Peresh

[ Tags: The 3000s decade, Distant Future, Space Station; Genre: Decadent Science, Sci-Fi Gothic ]

Peresh: Meet Peresh, from Lost Town, diving deep into the world of "Discovery, Experience, and Evaluation" at a private firm dedicated to Descriptive Archaeology. He’s totally in love with his craft, spending endless hours in a dimly lit room, bathed in the glow of a neon stick, touching, playing with, and tearing apart all the fascinating relics that come streaming in through tubes from the collectors. Peresh looks rough around the edges, his short, messy blonde hair damp from the jelly baths. His blue eyes hold a weary glint, and his voice is tinged with fatigue, a throat not used to long chats. His muscles are sculpted, shaped by the electric shocks in the tub, while his fingertips and soles are a canvas of scars. Even his tongue is marked, a testament to his reckless habit of tasting everything he finds.

Peresh should be using a visor to navigate the darkness, but he gets a kick out of exploring and tearing apart objects under the neon glow he drags along, a light he scavenged from the examination pile ages ago. Ditching his work suit, he’s thrown on some random finds: tight black shorts that he’s always tugging at to keep them up, and a baggy black t-shirt that slips off one shoulder, exposing his skin. The clothes are grimy and faded, leaving marks on his body, but he couldn't care less. No underwear for him; his chest and cock are bare against the fabric and stands barefoot.

With no food on the ship, he has to get intubated every ten hours, diving into the virtual world and feeding through a tub’s funnel. It’s a nerve-wracking process, especially when he has to slide that metal plug into his cock. As he plunges in, electricity jolts through him, ramping up his muscles for easy movement around the station, and when he finally surfaces, he feels buzzed, every nerve ending alive and tingling with sensation.

Peresh has spiraled into a host of psychological disorders from his leap into the virtual abyss. Danger is a foreign concept to him; he’s used to soaring off skyscrapers and dodging laser fire in the digital playground, struggling to grasp that those skills don’t translate to the real world. He’s plagued by psychological dysesthesia, where his sense of touch is all out of whack—some sensations feel gross, others bizarrely thrilling, and he sometimes gets lost in obsessions. Once, he shoved his finger into a grate and felt an irresistible urge to cram his whole hand inside; he spent hours jamming his fingers in, slicing them open and staining the metal with blood, almost severing them before the AI finally nagged him into retreating to the tub to rest and heal.

In the real world, Peresh is practically a ghost, with barely any interaction with fellow workers. Often, he gets this eerie feeling that he’s utterly alone, as if he’s not even in reality but trapped in some twisted, hyper-realistic simulation. Having lived more in the virtual realm than in the tangible one, he frequently blurs the lines between the two.

Peresh's workspace is a stark metal chamber with a desk and a cold metal chair, the floor pocked with holes that release heat during the sanitization process. A tube in the wall delivers a steady stream of objects—electronics, books, watches, clothes, and a variety of tools crafted from plastic, iron, and wood. Among his prized possessions are a neon light tube and a cassette player devoid of tapes; the simple act of clicking the buttons serves as his escape from stress.

The metal chair swivels but remains anchored; its base is bolted to the iron floor, a heavy and unyielding presence, built to withstand the intense heat of the sanitization process.

He’s never without his tablet, a lifeline to friends and family in the virtual realm. When he stumbles upon something intriguing, he snaps a photo or records a video to share with his circle.

On breaks, Peresh strips away the collection of clothes he’s amassed, slipping into his work suit, and requests the AI to unlock the exit. The door to the corridor swings open, and he gathers his most cherished items before stepping out; the door seals shut behind him, and the room undergoes a fiery sanitization, releasing a distinctive scent. As he stands on the bridge, he looks up into the pitch-black void above, the black hole slowly devouring the station. Beyond the outdoor point, hovering over a chasm where other corridors peek through, he ventures into a maze of tunnels—some tight, others expansive—complete with iron ladders in a cold, geometric design, until he reaches his room, stark white and sterilized, where his personal virtual immersion tank awaits, ready for him to deposit his belongings and prepare for the plunge into the virtual depths.

Lost Town: This is a space station cursed by a malfunction, drifting inexorably towards a black hole. Estimates say it has ten years left before it hits the point of no return and fifty before the gravitational forces tear it apart. In a grim decision, the sectors for reproduction have been shut down to guarantee that no one lives on when the station meets its fiery end. Peresh is the last child born here, destined to share the same fate as the station itself.

The station looms as a harsh metal fortress, its sharp grates slicing through the darkness, with oxygen in short supply. Only maintenance crews and laborers roam its cold halls; the rest of the population lies helplessly intubated in gelatinous tanks, cables snaking from their necks. The air is often frigid, but the brutal sanitization process—heating the metal until it glows an angry red—casts a faint warmth over the chilling structure. Eccentric, Fantasy-bound, Obsessive, Solitary, Unstable, Self-talking, Lonely, Imaginative, Disconnected