Lijosu
Prince of Mind
- Joined
- Aug 27, 2022
- Messages
- 25
- Reaction score
- 6
Empty, functionalist hallways riddled with pipes and cables. Industrial catwalks overlooking relatively small workstations and laboratories. The phantom screeches, groans, and clangs of pipes echo throughout this silent space station. It was always like this. The I.S.S. Ophanim had more facilities than working staff.
Picture the unusual: A bedroom where the furniture; bed, sheets, drawers, wardrobe and all; simply float about the room. A loading bay that has been torn in half by some inexplicable force, gas leaking from pipes into the void, crates that had not yet spun violently into the depths of space; instead bumping passively into walls. Hallways where the lights flicker, and the clocks count backwards.
Two hours earlier. A woman in a space suit, holding onto a rail. There was gravity objectively, but none subjectively. The I.S.S. Ophanim was in stable orbit, and she was an external passenger. She unclipped a tether from a rail behind her. She clipped the tether onto the one she was holding onto. She then unclipped a second tether, and did the same. The woman then climbed the rail, across a bend in the station, where she repeated the same process with her tethers on a new rail. After that, she was able to reach a flat; metallic space showered with gentle light from a blackhole ahead of her. She stared at the ominous celestial body as she travelled across the new railing, guiding and pulling her weightless body with her hands. Soon, the woman reached what she was looking for. It was a damaged satellite dish.
She took a tool off her belt and started work. She was out there for about an hour, taking tools off her suit, utilising them, putting them back on, over and over, all one at a time. It was procedural and practised. Nothing out of the ordinary, except perhaps when she had chosen to do it. The test was that day. Or maybe it was meant to be tomorrow? She did not particularly care. She was on the I.S.S. Ophanim for the work, and there were not many people she had to worry about being concerned for her. Besides, it was standard procedure to be warned to come inside if there was danger.
There was no warning. Alone in dead silence, with nothing but her heart, her breath, the swallowing of her own spit, and the shifting of her suit as she made the repairs. The dim light started to become brighter. Brighter still. Now unignorable. She looked up from the broken satellite dish.
Her breathing deepened. Her heart stood still. Pupils receded. Tears began streaming from her eyes from behind her helmet. It was burning. Fierce radio static had begun drowning out radio chatter. Her eyes were fixated on where that blackhole should have been. The woman could not take her eyes away from it even as it set them ablaze. She saw the I.S.S. Ophanim slowly come into view beside the thing. It was getting further away. A basic, instinctual urge to live suddenly flashed through her.
“Harlow to base, I’m untethered. Over.” She reported, masking her panic.
She waited ten seconds. No answer.
Sterner, now, “Harlow to base, I’m untethered. I am drifting from orbit to space. Over.”
Four seconds. Nothing. The I.S.S. Ophanim was moving away from her faster, now.
“Harlow to base, I am leaving orbit at an increasing rate. OVER!”
Two seconds. “HARLOW TO BASE, I-I…” She was interrupted by herself gazing at the source of that light again.
Another, fresh tear rolled down her cheek. Her mouth opened to scream, but nothing came out.
“I… I can see it.” She rambled on the radio, voice trembling. “It’s… moving. It all is. The stars… The planets… O-oh my god. I see the planets. It’s all slipping away from me…”
A celestial ballroom. Giants and gods in lockstep, dancing around each other. Becoming more and more enamoured with each other, the lesser gods drifting apart. Gods collapse under their own weight; turn to demons that devour anything in their path. Those that burn too bright meet this fate. The gods that march forward steadily live longer. Giants begin ageing, withering away into dust. Now only the demons remain. Once the demons are done, it all goes dark. Receding, expanding, until eventually… There is nothing.
Nothing.
…nothing…
Picture the unusual: A bedroom where the furniture; bed, sheets, drawers, wardrobe and all; simply float about the room. A loading bay that has been torn in half by some inexplicable force, gas leaking from pipes into the void, crates that had not yet spun violently into the depths of space; instead bumping passively into walls. Hallways where the lights flicker, and the clocks count backwards.
Two hours earlier. A woman in a space suit, holding onto a rail. There was gravity objectively, but none subjectively. The I.S.S. Ophanim was in stable orbit, and she was an external passenger. She unclipped a tether from a rail behind her. She clipped the tether onto the one she was holding onto. She then unclipped a second tether, and did the same. The woman then climbed the rail, across a bend in the station, where she repeated the same process with her tethers on a new rail. After that, she was able to reach a flat; metallic space showered with gentle light from a blackhole ahead of her. She stared at the ominous celestial body as she travelled across the new railing, guiding and pulling her weightless body with her hands. Soon, the woman reached what she was looking for. It was a damaged satellite dish.
She took a tool off her belt and started work. She was out there for about an hour, taking tools off her suit, utilising them, putting them back on, over and over, all one at a time. It was procedural and practised. Nothing out of the ordinary, except perhaps when she had chosen to do it. The test was that day. Or maybe it was meant to be tomorrow? She did not particularly care. She was on the I.S.S. Ophanim for the work, and there were not many people she had to worry about being concerned for her. Besides, it was standard procedure to be warned to come inside if there was danger.
There was no warning. Alone in dead silence, with nothing but her heart, her breath, the swallowing of her own spit, and the shifting of her suit as she made the repairs. The dim light started to become brighter. Brighter still. Now unignorable. She looked up from the broken satellite dish.
Her breathing deepened. Her heart stood still. Pupils receded. Tears began streaming from her eyes from behind her helmet. It was burning. Fierce radio static had begun drowning out radio chatter. Her eyes were fixated on where that blackhole should have been. The woman could not take her eyes away from it even as it set them ablaze. She saw the I.S.S. Ophanim slowly come into view beside the thing. It was getting further away. A basic, instinctual urge to live suddenly flashed through her.
“Harlow to base, I’m untethered. Over.” She reported, masking her panic.
She waited ten seconds. No answer.
Sterner, now, “Harlow to base, I’m untethered. I am drifting from orbit to space. Over.”
Four seconds. Nothing. The I.S.S. Ophanim was moving away from her faster, now.
“Harlow to base, I am leaving orbit at an increasing rate. OVER!”
Two seconds. “HARLOW TO BASE, I-I…” She was interrupted by herself gazing at the source of that light again.
Another, fresh tear rolled down her cheek. Her mouth opened to scream, but nothing came out.
“I… I can see it.” She rambled on the radio, voice trembling. “It’s… moving. It all is. The stars… The planets… O-oh my god. I see the planets. It’s all slipping away from me…”
A celestial ballroom. Giants and gods in lockstep, dancing around each other. Becoming more and more enamoured with each other, the lesser gods drifting apart. Gods collapse under their own weight; turn to demons that devour anything in their path. Those that burn too bright meet this fate. The gods that march forward steadily live longer. Giants begin ageing, withering away into dust. Now only the demons remain. Once the demons are done, it all goes dark. Receding, expanding, until eventually… There is nothing.
Nothing.
…nothing…