.... Where the fuck did it go?!
Odessa looked around, everywhere it could possibly be, while keeping her distance. She could hear the angered screaming no matter where she went, and though she tried to avoid it, it always felt like it was one step behind her.
She had searched the entirety of Medical, the lounge, and the front section of the cargo hold with no luck. She'd even searched the cockpit once all the screaming died down. She didn't like looking at the bodies in the rooms, couldn't stand knowing she could have done something more.
She couldn't make eye contact with Jimmy, for a number of reasons.
As she emerged from the cockpit and started to make her way towards the Utility room, she heard a sound that made her freeze. Her blood ran cold. A gunshot.
Whoever held it, Odessa didn't want to be around when they emerged. Given how little space was in Utility, she could only assume the shot was lethal.
She took off running, blowing past the Utility door and beelining for the cargo bay. Only three people left alive, and she was one of them- the second, unable to do anything to help or hurt.
Finding out who would emerge from that room was not on Odessa's list of tasks.
Two shots. That was all it took to end the former intern—one a warning, the other final. Yet Curly still felt those young eyes searing into him, unblinking, a silent specter of judgment. Whispering. Accusing. Even if they weren’t… they probably were. The gaze wouldn’t let go, like a weight pressing down on his chest. Gritting his teeth, Curly shoved him away, his electric blue eyes blazing and raw, dry from what felt like hours without a single blink.
But Daisuke didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. What mattered was Jimmy—keeping him safe. As long as Jimmy was safe, Curly was a good captain. He had to be.
With trembling fingers, Curly reloaded.
He was a good captain. He was a good captain.
The medbay was empty. Except for Swansea’s body sprawled lifeless on the floor. The sight ripped the air from Curly’s lungs. His hands tightened around the gun until his knuckles whitened. The therapist. The fucking therapist.
He moved quickly, his breath ragged, every step making his hands shake harder. The utility room—empty. The cockpit—empty. He was running out of places, and time.
Finally, he reached the cargo bay. Darkness and silence greeted him, the vastness amplifying every desperate thud of his heartbeat.
“Doctor,” he called out, his voice raw and edged with desperation. “I know you’re in here. Give me Jimmy.”
