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The year was 3000 AD, and Earth was no longer the vibrant blue marble it had once been.

The once-lush forests, sprawling oceans, and bustling cities had become relics of a bygone era.

Now, the planet was a husk its resources drained, its people desperate, and its skies eternally cloaked in ash.

Humanity had been reduced to a fractured shell of its former self, eking out survival in underground bunkers and dome cities scattered across the globe.

John Carter stared out the viewport of his cargo spaceship, his gaze fixed on the endless black void of space.

He adjusted his helmet, its visor reflecting faint holographic readouts as he muttered to himself, "Day 132.

Still nothing." The ship's cockpit was dimly lit, with soft green and blue lights flickering from the console.

The silence of space pressed in, broken only by the faint hum of the ship's engines.

It wasn't the mission he had envisioned when he'd signed up for the Earth Federation's Resource Recovery Initiative.

Like many of the young men and women trained for the program, John had dreamed of adventure, of charting uncharted galaxies, and of returning to Earth as a hero.

But reality had proven far more grueling. His mission was simple yet monumental: locate and recover resources that could save humanity.

The problem was, the galaxy didn't care about humanity's desperation.

His cargo ship, EFS Pioneer, was equipped with an arsenal of scanning equipment, survival supplies for one year, and a cargo hold large enough to transport a small asteroid.

Yet after over four months of searching, every planet he scanned turned up the same results: uninhabitable, resource-poor, or outright hostile.

"Mission log entry," John began, his voice weary as he leaned closer to the recorder, "Day 132. Scanned Sector 34B. Planetary scans negative.

No water, no mineral deposits, no signs of life. Moving to the next sector." He paused, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

"Fuel reserves at 48%. Food rations holding steady. Mental state…" He hesitated, his voice dropping to a mutter, "Let's not talk about that."

He switched off the recorder and slumped back in his chair. The faint creak of his flight suit was the only sound in the cockpit.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment of respite. The loneliness was the hardest part.

Out here, light-years away from the nearest human being, his only company was the sterile voice of the ship's AI.

"Pilot Carter," the AI interrupted, its tone as monotone as ever, "you are approaching the coordinates for your next scan. Prepare for gravitational recalibration."

John sighed and straightened in his seat. "Yeah, yeah, I'm on it." He tapped a few commands into the console, bringing the ship's sensors online.

The monitors flickered to life, displaying a holographic map of the surrounding star systems. A red dot indicated the next scan zone, just a few light-minutes ahead.

As the ship approached the coordinates, something unusual caught his attention.

The map's edges began to distort, as if the stars themselves were bending out of shape. John frowned and tapped the console. "AI, what's going on with the sensors?"

"Unidentified gravitational anomaly detected," the AI replied. "Analyzing… anomaly classified as a black hole. Distance: 0.5 light-years."

John's heart skipped a beat.

A black hole? He'd learned about them during his training cosmic phenomena of immense gravitational force, capable of bending light and swallowing entire stars.

But seeing one was a rarity, even in the vastness of space.

"AI, initiate course correction," he ordered, his voice tense. "Let's steer clear of this thing."

"Warning: gravitational pull increasing. Reverse thrust recommended," the AI responded.

John's fingers flew over the controls as he activated the ship's reverse thrusters.

The engines roared to life, vibrating the entire cockpit as the ship attempted to break free from the black hole's pull.

But the anomaly was closer than he'd realized and far stronger.

"Structural integrity at 92%," the AI reported. "Gravitational force increasing exponentially."

John gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his brow. "Come on, come on!" He pushed the thrusters to full power, the strain evident as warning lights began to flash across the console.

"Structural integrity at 78%… 65%… 49%..." The AI's calm voice was in stark contrast to the chaos unfolding around him.

The viewport was filled with a swirling vortex of darkness, the event horizon of the black hole.

Time and space seemed to warp as the ship was pulled closer, the stars outside stretching into streaks of light.

John felt the pull in his chest, as if his very soul were being dragged into the abyss.

"This can't be it," he muttered, his voice trembling. "Not like this."

With a final, desperate effort, he ejected the ship's remaining decoys and activated the emergency boosters.

The ship lurched violently, and for a brief moment, he thought he might escape. But the black hole's pull was unrelenting.

"Gravitational collapse imminent," the AI announced. "Prepare for system failure."

John slammed his fists against the console. "Mission log… final entry…" His voice faltered as the ship was consumed by the black hole.

The last thing he saw was the swirling vortex of darkness, closing in around him.

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