Simon learns quickly that prison is a rowdy place. It's a different sort of rowdy from the good old days of the Gurren Brigade. Here, he is surrounded by bonafide criminals, barely kept in order by the law. It's a tough place to survive.
But Simon is used to surviving, so he learns quickly. People jeer at him from all corners wherever he goes. Not just prisoners. The guards regard him with a mixture of pity and resentment. It occurs to him that they have families, and so must also be afraid as the citizens outside. So he doesn't protest when they push or trip him, sometimes not even bothering to make it look like an accident. He picks himself back up while the prisoners laugh at him. For a moment, the guards and prisoners share the same expressions. They all enjoy the fact that a once great Commander has fallen so low among them.
There is still more whispers and sniggering during meals. Simon ignores them and pokes at his food. He used to look forward to lunch everyday. But eating is uninteresting now.
A few tables away, some prisoners discuss news of what goes on outside. Snippets of their conversation reach Simon's ears, and he listens closely, focusing on their voices.
"...Heard the guards talkin' about evacuatin' their families. They gettin' real nervous about who's goin' first..."
"Not that it matters to us, eh? We already on death row."
"But if we get fewer guards, we get more chances of escapin'."
"Nah, the guards who stay near the end are the worst. They no better than us, I'm tellin' ya..."
Simon heaves a small sigh of relief. The evacuation is moving smoothly. Rossiu is pulling through.
Nighttime in prison reminds him of living underground. The dirty, hard floors and confined spaces. The sound of someone's cough echoing off the walls.
A prisoner a few cells down starts singing. It is horribly out of tune, and the lyrics sound as if they are being improvised on the spot. The prisoner sings of his old village, and how sad it is that he will never see it again. It's not quite a lullaby, but Simon decides that he likes it, feeling nostalgic somehow.
But the other prisoners start to grumble.
"Shut yer trap!"
"No one cares about your crappy hole!"
"You suck worse than my old girlfriend!"
The chorus of profanities nearly drowns out the singing. The guards come and bang on the bars, calling for quiet. Gradually, the din dies down into silence.
Then the song rises up again. It is softer now, barely a hum. But the prisoner continues singing. Perseverance. Simon smiles and closes his eyes, drifting off to sleep.
He dreams of waking up in his office with his head on his desk, and Nia peering down at him. She smiles and asks if he had a good dream. He laughs and tells her that it was horrible. What follows is a scene as ordinary as any other from the past seven years, but it is comfortable, and telling Nia about all the ridiculous things that happened in his dream is a relief.
When he wakes up, Simon thinks that he is dreaming again. For a few minutes, he has trouble distinguishing which is dream and reality. The cell walls are less believable than the spacious office. But eventually he succumbs to the truth.
He spends all day thinking of the dream. Now that things have settled down, it finally hits him. How much he misses her. He misses her eyes, her smile, her voice. He misses the sight of her blush and the warmth of her beside him.
But this is different from when he lost Aniki. At least Kamina died still as himself, true to his beliefs. Nia is not dead. She still lives, and she is changed. There is no closure. He's not even sure if he should be grieving.
He's already accepted his own death. He would leave things to Rossiu. If that is what worked best, he is fine with it. He has no regret for the things he's done. He feels no sorrow.
Yet there is still an emptiness in his heart. Where she used to be. No, where she still is, as the dream showed him. And that part of him aches now, because it is so important, and now it is misplaced. Disorganized.
Maybe, if she killed him with her own hands, that would make things easier. So he could maybe feel something other than confusion, hurt and longing. So he could at least look at her again.
He sits in his cell and goes over everything in his mind. Her cruel smile when she told him goodbye. A Nia utterly unlike the Nia in his dreams. A stranger.
But the ring...
The evidence contradicts itself. So he sits there and repeats under his breath, "That can't be you. That can't be you." Hoping that it would reach her somehow in the limited time he has left.
The moon in the window looms larger every night. The evenings grow brighter. It's no longer difficult to see the cell across from his, and so he doesn't miss when the other prisoner slips a spoon out from his sleeve. No doubt he managed to steal it during dinner.
The prisoner begins jabbing at the wall with the spoon. There is no finesse to his movements. He handles the spoon crudely, as if he were stabbing someone. Well, that could be the reason the man is in here for all he knows.
Simon watches silently for a while before speaking up. "You're not going to get anywhere with that, you know. Your technique is all wrong."
The prisoner stiffens and glances back, eyebrow twitching as he sneers. "Sh-shut up! What do you know? You can't even stop the moon from falling on us!"
Simon shrugs. "Suit yourself."
The assault on the wall continues. Jab, jab, jab, jab...SNAP. The head of the spoon breaks off and clatters to the floor. The prisoner starts cursing.
In the next cell, Viral's shoulders shake in silent laughter. Simon refrains from an "I told you so," but he can't help grinning himself.
He sleeps a dreamless sleep that night, interrupted by what feels like a cold caress on his cheek. He keeps his eyes closed, wondering if he is imagining it. Then he feels a cold breath on his face, and he finally starts awake.
The cell is still empty. Simon lets out his breath and lays back down to sleep, disappointed.
And that is when he notices the particles of light above him, fading in a moonbeam.
