How Does One Escape the Prison With a Ball and Chain?

/* @cyclops */
His arms were amputated by his own doing. To save himself from being taken over by an unknown entity, acting like a lethal virus trying to end his life, he had to do it. It splattered onto him, amongst all of the chaos that took place before hand, all over his exposed arms, no clothing or armor to stop it from touching him. He did it to save himself. A scream of the vulgarity, “Fuck you!” was shouted before this fateful decision was made. The decision made out of instinct. The decision which not only amputated his arms, but had his arms destroyed, from the slime-like substance shotgun-splattering onto him, as well as anything attached to them. The sudden realization of his actions came to him soon enough that the way off of the battlefield of corridors he was in was destroyed by the slime along with his arms. Upon the USS Arkon, a ship suddenly spliced into the Sol System before being transfered to Schatten III by a massive wormhole, a ship taken over by a mushy bundle of death and an embodiment of the warning of “Do not touch” known only as Malitae, spread across the entire ship. On that starship…
Flask was alone.
Flask was left behind unknowingly.
Flask was left alone on the Arkon, no arms, no breastplate, and only the Malitae nearby for him to avoid

Flask was on the ground, the realization of him not having a communicator, and therefore no means of escape off the Arkon, coming to him slowly but surely. His jaw slowly dropped as nothing came out from his lips other than a increasingly shaky breathing pattern, all of what he needed to know being given to his mind through his other senses. He heard everyone beam out, he felt himself not be put on a different flooring, he felt and smelt and heard the same ambiance and atmosphere the Arkon had around him, as he laid arm-less on the floor.
”Please no, this can’t be happening. GOD DAMNIT PLEASE NO!”
He thought to himself, his breathing now able to be heard by anyone else who may be on the Arkon, which was essentially a 0% possibility of that being a reality. He immediately tried to act, and immediately bent his legs inward to him, only to have them launch in front of him, sending him flying up into a standing position. The bag he once had around his shoulder was now on the floor, from Flask having to take off his breastplate from the Malitae splattering onto him. Through some miracle, none of it got on the bag, and thankfully so. The contents would be devistating to guess on what would happen when the Malitae combined with it. The contents of that bag were essentially crucial to keep on a trusted man’s person, and Flask was the one who chose to be that entrusted man.
So, Flask went over to the bag hurriedly, kneeled down at it, bent down as far as he could to the bag’s strap, and grabbed the strap by his teeth, to only stand up completely with his head hung down. Then, his head leans back at a very fast rate, to which the bag slightly flies into the air, and with Flask’s increased sense of touch, he could feel and predict where the bag would go. His calculations in his head were right, as the bag landed safely on his shoulder, and had it lay as it did before he had his breastplate taken off, the strap going around his left shoulder, and the leather sac itself laying at waist level against his body
”Can my bag be useful?.. No, it can’t, there’s really nothing it can do, not in this situation.”
The bag Flask had strapped around him had contents of which only a madman could think is a good idea to put forth into a reality. But those contents didn’t have a purpose right now, and so Flask didn’t bother with the bag, but he still wanted it with him in case it DID have a use in the future.

Whatever everyone was thinking of his disappearance on Nimbus was irrelevant to his situation right now, at least for him alone. Whatever was planning for his recuse, it was irrelevant to him. All that mattered to him right now was making sure the Malitae doesn’t get to him before he can be rescued. So, he backs up a bit from where he picked up his bag, and began to go still, and silent. His breathing was cut off, as well as his movement, as he focuses on his senses to get a mental image of the surroundings. Before he did anything else, he had to make sure which spots to avoid which contained any Malitae

The vessel was deathly quiet, only the sound of its power systems churning nearby on the engineering deck. There was no other movement, but the smell of burnt flesh filled the air even as the life support system circulated the air it was hard for it not to get stuck in the back of ones throat. For Flask he had few options, there were not a lot of ways out of the engineering deck, a turbolift, access hatch, all in that one direction. So far, the Malitae didn’t seem to realize what was there with it. So for not it was just Flask and the empty ship and dead bodies. A sign on the wall said what turboshaft it was and gave helpful locations of some of the ships facilities, sickbay, cargo, shuttle bay, crew quarters, security, etc… At least it told him was deck things were on.

Flask stayed still for quite some time, about a solid few minutes if pure stillness in his stance, breathing in the nasty scent which he was all too familiar with when he was back on his home planet, and trying to get a sound and/or feel of the Malitae, wherever it was on the walls, floor, and ceiling of the ship. After those 2 minutes, Flask wasn’t able to get much with how dead silent everything was, and with his lack of sight the situation wasn’t helped in his favor either.

Still, Flask could tell where there was a passage for him to go, the sounds similar to where he was of the power working gave it away to him. So, that’s where he chose to go, and Flask wasn’t about to sneak through the entire ship to avoid the Malitae, if there was any withing touching range of him he would know. So, he walked at a normal, yet hurried, pace, as he thinks his options through on where to go exactly.
“There has to be some sort of sign that can tell me where everything is, the Drakon had it so why not here.”
Flask said to himself as his pacing began to slow down soon enough, as that thought of a set of signs helping him through the station immediately think of the walls. Flask had no vision, he never did, and he always relied on his hands to help him feel signs to get a read of what they were saying. But now, Flask had no hands, hell, no arms even to help him with the signs, or even tell where they were.

However, Flask still had his other two limbs, his legs, to help him with his current goal of reading the signs. Like a blind man and Braille, Flask would have to drag his foot against the wall wherever the signs were to be able to read them. So, with his slowed pace of walking came a soon to be halt, as he then turned to his side, shakily sighed, and hesitantly walked to the wall. Flask then turned forward again, and pressed his shoulder against the wall, he then began to walk, dragging his skin against the wall to hopefully work for the signs. Whether they were the walls to his right or left, Flask dragged his skin against the cold, metal wall of the ship’s interior on the side he thought the signs were on. And soon enough, he was able to find the signs leading the the various places of the ship. Taking his foot, and stretching it as high as he could make it stretch, Flask pressed his boot against the wall, and dragged it against the signs. Even through his boot, Flask was able to feel the text on the sign to the normal sign itself, and through that, he was able to process the many rooms he could go to.

The two which were most useful to him were the sickbay and the shuttle bay. The sickbay in particular, as, if he were lucky, Flask could make his escape with something to temporarily replace his arms if the ship had that advanced of technology. He had only one way to find out, and so Flask set out to find the sickbay.

This ship was constructed with a similar design philosophy to the Drakon and though he may not have often used it, he may remember that the ships were all designed to certain accessibility features. When he was able to use hearing and his hands, it was probably easier for him to just do that, something he had long since gotten used to doing. However, someone would have shown him these features at some point in the past. Probably only once… Being intelligent and used to dealing without sight, he would know that the computer did respond to voice commands and that there were guidance features, similar to the multi-toned crosswalks of the 21st century to assist the blind in crossing the street. Consoles also had a tactile interface which could be activated by voice command.

That all being said, Flask also would know one other problematic bit of knowledge… So far the Malitae had not bothered him, the substance was obviously able to interface with computers and consoles given what they’d so far witnessed. This carries the problem that interacting with the ship in any way would draw attention to himself. Even using the turbolift - which he had little choice but do to - would do so.

Entering the shuttle bay was easy enough, the lift got there without any trouble at all. Once the doors opened up and he got out of the lift, the echo was clear, as was the sounds of the bay itself. Not a lot was going on that that moment in time, in fact, it was the most open and quiet room in the entire ship. The small sounds of power being pumped through the ship was there, keen ears would also hear the very faint sound of high intensity lights lighting the multi-level bay up. Another bonus, however, was that this all made the sound easier to hear and echo-location would be valuable. Ever stay he took echoed off of distant walls, closer options, in a series of softer distorted sounds similar to his boot touching the deck but different enough to give him the one thing he needed most - information.

There was also another sound present, different, like crude oil sliding over the smooth deck. His sense of smell soon would pick up something else as well, the acrid smell of dead bodies was so strong in Engineering that it would have been almost impossible to pick out the scent, but here it was different. Here the air was sterile as if it had been waiting for something to live in it again. Flask was not the only thing present, he knew the smell of a ship, the sterile smell of the life support system keeping the air free of contaminants and the air as fresh as it could be made from recycled air. There was something else here, something that had a distinct yet faint odor, a mix of tar and sugar, the smell would remind a person of a hint of sulfur mixed with a faint tinge of oil, but a silky sweet odor as well.

Since the ship had a similar design philosophy to the Drakon, it would not be hard to guess at where the turbolift was. These vessels had a feel to their design which made it easy for crew to go from one ship to another and be able to easily acclimate to the new layout.

With the trip to the shuttle bay being easy and without anything in his way, Flask took his time in the lift to let his guard down and relax for a bit. He didn’t exactly need to take any deep breaths because of the intensity broke his breathing patter, he had none seeing how breathing is optional to him in the first place, but hearing other people do it in times of stress eventually rubbed off on him some time in the distant past. So, he took several deep breaths, his constantly living, yet oxygen-starved, brain took it all in and made Flask relax somewhat, refreshing him for anything to come after the lift.

While waiting to be arrived at the shuttle bay, however, Flask had a couple of things to think on. The biggest of which was how he would get his arms back. He wasn’t going to leave without at least some sort of makeshift junk he could use, but there was no true ideal way he would get his flesh and bones back. He would have to save getting mechanical arms or something along those lines when he actually got back to Nimbus. But, at least he was going to do something, and if he ended up empty-handed, he would have at least done something instead of impulsively leaving the ship. Next, there was the fact that the Arkon was fairly similar in design to the Drakon from what he learned so far. The labs are next to the shuttle bays, the lift to the shuttle bays were the same distance they were in the Drakon from where Flask began to go, and even the multiple directions he read to the other rooms before he found where the sickbay and labs are were the same as they were on the Drakon. So, Flask would use that knowledge to his advantage, and guessed it would get him to, at the very least, one other room he had to go to if he had to with ease, without stopping and feeling against the walls for direction signs. Finally, there was the fact that the Malitae hadn’t tried to spread to him, or do anything for that matter, the whole time he was alone. That one was the most interesting to him, he thought for sure it would go to him with all of the chaos that ensued before he was left alone. Maybe with him being so quiet and not speaking the whole time, he could have most likely made the Malitae think he was gone with everyone else. So. while he took his thoughts with a grain of salt, he had the solid idea that the Malitae wasn’t after him, at least yet.

Surely enough, there was a lot to take in when he got to the shuttle bay, so much his senses took in when he began to raise his guard again as soon as he left the lift. The power was on sure, and Flask COULD use the voice commands the ship has to offer, but he didn’t because of both him knowing the Malitae was capable of interacting with machines, and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself in case someone else was on the ship. He took his chances with his guessed layout of the ship’d design. The different smell of the place was something he took note of as well, he would have guessed with lights beaming onto him and generating small amounts of heat to what little of his skin was exposed now, that other powered units of the ship, such as the air filter, would be on. “Must be that gunk shit doing that, it’s such a weird smell I don’t know what else it could be. All the more reason to not speak up” Flask thinks to himself, only becoming even more alert of what could happen. He hadn’t thought in his mind that there was anything sentient around him, he knew the Malitae was alive, but he hadn’t thought any farther than it being a mindless virus.

He now knows where the shuttle bays are, maybe he can get out in an escape pod if there are any, and if they work in that case. But for now, the search for a solution to his current amputation problem was the main thing on his mind, and so, he heads to a nearby lab, the closest one he can get to

The science labs were on this deck, the deck below had the main sickbay. Going out and behind the travel pods he can go back and access the main corridor for the saucer section. One would question the design here, it was an odd place to put the corridor entry - none the less - there it was, and he can make it to the main science labs. However you slice it, this was weird.

Opening the door to the lab, he finds jars of bodily fluids in various states, it is clear almost immediately that these things are being tested and examined. If Flask goes through all of the labs he finds quite the horrifically disturbing scene, mostly fluids, nerve bundles, and even entire brains being studied. This was not usual for any Starfleet vessel even of the time, not sure if Flask would know that or not, but regardless it was true. The science labs were all being used on various bits of some kind of humanoid biological bits, mostly to do with the nervous system, the troubling part was that it was clear that a large number of subjects were required to produce this many samples.

Flask immediately heads to the labs , essentially rushing to them since he wanted to get himself out of the Arkon as soon as possible. Little did he know what was in store for him once he got into the labs himself, because as soon as he opens the doors to them, either though his feet acting as his hands or the door opening for him, he immediately takes a couple of steps back from what immediately processes to his brain. An immediate aura of pure death and decay looms on the front of his body, and while it wouldn’t send shivers down his spine, it certainly caught him off-guard. He knew of that feeling before, he was the cause of that feeling to his enemies back on his home planet. But to see it here, with his weakened state and without any potions to aid him in a fight, he didn’t know what to do. He was questioning if whatever was in there had anything living beyond the Malitae, whether it was even a good idea to go in there or not, and even whether this feeling was planned or not.

Regardless, Flask had to get a hold of himself, and he eventually did after sorting his thoughts out. He enters the room, and hesitantly goes to search whatever he can. Though, he nearly stops after the first table he came across with the jars of bodily fluids it had, picking up a very off scent at first, and upon closer inspection of said scent, he would be able to tell just what was going on. The feeling of pure death in the room didn’t help his case of finding out what was on the table, and it nearly shook him to the bone. This was the kind of thing he would do back in his 10 year war on his planet, and it was something he wanted far behind him in his past. Flask searched the rest of the room, able to sense the full picture of what was in the room, and a little bit of the room’s history. “Whatever was happening on here is gonna end next time there’s a party to this ship, this kind of shit shouldn’t be happening. But maybe… if there’s entire brains in here, perhaps I can find an experimented arm somewhere else… But should I really go into the other rooms? What if this is all a trap?” Flask thinks to himself, taking his steps carefully in the room instead of leaving to somewhere else he can go to. It was clear that the feeling of pure death was beginning to take its toll on the defenseless undead, it was as if the crazed murder he wanted to cause as one of his core traits was turning against him. “No, goddammit Flask, get a hold of yourself! Leave this room, there’s nothing you need or want to be a part of here” He continues in his mind, as he was able to metaphorically shake away the thoughts of doubt in himself. And with that, he quickly dashes out of that lab and begins to search around the other rooms in the lab for anything of use. Hurriedly kicking doors open and quickly getting a sense of what’s in there before moving on, unless there was something of interest there for him

The labs all contain some measure of the same thing - it was clear if Flask could identify what was there - that someone was experimenting on people both young and old. Gruesome experiments, the kinds you thought about hearing of from some fascist dictator doing to his own people, not Starfleet… Of course they were human, if Flask wanted to he could find some brains there, multiple brains, in one of the next labs there were… Other things, bisected organs in strange liquids, tendrils of something unknown growing out of them - something that was in and of itself alive where as the organ was dead.

Without examining the computers or other such things it was impossible to tell what the crew was trying to do, but it was clear that they were doing experiments on people, that was abundantly clear. As he moves through the labs he finds a variety of different things in them, organs, muscles, bones, most everything is surgically removed with precision before it was experimented on.

Several rooms, and all the same things being discovered. Flask had gone through enough rooms at this point that the general smell of them could be distinguished from everywhere else on the ship he’s been so far. After his long and fruitless search of just finding the same-old same-old, Flask sits down on the floor and crosses his legs, limping his upper body to where he could comfortably relax since he didn’t want to lean against any walls for fear of the Malitae.
So many things he had sensed that reminded him of his past, his time of being an upper echelon general of th Shadow Militia. Of when he was under the rule of his old Master and in the first 10 yeard of his undead life. Of when he was a psychotic killer and responsible for thousands of people’s blood on his hands. Flask wanted to never be reminded of that kind of past, as he had changed over the course of 4 years, one of which he was on his home planet before coming to Nimbus. He changed drastically, to where he was now the exact opposite of what he used to be.
Flask didn’t even know what to think, his thoughts were coming up blank. Though, this wasn’t from PTSD or anything like that, Flask just didn’t want to think on it too much, both his mind and his facial expression were blank, emotionless in a sense. The feeling of pure death looming over Flask had been with him for long enough as he searched through the place that now he was reminded too much of his past. He was adapted to feeling it, the essence of fear which he was ale to create himself so long ago.
”I probably made too much noise with all that searching, I panicked too much with… that feeling. Just gotta hope that there’s no one on the ship”
Flask thinks to himself as he takes a deep breath, and lifts himself back to his feet. Then, he just casually walks out of the labs, back to the shutte bay, and to the turbolift, using his armless body to activate it to lower him to where the sickbay was.

An interesting thing to note, he had not smelled that same sweet-petrol type smell in a while, it was entirely devoid from the science lab or the sickbay. Walking into the sickbay, however, was… Interesting.

Bodies on every biobed, thankfully they were dead, for what was done to them was a picture of horrific. Bodies were laying with literal chunks missing from them. Not just bitten off chunks but surgically removed with smooth square edges. One body has its skin removed, like an autopsy, only a few moments after looking at the fingers which were dug into the bed itself so hard and repeatedly that the nails were sheered off, face contorted in a scream. And that wasn’t the only one, many of the bodies looked like they had been alive when they had been cut up. There were heads that appeared to have been carefully severed, some missing brains others seemed to be entirely intact while still more were implanted with various tools and probes. All of these were on tables and other such places with sensors set up, it was clear that they were being studied.

As he entered the main surgical area, he could see a body tied down to the surgical bed, it was cut open, and had needles and other instruments stuck into the internal organs. Further, there were other dismembered body parts, such as arms, legs, hands, fingers, feet, toes, all of which in various states of dissection.

Something awful had happened here. Something grotesque. The air in the room was angry, as if there was a lingering living presence of the pain that had taken place in this room.

Flask made it to the sickbay, and immediately stood back from the awful stench of everything. He made sure to keep his lungs open so he can track of whenever the sweet odor changed, and when he opened the sickbay doors he nearly fell over from the stench, like someone had planted a bomb there as an attack for him as soon as he opened the doors, it was just that bad to him
Flask couldn’t help but cough loudly as he closes up his lungs, not letting anymore of the stench getting into his body, as well as any harmful matter it has within its atmosphere. He gets up, and tries not to let any shock get in his way of getting some form of arms. He knew that stench, the stench of decaying and rotting dead bodies after being cut up and experimented on. Again, from experience from his world.
Flask steps in, and without his sense of smell, he might as well be near blind levels of clueless of the contents of the room. And while he knew just what was going on in there, he couldn’t tell exactly where everything was, and he’d rather not get the details of it all.
With him not being able to tell where everything is because of smell, he ends up bumping into a couple of biobeds and one time even knocked over a body to the floor. The first time flask hitting a biobed, he knew he was for sure going to attract attention with the noise it made. He began to run and run to where he had guessed the nearest room that could help him, the surgery room, was, which resulted in the aformentioned continuous biobed hitting. After the third one he hit, and where the body fell off of the biobed, Flask stopped. He wasn’t going to get anywhere by running and bumping into more things, he would have to take it slow from there on out if he wanted to make it anywhere in the sickbay, period. So, it takes Flask nearly 15 whole minutes to get to the neaarest room he could get to, again the surgery room, but he wasn’t able to hit anything else, he was careful enough.
He made it to the surgery room, and opened the door with his feet, as he had to do with every other door up to now. And when he got in, he stood still to make sure there there was no Malitae in the room. If there was any, he’d hear it, and he would know to leave immediately.

There was no Malitae in the room at all. If there had been, it would have long since come at him when he’d knocked over all the bodies. it was a curious thing, there being nothing of the substance there in that room, it seemed to be everywhere else. What had happened here?

The room was kept sterile by the medical decontamination field over the surgical bay, decomposition was extremely low, the body was slowly rotting still though and it smelled bad - but not as bad as the previous room. This room, was better organized. Whatever poor soul was put here, they took their time on the person… Slowly cutting the body open, given the restraints it was very likely that they did so while it was alive. It was missing it’s left leg and right arm. However, in the room were other arms and legs of a variety of sizes, shapes, showing that many people had been dismembered to create this setup.

What were they doing here?

Flask sniffed the room in every corner, getting close-up to all that he could before confirming himself that there was no Malitae in the room. While there were a few times he just wanted to puke, he was able to hold it in with the fact that this room didn’t smell as bad as the others, and compared to them he thought of the surgery room as a newly-cleaned dorm on Nimbus. But besides that, Flask walked over to the door and kicked it shut, unable to lock it because of his lack of hands, so he just had to hope the Malitae was no squid.

Flask now had a full layout in his mind of where he was, since he had decided to sniff closely to nearly everything in the room, and from there he let all of the events until now sink into his mind, and what he can do from here. And when it was all said and done, Flask sighed, and began to talk to himself aloud to confirm in his mind that he was thinking exactly what he was thinking

“So, right now this whole situation from when I first got here to now, is boiling down to… well, more shit I’d rather not see… and no Malitae. And if there’s no Malitae…”

Flask then grows a smile, a smile of a bright idea coming to mind, the smile that would lead to a fantasy scientist to scream “Eureka!”

“Then nothing here is infected”

Flask finishes in a quietly satisfied manor, as he turns and walks over to where the whole arrange of limbs are, and jumps tup onto the table. He lightly kicks each and every one of arms on the table as if he were going down a walkway of touchable artifacts, all the while ignoring the legs, since that wasn’t what interested him. The proccess took a while and would test any average person of their patience, as Flask made sure to kick all fo the arms in their entire length, slowly at that. Once he was done, andd at the other end of the table from where he started, he stood still and went through his choices. Another minute or so passes before FLask turns around, and walks back through the table, kicking off two arms of near-same length, one left-handed and one right-handed, before hopping off of the table himself. His smile was still plastered on him like a painting, only it having grown this time.

“I’m gonna get out of here, one way or another”

He whispers to himself as he hastily and proudly walks over to the dissected body, leaning his head down to the tools next to the arrange of durgical instruments, and grabbing the sharpest blade there with his teeth, anything would have done. Then, walking back to the two arms on the floor, Flask lightly lifts up the right arm off of the ground with his foot, before throwing it in the air and having it land on the table of torn-off limbs once more. And suddenly, without a further second of hesitation, Flask turns his head before lunging the blade of the tool he got into his stub of an arm. Flask was silent at him stabbing himself, not feeling any pain at all as his black blood began to slowly flow out of his body. From there, it would be a slow and long process of flask cutting off the last bit of a stub of his arm, black blood going everywhere around Flask as his body was cut open, all but his bone, which he would leave sticking out.

The stub of his skin falls off, flopping down to the floor as a fleshy slice of soon-to-be rot. The whole process made Flask feel light-headed, he did lose a lot of blood after all, but he was able to keep himself awake as he lunges his exposed bone into the severed arm he kicked onto the table, shoving it against the wall and sending the other limbs off of the table. Flask finally opens his mouth and has he bloodied tool fall out of his mouth, as his smile from before reforms on his face, as he drags the arm he stabbed with his bone up against the wall, to where he was standing still, before freezing in place, and eletting his undead body claim its new limb.

“Master… John… everyone. I’ll be home soon”

The arm is indeed now easily attached to his body, it is dead but not rotted away, rather kept isolated and sterile, preserved for study by the crew of the Akron. However long it takes (as the player writing this isn’t sure), about at the end of the process of claiming the new appendages he begins to smell something, that same odor from before. The strange mix of sulfur, oil, and sugar as if a bit of candy was rotting. It wasn’t a palatable scent at all, somehow this thing sensed that this was an opportunity. Though he may yet have some time to put a plan into action, as would it not be logical that it was already here? Perhaps it could not enter sickbay or the labs for some reason. Perhaps not. Only time would tell.

Two hours. Two hours of complete silence, the only movement or sound within the surgery room would be at a 1 hour interval, where Flask would go for the next arm. Once he had the second arm on his body, one more hour of patience was used. The fingers of the second arm twitched, and a few seconds after Flask was able to twittle the fingers. He was back in action.

As he did some stretches to test how well his new arms were attached to his body, they were near perfect, almost the exact same length his old arms were, he couldn’t help but smile for such a lucky find. But his smile soon faded, as he didn’t have time to let his madness leak out, nor did he have the right to in his mind. He’s making everyone on Nimbus worry sick about him, a lot of them think he was dead, it was nothing to smile over when the thoughts of returning to everyone unexpectedly to show up and say “Hey guys I’m alive”. But, the other thing on his mind that cancelled out his smile was the smell returning, the bitterly sweet scent that he had thought he got away from. But, the scent didn’t mean anything to him, since where he last smelt it there was no Malitae, and so he would guess there was still no Malitae here and just a function of the ship, maybe an air filter.

He exited the sickbay with a blank slate of a face, an empty canvas that showed no emotion. The whole way, he tested his arms, see how flexible it was, from the shouders to the fingers, hoping the smell was gone by the timwe he got out, and would only return when he went back to go get into an escape pod.

Somewhere someone might wonder how good if a pilot Flask is, or perhaps he would be lucky enough to have the computer able to time the ejection of the escape pod for him - the engines were still configured to keep the ship out of phase and that had him relatively trapped but perhaps the fates would smile upon him and allow him to leave simply because he needed to get off that ship. It wasn’t hard to find an escape pod, but upon leaving sickbay he would smell it very strongly and begin to feel a nearby presence – not a person by any means but he was being observed under a watchful eye.

The faint and echoing footsteps through the halls of the Akron stopped, and Flask’s suspicions were beginning to rise again. On and off they were, but this time something was actually happening, a strong smell of sonething he only faintly had a sense of and an instinctive sense of someone being nearby was enough to get Flask’s guard up once more.

“Is anyone nearby?” Flask calls out, not exactly expecting a response if the assumed to be person present within Flask’s area managed to pull off him gaining a sneaking suspicion of the situation’s truth. He stands still, focusing on his senses and being able to hear his full distance of a quarter mile for any noises down to the smallest whisper. The wires through the wall, he could even hear their electricity shocking through the copper of the circut. But, Flask still had a possibility kept in his mind that no one was around, and was prepared to be disappointed if need be. But the strong scent of bittersweetness made him too superstitious, this time he knew something would happen.

There was the sound of plasma coursing through the EPS grid, the sound of the engines gently thrumming, the life support system keeping air circulating through the ship. Another noise, however, was present. Difficult to describe, it was movement, but unlike anything else he might have heard. It was the kind of movement that one would get by oozing over things, the Malitae’s texture wasn’t perfectly smooth so it didn’t sound like water, more like something with an almost grainy texture moving through the walls.

Flask wasn’t about to play a game of Red Light Green Light with the Malitae, he was frankly done with any games it was attempting to pull on him. He began to run, run onward to the lift to the escape shuttles, either running away from a snail’s-speed threat or just increasing its ferocity towards him. He was prey from the beginning, and now he had no choice but to act like an escaping rabbit from a hawk, no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it.

He wanted to get out, and he wasn’t going to play anymore games to ensure it happened.

Running through the ship was rather useless from the perspective of actually getting off of it. Some calculations were required, a transporter, but Flask had the information in his head if he had paid attention, and when was it like Flask to not pay attention? Still, running was only going to do one useful thing – it was going to prove that he wasn’t being chased, and he wasn’t. He would be able to deduce, after a while, that the Malitae, if that is what it was, continued to follow as if it was watching him in some weird way; like a dirty voyeur waiting for someone to get naked even if it meant waiting all day.

Still, he wasn’t being followed or else it would have clearly had time to surround him by now. The other clear thing that Flask is able to note as he runs through the ship is the number of dead bodies that were attacked, bloody, torn apart, or otherwise killed in gruesome ways. Something very wrong had gone on in this ship, though nothing made it clear exactly what. Finally Flask finds himself at the escape shuttles, he can feel that death had taken place here as well, someone had been beaten down while trying to board one of the shuttles.

However, there were more than one, and still the feeling of the Malitae around him but keeping a distance.