Inktober 2026 21, Hero

Scream of metal. Deck plates buckling underfoot. The hull is tearing open and the air is going, and someone is screaming for a medic, and it might be me.

Then through the smoke and steam, a shape. Massive. Unmoving. Power armour, scorched but standing, the skull on its chest glowing through the haze.

We’re not dead. He came. The hero came.

Hero.

Inktober 2026 20, Lounge

Mission log, Day 20

Fourteen crew sealed in the lounge, behind a corridor of twisted girders. Atmosphere holding. Morale holding. Whisky holding, but not for long. There are worse places to be trapped, and they appear to have found the best one.

Cutting teams are working the debris around the clock. Estimated time to clear the corridor: two days. Estimated time for the lounge to drink itself dry: one and a half.

Inktober 2026 19, Confused

Captain’s log, Day 19

Impact. Then nothing.

I came round hanging in my harness, the deck over my head, the ceiling underfoot. Alarms are screaming but I can’t tell which are real. Smoke in the cockpit. Instruments reading everything at once: climbing, falling, dead.

The lights cut out and I couldn’t tell up from down.

Through the cracked glass: mountains, and a column of smoke rising from the wreck.