frankenstein complex ⇢ q.k | ✔

one

The air smelled like blood, burned electrical components, and whatever horrible odor came from blood getting onto electrical components as they sparked. All the blood wasn't human, you could tell that, too. Skipper blood always stung your nose like rubbing alcohol. It was pitch black in the space you were hiding in, or maybe it was just nighttime. You should be scared, but your heart wasn't beating fast for some reason.

Two pairs of heavy footfalls. One was heavier than the other. Walking, so definitely not Skippers. Both were still too light to be heavier races.

They slowed to a stop outside your hiding spot, and you really hoped they couldn't read the Outspacer controls that would open the otherwise impossible-to-see door. After all, it was a language that had been dead for hundreds of millions of years, there was no way—

"Hey, Zennie, you got a read on these?" A man's voice came from nearby, muffled by both the wall and presumably a helmet as well. Human, or related species.

You couldn't hear this 'Zennie's reply, as it most likely came through the comms in his helmet, but you could hear the man's side of the conversation.

"Oh, of course, how dare I, a mere meatsack, doubt your high-and-mighty artificial intelligence," he replied with fake deference. "Yeah, yeah, I know that's not what you meant. Alright, so just tell me which one's the self-destruct button so I don't press it?"

"Move, Wong, before you blow us up." Another voice interjected. "ZEN? You said it's a passageway? Oh, safe shelter. Bit different, don't you think? Mind translating the dead language right the first time?"

He paused as he probably listened to Zen's reply, then continued, "So? You know which one's the open button?"

You couldn't go anywhere. The hideout you were in was designed to hold only a few people for weather emergencies, to be structurally sound; not to have a back door in case you needed to escape intruders. You just had to hope Zen was completely wrong and they wouldn't get it open.

Click.

There goes that.

The door dematerialized, and the rancid smell from before became even stronger. A man peered in barrel-first, and you recoiled back from the sudden light flooding your vision. You couldn't press yourself any further back into the corner, but you still turned your head away to shield your sensitive eyes.

It only took a couple strides for one of the men to reach you, the other stayed back in the hallway, keeping his rifle fixed on you. The man stood over where you were sitting on the floor—your legs had gotten tired of standing after so long—and lowered his gun slightly so you could see the entirety of the front plate that covered his face. It was a reflective shield that gave you no clue to who was behind it, only let you see a warped, thinned and stretched version of yourself cowering in a corner. His armor was an improved version of the standard issue United Human Navy, if the insignia on both of his shoulders didn't make that clear enough. It looked the same as the standard issue, but the heft of his footsteps had belied a weight difference that wasn't explained by his stature or build, so it must be the grade of material.

"Are you hurt?" His voice came through an external speaker on his helmet. He was speaking in standard human. You couldn't detect any sort of odd stiltedness or lag that sometimes happened with computer-assisted translations. He was assuming you understood standard human, and you did.

"No," you replied, slowly uncrossing your arms to show your hands first, that you didn't have anything hidden in them to attack him with. You still weren't scared, for some reason.

"Oh, she's pretty," his companion commented from the hallway. The two of them must be sharing helmet feeds, as the one in front of you was definitely blocking most of you from his sight.