Fade Eternal | ONC 2023

Five: the plant sack has hands

"What's going on, Fade?"

Mother's voice rang in his ears, tinny and distant. It was like she was miles and miles away, but in reality, she was only on the other side of the door. A door of solid metal that was powerful enough to cut a person in two.

Fade still crouched on the lab counter, his muscles tensed. He eyed the door. Just how did he get through that death trap? The last thing he clearly remembered was Mother shoving him towards it.

Then there's been that bizarre flash of memory. Or hallucination, though somehow he knew that was false. It'd been real. It fit neatly into the empty shelves of his memories like it belonged there. That didn't help it make any sense, however.

"Fade?"

Mother. Obviously, she was using some kind of radio. Or whatever communication device people tended to use in space. Either way, no one had told him how it worked. He couldn't answer her even if he wanted to.

Fade shifted his gaze upwards.

Mother could wait a bit. This was the current problem he had to deal with.

Even through the dim lighting, he could see the alien plant had completely taken over the lab. The majority of it clung to the ceiling, spreading a variety of ropy tendrils in every direction. More spilled down the walls. Dark slime oozed from every part of the plant, covering nearly every surface in the lab with a slippery layer.

The main thing, however, was how it held onto Lydia like a toy. Smaller vines had curled around her feet and ankles, and she dangled upside-down, her arms swinging free. It was like a toddler holding a ruined doll.

Fade took it all in, feeling sick to his stomach. This was nightmare fuel.

The only consolation he had was that the alien plant appeared to be either sleeping or uncaring of his presence, as it didn't even stir. That didn't mean it would remain that way, Fade knew, so he probably only had one chance at getting Lydia down.

Very carefully, he began to rise from his crouch. The counter was slippery, so he had to be careful not to slip.

His gaze flickered all along the room, watching for any signs of movement. But the tentacles stayed firmly attached to the walls and ceiling. There was only the odd rippling on the awful fleshy sacks dangling from the thicker vines, but other than that, nothing else moved.

Fade took a few careful steps along the counter, bringing himself directly under Lydia. Then he reached up. Her armor was streaked with that dark slick, making it hard to get a good grip on her dangling arms. His hands slid right off.

Gross, he thought. He didn't know what that stuff was made of, and frankly, he didn't want to know. I'm not getting paid enough for this.

He stretched, running his hands over the part of her armor that he could reach. Within moments, he found a little ridge around her collar, where it jutted out to form a seal when she wore her helmet.

He hooked his fingers into the ridge, and pulled. He bent his knees, throwing his body weight behind it, bearing down with a steady, even pressure. His fingers burned at the strain, but he persisted.

Above, he saw the vines wrapped around her legs shift, then tighten. But the dark ooze that covered Lydia now worked in his favor. Despite the plant's attempt to hold on to her, her well-greased feet slowly slipped through.

"Fade, answer me." Mother's voice came through like a barb on a wire.

He gritted his teeth, frustrated—he couldn't answer her! Why couldn't she get that? This was her fault. Throwing him into this plant infested place when he obviously didn't have a clue on what to do.