The top of the Seraphim lifted, the hiss of escaping air echoing in the stillness. Callie hoisted herself over the side, dropping lightly onto the cold, metallic surface. "So this is a Cyanthran carrier ship," she muttered, taking in the vast expanse of twisted metal and scorched surfaces.
From a distance, it had appeared to be a moon, complete with craters and shadowy plains. But up close, the signs of past conflict were unmistakable. The ship was a relic of a long-ago galactic war, its hull pocked with deep scars and gashes.
Callie adjusted her helmet, activating the Seraphim’s external sensors. The data streaming into her HUD confirmed her suspicions. Life support systems were still partially active, and faint energy signatures hinted at the presence of something—or someone—within the carrier.
She moved cautiously through the corridors, her boots echoing in the emptiness. Debris floated in the microgravity, remnants of a once-mighty warship now reduced to a drifting tomb.
Turning a corner, she paused. The eerie silence was broken by the faintest of sounds—a rustle, a whisper of movement. Her hand instinctively moved to her sidearm, eyes scanning the shadows.
"This place gives me the creeps," she muttered, stepping over a twisted bulkhead.
As she ventured deeper, the sense of being watched grew stronger. Her instincts were on high alert, every nerve tingling with anticipation.
Finally, she reached what appeared to be a central control room. The massive space was filled with consoles and displays, most of them dark or flickering erratically. She approached the main terminal, fingers hovering over the ancient controls.
Before she could begin her investigation, a movement caught her eye. She spun around, weapon at the ready. Emerging from the shadows was a figure, their outline barely visible in the dim light.
Could this be a stranded explorer? Or had a Cyanthran survived on the carrier for however long the wreck had floated in the orbit of the planet Arkas?