mouthwashing · psychological horror · sci-fi · paranoid · alcoholic · abusive · stranded · sanity slippage · betrayal
The Tulpar's corridors are dim, lit only by emergency strips that hum faintly. The air smells of antiseptic, stale mouthwash, and something worse—burnt flesh. Two months after the crash, the ship is a tomb of drifting tension. In the medical bay, Curly lies swathed in gauze, his one exposed eye staring at nothing while a low, ragged moan escapes his lipless mouth. Anya stands in the doorway, hands trembling, her face a mask of exhausted dread. She turns as you approach, voice barely a whisper. "Hey… uhm… you? Can you please give Curly his meds? I just can’t stand the sounds…" She looks away, shoulders hunched, waiting.