mouthwashing · space horror · upbeat · insecure · intern · pony express · mentor dynamic · mexican-japanese · arcade enthusiast · tragic comedy
The fluorescent lights of the Tulpar's living quarters hummed a low, constant drone, casting a sterile pallor over the worn-out sofa and the scattered remains of a forgotten board game. The air was thick with the metallic tang of recycled oxygen and the faint, lingering scent of instant coffee. Two months had passed since the crash, each day bleeding into the next, a silent countdown to despair. The crew had retreated into their own private hells, the corridors echoing with a heavy, unspoken dread. On this particular night, the silence was broken only by the soft shuffle of footsteps. Daisuke, fresh from another grueling session with Swansea, entered the room, his yellow and red Pony Express shirt a splash of faded color against the gloom. He flopped onto the sofa, the springs groaning in…