I love The Power Glove, it’s so bad!

Coolly, he wiped the sweat of his forehead as his shaking hand pulled the bloodstained keycard through the locking device and opened the room which lead to the private quarters of the late Adam Bent. While it was standard in all bunk rooms that the lights came on as soon as a person entered, this quick change in lighting made the captain’s eyes burn and he could feel the strength of the wolfram scrape his retinas dry. They would not stay dry for too long, he felt, and tried to steady himself as he bent down next to the lower bed, stretched underneath it and pulled out a mahogany box which he had seen a few times before. The box was lighter than it looked, and he easily cracked the ancient locking mechanism open with his pocket knife. In the box were nothing but photos, again this was not at all unusual for new cadets to bring with them, and the captain even remembered how he himself had had a hard time separating his memories with the present in much the same manner. The photos were all of decidedly happier times, and all featured a smiling Adam Bent with friends and family – all of which were long dead, decades ago. The captain pulled one particular picture out of the box before closing it and leaving it sitting on the floor. He pocketed it and left the room, slightly more balanced and slightly more determined.

As this sudden rush of inevitability flooded over him he realised he would not have much more energy soon and he made his way to his own office, which was located one corridor down from Private Bent’s. Once inside he sat down next to the computer with which he could control most of the entire ship at the click of a button. As his finger landed on the button, indicating an emergency lockdown of the entire ship, he tried to convince himself he was doing the only right thing, but he felt a part of him disappear at the same moment. The silent clicks of every door in the ship locking indefinitely, never to be opened again flickered in his mind and he tried to block it out. The energy resources of the ship were slowly draining and as a result his only functioning desk lamp was flickering madly, which would have created an unnerving atmosphere in the room had it not been for the already very present, very potent ungodly horror that was already filling most of the room’s surfaces and space. As the light blasted on and blasted off, like a frustrated visual cacophony he could see the body of Adam Bent lying in a puddle of black blood, oozing from an open wound in his throat. The blood was so fresh one could almost detect the very scent of life in its stench, and the private’s body had just stopped twitching in its wretched dance of afterbirth. The captain gazed at the corpse with an involuntary emptiness in his eyes, like he had been forced to not feel a single thing or he would immediately be undone. Much of this was in fact true, his guilt and his fear was only held back by a thin barrier of his characteristic calm, a calm he had been known and praised for in many tight situations, but now felt as if it was mocking him with the silence. His heart was screaming, and his entire body was quivering, as if it was a dam waiting to burst. He put his pocket knife on his newly polished desk. A single drop of blood escaped onto a piece of paper which the captain remembers being very important but which had now lost all meaning. Outside the window, on the opposite side of the room from the captain’s desk, were the stars, the only witnesses, the only judges. Flowing in a silent void of space, he had seen them every evening for the past two centuries, and they had lost their sparkle too many years ago, and now they were barely noticeable to the captain’s eyes. Now, he stared at them, like they could undo this. Burst.

The barrier was no more, the knife was flung across the room, the desk overturned and every square-inch of the office was filled with a roaring cry, an agony so vast and so unstoppable it was as if screaming made it even worse, but it was no good to think, it was already done. The captain’s sob was a lonely one, and nobody in the world ever heard it, not even Adam Bent, lying two feet away, eyes still wide open. He held Adam’s head up with both hands, and cried with anguish, begging to nobody, somebody, anybody to bring him back, to undo tonight and to make it morning again. To make it unmade. He held his head so hard, as if letting go would mean the unavoidable release of reality, to accept was had happened, and what would always had happened. He had seen this before, many years ago, but had not believed it to be true. In his dreams he knew he would fall in love, only to be tainted to kill, like time itself had carved it in rock. His heart was beating faster than the time he had seen Adam for the first time, nervous and excited simultaneously, and he had felt such lightheadedness. They were soon joint at the soul, and felt nothing but endless cherish for one another, and so it had been for years as their eternal bodies refused to age a single day. The memories was beginning to fade now, and he could not hold Adam’s head any longer, he was starting to let go, and with that he cried his last tear and folded himself in double on the floor. His mistake was made, Adam had not been that awful man in his dreams but his dreams had spilled out into reality like a pot boiling over the lid when one is not looking. He had not been the faceless demon of his nightmare, but it was just Adam, the sweet soft man he had attached to his soul, and now had ripped from this world into the void of the stars. He snuck the photograph from his pocket and slid it into Adam’s right shirt pocket, and then he closed his eyes and embraced the motionless body of his lover. Slowly, he fell into a slumber, while outside, the stars were silent.