Michael groaned.
His head was pounding. A bright white light sent waves of pain through his eyes and into his brain.
"Fuck..."
"You're awake?"
He lifted his head and saw a black, older gentleman in a white lab coat with small circular glasses. The man's bushy brows were furrowed with one hand behind his back and the other clasping the metal rail of his bed.
Michael began to move but felt a sharp jerk back against his wrist, and his gaze fell to handcuffs attached to the medical bed.
"I'm sorry we had to do this. We weren't sure if you'd wake up in the same violent state as before."
"Violent?" Michael asked, confused.
"You grabbed a P-Sec Sergeant's uniform."
He blinked and his memories began to return.
After realizing where he was, he rushed out of his domicile near Union Square toward the maintenance bay. His unit was in charge of Megavent 25, North Unit 17, one of the many that circulated and recycled old and new air.
But all the way, his gaze flickered at the metal interiors.
Loud pops from old units catching, the squealing of metal, and the heavy hum of ventilation kept him on edge. A cold sweat drenched his body.
Has the Marker already been discovered? Are the Necromorphs in the walls? Fuck...
"FUCK!"
He shouted when a small screw from a maintenance crew several floors up pinged down a shaft near him.
"Jesus dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?" A passerby glared after jumping because of him. "Keep walking asshole!"
"S-sorry..."
This hypersensitivity to sounds and people continued and by the time he reached the maintenance bay, his face was drained of color and his body was trembling.
"Michael!"
He jumped and looked up to see Bryan approaching him with a concerned expression. Bryan wasn't a bad guy, but he was the type of manager to ignore problems and hope they'd blow over without anyone noticing.
"Michael," Bryan said in a lower voice. "Are you alright? You're late. You're never late and you look... Are you sick?"
"N-no... Say, Bryan? Uhm..." Michael shifted nervously, his gaze flicking repeatedly to a nearby open vent shaft. "H-Have you noticed anything strange? A-anything out of the ordinary in the vents or..."
Bryan shook his head.
"The only thing out of the ordinary right now is you. I think you need to go see the doc. Don't worry about your shift, I won't deduct it from your pay package. God knows you do more than these Unitologist—"
"M-Marker! The Marker!"
That was the last thing Michael remembered before his world began to spin and black out.
Thankfully, a benefactor punched some sense into him.
"I'm sorry Doc, I don't know what came over me..."
"It's no problem. My name is Tom Sciarello. Can you recall at all when you first started experiencing symptoms that could've led to this?"
Michael shook his head, knowing he'd have to lie. After all, who'd believe with any sane mind his situation?
"No. I woke up and... I honestly don't know why I acted like that." Michael paused for a moment. "Say, Doc, have you heard anything about a Marker being discovered?"
"A Marker?" Tom exclaimed. He fell silent, his eyes drifting to a portable holopad in his hands. "Can't say that I have. Why do you ask? Your records don't show you as a Unitologist."
Unconsciously, Michael breathed out in relief.
"I'm not. I just had a really bad... I guess dream? They've been happening more often."
I still have time to get the fuck out of here.
"How long have I been out here?" Michael asked.
"Hm... Records show you've been here since the start of the mining colony two years ago. Is it starting to get to you?"
"Yeah," Michael nodded, leaning into it. "I've been getting stressed out more lately. On edge. I've been having hallucinogenic breaks but I've been trying to keep it to myself."
Tom's furrowed gaze remained fixated on him.
"Is that true? Mr. Feld, plenty of workers feign mental illnesses to escape these kinds of jobs after discovering it's not what they thought it was. I'm very familiar with spotting it."
"No! I'm serious," Michael exclaimed, trying to sound as serious as he could. "Like, I didn't even mean to attack the P-Sec officer yesterday!"
"I've seen workers do worse in an attempt to escape their contracts," Tom sighed, setting the holopad down. "Regardless, the next interstellar ship won't be here for another six months to take you back so you'll have to bear with it for now."
Michael swallowed anxiously, a fresh trickle of sweat falling down his face.
"T-that ship... Is it called the USG Ishimura?"
The doctor, who was reaching into his cabinet for some pills, nodded.
"Yes. It's a Planet Cracker-class ship that can transport you back to Earth if I deem you unfit for duty inside CEC Operations. Keep in mind though, Michael..."
Tom closed his cabinet with a bottle of pills in hand and walked over to another desk, beginning to write up a prescription.
"If I authorize it, you will be disbarred from any future CEC operations and most likely removed from the corporation entirely."
Michael, however, wasn't paying attention anymore. His gaze wandered to a pale person in the mirror hollowly staring back at him. That person had short-cut black hair and sunken eyes from the day's stress.
"Fuck."
------
"Yeah right! I bet you two assholes wanted to fuck with him so you can keep your damned jobs!"
"Get off him Bryan!"
After an intense scuffle, Abraham pried Bryan off Josh and shoved him back.
"Fuck you," Rodriguez flipped him off. "You give us the shit jobs all the time! Why don't you give any good ones to us?"
"Because you two shitbags would fuck it up! You leave the cover panels off, forget to wire the grounding cables, mis-wire the main circuits! Why the fuck would I give you the better shit if you can't handle the basic shit?!"
Josh snorted.
"I bet he fucks up too. You just cover for him because you two are buddy-buddy. Do you two blow each other in the bathroom when nobody's around?"
"You fucking—"
Bryan lunged at him, only to be stopped by Abraham again.
"Fucking calm down," Cortez shouted before her gaze snapped to the two engineers. "Josh and Rodriguez. Your official statements?"
"Like we said, we didn't fuck with his food or spike him in any way."
"Yeah."
Abraham silently met Cortez's gaze before continuing in an official tone, "We'll wait until we get the Doc's bloodwork and his assessment. In the meantime, we'll review video logs of any meal breaks. Pray to God we don't find anything."
"Yeah?" Rodriguez snapped, stepping forward and pointing at Bryan. "Well guess what? After you find nothing, we're going to file a complaint with HR because this? This is bullshit."
Josh laughed next to him. "Have fun getting demoted. Fucking brown-nose cocksuckers."
"Why don't you two get back to work before I find a reason to throw you in a cell?" Abraham threatened, his hand moving to his belt.
The two of them stiffened before scoffing. They gave one last glare at Bryan before walking off. They very visibly muttered angrily between themselves on the way out.
"You'd better pray it was those two," Cortez said. "Otherwise they're right. You'll lose your position over this."
Bryan silently stared at the ground, his fists clenched.
"It had to be those two fuckers. There's no one else. Michael always had a straight head until today."
"I believe you," Abraham reassured, patting Bryan's shoulder.
"People will do all kinds of fucked up shit to keep their job... or quit one."