We watched as Brad launched himself head-first into the void.

The accuracy of the maneuver had been good, but he hadn't corrected his angle for the slight curve of the structure. As a result, he had missed the other end of the hall by a hair.

Ideas began to form in my head - ways I could save him. I could launch myself after him - at a faster speed - catch him, and then use the grappling guns to get back. I could use the grappling guns as the launching mechanism, catch him, and then pull us back to the space station. I could shoot the grappling gun at one of his limbs and pull him back; it would be painful, but he would be alive.

Ideas weren't actions.

I watched, hands locked to a pipe as my body floated freely between the floor and the ceiling. Just as I had before Brad had jumped, in the moments when I could have grabbed him.

On a level, I was choosing to do nothing. Out of fear for my own safety. Or the paralysis of a tough decision. Either way, I was betraying a friend.

Maybe the white shield would save him? Chunks of metal and plastic had passed through the protective film unhindered. One could reason that the shield was merely keeping gases from escaping. But Brad was valuable to our captors and it wouldn't serve to see the boy suffocate in space. Would it?

Brad's body floated through the barrier just like the rest of the space debris. Behind the film, he was semi-visible, floating away for only a moment before the entire shield began to shimmer. It flickered, becoming being more and less transparent. For a fraction of a second it was solid, blazing with an intense white glow, before returning to its original state.

Following this spectacle, I could no longer see Brad on the other side.

Addy was gawking, peeking his head around the corner of his section of the hallway. Craning his neck around the torn apart section of wall that extended into open space. In response to watching Brad kill himself, he said, "Wow."

'Wow.'

I noticed my head shaking back and forth slowly. How long had I been doing that?

"He's... probably fine," I stated. The air was thin, and required constant and exaggerated breathing, "I'm 85% sure."

"Really? I'm... 70.5% certain that our boy is fucked."

There were two things I could say to that. For the sake of not sounding like a dick, I chose one, "Is that... based off of what you expect to be true..., or what you want to be true?"

Ouch. No, I had delivered that wrong. I didn't mean...

"Hm," he considered, recklessly taking a hand off of the wall to scratch his chin, "Yeah, you caught me. It's... not that I want Brad to have... just killed himself in the dumbest way imaginable. But I was... adjusting my numbers... for the sake of comedy... Good catch."

I nodded, appreciative of his honesty.

Brad was gone. Out of the game. Probably okay. What did that mean for the rest of us? If I dove into outer space, would someone catch me and whisk me away to a safer place?

We're reasonably certain that Brad is fine. Can I hedge my own life against those odds?

No.

I couldn't.

A 15% percent chance of death - by my own estimate, given prior experiences, observations, and assumptions - was still far more than I was comfortable with. I could jump into the void and most likely be rescued and taken somewhere else. But I would never take that chance.

I regained my focus, remembering my task list. Medical supplies, a battery or generator, and a device that could send an SOS. I recited the list to Addy, taking a break to breathe between each item.

"Yeah, I... got it," Addy said, "What about... food... water?"

"We... can focus on that... later,"

"What? I... dunno man... I'm feeling... peckish as hell."

"I'll keep an... eye out... kay?"

"...Kay-kay," Addy said, before turning and propelling himself through the doorway to the main hub. I did much the same, in the opposite direction.

Gotta keep moving. Objectives, progress, survival.

The first room I floated past was the one containing the burst pipes. Behind a curtain of dust and floating water droplets, I could see that the leak had stopped. The water was either gone, had evaporated from the explosion, or could no longer travel to this room due to missing infrastructure.

No matter the case, Brad had finally fixed the leak. All it had taken was minimal effort, poor judgment, and the functional destruction of our vessel.

I wasn't sure how I felt that. It didn't enrage me like it had the others. But I wasn't happy about it either. Blowing up the space station was an easily avoidable mistake. Wasn't it? If I could capture my feelings in a word, I might choose... disappointment.

I was disappointed with myself just as much as I was Brad. I could have sent myself in Brad's place on three different occasions to fix the pipes. Instead, I had continuously sent him to complete a job he knew nothing about. He might have been more effective in doing other things. Hell, the jobs I had been working on were more intuitive.

Tunnel vision. It was too damn easy for me to get wrapped up in a task or a role. Often it meant casting other important tasks and considerations to the wayside. For all my talk of rationality and higher thinking, I was critically flawed when it came to seeing the bigger picture. Constantly, I found myself assuming that all of my plans would run smoothly, checking each box along the way, and I needed to not do that.

I floated a few body-lengths down the hall and arrived at the next room.

The explosion had ripped through most of this room, carving a diagonal tunnel through the floor and ceiling. All that remained were a few colorful plastic slabs strewn across the floor and half of a neon yellow chair.

I hugged the wall, making my way through the room to a doorway on the opposite side.

I entered a kitchen, with black tile flooring and backsplash, accented by the occasional white tile. The wall to my left had been warped by the explosion, the metal sheets bent, crumpled, and drooping. Dust floated through holes in the walls and floor.

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It was hard to make out the finer details. The only source of light was the glow from the sun, seeping through the various holes. Like being in a dark box with tiny holes for light and air, only the air was escaping and making it harder to breathe.

The sink was intact, as were the packaged meals stacked across two walls of countertops.

Food. Addy would be happy. I was indifferent. Food wasn't important right now.

All at once, the world shifted. The kitchen began to rotate in a downwards slant, with me as its axis. My vision blurred. I grabbed my head with both hands and shut my eyes for a few seconds, slowing my breathing.

The kitchen wasn't actually spinning, nor was my body.

Dizzy from lack of air.

After taking a short moment for myself, I forged on, propelling myself to the door to my right. Unlike the rest of the doors in the station, this one hadn't slid open automatically when we lost power. Seeing no handle or knob, I pressed a hand against it and pushed. It didn't budge until I threw my entire body against it.

Air ripped past me, rushing out of the room and buffeting my bare chest. A fraction of the torrent found its way into my lungs. Relief filled my oxygen-deprived frame, and a pleasant pressure nagged at the back of my head. It was a relief that tickled the brain, making it feel fuzzy.

Wow. Okay, I'm adding oxygen tanks to the list of priorities.

Because of the explosion, the oxygen within the space station had been stretched to fill the protective bubble surrounding it. As a result, the air was thinner, and it had been taking a toll on me. It felt good to breathe the pure air again, even if it was stale from being trapped in a pantry for so long.

The relief receded with each passing breath, as I returned to breathing the diluted air. Each subsequent breath was a fraction less satisfying.

Medical supplies, generator, communication device, oxygen tanks.

I needed to make progress on my list.

The pantry was lined with metal shelves which contained delicacies like chocolate bars and wine bottles. Fumbling around the near-pitch room, I couldn't find anything on my list.

I floated back into the kitchen, and then grabbed the corner of the doorway to stop myself.

No. You're doing it again. Take a break to take care of yourself. At the very least, drink some water.

I really didn't want to. It didn't seem necessary or important.

I forced myself towards the sink and turned it on. A single bubble of water expanded from the faucet, the size of a golf ball. It floated downwards and splatted against the stainless steel basin.

Nothing else came out.

I glided back over to the pantry. I remembered finding a clear plastic bottle on one of the shelves, and I rummaged through the items until I found it again. Another dizzy spell sent me reeling, and I eagerly unscrewed the metal cap.

Water flowed from the bottle, even though I held it in an upright position. I had to remind myself that 'upright positions' no longer existed in zero-gravity. There were start points and end points. The bottle was the start point and my lips were the destination. Desperate to not waste any of the precious resource, I brought the two points together and let the fluid flow into my throat.

I reacted violently, spluttering and letting go of the bottle. With fire in my throat, I summoned most of the air from my lungs in an effort to push the beverage out of my mouth. Some of the bubbles that emerged from my mouth traveled upwards, stinging my face and eyes. I shut my eyelids and shook my head back and forth, like a dog trying to dry itself.

It was no use. The beverage was flowing out of the bottle and accumulating in a dangerous blob. Flying blind, I reached for something and pulled, launching myself out of the pantry and away from the expanding mass of bubbles.

Not water. Vodka.

My shoulder crashed into the crumpled wall at the opposite end of the kitchen, scraping and bruising my skin. I coughed and coughed, rubbing at my eyes furiously with both forearms. It helped marginally, but there was alcohol on my arms. It was all over me. The dark room spun around me, partially from my gyrating body - which I was no longer bothering to pilot - and also from the maddening dizziness.

Shit-fuck-damnit, no! Get a grip!

As I turned and spiraled, I could see the blob of floating alcohol getting closer, illuminated by points of white light.

I actually didn't mind vodka, and I was in desperate need of a drink. But not like this.

I kicked out and drove a heel into the ground, slowing my momentum to a stop. I half-stood, half-floated in the middle of the kitchen, two meters from the open door of the pantry where the alcohol blob loomed.

When I swiveled my head to look for the other door - the exit - my vision swam in a sickening way. The vodka was already gaining traction, taking advantage of my weakened and deprived state. I slowed the movement of my head as it turned. I would have to keep things smooth and delicate as I progressed. I definitely didn't want to throw up in zero-g.

As I searched the dark room, my roving eyes caught sight of something. Tucked behind a twisted section of the bent-up wall was an item from my list. A portable generator.

In the kitchen?

It didn't matter. I pushed off with my toes, sending my body towards the shiny device.

When I reached it, I happened upon a complication. The metal of the wall was twisted around the machine in a way that would make it impossible to pull free.

Fortunately, I was close to a corner of the room. I positioned myself so that my shoes were on the twist of metal, while my hands were pressed against the less-battered wall. In a feat of strength, I attempted to straighten my body, pushing at the bent metal while also pushing away from the wall. The crumpled metal barely moved a centimeter.

I tried again but was less successful.

It took a third try before I realized I wasn't breathing. The light-headed dizziness was intensifying, and the room seemed darker.

I took in a huge waft of air, then another, and prepared for a fourth go. This time, when I pushed out, I poured all of my strength into it, forcing my bent arms to become straight. I felt the metal at my feet beginning to bend in the opposite direction, and I used that as fuel to push harder. It continued to give way, centimeter after centimeter, scraping audibly against the floor. Freeing the generator. When I thought I might have liberated the device, I let go of the wall.

I floated towards the generator and the curl of metal. The light was fading continuously now, as were the distant sounds of debris colliding with each other below the space station. My willpower was receding, coaxing me into a drowsy state.

I need to rest...

No. I had tasks to complete. A list of items to collect. Addy needed medical attention.

Can't. I fucked up. Pushed myself to the max. My body spun lazily through the air, falling away from the generator.

No! My hands scrabbled for a surface and reeled me in, back towards my prize. My muscles felt weak from the effort.

Shouldn't have exhausted myself, I remarked, reaching for the handle of the portable generator.

Damnable tunnel vision. Need sleep...

I picked up an empty bucket.

This isn't a... generator...

♥

Fainting was strange.

Unlike falling asleep, fainting was an experience with no build-up. No time spent lying down and drifting into a relaxed state. Fainting was sudden. A short blip of blackness before reawakening.

The moment of blackness seemed to last a second. Near-instantaneous.

I awoke, reflexively heaving in a breath. A thousand bitter grains were sucked into my mouth, and I immediately coughed them back out. Then, to get away from the grains, I rolled onto my back, scraping the sand from my tongue. A torturously bright light forced my eyes shut.

Nearby, I heard the sizzling of water, followed by the smack of a wave against the shore. Wind rustled my clothes. I wore a new shirt. Gravity had returned.

Instinct told me to get up and look around. I was on a beach... maybe. I needed to know. Assess.

I hesitated and remembered Brad after the explosion, lying on the floor while the rest of us hustled to aid Addy. Chest rising and falling, taking a moment to rest, processing. At the time, I couldn't understand how he was able to remain inactive, even in a crisis. The decision to do nothing seemed counterintuitive.

I was starting to understand the significance of that inactivity.

Breathe. Relax. Process.

I took the warm beach air into my mouth, my first proper breath since the explosion. Maybe my first proper breath since finding the challenge cards. It felt good. It rejuvenated.

This is the path to conquering tunnel vision, I realized.

Then I sighed. Found myself appreciating the ocean sounds nearby. Wondering again where I had ended up.

That mystery could wait for just a moment longer. I couldn't keep beating myself up for the sake of progress. Running my health into the ground. Taking care of myself had to become a part of my processes.

I continued to breathe. It felt genuinely great, in a way that granted me another revelation. Caused me to amend my thoughts.

No. Not since finding the challenge cards.

Maybe my first proper breath ever.