Confined within the close-knit metallic shell of his temporary home, Gan crafted an existence defined by rhythmic repetition. This choreographed routine became a lifeline, a tangible tether to normalcy in the face of the space’s yawning emptiness, the silent expanse that threatened to swallow him whole.

  As the early hours dawned within the confines of the escape pod, artificial lights, designed to mimic a natural sunrise, suffused the cabin with their soft illumination. Their delicate glow increased, painting the austere interior in warm hues reminiscent of a planetary morning. It was within this simulated dawn that Gan subjected his body to a rigorous daily ritual.

  An intense regime of physical exertion greeted him every waking moment, pushing his muscular system to its limits. Each lunging movement, every deliberate flex and stretch, served as a shock to his system, a jolt of vitality that battled back the lingering tendrils of sleep. This was his relentless warfare against the lethargic pull of residual drowsiness, a fierce assertion of his wakeful state and a stark rebellion against the comforting yet crippling inertia of idleness.

  Beyond serving as his wake-up call, these bouts of strenuous activity also fulfilled a crucial role in preserving his health and physical fitness. In the harsh realities of deep space, human bodies were vulnerable to the detrimental effects of prolonged exposure to microgravity. The challenges of muscle atrophy and bone loss loomed in these conditions, a relentless adversary of any spacefarer’s well-being.

  Gan’s body, a well-sculpted testament to years spent navigating the cosmos, was no exception to these threats. Thus, his vigorous exercise regimen was not only an act of defiance against the gravitational pull of lethargy but also a necessary preventative measure. His daily exertions were a conscious effort to maintain his physical strength and counteract the debilitating impact of life in zero gravity. In this isolated, artificial environment, each rep was a battle for survival, a personal fight against the invisible foe of deconditioning that could consume his vitality.

  When he had pushed himself to his limits, sweat beading on his forehead like tiny constellations and breath rushing in short, controlled bursts, Gan would propel himself towards the cockpit. There, surrounded by an orchestra of humming consoles and pulsating screens, he plunged headfirst into the vast cosmic sea. His eyes, guided by years of experience, scoured the expanse, mapping the surrounding star system. He noted any captivating formations, documented uncharted celestial bodies, and marked any anomalies that dared disturb the established rhythm of the universe, just as he had committed to maintaining his own rhythm in the face of cosmic uncertainty.

  The routine exploration of the cosmos concluded Gan would shift his focus to the enigmatic maze that was the escape pod’s computer system. It was a nostalgic monument of yesteryears, a piece of antiquated technology that bore the scars of time and rough use. Its circuits were temperamental, sputtering with the fickle energy of an aging star, yet Gan approached the task with unwavering resolve. Embodying the patience of a meticulous scholar and the exactness of a seasoned engineer, he navigated through the intricate network of circuits and wires, seeking to revive the dormant heart of the system.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  The resuscitation of the computer system flowed into his desperate bid to bridge the interstellar gap between himself and Elluri, his distant home world. His fingers pirouetted over the communication controls, their dance choreographed by his well-practiced touch. Each movement, each press of a button sent a beacon of his existence spiraling into the vast void, the digital cry echoing his coordinates and a plea for help.

  Yet, the cosmic canvas sprawled before him remained impassive, swallowing his transmissions into its silent abyss. As days blurred into nights, the echo of his pleas grew fainter, the flicker of hope diminishing into a disheartening realization. His solitude stretched out, a monotonous symphony that permeated every corner of his existence, its weight pressing against his resolve with an almost palpable force.

  The call of hunger, an instinct as old as life itself, would draw him away from the cockpit’s daunting silence. He’d select one of the prepackaged meals, their flavors registering as little more than a vague suggestion on his palate, their sustenance his only incentive.

  The meal served as a backdrop to the vivid narratives of the videos that played out before him. Their familiar characters spun tales of camaraderie and trials, their smiles and tears a welcome diversion from the stark monochrome of his existence. The soft murmurs and hearty laughter that echoed from the holo-shows filled the surrounding void, painting a facade of companionship that contrasted with his reality.

  As the artificial twilight descended upon the escape pod, he would spend the last vestiges of his day surrendering to the relentless pull of fatigue. Securely strapped to the bench, Gan would yield to the hypnotic sway of the cosmos, letting the orchestra of distant stars lull him into the arms of sleep. Each resounding silence, each pulsating light was a lullaby written in the language of the universe, soothing his restless mind into slumber.

  The nocturnal landscape of Gan’s dreams became a playground for his anxieties, his subconscious conjuring a recurrent nightmare that bound him in its inescapable grip. In this tormenting reverie, his beloved vessel, the Valtorian, mutated into a monstrous antagonist, its familiar form distorted into a monstrous phantom that relentlessly pursued him through the shadowy depths of his dreamscape.

  In these dreams, the Valtorian, rather than the refuge it had been in waking hours, morphed into a terrifying predator. Its once comforting hum turned into a dreadful drone, an ominous echo that resonated throughout the starless night of his subconscious. It chased him through eerie replicas of familiar galaxies, its cold, metallic form twisting and turning as if imbued with a sinister life force. Each hallway, each room inside the ship turned into an elaborate labyrinth, distorting space and time, forever trapping him in a perpetual nightmare.

  His every attempt to elude the nightmarish ship only seemed to lead him further into its merciless grasp. The relentless pursuit, the gnawing fear, and the acute feeling of abandonment seeped into every corner of his dream, a sinister mockery of his solitude in the waking world.

  But as surely as the nightmare held him in its grasp, each new day arrived with unfailing certainty, its arrival signaled by the artificial sunrise engineered by the escape pod’s systems. The gradual increase in luminosity would herald the dawn, coaxing him out of the haunted depths of his subconscious. The nightmarish Valtorian would dissolve into the ether, and reality, though harsh in its isolation, would regain its hold.

  With the dawn came a fresh start, and Gan would emerge from the tendrils of his nightmare, bathed in the soft glow of the artificial daylight.

  Gan has fallen into a routine—exercise, scanning, maintenance, rationing meals, watching holo-shows—anything to keep himself grounded. But his solitude is beginning to take its toll. Even in sleep, he’s not safe—the Valtorian haunts him, twisting into a nightmare that refuses to let go.

  Is this just stress and exhaustion creeping in, or is there something more sinister at play? Is his subconscious trying to warn him, or is the loneliness finally getting to him? ??

  How long before Gan’s mind starts turning against him? And will he make it to the planet before that happens? Drop your thoughts below! ??

  favorite, rate, or leave a review—every bit helps! ?? Thanks for reading, and see you in the next chapter!