Chapter Text
In what Universe was this ever gonna be okay?
Well, considering that all habitable planets and stars are dead now… You guessed this one? The condensation crept along the curved metal walls of the hull, it was hot. The rags you were keeping you entirely too warm in this small, tight pill shaped room. Droplets formed quickly, dripping down in uneven streams, eventually collecting at the base where the walls curved into the floor, but not falling down into the grates. There was a metallic tang of moisture mingled with something else, possibly the recycled air that had been trapped in this rusty old hull? The smell of burnt oil and sweat filled your nostrils, making you gag.
Looking through the case that sat near the front of the haul, where the porthole window was. You picked up a binder, the pages trembling as you flipped through them, fingers fumbling through the maps and diagrams, the hard to read instructions that were written in the same manner these people spoke to you, weird and clinical, that didn’t acknowledge the shit situation you were in. These manuals didn’t prepare anyone for dying in the metal coffin like this. The Guidance it gives, is practically useless in this situation. Hah. ‘Guidance’ like this wasn't any more than just a sick and twisted way of getting rid of you.
IRON LUNG — BURNER SUBMERSIBLE
SINGLE-OPERATOR VESSEL
OXYGEN CAPACITY: LIMITED
EXTENDED DESCENT IS NOT ADVISED
Jesus fucking CHRIST.
They weren’t even trying to pretend anymore. The warning sat there on the page, almost insultingly. They had told you they were sending two people down so that one could operate the Submersible while another documents the pictures and the locations, You knew the C.O.I could give less of a shit about you people from Eden but you didn’t expect them to lie in your face about they way you’re going out. Did they have no dignity?
Your stomach twisted hard enough to make you dizzy. “‘Not advised’... Like this was some sort of volunteer work...” you muttered grimly, to yourself. As if you had any say at all.
Flipping through the pages, fingers dirty with charcoal.
You wondered if they got it from Eden. The last tree. God this fucking sucked.
The submersible far too quiet beneath the constant hum of strained machinery, thick humid air, clung to your malnourished skin.
The convict beside you shifted.
It was small, the movement, but in this cramped space it felt like a disturbance.Lowering himself into the narrow seat, creaking about with his boots planted wide against the grated floor. Like he was bracing for something. You were going to comment about how instead of getting comfortable he should pick up a manual.
Unfortunately,
You could sense the burn of something staring into the back of your head.
You could feel his eyes on you.
He’d seen you before. The same way you could recognize anyone from the same community. His eyes almost softened, there was comfort in dying with someone you knew– even if only by passing glances. At least he knew now that not everyone from Eden died back there. In filament station.
Before all of this, before filament station, before being taken. He would catch you in the labs, staring at the tree. He didn’t know your name, you didn’t even know him. But he had thought you were the most enchanting thing in Eden. At least he had that.
Yet, the heat of his body pressed into your shoulder, his knee knocking into you as the sub rocked, a slow, nauseating sway. Every shift sent a spark of irritation through you. It was already unbearably hot. The air hardly moved at all. You didn’t need him of all people crowding you too— this murderer, this walking embodiment of everything they had decided you deserved to be lumped with. Being compared to him by the people running this operation felt almost worse than the descent itself.
Receiving the same punishment. The same death sentence.
It made you utterly sick.
The intercom crackled overhead, a small flashing light appeared, the sound was sharp enough to make you flinch and hit your head with the center control panel. Ouch. With a groan, you listened. A woman’s voice cut through the hum of the engines, distorted but you could still hear her enough.
“Begin the descent.”
Your head snapped up, if it wasn’t for the adrenaline you would’ve seriously hurt yourself. “Wait—what?”
“Mission BOX started,” the woman in the intercom, who you could only assume was the head of this mission, continued, already moving on— words tumbling out like she couldn’t wait for this to be over and done with. “Exploration of AT-5 is now underway.”
The submersible, dubbed the IRON LUNG you just learned, lurched violently as the docking clamps disengaged.
Only for your stomach to follow.
Gravity seemed to be against you right now, twisting sideways, a heavy, dragging sensation pulling everything in you downward. You grabbed at the edge of the seat where the gruff hooded convict sat.
“Hey!” you snapped, flipping through a binder with one hand at a much faster pace, panic smearing more of the charcoal under your thumb. “You didn’t even give us a countdown!” Panic evident in your voice.
“How’s it looking down there, convicts?” the woman asked, ignoring you completely. OH, how you hated that title. You were no convict. Not like the man beside you.
Speaking of which, he tightened his seatbelt with a sharp tug, the restraint locking him in place. But knocking your hand off where you had held onto. Asshole. Leaving you clinging to a low pipe near the floor, knuckles aching from how tightly you held on.
Knees hurt from the grated floor digging into them.
The convict spoke, for the first time. One word.
“Yeah.”
It wasn’t even an answer to what she had asked, but you could tell that the strain in his voice betrayed the seemingly ‘calm’ attitude he had as a front. It almost made you feel bad, but he was the reason you were here. All you could feel was resentment.
“Ready to do some good for a change?” She pressed, mocking, and snarky in a way that made your skin feel wrong. What a sadistic bitch.
Before you could speak up and retaliate, exhaling through his nose he muttered “---Let’s get this done.” Maybe he was trying to protect you from being screamed at in your final moments, maybe he did that out of kindness. But all you could feel was rage and fear.
Your jaw clenched tightly, This was it.
This was how you were going to die— crushed beneath an ocean made up of human blood, sealed in a metal coffin because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. What a life this was, huh?
“Roger that,” the woman chirped. “Cruising down in roughly two minutes. Stand by.”
Two minutes.
You swallowed hard. Two minutes to understand the death trap you were sitting in.
Two minutes to accept your fate of being wedged beside a murderer in a submersible meant for one person, in a machine that could fail at any moment.
You scanned the binder again, pulse hammering. Desperate—stupidly hopeful— you glanced towards the terminal.
Pushing yourself upright during the lull in the descent, careful not to slam into the curved wall, and tapping at the dead keys.
Nothing.
“Of course,” you muttered.
Back on Eden, before Filament Station fell, you’d been a scientist. Or something close enough. You were researching ways to recycle oxygen, make more trees, maybe even grow food. You studied hard, at terminals almost day and night researching, trying to learn. It became your primary language, such a shame, you could’ve been the future.
The intercom crackled on once more.
“I’m seeing some voltage irregularities,” she said, her voice irritating you. “So check for any sparks or anything like that.”
This made your blood run cold.
“Sparks..?” You echoed, like some kind of broken record. Eyes wide with even more fear than originally. You could BURN alive here too?!?
The convict in the chair became almost defensive, frowning, he spoke louder this time. “Flames? Why would there be flames?” His jaw was tight with the weight of it all.
All she could say was “I don’t know,” snarky as ever, you wish it was her instead of you in here. “That’s why I warned you.”
Your head was light, thinking of all the ways you were gonna go out. “Oh god, this is it. Lord please, come save me. I haven’t done anything to deserve this torture…” You murmured to yourself. Heart beating in your ears, it was hard to hear anything else.
You were never the religious type, like the others, but now was the time to pray. You guessed.
“You did test this, right?” He snapped upwards towards the intercom. Irritation finally cracking through his earlier restraint. Who was he even trying to impress by being nonchalant in a moment like this? You were glad he let go of that attitude.
“This is the test,” she said in a flat tone, almost as if she had told us before.
The Iron lung sunk deeper. Rocking more violently with each second that passed in this disastrous situation. You were going to be sick. The pressure crept in like it was a living thing. The hull groaned and creaked, the metal seemed to protest just as much as you did, every sound too loud.
You turned towards the convict, fear evident in your features, you looked like you were going to pass out. “They’re going to let this thing implode,” You whispered.
He didn’t answer. Made you instantly furious, how could he ignore you in such a distressing time like thi—
But the look on his face said everything.
He was just as afraid as you were.
His eyes were locked onto the instruments, dark and glassy, sweat beading at his temples.
Honestly the worst part was that..
You noticed how beautiful his eyes were, like a sinkhole you could stare into forever.
You hated yourself for it.
Tearing your gaze, clutching the binder tighter as the sub shuddered violently again.
You didn’t know his name. You didn’t even dare to trust him. You hated him. Hated him the way people were supposed to hate cold blooded murderers. Having heard rumors before they dragged you into this hell. How he’d been caught in Filament station..how they were pairing you with the reason you were even imprisoned.
God, it was claustrophobic in here.
The intercom buzzed, again. You were tired of listening to this bitch.
“The terrain can be unpredictable,” She sounded almost bored? “Make sure you’re not wandering too far into the red. This tank can take pressure, but there’s a limit.”
“Great,” you muttered, eyeing at the rusted curved walls that seemed to close in on you.
You could hardly hear a thing anymore, tears stung at your eyes making your vision blurred. Murmured voices overlapped, people you didn’t recognize. Something about the porthole. “Closing porthole shielding."
You let out a loud frustrated noise, slamming a hand against your head, as if to try and wake you up from this terrible dream. “This is fucking insane.” You sobbed out.
Almost instantly, you heard him talk over you again. Why does he keep doing that?
“What is it exactly you want me to find?” he asked aloud, voice filled with worry and concern.“You haven’t told me what it is.”
Ava’s voice snapped back, irritated. “We don’t know!” Her annoyance dripped through the intercom like acid. “You’re the first ones down. All we have are surface scans, that’s why you’re both there. Well… one of the reasons…” Her voice dragged off.
Teeth gritting, you glared at him. “Hold on!” hissing, you step toward the chair. Holding onto the back to stabilize yourself. “I should be the one driving this thing!” You yelled, fury spilling over. “I’ve been reading the instructions the whole time! While you’re just— sitting on your fucking ass!”
“Calm down,” he said sharply, turning to face you with a matching glare, but not as malicious. “Just grip onto something close to the floo—”
The sub bucked harder, losing your grip on the chair you banged your head against the grated floor. Pain exploded down the back of your head and down your neck.
“I should be in the seat!” You continued shouting, voice cracking as you held back more tears that threatened to spill. “ You don’t even know how to start it!”
Finally, he snapped back. “Just shut the fuck up already!” He barked, faltering as soon as he did it. Staring back at the control panel. His hands shook, he couldn’t hide it anymore.
The intercom crackled, perfect timing.
“We salvaged the glass from Filament Station,” she said lightly. “Not a scratch.”
Your hand reached to the back of your head, touching a warm sticky liquid you assumed was blood.
It was only a scratch thankfully.
“Right?” She continued, mockery thick in every syllable. “You’re lucky.”
“Funny how some things survive,” her murmuring continued.” And others don’t.”
“Approaching maximum depth,” she said. “Thirty seconds.”
The depth meter needle slid further into the red.
“Hey—” His voice cracked. “Hey, um… you hearing this?”
He twisted in the chair just enough to look back at you, eyes wide, breath shallow. The composure he’d been clinging to was gone now, shredded by the groaning hull and the crawling needle.
“Hello?” he snapped upward, toward the intercom. “Hey! You said not to go into the red!”
The Iron Lung shuddered, then dipped.
“We’re in the red!” he barked, pointing frantically at the depth meter mounted on the front of the hull. “We’re in the red!”
Static screamed through the intercom.
“—radio sig-nal— head to the co—cordinates in the ma—p p and l—og as instructed and— sen— removed.”
The static surged.
“Be careful,” she added, her tone suddenly soft in a way that made your skin crawl.
More static. Then, faintly:
“—you’re alone. Good—”
The line went dead.
“HEY!” Simon shouted, slamming his hand against the console. “HEY!
The Iron lung finally stabilized. For the first time in what seemed like hours, you let out a sigh in relief. You’re not dead, yet. That was good. Maybe.
“Seriously? Fuck this… just fuck this..” the other convict undid his seatbelt and got up to the intercom. Trying to see if they really had gone or if they were just messing with him.
Now, you took the chair, and explained what you two had to do with the other convict. This was going to take a VERY long time, but if they made it. Maybe, just maybe, They could be free again.