#convict!mark

___

Pink.

That was the first thing he saw after his capture.

The space station he’d been dragged off to was a vast expanse of steel platforms and iron tunnels. He’d expected that, of course. It was no secret that iron was the C.O.I.’s pride and fucking joy. What he hadn’t expected was for the station’s interior—or, everything in the section he and the other convicts were being held in, at least—to be tinted the pastel color of candy. 

But it most certainly was. 

The walls, the floors, the tables lining the commissary, the intercoms in the corners of the ceilings, the plastic tubes containing very tiny amounts of freeze-dried food that were given to him and the others twice per day.

Everything. Pink.

(Even with the way supplies were dwindling, he had to admit: this probably helped enforce the strict policy against alcohol in space. Spending any amount of time here with a hangover would kill you.)

It truly seemed like the only non-rose-colored things in here were A. the headache-inducing fluorescent panels, B. the stainless steel sinks and toilets set up behind privacy screens in the far corners of the holding cells, and C. the almost scrub-like outfits required to be worn by anyone who was here against their will.

That might’ve been the part he hated the most. The goddamn uniforms. 

Before he’d been beaten to the ground at the Filament Station, he’d worn a special type of clothing made from hydrophobic materials that also happened to be reinforced and self-cleaning. Now, he had to dress in simple garb that would’ve been found on Earth: a thin, itchy gray shirt with trousers to match, as well as a pair of laceless shoes that were determined to chew blisters into his ankles with every step he took. 

To top it all off, his arms had been wrapped in a pair of black bracers, the left one adorned by a white patch that silently announced M2702 in a bold font. They reminded him of the blood-pressure cuffs he always saw in pharmacies as a child. Whatever fabric had been used to make these things, it was tough and tight; the skin hidden underneath felt so damn sore. 

But hey, at least he wasn’t alone in that particular suffering.

Hours after he’d been taken prisoner, after those stupid bastards were finished examining him and looking over his vitals, he was practically shoved into one of the station’s excuses for a cafeteria. Other people had been there—more members of Eden whom he just hadn’t worked closely enough with—milling about, all turning their heads in near-perfect unison at the sound of the heavy steel door sliding shut behind him. 

He kept his expression neutral, glaring right back as he maneuvered around the tables. By the time he’d collected his meal (a water bottle and a small vacuum-sealed package of what was apparently dehydrated chicken breast), everyone else had resumed either silently eating or having muted discussion. . .except for one.

A woman sporting a head of long, gently-curling chestnut hair. She waved to get his attention, nodded when he gestured toward himself, and beckoned him over to one corner of the area. As he cautiously drew closer, it took little time for him to realize just how petite she was despite obviously being an adult. She also appeared to be ill; her big brown eyes were watery and red around the edges, while her skin was a few shades paler than it probably should’ve been. The white patch on her left-arm-bracer read R1126.

“You’re from Eden, aren’t you?” She asked barely a second after he sat down across from her. 

He hesitated before nodding. “Yeah, I am.”

R1126 wrung her hands. “So he was right, then.” 

“Who’s ‘he?’” M2702 inquired. “What was he right about?”

“My brother. He said he saw a few people in his sleep a couple weeks earlier. The way he described one of them sounded exactly like the way you look.” She paused, glancing here and there as she drummed her nails on the table. She seemed to be bracing herself for something, like someone who knew from experience that there was a dead animal in the middle of a path they needed to take every day. “He saw the battle at the Filament Station.” 

M2702 felt his mouth open and close a few times. He leaned back, blinking and slowly shaking his head. “That’s not possible. The attack only broke out a few days ago.”

“He dreamt about it,” R1126 responded in a very exasperated manner. Her tone became rueful and concerned as she continued. “And you’re right: it shouldn’t be possible. But it’s been years since he started having nightmares. Up until now, they’ve just gotten worse, much more frequent. And the things he remembers happening in them. . .”

The seconds felt painful as they dragged by, jeering at M2702 as he stared at his new conversation partner. If this had taken place decades prior, he probably would’ve rolled his eyes at her, maybe even scoffed. Her claim was outrageous; he couldn’t just believe it.

He never would’ve believed that so many of the stars and planets could just blink out of existence, one after the other, either. 

He didn’t want to believe in something like that.

But he had to. 

That was the reason for all the tensions between Eden and the C.O.I., the reason he’d wound up here in the first place. 

“Where is he now?” M2702 wondered aloud. He wasn’t sure why he’d asked that, of all things. Then again, a person who had regular nightmares laced with a premonition or two was probably someone to look out for. “And why’re you telling me all this?”

“In solitary confinement. He was taken in two days ago, but he’s supposed to be let out sometime today.” R1126 chewed her lip. “I want you to understand. . .when you’re able to meet him. . .” 

Her eyes suddenly grew wide, the grim anxiety that’d just wormed its way into them quickly warping into panic. She gasped for air, drawing her arms closer—one hand hovered before her mouth, and the other clutched at her stomach. 

“H-He’s not a bad person, I swear. All our time in this place has just made him scared. Desperate. Paranoid. I know he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He’s just trying. . .”

Her movements were soft as she began to rock back and forth in her seat, visibly swallowing several times as though there was a literal frog trying to climb up her throat, “. . .to find a way o-out of here. . !”

M2702 halfway rose from his chair. He’d learned the warning signs of vomiting at an early age, but his thoughts still seemed to sink through his skull for whatever reason. What was he supposed to do for her? Give her water? Alert someone else and lead them to her?

R1126 must’ve seen the way he glanced at the counters across the cafeteria, because she shook her head. “No, no. Don’t bother; even if they had the right medicine around here, I doubt they’d give it to me.” She straightened her back, gingerly rolling her shoulders as her hands found their way back to the table. “I-I’ll be fine.”

M2702 squinted at her, moving slowly as he sat back down. She sure as hell didn’t seem fine. “What’s wrong? What happened to you?”

R1126 stayed quiet for another moment. She started drumming her nails again, her eyes drilling through him with the exhausted demeanor of someone who’d developed a habit of expecting the worst of people. “I have no idea, honestly. I’ve just been able to. . .taste things in the air. And I’m not even sure what those things are.” She paused, shuddering. “But they’ve been so horrible. Even if I’ve adjusted somewhat, I just can’t seem to go a day without nausea.”

M2702 felt his brow furrow as the information sank in. He’d heard about plenty of sensory disorders in his time, but this was in a weight class of its own. The way she described her condition reminded him of how snakes could taste scents instead of just smelling them. 

Again, a voice in his head demanded to know where the logic could possibly be, to which another voice chided it for still trying to find logic in times like this. 

“It’s stuck with me for years now. Since before I was taken prisoner,” R1126 continued. Fear integrated itself with the pain and frustration in her expression. Her voice tapered down to a whisper: “I think the Rapture caused it. I think it caused my brother’s nightmares, too.” 

More silence festered between the two of them.

Eventually, M2702 thought to ask the million-dollar question: “Were you two part of Eden?”

R1126 flinched, tilting her head at him.

“Sorry, it’s just—” M2702 sighed. “I was limited to working with a specific team, and I can’t recognize your face.” 

R1126 fidgeted in place for a long, tense moment. “. . .We were traveling to Eden. Before the Rapture, we’d inherited a small ship, and we were using it to planet-hop for personal research.” Her voice hitched on Rapture, as though the word was a bundle of thorns caught between her lungs. 

M2702 knew that feeling all too well. 

R1126 took a quick, deep breath. “After we found out how all the things we’d managed to document were just disappearing, we had to keep changing course and sending out distress signals every day. Sooner or later, we remembered hearing about the tree gardens on Mars, so we figured that might be the safest place to land. While we were making our way there, we came across this station. Some of the people here answered our call and welcomed us inside. But once we explained our plans to them. . .” 

The tremor in her voice grew worse. Her eyes began to glisten, clearly more out of emotion than sickness. “They got hostile. Wouldn’t let us leave, seized our ship and everything we had left on it.” She lowered her head, furiously scrubbing her tears away before they could start flowing. 

Something awful stabbed its way through M2702’s ribcage. One part of him wanted to place a hand on her shoulder, to try and offer some support as she grounded herself. But another part ordered him to stay still, insisting that he was past the point of being able to help.

R1126 briefly ground her jaw as she resumed eye-contact with him. “I’m not sure how long we’ve been trapped here since then. It’s just gotten so hard to keep track of time.”

M2702’s train of thought came crashing to a violent halt. He and his colleagues already had their suspicions of the C.O.I. being corrupt, of its collectivist ideals being more focused on cult-esque control than conservation.

But to hear that this organization had been imprisoning civilians. . . people who had absolutely nothing to do with what was going on at the Filament Station. . .

Without warning, the same booming, metallic hiss he’d heard not too long ago raced through the air. M2702 turned in his seat just in time to watch another man being pushed into the cafeteria.

The new stranger—P0620 was printed on his left-arm-bracer—was the same height as him, fair-skinned with short, chocolate-colored hair that appeared to have been pulled on a regular basis. He gained his bearings quickly enough, fixing whoever was on the other side of that door with a venomous glare. Just as he began venturing further into the room, a blur manifested in M2702’s peripheral vision. That blur turned out to be R1126, who rushed over to P0620, tugging at his arm. P0620 wasted no time embracing her, briefly closing his eyes as his grimace melted into something that managed to be relieved and anxious at the time. Almost as if he thought she’d vanished in his absence the way so many planets and stars had. 

It didn’t last.

The duo exchanged a few hushed words, and stress came flooding back to P0620’s expression as he scanned the area. M2702 couldn’t help but slightly recoil when that gaze landed on him. P0620’s eyes were bloodshot, wild, impatient. And when he began stalking toward him, it was all too easy to realize just how calculating they were.

M2702’s instincts told him to get to his feet, to be on-guard. The other man quickened his pace, only stopping once he was a few feet away, hands half-outstretched. 

“Which side started firing first? How many casualties have there been so far?” P0620’s tone was sharp, almost searing. Despite never having known him before, M2702 could somehow tell that his voice wasn’t meant to be like that. It alone was damning evidence of trauma. “How exactly did they catch you? Did you kill anyone before that?!”

M2702 narrowed his eyes, holding his hands out in a defensive gesture. But before he could actually respond, R1126 stepped in front of him.

“Stop,” she commanded, her voice becoming solemn in time with the way her eyes hardened. “You’re not doing this again.”

P0620 sputtered, glancing back and forth between his sibling and the new inmate. “Wha—I have to!”

R1126 shook her head. “No, you don’t. And even if you did, I still can’t just let you. Not until you’ve actually calmed down, at the very least.”

P0620 took a few deep breaths. One of his eyes twitched as he began kneading at his temples. “Being calm hardly matters anymore.” 

“Not the point. You really think I don’t know how the punishments have been getting worse? It might not be much longer before those bastards start torturing you for no reason!”

“That’s why I need to get a better understanding of the visions!” P0620 threw his hands up as his voice shot through a good few octaves. “I saw the conflict before anyone else did! So, if someone involved with it would actually answer my damn questions, then maybe I could use that info to put more pieces together when the next one comes!”

M2702 cautiously stepped away, moving in order to see both of the sibling’s faces. 

“That doesn’t mean—” R1126 tried, only to cut herself off, dipping her head. She cleared her throat, grit her teeth. “You can’t just—”

A low scraping noise seemed to crawl out of her mouth. Her breathing grew more and more ragged. Both her and her brother’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates.

“N-no—not here—I need. . !”

And just like that, R1126 collapsed, clawing at her neck as she dry-heaved on the floor. 

All the frustration evaporated from P0620’s features, replaced by panic as he cried out and knelt down beside her, trying to help her stand.

___

It didn’t matter that the front window had to be kept closed due to the pressure down here. It was pointless to have a window at all. Just hearing the gallons upon gallons upon gallons of blood churning and stirring around the Iron Lung would’ve been enough. Even if he hadn’t actually touched any of it yet, he could still tell just how viscous it was.

That wasn’t it, of course. 

Relentless heat oozed through the submarine’s framework, making its interior humid even before one of the pipes spat out a plume of steam. This almost made M2702 miss the uncomfortable chill that always seemed to be present in the space stations he’d visited before. 

That infamous metallic stench was nearly palpable in the air: to the point that he could taste it with each breath he took. He wondered if this was similar to what R1126 had been suffering through.

___

“Y’know, my training really made me a light sleeper,” M2702 mentioned. “I never had insomnia or any of the typical sleeping problems growing up. But when your job requires you to travel so far and be aware for as long as possible, you just learn to wake up as quickly as you drift off.” 

He quietly paced the floor of his cell, which almost could’ve passed for an enormous display case. Three of the walls surrounding him were glass, adorned by uniform rows of holes just barely wide enough to fit his index finger through. The fourth one, the one closest to the mattress he’d  been lying on a couple minutes ago, seemed to be made of metal. 

They were all tinted that goddamn specific shade of pink, obviously. 

“It was tough, but I managed. Can’t really say the same for the others I shared a unit with, though,” M7202 continued as he leaned against the privacy screen in the corner. “So many of them always tossed and turned for hours; that didn’t always keep the rest of the room up, but it could still be so aggravating sometimes. . .”

He peered out from behind the screen, glaring into the glass cell on the right of his. 

A woman sporting pale skin and long, straight black hair scrutinized him from behind a pair of thin-rimmed glasses.

“. . .It’s safe to say you would’ve been a problem back there,” M2702 concluded dryly, ignoring the chill that raced down his spine. “Look at you. You’re not even pretending to sleep.”

“There’s no point in doing that,” C4560 answered. While she too made sure to keep her voice at a whisper, her words still dripped with acid. “I told you: I can’t sleep anymore. No matter what I try, my brain just won’t allow it. I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t even close my eyes for long periods.”

M2702 snorted as quietly as he could. “Yeah, well, I’m struggling to see the merit in taking that out on me.”

Out of all the other prisoners he’d come across so far, C4560 was undoubtedly the most tense. 

Much like R1126 and many others, he hadn’t been able to recognize her. The first evening he’d been locked into his holding pen, he’d asked her a few questions; her replies had been terse, as well as a little too infuriatingly cryptic for his taste. (It sort of made him sympathize with P0620.)

He’d only learned three things only about her: she’d never been a member of Eden, she’d apparently been kept captive here much, much, much longer than anyone else in this particular branch of the station, and. . .right, the whole loss-of-ability-to-rest-and-not-be-such-a-damn-creep thing. 

It shouldn’t have been possible.

Even if science still hadn’t learned exactly how long a human could survive without sleep, M2702 was certain that his next-door neighbor should’ve been dead by now, with the limited explanation she’d given him. 

And yet, here she was: breathing, speaking, watching.

Not that she looked healthy at all. 

Her cold brown eyes almost looked sunken thanks to the bags that had long-since formed right beneath them. The skin in that area seemed like it held so much more pain than any bruise he’d ever witnessed before. Of course, that did nothing to change the fact that it felt like she was stabbing M2702 every time she glanced at him.

“What did the Rapture do to you?” C4560 asked for. . .what was it, the thirteenth time in just five days? 

M2702 scowled at this, marching closer to place his hands against the glass. “Where the fuck do you get off? It didn’t do anything to me.” 

She hummed, stepping forward to touch the barrier of her own cell. “No, it did. You just aren’t aware of your symptoms yet. Maybe they’ve been slow to develop for you.”

“Even if that was true, it’d be none of your damn business.” 

“Oh, you mean, just like you didn’t have to try and ask about my business when you got here?”

M2702 could feel his knuckles turning white. He then heaved a guttural sigh, lightly shaking his head. “Fine. Let’s say there’s a modicum of truth to that. How exactly can you tell that there’s something wrong with me? And how are you so sure that it’s because of the Rapture? What, were you there to see it happen? Were you the one to accidentally flip the wrong goddamn switch and set it all off?”

Other than the way she raised an eyebrow to such blatant sarcasm, C4560’s face barely moved. Sure, it was dark in this area right now, but M2702 had seen her under those obscenely bright fluorescents elsewhere in the station. And in broad light, she still gave the impression that a dozen or so vipers were coiled up together inside her head, looking at the world through her exhausted yet piercing eyes, patiently waiting for someone else to make a wrong move. . .

“I think I’ve just learned to tell,” she eventually declared. “That’s the only thing you can do when you have so much time and nowhere to go: you learn. One way or another. The process isn’t pleasant—or, it isn’t anymore, at least. But that’s all we have left.” 

M2702  felt his face soften by just a smidge. He’d only known C4560 for a few days, and he already knew that he’d never understand her or what her damage was. 

But there was absolutely no denying just how real that last statement was. 

C4560 studied him, then carefully slanted her head to the side.

“Well, I hope you manage to learn something before your symptom is ready to start working. I get the feeling that it’s gonna turn you inside-out,” she mused. “Yeah, it’ll just drag all your blood and bones and sinew out for everyone to see. You’ll survive, but you’ll have to be so much more careful with doing anything after that, won’t you?”

It was everything M2702 could do to not start shaking. “Oh, go to hell,” he hissed as he tore himself away from the glass. “Go straight to hell’s fucking boiler room.”

There was a pause.

And then. . .C4560’s lips twitched before slowly, ever-so-slowly, curling into a grin. “Hell?” She repeated. She dipped her head as a strange, quiet chuckle seeped through her lips. “Saying that makes it sound like there’s an alternative.”

The words had barely slithered into the air before a chorus of terrified gibbering erupted from across the room. For the first time all night, C4560 took her eyes off of M2702.

M2702, meanwhile, crept over to the front and foremost wall. 

“DON’T LISTEN TO THEM! THEY’RE LYING TO YOU!” P0620 shrieked. He seemed to be clawing at his head. “THEY’LL JUST TAKE YOUR LUNGS AND DRAIN THEM INTO THE ENGINES!”

It wasn’t hard to see the other row of glass cages opposite of his and the two flanking it. Through the darkness, however, it probably shouldn’t have been so easy for him to make out the form of P0620 as he thrashed and quaked on his own mattress in his own cell.

“THEY’LL TAKE YOUR EYES FIRST! THEY’LL CHOOSE ONE SET AND KEEP THE OTHER SET TO BOIL!” P0620 howled again. In the cell next to his, the outline of R1126 was very clearly shivering, digging her nails into her ears as she rocked back and forth.

“IT’LL SET THE BLOOD ON FIRE! YOU’LL BE PART OF THE OCEAN! YOU’RE NOT HIM!”

It took a couple minutes for the screaming to taper down a notch. P0620 didn’t go silent; he was still murmuring, still yelping, still trying to escape whatever was attacking him from inside his eyelids.

M2702 backed away, skulking over to his mattress before C4560 could return her focus to him. He wasn’t sure why he bothered. 

He could tell that she was still watching him through the obstacles between them. 

___

The long, droning bellow felt like icy needles stabbing into M2702’s skull.

It made his intestines burn.

It was trying to persuade his spine to tear itself out of his skin, to slither out between the rusted walls and into the ocean of gore. 

If that were to happen, he supposed his vertebrae would be right at home. 

He’d already taken so many pictures of enormous carcasses that had sunk down to the very bottom. They were just piles of bones; he couldn’t tell whether flesh had eroded away or been picked clean by smaller creatures that worked themselves into a frenzy once their meal’s original killer swam far enough away. 

It was almost a surprise that he flinched at the feeling of a droplet plopping down on his head.

Another crimson tear fell from the ceiling, landing against the control panel with a tiny splat.

And another. . .and another. . .

___

M2702 would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t proud of himself for keeping track of the days. He knew his internal clock was suffering, and he knew that suffering would only get worse the longer he was kept here. But for now, he made an effort to go along with his new, enforced schedule. 

He’d watched more and more convicted people manifest into the space station. Most were severely wounded in one way or another. About half had been unconscious upon their arrival, and half had been awake and struggling much like he’d been.

Of the ones he’d seen being brought in, he only recognized two. He hadn’t worked with them directly, but he could remember seeing their faces, passing them in hallways back on Mars. One of them had black hair almost as long as his own, the bangs of which sometimes covered one of his warm amber eyes. The other was an adult, but still clearly younger than the majority of people around him, lean yet muscular, boasting stark-white hair and grayish-blue eyes. 

They’d quickly been labeled L7181 and E9342, respectively.

L7181 had been the only new prisoner to not outwardly fight. Oh sure, he’d snarled at the people who’d flanked him—if looks could kill, both of those bastards would’ve been reduced to decorative splatters on the pink floors—but he’d still walked in time with them, his face shifting between bitter resignation and very obvious resentment at being guided along as though he couldn’t move for himself. 

And after that, L7181 barely spoke at all. He made a clear effort to keep some amount of distance between himself and everyone else, his expression always cold, frustrated, disinterested. (Not that he could be blamed for that behavior, of course.) Even when M2702 saw that same spark of recognition in the other man’s eyes once they’d eventually settled on him. . .well, nothing really came of it, unless you counted a curt nod. 

It took what M2702 estimated to be a month before that disposition ripped itself apart. 

He’d been pacing up and down the precious few corridors he had access to—it was in between meal times right now, but the cafeteria was just too goddamn crowded for him to think—when he heard the distant screaming. 

“UUUUUAAAAGGH!” 

Now, screams weren’t at all uncommon in this place, but when the source grew closer and closer to where M2702 had paused, he realized just how. . .different these ones were. 

“AAAAIIIEEAAAAAH!”

They were horrified, desperate, almost completely unhinged.

They were nearly on-par with the way P0620 shrieked in his sleep. 

And they were all coming from L7181.

M2702 was just barely in time to duck around one shadowy corner.

“NO! NO, NO, NONONONONOOO!” L7181 careened down the hall, not even seeming to gasp for air in between his cries. “NOOOOOOOOOOO!”

A few of the station’s researchers were in hot pursuit. They shouted after him, but their words were almost totally drowned out by all the noise he was making. 

M2702 watched from his impromptu hiding spot as one of them finally caught up to L7181, hands slamming into his back, throwing him to the floor and pinning him down. L7181 didn’t stop screaming, thrashing with more energy and strength than M2702 had ever seen in him before. 

The rest of the scientists circled around him, helping the original one keep their hold. Then, as a unit, they half-carried-half-dragged L7181 further down the passage, over to the door that led to one of the cell rooms. 

M2702 didn’t know why he decided to follow them. It wasn’t even a concrete decision; from deep within his guts, a quiet voice just demanded that he take advantage of this chaos in some way. 

So, he crept along after the group, managing to slip past them all without being seen once that door slid open. He retreated around the now empty glass cages, pressing himself against the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible. 

L7181 was hauled over to the cell he’d been assigned to—one right next to P0620’s, on the opposite side of R1126’s. Still shrieking. Still fighting. One of the researchers typed a code into the keypad on the cage’s sliding door, then shoved the panicking man through.

The extra force wasn’t even needed; L7181 sprinted into his cell the second its door was opened. He lost his balance, tripping at the center as the threshold was sealed once again, but it was obvious that he didn’t care. The only thing he seemed to be focused on was movement. So, he crawled. Crawled as fast as he possibly could until he reached one corner, where he pressed himself into that space where glass connected to metal. 

He didn’t go limp there. No, he clawed at the walls, squirming with such violence that he could’ve very well been mistaken for having a seizure. 

The researchers watched him for what felt like an hour, shaking their heads and murmuring amongst themselves. Then, they finally filed out of the cell room, one by one, none of them even glancing in M2702’s direction.

M2702 stayed down, stayed hidden for another moment. Once the sound of footsteps truly disappeared from the other side of the wall, he slunk out, trudging along the space in between the rows of cages until he was hovering near L7181’s.

The convict in question was rambling now, a mess of terrified phrases set in Portuguese leaking through his teeth. His screams had gotten a bit shorter with a few more seconds between each one. “I-I can hear them! I can hear them! I CAN HEAR THEM!” 

“Hear. . .what?” M2702 called with more hesitation than he’d care to admit. 

L7181’s head shot up, his frantic eyes now fixed on the man outside of his cage. He didn’t stop spasming.

“The things on AT-5,” he eventually rasped. It truly seemed like he had to force the words out.  “The monsters living in its ocean!”

M2702 felt his heart skip a beat. The ship that’d transported him from the Filament Station to this one. . .through one of its few, pressurized windows, he’d gotten to take a brief look at the enormous pool of scarlet. 

It would’ve been impossible for anyone to not know about the sea of blood that resided on the moon nearest to this station. 

Just as it was impossible for anyone to doubt that there were lifeforms inside that sea. . .

“He means The Gongoozler,” another voice suddenly called from across the room, wracked with manic giggles. “He’s gotten a chance to listen to The Gongoozler and all the other screamy-scaley-squishies swimming around in the plasma.”

M2702 startled, glancing over his shoulder. It took an embarrassingly long few seconds for him to remember how E9342 had essentially been put in a timeout earlier. 

The young man leaned against the door in his cell; one of his eyes was swollen shut, a fresh bruise still blooming around it. His grin seemed to stretch quite literally from ear-to-ear as he surveyed his fellow inmates. “You should be grateful, y’know. I’ve always wanted to hear The Gongoozler’s call for myself! Quick, what’s it sound like? Please, please tell me!”

M2702 chewed his lip, now fluctuating between dread and irritation.

Back at Eden, E9342 had made a bit of a reputation for managing to stay positive and productive in such bleak scenarios. It was a bit odd, yes, but it’d been pretty damn refreshing at times. 

But ever since he’d been brought here, that trait had changed in an awful way. His smiles were now twisted and eerie. The jokes he insisted on constantly making were dark and morbid. And the giggles that he apparently couldn’t go five minutes without emitting sounded. . .poisonous. 

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” L7181 stammered, screwing his eyes shut. He held one trembling fist close to his mouth, biting at the knuckle of his index finger. It hardly took any time at all for him to draw his own blood. “I’ve just gotten their attention. Th-they know I can hear them. And now they’ll NEVER. STOP. MAKING. ME. LISTEN!” 

C9342 snickered and nodded along, dragging his nails down the length of his forearm over and over and over again, leaving harsh red lines in his skin. It wouldn’t be longer before he started bleeding as well. 

“People have ALREADY DIED DOWN THERE! I heard a HUMAN screaming and drowning! I-I-I heard metal being torn to shreds and scattered!” L7181 lurched forward, curling further into himself. Even his eyes seemed to be shaking, all the way down to the pupils, which had shrunk to pinpricks. “Someday I’m going to wake up outside the station! I’ll be falling as soon as I open my eyes and the blood will reach up and wrap around me and drag me all the way down to the deepest pits it has! Oh no, oh no, oh no, n-n-no!”

M2702 felt his hands tangle themselves in his hair. He reeled back from the other cell.

The world seemed to be moving without his consent.

His vision was growing blurry around the edges. 

“I’m gonna die,” L7181 choked out. He covered his face in both hands, his screams having transformed into sobs. “I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die. . .”

“Yeah, but not exactly,” C9342 mused, his face almost thoughtful as he chortled. “We all will, but it shouldn’t be too bad.  We’ll get to see each other again in six years, nine months, four days, twenty hours, thirteen minutes, and thirty-seven seconds. The time will go faster than you think, I promise! Then we’ll all be together.” He cackled, seeming to choke on his own saliva. “With The Gongoozler, of course.”

“Will you shUT UP ABOUT THE FUCKING GONGOOZLER?!” M2702 raged, halfway closing the distance as he stormed over to E9342’s cell. 

E9342 flinched, but he remained standing. His sanity-breaking smile grew even wider. “You think I DON’T WANT TO?!” He practically howled with glee as he punched and kicked at the glass in front of him. “You think I’m CHOOSING THIS?!”

He started ramming his head against the barrier with a chorus of dull, heavy thuds. Along with a loud, sickening CRACK as blood started gushing from his nose. More and more bruises were already forming on his face. But he just kept on laughing, struggling to speak or breathe. “YOU JUST DON’T FUCKING GE-HEHEHE-ET IT!”

___

With all the weight it had gained, it was no surprise that the Iron Lung was now dragging along the ocean floor rather than gliding above it. 

M2702 was up to his waist in blood. He could feel it dripping from his hair, trickling along his face. His chest heaved in and out as he waded through it. 

The air had become so thin, so rancid. He could barely even take in a full breath anymore.

He was completely enveloped by a horrific gurgling sound from the outside. 

When the submarine had first started leaking. . .the blood had been cold. Cold enough to feel like thousands of tiny knives against his skin as it seeped through his clothing. 

But now. . .now the blood was warm.

So warm.

Too warm. 

Nearly scalding.

M2702 knew that he couldn’t think anymore. There was no point. 

His brain was well-past not receiving enough oxygen. He knew he wasn’t going to resurface. 

Even so, he knew that the blood needed to be as hot as it was. 

After all, the ocean itself was alive.

It didn’t just house the individual organisms that’d been taunting him for so long, that’d  been swimming closer and closer to him and ramming the Iron Lung's outer walls with their tails or fins or teeth. 

This ocean was a living creature.

And soon, very soon, M2702 would get to join that life.