Your thinkpan spends enough time reliving through increasingly disturbing variations of being skewered by the double trident that, by the time you manage to ground yourself back in reality, the rustbloods are nearly done with the wetware room and there's an identifiable buzz of activity among the crew in the meal block.

Extending your conscience along the comforting circuits throughout this ship (this body of yours), you drink in the communications data being received and sent from the crew's palmhusks while listening into their conversations.

You try to ignore a pang of dread.

Some oliveblood had got a message from an acquaintance down below saying that the Condesce should be on her way back.

Just as you verify how long ago that was you receive an incoming docking request. She is almost here already.

The rusties are still loitering about and chatting in the wetware room and while you're still not responsible for them, you also don't want their blood on your most vulnerable insides. Which means voiding your unspoken contract of mutually ignoring each other.

▷y0u_2h0uldnt_have_been_here_and_y0u_need_t0_leave

They start and look at you with surprise, the telekinetic one with contempt. You don't see this because there's a small vessel docking to you and you are trying to get a visual confirmation on who it brings.

.

Even from a distance there's no denying that pair of horns and the magenta clothing.

▷2he2_c0m1ng

You soon sense them scurrying out and then watch as they get in trouble with one of the highbloods in patrol. You decide to not bother watching how this scene develops and instead go to prepare to leave this planet.

Only no one has given anyone any instructions to leave? Or do anything really. That's odd, you recall there had been something about culling a nearby colony that had been taken over by some revolution.

Finding her once again, the fish bitch seems to be in an incredibly good mood, her sharp tough teeth bared in a grin for all to see. Which can imply she's entertaining the notion of cruelly playing with one of her crew.

Knowing your luck, it's you.

You scan in more detail the data being sent among the crew members. You're constantly analysing it unconsciously but unless certain keywords are met you don't pay any attention to it at all. None of the keywords were found but it doesn't hurt to check.

Everyone's as clueless as you. But no one seems to be as concerned as you.

The fish bitch looks like she's just going to stay in her respite block. It's the only one without any grub camera or other means of prying in so you've got no clue whether she's asleep or just went to grab something.

When it's been a while you start entertaining the notion of asking the control room for the current status. Only they know even less than you and also don't believe you're a person. They're right to assume that. No psionic could remain grafted to a ship for this long and live as a separate being.

It's just that you're always doomed to go through the worst and, in this case, retaining a sense of individuality is actually the worst outcome.

) (IC: got a speshell gift for us today n ure goin to LOV-E it

The direct message is received completely unprompted. You grit your teeth at it. Whatever she's got is going to be bad and you really don't want to even bother playing her games.

) (IC: no thank u huh

Just the pink text alone is enough to make you nauseous. You wish you had the option of simply not seeing it.

) (IC: ill be shore to make u talk a lot

She stops messaging after that and, as you watch her make her way to the wetware room, the grin never leaves her face. The dread that it fosters in you leaves you with conflicting instincts. You want to thin out your conscience through the ship and forgo paying attention to any specific part of your insides, running away from all this in the only way you can. But your most vital wetware bits are going to be vulnerable and you need to be there and try to mitigate the threat.

Logically, you know you'll live and your best option is really to dissociate from all of it. Sadly, you're still a person and, against your best wishes, people have instincts they can't fight.

So you're paying full attention when the tall tyrian figure enters the room and comes for you, grabbing your chin and pulling you so that her cold lips forcefully meet yours.

.

.

▷Helmsman: let her do whatever she wants

Happy 413~