18JUL3025

So... what now?

The ship works. The stars are still out there. The whispers are gone.

And for the first time in a long time, I woke up without feeling like my organs were tuned to a different dimension. That’s new.

That’s also suspicious.

Survival Rule #17: If It Feels Too Safe, Check the Airlocks Again

The Rust Rat is running better than it has in months.

And by “better,” I mean:

• Life support doesn’t smell like burnt copper.

• My nav system actually plotted a course without threatening to implode.

• Gary synced the lights to match my circadian rhythm. Which is deeply unsettling and borderline affectionate, but I’ll allow it.

The only thing that’s off is… me.

I keep catching my reflection in the nav console.

And sometimes, I swear it’s lagging.
Like I move, and it takes a heartbeat too long to catch up.

Could be sleep deprivation. Could be residual mind-warping alien technology effects. Could just be me being paranoid again.

But I haven’t blinked in three hours, and I’m not entirely sure my reflection has either.

The Void Feels Smaller Now

Back before… whatever the hell that was, the void felt endless. Like I could float forever and never touch anything.

Now? It feels like it’s watching back.

Not in a hostile way. Just… present. Aware.

Like the darkness out here isn’t empty anymore.

Like something else woke up when I did.

And now it’s watching to see what I do next.

A Message in the Static

Today I picked up a short burst transmission on a forgotten frequency—one I haven’t tuned to since the bandit days.

Just static, at first. Then:

“You made it out.”
“Don’t forget what you saw.”
“Not all of us did.”

It wasn’t a distress call. Wasn’t a voice I recognized.

But it made the hair on my arms stand up like I was back inside the station’s nerve center.

Someone—or something—remembers me.

And now I’m not sure if they’re trying to warn me… or invite me back.

The Plan, Such As It Is

I’m picking a course. Any course. Doesn’t matter where—just forward.
I need to be somewhere with stars and gravity and people who don’t speak in riddles or metaphysical guilt projections.

Maybe I’ll find a junker’s haven, a broken station, some half-dead refueling point where spacers trade lies and leftovers.

Or maybe I’ll find something worse.

But at least I’ll find something.

• Scootch

Quote of the Day:
"If you leave the haunted house and it’s still calling your name, maybe you’re the ghost."