You slam the titanium bulkhead behind you, the emergency strobe flickering as a fresh burst of crimson‑lit oxygen hisses into the cramped airlock, momentarily flooding your visor with a cold, metallic breath. The hiss is cut short by a deep, resonant groan from the station’s spine, and a thin line of crystalline‑black frost begins to creep along the hatch seal, threatening to choke the last of your air.