u/PixelFlyerXD

A pair of eyes opened to an unfamiliar reflection through an unfamiliar mirror in an unfamiliar room. Private Parker Dane of the Steeled Resolve did not know why… they did not look like the grizzled space cadet who had faced them for the past two years. Their face was different; smoother, softer, and their stubble was gone. Their hair was to the table they were sitting on, their shoulders were slimmer, and… they had a chest? That was odd, though odder still was the fact that they enjoyed the look of the person blushing back at them. They lifted a hand to their cheek, or leastways tried to; they were seemingly in some state of sleep paralysis. That explained the place, and the face, and her… their form. 

Like clockwork, the other shoe of Parker’s situation dropped, or more accurately walked, into view behind them. They tried to turn their head around to the mass of weeds now fast approaching, before reminding her… themselves that uncharactaristically vivid dream states have arbitrary rules that are impossible to break. “Chloe, my dearest, I’m glad you woke up!” The monster spoke perfect terran in its melodic voice; yet another shark that their nightmare jumped. More confusingly, and more importantly, that name felt familiar. They didn’t know why; they didn’t know any Chloes from the ship, and-- “Chloe, dear. You’re spacing out.” The weed had practically pressed up against her, how she hadn’t noticed was beyond her. Beyond him, beyond Private Par-- “Chloe. Look at me,” it was proving difficult to disobey her dream captor “You, my dear, were rescued from your, frankly dangerously undersupplied, ship some… fifteen terran rotations ago. Unfortunately, we had to keep you in stasis until now, but t…” The weeds voice seemed to fade into the background as a trickle of thoughts ran through her brain. An Alarm, a yell, a wispy lavender smoke. Reaching for a carbine and falling to the floor, the taste and smell of citrus, a heavy weight passing through chest and mind. A set of eyes glowing with the fire of stars. 

Stars, she had been captured. They’d all been captured. She wasn’t going to wake up from this mess. “...And you were the cutest case that I saw aboard your vessel… still got a lot of thoughts on your mind, petal? I’m sure this is a lot for you, maybe the M’s were a bad idea. No, you don’t need to pose questions; just be a good girl and stay very still for me, alright Chloe? That would be easy given her current positi-- something pinched her shoulder, another reminder of the reality of her situation, in the form of a flower now pressed up against her skin. From it a warmth spread down her arm, and up her neck, and through her chest and midsection, and into her brain. “Does that feel better, petal? You don’t get to be worried as long as I’m here. And I’ll always be here. Now we’ve got a lot of extra special paperwork to do, and I’m sure you would like to be dolled up for the occasion.” She did want to be dolled up, something she wouldn’t have even thought about doing before her capture. Much too… the words escaped her, in their place leaving a warmth in her gut. She had evidently been drugged both a minute prior and prior to her waking and… it felt good. Really good, almost too good… the warmth was back. 

A vine interrupted her thoughts, running down her hair, down her neck, down her back. “Now, where should we start? The G’s obviously worked their magic.” Vines picked up locks of her hair, while others wrapped around her arms, legs, waist… neck. She was blushing again; how could she not? She vaguely heard the affini behind her cooing at her now shortened breaths and beet red cheeks. At some point in time it had taken out a basket of brushes, combs, scissors, powders, and a million different articles she didn’t recognize. A vine shuffled through the basket before coming to a pair of yellow-handled scissors. Succeeding it, a flurry items; something red, a palette of powders, a tan brush, and a multitude more she couldn’t pick out over the sensations rippling through her skin… her neck. 

A tear and a lock of hair dropped to the ground. Vines were buzzing around her face, through her hair. Through the brush strokes, the sponging, the creams, powders, and vines, she could see a face; a foreign face, an unfamiliar face, a beautiful face. Chloe was… cute. She was cute. She was cute and pretty and stars, what was she going to do with herself? She hadn’t felt more than apathetic with what she looked like in… ten years? Twenty? Her whole life? Vines were still curling through, clipping through, braiding her hair. It was… nice.

It was 15:38, if the clock were to be trusted. &ϵℂ#ϱ@ looked down at the floor below her. Her head was spinning, likely the result of whatever was preventing her from knowing where she was. Or who she was, for that matter. 8վ¿¶%$ got up from the gurney she had been lying in, and dropped to the ground, seemingly in slow motion, as the quarter gravity of the room misguided her footing. There were two other gurneys in the room, now above ɖǝ#ÐტჄ's position, with two similarly groggy, and seemingly similarly confused terrans atop them.

It was 16:22 when ჶ?𐐉Ꮖ&Ω had gotten her bearings. She was on a vessel, a terran vessel, escaping an alien conquest, and due for an outpost some 880,000 AU's from the now conquered Terra. Somehow, this information seemed normal, if not familiar to 𐌌€𐍀5𐌸£, not that it reduced the terror of the thought. As to her condition, the ship had a collision during their previous jump, which had thrown herself and her two compatriots into an amnestic coma.

It was 16:29 when a droning alarm and a reddened lighting took 𐍈&§𐠑Λ@'s attention away from her past, and straight into the looming danger before her. The intercom confirmed her fears; the weeds, the affini, the intergalactic slavers, had found them. A weapon and a respirator were tossed at her by stars knows who, as she backed up into the wall behind her.

It was 17:04 by the time the weeds got to the room where በ2ß)æㄒ now resided. She had hidden herself in a ventilation duct, stubb gun in hand and respirator plastered to her face. A milky pink gas floated lazily along the floor of the room. The face of ꓘ𖼚o𖼘｣Ꮹ's assailant was just visible to her, but it seemed oddly familiar. She knew those eyes from somewhere. Moreover, she knew that presence from somewhere. It was comforting, unreasonably so; dare she think it might be mind control? She was in over her head.

It was 17:06 when ЗЛⰵ𐀸𐑴{ opened fire on her assailant, and mere seconds after that the stubber she was holding was wrenched out of her hands and onto the ground below her. The ventilation shaft's grill had been ripped off, now suspended in the air by a set of vines, and ⦽V⳪𐆛🝫's left hand was wrapped in a similar mass, now rendered immobile by it's strength. A voice came up from her captor, one she recognized deep within her soul. "Petra, dear. there's no need to struggle." How did the Affini know her name? Petra assumed it was a similar reason to how she knew the mass of vines before her. There was a prick, in the base of Petra's wrist. The redness seemed to fade from her vision. The alarm seemed to fade from her register. The last thing she remembered before losing consciousness was one of her mistress' vines leaving her hand, and slowly rubbing the base of her scalp.