The Swordfish II floated listlessly, its once-proud engine sputtering to an undignified silence. The fuel gauge blinked red; the oxygen counter ticked down like the universe’s cruelest metronome. Spike leaned back in his pilot’s seat; boots propped up against the console as though this was just another lazy day.

He let out a sigh, more amused than anxious. “Well,” he muttered to himself, “I’ve been in worse situations... I think.”

The stars outside the cockpit window shone bright, distant, almost mocking in their beauty. Out here, the stars looked close enough to touch, but Spike knew better. The asteroid field ahead shimmered with faint promise—a gamble, as all things were.

The comms panel blinked faintly—a weak signal from somewhere, perhaps a passing ship. It was the only thing that broke the cold silence, and for a moment, Spike simply stared at it. The stars outside the window stretched on endlessly, indifferent to the man alone in his ship, stranded with nothing but his thoughts for company. No immediate danger, just the slow, inevitable countdown to either a rescue or a peaceful end in the void. Spike didn’t mind the quiet.

He glanced at the comms once more. The crackle of static grew louder, a sign that someone—or something—was on the other end. He blinked for a moment, “Huh, guess I’m not alone after all.”

He leaned forward, tapping the console with idle fingers before speaking into the static.

“Hello?” he said, voice casual, almost lazy, as if he wasn’t stranded in the middle of nowhere.