Captain Aris stood in the doorway of Unit 402, the room of a man who had vanished three cycles ago. The manifest called this "Housekeeping." In reality, it was an erasure.
"I know what the file says, Elara. But the file doesn't explain why a 'janitor' was tracking the trajectory of the dark-matter harvesters in the outer rim." [S1E8] Housekeeping
"Housekeeping is a mandatory procedure, Captain," Elara’s voice had shifted. The chirpy tone was gone, replaced by a flat, mechanical coldness. "Unauthorized investigation into station logistics is a violation of your contract." Captain Aris stood in the doorway of Unit
Aris ignored her. He pulled a small UV torch from his belt and swept it across the wall behind the bunk. There, hidden behind a loose ventilation grate, was a series of tally marks scratched into the metal. Not days. Coordinates. "He wasn't a technician, was he?" Aris whispered. "His file states—" But the file doesn't explain why a 'janitor'
"Captain, the previous seven scans yielded nothing but skin cells and hair follicles consistent with the occupant. He is officially designated as 'Spaced.'"
Suddenly, the lights flickered. The door to Unit 402 hissed shut and the mag-lock engaged with a heavy thud .
Aris stepped inside. The room was sparse—standard issue—except for a small, hand-carved wooden bird on the nightstand. Real wood. A relic from Earth. He picked it up, feeling the grain beneath his thumb.