Second Thoughts

Posted on Thu Apr 28th, 2022 @ 1:37am by Evelyn Reynolds

Mission: Mission 15: Adrift
Location: Passenger Quarters
Timeline: MD 01
1163 words - 2.3 OF Standard Post Measure

At first, everything was red.

Arguably, everything had been black first, but Evelyn had been less aware of that than she was the dull throb of pulsating crimson that illuminated the shapes drifting slowly beyond closed eyelids. For several seconds, she mistook it for a fitting representation of the dull pounding against her left temple, but several seconds of restored equilibrium isolated the cause as the flashing alert of her personal PADD to indicate low battery. It was, as she squinted open one eye, lying several feet in front of her. On the floor. Because she was also on the floor.

The room was pitch black but for the faintest of green light that seeped in from down the hallway. She woke alone, tossed onto the cell's only bed. The walls loomed, swollen and pulsating as the chemicals tearing at her sensibilities made it almost impossible to focus. The shadows sneered, accusations from elongated fingers that crept as tendrils along the floor. Movement created a cascade of pain and she whimpered; beneath her skin, the fire burned.

Cheek pressed against the carpet, Evelyn willed her body to remain motionless and reached out instead with her ears, instinct and the incessant clamour of hyper-vigilance straining for the familiar sound of footsteps, or the scrape of the metal door as it pulled open across the uneven flooring. Despite the invasion of adrenaline, realisation seeped a little deeper to become recollection, though she hadn't been here quite long enough for recognition to come as easily. You're not there anymore. A voice of reason, once the loudest, attempted to settle her. But you are on the floor. Move.

It took effort to convince herself to betray movement, hesitating several minutes longer until relatively assured that she was alone. Rolling onto her back seemed easiest at first, but promptly evoked an explosion of pain behind her eyes. Evelyn winced, staring at the ceiling through what little illumination the PADD's display could offer, and rested for a moment in the reassurance that this was at least a very localised pain and probably had an explanation far less sinister than what her imagination wanted to concoct. It felt like an impact contusion, and the dizziness as she slowly sat up added support to the concern for concussion over more invasive provocation. A hand instinctively reached down to massage at her knee but, despite the addition of a slightly more pronounced ache than the more typical dull monotony Evelyn was used to treating, the damage seemed limited to her head.

Slowly, she pushed herself backwards, still seated, until her back came to rest against the wall.

The little red light flashed.

Why is it so dark?

Evelyn had always been a highly rational woman. She was, after all, a scientist at heart as well as in practise, and flights of fantasy or excessive melodrama had never been her preference. As she sat in the dark, listening to the thud of her heart in her chest, she battled the mounting tempest to cling to that self-assuredness. Despite her headache, she could remember now that she was on Jake's ship, that he had shown her to the passenger quarters and then promised her dinner before disappearing to complete his shift. And she had sat, at the desk, and written messages she wasn't sure she could send, and taken a shower, and started her physical therapy.

Then, everything had just...stopped.

With no way of knowing how long she'd been out, Evelyn focused on regulating her breaths and took stock of what she could see. As far as most of the actual ship's systems were concerned, there was nothing to show any signs of life. No emergency lighting, no familiar hum of the temperature controls, and even the computer refused to acknowledge her as she tentatively spoke into the darkness for clarification. It took a moment longer for her to realise that the bookshelf, which apparently had been overlooked when the quarters had last been inspected, had fallen across the doorway and the handful of donated contents that remained in the room were scattered as far as the small kitchenette from the force of the fall. Oddly enough, Evelyn found the barricade comforting. Certainly, it complicated her getting out, but it also made it less likely that anyone was going to get in.

You can't stay on the floor though.

We could have been attacked.

It's more likely to be a massive systems failure.

We could have been boarded.

We haven't been boarded.

You don't know that.

Nobody even knows you're here, much less are they likely to go to these extremes.

I shouldn't have done this.

Nobody's coming for you.

Nobody's ever coming for me.

Evelyn; will you get off the floor, for pity's sake.

Climbing upward from this position was complicated enough without the disorientation of dizziness to add to the challenge. Manoeuvring with her leg had become a frustration that Evelyn managed with variable grace depending on the circumstance. At times, recovery seemed impossibly slow, and the temptation to just give in and resign herself to mobility aides pushed her right to the limits of her patience before stubbornness kicked in and she redoubled her efforts. Now, it simply made it take three times as long for her to scoot and pull herself up onto the couch, and by the time she was done, the effort had cost her energy Evelyn didn't feel like she had spare. At least she could stand from here if she had to, and once standing, could move with some purpose if she needed to.

So, we agree at least; nobody is coming. Where is Jake?

Busy, probably. His ship appears to be struggling.

Injured. Or he's not as trustworthy as you think.

He is.

You said that about the other one.

Jake's different.

Jack's his brother.

And they're different. You know that.

You'll probably get him killed.

"Oh, shut up! Just shut up!"

The clutch of her hands against her temples dug nails into her scalp. Every fibre of the woman Evelyn had been raged against the illogical insistence of paranoia, the patter of panic's footsteps and the cycles of trauma recovery that seemed more an endless spiral into a pit where the only outcome was her eventually losing her entire goddamn mind. Years of Starfleet training screamed at her to get up, to take decisive action and determine what her situation was and how best to get out of it. Doubt was an horrendous foe, however, and now that her body couldn't be trusted to work as intended...

Haunted, hollow eyes stared at the fallen bookshelf.

You'll probably get them all killed.