The Crash

The crash wiped out everything from the past six months. When the crew discovered the error logs, they could only think of one reasonable solution: they cannibalized the alpha, pulling him out of his connection chair in a fit of rage, leaving him gasping on the floor like a fish out of water, his eyes rolling, his mouth open and shut, open and shut. No one knew how far they had gone since all the nav settings were blank, and once they had crossed into the dead zone there was no way for them to call out for a beacon response. The last several triads that had gotten over the line had never gotten home – everyone remembered the encounter at sunset dock. It was the best kind of warning you could get, having those deaths broadcasted right into your newsfeed.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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