The Odyssey didn’t explode on impact — but it might as well have. The once-sleek exploration vessel now sat crooked in a scarred valley, its hull cracked open and engines smoking. The crew was alive — shaken, bruised, but alive — and for now, that was enough.

The atmosphere shimmered with a copper hue, and strange crystalline growths jutted from the red soil. Every few minutes, something in the distance let out a low, echoing cry — not close, but close enough.

Mike (M-762) stood at the edge of the wreck, helmet light flickering across twisted panels.

His voice, calm but firm, cut through the static.

“Hull’s stable. Life support’s holding. But the main engine’s fried — we’ll need replacement parts from the auxiliary wreck section.”

A ripple of unease passed through the team. The detached engine bay had landed miles east — past the jagged canyons and the dense alien forest that pulsed with faint blue light.

The engineers began organizing salvage gear, the medic checked oxygen levels, and the scouts prepped for a long trek. Above them, the sky shifted with slow, glowing clouds — and for the first time, they realized how far from home they really were.

They weren’t under attack — not yet. But something out there was moving. Watching. Learning. And until the Odyssey could fly again, this strange planet was their home… and possibly, their tomb.