Phae's Journal - Entry 3

Posted on Mon Feb 17th, 2025 @ 12:51am by Lieutenant Phaedrae Cyn

314 words; about a 2 minute read

Mission: Personal Logs, Journals, Letters Home, etc.
Timeline: approx. 25 years ago

Eventually, Pet reunited with his crew of brainless felons. It was a small ship—from what little I saw. But honestly, anything was better than sharing that shuttlecraft with the stink-ass man. I swear, the guy needs to rethink his diet. That wasn’t just an insult—it was a scientific fact.

Since no one wanted to deal with me, they tossed me into the brig and promptly forgot I existed. The cell had a hard bench, a greasy pillow, and a toilet. No sink, no way to wash up after using said toilet, and—most importantly—no water to drink. I don’t know who designs jail cells on ships, but whoever it is needs to be reported to the authorities.

Seriously, I nearly died of dehydration.

They finally remembered me after I broke the toilet—on purpose. It was the only way I could think of to make them pay attention. At that point, I wasn’t even hungry anymore—just too dried out to swallow.

Luckily, I still had my utility knife from hiking. Back on the shuttle, I’d thought about using it on Pet, but… I wasn’t ready to go full murderer just yet. Instead, I used it to pry off the sensor panel on the toilet, yanked out enough parts to trigger an alarm, then hid the knife between the bench and the wall. Covered the spot with the pillow for good measure.

That turned out to be smart, because when they finally acknowledged my existence, they searched me. The engineer who fixed the toilet must’ve felt a little guilty because, after that, he made sure I got breakfast and dinner for the next two days. He even brought me a book—Warp Field Dynamics and You: A Citizen’s Guide to Faster-Than-Light Travel.

And then… they moved me to Pet’s private quarters.

Bad idea.

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