Alarms were blaring, their shrill cries echoing through the metal corridors of the ship. The lights above me flickered between harsh red and blinding white, bathing the cramped space in an eerie, chaotic glow. My pulse raced as I gripped the edge of the console, trying to make sense of the warnings flashing across the screen.

"Impact imminent," the ship's AI announced, its monotone voice somehow more chilling than the alarms. Panels sparked to my left, filling the room with the acrid stench of burning circuits. The walls seemed to close in as the vibrations beneath my boots grew stronger, signaling the inevitable.

But to understand how I got myself in this situation, I'm gonna have to take you back to before I got on the way to doom. A few hours before, I was back on my planet Xenon of the imperium way solar system. I was just like any other Deylium—carefree, happy and crazy good-looking. I was sent on an errand by the chief. I was told to service the only working space ship that my people were able to make. It's laid dormant for a while but as I was told to service it, I knew that they were planning on using it to get somewhere.

The faint hum of the engines reverberated through the silent hangar as I approached the ship. Its metallic hull was weathered, scarred from decades of neglect. Rust ran along its seams like veins, and faint scorch marks hinted at a past that was far more exciting than the present life it had endured as a forgotten relic. I ran my hand over its surface, the cool metal vibrating faintly under my touch. A hunk of junk, maybe, but there was something almost… alive about it.

"Get in, service it, and get out," I muttered to myself, gripping my tool kit as I made my way to the side hatch. The chief's instructions were simple enough, though I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this task than they let on. Why now? The ship had been here for so long that birds had even started building their nests on it so why did they suddenly reignite their interest in it?

The hatch groaned as I pulled it open, and I stepped into the dimly lit corridor. The stale, metallic air hit me immediately, thick with the smell of oil and disuse. The interior was cramped, the walls lined with exposed wiring and control panels that looked like they belonged in a museum. My boots echoed against the grated floor as I made my way to the control room.

As I worked, the minutes slipped by. The ship's systems hummed to life under my touch, each repaired circuit and tightened bolt bringing the ancient vessel closer to operational status. My mind drifted as I worked, thoughts of why the council would want this rust bucket operational gnawing at me. I even thought I would be given a team to work with but the chief just replied to my request saying that the work I was doing was confidential and he didn't want too many people poking around.

A flicker of movement in the corner of my eye snapped me back to reality. I froze, my hand still gripping a wrench, and turned my head toward the source.

"Who's there?" I called out, my voice echoing through the empty corridors.

Silence.

I waited, straining to hear even the faintest sound, but nothing came. Shrugging it off as my imagination, I turned back to my work. Work was simple for once, there were no complications. The moment I said this was the moment that the complications decided it was time to show up.

The alarms suddenly screamed to life, their shrill wails reverberating through the ship like a siren's song. I jumped, nearly dropping the wrench as the corridor was bathed in alternating flashes of red and white. The sound was deafening, and my heart raced as panic set in.

"What the hell is going on?" I muttered, grabbing my toolkit and bolting for the hatch.

The large door I had entered through slammed shut before I could reach it, the metallic clang reverberating through the space. I pounded on it, my fists hitting the cold metal with all the strength I could muster.

"Open up!" I shouted, but the ship didn't care. It had other plans.

The vibrations beneath my feet grew stronger, and I stumbled as the ship began to rise. Looking out of the small window in the hatch, I saw the ground growing smaller and smaller. My stomach lurched as I realized I was no longer on Xenon—I was flying.

I bolted to the control room, my mind racing. The consoles were alive with activity, their screens flickering with unfamiliar symbols and warnings. I dropped into the pilot's seat, my hands flying over the controls in a desperate attempt to stop the ship.

"Override the damn autopilot!" I hissed, slamming buttons and flipping switches.

But the ship wasn't listening. Coordinates were already locked in, displayed boldly on the main screen.

The ship lurched forward, and my body was pressed back into the seat as we accelerated. The stars outside the viewport blurred into streaks of light, and I realized we were traveling at the speed of light—299,792,458 meters per second.

"Fantastic," I muttered, gripping the edge of the console as the vibrations intensified. "I'm definitely going to die."

Days passed. At least, I think they were days—it was hard to tell in the constant blur of light and sound. My panic gave way to resignation, the sheer monotony of the alarms and the endless stars outside breaking me down. I accepted a long time ago that I was going to die and this ship was my tomb.

And then, the impossible happened.

The ship slowed. The streaks of light outside the viewport began to coalesce back into individual stars, and the blaring alarms finally ceased. Silence enveloped the ship, broken only by the faint hum of the engines. My pulse raced as I stared out the window, watching as a massive planet filled the view.

The ship descended, breaking through layers of atmosphere. The turbulence rocked the vessel, but I was too mesmerized to care. The surface of the planet grew closer, revealing sprawling landscapes of strange, alien beauty.

With a soft thud, the ship landed. The engines powered down, leaving the air eerily still. I sat there for a moment, my breath catching in my throat.

"What the hell just happened?" I whispered to myself.

I stumbled out of the pilot's seat and made my way to the hatch. My legs felt like jelly as I peered out of the small window, my eyes widening at the sight. The landscape was vibrant, the sky a light shade of blue, with towering plants that shimmered faintly in the light. It didn't look hostile, it looked rather inviting. After spending days in this ship, anywhere else would definitely be an improvement.

Grabbing the oxygen scanner from the emergency kit, I activated it and waited for the results. The screen flashed green, indicating the air outside was breathable.

"Well, here goes nothing," I muttered, opening the hatch.

The air was warm and fragrant, carrying the faint scent of something sweet and floral. My boots crunched against the strange, glittering soil as I stepped out of the ship. The alien sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the terrain.

I walked to examine the ship, it wasn't damaged from the landing but it didn't have any fuel left. It was a miracle that I even got this far on it. I decided to walk around this planet and see if I can find any substance with energy powerful enough to fuel this ship. I turned on the ships cloaking system and proceeded to walk into the unknown. This was when I heard a strange voice in my head.

[Where are we? This definitely doesn't look like Xenon.]