Failure?

Mission 2: 32 September. Year 021




 No one told me to come.


No message. No ping. No curious glances through the glass. They've all moved on. I should’ve too, probably.


But here I am.


One month later. Same boots. Same corridor. Same silent walls that don’t care if I show up or disappear between the tiles.


They stopped logging my attempts. The system doesn’t record “non-events.”


I enter the bay.


Dust sleeps on the console. Wires hang like veins from a body no longer alive. The seat greets me like a grave.


I sit.


It’s colder now. Or maybe I am.


I run the protocol. My voice is thin, barely human.


> “Pilot 4017: Eva. Clearance: Self-authorized.”


A familiar hum answers. Same as before. Indifferent.


I grip the handles. Breathe. Wait for the failure. Wait for the stillness.


And then—

a jolt.


The floor drops.


Not much. But enough.


The ship rises.


Not high. But enough.


The lights adjust. The pressure shifts. The simulation confirms: Lift achieved.

I stay still.


I don’t smile. I don’t scream. I don’t even blink.


I don’t know what it means to succeed when no one is watching.


When the silence weighs more than the ship.


I float for seven seconds.

Then lower it back down.


It touches ground softer than I remember.


I unbuckle. Step out. Walk to the door.


No one’s there.


I don’t write a report.


I just whisper to myself,


> “So what.”

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