Stick Man
Control
The air hums with static, thick with the metallic tang of ozone and rust. Sparks cascade from a frayed conduit overhead, casting jagged shadows across the corroded bulkhead as you step forward, boots clanging against the grated floor. A distorted voice crackles through your helmet comm—*“Watch your six. Sensors picked up movement in sector D-12. Could be scavengers… or worse.”* You thumb the safety off your plasma cutter, its barrel glowing faintly azure, and pivot toward a flickering terminal screen. Scrolling glyphs—alien code, half-corrupted—hint at a reactor meltdown two decks below. Somewhere deep in the ship’s carcass, a hydraulic door shrieks open, followed by the wet, guttural rasp of something *alive*. Your HUD flashes a proximity alert. A shadow shifts in the crossfire of your headlamp—too fast, too many limbs. The comm erupts in panicked chatter, but you’re already moving, pulse roaring in your ears, weapon raised. Survival isn’t a plan here. It’s a reflex.
c
Extend the stick to bridge gaps and cross the platforms—but measure carefully! A misjudged length sends you plunging into the void below.
