Guy had performed his order admirably - as had Luna. How could they resist the Commander’s order - especially when those same orders were coming from hundreds of voices at once? The agricultural systems now lay abandoned and disused in the flooded growing cantons. From outside, Guy had disconnected the system and in so doing created vents from which their station would dump their sewage into the abyss. Meanwhile, Luna and Menta had scavenged the ancient partitions of their home to find the sacred relics meant to butcher living beasts, all the while suffering heavy consciousnesses. If they were to break the ancient scriptures, why had they waited so long? Why had they let such misery spread through the colony when the solution had been there in front of them all along?
She so wished Guy would raise a finger at her and point out the futility of her resistance, but he never did. In truth, he understood her pain, despite having no love for their fellow inhabitants. He could see it in her eyes when she gazed out the portholes and watched the fishermen spear the beasts of the abyss to bring them back home to fill the halls with the delicious scent of meat. Self-loathing as they were, they had partaken in the feast, themselves, or at least tried to. Though she had been welcomed with open arms by the still-conservative crowds, all now openly hated Guy; blaming him for the death of children and the elderly. He had even received the blame for Stellaris’ disappearance, but he did not let it show. He kept his chin up like he always had, safe in the knowledge that there was still one person who welcomed him whenever he returned to his room… their room.
He strode down the long, dark corridor, his belly screaming for sustenance. For a full day, he had serviced the pumps of their newly established sewage-system but made little progress. He had done it for her - to increase the power of the jets so that their increasingly rare romantic outings did not have to suffer an interruption in the form of thick, floating logs of feces. But to no avail… as he wandered down the hallway in a shamble, the smell stung his nose first of all. Shit - a thin cover of brown had been smeared on their door, nearly invisible in the dim afternoon lights. Some still supported Luna - who would touch her shoulder and promise her father’s return; who would carry food to her door whenever she did not appear in the cantina to fetch her filets.
But the numbers were dwindling in comparison to the haters who blamed her for conversing with what they saw as their enemy. In front of their door sat a pair of fried filets on a single plate - the meaning clear; that it was for her, not for him. He scoffed, grabbed the plate, and keyed the door open, stepping inside their abode to scan the well-read books. She was likely out scavving for parts, preparing for their scooter-aided journey to Sitalii - the more reasonable route of travel, however more lengthy it would be. It was clear at that point, at least to Guy, that her father would not be returning. Months overdue, none had heard a word from his ship and, although he suspected she knew, their work kept them preoccupied enough not to philosophize. Still, she would sometimes cry in the night; a cry that only grew louder as he embraced her, at least until she fell asleep again.
He set the dish down on the plate and looked to his empty bowl on the table, considering whether he should eat the bones of the fishhead laid there… but his decision stalled and he chose instead to have sleep for dinner. As soon as he finished the ritual.
He turned towards the mirror above the sink and stared at the famished, disheveled beast staring back at him. That voice at the back of his head - that presence, that sensation had become nearly irresistible at that point. Every night, every kiss, every touch to her body showed him those same images of scenery most insane. He could not tell what it was, exactly, that brought it to fruition, but it was something he had kept to himself.
In that series of images, he was standing in front of that very same mirror - clad in the blue overalls, the thermosuit, and with a spoon in his hand. Then, he would gruesomely use Luna’s kelp knife to cut his eye out; a sensation he could even feel as he did so.
He would faint, vomit, scream, and roar as he used to spoon to enucleate his orbit seemingly for no reason at all… but what was worse was what came next, when he would then push it into her sleeping form and force her to swallow it.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Months had passed and every time he looked into his eyes, he would see it with increasing clarity - that omnipresent being begging him to do it, stating that it was for his own good… for her good. She was compatible, he knew as much. Compatible for what, he did not know, but due to their kisses and their lovemaking, it had adjusted to her.
After suffering through the imagery, he turned back towards the bed, stripped to his naked flesh, and collapsed onto the narrow, padded metal with a thud. He felt the sharp jab of his shark-tooth necklace poke at his skin, turning him around to look at Luna’s crafted jewelry. He had been told that the large, triangular tooth had been dug out of his skin on the day of their meeting - that it was the most important object in her entire world. And that he should always wear it for luck. He was determined to do so.
Likewise, he had used some wiring and coils to craft one for her - an opalescent shell of an infant nautilus; an amulet nearly every inhabitant of Sitabee had envied, at least until its creator had been revealed. But like him, she always wore the polychromatic thing. She kept it close to her heart, as he did - a silent oath that, although their world might be hostile… although they might be stuck in metal far beneath the skies… their home was with one another.
For nights on end, they’d discuss dreams of the world on the surface. As soon as her father returned with a new coil, they would service the station and depart - beginning a years-long decompression procedure to depart from the hostile abyss with its toxic populace to start anew, exploring the lands once belonging to their kind. Monstrum be damned, he’d rather face them than the infernal cantina.
He fell asleep rubbing the tooth, briefly awakening as the door slid open to reveal Luna. She, like him, seemed exhausted. But the fish had already begun filling her out - giving her the feminine forms she had always wanted, though she blamed him for that. As they had gotten acquainted, her long hair had become thicker, as had her lips. With her full cheeks, he imagined there were none capable of matching her beauty - above or below the surface. Truly, she was a sight to behold, even in his half-comatose state. He was too tired to raise his hand in a greeting and sounded his welcome in the form of a grunt before passing in and out of sleep. She fed him a piece of the fish at some point - a piece that had something distinctly… wrong about it. It was bitter with a side-note of gall; the flavor of vomit. This, in turn, triggered the presence which reacted with a panic; urging him to awaken, to look at his partner.
It was dark, mid-night-cycle when his eyes shot open. His naked feet were already on the cold floor by the time he was fully awake. Something was wrong - something was horrifically, terribly wrong. The air tasted sweet, tinged with death itself. He turned to look back in the bed, where Luna had fallen asleep with a book atop her chest - atop the amulet he had given her. Her forehead was sweaty and long tendrils of vomit hung from her mouth to cover the bed. Quickly, he leaped around the bed to shake her by the shoulders, shouting: “Luna! Luna, wake up!” But no response… in fact, she hardly even breathed.
He shot over towards the panel and slapped it, screaming: “Mars! Mars - I need you! Quickly, hurry the fuck up!” It was rare for him to be so foul-mouthed, but in his panic, he had no choice but to be. He collapsed to a knee as he turned around - his mind flooding with that same series of impressions he had suffered a million times before. He could feel the cuts, the defilement on his fingers, his cheeks, and most importantly, his eyes.
He was in that moment again, staring into the mirror. This time, it was clearer than ever, as if it was truly happening. There, atop the sink stood his empty bowl. Next to it, Luna’s kelp knife glinted in the light. “It’ll save her… this is how she’s saved… she’s been poisoned - that food… it’s toxic…” His mouth moved on its own, speaking words that came from images; chaotic neurons like a seizure. All he knew was that instinct, that need to defile himself.
He willfully gripped the knife and dragged down his lower eyelid, slicing through the conjunctiva and the inferior muscles, screaming with agony. As he cut through the extraocular muscles, he could feel his blood pressure drop - how his mind slipped in and out of the vasovagal shock of pain. He vomited pieces of fish and brown bile, spilling his guts onto his naked chest. He saw them all flash before his eyes - those hateful eyes, those pointed whispers; those murderous accusations. Fueled by his rage, he powered through the inhumane, unnatural need until finally, he sunk the spoon into his orbit, severed the optic nerve, and clutched the small, writhing bulb in his hand.
Determined not to have his mind stolen away by the sweet embrace of shock again, he turned around and staggered over the floor to look at her. This gentle being, his beloved Luna - the careful girl who had saved his life and proven herself so very capable… whoever had harmed her would pay dearly. He would make sure of it. Whoever forced him to grab her cheeks and force her spasming jaws open would die for their cruelty. Whoever made him rub her larynx to make her swallow the orb would suffer pains beyond imagination… he would show them hell.