[ Date of Birth, Age : ]
>17/04/[XX], aged 23
[ Please provide any relevant education/work experience you may have :]
>I've worked in isolated conditions before, and, seperately, with radio tech. I've also completed multiple smaller courses in mathematics, and had work experience as a mechanics assistant.
You've been in the habit of counting in multiples in your head. Three, six, nine, twelve, fifteen, so on until you're taken out of it and start again with a new number.
You didn't bring a calculator with you, and you weren't permitted to take your phone (something about it interfering too much with the telescopes. You didn't really question it), so you like keeping some basic maths stuff in your head when you can. Not like you're certain how much ~numbers garbage~ you'll need.
It's late when you arrive (not night, not yet; but closer to it than you'd like. Being in the forest at night's always freaked you out a bit.
You check your bag again, just to make absolutely sure you did actually bring your flashlight with you; one of those big heavy-duty ones that you're not allowed to shine at vehicles because you'll fucking blind the person driving).
The gravel crunches under your feet, and it makes you feel disgustingly loud in comparison. Most of the birds have gone quiet by now, so it's just you and the gradually-darkening wilderness. (You know there's probably only like… deer around. Nothing that can realistically hurt you unless you felt like fighting some poor unsuspecting ungulate who's just minding its own fucking business in the forest it lives in. That you just showed up in. Like some sort of asshole.)
You keep track of where each of the telescopes are (you're probably going to forget. At least the signs won't move), which one's they're closest to.
(You note pretty quickly there's no Zulu; unless it's really far away from where it should be, alphabetically. You're mildly disappointed; it was your arbitrarily-chosen favourite NATO phonetic.)
You can't seem to email anyone. They can send you emails, but you aren't given an option to respond.
You hope they just… assume you've gotten to the base by now. (What do they do in a situation where the employee doesn't? It seems pretty irresponsible to not have any way to confirm that your array operator is there/safe/alive.)
You haven't been given any instructions yet, and nothing seems to have broken. You pace around the base for a while, making note of all of the rooms (all of the grime you have to clean off the walls. You're not sure how long it's been empty, but there's a decent amount of dirt and mould growing in the corners of the ceilings in a lot of the rooms. Gross), the servers, the basement (with what seems to be a locked freezer with empty meat-hooks. How would they get that amount of meat here? Are people hunting the deer? Do they expect people to hunt deer? Seems a bit…
You have some objections about giving people in complete solitude access to weapons. But you've managed fine before so-)
You knock into one of the boxes and scare the fuck out of yourself, letting out a yelp that sounds like a dog having its tail stood on.
You were a bit worried your various higher-ups would object to you bringing a) alcohol and b) cigarettes to your job.
Only for you to find that they sell them in their… weird little online shop.
Hell yeah.
"let's fucking go, dr. bao"
You wipe off the counter next to the microwave, making a precarious stack of your belongings (one of those multitool knives, box of adhesive eyepatches, notebook, some spare clothes) and place the small collection of beer cans on the floor.
You grab one (struggling a bit with the plastic ring holding it), opening it and taking the occasional sip while you walk back to the signal room.
Why is there a mannequin.
You didn't put it there. You didn't see it when you came in (you wouldn't be able to miss it, its right in the door to the signal room, which you've been in).
It's posed like it was in the middle of walking. Like you interrupted it.
(You regret leaving your knife upstairs)
(Nothing's wrong though, it's just a mannequin. You don't know how it got here but it's not dangerous.)
(What would you even do, stab it? It's made of wood. If anything, you'd probably just fuck up your knife.)
You don't want to touch it, but it's in the middle of the doorway. You can't exactly get in without touching it.
(It's just a mannequin. You're freaking out over a few pieces of varnished wood).
You grab it by the back of the neck, and start dragging it out of the way (you keep your shoulder pressed against the wall so you're less likely to trip. The weight change throws you off a bit).
It's… warm. Like it's been in the sun for hours, even though it's nearly midnight. You grit your teeth (it's just a mannequin why are you scared. It's just a mannequin. It's weirdly warm and you have no idea how it got here but it's just a mannequin. Kick it out and lock the door again and you'll be fine, even though you'd already be fine because it is a mannequin.) and try to move faster to have it out of your base and out of your hand sooner.
It takes a lot longer than you would have liked to throw it out the front door. It clatters against the ground like you'd expect it to, smacking against the stairs. It doesn't move, still posed the same. It doesn't… do anything (what would it even do it's a fucking mannequin.)
You keep your eye on it until the door closes. You re-lock it, testing it to make sure it is actually locked. You avoid the spot where it was standing as much as you can, pressing your back against the doorframe until you're in the room.
You are now suddenly, very abruptly reminded of the GIANT FUCKING WINDOW. You drag a hand down your face, glaring at it-
Holy fucking shit it's moved.
You stay still. You don't even fucking breathe.
The mannequin moved.
You left it at the base of the stairs outside the front door, on its side, facing away from you. It looked like it was walking. It didn't move or change pose at all when you were dragging it, or when you threw it, or when it hit the ground.
But it's moved. Its legs are in a different spot, its arms are up like it's fucking jogging. It's closer to the front of the window now.
Fuck this.
Fuck this. You just fucking GOT here why is there a- a fucking evil mannequin outside your goddamn window?!
You slam your still-mostly-full beer on the table next to the radar, grab your flashlight and walk outside.
The piece of shit moved. Again.
You grab it by one of its arms and drag it over to the river. And throw it in.
You watch it float away. You listen to the sounds of the water.
Then you realise you're outside at midnight in the fucking forest.
You nearly trip over yourself going back inside, locking the door before it's even closed and turning your flashlight back off.
…you can't email anyone but… you might ask what the fuck that was on one of the report papers.
" 'hey whats up with the haunted mannequin'… "
They're gonna think you've fucking lost it already. What if they like… fire you? 'Clearly he's not suited for it, we should replace him'.
You don't want to give this up; the pay is astounding, especially considering your lack of a degree. (A degree you might be able to get, with this job.)
You stand in the hallway outside of the signal room, pressing your hands over your face and sighing.
You should try get some curtains or something.
