inpoppyfields

[inpoppyfields]

[LOCATION PROFILES]: The Space Base

CLASSIFIED DATABASE ENTRY: SPACE BASE (DESIGNATION: SB-PRIME) // ACCESS LEVEL: REDACTED

[LOCATION PARAMETERS]

REGION: Deep Space, Coordinates: Variable (because pinning down a fixed location would be too easy).

CURRENT STATUS: Orbiting the threshold between known reality and “Oh no, not this again.”

ACCESS ROUTES: Fleet vessels, occasional wormholes, or anomalous rifts that offer express delivery—whether you like it or not.

NOTE: If you made it to SB-PRIME without spontaneously combusting or questioning your life choices, congratulations! The universe hasn’t completely given up on you yet.

SPACE BASE OVERVIEW

Nature of the Space Base

PRIMARY FUNCTION: Exploration, discovery, defense, and surviving whatever cosmic horrors decide to drop by uninvited.

FOCUS: Unlike Earth Base, which seems perpetually confused about why it exists, SB-PRIME has a clear purpose: boldly going where no one probably should and taking notes along the way.

LOCATION PERKS: Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. If an anomaly visits SB-PRIME, the only escape route is the cold, endless void of space.

Inter-Base Rivalry:

EARTH BASE:

“We’re multi-purpose!” Translation: “We have no idea what we’re doing.”

SPACE BASE:

“We’re dedicated to exploration and defense.” Translation: “We’re a magnet for interdimensional chaos.”

GENERAL SENTIMENT:

Earth Base personnel joke that SB-PRIME’s idea of fun is “having existential crises at light speed.”

SB-PRIME personnel counter that Earth Base is where “dreams of organization go to die.”

STRUCTURE AND INFRASTRUCTURE

PRIMARY ARCHITECTURE:

DESIGN: Sleek, utilitarian, and slightly smug.

CORE MODULES:

COMMAND HUB: Where plans are made, orders are issued, and nobody gets lost in labyrinthine hallways (looking at you, Earth Base).

HANGARS: Housing for mechs, exploratory craft, and prototypes that only occasionally explode.

LABORATORIES:

Focused research with fewer coffee-induced panic attacks compared to Earth Base.

Experiments are conducted under the principle of “curiosity first, sanity optional.”

ARCHIVES: Documenting discoveries, anomalies, and incidents that future historians will dismiss as “clearly fictional.”

DORMITORIES: Designed for comfort and existential pondering. Unlike Earth Base, the doors don’t lead to alternate dimensions (usually).

PERSONNEL COMPOSITION

DIVERSITY INDEX: Astronomically High

ROLES INCLUDE:

Pilots and Mech Operators: Experts at dodging anomalies and existential dread.

Engineers and Mechanics: Keeping tech functional, often while muttering “this shouldn’t work, but it does.”

Scientists: Physicists, cosmologists, and other brilliant minds who casually use words like “quantum entanglement” at lunch.

Medics: Treating injuries, trauma, and the occasional “my brain touched the void” syndrome.

Archivists and Journalists: Recording events nobody on Earth will believe.

Explorers and Scouts: First into the breach, often yelling “It’s fine!” when it absolutely isn’t.

Artists and Designers: Because sometimes, you need a surreal painting to explain why the sky screamed at us yesterday.

NOTE: If a job exists, someone on SB-PRIME does it. If it doesn’t exist, they’ll invent it. Earth Base calls this “overachieving.” SB-PRIME calls it “basic survival.”

MISSION PARAMETERS

Primary Objectives

EXPLORATION: Charting the unknown before the unknown charts us.

DISCOVERY: Collecting knowledge, even if that knowledge gives you nightmares.

DEFENSE: Protecting humanity from cosmic horrors, rogue anomalies, and “entities that really should mind their own business.”

DOCUMENTATION: Because if we’re going to suffer, future generations should know exactly how weird it got.

Operational Dynamics

EMPLOYMENT STRUCTURE: Flexible. Enlisted, contracted, or volunteered (some swear they were “volun-told”).

CHAIN OF COMMAND: Functional, unlike Earth Base’s “democracy of confusion.”

DECISION-MAKING: Orders are clear until reality decides otherwise.

ANOMALOUS CONDITIONS

REALITY STABILITY: Nominally Stable.

ANOMALY VISITATION FREQUENCY: High.

Earth Base deals with anomalies accidentally. SB-PRIME deals with anomalies that show up with RSVPs.

NOTED ANOMALIES:

TEMPORAL GLITCHES: Yesterday might happen tomorrow. It’s best not to ask.

INTERDIMENSIONAL BREACHES: Portals to realities where things are slightly more horrifying.

COSMIC ENTITIES: Visitors with incomprehensible motives and terrible social skills.

OFFICIAL POLICY:

“Log it, study it, and hope it doesn’t eat the base.”

If anomaly containment fails: Option 1: Evacuate to the void. Option 2: Pretend it’s part of the plan.

SUMMARY ANALYSIS

DECLARED FUNCTION: Exploration, discovery, and defense.

ACTUAL FUNCTION: Standing at the edge of the universe with a clipboard, a mech, and an unshakable commitment to finding out “what happens if we poke this?”

INTER-BASE ASSESSMENT:

SB-PRIME: Organized chaos, focused exploration, and existential horror at a professional level.

EARTH BASE: “We’re figuring it out!” Translation: “Nobody panic.”

BASE MOTTO: “When the universe knocks, we answer. Sometimes with a question. Sometimes with a mech.”

END OF FILE // STATUS: CALMLY EMBRACING THE INEVITABLE

[inpoppyfields]

[LOCATION PROFILES]: The Earth Base

CLASSIFIED DATABASE ENTRY: EARTH BASE // ACCESS LEVEL: REDACTED

[LOCATION PARAMETERS]

REGION: Southern California, United States (approximate human designation).

GEOGRAPHICAL SIGNATURE: Rolling hills adorned with red and orange poppies, providing a serene facade that belies the utter confusion beneath.

ACCESS ROUTE:

Follow any human-constructed road into the void until devices cease functioning and existential dread sets in. Congratulations, you have not arrived—arrival is a concept that applies loosely here.

TOPOGRAPHICAL ANOMALY DETECTED: Statistically improbable calmness. Either a deliberate camouflage technique or a universe-scale practical joke.

[FACILITY STRUCTURE]

PRIMARY ARCHITECTURE: A series of low-slung, box-like structures in shades of beige, white, and “we gave up on aesthetics.” The buildings are designed to provoke neither suspicion nor admiration.

DESIGN PHILOSOPHY: Functionality at the expense of everything else.

HANGARS:

Contain tetrapod units, flight prototypes, and devices best classified as “why not.”

Frequent combustion events cataloged as “unplanned thermal experiments.”

LABORATORIES:

Research focus: Cutting-edge technology, weaponry, and occasional “spontaneous interdimensional phenomena.”

Staff demeanor: Resigned acceptance that reality itself may be malfunctioning.

Incident Report 417B: Metallic spheres appeared, defied gravity, and promptly became the responsibility of “whoever Jerry is.”

FLIGHT LINE:

Operational status: Dubiously functional.

Human phraseology: “If it didn’t explode, it wasn’t a real test.”

[OWNERSHIP & COMMAND STRUCTURE]

PRIMARY GOVERNANCE: Unknown.

Possible entities involved include:

National military bodies (hypothetically).

The Fleet (ambiguous).

Private contractors with deeply questionable ethics.

At least one organization whose name consists entirely of acronyms.

COMMAND HIERARCHY:

Theoretical.

Practically a rotating game of “not it.”

Control of base operations is determined through volume of shouting or random quantum fluctuations.

NOTE: The base appears to be in a state of perpetual joint custody dispute, with all parties disavowing responsibility while insisting on oversight.

[PERSONNEL INDEX]

OCCUPANT CLASSIFICATIONS:

Military personnel (of unspecified allegiance).

Test pilots (somehow still willing).

Researchers and engineers (sustained by caffeine and denial).

Individuals whose job titles contain more question marks than letters.

[ANOMALIES AND PHENOMENA]

BASELINE REALITY STABILITY: Suboptimal.

NOTED ANOMALIES:

Temporal Glitches: Events occur both before and after themselves.

Spatial Distortions: Hallways occasionally extend into non-Euclidean geometry.

Energy Surges: Origin points: classified, undefined, and possibly beyond comprehension.

RECENT INCIDENT:

Lab 3 now contains a swirling vortex of “we’re not sure.”

Flight Line 7 experienced a disappearing jet; it returned three days before it left.

The breakroom coffee machine dispensed liquid antimatter. Staff opted for tea.

THEORETICAL EXPLANATION:

Interdimensional rift.

Quantum instability.

The base exists at a nexus point between realities, or perhaps realities exist at a nexus point beneath the base.

OFFICIAL RESPONSE: “Please submit anomaly reports in triplicate.”

[PURPOSE ASSESSMENT]

DECLARED FUNCTION:

Support for fleet operations.

Testing ground for advanced technologies.

Research hub for “ideas we probably shouldn’t be having.”

ACTUAL FUNCTION:

A containment zone for human curiosity, ambition, and unintentional reality warping.

An ongoing experiment in “how much weirdness can be crammed into one location before it collapses.”

BASE MOTTO (UNOFFICIAL):

“We pretend to know what’s happening so you don’t have to.”

END OF FILE // STATUS: PERPETUAL DISARRAY

[inpoppyfields]

Unauthorized Visitors: The Siblings

Incident Report #067: The Hot Topic Siblings Time: 1500 hours Witness: OFFICER A Location: Base Hallways

Summary: At 1500 hours, three individuals were spotted loitering around the base hallways. The first two, both young adults, were dressed as though they had raided a local Hot Topic: one, a blond male with neon green eyes and a dark blue streak in his hair, wore a band hoodie with ripped jeans, while the second, a young woman with short black hair and glowing red eyes, sported a spiked leather jacket and combat boots. The third, a much smaller boy wearing oversized black overalls and a beanie, was seen holding a miniature toy tank. The trio were observed standing around a vending machine, with the young woman shaking it while the boy and the blond cheered her on. When approached by personnel, all three flickered and vanished.

Analysis: These individuals have been identified as UNIT, GAMMA, and TITAN’s avatars. The glowing neon green eyes, red eyes, and overall Hot Topic-inspired fashion choices are unmistakable. UNIT, clearly the heavy muscle, was seen physically assaulting the vending machine, while GAMMA provided vocal encouragement, and TITAN quietly played with his toy tank. While not destructive, their antics are becoming a recurring theme, especially in areas where vending machines are involved. Additional surveillance is recommended, as TITAN’s innocent participation suggests this trio is only getting started.

Incident Report #068: The Hangar Skate Show Time: 1630 hours Witness: LIEUTENANT B Location: Base Hangar

Summary: At 1630 hours, three individuals were spotted in the base hangar, this time engaging in what can only be described as an unauthorized skate show. The first individual, a young man with neon green eyes and a dark blue streak in his hair, was performing tricks on a skateboard, flipping over base equipment while yelling, “Check this out!” The second individual, a young woman with glowing red eyes and a spiked leather jacket, was seen trying to bench press a stack of crates while also wearing fingerless gloves. The third, a much smaller boy dressed in black overalls, was watching while holding a toy tank. The group flickered and disappeared once personnel entered the hangar.

Analysis: The UNIT, GAMMA, and TITAN trio are at it again. UNIT, dressed in her usual “I just robbed Hot Topic” attire, was clearly flexing her muscle as the group’s powerhouse by trying to bench press literal crates, while GAMMA’s skateboard tricks (and inevitable failure to land them) caused a racket. TITAN’s quiet observation with his toy tank suggests he’s the calmer sibling of the group, but his participation is growing. The fact that UNIT and GAMMA continue to treat the base like an LA mall’s skate park is starting to raise more serious concerns about their “downtime” behavior.

Incident Report #070: The Toy Tank Army Time: 1100 hours Witness: OFFICER D Location: Base Garden

Summary: At 1100 hours, three individuals were seen setting up a formation of toy tanks in the base garden. The group consisted of a young man with blond hair and neon green eyes, dressed in a band hoodie; a young woman with black hair and glowing red eyes, wearing a spiked leather jacket; and a small boy in overalls and a beanie, carrying a toy tank. The boy appeared to be carefully arranging the tanks in an attack formation while the other two provided commentary and encouragement. The group flickered and disappeared when personnel approached.

Analysis: This incident, once again, involves UNIT, GAMMA, and TITAN’s avatars. TITAN, the youngest of the trio, seems to have taken on the role of a military strategist, arranging toy tanks with the precision of a field commander, while UNIT and GAMMA served as the overenthusiastic older siblings. Their coordinated effort in what can only be described as “toy tank warfare” is amusing, if a little concerning given the military setting. The trio’s antics continue to reflect a sibling dynamic, with TITAN growing more involved in their chaos. Security should prepare for further escalation.

Incident Report #072: The Sibling Prank War Time: 1200 hours Witness: OFFICER F Location: Base Hallways

Summary: At 1200 hours, three individuals were seen engaging in what appeared to be an intense prank war in the base hallways. The first individual, a young man with neon green eyes and a dark blue streak in his hair, was seen ducking behind cover as a young woman with glowing red eyes hurled a paper airplane at him. A small boy in black overalls and a beanie was giggling as he watched from behind a stack of crates. The group flickered and disappeared after the paper airplane hit its target and the young man pretended to be mortally wounded.

Analysis: The UNIT, GAMMA, and TITAN trio seem to have escalated their sibling-like dynamic into a full-on prank war. GAMMA’s speed allowed him to dodge UNIT’s projectiles for a while, but her strength eventually won out. TITAN, as the youngest, appears to be enjoying the chaos from the sidelines. While their antics are harmless, the ongoing “Hot Topic sibling” shenanigans are becoming a recurring theme, and further disruptions are expected. The paper airplane was recovered but found to be non-classified.

[inpoppyfields]

Unauthorized Visitors: Incident Compilation [2]

REPORT: UNAUTHORIZED DAY VISITORS – NEW FACES, MORE CONFUSION

INCIDENT REPORT 262 – Unauthorized “Visitor” – Suspected CRUX Avatar

Witness: SERGEANT T Location: Officer’s Lounge Time: 1900 hours

Description of Incident: At 1900 hours, a tall, muscular figure dressed in black jeans, a dark hoodie, and combat boots was seen sitting in the corner of the officer’s lounge. The individual had short, dark hair and pale skin, with intense red eyes that seemed to glow faintly in the dim lighting. Witnesses noted that the figure was knitting in an oddly brooding manner, creating what appeared to be a scarf with deliberate, forceful movements.

Despite the quiet nature of the activity, the figure’s focused expression and heavy presence made it difficult for anyone to approach. Occasionally, the figure would glance up from their knitting, briefly glitching before returning to the task at hand.

Final Analysis: This figure is clearly CRUX’s avatar, whose pale skin, short dark hair, and imposing build reflect the unit’s intense, brooding combat persona. The act of knitting—done with an alarming level of intensity—seems to be CRUX’s chosen form of stress relief, though the sheer focus with which the avatar engages in this gentle activity only adds to the eerie nature of the encounter. The glowing red eyes are a direct reference to CRUX’s mechanical form, and the occasional glitching suggests that the avatar is not entirely comfortable in such a relaxed setting. However, CRUX’s determination to knit through the brooding is… impressive.

INCIDENT REPORT 268 – Unauthorized “Visitor” – Suspected MIRA Avatar

Witness: LIEUTENANT Y Location: Base Laundry Room Time: 1400 hours

Description of Incident: At 1400 hours, an elderly woman with salt-and-pepper hair tied in a bun, wearing a long blue dress and sandals, was seen inside the base laundry room, carefully examining the washing machines. The woman appeared puzzled, occasionally pressing buttons and staring at the dials with a look of deep concentration. Her dark brown skin had a weathered appearance, and she moved slowly, as though contemplating every action.

When asked by personnel what she was doing, the woman sighed and said, “I’ve seen many storms, but none like this.” She continued to inspect the washing machines, even lifting the lids and nodding thoughtfully before leaving the room with a quiet, purposeful walk. The figure glitched briefly as she exited.

Final Analysis: This wise, elderly visitor is almost certainly MIRA’s avatar, whose salt-and-pepper hair and dark brown skin reflect the unit’s connection to both land and sea. MIRA’s confusion over the laundry machines suggests that, despite her experience in navigating harsh environments, she’s entirely perplexed by the concept of human technology. The avatar’s slow, deliberate movements and cryptic comment about storms reflect MIRA’s contemplative, ancient nature. The glitching only adds to the sense that MIRA’s avatar is struggling to understand human customs—specifically, how laundry works.

INCIDENT REPORT 274 – Unauthorized “Visitor” – Suspected THUNDER Avatar

Witness: MAJOR P Location: Base Garden Time: 0800 hours

Description of Incident: At 0800 hours, a broad-shouldered figure dressed in dark blue cargo pants and a light gray sweatshirt was seen walking through the base garden. The individual had dark skin and neatly trimmed black hair, with glowing neon green eyes that seemed to survey the area with a calm, authoritative air. The figure paused occasionally to inspect the flowers, gently adjusting the plants with large, careful hands.

When approached by base personnel, the figure smiled and said, “A well-tended garden reflects a well-tended mind.” They then continued their peaceful walk through the garden, only briefly glitching as they bent down to move a stone out of the path.

Final Analysis: This calm, strong visitor is clearly THUNDER’s avatar, whose dark skin and green eyes match the unit’s authoritative, bird-like nature. The neatly trimmed hair and casual but sturdy clothing reflect THUNDER’s no-nonsense, wise personality, while the avatar’s interaction with the garden suggests a protective, nurturing side. The occasional glitching likely stems from the strain of projecting such a large, detailed avatar, though THUNDER’s focus remains on maintaining balance and calm in the environment. Apparently, even a battle-hardened unit like THUNDER can find peace in the garden.

INCIDENT REPORT 280 – Unauthorized “Visitor” – Suspected BOREAS Avatar

Witness: CORPORAL N Location: Base Cafeteria Time: 1230 hours

Description of Incident: At 1230 hours, a tall figure dressed in a white puffer jacket and light blue jeans was seen standing near the base cafeteria’s freezer, gazing longingly at the frosty glass door. The individual had platinum blonde hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, with pale skin and a relaxed, almost detached expression. Several witnesses noted that the individual briefly opened the freezer door, letting a wave of cold air wash over them before closing it with a contented sigh.

When asked by a nearby officer if they needed anything, the individual smiled faintly and said, “The cold is a reminder.” After this cryptic statement, the figure left the cafeteria, glitching slightly as they passed through the doors.

Final Analysis: This frosty visitor is clearly BOREAS’s avatar, whose platinum blonde hair and pale skin reflect the unit’s icy nature. The white puffer jacket and fascination with the cold environment suggest that BOREAS feels most at home near freezing temperatures, even in avatar form. The avatar’s calm demeanor and cryptic comments about the cold highlight the unit’s deep connection to frost-based operations, though the glitching indicates some struggle with maintaining a solid presence in warmer environments like the cafeteria. For BOREAS, a freezer is apparently more than just a storage area—it’s a reminder of home.

[inpoppyfields]

Unauthorized Visitors: Incident Compilation [1]

REPORT: UNAUTHORIZED DAY VISITORS

INCIDENT REPORT 011 – Unauthorized “Visitor” – Suspected GAMMA Avatar

Witness: LIEUTENANT F Location: Base Perimeter, Southern Wall Time: 1440 hours

Description of Incident: At approximately 1440 hours, a young man, estimated to be in his early twenties, was seen skateboarding along the base’s southern perimeter, performing tricks along the security rail. The individual, dressed in a graphic T-shirt depicting an alien landscape (possibly a fan of abstract planetary aesthetics), and loose black cargo pants, proceeded to graffiti several sections of the perimeter wall. Witnesses describe the art as unexpectedly intricate, featuring elaborate scenes of alien landscapes and star formations. Despite being in a restricted area, the individual continued for 15 minutes without any concern for military decorum, offering a nonchalant wave to the guards before skating off into the desert.

Final Analysis: The bright blue hair streak and reckless behavior strongly suggest that this was GAMMA’s avatar, who appears to believe the base is his personal skate park. The artistic graffiti—showcasing actual alien vistas—aligns with recent recon data from Planet XJ-47, confirming GAMMA's artistic side. The cargo pants mimic the sleek, segmented armor of GAMMA’s agile mechanical form, while the blue streak pays homage to the neon blue optics on GAMMA’s headgear. Considering the speed at which GAMMA skated away, it seems the avatar’s personality is just as impulsive and obnoxious as its original form. Apparently, GAMMA believes military installations can benefit from “street art.” The base perimeter is likely thrilled.

INCIDENT REPORT 016 – Unauthorized “Visitor” – Suspected SPARROW Avatar

Witness: OFFICER H Location: Base Hillside Time: 1215 hours

Description of Incident: At 1215 hours, a woman with long scarlet hair was spotted on the hillside overlooking the base. She appeared to be painting the surrounding landscape, using an easel and various brushes, all while wearing a bohemian-style dress with numerous bronze bangles around her wrists. The painting featured a mix of Earth landscapes with intricate mechanical elements, blending nature with advanced technology. Despite the oddity of her presence, the woman remained completely immersed in her work, humming softly as she painted. Attempts to communicate with the individual were met with calm, peaceful disinterest.

Final Analysis: This avatar belongs to SPARROW, known for its sleek, agile form and precision-based aerial maneuvers. The scarlet hair mirrors SPARROW’s bright bronze-and-scarlet crest atop its mechanical body, while the bronze bangles likely reference the bronze accents in SPARROW's armor. The bohemian vibe is a charmingly odd contrast to the unit’s mechanical efficiency. The peaceful landscape painting is just a bit unexpected, considering SPARROW spends most of its time mapping alien skies and engaging in aerial dogfights. Clearly, this unit uses its downtime to embrace its inner hippie.

REPORT: GHOST SIGHTINGS

INCIDENT REPORT 022 – Ghost Sighting – Suspected CRUX Avatar

Witness: CORPORAL J Location: Sublevel 3, Maintenance Bay Time: 0215 hours

Description of Incident: CORPORAL J reported encountering a tall, imposing figure standing in the shadows of Sublevel 3. The individual was dressed in a long black trench coat and heavy boots, standing perfectly still. The only noticeable feature was a pair of faintly glowing red eyes, which seemed to follow the corporal as they passed. Despite several attempts to engage, the figure remained silent and unmoving before disappearing further into the shadows.

Final Analysis: This stoic, shadowy presence almost certainly belongs to CRUX, a heavily armored, slow-moving unit. The choice of a black trench coat seems to mirror CRUX’s dark, bulky plating, which is designed for heavy combat and defensive tactics. The glowing red eyes are a direct reflection of CRUX’s primary optic sensors. The unnerving stillness and refusal to engage likely mimic CRUX’s ability to endure long periods of inaction during siege missions. Apparently, even in avatar form, CRUX believes looming silently in the dark is an acceptable form of communication. Classic CRUX.

INCIDENT REPORT 030 – Ghost Sighting – Suspected GLACIER Avatar

Witness: LIEUTENANT S Location: Base Reservoir Time: 0330 hours

Description of Incident: A tall, androgynous figure was seen standing near the reservoir. The individual wore a long, flowing white robe with intricate silver embroidery and seemed to emit a faint, cool blue hue. The figure stood motionless, staring across the water, occasionally tracing invisible shapes in the air. At one point, the figure appeared to distort the light around it, as though its very presence was causing the surroundings to shimmer. After a few moments, the figure stepped toward the water’s edge and seemingly vanished into its reflection.

Final Analysis: The ghostly figure seen at the reservoir is undoubtedly the avatar of GLACIER, a unit known for its cold, calculating approach to combat. The white and silver robe reflects GLACIER’s icy, metallic color scheme, while the blue hue of the avatar likely corresponds to the cool blue biolights that line its mechanical body. The shimmering effect is probably the avatar’s glitchy way of mimicking GLACIER’s long-range optics, which are designed to scan frozen, reflective terrains. Apparently, even in human form, GLACIER prefers to quietly haunt bodies of water. Fitting.

INCIDENT REPORT 035 – Ghost Sighting – Suspected SERAPH Avatar

Witness: MAJOR G Location: Observation Deck Time: 0445 hours

Description of Incident: A tall man, dressed in a pristine white suit with gold accents, was seen standing on the observation deck before dawn. The individual’s bright gold eyes glowed faintly in the early morning light, and he appeared to be staring into the sky, completely motionless. Several personnel passed by but noted that the man seemed entirely disinterested in human interaction. Witnesses reported an unusual sense of calm and focus emanating from the figure, despite his failure to acknowledge anyone around him.

Final Analysis: This elegantly dressed avatar almost certainly belongs to SERAPH, a reconnaissance unit known for its high-altitude scouting missions. The white suit with gold trim reflects SERAPH’s sleek white and gold armor, while the golden eyes are a clear nod to the unit’s advanced optic sensors. The avatar’s calm, silent observation of the sky mirrors SERAPH’s mission of celestial navigation and high-altitude flight, where its role is to watch and report. Apparently, in avatar form, SERAPH prefers the strong, silent type, choosing to communicate by doing absolutely nothing. At least it’s on brand.

[inpoppyfields]

[LILY PONDERINGS]: Dream of an Old Flame

The space station was silent, its cold, metallic walls untouched by the warmth of sunlight or the soft hum of life.

Inside her small, dim quarters, DONOR lay curled up in bed, dressed in her usual soft, muted pajamas—a pale gray sweater that hung loosely over her frame and soft, flowy pants. Her short bob of hair barely brushed her cheek as she lay still, gripping PILOT’s flight badge tightly in her hand. The smooth metal pressed into her palm, cool and lifeless, but grounding.

At the foot of the bed, the cat, its cherry-red eyes blinking lazily, curled up into a small ball, as though keeping watch. The room was dark, a faint light glowing in the corner, but the coldness of space seemed to creep in.

As DONOR drifted deeper into sleep, the cold began to fade. Warmth spread around her, subtle at first, like the faintest touch of heat brushing against her skin. Slowly, it grew stronger, familiar, comforting.

She felt it before she saw it—the presence of PILOT.

1. The Dream

When DONOR opened her eyes, she wasn’t in the cold darkness of the space station anymore.

Her quarters were bathed in an ethereal, golden light, like sunlight—warm, bright, impossible. It streamed through a window that shouldn’t have been there, filling the room with a soft, gentle glow that wrapped around her like a blanket. The warmth was overwhelming, so unlike anything she had felt in the station’s cold metal corridors.

And then she realized she wasn’t alone.

Before she even turned, DONOR felt the weight beside her—the solid, familiar presence of PILOT. Her breath hitched, her heart racing as she lay still, her body tense with anticipation, afraid that any movement might break the dream. But the warmth was undeniable, radiating from the figure beside her.

Slowly, she turned her head, and her heart nearly stopped.

PILOT was there, lying next to her, close enough that DONOR could feel the warmth of her body pressing against her side. Her black hair, usually tied back in its characteristic braid, was let down, cascading in soft, loose waves over her shoulders. The sight of it, so rare, made DONOR’s chest ache with emotion. PILOT’s face was relaxed, her lips pulled into the faintest of smiles, and her eyes were closed, as if she were simply enjoying a moment of peace.

For a moment, DONOR just stared, her breath caught in her throat. She took in PILOT’s face, the familiar curve of her jaw, the strength in her cheekbones, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each steady breath. She was alive—whole, unbroken, as if nothing had ever happened. The sunlight illuminated her skin, casting her in a warm glow that made her seem almost ethereal, and the air was filled with the familiar scent of musk and fresh linen that always lingered around her.

PILOT shifted slightly, her arm brushing against DONOR’s, and the warmth of her skin sent a wave of emotion through DONOR’s body. She had missed this—missed PILOT’s presence, the heat that radiated from her, the way her body seemed to fill the space beside her.

Slowly, PILOT’s eyes fluttered open, and they locked with DONOR’s. A soft, teasing smile tugged at the corners of PILOT’s lips, the familiar smirk that always preceded some sarcastic remark.

“Took you long enough,” PILOT murmured, her voice low and playful.

DONOR couldn’t speak at first. Her heart ached too much. She reached out, her hand trembling as she touched PILOT’s arm, feeling the solid warmth of her skin beneath her fingers. It felt so real. She could feel the faint pulse of life beneath PILOT’s skin, the strength in her muscles, and the heat that radiated from her body.

Her voice cracked when she finally spoke. “You’re here.”

PILOT let out a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating through her chest as she shifted closer, pressing her body lightly against DONOR’s. She reached up, brushing a few strands of DONOR’s short hair behind her ear with the same ease she had always carried.

“You’re always thinking too much,” PILOT teased gently, her hand lingering on DONOR’s cheek, her thumb tracing the edge of her skin in a slow, deliberate motion. The warmth of her touch made DONOR’s chest tighten.

DONOR’s breath shook as she reached up, her fingers tangling in PILOT’s hair—that long, loose cascade that had always been so rare to see. She let the soft strands slip between her fingers, savoring the feel of it, of her. PILOT’s hair, once so familiar, now felt like a lifeline.

“I miss you,” DONOR whispered, her voice barely audible.

PILOT’s face softened, the playful smirk fading into something more tender. She moved closer, her body pressing more firmly against DONOR’s, her arms wrapping around her in a gentle, warm embrace. “I know,” she murmured softly, her breath warm against DONOR’s ear.

The sunlight around them grew brighter, bathing the room in a heavenly, ethereal glow. DONOR’s heart ached as she leaned into PILOT’s warmth, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest, the strength in her body. It was everything she had missed—PILOT’s heat, her strength, the way she made the world feel grounded and safe.

PILOT shifted, wrapping both arms around DONOR as if to shield her from the cold. Her touch was firm, but gentle, and DONOR let herself sink into the warmth, her heart aching with the knowledge that this was only a dream.

PILOT’s body was so solid, so real, and DONOR let her hands roam over the familiar contours of her arms and shoulders, memorizing every inch. She pressed her face into PILOT’s neck, breathing in the scent of her, feeling the heat of her skin against her lips.

“I’m still here, D,” PILOT whispered, her voice full of that quiet confidence. “You just have to stop looking in the wrong places.”

DONOR tightened her arms around PILOT, pulling her closer, desperate to hold onto this moment, to keep the warmth and light from slipping away. Her heart pounded in her chest as she buried her face in PILOT’s hair, feeling the silky strands brush against her skin.

PILOT’s chest rose and fell gently against her own, the rhythm of her breathing steady and strong. DONOR wanted to stay like this forever, wanted to lose herself in the warmth, the light, the impossible sense of safety that PILOT brought.

2. Waking Alone

When DONOR opened her eyes again, the warmth was gone.

The bed beside her was cold and empty, and the soft, golden sunlight that had filled the room had vanished, replaced by the harsh, artificial lighting of the space station. She blinked slowly, her heart heavy as the dream faded, leaving only the cold reality behind.

Her arms were still wrapped around something, but it wasn’t PILOT. She looked down, her chest tightening as she saw PILOT’s flight badge resting in her hands, cold and lifeless.

The cat blinked up at her from the foot of the bed, its cherry-red eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. It padded up to her side, curling into the empty space where PILOT had been, as if sensing the grief that now filled the room.

DONOR lay still, staring at the flight badge in her hands, her heart aching with the loss of the warmth and the light. The dream had felt so real, so vivid—but now it was gone, and she was left alone once more.

She exhaled softly, her breath shaky as she whispered into the empty room.

“I miss you.”

The cat nuzzled against her side, offering its small warmth, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

In the quiet of the space station, DONOR lay in bed, clutching the memory of PILOT’s warmth—the heat, the light, the feeling of her solid presence. But now, in the cold reality of the station, all that remained was the empty space where PILOT had once been.

[inpoppyfields]

[LILY PONDERINGS]: Flame in the Dark

The Flame in the Dark

Late at night, the space station was cold and still, the artificial night cycle casting long shadows down the metal corridors. DONOR sat at the edge of her bed, dressed in her usual off-duty loose, pale gray sweater, her hands wrapped around a coffee mug. The faint hum of the station’s machinery was the only sound in the quiet room.

The cat, curled up beside her, purred softly, its cherry-red eyes half-closed.

DONOR took a slow sip of her coffee, her gaze distant. The coffee was warm, but it didn’t fill the space inside her like it used to. Nothing really did—not after PILOT was gone.

"This is the part where you say something deep and meaningful, right?" PILOT’s voice echoed faintly in her mind, the usual sarcastic tone clear as day.

DONOR’s lips twitched, almost smiling. She set the mug down and leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

That’s when she felt it—heat. Soft, warm, like someone had lit a fire in the room. She closed her eyes, her brow furrowing slightly as the warmth spread across her skin. It felt like the gentle heat of a smoky hearth, the kind of comforting fire you’d curl up next to on a cold night on Earth.

It was impossible, of course. There was no fire here, no hearth, no warmth beyond the sterile environment of the station. But the heat persisted, wrapping around her like the familiar embrace of someone she knew too well.

"You’re still here, aren’t you?" DONOR whispered, her voice barely audible in the dim room.

The lights above flickered briefly, casting small spikes of light that danced across the walls, like sunlight filtering through trees. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but the warmth remained.

The cat opened one eye, watching the light flicker before closing it again, as if it, too, recognized the presence of PILOT in the room.

The warmth faded slowly, but the memory of it lingered, leaving DONOR with an ache in her chest. She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, as if holding onto the last traces of PILOT’s fiery spirit.

The Sunlight That Shouldn’t Be

The command center was bustling with quiet activity, officers at their stations, reports coming in, the usual hum of space operations. DONOR stood at her console, her sharp eyes scanning the latest updates. Her duty uniform was crisp and neat, but her expression remained impassive, as it always did.

Suddenly, she felt it again—heat.

It was subtle at first, like standing in a beam of sunlight, which made no sense. There was no sunlight here. The station was far from Earth, floating in the cold void, with only artificial lighting to mimic the warmth of home.

But the heat grew stronger, pressing against her skin. DONOR’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the console, her posture stiffening.

"Miss me yet?" PILOT’s familiar teasing voice drifted through her thoughts, full of cocky humor.

DONOR blinked, her gaze flicking to the corner of the room where a faint glow seemed to emanate from one of the overhead lights. The light anomaly was small, barely noticeable, but it shimmered with a faint golden hue, like the light of a warm Earth afternoon.

Her jaw clenched, but she said nothing. The heat lingered for a moment longer, warm and grounding, like the presence of someone who had always been there to keep her steady.

The cat, sitting quietly at her feet, lifted its head and stared at the glowing light, its red eyes reflecting the strange phenomenon.

"You’re ridiculous," DONOR muttered under her breath, her face betraying no emotion as she returned to her work.

But the warmth clung to her, a small reminder that PILOT’s spirit hadn’t fully left her, even in the cold void of space.

The Name on the Wall

The memorial room was a place DONOR rarely visited. The names of the dead were etched in soft, glowing light along the dark walls, a simple and quiet reminder of loss. PILOT’s name was among them, glowing faintly in the blackness of the room.

On a rare evening, DONOR found herself drawn there, her usual stoic expression softened as she entered the room. She walked slowly, her footsteps almost silent on the cold floor. When she reached PILOT’s name, she paused, staring at it for a long time.

"You’d hate this," she murmured, her voice barely audible in the silence. "You always said you didn’t want a memorial."

In her mind, she could almost hear PILOT’s retort, something sarcastic and irreverent. "Damn right. Should’ve just named a pizza after me instead."

DONOR’s lips twitched into the smallest of smiles, though her eyes remained heavy with sadness. As she stood there, something caught her attention—a small, familiar shape curled up by the base of the wall.

The cat was there, sitting quietly near PILOT’s name, its cherry-red eyes watching her with a strange, almost knowing expression. It had found its way here on its own, and now it sat there, as if paying its own respects to the one DONOR had lost.

For a long time, DONOR simply stood there, her gaze shifting between PILOT’s name and the cat, the quiet presence of both comforting and heartbreaking.

[inpoppyfields]

[LILY PONDERINGS]: The Anomalous Cat [2]

1. The Milk Carton Conspiracy

DONOR had gotten used to the milk disappearing—well, as used to it as one could be when constantly bested by a furry little tyrant. She still reached for the carton every morning, but now with a sense of resignation. More often than not, the milk had mysteriously vanished.

But today, something different happened.

She opened the fridge, expecting the worst, and found the milk carton sitting right where she’d left it. Untouched.

Her brow furrowed. This was unusual.

She pulled the carton out, and that’s when she noticed it—a small, neatly folded note resting underneath it. Written in shaky handwriting that was too bizarre to be human, the note simply read: "YOU CAN KEEP THIS ONE"

DONOR stared at it for a long moment. She glanced around her quarters, half-expecting the cat to materialize out of thin air and smugly observe her reaction.

The cat was nowhere to be seen, of course. But its cherry-red eyes seemed to watch her from every shadow.

Shrugging it off, she poured the milk into her coffee. For now, the milk wars had paused.

But she had no doubt the battle would resume.

2. The Phantom Messages

The cat’s intelligence was a secret, but not a well-kept one. Lower-ranking personnel aboard the station had started whispering about strange, unexplained messages appearing on the base’s systems. The messages were always brief, cryptic, and occasionally sarcastic, leading to more confusion than answers.

One afternoon, a young officer sprinted into DONOR’s quarters, looking panicked and holding a printout.

"Ma’am, I don’t know what this means, but it showed up in our mission logs."

He handed her the paper, and she took it with a measured glance. The message was simple, composed of random characters and symbols, but one part stood out: "NO MILK. FIND MORE."

Her eyes scanned the words, then flicked to the officer, who was clearly baffled. She sighed, placing the paper on her desk.

"Don’t worry about it," DONOR said flatly. "I’ll handle it."

As the officer left, still confused, she turned her attention to the cat that had now casually appeared on the desk, lounging as if it had done nothing wrong. Its red eyes blinked slowly, knowingly.

"You’re enjoying this too much," DONOR muttered, lightly scratching its head. The cat purred loudly, curling up on the keyboard—a clear sign that more messages were likely coming.

3. The "Cat" vs. High Command (Round 2)

The ongoing battle between the cat and high command had reached legendary status. The officers barely saw the creature, but its influence was felt throughout the station. Like the time it managed to sneak into a high-priority briefing and—somehow—turned the entire presentation on military defense systems into a slideshow of various milk cartons.

There had been no explanation. No one had seen it happen.

All that remained were the images of milk cartons, slowly rotating on the screen, while the most serious, stone-faced officers on base sat in stunned silence.

The Admiral had eventually cleared his throat and declared the incident a malfunction, though the quick flicker of a smug furry silhouette darting out of the room hinted at a different culprit.

Afterward, DONOR received a brief communication from high command: "COMMANDER, KEEP YOUR CAT OUT OF OUR BRIEFINGS."

DONOR had merely responded: "I’ll try." But even she knew it was a losing battle.

The cat did what it wanted, and no rank could stop it.

4. The Milk-Carton Thief Strikes Again

The station’s scientists had started taking an interest in the cat, mostly because it defied every attempt to categorize it.

"Is it… from this dimension?" one of the lead researchers had asked DONOR once, during a casual conversation in the mess hall.

"I wouldn’t know," DONOR replied, sipping her coffee, the cat curled up on her lap. "But I wouldn’t be surprised."

The researchers had run a number of tests, but every result came back inconclusive.

"It defies classification," they said, as if that were a satisfactory conclusion. The cat had swiped at their equipment during testing, and now, every so often, strange glitches would occur in the base’s systems—glitches that couldn’t be traced back to any known malfunction.

Meanwhile, the milk-carton heists continued unabated. It had become something of a legend on the base—a topic whispered about in the mess hall and the corridors, especially among lower-ranking personnel. There were even rumors that the cat had hacked into the station’s supply logs and allocated more milk than was required.

One morning, as DONOR reached for the milk, she noticed something strange—the carton was perfectly full, as if untouched.

But when she picked it up, it was suspiciously light.

She tilted it, and a small piece of paper slipped out from the bottom: "FAIR EXCHANGE."

Sure enough, when she opened the carton, the liquid inside was water.

The cat, sitting on the counter, blinked lazily at her, its eyes glowing with self-satisfaction.

DONOR couldn’t help the small smirk that crossed her lips. Outsmarted again.

5. The "Cat" and the Admiral’s Keyboard

High command had gotten wise to the cat’s antics. They’d upgraded security measures, put restrictions on certain systems, and even tried locking the creature out of high-priority areas.

But the cat was persistent.

One evening, as the Admiral typed up a critical report, the keys of his terminal suddenly stopped responding. He frowned, muttering under his breath as he checked the connections.

That’s when he saw it.

Perched at the far end of his desk, its tail flicking lazily, was the cat.

"Commander’s cat," he grumbled. "Of course."

Before the Admiral could react, the screen filled with a brief but clear message: "NO MILK. SEND MORE."

The Admiral stared at the message, then at the cat, who gazed back at him with those bright, cherry-red eyes. Without a word, the cat stood, stretched, and leapt gracefully off the desk, leaving the Admiral sitting in stunned silence.

The next morning, DONOR received another brief communication from high command: "COMMANDER, CONTROL YOUR CAT."

She smiled, a rare flicker of amusement in her usually unreadable expression, and simply typed back: "Understood."

6. The Alien in Disguise

Despite its mischief, the cat remained an enigma to the entire base. The scientists had long given up trying to study it. The officers barely mentioned it, fearing it would somehow involve them in another prank. And yet, there were times when even DONOR couldn’t quite understand the creature’s true nature.

There were nights when she would wake up, sensing something strange, and find the cat sitting in front of the window, staring out into the endless expanse of space. Its red eyes gleamed faintly, reflecting the distant stars, as if it were searching for something—or someone.

"What are you?" DONOR had whispered once, half to herself.

The cat had turned, its eyes glowing in the dim light, and padded over to her bed, curling up beside her. It was moments like these that made her question whether it was really just a pet—or something far more extraordinary.

Whatever it was, the cat remained her closest companion, always there to torment her, but also to comfort her in its own mischievous, infuriating way.

And as the days passed, DONOR found herself not minding the milk thefts or the cryptic messages so much. After all, in the cold, silent void of space, even the most mysterious beings needed a little mischief to keep things interesting.

[inpoppyfields]

[LILY PONDERINGS]: The Anomalous Cat [1]

1. The Battle for the Milk

It all started innocently enough. DONOR sat at her small kitchenette in her quarters, her coffee mug in hand, reaching for the one thing she needed to complete her ritual—the milk. Her routine was simple: coffee, milk, one quiet moment to herself before facing the chaos of the space station.

But today, the universe had other plans.

There, perched on the counter, sat her cat. Or whatever it was. Curly black fur, cherry-red eyes, a creature that seemed less like a cat and more like an interdimensional anomaly that had somehow been allowed onto the base. It stared at her with those glowing red eyes, as if daring her to make the first move.

The milk was between them.

DONOR sighed, already feeling the tension rise. She reached for the milk, but the cat’s paw shot out, tipping the carton over with a deft flick.

"Really?" DONOR muttered, her face remaining calm but her patience wearing thin.

The cat, as if in response, swatted the milk carton onto the floor with an arrogant flick of its tail. The white liquid spread across the tile in a slow, deliberate pool.

DONOR stared at the mess for a moment, her expression unchanging. The cat met her gaze, its red eyes gleaming with mischief.

"You don’t even drink milk," DONOR pointed out, her voice level.

The cat gave no response, simply flicking its tail again as it hopped down from the counter and sauntered through the puddle, leaving tiny paw prints of milk in its wake.

DONOR’s resolve was legendary, unshakeable, but the quiet twitch in her left eyebrow betrayed her growing frustration. She grabbed a towel, bent down, and began wiping up the milk. The cat sat nearby, watching her, smug and superior, as if it had won some grand interspecies war.

Tomorrow, she’d hide the milk.

2. The Interdimensional Stowaway

It wasn’t just milk.

There were days when DONOR swore the cat wasn’t even from this dimension. It would disappear for hours, only to reappear in the strangest places. Like the time she found it sitting on her desk… inside the station’s command center. A place where no living creature—let alone a pet—was allowed.

"How did you get in here?" she whispered, her voice low, not wanting to draw the attention of her fellow officers.

The cat merely blinked, looking completely unbothered by the gravity of the situation. Its cherry-red eyes seemed to glow with a hint of mischief, as if it knew exactly what it was doing.

DONOR quickly scooped the cat up, careful not to attract any attention. She could already imagine the questions she’d have to answer if anyone found out. But as she carried the strange little beast back to her quarters, she swore it purred louder, like it was laughing at her.

3. The Great Sock Heist

Another morning, another routine.

DONOR woke up, rolled out of bed, and immediately noticed something off. Her left sock was missing. She was meticulous about her routine—her socks were always laid out, ready to go. But now, one had mysteriously vanished.

A low, amused purr came from the corner of the room.

She turned, her sharp eyes narrowing at the sight of the cat perched on top of her dresser, her missing sock hanging from its mouth. The creature blinked at her, as if daring her to come and take it.

"Give it back," DONOR said calmly, as if she were negotiating a high-stakes peace treaty.

The cat tilted its head, the sock dangling provocatively.

With a quiet sigh, DONOR stood up and took a step toward the dresser. But the moment her hand reached out, the cat sprang from its spot, dashing out of the room, the sock still in its mouth. The chase began.

She found the sock later, half-chewed, stuffed into her boot. The cat, of course, was nowhere to be found, probably off planning its next heist.

4. The "Cat" as a Tactical Advisor

There was one day, an important briefing, where DONOR needed absolute focus. The base was running simulations for a critical mission, and she was in the middle of reviewing tactical data when she felt it.

A presence.

She looked down at the cat lounging lazily across her tactical display. It had managed to sneak in again, despite the restricted access. Its red eyes glowed ominously, as if it were offering some kind of advice on the current mission.

"You’re not part of the mission," DONOR said flatly, trying to shoo it away.

The cat merely blinked and stretched its paws across the data screens, swiping its tail as though it had just decided to rearrange an entire military operation.

"I need to focus," she added, but the cat didn’t budge.

Instead, it settled more comfortably, purring softly, looking every bit like it owned the station. DONOR sighed, resigning herself to the fact that, no matter how high her rank, she’d always be outranked by this small, furry tyrant.

5. The Day It Brought a "Gift"

One afternoon, DONOR walked into her quarters, ready for a quiet moment alone, only to find something waiting for her on the floor.

It was a small pile of bolts.

Metal pieces, likely stolen from various nooks and crannies of the station, lay neatly arranged in front of her as if they were some kind of offering. And there, sitting proudly beside the pile, was the cat.

"What is this?" DONOR asked, her voice flat, though her eyebrows raised ever so slightly in genuine confusion.

The cat blinked up at her, purring loudly, as though it had done something remarkable. It nudged the pile of bolts with its nose, as if expecting praise.

"This isn’t a gift," DONOR muttered, crouching down to inspect the pile. The bolts were slightly rusted, some bent, all completely useless. But the cat seemed pleased with itself, staring up at her with those glowing red eyes.

She let out a small sigh, then reached down to scratch the top of its head. "Next time, I’d appreciate something a little more… useful."

The cat purred even louder, clearly having no intention of changing its behavior. It was, after all, an interdimensional enigma—or at least that’s what DONOR was beginning to suspect.

6. The Final Straw: The Pillow Incident

The space station had its fair share of rough days, but today had been particularly grueling. All DONOR wanted was a few hours of rest. She collapsed onto her bed, her soft gray sleepwear hugging her body as she buried her head into the pillow.

Except… the pillow didn’t feel quite right.

DONOR sat up, frowning. She reached beneath the pillow, pulling out a claw-marked piece of paper—the latest in the cat’s antics. Written in shaky scrawl was, "Your milk is mine."

And there, in the corner of the room, curled up smugly on her other pillow, lay the cat, already fast asleep.

Conclusion: The Eternal Battle

Day after day, the battle between DONOR and her strange "cat" continued. Each time, DONOR maintained her calm, stoic demeanor, though the twitch in her left eye was becoming a bit more frequent. And the cat? It remained as mysterious—and infuriating—as ever. Whether it was an actual pet or some alien guardian spirit, one thing was clear:

It would never stop testing her resolve.

And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t mind.

[inpoppyfields]

[REST AND RUST]: The Woman in Black and Red

The battlefield stretched far into the distance, a wasteland of wreckage and broken bodies beneath a smoke-choked sky. The scent of charred metal lingered in the air, mixing with the acrid taste of ash. The ground was cold and unforgiving, jagged with shards of fallen units and crushed earth.

PILOT lay at the edge of a shattered metal outcrop, her body broken and bruised, blood pooling beneath her. Her breaths were shallow, each one a reminder of her body’s failing strength.

Somewhere beyond the wreckage, UNIT—the ever-present companion who had fought beside her for so long—lay fatally wounded, its towering mechanical form barely holding together.

Her connection to UNIT was faint now, a thin thread that pulsed weakly in the back of her mind. She felt it slipping away, and with it, the last of her hope. She was alone, stranded in this desolate place, too weak to move, too far for help to reach her in time.

Just as the creeping numbness of unconsciousness began to take hold, a figure appeared in the distance. Through the smoke and ash, someone was walking toward her.

PILOT blinked, struggling to focus. The figure moved with a graceful, fluid gait, dressed in something long and flowing that rippled in the wind. For a fleeting moment, PILOT’s breath caught in her throat. The way the figure moved—the familiar shape of her silhouette—it was impossible, but it looked like DONOR.

“D… DONOR?” PILOT whispered, her voice weak and trembling. Her heart ached as she stared, desperately trying to hold on to the vision in front of her. It can’t be…

The figure drew closer, stepping through the haze, and for one impossibly surreal second, PILOT truly believed that DONOR had returned, walking toward her across the broken landscape. But as the figure came into focus, the illusion shattered.

It wasn’t DONOR.

It was UNIT’s holomatter avatar.

The avatar stood just a few paces away, her form flickering slightly at the edges, though her presence was solid enough to feel real. She was dressed in a simple, minimalist black dress that flowed down to her ankles, fluttering softly in the wind. The dress was loose, elegant in its simplicity, with deep red accents running along the hem and across the shoulders, adding just a hint of color to the darkness. The fabric billowed gently as she moved, but it was torn and dirtied, smeared with dust and blood. Where the dress parted with each gust of wind, it revealed bruises and cuts marring her bare legs, the skin pale and streaked with blood.

The avatar was barefoot, her feet stained from the battlefield, the jagged earth beneath her leaving dark marks on her skin. Her steps were slow and deliberate, though there was a heaviness to her movements, as if she, too, was struggling under the weight of invisible wounds.

PILOT’s breath hitched. Her heart sank as she looked at the avatar’s face—younger, softer, but unmistakably similar to DONOR. The same sharp yet gentle features, the same slender jawline, and the same deep, expressive eyes. But there was a sadness there, a quiet sorrow that seemed to weigh on the avatar’s very existence. She looked so much like DONOR that it hurt to even look at her.

But there was one detail—one small, heartbreaking detail—that gave her away.

Framing the avatar’s face were faint red highlights in her dark hair, subtle streaks that glowed softly in the dim light. It was a small, almost imperceptible feature, but it was enough. Enough to know that this was not DONOR.

The avatar knelt beside PILOT, the long dress pooling around her knees as she reached out with a trembling hand. Her fingers, cold but gentle, brushed against PILOT’s cheek. The touch was real—comforting—but PILOT could feel the flicker of static running through the contact, the telltale sign that UNIT’s energy was fading fast.

“Not DONOR,” the avatar whispered, her voice low and quiet, barely a breath. It was a softer version of UNIT’s usual rumbling tone, but now, there was a tremor in it. “Just me… just UNIT.”

PILOT’s lip trembled, tears welling in her eyes. The pain, both physical and emotional, was almost too much to bear. She had seen UNIT’s holomatter avatar before, always vibrant and full of energy, warm and playful. But now, this avatar seemed haunted, her demeanor solemn and sullen. Her bright, youthful spark had dimmed, replaced with a deep, quiet sadness that mirrored DONOR’s in her final days.

The avatar’s hand lingered on PILOT’s face, her thumb gently tracing the dirt and blood away from her skin. There was something in the way she moved—something familiar. The soft touch, the slight tilt of her head, the way she brushed the hair from PILOT’s forehead—it was a mirror of DONOR’s old habits, the subtle mannerisms that used to calm PILOT after long, grueling missions. Now, seeing them in the avatar, it felt like a ghost had returned.

“I thought… I lost you,” PILOT murmured, her voice cracking as her eyes scanned the avatar’s form. She took in the bruises, the cuts, the gash along the avatar’s side that bled through the flowing dress. “You’re… hurt.”

The avatar smiled faintly, but it was a smile filled with pain. “I know,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “But that doesn’t matter now. You need to stay awake.”

PILOT’s vision blurred as tears welled up. She was too weak to fight, too broken to hold on. But the sight of UNIT’s avatar—so much like DONOR—was keeping her tethered to this moment, to this final, fragile connection.

The avatar’s fingers brushed through PILOT’s hair, her movements slow and tender. The long dress fluttered around her in the wind, flowing like a river of black and red fabric that pooled in the dirt, contrasting starkly against the battlefield. The red highlights in her hair caught the fading light, glowing faintly as she leaned closer, her expression heavy with sorrow.

“Stay with me,” the avatar murmured, her voice soft, filled with an unbearable tenderness. Her eyes—DONOR’s eyes—were filled with quiet grief. “Help will come.”

But they both knew it wouldn’t. Help was too far. UNIT was dying.

The avatar cradled PILOT in her lap, her hands trembling as she held her close. The dress fanned out around them, the fabric clinging to PILOT’s broken body, soft against the rough ground. The way the avatar moved, the way she wrapped her arms around PILOT, was so human, so heartbreakingly gentle. She rocked her slightly, her fingers tracing circles on PILOT’s arm in an attempt to soothe the pain, but the effort only made the truth more painful.

PILOT’s eyes fluttered, her consciousness fading. Her gaze drifted back to the avatar’s face—DONOR’s face, younger, softer, but still so achingly familiar. The resemblance was too much to bear.

“I’m… sorry,” PILOT whispered, her voice barely audible, her lips trembling.

The avatar’s eyes glistened with tears. “No,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Don’t be. I’m here.”

PILOT’s vision dimmed, the world around her fading into shadows. The avatar’s face, once solid, began to flicker like a dying flame. Static rippled through her form, and the edges of her dress—once flowing and real—began to dissolve into fragments of light.

And then, in her final moments of awareness, PILOT saw it—the avatar’s face, so much like DONOR’s, flickering one last time. The sorrow in her eyes deepened, and with a final breath, the image of DONOR’s face faded into static.

UNIT was gone.

The avatar’s form dissolved into a wisp of energy, leaving behind only silence. PILOT’s eyes closed, the last image burned into her mind—the ghost of DONOR’s face, flickering out like the dying light of a star.

End Log

[inpoppyfields]

Sick Call: A Band-Aid for a Tank

The hangar was a place of chaos. Thick, dark smoke hung in the air, and the metallic stench of burnt machinery clung to everything. Welding torches hissed as repair crews worked relentlessly, their sparks lighting up the vast, shadowy space.

TITAN, the massive tank unit, was parked dormant in the repair bay, its huge body scarred and torn from the brutal plasma cannon hit. The blast had left a jagged, gaping hole in its side—big enough to swallow a truck.

The sound of grinding metal filled the air as the repair crews worked to patch up the damage, but every cut, every weld, sent a fresh wave of searing pain through TITAN’s systems. Inside, TITAN could feel the jagged ache, the sharp sting of every weld and bolt being hammered back into place. It was overwhelming.

Suddenly, with a flicker of energy, TITAN activated its holomatter avatar. The massive, hulking form of the tank flickered and was replaced by something much smaller.

A young boy stood at the edge of the hangar, clutching a small toy version of TITAN in his arms. The boy’s wide honey-colored eyes were filled with concern as he looked up at the hulking mechanical form. His beige overalls hung loosely on his small frame, and his arm was in a sling—just like TITAN’s own wound. Bandages covered his body, and he winced as he pressed a small hand to his side, feeling the same dull pain that echoed through his mechanical form.

He glanced down at the toy in his arms, and his heart sank. The toy tank—a miniature version of TITAN—had a massive crack in its side, mirroring the gaping wound on TITAN’s real body. The boy’s lips trembled as he lightly traced the crack with his finger. The pain was muted now, but still there.

TITAN was hurt, and he needed help.

The boy took a deep breath, holding the toy tightly against his chest as he turned and padded softly out of the hangar, his bare feet tapping quietly against the cold metal floor. The noise, the pain—it was too much here. He needed to find something that would help.

[Setting: Medbay, Earth Base]

The medbay was a stark contrast to the hangar’s gritty chaos. The air here was cool and sterile, and the harsh fluorescent lights cast a soft glow over the space. Medics in military fatigues moved with quiet efficiency, tending to patients behind drawn curtains, their footsteps and conversations muffled. The atmosphere was heavy, but there was a kind of stillness to it—a sense of urgency tempered by control.

The boy, TITAN’s avatar, stepped quietly into the medbay, holding his toy tank carefully in his good arm. He winced as a sharp ache flared in his side, his own pain echoing the wound on his mechanical body. His honey-colored eyes scanned the room, searching for someone who could help.

At the nurses’ station, a young medic with stern eyes was reviewing a list of patients—bullet wounds, plasma burns, concussions. She was deep in concentration, the weight of her work evident in her furrowed brow and tight posture.

The boy hesitated, clutching the cracked toy tank closer to his chest. Finally, he stepped forward, his voice soft and tentative. “Excuse me…”

The medic glanced up, her expression suddenly a mask of absolute confusion as she looked down at the child standing before her.

She blinked, then frowned, clearly trying to make sense of what she was seeing. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice clipped.

The boy’s eyes widened, and he held up the toy tank, his voice trembling slightly. “TITAN has a boo-boo,” he said quietly, looking down at the crack in the tank. “It hurts. Can… can I have a bandaid?”

The medic stared at him, dumbfounded. A bandaid?

Come on. For a machine like TITAN? For a wound that could probably swallow the entire medbay?

Before she could say anything, an older medic—also dressed in fatigues, his hair graying at the edges—appeared beside her. He crouched down to the boy’s level, his face softening as he took in the child’s wide, innocent eyes and the cracked toy in his hands.

“Son,” the older medic said gently, his voice low and kind, “you said TITAN has a boo-boo?”

The boy nodded, wincing slightly as the pain in his side flared again. He held up the toy tank, pointing to the crack. “TITAN got hurt real bad… it was a big blast. And it hurts… a lot.”

The older medic glanced at the younger one, who still looked baffled, and then smiled warmly. “Well, let’s see what we can do,” he said, rummaging through a nearby drawer. After a moment, he pulled out a small Transformers bandaid, bright and colorful, with a cartoon robot on it. He held it out to the boy, his eyes twinkling.

“This is a special bandaid,” the older medic said. “It’s for robots in disguise like TITAN. And, well, there’s more than meets the eye to you, isn’t there?”

The boy’s face lit up, his honey-colored eyes sparkling as he gently took the bandaid, cradling it in his small hand as if it were a treasure. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet gratitude.

The older medic gave him a soft pat on the shoulder. “You take care of TITAN, okay? That bandaid’s gonna help.”

The boy nodded, holding the bandaid tightly as he turned and padded out of the medbay, the pain in his side easing just a little.

[Setting: Back in the hangar]

The hangar was still noisy and dark, filled with the clatter of tools and the crackling hiss of welding torches. TITAN’s massive body lay sprawled across the floor, the blast wound gaping and jagged, its beige armor scarred and scorched. The repair crews worked tirelessly, the sparks flying through the air as they patched up the damage.

But the boy, TITAN’s holomatter avatar, returned quietly to the hangar. His steps were slow, careful, as he approached the enormous, hulking form of his real body. He glanced down at the toy tank in his arms—the crack still visible, just like the massive wound in TITAN’s side.

The pain flared again, sharp and deep, but the boy didn’t flinch this time. He knew what he had to do.

With careful hands, the boy reached up to TITAN’s massive, battle-scarred frame. He looked for the right spot—somewhere close to the edge of the gaping wound—and gently pressed the tiny Transformers bandaid onto the armor. The brightly colored bandaid, with its cartoon robot, looked like a speck of dust against TITAN’s enormous body, barely visible in the sea of damaged metal.

But the boy smiled softly, patting the bandaid as if it were the most important part of the repair process.

“There,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet satisfaction. “That’ll help.”

And somehow, it did.

The pain, while still present, seemed to lessen. The bandaid—tiny and absurd against the massive, gaping wound—was a small gesture, but it meant something. It was care, it was comfort, and for a brief, quiet moment, it made everything just a little bit better.

The boy sat down beside TITAN’s massive tread, leaning his small body against the cool metal. He cradled the toy tank in his lap, the crack still visible but somehow less daunting now. The noise of the hangar faded into the background, and the sharp pain in his side dulled into a soft ache.

TITAN, both in its mechanical form and its human one, felt at peace.

Even if the wound was still there, even if the pain lingered, the bandaid made it better. Just a little.

And sometimes, that was enough.

[inpoppyfields]

Sick Call: Sleepover

PILOT had seen a lot of weird things in her time, but this took the cake.

There, curled up in her bed, wrapped in her favorite fluffy blanket like an oversized burrito, was UNIT. And not UNIT in its usual hulking tetrapod form with the imposing horns and single red eye. No, this was UNIT’s holomatter avatar, her human form, looking a lot like she had just made herself right at home.

PILOT’s blanket—a giant, absurdly soft one covered in little red poppy patterns, a tribute to her old squadron—was wrapped tightly around UNIT’s form. Her face was half-buried in it, leaving only those bright, fiery red eyes and a few tousled strands of black hair with red highlights visible. PILOT’s breath hitched for a moment—just for a second, it looked like DONOR was there again, curled up in her bed like she used to. But the reality hit quickly. This wasn’t DONOR. This was UNIT, her quirky, oversized, battle-scarred mech friend, pretending to be human for the night.

“Holy shit,” PILOT muttered, standing frozen in the doorway. “You look like a damn oversized burrito.”

UNIT’s red eyes blinked up at her, half-lidded and warm, totally unbothered by PILOT’s surprise. “Needed rest.”

PILOT stared for a moment longer, still trying to process the fact that UNIT was all cozied up in her bed. “Yeah, but my bed?”

UNIT, still wrapped snugly in the blanket, nudged her head a little more into view, red eyes glinting mischievously. “Comfortable.”

PILOT sighed dramatically, rubbing her temples. “You’re ridiculous.”

Without missing a beat, UNIT shifted slightly, the blanket rustling as she made more room. “There’s space.”

“Unbelievable,” PILOT muttered under her breath, shaking her head. She pulled her uniform off, tossing it into the corner of the room, not caring if UNIT was there or not. UNIT wasn’t human, not really, so what was the point in worrying about modesty? Grabbing her own pajamas—a pair of well-worn gray sweatpants and a loose black tank top—she quickly slipped them on and turned back to the absurd sight of UNIT in her bed.

As PILOT moved closer, she noticed the details she hadn’t seen at first. The injuries. UNIT’s human form, despite being a reflection of her consciousness, was littered with subtle signs of damage. Band-aids dotted her arms and legs, like small badges of wear and tear. Bandages were wrapped around her forearms, and PILOT noticed a larger one that ran from UNIT’s shoulder down to her side. These injuries, though muted in this human form, reflected the brutal reality of the damage UNIT had taken in the last battle.

UNIT’s mechanical body, still being repaired in the hangar, had been nearly torn apart—its legs crushed, armor shredded, wires exposed. Here, in this cozy human form, the injuries manifested in a softer way, but it was clear they mirrored the pain her real body had endured. UNIT’s left ankle was wrapped in gauze, and there were faint scuffs and bruises on her arms that mirrored the deep dents and burns on her real frame.

PILOT frowned slightly, her sarcasm melting into something more serious for a moment. “You’re really banged up, huh?”

UNIT glanced at her arms, then back up at PILOT, her expression unreadable. “It’s nothing.”

PILOT sat down on the bed beside her, reaching out to gently tap the bandages on UNIT’s arm. When her fingers brushed UNIT’s skin, the usual glitchy flicker of light rippled across UNIT’s form, reminding PILOT that this wasn’t a real body, but a projection—solid light and consciousness, shaped into something human.

“You don’t have to wear these battle scars in this form,” PILOT said quietly. “You could’ve just… rested without all this.”

UNIT shrugged. “Not by choice. It’s part of me.”

PILOT sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “Well, I guess that’s fair. You’ve been through hell.”

UNIT shifted closer, her red eyes softening as she pulled the blanket more snugly around herself. Despite the injuries, despite everything, there was something undeniably warm and endearing about the way she curled up in PILOT’s bed. In her usual mechanical form, UNIT was this massive, hulking presence, all strength and power. But here, in this human form, she was softer, more playful—and, dare PILOT think it, almost cuddly.

PILOT smirked, shaking her head. “You’re seriously curled up in my bed.”

UNIT’s voice, always efficient, carried a hint of warmth. “You need rest.”

PILOT groaned softly, her sarcasm kicking back in. “Oh, so this is for me, is it?”

UNIT’s eyes twinkled slightly. “Yes.”

PILOT laughed, flopping back onto the bed beside UNIT. “Of course it is. Because nothing says ‘rest’ like finding a war machine burritoed in your blanket.”

There was a beat of silence before UNIT, still snuggled up in her poppy-patterned cocoon, spoke again. “Better this way.”

PILOT raised an eyebrow. “Better how?”

“Less risk. Can’t crush you,” UNIT said, her tone matter-of-fact.

PILOT snorted. “Right, because turning me into a pancake would definitely ruin the vibe.”

“Exactly.”

PILOT couldn’t help but smile, even as she shook her head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

UNIT just hummed in agreement, the warmth of the blanket and her human form making the entire situation feel more like a slumber party than anything else. She shifted closer, her arm gently brushing against PILOT’s. The glitchy flickers of light danced across UNIT’s form again, a reminder of the ethereal, techy nature of her existence, but the warmth was real. UNIT’s human form radiated a comforting heat, the kind PILOT hadn’t realized she needed.

As they lay there in silence for a moment, PILOT glanced at the bandages on UNIT’s arms again. It was hard to reconcile the soft, almost fragile appearance of UNIT’s injuries in this form with the brutal reality of what her mechanical body had gone through. The dents, the burns, the torn metal—it was all so much worse in her real body. But here, in this human form, it was like UNIT was… fragile. Mortal.

“You’re not leaving, right?” PILOT asked, her voice softening, the sarcasm fading as the gravity of the situation hit her.

UNIT’s red eyes flickered as she looked at PILOT, her voice steady and firm. “Not going anywhere.”

PILOT smiled, closing her eyes as she snuggled deeper into the blanket. “Good.”

And there they lay—UNIT, wrapped up like an oversized burrito, and PILOT, basking in the absurdity and wholesomeness of the situation. The injuries, the battle scars, the ridiculous blanket—it all blended together into a strange, comforting moment of calm after the storm.

[inpoppyfields]

Sick Call: Pain Relief

UNIT’s battered mechanical body hung suspended in the hangar, a tangled mess of exposed circuits, torn armor, and missing limbs. Two of its legs were completely gone, ripped away in the brutal battle that had left it on the verge of collapse. The repair drones worked tirelessly, their sparks lighting up the dark hangar as they welded and patched, trying to bring the unit back to life. The pain was overwhelming, even with its systems dimmed—the endless cutting, the welding, the reattachment of limbs sent jagged waves of agony through UNIT's core.

UNIT couldn’t take it anymore.

So, it escaped, retreating into its holomatter avatar, leaving the pain behind. Or, at least, most of it.

The avatar gasped softly as it materialized outside the hangar, leaning heavily on the crutches that appeared beside her. The pain followed, though muted—her right leg encased in a cast, bruises blossoming across her skin, and bandages wrapped tightly around her torso and arms. It was a human version of the mechanical pain UNIT had left behind, but the fresh air and the warmth of the sun hit her senses all at once, easing the sharpness of her injuries.

For a moment, she stood there, eyes closed, feeling the sun’s rays against her face. The air was fresh, carrying the scent of grass and earth, a welcome contrast to the cold, sterile hangar. She took a slow, deep breath, the fresh air filling her lungs, pushing back the lingering ache. UNIT was used to towering over the base, surveying everything from 30 feet above, but now, everything was smaller, quieter, more… human.

She hobbled forward, crutches supporting her with each awkward step, her injured leg sending dull throbs through her body. The sensation of hobbling through the hills outside the hangar was new—human in a way that was unfamiliar but oddly comforting. The soft breeze brushed against her skin, and for a while, the mechanical repairs happening to her real body felt distant, almost forgotten. UNIT couldn’t help but smile softly, despite the bruises that marked her avatar’s skin.

As she moved across the base, UNIT observed the life around her with a curiosity she had never had before. Soldiers jogged in formation, their boots thudding against the ground in perfect rhythm. She had seen them from afar before, like tiny dots in the distance, but now she was among them, walking—well, hobbling—through the same space they did.

A group of cadets jogged by, their faces serious, their uniforms neat and pressed. Some of them glanced at her, clearly unsure of what to make of the bruised, bandaged figure hobbling on crutches, but UNIT just grinned back at them. The sight of them, so young and determined, made her chuckle softly to herself. They had no idea who she really was—what her true form looked like, the power she carried when fully operational. Now, in this fragile human body, she felt smaller, more connected to the rhythm of life around her.

Eventually, UNIT reached the dorms, her arms sore from the effort of walking. PILOT’s room was just up ahead, and the thought of the quiet, warm space waiting for her made UNIT quicken her pace. Sort of. She may have hobbled faster than before, but it was more like a determined limp.

As she approached the door, UNIT frowned. It was locked. Of course, PILOT liked her privacy. But that wasn’t a problem—not when there was a window. UNIT grinned, remembering how she used to peek into PILOT’s quarters from her towering height. The window had always seemed so small back then, but now? Now it looked like the perfect way in.

Awkwardly making her way around the side of the building, UNIT eyed the window, bracing herself for the ridiculousness of what she was about to attempt. Climbing through a window with crutches and a broken leg wasn’t exactly graceful, but UNIT wasn’t about to let a little thing like that stop her. With a soft grunt of effort, she hoisted herself through the window, landing on the floor with a clumsy thud.

“Ow,” she muttered to herself, rubbing her side before pushing herself up with the crutches.

PILOT’s room was exactly as she’d imagined it—small, neat, minimal. The bed was perfectly made, the blanket draped over it in perfect symmetry. There was a small desk in the corner, a few neatly stacked papers on top, and beside it, PILOT’s jacket hung neatly over the back of a chair. On the windowsill, a jar of freshly picked red poppies added a splash of color, their bright petals standing out in the soft light that filtered through the window.

And then, there was the scent. PILOT’s scent—a soft mix of fresh linen and something else, something warm and comforting. It filled the room, wrapping around UNIT like a blanket itself, pushing back the dull throb of her injuries and making her feel… safe.

Without thinking, UNIT hobbled over to the bed, dropping her crutches at the edge as she climbed onto it. The blanket, soft and warm, smelled just like PILOT, and UNIT couldn’t resist. She pulled the blanket around her, wrapping herself up tightly, cocooning herself like an oversized burrito. The warmth surrounded her, and for the first time since the battle, UNIT felt the weight of exhaustion finally pulling her under.

She sighed, her bruised body relaxing into the soft bed, the lingering pain fading into the background as the softness of the blanket and the familiar scent of PILOT lulled her into a state of calm. The repairs, the missing limbs, the pain—it all felt far away now, dulled by the warmth and comfort that filled the room.

Just as she was about to drift off to sleep, UNIT heard the creak of the door opening.

The soft sound of footsteps.

PILOT stood in the doorway.

The look on her face was priceless.

[inpoppyfields]

The Daughter

The hangar was quiet, a soft stillness settling over the space as the last light of the day slipped away. Outside, the hills surrounding the base were bathed in a fading glow, the red poppies dotting the landscape swaying gently in the evening breeze. The sky was a canvas of purple and pink, streaked with the last remnants of orange from the setting sun.

PILOT stood at the edge of the hangar, her arms crossed as she watched UNIT’s holomatter avatar sitting on the floor, her movements slow and deliberate. The avatar, dressed in a minimalist red and black silk shirt paired with matching black silk pants and sandals, looked almost serene as she carefully arranged the freshly picked poppies on the ground before her. Her short black hair, streaked with subtle red highlights, caught the last rays of light, casting a soft glow around her face.

Behind them, UNIT’s massive mechanical form loomed over the two women, a towering, hulking silhouette in the dim light of the hangar. The stark contrast between the avatar’s graceful, almost delicate form and UNIT’s thick, muscular bulk was hard to ignore. Where UNIT was a massive, hulking tetrapod built for destruction, its avatar was lean, athletic, and quietly elegant—like two completely different beings, though PILOT knew they shared the same soul.

PILOT leaned against a nearby crate, her gaze fixed on the avatar’s hands as they moved with a gentle, careful precision, weaving the stems of the poppies together. The avatar’s fingers were long and graceful, a far cry from UNIT’s heavy mechanical hands, which, though precise in their own way, were built for war and crushing power.

“I still can’t get used to this,” PILOT said softly, her voice carrying through the quiet space. “Seeing you like this.”

The avatar looked up, her red eyes glowing faintly in the dimming light. Her expression was calm, serene, and her lips curled into a soft smile. “Is it so strange?” she asked, her voice gentle and melodic, a softer echo of UNIT’s usual rumbling tone.

PILOT chuckled under her breath, shaking her head. “You could say that. You’re usually… well, not this.”

The avatar’s smile widened slightly, and she tilted her head in that familiar way that made PILOT’s heart clench with nostalgia. There was something about the way the avatar moved, the subtle tilt of her head, the softness in her eyes—it reminded PILOT so much of DONOR. The thought sent a wave of warmth through her, though it was tinged with bittersweet emotion. The resemblance was hard to ignore.

In some strange, unspoken way, this avatar felt like a daughter—a reflection of both DONOR and UNIT, blending their essences into one being.

The avatar turned her attention back to the flowers, her fingers continuing their work. “I feel… different like this,” she said after a pause, her voice quieter, more contemplative. “In my mechanical form, everything feels heavier. More rigid. But here, like this… I can be softer. Gentler.”

PILOT watched her closely, noticing the subtle way the avatar’s body moved—fluid, graceful, like she was moving through water. Each movement was intentional, but without the crushing force that UNIT’s original form always carried. The avatar’s limbs were lean and athletic, her body built for elegance and precision, not brute strength. When she reached for the flowers, her hands barely disturbed the air, her movements so delicate that they seemed to blend into the fading light around her.

“I guess it’s easier not to crush everything when you’re like this,” PILOT mused, a soft smile playing on her lips.

The avatar laughed lightly, the sound a gentle, airy contrast to UNIT’s usual deep, resonant voice. “That’s true. I don’t have to worry about flattening things when I’m in this form.”

PILOT’s gaze drifted to UNIT’s hulking mechanical body in the background. It stood dormant, towering and immovable, its massive frame casting a long shadow across the hangar floor. There was an undeniable power to UNIT’s original form—its thick, muscular limbs and heavy armor spoke of strength, of battle, of an unbreakable will.

But here, in this quiet moment, the avatar felt like the complete opposite. She was gentle, her body language relaxed and calm. Her red eyes, usually intense in battle, were warm and inviting now, glowing softly in the dim light. She carried herself with a quiet grace that made her seem almost ethereal—like she belonged more to the dusk, to the fading colors of the sky, than to the brutal world of war she usually inhabited.

“You remind me of DONOR,” PILOT said quietly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

The avatar paused for a moment, her hands stilling over the poppies. She looked up at PILOT, her expression softening. “She’s my mother,” the avatar said, her voice gentle but steady, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Or… that’s how it feels.”

PILOT’s breath hitched at the word. Mother. She had heard UNIT refer to DONOR as such before, but hearing it now, from the avatar, made the connection even more real—more intimate. There was something undeniably familial in the way the avatar spoke, in the way she carried herself. The red highlights framing her face glowed faintly in the twilight, catching the light in a way that mirrored DONOR’s old habit of standing by the window, her face bathed in sunlight.

“You really are her daughter, aren’t you?” PILOT murmured, her voice soft but full of emotion.

The avatar smiled, a quiet, reflective smile. “In a way, I suppose I am,” she said. She glanced at the flowers in her hands, her fingers gently weaving them together once more. “She’s the reason I am… what I am. The reason I can be this.”

PILOT nodded, her chest tightening with a mixture of warmth and sorrow. The way the avatar moved, the way she spoke—it was all so reminiscent of DONOR, yet distinct in its own way. The avatar was her own person, her own soul, but the echoes of DONOR were woven into her very being, like a legacy passed down through quiet gestures and subtle habits.

The two women sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the gentle rustling of the evening breeze and the soft crinkle of the poppy petals as the avatar continued her work. The air was cool now, the last traces of sunlight fading into deep purple and pink hues. The hangar, bathed in twilight, felt like a sanctuary—a quiet moment of peace in a world so often filled with chaos.

PILOT watched the avatar closely, noticing the small, delicate ways she moved—how she leaned into the moment, how her hands seemed to float over the flowers with a tenderness that UNIT’s mechanical body could never fully express. The avatar���s red eyes, glowing softly in the darkening light, held a quiet wisdom, a depth that spoke to the same soul that inhabited UNIT’s powerful form.

But here, in this body, UNIT could be gentle. Soft. She could embrace the parts of herself that didn’t belong to battle or war, the parts that had always been there but had never had the space to bloom.

“Does it ever feel strange to you?” PILOT asked after a long pause. “Being… two versions of yourself?”

The avatar looked up, her smile serene. “No,” she said softly, her voice calm and certain. “It feels right.”

PILOT smiled, feeling the weight of her question lift. She watched the avatar for a moment longer, her eyes tracing the elegant lines of her body, the flow of her silk clothes, the gentle glow of her red eyes in the fading light.

“You’re beautiful,” PILOT whispered, her voice barely audible.

The avatar’s smile widened, a quiet warmth in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice full of gratitude.

And as the last light of dusk disappeared into night, PILOT found peace in the quiet companionship of UNIT’s unlikely, graceful avatar—so different from her hulking, mechanical form, yet undeniably, beautifully the same.

End Log

[inpoppyfields]

Lock Screen: Sleeping In

Location: Space Base

PILOT’s fleet-issued iPhone buzzed relentlessly on her bedside table, lighting up with new notifications every few seconds.

Lock Screen Wallpaper: The epitome of unprofessional absurdity. UNIT, the enormous tetrapod war machine, was somehow balancing a tiny clipboard between its massive fingers, with oversized fake glasses perched awkwardly over its optics. PILOT sat on UNIT’s shoulder like it was totally normal, giving a cheesy thumbs-up, her helmet crooked on her head.

In the background loomed TITAN—a five-story-tall tank floating through space like some cosmic garbage collector, grinning proudly in its holomatter avatar while clutching what could only be described as a massive space rock. Or maybe it was an asteroid. Honestly, no one knew what TITAN was collecting anymore, but it was very excited about it. The nebula-streaked void behind them added to the surreal scene.

The neon blue clock read 1:37 PM. Below it, the widgets were working overtime:

Unread Emails: +72 unread

Weather: Space Station: 0°C, meteor activity detected

Battery Widget: 84% charged

Reminders: 12 overdue tasks

The flood of notifications had shifted from formal and professional to utterly snarky as PILOT, for reasons everyone could guess, was clearly dead to the world after what was obviously a questionable night.

It started off by the book:

Messages: Fleet Command: "REMINDER: Shuttle departure for debriefing was at 0800. You are now 4 hours and 37 minutes late. Report to Command immediately."

Alarm: Fleet: Missed (6:30 AM)

Alarm: Fleet: Missed (7:00 AM)

Messages: UNIT: "Good morning, PILOT! ☀️ I’m ready whenever you are! Pizza’s still warm if you’re hungry 🍕❤️. Let’s fix my targeting array when you’re up!"

SHADOWCOM: Internal Alert: "0600 biometric scan failed. Rescheduled for 0700. This is your second missed scan. Please confirm status."

Then, the confusion began:

SHADOWCOM: Internal Alert: "0700 biometric scan also failed. 0800 scan rescheduled. Are you alive? It’s starting to look… questionable."

REDLINE: URGENT TOP SECRET: "Reminder: Do not open the black envelope. We don’t care what happened last night. Focus on waking up first."

Messages: TITAN: "hi pilut. I fownd a REEELLY BIG rok!! 😯 idk wut it is tho… pls help? also pizza??? 🍕"

By now, people were starting to lose their patience:

Internal Comms App: ENSIGN B: "Soooo… if someone hypothetically disengaged the safety protocols on the docking bay and accidentally launched a drone… what’s the worst-case scenario here?"

Messages: CommanderChaos (Group Chat): "GAMMA, stop skating in restricted zones. TITAN, you are not an asteroid hunter. UNIT, enough with the pizza emojis. PILOT, get up already or Fleet Command will revoke your pizza privileges."

SHADOWCOM: Internal Alert: "Third biometric scan missed. At this point, we’re wondering if you’ve entered a deep space hibernation. Should we send someone to knock?"

Messages: UNIT: "It’s 1:37 PM! I hope you had a restful night ❤️. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready! Pizza’s still warm 🍕."

Then the sarcasm kicked in:

SHADOWCOM: Internal Alert: "Fourth scan failed. Are you actively dodging these? Because it’s starting to feel like it. Maybe we should send coffee with the next alert."

Messages: GAMMA: "YO, PILOT!! WAKE UP!! You missed my GIF AGAIN, I landed a perfect ollie off UNIT’s back. Sending it again. WAKE. UP. 🛹🔥😂"

REDLINE: URGENT TOP SECRET: "The black envelope remains sealed, which is literally the only thing you’ve managed to do today. Congrats. But really, wake up."

Messages: TITAN: "pilut… THE rok is HUUUGE!! maybe its aliiiive? pls come look?? also pizza?? 🍕🍕🍕"

And then came the full-on salt:

SHADOWCOM: Internal Alert: "Fifth scan missed. At this point, we’re considering whether we should send TITAN with the big rock to break down your door. You’ve broken the record for most ignored alerts in fleet history. Congrats?"

Messages: Fleet Command: "As of 1:45 PM, you are considered AWOL. But hey, maybe you’ll break another record if you’re still asleep by 2:00 PM."

Messages: TITAN: "pilut… i am oustide ur room with the rok. it is a BIG rok. pls halp. also pizza 🍕🍕🍕"

Messages: CommanderChaos: "Waking up by 2 PM? Or should we start planning your court-martial as a pizza-themed intervention? 😒"

REDLINE: URGENT TOP SECRET: "Seriously, though, wake up before we revoke your security clearance and leave you with nothing but cold pizza."

SHADOWCOM: Internal Alert: "Sixth biometric scan failed. At this point, the entire fleet is invested in whether you’ll actually wake up. You’ve managed to become an event."

Messages: UNIT: "Still here ❤️. Pizza is still warm 🍕, no worries. Hope you had a good rest! I’ll be waiting."

The notifications piled up beneath the hilariously absurd photo of PILOT and UNIT, balancing professionalism with outright silliness. TITAN, somehow floating through space and still clutching that asteroid-like rock, was probably outside PILOT’s door by now, waiting for her to finally wake up.

As the sarcasm from Fleet Command and SHADOWCOM reached its peak, everyone knew exactly why PILOT was dead to the world—whatever happened last night had clearly been a bad idea—but it was impressive, if nothing else. With each buzz trying in vain to wake her, the growing chorus of snark and pizza-related reminders hinted at one thing: if she didn’t get up soon, TITAN might just break in with that rock.

[inpoppyfields]

Lock Screen: Costco at Midnight

PILOT's iPhone buzzed almost non-stop as she wandered the aisles of Costco at midnight. She and her fellow squad mates had “borrowed” a base vehicle—the gray Mazda CX-5 (license plate: FC-0114)—to stock up on very specific bulk items.

It had been ages since any of them had experienced everyday civilian grocery shopping, and it showed. Dressed in their ridiculous pajamas and slippers, they roamed the massive store, grabbing only what they believed was essential for base life, albeit with some odd priorities.

Base Command had caught on, issuing formal alerts about the missing car, which quickly turned into sarcastic reminders that no rescue or recovery teams would be sent if they failed to check out before Costco’s closing time. Meanwhile, the units back at base were throwing absurd requests into the mix.

Pilot's Pals:

PILOT (SSN: XXX-XX-XXXX)

Wearing: Transformers pajamas, an oversized "ROLL OUT" hoodie, and Optimus Prime slippers.

Cart: Pumpkin Spice Protein Powder (regretting it already), bulk protein bars, and some 48-pack of oatmeal she probably doesn’t need.

PILOT A (SSN: XXX-XX-XXXX)

Wearing: USAFA hoodie, pajama pants, and fuzzy Air Force Falcon slippers.

Cart: Cheese, yogurt, and pretty much anything dairy. Why? No one knows.

ENSIGN B (SSN: XXX-XX-XXXX)

Wearing: Bathrobe over pajamas, and plush unicorn slippers.

Cart: Batteries, light bulbs, and a throw blanket—also seriously considering curling up in a display bed for the night.

CADET C (SSN: XXX-XX-XXXX)

Wearing: Avocado onesie and giant avocado slippers.

Cart: Hot sauce, spicy ramen, and an excessive amount of spicy chips—plotting some chaos back at base.

Lock Screen Notifications:

Fleet Calendar: "Reminder: 0900 Briefing tomorrow."

Messages: "+74 new"

Costco App: "Last chance for savings on bulk items!"

Battery Widget: "1% remaining."

Weather Widget: "Clear skies, 10°C."

Fleet Command Internal Notifications:

FleetComm: "Base vehicle (gray Mazda CX-5, FC-0114) has been off-site for 3 hours. Confirm personnel location and status."

FleetComm: "Unauthorized use of fleet resources for personal errands is subject to review. Return the vehicle promptly."

HQ Snarkbot: "Reminder: No rescue teams will be dispatched for personnel lost in Costco’s inflatable Santa section. You’re on your own."

Messages: "snacc squad 🛸✨" (PILOT and her pilot pals)

PILOT A: "bro, it’s a literal fridge in the dairy aisle 🧀. why are we getting so much?"

PILOT: "seriously regretting this Pumpkin Spice Protein Powder. but 30% off is 30% off."

ENSIGN B: "i’m staring at these blankets. i might just nap here tonight."

CADET C: "i’m grabbing 12 gallons of hot sauce. it’s for emergencies, obvs 🔥."

Fleet Command Notifications:

FleetComm: "Personnel found purchasing inflatable holiday decor will face disciplinary action. You’ve been warned."

HQ Snarkbot: "Reminder: Costco closes in 45 minutes. If you don’t make it out, we’ll assume you’ve joined the seasonal display."

FleetComm: "Please declare any purchases of 48-packs of Oreos for fleet distribution. We know you’re getting them."

Messages: "big metal buds ⚙️💥" (PILOT + UNIT, GAMMA, TITAN)

UNIT: "PILOT, Costco has massage chairs! You know I need one for my recharge corner ❤️."

GAMMA: "YO, DID U GET TIRES YET?! I NEED ‘EM FOR MY bus-sized skateboard 🛹🔥."

TITAN: "piluT… pls buy giant teddy bears… for… reasons… also pizza 🍕."

Messages: snacc squad 🛸✨

PILOT A: "yo, i’m freezing solid in the dairy aisle. do we need this much cheese?"

PILOT: "i can’t believe they only have Pumpkin Spice Protein Powder. this is how i die."

ENSIGN B: "i just found the comfiest throw blanket. i’m buying like, two. maybe more."

CADET C: "found a 48-pack of ramen. base is not ready for the spice 🔥."

Fleet Command Notifications:

HQ Snarkbot: "Costco closes in 30 minutes. If you fail to check out, expect to be decorating for the holidays indefinitely."

FleetComm: "No, we don’t need 6 gallons of mayo. Stop asking."

FleetComm: "Unauthorized purchase of giant inflatable reindeer will result in fuel card cancellation."

Messages: snacc squad 🛸✨

PILOT A: "i’m stuck in yogurt land. who thought this was a good idea 🧀."

PILOT: "i don’t know if i hate or love this protein powder deal. Pumpkin Spice is everywhere."

ENSIGN B: "grabbing the blankets. if i disappear, i’m probably napping."

CADET C: "i’m bringing back spicy ramen for days. also found some giant Toblerones. we need this."

Messages: "big metal buds ⚙️💥"

UNIT: "Did you get my recliner yet? You know I need it for optimal recharge ❤️."

GAMMA: "BRO, U GOT THE TIRES OR WHAT?! I NEED ‘EM FOR STUNT PRACTICE 🛹🔥🔥."

TITAN: "piluT… pls get giant teddy bears… they help me think… also pizza 🍕."

As PILOT tossed more items into her cart, her phone buzzed again with more sarcastic reminders from Fleet Command. They were clearly keeping a close eye on the squad's chaotic run and getting snarkier by the minute.

Fleet Command Notifications:

HQ Snarkbot: "Costco closes in 15 minutes. Failure to check out will result in permanent assignment to holiday decoration duty."

FleetComm: "Any personnel attempting to smuggle out pizza rolls will be subject to immediate investigation."

Messages: snacc squad 🛸✨

PILOT A: "okay, I’ve got enough cheese to fill the car. let’s go 🧀."

PILOT: "still debating if Pumpkin Spice Protein Powder is worth it. why am i like this?"

ENSIGN B: "i’m getting the throw blanket. don’t care. base is gonna be cozy af."

CADET C: "got the spicy ramen. y’all aren’t ready. also bought hot sauce just in case 🔥."

With the clock ticking and Fleet Command making their final threats about leaving the pilots behind, PILOT pushed her cart to the front of the store. The Mazda CX-5 was about to be crammed full of ridiculous purchases: cheese, protein powder, throw blankets, and spicy ramen. It wasn’t the most sensible Costco run, but after months in space, it felt like a slice of normalcy—even if Fleet Command was ready to leave them with the inflatable Santas if they didn’t make it out in time.

Fleet Command Notifications:

HQ Snarkbot: "Final call: Costco closes in 5 minutes. Failure to exit means holiday duty for life. Don’t test us."

FleetComm: "All personnel with pizza rolls must declare their snacks immediately. We are watching."

[inpoppyfields]

Calendar Day View: Space Base

Day Schedule: October 19, 2024 - Space Base Omega

04:00 – 05:00 PT (Physical Training)

Category: Mandatory Zero-G Swole 🏋️‍♀️ (Bright Red) Location: Zero-G Chamber - Space Base Omega Notes:

Military Protocol: Mandatory zero-G strength and endurance training.

Attachments:

TITAN’s “Zero-G Treadmill Malfunction” (Treadmill was ejected into orbit).

UNIT’s Anti-Gravity Push-Up Routine: Caution—Leg Day Flex In Progress.

Security Footage: GAMMA’s “Banana Relay Race in Zero-G” Disaster.

06:00 – 06:30 Breakfast

Category: Refuel in Space ☕️ (Steel Gray) Location: Mess Hall - Alpha Wing (Under UNIT’s Watchful Eye) Notes:

Military Protocol: Standard nutrient-rich space meals.

Attachments:

Mess Hall Incident Report: TITAN “Accidentally” Crushed a Supply Shuttle.

GAMMA’s Unauthorized Aerial Banana Toss: Involving Nebula Debris.

Security Alert: "Stop Flipping Pancakes in Zero-G."

07:00 – 09:00 Flight Sim (Space Edition)

Category: Flying Through the Void ✈️ (Electric Blue) Location: Sim Room - Outer Rim Chaos Zone Notes:

Military Protocol: Practice space combat maneuvers in hostile environments.

Attachments:

Incident Report: “GAMMA Tried to Race an Asteroid.”

UNIT’s “Zero-G Loop Maneuvers for Flexing” (Filed Under: Questionable).

CommanderChaos Directive: “Stop Using Black Holes for Tactical Drills.”

09:00 – 10:00 Tactical Briefing

Category: Commander’s Cosmic Wrath 📊 (Burnt Orange) Location: Command Room - Omega Wing (Starfleet Tactical) Notes:

Military Protocol: Mission briefing and enemy analysis—Outer Rim engagement imminent.

Attachments:

Memo: “Unauthorized Zero-G Yoga Session During Briefing (UNIT).”

TITAN’s “Moon Debris Clearance Report” (Accidentally Flattened Satellite).

CommanderChaos’ Lengthy Rant About “The Pizza Incident”

10:00 – 12:00 Space Flight Drills

Category: Fly Fast in the Cosmos 🚀 (Jet Black) Location: Outer Dock - Launch Pad 7 Notes:

Military Protocol: Advanced space flight and evasive maneuvers.

Attachments:

UNIT’s Cosmic Flex Schedule (Involves Meteor Dodging).

Memo: “Unauthorized Asteroid Tag (GAMMA) Still Under Investigation.”

CommanderChaos’ Notification: “No Racing Titan-Class Starships.”

12:00 – 12:30 Lunch

Category: Space Chow Time 🍽 (Olive Green) Location: Mess Hall - Alpha Wing (Observation Deck View of Jupiter) Notes:

Military Protocol: Nutrient-rich rations designed for astronauts.

Attachments:

Mess Hall Footage: “TITAN Tried to Eat a Crate Mistaken for Lunch.”

Incident Report: "GAMMA’s Zero-G Banana GIF Pranks During Lunch."

UNIT’s Notice: "Scheduled Post-Lunch Flex Routine."

13:00 – 15:00 Jet Transformation Drills (Space Edition)

Category: Transform or Drift 🔄 (Neon Yellow) Location: Outer Dock - Zero-G Flight Zone Notes:

Military Protocol: Transform from jet mode to tetrapod mode in deep space.

Attachments:

UNIT’s Transformation Log: "Mid-Transformation Dance-Off (Filed Under: Necessary)."

Incident Report: “GAMMA Started Unauthorized Transformation Races in a Nebula.”

TITAN’s Report: "Clearing Space Debris by Accidentally Headbutting an Asteroid."

15:00 – 16:00 Mission Planning

Category: Planetside Prep 🪐 (Purple) Location: Command Room - Omega Wing (Planetary Recon HQ) Notes:

Military Protocol: Strategy review for upcoming planetary landing missions.

Attachments:

Memo: "No Unauthorized Space Laser Tag on Mars" (CommanderChaos).

UNIT’s Notice: "Stop Blasting METEOR B with a Jet Cannon in Practice Runs."

TITAN’s Asteroid Pile-Up Clearance: Results Mixed.

16:00 – 18:00 Simulated Combat (Space Edition)

Category: Cosmic Combat 💥 (Dark Blue) Location: Sim Room - Space Combat Simulator Notes:

Military Protocol: Engage simulated enemies in deep space battle scenarios.

Attachments:

UNIT’s “Perfect Spin Attack Maneuvers” Report.

Incident Report: "Unauthorized Aerial Somersaults in a Nebula (GAMMA)."

TITAN’s “Zero-G Meteor Smash: Scheduled for Cleanup.”

18:00 – 18:30 Dinner

Category: Fuel the Machine (in Space) 🍕 (Brick Red) Location: Mess Hall - Alpha Wing (With a View of the Rings of Saturn) Notes:

Military Protocol: Standard rations designed to meet calorie and nutrient needs.

Attachments:

Incident Report: "TITAN Tried to Eat a Floating Cargo Pod Again."

Security Alert: "GAMMA’s Banana Split Incident, Now Involving Zero-G Jellyfish."

UNIT’s “Scheduled Post-Dinner Space Yoga Flex.”

19:00 – 20:00 Free Time

Category: Space Solitude 🛋 (Bright Green) Location: Bunk 404 - Sweet Silence (Space Edition) Notes:

Military Protocol: Rest, recover, and reflect.

Attachments:

Unread Email Count: 8,000+.

TITAN’s Crushed Crate Incident (Filed Under: “Not My Fault”).

Memo: "Unauthorized Zero-G Karaoke in the Hallways" (CommanderChaos).

20:00 – 21:00 Squad Debrief

Category: Cosmic Chaos Debrief 📋 (Dark Red) Location: Command Room - Omega Wing (Starlight Conference Room) Notes:

Military Protocol: Squad debriefing session, analyze today’s drills and plan next maneuvers.

Attachments:

UNIT’s Tactical Analysis of the Day’s Flex Maneuvers.

GAMMA’s Unauthorized Banana GIFs Still Circulating.

TITAN’s Accidentally Crushed Shuttle Incident Report.