USS Sentinel
Main Sim - Sickbay: Five Days Later
Posted by Lieutenant Kreed (Chief Medical Officer) in Main Sim - Sickbay: Five Days Later
Posted by Captain Rende Asam (Commanding Officer) in Main Sim - Sickbay: Five Days Later
Posted by Lieutenant Kreed (Chief Medical Officer) in Main Sim - Sickbay: Five Days Later
Posted by… suppressed (9) by the Post Ghost! 👻(snip)
SICKBAY SUMMARY — Kreed, Hart, Asam, Dovick
- Staffing & Environmental Anomalies
Attending physician NE Lt. (j.g.) Sovak (Vulcan) did not arrive for duty and is unresponsive to repeated comm hails.
His absence is considered highly anomalous given Vulcan behavioral norms.Multiple monitor malfunctions observed:
Displays pulsed with static twice in quick succession, repeatedly.
Pulses were later confirmed to be synchronized with similar anomalies on the bridge.
No internal power or hardware fault identified at time of observation.
- Lt. (j.g.) Zaril Dovek — Medical Status
Presented earlier with extreme, escalating hunger:
Metabolic scans showed accelerated nutrient absorption far beyond physiological norms.
Hunger projected empathically, causing nearby crew to feel hunger as well.Neurological findings:
Abnormal neural compulsion bursts synchronized with external subspace harmonic frequencies.
No internal pathology or known disorder identified.Treatment:
Sedation and metabolic suppressants administered.Result: stabilization of vitals and suppression of empathic projection.
Post-sedation condition:
Conscious but groggy.
Reports feeling cut off from emotional field, likened to sensory deprivation.
Hunger reduced but not eliminated.
Despite medical concerns, Dovek was ordered to the bridge by Captain Asam.
Leah Hart escorted him personally due to instability.
- Lt. Leah Hart, NP — Observations & Actions
Identified and reported monitor anomalies.
Escalated Sovak’s absence to Engineering, Security, and Medical Command.Called in Dr. Kreed (CMO)
Escorted Dovek to the bridge while maintaining Sickbay continuity.
- Captain Rende Asam — Medical Admission
Captain arrived in Sickbay escorted by Security.
Declared herself “compromised” and formally relinquished command to Cmdr. Alden.Behavioral and physiological indicators:
Elevated heart rate, adrenaline surge, temperature instability.
Maintained physical distance from others; strong fight-or-flight response.Reported symptoms:
Hearing discordant music without external stimulus.
Empathic perception active even in silence.
Emotional dysregulation and uncharacteristic aggression:
Attempted to brig her yeoman.
Drew a weapon on bridge crew.Placed under medical custody by Dr. Kreed.
- Dr. Kreed’s Neurological Findings
Cortical hyperactivity, especially in auditory and empathic processing centers.
Continuous auditory cortex stimulation with no sensory input.
Detection of subspace harmonic resonance embedded in neural activity.
Frequencies match those found in Dovek’s earlier metabolic event.Neural scans revealed:
Two overlapping emotional/neural signatures:
One belonging to Asam.
One non-humanoid, external, phase-shifted but synchronized.
Autonomic system responding as if under psychic assault.Sickbay equipment briefly synchronized with her scans:
Monitors pulsed twice.
Privacy field shimmered.A faint tone perceived in the environment:
Not mechanical.
Described as the sensation of sound rather than sound itself.
- Current Medical Conclusions
The anomalies affecting Dovek and Asam share a common external origin.
Effects appear personalized based on neural/empathic sensitivity:
Hunger (Dovek)
Sound/music (Asam)The phenomenon:
Is not internal pathology.
Exhibits intentional rhythmic patterning.
Is capable of interacting with biological and ship systems simultaneously.
- Status
Captain Asam under medical observation.
CMO Kreed actively investigating neural/subspace interface.
Dovek ambulatory but medically fragile.
Sickbay remains understaffed and partially compromised.
The anomaly is escalating and no longer confined to a single individual or department.Cpt. Asam, CO
OOC: I technically still have my med NPCs in Sickbay, but I don’t know if I’m needed. Should I still be here? ~Linds
OOC: There is information there, but Asam is sedated and unconscious and Dovek is on the bridge. So for right now, nothing new is happening here.
Cpt. Asam, CO
The hypospray hissed softly.
Captain Asam’s body went slack a heartbeat later, tension draining from her frame as the sedative took hold. Her breathing slowed, deepened. The rigid line of her shoulders eased, fists uncurling at her sides. The discord that had twisted her expression smoothed into something almost peaceful.
Almost.
The biobed adjusted automatically, supports shifting beneath her as the monitors recalibrated. Vital signs scrolled into stable ranges. Heart rate down. Respiration steady. Cortical activity dampened to safe parameters.
For a moment, Sickbay exhaled with her.
Then the monitors pulsed.
Once.
Twice.The lights dimmed—not enough to trigger an alert, just enough to be noticed. The soft ambient hum of the ship dipped in pitch, then returned, as though something had passed through it and moved on.
The privacy screen shimmered faintly, static crawling across its surface before resolving back into clarity.
Captain Asam did not stir.
But her neural readouts did.
Beneath the sedation, a secondary pattern persisted—low amplitude, steady, and unmistakably not random. A harmonic trace threaded through her limbic activity, cycling at an interval just slow enough to evade automatic alarms. It was no longer chaotic. It was… ordered.
Waiting.
Across Sickbay, equipment returned to normal. No alarms sounded. No systems failed. The moment passed so cleanly it might have been missed entirely—if not for the way the air felt afterward.
Heavier.
Closer.The duty roster still blinked near the entrance.
Lt. (j.g.) Sovak — Beta Shift — Pending.
No response.
Somewhere deep within the ship, something adjusted—like a hand turning a dial by the smallest degree.
Sickbay remained quiet.
And the Captain slept.
Cpt. Asam, CO
The red alter klaxons blare and Sickbay takes on the slow red pulsing. [O]“All hands, this is the Chief Tactical Officer. We are vacating this position immediately. All hands prepare for evasive manuevers.”[C]
The first sign is not dramatic. It is the biobed. As the warp engines strain and fail to pull the ship free, Sickbay’s deck plates vibrate—just faintly. A subtle harmonic tremor passes through the hull. Not turbulence but resonance.
Captain Asam’s vitals spike. Her heart rate jumps twenty beats in a single second. Her fingers twitch. The sedation monitor registers increased cortical activity despite stable dosage.
Then, the biobed pulses twice. The same double-beat that has echoed through the ship since Sagan’s Veil began reaching inward.
Her neural display lights up. The dampened secondary pattern — the harmonic thread embedded in her brain — amplifies in direct correlation with the bridge’s attempt to disengage. As engine output rises, so does the activity in her temporal and auditory cortex. She is unconscious, but she is reacting.
Her lips part slightly. A sound escapes her — not speech. Not breath. Low. Sustained. Almost subsonic tone. The monitors begin to echo it. Across Sickbay, equipment flickers in rhythm with the sound emanating from her body. The privacy field warps briefly, distorting like heat over metal.
Her hands clench. The tone rises in pitch. Captain Asam’s eyes snap open. Completely black. No iris visible. She does not appear conscious. Her gaze fixes straight upward, unblinking. And in a voice that is not strained, not discordant — but perfectly clear — she speaks:
“Leaving is not permitted.”
The biobed alarms finally trigger. Then her monitors flatline.
Cpt. Asam, CO
Medical personnel rushed to the captain’s side and began life saving stabalization. The inter-ship comms buzzed to life. [O]Sickbay to Lt Kreed. Medical Emergency Code Blue. Repeat Code Blue, Lt Kreed to Sickbay. It’s Captain Asam.[C]
Cpt. Asam, CO
Less than a minute later, the CMO burst through the sliding doors and was at the Captain’s bedside. “Status.” he said flatly as his wet, pupil-less black eyes locked onto the biobed’s display.
Kreed, CMO
The biobed display showed what no one wanted to see:
Cardiac arrest.
No spontaneous respiration.
Cortical activity—erratic, then absent.The absence wasn’t clean. The neural scan didn’t go dark. Instead, beneath the flatline of her heart rhythm, a faint oscillation remained on the deeper subspace telemetry band—too low to trigger standard alarms. A rhythmic double pulse. Once. Twice. Pause. When Kreed demanded status, the numbers were already scrolling.
Dr. Hunter was calm as she looked up at Kreed. They couldn’t shock a pulse-less rhythm, but hopefully the cardiac stimulant that was administered would help give them something to work with.. “She spoke right before her vitals tanked. She said, ‘Leaving is not permitted’.”
“There’s some sort of second neurological pattern showing,” Nurse Montri said. “Her vitals were affected right after the ship started trying to leave.”
~Med Staff
The biobed attempted auto-correction. It failed. Another pulse flickered across the screen—not cardiac. Not neural in any conventional sense.
The overhead lights dimmed, just slightly. A vibration passed through the deck plates—not a jolt, not turbulence—something more internal, as if the ship itself were resonating.
The cardiac monitor briefly glitched. Instead of a flatline, for half a second, it displayed a waveform that did not correspond to any humanoid heartbeat. The pattern was elongated. Layered. Almost… architectural. Then it snapped back to flatline. There was no electrical storm in her neural cortex. No fibrillation. No chaos. Her body was clinically dead.
But the subspace harmonic trace that had threaded through her earlier scans was now stronger—clearer—no longer hidden in cortical noise. It was centered in her thoracic cavity. Right where her heart should be beating.
Cpt. Asam, CO
It made no sense. Kreed couldn’t discernible what was happening or why. For several long moments, Doctor Kreed stared at the display, momentary confusion moving through his mind as the medical knowledge he possessed seemed to argue with… something else in him. Something primal. His education and knowledge was arguing with a fear that came from his very DNA…
There was a predator in their midst.
With that realization, something in Kreed ‘s mind clicked and the two parts of his brain came to a consensus: The predator had to be removed… or destroyed.
The entire process of his mind working to that conclusion took only a few seconds. “Something is trying to surpress her life signs. Trying to impose itself on her very biology. Initiate full containment protocols for Sickbay. Activate dampening fields and turn on all equipment and systems that emit any kind of harmonic field. We need to counteract that.” and he pointed a taloned finger at the subspace harmonic showing on the display.
Kreed, CMO
Dr. Hunter gave a sharp nod even as she turned to hurry to another console, activating the protocols that would prevent anyone from coming in an out while also constantly scanning for a variety of biohazards. The ship had been having isues though, would it work?
Meanwhile, Kham moved about activating different equipment. Could the interference make a difference? They would soon find out.
~Med Staff
The moment Dr. Hunter and Kham moved to follow Kreed’s orders, Sickbay reacted. Forcefields snapped into place across the entrances with a hard shimmer of blue-white light. Isolation protocols cascaded through the computer core, bulkhead seals locking with dull metallic thuds that echoed down the corridor beyond. For a moment, nothing changed. Then the dampening fields activated. A low subtle hum filled the air that became more pronounced and layered as more systems powered up. Diagnostic emitters, surgical scanners, biobed harmonics, atmospheric filters—every device capable of generating a stabilizing field began operating simultaneously.
The effect was immediate on the readouts. Captain Asam’s thoracic scan spasmed with interference. The subspace harmonic that had been sitting cleanly beneath the flatline suddenly fractured, its previously smooth double-pulse breaking into jagged, irregular spikes. On the third irregular spike a discordant beat forced its way between them. The monitor screeched as two rhythms fought for dominance across the display.
The deck vibrated sharply beneath everyone’s feet—far stronger than before. Equipment rattled on trays. The privacy screen rippled like disturbed water. The room temperature dropped two degrees in less than five seconds. A sharp crack sounded overhead as one of the lighting panels flickered violently before stabilizing again. The air itself seemed to thicken, carrying with it the faint sensation of pressure inside the skull—like descending too quickly in an atmosphere. The predator Kreed sensed was angry at loosing its prey.
Across the biobed display, the harmonic frequency began to climb - reacting. Captain Asam’s body jerked noticeably against the restraints of the biobed. The cardiac monitor—silent for over a minute—spiked suddenly. One beat. Then nothing. The harmonic trace surged in response, attempting to reassert its original pattern. The overlapping emissions—medical scanners, containment grids, diagnostic fields—filled the compartment with chaotic interference. What had been a clear, predatory rhythm now struggled to maintain coherence in the noise.
On the neural display, something new appeared. For the first time since her heart had stopped, a faint electrical ripple crawled across the Captain’s cortex. Weak and unstable but undeniably hers. The biobed alarm changed tone, shifting from flatline warning to critical cardiac instability. On the thoracic scan, the foreign harmonic wavered—momentarily distorted by the overlapping fields surrounding the biobed. For the briefest instant, the pattern lost its perfect symmetry, and in that fractured moment the cardiac monitor spiked again. A second weak heartbeat.
Cpt. Asam, CO
“It’s working!” Hunter said. “But her heart is weak. I don’t know how much she can take.” This was beyond her expertise in endocrinology, but a part of her understood that they were making… whatever it was inside the captain unhappy. “Can we target the other pattern more specifically? Force it out?”
~Med Staff
Kreed’s mind raced through scenarios and finally settled on one. It was a huge risk, but the lizard-logic part of his brain said She is dying anyway. A small chance is better than none. He moved to the biobed controls and began tapping commands. “Clear the bed. Do not touch it or her for any reason.” He programmed in a defibrillaton command but, rather than being a single large shock, it was a series of smaller shocks repeating in time with Asam’s pulse. If he could increase the electrical signal just slightly, he anticipated that the boosted electrical pulse would supplement the interference from the rest of the equipment.
Kreed, CMO
The biobed accepted Kreed’s input with a sharp chirp, its display shifting from standard resuscitation protocols to a tightly sequenced cascade of micro-shocks. There was a pause as the paddles reconfigured beneath the surface, and the first controlled pulse discharged into Captain Asam’s chest.
The effect was immediate.
The harmonic trace was disrupted. Its steady double-beat stuttered as the timed electrical pulses struck in rapid succession, forcing interference directly into its rhythm. On the display, the previously smooth oscillation split into uneven segments that struggled to realign. The flatline flickered again—longer this time—small deviations appearing where there had been none. The captain’s body attempting to regain control of its natural rhythm.
Cpt. Asam, CO
Kreed watched for several seconds as the signals struggled against each other. He then reached out to the biobed controls and tapped a black talon against the power selector… and increased the charge.
Kreed, CMO
The biobed responded with a rising whine as power output increased. Each pulse struck harder,no longer just disrupting the harmonic pattern, but forcing it to break. On the display, the subspace oscillation buckled under the pressure, its once-perfect rhythm collapsing into jagged, irregular fragments. For a moment, it tried to reassert itself—two pulses, then a third that didn’t belong—before the next surge of electrical cadence slammed through it.
The flatline broke.
A sharp spike cut upward across the cardiac monitor—then another, weaker but real. The rhythm wasn’t stable, not yet, but it was hers. The chaos of interference and failing harmonics struggled a moment longer before collapsing completely. The biobed lit up indicating ROSC (Rreturn of Spontaneous Circulation) as Captain Asam’s natural cardiac signal returned. It was uneven and fragile, struggling to reestablish leaving her in a state of cardiomyopathy.
Cpt. Asam, CO