I’ve been navigating these decaying decks long enough to recognize the subtle signs of corruption. The once-pristine walls are now streaked with grime, their surfaces reflecting the moral decay that seeps through every compartment. I catch glimpses of crew members exchanging furtive glances in the corridors, their eyes betraying a growing desperation. It’s not just the lack of resources or the failing life support systems that worry me—it’s the way people are starting to look at each other, as if every conversation could be a negotiation for survival.
I’ve seen it firsthand in my work as a medic. Patients who used to arrive with minor injuries now show up with self-inflicted wounds, a desperate cry for attention in a ship where compassion is a luxury we can no longer afford. The stress mechanics at play are insidious; they prey on our deepest fears and desires, turning us against each other in ways both subtle and grotesque. I’ve watched as entire compartments have turned against one another over ration disputes, only to reconcile through twisted rituals that blur the lines between pleasure and submission.
The infiltrators among us only make things worse. They walk among us, indistinguishable until the moment they break down or climax, revealing their true nature. It creates an atmosphere of paranoia that permeates every interaction. Who can you trust when anyone could be an enemy? The ship’s corrupted AI, S.L.U.T., monitors our every move, detecting shifts in our biochemistry that reveal more about our state than we’d care to admit. As for me? I’m just trying to survive, one patient at a time.
>Soulkyn