"Hey, guys! The Director's sending an emergency transmission to us, stop what you're doing and come over here," Tim shouted. He just loved to interrupt my morning bowl of oatmeal. "And Mark, you can bring your fucking oatmeal so I don't have to hear you complain about it later."
I could hear everyone laughing, and cracked a smile myself. I grabbed my oatmeal with one hand and propelled myself along the railings of the ISS with another, throwing blobs of oatmeal into the air and trying to fish them with my mouth. God, I love space.
On my way to the central room, I bumped into Dmitri, who had just shaved for the first time in what was most likely his entire life.
"Damn, Dmitri, lookin' sexy today huh? I swear, it's like you lost 20 years," I joked with him.
"Oh, shut up. The woman I love may be watching later today when we go on TV for international address," he brushed me off with a playful wave of his hand. "I must look like professional."
Borov came in from the East entrance just as we came from the South, at almost the exact same time. He cracked a giant smile as he always did, and ran up to me.
"Oy, Markov! What a beautiful day, huh? Look at Earth, and the Sun, are they not the most perfect sights to wake up to?" He bear hugged me and clapped me on the back. My name's not Markov, but he adapted it to make us feel closer, like there was no boundary between us. It was nice, actually.
We all sat down on the couch, me with my bowl of oatmeal and Tim standing before us, ready to activate the broadcast.
"Could you at least put the bowl down and out of the frame so we don't look stupid, Mark?" Tim quipped at me, flailing his arms.
"Oy, what, do the people on Earth think we don't eat up here? Leave the man alone, for fuck's sake," Borov butted in with a giant smile and raucous laughter. He always laughed, no matter what.
Tim flipped the transmitter on and made sure we all fit into the shot nicely. Director Bradley Thomas was standing before us, and he did not look put-together. He was frazzled and nervous, and looked like he hadn't slept in a week. It was a truly unnerving sight, to se our director look so scared and...human.
"Director, are you okay? What's all this about?" I asked him, trying to remain calm.
"Gentleman, I'm about to inform you of something that cannot be phrased in a pleasant way. It has been a disturbing week since we last contacted you, and...much has occurred on our little planet."
That's true, we haven't been contacted for several days longer than usual. So I guess it can't be too bad, or we would've been contacted immediately.
"Russia and the United States quickly escalated into conflict. Putin dropped a nuclear bomb on Ukraine, and on Israel as well, and before we could even think of how to approach the situation, they dropped one on Montana as well. Putin then threatened that, if we did not surrender, he'd drop one in a more populated area. We retaliated, and retaliated with...maximum capacity. Before Putin could respond, all of Russia had been reduced to waste. Borov, Dmitri...I'm so incredibly sorry, but the entire country has been destroyed."
Silence. Nobody could think of anything to say, or how to even say something in this situation. Borov's smile was gone, and Dmitri started shaking. Tim had his face in his hands, and I started to cry.
"Natalia....Natalia..." Dmitri was whispering to himself, rocking back and forth. He touched his shaven face and started to vomit on the floor.
Borov stood up and screamed, smashing a hole in the monitor we were using for the transmission. I stood up to comfort him, since I'd never even once seen him distraught. The bowl of oatmeal was still in my hands, I was so shaken up I'd forgotten to put it down. He looked at me, tears in his eyes, and I tried to place my hand on his shoulder.
He smacked the oatmeal out of my hands and screamed in my face, pushing me down to the ground and storming off. Dmitri was still sitting there, rocking in place. He'd pulled a picture of a woman out of his wallet and was staring at it, just sitting there staring at it.
I sat up, but remained on the floor, looking at the oatmeal floating across the room. Bits of red began to mix in with it, and when I looked over at Dmitri, his throat was open from ear to ear and a bloody knife was gently starting to float away from his right hand. I ran over to him, to try and stop the bleeding, but with his last ounce of strength he stiff-armed me away from him and looked me in the eyes.
Never before have I seen such deep, painful hatred.