#sea creature reader

Simon was panicking, even if it wasn't visible. The expression he wore was concentrated, his attention aimed towards keeping his current order of tasks—move the levers of the control panel, mark the route on his makeshift map, hit the camera to check his surroundings, then repeat the process all over again.

Aside from his set jaw and the small beads of sweat dripping down his forehead, there were little signs of stress. If anything, he would've blamed the latter on the sweltering heat of the hull that's been getting worse by the minute.

He didn't want to acknowledge the dread that had a death grip on his heart. Acknowledging it meant giving into the reality that he wasn't going to make it out of this alive—that this wasn't an expedition, but an execution.

That outcome was staring him straight in the face after the sub detached due to that thing, leaving him abandoned at the bottom of this god-forsaken ocean with so little oxygen left. The odds weren't in his favor, never were from the start, but he'd lose his sanity faster if he let those pessimistic thoughts plague his mind.

So, he busied himself with finding his way back, to where he'd be able to find a signal for the intercom again. At this point, he could care less about finding anything else. He already obtained the skeletal sample, now he just needed to find his way back to the station where they could haul him up. He knew that was wishful thinking, but it was the only thing keeping him going right now.

Simon's head was throbbing by the twentieth time he trailed back to mark the map with the charcoal pencil pinched between his fingers. There was no doubt in his mind that he sustained a concussion when the sub dropped, seeing as all the metal around him wasn't exactly a suitable cushion for his head to land on. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything he could do but bear through the pain—the alcohol he drank helped dull it a little bit, thankfully.

He dragged his hand down his face, exhaustion creeping in due to the physical strain on his bruised muscles, making his body ache even more. All he wanted to do was rest, to collapse on the ground and be over with it all, but that wasn't an option unless he wanted to slowly suffocate. So, he begrudgingly trailed over to the photo button, needing to get a visual of his surroundings before he continued on with this tedious pattern.

His bandaged palm slammed against the glowing button, expression blank and eyes lidded as he awaited the bright flash of the screen before him. A few seconds later it did, and any weariness from before faded within an instant, an ice cold spear of terror piercing his heart at what was shown.

There was some kind of creature staring right at the camera in front of the submarine, its eyes large and black like the abyss. It wasn't like any of the others he'd seen before—inhumanly long hair that flowed around the form, arms covered in scales and ending in claws that looked like they could slice through metal, jagged fins along various parts of the body, and a tail that was so long it seemed to wind around and past the body.

By the time the temporary image faded away, Simon had snapped out of his daze, confusion briefly replacing the fear that once paralyzed him. That thing almost looked like... a woman? No, that couldn't be right, it had too many features that were not human. It couldn't possibly be that—maybe he was finally starting to hallucinate from his head injury.

Hesitantly he reached out to press the button again, brown eyes intently focused on the screen before him and brows furrowed in concentration. Seconds later it flashed again, and sure enough the thing was still there, only slightly moved in its position. Those big eyes never moved from the camera, except this time its head was tilted to the side, as if puzzled at whatever this flashing device was that could beam through the thick blood surrounding it.

Even after a second photo, Simon wasn't sure what to think. Apprehension was still present – nothing good happened everytime he's encountered a creature down here – yet there was a newfound curiosity.

It– No, she didn't appear to have any desire to attack his submarine. She was rather large, easily big enough to wrap her body and tail around the entirety of the sub, yet not nearly as ginormous as the other thing he encountered. And yet she wasn't using that size to her advantage, wasn't trying to shake the sub off balance or break through the walls—nothing was happening.

The third time he pressed the button was absent-mindedly, as if slowly becoming mesmerized by this newfound discovery. When the screen flashed again she was right up against the camera, a long, clawed finger visibly against the lens.

Right after that he heard a rhythmic tapping sound come from the front of the hull. Simon blinked, mouth slightly ajar as he stared towards the front in disbelief. Was she trying to get his attention? Did she even know someone was inside, or just saw a giant hunk of metal and started examining it?

Whichever it was, he found his feet treading carefully towards the front, unsure of how to address the situation he found himself in. So long as he wasn't in any danger, then he supposed it was alright. But he couldn't be certain that wasn't a possibility just yet.

The tapping continued, to which he took a deep breath while balancing his hands on the edge of the panel. "Hey, uh, don't mind me. Just passing through." He called out, loud enough that it echoed around the walls of the hull.

Immediately the tapping stopped and he held his breath, silently regretting saying anything at all. The seconds that ticked by were agonizing, his heart starting to pick up in pace as he braced himself for some kind of impact.

Nothing came except a high-pitched noise that seemed to dance around the submarine. It was feminine and surprisingly comforting, likely due to how non-threatening it sounded. It was repeated, and he realized she must've been swimming around the sub, that thought confirmed by the gentle rocking that occurred with the movement of each keen chirp.

He didn't know what that response was supposed to mean, but took it as a positive one since she wasn't clawing her way through the metal. "You're probably the only thing here that doesn't want to kill me." He mumbled to himself, running a hand down his face as relief crashed over him like tidal wave.

The delightful noises continued swirling around him, to which he couldn't help the small, upward twitch of his lips. "Must be boring down here if you're excited over a tube of metal with a guy stuck in it." He said, loud enough for her to hear.

He wasn't sure if she could understand what he was saying, but she gave a new sound in reply—a whistle of sorts, followed by a lower rumbling that he could feel the vibrations of through the hull. There was an audible swish as her body slid alongside the exterior, to which he exhaled in amusement, able to imagine the way she was gliding and twirling all around in excitement.

He decided she was far better company than whatever the fuck that other creature was that got him stuck down here.

Right after that thought his head perked up, a new idea forming with this discovery. Those brown eyes searched the wall of the hull, as if he'd somehow be able to see her. "Hey, think you can, uh, help me out a bit? I'm lost." He winced the minute the words left his mouth, both cause he sounded insane and he realized something. "Fuck, you can't even respond..."

Mindlessly his finger tapped against the control panel, to which he heard her tap against the front camera again in return—a sound that provided the answer he was looking for.

"Give one tap for yes, two taps for no." He quickly blurted out, hoping by some miracle she was able to comprehend what he was trying to communicate to her. When he actually heard a singular tap, followed by silence, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Shit, I didn't think you could actually understand me."

Shocking as it was, he wasn't going to bother with questioning it. This changed everything for him. Now he didn't have to blindly rely on coordinates, but could instead have her guide him to a path of safety. Except if he guided her back to the base, then that'd likely put her in danger. For some odd reason, he couldn't bare the thought of anything happening to this innocent creature.

Plus, why would he want to go back to them, anyway? That woman – he didn't know her name, nor did he care to – made it clear she could care less about his end of the deal. He wasn't stupid, he knew they were going to leave him for dead, or if they did bring him back alive by some small chance, it wouldn't be freely like they promised. Everything they told him was a lie, so there was no doubt that his freedom was one, too.

With his mind made up, he glanced up towards the ceiling. "Could you guide me to land? Somewhere I can get out of this fucking tin can."

There was a pause, the only sound being the groaning and shifting of metal, before another tap met the submarine. Yes.

His lips pursed together, brown irises searching around as he tried to figure out how this would work. Even if she was leading him, he'd have to hit the camera button each time to find where she was, which wasn't optimal—especially when he wasn't sure how the radiation might effect her. He could try to follow her based on sound, but it might get lost in the constant noise of the ocean shifting. Maybe he could tell her to—

Suddenly the submarine lurched forward, sending him stumbling backwards until he crashed into the floor. A groan left him as the bruises on his back stung from the impact, taking a moment to regain his bearings due to the pain shooting up his spine.

When he did, he could hear the familiar sound of the coordinate numbers moving. Slowly he pushed himself to stand up, glancing around to ensure the submarine was in one piece, before refocusing his puzzled gaze back on the control panel.

He watched as the numbers moved on their own, his ears picking up on the swish of the ocean as he moved through it—or rather, as she moved him through it.

So she was definitely strong enough to tear this submarine apart if she wanted. Noted. He'd be extra careful not to accidentally piss her off.

"Yeah, that works... Uh, thanks." He stumbled over his words, a little dazed from everything that was happening. A happy trill was given as a response.

Simon went to settle on the seat, allowing his body a moment of relaxation now that he didn't have to be running back and forth. A long exhale left him, his eyes closing and shoulders falling while he listened to the occasional whistle she gave from behind. He found it amusing, like she was reassuring him she was still there despite literally steering this hunk of metal for him.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep, the mental and physical exertion finally taking ahold of him.

For now, he was putting all his trust in this sea creature, who'd showed him more humanity than the people who put him in here.

A/N:

If Simon had been told he'd encounter horrifying creatures in this blood ocean, he probably would've fought harder to avoid this fate. However, if he would've been told that one of said creatures would treat his submarine like an excited child would a new toy, and choose to play around with him instead of ripping him apart—well, he would've thought that person was insane, quite frankly.

Nothing could have prepared him for this encounter, but at the same time he wasn't complaining. Whatever this creature was, they seemed harmless, at least to himself. The talons he saw on their hands suggested they very well could've tore their way through if they pleased. Thankfully, they didn't appear to have any reason to, and he'd like to keep it that way.

So now here he was, attempting to navigate through this ocean of hell for whatever the fuck the C.O.I. was looking for, while a terrifying yet amiable sea creature followed him along like a puppy. He could hear them, their happy trills and chirps echoing around the sub as they swam around in circles, never once leaving despite him trying to continue along.

For the umpteenth time when he trudged backwards to hit the camera button, he was met with the sight of their wide, pitch-black eyes, sharp teeth and waves of hair. A sigh left him in response, slightly annoyed at this point since they kept blocking him from seeing anything else.

"Can you move, please? I'm trying to find... something." Simon called out, his deep voice layered with exhaustion. He ran a hand down his face, rubbing away some sweat as he trailed back to the control panel. "Not fucking sure what, but I can't do that regardless if you're hovering in front of the camera the whole time."

A low humming came from the wall to the right of him, its tune sounding confused. Then not a second after a pitched noise followed, enthusiastic to the point he could imagine the creature perking up. There was a swishing around the vessel that shook it a bit, before he could hear the parting blood of the ocean as they swam away.

For a moment he stared at the side of the hull with puzzlement, until he shook his head and brushed it off. The creature was gone now, so he could get back to work without the distraction—not that he wanted to. Unfortunately, this would be the cost for his freedom.

He resumed the routine like normal, switching between steering the submarine and hitting the camera button to take pictures. So far he wasn't having any luck, only being met with the ocean floor, caves and empty space each time.

The lack of progress was starting to frustrate him, and the sweltering heat inside this hunk of metal wasn't helping with his rising anger, either. He found himself hitting the button a little harder each time, shifting the lever forward with a force that could've broke the rusted metal, while his knuckles turned white from the grip.

Right when he was at his wits end, ready to find whatever he could and hurl it across the hull, a light tapping met the front. He paused in his blinded rage, chest heaving and eyes wild as they snapped to that area, his expression slowly dropping.

The tapping continued, making his confusion shift to realization and relief. That creature must've returned, and instead of being irritated by it, he found himself welcoming the distraction this time. It wasn't much, but at least it was something to keep his mind sane for a short period of time, like a break of sorts—to prevent him from breaking something first.

"Back again, huh?" He called out, wanting to ensure it was them and not something else he should be concerned about. When a delighted coo met his ears, he gave a breath of a laugh.

That was going to be the end of that interaction, or so he thought. Once he stopped talking the tapping on the metal continued, and he even swore they started doing it more insistently. His brows furrowed together, not sure what the creature was trying to do.

He stared at where the sound was coming from, shifting awkwardly where he stood in the center of the vessel. "Did you... need something?" He asked hesitantly, wincing at how ridiculous that sounded. Yet they gave a chirp, still tapping away at the metal.

There was a small pause as he tried to wrack his brain for an answer. Clearly they were trying to get his attention towards something, but that wasn't exactly possible given his situation. The only way he could see was through the camera attached to this thing... Oh.

Now understanding what they wanted, Simon made his way back towards the glowing green button, giving it a firm press. After a few seconds the camera flashed, and with it the noise of their claw clicking against the metal halted.

His brown eyes squinted, trying to make out all the details of the grainy, black and white photo. It showed them up close, yet far away enough to reveal an object in their hand, showing it to the camera. He wasn't exactly sure what it was – something spherical, smooth and shiny – nor why they were so eager to show it to him.

Then after a couple seconds, it clicked. They were trying to help him find the something he said he was looking for.

Even as the picture faded away, he found himself staring at the black screen in silent awe. It was already unfathomable that this creature somehow understood him and was friendly, but now on top of that, they were trying to help him. He couldn't wrap his head around it even if he tried—it was almost like they were just a human in a different form.

A tap met the hull, singular and questioning. He blinked a couple of times, still in shock over his current revelation, yet managed a response. "That's, uh... not what I'm looking for. But thank you..?"

His gratitude sounded more like a question, struggling to comprehend the actions of this horrifyingly intelligent creature. Yet they didn't seem to take notice of it, only providing a low, rumbling hum of acknowledgement before he could hear them swimming away again.

This time Simon didn't resume steering the submarine. Instead he patiently waited by the button, finding himself intrigued to see if they would come back with something else. All the anger from before had melted away, replaced by pure curiosity.

Sure enough, he could hear them swishing back up to the sub, before the tapping resumed again. Without missing a beat he hit the button, the screen in front of him flashing after a few seconds.

Like before he wasn't able to tell what they held, yet he grimaced at how... alive it looked. Then again, he was in an ocean of blood, so he supposed it shouldn't be that surprising seeing that kind of horrid stuff.

Shaking off the thought, he called out to them again. "Sorry, that's not it either. I don't..." He trailed off, debating with himself for a second, before continuing. "Think you can try again for me?"

Originally he was going to tell them it was pointless, that he'd have no clue whether or not they had grabbed something of importance for him. But then a softer part of him realized this was rather peaceful—sitting here, watching a sea creature bring him random items or organisms, instead of constantly worrying about his inevitable fate. He'd have to get back to his punishment eventually, but for now, he could humor this and let himself relax.

A smile cracked on his lips when they gave a whistle that echoed around him, pitched with an enthusiasm that didn't need words to understand. He swore this time when they swam off it was quicker, even rocking the submarine more than usual, causing him to chuckle a bit.

It was such an odd situation, one he would've never predicted. Yet now with it being a reality, he found himself enjoying the company of this mysterious creature. If he had unlimited oxygen, food and water, he'd much prefer to stay down here with them then ever come back up to the C.O.I. At least this creature didn't want him dead.

They came back again, and this time they didn't need to tap since he was already hitting the button. His eyes squinted, still trying and failing to make out whatever they held each time, like a game of sorts. It was no use since he had no clue about what was even down here, yet he'd continue to guess in his head anyway.

From that point on, the pattern continued—them going to fetch whatever they could find to show him, and him inspecting it after they got back. At one point he began sitting on the floor, having been there for so long his legs started to tire from standing.

Everytime he'd make a little comment about what they brought, things along the lines of: "That looks... interesting," or "Maybe you should put that back, it's moving," and his personal favorite, "That's just a piece of metal you took off the submarine. I could hear you doing it." He swore he heard them laugh afterwards, too, like a deep rumbling with small puffs in between.

He wasn't exactly sure how much time had passed, nor did he care. The C.O.I. could drag him back up whenever they felt like it. For now, he was more interested in observing and learning about this creature.

The sound of a metal door slamming open had Rora physically recoiling, the fish guts and knife they held nearly slipping from their fingers. They whirled around to face the culprit with alarm, figuring something must've happened to warrant such an obnoxious entrance that rattled the entire building—they weren't all that surprised to see who it was, either.

Simon stood in the doorway, both hands on either side as he hunched over slightly, panting from the sprint he took through the halls. This new station was like a maze to him, and even worse filled with people he didn't recognize nor trust enough to go to with his current predicament.

Well, aside from a few Eden prisoners he caught a glimpse of in the dining area. While that fact did ease his skepticism from earlier – the idea that he'd be thrown in a cell to rot away – he was more frantic about the new issue presenting itself.

Scales. God, he was growing fucking scales.

His gaze snapped up from the floor, connecting with Rora's bewildered expression as they eyed him warily. Slowly the knife and fish was set aside, their fingers tugging off the thick, rubber gloves on their hands and tossing them aside.

"What happened?" They asked as calmly as they could, trying their best to assess the situation. Their eyes swept over the panic etched into his scruffy features, unable to decipher where it was stemming from, only able to make an assumption. "Was it her? Did she hurt you?"

Simon blinked, his face unknowingly scrunching up with offense. "What? No! Of course not, Maris would never do that." That statement came out defensive and firm, clearly appalled they'd even jump to such a conclusion.

Yet something on Rora's face shifted, a hint of doubt and recollection, before it vanished as quick as it came. "Well, if not that, then what is it? You're running around like someone's trying to kill you." They sighed, wanting to get straight to whatever the problem was so they could return to their task.

He huffed in frustration, stepping out of the doorway to approach them. "Fuck, because of these– These fucking—" The words came out jumbled, too irritated, frantic and horrified to properly string a sentence together. So, he merely threw his arms towards them, showing the shiny, crimson scales that began poking through his flesh. "What the fuck is this? What– What's happening to me?"

Rora blinked, staring down at his arms in silence for a second, various emotions flickering across their face—panic, confusion, recognition, and finally relief. Unlike Simon, they appeared unfazed by the fact he was actively growing scales, which only made his vexation burn brighter.

Before he could lash out at them, they were already maneuvering their way around his heaving body. "Follow me, please." Was all they said, already leaving through the doorway with urgency in their steps.

There wasn't anything he could do except trail after them, but that didn't stop his anger from boiling over. "Hey! You can't just not tell me what's fucking happening to me! Clearly it's not that big of a deal to you." He snapped with a scowl, hands clenching into fists at his sides and chest heaving with each unsteady breath.

The short-haired person continued to walk, mindlessly pulling something out of their pants pocket in the process—a keycard. "There's no need to get upset, it's an easy fix. You're not the first person here to have the beginning symptoms of a mutation."

That response did little to qualm his worries, a tick in his jaw while he burned a hole into the back of their head with his glare. "Great, that's very helpful." He mumbled gruffly, sarcasm heavy in his tone. "Now tell me why the fuck it's even happening."

A sigh left them as they stopped in front of a door, raising the keycard to a panel on the side. The screen lit up green and a pitched noise of confirmation cut through the air, before they grabbed the handle and forced the door open. Simon followed them into the room, anger and fear twisting violently in his gut, creating a familiar, ugly emotion he'd experienced when he was first forced into that metal coffin.

It gripped at his heart, ready to pound out of his chest while his mind scattered, struggling to focus on anything other than the burning sensation crawling up his arms. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't rid of the red haze that was clouding his mind, couldn't shake off the icy terror paralyzing him in place—pure dread, consuming his entire being whole.

He'd been so close to freedom, had it within his reach, only for it to be ripped away from his fingertips. It wasn't fair, escaping the fate of death with the chance to redeem himself, to not survive but live now that he had the chance to. Except it was a trick, a false sense of security leading to a far worse fate that he didn't know was possible.

Hadn't he been through enough? Hadn't he given enough? For Eden, for the C.O.I., he'd given his soul and his physical being for their beliefs and ambitions, to where he was left with a shell of the man he once was. He'd sacrificed everything he could possibly give, all for the sake of surviving and then atoning for his past actions.

There was nothing left to take. So why did the universe continue to twist and pull the strings of his fate, until every last bit of his existence was reduced to the emptiness of space surrounding them?

Maybe he deserved this, karma for the innocent lives he took that'd been caught in the crossfire, for the sake of ensuring the Last Tree could be fed and he'd be safe from becoming one of them—the bodies to feed the soil, those of the C.O.I. and Eden alike, their only purpose to continue the cycle of life.

Remembering it made him sick to his stomach, nauseous and guilt-ridden beyond words, knowing those people were no different than him with their desperation to survive in a dying universe. Then a flare of indignation, because there truly never was a choice to begin with, his life decided for him the minute he stepped foot on that station as a kid.

Nothing was fair in life, he knew that. But did it have to be so cruel? Did it have to take this one spark of hope he had, this flicker of a flame to start anew, and snuff it out like it was nothing? Like he was nothing?

He just wanted to live, that's all he wanted. Was that too much to ask?

Hands settled on his shoulders, causing him to flinch as his racing thoughts came to a screeching halt. Those brown irises snapped up, wide and horrified, into reassuring light green ones. Too preoccupied in his own downward spiral, he hadn't noticed his body was trembling, his breaths too shallow and quick to properly take in oxygen.

"Hey, relax. You're going to be fine. I'll explain it to you, but you need to calm down. Okay?" Their voice was gentle and understanding, as if this wasn't the first time they had to deal with someone breaking down over this horrifying occurrence. One of their hands gestured to a chair, the other falling back to their side. "Take a seat while I work on the machine."

Simon eyed them as they walked away, before flickering to the chair nearby. He swallowed down a lump in his throat, trying and failing to release the tension in his jaw as he carelessly slumped into the chair. Their attempt at reassurance wasn't very effective, yet he kept his lips sealed while trying to even out his breathing, his hands remaining clenched in his lap—the urge to punch something was overwhelming.

Rora sat at a console, clicking and tapping at the controls and the screen in front of it. "To put it simply, the blood from the ocean managed to enter into your bloodstream from your wounds." They began to explain, turning around in their chair once they finished adjusting the control panel.

Before they could continue, Simon quickly interjected. "But I never came into contact with the blood. My wounds were covered!" He reasoned, stare burning into his arms as if it were a trick of the eyes that would dissappear after a single blink—it didn't, unfortunately.

They sighed, stressfully running a hand through their short, curly locks. "Except you did when you were with her, which would've seeped through your bandages." They pointed out, the only logical explanation since that would've been the only time frame for him to come in contact.

He went silent, his lips pressed together in an irritated frown. The fact that it made sense frustrated him further, that one moment of vulnerability leading to further consequences.

Not that he blamed Maris, she couldn't have possibly fathomed this kind of result from the blood that leaked off her body. His anger wasn't directed at anybody, just there and simmering from the circumstances.

Figures as soon as he found a sanctuary from the C.O.I., this shit would happen. He was exhausted in more ways than one at this point.

Given his quietness, Rora took that as their sign to continue. "Regardless of how it happened, the blood from the ocean will start to multiply and overtake your normal blood cells. Errors form during cell replication, to where the genetic material in these foreign blood cells will lead to mutations in the normal cells. These mutations adapt to the environment, in this case, the blood ocean."

The dark-haired man let out a huff of a laugh, the sound humorless. So his blood cells were slowly going to mutate him into a giant, grotesque fish? Sounds like a wonderful fate, way better than death—note the sarcasm.

Upon hearing said noise, Rora was quick to shed some light on the situation, flashing him a soothing smile. "Good news is, the mutation process is generally slow. We've only seen the beginning stage, which is growing scales from irritated skin, or the skin losing its color to become more of a gray tone." Then they paused, wincing a bit as their once comforting expression began to falter. "Bad news is, the only method we have to stop the mutation from spreading is through radiation exposure. That's why we kept some of the x-ray machines from the submarines."

Simon raised his head at that. He did recall them mentioning those when he asked about the missing SM-13 vessel outside, but he didn't have time to prod further on the topic before Maris popped up. Now the dots were connecting, along with a newfound thought he couldn't dwell on, because they were already talking once again.

"The radiation breaks down and destroys the invasive or abnormal blood cells. We've tried doing more research to find a less harmful way to reverse it, such as altering the blood cells to where they can be utilized without the effects, but haven't had much success." They took a breath, scanning over his facial expression and seemingly using that to determine what they said next. "However, after the first dose of radiation the mutations go away permanently, since the abnormal cell count is too low to survive it. One dose is all it should take for you, since you caught it early."

While they were trying to sound reassuring, it left a bitter taste in Simon's mouth. "So you're telling me, that I'll need to be blasted with radiation again to get rid of these?" He clarified despite not needing to, his words layered with a mix of disbelief and frustration. "After being stuck in that metal box for hours, constantly pressing that button, and unknowingly irradiating myself over and over? You want me to do it again on purpose?"

As his voice rose the longer he spoke, Rora winced where they sat, painfully aware of his concerns yet unable to provide a different opinion. They could only sigh, slumping back in their seat with a helpless shrug of their shoulders.

"I understand that you'd want to avoid more exposure, but unfortunately, this is all we got to prevent it. You can wait since the mutations are slow, but that means more time for the cells to multiply. Which will likely mean more radiation needed to eliminate them." They pointed out as gently as possible, torn between urging him towards what was best and empathising with his fear.

Simon swallowed thickly, shifting his jaw around in a futile attempt to rid of the tension there. "Do you have the, uh, stuff for radiation? To help with it, whatever it's called..." He managed to ask as calmly as possible, trailing off when he couldn't remember the name of said item.

"Iodine tablets, and no, we don't have any at the moment. I would've provided some when you woke up if we did." Rora responded with a strained smile, worry evident in the furrow of their brows. "Usually by now we would've gotten more supplies from our insiders, but they're late. We've tried getting in contact and there's been no response for a long time, which is unusual..."

They went quiet, a rigidness to their posture and an uneasiness to their countenance. Their collected demeanor was starting to crack, yet they managed a tight-lipped smile, one that didn't reach their gaze.

There was a pit of apprehension in his stomach at their reaction and what they said, one that differed from his previous worries. He wasn't willing to delve further into it, not when his mind was already going haywire.

"If you want, you can wait to see if we get a shipment soon or if we have any new progress with our research." They suggested after a beat, hopeful tune returning despite being more subdued than earlier. "I wouldn't worry too much, since as I mentioned before, the progression is slow."

"Right..." He grumbled, hesitant on whether or not he should get it over with, or do just that. The sharp, unpleasant twisting in his gut seemed to decide for him rather quickly. "Guess I'll do that, then."

Rora gave a nod of their head, already turning around to mess with the controls once more, returning it back to its original state. "Of course. Just let me know if you change your mind or if the symptoms get worse."

He didn't like how that last part sounded, but decided it was best not to comment on it for his own sake. Instead he got up, leaving them to finish up there while he began to wander through the halls aimlessly, no destination in mind—his hands kept picking at the flakey scales poking out along his arms.

Through the next hour or so he moved on autopilot, his mind in shambles and barely processing the space around him. Bandages were no longer needed, seeing as his wounds had been sealed up by the scales crawling up his skin like molasses. Instead he tugged down his rolled up sleeves, hiding them away from sight.

He could hardly focus when he went to the dining area for breakfast, getting recognized by his fellow Brothers that had been in the C.O.I. cellblock with him after Filament Station. It should've been a comfort to be in the company of people he knew and trusted, yet he kept spacing out during their conversations and meals. Even the temptation of real food was registered with a lack of appetite, stomach constantly twisting in discomfort.

He didn't finish his meal.

Simon found himself trailing back to the medical room he woke up in, tray still in hand, with pieces of cooked fish on top. Mindlessly he grabbed some medical supplies, an ointment container and bandages, balancing both in his hands before trailing back out of the room.

He wasn't thinking about his situation, wasn't paying any mind to the few odd stares he received in the halls, only one destination on his mind—one creature in mind that appeared to be swamping his head with more puzzling thoughts.

The metal door clanked behind him as it closed, the endless crimson and dark rock of the moon greeting him. Not far away the figure he was expecting to see greeted him, her large body curled up on the rock.

Carefully he approached her snoozing figure. Maris was wrapped around herself, her tail twisted for her arms and head to rest over the end like a pillow. With her eyes closed and mouth slightly parted to let out a soft huff every now and then, he found his gaze softening at the sight.

Part of him found it amusing, how terrified he was of her at first, only to see her completely at ease like a puppy taking a nap. Dare he say she looked adorable, especially the way her finned ears would occasionally flicker around or her nose twitched—or rather sniffed the air, as he'd quickly figure out.

Now a few steps away, there was a low, tired hum emitting from her form, her face scrunching up once she became aware of another presence. At first she didn't open her eyes, instead lifting her head upwards as she continued to identify the smell, her body following suit while her tail swished away and her arms lifted up her front half.

In return, Simon held out the tray closer, until her face was directly in front of it. Finally her eyes cracked open, coated in exhaustion as they inspected the item through a lidded gaze, until she fully identified what it was. As soon as she did, those void-like eyes snapped open fully, an interested, high-pitched chitter escaping her while she continued to eagerly sniff at the fish.

A smile tugged at his lips when she raised her head higher, now fixing him with a curious stare and a questioning coo. It was a small detail, but he found it endearing how she didn't take it right away, instead seeking his permission. It was too polite, too human—a thought that kept swirling in his head.

For now, he brushed it off. "Didn't have much of an appetite after..." He trailed off, smile faltering as he swallowed down the nausea that threatened to climb up his throat. "Anyway, figured you'd like it, since it's cooked instead of raw, and doesn't have all the gross shit."

He awkwardly gestured the tray towards her, a silent invitation, to which she gave a delighted chirp in response. Slower than he was expecting, she leaned down to gather some of the fish in her maw, her sharp teeth and wide mouth managing to gather three pieces as if they were measly compared to the one he'd eat at a time.

He found himself watching in silent fascination, studying every movement closely. The dark flesh that spread across the slits of her mouth when she spread her jaw wide enough, the way her teeth pierced through the fish pieces like it was butter, the way her long, split tongue flickered out of her mouth to lick at the empty tray, leaving behind a trail of saliva.

When no more traces of food were left, she huffed, tongue retracting and head shaking as she drew back, locks of hair swaying with the movement. Her gaze swept across the empty tray then back to him, to which he quickly averted his eyes elsewhere, an embarrassing heat rushing to his face.

The metal tray clattered to the ground as he tossed it aside, now left with the ointment and bandages cradled in his other arm. He cleared his throat and lamely gestured towards them, a little intimidated by how her intense, dark eyes followed every movement.

"I brought some stuff to help with your burns." He mumbled, words growing quieter at the end due to uncertainty. His eyebrows furrowed together, staring down at the two items with a realization. "Well, I guess I'm not sure how much help it'll be to you, just... I felt bad."

Remembering how many times he flashed her with that x-ray filled him with a crushing guilt, even more so knowing how high the dosage was directly in front of it. If it was lethal to that welder, he could only imagine the pain Maris was in with the burns littering her body. There were even scales on the ground around her—that hit like a punch to the gut.

A sigh escaped him, shaky and loud, his free hand running down his face in a remorseful manner. "Fuck, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize the radiation would hurt you. I should've known better, that was a dumb assumption." He groaned, his hand falling to fiddle with the two items he held.

Simon couldn't bear to look at her, couldn't bear to see the reminder of the harm he had caused. Maris saved him, and what had he done in return? Hurt her, unknowingly blasted her with radiation time and time again, and she didn't even hold an ounce of malice towards him for it.

Again, she was too forgiving.

Too human.

A croon met his ears, the worried sound accompanied by her head ever so gently bonking against his own. He let out a breath, torn between the culpability that weighed down on his heart and the growing affection that warmed it. Then her nose bumped against his own, nudging at it with a pitched chirrup, washing away those worries as quick as they came.

A chuckle left him as she continued trying to nuzzle him, a whine of protest leaving her when he tilted his head away. She merely smushed her cheek against his, rubbing against the stubble there while her body began to rumble with a purr.

Maris continued to nudge and rub against him, to where Simon had to press a hand against her chest in a futile attempt to hold her back. "Okay, okay. I get it. You forgive me, thank you." He caved in, yet it barely deterred her actions, only earning a short, happy chirp in response against his cheek. "I still need to treat your burns, y'know? Can't exactly do that when you're doing this."

His voice was playful, to which a puff of air brushed across his face, like she was irritated by the idea. Nonetheless she complied, leaning away to give him space—he ignored the cold feeling that washed over him at the lack of contact.

Instead he observed the way she 'stood' in front of him, webbed hands spread out on the rocks with talons digging into the surface, keeping her upper half upright while her tail lightly swished around. It was the only way she could keep herself upright – which given her size wasn't an issue, since she easily met his height – but it'd make the process of treating her wounds difficult.

"Think you can lay down for me? You're uh..." He trailed off, swallowing thickly as he shifted under her pitch-black gaze. "You're very big, so it'll make it easier for me to reach."

At first she tilted her head, continuing to stare at him. It felt like she was scrutinizing him, like she could read through the redness that was creeping onto his face, darkening his tan complexion a shade. Then she blinked slowly, a low hum leaving her before she complied, letting her body fall to the side then rolling over onto her back.

Simon watched her, a puff of air leaving him out of amusement from the way she flopped over—very much a fish in that regard. He went to settle by her side, starting with her upper half, seeing as that's where most of the radiation burns were located.

His touches were unhurried and careful, not wanting to cause anymore pain than he already had, even if on accident. Yet Maris seemed unfazed by the ointment being rubbed into the irritated spots, if anything beginning to purr again at the attention, her tail flapping happily against the rocks.

That relieved him to a degree, since it revealed that she wasn't in as much pain as he initially thought. He hesitated when it came to wrapping them up in bandages, since it felt pointless to when she'd end up swimming back into an ocean of blood. But fuck it, he decided it'd at least help keep the ointment on until she went back in.

The process was repeated until she was all wrapped up, her tail barely scathed since it wasn't in direct line of the radiation blasts. He found himself chuckling under his breath when he leaned away, going to seal the ointment back up, only for her rumbling to be interrupted by a whine. While he wasn't sure what exactly he did to earn such affection from this creature, he wasn't complaining, either.

"That should be it. How do you feel?" He asked after setting the two items aside. Maris shifted onto her side, tapping a single claw against the ground to signal yes, which he chuckled under his breath at. "I'm going to assume that means you're good."

A thrilled series of chirps came from her, her eyes squinting and mouth forming what he assumed was a smile. He was startled when she suddenly pushed herself up and towards him, the upper half of her body towering over his sitting form and causing him to flinch on instinct.

Yet the sharp twist in his belly quickly subsided when she leaned down, only to let her head fall into his lap. Her arms comfortably rested around his waist, to which he shuddered from the sharp tips of her claws that lightly dug into and under the fabric of his shirt. They merely brushed against him where she held, as if she was aware enough to avoid applying pressure so he wouldn't get poked or cut.

Human.

Simon released a long, shaky breath, taking a second to relax in her hold. It didn't take long, not when the rumbling from her chest vibrated against him, something she seemed to do often in his presence.

Slowly he let his hands move to rest on her head, running his fingers along her silky hair in a testing manner. At first she huffed disapprovingly, causing him to freeze, until he realized she was sniffing his arm and pulling the same face from earlier—right, the scales.

"It's fine, don't worry about it." Was all he could manage in a low mumble, not wanting to think about the mutations happening to his own body at the moment.

Maris' finned ears twitched, her scaled complexion relaxing at his words before her head snuggled back into his lap with a content puff of air. When he hesitantly resumed petting her hair, she leaned into it this time, a pleasant hum vibrating against his entire being.

His brown eyes roamed over her, studying in a mixture of curiosity and something indecipherable. There was one thought that kept nagging at the back of his head after his conversation with Rora, a sudden understanding that came with the explanation of the scales growing along his arms, along with her evident aversion towards them.

Maybe it was by chance, because radiation would have this effect on every living thing it touches. But also the fact that it was the cure for these fucked up mutations, and that it was now chipping away at her scales and even replacing the muddy tone of her skin with a hint of (S/c) color, and that she had comprehended everything he said up until this point and even responded in her own way.

It couldn't all be a coincidence, could it?

She was too human, too much so to be a sea creature that conveniently showed up in time to save everyone from the C.O.I.s cruel punishments for prisoners.

Except it wasn't always that, since Rora was a researcher that was sent down—the second one, after the SM-1, who had never been found.

Had she truly never been found, or had they simply overlooked the answer right in front of them this entire time?

His fingers fiddled with a strand of her hair, a dryness in his mouth as he struggled to mutter the question plaguing his mind. "Are you her? The woman from the SM-1... The first researcher here."

Her finned ear twitched, as if she heard the question, yet didn't process it—no taps to confirm nor deny. She only continued to purr, letting herself doze off while laying in his lap.

He didn't attempt to prod further, though the thought never once left his head as he sat there, brushing his fingers through her hair.

He'd figure out the answer, one way or another.

A/N:

After his shower, Simon slipped on the clothes provided for him. The shirt was a little tight, yet the cargo pants fit perfectly, a strap around the hips allowing him to tighten it. He left his harness and hair band on the floor, but clipped the holster back on, refusing to leave it off his person. He then slipped into his boots, tying up the laces while long, wavy strands of wet hair kept falling into his eyes—he'd have to ask if they had a hair tie he could use.

Once he was finished dressing he stood in the middle of the room he'd woken up in, hesitating to leave and confront whatever reality was on the other side. It was difficult to trust anyone nowadays, let alone someone who was previously apart of the C.O.I., that of which held him captive for years until sending him off to his demise. There was no telling what these people might do, regardless of what they said.

Not to mention they had to have some connection to one of the C.O.I.'s stations in order to obtain resources and create a small station of their own. In that case, it wouldn't make sense for them to know about this place's existence – along with the occupants of Eden prisoners – and not rat them out to the militia to have them removed.

None of this was making sense in his mind, more questions popping up the longer he dwelled on it, all without reasonable answers. For now, he'd keep his guard up until he could figure out the intentions of this small group of people—namely what they planned to do with himself and if the statement they made about other prisoners of Eden being here was true. He'd recognize them if so.

To delay the inevitable, he focused on the new set of bandages left behind on the bed. The skin of his arms were red and raw, some blisters lined along the scrapes and gashes. He took his time wrapping them back up, wincing at the sharp sting that'd occur anytime he was a little too harsh.

Unfortunately, wrapping up his arms could only take up so much time, to where he soon found himself at the same predicament. With steps as slow as molasses, he forced himself to head towards the door, figuring it'd do him no good to stand there and let his mind spiral. Might as well get this over with if his assumptions were correct.

As soon as he opened the door, he almost recoiled at the sight of Rora. They looked equally as surprised, their head turned as they were walking by. Briefly his gaze flickered to their hand behind them, which was covered in a bulky glove and holding onto a large, metal barrel.

"Oh good, you're done!" The shock quickly dissipated, replaced by relief as they held out their free hand towards him. Inside their open palm was a hair tie. "I was actually going to drop by and give you this before I head out to restock our food supply. Figured you'd need it."

Simon blinked at the gesture, taken aback by the fact they'd even took such a small detail into consideration. He awkwardly took the tie from their hand, before addressing a part of their sentence that both puzzled him and confirmed a thought of his from minutes prior. "How do you guys have food here?"

"We get some occasional shipments from a secret insider in one of the nearby C.O.I. stations." They answered, noticing his rising suspicion and addressing it with ease. "They're not on board with the council's methods, either. So they send us resources and stay silent for the sake of our safety and continued research."

Simon huffed, not believing that for even a second. "Seems like an unfair trade. Who's to say they won't tell?" His deep voice was harsh and distrustful, his hands lazily tying a section of his hair into a small bun while he spoke, leaving the rest to brush over the top of his shoulders.

Once again, they were unfazed by his spike in aggression, answering in a calm and collected manner. "It's not a trade, it's a mutual agreement against a governing force that uses its power in cruel and unjust ways. Unlike the C.O.I., we want to see humanity thrive once again, if possible. They only want control over what's left."

Silence settled over them, where his eyes roved over every detail of their face, searching for any signs of dishonesty. There was none, yet he couldn't will himself to buy into it, to let himself relax into a false sense of security. A place like this felt too good to be true, there had to be some kind of catch.

As the quiet between them dragged on, with those brown irises burning a hole into them, they decided to break it with a grin. "Anyway! As I said before, I'm going to restock our meat supply. Would you like to join me?" They added the last part without hesitation, a polite offer used as an invitation to prove their trustworthiness.

Simon's mouth pursed into a thin line, dark eyebrows creasing together. "Meat? Like, the synthetic stuff?" He questioned cluelessly, lost as to what they were implying.

With no animals left, that's the only option that was possible. The fish in these oceans weren't able to be consumed, or so he had been told. Yet something about how their grin widened with enthusiasm suggested that assumption of his was going to be proved incorrect soon.

"Not at all. Here, just come with me." Was all they said before starting to walk again, the empty barrel dragging noisely behind them while they did so.

After a second of contemplation, Simon found himself trailing behind them, curiosity winning over skepticism. He rushed a bit to catch up with them, falling into a slower pace so he'd be at a reasonable distance.

When they stepped outside of the station, he took notice of how the air thinned out in comparison to inside. He had been too desperate to get out of that death trap, then too exhausted to care about his surroundings, that he hadn't even taken notice of the shift in oxygen levels. It was breathable, but it wouldn't have been enough to keep his body functioning for long had he stayed outside.

With that small revelation, he unknowingly found his body relaxing while he trailed after them. They had saved him, so he supposed it wouldn't make sense for them to try to kill him—he still had his doubts about being free, though. Those qualms would only be eased once he saw the Eden prisoners they spoke about who were also sent down.

For now, he tried not to focus too hard on it, instead observing where they had walked to. It was the same spot where he had crawled out of his submarine, except it was no longer there. Along with that, he noticed something far more surprising—there was a large pile of fish waiting on the moon rock.

Rora was already strolling up to it, placing the barrel close. "She collects us a pile of fish whenever we're running low. Way better than anything synthetic." They spoke, as if already sensing the question that was about to leave his tongue.

Simon blinked, puzzlement scrunching up his scruffy facial features as he walked closer. "You can actually eat these? I thought anything from the blood oceans was deemed inedible." He spoke slowly, disbelief heavy in his tone.

The blood oceans on these moons had barely been explored—it was difficult to do so when a thick, viscous substance blocked everything from view. However, that didn't mean other methods weren't attempted out of desperation to learn if resources could be taken from it. As far as he had heard, fish had been acquired before, but ended up making the person who ate it violently ill.

That was unsurprising, especially now that he was getting a glimpse at how they looked, his face visibly disturbed at their grotesque appearance. It was similar to how he'd seen fish in books, coming from the ocean of the Earth, except mutated in a way that was grossly organ like.

Veins grew from sections of the body, wiggling and searching for something to attach to. The fishes bodies varied—some pale but otherwise normal, others more red with bulbous deformities, while a few looked congealed, able to see the organs through the dark red substance. All of them had haunting eyes and fins that looked similar to Maris' – jagged and ripped – but he supposed a blood ocean wouldn't exactly have normal creatures in it.

A food source was needed during these times, yet staring at these fish for too long was making Simon's stomach churn. Frankly, he couldn't imagine eating that—he'd much rather have the shitty MREs that were provided in his cell.

A laugh came from Rora, who had taken a glance at his disgusted expression. They were unfazed, used to the sight of them by now as they began to pick them up in their gloved hands, dropping them into the barrel one-by-one.

"We thought that at first. Turns out so long as you clean and dry them thoroughly enough to where you don't consume any of the blood, you'll be fine." They explained with enthusiasm, clearly proud of their progress. "There's some mutated parts that need to be chopped off, and it's a tedious preparation process, but it's perfectly safe. We've been eating them for the few years we've been here now."

Simon listened to every word with interest, part of him unable to believe any of it. They were right, it did sound like a tedious process, but it was a miracle all the same—a reliable food source that didn't run out. That's what the C.O.I. had been attempting to achieve this entire time, though it was evident their own impatience got the better of them, leading to – what would've been – wasted lives for unnecessary risks.

He scoffed to himself, bitterness gnawing at him at the continued revelations that was the C.O.I.'s supposedly 'righteous' sacrifices meant to deceive their society. At this point, he wouldn't doubt that they were doing it for only that reason, rather than wanting to find progress. It was a false hope meant to keep their people quiet and satisfied with their lives until their time ran out.

Knowing his anger would bubble to the surface if he kept pondering on it, he shifted his focus to a question from before. "What happened to the submarine?" He asked, eyeing the spot where he recalled it being pulled up onto the rocks.

Rora hummed, remaining focused on their task while speaking. "The creature tears it up for us to use as scraps, it's what helped us build this place. And of course there's the black box we keep, to add onto the data we've collected thus far."

At that last part, he let out an amused puff of air. "Doubt there's any useful shit in there, not compared to what you guys have already found out." He grumbled, his gaze mindlessly searching the vast amount of red ahead of them. "What about the, uh, y'know... deadly radiation camera?"

They laughed quietly at how he worded it, shaking off a fish that's veins were wrapping around their rubber glove. "She disposes of those now. We have enough of them to fight off the mutations on the rare chance it occurs."

Simon's brows furrowed together, gaze snapping towards Rora with alarm and confusion. "Mutations? What does that—"

He didn't get a chance to finish that sentence before something erupted from the ocean of blood before them. The thick liquid splashed ahead of them, a few globs of it landing at their feet and causing him to recoil on instinct. Rora had no outward reaction, only sending him a humored smile before directing their attention to the last few fishes they needed to scoop up.

Simon on the other hand, was now staring at the large figure that emerged from the sea of crimson, the liquid sliding down every inch of her form as she wiggled her way onto the rock—Maris.

There was a fish in her mouth, this one notably a bit larger than the rest. With a jerk of her head she tossed it in Rora's direction, who eagerly uttered their thanks while gathering it up with the others. When the dark-haired man turned back to her, he was startled to see dark voids already staring back at him.

Immediately her eyes squinted, a long, delighted trill leaving her as she shook her head in an excited manner, her finned ears fluttering on each side of her head. Her tail swished in the ocean behind her, moving in a way that was similar to a dog's tail wagging when they were excited.

"I think she's happy to see you're okay." Rora spoke up, tone a mixture of amusement and fondness. "She looked worried sick when we arrived and kept making distressed noises. Hell, she even tried to follow us to the station. Never done that before." Their comment held a sliver of surprise to it, along with something else he couldn't recognize.

He paid it little mind, his brown eyes softening at the edges. Right when he thought nothing else could surprise him, this creature never ceased to amaze him. She had to be some kind of gift, an apology for the erasure of the entire universe—the only hope left for humanity to survive.

His feet moved on their own, the closer he got the more his neck had to crane upwards to look at her. Not for long, for once he was close enough she instinctively leaned her body down, leaving them eye level with each other. A gentle coo left her, before she raised a clawed hand towards him.

He flinched a bit, a spike of fear piercing his heart for the briefest of moments. Then he blinked, releasing a long, uneven breath when he noticed something dangling from her wrist, a shine to it underneath the blood than dripped off the surface. It didn't take him long to realize what it was—his bracelet, the one he had managed to keep all this time, hidden away from the C.O.I.

With his current physical state and foggy mind, he hadn't noticed he'd lost it after stumbling out of the wreckage of the vessel. Now here it was, wrapped around her wrist and offered to him, as if she somehow knew the sentimental value it held for him. Maybe it was because she saw it with him before—she seemed very intelligent, after all.

While observing that, he also noticed something else, his eyes squinting a bit. The vibrant scales on her arms were flaking off in some areas, the pale skin underneath a irritated and raw red, similar to his own arms. The same went for her shoulders, chest and face, and the guilt hit him hard.

The radiation affected her, too.

God, he was such a fucking idiot. He didn't even think about the fact he'd been using that on her the whole time, trying to see where she was out of his own curiosity. Part of him naively assumed it wouldn't affect a creature like herself, like she was untouchable from any harm.

He should've known better, damnit.

His fingers picked at his own bandages absent-mindedly, a shameful sigh escaping him the longer he stared. "You keep it. I think it looks better on you than me, Maris." He was hoping that'd cheer her up, but was instead met with a puzzled head tilt—oh, that's right, he hadn't mentioned that yet. "Uhm, you didn't have a name so I came up with one for you... Is that okay? Or do you want something else, orrr, uh, I don't know..."

The words died on his tongue, his eyes squeezing shut when she leaned forward and gently bonked her forehead against his own. It was accompanied by a symphony of chirrups and swishing sounds, indicating her tail was moving back and forth. He couldn't help the surprised laugh that left him when she nudged his head again—definitely happy with it, then.

"I don't think I've seen her so friendly with someone before." Rora stated from behind, causing him to tilt his head to the side to look at them. "I mean, yeah she saved us all, but she seems particularly fond of you. Any idea why?" There was a grin on their lips, both teasing and intrigued.

All he could offer was a helpless shrug, releasing a breath of a laugh when she began to nuzzle her cheek against his own after he moved his head. It was like a cat affectionately rubbing against him, especially where the stubble lined along his jaw. "Yeah, I'm just as clueless as you."

They shook their head, grabbing ahold of the edge of the barrel now piled high with mutated fish. "Well, it'll be a minute before breakfast is prepared. Feel free to keep her company until then." They said playfully, before slowly starting to haul the heavy container away, grunting from the weight of it.

He watched them leave for a second, before turning back to the sea creature in front of him, meeting her wide stare. She gave a short chirp, raising her hand to lightly swing the bracelet around. Honestly, he couldn't tell if she was thanking him for it or urging him to take it back—he chose to believe the prior.

The thought made him sigh, unable to fully comprehend what she was trying to get across most times. "I don't understand you." He mumbled, more so to himself than the tall being in front of him. "Why would you help me? Any of us?"

To that she simply titled her head, a soft hum vibrating throughout her chest. What that was supposed to mean, he didn't know, and that was beginning to frustrate him. How was he supposed to communicate with a creature that understood his language perfectly, yet couldn't speak it?

"Right, you can't talk but you can understand me. That makes no fucking sense, either." He huffed, his sour tone not directed at her, but rather the situation. Another noise left her, quieter this time, causing his growing anger to suddenly deflate with a deep breath. "Sorry, didn't mean it that way, just... It's frustrating, is all."

A short, soft tune left her, the sound like a dizzying music to his ears that washed away the thoughts currently plaguing his mind. The sensation was odd, every muscle in his body suddenly relaxing while the aches vanished in an instant. As quick as it came it left, halting the minute her voice did.

The dark-haired man blinked away the sudden blurriness from his eyes, his brows creasing together once he noticed her expression. It was terrifying the way every ounce of serenity and eagerness melted away from her scaled complexion, a blank slate replacing it. Then her eyes narrowed, her lips curling and nose sniffing at the air near him.

He'd be lying if he said his heart wasn't ready to pound out of his chest, apprehension creeping in as she began to inspect him. "What? Is, uh, is something wrong? Why're you doing that?" He stumbled over his words nervously, half-tempted to back away and scurry after Rora at this point.

There was no verbal response as she continued to take in his scent, lowering her head until it was above his arm. Immediately her mouth formed into a snarl, rows of horrifyingly sharp teeth glinting in front of him while she began to release a string of hisses.

His breaths came out in uneven pants now, terror paralyzing him on the spot with the reminder of just how intimidating this creature could be. Yet she wasn't hurting him, wasn't lunging forward to rip his arm off like he expected her to, only growling at his bandaged arm like it had personally offended her.

After a minute of this, confusion began to overtake whatever traces of fear was left. If she wasn't attacking him, then surely it had to be something else? But all that was under the bandages were wounds. Could she sense that one of them was worse... or something like that? Fuck, he didn't know.

Wanting to appease her so he could stop his heart from beating out of his chest, he reached towards the bandages to begin unwrapping them. He winced as it peeled off from his skin, continuing until it was all the way undone and her wide, pitch-black eyes were glaring at the uncovered result.

At first he remained clueless on what the issue was, until he fully rotated it around and inspected his arm. Not long after he froze, time seeming to stand still as she released another unpleasant noise.

What the fuck.

Were those... scales?

A/N:

By the time Simon roused from his sleep, his surroundings were different. The warm combination of skin and scales were no longer beneath his head, but rather a soft, fluffy pillow that his aching head sunk into. The weight of a tail covering his legs had vanished, replaced by something lighter, his fingers flexing to feel the cotton material beneath them. Instead of the rough, uneven rocks of the moon biting into his back, there was a comfy cushion along the underside of his body.

Relaxation washed over him while he laid there, layered in warmth and comfort, the feeling foreign yet welcomed. He couldn't recall having this form of luxury in a long time, the beds provided in the cells of the C.O.I. hardly considered such—a thick, stiff mat and a thin, tattered blanket that would rip at the slighest tug. No pillow was ever provided – some bullshit about being able to hide weapons inside them – so he found himself subconsciously nuzzling against the softness, half-tempted to let himself fall back asleep.

That was until everything came flooding back to him, a wave of panic crashing into his previously relaxed body and shocking him awake.

If he wasn't outside with that sea creature, then where the hell was he?

With a startle, Simon found himself shooting up into a sitting position, heart ready to beat out of his chest and eyes wide open despite the dark bags around them. He blinked rapidly, ridding of the blurriness in his vision so he could figure out his surroundings. Except the sight made his face scrunch up, confusion briefly replacing the alarm bells ringing in his head, for he was unable to recognize any of it.

It looked nothing like the station where they prepared him to enter the SM-13, at least from what he could tell. The room he was in appeared to be for medical purposes, which he recalled being sent to one for a check-up before he was sent down.

Looking back on it, he was both bitter and amused. Why bother doing a medical check-up on a man that was being sent to his demise? What a waste of their already limited resources.

Brushing that thought aside, his brown eyes continued scanning the space around him. This room didn't have any similarities to the other one aside from the equipment, albeit with less of said supplies. The layout was also different, as was the structure itself.

Slowly his gaze trailed downwards, surprised to notice his bandages had been changed, no longer stained with grime and blood. Paired with that, he spotted an IV drip inserted into the crease of his right arm. Those two factors were enough to confirm this wasn't the C.O.I. that had captured him. Had they found him, they would've either killed him then and there, or dragged him back to the ship so he could rot in his cell back at the station.

None of this was making sense. If the C.O.I. hadn't captured him, then where was he? And what happened to the creature that saved him?

Simon dragged his hands down his face, wincing when he remembered how dirty he was, the only clean thing on him being the bandages. His hands fell back to his lap, brown irises side-eyeing a set of neatly folded clothes at the end of the bed.

Right as he debated getting up, the sound of the door creaking open had his head snapping in that direction. The person that entered seemed surprised to see him awake, pausing for a second in the doorway. It didn't take them long to perk up though, walking further into the room as the door clanked shut behind them.

The entire time Simon's eyes didn't leave their form, narrowed in a suspicious glare, unwilling to show even an ounce of trust to whoever this was. Deep down he wanted his assumptions to be correct, to be released from the C.O.I.s unrelenting grip on his life, but he's knows better than to hold out on hope.

"I see you're awake." They pointed out in an attempt to break the ice, a reassuring smile on their face when they noticed his defensiveness. Yet his expression refused to falter, a scowl forming at their casual tone and attitude. "Guess they—"

He barely let them get out those two words before interjecting. "Who the hell are you? What is this place?" He snapped, voice gruff and laced with an accusatory venom.

He could care less about what they were going to say, jumping to the assumption it was going to be trivial chatter that'd piss him off. He needed answers, and he was going to get them. None of this fake friendly bullshit, he wasn't in the mood to put up with that.

They blinked at him, before shrugging off his hostile behavior, like it was to be expected. "Name's Rora, and this is the station for all the survivors the C.O.I. sent down into the blood ocean for their 'expeditions'." The last part was said with finger quotation marks, a roll of their eyes joining it.

Yet Simon wasn't paying attention to that part, focused intently on one specific word they mentioned. "Survivors..?" He repeated slowly, disbelief heavy in his tone. Then his eyes thinned back into a glare, regarding them with wariness once again. "Bullshit. The others all died down there... I shouldn't have even made it out alive."

Rora gave a half-hearted shrug of their shoulder, inching closer to the bed. "Don't know what else to tell you. They all got out the same way you did." When they said that, Simon's breath hitched, causing them to flash a little grin. "You remember her, right? She was curled around you when I arrived, so I'm assuming you do."

For a moment he was silent, recalling his last moments before he passed out from sheer exhaustion and pain. Even now, he couldn't fathom why she went out of her way to save him. It was completely illogical, having a horrifying creature from the depths of a blood ocean saving a human, who was intruding and disrupting their way of life. Yet here he was, alive and well, resting in this mysterious station.

Plus, if what this person said was true, then that means he wasn't the first—that the C.O.I. didn't know about any of this.

The dark-haired man had gone silent, unaware to the fact they were removing the IV from his arm. They glanced up, observing his dazed expression for a second before looking back down, placing a small, sticky bandage over the drop of blood leaking out of the puncture.

Since he appeared to be lost in his own thoughts, they took it as a sign to continue. "I was sent down there for research, on the pretense it would be safe and they'd retrieve me after thirty minutes. Well, the chains ended up being broken by something, and I was left stranded at the bottom. She found me not long after that. Scared the shit out of me at first, until I realized she was trying to help. Still baffles me to this day, and I'm sure it was the same for you."

Simon didn't provide a reply nor look towards them during their explanation, his brows furrowed together while he stared off at the wall. It was evident he wasn't able to make sense of all this, or was struggling to believe any of it despite witnessing it himself. Surviving that metal death trap already felt surreal—imagining all the others that were apart of the Conviction Realization had also survived felt too much like a false hope.

With his extended silence, they carried on, figuring it was best to give him the information to silently process. "I believe I was the second person sent down to study the ocean. There must've been someone else before me, because there was a submarine stranded on the rock when I surfaced with that creature. The SM-1, the very first vessel to explore AT-5."

Rora went to sit down in a chair opposite of the bed, closely watching to ensure he was processing every word. "It was empty, yet the top of the submarine hatch was open, so I'm not sure what happened to them. The creature obviously didn't save them, but I didn't find any human remains, either. It's likely something else got to them before she could, so the creature took the submarine up to the surface anyway—which was good, since it'd provide the research and resources for this place."

"After that, there's been multiple other researchers who were sent down without knowing of the dangers beforehand." A scowl formed on their lips as they spoke, making their bitterness towards the C.O.I.s reckless decisions known. "The SM-8 was the last one of those, then came the SM-9—the first person who was apart of the Conviction Realization. Prisoners of Eden that were captured after the incident at Filament Station, forced into a death sentence."

At the mention of Eden and Filament Station, Simon's gaze finally snapped over to them, no longer able to stare off blankly at the metal wall. His body went rigid, muscles tensing and jaw tightening as he awaited what was to come next—the reveal that his newfound freedom was merely a falsehood, that he'd remain a prisoner no matter which station it was at.

These were people of the C.O.I., researchers that worked for them and were likely still doing such, except under a different, more secluded station on this moon. He wasn't sure how they were informed of that incident, but they knew regardless, and that was enough to have a pit of dread gnawing away at him.

They knew who he was, what he was apart of. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that he'd be locked up again—same cell, same treatment, different location.

But it wasn't his fault.

He'd never meant for that incident to happen, hadn't even known what was going on until it was too late, an explosion shaking the entire station while the reactor actively leaked radiation into that section. It was never apart of the plan, and he was already wary at the idea of attacking and taking over one of the C.O.I.s stations. He'd been doubtful of Eden's influence for a while at that point.

He was only human, acting out of desperation to survive and be apart of something bigger than himself—until the cracks in his shattered reality became too big to ignore. There was nothing that could undo the actions of his past, that could remove the blood spilled by his hands, and that guilt would hang heavy on his shoulders for the rest of his life.

That however, was not a burden he was willing to hold. Filament Station was a mistake from the beginning, one he'd tried to stop before it got out of hand, only to take the brunt of the blame and consequences.

He never wanted that to happen, never wanted all those people to get injured and killed by such catastrophe.

It wasn't his fault.

In the silence that followed, Rora was quick to notice his shift in demeanor. Hostility faded into apprehension, his body language remaining tense and guarded, yet that sliver of fear too evident to ignore.

They knew who he was, knew every detail about the incident and those involved, which should've raised some alarm bells. Yet from that reaction alone, they could tell this wasn't the same man they'd heard about—most of them weren't the same after experiencing what could've been their last breath.

Unexpectedly, they waved off his nervousness and flashed a hint of a smile. "No reason to get all tense. I'm not going to shame or blame you for any of your past actions. I haven't for any of the other convicts that arrived here, and I'd say they're doing fairly well now."

Their attempt to reassure him fell on deaf ears, his guard not faltering in the slightest. Yet they didn't get defensive, didn't start lashing out due to his suspicious stare, or rush towards him to drag him off to the cell he was mentally preparing for. The smile remained, plain and simple, yet painfully understanding in a way he couldn't wrap his head around when it was coming from a person from the C.O.I.

They didn't push or pry for him to respond, continuing to talk as if he were another equal—a stark contrast to how the guards treated him. As skeptical as he was towards all of this, a small part of him was desperate for it to be real, for his freedom to finally be tangible and his past no longer a judgement of his entire character.

He just wanted to live, to be free of the burden that was his questionable commitment to a cult he was forced into at a young age. He never had a choice in the matter, only a fight to survive, in spite of how he felt about the bloodshed.

He wanted to start anew, live without the weight of the past. Was that so wrong?

Rora started talking again, and while Simon was staring at his own clenched fists in his lap, bundling up the material of the blanket in them, he was listening to every word with intent.

"We never approved of how the C.O.I. treated convicts—hell, how they've treated their own people. The council uses people like statistics on a piece of paper, debating how many can be lost for the sake of the rest of them surviving. They tell us that they're calculated risks, lives sacrificed in order to save humanity as we know it." A laugh left them, quiet and humorless. "They don't care about us. These people pretend outside colonizations like Eden are the problem, are a threat to us, because they're too afraid to recognize the danger of their own."

A long, weary sigh escaped them. "No one deserves this fate, regardless of what they may or may not have done. No crime is deserving of this horrifying punishment. Yet they'll do whatever it takes to reassure themselves what they're doing is righteous, so long as it's at the expense of their enemy."

Simon blinked, slowly raising his gaze upwards to meet their stare. Every muscle remained tense, except the distrust from earlier was replaced by uncertainty on his grimey facial features. "So you're... not going to kill me?" He mumbled dumbly, needing a direct clarification on that part.

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I said." They confirmed with a small huff of a laugh. "To put it simply, we're all survivors here. Our differences are behind us. All that matters now is we got a second chance at living, thanks to her."

Simon's brows creased together. "Her?" He repeated in confusion, earning an equally puzzled look in return. "Don't you have a name for her? Something you call her instead of just, I don't know... creature." He clarified, feeling a little embarrassed for bringing it up once he heard it leave his own mouth.

Rora gave a thoughtful hum, tilting their head as if it never crossed their mind. "I guess not? Never really paid it much mind, I suppose." Was all they said with a slight shrug, before pushing themself out of the chair to stand up. "You can think about that while you clean yourself off. The shower is in that room to the left, and if you need a bigger size of clothing, just give me a call."

Simon watched them walk towards the door, unwilling to let his gaze leave them for a second. That feeling from earlier never dissipated, a twist of doubt in his gut that didn't believe any of this—that couldn't fathom the idea of a C.O.I. member treating him so kindly.

When they turned to glance over their shoulder at him, he realized they were waiting for a response. "Yeah, sure..." Was all he managed, voice gruff and unpleasant, a sign that he had yet to trust them and their word.

Once they left the room, the metal of the door audibly clanking shut behind them, the tension in his muscles ebbed away. Silence filled the space, peaceful and inviting, unlike the noise wreaking havoc inside his conflicted mind.

It was too much information at once, with too many contradictions to what he believed versus what he experienced. For now though, one word was the most prominent in his aching head—shower. Grime and blood stuck to his skin in various places, and right now the thought of being clean sounded much better than sitting here and driving himself insane.

Swinging his legs to the side of the bed, he hopped off without a second thought, only to nearly crumble to the floor the minute he stood up. A wave of dizziness washed over him, leading him to grab the edge of the bed with a groan. The aches and pains were becoming more noticeable by now, reminding him that rest could only do so much for the human body.

Much slower in his movements now, Simon grabbed ahold of the folded clothes and trudged his way over to the door they had motioned to previously. It was a rather small bathroom, but he wasn't complaining. All that mattered to him was having hot water on his skin to wash away the layer of dirt and blood.

One by one he peeled off his clothes, discarding the tattered material in a heep on the floor, while his holster, harness and boots clattered beside it. He was more careful when unwrapping his bandages, a grimace on his face when he saw the redness of the skin underneath, along with some forming bumps. It had his stomach churning and mind reeling, but he shoved down the spike of dread that threatened to strangle him for a fleeting moment.

Focus on showering, nothing else. A lot easier said than done, when his mind was being flooded with conflicting signals that made him confused, exhausted and frustrated.

Unknowingly his hands scrubbed a little harder to get the blood off, rubbing the skin until it became raw and irritated. Every inch of his skin was scraped clean, desperate to rid himself of the filth—of the guilt, horror and anger that clung to his soul.

His fingers dragged through dark locks, scratching along his scalp as if it'd ease away the painful throbbing there. The head injury hadn't stopped giving him hell, and the constant noise rippling through his brain wasn't helping ease away the pain, either. He tried to focus on something else, anything besides the apprehension hanging low in his gut, while his fingers roughly raked through his hair to clean it.

The recollection of Rora's words was quick to consume his attention. They mentioned that the creature had been here a long time, long enough to aid every single victim out of that horrific ocean and to safety. Despite that, they only called her such, refusing to provide a name for something that seemed to hold so much significance in their survival.

He felt odd calling her 'creature', like it was disrespectful to address his savior with such little thought. It felt wrong, far too inconsequential for a being that deserved to be addressed as a deity, something beyond their grasp yet beautifully human with the nature of her generosity and care.

Simon pursed his lips, face scrunched up in thought as he finished washing out his long, tangled locks of hair. What was a suitable name for her, then? It had to have meaning, a name that matched the mysticality of her being.

Then as his arms fell back to his sides, letting the spray of warm water rain down on him, a name instantly clicked. One that he found fitting, due to the significance it held in language and sentiment.

Maris—of the sea, closely pronounced to what was originally his home planet, Mars.

Yeah, he liked that name.

A/N:

Two weeks since Simon found himself living on a secret station located on the AT-5 moon.

Two weeks since he was saved from that metal coffin by a giant, terrifying, yet surprisingly benevolent fish lady.

Two weeks since he started experiencing the mutations that he, along with the researchers, speculated was the beginning phase of what Maris went through.

It was a stressful two weeks.

The scales were spreading, inducing more panic as his skin began to gradually dissappear underneath the crimson on his arms, shoulders, torso and legs. His skin began to pale, holding a gray undertone to it, aside from the red, irritated areas speckled around his body. Worst of all, he swore the nails on his fingers were growing sharper, no doubt to become claws similar to Maris'.

There hadn't been any restock of the iodine tablets in that period of time. He figured he could wait until the next shipment arrived to help with the radiation treatment, but no luck.

According to Rora, their communication line with the insiders on the C.O.I.s nearest station had gone dead silent. Any signals they sent out towards them weren't received, which could mean one of two things—a technical error that needed to be fixed on their end, or they've been compromised.

They sounded reluctant to mention that at the time, not wanting to admit aloud that after years of living under secrecy, it could all be falling apart before their eyes. Along with that their supplies were beginning to dwindle, only adding on to the rising tension around the station. For that reason, research had come to a screeching halt.

Simon understood why, obviously. This issue that was once thought to be temporary could turn out to be disastrous—namely the fear of the C.O.I. locating them and putting an end to their entire operation. Years of precious research, fallen into the hands of greed rather than utilized for what was left of humanity.

He knew why they had to be on high alert, why they couldn't focus on further testing for blood ocean samples right now, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous of the spreading symptoms.

No, that was an understatement. He was fucking terrified.

He tried not to think about it, but that was proven difficult when the creature he was around all the time reminded him of his potential fate. He firmly believed in the theory he made weeks ago, about Maris being the woman from the SM-1. It made sense, even more so now that he saw the symptoms first hand.

Unfortunately, there wasn't any evidence to help him decide whether he was correct or not. Rora told him the black box was retrieved from the SM-1, but it only contained limited data of the woman's findings—no cockpit audio to identify a voice, no digital identification to provide a face, and no entry logs to provide a name.

They even mentioned the x-ray camera from that model emitted far less electromagnetic radiation, to the point they were certain it couldn't have seen through more than a few feet of blood. Apparently the C.O.I. hadn't set up much for the first mission, seeing it as more of a test run rather than an official expedition. That meant less equipment, and any machinery installed was the first of its kind, flawed and intended to be improved upon later.

That said, her name should've been documented in the system, much like the researchers and prisoners that were sent down after her. Rora didn't have an explanation as to why that information was missing.

The more Simon dwelled on it, the more his blood began to boil. Intentional or not, they were never planning on bringing that researcher back. She was their guinea pig, sent down to test if the iron hull could withstand the pressure at different depths, and to see what level of equipment would be necessary later on.

It wasn't shocking in the slightest. He was numb to the C.O.I. and their disregard for human lives, so long as the number lost was justified by the promise of a future for what was left. In their eyes, a few sacrifices meant nothing in the grand scheme of it all.

Maybe it was hypocritical of him to loathe them for such when he looked back on his past actions, the amount of blood that was spilled by his hands. But at least he'd never hidden it under the guise of 'saving humanity', of it being anything other than his own selfish desperation to survive in the endless vacuum of space.

He never chose that path, never chose to take those lives in the name of their Father, to feed the Last Tree and promise them freedom in the afterlife. It was never any of his choice.

The C.O.I did. They saw the path, saw what it would take to reach it and the consequences that would follow, and took it anyway. These missions were out of their own volition, with the same, overused excuse of ensuring a sustainable future for their people—the very same people they were willing to exploit if it suited their cause. They were more than willing to build that future on top of the countless piles of bodies they threw away to achieve it, reserved only for those who remained after the slaughter.

At least on Eden they didn't hold onto false hope, didn't act like there was going to be a second chance for humanity to thrive. It was survival at that point, the last garden in the universe their only chance at freedom beyond the grave. There was nothing left for them while they were trapped in their physical bodies, only the promise of their soul to escape this dark, vast hell.

Simon held some of that sentiment, even with his detachment from their teachings. It was easier to acknowledge this being the end, that it was futile to look for anything more—this station didn't change that, even more so with their current predicament.

This was never about saving humanity, nor was there ever a right side to be on. They were all stuck in a war that'd hold no victors in the end, the echo of their last memories swallowed by the black void of space.

Everything was spiraling out of control again, and he had no clue how to deal with that inner turmoil. He should've figured that his moment of peace on this station would be temporary. Guess he was right to be skeptical, that the promise of him finally being free was too good to be true.

So much for a chance at a new life.

A head slowly peeked into his view, strands of long, damp hair brushing along his clothes. Two large, void-like eyes blinked down at him, her head tilting to the side in a questioning manner as a low, puzzling rumble emitted from her chest.

"Just thinking. Don't worry about me." Simon mumbled, his dark, brown eyes pointed towards the vastness of space above them.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been laying outside on the cold, hard rock, gazing into the endless void surrounding them. A few stars remained persistent, twinkling amidst the darkness while others continued to fade as the years ticked on. Constellations he never got the chance to memorize, now gone forever. Planets he never got to learn about, like they never existed.

It'd been over twenty years since the Quiet Rapture occurred, and he could never rid of the desolation it ingrained in his mind. Moments where he'd space out, a pit of melancholy settled deep in his chest, paired by fuzzy memories of the child who'd never touch Mars again—who'd never get to see his family again.

A coo came from her now, quiet and distressed, as if she could sense his emotional conflict. With a whine she laid back down, head resting comfortably against his stomach where she rubbed her cheek against the fabric of his shirt.

He raised his hand to pet the top of her head, careful of her finned ears as his fingers raked through the dark locks. A familiar purr began to vibrate throughout his body, an attempt to soothe and ward off whatever negativity was tormenting him. Unsurprisingly, it began to calm the uneasy stir within him, replacing his swarming thoughts with the gentle hum of her voice.

He supposed these two weeks haven't been as bad with her around. Something about her presence kept him grounded, prevented his mind from losing itself admist the chaos—a deeper connection that was incomprehensible, one that stretched further beyond the simple aspect of her being his savior.

Though, that did play a big role in it. Simon wouldn't admit to anyone, but since the moment she saved him, some internal part of himself dedicated itself to her. Had it not been for her intervention, he would've died in that ocean, whether it be from that monster tearing his submarine apart, suffocation from lack of oxygen, or drowning in endless amounts of blood. His fate had been sealed until she decided to come along and change it, now he felt like he owed her.

There wasn't much he could give besides himself. Whenever he didn't have to be inside the station, he was out there with her. He disregarded the odd stares he'd get everytime he left, cause at this point, he could care less about what anyone thought of him. None of it mattered.

At one point he switched the Eden bracelet into a necklace for her, seeing as it was constantly slipping off her wrist. That was a physical thing he was able to give her, one of the only possessions he had left that was precious to him, despite the years of bloodshed that tainted it. Nonetheless a part of his soul, now intertwined with hers.

He also had a part of hers, wrapped around his wrist.

After his treatment to her radiation burns – which healed up faster than he anticipated – a new issue arose with her scales falling off. At first he panicked, assuming it was an abnormal side effect due to the injuries. That was until an amused Rora informed him that she regularly sheds scales. Apparently they have a whole bucket of them that they occasionally use for their studies.

With that newfound information, he ended up making a bracelet out of the shiny (F/c) scales. When he showed it off to her, she looked absolutely delighted, chirping and trilling in melodic tones while almost knocking him over from smothering him.

Maris had his sole attention since he arrived, the divinity of her looming figure and the mystery behind the person trapped inside making for an intriguing combination he couldn't seem to shake. His brain desperately wanted to figure it out, like pieces of a puzzle that were missing, begging to be found.

There was a subtle pull in his chest, as if his body could sense something his mind couldn't. Truthfully, it was driving him a bit insane at this point—not to mention the other implication that popped up from that, which he shut down immediately.

It couldn't have been that, because if it was, then he might as well throw himself in the ocean of blood.

When a whine met his ears, he realized his hand hand stopped moving. He resumed the motion, noting how his fingers got caught in a few knots here and there. Now that he thought about it, her hair had been getting more tangled these last few days.

He lifted one of the long strands, watching as it slipped between his fingers. "How do you take care of all this hair? Must be a nightmare." He muttered, a playful note to his deep voice.

Usually her hair was silky smooth, so she had to have some kind of routine to keep it clean. Apparently he was about to find out, her head perking up as she suddenly pushed herself off of his body. He could feel the cold air sweeping in where she once was, his stomach twisting at the loss while his brain fought to ignore it.

His brows furrowed together as he lifted his head to see her retreating figure. "Where are you go—?" Her giant form dipped beneath the surface of the blood ocean before he could finish, disappearing from his sight as the long flap of her tail followed suit. "..Okay, bye I guess."

He rolled his eyes, a smile on his lips as he laid his head back down on the rocky surface. Dark, wavy locks sprawled around his head, which he noticed had taken on a crimson hue at the edges recently—nope, he wasn't going to think about it.

A couple minutes after Maris left, she popped back up again, this time with an object secured between her sharp teeth. Simon moved into a sitting position, watching with mild amusement as she shook herself off at the shore, ridding of as much blood as possible. Not like it mattered since he was infected anyway, but it was thoughtful nonetheless.

She maneuvered her body closer, until she was able to drop what was in her mouth near his boots. A delighted chirp left her, her claws nudging at what looked like a type of bone—a broken half of a ribcage, judging from the structure.

Simon rose an eyebrow, his face scrunched up in disturbance. "That's what you use to comb your hair? Bones?" He asked slowly, unable to keep the hint of disgust out of his tone. Judging from the enthusiastic bob of her head followed by a pitched noise of confirmation, she didn't notice.

He didn't dare touch it, both because it was still dripping with blood and he had no idea where the hell she got it from. Could've been from a dead creature down there, or it grew from the congealed blood floor—he wasn't sure which sounded worse to him.

"Guess you don't have many options." He mumbled to himself, eyes flickering between the bones and her giddy expression. She was like a dog, tail swishing back and forth behind her, and it took him a second to catch on. "You, uh... want me to brush your hair for you?"

She whistled a delightful tune, finned ears twitching on either side of her head while her wide, dark eyes squinted at him. Again she nudged the ribcage with her talon-like fingers, before lowering her head and body to the ground at his feet until she was laying flat.

Immediately his gaze snapped away, a sudden wave of heat flooding his face. "H–how about I..." He trailed off, racking his brain for an alternative that did not involve the blood-covered comb of bones. "I can grab an actual comb from inside instead. That okay with you?"

Maris blinked, eyes lowering to the ribcage, then back up to his face as she gave a single tap on the rocks. He wasn't sure if she was able to sense his reluctance, but he was relieved either way. If he could avoid anything else from that horrifying ocean, he would.

Simon went to retrieve the comb from his room, his gaze landing on a pair of scissors alongside them. He pocketed those as well, heading back out and ignoring every strange glance he got—either from his actions, or his steadily changing appearance.

As he approached, her head lifted up, tilting to the side once she saw the gleam of metal in one hand. He lifted it up for her view, gesturing towards the never-ending length of tangled hair for emphasis.

"I brought some scissors. Figured you could use a haircut, too." He suggested, cracking a smile when she gave an interested chirrup in response. "Let me spray you down first, get rid of all the blood."

He didn't know the science behind it, only that the researchers here were able to convert blood from the ocean into fresh water. They had a flexible tube running from the ocean into one of the labs, where it was then processed into clean water that ran along the piping system throughout the station.

They had accomplished the two main things humanity needed to survive—a reliable food source and renewable water. Although, without the aid of Maris, retrieving fish from the ocean is too dangerous on their own, so that was a glaring issue. People won't be as willing to trust a large, terrifying sea creature like they were.

There was a new submarine they were working on, one that would be controlled to collect fish on its own so they didn't have to risk any lives. The machinery for that was far from ready, leaving the project to rest near the docks for the time being.

It wasn't perfect, but it was the furthest they'd come to surviving in this barren universe without the threat of starvation or dehydration. Now came the issue of trying to help those in need without the C.O.I. council intervening for leverage.

For now though, he was more focused on the giant fish lady wiggling around like an eager puppy as he grabbed the hose. She enjoyed the feeling of being sprayed with water, which was funny, considering Rora informed him it used to be a tactic to stop her from clawing at the dock. Now she was immune and instead had to be bribed with cooked fish.

Maris sat up straight, tail curled along the rocks for balance. Her eyes closed, hands resting in her lap while he washed off the crimson liquid coating her form. Cleaning her skin, tail and fins was relatively easy, but the hair was a different story. Getting a better look at it, the long, winding locks were sticking together from chunks of blood – and other bits he didn't want to identify – twisting and tangling together to create one big mess.

"Yeah, that doesn't look good. I'll have to cut off a lot." He decided aloud, knowing damn well there was no way this measly comb was getting through that without snapping in half. "I'm no hair stylist, so don't hold it against me if it turns out bad."

A rumble came from her chest, low with sporadic bursts, sounding similar to a laugh. One of her clawed hands reached up towards the long locks trailing along the side of her face. With a singular talon she trapped it against her torso, a little underneath her chest.

He stared quizzically at that spot for a second, until he realized where he was looking and averted his gaze with an awkward clearing of his throat. "That's the length you want?" He guessed, figuring that's what she was trying to communicate.

Her ears twitched, a high-pitched noise leaving her in confirmation. It was such a simple action, yet one that spoke a million words, hinting towards a mind that once belonged to a human. No random creature would understand the concept of maintaining their hair, but Maris knew without a doubt—the brain of someone with that experience, trapped behind the body of a monster.

He'd be lying if he said this entire identity mystery wasn't driving him crazy everytime he interacted with her.

That, and something else he absolutely refused to acknowledge.

Even now as he peered up at form, towering over him despite the fact she was sitting on her tail. Never in his life had he felt so small next to someone, having always been the tallest one at his six foot stature. But Maris was easily three times his size, able to cradle him to her chest and wrap her entire tail around his body like he was the smallest thing she held—she has done it before and he doesn't doubt she will again.

Not that he minded, far from it. There was a level of comfort that came from her size, of knowing this giant, mutant fish woman was protective over him, even if it was for reasons he didn't understand. She could've easily snapped him in half if she wanted to, could've easily ripped him to shreds if she wasn't so fond of him, could've easily pinned him against the ground with her inhuman strength and pressed against—

No, absolutely not. He did not just think that, or anything along the lines of that these past few days.

God, what the fuck was happening to him? It had to be the mutations messing with his brain chemistry or something. Yes, that made more sense than him wanting to...

Simon averted his gaze, clearing his throat as his face burned under the intensity of her stare. He wasn't sure if she was intelligent enough to read body language, but he prayed for his own sake she couldn't. "Just make sure to sit still the entire time so I don't cut too much off."

A soft, reverberating note came from her chest, her eyes squinting down at him. Taking that as confirmation, he quickly got to work as he stepped around her, willing away any thoughts in favor of focusing on the task at hand. That's all he should think about right now, cutting and brushing out her hair.

The scissors weren't nearly as sharp as he'd hoped in comparison to her thick, tangled locks. It took longer than he expected to saw through a majority of it, until all that was left was down to the middle of her back and torso, a pile of long, dark hair left on the rocks to the side of her.

When it came to brushing out the knots left behind, Maris made a bit of a fuss. Not that he could blame her, since the blood had definitely done a number on twisting the strands together. However, it didn't exactly help to have her pulling away everytime he tried, hissing in a way that was mildly irritated. Her eyes narrowed and her nose scrunched up, evidently displeased with the tugging on her hair.

For a minute it turned into a battle, Simon's complaints ringing in the air along with her annoyed whines, as she constantly tried to dodge the comb by either shifting her body away or shoving him away with her hand. It was similar to pushing over a child, barely requiring any strength when her palm pressed to his chest, talons reaching across the width of him and nearly engulfing him.

He looked up at her from the ground, able to make out the amusement dancing across her scaled features from behind stray locks of hair. "So what part of sit still did you not understand? This is very much the opposite of that." He huffed out, though his voice held no real frustration to it.

Maris' ears flickered, grumbling at him while she pointedly stared at the comb he held. Her tail smacked against the rocks, her head and body jerking away to turn her back towards him, making her discontent known.

With a groan he sat up, his arms lazily hanging off his knees as he stared at her back with a glare. "It hurts, I get that. But how else am I supposed to get these damn knots out?" There was a pause, then a shift in her posture paired with a reluctant huff. "Exactly. If you just let me do what I need to do, it'll be over with quicker. So?"

She spared a glance over her shoulder, meeting his awaiting stare before her body began to relax. Another huff left her, making it known she wasn't thrilled about the outcome, yet nonetheless twisting back around to face him properly. There was a curl of her lip when he approached again, her eyes squinted at him like it was a warning.

It didn't faze him, knowing well enough by now she'd never hurt a single hair on his head. Well, except for shoving him around like a ragdoll whenever she wasn't getting her way. Other than that, she was almost too gentle with him, as if he would shatter beneath her—that may have been true, since she almost knocked the wind out of him a couple of times.

She was insanely strong... and incredibly bossy for a creature that couldn't speak.

"I'll get you some cooked fish when we're done, sound good?" He offered, hoping it'd prevent another round of rough-housing.

The reaction to his bribery was instant. Her finned ears perked up and her dark eyes widened, a high, delightful tune coming from her throat. She leaned forward, bumping her head against him before nuzzling her cheek against his own, her scales scraping across the rough texture of his beard.

A chuckle left him, fully accustomed to her affectionate gestures by now as he rested his hand along the back of her neck. "Should've known that's the only way you'll comply." He muttered, rolling his eyes while he gently pushed her face away. "Now sit still. I'm serious."

Her chest rumbled with quiet laughter, yet she did as told, remaining hunched over with her hands splayed against the rocks. The angle made it far easier to reach, unlike before where she was purposely avoiding him.

This time she didn't dodge the comb, though he was still met with a grumble or two when it got caught in the tangled mess—he offered an apology under his breath each time. Once he started making progress, he noticed her complaining notes growing quieter, until eventually a soft, content purr began emitting from her chest.

The dark locks were wet and silky beneath his fingertips, able to run the comb through them without any struggle. There were some ends that he had to fix with the scissors now that it was clean and straightened, but other than that, he'd give himself the credit of not doing a terrible job at fixing someone's hair for the first time. An unimaginable amount of hair, at that.

Plus, he could actually see her facial features more clearly after getting rid of that middle section of hair that constantly fell across her face. It was strange how human her face structure looked, aside from the noticeable mutations around the eyes, mouth and scales.

The shape itself was familiar in way that tugged at his chest. He couldn't put his finger on it, nor did he like the way his heart was starting to race a mile a minute the longer her stared, like a flight or fight response.

Simon stumbled back, coughing awkwardly when she tilted her head in puzzled manner, the purring stopping abruptly. "Let me, uh, go get that fish for you. I'll be right back."

He didn't wait for any type of response, nearly running as he made his way back inside the station. Rather that heading for the cafeteria, he booked it back to his room to put the comb and scissors away—at least that's what he told himself.

But once the door shut behind him, the pound of his heartbeat in his ears was becoming increasingly hard to ignore, as was the never-ending buzz of mind. It was as if seeing Maris in that new light activated something in his brain, a memory lying dormant that he couldn't identify despite the jarring sensation it left behind.

What the fuck was it? Why was he reacting like this? His body felt similar to how it did when he was on the verge of a panic attack, minus the impeding sense of dread that accompanied it. Even then it was all-consuming, leaving him dizzy and breathless as the two items clattered to the ground.

Simon was almost convinced he was dying, that the mutations were finally starting to take full effect. Except his arms looked the same, patched with red scales that had yet to change, and he wasn't growing any extra appendages yet. So it wasn't that, even though his brain desperately wanted to blame it as such.

No, he wasn't stupid. However, he was really trying to find any other rational explanation to what this was. Unfortunately, every path lead back to the same conclusion he was doing everything he could to avoid.

God.

Oh god.

There's no fucking way he was actually attracted to a large, terrifying, mutant fish woman that emerged out of an ocean of blood.

That sentence alone was driving him more insane, cause it made no fucking sense. If Father could see him now, he'd be actively burying him alive in the soil of the Last Tree.

Maybe he deserved that, revolted by himself at this newfound discovery. Yes, he was nearly one-hundred percent certain that Maris was human before, which brought a sliver of comfort to his racing mind. Except she wasn't anymore, and that was a major detail.

It wasn't a normal human he started lusting after. No, it was a sea creature, three times his size, with the inhuman strength to snap him in half if she so pleased. She wouldn't even have to use a muscle to pin him to the ground, talons digging into his skin while rows of razor-sharp teeth threaten to sink into the column of his throat—

Fuck, no.

This was bad. This was fucking awful.

It had to be the mutations affecting his brain chemistry... right? Anything else to justify this depravity, to will away these thoughts into the emptiness of space around them.

Dear fucking god, he was going to throw up. How did this happen? When did this happen? At some point his brain had blurred the lines between admiration and devotion, unable to separate the two and blending it into the most fucked up form of dependent attachment he'd ever experienced in his life.

Worst part was, he had no fucking clue what to do about it. It was impossible to ignore now, but there was no way in hell he was acting out on that instinct. Maris could barely communicate as it was, there was no possible way for her to give a verbal confirmation, even if she comprehended the words he spoke.

Fuck him. Was he actually thinking about confessing to a hybrid fish woman? He's lost his damn mind, he was certain.

Was it too late to throw himself in the ocean and drown? That seemed like a great option compared to all the others.

He ran his hands down his face, subtle claws scratching at the heated skin. They were shaking as they dragged to his jaw, resting there while he stared ahead at the wall with wild, dilated pupils. His chest was heaving, struggling to catch his breath while every nerve ending lit afire inside of him. Somehow, this was worse than every horrifying moment of his life combined.

Simon didn't know how long he stayed paralyzed to the spot in his room, his mind in a frenzy while his body refused to move. He was supposed to be getting the fish, it was the sole reason he came into the station, and it shouldn't be taking this long.

But the mere thought of seeing her again after his revelation twisted his stomach into knots—in a good or bad way, he couldn't tell the difference anymore.

Unfortunately, the guilt was too strong to ignore, knowing she was out there waiting on him and probably confused as to why he hadn't returned. So he forced himself out the door, his legs like lead and his arms on autopilot.

When he stepped out into the thin air, he wasn't expecting Maris to be gone, leaving only a pile of hair in her place. He also wasn't expecting the large tow ship settling into place against the docking area.

Suddenly his blood turned ice cold, alarm bells ringing in his head that disregarded his breakdown from mere moments ago. The platter of fish was tossed aside carelessly, his boots crunching against the rocks as he stormed over to the dock.

A woman hopped off the ship first, that blonde braid and ghostly pale eye one he could never forget. The rage was immediate, rushing through his veins like molten lava once they made eye contact from opposite ends of the dock. There was a hint of surprise in her gaze, though it vanished as quick as it came, replaced with something else he couldn't bother to decipher.

No, all that was on his mind was that he should've kept those damn scissors on hand when he came back out here.

Ava broke the silence, wary of the deathly stare he had fixated on her as she remained in place. "Nice to see you're still alive, Convict." It wasn't genuine nor was it sarcastic, more of a formality than anything else, stated with a sharp edge.

It didn't matter how she spoke, Simon bristled the minute her lips began moving, his feet rushing forward on their own accord. "It's you, you– you fucking—!"

He could see her face drop as he charged forward, could see the exact second her good eye flooded with fear, a sharp contrast compared to her composed posture. It struck a chord deep down within him, buried between years of indignation, years of isolation and false promises, and the agonizing realization of being nothing more than a sacrifice for the rest of humanity.

He could've strangled her, and would've, had a sudden force not blocked him from doing so. Rora stood before him, using their entire body to hold him back, barely strong enough to do even that. Their shoes scraped across the metal surface of the dock, pushing against Simon to slow him down.

He relented with a grunt, carelessly shoving Rora off of him as his glare remained unwavering. "Why the fuck is she here?! She's the reason we were forced to do any of this!" He spat, briefly directing his anger towards the person beside him, the fresh betrayal hitting him like a punch to the gut.

"Please, calm down and let me explain." Rora insisted, sounding urgent, pleading and defeated all at once. "She was, yes. But we've recently gotten into contact through their radio transmissions, and we made a deal. They have supplies we need, and she promised not to inform the C.O.I. council if we let her in on our operations. It was a mutual agreement."

Simon scoffed, unwilling to believe that for a single second—not after what she did to him, to all of them. "Bullshit! You trust her? I bet she's already told the C.O.I. and they'll be arriving any minute to take over this entire fucking thing. 'Cause it's bigger than all of us, isn't it?" He quoted her words mockingly, vividly recalling what she told him when he begged her to let him out, to let him live.

She'd sent all of them to their deaths, lied to one after the other about how many had been down there, and that they'd get to return to the surface. She was a captain assigned by the C.O.I. council themselves, meant to do whatever they asked of her for these missions. There was no doubt in his mind that this would be the same.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see movement through the unruly waves of the crimson ocean, paying it little mind in his enraged state.

"I did say that, yes. I still stand by it." Ava responded in a cool, collected manner, the stern edge to her voice only serving as fuel to his fire. "However, after some persuasion from one of the lead researchers from the C.O.I., and a long explanation of how this all came to be, I have... reconsidered my approach on the matter, as have my crew."

Rora quickly chimed back in, trying to further convincing the agitated man. "She acknowledged that what we have here can change humanity, but it's not quite there yet. So, she's willing to keep it a secret and gather the supplies we need, in exchange for information on the research we've attained so far." They paused, scanning over Simon's pinched countenance with a flicker of recognition. "I know you might not want to forgive her for what she's done—"

"You're damn right I don't." Simon hissed, uncaring to what else they had to add on to that. He continued to scowl at the two, even as he began to back away from dock. "But if you want to risk this whole thing by letting her in on it, then that's not my fucking problem. Have fun getting stormed by the C.O.I. militia."

He wasn't sure where he was going, because there wasn't any other place to go. He just knew that he was pissed and he needed to leave before he did something he'd regret. Unfortunately, the captain wasn't making it easy for him—she hadn't since the very beginning of their interactions with one another.

"What if I told you I have valuable informational regarding your... sea creature friend." Ava called out to him, her tone indecipherable. It held the same firm edge, yet there was a softer note, a hint of sorrow mixed with reminiscence.

Every muscle in his body became tense, his lungs squeezing to where his breath caught in his throat. He froze where he stood, anger quietly simmering into doubt and overpowering whatever flicker of hope there was.

"What?" That one word was blurted out in disbelief, his scattered brain taking a second to form an actual sentence. "How would you know anything about that? Unless you were—"

"Yes, I was the captain for every mission, starting with the SM-1." She was quick to confirm, seeing him finally catch on to what she was implying. "I remember the woman that was sent down in there. I think you'll remember her, too."

That last sentence evoked a painful reaction out of him, a deep ache in his chest that left him breathless. Emotions blended together, anticipation, shock, dread and worry mixing into one to create an inner turmoil that was eating him alive. "But there's... there's no way... I just— I know her? I knew her? What—?"

Ava parted her lips, about to either tell him what he'd been dying to figure out this entire time, or lie to his face again. Neither came, replaced by a startled noise as the ocean stirred beside her, the surface breaking as spurts of blood rained down around them.

Maris' form towered over the blonde, talons gripping at the edge of the dock where they sliced through the metal. Those dark, empty eyes were focused solely on her, pinning her where she stood with her back against the edge of the ship. A low growl broke through the silence, rumbling behind rows of bared teeth.

All three of them barely had time to react before she lunged forward with a shriek.

A/N: