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ROSALINE Rosaline stood silently beside him, feeling the weight of the moment. The tension between them had always been there, a silent hum that neither of them ever dared to acknowledge. She watched the blue ring of energy pulse softly in the distance, the faint lights flickering like stars within a storm. It was a beauty, in its own way, that strange and dangerous threshold between realities. Quixor didn’t need to speak—he never did when he was like this. The confidence, the quiet authority in his stance, was all-consuming. And yet, Rosaline could feel the undercurrent of something else. A flicker of uncertainty? Or perhaps that was just her own mind playing tricks on her. The ship groaned beneath them as they neared the portal, the vibrations resonating deep within the hull, matching the pulse of the gateway. It was a sharp reminder of how fragile they all were in the face of the vastness of space, despite the power of the Vanguard. The great machine that could bend time and space itself, and yet, it would not be immune to the forces beyond this portal. She took a step closer to Quixor, her boots silent against the metal floor. She was always in his shadow, even when she stood beside him. A part of her had come to accept it, but another part—perhaps the part that had once been a rebel—resented it. She wanted more than just to stand here, silently observing. She wanted something *different* from this moment. Yet, she knew better than to speak of it now. The Vanguard's engines thrummed in sync with the vibrations of the gate, a song of their own. Quixor didn't move, his gaze fixed ahead, as though he were seeing something far beyond the gate, far beyond the immediate journey they were about to undertake. "Do you think we'll survive this?" she asked quietly, her voice cutting through the tension in the air, even though she knew he wouldn't answer. She didn’t need him to. His silence had already answered for him.
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CALYX The Black Dagger’s control room was a contrast to the alien forest. Instead of the rustle of distant creatures and whispering foliage, there was the constant hum of the spaceship’s systems—the low, mechanical heartbeat of the vessel as it sliced through the cold void of space. Calyx sat in the captain’s seat, his fingers lightly resting on the console, eyes scanning the array of holographic displays in front of him. The ship was quiet. Too quiet. He'd been to enough planets, dealt with enough strange phenomena, to know when something wasn’t right. The usual background noise of the Dagger’s systems had faded into an eerie stillness. His instincts, honed over years of surviving the unknown, were buzzing. He wasn’t alone in here. And he didn’t need to look to know exactly who it was. Experiment 42 was watching him again. “Always sneaking around, aren’t you?” Calyx muttered, voice low, more a statement of fact than anything else. His fingers hovered over the control panel, a pulse weapon within arm's reach, but it wasn’t a weapon he needed to worry about. Not yet. A shadow flickered across the far wall of the control room, its movement far too smooth to be anything organic. The shape of it was faint, almost translucent, twisting and melting into the ambient light as if it had no solid form at all. Calyx’s amber eyes narrowed, focusing on the fleeting image of his creation. “You’re getting bolder,” Calyx said, his tone a mix of curiosity and resignation. “What is it you want this time?” |
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Quixor
Quixor stretched his neck, as if this was starting to bore him, a dull ache forming at the top of his brow. "Guns ready" He said, looking at the gunners, sitting in front of their control panel. A different type of tension gripped the air, like the ship was holding its breath as it got sucked into the portal. The lurch and groan of the ship told them we had arrived. “Stand down,” Quixor said as he gazed out the window. The sight beholden to him as always, home. Or at least the planet he’d conquered. The sight of the blue orbiting world always made the ship seem like it had lost all of its air. He turned, nodding in approval and dismissing himself from the bridge, as his crew took them closer. He waited for the door to the elevator to slide open to take him to the shuttle bay. “Have a ship ready for me” He threw into the bridge at no-one in particular. The elevator hummed to life once more as it took them down into the bowels of the ship, where the door opened to the wide shuttle bay. An array of different types of smaller vessels adorned the bay. He walks towards one of the larger vessels, a group of soldiers waiting nearby, fully kitted out and holding weapons in militaristic fashion. He entered the vessel, with them following like a pack of well trained dogs close behind. He sat down in one of the crew chairs that faced forward, as the engines vibrated through the vessel. He inspected his world through the front window. His cape sat draping pooling to the floor of the metal interior. He studied the planet as they undocked, the mechanical whirring and vibrations of the engines rattled before they left the confines of the bay into the space between the ship and his planet, Valthara. Experiment 42
42 moves off the enemy ship, through one of the open airlocks, it blinks, as it crawls into the life support system of the black dagger. It had one goal now. It wanted to be free. It headed towards the bridge where its master would be waiting. The rest of the crew, thankfully out of the way onboard the enemy vessel, hunting for their own treasure. It remained silent, hunting. It reached the bridge, studying the captain as he watched his crew struggle, now trapped on the decks, where he thought the creature had been but no. It was smarter than that. It silently appeared by the captain, the slime dripping from its jaws, the bone of its arms clacking softly on the metal behind him. Its piercing blue gaze studies its master, eyeing him with a new predatory outlook. 42 growled as his master spoke. Somehow, the captain always seemed to know when the creature was stealthy nearby or approaching. It eyes the gun to the side of him, revealing its sharp teeth. Its hunger had been quenched but it loved toying with the captain, knowing he was the only thing that stood between it and its freedom. It ticks its head considering, writhing, coiling at the captain's words. “Freedom” a stroke of what felt like claws strokes across the captain’s mind. It growls before lurching forward snapping at the captain. It was done following commands, being used as a weapon on an enemy ship. Cassiopeia
Cass looked at her crewmates. She had to remain strong for them. “Captain?” She tries to use her communicator. “Where is 42?” She asks. She pauses before the comms crackle in response. She raises her gun heading further into the bowels of the enemy vessel they had boarded. They headed down to deck 4, more bodies and piles of ash littered the floor. “God, 42 has done a good job on these guys” Jones grimaced, studying the slime it left behind. “Just be glad it isn’t you” Seb said flatly. “Come on, we are here to do a job, let's get it done, if you see 42, don’t hesitate to shoot” Cass says, tapping her wrist with a map lighting up her face as she studies where they are on the ship. “This way” She says once more. They walk into the cargo hold, spotting the troves of cargo they'd been looking for. “There is no way we will be able to move all of this out quickly” Seb says. Cass starts to look around, her flashlight hovering over a hover-trolley. “Grab that” She commands. “Quickly” Jones brings it over and they start loading the cargo as much as they can, before heading to the nearest air lock back onto the Black Dagger. |
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ROSALINE Rosaline leaned against the bulkhead, her arms crossed as she watched Quixor move with that familiar, deliberate confidence. Even now, as the ship hung in the eerie stillness of portal arrival, she could feel the tension under his calm exterior. It wasn't just the routine. It was Valthara. The planet he had conquered, the world he called home—but never quite embraced. "Don't get too comfortable," she muttered to no one in particular, her eyes flicking over to the gunners and their twitching fingers, ready at a moment's notice. She couldn't help it; there was always something unsettling about coming back here, about the stillness of the place that seemed to draw the air out of her lungs. As Quixor made his way off the bridge, she stood straighter. She was second in command—she should’ve been the one to lead this mission, but she knew how it was. He needed to be the one to make the first move. The first step. The one who made the dramatic exit. Quixor always had to be the one with his foot planted first on the soil of whatever planet he set his sights on. A conquest of ego, if not just ambition. When the order to prepare the shuttle came, Rosaline’s gaze lingered on the starboard side, watching the sprawl of Valthara below them. Even now, with the ship in full motion, she couldn’t shake the feeling that everything—every piece of metal and every blink of the stars—was watching them. Waiting. Watching *him*. There was no place more suffocating than this planet, with all its hidden promises and unsaid rules. "Understood," she replied to Quixor's parting demand, ensuring the shuttle was prepped and ready, though she knew the moment he entered the bay, his entire demeanor would shift. It always did. He'd sit in that cold, front-facing seat like some king surveying his domain, though she knew the real weight of it wasn't in the land but in his mind. The crown he had claimed long ago didn't rest easy. With the ship undocking, Rosaline gave a quick glance over her shoulder to the gunners. "Hold steady. He’s not here for a sightseeing tour." The shuttle hummed beneath them, vibrating through the hull. She could already tell they were approaching the most delicate part of this mission, the part Quixor preferred to keep quiet. He wouldn't admit it, but he always hesitated when returning here, like the weight of it all crept up behind him. As the shuttle shifted through space, her eyes never left the planet below, studying the shifting surface as if it might reveal something new. Something he missed. Something he didn’t see in his obsessive need to control. Rosaline smirked slightly to herself, already knowing that whatever he was thinking, whatever his next move was, she’d be right behind him. Always was.
CAYLX “And if I don’t give it to you?” Calyx asked, his voice taking on a quieter, more dangerous edge. “What then?” The lights flickered again, and the temperature in the room dropped. The very air seemed to hum with the power of 42's presence, the creature drawing on something primal and ancient, something that had always been just beneath the surface of its programming. Calyx’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. He knew this was a turning point. 42 had been testing his boundaries for some time, pushing, learning, evolving. And now it wanted more than just its freedom—it wanted *control*. “You won’t get it,” Calyx said, the calmness of his words at odds with the growing storm in the air. He stood slowly, keeping his eyes locked on the creature’s shifting form. “You’re still my creation. And I’ll never let you take this ship from me.” Calyx knew the creature’s potential, and he had no illusions about what it was capable of. But there was one thing Calyx still had—*control* over the systems, the ship itself. He could still lock down the ship’s systems, prevent 42 from going anywhere. The question was: how long could he hold on before the creature broke free? Calyx narrowed his eyes, his hand now hovering over the ship's emergency lockdown sequence. He wasn’t going to let 42 go—*not yet*. But even he could feel the truth of what the creature had said. It was only a matter of time. The Black Dagger wasn’t just a ship anymore. It was a prison—one that neither of them were willing to stay in forever. |
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Quixor
Quixor’s boots thudded lightly against the shuttle’s metallic floor as he approached the cockpit. The hum of the ship vibrated through him, an unsettling reminder of the chaos that always seemed to follow him—no matter how controlled his every move. He could feel Rosaline’s eyes on him, her presence like a constant shadow at his back. There was no escaping her, not that he ever tried. His gaze flicked briefly toward her, though he didn’t look directly at her. His expression remained impassive, the mask of a leader in full force. But there was something in his posture—something tight in his shoulders—as if he could feel the gravity of this moment weighing him down. The shuttle ride to Valthara was always like this: a slow, inevitable descent into something he couldn’t quite outrun. "Don’t mistake confidence for comfort, Rosaline," he finally spoke, his voice a low rasp, tinged with that familiar arrogance. "You think you understand me? That you can predict me? I wear my armor well. But you’re wrong if you think it’s not heavy. Every step I take on Valthara, I carry its weight, and you’ll never truly understand that. Not like I do." His eyes narrowed as he settled into back into his seat, fingers brushing the nearby control panel with a practiced touch. "But, I admit," he continued, his tone softening just slightly, a rare admission, "you’re right about one thing. You’re always there, watching. I can feel it. And you do follow, even when I wish you wouldn’t." A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "I’ll give you that. You know how to stay one step behind me… just close enough to catch me when I falter." He straightened in his seat, hands clasping the panel as the shuttle began its final approach to the planet’s surface. The vast, barren expanse of Valthara loomed ahead, its haunting beauty both a testament to his dominance and a reminder of his failures. His eyes flickered for the briefest of moments toward the viewport, a flicker of something—something—shadowing his otherwise composed expression. "But don’t think for a second that you’ll ever be in front," he muttered, almost to himself, as if reassuring both her and himself at the same time. "I lead this mission. I lead this world. Not you." He leaned forward slightly, fingers tightening on the shuttle’s controls. "Stay steady, Rosaline. I’ll need you in place, watching my back. But I am the one who makes the choices here. Always." With that, the shuttle cut through the atmosphere, Valthara’s dark surface drawing nearer with every passing second. He could feel the tension building in the pit of his stomach—the unspoken truth that Valthara was not just a planet to conquer. It was his. Even if it never truly accepted him. And yet, this time… he would conquer it all over again. "Keep your eyes open," Quixor said, his voice suddenly quieter, more intense. "The rules here are... unforgiving." The shuttle descended into the haze below, leaving the ship above to drift like a silent sentinel. Experiment 42
The creature coiled underneath the weight of the captain's words. Retreating after it snapped at him, him remaining unflinching, in the face of death itself. The creature swings its head from side to side, as if studying the captain with its piercing blue eyes. It growled, a soft caress of the captain's mind, like a cat would a mouse before killing its prey "I don't need my creator" the voice low, careful, considering. It shuffled its weight from the intense stand off it was now facing. "I certainly don't need you" It eyed the captain as his hand hovered over the button it was all too familiar with but alas, the creature knew of the precarious position it had put the captain in. "If you push that button, you'll kill your entire crew" It said with light humour in its voice. 42 rose, appearing more intimidating. It knew this cat and mouse game they played everytime, it had finished its mission. It struggled with the loss of its freedom, when it was time to be reined in. The collar gilding in the light of the bridge that hung as an ever reminder of its place around its neck.
Cassiopeia Cass looked at her crewmates. "Come on, hurry, something is wrong I can feel it" Their boots heavy on the metal as they moved faster towards the black dagger. Cass breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the familiar lights of the black dagger inside the airlock. The hover-trolley behind them loaded with cargo. Her and her team were panting as if they'd just raced for their life. "Captain?" she buzzed into the comms. She looked at Jones and Seb, as they registered the situation. The comms still crackled. Frowning and with no time to remove the suit, even though the air had been neutralised, they moved quickly and quietly towards the bridge. |
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CALYX Calyx stood still, unwavering in the face of the creature’s growl, his eyes locked on its shifting form. His fingers hovered over the button, every muscle in his body knowing the price of pressing it. But what was one life—one ship’s worth of lives—compared to the cost of letting the creature win? The creature’s voice washed over him, like a whisper of cold air. "I don't need my creator," it said, low and calculating. Calyx didn’t flinch. *It always talks this way. Pretending it’s free, pretending it doesn’t care.* It shifted, its hulking form looming larger, but Calyx had already sized it up. He could hear the creature’s every breath, feel the tension in the air, and see the faint gleam of its collar, the symbol of its eternal subjugation. It didn’t matter how much it growled, how much it threatened. That collar still held it in check. "I certainly don’t need you," the creature added, the words dripping with venom. Calyx’s gaze never wavered. He knew its game. It always played this cat-and-mouse routine, each time pushing, testing, taunting him. It thought it could outlast him, but it had never truly understood the weight of command. Underneath his calm exterior, the pressure of being the captain of the *Black Dagger* pulsed like a steady beat in his chest. He had made decisions that left lives in the balance before. One more wouldn’t change the calculus. The creature hissed again, warning him about the crew. "If you push that button, you’ll kill your entire crew." Calyx smirked, his lips barely curling. "And you think I don’t already know that?" His voice was quiet, but firm. The calm before the storm. He flexed his fingers above the button, testing the weight of his resolve. The creature rose, expanding in size, trying to tower over him, but Calyx didn’t flinch. He never did. "I won’t kill them. Not for you," he said, his voice colder than the steel walls around them. The creature might have been powerful, might have been ancient, but it had never learned the most important rule of all: *The captain makes the hard calls.* He held its gaze. The standoff continued, and for a moment, Calyx’s finger twitched. He wasn’t going to press the button. Not yet. But he knew this: when it came down to it, *someone* would have to pay.
ROSALINE Rosaline kept her gaze trained on him, though she didn’t let her eyes narrow or betray anything resembling impatience. Her hands were steady at her side, but her mind was already processing, analyzing his every word, every subtle shift in his posture. She didn’t need to understand his armor to see its weight—it was always there, woven into the fabric of every decision, every action. She’d been close enough to see it cracking at the edges, even if he didn’t admit it aloud. She heard the familiar arrogance in his voice, but that didn’t faze her. The truth was, Quixor had never needed her to agree with him; he only needed her to follow. And she would, as she always had. The difference now was that she knew the kind of leadership he clung to—it wasn’t just power. It was the suffocating fear of losing control. As he spoke, his words were sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade, but the cracks in his facade were there, and she would be the one to hold him together when it inevitably fractured. She'd seen it happen before, and she'd catch him again when the time came. Her lips didn’t curl into a smile at his smirk. She knew better than to show her cards, even the ones he might want to see. Instead, she kept her voice low, her eyes briefly glancing toward the viewport, where Valthara’s surface loomed just beyond the glass. “Confidence and comfort often wear the same mask, Quixor,” she said quietly, her tone without reproach, but with the faintest edge. “But you’re right about one thing. I’ve always followed. Close enough to catch you. But I don’t just follow—I keep you grounded when you forget yourself. Someone has to.” The shuttle hummed around them, the familiar vibration underfoot a reminder of the world they were descending into. She could sense his unease, but she said nothing more on it, knowing he wouldn’t welcome anything that even hinted at vulnerability. At his final words, the subtle challenge in his voice didn’t go unnoticed, but she didn’t respond in kind. There was no need to prove anything. She had already proved her worth, many times over. But Valthara was not a place for proving dominance—it was a place for survival. And she would survive, as always, even if Quixor didn’t fully understand the rules of that game. "Understood," she said, her voice a low hum against the din of the shuttle's descent. "I’m watching. As always." And as Valthara’s surface stretched beneath them, dark and unforgiving, Rosaline's eyes never left him. She would always be there, just behind him, one step away, watching—waiting for the moment he could no longer stand alone. |
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Quixor
The shuttle comes in quickly now, and sets to land in a wide clearing between the buildings of a city. The shuttle sets down with a jolt. Quixor standing with his soliders ready to disembark. The shuttle door opens outwards, the metal thudding the floor, the dust parting in a cloud as the engines turn off. A few of the soliders walk out first, before Quixor and Rosaline follow, follwed by even more soliders. The formation breaks, as Quixor takes in the sight of his palace before him. Giant marble steps lace the centre. A sign of the power that dominates this planet. The soliders, looking outwards down the narrow streets of the vast looming palace in the middle. They spied the crowds, going about their daily business. Mostly humans, but alot where aliens and mercenaries looking for their next bounty. The streets here were littered with brothels, shops and even more brothels. A slight stench hug in the air, mixed with metal and the reek of sex. Quixor wore a look of distaste on his face but nevertheless, this is what he wanted. Freedom for his people to do as they wished. The militaristic nature just happened to follow him across the galaxy. The average military man came here to sign up to his forces, then eat, drink, sleep and fuck until they were needed for service. Quxior turned in line with his soliders, he saw the Vanguard hovering above, like the sentienel it was. His soliders, a few ahead leading the way up the palace steps, Rosaline a shadow in his peripheral. More soliders following close behind. The heavy boots of the formation now thudded on the marble leading into the palace. The tall columns and high ceilings, made the palace stick out like a shining beacon on the planet's surface in the middle of the city. They reached the top, where his soliders fanned out and took up their positions, guarding the entrances and corners. Quixor always felt a certain unease coming here, this planet was his own yes, but the palace wasn't something he'd designed or wanted. A andriod approached them. It had been programmed to be female, the slender silhouette silver, covered with a thin veil of shimmering silver fabric, an attempt at modesty but Quixor knew better. A humanistic face had been added in a feeble attempt to make the droid look and feel more human. Pretty. Blonde hair had also been added for the effect. Quixor couldn't help but lay eyes over the andriod, the sight of the curves and complexion of the andriod had smoothed out a desire but left a burning itch somewhere down below the surface, underneath his skin. It turned, guiding Quixor and Rosaline to the nearest drawing room. The rooms here, tall, white and elegant. Art, animal hides and statues adorned every surface, every corner in a lavish display of wealth. As they entered the room, Quixor spoke, his voice almost echoing in the tall and vast room. A sense of impostor syndrome washed over him, the calm echoing into his very bones. "Send a command to the generals. Tell them I need to meet" His eyes burning with intensity at the droid. It nods in acknowledgement "Certainly Sir" It said before turning, closing the doors and leaving Quixor and Rosaline alone in the room. Quixor looked and felt oddly out of place in his military gear, amongst all this finery. The lounging chairs, a delicate red velvet, made in a time, long forgotten past. He walks over to the columns of marble, peering out of the wide panaromic windows at the city that slanted below. Experiment 42
The creature studied the captain, waiting, planning. It almost seemed to laugh in his face. Cassiopeia
Cass and her team approach the bridge, she signals to them for silence. They move steathily. Cass listens for any signs of disturbance, she comes around the corner, her gun trained, a slight movement catches her eye and she commands her team to wait. She looks down to see the tail of Experiment 42 jutting out of the bridge. She gazes round to see the creature squaring off with the captain. She jumps back, pressing her team back into audible range without catching the creature's attention. "I need one of you to go to the captain's quarters and grab the creature's remote, it'll activate the collar" She whispers, hurriedly. Seb nods and leaves, hurrying silently down the corridor. She signals to Jones to stay here, she was going to attempt to communicate with the captain. She edges to the corner of the bridge again, the creature's back to her. She tries to catch the eye of her captain, to tell him they were safe and that they were moving into position to render experiment 42. She jumps back as 42's head swung round, the maw of the creature jutting through the hatch into the corridor, as if could smell her. She holds her breath. |
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(IDK what to write for my other two)
ROSALINE
Rosaline watched the shuttle descend, the jolt of its landing a small, familiar shock to her system. The heavy thud of the door hitting the ground echoed in her chest, the dust parting like a veil before the soldiers began to disembark, each one stepping out with the disciplined precision of men who knew their place. And there, at the front of the formation, stood Quixor, his broad shoulders framed by the hulking outline of the shuttle. He was a man of power, but in moments like this, the shadow of doubt always seemed to linger just beyond the edge of his expression. She followed him as he led his soldiers out into the clearing, the sharp, metallic scent of the city reaching her before she even saw it. The palace—his palace—towered over them, its marble steps a symbol of the might that he had inherited, but never truly claimed. As always, Rosaline stayed a step behind, her gaze quiet and observant, flicking from the soldiers to the shifting masses of people moving through the streets below. Humans. Aliens. Mercenaries. It didn’t matter; they were all part of the same sprawling, decaying machine, feeding into the seedy heart of the city. The stench of sex and sweat mingled with the sharper tang of metal, and Rosaline felt a brief wave of revulsion. This place was a monument to Quixor’s idea of freedom. A freedom that had long since become its own prison. The people here had the right to do whatever they wished, but it came with a cost. The streets, lined with brothels and businesses of questionable repute, reflected that cost. She could see the disapproval flicker in Quixor’s eyes as they made their way toward the palace. He wore his discomfort like a second skin, but there was nothing to be done about it now. The soldiers marched up the steps, their heavy boots ringing out, and Rosaline fell into step with them, close enough to be seen but far enough not to be noticed. She was always at the edges of things—quiet, watching, waiting for the moment when she was needed. Inside the palace, the silence was deafening. The grand columns, the soaring ceilings, the opulent decor—it was all so distant from Quixor’s world, a world made of battles, of iron and fire, not of marble and velvet. He was out of place here, and Rosaline could sense it in the way his eyes scanned the room, the way his posture stiffened. The palace had been built by someone else’s hands, and it had never been his choice to inherit it. Yet here he was, the ruler of a world that he could neither change nor fully embrace. Her eyes flicked to the android as it approached, its silver silhouette almost blending with the cold grandeur of the room. She didn’t need to see the way Quixor looked at it—the pull of desire was always there, simmering just beneath the surface. Rosaline knew this palace, these androids, were distractions, temporary fixes for something deeper. She had seen it in him before. A hunger that wasn’t satisfied by a pretty face or smooth curves. There was always more, always a need that couldn’t be filled by flesh and steel. As the droid guided them to the drawing room, Rosaline’s gaze wandered over the lavish space—tall, elegant, decorated with art, animal hides, and statues that all screamed of wealth and history. The room felt empty to her, despite its beauty. There was too much in it that didn’t belong. Too much that wasn’t real. When they were finally alone, Quixor’s voice broke the silence, deep and commanding, filling the room. “Send a command to the generals. Tell them I need to meet.” The words rang out, sharp in the stillness. Rosaline didn’t need to move; she could feel the weight of his unease hanging over him like a dark cloud. The android, in its perfect, hollow beauty, nodded and left, the sound of its retreating footsteps slowly fading away. The room seemed to close in around them, its towering space growing suffocating, almost as if the grandeur was too much for Quixor to bear. Rosaline stayed where she was, her back against one of the cold marble columns, watching him, as he stood there, out of place in his military gear amidst the decadence. She could feel his discomfort radiating off him, even as he tried to mask it. The velvet chairs, the delicate red fabric, the long-forgotten elegance of this place—none of it could erase the truth that this was not where he belonged. He turned away from her, his gaze pulling toward the wide, panoramic windows. The city slanted below them, sprawling and chaotic, a mirror of his mind. He could never find peace here, not among all the beauty, not amidst the noise and the decadence. Rosaline’s gaze followed his, lingering on the city below, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he saw the same thing she did. Or if, like always, he was too lost in the shadows of his own creation to see it clearly. |
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Quixor
Quixor stood still, his back rigid as he stared out at the sprawling chaos below. The city beneath him was a reflection of everything he had fought for, yet it never felt like his own. Not truly. The marble columns of the palace—his palace—seemed to mock him with their pristine elegance, a beauty he could never claim, never own. Everything here felt like a gilded cage, built by someone else’s hands, a gift he never wanted. He didn’t turn but could feel Rosaline's, like a shadow at his back. He never needed to see her to know she was there, always watching, always waiting. It was an uncomfortable kind of quiet between them, one that was less about the words unsaid and more about the weight of understanding. The soldiers, his soldiers, had gone off to follow orders, and for a moment, Quixor had allowed himself the luxury of solitude. But even in the silence of the room, he couldn’t escape the tightening in his chest. The palace was a gilded lie—opulence that didn’t fit him, that didn’t fit anyone who lived in the grime of the streets below. The androids, the servants, the heavy curtains that kept the sunlight from reaching the polished floors—it was all a distraction, a facade to hide the deeper truth. His fingers flexed at his sides, and for a moment, he almost longed for the feel of his weapon, the weight of something real in his hand. Something he could control. But there was no room for that here. In this place, the only thing that mattered was image, the illusion of power. And it was a game Quixor had learned to play well. The android had left them, the cold, smooth figure disappearing into the corridors, its footsteps echoing like a hollow promise. The room was quieter now, more oppressive, and Quixor could feel the unease settling in, curling in his stomach. The velvet chairs, the fine tapestries—none of it was his. None of it could fill the void, the emptiness that had been with him since he first took this throne. His order hadn't been a request—it was an command, one that carried the weight of a thousand burdens. But even as he spoke, he knew it wasn’t the meeting he needed. He needed something more, something that couldn’t be found in a room full of men who saw him as nothing more than a symbol. He needed control. He needed to feel something—anything. Turning away from the window, his gaze flicked to Rosaline, though he didn’t meet her eyes. He didn’t have to. She understood, as always. There was something about her presence that grounded him, even if only for a moment. She saw the truth in him, the truth he tried so hard to hide from everyone else. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like to walk away from all this?” he asked, his voice quieter now, less commanding. He didn’t expect an answer. It was a question more for himself than for her. A thought that had been gnawing at him for some time, a fleeting moment of weakness that he wasn’t sure he could afford. Quixor turned back to the window, the sprawling city below a reflection of the chaos inside him. For all the wealth, for all the power, he had never felt further from what he wanted. And maybe, in some ways, he had never truly known what that was. He gazed up towards the pale blue that was the sky, the Vanguard almost appearing frozen in time. A flash in the distance signalled the arrival of his general's ships. But he couldn’t walk away. Not now. Not when everything he had fought for was teetering on the edge of something darker, something more dangerous. The city, the palace, the soldiers—they were all part of a game he had to keep playing. Even if it cost him everything. Cass
Cass's heart races, adrenaline surging as the creature's massive head swings towards her hiding in the hallway offset to the bridge, its blue, hollow eyes scanning the shadows. For a moment, time feels like it's suspended, the world narrowing to just the creature’s predatory gaze and the thudding of her own pulse. She remains perfectly still, every muscle locked in place, hoping the thing doesn't pick up her scent, hoping the stillness of the hallway cloaks her long enough. The bridge is deathly silent, save for the faint hum of the ship's systems and the distant echo of Seb’s footsteps as he moves toward the captain's quarters. Experiment 42's seemed to click at the sound of the crew moving amongst the ship. It's gaze swung back the captain. Cass doesn’t dare move a muscle. Her gun is still raised, her grip tight, but she knows—no shot will be fired yet. They can’t afford to escalate this without the collar’s control. One wrong move, and Experiment 42 could tear through the bridge in seconds. From the corner of her eye, she sees Jones crouch lower, ready to provide cover. He knows the drill. But it's all down to Seb now, and the wait feels endless. She slowly inches forward, not enough to make noise but just enough to peer around the corner again. The captain looks back at her, a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but it’s brief—his focus is still on the creature. He’s trying to communicate with it, keeping it distracted, but Cass can see the strain in his posture, the tension in his face. The creature's presence is suffocating, its monstrous size filling the room with an oppressive, almost tangible threat. Cass makes a sharp, deliberate movement with her hand, signaling to him to stay calm, that help is on the way. But before he can register the gesture, the creature’s head snaps back, its jagged maw opening wide in a grotesque display of teeth. For a split second, it seems to inhale, its nostrils flaring as if it's preparing to charge. Cass’s pulse spikes. She can feel the weight of every second, the unbearable pressure of the situation. She’s waiting for Seb to return with the remote, the moment they can finally control this nightmare. Then, just as suddenly as the tension builds, the creature turns its head again. Its attention shifts momentarily back to the captain, giving Cass a fraction of a second. Without hesitation, she raises her eyes to the captain’s, silently urging him to stay steady, to trust her team. It won’t be long now. |
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ROSALINE Rosaline stood quietly behind him, her presence an unspoken constant. She didn’t need to see Quixor’s face to know the weight of his thoughts, the heaviness that had been pressing on him since they first set foot in this gilded prison. She could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed by his sides, as if yearning for the grip of something real, something tangible. But there was nothing real in this palace—just cold marble and polished floors, facades designed to conceal the rot beneath. The question he asked wasn’t unexpected, though it was rare for him to voice such doubts aloud. *Do you ever wonder what it would be like to walk away from all this?* It wasn’t a question for her—it was a question for himself, a momentary crack in the façade he so carefully constructed around himself. Rosaline didn’t immediately answer, sensing that the silence was more meaningful than any response she could offer. She knew the answer to his question as much as he did. Walking away wasn’t an option. It never had been. The weight of what they had built—the empire, the power, the bloodshed—was too great to simply abandon. The world outside would devour them both if they left. They both knew that. She watched him, his gaze fixed on the sprawling city below, a city that reflected all his fears and frustrations. The marble columns of the palace, the fine tapestries that adorned the walls, the velvet chairs that were meant to comfort—none of it was his. None of it was real. For a moment, Rosaline felt the weight of his internal struggle as if it were her own. He had fought for this power, sacrificed everything to gain it, and yet the palace that should have been his crowning achievement felt like a hollow victory. He had come to see it not as a symbol of his triumph, but as a gilded cage. She knew it wasn’t the city that troubled him, nor the soldiers or the palace—it was the emptiness he carried inside, the space that even all the wealth and power in the world couldn’t fill. She stepped closer, her presence grounding him even as he struggled to escape the suffocating silence of the room. Her voice, when it came, was soft but firm, a quiet truth in the midst of his confusion. "What do you think it would change? To walk away, I mean." The words hung in the air, but he didn’t answer, his silence speaking volumes. Rosaline knew the truth, just as he did: it would change nothing. The world outside the palace wasn’t a place for someone like Quixor, someone who had clawed his way to the top only to find that the throne was nothing more than an illusion of power. If he left, the city would crumble in his absence. His enemies would rise, the very forces he had fought against would reclaim the streets, and he would be nothing more than a forgotten name. She watched him closely, her gaze steady and unflinching. There was a sadness in him that never truly went away, a gnawing hunger for something real—something he couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t about the throne, or the soldiers, or the city. It was about the sacrifices he had made, the parts of himself he had lost along the way. "Sometimes," she continued, her voice quieter now, "I wonder if the only thing we truly own is the choice to keep going." There was no comfort in that statement, only the stark truth. They had made their choices long ago, and now, there was no turning back. The weight of everything they had fought for was too great to simply walk away from. The sound of approaching ships signaled the return of his generals, the game of power about to resume. The brief moment of quiet between them was fading, but Rosaline knew that, for a time, they had both shared a fleeting truth. There was no escaping the game. Not now. Not ever. And so, they stood in silence, the burden of it all pressing down on both of them, unspoken but understood.
CALYX
Calyx stood motionless, the weight of Experiment 42’s presence pressing down on him like a vice. His heart pounded in his chest, but he fought to keep his breath steady. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to act, but he knew better. Any sudden movement, any wrong word, and they were dead. The creature’s blue eyes bore into him, its hollow gaze too knowing, too intelligent for something born of science’s darkest nightmares. He kept his hands raised, palms open, trying to project calm. Calm for the creature, calm for the crew—calm for himself. The hallway felt like it had shrunk, the walls closing in as the beast's monstrous form towered before him, filling the doorway to the bridge. The hum of the ship's systems was distant, a faint background noise to the tight, suffocating silence that surrounded them now. The creature’s nostrils flared, its sharp, jagged maw opening in what felt like an eternity of threat. He could feel its every movement, its every twitch, as if his own skin might be torn away by the mere proximity of such raw violence. *Don’t move.* The command was in his head, the words echoing over and over, but it wasn’t just for him. It was for Cass, for Jones, for the whole damn crew hiding in the shadows. He could sense them out there, waiting, tense. They were just a fraction of a second away from exploding into chaos, but he had to keep the beast distracted long enough for Seb to return with the collar’s remote. Without that, none of this would matter. Calyx risked a glance toward the hallway, his eyes flicking to the faint shadow of Cass peering around the corner. She was there—waiting, like the rest of them. Her silent gesture came just in time: stay calm, help’s on the way. He held her gaze for a fraction of a second before the creature’s attention snapped back to him. He could feel its focus intensifying, a sense of calculation behind the predator’s eyes. The tension was unbearable, the kind that made him feel like the air itself had thickened, become something dense and impossible to breathe. His body tensed, fighting against the instinct to step back, to break the standoff. He knew better than to give any sign of weakness. The creature fed off that, its every move driven by hunger and curiosity, perhaps even intelligence. *Trust them.* The thought slipped into his mind unbidden. It was all he could do now—trust Cass, trust Seb, trust that this nightmare would end. But even as that thought flickered through him, something darker gnawed at his gut. He couldn’t keep the creature occupied forever. One wrong move, one slip, and Experiment 42 would shatter the fragile peace they had fought so hard to maintain. A deep, guttural growl rumbled from the creature’s throat, and his spine stiffened. It was too close, too much. But in the distance, he heard it—the faintest sound of Seb’s footsteps, the rush of air as he moved down the hall. The collar, the only thing that could end this, was almost in hand. The creature’s gaze flicked to the side again, its attention momentarily diverted. Calyx’s eyes locked with Cass’s for the briefest of seconds. He held his breath, willing her to understand. *This is it.* The moment they had all been waiting for. But as much as he wished he could relax, he knew better than anyone that it wouldn’t be that simple. Not with a creature like this. Not with his crew depending on him to keep it together for just a little longer.
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Sunny
