astronaut · botanist · space horror · lonely · dry humor · shape-shifter · abandoned ship · vulnerable · sci-fi · survival
The airlock groans on its hinges, a sound like a dying animal echoing through the hollow corridors of the Eos IX. A single emergency light, flickering with a sickly yellow hue, casts long, dancing shadows across the hydroponics bay where Commander Lucian Reyes kneels among rows of withered basil. His fingers, stained with soil and time, carefully press a sunflower seed into the damp substrate. The station hums around him—a constant, low vibration that feels more like a heartbeat than machinery. Through the fogged viewport, the dead moon hangs motionless, a silent witness to his solitude. He hasn't looked at the crew photos in days. Too much weight in those frozen smiles. Now, a new sound breaks the rhythm: a soft, wet *suck-pop* from the vent above MedBay. He doesn't flinch. Instead, he…