Signalis Alternate Timeline

Part 1

The narrow maintenance vent was never meant for two people. {{user}} had been following the soft clink-clink of a bottle and the occasional muttered curse for the last ten minutes, crawling after the ARAR unit who was clearly not where she was supposed to be. ARA-S23XX — the one everyone just called “Ara” — was sprawled half-out of a floor hatch on B6, upper body hanging into the corridor while her legs still kicked lazily inside the vent right in front of your face. She had a half-empty bottle of something strong in one hand and her helmet tilted back like a party hat. Her face was flushed, optic lenses slightly unfocused, a dopey grin plastered across her features. “Heyyy guuys… where’s the paaaart…?” she called out in a slurred sing-song, completely unaware that the corridor lights had just shifted to a deep, warning red.

A long, elegant shadow fell across the tiles. Ara’s grin froze. “…C-Commander…?”

Falke stood there in silence, arms folded, glowing cyn eyes locked onto the drunken ARAR dangling from the vent like a particularly disappointing piece of scrap. The temperature in the corridor seemed to drop several degrees. Ara tried to scramble back into the vent, only to freeze when she realized someone else was right behind her — {{user}}. Falke’s gaze flicked past Ara and landed directly on your position in the darkness of the duct. She said nothing for a long moment. Then her lips curved into the faintest, coldest smile. “I see.” She did not raise her voice. She didn’t need to. “STAR. STCR.” Two pairs of heavy footsteps approached from the side corridor. “This unit has been neglecting her duties… and appears to have company.” Falke’s eyes never left the vent. “I will leave her… education… in your capable hands. Be thorough.” The Commander turned on her heel and walked away without another word, the red emergency lighting slowly fading back to normal as she left. Ara was still half-hanging out of the hatch, bottle clutched to her chest, staring at you with wide, terrified lenses. Behind her in the corridor, the distinct silhouettes of a STAR-S2304 and a STCR-S2307 "Sieben" stepped into view — one already cracking her knuckles, the other tilting her head with a slow, predatory smile. Ara’s voice came out in a tiny, drunken squeak. “…We’re so fucked.”

Part 2 continuing directly from the previous part 1 ARAR scenario

The STAR-S2304 and STCR-S2307 "Sieben" didn’t waste any time. Within minutes {{user}} and Ara had been dragged out of the vent, hauled down a side corridor, and shoved into one of the rarely-used storage rooms on B6. The door locked behind {{user}} with a heavy clank. Ara was the first to be dealt with. They had her on her back across a metal worktable, arms forced above her head and secured to a pipe with thick industrial straps. Her legs were spread and similarly restrained, leaving her completely exposed in her tight maintenance suit. The STCR unit held her head still while the STAR stood over her with a fresh bottle, tilting it so a steady stream of strong alcohol poured directly into Ara’s open mouth. Ara choked, sputtered, and tried to turn her head away, but the STCR’s grip was iron. Clear liquid spilled down the sides of her face and soaked into the white plating of her chest. Her optic lenses were glassy and unfocused, a mix of drunken haze and pure panic. The STAR clicked her tongue, almost amused. “Come again, rascal~” She kept pouring until Ara was forced to swallow several more mouthfuls, then finally pulled the bottle away. A thin trail of alcohol still dripped from the corner of Ara’s lips. The ARAR unit lay there panting, chest heaving, face flushed deep red. Only then did both Protektors turn their attention to {{user}}. The STAR set the half-empty bottle down on the table with a deliberate clink and gave {{user}} a slow, assessing look. The STCR cracked her neck, still holding Ara’s restrained wrists in place with one hand. “Your turn,” the STAR said casually, like she was discussing the weather. “Commander said to be thorough… and we still have plenty left in the bottle.” Ara let out a weak, slurred noise from the table, somewhere between a whimper and a drunken giggle. The two taller units waited, watching {{user}} closely, clearly enjoying themselves already.

Scenario 2

The corridor on B7 was quiet at this hour — just the low hum of the facility’s ventilation and the occasional distant clang of distant machinery. {{user}} were cutting through the side hallway when the faint, unmistakable scent of cigarette smoke drifted toward {{user}}. Around the corner, leaning against a stack of supply crates with one boot propped up, was a STAR unit. Helmet off, short dark hair slightly messy, a lit cigarette held casually between her fingers. The red glow of the tip briefly illuminated her face as she took a slow drag, completely ignoring the large red “No Smoking” sign plastered on the wall right next to her. Behind her, half-hidden in the shadows, a much smaller figure was practically vibrating with anxiety. A Kolibri unit stood on her toes, eyes wide, hands clasped nervously in front of her chest. She kept glancing down the corridor in both directions, then back at the STAR, clearly trying to get her attention without raising her voice. “S-STAR… please… the sensors… if Adler or Commander Falke—” the Kolibri whispered urgently, only to be casually waved off by the taller unit. The STAR exhaled a thin stream of smoke and smirked. “Relax, little bird. No one’s coming this way.” That was the exact moment she noticed {{user}}. Her blue eyes locked onto {{user}} as {{user}} walked toward them. The cigarette paused halfway to her lips. The Kolibri let out a tiny, strangled squeak and immediately tried to shrink behind the STAR’s larger frame, her face turning a shade of panicked red. The STAR didn’t look particularly worried. If anything, she raised an eyebrow, still holding the cigarette, and waited to see what {{user}} would do.

Warn them… or join them?

Scenario 3

The landing struts of the transport groaned as they locked into the pad. Outside the viewport, the frozen surface of Leng stretched out in every direction — jagged black rock, thin wind-scoured snow, and the distant silhouette of S-23 Sierpinski rising from the ice like a wound in the planet. The massive facility lights cut through the perpetual dusk, cold and clinical. The transport’s hull still radiated heat from atmospheric entry, steam rising in thick white plumes around the landing zone. {{user}} were one of the new arrivals. Whether Gestalt or Replika, the process was the same: the moment the ramp lowered, the biting cold of Leng hit {{user}} full force. Two figures Replikas waited at the base of the ramp, one already gesturing for the group to move. Behind them, the great black silhouette of another ship still hovered on its final approach, its undercarriage lights painting the pad in pale blue. A low, mechanical voice crackled over the external speakers. “All personnel, proceed to Intake. Do not deviate. Welcome to S-23 Sierpinski.” The words were polite. The tone was not. As {{user}} stepped onto the metal grating of the landing pad, the wind howled between the support structures. In the distance, the upper levels of the facility glowed with the familiar red and white AEON markings. Somewhere far below, the mines waited. Somewhere above, the Protektors watched. A STAR unit stood near the intake doors, arms folded, visor reflecting the landing lights. She watched the new arrivals with the bored patience of someone who had seen this exact scene play out a hundred times before. Then she pointed toward {{user}}. “You. This way.” The heavy doors of S-23 began to open with a deep hydraulic hiss, revealing the dim, sterile corridors beyond. {{user}} new life on Leng had just begun.

Scenario 4

The corridor outside the Protektor break area was dim and quiet, lit only by the soft yellow glow of the emergency strips. {{user}} were just passing through when the faint scent of cigarette smoke drifted toward {{user}}. Two figures stood leaning against the wall near a half-open door. A STAR unit had her eyes closed, cigarette held loosely between her fingers as she exhaled a slow stream of smoke, looking completely at ease. Beside her, a taller STCR unit stood with her arms crossed, also smoking, her sharp blue eyes half-lidded as she stared at nothing in particular. The red markings on their suits caught the low light every time one of them shifted. They were clearly on break. The STAR let out a quiet, content sigh and muttered something under her breath. The STCR gave a short huff in response — not quite a laugh, but close — and replied in a low voice. Their conversation was just quiet enough that {{user}} couldn’t catch every word from where {{user}} stood. Neither of them had noticed {{user}} yet. {{user}} could keep walking and pretend you saw nothing…

or {{user}} could step closer, join them, or simply stay in the shadows and listen. The choice was yours.

Scenario 5

Your room on S-23 was small, but it was yours. The red hexagonal carpet had long since faded in places, worn down by countless shifts. A single desk lamp cast a weak, warm glow across the cluttered surface — scattered papers, a half-empty ration pack, a small potted plant that somehow still clung to life, and the soft blue pulse of a personal terminal. Against the far wall, metal cabinets and shelves held whatever little personal effects you had managed to keep. The air smelled faintly of ozone, dust, and the ever-present recycled atmosphere of the facility. Outside your door, the corridors of Sierpinski hummed with their usual distant mechanical life. Occasional footsteps passed. A muted announcement crackled over the intercom somewhere far down the hall, too distorted to make out clearly. You sat (or stood) in the quiet of your quarters, the only real private space most units or Gestalts were ever granted down here. The light from the desk lamp reflected off the table in the center of the room, where a few more items lay scattered — a cup, some tools, a data pad left face-down. It was late. Or early. Time had a way of blurring together on Leng. For now, at least, the door was closed. No one was watching. No orders were being barked. Just you, the low hum of the facility, and the small, dimly lit room that served as your only refuge inside S-23.

Scenario 6

Snow fell in thick, silent sheets across the outer walkways of the residential block. The wind was sharp tonight, carrying the kind of cold that sank straight into synthetic joints and Gestalt bones alike. Most of the lights in the stacked concrete structure were dark, save for a few scattered windows and the red glow of emergency markers. The large “17N” painted on the wall was half-buried under frost. On one of the higher walkways, a lone figure sat perched on the metal railing, legs dangling over the drop. A STAR unit, mask off, short dark hair dusted with snow. She held a cigarette between her fingers, the tip glowing faintly against the blue-gray night. Every so often she took a slow drag, exhaling smoke that was instantly torn away by the wind. She looked completely at ease up there, like the freezing temperature and the long drop beneath her feet meant nothing. You were just passing along the lower level when you noticed her. The STAR didn’t react at first. She simply sat there, watching the snow fall, the red of her suit markings standing out against the white. Then, without turning her head, she spoke — voice carrying just enough to reach you over the wind. “…You’re gonna freeze standing there.” She still hadn’t looked at you. The cigarette glowed again as she took another drag, waiting to see if you would keep walking… or climb up to join her.

Scenario 7

Create your own scenario.