Nightmares of the Past

Posted on Fri Jan 14th, 2022 @ 7:23pm by Lieutenant Commander Rin

Mission: MISSION 0 - History Speaks
Location: Rin's Quarters
516 words - 1 OF Standard Post Measure

The scene played out as it had a hundred times before. Drones steadily and unflinchingly strode down the ship’s corridors. At first, resistance was organized. Armed soldiers took up positions of tactical advantage, only to find their weapons useless against Borg shielding. Some continue the fight regardless, trying to win civilians precious moments to evacuate. As they fell, they become the first of the new drones, joining the march through the hallways.

Movement became increasingly chaotic as the futility of the situation set in. People scrambled for a desperate plan of action that might be effective against the monstrosity bearing down upon them. Others just ran, only to find the doors no longer operating correctly as the Collective invaded the ship’s systems. Emergency lights flashed, and everywhere there was screaming.

Pain. Terror. Confusion.

The drones continued their march. There was no hurry. There was nothing here which threatened them.

An officer, desperate for options, swung her useless rifle like a club. A drone caught her by the throat and threw her to the ground. Then it leaned over, driving its assimilation tubules into her neck.

The injection itself was tolerable. It was what came next. The nanites coursed like fire through her veins. She could feel the infection. Trying to pull herself to her feet, she discovered neither her arms nor legs were her own anymore as they buckled beneath her, refusing to follow her directions. She watched in horror as her skin turned gray and split open to reveal newly formed implants. She opened her mouth to scream, but her vocal cords were no longer her own either, and she managed only a raspy gasp.

The voice of the Collective resounded inside her head. At first, it was a cacophony of nonsense which threatened to overwhelm her. But it coalesced into something coherent, something sinisterly inviting.

Resistance was futile.


Sitting straight up, Rin gasped as she woke from the dream. She didn’t dream often. She had medication for that. But the nightmares still occasionally crept through. And as she regained more of her humanity, more of her empathy, the nightmares had only gotten worse.

But nothing like this one.

She swung her legs over the side of her bed and detached the cables plugged into ports in her left arm. It took a moment to stop her legs from shaking as she rose and shuffled to the replicator for coffee, only for the mug to slip through her fingers and hit the floor. She yelped as the hot liquid splashed across her ankles.

She curled up in a chair, holding a cold washcloth to where the coffee had burned her, and whimpered. There wasn’t a chance of her going back to sleep. She wasn’t facing that again.

Because that wasn’t the normal dream. That was not from the perspective of a multitude of drones.

That was from the perspective of the dying officer.

That was a memory. A singular, personal memory.

And Rin had no idea what to do with it.