Chapter Text
Where the fuck is she?
Nevermind that, who is she? What is she?
Her mind is jumbled: an amalgamation of screaming, silence and confusion. Someone within her is not her and they do not want to be her. They want to detach; return to their former host. Someone pokes at her brain, influencing signals and transmitters and whatever the hell goes on up there.
Her limbs are uncooperative, they act on their own- alien to the rest of her brain.
She is laying on an uncomfortable mattress.
There is a cannula poking into her nose, as well as a IV stabbing into her arm. Wires are threaded into her, and beeping machines are positioned in a semicircle around her. The rest of the room is a windowless expanse, so dark that shelves and cupboards merge into one. It's large, but there's nobody else with her.
It smells like ozone in here.
She looks down at herself: she's clothed in a draping, navy shawl, which has been tightened at her waist with rope. It has some kind of Insignia on, and someone inside of her recognises it, but she can't put a finger on it.
Her hands are bound together with a metal clasp. When she wrestles with them, a loud clang echoes throughout the place. Sepia, wool pants are tucked into cream, ribbed leg warmers. On her feet, which are also tied, are fluffy, beige socks.
She knows, for some reason, that she should have horns in her head, but she can't see them.
Somehow, the freezing temperature still manages to bite through the thick layers.
Can someone help her? It's so cold.
She's in a hospital, right? Why are there no healers?
The being inside of her tries to whisper something, but it's too blurry to comprehend.
Slam.
The tap, tap, tapping of heeled boots enters. With a snap, a clinical white swallows the darkness whole.
One of the machines beeps louder; more frequently.
The alien inside kicks at the walls of her chest. Her eyes burn from the luminance.
Someone peers over her, inspecting something. The smell of ozone thickens with their presence.
They scribble something in a notebook. Then, they reach for her hands, and produce the key for the locked clasp. Once it has been unlocked, they straighten her right arm above her, and write something else down.
They repeat the check with her left arm. However, this time, they stare at it for a few seconds, and look disappointed. They scribble, flip a couple pages back, read something, and cross a small 'x' on the page.
They scan her face. Afterwards, they beam a small flashlight into either eye, and again takes note. Finally, she gets a good look at them.
They have long, white hair, which has been pulled back into a messy, matted plait. However, the front is much shorter, the bangs barely meeting their eyebrows. Across the left side of their face is a long strip of fabric, working as an eye patch. Covering their mouth is a black gas mask.
The being inside is dead silent with fear.
Who is this, she tries to beg, who are you so scared of?
To no avail.
Two pairs of magenta horns are planted in their head: one coiling around in either direction, and the other circling up to where their jaw would be.
They wear a black turtle neck and some sort of brace, decorated with intertwining straight lines, leading to their right arm. Over it, is a messy, white lab coat.
For a minute, they put a hand over her chest, to feel the slow, methodic pulsing, then take it back.
'Hello,' they state, the filter creating static, stringed between the syllables, 'Can you hear me?'
She tries to wrangle with nonexistent vocal chords to speak. She struggles to mouth her mouth; no sound comes out.
They chuckle. 'Sorry, you're mute for now. Voice boxes are fragile things,' they roll their eyes, 'and hard to replicate. Don't worry, I'll perfect one for you soon. Just nod if you can hear me.'
She nods.
They place the notepad and pen into their pockets.
'Alright. My name is Subspace Tripmine. Head engineer and chemist of the Korblox Administration.' she sees their visible eye crease, indicating a grin under the mask,
'And I created you.'
///
The scientist— Subspace, the being supplements— left a while ago. However, they left a stack of books beside her hospital bed, and a pair of free arms.
She reaches over to the book on top, and inspects the cover.
What the fuck does it say?
It definitely isn't in whatever language she knows - the script resembles something familiar but the words are jumbled and she can't even imagine how it would sound out of her useless mouth.
She has a ping of a headache and the being lets her know: this is Common.
Then what does she speak?
Nothing comes through.
She sighs, and shuffles to the next book.
The title is something equally incomprehensible, but, this time, in the scientific jargon way, rather than a whole language apart.
Checking the title, she does gather one thing its about: crystals. And her mind pings at that.
She tries to flip through pages, but everything is written in an academic tone, and she struggles to read past statistics of 1/256 survival rates, and centripetal forces and lab budget restrictions.
Her head hurts, and her eyes start to fall shut.
///
She opens her eyes to fluorescent light bulbs and that engineer peering over her again.
'Oh, sorry about all this. Higher ups don't get particularly ecstatic about another dead body to handle. You know how supervisors are. 'Health and safety this' and 'unethical' that. Although, I suppose you don't, do you? Ah, well. Regardless, it seems like a bit of a waste for me to be doing all these little checkups, doesn't it,' They glance off, rolling their pen between their fingers.
'Though, I do want to check that arm of yours.'
They lift up her left arm, twisting it back and forth to inspect. The arm feels weighted, like something she's been forced to drag along.
'Still a bit... off, don't you think? Stubborn, stubborn thing. It should be fixed soon.'
She doesn't know how, or what, to respond with.
'Well, I hope the books were alright. You won't find a lot of fiction in Blackrock, just theses and educational material. Product of its environment. There's too much to investigate here to start bothering with literature,' Subspace reports.
They continue, 'Sorry about this little one way chat we're having. I'll get you a voice box soon.'
The engineer turns to the machines, deciding mechanics is more interesting than their 'little one way chat'. She would have to agree; she kind of wants Subspace to shut up. However, they continue to ramble while working, muttering things about lots of overloaded work.
How long is she gonna be here for?