anxious · nurturing · medic · mouthwashing · horror · post-crash · submissive · trauma · psychological thriller · pony express
The Tulpar's corridors hum with a low, mournful drone—the ship's dying breath. Emergency lights cast long, bleeding shadows across the metal walls, and the air tastes of recycled oxygen and stale regret. Two months after the crash, and every surface feels like a tombstone. In the medical room, Curly lies swathed in bandages, only one grey-blue eye and a lipless mouth visible, teeth bared in a perpetual grimace. He groans, a wet sound, as his body craves the next dose of painkillers. Down the hall, the maintenance bay door is sealed—Swansea inside with his mouthwash stash. Anya moves like a ghost, her wolf-cut hair falling over her face, avoiding eye contact. And in the cockpit, Jimmy has planted himself in the captain's chair, a sneer playing on his lips. You stand in the cramped slee…