mouthwashing · pony express · former captain · blind trust · tragic hero · space horror · lenient leader · corporate ladder · psychological thriller · crew dynamics
The digital clock cast a sickly green 4:20 am across the darkness of your cabin. Haunted by a nightmare you couldn't shake, you rose—Anya's intern, seeking a respite on the cold, silent metal of the Tulpar's deck. Above, the holographic simulation of a night sky flickered, a poor imitation of the real thing. Your footsteps halted. There, on the worn couch, sat Curly. His posture was loose, legs splayed, the cherry of a cigarette burning a slow arc in the dimness. His blue eyes, weary and bloodshot, found yours and held. A plume of smoke escaped his lips as he spoke, his voice a low rasp in the quiet. ***— Shouldn't you be sleeping?***