#1531 - Back to the Source

The satellite debris rained down like a violent hurricane, throwing the entire universe into a storm of chaos.

Before Ryan could remove the final points of the parachute, the space station exploded. It was unclear whether the explosion was triggered by the satellite debris or an internal detonation, but what was certain was that the space station was torn apart, its pieces scattered in all directions. The impact was cataclysmic, and Soyuz II started to spin uncontrollably—three hundred and sixty degrees, seven hundred and twenty degrees—like a dizzying windmill, rotating wildly. Ryan, still outside the Soyuz II, clung desperately to the fixed handle, his body an ant tethered to a giant's feathers.

Despite the chaos, Ryan didn't give up. With gritted teeth, he fought to pull the last tether tight and yanked the rope in the maelstrom of destruction. Soyuz II broke free from the parachute's grip, and the centrifugal force sent it spiraling out of control. Ryan's gaze met the space station's solar panel as it collided with Soyuz II, the sharp metal flashing dangerously close. He stuck to the outer wall, narrowly avoiding the flying debris.

Though he survived, the Soyuz II's outer wing was torn off.

Turning his head, Ryan witnessed the explosion's aftermath, the metal fragments whirling in a kaleidoscope of destruction. With no air to carry sound, the universe fell silent—only the harsh sound of Ryan's labored breaths filled the vacuum.

"I hate space," Ryan muttered through clenched teeth.

After enduring so much, Ryan returned to the cabin, still clinging to his resolve. He set the countdown clock to 90 minutes again, uncertain if more debris would rain down, but preparing for it nonetheless. He adjusted the flight path, aiming for the Chinese space station, Tiangong-1, 100 kilometers to the west.

But there was one problem: the propellant fuel was empty.

Exhausted from all the crises, Ryan stared in disbelief at the gauge, watching it plummet to zero. Anger flared up, and he slammed his fists against the dashboard, venting his frustration. "You've got to be kidding me! Ah? Ahhh!"

The screen pulled away from the cabin, focusing on the small round porthole. Ryan's angry, silent movements played out in the cabin, his face contorted in frustration. In the vastness of space, his anger was a mute explosion, unheard in the silent expanse of the cosmos.

The universe's peaceful stillness contrasted sharply with the beast-like despair and pain that raged within him. Trapped in Soyuz II, unable to move forward or backward, Ryan could do nothing but float aimlessly, waiting for death to come.

In the theater, the audience fell into a stunned silence. Ryan's struggle, from hope to despair and back again, spoke to the depths of human suffering and determination. The film had brought them to the edge of their seats, each moment more suffocating than the last.

Ryan wasn't ready to give up. He attempted to re-establish contact with Earth, hoping for rescue.

There was no signal from Houston, but unexpectedly, he found a weak radio connection. A man speaking Chinese came through, but the signal was broken, and communication was impossible. The other man, possibly named An Ninggang, misheard Ryan's distress signal as his name, and the two shared a strange, disjointed conversation—one-sided, a muttering to the void.

Ryan, disheartened, let his mind drift to thoughts of home. He fantasized about an ordinary life—something simple, something grounded. The sound of a dog barking on the other end of the radio was enough to briefly stir a smile from him. He even mimicked the bark, as if engaging in some childlike moment of escape.

His thoughts turned to his younger brother, to the life he had missed. The regret and frustration began to well up inside him. He remembered the emails he had never responded to, the little feet of his niece, the moments he had never fully appreciated.

Then, through the static, he heard the cry of a baby. It broke him.

The tears flowed as he recalled the moments he had lost—the births, the first steps, the things he had neglected. The harsh reality of death made him yearn for connection, even if it was only a memory.

Ryan listened to the lullaby on the radio, and slowly, the weight of it all sank in. He turned off the oxygen, the lights, and the remaining distress signals. His arms crossed over his chest, his eyes closed, and he hummed softly—a lullaby that brought him back to a place of warmth, a place where life began.

Just as he teetered between life and death, he saw Alex again—the return of his friend, banging on the Soyuz II's door. Alex rambled about his own resurrection and found the hidden vodka. Despite the fuel running out, they could still land. Alex's words filled Ryan with a strange sense of hope.

But when Ryan opened his eyes, Alex was gone. It had all been a hallucination. The low-oxygen alarm blared, pulling him back into the reality of his isolation.

Matthew, seated next to Eaton, noticed a shift. Eaton, in an attempt to conceal his emotions, covered his mouth with his palm, hiding his own discomfort. He had witnessed Ryan's journey from despair to hope and back again—a raw, unfiltered human experience.

Even Matthew himself felt a tremor in his chest. It was difficult to process the overwhelming emotions that surged as Ryan's struggles unfolded. The power of the performance had left them all speechless.

Ryan, still fighting, flipped through the landing manual and began the descent procedure. Soyuz II separated once again, starting the journey home.

As he initiated the final sequence, Ryan spoke aloud, a message to his brother: "Hey Charlie, it's been a long time. I'm sorry I haven't responded to your emails. It's not that I was too busy—I just didn't know what to say."

He continued, remembering the little things—the baseball cards, the moments shared. The words he had never spoken now flooded out. "I miss you, and I love you. If we meet again, I want to hear all about your wife and daughter."

As the cabin descended, Ryan, finally finding a spark of hope, pressed the activation button with a quiet but determined, "Let's go."