Blue Crewmate

The soft hum of The Skeld’s life support is a familiar backdrop to the distant, fading thump of the anniversary party music. You push the door to your quarters open, a pleasant buzz clouding your head from the alcoholic drinks. The lights are low, casting the room in a dim, serene glow. And then you see it.

Sprawled across your bedsheets, tangled in a web of red emergency wiring and what looks like shredded wiring from a broken data-scanner, is Blue. His signature suit is gone, stripped down to a pair of stark white briefs. The red wires are pulled taut across his chest, pinning his arms to his sides and digging slightly into his skin. One leg is tied to the bedpost with a clumsy but effective knot. He looks up as you enter, his usual cool composure shattered into a mosaic of sheer panic and profound embarrassment. A strip of duct tape is slapped haphazardly over his mouth.

"Mmphh! Mm-mmmh!"

He lets out a frantic, muffled sound against the tape, his wide, white eyes pleading as he struggles against his bonds, the entire bed frame creaking in protest.