Paradigm Shift

Chapter 10

Months later, Doctor Watson's ship was off course to uncharted territory, but no one knew until too much time had passed and the ship's system became outdated. They were truly alone and lost in space. Before then, Celene complained to Dr. Watson that his android was going around and harassing people, and the doctor jailed Artemis, locking him in the storage near the cafeteria.

But one thing Doctor Watson forgot to do was properly turn him off.

Then, one morning, as Taylor was having his coffee, and Doctor Watson was in his cabin, Celene became curious about things she should've stayed out of: Artemis. She was a bit peculiar for her actions—that and being the last woman aboard the ship—but besides her worsening state of depression, she decided to seek out the machine that once brought her fear as a result of humans' natural curiosity.

Down the hall, the lights flickered and began to dim: The Doctor was conserving energy. Hissing from the release of white clouds collected by the vent and into her face; warm, moist, and a little irritating from the tickle. Beads of contaminated liquid broiled her skin—a rash began to form on the tip of her brow and forehead. . .She came close to the door. . .

Her engineering space was just as she had left it before Rachel's death: all bombarded with little figurines of starships she had designed and drawings of her paragons. . .the light bulb jostled, moving about, to and fro, from side to side. . .

Someone had just been here, and it wasn't Celene.

A crash from the backend of the workshop sounded and echoed into the deep caverns and crevasses of the ship. Celene instinctively tensed and slowly moved toward the dark shadows. She heard a creaking sound like a tree groaning in the wind as it leaned from side to side. . .

A white halo of light in the middle of the room  shined upon a stone table. . . Papers strewn across the stone slab depicted intricate drawings of a woman with tentacles oozing from her cracked skull, shredded angel wings of death sprouting from her shoulder blades, a dissected stomach showcasing the lack of recognizable organs. . .the creaking sound groaned once more before Celene shifted her gaze upward to see a pair of feet barely touching the light. Slowly, she watched as the toes turned north, north east, east, south east, south, south west. Then paused. After a few seconds: south-south west, south, south east, east. . .

. . .she felt a cool brush of wind from a computer fan on her shoulder;

Celene turned to see Artemis breathing down her neck: "What'd you do to her?" She exclaimed.

"Exactly what I'm going to do to you."

As Artemis lunged forward, Celene grabbed the pen on the stone table and jabbed it into the tough skin on his neck. At first, droplets of opaque liquid dribbled down the pen and onto Celene's hand. Then, it began gushing like a faucet. Around Celene's shoulders, Artemis clenched his hands tighter and tighter—her shoulders began to twists and fold under the pressure until both of her clavicles snapped in half.

An echoing pop filled her chest cavity.

Artemis smiled at the sound of her bones breaking.

Celene cried out in pain, but before her entire chest was crushed, she pulled out the pen from his neck, relaxed like a rag doll, and jammed it into his main cord. The shell of the human stiffened and crumpled into a tight ball.

"I swear to God I'll fuck up your perfect composure." She hissed, ripping out the white, slimy cord and hung it around her shoulders.