Chapter Text
The universe doesn't have a reset button. Trust me, I’ve looked. When you spend weeks trapped on the Skeld, watching everything fall apart piece by piece, something inside your head just snaps. It all started so stupidly. A trust ball. A pizza party where "nothing bad happens." We were just supposed to be transport officers carrying Ore+ to Industria. I was the captain, damn it! I was supposed to be in control. But control is a joke when you're trapped with a literal monster. I can still see Blue's face. The "hot doctor" everyone was fawned over (I’m still better), visor mauled out. That was the moment reality hit us. Or maybe it was when White’s body cut in half right in front of us? Who’s to say. Then Lime's body was ripped apart by Orange... I trusted Orange. We tried to hold meetings. We tried to act like a civilized crew. We let Orange play the Head of HR, treating a slaughterhouse like a corporate compliance issue until they got themself exposed to killing Lime right before being ejected.
The paranoia didn't just crawl into the vents, though. Yellow and Brown, just trying to do their job as best friends... Cyan's body, dead, in the Electrical room just trying to fix the lights. Every time we thought we had it figured out, we just threw another innocent soul into the freezing dark. We frozen-ejected Yellow. We heard Black get killed from afar. The noisemaker, they were, honestly. And Green... the clueless, unpaid intern we all felt sorry for? The kid we thought was just a bumbling nobody who lived on, what, a worm farm? They were the monster the entire time. They were the alien, systematically killing and crushing everyone while playing us like a violin. But the thing that haunts me the most? The thing that keeps my hands shaking beneath my gloves? Rule 214…
I knew. Deep down in the Captain’s Handbook, hidden away under corporate black ink; MIRA HQ knew the entire time. Aliens are REAL and they like to KILL. I hid that handbook in my bag because I was terrified of what would happen if the crew found out we were sent on practically a suicide mission. And when Purple (my own Chief of Security) tackled me, dumped my backpack, and read that rule out loud to the remaining survivors... The look of absolute, soul-crushing betrayal in their eyes was worse than any blade or alien tentacle. Purple told me we could have saved everyone who died. Maybe they were right. Maybe I am a coward.
In the end, it was just a meat grinder of secrets and blood. Alliances shattered, the reactor pushed to the absolute brink, and a final, exploding countdown where long-running tensions finally tore the Skeld apart. Purple and I? We survived. We defeated the threat, but we didn't win. We’re the only ones left alive, stepping off a ghost ship covered in the ash of our friends. And MIRA HQ expects us to just file a report? They expect us to hand over the logs to the person who signed our death warrants?
Pink.
They think we're still the same compliant crewmates who left the launchpad. They don't know what the Skeld did to us. We’re not here to report. We're here for blood, and we're not stopping this time until we get answers!
———
The mechanical hum of the shaft vibrated right through the soles of my boots, a low, rhythmic drone that did absolutely nothing to calm the storm brewing in my chest. Inside the cramped capsule, the silence between Purple and me felt so thick you could cut it with a knife. It was the kind of heavy, suffocating quiet we used to get on the Skeld right after an ejection, when nobody wanted to look each other in the eye because deep down, we all knew we might have just thrown an innocent soul into the void. I stood near the control panel, my hand practically locked around the grip of my polished handbook. The fabric, texture of paper, was cold against my gloves, a grounding weight that reminded me I was still alive. That I was still Captain Red. That the only reason I ever had a chance to succeed in life was to work at Mira. For now, at least. I kept my eyes glued to the illuminated floor indicator, watching the numbers tick down, my shoulders tense and rigid. Next to me, Purple was leaning heavily against the back wall. Their fingers were restlessly tapping against their utility belt, a frantic, uneven morse code of pure anxiety, you could tell.
The bright, pristine lighting of the elevator cast harsh, unforgiving reflections across both of our scratched and soot-stained suits. It felt completely wrong. We looked like two ghosts who had crawled out of a graveyard, standing inside a sickeningly immaculate, untouched corporate paradise. "Are we really doing this?" Purple asked, breaking the silence. Their voice was a low, fragile whisper, barely carrying over the mechanical drone of the shaft. They didn't look at me, keeping their visor trained strictly on the polished doors ahead, but I could see the slight tremor in their shoulders. "We don't even know what's waiting for us down there, Red. If Pink knew what happened on the Skeld... if they knew about Rule 214 being leaked to the rest of the crew..."
“They knew the entire time," I snapped, a bitter, sharp edge cutting through my words like a scalpel. I didn't turn around, but my grip on the handbook tightened until the fabric wrinkled under the pressure.
"They wrote the damn handbook, Purple! They knew exactly what was out there waiting for us in the dark, and they signed the deployment orders anyway. We weren't a crew to them. We were a disposable asset. An experiment to see how long we’d last, or a cleanup crew meant to vanish. I don't care which, anyway! They sent us to die. And even if I was Captain, as much as I’d like to keep my job… I’d much rather keep you by my side, Purple."
Purple shifted their weight, their heavy boots scuffing against the spotless floor, leaving a dark streak of engine grease behind. Were they embarrassed? "But we don't have a backup. There's no shuttle coming to save us if this goes south. It's just the two of us. If we walk into Pink's office and start swinging that handbook right in their face, we aren't making it off this station alive. We're walking into a trap."
"I'm not looking to make it off alive," I muttered. My voice dropped, losing its anger and flattening into a cold, hard resolve that terrified even me. "I'm looking for the truth. I want Pink to look at us in the visor and tell us why Blue had to die. I want them to explain why Lime had to die, why Orange had to die, and why every single one of our friends had to be systematically slaughtered because of some corporate secret hidden in a backpack. We're going to get into that office, we're going to corner them, and we're not leaving until they account for every single body we left behind on that ship! I am the Captain, and that, right there, is my final decision!"
Purple finally turned their head, their cracked visor reflecting my rigid, tense stance. For a long, agonizing moment, they didn't say anything. They just stared at me, searching for any sign of hesitation. Then, they let out a slow, steady breath, their shoulders dropping just a fraction of an inch as they accepted it. "Fine," Purple said, their voice steadying.
"But we play it smart. We stick together, side by side. If things go sideways... we don't leave each other behind. Not like what happened on the Skeld. We finish this together. A team." I turned my head slightly, meeting their gaze through the scratched glass of my helmet. The shared weight of every horror we had survived passed between us in a single, silent understanding. "A team. No matter what.“
The elevator began to slow down, a smooth, agonizing deceleration that made my stomach sink into my boots. The loud mechanical hum faded into a soft, electronic click, and a cheerful, high-pitched chime echoed through the small space, signaling our arrival at the Ground Floor. "Get ready," I whispered, shifting my footing into a defensive stance and lifting the handbook just an inch higher. My self-defense weapon! "The second these doors open, we find the path to the office. Keep your guard up." The elevator doors slid open with another cheerful, sterile ding that felt like a mockery of everything we had just spoken into existence. I didn't step out immediately. I froze, my boots anchored to the floor of the cab, my eyes scanning the perimeter through the narrow field of vision in my scratched visor. My hand was clamped so tightly around the grip of my handbook that my fingers were starting to go numb inside my glove. I expected a security checkpoint. I expected a wall of automated turrets, or at least a squad of heavily armed Mira guards waiting to put us in cuffs the second the threshold was crossed. Instead, the view that flooded through my visor completely threw my brain into a tailspin.
We weren't standing in a sleek, intimidating, dark corporate boardroom. We were looking out at a massive, sun-drenched lobby. The floors were made of polished white stone, buffed to such a high shine that the overhead grow-lights reflected off the surface like sunlight on calm water. The walls didn't look like the cramped, industrial metal plating of the Skeld; they were seamless, opening up into a sprawling indoor courtyard filled with actual, living green trees, manicured bushes, and rows of vibrant plants. The air that drifted into the elevator didn't smell like ozone, stale sweat, and old copper. It smelled like wet dirt and fresh leaves. It looked less like the nerve center of a galactic superpower and more like a high-end luxury space resort. "What the..." I muttered, my voice dropping into a low, bewildered growl. I lowered my handbook by a fraction of an inch, my eyes darting frantically from a towering fern to a decorative waterfall cascading down a glass partition. "This isn't an office. Where the hell did they drop us?"
"Red," Purple whispered from right behind my shoulder, their hand reaching out to firmly grasp my upper arm. Their grip was trembling. "Look over there. By the pillars." I snapped my visor toward the right side of the lobby. Standing near a massive structural column was a… crewmate? They weren't wearing armor, and they weren't holding a weapon. Instead, they were completely swallowed up by a towering, precarious stack of cardboard boxes that reached way past their visor. They had been mid-stride, likely hauling supplies from some storage bay, but the second they caught sight of us, they stopped dead in their tracks. Their name was Banana, I’m assuming, based on their color. Through the clear glass of the lobby, the contrast between us must have been horrifying. Purple and I looked like we had just crawled out of a war zone. Our suits were deeply scuffed, covered in dark streaks of engine grease, soot from the reactor flare, and the faint, unmistakable stains of dried grime from the Skeld’s corridors. Our visors were scratched to hell. And there we were, hunched over in combat stances, clutching a heavy iron wrench like we were ready to bludgeon the first thing that moved. Banana stared at us. The boxes in their arms gave a dangerous, wobbling tilt to the left. For a second, nobody moved. The only sound was the distant, gentle trickling of the lobby's decorative waterfall.
Then, Banana panicked. They didn't call for a security lockdown, and they didn't drop the boxes to run away. Instead, they frantically tried to reach for a small, standard-issue walkie-talkie clipped to their utility belt using only one hand. The sudden shift in balance was disastrous. The top three boxes slid right off the stack, hitting the pristine white floor with a loud, echoing CRASH that sent packing peanuts flying in every direction. Banana didn't even care about the mess. They slammed their thumb onto the talkie's input button, their voice bursting through the local comm channel with a high-pitched, stuttering frequency.
“Uh, Rose? Rose, copy that? Are you on this channel? We’ve got… uh, people in the lobby. They just came down the launchpad elevator. They look kind of lost. Or dangerous. Mostly lost. And Red, oh my gosh, they look really, really dirty, Rose!” I tensed, my boots immediately shifting back into a defensive pivot. Rose. I didn't know a Rose. Was that a code name for a security team? A tactical unit? A loud, violent burst of static answered Banana's transmission, the voice on the other end sounding completely breathless and frantic. “On it! I’m coming! Keep them right there, Banana! Don't let them move, and whatever you do, don't let them touch the ferns! I just watered them and they are highly sensitive to negative energy!!!”
"Purple, move," I hissed, grabbing the back of their suit and pulling them out of the elevator cab as the doors began to automatically close behind us. "We need to find a staircase… o-or a map before whatever they called gets down here."
"Where do we go?" Purple asked, their visor spinning around the wide-open lobby. There were too many paths, too many bright glass corridors branching off into the unknown. "It's too open. We're sitting ducks out here!” Before I could even pick a direction, a literal blur of pink and green came flying out of a side corridor at Mach speed. CRASH. We both flinched, pulling our weapons up (mine was a handbook, Purple’s was whatever they could grab) as the pastel pink figure completely lost their footing on the freshly buffed stone floor. They didn't hit us… instead, they went sliding right past our boots on their hands and knees like a curling stone on ice. A plastic clapperboard and a heavy pair of metal pruning shears flew right out of their grip, clattering loudly against the base of a giant potted palm tree. "Ugh!" a muffled, incredibly cheerful voice cried out from the floor.
The pastel pink crewmate lay flat on their stomach for a fraction of a second, their limbs splayed out. They were wearing a bizarre setup; a dark green gardener's outfit with oversized pockets pulled over their pastel pink spacesuit, and a literal, bright red rose clip stuck awkwardly to the left side of them. Purple and I both took a massive step back, our defensive stances utterly ruined by the sheer absurdity of what we were looking at. I held the handbook high, my mind racing. Was this a tactical distraction? Was this person trying to throw us off our guard before a strike team breached the windows?
But the pastel pink crewmate, assuming was the Rose the other guy was talking about, didn't draw a weapon. Instead, they sprang back up to their feet like an absolute cartoon character, completely ignoring the new scuff marks on their knees and the dust on their suit. They patted themselves down with rapid, energetic slaps, reached up to straighten their tilted rose clip, and beamed at us through their spotless visor. The sheer volume of their upbeat energy practically radiated off them, filling the tense space between us like an unwanted wave of heat. "Hi! Hello! Welcome to MIRA HQ!" Rose practically sang, clapping their hands together with genuine, unbridled excitement. "Oh my gosh, you guys must be the new recruits from the outer rim! We’ve been waiting for the next transport shuttle to arrive all morning! Look at you both, so... rustic! I absolutely love the rugged, distressed look. Very avant-garde. Did you guys do that to your suits on purpose, or was the shuttle ride just super bumpy?"
"Wait, no, we're not—" I started, my voice gravelly, harsh, and completely shredded from weeks of screaming over alarms. I tried to cut through their relentless optimism, stepping forward to project as much authority as a captain could muster. "We're looking for Pink," Purple tried to interject, stepping up right beside me to back me up, their arm extending to point toward the upper levels. "We need to get to the executive office. Immediately."
"Oh, aren't we all? The big boss is super busy today, corporate meetings, budget reviews, all that boring high-altitude stuff, but don't you worry your pretty little visors off, I am your official ground-floor tour guide!" Rose didn't even let us finish our breath. They didn't just ignore our words, it was like their brain literally couldn't process anything that wasn't part of their pre-planned welcome routine. Before I could even register the movement or pull away, Rose lunged forward with terrifying speed, grabbed me firmly by the hand with a grip that was surprisingly, deceptively strong, and began forcefully dragging me down the main hallway toward the greenhouse entrance. "Come along, come along! No time to waste!" Rose cheered, waving their free hand back at Purple to follow. "Let's get you two completely acquainted with the ground floor crew before your official orientation starts! You're going to love it here, the oxygen levels are to die for!"
I exchanged a long, panicked, completely bewildered look with Purple over my shoulder as my boots dragged against the pristine stone. New recruits? They genuinely thought we were just a couple of low-level transfers. If MIRA HQ hadn't processed the Skeld's final logs yet, or if Pink was keeping the massacre a secret from their own staff... we had an advantage. We were invisible. I let my hand relax just a fraction, though my fingers stayed firmly locked around the handle of my wrench, hidden against the fabric of my suit. "Fine," I muttered under my breath, my internal monologue dropping back into a cold, calculating rhythm. "Lead the way, 'Rose'. Let's see who else you've got down here."
The hallway opened up directly into the Greenhouse. The heat hit me first. Thick, humid, tropical air that felt heavy against the fabric of my suit. Giant, twisting vines climbed up the walls toward the massive glass dome overhead, where the bright sky filtered down over rows of floating hydroponic trays. It was lush, loud with the sound of automated misters, and completely overwhelming. Rose finally let go of my hand, spinning around to face Purple and me with their hands resting on their hips, their rose clip bobbing with the movement.
"Okay, so! First stop on our magical mystery tour: the Greenhouse!" Rose announced, their voice echoing in the vast, green space. "This is my absolute favorite spot on the entire station. I spend about eighty percent of my time here, making sure our little green friends are happy, healthy, and producing the absolute best oxygen in the quadrant! If you ever need a peaceful moment to clear your head after a long shift, or if you just want to talk to some incredibly supportive ferns, I am your person. I’ve personally named every single plant in this room, and today we are going to learn—" The heavy, metallic sliding door to our left groaned open. A crewmate in a deep maroon suit stepped into the room, holding a clipboard and looking over some data sheets. Rose froze mid-sentence. The blinding, energetic smile radiating through their visor instantly vanished. Their posture slumped, their hands dropping lifelessly to their sides. "Oh," Rose said, their voice dropping from a bubbly, high-pitched sing-song straight into a completely flat, deadpan monotone. "And... you."
Purple and I glanced at each other, our guards still halfway up but completely thrown by the sudden shift in the room's atmosphere. Maroon didn't even look up from their clipboard at first. They just tapped their stylus against the screen, their voice sounding exhausted and thoroughly unimpressed. "The pH levels in tray four are fluctuating again, Rose. I told you, you're over-watering the soil. If the roots rot, the whole sector's air quality drops by two percent!"
"Everyone," Rose sighed, still using that completely drained, robotic voice, pointing a single, limp finger toward Maroon. "This is Maroon. They are technically supposed to be supervising the irrigation logs. But mostly, they just look for the quietest corner in the Greenhouse to take a two-hour nap behind the beanstalks. If you ever need to find someone who has mastered the art of doing absolutely nothing while holding a clipboard to look busy, they're your go-to." Maroon didn't even blink at the callout. They slowly leaned their body against a nearby hydroponic tower, yawning loudly through their comms. They looked down at their clipboard, which was literally just a blank screen, and then lazily glanced over at Purple and me. They took in our deeply scratched, grease-stained suits and the handbook I was still tightly gripping."Are these the new transfers?" Maroon asked, their voice dripping with slow, unbothered exhaustion. "Cool. Hopefully, one of you knows how to check the water valves, because I am definitely not doing it today. Way too much moving around." Maroon let out a long, heavy sigh, shifting their weight from one foot to the other as if just standing upright was a massive ordeal. They tapped their stylus lazily against the edge of their blank clipboard, their visor turning slowly toward Rose.
"Listen, Rose, buddy, pal," Maroon droned, their voice dripping with practiced, persuasive slow-motion charm. "Since you’re already up, and you’ve got all that... terrifyingly bright energy going on... do you think you could do me a quick solid? There are three crates of fertilizer by the back door. They’re heavy. Like, really heavy. If I lift them, I might throw out my back, and then who's going to stare at this clipboard? The whole ground floor infrastructure will collapse!" Rose didn't even blink. The second Maroon started talking, Rose's bubbly posture completely locked down into a rigid, unimpressed wall. "No," Rose said instantly, their monotone voice cutting off Maroon's pitch before it could even gain momentum. "Come on, just the small ones?" Maroon pressed, leaning a bit closer, trying to look as pathetic and helpless as possible. "I'll let you name my salad?? You love naming things! You could name it 'Rose Junior.' Think about the legacy."
"I said no, Maroon," Rose replied, crossing their arms firmly over their gardener's outfit. The rose clip on their helmet didn't even twitch. "Your lazy Jedi mind tricks don't work on me. I moved the heavy soil bags for you last Tuesday because you claimed your suit's internal gravity generator was malfunctioning. It wasn't. You were just taking a nap inside an empty crate."
"It was a tactical rest," Maroon corrected smoothly, not looking ashamed in the slightest. was highly ergonomic."
“You don’t even know what that word means!” I stood there, my hand still resting on my wrench, watching this absolute circus unfold. Beside me, Purple's visor darted between the two of them, their shoulders tensing up again. We had just escaped a literal slaughterhouse on the Skeld, and these two were standing in a giant glass room arguing about fertilizer crates and tactical naps. It was infuriating. It was completely ridiculous.
"Hey," I shouted (call it my Captain Voice!), stepping forward to break up the banter. My voice cut through the humid greenhouse air like a hacksaw. "We don't care about your crates. We're trying to find—"
"Oh, right! Moving on!" Rose snapped right back into their high-pitched, hyper-energetic tour guide persona, completely ignoring my interruption. They grabbed my arm again with that deceptively strong grip, spinning us back toward the exit doors. "Maroon, go do your job! New recruits, next stop on the tour: the Decontamination corridor! It’s super shiny!" Maroon lazily waved a hand at us as we were dragged away. "Bye. Don't work too hard."
"Alright, buckle up, new recruits! Next up is our state-of-the-art Decontamination corridor!" Rose beamed, pushing a large green button on the wall. "It’s super shiny, completely sterile, and the perfect place to wash away all that... whatever it is you have on your suits! It takes exactly ten seconds, and the mist is cherry-scented today!" The massive steel doors hissed open.
Standing right in the center of the narrow chamber, completely unbothered by the automated nozzles preparing to spray, was a crewmate in a sleek, immaculate Gray suit. This Gray carried themselves with rigid, military-grade precision. They wore a heavy tactical vest over their suit, a pair of formal cuffs, and held a standard-issue clipboard clutched tightly against their chest like a soldier presenting a weapon.They looked like they had stepped straight out of a government tactical unit, ready to enforce regulations at any cost. Unlike before, Rose didn't lose an ounce of their bright energy. They hopped on their heels, waving their arms enthusiastically.
"Oh, look! It's Gray!" Rose cheered, their voice practically singing through the comms. "Everyone, this is Gray! They run our ground-floor security compliance and tactical oversight. They are so incredibly organized, even if they're a little bit intense about the rules. Gray, look! We have new transfers!" Gray didn't flinch. They turned their head slowly, their pristine, unscratched visor reflecting the chaotic state of my dented armor and the heavy handbook still gripped in my hand. They adjusted their cuffs with a sharp, synchronized snap. "Rose," Gray said, their voice crisp, authoritative, and strictly professional. "You are currently operating behind your scheduled orientation itinerary. Furthermore, you are bringing unsanitized personnel into a secure sector without a formal decontamination screening. Regulations explicitly state—"
"Oh, we're just about to do the cherry mist right now!" Rose interrupted brightly, completely unfazed by the military demeanor. Gray’s visor fixed onto Purple and me, their eyes scanning our grease-stained suits. "Red. Purple. Your current gear is highly irregular, and your armor shows signs of severe kinetic damage. State your primary directives on this station for the official log." I narrowed my visor. This Gray wasn't like the lazy Maroon. They were looking at us like a soldier auditing a security breach.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, echoing thud inside the cramped space of my suit. I shifted my weight, trying to subtly pull the heavy handbook closer to my side, but under Gray’s sharp, unblinking glare, every single movement felt like a blatant admission of guilt. This wasn’t like dealing with Rose’s cheerful oblivion or Maroon’s lazy indifference. Gray was a wall of pure, unyielding protocol. If they demanded our official transfer papers or pulled up our logs, the whole thing would blow up right here in the decontamination lock. I was about to speak, but my throat felt completely dry, my usual commanding captain’s voice locking up entirely under the pressure.
"They're just completely overwhelmed!" Rose chirped, stepping right into the tense gap between us and saving me from my own silence. Rose slapped a playful hand against my dented shoulder piece, entirely missing how hard I flinched. "You know how the outer rim transport shuttles are, Gray! No gravity stabilizers, terrible Wi-Fi, and absolutely zero luxury. These poor things have been traveling for weeks! They're just new recruits experiencing a little bit of classic MIRA HQ culture shock. Cut them a tiny bit of slack?" Gray didn't answer right away. Their visor slowly tilted downward, tracking the lines of my suit until their gaze locked onto the handbook. Peeking out from the book I was trying to hide behind my bean body was the distinct, red-and-gold embossed corner of the Captain’s Handbook.
Beside me, Purple completely froze. I could hear their breath hitch over the local comms channel. If Gray knew what that book was—if they recognized the restricted, high-level manual that a couple of supposedly low-level "new recruits" definitely shouldn't have—it was over. My grip on that handbook tightened. I braced myself to swing, preparing for the absolute worst. Gray stared at the handbook for three agonizing, suffocating seconds. Then, with a sharp, synchronized snap of their wrist, Gray closed their clipboard and adjusted their cuffs once more. They didn't say a word about the book. They didn't call for backup.
"The explanation is... logged," Gray stated, their tone remaining entirely flat, professional, and unreadable. They stepped back, clearing the path through the narrow chamber. "Proceed with decontamination immediately, Rose. Do not permit your group to stray from the designated orientation pathway. The upper levels are currently restricted.“
"Yay! Thank you, Gray! You're the absolute best!" Rose squealed, instantly hitting the button for the automated mist before Gray could change their mind. As the thick, cherry-scented decontamination spray flooded the chamber and obscured everything in a pink fog, I let out a breath I didn't realize I’d been holding. Gray knew something. They had seen it, and they chose to stay silent.
The far doors of Decontamination hissed open, and the thick, sweet scent of cherry mist gave way to the faint smell of fresh laundry and plastic. Rose didn't lose a single beat of their momentum, marching us straight across the hall and through the doorway of the Locker Room. The room was lined with rows of clean, white storage lockers, a few benches bolted to the floor, and a shelf stacked with extra oxygen tanks. But as we stepped inside, the room was completely dead and silent. The benches were empty. Rose stopped right in the middle of the room, their hands dropping to their hips as their visor darted from one corner to the other.
"Huh, that’s weird," Rose mused, their upbeat voice tilting into a slightly confused pout. "Banana is totally supposed to be in here organizing the extra hazard suits right now. They promised me they’d have the shelves all dusted before the new recruits arrived! Where could they have possibly gone? It’s not like them to just vanish into thin air—"
"Excuse me," a soft voice mumbled from right behind them.
"AH!" Rose shrieked, their entire body leaving the floor as they jumped a foot into the air. They spun around in a blind panic, their gardening shears clattering loudly against a locker door as they practically threw themselves behind me for protection. Banana was just standing there. They were still holding two leftover cardboard boxes, their yellow helmet tilted slightly to the side in complete, utter confusion. They hadn't snuck up on anyone; they had literally just walked in through the back door to finish their job, completely unaware that they were about to trigger a tactical jump-scare. "Oh my gosh, Banana!" Rose gasped, clutching their chest and peeking out from behind my shoulder, their rose clip dangling precariously on their helmet. "You can't just sneak up on people like a ghost! I almost had a literal heart attack! My soul almost left my suit!"
"I... I just wanted to get to my locker," Banana stammered, their voice muffled and deeply apologetic as they squeezed past us, carefully balancing the wobbly boxes. "Sorry, Rose. Sorry, dirty new recruits." Purple let out a faint, heavily muffled snort through their comms, their shoulders shaking slightly as they tried to hide their amusement. I just stood there, rolling my eyes behind my visor and tightening my grip on my wrench. This station was a complete madhouse.
"Oh, right! Where are my manners?" Rose cheered, instantly recovering from the scare and stepping out from behind my shoulder. They clapped their hands together, their bright energy rushing right back into their voice as they pointed dramatically at the yellow suit. "Everyone, now that they aren't buried under a literal mountain of cardboard, this is Banana! We actually caught a tiny glimpse of them out in the lobby earlier executing their very important box-hauling duties. Banana is our absolute champion of inventory logistics and supply organization here on the ground floor. If you ever need a very specific size of packing tape or someone who can organize a storage shelf by alphabetical order and color coordination, Banana is your go-to!" Banana shifted the remaining boxes in their arms, their visor tilting down bashfully. "I... I just like making sure the boxes don't fall over. Even though they did earlier. Sorry again about the mess in the lobby.“
"Oh, don't worry about it, you did great!" Rose beamed, giving Banana a supportive thumbs-up before turning back to Purple and me with a massive, sweeping gesture toward the exit. "Alright, now that the locker room mysteries are officially solved, let's keep this train rolling!"
We stepped out of the Locker Room and followed Rose straight into the sprawling central Cafeteria. The room was massive, lined with large benches, but what really grabbed my attention was the smell. The rich, heavy aroma of freshly baked dough and bubbling cheese drifting from a massive pizza oven in the back. Standing right by the counter, practically inhaling a massive slice of pizza, was a crewmate in a vibrant Coral suit. "Coral!" Rose squealed with absolute, unbridled joy. They didn't just walk over. Rose literally sprinted across the Cafeteria floor and threw their arms around the coral-suited crewmate in a massive hug.
Coral barely managed to keep their slice of pizza balanced on a paper plate as they were hit by the flying hug. "Whoa! Rose! Hey!" Coral laughed, their voice muffled by a mouthful of food as they quickly swallowed. "Oh man, thank goodness you're here. I've been running around fixing the wiring in Admin all morning, and I swear my stomach was about to start eating itself." Rose pulled back, holding Coral by the shoulders and turning to Purple and me with a pride that practically radiated through their visor. "Everyone, this is Coral!" Rose announced, their voice hitting a whole new level of excitement. "Not only are they the single most hardworking, dedicated, and absolutely brilliant technician on the entire ground floor, but they are also my literal BEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD! If a terminal breaks, Coral fixes it. If the power grids flicker, Coral saves the day. They literally never stop working!"
"Unless there's food," Coral pointed out, immediately taking another massive, enthusiastic bite of their pizza. "The second the lunch chime rings, the tools go down. A hardworking crewmate needs their fuel, Rose. You cannot optimize station efficiency on an empty tank. It's scientifically impossible."
"It's true, they are always, always hungry," Rose giggled, nodding in complete agreement. "I think half of Coral's salary goes straight into the cafeteria vending machines." Coral shrugged playfully, their visor turning to look at Purple and me. They paused, their slice of pizza hovering halfway to their mouth as they took in our scratched, soot-stained suits and the handbook I was still clutching like a lifeline. "Whoa," Coral muttered, blinking behind their visor. "Are these the new transfers? Did their transport shuttle explode on the way down or something? They look like they haven't eaten a solid meal since the last galactic cycle."
"Oh my gosh, you wouldn't believe it," Rose immediately started, completely pivoting away from the tour as they leaned over the cafeteria counter toward Coral. Their hands began gesturing wildly. "So, I was in the Greenhouse earlier, right? And Maroon was literally trying to use their 'tactical rest' excuse again to get out of moving the fertilizer crates! I had to use my total shutdown voice."
"No way," Coral gasped, leaning in closer, their slice of pizza temporarily forgotten. "The crate thing again? They are so predictable. Did they try the whole 'my gravity generator is broken' line?"
"Yes! Word for word!" Rose squealed, the two of them instantly dropping into a rapid-fire session of ground-floor gossip, completely losing track of Purple and me standing right there. As Rose kept rambling about Maroon's laziness, Coral's visor drifted back over to us. They looked at the heavy dents in my suit, the engine grease smeared across Purple’s shoulders, and the way my fingers were practically welded to my book. Instead of asking more questions or getting suspicious, Coral just let out a sympathetic sigh. They set their own plate down and reached over to a large, fresh greaseproof boxsitting on the counter. They popped the lid open, revealing three massive, thick slices of pepperoni pizza that were still steaming.
"Hey," Coral said softly, sliding the box across the polished counter toward us. "Rose can go on for an hour when they get started, trust me. You two look like you’ve been through literal engine hell. If you're hiding out down here or just waiting on orientation, you need to eat. Take the rest of it. Seriously, consider it a welcome gift." I stared at the pizza, the rich, warm scent of real food hitting my visor's filters. Beside me, Purple shifted, their posture softening just a fraction. We had been prepared for guards, traps, and corporate hit squads… not a genuinely kind technician offering us their lunch. "We..." I started, my voice still rough, but I stopped myself, clearing my throat. I looked at Coral's honest, open posture. "Thanks. We appreciate it."
The smell of the melted cheese and pepperoni was a cruel weapon, cutting straight through my visor's filters and making my stomach let out a loud, traitorous growl. I actually stepped closer to the counter, my non-handbook hand twitching toward the box. Real food. I haven’t had any since we left the Skeld, and I was starving! Before my fingers could touch the cardboard, Purple’s arm shot out, their gloved hand clamping down tightly onto my wrist. I looked at them. Purple did a sharp, frantic shake of their head. Don't, their posture screamed. They weren't buying any of this. To Purple, a warm meal from a friendly stranger wasn't a welcome gift, but it was a potential sedative, a trap, or a distraction to get us to lower our guard. They were still trapped in full security-chief mode, treating every single corner of this station like an active threat zone. I let out a quiet, frustrated hiss through our private comms but pulled my hand back, nodding reluctantly.
Purple turned back to the counter, seamlessly moving their body to block Coral and Rose’s line of sight while the two of them were still completely buried in their gossip session about Maroon. With a swift, practiced motion that only a Chief of Security could pull off, Purple snatched a massive slice of pizza out of the box, dropped it down low by their hip, and casually walked over to the nearest circular table. With a quick, silent kick of their boot, they slid the slice straight under the table's metal base, hiding it completely from view. They stepped back into line beside me, adjusting their utility belt as if nothing had happened.
"Oh man, and then Maroon tried to say they couldn't lift the water pitcher because of 'joint fatigue'!" Rose laughed loudly, finally snapping out of the conversation and turning back to us. Rose glanced at the pizza box, seeing a slice missing, and beamed. "Oh, good! You're eating! See? I told you Coral is the absolute best."
"Yeah, yeah, don't mention it," Coral smiled, wiping their hands on a napkin. “Glad I could help the newbies." I forced a stiff nod, trying not to look at the grease spot now forming under the table. "Yeah. Thanks."
"Alright, we have got to keep moving! The schedule waits for no one!" Rose announced, though they immediately contradicted themselves by lunging forward and wrapping Coral in another massive, enthusiastic bear hug. The hug just kept going. Ten seconds passed. Then twenty. Then thirty.
"Rose," Coral mumbled, their voice getting increasingly strained as Rose's deceptively strong arms squeezed tighter. "Rose, buddy. You're... you're crushing my ribcage. Rose, I can't breathe. My oxygen levels are dropping." Rose didn't let go, just rocking back and forth happily. "I'm going to miss you so much! It's been a whole twenty minutes since we last talked!"
"Rose. Please. The pizza is going to digest poorly," Coral wheezed, tapping feebly on Rose's shoulder piece until Rose finally snapped out of it and released them with a cheerful pop.
"Bye, bestie!" Rose sang, spinning on their heel and marching right out of the Cafeteria toward the Storage bay. We followed quickly, glad to put some distance between us and the hidden pizza slice.
The heavy doors to Storage slid open, revealing a warehouse filled with towering metal shelves, fuel canisters, and stacks of spare parts. Sitting upside down on a large plastic crate, idly tossing a roll of electrical tape into the air and catching it, was a crewmate in an Olive suit. They looked completely unbothered by the world, their posture relaxed to the point of near-gravity defiance. "Olive!" Rose cheered, their voice echoing in the cavernous room. "Look! I brought the new transfers by to see the supply hub!" Olive caught the tape roll in one hand, their visor tilting slowly toward us. They didn't jump up or salute; they just gave a slow, casual nod. "Hey, Rose. New guys. Welcome to the box kingdom."
Rose let out a loud, incredibly forced fake laugh that echoed awkwardly through the metal shelves of the Storage bay. "Ha ha! 'Box kingdom!' Oh, Olive, you are just a literal riot! A comedic genius!" Olive just stared at them through their visor, entirely unfazed by the blatant pity-laugh, and casually went back to tossing their roll of electrical tape into the air.
"See? What did I tell you? I told you they were out here working," a familiar, lazy drone groaned from the shadows of the third aisle. Maroon stepped out from behind a towering stack of inventory, holding a single, small bag of fertilizer with two fingers like it weighed a hundred pounds. They dumped it onto a lower shelf with a heavy, dramatic sigh of exhaustion, wiping their perfectly clean visor as if they had just run a marathon. After getting completely shut down by Rose in the Greenhouse, they had clearly been forced to actually bring the supplies down here themselves. "Though honestly," Maroon muttered, leaning heavily against the shelf and crossing their arms, "I don't know why you're hanging out in here, Rose. Olive is easily the most unpopular person on the ground floor, mostly because they are wearing the single ugliest color on this entire station. It’s like a muddy puddle met a wet leaf. Visually offensive."
Olive stopped tossing the tape. It fell back into their palm with a sharp slap, and their entire posture instantly went rigid. They stood up off the plastic crate, their visor narrowing through the glass. "Excuse me? Ugly? This is a classic, military-grade, earthy aesthetic, Maroon. Your suit literally looks like an overripe cherry that rolled under a refrigerator and got forgotten for three months."
"Hey! Hey! Protocol! Positivity!" Rose instantly stepped between the two of them, their hands raised like a referee breaking up a heavyweight bout. Their rose clip bobbed aggressively. "We do not body-shame suits on the ground floor! Olive, your color is incredibly grounding and organic! Maroon, go back to your tactical nap before I report your productivity levels to Admin!" Beside me, Purple just lowered their head into their hand, letting out a long, slow sigh over our private comms. I kept my hand wrapped tight around my handbook, completely stunned by the sheer amount of petty drama happening on the ground floor of a massive corporate superpower.
Maroon let out a long, theatrical sigh, rolling their eyes so hard you could practically hear it through their visor. They picked up their empty clipboard, turned on their heel, and slinked back into the shadows of the storage aisles, completely unbothered by the scolding. The moment the doors hissed shut behind Maroon, Rose spun back toward Olive, her entire demeanor shifting instantly. The defensive referee stance vanished, replaced by an absolute wave of warmth and extra sweetness.
"Anyway!" Rose beamed, her voice dropping into a comforting, deeply sincere tone as she gestured toward the olive-suited crewmate. “Like I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted by a walking nap—everyone, this is Olive! Olive is the actual backbone of our entire ground-floor supply chain. Without them, nobody on this station would have the tools, the fuel, or the parts to get anything done. They are incredibly reliable, always keeping a cool head, and honestly? That earthy green is an absolute classic. It is a total vibe, Olive."
Olive paused, holding the roll of electrical tape tightly in their hand. Even behind the tinted visor, you could tell Rose's sudden burst of genuine kindness had completely washed away the annoyance from Maroon's comment. Olive slowly sat back down on their plastic crate, their shoulders relaxing as they gave a soft, appreciative nod. "Thanks, Rose. I appreciate that. At least someone around here has good taste in aesthetics." Purple let out a quiet breath, their grip on their utility belt loosening just a fraction as the tension in the room dissipated.
"Hey, Olive," Rose asked, tapping her chin thoughtfully as she looked around the shelves. "By the way, have you seen Tan lately? I wanted to make sure they were on the tour list!" Olive tossed the tape roll one last time, catching it cleanly. "Yeah, Tan went back down toward the Launchpad. Said they needed to check the landing struts on one of the secondary transport skiffs."
"Oh, perfect! Back to where we started!" Rose cheered, spinning around to face Purple and me with a bright wave of her arm. "Alright, new recruits, let's head back to the beginning for a quick hello!" We followed Rose out of Storage, retracing our steps down the long metallic corridors until the heavy blast doors of the Launchpad slid open. The massive hanger bay was just as cold as we left it, with the looming silhouette of the transport shuttle resting on the platform. Walking around the base of the massive landing gear, holding a heavy pneumatic wrench and looking thoroughly focused, was a crewmate in a Tan suit.
"Tan!" Rose called out, her voice echoing across the wide hangar floor. Tan pulled their wrench away from the landing strut, turning their helmet toward us. They wiped a streak of grease off their visor with the back of their glove. "Oh, hey, Rose. What's up? I'm just finishing the structural safety check on this rig." Rose was marching right up to the landing platform with her usual boundless energy. "Everyone, this is Tan! They are officially the most elderly person on the entire station, but they are also by far the most wisest! If you ever need someone who actually knows how these ancient shuttle engines work, or if you just need some deep, life-changing advice from someone who has seen it all, Tan is your absolute go-to!"
Tan slowly lowered their pneumatic wrench, letting out a chuckle through their comms. "Elderly? Wow, Rose… But I appreciate the 'wise' part." Their chuckle cut short, however, the moment their visor fully locked onto Purple and me. Unlike Rose's cheerful oblivion, Maroon's total laziness, or
Olive's relaxed attitude, Tan’s posture instantly went rigid. Their grip on the pneumatic wrench tightened. Old engineers didn't survive decades on deep-space stations by ignoring details, and Tan was looking at us like a pair of walking red flags. They took in the chaotic state of our suits, the severe kinetic damage to the armor plating, and the tense, defensive way Purple and I were standing.
The warmth completely drained out of Tan's demeanor. They stepped back slightly, keeping the heavy wrench lowered but ready, their visor narrowing as they stared us down. "Rose," Tan said, their voice dropping into a low, cautious rumble that practically radiated bad vibes. "Where exactly did you say these two transferred from? Because those aren't standard-issue dents, and they're holding themselves like they're waiting for an ambush." Purple's shoulders locked up instantly, their hand drifting back toward their utility belt. The tension in the cold hangar bay skyrocketed in an instant.
Rose immediately shrugged, her rose clip bobbing as she offered a bright, entirely unbothered wave of her hand. "Oh, they're just the new recruits! I'm doing their ground-floor orientation right now before they get assigned to their official stations! They've just had a super long, exhausting transit, Tan." Tan didn't look convinced. Their visor remained fixed on us, the heavy pneumatic wrench still held tightly in their grip.
"Orientation or not, Rose, they look like trouble. You shouldn't be letting people with gear that heavily damaged wander around the secure sectors without a full maintenance sweep first."
"Oh, you're always such a worrywart!" Rose giggled, completely missing the absolute wall of tension radiating between us. She clapped her hands together, turning back toward the hangar exit.
"Come on, new recruits! We still have one last stop to make to find our final ground-floor crewmate!" As we quickly backed out of the Launchpad, leaving Tan staring after us with deep suspicion, Purple let out a sharp exhale over our private comms channel. "That was too close," they muttered. "We need to finish this tour and get out of sight."
"Alright, last person on the list!" Rose announced happily as the hallway doors slid open. "To the laboratory to meet our Scientist!” We followed Rose down the long, winding corridor leading to the back wing of the station until the automatic sliding doors of the Laboratory hissed open. The room was filled with glowing specimen jars, massive high-powered telescopes pointing toward the upper atmosphere, and analytical data terminals clicking rhythmically. Standing right in front of a giant chemical synthesizer, frantically typing on a floating holographic keyboard while wearing a pair of oversized safety goggles over their helmet, was Fortegreen.
"Fortegreen!" Rose called out, stepping into the sterile room. Fortegreen gasped loudly, their entire suit spinning around with manic, high-velocity energy. "Rose! Perfect timing! Absolutely perfect! You see, I am currently in the absolute middle of analyzing the molecular breakdown of our local soil samples to optimize the hydroponic nitrogen cycle, and the data is simply—simply fascinating!" They waved their hands wildly, their voice pitching up with pure, unadulterated scientific ecstasy.
"Everyone, this is Fortegreen!" Rose introduced proudly, matching their energetic vibe. "They are our lead research scientist and easily the most intelligent crewmate on the entire ground floor!"
"Intelligent? Oh, it's just basic adherence to the scientific method and a passion for empirical data!" Fortegreen rambled, practically vibrating on their boots as their visor locked onto Purple and me. They gasped again, adjusting their safety goggles.
"Oh my goodness! Look at the kinetic friction patterns on your armor plating! The localized soot deposits! According to my instantaneous calculations, your suits have endured a thermal blast radius of approximately three point four meters! Fascinating! Utterly fascinating! What kind of propulsion anomaly did you survive?!" I blinked behind my visor, completely overwhelmed by the sheer speed of their voice. Beside me, Purple took a half-step back, clearly not knowing how to handle a scientist who looked at our near-death experience as a fun math problem.
"Oh, they just got off the transport ship to the HQ!" Rose explained smoothly, waving her hand around as if that explained everything. "You know how rough those atmospheric entries can be! Just a little bump and a rattle, right?" Fortegreen’s helmet tilted at a sharp, dramatic ninety-degree angle, their safety goggles slipping slightly down their visor.
"An atmospheric entry? With that specific coefficient of localized thermal degradation? Incredible! The friction models of our standard shuttle fleet must be severely under-calculating the mesospheric resistance!"
They whipped back around to their holographic keyboard, fingers flying across the keys at a million miles an hour. "I must log this immediately! The data demands to be free!"
"Alrighty then! We'll leave you to your science!" Rose cheered, entirely accustomed to Fortegreen's sudden bursts of manic research.
Rose turned back to Purple and me, clapping her hands together with a satisfied sigh. "Well, new recruits, that officially concludes our grand orientation tour of the MIRA HQ ground floor! You've met the whole crew! There’s a few hours before a meeting between the entire crew, which is perfect!"
Rose beamed, giving us one final, enthusiastic thumbs-up. "That gives you a few hours to wander around, get your bearings, and really soak in the MIRA HQ atmosphere before the big welcome meeting! I am going to head back to the Cafeteria to grab a quick bite to eat before I slide over to the Greenhouse to check on my ferns."
She bopped on her feet, turning around to point down the corridor. "If you two get lost, or if you just need absolutely anything at all, you can usually find me hanging out in the Greenhouse or the Cafeteria. Oh, and if I'm not in either of those, I might be dropping off paperwork in the small Office right by the main hallway. Happy exploring, new recruits!" With a cheerful wave, Rose skipped off down the hallway, her rose clip bobbing as she headed back toward the smell of pizza.
The moment her footsteps faded, the hallway fell completely silent. Purple turned to me, their visor gleaming in the fluorescent lights of the corridor. We finally had the run of the ground floor, a few hours of free time, and three key locations where Rose would be distracted. "Alright," Purple muttered over our private comms, their voice dropping back into a serious, tactical whisper. "We're on our own. Where are we heading first while the coast is clear?"
"Admin and Comms," I muttered to Purple, keeping my voice down as I gestured down the hallway like a clueless new hire pointing at the scenery. "We should check out the Admin room first to see that huge map display, and then hit Comms to check out the radar dish. It’s exactly what 'exploring recruits' would do, right?"
"Admin and Comms… Smart," Purple agreed, their voice low and sharp over the private channel. "If we can map the crew's movements from Admin and intercept the station's outgoing frequencies in Comms, we'll actually know what we're dealing with before that meeting… perhaps." I adjusted the handbook in my grip, putting it in my backpack before rolling my shoulders back to force myself into a more relaxed, casual posture. “Just remember, the second we step out of this hallway, we're just two wide-eyed, completely clueless recruits checking out the high-tech equipment. Keep your head up and look impressed."
We walked out of the laboratory wing and stepped into the main corridor, purposely slowing our pace. I let my helmet tilt upward, mimicking the look of someone taking in the towering architecture of MIRA HQ, while my eyes stayed locked on the corridors ahead. The sliding doors to the Admin hub were just ahead. Inside, the massive green holographic map display flickered softly, casting a steady glow across the empty desks. If we could get to the terminal without attracting the attention of Gray's security logs or another wandering crewmate, we'd have the entire layout of the building right in front of us. "Coast is clear," Purple whispered, their visor darting toward the empty hallway behind us.
"Let's move.“