The Circle Of Love and Hate

In the medical bay, Tucker’s fingers tightened around the mirror. He tried to move it out of sight.

Jack watched him closely.

“Why would you need a mirror?” Tucker asked.

Jack shrugged. “Well, I think my face might be swollen.”

He swung his legs over the bed.

Tucker tensed.

Jack stood up. Wobbled slightly. Then, he started checking drawers.

Tucker took a step back. Hid the mirror behind him.

Jack muttered to himself. “I know there’s one in here somewhere…”

“No, I don’t remember seeing one in here.”

“Are you sure you haven’t—”

His eyes flicked down.

To Tucker’s hand.

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

He stepped forward, extending his hand.

“Give me my mirror.”

Tucker didn’t move.

“Tucker, come on. I should check.”

“If you want to know, yeah.” said Tucker, “There’s a little swelling.”

Tucker couldn’t have him freaking out while they were locked up in here. He had enough to deal with as it is.

“All the more reason I should look.” said Jack.

Tucker’s grip tightened on the mirror. “I’m… I’m not gonna give it to you.”

Jack’s tilted his head, confused..

“This isn’t funny.” Jack’s voice was sharper now. “As your superior, I order you to give it to me.”

Tucker’s heart pounded.

Then he threw it on the ground.

CRASH!

The mirror shattered on impact.

Glass shards scattered across the floor.

Jack’s eyes went wide.

He stared at the broken pieces. Dumbfounded.

Tucker breathed hard.

Jack moved.

Fast.

He ran to a drawer, digging through it.

Tucker stepped forward. “What are you doing? You don’t need a mirror that badly!”

Jack ignored him.

Then—he yanked out a small light.

Spun toward the glass wall.

Raised the light to the glass.

“No! Don’t!” Tucker cried.

Jack ripped off the bandages.

And froze.

The reflection stared back at him.

Distorted.

Twisted.

The red, swollen flesh. The grotesque boils. His shriveled, misshapen and cut features.

A face he didn’t recognize.

His fingers shook as he touched his deformed skin.

Jack screamed.

Back outside, Akira adjusted his radio.

“All done here. I’m coming back inside. Over.”

Victor’s voice crackled through. “10-4. Time to make a plan. Hey, you still have the notes on you, right? Over.”

Akira patted his chest pocket.

“Yeah. Over.”

“Okay, when you get inside, we’ll grab the crystal and go from there. Over.”

“10-4. Over.”

Akira unhooked himself from the tower.

Began his descent.

A few feet down—his suit snagged on something.

A sharp loose nail.

PSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

A faint hiss.

Akira froze.

A small tug, and he was free.

He reached the base of the tower.

Something felt off.

His movements felt slower.

Then he heard it.

The hissing sound.

Ever so slightly…

Akira glanced down.

A small hole in his left arm.

His blood ran cold.

“Kuso!”

Victor’s voice came through. “What is it?”

Akira pressed his glove over the hole. Tried to keep the pressure.

“I have a small leak.” He forced his voice to stay even and calm. “Shouldn’t be a problem. I have plenty of time.”

Akira hopped toward the airlock.

Tried to pull it open.

It moved partway—

Then stopped.

Stuck.

His breathing quickened.

Akira’s eyes went wide.

“Victor, do you read?” His voice cracked slightly. “The outside door is stuck.”

Silence for a moment before Victor spoke.

“What?” asked Victor.

Akira yanked on the handle.

Nothing.

“The door!” said Akira. “The door is stuck!”

“Don’t worry, I’m coming!”

Akira pressed harder against his arm.

The hissing grew louder.

His breaths shortened.

Thinner.

More shallow.

He was trying to control his breathing. If he panics, he could use up the little oxygen he has left.

He grabbed the handle with both hands.

Pulled.

Again.

Again.

Again.

The door still wouldn’t move.

Back in the surveillance room, Victor shut off the screen.

Spun out of his chair.

And sprinted for the door.

Jack dropped to his knees after seeing his face in the med bay window.

His breath ragged. His body shaking.

His fingers dug into his swollen face.

“My face!” he gasped. “Dear God, my face! I’m a monster!”

Tucker moved toward him, placing a hand on his back.

Jack swatted him away.

“It’s alright!” Tucker tried. “Just calm down.”

Jack’s eyes burned.

“Alright?!” he shouted. He whirled on Tucker, his voice cracking.

“LOOK AT MY FACE AND TELL ME THINGS ARE ALRIGHT!”

He jabbed a finger at his reflection in the glass.

“I’M FUCKING HIDEOUS!”

“Well, the steam did burn you, but it’s probably only swelling,” said Tucker.

Jack barked out a bitter laugh.

“Swelling?!” He gestured wildly at his misshapen features. “I’m scared for life!”

Then hit him and his face went pale.

“How… how will I propose to Judy like this?!” said Jack.

“Judy?”

Jack was pacing now. Clawing at his face.

“My girlfriend, you asshole!”

Tucker opened his mouth— but the words died before they came.

Jack broke down, falling to his knees.

A deep, childlike sob.

“She could never be with a freak!” he cried. His fists clenched. “If only—”

Then, he stopped.

His head snapped up and he slowly stood up.

His tear-streaked face turned toward Tucker.

“This is all your fault.” Jack said coldly.

Victor ran. Racing to get to the airlock.

His boots pounded against the floor, heart hammering.

At the end of the hallway, he ripped open the closet.

Pulled on the pressure suit.

Every movement was fast. Precise. Deliberate.

With his suit on, Victor went into the airlock and sealed the inner door.

His breath fogged against his helmet.

Through the airlock window—

He saw Akira.

Struggling.

The exterior door was jammed.

Halfway open.

Victor pressed the comm.

“Hang tight, I see you!” he said.

Outside, Akira slammed his fists against the frame.

“HURRY UP!” Akira’s voice crackled through the radio.

Victor pressed against the door. Tried to shove it open.

It wouldn’t budge.

He rammed it.

Nothing.

Akira’s voice grew urgent. “Victor, come on!”

“Okay, I’m gonna try something. Stand back.”

Akira stepped back.

Victor reared up—

And kicked.

Once.

Twice.

BOOM!

The door burst open.

Akira let out a breathless laugh.

Relief flooded his voice. “Oh, thank God, I thought—”

POP!

Victor raised the gun.

And shot him.

Right in the face.

There was no sound.

Just the sudden, violent jerk of Akira’s body.

It’s slow decent to the ground.

The bullet punched through his helmet.

Blood misted outward, vanishing into the void.

Then his body went still.

The recoil pushed Victor back slightly, but he held his footing.

Slowly, he hopped forward.

Reached Akira’s lifeless body.

His hands moved quickly.

He removed the helmet.

Akira’s face stared back at him.

Frozen in shock.

In betrayal.

Victor hesitated for a second.

Then he shook his head. Can’t think about what’s already done.

He reached into Akira’s suit.

Felt around.

His fingers brushed something small and metallic.

The flash drive.

He pulled it out.

Slipped it into his own pocket.

Then, slowly—he glanced at the bunker bay window.

No movement.

No one had seen.

Good.

Victor took Akira’s helmet and placed it back on his head.

Then, he grabbed Akira’s body.

Dragged him to the base of the tower.

Set him face down.

He stepped back. Eyed the scene.

Not convincing enough.

He turned.

Spotted a large rock.

Picked it up.

Placed it beside Akira’s head.

Then he stepped back.

Studied the angle.

Perfect.

Time to go back inside and complete what's already started.