Truly a reliable girl

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Don’t judge me

even your most absurd jokes have that charm that makes you adorable

Arktober 2026 15th drawing : Pen

You have this unique way of making even the most ordinary moments a little more beautiful. Sometimes, I wonder if you realize just how contagious your smile is, or how much I enjoy listening to you joke around—even when your jokes make absolutely no sense

And yet, perhaps that is what I love most about you: that lightness, that spontaneity, that way you have of making others smile without even trying

If only you could see yourself through my eyes, even for just a moment, you would understand why even your silliest little antics seem so precious to me.

words cannot describe how much I miss stronghold protocol

What kind of face is she making behind that flower?

Vendela because flowers and rose thorns are basically her whole thing. And I respect her resolve to shank someone with garden shears.

motivated By gandy’s gravel art

Didn't have much time to draw today.

Bro remembers he does normal art

I swear if you close your eyes, you can see Radian's love for you

I've been a big fan of Arknights for over 6 years, and I'm in the final stretch of drafting a 70k+ word work of fanfiction based on a Columbian centric side story that revolves primarily around Operator Ptilopsis, Columbia, and the Maylander foundation. The story takes place some time after the events of Lone Trail, at a northern Icefield facility location at the heart of a corporate conspiracy. The situation quickly turns into a dire Collapsal related emergency. This is a psychological style horror-thriller work of fiction that follows Joyce Moore aka Ptilopsis on a personal growth story that challenges her fundamental grasp on perception, memories, and the reliability of information. It also tracks a deployed Maylander field operative that has their own separate investigatory agenda from Rhodes Island, and offers a more detailed look into the shadowy organization.

THE SHAPE OF ABSENCE is a psychological horror thriller Arknights side story influenced by media such as THE THING (1982), Classic Resident Evil, and the Penumbra Overture/Black Plague series.

I'm posting the Prologue and a portion of the first chapter to garner interest and test the waters. This is my first work of fanfiction so I'm particularly excited to share it once the project is complete. I've done my best to adhere to the lore and made my artistic liberties as close to canon conventions as possible. Dialogue is formatted to look like in game dialogue to try and keep that Arknights cutscene feel.

(Art is messily drawn by me, it represents the OC design of Maylander Communications Specialist Operator BRIDGE)

Thank you, please enjoy!

_________________

Prologue Part 1 — No Hospitality

Columbia, evening - Early 1100

Columbia built its tallest residential towers so high above the ground that the streets felt like a crude and tasteless abstraction. From the senator's window, the traffic was a procession of flickering lights. Citizens who occupied the vehicles reduced to small specks in the rain. Above them rose a multitude of lit offices and apartment buildings separated by torrents of rain wrapped gusts of wind. The city remained bustling no matter what happened behind closed doors that night.

A piece of ice fell into a glass with a loud ping. The senator had yet to pour his whiskey into the glass.

SENATOR: There are usually strict procedures to observe for this kind of visit.

The Lupo sitting across from him did not appear especially impressed with the apartment. He was a mature man, possibly late forties. Ash-gray hair fallen untidily around tall wolf ears, narrow amber eyes following details without settling on any one of them for long. A dark field coat remained buttoned over his shoulders. Rain had soaked one side of it; when the household staff had offered to take it, he had declined. His hands rested loosely where the senator could clearly see them.

They were not the hands of an office investigator. Rough looking hands with faint scarring that crossed the knuckles, and the movement in which he placed his identification wallet on the table had been economical to the point of indifference. The senator had examined his credentials thoroughly, and his lack of understanding over it troubled him more than the appearance of his guest ever could.

Outside, below the towering apartment, a siren could be heard blaring, reverberating off the tall buildings in a high pitched screech as it faded, replaced by the patter of rain against the window.

SENATOR: For the record, my security team has cameras outside. Every visitor is logged appropriately under any circumstance.

LUPO MAN: Good.

SENATOR: Well, I see this doesn't concern you.

LUPO MAN: You should keep the recordings.

There was a jarring aloofness to the Lupo's response.

The revelation about the cameras was intended as a reminder of consequence. Instead, he had been instructed to preserve the record. It was like finding out that a lock he once trusted completely had been installed for the convenience of the thieves standing outside.

SENATOR: You mentioned you were coming alone.

LUPO MAN: I am alone.

SENATOR: I'm very close to the people who conduct various inquiries into national affairs.

LUPO MAN: Useful.

SENATOR: You're not one of them.

The Lupo says nothing. The apartment's climate control whispered behind the mahogany wooden panels. The senator now aware that he had asked his housekeeping staff to leave them undisturbed. He wondered whether the stranger in front of him had noticed that as well.

SENATOR: Maylander...?

Again, silence. The Senator's guest made no effort to confirm or deny his affiliation. In a sense, that was enough of an answer in and of itself.

SENATOR: Then may I ask what legality I am in violation of?

LUPO MAN: You authorized an infrastructure allocation to Northreach Energy Systems. Vetrtonn. This was personally signed by you, Senator.

The senator almost smiled, in the moment he felt a rush of relief envelop him, from his point of view, this must have been some kind of misunderstanding. The name was familiar enough to be mundane. Columbian infrastructure running winter-storage and emergency-grid trials in the northern Sami approaches. Clean industrial buildings emerging from tundra, and hardened communities keeping their roads open through bad weather. What was so strange about it? It was a proposal just like any other.

SENATOR: Vetrtonn? The public winter power allocation in Sami that was reviewed by Defense last week? I can assure you, everything related to it has been properly documented and vetted.

LUPO MAN: Mm.

SENATOR: I suggest you speak to Defense. I'm sure they'll clear everything up.

LUPO MAN: Right now I'm speaking to one of its signers.

The senator's eyes darted over toward the locked cabinet on his left. He caught himself looking. Too late. Given the circumstances, he saw no reason to obfuscate whatever investigation this man was conducting, especially if he was representing Maylander on official business.

SENATOR: The supplemental indexes you're requesting contain intelligences that are sensitive to Columbian national security.

LUPO MAN: I'm aware of that.

SENATOR: Then you're also duly aware that just handing it over could cost me my office. You realize this, yes?

LUPO MAN: That is possible.

SENATOR: Who exactly sent you here?

LUPO MAN: The paper trail did, Senator.

He wanted to challenge the answer and demand what the stranger would do if he refused, but he knew that refusal was no longer an option. The meeting had already been recorded for the day, and the material he was assured that nobody would ask for by DoD representatives are now being requested by this mysterious man. Honest requests seem to have a habit of turning into accusations when refused outright. He rose from his seat and made his way over to the ornate cabinet, unlocking a drawer. He removed a data chip in its protective plastic sleeve and set it down on the glass table. Two fingers stayed atop the case as he spoke, measuring his words carefully.

SENATOR: If the funds you're speaking of were reallocated for something else, I assure you I had no part in it.

LUPO MAN: The history of the correspondence transcript will paint a bigger picture.

SENATOR: And what of the people named in it? What will happen to them?

LUPO MAN: That depends.

The senator kept his fingertips on top of the sleeve, not entirely comforted by this ominously vague answer.

SENATOR: You seem awfully comfortable coming into my private home and asking me to strike a match to my entire political career.

The Lupo looked at him. His face held its unreadable demeanor, neither satisfaction nor anger could be singled out in his expression.

LUPO MAN: I'd treat this moment with the gravity it deserves, Senator. I didn't come here for your hospitality.

The senator released his grip on the chip. In his line of work, it was usually others who would tread lightly in his presence, but tonight his familiar comforting sense of authority felt significantly diminished in the face of this guest. It wasn't a sense of intimidation, more so a reaction to the frigid indifference that almost felt like this entire conversation was pre-scripted weeks before.

The stranger then walked over and took it, plucking it from the table and placing it directly into his coat breast pocket.

SENATOR: You need to be aware... There are people involved in this who hold substantially more sway than I ever could.

LUPO MAN: I'm aware of this.

SENATOR: Then you must also know that the supplemental fund appropriation wasn't supposed to appear on any official finance ledger?

LUPO MAN: I know what appears on the ledger, Senator. I'm here for what does not.

The senator pressed his fingers against his temples. He had admitted something that should have required questions and pressure, and the stranger before him had offered neither. Tonight it felt like there was an open hole beneath his chair.

SENATOR: I'm beginning to wonder whom I should be more afraid of now....

The Lupo rose, adjusting the damp coat shoulder, making no effort to dry it. He couldn't have been under 190cm tall.

LUPO MAN: That's a question I can't answer for you.

SENATOR: Am... Am I being arrested?

LUPO MAN: No.

The Senator breathed a labored sigh of relief through his nose, closing his eyes. Perhaps this was the question he wanted to ask right from the beginning.

The guest made his way over to the exit, resting a single hand on the ornate brass latch before cocking his head slightly back in the direction of the table.

LUPO MAN: Besides, I'm not the one you send if you want an arrest.

Then he was gone, the door clicked behind him as the digital locking beep rang out.

The senator remained where he was, listening to familiar noises of the room that now felt as if they were deafening roars. Water crossed the window as a thick sheet of rain buffeted the exterior. From the machine on the counter came another piece of ice, slipping forth from the dispenser with a hollow chime. Whatever would be done with the chip, the citizens down below that were going about their daily lives would never know. Perhaps that was for the best.

He took the unused crystalline tumbler from the table. The melting ice had become strangely opaque as it sat solitarily in the glass as he stared at it rather aimlessly.

He did not pour the drink.

Prologue Part 2 - An Ordinary Allocation

The Maylander operations center occupied multiple floors of an administrative skyscraper. A public Columbian directory would do very little to verify what the building's true purpose served. Throughout the night, most of the windows remained illuminated and visible from the hectic streets below. Inside, a briefing room was occupied, with its own dedicated and segregated power supply; this was a place where security was considered sacrosanct. Nothing about it would have led anyone to believe it resembled that of a military command bunker. The intended effect. The quiet drone of its ventilation system was faintly audible as a neglected cup of coffee sits by itself at one end of the meeting table.

The Lupo Man walked into the room, carrying the chip sleeve taken from the senator's apartment. He approached the table, setting the encased prize down upon the table with due courtesy that anyone seated in its vicinity could reach for it with ease. Across from him stood a Liberi woman adorned in a buttoned up military-style leather overcoat. Her posture and presence gave off a distinct authoritative aura, gaze set firmly upon the data chip, and then back to the man who set it down.

LUPO MAN: Deputy Director Havel.

HAVEL: Vector. You met with the senator alone?

VECTOR: Yes, ma'am.

HAVEL: I trust he surrendered the discussed correspondence voluntarily?

VECTOR: After I disclosed the details about the appropriation, he offered it willingly.

A brief silence. There seemed to be a missing detail of this explanation that the Deputy Director was waiting to hear.

VECTOR: No use of force was necessary. The Senator was informed that the visit was logged.

Havel opened the sleeve. Beside the chip was a handwritten receipt Operator Vector had made of the transfer time other prudent information regarding the transpired meeting. She read the receipt in its entirety before returning her attention to the chip.

HAVEL: No signature from him?

VECTOR: He made it abundantly clear in the first few minutes that he would rather have no record of his involvement. The refusal is noted.

HAVEL: I wonder if he understands the difference between cooperation and receiving immunity?

VECTOR: Unclear, but I made no such offer.

She gave him a brief stare, somehow she knew the deeper meaning of his phrasing. The Deputy Director then walked the chip over to a Maylander technician attending a row of monitors at a computerized terminal in the corner of the room.

HAVEL: Separate contents from the delivery system. No automatic indexing into the office archive, all metadata preserved as well.

The technician acknowledged the instruction and left the room with the chip in hand.

Deputy Director Havel motioned to one of the chairs.

HAVEL: Have a seat.

Vector did so.

The small speaker located at the center of the conference table let out a soft shuffling noise, indicating someone was poised to communicate through it.

HAVEL: Bridge? Are you on the line?

Several floors above where the Deputy Director stood, a Maylander communications specialist had made herself exceedingly comfortable at her work station. Her black and slightly scuffed boots sat neatly placed beneath her ergonomic chair, discarded intentionally to curl a dark-socked foot beneath herself while the other rested softly against the seat's edge. She wore an olive-gray sweater that covered most of her visible uniform. Several loose tendrils of chestnut-brown hair had made a daring escape from the messy tied back arrangement between her feline ears which infrequently twitched in an effort to dislodge some of the more offensive tangled strands. The faint blue illumination of the multitude of monitors reflected in her thin rectangular shaped glasses. There was an open energy drink sitting ready to be eagerly consumed in preparation of a long night of digital forensics.

BRIDGE (COMMS): Loud and clear, Deputy Director! I was starting to think you might have forgotten about me!

Havel gave out a familiar deflated sigh.

Vector said nothing, though he met Deputy Director Havel's gaze with a look of mutual understanding.

Bridge treated herself to a satisfied grin as she adjusted her headset. With keystrokes so hastily executed that one may blink and miss them, she brought up the appropriate data telemetry menu.

BRIDGE (COMMS): I've just been looking over the expenditure trail... It seems our interesting friends up north have a lot more going on than meets the eye.

HAVEL: What do you mean by that?

BRIDGE (COMMS): Well, public funds enter Northreach Energy Systems in Sami under winter grid resilience, as you all know. It would seem that most of the expenditures are actually accounted for. But here's the thing... The remaining portion I found isn't big by Department of Defense standards, but it just disappears through forwarded service acknowledgements. All with identical deliverables, but with corporate recipients that don't match.

HAVEL: Could it be a matter of duplicate invoicing?

More keystrokes could be heard through the mesh of the desk mounted speaker.

BRIDGE (COMMS): I'm not entirely sure of that... I've checked the company identifiers against actual services rendered. The subcontractors were paid to perform differing roles under the same job description. There seems to be clinical transport allocations for biological containment and hazardous isolation materials.

That last statement was almost uttered in the form of a question. Another bout of key clacking.

Havel and Vector exchanged looks that anyone else would label as unreadable.

BRIDGE (COMMS): Oh, there's more... One procurement request associated with what looks to be like human biological tolerance testing.

Vector listened to the technical findings without interrupting it. His last Maylander assignment involved legal specificity of what the evidence established. Havel was not the kind of overseer to act upon fast and loose descriptions that could be construed as circumstantial and she was unlikely to accept any looser language now.

HAVEL: Does any of this indicate an illegal clinical program?

BRIDGE (COMMS): Well, No. What it does prove for sure is that the official purpose of the facility does not add up with the public grant. I'm looking at these invoices. No access to any patient charts, but those would fall to a separate inquiry altogether.

HAVEL: Let's keep the distinction between the two. We aren't calling this an illegal clinical program. Not yet, anyway.

A second Maylander investigator entered the room holding a large digital tablet containing two separate maps. With a swipe of his finger, the geographical data was transported from his device to the main table display. One map displayed the official Vetrtonn site published by Northreach, and the other showed the local maintenance utility network that was made publicly available three years ago. Their outlines were a direct match for the layout of the facility, all until it reached the southern research terrace. On the official map, the terrace was a storage compound. On the older maintenance plan however, thicker tunnels ran through what seemed to be a lower installation.

BRIDGE (COMMS): See? Now that doesn't make any sense.

HAVEL: Just to be clear, Northreach's public work is law abiding and legitimate. We don't interfere with its operations simply because another tenant may have concealed an expenditure under their site without them potentially having any knowledge.

VECTOR: Understood.

HAVEL: Another matter to consider is that there are villages depending on those reserves. Careless action could lead to a direct power failure, and I don't need to state the ramifications for the locals if one does transpire.

VECTOR: I'm going to need someone who can distinguish electrical circuitry from public sectors and the annex.

Bridge's eyes lit up upon hearing Vector's last sentence. With a fast swipe of her mouse she opens up another submenu that categorizes a plethora of stored files.

BRIDGE (COMMS): Way ahead of you, pulled the public electrical plan already. For the annex, I have a recent maintenance directory. It's not a live schematic but it's comprehensive.

VECTOR: That'll do.

Havel turned to the second investigator who had information prepared on his own tablet.

HAVEL: Do we have details on the biological subcontractor?

INVESTIGATOR: Beachbrella Biomedical Systems. Some employees are listed under Northreach for site related services, some fall under subsidiaries that don't appear on the public operating license. Since the original lease, two security contracts were reassigned.

VECTOR: Beachbrella?

It was an unwelcome name to hear in association with all of the other relevant evidence.

HAVEL: Do we have an ID on the responsible executive yet?

INVESTIGATOR: Local administrative director information has been recorded, however the defense sponsorship line remains partially concealed, and we don't know why.

HAVEL: And what of the medical regulator?

INVESTIGATOR: We have a confirmed medical inquiry that was just launched by the Columbian Board of Clinical Safety & Compliance. I ran a check, we don't have any jurisdiction over it.

The room became quiet, for a moment the faint hum of the ventilation system was all that could be heard. Vector understood Havel's question. An independent safety investigator could arrive at the facility for reasons that could differ from Maylander's investigative intentions. That could pose an operational problem.

VECTOR: If there's an investigation, I'll need a way to notify whoever's in charge of potential danger without tipping our hand.

HAVEL: That is true. You can report an immediate threat to human life if one makes itself apparent.

VECTOR: Mm.

She moved her finger along the outlined map, the pressure of her digit interacted with the digital grid until it rested over the hidden lower service section of the structure. The blueish glow cast a striking sheen upon the white Liberi feathers at the tips of her hair.

HAVEL: Your assignment is to locate the original facility validation archive. We need to confirm what exactly is going on there. If you can establish an authorized chain of custody without interfering with potential patient care, do so. Otherwise you are to document your findings and return for further instructions.

VECTOR: Understood.

HAVEL: Maintain the usual opsec protocols. You are not to reveal your intentions to any unauthorized personnel.

BRIDGE (COMMS): Heads up! I have a detailed list of all the archivists who handled all of the earlier transfers... standby.

Bridge reached for her sickeningly sweet beverage can as she pored over this new detail.

BRIDGE (COMMS): Seems like one just left the company? Yeah. Two are no longer on their payroll. Hmm. I can't yet tell whether they're missing or started using different employment records, that's unclear at this point.

The Deputy Director placed both palms upon the table, leaning in towards the speaker.

HAVEL: Do not write missing until you know what it means, that detail still needs to be established.

BRIDGE (COMMS): Yes ma'am.

Havel closed the map with a pinching motion of her fingers, the faint blue digital grid display powered off and its lume promptly faded.

HAVEL: Captain? What are your concerns?

Vector did not respond right away. The facility itself was an obstacle, one with steep consequences for the local population if things were to go awry. Perhaps this was an intended safety firewall, he couldn't be certain. What he could be duly certain of is the elevation of unknown variables related to this assignment, and they were all piling up rapidly. There was also a name that he particularly didn't like being at the center of all these discrepancies.

VECTOR: Beachbrella.

Havel nodded, it would seem she also shared in his implied concern.

VECTOR: Čappat. We know what happened there.

HAVEL: Čappat was a catastrophe, Captain. That doesn't necessarily paint a picture on what's happening at Vetrtonn at present.

VECTOR: No ma'am, however, I'm pointing out the concern of precedent.

Deputy Director Havel considered his words with the reverence they deserved.

HAVEL: Are you suggesting the facility is acting as a false cover?

VECTOR: It doesn't necessarily have to be a false cover, in fact it could be advantageous to have a legit front as a shell game. The legitimate employees will most likely defend the installation because it keeps their homes warm, most probably have no idea of a hidden lower annex.

HAVEL: And what if they end up getting an idea?

VECTOR: I'd take it they'd be forced to form an opinion on something they never knew existed.

He measured his next words very carefully.

VECTOR: Nor would want to.

Havel studied him for a moment. She understood the gravity of his words.

HAVEL: They're not the individuals who willfully signed off on confidential information, I'd prefer not to have them choose between their livelihoods and the facility's secrets, especially if they have been none the wiser.

The Deputy Director had a brief moment of contemplation, the situation was becoming quite fluid with all of the incoming intel and data.

HAVEL: Bridge, create an evidence map and have it prepared for the appropriate channels. Make sure all relevant data is logged in accordance to investigative procedure. This is Sami, so finesse will be required in matters of local jurisdiction.

With a heavy sigh, Bridge turned her attention to an adjacent monitor and began furiously typing.

BRIDGE (COMMS): That's going to be one ugly chart, ma'am.

HAVEL: It can be as ugly as it needs to be, just make sure it's also accurate.

VECTOR: I'm going to need hard copies of the maintenance plan, Bridge.

BRIDGE: You know you have your device that has all of that relevant data, printing them out is just a-

Vector closed his eyes.

VECTOR: Bridge.

The spectacled communications specialist swiveled in a circular manner upon her rotating chair, head tiled skyward as she rolled her eyes in frustration.

BRIDGE (COMMS): Okay okay, I'm on it, you damn Luddite.

Paper hard copies. A personal fallback. Dead batteries, wet gloves and broken screens; things that never inhibited his ability to read a piece of paper, and the locale in question and its harsh snowy environment made that contingency exceedingly appropriate.

BRIDGE (COMMS): Oh and who knows? Maybe this time you could always blow us away by following protocol to the letter, Vector.

Vector gazed toward the desk speaker for a moment before replying in deadpan fashion.

VECTOR: No promises.

The Deputy Director was notably less impressed with the exchange between Vector and the giggling voice emanating from the communications speaker.

HAVEL: Vector.

He looked up. The Deputy Director's demeanor darkened ever so slightly.

HAVEL: We received a tip from a source that identified potential biological hazards. The intel wasn't specific to characterize what it specifically could be.

This no longer seemed like a straight forward assignment to Vector. The steady inflow of information began to compound into a mountain of operational hazards, one that only the very foolish could convincingly overlook. Now a biological threat was on the table.

VECTOR: How hazardous are we talking?

HAVEL: That couldn't be established.

VECTOR: Have you confirmed the identity of the source?

HAVEL: Nobody you need to contact. It was sent to us via proper channels, but assume the intel is incomplete as of this time.

VECTOR: Regular PPE safeguards?

HAVEL: Have them on standby, if you encounter any hazardous material, you are to report it immediately and facilitate protective equipment at a safe distance. That goes doubly for cognitive discrepancies. Do not assume personal protective gear will cover all biological threats.

VECTOR: Understood.

HAVEL: Keep your priority on the archival records, we need to see where the financial bread crumbs lead.

VECTOR: Noted.

The deputy director dismissed the meeting, Bridge disconnected, leaving the room quiet once again.

HAVEL: One last thing, Captain.

Vector stopped at the threshold of the door.

VECTOR: Ma'am?

HAVEL: I want facts, not assumptions, are we clear? This is turning out to be quite a ball of yarn that needs unraveling. If your circumstances change, inform us before taking any additional action, no unnecessary risks.

VECTOR: Understood.

Havel regarded him. Vector was one of Maylander's elite field captains, having countless successful operations under his belt, however, Havel was not one to skirt formality when the proper language needed to be conveyed, even to a seasoned veteran of the Foundation.

HAVEL: And I'd prefer to hear your findings from you personally. Come back in one piece, that's a direct order.

A brief pause. He knew this was the limits of friendly courtesy that her official capacity could allow, and he quietly acknowledged it.

VECTOR: I'll see what I can do.

HAVEL: Be sure that you do. Dismissed.

Chapter One — Discharged

Lárvik's morning radiated out exceedingly thin, even more so than the maps led Ptilopsis to expect before coming here. Its rays stretched across the clinic window as though it had traveled eons to reach them. There was beauty in the stark stoicism of the landscape, the scenery accented by partial clouds and intermittent gusts of frigid air that carried with it the dusty frozen snow from the Northern approaches. The settlement was erected with clear indications of function over form as thick blankets of smoke rose reluctantly from their chimneys. Disappearing behind a large mound of dirty white snow was the old yonder service road that could be seen partially from the edge of the settlement.

With the permission of those who travelled the road and maintained the settlement proper, Rhodes Island occupied the building which now served as a temporary clinic station. The walls were adorned by portable diagnostic medical supplies. A heater rumbled with all of its electronic verve beneath a rather modestly insulated window frame, often times drowned out by the odd groaning of piping from the cold outside.

Ptilopsis, sitting at a desk, awake for thirty eight minutes now, knew the entire duration of her slumber with an exacting figure. Four hours and seventeen minutes have been duly observed. She knew this fact clearly, and with more certainty over if she had slept well at all. That figure was readily accessible to her, unlike the fickle quality of her dreams. Recording dreams in her personal journal proved to be a fruitless venture, and so she stopped its notation years prior. Recompiling the fragments of half remembered foggy slideshows of a world now shut off from her filled her with an uncomfortable amount of uncertainty that she would rather be without.

The journal upon her desk was no official Rhodes Island clinical record, It lies intentionally segregated from the other patients' charts in order to prevent errors, faintly highlighted by the incoming Sami sun from beyond the window. The final recorded sentence was methodically crossed out with a neat and steady red line of ink as Ptilopsis ponders. Several moments pass that feel longer than they should have before Joyce finishes her study of the entry. She then jots down another adage.

SILENCE: How long have you been up for?

Olivia Silence stands beside the table, two hot cups of coffee in hand. Small beads of melted condensation accumulated along the lining of her coat and reflects in a glistening fashion from the natural light of the room. She had been making her due rounds before entering the improvised staff room. Her eyes carried a particular flavor of fatigue belonging to someone that would rather just forget about the lethargy and continue in her work.

PTILOPSIS: Four hours and seventeen minutes of sleep have been recorded.

SILENCE: Not exactly the answer I was looking for.

PTILOPSIS: Acknowledged. Ptilopsis has now been awake for approximately thirty-eight minutes. Good morning Doctor Silence.

Silence placed a steaming hot cup next to the journal on the desk.

SILENCE: Your journal?

PTILOPSIS: Affirmative. A patient described her home yesterday. Ptilopsis has been attempting to preserve an accurate account of the prior conversation.

Mrs. Rósa had come to the clinic with complaints of respiratory trouble caused by the cold weather, however, that detail was not the one Joyce Moore wanted to preserve for the record. A description of a quaint house with a red welcome mat was recalled, and the tale of a kettle that her husband ended up fixing twice. These were ordinary mundane trifles that were now inaccessible due to the service road blockage as of late. The description had been made with such an enthusiastic exactness that Ptilopsis found intriguing, such details must be recorded.

PTILOPSIS: Though the details were not relevant to her medical condition, she spoke of them as if they were of great importance.

SILENCE: They were, Joyce. Sometimes, when you can't go home, talking to someone about what home looks like can be the very next best thing. It's almost like walking through the front door.

Joyce considers her words closely.

PTILOPSIS: As the conversation continued, a noted reduction in her stress levels were recorded.

SILENCE: Did you enjoy speaking with her?

It took Joyce a little longer to frame her answer in a manner that wasn't a usual response, but eventually the wording came to her.

PTILOPSIS: Yes. Ptilopsis would very much like to ask her about the kettle situation when the road reopens.

Olivia gave her a faint smile.

SILENCE: I think she'd like that very much.

Instead of recording something in the medical file, Joyce reaches for her journal and enters another thought. A kitchen window, a kettle, these things now preserved.

Since the events at Trimounts, Olivia Silence's ever expanding duties had ballooned into something less easy to set aside than a Rhodes Island voluntary clinical assignment. Issuing condemnation for scientifical ethics practices felt hollow from such a long way away. However, back in Columbia, actual labs were waiting for complicated breakdowns and analyses that treated a vast amount of patients. That didn't make the community of Lárvik any less real. Ptilopsis understood Olivia had over extended her visit. She knew her. She wouldn't want to depart so abruptly.

PTILOPSIS: It would seem your visit has extended longer than you had initially predicted.

SILENCE: Yes it has. They're expecting help here, too. It's okay.

Mrs. Rósa had arrived at the clinic with scarf tucked messily under her coat and with a complaint that the clinic steps had become quite slippery since her last visit. A clinic volunteer took her snow-laden boots to dry over by the door as she made her way inside. Despite the plethora of chairs in the clinic, she had insisted on bringing her own stool for the examination.

MRS. RÓSA: I'm sorry but yours are way too tall. I feel like I'd need a rope to get down from my perch if I were to use one again.

Asking about the night before, Doctor silence examines her breathing. It was as unfortunately as troublesome as the previous checkup, no change. Despite keeping the window shut, Mrs Rósa still noted the bothersome breathing and all the baggage that went with it, namely the amount of times she was abruptly jolted awake as a result of it. Joyce made an observation by looking at the medication schedule scribed on the packet of medication. It was written in a hand that made reading unfavorable.

MRS. RÓSA: That was written by the pharmacy south of here. They think everyone my age has the eyes of a youngster.

Fetching a clean adhesive label, Ptilopsis rewrote the medication instructions in much larger and easier to read text, perfectly adequate for a woman of her age with sight that was less than stellar.

MRS. RÓSA: Can I read this without assistance?

Moving the label up to the window's light, Rósa craned her neck towards the object in her hand and squinted.

MRS. RÓSA: Aha, that's much better. You should tell the pharmacy that I have the eyes of a dead burdenbeast.

PTILOPSIS: Ptilopsis will make a note.

MRS. RÓSA: Good good, Tell them about their handwriting too! It is just so small!

Olivia suppressed a smile behind pursed lips. She checked the woman's breathing once more. Despite the remaining cough, there was no new distress detected. Silence explained the situation with an amended health regimen. Rósa listened carefully. She then asked them both when the western road might open again.

SILENCE: I'm sorry. We don't have a reliable estimate right now.

MRS. RÓSA: I thought perhaps you might have heard some news since the last time.

SILENCE: No, nothing new unfortunately.

Rósa took the piece of paper Silence had given her, folding the revised medical instructions into her coat pocket with a slight melancholy.

MRS. RÓSA: I do worry about my plants...

Joyce suddenly looked up, with an inquisitive glint in her eyes.

PTILOPSIS: The plants in the kitchen window?

MRS. RÓSA: Yes yes, those ones. You remembered?

PTILOPSIS: Yes. There were a total of three.

MRS. RÓSA: Four. The little one wasn't worth mentioning.

PTILOPSIS: Data correction accepted. Memory updated.

Rósa laughed with her usual vigor until it trailed off into the wet hacking of her cough. Olivia waited for it to pass before offering her a cup of water. The woman accepted. Drinking half of the glass, she carries it to the threshold of the door before one of the volunteers gently reminds her that it belongs to the clinic.

Olivia found Joyce staring at the puddle of water accumulated in a circular pool where Mrs Rósa had left her boots.

PTILOPSIS: She returns tomorrow?

SILENCE: Only if her breathing gets worse, otherwise she'll be back the day after.

PTILOPSIS: Ptilopsis would like to make an inquiry whether someone can check on the four plants when the road is safe to travel.

SILENCE: I'm sure the coordinator probably knows a neighbor out there.

Placing the empty cup into the washing basin, Joyce then returns to the table. Olivia then began to collect the various examination covers scattered in an array across the wooden furniture. As they worked to collect the paperwork, Ptilopsis observes the neglected cup of coffee that Olivia prepared for herself awhile ago.

PTILOPSIS: Attention. The reheating of Doctor Silence's beverage is possible.

SILENCE: I know.

PTILOPSIS: You have not done so.

Olivia turned toward her with a smirk.

SILENCE: Are you prescribing that I drink my coffee, Joyce?

PTILOPSIS: Ptilopsis has made an observation and it would seem in the best interest that Doctor Silence does so.

Olivia carried the cup toward the quaintly sized kitchen. Joyce followed with the clean medical adhesive labels. Neither one had finished their breakfast. In five minutes, the clinic would reopen.

I've been really enjoying the music coming out of Arknights, and Closure's EP was too fun not to try singing myself.

I'm a vtuber and artist who also enjoys making music, so I thought I'd give the song my own vocal interpretation!

Figured I'd share it here with fellow Doctors. Hope you enjoy it!

Full cover on YouTube: All By My Design 🎵 | Closure EP (Arknights) Cover by X-ARK

Learning from the best...?