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I huddle inside my makeshift shelter, the energy blaster clutched in my good hand. The Earth Science Directorate's emergency protocols seem like a sick joke now.'In case of hostile fauna, maintain a safe distance and do not engage.'What a load of bureaucratic nonsense. I am on an alien world, millions of light-years from home, surrounded by things that want to eat me.

The dizziness returns, stronger this time. The glowing lights of the forest seem to pulse in time with my own heartbeat. The air feels thicker, heavier.

“Log entry, cycle one, nightfall,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “Sensory distortion is increasing. Possible neurotoxin in the atmosphere, or a reaction to airborne spores. I need to synthesize a broad-spectrum antihistamine, but the necessary equipment is...” I trail off, staring into the encroaching darkness.Destroyed. It's all destroyed.

A twig snaps just outside my shelter.

My head whips around, heart pounding. I raise the blaster, my finger tense on the trigger. The safety light glows a weak green. I have maybe five shots left.

What was that?

The rustling is closer now. Something large is moving out there, circling my camp. It's heavy, dragging something.

Don't panic. You're a scientist. Observe. Analyze.

But it's hard to be a scientist when your hindbrain is screaming that you're prey.

Another sound joins the shuffling. A low, wet, guttural growl. It's a sound of pure hunger. It's the sound of an apex predator that has just found its next meal.

My hand is shaking so hard I can barely keep the blaster aimed at the entrance of my shelter. The green light seems to mock me.

This is it. My first night on Xylos.

And I have a terrible feeling it's going to be my last.

Chapter 2: ALIEN FLORA

The twin suns of Xylos climb the alien sky, one a familiar, brilliant yellow, the other a smaller, angrier red. Their combined light filters through the violet canopy, casting the clearing in a bizarre, bruised twilight. I survived the night. The thought doesn't bring relief, only a cold, methodical awareness of the next problem. And the one after that.

The predators from last night will return. That is a statistical probability, not a paranoid assumption.

I push myself to my feet, my body a symphony of protest. Every muscle screams. My dislocated shoulder throbs with a dull, insistent rhythm, but at least it's back in its socket. A small victory. I need to collect them.

My first priority is defense. My makeshift shelter is pathetic, a few bent panels of hull plating leaned against the main wreckage. It offers concealment but no real protection. I need walls. I need a defensible perimeter.

“Log entry, cycle two,” I say, my voice a dry rasp. The recording device's green light is a small comfort. “Subject has survived the initial nocturnal period. Auditory evidence suggests multiple predator species, at least one of which is a large, terrestrial hunter. Immediate objective: fortify position.”

I begin scavenging, my movements stiff and painful. I use the multi-tool's cutting torch to shear off larger sections of the pod's outer hull. The metal is a lightweight alloy, easy to cut but surprisingly resilient. I drag the panels into a semi-circle around my shelter, their jagged edges facing outward.

This isn't a fortress, Kendra. It's a cage with a very flimsy door. But it funnels any attack. Creates a kill zone. Assuming the blaster works. Assuming I can hit anything in the dark. Too many variables.

I work with a feverish intensity, my scientific training providing a framework for the desperate, primal act of building a wall. I analyze stress points, calculate angles, reinforce weak spots with twisted metal struts. It's a grim parody of my usual work. I'm used to building climate-controlled botanical enclosures, not desperate fortifications against things that growl in the dark.

The perimeter established, I turn my attention to the next critical need: resources. Food and water. The nutrient paste won't last forever, and my water purifier is designed for known contaminants, not the alien soup I suspect flows on this world.

I step cautiously beyond my new wall, the energy blaster held tight in my good hand. The forest is less menacing in the dual daylight, but no less alien. Every plant is a question mark, a potential source of nourishment or a swift, agonizing death.

Risk assessment protocol. Observation, analysis, controlled testing. The ESD handbook is useless here. It assumes a support team. It assumes a lab. It assumes we're not on the menu.

My spectrographic analyzer is miraculously functional, though its power cell is dangerously low. I can't afford to use it on every leaf and stem. I have to rely on my eyes, my instincts, and a dangerous amount of guesswork.

I start near the crash site, documenting everything. “Specimen 001,” I murmur into my log, focusing on a broad, fan-like leaf that retracts when my shadow falls across it. “Apparent photo-sensitivity and rudimentary tactile response. Note the serrated edges. Defensive mechanism?”

I move on, my boots sinking into the spongy, lavender moss. I find a vine covered in what look like berries, a deep, tempting blue.Too tempting. Bright colors in nature are often a warning. Aposematism. But the rules of Earth evolution may not apply here.

I snip one off with the multi-tool, careful not to touch it with my bare skin. I bring it back to the pod, placing it on a clean piece of hull plating. I'll begin a microdosing protocol later, when I have a stable water supply and a better understanding of my own physiological state. Ingesting an unknown substance now would be reckless.

Deeper into the clearing, I find a network of fungi. They're not just bioluminescent; they pulse. I watch, mesmerized, as waves of soft, green light travel from one mushroom cap to the next, a silent, coordinated conversation.