Chapter Text
It was blank.
Maybe the word ‘void’ was a better descriptor.
Even so, Simon could still feel everything all the same.
He might not see anything except darkness, but god forbid he didn’t feel every single ounce of excruciating pain, every single drop of blood that was still stuck onto his skin and trying to pull him under.
Yet, off in the distance, a small speck appeared. Seeming so far, yet enough motivation for him all the same.
A sea of dead stars, he thought.
If they’re all dead, why can I see one so clearly?
He sluggishly went to reach his arm out, hesitating slightly as he realised everything felt featherlight. It was still incredibly painful to the extent where it kept jumping between being numb and feeling like his body was getting ripped to shreds, but it merely felt like he didn’t weigh a thing.
Outstretching his hand, he pathetically tried to grab the light. The star.
Somehow, it seemed to shine brighter.
Simon jolts upright, gasping for each breath, blinking rapidly.
He squinted despite not really taking in anything he was seeing, his breathing insanely quick. He thought blood would be the last thing that fills his vision— literally. Or maybe the massive jaws and eyes of whatever the fuck was about to swallow him and the sub in one gulp, overlayed with the grainy photo texture he got all too familiar with. He imagined the last thing he’d breathe would be blood, the last thing he’d hear, smell, taste, feel surrounding his body—
It felt too bright. Was this the damn afterlife? Couldn’t they dim it a bit?
A small bump shocks him far too much, making him fall backward and hit his head on something… soft. Far too soft to be the metal of the SM-13. He’d memorised those damn welding patterns and the roughly cut steel off my heart at this point.
Only then did he realise he could well and truly see. There was no sense of red in his vision. Nor was there the metallic smell, nor the taste, nor the feel. He was in something he doesn’t think he’s ever seen.
It was moving, clearly. The slight bumpiness and very vague whirr he could hear was proof of that. He seemed to be sitting at the back of the thing, to the left side on a row of five chairs. There was an empty space down the middle– an aisle– with pairs of chairs on either side spanning all the way down to the other end. At the very front, the rows of chairs stopped, seating only one on the right. It was occupied. Someone he’d never seen before was sitting there, staring ahead, hands on the… navigation device? For this thing?
He reached his hand out to feel the seat in front of him, only to still at the sight of his hand.
Well, it was back. That doesn’t mean it looked good.
Replacing the cracked and bloodied skin, the tendrils, the gashes, was instead what appeared to be burn wounds. It looked better than what it would’ve been. Again, still not good; the skin looked bubbled and had a pale red hue, streaks of the flesh underneath being shown all along his arm. It looked like he dipped it in a vat of acid. The parts where the top layer of skin hadn’t— burnt? Deteriorated?— looked dry and vaguely scaly, yet also like if any further damage happened then it would crack and fall apart.
His eyes, naturally trailing the vector of his arm, then noticed that he was also wearing completely different clothes. He no longer had what felt like 50 layers on; he simply had a plain shirt, a patchy jacket with the sleeves rolled up, and then cargo pants. That were all clean. It was like he’d been given these an hour ago. Which was wrong in every way, because an hour ago, he was crawling for the blackbox in blood that was attempting to consume him with full force.
His other arm seemed to also have an alternative to the wounds; instead of burnt flesh, however, it was instead littered with scars of various lengths. Checking his legs and his torso, those places seemed to have the same side effects. He didn’t really want to imagine what his face looked like.
One of the scars, just above his wrist, nearly seemed to have taken form in the shape of a tree sprout.
He tried to convince himself it was pure coincidence.
He ended up staring at it for a prolonged amount of time anyway.
Eventually, and slowly, after registering all of that, Simon shifted his gaze upward, looking out the glass.
He felt simultaneously amazed and so, so utterly confused by the sight.
The sky was blue. It wasn’t a void, it wasn’t darkness littered with the sight of dead stars; it was blue. White puffs seemed to sprinkle about in the sky, too, but it wasn’t stars. Clouds, he thinks.
They were moving by a plethora of trees. Like, an abundant amount. He was catching glimpses of multiple other colours— yellows, pinks, browns— seeming to move like a blur, occupying the scenery.
It was strange.
Maybe the strangest part of all was that he felt alive.
Maybe the strangest part was the small slam that jolted the row of seats on the other end, causing him to snap his head towards the sound.
Maybe the strangest part was that it was Ava.
Hunched over, arm grabbing onto the seat in front with a near-guarantee she actually didn’t know what she was even holding, gasping for air. Her other hand shot up to her chest, clenching the shirt she had on into a ball.
Her outfit was also remarkably different.
A shirt with a geometric pattern, a jacket that was instead tied around her waist, and jeans.
As far as Simon could recall, the scar on her face was the same, sliding down and through her left eye and ending just above the corner of her mouth. Her body appeared to have the same scars that he did, except not to his degree.
Ava seemed to realise the difference, loosening her grip and hastily patting herself down with one hand, the other still clinging onto the seat. Her eyes darted around for a second, perhaps getting her surroundings, before seeing Simon and coming to a halt.
They stared at each other.
It was the first time there was no sense of hate involved.
It was merely the same thoughts of, “what the fuck is happening? How are you alive? How are we alive?”
Ava suddenly pushed herself upright and firmly put her hand on his shoulders, making him flinch backwards. Her blinded left eye was right in view.
The last time he saw her was from the other side of that shitty porthole, before he got sent back down again. When freedom was dangled in front of him like a carrot on a stick.
“The- the blackbox— Simon, you got it, right? Right?”
Right.
She had her priorities.
He sucked in a breath, the air fresh in an unfamiliar way, undecided on whether to move back or stay.
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s- I put it in the life jacket.”
His voice was clipped, stiff. It felt weird to even be speaking again.
Ava either didn’t notice or didn’t care for his tone, leaning back and pressing her hands against her eyes as she let out the biggest sigh of relief he’s ever heard.
He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t know what else could even be said in this… predicament.
Slowly, she lifted her hands away once splotches of colour started to dance behind her eyelids, having a proper look around.
She seemed just as puzzled as he was. Her breath sharpened as she glanced outside, getting entranced by the view. It was different on her side. Instead of trees, there was fencing, another series of colours splayed out in the grass. Looking past the fence just showed more land. There were moving figures on four legs way down in distance, but Simon couldn’t pinpoint what they really were.
Suddenly, obstructing their vision as they whizzed by it, there was a sign.
Stardew Valley
—> 3KM