Ensign Kris Fianna - Objective: Survive

[IsKah]

Reading the Astraus sims, @Kris Fianna wrote this excellent sim, hitting those emotional beats perfectly for me. 

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(( Main Bridge, Deck 1, USS Astraeus )) 

 

Kris tuned back into reality, watching herself step onto the Bridge. The other two drones were gone from sight, and Borg-Kris entered with her phaser rifle ready. 

 

Rosek-Skyfire: Captain! Unknown persons are overriding the Bridge lockout!

 

Mei’konda: Response

 

Rosek-Skyfire: Take cover!

 

Borg-Fianna: SEIZE THE ASTRAEUS.

 

Kris watched from within as the phaser rifle fired repeatedly at her captain and colleagues. They all managed to duck into cover, but between the fire from the other two drones and that of her own rifle, she didn't like their chances. Sparks flew wildly, skittering across the deck and several consoles.

 

Rosek-Skyfire: Maximum stun only! Draw their fire away from the Captain!

 

Matthews / Caldwell: Response

 

A stun bolt seared into her chest, squarely in the middle. It was unlike anything else she'd ever experienced, painful beyond her limits, and yet the Borgified Kris barely flinched, continuing to fire. She turned her rifle on a familiar redhead, who was cowering behind a chair.

 

oO No - leave her alone! Oo 

 

She did her best to struggle, but it didn't appear to have any effect. The shot thankfully missed, slamming into the nearby console... which exploded in a shower of sparks and launched the poor ensign from her hiding place.

 

And then, she saw the familiar blue glow of a transporter beam...

 

(( Cargo Bay, Deck 4, USS Astraeus ))

 

As Kris materialized, she realized she was not alone. 

Well, she presently couldn't be alone, being Borg, but there were other Borgified crewmates here...

oO Where is here, though? I don't recognize this area. Oo

 

Kris breathed a sigh of relief internally. Wherever she was, it was only the Borg crew here, which meant that they'd figured out how to stop them, for a moment at least. 

oO Initiate diagnostic repairs. Oo

The drones began grouping together, treating each others' wounds, and it was no different for Kris. The phaser burn to her chest was bandaged as the few nanites in her system got busy, and she watched as her phaser rifle was serviced before being returned to her hands. Her feet carried her to the bay doors, along with a host of other Borg-crew. A few attempts to open the door later, and all the Borg-crew just... gave up.

 

oO It's over at last... Oo

 

Internally, Kris curled up and began to cry. The weight of the day had caught up and was absolutely crushing her. She did her best to push out the images of dead colleagues, the weight of the lives her hands had been forced to take.
The blood on her hands.

 

oO I want my Papa… Oo

 

With such a conscious desire in her mind, the little sanctuary that she’d made for her psyche shifted. Nothingness became wooden floors, walls, a bedroom. Gradually, the shape of her childhood bedroom formed around her, that nostalgic visage granting some measure of peace.  The rhythmic sound of waves crashing into the coast below, her window permitting the early morning sunrays and their reflections glinting off of the water to dance freely on the walls.
Kris found herself in her old bed, wearing comfortable, soft pajamas with a bird pattern. She sat up, and heard movement downstairs.

She cautiously moved through the door, and as she did, the sweet smell of waffles and syrup filled her nostrils. 

 

oO Papa always did like to cook… Oo

 

Papa:  There's my girl. 

 

A cautious smile broke on her lips as the tears flowing down her cheeks slowed slightly. Before her now, in the kitchen of the lighthouse that had served as her childhood home, was her father, Henry Paul Fianna.

 

Mama: Oh, she’s finally awake?

 

In the little breakfast nook near the kitchen sat her mother, Laura Belle Fianna. With a smooth movement, she took up a bookmark and marked her place in the old-style paperback novel before setting it down on the table. 

Kris wanted nothing more than to surge forth and hug them both, but something in her held her feet still at the foot of the stairs as she spoke to them.

 

Fianna: Papa...  They made me do terrible things, Papa. 

 

Mama:  You fell asleep, Krissy. It was just a bad dream. 

 

Papa: You’re okay, baby-girl. No one's gonna hurt you here, you’re safe.

 

Was it all a dream? It all felt so distant, Kris wouldn’t mind believing that were the case. And yet, as she took a step towards them, the distant sound of a Red-Alert klaxon echoed softly on the wind that blew gently in the open window.

 

Fianna: But the Borg… They must have overrun the ship - so many people were hurt…

 

Mama: Oh, Krissy. Someone’s been reading too many heroic tales of Starfleet again. Here, come sit and eat something.

 

Papa: You’re just in time, too. How do you want your egg, baby-girl? Scrambled or sunny-side-up like always?

 

Relief washed over her like a tidal wave. Surely, they were right. She closed her eyes as she took a calming breath. Her mother stepped over to her and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. She cupped her hand around one cheek smiling at her daughter.

 

Mama: I know you think you don't need us anymore, Krissy. But let me take care of you. I miss when you were little.

 

She takes her daughter's hand and attempts to lead her to the table, but her grip is maybe a little too tight, her tug just a little too insistent.

And the faint sound of alarms still echoed in her ears.

oO Something’s not right… You have to stay strong just a little while longer, Kris… Oo

 

Fianna: I-I’m late, Papa. I don’t have time to eat right now, I have to get ready.

 

Papa: Nonsense. You’re never running so late as to skip a meal, and you always love when I make you breakfast. Just relax, baby-girl. You can stay home today.

 

That definitely didn’t sound right. Kris’ parents were always pushing her to be better, never be late, always be the best. She scowled, and pulled against her mother’s grip.

 

Fianna: This isn’t right. Let me go, you’re not real.

 

Everything seemed to freeze ominously as the lighting took on a green tinge. Her parents turned to face her slowly as their smiles took on a sinister tone.

 

The Collective: RESISTANCE IS FUTILE. SUBMIT. ASSIMI—

Suddenly, their voices went silent, and the visages of her parents seemed to be choking. The alarm klaxons were clearer to hear now, and as Kris looked around, heart pounding, she watched the walls of her childhood home fall away into nothingness before she realized she was standing in the cargo bay…

 

Except… she was in control.

 

Kris tried to lift a hand.

And it worked.

 

Fianna: Oh my… I’m free…

 

All around her, some crewmates were coming to their senses. But they were few, and as they realized what was going on, so too did the drones.

 

Borgified Crewmates: RESUMING LAST DIRECTIVE: ELIMINATE ALL UNASSIMILATED.

 

Kris set her phaser rifle to stun and looked around.

 

Fianna: Get away from the drones! We have to hold out a little longer! Get to cover!

 

Any in the Cargo Hold: Response

 

She sprinted to a nearby crate, vaulting over it with a grunt. The phaser burn on her chest still hurt, and she wasn’t the most graceful in her panicked state, knocking her knee hard on the metal floor. She tapped her communicator as she began stunning on the highest setting she had the various Borg-crewmates that were lifting phasers at the escaped crew scrambling for cover.

 

Fianna: =/\= Doctor Fianna to the Bridge! =/\=

 

Any: Response

 

Fianna: =/\= We have some of the crew escaping assimilation, and a firefight has broken out down here in the cargo bay! =/\=

 

Any: Response

 

Fianna: =/\= Understood, we’ll hold out as long as we can! =/\= 

 

She took a breath, fired a few more times, then shouted loud enough to be heard over the firefight.

 

Fianna: Just hold out a bit longer! Help is coming!

 

Any in the Cargo Hold: Response

 

 

 

 

--

 

Ensign Kris Fianna

Medical Officer

USS Astraeus, NCC-70652

 A240105KF3