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Red.
It was red everywhere around him. He couldn't see anything else than wet, sticky, and aggressively red blood. He couldn't smell anything other than the salty, metallic scent of it. It would be suffocating if he wasn’t already slowly drowning in it. Every inch of his body was soaked through.
Deep down he always knew there was no chance of escape, that it was a suicide mission. He had a sliver of hope for a minute, but in hindsight it was stupid and naive of him to believe there was any chance for him to survive this and be free. If he didn’t die from what’s lurking in these bloody waters, he would die from the lack of oxygen or radiation sickness.
But he managed to protect the blackbox. It will float up and peacefully wait until someone retrieves it, right? Hope that what's there would help save humanity would be the only hope he would let himself have.
Now the only thing that was left for him was to wait for the monster to bite the submarine, and with some luck, it would die here with him.
He was barely standing, black spots assaulted his vision. He lost too much blood. He was still losing blood, and it mingled with the ocean. The time seemed to slow down with his brain not being able to process what’s happening around him. He was exhausted. He couldn't feel pain anymore, or more accurately: every sensation blurred together, mushing into a meaty, aching disgust.
He lost his arm, thinking about the wet sounds his flesh made when tearing away made him sick. He wanted to live so badly. He was afraid to die, obviously, especially like this. This was a slow and painful death, one he couldn't fully accept. Did someone who welcomed death with open arms even existed?
Yet a voice in his head, not the monster, not a hallucination, his own voice, agreed that he did deserve such a fate. A perfect end for someone nicknamed “The Butcher.”
So he closed his eyes, eyelids sticky with blood.
“It suits you!” a voice rang out in his ears.
Weird. He had a feeling he knew the owner of this voice.
He turned around and saw a guy with blondish hair, sparkling blue eyes and glasses sitting crookedly on his face, Simon felt himself smile at him.
He never saw that man in his life, but he had a sense of familiarity.
“You think so? Isn’t it a little bit tight, though?” He saw his own reflection in the mirror on the wall beside the man. He was wearing a black t-shirt with the words “I had potential.” on it. And it, in fact, did sit a little bit too tightly on him. Other than that, his hair was a little bit disheveled and his body was covered with bandages in various places. His arm was missing too, rendered to a sad looking stump. But he was clean, not even a speck of red on him.
“It’s not my fault you have more muscles than me, buddy. We will have to wait until we arrive on Erid. Apparently, Rocky said Eridians do know how to make clothes.” the man said, putting his hands up defensively.
Erid? He never heard of it. And who was Rocky?
He couldn't stand anymore, with every second his strength decreased, so he let himself fall. The blood splashed when his body hit the surface.
“Oh fudge.” Was that supposed to be a swearword? “Simon, look at me.” It was the same voice again, but a little bit shakier than before, softer, quieter.
He obeyed. His vision was blurry, his hand was trembling, and his heart was beating uncomfortably fast. It was dark around them, he could barely see the other man’s face. He tried to open his mouth to say something, but he couldn't focus on forming words with that overwhelming fear currently clouding his head.
He was slowly led to sit on something soft, a mattress maybe? A cold hand touched his cheek and he flinched. There seemed to be so little air in the room, he suddenly started dreading that there may not be enough oxygen for the two of them on the ship.
What ship?
That did not help with the panic attack.
“It’s okay. I’m here. Breathe with me.”
That he did, he tried, with some difficulty at first. After what felt like a good 5 minutes he was still a bit shaken up, but able to actually register what was happening around him, less lightheaded.
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired.” He managed to answer and took another deep breath. He was indeed sitting on a soft bed with a bunch of pillows and a patchwork blanket thrown on it. It looked cozy and inviting.
“I know. I've got you.” The man slowly gathered him into his arms.
And it felt like home.
It was something completely unfamiliar. When was the last time that he actually felt safe? At peace?
Maybe it was a cruel hallucination, or a hopeless attempt that his mind made to cope with the current situation.
The blood was in his eyes and ears, he couldn't hear anything other than waves and waves of blood flooding the submarine.
“Ryland, you have to go to bed. Now.” He said sternly, yet his irritation came from a place of worry.
“I just need to finish this. I'm not tired anyway.” Grace, Ryland Grace, he remembered now, waved his hand at him.
“Yes, you are. For fuck’s sake you were dozing off here for the last twenty minutes. You almost hit the desk with your face.”
“I—”
“Hell no, I saw that.”
“Simon right. Grace stupid. Work too much too long.” A spider-looking rock creature bumped into his leg. He wasn't even surprised by the sight, not anymore. “Grace Simon sleep. Rocky watch.”
So this was Rocky, huh.
“You heard him, Angel. You're coming with us." He never used a pet name in his whole existence before. But he liked how that endearment sounded in his voice, it tasted familiar on his tongue.
“Give me five minutes…”
“No way.”
He put his hand on Grace’s shoulder and gently coaxed him to stand up. The man immediately leaned on him in silent surrender despite his previous protests, and both of them, alongside Rocky, headed to their bedroom.
He coughed when blood pressed down his throat and nose. It was gross.
“There really were no stars?” Grace asked.
“After the Quiet Rapture, no. Every star and planet disappeared. So this,” he said, looking up at the night sky. “This is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. I didn't know the sky could even look like this.” The sight was truly marvelous.
The sky was filled with countless stars and faraway planets. He was sitting with Grace on a beach with sand clinging to their legs, and the ocean far enough for him to not feel threatened. He could marvel at the vastness of the universe and appreciate being in the present moment…away from the artificial waves. He still couldn't force himself to go into the water.
His gaze went back to Grace who probably never stopped looking at him, the smile on his face was the softest anyone ever gave him. It hurt in a loveliest and most painful way.
“The sky is beautiful, I admit.” Grace started, “But you know what's even more beautiful?”
“If you're gonna quote that cheesy romance movie we saw the other day, I'm gonna take this sand and smear it all over your face”
Grace laughed and nudged his shoulder. “Oh come on, it's a classic!”
“Classic my ass.” He smiled and casually put his hand over Grace's. Their fingers intertwined a few seconds later.
“But seriously, you look really beautiful with that awestruck look on your face.”
“I have my reasons to be in awe. I have everything I could've ever wanted” he leaned in and pressed his temple to Grace's.
“And who's cheesy now, huh?” Grace definitely wanted to be more snarky with that, but Simon could hear in his voice how close to tearing up he actually was.
Dear god, they both were so pathetic… and so, so happy.
While his body was in agony, his mind continued to chase the memories of more tender and happier reality. Maybe in a different lifetime something would play out differently, but not in this one. At least he wasn't so afraid anymore, rather, he was comforted, filled with emotions that didn't really belong to him. But the authenticity didn't matter, what mattered was that he felt the most loved in his entire life right now, in the moment of his death. Whatever angel graced him with those glimpses of memories, he was grateful.
Then everything went dark.