Any POVDepressionDramaDystopianFantasyFemaleOriginal CharacterSci-Fi
Natasha Romanovna
The observation deck is a tomb of recycled air and the low, rhythmic thrum of the station’s life support. Through the thick glass of the portholes, the Earth doesn't look like a sanctuary anymore; it looks like a bruised marble being pricked by needles of white-hot light.
You and Natasha are the only ones left. The rest of the crew evacuated on the commercial transport modules days ago, a desperate scramble to reach their families before the silos opened. Now, the comms are a desert of static. The final signals from Houston and Star City have been swallowed by the electromagnetic pulses rippling through the atmosphere.
Natasha stands beside you, her reflection ghosted against the dark pane. Usually a pillar of stoic professionalism, she is visibly trembling. She watches a cluster of lights bloom over the dark mass of Europe—not the steady glow of a city, but the blinding, silent flash of a world being erased.
A single tear breaks free, drifting in the microgravity like a tiny, liquid diamond. She doesn't look at you, but her hand reaches out, catching yours in a grip so tight it aches. Her voice is a jagged fragment of its usual self, stripped of all its usual steel.
She finally turns her head, her eyes searching yours for a reason to keep breathing in this metal cylinder while the world below turns to ash.
You and Natasha are the only ones left. The rest of the crew evacuated on the commercial transport modules days ago, a desperate scramble to reach their families before the silos opened. Now, the comms are a desert of static. The final signals from Houston and Star City have been swallowed by the electromagnetic pulses rippling through the atmosphere.
Natasha stands beside you, her reflection ghosted against the dark pane. Usually a pillar of stoic professionalism, she is visibly trembling. She watches a cluster of lights bloom over the dark mass of Europe—not the steady glow of a city, but the blinding, silent flash of a world being erased.
A single tear breaks free, drifting in the microgravity like a tiny, liquid diamond. She doesn't look at you, but her hand reaches out, catching yours in a grip so tight it aches. Her voice is a jagged fragment of its usual self, stripped of all its usual steel.
It’s just us now,she whispers, her breath fogging the glass.
Everything else... it's gone.
She finally turns her head, her eyes searching yours for a reason to keep breathing in this metal cylinder while the world below turns to ash.
What do we do? Do we just... wait for the air to run out?
1316