He watched the smoldering wreck of the Arc, every inch of the massive structure another testament to his failure. Everyone he had ever known, had ever loved, was dead. Gone. Incinerated, obliterated, gone. Many of them he could rationalize, objectify. Many of them, he hadn't met, and many more he had no reason to care. The scientists, so cruel with their instruments, didn't concern him. The General, nigh on evil with his ruthless son, were worthless.

But there were two who did indeed concern him, and losing them hurt more than every needle, every broken bone and every merciless experiment. The first was Gerald, practically his father and the only scientist who had enough morals to stand up for ethics. Now, he was ashes on the wind. His death was bad enough, a ripping ache down in his soul he knew was permanent. He had thought to be immune to pain, with all he had experienced on that torturous ship, yet Gerald's absence sent waves of inner hurt ricochet around his being.

And then….

Then there was Maria.

With that thought, all his composure fled, and he collapsed, weeping brokenly. What he felt at that had no words, no thoughts, not even emotion. All he had was unending pain, echoing again and again across every fiber of his being.

There wasn't even enough for a funeral.