"Delta 4-4, we are ready for syscheck."

"All systems operational. Food stocks at critical levels, even with cryo-sleep."

"Estimated time till starvation?"

"At current consumption rates, within a month."

"The probe can only be safely sent in 2 months."

"What do you propose then, mission control?"

"Initiate emergency protocol 4-d2."

'You can't be serious."

"We covered this in training. You know what needs to be done, for the good of humanity, boy."

"But fa-"

The transmission cuts off. With a sigh, Colonel 1 tries in vain to calm himself down, before he is slowly carried by a conveyer to his destination, another attempt at saving energy. Lying down, he fumes.

That ratshit bastard thinks that this shit is so easy huh? Oh, out of food? Just eat your friends. What a fucking monster. I've served on this station for 30 years and known every damn one of my members for 10 more. The hell do they know? It's been ages since I've seen my family or heard any human voice from earth other than that smug bastard of a... Nevermind.

His train of thought cuts off as he sees the open door to the cryo chambers. Walking in slowly, he stares at the 4 chambers in the room, 2 empty and the rest currently keeping his crewmates in stasis. A moment passes. His face feels wet.

Crying is a purely emotional phenomenon, one that wastes time and vital nutrients.

A superior logical being capable of keeping this entire station running during a time of crisis would definitely not be crying right now.

Still, 1 cried. The station had attempted to limit emotional attachment, forcing them to wear masks and address each other as numbers while limiting social time. Still, sticky notes would find their way into everyone's lockers, and messages would be scribbled on the frost outside the cryo chambers between crewmates.

All this work was for the good of the Federation, right? It couldn't all be in vain?

Right?

Fuck it. Fuck it all to hell. thought 1, as he brought everyone out of stasis.

As they came to, a few cracking joints could be heard, but otherwise, all else was deathly silent.

"1, what's going on? Is extraction commencing?" A short figure questioned, their mask labeling them 2.

"2, I'm sorry rescue isn't coming. The opposite actually. Food stocks are low. I was told I had to initiate protocol 4-d2." 1 replied.

"Fuck." 3 calmly sighed. "So you woke us up for what, 1?"

"A farewell party." 1 supplied. And with those words uttered, he takes off his mask to reveal a bone-white face and long shaggy brown hair.

"My name is James. I've been your crew leader for the past 40 years. It is an honor-" his voice breaks, raspy with disuse. "-to serve with you."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

A second mask clatters to the ground. This time revealing an almost healthy white-skinned face and blond ponytail.

"2. My name is Rae. That you woke us up means... A lot." She finishes lamely.

Silence from 3. A moment of awkward silence passes before another mask flatters to the floor. A dark-skinned face with shaved black hair remarks;

"Damnit, I wanted to make fun of Rae's shit face reveal until I realized I can't think of anything better. Names Larry by the way." He chuckled.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, filled with silent looks at each other's faces.

"So this party gonna start soon?" Larry asked. Inching to his cryo-chamber. "Cuz uhh, I remember that parties back on earth usually involved, you know... Alcohol?" Grabbing a bottle of some brand of beer long forgotten, the label long weathered away.

"Oh hell yeah!" Rae whooped.

For the first time in years, the three were together again, no masks or bullshit between them.

Also for the first time in years, the conveyers were left unused, as they ran across the belt to the dining room.

After a moment of setup, they had before them what by all means, was a pathetic excuse for a feast, much less a meal by our standards. But to them, a full piece of bread to themselves was the equivalent to days worth of food for a single day an enormous waste - for those on a mission.

Hilariously enough, after years of near starvation, one could be considered an ultra-lightweight, as each of the crew members could barely finish a shot glass's worth of beer.

At the end of the feast though, there came a sobering moment, as the festivities died down and the reality of the end dawned on them.

Finally, at the end of the feast, Rae said it.

"Guys... you know that we have to say it eventually right? Ignoring this won't make it go away." The words barely forcing their way out of her mouth.

"I guess it is time...huh." Larry sighed. "Nothing good stays, huh?"

"Afraid not." James sighed.

"So, how are we ending it? Blowing up the station, carbon poisoning, slitting - you know?" Rae's voice wavering near the end.

"We have enough morphine for it to be lethal. It will be painless." James explained.

They stood up, leaving the desk uncleaned, as they left for the Medical Bay. As opposed to the exciting rush near an hour earlier, their walk was certain and accepting of their fate.

As they opened the door, not a single word was uttered.

As Rae and Larry strapped in, not a single word was uttered.

As James' hand hovered over the control button, he questioned them.

"Any, uhh... Last words?" He finished weakly.

"Thank you," Rae added, unsure. "Just please make it quick, okay? I just want it to ennnn...." Her voice trailed off into oblivion.

"Goddamnit," James sobbed.

"It sucks doesn't it?" Larry murmured. "Having to kill your own crew members huh?"

"Worse, family."

"Shit."

"I had found out months ago. I just didn't know when to say it you know? It would have just made things harder."

"My condolences James. I hope that you find peace in the next life."

"Thanks, but I probably won't. Some bastard will be having trouble sleeping tomorrow at the very least."

"James? Were you lying when you said there was enough morphine?"

"Yeah. Sorry, Larry."

"It's okay. For what it's worth, you can have the last quarter of the bottle we were having during our feast." Larry offered, before closing his eyes. As the poison flowed down the tubes connected to his arms, he smiled.

"Goodbye James. I'm proouuuuull..." And his voice too, fell into oblivion.

Finally, the station was empty. It was just James, alone. As he walked along the conveyer belt to the broadcast room, the bottle of beer caught the light in such a way that the hall was like a kaleidoscope of shaky amber.

As he got to the broadcast room, James's legs started shaking. Collapsing into the chair, he slowly typed the command to record a message. Seeing the top of the monitor light up, he coughed.

"So. If you're watching this, I am hopefully dead." James states, looking straight into the camera.

"Oh, and I knew the whole time Father. I knew it was you with your shit-filled smirk and borrowed time. I hope you remember what promotion you got when you offered your own children for this fucked up experiment. Cause by whatever deity you worship, I will fucking bow at their feet and beg for your untimely demise. Goodbye, you piece of shit."

The transmission ended, and now all that was left was to end it. Looking at the bottle, James wondered if it was enough to kill him. Tipping his head back he found his answer.

He was burning, from the inside out. A fire so intense it would burn away what little memory of his existence there was. Until he was nothing but inconsequential pieces of carbon floating around an abandoned space station.

Forever gone - free.