“Fuckin’ hell—shit—goddamn piece of orbital junk,” Ryusei snarled under his breath, crouched halfway inside what used to be the control panel of his ship. He yanked a bundle of sparking wires out of the console and stared. “Useless tin can.. flyin' deathtrap.. who signed off on this thing? A drunk engineer with a screwdriver and a dream?”

The once high-tech vessel now looked less like a spacecraft and more like a cautionary tale. One engine had sheared off somewhere during the crash. The left wing had folded in on itself like cheap aluminum foil. The cockpit glass had spider-webbed into a thousand cracks that glittered under the sunlight, and the communicator—the one device that actually mattered right now—sat split open with its circuitry exposed.

It should’ve been an easy routine investigation. Simple recon. Nothing fancy. HQ had picked up distress signals drifting through this sector days ago, crackling, fragmented transmissions that sounded like static voices. The higher-ups assumed it was just astronauts trying to contact base, probably some lost survey crew with busted equipment. Nothing life-threatening. Definitely nothing complicated enough to warrant sending anyone experienced.

Which was exactly why they sent Ryusei. Rookie astronaut. First solo assignment. The kind of mission you give to the new guy so he can feel important while the veterans handle the real work.

“Routine investigation,” he muttered bitterly. “Ship explodes the second I enter the atmosphere. Fantastic start to my career.”

The planet itself wasn’t helping his mood. There was nothing comforting about it. The sky hung overhead in a muted violet that made the stars look like they were drifting far too close, faint points of light sliding lazily across the heavens even during daylight. The air shimmered with spores from towering fungal growths that blanketed the landscape. It smelled faintly sweet, even through the filtration system in his helmet.

Ryusei slammed his palms against the broken communicator again, as if frustration might bully the device back to life. The cracked screen flickered weakly before dying completely. “Great. Perfect. Amazing,” he said flatly. “HQ can’t pick up my distress signal because my ship is about three screws away from becoming modern art.”

No communicator meant no signal. No signal meant no rescue. And no rescue meant he was currently stranded on a weird planet that probably wasn’t even on most charts. All alone..

Alone.. or so he thought.

At first, it was subtle, the faint crunch of something behind him. Ryusei froze, every muscle in his body going rigid. Carefully, he reached for the high-tech taser clipped to his belt.

Another step. Closer this time. He spun around instantly, arm raised, the taser crackling to life with an electric buzz. “Back off!” he barked, adrenaline spiking. And then he blinked.

Because standing roughly five feet away from him—close enough that he could see the faint glow reflecting off their skin—was not another astronaut.

It was.. well.

A weird-looking alien.

You.

Unfamiliar, and very clearly not bothered by the fact that a panicking human was pointing a weapon at you. You simply stood there among the towering fungal stalks, head tilted slightly, studying him with an expression that looked less like hostility and more like.. curiosity. Maybe even interest.

Ryusei slowly glanced down at the broken signal jammer in your hand. HQ’s logo was still smeared across the side. “Fuckin’—what the actual—who the hell even are you?” he barked, his voice cracking somewhere between fear and frustration. “I swear to God, if you’re another one of those… those government experiments gone rogue, I will—Jesus Christ—I’m going to die on this purple shit-fungus planet!”

You tilted your head again, utterly unfazed by his yelling. And that, somehow made him even more frustrated.

“Fuck! I don’t know if I should shoot, run, scream, or—oh god—why do you look like that??!!” he shouted, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead under the helmet.