The night sky was haunting, proof of what was really out there. Without limits, within reach where dreams once lie. Proving more about the truth in regards to how truly alone one was, even amongst the stars and endless possibilities. The way nature and the universe has fought against itself and within itself in the same way that people have for as long as there have been any such things. Life is little more than a dwelling, a pitstop, much like this rock he found himself on. Positives were harder and harder to come by as everything failed, feeling the slip of it all fall between fingers. Like grains of sand through an hour glass. He wondered idly, if he shouldn't just give up. Maybe find an airlock and see if this was anything like it once had been. Going through things that everyone normalized or disregarded because it couldn't be true.

Much like the depths of the sky, the internal only feels used. Captured fleetingly for the same superficial draws over and over again. What is given is never the same in what is gained. Limits and pulls are no longer equal in the way nature intended and there's less care, no matter how steady it may have progressed. The ups and downs of this day, this week, this month take their hold. Long, skinny, dark tendrils that creep through chill of the night. Much like those that are all around, heard through the metal and pipes, a wind blows where it shouldn't.

It all draws one in more. Schematics and prints left to the memory, a mind's eye point of view. Almost disorienting, as the light flickers ahead. The surrounding scents dull the senses, if only there were a team to follow through. Left alone, too uncertain other than the truth of that thought. More alone now than ever, on a station full of people. A floating rock with all the bells and whistles one might need to sustain a life. Nothing like a navy ship, circling past places with people of another sort.

Crucial stage points are left at each impasse, a card, identification, or pin code. Prints to prove what should be upon technicality of worthiness to reach the innards of this mighty rock. Moving from one port, to the next ladder, muscle sang a tune that left breathing heavy and extra pauses taken. Thoughts of taking up smoking again for the amount of stress, but also negated by the need to breathe what was left of the diluted oxygen. The thick clothing limiting some mobility, but not much. A hard hat leaving thick hair in a covering of sweat.

An open tunnel being a source of relief and fear all at once. Of what could be found here, outside of chilling view straight out of a holo film. Slow steps taken, whether it is due to how many hours moving at one's own discretion. Thoughts reverberate along the idea of how many sleepless nights was this world created. The architecture of it, the beauty that could lie more than metal deep. A catalogue of hushed thoughts, as something slithers towards. Whether it is out of curiosity or something more carnal, there's a loss of sensation as the floor is pulled out from under. Falling forward harshly, gloved hands are all that's left to save from the full thrust of the fall.

A pipe creaks, water drips, viscous material falls close, but the pull is fierce, still holding at the leg. A ride that wasn't paid for, nor asked for any such accomodations. The world is too dark, but it stops. A dizzy feeling brought upon, a churning deep in the recesses of the body. Determination, and a hardness grows. This will not be the end of this story. This cannot be. If this is a fight of wills, then so be it.

One hit, two, the light works, but it is plagued. The vision of what's moving forward. Manged hair and sharp teeth, rushing with an unforgettable cadence. Scents of what may have died or the filler of what was left flushed into a world that wasn't meant to be seen or touched by the wrong hands. Realizations came quickly, but movements were left in slow motion. The squew of a face, the rush of booted feet, sliding past a corner, then another. A loss of control of the situation happened the second feet landed here.

Technology and advancement was the destroyer of worlds. Even the understanding of how hydropower set ecosystems out of place and into an uproar. How there was a reason for customs to be maintained, on what was brought in and out of environments. Even if enough people didn't care for it. The way everything changed, reshaping who was on the top of the food chain, much like now. Homeless rats, fleeing for something better. More than a new place of their own. Having to fight for their necessities.

Certain types of weapons a worst case scenario in open areas. But in closed spaces without a full view in the middle of the night, there had been a little more left to planning. Once a fire extinguisher, now repurposed for the sake of holding flameable contents, held tight. A click for spark, before spraying what little it had in the course of 6 seconds. Leaving what was on fire squealing and crying out, running into underground walls and sticky sap covered puddles. Feet not stopping as the cannister was left behind. A lost cause with the furry will to attack, no longer holding the ability, at least temporarily.

Crossing off that area as one that held little to no safety, foraging on until a watch rang out the time. Finding solace in reaching normalcy just before light trickled into day. Covered in what would only wish to stay unmentionable. Gloves pulled off and tossed into a nearby recepticle. Helmet undone, wiping a brow as best as possible. Not wanting to add to whatever may be smeared there. Undressing, but not to the level of strange happenings still left in a cult appeal at the park.

Hands and faced cleaned at a place of business, while in wait for coffee. A few laughs had with the barista who covers her nose but lights up at the tone so early in the morning. It brings hope, perhaps even patience. Learing something, trying to do something, was better than nothing. Now with only the dark, bitter liquid the only winnings found in all that time. Warmth held in the cup, radiating in a way that a shower may be imagined. Perfect and caring, washing the masked sins away.

Uncertainty found at the door. Waiting on a familiar face with a small, tired, almost embarrassed smile.

"I know, I look like shit. Literally, covered in it and who knows what else. But I come bearing the promised gift." The other cup held up for inspection. "What you got for me?"