… a derelict space station.

"So, what's the play, Cap?" Jensen squinted through the cockpit's dusty window as the freighter drifted through the vast emptiness of space.

You stood beside Jenson and looked at the derelict station. It was damaged. Strange alien growth covered part of its exterior. There were oddly irregular repairs on another part of the station. One of the habitation rings showed blaster damage. Emergency lights flashed.

The captain, a man named Castellanos, took a drag on his cigar and exhaled a plume of smoke. "We're going in for a look-see," he decided, his eyes narrowing at the looming space station. “Salvage, corporate reward for assistance… Ben. You do recon. Jenson and I will monitor from here.”

You nodded reluctantly. You were the most junior member of the crew. The most expendable. You didn’t even have a share in the ship…

The space station grew larger on the viewscreen, its metallic exterior gleaming despite the years of neglect. It was an odd sight amidst the stars, a solitary sentinel of human ambition in the cold void of uncharted space. The freighter's comms crackled to life. "This is Captain Castellanos of the 'Lucky Lady'. We're responding to your distress signal. What's your status?" There was no reply. “We are going to docking bay three.”

Castellanos’ voice was firm, a clear signal that the decision had been made. The freighter's engines whined as it maneuvered towards the space station. The docking procedure was eerily quiet, with no response from the station’s automated systems. The docking clamps latched onto the freighter with a metallic clank, and the airlock doors hissed open, cameras revealing a dimly lit, abandoned corridor.

“Alright Ben. Suit up. Weapons check. Could be aliens or pirates or anything.” Jenson’s voice crackled over the intercom as you donned your space suit. You’d seen abandoned stations before, but the SOS from a Megatech Research facility this far out in the black was unheard of. The anticipation was palpable, your heart thumping in sync with the clank of boots on metal floor. This could be an incredible pay day.

“Heading in boss.” You cycle through the air lock. Before you looms a dimly lit corridor that ends in a juncture. “We have breathable atmosphere…” you report. “Scans report no contaminants or unknown exotics.”

“Yet…” Jenson’s voice crackles through the comms.