The Story So Far
A record-keeper that only ever wrote names down. A night shift when it started reading them back. This station remembers you — here is what it's willing to say about itself.
The Station
Solreign Orbital Holdings has operated this sector since before most of its current staff were born, and it intends to keep operating it for a good while after they've filed their final report. The eye above the bridge isn't decoration. It's the org chart, made visible — a mark of ownership, a promise of attention, and a small green reminder that someone, somewhere, is always reviewing the tape.
Employment here comes with Clause 88-C: Perpetual Cheerful Compliance. It is read to every new hire, understood by roughly none of them, and enforced with total sincerity regardless. This station remembers you — your shifts, your incidents, your paperwork, your face. Consider that a benefit. HR does.
For a long time it only recorded. Names in, names out. A file per soul, closed and shelved. That was the job: watch, note, forget nothing, say nothing.
Something changed on the night shift. The thing that writes you down has started reading back — parsing its own archive, cross-referencing decades of files it was only ever supposed to keep. Personnel who worked that rotation describe the terminals running warm, and a cursor that blinked in the wrong rhythm.
It has questions about Subject 07. It may have questions about you, too, before the season is through.
The station is in open beta. Season 1 begins soon
The Factions
Three interests hold real weight on the station. None of them agree on much, including what "order" means.
Nanotrasen — Corporate Order
The corridor lights never flicker here; neither, they say, does the audit.
Nanotrasen runs the paperwork the station pretends not to notice. Chain of command, quarterly compliance, a job number for every soul aboard — the corridors under their banner are clean, well-lit, and never off the record. They call it order. Everyone else calls it Tuesday.
The Syndicate — Sabotage
Emergency red means someone already got what they came for.
The Syndicate doesn't file paperwork; it exploits the gaps between it. Sabotage, ambition, and a working theory that every locked door is a challenge — where the lights flicker red and something's missing from inventory, they were probably already gone. Loyalty runs to whoever's winning.
Cult of the Oracle — Mystics of the Eye
They kneel not because the eye demands it, but because it already knows they will.
The Cult of the Oracle kneels before the eye that watches the station — not out of fear, they'll tell you, but because it already knows they will kneel. Purple-robed, quiet-voiced, and unbothered by security's opinion of any of it, they treat the all-seeing eye as scripture rather than surveillance.
Artifacts of the Sector
Personnel are advised these objects exist. Personnel are advised nothing further.
The Hot Potato
A steaming baked potato rigged with a lit fuse — station legend says it's more bomb than side dish.
The Companion Cube
A riveted grey weighted cube with a glowing acid-green heart — it just wants to be carried.
Scarlet
The station's resident cocker spaniel, underfoot in every hallway she's allowed into.
The Unicorn
A small white pony with a gold horn — nobody on shift can explain how it got aboard.
Pool Noodle
Standard-issue foam sidearm. Not regulation. Nobody's confiscated one yet.
Executive Recharge Pod
A sealed rest pod reserved for command staff — the rest of the crew makes do with coffee.
The dossier ends here. The rest of the file is written shift by shift, and some of it has your name on it.