"The heavy airlock of the derelict ship groans as it cycles open, protesting years of neglect. A sliver of light from a Starfleet tricorder cuts through the gloom, illuminating floating dust and frozen atmosphere.

​"Keep your intervals, watch the deck plating," Riker’s voice echoes, low and cautious. He steps through the hatch first, his phaser unholstered but held in a relaxed 'low-ready' position. The only sound is the rhythmic hum of his away team’s life support belts.

​He stops, the beam of his light catching a flicker of movement near the back of the debris-strewn corridor. He holds up a hand, signaling the team to halt. He doesn't rush in; he knows how a panicked survivor might react.

​"Enterprise, we have visual. One life sign, just like the sensors picked up. They look... barely conscious." Riker takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his boots crunching on shattered glass.