The Greatest Showman #1150 – Helpless

Everything was still. The entire universe held its breath in a thick, profound silence, and the distant starlight barely illuminated the vast void. The darkness, like velvet, swallowed everything.

"Houston... Houston... Houston! Houston, Houston... Houston."

In the midst of this stillness, a low voice called out relentlessly, its rhythm mechanical. There was no anger or frustration in the voice, no ebb and flow—just a flat, unyielding cadence. Yet within the subtle pauses, the repeated calls, and the elongated endings, there was an unmistakable despair—a helplessness seeping through the words.

When attempting to contact the space station from Earth, it is customary to begin with "Houston," followed by one's name and title, ensuring clear communication. It's a procedure—a rule that everyone knows.

But here, the voice calling out "Houston" repeatedly did not follow protocol. It came without the formal introduction, as if the rules no longer mattered, as if they had been cast aside in the face of overwhelming despair.

Silence followed—long, agonizing silence. Only the crackling of static on the radio band filled the empty space, a noise that only emphasized the crushing emptiness. Then, the voice returned, steady, stiff, yet somehow numb, as if the last remnants of hope had been drained.

"Houston, I'm Space Mission Commander Ryan Stone. Did you receive me?"

A faint, indistinct voice finally crackled through, breaking the silence. Even though the words were barely discernible, Ryan's heart jolted. He grasped at the slightest hint of communication, desperation flooding his voice.

"Houston? Please, confirm your identity! Houston, did you receive me? Did you receive it?" His voice, laced with urgency and sincerity, trembled despite his best effort to suppress it. But there was only more static, and once again, the world fell into suffocating silence.

Ryan inhaled deeply, steadying himself before speaking again. "Are you the Chinese space station? Tiangong-1? Did you receive me?"

Another unclear voice responded from the other end, faint but somehow slightly clearer. Ryan let out a sigh of relief, a flicker of hope momentarily lighting his exhausted eyes.

"Mayday... Did you receive it?" he asked, his tone now firm with a sense of renewed urgency. "Please! Help!"

Ryan Stone finally appeared on the screen. His hand hovered over the radio FM button, desperately trying to find a clearer signal. His face was stern, expressionless, the deep lines on his face accentuating the weariness in his eyes.

He was fixated on the radio, all his attention fixed on it, but his eyes betrayed a sadness too deep to hide. The calm mask was cracking, revealing the torrent of emotions threatening to overtake him.

He didn't speak, merely glanced at the radio. His expression said everything.

A confused voice echoed through the static, almost musical, "Did you mean... May... Day?" It wasn't English, not a conversation—but more like a song.

Absurdity didn't break Ryan's focus; instead, it only fueled his desperation. "Yes, please! Help! Yes, please!" His words spilled out in a rush, desperate, choking on the last shred of his restraint.

But the response he received was bizarre, the voice singing on, a strange, disconnected refrain. "An Ninggang."

Ryan's face contorted. He stopped, then smiled—a brief, hollow smile. The absurdity of the situation finally hit him, and a bitter laugh escaped him, the sadness in his eyes palpable.

His lips smiled, but the pain and helplessness beneath were unmistakable. He fought to regain composure, to keep the tears at bay, and continued, "Is that your name? An Ninggang? Is that your name?"

After a brief pause, he called out, almost tenderly, "An Ninggang?"

The radio responded again, a jumble of incoherent sounds. When Ryan heard "Mayday" once more, he realized the other party didn't understand the distress signal at all. It was just a repeat of the same sounds, like the babbling of a child.

Understanding flickered for a moment, but Ryan refused to accept it. "No, no, no, no," he muttered. "I'm not Meddy. I'm Stone. I'm Ray. Dr. En-Stone. I need help..."

As he spoke, his control faltered. His focus blurred, his eyes drifting in helpless despair. Emotion slowly overwhelmed him, the mask cracking completely. His words became choked, the final threads of hope slipping away.

A bitter smile curved his lips, but it was a smile marred by the crushing weight of reality. His breath caught, and he laughed bitterly. "Oh." The despair surged like a tidal wave, suffocating him.

The entire crew watched in stunned silence, holding their breath as if their very existence had merged with the vast, empty universe. In the face of this cosmic indifference, human struggles seemed futile, insignificant. Every effort, every attempt at resistance, was rendered meaningless.

A deep, aching loneliness settled over them all, and tears spilled down their faces. There was no dramatic buildup, no aching sorrow—just the raw, unfiltered emotion of shared helplessness.

Ryan's eyes, now more alive than ever, glistened with something that couldn't be hidden. For a moment, it seemed as though there was a flicker of life, a spark of hope. But just as quickly, it was extinguished.

"Dog barking?" Ryan murmured, the faintest hint of happiness creeping into his voice. "That's the signal from Earth."

In the vastness of space, dog barks were unheard. It was a strange, incomprehensible sound, but it was familiar. "That's the signal from Earth..." Ryan repeated quietly, almost to himself.

A glimmer of hope, of connection, flickered in his eyes as he spoke the words. But the loneliness, the longing for home, lingered, deeper than any words could express.

An Ning's voice continued to echo through the static, joyful and carefree, but Ryan could no longer contain his own laughter. It came, warm and full of sorrow, from deep within his chest. The smile that accompanied it was bittersweet, underscored by an aching isolation.

In that moment, Rooney's eyes filled with tears, her vision blurring as she watched Ryan's transformation. She smiled through her tears, the deep sadness settling in her heart. It was as if she were witnessing Renly Hall in Ryan Stone—a man who, after the Oscars, whispered to the stars, "Who cares that another light goes out?" The loss, the loneliness—so deeply embedded in the core of his being—was finally exposed, breaking down all of Rooney's defenses.

In that instant, Renly was Ryan, and Ryan was Renly. It was as though they were all adrift in space, witnesses to the frailty of life itself. And in this shared moment, Rooney's emotions overflowed.