The End is Never Final
folder
S through Z › SeaQuest
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
37
Views:
1,896
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
S through Z › SeaQuest
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
37
Views:
1,896
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own SeaQuest DSV, and I do not make any money from this writing.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The MedBay is in complete order. Doctor Smith wasted no time giving the seaQuest’s housekeeping staff a work-out, ordering damaged equipment picked up while she busied herself with the task of filling out the necessary paperwork, placing needed materials on the next supply run. When she finally flicks off the light, the MedBay looks sanitized and untouched. She leaves, her practical shoes clicking slightly, announcing her exit.
No one notices that the MedBay is only okay on a surface level. Beyond that, inside one of the morgue compartments, Tom O’Neil lays flat on his back. Under the white sheet the autopsy stitches stand out, unbelievably dark against the slightly puckered skin. Above that, his ‘good’ eye stares expressionlessly, blanketed by a floating white mass. After a moment, the eye blinks.
Tim O’Neil smiles humourlessly into the darkness. Another moment passes and he begins to vibrate. A slightly rusted sound forces itself through his ruined vocal cords. It’s the kind of sound that would send chills up the listener’s spine. But the synthetic night has set in and, although there is some bustle, a skeleton crew manning the stations and mopping floors, no one hears a thing.
The End
No one notices that the MedBay is only okay on a surface level. Beyond that, inside one of the morgue compartments, Tom O’Neil lays flat on his back. Under the white sheet the autopsy stitches stand out, unbelievably dark against the slightly puckered skin. Above that, his ‘good’ eye stares expressionlessly, blanketed by a floating white mass. After a moment, the eye blinks.
Tim O’Neil smiles humourlessly into the darkness. Another moment passes and he begins to vibrate. A slightly rusted sound forces itself through his ruined vocal cords. It’s the kind of sound that would send chills up the listener’s spine. But the synthetic night has set in and, although there is some bustle, a skeleton crew manning the stations and mopping floors, no one hears a thing.
The End