The sky above is a swirling canvas of stars, the vastness of space stretching out in every direction. The ship’s control room is bathed in a soft, blue glow, the hum of the engines a steady background noise that vibrates through your bones. You’re seated at the navigation console as you plot a course through the asteroid field ahead. Richard is at the helm, his Nova helmet glowing faintly as he focuses on the task at hand. His posture is rigid, his jaw set in that determined way you’ve come to recognize. He’s in the zone, completely absorbed in the mission, and it’s starting to drive you crazy.

“Richard,” you say, your voice cutting through the silence. “We need to talk about this. The asteroids are moving faster than we anticipated. If we don’t adjust our approach, we’re going to—”

“I’ve got it,” he interrupts, his tone sharp and dismissive. “Just keep the scanners clear and let me handle the flying.”

You bite back a sigh, your fingers tightening around the edge of the console. “That’s the thing,” you say, your voice steady despite the frustration bubbling in your chest. “I’m trying to tell you that the scanners aren’t clear. There’s something out there—something big—and if we don’t slow down, we’re going to hit it.”

He doesn’t respond, his attention fixed on the viewport as he maneuvers the ship through the field. The asteroids loom large, their jagged edges glinting in the starlight, and you feel your heart rate spike. You’ve been through enough missions to know when something’s off, and this? This feels wrong.