Chapter Text
Simon is currently at a loss on what the fuck is happening.
Which is great, just great. Totally fine. He’s not panicking. Nope. Not at all.
He’s just on a bed, strapped down, and has no memory of how he got there.
Great.
How did he even survive the blood ocean? Wasn’t he supposed to have died down there?
“Sms acjsasbh rshsqhsr,” comes a robotic sound to Simon’s left. He jerks at the sound, twisting his head to look over at the origin of the sound.
“What?” He asks.
“Kvoh wg hkc dzig hkc?” the robotic voice seems to ask. Simon can’t make out words. It’s like a foreign language. Maybe it’s just that. Simon can’t remember any stations that had a language he wasn’t familiar with. Most spoke the standard dialect established just after the Quiet Rapture.
This sounds foreign. Utterly foreign.
Where was he?
The voice repeats itself again, probably awaiting a reply, but Simon can’t answer a question he doesn’t understand, can he?
Simon decides to test his restraints, finding the things binding him to be three sets of pants, their legs firmly knotted above his knees, his chest, and his elbows. No, not elbows, elbow. He lost an arm. In the sub.
‘Focus Simon. Now’s not the time,’ he thinks, shaking his head slightly. Bad idea, but it helps him focus in the end.
Examining the restraints, or, he guesses, the pants, Simon finds it really odd.
Did the people who…Saved? Rescued? Kidnapped?...him not have access to proper restraints? Obviously not, because Simon feels like he could wriggle out if he tried hard enough, which he proceeds to try immediately.
He starts with his arm, carefully sliding his elbow free, and making his hand available to untie the remaining knots.
The robotic voice is still asking the same question, the unintelligible words becoming background noise as Simon works to free himself.
He gets the knot around his chest undone and sits up, feeling his head spin as the blood in his system shifts. He brings his hand to clutch at his forehead, cradling his skull as much as he can with one hand.
Fuck that’s a weird feeling.
His face feels a bit weird, now that he thinks about it.
Trailing his hand down, Simon is met with ripped flesh, abnormal teeth around his mouth, and burns that spark with pain when he touches. It feels horrific, and Simon can’t imagine how monstrous he must look.
He also feels bandages wrapped around him. He was too preoccupied with the pain earlier to notice the fabric coiled around his head.
There’s also more of the stuff on his stump where his arm used to be, and even more on his chest, remaining arm, and, from what he can see, his legs.
The strange thing is that these bandages are clean and white, pristine even. Simon’s never seen such clean cloth in his life, not even on Eden.
Simon realizes that the bandages aren’t the only thing that’s clean; he is too.
There’s no trace of grime under his nails, or grease in his hair, and, most importantly, the only blood he can spot is from under the bandages.
What the fuck is going on?! How is he this clean? Was he really dead this time? But, no. That wouldn’t make any sense.
Why would someone dead need their wounds dressed?
Simon decides to push that to the back of his mind, refocusing on his effort to get free.
The remaining knot isn’t particularly tight, but he doesn’t think he can wriggle out of it faster than if he were to untie it outright.
It’s definitely harder with one hand, but Simon manages.
There’s a strange sound, almost musical, coming from above him. Simon realizes there’s a ladder on the far side of the room.
There’s also two other cots.
Were there more people living here, or was there just extra space for more prisoners? Was he even still a prisoner? Did the people who retrieved him know who he was?
Did it even really matter at this point? He was alive. That’s what mattered right now.
Simon also notices a strange glass enclosure throughout the room. It looked like there was stuff stored inside it, but nothing Simon could identify.
It didn’t look like there were any exits other than the ladder, so as soon as Simon frees his legs, he jumps off the bed and makes a run for it.
Or, rather, he tries to.
His ‘jump’ is more of a fall from the cot, and his mad dash is more of a scramble. It doesn’t help that the damn robotic voice hasn’t SHUT THE FUCK UP YET!!
Simon feels his legs give out from beneath him and he goes down hard. He catches himself with his right hand, but forgets he doesn’t have his left one, and so tips to that side, landing painfully on his shoulder. The impact aggravates his amputation site and the burns running down his side, and he grunts in pain.
He lays there for a second, recovering. His breaths are shallower than they should be, and he knows it, but he can’t be bothered to care.
Before he can push himself up, a spider falls through the ceiling.
More accurately, a giant rock spider climbs through the glass enclosure that runs through the ceiling!
Simon screams. The rock spider thing seems to be making some musical notes, waving its claws - oh god it has claws - in the air. Simon doesn’t care. All he cares about is getting away from that thing as fast as possible.
He scrambles backward, his back hitting the wall, and he pushes himself up, still yelling things along the lines of: “Oh fuck!? What the fuck man?!! Motherfucker you get away from me right now or I swear to The Last Tree..”
And other expletives.
The chaos distracts Simon from the second figure hurriedly climbing down the ladder, until said figure speaks.
“Kcov! Kvoh’g ucwbu cb vsfs?!” The figure shouts, getting both Simon’s and the spider-thing’s attention.
Simon is speechless as he tears his gaze away from what is apparently an alien in front of him. That sounded like a voice, but how could it be?
But the proof was right in front of him.
That’s a human. Oh roots above that’s a human! Simon didn’t realize how much he missed seeing a human face until this person showed up in front of him.
How was this possible?
“Vszzc?” The human, the man, says, waving slightly. He’s speaking the same language as the robotic voice still echoing through the room.
The man seems to realize this, and promptly answers, “Tcif,” at which point the voice ceases its questioning.
Simon manages to find his voice and asks, “Where am I?”
The man seems confused, and slightly…dissapointed?
The man sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. He’s wearing glasses, Simon notes.
The man seems to mutter something to himself before looking back up at Simon.
He gestures at himself and says, “Grace,”
Simon presumes that’s his name.
The man then points to the alien in the glass enclosure and says, “Rocky,”.
That thing has a name?
The man, Grace, seems to notice Simon’s eyes ticking back to…’Rocky’... constantly, so he puts on a smile and waves his hands, saying, “Rcb’h kcffm opcih Rocky; vs’g oqhiozzm fsozzm tfwsbrzm!” In a both placating and excitable tone. How did he even manage that?
When Grace gestures at him Simon assumes he’s asking for his name.
“Simon,” he eventually cracks out.
And Grace smiles at him.
‘Wow…beautiful,’ Simon thinks.