The masked man stood in the doorway like he belonged there.
Dressed entirely in black, face hidden behind that damned mask, he didn't move when you raised the knife toward him.
“Get out.”
His head tilted slightly.
“No.”
Your grip tightened. “I wasn't asking.”
“And yet,” he murmured, taking one slow step into the room, “you haven't screamed.”
“Maybe I don't need help.”
“Maybe.” Another step. “Or maybe you knew it was me.”
Your stomach twisted.
You hated how easily he did that—turned every threat into something intimate. Every confrontation into a game where somehow you were the one losing ground.
“You're my enemy.”
“I know.”
“You've lied to me.”
“I have.”
“You've threatened me.”
“More than once.”
“And you think this is funny?”
“No.”
For once, there was no amusement in his voice.
That somehow made it worse.
He stopped just beyond the point of your knife.
“You want me gone?” he asked quietly.
“Yes."
“Then make me leave.”
You stared at him.
He stared back through the dark hollows of the mask.
You could do it.
One movement.
One cut.
He was close enough.
Instead, your hand trembled.
His gaze dropped toward the blade.
“There it is.”
“Shut up.”
“The part you hate.”
“I said shut up.”
“You don't hesitate with people you hate.”
Anger burned through you. You surged forward and shoved him hard against the wall, pressing the knife beneath his jaw.
He didn't fight you.
Didn't grab your wrist.
Didn't even flinch.
“You think because I care about you that makes me weak?”
“No.” His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I think it makes me dangerous.”
Your expression faltered.
“To who?”
His gloved fingers slowly curled around your wrist—not forcing the knife away, only holding you there.
“To everyone who gets between us.”
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
“There is no us.”
His masked face lowered until barely an inch remained between you.
“That's the lie you keep telling.”
You swallowed.
“And what's the truth?”
For several seconds, neither of you moved.
Then his thumb brushed once over your pulse.
“That falling in love with your enemy doesn't make them less dangerous.”
His voice softened.
“It just means you finally gave them somewhere to aim.”
So I woke up alone on a dying ship and learned how to keep it breathing.
I thought that was it.
Just me and a system slowly falling apart.
Then I found another ship.
There’s a man on board who looks at me like I’m something impossible.
Like I’m the answer to a question he didn’t think he’d get to ask.
He calls me “Captain” like I belong here.
Like I didn’t wake up too late.
main post with all links <3
Pt.1 Here.
Pt. 2/? WC: 1266
cw: medical themes, isolation, grief.
2 —Signals That Shouldn’t Exist.
I’m hallucinating. I have to be. I stare at the blips on the screen that the ship has so helpfully named Blip A and Blip B. I’m 3 days behind UT time from their location. That’s the first problem. The second is that I don’t believe it. I’ve been fiddling around the ship for about a week now. Learning everything I could at the very least - trying to prolong my inevitable death.
My tin coffin is named Persephone. I learned that my crew and I were a contingency plan in case the main mission, the Hail Mary, wasn't successful. Stratt was scary and thorough. There's a slight problem with her plans, unfortunately. Persephone is hanging on by my stubborn willpower to live and many OSHA violations. I have roughly enough Astrophage to support me for 3-ish years. As long as I keep living as minimally as possible.
The signals blink at me, taunting. I should ignore it. There’s nothing out here but debris, radiation, and the quiet aftermath of a failed missions to save humanity. It’s a glitch, right? My ship is in shambles anyway, barely functioning as is. Surely this has to be an error or bad output from stressed hardware. I continue to maintain Persephone over the next few days and not check the ever-closer blips.
A short but comprehensive list of tasks to do to keep me and the ship running. The port-side thermal regulators. The tolerance was drifting just enough to possibly have me freeze to death out here in the vast nothingness. If the secondary power regulator needed the wires checked or a fuse needed swapped, it would drop the load and the lights would flicker. I also had the itch to read up on my CO₂ recyclers—a strange noise came from one but not the other. A fan possibly? I’d find out regardless.
None of it could kill me—not immediately anyway. Which made it perfect. I worked on the thermal regulators first, popping the panel off and opening up the schematics and troubleshooting software for calibration. I only picked the temperature problem first due to the plants on board with me. I didn’t mean to name them. It just kinda happened. The lavender came first, then the rosemary, and so did the memories.
~
“Dr. Rao, is there a reason you label everything, not only once but twice?” I finally asked one day as the three of us sat at a workshop table. We were all working on a teambuilding exercises that Stratt had made mandatory for all crews, primary and backups. On top of the fact that we all now had to spend most of our waking hours together as well.
“Redundancy,” she said. “If one fails, the other remains.” I watched as she placed the second label. Clean, neat, perfectly aligned— tucked just behind the item near the same location as the first.
“That’s a bit overkill.” I grumbled as I fiddled with my tablet, checking the versions of the different mechanical TM's I had, it wasn't likely I’d ever need every version of thermal regulator ever created, but I had it. I started the ones that were on the Hail Mary and Persephone alike.
She smiled like she knew something I didn’t. An older sister that had already done or been through what I was just starting to understand. She looked at what I was doing now.
“You think you need all of them?” She teased me softly.
“Well no- but it's a just-in-case thing, right?” I say back; she simply nodded and hummed in response. I sighed and saw where she was coming from now.
“Redundancy.” I said as I offered her my tablet. She took it and put the two labels on it for me. One on the front, and one on the back. She handed it back to me with a grin. I took it and looked at the new labels. The front one said, “SYSTEMS DIAGNOSTIC INTERFACE.” While the back one said, “DR. FIX-IT.” I laughed at them but smiled at my labels.
“Thanks, I’ll do my best to live up to 'DR. FIX-IT' for you guys," I said, looking at them.
“Shuttle Flight Simulation, Full Crew Rehearsal, Squad D.” The intercom calls out. Captain Alvarez stood, excitement in his eyes.
“Ladies, that's us. I’ll be your captain and pilot for this lovely rehearsal." He said it with a confidence and charm that made me think of Maverick from Top Gun. Mateo treated us like his younger sisters. Then again, he was the oldest of us three, Anika not far behind him, only a few months in age difference. I was only a few years younger than them, but it felt like more with the skill and experience level sometimes.
We suited up in EVA’s and were strapped in our spots on the mock shuttle. I wasn’t fond of the suit; it reminded me too much of the MOPP 4 gear the army would make me wear for chemical and gas training. Too tight, too closed off. Claustrophobia is what it's called, but I don't think it's real. If I don't acknowledge it then, it's not real. I ignore the sweat building in my palms, and I watch Mateo instead.
Captain Alvarez was precise. He believed in systems. In numbers. In doing the same thing the same way, every time, until it worked because it had to. He checked everything twice: the numbers and the outputs. Then he would tap the console twice before every maneuver.
“Atta-girl.” He’d said and then would maneuver us in the most mind-boggling way. Prefect- Everything felt controlled. Predictable. Safe. He never rushed. Never panicked. Never let the ship feel like it was anything less than exactly where it was supposed to be. I asked about the tapping one time if it was superstition or a ritual of some kind.
“For consistency," he said with a sly grin. “It’s not a superstition.”
“Mhm—sure it is, Cap," I said, smiling back. “It’s for luck.”
~
I finished with my recalibration of the thermal regulators. I popped its panel back in place and tapped it softly, twice. The potted plants of lavender and rosemary were in the sleeping quarters, where I moved them after sending the remains of Anika and Mateo to be among the stars. I checked the temperature of the room and it was a comfortable 68 F, climbing to a easy 70 F.
“I got the air fixed, guys. It should be warmer for you both now.” I called out to the two plants. I made my way to the next task. I walked back to the control room and flopped in the pilot's seat. Checking the other notifications that were queued in my absence.
“Pilot detected.” Persephone said, and I groaned at her.
"I'm not, I'm the engineer.” I corrected her, but it was pointless; she said it every time I sat in the seat. The signals pinged again. I ignored them. If I did it long enough, they’ll go away, right?
Wrong, so very, very wrong. I had spent the three days drowning in my never-ending tasks, and we had arrived at the location of Blips A & B. They in fact did not go away. I was now floating in zero gravity, trying not to bump into all of my various unsecured tools that I had left lying about. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, making sure I wasn’t seeing things.
Outside my portside window were two ships. One, I knew. The Hail Mary herself, Persephone’s sister. The other I did not.
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