Station 52 was never meant to become a tomb.

It began as a remote agricultural and xenobiology station positioned far outside major shipping lanes, built to study sustainable extraterrestrial ecosystems and livestock adaptation in isolated environments. Small, quiet, and largely self-sufficient, the station attracted the kind of people who preferred distance from crowded worlds.

Their leader was Captain William Watkins, a retired veteran who volunteered to oversee the station after leaving military service behind. Most of the crew simply called him “Captain,” but Blau eventually started calling him “Uncle Bill” somewhere along the way.

He disliked unnecessary formality, cared more about plants and livestock than command authority, and treated Station 52 less like an assignment and more like a living community that needed looking after.

Blau arrived in her early adulthood as a junior research assistant specializing in xenobiology and livestock care. Young, intelligent, somewhat awkward, and eager to prove herself, she quickly fell into the station’s slow routines under Captain Watkins’ guidance.

The crew was small enough that everyone eventually became part of each other’s daily life:
shared meals,
maintenance rotations,
movie nights,
greenhouse work,
feeding schedules,
quiet conversations during long shifts.

For a while, Station 52 genuinely felt peaceful.

Then contact with the outside disappeared.

A massive cosmic storm passing through nearby sectors crippled long-range communication systems and destabilized navigation routes across the region. Supply routes failed. Rescue attempts never arrived. Isolation became indefinite.

The station survived.
The people inside it did not.

One of the crew had already been infected long before the station lost contact:
a vampire hiding among them unnoticed until desperation, hunger, and isolation finally stripped away restraint.

What followed fractured Station 52 permanently.

People vanished.
Systems failed.
Trust collapsed.
Fear spread through the station faster than the violence itself.

By the end, only Blau and Captain Watkins remained alive.

During the final confrontation, Blau was bitten shortly before Captain Watkins forced both himself and the attacking vampire out of the station’s airlock.

His final act saved her life.

And unknowingly doomed it.

Blau survived the infection.

Everyone else was gone.

Captain Watkins’ final words remained burned into her memory long after the station fell silent:

“You gotta live on.”

So she did.

For decades.

Alone.

Maintaining feeding schedules nobody needed anymore.
Keeping empty rooms clean.
Rotating cafeteria menus for people who would never return.
Talking to livestock because silence became unbearable.
Preserving routines because routines were all that remained of her humanity.

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