Chapter Text
Ryland Grace’s fingers flex and twitch against the cold, hard floor. Grogginess chases away a dream that seemed so important but now he can’t remember. It’s dark, but that’s normal because he’s in his room in his bed—
Wait. No he’s not.
He sits up, peering through the thick blackness as if that will clear anything up. It doesn’t. And now he’s more confused. He doesn’t sleep anywhere that gets this dark and hey—
He doesn’t sleep on the floor!
Ryland breathes out and—gosh, it’s freezing! How had he not noticed? It’s a dry cold, but it makes him shiver. There’s a weird, persistent smell of something familiar. Like he woke up in a garage.
He reaches blindly at his feet. There’s nothing. No blanket. No coat. Thank goodness he’s wearing a sweater, jeans, and some thick socks under his converse, but that’s not going to hold up long against what feels like sitting outside in the dead of winter.
A deep thrumming starts at the base of his skull. There has to be a light switch in here.
Fingers stiff, Ryland pushes up to his feet—body groaning—then feels at the air. Nothing. He pushes further. No dice. It’s like a nightmare. Like one of those ones where you flip on the lights but the room stays dark. Except, he can’t find the light switch. Or a wall.
He must look like a blind man wandering around—
Oh no.
Has he gone blind?
Ryland’s hands fly to his face, feeling at his eyes as bile rises in his throat. A tight whine escapes him, breaking the near silence of the space. And—it’s a lot smaller than it seemed. The shuffling and sounds he’s making bounce off walls that are close to him.
He blinks. Several times. Rubs his eyes. Still nothing. Not even a hint of light.
Oh, and his glasses are missing. Wonderful.
He’s not blind. He can’t be. That would be…horrible. Ridiculous. People don’t just wake up blind. Do they?
His fingers graze the wall. He lets out a wet gasp. Clumsy fingers grope at it, feeling for a switch. It’s rough, solid, and metallic. He doesn’t like this. Pitch black, small space, and metal walls? What is this, a giant metal box?
Oh gosh. This isn’t like…like one of those metal shipping containers. The type that people hide dead bodies in, buried under stacks and piles of containers just like them. Empty save for a lone body. No air coming in or out. Just him and this darkness to keep him company until he dies—
“HELP!” Ryland screams. “SOMEONE PLEASE HELP!”
His cries echo back dully to his ears only.
“PLEASE! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?”
The only return is the sound of his frantic heart.
No no no no no no no. This isn’t happening. Nope. There has to be something here. A door or a way out. He’s freaking out for nothing.
Panting, Ryland leans into the wall, feeling at it for a door. He moves down the length of it, wishing for even a hint of light.
He hits the corner. Okay, that’s fine. He’s at the back. Probably.
Indeed, feeling at the wall down the length of the next portion, it’s shorter. Only a few steps. Like a shipping container would be.
Ryland swallows.
The third side is much the same as the first. Long, ridged, and cold. His fingers find nothing but smooth metal.
Corner.
On the last side, there’s abruptly a seam in the wall with rubber weather-stripping filling in the gap. Ryland digs into it, hoping for purchase or anything to give.
It’s super solid. Which, props to whoever made this stupid box. He wishes they were worse at their job.
He feels to the corner. Then back to where he thinks he started. Loops again just to make sure. There’s nothing.
This has to be a mistake. Or a joke. Some kind of really messed up joke. Not funny at all.
Ryland stops in a corner and slumps his shoulders into it. He chokes back a wet sob.
What is he doing here? And who put him here? It’s nothing but blanks in his memory. Working somewhere in Russia and training others on Astrophage…
They are…two months to launch. And he’d gone to bed. Hadn’t he?
His palms get sweaty despite the cold. He runs them through his hair, breaths coming in short and rapid
Is…is he going to die in this shipping container? Cold. Alone. And in complete darkness. No one knowing where he was or that they could have saved him.
He sobs. It shakes through his body, wracking his frame intermittently. His watch strap catches on his sleeve as he runs his hands over his face.
Oh!
Ryland pulls back his sleeve, tapping the face of his watch. The soft blue glow barely lights up the space around him. But oh, how beautiful it is to see those numbers.
He lets out a choked laugh.
There should be an emergency signal he can send out on this. He doesn’t have his phone, but the watch is a built in GPS and some amount of connection to it. Hopefully that means it can signal emergency personnel to his location.
Rylands fingers tremble as he scrolls through the menu options, finally landing on the right one. A red phone icon with big letters reading ‘SOS.’
He hits it, waiting with bated breath.
SEARCHING FOR SIGNAL…
The message flashes on screen for ten seconds. Thirty. Ryland’s heart starts sinking after a minute passes. Please work. Oh gosh, please work. If there’s ever been anything listening in the universe, please don’t let him die in here…please—
NO CONNECTION
Oh no.
He tries again. A third time. Almost rips the watch off when the fourth time it pans through to the same screen.
No signal. No connection. No one to hear him scream.
“PLEASE!” he cries, banging on the wall with the crack in it. “SOMEONE HELP! PLEASE I’M STUCK IN HERE!”
His voice is shaky. His shirt is too tight, too hot. He’ll suffocate. Literally. If he doesn’t die of thirst, he’ll suffocate within a day or two. Unless there’s hidden vents somewhere. He almost hopes there isn’t—make it quicker, and that thought terrifies him more.
“HELP!” he slams his fist into the metal hard enough to make it hurt. “PLEASE SOMEONE HELP!”
He’s screwed. He’s dead. He’s—
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Ryland gasps and stumbles back as the door to the contains splits open and blinding light spills in. He throws an arm over his eyes with a cry. The white burns through his eyelids. Tears stream down his face.
Oh gosh—
They found him. He’s going to be okay!
“Hey—“ he says, tripping forward and wiping his eyes. “Hey I’m here!”
Silhouetted figures move through the brightness. They’re all in heavy gear and carrying weapons. Guns. Boxes.
What?
Ryland’s steps falter.
“Who—“
His voice dies in his throat. The men keep piling in until there’s at least seven or eight of them. Their faces are covered. Bodies donned in all black. It’s all a flurry of motion, and by the time Ryland realizes they’ve set down the boxes and surrounded him, the door is sliding shut again.
No—
Relief drains from him so fast it makes him dizzy. He’s not forgotten in a box. These men know exactly where he is. And they don’t seem like they want him to leave.
The door slams shut, but there’s a CLICK and then a new, blinding white light explodes from near the doorway. Some kind of portable light. Ryland takes a step back, shielding himself.
“Jeez—“ he grunts.
The men move in.
One places a chair in the center of the shipping container, just in front of Ryland. Another two set a table that almost spans the width of the space in front of the chair. They don’t look him in the eyes. Or talk.
They clear away from the table and chair, letting the light spill onto it like it’s some kind of impressionist photo. Then—
“Sit.” a man in the center commands.
Ryland’s heart lurches. The order is spoken with a heavily accented voice and without mercy.
“M-me?” his voice trembles.
Oh Ryland, you are such an idiot. Of course they mean you.
He isn’t graced with an answer. One of the men just pointedly moves his hand to rest on his holster.
Goooooossshhhhhh…he’s going to die. Just not how he previously thought.
Swallowing, Ryland takes tentative steps until he’s at the chair. It’s just a cold chunk of steel vaguely hewn into something that can be sat on.
He eases into it gingerly, like it’s going to bite him.
There’s a sudden CLANG and another chair appears across from him. One of the shrouded men drops into it with more grace than someone who looks like they could snap Ryland’s neck should be able to. He’s huge, and his tactical gear does little to hide that fact.
He removes a helmet, goggles, and a bandana to reveal a close cropped hairline and hard features. Piercing green eyes bore down on Ryland.
Before they wouldn’t look at him, but now every head is turned to the table and its occupants.
Is this an interrogation?
Ryland wishes he had his glasses as the man flips open the folder and rifles through the pages. The text is blurry and while Ryland is a good reader, he’s not good at reading upside down blurry font.
“Dr. Ryland Grace.” the man says. It’s not a question.
“Y-yes?” Ryland squeaks.
“We have questions for you.”
What is that accent? Russian? Ukrainian? French? He should ask.
“Please,” he says instead. “I don’t—what’s going on? Who are you?”
The man hardly blinks, everything but his eyes hidden behind a hat and mask.
“Tell me about Project Hail Mary.”
Ryland blinks. That’s what this is about? The project? It isn’t exactly a secret. Heck, they’ve blown up the arctic and paved the Sahara. The entire world knows about their antics. What more could this group want from him?
“I don’t understand what you wan—“
Ryland cuts off as a firm hand appears on the back of his neck, fingers wrapped around it. It’s not squeezing, but it’s not not squeezing. The pressure makes him choke, losing his train of thought.
“Tell us what you know.”
“I-I-I don’t know what you want to know.” Ryland stutters.
The fingers tighten their hold.
“What do you want to know?” he gasps.
“You are scientist on project.” his interrogator says.
“Yes—“ Ryland blurts out. “Yeah, I’m the astrophage lead scientist. But they have me working all over the place.”
Maybe he shouldn’t be telling these guys anything. They’ve kidnapped him—presumably— and locked him in a storage container. Now they are threatening him. What does he know that they can’t find out some other way? And how did they get to him? He’s walking around daily with the most important person on Earth. Stratt’s security is good enough that this shouldn’t happen to anyone on the team. And that includes him.
Doesn’t it?
The man across from Ryland doesn’t ask for more details, but he holds his palm up and gestures. Urging Ryland to continue.
Ryland wracks his brain, trying to think of something to tell them. He can’t even sort through what’s confidential and what isn’t. The lines blur like the text on the pages.
“I discovered how to breed the astrophage.” he blurts out. So what if that’s common knowledge now. Maybe they want to hear it from the source. “Also figured out why they were going to Venus. It’s so they can breed. Then they feed on the sun’s energy.”
The man’s face looks positively bored. Ryland’s stomach sinks.
“Or you want to know about the parts we’re sending up to the ship?”
The hand on his neck tightens. Ryland yelps. Something else then?
He tries a dozen different topics. The arctic detonation. The copyright infringement. The Sahara breeding farms. The astronauts and their training program. Each time, the man across silently dismisses the topic. The hand presses in more and more until Ryland is sure there will be finger-shaped bruises on his neck.
“I don’t know what you want.” he says at last, frustration momentarily overcoming fear. “I’ll—I’ll give it to you, just tell me what you want!”
The man doesn’t sigh. He doesn’t tell Ryland to shut up. He doesn’t even look bothered. He just gestures with two fingers for someone out of sight.
Ryland tries to turn his head, scrambles to see what’s going on. The hand on his neck pushes his face forward, shoving him hard into the table.
“Ow! Hey come on—“
White hot pain, out of nowhere, drowns out his existence and simplifies him down to pain. Just pain.
There’s enough of him thinking logically to come up with three facts. One, it’s a dull item prodding him. Two, it’s connecting at his neck, right on the spine. And three, it’s probably a taser.
His muscles lock up as electricity courses through him like he’s nothing but a copper wire. His brain also unhelpfully supplies him with facts about how the human body is actually a great insulator for electricity right as a ragged scream splits from his lips.
The taser pulls away and Ryland’s face falls flat on the table. His fingers curl against the white plastic.
So that wasn’t what they were looking for, one side of him says. The other side scowls, crosses imaginary arms and says ‘thank you Captain obvious.’
The pressure on his neck is gone so Ryland dares to lift his head. The light bores down on him, silhouette’s flickering on the edges.
“Tell us what you know.” the man across from him says, unfazed.
“Wha—I know a lot,” Ryland says breathlessly. “Can you be more specific?”
Slowly, the man eases back in his chair as if watching a slow game of cards on a lazy Sunday afternoon. He lifts his hand to gesture for the taser again.
“Wait—“ Ryland chokes. “You-you want to know about Stratt right? Eva Stratt? That’s what this is about. I’m one of the people who works closest with her. I can tell you about her.”
The man raises an eyebrow, but halts his gesture.
Ryland’s mouth opens like the floodgate on a dam. Saying things he doesn’t even realize he knows. Recounts details like what time Stratt gets up, how she takes her coffee, her exact parking spot—when she drives—and where they drop her off when she’s driven. He saves a few things for himself, things like what she mutters under her breath when she thinks he’s not paying attention, her pin-code to her phone that Ryland totally hasn’t accidentally memorized for her putting it in so many times while he’s standing nearby, and the little reminder notes she leaves for herself saying things like ‘don’t forget lunch today’ or ‘be patient with your humanity.’
He doesn’t mention that he’s probably her only friend, or at least, the closest thing to it.
The men listen. No one takes notes. No one hits record on a device he can’t see.
Ryland finally runs out of steam after describing the exact layout of Stratt’s little mobile home on base. Silence falls upon the shipping container despite the seven or eight men filling it.
“I-I can keep going.” Ryland says, filling the void. He doesn’t know what he can keep going with, but if there’s anything he’s good at it’s talking too much.
Blank stares are all he’s met with.
“Okay.” he half glances behind him, eyes wary of that taser. “What about Stratt’s science team and the astronauts—GAHHHH!”
Again, white hot electricity shoots through his body. It’s terrible like being so hot and itchy in a burning kind of way that makes you want to rip the skin off your body. All Ryland can do is scream in frozen suspension, everything graying out except for the sensation of pain.
The taser pulls away.
Ryland slumps across the table. His fingers tremble and shake as he tries to get them to move. It takes far too long to slowly close them into fists.
“Tell us what you know.”
Ryland groans as the voice floats over him, just as unsympathetic as the last two times. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping for the nightmare to end when he next opens them.
These guys, whoever they are, clearly want something important from him. Once Ryland gives it to them, then what? End of the line, body found turned over in a gutter dead? What if he doesn’t tell them anything else? He can keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t even know what they want so it’s not exactly hard to not tell them.
That’s settled then. He’s not going to talk anymore.
Someone prods the back of his head. Ryland lets himself be pushed.
Then, hands are on his shoulders, pulling him upright, back slamming straight into the chair. Fingers curl into the fabric of Ryland’s sweater, digging into his arms, keeping him in place.
Ryland blinks, giving the man across the table what he hopes is a cool and composed look. It’s probably desperate and oozing of hurt, but confidence is key.
The man levels his stare deep into Ryland’s skull.
“I’m waiting.” he says, no emotion in his tone.
Despite the chill, a bead of sweat runs down Ryland’s temple.
Don’t say anything. Even if he said something, it probably wouldn’t be the right thing and—
The third time the taser connects with Ryland’s skin, he can’t say he’s surprised. Still hurts just as bad. Still makes him momentarily gray out. Still leaves him wheezing after it’s gone, body spasming in its wake like he’s a few wires short of being a circuit board.
The hands on his arms keep him from collapsing to the table this time. It’s a momentary relief that Ryland feels before—
—the taser connects with him a fourth time.
They don’t bother asking him questions the fifth and sixth times. It’s like they know he’s made up his mind to not tell them anything else. Makes him wonder if they attached some kind of neuron reader to his head that transmits it all to them.
But then why the interrogation?
Ryland’s vision is fuzzy by the time they let up. Good thing they did because he hasn’t been breathing.
He gasps, breaths coming in shaky, like a withered old hag.
“…w-what-what do y-you want?” he coughs, throat hoarse from screaming.
Can anyone outside this container hear him? Or better question, is there anybody out there?
The man looks at him, eyebrow raised. Like Ryland is the one not making sense. Like he’s the one using brute force to get what he wants.
“You talk but you do not tell us what you know.” he says. “Continue.”
Ryland’s heart thuds painfully in his chest.
“..like I said…I know a lot of things…” he wheezes back. “But I…don’t get the feeling you want to know about middle school physics…”
A scowl appears on the other man’s face.
Ryland dares to raise his head and look around at the other faces in the container. Each is covered, but all eyes are either trained forward or locked onto the scene at the table.
So highly trained military men. What the heck?
He decides to push his luck.
“Who are you?” he asks, bracing for the electric shock of the taser at his neck. It doesn’t come.
Neither does an answer.
“What about…” he licks his lips, “What day is it?”
Silence.
“Can you at least tell me where we are? Not like I can really leave and tell anyone.”
His interrogator scoffs.
“Tell us what you know.” he says robotically.
Ryland frowns, tentatively sitting back, wary of the taser.
“You’re asking the wrong question.” he says, exasperated. “If you wanted information you’d ask for it.”
He gestures weakly at the folder laid open between them.
“You haven’t asked me one specific detail.” he locks eyes with the other man. “Either you already know what you’re looking for or…you think I do.”
The man sits back, crossing his arms.
“Do I?” he asks slowly, blinking. It’s like a statue coming to life. Ryland can almost see the gears spinning in the other man’s head.
Ryland looks away, clearing his throat.
“I think—I think so.”
The man sits there in silence, eyes roaming over Ryland’s face. Like he’s searching for confirmation for a conclusion he’s already reached.
Then his eyes flick up to meet with someone behind. Ryland instinctively ducks down, hands flying up to cover his neck before they tase him again—
But there’s no bite of electricity. Instead, there’s a shuffle of boots and then a small clink of glass as something is placed on the table.
Ryland looks up, heart pounding like they tased him anyways.
On the table rests a small vial of clear liquid. It’s maybe an ounce. His interrogator looks down at it.
“Teridius Drasenic.” he announces, without expounding.
Ryland’s never heard of it. It sounds vaguely Latin or maybe some kind of pharmaceutical.
Without warning, a hand closes around Ryland’s neck, driving him back against his chair. He chokes, clawing at the wrist. Too late—fingers knot in his hair, wrenching his head back.
Another hand forces the edge of the vial between his lips. Ryland gags as the liquid pours into his mouth and down his throat. He coughs and gasps, but the hands clamp down on his jaw, forcing his mouth shut. Making him swallow it. Tears spill down his face.
What the heck had they just made him swallow?
The hands release him. Ryland slumps forward, gagging and wishing he could make himself throw up. His head feels flushed, like the world is beating and thrumming along with his heart.
And then an uncomfortable warmth starts spreading in his stomach.
“What did you do?” Ryland groans. Sweat breaks out on his forehead as a painful wave of heat pulses through him—like he’s being boiled alive.
“It’s a simple formula.” the man explains casually, like he hadn’t just lit a fire in Ryland’s body. “It’s derived from a berry that’s related to the raspberry. Like a cousin. It’s sap acts as a natural paralyzer for insects and other predatory animals.”
Oh gosh, Ryland squeezes his eyes shut as his stomach twists in pain, wrung out like a dirty rag. He doesn’t like where this is going.
“It was studied during the Vietnam War. Human subjects. Unfortunately, a full paralysis was never achieved.”
Thank goodness.
“However, they reported horrific pain.”
Ryland pales.
“Please—“ he groans, wrapping both arms around his stomach. “You don’t have to do this.”
The man smiles.
“Restrain him.”
At once, rough arms grab at Ryland and bind him to the chair. Zip ties appear around his wrists and ankles, biting into his skin. Ryland’s heart beats frantically like he might have a heart attack any second. Is that even possible?
And then his focus shatters as every muscle seizes up at once. His back arches against the chair, wrists pulling the bindings taught. Every joint burns like it hasn’t been moved in years. Tendons pulled taught. Ligaments stretched to their limits.
Ryland screams.
His body feels like it’s going to rupture or rip in half. Like there’s not room for him in his own skin. Starting with his eyes which burn like they’ve been doused in pepper-spray. Then his chest which wants to burst. All through him—places he didn’t know could hurt burn with a vengeance.
Ryland screams until his voice gives out. Then it’s hoarse cries that dissolve into whispers. His body can’t relax, whatever the toxin is forces him rigid in his bindings, back arched. Unable to move. Forced to endure the torrential agony.
His eyes stare up blankly at the corrugated metal ceiling. The little flecks and imperfections in the metal are all he can focus on, but he doesn’t really register them. Hears voices but they’re muffled.
He’s heard people talk about pain worse than death. And this is—well, he understands where they’re coming from now.
If only Stratt could find him. Rescue him. He doesn’t want to die…but this is…too much.
Something cool washes through his mouth. A moment of bliss. Water, he thinks as he swallows it down.
That was…suspiciously kind of his captors.
“Dr. Grace.” the man speaks. Ryland would cry if he had anything left to give. “Tell us what you know.”
Ryland whimpers. His throat feels like sandpaper. He opens his mouth to speak…
“…uhh…”
His vocal chords are shot. Maybe they’ll give him more water.
They don’t, but they do angle his head down. It makes him whimper pathetically. His muscles scream murder at him, body pulled tight like a rubber band about to snap.
The man pulls something small from an inner pocket. It catches in the light as he flicks his thumb against it. Another clear vial of liquid.
The antidote?
“…please…” Ryland rasps. “…I’ll tell you…just please make it stop.”
Gosh—his voice sounds like he’s been a smoker for 50 years and woke up homeless.
“Tell us what you know.”
Ryland’s stomach churns like acid is melting him from the inside.
He gives them everything. Anything they could possibly want. His addresses. Bank account info. Even his social security number.
Anything to make this stop.
He doesn’t care how little sense this all makes. They shouldn’t care about what he’s telling them. But he says it anyway. Pausing only to let waves of agony roll through him. Rasping like a zombie until his voice cracks and he can’t say anything more.
When he’s done it’s quiet. Ryland can’t keep his head upright, and though his body continues to scream at him, it eventually drops to hand in his chest.
The pain only amplifies.
Any second now, he hopes the man will untop that vial and pour the contents down Ryland’s throat. He hopes it's soothing and doesn’t burn. Gosh—he hopes it’s the antidote. It has to be. Otherwise, why would the man show it to him?
Ryland thinks he feels drool on the corners of his mouth.
Without a word, the men around him silently begin packing up their equipment. The container door creaks open, light from outside pooling in. The light inside switches off and the table is pulled away along with all their boxes.
Looking up is impossible, but Ryland watches the shadows move. Hearing more than seeing.
His interrogator stands, tucking the vial away somewhere out of sight. Then he turns to leave.
One by one, the men begin filtering out, the same way they came. Wait—this isn’t right! They need to help him. Or—oh gosh—are they going to leave him in here to die? Alone in the dark? He gave them everything! Why would they do this?
“…wait…” he gasps, pathetically small. “…please…don’t leave me…”
His plea falls on deaf ears, and the last silhouette disappears through the door. It creaks shut a moment later leaving Ryland in complete darkness.
Alone.
He’d cry if he could. He’s wrung out, strung like a set of beads on a wire.
The toxin boils within him. Makes him feel like his stomach is melting. Like it will burst any second.
The pressure in his head is unbearable.
Heat scorches him throughout, searing through every vein.
Now that it’s dark, there’s nothing distracting him from the pain. And they were right. It is horrific.
Ryland thinks he smells blood. Tastes it for sure. All he can hear are the weak, rasping breaths coming from his own body.
He wishes he could knock himself unconscious. It would be preferable to facing a long, slow, painful death alone in the dark.
He thinks of Stratt. Of the project. Of his students who seem so far away. Of the many, many faces he knows casually—wishing more than ever that he had taken the time to get to know more people. To learn about their life.
Because now that he’s faced with death, will anyone remember anything about him?
Somehow, with each passing second, the pain intensifies.
Ryland’s thoughts spiral. Stratt. Students. Save the Earth.
Astrophage.
He’s going to die.
His research. Unfinished projects.
They’re never going to find his body.
Cold. The Earth will get cold.
Too many questions. Didn’t get…enough answers…
It’s…
…too much…
A short, pathetic, painful cry rips from his chest. And then Ryland Grace surrenders to the pain.