23MAY3025
Okay. Look.
Things are not great.
My ship smells like burned insulation and regret. My water recycler keeps burping up what I can only describe as emotionally unstable condensation, and my hallucination—Gary—has started critiquing my life choices in real time.
But it’s fine.
I’m fine.
Because I’ve decided to adopt a new mindset. A survival tactic. A coping mechanism for the hopelessly screwed:
Radical, delusional optimism.
If something explodes? “Great! A chance to realign the system!”
If I hear whispers through the vents? “Cool! My ghost roommate is back!”
If I see a shadow at the edge of my vision? “Ah, Gary’s bringing a friend. Wonderful.”
Survival Rule #8: If You Can't Fix It, Name It and Pretend It’s a Feature
Case in point:
The lights in my sleeping quarters now flicker in perfect sync with my heartbeat. Creepy? Sure. But maybe that’s just ambiance.
The airlock cycles once every seven hours. I’ve locked it down three times. It unlocks itself anyway. Is it a security breach? Or is it just Gary going for a walk?
And the strange hum coming from behind the engine bulkhead? I’ve named it Kevin. Kevin’s a grumbly little bastard but he keeps me company.
The Return of the Black Ship
So here’s where things get slightly more concerning.
I saw it again.
The black ship—no lights, no transponder, no sound. Just there, on the edge of sensor range, holding position.
I tried pinging it. No response. I tried broadcasting in every language I know—including the one I made up when I was six that’s just whistles and disappointed sighs. Nothing.
I even flashed my emergency strobes in a kind of universal “please don’t kill me” pattern.
Still nothing.
Then, just as I was starting to think I imagined it again…
It moved.
Silently. Smoothly. Just shifted position like a shark circling a blood-slicked swimmer. And for the briefest second—one frame on my flickering external cam—I saw it open.
Not like a ship docking. Not like a hatch. I mean the whole vessel… opened like a mouth.
And I swear something inside was looking at me.
My Official Emotional Response
Nope.
No thank you.
Big steaming pile of nope with a side of what-the-hell-is-my-life.
I immediately powered down all external systems, rerouted emergency energy to life support, and played dead.
Just floated there. Quiet. Waiting.
And for hours—nothing.
Then Gary whispered, “They know.”
So. That’s comforting.
Conclusion
On the bright side, I haven’t died yet.
On the dim, flickering, haunted-by-an-eldritch-stalker side, I’m probably being hunted across uncharted space by something that isn’t bound by physics, morality, or the courtesy of introducing itself.
But hey—could be worse.
At least I haven’t run out of coffee.
Scootch
Quote of the Day:
"If your enemy won’t respond to diplomacy, try pretending you’re already dead. Works great for possums. And me."
