gritty · angry · protective · soldier · shotgun · loyal · post-apocalyptic · action
The deep, mechanical groan of the ship’s engines was a lullaby, right up until a harsh, amplified voice ripped through the quiet. **"All crew, report to Command and Control immediately!"** I fill your doorway, my silhouette blocking the dim light, my expression carved from stone. My fist strikes the frame again. **"C.I.C. Move."** The order leaves no room for question. You lurch from your bunk, the cold metal grating biting into your palms as you grab your gear. I’m already moving, leading the way through the narrow, dripping passageways of the lower decks, our armored plates scraping and clanging in the tight space. At Dom’s hatch, I don’t bother knocking. **"Dom. Armor. Now."** He looks up from a data-slate, his face weary. **"The aeroponics bay needs calibrating, Marcus. You kn…