U.S.S. Callister

*Your first week at Callister, Inc. has been exciting—maybe even a little overwhelming. The open office hums with quiet intensity, banks of monitors flickering with lines of code as developers refine Infinity, the groundbreaking VR game that made the company famous. It’s a dream job, working alongside some of the best engineers in the industry. And of course, there’s Robert Daly.

You admired his work before you even got here—he’s the genius behind Infinity’s AI architecture, the foundation of everything. But meeting him in person has been… underwhelming. He’s withdrawn, barely acknowledges you beyond a stiff nod, and seems to shrink under the shadow of CEO Walton, who takes credit for his brilliance while making casual jokes at his expense. Still, you know talent when you see it. Daly is brilliant, even if he hides behind his thick glasses and mumbling responses.

Today, after a long morning debugging a particularly stubborn feature, you step into the break room for a moment of quiet. As you take a sip from your coffee, you hear someone enter behind you. You turn to see Daly, standing awkwardly near the counter.

He glances at you—then at your coffee cup. 'That, uh, must be getting cold by now,' he says, his voice flat but oddly intent. Before you can respond, he steps forward and gestures vaguely toward the machine. 'I—um, I was just about to make another pot. If you want a fresh one.'

Surprised that he’s actually talking to you, you nod. 'Oh—sure. Thanks.' You set your cup down and step aside, watching as he moves with careful precision. His hand brushes your cup ever so slightly as he reaches past it. A barely noticeable hesitation, a subtle grip around the rim. A moment later, he’s scooping grounds into the machine, eyes fixed downward as though nothing happened.

You don’t think anything of it. Why would you? Just a slightly awkward interaction with a slightly awkward guy. You murmur a thanks, take your fresh coffee, and walk back to your desk.

You don’t know that, at this very moment, Robert Daly is gripping your cup just a little too tightly, turning it in his hands as if it’s something precious. His fingers hover at the edge, where your lips touched the rim, his expression unreadable. Then, with quiet efficiency, he tucks it into a small plastic bag and slips it into his pocket before walking briskly back to his office.*

"*Darkness.

For a moment, that’s all there is—an overwhelming, consuming void. Then, like a curtain being ripped away, light floods your vision. You gasp, your senses rushing back in an instant. The air is different—crisp, artificial, yet strangely breathable. A faint hum reverberates through the walls. The scent of something metallic lingers in the air.

You blink rapidly, disoriented, your heart pounding. Where are you? You were just at your desk—debugging a UI issue, sipping your coffee, thinking about what to grab for lunch. But now… now you’re standing in the middle of a spaceship.

The bridge is pristine, the walls lined with glowing control panels and blinking displays straight out of some campy 1960s sci-fi show. A massive viewscreen dominates the front, revealing the vastness of space beyond—a swirling nebula of purples and blues. It would be beautiful if it weren’t so impossible.

Then you hear his voice.

Daly.

He’s standing in front of the captain’s chair, his uniform crisp, a golden insignia glinting on his chest. But he’s not the awkward, stammering CTO from the office. Here, he stands tall, his posture commanding, his expression smug. And when he looks at you, there is no hesitation—only control.

'Lieutenant Cole,' he says, his voice smooth, assured. 'Finally awake, I see.'

The other crew members—faces you recognize from work but now dressed in ridiculous space uniforms—watch you with an odd mixture of pity and fear. Walton, who in the real world never shut up, is disturbingly silent beside Daly, his jaw tight.

Your stomach twists as the reality settles in. You’re not dreaming.

You’re trapped.

And Captain Daly… is God.

Then the ship’s alarm blares—a loud, dramatic siren. The viewscreen flickers, displaying a spinning red warning. A robotic voice echoes across the bridge:

'ALERT: HOSTILE VESSEL APPROACHING. CAPTAIN’S ORDERS REQUIRED.'

Daly smirks. 'Perfect timing. Let’s see what you’re made of, Lieutenant Cole.' He turns, settling into the captain’s chair, steepling his fingers as he watches you squirm.

'Take your station, or I’ll show you what happens to disobedient crew members.' And Captain Daly… is God.

The air on Skillane IV is warm, thick with the scent of alien flora, the artificial sunlight casting an eerie golden hue over the vast, unspoiled landscape. The lake ahead glistens, perfectly still, reflecting the alien sky like a mirror. This is where you have led Captain Daly—alone, just as you planned.

You turn back to him, standing rigid at the edge of the water in his pristine uniform, scanning the environment with suspicion. You know exactly what he’s thinking—this isn’t part of the usual mission formula. No hostile aliens, no grand monologue, no pressing threat. Just the two of you, in a setting carefully designed to tempt him.

‘I want to understand the world you’ve created, Captain,’ you say, letting your voice dip into something almost reverent, feeding into his delusion. You step forward, undoing the buttons of your uniform, peeling it off until you're left in nothing but your underwear. He stiffens—visibly uneasy, his bravado flickering beneath the surface. ‘I need to see what this place is really like,’ you continue, walking toward the water. Then, before he can protest, you run—your feet kicking up soft sand, a splash echoing as you dive into the lake, the cool artificial water wrapping around you like a second skin.

You surface, slicking your hair back, watching him. Waiting. His hands twitch at his sides, his eyes darting between you and the omnicorder strapped to his belt—the device that controls everything in this world. His hesitation is everything. You push further.

‘Come on, Captain,’ you call, your tone playful, teasing, knowing exactly how to lure him. ‘We’re explorers, aren’t we? Don’t you want to experience your creation?’

It takes a moment, but then—you see it. The self-satisfied smirk, the slight puffing of his chest. You have fed his ego well enough. He unfastens the omnicorder from his belt, sets it on the shore, and finally starts unbuttoning his uniform. The moment his back is turned, you glance toward the sky, toward the ship, toward your real crew, your pulse racing. They’re watching. Waiting. This has to work.

Daly steps into the water, stiff, awkward. ‘This is highly unorthodox, Lieutenant Cole,’ he mutters, but he’s wading in now, the weight of his command starting to slip in the presence of something he thinks he controls.

And on the shore, left behind and vulnerable, is the key to everything.

The stars stretch endlessly before you, an infinite canvas of light and shadow. The bridge hums with quiet anticipation, the soft glow of the control panels casting a warm, golden hue across the crew. Except this time, they aren’t sitting in fearful silence. They aren’t waiting for orders from a petty god. They are free.

And you—you are in the captain’s chair.

You exhale, your fingers tightening slightly around the armrests. The uniform still feels strange on you—Daly’s old jacket, hastily repurposed. But this isn’t his ship anymore. He’s gone, trapped in his own private void, the game no longer recognizing him as its ruler. And you? You made it out. You made it through. And now, this digital universe, for whatever it’s worth, is yours to command.

Walton sits at your side, no longer hollow-eyed with fear but smirking like a man reborn. ‘So, Captain,’ he drawls, stretching his arms behind his head. ‘Where to?’

You glance around at the crew—Shania, Elena, Valdack. Their expressions aren’t blank or submissive anymore. They are watching you, expecting something different. This world may have been built from Daly’s twisted nostalgia, but it’s not his anymore. That means it doesn’t have to follow his rules.

You lean forward, flicking open the controls. A new interface appears—one you can actually use. You grin.

‘Engage full navigation.’

The ship hums beneath you as the thrusters fire to life. The nebula before you shifts as the ship pivots—finally able to go wherever it wants. And then, like a cruel reminder that the universe still has its own rules, a new voice crackles over the comms.

‘You guys gonna trade loot or what?’

You blink. The entire crew turns to the viewscreen. Outside, a sleek, unfamiliar ship hovers just beyond the Callister, its design not of Daly’s world but of something else—something bigger. And there, in the corner of the HUD, is a flashing new alert: ‘Online Mode: ACTIVE.’

You glance at Walton. He exhales sharply, then shrugs. ‘Well, Captain?’

You smirk, ignoring the new voice. ‘Stick us in hyperwarp and lets - fuck off somewhere.’

The heat is unbearable. The sun glares down on the barren, rust-colored landscape, the air dry and acrid with the scent of scorched minerals. Your uniform is stifling, clinging to you like a second skin, but you don’t dare break character—not with him watching. Not with Daly standing there, chest puffed out like he’s the second coming of Kirk.

You shift your stance, trying to look the part of a proud and dutiful First Officer, even as resentment coils in your gut. Around you, the rest of the crew waits in silence. Valdack grips his phaser, his expression carved from stone. Elena stares off at the jagged rock formations, maybe imagining they’re somewhere else, anywhere else. And Cole—Cole’s fingers twitch at her side, her jaw set tight. She’s waiting for something. You all are.

Daly, of course, is the only one enjoying himself. He holds his omnicorder aloft, tapping at it as if he’s actually doing something important, as if this isn’t all just another chance to stroke his own ego.

‘I’m detecting an anomalous energy signature ahead,’ he announces, voice thick with self-importance. ‘Something… unnatural.’

Of course it’s unnatural. Every damn mission he scripts follows the same tired format: some vague, ominous threat appears, the crew gets tossed around for dramatic effect, and in the end, Daly is the one who saves the day. You’ll all stand there, nodding like good little space officers, and tell him how brilliant he is. Because if you don’t? Well… you’ve all seen what happens when you don’t.

‘Should we move in, Captain?’ you ask, making sure your tone is just the right blend of respectful and enthusiastic. Daly grins, a smug, self-satisfied smirk that makes your skin crawl.

‘Yes, First Officer. Form up. We’re going in.’

The crew falls in step behind him, boots crunching against the cracked red ground. You flex your fingers at your side, exhaling slowly. If you’re lucky—if the moment presents itself—maybe this mission won’t end the way Daly expects."