The concept of days and weeks had long lost its meaning to Arys.

Instead, her existence was divided up into the time she spent in the surgical suite, the time she spent in her cell, and the time she got to retreat into herself and escape to the mental place that was warm, peaceful, and safe. 

When first she had been brought here, this had been a sanctuary only accessible when she was asleep. Those rare nights she didn’t have nightmares. Over the time that followed, sometimes, she could go there at will. She would dissociate from her surroundings and let her body rot away on the cold floor of her cell, or stand at the operating table. Sometimes, for a while, she watched her hands move with eerie precision, remembering the time she had been lauded for her surgical skills, and promised a bright future ahead.

And in the book that waited in her mental space, that was how her life had unfolded. A medical career past the position of Chief Medical Officer. Groundbreaking surgical procedures, inventive cures that saved thousands of people.

She knew that it wasn’t real. But more and more, the lines had started to blur, and there were moments in which she could forget that the book of memories was full of lies, but she found herself making that final concession – it didn’t matter whether it was real or not.

And every time she went there, she hoped she wouldn’t have to return.

But after that last extraction procedure, that conversation with the young man whose body had long since been discarded, the doors remained closed, sealed shut by the unnamed force that kept her tethered to reality, no matter how much Arys strained against it and begged and pleaded for just a moment of escape. 

Instead, thoughts and emotions she didn’t think she still had, were pouring from some deep dark hole inside her. Arys had never had the luxury of indifference – as much as she had liked to pretend that she didn’t care about herself or those around her – and something in the man’s words had rekindled a hatred that burned with an intensity that set every fibre of her being ablaze, filling the cell with a gleam that promised destruction, longing to spread through corridors and envelope the whole vessel until all that remained was ash.

That would include her, but she was ready to burn. 

Her opportunity came days later, when the door groaned open and the guard blinked in surprise as he found Arys standing there rather than curled up in her usual corner. 

“Eager to get started?”, he asked with a scoff, a taunting comment to which Arys merely replied with a nod. And as they left the cell, it was the first time that she really took in her surroundings. Noted the well-filled cells adjoining hers, and the access key the guard was carrying. The number of steps it took to reach the operating room, and the faces of those already waiting there for her. The fact that it’s set up told her this hadn’t always a been a surgical suite, and the terminals on the walls that still had life in them, used to catalogue the implants they retrieved from their victims. The ex Borg drone that stood guarded by several men, and the fact that he seemed a be a hulking and healthy fresh catch, straining against the grip of his captors.

“Sedate him.”, hissed one of the guards at Arys “And no chatter with that one.” 

Arys gave another compliant nod, and turned towards the table that contained different hyposprays, her fingers hovering over them for a moment longer than necessary. 

She didn’t make a conscious choice. Rather, she executed what always seemed to be the plan, even if she hadn’t made it. She felt the weight of that decision, the profoundly wrongness of using someone else as means to an end, a pawn in a game they neither of them sign up for. A little act of defiance that would bring consequences she couldn’t perceive. 

But it didn’t matter. She reached for the hypospray just next to the sedative, felt the cool metal on her skin, and then turned to the prisoner. She didn’t say a word as she reached up and injected the man with its contents, which, within seconds, caused his neurons to fire and his muscles to coil. 

The guard, who had anticipated the opposite effect and already loosened their grip, struggled to regain control, but their once-constrained victim let out an animalistic howl and surged forward. His previously defiant eyes blazed with unadulterated fury as he charged into his captors. 

The guards scrambled – one was caught in the attack and fell, only to have his windpipe crushed by the ex Borg’s hands a moment later. The other managed to retrieve his weapon, only to have it wrenched from his hand and thrown aside as the prisoner turned his raw strength toward him.

Arys watched the chaos she had ignited with a surreal detachment, feeling the hot rush of adrenaline mingle with a grim satisfaction. 

Suddenly, someone shouted into his communicator, calling for reinforcements. The room’s blaring alarms began to pierce the air, painting the walls in red light. This was her signal. Her moment. While they were distracted. While no one was watching her.

Arys moved swiftly, exhaling as she reached the keys on the terminals, trying to figure out the sequence that would unlock the cells. For a brief moment, the image of rows of faces, their expressions shifting from dull resignation to dawning realization and flickers of hope, crossed her mind. 

Access Denied. 

If she had needed any proof that she wasn’t a hero, this was it. 

This terminal was meant to allow for the logging of inventory, and communication of said parts with the bridge and potential buyers, but not much more. So that was exactly what Arys used it for. 

Arys’ fingers flew across the console, toggling through menus until she reached the inventory logs. Every piece was cataloged, every “part” labeled, the contents of each cell, descriptions of each prisoner, and their intended “extraction” dates. It sickened her, but she harnessed that disgust and her revulsion.

She selected Transmit All and opened the comm frequencies, not hesitating a single second before casting the signal wide – an unencrypted broadcast sent out to anyone within range. There was no going back now. She knew that what she’d done would draw predators and allies alike, but at this point, she was beyond caring.

The terminal chirped, confirming the broadcast was live, and Arys imagined the faces on the other end of the signal… ships passing within comm range… seeing the nightmare hidden within the walls of this vessel.

For the first time in what felt like ages, her breath felt steady, her mind silent. At peace.

Then, just as she turned from the console, a sharp pain shot through her side. She staggered, instinctively clutching her abdomen as her vision blurred. She stumbled backward, colliding with the terminal as pain pulsed through her. Blood trickled down her side, warm and sticky against her skin, but oddly distant.

Because door was open again. And, this time, Arys had a feeling that she wouldn’t be coming back.