She found herself on the way to the cafeteria the following late night, rationalizing her way through the events of the past day as well as the decisions that'd led up to them on a punishingly empty stomach. She had a lot of time for thinking as she weaved her way through the ship's extensive halls. Halls that led to bathrooms and others to cabins. Halls that led to sleeping units and halls that led to control rooms. Halls littered with little compartments to retrieve medical aid or aid of the mechanical kind, but only if you had the proper codes.

Then there was perhaps the most interesting hall— the hall that led to the massive space in which the humans would be stored. At the moment, they were probably being spoken to in deceptively gentle tones. Calmed. Sweet talked into neglecting to question anything that had happened and all the reasons they shouldn't trust their damning saviors— the beings that were heroes and utter monsters all at once.

They would be fed. Directed to adjoining rooms where they could get cleaned, though most probably wouldn't bother with that. They would be made docile so they could be more easily controlled.

Then, they would be led one by one— slowly as well as discreetly— to another adjoining room. This room, unlike the others, would be locked off. Its door would blend so well with the walls around it, most might think it nonexistent. It was past that door that the humans would be shepherded into an engine that would erase any and every memory they've ever come to know— pushed into a state of being so downright tragic they might as well be dead.

Then, that's what the humans would be— living dead until the ship could reach a new planet and they would be dropped out to form a new society.

Zaneth never went down that hall. 

It was too dark.

All for the greater good, Amorandus had said.

A part of her wished she'd changed her mask. People were still avoiding her like the plague, sending her disgusted looks as well as looks of concern. Her thoughts were getting too loud, and it felt a bit like she was drowning in them. She needed a distraction but, lost as she was, wasn't sure how to find one.

The wish was met like a prayer a moment later, a familiar face turning the curve of the hallway and lighting up a little when she saw her. That light lasted nothing more than a second or two. Apprehension replaced it.

"Are you feeling well?" Peke asked, eyes roaming over every inch of her face to look for a sign of distress. Peke didn't react to her mask as Zaneth knew she wouldn't. She was one of two people Zaneth couldn't manage to quite avoid. "You're not usually out of your cabin so soon after such a mission."

"I was hungry."

Peke's face scrunched up in confusion and she tapped the space behind her ear. 

"You could have called for me. I would have brought you something to eat."

"It's hot," Zaneth said. "In the cabin, I mean."

"It's hot everywhere."

"But especially in the cabin."

"So you needed fresh air," Peke hummed. She patted her on the shoulder. "Alright. I'll leave you alone, but we'll have to talk about things, eventually."

"I know."

"Good."

Peke left and Zaneth continued on her way, feeling a little more grounded in the world.

There was no line in front of the counter— Zaneth was so late most of the food would most likely be cold. As it turned out, that didn't really matter. They were serving the same as usual; a green soup made from the herbs of a distant planet. It emitted a light glow and tasted as medicinal as it smelled, but that's what made it last so long. That's what made it good for the mind and for the bones— a near necessity in a place as cramped as the ship.

When she took her seat, it was at a table where she could be alone. She kept her face down, trying to ignore the tingle each sip of the soup left on her tongue when she felt more than heard someone shift behind her. She saw a shadow move from the corner of her eye, and then there was a person sitting just beside her, close enough to leave a considerable amount of confusion plaguing Zaneth's mind.

"Hey," a voice said to her right. The suddenness— the brightness— of the greeting surprised Zaneth, but she didn't jump. When she turned to acknowledge the speaker, she realized it was the angry woman from yesterday. Now, she didn't seem so angry. Now, she smiled and extended a hand. "Hi. I'm Marigold, but you can call me Mari. Or whatever makes your sun shine, I guess."

"Hi," Zaneth said, reaching out to shake her hand. "Zaneth."

"I just wanted to apologize for yesterday," Marigold said. A little wince pulled at her mouth. Zaneth thought the look didn't quite suit her. "That was cruel. And pointed in the wrong direction. I'm sorry."

"I don't mind."

"I was just really frustrated and sad." Marigold leaned further against the table, twisting her body to get a better look at Zaneth. Even now, she didn't acknowledge the hideous mask Zaneth was wearing in any way. "That's a lot of lives gone which, yeah, I knew was gonna happen. I just never get used to it. And there's still so much space... Ugh."

"You don't have to explain yourself."

"I know," Marigold said, "but I should. And I just like talking. Hear me out, okay? I need to vent."

Listen Zaneth did as Marigold vented many of her problems. Many of her gripes and issues with these kinds of missions in general. None of them were especially creative— Zaneth had heard it all before. The ship was too small. The food was bad. Everything felt pointless. Their leaders were cruel. Too many people died. How could so much death be necessary? All of the familiar things.

"I mean, they're only okay with sacrificing so many humans because they hold no tangible worth," Marigold continued, "so what happens when we don't hold any worth? We're next on the chopping block."

"I know."

"And you're okay with that?"

By now, Zaneth had long since finished her soup. Her stomach felt pleasantly warm and she wanted to rest some more. Maybe take a shower if she got the chance. Her eyes slid over to Marigold.

"There's no reason not to be," she said.

"You have a unique way of thinking. You are unique."

"Maybe."

"They really fucked you up," Marigold said. "Like, emotionally. I swear I'm not trying to make you feel bad— it's not your fault."

"I don't feel bad."

"You don't feel anything, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't intrigued."