Work Text:
1zzyHanzBot tracked Dr. Roach down on the bridge, where he was monitoring the crew through the ship’s camera feeds.
“What the fuck is happening?” 1zzy asked.
In the vending room, Oluwande was earnestly telling Jim how amazing they were. “I love it when you stab things. Even when you’re just putting those little fruits on a cocktail sword.”
Jim looked around with alarm. “That stuff’s private, Olu,” they hissed. But when they reached for Oluwande’s hand, they appeared to soften.
“It's some kind of infection,” Roach said. “Spreads through touch, but it isn’t particularly dangerous. It seems to react with their soft human brains like alcohol. Your basic loss of inhibition.”
“So they get stupid and sing karaoke?”
Roach switched the monitor feed to the mess, where Stede, shirtless, had been singing the entirety of something called The Pirates of Penzance, a piece of 19th century media that had been lost to time, thank the good Robot Jesus. He’d unearthed a sword from somewhere, a dull costume prop at least, but he was still a menace to anyone who came near. Ed sat on one of the tables and watched, a sickeningly lovestruck look on his face.
As far as either 1zzy or Roach could tell, Ed wasn’t even infected yet.
“Did you hide Jim’s knives?”
1zzy thumped his metal torso and the knives clanked. “What about Lucius?”
“He’s still hiding in the panic room. From the, and I quote, “atrocious display of musical theatre.”
“How long until you have an antidote ready?”
Roach pulled a flask of violently blue liquid from his coat pocket. “It’s ready.”
“Then what the fuck are we waiting for? If you don’t make this fucking stop, I’m airlocking the lot of them.”
Roach clicked his mandibles. “I want to see how the opera ends.”