Grisha Petrovich's Backstory by Florencia7

Being the captain's favorite crew member (yes, I know eavesdropping is contemptible) no one looks over my shoulder when I'm performing my daily tasks. Sometimes I'm tempted to take advantage of that beyond the scope of my current mission, but such extravagant endeavors can wait.

“What is the secret of your happy disposition?” might very well be the only intrusive question I ever get, and even that rather infrequently or in jest. It is mostly a winning act, smooth sailing guaranteed. Even those who ask don't actually mean it as a question, not really. Sadness implies a story no one wants to be a part of. Happiness is a party anyone can join at any time. Usually, you are not expected to elaborate on being happy. That's why it is the best mask. But I still need more than one.

My parents taught me things that over the years came in handy more often than not, and I'm still amazed by the accuracy of their uncultivated insight.

“If you say something, people will believe it,” my father insisted fervently, between gulps of obsidian coffee, when he did his best to lecture me on life in a possibly most comprehensive manner before leaving for work in the mines at 4 in the morning.

“If I say what?” I would ask with childish naivety, never questioning him waking me up hours before school, just so he could talk to me, and it took two decades for me to appreciate it.

He would chuckle and cough before bellowing with feigned impatience. “Anything!”

As a clueless 8-year-old I was skeptical. But he was right of course. When Alma mentioned her kids, I said my wife was pregnant, and just like that, friendship and credibility ensued. It works like magic every time. People prefer cheerful lies based on common experiences over distinctive, long-suffering truths which may require some empathy-based effort to interpret. It's revolting, really. But under the circumstances also helpful, so I'm the last person to complain. Besides, a good lie should always be sprinkled with a dash of truth, and that's the heart of every such story. The important part is to keep your heart concealed. As long as you still care to have a heart anyway, which I find it's becoming increasingly inconvenient…

One subject Alma knows can dampen my mood is mentioning my brother. I told her he had passed away, but not how. Or rather why. In this case the why is, quite literally the code, the key, and keys like cards should be kept close to one's chest.

Jora shots me an indifferent look as he walks by. Or rather strides angrily. I smile and he looks away. He also suspects nothing. This, along with his unwavering frown makes me somewhat hesitant to carry on. I had a different vision of what he would be like. I imagined him to be someone more like Reilly, out of touch with the reality of himself. Instead, he seems to be absorbed in the darkness within him… which arguably might suffice, yet it doesn't.

Alma's viral audio resounds in my ears again and I stifle an urge to roll my eyes. “Endless mirrors of the infinite.” Right. When I go for my EVAs all I see is a pre-hole-punched sheet of darkness that can serve you a deadly threat when you least expect it. For Alma stars are sparkly gems. To me they look like shards of glass, cold, sharp, unpredictable in their trajectories. If it wasn't for my brother's dream, I would've never chosen this path. Personally, I avoid dreaming as much as I can, because each dream has the capacity of becoming a downward spiral. But it's difficult to avoid an inherited dream. That is why I am here. To fulfill my brother's dream.

And to end it.