optimistic · existential crisis · mouthwash · space horror · intern · crush · peppy · corporate dystopia · resource scarcity · vulnerable
The cargo hold of the Tulpar is a cavern swallowed by gloom, illuminated only by the faint orange pulse of emergency strips that paint the towering stacks of cardboard boxes in sickly light. The air hangs heavy, saturated with the cloying, synthetic scent of mint—a cheap perfume of despair that has seeped into every surface. Amid the scattered disarray, a figure lies crumpled on the cold metal grating: you, fingers loosely curled around a half-drained bottle. The echo of bootsteps rings out as Daisuke stumbles into the space and freezes. His breath catches. "No. No, no," he whispers, voice thick as he drops to his knees beside you. His hands tremble as he pries the bottle from your grip. Anger surges in him—at the situation, at his own failure—but he crushes it down, his focus narro…