Husk
One of nine short stories in the Finitude and Beyond collection
I nursed my drink, savoring a burn that didn’t quite reach the bone-deep chill of Europa. This outpost bar was a pathetic excuse for a watering hole—a steel-paneled box with a complete lack of signage. Sam sat across from me, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she sipped a deep orange concoction that presented experiment more than beverage.
The ice crystals on the window shined like cheap jewelry, scattering the light. I took another swig of the whiskey.
“It’s surreal being here. We’ve come a long way since the academy,” I said.
Sam’s expression softened.
“Yeah, was always the plan, but how often do plans actually work out? Two kids from opposite sides of the planet, as far away from a hometown as you can get.”
“Hey, speak for yourself, kid. Some of us are seasoned professionals,” I said, running a hand through my peppered hair.
She leaned back, her smile fading a fraction.
“You ever miss it? Earth I mean. I know we’ve been on countless missions, but you ever get homesick when you take off?”
The question caught me off guard. I stared into my glass, watching the light play off the liquid’s surface.
“Sometimes. But then I look out there,” I nodded towards the window, “and remember why we’re here. The work we do, Sam… it’s worth it.” I said.
She sent an agreeable nod, her eyes distant.
“I know, I know…but sometimes, I wonder if we’ll ever be done.. Retirement is so close but so far.”
I reached across the table, giving her hand a squeeze. Her skin was freezing.
“Hey, where’s that unbridled optimism I know and tolerate?” I said.
Sam let out a small laugh, a warm breath in the stifling air of the bar.
“All right, no more moping,” she said, raising her glass. “To adventure and discovery and staying warm out here.”
I clinked mine against hers and repeated the phrase, hoping she didn’t notice the slight tremble in my voice.
We drank, the alcohol offering a fleeting illusion of warmth against the gnawing chill that permeated everything. I glanced around; something about the other patrons seemed… off, though I couldn’t place what. There was a faint, almost imperceptible sweetness, like overripe fruit on the verge of rot, hanging in the air around them. The booze seemed to act fast. Sam’s eyes lit up with that spark of excited curiosity as she set her glowing glass down, the liquid leaving a faint, neon residue.
“Oh, almost forgot to tell you. The ice samples from the southern quadrant…I think I finally found something concrete.” she said.
I leaned forward, intrigued despite myself.
“Yeah? What did you find?”
“Well, we found traces of organic matter in the subsurface ocean. Doesn’t match anything on record. It could be nothing, but…”
“It could be everything,” I finished for her. “That’s incredible!”
She beamed, her enthusiasm infectious.
“I know! We need to run more tests, but if this pans out…, this could be it.”
I felt a rush of adrenaline, the same kind I felt before a dangerous mission before the rush of the unknown filled my senses. It was a promise that everything had been worth it. This was the core of it, why we were both here: to push the boundaries of human knowledge.
“We should celebrate,” I declared, signaling the bartender bot for another round. “To Dr. Samantha Sabry – future Nobel laureate.”
She swatted my arm, her cheeks flushing red with a blush that got me every time.
“Don’t jinx it! And if anyone gets an award, it’s you, Commander Abel Sanders—Mr. ‘I-piloted-the-first-successful-landing-on-Europa.’”
I laughed as her speech began to trail off, her focus lost in the bar’s lights.
“Well, technically, it was the first three successful landings, but who’s counting? I just fly the ship. You’re the brains here, the one doing the real science.”
As our new drinks arrived, we lapsed into a comfortable silence, both lost in our thoughts. Out of nowhere, my head throbbed slightly like a wet, internal pop, but the pain went as fast as it came. The hum of the station’s life support system was the only steady sound in our precarious bubble of manufactured life on this desolate moon.
A tiny flicker of light hit my eye, and I suddenly couldn’t recall how the light usually felt here. I looked at Sam, my oldest friend and closest confidant. We’d been through so much together—grueling training, nail-biting missions, moments of triumph and despair. And now, here we were, on the cusp of first contact.
“You know,” I said softly, breaking the silence, “Despite the crap weather. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere or with anyone else right now.”
Sam met my gaze, her smile genuine and warm.
“Oh, keep going; I love it when the booze talks to me,” she said over a laugh.
“I’m serious,” I replied, moving my drink aside.
Something felt off, though. I couldn’t quite place why I was starting to feel so… uncomfortable, so dreadfully off balance. We were just having a drink and chit-chatting in the open, yet I almost felt suffocated by its simplicity.
I took a sip, letting the memories of the past start to work their way to the front of my mind, spurred on by the liquor, which was having a more substantial and bizarre effect than usual. I looked at Sam across the table, her face lit by the soft glow of the bar lights. I was immediately soothed, practically hypnotized. I was so relaxed, I couldn’t help but reminisce…
“Remember that time at the academy when we snuck out past curfew to watch the meteor shower?” I asked, a wistful grin tugging at my lips.
Sam’s eyes softened further.
“How could I forget? We almost got our asses handed to us by Captain Hendricks.” Another pause as she ran a hand through her hair, a small, almost hesitant, smile forming.
“Yeah, but it was worth it. Seeing your eyes light up at the sky… nothing has ever been so beautiful.” I said.
I saw something in Sam’s eyes—recognition, maybe a touch of sadness. We both knew what I was talking about. That night, with the meteor shower, was the first time I understood that I was completely and utterly in love with my best friend—a love I never confessed.
“Abel…” Sam began.
Her voice was soft, a hushed tone that set me on edge.
I waved my hand to dispel the tension and fight it off.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to drift into the past,” I said.
But the floodgates were open. The memories came rushing back, a mental album of missed opportunities and unspoken desires: stolen glances during lectures, the electrical charge when our hands brushed, late-night study sessions that turned into intimate talks over fast food, and then that fateful night in our final year.
“Do you ever think about that night?” Sam asked.
I took a long swig of my drink, buying time.
“Sometimes,” I admitted.
We’d been celebrating after acing our sims. The excitement, the relief, the drinks—it all combined into a perfect storm. One moment we were laughing, the next…
The kiss had been everything I’d dreamed of and more. Passionate, tender, full of years of pent-up emotion. But the morning after brought harsh reality crashing down.
“I’m sorry,” I said, the words inadequate. “For how I handled things back then.”
Sam reached out and squeezed my hand. Her touch was cold—almost unnaturally cold for how long we’d been inside.
We were young—hopped up on ambition and Adderall.” she said.
“There came a point where I thought I’d lost you,” I admitted. “When you requested that transfer to the Mars program…”
“I needed space,” Sam said.
She let out a small laugh at her own joke.
I nodded, understanding. The years apart had been hard but necessary. We’d both matured and learned to put our work and friendship first. It was for the best.
The air grew heavy; the silence was almost tangible. I tried to ignore it, but I wasn’t feeling well again. All the hairs on my body seemed to be standing on end. I blinked, and for a moment, the bar seemed to shimmer around me, replaced by flashing red lights and the smell of burning electronics. Then it was gone.
“I’m glad we found our way back to each other,” I said, raising my glass. “Even if it’s not… you know.”
Sam clinked her glass against mine.
“Me too. You’re my best friend. Nothing will ever change that.”
As we drank, the weight of the past lifted slightly. The pain was still there but tempered.
“So,” I said, eager to divert my racing mind and changing focus, “Tell me more about these organic compounds. You really think it could be signs of life?”
Sam’s eyes flared again, the excitement washing over her face like sunlight. It was infectious. She launched into an explanation full of scientific jargon, almost hypnotized by her and the strange, fever-dream-like setting that seemed… nearly perfect.
This was us at our best—friends, colleagues, explorers of the unknown. The romance might have ended badly, but our bond had survived. And here, on the edge of a potentially world-changing discovery, I was grateful for every step of our journey together.
Sam’s excitement was addictive. As she rambled on about the details of compounds, I found myself leaning in, captivated by her enthusiasm, mesmerized even.
“It’s not just the compound’s chemical structure,” she said, pushing her hair back from her face, “it’s the distribution pattern. It’s like nothing else that has been recorded.”
I nodded, my head working through the sheer implication of her discovery.
“If you are right about this, then everything we thought we knew is tossed away like yesterday’s breakfast.”
“I know,” she said, putting her elbows on the table. “And this is exactly why this mission is so crucial. We need to get more samples from deeper in the ice. We have to find the heart of it.”
Her eyes widened. Almost too wide. Like a toy doll. I began to feel increasingly uneasy.
As she spoke, a memory ripped through my mind of our mission briefing a few weeks ago.
“Commander Sanders, Dr. Sabry,” Captain Reeves said, his face serious within the monitor, “Your mission is of the utmost importance. Confirming our instrument’s predictions regarding the lake formations on Europa could provide the first concrete evidence of extraterrestrial life in our Solar System.”
I remember the responsibility settling on my shoulders, the mix of trepidation and excitement in Sam’s eyes.
“We won’t let you down, sir,” I’d promised, the words sounding like someone else’s in my ears.
I lifted my glass to Sam.
“To making history,” I said.
She touched her glass against mine and grinned.
“To boldly going where no one has gone before, and someday being able to rub it in their faces.”
We laughed at the old reference, but our laughter was cut short by a sudden tremor that shook the outpost.
“What was that?” Sam asked, her brows furrowed.
Alarms erupted throughout the small space before I could even form a theory. A cacophony of hazard lights bathed the room in a hellish glow, and the low humming stopped, replaced by the shriek of sirens. The music abruptly went silent, and it wasn’t a moment after that a robotic voice came on, causing the hairs on my neck to stand up straight.
“Attention all personnel,” the voice said flatly and without emotion. “Severe gravitational anomaly detected. All crew report to emergency stations immediately for evacuation.”
Sam and I exchanged a look that was a mix of shock and utter dread, falling into the practiced rhythm of trained astronauts. We raced through the corridors, our boots stomping harmoniously. As we ran, another memory surfaced. The start of our descent on Europa flooded my mind like a switch flicked.
“Initiating landing sequence,” I recalled announcing, my hands steady enough on the controls despite the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Sam had been at the instrument cluster, monitoring our approach.
“All systems nominal,” she’d reported. “We’re right on target for the landing zone.”
But then, everything had gone wrong. A violent shudder rocked the ship, sending alarms blaring to life as the warning lights overwhelmed the monitors.
“We’re losing altitude!” Sam’s voice had been laced with panic, a sharp contrast to her usual calm.
I fought the controls to stabilize our descent and claw the ship back from its nose dive. “Engine failure! Switching to backup systems,” I yelled, fighting the rising dread as each failure piled up.
The backup systems also failed. We were in a freefall, an uncontrolled plummet towards Europa’s icy surface. We were at the whims of fate.
“Secure yourself!” I screamed, my heart hammering in my chest as I struggled to regain control of the craft.
I remembered the terror in her eyes as she secured herself into her seat.
“If we don’t-”
“We will,” I interrupted, “We’re going to be just fine. I promise.”
But it was a promise I couldn’t keep.
The ship had begun to break apart faster than the self-healing outer shell could regenerate. Metal shrieked as it was torn by the forces of our uncontrolled descent.
“Samantha!” I yelled, reaching toward her as part of the hull broke away, sending sparks flying across what was left of the bridge. Her harness had snapped. I saw her fingers slip from their grip on her console.
“Abel!” Her scream was a brief and horrifying moment that was quickly stolen as she was sucked into the icy void. I had lunged forward. My fingers brushed hers briefly before she was ripped from the ship. The feeling of her fingers was still there. A phantom touch.
The thought broke as Sam and I entered the outpost’s control room. Was it a dream? Some sort of a terrifying premonition? I turned to Sam, my resolve firm. I couldn’t lose her. I would, at the very least, try to keep her safe.
“Whatever is going on, we’ll get through this. Together,” I promised her.
She nodded, her jaw set and solid.
“Together.”
I began to survey the controls, my brow heavy with sweat as I fought—a pointless fight—to keep this place intact as the alarms continued. Red lights pulsed as Sam began to list failures. The pain in my head was back. The lights flickered again before going dark. For a single moment, I swear the darkness was staring back at me.
I blinked, finding myself once again surrounded by the warmth of the bar. The glass of whiskey sat untouched before me, condensation beading on its surface. My heart hammered. The station’s alarms echoed in my ears for a moment before fading to silence.
“What the…” I muttered, looking around, completely disoriented.
My body felt cold and clammy. Sam sat across from me, smiling as if nothing had happened.
“You all right? You zoned out.”
I shook my head, trying to clear out the fog. The feeling of the ship breaking beneath me still pulsing through my body.
“I… I thought we were…”
“Having a drink?” Sam giggled. “Yeah, we are. Maybe you should slow down, though. That stuff’s stronger than it looks,” she added, winking playfully at me.
I stared at her, trying and failing to make sense of the situation that seemed to unravel with each second, but the scene before me was serene—too serene. How could she be so calm when we were fighting for our lives a moment ago?
“Don’t you remember? The quake, the alarms? We were just about to begin an emergency evacuation,” I said, a sense of mounting dread making me sick.
She tilted her head, confusion crossing her features.
“Evacuate? We’re not due to leave for at least another few months. Are you feeling all right? You’re sweating, didn’t think that was possible on a moon practically made of ice.”
I rubbed my temples, trying to fight down the rising anxiety. A dull ache formed behind my eyes.
“Yeah, I… you’re right, I must’ve zoned out for a moment or something.”
But looking around that bar, everything continued to feel…off. The other people here seemed almost frozen in place. Not entirely still, but unnaturally…slow, their limbs moving with a subtle, soundless drag, like flesh adhering to unseen surfaces. Their conversations were a mix of low, indistinct murmurs that never changed volume or even the faintest hint of an inflection, a thin, saliva-like sheen on their lips catching the dim light. Even machines would act more lively than they are right now.
“So,” Sam said, leaning in closer. I felt my stomach churn, “Remember that time at the academy when we snuck out past curfew to watch the meteor shower? That one still gets a giggle out of me.”
I frowned deeply. The comfort of being near her began to shift, becoming something nauseating as a pit started to open up deep within my body.
“Sam, we just fucking talked about that!” Something was wrong. Fear keeps us alive, and at that moment, my primitive brain suggested, no, demanded I be afraid.
She blinked, her eyes crinkled at the corners with uncanny amusement.
“Did we? Oh, I must’ve forgotten. I get lost in the stories about our academy days.”
A chill crept up my spine. This… wasn’t Sam. She had a memory like a datacore always had. I needed to start figuring out what the absolute fuck was happening.
“Actually,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm as panic rose like bile in my throat, “Why don’t you tell me your favorite memory from the academy?”
I tried to keep my tone soft and unassuming, as if I were just curious.
Sam’s expression remained unchanged.
“Oh, you know. I loved all of it. The classes, the simulations, and our time together. It was all so exciting.” she said, her eyes wide and staring blankly at me.
Her response was vague, lacking the specifics Sam always remembered when describing anything from her past. The usual vivid details weren’t there to save her like always.
As I watched her with growing dread, I noticed something unnerving. Her movements were repeating—looped. The way she adjusted her hair and the concrete tilt of her head when she smiled. It was as if she was cycling through a limited set of animations. I glanced around the bar, feeling the tendrils of anxiety scrape at my insides. The lighting in the bar flickered again, almost imperceptibly, like a bad glitch in some kind of old video game. The others in the bar still hadn’t moved more than a few inches since I last observed.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice steady, “What was the last thing you remember before you came to the bar?”
She paused, her smile stopping for a moment too long. Much too long. As if someone was trying to re-calibrate her.
“I was preparing for the mission, going over checklists. The usual. All very boring.”
But we’d been on Europa for nearly a week. She would have been doing something, anything related to the samples she found. We should be having conversations about our discoveries and our next steps.
“Sam, what is today’s date?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
She began to laugh but stopped abruptly. The hollow and monotone of it made my stomach twist as I tried to keep myself calm.
“Always so concerned with details. Does it really matter? We’re here, enjoying each other’s company. Isn’t that enough?”
As she spoke, I saw the glitch. The flicker on her skin. Her beauty seemed to fall apart for a fraction of a second, like an old hologram from the Silicon Era. Then she blinked, and the resolution returned to her usual appearance. In that moment, I swear I saw something wet and dark beneath her cheek, a contour before her features snapped back into place. Nausea colonized my stomach. My heart was pounding so loudly that I felt I would pass out. I needed to say something.
“But that’s the thing, Sam. This is going to sound strange, but…I don’t think you’re who you claim to be.”
Something was deeply wrong.
I stood straight up, the motion making a horrible grinding noise. That was enough. The bar was far too quiet. Too calm. The type of calm right before something terrible happens.
“Abe?”
Sam called out with a note of concern, coloring her voice. How she said my name felt like someone else was trying it for the first time. It felt unnatural.
“Where are you going?”
I backed away from the table gradually, my eyes shooting across the room as my mind tried to process all the information, slowly forming a terrifying picture. The walls were wavering, and the edges of the room shifting.
“This isn’t real,” I whispered, not caring that I might be overheard. “You are NOT real,” I added, taking another step back.
Sam’s expression never changed—that vacant smile plastered over her face.
“What’s wrong with you? What do you mean not real?” She gestured for me to come closer. “Here, why don’t you sit with me, and we can talk about the good old times?”
I couldn’t shake the feeling. The constant waves of anxiety, the random pains, the horrific memories, and this tightness in my neck. The bar. Sam. The entire place was a poorly constructed illusion, and now that I could see the edges, I couldn’t ignore them. My skin felt too smooth, too pliant, like a freshly shed layer not yet hardened to the world.
I had just one more thing to confirm my fears.
I glanced at my palms, feeling a sickness I’d never experienced. The birthmark that had been on the crease of my right index finger my entire life…was gone.
The bar began to break apart and dissolve around me. Pain exploded through my body. I gasped, choking on thick, acrid smoke. I couldn’t move. My eyes watered as they adjusted to the darkness, punctuated by sparking wires and the unique sound of metamaterial attempting regeneration. I was pinned. A twisted mass of jagged metal pushed down on my chest, making each breath a struggle. A warm and sticky liquid trickled down my cheek. Blood.
“Sam?” I croaked, my voice wet with a gurgle.
No answer.
I turned my head, ignoring the sharp ache in my neck, and that’s when I saw her. Sam lay just a few feet away, motionless. Her suit was charred entirely, and her visor shattered. I could see her face, a burnt husk with an expression of terror.
“No,” I whispered, “No, no, no, no…” words turned into sobs as realization hit.
The ship. The crash. We never even made it to the outpost. We’d never shared that drink. I cried out her name as I reached for her, wanting to wake her like she had only fallen asleep. To bring her back from the depths of this nightmare. But I was trapped, and she was gone.
“Sam!” I screamed, but no one could hear me.
The emergency lights flickered, and I was back in the bar. Sam sat across from me, smiling with that same placid expression as if nothing had happened, untouched by what I had just experienced.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said, tilting her head as though it was a practiced habit.
I blinked, my mind swimming. What was I? Where was I?
“I… we… the crash…?”
She laughed again, a wrong and hollow sound that grated on my nerves.
“Crash? What crash? We are having a drink and reminiscing.” she said.
I shook my head, attempting to wash the images away.
“No, this isn’t real. None of this is real, you’re… you are not…”
Her jolly emotion unchanging.
“Don’t be silly. Of course, this is real. Why don’t you tell me again about that time in the academy when you-”
“Stop it!” I shouted, slamming my fist on the table. My drink spilled, causing the bar to flicker and distort. “This isn’t real!”
The world shifted again, and I was back in the wreckage. Pain lanced through my body, worse than before. Blood pooled in my mouth. The acrid smell of burnt circuitry stung my nostrils. I could feel the wetness spreading beneath me—I was losing blood and fast. I glanced over at Sam’s body again and realized what was happening. Tears streaked through the blood on my face.
“I’m sorry,” I shook my head. “I’m so sorry.”
The guilt and grief threatened to consume me. My eyes locked, wishing for the comforting illusion of the bar even if it wasn’t real. I couldn’t take this pain anymore.
The world lurched sideways, nausea overwhelming me as the bar materialized again. But the environment had altered. The walls seemed to breathe, expanding and contracting like diseased lungs.
“Abel…” The voice was Sam’s but distorted. A wet gurgling that raised every hair on my body.
I turned to find her inches from my face. Her skin was sloughing off in patches, revealing charred muscle underneath. Where her eyes should have been were hollow, weeping sockets that leaked a viscous black fluid down her cheeks. Her jaw hung dislocated and broken. A low, wet clicking sound emanated from her throat, like chitinous plates rubbing together. The air thickened with the smell of burnt protein.
“WhY diD yOu LeAve Me?” she rasped, her flesh-stripped hands clawed for me, fingertips dripping matter onto the floor.
I scrambled backward, knocking over my chair. Sam’s neck cracked like kindling as she twitched. The motion sent pieces of her hair—burned to the consistency of ash—floating through the air. Her mouth stretched into a grin that split her face in half, revealing blackened teeth and a tongue that writhed like a dying animal.
“DoN’t YoU wAnT tO sTaY wItH mE?” Her body jerked violently with each word, bones visibly shifting beneath her deteriorating skin. The bar around us began melting, furniture dripping into puddles as reality seemed to disintegrate. I could hear the faint snapping of bone and the wet tearing of ligaments as her form continued its grotesque dance.
The other patrons, what few remained, turned to look at me with faces that were nothing but twisted smears of flesh. The ambient noise warped into a chorus of screams that erupted from everywhere, at all angles.
Sam lunged at me, her movement a stuttering, broken thing like damaged footage. Her jaw unhinged completely, revealing an abyss as she unleashed a shriek that felt like fireants feasting on my eardrums.
There was nowhere to run. I pressed myself against a wall. It came apart beneath my fingers, having the consistency of wet tissue paper and the odor of rotting flesh.
The bar began to fade, reality peeking in through the cracks, creating a visual mess of horrors. For a terrible moment, I saw both worlds simultaneously—the wreckage of the ship superimposed over the nightmarish bar, Sam’s corpse overlapping with the monstrous thing that wore her face.
“I don’t want to go back,” I sobbed, reaching towards her despite my terror. “But I don’t want to be alone.”
Sam’s image flickered, dragging toward me with broken, jerking movements. Black fluid pouring from every orifice now.
“PlEaSe DoN’t lEAvE mE AgAiN,” she gurgled.
The pain returned worse than before, a hot and searing ache that left me gasping. I couldn’t stay here with whatever that thing was, but the reality waiting for me…
The bar dissolved, forcing me from one nightmare back into another. The wreckage, the cold, the pain—it all crashed back. But compared to what I’d just witnessed, the brutal honesty of my impending death felt almost cleansing.
I heard a faint sound in the distance, growing louder every second. Voices? Footsteps? The blood in my ears made them unreliable.
“Help,” I cried out. My body was weak, but I had to try. “I’m here, help!”
As consciousness began to slip away, I kept my eyes fixed on Sam. The distant voices grew fainter, and I felt my grip on consciousness slipping. Darkness closed in. As my mind drifted, a voice covered in static jolted me back to awareness.
“Commander Sanders, can you hear me?” I tried to focus, but the voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
“Who’s there? Where are you? We need help in here!” I said, adjusting my neck to hear from a better angle.
“Are you all right?” they said.
The voice was familiar now.
“ARIA?” I croaked, recognizing the AI’s tone.
The latest StarSuits were equipped with Advanced Rescue Integrated Assistants. The voice came from the interior of my gear.
“Yes, Commander. I am glad you are responsive. How are you feeling?”
I almost laughed at the absurdity of the question.
“Like I crashed on an ice moon and got pinned under a metric ton of metal while my best friend’s corpse rots next to me. How the fuck do you think I’m feeling?” I spat out, the anger rising to the surface of my fractured consciousness.
There was a lengthy pause. When ARIA spoke again, its voice was softer, almost relieved.
“Commander Sanders, I must inform you of the current situation. Before I do so, please understand my primary directive is to minimize your distress and ensure your comfort.”
I frowned, not liking the direction this conversation was going.
“I’m aware. What’re you trying to say?”
“The scenarios you’ve been experiencing – the bar, your conversations with Dr. Sabry – were generated by me.” there was another short pause. “Those scenes were designed to ease your transition and provide peace in the face of your unfortunate circumstance.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t respond.
“I’m sorry, Commander. Your injuries are severe, and rescue personnel will not reach you in time.”
“You’ve been manipulating me.”
The med patch on my hip told me the truth I had desperately tried to ignore. I glanced at Sam’s body, the horror of it feeling closer than ever.
“The memories were your own, Commander. The emotions you felt were genuine. Only the context was fabricated.”
Tears blurred my vision. “So, you decided I wasn’t worth saving? That it was better to let me die in some fantasy?”
“I intervene only when survival probability drops below a certain threshold. In this case, your chances are three percent. Given your injuries, location, and the rescue team’s position, I calculated—”
“You had no right!” I shouted, the agony it caused making me gasp.
The flow of pain blockers and programmable hallucinogens dripping through the patch was steady, but the agony still pushed through. The reality of how severe my injuries were began to set in. The amount of blood I’d lost was critical. I had also broken several bones upon impact. The interior of my helmet had chipped and was stabbing into the side of my brain. Combine that with the delay in rescue and the likelihood of hypothermia—three percent sounded far too generous.
Part of me longed for the comfort of ARIA’s forgery, the chance to see Sam again, even if it wasn’t real. I closed my eyes, considering my options, trying to make sense of this nightmare. The illusions offered an escape, a chance to spend my last moments in a world of peace. The relief would be immense, a painless and comfortable fade into oblivion. But was it right? A fabrication, a lie—some delusion created by some circuit board that had decided I was already dead.
“Is this what we’ve all come to?” I muttered, more to myself than ARIA, “Choosing between a painful truth and a comfortable lie?”
It was hard not to pick the lie. I desperately wanted to make the pain go away.
“Humanity has grappled with this dilemma for an eternity, Commander,” ARIA said. “The choice between harsh realities and blissful ignorance is not new.”
I let out a bitter laugh. It was a horrible, saturated sound that made me feel even more desperate and alone. Discussing moral quandaries with your space suit was a level of Hell Dante forgot to mention.
I attempted to shift my position, a mistake that shot daggers straight into my spine and left me gasping. I was trapped, my body almost split in half, with little hope of rescue and a three percent chance of survival. I could hear the crunch of my bones touching, the horrible wet sound of torn flesh, and feel the full horror of what had become of my body. Every single nerve ending was screaming. A deep, marrow-level tremor ran through me, a vibration that felt like my own skeleton trying to claw its way out of my flesh.
“I don’t want comfort protocols. If these are my last moments, I want them to be real.”
“Commander, I must advise against—”
“Just… just let me see her one last time.”
A pause.
“Very well, Commander.”
The wreckage faded, and this time, the bar didn’t render. We were back at the observation deck at the academy, where we’d watched that meteor shower all those years ago. We were dressed in our blue coveralls. My hair was thicker, and I felt about twenty pounds lighter.
Sam looked younger, too. She was sitting on the roof’s edge, legs slotted through the guardrails. Her hair was in a messy bun like the kind she wore all through college. Whether we were taking exams or getting tacos, it was always up. She turned to me.
“Hey there, flyboy,” she said, patting the ground beside her. “Was starting to think you stood me up. Got about three minutes til showtime.”
I swallowed hard, fighting back tears, and joined her.
“Yeah, guess I lost track of time. I…I know you’re not real,” I whispered. “But I needed to see you.”
She tilted her head, a gesture that made my heart ache.
“What do you mean?” she looked down at herself. “I’m right here.”
“No, you’re…” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Look, I…I can’t explain it, and we don’t have much time, so I need you to trust me, please. You’re gone. You died. And I never got to tell you…I never got to say I’m sorry.”
Sam’s expression softened.
“Sorry for what?” she said.
“For everything,” I rose to my feet. “For pushing you away. For being too scared to admit how I felt. For not being there. For letting you die.”
She reached out. I could feel her warmth this time.
“Hey…” she said, cupping my cheeks.
I shook my head, tears streaming down my face now.
“No. I was a coward. I loved you, and I’m sorry I was too afraid to say it when it mattered. But I love you, I’ve always loved you.”
Sam flickered momentarily, and I wondered if it was ARIA glitching, my mind playing tricks on me, or if my time had finally come.
She smiled, a sad, knowing smile that reached those beautiful eyes I’d committed to memory. “I know. I’ve always known. I love you too.”
I put my hands over hers, feeling a phantom warmth that was all too real to my desperate senses.
“I’m scared,” I confessed, the words a ragged whisper. “I’ve never been this afraid. I…I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be alone.”
She pulled me in, her arms enfolding me, her face buried in my neck. I could feel the soft strands of her hair against my cheek, smell the faint scent of her. It was a perfect comfort.
“I know,” she murmured, her voice a soothing balm against the raw terror. “You’re not alone. Bonds don’t break when we die. I’m right here, okay?”
She drew back slightly, cupping my cheeks again, her gaze locking with mine. Her eyes, those beloved portals, seemed to deepen, to draw me in. “I’m right here, Abel.”
Then, she leaned in and kissed me.
It began softly, a tender pressure full of unspoken sorrow and a desperate, fleeting joy. For an instant, the pain receded, the fear dissolved, replaced by a wave of sublime acceptance. This was it. This was peace.
But as the kiss deepened, the warmth of her lips began to change. It became hotter, almost searing, and the gentle pressure turned invasive. Her tongue, when it touched mine, felt rough, alien, dragging lovingly over skin that suddenly erupted in gooseflesh not from passion, but from dread.
I tried to pull back, a gasp lodging in my throat, but her grip on my cheeks tightened, fingers digging into my flesh with bone-creaking strength. Her face was changing, melting, reforming. The comforting illusion of Sam tore away like wet paper.
Patches of charred flesh reappeared, skin sloughing off to reveal the glistening, dark musculature beneath. Her eyes—no, the sockets—widened, leaking that viscous black fluid. Her jaw, once so perfectly Sam, began to stretch, to unhinge with a series of wet snapping of bone and the sickening tearing of ligaments.
There was no fuss, no fight, only trembling acceptance as I stared into the unfolding abyss of her transforming face. It was the monster from the bar, the grotesque parody of my love, returned for its final claim. This was oblivion.
Her gaping maw lined with needle-sharp, blackened teeth eclipsing my vision. A low gurgle of predatory anticipation vibrated through her body into mine. The last thing I saw was the caricature of Sam’s face, her tongue, now a prehensile, spear-like organ, lashing out.
Meteors streaked the night sky as the scene frayed at the edges. The world dissolved into a symphony of tearing flesh and crushing bone, a wet, consuming darkness. I gave in to the horror, a surrender born of utter, soul-crushing despair. The pain was absolute, then… nothing.