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Entry tags:
Memory: A Bad Way to Die
Source: Extended universe (The Gemini Agent)
Time: 2255 (age fourteen)
CW: Attempted murder of a minor
Little Pavel Andreievich Chekov, fourteen and scrawny and with a mess of curly hair that hasn't been trimmed at the sides, is standing in a small room with no windows. There's little more than a bed, a desk, and an impressive array of technological devices built into the wall. It's also rather wet; the emergency sprinklers have been activated.
Pavel tries to turn the sprinklers off, first from the sleek computer on the desk, then manually, muttering to himself in Russian about how ridiculous the situation is all the while. When that fails, he places calm calls to both housing services and the fire department. Concern doesn't start to manifest until the water reaches his knees and the lights flicker, then dim. The pale emergency lamps along the ceiling cast the room in a cold light.
One of the wall monitors buzzes with static, then comes to life. There's a male figure, backlit and faceless. "Cold water is a bad way to die," it says, voice distorted. "Quarry water goes down deep, forever, and it gets colder and colder. It's dark. Black. It's like death. I felt it. My brother felt it." And the display goes black. Pavel looks surprised and perplexed, but not frightened. Not yet. There has to be a way out of this...
The water is rising more rapidly now. Getting desperate, Pavel climbs onto the desk and tries turning the sprinklers off manually once more. The sprinkler head breaks off in his hand. He swears (rather mildly, considering the situation) and pulls out his communicator.
"My room is filling up with water!"
There's a long pause before a female voice replies. "You're kidding, right?"
He stares at the communicator incredulously. "No! Can't you see it leaking?"
"I see nothing. Come on, Pavel. Don't mess with us."
"The fire sprinklers are on." His voice wavers. Nerves. He has to stay calm. "They are gushing, Alex. With tremendous force. The line pressure must be very high. The door is locked. The room has no window."
There's another prolonged pause on the other end of the communicator. "Oh my god."
"Yes, exactly."
"Call Residential Services again. We'll get back to the fire department." The voice shouts an indistinct order, then adds, "Don't worry, Pavel. We'll get you out." And, possibly in an attempt to put Pavel at ease: "This is ridiculous."
"Yes, it is."
"You can't drown in your own room."
"No, you wouldn't think so."
"We'll get you out." The voice is firmer now. Resolute.
Pavel doesn't look all that reassured, but he nods. "Thank you."
The emergency lights choose that moment to go out. The small room is plunged into complete darkness.
A moment later, Pavel's communicator sheds a faint light on the room—on water that has risen past the top of his desk, and on a shivering fourteen year-old. He looks frightened for the first time.
Time: 2255 (age fourteen)
CW: Attempted murder of a minor
Little Pavel Andreievich Chekov, fourteen and scrawny and with a mess of curly hair that hasn't been trimmed at the sides, is standing in a small room with no windows. There's little more than a bed, a desk, and an impressive array of technological devices built into the wall. It's also rather wet; the emergency sprinklers have been activated.
Pavel tries to turn the sprinklers off, first from the sleek computer on the desk, then manually, muttering to himself in Russian about how ridiculous the situation is all the while. When that fails, he places calm calls to both housing services and the fire department. Concern doesn't start to manifest until the water reaches his knees and the lights flicker, then dim. The pale emergency lamps along the ceiling cast the room in a cold light.
One of the wall monitors buzzes with static, then comes to life. There's a male figure, backlit and faceless. "Cold water is a bad way to die," it says, voice distorted. "Quarry water goes down deep, forever, and it gets colder and colder. It's dark. Black. It's like death. I felt it. My brother felt it." And the display goes black. Pavel looks surprised and perplexed, but not frightened. Not yet. There has to be a way out of this...
The water is rising more rapidly now. Getting desperate, Pavel climbs onto the desk and tries turning the sprinklers off manually once more. The sprinkler head breaks off in his hand. He swears (rather mildly, considering the situation) and pulls out his communicator.
"My room is filling up with water!"
There's a long pause before a female voice replies. "You're kidding, right?"
He stares at the communicator incredulously. "No! Can't you see it leaking?"
"I see nothing. Come on, Pavel. Don't mess with us."
"The fire sprinklers are on." His voice wavers. Nerves. He has to stay calm. "They are gushing, Alex. With tremendous force. The line pressure must be very high. The door is locked. The room has no window."
There's another prolonged pause on the other end of the communicator. "Oh my god."
"Yes, exactly."
"Call Residential Services again. We'll get back to the fire department." The voice shouts an indistinct order, then adds, "Don't worry, Pavel. We'll get you out." And, possibly in an attempt to put Pavel at ease: "This is ridiculous."
"Yes, it is."
"You can't drown in your own room."
"No, you wouldn't think so."
"We'll get you out." The voice is firmer now. Resolute.
Pavel doesn't look all that reassured, but he nods. "Thank you."
The emergency lights choose that moment to go out. The small room is plunged into complete darkness.
A moment later, Pavel's communicator sheds a faint light on the room—on water that has risen past the top of his desk, and on a shivering fourteen year-old. He looks frightened for the first time.