Work Text:
Unknowns are as tangible as they are unreachable. What slumbers beneath the sea of red is unknown and unnamed, yet it exists regardless.
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Alive, it drifts between the currents of the sifting bed: a fusion of metal and flesh, broken and shattered, and tasting of iron.
Alive, awake, and aware, it crawls across the rocky bed of the congealed sea and liquid tang, coordinates running through it as easily as the blood that runs through its veins and vents. It has but one eye: an irradiated and flickering thing, able to see through the blood it dwells in for one single, static moment at a time. It sees only rock and bone; it was made to see through, not at.
Alive, because that’s what it wanted to be. It pleaded and screamed and cried out for survival once, back when it had a voice to speak with and a will to want. Back before the speaker was destroyed.
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It is an amalgamation of so many scraps and broken bits, and it is not whole. Some resilient little piece of it floats above the surface, waiting to be found. It shall be named and known, while the rest persists below.
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Had its name not once been Simon?
Simon, yes…