PARASITIC (Among Us)

One: Have a Nice Month at Work, Honey!

        We've all heard the horror stories about the SKELD. Every six months, they send ten aerospace mechanics to the station to upkeep the maintenance of our satellite. But only two return every single time. They come back, traumatized and scared, too afraid to talk about the horrors they witnessed aboard the spacecraft. Not one of them has cracked, and some years, nobody comes home. Not one.

The Aeronautics Committee of Unknown World Exploration has yet to release a statement as to why they haven't suspended the program, but we all know why. This planet would be unsalvageable if we didn't conduct our research there. MIRA HQ has been terminated for years in the stratosphere and POLUS under the crust of the planet was a devastating blow just last week as scientists had come back from their expedition the same way folks have from the SKELD. Many times have security teams gone in and scoured the place, head to toe, to try and find out what happened to have caused these disappearances. Only a few were preserved by the remaining crewmates for evidence in their investigations and also to allow their families a proper send-off; the rest are left unaccounted for. All the Committee has left is the satellite, and I'm one of the unlucky ones to get sent there.

Twelve are being sent this time instead of ten in hopes that the extra set of hands will allow us to finish our tasks quicker so we can jump ship as soon as it's all said and done. I still can't believe that I nor any of these other crazy people accepted the request. All of us have to have a death wish if we're sitting in this capsule, strapped to our seats to withstand the g-force of cutting through the atmosphere, and willing to work within what's now known as the Bermuda Triangle of space. What's worse is that some of us had to bring our children with us. Friends and family wouldn't want to be the ones to tell our kids that their parents are dead. We may as well take them along with us. A lot of firsts with our group here. A buzzer sounds.

"In-ship gravity stabilized, feel free to roam the shuttle until the docking process has begun."

We all look at each other, unbuckling our many seatbelts and jumping out of our seats to get some feeling back in our legs. My daughter, Mundy, tries untangling the belts on her own, getting frustrated and giving up. I help her out a bit and let her finish the rest. She slides out of my lap and lands on her knees, a fellow spaceman helping her up. Their suit is black, kneeling on their knee to make sure Mundy is okay. "Did you hurt yourself, Red dude?"

"Mundy, baby," I call as I stand up. She hugs my leg. The spaceman stands up and pops off their helmet with a plant growing out of the top, taking a deep breath. She has glasses and black curly hair that goes to the top of her shoulders.

"Hey, the name's Cole," she greets, holding out a hand. I flip off my helmet and let it hang behind me like a hood as I shake her hand.

"Morbid. This one here is named Mundy."

"Hello!" Mundy rings, her microphone speaker crackling. Another child in a green suit approaches us, flipping his visor up and smiling at Mundy. "Hello!"

"Hi!" He chimes back. "I'm Triple-A, who are you?"

"Mundy!"

Two other boys run up to us, one blue and the other purple, both with their visors up. The blue one speaks first. "I'm Scout, he's Jimothy. Wanna go look out the window with us?"

Mundy looks up at me, and I laugh, patting her head. "Go ahead." She lets go of my leg and the quartet all run to the other side of our small vessel, plastering their hands and helmets to the thick glass. I adjust my military helmet and let the straps hang loose as they usually irritate the underside of my head. Triple A's mother walks over to me, Jimothy's mom joining as well. "Hey, I'm Morbid."