Chapter Text
•-🌎🦊-•
I lean on Rocky’s xenonite shelter. My arm itches like crazy. It’s all wrapped up in bandages, and I’m on the lightest painkillers that’ll still keep me clear-headed. Most of the work has been done already, but if something changes, I definitely don’t want to be souped-up and floating in dreamland.
I really hope what I set up to help Rocky recover works. If he doesn’t wake up—no, no. No. He will wake up. Just that, in a hypothetical scenario, if he weren’t to wake up…
Well, I don’t know if I could handle being all alone. Again.
I’ve been awake for too long. I don’t want to rest, but my body is screaming at me. “If I must,” I mumble under my breath, so soft I almost can’t hear it, and close my eyes. I drift off, leaning against the familiar warmth of Rocky’s xenonite walls.
Something makes me jerk awake, sitting up and immediately slamming the back of my head on the xenonite structure. I whine pathetically, rubbing the sore spot and trying to ignore the sting now reverberating through my skull.
I don’t know how much time has passed since I laid there. A minute? An hour? A month? That last one’s just a joke… I hope.
I look around groggily, trying to figure out the source of the—
“Holy—mother-loving—!!!!”
I scramble back in surprise at the sight of a shape that looks scarily human. I had Mary turn down the lights to help my eyes not ache so much, but has the unfortunate side effect of making whatever this is look like the Hat Man.
I quickly fumble for my glasses, taking them from where they’d been dangling and placing them on the bridge of my nose. There, now I can see that it’s a—
A child.
A CHILD???
All I can register is their matted-looking hair and open-mouthed expression of shock. They seem rooted to the ground. I feel frozen too, but if this is a sleep paralysis demon, or something of the sort, a middle-schooler seems like a weird choice.
Did the ammonia give me brain damage? Am I hallucinating?! Is it some side effect from the coma that’s stayed hidden until now? If so, that’s… really not good. I blink, hard. And again. The kid is still there. Before I can keep trying to convince myself this somehow is just a figment of my imagination, they start looking around frantically.
They spin around, looking at the ship. I try to push myself up, about to ask questions or try and comfort them or at least do something other than sit in the corner all pathetic and bandaged-up. I forget about my grilled arm, and try and use it to support me—god, that stings. I gasp as pain laces through my body, my eyesight blurs and I fall back to the floor. At the sight of this, the new person turns tail and runs.
When my vision clears again, they’re out of sight, but has left somewhat of a trail of mess in their wake.
I groan as I shakily get to my feet, succeeding this time. “Crap, crap, crap…” I follow the trail of out-of-place tables and overturned chairs, lab equipment scattered on the floor. I don’t have to worry about anything breaking, at least—anything fragile is already long gone after the whole taumoeba retrieval.
Jesus, this kid is fast. They’re fairly small, but I can’t catch up with them at all. I can hear their feet pounding against the spaceship floor, but…
Right, this is a spaceship. They can’t really go anywhere. I shudder at the thought—that sounds really creepy. But anyways, the ship is somewhat of a loop. If I just wait, and not screw up my arm any further in the process, they’ll have to come down eventually. Then I won’t seem as scary.
I haul myself back to the dorm, where Rocky is, supporting myself on the wall using my good arm. Slumping back against the wall opposite his section, I feel exhausted.
But there’s no way in heck I’ll be able to sleep.
Now that I have a second to think, my brain won’t stop. Because why is a random kid, the age of my students in space? How did they appear, inside of my ship??? With seemingly just as much confusion as I feel?
That’s… a question I’ll have to answer when I’m not hopped up on adrenaline, and when my arm isn’t on fire. Rocky can help me figure that out, when he wakes up.
I wish Rocky were awake right now. Sure, he’d probably scare the person even more, but he’d be able to hear them and know where they are in the ship at all times. Oh, shoot. Is there anything that would be potentially dangerous??
I’m willing to bet they climbed up a ladder onto a different floor, otherwise I’d still be able to hear them. Makes sense, get as far away as possible from a potential threat. I rack my brain, trying to call up a mental image of the ship’s layout. The lab is down here, I don’t have to worry about them doing anything with the taumoeba. Most of the rooms are barred by name entry, and the kid—I really want to know their name, I hate just calling them that—would probably not know to say ‘Ryland Grace.’ Or Yáo or Ilyukhina.
My heart pangs. They would probably better know how to handle this. Yáo had kids, and Ilyukhina… um. Actually, she would probably offer them heroin to “calm down.”
—Oh god. The heroin. The gun.
I jump up, making my way to the storage bags. I don’t know where I put it—didn’t even want to think about it, let alone see it—but I really doubt it’s fully hidden. I do not need an already confused and terrified kid to be wondering why I have drugs and a firearm.
I should jettison them both, probably, except I can’t do that with someone else hiding in an unknown place aboard the ship.
I go over the amount that I can remember of what they looked like, from my distracted brain’s recollection. Fairly short, thickly wrapped up in layers of clothes. They didn’t seem very new. Shoulder-length frizzy black hair, tan-coloured skin and big dark eyes. A boy, I think? I’ll ask them later.
Certainly didn’t seem like a child meant to be sent on a space mission—scratch that, what would I expect one to look like?
I have no theories. Because even if things went so awfully on Earth while I’ve been gone, I really doubt it could’ve gotten so bad they’d send a literal tween into space. Alone. And! If somehow that did happen, that doesn’t explain, I don’t know, the showing up out of nowhere???
My only scientific theory that makes any sense is visual and auditory hallucinations. Which I really hope isn’t true. I do know, at least, that I haven’t been hallucinating Rocky this whole time: I have the ammonia burns to prove it. And I doubt my mind would have rationally expected the average alien to be older than the United States.
My fatigue-riddled brain hobbles over to grab a laptop, then struggles to type with only one hand.
”cma paientst ge t hallicinstons?”
Well. Google seems to know what I’m trying to say. But none of the results are what I’m looking for—they’re all talking about seeing things or hearing voices while in the coma. I want to know if it’s a side effect.
Heading: “I experienced a whole made-up life while in a coma.” Subheading: “When I turned 18, me &… [read more]
An awful feeling runs through my veins at that. That’s not… um. I shut the laptop with an audible snap. “Well, that’s enough internet for today,” I tell myself nervously.
I check the time. Not that it matters, really—we don’t have a real day or night here—but the digital clock reads 2:12pm. I should probably eat lunch, I think, and my stomach growls in agreement.
I grab a ramen bowl, and prepare it—now that I think of it, I should get one for the other person. He might be hungry, and nothing better to show peace than an offering of food. And if he’s not real… I’ll just have extra, I guess.
I barely have enough food to last the trip back to Earth, if I can get the astrophage from Rocky’s ship. It’ll be rough if I have to feed a whole other person—and I don’t want to have to starve the guy. But that’s a problem for another time. For right now, I just need to get him to trust me. Or, uh. I kind of need to meet him first. Forgot about that.
I slurp up some ramen from one of the cups, ignoring my burning tongue. The rest gets left unattended, however, because I remember something.
The Hail Mary’s comms system! I barely fight the urge to clap my hands. That wouldn’t end well. If I use the intercom, I can make a nice, peaceful introduction without scaring the stranger. Well, it’ll still probably scare him, but.. less, hopefully.
My feet take me quickly to the system, and I stop myself for a moment to collect my thoughts and go over what I should say.
”Hey, there. So, uh… (crap, I should’ve thought about this more) I’d bet you’re pretty confused, huh? I am too, but it’s okay! I’m not going to hurt you. You’re aboard the Hail Mary, my name’s Ryland Grace. I’ll leave you alone for however long you need, but I’m in the dorms for whenever you feel comfortable. I’ve got food and water, if you want. Uh. Make yourself at home!”
That was awful. Oh, that was awful. He might not even know he’s in space right now, light-years from home. And what was that last thing?? Make yourself at home? God, so dumb. I lean back in my chair, breathing in the savory smell of cooked ramen.
I just hope he’s doing alright.
•-🌘🩸-•
It’s hot in here.
It’s awfully, unbearably hot. There’s no shot in hell I’m taking off any of these layers, since the thought of any bare skin touching the small drips of blood leaking in sounds terrible. Still, my hair is plastered to my forehead with sweat and I wish I was just back in the fucking freezing space station. And yet, though I think I’m about ready to boil, I have bigger issues at the moment.
I feel paranoid, tense every time I steer the sub forward, gritting my teeth every time the proximity radar detects a cave wall nearby. I never know when I’ll be expecting another turn, but encounter something much worse.
I don’t know what I’m even still pressing on for. I know I’m not making it out of here. I just—don’t want to die. Just because I’m a convict, and I deserve it, doesn’t make that fear any less smothering.
And I do, really deserve it. Even if I managed to convince myself that Filament Station wasn’t my fault, what happened with Jack certainly was. A sharp bullet of regret tears through me at the reminder. The thick silence weighs heavy on my shoulders.
I clutch the pendant strung around my wrist tightly in my palm. A gift from a past Brother, even if they aren’t one of mine anymore.
The proximity warning starts clicking, and I halt. I check the map. If my coordinates are right, there shouldn’t be anything here. An unmarked bone sample, maybe?
I press the button that, not too long ago, sentenced people to death. The screen flashes, and I go to get a good look.
Then I hear a scream from behind me.
I whip around, hands at the ready to defend myself against this unknown threat, but there’s nothing. I’d better not be going crazy.
”—onvict, what’s goi— -n?” I hear the voice through the radio while I slowly walk to the source of the noise—a locker in the back of the room.
”Like hell I’d know!” I whisper loudly in response. My stance still braced, I ready myself for whatever’s inside.
I can’t even wonder if this is something from the radio somehow, if that was just a sound the ship made or something outside of it, if it’s actually someone inside then how the fuck did they get in here—
Because I see a kid. A young teenage boy, bursting out of the storage cubby and falling face first at my feet.
I jump back reflexively as he yelps, then pushes himself to his knees, holding his nose in pain. “What—where is this? Wh—“ He looks up, eyes widening in panic as he sees me standing above. “—Who are you?!” he screams.
I watch as he propels himself backwards, as far from me as possible. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say in a moment like this. So I put it off. “Ava!” I yell, not letting my gaze stray from the boy, “There’s a fucking kid in here!!”
I hear her voice like she’s turned away from the speaker. “—No, David, he’s not lying, you heard the noise.” She turns back. “Convict, where did it come from?!” I see him mouth the word Convict to himself, in confused terror.
“I don’t fucking know,” I snap, “just—fell out of this locker! Hasn’t made any noise the whole trip!!”
”We certainly didn’t put anyone in there. I’d think you’re hallucinating, but—“
”I- I just woke up,” the boy stutters out. Looking at him more closely… he does not look like a stowaway. In fact—he seems rich. The cleanest white shirt I’ve ever seen, untangled blond hair, and bright blue eyes. Wide eyes framed with honest-to-god glasses.
What the hell is a teen doing with those? Only the most important people own a pair—and those pairs are nowhere near as proper and un-scuffed as his. He’s scrawny, too, but doesn’t have the skin-and-bones look that some of the starving, poor kids have. With how little muscle there is on him, even for what must be a young soldier, he looks like he’s never worked a day in his life. He’s got the youth of an Unregistered in his eyes.
He bites his lip, nervous. “I don’t… Where’s Mrs. Cohen? W-why is it so dark in here?”
I suddenly feel very out of my depth. I am not someone to take care of kids. I haven’t even seen one in more than fifteen years, being the Butcher of Eden and all. I’m… not going to tell him that. If he finds out who I am, he’ll run screaming.
”I don’t know any Cohen, sorry,” I reply awkwardly. His eyes widen even further in fright, and he stands, quickly backing against the wall.
”Oh my god! You—did you freaking—kidnap me?!” He keeps whipping his head around, to try and find an escape, I guess. Hate to say it, but he won’t find anything. I hold my hands up, trying to calm him a little. I’m stuck here with him, so rather not have him freaking out.
”Okay, just—would you calm down?” I say with a small step towards him. He does the opposite, instead darting past me to the front of the sub, where the controls are. He looks around at what little he can see in the small, dark space. “I’ll explain what’s going on, but—“
The little shit starts pounding at the walls. “Help!” He yells, the noise of his fists reverberating through the vessel, “I’m trapped! Can anyone—“
“STOP.”
I barely register the sharp growl until it wrenches out of me. I’m holding his wrist back, glaring down at him. He’s tall for his age, still smaller than I am.
Immediately his angry protests fade into a frightened whimper as he shrinks back.
Fuck. I let go of him, squeezing my eyes shut and backing away. He stays quiet. God, I haven’t changed a bit, have I? The Convict, the Butcher, always ready to snap, always violent. I didn’t mean to, I just—this half-assed excuse for a sub can barely stand the ocean as is, and if he damages it I’m fucked.
I guess we both are.
I heave a sigh, running a hand through my hair. It doesn’t quite work, getting stuck in the tangles, but I don’t care. “Sorry. I didn’t… um.” It’s crazy, how still he is now.
He’s scared of you. The one person you had a clean slate with, and you scared him. No one could ever trust you.
”I’m not going to hurt you, ‘kay? I’m just confused. And stressed.” At least the speaker voice has been silent. I don’t need her barking orders at me while I try to reason with this boy. “So you don’t know how you got here?” He shakes his head vigorously, eyes locked on mine all the time.
“Okay. I don’t know how you got here either. Sounds like she—“ I use my thumb to gesture at the radio, “—doesn’t either. So,” I say, turning to face the speaker, “She should probably reel us in, right? This could be a big thing, huh, COI?”
I hear a sigh. “Convict. Apologies, but you’re incredibly far down. It would be a large waste of resources just for some kid. Finish your task and you’ll both be let out.”
Anger flares in me, my mouth open in astonishment. Is she fucking serious? They really want me dead so badly they’ll kill an innocent child for it??? In a dumb fit of rage, I want to punch the side of the sub. The only thing that stops me is seeing the kid flinch back in the corner of my eye.
I forcibly let out a breath, unclenching my fists. “Yeah, whatever,” I spit. “You’re fucked up for this, I hope you know that.”
”…Shut up and get to work. You’re losing oxygen every second.”
Like I needed the reminder. I grit my teeth and stomp over to the controls. I check my path and start moving.
At the jerk of the sub, he yelps in surprise and barely catches himself from falling over. When he regains his balance, he glances over at me. He hasn’t stopped being afraid. “Where is this? I thought we were in some—evil basement???”
Shit, shit. I did not want to explain that we’re in the blood ocean to this teenager. I press my lips together, keeping my eyes trained on the proximity radar. “We’re in the blood ocean.” No use dancing around it, he’ll have to know at some point.
He blinks. Then he laughs. A short, nervous giggle. “Sorry, what?”
Okay, maybe he hasn’t heard it discussed often. I sigh, and abandon my pursuit to look him in the eye. “You know, the ocean on AT-5? We’re in a sub. At the bottom of it.”
”What the hell is AT-5???”
I squint at him. He must be sheltered. Maybe he’s a descendant of the Father. “What’s your name?”
“R-Ryland Grace,” he splutters, “but what does that have to do with—“
”Is it Ryland or Grace?”
“—I don’t know, Ryland I guess—?”
”Hey, COI, do you have any kids named Ryland? Or any on Eden?”
”Eden? Like… the Bible..?”
I give him a weird look right as the woman over the speaker replies. “I checked the databases, I can’t find anyone by that name. Now for fuck’s sake, get back to work,” she hisses.
I have to bite my tongue to not curse her out the best I can, and go back to steering the sub. So he’s not from COI, and doesn’t know what Eden is. He doesn’t know one of two remaining colonies.
What the fuck is going on here?
The boy, Ryland, clings to a pipe in the wall to balance. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “So… where is AT-5? Is it, like… Area 51?” He winces when I look at him, I must not be disguising my skepticism. To be fair, I’m not really trying. “I’ll take that as a no, then,” he mumbles.
“It’s the moon. The only moon left, since the Quiet Rapture. How haven’t you heard about this?” He’s very quiet after I say it. When I turn my head to make sure he didn’t… I don’t know, die or something—his eyes are practically bulging out of his skull.
“We’re on a moon.” I nod. I guess if he didn’t know one existed, it could be shocking. He starts to panic. “We’re in SPACE?!”
What??? “Where else would we be??” I ask, fully turning away from the controls again. Ryland is clinging to the pipe like a lifeline. He turns to me with a high-pitched giggle.
”I don’t know, Earth??? The Moon doesn’t have any oceans, what the heck—?” He starts rambling about how he was just in some place called San Francisco, and I just feel awful.
This kid is so brainwashed. They definitely fed him some lies to try and “protect” him. He’s obviously not from Earth, it’s been gone for decades.
But… it would explain the double-name thing. And the clean clothes. And the glasses.
I look at Ryland, now—shit, sitting with his head in his knees against the wall. I suddenly—I don’t want him to die here. Even if I deserve it, he sure doesn’t. He looks probably 12, at most 13. I get out of my chair before I even register it, crouching in front of him.
”I know this is weird,” I say, trying out my best comforting tone, “something is clearly going on. But I just need to get some pictures, and then we’ll get out, okay?” I make sure to say that part loud enough for whoever’s on the other side to hear. They can’t leave me to die if I get information as well as some poor kid.
He looks up sniffling, and I realize he’s crying. He pushes his glasses up his forehead while wiping his eyes. “O-okay.” His eyes meet mine, and I can’t help but feel awful for him. I give him a half-decent reassuring smile, and in some moment of—I don’t know what—I pat his shoulder.
He jumps at the touch at first, and so do I. Damn Butcher can’t even touch someone without hurting them. But then he relaxes again, having just been surprised. He offers a watery half-smile of his own.
I return to piloting, until I hear a small voice.
“Mister… what’s your name?”
Son of Eden. Father’s favourite. Useless boy. Brother. Disgrace. Butcher. Convict.
But all of those seem like too harsh words for Ryland, a boy whose skin shines like it’s seen sun. Whose eyes glitter wide with innocence of the deer my mother would show me pictures of. A boy who’s able to sit here and feel fairly safe with me of all people, the me who was ready for a fight and yelled and swore at him. This boy, of the rye fields.
“Simon.”