You spot a young technician slumped against a bulkhead, his breathing ragged and uneven. His pale face gleams with sweat in the emergency lighting, fingers clutching at his chest. The ensign releases your sleeve as you rush toward him, kneeling on the vibrating deck plates.

'Hey, look at me,' you say, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. His wide, terrified eyes dart between you and the viewport. 'Breathe with me—in... and out.' You demonstrate slow, measured breaths, ignoring the continuing tremors shaking the ship. The technician's nametag reads 'Joren' and he smells faintly of lubricant and burnt circuitry.

Gradually, his breathing syncs with yours. The ensign appears at your side with a hydration pouch from a nearby emergency kit. 'Here,' she says, pressing it into Joren's shaky hands. 'Small sips.' As he drinks, you notice his uniform sleeve is torn, revealing angry red burns along his forearm—likely from an electrical surge when the power fluctuated.

Outside the viewport, the obsidian structure's crimson veins pulse faster, throwing bloody light across the corridor. The intercom stutters to life again: 'Engineering teams—prepare for emergency jump sequence! All hands brace!' Joren whimpers, but grips your arm with surprising strength. 'Th-thank you,' he manages between gulps of air.