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Purple’s visor adjusted to the darkness of the night, guided by light pollution. Somewhere in the distance, their ear caught humming machines, roaring mechanisms and exceptionally loud night-shift corporate chatter. Perhaps, another MIRA manufactory. There were even rumors of a new data center being built on this very field. A gentle breeze caressed Purple’s skin, their limbs flabbily trembling with each step drowning in a pall of dehydrated grass and withering flowers. In one hand they carried a shovel, in the other — a shoebox, with a certain fishmate inside.
The Skeld landed back home about twenty hours ago — early in the morning, when it was too late to see the sun awaken the sky, but just in time for frosty bone-chilling winter air. The kind that hurts your lungs upon the tiniest of inhales. No point in denying it — Purple did miss it just a little. It’s been a long time since they could breathe in freely, without risking lung cancer each time they did. It soothed their nerves, already clogged with all sorts of emotions. Standing here besides Red brought a nasty feeling to Purple’s soul. They were meant to share this moment with nine more crewmates and one precious fishmate, but alas, the two survivors have never been lonelier. In the moment, Red’s hand found Purple’s, and squeezed it as hard as possible, bracing themselves for what was to come. Purple didn’t mind.
The headquarters were for sure busy, and obnoxious too. Old MIRA classic. The doors hissed open just a blink ago, and the next thing you knew were a crowd of underpaid staff, bugging you with a good thousand of questions, none of which you could even begin to answer.
How did the Captain allow for such a vigorous disaster?
Why was there a giant hole in the ship?
Why was the overwhelming majority of the crew brutally murdered?
Who was to blame?
You bet Red spent days asking themselves the exact same things.
And you bet Red has found an answer to all of them.
However, for reasons neither Red nor Purple understood, not once anyone questioned why there was increwmane unidentified pink goo smeared all over the storage room. Not one single crewmate. You’d think such emergencies would have everyone up on their feet in anxiety. Heck, this ship was infested with alien parasites!!! Isn’t that a massive biohazard and a brand new threat to the planet??
Apparently, it was not. It’s like they didn’t even see it right in front of them.
Deep inside, Purple and Red both understood MIRA’s strategies. They would play dirty just to spare a couple of bucks. To keep quiet was way more beneficial for their reputation. In a matter of days this totally-not-traumatizing tragedy would get written off as another workplace incident. The deceased would get buried five hundred miles away from their homes, and their families would receive heart-wrenching news about their children — a horrible realisation will dawn that they’ll never ever see their faces again. Despite having kept their photographs until the very day they die, nothing could help the families that would eventually forget what their children looked or sounded like. The Skeld would get disassembled, and eventually, run hollow of life. Meanwhile, MIRA would want to silence a new generation of unpaid interns and captains, or strip them of everything but their filthy voices if they refused, hence the brand new NDA they issued.
Having learned from their mistakes, Red joined Purple in giving MIRA a fat middle finger… and ended up just like them. Jobless, blacklisted, neglected, tossed away like a pen freshly run out of ink — a crewmate squeezed empty of their spark, their rage and their tears. There were no other options left, either. Signing the NDA would’ve meant giving up their dignity, as well as the closest person they have left in their life — someone they once kept inside their heart. Someone they once treated just as terribly as the frigid capitalistic machine they used to worship. However… no one was going to hire them after this, really. MIRA made sure to ruin Purple and Red’s resumes and make every other greedy corporation turn their backs on them. They could probably try to apply for some unauthorised position that paid two beans per week on a good day, and try to survive off of that. Or die trying. At the end of the day, there was no winning for either of them, so you may as well at least not betray someone close to you. Go home and pray you can still call it a home when no one is there to welcome you back.
Purple was utterly exhausted, and desired to fall asleep forever more than anything, but the guilt kept poisoning their mind awake. Their old internship days came crushing down on them yet again, making their stomach twist in nauseating knots. Everything flashed in front of their eyes, and made so much noise that Purple took a moment to realise they were standing in the middle of nowhere, in a field dead silent excluding the corporate MIRA hellspawn.
Acting like they didn’t know every corner of this place.
Redsie was the one to show Purple this field. Many years ago, it thrived with tall grass, colourful flowers, plants, and insectmates. As a matter of fact, Purple couldn’t stand those tiny demons. They were, well… Too crawly. Maybe admiring them from a distance was more doable, but certainly not picking one up, which Red would do far too often just to get a reaction out of Purple. They would wince in disgust every single time, and Redsie would find it funny.
Having put down the shoebox beside them, Purple gripped into the shovel, and tried digging into soil, hard as stone, dry as a corpse. Eventually, there was a breakthrough, as the shovel flung out from a sudden lack of friction, launching clumps of dirt into air and creating a cavity in the dying ground.
On this very field, Redsie and Purps would lie every day for hours on end, talking about nothing. They looked for familiar shapes in the clouds, improvising entire stories and coming to find out they shared a ton of dorky interests. They held hands, knee deep in trouble at work, and giggled together through every serious warning, even if it was clearly harder for Redsie out of the two. They have always been the more cowardly one — quite comfortable finding themselves being a follower. They never meant it out of malice, either. In fact, it was the opposite — Redsie always had a kind, fragile heart. And ego.
Purple attempted another rough dig, ramming in with full force, and another, and another, scooping up even more. The pit has grown noticeably deeper, but not deep enough just yet.
Red loved to talk about their dreams of piloting a spaceship one day. Their visor glowed with passion and glee, which always made Purple smile, and put their mind at ease. On sunny days, that spark was always a little brighter, reflecting the beam of sunshine right at Purple, blinding them with their effortless beauty. To every Redsie’s ambition Purple would respond with something sugary-sweet and encouraging. Because back then, they truly meant it. Because back then, the intern’s hopes and future actually meant something. If not to the system, then to Purple.
The grass was soft and tender back then, akin to Redsie’s touch. They would cuddle for eternity, and kiss prolongedly, over and over again, which eventually began to taste with a hint of sweetness — like flowers, like their child-like aspirations, like a happy end. And when it was time to come back to work, they would look into each other’s visors like a sailor stares at the deep wuthering sea, one last time, as if to say “I’ve always got your back”.
The crewmate kept digging, shoving down every flashing image down their throat, which seeked to throw itself back up. At last, the hole was deep enough for their liking.
Purple tossed the shovel aside, kneeling down to pick up Heracles. Their hands wavered at the sight of the shoebox on their lap, hesitant to see what’s inside. Their vision got blurry, along with their judgement at such thought. Still, their fingers held the obnoxiously orange cardboard with care, lovingly lifting up the lid to reveal Heracles’ resting body.
“Hi there, buddy.” Purple’s voice cracked, too stealthy for anyone to hear except Purple’s own embarrassment.
Heracles was a birthday gift. Perhaps, the most precious Purple has ever gotten from anyone. Wasn’t tricky to guess who it was from.
To be frank, it was very random, too. Purple never asked explicitly for any gifts for their birthdays, especially if it was pricey, and especially not a fishmate. Red probably got the idea from a conversation they had prior, back when Purple mentioned their casual love for fish. Well, it was nowhere near casual when they were younger — some random bits of knowledge still sat memorized in Purple’s fathomless memory. The passion slowly died down once they got their first job as an intern.
Heracles was a goldfish, which was Purple’s favourite kind, despite being quite a basic choice for a fish nerd. Redsie took it upon themselves to save up for a pet fishmate and a tank, which later caused Purple to spiral about how Red shouldn’t have bought them something so expensive in this economy. Red didn’t mind.
And then the fallout happened. Red hasn’t been the same since then.
Except Purple wasn’t nearly as pissed as before.
A sound of approaching footsteps yanked Purple back into reality, as they sharply stood up to turn around just in case it was a blood-thirsty impostor.
“I knew I’d find you here, Purps.”
Years will go by, and that stupid nickname will never not annoy them.
Red stood before them, frantically avoiding eye contact, hiding their arms behind their back, which they soon enough brought forward to present a timid bouquet of violets. It waltzed playfully in the cool wind, waving hello to Purple like a young reckless lover.
“I brought you flowers.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”
“I will have you know, Purps, it is actually Captain Re-... nevermind.”
Purple huffed, humbly accepting the violets, having swallowed down their sorrow.
“What are you even doing here?”
“I came here to, uh, properly, um… Apologize, that' s right.”
“Take it away, I guess...” Purple couldn’t help but wonder why this field was the first place they’d have chosen to seek them, but to their surprise, they didn’t find the guts to ask. Deep down, Purple probably already knew anyway.
Red faltered, finding themselves at a loss of words. Their gaze landed on the shoebox, still open for anyone to discover that it was, in fact, a casket.
Red gulped, panicking more with each passing second.
“...My condolences.”
“That’s not exactly an apology. Decent start, though.”
“Well… Look. I’m sorry. I really am. About this whole NDA thing, and for causing a total bloodbath on The Skeld, and for being a horrible captain, and a terrible person, and about… Hercules.”
“Heracles. Get it right.”
“...Heracles. I didn’t mean to do what I did. I mean… I kinda did back then. And it’s bad, I know. But the last thing I wanted to do in all this is hurt your feelings.”
“Aaaaand you did.”
“And I’m sorry. I’ve never stopped caring about you.”
“I know.” Purple sighed profoundly, glancing at the bouquet they were fondly holding. For the tiniest brevity, they caught Red’s gaze, overflowing with affection.
The two stood across each other, amidst the wreckage of who they once were. Purple inhaled deeply, the scent of violets and toxic industrial emissions clashing in a disgusting turmoil. Admittedly, Purple couldn’t bring themselves to grant Red forgiveness. At least, not entirely. Even if they really wanted to.
Purple turned back around to the freshly dug grave, glaring down at their beloved fishmate. Bashfully, they crouched, sitting back down on tormented soil, desperately trying to hide their visor welling up with tears like a vessel. Purple put the flowers aside, and raised the shoebox, taking a closer final look at Heracles, appreciating every little scale, their fins, their tail, and their visor, which no longer reflected any soul behind it. Purple's hands quivered along with the rest of the body, and their throat was chained up and sore.
“Want some help around here?” Red asked, not without a hue of uncertainty. They knelt down to remain on eye level, their hand warily placed itself on top of Purple’s — a quiet, yet firm implication that it was time to say goodbye. Purple could only nod.
Red closed the shoebox attentively, gently placing it into the pit Purple has mercifully dug out. Picking up the shovel, they poured the thick layer of soil back into the hole until Heracles was tucked in for a peaceful slumber. Purple placed the violets atop, as if to kiss the fishmate goodnight.
Silence loomed over the deteriorating field. Red turned to face Purple, as both of them stood on top of the grave in utter defeat.
Purple’s breath hitched. Quiet enough to get eaten by the thick winter air, but loud enough for Red’s ear to pick up. A tear lurked out of Purple’s visor, and another followed.
Red held their arms open, offering a hug.
Before Red knew it, Purple plunged right into them, locking them into a tight embrace. A loud sob escaped against their will, and Red was quick to return the touch, wrapping their arms around them, holding Purple as close as possible.
Purple broke down, sliding down onto the ground, their legs far too weak to stay upright. Red knelt down along with them, not letting go, listening to Purple’s vigorous weeping.
“Shh.. I know, I know… I know.” Red murmured, their heart just as heavy as Purple’s. Their shirt was soaked with Purple’s tears, but they didn’t mind.
"One of these days I'll dig one of them graves for myself, man." Purple muttered, their voice teary and weary.
"Please don't say that."
"Fine."
In the middle of a decaying field of flowers, Red and Purple sat, shedding tears over the past that had perished, the present, and the future, hardly promised of forgiveness.