Chapter 81: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 3

Ryan took so long that Sylvester thought he had changed his mind. If that were the case, he couldn’t blame him. They were here to distract themselves from the worst possible situation, one they couldn’t do anything about.

Talking about minor, yet more personal tragedies, problems they had overcome or struggled to overcome every day, wasn’t a terrible way to do it.

But it wasn’t the best either.

It was just more misery, in the end. That they had managed to overcome things in the past, that they were fighters, survivors...

What did that mean when they now had nothing left to fight?

But Ryan hadn’t changed his mind.

“I’ve never had parents. My only family was always my little sister, Taylor.”

The fact that he was an orphan caught Sylvester by surprise, but he had never known that Ryan had a little sister to begin with. After all, they hadn’t done that deep of a background check before forcefully recruiting him.

But then again, to be fair, orphans disappeared every day. They were especially vulnerable.

No one was there for them, and the world was ready to swallow them up.

Taylor probably no longer existed in this world. He now understood Ryan’s strong reaction when he found out exactly what he was participating in, what he was allowing.

It wasn’t that he was an especially kind person, but rather that it had been a personal matter.

I didn’t know. I didn’t know.

How many kids like Taylor, like he had been at one point, had he sent to their doom? Naturally, he had reacted as if it were all a nightmare. He had broken down.

It said a lot, and proved Sylvester was right, that he had learned this so late.

More curiously, it seemed that even Cynthia hadn’t known.

That… he supposed that didn’t bother him. He had started to feel like a fifth wheel. A stranger, an intruder, almost. But Cynthia and Ryan hadn’t grown as close as he had been under the impression they had.

The distance between the three of them wasn’t that different, after all.

“We were adopted,” Ryan continued, “but we couldn’t call those people parents either. They didn’t deserve it. We found out very soon.

“They didn’t want children, they wanted slaves. Just working at home, not even going to school. And if it had only been physical labor, I would’ve endured it. But...”

Ryan paused, gathering courage, taking a deep breath.

Sylvester already knew what he was going to say. Anyone would, he had said enough, and he had a little sister, after all. He just hoped it wasn’t as horrible as he imagined, that he had been able to prevent the worst from happening.

“One day I caught that man trying to force himself on my sister. It was the first time I killed someone. I beat him to death. I killed him without really intending to, believe it or not. It’s not like I was filled with rage and lost control, I was just scared. That if I stopped hitting him, he’d beat me up. And continue doing what he was about to do. That’s why I killed him. Fear, not rage.”

He had every right to feel both.

A person like that wasn’t even human. He deserved to die in the most horrible way possible. Sylvester wished that man had faced a more conventional form of justice, but only because of what surely would’ve awaited him in prison.

Even the worst criminals had standards and a shred of decency.

“Since then, we spent our lives running from the authorities. From one place to another, always. I went from one terrible job to the next. I didn’t give her a good life.”

Ah.

Confirmed, then. Taylor was dead. Sylvester reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, squeezing. He didn’t know what else to do or say.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Cynthia said.

“Huh? I lost her, indeed, but she’s alive. She just doesn’t want anything to do with life.”

A sad smile.

Of course, any sibling would say that was better than the alternative. But it was still painful.

She wasn’t dead, but she preferred not to see him.

In a practical sense, it wasn’t very different. It still meant that it was unlikely they’d ever see each other again. Although, of course, as long as she was alive, there was still hope that one day that might change.

“Oof. That’s worse,” Cynthia said.

Ryan nodded.

“And you?”

“Is it my turn now? I wouldn’t mind, but you both already know nothing special has happened in my life.” Cynthia downed her glass in one gulp. “The only thing that counts as trauma is the stuff you already know, all the shit this job exposes us to. I joined simply because I thought someone had to do it. I felt it was my responsibility. That if everyone thought, ‘enough, let someone else sacrifice themselves for you,’ there’d be no one to do what needs to be done.”

Cynthia shrugged.

“Like I said, I’m normal. It’s boring as hell, and you already knew it.”

“That’s not very normal,” Ryan said. “Most people need a reason to sacrifice themselves for others. Money, love, personal satisfaction. Whatever. Few people are truly selfless. Human relationships are a transaction. Even in a spiritual sense, praying and following my beliefs gives me security and makes me feel like a normal person. I don’t do it because I should. I do it for myself.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“I didn’t expect you to have such a cynical view,” Sylvester said.

“Cynical? No, don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I think there’s anything wrong with it. If your path in life or the people around you don’t bring you anything, it’s natural to move away. Someone who destroys themselves purely for the benefit of others must be a saint or someone without a sense of self.”

Was there any difference?

It didn’t sound terrible to be a pure martyr, it wasn’t that different from his dream of being this world’s hero, but Sylvester had been driven by his selfishness and need for attention.

Someone who truly lived only for others, willing to lose everything...

A person like that couldn’t be in their right mind. It wasn’t something to aspire to as a human being.

“I guess you’re calling me a saint, then.”

“Well, you’re the closest thing to a saint I’ve ever known.”

Cynthia laughed and punched him on the shoulder. She probably meant it as a pat, but it was more of a punch. Ryan winced, but ended up laughing too.

Now that they had finished sharing their traumas, making a final attempt to bond at the end of the world, they could move on to more pleasant topics.

Silliness. The kind of things you forgot the moment they left your mouth. Anyway, insignificant chatter. Everything was insignificant, so what was the harm? You could say they had no time to waste, that they should make the most of it somehow, but on the other hand... they had already run out of time.

After all, what really mattered were the little things he had been too busy to focus on all his life.

It was a shame it had taken him so long to realize it, but better late than never.

After about two hours, he heard a soft landing. Christina and Ryan didn’t even notice, but he heard it instantly. And he knew it was Heather. He watched her enter the bar. Her face lit up just like his did when he saw her.

Seeing that always made him feel like a lovestruck schoolboy. It seemed almost impossible to him that someone could care so much for him, just like that. Especially since he had never given her anything. Well, very little, mostly suffering. And yet...

“I was starting to get worried. You were taking too long.”

Heather shrugged, approached, greeted Violet and Cynthia, and then sat beside him.

“I wasn’t wearing a watch.”

“Is that really all?”

“Yes. I lost track of time. What else could it have been?”

Sylvester looked into her eyes and decided he didn’t care. Whatever had happened, Heather was intact and alive. So, even if he had reason to suspect, it couldn’t have been that bad.

He wondered what kind of thoughts had gone through her mind as she watched that being devour cities, erasing everything from reality, leaving only voids in space. Acting as if nothing had ever existed there.

For her, who hadn’t been able to enjoy a single year of life, who was a different kind of being, what had she been thinking as she watched that dreadful spectacle? In any case, like any of them, she needed time alone with her thoughts. It was probably just that. A way to process it by seeing it with her own eyes. The inevitable end.

When someone died, at least memories remained in the hearts of their loved ones. But that being wouldn’t even allow that.

No trace. It wouldn’t be a death, but as if they had never lived in the first place.

“You know,” Ryan suddenly said. “We were sharing traumas earlier, you know, the kind of things you have to talk about when you’re trying not to get depressed.”

“Really?”

“No. Just kidding. The point is… do you have anything to share?”

Heather thought for a moment.

Then she shrugged.

“My birth, but you were all there.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. That’s true.”

He didn't leave much room for conversation, but Heather didn't seem particularly interested in continuing it. After all, she was perfect just as she was. To him. And that was all that mattered. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. With her head resting on his chest, she closed her eyes, completely at peace.

She was home.

They were.

——

At some point, the party had to end. They left the bar they had stormed into and started back to the base, more or less satisfied with how the trip had turned out. Or at least, he was.

The invisible pressure in his chest had vanished for the moment. It would inevitably return because nothing had changed or been fixed. But if he couldn't be happy with a temporary relief, what could he be happy with?

Every human being lived on borrowed time. Well, that had always been true at any point in history, but now more than ever. The ticking of the clock. It was as if the beats of his heart marked the rhythm of the countdown to the end of the world.

But it also meant he was alive.

Simply existing was something to be grateful for and happy about.

There was never any need to become someone special. To seek admiration and devotion that could easily be mistaken for love by the desperate. It was late to realize these things, but better late than never.

Violet and he could fly, but the four of them stayed together and traveled back to the base in the vehicle that had brought them here. Ryan's car.

Nothing they could see through the windows was a pleasant sight.

Currently, the city was as far from a walking disaster as one could be without going to another planet. But that didn't change anything. No one in the world was sane. It was impossible to stay sane when facing the inevitable end. Humans weren't designed to think about death.

Sylvester believed that's why religion existed in the first place.

It was nothing more than an escape route.

They all spoke of a world beyond the valley of tears.

Of course, it wasn't the only escape route. Fame and glory. Family. A legacy. In any case, life was a constant struggle to escape death, and now no one could run away.

Screams and cries filled the air.

They saw a group of people violently breaking into a supermarket. Stealing. They didn't bother to stop them, and no one came to stop them either.

As long as they didn't harm others, it didn't matter anymore. That had been the government's unanimous decision. The forces of order would only intervene if things got really out of hand. Money had no meaning. There was nothing that could be saved on this earth, not even human lives, but something had to be done. They couldn't let human beings kill each other before that being could do it. In any case, everything was truly dreadful.

He didn't want to look, but he couldn't look away either.

After all, he felt responsible.

Only death could free him from that feeling of guilt and responsibility, but there were still some things he could fix before the inevitable happened. Sylvester, accompanied by his team, gathered the visitors from other worlds in that room to tell them what he knew the government never would. Accustomed to consequences not affecting them, the powerful still clung to hope and believed they needed all the help they could get.

There was no way they were going to get rid of assets as valuable as Jonathan and the others, but they didn’t have to die with this planet.

It wasn’t even their world, and there was a door.

Sylvester placed a hand on the device.

"This device can take you back home, opening a portal between dimensions. Yes, I should have informed you much earlier. I’m sorry."

He had been too busy processing it all, assimilating it as much as possible. And, of course, crying over what could have been. But that was no excuse. It wasn't like it required a long explanation.

He should have done this the day they arrived at the base.

None of the four seemed happy, though probably for different reasons.

"We don’t want to go home," said Caim. "We only have each other. We’re happy to be in a world where no one knows us."

"Any other habitable world, then. I can’t promise it will be very safe, that things will go well for you there, but…"

Caim nodded.

"If it’s habitable, we’ll manage."

Jonathan clicked his tongue.

"Why didn’t you say this before? Any of you?"

"It’s no excuse," said Cynthia, "but we had other things to think about, and there was time."

"I’m not talking about running away with our tails between our legs, I’m not planning on giving up! I’m talking about a counterattack."

"I’m listening," said Heather.

Interested, too interested. He knew instantly that she had been planning to do something, even if it was a suicide mission. So now that Jonathan seemed to have a real plan, she couldn’t resist.

"It’s very simple. I said it’s an impossible battle because that being is not in our reality, not entirely. With this machine, maybe we can open a portal to its real body, its core. We have a chance to win this."

Caim stepped forward.

"I’ll fight if I have to."

"Caim…" One of them said. He had forgotten their names, to be honest.

"Why not? We already know we can… that I can fit in here, so why leave it to chance in another world?"

He wasn’t the only one willing. Ryan, Cynthia, even Heather.

The will to live, to fight.

It wasn’t much, but a plan is a plan. It only takes a spark to ignite the flame of hope.

The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 3: END