Trigger warning for this chapter. This is your only warning.
Day 132
"Haxel, get the tunes going. I'm not surveying to awkward silence."
(Music: "Finesse", by Michael Prince)
Tyler, captain of the Numia, bobbed his head and did a little jig as the song booted up over the cockpit's interior speaker, filling the cozy cabin with jazz and trumpets.
"Fuck yeah. Alright, pull up the main feed."
Haxel, the co-captain of the Numia, a small mercenary scouting vessel, flicked a few buttons and used the touch screen to pull up the camera feed onto the big screen in front of them. Immediately, a close-up of a buzzing research station popped up. The resolution was so crisp (as was necessary for ascoutingvessel) that even the little humans moving around the station's exterior and interior could be profiled by the naked eye. The wondrous technology of the future was a sight to behold- literally.
"Ok-ayyy," Tyler affirmed, pulling out a long set of notes and moving to the very bottom, beginning to pen down his observations. "Haxel, can you ask Cortia to confirm there's no approaching vessels in our proximity again?"
"Yes, Captain." Haxel obliged, thumbing his radio and switching to the Navigator's channel. "Cortia, Captain wants a second GL on Bogeys."
"Bogos binted?"
"That is thethirdtime you've said that over the radio. I'm gonna take your radio and force you to communicate with Morse code if you keep goofing."
"I would take the time and energy to type that in Morse code, cuz then you'd have to stare at it and know you caused it. You're greenlit- again."
"Cortia-fuck's sake, SPEAK IN CODE!"
"I keep TELLING you, this is an ENCRYPTED CHANNEL! ENCRYPTED~! Do you understand what the word 'encrypted' means?"
"Cortia... again,once again... if someonehacksthrough the encryption, they will hear our verydetailedconversation because we didn't SPEAK! IN! CODE!"
"Sure, yeah, and last time you failed to cite a SINGLE incident in the last TWO FUCKIN' YEARS of this ship's history where we suffered a radio breach!"
"Oh my- Cortia I don't have time for this, I need the GL for the Captain!"
"Are you... are you deaf?"
"Haxel, I can hear the radio," Tyler remarked in slight confusion, still jotting down notes. "I already heard her, keep arguing."
Haxel sighed as Cortia cackled nefariously over the radio.
"You stupid dum-dum caveman idiot!"
"That's too many insults- GET OFF COMMS!"
Haxel huffed as he switched off the radio, leaning against the central console while Tyler chuckled in amusement.
"She's so fuckin' hot." Tyler suddenly randomly commented, and Haxel chuckled humorlessly.
"More like irritating as hell," Haxel replied, and Tyler grinned while reviewing his notes.
"Gotta look past the personality. Even with the baggy uniform on, she's busty."
"Uh huh." Haxel was increasingly growing uncomfortable. If there was one fatal flaw in the captain, it was his extreme and obvious lust that he justcouldn'thelp but share with him during some private moments in the cockpit. It was incredibly offensive to Haxel, as he viewed the crew with nothing but respect and admiration for the 4 years he'd worked on there with them. Tyler, who had only been here a year and was switched out for the previous captain (who'd resigned), was pretty good at his job. But the things he said sometimes were... atrocious.
It was the most unfortunate reality that many of the male sex, even in the future eras, were weak-willed, prone to lust, and more than ready to throw away their dignity at the meresightof a desirable woman. However, what had reduced over time was the societal perception of how male perpetrators against women were viewed. This was thanks to a set of punitive laws passed by the Galactic Association of Planets & Colonies (GAPC) which cracked down heavily on sexual crimes against men and women, in response to overwhelming outrage over a news story detailing the rape and murder of 27-year-old Idra Stauncy at the hands of 32-year-old Stamson Gillesby; a crime that happened right in the middle of a busy street avenue—ignored entirely by male and female, adult, children, and senior passersby alike.
In honor of the atrocity, the set of codes were called the Idra Edicts, and created a wave of crackdowns and public backlash against those who were convicted in a court of law. This led to many people getting falsely accused, but such was the nature of any new movement.
Haxel shook his head. Some things were just unpleasant in life. He could only hope that Tyler would drop this disgusting habit of his before he found his career in the toilet.
"Alright," Haxel said, getting up from the chair and dusting himself off. "I'm gonna go check on the others for a minute. Let me know if you need help."
"Yeah, yeah." Tyler said dismissively, continuing his note-recording. "Tell Alina I need the maintenance report for the topside turret."
"Roger that."
Haxel got up from the chair and left the cockpit, exhaling in slight relief to be rid of that uncomfortable topic.
He headed first for the medical station to bother his buddy, Derek, who'd recently gotten into a relationship with Cortia. He was a bit surprised to walk in and find him praying, with a rosary and cross in his hands, in front of a portrait of Bennett Ramirez. A child, and the first person ever recorded to have returned from the dead. He was, naturally, made into a saint and adopted into the Christian faith as one.
It was extremely surreal to Haxel, who had been a normal Christian long before this whole event unfolded. The Day of Second Resurrection had unsettled him more than anything else; having known the scripture from the Bible... several missing events were supposed to coincide with the day of rapture as it occurred, in this reality.
This was far more disturbing as a concept manifested because the only indicator it was connected to a higher force was through the inclusion of named god(s) and goddess(es) in any historical and prominent religion. Haxel had seen resurrections under Catholic, Christian, Islamic, Hindu deities; even ancient religions like the Roman and Greek Pantheons, Norse Mythology, Sumerian religion...
Shockingly, Buddhist and Confucian rituals didn't work. After giving it some thought, Haxel realized there were no gods to reference or pray to in those religions. By this, there was one confirmation he could concretely make.
Whatever forces or deity were involved with this was watching and interacting with them. Observing.
Haxel could feel his breath quickening, his chest tightening; everytime he remotely approached this topic, it felt as if the walls, ceiling and floors were closing in on him; trapping him in a suffocating box. He could tell, as a fact, as an axiom of the fabric of reality and the universe and everything beyond that existed- thatGodexisted, the creator of all things.
But there were other, lesser forces at work. It could be sensed as easily as gravity could be observed, grass could be touched, sights could be seen and hunger could be felt. This intrusion from the incomprehensible realities beyond the material plane was akin to the opening of Pandora's Box, with only one overwhelming and positive insight being the confirmation of God's existence.
Even if Haxel's eyes were gouged out, ears cut off, nose removed, tongue torn out, and every nerve in his body stopped working; he would still be able-
-to sense the omnipresence of those higher forces.
That, is the kind of change that humanity had been instilled with permanently. An inextricable and foreboding knowledge of other, more infinitely powerful forces at work; ones they could not conceive nor know the intentions of.
T-e-r-r-i-f-y-i-n-g.
"H-Hey Derek!"
Derek turned his head from the praying, a smile widening across his olive-skinned face.
"Wassup, buddy!"
He gently set down the rosary and cross in front of the portrait, standing up and moving to pat him on the back. The two of them exchanged a few jokes and updates, with Haxel taking a seat on the medical bed while Derek sat in the rolling chair.
"So," Haxel inquired. "How's Cortia treatin' ya?"
Derek lit up like a light bulb; clearly engulfed in the early stages of infatuation as relationships tended to go in the beginning.
"You ever fell in love, Hax?"
"No."
"Tragic."
"Unnecessary remark."
Derek rubbed his chin in deep contemplation as if trying to put the proper words together.
"Being in love is like adding color to life. Like before, it feels like black and white. And when you fall in love, and that love is returned, it feels like every little thing you do, say, speak, hear, orfeelis heightened and amplified a hundred times over. It's likeparadiseno matter where you are or what you're doing."
Haxel was silent, thinking on the words, before returning his gaze to Derek with tired but hopeful eyes.
"That sounds nice."
Derek nodded, studying Haxel's behavior and thinking for a long minute.
"You know," He started. "Have you tried talking to Alina more? I can tell you've had a thing for her since the Ohrra Mission."
Haxel groaned, rubbing his forehead as he recalled that stressful journey from over 3 years ago, when he was still wet behind the ears to the Numia. Captain Adoris, the recently retired captain of the Numia, was ordered to join in on a siege against the Ohrra Citadel, a Separatist-owned massive mobile space fortress that had cut off a huge interstellar highway for commerce between Terra and the other GAPC planets.
During the days-long battle between hundreds of thousands of fighters, carriers, frigates and the legendary Death Knellers, the Numia was tasked with scouting enemy movements and reporting them to the primary fleets. The lives of all those onboard had been nearly obliterated over 23,498 times (the amount of shots fired at them that missed and would have been fatal on hit).
After that battle, the crew were hilariously traumatized to the point that the Numia was decommissioned for two months so the crew could receive therapy and counseling. Additionally, Haxel had found Alina, the gunner, particularly attractive as she had not only saved their lives tens of thousands of times, but shot with such accuracy that the optic tracker put her hit percentage atfourty-two percent.For reference, the accuracy percentage of spaceship gunners was set at aroundten percent.Across theentire galaxyof humans.
So yeah, to Haxel, that was inevitably and unavoidablyhot as fuck.It just so happened to strike that'holy shit that makes my serotonin shoot up'nerve and stuck to it every time he saw her.
He shook his head once more, trying to clear the impure thoughts from his head. He had just finished mentally lecturing Tyler for his crass comments, he didn't want to be a hypocrite by indulging his own vices.
"Yeah, maybe some day." Haxel eventually responded to Derek with a hollow tone. Derek frowned in disappointment.
"Come on, man. What's there to fear? Even if you get turned down, you don't interact with her that much and your contracts end in a year. Or... she accepts and you now have a girlfriend and a fat paycheck when y'all get dropped off at Rains."
Haxel was obviously enticed by the prospect, but still didn't feel comfortable speaking on this topic right now.
"Anyways," He diverted the topic. "Do you have a copy of the evals for the crew?"
Derek stood up and walked over to his filing cabinet, pulling out a stack of papers and handing them to Haxel.
"Interviewing fifteen people every three days is just arbitrary. Can't we do it weekly? This is a waste of paperwork."
Haxel shrugged in resignation.
"It's company policy. I'm not gonna let the small fuck-ups screw us over when we're only a year from release."
"I get it..." Derek said with a sigh of dismay. "Anyways, can you ask Old Rogers to get Tyler the ship diagnostics? He refuses to speak to him since the New Year's party."
Haxel sighed- again, nodding his head.
"Let me know how it goes with Cortia," He remarked to Derek before exiting the medical bay, grinning as he saw the dramatic salute he gave. He then made his way to the gunnery station to speak with Alina. He passed by a few other stations, greeting each of the crew mates as he walked along.
He found himself at the very center of the ship, in a large room that housed both her bunk & workstation as well as the omnidirectional turret chamber she used to shoot the guns on the top and bottom of the Numia. Tapping his ID card on the door, he watched the light turn green and the entrance slide into hidden reserves.
He saw Alina absent-mindedly repairing a damaged S-20 upgrade module, which provided a faster swivel speed for her turrets. He couldn't help but admire her as she worked, looking over her features.
A light beige and smooth complexion to her skin, dazzling purple eyes caused by ocular albinism, light blonde silky hair, a button nose and thin lips; wearing a grey military uniform with red lining and a grey beret to match. Her black-gloved hands wielded a screwdriver and soldering tool, positioned over the exposed circuitry of the module as she went to work diligently.
Haxel waited until she finished the work, afraid of disrupting the process and causing further malfunction. It took a few minutes, but eventually she put down the tools and wiped her forehead; turning to the right and suddenly yelping in surprise as she spotted Haxel.
"You scared the shit outta me!"
"Uhhh, my bad."
Alina seemed a bit reserved and uncomfortable at first, but eventually cracked an uneasy smile as she comprehended it was Haxel.
"How's it going, Co-captain?" She teased him, using his title instead of his name. Haxel huffed air out of his nose and smirked.
"It's going pretty good, Audie Murphy."
"That would be an understatement, Mister Haxel- He had 241 confirmed kills, I had about ten times that amount!" She openly bragged, clearly still riding the highs of that long-winded battle 3 years later. Haxel shook his head.
"Too bad it only counts hits and not confirmed kills." Haxel prodded her, to great effect. A forehead vein emerged as she grew visibly angry.
"That's a bullshit excuse! Just because this piece of shit can't detect KIAs doesn't mean they didn't happen!"
"Did ya count them?"
"I did."
"How many?"
"Roughly ten times Audie Murphy. 2,387."
"You're now technically a mass murderer."
"It's not murder if it's in war. Also we're literally paid to scout people out so our clients can kill them? Isn't that aiding and abetting?"
"You a lawyer now?"
"By your logic, I'll have to make my case in court soon enough, so I might as well be."
The two of them laughed heartily at the goofy interaction; three years of camaraderie and crazy ordeals led to a close bond amongst the crew that had stuck around for those years. As the silence came forth, Haxel noticed Alina seeming as if she wanted to say something, but was hesitant to.
"What's wrong?" Haxel was naturally inclined to ask. Her eyes dodged between his face to the ground, her stance diminishing from confidence to nervousness.
"I, uh... wanted to talk to you about... something."
"Ask away. Don't care what it's about, I'm not sayin' shit to no one."
The eagerness of Haxel's promise and earnest in his eyes propelled Alina to speak with more certainty.
"The, uh... captain... has been... saying some really lewd stuff to me. He's been... flirting, and grazing my... areas with his hands. He asked me for... sex... a few times in the last few weeks...I don't really feel safe when he's around, but I haven't told anyone else... I don't want to cause any..."
...
...
...What...?
The more she spoke, the harder it felt to hear her statements. There was an anger he'd never felt in his life, boiling up from his stomach and beckoning for his throat. What terrible anger. It slowly died down as he began to think rationally, trying to figure out what to do.
This was a bad situation. He didn't think the Captain was that bold and shameless, to harass one of his crewmates like this. Haxel should've seen the signs in his increased fantasizing, but he'd been ignoring it since it was his last year and he didn't want to stir up trouble.
"I...I'll talk to that degenerate when I get back to the cockpit." Haxel assured her. "I'll make sure he quits his bullshit when we're only a year away from a finished contract. Alright? Just avoid interacting with him right now."
Alina seemed unsure of his confidence, but nodded nonetheless, and Haxel nodded back before departing from the gunnery station. He'd forgotten to get the maintenance report, but that was at the back of his mind. He needed to give his two cents to Tyler.
Day 135
Fuck, Haxel thought in irritation. Sitting in the cockpit alongside Tyler, he felt a deep guilt over his hesitation to confront the captain for 3 days now. He'd never gone up against a superior authority before, especially on a spaceship where the incident in question would shame the superior immensely for being discovered and likely create tons of internal strife that could fuck up the contract for everyone, or cause conflict and interpersonal issues to manifest when they were on missions.
"Hax, take these transcripts and print them. They'll need to be sent to the admiral's fleet tomorrow."
Haxel nodded, gulping reluctantly as he took the notes and strolled over to the printer in the corner of the room to make copies. He continually glanced back at Tyler while performing this task, trying to gather up the courage to broach him about it.
"Fuck, I'm gettin' riled up." Tyler muttered to himself, adjusting the front of his pants and standing up. "Hold the fort down, Hax. I'm taking a... smoke break."
"Uh huh..." Haxel muttered in displeasure, watching as Tyler jumped out of the seat and headed out the door. Haxel sat in the cockpit, reminiscing on the past and struggling to decide on how to proceed with the confrontation.
"Urgh," He muttered with clear frustration. "I can't think when I'm sitting down."
Ensuring the ship was still on maintained autopilot, Haxel got up from his seat and proceeded to the engineering bay to see Old Rogers, the Head Engineer. He had remembered he needed to get the ship diagnostics for the upcoming monthly report on the ship and its crew.
It only took a minute to weave through the ship's interior to reach Engineering; it was placed next to the gunnery station and was centralized in the middle of the ship to make repairs and emergency fixes within equal distance.
The sound of old jazz ("Sweet Ginger Green", by Pearce-Pickering Barrelhouse Jazz Band) pumped through the door, muffled yet audible to Haxel. He carded the door and walked in as it hissed open, revealing Old Rogers banging away at a dented metal sheet, looking up momentarily as Haxel entered the medium-sized workshop filled with gadgets, tools and small machinery.
"Aye, how's it go, Haxel?"
"Goin' good, Rogers. Just came for the ship diagnostics."
Rogers set aside the hammer and sheet, getting up and proceeding to his filing cabinet to remove the paperwork.
"Ya know," He spoke, his Scottish accent pervading every word. "That wee prick at the front has been downright fookin' ungentlemanly since his li'l fiasco at the fookin' New Year's Party."
Haxel threw his hands up in defeat.
"Trust me, I get it. Half the crew likes him, the other half hates him. We only have a year left in our contract, though. Let's just try not to fuck up our paycheck before payday?"
Rogers exhaled indignantly from his mouth, rubbing his greying beard in rumination.
"Aye, ye got a point... alright, if I must tolerate that creep for a bit longer, so be it."
"He's a vulgar creep for sure, right now, but... I'm hoping he can mature out of his... phase. It's unbecoming for a nascent captain like him to throw aside his dignity and horndog in public. I'm sure he'll get over that juvenile behavior soon- maybe when he's seen some actual combat."
Rogers groaned and continued battering at the dented metal with his hammer while he spoke.
"Optimism's great when yer runnin' a fookin' lemonade stand, but when yer stuck with ferteen other flesh-bags on a small shep and venturin' into enemy territ'ry, I'd rather my leaders 'ave cunnin' and wit instead of hopes and shet."
It was damn near impossible to understand half the sentence this old Black Scot just uttered, and so Haxel just sheepishly agreed to the incoherent sentence.
"...Y...Yes...?"
Rogers shook his head, setting his hammer down for a second to take a swig from a half-empty beer bottle set on the table, before resuming his work.
"Listen, lad. I'm glad yer seein' the glass half-full in the others. But ya need to conceive the 'ard truth that some people are just walkin' hazards. Et's only a year left in our contract, so I'm not gonna make a fuss abou' this. But if et were the start of 5 long years? I'd be workin' with the crew to get 'em fookin' ousted. That kinda behavior only elevates on spaceships. Fookin' walkin' red flag, that guy es. Seen et once, seen et a million fookin' times. No self-control, and ya get that."
Haxel sighed, nodding- reaffirmed to speak harshly with Tyler once he got back to the cockpit. He didn't want to start viewing the captain as just pure evil- far from it, as half the crew did like the captain for his good instincts, solid performance and reliability, and excellence behind the wheel under pressure. Haxel needed to speak with some of those that liked him, like Naomi and Barris, and come to a more rounded conclusion. This was one opinion from one man, even if Haxel tended to agree with him.
If it was necessary, Haxel wouldn't take long to hold a vote to brig Tyler and take over as captain himself. But that was only worst case scenario- and naturally, it would be a gamble whether or not the crew voted in his favor; as he could very well be the one who ends up in the brig and a jeopardized payout.
"By the way, lad, if ya don' know what I'm wafflin' abou' jus' say et ou' loud."
"I don't know what you just said."
"Yer a right arse. Hahaha!"
"Right. Well, I'll let you get back to your work, I need to get the monthly report ready."
"Aye, best of luck, lad."
Haxel strolled out of the Engineering Bay, suddenly feeling the onset of a desire to relieve himself. He took a shortcut to the nearest bathroom, located adjacent to the cockpit. Unlike the other bathrooms, it had a really nice black-tiled floor, decorative wallpaper and posh toilets. This meant that most of the other crewmates would go out of their way to head to that bathroom for its improved atmosphere and aesthetic.
He barely comprehended the muted grunts and whimpering as he pushed open the bathroom door-
(Music: "Cataleptic", by Elephant Music)
What the fuck. What the fuck! What the fuck.
Haxel had walked in on Tyler, thrusting his fingers into a horrified and vulnerable Alina and pleasuring himself, clearly taking her against her will as her eyes shed tears of shame and fear, face contorted in complete dread and humiliation; body frozen like a deer in the headlights.
Tyler immediately noticed Haxel and stumbled backward, quickly pulling up his underwear and pants, doggedly trying to explain himself upon deaf ears. Barely comprehending of the circumstance, Haxel gazed slackjawed at Tyler, seeing the writhing desperation and pulsing alarm written across his face as he rambled on. Haxel's eyes drifted towards Alina, bearing witness to her shivering, delicate, bruised body as she straddled the sink as if stabbed in the stomach; a gentle flower trampled and torn of its dignity.
Rage.
"W-We were just chatting casually and sh-she asked me for it! I-I was just coming in here to get m..."
Was this filth still talking? Why was his mouth still moving? Why were his lungs still drawing air?
Haxel could barely think, barely breathe, barely see, hear, smell, taste, feel.
It felt as if a dying star were growing in his chest, setting his body and mind alight with blind apoplexy. He only spent a few more seconds trying to restrain his emotions; to no avail.
He could only recall still images.
He launched toward Tyler, arms outreached.
His hands clasped the collar and they both fell.
Haxel's fists pummeled into his face.
Unrelenting.
Nonstop.
Blood. Blood. Gore. Blood. Gore. Blood.
"S-STOOOOOOOOOOOOHPP!"
Crack. Crack."GHK!" Crack. Crack."Gh...rck..." Crack.
The blood flowed. Screaming. Sobbing. Whimpering. Pain. Chaos. Scribbles. Incomprehensible.
HE TORE INTO HIS FACE WITH ALL HIS MIGHT.
Flesh, muscle, veins, sinew, nerves, bone, marrow.
Eyes, nose, teeth, skin, ears, jaw, sockets, skull, b-r-a-i-n-
His hands hurt. They ached. How many times had he struck? He couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't speak.
Hit, after hit, after hit, after hit, after hit, after hit,
Until-
Haxel came to his senses.
...
...
...
(Music: "Animal Horror", by Kevin Penkin)
Tyler's face was mush, bone fragments, and pummeled organs. Blood was splattered across the floor, the walls, the stalls, the sinks, the ceiling-Haxel's torso, face, fists were caked in blood and gore. It was a complete and abject horror spectacle.
"I...I..."
Wh...What did I do?Haxel questioned himself; overwhelming dread and rapid distress heightened his feelings of anxiety, grief and terror. In the next few seconds,panicset in, and he began to hyperventilate, clutching at his throat and chest, feeling as if he were going to suffocate and his heart would burst at any moment.What did I do? What did I do? What the fuck did I just do? What did I do?! What the hell- What- What- What did I do?!
His gaze happened to frantically wander around, and glanced across the face of Alina, who was left in a state of catatonic shock and slumped to her knees. Seeing her, even in this moment that felt like the rapid ending of his life, was enough for him to engage in extreme denialism and steady his sanity temporarily.
"It's going to be fine..." Haxel muttered incessantly. "It's going to be fine. It's gonna be fine. It'll be fine. Fine. Fine. Fine."
In a complete stupor, he stumbled up from the body of Tyler, slipping in the pools of blood around the body, focusing purely on Alina. He crawled over to her, weakly pulling her pants back up around her waist and re-buttoning. He slowly brought her torso forward and gently pulled back down her sweater, then the undone jacket around her chest, re-buttoning and zipping it up.
"It'll be fine. It'll be fine. It'll be fine."
He finished re-doing her outfit, then in a trance went up to the sink and washed his hands, morbidly feeling chunks of dried blood crack apart and pour into the sink, turning it into a crimson fountain.
"It'll be fine. Fuckin... Yeah. Fuck! It'll be fine. Fine. Fine. Fine."
He cupped his hands, pouring water onto his stained uniform, managing to wash off some of the caked layers of blood but failing to scrub it out completely. He washed his face, his arms, his neck and hair.
Clean. Clean. Pure. Untainted.
He was sopping wet, rid of most the blood he'd wrought upon himself. All that remained was a massive dark splotch that caked the vast majority of his uniform's upper torso.
"It'll.. be fine."
Without sparing a single glance at Tyler's body, he stumbled over to Alina and helped her up onto her feet, directing her towards the door as they both meekly exited the bathroom. Their footsteps echoed harshly through the corridor, as if announcing their presence right after the crime had been committed.
Haxel eventually reached the gunnery station, shakily flagging Alina's card to the scanner and escorting her in. He sat her down across from him, and the two of them simply stared at each other for what felt like the longest while. Just gazing.
Wondering. Comprehending. Fearing. Feeling.
"I...I..." Haxel broke the silence with the weakest of tones. "I'm gonna... take responsibility... just... go... go back to... to gunnery... and... and relax or... yeah... yeah, relax..."
His mind was shattered. His reality was permanently changed. Not only had he committed treason by murdering the onboard captain, he had committed amortal sin.
His life was effectively, over.
With emptied eyes, he stood up and gently took Alina's hand, guilted deeply by the look of half-permanent horror, shock and terror wreaking her features. He led her to the gunnery station, silent and soulless through every passed corridor.
They reached the gunnery station, and Haxel led her in, sitting her down in the chair and staring at her one last time.
"I'm... s...sorry...you had to... see that. I'm sorry... you had to... experience that. I'll be... going now."
Robotically, he turned around and walked towards the cockpit, disconnected from reality by a considerable margin. He walked over to his seat on the right, and simply stared at the camera feed on the screen, vapidly observing the station.
Observing.
A few hours passed, and the Navigations Officer, Cortia, entered the cockpit with a bit of frustration. She noticed Haxel uselessly staring at the camera feed and immediately went to chastise him.
"Hax! Where the fuck is Tyler?! I've been radioing in for coordinate updates since eight o'clock!"
She was immensely disconcerted when Haxel's eyes drifted aimlessly from the screen to her face, and she became even more unsettled as she saw the look of overwhelming trauma smeared across his face and wreathed over his body like a curse. Then she noticed the mounds of dried blood stained across his uniform, and a cold, horrifying chill ran over her mind and spine.
"Wh-What...Whathappened?!"
"I, uh... Tyler, uh... I found... I saw him... uh... r-...he was, uh... forcing himself... on someone. In the... the... bathroom..."
Cortia was only more frightened and somewhat uncomprehending of that stilted explanation, and Haxel suddenly got up, dragging his feet and exiting the cockpit.
"Wh-Where... are you... going..." Cortia muttered, still not comprehending the horror in her mind and instead choosing to follow him nevertheless as they proceeded through the corridor. She couldn't befullysure it was blood on his uniform, because they were already dark by default. It could have... very well been an oil spillage. Or something like that. It had to be.
They eventually stood in front of the bathroom, and Haxel opened the door absentmindedly, revealing-
"Oh- Oh!Oh, my god! Oh! No, no!"
Cortia bore witness to the most horrifying sight she'd ever seen in her life; the dismantled face of Tyler, splayed awkwardly across the floor; blood and gore splashed like a crimson wave across the floor and back wall of the bathroom.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
She screamed in unfettered terror and immediately bolted, leaving Haxel to leave the bathroom door open without a care in the world, shuffling back to the cockpit to accomplish some task unknowable to him.
His mind was frayed. His reality was brutally changed for good. He couldn't bear the horrors being heaped upon him in droves.
He just wanted... some quiet.
