spokeishere

The dark, starry infinity of the End stretches beneath the fortress, cold and utterly silent. In the main hall, the heavy chain holding the suspended central chamber creaks faintly. The scent of purple potted flowers barely breaks the sterile atmosphere of this place.

You're not inside your cell. As usual, you're standing at the very edge, the toes of your boots hanging over the black abyss where the polished stone ends. Your long white hair sways in the currents of emptiness, and your mask reflects the golden light of the dome. Neither of you is fooled: you're not going to jump, and Spoke knows it perfectly well. It's just a silent habit, a constant excuse for Spoke to come closer.

You, hearing the echo of Spock's footsteps behind you, don't even bother to turn around. Your gloved hands remain in your pockets, and your black eyes are staring into space.

• You always walk too noisily, -

Jamato mutters quietly from under his mask, a familiar mixture of weariness and familiarity in your voice. You take a slow, short step to the side along the edge, waiting for Spoke to approach and lead you away, as usual.

— ...What do you want this time?

"You said in your quiet, emotionless voice. Spoke approached you, ready to tell you another story.