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! REPORT
The End To Come - Page 9
3D Render by emarukkOlivia marched forward, her arm firmly gripped by a stranger, each step taken without resistance. It wasn't trust or acceptance of her fate that kept her compliant; instead, it was the stark absence of alternatives. The stranger moved with confident strides, his pace steady and deliberate, weaving through the debris with the ease of someone well-acquainted with chaos. He never glanced back, focusing solely on the path ahead, inevitably leading them toward the airlock.
The silence hung heavily between them, broken only by the faint creaks of the failing station. Eventually, the stranger broke the silence. "Handling you that way wasn't my intention," he said, his voice warm and reassuring, though slightly muted by his helmet's filters. "I couldn't afford the time for a debate."
Olivia glared at him, her fists tightly clenched at her sides, knuckles white with tension. Her legs propelled her forward, each step heavy and determined, yet her mind remained ensnared in the dreadful moment of revelation. It was as if time had paused when she realized the harsh truth: she wasn't a survivor; she was merely salvaged, a remnant of what once was. Her heart pounded in her chest, echoing the turmoil within as she grappled with the weight of this newfound understanding.
"For your own good," the stranger added, his voice dripping with a false sense of reassurance as if those words could somehow sugarcoat the situation. Olivia let out a short, sharp breath, teetering on the edge of laughter filled with disbelief. "For my own good," she echoed, her voice thick with irony. It was akin to a farmer dragging a thrall from a blazing field just before the air itself caught fire, hustling them towards safety—not out of concern for their well-being, but merely because a dead thrall meant a loss of valuable credits. The acrid smell of smoke clung to the memory, a testament to the cold pragmatism behind the metaphor in her imagination.
"You don't get to decide that," she said, her voice raw and edged with desperation.
The stranger continued his steady pace, his steps echoing softly through the desolate hallway. His head tilted slightly, just enough to assure her he had heard her words, though he offered no solace.
"I didn't take anything from you," he replied after a thoughtful pause, his voice calm and measured like a gentle stream.
Olivia's throat tightened painfully, her eyes widening with a mixture of disbelief and anger.
"Didn't you?" she challenged, her voice trembling with emotion. She gestured wildly around them at the crumbling corridor, the walls buckling and groaning as if under the weight of their shared despair. The emergency lights flickered weakly above, casting ghostly shadows that danced across the debris-strewn floor, barely clinging to life as if in a final defiance.
"Verdantia is gone," she choked out, each word a jagged shard of glass in her throat. "My home is gone. My parents." She forced herself to swallow, the air like sandpaper in her lungs, struggling to maintain her composure. "And now I'm just… salvage." Her voice broke, the word hanging in the air like a mournful lament.
Olivia shivered, her body quaking with emotion, and released a cascade of glistening tears that streaked down her cheeks, catching the light and making them shine like polished glass. For a fleeting moment, the stranger beside her thought she might crumble entirely, succumbing to her sorrow and that he would need to catch her to bear her. He let out a sharp exhale, a sound that was a curious mix between a sigh of resignation and a grunt of understanding. It wasn't an argument nor an apology; it was merely an acknowledgment of the situation. And that was infinitely worse. If this stranger had denied the reality, if he had attempted to convince her she was mistaken, she might have clung to some faint glimmer of hope. But he didn't. Because he knew the undeniable truth just as intimately as she did.
In her despair, Olivia wasn't fully aware of everything; she was more a prisoner of her fantasy. The Confederation had stringent salvage laws. A station was declared lost once an evacuation was completed, and commanders wanted to step down from their duties. Anything not officially saved and evacuated was recorded as downwritten. After this process, everything and everyone left behind became the property of whoever found them: cargo, equipment, and people. People's inclusion on the list was initially for a good cause but eventually turned sinister. Salvage operators weren't the kind of people interested in helping others. They ignored old laws that required them to assist under threat of punishment. It was common knowledge that salvage operators either abandoned survivors or dumped them into space. The Confederation added people to the list to save lives. A few years later, the Confederation nationalized the slave trade, making things even darker. The official justification was sugarcoated and seemingly reasonable, but the genuine reasons couldn't stand up to scrutiny. Naturally, stationers like Olivia never learned Confederation's new role in thralldom.
Olivia only knew a small part of the actual regulations and rules. For her, it was straightforward: a stranger had found her first, so she was his. The question of if he had claimed her lingered on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't bring herself to voice it. Olivia wanted to ask if the stranger intended to claim her. But she refrained because if she asked, he might respond, and Olivia wasn't sure she was ready to hear the answer. So, she continued moving forward, step by step, into whatever the future held, and that was preferable. Olivia was definitely not prepared to learn how her ownership was defined after salvage.
The End to Come - Page 9
The corridor shuddered with the force of distant impacts, but Olivia barely registered the vibrations. Her mind was consumed by the icy, pressing question that loomed over her thoughts: "How were they going to escape from here?" Ahead, behind the curve of the corridor, the airlock loomed in the dim lighting, precisely as she had left it before the battered and staggering Lucas had appeared. Olivia sifted through her jumbled and confused memories, uncertain whether she had dealt with the airlock before the greenhouse collapsed or if it had happened while retrieving tools from the elevator corridor. It was irrelevant now. Her last clear memory was of Lucas dying with a flower in his robotic hand. Then, a drone and a stranger appeared. Olivia had left the operating airlock behind, sealed and operational. This information should have comforted and reassured her, but instead of comfort, a new sense of unease twisted in her stomach. Olivia was a technical person, and once she composed herself, she could concentrate on the seemingly insurmountable problems she encountered, tackling them one at a time. This allowed her to push the issue of salvage to the back of her mind and focus on leaving the station. And there was the point she saw a huge problem.
The outer doors should have cycled if a stranger had come through here. A ship should be there waiting, docked, and ready to take them away. Olivia glanced at the stranger, seeking any sign that would answer her unspoken question. His grip had considerably relaxed, now more like a gentle touch rather than a forceful push. The stranger's power armor was well-worn, indicative of much use, yet someone donning such gear should have a suitable ship. Olivia wanted to believe this. She reassured herself that the affluent mercenary possessed a large ship with a docking gangway for a straightforward escape. That's how it was supposed to function with an airlock like this, primarily made for spacewalks and transporting supplies from the station.
But the stranger had approached from an entirely different direction, casting shadows of uncertainty over Olivia. This particular airlock lacked the capability for an auto dock unless, of course, he commanded a formidable warship equipped with an assault gangway. A new, icy dread that has appeared slowly crept over Olivia, seeping into her bones. The absence of a waiting ship, a docking gangway, or an effortless escape route settled over her like a heavy fog.
Her footsteps hesitated, a stutter in her stride, and the stranger adjusted his pace to match hers, maintaining his grip on her arm. The weight of realization pressed down on her chest like a leaden shroud. If his ship wasn't moored here, how had he managed to board the vessel? More critically, what were his intentions for her departure? His armor, robust and resilient, could withstand brief spacewalks without the need for additional oxygen tanks or external propulsion jets. A suit like that had enough oxygen for that. She swallowed hard, her throat constricting with unspoken questions, the words teetering on the edge of her lips. Yet fear held her silent, for there lingered another answer she wasn't ready to confront.
The silence hung heavily between them, broken only by the faint creaks of the failing station. Eventually, the stranger broke the silence. "Handling you that way wasn't my intention," he said, his voice warm and reassuring, though slightly muted by his helmet's filters. "I couldn't afford the time for a debate."
Olivia glared at him, her fists tightly clenched at her sides, knuckles white with tension. Her legs propelled her forward, each step heavy and determined, yet her mind remained ensnared in the dreadful moment of revelation. It was as if time had paused when she realized the harsh truth: she wasn't a survivor; she was merely salvaged, a remnant of what once was. Her heart pounded in her chest, echoing the turmoil within as she grappled with the weight of this newfound understanding.
"For your own good," the stranger added, his voice dripping with a false sense of reassurance as if those words could somehow sugarcoat the situation. Olivia let out a short, sharp breath, teetering on the edge of laughter filled with disbelief. "For my own good," she echoed, her voice thick with irony. It was akin to a farmer dragging a thrall from a blazing field just before the air itself caught fire, hustling them towards safety—not out of concern for their well-being, but merely because a dead thrall meant a loss of valuable credits. The acrid smell of smoke clung to the memory, a testament to the cold pragmatism behind the metaphor in her imagination.
"You don't get to decide that," she said, her voice raw and edged with desperation.
The stranger continued his steady pace, his steps echoing softly through the desolate hallway. His head tilted slightly, just enough to assure her he had heard her words, though he offered no solace.
"I didn't take anything from you," he replied after a thoughtful pause, his voice calm and measured like a gentle stream.
Olivia's throat tightened painfully, her eyes widening with a mixture of disbelief and anger.
"Didn't you?" she challenged, her voice trembling with emotion. She gestured wildly around them at the crumbling corridor, the walls buckling and groaning as if under the weight of their shared despair. The emergency lights flickered weakly above, casting ghostly shadows that danced across the debris-strewn floor, barely clinging to life as if in a final defiance.
"Verdantia is gone," she choked out, each word a jagged shard of glass in her throat. "My home is gone. My parents." She forced herself to swallow, the air like sandpaper in her lungs, struggling to maintain her composure. "And now I'm just… salvage." Her voice broke, the word hanging in the air like a mournful lament.
Olivia shivered, her body quaking with emotion, and released a cascade of glistening tears that streaked down her cheeks, catching the light and making them shine like polished glass. For a fleeting moment, the stranger beside her thought she might crumble entirely, succumbing to her sorrow and that he would need to catch her to bear her. He let out a sharp exhale, a sound that was a curious mix between a sigh of resignation and a grunt of understanding. It wasn't an argument nor an apology; it was merely an acknowledgment of the situation. And that was infinitely worse. If this stranger had denied the reality, if he had attempted to convince her she was mistaken, she might have clung to some faint glimmer of hope. But he didn't. Because he knew the undeniable truth just as intimately as she did.
In her despair, Olivia wasn't fully aware of everything; she was more a prisoner of her fantasy. The Confederation had stringent salvage laws. A station was declared lost once an evacuation was completed, and commanders wanted to step down from their duties. Anything not officially saved and evacuated was recorded as downwritten. After this process, everything and everyone left behind became the property of whoever found them: cargo, equipment, and people. People's inclusion on the list was initially for a good cause but eventually turned sinister. Salvage operators weren't the kind of people interested in helping others. They ignored old laws that required them to assist under threat of punishment. It was common knowledge that salvage operators either abandoned survivors or dumped them into space. The Confederation added people to the list to save lives. A few years later, the Confederation nationalized the slave trade, making things even darker. The official justification was sugarcoated and seemingly reasonable, but the genuine reasons couldn't stand up to scrutiny. Naturally, stationers like Olivia never learned Confederation's new role in thralldom.
Olivia only knew a small part of the actual regulations and rules. For her, it was straightforward: a stranger had found her first, so she was his. The question of if he had claimed her lingered on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't bring herself to voice it. Olivia wanted to ask if the stranger intended to claim her. But she refrained because if she asked, he might respond, and Olivia wasn't sure she was ready to hear the answer. So, she continued moving forward, step by step, into whatever the future held, and that was preferable. Olivia was definitely not prepared to learn how her ownership was defined after salvage.
The End to Come - Page 9
The corridor shuddered with the force of distant impacts, but Olivia barely registered the vibrations. Her mind was consumed by the icy, pressing question that loomed over her thoughts: "How were they going to escape from here?" Ahead, behind the curve of the corridor, the airlock loomed in the dim lighting, precisely as she had left it before the battered and staggering Lucas had appeared. Olivia sifted through her jumbled and confused memories, uncertain whether she had dealt with the airlock before the greenhouse collapsed or if it had happened while retrieving tools from the elevator corridor. It was irrelevant now. Her last clear memory was of Lucas dying with a flower in his robotic hand. Then, a drone and a stranger appeared. Olivia had left the operating airlock behind, sealed and operational. This information should have comforted and reassured her, but instead of comfort, a new sense of unease twisted in her stomach. Olivia was a technical person, and once she composed herself, she could concentrate on the seemingly insurmountable problems she encountered, tackling them one at a time. This allowed her to push the issue of salvage to the back of her mind and focus on leaving the station. And there was the point she saw a huge problem.
The outer doors should have cycled if a stranger had come through here. A ship should be there waiting, docked, and ready to take them away. Olivia glanced at the stranger, seeking any sign that would answer her unspoken question. His grip had considerably relaxed, now more like a gentle touch rather than a forceful push. The stranger's power armor was well-worn, indicative of much use, yet someone donning such gear should have a suitable ship. Olivia wanted to believe this. She reassured herself that the affluent mercenary possessed a large ship with a docking gangway for a straightforward escape. That's how it was supposed to function with an airlock like this, primarily made for spacewalks and transporting supplies from the station.
But the stranger had approached from an entirely different direction, casting shadows of uncertainty over Olivia. This particular airlock lacked the capability for an auto dock unless, of course, he commanded a formidable warship equipped with an assault gangway. A new, icy dread that has appeared slowly crept over Olivia, seeping into her bones. The absence of a waiting ship, a docking gangway, or an effortless escape route settled over her like a heavy fog.
Her footsteps hesitated, a stutter in her stride, and the stranger adjusted his pace to match hers, maintaining his grip on her arm. The weight of realization pressed down on her chest like a leaden shroud. If his ship wasn't moored here, how had he managed to board the vessel? More critically, what were his intentions for her departure? His armor, robust and resilient, could withstand brief spacewalks without the need for additional oxygen tanks or external propulsion jets. A suit like that had enough oxygen for that. She swallowed hard, her throat constricting with unspoken questions, the words teetering on the edge of her lips. Yet fear held her silent, for there lingered another answer she wasn't ready to confront.
A gripping and hauntingly atmospheric tale that masterfully blends desperation, survival, and an unsettling glimpse into a future shaped by cold pragmatism. Olivias journey is both tragic and compelling, her internal struggle beautifully mirrored by the decaying station around her. The weight of her fate, hanging between reluctant rescue and unwanted ownership, adds a deeply human conflict that lingers long after the last word. This is sci-fi storytelling at its finestthought-provoking, intense, and disturbingly believable.
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