/ VITAL SIGNS: ELEVATED /
/ AUDIO / VIDEO / RECORDING ONGOING/
I stock up at Lifepod 5—filtered water, cooked peepers, some cured food just in case, and spare batteries for every tool I've got. Then I load the Seamoth with a few building materials. If I find anything out there, I want to be ready.
I've only seen open ocean for days. The idea that something stable might be out there? It's pulling me like gravity.
I take a deep breath and hit the throttle.
The Seamoth hums to life beneath me, the familiar thrum of its drive core like a heartbeat. The shallows fade behind. The seabed drops, red grass swaying like a slow-motion wildfire across the Grassy Plateaus.
The water gets darker. Wider. Quieter.
I grip the controls tighter, eyes scanning the edge of the fog for any shape, any shadow that's too big. Leviathans hide in this sort of water. I've seen what's out here.
"I really hope Greg made it," I mutter. "Love that guy. He's a survivor. Had that stupid lucky coin and said it—"
I cut myself off.
Something dark catches my eye in the grass below.
Not a shadow. Not moving.
Black. Matte. Angular.
I slow the Seamoth, descending gently.
Is that fucikin' magnitite?
I drop out of the cockpit, fins pushing gently as I drift toward it. The PDA confirms it before I even touch it:
"Magnitite. This valuable magnetic mineral has applications in advanced electromagnetic equipment and weaponry. Handle with care."
I snatch it and spin in place, grabbing two more nearby, then kick back toward the Seamoth.
As I climb in, I hesitate.
"I could head back… Stasis rifle needs magnitite. That'd make a leviathan think twice."
But I glance at the HUD. I'm already nearly halfway to the rendezvous point.
And the thought of turning back through all that open water?
Nope.
Not unless I have to.
I press on.
The terrain starts to slope upward beneath me—rising from the abyss into sandy, sloping hills. I ease the Seamoth forward, heart pounding, scanning constantly for signs of land—or worse.
Then I see something strange breaking the sea floor ahead.
A structure.
Not coral. Not rock.
Artificial.
Metal beams, half-buried. A multipurpose room, unmistakably constructed with a Habitat Builder—but aged. Really aged. The hull's corroded, the windows gone. Vines hang from the ceiling like seaweed drapes. Whatever happened here, it's been a while.
I park the Seamoth nearby and slide out, swimming to the entrance.
Inside: silence.
No power. Just an empty shell—an old dream rotting on the ocean floor.
But it's not useless.
I bring out the scanner.
Blueprints Acquired:
Bulkhead
Composite Plant Pot
Desk
Exterior Growbed
Interior Growbed
Multipurpose Room
Observatory
Spotlight
Swivel Chair
Wall PlanterClick to shrink...
My scanner pings constantly as I walk the flooded corridors, catching outlines of technology long since lost.
I'm smiling.
Finally, I can build more than floating lockers and reinforced cans.
I can build a home.
The PDA chimes again in the background, pushing a quiet reminder:
Unknown Energy signature: 2 → 3
"Rate of change increasing. Monitoring continues."
As I move through the ruins of the old seabase, my flashlight plays across cracked hull plates and algae-choked support beams.
Then I spot it—another PDA, wedged between a rusted growbed and a shattered bulkhead door. I grab it.
The screen flickers, old, but functional. The log is dated—10 years ago.
PDA Audio Log – Degasi Survivor #3: Paul Torgal
"Ship's log. Degasi, Mongolian registered cargo-class. Paul Torgal speaking.
We were en route to resupply a mining outpost in the outer rim—diverted toward this system after our nav picked up anomalous energy readings from the planet below. Seemed like a good place to recalibrate the core array.
We got within scanning range—then the sky lit up.
Something shot us down.
It wasn't a malfunction. The ship picked up an energy spike from the planet before we were hit.
I made a controlled descent.
Not everyone made it."
I stare at the screen.
Shot down…?
The file ends, but a second log loads up automatically.
PDA Audio Log – Bart Torgal
"We've been here four months now.
I've started mapping the coastal terrain. Marguerit thinks we should try integrating with the locals on the continent.
Primitive. But not unkind. They call their land the 'Elemental Nations.' enhanced biotics. Tribal in culture, but with a hierarchy of military leaders. They say the energy that's been seeping into us is beneficial, benign.
Father thinks it's dangerous. He doesn't trust them. I think he doesn't trust that we're not in control anymore."
Locals?
I feel like the seafloor just dropped out from under me.
"PDA," I say aloud, slowly, "Confirm planetary designation. What planet am I on?"
"Planet 4546B. Oceanic classification. Life-bearing."
"Bullshit," I whisper. "We were en route to 4546C."
There's a pause.
"Mission parameters indicate scheduled deployment to 4546C, marked as under Alterra exploration for colonization and phase gate installation. Navigational records for the Aurora indicate deviation from course approximately 147 hours prior to impact. Reason: unknown."
I blink hard, the realization hitting me like a slow-moving tidal wave.
"So not only are we marooned on the wrong planet... but it's inhabited?"
This changes everything.
Colonization protocols. First contact. Restricted tech trees. Environmental preservation statutes.
And if someone shot down the Degasi...
Who's to say they didn't shoot us down too?
I sink into a half-broken chair, staring out one of the windows at the dark sea beyond. The light of my Seamoth drifts just outside, silent and patient.
I look back at the old PDA, still glowing faintly in my hand. I hesitate for a second—then float beside the bench and set it down gently on a piece of metal near the growbed.
I record a quick log of my own.
Personal Log – Ryley Robinson
"If anyone from the Aurora finds this… my name's Ryley Robinson. Non-Essential Systems Maintenance Chief, mid-deck crew. I've made it this far.
This structure was built by survivors from a ship called the Degasi. Mongolian registry. Crashed over a decade ago. The PDA logs say it wasn't an accident—they were shot down.
And… we're not on 4546C. We're on 4546B.
I don't know how we got here, or why.
If you're still alive, and following the rendezvous instructions from Lifepod 19... I'm headed there now. Southwest, 1.5 klicks from the crash.
I'll leave this PDA behind. If you find it, you're not far behind me."
I close the message. Let it save. Disconnect from it.
Then I stand.
No more waiting.
I climb back into the Seamoth and pull it above the water, heading southwest. The ocean slowly opens into horizon—no fish schools, no shallow reefs, just blue sky and dark water.
Then I see it.
Land.
Not a spike of rock or a tiny sandbar.
Mountains claw upward from a distant range. Trees—real trees—line the coast. The landmass stretches far beyond what the eye can see. The Seamoth bounces gently as I skim the surface, cutting closer to shore.
"Environmental scan complete. Warning: new terrestrial biome detected.
Biome: Temperate Forest Zone
Abundant resources, including wood, flora, edible plant matter, silicon-rich soil.
Primitive radio signals detected across multiple frequencies. Adjusting available resources.
New blueprints unlocked."
The interface pings in my helmet—dozens of new schematics populating my fabricator index.
Farming tools. Advanced base components. Signal repeaters. Long-range antennas. Even cooking equipment.
The Seamoth bumps shallow.
I glance down and see the seafloor beneath me—fine sand and thick roots from massive trees overhead. The terrain's too steep to push the sub any further without beaching it.
I ease it back and anchor it near a low rock shelf, in water still deep enough to keep it safe and submerged.
Then I pop the hatch, and dive.
Warm water surrounds me as I swim toward shore, fins slicing through gentle surf.
And then—for the first time since I woke up alone on this world—I stand on solid ground.
The sand crunches underfoot. I look up at the sky. It's wider now. Not boxed in by ocean walls or the curved hull of a pod. The air smells different—wild. Green.
I take a breath, and exhale.
I follow the shoreline, the signal from Keen's PDA still glowing faintly on my HUD. Forest looms inland—thick canopies, towering pines, something like bamboo. The path along the beach curves gently around a bay.
And then I see them.
People.
Not just one or two, but dozens. Milling around a wooden dock built into the cove. Fishing boats. Rope nets drying on the posts. Smoke rising from cooking fires. They're dressed in simple tunics and sandals, some with swords strapped to their backs, others in what looks like lightweight armor. It's rural, maybe even feudal—but unmistakably human.
I freeze halfway out of the trees, staring.
Do I take off the helmet? No vital contamination risk, no PDA warnings. The air's breathable. But if I lose translation, I'm screwed. I need the PDA to keep up.
"PDA," I whisper, "How long to parse their language?"
"Language identified: Japanese. Fluency level: Complete. Translation available via audio output and HUD."
...Japanese?
"What the hell is Japanese doing here?"
No answer. Of course not.
Still—if I can understand them, then I can talk to them. Even if I look like a goddamn deep-sea robot.
I steel myself and start walking, trying to appear calm and casual. Helmet reflecting sunlight, nervousness in my steps. I'm getting glances. Curious. Uncertain. No weapons are drawn.
Yet.
A few people glance my way as I step onto the dock—older fishermen, barefoot kids chasing each other with carved wooden toys, a woman hauling baskets of kelp. They slow down. They stare. One kid actually points.
But no one runs. No one screams. That's... a good sign.
I keep walking. Calm. Steady. Let them think I'm just some weird... heavily armored traveler.
Their conversations ripple around me, casual and warm.
"Did you hear some of the kids went missing?"
"That makes three this month."
"Probably bandits. Or missing-nin."
That's horrible.
The PDA keeps translating, smooth and unobtrusive. A soft echo in my ear.
I pass a fish stand. Laid out on wooden planks are bladderfish and peepers, still twitching.
My stomach twists reflexively. "Nope," I mutter. "Not again."
I keep moving.
The smell hits me next—broth, garlic, something spicy. I follow it like a bloodhound until I find a worn wooden stall tucked against the edge of the dock, a thick blue cloth hanging from the overhang. Steam rises from pots inside. A hand-painted sign says one word:
ラーメン
The PDA layers text over top.
Ramen.
I stop.
Real ramen.
I sit down at the counter like it's sacred ground.
The man behind the stall is maybe fifty, with sun-lined skin and a towel tied around his forehead. He eyes me for a long second before speaking.
"You eatin'?"
I nod instinctively.
"I—" I start, then pause. The PDA kicks in, converting my voice to Japanese and playing it back through the helmet speakers.
"Do you barter?"
The man raises an eyebrow. "What do you got?"
I reach into my bag and place a small gold ore on the counter. Mined from under two hundred meters of alien reef.
His expression freezes.
Like I just pulled out a dead fish and asked him to make tea with it.
"That's... gold," I offer helpfully.
He blinks. "Yeah. I can see that. You're trying to buy ramen with a chunk of gold?"
I shrug. "Yes?"
He sighs and leans on the counter. "You can't just hand over gold. You've gotta trade it in for ryō—paper money. Bank handles that."
"Do you have a bank here?"
"This is a fishing town, kid. We've got one carpenter, two drunks, and half a dozen houses. Closest bank's in Tanzaku Quarter or maybe Konohagakure."
I stare at him.
"That helps me how, exactly?"
He grins faintly. "It doesn't. But it is funny."
I groan, slump forward on the counter, and rest my forehead against the visor.
He watches me for a beat, then sighs again.
"Alright. You help me haul some fresh barrels from the back, and I'll get you a bowl. Fair?"
I sit up straight. "Yes. Please."
He smirks. "Yeah, well—welcome to Uomura."
He hands me a bowl, steaming and heavy, the aroma already doing unspeakable things to my dopamine levels.
The first bite practically ends me.
Soft noodles, rich broth, pork that melts on the tongue, egg soaked through with flavor. Actual seasoning. Texture.
"Oh my god," I mumble, helmet speakers garbling it slightly. "This is the best thing I've eaten in my entire life."
The ramen guy just chuckles.
I polish off the bowl embarrassingly fast. It's the kind of meal you don't just eat—you thank it for existing.
I sit back, breathing deeply. I feel human again.
After a few seconds, I glance up at the stall owner. "Hey... you seen anyone like me? Suited up. Gear. Glass mask?"
He frowns, wiping a ladle on a towel. "Nah, not like you. But strangely dressed shinobi aren't uncommon. We get some real out-there types passing , robes, armor, weird glowing eyes, the works."
"Really?" I blink behind the visor.
"Yeah," he shrugs. "Heard we had a group a few days back. One of 'em wore this black cloak with red clouds. Said they were just passing through, then went straight out across the water to that big thing that showed up a while back. Didn't see them leave myself. Did you?"
"On a boat?"
He snorts. "On foot. Heard they walked across the water like it was a road. Straight northeast. Never came back."
I stare at him.
Ooh, that's not good.
"They shouldn't have, of course," he scoffs. "There's monsters in that sea. Stuff big enough to eat you in one bite. Even Jōnin don't go that far out."
"…Yeah," I say, sweating a bit. "Crazy."
I let that sit in my head for a minute.
Somebody's headed for the Aurora.
I glance back out toward the village, people moving through the streets. A small girl walking with a water bucket. An old man sharpening a blade under the eaves.
"Hey," I ask, still eyeing the dock. "What's the deal with the missing kids? Heard about it on the way here."
He doesn't even flinch. Just keeps stirring another pot like I asked what time it is.
"Oh yeah. Happens sometimes."
"What?"
He shrugs. "We're not a hidden village. Ain't got much security. Bandits pass through, sometimes missing-nin. Big animals, too—ones warped from chakra overflow. They go feral, start hunting anything that bleeds. Someone usually hires a ninja to come take care of it, if they can afford it."
"...Chakra?"
He finally looks at me, genuinely confused.
"The hell do you live? Under a rock?"
I pause.
"…Yeah. Pretty much."
He laughs—loud, easy.
Then he leans against the counter, ladle tapping the side of the pot like punctuation. "Chakra's your life energy, basically. Flows through your body like blood. You train it, focus it—bam, techniques. Jutsu. Fireballs, water dragons, shadow clones, that sort of thing."
I blink behind my visor.
"Wait—what?" I ask. "Have you actually seen this? Are you sure it's real?"
"Of course it's real," he says, almost offended. "I mean, most people got it, but not everyone can use it. You need control, and discipline, and, well... the hand signs. Those weird little gang signs ninja do with their fingers? That's them focusing it."
Data Updated:
"Unknown Energy Signature" → Chakra
Description: Bio-energetic force generated by living beings. Capable of enhancing physical strength, lifespan, and enabling supernatural phenomena when consciously manipulated. Current Level: 4.
I stare at the HUD.
"So it's this thing inside us. That's what they're all using?"
The ramen guy nods. "Feels like a warm pressure in your gut when you concentrate. Some folks feel it in their spine. Usually just helps with endurance and healing. But trained ninja? They can do things you wouldn't believe."
I pause. "And it's not... harmful?"
He scoffs. "Nah. The techniques can kill you. Chakra itself? It's good for you. Strengthens muscles, bones, it's good stuff. Slows aging. Makes you heal faster."
The PDA flashes a quiet update beside my vitals:
Physiological Enhancement Ongoing. Vascular resilience improved. Muscle density +6%.
"Though," he continues, "you wouldn't know it from how quickly ninja get themselves killed."
He stirs the pot again, then sets the ladle down and folds his arms, eyeing me with a raised brow.
"If you're really interested in chakra—how it works, how to use it—you should go to Konoha. Hidden Leaf Village. Out of all the hidden villages, they're the easiest to get into."
I tilt my head slightly. "Easiest, huh?"
"Relatively," he says with a half-shrug. "They're still picky. You need something."
I lean on the counter, curious. "Need what?"
"Maa, well, they don't just let anyone in," he says. "You either have to be born there, or have a gimmick. A trade. Something they want. Be a merchant, a scholar, a blacksmith. Researcher, maybe. Or have a kekkei genkai—that's a special bloodline technique. Otherwise? You're out. Keeps the riffraff out, I guess."
"Huh…" I nod slowly. "So if I show up with a backpack full of raw gold, they'll probably at least talk to me?"
"With that much gold?" he grins, his eyes squinting. "They'll open the gate and invite you in for tea."
I chuckle, feeling the weight of the gold in my inventory like a passport to somewhere very strange. "Nice. How far is it?"
"Civilian pace? About a month's walk."
I nearly choke on the last of the broth. "A month?"
He shrugs again. "If you were a ninja, you could cut that down to a few days. But normal folk gotta go the long way."
I glance down at myself. "Normal? Hey... how do you know so much about ninjas, anyway?"
The ramen guy grins, eyes crinkling behind a sheen of steam.
"Oh, the usual. The last ramen stand owner was trafficking children, so I killed him and took his place. I'm using this place as a front while I hunt down the rest of the network."
I laugh out loud. "Ha! That's a good one."
He doesn't laugh back.
In one movement, he vaults over the counter—fast—and drives a kunai straight into the neck of a man walking past the stall. No hesitation. No warning. Blood sprays across the side of a barrel.
"Oh shit—"
Before I can even stand up, the ramen guy grabs the body and vanishes in a flicker of movement that leaves the awning flapping in his wake.
The entire street goes still.
People nearby blink... and slowly go back to what they were doing.
Like this kind of thing just happens here.
Information Updated:
Subject classification [Unconfirmed Shinobi].
Behavioral status: [Extremely Lethal].
Tactical profile: [Do Not Engage].
I sit back down slowly, heart hammering behind the suit.
"Okay..." I murmur to myself, still staring at the blood drying on the ground.
I sit there for a while.
Not moving. Not thinking. Just… letting it settle.
Was I just chatting with a murderer?
I'm not used to violence. I mean, sure—giant monsters, yes. Radiation, oxygen deprivation, alien bacteria, definitely. But people killing people? In public? And everyone just goes back to normal?
That's different.
I stare at my hands, willing them to stop shaking.
Eventually, my brain kicks back into gear. I glance over my shoulder at the ramen cart. Still warm. Still stocked. The pot bubbling quietly like it doesn't know its owner just vanished into thin air with a body.
I look at the alley where the guy disappeared.
Then at the cart again.
"So if the ramen guy's… dead," I murmur, "he's not gonna… miss anything, right?"
There's no one watching. No law enforcement. No sirens. Just fishermen hauling nets and kids playing tag near the docks like it's just another Tuesday.
I open my inventory and quietly start stuffing ramen ingredients into it.
Fresh noodles. Dried seaweed. Soup base. Seasoning. The ladle, for good measure. Even the ceramic bowl.
Thank you, ramen man of questionable morals.
I walk to the docks, trying to clear my head.
That's when I overhear a group of fishermen arguing near a stack of crates.
"—say the fish were just floatin' there. Half-rotted already."
"Yeah, smelled like death. Whole stretch near the reef's gone bad."
"Thought it was red tide, but there's no bloom. Somethin' else is killing 'em."
I freeze.
My heart sinks like a rock in my gut.
The Aurora.
The drive core.
I never fixed it.
It's still leaking radiation. Still poisoning the ocean.
Still killing everything around it.
I'll have to go back... eventually.
I step away from the docks, opening my PDA. The screen pings with a new list of unlocked blueprints—enhanced by the land's natural resources. Farming tools. Sensor relays. New vehicle schematics.
One in particular catches my eye:
Gullwing Hoverbike
A sleek, one-person hoverbike designed for speed and agility across grassy plains, sandy coasts, and rocky flats. Suspended above the ground by magnetic repulsors, it glides over most surfaces, avoiding small obstacles and shallow water with ease.
Perfect for quick scouting runs and light transport.
Requirements:
Titanium Ingot (1)
Lubricant (1)
Advanced Wiring Kit (1)
Magnetite (2)
Silicone Rubber (1)
Power Cell (1)
Special Ability:
"Glide Boost" – A short burst of extra speed to outrun predators or clear rough terrain.Click to expand...
I scroll past other entries—improved water filtration systems, agricultural modules, terrain scanners—but my eyes stay locked on the Gullwing.
Konoha?
No. That was a distraction.
I glance at the sky. The sun's setting low over the trees, glowing orange over the water. Out there, beyond the horizon, the Sunbeam is on its way.
I have a ship coming.
I have a mission.
My crew… my people… whoever's left—they aren't here. They're not on this continent, in these villages. If they're alive, they're stranded like me.
I need to fix the drive core. Stop the leak. Give the Sunbeam a chance to land. Or maybe us a chance to leave.
I turn and start heading for the Seamoth.
This place is beautiful. Strange. Alive.
I don't belong here.
The trip back to Lifepod 5 feels heavier than usual. Not because of gravity—just weight. The weight of knowing I've left something unfinished. Something deadly.
I glide the Seamoth into position near the pod and climb out. First thing I do is dump everything I can into the floating lockers: ramen stock, plant samples, minerals, gold, a random ladle. Inventory cleared, I get to work.
I pull up the fabricator, hands hovering over the interface, and start crafting two things I should've built a long time ago.
Blueprint: Stasis Rifle
Temporarily immobilizes physical targets in a suspension field. Useful for defense against hostile fauna and mobile threats.
Recipe:
Computer Chip (1)
Battery (1)
Magnetite (2)
Titanium (1)Click to expand...
Blueprint: Laser Cutter
Precision tool used to cut through sealed doors and heavy-grade metal barriers.
Recipe:
Diamond (2)
Battery (1)
Titanium (1)
Cave Sulfur (1)Click to expand...
Both take just a few minutes to assemble. The tools slide into place on my belt with a satisfying click.
I board the Seamoth again and aim it toward the looming silhouette of the Aurora. The water grows darker the closer I get. I stick close to the ship's lower hull. The creaks of the wreck echo in the depths like groaning whales.
I move slowly, still remembering the last time something grabbed me from the deep and shook me like a toy.
But this time I'm armed.
Eventually, I reach the breach in the side of the ship—the entrance I used before. I slow to a crawl and surface just outside.
Something's changed.
A shape—slumped against the metal just ahead of the access ramp.
Humanoid. Black cloak. Red cloud patterns.
Just like the ramen guy said.
He's lying facedown in the ash, unmoving. The water laps gently at the soles of his sandals.
Well...
Scanning...
"Subject: Human.
Species variant: Unknown.
Subject deceased.
Chakra activity: none.
Cause of death: Acute radiation poisoning.
Biological anomaly detected.
Subject possessed five distinct cardiac structures. Four auxiliary hearts appear ruptured. Remaining core ceased function approximately 13 hours ago."
I stare.
"…He had five hearts? Do they all have five hearts?"
The cloak shifts slightly in the breeze. Several cave crawlers are already trying to drag the body away, little clawed limbs scraping uselessly at the ground.
It doesn't budge. Too heavy. Too dense.
The crawlers don't even look at me, busy with their task.
"Poor bastard," I mutter.
Then I steel myself and step through the wreck's side entrance.
The heat hits me like a wave.
Fires still burn in the distance. The familiar flicker of emergency lights pulses through the corridor like a dying heartbeat.
I move fast, stasis rifle ready, but nothing jumps me. Not yet.
I make my way back through the collapsed cargo bay, past the scorched bulkhead, and return to the lower core access. Where the real problem waits.
I drop into the water.
"The drive core shielding sustained internal damage during collision.
Do not attempt repair without appropriate qualifications."
"Yeah, yeah," I mutter, activating my repair tool. "I've heard that one before."
"Warning: Local radiation levels at maximum tolerable level."
The repair tool sparks to life, its nanite stream weaving over the surface of the first breach. The panel hisses, then seals shut.
"Containment breach repaired. Further breaches detected: 10."
The repairs take forever. Every panel is deep in a flooded reactor shaft. I have to swim in and out of broken catwalks and sparking bulkheads, chased by bursts of scalding steam.
One after another.
Each time the repair finishes, the PDA calmly updates me like I'm fixing a vending machine.
"Breach repaired. 7 remaining."
"Breach repaired. 4 remaining."
"Breach repaired. 2 remaining."
By the time I seal the last one, I'm lightheaded from holding my breath, and the water around me is churning with heat.
"Drive core breach sealed. Radiation levels decreasing."
I just float there for a moment, back against the bulkhead, breath coming hard through the helmet.
It's done.
I fixed it.
The Geiger counter clicks less. My suit stops blaring danger warnings every five seconds.
The ocean's healing.
I think of the dying fish the villagers found.
Of the Sunbeam—on its way.
I let myself smile. Just a little.
I survived.
The locker room door hisses as the laser cutter finishes the last molten line, the metal sloughing open with a reluctant clunk. Inside, it's chaos—scorched benches, half-melted storage compartments, and more than a few dried bloodstains. Lovely.
I sweep the room, grabbing every PDA I can find. Some are corrupted, others mostly personal logs—crew members clinging to routine in the final hours. Still, I take them all. Even fragments of the past can be useful. IDs, names, times—context.
Once I'm done, I press on toward the Prawn Bay.
The doors creak open to a massive chamber. Fire jets from overhead fuel lines, reflecting off the surface of the water pooling beneath twisted gantries. The Prawn Suits hang suspended like broken puppets—most torn open or half-melted from the explosion.
I grab the fire extinguisher from my inventory and go to work. Eventually the air clears.
"Picking up a faint blackbox signature, originating on the other side of the hull breach in this room."
Maybe later...
I walk up to a few of the suits and scan them.
Blueprint Acquired: Prawn Suit
"Exo-suit designed for heavy industrial use. Capable of withstanding extreme pressures and equipped for both mining and close-quarters hazard environments."
Too bad they're biometrically keyed to their original operators. Even if one of these was intact, it'd just sit there like a glorified statue unless I somehow passed for... Ensign Franklin. Not likely.
Still—blueprint secured.
I snag a Seamoth Storage Module from a broken rack. No more cramming titanium into the seat next to me.
With nothing left to grab, I backtrack, retracing my steps through the wreckage toward the hull breach where I first entered.
And that's when I remember the ninja corpse.
He's still there. Face-down in the sand. The cave crawlers are now fully committed—four or five of them tugging on the cloak like toddlers fighting over a blanket.
I hover just above them.
What are the odds he's got anything good on him?
I pull out the laser cutter again—not to slice him open, just to poke. I jab it under him, levering him over slowly. The robe shifts like a wet tarp, revealing a masked face and dark skin—expression blank. Still, I flinch.
"Sorry, buddy."
I crouch down and reach into the folds of his cloak, my gloves slick with seawater and ash. The material is heavy, layered for warmth or defense, maybe both. His body doesn't budge easily—whatever's keeping him so weighted isn't all natural. It takes effort just to shift his arm enough to get at the deeper pouches.
Something inside a chest pocket crackles—paper. I tug out what looks like a notebook or ledger, waterproofed and bound with thread through punched holes. Its pages are stiff, but intact. Columns. Names. Locations. Some scratched out, others underlined. Next to many are numbers. Bounties? Contracts? It reads like a hit list.
Tucked deeper in a side pouch, I find a rolled piece of paper, sealed in cloth and capped with a wax knot. Looks like a simple scroll at first glance, no markings to indicate function. But as soon as I lift it, the PDA chimes softly in my helmet:
"Unidentified item detected. Material structure: organic fiber and treated parchment. Embedded sigils and complex patterning detected. High energy concentration present. Unknown classification. Tracing... chakra-based system."
I hold it a bit farther away after that. No visible radiation, no heat, but something about the paper under my gloves makes the hair on my arms stand up. I tuck it into my inventory, making a mental note to not open it near anything flammable. Or alive. Perhaps with a long stick.
On his left hand, a ring catches my eye. Black and polished, with a single etched character: North. Simple, but deliberate. Probably symbolic. I hesitate, then leave it. I've looted the man's pockets—taking a ring off his hand feels... different.
I find a leather coin pouch. Worn, but meticulously stitched. The weight alone tells me it's full. When I lift it, I almost drop it. Coins, unfamiliar ones, thick and uneven, jangle dully inside. Paper bills sit under the coins. Some are marked with characters I don't recognize. Others have faces—stern, serious people. There's probably enough here to fund a small outpost or bribe a warlord. I dump the pouch in my inventory, frowning.
As I shift away, dragging the last items out, I realize the weight must have tipped. The cave crawlers renew their efforts, and this time, with the coin pouch gone, they actually succeed. The corpse slides forward like driftwood caught in a tide.
They don't eat it. Just pull, pincers latched onto fabric and hair, slowly dragging it toward a crack in the wreck's bulkhead—narrow, low to the ground, nearly invisible unless you're already looking for it.
I stand, frowning beneath the helmet.
"…Where do they go?"
The PDA responds, voice as flat and precise as ever:
"Cave Crawler behavior profile: scavenger-class detritivores. Known to inhabit crevices and structural hollows. Corpses are typically stored in hidden nest sites. Purpose: unclear. Possibly food storage. Possibly ritualized behavior."
I stare at the narrow opening, watching as the last edge of the black cloak disappears into the shadows.
"Ritualized behavior." I mutter. "Great."
I tap my helmet once, more out of habit than function, then turn back toward the Seamoth.
The sub hums quietly beneath me as I skim through the murky water, heading back to my lifepod. The route is familiar now. I follow the terrain—the ridge lines, the sand valleys, the glowing flora that used to terrify me and now feels like streetlights guiding me home.
The world above is dark, stars reflecting off the surface in shimmering streaks. My lights cut through the black water ahead. And for once, nothing big moves in the deep.
When I finally surface, the lifepod is waiting—orange, dented, bobbing gently like a faithful dog. I ease the Seamoth into position nearby, power it down, and climb out.
The first thing I do is open the floating lockers tethered outside, dumping off materials—magnetite, copper, spare batteries, and that gold pouch from the ninja. It's ridiculous how much value it probably holds, and yet here it sits, bumping against a container of fish water and titanium scraps.
Then I head inside.
The radio light is blinking.
"Captain, a new message has arrived."
Finally.
I tap it.
"Aurora, this is Sunbeam again. We just picked up a massive debris field at your location.
I didn't know how bad... how many of you... I didn't know.
We are now en route to your location.
We're going to bring you home.
Sunbeam out."
I exhale. Lean forward, resting both hands on the console. They're coming.
But then the radio continues:
"What else can I say?
The only time I parked a rig this big on a rock that small was in VR, and I blew it.
Oh, it's a bad option alright—but so are all the others."
I smile, just barely. The laugh is dry and small, but it's there. Feels weird. Like shaking off something heavy. Sunbeam's real. They're inbound. And I'm not going to die here.
I step over to the bench, slump down, and let myself fall backward.
The suit hisses as it relaxes against the cushioning. My muscles ache in ways I didn't know they could. My mind is still spinning—chakra scrolls, bounty ledgers, cave scavengers—but I've made progress. The radiation's fixed. I've got tools. And I've got a way off this world.
I close my eyes.
And sleep.
/ VITAL SIGNS: ELEVATED/
/ RECORDING SUSPENDED — USER UNCONSCIOUS /
/ VITAL SIGNS: DROPPING /
/ AUDIO / VIDEO / RECORDING RESUMED /
I wake slowly, stretched out in the lifepod's cramped bunk. The light filtering through the upper hatch is soft—early morning, by the color of it. Outside, the ocean rocks gently. Peaceful.
I stay there for a while, eyes half-lidded, listening to the soft hum of the pod and the muted hiss of the filtration system doing its thing. For once, I'm not starving, not bleeding, not panicking. There's nothing actively on fire. No monsters clawing at the seams.
It feels… unnatural.
Eventually, I sit up and stretch, popping joints I forgot I had. The PDA chirps at me.
"Seek fluid intake immediately."
I groan, pulling a bottle out of my inventory and chugging it.
"Vital signs stabilizing."
Yeah, yeah.
"Captain, a new message has arrived."
Then the radio crackles to life again, and I snap to attention, leaning over to hit the play button.
"This is Sunbeam. Y'know, Aurora, we're from a little trans-gov on the far side of Andromeda, and we have a saying there.
There's no bad without the good, no good without the bad.
Sounds like you tasted a bunch of the former, but that only means you're overdue a whole lot of the latter.
Might just be we're it.
We're scanning for somewhere to park, we'll be in touch when we find it.
It'll still be a few days before we're in the system.
Sunbeam out."
I sit there for a moment, blinking.
Then I throw both fists in the air, "Yesss!"
A few more days and I'm gone—out of this weird, chakra-infested, monster-filled planet. I've earned a celebration.
I get dressed, check my suit seals, and prep the Seamoth. She's fully charged and upgraded.
I pilot her toward shore, slicing across the waves like a silver dart. I beach her carefully near the town dock and pop the hatch, climbing out with the air of someone who has survived the ocean and deserves a damn drink.
The village is just waking up—kids playing near the market, fishermen unrolling nets, people chatting as if ancient crustaceans weren't lurking two hundred meters offshore.
I stroll into the market, gold pouch at my hip.
First stop: food.
I find a stall selling rice dumplings, skewers of roasted eel, and something sweet that might be bean paste. I buy too much. I eat it all.
Second stop: alcohol.
There's a little tavern tucked behind a few buildings, with faded banners and a wooden sign swinging in the breeze. Inside, it's dim and cozy. I don't know what half the bottles are labeled with, but the bartender gives me a skeptical look and pours something clear and potent-smelling into a ceramic cup.
I drink it. It burns. It's perfect.
The bartender mutters, "Out-of-towners can usually handle one. Two if they're lucky."
I down the second.
The burn reaches my ears.
But I laugh.
Today is a good day.