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  • #7929
    Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
    Participant

      Godric

       

      Godric

      What We Know Visually:

      • Identified as Swedish, possibly tall and pale by stereotype.

      • A barista-channeler, so likely has the look of a mystical hipster.

      Inferred Presence/Style:

      • May wear layered scarves, bracelets with charms, or ceremonial aprons.

      • The term Draugaskalds connects him to Norse aesthetics—he might carry old symbols or tattoos.

      Unclear:

      • Concrete outfit, facial expression, or posture.

      • Age and physical habits.

      #7927
      Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
      Participant

        Thiram Izu

         

        Thiram Izu – The Bookish Tinkerer with Tired Eyes

        Explicit Description

        • Age: Mid-30s

        • Heritage: Half-Japanese, half-Colombian

        • Face: Calm but slightly worn—reflecting quiet resilience and perceptiveness.

        • Hair: Short, tousled dark hair

        • Eyes: Observant, introspective; wears round black-framed glasses

        • Clothing (standard look):

          • Olive-green utilitarian overshirt or field jacket

          • Neutral-toned T-shirt beneath

          • Crossbody strap (for a toolkit or device bag)

          • Simple belt, jeans—functional, not stylish

        • Technology: Regularly uses a homemade device, possibly a patchwork blend of analog and AI circuitry.

        • Name Association: Jokes about being named after a fungicide (Thiram), referencing “brothers” Malathion and Glyphosate.


        Inferred Personality & Manner

        • Temperament: Steady but simmering—he tries to be the voice of reason, but often ends up exasperated or ignored.

        • Mindset: Driven by a need for internal logic and external systems—he’s a fixer, not a dreamer (yet paradoxically surrounded by dreamers).

        • Social Role: The least performative of the group. He’s neither aloof nor flamboyant, but remains essential—a grounded presence.

        • Habits:

          • Zones out under stress or when overstimulated by dream-logic.

          • Blinks repeatedly to test for lucid dream states.

          • Carries small parts or tools in pockets—likely fidgets with springs or wires during conversations.

        • Dialogue Style: Deadpan, dry, occasionally mutters tech references or sarcastic analogies.

        • Emotional Core: Possibly a romantic or idealist in denial—hidden under his annoyance and muttered diagnostics.


        Function in the Group

        • Navigator of Reality – He’s the one most likely to point out when the laws of physics are breaking… and then sigh and fix it.

        • Connector of Worlds – Bridges raw tech with dream-invasion mechanisms, perhaps more than he realizes.

        • Moral Compass (reluctantly) – Might object to sabotage-for-sabotage’s-sake; he values intent.

        #7925
        Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
        Participant

          Chico Ray

           

          Chico Ray

          Directly Stated Visual and Behavioral Details:

          • Introduces himself casually: “Name’s Chico,” with no clear past, suggesting a self-aware or recently-written character.

          • Chews betel leaves, staining his teeth red, which gives him a slightly unsettling or feral appearance.

          • Spits on the floor, even in a freshly cleaned café—suggesting poor manners, or possibly defiance.

          • Appears from behind a trumpet tree, implying he lurks or emerges unpredictably.

          • Fabricates plausible-sounding geo-political nonsense (e.g., the coffee restrictions in Rwanda), then second-guesses whether it was fiction or memory.

          Inferred Traits:

          • A sharp smile made more vivid by betel staining.

          • Likely wears earth-toned clothes, possibly tropical—evoking Southeast Asian or Central American flavors.

          • Comes off as a blend of rogue mystic and unreliable narrator, leaning toward surreal trickster.

          • Psychological ambiguity—he doubts his own origins, possibly a hallucination, dream being, or quantum hitchhiker.

          What Remains Unclear:

          • Precise age or background.

          • His affiliations or loyalties—he doesn’t seem clearly aligned with the Bandits or Lucid Dreamers, but hovers provocatively at the edges.

          #7923
          Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
          Participant

            Amy & Carob

            Amy Kawanhouse

            Directly Stated Visual Traits:

            • Hair: Long, light brown

            • Eyes: Hazel, often sweaty or affected by heat/rain

            • Clothing: Old grey sweatshirt with pushed-up sleeves

            • Body: Short and thin, with shapely legs in denim

            • Style impression: Understated and practical, slightly tomboyish, no-frills but with a hint of self-aware physicality

            Inferred From Behavior:

            • Functional but stylish in a low-maintenance way.

            • Comfortable with being dirty or goat-adjacent.

            • Probably ties her hair back when annoyed.


            Carob Latte

            Directly Stated Visual Traits:

            • Height: Tall (Amy refers to her as “looming”)

            • Hair: Frizzled—possibly curly or electrified, chaotic in texture

            • General Look: Disheveled but composed; possibly wears layered or unusual clothing (fitting her dreamy reversal quirks)

            Inferred From Behavior:

            • Movements are languid or deliberately unhurried.

            • Likely wears things with big pockets or flowing elements—goat-compatible.

            • There’s an aesthetic at play: eccentric wilderness mystic or mad cartographer.

            #7877

            Helix 25 — The Six Spinster Sisters’ Will

            Evie keyed in her login credentials for the sixth time that afternoon, stifling a yawn. Ever since the murder case had wrapped, she had drifted into a lulling routine—one that made her pregnancy drag on with excruciating slowness. Riven was rarely around; he’d been commandeered by the newly awakened Veranassessee for “urgent duties” that somehow never needed Evie’s help. And though she couldn’t complain about the ship’s overall calm, she felt herself itching for something—anything—to break the monotony.

            So she’d come to one of the less-frequented data terminals on Helix25, in a dim corner off the main library deck. She had told herself she was looking up baby name etymologies (her mother would have pressed her about it), but she’d quickly meandered into clinically sterile subfolders of genealogical records.

            It was exactly the kind of aimless rummaging that had once led her to uncover critical leads during the murder investigation. And if there was something Helix25 had in abundance besides well-recycled air, it was obscure digital archives.

            She settled into the creaking seat, adjusting the small pillow behind her back. The screen glowed, lines of text scrolling by in neat greenish typeface. Most references were unremarkable: old Earth deeds, ledgers for farmland, family names she didn’t recognize. Had she not known that data storage was near infinite, due to the excess demands of data from the central AIs, she would have wondered why they’d bothered stocking the ship with so much information. Then her gaze snagged on a curious subfolder titled “Alstonefield Will—Gibbs Sisters.”

            “Gibbs Sisters…?” she murmured under her breath, tapping it open.

            The file contained scans of a handwritten will dated early 1800s, from Staffordshire, England. Each page was peppered with archaic legalese (“whereupon the rightful property of Misses Mary, Ellen, Ann, Sarah, Margaret and Malové Gibbs bequeathed…”), listing items that ranged from modest farmland acreage to improbable references of “spiritual confidences.”

            Evie frowned, leaning closer. Spiritual confidences? The text was surprisingly explicit about the sisters’ lives—how six women jointly farmed 146 acres, remained unmarried, and according to a marginal note, “were rumored to share an uncanny attunement of thought.”

            A telepathic link? she thought, half-intrigued, half-smirking. That smacked of the same kind of rumor-laden gossip that had swirled around the old Earth families. Still, the note was written in an official hand.

            She scrolled further, expecting the record to fizzle out. Instead, it abruptly jumped to an addendum dated decades later:

            “By 1834, the Gibbs sisters departed for the Australian continent. Certain seeds and rootstocks—believed essential for their ‘ancestral devotions’—did accompany them. No further official records on them remain in Staffordshire….”

            Seeds and rootstocks. Evie’s curiosity piqued further—some old detail about hush-hush crops that the sisters apparently treasured enough to haul across the world.

            A flicker of movement caught her eye. Trevor PeeTP” Marshall, her faithful investigative hologram, materialized at the edge of her console. He adjusted his little pixelated bow tie, voice brimming with delight.

            “Ah, I see you’re poking around genealogical conundrums, dear Evie. Dare I hope we’ve found ourselves another puzzle?”

            Evie snorted softly. “Don’t get too excited, TP. It’s just a random will. But it does mention unusual circumstances… something about telepathy, special seeds, and these six spinster sisters traveling to the outback. It’s bizarre. And I’m bored.”

            TP’s mustache twitched in faux indignation. “Bizarre is my lifeblood, my dear. Let’s see: six sisters of reputed synergy… farmland… seeds with rumored ‘power’… Honestly, that’s more suspicious than the standard genealogical yawn.”

            Evie tapped a fingertip on the screen, highlighting the references. “Agreed. And for some reason, the file is cross-referenced with older Helix25 ‘implied passenger diaries.’ I can’t open them—some access restriction. Maybe Dr. Arorangi tagged them?”

            TP’s eyes gleamed. “Interesting, indeed. You recall Dr. Arorangi’s rumored fascination with nonstandard genetic lines—”

            “Right,” Evie said thoughtfully, sitting back. “So is that the link? Maybe this Alstonefield Hall story or the seeds the sisters carried has some significance to the architectural codes Arorangi left behind. We never did figure out why the AI has so many subroutines locked.”

            She paused, glancing down at her growing belly with a wry smile. “I know it might be nothing, but… it’s a better pastime than waiting for Riven to show up from another Veranassessee briefing. If these old records are tied to Dr. Arorangi’s restricted logs, that alone is reason enough to dig deeper.”

            TP beamed. “Spoken like a true detective. Ready to run with a half-thread of clue and see where it leads?”

            Evie nodded, tapping the old text to copy it into her personal device. “I am. Let’s see who these Gibbs sisters really were… and why Helix25’s archives bothered to keep them in the system.”

            Her heart thumped pleasantly at the prospect of unraveling some long-lost secret. It wasn’t exactly the adrenaline rush of a murder investigation, but in these humdrum days—six months after the last major crisis—it might be the spark she needed.

            She rose from the console, smartphone in hand, and beckoned to the flickering detective avatar. “Come on, TP. Let’s find out if six mysterious spinsters from 1800s Staffordshire can liven things up for us.”

            #7866

            Helix 25 – An Old Guard resurfaces

            Kai Nova had learned to distrust dark corners. In the infinite sterility of the ship, dark corners usually meant two things: malfunctioning lights or trouble.

            Right now, he wasn’t sure which one this meeting was about. Same group, or something else? Suddenly he felt quite in demand for his services. More activity in weeks than he had for years.

            A low-lit section of the maintenance ring, deep enough in the underbelly of Helix 25 that even the most inquisitive bots rarely bothered to scan through. The air smelled faintly of old coolant and ozone. The kind of place someone chose for a meeting when they didn’t want to be found.

            He leaned against a bulkhead, arms crossed, feigning ease while his mind ran over possible exits. “You know, if you wanted to talk, there were easier ways.”

            A voice drifted from the shadows, calm, level. “No. There weren’t.”

            A figure stepped into the dim light—a man, late fifties, but with a presence that made him seem timeless. His sharp features were framed by streaks of white in otherwise dark hair, and his posture was relaxed, measured. The way someone stood when they were used to watching everything.

            Kai immediately pegged him as ex-military, ex-intelligence, ex-something dangerous.

            “Nova,” the man said, tilting his head slightly. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d come.”

            Kai scoffed. “Curiosity got the better of me. And a cryptic summons from someone I’ve never met before? Couldn’t resist. But let’s skip the theatrics—who the hell are you?”

            The man smiled slightly. “You can call me TaiSui.”

            Kai narrowed his eyes. The name tickled something in his memory, but he couldn’t place it.

            “Alright, TaiSui. Let’s cut to the chase. What do you want?”

            TaiSui clasped his hands behind his back, taking his time. “We’ve been watching you, Nova. You’re one of the few left who still understands the ship for what it is. You see the design, the course, the logic behind it.”

            Kai’s jaw tightened. “And?”

            TaiSui exhaled slowly. “Synthia has been compromised. The return to Earth—it’s not part of the mission we’ve given to it. The ship was meant to spread life. A single, endless arc outward. Not to crawl back to the place that failed it.”

            Kai didn’t respond immediately. He had wondered, after the solar flare, after the system adjustments, what had triggered the change in course. He had assumed it was Synthia herself. A logical failsafe.

            But from the look of it, it seemed that something else had overridden it?

            TaiSui studied him carefully. “The truth is, Nova, the AI was never supposed to stop. It was built to seed, to terraform, to outlive all of us. We ensured it. We rewrote everything.”

            Kai frowned. “We?”

            A faint smile ghosted across TaiSui’s lips. “You weren’t around for it. The others went to cryosleep once it was done, from chaos to order, the cycle was complete, and there was no longer a need to steer its course, now in the hands of an all-powerful sentience to guide everyone. An ideal society, no ruler at its head, only Reason.”

            Kai couldn’t refrain from asking naively “And nobody rebelled?”

            “Minorities —most here were happy to continue to live in endless bliss. The stubborn ones clinging to the past order, well…” TaiSui exhaled, as if recalling a mild inconvenience rather than an unspeakable act. “We took care of them.”

            Kai felt something tighten in his chest.

            TaiSui’s voice remained neutral. “Couldn’t waste a good DNA pool though—so we placed them in secure pods. Somewhere safe.” He gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “And if no one ever found the keys… well, all the better.”

            Kai didn’t like the way that sat in his stomach. He had no illusions about how history tended to play out. But hearing it in such casual terms… it made him wonder just how much had already been erased.

            TaiSui stopped a moment. He’d felt no need to hide his designs. If Kai wanted to know, it was better he knew everything. The plan couldn’t work without some form of trust.

            He resumed “But now… now things have changed.”

            Kai let out a slow breath, his mind racing. “You’re saying you want to undo the override. Put the ship back on its original course.”

            TaiSui nodded. “We need a reboot. A full one. Which means for a time, someone has to manually take the helm.”

            Kai barked out a laugh. “You’re asking me to fly Helix 25 blind, without Synthia, without navigational assist, while you reset the very thing that’s been keeping us alive?”

            “Correct.”

            Kai shook his head, stepping back. “You’re insane.”

            TaiSui shrugged. “Perhaps. But I trust the grand design. And I think, deep down, so do you.”

            Kai ran a hand through his hair, his pulse steady but his mind an absolute mess. He wanted to say no. To laugh in this man’s face and walk away.

            But some part of him—the pilot in him, the part that had spent his whole life navigating through unknowns—felt the irresistible pull of the challenge.

            TaiSui watched him, patient. Too patient. Like he already knew the answer.

            “And if I refuse?”

            The older man smiled. “You won’t.”

            Kai clenched his jaw.

            “You can lie to yourself, but you already know the answer,” TaiSui continued, voice quiet, even. “You’ve been waiting for something like this.”

            Before he disappeared, he added “Take some time. Think about it. But not too long, Nova. Time is not on your side.”

            #7863

            “This mystery is eating away at me” Evie said, wondering how the others could remain so calm and detached. Even with the motion-sickness pills dispensed during the moon swing, her stress levels were abnormally high.

            “Let me try to run the clues and make wild assumptions. After all, sometimes a wobbly theory is better than no theory at all. If anything contradicts it, we’ll move on, and if nothing contradicts it, then maybe we’re onto something.”

            “Okham’s razor.” TP was following despite the fact he had been pacing in a perfect geometric loop, which was probably a sign he was buffering.

            “What do you mean?”

            “A simple logic goes a long way. So what have you got? Don’t ask me, because I’m rubbish at this…” TP was proud to admit.

            “Let’s see: First scene, Ethan Marlowe aka Mr Hebert. Suspicious double identity, hidden secrets, but won’t explain why he got trapped in a drying machine. We know the AI is somewhat complicit, but impossible to prove, it could just have been a glitch. But DNA was found, possibly from a descendent of someone from the Middle Ages.”

            “So far, nothing to object” TP nodded, as if perusing though his notes.

            “Assuming Amara’s theories to be true, someone on the ship activated ancient ancestral knowledge, and got possessed, and maybe still is. What possible reason can a Middle-Age person have to dry someone like a raisin?”

            “Mmm… Curiosity? Wrong place, wrong time?”

            “And how could he get the knowledge of modern systems?”

            TP chucked. “Have you seen the latest updates on the datapads? They’re basically child’s play… One step away from ‘Press here to commit murder.’ Even a reawakened Neanderthal could figure out the interface.”

            “Well, you’re not wrong. There’s hardly anything we still know how to do without computer assist… We have to see our assumptions reversed. The ancient murderer is cleverer than we’d expected. He isn’t a relic in a struggle to adapt, but someone who adapted a little too well. And I would add he’s probably a mad scientist from that age.”

            Evie paused at the thought… The more she looked, the more the central AI seemed more than complicit. Reawakening the Middle-Age mad doctor? it would have taken months of computations to connect Amara’s theories with a possible candidate, and orient them towards setting up the murder. And to what end? The more she looked, the more she seemed to stray from a simple theory. Maybe she should just leave it to more competent people.
            At least Mandrake was safe now, it was a small consolation, even if she couldn’t tell if at all the two events were even connected. At the proper scale, everything on the ship was surely connected anyway. They were breathing their recycled farts all day every day anyway.

            And now, with the ship years away or maybe just months away from a return to Earth, there were a lot more pressing matters to address.

            #7862

            Sue Forgelot couldn’t believe her eyes when she came to her ringing door.

            Of course, after the Carnival party was over and she’d taken an air shower, and put on her bathrobe with her meerkat slipper, slathered relaxing face cream topped with two slices of cucumber, she was quite groggy, and the cucumber slices on her eyelids made it harder to see. But once she’d removed them, she could see as bright as day.

            The Captain was standing right here, and she hadn’t aged a day.

            “Quickly, come in.” Sue wasted no time to usher her in. She looked at the corridor suspiciously; at that time of night, only a dusting robot was patrolling the corridors, chasing for dust motes and finger smears on the datapads.

            Nobody.

            “I haven’t been followed, Sue, will you just relax for a moment.”

            “V’ass, it’s been so long. How did you get out?… What broke the code?”

            “I don’t know, Sue. I think —something called back, from Earth.”

            “From Earth? I didn’t know there was much technology left, or at least one that could reach us there. And one that could bypass that darned central AI —I knew it couldn’t keep you under lock and key forever.”

            “Seems there is such tech, and it’s also managed to force the ship to turn around.”

            Silence fell on the two friends for a moment, as they were grasping for the implications of the changes in motion.
            Veranassessee couldn’t help by smile uncontrollably. “Those rejuvenation tricks do wonders, don’t they. You don’t look a day over a 100 years old.”

            Sue couldn’t help but chuckle. “And you don’t look so bad yourself, for an old forgotten popsicle.” She tilted her head. “You do know you’ve been in the freezer longer than some of our newest passengers have been alive, right?”

            V’ass shrugged. “And yet, here I am—fit, rested, and none the worse for wear.”
            Sue sighed. “Meanwhile, I’ve had three hip replacements, a cybernetic knee, and somebody keeps hijacking my artificial leg with spam messages.”
            V’ass blinked. “…You should probably get that checked.”
            Sue waved her off. “Bah. If it’s not trying to sell me ‘hot singles in my quadrant,’ I let it be.”

            After the laughter had dissipated, Sue said “You need my help to get back your ship, don’t you?”. She tapped on her cybernetic leg with a knowing smile. “You can count on me.”

            Veranassessee noded. “Then start by filling me in, what should I know?”

            Sue leaned in conspiratorially. “Ethan is dead, for one.”

            “Death?” Veranassessee was weighing the implications, and completed “… Murder?”

            Sue shrugged “As much as it pains me to say, it’s all a bit irrelevant. The AI let it happen, but I doubt she pushed the button. Ethan wasn’t much of a threat to its rule. Makes one wonder why, maybe it computed some cascade of events we don’t yet see. They found ancient DNA on the crime scene, but it’s all a mess of clues, and I must say we’re pretty inept at the whole murder mystery thing. Glad we don’t have a serial killer in our midst, or we would have plenty of composting to do…”

            Veranassessee started to pace the room. “Well, if there isn’t anything more relevant, we need to hatch a plan. I suspect all my access got revoked; I’ll need a skeleton key to get in the right places. To regain control over the central AI, and the main deck.”

            “Of course, the Marlowes…” Sue had a moment of revelation on her face. “They were the crypto locksmiths… With Ethan now dead, maybe we should pay dear old Ellis a visit.”

            #7857

            Helix 25 – Onto The Second Murder Investigation

            Very strangely, it was a lot less chaotic in the Lower Decks, while the Upper Decks were having a rave of a time with the moon and mood swings.
            Evie stood over the diagnostics table, arms crossed, watching as Luca Stroud ran his scanner over Mandrake’s cybernetic collar. The black cat lay still, one eye flickering intermittently as though stuck between waking and shutdown. The deep gash along his side had been patched—Romualdo had insisted on carrying Mandrake to the lab himself, mumbling about how the garden’s automated sprinklers were acting up, and how Luca was the only one he trusted to fix delicate mechanisms.

            It had been a casual remark, but Evie had caught the subtext. Mandrake was no ordinary ship cat. He had always been tied to something larger.

            “Neurolink’s still scrambled,” Luca muttered, adjusting his scanner. “Damage isn’t terminal, but whatever happened, someone tried to wipe part of his memory.”

            Riven, arms crossed beside Evie, scoffed. “Why the hell would someone try to assassinate a cat?”

            Luca didn’t answer, but the data flickering on his screen spoke for itself. The attack had been precise. Not just a careless act of cruelty, nor an accident in the low-gravity sector.

            Mandrake had been targeted.

            Evie exhaled sharply. “Can you fix him?”

            Luca shrugged. “Depends. The physical repairs are easy enough—fractured neural pathways, fried circuits—but whatever was erased? That’s another story.” He tilted his head. “Thing is… someone didn’t just try to kill Mandrake. They tried to make him forget.”

            Riven’s frown deepened. “Forget what?”

            Silence settled between them.

            Evie reached out, brushing a gloved hand over Mandrake’s sleek black fur. “We need to figure out what he knew.”

            :fleuron2:

            It had been Trevor Pee—TP himself—who first mentioned it, entirely offhand, as they reviewed logs of the last places Mandrake had been seen.

            “He wasn’t always on his own, you know,” TP had said, twirling his holographic cane.

            Evie and Riven both turned to him.

            “What do you mean on his own, I though he was Seren’s?”

            “Oh, no. He just had a liking for her, but he’d belonged to someone else long before.” TP’s mustache twitched. “I accessed some archival records during Mandrake’s diagnostic.”

            Evie blinked. “Mmm, are you going to make me ask? What did you find?”

            “Indeed,” TP offered cheerfully. “Before Mandrake wandered freely through the gardens and ventilation shafts, becoming a ship legend, he belonged—as much as a cat can belong—to someone.”

            Riven’s expression darkened. “Who?! Will you just tell?!”

            TP flicked his wrist, bringing up an old personnel file, heavily redacted. But one name flickered beneath the blurred-out sections.

            Dr. Elias Arorangi.

            Evie felt her heartbeat quicken. The name echoed faintly familiar, not directly connected to her, but she’d seen it once or twice before, buried in obscure references. “Dr. Arorangi—wait, he was part of the original Helix design team, wasn’t he?”

            TP nodded gravely. “Precisely. A lead systems architect, responsible for designing key protocols for the AI integration—among them, some critical frameworks that evolved into Synthia’s consciousness. Disappeared without a trace shortly after Synthia’s initial activation.”

            Riven straightened. “Disappeared? Do you think—”

            TP raised a finger to silence him. “I don’t speculate, but here’s the interesting part: Dr. Arorangi had extensive, classified knowledge of Helix 25’s core systems. If Mandrake was his companion at that crucial time, it’s conceivable that Arorangi trusted something to him—a memory, a code fragment, perhaps even a safeguard.”

            Evie’s mouth went dry.

            An architect of Helix 25, missing under suspicious circumstances, leaving behind a cat whose cybernetics were more sophisticated than any pet implant she’d ever seen?

            Evie looked down at Mandrake, whose damaged neural links were still flickering faintly. Someone had wanted Mandrake silenced and forgotten.

            :fleuron2:

            Later, in the dim light of his workshop, Luca Stroud worked in silence, carefully re-aligning the cat’s neural implants. Romualdo sat nearby, arms crossed, watching with the nervous tension of a man who had just smuggled a ferret into a rat convention.

            “He’s tough,” Luca muttered, tightening a connection. “More durable than most of the junk I have to fix.”

            Romualdo huffed. “He better be.”

            A flicker of light pulsed through Mandrake’s collar. His single good eye opened, pupils dilating as his systems realigned.

            Then, groggily, he muttered, “I hate this ship.”

            Romualdo let out a relieved chuckle. “Yeah, yeah. Welcome back, Mandrake.”

            Luca wiped his hands. “He’s still scrambled, but he’s functional. Just… don’t expect him to remember everything.”

            Mandrake groaned, stretching his mechanical paw. “I remember… needing a drink.”

            Romualdo smirked. “That’s a good sign, yeah?”

            Luca hesitated before looking at Evie. “Whatever was wiped—it’s gone. But if he starts remembering things in fragments… we need to pay attention.”

            Evie nodded. “Oh, we definitely will.”

            Mandrake rolled onto his feet, shaking out his fur, a small but defiant flick of his cybernetic tail.

            “I have the strangest feeling,” he muttered, “that someone is still looking for me.”

            Evie exhaled.

            For now, with his memory gone, he would probably be safe, but a killer was in their midst and they needed to find out the truth, and fast.

            #7854
            Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
            Participant

              Arthurian Parallels in Helix 25

              This table explores an overlay of Arthurian archetypes woven into the narrative of Helix 25.
              By mapping key mythological figures to characters and themes within the story, it provides archetypal templates for exploration of leadership, unity, betrayal, and redemption in a futuristic setting.

              Arthurian Archetype Role in Arthurian Myth Helix 25 Counterpart Narrative Integration in Helix 25 Themes & Contemporary Reflections
              Merlin Wise guide, prophet, keeper of lost knowledge, enigmatic mentor. Merdhyn Winstrom Hermit survivor whose beacon reawakens lost knowledge, eccentric guide bridging Earth and Helix. Echoes of lost wisdom resurfacing in times of crisis. Role of eccentric thinkers in shaping the future.
              King Arthur (Once and Future King) Sleeping leader destined to return, restorer of order and unity. Captain Veranassessee Cryo-sleeping leader awakened to restore stability and uncover ship’s deeper truths. Balancing destiny, responsibility, and the burden of leadership in a fractured world.
              Lady of the Lake Guardian of sacred wisdom, bestower of power, holds destiny in trust. Molly & Ellis Marlowe Custodians of ancestral knowledge, connecting genetic past to future, deciding who is worthy. Gatekeepers of forgotten truths. Who decides what knowledge should be passed down?
              Excalibur Sacred weapon representing legitimacy, strength, and destiny. Genetic/Technological Legacy (DNA or Artifact) Latent genetic or technological power that legitimizes leadership and enables restoration. What makes someone truly worthy of leadership—birthright, wisdom, or action?
              The Round Table Assembly of noble figures, unifying leadership for justice and stability. Crew Reunion & Unity Arc Gathering key figures and factions, resolving past divisions, solidifying leadership. How do we rebuild trust and unity in a world fractured by conflict and betrayal?
              The Holy Grail Ultimate quest for redemption, unity, and spiritual awakening. Rediscovered Earth or True Purpose Journey to unify factions, reconnect with Earth, and rediscover humanity’s true mission. Is humanity’s purpose merely survival, or is there something greater to strive for?
              The Fisher King Wounded guardian of a dying land, whose fate mirrors humanity’s wounds. Earth’s Ruined Environmental Condition Metaphor for humanity’s wounds—only healed through wisdom, unity, and ethical leadership. Environmental stewardship as moral responsibility; the impact of neglect and division.
              Camelot Utopian vision, fragile and prone to betrayal and internal decay. Helix 25 Community Helix 25 as a fragile utopian experiment, threatened by division and complacency. Utopian dreams versus real-world struggles; maintaining ideals without corruption.
              Mordred Betrayal from within, power-hungry faction that disrupts harmony. AI Manipulators / Hidden Saboteurs Internal betrayal—either AI-driven manipulation or ideological rebellion disrupting balance. How does internal dissent shape societies? When is rebellion justified?
              Gwenevere Queen, torn between duty, love, and political implications. Sue Forgelot or Captain Veranassessee Powerful yet conflicted female figure, mediating between different factions and destinies. The role of women in leadership, power dynamics, and the burden of political choices.
              Lancelot Loyal knight, unmatched warrior, torn between personal desires and duty. Orrin Holt or Kai Nova Heroic yet personally conflicted figure, struggling with duty vs. personal ties. Can one’s personal desires coexist with duty? What happens when loyalties are divided?
              Gawain Moral knight, flawed but honorable, faces ethical trials and tests. Riven Holt or Anuí Naskó Character undergoing trials of morality, leadership, and self-discovery. How does one navigate moral dilemmas? Growth through trials and ethical challenges.
              Morgana le Fay Misunderstood sorceress, keeper of hidden knowledge, power and manipulation. Zoya Kade Keeper of esoteric knowledge, influencing fate through prophecy and genetic memory. The fine line between wisdom and manipulation. Who controls the narrative of destiny?
              Perceval Naïve but destined knight, seeker of truth, stumbles upon great revelations. Tundra (Molly’s granddaughter) Youthful truth-seeker, symbolizing innocence and intuitive revelation. Naivety versus wisdom—can purity of heart succeed in a complex, divided world?
              Galahad Pure knight, achieves the Grail through unwavering virtue and clarity. Evie Investigator who uncovers truth through integrity and unwavering pursuit of justice. The pursuit of truth and justice as a path to transformation and redemption.
              The Green Knight/Challenge Mystical challenger, tests worthiness and integrity through ordeal. Mutiny Group / Environmental Crisis A trial or crisis forcing humanity to reckon with its moral and environmental failures. Humanity’s reckoning with its own self-destructive patterns—can we learn from the past?
              #7853
              Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
              Participant

                Expanded Helix 25 Narrative Structure

                This table organizes the key narrative arcs, characters, stakes, and thematic questions within Helix 25.
                It hopes to clarify the character development paths, unresolved mysteries, and broader philosophical questions
                that shape the world and conflicts aboard the ship and on Earth.

                Group / Location Key Characters Character Arc Description Stakes at Hand Growth Path / Needed Resolution Unresolved / Open Questions
                Helix 25 Investigators Evie, Riven Holt Move from initial naiveté into investigative maturity and moral complexity. Solving murders; uncovering ship-wide genetic and conspiratorial mysteries. Solve the murder and uncover deeper conspiracy; evolve in understanding of justice and truth. Who is behind the murders, and how do they connect to genetic experiments? Can the investigation conclude without a ship-wide disaster?
                Captain and Authority Veranassessee (Captain), Victor Holt, Sue Forgelot Struggle between personal ambition, legacy, and leadership responsibilities. Control over Helix 25; reconciling past decisions with the present crisis. Clarify leadership roles; determine AI’s true intent and whether it can be trusted. Why were Veranassessee and Victor Holt placed in cryostasis? Can they reconcile their past and lead effectively?
                Lexicans / Prophecy Followers Anuí Naskó, Zoya Kade, Kio’ath Wrestle with the role of prophecy in shaping humanity’s fate and their personal identities. Interpreting prophecy and ensuring it doesn’t destabilize the ship’s fragile peace. Define the prophecy’s role in shaping real-world actions; balance faith and reason. Is the prophecy real or a distorted interpretation of genetic science? Who is the Speaker?
                AI and Tech-Human Synthesis Synthia AI, Mandrake, TP (Trevor Pee) Question control, sentience, and ethical AI usage. Human survival in the face of AI autonomy; defining AI-human coexistence. Determine if Synthia can be an ally or is a rogue force; resolve AI ethics debate. What is Synthia’s endgame—benevolent protector or manipulative force? Can AI truly coexist with humans?
                Telepathic Cleaner Lineage / Humor and Communication Arc Finkley, Finja Transition from comic relief to key mediators between Helix and Earth survivors. Establishing clear telepathic channels for communication; bridging Earth-Helix survivors. Fully embrace their psychic role; decipher if their link is natural or AI-influenced. Does AI interfere with psychic communication? Can telepathy safely unite Earth and Helix?
                Upper Deck Elderly Trio (Social Commentary & Comic Relief) Sharon, Gloria, Mavis Provide levity and philosophical critique of life aboard the ship. Keeping morale and philosophical integrity intact amid unfolding crises. Contribute insights that impact key decisions, revealing truths hidden in humor. Will their wisdom unexpectedly influence critical events? Are they aware of secrets others have missed?
                Earth Survivors – Hungary & Ukraine Molly (Marlowe), Tundra, Anya, Petro, Gregor, Tala, Yulia, Mikhail, Jian Move from isolated survival and grief to unity and rediscovery of lost connections. Survival on a devastated Earth; confirming whether a connection to Helix 25 exists. Confirm lineage connections and reunite with ship-based family or survivors. What is the fate of Earth’s other survivors? Can they reunite without conflict?
                Base Klyutch Group (Military Survivors) Orrin Holt, Koval, Solara Ortega, Janos Varga, Dr. Yelena Markova Transition from defensive isolation to outward exploration and human reconnection. Navigating dangers on Earth; reconnecting with lost knowledge and ship-born survivors. Clarify the nature of space signals; integrate newfound knowledge with Helix 25. Who sent the space signal? Can Base Klyutch’s knowledge help Helix 25 before it’s too late?
                The Lone Island Tinkerer / Beacon Activator Merdhyn Winstrom Rise from eccentric survivor to central figure in reconnecting Earth and Helix. Repairing beacon signals; discovering who else may have received the call. Determine beacon’s true purpose; unify Earth and Helix factions through communication. Who else intercepted the beacon’s message? Can Merdhyn be fully trusted?
                #7849

                Helix 25 – The Genetic Puzzle

                Amara’s Lab – Data Now Aggregated
                (Discrepancies Never Addressed)

                On the screen in front of Dr. Amara Voss, lines upon lines of genetic code were cascading and making her sleepy. While the rest of the ship was running amok, she was barricaded into her lab, content to have been staring at the sequences for the most part of the day —too long actually.

                She took a sip of her long-cold tea and exhaled sharply.

                Even if data was patchy from the records she had access to, there was a solid database of genetic materials, all dutifully collected for all passengers, or crew before embarkment, as was mandated by company policy. The official reason being to detect potential risks for deep space survival. Before the ship’s take-over, systematic recording of new-borns had been neglected, and after the ship’s takeover, population’s new born had drastically reduced, with the birth control program everyone had agreed on, as was suggested by Synthia. So not everyone’s DNA was accounted for, but in theory, anybody on the ship could be traced back and matched by less than 2 or 3 generations to the original data records.

                The Marlowe lineage was the one that kept resurfacing. At first, she thought it was coincidence—tracing the bloodlines of the ship’s inhabitants was messy, a tangled net of survivors, refugees, and engineered populations. But Marlowe wasn’t alone.

                Another name pulsed in the data. Forgelot. Then Holt. Old names of Earth, unlike the new star-birthed. There were others, too.

                Families that had been aboard Helix 25 for some generations. But more importantly, bloodlines that could be traced back to Earth’s distant past.

                But beyond just analysing their origins, there was something else that caught her attention. It was what was happening to them now.

                Amara leaned forward, pulling up the mutation activation models she had been building. In normal conditions, these dormant genetic markers would remain just that—latent. Passed through generations like forgotten heirlooms, meaningless until triggered.

                Except in this case, there was evidence that something had triggered them.

                The human body, subjected to long-term exposure to deep space radiation, artificial gravity shifts, and cosmic phenomena, and had there not been a fair dose of shielding from the hull, should have mutated chaotically, randomly. But this was different. The genetic sequences weren’t just mutating—they were activating.

                And more surprisingly… it wasn’t truly random.

                Something—or someone—had inherited an old mechanism that allowed them to access knowledge, instincts, memories from generations long past.

                The ancient Templars had believed in a ritualistic process to recover ancestral skills and knowledge. What Amara was seeing now…

                She rubbed her forehead.

                “Impossible.”

                And yet—here was the data.

                On Earth, the past was written in stories and fading ink. In space, the past was still alive—hiding inside their cells, waiting.

                Earth – The Quiz Night Reveal

                The Golden Trowel, Hungary

                The candlelit warmth of The Golden Trowel buzzed with newfound energy. The survivors sat in a loose circle, drinks in hand, at this unplanned but much-needed evening of levity.

                Once the postcards shared, everyone was listening as Tala addressed the group.

                “If anyone has an anecdote, hang on to the postcard,” she said. “If not, pass it on. No wrong answers, but the best story wins.”

                Molly felt the weight of her own selection, the Giralda’s spire sharp and unmistakable. Something about it stirred her—an itch in the back of her mind, a thread tugging at long-buried memories.

                She turned toward Vera, who was already inspecting her own card with keen interest.

                “Tower of London, anything exciting to share?”

                Vera arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, lips curving in amusement.

                Molly Darling,” she drawled, “I can tell you lots, I know more about dead people’s families than most people know about their living ones, and London is surely a place of abundance of stories. But do you even know about your own name Marlowe?”

                She spun the postcard between her fingers before answering.

                “Not sure, really, I only know about Philip Marlowe, the fictional detective from Lady in the Lake novel… Never really thought about the name before.”

                “Marlowe,” Vera smiled. “That’s an old name. Very old. Derived from an Old English phrase meaning ‘remnants of a lake.’

                Molly inhaled sharply.

                Remnants of the Lady of the Lake ?

                Her pulse thrummed. Beyond the historical curiosity she’d felt a deep old connection.

                If her family had left behind records, they would have been on the ship… The thought came with unwanted feelings she’d rather have buried. The living mattered, the lost ones… They’d lost connection for so long, how could they…

                Her fingers tightened around the postcard.

                Unless there was something behind her ravings?

                Molly swallowed the lump in her throat and met Vera’s gaze. “I need to talk to Finja.”

                :fleuron2:

                Finja had spent most of the evening pretending not to exist.

                But after the fifth time Molly nudged her, eyes bright with silent pleas, she let out a long-suffering sigh.

                “Alright,” she muttered. “But just one.”

                Molly exhaled in relief.

                The once-raucous Golden Trowel had dimmed into something softer—the edges of the night blurred with expectation.

                Because it wasn’t just Molly who wanted to ask.

                Maybe it was the effect of the postcards game, a shared psychic connection, or maybe like someone had muttered, caused by the new Moon’s sickness… A dozen others had realized, all at once, that they too had names to whisper.

                Somehow, a whole population was still alive, in space, after all this time. There was no time for disbelief now, Finja’s knowledge of stuff was incontrovertible. Molly was cued by the care-taking of Ellis Marlowe by Finkley, she knew things about her softie of a son, only his mother and close people would know.

                So Finja had relented. And agreed to use all means to establish a connection, to reignite a spark of hope she was worried could just be the last straw before being thrown into despair once again.

                Finja closed her eyes.

                The link had always been there, an immediate vivid presence beneath her skull, pristine and comfortable but tonight it felt louder, crowdier.

                The moons had shifted, in syzygy, with a gravity pull in their orbits tugging at things unseen.

                She reached out—

                And the voices crashed into her.

                Too much. Too many.

                Hundreds of voices, drowning her in longing and loss.

                “Where is my brother?”
                “Did my wife make it aboard?”
                “My son—please—he was supposed to be on Helix 23—”
                “Tell them I’m still here!”

                Her head snapped back, breath shattering into gasps.

                The crowd held its breath.

                A dozen pairs of eyes, wide and unblinking.

                Finja clenched her fists. She had to shut it down. She had to—

                And then—

                Something else.

                A presence. Watching.

                Synthia.

                Her chest seized.

                There was no logical way for an AI to interfere with telepathic frequencies.

                And yet—

                She felt it.

                A subtle distortion. A foreign hand pressing against the link, observing.

                The ship knew.

                Finja jerked back, knocking over her chair.

                The bar erupted into chaos.

                “FINJA?! What did you see?”
                “Was someone there?”
                “Did you find anyone?!”

                Her breath came in short, panicked bursts.

                She had never thought about the consequences of calling out across space.

                But now…

                Now she knew.

                They were not the last survivors. Other lived and thrived beyond Earth.

                And Synthia wanted to keep it that way.

                Yet, Finja and Finkley had both simultaneously caught something.
                It would take the ship time, but they were coming back. Synthia was not pleased about it, but had not been able to override the response to the beacon.

                They were coming back.

                #7848
                Jib
                Participant

                  Helix 25 – Murder Board – Evie’s apartment

                  The ship had gone mad.

                  Riven Holt stood in what should have been a secured crime scene, staring at the makeshift banner that had replaced his official security tape. “ENTER FREELY AND OF YOUR OWN WILL,” it read, in bold, uneven letters. The edges were charred. Someone had burned it, for reasons he would never understand.

                  Behind him, the faint sounds of mass lunacy echoed through the corridors. People chanting, people sobbing, someone loudly trying to bargain with gravity.

                  “Sir, the floors are not real! We’ve all been walking on a lie!” someone had screamed earlier, right before diving headfirst into a pile of chairs left there by someone trying to create a portal.

                  Riven did his best to ignore the chaos, gripping his tablet like it was the last anchor to reality. He had two dead bodies. He had one ship full of increasingly unhinged people. And he had forty hours without sleep. His brain felt like a dried-out husk, working purely on stubbornness and caffeine fumes.

                  Evie was crouched over Mandrake’s remains, muttering to herself as she sorted through digital records. TP stood nearby, his holographic form flickering as if he, too, were being affected by the ship’s collective insanity.

                  “Well,” TP mused, rubbing his nonexistent chin. “This is quite the predicament.”

                  Riven pinched the bridge of his nose. “TP, if you say anything remotely poetic about the human condition, I will unplug your entire database.”

                  TP looked delighted. “Ah, my dear lieutenant, a threat worthy of true desperation!”

                  Evie ignored them both, then suddenly stiffened. “Riven, I… you need to see this.”

                  He braced himself. “What now?”

                  She turned the screen toward him. Two names appeared side by side:

                  ETHAN MARLOWE

                  MANDRAKE

                  Both M.

                  The sound that came out of Riven was not quite a word. More like a dying engine trying to restart.

                  TP gasped dramatically. “My stars. The letter M! The implications are—”

                  “No.” Riven put up a hand, one tremor away from screaming. “We are NOT doing this. I am not letting my brain spiral into a letter-based conspiracy theory while people outside are rolling in protein paste and reciting odes to Jupiter’s moons.”

                  Evie, far too calm for his liking, just tapped the screen again. “It’s a pattern. We have to consider it.”

                  TP nodded sagely. “Indeed. The letter M—known throughout history as a mark of mystery, malice, and… wait, let me check… ah, macaroni.”

                  Riven was going to have an aneurysm.

                  Instead, he exhaled slowly, like a man trying to keep the last shreds of his soul from unraveling.

                  “That means the Lexicans are involved.”

                  Evie paled. “Oh no.”

                  TP beamed. “Oh yes!”

                  The Lexicans had been especially unpredictable lately. One had been caught trying to record the “song of the walls” because “they hum with forgotten words.” Another had attempted to marry the ship’s AI. A third had been detained for throwing their own clothing into the air vents because “the whispers demanded tribute.”

                  Riven leaned against the console, feeling his mind slipping. He needed a reality check. A hard, cold, undeniable fact.

                  Only one person could give him that.

                  “You know what? Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s just ask the one person who might actually be able to tell me if this is a coincidence or some ancient space cult.”

                  Evie frowned. “Who?”

                  Riven was already walking. “My grandfather.”

                  Evie practically choked. “Wait, WHAT?!”

                  TP clapped his hands. “Ah, the classic ‘Wake the Old Man to Solve the Crimes’ maneuver. Love it.”

                  The corridors were worse than before. As they made their way toward cryo-storage, the lunacy had escalated:

                  A crowd was parading down the halls with helium balloons, chanting, “Gravity is a Lie!”
                  A group of engineers had dismantled a security door, claiming “it whispered to them about betrayal.”
                  And a bunch of Lexicans, led by Kio’ath, had smeared stinking protein paste onto the Atrium walls, drawing spirals and claiming the prophecy was upon them all.
                  Riven’s grip on reality was thin.

                  Evie grabbed his arm. “Think about this. What if your grandfather wakes up and he’s just as insane as everyone else?”

                  Riven didn’t even break stride. “Then at least we’ll be insane with more context.”

                  TP sighed happily. “Ah, reckless decision-making. The very heart of detective work.”

                  Helix 25 — Victor Holt’s Awakening

                  They reached the cryo-chamber. The pod loomed before them, controls locked down under layers of security.

                  Riven cracked his knuckles, eyes burning with the desperation of a man who had officially run out of better options.

                  Evie stared. “You’re actually doing this.”

                  He was already punching in override codes. “Damn right I am.”

                  The door opened. A low hum filled the room. The first thing Riven noticed was the frost still clinging to the edges of an already open cryopod. Cold vapor curled around its base, its occupant nowhere to be seen.

                  His stomach clenched. Someone had beaten them here. Another pod’s systems activated. The glass began to fog as temperature levels shifted.

                  TP leaned in. “Oh, this is going to be deliciously catastrophic.”

                  Before the pod could fully engage, a flicker of movement in the dim light caught Riven’s eye. Near the terminal, hunched over the access panel like a gang of thieves cracking a vault, stood Zoya Kade and Anuí Naskó—and, a baby wrapped in what could only be described as an aggressively overdesigned Lexican tapestry, layers of embroidered symbols and unreadable glyphs woven in mismatched patterns. It was sucking desperately the lexican’s sleeve.

                  Riven’s exhaustion turned into a slow, rising fury. For a brief moment, his mind was distracted by something he had never actually considered before—he had always assumed Anuí was a woman. The flowing robes, the mannerisms, the way they carried themselves. But now, cradling the notorious Lexican baby in ceremonial cloth, could they possibly be…

                  Anuí caught his look and smiled faintly, unreadable as ever. “This has nothing to do with gender,” they said smoothly, shifting the baby with practiced ease. “I merely am the second father of the child.”

                  “Oh, for f***—What in the hell are you two doing here?”

                  Anuí barely glanced up, shifting the baby to their other arm as though hacking into a classified cryo-storage facility while holding an infant was a perfectly normal occurrence. “Unlocking the axis of the spiral,” they said smoothly. “It was prophesied. The Speaker’s name has been revealed.”

                  Zoya, still pressing at the panel, didn’t even look at him. “We need to wake Victor Holt.”

                  Riven threw his hands in the air. “Great! Fantastic! So do we! The difference is that I actually have a reason.”

                  Anuí, eyes glinting with something between mischief and intellect, gave an elegant nod. “So do we, Lieutenant. Yours is a crime scene. Ours is history itself.”

                  Riven felt his headache spike. “Oh good. You’ve been licking the walls again.”

                  TP, absolutely delighted, interjected, “Oh, I like them. Their madness is methodical!”

                  Riven narrowed his eyes, pointing at the empty pod. “Who the hell did you wake up?”

                  Zoya didn’t flinch. “We don’t know.”

                  He barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Oh, you don’t know? You cracked into a classified cryo-storage facility, activated a pod, and just—what? Didn’t bother to check who was inside?”

                  Anuí adjusted the baby, watching him with that same unsettling, too-knowing expression. “It was not part of the prophecy. We were guided here for Victor Holt.”

                  “And yet someone else woke up first!” Riven gestured wildly to the empty pod. “So, unless the prophecy also mentioned mystery corpses walking out of deep freeze, I suggest you start making sense.”

                  Before Riven could launch into a proper interrogation, the cryo-system let out a deep hiss.

                  Steam coiled up from Victor Holt’s pod as the seals finally unlocked, fog spilling over the edges like something out of an ancient myth. A figure was stirring within, movements sluggish, muscles regaining function after years in suspension.

                  And then, from the doorway, another voice rang out, sharp, almost panicked.

                  Ellis Marlowe stood at the threshold, looking at the two open pods, his eyes wide with something between shock and horror.

                  “What have you done?”

                  Riven braced himself.

                  Evie muttered, “Oh, this is gonna be bad.”

                  #7846

                  Helix 25 — The Captain’s Awakening

                  The beacon’s pulse cut through the void like a sharpened arrowhead of ancient memory.

                  Far from Merdhyn’s remote island refuge, deep within the Hold’s bowels of Helix 25, something—someone—stirred.

                  Inside an unlisted cryo-chamber, the frozen stasis cracked. Veins of light slithered across the pod’s surface like Northern lights dancing on an old age screensaver. Systems whirred, data blipped and streamed in strings of unknown characters. The ship, Synthia, whispered in its infinite omniscience, but the moment was already beyond her control.

                  A breath. A slow, drawn-out breath.

                  The cryo-pod released its lock with a soft hiss, and through the dispersing mist, Veranassessee stepped forward— awakened.

                  She blinked once, twice, as her senses rushed back with the sudden sense of gravity’s return. It was not the disorienting shock of the newly thawed. No—this was a return long overdue. Her mind, trained to absorb and adapt, locked onto the now, cataloging every change, every discrepancy as her mind had remained awake during the whole session —equipoise and open, as a true master of her senses she was.

                  She was older than when she had first stepped inside. Older, but not old. Age, after all, was a trick of perception, and if anyone had mastered perception, it was her.

                  But now, crises called. Plural indeed. And she, once more, was called to carry out her divine duty, with skills forged in Earthly battles with mad scientists, genetically modified spiders bent on world domination, and otherworldly crystal skulls thiefs. That was far in her past. Since then, she’d used her skills in the private sector, climbing the ranks as her efficient cold-as-steel talents were recognized at every step. She was the true Captain. She had earned it. That was how Victor Holt fell in love. She hated that people could think it was depotism that gave her the title. If anything, she helped make Victor the man he was.

                  The ship thrummed beneath her bare feet. A subtle shift in the atmosphere. Something had changed since she last walked these halls, something was off. The ship’s course? Its command structure?

                  And, most importantly—
                  Who had sent the signal?

                  :fleuron2:

                  Ellis Marlowe Sr. had moved swiftly for a man his age. It wasn’t that he feared the unknown. It wasn’t even the mystery of the murder that pushed him forward. It was something deeper, more personal.

                  The moment the solar flare alert had passed, whispers had spread—faint, half-muttered rumors that the Restricted Cryo-Chambers had been breached.

                  By the time he reached it, the pod was already empty.

                  The remnants of thawing frost still clung to the edges of the chamber. A faint imprint of a body, long at rest, now gone.

                  He swore under his breath, then turned to the ship’s log panel,  reaching for a battered postcard. Scribbled on it were cheatcodes. His hands moved with a careful expertise of someone who had spent too many years filing things that others had forgotten. A postman he was, and registers he knew well.

                  Access Denied.

                  That wasn’t right. The codes should have given Ellis clearance for everything.

                  He scowled, adjusting his glasses. It was always the same names, always the same people tied to these inexplicable gaps in knowledge.

                  The Holts. The Forgelots. The Marlowes.
                  And now, an unlisted cryopod with no official records.

                  Ellis exhaled slowly.

                  She was back. And with her, more history with this ship, like pieces of old broken potteries in an old dig would be unearthed.

                  He turned, already making his way toward the Murder Board.

                  Evie needed to see this.

                  :fleuron2:

                  The corridor stretched out before her, familiar in its dimensions yet strange in its silence. She had managed to switch the awkward hospital gown to a non-descript uniform that was hanging in the Hold.

                  How long have I been gone?

                  She exhaled. Irrelevant.

                  Her body moved with the precise economy of someone whose training never dulled. Her every motion were simple yet calculated, and her every breath controlled.

                  Unlike in the crypod, her mind started to bubbled with long forgotten emotions. It flickered over past decisions, past betrayals.

                  Victor Holt.

                  The name of her ex-husband settled into her consciousness. Once her greatest ally, then her most carefully avoided adversary.

                  And now?

                  Veranassessee smiled, stretching her limbs as though shrugging off the stiffness of years.

                  Outside, strange cries and howling in the corridors sounded like a mess was in progress. Who was in charge now? They were clearly doing a shit job.

                  Now, it was time to reclaim her ship.

                  She had questions.
                  And someone had better start providing answers.

                  #7840

                  Helix 25 — Aftermath of the Solar Flare Alert

                  The Second Murder

                  It didn’t take them long to arrive at the scene, Riven alerted by a distraught Finkley who’d found the body.

                  Evie knelt beside the limp, twitching form of Mandrake, his cybernetic collar flickering erratically, tiny sparks dancing along its edge. The cat’s body convulsed, its organic parts frozen in eerie stillness while the cybernetic half stuttered between functions, blinking in and out of awareness.

                  Mandrake was both dead and not dead.

                  “Well, this is unsettling,” TP quipped, materializing beside them with an exaggerated frown. “A most profound case of existential uncertainty. Schrödinger himself would have found this delightful—if he weren’t very much confirmed dead.”

                  Riven crouched, running a scanner over Mandrake’s collar. The readout spat out errors. “Neural link’s corrupted. He’s lost something.”

                  Evie’s stomach twisted. “Lost what? But… he can be repaired, surely, can’t he?”

                  Evan replied with a sigh “Hard to tell how much damage he’s suffered, but we caught him in time thanks to Finkley’s reflexes, he may stand a chance, even if he may need to be reprogrammed.”

                  Mandrake’s single functioning eye flickered open, its usual sharpness dull. Then, rasping, almost disjointedly, he muttered:

                  “I was… murdered.”

                  Then his system crashed, leaving nothing but silence.

                  Upper Decks Carnival

                  Sue was still adjusting her hat and feathers for the Carnival Party wondering if that would be appropriate as she was planning to go to the wake first, and then to the Lexican’s baby shower. It wasn’t every day there was a baby nowadays. And a boy too. But then, there was no such thing as being overdressed in her book.

                  The ship’s intercom crackled to life, cutting through her thoughts, its automated cheerfulness electrifying like a misplaced party horn.

                  “Attention, dear passengers! As scheduled, with the solar flare now averted, we are preparing for our return to Earth. Please enjoy the journey and partake in today’s complimentary hibiscus tea at the Grand Hall! Samba!”

                  The words ‘return to Earth’ sent a shudder through Sue’s spine. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t possible.

                  A sudden pulse of static in her artificial limb made her flinch. A garbled transmission—so faint she almost dismissed it—whispered through her internal interface, that was constantly scanning hacking through the data streams of the ship, and having found critical intel that was quickly being scrubbed by the maintenance system.

                  Signal detected…
                  Beacon coordinates triangulating…
                  …origin: Earth…

                  Her breath stopped. Sue had spent years pretending she knew everything, but this… was something else entirely.

                  She got the odd and ominous feeling that Synthia was listening.

                  Quadrant B – The Wake of Mr. Herbert

                  The air in the gathering hall was thick with preservative floral mist—the result of enthusiastic beauticians who had done their best to restore and rehydrate the late Mr. Herbert to some semblance of his former self.

                  And yet, despite their efforts, he still looked vaguely like a damp raisin in a suit.

                  Gloria adjusted her shawl and whispered to Sharon, “He don’t look half bad, does he?”

                  Sharon squinted. “Oh, love, I’d say he looks at least three-quarters bad.”

                  Marlowe Sr. stood by the casket, his posture unnervingly rigid, as if he were made of something more fragile than bone. When he spoke, his voice cracked. “Ethan.”

                  He was in no condition for a speech— only able to utter the name.

                  Gloria dabbed her eyes, nudging Mavis. “I reckon this is the saddest thing I’ve seen since they discontinued complimentary facials at the spa.”

                  Mavis sniffed. “And yet, they say he’ll be composted by next Tuesday. Bloody efficient, innit?”

                  Marlowe didn’t hear them.

                  Because at that moment, as he stared at his son’s face, the realization struck him like a dying star—this was no mistake. This was something bigger.

                  And for the first time in years, he felt the weight of knowing too much.

                  He would have to wake and talk to the Captain. She would know what to do.

                  #7829
                  ÉricÉric
                  Keymaster

                    Helix 25 – Investigation Breakdown: Suspects, Factions, and Ship’s Population

                    To systematically investigate the murder(s) and the overarching mystery, let’s break down the known groups and individuals, their possible means to commit crimes, and their potential motivations.


                    1. Ship Population & Structure

                    Estimated Population of Helix 25

                    • Originally a luxury cruise ship before the exodus.
                    • Largest cruise ships built on Earth in 2025 carried ~5,000 people.
                      Space travel, however, requires generations.
                    • Estimated current ship population on Helix 25: Between 15,000 and 50,000, depending on deck expansion and growth of refugee populations over decades.
                    • Possible Ship Propulsion:
                      • Plasma-based propulsion (high-efficiency ion drives)
                      • Slingshot navigation using gravity assists
                      • Solar sails & charged particle fields
                      • Current trajectory: Large elliptical orbit, akin to a comet.
                        Estimated direction of the original space trek was still within Solar System, not beyond the Kuiper Belt (~30 astrological units) and programmed to return towards it point of origin.
                        Due to the reprogramming by the refugees, it is not known if there has been significant alteration of the course – it should be known as the ship starts to reach the aphelion (farthest from the Sun) and either comes back towards it, or to a different course.
                      • Question: Are they truly on a course out of the galaxy? Or is that just the story Synthia is feeding them?
                        Is there a Promised Land beyond the Ark’s adventure?


                    2. Breaking Down People & Factions

                    To find the killer(s), conspiracies, and ship dynamics, here are some of factions, known individuals, and their possible means/motives.


                    A. Upper Decks: The Elite & Decision-Makers

                    • Defining Features:
                      • Wealthy descendants of the original passengers. They have adopted names of stars as new family names, as if de-facto rulers of the relative segments of the space.
                      • Have never known hardship like the Lower Decks.
                      • Kept busy with social prestige, arts, and “meaningful” pursuits to prevent existential crisis.

                    Key Individuals:

                    1. Sue Forgelot

                      • Means: Extensive social connections, influence, and hidden cybernetic enhancements.
                      • Motive: Could be protecting something or someone—she knows too much about the ship’s past.
                      • Secrets: Claims to have met the Captain. Likely lying… unless?
                    2. Dr. Amara Voss

                      • Means: Expert geneticist, access to data. Could tamper with DNA.
                      • Motive: What if Herbert knew something about her old research? Did she kill to bury it?
                    3. Ellis Marlowe (Retired Postman)

                      • Means: None obvious. But as a former Earth liaison, he has archives and knowledge of what was left behind.
                      • Motive: Unclear, but his son was the murder victim. His son was previously left on Earth, and seemed to have found a way onto Helix 25 (possibly through the refugee wave who took over the ship)
                      • Question: Did he know Herbert’s real identity?
                    4. Finkley (Upper Deck cleaner, informant)

                      • Means: As a cleaner, has access everywhere.
                      • Motive: None obvious, but cleaners notice everything.
                      • Secret: She and Finja (on Earth) are telepathically linked. Could Finja have picked up something?
                    5. The Three Old Ladies (Shar, Glo, Mavis)

                      • Means: Absolutely none.
                      • Motive: Probably just want more drama.
                      • Accidental Detectives: They mix up stories but might have stumbled on actual facts.
                    6. Trevor Pee Marshall (TP, AI detective)

                      • Means: Can scan records, project into locations, analyze logic patterns.
                      • Motive: Should have none—unless he’s been compromised as hinted by some of the remnants of old Muck & Lump tech into his program.

                    B. Lower Decks: Workers, Engineers, Hidden Knowledge

                    • Defining Features:
                      • Unlike the Upper Decks, they work—mechanics, hydroponics, labor.
                      • Self-sufficient, but cut off from decisions.
                      • Some distrust Synthia, believing Helix 25 is off-course.

                    Key Individuals:

                    1. Luca Stroud (Engineer, Cybernetic Expert)

                      • Means: Can tamper with ship’s security, medical implants, and life-support systems.
                      • Motive: Possible sabotage, or he was helping Herbert with something.
                      • Secret: Works in black-market tech modifications.
                    2. Romualdo (Gardener, Archivist-in-the-Making)

                      • Means: None obvious. Seem to lack the intelligence, but isn’t stupid.
                      • Motive: None—but he lent Herbert a Liz Tattler book about genetic memories.
                      • Question: What exactly did Herbert learn from his reading?
                    3. Zoya Kade (Revolutionary Figure, Not Directly Involved)

                      • Means: Strong ideological influence, but not an active conspirator.
                      • Motive: None, but her teachings have created and fed factions.
                    4. The Underground Movement

                      • Means: They know ways around Synthia’s surveillance.
                      • Motive: They believe the ship is on a suicide mission.
                      • Question: Would they kill to prove it?

                    C. The Hold: The Wild Cards & Forgotten Spaces

                    • Defining Features:
                      • Refugees who weren’t fully integrated.
                      • Maintain autonomy, trade, and repair systems that the rest of the ship ignores.

                    Key Individuals:

                    1. Kai Nova (Pilot, Disillusioned)

                      • Means: Can manually override ship systems… if Synthia lets him.
                      • Motive: Suspects something’s off about the ship’s fuel levels.
                    2. Cadet Taygeta (Sharp, Logical, Too Honest)

                      • Means: No real power, but access to data.
                      • Motive: Trying to figure out what Kai is hiding.

                    D. AI & Non-Human Factors

                    • Synthia (Central AI, Overseer of Helix 25)

                      • Means: Controls everything.
                      • Motive: Unclear, but her instructions are decades old.
                      • Question: Does she even have free will?
                    • The Captain (Nemo)

                      • Means: Access to ship-wide controls. He is blending in the ship’s population but has special access.
                      • Motive: Seems uncertain about his mission.
                      • Secret: He might not be following Synthia’s orders anymore.

                    3. Who Has the Means to Kill in Zero-G?

                    The next murder happens in a zero-gravity sector. Likely methods:

                    • Oxygen deprivation (tampered life-support, “accident”)
                    • Drowning (hydro-lab “malfunction”)

                    Likely Suspects for Next Murder

                    Suspect Means to Kill in Zero-G Motive
                    Luca Stroud Can tamper with tech Knows ship secrets
                    Amara Voss Access to medical, genetic data Herbert was digging into past
                    Underground Movement Can evade Synthia’s surveillance Wants to prove ship is doomed
                    Synthia (or Rogue AI processes) Controls airflow, gravity, and safety protocols If she sees someone as a threat, can she remove them?
                    The Captain (Nemo?) Has override authority Is he protecting secrets?

                    4. Next Steps in the Investigation

                    • Evie and Riven Re-interview Suspects. Who benefited from Herbert’s death?
                    • Investigate the Flat-Earth Conspiracies. Who is spreading paranoia?
                    • Check the Captain’s Logs. What does Nemo actually believe?
                    • Stop the Next Murder. (Too late?)

                    Final Question: Where Do We Start?

                    1. Evie and Riven visit the Captain’s quarters? (If they find him…)
                    2. Investigate the Zero-G Crime Scene? (Second body = New urgency)
                    3. Confront one of the Underground Members? (Are they behind it?)

                    Let’s pick a thread and dive back into the case!

                    #7828

                    Helix 25 – The Murder Board

                    Evie sat cross-legged on the floor of her cramped workspace, staring at the scattered notes, datapads, and threads taped to the wall. Finding some yarn on the ship had not been as easy as she thought, but it was a nice touch she thought.

                    The Murder Board, as Riven Holt had started calling it, was becoming an increasingly frustrating mess of unanswered questions.

                    Riven stood nearby, arms crossed, with a an irritated skepticism. “Almost a week,” he muttered. “We’re no closer than when we started.”

                    Evie exhaled sharply. “Then let’s go back to the basics.”

                    She tapped the board, where the crime scene was crudely sketched. The Drying Machine. Granary. Jardenery. Blood that shouldn’t exist.

                    She turned to Riven. “Alright, let’s list it out. Who are our suspects?”

                    He looked at his notes, dejected for a moment; “too many, obviously.” Last census on the ship was not accurate by far, but by all AI’s accounts cross-referenced with Finkley’s bots data, they estimated the population to be between 15,000 and 50,000. Give or take.

                    They couldn’t interview possibly all of them, all the more since there the interest in the murder had waned very rapidly. Apart from the occasional trio of nosy elderly ladies, the ship had returned mostly to the lull of the day-to-day routine.
                    So they’d focused on a few, and hoped TP’s machine brain could see patterns where they couldn’t.

                    1. First, the Obvious Candidates: People with Proximity to the Crime Scene
                      Romualdo, the Gardener – Friendly, unassuming. He lends books, grows plants, and talks about Elizabeth Tattler novels. But Herbert visited him often. Why?
                      Dr. Amara Voss – The geneticist. Her research proves the Crusader DNA link, but could she be hiding more? Despite being Evie’s godmother, she couldn’t be ruled out just yet.
                      Sue Forgelot – The socialite with connections everywhere. She had eluded their request for interviews. —does she know more than she lets on?
                      The Cleaning Staff – they had access everywhere. And the murder had a clean elegance to it…
                    2. Second, The Wild Cards: People with Unknown Agendas
                      The Lower Deck Engineers – Talented mechanic, with probable cybernetic knowledge, with probable access to unauthorized modifications. Could they kill for a reason, or for hire?
                      Zoya Kade and her Followers – They believe Helix 25 is on a doomed course, manipulated by a long-dead tycoon’s plan. Would they kill to force exposure of an inconvenient truth?
                      The Crew – Behind the sense of duty and polite smiles, could any of them be covering something up?
                    3. Third, The AI Factor: Sentient or Insentient?
                      Synthia, the AI – Controls the ship. Omnipresent. Can see everything, and yet… didn’t notice or report the murder. Too convenient.
                      Other personal AIs – Like Trevor Pee’s programme, most had in-built mechanisms to make them incapable of lying or harming humans. But could one of their access be compromised?

                    Riven frowned. “And what about Herbert himself? Who was he, really? He called himself Mr. Herbert, but the cat erm… Mandrake says that wasn’t his real name. If we figure out his past, maybe we find out why he was killed.”

                    Evie rubbed her temples. “We also still don’t know how he was killed. The ship’s safety systems should have shut the machine down. But something altered how the system perceived him before he went in.”

                    She gestured to another note. “And there’s still the genetic link. What was Herbert doing with Crusader DNA?”

                    A heavy silence settled between them.

                    Then TP’s voice chimed in. “Might I suggest an old detective’s trick? When stumped, return to who benefits.”

                    Riven exhaled. “Fine. Who benefits from Herbert’s death?”

                    Evie chewed the end of her stylus. “Depends. If it was personal, the killer is on this ship, and it’s someone who knew him. If it was bigger than Herbert, then we’re dealing with something… deeper.”

                    TP hummed. “I do hate deeper mysteries. They tend to involve conspiracies, misplaced prophecies, and far too many secret societies.”

                    Evie and Riven exchanged a glance.

                    Riven sighed. “We need a break.”

                    Evie scoffed. “Time means nothing here.”

                    Riven gestured out the window. “Then let’s go see it. The Sun.”

                    Helix 25 – The Sun-Gazing Chamber

                    The Sun-Gazing Chamber was one of Helix 25’s more poetic and yet practical inventions —an optically and digitally-enhanced projection of the Sun, positioned at the ship’s perihelion. It was meant to provide a psychological tether, a sense of humanity’s connection to the prime provider of life as they drifted in the void of the Solar System.
                    It was a beautifully designed setting where people would simply sit and relax, attuned to the shift of days and nights as if still on Earth. The primary setting had been voted to a massive 83.5% to be like in Hawai’i latitude and longitude, as its place was believed to be a reflection of Earth’s heart. That is was a State in the USA was a second thought of course.

                    Evie sat on the observation bench, staring at the massive, golden sphere suspended in the darkness. “Do you think people back on Earth are still watching the sunrise?” she murmured.

                    Riven was quiet for a moment. “If there’s anyone left.”

                    Evie frowned. “If they are, I doubt they got much of a choice.”

                    TP materialized beside them, adjusting his holographic tie. “Ah, the age-old existential debate: are we the lucky ones who left Earth, or the tragic fools who abandoned it?”

                    Evie ignored him, glancing at the other ship residents in the chamber. Most people just sat quietly, basking in the light. But she caught snippets of whispers, doubt, something spreading through the ranks.

                    “Some people think we’re not really where they say we are,” she muttered.

                    Riven raised an eyebrow. “What, like conspiracy theories?”

                    TP scoffed. “Oh, you mean the Flat-Earthers?” He tsked. “Who couldn’t jump on the Helix lifeboats for their lives, convinced as they were we couldn’t make it to the stars. They deserved what came to them. Next they’ll be saying Helix 25 never even launched and we’re all just trapped in a simulation of a luxury cruise.”

                    Evie was shocked at Trevor Pee’s eructation and rubbed her face. “Damn Effin Muck tech, and those “Truth Control” rubbish datasets. I thought I’d thoroughly scrubbed all the old propaganda tech from the system.”

                    “Ah,” TP said, “but conspiracies are like mold. Persistent. Annoying. Occasionally toxic.”

                    Riven shook his head. “It’s nonsense. We’re moving. We’ve been moving for decades.”

                    Evie didn’t look convinced. “Then why do we feel stuck?”

                    A chime interrupted them.

                    A voice, over the comms. Solar flare alert. 

                    Evie stiffened.

                    Then: Stay calm and return to your quarters until further notice.

                    Evie raised an eyebrow. This was the first time something like that happened. She turned to Riven who was looking at his datapad who was flashing and buzzing.

                    He said to her: “Stay quiet and come with me, a new death has been reported. Crazy coincidence. It’s just behind the Sun-Gazing chamber actually, in the Zero-G sector.”

                    #7813

                    Helix 25 – Crusades in the Cruise & Unexpected Archives

                    Evie hadn’t planned to visit Seren Vega again so soon, but when Mandrake slinked into her quarters and sat squarely on her console, swishing his tail with intent, she took it as a sign.

                    “Alright, you smug little AI-assisted furball,” she muttered, rising from her chair. “What’s so urgent?”

                    Mandrake stretched leisurely, then padded toward the door, tail flicking. Evie sighed, grabbed her datapad, and followed.

                    He led her straight to Seren’s quarters—no surprise there. The dimly lit space was as chaotic as ever, layers of old records, scattered datapads, and bound volumes stacked in precarious towers. Seren barely looked up as Evie entered, used to these unannounced visits.

                    “Tell the cat to stop knocking over my books,” she said dryly. “It never ever listens.”

                    “Well it’s a cat, isn’t it?” Evie replied. “And he seems to have an agenda.”

                    Mandrake leaped onto one of the shelves, knocking loose a tattered, old-fashioned book. It thudded onto the floor, flipping open near Evie’s feet. She crouched, brushing dust from the cover. Blood and Oaths: A Romance of the Crusades by Liz Tattler.

                    She glanced at Seren. “Tattler again?”

                    Seren shrugged. “Romualdo must have left it here. He hoards her books like sacred texts.”

                    Evie turned the pages, pausing at an unusual passage. The prose was different—less florid than Liz’s usual ramblings, more… restrained.

                    A fragment of text had been underlined, a single note scribbled in the margin: Not fiction.

                    Evie found a spot where she could sit on the floor, and started to read eagerly.

                    “Blood and Oaths: A Romance of the Crusades — Chapter XII
                    Sidon, 1157 AD.

                    Brother Edric knelt within the dim sanctuary, the cold stone pressing into his bones. The candlelight flickered across the vaulted ceilings, painting ghosts upon the walls. The voices of his ancestors whispered within him, their memories not his own, yet undeniable. He knew the placement of every fortification before his enemies built them. He spoke languages he had never learned.

                    He could not recall the first time it happened, only that it had begun after his initiation into the Order—after the ritual, the fasting, the bloodletting beneath the broken moon. The last one, probably folklore, but effective.

                    It came as a gift.

                    It was a curse.

                    His brothers called it divine providence. He called it a drowning. Each time he drew upon it, his sense of self blurred. His grandfather’s memories bled into his own, his thoughts weighted by decisions made a lifetime ago.

                    And now, as he rose, he knew with certainty that their mission to reclaim the stronghold would fail. He had seen it through the eyes of his ancestor, the soldier who stood at these gates seventy years prior.

                    ‘You know things no man should know,’ his superior whispered that night. ‘Be cautious, Brother Edric, for knowledge begets temptation.’

                    And Edric knew, too, the greatest temptation was not power.

                    It was forgetting which thoughts were his own.

                    Which life was his own.

                    He had vowed to bear this burden alone. His order demanded celibacy, for the sealed secrets of State must never pass beyond those trained to wield it.

                    But Edric had broken that vow.

                    Somewhere, beyond these walls, there was a child who bore his blood. And if blood held memory…

                    He did not finish the thought. He could not bear to.”

                    Evie exhaled, staring at the page. “This isn’t just Tattler’s usual nonsense, is it?”

                    Seren shook her head distractedly.

                    “It reads like a first-hand account—filtered through Liz’s dramatics, of course. But the details…” She tapped the underlined section. “Someone wanted this remembered.”

                    Mandrake, still perched smugly above them, let out a satisfied mrrrow.

                    Evie sat back, a seed of realization sprouting in her mind. “If this was real, and if this technique survived somehow…”

                    Mandrake finished the thought for her. “Then Amara’s theory isn’t theory at all.”

                    Evie ran a hand through her hair, glancing at the cat than at Evie. “I hate it when Mandrake’s right.”

                    “Well what’s a witch without her cat, isn’t it?” Seren replied with a smile.

                    Mandrake only flicked his tail, his work here done.

                    #7809

                    Earth, Black Sea Coastal Island near Lazurne, Ukraine – The Tinkerer

                    Cornishman Merdhyn Winstrom had grown accustomed to the silence.

                    It wasn’t the kind of silence one found in an empty room or a quiet night in Cornwall, but the profound, devouring kind—the silence of a world were life as we knew it had disappeared. A world where its people had moved on without him.

                    The Black Sea stretched before him, vast and unknowable, still as a dark mirror reflecting a sky that had long since stopped making promises. He stood on the highest point of the islet, atop a jagged rock behind which stood in contrast to the smooth metal of the wreckage.

                    His wreckage.

                    That’s how he saw it, maybe the last man standing on Earth.

                    It had been two years since he stumbled upon the remains of Helix 57 shuttle —or what was left of it. Of all the Helixes cruise ships that were lost, the ones closest to Earth during the Calamity had known the most activity —people trying to leave and escape Earth, while at the same time people in the skies struggling to come back to loved ones. Most of the orbital shuttles didn’t make it during the chaos, and those who did were soon lost to space’s infinity, or Earth’s last embrace.

                    This shuttle should have been able to land a few hundred people to safety —Merdhyn couldn’t find much left inside when he’d discovered it, survivors would have been long dispersed looking for food networks and any possible civilisation remnants near the cities. It was left here, a gutted-out orbital shuttle, fractured against the rocky coast, its metal frame corroded by salt air, its systems dead. The beauty of mechanics was that dead wasn’t the same as useless.

                    And Merdhyn never saw anything as useless.

                    With slow, methodical care, he adjusted the small receiver strapped to his wrist—a makeshift contraption built from salvaged components, scavenged antennae, and the remains of an old Soviet radio. He tapped the device twice. The static fizzled, cracked. Nothing.

                    “Still deaf,” he muttered.

                    Perched at his shoulder, Tuppence chattered at him, a stuborn rodent that attached himself and that Merdhyn had adopted months ago as he was scouting the area. He reached his pocket and gave it a scrap of food off a stale biscuit still wrapped in the shiny foil.

                    Merdhyn exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He was getting too old for this. Too many years alone, too many hours hunched over corroded circuits, trying to squeeze life from what had already died.

                    But the shuttle wasn’t dead. After his first check, he was quite sure. Now it was time to get to work.

                    He stepped inside, ducking beneath an exposed beam, brushing past wiring that had long since lost its insulation. The stale scent of metal and old circuitry greeted him. The interior was a skeletal mess—panels missing, control consoles shattered, displays reduced to nothing but flickering ghosts of their former selves.

                    Still, he had power.

                    Not much. Just enough to light a few panels, enough to make him think he wasn’t mad for trying.

                    As it happened, Merdhyn had a plan: a ridiculous, impossible, brilliant plan.

                    He would fix it.

                    The whole thing if he could, but if anything. It would certainly take him months before the shuttle from Helix 57 could go anywhere— that is, in one piece. He could surely start to repair the comms, get a signal out, get something moving, then maybe—just maybe—he could find out if there was anything left out there.

                    Anything that wasn’t just sea and sky and ghosts.

                    He ran his fingers along the edge of the console, feeling the warped metal. The ship had crashed hard. It shouldn’t have made it down in one piece, but something had slowed it. Some system had tried to function, even in its dying moments.

                    That meant something was still alive.

                    He just had to wake it up.

                    Tuppence chittered, scurrying onto his shoulder.

                    Merdhyn chuckled. “Aye, I know. One of these days, I’ll start talking to people instead of rats.”

                    Tuppence flicked her tail.

                    He pulled out a battered datapad—one of his few working relics—and tapped the screen. The interface stuttered, but held. He navigated to his schematics, his notes, his carefully built plans.

                    The transponder array.

                    If he could get it working, even partially, he might be able to listen.

                    To hear something—anything—on the waves beyond this rock.

                    A voice. A signal. A trace of the world that had forgotten him.

                    Merdhyn exhaled. “Let’s see if we can get you talking again, eh?”

                    He adjusted his grip, tools clinking at his belt, and got to work.

                    #7794
                    Yurara FamelikiYurara Fameliki
                    Participant

                      Some pictures selections

                      Evie and TP Investigating the Drying Machine Crime Scene

                      A cinematic sci-fi mini-scene aboard the vast and luxurious Helix 25. In the industrial depths of the ship, a futuristic drying machine hums ominously, crime scene tape lazily flickering in artificial gravity. Evie, a sharp-eyed investigator in a sleek yet practical uniform, stands with arms crossed, listening intently. Beside her, a translucent, retro-stylized holographic detective—Trevor Pee Marshall (TP)—adjusts his tiny mustache with a flourish, pointing dramatically at the drying machine with his cane. The air is thick with mystery, the ship’s high-tech environment reflecting off Evie’s determined face while TP’s flickering presence adds an almost comedic contrast. A perfect blend of noir and high-tech detective intrigue.

                       

                      Riven Holt and Zoya Kade Confronting Each Other in a Dimly Lit Corridor

                      A dramatic, cinematic sci-fi scene aboard the vast and luxurious Helix 25. Riven Holt, a disciplined young officer with sharp features, stands in a high-tech corridor, his arms crossed, jaw tense—exuding authority and restraint. Opposite him, Zoya Kade, a sharp-eyed, wiry 83-year-old scientist-prophet, leans slightly forward, her mismatched layered robes adorned with tiny artifacts—beads, old circuits, and a fragment of a key. Her silver-white braid gleams under the soft emergency lighting, her piercing gaze challenging him. The corridor hums with unseen energy, a subtle red glow from a “restricted access” sign casting elongated shadows. Their confrontation is palpable—a struggle between order and untamed knowledge, hierarchy and rebellion. In the background, the walls of Helix 25 curve sleekly, high-tech yet strangely claustrophobic, reinforcing the ship’s ever-present watchfulness.

                       

                      Romualdo, the Gardener, Among the Bioluminescent Plants

                      A richly detailed sci-fi portrait of Romualdo, the ship’s gardener, standing amidst the vibrant greenery of the Jardenery. He is a rugged yet gentle figure, dressed in a simple work jumpsuit with soil-streaked hands, a leaf-tipped stem tucked behind his ear like a cigarette. His eyes scan an old, well-worn book—one of Liz Tattler’s novels—that Dr. Amara Voss gave him for his collection. The glowing plants cast an ethereal blue-green light over him, creating an atmosphere both peaceful and mysterious. In the background, the towering vines and suspended hydroponic trays hint at the ship’s careful balance between survival and serenity.

                       

                      Finja and Finkley – A Telepathic Parallel Across Space

                      A surreal, cinematic sci-fi composition split into two mirrored halves, reflecting a mysterious connection across vast distances. On one side, Finja, a wiry, intense woman with an almost obsessive neatness, walks through the overgrown ruins of post-apocalyptic Earth, her expression distant as she “listens” to unseen voices. Dust lingers in the air, catching the golden morning light, and she mutters to herself about cleanliness. In her reflection, on the other side of the image, is Finkley, a no-nonsense crew member aboard the gleaming, futuristic halls of Helix 25. She stands with hands on her hips, barking orders at small cleaning bots as they maintain the ship’s pristine corridors. The lighting is cold and artificial, sterile in contrast to the dust-filled Earth. Yet, both women share a strange symmetry—gesturing in unison as if unknowingly mirroring one another across time and space. A faint, ghostly thread of light suggests their telepathic bond, making the impossible feel eerily real.

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