Danse Macabre

Posted on Fri May 5th, 2023 @ 10:52am by Lieutenant JG Ryland Dedeker

1,267 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Season 1 Interlude II (E5.5)
Location: Tembiti Lagoon, Risa
Timeline: ID 5 - dawn

Getting out of an orgy was usually far easier than getting into one. On Risa, however, the reverse often proved true. Ryland woke up at the crack of dawn in a tangle of limbs attached to naked bodies with faces he did not recognize. His head pounded something fierce. What had he done the night before? Sure, there had been a few drinks, but nothing out of the usual. Why the awful headache? Despite his rustling, nobody else seemed to be moving. That was weird.

"Hey..." He pushed against a thigh that pressed against his face. "Move over!"

A couple slaps and hard shove didn't do much. The revelry of the night before had given away to the reeking stench of coagulated bodily fluids and buyer's remorse for the decisions that inevitably lead to a walk of shame. While he often put on a lewd exterior, it was hard mornings like this that haunted Ryland in his soul and sent him diving even deeper down the rabbit hole in flight from thoughts and feelings that were better left unmanifested. A lot like the dreams he'd had. They had been broken up, fragmented, and perhaps even guilt-ridden. Especially the ones with Sophie.

He'd dreamed she had been kidnapped by Pakleds and stuffed inside a luggage bag. He'd been pretty hard on her before, even if she deserved it. There was no real commitment between them, and so nothing wrong with him jumping into every jamaharon circle he could find in construction of an ironclad alibi regarding the day before. But maybe that could change. Maybe once he got cleaned up, he'd see how she fared.

If only these stupid assholes would wake the hell up.

"Dammit, get your ass out of my face!"

Only then did anyone else begin to stir. Despite the shifting bodies, eyes were still closed. It wasn't much, but it was an opening. Ryland half-crawled, half-swam out of the sea of bodies, and only when he'd fully extricated himself did he see something wrong.

"What the fuuuuck..."

Ryland felt a cold chill down his spine as he saw a number of the naked bodies in the jamaharon cuddle puddle giving off a faint glow. While the room was far brighter than the caves where he'd last seen Reggie, the daylight had only just begun to break. Illumination was dim at best, allowing for an ominous and all-too-familiar light emanating from layers of mold covering many of the strangers he had become intimately familiar with in all but name only hours earlier.

"Shit!" He looked down at himself and saw small patches of discoloration on his body, but no luminescent fuzz. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!!!" There was a shower around here somewhere. He distinctly remembered using one. Running from corner to corner and room to room, he finally found it and turned on every setting from jetted water to sonic vibrations. Anything to remove... whatever the hell he might have on him.

Sticky residue of all sorts washed off him and down the drain, aided by the sonic showerhead. Ryland dug into his flesh with his fingernails and didn't spare the tender regions as he clawed away any potential microscopic buildup. Something was wrong here. That much he knew. What should he do?

Jumping out of the shower, he activated the industrial fan and heat lamp embedded in the ceiling grate that dried him in seconds. Another quick inspection showed that he was clean. So, maybe he got lucky? Nothing glowed, not on him or in the shower. Yes, luck had smiled on him. But what the hell happened to the others? They weren't dead but they didn't look any happier than he felt. Did anyone get his name? The bioscanner by the door surely took his readings. That's how these meat markets worked. There would be no helping that. Unless...

An idea formed in his mind. If Ryland destroyed the central processor unit that managed the house systems, he could make a clean getaway while alerting the authorities to those people who might need medical attention. Maybe. He was fine. Why wouldn't they be? Even so, last night's jamaharon circle would probably not be a useful addition to his alibi.

Ryland grabbed the cleanest garment he could find without regard for how well it fit. There were clothes at the villa. After sliding into a unisex romper that very clearly favored a particular sex over the other, Ryland pried open the junction box panel with a broken lamp fixture. Grounded isolinear circuitry stared back at him, defying any easy attempt at sabotage.

Well, he didn't need to break anything, just surge the hell out of the systems in hopes of erasing some incriminating data. A bottle of Saurian brandy worked well enough. Ryland slammed it against the exposed yet grounded circuit panel as if he were christening the bow of a ship. Didn't do a thing.

"Damn!"

What to do? What to do? Ryland scanned the room and the pile of naked bodies, realizing there was nothing to be had in the main hall. Then he remembered the sonic showerhead. That might be enough...

Running back to the restroom, Ryland removed the sonic showerhead from the stall and slammed it against the ceiling as hard as he could. He was no technician, but this wasn't a technical operation here. The grate swung open against the wall with a clang, exposing the drier elements and the fan. Using the busted showerhead, he pried loose one of the elements only to realize it was inert and useless once separated from the apparatus. But the sonic showerhead began whirring in a crescendo that definitely seemed dangerous. Potential IED [improvised explosive device] in hand, Ryland ran back to the exposed circuit panel and began to beat it with the sonic showerhead. The device began to pulsate in his hand, but he didn't stop until it actually shocked him. Jumping backward, he flung the damaged device as hard as he could and then turned to run. There was a snap of electricity, a pop of combustion, and then the hissing sound of smoke.

Despite his warped self-preservation instinct, Ryland skidded to a stop on his bare feet and turned around to reevaluate the situation. Trying to cook the client logs was one thing, but leaving helpless people near a potential housefire was something else altogether. By the time he turned around, though, a klaxon sounded off, heralding the need to evacuate. Fire suppression kicked in, as well, leaving Ryland far more drenched than his recent shower had.

"Swell."

Ryland scowled freely, grabbed his soaked jackboots that had been tossed in a corner, and made a swift egress before emergency responders arrived. By the time he had walked back to the villa, he had ditched the unisex romper for a chaste robe given to him by members of a mendicant religious order preaching against the lasciviousness of Risa. The disguise had helped Ryland elude the cordoning efforts that soon cropped up. The monks had promised Ryland the robe would cover his shame, but when Ryland shed it inside his private quarters, he had long determined that was a lie.

Reg. Soph. Whoever those people were. How many people were going to suffer for his stupidity? A half-empty bottle of Risian ale tempted him from the nightstand. As always, it seemed, there would be one more person made to suffer by his bad choices, but at least this one would deserve it. Ryland chugged the bottle to its last and passed out on the bed.

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