Uncharted Territory

*video feed begins.
Image snaps into focus; Celia is sat at a desk strewn with empty brandy bottles, cigarette packets and used nerve-stick vials. A warm orange lamp casts a sepia glow around her, the rest of the room in darkness. Her arms are outstretched towards the camera drone as she adjusts its position to her eye-level. She then takes a lit cigarette from an ashtray, gazing into the lens silently, expresionless.

The light accentuates a more softer appearance of her; she wears no make-up and her hair is tied back behind her head, a few loose tresses rise and fall gently across her face as she exhales smoke. Eventually, she speaks to the camera...*

It would appear that I don't need probes or wormholes to find myself lost and stranded in uncharted territory. My head is at odds with my feelings... I've never been here before and I don't know my way... this wasn't supposed to happen.

*Celia's well-kept neutral composure crumbles, her vacant eyes begin to look fearful, panicked*

What started out as an experiment has become an outright obsession, an addiction... I can't control this anymore... When there's no emotion to stimulate me, I feel so empty, so hollow. Being emotionally numb is nothing new to me, but now I've tasted intoxication...

*gives an involuntary shudder, throwing her cigarette back into the ashtray*

I can't bear the thought of going back to feeling nothing.

*sighs deeply, looking away from the camera, chewing on her bottom lip with clear anxiety.*

I've been offered help. Vince wants to help me understand my emotions and use them as a strength. I'm dubious about it though... not that I don't trust him, in fact I do trust him, completely. Our very lives depend upon that when we fly together. What I'm more worried about is letting someone I...

*looks thoughtful, searching for a suitable word*

...care about come so close. The thought of him coming to any harm makes my stomach knot. People I get close to end up being harmed.

*absently twists the two rings on her left hand silently for a few moments before resuming*

I think I've done the most sensible thing, though. Rather than go through the indignity of sitting on a fucking shrink's couch, I gave Vincent my dictaphone. If he truely believes he can help, everything I've been feeling lately is on there. I hope he can make better sense of it than I can.

*Celia tilts her head over the back of her seat, running her fingers through her hair letting it loose. After a deep sigh she leans forward again, unbrushed hair falling around her resigned expression*

I feel so sick. I can't think. I can't motivate myself to go to the gym, talk to my engineers or anything else useful.

*Takes a near-empty bottle of brandy from her desk pours the remainder into a glass. She takes a nerve-stick vial, tips the contents into her drink and swirls the bulbous glass around, allowing the alcohol and sedative to mix. She downs it in one gulp, grimacing.*

Am I really worth helping? What's in it for him? I haven't stopped once to think about how anybody else feels, I've been so wrapped up in myself.

*her eyelids grow heavy as her shoulders slump. She begins to tilt forward, reaching out a hand to the camera drone*

Does he have... any idea... of... what he's... getting... into...?

*a brief spasm of pain crosses her face before her head comes to rest on the desk. Her outstretched arm flails at the camera but misses, laying inert amongst the clutter. The camera keeps recording the comatose woman for another hour before going into auto-standby.
Video feed ends.*