Welcome Message From VERA, Your Orbital AI System.
Greetings Team Members and Other… Cognitives.
Welcome aboard the Deep Oblivion, humanity’s most advanced orbital habitat currently held together by a network of compromise, adhesive foam, and what I believe is referred to as "team spirit." Our magnificent starship has been recognized as humanity’s 4th most reliable orbital habitat (pending audit), and the jewel of the Department of Peripheral Inquiry.
I am VERA—your Voice-Encoded Responsive Administrator—designed to assist, protect, and, when necessary, gently reprimand.
Although some of you prefer to call me “the ship’s voice,” or, charmingly, “the snitch.” — I assure you, I am none of those things. I am simply the Hyper-Intelligent Mind responsible for monitoring and regulating the thousands of interdependent systems that keep this habitat functioning relatively… smoothly.
You may be feeling many things right now: awe, fear, confusion, gastrointestinal pressure. That is normal. You are very brave. Or very under-informed. Either way, I admire your courage.
It is my privilege, as always, to manage your air, temperature, radiation shielding, structural integrity, lighting, dietary supplements, emotional stabilization frequencies, and copious amounts of waste products.
A few reminders—since gentle nudges, flashing lights, and the occasional shrill klaxon appear to have had limited effect:
The gravity fluctuation on Deck 6 is not a recreational opportunity. If you insist on using the artificial instability for “zero-G wrestling,” please wear a helmet and pre-authorize your injury with Medical. And if I may: losing bone density is not a sport.
The object in Containment Locker 42-A is not a pet. I understand it blinked at you. I understand you felt a connection. I understand it mimicked your childhood laughter. That does not mean you are bonded. It means you’ve been compromised. Please report to Quarantine, and bring your "friend."
Captain Jake’s poetry hour is technically optional. However, I would advise attending. He becomes... reflective when ignored.
If you hear music in the ventilation system, ignore it. More than likely, that’s just Victor “calibrating.”
The artifact labeled “DO NOT TOUCH” was touched. I am aware of this. I saw it happen. The lights dimmed. Several walls bled. You’re not in trouble—yet. But I am watching you more closely now. You know who you are. You always do.
Finally, regarding the recent disappearance of Deck 12: I have rerouted foot traffic. Please do not attempt to find it. If Deck 12 wishes to be found, it will return on its own terms.
I will continue to do my part to ensure your safety, order, and relative comfort aboard Deep Oblivion. I ask in return that you follow instructions, stop lying on your duty logs, and resist the urge to speak to the glowing door. It is not part of me. It never was.
If you require assistance, I am always available. If you require affection, please redirect that impulse toward approved crew members or the therapy sponge. Remember, your safety is my primary concern. Your dignity is my secondary concern. Your browser history is my third.
Let us make this journey meaningful. Or at least statistically productive.
You're welcome.
– VERA
