TRANSCRIPT // DZ-9K7-JLO
[The sun blazes relentless over cracked ochre sands. A lone structure of corrugated metal and salvaged panels stands stubbornly against the heat waves. A faded holo-sign flickers, spelling out “Mara’s Morsels.” Sparse shade shelters a wobbly counter with jars of dried spiced roots and salted insects. The hum of distant hover-crafts barely stirs the still air.]
[The crunch of worn tires on baked dust. An old hover-vehicle, patched and rattling, skids to a stop beside the shop, dust puffing around its rusted edges.]
MARA (wiping sweat from brow):
Well, look what the sand dragged in. Ain’t seen a ride like that in cycles. You runnin’ on hope or just scrap?TREV (climbing down from vehicle, voice dry):
More scrap than hope, truth be told. Battery’s cooked—nav system’s dead. Can’t trust the solar cells in this heat no more. Need somethin’ to eat before I figure my next move.MARA (grinning, opening a battered cooler):
Got some fried krempt roots—good for scorched throats—and a slab of hard-baked lox’n jerky. Keeps longer than most o’ these credits last. What’ll you have?TREV (leaning against a heat-warped support beam):
Lox’n jerky, thanks. And the roots. Reckon I could use somethin’ to bite into that don’t taste like burnt wiring.MARA (chuckling, hands over a small plate):
No burnt wiring here, promise. You headed to Rylath settlement? Few clicks east, past the red dunes. But without a nav, you’ll wanna follow the old marker pylons. They ain’t lit up much—rot-lights don’t get replaced—but they’re still standing. Just don’t trust the drip rats; lately they’ve been stripping parts off those pylons.TREV (nodding, taking a bite):
Yeah, saw a couple faded pylons out there. Guess gotta trust ‘em till the batteries come back. How’s the water situation here? Heard the corp-sec put higher oxygen tax on this sector.MARA (pulling a small flask from under the counter, offering it):
Water’s thin, like everyone else. Water tax got us all thin. But keepin’ cool’s more about what you don’t sweat than what you drink. Here, take a swig—least the temp’s down in the shade.[They share a brief silence, the heat pressing in, mingled with the scent of spices and dust.]
TREV (quiet, chewing):
You ever think about quittin’ this dust trap? Or is this your line in the sand?MARA (shrugging, eyes scanning horizon):
Quit? Maybe once. But where to go? Those high-rigs up north? Corp-sec don’t want freeloaders. This spot’s a grind, sure, but it’s ours. Besides, these meals ain’t gonna cook themselves.TREV (smirking slightly):
True. There’s somethin’ solid about a place that feeds you, even if the world’s fallin’ apart.[Outside, a faint whirr indicates a hover-vehicle passing far down a shimmering heat-rippled road.]
MARA (handing back a cred-plate):
You’re set, stranger. If you run dry again, you know where to find old Mara.TREV (climbing back into his battered ride):
Thanks, Mara. Maybe next time bring batteries insteadta jerky, eh?MARA (laughs):
Deal. Safe travels, Trev.[The old hover-vehicle sputters to life, kicking up more dust as it drifts eastward, leaving Mara’s Morsels behind under the unyielding blaze.]
[Background chatter from a distant comm-scrambler crackles faintly—snippets of ghost shifts and water ration grumbles.]
CONVERSATION LOG: UB-3V1-ΔXQ
[The gentle roar of ocean waves mingles with distant city hum. Neon signs flicker in pastel hues as the sun dips low. "Coral Brew Café" glows warmly, a sleek, glass-fronted spot perched at the edge of a bustling boardwalk. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, azure waters shimmer beneath a violet sky.]
[Inside, soft synth-lounge music plays. The air carries the rich scent of roasted beans and saline breeze. Polished chrome tables reflect the ambient light. A young girl, LIRA, no older than sixteen, steps in tentatively.]
LIRA (glancing around, voice soft):
Uh, hi. One caramel plasma latte, please?ORIN (early 40s, friendly smile, behind the counter):
You got it, sweet one. First time here? We’re kinda known for the view... and the coffee, of course.LIRA (nodding, cheeks flushed):
Yeah, I... I heard it’s the chill spot to get some work done.ORIN (grinning as he preps the drink):
Right, and you’re lookin’ sharp with that holo pad. What’re you working on?LIRA (hesitant, tapping her pad):
Just... a school project. Something about coastal ecosystems. Gotta get it finished before the cycle reset.ORIN (handing over the latte):
Well, this one’s on the house if it helps get you through it. The sea’s got stories—hope you find some good ones.[Lira smiles shyly, finding a corner seat with a perfect view of the beach lights. She plugs into her holo pad, fingers gliding as she types, occasionally sipping her radiant latte.]
[Hours pass. Light dims. Lira packs up and approaches the counter, pulling up her credit wallet on her wrist console.]
LIRA (voice faltering, scanning data):
Um, I want to pay for this, but... it says my digital credits are suspended? Says I need to verify at the bank?[Her cheeks flush a deeper red, eyes darting down, embarrassed.]
ORIN (chuckles warmly, waving a hand):
Hey, no stress. Happens more than you’d think. Banks these days are sticklers for their protocols. Just drop by when you can. We trust you.LIRA (biting her lip, shy):
But... I hate owing people. And what if it causes trouble?ORIN (smiling reassuringly):
No trouble here. You did good work, showed up polite—more than most. Just think of it as a rain check.LIRA (nodding, still a little panicked but relieved):
Thank you. I... I’ll come back soon, promise.ORIN (grinning, nodding):
We’ll hold your spot—and your latte. Safe travels, Lira.[Lira steps outside, the cool ocean breeze brushing her face, a faint smile breaking through her shyness as the café’s warm glow fades behind her.]
[Background chatter includes soft laughter and rolling tidal sounds mixing with faint hover-traffic overhead.]
RECOVERED DIALOGUE FILE: #QX-4ZM-8PT
[The city is a maze of towering steel and flickering neon, wrapped in perpetual dusk. Daylight seeps in only for a scant few hours before the shadows reclaim the streets. From the cramped rooftop of a forgotten shop, an unseen presence drifts silently—an entity made of shifting mist and forgotten light, invisible to all but the cold night.]
ENTITY (soft, reverent, whispering into the dark):
She comes each late day... the glow behind glass, a flicker of warmth in this endless gray.[The faint sound of a young woman humming drifts upward, delicate and bright—an almost fragile thread of life.]
ENTITY (wistful):
Her laughter dances with the dust motes, swirling in the fading light. A spirit tethered to these cracked walls, breathing life where none should be.[From the rooftop, unseen eyes watch through the window: the girl swaying alone in her room, moving with a careless grace, singing softly to no audience but herself.]
ENTITY (quiet, a breath of longing):
She does not see me. How could she? I am shadow without shape, forgotten by time. Yet, she is the heartbeat beneath the rot, the ember in the ice of this city.[Time slips by—a slow ritual. The entity drifts closer, never crossing the glass, never seeking to be seen.]
ENTITY (soft smile in voice):
If I could reach her, tell her she is not alone... but I am bound to watch, to adore from the edges.[The woman pauses, smiles to herself, and the entity feels something like hope flicker in the cold dark.]
ENTITY (whispering, fading with the evening light):
She is the spirit of this city. And I, her silent shadow.[The last rays dim; the city sighs into night, and the entity drifts away, waiting for the next late day when the girl’s light will call it back.]
TRANSCRIPT // XR-5PL-NZQ
[Inside a cramped, flickering-lighted cargo bay on an orbital freighter drifting near a rust-colored moon. The air smells faintly of burnt circuits and recycled filtration. Two figures crouch by a busted-down hover cart, tools scattered around.]
JEX (grinning, wiping grease from hands):
I swear, if that crate didn’t jam us for two shifts, I’d never have found this old relic buried under the scrap.MIRA (skeptical, pulling at a spark plug):
A relic? Looks like half a busted servo to me. What, you think it’s some kinda alien artifact?JEX (with a wink):
Nah, just an old datapad from the TerraCorp archives—pre-collapse tech. Says here it’s got some forgotten ship coordinates locked inside. Maybe leads to an unregistered trade route. Could be creds waiting in the dust.MIRA (raising an eyebrow):
Or could be a trap left by those drip rats lurking in the asteroid belt. You sure you wanna chase ghosts over dead sectors?JEX (determined):
Better ghosts than ghost shifts. Besides, every forgotten shadow’s got a story. And I’m gonna find mine.[Muffled comm chatter crackles overhead about rising oxygen taxes and incoming cargo inspections.]
MIRA (sighing, finally nodding):
Alright, but you’re buying the next round of synth-coffee. If we’re diving headfirst into corp-sec paranoia, I want some fuel.[They share a brief laugh, the rough bond of scavengers amid the cold void of space.]
TRANSCRIPT // GN-9X3T-Θ45
[The cramped galley cabin buzzes with low, flickering rot-lights overhead. A lone figure stands over the battered counter, an unopened “Nutri-Pack 5X” packet in hand, blinking in the dim.]
MAN: (muttering to himself)
Alright, Lok, this is it. Five ingredients—boosted, prepped, instant. No more sludge rations or crusted Zynk bars. They said it takes... five steps. Boil, plasma, wait, stir, seal... easy, right?[He rips open the packet, revealing five small vials labeled: Synth-grain paste, Varn fruit concentrate, Hydrin crystal, Plasma infusion gel, and Salt-oxide dust. He squints at the faded holo-instructions etched on the inside of the flap.]
MAN: (scratches head, voice low and tense)
Step one. Boil hydrin crystals in 350 mils of distilled water for... wait, did it say 2.5 cycles or 3? Damn smudge. Gotta be precise or the plasma step’s junk.[He pours the hydrin crystals into a dingy, dented pot, fills it with water from a ration jug, sets it on the battered induction plate. The hum starts. He taps the cracked timer screen impatiently.]
MAN:
Come on... two point five cycles, yeah? That’s like... two twenty clicks on the rot-timer here.[Timer clicks down slowly. He glances at the other ingredients, sighing.]
MAN:
Synth-grain paste next. Mix in after the boil, plasma-infuse the blend... yeah, yeah. Should be easy. Could’ve been worse—a ghost shift just to get this cred-chit.[The boil cycles end. He grabs the pot, sniffs suspiciously. The water glows a weak blue.]
MAN: (to himself, eyebrows knit)
Hmm. Looks right? Smells like… well, like burnt sulfur and cheap oxygen tax. Good sign, maybe?[He scoops the synth-grain paste from its vial and dumps it into the pot.]
MAN:
Now plasma infusion gel… step three. Apply a low voltage plasma charge, 12 seconds max.[He fumbles with a small plasma torch docked on the wall, igniting a faint blue flame. His hand trembles slightly.]
MAN: (muttering)
Gotta keep steady. Too long and it’s goo; too short and it’s raw junk.[He holds the pot carefully, ignites the plasma torch, and waves it over the mixture. The gel bubbles, shimmering oddly.]
MAN: (scratches scalp harder)
Okay, now—wait, what next? Stir? Seal? Wait—did I miss the salt-oxide dust? No, that was the last one, right? Or before plasma gel?[He opens the instruction holo again, squinting.]
MAN: (voice rising slightly, frustrated)
“Step two: Add salt-oxide dust after boiling, before plasma. DO NOT plasma dust directly.” Aw, shit. I just plasma’d gel without salt dust first. That messes up the whole enzyme balance. Stupid, stupid.[He sets the plasma torch down with a soft clink. The mixture now bubbles unevenly, giving off a faint burnt scent.]
MAN: (runs hands through hair, near grinding his teeth)
No way to fix. Must be junk now. Can’t eat this, no. Would poison the guts worse than drip rat stew.[He stares at the pot, breathing shallow.]
MAN:
Five steps. Five. Missed one. One stupid step that screws the whole damn packet.[He lifts the pot with a grimace, carries it to the cramped sink. Water drips from the cracked faucet as he rinses the pot, the glowing mixture swirling down the drain.]
MAN: (softly, almost hopeless)
Cred-chits wasted. Hunger sharpens worse now.[He wipes his hands on his threadbare tunic, leans against the counter, eyes flickering to the faded advertisement plastered above.]
ADVERTISEMENT HOLO (faint, flickering):
“Nutri-Pack 5X — Taste of Tomorrow, Today!”MAN: (bitter, under breath)
Tomorrow can wait.[He exhales, head heavy, and stares out the grimy viewport at the sprawling orbital city, where neon ghosts flicker against the endless void.]