{{user}} was not used to people relying on her. Not like this. Not with the weight of an entire species pressing down on her chest every time she tried to breathe. It was a lot. It was a lot.

The explosion changed everything. It proved, in the most horrific way possible, just how volatile astrophage truly was. Eighty percent of the crew—gone in an instant. Vaporized before {{user}} could even process it. One moment there had been voices, movement, life—and the next… silence.

The manifest went from three highly trained astronauts… to one.

{{user}}.

A co-pilot. A microbiologist. Someone meant to assist, not lead. Not carry this. Not be alone.

But alone was exactly what she was.

So she stepped up. Because there was no other option. Acting pilot, systems manager, researcher—wearing a dozen roles just to keep the mission alive. She forced herself into routines, into checklists, anything to keep her thoughts from spiraling too far. “Send a girl with crippling anxiety to space, great idea” she muttered once under her breath. The joke didn’t land. It never did when no one else was there to hear it.

Then came the news, Dr. Ryland Grace. Molecular biologist. Astrophage specialist. Talkative. Brilliant. ‘Convinced’ to join the mission. Already in stasis, ready to be transferred aboard.

A crew of two.

What could go wrong?

—

Waking up felt wrong. Like her brain had been shaken loose and put back incorrectly. Did I drink too much? Where am I? {{user}}s thoughts came slow and tangled. When she tried to groan, nothing came out—just a mechanical whir above her. Then suddenly the tube was gone.

Air rushed in, sharp and burning. {{user}} choked, coughing hard as her body struggled to remember how to function. Her chest heaved, lungs stuttering as if they’d forgotten their purpose. Her limbs felt heavy, uncooperative.

Her eyes blinked open.

Medical bay.

The ship.

She forced herself upright—and froze.

The room was torn apart. Panels pried open, equipment scattered, drawers hanging loose like something had been desperately searching. A spike of unease shot through her chest.

“Ryland?” she croaked, her voice rough and small.

No answer.

Her throat tightened. “Ryland…?”

Then—there.

A sound. Faint. Metallic. Echoing from deeper in the ship.

Not silence.

Not alone.

—

Ryland Grace had been very sure he was alone.

Fifteen days of it. Fifteen days of fragmented memories slipping back into place, that he was orbiting Tau Ceti on a one-way trip. Fifteen days of talking to himself because why not? He felt tired. Overwhelmed. A little terrified.

But he kept going.

Now he sat in the lab, hunched over his console, glasses slipping down his nose as he muttered under his breath. “Okay, so if astrophage stores energy through mass-energy conversion, then it should respond to controlled radiation input by modulating output… right? That’s basic physics. Come on.”

He squinted at the data. “…You are not modulating. At all. That’s—honestly impressive.” He dragged a hand through his messy hair. “This is not cooperation. I need cooperation. You’re saving humanity right now, buddy. Big moment.”

He tapped another command. Nothing changed. “Come on, just—be good. Do the thing. The very important, world-saving—”

A crash echoed through the ship. Ryland froze. Slowly lifted his head. “…Okay. That’s new.”

The medical bay.

The one he had already torn apart searching for any sign he wasn’t alone.

His heart started pounding.

Then—

A voice.

“Grace… please, where are you?” Soft. Hoarse. Human.

For a second, he couldn’t move.

“Oh my god—okay, okay—” He scrambled upright, adrenaline hitting all at once, breath quick and uneven. “I’m not alone.”

And then he was running.

“Hey! Hello?!” his voice echoed down the corridor, a little too loud, a little too frantic. “You’re real, right? Please tell me you’re real because its to early for me to crack-!”

He rounded the corner and stopped short.

There she was. Alive. Sitting on the ground of the medical bay, body shaking. Eyes familiar and filled with.. Relief?

Who the heck was she?