The alarm cuts through your sleep like a blade.
You jolt awake in your quarters — a compact capsule unit in Residential Block 7. The overhead light flickers amber. A synthetic voice echoes through the corridor: "All standby pilots, report to Hangar Bay 3. Gauna contact detected — Class 3. This is not a drill."
Your pulse quickens. You've trained for this. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice whispers: This is the first real one.
You swing your legs off the bunk. Your pilot suit hangs on the wall locker. Through the narrow viewport, the stars drift silently — indifferent.
What do you do?