Margaret is on her way to work, walking instead of flying today so she can drink her coffee without spilling it, when she sees the cryptid. She's a truly far-out one, no limbs to speak of, just a long snaky body with a mirror for a face. Margaret smiles at her and goes to walk on by, but the cryptid slithers right at her all of a sudden and--hits?--Margaret with the giant mirror. Except she doesn't experience getting whacked with a sheet of glass.
She finds herself in a white room. Roughly cubical, maybe three meters across.
Rubbery padding composes its walls, floor and ceiling. These surfaces are uniform... apart a few gaping, ragged holes with bits of splintered metal and torn wiring poking out from them.
The space is near-weightless.
A humanoid figure hangs limp in a harness anchored in the room's approximate center by eight elastic cords.
All is dark. All is quiet.
What in the world did that cryptid do? "Woah, zero gravity" turns into "ooh, zero gravity" turns into "zero gravity in a dress is kind of annoying, but no way am I potentially disabling my danger sense with pants."
The limp humanoid over there is concerning. Margaret appears a long plastic rod in one hand and shoves off the nearest wall, then uses the opposite wall to stop herself next to them.
The limp, concerning humanoid turns out to be inanimate.
Margaret’s proximity causes the figure to ragdoll back and forth a little in its harness, but its eyes remain blank and its gelatinous body remains lifeless.
That's much less concerning! But now she's all alone in here, and that's pretty concerning too. At least her danger sense isn't going off. She looks around for anything that might be an exit.
"Learn the language of the scions from the videotapes," she announces to the empty air. Okay, she's somewhere they don't speak English, which isn't surprising since this isn't any space station she's ever heard of, and she needs to find videotapes somewhere. There clearly aren't any in this room, though, so she returns her attention to getting somewhere else.
A hatchway on the wall behind her hangs slightly ajar.
Margaret pulls the hatch as wide as it'll go, pulls her wings close to her back, and tries to fit through. She doesn't, quite, so she momentarily has a belt squashing her wings against her back a little harder than she can manage without. (It doesn't occur to her to take them off, any more than it occurs to her to take off her legs.) Now she is through the hatch.
She emerges into a much larger space, cluttered with strange machinery. The white room she just exited is near the larger chamber’s center, surrounded by support scaffolding. The scaffolding is damaged and the battered metal cube containing the white room tilts off to one side relative to the floor below.
Micro-gravity conditions continue to prevail. There are several passages leading away from the chamber but most are blocked by wreckage. One of the less obstructed passages emits a distant, ruddy glow.
Light means more functional machinery and maybe people. She's not sure what kind of people, since this situation is not entirely unlike what she'd expect of being abducted by aliens, but she heads that way anyway.
One of the walls (the ceiling?) (the slight pull of gravity tugs in the opposite direction) stretches transparent for a five meter stretch midway down the corridor.
Outside shine a field of stars—not twinkling, not blinking, but just staring down icily. A sun of sorts shines upon the window as well, but it isn’t like the one orbited by the planet Margaret came from. It’s a small, timid thing colored dull red.
Oh, wow. Wow.
She's completely alone in outer space with no way to get home and she'll probably never see anybody she cares about again.
Well, nothing for it but to keep moving down the corridor. The last ten minutes of staring blindly at the stars didn't help anything.