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MIRA’s signing center was on an asteroid in the middle of nowhere in the galaxy. It was hidden away, surrounded by black night and orbiting an uninhabited mining planet that MIRA had long since exhausted the resources of.
The terribly lonely place only served to further isolate Purple, who had just ran out of the board room some MIRA representative had brought them and the other intern into.
“Signing this non-disclosure agreement will allow you both to keep your assignments here at MIRA, and earn you both an immediate promotion as well as exclusive benefits…”
It’s just…
“Are we sure we can trust this, Red?”
They saw Red, shrugging, so indifferent to the pain they had both seen, and…
“I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.”
It was too much.
“I’m sorry—e-excuse me. I need a minute- to… to think.”
Now they were sitting outside, on the harsh, discomforting rock, leaning against the shoddy metal walls of the corporate building. They felt their feet skid a bit as they pulled their knees up into a ball, raising their hands to the top of their head in a futile attempt to protect themself from their oncoming fate.
Because it was true. They already knew fully well how it would end. The whole story began to unfold in pictures in their head, like yet another corporate presentation.
Purple would be fired, without sympathy from the representatives. They’d be sent back to their home planet, and everything they had to pay to get the internship in the first place would be discarded like ash in the wind. Then, they’d be back to job hunting, for days on end, scrolling on their phone, listing after listing after listing. But none would interest them, and none would hire them anyway.
So then they’d be kicked out of their apartment, and have to go back to their birthplace to beg for their parents to pick them back up again, but it wouldn’t work in the first place because they were the ones that kicked them out originally. So then they would have spent the last of their beans on the flight there, and without any way of getting back to their belongings, and no shelter or money, they’d curl up and die of starvation after weeks of painful, hungering, begging nights on their family’s porch.
…Unless they signed the NDA.
But, no, they wouldn’t. That would go against every moral standard they had ever built for themself up to that point. Red and them both saw the people crowding onto that cramped, broken little ship, to go God knows where under MIRA’s ugly clawtips.
So… what else did they have?
Maybe… maybe they had to convince Red. Surely it wouldn’t take much. Red was… (sometimes) a great listener. Purple believed that their intern friend would work with them. The both of them could work together to support each other no matter where they went. Hell, Red seemed to be a lot more well-off in terms of their family than Purple. Maybe, with a bit of luck, they’d be let in. Maybe they could be a part of a family again…
Purple shook their head, standing up and stretching out their fingers. That would all be for later. For now, it was decided. They would just have to convince Red—maybe they just hadn’t seen those people on the ship. They knew Red wasn’t so heartless as to let all of those people’s stories go unheard.
So, they went back up the small steel ramp, opening the door to the board room for the second time to pull their friend aside and give them a proper verdict.
…Just to see Red smiling, shaking the hand of the representative with a paper between them, notarized.
Purple couldn’t believe what they were seeing at first. They thought they were a team. No agreements were made without each other. Two silly, inexperienced interns against the world.
“...R…Red?” they prodded, voice like a feather in the cold room. “Did you…”
“Yup! I’ve gotten it all taken care of, Purps. All you need to do is sign your half.” They picked up the paper and presented it to the other, tapping the bottom. Despite their innocent tone, all Purple could hear was malice. Corruption. MIRA had sunk their manipulation deep into the heart of their friend.
“Red—” Purple found it hard to breathe. They tried to keep their voice low, eyeing the representative, but they were panicking. They needed to destroy that paper, now.
“Didn’t you see all the crewmates outside—on the ship—trying to get home? A-All the people that the reactor—we didn’t get help with the reactor, Red, it—I, I can’t sign this. You need to erase that signature. You—You can’t do this to those people.”
“Purple—It’s alright. They’re gonna get help, they’ve got MIRA.”
“MIRA are the ones that caused this in the first place, though,” they pointed out, hands starting to shake as they pushed the document far from their face. “It’s not worth it. W-Whatever they told you, it’s not worth it.”
The person at the desk tapped their digits against the table in a rhythm, and raised a waxed eyebrow, only adding to their growing discomfort. It felt like a ticking time bomb had just now been strapped to their chest, and the only way to cut the right wire was to pick a side—join Red and leave a hundred innocent people to stay silent and displaced, or join the innocents and be displaced themself.
Neither were pleasant options. But it was okay. There was maybe a third option—a breakthrough that would defuse it with just a bit of coding. Just talking to Red.
“Destroy the paper, Red,” they breathed after a long bout of silence. “We can stick together in this. If we don’t sign it, we’ve got each other to help. We don’t need MIRA. We don’t need this job. We can go elsewhere. We can go back home.” They realized that their own dreams for their relationship were beginning to seep into their words, but they didn’t care. Whatever helped to influence Red here would be used.
Red grabbed a pen.
“I can’t. I’ve already signed it. It’s done.”
Purple almost fell to their knees to beg, but held strong, grabbing Red’s hands and cupping them in theirs, watching in satisfaction as both of the items dropped to the floor. “It’s not done. Destroy the paper. Step on it, Red.”
Red stared down at the little mess the both of them had made, but Purple kept their eyes on Red. Their visor was cloudy.
“Purple, listen to me.”
A lightning bolt of hope jutted through their body, making them flinch. But the words weren’t accepted. They were saddened.
“It would be much easier if you just signed it.”
“Red—”
“Purple, it’s going to be okay. It’s just a tiny signature.”
“I can’t.”
“We’ll both get benefits,” they argued. “We’ll get promoted. We’ll get money for our trouble. We’ll get free rides back to the MIRA headquarters and then back to our personal homes to pack our stuff and live there. They’ll tack on more if you need it, Purps. They told me themself.
“Think about it, Purps… We’ll have everything we ever dreamed of.”
Purple’s brain was everywhere. It wasn’t true, all of this nonsense. They weren’t giving any of that. It was all a ruse just to make them shut up about MIRA’s mess up. Red gently knitted their fingers into Purple’s, reminding them they were there, but it was too much. It didn’t make any sense. Why were they doing this?
“They’re lying, Red.”
Purple wiped their visor, pulling one hand away from their friend’s to do so.
“You’ve gotta believe me. They’re lying.”
“They’re not lying.”
“Destroy the paper.”
“I won’t.”
Red stayed almost effortlessly calm throughout the endeavor. It felt so out of character for the fellow employee—like all the corporate propaganda had finally gotten to them, pulling their heart out and reducing them to a shell. Their little sympathetic, yet subliminally convincing grin… it reminded them of all that they hated about the world, about MIRA’s monopoly, about the companies that had thrown everyone and everything aside for beans and selfishness.
Purple wriggled their hands out from Red’s grasp, gently pushing them away.
“Then… then you know we can’t be together like this.” Purple gave their final plea. “I have to go home. And you have to go to work. And I won’t… forgive you for letting all of the crewmates die under MIRA.”
Red looked betrayed, reaching their hand back out towards them, trying to pull them back into the comforting grip of each other’s warmth. “No. We can be together. You just have to sign—”
Purple pushed them away a second time. “I’m not doing it. Destroy the paper… or… or this—” they gesture vaguely to the both of them, and all around the room. “—this is over.”
Red stared down at the document, kneeling and picking it back up from the floor alongside the pen.
“Purps… you know I can’t.”
The last of their hope had already died before that moment. They knew fully well Red would say no. But some small part of them needed it confirmed. They needed their ‘future captain’ to say it so that they’d be fully prepared to let all of their dreams go.
“Then that’s it.”
Purple swallowed harshly, pushing past Red and stepping up to the desk. Everything hurt. They felt like they could collapse and die any moment now.
“Fire me,” they demanded, leaning up against the wood and over the MIRA employee.
“Alright. You're fired." They said it with satisfaction, and a completeness, like they had been waiting for this moment. Their joy was veiled behind a thin-lipped “frown”.
“Thank you,” Purple found themself saying against their will, a byproduct of the months they had spent training and working for this moment. They hated themself when they said it. “Goodnight.”
Purple adjusted the MIRA Corporation cap on their head, before realizing the filth they were touching and throwing it into the trash bin. Red caught it just before it hit the bag.
“Purps, wait—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I’ll pay for your trip back home. I’ll give you all the beans you need for rent. Please don’t leave.”
Purple walked down the ramp onto the lumpy ground of the asteroid, hands balled into fists.
“Please?”
Their hand was reaching out towards Purple. They could feel it. They shrugged them off, not daring to look back.
“It’s no big deal, right, Red?”
“Purple…”
“Just piss off already. It’s done. It’s over. I don’t want your money. I don’t want your handouts. I want you to leave me alone.”
They walked over to the dropship that led them there and asked the waiting captain to bring them back home, voice dull as they offered the last of the dwindling supply in their wallet.
The captain took it, and Purple went to sit down alone, strapping themself in next to cargo crates and motivational posters. They fumbled through their wallet to see if they had anything else of use.
Their crewmate ID. The broken card for their intern lanyard. A photo of Red.
They put all of the items quickly back inside the small leather container. No, none of this was useful.
Never again would it be.
Never again.