"No objections." Smith simply stated. "If you don't mind sir, I'm going to recalibrate the cannons. Send me a message if you need anything." With that, the Origin Rep strode off.
*****
Smith walked through the halls of the Courier 2. Soon enough, the ship was likely to see the first action since being rolled out of the shipyards, and he didn't want a thing to go wrong. A toolbox was in his left hand, as the right hand was now starting to turn a mottled purple from the earlier fight on Dawn station. 'And at this rate, I might end up Starting a fight if I let the thing get the better of me. he thought. Smith recalled the earlier briefing; everyone with eyes likely caught him lapsing. Absolutely embarrassing. Still, it was best not to dwell on that; Matt busied himself by opening a panel for one of the ship's Point Defense Weapons, and started to check it over manually. It wasn't as efficient as just doing it electronically, but it killed time.
Then, the lights went off.
The Origin Representative's hand froze as his heart nearly did so; one wrong move, now of all times, and the plasma conduit would burst! What in hell's name was going on? The usually professional and rightfully feared Origin Rep now felt an unnatural pressure. And he didn't like it. 'I'll just have to wait it out. Backup lights should be on any moment...
They flickered again. Someone was standing behind him - had he caught movement out of the corner of his eye? Smith could feel breath, warm on his neck, courting the hairs gently erect. His hand slowly, carefully moved out of the close quarters. The freeze, followed by the rush of blood made his flesh start to prickle and burn. He turned around slowly and deliberately, ready to stare down whoever it was.
The lights flickered. There was a shadow - a thing in the twitch of the hallway lights, before they returned to full brightness. The hall was completely empty. Had he seen a person? A face?
He reached his hand up to the back of his neck, feeling it, then looking at the fingers before rubbing them together. They were moist, and he wasn't sweating. Yet. Or, was it just his imagination? Yes, it was just sweat, and whatever he saw was just his imagination. After all, Smith reasoned, he did come here to try and get his mind off the Neko. He went back down again, and reached for his tool.
And there it was, smiling, completely naked with its hair all around it, crouched just beside him. Inches away. Centimeters.
Smith recoiled back in horror at what he was seeing; it didn't matter if it was real or not! He was seeing a god damned Naked Neko, and that was never easy to unsee! The Origin Rep fell on his ass as he scurried backwards, clutching his chest as his heart palpated under his ribs. Slowly, the image crawled forward, one hand over the other, one knee on the deck at a time. There was something about its eyes. Smith squinted, and what he saw nearly gave him a heart attack.
They were pitch black. There were no whites, and no color.
It bared its teeth.
The lights flickered, for a brief few seconds, and when they came back on the image was gone - replaced by the open panel, the bag of tools, and the equipment that he had been working on, which was untouched and unspoiled.
He couldn't even move. Part of him had wanted to keep moving back. Or even reach for his pistol, but that didn't happen. As reality resumed, Smith was glad that he hadn't. It was just him. Matthew sighed before gathering up his tools. Now he couldn't relax by giving things old fashioned monkey grease. He got up to leave.
And the lights flickered just once more.
And once more, Smith froze as the sense that humanity relied on the most, simply vanished. A cheeky part of his mind said 'Not again...it'll pass.' but the rest of him went stiff with terror. Was it just him? The ship couldn't be doing this...yes. It had to be just himself, Smith thought. He reached out a hand to a wall to guide himself along the corridor, his steps unsteady like a child's. As he stumbled along, the lights came on again, and he was once more completely alone in the hallway - or so he assumed. There was a clatter from where he had been working. Without really believing it, or wanting to even do it, he turned.
The tool bag crashed at his feet, spreading tools and parts everywhere, scattered across the floor. Nothing.
Smith quickly went back to hastily jam the tools back into the toolkit. This wasn't good; what was happening bordered on the impossible. He had to get to somewhere else. Somewhere where he could sit down safely and Think properly. His heart race as his sweaty palms rusehd to force the last tool away before hurridly walking from the place. It felt like hallowed ground.
It felt like he was being watched.
Paranoia. It served him well before. But this, This! It was eating at him like a parasite inside his chest; if it ate too much, Smith knew he was going to burst. He had to get out of there! Black polished shoes flashed as his quick walk turned into a jog.
Smith expected more, but that was the end. His footsteps were unfollowed; the eyes in the back of his neck did not dog him down that corridor. It was his imagination; it had to be his imagination. He could hear giggling, echoing after him. That was his imagination.
But it was over. That's what he told himself.
