YES! BY GOD YES!"
Triumphant cries echoed through a sparse forest, the noise sending birds; or bird-like lifeforms to the air, the branches of tall smooth trees with dark green leaves swayed, as if in response.
A young man stood on top of a wreckage of a shuttle pod, too elated to register shattered glass digging into the bottom of his bare feet, too ecstatic to care about the noxious black smoke dancing around him. The young man was covered by only a tight jumpsuit, much of it torn. The singed strands of the suit flapped in the wind like a hero's cape.
"I can't believe it, I isekai'd. God bless The Train, The Truck, and The Faceless Assailant." Moments ago he was in New York, walking through the hustle and bustle of the Manhatten crowds, and within a blink of his eye, he was here. Another world flung out of the cockpit of an honest to god spaceship.
The young man slid down the hull of the shuttle, landing on the ground with an unsteady thud.
"Ha, a space isekai too!." The young man studied the smoking craft he climbed out and down from. It was sleek, shaped like a bullet with wings it had little features besides the large engine on the back. The young man began to pace around the ship, trying to parse out how damaged it was, he could distinguish a few precise holes near the back, each one seemed to have pierced through the ship with ease.
His best guess was the engine was shot out, and without it, all his predecessor could do was try and land the ship. The young man hazarded that the attempt wasn't quite successful if he was here.
The young man looked around for some sort of door into the shuttle, electing to avoid leaping through the collection of jagged glass that was the window. He poked and prodded at the hull of the shuttle, the new sensations of what seemed to be an alien planet made the entire endeavor feel brief and pleasant despite the rising sensation of pain that began to claw at him.
The young man eventually found the door, with a tap of his finger it slid down, revealing the dystopian combination of a bachelor pad and a submarine, the contents were flung about bar anything strapped to the walls. A large coffee mug that read 'Jr Manager of the week' was shattered many of its shards embedded into a small dining alcove. Canned goods rolled across the ground reacting with each of his steps. The ship even in the best conditions would be claustrophobic, with only a small door separating the living/storage area from the engine bay. Most of the furniture was clearly designed to be able to fold away or disassemble to create more space, though most of the said furniture had flown off its hinges and was now piled near a cramped-looking bunk.
"I'll clean this later, it'll be perfect I can see the adventure now, beautiful alien women, slick spaceships, and fighting fearsome pirates. All I need is a true space captain name."
The young man, who quickly christened himself Lance saw this as an opportunity, a ship of his own and a new life. His mind race with the fantasy of being some roguish space smuggler or legendary fly boy. But first, he would have to repair the damage to his ship.