She was seated at the end of an absurdly long, rectangluar, ornate dining table, or at least that was the impression she got. Sienna had never personally experienced any form of luxury before, so there was no way for her to possibly know the difference, but for some reason she felt like the place settings were all wrong and there were utensils and objects strewn about the table's sleek black surface that didn't belong there. She looked at each one in turn, but for some reason they slipped from her memory and recognition as quickly as her eyes sent the information on what they saw to her brain.
She then realized that the table was located in a barren, rocky desert that stretched out as far as she could see in every direction, the dust and stones a sickly yellow color flecked with burnt oranges and red. The sky was pale yellow and overcast in thick, noxious-looking clouds, and the ambient light from whatever sun was overhead diffused evenly throughout the scenery.
Far on the opposite side of the table was a blurry figure, seated in a chair with the same manner of unrecognizable flatware set around it that seemed to teeter on the cusp of reality and existence. The figure did not move, speak, or even appear to breathe. It merely sat there, appearing to stare back across the long table at her, even though she could see no distinguishable face.
She tried to think of something to ask it, but nothing came to mind. It was as if she couldn't even muster up the will to speak.
"There's my little muffin," a grizzled, unpleasant male voice came from nowhere, causing a shiver to course out from her core. "Havin' a bite to eat, are we?"
She looked around wide-eyed, trying to find the voice's owner, even though she recognized it immediately.
A meaty hand grabbed a fistful of her hair from behind and wrenched her head back so hard that she felt like if it were any harder it would have snapped her neck. The stench of sweat and grease wafted into her nostrils, and she found herself looking up at an upside-down, gnarled face with a long white beard and wild white hair. Olaf...
The ugly old man's face sneered down at her, baring his yellowed, cracked teeth. "What's the big idear, you runnin' off like that?" Olaf snarled. "Ya got any idea how much work ya left hangin' fer me?"
She wanted to retort. Tried to. But no words came to her. It felt wrong; she'd been afraid of the twisted form of law on Urtullan and the fate that would have befallen her had she tried to escape from her indenture, but not him. Never him. But for some reason in that moment, seeing him was the most terrifying thing she could recall.
She winced in pain as Olaf twisted the fistful of her hair mercilessly tighter and grinned a wicked grin down at her, regarding her almost like a rodent. "I done told ya what I'd have 'em do to ya if ya ever got it in that pretty little head that you'd run off," he hissed, rapping his thick knuckles hard on her forehead.
Another jolt of pain wracked her head as Olaf jerked it back down to look across the table. The blurry figure sitting across from her was standing now in an odd posture, holding a rod of some kind in its hand. She tried to struggle, but even though Olaf only had a hold of her hair, she couldn't break free. Her body simply disobeyed her mind.
The rod in the figure's hand began to extend towards her, across the table, telescoping inexplicably. She managed to fidget in her seat, but still could not free herself, only staring with her eyes open wide at the probe inching menacingly towards her.
It came close enough to discern details. Searing adrenaline pumped through her veins as she saw the writhing form of a Mishhuvurthyar parasite on the end of it.
"How are you feeling?" Olaf's voice asked her, its clarity breaking up. Everything started to echo and blur again.
"How are you feeling...?"
YSS Eucharis - Medbay
"How are you feeling?" Deziarra's voice said as it started to coalesce in her mind.
Her surroundings started to take form as she blinked groggily. She was on her back on a soft surface, the environment around her had the distinct smell of sterility. Her fingers twitched slightly as feeling came back into them, and she closed and opened her fists, wriggled her nose, and blinked again. She still felt buzzy, floaty, and weird.
"Sleepy," she replied before she was even aware she'd said it, her words slurred as she tried to enunciate with a tongue that felt thick and numb. "Sleepy..."
She lifted her head, trying to blink away the haze again, and looked around. She could make out the familiar environment of the Eucharis medical bay, one of the first parts of the ship she'd been introduced to.
But something wasn't right. She didn't feel like she should be here. Why had she come back? She wanted to be back out in the dreamworld.
Her vision clarified a little as she looked down her torso towards her feet. Transparent walls, containment cells. A strange, blurry figure, humanoid in appearance, but something different. Disturbingly familiar.
The form started to look feminine, but with scaly, tentacled features. A mechanical arm, suspended above her, was moving towards her with an injector.
Her eyes went wide in sudden, pure terror as she realized what was happening. They were going to put a parasite in her.
"NO!" she screamed abruptly. The sudden dose of adrenaline burst in her veins all at once, and she kicked her legs wildly, shuffling on her backside up the bed and away from the approaching probe. With a savage, violent kick she struck the mechanism with the sole of her boot and continued to scramble backwards, falling off of the end of the examination table on the back of her head.
It hurt. A lot. But she remained alert, though her ears were now ringing and a dull, throbbing pain pulsed in her head. She kicked off of the table, sliding a foot or two away from it. "Get away!" she screamed again. In one motion she snatched the knife from her boot and she leaped to her feet. "FRACK you!" she spat. "I won't be your fracking puppet!"
Her wild, feral, crazed and panicked eyes darted from object to object in the room, her knife clutched tightly in her right hand in a reverse grip. She had to get out of there. She should never have come aboard.
She eyed the door and made a dash for it. She needed to get back to the dreamworld.
