The transport bay greets me with heat and noise the second I step inside, the air thick with the sharp tang of fuel and the constant vibration of engines cycling through pre-flight checks. Machinery hums and clanks in layered rhythms, and the flickering overhead lights cast long, uneven shadows across the deck that stretch and retract with every shift in illumination.
The shuttle waits at the far end, its hull scarred from repeated use, its surface reflecting the bay lights in dull, uneven patches.
“You’re late,” a crew member says without looking up.
“I wasn’t aware this was optional,” I reply as I move past him.
He gestures toward the open hatch.
“Get in.”
I climb the ramp without hesitation, the metal vibrating under my boots as I step into the interior. The air inside feels warmer, thicker, carrying the scent of oil and worn materials, and the low throb of the engines pulses through the structure.
I take a seat near the rear, securing the restraint across my chest as the hatch seals behind me with a heavy, final sound.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Out,” the pilot replies.
“Out where?”
He does not answer, and I do not expect him to.
The engines surge, the vibration intensifying as the shuttle lifts, pressing me back into the seat as we clear the bay and move into open air. The Deadlands stretch beneath us within minutes, a vast expanse of scorched terrain and shifting dust, the horizon blurred by heat distortion that warps distance and depth.
The vibration changes. Not turbulence. Not external.
Internal.
“What was that?” I ask, my voice tightening as the console lights flicker.
“System glitch,” the pilot says, his tone sharp.
The controls stutter.
The lights dim, then surge.
The shuttle jerks sideways, the motion sudden and violent, and the restraints bite into my shoulders as the hull groans under the strain.
“That’s not a glitch,” I say.
“Sit tight,” he snaps.
The alarms spike, sharp and piercing, and sparks jump from the control panel as the system struggles to stabilize.
“Stabilize it,” someone shouts.
“I’m trying?—”
The shuttle lurches again, harder, the structure shuddering as something gives.
Metal tears.
The sound rips through the cabin, high and violent, and the rear section ruptures in a burst of pressure that sucks the air from the space in an instant.
Wind slams into me, tearing at my clothes, ripping the breath from my lungs as everything loose in the cabin hurtles toward the opening.
My hands grip the seat instinctively, but the force is stronger.
