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.]