Work Text:
Subspace Tripmine had grown old.
He thought he wouldn't.
Hyperlaser thought he wouldn't.
Biograft thought he wouldn't.
Korblox Administration thought he wouldn't.
But he still was and still is aging by the second. Though Subspace wished he wasn't.
How many years has it been since he worked for Blackrock? Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty, forty... Ah, screw it. All he knew was that he had spent too long serving and suffering. The rot had spread greatly, leaving almost no room for untainted flesh on the right half of the body. And, due to the toxins it produced, it wasn't long until the left side started degrading too. If it weren’t for that traitor, then he wouldn't be as crippled as he is now...
As time took its toll on him, he found himself wearing Gamma more often to meetings. When he was still in his thirties, it was, of course, a mandatory thing for him. No one really wanted toxic fumes everywhere--- which truly was Subspace's only kind consideration for the people around him.
If he wasn't wearing Gamma, then he would be his companion.
Though companion is such a strange word, isn't it, Subspace?
With age, he found himself wearing Gamma more and more until he was bedridden, and he figured out that the time had come for him, and that death, with her crimson scythe, would come when the crows caw like bells hammering their tolls into the city. And when the Reaper was at his bedside, she would announce: "Behold, the Great Scientist of Blackrock at his final moment! Shall he regret what he has done, SFOTH will bless him. If not, then he shall find his soul in the fiery pits of damnation!"
...
Damnation.
Subspace wasn't sure that damnation was true. After all, no one knew how death worked, other than SFOTH Deity Ghostwalker, presumably. But when the Reaper should bring him before the deity, reporting all his crimes under the guise of scientific advancement, what would he think? Never once did he believe in such a person. Subspace swore he only worshiped his nation, but now that the imagery of the afterlife was drawing near, doubt grew as strong as his trust in his body--- almost to none, believing he would die no sooner than today.
"Please, my lord, have mercy on me!"
...
"I do not know you. Bring him away, Reaper."
And then, the Reaper would catch his neck with her scythe, dragging him away from Ghostwalker's presence and deeper, closer to damnation. The SFOTH above, the other six, Subspace saw them watching from their places in the sky.
Illumina's constellation watched unamusingly above Ghostwalker's throne. Venomshank turned his head as the Reaper and Subspace passed his fortress. Windforce rested her aching muscle on a pillow of clouds. Darkheart spectated from the abyss, his smile ever so hauntingly taunting, Icedagger, the youngest, cold and distant as he played with snowflakes, and Firebrand, destroyer of Lost temple, waited at the end of the road.
Surely, all of these were hallucinations, right?
But the wring the Reaper had on his neck---
The gazes of the SFOTH above him---
All of it felt too real. Surreal, but reality still.
...
...
...
...
...
...
"GRK!---"
"FUCK YOU, SUBSPACE. Fuck. You." Hyperlaser gritted his teeth as he applied increasing pressure to Subspace's throat. The decrepit scientist couldn't see what the mercenary's expression looked like beyond that helmet of his, but he could tell it was some sort of relishing resentment. The very same one when he stabbed out Medkit's left eye and when he turned Coil into something far too unrecognisable.
Subspace stared back, struggling, but ultimately lost. What was the point of fighting back when you're bedridden, and the only form of communication was with your damn, almost useless, robot you bothered to name? That little shit wasn't even here anyway.
So if Subspace was going to die of choking, then so be it.
"You took my son away from me. And then you took my MEDKIT away from me, and then my memories of him, and then my friends, and then my only friend after that, KATANA, and my life--- everything. And now, you get to die and not pay your price for that?!" Hyperlaser applied more weight to his chokehold. "And you just get to escape it. All of it. Like it costs you nothing."
Subspace couldn't respond. Not that he could anyway, even without Hyperlaser's hands around his throat. His vocal cords fully broke down by forty-five. By fifty-one, bedridden.
Hyperlaser went on with his chokehold for a few more seconds before letting go. The only sound that went out of Subspace's rotten mouth was dry, labored gasps for air. The mercenary became so agitated from the sound of his breathing that he choked him again for the second time, this time, mercilessly.
But he couldn't do it anymore.
The mercenary lifted his hands from the decrepit man’s neck, letting him breathe again. "I hope you die miserably like every single one of your experiments, Subspace. Genuinely. Fuck you." Hyperlaser sniffed, voice broken. He left as Subspace was still grasping for air, slamming the door behind him and rushing out of the hospital as fast as he could.
...
...
...
...
...
Cold. Dark. Lonely.
Icedagger was crying once again, his tears drifting as the blizzard outside Subspace's hospital window. His riches managed to afford him a solitary room. His doctors? Biografts--- his own creation. Gamma? Well, he was a prototype for health-related jobs. Before he was first administered to this hospital, Korblox Administration had already made sure of ways to keep Subspace going longer, be it for scientific purposes, the scientists supposed.
Subspace's rotting condition had become a great focus in the health and scientific fields, which could have been a huge boost to Subspace’s ego if it weren't for the fact that people would then have to regularly check up on and experiment on him.
And, to be honest? He would rather experiment on himself than let other puny ranks below him do it.
Hence, the Biografts.
Were they not sentient, correct? But it was far better company than real people. Inphernals around him agreed with Subspace, too. They would rather the Biografts tend to him than themselves.
And Subspace was fine with that.
Somehow.
...
...
...
So lonely.
Subspace could still feel the sting of Hyperlaser's hands against his neck. He remembered how close he was to dying, how he could have been grateful, at least once, for getting murdered and ending his life. But no, Hyperlaser was a coward at his very heart, and he left before he could finish the job he had been wanting to find release for.
And here he was, back to the vicious cycle of wanting to live or not. When the mercenary said he hoped Subspace died a miserable death just like his experiments, the scientist wondered about the fairness of that. Less? Equal? Or more than fair? Or should it be called justice in the eyes of a judge?
He had cursed countless Inphernals that he deemed lowly and utterly pointless with his experiments--- changing, mutilating, and destroying their sense of self and their body until they were of no point anymore for the scientist to use. Subspace swore it was for the advancement of the Biografts, and deep down, it somehow was.
For example:
Coil, an outlander of Blackrock and a criminal in his very nature, was subject to Subspace's torture. The scientist could have easily handed the crystal criminal over to Blackrock Enforcement for them to handle. Possibly to get jailed.
But no. When the Zeta Biografts caught the young man red-handed, and he was then presented to Subspace, he was brought by the madman to Korblox Administration, exposed of his criminal identity, and, cruelly, was turned into the madman's next test subject.
Which Korblox Administration couldn't care less about. Anything Subspace wanted, they allowed. After all, they just needed his mind to work on what they wanted. And Subspace was more than hardwired to do so.
The following three years, Coil was perverted beyond recognition. His left eye was replaced with a Zeta-Graft lens, and it leaked white fuel discharge. Coil's blood was turned blue, and his organs, after multiple failures, were replaced and "made better". The worst part? He was not an Inphernal anymore.
In an act of vicious mockery, Subspace had him dressed in Playgrounder clothes--- the same fashion as the runaways and discarded Craterdust Capitol citizens wore. And to top it off, named him Coil 2.0.
Coil 2.0 was supposed to be a breakthrough in how it was indeed possible to transfer Inphernal brains into robotic vessels. For example, the Biograft. And the Korblox Administration applauded him for that.
Until Coil 2.0 was launched into the Phighting Tournaments. In the tenth round, after sustaining damage and failing due to multiple injuries to phighters Slingshot, Skateboard, and Boombox, the cyborg failed and died. Statistics reported that his heart and other organs had overworked for unknown reasons, and that his gear was not interacting properly at that point with his body.
Rumors spread that the three realised too late who they were against, and only saw it once they saw the cyborg's face and realised it was Coil all along— the one who went missing years ago.
And all that Subspace cared for were the mistakes that had happened. Korblox was disappointed about the results, but deemed it still a breakthrough nonetheless.
But Subspace had overlooked that all of those Inphernals, whose lives he had thrown away, had other lives who cared for them. After the accident occurred, the fighters who were related to the criminal left the tournaments silently. They never appeared again after that, and went to live their lives mourning who used to be their friend.
Is this why Icedagger was crying tonight? Why else would the snow not stop falling across Blackrock in endless fury?
…
The window looked too thin. Way too thin. A winter chill was slipping in through the fringes, biting beyond the pane as the misty air seemingly pulled onto the many IV fluid lines, injecting pointlessness into Subspace just to keep him hanging longer.
Stop.
...
Stop.
It's cold.
...
...
...
Please. Stop. I can't take the cold.
But the blizzard did not listen. Subspace swore there was a blurry figure watching him from outside his window— large crystalline wings fluttering restlessly with the wind as the figure watched the decrepit scientist look back at him.
It mouthed:
You
Killed
My
People.
Die
In
The
Same
Snow
You
Buried
Them
In.
Subspace freaked out when the window suddenly burst open, sending chilling snow and arctic winds all over the room. The heater instantly became useless in the frantic scene, coughing up before dying out. Goosebumps went all over Subspace's skin, and even his rotted body felt how furious the cold was.
Subspace slowly turned to his right and saw Icedagger's figure looming over his side. His right eye blew open. What was left of his vocal cords and jaw blurted out the Biografts' name as well as Gamma-Graft's name. It came out dry and husky--- way too silent against the blast of winter wind.
Fortunately, he had a tablet of buttons accessible on his left side. He repeatedly, though slowly, pressed the help button. It beeped a pre-recorded, vocoded message as he continued pressing.
All while Icedagger was there on his bedside, standing, watching, waiting.
Waiting for a heart attack.
The small deity leaned over Subspace's head, crawling his frosty, icicle-like hands across his rotten cheeks, and forcing the decrepit man to look at him.
"May you suffer an icy death," Icedagger said.
Just in time, Biografts, Gamma-Graft, and a handful of actual nurses burst into the room and saw the decrepit scientist crying, shivering in the cold as trickles of blood ran down from his lips. "Help! Help! Help!" Beeped across the room as the nurses and Biografts got to work helping the man.
Subspace tapped into another tablet, telling in Morse code over and over again, in messy, almost indecipherable responses, Icedagger's name over and over again.
When the Biografts told the nurses, they shrugged it off. All they said was that Icedagger didn't come and assured Subspace would be safe, though they didn't mean it at all.
They closed the window,
Cleaned up the snow,
And called it a night.
And Subspace was alone again.
But he still wasn't alone. Not when Icedagger was still watching from outside.
...
...
...
...
...
Subspace could only get one good day. Today, he sat upright, leaning his back against the headboard of his bed. The sun was out in the open this afternoon, blocked by only thin cirrus clouds ever so wispy and fleeting.
The decrepit man, however, knew better.
He could never have a good day.
Subspace stared at the ghost sitting at the foot of his bed, haunted by the imagery that mocked him. Why are you here? Shouldn't you have died a long time ago? Why did you have to come back to haunt me now?
Medkit?
But the young, seafoam-green Inphernal with a bloodied left eye stared right back at him without words to say. At least, not right now.
It's been too long since Subspace last saw Medkit.
But now that he was here, what could he say to him?
...
"It looks like you've seen a ghost, Subspace," Medkit said slowly, apathetic to the injury in his left eye.
Subspace didn't respond. Not even with a grunt.
You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not—
"Look at me, Subspace."
You can't read my thoughts.
"Yes, I can."
...
...
...
"Isn't it a beautiful day today?"
...
"I dreamed about a day like this in Blackrock— when the sun would shine like it hadn't before. You could almost smell a tinge of vapor from the snow melting. Just a tinge. It smells like soil, right? Somewhat, no?
Didn't you tell me that was your favorite smell?"
You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not—
"Don't ignore me, Subspace."
A beam of sunlight tore in from the window, illuminating Medkit's left side more clearly for Subspace's ruined eyes.
...
...
...
"I loved that smell too."
...
What with it now? You loved every random thing that happened in Blackrock. If I knew you better, you might scream over a few flowers blooming, Medkit. What with it now? Tell me the fuck NOW. I swear to SFOTH—
"I was supposed to propose to Hyperlaser on a day like that. It was so close. I checked the weather that week, and it said that Friday would be a little bit nicer for the season."
...
"Did you know that?"
...
Yes.
"I hope you're happy, then."
...
It would have destroyed your work. Didn't you know distractions like Hyperlaser could throw you off of Korblox's list of potentials? Didn't you want to be great? Didn't you want to have everything? Did you really think that marrying—
"I COULD HAVE HAD EVERYTHING." Medkit's voice quivered in his mind. "I could have had everything if it weren't for you."
The young doctor stood from his seat on the bed and walked toward Subspace. Medkit then ran a hand down Subspace's left face, focusing on the lost eye before caressing the rot that had gnawed at the scientist's jaw.
You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not—You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not real. You're not—
"You knew exactly what you needed to do just to split us apart, didn't you? Woo me with your words. Make me fall deeper into Korblox's hold. Get Hyperlaser into more missions.
Take his son away from him when we least expect it.
You just had to ruin it all, didn't you? All because you were a little too obsessed with this... puny scientist? Ha. Pathetic."
Medkit leaned in and gave Subspace a light kiss on where his left eye was supposed to be.
"Live long and die slow, Subspace."
...
...
...
After Medkit disappeared in the blink of an eye, Subspace bore his stare into the wall in front of him. He clutched the bedsheets with his hands as tightly as he could.
A tear rolled from his good eye.
He sniffed it away, pretending it was nothing.
Next, a squeezing feeling folded his guts so backwards he couldn't handle the pressure.
I'm sorry, Medkit. Fuck— I.
I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for ruining your—
The door squealed as it pushed open, followed by a metallic thud against the wood floor.
"Creator, it is time for your medicine!" Gamma-Graft chimed.
…
…
…
…
…
Despite being deaf in his right ear, Subspace managed to hear the riot’s cacophony on the street just outside the hospital. The people screamed about being against the Administration’s plans on turning Biografts into citizens of Blackrock, which means that such jobs that once belonged to Inphernals will be done by the robots, ultimately displacing the already skewed Inphernal-to-Biograft ratio of the workforce.
If the robots could fare well in the military, what more could they do beyond that? After all, what they were protesting about was just a new rule about to be imposed upon Blackrock. Subspace knew that, at that point in time, the citizens were already far too late. There was no more left to do except scream against it, struggle against the restraints as they witnessed the world change before their very eyes.
…
Subspace once looked toward this day. He could have gotten political power over Blackrock. But ever since his condition started to worsen, the fantasy slowly lost its meaning. He wished he could look at the riot and see people angry at the decree, and wished that he could laugh it off as a funny, sociological, and political by-product of his millennium-changing work. But all he could hear was everyone cursing his name. The Inphernals solely blamed him for all the trouble in today’s generation. Inphernals bore his name like a curse to be said, titling him as the ‘creator of disgrace’ and a madman.
Which was true.
It could never have been truer than it was today.
Subspace turned his head to the window and saw the SFOTH deity Venomshank, back turned away from the scientist, as he overlooked the riot from the window. According to the mythology books Subspace read only for the tales back then, Venomshank was the god of war, a general who raised fallen soldiers from the trenches and willed their corpses to wield swords and continue fighting.
Did you raise them? Those… zombies… outside?
…
”You did, Subspace Tripmine.”
…
”Once upon a time, before Playground and Blackrock became enemies, I led the Lost Temple into war against Blackrock. It was gruesome. Countless Inphernals of Blackrock died to me, all because their king wanted to conquer lands he thought he could. Eventually, the citizens of Blackrock Kingdom turned against their king, blaming him for their loss of life, and, eventually, burned him at the stake for his atrocities.
Are you that king, Subspace Tripmine?”
…
”I think you know the answer, then.”
…
”This war that I am leading, do you know who it is up against?”
Venomshank turned his head sideways, his plague mask covering all the expressions Subspace thought he could decipher from his words.
Me.
…
…
…
…
…
It was a fine night. No snow outside. No riots. No clinical smell— at least nothing that he could pick up- and no Hyperlaser to come screaming and choking him.
Except for what he swore was laughter from under his bed.
Gamma-Graft was here to accompany him, thank… Nevermind.
Subspace placed his left hand on Gamma-Graft’s hand, the contrast of his wrinkled, pink-ish skin shocking against the soft, metallic blue running through Gamma-Graft’s framework. There was a program within the robot that allowed Subspace to communicate through Morse code. Every Biograft had that— it wasn’t special to Gamma-Graft, but Gamma was designed to translate live.
For the past hour, Subspace had been telling what he had been seeing in his visions for the past fifteen years. All that Medkits in his nightmares, the sight of the SFOTH he read from the fairytales appearing in his mind, and how he swore that they themselves came to him to taunt him—
Someone laughed.
G-A-M-M-A.
”Yes, Creator?
C-A-N Y-O-U H-E-A-R L-A-U-G-H-I-N-G?
”No, Creator. I do not.”
Subspace tapped faster. Y-O-U -S-H-O-U-L-D R-E-C-H-E-C-K I-T.
Gamma-Graft did a quick scan of the environmental audio, then a deep scan. Though they found nothing.
”Creator, my sensors detect no laughing sound. Why are you hearing laughing sounds?”
The darkness laughed again, this time, less hidden. It was as if they wanted Subspace to hear him laughing, to hear that dry sound cackle from a rattish whisper to a full deep laugh. It emerged from the corners of the room, turning out the already dim lights as the shadows grew darker and darker. Subspace’s good eye darted its gaze around the room, desperate to see what was happening in the darkness.
G-A-M-M-A T-H-E-Y A-R-E L-A-U-G-H-I-N-G A-T M-E.
Neon-green smiles flashed around the room as the laughter turned into an incomprehensible crowd. It watched from the darkness, growing only more amused at the scientist as he tapped helplessly into Gamma-Graft’s hand for help.
M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P. M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P. M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P. M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P. M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P. M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P.
M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P. M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P. M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P.
M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P. M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P. M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P.
M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P. M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P. M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P.
M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P. M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P. M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P.
M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P. M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P. M-A-K-E I-T S-T-O-P.
“Creator, I do not hear the laughing— you— described—“ Gamma-Graft’s voice was getting cut off by the hundreds of laughs echoing across the room. “I— get— the doctors— for you.”
Subspace was removed from the privilege to hold onto something as Gamma-Graft rushed out of the hospital room to call the staff.
C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K. C-O-M-E B-A-C-K.
The shadows only laughed louder.
Stronger.
MAKE IT STOP.
Just then, the doctors, along with the Biografts, burst into the room, and the shadows and laughing stopped.
Subspace didn’t bother to tell them what happened.
He brushed it off as a panic attack.
They wouldn’t believe him anyway.
And when the lights turned off again, the laughter came back.
Quiet, but still there.
In the corner.
…
…
…
…
…
It was a dark and snowy night when Hyperlaser came into the hospital room carrying a bag filled with vices.
Subspace, sitting upright, watched quietly as the mercenary slowly paced across his room. Hyperlaser pulled a chair from the round table on the other side and dragged it over the floor, the metal legs screeching and leaving a trail mark on the wood. He stopped dragging the chair when it was on Subspace’s right side, adjusted it, and sat there quietly, doing nothing.
Gamma-Graft wasn’t here to save Subspace now.
And none of the nurses would give a shit anyway.
Such is the Korblox Administration and all its intricacies and fairness.
The decrepit scientist turned stiff. He heard the deep, slow breaths Hyperlaser was taking, and imagined how his still intimidating stature carved a shadow over him.
Subspace extended his left hand for the tablet and pressed a button. “YES?” It beeped in its vocoded voice. Hyperlaser knew it was more of a “WHAT IS IT?” Rather than a polite inquiry. After all, having worked with a monster granted him the benefit of knowing their language.
However, Hyperlaser did not answer.
Instead, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his bag, his hands fumbling with it as he searched for his lighter with his other. Hyperlaser set the packet and the lighter on Subspace's bed gently, as if presenting to Subspace his vague ideas for him to figure it out, though nothing clicked in the madman's scrambled mind.
Then, the mercenary removed his helmet, finally showing Subspace the damage the decrepit scientist had done to him so, so long ago. Hyperlaser's left face was overtaken with burn marks, his fur and hair there completely rendered out from the damage. His right side had the same, less, though arguably not much of a difference from the left side's damage. Subspace remembered Hyperlaser's eyes being blue, though, staring back now, he saw his blind, gray eyes.
Hyperlaser sighed once, letting out a deep, withheld breath before he started reaching for his cigarette and lighter, albeit more clumsily. Forgive his ailment. He didn't deserve this.
Hyperlaser pulled one stick out first, accidentally dropped it, cursed, took another one, and grabbed it right. He set it between two fingers and lit up the other end, almost burning his fingertips, and took a deep breath of the tobacco.
Subspace watched as Hyperlaser's ruined face changed from a catatonic, listless poker face to a gentle smile.
The mercenary straightened his posture, tilted his head to the decrepit man, and laughed. Smoke bellowed from his chapped lips, the scent unfortunately striking Subspace's nose and earning a cough out of him. “Look, Subspace, I can still do Zuka's quadruple cigarette flip!” Hyperlaser quietly said. However, when he tried doing the trick, his hands slipped, and the cigarette fell to the floor.
The mercenary's smile turned catatonic again.
Hyperlaser stomped out the lit stick and pulled out another one to promptly light up. He continued smoking.
After finishing this one cigarette, Hyperlaser threw away the bunt onto Subspace's bed. He lit up another one and offered it to the decrepit man. Subspace denied the offer and subsequently earned a grunt out of the older man. The mercenary took his own cigarette and inhaled it more aggressively, wanting the smoke to burn his lungs more and more.
He bent beside him and took a pack of beer cans from his bag and a few drugs. Subspace wondered how the mercenary slipped it through inspection, but that was beyond the point now.
Hyperlaser took the cigarette from his mouth and snuffed it out with his hands, throwing the cig on the decrepit man's bed again. Taking a beer from the pack, he opened the lid and drank it all in, finishing the can in a few seconds. It didn't take too long before the mercenary started acting funny. Subspace knew his alcohol tolerance was somewhat weak. The scientist wanted to laugh at it— find joy in his suffering, but all he could feel was stiffness forming in his shoulders and the weight of a mountain crumpling his legs, immobile.
“I had a kitty once,” Hyperlaser began. He sipped from another bottle of beer this time, his speech slurring more and more. “Her name was Princess.
She would be dead now, but… at least she would have died pretty. Ain't it right, Subspace, eh?”
“YES,” Subspace tapped the button. I regret it. Please. I regret doing that. Is that what you want me to say?
“She was all I had left after losing everything else.
And you just had to take that?
Because you wondered if animals can bear gears?”
Subspace felt tears welling in his good eye, the warm water flowing down his rotten cheek, and stinging his flesh with the saltiness of it.
“I thought she somehow managed to slip out of the house when I didn't see her. I was checking my monitor so many times while I was out in the fields, Subspace.
When I got back home, the door was unlocked. And that's when I realised she was taken.”
The decrepit man let out a low heave, his chest hurting from the sudden pressure. Subspace tried to hold back the coughs and itching in his throat, but to no avail, and still got out. Visions of darkness were swallowing him again, the laughter from the corners growing louder until it was an annoying background buzz.
Subspace accidentally let out a choked sob— a wail. He didn't know why he was crying. All he wanted to say was sorry. All he wanted to do was ask for forgiveness.
“Yeah… I cried like you when the Zeta-Graft told me what happened to Princess. I only had her for a little time. Well, five years is usually the half-life for a cat, no? But she was still so beautiful.” Hyperlaser drunkenly said. As he finished the last of his second can, he muttered incoherent words. He sent the can flying across Subspace's bed and hit the wall with a dull thud.
He reached for another can, opened it, and took a sip. Hyperlaser set the beer down on the bed, reached for the weed blunts in his bag, and took one cig and lit it up.
“I miss her.
I miss them.
All of them.”
Hyperlaser let out a puff of smoke, smiling as he thought he saw it form in the shape of his cat.
Then, out of nowhere, the mercenary laughed.
First, out of sync with the distorted background laughter Subspace was already hearing, then caught up with the tone of the others. He needed it to stop. Stop laughing, damn it. Stop your fucking guilt-tripping, Hyperlaser. Can't we just let it go?!
“STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP.” Beeped the machine, Subspace had been pressing repeatedly without his knowing. Hyperlaser halted his laughing, his voice dying out when he repeatedly heard the machine.
“Dipshit. You listen to me.” He commanded. Hyperlaser punched Subspace's rotten arm, making the scientist cry loudly for a short moment as the pain shot through his entire body.
“SORRY. SORRY. SORRY. SORRY. SORRY. SORR-” Subspace repeatedly pressed that button specifically, hoping Hyperlaser could pick up on his guilt. Could he, at the very least, repent for his sins? Subspace doesn't need Hyperlaser's mercy as long as he said his truth. “SORRY. SORRY. SORRY. SORRY. SORRY.”
And yet, Hyperlaser just sat there, smoking weed and drinking beer. Subspace stopped pressing the button, simply giving up on all other forms of hope as he cried into the abyss.
Finally, after hours of wasting away, Hyperlaser was done with Subspace and his crying. He could see light shining down on him from above, the image of what could have been his family inviting him to come with them. Medkit was there, still wearing that sweater and scarf he gifted so long ago. Young Slingshot held onto the doctor's hand as he looked down at his Father. And Princess was meowing, peeking over the edge of the cliff to see her caretaker.
“Come home, Hyperlaser.”
“Papa! Play with me!”
“Meow!”
Oh, such a beautiful sight. Hyperlaser drank his last drops and smoked his last cig.
Subspace saw the sudden change in Hyperlaser's move.
And before he could think of it, Hyperlaser summoned his gear.
The mercenary flipped the railgun and pointed the end of the barrel at his chin.
Hyperlaser didn't need to know Subspace was staring point-blank at him. He knew he already was the moment a heavy, metallic sound dropped to the ground.
…
…
…
“Subspace, do you want to say anything to me? Anything before I go?”
…
…
…
Hyperlaser, don't you FUCKING DARE— Subspace reached for the tablet and pressed the emergency button.
“HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP. HELP—”
…
The mercenary tightened the grip on the trigger. “Yeah, just as I thought.”
“I'll see you in Hell, Subspace.”
Hyperlaser pulled the trigger, and everything went white and high-pitched.
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
The first thing Subspace saw was Hyperlaser’s corpse sitting lifelessly on the chair he sat in, the head absolutely demolished inwards, insides sent outward where the laser blast went through. The white wall behind him was splattered with the Inphernal’s blood, and so was the chair, the floor, Subspace’s bed, Subspace’s face, Hyperlaser’s clothes— everything was drenched in blood.
The man’s gear turned into blue particles and vanished minutes later, going to SFOTH knows where in the world. If he died, then he died. Good. But not so good in the end either way.
The second thing Subspace noticed was that the nurses came too late. They arrived at his doorstep, gagging at the sight of the suicide. It was so horrible that some had to run away, maybe to vomit out their dinner or to pass out from being a witness to the General of Blackrock’s army’s death. In fact, they arrived so late and halted their work so badly that Subspace was still staring at the grisly corpse in front of him.
The third thing Subspace noticed was that he wasn’t taken away from the dead Inphernal beside him yet. He was trying to search for the poor man’s face in the disaster, only to see a replay of the laser firing from below Hyperlaser’s chin and straight through the top of his head. It became so deformed in that moment, and Subspace just happened to see how it crumpled and vaporized the nanosecond the trigger went all the way down.
He didn’t move an inch. Not much, anyway.
…
When help finally arrived, it was five Biografts who marched in to clean up the mess, one already carrying a body bag and the others cleaning equipment for the disaster. “MOVE CREATOR TO ANOTHER ROOM,” ordered one of them. When another serial-designated Biograft moved in to organize Subspace’s IV stands, the others began to identify the corpse.
”GENERAL HYPERLASER WILL BE REMEMBERED AS A GOOD MAN WHO SERVED BLACKROCK,” the Biograft who scanned his body stated. It said a sentence Subspace didn’t program into the robots. If he had to guess, it was the Korblox Administration who put the information in. They did have complete authority over the robots, anyway. Subspace, for all his worth, was just a helping hand, even as the sole creator of the Biografts. If Hyperlaser were still alive, he would scoff at the meaningless words the robots had just blurted out. “BIOGRAFTS, TREAT HIS BODY WITH RESPECT.”
”AFFIRMATIVE.”
They moved Hyperlaser’s body from the chair and set it in the body bag on the ground, making sure that no more flesh nor blood would scatter. Their metal hands worked with the blood, staining themselves with the warm, fresh crimson as they worked with the mess
One of the Biografts accidentally nudged something with its feet. Looking down, they saw the mercenary’s helmet, still fully intact though very much covered in some blood.
”HYPERLASER’S HELMET,” it stated flatly. “THIS WILL BE CLEANSED BY GAMMA-GRAFT. RELAYING ORDERS, NOW.” Then, the Biograft turned to Subspace, wanting their Creator to acknowledge. “ACCORDING TO CUSTOMS, THIS HELMET SHALL BE BURIED WITH HIM.”
Subspace did not answer.
Once the Biograft that was tending to Subspace had finished organizing the equipment, they moved the scientist out of the room slowly, careful to not mess with the clean-up in progress. The current objective was to get Subspace safely to a temporary room that the Biografts had cleared out after learning of the incident.
Subspace looked at the inside of the room one last time, seeing the still-open body bag containing Hyperlaser’s corpse lying on the cold wood floor. Faceless.
…
That’s how Subspace would remember Hyperlaser.
…
…
…
…
…
When Subspace came back to his hospital room a week later, the painting Hyperlaser left still splattered on the walls in the scientist’s mind. The bitter smell the tobacco left lingered in his bedsheets as if it hadn’t been washed at all, and with it, too, seemingly stayed the stain of the mercenary’s blood where it had soaked. Subspace turned his head to the right, trying to figure out where Hyperlaser was. Did the mercenary sit closer or farther away? When did he pull the trigger? How fast could he have flung his right hand forward to stop him?
How long could I have stalled his death?
Subspace stared at that spot.
For seconds.
For minutes.
For hours.
For days and nights.
”He is still catatonic,” he heard Gamma-Graft say to who might be a Korblox Official, the audio blurring between reality and fantasy. “He hasn’t moved an inch. On the occasion he should rest, we sometimes use sedatives. Or we try to ease him to sleep by sitting in that spot.” Gamma-Graft explained as it walked over Subspace’s right and sat by the bedside, sitting on the same chair where Hyperlaser once sat. “According to our observations,” Gamma-Graft tilted his head with a soft whirr, “It calms him down. Or, at least, distracts him.”
”Feeding your Creator’s delusion, that is.”
”Statement denied. As a Biograft intended to take care of my Creator, I will do anything for his health.” Gamma-Graft defended. When Subspace reached for the robot’s hand, it turned its full attention to the decrepit man.
H-Y-P-E-R-L-A-S-E-R? Subspace tapped in Morse code, the letters coming into pattern onto Gamma-Graft’s hand.
“… Mr. ##################, please leave for now. Creator needs some time alone.”
…
…
…
…
…
Blazing oranges and warm pinks filtered in through the window, the winter sunset splashing a dark, ominous glow into the hospital room. The white walls were painted almost red by the light, causing an unsightly memory to surface beneath Subspace’s blank eye. Reminded of his mortality by the steady beep of the heart monitor and the shallow breaths that pushed in and out of his chest, he stopped breathing for a moment before staring steadily, without a stop, at the wall in front of him, back hunched forward to the point of hurting.
At the foot end of the bed sat the reaper, relaxed in her chair. A shadow covered her hooded face, her hat stretching a large circumference over her head, almost as if it were a parasol. She ruffled the feathers at the edge of her short cloak, bored that her job as the ferryman of souls would have to be postponed for a moment.
At the left side of the foot of the bed sat Medkit, his mangled left eye visible to Subspace from where he placed himself. The young scientist said nothing as he brandished the horn ring that was once gifted to him by Hyperlaser on a snowy Christmas, gently running his finger over the surface of the gold.
They all waited for nothing to come by, staying silent as minutes passed without a point. Except, maybe for one.
No one was still sitting on the chair at Subspace’s right.
”The color of the sunset’s fittin’ you nicely, Subspace,” the Reaper complimented, slightly tipping her hat forward. “Someone said that to you a long time ago, I recall?”
”His ego, I presume,” Medkit answered, still caressing the horn ring. “The only compliment he ever got was Korblox praising him for how good of a scientist he was. He’s only ever been the ‘smart and hard-working scientist that will push the nation of Blackrock forward’, but never anything else.” He continued. The words were salt to the tongue, a flavor that would burn so badly that someone would have to gag it out. “I’m sure the validation felt good, though. It kept him hanging somewhat longer.”
Bitch.
”Watch your tongue. Korblox taught us to be respectful, and you can’t do that?”
”Great minds think outside the box, Medkit. Forgive ‘im for being a little creative with his comebacks.”
There was no joy in Medkit’s eye as he heard the Reaper’s compliment. “Creative? If that was the case, congratulations on the breakthrough. In fact, I’m so impressed by your achievements that I would rival Korblox’s praises by a mile.” The young scientist looked at Subspace. “Didn’t you want to hear that from me? Because I was the only person you had that you thought cared about you? Pity. Well then, did you like the praise?”
…
No.
You wouldn’t even have the guts to say that.
Medkit returned his gaze to his horn ring, going back to idly brushing the surface of the jewelry. ”Glad to know you’re hearing from me.”
…
How long are you idiots going to stay here?
”Not too long,” the Reaper responded. “Medkit and I are waitin’ for someone important.”
Who?
Medkit looked at the Reaper, almost excited to know or predict the answer. “Reaper, is this…”
“Correct.”
A rare smile flashed across the young scientist's face, making him beautiful despite his ruined face. “He's come home to me? He's come home! Finally, finally, finally, finally, finally…”
And so, they stayed there for a few more days. On the third day, a large procession happened on the main street outside of the hospital. Distant drums rolled classically, their mourning audible from miles away. Medkit had moved to the window to watch the procession happen, smiling as he chanted prayers to SFOTH knows who. He didn’t even care about the fact that the majority— if not all of the soldiers were Zeta-Grafts. Medkit just waited for his return. The Reaper, as she appeared, could not be happier than she was now. While brandishing her crimson scythe in front of the decrepit man, she asked a simple question: “Can’t you feel happy for him? Something good finally happened in his miserable life, and it was all because of you.”
Subspace just kept staring at the sharp edge of the weapon.
After one long hour, Medkit walked away from the window and returned to his position at the right edge of the lower part of the bed. “Thank you for killing him.”
You wouldn’t say that.
”We can both finally be happy.”
You aren’t. You died miserably. Both of you.
Medkit didn’t stare into nothing this time. He looked at the door, patiently waiting for him to come.
…
…
…
Sunset has arrived, painting the walls once again in bright reds and oranges. The colors burned into Subspace’s eye, making him want to puke out his insides until all of his guts came out from his rotten mouth.
Medkit swayed his leg from the edge of the bed, though it didn’t shake the furniture. He was so excited. Too excited. At any second, someone would come through the door and give him Medkit a lifeline, and that would be more than enough to kill Subspace on the spot.
Finally,
The door creaked open, slowly at first, then a little faster.
It was Hyperlaser.
How?
His helmet was on. Below the neckline of the helmet, blood fell like a waterfall, staining his suit and trenchcoat in a deep, scarlet red. In his hands was a bouquet of red spider lilies, red poppies, black roses, and a splash of white chrysanthemums. Hyperlaser carried himself with pride, almost as if being here was his life’s meaning. He took a few steps forward to Medkit, knelt, and bumped the lower part of his helmet on the young scientist in an attempt to kiss it. Medkit laughed and took the bouquet from the mercenary’s other hand, set it on his side, and cupped his love’s helmet before setting a kiss on the forehead of the visor. Hyperlaser, in return, took the horn ring he bought for Medkit for the young scientist's hands and hung it on one of the little side horns extending from the scientist's horns.
”Hello, again. I’ve been waiting.” Medkit placed another kiss on the helmet. “For too long.”
Hyperlaser hummed a small yes. ”Sorry, it took me so long to come back. I got a little lost on the way here. I brought some flowers, though!” The mercenary moved his hand over where Medkit placed his hand on his helmet, caressing the soft skin.
“What happened at your funeral? Did the ride from the coffin down to the ground feel uncomfortable?”
”Heh, if you ask me, not really. It might be the only thing Subspace’s Biografts are good at.”
Medkit laughed softly once again. ”Thank SFOTH!” He leaned down a little, whispering something into Hyperlaser’s antenna before sitting straight again. The mercenary momentarily turned his head at Subspace, then looked back at Medkit.
”Help me up; kneeling’s hurting me. Grab a chair for yourself on the way.”
The young scientist stood from his seat and helped the old general up. They both made their way to the right— Hyperlaser once again filling the position he was in when he killed himself, and Medkit sitting down on a chair he brought beside him. They interlocked their arms, with the young scientist leaning his head into the general’s shoulder like the lovers they were.
The Reaper stared at the clock above Subspace’s bed, her mind itching to see the hour hand strike six. Ghost always changed into another form at that hour, and with the minute hand just ten minutes shy of six, she stopped brandishing her scythe and held it steadily. Her time as a Reaper was nearing. “It’s getting awfully boring; don’t you three want to talk about something?”
In an attempt to bring something else up, Subspace muttered incoherent scientific topics. If he could steer them away from talking, then all would be fine. But his voice came out as a husky whisper, to which the ghosts did not respond.
”I’ve been wanting to talk about something,” Medkit started, voice low, “A eulogy.”
Hyperlaser hummed in agreement. ”That’s nice. I wasn’t given one at my funeral. Maybe we should do the honors for Subspace instead. Should we do an improv in front of him?”
Shut up, both of you.
”Careful, Subspace. You don’t want the ugly parts to be said in front of many, right?” The Reaper interjected. She returned to watching immediately afterwards.
“Okay, I’ll start.” Medkit eased his posture more into Hyperlaser’s shoulder, hugging his arm gently. “Hi, my name is Medkit. I first met Subspace when Korblox officials put me to work with him at a very young age. At first, I thought of him as a friend. Well— we did eventually become friends, but that’s not the point. I felt like I became more of a subordinate to him than a co-worker, constantly pushed into the backlines of the credits until, one day, my name wasn’t listed, all while my fellow ‘friend’ achieved the highest honors Blackrock could ever bestow upon a hero. He didn't steal from us… Just… pushed us. And that hurt more than stealing did.”
”He was a hero,” Hyperlaser chimed in, “In fact, he was revered as a hero. He was even more praised for his invention of the Biografts, the Zeta-Graft version that was used in wars. No more casualties, no more deaths. At least, not on the battlefield. Because behind the curtains, he was trying to put science to the highest place on the podium by experimenting on young, helpless Inphernals.”
Medkit tapped his fingers on Hyperlaser’s forearm, searching for the texture of comfort on his bloodied clothes. ”All while putting his other co-workers at risk under the Korblox Administration. I think at one point, he threatened and used his co-workers to be his test subjects.”
Shut up, both of you. I don’t need you to tell me every wrong thing I’ve done. Can’t I repent for it? Can’t I ask for forgiveness? Can’t you see it’s already too late for me? I’m scared, and you’re scaring me. Why don’t you just strangle me again, Hyperlaser? Why don’t you gouge out my other eye, Medkit? If you hate me that much and you won’t accept how sorry I feel, then you might as well kill me for all it’s worth. My death would have a greater impact than my entire life’s work. Why don’t you just kill me already? Why—
“Let them speak, Subspace. They’re doing it to honor you.” The Reaper said.
The red sunset had bled out into a dull, dark mulberry, shadowing the entire room with more ghosts as the darkness grew. At the edge of the bed where the Reaper sat, her scythe shimmered bright scarlet at the edges. Was the blade forged out of blood?
The Reaper held the cane of the scythe. “The blood of those you’ve killed.”
”Subspace liked me as a friend very much,” Medkit continued from his rambling, “he liked me so much that he ought to forge my path to become a great scientist like him, even at the cost of my autonomy. Subspace wanted nothing more from me than to become him. In a way, that was… amazing. It could have been amazing. But I loved other things, and Subspace didn’t like that. I loved the sun, I loved the trees, I loved the flowers, and I loved people.
He had to take me away from that, though. The moment he pulled me into the facility’s hallways, I was scared. He was scaring me.”
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—
Hyperlaser, sensing the squeeze Medkit had on his arm, set his hand on the young scientist’s knees to signal him to calm down. ”Subspace saw me as a friend too, one that he could use. I was so useful to him that he used me as an experimental subject to prove how deep his hatred can go when things don’t go his way. I saw his cruel treatment of those children, how he mutilated their bodies and organs to fit into Biografts of his design— how he changed their purpose into nothing more than mere lab rats.”
…
”Defenseless,” Venomshank’s voice whispered into Subspace's left ear. “Just as they were.” After his voice tolled in the decrepit man’s ears, visions of darkness and frigid snow entered his mind. The sun has set beyond the horizon, leaving the sky pitch-black. The laughter slowly leaked in from the corners of the room once more, moving like tar as the sound dripped and trickled onto the floor and bounced from wall to wall. The heater felt so useless. It coughed out nothing but snow and frost from the vents, chilling the room until it was sub-zero. Then, ghosts, spectral, clear as smoke, phased in from the doors. Most of which children, others were co-workers, and others were people he made suffer.
At the left side of his bed, Coil suddenly appeared, appearing as beat up and bruised as he was the day the Biografts caught him. He didn't say anything to Subspace; he just smiled cheekily, because that was all the decrepit man knew about him— a high-grade criminal that was bothering him— a high-grade criminal with a smile so unfortunately youthful— a person who shouldn't have died early.
“Now, look at us, Subspace,” Hyperlaser and Medkit said at the same time, their voices almost merging. The decrepit man turned his good eye to them and saw their gazes boring into him like shovels digging into his guts just to rip out his soul. “Bloodied, bruised, beaten. Dead. All because of you.”
Hyperlaser continued his part of the eulogy. “Even as I swore not to tell anyone about his unethical experimentation, he hurt me. He locked me away for months, treated me as nothing but a rat to take blood from or inject something into. And when Korblox needed me back, all Subspace did was put a helmet on my head as compensation for his wrongs. Isn’t that kind?”
Breathing was a hardship already. With the air suddenly becoming thinner, Subspace choked on his shallow breaths.
”When I found out what he did,” Medkit slowly said, raising his voice from his muttering, “We argued. Our… altercation… turned us against each other. Lab chemicals spilled here and there, scalpels and pens flew across the room, and then—“ Medkit covered his bloodied eye— “it hurt, all of a sudden. Then I reached out for a boiling flask of something so crudely bright. It burnt my hand, but that didn’t matter. All I needed to do was splash it across Subspace’s face. The next thing I knew, he was on the floor, writhing in pain.
At first, I felt so bad. I felt it sting.” I felt it gnawing into my skin, how the acid burnt my muscles and tore like razors through my flesh. I was all over the floor, drowning in whatever was thrown at me. I couldn’t name it— some sort of strong acid— all that mattered was that it hurt like hell. “But, looking back at it, all I ever thought was that he deserved it. He deserved getting burned like that— to have something done that is so irreversible that you’d have to live with it forever.” So I can justify my suffering with your hatred— my hatred against me, so the pain I feel will be righteous judgement.
STOP. IT HURTS.
Everyone in the room- the ghosts arranged into rows, the ink-black tar, the taunting smiles, Venomshank’s shadow, Icedagger’s stare from the window, and the dead couple- chanted. ”Of course it does. You did it to yourself. You started the pain we had to return to you, so of course it hurts. And we have to generously give back to you.” All except for Coil, who had nothing much to say except smile.
“You know, I think that’s the end of my story,” Medkit said. “How about you, dear, Hyper?”
The general only let out a soft grunt. ”I think I’m too tired to say mine. Aside from stripping away everything from me, all I could say about this… pathetic man. Nothing. No remarkable thing to consider aside from—“
”MURDERER, ABUSER, LIAR, DECREPIT, MONSTER”
“— and better off dead.”
Subspace was paralyzed in his bed. Every ghost that ever died to his hands swirled endlessly in the non-Euclidean room. Every corner was melting out of form from the tar leaking from the roof and from the floors. Anguished cries erupted from below, the illusion of the floor creaking and bending to their anger so strong it could be an earthquake. Hellfire could break from beneath at any second, and Subspace was still lying frozen, helpless in his deathbed.
“I think that ends our eulogy,” Hyperlaser finished. With a slow caress, he held Medkit’s forearm with care for the last time. “Goodbye, Subspace.”
Medkit nodded. “Goodbye, Subspace.” Then, they both went silent.
After their last words, the laughing echoing in the background burst into manic laughter. It drooled of contempt and joyful suffering through its green-toothed smile, dropping liters of dirty oil onto the floor. Fire erupted from the legs of Subspace’s bed, spreading out across the oil-sleeked room. The flames reached enormous heights instantly, pushing through the roof, begging for more air. But it was still cold— how am I still cold? “Monster! Monster!” reverberated through the concrete, the chanting of a hundred ghosts tormenting their tormentor never ceasing.
I’M NOT A MONSTER!
“MONSTER! MONSTER!”
I’M NOT A MONSTER
“MONSTER! MONSTER!”
I’M NOT A MONSTER!
“MONSTER—”
I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT A MONSTER!
I’M
NOT
A
MONSTER!
The clock above Subspace’s bed struck 6 o’clock.
“Time’s up,” said the Reaper. She arose from her chair, the flame separating where the feathered edge of her long black cloak met the tongues of the blazes. She fixed her hat, tipping it up, causing the umbra of the shadow to fall on Subspace's weak form. With the scythe in her hand, she raised the curving crimson blade way above her head and adjusted the angle to fall perfectly. “Would you like to say something, Subspace?”
I
AM
NOT
A
MONSTER.
“Even if no one is left to remember you as one, you will have yourself to remind you of that.”
The Reaper let the blade plummet like a guillotine, the sharp edge meeting with Subspace's neck and piercing through effortlessly before—
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
“Subspace Tripmine would need extensive care after this incident. General Hyperlaser's suicide caused more than enough trauma to the patient that his body is reacting negatively to it. Thus, he got paralyzed and such.”
“Will Creator be fine?”
“After this, not likely. But we should look forward to it. If you can, please ask him questions about how he got to this state. It is important that we know the root cause of this problem. If not, well…”
”I will ask Creator about it. Thank you. In the meantime, you may take your leave.”
”Very well, Gamma-Graft.”
…
…
…
”Creator, would you like to say something about what happened three nights ago? If so, please tap on my hand, and I will interpret it.”
…
…
…
I’ve done too much.
Too many bad things to be forgiven for.
Too many hideous acts too large to keep hidden.
Too many monstrous deeds to consider myself…
…
A good Inphernal.
…
…
…
I can still see them over there, at the other end of the room. Even if they’re all just shadows, I can see it. I can see how much they hate me. I can see how much they want me to die. I can still hear their voices.
“Live long and die slow, Subspace.”
"I’ll see you in Hell, Subspace.”
“MONSTER! MONSTER!”
It’s echoing again. It’s bouncing off the walls as the laughing tormented each side of my ear. I can’t bear to hear another riot. I can’t bear another cold night. I can’t bear any of this anymore.
Maybe they’re right.
Maybe they have been right from the start.
Back when I was young.
Back when I was still a problem to the eyes of others.
Back when I could have done something right but didn’t.
Maybe they were right about Monsters.
Maybe Monsters should die.
…
…
…
…
…
I K-N-O-W A C-U-R-E.
”That’s amazing, Creator! What is it?”
…
…
…
I-N-N-I-T-I-A-T-E T-H-E L-A-S-T C-O-M-M-A-N-D.
Gamma-Graft took a moment to process the sentence, almost as if shocked that it would come down to this.
”Mercy… killing?”
“Creator, are you sure?”
”We have to inform the nurses and the hospital staff about it—“
D-O-N-T.
…
…
…
Gamma-Graft held his Creator’s hands firmly.
“I shall ask three times.”
”This form of euthanasia, created by you, is untraceable and would therefore mark your death as an accident. In this case, related to your recent incident nights prior. By consenting to this lethal injection, you will not only end your life, but everything you ever cared about. Are you sure about taking this lethal medication?”
Subspace squeezed Gamma-Graft’s hand.
”Confirmed.”
…
…
…
”This form of euthanasia… Are you sure about taking this lethal medication?”
Subspace squeezed it again.
…
“…Confirmed.”
…
…
…
”This form of euthanasia… lethal medication?”
…
Subspace hesitated to squeeze Gamma-Graft’s hand.
…
”Creator, what will be my next purpose?”
…
S-Y-S-T-E-M S-E-L-F D-E-S-T-R-U-C-T.
…
…
…
“Thank you for bringing me into this world, Creator.”
Subspace’s good eye creased upward, the broken smile appearing for a second.
He squeezed Gamma-Graft’s hand for the last time.
“Administering euthanasia now.”
“Goodbye, Creator.”