Entry 4: Blood and Silence
29 Dec 2024Teltin
Logbook: CMDR TeltinDate: 22 Apr 3309
It wasn’t supposed to be a fight. Just a cargo run—quick, clean, and easy. Then the ambush hit. Three ships dropped in, engines burning hot. I barely had time to power up the weapons before the first salvo slammed into my shields. I’ll never forget the sound—metal screaming, alarms blaring. It was chaos—pure, raw chaos—but somewhere in the middle of it, something inside me flipped. Fear gave way to instinct. My hands moved before my mind could catch up, throwing power to engines and angling shields.
The Phantom roared as I pushed her harder than I ever had before, skimming the edge of asteroids and using their bulk as cover. Plasma fire split the void, lighting up the black like fireworks at a funeral. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might punch through my chest, but I wasn’t thinking anymore—I was just acting.
One ship went down in a burst of flame, its hull breaking apart like dried leaves. The second buckled under a railgun burst, spinning out into the rocks where it shattered on impact. The third tried to run. I chased it down. My fingers hovered over the trigger for half a second—just long enough to feel the weight of the choice. Then I fired. The silence after it exploded felt louder than the fight.
I’ve taken lives before—too many to count if I’m being honest. But this felt different. Maybe it was because it had been so long since I’d been in a fight that real. Or maybe it was because I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t a choice; it was reflex. And somehow, that scared me more than the bullets flying past my canopy.
When it was over, I sat there, hands trembling against the controls. My breath came in short gasps, and the adrenaline still had my veins buzzing like live wires. I didn’t move right away. Just stared at the debris field and the drifting scraps of metal. I should’ve felt relief, maybe even triumph. Instead, I felt hollow.
The rush didn’t fade when the shooting stopped. It lingered, twisting in my gut like a sickness. I kept replaying it in my head—how fast it happened, how easy it was to pull the trigger and end them. I don’t even know who they were. Pirates, mercs, desperate scavengers—it doesn’t matter. They’re gone, and I’m still here.
Later, when I docked and the Phantom’s engines cooled, the silence felt heavier than the black. My hands shook as I climbed out of my seat, legs unsteady like I’d just learned to walk. I made it as far as the maintenance bay before the adrenaline crash hit me like a freight hauler. My stomach twisted, and I barely made it to the corner before I emptied whatever was left in me. Afterward, I just sat there, back against the bulkhead, tasting bile and sweat and metal.
I scrubbed the hull myself after that, clearing off the scorch marks and plasma burns. I could still smell the fire, like ozone and melted wiring. My arms ached, but I didn’t stop until it shone. The routine helped. It gave me something to focus on besides the emptiness gnawing at my insides.
I told myself it was just another day, just another fight, but part of me knows better. Something changed out there. I felt it in the quiet after the guns stopped. In the way my reflection looked back at me in the canopy glass, like it was someone else entirely.
I survived, but I can’t shake the feeling that I left a part of myself floating in that debris field. And I’m not sure I want it back.