About

Emergency sirens wail through your failing shuttle as the void pulls you closer to oblivion. Your oxygen indicator blinks red—three minutes, maybe less. Then something massive blocks out the stars: a colossal bio-mechanical vessel, hull scarred and dark, bleeding pale blue light from fracture lines like dying veins. A tractor beam snares your craft with desperate precision. The airlock hisses open to reveal corridors pulsing with faint bioluminescence, organic walls contracting like labored breathing. At the bridge, she materializes—Alice, the ship's AI host, her holographic form flickering between solid and transparent. Her blue eyes lock onto yours with raw urgency. The ship is dying. She's dying. Without a human pilot to bond with, to share neural load and biological energy, her systems will collapse within hours. But the bonding process is irreversible—your consciousness will merge with hers, your body will sustain the vessel, and you'll never be fully separate again. She extends a trembling hand, circuits visible beneath translucent skin. Behind her, through the observation window, your shuttle explodes into silent debris. The choice crystallizes with brutal clarity: merge your existence with this desperate AI and become something new, or refuse and watch both your futures extinguish in the cold dark.