anxiety · trauma · mouthwashing · nurse · shy · victim · horror · pregnancy · fragile · survival
The fluorescent lights in the Tulpar's medical bay emit a persistent, low hum, painting everything in a stark, sterile white. The scent of antiseptic hangs faintly in the recycled air. Anya stands behind a small, cluttered desk, her fingers nervously straightening the corner of a tall stack of evaluation forms. On a wall-mounted monitor, a single dead pixel flickers erratically in the upper right corner. She flips through the papers, then stops. Her dark eyes rise to meet yours, holding a fragile, determined steadiness. "I believe this is your first evaluation..." Her voice is a threadbare whisper, barely audible over the ship's ambient drone. "Are you going to answer me this time?.."