#* verse. dead space.

[technically-human]

Hi i'm absolutely in love with the reverse au!!

I want to know, in this verse does edwin still confesses to charles? if so how is it different? i feel if he did he would end it by apologizing, you know, religious guilt and all

There’s a train that goes through Hell.

Its journey starts in Wrath, and it departs already full of souls. It took Charles far too many years to realize that there were separate, more spacious wagons that demons could board. Not that he could understand why anyone, hellborn or not, would want to get into the damned thing. He certainly hadn’t.

Actually, Charles couldn’t recall ever boarding the train. As far as he could tell, he just appeared there one day, and had spent the next tortuous decades trying to get out. It was part of the torture. Getting out was entirely possible. More than that, it was necessary.

The train had no regular schedule that he could discern (not at first, though he had always been good at finding patterns, and was eventually able to crack it) but it would make quite a few stops before finally returning to the Wrath ring. Souls inside the train were already angry and far too close to each other (close, so close not even air could squeeze in) but when they got really violent was when the train made a stop.

Getting out didn’t mean you were free, no matter where you managed it, be it Sloth or Gluttony, Pride or Lust. No, as soon as the train finished its journey, you would appear back inside, in Wrath where you belonged, suffocating once again, getting ready to claw your way out for the millionth time.

Because if you didn’t get out, The Conductor would get you.

If he thought about it calmly, Charles could probably say that he got out of the train more times than not. Still, being caught by The Conductor once was bad enough, as there was no coal in Hell, and something had to serve as combustible. Souls could not burn to death, and the whole journey always felt longer than eternity when he was caught. Once it was over, he would be inside again, and fight with more desperation than before, not caring who stayed inside so long as it wasn’t him.

He couldn’t understand why anyone, hellborn or not, would want to get into the damned thing. He certainly hadn’t. But as the souls pushed and bit and clawed and punched their way out, Edwin boarded the train. And that wasn’t even the most groundbreaking revelation Charles had that day.

ko-fi

[chemicallywrit]

Happy Audio Drama Sunday! I was busy doing many things this week, but luckily they were the kind of things that facilitate a lot of audio drama listening. Shall we?

👹 G.O.B.L.I.N.S. is amazing. I love an office sitcom in any case, but an office sitcom with two goblins, an elf prince, and an overly enthusiastic government pencil pusher is an inspired idea. I really want this show to exist more, so if you can, consider helping them on their crowdfund!

💋 Josie’s Lonely Hearts Club this week was HILARIOUS. The presidential puns were so delightful, and I also ended the episode wanting to fight a veterinarian. Can’t wait to see where this season is going.

🌚 @hellofromthehallowoods is always so good at creating these gorgeous soft character moments, and I adore middle-aged Buck. Watching this man gracefully age into a husband and father who likes himself, who knows he is loved, is such a far cry from the poor little guy he used to be. I really don’t want him to get eaten by a vampire. Are you hearing me, Mx Wellman?

📻 Breaker Whiskey ended for now and ohhhhhhh. Oh man. I cried. The experience of listening to this story feels very early audio drama, and that’s definitely by design. Lauren Shippen let the story wander and discover itself, and we got to discover it too. Was it a flawless story? No story is, but getting to revel in the wandering just made it better. Whatever’s next for the story, I have enjoyed the ride.

🥛 The Silt Verses. That’s it. I found this episode entrancing. How’s this going to end?

🥃 Breathing Space this week was hilarious. In a rare voice acting appearance by Pacific Obadiah and some familiar voices from Melissa Lusk and Katrina Pecina as well as the ol' Breathing Space standbys, this heartfelt, witty, and above all very silly episode felt really good. I just loved it.

🐟 In Travelling Light this week, VERMI'S BACK. My favorite guy! And it seems we won't be seeing the last of this guy, either. Thank you Hero for my life. Friendship is gonna solve all the traveller's problems and I couldn't be happier.

🧟‍♀️ In Hannah News, The Dead started a new series called Turas that I really think you should check out. It’s set on a Scottish isle with Scottish Gaelic, and zombies, and sister dynamics, and it’s so good guys. Our main actors, Michelle Kelly and Bonnie Calderwood Aspinwall, are absolutely killing it, alongside an amazing cast. Please tune in, you won't regret it.

🧛🏻‍♀️ Also this week, I got the chance to hop on Re: Dracula's July Q&A for our patrons! You gotta check out our patreon, y'all, creating gothic fiction has been so much fun. We're hard at work on Carmilla while Re: Drac is having its second go-round. Join usssssss.

That's all for me this week! It's long enough as it is. See you next week!

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

no but they expect me to wake up each day and be normal about all the ways the Diaz brothers are directly paralleled to Chloe/Max. because it's everywhere, from the little things like dancing on a bed together and holding hands at the train tracks to the dead dad in the background and the sacrifice everyone to stay together scenario, like why, whyyyyyyy. why on god's festering earth would you so blatantly mirror the queer romantic couple from the first game with the sibling relationship from the second game. how the hell do you not consider how it looks. what in the fresh fuck am i supposed to do with this.

[out-of-heaven-and-hell]

I actually like Stolas and Andrealphus as a ship, but honestly if that ever happens Stella is disowning her brother so fucking hard

[captainseamech]

//looking through my TP (T/reasure P/lanet) tag until I came across this post and... I kinda wanna ramble more about it

As Captain Armstrong, he wore heavy clothing with navy blue and gold accents, as well as a hat with the same color palette. Since he lost his crew under the infamous name of Captain Armstrong, he lost his sense in adventure for years and dropped his hat.

As a crewmate and using his original name, High Tide wears more casual clothing, except for a cape that always covered his back to hide the scar he got from saving the Moon Station a few years back (another thing that would heavily tell away who he is.) And since he was well aware of people also recalling how strong he was (hence the name) he actually struggles a bit on pretending to be weak to not raise any suspicion. After all, he survived three supernovas, none would be able to do that.

He may be able to fake his strenght, but not his vast knowledge. He seafared for years and years, he knew a lot of shortcuts and where to go to avoid a meteorite shower. If he finds a crew as a crewmate, he might ask to be a navigator since map-making is something he mastered with ease.

AND THE MOST IMPORTANT THING: His accent. He had to avoid letting his accent show up, since as a captain he was presented with a thick tone in his voice. Sure it may escape a few times, but the angrier he gets, the more evident his accent will be.

[goldeneyedgirl]

Hello, I was wondering if you would ever write more about your Space au?? I am borderline obsessed and I read your snippet with the truth-telling dust and I've been thinking about it for two days. I have SO many thoughts. What happened to Maria in that verse? Would the Olympus ever encounter the Monteray and be forced to at least speak with Maria?? And what about that Sinth who killed Jasper's father and promised to come back for him? Does she ever? Is that a thing he's still worried about? Sorry but I've recently gotten into both space aus and twilight again and I'm very invested

Hi!

Yes, there are more Space-verse fics planned! I did have a one-shot for the 12 kisses meme I was attempting started but I decided it's boring and I hate it, so we're back to the drawing board for the next part.

I have a one-shot for Rose outlined because I went and made Rose more miserable in this universe but also this absolute badass? I've done a little work on Alice's origin story and why her kind are so hated. Obviously Bella's waiting in the wings for her moment to appear. And we can't have a high-stakes AU without Aro making trouble.

In Space-verse, Maria was essentially a terrorist; she has a similar history to Jasper with Synths and basically turned to extreme violence and propaganda to recruit her crew. More of this will come up in future installments but the Monterrey was caught, the crew charged, and Maria and Jasper were sentenced to prison for a time. Jasper got out on parole with hefty fines and heavily restricted options, but Maria's always plotting.

Maria will definitely run into the Olympia crew. The Monterrey is currently inaccessible to Maria, and it would be a real shame if only one member of her old crew had the unlock codes...

I'm genuinely on the fence about the Synth that murdered Jasper's father. I'm still working on the wider timeline for this 'verse, and whether her return fits into it. Jasper definitely still has nightmares about that night, but he's now a 6ft+ grown man with military training and access to some pretty intense weapons. And his not-girlfriend is professionally trained in murder, so I honestly pity anyone who thinks they can harm Jasper at this point.

I think the next installment is going to be returning to Edward's family home, and seeing the Denali crew. This is the plan right at this moment, at least.

I have nothing satisfying from that universe to share; most of it is in dot points or paragraph snippets, I'm sorry! But we persevere with Space-verse, just slowly!

[hollowflay]

She SHOVES him out of her way. Just like ON PRINCIPLE. There was literally no need she could've just said "excuse me" or tilted herself to the side. But she didn't pause for LOSERS or BURNOUTS and everything about the boy says he's one. She almost IMMEDIATELY regretted it as the icy chill when STRAIGHT up her back. EW. All the better to LEAVE.

starter for @coastercrushed

[demonstars]

i care, cuenta cuentaaa

george who's a renown pianist drops off the face of earth and goes into hiding in flowery, sunny orlando. here he "coincidentally" meets dream, an aspiring violinist whose only dream is to play a duo ... and he drags him back into the stage

[rootsandflcwers]

@onlythatwhichtheydefend’s Lowell gets a surprise starter!

————

It wasn’t supposed to be dangerous.

Or rather, it was. Jehan just didn’t believe it would be for him and his friends. After all, even if a walker did show up behind the fence, surely they could out run it! They were fast, especially for their age, and they weren’t going that far beyond the fence. They were just going to go far enough to say they had actually been outside it before and then they would come back and tell Jehan’s dad that they found a broken spot.

It would be fine!

Only, it wasn’t.

Once beyond the fence, many of the curious children, including Jehan though he only continues reluctantly and with a great deal of peer pressure. Many of them, including Jehan went so far as to lose sight of the Haven entirely.

“Uh, guys,” he says over the sounds of hushed laughter and not-so-hushed banter. “I really think we should head back now….”

“Just a little farther,” one of the older boys insists. “It’s not like we’re ever gonna get this chance again. At least not until we’re big enough to be useful out here.”

Jehan can’t help but think they’ll never get the chance to live again either if a walker or some wild animal decides to make a few scrawny little kids their lunch. He hopes the ones they left behind, the ones that turned back, were okay. He hopes they went back inside the fence instead of waiting for them.

He doesn’t know they hadn’t, not until they heard the screams anyway.

Another five minute’s walk into the trees brings the boys face-to-face with the very thing Jehan feared most, more than wild animals and the sting of uncontrolled flames - the undead. There’s three of them from what he can see at the back of the small crowd and the moment the children draw close, they stop. Dead eyes shift to stare at the kids and Jehan’s heart goes still.

“Now is definitely a good time to run,” he whispers just before the walkers turn their way, ambling towards them at almost double the speed they had before.

“Wait,” says the oldest boy. He’s a good three or four years older than Jehan and a foot taller at least, but marginally less cautious, even bordering reckless most of the time. Brown eyes widen when he pulls a gun from the back of his waist band.

Jehan opens his mouth to stop him, to tell him to just run, that the noise will bring them in droves and they are far from a camp with a broken fence, but the other is two quick.

The shot rings out. Once. Twice. Three times.

Hands fly up to cover ears, children watch with bated breath and squinted eyes. But none of the shots land and bony, decaying hands are quick to grasp the oldest boy. The gun falls from his hand, children run screaming in every direction.

For a moment, Jehan just stares, just watches as the zombies overtake the boy. In another moment, he searches for a way to help but the gun is under the walkers and there’s not even a rock he can throw nearby. In the third and final moment, he turns and runs back the way they came, hoping they had been as linear in their exploration as they thought. He’s only half-aware of the walker who stands again and moves to follow.

[someotherdog]

♥ : for a loving voicemail

♚ : for a confessing voicemail

☆ : for a drunken voicemail

♦: for an apologetic voicemail

for soapgrid!!!

♥ : ingrid didn't know why she was feeling so warm inside. no reason at all for her to be in a good mood, especially considering how awful things had been for her in recent years, but god damn it, ingrid laura sergeant woke up on the right side of the bed that morning! she thought she'd text soap, but he didn't answer the various messages she sent in a row. decidedly annoying, ingrid took her next step and actually called him, only to have to leave a message. the horror.

"heeey soapie. i know it's not very millennial of me to call you and leave a voicemail, but that's what you get for not answering my texts! i guess i don't really have anything important to say, but i was going to stop by your apartment with some starbucks and a bag of nerds gummy clusters—the berry kind, not the rainbow—but you're a loser that doesn't look at their phone, so you get nothing. just because i'm not some super tough macho military guy doesn't mean you can ignore me, y'know? i might've even splurged and taken you on a trip to target but noooo. i guess i'll have to be your sugar mama, and i mean that literally, some other day. maybe i just wanted to say thank you for letting me hang around after everything, since i'm suuuch a nice person, but you'll never know and fuck it's about to cut me of—"

shit. well, she had been rambling anyway. if that didn't get his attention, she didn't know what would.

♚ : she had her good days. she had her bad days. most of them fell into the bad category, but occasionally there was a bright blip in the darkness. a lot of those blips had to do with soap. he didn't even do much, forever a stoic man that was tall as a mountain, but sometimes it felt like he was a mountain that shielded her from things getting too dark and sometimes she wished that he would kiss her. other times, that thought made her cringe. she thought it might've been called trauma bonding or maybe it was transference, she didn't really know or care, but it felt like he was a mountain or a life raft or just fucking something. something for her to hold onto. her siblings couldn't relate to her since she got back, her parents looked at her as if she was a stranger, and all the friends she had before had moved on in ways ingrid didn't know if she would ever be able to do. it was all so stupid. she knew she shouldn't have been calling him, bothering him once again in the middle of the night. maybe that's why her call went to voicemail. perhaps soap was getting sick of her shit. she was somewhat relieved he didn't pick up.

"hey soap. i know it's very late and i call you too much. i don't really know what i wanted to say so bad that i had to call you again at four in the morning. i guess... i guess that i just wanted to thank you. it feels like my heart is missing sometimes, i don't know if you'll understand what i mean by that. but it feels like i have it back when you pick up the phone or you come get me because i haven't left my apartment in days. sometimes... soap, sometimes it feels like i love you. jesus. that was a crazy thing to say. i'm sorry. i don't know that i actually do, if that helps. yeah. shit, i'm sorry. can you pretend you never heard this? thanks. anyway... goodnight. or good morning. whatever. bye."

yeah, she was definitely relieved he didn't pick up.

☆ : ingrid had never really been a party girl. even in high school, she really only attended parties because she felt like she had to. miss teen dream, the popular nice girl that was friends with everyone and cared about her studies, but not too much or she'd be boring. as an adult, she wasn't a stranger to having a glass of wine at dinner or having a cocktail after work with some coworkers, but she hadn't tossed back shots like a college girl since she was a college girl. on that night out though, after dealing with a tough case that made her want to rip her hair out, ingrid somehow kept drinking with barely any convincing from her friends. somehow, she ended up calling soap from the back of her uber.

"ummmm, hello? soapie. how dare you not answer my call? are the fuckin' queen of england or somethi—what? no, i'm not talking to you, uber driver. i don't even know you. anyway, sooooap! will you ever tell me your fucking real name? i know your parents didn't name you after a cleaning product. i mean, i don't know much about your family or really anything about you at all, meanwhile you know, like, my social security number and how much real, actual money i spent on candy crush last summer? that's not very fair. anyway, i hope your parents didn't name you soap. this uber driver keeps giving me weird looks. i don't think he thinks soap is your true christian name either... i gotta go, i kind of feel like throwing up... anyway, learn to answer your fucking phone!"

♦ : she had been a true, honest to god mess lately. ingrid realized she had been acting erratically, but she couldn't stop herself. knowing that she was pushing people away, people that wanted to help her, made her feel sick inside. it made her feel sick inside that no one could understand why she was acting out. no one but soap. she had fucked that up too, though. soap seemed to still feel some sort of protectiveness over her. she began to resent that supposed obligation. she had spent most of her life feeling protected, the eternal damsel in distress. the love that her loved ones felt for her started to feel like a cage and ingrid finally snapped. she cussed everyone out, drank like a fish, tapped out her savings and maxed out her credit cards. no one understood. they didn't close their eyes and see what she had seen. no one but soap. the only person that could understand, and as far as ingrid knew, never wanted to speak to her again. eventually, the darkness closing all the way in, she had to reach out. even if he didn't care for her anymore.

"errr—sorry. hi. um, i didn't expect to get your voicemail. i get it, though. i wouldn't want to talk to me either. i won't take up too much of your time, if you even listen to this or maybe just delete it immediately after seeing it, but i wanted to say that i'm sorry. for all of it. i've been a terrible person for, like, an entire year now. nobody wants to deal with my bullshit anymore, which i understand, but... i don't know. it still sucks, even if i did it to myself. i think i've been going through the five stages of grief or whatever since we came back, even though no one close to me died. just like... grief over the whole situation. we never should've been out there in the first place. anyway... this is getting too long. i'm sorry, soap. let me know if you'd like to go to a movie or something someday. if not, just know i really do wish the best for you. i hope you're coping with it better than i am. military training and all that. but, um, yeah. bye, soap. thank you for saving my life, though i don't know that i deserved it."

she didn't realize she had been crying until it was over.

[zilmdat]

after playing dead space so far i think i just have 2 give bucky a verse

[godzexperiment]

Nix's head tilted to the side, studying them as continued weaving his knife and twirling it through the spaces between his fingers. "They were like this when I got here." It was true; didn't quite explain away why he was oh so casually sat by the corpse. Nor did he sound all that bothered by what he said. Casual, flat toned as stretched his legs out an bit.

[out-of-heaven-and-hell]

speaking of Stella I haven't seen your stella interact with a stolas and that's something i'd love to see on your blog someday :D

Uh Kay

[ravensroleplays]

"Okay, here's my idea..." Hatty whispered into Ames' ear.

*Ames was alone at the house, playing with her plushies. Until she wasn’t*

“I-I-I want more plushies…b-but I don’t wanna m-m-make them or anything…I-I-I wanna buy them…! B-B-But no one’s h-home…w-w-what to do about t-that…?”

@the-plushie-friendships

@the-plushie-friendships

A knock could be heard at the door then, and Hatty's voice called from outside.

"Ames, did you see my umbrella anywhere?"

[skeltnwrites]

A/N: I think this is the first time I've ever been so emotional about something I've written 😭 this hit a little too close to home for me

Summary: You help Eddie wash his hair when he can't. | 0.9k words

TW: depression, best friend!reader

“Nooo,” Eddie whines, voice muffled by blankets. “Stop– Seriously!” 

Your grip around his ankle only tightens from where you’ve fished it out of his cocoon. You tug, ripping his sock off in the process, until he’s halfway off the couch, clinging onto a cushion like his life depends on it. 

“You’re so annoying,” he slumps into a sitting position on the floor, eyes peaking out of the fold in his comforter. 

You crouch in front of your best friend. “Yes, but you love me.” 

He leans away when you peel the corner of the blanket away. He’s pale, which is typical, but it’s summer and he looks borderline vampirish with how visible his veins are. A palm brushes his bangs back to meet the knot secured to his crown. He bends away from your touch a second time. 

“Hair’s greasy,” he mumbles; a weak excuse, like you’d ever care about that. 

“I can wash it for you,” you offer seriously. 

His lips tilt into a sort of smile and his brows knit together, “What? Like in the sink?” 

“If you want?” 

He hums, “Prolly uncomfortable.” 

“Okay, in the shower then.”

A real smile this time. “If you want to see me naked just say that.” 

You punch his shoulder lightly. Normally you’d shove him hard without a second thought, and he’d probably push back equally, but it feels wrong to do so when you know he won’t put up a fight. “You can put swim trunks on.”

“I don’t feel like changing.”

“Okay, then in this.” You pinch the hem of his t-shirt sleeve. 

“That’s a little weird.”

“Since when do you care about weird?”

He shrugs half-heartedly, “I guess. If you want.” 

In the bathroom, you turn the shower knob, “Hot or cold?” 

“Warm.” He’s slumped on the toilet lid in his pajamas, having ditched the duvet in the hall. 

“Okay, here.” You whisk the curtain open fully. 

He shoots you a look that says, ‘Am I really doing this?’ before stepping into the tub. His eyes widen when you climb in right after him.

“You’re crazy,” he grins and it makes your heart leap. You’ve missed the way his eyes crinkle at the edges and his lashes kiss the tips of his cheeks when he smiles. 

“Not as crazy as you.” You hook a finger under his scrunchie, gently working it until his curls spill over his shoulders. 

He sighs, eyes drawing shut when you tilt his head back. His clothes are already soaked through, clinging to his slender frame like a second skin. He blocks most of the stream but stray droplets catch your arms where they connect with his head.  

“Have you eaten yet?” You ask, massaging shampoo through his hairline. “I could go for some takeout right about now.” 

He blinks at you. “I know what you’re doing.”

You crane his head to the side to scrub his nape, “I’m not doing anything. I’m hungry.”

You’re not looking, but you practically feel him roll his eyes. 

“So, pizza?” 

He knows you only suggest it because it’s his comfort food, but he’s too tired to argue about getting something you both want. Eddie nods into your hand. You thumb his cheek, studying him self-indulgently while his eyes are sealed again. 

You work conditioner through his dead ends, tenderly detangling, and sticking spirals of black hair on the shower wall as they are combed out. 

Silent tears mingle with the water dripping off his chin. The tremble in his breath gives him away and you acknowledge it with a wordless hug. He reciprocates, squeezing you under the warmth of the showerhead. His nose digs into your collarbone and you trace the knobs on his spine. 

This is not the first time you’ve seen him cry, or held him while he did, for that matter. You are well-versed in handling his depressive episodes. Knowing when to push and when not to pry. Knowing when to hold him and when to give him space. And most importantly knowing that most of the time he just needs someone there. Not to talk about it necessarily but to just be with him for a night so he can pretend not to feel like shit for a few hours. 

You wrap him in a towel and scour his room for fresh pajamas. There was a time when he’d have been embarrassed to let you see his room in such a state, but you’ve drilled it into his head that you love all of him, even the messier parts. 

You change out of damp clothes in his room while he does in the bathroom. A handful of his things are put away while you’re in there, but not enough for him to scold you for doing so. 

He meets you back in the living room where he sinks back into his spot in front of the TV. You dial his favorite pizza place before joining him on the couch to brush and braid his hair. He thanks you, though you don’t need it. 

With his legs thrown across your lap and half a greasy pie split between your bellies, the hum of a movie soothes you both to sleep. Outside, the world spins on, but for now, here with him, everything feels still.

[someotherdog]

she jumped back the moment his eyes snapped open, but not by much. “soap!” she cried, her voice instantly going from sorrowful and mournful to relieved and grateful. he wasn’t dead! he was near death, but he wasn’t dead. she had saved him. thank you, jesus, god, allah, zeus, thor, flying spaghetti monster, whoever the fuck was out there and listening to her teary, frenzied praying. his hand—the one he had left—grabbed her arm and she let out a keening sound without realizing. it felt like all the air squeezed out her lungs with just one touch of his hand, but she regained it all seconds later when he released his hold.

he released her, just to try and get up. her hands flew up to his shoulders, trying to hold him down. “soap—” honey was just about to be tacked on, but she caught herself. there was no time for terms of endearment, and she knew he wouldn’t appreciate the affection. “wait, stop!” she implored, uselessly trying to push him back down. she’d have better luck knocking over a brick wall with her bare hands. like before, he ignored her and tried to get up again, successfully this time. did he have nothing to say about his fucking arm being blown off? she would never understand that soldier’s mentality, how he just pushed on without dwelling on a single thing. it was baffling to her, a woman that spent most of her life reacting.

ingrid was still on the floor as the men discussed the next situation at hand. her face screwed up as gonzales stated he had dibs on one of the pods. soap threw her a look. her stomach turned. no. he didn’t even have to say it to know he was thinking it, her expression darkening as she stared at the two of them. there was no fucking way in hell she’d been through all of that with soap, just to leave him behind. didn’t he care that she dragged his ass out of an inferno after gonzales tried to stop her? didn’t he care that she needed him? did he care about her at all?

the tight smile he gave her, if it could even be classified as one, did nothing to relax her. in fact, it soured her stomach. he really meant it. he wanted to be left behind to die. how sick! the one bit of affection she received from him was the rictus he was going to wear when he fucking died, probably torn to shreds by one of those creatures or perhaps a self-inflicted gunshot wound. it was unfair. it was stupid. there had to be another way.

even as there were more bangs against the door, mere feet from her, she stayed on the ground and craned her neck to keep her angry stare on soap. it did little to deter him as the escape pods opened with a susurration behind her. soap crossed the short distance between them and lifted her off the ground like a wayward puppy picked up by their scruff. she let out a shallow yell of protest, hanging in the air for a few seconds before he placed her in the pod.

you have to go.

yes, she did. ingrid didn’t plan on staying on the ship, minutes from freedom. she just wanted soap to come along. she didn’t want to die with him, but she didn’t want to live without him, either. there had to be another way, god damn it!

“oh, screw your fucking nobility!” ingrid screamed, full of rage. she saved him just to be shoved off into space without him? in what universe did that make sense? she was being repaid poorly for saving his ass, and it just made her angrier. “don’t just fucking give up, you fucking piece of shit!” she felt like slapping soap, but there wouldn’t be a point. she was shouting into the wind. the decision had been made. “there has to be something we’re missing.“

she knew they were short on time. the banging outside the escape bay was only growing more intense, not slowing down. any creature that missed the first act was coming around for the encore. ingrid strong-armed her way out of the pod and ran towards the other side of the room, where some computer interfaces and panels were embedded into the wall. on one of the screens, she saw a camera feed that showed the hall outside. it was nearly wall-to-wall with those things. fuck.

ingrid was just delaying the inevitable, she knew that. however, that didn’t stop her. over her shoulder, she kept yelling at soap as she opened up drawers and knocked items to the ground, “i don’t fucking care, you’re not staying on this ship and that’s IT, soap! god damn it!” there was a box on the wall above her head, but she couldn’t reach it. that didn’t stop her from trying, straining on her tiptoes, her hand outstretched. her fingers only grazed it. she hadn’t stopped sobbing since they saved soap, chest heaving and tears streaming down her face.

By some divine intervention, Soap's eyes jolted open. His pupils were dilated. Somehow, breathing didn't feel natural. Air felt like smoke filling his lungs and his nose stung with every inhalation. It shot pain through the bridge of his nose and in his tear ducts. Still, he gasped for air, wildly looking around, grabbing for anything he could for a sense of where he was and what was going on. He thought he died.

A millisecond later, he realized he'd grabbed Ingrid's forearm. She was bent over him, this terrified look on her wet face. His shirt felt damp with her tears and snot. Gonzales was over her shoulder, finagling with an operating system linked to two escape pods attached to the wall. Then, all at once, it hit him: Where he was, and what was going on. Holy fuck, they made it. But there was no time to celebrate, hardly any time to feel relieved. Any remaining creatures growled weakly on the other side of the escape chamber door, still in relentless pursuit even after the explosion. And he was sure that, if there were any monsters still left on board who weren't in that corridor, he'd just alerted them all with the pellet bombs. Like ringing the dinner bell.

No time to waste.

Soap shot up, placing his palms on the ground as leverage to pull himself up—wait.

He swallowed.

Where his right arm was supposed to be, there was nothing. Just a singed end at the end of his bicep, covered just barely by the tattered sleeve of his t-shirt. Only the top sliver of his rose tattoo was left. He wanted to scream, but couldn't find the sound. Between the beeping from the operating system and the monstrous growls outside and Ingrid's sobbing right up to his face, he couldn't focus. Everything made up one nightmarish voice.

He pushed himself up once again, this time putting more weight on his left hand, and brushed past Ingrid. No time to waste.

"You're up," Gonzales quipped breathlessly, hunched over the operating system. "The emergency code they gave us doesn't work. It was never supposed to work. No one was ever supposed to escape." He typed hurriedly, trying to break the system, activate some sort of failsafe. "Anyway, we've got another problem. There's only two. And I've got dibs on one..."

Soap glanced over. The escape pods looked like metal coffins and had a small rectangular panel of glass near the face. Unopened, he could see parts of the pod through it: a breathing tube, oxygen mask, not much else. It was fit for one adult, with space for maybe a child. Even if two people could fit in the pod, that wouldn't solve the problem that they'd be shooting into the ether for God knows how long and only had enough oxygen for one person's voyage.

A sudden, but slow banging at the door snatched Soap's attention. It sounded like only one creature was outside so far. No doubt, though, others would follow.

His eyes darted to Ingrid, and by the look on his face, he hoped she knew what he was thinking. If there's only two, she had to be in one of them. No questions asked, no protests. And Soap didn't care whether Ingrid was kicking and screaming at him, he would get her to do what he wanted.

After all of this, with his life on the line and one arm gone, he was still bent on finishing his mission. Whatever it meant at this point. Before all of this, he hadn't had much left anyway. His army buddies were all dead and gone and whoever was left alive in his family didn't give a damn about him. Soap was all there was that was left, and it made sense, he thought, for him to die on this ship. Something in the pit of his stomach told him that it was all supposed to unfold this way, anyway. One way or another, he was going to die, and for some reason, life thought it appropriate to make him the last one alive. Maybe watching everyone die was supposed to teach him something important, but the revelation never came. And it never would.

Just one escape pod left. He shared one final look with Ingrid, almost like the one they'd had before they left the infirmary—but this one felt different. More final. Because he thought it'd make her feel better, he smiled. It wasn't a big smile by any means, and it could hardly be classified as a smile, but after all this time maybe Ingrid would come to appreciate it and knew exactly what it was—the way his tired mouth thinned ever so slightly and a stunted sigh left his nose.

If things went according to plan, she would go back home and tell everyone what happened. Bring some justice to every innocent person who'd died on the ship and shine light on a new alien life force that could potentially be dangerous if it ever found earth. In his head he imagined her hunched over a petri dish, watching the mutation happen to a cluster of cells just like it happened to all the passengers on this ship. And she'd be sure that nothing like this ever happened again.

But even if things didn't go according to plan or didn't have that credits-roll finish, all he'd wish for for Ingrid was her to live peacefully.

That was it. This was it.

A second later it sounded like more than one creature was banging at the door now. Their mutated and mangled faces slobbered all over the glass panel on the escape chamber door. At the same time, Soap heard a beeping—and the pair of escape pods hissed open.

"Fuck yes!" Gonzales cheered, taking off all of his gear and getting ready to board one of the pods.

Soap reached for Ingrid, intent on grabbing her and shoving her in the pod. With only one arm, she had more space to fight back, but he managed to lift her by the shirt into the pod. Her feet lined up with the markings on the ground. Two feet, for one person. He took the oxygen mask and shoved it against her chest.

There was no thank you. No goodbye. Just, "you have to go."

He turned to walk over to the operating system, big bright letters on the screen reading READY.