#abba inspired

The fact that Mark had jumped in front of you was deeply unsettling. He had sacrificed himself for you—and although dying wasn’t a foreign concept to him, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Still, he had done it. He’d taken that blast of energy for you.

You didn’t know what that meant. You had ventured down so many pathways, becoming a prisoner, a pirate, a meal for some crazy hermit in a cave. You had met people, too, but none were stranger than the face of an old friend who didn’t seem to recognize you. Whoever William was now, he was no better than a stranger, but he wasn’t the weirdest thing you had encountered.

That award went to Mark. He confused you to no end, making you constantly second-guess your opinion of him. Sometimes his words made you think he wasn’t Mark at all, but that idea shattered when he looked at you. Apprehensive and cautious and half certain that you were going to attack him like a rabid dog. As soon as you’d notice, he’d go back to joking with a wink and a smile.

When he’d asked if you wanted to go on a date, you almost laughed. You couldn’t help it. A date? You? With him? The man who stood before you, wearing the outfit of a robber and the skin of your old partner? You wanted to spit, you wanted to cry, you wanted to scream until your throat turned raw, but a date would have been too tame for the games that he wanted to play with you.

Whether it was a blessing or a curse, you were thrown into another adventure all the same. Space, this time, and you might have taken the time to marvel at the stars if it weren’t for your sudden arrival at the Invincible II, as was written on the side of the giant ship. You were sure this introduction would get old soon. You had already grown bored of loops, the feeling of a reset making your gut churn almost as much as the sight of Mark’s face did.

“Welcome aboard the Invincible Two, Captain.”

You stared at him blankly.

“Glad to have you here.”

Yeah, right.

Mark shook your hand—the gloves weren’t enough of a barrier—and led you through a tour of the ship. You didn’t pay attention to the details, faces and descriptions became blurs in your mind, these people would disperse into smoke soon. That was how all of it went, time and time and time again. They would forget you the next time you met, so you didn’t waste your energy on committing anything to memory.

The sight of Celine startled you out of your haze. For a dizzying, disgusting moment, you thought it was her. It was pitiful, really, how your heart picked up and your breath fled your lungs and a smile dared to pull at the corners of your lips. Mark looked upset enough that you entertained the hope a second longer than you should have.

Until that first word came out of her lips, your new title of ‘captain’, and it went down the drain. Celci, not Celine, had no idea who you were beyond the new pilot of this vessel. She was not your way out. She was nothing.

Was that callous? Probably. But you had been doing this song and dance for so long, the blinding lights and the blisters, that your feelings were dulled. Nerve endings were burnt, and maybe that made you a self-centered opportunist, but you had little else at this point. It was the only permanent thing about you.

Standing in the cryopod was the first time that you had a moment to yourself. The heist had been running and hiding, and this was a slower start. There was no doubt that whatever awaited you would return to the status quo, but being able to rest your head against the cool panel of the door was a life preserver in this ocean of madness. You wondered what the planet would be like. You had never been one for science fiction, but alien species were always a fun thought experiment. Mark was a lot of things, like sadistic and cruel, but he was creative.

He could still surprise you.

You bit back a curse when you were thrown from the cryopod, landing roughly on the ground and clambering to your feet. You were just in time to register the crunch of Mark’s bones against the window. A crack spread from the impact, you only had a moment to grab hold of something, and then the universe pulled at the room. Air was gone in an instant, and Mark followed. Your grip was starting to slip when the shields dropped shut over the window, and you breathed in the aftermath.

You glared at the new metal wall. That was one way to write himself out of the story. It was a small comfort that he would be back, some way or another.

The silence was not to be enjoyed for long, as an announcement of a fire rang through the bridge. You jumped into action, completely ignoring the rest of the words and reaching for the extinguisher that hung on the wall. Flames heated your body and licked at your boots. You were getting dizzy. You fumbled with the thing in your hands. You pressed the nozzle. You couldn’t see. You were barely aware of the fire disappearing. Your vision faded to black.

You wished that dying was a new experience for you. The caress of the void was all too familiar, a thick, inky blackness that swam around you, curled through your limbs, poured into your veins—and was yanked out.

Consciousness flooded you. Back in the cryopod, you coughed and spluttered for air. You had died, but not like before. During the heist, death was death, and you moved backwards because you had died, and that was how dying worked.

You didn’t know what this was. You had died, but you had also moved forward.

You were shot once more into the room, taking the hit through your hands on the console, and watched Mark fly through the air. He landed right where he did last time, lines slowly creeping from his target like a frozen lake, and you had a decision to make.

Let him fall through or pull him away.

He deserved it. He deserved to keep dying. You both knew it, even if he didn’t want to admit it, he deserved it.

But you deserved answers, and Mark could die on his own time.

You lunged for him, grasped his hand in yours, and tethered him to the ship just as the window broke into a million pieces. Feet wedged against the console, you tightened your hold, gritted your teeth, made sure that he didn’t get away that easily.

When the bulkhead was sealed, you opened your mouth to speak. You had questions, so many questions, but a new problem arose. The fire and life support. You dealt with them, of course, but then there were more issues. The asteroid defense system, cryo, the reactor, everything that you needed to fix before you could talk. Answers weren’t useful if you kept dying before you could use them, and, you would admit, it was nice sending Mark to deal with them. He got shot at, frozen, burned, and you watched on with the smallest grin. You didn’t try to hide it when he shuffled back to you. He knew how you felt, and he probably felt the same, based on his smothering you with a pillow right at the end.

You weren’t foolish enough to think that was it. An ending, death or otherwise, was never the end. Suffocation was easy to brush off, which maybe should have concerned you, but being worried wasn’t going to get you out of there. The loop wasn’t sentimental. It wouldn’t let you go if you asked kindly, said your ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s, demanded, groveled, begged, it was all the same. The only thing that had ever worked was exploration, so you followed the only human part of yourself that was left. 

Curiosity drove you to the light and down the many winding paths. Just the same as the heist, you saw new things, made new choices, met new people—but Mark was with you all the while. He didn’t run away, and that had you slowing down at certain points just to look at him. He looked at you the same way, so you didn’t feel bad about getting caught, if you ever did. He usually noticed you, but very few times did he look back; fewer still did he say anything.

You wanted out. You had been very upfront about that, and you took every chance you had to look for the exit. It was there, somewhere, you just had to find it. An escape not only from the inane wormhole convention but from everything. All the adventures that Mark trapped you in, for what, his sick amusement? Because he was bored? Because he was—

No.

You glared at the man beside you out of the corner of your eye. He was beaming, confident and smug, as he marched into the rigged hallway.

No. Mark didn’t get lonely.

His voice bounced off the reactor’s door, “We finally made it. Come on, Captain. It’s time to end this. That is, if that thing actually works.” He turned his grin to you. “I guess I still have a lot to learn about wormholes.”

You just wanted to get it over with. Whatever was behind the door, it would be a step in the right direction, although you knew the end was far from here.

As if able to read your mind, Mark started speaking, “Does this feel right to you? Like, this moment feels kind of final. You know when you’re up against the last boss and you get a moment to breathe before pressing on?”

He knew you didn’t know. Dying when you did didn’t afford you whatever knowledge he had gained access to. How he knew about it, you weren’t certain, but asking wasn’t worth it. Instead, you kept your mouth firmly closed.

“Isn’t that what this feels like?” he goaded. “Eh, maybe I’m crazy. What do you think we should do?”

Silence crept through the air. Even the whirling noise behind the door had softened, as if the entire universe were waiting to hear what you had to say—but it passed. A moment to breathe, indeed. No matter how many times Mark tried to get you to speak, dialogue designed to get a response out of you, he failed. All the insults and praise slipped by you with no word. Of course, you made your opinion known in other ways, but he had always been particularly susceptible to the silent treatment.

However, just as you were about to push forward, something else pulled at your attention. You tensed at a distant sound. Not speech, not atmosphere, not anything that you had gotten used to along the pathways. This was different, but a voice nestled deep in your heart whispered that this was familiar, too.

Without explaining, you turned around and started back the way you came.

Mark’s protests fell on deaf ears. Captain, captain, captain, you weren’t a captain. It was getting on your nerves. Had you not been drawn to the end of the hallway, you might have tried to blow up the hallway or throw yourself out of the airlock again. It wasn’t your responsibility to help these people, you didn’t know who they were, they didn’t even exist!

You did, and so did Mark, and so did whoever was behind this door.

It slid open, dousing your vision in warm oranges and vibrant blues. Music whisked through the air and into your bloodstream, but you kept your eyes on the dancing figure in front of you. Were you still in the same place? Despite the explosives lining the walls, you doubted it. The last time you had seen this man, in all his bubblegum glory, had not been amongst the stars.

You were more prepared to see him this time, though. Comparisons to the Colonel had clouded your vision during that interview, but you understood that he was different now. A new outlook on life and a new name to boot.

Wilford Warfstache took one look at you and frowned.

“No, no.”

The music slowed in the background.

“That’s bad. I know why you’re here. You’re looking for an easter egg.”

Confusion washed out any relief at seeing someone you knew. You weren’t looking for an easter egg, whatever that had to do with the adventure, and you certainly weren’t doing anything wrong. You were meant to explore, you knew you were. Did he not see how important this interaction was?

“No! Wrong! That’s bad! Go back to the main story. You’re gonna find nothing here.”

Resistance immediately pushed you forward. You weren’t going back there. This was an opportunity that wouldn’t come easy again. You had seen Wilford during the heist adventure, which meant that there was a way to get between them without Mark noticing. There was no way that he would include Wil in his universes, after all, and he wasn’t going to just let you leave.

“Our meeting is in part two, which is not now, this is part one! Turn that butt around and go back.”

You weren’t listening, you couldn’t, not now. One foot in front of the other. As you got closer, Wil continued to rant. Both of you acted as if the other weren’t there. You were right in front of him, and he kept speaking.

“It’s a great scene. Well-acted, too.”

It was him. Not just some face Mark was putting on. It was William, or Wilford, or whoever, it didn’t matter, it wasn’t Mark!

Against your better judgment, you sprang forward and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. He didn’t return it, but that was okay. It felt nice to have some physical contact. Years had passed, decades, maybe a century, since you had touched someone, just for the sake of it.

Letting go seemed a death sentence, but let go you did.

Wilford placed his hands on his hips, the image of a parent after their child had a tantrum. His eyebrows raised, he leaned forward slightly.

“Now, do you feel better?”

You nodded.

“Good. Because you’re not gonna get another chance until part two!”

You should have expected that, but it felt bad all the same. Off-putting. Disappointing. Staying wasn’t an option, and you had actively fought leaving the first time, but being forced out by your shoulders hurt.

You shoved the pain to the side. The little break did wonders for your resolve, or so you tried to convince yourself. When you were returned to Mark’s side, you were too busy thinking up an escape plan to care about his expression. That stone-cold stare was at the back of your mind after a moment. You replaced it with the assurance that all you had to do was find the hole that Wilford left when he got in. He was a careless man in this state, he had to have broken something to be where he was, and he wouldn’t have repaired it. There had to be a way out, and Wilford had provided you with one. Surely.

You took a deep breath and opened the door to the reactor.

At this point, you were picking randomly. There was no clue as to which direction you should have been going, not when it was a choice between right and left. All the wormholes looked the same. Every streak of cerulean was the same as the next and the next and the next. Every face was the same as the one before, and none of them mattered. Not even your heist partner was able to awaken any feeling in you. Maybe you lost excitement in the horror scene, fear in the action shooter.

Little pieces of you broke off as you landed in another universe. A bathroom was new, but it wasn’t long before you were opening the door. There wasn’t anything else to do, after all, and you had to keep moving forward because you were getting close, you could feel it, a charge in the air, anticipation.

You stopped in your tracks with one shoe nestled on the carpet.

Someone was crying on the bed. Sobs pierced the room as a click closed you in with them.

For a second, you doubted your senses and then your judgement. Your spine stiffened and your legs locked. It was Mark, that was for sure, but was it real?

Back when you were alive, you had seen Mark cry three times. The first had been in his youth at the death of a family pet. Sad, but inevitable, and the tears had flowed freely. Childhood afforded him a freedom of emotion that he lost as you all got older. The second time was after his first starring role. You had seen him before the movie and at the afterparty, but it was during that you saw the reflection of sword-fighting in his streaked cheek. William had elbowed him and pointed at the screen, giving him enough time to scrape it away and laugh alongside his friend.

The third, and last, time you had seen him cry was after his parents’ passing. It was disjointed, and stuttering, and completely shattered as if each sob struck with his heartbeat. You would never forget the sound, and you always hoped that you would never hear it again.

You didn’t, but that didn’t mean it never happened.

When you took a few, tentative steps forward, his breath hitched, and shaky exhales told you he had noticed your presence.

He got up from the bed, walked around its end, and locked eyes with you.

Callous, self-centered, opportunistic you, who opened your arms.

“Really?” he whispered. Tears slid down his face, yet this second of shock blocked any more from falling, if only briefly.

You nodded quickly. Your arms weren’t wide, and your expression wasn’t welcoming, and you weren’t going to stand there like an idiot if he waited any longer—but he took the opportunity to rush forward and hug you.

It was unbelievably awkward, and you had half a mind to shove him off. A thought hit you, though, that this must have been how Wilford had felt, which meant Mark probably felt the same as you. Such assumptions gave you comfort, so you closed your eyes and brought your own arms around him in return.

His grip tightened.

Words were said, but they were swallowed by that whirling dervish. It pulled you apart and put you back together in another moment. Mark was there, of course, but neither of you acknowledged what had happened only seconds ago. That was then, this was now, and you had a bomb to defuse.

You blew up. Obviously. You were smart, but you weren’t smart enough to disable a piece of technology that you had no experience with. Death was old hat, and you ended up in front of a campfire, blew up again, and was promptly deposited in a streamer-lined room. Music flooded your senses, lights flickered from purple to pink to purple, and—oh, you knew where you were.

Wilford didn’t notice you at first as he slipped between the streamers. He was still dancing, but anything else would have been concerning. He jumped back with a yelp when he saw you, martini glass barely spilling but for a fleck on the ground.

A glance up and down, and then he relaxed.

“Oh, it’s you. Is it that time already?”

Talking continued after he finished his sentence, but it was coming from behind the streamers. You took a step towards it and were immediately gestured away by Wil.

“Let’s chat over here, away from them. They’re still figuring themselves out, those two. Quite the story, but for another day.”

You were herded backwards, barely far enough for the voices to fade and not quick enough to tame your curiosity, but Wilford left no room for questions.

“And I’m glad that I ran into you,” he said, “because you’ve been avoiding me!”

Pink swirled next to him, a wormhole looking for its next meal that went unfed as he popped it.

You didn’t know that was possible—and, knowing Wilford, it wasn’t.

As if he hadn’t just challenged your understanding of the universes, he continued, “You’ve been avoiding me, and now that I have you right where I want you, I’m gonna book that interview. And I won’t take no for an answer. And I won’t take yes either. No choices at all, really. Haven’t you had enough of those?”

He reached into a wormhole that arrived on his cue, and you should have really questioned that, or at least thought about it, but you didn’t, you couldn’t, because what did he mean by an interview?

All it took was a minute. Sixty seconds and only talking. In the grand scheme of things, it was over in just one. Every hope that you had of getting out crumbled in your palm. Freedom from this nightmare was washed away, joining Wilford’s words as he rambled on about the interview that you had already attended. That loop was closed. There was no hole to get through.

You weren’t getting out.

In the aftermath, it was a rather foolish idea. Optimism had never been your forté, but you had indulged yourself. Nothing bad could come from it, so why not give in to the delusion for a while?

Anger gave way to fear gave way to agony gave way to numbness. There wasn’t a point in fighting for yourself anymore. It would never amount to anything, and you moved through the next paths in a haze. Things happened, and you made your choices, knowing full well that they weren’t choices at all.

When you saw the older version of Mark sitting in the diner booth, you ignored him. Words of wisdom wouldn’t help you, and you saw the light from under the next door. He didn’t call after you, and you let it slip closed after you had stepped through to the warp core.

You were knocked out of your mental blur by pain bursting at the side of your head. Knees colliding with the floor, you didn’t have time to put your hands out to cushion your next fall. Instead, your body toppled, and two firm thunks rang out as you and the fire extinguisher hit the deck.

“Sorry about that. Couldn’t afford to let you make another mistake.”

Even with the blossoming ache that reverberated through your skull, you recognized the voice. You guessed this was payback for getting him blown up twice, but, in your defense, they had both been accidents.

You turned over so that your back was to the blissfully cold ground, but Mark was grabbing your wrist before you could try and get to your feet. With a pair of pliers, he ripped the crystal from your wrist, and the urge to vomit swam through your stomach.

“Yeah, funny thing to say after an eternity of nothing but second chances—”

“Cut the whining, Mark.”

He froze, and you took the opportunity to cough. Damn, your voice was scratchy. How long had it been since you had spoken? Probably just as long as your break between hugging people. You had almost forgotten what you sounded like.

Shakily, he asked, “What?”

When you stayed silent, letting your eyes close, panic lurched into his voice.

“No, no, what did you say?”

He knelt down in front of you just as you pushed yourself onto your elbows.

“I said, cut the whining. Even here, you’re acting like a brat.”

“Captain—”

“Stop it,” you interrupted. “We both know I’m no captain, and you’re no engineer.”

One of his hands returned to your de-crystalled arm, while the other supported your waist as you maneuvered to the railing. The bumps of the bars dug into your back, but you liked being able to look him in the eye comfortably. Pure eye contact lasted a mere moment before Mark looked away.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You blinked. Your first attempt to speak was a sputter, an engine that wouldn’t turn over. The second try was a crunchy, “For what?”

“I hit you with a fire extinguisher.”

“I think that’s the least of what you’ve done.”

You watched Mark struggle with what to say while you struggled with an oncoming headache. The memory of Benjamin’s miracle cure haunted you.

Mark opened and closed his mouth a few times, but he eventually settled on asking, “Why are you talking to me?”

“I can shut up if you want.”

“No!”

The corner of your mouth perked up. Dramatic as ever—but then your smile dropped again. He sounded so scared. He was an actor, through and through, and he never showed all of his cards. This vulnerability that you had a front seat to was a thing that you begrudgingly appreciated. You were a lot of things, but you tried not to be cruel.

After he settled down, Mark continued, “No, I mean, why now?”

“I ran into William,” was your short answer.

You didn’t blame him for gasping, nor for letting it out as a soft hiss. If that thing that had trapped you in the mirror showed up, you didn’t know what you would do. As far as things went, a gasp was tame.

But you kept talking, not letting him make too many incorrect assumptions. “Or- or I thought… I thought I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t him anymore.” You huffed. “He’s pink.”

His throat bobbed. “What did you say to him?”

Your unimpressed gaze slid over to meet his as you replied, “For being in control of this place, you sure do ask a lot of questions. Shouldn’t you know everything that goes on here?”

Mark twisted his body to that he could slide next to you. The thud of his back against the railing rang out in the warp core before fading into the universe.

“I’m not in control,” he admitted. “Not fully. If it were up to me, William wouldn’t be here.”

You knew that, you had assumed as much before, and you knew it didn’t mean anything—but there was still a sick, stubborn part of you that wanted it to.

“If he got in—”

“You can’t get out.”

“Why not?”

“You’re dead.”

“So are you.”

Your pulse was rising even as the shotgun burst of words faded. Mark’s nod had you glancing away.

“We can’t get out,” he said. “Neither of us would survive anymore.”

The universe took you down to rock bottom and then dug a little deeper to make sure you were good and truly hopeless. The metal bar behind your head dinged as your head fell backwards.

“You’re shattered. But you’re not broken. When you’re on one of the adventures, you’re alive, and I intend to keep it that way—” A word caught in his throat, and his hands clenched into fists, “—I can’t just let you die, I-I couldn’t.”

You had so many questions. You wanted to ask him why it mattered so much, where you really were, how long he could keep this up for. The only thing that came to your mind was a single statement.

“Mark, I’m tired.”

“I know.”

“I’m so tired.”

“I know.” He turned his head to you, and you met his gaze out of the corner of your eye. “But what else can I do?”

You didn’t know. You didn’t want to die, but continuing to run was just as much a death sentence. You wanted a break from it all, somewhere to rest for as long as you wanted. This reprieve in the warp core was the first in a while, but you were waiting for the hourglass to run out.

“Why do you keep coming after me?” you asked. “I haven’t said a word to you, I don’t do what you want me to, I go out of my way to annoy you. In the heist, you—”

You cut yourself off; the memory of how badly Mark had wanted to go down those paths only brought the pain of abandonment back to you.

Mark encouraged you with a light, “What?”

“You kept trying to leave.”

A second of silence passed, and then another, and then another, and the sand in the hourglass was pooling at the bottom.

When he spoke, it was close to a whisper, “I thought you hated me.”

“I did.”

But you hated being alone more.

Whether or not he had actually answered your question, you pushed forward, asking, “What do we do now?”

If this was all there was, loop after loop after loop, was there anything to fight for? You had been searching for an exit for so long, and to know that there was no exit… Hopelessness was difficult to overcome, and your resolve was thinning dramatically.

You sought a firm answer from Mark, but his response was a shrug and a smile and the one thing you never thought you would hear again.

“Do you want to go on that date?”

For the second time, you started laughing. You cracked up, broke down, bent over yourself with the force of your cackling. Mark joined in hesitantly, but you barely noticed it in your fit. Even when the warp core started to crumble around you, you weren’t all done. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes, and you put all your effort into keeping them there.

“Fuck it,” you said through chuckles as you eventually came down from that high. “Sure. Let’s—” A few more escaped you, “—let’s go on a date.”

When all that remained was the little slice of universe that you were still sitting on, you turned your full attention to Mark. For a second, you saw him not as an engineer, and not as an actor, but as a politician whom you had once given your heart to. He wore a suit and a bowtie, held a cane, and spoke to you so gently that you never once heard him yell until that fateful day—the suit turned red, and the voice turned teasing, and you wondered, for a moment, if you could live with that for the rest of eternity.