A drink to the void.

Appologies on delay for chapters, just back from holidays, very eepy but ive got a few chapters ready to go just needs editing and things~

I follow the painted stripes on the ground, yellow for… requisitions I hope? It could be leading me to the toilets for all I know, but at least it's taking me back to the central area of the station. After a good walk, with last night's endeavors catching up to me, I finally see something more familiar. People milling about and talking, hints of nervousness in the air, newcomers? Just like me I guess, but since I've already conquered a scientist here I feel much more safe. I've got a room to go back to and a warm body to keep me company. My safety net in place, I have reason for my confidence, It's also who I am, the facade of a top on the prowl.

As I weave through the crowds I hear murmurs of 'starter kits' and people wandering out from where the yellow line leads, carrying tools and implements, packs with names and job positions on them. Engineer, service, no bartender ones, but from what I can guess there won't be many of us, and If there are, we would fall under 'service', although that could also be a double entendre, services for the powerful.

I wonder if there's a way to advance here? Everyone being assigned roles, with the possibility that this will be the next Earth, maybe this is it, just wait until someone dies and slip into their place? If we all survive that long. Looking up into the black of space makes this feel more and more like a death trap, just gotta not think about being sucked into the void.

Finally I see a line of people approaching the yellow on the ground, not short, not long. A sign up front tells us to state our name and assigned job. Some people are standing off to the side talking to guards, seeming exasperated trying to explain something to them. I can only hope it's quick and easy for me.

Getting closer I see that the 'requisition' station is connected to the storage dock, large numbers of workers throwing equipment around, smaller tables out the back throwing together packs of tools and basic uniforms and clothing, looking awfully like what some of the people that passed me were holding. The whole thing feels like one of those online businesses, rough work, especially when back then it was found that they were treated like slaves. Good thing their CEO was dragged kicking and screaming through the dirt. The people finally fought back after the war had stripped them of everything and Mr. Big Shot was found to be one of the reasons for it. Good Riddance. Shame there's still so many of those same fuckers around, which I will have the pleasure of serving cocktails too.

"Next! Name and Job!" A pale red haired Irish man had started talking to me from behind the counter, my feet had taken me to the start of the line without me even realizing it.

"Emily Smith - Bartender" He pauses for a second while he puts in the information, then whistles at what he sees.

"Looks like you might be working for the top. With that kind of credit you're gonna have it easy here… Alright! Looks like you've got a Personal Console, 4 days of clothing, and assignments will be issued to your personal com unit, and you get a personal room… though it won't be available until starting next week so you will have to bunker down with the rest of service." They go into the back and pull out an enclosed bag, my name across the side.

"All equipment is personalized so you can't go swapping it around with people, if you lose your comms unit you will have to pay a fine so please don't do that. Last but not least you can follow the indicator on the comms unit to get to the chip implanters. Once you get it implanted you can get your credits. With your package, as long as you keep working, you're gonna be living the easy life, if I see you bartending, can grab me a drink, it's always a good thing to have friends in high places. They call me Mac, chief requisitions officer, take care now."

The end to our interaction left me a little bewildered. Was having friends in high places for him or me? It could go both ways if I'm going to be fraternizing with some powerful people, although it would be good to have them on my friends list if I ever need something… specific.

Going out of line I make my way to an area with tables, plopping my sack down and unzipping it from the side. Neat black and white clothing, fairly normal upper class bartending outfit, as if they pulled it straight out of a movie instead of designing something of their own. Next to it is a small screen, when I touch it it requests a fingerprint scan, I oblige and feel the warmth running over my thumb.

< Welcome to your personal console upon the Acropolis! >

Feature upon feature pinging up on it, assignments, sleep, maps, location markers, shopping and even some ads in the corner for some kind of energy drink? An exclamation mark shows that I should click something, and I do, what could it hurt, they only want to inject a tracking chip into my arm, what could go wrong! My anarchist nature is screaming at me, but my capitalist nature is telling me how convenient it is. I will never lose my cards again!

Something to tell me where to go is a nice touch, I could only hope for a sultry voice to tell me when to turn at each corner, leading me deeper and deeper into the bowels of the station. And deeper I've gone, I can hear the clanking of machines as the walls become less adorned around me, more… sci-fi murder esc. Starting to expect a monster at every corner, but oh boy you say I go and I will follow, wondrous machine!

Finally I hit my destination, or it hits me, as I stood outside a door it swung outwards thwarting any possibility of escape or eloquence. "You must be Emily! Sorry you had to come out so far, they really don't like us crazies being out with the normal folk! Come on in come on in!" My attacker greeted me happily while I was half on the floor, a wound on my forehead, or at least to me.

"Yeah thanks for the… warm welcome…" They nod happily and wander inside, an older man in a trench coat and thick thick glasses, ruffled beard and smiles for days. Inside is a mass of instruments and tools, all looking like they were reused or thrown away, it's hard to say, at least they were shiny like they had been taken care of.

"Alright so! Are you here to get that head wound checked out?! Emily right?... or was it Emerton… " They are trying to grasp at something with their mouth slack jawed, I might just die here, even worse by accident.

"Emily, I'm here for my chip implant, please just ignore the head wound" It really wasn't that bad, I hope…

"Oh yes yes the burlesque girl!" 

"Bartender!" They nod as if that's what they actually just said.

"Right so sit down already! I don't have all day!" C-calm down, murder on your first day would leave a bad impression.

I sit down in a large chair and they get to work, or they would if they could 'only find their damn tools', after minutes of searching they pull something from their ear that's pencil shaped 'of course!' Leaning over to my side they poke my arm and then reach into a pocket, an even smaller tool with a little holder, I can barely feel my arm at this point, a cutter and anesthesia in one?

They fiddle with the tool and I hear a fsssh as a tingle goes up my arm, another tool is brought out and gel put over my skin, the flesh closing up, healing before my very eyes.

"See! Best work in the business! Made it all myself! Even without having to go through all those damn people to check that everything is ethical and legal! That's how you know it's good!" ha… hahaha… oh god they're not joking, of course they aren't…

"G-great, how do I check like it works?..."

"What? How am I supposed to know that! I'm just the chip man! Hah!" yeah just put me in a hole now.

I grab out my console and place it over the chip, it asks if I'd like to register a chip to the account. "Oh you have one of the personal coms! I invented those!" I look at them in horror… just the fucking chip man?!

"Yes…. thank you for all your help I'll be going now!" I rush out the door just as I hear the 'chip man' yelling after me.

"And that's why you can't trust the governments!" but this basically is the governments?! Like all of them! And why are they saying that at this time, I can't deal with this anymore, I thought I needed a drink before.

As I get out the door and turn the corner I accept the connection to the chip, turning my wrist over I see a red glow under my skin. I navigate the console to tell me how to get to the nearest drinking hole, no matter how sloppy it is. Onward it points me, without the sultry voice I could use right now.

…

The bar it turns me to really didn't factor in any kind of civility, which frankly, I'm grateful for. I turn a corner and end up closer to the machinery than before, workers in clothes just enjoying a drink at or before their shifts. I'm not going to judge, not here. The whole bar is made out of makeshift iron, either as a style or that's what they had leftover, then tried to make the thing as comfortable as possible rather than giving a shit about how good it looked.

I saddle up onto what used to be a drum, now welded to the floor, a cushion adorning its top, right now this just makes me feel like royalty. The bar itself is open so that you can stare out into the stars and the void, tucked in some corner of the station that no one really comes to anymore, at least no one with a title.

A woman on the short side with a buzz cut and a scar running down her right cheek greets me, her face is sharp and cold, ex-military maybe? "Hey stranger, what will it be?..." She leans down on the top and awaits my instructions, the customer is king.

"I will be needing a vodka and raspberry, 2 shots please" She looks at me and smirks like I'm a dainty princess, not that she didn't already think that when she looked at me, just the smirk was evident now.

"Sure thing, not that I think this is your kind of bar." She goes to make my drink regardless of my comment as I stare dead straight at her.

"Please I've beaten more hard women than you ever will" She looks back at me inquisitively.

"You, a fighter?" It was my time to smirk.

"Only if you would consider making girls call me mummy a fight" She realizes what kind of fight I'm referring to and looks away.

"Oh, Shit you got me beat then" She finished the drink and plops it down on the counter, it spills a little and she wipes it up with her finger. "Names Carla, I own this shit hole" She holds out her hand for mine, I daintily take it and with my other hand slam the drink down my throat.

"Emily, I think I rather enjoy this shit hole, shouldn't speak ill of it, I think with some good rubbing it could feel a lot nicer, don't you?" My thumb runs up her palm and she audibly, looking down at the hand I'm gently caressing before quickly pulling back, a shade of red across her tan face.

"Cough, Yeah yeah you may be right." Much more innocent than I could have guessed, I found a drink and more It seems.

I mark down the location on my personal map, 'Innocent Carla'. I've got to get my pleasures where I can get them on this barren moon.