Chapter Text
The change hurts.
Well. Everything hurts, these days. Hunger. Old wounds. Grief, dull and heavy in the heart. Atonement. Some things hurt more than usual.
This? This falls into the "more than usual" category and surpasses it.
It feels like his chest is caving in with every hit the sub takes. His arm throbs, an ache he feels in fingers that are now part of the pipes. It's gone; he ripped it off, how does it still hurt? His head feels like it's stuck in a vice, dull and aching and pounding all at once.
The worst comes, however, when the monster's teeth pierce the submarine. He screams, one last challenge against the world that turned him into a butcher, his face tearing across his left cheek.
There's an odd feeling, like he's being ripped in half while still whole. He grits his teeth, feeling them sharp and foreign in his mouth, a growl rattling in his chest as he watches with dim satisfaction as the monster bites down hard.
They will get their execution, Simon thinks, teeth bared in challenge. I will get my freedom.
He lets go of the black box. Simon sees it hurtle towards a hole in the wall, carried on the iron waves, and sends a prayer with it.
Hail Mary, full of grace,
The Tree is with you.
Blessed are you among survivors,
And blessed are the seeds of our survival.
Holy Mary, mother of life,
Pray for us sinners,
Now and at the hour of absolution.
The sub collapses inward, and everything falls away.
I SEE YOU
A great red eye looks down at him. He's pinned under that gaze, viscera dripping from it.
He can't move. He can't breathe. He can only look into the eye of God as it judges his sins.
No. Fuck that. Simon grits his teeth.
"I see you," he spits out. The gaze falls heavier upon him. Simon does not look away.
YOU PRAYED
AT THE MOMENT OF YOUR DEATH YOU PRAYED
Simon sucks in a breath, nearly choking on the scent of blood.
"Duh."
YOU WANT TO LIVE
The sheer bluntness if that phrase nearly knocks him over. He lifts one shaking hand over his chest. He can't feel his heartbeat.
"I'd- I'd hoped that I would."
The eye of God is silent for one long eternity.
YOU GAVE UP YOUR CHANCE FOR ANOTHER
Anger rises, dark and foul in Simon's chest.
"It wasn't supposed to end like that. Filament Station wasn't-"
YOU MISUNDERSTAND
YOU GAVE UP YOUR LIFE SO THAT OTHERS MIGHT LIVE
YOU HAVE FOUGHT VALIANTLY
YOUR FREEDOM IS GRANTED
REST
The floor drops out from under Simon. The eye of God turns away-
Simon gasps awake on a cold floor.
He immediately chokes on the way the air tastes, clean and cool and oddly crisp in his throat. It must be dark, wherever he is, because barely any light seeps through his eyelids.
The air drags ragged into his lungs as he slumps against the floor. Simon takes stock.
His arm- what's left of his shoulder is pushed against the cold floor by his own weight. His clothes are wet and sticky against his skin, and the scent of blood is growing stronger the longer he lays here, so he must still be covered in the stuff. He's exhausted.
Why's the floor so cold? The sub was nearly burning to the touch by the end, and none of the COI or Eden ships were this freezing.
Simon pries his eyes open. His right eye is okay. His left eye feels oddly sticky and hurts quite a bit, but he can see.
A suit of some sort is attached to the wall next to him. It has some sort of dome for a head, and Simon blearily decides it's to keep air in. He props himself up with a grunt, hissing in pain when the motion sends spikes of pain through his chest. Broken ribs are a definite possibility right now.
There's a light coming from somewhere. He turns his head, blinking away vertigo.
He stops.
He's sitting on the floor next to a series of screens. They sit into the wall in a hexagonal shape, almost like… what was the technical term? It begins with a "c" but Simon can never fuckin' remember it-
Whatever. It almost looks like a window. Except it can't be a window, it's a bunch of screens, because Simon is seeing something that doesn't exist anymore.
He quickly hauls himself to his feet, swaying as dizziness overwhelms him. He stumbles, falling against the wall while he blinks black spots out of his vision.
Simon can't tear his eyes away from the screens.
Stars.
He's looking at a picture of the stars. A proper picture, not the blurred photos Eden showed or the ancient printed starchart he once found during a COI raid.
No. This picture is crisp and clear, moving slightly as if panning to the side. There are so many stars in the picture, like glass dust strewn across ink. It's beautiful.
Then Simon moves closer, and the picture moves with him. The stars don't get any bigger or visibly closer like they would on a stationary screen. Instead, they seem to almost open, worsening Simon's vertigo. He steps into the little hollow the screens sit in, looks to the side to peer closer at the screen, and-
He sees it. A faint metallic gleam in the side of the screen, stretching out like the exterior of a ship. It-
Oh.
Simon's gaze snaps back to the picture of the stars.
Oh.
It's not a picture.
Something makes a noise on the other side of the wall behind him. He jumps, cursing softly. The noise stops.
A strange clatter. A musical sound, coming closer. Simon barely has enough time to wonder at the music before the wall behind him is thrown open with a deafening bang, and something scuttles into the room.
Simon stares.
It's a rock in a glass suit. It stops short, seeming shocked to see him standing there, which is impossible because rocks don't have strange expectations.
Simon glances at the stars again, then back at the rock. The rock makes a noise that can only be defined as a song, and Simon's tired brain quickly comes to a conclusion.
He's dead, and the rock is an angel, here to bring him to the afterlife.
Simon blinks sluggishly, then nods, swaying.
"Okay," he mumbles. "I'm ready."
The rock screams, and Simon collapses to the floor.