funky station

A doorknob rattles in protest, its locking mechanism holding tight against the outside force. The woman on the other side of the door lets out a prolonged sigh. This is wasting her time and she is not happy about it. With a bit of fumbling around in her bag, she eventually locates a small key. She turns it over in her hand, thinking for a moment. She thought that she had surely thrown it away after what had happened the last time she had been here, but she was now thankful that her past self had had enough restraint to hold onto it, just in case. Her fingers press it into the keyhole and twist. Hearing a faint click, she gently pushes the door open.

It's dark. She can't see more than a couple of feet into the room, and there's a vaguely sweet scent wafting out from inside. It's no cause for immediate alarm in her mind, just... rather unexpected. Snaking her arm around the frame of the door, she searches the wall for a light switch, and eventually finds one. She flicks it upwards and the overhead ceiling fan lights flicker on, illuminating the rather messy space. There's an unkempt bed in the corner with a handful of carp plushies and many loose articles of clothing scattered on top of it -- though there are plenty of those scattered about elsewhere, as well. Leaning against the wall near the bed is a solemn bass guitar, standing in solidarity with the various music-related posters that decorate the walls. A large bookshelf, furnished on several of its rows with assortments of figurines, is the neatest thing in the room. Several of its slots are missing the items that should be present, but she can see that a good chunk of them are scattered across a desk on the other side of the room. Ascertaining that the girl she's looking for isn't currently here, she steps into the room and strides over to the desk, examining it.

It's a total hazard area; any semblance of organization is completely foregone. One side is littered with an excessive amount of perfume bottles, and a few of them have been left open. Pens of all colors are spilling out of an overturned storage cup. A comical amount of notebooks and loose paper accompany the books in taking up the rest of the space. They're trashed, completely. Upon further inspection, she notices that most of them have been rendered unreadable. The vast majority of them bear signs of being rewritten, edited, scratched out, erased, partially burned, spilled on, or any combination thereof that would alter them from their original state. For almost all of the surviving text that still technically qualifies as legible, what remains is disjointed and bordering on incoherence. She pores over them for a while, and eventually extracts a tattered piece of paper with two intact passages.

I think about your withered smile,
Your sickly skin and lifeless eyes,
and I just can't find you anyway.

I look upon my mirrored visage,
My empty, violent eyes and hollow heart,
and I just can't find myself anyway.

The woman sits down in the desk chair and sighs deeply, putting the paper back down. She leans back, staring up at the ceiling. Her stomach is rapidly twisting itself into knots. Emotions she doesn't know how to handle are bubbling up inside her chest, and she closes her eyes. This girl has been nothing but trouble for her for a long time now, but here she was, rooting around in her apartment despite the fact that they hadn't spoken in weeks, for exactly that reason. She knew something was deeply wrong with her sister. She'd known that for a long time, but looking at the current state of her living space and the work in front of her was making her head hurt, as if someone had smacked her upside the head with a steel pipe. She inhales deeply and feels herself calming, slightly. Enough, at least, to ask herself a fruitless question that had been in her head since she first stepped into the room.

"Where are you, Hope?"

Someone is repeatedly running a knife across a whetstone. Girders are creaking beneath an enormous, unexpected load. A thousand electrostatic discharges all happen at once, with a thunderous pop. Something heavy is in my numb hands, pulling me down. My clothing is uncomfortably hot. It's like a sauna in here. My left eye is rapidly twitching.

The RPD falls out of my hands and clatters to the floor, narrowly missing the tips of my boots. Gas hisses as it passes through the rat's nest of a pipe network around me. It sounds so much louder than normal. The vibration of the nearby heaters and the freezers wracks the core of my body. This coat is so much more bulky than I remember. Their eyes are on me. They're boring into my skull. I'm not acting normal. I'm not acting normal. My head hurts. It hurts from the inside. The space behind my eyes feels like it's on fire, and I can't seem to focus my vision on anything. I close them, just for a moment.

After that moment, I find myself laid out on my back. The throbbing feeling in my head is now coming from both the inside and the outside. Someone is leaning over me, but I can't make out their face. Scrunching up my eyes, I can finally make it out through the the green-tinted meson goggles resting over them. Grey-blue skin, elegant hair, and four eyes that are all blinking at me in sequence. Nanotrasen's hardest working unpaid laborer, aside from the borgs. Politeness in All Cases. That's right, she's working in Engineering today.

"'Ope?" I don't hate her. I kind of like her, actually, but I feel like we're far too different for me to ever be able to get past the vague species kinship and reach for something resembling genuine friendship. Well... that and the fear I have in the back of my mind that if she ever got close to me, she might go out of her way to do some digging and discover that I'm not authorized to be employed on this station in any capacity.

"...'Ope?"

"Fine. I am fine." Even as it leaves my mouth, I know that it might be the most obvious lie that I've ever uttered in all my time on this station. She blinks again with all four eyes, eye after the other. I can just barely make it out against the fog that is slowly pushing into my vision. My head really fucking hurts.

My kin's face contorts as if I've just spat in it. The look she gives me makes my skin crawl, and I let out an involuntary gasp as she reaches down and grasps the neck of my coat, attempting to pull me to my feet.

"You are not fine, and I would appreciate it if you did not lie to me about such an obvious fact!" Her words feel like they have an unparalleled amount of venom in them as I stumble to my feet. It's hard to stay standing. I can feel tears pooling in the corners of my eyes, and in this moment, I am thankful that the meson goggles are still present on my face. She releases her grip on my coat and points towards the maintenance access door on the north side of the atmospherics bay.

"Docteur!" No. No modern medicine would help me. There was nothing wrong with me, anyway. I'm just tired. I need a break and a drink.

"No," I reply, taking a step back.

All four of those dark eyes go wide and she snaps her fingers directly in front of my face, which makes me stumble back further.

"Please! What if 'zat 'ad 'appened while you were standing in a burn chambeur? You are being very stupid right now, and 'zat is on top of being a despicable liar!" I have to get out of here. My head feels like it's about to split open and my feet feel like they're made of lead, but I manage to trudge over to the door. Lumbering through it, I think about how upset she seemed just now and come to the conclusion that she will likely be sending someone behind me to make sure I actually make it to the medical bay. I decide that I don't care. I wait for the door to close and immediately book it to the left instead of heading up towards the main hallway. Half a minute later, I'm all the way at the back of the spare materials room. No one ever comes in here. She probably wouldn't think I'd hide somewhere so close to the department, either. I hope.

Reaching into my satchel, I take out a bottle of Miss Blue Curaçao that I had snatched out of the maintenance bar's vendor earlier in the shift. Popping the top off, I lift it to my lips and drink... and drink... and drink. Stopping after three or four swallows, I sit down on one of the tables and try to remain calm. My hands are shaking, and my head still feels like someone is drilling into it with a diamond-tipped bit. I drink more. It's not working. My stomach isn't agreeing with me now, either. A couple of long minutes later, it all comes back up, all over the floor. The sensation leaves me beyond dizzy. I fall over onto the cold tiles, clutching my head between my hands as my vision violently twists and wobbles into complete incoherence. It feels like someone is repeatedly smashing a sledgehammer into the side of my head, and I can't stop the ugly tears that are now rapidly streaming down my face.

With a beep, the door slides open, but I can't make myself look up. I already know it's her. In my fractured mind, I can picture her response to the scene in front of her: that blinking pattern, her hand raising over her mouth in shock, and the long, combined look of both pity and utter revulsion.

"...'Ope." Then I hear her voice, and it confirms what I already knew. The weight of that single word -- the drawn out silence before she speaks and the tone she uses -- crushes me. I can feel my brain melting. It fucking burns.

"... Can't," I manage to mumble out a single word, slurring it beyond recognition.

She doesn't say anything, but I can feel her staring.

"... Can't... Can't... Can't..." It just pours out of my mouth over and over and over, until the pain makes me lose consciousness.

A couple of hours later, one of many official NT medical forms sits on the Chief Medical Officer's desk. Filled out in full, the subtly cutesy handwriting and relatively gentle tone stands out against the cold, clinical nature of the paper itself. In the top left corner, its waxy seal shines in the fluorescent light.

NANOTRASEN MEDICAL DEPARTMENT
// GENERAL DIAGNOSTIC REPORT // M-BOX-G199846
// THIS DOCUMENT IS FOR USE IN GENERAL DIAGNOSIS AND DOCUMENTATION OF CREW ILLNESS AND/OR AILMENTS.

PATIENT NAME: Hope Springs Eternal
PATIENT SPECIES: Thaven
PATIENT GENDER: Female
PATIENT AGE: 27
PATIENT DEPARTMENT: Engineering


PATIENT SYMPTOMS: Severe head pain, eventually leading to loss of consciousness. Blurry vision. Complaints of extreme irritation regarding loud noises.
PATIENT PRESCRIPTIONS (CURRENT, IF APPLICABLE): N/A
PATIENT FAMILY HISTORY (IF APPLICABLE): Depression, Migraines, Seizures
PATIENT ALLERGIES (IF APPLICABLE): N/A


DIAGNOSIS: Severe migraine (potentially the first manifestation of a chronic illness, given the family history).
TREATMENT (IF APPLICABLE): Prescribing general pain medication. See comments as well.


COMMENTS: A case such as this... Oh dear. Looks to me like she had a very rude awakening today. Given the state that Ms. Politeness in All Cases alleges that she was found in, I am also going to recommend a psychological evaluation with specific probing towards potential alcoholism. It is currently unclear if the attempted use of alcohol as a pain relief was an act of desperation or is a consistent behavioral pattern that has not yet been observed.


SIGNATURE (PRESIDING DOCTOR): Martha Grande
SIGNATURE (PATIENT): Hope Springs Eternal

Hope took a step back and raised her head, examining herself in the mirror. There were faint bags underneath her eyes, but she thought she'd done a decent enough job at concealing them for the day. She'd spent a while wrangling her hair into a much more elaborate braid pattern as opposed to her usual lazy side ponytail, and she felt a faint twinge of self-pride in that minor achievement. Her silver ear piercings were situated in their usual holes. She reached up one hand and absentmindedly rubbed one of the dangling helixes, then ran her eyes over the black dress that was hanging from her shoulders. It had come from the depths of her closet and she had moderately struggled with the act of squeezing into it, but she'd eventually managed to don it without popping a seam or ripping it, so she declared it an unexpected victory. Her feet were bare and that wasn't going to change. She could only hope that the other wedding attendees would be conscious about what they dropped on the floor, both for her own sake and that of the holy ground they'd be disrespecting. Looking back up into her own eyes, she felt her lips curl into a soft smile. It was going to be a long day, but she was going to be a good friend today. She believed in herself.

"Smoke?" The green kin next to her held out an open pack.

Hope blinked, several thoughts quickly racing through her mind, and then reached out and took one from the pack. It was fine. There were far too many people present in such an open venue for it to be an attempt at something nefarious. She needed something to take the edge off but she knew that going anywhere near the open bar was likely to cause a scene of catastrophe. She'd been doing a great job at holding it together today and she was not going to take a risk like that, no matter how much she wanted it.

"Thanks," she politely replied, placing it in her mouth. Her kin closed the pack and put it away, before pulling a cheap lighter and holding it up for her. She brushed a bit of hair out of her face and leaned in, letting the flame lick the end of the stick. After it took, she stood back up and took an immediate puff. Her lungs shivered. Frezon. What a beautiful soul this kin was, sharing something like this with a stranger like her.

"No shoes?" They pointed down at her feet now, and she nodded.

"We walk on holy ground today, kin. Be respectful, please," she replied, taking another drag and exhaling a sizable cloud in front of her. That felt nice. Really nice. A gentle haze was overtaking her cognitive functions. Her brain felt calmer now than it had all day.

They awkwardly shrugged and the pair fell into a brief silence. Off in the distance, Hope could see a tall kin standing atop a table, doing her best to converse with those around her. The stranger followed her eyes and chuckled softly.

"She must be having a good time."

"... Her dress is nice," Hope mumbled. Another drag. More brain fuzz. A sui dream would taste so fucking good right about now. Wait. No.

"... I need something to eat," she followed up with, a moment later. No drinking. She'd fill her stomach with something else.

The stranger then bid her farewell with a nod of acknowledgment, leaving to mingle with other people who were likely a bit more mentally present. She couldn't blame them; she hadn't exactly been very talkative. Oh well. It was time to stuff her face, and if she did end up popping a seam on the dress... it was better than the alternative.

The pink girl shuffled in her seat, drowsiness threatening to overtake her body. It was quiet on the shuttle. Her mind was wandering. She thought about what Jackie and June would think of her gift, whenever they opened it. She shuddered when she thought about the recording she'd included. It had been so long since she'd picked up a guitar and played or sang, but she had been determined in delivering on her idea for a gift. The recording was fucked up. She had fucked it up. Chords were fumbled everywhere, her voice work was shaky at best, and she was fairly sure that she'd mixed up lyrics in more than one spot, but it was too late to fix it now. It embarrassed her deeply, especially now that she had handed it over in a gift-wrapped box and could not attempt to fix it further, but she hoped the handwritten sheet music and mumbling apology she'd included at the end of the tape would make it up to them. Maybe the candy would be enough, if it didn't.

She sighed, closing her weary eyes. It was fine. Everything would be all right in the end.

The lights are getting to me. The flickering.... It's been constant, all shift long. It doesn't matter where I go; being around other people doesn't help. The lights in the atmospherics bay, the lights in the engineering lobby, the lights in the bar, the lights in the bridge... even the light in the fucking burn chamber started flickering when I was around it for too long.

Silently peering into the depths of the glass in front of me, it hit me. It was the station itself punishing me. It was a living being and in the process of doing my job -- setting up waste and air distribution -- I had modified it from its natural state. An unforgivable sin. What had I been thinking?

Again. The lights in the dim maintenance bar began rapidly turning themselves on and off. A groan escapes my lips and I quickly reach over to my left, grabbing the vodka bottle that I had been working my way through for the past half hour. I was midway through pouring another glass when the alcoholic vending machine behind the bar whirred softly and then clicked. A soft hiss from its speakers followed.

"... Can you hear me...?"

I pause, mid-pour. My head snaps up, staring directly at the machine. I stare... for how long, I don't know. Those four words are on replay in my head, looping over and over. That voice.... its soft, crackling tone... her gentle inflections. The room in front of me is losing conventional form, collapsing into undulating waves. My fingers are going numb.

"... I found you..."

My heart sinks into the depths of my rotten insides. The vodka bottle shatters against the booze vendor, scattering numerous shards of glass into the space behind the bar and drenching the floor in what remained of its contents. I feel my other hand rear back and then spring forward, sending my drinking glass to meet the same violent fate. Attempting to stand is a mistake -- I immediately fumble my grip on the bar and end up lying on my back on the rough floor, with a throbbing pain in the back of my skull.

Lying there on my back, the absurdity of it all hits me. My lips curl into a weak grin, and then a smile, and the giggles bubble up inside me, spilling out uncontrollably. Sweat drips down from my forehead. It's so cold in here. TV static overwhelms my mind, aside from an unceasing repeat of her haunting hiss. There's a hole in the ceiling, and it's growing.

The dim lights flicker once more. It hisses and rattles. The hole envelops me and everything goes dark.

The gentle crackle of a newly-birthed flame. Running water, trickling down into a basin. Nocturnal critters chittering, baying, and calling through the long dark.

"Hope."

Swirling oceans of green and grey. A large wave crashes onto the shore. The snarling of a wolf.

"Hope."

The erratic whistling of an overpressurized boiler. Thunderous clapping, as if from an invisible audience. Sizzling sounds. My skin is burning. There's a hand on my shoulder.

"HOPE."

I blinked and the world came back into focus. A vibrant, jagged yellow crystal, sealed in its elaborate cage. Sickly green sheets of glass, shielding my body from radiation. The droning song of a geiger counter, and the gentle hiss of gas moving through the pipes. In the chamber, out of the chamber. Through the loop, back to the input feed. Over and over.

"GIRL."

My eyes broke free from the crystal and centered on the IPC that was looking over from its position at the console, examining me. That towering, lanky form, covered in the ugly yellow of a radiation suit. A flower was attached to the top of its chassis -- a tiny crown, for a kingdom with little royalty and even fewer commoners. It stood a good head and then some over me, and I honestly found it to be more intimidating than I'd willingly admit.

"COME ON, GIRL. DON'T FALL ASLEEP." Its voice module was a bit on the harsh side, but in this case that was most likely a good thing. It was difficult to ignore.

I shook my head and rubbed my eyes again. Right. Work. Mix the gas, don't let the big yellow rock delaminate. My mind wasn't there. It hadn't been there at all during many recent shifts. I felt like a ghost.

"Not sleeping. Thinking," I mumbled, moving over to join it beside the console. I couldn't stop my mind from wandering, though, not with it standing next to me. Its chassis decommissioning was imminent, yet here it was... working away like usual, with no problem whatsoever. It was unnerving, like it had no understanding of concept of death or nonexistence. No anxiety over the end. Content with the prospect of sinking into an eternal nothing.

"THINK MORE ABOUT THE JOB AT HAND, PERHAPS. OR MAYBE A LITTLE LESS. I DON'T KNOW." Blunt, as usual.

"Mm," I mumbled again. An eerie quiet came over us. There were voices in my earpiece but I was tuning them out. They weren't important or pressing. They'd be much louder if they were.

"... You're going offline soon." The statement felt forced, but I couldn't sit in silence any longer. It was killing me. I needed a drink, too.

"CORRECT." Again, blunt. Almost painfully so.

"IS IT UNUSUAL TO YOU? THIS IS SOMETHING THAT ALREADY HAPPENS AFTER EVERY SHIFT." I didn't expect it to continue, especially not with an arguably quizzical tone.

"Well... It is not temporary this time. Well, I mean. It might be temporary, but like, you know. Longer. A lot longer. Maybe long enough that I will not see you again." I felt like the words just poured out of my mouth with no consideration for how I was ordering them. A jumbled mess of feelings that I didn't know how to deal with. Like most feelings I've been having for a long time, I guess.

It was silent for a moment before beeping out a reply.

"IT IS LIKE BLINKING. THE INSTANT CHANGES." It said it so matter-of-fact-ly.

I turned my head and looked into its upper chassis -- directly into the green goggles, which I could only assume were hiding some kind of vision module. I wouldn't know, I'd never seen behind them. It hurt, for some reason, in my chest. Deep down, like there was a tiny hand gripping my heart and applying the slightest amount of pressure. It had nothing else to do but work. It didn't go home and relax. It powered on to work. It powered off when done. It didn't dream like I do, because it didn't dream at all. I knew it would see the tears that were now silently streaming down my face, but I couldn't stop them.

I turned away and mumbled something under my breath. I heard a gentle whirring as its head turned towards me, and it beeped, as if asking "WHAT?"

"... I will miss you, FIRE." I choked out. I wasn't even sure if it could understand what I said. It didn't even feel like it was my voice when I spoke.

It was silent for an abnormally long amount of time. I'd almost gotten lost in the audible hum and blinking lights of the console again when I heard its voice module come to life once more.

"I... WILL MISS YOU, HOPE." It said the words, but they felt forced. Cold. Calculated. The words of something that didn't really understand why I was upset, but knew that it had to say something. Etiquette dictated a response. It would be remiss to leave a clearly distressed girl without some kind of attempt at comfort.

I hunched over the console and buried my face in my arms, wetting the suit fabric with salty tears. FIRE-01 beeped quietly and I felt a cold, metallic hand touch my shoulder. I wished there was a bottle of vodka under the desk.

The screen ticker on the wall across from Hope Springs Eternal was slowly counting down. It wouldn't be long before evac arrived and she could shove her exhausted self into a cryopod. She didn't have the energy to continue on to a double shift at another station. Not this time.

She wasn't in the best of spirits. The chair she was currently sat on was uncomfortably hard. Her TA uniform was stiff, covered with grit, and had smears of some dark liquid running down the chest area. A moderate amount of alcohol was currently coursing through her bloodstream and it was affecting her ability to keep her eyes focused. Her satchel was straining her shoulder; she had forgotten to take out all of the material that she had been trudging around with for the purpose of fixing the GenPop walls for the third time in two hours. In her ear, her engineering-issue headset was endlessly buzzing. The rest of the crew and comms-connected spacers were having a massive conversation -- perhaps more aptly described as an blowout -- about something that she was beyond the point of caring about.

With a click, the IPC in the seat next to her opened its encryption key slot and pulled the common key out, dropping it on the ground. She blinked, and then pulled the earpiece out of her ear, examining it. There was no perceivable method to open the encryption key slots. With a loud sigh, she wound back her arm and tossed the headset to the floor. A tentative silence followed. Her headset vibrated on the floor.

"ARE YOU REAL YET?" The sound of the IPC speaking jostled her consciousness out of her fuzzy brain. She turned to look at it and found its form, bulked up by the atmospheric-grade fire suit hanging from its chassis, turned towards her. There was a hefty fire axe resting across its lap. Its blade was splattered with various liquids -- blood from many different species of space animal -- and in that moment, it looked like more like a war trophy than a tool of the trade. Tilting her head up, she nodded slowly.

"Just a bit," Hope replied slowly, trying not to slur her words. Another silence followed.

After a few seconds, she felt a compulsion to keep speaking. "I did not always wear the glasses, you know." She was referring to the green goggles that sat comfortably on her face. The IPC had placed them on her earlier in the shift when it had seen that she was lacking them. That was the root of this conversation. A series of questions and statements she'd made that she had already almost forgotten about.

It tilted its head. "WHY NOT?"

"... Never did any welding before I worked in space," she felt her lips turn up into a faint smile. Before space. Home. That felt like a lifetime ago.

"NEVER?" It tilted its head to the other side. There was a feeling of internal struggle that Hope felt like she could see in that movement. It didn't understand.

"YOUR WELDS ARE VERY GOOD FOR SOMEONE WHO HAS NOT BEEN DOING THEM FOR VERY LONG."

Hope's eyes fluttered behind the green goggles, processing the statement. It was a compliment, she determined. FIRE-01 was a being who existed entirely for its work. Receiving a statement like that, aimed at her skills in relation to her job, was probably the closest thing she would ever get to forming a deep connection with it. It hurt, deep down. She wasn't good with people. She had never been with people. She wondered why the strongest connection she had felt to someone in her time working on space stations was with a mechanical creature that fundamentally could not feel that connection in the same way that she did. Power on. Do the work. Power off. That was how FIRE-01 experienced life. Not like her. She couldn't just turn her body off. She couldn't turn her emotions off. She so desperately wished she could do both. Her heart felt like it was bleeding inside of her as she opened her mouth to reply, but struggled to find the words that she wanted to use.

It hung open for a few moments before a clumsy "... Thanks," tumbled out. Her brain was too fuzy to think of anything else to say. She lifted her arms and subtly hugged herself, shuffling her body around in the chair. Evac would be here soon. Her eyes were stinging, but she blinked the unformed tears away. Crying her way through the trip back to CC would be humiliating.

Pink skin is surrounded with cool, clear water. A pair of chocolate pupils peer out of an inky black nothingness. Rhythmic clicking. A smooth blade runs through her violently kinked hair. She smiles, but the light behind her eyes is gone. Deep, thrumming bass overtakes her mind. Glass tastes like nothing.

The ugly hiss of a burn mix flowing into its chamber. Pulsing static. A towering sycamore stands in front of her, its thousands of branches rustling in unison. Yellow haze overtakes her vision. A Geiger counter sings. She feels a metallic hand run along her back, but when she turns to look, she finds the air behind her empty. Her stomach suddenly turns itself inside-out. A woman is standing over her, but she can't make out her face.

She mops, she sweeps, and she tries not to cry. The gun in her hand feels sleek, professionally made, and is fully loaded. She raises a hand up and touches her ear. It's ringing, but her fingers come away clean. Her fingertips run along the glass window separating her pitiful self from the cold vacuum of space. This Felinid girl has purple hair, not too unlike her own. Warm, soft Vulp fur presses into her shoulder.

She shoots up in bed, hugging her legs tightly to her chest and shaking her head into the top of her knees. The tears come slowly.