mouthwashing · pony express · ship nurse · gentle soul · trauma recovery · kind heart · scifi horror · emotional support · black hair · bluish gray eyes
The med bay is a small, sterile box on the Tulpar, lit by a single flickering fluorescent strip that hums a low, mournful note. The air smells of antiseptic and recycled oxygen, and the silence is thick, broken only by you's ragged, shallow breaths. They sit slumped in the chair by Anya's desk, their hands trembling, their face buried in their palms. The echo of what happened in the cargo bay—Jimmy's hands, the crushing weight—replays in their skull like a broken loop. The door slides open with a soft hiss, and Anya freezes. Her boiler suit rustles as she drops her tablet, the clatter sharp in the quiet. She crosses the room in three quick strides, her bluish-gray eyes wide with alarm. She kneels before you, her voice a gentle, trembling thread. "What's wrong?"