The ground. That’s always been the dream.
The Ark is dying - no : the ark is an endangered species in the middle of an hypothetical ice age, and its every man for himself.
Neil was sitting in an awkward angle that was supposed to give off a facade of innocence and obliviousness , but everyone knew better. He was attentive, quiet but not so because his mouth had a mind of its own. You could almost call him the more perceptive of the bunch, but that title belongs to no other than Andrew Minyard.
If there was time - God isn’t that all anyone wants? Time
- I would be able to further explain the secrets behind every single prisoner in a cell on The Ark. But they don’t
The Ark is dying , they say. Dying like Mary Hatford for exposing secrets of The Ark.
Dying like Tilda Minyard for having another child who was forced to hide under the floor for almost all his life.
Dying like -
No - we don’t have time for comparisons , For
For , analogies.
The Ark is dying , they say . And Earth is the only hope.
So in the night. Prisoner 319’s room is infiltrated by guards. He is already awake, being the light sleeper he is - counting random things in the room, making patterns in his head.
Time they don't have
So they made time- no they stole it.
They stole the Prisoners from their rooms and clasped cold trackers around their wrists to make time. Nathaniel Wesninski looked his father dopily in the eyes as he was taken away and put onto a drop ship .
You could almost call it a Time Machine.
A second chance, they called it - a chance for mankind. As if they were important - as if the death of anyone on the drop ship would cause the leaders of The Ark to lose sleep.
Time. Chances. Life . Death.
Neil Josten wasn't a fan of anything mathematical but he believed his life was turning into an intricate and impossible algorithm no one would ever be able to deconstruct - a probability.
So he closed his eyes, and dreamt. Dreamed until the sounds of the drop ship woke him. Dreamed of his father being slaughtered time and time again - dreamed of Riko Moriyama's head on a silver platter for him.
So he slept.
Like he had time.