Phoenix scooped them out of the water, and the moment they hit the fuselage bay, cleaning turbines kicked in:
air jets, dryers, heat—
everything humming, whistling, blasting them dry
like the ship was washing and ironing two dumbasses at the same time.
Phoenix’s voice—dry, businesslike:
“Entered orbit.
Calculated return point and required core output.
Initiating hyper-temporal jump.
Prepare.”
At that moment, Zeros turned sharply to Blindy
and hissed so cold his voice could freeze a volcano:
“Listen, you rotten piece of meat.
Am I supposed to spend my entire existence saving you?
Understand this—I am not your maid-droid.
I’m done with your bullshit.
Get your shit together. Now.”
Before Blindy could even open his mouth—
Phoenix fired the drive.
The hull shuddered,
space trembled—
and—
everything vanished.
A moment.
A blink.
A click.
And Blindy was no longer on the ship.
He was standing in a park.
End of summer.
Gray-gold trees.
A thin morning breeze.
Leaves rustling so softly, like they were apologizing for moving.
Somewhere in the distance—a bicycle bell.
A squirrel darted across the grass, climbed a trunk,
and started burying a nut.
Birds calling to each other.
The air smelled like cold earth.
His skin felt a gentle chill.
A thin layer of gray clouds drifted overhead—
like rain was thinking about coming,
but hadn’t decided yet.
Blindy froze. Blinked. He breathed, stunned.
“…Huh… this is… heaven…”
He sat down on an old wooden bench,
rubbed his eyes,
looked around,
and muttered, still not fully understanding:
“Wonder what planet I ended up on…”
Thought for a second.
Shrugged.
“Wherever it is—don’t give a fuck.
I’m staying here.I’ll find a wife.
Have kids.
We’ll walk in this park…
That’s it.
I’m done with space, fuck it.”
He leaned back,
took a deep breath—
like he was trying to inhale life itself.
And for a moment, it felt real:
all the jumps, all the panic,
all the madness of the past days—
GONE.
Like it never existed.
For the first time in a long while,
Blindy just sat there…
…living.
A man in an orange municipal worker vest approached him:
bucket, broom, exhaustion,
a heavy morning sigh—standard equipment.
The worker spoke in dull, sleepy German—like he hadn’t fully woken up yet:
“Guten Morgen, mein Herr.
Sie können Ihre Füße hochlegen.
Ich räume hier gleich auf.”
Blindy blinked:
“Uh—s-sorry, uncle…
I, uh… don’t sprechen your stuff.
Know a couple words though. Heh… ‘Fick dich ins Knie.’
I’m from Mülldeponie, after all.”
The German’s eyebrows slowly climbed upward:
“Ein Engländer, der auf einer Mülldeponie arbeitet…”
He switched to broken English, like a man who didn’t trust the language at all:
“Ja…
You… sit here sad?
Lose… your crew?”
Blindy took a deep breath:
“Yeah, man.
You could say that.
Lost my people. But—
But I—I don’t give a fuck.
I wanna stay here.
It’s calm…
Heaven, dammit.
Don’t wanna go back.”
The janitor sat down beside him, leaned on his broom, wiped his forehead:
“Ja, die Arbeit in einem Abraumbergwerk ist nicht leicht.”
Then, more serious:
“Du solltest besser nach London zurückkehren.
Die Zeiten sind derzeit schwierig.”
Blindy didn’t understand a single fucking word,
but from the gestures he got the message: Get outta here.
He shook his head:
“No—nah, man.
I ain’t goin’ anywhere.
It’s peaceful here—HEAVEN.
It’s—it’s quiet…
I’m tired, I swear. You get that, right?”
And then—right into his ear, like a Judgment Day siren—
“Captain!” screamed Phoenix. “We’ve located you!”
Zeros, roaring:
“HEY, YOU SITTING BAG OF ROTTEN MINCED MEAT!
What the fuck are you doing over there?!
Move your ass toward the open yard!
See that factory ahead?
Get over there—we’ll pick you up!”
Blindy stood up, defeated.
Turned to the janitor:
“Heh… Gute Nacht, uncle.”
The janitor blinked:
“Heh… noch ein betrunkener Engländer.
Dir auch eine gute Nacht.
Geh dich ausschlafen.”
Blindy, still shaking, dragged himself toward the factory.
Rain began to tap softly against the pavement—
like the sky finally made up its mind.
A couple of passersby turned their heads,
watching him rush past—
like they’d just spotted a mistake in evolution.
The park let out a heavy sigh.
And then—
two men in gray uniforms, rifles ready,
spotted him and started running:
“Halt!
Wir schießen!”
Blindy turned, saw the helmets—
red circle, white field, black cross—
and screamed across the street:
“SAINT NEIL FUCKING DE GRAAAASSE!”
He bolted.
Burst into the industrial yard—
and saw Z-P-N-E-S 2.0,
standing there like a metal whale
with its mouth wide open.
Blindy jumped inside.
The hatch slammed shut. The ship shot upward. The soldiers aimed:
“Warnung! Warnung! Feind!”
But the ship was already punching through the clouds.
Inside—silence.
Blindy stood there, soaked—
like the park itself had spit him back out.
Phoenix spoke first— flat, but with a hint of metallic exhaustion:
“Captain…
what the fuck were you doing?”
Blindy, gasping,
collapsed onto the floor, stared at Zeros,
and forced out through anger and hurt:
“I shouldn’t have left…
You—damn I’m tired of this shit—
You know what?
Take me back!
It—it was so… peaceful…
I’M—I’m stayin’ there!”
Phoenix paused. One second. Two.
Then quietly:
“Captain…
are you out of your fucking mind?”
A short pause, split second pause.
“It’s August 29th.
1939.
Berlin.
In three days—the Second World War starts.”
Blindy’s shoulders dropped
like the world just smacked him across the back with a stool.
“Oh great deGrasse…
No—no—no—not this…
WHA—WHAT THE FUCK
IS WRONG WITH THIS WORLD?!”