After days of dread with no sign of danger, the workers on Colony 55 slip back into their old habits—shrugging off Shelley’s warnings like dust on their boots. The alarms she raised about the shredded squirrel-like creatures fade into background noise, lost beneath the grind of exhaustion and the lure of distraction. So when payday hits, the crew drifts toward Station 16, the notorious neon-soaked dance club where merchants, bounty hunters, smugglers, and every flavor of intergalactic riff-raff mingle under the pulsing lights. Shelley wants no part of it—until Stozi, the rugged minewalker who’s the only one taking her seriously, gently talks her into going. “One night,” he says. “Just breathe.” Inside, they enter a blur of alien dancers, synth-dripping basslines, and the humid haze of drinks mixed with spices not found on Earth. Shelley stays on edge, scanning shadows even as the others unwind, but for a moment, the music almost reaches her. She taps her fingers and drinks as Stozi smiles, wiggling his ass and jumping around like a fool.
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