And no one's gonna save you
From the beast about to strike

Thriller - Michael Jackson

I don't know how the fuck to date this. Jommin tried to explain it to me, but even my Advanced Maths and Physics brain doesn't get it. So, it's January 16th, 2260. Aaaaaand it's 12:01 PM. Or 1201 hundred hours.

Whatever.

Oh. And June Adams signing on, or something.

It's Day Six aboard the Enterprise, and Jommin has ordered me to start writing a Log. She says it's something that many people in Starfleet do when aboard starships, especially the Officers. It's a way to remember things, to log in missions, and to keep tabs on all of the crew. The only people, apparently, who will have access to my log are Captain Kirk, Jommin, Doctor McCoy and Doctor M'Benga.

I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to be writing.

Something to keep me sane? That's about what Jommin said. Anything I don't want to say to her, I can splurge onto my PADD. She's smart, that Jommin. Very aware of the fact that I'm not one for emotional conversations. Thing is, they seem to be never-ending. Since Day One on the Enterprise, I've had people asking me things that even my family never bothered to ask me. Not that my family didn't care. They did. We just never asked each other how we were every second of every bloody day.

Jommin has that problem.

Ever since that incident in Engineering with the Scottish Scotty, everything has seemed a little more...real. The more I see of people and races and whatever on this ship, the more I begin to piece together what this future is...what Earth must be like now. I've studied pictures (I would say I had 'Googled' pictures, but sadly Google is obsolete now), and it seems clean. Peaceful. There's sustainable energy, clean air, no melting icecaps...

It's annoyingly perfect.

Maybe World War III is what the world needed for it to pull its head out of its arse. My world, anyway. I keep thinking about mum and dad. My friends. I haven't had the guts to try and find evidence that they even existed in this timeline. How fucking weird is it to say that? Not only am I in the future, I'm in another damn timeline. I'm the furthest away from home that I have ever been. I feel selfish...being so excited to see places like the Engineering Department, and the stars splayed beyond the many windows on the starship. I feel stupid and selfish because I'm missing, aren't I? I must be...and if I'm missing, then there are people that I love missing me.

Jommin says that it's fair that I am feeling that way, when I finally told her. But she also said in a way that was half saying it and not saying it at all, that if it ever came to me not going home, then I would have to make a life here.

The thought terrifies me so much that I do the oh-so healthy thing and completely ignore it.

I feel like a bother, sometimes. This ship was meant for exploring, right? But it seems almost stagnant, as they look for whoever took me. Jim, the Captain, visited me this morning again, and told me that another Federation ship (I can't remember the name) found what must be the small ship I was being held captive on. It had escaped after we beamed off of it. It's just sitting there. Empty. The escape pods (I'm guessing like lifeboats?) are all gone. Those people could be anywhere. He could be anywhere. Edgar Bates.

I sometimes thinks they were doing something insane to me. Sometimes, I feel like there's something swelling inside of me, like anger and agitation or some shit. Not to mention this damn nose bleeds. McCoy send me a message yesterday and asked if I'd had anymore. He's a moody git, but at least he does give a shit about his patients. An annoying amount of shit, actually

The Communicator next to be hums lowly, and I jolt away from my methodical tapping against the PADD. I reach next to me, where I had placed the Comm on the couch which I was curled up on, and blink at the thing for a moment. I hadn't, in the days I had been aboard this ship, ever gotten a call on the damn thing. People seemed perfectly fine with barging into my quarters or, if you were Jommin, knocking before barging in.

So, with a quizzical expression, I flip the thing open.

'...Hello?'

There's a low laugh, of which I recognise quickly. 'So, you figured out how to use it, huh? Well done, June. Now, get your ass over to the Bridge. Remember the way?' Jim Kirk asks, his tone that of both Captain-y orders and friendly banter.

I frown down at the Comm. Perhaps it was because I was in a small space with a bunch of geniuses (and I don't want to sound like a brat, but I was used to being one of the super smart ones, but my bloody origin story seemed to knock me down a few pegs on the intelligence scale here), but the comment has me bristling. 'Bugger off, Captain,' I reply snappily, before snapping the Comm shut and sliding off of the couch.

I slide my Comm into my pocket, slip through the door and start on my way. It doesn't exactly help, of course, that I do not remember the way to the Bridge, and am forced to ask various members of the crew as I pass through the ship. I don't miss the way recognition lights up in there eyes when they see me. I can't really blame them. From what Jim had told me, only a select few knew why they had rescued me from that ship and who I really was. They must be baffled as to why I was being kept here.

Because Starfleet didn't want some media scandal, apparently. The more the shock of where I was faded, the more that fact pissed me off. Starfleet was the ones who had let some Officers run rogue and yank me from the past. Why shouldn't there be repercussions? But then. Starfleet was Jim, too. And Jommin. And Scottish Scotty. And the moody and somehow oddly caring Leonard McCoy who Jim sometimes called Bones.

If my research on my PADD had been correct, it wasn't the first time Starfleet had done something pretty fucked up. Something about a group of Eugenics who escaped the War, a terrorist, and a bat-shit Admiral. I also knew that the Enterprise had something to do with it, but even with Jim allowing my access to a load of stuff on my PADD, I wasn't allowed to view it. Whatever had happened, it had happened the year before.

I sidle onto the Bridge uneasily, taking note quickly that Jim's Captain chair was flanked by the dark haired Vulcan and Doctor McCoy. The three of them murmured lowly to each other as I wandered through the sliding doors, blinking around at the array of people. At the front, as usual, sat the two men on what I had read to be the Navigation consoles and the Helm. To my right, I catch sight of a dark skinned, pretty woman in a red dress cast a side-eye over to me. Red dress and sitting at the Communications Station. That must be the Communications Officer.

'June'.

Jim is standing, his yellow shirt seemingly blinding in the ridiculously over-lit Bridge lighting. The others around us continue to work, tapping away at their stations and minding their own business. I look, for just a moment, over Kirk's shoulder to the vastness of space that lay beyond the window. It was a sight I was sure I would never get tired of. 'Jim,' I reply, meeting his gaze with an equally morose tone. 'I was summoned?'

The Doctor's lip twitches, but the stern looking Vulcan remained ever stoic. If I knew anything about Vulcan's from my research, it was that they couldn't lie, they were vegetarians, and they hated showing emotion. Or just chose not to. Jim shakes his head at me, Adams Apple jumping, as I finally stop before them. 'Don't say it like that-'

It is only then that I notice the tenseness between the three men. With a quick flick of my gaze, I see the furrowed brow (more so than usual) from McCoy, as he stares hard at the side of my face, to the tenseness in the Vulcan's jaw that may indicate annoyance. Jim, on the other hand, seemed to be uncharacteristically awkward. 'You're being weird,' I accuse, suspicious and worried. 'Oh, God. Why are you being weird? Has something happened?'

McCoy merely turns pointedly to look at Jim.

'The Captain,' the Vulcan, Spock, says, in a voice that is both breezy and commanding at the same time. 'Believes that it may be beneficial that you venture onto the Chronos with those already beaming aboard the Class 4 Stardrive Vessel. I-'

My attentions piques. I could get off the Enterprise. I could see something other than these white walls and ridiculously harsh lights. Like, did people in the future just have singed retinas?

'Hold your damn horses, Spock,' McCoy practically growls as I blink, utterly clueless, at the babbling Vulcan. 'There's a way to explain things to people without jumping into it-'

'Will you two-' Jim begins to snap, with an eye roll and an annoyed look.

I wait a few seconds, before cutting across. 'I'm guessing the Chronos is the...the vessel that they kept me on, huh?' Three pairs of eyes land back on me, before Jim nods. I hardly pause before nodding. Why would I not want to go back? I might remember more, beyond what I had remembered in that odd, hazy dream. The thing had probably been inspected by the ship that had first found it, but anything counted, right? 'Makes sense,' I shrug.

'See, Bones'. At that, blue eyes narrow at the suddenly bitter looking Doctor, who glares down at me. I raise my brow at him pointedly.

'Then I'm damn coming too then, aren't I?' he snaps, crossing his arms over his chest.

'Doctor,' Spock begins. 'I see no reason why-'

He throws his arm my way, leaning over Jim to snap at the Vulcan. 'Because this is my patient, Spock. Because we still don't know half of what they were doin' to her over there - she could drop dead at any moment! Because this darn girl could compete with this one with getting into trouble-!'

My mouth snaps open. 'Um, I could drop dead?'

'Well, let's go then!' Jim announces, entirely ignoring the exchange. Something told me that it wasn't exactly a rarity between the two. McCoy's brow twitches in annoyance as he snaps his gaze away from the Vulcan man. 'Spock, you have the Bridge. Lieutenant Uhura,' the dark skinned woman I had clocked earlier turns in her seat, her long hair swinging over her shoulders. 'Keep the Comms open. Contact the Trident, and tell them I'm taking a team on board the Chronos, and that we want the ship clear of their Security crew'. At that, I see his light gaze dart back to me, and with a swift look to this Uhura, I see her nodding and spinning in her chair.

'Yes, Captain'.

'Captain, if I may?'

Jim looks to Spock, whilst McCoy sighs loudly, steps forward, and grabs me lightly by the elbow. 'We'll meet you at the Beaming Deck, Jim. I need to check this one over one more time before beaming down'. I blink, clueless, at the exchange and wriggle my arm out of McCoy's grip as we leave the Bridge. With a confused glance from me, McCoy looks down with a slight eye-roll. 'He's gonna to ask to join the mission. Damn Goblin sticks his nose everywhere it isn't wanted concerning Jim after-' He cuts himself off, sighs, and nudges me down a well lit corridor to the left. I almost want to ask after what, but decide not to. Not my business.

'...Okay,' I reply with a shrug, still utterly clueless. 'Did you call Mister Spock a Goblin?' I snort - loudly, before cutting myself short. McCoy looks down at me as we walk, his back straight and his hazel eyes cast down at me with something akin to amusement. 'Chronos,' I say suddenly, my smile fading. 'Chronos was the bloody Greek Primordial God of Time, wasn't he?'

McCoy huffs, seemingly exasperated in the change of conversation. 'Don't ask me, darlin'. I'm a Doctor, not a damn Historian-' He stops and snaps his mouth shut. 'Oh'.

I shake my head, fists clenched at my sides. The bastards who yanked me from my time had a damn ship named after the God of Time. Arseholes. 'The irony,' I mutter bitterly, before scoffing. 'What tests did you need to run on me - again?'

McCoy shrugs, and the action seems strangely relaxed for the man who I had only ever seen to be uptight and grumpy. I realise, with something like a nervous twist in my stomach, that we are having a conversation that has nothing to do with my health, my lack of knowledge about his time, and the ordeal I went through. 'Nothin', just couldn't think of anything worse than sitting through another damn argument between the Captain and the emotionally constipated First Officer-'

I pull at the hem of my black shirt. I was really starting to miss clothes that fit me properly - or were something other than black. Not to mention, my mess of red hair was sincerely missing my hair oil. 'Oh. Are they...?' I waggle my finger, my actions speaking for my words.

McCoy lets out a real bark of laughter, and my cheeks warm at...oh, shit. No. I cannot suddenly find him ridiculously good looking. Guys my age who are hot? I can deal with that. Older guys who are hot? They make my skin tingle, my mouth spout bullshit and my palms moist. Doctor McCoy...well, he was a damn good looking Doctor in his 30's - he was romantic novel material. I mean, minus the entire personality. 'God, no. Spock has been with Lieutenant Uhura for God knows how long - I never bothered to find out. But who the hell knows anymore, I guess'.

I was starting to think that McCoy was not a fan of drama, space, and anything remotely bothersome.

It is then that we turn again, with McCoy's footsteps leading us, and turn into a circular room with only two other people present, behind a station. A young man and woman, both talking lowly to each other, perk up when they see us. In a unison of slightly apprehensive voices, they greet Doctor McCoy, who merely grunts in response.

'Oh,' I say. 'I remember this place. It's the first place I remember after escaping-' I blink, suddenly, and remember the face of a blue shirted man standing behind Jim on the Chronos, yelling at Jim to hurry up and beam us off the ship. 'You were there,' I tell him, uselessly, as if he would not know. We step onto the deck, and with a cocked brow the Doctor turns to me. 'When you guys...rescued me'. The word taste like shit in my mouth. Rescued. I hate that I even needed to be.

He crosses his arms over his chest, and I am once again thrust with the hazel eyed, intense gaze of Leonard McCoy. I try very hard not to whither under it - it was almost as bad as the Vulcan's. 'You damn near gave a concussion with a plate'.

I frown, eyebrows drawn together and wondering what in the fuck he was talking about. I then remember my masterful plan of using my metal plate as a weapon after the Creepy Woman had left me the key to my handcuffs. 'Oh, yeah!' I laugh, wagging my finger. 'Shit, sorry. I thought you were them'.

'I figured'.

I snort and glance down at the Deck. How odd, that this had been the first place I had seen of the Enterprise only a week ago. It seemed so, so much longer. The normality of the ship was near contagious, and some tiny part of me buried far away wondered how I would deal with returning to the simplicity of life. Could I ever tell anyone what had happened to me? Probably not. Even my family would think I had gone completely mad.

'How's you neck?' McCoy asks suddenly. I look up to find him gazing at me, eyebrows drawn together and the muscle in his jaw jumping. He looks bloody concerned, and not in the manic, nagging way that I had started to associate with him. Christ. Perhaps my one minute emo session hadn't been quite so subtle.

I squint, before remembering. 'Oh, yeah. Fine. Modern medicine is pretty mind-blowing here. Oh!' I yelp, and the Doctor flinches. 'That reminds me! I wanted to ask about looking at any bio-medical equipment you might have, or if you have any recommendations on books. I've found a few, but I figured since you're the CMO-'

'Spock's coming with us,' a voice says suddenly, and we turn in unison to see Jim and Spock striding into the room. Without pausing, they both step onto the Beaming Deck, Jim's smile almost manic. Was this him trying to be reassuring? I blink away from my conversation with McCoy. Was I ever going to have a damn conversation with him about bio-medical engineering? 'You ready?' Jim asks, standing on the podium beside me.

I nod, shrug, and reply, 'Probably'.

Jim struggles with his words, before shrugging. 'That'll do. Energise'.

It is so eerily the same.

We have walked down only three corridors, all of them quiet and dark. I had only seen a few minutes of the environment outside of my dark and dank room a week ago, but the metallic, dark hallways look about the same. Chronos. This tin can didn't deserve to be named after a God. It was nothing compared to the Enterprise. Then again, from what I had read, the Enterprise was a top of the market starship.

I walk in front, both curious and worried at the same time. Were they really banking on me remembering anything else? So far, I'd had nothing. What if this was an entirely wasted trip? ...Who cares. At least I was doing something.

'This is where we found you,' Jim says suddenly. I turn to look at him, before glancing around. In all honesty, the sight didn't ring any bells. Everywhere in this place seemed to look exactly the same.

I nod. 'How big is this ship?'

Jim shrugs, blue eyes darting about the walls. McCoy stands further forward, and I notice the Tricorder sitting idly in his clenched fist by his and I refrain from rolling my eyes. Spock, on the other hand, stands as stoic as a statue behind Kirk. 'On scale with the Enterprise, it's small. More of a transportation vessel - probably why they didn't take it to far from Earth-'

I blink. 'We're not far from Earth?' I almost blush. It's probably something I should have asked before, but never thought to.

'Exactly 2.1 weeks,' Spock replies. Jim casts his gaze to the ceiling, as if praying for strength.

I nod and struggle with a thankful smile. '...Thanks'.

I turn back around, to gaze down the empty corridor. 'If this is where you found me, then...' I dart forward, trying desperately to dig through my hazy memory of that manic moment in which I had escaped my prison.

'Dammit, slow down!'

'Bones, you're going to give yourself a damn stroke if you don't calm down'.

'I agree with the Captain, Doctor'.

'Shocking'.

I had turned down corridors, I remember that much, as the red lights had flashed above me and men had shouted in the distance. I hadn't thought to remember my path, having been so intent on finding a door that might lead me to fresh air and my family. How wrong I had been. There had been a door, though - a heavy metal one with the number-

'Two!' I breathe, grinning as I stop in front of the half open, thick mental door. The key-pad beside it was battered inwards, and I could only guess that the Starfleet people here before us had broken in. The quick footsteps behind me stop, and I turn, jutting a thumb toward the door with the roughly made number engraved on it. 'This was my crib for the two weeks that I was here'.

Jim frowns. 'Two'. I rub the back of my neck, feeling the bumpy flesh. If there is a Two, there had to have been a One. With that thought in mind, I push forward through the door. It was much the same. No windows. Noo carpet. Only a sink, a rough bed and the chains that had once been attached to me still lying on the floor. 'I asked Captain Diaz to order his crew to leave everything as found,' Kirk explain from behind me. 'You were in here for four weeks?'

I hum a yes, before squinting at something white pushed far into the corner.

'Captain, it appears the walls were reinforced. These are not the matching materials to those of the exterior corridor-'

I move forward, casting a quick glance over to the distracted men. Yellow and blue were huddled in the far corner of the room, as Doctor McCoy stood in the doorway and surveyed the room with a dark look, his arms crossed over his chest. I duck, finger ghosting on the cold floor as I scoop up the tiny crumpled paper. It was so small, the other crew would have easily missed it. Luckily, I knew this terrible room back to front. With deft hands, I unfurled the pages crumples so closely that the paper near crumbles in my hands.

When I read the words, my heart stutters.

'What d'you see there, June?'

I stand quickly, my hand darting to shove the paper into my pocket before I can even consider why I have done such a thing. With lying smile to McCoy, I wave a hand toward the lower half of the wall near my makeshift bed. 'Just looking at the markings I made on the wall. I tried to keep track of how long I was here for'.

'Huh,' Jim says, turning away form Spock's ever-so interesting conversation about a wall. 'Twenty-five days'.

I shrug. 'We should keep looking,' I say, moving toward where Doctor McCoy stands. He uncrosses his arms and stands straighter. I don't miss the way his gaze jumps to my pocket. 'There's one room I remember outside of this one, and I want to find it'. There is a hum of agreement, and we continue on our way, with Jim checking into the Enterprise via Comm to the assure them of our positions.

As we walk, my fingers roll the crumpled piece of paper between my fingers, my hand in the warmth of my pocket. I swallow drily, reciting the words over in my head.

For a star to be born, there is one thing that must happen: a gaseous nebula must collapse. You told me that. So collapse. Crumble. This is not your destruction. This is your birth. Perhaps, one day, I can explain myself to you. Until then, run. He will never stop until he has you again. He is Frankenstein and you are his monster, June. He will either kill you, or use you.

Insert a billion questions marks here.

A monster? The terror I feel at those words is shocking, even to me. How could I tell the others about this, without them looking at me like I was a freak? We still did not know what those men were doing to me, but this...it made me feel like I had some parasite inside of me that I didn't know about. I swallow, blink hard, and push away wondering what on Earth those words could mean.

Still, that didn't stop the inkling I had on who wrote the damn note.

I am back! Slowly finding out more and more. The next chapter will hold more memories, more drama and some strange tings. Also, not to be That Guy, but pleeeeease review. Considering the amount of people that follow this story and the amount of people who review, I should be getting just a tiiiny bit more reviews. Pls guys.

Also, June's note was inspired by the poem by Zoe Skylar. The context will be revealed, but June is not taking credit for making up that quote. She's not that girl.