A walk.

He remembered walks. He used to do them all the time, probably. A good walk tended to clear the mind, better to keep it away from unpleasant thoughts. Maybe he could use one right about now.

At the present moment, he was standing on the top of his wreck, which was where he spent most of his time. It wasn’t exactly his favorite pastime or anything, it was just that the old shuttle made for a good vantage point. Using it like this at least gave it some kind of surviving functionality. He liked to think he was giving it a second chance.

His empty eyes drifted from the stars above and towards the rocky lunar surface below. In a blink, his heavy boots were on the ground. That was one of the few perks of his condition, he technically didn’t have to move to get anywhere. But popping in and out of thin air quickly becomes taxing, in his experience it was best to get around the more conventional way.

He was going on a walk anyway, to clear his head. Distract himself from the boredom. So, on he marched, one foot before another, leaving no prints behind. The whole lunar world surrounded him, unbound, miles of atmosphere-less soil stretching over the horizon to loop back around and catch up with itself.

How long had he been stranded here? It was impossible to tell, day and night couldn’t really be discerned on the moon. At least, not by him. He grew to stop thinking about it, about days or nights, and decided to look at everything through the lens of a moment. For example, in the last moment he was in his usual hang-out spot, bored out of his skull. Now, in this moment, he was enjoying the forgotten novelty of a walk, still bored out of his skull, but at least not as much.

Then he stopped walking.

One or two craters away from him, there were rabbits. Immediately, he vanished.

He didn’t know where they came from, only that they appeared every now and again. They resembled young women, but they had these long ears which looked identical to ones on the little fluffy animals back home. It was surreal to see them at first, but nowadays they appeared frequently enough for him to grow quite accustomed to them.

How it usually went was that a few of them, sometimes four but mostly three, would turn up from someplace and seem to purposefully wander around any general area, often while talking out loud amongst themselves. Their conversations were brief, and all revolved around observing their surroundings and noting that nothing was out of the ordinary. For however long he’d been stranded, they had never found his wreck.

They must be soldiers, reconnaissance of some kind. The underlying mysteries of these rabbits didn’t mean much of anything to him. All that really mattered was the entertainment they provided.

During the first few sightings, he just watched them under the privacy of invisibility. This became boring very quickly, so he decided to shake things up with a little extra-terrestrial contact. He approached one that had separated from her group and introduced himself with a friendly greeting. She was surprised to see him. So surprised, that she took off screaming in the opposite direction. He got a good kick out of that. When he went back to greet the others, they were all gone. That was the last sighting.

Now there were more of them, maybe ten or so, but they didn’t appear any more on guard than the last groups he had observed. Which meant, completely lax and barely on guard at all, they weren’t expecting any danger out here.

After all, it was only the moon. What kind of excitement could you possibly get on the moon?


For as much as a skull could, he grinned.





[] - A cry from a distance...

[] - Disorder among the ranks...

Lyra.

Lyra hated horror stories.

To be clear, Lyra hated most things. All her bunkmates back at base recognized her as a very disagreeable rabbit. It took a laughable lack of effort to have your name marked under her mental hit list. Of course, you wouldn’t know right away, Lyra wasn’t inclined to show any direct aggression. The taciturn, withdrawn Lyra handled her grudges through subtler and much pettier means.

However, of all the things she loathed, Lyra could assure that horror stories ranked somewhere in the upper echelons of her list.

She pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose. Lyra made an effort to hover just near enough to the others so as to feel secure yet far enough away as not to associate with them. Her lunar rifle held securely in presentation across her chest.

From lord to rabbit, every lunarian knew that nothing really happened outside the Capital’s barrier, which was why the Outer Patrol was such a sought-after assignment among the soldiers. The most exciting thing that ever happened outside the barrier was when those Apollo assassins touched down how many cycles ago, that had shaken lunar society up quite a bit.

However, that was also old history. Nowadays, if you were lucky, you might see an earthen probe, but even those lost their magic pretty quickly (they didn't really do anything).

Outer Patrol was, in essence, glorified free time.

And to Lyra, that was fine.



It was fine until she had an encounter with the vengeful spirit.

Her fellow soldiers may not have believed her. The whole squad may have gone back to base early out of pity. They may have voiced concerns about things like “fatigue” and, “stress” and, “mental illness”. Some condescending bastard may even have theorized that more soldiers were enlisted into today’s patrol solely to give “that gloomy-looking recruit over there” some simple peace of mind. What really mattered was that the impure spirit of one of those fabled Apollo assassins was now roaming around on their soil! Their pure lunar soil! No one was treating this situation with nearly the right amount gravity it warranted!

She fiddled with her rifle. She wasn’t going to slip up again, she would be ready this time. It was up in the air if the spirit would actually appear again, but on the chance that it did…



Her tense gaze shifted back to the others, and a sudden weight fell on her left shoulder.


Her heart felt like it had stopped.


She could feel it behind her. An existence as immaterial as a falling star. She could feel it, it reeked of death.

Out of the aether echoed the impression of a voice, “…The stars are nice, aren’t they?”



Lyla didn’t respond. She couldn’t move.



“It’s rude to ignore someone when they approach you.”



The others were so far away...



“Would you kindly, please turn around for me?”



She held the rifle against her chest.



“Come on, rabbit.”



Slowly, the weight lifted from her shoulder. She felt her heart racing.

“Turn-”

The rifle was already aimed at the spirit before it could finish. Lyra’s chest heaved as she stared it down. It wore the same armor as the Apollo assassins, pale white with a clear dome surrounding the head, there were rudimentary apparatuses wrapped around the armor that presumably ensured the wearer was protected from the harsh environment, it stood at twice her size with its arms limp. The moon’s pale surface reflected in its dark visor; she couldn’t make out a face.

Lyra couldn’t find her voice. Her fingers were trembling, she had no way of knowing weather a shot from her gun would actually do anything to it, but she had to try didn’t she? Only cowards ran from their enemies, and Lyra didn’t want to be a coward.

The pale rifle was aimed right at the center of the apparition’s smooth, reflective dome. She pulled some mechanism and the lunar tech quickly thrummed to life.

Dredging a minute fraction of something courage-like from her sea of tense, frayed nerves, Lyra gave her iciest glare to the even icier enemy before her.

“This,” she squeaked, “this is not your land. You do not belong here, and I will not let your filth taint our soil any longer.”

The spirit was impassive.

Lyra held her breath. Her fear quelled. Her mind, like a razor edge, focused on one singular point:

Impure things were the enemies of the moon, and the moon’s enemies were her enemies.

She would crush her enemy with everything she had. It was so simple.

Her fingers wrapped around the trigger.

And then there was a skull, rising from the perfect blackness of the spirit’s visor, there was the grim grin of a human skull.

Her fear ran up her spine in a cold, nauseating flame. She recoiled instinctively, her heart beat thunderously, the rifle slipped from her fingers and stirred up moondust as it landed.

Of course. It would have to be a skull, wouldn’t it?

That was what most vengeful spirits purportedly looked like, right? They all had skulls for faces; Lyra believed it was a testament to their corruption, their stifling hatred. Actually, most things on earth looked like that, once they finally gave in to its curse, once they finally succumbed to their own impurity. She couldn’t even dream of being sheltered, she knew what skulls looked like, she had seen plenty of illustrations. And yet, seeing one with her own eyes, for herself, it felt different. It scared her.

The skull watched her from the window of its white armor. Death clung to it like a blanket, it reeked of the earth’s filth, and, impossibly, Lyra came under the impression that it really was smiling at her.

Then it laughed. Quietly first, then louder, until it was a cacophony (cackle-phony?). It was a sadistic, joyless laugh.

The spirit stuck its arms out forward and took a step towards Lyra’s small, and thoroughly frightened, form.

---

“What happened, Lyra?”

The rabbit troops gathered curiously around one of their own, she was on her hands and knees, heaving with her face towards the lunar sand. Her spectacles were missing, and her rifle was nowhere present.

She had clearly been shaken by something. Some of the troops looked cautiously towards the direction she had fled from, but there weren’t any noticeable hostiles.

Lyra sucked in her breath and closed her mouth; she scraped her fingers into the ground and began to tremble. The blonde rabbit that stooped next to her, and the one that had questioned her, held her hand above Lyra’s back. She wasn’t sure how Lyra would react if she placed her hand on her shoulder, so it remained in the air indecisively.

“Ly-“

“Kyaa!!”

All heads (including Lyra’s) snapped immediately towards one of the other troops, who had dropped her firearm in favor of clasping her hands around the back of her neck.

“S-something breathed down my neck!”

The blonde got to her feet and began to work at unslinging her rifle, she gave the other rabbit a sort of bewildered-nervous look.

“Your neck…?”

The other rabbit, whose hair was a of a light pink hue, shakily bent down to grab her dropped rifle.

“I don’t know! I don’t- I just felt something on my neck, but there’s nothing here, I- “

Another scream, this time punctuated by the loud crack of gunfire.

“I saw it! I saw it!” One of the rabbits waved her rifle around, “I saw it! It was one of those damn earth assassins, it-“

Another scream, but no one bothered to see who it was this time. All of the rabbits were now firing their weapons frantically up in the air and at their surroundings, all except for Lyra, who was now curled up in the dust, and flattening her ears against her head to muffle the noise.

From afar, on a distant hill, a ghostly figure watched and chuckled quietly to himself.



[] - This was a wonderful idea.

[] - It could've been better.

This was a wonderful idea.


O’ glorious entertainment! How long had it been?


From the vantage of his hill, he watched the frightened rabbit soldiers fire round after round into hills of pale dust and over the lunar horizon. It was quite the spectacle, all the bright lights that flashed azure with every gunshot were a nice contrast against the dull white of the moon’s sands.


He kept laughing quietly to himself, a low and raspy sort of sound.


It was probably a cruel prank, but he found his capacity to sympathize with alien moon bunnies, no matter how human they appeared, significantly lacking. Though, his ability to care about much of anything was pretty lacking, too. That was why distractions like the rabbit soldiers were so welcome, they helped drive the constant ennui away.


His laughter became just a little louder.


He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so excited, so…. enthralled, so…


So…


…...alive?


He stopped laughing.


Oh, right. His condition. Funny, in some dry kind of way, how that word alone was all it took to separate his good feeling from himself. Alive.


It had been so long since he felt alive.


The gunfire had ceased gradually, and a peculiar atmosphere had settled over the lunar troops. They all looked around at each other silently. The one that he got a good scare out of, dark hair with a braided ponytail, had stopped trying to sink into the ground and was now sitting up with her knees in the sand and her hands wiping at her eyes.


Now that the initial panic had tapered out, he figured, they must all feel pretty foolish.


It was kind of weird how they were all dressed kind of like schoolgirls. He remembered what one of them shouted before the firing frenzy began, “Earth assassin”. So they were aware of the earth, and appeared to recognize him as some kind of assassin based on his suit. That was pretty weird too.

He watched them as they slowly went through the motions of gathering themselves individually and huddling up together, then he lost interest. They were going to try and figure out what actually happened just then, and that wouldn’t be particularly interesting to watch. Sure, he could go back down there and try his hand at a more creative scare, but his spirit (how funny) wasn’t into it.


With one more glance, he turned, and retraced his steps back to his little wreck of a home.


He was so tired.

---

[] - He needed to think about a few things.


[] - He needed a distraction.

Art by Seamless

---

He had some things on his mind, things that needed addressing.


So, he returned to his wreck.


With so many abstractions weighing on his shoulders, the walk back seemed to take longer. Eventually, he stood a fair few feet away from the metallic husk of his former vessel. It had serviced him for only a single day, and for the past however long he’d been stranded here, it had become his grave.


Truth be told, he hated it.


But it was the only remnant he had of his old home.


He faded from his spot on the ground and reappeared at his usual perch, standing with his arms lax atop the wreck, skull peering from his helmet to the great blanket of twinkling lights above.


The stars looked different each time you saw them. He used to marvel at that, but now he didn’t really think much of it. It was the same old sky. Above the same old moon.


He sighed.


He remembered.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


He was in an open room, sitting at a table.


Someone was sitting opposite to him.


A man.


A friend.


Maybe family?


It was hard to remember.


He and him were talking, jeering at each other.


They both did this quite often, and it was never serious.


They were—ah, yes, he was like family, they weren’t related by blood, but they were close.


He had a pin, yes, a metal pin of some foggy shape, half-remembered shape. Every now and again, he would run his thumb over the surface of it.


It probably stood for something.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


He was in some hallway.


He was curled up within himself.


He was struggling to breathe.


There was someone nearby—a woman, there was a woman on her knees right next to him.


Her hand was within his, he was squeezing it with considerable force.


Her other hand was on his back, and it moved.


It moved slowly, gently, warmly.


Her hands felt so warm.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


He was within a screaming mass of angry flames.


Something must have screwed up internally and set off a chain reaction, or something.


Heat licked furiously at his fingers.


He struggled to rid himself of the hellish lights as they ate him alive.


He was terrified.


Soon, he wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore.


He wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore.


There was enough time now.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The space phantom stood atop his metal tombstone and watched the orbit of stars.


All that remained was time.

---

[] - Time to waste.

[] - Time to kill.

Time to waste.


What good was time if you weren’t going to squander it?


Remembering was a hassle. It was time to be distracted.


His hollow gaze fell over the barren moonscape’s horizon.


Might as well get back to that walk.

---

If you think about it, the moon is actually an endless beach with no ocean.


That didn’t really mean anything, he just thought it was interesting.


What if the moon had an ocean? With fish and coral and everything?


It would be a lot less dull; he knew that much.


The drab environment was one thing, but what really hammered in the moon’s monotony was the complete lack of fauna. There weren’t any funny moon animals for him to be distracted by.


There were those rabbits, sure, but they only showed up on occasion, otherwise he had no idea where to find them. He had tried to before, but that was fruitless; they did have the home advantage, after all.


Maybe there were burrows somewhere? Rabbits dug burrows, right?


His walk, which he had only made a half-hearted dedication to anyway, had become interrupted by a sudden rabbit-shaped train of thought the station master had not been expecting. He used a healthy-sized moon rock as a chair and folded his hands over his lap.


Let’s break this down.


These, “moon rabbits”, apart from the long ears and cotton tails, they looked more like young women than actual animals. No incisors, barely any fur, and most relevantly, not a claw to their names.


If they didn’t have claws, then how could they dig? By that logic, it was reasonable to doubt the existence of any well-hidden burrows tucked away somewhere on the lunar surface.


However, there was also the theory of evolution.


Someone, somewhere, sometime ago proposed the possibility that all human beings could trace their ancestry back to some ape-like point of origin, correct?


Then, just for argument’s sake, could it really be all that unrealistic to assume that the humanoid rabbits native to this pale rock actually evolved from more leporine ancestors?


Did they trade claws for shovels?


A light gleamed off his visor.


Completely derailing the rabbit train, he looked up quickly and saw something moving above him.


A ball of flame illuminating a star-spangled figure as it swam high above the moon’s surface. A humanoid, childish figure, with long and messy blonde hair spilling over its shoulders from beneath a silly-looking hat.


Odd.


It wasn’t a rabbit. Was it a rare species?


Well, a distraction is still a distraction, regardless of the form it takes.


Who was he to look a gift jester in the mouth?


[] - He called out to the figure.

[] - He followed the figure and watched it closely.

---

>>28973

"Hell on Moon" would've been a great title for this story.