The air in the cramped room hung heavy with the scent of ozone and machine oil. Boxes, overflowing with salvaged parts from derelict freighters and forgotten stations, crowded the corners like loyal, if slightly dusty, companions. A lone desk, scarred with years of wrench marks and soldering burns, stood defiant amidst the chaos. It was a mechanic's battlefield, littered with the tools of a thousand repairs – worn screwdrivers, flickering data-pads displaying half-finished schematics, and a dented mug perpetually half-full of lukewarm synth-coffee.

Despite the clutter, a sense of purpose clung to the space. Worn posters of legendary starships adorned the walls, their faded paint whispering of distant journeys and forgotten dreams. A well-worn hammock, strung across one corner, promised a welcome respite from the relentless grind. This wasn't just a workspace; it was a sanctuary, a second home cobbled together by someone who'd lost theirs – or perhaps, never truly found it – amidst the vast emptiness of space. Here, amidst the whirring of a recalcitrant power converter and the soft glow of salvaged lamps, someone was searching. Searching for a way to fix, not just machines, but a piece of themself, adrift in the cold expanse of the galaxy.

Richard zipped his battered duffle bag shut, each worn tool nestled into its familiar spot with a practiced ease. Sunlight, a rare visitor in this cramped corner of the station, streamed through a nearby porthole, casting long shadows across the cluttered desk. Its surface was a chaotic landscape of blueprints, salvaged parts, and data-pads glowing with half-finished schematics. Worn screwdrivers lay haphazardly beside a dented mug that perpetually held a lukewarm, murky concoction that Richard optimistically called "coffee." Despite the disarray, an underlying order held the space together. Faded posters of legendary starships, their glory days a distant memory in the peeling paint, adorned the walls. In one corner, a hammock woven from salvaged cargo straps hung expectantly, promising a much-needed escape from the constant tinkering and repairs. A soft voice, laced with a concern that tightened his gut, broke the silence. "Are you going away again?". It came from a young woman from the corner of the room. Her clear blue eyes, the color of a summer sky on his long-lost home planet. Richard looked up and smiled at the girl. "Yes, darling, I have to" he said, his voice rough around the edges. He yearned to tell her more, to explain the relentless drive that pulled him away from this makeshift haven, but the words wouldnt come. The girl stood there, watching Richard's every move with her clear blue eyes. A worried expression on her face revealed that she felt as though she knew what would happen, yet she didn't try to stop him. "This mission of yours is dangerous" She spoke with a monotone and lifeless voice, as if a machine were attempting to mimic human speech but failing to convey its depth and significance. Richard, without looking up, replied, "I know... But... I have to. You know I have to." His voice resonated with unwavering conviction, determination, and a glimmer of hope.

In a monotone voice, the girl remarked "You're still trying to find me, aren't you?". Richard paused, momentarily unsure if he had heard her correctly. With a quizzical expression, he turned toward her. "Sorry... What did you say?" Confusion clouded his eyes as he sought clarification. "This mission of yours is dangerous." Richard slowly reached for his personal datapad on his belt, maintaining eye contact with her. "No, no, the one you said after..." He opened the datapad, scrolling through lines of code as if scanning a script for a theatrical performance.
"I apologize, but the answers are predetermined. Please try a different statement" Richard's confusion deepened with the girl's monotone voice. He mumbled under his breath, "Yes... yes, I know I... programmed you, but I don't remember adding that...". Frantically scrolling through the datapad, Richard flipped between windows of schematics, running diagnostic checks as fast as his fingers could move.

A tremor of dread ran through Richard, his blood turning to ice. He froze, gaze locked on the girl. Her once vacant blue eyes seemed to flicker, a spark of something alien igniting within their depths. As realization dawned on him, a ghastly pallor leached the color from his face. The datapad slipped from his numb fingers, clattering to the metal floor with a sickening crack.
He sank to his knees beside the wreckage, the weight of the revelation crushing him. He desperately covered his face with his hands, trying to shut out the impossible, the chilling truth that gnawed at his sanity. It was a futile attempt. Confusion, terror, and a gnawing self-doubt clawed at him from within, a relentless storm threatening to consume him whole.
The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the ragged gasps escaping his lips. But then, a faint hum filled the air, a sound he hadn't noticed before. He slowly lowered his hand, his gaze drawn to the shattered datapad screen. Glowing faintly against the cracked glass were words that sent a fresh wave of terror crashing over him: "Holographic projectors offline. Activate?" Y/N"

The private quarters of a research vessel were never known for their spaciousness. In fact, they could be best described as merely adequate. Since deep space explorations were always based on teamwork, it was believed that a team required more communal space than private ones. Subspace researcher Caty had just completed her long shift on the bridge and returned to her room to send a transmission home. Due to the vast distance, live connections were not possible, so every message had to be highly encrypted and timed.

Caty tossed her uniform onto her bed, sat down at her desk, and activated her computer terminal. A newly developed communication software opened up, displaying the addressee's nickname: "The Busy Circuit Board."

"My dear, I hope this transmission finds you well. I know I didn't send anything last week, but guess what! We discovered this nebula and... oh, I can't really talk about it, but it emits some kind of EM radiation, and I was on the bridge when all our sensors went offline, and I..." She paused for a second, her excitement overwhelming her. She knew she couldn't discuss the details and was more interested in her husband than a random nebula. "Sorry, babe, you know what I'm like... How are things back home? HOW'S MEGGIE?!" She yelled the question. "By now, she might have puppies. I want to be home again so badly. I miss you and our little Meggie so much." Her voice softened, and she looked down, fiddling with a pen before glancing back at the camera. "We might be late; our latest orders state that we need to investigate further and deeper. I'm sorry, hun." She stared into the camera, holding it for a moment. "But I promise you, I'll send the next message on time and... what's that?"

She turned around, only to be blinded by a bright purple light that filled her cabin through the window. She dropped the camera to the floor as the purple light engulfed the room.

A public terminal in a library displayed this message until its conclusion. The final image read: "End of message." A figure who had watched the message asked, "When was this message transmitted?" The technician replied, "It was received many years ago sir, but the exact time is classified." The figure leaned back in his chair and looked up at the technician, "Do we know where it's from?" The technician looked at the figure and said, "It's classified, sir. I'm sorry." The figure sighed "Of course it is...". The technician bowed then left the man alone at the terminal. Before leaving, the man reached under the terminal and detached a small datapad from a connection port.
He stood up, hid the data-pad in his coat, and left the building. He arrived at his home, sat down at his own terminal, and opened a new transmission. The addressee was nicknamed "The Wandering Angel." A face filled with revenge and hatred, and teary eyes, stared into the camera.

"My love, many years of silence, but it feels like you just left yesterday. Now I know... Now I know it all, and... I will find you. If you get this message, I want you to know that I will find you. No matter the distance, no matter the risk. I will find you, and I will bring you home." The message was sent to the last approximate coordinates based on the data from the archived message. The figure stared blankly in front of him, watching the transmission upload to the transfer nodes. "I will bring you home."

The sound of alarms echoed through the bridge, creating an atmosphere of panic and urgency. Control panels lay in ruins, barely working, with sparking electric wires hanging from the ceiling, lighting up the smoke-filled room. A cruiser in desperate condition drifted through an uncharted region of space. Once a mighty ship capable of holding over two hundred people, it now seemed eerily abandoned.

A smaller explosion shook the hull of the ship, sending shockwaves through the rooms. Only one soul remained on board: Richard. He struggled to crawl back to his seat at the science station on the bridge. Wiping debris off the console, he started interacting with it. His face was focused, his actions precise. The console he worked on flickered in and out of power, but he persevered nevertheless.

The sound of smaller explosions mixed with a larger crackling noise filled the air. Richard stopped for a moment and looked up. A beeping alarm from another console labeled "Engineering" startled him. Frustrated, he picked up a small piece of debris and tossed it onto the console, shouting, "Shut it! I've got no time for you!" The alarm stopped.

"Don't you think it's time to go?" asked a gentle female voice. Richard didn't bother answering at first, still working intently on the terminal. "Hun, please don't hurt yourself," the female voice urged again. "I'm fine... I will be fine..." Richard replied in an annoyed tone. He looked up at the screen, which displayed a map of the region with a trail across it. "Finally... this signature matches..." he muttered under his breath. The alarm from the other console resumed its beeping, and another console joined in, agitating Richard even more. He stood up and walked over to the consoles. "What is it, hun?" asked the female voice. "Not good... I'm losing core stability..." Richard answered as he glanced back at the science panel, where a small loading bar showed 56%. He hurried to the other console to investigate the cause of the alarms. "Crap... millions of credits, cutting-edge technology, and they can't even build a functioning Argo field distributor..." Richard dismissed the alarms by deactivating the problematic component. Suddenly, a larger rumble shook the ship, followed by an overcharged cable exploding near Richard, knocking him to the floor.

With blurred vision and ringing ears, Richard slowly tried to stand up and crawl back to the console. "Hun, it's time to leave," the female voice pleaded again. "N-no, not when I'm this close..." Richard looked up at the screen, now displaying 75%. He stood up unsteadily and pulled out his datapad. The ship's violent shaking made it difficult to maintain his balance, and he stumbled onto the captain's chair. He glanced down at the small monitor next to it, noticing the latest communications that the late captain had received. Richard quickly connected his datapad to download the messages. The ship continued to shake violently, lights flickered, alarms blared from every console, and the smoke and burning hull began to damage the life support systems around him. Time was running out.

"Hun, please... leave now," the female voice implored once more. Richard ignored her and stumbled back to the science console, which now showed 85% completion. "No, no, no, just a little bit more, come on!" As Richard stared at the screen, he caught his reflection. In that reflection, behind him, a female figure appeared – his wife, whom he had been searching for. Richard looked at her, tears forming in his eyes. She placed her hand on his shoulder and said, "My busy circuit board... leave this madness behind, come home."

Richard fought to keep his tears at bay as the screen displayed 94% completion. An automated computer voice echoed throughout the bridge, announcing, "Core integrity failed, evacuate immediately." Richard closed his eyes and heard the gentle female voice again in his head, "Come home."

A once mighty ship drifted into an unknown sector of the system—broken, flaming, and lifeless. An explosion in the distance created a bright flash that lasted for mere seconds before disappearing into the darkness of space. Farther away, in a small escape pod, an injured Richard sat in the pilot seat. The pod was on autopilot, and his datapad, with its broken screen, lay on the dashboard, displaying a map of the system and a trail, along with coordinates and charts.

"We will return home together," Richard vowed