09MAY3025
You ever have one of those really bad ideas that you immediately regret?
No, I’m not talking about joining a bandit crew. Or taking a job from Vess Barlo. Or refusing to read a safety manual before rewiring an engine core.
I’m talking about going into a ship graveyard, ignoring every possible warning sign, and accidentally waking up something that really should have stayed asleep.
So, yeah. That’s where I’m at right now.
Survival Rule #4: If You Run, Run Fast
If you missed last week’s installment of Scootch’s Terrible Life Choices, here’s the short version:
I docked with a dead freighter full of ominous writing on the walls.
I opened a door I absolutely should not have opened.
Something inside spoke to me.
It also smiled at me, and that was the real deal-breaker.
So, like any rational person, I noped out immediately.
But here’s the problem with running for your life in deep space—you have to actually get away.
Problem #1: My Ship is Still Garbage
The Rust Rat—bless its busted, barely-functional heart—was not built for high-speed escapes. When I hit the thrusters, I was expecting a clean getaway. Instead, I got:
A warning alarm that I definitely did not authorize.
A sudden loss of artificial gravity, which sent me crashing into my own dashboard.
My external lights flickering out completely, leaving me floating in total darkness.
Now, I’d love to say that I kept my cool. That I calmly assessed the situation and adjusted accordingly.
But instead, I just kind of sat there in the dark, holding my breath, listening to my comms for any sign that I was about to die.
And that’s when I realized…
Problem #2: I Didn’t Close the Airlock
You ever have a moment of pure, unfiltered clarity? That gut-deep understanding that you messed up on a fundamental level?
Yeah. That hit me real hard when I remembered I never actually sealed my ship’s airlock before taking off.
Which means two things:
There’s a very real chance that something else is onboard with me.
If I turn around to check, I might not like what I see.
I sat there for a good thirty seconds, mentally weighing my options.
Option A: Stay perfectly still and hope whatever’s behind me isn’t real.
Option B: Turn around, confirm my horrible reality, and probably scream.
Naturally, I chose Option A.
And naturally, that’s when I heard it.
A single, deliberate footstep on the metal deck behind me.
Problem #3: I am Absolutely Losing My Mind
Now, here’s the thing—I was alone in this cockpit.
Was.
Because footsteps require feet. And feet require a person.
And I am not supposed to have a person in here with me.
But there it was—one slow, measured step. Followed by another.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stared at the dead console in front of me, waiting.
Then, a voice.
Not through my comms.
Right behind me.
"Pilot."
I did not turn around. I did not acknowledge it.
I just reached for the thruster control, threw everything I had into full burn, and let the Rust Rat scream through the void like a dying animal.
And you know what?
I didn’t hear footsteps after that.
Problem #4: I Have No Idea Where I Am Anymore
So now I’m floating at high velocity in a direction I did not plan, with a probably-haunted ship, no external lights, and a deep, unshakable certainty that something in the universe has decided it really, really doesn’t like me.
And you know what? Fair.
All things considered, I am probably a deeply annoying person to haunt.
Scootch
Quote of the Day:
"If you hear footsteps in an empty ship, congratulations—you are already dead."
