I was still brushing frozen coolant residue off my clothes when the next disaster found me.

  The alarms had finally stopped blaring, which I thought meant I was in the clear. Instead, it turned out the ship’s AI had logged my coolant leak fiasco as an “unsanctioned maintenance adjustment” and flagged me for immediate “performance review.” Whatever that meant.

  “Human.” Captain Reltrax loomed over me, his armored features creased in what I could only assume was a deep and profound disappointment. “You have been assigned additional duties as compensation for the damage caused.”

  I sighed. “Of course I have.”

  Before I could even ask what fresh hell awaited me, Vrixibalt practically vibrated with excitement beside me, clutching his ever-present data pad. “Oh, this is most fortunate! Your new assignment overlaps with an experimental stress endurance trial I have been authorized to conduct!”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why do I feel like I’m about to regret this?”

  The scientist ignored me and gestured enthusiastically toward the corridor. “Come! To the cargo bay! Your unique physiology shall be most illuminating!”

  When I imagined what my next “work assignment” would be, I had not envisioned standing inside a massive storage room surrounded by very precariously stacked crates. The cargo bay was a towering expanse of metal walkways, anti-gravity lift systems, and way too many heavy objects that could fall and crush me if I so much as sneezed in the wrong direction.

  Vrixibalt practically skipped around me, adjusting his scanning device while Reltrax stood by, arms crossed, probably debating whether or not to just eject me into space and cut his losses.

  "All right, human!" Vrixibalt chirped. "Today's task is simple—cargo organization and hazard assessment. But as a scientific addendum, I have taken the liberty of disabling the standard safety protocols in your work zone!"

  I stared at him. Then at Reltrax. Then back at him. “You what?”

  "To accurately assess your biological response to imminent danger, of course!" Vrixibalt’s frills fluttered with academic glee. "Think of it as… a live simulation!"

  "A simulation where I get crushed?" I asked incredulously.

  The scientist waved dismissively. "Only potentially!"

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You do realize that humans are not actually indestructible, right? Like, yes, we bounce back from things, but only because we have to. Not because we’re built for it.”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Vrixibalt scribbled something down. “Fascinating. You perceive your own fragility, yet statistical analysis of your survival rate suggests otherwise.”

  I groaned. “That’s not how probability works, you nerd.”

  Reltrax, who had been listening to this whole exchange with growing impatience, finally cut in. “You’re wasting time. Move the crates. If you die, the scientist will at least have useful data.”

  “Wow. Motivating.”

  Shockingly, I had not been crushed to death. Yet.

  I’d gotten the hang of maneuvering the cargo crates with the anti-grav lift, stacking them according to some alien labeling system that made absolutely no sense to me. But, because this was my life now, the moment I got comfortable, things had to go sideways.

  It started with a low rumble.

  I paused, looking up. The towering stacks of crates, which I had very carefully been arranging, suddenly shifted—a slow, ominous tilt that made my stomach drop.

  "...That’s not good."

  Before I could even move, the entire stack lurched.

  I swore loudly and ran, diving just as an avalanche of alien cargo came crashing down. I hit the ground, rolled, and narrowly avoided being turned into a very unfortunate smear on the ship’s floor.

  Behind me, the wreckage settled with a deep, metallic groan.

  Vrixibalt let out an excited chirp. “Excellent reflexes, John! Your self-preservation instincts continue to be remarkable!”

  Flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, I let out a long, slow breath. “Vrixibalt.”

  “Yes, John?”

  “I am going to strangle you.”

  Reltrax exhaled through his nose and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “I should have known.”

  After another round of alarms, cleanup efforts, and yet another increase to my debt, I found myself sitting in what I had begun calling the “John Screwed Up Again” room—a small, sterile chamber where Reltrax delivered lectures about how bad I was at not causing problems.

  The captain glared at me. “The damage report is extensive.”

  I threw my hands up. “That one wasn’t my fault! The cargo moved on its own!”

  Reltrax’s jaw tightened. “Yes. Because you stacked it improperly.”

  Vrixibalt cleared his throat. “Actually, I believe the issue was a gravitational fluctuation caused by our ship’s orbit adjusting slightly to avoid a debris field. The structural instability of the cargo stacks merely exacerbated the situation.”

  I pointed at him. “See? Not my fault!”

  Reltrax pinched the bridge of his nose—the universal sign of someone deeply regretting their life choices.

  After a long pause, he finally spoke. “Your debt has increased.”

  I slumped forward, head in my hands. “Of course it has.”

  Vrixibalt, seemingly oblivious to my suffering, beamed. “Would you be interested in additional hazard testing later? I have several exciting theories about your metabolic recovery rate!”

  I shot him a look. “I’d rather get launched into a sun.”

  “Oh! I can arrange that!”

  I groaned and banged my head against the table.

  This was my life now.