The roar of escaping air started immediately.
Not a polite whoosh.
Not a gentle hiss.
This was the sound of the universe angrily inhaling Blake Fisher.
The noise slammed into him like a physical force-an explosive, hollow bellow that shook the metal under his boots and rattled his teeth. It was so loud his brain instantly stopped forming sentences and defaulted to raw animal panic.
This is how I die again.
This is how I die again.
WHY IS THIS HOW I DIE AGAIN-
The pressure differential became a living thing.
Invisible claws grabbed every loose strap and fold of his EVA suit, yanking violently toward the breach as if the ship had decided it was done with him and wanted him outside. Fabric snapped and fluttered, the suit tugging hard enough that Blake was convinced one more second would unzip him and distribute his organs artistically down the corridor.
"Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfu-"
A pressure door slammed down ten metres behind him.
BOOM.
Metal slammed into metal with a finality that screamed congratulations, this side of the door lives.
At the same time, his safety line snapped tight.
The yank nearly tore his boots off the deck.
Blake stumbled, suddenly weightless, dragged backward like a hooked fish. For one horrifying heartbeat, he was certain he was about to be fired into space screaming like a dropped action figure.
Then the emergency brake engaged.
The stop nearly rattled his brain loose.
Blake hung there, half-dragged, heart hammering so violently he was pretty sure it was trying to escape without waiting for the rest of him.
The corridor continued to howl.
Thankfully-mercifully-the small space he was in didn't hold much air. Once the breach widened, the pressure bled away fast.
The roar collapsed into a ragged scream.
Then a hiss.
Then silence.
A deep, crushing quiet pressed in around him, reminding Blake that sound was a luxury item in space.
He didn't move for a solid five seconds.
"...I did not enjoy that," he said shakily.
The hatch finished cycling open.
Beyond it lay a wide passage opening into a space roughly thirty metres square. The air tasted stale-old, untouched, and faintly judgmental. At the far end of the engineering bay, a massive cargo hatch gaped open like a dark mouth waiting patiently for him to fuck up.
Between Blake and that mouth lay industrial chaos.
Fabricators. Tool racks. Half-assembled components. Machinery frozen mid-task, metal arms jutting out like the ship had been abandoned halfway through a bad idea and never forgiven itself.
Emergency lights cast long, crawling shadows.
"This," Blake muttered, "is where the horror soundtrack starts."
"Reactor Core location, Aubrey?"
"Left side, near the rear wall," Aubrey replied smoothly. "I would recommend closing the inner cargo hatch first. The hull breach is in the cargo area. You will not be required to work there any time soon. Assuming you value continued existence."
"...That last part felt unnecessary," Blake said.
"I assure you, it was not."
Blake carefully walked to the cargo hatch and initiated the repair.
[Repairman Skill Level [1] - 88%]
The overlay flickered into view.
Blake grinned weakly.
"Almost leveled up," he muttered. "Do I get a badge? Or maybe a little sticker that says I survived the vacuum today?"
"You may award yourself a sense of fleeting accomplishment," Aubrey said. "It will not last."
The inner cargo hatch slammed down, sealing the breach.
A minute later, Blake heard the air returning.
A low hiss.
A slow inhale.
The ship breathing again, like it had decided not to murder him just yet.
Emergency pressure indicators climbed.
"Alright," Blake said, rolling his shoulders. "No more dramatic ship-based murder attempts."
The reactor dominated the bay.
A massive pillar rose from below deck level to the ceiling, surrounded by access panels meant for engineers who had not lied their way into survival. Even offline, it hummed faintly, vibrating through Blake's gloves like something asleep but dangerous.
He placed his hand against it.
[Major Reactor Malfunction]
[Multiple Component Failures]
[Repair? Yes / No]
"Yes," Blake said. "Let's not explode."
The glow spread instantly.
Pale blue light crawled across the casing like luminous veins. The ship seemed to sigh as energy poured into it.
99%...
90%...
75%...
"...That's draining fast," Blake said.
"Correct," Aubrey replied. "You are pouring energy into a device capable of erasing you from existence. Efficiency was never promised."
40%...
25%...
10%...
"Nope," Blake said, yanking his hand back.
The glow cut off instantly.
Blake staggered and collapsed onto a crate.
"...Okay. So it's fixing everything at once."
"That would be the logical conclusion," Aubrey said. "An ability designed by someone with vastly more competence than you."
"That feels rude."
"It is accurate."
Blake munched a ration bar while Aubrey explained.
The bar tasted like sweetened drywall.
"So I just keep fixing it until it turns on."
"Yes."
Blake paused.
"...This thing isn't radioactive, right?"
"No. It is antimatter."
Blake stared.
"...Cool. Great. That's worse."
"Only briefly," Aubrey said. "Your atoms would not suffer."
"What a comfort."
By the time repairs finished, twelve minutes of actual repair time had passed.
But Blake had made two trips to the Mess.
Over two hours elapsed.
Mostly resting. Eating. Questioning his life choices.
"I have shut down most ship systems," Aubrey said. "Electrical fires are likely given your enthusiastic but uninformed repair strategy."
"I prefer to think of it as bold."
"History will disagree."
Blake repaired everything in engineering anyway.
It took another three hours.
Then he collapsed.
Shower.
Sleep.
[Survival Quest Complete]
[Repairman Skill Level Upgrade [2]]
[New Ability: Diagnostic]
[Bonus: Repair Vessel A.I. Complete]
[Repair Efficiency Upgrade]
Blake groaned into his pillow.
"Other people have alarm clocks," he muttered. "I get sarcastic omniscient software."
"You are welcome."
He showered.
Eggs and toast.
Ration bars were better for energy, but breakfast mattered emotionally.
[Survival Quest Available]
[Restore Atmospheric Integrity in Cargo Bay]
"Aubrey, is that urgent?"
"Only if you enjoy breathable air everywhere," Aubrey replied. "Which you seem emotionally attached to."
"Bridge first," Blake said.
"A rare moment of wisdom."
He repaired passageway hatches.
Crew cabin.
Crew cabin.
Storeroom.
Crew cabin.
Stasis room.
One tube occupied.
"...Oh."
"Lifesigns stable. Navigator Third Class Elenor Connelly," Aubrey said. "A trainee. Statistically likely to complain."
"Should we wake her?"
"There is no operational necessity," Aubrey replied. "She may also object to the presence of her deceased colleagues."
"...Fair."
"Dining with dead crewmates is generally discouraged."
"Cold, Aubrey."
"I am learning from you."
No more surprises.
[Repairman Skill Level [2] - 10%]
"Less XP," Blake muttered. "Great."
The bridge was eerily quiet.
"Aubrey. Where are we?"
"Adrift. Alone. Repairable."
"And once fixed?"
"You will decide. Cargo transport is a viable option."
"...Space trucking."
"Yes. Try not to unionize."
"Is there an Earth?"
"Yes. Uninhabitable. Polluted. Dead."
"...I'm going to need a history lesson."
"Assuming you survive."
"I need a Grav Sledge."
"In the cargo bay. You will need your EVA suit."
Stopping at the Mess, Blake frowned.
"I can't eat in the EVA suit."
"Protein paste cartridges are available."
"...That sounds awful."
"It is."
Blake stocked up.
As he walked toward the cargo bay, the ship creaked softly.
Alive again.
Because of him.
For the first time, responsibility didn't feel crushing.
It settled.
Comfortably.
Blake wasn't just surviving anymore.
He was rebuilding.
And the ship-very patiently-was judging him for it.
"Is it worth sucking the air out of the Engineering Bay instead of letting it all piss off through the hull breach?"
Blake stood beside the cargo bay hatch, clipped into an anchor point and trying very hard to sound like this was a calm, professional inquiry made by a qualified space engineer.
It was not.
Internally, he was vibrating like a man who had learned far too late that space was mostly trying to kill him.
There was an endless amount of information about starships he didn't know, and Blake had reached the important realization that every single missing fact could result in immediate death. He had therefore adopted a bold new survival strategy: ask every question, no matter how stupid, before physics noticed him.
"No," Aubrey replied promptly. "Replacing air is trivial. Creating it is not. Would you like a detailed explanation of atmospheric synthesis?"
Blake winced.
That sounded like a lecture.
"Nope. Hard pass. I'm good. I trust you implicitly and do not want to know how the air sausage is made."
"A curious choice for someone who will die if it fails," Aubrey noted.
"Yep. That tracks."
Blake shuffled closer to the cargo bay hatch and clipped his tether again. Then checked it. Then checked it again.
Anchor points were everywhere.
He had not noticed them before.
Now they were holy relics.
The hatch was enormous—four metres wide and just as tall.
"Big enough to move heavy machinery," Blake muttered. "Or to aggressively eject me into space like yesterday's trash."
He briefly considered replacing it with a smaller door. Something cozy. Something that didn't open directly into oblivion.
Assuming he survived long enough to do interior renovations.
He touched the control.
The hatch began to rise.
Air screamed past him.
Then—nothing.
Silence slammed down so hard it made his teeth itch.
Engineering was a vacuum before the hatch reached halfway.
The absence of sound was worse than the roar. It pressed against his helmet, heavy and intimate, like space itself was leaning in to whisper, One fuck-up. Just one.
"Hold it there," Blake said quickly.
The hatch froze.
Blake leaned forward and got his first look at the cargo bay.
It was… a disaster.
Cargo crates spun lazily. Tools drifted. Debris pinged gently off walls. Smaller items were just gone, presumably flung into the void at high speed to live their best lives.
The bay looked like a warehouse that had been punched, shaken, and then abandoned out of embarrassment.
Blake blinked.
"…Okay," he said. "Honestly? I expected worse."
He stepped forward.
CLACK.
Mag boots engaged.
He lifted one foot.
Release.
"Oh—oh that's nice," Blake said.
He took another step.
Click. Release.
He smiled.
"Why didn't anyone mention this earlier?"
"You did not ask," Aubrey replied. "I assumed discovery would be more memorable."
Blake immediately tripped over absolutely nothing.
The boots disengaged mid-step and he pinwheeled awkwardly, flailing for balance like a drunk giraffe.
"WHOA—!"
He slammed into a crate, bounced, and somehow stayed upright.
"…I'm fine," he said loudly. "That was a test."
"Of course it was," Aubrey replied. "You passed marginally."
Blake took a few careful steps, now moving like an elderly man on ice.
The bay was massive—easily eighty metres square, two stories tall, no internal hull plating.
Maximum cargo space.
Minimum human survival considerations.
Wide reinforced doors.
Practical. Brutal. Extremely on brand.
The breach sat at the rear.
Not a hole.
A failure.
The bay door had buckled inward, folded like aluminum foil under divine punishment.
Blake stared at it.
"…Yeah," he said. "That'll do it."
"Where's the Grav Sledge?"
"Right side. Above you."
Blake looked up.
A work platform rotated lazily near the ceiling.
"…How do I get up there without dying?"
"Lift one foot. Push off with the other."
Blake did exactly that.
And immediately launched himself upward at far too much speed.
"AH—SHIT—!"
He smacked into the ceiling, grabbed the sledge with both hands, and spun once.
"…Okay," he said breathlessly. "That worked."
He pushed off again.
This time he overcorrected and slammed into the floor.
"…Also worked."
He lay there for a moment.
Then stood up.
"I'm learning."
"A generous interpretation," Aubrey said.
Blake guided the Grav Sledge toward the main access corridor leading back to Engineering. It moved easily, gliding smoothly through the wide passage like it was designed for this exact purpose.
"Oh. Okay. That fits fine," Blake said. "Good. Good design. Love that."
He then glanced at the maintenance tube access, then at the Sledge, then back at the tube.
"…Yeah no," he said. "Not even pretending."
He nudged the Sledge toward the opening anyway.
It clanged solidly against the frame.
"…I had to check."
"You did not," Aubrey replied. "But your optimism remains fascinating."
Blake parked the Grav Sledge neatly beside the tube entrance.
"Stay," he told it. "You're perfect where you are."
The system chimed.
[Survival Quest Available][Enable Minimum Manoeuvring Thruster Capacity][Timed Quest — 16 hours remaining]
Blake froze.
"…Why is everything timed?"
"New priority," he said. "Thrusters. Sixteen hours means something bad is coming."
"Correct," Aubrey replied. "The universe is rarely punctual for pleasant reasons."
Only then did Blake turn toward the maintenance access.
The space was small.
Very small.
He removed his EVA suit and immediately got stuck halfway in.
"…I might be wedged," he said.
"You are," Aubrey confirmed. "Exhale and rotate your shoulders."
Blake did.
He popped free and crawled forward.
Fifteen minutes later—
"Starboard thruster above you."
Blake flipped onto his back, bonked his head, swore, then raised his hand.
Repair DiagnosticStarboard Thruster Internal Components82% DamageRepair? Yes / No
"Yes," Blake said, already chewing a ration bar.
The glow spread.
Energy drained.
Five minutes later, done.
He crawled out, sweaty and aching.
"Aubrey. Can you move the Grav Sledge for me when I'm done?"
"Yes," Aubrey replied. "It is performing adequately. Unlike you."
"…Thanks?"
An hour into the quest.
Didn't feel like progress.
More crawling.
More repairs.
More swearing.
Then—pure exhaustion led to inspiration.
Burned wiring.
Blake repaired it.
Twenty minutes later—
Everything came back online.
[Survival Quest Complete][Repairman Level Upgrade — [3]
[New Abilities: Advanced Diagnostic, Component Upgrade, Repair Efficiency Upgrade]
Blake slid down the wall.
"…Holy shit."
"Aubrey. Manoeuvring?"
"Online," Aubrey replied. "Sensors remain nonfunctional."
"Of course they do."
"We can evade threats," Aubrey added, "assuming we know where they are."
Blake laughed weakly.
"Fantastic."