“A good ghost trusts the corps.” #PietasFans #MilSF #MFRWhooks #EnterTheEmpire

In this scene from Lights Out, Tornahdo is locked into a comfortable cabin, unlike his usual stark quarters. There are no entertainment screens or portholes. Nothing to do but wait and then wait some more. When there's a knock at the door and it opens, he's met by a woman in uniform offering his usual meal: Ghost Formula Six.

I wanted to show that his embedded chip has taken away independent thinking, and show that he'd been brainwashed and triggered with keywords. Hopefully, that comes across.

No Cookies?

"Thank you." He accepted the tray. "Is this all? Sometimes the general gives us cookies."

"Drink Ghost Formula Six and you aren't hungry. The general wants you to drink it. It's good for you."

Tornahdo stepped back. "If the general ordered it, then I'm happy."

She smiled. "I thought you would be."

"Why was the door locked?" He set down the tray.

"During evacuation, safety droids don't bother with doors locked from the outside."

"Makes sense. Thanks." Tornahdo opened a bottle and sipped. "Wish this had flavor. It's thick water."

"It maintains the chip. Drink Ghost Formula Six and you aren't hungry. That's dinner tonight, then breakfast and lunch."

"Please tell the general I'll drink Ghost Formula Six. I won't be hungry."

"I will. Do you need anything else?"

"Are we free to explore the station? I liked exploring the ship."

"No, Chancellor Pietas demands a ritual cleansing of the station. The Ultra Council wants no one out of their cabins until the talks."

"So I sit here and wait?"

"Isn't that what soldiers do?"

She had a point. His life consisted of endless hours of boredom punctuated by moments of abject terror.

"Will the general let me access the ship's library?"

"Here." She offered a card. "Insert this into the slot beside the bed."

"Thanks." The Ghost Corps symbol lay on both sides. A funerary urn in black on white. "Huh." He held it at eye level.

"What?"

"Never noticed before." He outlined the white part. "Rounded head and arm and then a slope. Half a ghost."

"All I see is a black urn."

He set it down. "Thanks for dinner."

"You're welcome. Need anything else?"

Hadn't there been something? The general would have given him anything he needed. "No. Please tell the general I'm happy."

"I will." She pointed to the keycard. "Do you need that?"

He picked it up, puzzled by its presence. "Here. I have no idea what it does."

She took it, closed the door behind her and a tone announced the door had locked.

Tornahdo reached for the activator and hesitated, fingertips hovering.

The corps would keep him safe. As a newborn, he'd been unwanted, unneeded. Abandoned. No, that wasn't true. His abuela had needed and loved him. She—

Pain careened through his head.

Grimacing, he braced himself against the wall.

"Ghosts have no family." He must order his mind. Not allow vain imaginings to rule his thoughts. "I am a ghost. I do not fight the chip. The chip is faithful as a good soldier." He chewed his lip, panting through the pain. "Please! The chip orders my thoughts. The chip gives me control. I am a ghost. Please, please! I am a ghost!"

The torment scaled back.

Sucking in a ragged breath, Tornahdo slid down the wall to the floor.

"The death and rebirth of a ghost means the salvation of mankind." Even trapped on a station humans had abandoned. "A good ghost trusts the corps."