Chapter Text
There was only one place to hang out in a warship and that was the kitchen. There John stood, leaned against a counter, idly drinking a beer. He didn’t really know what it was and he didn’t particularly like it, but it was in the fridge and no one else wanted it, so he took it. He stood there a while in silence, detached, staring at the wall or the floor. Everything in this ship was black. It was boring.
He’d found an interesting pattern on the wall to burn into his brain when someone walked into the kitchen. Startled, he glanced over to see who it was, hoping it wasn’t Vega about to tell him to get some rest.
It was the new guy, still battered from whatever hell he’d come from, metaphorical or literal. There was the slightest bit of dried blood on his face, and he wasn’t breathing quite right. John struggled to remember his name. Something with an N or an M.
The new guy spotted John’s drink, and slowly made his way to the fridge to grab his own. He was careful in his movements. It looked like he was still in pain. He grabbed one, popped it open with his hands, and stood beside John, leaning on the counter as he had. He needed that beer.
They both were silent for a moment or two.
“It’s… John, right?” the new guy asked. He coughed into his elbow. Yeah, he was still hurting.
“Yeah, yeah. You’re…” John looked at him, and frowned.
“Mick.” He took a sip of his drink.
“Mick, right.” John did the same. “Joan found you?”
“Yeah.”
Joan had seen some distress signal and followed it, on her own prerogative, without letting anyone know. She just barely managed to escape with Mick. She got an earful from Vega for that.
Another moment passed over them.
“She alright now?” John asked, still dissociating.
“She’s—” Mick coughed again. “Breathing. Breathing easy. She’ll be fine. Nothing major.”
Another moment.
“She’s crazy. You know that?” Mick asked.
John took a deep breath. “Yep.”
“Saved my ass, though. I can’t—” Mick had to catch his breath. “I can’t complain.”
“What happened to you?”
It was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. John didn’t like talking about what he’d seen, why would this guy? He’d only had one drink.
“What didn’t happen?” Mick said, dryly.
“Sorry.” John replied. “Just… you don’t sound good.”
“That’s neurotoxin for you. Pretty sure it was, anyway.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
And another moment of silence. They stood there, frowning, both of them with one hand on the counter, one hand on their drink, both eyes on the wall and their minds somewhere else.
Eventually, John glanced over again. “You see the whole ship yet?”
“Did a lap with Joan when I got here, actually,” Mick took a long sip of his drink. “It’s, uh… gothic.”
John raised an eyebrow. Mick wasn’t wrong. “Want to see the rest of it?”
Mick thought about it. “Sure, why not.” He pushed himself off the counter and looked at John expectantly. John waved a hand, and led Mick out of the kitchen and into the hall.
John hadn’t been here long, either. To the others, he was the new guy. For a moment, he felt inexperienced and small, but he shook it off. He had just as much of a right to be here as anyone else. He took Mick down a set of stairs, into a small room. The lights were bright; almost baby blue. In the center of the room stood an empty weapon display.
“We didn’t go down here,” Mick remarked, stifling another cough.
“Yeah, it goes a lot further than you think. There’s a shooting range at the very bottom.”
“A shooting range?”
“I haven’t used it, but I’ve heard it’s pretty good.” John shrugged. In truth, he was avoiding it. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with it; the idea of picking up another weapon made him ill. He glanced over at Mick, who stood there lost in thought. Eventually, he nodded.
“What’s with the lights?” Mick asked, gesturing towards them.
“That’s, uh— Argent. Human souls, or something. Whole ship is powered with this stuff.” John shook his head. “Listen, it’s creepy. Mark knows more about it than me.”
Mick nodded again. “Which one is Mark?”
“The kid with the glasses. He’s like a puppy. You’ll know him when you see him.”
“Gotcha.” Mick took a sip of his drink. “What’s with the, uh…” he started, motioning to the empty weapon stand.
“Oh, no clue,” John replied. “Whatever was here is probably in the big guy’s personal armory now.”
“You call him the big guy?” Mick almost laughed.
“What am I supposed to call him?”
“Does he have a name?”
“No.” John stated this as if it was obvious. “I mean, yes, he has a name, but no one calls him that except for Vega.”
Mick smiled, just a little, which came as a surprise to John. “What’s with them, anyway?”
“Who? Him and Vega?”
“Yeah. Are they, you know…”
“...yeah,” John said.
“Awesome.” Mick grinned.
They stood there together; the Argent flowing through the ship performed an organic light show. Shifting, changing, moving ever so slightly. John felt compelled to lead Mick further into the ship. He motioned again, and Mick followed.
They descended another staircase, this one slightly curved, leading them to a large open area. They could see down many floors below, where the barracks were. All around them were storage rooms, presumably originally for weapons and armor, now empty, save for a few that acted as personal armories. Argent flowed through the floor and walls. The whole room hummed, as if it was alive. John was pretty sure it was, once.
They stopped to admire everything. Mick made his way to a railing and leaned on it, hands hanging over the edge, threatening to drop his beer from many stories up. He sighed, then coughed, and stared out blankly, a faint smile still on his face. It was hard to tell what he was thinking; John certainly couldn’t figure it out. Without anything to say, he joined Mick by the railing, with his back to the edge, looking up at an empty room.
“What happened to you?” Mick asked.
“Oh.” John took a deep breath. “Same as what happened to you. Everything.”
He tried to ignore the images of his dead coworkers flashing in his brain.
Mick nodded, solemn and quiet. “How many more people are here?”
“It’s just us.”
“It’s a warship. There’s only, what, eight people here?”
John doubled down. “It’s just us.”
Mick sort of scoffed, in disbelief. “Not many survivors, then.”
“Mark says they’re in cryo somewhere, out in space. A lot of them are still on Earth.”
“Still?” Mick put his free hand on the railing, stood up straight to look at John. His eyes were wide.
“It’s different now,” John explained. “Overgrown, mostly.”
“So what the hell are we doing out here instead of doing work down there?”
John couldn’t meet Mick’s stern gaze. He stared at the floor, struggling to put into words why he was here. It really was hard to say, and every reason he thought up just made him feel like a coward. Trying to recover, keeping an eye out for any further danger to Earth. Hiding away from the demons. He felt small. His beer was bitter.
Mick returned to his position, leaning against the railing. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re right,” John said, defeated. “We’ve tried, it’s just… hard.”
“Figures.” Mick replied. “Maybe it’s something you work up to. You’ve got plenty of room here. Electricity, food…”
John nodded. “Tell that to the big guy.”
Mick chuckled. “You’ve got to call him something else.”
“Give me some ideas, then,” John replied, a disbelieving smile on his face. “What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know,” Mick said plainly, returning the smile. “But you’ve got to call him something else.”
“Mark calls him ‘Doomguy’,” John offered, “but that’s…”
Mick laughed, which turned into a coughing fit. “Doomguy?” He asked, shaking his head a little.
“Either that or— ‘the Slayer’,” John continued.
Mick laughed more. It filled the room. John was pretty sure he was going to wake everyone up. “Those are some pretty badass titles,” Mick managed to say. “The Slayer.” He just grinned and shook his head.
“Don’t piss him off,” John joked.
“I’m so scared,” Mick quipped. “Come on.” He stepped away from the railing. “What else is there?” At least his spirits were up.
John took the lead again, not sure what to show him next. He took yet another flight of stairs, this time leading towards the heart of the ship; he only realized once the idle hum of the ship rattled his brain. He hadn’t been this close to it before. Just before him was a large pedestal, similar to the weapon display they’d seen in the room above, and ahead was what he assumed was the engine, perfectly circular, pumping Argent out like a strange inhuman heart. Here, the lights became crimson, raw energy being refined; it made John’s eyes burn.
Mick pointed at the pedestal. “What’s that?”
John squinted. “What’s what?”
An object hovered ominously above the pedestal, caught in an energy beam. It looked like some sort of weapon, although it was too small and impractical to be used as one. Jagged bone poked out at every angle, muscle and flesh covered a hilt, teeth and claw defined a pommel, and skulls sat atop the entire ensemble. It was demonic. Worse, it looked like it was feeding the engine— blood red energy flowed from place to place and was dispersed as power. Electricity.
Fear settled into John’s gut. Why was this thing here? If everyone had faced the horrors Hell was capable of creating, why preserve something like this?
“Based on your silence, you don’t know what it is, either.”
John turned to look at Mick, who was finishing the last sip of his beer. “No,” John replied, “I’ve never seen this before.”
“That’s reassuring.” Mick stepped closer to it, and crossed his arms. He glanced over at the engine, churning. “I saw something like this in the UAC.”
John bit his tongue.
“Like an anatomical heart, though. Not some big circle.” Mick huffed, almost a chuckle. “You guys are big on circles, huh?”
“...yeah,” John replied. He couldn’t return Mick’s humor. He inched closer to the pedestal with dread, both intrigued and repulsed by it. Slowly, the rest of the world faded away. John had his eyes locked on the object, unable to break his focus on it. The sensations of a living body went numb; for all John knew, he was a rock. Something awful within him urged him to reach out for it. It’s a gift. Take it. It will help you…
“John!”
John jumped, his heart suddenly racing, hot adrenaline coursing through his veins. He spun around to see Vega at the top of the stairs, rushing down toward the two of them. He wore an oversized shirt, clearly not one of his own, and his hair was undone— he’d just woken up.
“What are either of you doing up so late?” Vega asked, sounding not unlike a worried parent.
Mick shrugged. “Just… looking around.”
“And drinking?” Vega gave him a stern look.
“Listen, he needed that drink,” John chimed in. “So did I. We’re fine, Vega.”
Vega sighed a deep knowing sigh. “It’s late. Mick, you need to rest. You are injured.”
“I’m not dead,” Mick replied.
Vega shook his head. “I understand that you just came out of a stressful situation, but you need to rest. You’ll heal faster that way.” He looked at John. “You, too, John.”
“I’m fine, Vega. Thank you,” John replied, still grappling with what the object had done to him.
Vega frowned. “Alright. But seriously— it’s late. At least come down to the lower decks.”
John and Mick exchanged glances, then looked back at Vega. “Should get some sleep,” John said quietly. He led Mick out of the room, Vega right behind them. It went silent.
“How’s Joan?” Mick asked. His voice cut through the room.
“She’s… well, she’s awake. She can’t sleep. Sam was with her,” Vega explained. “You met Sam, correct?”
“She’s the blonde, right?”
“She’s my sister,” John interjected. “Identical, actually.”
Mick thought about that for a moment, then smiled again. “Really? You don’t look it.”
“I worked hard to look like this,” John replied, almost joking. Vega just ushered them forward.
“ Right, ” Mick replied, drawing out the word. He came up and walked right beside John. “Well, thanks for taking me around.”
“Yeah, of—” John couldn’t get the words out— “of course.”
“Hey, how about we check out that shooting range together sometime? If we’re going to be stuck in space for the rest of our lives.” Mick chuckled again.
“Sure. You know,” John replied, “we do have to go to Earth to get supplies. Mostly food.”
“I figured.”
“Hey, when you meet Mark, you should ask him about the time he went to get groceries by himself.” John smiled a little. “He loves that story.”
“Does he? I’ll be sure to ask, then."