Smirking.

You relish in the knowledge of the iniment downfall of the Honest.

So close now… victory’s tang plates your cracked lips.

Delicious.

Decades of lies are finally tying themselves into a single sordid truth.

Tantalising, those serpents of deceive are returning to their nest.

Historic.

Yes, this is your moment.

Your moment to reflect with the glints of ice, tainted crimson by a single bead of blood.

A single bead of blood that was harvested from each member of the Honest, upon their untimely demise.

Yet, something is preventing the intoxicating trickle of endorphins.

Leaning back, you rest your palms on the sleek steel counter and tuck your right toes behind your left heel. Nonchalant thoughts amble through the soft hills of your brain, not wanting to miss what could be a microscopic clue to your joy’s restraint.

There!

Shadows behind the glass.

That is it; shadows behind the glass.

Giggles play at your heart, darting towards the door your hardened steps ping off the hollow surfaces. Snapping your fingers at the light switch, you bathe in the rising gloom.

Left towards the R28XZb Hub, slippered feet carry you soundlessly down the grated walkway. Desperation strains your feline ears;

out of all of the genetic experiments forced upon you and your lost crew, you are grateful to an extent for a few wily mutations.

Not all were so lucky.

Soul curdling screams still linger in the silence, and unimaginable agony scars white-painted metal.

Ghosts will always haunt the _Addi Jean_, just as the _Addi Jean_ will linger in the chill of history.

Stiffening you raise a hand by a fraction, something manipulated a change in the atmospheric pressure of the walkway. Whiskerless your nose twitches detecting nothing but the lick of oil and drip of hydraulic fluid.

Careful.

The gnaws of hunger will lead you astray.

**CLOSED**.

A lone emboldened word snags the piercing track of your amber eyes. Food has long been absent from the _Addi Jean_, ever since the Commissioned Chef hurled themselves to the mercy of the great void.

Two months.

Too long, even for you.

Though there are fleeting moments where you catch imaginary whiffs of NutriPlatters, which taunt you despairingly.

If only you knew, you weren’t as alone as you seem.

Padding onwards, you trace the main artery of Deck 0LQ. Cameras track your progress, their complex innards whine- what if you are the one bedevilling the _Addi Jean_?

Ahead irritated crackling illuminates a set of navigational signs, scanning the foreign glyphs you twitch.

You have come too far.

Fine hairs spring to attention, detecting the invisible boundary line. Not all are honoured with Full Ship Clearance (FSC), and there is no way to deceive the _Addi Jean_.

Her, the _Addi Jean_, artificial neural network (ANN) has be programmed by the Secret Coding Associates (SCA). The SCA are disposable, and never see the light of Free Society, humanely euthanised once their assigned task is completed.

Shivers of guilt flatten your ears, your Unique Identity, Rank, Role, and Clearance Chip (UIRRCC) had cost a life. Yet, here you are trying to go beyond…

Beyond the border, to chase the shadows behind the glass.

Dare you?

R28XZb Hub, your destination, lies beyond the limit that holds you back.

Without access to the R28XZb Hub, all hopes are quashed. You will not be able to search the Uni-Inter-Web for the Honest… if any remain in this slither of space.

The Honest might be able to set you free from the Corrupted; free from yourself.

You don’t know the _Addi Jean_ well enough to be certain of an alternative route, but you are confident only those with the highest level of clearance on their UIRRCC can enter into the sprawling hub of technology.

Snickers are audible in the delicate mass of your assigned ship, the static shuffles vailed mockery.

Creaks

Groans

Grinding

Pops

Sounds that used to be a nocturnal lullaby, now nothing but trickling anxiety. Cortisol clogs your circulatory system with pearls of ice.

A light blinks.

Baritone rumbling ceases.

Muscle fibres become taut.

Dead bodies don’t bury themselves.

Fact.

Nor do living bodies willingly bury themselves.

Never…

Ever.

But I do.

I am living...

I am willing…

To brave the sour webs of ice that mesh themselves into a temporary blanket.

November dislikes giving life…

It is indifferent like that; November couldn’t care whether survival is favoured or not.

The question remains: Why am I doing this?

That is because of you.

You are the sole reason.

You gave me no choice.

I have evidence, back home, in the PhotoLab. Perhaps someday, someone will find the final reel of truth and see what has become of the Corrupted.