A Dying Pulse

Part 3: Isolation

Dusk returned to the sound of a familiar hum, the reactor thrumming deep beneath her. It vibrated through Dusk’s tired legs as she stepped onto its worn pathways, a welcome comfort from her long journey. She stopped, letting the rhythm settle into her bones. After days of wandering through the Abyss, it felt wonderful. 

Her feet moved on instinct, carrying her down the dimly lit corridors. Faces passed by in a blur, many hidden behind masks made from scraps of fiber and cloth. Dusk barely registered the oddity; her mind was elsewhere. 

She went to visit Quill first. Turning down the path leading to his home, but sight that greeted Dusk stopped her in her tracks. His workshop—once alive with clanging tools, scattered blueprints, and the sparks of invention—sat eerily quiet. Dust gathered on the tables, the piles of scrap metal untouched. In the centre of the room, on a makeshift bed, Quill lay asleep.

“Quill?” she whispered, stepping closer.

He didn’t stir. His chest rose and fell shallowly under a thin blanket. His face was pale, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. Dusk frowned, something was wrong. Her hand hovered over his shoulder, but she hesitated. Deciding it would be better to let him rest. He seemed to need it more than her.

Dusk left the workshop, keeping her footsteps quiet against the floor. Looking to find someone who could explain what was going on.

As Dusk made her way down through the unusually empty streets of Thermoa, she noticed a scientist stationed down below. It was strange to see them outside of the lab. The moment he laid eyes upon her, his face fell into a nasty scowl. He marched towards her, a mixture of exasperation and anger in his eyes; yanking Dusk's arm before she even had a chance to react.

“Where’s your fiber-mask?” he demanded.

“My... what?” she stammered.

He rolled his eyes and shoved a folded mask into her chest. “Put it on before you piss me off even more.”

She fumbled with the mask, tying it behind her head. “What’s going on?”

“You seriously can't be this stupid, just keep the damn thing on.” he shot back, already turning away.

Her mouth twitched as she adjusted the mask, its coarse fibers scratching her skin. The further she descended, the more it became clear that something was terribly wrong.

The lowest level of Thermoa surrounding the reactor had transformed. The once-reverent silence of prayer had been replaced by chaos. Makeshift tents lined the edges, filled with people coughing violently or lying still as death. Scientists moved between them with furrowed brows, their masks stained and eyes tiredly bulging from their heads. 

Dusk paused, taking a moment to scan the scene. A man leaned heavily against the wall, his mask askew as he hacked into a rag. Nearby, a young girl lay on a makeshift cot, her tiny chest rising and falling in uneven bursts as her mother wiped her fevered brow. There was a small tent filled with nothing but sick children, scientists filing in and out like ants.

Dusk’s throat tightened. She stopped a passing woman. “What happened here?”

The woman glanced at her briefly, then shook her head in disgust. Walking away before Dusk could say another word. She continued to ask around. Receiving a mixture of annoyed stares and people spitting in her face. 

Finally, a tired-looking scientist stopped, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Have you been living under a rock?”

“I um, just don't know what's going on.” Dusk said, her voice barely a whisper.

The scientist sighed. “It’s from the surface. We let it in after we sent off the reactor guards a few days ago. Bacteria, probably. Whatever it is, our bodies aren't accustomed to it.” She gestured to the tents around them. “We’re doing what we can, but we don't have enough spare hands to find a cure. Help would be appreciated if you have the time.”

“Thanks,” she managed, though the words felt hollow. The reality of the events had made her realise something, she had to make sure Pearl was ok. Her mind raced as she pushed her way through the crowd, similarly realising now what had happened to Quill. Yet she was thankful, thankful that he was alive, thankful that she hadn't left him to suffer alone in his workshop forever.

She wondered if that was how April felt. She had dragged her along without thinking of her once, using her as a sacrifice for her own needs. Even when her hand was stretched out towards her, begging Dusk to hold it, she had done nothing. Dusk had rewarded April's attempts at friendship with a lonely demise; she couldn't let that happen again.

§

Or so she had thought, but upon arriving at Pearl's home, she had found it in shambles.

Dusk pushed open the door, her heart pounding. The usually pristine space was a chaotic mess. Tools and brushes lay scattered across the floor, half-finished sculptures stood abandoned, their forms distorted and incomplete.

“Pearl!?” Dusk called out, her voice echoing in the empty room. She stepped inside, her eyes darting from corner to corner.

The air smelled faintly of clay, but it was overpowered by something stale, like the room hadn’t been aired in days. Searching around, there was nothing. Panic surged in Dusk’s chest. She looked around and around again, pacing as her mind raced. Where is she? Why isn’t she here?

She ran out of the house, her legs shaking as she sprinted back to the reactor. She searched frantically, calling Pearl’s name and stopping every person she passed. Each one giving her a colder shoulder than the last.

The dismissals stung, but she didn’t stop. She moved from tent to tent, her voice hoarse and her chest tight. Pearl was nowhere to be found. Dusk refused to believe it. She wouldn't believe it. She had to be somewhere.

After calming down she allowed herself to think, she could've been anywhere around Thermoa. She even occasionally collected her own art supplies, if she searched for long enough Dusk would find her. But for now, she wanted to check up on Quill.

§

Back at the workshop, Quill was awake, his eyes heavy but alert as he leaned against the wall.

“You’re back,” he rasped, his voice thin but warm.

Dusk dropped to her knees beside him, her hands instinctively clutching the edge of the bed. “Are you ok?”

He smiled faintly. “Nothing too bad, I'll be up and working again in no time.”

Dusk simply nodded in response, she could tell he was lying.

"The Abyss, what did you find." He asked the question with such a calm reverence, it almost deluded Dusk into believing her expedition had gone well.

"It... went badly, worse than I could've ever dreamed." Dusk replied, her eyes drilling holes into the floor.

Quill was silent, he watched his friend cower beneath him. She was afraid, shaking in fear and guilt. He pondered for a moment, wondering if he could have prevented this pain. He had seen the countless gashes along her legs, the blood still faintly visible on her face, burn marks on her arms similar to his own. In that moment, he decided to try to make up for his earlier mistake. He gave Dusk a hug.

It was the last thing Dusk had expected, a part of her wanted to be punished. What she had done to April was unforgivable, she didn't deserve a hug, she didn't deserve anything. Yet it was warm, it was comforting, it felt like she hadn't experienced such joy in an eternity. She hoped it could've lasted forever.

After a moment, Quill reached for a stack of papers beside him, pulling out a crumpled blueprint. “I’ve been working on this. I thought we could finish it together.”

Dusk took the blueprint, her fingers brushing against the edges. It showed a small lantern, an 'eternal lantern' as Quill's handwriting kindly told her.

“I'll need your help to finish it” he said, his voice softer now. “This of course won't be my last invention, but I can't exactly build anything at the moment. So I'll need some help putting it together, that's where you come in."

She nodded, willing to help in any way she could.

“Good,” he murmured, leaning back against the wall. “Now, go. Get some rest. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow.”

Dusk lingered for a moment, then rose to her feet, the blueprint clutched tightly in her hand. “I’ll be back soon,” she said happily.

Quill smiled. “Sounds good to me!”

Dusk's trip home was short, she had skipped in a blissful dance. Quill had done more than she ever could've hoped for. Yet once she was finally lying in her bed, ready to face the next day; it returned. The sensation of flames, fire tearing against her skin, burning but leaving no mark. She curled into herself into a ball, the weight of the guilt pressing down on her. Until finally, 

Dusk cried.