Over the next few weeks there began an uneasy working relationship between Michael and Eve. The two kept a few feet between them no matter the job and in the after hours, Michael spotted Eve visiting the new supervisor's office regularly.
The new supervisor?
Otto Meyers.
Compared to Bryan, this one never left his office. Michael only ever caught glimpses of him walking in and out. Much like Bryan, his uniform was very plain, with his name and title on his left chest. Otto was more like a grisly bear in comparison to Bryan. Dark brown hair, a long-kept beard, and rough features that suggested he may have been in one too many fights when he was younger.
Once, Michael caught him walking out of his office. He gave everyone a flat stare that said "I'm tired of this shit" before walking back inside without saying a word.
When Michael tried to talk to him, he received a blank stare and short nods or shakes accompanied by even shorter answers.
And today was no different.
"Can I take D-1's maintenance gig for today? It's supposed to be covered by D-Site's unit but they've been busy preparing for the next excavation stage."
"Yes."
"Can I swap out Eve with someone else?"
"No."
"Why?"
Otto shrugged, his eyes wandering sideways before silently turning and waddling back into his office.
"What's that kind of—"
The door hissed shut.
"Damn it..."
"That's how Otto handled the previous crew," Eve said from behind him. She was sitting on a desk and had a knowing, dissatisfied expression.
"Why?"
"It's how he adapted to scores of people bitching and moaning in the previous unit. And it worked."
"Alright, well, there aren't scores of people here. There's less than a dozen in this unit. He can take the time to talk and understand issues."
She shrugged and smiled innocently.
Michael's eye twitched before he let out an exasperated sigh.
"You can always try hitting the supervisor," she sang provocatively. "Or call him a Marker-head, see if he comes out then."
He felt the growing urge to snap but kept it bottled up, letting out an irritated sigh instead.
"Boooo..." she complained while eyeing him, resting her chin on an open palm.
She paused, looked contemplative for a moment, and then asked in a flat tone, "Did you hear what happened this morning?"
"No," he replied tightly. "What happened?"
"Someone left the airlock open. And not just the airlock, whoever it was left the panel off the entry control and flooded C-Site East with toxic air. The decontamination team is onsite now doing their work."
Michael gave a thoughtful pause.
"East Site? Isn't that where we met?"
"Yep," she said before squinting at him with a glint of suspicion. "Know anything about it?"
He shook his head and scowled.
"It's been weeks. Weeks. And that punch wasn't on purpose either! I. Was. Drugged."
"So what if it wasn't on purpose? It fucking hurt. And I still see you staring off into space like an addict having withdrawal symptoms! Shaking, whispering to yourself- why the Doc hasn't put you on a shuttle back home already, I don't know!"
"Believe me, I've been trying too! I don't know either."
God knows I've been trying!
But unfortunately, Tom Sciarello has been avoiding and downright refusing his requests to get on one of the supply shuttles instead of the USG Ishimura.
When he finally pried it out of him, it turned out all space travel had been halted until the USG Ishimura's arrival and planet crack.
"Why didn't Otto tell us about it?"
Eve shrugged. "He might be thinking the same thing as me. P-Sec is investigating and I wouldn't doubt if the Doc came around asking some questions. Maybe. Depends on what they find I guess."
Where's the other one, a familiar, haunting voice complained in his mind. Why did only one come inside?
Unconsciously, Michael's expression twitched and his eyes widened. Eve, seeing this, shifted cautiously.
"See what I mean?" she sighed.
"Shut up," Michael grumbled but at the same time thought, "What do you mean? Who got inside? Or what?"
A flash of light distorted his view and the world warped and bent around Eve. Her unsettled gaze remained fixed on him mixed with a level of concern as she slowly straightened herself out and stood up.
Michael could see her lips move but her voice faded into the background.
Another flash of light and surrounded by a red mist, the young girl in a red dress and long, black, straight hair appeared behind Eve.
Her hands flared around her ears as if trying to use them as directional finder. Her movements were slow and deliberate like she was really struggling to hear.
With each flash, she changed location and though she'd twist at the hips or head very slowly, it was never too much before appearing in a different location.
Listen. It's sneaking.
Whack.
White stars speckled Michael's vision, and he stumbled back into the wall. His cheek was burning, and Eve was standing there with wide, fearful but concerned eyes and an open hand raised.
"The fuck's the matter with you?" she breathed. "Seriously."
Rubbing his cheek, Michael shook his head. "Thank you..."
"Did you take the pills the Doc gave you?" she asked while taking several steps back out of caution.
Michael nodded. "Yeah. I think it helps a bit but... They're less frequent but more vivid and... palpable."
"And it's still the little girl," Eve asked uneasily. When Michael nodded her gaze wandered a bit before shaking her head. "If it wasn't plainly the drugs, my religion would've said you experienced Convergence on a small scale with another being. This...little girl."
"You still might've..."
"Please don't attach your religion onto my problems," Michael said firmly. "I can barely stand it as it is."
"I'm sorry for trying to put a positive spin on your psychosis."
"Convergence is not a fucking positive spin on anything. It's the opposite. Your whole religion is a fucking disaster and genocide I don't want to be around."
Her jaw clenched as did her fists.
"I wish I punched you instead. You're a fucking asshole. Fuck you."
"Fuck me? Fuck you."