The Thirty-Seventh Day of Dark: 8:00 PM: LOG 0037
A few hours ago, you bid a fond farewell to Jade. She was an exuberant, caring woman, but you're admittedly glad to be leaving. She was a bit too much for you to handle right now. Although, later, you'd definitely be up to meeting with her again.
For now, though, you've joined Dave and John on an odd thing that seems to be prominent only on these artificial ring colonies, such as Skaia. They're called overnight bed cruisers, and they're essentially double-decker busses with rooms. Each bus has five rooms—three up top, two on the bottom—and access to these rooms is granted via a narrow hallway running the length of the bus. You're in the second first-floor room, wherein there is one single bed and a double.
(Due to the narrow passage and the limited space in the room, Dave has volunteered to stay in bed unless there's something that necessitates him leaving it. You'd already had to carry him down the hallway, and the chair was grudgingly parked at the front, essentially forcing the driver to climb over it to get out.)
John immediately laid claim to the single bed. This means you get to share a bed with Dave.
Not that this is a problem... Or, at least, it shouldn't be a problem.
Now that you want to go the fuck to sleep, though, it is.
"I... Um... Tell me that's not a bag of urine in the bed," you begin to address the various problems.
Dave, in return, shrugs. With the most infuriatingly sarcastic smirk possible, he responds, "It is not a bag of piss in the bed."
"But it is," you grumble.
John, unhelpfully, continues snoring. Clearly, he's a deep sleeper.
"It's a medical thing. I don't control my bladder, so this is a better option than piss all over the bed, right?" Dave hums, his smirk widening. "You know I'm right."
"Fine." You edge yourself onto the bed, going bit by bit. "I just... Humans are fucking weird. Recuperacoons are so much nicer, and they take up less space."
"From what I hear, those things are messy as fuck."
Shrugging off this insult to your natural sleeping arrangements, you inch even further, closing in on your spot on the bed. "You're not going to do anything creepy or stupid, right? Like cuddle me or something?"
"The only reasonable control I have over my body is from shoulders up, barring one arm. I'm not exactly going to smooth-snuggle you into some sort of weird relationship," he laughs, though it's obviously fake. The fingers of his right hand, which he's positioned on top of the covers, begin to twitch.
You keep your mouth shut about knowing that he's nervous. "Whatever."
"Yeah." Dave sighs. "Whatever."
"Good night."
The Thirty-Seventh Day of Dark: 11:00 PM: LOG 0038
Usually, you wake up around now to use the bathroom. At this moment, however, you're woken by the lack of motion. Before, the gentle swaying and occasional bumping of the car's chassis had lulled you off to sleep. Now, it's completely stationary, and it seems you're not the only one concerned about this.
"We're not supposed to stop for another few hours," Dave mutters, the plastic piece at the base of his neck bobbing up and down a few times before he speaks again, "What the fuck is going on?" A grunt of discomfort punctuates this statement. "Help me sit up, dude. Please?" He tacks the final word on as an afterthought, though the situation lends itself to your quick forgiveness of his social oversight.
You push him up a bit and lean him against the metal wall of the chassis. Outside, you can see uniformed guards speaking to the driver. A flashlight beam hits you square in the face.
"That's not good," Dave mutters.
Now, John stirs. He sits up, rubs his eyes, and frowns. "We here already?"
You and Dave shush him simultaneously.
"We have reason to believe that two wanted rebel instigators are on this bus, and our orders are to take them into custody." The guard outside presents a badge, and the driver eagerly obliges. He even rushes inside and delivers Dave's chair to the waiting squadron of stern-faced officers. (So much for your bribe money.)
"Shit."
"Fuck."
"Damn."
At the very least, everyone is on the same page.
The bright white light of a flashlight casts a long anti-shadow on the floor of your room.
A loud bang, followed by the door sliding open.
From there, time seems to slow. The guard draws his gun and aims it at you. Another comes up behind him, and points a gun at Dave. Orders are shouted, but you're in too much shock to understand them. You raise your hands upwards, just in time to be shot in the shoulder.
You think you hear Dave tell John to run, but you're not sure. Regardless, John bolts; you're sure he wouldn't have without Dave's permission.
A bag is thrown over your head, a needle stabbed into your still-bleeding arm, and time...
Just...
Stops.