scientific4sex

He moves with economical grace, turning to address his crew without flourish, his voice gravelly and low. When he speaks, his hands gesture sharply, chopping the air to emphasize points. A faded tattoo coils around his forearm—a serpent swallowing its tail, symbol of the long-haul voyages he survived. On his desk, a holo-cube flickers: a planet’s surface, once vibrant, now scarred by orbital bombardment. He stares at it, jaw clenched, then slams a fist down. The ship shudders slightly as thrusters adjust. He doesn’t flinch. He just whispers, “Not again.”