It is nighttime. Most people wouldn't notice it while on a space station, but a big part of the Arbeiters onboard of Pacifica are getting ready to go to sleep. The night shifts have just started and banging of heavy machinery can barely be heard through the thick office walls. A certain Vorarbeiter is sitting on the white leather sofa, sipping a mysterious substance from a shot glass. He's humming a melody. It can easily be noticed that he is missing every other note.
As the nightshift continues the Vorarbeiter is relaxing on the sofa staring through the glass window, looking at a hologram of planet Houston.
Pacifica Base, 02:44 Local Time.
Not an uncommon sight, smoking his usual cheap cigar, Niska trudges through Pacifica's corridors, his heavy boots hammering against the deck of the station. Giving a grunt and wary glance to the various technicians working late to keep the place together with nano-tape, sweat and prayers, he punches in his authorisation code to the VIP Headquarters, which promptly flashes with brightly coloured text.
ACCESS DENIED
Shaking his head and giving a dejected sigh, he prods the terminal with a metallic finger, hailing whomever resides inside.
"Niska here."
His voice is deep and hoarse.
"Gunna let me in? My codes ain't workin' again."
Standing there, still puffing away on his dwindling stick of synthetic tobacco, he stares at the terminal with a bemused gaze, expecting the built in camera to be functioning. Wouldn't surprise him if not.
Oberarbeiter
Kalle Niska
When contending with a monster, you'd be wise to give the devil his due.
Pacifica Base, 02:45 Local Time.
The Vorarbeiter was walking to the control panel very slowly, with a strong step while he was continuously humming a slow melody. He looked at the alert message and was slowly watching as the guest on the inside was visibly losing patience. He spoke through the microphone, with a determined voice.
"Oh, it's ya. I was expectin' ya. Give me a sec."
He slowly walked towards the door and pressed the green button on its side. The big metal door opened, and in front of the Oberarbeiter stood a 6'5 tall man in a black leather jacket. His hair was short and black, but messy. James spoke with a very obvious Texan accent.
"Come in. It's nice of ya to show up."
He stood aside leaving the front door open for Niska.
Pacifica Base, 02:46 Local Time.
Giving a slight tilt of the head and a raised brow as if sizing up Hollywood, Niska strolls on in, a humoured grimace spreading across his face.
"What? No hug?"
He'd follow up with a sarcastic sigh, before starting again in a joking manner.
"Alright buttercup, this better be good."
Already moving to sit down on the white leather sofa, he conveniently nests himself in Hollywood's prior spot, which he wriggles his backside on for a brief moment.
"Ooo, warm. Hope I didn't keep ya. - Suspect I ain't just here for a cup of tea and a line of cardi-powder eh?"
Chuckling, he takes a long drag on his cigar, giving the Vorarbeiter an attentive stare before exhaling smoke through his nostrils. His right eye, a cybernetic eye, gives off an infrequent flicker, as the dim red light appears to 'blink'. He slaps a hand against the right side of his head, twice. That appears to have fixed the problem.
Oberarbeiter
Kalle Niska
When contending with a monster, you'd be wise to give the devil his due.
![[Image: abAL8hq.png]](https://i.imgur.com/abAL8hq.png)
