#creati0n

The first catch belongs to the sea, he thought solemnly, breathing in deep lungfuls of the salty air. He loved these early mornings, when even the other fishermen were not yet up. Penzance, located in the south of Great Britain was a sleepy little village after most of the fishermen left twenty years ago. His father, stubborn man that he is, had stayed. Walter was grateful for that. He wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

The spot he had found was close to St Michael’s Mount, and for some reason he had caught plenty of fish there for several days.

Not one to question his good fortune, he twisted in his seat to reach for a suitable lure, when a movement caught his eye. At first he thought he had imagined it, then-there! A glimmer of scales, but nothing that broke the surface. Too big for a haddock or bass, he thought, slowly lowering the lure back into the box.

The sun had not yet cleared the horizon and he squinted through the faint light, trying to catch sight of the fish once more…

@cajunspoons

David comes to an immediate stop when he hears someone call out. Turning sharply on his heel, he marches back toward the source of the noise and stares at the intruder.

It’s another android, that much is obvious, and David supposes he should feel somewhat relieved that nothing has gone wrong with the cryochambers and the crew hasn’t prematurely been woken up.

He doesn’t feel relieved at all.

“Were you commissioned by Ms. Vickers?” David was not informed that there would be a secondary android on board, which can only mean that his sister doesn’t trust him with this mission. She must have brought a personal droid with her-- one that’s not even made by Weyland Industries, which is incredibly insulting-- to ensure that every report she receives is entirely accurate. David frowns, angry with both Vickers and her robot, although he knows logically that it is not the android’s fault that Meredith is a selfish, paranoid woman.

”Alright then”, she says with a brief grimace, tugging lightly at the white fabric covering most of her head. ”Kind of tight…” Walter is starting to look concerned so she walks over quickly and starts to climb into the pod, only to stop halfway down in an angle so odd she has to balance awkwardly while straddling the edge. 

She sighs, stepping out again, wiping her sweaty palms against her legs.

”You know what? I’m just gonna take some time to, um, just process things. There’s no hurry, I can wait a few days.” Or weeks, she silently adds to herself. 

She tugs the obnoxiously tight hood off her head and combs her fingers through her hair. Her dark locks immediately expands from flattened to fluffy.

“ ... “

For a moment, Davina’s face didn’t register any emotion. Something was off, wrong, about this situation and her programming didn’t know how to handle it. And then -- 

There was a certain monotony that Clark sought when he visited cafes as the one he’d holed himself up in for the oncoming hour or two, a certain familiarity and environment. As someone who’d lived for so long, society had a nasty way of progressing at a churning and steady pace. It left him yearning to be nostalgic for bits of his life long left by the wayside as discarded relics of the past.

While he readily adapted, he couldn’t be faulted for trying to seek out these familiar feelings and settings. What else was an anachronism as himself supposed to do? Moping was hardly an option; he hadn’t the time (ironically enough).

So, he’d found sanctuary in the fact that caffeine and other social drinks had maintained their place as a staple within society and he’d nestled into a quiet corner to watch as he often did. His gaze was not quite directly upon the entrance, but his attention was. 

People watching had been a necessary hobby throughout his life, even more so now that he’d completely surpassed the typical lifespan of one generation. Observing meant learning and adapting, it meant being able to acclimate to the changing standards of what it meant to be ‘normal’ so he wasn’t outed as being abnormal.

Stiff carpet, faded and cracking drywall, and many an Office cubicle sit coated in the pale blue -and poorly mimicked- moonlight as it shines through the artificial windows.  Overhead lights are shut down, but a few odd computer screens shine out against the darkness as if rebelling against dormancy, their glow seeming almost blinding when in contrast with the rest of the darkened building.  For a few moments, the Narrator found himself wishing that his protagonist had bothered to ensure they had been shut down before heading to sleep, seeing as the computers always kept turning themselves on after a Reset.  However, seeing as his surprise needed to be kept secret until the time was right, the Narrator had quickly and quietly decided that he could deal with it.  He did need to be able to see what he was doing, after all.  He would simply pester her about it later.

Night was always the best time for getting things done.  This was what the Narrator firmly believed.  Whether it was cleaning up any disturbances or irregularities in the Office, deciding which Endings to follow through with on the next day, or simply planning surprises as he was doing now, the Narrator was content in the fact that his curious little protagonist would not bother him during his work.  Many operations required very delicate fine-tuning after all, and the slightest mistake could spell disaster.  Well, alright, that wasn’t usually the case.  Cleaning up the Office usually only required a simple flip of the switch or the turn of a knob.  In this instance however, absolute focus was of the upmost necessity.  He was going to perform a very complicated operation, and if it didn’t work, then he would very well have to cut off an entire area of the Office for at least a full day.  What if she got curious?  The whole thing would be ruined!  He couldn’t have that.  Not after all the work he put into this.

In a brief moment of worry, the Narrator glanced at the corner of his main monitor, glancing over the snippets of data provided to him to ensure that Stacey was still asleep.  Her room was one of precisely two places where she was granted upmost privacy, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t check her vital signs in case of emergency.  A sigh of relief escaped him once he found that she was still asleep.  No disturbances would occur any time soon, and he was finally almost done.  Thank heavens for that.  At this rate, he could finish making the connection and even have enough time to have a look around the dimension beforehand to ensure its safety before tomorrow’s Story.

Alright, perhaps it was a bit extreme to be trying to add an entire bloody dimension to his Office, but in the face of desperation one must take the steps necessary to ensure some assemblage of the status quo.  It had been far too long since Stacey last found any sign of her uncle, and at this rate she was going to start losing hope.  He had to find something, anything to get her to stay for as long as possible.

She could not be allowed to leave.

With a few final clacks of his keyboard, the Narrator finished typing the string of codes necessary to complete the connection.  With a content sigh he pressed a pair of fingers against the enter key, and in just a few seconds a bright white light shone out from door 457, located in the room just beyond the second set of cubicles in the main Story.  It was out of the way, and yet still available to the Story with a few minor adjustments.  This would work out perfectly, at least in all but one tiny little detail.