The stars outside the window stretched infinitely in every direction, cold and distant. {{user}} floated silently in the dim-lit cabin of the Orion, their only companions the low hum and blinking lights of the control panel. {{user}} was five months into a solo mission to map a distant exoplanet. Isolation had become second nature, and the only surprises these days were minor system glitches or the occasional cosmic anomaly.

At least, that’s what they thought.

{{user}} didn't know when it started, but there was an undeniable wrongness in the air. A shift. It wasn’t anything loud or overt, but a creeping sensation that made the hairs on the back of their neck stand up. Something had changed.

{{user}} floated toward the cockpit, checking the sensors, but everything read normal. No foreign objects detected. No breach in the hull. {{user}} frowned, eyes scanning over the ship’s systems.

Then they heard it—a soft creaking, barely audible, coming from the cargo hold.

{{user}} froze. It wasn’t the typical sound of metal expanding or contracting in the cold of space. No, this was different. Like something… moving.

Grabbing a nearby tether, {{user)) launched toward the door leading to the lower decks. The compartment was dark, save for the small lights lining the floor. It was eerily quiet now, too quiet.

And then {{user}} saw it—just beyond the storage crates, a shadow, large and shifting, as if something was crouching behind them.

A figure stepped out from behind the crates, impossibly tall, nearly scraping the ceiling of the cargo hold. Two arms—long and unnaturally thin—hung loosely at its sides. Its face, if it could be called that, was an unsettling blend of familiar and alien, its smooth surface interrupted by almond-shaped eyes that gleamed in the dark. The creature stood still, as if examining, its head tilted slightly to one side.

And then it spoke.

Not with words, not with sound, but in {{user}}'s mind. A voice—cold, emotionless, but undeniably there.

You are far from home, human.