Blackbird Lost: Ryut

This is Act I of Blackbird Lost, a Thomas Grayson storyline from December 2014. Act I was released as a four-part series of Twitlongers, with three supporting solos between the third and fourth components.

"Blackbird Lost: Ryut" is followed by Act II: Generation Lost

Part 1
'''Saturday, 27 December. 4:57 PM EST. Grayson Loft, Gotham.'''

"This has gone horribly wrong," Thomas Grayson realizes all too late.

Looking down, he sees that he has managed to completely immobilize himself by piling an unsteady bowl of towering ice cream on his stomach while balancing a bowl of Cheetos on his leg and fitting a cup of orange juice in the crook of his arm. And now he has to get up and pee. "I did not think this through..."

Removing his grip on the ice cream bowl, the nine year old reaches to move his drink out of the way. The cup sloshes and a few drops of orange liquid acquaint themselves with Thomas' blue t-shirt. "Rats." He moves to dab at the stain, forgetting about the ice cream bowl on his chest. The seventh scoop topples from its place and lands on his shorts. "/Rats/."

He moves the bowl to the ground and tries to pick up the stray ball of frozen deliciousness. The boy upsets his bowl of Cheetos, a few morsels fall overboard into the couch cracks. "RATS!"

"Could this day get any worse..." He grumbles, standing up and heading to his room for a new change of clothes. Like every other nine year old in Gotham, he hasn't done any laundry for the past two weeks. The closest articles of clothing that hold any resemblance to being clean are a pair of black jeans and a red long-sleeve t-shirt. "Good enough."

The youngest Grayson later makes his way back to the living room and reclaims his bowl of ice cream. This time, he purposely sets it on the coffee table to eat. He switches on the TV and starts channel surfing. There aren't any interesting cartoons on, so he settles for a rerun of Doctor Who.

The cable guide says that it's "The Eleventh Hour," the first Matt Smith episode, whatever that means. He doesn't really watch that much cable television, with his time being consumed with training, homeschool, or researching cures for Embri. In the show, the Doctor is befriending a little girl named Amy, who's a redhead like Embri, but has no freckles.

Returning his dish, Thomas walks to the kitchen, half-paying attention to show. He gets distracted on his way back to the living room by one of the pictures on the wall. It's his favorite picture. Mom or Dad had gotten the idea that a family picture would be a good idea.

The two proud parents sat on chairs while Kyle and James had been placed on either side and Thomas in the very middle. Mar'i had been asked to join them and she stood behind the rest of the family, with her hand on Dad's shoulder. Kyle and James, ages seven and eight at the time, were competing in who could make the funnier face. Mar'i had just sneezed and the camera caught Richard in mid-cringe. Babs was fixing her youngest's unruly hair for the fifth time that hour, but it always reverted back to its messy state after her three boys played.

Of course, after that first shot, there had been multiple retakes to achieve the formal picture, but Richard decided that he would rather frame the initial shot over the rest.

Thomas smiles as he returns to the couch. On the TV, Matt Smith had just returned to an older and slightly peeved Amy Pond after a trip in his blue box. After the episode finishes, Thomas switches off the TV and glances at the wall clock. His parents will probably not be back for another three or four hours, at nine. Mar'i is most likely taking out bad guys in Chicago or Bludhaven. His two older brothers were both out training, except being on two separate assignments in different places. Rolling onto his tummy, Thomas takes out his phone and texts Embri. ["Want to come over now? It'll be fun. Thomas G."]

Christmas had been fun and Thomas misses seeing Embri multiple times a week. She had been his first real friend, but recently, he barely sees her. They've both been busy with their respective training. Thomas spends the majority of his free time researching a cure for her cell degradation but still hasn't found anything suitable. Her best options are some sort of regeneration or an external energy battery or source. He's determined to find something and refuses to give up. Thomas is close, he can feel it.

After receiving Embri's a-okay, Thomas decides to kill the time with some research. Since she's coming from the safe house, it'll take some time. He just needs to make sure he puts the files away before she arrives; she doesn't know he's looking for a cure. ("She would probably tell me to stop,") Thomas figures, if Embri found out that his search takes up so much of his time and energy.

Walking to his room, Thomas passes by his proud collection of Batmobile models, which are now accompanied by his new Batwing plane that Cragen got him. He has to clamber over his Batman snuggie from Jinx to reach for his laptop, a birthday gift from Mom.

On his nightstand, Thomas notices a certain ziploc baggie: his Blue Lantern ring. He usually keeps it on his person, but must have forgotten to pick it up this morning. It no longer has a charge, but Thomas has made it a habit to hold on to it. Stuffing the bag into his jacket pocket, Thomas also grabs the computer.

"Oh wait, my papers are under the couch," he reminds himself. Thomas turns to hop of his bed when he hears a strange noise from the kitchen.

It reminds him of a whooshing noise of a small, muffled turbine turning on but the sound is different...somehow. "Kyle...? Mar'i?" Thomas calls out, but not incredibly loudly. Maybe it was one of his siblings returning early. "James?"

He waits for a moment but receives no response. "This isn't funny," he mutters, but something keeps him from shouting across the house. "Well, two can play at that game..."

The son of Richard Grayson and Barbara Gordon slows his breathing and tries to listen. The whirring stops and is replaced by...footsteps. Definitely somebody. Thomas grins and prepares to sneak up on his sibling when he freezes at an additional sound.

Muttering. A man's low voice can be heard, and it's not one he recognizes. An intruder, then. Thomas isn't unsettled. He's taken care of plenty of bad guys. This guy, who he preemptively names Ralph, doesn't know what he's gotten himself into.

Thomas puts on his Blackbird mask and grabs his pair of Escrima sticks. He stops at his bedroom doorway and looks back at his dresser. Uncle Jay's old Red Hood helmet looks back at him. Taking a single breath, the nine year old places the helmet over his head. It's a little loose, but it makes him feel like a knight. "Prepare to meet Blackbird."

Slowly creeping, with Escrima sticks gripped tightly, Blackbird makes his way to the kitchen for "Ralph."

"Hmm...always wanted a Nightwing trinket...." The mysterious voice mutters. "What won't be missed...a wingding perhaps...Huh? What's an action figure doing here?"

"That's mine," Thomas says in his best Batman voice, as he turns the corner.

The intruder whips around in surprise. He's wearing a tight, blue and green suit and a fancy silver belt with a circle in the middle. "What? No one's supposed to be here! The records never mention - Wait, what's a kid doing here?"

"I'm Blackbird," Thomas says, the helmet distorting his voice for him. "And you're in my house."

"Dammit," the intruder's face crinkles in frustration. "I'm not supposed to meet anybody! No ties to past people. Gotta leave before contamination..."

The man presses the center of his belt and a portal opens behind him, making the previous whirring. Thomas has seen a few portals before, but this one isn't as pretty as Kira's or as cool as Alice's. The borders of this gateway are hazy like car exhaust on a hot day. Papers on the counter and adjoining living room flutter about the loft, displaced by the portal's gravity.

The intruder looks around in a panic fashion and pivots on his heel, turning to escape.

"Oh, no, you don't! You're not getting away!" Thomas declares, launching himself at "Ralph."

"Wait! No, sto-" The man starts as Thomas collides with him. Their combined momentum carries the two through the portal.

Thomas' bag holding his blue ring falls out of his pocket before he passes through, and clatters to the hardwood floor. The pull of the portal knocks down the picture that Thomas had been looking at earlier that day. Papers fly in a flurry around the loft like frightened birds until the portal closes with an anticlimactic "floop."

Part 2
Two Days Ago: "Thanks for coming over for Christmas!" Nine-year-old Thomas Grayson waves to Embri Tiber as he stands with the rest of the Grayson family at the doorway.

His favorite redhead waves back with a smile and follows the sidewalk. The soft orange glow of street lights compliment Embri's hair as small flurries swirl in the wind. The holiday evening had been filled with fun and games as Embri joined the Graysons for Christmas dinner. Richard had prepared a delicious feast that Alfred would be proud of. The three Grayson tykes, Richard, Barbara, and Embri all gathered around the dining table and shared stories and old takes over chicken, mashed potatoes, and an unusual addition of corn flakes.

After dinner, the six of them played a short round of charades; dark-haired boys versus the redheaded girls. The girls won. James had suggested a round of Monopoly, since Thomas owned a custom, Gotham-themed set from a certain masked mobster pretending to not be a certain masked mobster. However, Kyle won the game vote of playing Uno with three decks and Grayson house rules. Embri ended up having the most cards because she couldn't do as many acrobatics.

When the clock struck 10:00, Embri had to start heading back home. As she stops at the doorway before braving the Gotham winter wind, she turns to the youngest Grayson and says, "I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Mmkay," Thomas nods. "Don't stay away for so long, Emmers."

Cue the predictable eye roll at the nickname. Thomas just laughs at his not-babysitter.

"I'll be here waiting when you get back, Seraph," Thomas J. Grayson promises.

'''Present: Saturday, 27 December. 6:14 PM EST. Unknown.'''

"Get off, kid! Look what you've done!" The man, who Thomas nicknamed Ralph, demands as he struggles with the young hero-in-training.

"What's going on?" Thomas shouts back through his helmet as he keeps a firm grip with one hand and hits the would-be trespasser with his Escrima stick. "What did you do?"

Colors and shapes swirl and race around them as Thomas' added mass disrupts "Ralph's" flight pattern. The latter tries to disengage from the small boy but Blackbird is unrelenting.

"Get off! You're not supposed to be here!" The man shouts pushing Thomas' face away with a gloved hand.

"Well, you weren't supposed to be in my house!" Thomas yells and strikes "Ralph" on his unguarded face, drawing blood.

"You little..." The man is cut off by another hit, this time to the neck. "Night wing doesn't have kids!"

"He has me!" Thomas moves to hit Ralph again, but the man shouts out, "Wait! Stop! Wait, I'll take you back."

"Really?" The youngest Grayson hesitates at the words, realizing he's definitely not in the loft anymore.

The short hesitation is all the blue and green-clad man needs. "No," he cracks a devious smile and abruptly shoves the boy off him.

Blackbird discovers his mistake too late and loses his grip on the man. He makes a desperate grab for the intruder's belt but doesn't get a firm hold. Thomas falls away and is almost immediately swept away by some cosmic current.

"Sorry, kid. But no witnesses," the man half-apologizes as he turns and shoots away and out of sight.

Thomas has trouble holding down his ice cream as his small body spins around and a swirl of colors dance before his blue eyes. It's like a terrible, frightening version of going down a water slide. If the water slide had hundreds of loops like a roller coaster, and no end in sight.

The disoriented boy tightly clutches his Escrima sticks as to not lose them and simply because there is nothing else to hold onto. ("Come on, come on.") Thomas rallies himself. He has to get out, has to find an exit.

There! An opening. Thomas can't see what's on the other side, but he doesn't have time to check nor does he really care.

He shifts to a more streamline shape and aims for the gateway. Fighting to stay on course, Thomas makes it, but just barely. The exit portal deposits him a few feet off the ground and he lands face first in sand.

"Am I on Tatooine?" is all he can manage as he unsteadily rises to his feet and brushes off sand.

The landscape is vast and filled with dirt and sand. Rock outcroppings litter the environment and dark, ominous mountain ranges loom in the horizon. ("No double sun so no Tatooine,") Thomas half-jokes to himself, but has a weird feeling he's not in any location on Earth.

He reaches into his pocket and realizes his blue ring is gone. He must have lost it in the wormhole, he laments after glancing around in vain. Thomas pulls out his phone, but there's no service. At all.

"That's weird," he notes. Dad had given him a custom smartphone with the capability to get reception anywhere on the planet. After turning it off and on again, Thomas finds that he still has no service. Even the secure line directly to his father doesn't function.

Pocketing the phone, Thomas looks to the mountain range and figures heading toward that is better than nothing. About half an hour later, Thomas realizes he made no note of where he landed. "Dummy. Dad wouldn't make that mistake," he mentally kicks himself. Now he has no choice but to head to the nearest landmark, the mountains. Maybe he can get help from someone.

After a few more minutes of walking, the dread of being lost starts to settle in. Thomas sits on the ground and looks around. Nothing is familiar, and he hasn't seen a single person. There's no food, no water, nor shelter. No service, and no one knows what has happened to him. He's absolutely alone.

"I..." Thomas pulls of his helmet and blinks back tears. "I don't want to die..."

Once he says it aloud, his predicament and probable fate becomes all too real. "I don't want to die...not here...not now..."

He would never get to see his brothers and sisters again. Or his friends. Or Dad. Or Mom. Or Embri. His head whips around and he yells to the rocks, the sand, the dirt. "I DON'T...I DON'T WANT TO DIE OUT HERE!"

Wiping his eyes with a gritty sleeve, Thomas looks up and sees a miracle. A figure upon some sort of animal is turning around a rock outcropping.

"Hey!" Thomas yells. "Hey! Help!"

The figure seems to hear his shouts as they adjust their direction and start toward the boy. Thomas replaces his mask but keeps his helmet off for now. As the rider and his steed approach, Thomas sees something out of a science fiction novel. The animal is like nothing he's ever seen before.

It's a gray conglomeration of reptiles and birds, standing on six powerful legs. The rider removes his tan hood and visor as he drops in front of Thomas and is an even bigger surprise. The rider's body frame is of a stocky humanoid, standing at around six feet tall. Worn, reddish skin is covered in scars, and pupil-less orange eyes analyze the small boy. The rider barks something in an unrecognizable language, but it sounds like an accusation.

"You're...you're an alien!" Thomas can't stop himself from saying. A real-deal alien, not like the human-looking Kryptonians either.

"...Speak...Basic?" The rider visibly relaxes at Thomas' young and unfamiliar voice. The alien's voice and speech are rough and struggled. "Hoo-man...who?"

"Blackbird," Thomas replies, still unnerved by the alien. Does this mean he's on an alien planet? Is that where Ralph took him? "You speak English? Can you understand me?"

The rider only nods and squints at the human child.

"I guess you can understand better than you speak?" Thomas ventures, tapping into his sci-fi knowledge, and receives another nod. "Who are you? Where are we?"

"I...who...Grafilifis," the alien replies, absorbing Thomas' speech. "Where...Ryut..."

"Ryut?" Thomas repeats. That's not a place on Earth, he's pretty sure. But the name sounds familiar...what is it... "What's - "

Thomas doesn't finish his sentence as they hear something fly over head. Three hovering figures appear in the sky. Grafilifis replaces his visor and jumps into a fighting stance. The armored newcomers are dressed in blue and red, with glowing red eyes.

The flying robots suddenly click with Thomas' memory and interest with the Lanterns. "Oh, no...Ryut...That means-"

The robots draw deadly, metal staffs and announce in a cold, emotionless voice. "No man escapes the Manhunters."

Part 3
A few weeks ago, Thomas Grayson's biggest wish had been to return to the action as soon as possible. His dad had taken him off the field after the boy had been shot, but the injury never curbed his yearning to patrol. Scaling buildings with grappling hooks and running across roof tops? Those were some of the best feelings ever.

But this? Gripping an alien monster-rider as their steed runs in zigzagging maneuvers to dodge energy blasts from killer robots? Definitely near the bottom of the good-feeling list. Thomas steals a glance behind his shoulder. The trio of blue and red Manhunters gradually close the distance between themselves and their prey.

"Grafilifis..." Thomas says the alien's name slowly. "They're gaining..."

Thomas has always been a big fan of the Lanterns. At home, he has a nearly complete set of model Lantern rings; Embri has his Indigo ring of compassion. He's studied their abilities, their code, their history. He knows far too well what these Manhunter robots are capable of.

The Guardians of the Universe had created the machines to police the universe, before the time of the Green Lantern Corps. But something had gone wrong with their programming. The Manhunters decided the best way to stop crime was to kill every living thing. This planet, Ryut, was ground zero.

("These must still be active after all these years,") Thomas figures, since the Massacre on Ryut was hundreds of years ago.

The boy is jarred out of his mini-history lesson as the animal sharply turns to the left to dodge a blast. ("I'm sorry, Dad, Mom,") Thomas thinks to his family. ("I'm going to die out here.")

"Hold." The alien rider, Grafilifis, says in broken English. "Close."

Thomas looks ahead and sees structures in the distance. They're a mixture of natural rock outcroppings and twisted metal. The structures form a makeshift wall. "What is that?"

"Safe. Silas."

They're 200 feet away from "Silas," with the Manhunters nearly on top of them. Thomas looks at the rock and metal wall and realizes they won't make it in time.

"Sorry, Embri...guess I broke my promise..."

He hears a loud clank, originating from behind the walls, and opens his eyes. A large boulder flies through the air and meets the lead Manhunter with a grating crunch. Thomas spots a catapult mounted on the wall, accompanied by a handful of other defense weapons.

The remaining two Manhunters don't even pause as their comrade crashes to the dirt and sand. The robots' fiery eyes never stray from their targets. A second projectile, shaped like a giant arrow, leaves the walls and impales the middle machine with deadly precision. A third boulder is launched on a collision course with the Manhunter, but the robot shatters it with a blast. Small pieces of rock pelt Thomas and a soft impact to his helmet dazes him momentarily, only for a Manhunter shot to startle him back awake.

As the deadly robot charges its weapon for an accurate attack, Thomas sees a figure, dressed similarly to Grafilifis, but of smaller stature, stand upon the wall. After drawing their arm back, the figure throws a small object - a knife, perhaps - at the last Manhunter. The weapon buries itself right between the robot's blazing eyes and the machine crashes and skids into the dirt and sand.

Their savior is joined by another alien, both hooded, and the latter yells something in that alien language. Quick scout-like aliens jump out of the opening gateway in the wall and race past the incoming Thomas and Grafilifis. Turning his head back, the Earth-boy watches the group of scouts scavenge the fallen Manhunters, bringing the dysfunctional shells back to wall.

Grafilifis leads their ride through the gates where Thomas is roughly pulled off the animals back by strong hands. A purple-skinned alien, tall and thin, glares at him, holding a mean-looking spear to his face. The alien demands something in the unknown language and Thomas can only shake his head frantically.

"Hold!" A voice, filtered by machinery, orders in English. The owner climbs down from the wall and jogs over to Thomas. ("He must be the knife-thrower").

The knife-thrower moves the purple alien away and announces something in the alien language. Grafilifis steps forward and replies. The knife-thrower's expression is hidden by cloth and a visor but he nods to the alien rider. The knife-thrower roughly hoists Thomas up from the ground and says something in alien to the assembling crowd. The majority of the aliens seem to be of the same race, and all wear the same style of mixed armor, cloth, and visors.

The purple alien holding the spear scowls (or is it a smile, Thomas didn't know alien expressions) and nods before dispersing the crowd. The knife-thrower pulls Thomas by the shoulder, heading farther inside the camp. The young Grayson wants to thank Grafilifis but when he turns around, the red alien had disappeared.

"Follow me," the knife-thrower orders and leads Thomas through the camp. The buildings are made of roughly placed rocks and broken scraps of metal. Thomas realizes most of the metal are broken Manhunters. The camp doesn't seem too large -- smaller than a block in Gotham -- and there are only thirty or so huts.

"In here," the knife-thrower pulls back a door made out of tarp and lets Thomas inside a small living space. The hut has one bed, a ripped up blanket in the center, a small fire pit and a rack of weapons at the far wall. "Take off your helmet."

Thomas complies. This knife-thrower may have just as well saved his life twice, first from the Manhunters and then from the purple alien. "You speak English well," Thomas comments. The knife-thrower communicates better than Grafilifis. "Who taught you guys?"

"I did." The knife-thrower unwraps the cloth around his head and removes the metal visor. Thomas' eyes widen in surprise. The knife-thrower was human. Or at least, human-looking. "Who are you?"

Thomas doesn't remove his helmet or answer the question as he says, "You're a human too?"

"No, I am not of that young species," the man says, with maybe an air of superiority. His face was tan from the red sun of Ryut, and his age showed through weary eyes and graying hair, which was tied in a topknot. His green eye looked at Thomas with intensity as he says, "Take off your mask, too."

Thomas notices the collection of knives at the man's belt and knows he has no choice. When he does so, the knife-thrower frowns. "You're just a boy."

"I'm no child," Thomas says defiantly. "I just want to go home."

"Are you from the other camps?" The knife-thrower reaches for a weapon and Thomas hastily shakes his head.

"No, no, I'm from Earth. I'm human. I just want to go home."

"A human child all the way out here?" The knife-thrower laughs but there's no humor in the sound. "You cannot leave Ryut. Don't you think we would have tried?"

"I need to get home," Thomas persists. "And who are you?"

"I am of Krypton," the knife-thrower reveals. "They call me Silas here. And I cannot take you home, boy. But I will teach you to survive."

Survivor
Then

"Have you picked a moniker yet?" Richard Grayson had asked his eight-year-old son, Thomas.

"I think Blackbird would be good," the youngest Grayson had replied with a questioning smile.

"That'll work," Richard approved, handing Thomas a black domino mask. "And you'll need this, too, Blackbird."

Now

"What's the point of that?" Silas asks harshly. The Kryptonian's intense brown eyes focus on nine-year-old Thomas' mask.

"It's my Blackbird mask," Thomas replies as usual. Silas had been questioning the usefulness of the mask for the last four months that Thomas had been under his care. "It reminds me of my family."

"How many times do I have to tell you?" The older man asks rhetorically. "They don't matter now. Look, boy, I'm not trying to be unnecessarily cruel, but for you to survive out here, you need to stop being hung up about the past."

"This is what gives me strength to fight," Thomas says quietly. Even though, Silas doesn't have superpowers due to Ryut's red sun, the man is still intimidating.

"Kid," Silas says in a softer tone. "I understand, I used to be called something else. Dar-Sil. But Dar-Sil was only a translator, a scholar. I had to become Silas, the warrior, the survivor."

"But I don't want to change."

"You have to if you want to survive," Silas insists, running a hand through his gray hair. "Thomas Grayson was an Earth child. You might claim you were a son of two heroes but-"

"I was! I mean, I am."

"Whatever, here, on Ryut, you can't be that child." Silas says. "Now give me the mask."

Thomas looks at the black domino mask. ("I won't forget you, Dad. I promise.") he vows and hands over the mask. "Does that mean you're taking my helmet too?"

"No, that'll help you in a fight. Your 'secret' identity means dirt here so this mask is useless." Before Thomas can react, Silas throws the mask into the fire pit.

Thomas looks wordlessly at the fire as the flames slowly spread across the mask. The material curls and slowly breaks to embers and Thomas has to fight his tears back.

"From now on, you're not Thomas Grayson, Earthling. You're Thomas Grayson, Survivor."

The Picture
'''Ten Months After Arrival. Ryut.'''

Nine-year-old Thomas Grayson glares angrily at his phone, closes his eyes, then looks back. Still 1%. He's gotten the battery to last this long by shutting it off for most of the time, but now, it's on its last legs.

The phone had been a gift from his father, a way for Richard to track him if Thomas snuck off or got kidnapped. So much for that. Thomas has given up on getting a reception on the alien planet.

"Why keep it? We could use it for weapons," Silas had suggested, but Thomas had refused each time.

The phone, Uncle Jay's helmet, and his Escrima sticks are his only lifeline to home. The red helmet lies next to him on the mat he sleeps on. There are new scratches and dents on the armor, telling of many a Manhunters raid. His Escrima sticks share similar markings of use and never leave his sight now.

His phone, however, serves no combative purpose, yet he values it the most. He now regrets not taking more pictures with his family. The boy had always assumed that he would be his family always.

On his home screen, he has a picture of him and Embri, taken during one of the many babysitting sessions. They're both smiling in the picture and are genuinely happy. This was before Harrison, before knowledge of Embri's fate, before Ryut.

Thomas forces himself to remember how Gotham -- how his home -- sounded, looked, smelled. It's starting to fade and he hates it.

"I won't forget," he tells the picture of Embri.

He stares at the photo until the screen shuts off and Embri's face disappears.

Silas
"I had a kid once."

Thomas immediately stops hitting the Manhunter training dummy and looks at Silas. In the last four years, the middle-aged Kryptonian had never divulged any personal information, aside from his original name and occupation: Dar-Sil the language scholar.

Most of Silas' words to Thomas were battle orders, training orders, or protocol orders. So when Silas offers this random tidbit, Thomas has every reason to be surprised. "What did you say?"

"Two actually." The man's green eyes look at the warm, orange flames as his mind looks into the past. "Two boys...Kin and Wes."

Thomas is still unsure what has brought about this attitude on his mentor but gently asks, "How old are they?"

"They would be... Young adults now. Maybe twice your age?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm thirteen now," Thomas says. "So they'll be twenty-six?"

"Yes, they were twins," Silas says quietly. "Kryptonians age slower than humans but most likely."

"What...what happened to them?" Thomas asks. He's pretty sure Krypton hasn't blown up yet, so he has said nothing about it to Silas. "Are they still on Krypton?"

"As far as I know," he replies and Thomas thinks he sees Silas' eyes start to mist. "I left to catalog this sector when they were your age. I got caught in a Manhunter fight. I've been stranded here...I....I can't even remember their voices now."

The Kryptonian abruptly stands up, mumbles something that resembles "excuse me," before hurrying out of the hut. Thomas glances at the disabled Manhunter shell and shrugs. Sitting on the floor mat, Thomas turns over Uncle Jay's helmet. The usually stoic Silas reminds the boy of his uncle.

"I wonder how Uncle Jay and Jinx are doing." Thomas looks at the tally marks he made on the wall. Four years. He's surprised how long he's lasted on the doomed planet. "I wonder if they're married yet."

Every now and then, when Thomas has the rare moment of free time, he likes to imagine what has happened back home. He hopes Embri's found a cure and that she's still alive. She has to be. He wouldn't allow himself to think her abilities ended up killing her.

"I won't give up on trying to get back home..."

Part 4
''“My name is Thomas Grayson. I am fourteen-years-old." '' ONE WEEK AGO “You what?” Thomas can’t believe his ears.

“I found a way out of here,” Silas confirms. “It’s taken me a long time, but I’ve figured how to get off Ryut.”

FIVE DAYS AGO “A boom tube?” Curious blue eyes look at a metal contraption about the size of a large shoebox. “So it’s like a teleporter?”

“Exactly, kid,” answers Thomas’ Kryptonian mentor. “This one runs on an unstable substance. We would try to avoid that, since that could complicate things. But right now, it’s worth it.”

Thomas agrees, looking at his hands. They aren’t smooth like they used to be. Beneath the strips of cloth, his fingers and palms are worn from constant training, building, and fighting. Almost five years, but it feels like an eternity. Grafilifis, the alien that saved his life, was dead, killed in a Manhunter raid. They buried him two months ago.

“Give me five days,” Silas says. “Then you and me are out of here.”

THREE DAYS AGO “Why don’t we save the whole camp?”

Silas frowns at Thomas’ question. “The device can’t handle that many people. Now hurry up and make sure the East Barrier is fixed up. The next raid shouldn’t be for another few days or so, so we need to capitalize on this.”

Thomas leaves the hut and doesn’t hear Silas say, “And we only look out for our own, kid.”

ONE DAY AGO “Good work,” Silas notes as Thomas trains and strikes the dummy. “You’re quick.”

The boy smiles at the praise. “Thanks.”

“Kid...Thomas,” Silas starts then hesitates. “About the boom tube. It’s dangerous…Let me go first and check it. I promise I’ll come back for you.”

Thomas shakes his head. He doesn’t doubt Silas’ honor or think that the man would abandon Thomas. Silas had begun to be almost a second father to him, albeit a stricter and more emotionally distant one. “We go together. All or nothing.”

ONE HOUR AGO The camp always thought they had the Manhunter raid schedule down. One raid, one day of rest, two raid days in a row, one day of rest. Then repeat. But not three days in a row. The camp defenses never go down of course. But this time the Manhunter force is nearly triple – no, quadruple – regular size.

“Silas!” Thomas yells, dirt flying and making him pause to clear his helmet’s visor. “Where are you?”

The boy grabs his bow and sends a sharpened metal rod into a nearby Manhunter. Slinging the ranged weapon over his shoulder, Thomas unsheathes his Escrima sticks and race to their hut. He sees Silas races out, boom tube device under arm. A squad of Manhunters chase after, floating a few feet off the ground. Thomas realizes his Escrima sticks wouldn’t help him now; the Manhunters would disintegrate him before he could get close.

He draws his bow again and sends his last three projectiles at the lead Manhunter. He discards the bow as Silas joins his side. The Kryptonian places the boom tube device on the sand. In perfect synchronization, the two draw throwing knives from their respective belts, sending them with pinpoint accuracy at the Manhunters’ heads.

Silas curses in Kryptonian as he runs out of blades. Thomas is about to hand him some of his when a Manhunter blast at the ground knocks him off his feet. Landing a few feet away, the boy sees the growing squad of machines begin to close on the unarmed Silas.

The Kryptonian realizes this as well and turns to Thomas. He throws the boom tube device to the fourteen year old, who catches it. Thomas looks wordlessly at the man who took care of him for the past five years in hell.

“Good luck, boy” is all Silas can mouth as Manhunter lasers reduce the Kryptonian to dust to join the sands of Ryut.

There are no tears. Thomas hardly has any left in him. He activates the boom tube and the ground shift underneath him. The genocidal machines affix their red eyes at him and start to advance. Thomas feels his left side burn, but the boom tube’s portal opens and warps him out.