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(Contains: violence/gore, strong language and ideologically sensitive material)
I woke up this morning to the intercom blaring for a moment of silence for Carter. They found him wedged into a ventilation turbine above the machine shop, 35 feet above the shop floor with no obvious method of ascent. That makes 6 this week and it's only Tuesday. Cameron's funeral is scheduled for later today, but I'm going to skip it. I'm tired of hearing the chaplain reciting the same nondenominational service from a script, the same as the previous two chaplains did. I think Chad is the new chaplain after Charlie ate that box of old batteries last week. It's hard to keep track sometimes.

I headed down to canteen C2 for some breakfast. They still hadn't finished cleaning up canteen C1 after Cathy detonated that vintage suppository grenade on Saturday.  C2 is cramped and has some of the oldest machinery on the station, having to move  the food nozzle manually is really tedious. I sneaked my food tray out of the canteen and went up to warehouse W56, back when the outpost was first constructed W56 had been the penthouse for visiting dignitaries. Hard to imagine anyone with dignity visiting this place now, but there were still a few windows intact behind the rows of empty vats. I only dare to come up here rarely, but with everything else going on I'm hoping no one notices, besides the tracking system has been down for weeks. Sitting on a crate in front of the window I spooned slurry into my mouth and took in the sight. W56 overlooked the port where ships had come and gone, where the masspult had launched ore into low orbit. When ore pallets started crashing back to the surface the administration stopped launching them. Apparently no one was picking them up anymore. Communications had been restricted before then, we had been told due to solar flares. As the months dragged on, it became clear that whatever had happened wasn't going to go away. We kept mining for a couple of years after that, and converted every available space into warehouses until the extraction facility started failing. We started opening up the ores to repair failing machinery and patch damage from meteorite storms. We never had the capability to refine the raw materials so the repairs were done with wrought iron and hand-hammered gold leaf. W56 was used to store an extract from the native fungi-analog, it was intended for medical research, but after months of rationing and a couple of food riots they started dumping it into the food mulchers for the workers to eat. It was processed and fortified, but it still gives your tongue pins and needles. We slowly used up our supplies, started extracting the fungipaste with crude tools to refill the food mulchers, and have been surviving for a couple of years waiting for rescue. I just hope they haven't forgotten about us out there.

I dumped my food tray in the canteen and headed down to workshop S3, S1 had been repurposed as W48, and S2 became unusable when some shoddy repairs weakened a bulkhead and exploded out into the vacuum. S4 is still operating as the fungipaste extraction nexus. S3 was huge, those 35 foot ceilings where I used to fix the plumbing on the massive boats that would land for minor repairs before making the long-jump back to the home systems. Today I'm scheduled to retrofit some of the broken-down buggy engines into fungipaste extractor units, apparently the kids over in S4 had let a couple get clogged and when it hardens we have to use plasma cutters to get the gunk off. We're low on molybdenum electrodes and with the crude copper ones Celia made you are more likely to set yourself on fire than actually cut anything; so we've been reserving them for an emergency. Now that I think about it though, I don't know that we'd recognize an emergency anymore if we saw one.

I punch out early, three buggies down, three extractors up and head to the locker room to have a shower. L3 used to be the staging area for surface expeditions, but since that campaign ended it was just one of the locker rooms for the shops, they don't even bother replacing burnt out light strips anymore. I rub starch into my hair and halfway through lathering silicate powder into my skin I hear a vacuum alarm go off. I reflexively run for an oxygen mask, but the first aid box is empty and there's only one small corroded air canister at the bottom. I realize the alarm is for an adjoining compartment, and it's S3.  The door back to S3 is sealed and the vacuum light glows red. Everyone else was still in there when I ducked out. I tell myself it's just a malfunction in the door, and while a malfunctioning seal would explain the starch dust drifting from my hair towards the door and being sucked out, it also confirms that there's no air on the other side.

That means I'm losing air too. There's poorly maintained hazmat suits and even a pressurized suit in the back of the locker room, they won't do me any good without air. I start opening lockers looking for an oxygen mask.  Work clothes. Work clothes. Looks like someone had some unprocessed fungipaste on their clothes here, it's pretty much taken over the locker. No time, I don't know how fast I'm losing air. Starting to feel dizzy. One locker actually still has a functional mechanism, I use the air canister to bust it open, there's no mask but I take the small bar of metal sitting on a shelf so I don't do more damage to the air canister and start bashing the next locked door. I'm feeling weak. Maybe it's in my head. I poorly judge my next strike and cut my hand open on the damaged door. My fingers are turning blue.

I black out.
Outpost
Inspired by a recent dream.
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Holy shit.
  • Mood: High
  • Listening to: Machines
  • Reading: The Future

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Turner
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:icondiasyxy:
diasyXY Featured By Owner Apr 30, 2012
ok, ik u dont know me on the internet, by why haven't u posted or commented in over a full year? or, rather, almost a full year? Sorry, i just had to ask.
Reply
:iconxybre:
xybre Featured By Owner May 2, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Has it been that long? I've been busy, working mostly.
Reply
:icondiasyxy:
diasyXY Featured By Owner May 3, 2012
unfortunately, Yes. It has been that long. Do you want my cell number?
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:iconevil-eric:
Evil-Eric Featured By Owner Jun 18, 2011
you may throw out the first challenge.
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:iconxybre:
xybre Featured By Owner Jun 18, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
Mindtoads are crawling on my splinters.
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:iconevil-eric:
Evil-Eric Featured By Owner Jun 18, 2011
really? you want to be a dick about it? fine.
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:iconxybre:
xybre Featured By Owner Jun 18, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
Sorry, I was drunk. It made sense at the time.
I'll read what hell hath wrought now.
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:iconphilipbrunner:
philipbrunner Featured By Owner Apr 27, 2011  Hobbyist Photographer
Thanks my friend! :)
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:iconxybre:
xybre Featured By Owner May 1, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
You're welcome :)
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:iconphilipbrunner:
philipbrunner Featured By Owner May 1, 2011  Hobbyist Photographer
:)
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