paris

SIX months had passed. Six months in space, and Fen Jie missed home.

She sat in her quarters late at night, stretched out across her bed. The large window on the wall beside her bed was firmly shut, blocking out all views of space—as if that would help her mood. She was dressed for sleep, but knew she wouldn't be able to close her eyes anytime soon.

Yesterday was Jiahao's fifth birthday.

Her baby boy was five years old, and Fen Jie wasn't there to be with him, to hug him tight and tell him she loved him. That hurt, far more than she had expected it would when she left on this journey. Yes, she was able to call him and Yijun, to tell her son happy birthday, but she wished she could have been there, in person. At home.

She turned over onto her side, wrapping her arms around herself. The station was quiet in the night. Fen Jie knew that Riley would wake up to check on the reactor in the middle of the night, but otherwise everyone was asleep in their quarters. Everyone except for Fen Jie.

She closed her eyes. Her quarters, like most rooms on board, where minimalist and a pearlescent white that was hard to shut out. Having the lights out and window shut helped, but the bright shine was still there even in the dark. It wasn't home, and it never could be.

Fen Jie really, really wanted to go home.

—

AMINE was starting to worry about Bellamy.

They were both quiet people, Ammie knew that from the beginning, and it was why they worked so well together. Bellamy wasn't offended by Ammie just getting a feel for being around them at first, and didn't seem to think that her lack of speaking was a bad thing. Ammie just liked the quiet, liked to sit peacefully with their plants and tend to them like children. It made her happy.

Plants made Bellamy happy too, Ammie had known that for months. Bellamy told her themself. So it made sense when, a whole crop died two months into the mission, Bellamy was kind of broken up about it—Ammie was too. It was rough, especially since a great deal of what died was food crops meant to help keep them alive. Luckily Captain Malik understood that it was out of their control, but that understanding didn't make it hurt any less.

Bellamy took it really hard, though, harder than Ammie did. They were quieter than usual, lately, and seemed to be distracted during work. Ammie saw them staring out the windows a lot, their eyes unfocused. When Ammie drew their attention, they seemed startled, and they were definitely paler than they used to be—and Bellamy was already pretty pale.

Ammie knelt amongst the potato plants, their hands covered in dirt as they weeded. Bellamy stood at one of the raised beds, supposedly tending the rosemary, but they seemed distracted again, staring out the window. Ammie wasn't even sure they were aware of what they were doing. Their hands were still, and their eyes wide. Ammie brushed her hands on her pants and was preparing to stand when the door to the greenhouse-lab opened.

Captain Malik strode in, looking all-business, with Doctor Mays behind him. Ammie settled back down almost instinctively. Doctor Mays never came into the greenhouse-lab. She wore all white, and hated to get dirty at her own admission, so she stayed far, far away. What could she be doing here now?

The Captain only cast a passing glance at Ammie, and Doctor Mays just ignored them, both beelining for Bellamy, who jumped as Captain Malik cleared his throat. "Bellamy," he said, seeming awkward even saying their first name. "Doctor Mays here," he gestured behind him to the surgeon as Ammie slowly stood, "tells me that you've been doing poorly recently."

Bellamy glanced at Doctor Mays, who did nothing but smirk at them, crossing her arms. "Um, what do you mean?" they asked, shifting from foot to foot.

Captain Malik raised an eyebrow, nodding behind them to the plant bed. "I think it's pretty clear," he said, "I've noted that your work has been slipping, and Doctor Mays agrees. Her most recent report on your medical state suggests heightened anxiety, and a disinterest in your work. In short, you've been slacking, and that's not something I can stand by and watch." He took a deep breath. "Look, I get it if you just wanted to see outer space, but if you couldn't handle this job, you should have said so on Earth."

"I can handle it," Bellamy said quietly, their gaze dropping to the floor. Ammie saw their fingers, cleaner than her own, twitching at their sides.

Doctor Mays sniffed. "Sure, sure," she said. "So why does it look like Amine over there is doing all the work?" She nodded at Ammie, rolling her eyes. She turned her gaze back to Bellamy. "You're the only one here slacking."

Ammie glared at the doctor, clenching her fist. She was surprised to find that she was still holding her trowel. The metal of the handle dug into their hand and their knuckles turned white from the force of their grip. "Stop it," they said to Doctor Mays, her voice much quieter than she would've liked. They stepped forward to stand beside Bellamy, who cast them a kind glance.

The Captain held up a hand to stop Doctor Mays from responding. Reluctantly, she shut her mouth, though she glared at Ammie. "Look," he said, "just please do your job, Chance. I would hate to send negative reports back home. You're good at your job, I know that. So prove it."

He turned and strode out of the room, Doctor Mays following with only a haughty glance at the pair of botanists. Ammie's grip on the trowel tightened.

—

THERE weren't many planets out here, Keegan had realized.

Stars aplenty, of course, but so few planets. And the biology of stars wasn't exactly a thing. So, Keegan felt a little bored a lot of the time. She did her job, of course, but since there was so little of it to do at the moment, she had to find something else to occupy herself—after checking in with the Captain, of course. Keegan knew the rules.

So she stood just inside the doorway of the reactor room, watching Riley Horatio work. Riley's job was one that she couldn't step away from for long. Reactors, Keegan had learned in the last few months, were volatile and needed constant monitoring. Sure, she was able to set alerts so she could sleep or take some time to work out every now and then, but considering the reactor was pretty much the main power source for the whole station, Riley needed to make sure it worked.

And she didn't mind Keegan stopping by to hang out and watch her work. Riley...was the sort of girl Keegan found herself drawn to the most. Kindhearted, hardworking, and careful in her work. And with Riley's work, she needed to be careful. She wore thick gloves, and goggles to protect her eyes. She made sure Keegan stood back from the reactor, so as not to get too close. Keegan wasn't sure what would happen if she got close with no protection—she was a biologist, not a reactor expert—but she trusted Riley, who did know what she was talking about.

Keegan watched as Riley stepped back, pulling her goggles to the top of her head. She was sweating, a common state for her, between her job in the reactor room and daily workouts. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and turned to Keegan. "All done for now," she said, smiling. Without looking, she reached behind her and closed the shutter window that looked into the reactor core. Keegan swore her heart was going to burst out of her chest from how absurdly attractive that was.

Keegan grinned back at her. "Great," she said, shifting her weight. She'd been leaning on the doorjamb for a while and her arm was starting to hurt. "What are you up to now?"

Riley smirked at her. "Oh, I don't know," she said, taking a few steps closer to her. "I thought maybe we could just... hang out?"

"Just me and you?" Keegan asked playfully, raising an eyebrow. They looked at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter. Keegan was glad for Riley. She really, honestly, was.

—

"ARE you okay, Mitya?"

Dimitriy blinked, and his eyes reset to see Magda looking at him with a worried expression. He automatically frowned in response, reaching up to rub his eyes. "What?" he asked.

Magda leaned forward over the table. They were in the mess hall for lunch, sitting a couple tables apart from what looked like a very flirtatious Keegan and Riley and across the room from an anxious-seeming Bellamy. Magda sat across from him, an empty tray before her. Dimitriy's tray was still mostly full. He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there.

"Sorry," he said, brushing his hair out of his face. "I was just...thinking."

"You do that a lot," Magda said with a smile, propping her chin on her hand. "What are you thinking about?"

That was a question Dimitriy didn't want to answer. What was he thinking about? Space. The unknown. The possibility that he could die out here and Julius would be none the wiser. And also the fact that he was almost out of his medication again and would have to visit Paris' office to get more. He hated going to Paris' office.

Instead of answering Magda, Dimitriy just shook his head, picking at his food. It was cold, and he made a face at it. Magda reached out and poked him. "Come on, Mitya, talk to me."

He sighed. "Just worried about seeing Doctor Mays again," he said, settling for the most obvious and easily understood of his thoughts. There was no way Magda needed to hear the rest of what was going on in his head.

Magda sucked at her teeth, a harsh smacking sound. "God, yeah," she said, "She's scary, isn't she?"

Dimitriy nodded. "I don't know how you can stand to see her every day."

She shrugged, shaking her head. "I get in and out as fast as I can. It's the only way to survive her."

Dimitriy couldn't help but nod. Sometimes, he wondered how someone as self-centered and just plain mean as Paris had been allowed on board, but the same person who let Paris Mays on board also let on Dimitriy himself, so he really couldn't point fingers here.

That still didn't mean he wanted to drag himself to her office tomorrow, though.

—

PARIS shut the shiny cream-white door behind Magdalene, sighing. The younger woman always seemed slightly anxious around Paris—or at least, she did the few times Paris bothered to look up from her paperwork to look at her. Sometimes, she was gone so fast that Paris didn't get a chance to do so. Today, Magdalene had come late, and Paris had to usher the woman out of the door in order to actually get any work done.

The hallway outside Paris' infirmary/lab was dimly-lit to indicate night, as was every part of Paris' space besides the office side-room. She didn't like to waste electricity, something even more impressed upon her by the fact that she was currently in space. Thus, all lights except her desk lamp remained off in the evening hours.

She settled herself back down at her desk, her dark head bending to the paperwork laid out before her. For the doctor of a supremely healthy group—physically, at least; mentally was a completely different story—there was an awful lot of paperwork she had to do daily. She released another sigh, and picked up her pen.

She had been working quietly, the only noise being the shuffling of paper and the scratching of her pen, for some time before she heard a quiet swish sound—the door.

Paris couldn't tell if it was the door opening or closing, she caught the sound so late. She looked up, frowning, squinting into the dark outer room. "Hello?"

No response. Paris' frown deepened. There was no reason for anyone to be here this time of the evening—in fact, Paris got the feeling that many of her crew-mates would rather avoid her at all costs. So why on earth had she heard the door open?

She stood, pushing back her desk chair as loudly as she could. "Hello?" she called again, more forcefully. Still, no one answered, but she wasn't really expecting one. Whoever was out there was being quiet for a reason. Paris moved around the desk, her steps slow are careful. She heard, in the infirmary, the clink of something, something metal, against a table leg. She swallowed. Her mouth was suddenly quite dry.

Paris stepped into the lab. Her eyes had mostly adjusted to the dark, though she still couldn't see anyone. They must be in the infirmary portion of the room, towards the front—her space was arranged such that from the hallway, one would walk into the infirmary first, then the lab portion of the room further back, separated by a privacy curtain at Paris' own insistence. On the right wall in the laboratory portion, a doorway led to her office. She stood steps from this doorway, her breath caught in her throat.

The lightswitch was across the room. Paris began to cross to it, her steps quicker now. She wasn't breathing faster, was she? She was smart enough to know that a panic response would not help her now. She tried to breathe deeply. The curtain beside her swished back.

Paris didn't see the person inviting her space clearly. A blur of dark hair, wide eyes—something sharp and metal raised overhead. Paris gasped, her hand darting forward to the lightswitch, as if turning the lights on would help her at all. The metal object flashed down.

The point plunged into Paris' chest, duller than she expected. It hurt like hell, and she stumbled back, the object still buried in her chest.

She looked down at it, examining the angle of entry—just missed her heart, good—then startled again when it was slowly, agonizingly pulled out of her chest, inch by inch. It was odd, Paris thought, seeing so much of her own blood right in front of her eyes. There was a flap of skin hanging from her chest where there wasn't only two minutes before. She could feel the pain, but was somehow...numb.

"Why-" she started, raising her eyes to the face of the person in front of her, but was cut off by the object slamming into her temple, causing the world to go black.

—

2503 words.
Ahhhhh we have our first murder! Sorry Definitely-Lost , Paris is so hated she was chosen by our imposter to go first. You are more than welcome to read the rest of the story and keep trying to figure out who the imposter is, though!
For the others, I will be messaging you sometime in the next two days asking you if your character(s) have any ideas who the imposter is!
I hope you enjoyed this chapter!