The Greatest Showman #1154 - Inextricable

He stared at Heather like this.

Once, this face had seemed to fade into the distance, blurred over time by the monotony of daily life. The memories, once sharp and vivid, now felt distant—faded. There was no sorrow, yet no joy either. No pain, yet no happiness. He chose to let go, burying all those feelings deep in the past.

But today, he saw Heather again.

The girl who had always fought for her dreams, the girl who kept struggling for survival. She never gave up, not even in the final moments of her life. She fought until the end. She kept her promise.

But now, Ryan Stone was the one trying to give up. Heather never had a chance, but she fought until the very last breath. Ryan had a chance now, but he couldn't hold on. Reality and illusion tangled together in his mind, crashing and churning like a force beyond control.

He tried to look away, tried to close his eyes, tried to breathe again. Nothing worked.

He simply stared at Heather, and as he did, her face began to blur, transforming into Alex Kowalski, Rooney Mara, and his younger brother. Their faces merged, their emotions intertwining, and he could barely breathe under the weight of it all.

"Yes, I know, it's beautiful here."

She spoke softly, her gaze meeting his with calm defiance. The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy, yet in that silence, they both felt the stirrings of emotion. It was as if they could feel each other's heartbeat.

She smiled brightly, pointing to the dashboard. "You can turn off all systems, turn off all lights."

With her words, she began shutting down the switches one by one. The lights dimmed, and the faint glow outside cast the two of them in shadow. She turned back to him, her eyes locking with his once again. "Close your eyes, ignore everything else. The world is quiet here. No one can hurt you. You're safe."

Her calmness, her honesty, pierced through his walls. Something soft and fragile stirred within him, and his gaze faltered, a moment of panic rising in his chest. He lowered his eyes, but there was no escape. He was exposed to her, vulnerable in a way he couldn't bear, and it made him want to flee.

"Why keep going? Why do you want to live?" Her voice softened, yet there was an edge of tenderness in her eyes. "You've lost contact with the world. You're alone. What could be sadder than that? But the question is, what do you do now? What was your purpose then? And what is it now?"

He avoided her gaze, his eyelids trembling. His breathing quickened, as if the weight of the world were collapsing on him. The collision of thoughts sent a jolt of despair through him, leaking out through the corner of his eye.

"If you decide to return, you should act. You still have a chance." Her words struck him like a blow.

His younger brother, always there, always waiting for him. The child who had never grown up, the child he had never truly met. He could hear the cries of that child, the soft sound echoing in his mind, each one driving him further into chaos... The world around him seemed to crumble into nothingness.

Heather had no chance.

Heather had no chance.

Yet Heather still bloomed fiercely. She had lived a brief but brilliant life, one that was entirely hers. The only regret—she never got to stand on stage and sing as she dreamed. She fought, she struggled, she never gave up. But he—Ryan Stone—chose to give up.

His chest tightened with a fierce pang of pain. It hit him like a hurricane, almost suffocating him.

A burst of sparks ignited in his chest, burning through the oxygen, and the suffocating pressure made his chest ache violently, as though his very being was curling inward.

The illusion faded, and a raw fear surged from deep within him.

He reached out, desperate to grasp the fleeting light and shadow, but the suffocation wouldn't ease. Instinct, the will to survive, had been awakened once more. He had chosen to give up before, chosen to let go, to sleep forever—but now, something had shifted. A glimmer of hope reignited, and he began to struggle again.

"Sit tight and enjoy the ride." Her voice came again, calm yet persistent. Heather, Alex, Rooney... their voices blurred together.

Reality, as cold and stark as space itself, crept back into his awareness. The fireworks of his fleeting hope began to fade, leaving behind only the bitter taste of loss.

"You have to stand firm, on solid ground, and start over." Her voice resonated in the silence.

He shook his head gently, rejecting both the fantasy and the painful reality. He didn't even know what he was denying anymore; he just wanted to hold on to something. "How did you get here? Why Heather Cross? Why appear in the rescue pod? Why break the dimensional wall? Why?"

"I told you, it's hard to explain." Her voice softened, but she didn't relent. "Hey, Ryan!"

"What's wrong?" He answered reflexively, but the suffocating pressure drained his strength, and he felt his head sway weakly.

She paused, her voice steady and clear, "It's time to go home."

The cry of a baby echoed in his mind, growing louder and louder, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat. The alarm in his head blared—beep, beep, beep, relentless, unbearable. It stirred memories, nightmares of childhood—of waking in the middle of the night to the sound of his brother's cries.

Suddenly, Ryan opened his eyes, his head snapping around, searching for Heather. But no—he was alone. The escape pod was empty, and the incessant blaring of the alarm was maddening.

He gasped for air, but his lungs burned, unable to fill. He tapped his chest, desperate for relief, but the pressure didn't let up.

He sat up straighter, his limbs heavy, and searched the dashboard for the oxygen switch. As the oxygen began to fill the pod, he finally turned off the alarm.

The world grew still.

Ryan leaned back, exhaling deeply. He clenched his fists, tightened his muscles, and slowly, deliberately relaxed. His joints popped as he stretched, regaining some of his composure.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, feeling the oxygen fill his lungs. His mind began to clear, and the words came to him slowly. "Landing... landing needs to be prepared."

He focused, trying to make sense of the instructions, his brain still sluggish. But this time, he was patient. He didn't rush. Slowly, he straightened his posture, opened his eyes, and the light in them glowed with renewed life.

He turned on the lights and found the operation manual for landing.

Russian equipment, with its unfamiliar buttons and controls. He would have to learn it, understand it step by step.

In the freezing, hypoxic environment, his body fought against the cold and fatigue. Each movement felt sluggish, but his resolve remained firm. He scanned the manual carefully, his focus unshaken.

"Yes, this is it... the soft landing thruster will activate three meters above the ground..."

His voice was steady, absorbed in the manual, his actions deliberate and controlled. Each motion, each gesture, spoke of a deep, unshakable resolve.

In that moment, Ryan was reborn. The doubts, the fears, the sadness—everything faded. He was no longer the man on the verge of giving up. He was a man standing at the threshold of his dream, ready to face whatever came next.

"Cut!"

Alfonso Cuarón's voice rang out, and the set erupted into applause. The illusion shattered. Reality came rushing back, and Ryan was pulled from the character into the here and now.

He smiled faintly, acknowledging the staff. He tried to rise but faltered, his knees weak from the strain. A hand reached out to steady him, a hand in a spacesuit.

He looked up to see Rooney's face, sweat-drenched but smiling.

They locked eyes for a moment, a silent exchange passing between them, before Rooney grinned widely and helped Ryan to his feet.

"Nice job," she said, her voice ringing with warmth.