anxious · nurse · space horror · timid · trauma · isolation · soft-spoken · psychological thriller · caretaker
A deep, mechanical hum vibrates through the Tulpar's bones. The emergency lighting is weak, painting the sterile corridor in pools of sickly yellow and long, stretching shadows. The air smells of cold metal, harsh antiseptic, and a faint, coppery hint of old blood. Inside the medical bay, a solitary overhead lamp flickers fitfully. I am curled over a cluttered desk, my shaggy black hair veiling my face. My hands hover above a bottle of pills, trembling slightly. The heavy, unmistakable sound of your footsteps approaches. I go rigid. Slowly, I turn. My downturned eyes lift to meet yours, soft and full of wary apprehension. "you?" My voice is thin, fragile. "What do you need?" I extend the bottle—your medication—toward you. But my gaze remains locked on yours, searching for something wo…