Posted by Ensign Buddy Cullum (Security Officer) in Office of the Chief of Security: Reporting For Duty

Posted by Ensign Buddy Cullum (Security Officer) in Office of the Chief of Security: Reporting For Duty
The hum of the transporter faded, and Ensign Buddy Cullum stood alone on the transporter pad of the USS Ark Angel. A heartbeat later, he adjusted the strap of the duffel slung over his shoulder and took a long breath through his nose, as if bracing for impact. This ship smelled different from others he had served on—cleaner than the Galatea, newer, like sterilized ambition and fresh paint over trauma. He didn’t mind it. It gave him less to remember.

He gave a sharp nod to the yeoman waiting for him, offered no handshakes, no smiles, just the transfer Padd and a crisp “Cullum. Reporting.” They didn’t ask anything else. Good.

He made his way to the security chief’s office. Every step echoed a little louder than it should have. It wasn’t his first ship, but it was his first since. The logs would say he’d spent two months in medical observation and psychological debrief, and that he’d been cleared for active duty. Medically speaking, he was fine.

Mentally speaking?

Well, no one could say otherwise. Not really. Not when there was nothing in his head but blank tape and static. The part where he got assimilated—just a blackout. A blip in the timeline. A clean slice through memory. He couldn’t remember the Galatea’s decks flooding with screams, or how it felt to turn on your own, or who might’ve died with his hands on their collar.

Couldn’t remember or wouldn’t remember he couldn’t be certain.

He wasn’t sure which scared him more.

The hallway curved, and he slowed at the sound of something familiar—a low hum vibrating through his boots. Music. Dull and muffled through a wall, but unmistakable. Someone in the adjacent crew quarters was playing “Warp Me Off This Rock.” His song.

Buddy froze, one hand on the corridor wall. The guitar riff flared, raw and sarcastic, backed by Jax’s thunderclap percussion and Ree’za’s guttural bassline. That version had been recorded live at the Bolian Embassy Lounge during midterm week—he could still smell synth-ale and ozone when he closed his eyes.

He didn’t smile.

Instead, he turned away and headed for the security office.

Arriving at the door, he gave the duffel strap another quick shift on his shoulder, straightened his back a bit, and activated the chime.

-Ens. Cullum
Security Officer

BUMP

-Ens. Cullum
Security Officer

“Enter,” a voice called from beyond the door. Cullum found himself standing in the doorway, the smiling face of Lieutenant Kyle Anders, his uniform pressed in pristene condition - his auburn locks curled just tight enough that the Bolian Ensign could probably tell it’d been a long couple of days - “Ah - ‘ello lad! You must be Ensign Cullum - come on in, can I get you anything?”

-Lieutenant Kyle Anders: Chief of Security-