<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="background-color:#353535; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic">Like the fella once said, ain't that a kick in the head!</span></div><br/>Aestria's minuscule music player, safely tucked in the front pocket of her overall, was feeding cheery Dean Martin right to her ears, and she was loving every minute of it. She may just have been a mechanic, but the engine room was her domain, and she was as familiar with each square inch of metal and machinery as she was with music from times gone by. She gave a tangle of pipes a friendly pat as she passed. If she was honest with herself, there was not much she could do down here. The Tincan was barely able to fly, but she put blood, sweat and tears into keeping her space-borne daily, and she took great pride in her even being stable enough to somewhat carry a crew and their cargo.<br/><br/>The engine room was pleasantly free of any other noise than the occasional clanking and hissing paired with her music and own humming. Aestria was in the middle of an epic slide as far down the floor as she could go when everything went black, and the familiar mechanical sounds turned to shrieks of straining metal.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic">The room was completely black<br/>I hugged her and she hugged back<br/>Like the sailor said, quote<br/>"Ain't that a hole in the boat!"</span></div><br/>She really, really hoped not. As everything around her became infinitely sharper and hotter in her panic, Aestria fought to reach the door that lead to a ladder and upward to what might not have been safety, but at least she would not have to die alone. Dean Martin and conscious thought became backdrop to her erratic panting and the burning smell of steel. Slamming the door so hard behind her that it bounced back against her, she shot up the ladder faster than she had ever thought possible of a normal human, and held on for dear life as she felt the ship reach the climax of its undoubtedly imminent destruction.<br/><br/>Maybe it was the thought of dying and inevitable oblivion that made her let go. Maybe it was the force with which the ship was shaken. Either way, Aestria's grip on the ladder loosened and she fell, hit her head, and was mercifully passed out for the remainder of the crash - or whatever it was.<br/><br/>At first, the grey ceiling above her seemed almost starry. Then, she realized that the fuzz and the blinking lights were probably related to the pain that was beginning at the back of her head and quickly developing to surpass the meanest hangover she had ever had. Dean Martin, however, seemed completely unconcerned.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic">Tell me quick, ain't love a kick in the head?</span></div><br/>"Sure it is, hun," she mumbled, pressing the 'pause' button. As wonderful as he was, noise was the last thing she needed right now. Taking a few more minutes to gather herself, she risked a climb up the ladder to see what the hell had happened to the rest of them. Judging by the way their food had been spread all over, they had probably suffered fates similar to hers. She crouched down near one of the cans that had miraculously survived, opening it tentatively. She regretted her decision immediately.<br/><br/>"Who the fuck packed <a class="postlink" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Surstr%C3%B6mming">this</a>?!" Aestria managed to choke out, backing away from the open can that was giving off a smell she could best describe as 'dead donkey'. If that didn't wake them up, she did not know what would. What was certain, though, was that she was no longer about to fall over. That smell could probably have resurrected her great grandmother.</div></div>