A/N: Thanks to all of you who have followed this story so far, you're all crazy, each and every one of you, but it's a good kind of crazy. Not so much the "lying in a pool of one's own filth crazy", but the "pointing out that emperor not only isn't wearing any clothes, he's also a duck", kind of crazy.
My kind of crazy.
Anyway, (and I'm sure someone is going to bash their head against their screen when I reveal this) the movie reference in chapter 7 was from Aliens. When asked what the official designation of Dirt was, Vic revealed that it was registered to the Irken Empire as planet "LB426" which is the same designation Weyland-Yutani corporation gave to the planet where humanity first encountered the Xenomorph.
Thank you all for playing.
Some of you have mentioned that they particularly like the parallels between Vic and Dib's observations. I do this to contrast their alienness to each other and to their own respective species. If you note, both Dib and Vic are on the outside looking in, pointing at the craziness of it all and being told that they are crazy. In a very real way, Jhonen likes to point out that though individuality is outwardly praised by society it is also secretly abhorred... everyone wants to be part of the crowd. At some point in their life, everyone wants to be accepted, maybe even popular. Very often true "individuals" are merely those who have been shunned by society for being themselves... that is the paradox of originality... there IS nothing new under the sun, it's just that some things are done less often than others, but in being original, one has walked off the safe path, and others will watch and ridicule you for doing what they themselves secretly dream about.
Oh and before I forget, someone mentioned Enemy Mine the other day, and yes, I have seen it. In fact, I think it is one of the most overlooked and yet brilliant pieces of science fiction cinema to ever be released. If you can find it, it is a truely awesome movie. It is very much a source of inspiration for this fic.
Anyway, I'm sure you're all anxious to get past the droning monotony of my rant and into the meat of the story, as it were. In that case, let's move on, shall we? A quick sidenote. I now have a BetaReader (thanks Ceassa!), but this chapter was running behind schedule. It is also a bit longer than normal to compensate, but the BetaReader hasn't had an opportunity to go over it completely yet. That being said, since most of you probably want to continue with the story rather than wait for perfection, this chapter is being released early BUT... it may change in future edits. If it does change, the edit number will increase at the end of this A/N. This is a handy dandy feature put in place so you don't have to hunt and peck for new sections if no new sections are in place. Neat, huh? Current Edit Number: 0.
"Once there was a man who decided he knew everything. Once there was a book that he threw in my face. Once there was an angry mob that marched up and down the street. Don't you know they all call my name. What do they want from me? What do they want from me? What do they want from a poor boy who can't believe? They want to fill the void. They want to fill the empty spaces, but I won't let them consume me, with the rest of the lifeless faces." -Oingo Boingo, Fill the Void
You're probably wondering what I've decided to do with my lone captive. The truth is, I haven't figured it out myself... yet.
Contrary to what you might be thinking, I do not irrationally hate the Irken race. I hardly fuckin' know them, and I'm not the sort to hate something just because it's different, or alien. While I will admit I don't particularly care for them much, I don't think I hate them.
What's that? Hey, fuck you, you know? How can you possibly judge me for how I thought during the past battle? I was scared! It was war! It's not like they were going to let me get away with a goddamn apology and a handshake.
Well... to be honest, it did feel good, and that scared me. I think I could get to like this sort of thing, this... fighting. If that does anything, it makes me think. I have to question whether or not I'm doing these things because they are necessary, or because I want to.
I shouldn't want to. At least, I think I shouldn't. I shouldn't hate them.
I don't.
Zim, well, he's another story. I think I've made my feelings on HIM pretty clear. Strangely though, I feel disconnected from my hatred of him... it is like a ache felt for so long that the body has forgotten about it. Even recalling his name doesn't evoke much from me.
The Irkens as a race? To be honest, I pity them more than anything. There are so many things they'll never know.
I could have hated them because they destroyed my friggin' planet, but amazingly, I don't even have that.
I know, creepy, huh? I had to give that one some thought too. I think the whole Irken race takes it's orders from a couple of petty, spoiled brats, who rule just because they happen to be taller than everyone else. Like... I don't know, like space Nazis or something. Anyone who needs to find evidence that the leaders of this empire don't give a shit about their subjects need only poke around in this dreadnought for a couple of hours. There are rows upon rows of unborn Irken children abandoned here, with no one to give them a second thought other than a slightly deranged and occasionally hallucinating reject from a murdered race.
Which is not to say that the Irken race isn't for the most part made up of cruel, intolerant, petty and stupid bullies.
Just that I have no evidence pointing to the fact that it is a universal truth.
Not to mention that in my experience, the HUMAN race was made up for the most part of cruel, intolerant, petty and stupid bullies. I guess what happened could be considered a case of poetic justice. It doesn't make it sting any less, though.
Also... I dunno, all that semantic bullshit aside, I have learned today that I can kill if it's necessary, even... and don't tell anyone else this... enjoy it... a little. It's not the killing part I enjoy, before you write me off as a psychopath or something, it's that breathless fear/exhileration of still being alive even while someone is trying to kill you... No...
BECAUSE someone is trying to kill you.
It's a matter of me or them, and I'm sorry, but I've got to keep on moving. Irken assisted suicide is not an option, at least, not anymore. I've come to terms with the fact that I want to live, I guess I've gotten over my survivor's guilt, at least a little.
An odd revelation, that.
Despite my knowledge that when faced with the choice of dying or killing, I can kill, I find it hard to stomach the thought of just coldly murdering anyone in their sleep. I've never been one to pull the wings off of flies, or burn ants with a magnifying glass, I guess because at a very young age, I understood what death was.
Death meant that no matter how much someone loved you, they weren't coming back.
Dad was always very honest, and devastatingly complete in his explanation of Mom's... condition. I think when Dad was hurting, he always took the emotionless, logical, methodical approach to analyzing his pain, I think... maybe that's why science and invention became more important to him than my sister and I.
Sad, that I finally understand that my father did care about Mom after it's already too late to do anything about it.
So no, I don't think I'll be killing my prisoner anytime soon.
Which is not to say I'm gonna invite her over for tea and crumpets or something. Not having tea and crumpets aside, just because I don't irrationally hate Irken race doesn't mean I don't have perfectly rational reasons not to LIKE them.
It took me almost an hour to get her to the dreadnought. Not so much because she's heavy, mind you, but more because it's hard to carry anything the size of a child without the use of one of your arms. I'm thinking this is gonna end up being a much more serious issue than I had originally thought. My right shoulder throbs, and each throb is starting to resonate in my head, like a sonar pulse bouncing back to its source. I still can't move it, though I CAN move my fingers, thank god. I think the laser might have charred the bone a bit, and it definately cooked the muscle. It's going to be some time before ol' Dib can use his right arm again, yessiree.
If ever.
Still, I got her up the damn hillside and into the dreadnought. I've rigged up a series of clustered light emitting diodes powered by several Irken pack batteries inside the dreadnought, which means that I actually have light now. This is where I've been living, the few rooms closest to the outside airlock I found. It's shelter, and secure.
I also took this opportunity to more securely bind my Irken captive, then remove her suit helmet. Carefully, of course. I wiped it down with a rag first, so that no water would dribble down on her. I think I'm endeavoring not to be cruel because the Irken race certainly wouldn't have bothered.
I Want to be different.
Better.
Yeech. Like I said, an undisguised Irken isn't pretty. Well, not that Zim was gonna win any contests with his crappy disguise. Tak, now, that was a different... ah, nevermind. My captive was still unconcious, and I took this opportunity to study an Irken that wasn't caught up in the feature twisting froes of megalomania. Hairless smooth, light green skin, tapering little antennae, currently lifeless and lying close to the skull, almost protectively. Her, and it's definately a her, judging from the set of the features and the eyelashes, eyes are closed, mouth just slightly slack. Pointed little teeth, and an annelidish, segmented looking tongue lying slack in her mouth complete this picture of deathlike Irken repose.
I step back and remove my trash-gilley, slip out of my ruined shirt, and examine my wound. There is no blood, but a quarter sized hole is burned into my right shoulder, front and back. The edges of the wounds are blackish char and raw, red mixed with an ugly brown, like well done steak. I get a little sick, looking at it. The wounds edges are slightly inflamed, and a crusted clear fluid marks it. This cracks and dribbles when I move too much.
Yup. Like I thought. Not a good sign.
Well, I have no antibiotics, no medicine really, but I do have some strips of cloth I boiled, then coated in Greenstuff. I know this sounds disgusting, kinda like smearing mustard all over a wound to make it better, but remember, Greenstuff eats pollutants... I'm hoping it also eats bacteria. It takes me about five minutes to awkwardly wrap a proper bandage and tie it tight, that hurts like hell, but after the initial pain goes away, the throbbing lessens.
I think.
I put on a clean shirt I had crudely sewn together from bits of unused Irken uniforms I found in what appeared to be a uniform storage room. Then I grab a cup of clean water and a plate of Greenstuff mixed with stale space burritos cooked over an open fire and regard my captive quietly.
What am I gonna do with you?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ANALYZING...
ANALYZING...
ANALYSIS=COMPLETE
CONNECTION-FAILURE-CAUSE=ORGANIC=TRUE,PROCESSING-COMPONENT=BLUNT/CONCUSSIVE-TRAUMASYSTEM-CHECK=IRREPAIRABLE?SHUTDOWN=TRUE/FALSE?SYSTEM-SCANNING.../SCANNING...SCAN=COMPLETE
DAMAGE=WITHIN-REPAIRABLE-LIMITS/SHUTDOWN=FALSE/INITIATING-REPAIR-PROCESS/TEMPORARY/MEMORY-TRANSFER=AUXILLARY-PROCESSOR
TRANSFER=25%
TRANSFER=75%
TRANSFER=COMPLETE
CHECKING.../CHECK-COMPLETE=NO-ERRORS-DETECTEDORGANIC-PROCESSING/COMPONENT=REFORMAT=TRUE
REFORMAT=25%
REFORMAT=50%
REFORMAT=75%
REFORMAT=COMPLETE/SHIFTING-CORRUPT-ELLS/PROCESSING.../PROCESSING.../PROCESSING=COMPLETE/SCANNING-LONGTERM-STORAGE=NO-ERRORS/SCANNING-SHORTTERM-STORAGE=NO-ERRORS/MEMORY-TRANSFER=IN-PROCESS
TRANSFER=25%
TRANSFER=75%
TRANSFER=COMPLETE
INITIATE-INDUCED-VOLTAGE-APPLICATION=FORCED-REBOOT
5...
4...
3...
2...
1...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She looks like she's starting to come around.
That's good, but also a bit... odd. I mean, generally when someone starts to convulse that's a bad thing right? Well for a second there, she looked like she was having a goddamn epilectic seizure.
No, I'm perfectly aware that I'm not an expert on Irken physiology and all, but from what I've seen, they breathe, they bleed, die, and I'm certain they excrete... something.
Before you ask, no, I've never seen an Irken take a shit. Nor have I seen an Irken toilet, come to think of it. Of course, Zim's elevator doesn't count, because he didn't exactly use that one as a toilet, did he?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am alive.
This comes as a surprise to me. Entering into this state of oblivion, I had thought this would be it. I did not dream, during my time spent unconscious, rather, I remembered. I remembered everything. The mechanical arm which attached the pak onto my back when I was a smeet. That sudden, jolting, disorienting surge of knowledge, all the knowledge I would ever need to be an Irken, as those tiny, tiny wires integrated themselves with my nervous system. Of being thrust into the medical section of the Massive and given a job to do, not knowing, and yet KNOWING how to do it, moving on autopilot, like a machine, a strange combination of knowing in the cold machine part of me, and not knowing in the part that is my identity, that is me. Of getting good at what I did, of truely KNOWING my job, not just continuing to go through the motions while I thought of other things.
I had nothing. Snacks? Just nourishment. Companionship? All of the other medical drones were exactly the same as me, I thought, all of them had the same knowledge stuffed into their heads. None of the other castes would associate with me. Medical Drones are just that, Drones. Lowest of the low. My job was all that I had, and so I became it.
Then they took even that from me.
It was not the isolation that bothered me, nor the gibes, the insults, the bullying. These things I understood. They were a constant source of irritation that I had felt my whole existance. Why should it bother me after so long? It is not like they were LYING to me. I WAS a medical drone. I WAS the lowest of the low.
Truth is not an insult. Though... though I suppose it CAN hurt.
What bothered me, was that I was no longer really needed. I cared only for four members, in a field where most injuries kill instantly. In a team where I was the lowest member, and none would listen to me, even when I gave them advice that would save their lives. What could I possibly know about combat?
Now I was here. On this trashworld, alone, and unaware of my surroundings. The lowest of the low, brought even lower.
I almost did not want to open my eyes.
I feel a cool breeze on my face, an inperceptable sense of movement that is not mine, and then a sudden sense of horror fills me, my helmet off in this deadly weather, this causes me to open my eyes.
IT is there.
IT is watching me.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Her eyes flutter open and she blinks. Her crimson, jewel-like gaze sweeps the room dartingly, like a bird, then fixes on me. They widen and she gasps, then starts to struggle with her bonds.
Her struggles cause her to slide sideways and tilt over, whapping her head painfully against the floor. She narrows her eyes in pain, then widens them and stares at me, obviously terrified.
She begins to hyperventilate.
I find myself amused at her actions, her terror, and this makes me feel ashamed.
I put out my hands placatingly.
"Relax, I'm not gonna hurt you, just calm down.... uh.."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
LANGUAGE.UNRECOGNIZED=COMMUNICATION.MALFUNCTION
COMPARING.TO.KNOWN.LANGUAGE.DATABASE
1OF1ENTRIES.FOUND
DOWNLOADING.EARTHANOID.LANGUAGE.PACK
DOWNLOAD=COMPLETE
SCANNING=CULTURAL.DATABASE
SCANNING...
1OF1ENTRIES.FOUND
DOWNLOADING-CULTURAL-SUBTEXT-DATA/EARTHANOID
ERROR
!!RESTRICTED.ACCESS!!
=.TO.OR..THAN.INVADER.SECURITY.CLEARANCE.REQUIRED
CURRENT.SECURITY.STATUS=MEDICAL.DRONE
DOWNLOAD=CANCELLED
A strange babble of sounds issues at me as it raises its arms out. I am bound, hand and foot, and it advances towards me. A sharp, cold, not-quite-pain throbs in my head, and then amazingly, strangely, its babble becomes speech.
"-look, if you don't try anything stupid, I've got no reason to hurt you. Well, maybe I do have a reason to hurt you, but I'm not going to... I-" IT stops and rubs the back of its growth covered head with one strange, long-fingered, blunt tipped hand.
"That... didn't come out the way I wanted it to."
If I didn't know any better, I'd almost say it was apologetic.
I search the inside of the... room, that I am in. From my angle I see a strange collage of reassuring Irken lines, deckplates, bulkheads, and glaring, clashing alien adaptations, horrible... gruesome ones. Internal components of Paks strung like decorations festoon the ceiling, providing a harsh white light. Several crates stacked atop one another in the corner, and sitting atop it... a plate of some disgusting greenish slime, and a glass of-
Of...
"P-p-please... I d-d-do not KNOW anything... I am j-j-just a medical drone, I SWEAR." It is shameful, my cowardice. I should be bravely spitting in the face of torture at the hands of an unknowable alien, and trying desperately to reach my self destruct device.
I should be, but all I can think about is how I just want to live. Another second, another minute, it does not matter, it is all too precious for words.
"P-please."
It stares at me for a moment, its strangely rimmed mouth open slightly in some alien emotion. Its teeth are crude, square, it closes its mouth and removes a strange contraption from its head, rubbing them against its shirt awkwardly, then returning it to its face. I note that it uses only its left arm, that it seems to be favoring its right.
It follows my gaze to the glass of water, its features creasing for a moment, then sudden understanding floods its eyes.
"Oh, you thought..." It barks for a moment, a sound that I recognize as laughter, but not cruel... not... mocking. "No, no. That's... not for you. That's mine."
This line of logic does not make any sense at first, then I recall that it stood unprotected in the deadly rain outside. As if to demonstrate, it picks up the glass of fluid and tips it down its mouth, its throat working strangely. Instantly, the liquid is gone.
I shudder in horror. Such an alien thing... how can I possibly survive?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She's shaking, eyes glazed in terror. She's really... really scared of me.
I sit down and watch her, puzzling over this strange reaction. Defiance, I was expecting. That Irken arrogance, that inability to see things in anything other than an Irken light, that inability to listen...
None of it. Just a scared little thing barely half my height, curled up in a ball wishing the monster would go away.
That's what I feel like. A monster. If there had been any other reaction from her, I might have been able to rationalize treating her like the Irken scum she must be. I can be compassionate and still force scum to do what I want. Tough but fair. I had it all worked out.
She ruined all of those plans. No defiance. No insults. No arrogance.
Just stark terror. Base misery. She's far from home, and she's never going back.
She's in the hands of the unknown, the worst sort of terror.
How can I be tough to that? Oh, I know what you're thinking. It could all be a trick. A ruse to get me to drop my guard. I don't think so. Zim was never much of a liar. Not even Tak was really good at it, once you get right down to it. They might deceive with costumes and stories, but spies do that, don't they? When it comes right down to it, when did Zim, or Tak really lie to me?
Not to mention, there are some things that can't be faked, some things that an Irken would never even pretend to do.
I feel... somewhat dirty.
Let me explain. Watching her gaze at me in abject fear, I realize that my power over her is absolute. I can do anything to her, she has no control over her own fate. A sense of power runs through me, but also a sense of shame. I enjoy this feeling of power, this... sense of control. I seldom had it when I was growing up, I was always the one being picked on. Since coming to Dirt, I've had precious little control over my circumstances, only some simple, base ingenuity and luck have kept me alive thus far, I am at the whim of fate.
I enjoy this feeling of power, and this makes me ashamed. I remember lying bruised, half in, half out of a trashcan, my glasses gone, my clothing ripped, and thinking how if I were only stronger, if I were only cooler, I wouldn't be here. I used to imagine what it might be like to be popular, to be SOMEBODY, instead of that crazy, big-headed kid who rants all the time about aliens and monsters.
I used to think how if I was in charge, how I would do things DIFFERANTLY.
Now here I was, the tables turned, the conqueror conquered, and I'm enjoying watching her shake like a leaf, prostrate on the floor.
No. This is NOT me.
I get down, bang my right arm and hiss in pain, then kneel next to her.
"It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. I SWEAR I'm not going to hurt you."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It watches me, strange emotions, alien emotions, glittering through its gaze. Its eyes are strange little things, milky white around a dark interior, and these spots of color are focused on me, behind those clear lenses. I feel ashamed of my weakness, but I cannot help but shake as I wait for it to decide what horrible doom awaits me. An Irken would have already dispatched me, this show of weakness is a disgusting affront to Irken dignity.
It bends down, bumping the arm it favors and releasing an unmistakable sound of pain, before it makes itself as small as possible, crouching down next to me.
It whispers, a strange voice, with no arrogance, no cruelty in it.
And it tells me that it will not hurt me.
I cannot help but wonder at this. I suspect a trick, but why would it trick me? It already has me in its power, what more could it hope to gain? I do not understand.
I do not understand.
"W-why?"
I have to ask. I wait for the punchline to this cruel joke.
It cocks its head and scrunches up its mouth... a frown, I think. I realize that its expressions are slightly more fluid, yet less animated then an Irken, and it has no antennae to read, but if one watches, one can get a hint of expression from it. Or perhaps I am reading too much into it, perhaps it is another expression entirely.
This is... very strange. Obviously its language is contained in the control brain databanks, and yet... there is no accessable cultural information about this species. I should know everything I need to know about this... earthanoid. I do not. It is as if there is a gulf, yawning and unseen, in the normally uninterrupted flow of information from my Pak.
Two words. Restricted Access.
Strange.
It continues to "frown" at me, then it shakes its head.
"As long as you don't try to escape, or do anything stupid, I have no reason to hurt you."
"An Irken would-"
It scowls. This expression is easy to read. "I am NOT an Irken. I'm human. The last... I think."
An indescribable emotion flickers across its features. It is a deep one, intriguing, despite its strangeness. I suddenly feel as though I'm reaching for something that is just beyond my grasp, something... important, and yet I am groping blindly.
My terror lessens. Only slightly, but it does.
It is... a start.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, at least she doesn't look like she's going to have a heart attack anymore. Now I'm faced with a quandry. See, I'm fucking exhausted, mentally and physically burnt to a crisp. She seems pretty passive... meek might be a better term, as far as Irkens go, but she's still an Irken. I don't trust them, and for damn good reason. I don't want to leave her tied up all night, I really don't think that's necessary, but I can't just let her run around unattended while I sleep.
That'd be pretty fucking stupid.
Still, it's not as if this outcome were totally unexpected. I had taken the time to set up a prison cell, of sorts. I think that will do, for now. Later? Time will tell, I guess.
"What's your name, Irken?" I ask her firmly.
She blinks, and her antennae droop slightly, she shifts herself uncomfortably so that she can gaze up at me.
"Er... M-medical Drone Vic... um..."
"Vic, huh?" I sit back on my heels. "Well Vic, I'm going to untie you, because I don't think you're going to try to hurt me. Don't disabuse me of that idea, and we'll get along just fine. I know you Irkens have some sort of self-destruction device on your arm, well frankly, I can't prevent you from hitting it, really, so I'm just going to have to risk it."
I look at her levelly, frankly. "I don't think you want to die, though. I KNOW that I don't want to kill you, but don't think for an instant that I'm weak, or that I won't- IF I have to."
It's hard to tell with Irken expressions, but I know if I were her, I'd be thinking of her friends out there in the rain.
What's left of them.
"Are we clear?"
Vic watches me for a moment, then nods. "Y-yes."
I pull out my crude knife and cut the bonds on her legs, then her arms. I watch her carefully, visibly tensing when she starts to reach for her wrist. She freezes, staring at me fearfully, then slowly massages her arms where the bonds had chaffed her.
I relax a bit.
"My name is Dib. Dib Membrane. That's all you really need to know for now, Vic. I am going to have to lock you up, you understand. I don't trust you." I try to sound apologetic.
She stares at me dubiously, then shrugs. Her antennae twitch slightly, and I can't help but think this motion is important, but of course, it means nothing to me.
"I-I don't suppose I should expect anything else. J-just don't hurt me, I-I won't try anything."
She conceals a shudder at this thought. Poorly.
I ignore it.
I stand up and she shrinks back a bit, looking up at me. There was a time when Zim seemed menacing, when the thought of any Irken was frightening. I can't be frightened of her, she's so... small. Still, there is a brain inside that strange, insect-like head, and an alien one at that. Don't ever forget that, Dib.
I gesture towards the door. "You first. I'll direct you, but I want you where I can see you."
She nods in understanding and ease around me, towards the door. I keep pace with her, talking only to direct her towards the room I have picked out.
"D-Dib?" Her voice startles me, and I frown.
"What?" It comes out a bit sharper than I intended.
"I-I'm sorry, I-"
I sigh. Can't seem to do anything without seeming like an asshole. Typical. Seems my acute foot in mouth disease works on Irken females, too.
"It's alright. What's up?"
"I was wondering... how you came to be here? This is not your native planet."
I stop. It takes me a moment to answer. "No, it isn't. I was... discarded here."
"My planet is... gone."
She stutter steps as though this information surprises her. "Oh."
We walk in silence for a few more steps, then...
"I am sorry."
"What?" I ask, surprised.
"I am sorry your world is... gone."
She REALLY has no idea.
Sigh.
"So am I."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am really pushing it.
I do not know why I said it. It just... came out. It seemed like the polite thing to say.
I know what this means, of course. My people, the Irken Empire, must have wiped out his (at least, I think its a he) planet completely. I can only assume that his people were wiped out with it, presumably as a part of Operation: Impending Doom II. There IS cultural data present, though this is restricted. There could be any number of reasons why it was restricted, but it is strange that the culture was deemed sensative enough to restrict and destroyed utterly. Still, the Irken Empire is responsible, and I do not want to anger him, so it seemed like the right thing to say.
Why then, do I feel as though I have erred?
It is not a common thing, that a species is eradicated, but it is not unheard of. When a conquered race is useless, or in rare cases, considered extremely dangerous, they are sometimes disposed of.
Disposed of. I never really considered it, never really thought about it, and I try now. What must it be like to have ones species be eliminated?
What if the Irken race was gone tomorrow?
I cannot conceive of it. It is simply too vast a concept to imagine.
I do not have the words to explain the sense of WRONGNESS that this evokes in me. I cannot imagine what it must be like to...
We are in an extremely old and obsolete Irken Dreadnought class starship, this I am sure of now, after having seen so much of it. He is leading me to a storage room, which makes sense. Most of the storage rooms are poorly ventilated in these older ships, to minimize pests because such things were more of a nuisance then, and simply because most equipment does not need to breathe. It would be difficult, but not impossible for me to escape from that location.
Something to think about, later.
He stops at the door and sticks a short metal rod into the emergency locking mechanism, crudely twisting it open. I shudder to think what the tool is doing to the mechanism of the door, but it is effective.
It is dark inside, but my eyes adjust. He looks down at me.
"In you go. Theres a mattress in there, and some snacks. It's not comfortable, but..." He shrugs, as if to say what did you expect.
I... did not expect this. I did not expect to live past waking up. I did not expect to wake up. Every moment I live now seems like another moment stolen from the cold grasp of oblivion. Impossibly sweet, despite any inconvieniences forced upon me.
There will be tomorrow, and for now, that is enough.
I say nothing, I simply nod and enter the room, turning quietly.
"Goodnight." He says. Then he closes the door.
Leaving me to ponder the meaning of this... odd phrase in darkness, by myself.