Inktober 2026 7
Inktober 2026 7, Panic
Engineer’s log, Day 7
06:12. The alarm goes off in the EVA locker and the beacon starts flashing AIR LEEK (somebody lettered that sign, and nobody ever corrected it).
One helmet, one cracked visor, forty seconds of loud, unprofessional panic.
Then the training kicks in: tape over the crack, sealant over the tape. The hiss drops to a whisper. The leak is slowing, not stopped, and the helmet is now tagged and benched until the Chief Engineer has had a look.
Every repair on this ship is held together with hope and adhesive. I’ve started counting the adhesive.
Fineliner, ink wash, watercolour pencils and acrylic markers.
