They never broke her. No one ever would. These were the thoughts that had kept her going during the trip on the ill-fated vessel. After all, she’d survived her childhood. It wasn’t a surprise that she had a tolerance for torture. She never once contemplated what would happen if they had.
She just took it as a given she’d survive--remain sane--somehow.
Alex forced her eyes to part. The ship had gone quiet, creaky. The red emergency klaxons were no longer wailing despite the fact that some of the emergency lighting remained on with the usual sort of ambiance. A moment later, she realized she could see just enough to tell if any more light were available, she’d be dry-heaving all over the floor. There were some things one could not un-see, like the sight of an enemy pinned to the prison wall by a plassteel girder. Not just through the chest or between a couple of ribs, rather, his ribcage had been decimated by the damn thing, organs and bones minced like a fresh--not any of that fabricated stuff--clove of garlic.
Her stomach gurgled and a pained gasp escaped around her gag. Do not think of food, ya frellin’ genius. Never mind the fact she actually was quite hungry, her innards chewing on themselves all the harder with acknowledgment; the stew of guts and stench around her would not be conducive to keeping any of it down. Alex wriggled helplessly. Too bad the rotting bastard hadn’t had the foresight to unchain her before his untimely demise. Too bad they’d run into...whatever the hell had caused the ruckus that they’d run into. Asteroids? Pirates? Spaceworms?
She rolled her eyes. Anything that stopped them from wailing on her was probably a welcome intervention. Unless she starved to death. The eyeroll brought into view the tiny remote at his waist. The one that would undo the thick shock bands around her wrists and ankles.
She lurched upward on the uncomfortable mattress...thing. More something to mold around her as she slept and putrefied in her own sweat than a bed. Her fingers twitched, stretched, reached, barely grasping the edge of the device.
Alex squinted into the gloom. Two buttons. Blue. Green. It was always green. Green meant let Go.
She pushed, then instantly lost all muscle control in her entire body as volts upon volts of energy stabbed through the bonds around her extremities. Her thin form spasmed hard, her vocal cords locking tight, and the device snapped off the corpse’s belt to fall to the uncovered bed by her nose.
That was the last thing she saw for a while.
When she came to, she pushed the blue button.
The shackles fell free, and she rolled herself onto the floor.
Was anyone else left alive? Did she care? Was she now floating in space on a ghostship? It would be to her advantage if she was, for Alex was a mechanic. She could fix...anything. Everything. A dead ship would be no hardship. She snickered softly, letting the idiotic pun distract her from the fact she now smelled like piss--and her guard’s chest cavity was oozing onto the floor. One wrong step and blood and guts would squish between her toes.
Come to think of it...another wrong step and bits of plasteel might do the same. The enormous piece of bulkhead overhead that shielded her signature from sensors and her life from the vacuum of space remained largely intact. The rest though...She stared around the prison room, trying to make sense of things that were upside down and backwards, the bashed-in wall beside the door.
...Okay.
...This was possibly a ship she could not fix.
Her priorities shifted suddenly, from finding out if her captors were on their way--they weren’t; the creak of metal, hiss of static and spit of gears, and otherwise otherworldly silence told her as much--to raiding the mess for a good meal--she hadn’t eaten more than the meager nutrients they pumped through the damn IVs in days, another method to keep her weak and reliant--and finally, to ensuring there were no breaches in the outer hull.
It would not do to be saved by a space catastrophe only to be killed by it directly after.
She toed around the guard’s remains and grabbed the breather off his thick belt. “Well,” she rasped into the void of sound, “you won’t be needing this, champ.”
Slipping it over her face but for now leaving it inactive, Alex checked the cap--an hour of oxygen. On a ship this size, it should be enough for her to find a grid, tap it, and patch a breach. A breach. One. If there were more...Alex shuddered, and it wasn’t until she was certain she’d stopped shuddered, yet continued to feel as though she were, that she realized the ship was in motion.
“Oh, frell.”
For an indeterminable amount of time, she hovered between decisions. Move, or don’t? Continue on the immediately concerning mission to check for breaches...or hide? Curiosity--and her nose--said definitely get the hell out of the prison room and see what could be salvaged. But then she thought she heard voices--one? Two? She couldn’t make it out--and without further prompting the ship lurched wildly. As the structure rattled she found herself propelled into the corridor, ass over teakettle until her cheek hit the wall. Her stomach dropped out from under her like she’d decided to play on the anti-grav lifts, and though it settled, her nerves decidedly did not.
“...Did we plow into a damn asteroid?” she muttered, crawling instead of clambering onto shaky legs and firmly opting for the “hide” option. Under her former imprisoning accommodation.
She just took it as a given she’d survive--remain sane--somehow.
Alex forced her eyes to part. The ship had gone quiet, creaky. The red emergency klaxons were no longer wailing despite the fact that some of the emergency lighting remained on with the usual sort of ambiance. A moment later, she realized she could see just enough to tell if any more light were available, she’d be dry-heaving all over the floor. There were some things one could not un-see, like the sight of an enemy pinned to the prison wall by a plassteel girder. Not just through the chest or between a couple of ribs, rather, his ribcage had been decimated by the damn thing, organs and bones minced like a fresh--not any of that fabricated stuff--clove of garlic.
Her stomach gurgled and a pained gasp escaped around her gag. Do not think of food, ya frellin’ genius. Never mind the fact she actually was quite hungry, her innards chewing on themselves all the harder with acknowledgment; the stew of guts and stench around her would not be conducive to keeping any of it down. Alex wriggled helplessly. Too bad the rotting bastard hadn’t had the foresight to unchain her before his untimely demise. Too bad they’d run into...whatever the hell had caused the ruckus that they’d run into. Asteroids? Pirates? Spaceworms?
She rolled her eyes. Anything that stopped them from wailing on her was probably a welcome intervention. Unless she starved to death. The eyeroll brought into view the tiny remote at his waist. The one that would undo the thick shock bands around her wrists and ankles.
She lurched upward on the uncomfortable mattress...thing. More something to mold around her as she slept and putrefied in her own sweat than a bed. Her fingers twitched, stretched, reached, barely grasping the edge of the device.
Alex squinted into the gloom. Two buttons. Blue. Green. It was always green. Green meant let Go.
She pushed, then instantly lost all muscle control in her entire body as volts upon volts of energy stabbed through the bonds around her extremities. Her thin form spasmed hard, her vocal cords locking tight, and the device snapped off the corpse’s belt to fall to the uncovered bed by her nose.
That was the last thing she saw for a while.
When she came to, she pushed the blue button.
The shackles fell free, and she rolled herself onto the floor.
Was anyone else left alive? Did she care? Was she now floating in space on a ghostship? It would be to her advantage if she was, for Alex was a mechanic. She could fix...anything. Everything. A dead ship would be no hardship. She snickered softly, letting the idiotic pun distract her from the fact she now smelled like piss--and her guard’s chest cavity was oozing onto the floor. One wrong step and blood and guts would squish between her toes.
Come to think of it...another wrong step and bits of plasteel might do the same. The enormous piece of bulkhead overhead that shielded her signature from sensors and her life from the vacuum of space remained largely intact. The rest though...She stared around the prison room, trying to make sense of things that were upside down and backwards, the bashed-in wall beside the door.
...Okay.
...This was possibly a ship she could not fix.
Her priorities shifted suddenly, from finding out if her captors were on their way--they weren’t; the creak of metal, hiss of static and spit of gears, and otherwise otherworldly silence told her as much--to raiding the mess for a good meal--she hadn’t eaten more than the meager nutrients they pumped through the damn IVs in days, another method to keep her weak and reliant--and finally, to ensuring there were no breaches in the outer hull.
It would not do to be saved by a space catastrophe only to be killed by it directly after.
She toed around the guard’s remains and grabbed the breather off his thick belt. “Well,” she rasped into the void of sound, “you won’t be needing this, champ.”
Slipping it over her face but for now leaving it inactive, Alex checked the cap--an hour of oxygen. On a ship this size, it should be enough for her to find a grid, tap it, and patch a breach. A breach. One. If there were more...Alex shuddered, and it wasn’t until she was certain she’d stopped shuddered, yet continued to feel as though she were, that she realized the ship was in motion.
“Oh, frell.”
For an indeterminable amount of time, she hovered between decisions. Move, or don’t? Continue on the immediately concerning mission to check for breaches...or hide? Curiosity--and her nose--said definitely get the hell out of the prison room and see what could be salvaged. But then she thought she heard voices--one? Two? She couldn’t make it out--and without further prompting the ship lurched wildly. As the structure rattled she found herself propelled into the corridor, ass over teakettle until her cheek hit the wall. Her stomach dropped out from under her like she’d decided to play on the anti-grav lifts, and though it settled, her nerves decidedly did not.
“...Did we plow into a damn asteroid?” she muttered, crawling instead of clambering onto shaky legs and firmly opting for the “hide” option. Under her former imprisoning accommodation.
Dreams come in a size too big so we can grow into them.
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