I've watched TOS, read up a lot on the wiki, and have of course watched the reboots, so I try hard to stay true to the Star Trek facts. Still, I will change a few things to fit my story. Also, excuse what little knowledge I have on the world of Engineering. Additionally, I took a lot of inspiration from Stranger Things for this story. You'll see what I mean in future chapters. I write for fun! Anyway, I hope you enjoy! My tumblr is qarlgrimes!
Also, I love 70's/80's music, so deal with that.
Here I am
Rock you like a hurricane
Here I am
Rock you like a hurricane
Rock You Like A Hurricane - Scorpions
That's how long I have been in this...place.
I don't know how I got here. I don't know why I am here. There's only one person who comes into the small, dimly lit room they're keeping me in. She's not exactly the chattiest of people, so I tend to keep my mouth shut whenever she comes in to draw blood, or give me food. Sometimes, she'll slip me something, and I'll find myself falling into a sleep. When I wake up, it's with a killer headache, more pricks in my arm, and marks on my wrists like I've been tied down.
All not great signs of hospitable hosts. Still, I think washed me in those times. I always woke up with damp hair and clean teeth. At first. I felt violated beyond beneath. I wanted to be sick. After a while, I was almost thankful to the fucking creeps that they were keeping me clean.
For the first three days, I was terrified. I screamed. I cried. I tried so hard to uncuff my hands from the odd shackles around my wrist, that I'm pretty sure I nearly broke a few fingers. In those days, they must have been fixing things, because the lights in my room kept flickering. Maybe there was construction going on? I mean, in all honestly, my reaction was probably fucking chill compared to what it could have been. What would you do, if you woke up in a damp and dark room, with no windows, no means of natural light, with only a rubber mattress pushed into the corner and a toilet next to it?
I would like to highlight that the last thing I remember is taking a shot of tequila in some shitty club near my University. In retrospect, this was probably a fucking terrible idea. I was, in fact, three months away from finishing my Masters in Biomedical Engineering, and after a gruelling few days of working on manipulating organism's genes on a molecular level through the field of genetic engineering, I had needed a fucking drink.
I think I had fallen flat on my face in the space between me stumbling to the toilet, through the masses of sweaty students. Huh. I guess that's the last thing I remember. Yeah. That's the last thing I remember before waking up in this room.
I had gathered only titbits of information. The woman who came into my room spoke English. Although she had never spoken to me, or even acknowledged my sneering comments, I could see recognition in her eyes on the sparse occasions that I through questions or insults her way. She was clean, so that told me she had somewhere to wash and sleep. Her brown hair was always pulled into a tight bun, and she always wore latex, blue gloves. That, and the fact that she had some kind of shiny, curved looking gun at her side. That alone was pretty fucking terrifying. We didn't have guns in freaking Oxford.
It's funny, at first I thought I had been taken by some crazy black market dudes. You know, like the ones who cut out your liver and sold it?
There were other people in this place, too. A few times, when she slipped open the door to bring me food or knock me out and do God knows what to me, I would hear voices in the hallway outside. A few times, I had caught English words. That was good. I was still in the UK.
I don't know where else I thought I could be.
The technology they had was good. Mad, even. I could not, still, understand the cuffs that my wrists were held in. They were a metal, white circles around each of my wrists, with nothing connecting them. Yet, I could only pull my hands a meter apart before something invisible seemed to stop them. No science, nor engineering, nor fact could explain this.
I couldn't focus on this too much, though.
They were doing things to me. After 25 days, I can't even begin to understand what the hell these people want with me, or why they took me (or how they did), but on the few occasions the silent woman would grab my arm, give me a look, and shove some clear cylinder object against my bare arm, I would black out. When I wake up, groggy and pissed off, I would have more indents on my arms form injections, a banging headache, and an aching in my nose like something had been shoved up there.
To make matters even fucking worse, they had taken my bloody clothes. The dress had cost a fucking bomb on my student budget, but don't even get me started on those damn shoes. Those shoes were about the only thing I owned that weren't broken, scuffed, or sticky from nightclub floors.
So, I do as I usually do. I curl against the far wall, away from the metal door that, after three days, I had figured out had no physical lock, but some kind of number tapped in on the other side (judging from the slight beeping I heard before the woman would enter).
I stare at the wall opposing me. I think of my parents. I think of my friends who I had been out with.
I wait for someone to find me.
I don't know what time it ever is.
I always guess, to be honest.
In all honesty, I could have been here for thirty days. Twenty-five is a guess, from the amount of times that I've fallen asleep, and for how long. Having a constant stream of 9 AM classes has made my sleeping pattern that of a 90 year old.
I know something is off, though, when the door opens and she slips in. She's wearing her usual white coat, with those clunky brown shoes and the funny looking gun at her side. Her blue eyes assess me for a moment, and this alone is weird as shit. Normally, she casts me only one look, dumps the plate of whatever vegetable and meat I was having that day, and slides from the room after a quick blood-test.
Now, though, she stares at me with her jaw set and her hair surprisingly loose around her narrow face.
I blink. I stare. I edge back against the wall. '...What?' I croak. 'Quit staring at me, Creepy'.
Creepy was her nickname.
She continues to stare. The plate in her hand shakes a little,and my eyes dart to it. She's shaking. Shit. I look back to her face, my brow furrowed and my knees drawn to my chest. Finally, she heaves a small sigh, walks forward, and places the metal plate in the middle of the room. As she stands straighter, her eyes land on me once again. 'You have an hour,' she says, and I jump so violently that the back of my head hits the metal grate behind me.
25 days. No one had spoken directly to me in 25 days.
I stare at her, mouth open and heart hammering. 'Um...pardon?'
She backs up, blue eyes unblinking. 'In the chicken'. She nods at the plate of food. I follow her gaze, before looking back up to her, still utterly baffled. 'I'm sorry this happened to you. I'm sorry we did this to you. It chose you, not us'. She backs up, hand finding the door and pulling it open. 'They'll be here soon. Remember that I...' She trails off. Her gaze is...guilty. Well, shit. A bit late for remorse, Creepy. 'Remember that I was the one to call them. I am sorry, girl'.
With that, she steps back and allows the door to slide shit behind her.
A full fifteen seconds later, I am staring at the plate, then the door, then the plate, and then the door.
It takes twenty minutes for me to eat. Had what she said about the chicken been some kind of warning? Had they poisoned it this time? Was this a test of some sort? Was Creepy just fucking with me, as some weird torment?
Still, after twenty minutes of my stomach rumbling, I decide that I'm hungry and that I don't fucking care what Creepy was playing at.
I crawl towards the plate, hands awkward in front of me, and slide the metal plate toward me. Carrots and chicken breast. Yum. They never gave me utensils. So, like an animals, I eat the carrots first, taking special notice of the test...the texture. Then, the chicken. I tear at it as usual. I chew and watch the door, going over her words. An hour? Who would come in an hour?
It is then that I feel something hard beneath my fingers.
I jump, thinking for a moment that the chicken is off and feel sick, before noting the metallic looking object poking from the meat. And, so like me, I ignore the fact that this is fucking disgusting, and I instead pull the object out.
It's long, thin, with a round point at the end.
I stare at it.
Then I stare at it some more.
'What the fuck,' I mutter. 'What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?'
Shockingly, no one answers.
I flop back into a kneel, balancing the little object between my dirty fingers. After banging and scraping at the walls for the first four days of me being here, my hands had seen better days. Considering I worked with such delicate material constantly, I usually kept my nails and hands in pristine condition. What would Professor Daul do if he saw me now, huh?
And then, it clicks.
I jut out my arms, flipping them so my forearm is facing to the cracked ceiling. There, on the underside of the circle enclosed on my right wrist, is a small, circular hole. Without a moment hesitation, without even thinking whether this is a trap, or some fucking up kind of torture, I manoeuvre my hands in an oh-so awkward manner and slip the metal object into the hole.
There is a beep, a feeling of my arms being pushed apart, and then both circles unclasp from around my wrists.
'Holy shit,' I mutter.
Without a moments hesitation, I fly to my feet, shake the plate free of food, and start for the door. Would she have...could she have? If she let me unlock my handcuffs, then maybe...And, sure enough, with an easy push to the door, it slips open just barely. I jolt back, and the door slips shit. I am, despite my desperate need to get out of this damp, dark and all together fucking horrible room, suddenly way in over my head.
I felt like I was in a freaking movie.
I was an engineer. My future held a career of tissue, genetic and neural engineering; of tinkering with medical devices that would one day aid in disease diagnoses, cures, treatment, and prevention. I was from a sleepy village in the East of England, where I was both smart and idiotic at the same time. I drank, I read, I stumbled my way into the best University in the UK in one of the best degrees. But that, not in any way, meant that I was prepared to throw myself into a fucking life or death situation.
But you have to. Everyone is probably wondering where you are. You have to get out of here.
I couldn't hear any noise on the other side of the door; no indication that any of the people who were keeping me here were on the other side, just waiting for me to take the bait and step out into the hallway. What would I do when I was on the other side? What if they had me underground...what if the exits were all locked with the odd, beeping locks that my door held? Well, then I would be well and truly fucked, wouldn't I?
Maybe you should stop thinking of every way this could go badly, and just step into the hallway.
And, with that thought in mind, I give the door a final push.
It swings open easily, and I am met with a near blinding light. After the near month locked away in that dingy and dark room, a freaking candle would have probably burnt away my retinas. I squint and rub at my eyes, my bare feet cold against the floor as I step back once again. Blinking into the hallway, I hold the door, my heart hammering, my limbs frozen-
There is no one there.
The hallway is long and well lit, with dark, shiny flooring and white walls. The light seems to be coming from no where, but then I see thin strips of artificial light streaming from the ceiling. I blink, bemused and creeped out. What the hell was this place? Stepping forward, I glance at the rusted metal numbers sitting idly in the middle of the door that had kept me locked away for 25 days.
And then, it's like adrenaline surges through me; sudden fear that this is my only chance to get out of this damn place. I take a larger step forward and, finally, I am standing in the hallway - I am out of that damn room. I nod, almost to myself, and glance left, then right. How the hell should I know which way would lead me to freedom? Why the hell didn't the woman give me some more clues, outside of a key locked in a damn chicken breast?
Why did she let me out, anyway?
I voice filters down the hallway, so quiet and echoing that the person it belonged to must be ages away. Despite this, I trip back and yelp, my heart jumping in my chest. Above me, the lights flicker, and my feet begin moving on their own accord.
Left. I go left.
The hallways are empty, but voices linger around me. How many of them are there here? How big is this place? I hold the metal plate in my hand closer to my chest; ready to strike in case anyone finds me. Yeah, bad guys, don't fuck with me. I have a plate.
And then, just as I am rounding the corner to another hallway, what seems like dozens of voices shouting in the distance erupt, just as the white lighting above me turns an angry red, and sirens blare. I jolt, feet suddenly thumping against the shiny black flooring as I run; hurtling around a new corner into what seems like an identical hallway. This place is a fucking maze! And those sirens...those red lights...that can only mean that they have noticed that I've gone, right? Maybe it was a test, maybe that woman was seeing how trustworthy I was-
Doesn't matter. You need to try.
The voice that told me to drink, allowed stupid sentences to fall out of my mouth, and thought it was a good idea to dye my eyebrows black when I was fifteen (I am, naturally, a red-head), was telling me to keep going. And, shit, I was going to listen.
I slow down and press my back against the wall, my breathing coming harshly as I sneak a glance around the next corner. In the distance, at the end, I see a figure with loud footsteps dart across the hallway, and I shrink back. As I turn, the plate in my hand clashes against the wall, and a small clang echoes through the sirens and the distant shouting.
It is then, as I dart across the open hallway and round another corner, than I hear the sudden closeness of slow footsteps coming at me from the end of the corridor. There, in the midst of the flashing red lights and whining sirens, I see three silhouettes in the darkness, moving slowly toward me. I freeze, a string of curses filtering through my suddenly terrified mind as I step back desperately, hoping to hell that they haven't seen me.
Well, never mind.
I do the exact opposite, electing instead to hurl my metal plate as hard as I can to the quickly approaching figure of, what seems to be, a man with his hands clenched in front of him. Oh, shit - he's holding a gun. What the fuck is this place?! The plate misses him narrowly, but I'm already tripping back round the corner where I came from, my white pants that the woman had given me catching underneath my toes.
I did not want to die like this.
I run straight into something solid, though. My vision had apparently been impaired by the red lighting and blind fucking panic, because fuck knows how I hadn't seen the hulking figure of the man standing a foot round the corner. I catch only a glimpse of him before he grabs me. From his shiny bald head, his narrowed eyes, the hard plate he wears over his chest, and the sneer on his face. I scramble as his arms encircle my waist, my yell coming out far louder than I wanted it to, and my legs curling to kick him where I knew full well it would hurt.
There's a zapping sound; almost like electricity, and a bright flash. The man freezes then, and lets out a loud grunt into my ears that I almost don't hear above the sudden shouting coming from behind him, and the sirens bellowing around us. I fall away from him as his whole body seizes and he stumbles back, as if he had been hit by something.
I fall back, only to have a different set of arms grab at my waist.
'Fucking - no!' I sputter, hurtling away from the new body as the man falls behind me. I whirl around, fists drawn high and embarrassingly close to tears at this point. I stare in bewilderment at the yellow shirt, the blue eyes, and the same curved gun that the woman had curled in the fist of the man standing before me. I step back, nearly stepping on the man behind me. The shouting in the distance behind me grows louder, and I all but shit myself as a man and a woman appear behind the yellow shirted man. 'Stay back-' I warn.
The man, with his blue eyes and bright shirt, takes a tentative step forward. 'No - it's okay. We're here to rescue you. We were sent at encrypted message that a girl was being kept here. One of the Doctors - she helped you. Look, we're with Starfleet-'
I blink, hands still drawn uselessly in front of me. 'What?'
He steps forward, chest heaving as he peers at me. 'What's your name?'
Huh. I stare. They had never bothered to ask me that before. Maybe...maybe these people really were here to help me. Whatever the fuck Starfleet was, maybe some new part of government rescue, they might actually be here to save me. 'June,' I gasp, before even thinking about the implications of finally sharing my name. 'June Adams'.
'Jim!' a deep voice shouts as the shouting and footsteps behind us grow louder. The man with the blue shirt looks angrily behind us.
'Jim' jumps, nods, before reaching into his pocket and flipping open some kind of phone. What the fuck? I hadn't seen a flip phone in freaking years. 'Captain Kirk to Enterprise. We have her. Beam us up'.
Before I can so much as splutter, run, or even breathe, this Jim guy is latching onto my arm and tugging me closer to him. I don't have time to even shout at him for touching me before something like a cold tickle travels up by spine, like water had slipped down the back of my stiff white shirt. I gasp, quite sure that I am officially having the worst fucking day ever.
And then, I feel like I am melting.
It is not a good feeling.
I blink, and it takes only seconds for me to realise that I am in a completely different setting, where the white is so bright and so blinding that my eyes water. I stumble back, nearly tripping had it not been for the grip still on my forearm. Blearily, I look around, from the few people standing beside me, to the others standing feet away, on a lower platform. Reds, blues, yellows - they all wore such brightly coloured clothes.
And here I was, only in white.
When I faint, I am fucking relieved that I don't have to deal with whatever shitty situation I had found myself in now.
And that's chapter one! Lots of unanswered questions, but we shall see where this goes. Review!