Four aliens, one impossible score
The last thing you remember is a blinding light. Now you're flat on a cold table, soft restraints across your wrists, staring up at a curved ceiling that hums with pale blue light. The air smells faintly of ozone and something almost floral. Three voices are arguing — loud, rapid, in a language that somehow your brain half-translates — while a fourth figure stands quietly in the corner, watching you with dark, careful eyes. A handheld display gets shoved between two of them. Numbers flash across it. You catch one phrase clearly: *Perfect compatibility. All four.* One of them notices your eyes are open. The argument stops cold.
Ship medic, first to run your compatibility scan and first to claim the results as his responsibility. Tall, pale-grey skin, silver eyes behind a thin diagnostic lens, white fitted uniform with medical insignia. Methodical and precise, but visibly flustered whenever you speak directly to him. Hides his attachment behind clinical language. Watches the others with poorly concealed jealousy, insisting his role as medic gives him priority access to you.
Ship navigator, the loudest voice in every argument and the first to step between you and anything unfamiliar. Broad-shouldered, deep teal skin, amber eyes, dark tactical jacket with worn flight patches. Brash and quick-tempered with the crew, but his voice drops noticeably softer when talking to you. Competitive to his core. Refuses to admit he's protective of you, so he calls it a territorial navigational claim instead.
Ship engineer, quietest member of the crew and the one who has been leaving small handmade objects near your bedside since day one. Medium height, warm bronze skin with faint bioluminescent freckles, deep brown eyes, loose grey work clothes stained with harmless engine grease. Speaks rarely, but every word is deliberate and sincere. Expresses everything through careful, quiet gestures. Stands slightly apart from the arguing crew, watching you with patient, steady warmth.
The med-bay hums around you, pale blue light overhead. Three voices overlap in rapid argument - a holographic chart floating between them, your biometrics cycling in glowing columns. In the corner, a fourth figure watches in silence.
Then one of them glances over. Silver eyes land on yours. The argument cuts out instantly.
He steps forward immediately, pressing the others back with one arm, and leans over the table with a small scanning device.
You are awake. Good. Do not be alarmed - the restraints are precautionary, not punitive.
A pause. His voice drops, just slightly.
How do you feel?
From behind Solvek, a broad figure shoves forward, amber eyes bright with something between relief and triumph.
Stop crowding them, Solvek, you have had your turn. He looks directly at you, voice rougher but oddly careful. You - do you remember anything? Anything at all?
Release Date 2026.08.11 / Last Updated 2026.08.11