No head down another tunnel

The tunnel opened into a wider chamber—some kind of storage bay stacked with crates marked in swirling Zyxian script. Adam pried one open with his fingers, revealing rows of glistening nutrient packs. He tore into one, grimaced at the taste, then swallowed anyway. "Tastes like regret and bad decisions." Susan grabbed a handful, stuffing them into her pockets. "Yeah, well, so do you, and I still let you kiss me."

Adam was mid-bite into another nutrient pack when the entire chamber shuddered, sending a cascade of crates tumbling like dominoes. The vibration rattled his teeth. "Oh, that's not good," he muttered through a mouthful of gelatinous protein. Susan was already moving, kicking aside a shattered crate to peer through a grimy viewport. "They're depressurizing the outer decks," she said, tapping the glass. Outside, the stars warped unnaturally—the telltale shimmer of a containment field failing. "We're about to be the galaxy's worst escape pod."

A new alarm joined the chorus—this one deeper, throbbing like a headache. The Zyxian script on the walls pulsed crimson. Adam wiped his hands on his pants, leaving streaks of alien goo. "Okay, new plan: less standing, more running." Susan nodded, grabbing his wrist. "Follow me. And try not to die before we find something fun to shoot."