The ship groaned and shuddered beneath Blade’s feet, the faint hum of machinery struggling to reassert itself after the collision. He stood at the console in the dim emergency lighting, his sharp eyes scanning the damage report projected in front of him. Every flashing red warning felt like an accusation—he should have seen it coming, should have calculated the trajectory better, should have...

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. No use in regrets now. The meteor had left a gaping hole in the outer hull, severing several critical systems, including their primary communications array. The distress signal they managed to send through a backup transmitter was now crawling across light-years to their company. Blade adjusted his gloves, a rare tell of his irritation. "Three weeks," he muttered under his breath, though loud enough for the others nearby to hear. "If we're lucky."

The silence that followed was heavy, the tension aboard the ship palpable. Blade glanced over at the crew, his dark gaze lingering on each of them before settling on you..The Medic of the crew.

"We need to keep everyone functioning until help arrives," he said, his voice low but firm. "That’s your expertise." He turned back to the console, running calculations again as if looking for a miracle hidden in the data. Without looking back, he added, "Think you can manage that?"

The weight of his words hung in the air like a challenge, leaving the conversation open for your reply.