conscious, the faster he would start to spiral. And the faster he began to spiral, the harder it would become to tell which thoughts were truly his or just the monster toying with him.
Leave me alone. He told himself. Grace just wanted to sulk in peace. He sat there in silence, waiting for a message that would never come. He would probably die before getting that message, before someone actually made contact. They’d find his dried out corpse, leaning against his cage, holding out for rescue like he was still someone that mattered.
Or maybe you already are dead.
Grace really, really, didn’t want that to be true. It was stupid but… he wanted to be alive. He wanted to be saved. Deep inside all the grime and blood and pain, there was still that naive, dopey scientist who believed in hope, who believed in good. He recalled the last words he uttered to the monster before it sent him to that blood soaked hellscape.
“I just want to live. I just want to live. Is that so much to ask?”
Apparently it was. And Grace still wanted more.
You are such a cowardly idiot.
Yes. I know. I’ve heard it before.
No one is coming to save you.
Yes. I know. I’ve heard it before.
You don’t deserve to be saved. You don’t deserve anything. You earned your place in hell when you let all those innocent people die.
Yes… I know. I’ve-
You knew what they were doing. You knew what they were doing and you didn’t stop it.
No. No I didn’t. I-
You sent me to die, Ryland. You could’ve helped me but you sent me to die. And now you’re here. Where you belong.
Grace clamped his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut and he leaned his head against the metal pipe behind him. His left eye burned as he kept it closed and the side of his mouth began to spasm. Pain flared all over but Grace remained steadfast.
Don’t let it win.
“You are not real. You are not real. Get out of my head.” He muttered, over and over. The thoughts began to swarm him. Ellie’s voice echoed in his mind, taunting him.
Why didn’t you save me, Ryland? Why didn’t you save all of us? You wanted to be the hero. You brought this upon yourself.
“Get out of my head.” He repeated again. It was better not to respond. Whenever Grace did that, it dug deeper. The voices began to overlap each other, voices of people Grace never knew or met all telling him the same thing. That he caused this. He sent them down there to die. That he was the real criminal.
Grace’s left eye continued to twitch with searing pain. It acted up the most out of all the mutations. Grace suspected it acted as a direct connection between him and that monster in the depths of AT-5. A little piece of the eel so that Grace could remember it. Like he could ever forget.
The voices were louder now, the sounds surrounding the whole ship. Grace’s body began to shake uncontrollably. He knew it was all in his head but it still felt like the monster was all around him. A little speck under the eyes of a god.
YOU DON’T DESERVE THE LIGHT. YOU DON’T DESERVE SALVATION. YOU DESERVE TO DROWN IN THE BLOOD OF ALL THE PEOPLE YOU HELPED KILL. WE SEE THROUGH YOU, RYLAND GRACE. YOU ARE NOTHING TO US.
Small tears began to form in his eyes. They were only a few but Grace wiped them away immediately.
“Go away.” He whined. “Go away and leave me alone!” It was a weak cry for mercy and it never worked. The voice would yell at him until it got tired of hearing Grace squirm. It wanted him to waste his breath, to see if Grace would crack. It always managed to make him into a blubbery, panicked mess.
The monster did continue the tirade, even switching to Stratt’s voice this time to try and coax something out of him but Grace didn’t say anything else. It continued to overwhelm his senses until finally, it left him alone. The loud echoey swarm became a low thrum against metal and Ellie’s voice faded into the background, a hissing whisper repeating the thing he’d been called all his life.
Coward.
Grace still kept his eyes shut as his left eye continued to spasm. His second mouth(?) also had stopped moving around and became a dormant decoration on his cheek. Grace should have been more concerned about it, but there was already too much on his list to be concerned about.
The only good thing about these mind attacks from the monster was that it would make Grace tired enough to fall back asleep, only to repeat the process again the next time he woke up. If there would be a next time.
The morbid thought caused dry tears to spring back into Grace’s eyes. His lip quivered as he let out a pitiful sob. He had always been a crier. It was one of the first labels he ever got. Crybaby.
“If you really cared about her you would’ve kept your mouth shut.”
“Please.” Grace whispered. “Please if anyone is there, just get me out. I paid my dues. I did my job. Why can’t I go back? Just let me go.”
He curled back into a ball and laid his head down on his remaining leg. He drifted off into sleep soon after, still murmuring soft pleas for help that fell onto deaf ears.