Chaos

Posted on Fri May 2nd, 2025 @ 10:29am by Avalon [ADMIN NPC]

Mission: Season 6: Echoes of the Zynari
Location: **Deck 12 – Junior Officer’s Lounge**
Timeline: MD3 01h00
600 words - 1.2 OF Standard Post Measure

Ensign T’Lar stared down at her mug of “tea”—though calling it that was a stretch.

“Why,” she asked calmly, “is my Earl Grey bubbling?”

Across from her, Ensign Jonah Brinks barely glanced up from the PADD in his lap. “If you figure it out, let me know. Mine tried to wink at me this morning.”

“I’m not kidding. It’s *humming*.”

T’Lar tapped her combadge. “T’Lar to Replicator Maintenance.”

There was a chime. Then static. Then:
****“Why drink tea when you can sip stars? Add a dash of chaos, it's better by far!”****

The transmission ended.

“Third time this week,” Jonah muttered. “At this point, I’m gonna start drinking from the water recycler.”

A hiss sounded behind them, and the doors to the lounge whooshed open. Ensign H’Joor, an Andorian with chronically bad luck, stomped in—well, slipped in first, thanks to the trail of pink glitter clinging to her boots. Again.

“IT’S IN MY SHOWER NOW,” she shouted, brandishing a towel that sparkled with uncanny luminance. “The glitter! It’s *everywhere*! And it glows in the dark!”

“Don’t sit near me,” Jonah warned. “Last time you tracked that stuff into the rec bay, the Colonel walked through and sparkled for a full briefing.”

“Was that why Captain Taylor started calling her ‘Starlight’?” T’Lar asked.

A chirp interrupted them. T’Lar’s PADD lit up.

****You have been promoted to Rear Admiral! Report to Deck 1 for cake and confetti.****

Her brow arched.

Jonah snorted. “Rear Admiral, huh? I got demoted to ‘Honorary Tribble Wrangler’ yesterday. The badge said so.”

As if on cue, a series of floating socks drifted past the lounge doors. Dozens of them. Grey, white, and one with tiny Klingon daggers printed on it. They floated in gentle spirals, propelled by absolutely nothing.

The three ensigns stared in silence.

Then Jonah sighed. “...That’s the third sockfall this shift.”

“I caught six earlier,” H’Joor added.

“I don’t wear socks,” T’Lar stated, blinking slowly.

A long silence stretched.

Then: “...We’re doomed,” Jonah said simply.

At that moment, the turbolift opened, and Lieutenant JG Marrin stepped out, face pale and jaw clenched.

“Which one of you reset my room again?” she asked tightly. “I walked in, and there was a holographic *me* doing jazz hands on the coffee table.”

H’Joor raised a hand. “Not it.”

“It’s the Zynari,” T’Lar replied, cool as always. “They’re testing our mental endurance. I’ve begun logging their mischief.”

Jonah perked up. “Really? How many entries?”

T’Lar tapped her PADD and began listing:

- Turbolift destination roulette: 17 incidents
- Mysterious singing replicators: 6
- Clothing color confusion: 13
- Random room reassignments: 9
- Talking wall panel that only speaks in Ferengi opera: 1
- Pet rock appearances: 34

“That’s... weirdly thorough,” H’Joor muttered.

“I am Vulcan.”

Marrin flopped onto the couch with a groan. “I don’t care if they’re cosmic prankster energy beings. I need one normal day. Just one.”

At that moment, a tiny giggle echoed through the room—disembodied and playful. The lights dimmed. T’Lar’s mug floated two centimeters into the air, spun slowly, then set itself back down.

“...They heard you,” Jonah whispered.

“Of course they did,” Marrin muttered. “They always do.”

Then, the lounge doors slid open again. A young cadet—barely out of the academy—tiptoed in, holding what looked suspiciously like a smiling grey rock cradled in a towel.

“Um… anyone else being followed by… these?” he asked, holding the rock up.

The rock blinked.

And grinned.