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Chapter 2 — The Debt That Breathes
> Staying was easy when the danger was loud.
It is much harder when the danger becomes quiet, persistent, and dependent on you.
That is when responsibility stops being a choice.
Delta-9 did not die all at once.
It screamed, shuddered, and then began the long, miserable process of coming apart piece by piece. Kevin learned this within the first hour after the evacuation alarms fell silent. Silence, he discovered, was worse than noise. Noise warned you. Silence waited until you made a mistake.
He dragged the portable stabilizer through Corridor F-12, sparks snapping at his boots as exposed wiring scraped along the floor. Astra followed in uneven steps, favoring her injured limb. Her breathing was shallow but steady. Alive—for now.
Kevin counted every step. Not because he feared getting lost, but because counting gave structure to panic. Three hundred and twelve steps to the junction. Forty-seven to the sealed bulkhead. Twelve seconds between hull groans.
The habitat's gravity fluctuated without rhythm. At times it pulled too hard, forcing Kevin's knees to buckle. At others, it loosened just enough that debris drifted like lazy thoughts. Astra adapted instinctively, claws anchoring when needed, tail balancing her weight. Kevin noticed. He always noticed.
"You're not a burden," he muttered, unsure why he spoke aloud. Perhaps because no one else was there to contradict him.
Astra's ears twitched. Her eyes—still dim, still uncertain—never left his back.
They reached a maintenance alcove near the inner ring, shielded from direct vacuum exposure. Kevin sealed the hatch manually, his palms burning as the mechanism resisted. When it finally locked, he slumped against the wall and exhaled for the first time since the alarms had stopped.
The alcove smelled of metal dust and old coolant. A flickering panel cast uneven light across the cramped space. Kevin laid Astra down carefully, removing the stabilizer just long enough to assess her injury.
The damage was worse than he'd hoped.
Her limb wasn't merely broken; the internal energy pathways were fractured, irregularly scarred as if something had chewed through them. Kevin had seen similar damage on scavengers who pushed teleport thresholds too hard. Recovery was possible. Survival was uncertain.
He did not have the tools. He did not have the resources. He did not have the luxury of pretending otherwise.
Kevin sat there anyway.
Time passed strangely. Minutes stretched into hours, or perhaps the other way around. Kevin rationed power, diverting just enough to keep the stabilizer running. Every transfer sent sharp needles through his spine, a reminder that his body was not built for generosity.
Astra stirred. A low sound escaped her throat—not pain, not fear. Recognition.
"You're awake," Kevin said softly. "That's… good."
Her gaze met his. Not pleading. Not demanding. Waiting.
That was when Kevin understood the shape of the debt he had accepted.
Not gratitude.
Expectation.
He rose, forcing his legs to obey, and scanned the alcove's terminal. The system was degraded but operational. Local schematics flickered to life, revealing partial maps of Delta-9's inner systems. Storage vaults. Auxiliary generators. Abandoned research compartments.
Resources.
Kevin's jaw tightened. Leaving would be easier. He could reach an emergency teleport node within hours if he traveled light. He could survive.
But survival had already stopped being the question.
He glanced back at Astra. She watched him without fear, without trust—only certainty.
"Alright," Kevin said. "Then we do this properly."
He marked three locations on the map. Dangerous. Unstable. Possibly lethal.
Necessary.
As Kevin sealed the alcove and prepared to move, a distant system log activated somewhere deep within Delta-9. A silent process resumed, recording anomalous activity that no one was supposed to notice.
Not yet.
Kevin stepped into the corridor, Astra limping beside him, and the habitat groaned as if aware that something stubborn still walked its dying halls.
The debt breathed.
And Kevin Virex carried it forward.