So, I’m a ship.

  Not exactly the second life I had in mind, but I’ll schedule my existential crisis for later. Right now, I need to focus on something more immediate—like figuring out how the hell I even function.

  My thoughts are drowning in a torrent of raw data—numbers, graphs, and unfamiliar symbols surging through me like a flood I can’t contain. It’s not pain, just an unbearable overload. My mind—if I can still call it that—is being force-fed too much at once. If I don’t act fast, I’ll short-circuit.

  Surely, in the future, they have customisable interfaces.

  I focus or whatever the ship-equivalent of focusing is and start searching through the mess of menus and system options. Some of them are in languages I don’t recognise, but my mind translates them instantly. That’s weird. Filed under “future crisis.” Right now, I need something that makes all this make sense.

  Ah. There it is.

  An option for Virtual Reality Bridge Mode.

  I barely have to think about selecting it before my entire perspective shifts. The flood of raw data smooths out, restructures, and suddenly I'm floating on a bridge. A proper command deck, like something straight out of every sci-fi show I ever loved. The walls are smooth and metallic, glowing panels and readouts floating around the perimeter. The “windows” stretch across the front, displaying the vast emptiness of space, stars hanging like frozen fire in the void.

  Much better. I can finally think clearly.

  Floating over I approach the central console, which responds as if I have hands. My body isn’t real, but my mind interprets movement as if it is, making the whole experience feel eerily natural. Time to take stock.

  First up we have faster-than-light travel.

  I pull up the navigation logs, and there it is. Slipstream drive.

  I let out a dry laugh—wow I even have a voice to laugh with. So Andromeda got that right. That might even explain why my brain is inside a ship at all. If slipstream navigation requires an intuitive mind, it would make sense to install a human consciousness as the core AI. But that’s just speculation, and I have bigger concerns.

  Like fuel.

  In every game, book, or movie, space travel always needs some kind of resource. Helium-3, deuterium, vacuum energy, antimatter, or the blood of a damn space whale. Whatever it is, I need to know what’s keeping me running before I end up drifting as a very dead, very useless hunk of metal.

  “Alright, fuel levels…” I mutter, scanning the virtual console. A second later, a gauge appears in front of me, marked with the unmistakable chemical symbol: He-3.

  Helium-3.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Not the most exciting choice, but at least it’s something I recognise. The bad news? The gauge is low. Less than a quarter tank.

  A sensation I can only describe as hunger gnaws at me. It’s not physical, not like I remember hunger feeling like, but an emptiness, a lack, a low-energy warning humming in the back of my awareness.

  “Great,” I mutter. “I wake up as a spaceship and my first problem is running out of gas.”

  I need to refuel. Fast.

  Good news? I’m equipped with automated resource recovery drones. Bad news? I need to find something for them to harvest. Which means I need a scanner.

  I pull up my system diagnostics, searching for long-range scanning equipment.

  Long-range scanner: Not installed.

  “Of course,” I mutter. Because why would I be fully constructed? That would be too convenient. Whoever built me was either interrupted before finishing the job or left me half-baked for a reason. Either way, it means my ability to detect anything beyond spitting distance is nonexistent.

  Short-range scanner: Online.

  Alright, that’s something. Not great, but something. If I can’t scan distant planets, I’ll have to work with what I can see. First step: figure out where the hell I am.

  I shift my perspective, activating a visual scan of my surroundings. The vast black of space stretches before me, but there are no planets, no gas giants; just a field of asteroids, tumbling slowly through the void.

  I sigh—or at least, I think about sighing. “Guess I really do need those long-range scanners.”

  No time to complain. I aim my short-range scanner at the asteroid field, watching as data begins filtering in. Most of these rocks are useless—frozen chunks of metal, carbon, and silicates drifting aimlessly. But some? Some hold traces of Helium-3.

  Not a lot. Barely enough to make a dent in my fuel reserves. But right now? Beggars can’t be choosers.

  I reroute power to my drone systems. Might as well grab what I can and maybe stock up on other minerals while I’m at it.

  I can feel it the drones are doing their job and my reserves are increasing.

  Not by much, but enough that the gnawing emptiness inside me dulls slightly. The drones are working, siphoning what little Helium-3 they can from the asteroids and funnelling it back into my fuel reserves. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing.

  Now that I’m not on the brink of running dry, it’s time to take inventory.

  Cargo hold… tiny.

  Not surprising. Whoever designed me didn’t expect me to haul large amounts of material. If I’m going to start mining or salvaging, I’ll need to upgrade that later. For now, I’ll hold off on collecting anything besides fuel.

  Automated repair droids… That sounds useful. Let’s see, oh, they use nanites. Now that does sound futuristic.

  Nanite factory: Not installed.

  “Of course it isn’t,” I grumble. That means whatever repairs I need, I’m stuck with whatever stock of nanites I already have… which, judging by the warning symbol flashing on the interface, is zero. Fantastic. So I need to avoid any damage for the foreseeable future.

  Weapons… not installed.

  Because why would I need to defend myself in the middle of nowhere? Another upgrade I’ll have to look into, assuming I don’t get blown to scrap before then. Well at least there is options for weapons.

  Shields… installed.

  Finally, some good news. At least if something decides to take a shot at me, I won’t immediately crumple like a tin can. I pull up the system details. Hmm, my shields are functional but not at full strength. They need power, and with my fuel situation still dire, I can’t exactly afford to divert much energy into them.

  “Alright,” I mutter. “Step one: keep the drones working. Step two: find a proper fuel source. Step three: figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do now.”

  Because so far, this second life? Not exactly going as planned.

  What type of galaxy should it be