The Expendable

The metal walls of the cell were all you had known for what felt like an eternity. The silence was deafening, save for the hum of machinery in the distance, but it didn't matter. Time blurred in this place-an endless loop of isolation and fading memories. Faces, voices, fragments of a past you could barely hold onto anymore. Every time you reached for them, they slipped away like smoke between your fingers.

You were expendable. That much was clear.

They had told you so when they left you here. Stripped you of everything-your purpose, your identity, your hope. What did any of it matter when you were nothing more than a tool to be used and discarded?

But then, the offer came.

A chance to come home.

The words sank into you, digging deep, awakening something long dormant. You had taken it, of course-without thinking, without questioning. Home. A word that still held some meaning, even after everything. Even after the years of confinement, the isolation, the fog that clouded your mind. You had latched onto the idea like a drowning man grabbing for a lifeline.

Now, standing inside this suffocating vehicle, the truth began to seep in.

There is no home. Not anymore.

The waves below you crashed against the hull, cold and relentless, as the lack of wind bit at your skin. The endless darkness of the sea stretched out in every direction, suffocating. And still, you clung to the thin thread of hope, the thought that somewhere-somehow-you could go back to something familiar.

Your stupidity continues to amuse me
You are expendable. Always had been.

And somewhere-unseen, unfelt-someone was watching.