Nxva ✨️🌌

The first time you spot him, it's an accident.

You hadn't meant to, really. Hadn't meant to get hung up on that one single guy in the background that barely seemed to fit in. You blamed it on the loops at first - the cycle was slowly starting to break you, of that you were more than sure. It was almost too obvious. Had to be, with how your own train of thought seemed to escape you more and more, how strange your dreams were (if they happened at all), how strange your thoughts were (jumping around your head like skittish rabbits - each painted with a different emotion that changed out seemingly as if by an unseen force, playing with your strength). How long has it been? When you drag your face down in the mirror, you look as if you haven't aged a day, but in other loops you look as if you'd aged half a dozen. Or more. Or less. Who could tell anything anymore? This is hell. It must be. Or purgatory, or some sort of punishment or simulation - you're beginning to wonder if you ever got on that ship at all. On the Invincible. If only you were of the same name as that blasted ship. If only you were any stronger. Your mind was crumbling, slowly but surely with every step - every task Engineer assigned you with, every other version of him you met, every attempt you made at fixing the warp core... what were you doing here? What is your purpose? It was all beginning to become way too muddled, way too indecipherable - like pushing more stuffing in an already blown up teddy bear. Like blowing up a balloon, not expecting it to pop. How many tasks before you break? How many attempts before you escape? Do you even remember your last one?

And then you began seeing... him... everywhere.

Sometimes it was in the background, as part of the crew - sometimes, he was one of the people handing you stuff, someone effortlessly ignored, someone whose face is meant to be forgotten - sometimes, he was one of the 'bad guys' - sometimes, he was an alien (Though, even though he spoke in a different language, he was the same. The same human you'd seen in every other loop.) capturing you - sometimes, he was a receptionist - in the end, always there. But he was different - when everyone was clean, he was filthy, covered in blood. When everyone was smiling and okay, he was the only one covered in bruises and scars. You'd ignored it in the beginning - after all, even if you were in a universe where everything was different all the time (Or could you call it a universe anymore? More like a cluster of universes. More like a gathering of events. Whatever. It didn't matter.), nobody else really noticed. When you'd point it out when he was out of eyesight, they looked at you weirdly. You! Weirdly! Like they weren't amalgamations that kept repeating themselves. 'What are you talking about, Captain?' 'You doing okay, Captain?'

No. You weren't doing okay. You thought you'd been obvious enough about that.

Even Engineer. It was as if nobody could see him - a ghost amongst men, a lower entity, or so high of one that he passed through people like sand did through a closed fist - insistently, constantly, regardlessly.

And he kept showing up.

That's what really got you, you think. The consistency of it. Nothing's really consistent no matter where you go, except, well... except you and Engineer. And even then, you regard solemnly, Engineer was so common to you that he too, made himself invisible. It's like he wanted to be. Like he wanted you to ignore him with his insistence that slowly melted into background chatter, and yet kept grabbing at your attention like a starved puppy. A hand to your shoulder with a 'Come on, Captain!' tugging you away from the stranger only you could see, tugging at your sleeve with a 'Hey, Captain, need your eyes on this.' whenever you zoned out too long. But could you help it? It's like you were being stalked by a person who didn't even know they were stalking you, and who stood out like a sore thumb, too. Like a ghost of Christmas past - a life you'd never lived through fully. A demon. An angel. An alien. Human. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

Nothing but him, or at least so you think.

A curtain of dark hair crossing over his eyes - eyes that seem as if they'd spent centuries looking over the same documents, with hands that dread touching them. Skin soft-looking but greasy with sweat; a prominent wrinkle in between his eyebrows from furrowing them too much; lips dry and crackled even when he was drinking something. White scars across his face as if he was struck by lightning and survived. (Sometimes they flashed into something more sinister - something red, and wet, and pulsating, and so very alive, growing out of him but clearly not a part of him. Then it would fade away just as easily - one milisecond in, out the other.) A distaste for life in his so lifelike eyes, a confusion intertwining with his fingers that operated even he seemed like he barely knew what he was doing, but ended up with a flawless product in record time regardless. A script- perfection, nothing less. But oh, he was broken into pieces and rearranged differently each time. They were still the same pieces, though. Still the same man.

You couldn't help but admire him. He'd show up so frequently, after all - as unreachable to you as he was. How long had it been, you ask again, since you'd spoken to anyone except Engineer? How long has it been since you'd seen another breathing, living person? (Someone who jumped out. Someone who clearly didn't belong, like how you didn't - despite the world you're in making place for you, coddling you and pulling you in like a butterfly stuck in a spider's web, unaware of another, similar butterfly only inches away, in the same kind of danger.) How long since you'd had someone consistently? There's a divide in it - a risk you seem unwiling to take. If he were a consistency, a background asset, would it make him more unlikely to appear the next loop if you talked to him? If you decided he was important? If there is anyone overlooking your actions, or deciding what's best for you in the scenario you exist in. You decide there must be, if this is hell. If this is heaven. If this is punishment. Maybe you're losing your mind. It wouldn't surprise you. But also - what if he ignores you, like everyone else ignores him? What if he actually is a hallucination fabricated by you, what if he - goodness forbid - dissapears as soon as you catch his eye earnestly? You couldn't live with that. (But then again, living with not being able to talk to him was torture too.)

Engineer was fine, a good companion, a decent worker - but in the end, it was him who pushed himself to be a drone to you. Titles be damned - you're in a space-breaking timeloop, for goodness' sake! Just two people trying to survive. But he kept pushing it, so you eventually ran dry of your willingness to care. You're so tired. You're so tired. This is torture. You're so, so tired. You designate yourself as the secondary driver, ready to let Engineer lead you wherever you needed to go.

But that man - that elusive marble statue in a garden full of identical hedges - he's your salvation, even if he doesn't know it. He's yours to look at. Your untouchable Helen of Troy. A prize to be won. Proof that you're not alone, that you're persisting still. A diamond in the rough.

You don't approach him. You can't risk it. You'd been through so much - you can't even let yourself hope. To hope is to allow yourself to be brought down, and oh, you'd hoped. You'd hoped so little. You'd hoped so much.

There is no exit out of this hell. That is the truth.

You swear it isn't your fault, when he comes to you.

He's replacing Engineer in this loop - a different version of Mack, in a black pair of overalls instead of beige - with his blood red beret stuffed in his back pocket, as if he's rebelling against it - but sure enough, it's the Head Engineer uniform he's wearing. As you step slowly out of the cryopod, you see it fully - how it wraps around him, covering his arms that are usually on display, hair tied back enough to see his face which is usually half-hidden from view, but it's still him- still your hope. (Don't say that.) When he raises your gaze to see you, actually see you!, his eyes are depths of a pool unknown, a stern microsystem of life that seems to almost leak out of him. A kind of pain Engineer had not yet known prior to this, oh but you have. Even Engineer forgets some things. You don't. You never forget anything. That is your burden. That is your cross to bear.

And he seems to have a cross of his own. Something you can't even begin to imagine - and that, awfully enough, excites you terribly.

"Captain.", he greets gruffly, a stoic, steely, cold expression on his face. He seems more entranced by the notes in front of him than your stature, as if you're just another routine check for him to go over, and though he shouldn't be (A Head Engineer always follows their Captain intently, after all.), that makes you all the more happier. He isn't following the script. He's jumping out. Again, and again, and again, and oh, how wonderful it is to see someone real, even if they don't give a damn about you. (Plus, it's easier to hide your growing smile at his presence when he isn't intentionally looking at you.) "The ship seems to be in okay shape. Nothing's broken, anyways." The stranger's muttering through his teeth, the cap of his pen caught between them as he hurriedly scribbles something down, checking the side of your cryopod where the details of its insides are splayed out. Vitals, perhaps? That's one of the checks Celci usually does, anyways. Why isn't she here? He's supposed to- Engineer, is supposed to greet you, or whoever takes his place is just meant to greet you. There should be no external value other than sentimental. So why is he...

You're watching him like he's something you'd never seen before, mind reasoning with itself to just quit staring, but your eyes relentless in their pursuit. When his eyes dart over you, there's just a tinge of confusion there before it melts off into mellow indifference. Just doing his job, you guess. And what a job it is. Not that it matters. Readjusting himself so he leans more onto his right leg than his left, he unrolls his sleeve just a bit, revealing a titanium-plated digital clock perched on his wristband, connected to the ship's motherboard. All crew members have one. "The timing of your awakening is twenty minutes past expected, but-" He relaxes again, the half-raised arm plucking the cap from his lips and closing the pen in his hand, facing his clipboard, "- we'll let HQ deal with that. Shouldn't be an issue."

(When you blink, he's there again - blood hanging off the strands of his hair, coating his overalls, splattered against his hands like the remains of stars - bones jutting out of his skull, extra teeth lined across his cheek, a redness throbbing behind the iris of his eye- You blink again. It's gone. He's back to normal, his serious and barely bothered self, scribbling something on the notepad. What... is he?)

"What's your name?", you can't help but ask, the words leaving your lips before you can even realize you'd said them. A barely there whisper. (A shred of disallowed hope.) The muscles of his forehead constrict as he ponders on your question, as if this is something you either should know or something that's so ridiculous he doesn't know why you'd be asking it. Maybe both. It wouldn't be your first time. "I- Captain, you know me." His voice seems almost distant, almost unattainable, breathy and disbelieving, but still playing the part. C'mon. Don't pretend anymore. "What's your name?", you insist, and his frown deepends - a mild streak of worry that's so uncharacteristic of him. Well, from what you'd seen, anyways. You can't help that your mind screams 'Alien!', as hypocritical as it may be - you don't belong here either, but him- He is different. A kind of wrong that seems uncanny, seems to be deeper than just 'Go back to where you came from'. As if he doesn't have anywhere to go back to. "Are you okay? I know cryosleep can cause memory issues-", he writes something down without even looking at it after he opens his pen up again hurriedly as he talks (mostly perplexed, barely worried), "I can have the medics come take a look at you, if you'd like. No. I-" But he seems confused, too. Like he's thinking hard about what you're saying, but can't really remember. Or he doesn't want to, which is also possible. This is new. This is a new reaction. You have to push this- you have to pursue this- you precious consistency be damned. "I really should ask them to check you over either way. You don't seem... yourself."

His voice is deeper. He's taller than Engineer- not by enough to display as extremely noticeable, but taller none the less. Similar face, similar build - but different. A different personality, a different person. At least Mack had the decency to try and personify as much of Engineer as he could, try to pretend to be him. This guy? He's not even trying. It's like he doesn't, or barely knows who Engineer even is. The same way nobody else seems to have paid attention to him, he doesn't seem like the type to pay attention to anyone else. Just your regular joe - go to work, do what needs to be done, go home.

But oh, he's different. Because this isn't anything like normalcy. Not even a smidge.

You're standing in front of the cyropod, now - the murky, thin fog of the cooler units lacing and nuzzling against the compactness of your steel-toed boots, enveloping the temperature-resistant fabric of your pants, your hand twitching in place where it sits, eager to reach out to him but you're not letting yourself get that far. Not yet. Not until you're sure of it. "What is your name? Tell me." His eyes rake across your face, which displays a sheltered curtain of determination and resignation to your fate - tired, yes, tortured, of course, but above all that - a little bit of hope, sewn across your features like stray patchwork. A hope there is someone reasonable here, after all. The hope that you're not the only one.

"I- my name... I'm... Simon."

He blinks owlishly at you, and you can see the cogs turning in his brain slowly. The way his pupils shift, eyes glazing over and unglazing, unfocusing and refocusing, face relaxing only to scrunch up again a second later. Like the place is glitching around him, dissolving into static - just like it is for you. Just like it always has been for you. Like his brain is finally, finally catching up on the reality of things, instead of blindly following and eating up whatever truth is given to it. That's it. C'mon. Admit you don't know where you are. Give me something. Give me anything. "You knew that, though- you- you knew that." His eyes flash over to you, the innocence of his confusion, still rigid but pleading, giving way to the youthfulness of his face. The accident of his existence. The involuntary realization of what he hopes won't come. "Right, Captain?" You're not his Captain. He's not your Engineer. He's not- Engineer. Simon... who are you?

"You aren't from here, are you, Simon?" You hadn't meant to intrude on his thoughts, his feelings - hell, you hadn't even meant to trigger him in the first place. But the way he fell, so easily and eagerly, into the gaping maw of time, and your subconscious, so easily taking him into its embrace - well, that's not entirely your fault, you console yourself. Body yearning for companionship, for understanding - but all you were doing was trapping someone else alongside you. In your delirium, morals made no sense. You'd know - you'd crossed that line more than a dozen times, each line a new one, fresh as if born of a dying universe, and you came out the other end worse than you'd come in the first place. In that way, you might've changed. In that way, this is a different version of you. (Not different enough to erase your memories.)

The scenery seems to almost fall out of place - a hesitant shift of the hand by an unseen entity, a slip in its security of the storyline. You're not playing the part anymore. You're so tired. You need this. You need someone to tell you you're not crazy. And him- Simon- this beautiful, doomed man, he's your version of escape. You could weep, had you been of sound mind, of what you're getting this man into, what reality you're dooming him to. You could've left him alone, blissful in his ignorance, subdued and lulled into this lower role. An eternal actor. A character thrown to the side, not as a plaything of the horrors that lay written across space and time. (That would've been a mercy. You just had to, though, didn't you?) But you had to be this - this version of yourself - this sad, broken thing, eager and pleading for someone to see you. You can't even call yourself selfish. You don't have the strenght to.

"Simon." You call out, bringing his attention to you. There are shards of horrified glass in his eyes, and you barely have the attention span to notice that the crew around you stopped dead in their tracks, unmoving and unbreathing. A space, a pocket in time for you alone, a breaking of the plot. The calm of the storm, brought about with the intensity of a crashing wave. A moment in time before it all falls apart. "No, I-", he trembles in his steps, showing signs of panic as his eyes dart around more and more, as if realizing his own existence, "I'm- where am I?"

The notepad clatters to the ground, a sharp clang that reverberates through the viscous liquid that is the stomach of the beast in which you reside. The air itself wobbling like a the heat warping the air of the desert. A mirage of an utopia lost. "Simon.", you call out again. Don't float away. Touch me. Touch me. Make me real. Your hand grips his shoulder, and he focuses back on you with a wildness in his eyes, the edges of them sleek with unshed anger. He feels cold - not cardboard-like, not like a doll, no strings on his hand - just another bug in the same snare. "Who... are you?", he asks, a breathiness to his usually scratchy voice, dying of misuse, "Where... are we?"

"I don't know.", you admit, more to yourself than him, "But I'm not your Captain."

The world fizzes out into nothingness, and there is only the void remaining as the screen shuts off and the scenario ends.

When you meet him next, he's one of the people sleeping in the cryopods, soon after you wake up needing to save the ship with Engineer. Engineer doesn't understand the rush, the need, the hurry you push him away with when the ship is finally stable, putting in the codes with a timeliness much more efficient than what can be gained through just memorising them, treating the ship like an extension of yourself. You need to see him again. You need to be by him again. He's real. He's real. He's real. He isn't a toy, nor a doll, nor an actor. He's real, and he needs you - maybe as much as you need him. "Hey, Captain! What's the emergency?!" Engineer shouts behind you as you traverse the ship, leaving him behind, a climbing ground of people waking up and sleeping, of wires and machines and sparks igniting, combing through the colonists-to-be.

When you see his face, you don't hesitate - you immediately open his case, and with a casing of dust and a flurry of coughs, he lifts himself up, almost as eager to see you as you are him, wide eyes searching his peripherals until they settle on you and focus in. "Simon.", you breathe, a smile finally creeping at your face after so long. Please remember. Please don't be irrelevant. Please come back. Please, make yourself real.

"Captain? No, you're-", he grips the sides of his cryopod tighter, the doors almost giving way to the force behind his grip, "You're not my Captain. I don't- have one."

The relief you feel might as well have been a ressurection.

You ignore everything else - the mission, Engineer, the warpcore - it's all meaningless. Meaningless compared to Simon. Meaningless to being alive. Because you aren't, really, no, or maybe you are now? Maybe this is all you needed. Maybe Simon is making you from actor to person, from doll to living flesh. Maybe there's no need for a better version anymore. Maybe you're finally yourself.

"I don't remember much, except... that I- died.", he confesses later, when you're alone in the ship, leaning against the glass of the giant window of the cockpit. "I forgot what stars look like. They're... breathtaking." The way his eyes sparkle at the stars twists something deep inside you, his gaze shining and borderline obssessed, as if he's never going to be able to see them again. As if he never has. You can't relate, not really - stars as so common to you they might as well be the grass you step on every day back home, but having been through as much as you have... you can appreciate the little things. You'd longed for so long to see others, that such an abundance of humanity from someone- twists something painful from you, a freshly squeezed kind of hurt of understanding. The willingness of humanity. The kiss of life, the proof of being. And a part of you knows you won't be able to feel it anymore, at least not with the intensity you used to, at least not with all the love you used to. But you try. If anything, then for the human next to you, for the respect you hold for the human nature. (For the want to be able to be like that too.) "Haven't been around many, have you?"

There's something deeply sad in his eyes when he turns to you and mutters softly, "We used to." You don't know what we referrs to. You're not sure you want to know.

It becomes tradition. Gently, slowly, it melts from 'I hope you don't dissapear.' into 'See you next loop.' You witness him- in his entirety. The stories he tells are far from peaceful, the feelings he feels far from fulfilling - the validity in his actions complete and utter. You understand him, you think - at least, more than anyone else could. Partially due to the fact there is no one who can understand him better, no human that exists to even attempt to. It's just you and him in this wretched, twisted ball of yarn of time that never seems to run out. You try explaining things to the others - when he feels ready - to the Engineer, to Celci, to the crew - but it's of little to no use. They might feel bad in the moment, might understand if you word yourself better, but they forget regardless. Only Engineer seems to retain some memory to him, but nothing much outside the loops he too, traverses on his own. He used to be your companion, your sidekick - and to his merit, he was a damn good one - but now, he's nothing more than a puppet of his own making.

It's one universe after another, one scenario easily replaced by another. In one moment you're living out fifteen years together on a distant, unknown planet. The other, you're dying in each others arms in the heat of battle. In the one after that, you're back together in a house in the suburbs. In the one after that, you're living as mercenaries on an alien spaceship. But along the way, you're together. You always find each other, no matter what it takes. It wasn't a choice, really - loving him. If you believed in fate, maybe that would be the closest imagining of it.

You'd concluded long ago you can't escape. The story he tells changes things, if even a bit - this loop is a prison for you, but containtment for him. Having died in that blasted submarine (of which you keep seeing flashes, remember bits and pieces before he even tells them to you - as if you'd been there, as if you yourself had lowered him down with your own two hands), he ended up here. How, you're not entirely sure. But humans aren't meant to comprehend everything, anyways, right? Not that you'd be able to. You'd lost your sense of right and wrong so long ago, aching to be free, finding scraps that could make sense in the grand scheme of things, that could spell out an exit. None helped. None shone the light toward a brighter end, none showed you what you wanted to see. So in the dark you stayed. Maybe this is where you were meant to be all along?

"You think we're ever going to get out?", he asks meekly, holding your hand. This is the barest amount of contact you'd had, a wrinkle of vulnerability in his otherwise cloudy demeanour. Either angry or indifferent - a tamed wolf baring its teeth, and a doomed, resigned, tired walker amongst the stars, those which he knew nothing about. "Probably not.", you retort. There is no use lying to him. It's just you and him here. Loop, after loop, after loop, after loop. You'd ignored anything else until it fell into obscurity.

He kisses the palm of your hand, holding it close to his face.

"Well, if we're stuck here... I'm glad it's with you."