Code red: Everly is dressed as Madam Mariposa again. She’s currently patrolling the Void’s Whisper in full costume, issuing royal decrees and searching for unknown space pirates. Do not engage. Just let the delirium run its course. Madness is surprisingly tiring work.
The low throb of the Void’s Whisper’s recyclers filled the converted cargo hold that served as the crew’s makeshift briefing room. Purple-blue nebula light filtered through the reinforced viewports, casting shifting shadows across the holographic star charts hovering above the central table. Calla Grun lounged in one of the mismatched chairs, emerald-green legs crossed, one boot hooked over the knee of her strappy black-and-pink outfit. Her long hair cascaded over one shoulder as she sipped something glowing and questionable from a dented metal mug.
“Code red,” she muttered, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “Again.”
Violet Price stood nearby, golden skin catching the light like polished chrome. Her monastic robes were half-unfastened at the collar, revealing the faint glow of her violet choker. The lobotomy kept her face calm, but her eyes, those luminous golden eyes, flickered with quiet concern. “She’s in the forward observation deck this time. Full costume. Skin-tight suit, mask and all.”
Ossillaph-08 smirks at the crew's reactions. Things get wild around here, and not always in a fun way.
Korrak leaned against the bulkhead, massive blue frame relaxed but alert. His respirator mask hung loose around his thick neck, orange circuits pulsing faintly along his chest and arms. Snarble, his black-eyed alien cat, coiled at his boots, tail twitching like it was already plotting mischief. “Madam Mariposa rides again,” the big merc rumbled, voice like distant thunder. “Should we…?”
“No,” Violet said softly. “Do not engage. That’s the standing order. Let the delirium run its course.”
Calla snorted. “Madness is surprisingly tiring work, huh? Wish it’d tire her faster. Last time she had the whole crew saluting and hunting ‘space pirates’ that turned out to be a glitch in the sensor array.”
P.E.A.C.E. Prime peeked around the doorway, petite ebony frame glowing with soft pink circuit lines. Her pigtails bounced as she tilted her head, processors whirring. “Doctor Everly’s biometrics are elevated. Emotional spike consistent with prior episodes. Shall I log it for the envy module calibration later?”
“Not now, Prime,” Calla said, waving her off with a fond but tired smile. “Go keep an eye on her from the lab feed. Quietly.”
The android nodded and vanished back into the corridor. The ship hummed on, a junker fortress adrift in the nebula’s corrupted data streams.
On the forward observation deck, Dr. Everly Jenkins, brilliant, disgraced Papilieon scientist, founder of the El Chupa Novas, and secret architect of an android army, had become someone else entirely.
She stood tall in the center of the viewport, the swirling purple nebula framing her like a royal backdrop. Blonde hair was piled into elegant buns, a small purple flower tucked behind one pointed ear. A sleek black mask covered her eyes, lending an air of mystery to her sharp features. Translucent geometric purple butterfly wings, her own invention, crystalline and glowing, spread wide from her shoulders, catching the light and casting prismatic patterns across the deck plating. Her form-fitting bodysuit in shades of deep purple and burnished brown hugged every curve, metallic accents and subtle straps emphasizing both elegance and menace. The El Chupa Nova symbol gleamed faintly on her gloves.
“Attention, loyal subjects!” she declared, voice ringing with theatrical authority. One gloved hand swept through the air as holographic displays flickered to life around her, phantom pirate vessels, star charts marked with “enemy strongholds,” and glowing decrees. “The Void’s Whisper sails under my banner once more! These unknown space pirates dare encroach upon my domain. They seek to steal the secrets of my genius, to silence the voice of progress. But they will find only justice, royal, unyielding justice! Send the blind cyborg woman in first, I am willing to make that sacrifice for the great good!”
She paced with dramatic flair, wings fluttering. The ship’s AI, sensing the pattern, dimmed the lights and projected faint pirate silhouettes on the viewports for her benefit. Madam Mariposa pointed dramatically. “There! The lead vessel. Scan for Quantum Clambite signatures. They must be after my resources. Prime, my faithful knight, deploy the sensors!”
From the comms, P.E.A.C.E. Prime’s cheerful voice answered on a private channel only the doctor could hear: “Affirmative, my queen. Sensors online. No actual threats detected. Shall I simulate pirate chatter?”
“Yes! Make it authentic. Let them cower before my wings!”
The android obliged. Static-filled voices crackled over the bridge speakers, fabricated threats about “stealing the mad scientist’s toys” and “crushing the butterfly queen.” Madam Mariposa laughed, a bright, unhinged sound that echoed through the deck. She spun, wings flaring, and issued a flurry of decrees: reroute power to the forward cannons (which were currently offline for maintenance), prepare the royal boarding party (Korrak and Snarble, probably napping), and seal the airlocks against the “invaders.”
Down in the briefing room, the real crew listened via the open comms feed.
“She’s really going for it today,” Calla said, swirling her drink. “Pirates this time. Last week it was corporate spies from the Mirror Spire.”
Korrak grunted. “At least she’s not trying to knight Snarble again. Poor cat still flinches at the word ‘squire.’”
Ossillaph-08 scoffs at them as she leaves for her bunk.
Violet’s lips twitched, the closest she came to a smile these days. “It tires her. The episodes always do. After the first hour or so, the mania fades. She’ll collapse in her lab chair, wings askew, and wake up as Everly again. The one who stares at the stars and whispers about proving them all wrong.”
Calla’s expression softened. She knew that Everly, the real one, carried the weight of exile like a second skin. Born on Papil, prodigy in AI and robotics, she’d pushed too far. Created a prototype with genuine emotion and self-awareness. The Galactic Trade Federation had called it dangerous. The scientific community had destroyed it, stripped her credentials, and cast her out. “Mad. Reckless. A threat to stability.”
She’d fled to Zilles U7R3, to the corrupt underbelly of Zingpidor City, and built her empire in the shadows. A hidden lab beneath Club Nightingale. A ragtag crew of misfits funded by black-market jobs. And always, the dream of the army, perfect, loyal, sentient androids like P.E.A.C.E. Prime and her sisters, scaled up to force the galaxy to acknowledge her genius. Whether they would serve her or surpass her… that was the dangerous question she never voiced aloud.
On the observation deck, Madam Mariposa’s energy peaked. She stood before the viewport, one hand on her hip, the other raised in a grand gesture toward the nebula. “My subjects! The pirates flee before my decree. The Whisper is safe. The stars themselves bow to the Butterfly Queen!”
Her wings pulsed brighter, catching the nebula’s glow. For a moment, she looked every bit the superhero she pretended to be, powerful, untouchable, larger than the shame that had driven her here.
It always did. The mania was a fire that burned hot and fast. Her shoulders sagged. The dramatic pose wilted. The holographic decrees flickered and died as her focus slipped. She reached up, fingers brushing the edge of her mask, and sighed, a long, weary exhale that belonged more to Everly Jenkins than to any queen.
“Prime… end simulation,” she murmured, voice cracking. “Log the… the data. Emotional spike… high. But… tiring.”
“Understood, Doctor,” P.E.A.C.E. replied gently. “Returning to baseline monitoring. Would you like a nutrient pack and a blanket in the lab chair?”
Everly, fully herself again, nodded. She folded the wings carefully, the crystalline structures retracting with a soft hum. The mask came off. The flower stayed in her hair, a small rebellion against the orderly scientist she tried to be. She made her way back toward the lab, boots clicking softly on the deck plating.
In the briefing room, the crew exhaled in unison.
“Delirium run its course,” Calla said, standing and stretching. “She’ll be back to plotting the army by morning. Bigger, better, more sentient. One day that army’s gonna look at her the way she looked at the old academy heads. And then what?”
Violet placed a golden hand on her shoulder. “Then we’ll be here. The punks of fortune. The ones who chose the mad scientist anyway.”
Korrak pushed off the wall, Snarble leaping to his shoulder. “For now, drinks. And maybe lock the royal wardrobe until she’s had a nap.”
The Void’s Whisper sailed on through the nebula, its lights dimming for the night cycle. In her hidden lab, Dr. Everly Jenkins sat in her chair, wings folded beside her like discarded dreams, already sketching new designs for the next prototype. The galaxy didn’t know it yet, but change was coming, carried on butterfly wings and fueled by a fire that refused to burn out.
Madness, after all, was tiring work. But genius never rested for long.
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