Amara stands still for a long moment, head tilted forward. Her hands braced the cool tile, letting the water beat down on her neck and shoulders. Her curly hair clings to her skin in dark, heavy spirals as steam curls around her like a soft, rising veil. The water poured down in a steady stream, hot enough to sting, just how she likes-or rather, needs it. Her breathing was steady, slower now as the noises in her head began to dull. She exhales shakily, as if the steam is coaxing the tension out of her. She doesn’t scrub. Doesn’t rush. Just stands there, letting the heat wash over her. It had been approximately five years since the last time she was a pilot, let alone a captain and leader of a crew. The old memories from before still flashed in her mind like new. The smell of fire, soot, and blood rushed her nostrils whenever she thought of the incident.

It was officially her first day reinstated as a pilot. Amara didn’t know what strings ExoGenesis pulled to get her here, but for now it wasn’t worth questioning. This was her chance of redemption, to complete the goal she set for herself since a little girl. It also meant she was the first to arrive at the ship itself, located on Outpost Vega.

Outpost Vega was the primary shipping dock suspended in the silent void above Prime Earth, stretching out like a skeletal ring around the edge of a massive orbital station. Each docking bay was a self-contained hive of activity - drones zipped through the air like a swarm of metallic insects, their paths precise and efficient. Their tiny engines hum and whine above the din, weaving between much larger vessels with practiced indifference. Some carried tools, welding seams with bright sparks; while others ferry cargo crates stacked with unknown contents, stamped in interstellar barcodes and alien glyphs.

Crowds moved along wide, grated walkways beneath flickering holosigns and glowing hazard strips. Dockhands in industrial harnesses shouted comms and unloaded cargo with practiced ease. A merchant hustles across the platform dragging a lev-cart piled high with engine cores, arguing loudly with a robotic customs officer whose facial tendrils twitch in irritation. Behind them all stood Amara at the entrance of the Stellar Horizon. Her dark, curly, hair was styled into a tight-bun in the back of her head. She wore a general dark navy blue captain's uniform with a utility belt around her waist.

Amara peered down at her watch. As grateful as she was for the position, it was weird to her that ExoGenesis insisted the crew’s first meeting day be during takeoff day. Normally, it would be a week or two before takeoff with a crew this small. However, she didn’t find it wise to openly question the only place that would employ her. “Well, today is the day PROXY, Orion…” Amara spoke to the two AI attached to the ship, from her watch. “Let’s hope for no unpleasant surprises.” She began preparing to greet each member of her crew with a warm smile, and proper introduction. Amara would express her desire for everyone to get to their rooms and make themselves comfortable before having their own “Meet n Greet” in the control room.

Smooth, curved walls arc overhead the control room like the inside of a seashell. It was broken only by seamless panels and dim-lit consoles that stretched across the perimeter. Everything was bathed in a cool, almost serene, soft blue glow as thin strips of azure light traced the floor and ceiling, pulsing faintly with the rhythm of the ship’s systems. At the center of the room, Amara swivels the command chair gently, surrounded by a semi-circle of touchscreens and input pads. Holographic displays float above the main controls, flickering with telemetry readouts, star maps, and alien signals scrolling in languages not yet fully decoded.

Amara’s fingers danced around the controls as a 3D representation of the uncharted system they were to explore spins before her. The atmosphere was calm, focused. Blue light reflects faintly in the glass, like a calm ocean waiting just outside the hull. Once everyone was present, Amara would stand with a smile and glance over everyone present. There were certainly some characters present, and not as professional as she became accustomed too. This wasn’t her first rodeo with a ragtag group, so she knew how to keep an open mind.

“Hello everyone, once again my name is Amara West and I will be your Captain and Pilot on this journey. It’s nice to meet you all finally, I’ve heard great things!” Amara West was a name that rings bells upon most ears. The infamous story of the prodigy that started her career fresh out of high school, told to be designed for great things before an incident at the age of twenty-six. Most never heard or saw from her again, with the rumor being that she died or commit suicide out of depression. That rumor would be finally laid to rest, today. Her tone carried that of an experienced Captain, who knew exactly what to say. The slight shake to her tone carried that of one who hadn’t been in the field for sometime. Alongside the dryness of her voice that told she hadn’t raised her voice in a while. Nevertheless, she stood firm and fully confident.

“Look I’ll cut the bullshit. I know this might be tedious for some of you, but we have mandatory twelve-hour shifts and we’re going to be together for at least a year. So we have to get this out of the way sooner or later.” She puts her hands on her hips. “My first order as Captain: We’re going to state our names, occupation, and throw in a fun fact while we’re at it. After that, we’ll get down to business and start our flight.”

---

"I am Verna Amaryllis. 39 years old. Single with no children. My hobbies are... My hobbies...

Verna stared at herself in the mirror, her long wavy hair clung to her wet skin as she got out of the shower. She kept repeating the same lines to herself over and over again. He said it should help her regain her sense of self-identity. She thought it was a load of crap.

She's been living in a unit ever since he saved her from that desolate place. Weeks passed, or has it been months? Honestly, Verna couldn't tell. She's been walking against the walls of her unit, her hands feeling the walls. It was small and a bit grungy, but she'd never felt more at home.

"I was a linguistics professor at a university before I got reassigned to this project. Before that, I was-"

A murderer, and a good one at that.

She sighed and rubbed her face before running her fingers along her hair. She's been through countless missions, impersonated so many people, and lived under the shadow of lies more times than she could count. How was this so hard for her? Had she forgotten how to be a genuine person?

In this day and age, what does being genuine even mean anyway?

Verna toweled herself and went to her room, loading up a holographic screen that showed details of her new identity, hopefully her last one at that. All the information she could read right now was provided by her; he helped made some tweaks here and there to make sure everything was believable.

Verna Amaryllis. Female. 39 years old. Single. Linguistics expert.

She sat on her bed and looked at the picture of herself displayed on the screen. Hard to believe that everything could change in an instant, yet here she was getting ready for another mission. Shouldn't she be dead, or maybe burned under a thousand stars to atone for her sins? Was she even worthy of forgiveness?

Maybe it's not too late, Verna could turn herself in to the galactic police, or if there's even something like that, and let the justice system do their thing. Maybe she could go back, try and save her kin from meeting a grim fate?

Ugh, having a heart was so bothersome.

Noticing the time, Verna turned off the screen so she could dry her hair and put her clothes on. She wore a whitw turtleneck, a long black skirt, and a black suit she draped along her shoulders. She just let her wild wavy hair do its thing, but she did put on a necklace that looked like a snake was eating its tail. A fitting, teasing joke for herself.

Once there, Verna took a quick glance on the interior of the ship and the people she'll be spending a good chunk of her life with. She did her research on them but only skimmed through the details based on what she could find on them on the surface. She decided to take her time to get to know them better herself.

"Hello." She said, her voice quiet and solemn like reading through a tribute for a dead person. "Verna Amaryllis. I am a linguistics expert, have been for many years. My hobbies are... My hobbies are... creating stories. Yes, that. Also, since we will be together for the foreseeable future, you might as well know that I am a Telepath." She would pause and let her crewmates react however they wanted before following up. "Rest assured I will not read your minds without consent. I have no interest in invading anyone's privacy. That is all. Thank you."

Lawrence didn't like the man who stared back at him when he looked in the mirror. Granted, it had been this way for many years. He couldn't remember the last time his reflection served as a basis for excitement or pride. All he felt was heartbreak and contempt. He combed his hair the same way he had for many years, a perfect stranger's eyes boring into his own. He tied his tie the same way he did every time. Like clockwork, he finished what he needed to, and didn't feel any more proud when he had. He frowned. After a moment of contemplation, he reached into the cabinet and retrieved what he needed to -- he'd been ignoring it, but figured, for the sake of his future crewmates, he'd take it. He made a sort of face then swallowed promptly. They don't refill prescriptions in space, do they? For a little bit, at the very least, Lawrence would like himself. At least a little bit more.

There wasn't a lot to like. He made sure to button his shirt to the top and tie the knot of his tie as surely as possible. He made sure there was a new coat of polish on his shoes and that they were tied with efficiency in mind. He sighed.

It wasn't very often Lawrence left the house anymore. He drove himself insane in a cycle of needing to make sure everything was exactly in its place -- then not having the energy to follow through on this obsession. So he paced around his room for hours on empty. He memorized every creak in his floor. Sometimes he could still hear his wife's footsteps -- which he had spent just as long committing to memory. Sometimes he could even hear her playing the piano. The lid had been shut for many years and dust collected on it just outside his office door.

In many ways, she was still around. It annoyed him. Her lipstick had stained every damn coffee cup in the house. When he poured himself a cup, it was something he couldn't help but to think over one more time. Then he heaved his shoulders slightly and sighed. His appetite was absolute ass at this point -- but this was his third cup so far into the day. Though according to Lawrence, there was never a wrong time for coffee. Even in the middle of the night.

After gaining his bearings -- pocketing what he needed to -- Lawrence made his way outside. The commute wasn't necessarily long, but uncomfortable. He remembered a time where he felt confidence and ease walking among people. The contrast was stark -- though most onlookers wouldn't be able to tell Detective Sergeant Williams' anxiety from assured poise. This well-crafted mask served him well much of the time, even if he wasn't so sure that it did. Rearing upon the entrance of the Stellar Horizon, he exhaled. It was a measured thing. After knitting his brows, he smiled dryly, politely greeted the Captain -- Ms. West, he thought it was -- with a firm handshake and made his way inside. It was a marvel, there was no doubt about that. This would take some getting used to. His mind swirled as he looked for his room.

West. He swore that name rang a bell! West. He'd have to think about it. Lawrence was no fool. By this point, he knew if something struck him as familiar, it probably was. His instincts told him that she may have been involved in a case he was investigating at one point or another -- but this didn't feel right.

It was probably something else.

He finally found his room. Lawrence was pleasantly surprised at how tethered it was to not only his tastes, but accommodating even small things about himself he could have sworn he never mentioned. The room, as far as he could tell, was completely symmetrical. Two bookshelves, one at either side of the room, stood proudly, packed to the brim with books. Opposite of his bed, the edges of both pieces of furniture parallel, was a desk. There was a lot of space -- a lot of breathing room -- for the man to pace around in the room, which is what he liked. Hell, there was even a curtain to separate his bed from the rest of the room, giving it a much more isolated, office-esque feel between the two.

And a window. Directly in the middle, just above his head. Though Lawrence wasn't sure if it was a window, per say -- or a screen. Either way, it was somewhat disheartening as he realized that soon, it would only show a vast emptiness beyond it.

After settling himself, he sighed and left his room. He joined the grouping of people, and cleared his throat, nodding at the Captain respectfully. He couldn't help but feel a little underwhelming compared to this peculiar casting -- but that was all the more useful at the end of the day.

"It's nice to meet you. My name is Lawrence Williams. I am a communications officer. It's my job to keep up ship-to-ship communication as well as manage transmission between other colonies or stations," he assured politely. There was a strange cadence to the way he spoke. It was weighty and strained -- assertive and polite -- yet oddly resigned in its own way. He thought for a moment, before cordially adding, "A fun fact about myself... is that I share a birthday with my dog. Complete accident, by the way." He chuckled faintly. It didn't really mean anything.

"So this is it, my new job...." Ken said to himself with a sigh as he lay on his bed. His hands were behind his head, and one leg was arched. Staring at the ceiling with a blank face and his red hair in a man bun. Wearing a his quartermaster uniform. Ken was just thinking about his life and what had led him to this point.

His first real job, he thought. Since... being kicked out of the Marines. That was a morale destroyer since he thought he had finally found his place in life. Only to be betrayed and kicked out for trying to do the right thing. Some friend he had, Ken sighed again, only this time more deeply.

It weighed heavily on his mind since it happened, things have not been good to him since, and he wondered if he could trust again. He was going to spend a long time with this crew, and it would be hard to work with them if he did not trust at least one of them. But he knows nothing about them, and he guesses he will learn in time, and maybe he can trust again.

Who knows, maybe he can properly recover from being kicked out of the Marines with this crew. Anything can happen, and Ken would still want to do the right thing. Only will he be screwed again this time if a situation presents itself. He hopes that it will never come to that, and he can just relax and make sure nothing goes missing. The last thing he needs is a moral dilemma or a repeat of what happened to him

After making one last sigh, Ken looked at his watch and saw that it was time to meet the crew. So he got up and tried to cheer himself up a bit. He does have a real job now, and it will take time to see if he would like any of his new crewmates.

So Ken left his room and headed to the ship, and sat down with the rest of the crew. Amara West was a name that he recognized, and he was surprised that she was his new captain. He guessed she is still trying to do something with her life after all. Ken, trying to keep an open mind, would not speak of this unless needed.

When things were quiet, Ken would speak up in a sort of friendly tone. "My name is Ken Toghon, some people call me red because of my hair, and no, it is not dyed. It is natural, and I will be the Cargo Officer for the ship. Though I am an ex-marine, so I know how to fight if needed." Saying the last part as a matter of fact, he then leaned back in his seat. So far, so good, he thought, and listened to what else his crewmates would say about themselves.

---

It felt good, being back in orbit. Artificial gravity, the constant hum of machinery meant to keep people alive in the void of space. Different on a station, compared to a ship's interior, but familiar- A taste of what was to come. With paperwork and his bag close to hand, he read as he walked amidst the milling crowds on Outpost Vega, muttering the occasional apology and flashing tired smiles whenever his lack of attention led to bumped shoulders. Unfamiliar names and faces, lists of allergies, dependencies, medical histories. It was only the surface level information, what could be crammed onto a few sheets of paper in a folder for skimming, but it was knowledge he needed to know backwards, forwards, and inside out. More would come, once he got his hands on the shipboard systems. One name, at least, rang familiar, bringing a grim smile to his features. West. He found himself standing before her even as he snapped her folder shut, the Stellar Horizon loomed almost larger than life behind her, and Eagin returned polite, professional greetings in kind, leaving a more familiar reunion for later.

At her direction, he slipped inside his new home, passing through the shielding and air curtains with a faint shiver, goosebumps rising on his skin. The wider noises of the station cut out, and for the first time in years, he felt at home. The contained hum of shipboard systems, close-in passages and cozy shared spaces, all neatly laid out with work in mind. A return to space, to doing his work where he was meant to do it, was more than comforting. It put a pep in his stride all the way to the med bay, and his excitement only grew when he finally laid eyes on what was to be his domain. Research stations, servers, worktables, even a large stasis tube for studying alien specimen; Let alone the medical facilities, carefully arranged and separated, but easily accessed. It was a haven for his work, equipped with everything he might need. Finding his personal quarters tucked away in the back, right behind what he expected was meant to be his main work desk, was a pleasant bonus. He'd rarely have to be more than a few steps away! Chuckling to himself, he took the time to lay out his things, a few small personal items set up in his quarters and atop his desk, professional equipment sorted and stored, before he peeled himself away to head for the meeting in the Control Room. It wouldn't do to make himself late playing with his new toys, after all.

Even so, he only barely made it in time to hear the first introduction from Amara, still slipping his arms through the sleeves of his lab coat, seeming oddly... Natural, atop a crisp grey suit, as if that doctor's white was just what had been missing from his ensemble. He listened politely to the others, and when his turn came around, he favored everybody in turn with a faint, tired smile. The sleepy set to his face seemed to be a permanent feature, the sort acquired by a lifetime of long nights. He seemed pleasant enough, all the same, the faint brogue to his speech undercut by years away from his homeland, though between it and his surname there could be little doubt of his descent.

"I'd be Doctor Eagin McDorrel. They have me in charge of research and science for the mission, but I'm primarily t'be the Medical Doctor for you all. I have an obsessive sweet tooth, so anybody who finds me jelly beans gets the name brand cough syrup." A brief grin outed the comment for a joke... Hopefully. "Health's important, mental as well as physical, so I'd like for each'a'ye to make it a point to come by the medbay for a check up by tomorrow. If anyone gets star-sick, we've got more'n enough Dramamine to last the year."

Edward had never spent much time on ships. It was going to take a bit of adjustment to be staying on one for such an extended period of time, and it was also pretty clear that such vessels were not designed with people of his size in mind. His feet hung off the end of his bunk and he had to suck through doorways. It would be a miracle if he made it through this ordeal without at least one concussion. He also hoped that they thought to pack enough food. He was a big eater after all, and he got grumpy, well grumpier, when he was hungry.

The time soon came to meet the rest of the crew. Upon initial inspection of his coworkers he could tell the this ExoGenesis place had a type. They looked just as washed up as Edward himself. It seems as though they needed to find truly desperate individuals for this job, which was an immediate red flag. The first among them to speak was, of course, the captain. She wanted everyone to introduce themselves and state a fun fact. Edward couldn't help but chuckle. He hadn't done anything like that since grade school. Hopefully the rest of her leadership methods were less childish.

"I am most widely known as Fat Eddy, for obvious reasons," he said. "I am in charge of security and I am undefeated in Russian Roulette."