Zaria’s groan broke the heavy silence as she stirred, the relentless pounding in her head pulling her from the void of unconsciousness. Her hand instinctively reached for her temple, fingers pressing lightly against the throbbing ache that seemed to vibrate with an invisible rhythm. “Oh… my head…” she muttered, her voice hoarse and low.

She shifted, the rough surface beneath her scraping against her skin. A slow, painful effort brought her upright, her vision swimming as the world came into focus. The room was dim, cloaked in shadow except for the faint, flickering glow of a solitary bulb swinging weakly from overhead. Its light wavered like a dying star, casting jagged shadows that danced along the walls.

Her muscles protested as she flexed her limbs, a chorus of dull aches radiating through her body. She stretched gingerly, testing for damage. Nothing seemed broken, though her body felt as though it had been through the wringer. She winced, kneading the stiffness from her arms, but the persistent thud in her skull wouldn’t be ignored.

This kind of headache was familiar, a sensation dredged up from the distant past. Her mind flashed back to the night she and her roommate had celebrated finishing their post-doctorate exams—a raucous evening of too many Cosmic Fireballs and regrettable dares. Zaria’s stomach churned at the memory of a torturous karaoke rendition of that ancient classic, a ballad proclaiming the undeniable truth of "big butts." Her roommate had laughed until they cried, but Zaria had paid for it with a migraine that lasted two days.

This, though—this was worse. The kind of pain that suggested there’d been no fun before the fallout. Her brow furrowed as she struggled to piece together what had happened. No lingering tang of cheap booze on her tongue, no groggy recollection of staggering out of a party. Instead, there was only the oppressive weight of confusion and an unnerving sense of disconnection.

Her lips twisted into a grimace. Swizzle sticks filled with Cotton Candy. Her roommate had teased her endlessly, calling her too uptight to ever loosen up enough to try them. Zaria had laughed it off—she was too focused on her future, too disciplined to fall for the lure of empty promises wrapped in the haze of a chemical escape.

“Did I finally…?” she whispered, the thought trailing off into silence. Her pulse quickened as doubt took hold, but she pushed it away with a sharp breath. No. She wouldn’t have done it. She wasn’t that person.

Shaking her head, Zaria forced herself to her feet, the room tilting slightly as she found her balance. The pounding in her skull hadn’t lessened, but she could ignore it for now. One thing was certain: whatever had brought her here wasn’t by choice. And she needed answers.

User Interface TN-4216 Connected. System ready to be populated.

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The dim room pressed in around Zaria, shadows creeping at the edges of her vision as her eyes adjusted. The chair beneath her felt alien—stiff and unyielding, its surface etched with strange, uneven indentations that pressed into her skin like a deliberate discomfort. She shifted uneasily, her fingers trailing along its rough surface, finding grooves that seemed almost organic, like the chair was something grown rather than constructed.

The air hung heavy, metallic and sharp, stinging her nostrils with an acrid tang that reminded her of scorched circuits. She inhaled deeply, but the draft curling through the room sent a chill racing across her arms, goosebumps prickling her skin. Her breath shuddered as she exhaled, her chest tightening with unease.

Her mind churned, searching for the missing pieces of memory that might explain how she had ended up here. Where was here? Her hands trembled slightly as she gripped the edge of the chair, grounding herself against the disorientation threatening to swallow her whole.

“Where... am I?” she whispered into the stillness, her voice cracking. Her eyes darted around, scanning for clues, but the room offered nothing familiar. Gone were the soft blue lights of her lab, the steady hum of ship machinery, or the sharp, sterile scent of the Horizon Seeker. The stark absence of her crew mates hit her like a blow. No Captain Hale’s commanding voice, no Lieutenant Trent’s quiet commentary, no chatter from the bridge. Just silence, broken only by her ragged breathing and the faint hiss of the draft.

Fragments of memory clawed their way forward—Master Sergeant Reynolds barking orders as the anomaly tightened its grip on the ship, Commander Takeshi’s calm, determined voice as his hands flew over his console, adjusting parameters and barking commands to engineering. The ship had fought valiantly against the pull of the anomaly, but nothing had worked. Nothing had freed them.

Her heart raced as the last image seared itself into her mind: the event horizon consuming the Horizon Seeker, the black void stretching its tendrils across their ship, dismantling everything at a molecular level. The disintegration hadn’t hurt exactly, but it had been like her body was unraveling, every nerve sparking with overload before her senses faded into black.

Zaria pressed her hands against her temples, struggling to reconcile the impossible with her current reality. She was alive—whole. But how? The sharp inhale of her breath filled the room as she inspected herself. Fingers, arms, legs—everything was intact. Her pulse thundered against her fingertips as she pressed them against her neck.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice breaking as the weight of her survival hit her like a blow. “I’m alive. But how is that possible?”

A faint movement at the edge of her vision snapped her attention outward. She froze, her body tense, her breath catching in her throat. Hovering before her, a faint shimmer of light coalesced, its glow fragile yet deliberate, like a thread stitched from the fabric of starlight. It flickered, the light gathering strength until it solidified into a display that floated in the air—a projection she recognized as a user interface, though its origin and design were utterly alien.

The symbols on the interface pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. A chill raced down her spine as she leaned forward, her fingers hesitating in the air, the light warm against her skin.