On board the Estrella, research is the mission. Stationed on the outskirts of the known galaxy, the task of the crew is to study the space surrounding the station and to determine what lies beyond.
However, unknown to most of the crew, there is one...
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DMITRIY woke early. He usually did these days; a quirk of his anxiety combined with the vast unknown of space that made sleeping incredibly hard. He sighed, lying flat on his back with his hands at his side. He didn't even check the time on the alarm clock sitting next to his bed. He didn't need to. It was early, early enough that no light shone in from the hallway, but not so early that he felt really tired. Somewhere between four and six, he thought. The official wakeup call was at six-thirty, which gave him plenty of time to get to Paris' office before he ate breakfast.
Whether he wanted to go to her office didn't matter—Dmitriy needed his meds, especially if he wanted to be useful today. Which he did. He took pride in doing his job well, and after the chewing-out he'd heard that Bellamy got yesterday, he needed to be on top of things.
But for now, he stared at his ceiling, letting time tick by. One minute....two minutes.... Dmitiry hated this. He hated being woken up by anxiety in the middle of the night, hated the constant negativity inside his own head. It wasn't fun to live with; not even close.
The hours dragged on, slower than Dmitriy thought possible, until finally his alarm went off at six on the dot, and he rolled out of bed, literally, catching himself on the balls of his feet before he hit the floor. There was another long day ahead.
Twenty minutes later, he was heading towards the infirmary. From past experience, he knew that Paris would be in her office already, dressed, fed, and ready for the day. She was usually the first person in the mess hall every morning, though Dmitriy couldn't understand it. He stayed in bed as long as he possibly could. But then, Paris was weird as fuck.
It didn't take him long to reach the infirmary, and Dmitriy knocked twice on the door before pushing it open.
The room beyond was completely dark. That alone was enough to make Dmitriy frown. He squinted into the darkness, trying his best to see anything within. One of his hands groped at the wall to the left of the door, certain there was a lightswitch there. Why hadn't Paris turned the lights on?
There! His hand found the slick plastic of the switch, and he flicked it upwards. Light flooded the room—sterile, clean, and organized neatly, just as Dmitriy had seen it every other time he was forced to come in here.
Not everything was perfectly in place, though. One wheeled table was knocked out of place, the instruments arranged on its steel top scattered and jumbled. It wasn't like Paris to be so disorganized. Dmitiry navigated around the table, heading for the curtain dividing the room as he called, "Doctor Mays? Are you here?" There was no response. Dmitiry pulled aside the curtain to continue on to Paris' office, hoping she was working within.
She wasn't. In fact, she was lying at his feet, dark eyes staring upward, wide open in what looked like surprise. Blood stained her crisp white shirt, which was punctured in two places right next to each other—right over her heart—and spattered over her face. More of it spread beneath her, glistening, sticky, red. Dmitriy felt his head grow light, and his grip on the curtain tightened.
