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Do you know what it's like to be in the dark? To be scared, alienated, against everyone? To be different from others, even though they are the same as you.
Do you have any idea what it's like to hold onto the edge of a noose when the ground is slipping away from under your feet?
Maybe Grace was too naive, too trusting. Maybe he miscalculated, maybe he thought too much about those he saved, those he gave peace and hope for the future.
Maybe it's his fault?
He'd noticed people behaving strangely since the Space Shuttle landed on Earth. Right from the start. Ryland wondered if they were confused or perhaps frightened. They had every right to be. But within moments, he was overcome with euphoria! People recognized him, recognized the hero, they liked him! They even seemed to like Rocky.
Oh, sky! Sky, singing birds, gentle breeze. Oh, clouds racing across. Sunlight dissolving in the glare of glasses! Isn't this happiness? Isn't this home?
The feeling of grass...Grass between his fingers, slightly tickling his palm. It looks so much like...so much like fire. A fire engulfed head, mind, and body. Like a magma explosion that tore apart the earth's crust. He looks up at the sky again. He sees a white ceiling. Or maybe he died? Grace doesn't know.
It's cold here. It's terribly cold here, he feels his bones frosting over from the inside. It hurts, it hurts so much, but his soul, his insides, are boiling, not warming, incinerating.
He remembers the rainbow. The rainbow on Erid, the roughness of artificial waves, the crunch of small pebbles that filled the entire beach. He remembers the slightly dimmed lights, showcasing the evening. He remembers Rocky. His claws were always somewhere near Grace. They could not be separated from each other for a second. Friend, love, soul.
Why does it hurt so much? It throbs in fingertips, like needles slowly being jabbed under my nails, and it runs like an electric shock through my entire body, reaching throat and shattering into tiny pieces of broken glass. It's leaking, leaking, leaking.
One, two, three..Stop.
One, two...cut off.
Ryland's eyes are bubbling. His glasses are forgotten somewhere to the side. Maybe he broke them and rubbed the shards into his eyes? His fingers are trying to dig into his skull, his nails scratching his eyelid so hard that his eyeball is about to burst.
Grace hears someone scream, like the highest note on a church organ. The sound bounces off the walls and repeats itself, resonating with itself. Who is this? No creature he remembers could utter such a cry. It is so terribly desperate. It's so lost. And it's so tiring.
Finally, his eyes fly open, as if he'd been blind all his life and now he sees. The harsh light jars his senses, but he adjusts quickly, perhaps too quickly.
The biology of the eridian from the inside is something that has intrigued Ryland ever since he met Rocky. Over several years on Erid, he studied this structure in considerable detail, all the processes and interconnections in this amazingly beautiful, strong organism.
He vomited.
The eridian, split in two, lay on an iron table, among some devices that Grace could not distinguish.
The air smelled of ammonia.
It was Rocky.
His head began to throb so loudly, as if it were being crushed by a hydrostatic press, and his lungs were compressed to the point that breathing was not just difficult, but impossible. And yet, through this entire barrier, a sharp gasp rang out, and Ryland screamed. His throat was torn apart, as if he had a blender in place of a larynx, and his hands rushed to the body, which hadn't yet cooled. The burn quickly sizzled on Grace's skin, but he didn't feel it. He didn't know what he felt at all. His fingers were immersed in mercury.
Lord, if you exist, take him right now.
The intense heat was eating away at his skin, causing it to blister and bleed. His nails clawed at the stone surface, trying to do...something. He clenched his teeth and howled, his tears evaporating, and new ones immediately appeared behind them.
Something was pulling him back, and he wanted so badly to resist, but all his strength suddenly drained away, as if he were a rag doll and not a human being. A slight relief, like euphoria, overtook him; something was cooling his body. Drops, cold and razor-sharp, fell on the sunburned areas of his skin. It was raining outside.
Then, finally, he felt five fingers on the healthy side of his shoulder, and the adrenaline rushed to his head. Grace tore free with such force that it seemed to him that only his body had broken free, while his hands had simply separated, remaining with those who held him. Punch, punch, punch again, then grab. Don't run. Hit. The cold metal of the weapon feels like a feather in his hand.
How long has it been since Grace held something resembling a gun? He didn't know, maybe he'd never even used the thing, and it was all just some chaotic, fake memory. Well, it's gone. It's all gone. Reload, lower the bolt, pull the trigger. Bang!
Blood isn't that bad after all. Grace even liked it. Of course, if this man was still Ryland Grace now, which was highly doubtful. More likely, he had ceased to exist. Bang! Another shot. God, he can't even see who he's shooting at, but he can taste the metallic taste in his mouth: whether it was his own blood or the blood of the one whose head just exploded in a colorful fireworks display – he can't tell.
He's been lying to himself his whole life. Having an advantage over people, watching them bleed from above, is nice. It's satisfying. Licking his parched lips, a film lingering on his tongue, he looks toward the white building, which for him has something like an aura. So heavy that he can't stand on his feet.
His body carries itself back before his brain can even think about it. He runs into the lab, shooting one of the men trying to take Rocky in the head. His Rocky. Another scientist falls to his knees, raising his hands, but Grace doesn't care. Only a second separates him from his next death, moreover, he fires several bullets at this pathetic man, this coward, this slug, before throwing away the empty pistol.
He looks at the two halves of Rocky. He can fix it, he can fix it, he just needs to get it to the shuttle - and he can go to their main ship, and there, there, there will definitely be -..
His brain is melting, like everything else. He's going crazy, slowly but surely. He's once again grasping the rocky surface with his palms, and it's now acceptable for human touch.
- Come on, buddy, don't get so cold, - he laughs through his teeth, and the tears just keep flowing. As if he knows.
Of course he knows.
He turns at the sound of the siren, clicking his tongue. They've got him! Leaving Rocky's body alone, he walks to the door and grabs a fire extinguisher hidden in the corner, positioning himself so he's out of range of the bullets. As soon as the door opens, he swings the extinguisher wildly, knocking someone down. Humans appear to him as a dark blur, nothing more. A clot of something disgusting. Horrible. A new weapon! This one's more complicated. He keeps it to himself, heading back to Roky. He'll squat down, plunging hand into warm "guts". God, he's sick, he's literally lost his mind.
- Rocky, it's time to go home, my dear. Stop this, - he continues to speak like a mantra, his teeth chattering against each other, he squeezes the soft insides in his palm, as if squeezing the very soul that is escaping from him.
- Please, I beg you, I beg you, Rocky, can't you hear me? Are you selfish behave like this? Make fun of me? - He laughs raggedly, pulling his hand out. It's covered in mercury, oh well.
- Please, please, - his voice gets quieter and quieter, turning into a wheeze. Grace drops his forehead to the floor and hits, hits, hits his head on the cold tile, shaking all over until feels his ears ringing like a bell. His hand is also suffering. Not only has he peeled off all the burned skin, but he's also slashing it, trying to dig his own grave and bury himself alive.
Ryland looked up, his gaze piercing through everything. As if he were seeing through a wall. Shock lashed through him like lightning bolts, but the adrenaline drained from his face, rushing to his stomach. He was wracked with terrible pain, everywhere, physical and mental.
It felt like he was a plank of wood, with rusty nails driven into it long ago, and now they were being ripped out with a crowbar. They had taken that from him. They had taken his heart and trampled it. Why? Why? Why?
He ran his palms over his own face and looked at them. His skin, cold as a corpse's, glistened with the crimson blood of someone else. Destroy them. Destroy them, take from them what they took from you.
The throbbing fear receded, replaced by a pounding rage. It wasn't just anger, it was hatred and a thirst to incinerate, to wipe everyone off the face of the earth. It was the need for revenge that was perhaps the only human thing that Grace could now, one way or another, acknowledge in himself.
His shuttle. It housed the astrophage engine. If it were brought here and reconnected, it could initiate a reproductive chain that would cause a massive explosion. But how? He doesn't have the means to connect it, he doesn't have the means to launch it outside the shuttle.
Oh, well, actually.
Ryland got to all fours, then, with a barely functioning body, rose to his feet. His eyes never left Rocky's body.
- Just wait for me a little bit, okay, buddy? - he asked, smiling. His teeth were starting to crumble from how hard he was banging them together.
The route to the shuttle and back was short, fortunately, Grace had thought of "re-parking." He'd planned it as the best way to take off without irradiating anyone nearby. Well, now he was going to do it. Climbing into the shuttle, he felt his strength draining. Ryland saw the xenonite bracelet he'd left there, not to lose, but to wear again when he and Roki returned to Erid. Rocky gave him this bracelet for their "anniversary." Oh my god.
He vomited again, this time all over himself, and some of it landed on the control panel, but the full-throttle lever wasn't on it, so everything was fine. Grace wasn't going to connect to anything or lower the pressure. Not anymore.
He cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with his hand, wincing at the sensation of literal flesh oozing blood against his less-burned skin. With the same hand, he reached for the bracelet. Putting it on was incredibly painful, as his skin literally cramped like nylon tights. Grace frowned and pressed the xenonite to his skin, howling. It would feel like Rocky if eridian were touching him now.
Touched.
Grace glanced at the scar on her other arm, shaped like Rocky's claw. It would stay with him forever, even after death, Ryland was sure. He was sure of nothing more than that.
- Rocky, forgive me, forgive me, - he repeated like a madman in a whisper, because his throat was not capable of more, he had lost his voice. Having lifted the shuttle into the air, he felt the shots hitting its body as a slight vibration. Idiots, bastards, scum. Burn in fucking hell.
His hand grips the lever, drawing on the maximum power as Grace turns the ship toward the lab. He swallows hard before yanking it. The system locks out due to extreme stress and heat, but Ryland doesn't care. He overrides the lock and yanks again. His shuttle jerks with such speed that Ryland is pressed back into his seat, nearly biting off his tongue. The pressure is so intense that he can feel his ribs and pelvis breaking, as there's no protection from zero gravity.
- Rocky, Rocky, - he mouths before his shuttle spins sideways and he hits the dashboard, breaking his neck. Then everything turns white.
Boom!
- What makes you always wake me up so early, hm? - Grace asks, stretching.
Rocky flitted around him, gesticulating actively.
- Grace slept longer than he should again! Rocky is worried!
Grace smiles, pressing hand to Rocky xenonite suit.
- Sorry to keep you waiting, buddy.