STATION 42; ARRIVAL
150 DAYS BEFORE MISSION END
He was intending to make a good impression on whoever ran this place - the impression of someone who knew where he was and was prepared for it, like he was meant to be there and this wasn’t some last ditch effort to be as far away from civilisation as possible. That means sprucing up — a clean shave, hair dyed, gelled and dragged over his scalp to form the illusion of no receding hairline. But then he’d been told there was no need for a meeting, and been handed the plane tickets without much fanfare after.
The cold had forced him to hide the expensive (second-hand) suit under layers of sweaters and thermals and a puffy coat. Saul was a man clearly accustomed to a better climate. Minuscule icicles clung to his eyelashes, to the tip of his nose, to his feet, to everything. Hell, it felt like if he sneezed he might send shards of slimy ice scattering across the snow. What had been a moist hair gel now felt like super-glue dried to his scalp. And all of this was while Saul was inside the snowcat ferrying him to the final destination.
Station 42, The Station, his new station, was sat squat in the expanse of endless fields of ice. The vehicle that had brought Saul there was already beginning to have a building film of snow atop its roof, the weather having come out in full force to greet him. The passenger door had swung open, the motor’s hum becoming a stuttered groan against the wail of frozen wind. A sharp look from the driver told Saul it was time to hop off. The man had to move quickly, waddling through knee-deep snow and cussing with every step. By time he reached the compound, Saul was ready to tear the door off the hinges to get out the cold. He’s gotten this far and, as far as he saw it, the only thing that was gonna stop him was an avalanche dropping on his head.
“Come on, come on, come on-“
Patience was never one of his virtues, and he stamped his feet in an attempt to get some feeling back into the tips of his toes.
“-Fuck me.. let me in! It’s fuckin’ cold out here! I’m gettin’ frostbite!”
It must have only been thirty seconds; the outer door was a reinforced hunk of metal, after all. But at this temperature, thirty seconds felt more like thirty eternities. And when it did open, only halfway, the way in was blocked. The man stood in the entrance was dressed in layers of flannel, tired looking eyes boring into his. It looked like he was more interrupted by the intrusion than excited for more company. Good. Saul wasn’t a team player anyway.
“Are you the new lab-“
The man doesn’t get to finish his question; Saul splayed his hand out and stepped forward, letting the base of his palm collide with the mans sternum to make some space. Whether it’s out of disgust for being touched or actual force, the small window of space there was became Sauls - and he was slamming the door behind him as quickly as possible.
“Yeah, Yeah, I’m the new lab.”
He flashed a cocky grin that he didn’t expect to get a warm response from. The man wasn’t a security officer, so he wouldn’t be a problem. Just as his new lab partner for 150 days opened his mouth, Saul stole the space again.
“Now. Important things first. Where the fuck is the AC here?”
Step one is to act like you’re the top dog, because otherwise you never will be.
( @atwicksend )
