Babylon 59 Extra Quality -

To this day, no one has returned to Babylon 59. The navigation beacons blink in the dark. The counting continues. And somewhere, in a silent module where sound doesn’t travel, a half-eaten meal sits on a tray, waiting for an owner who will never come home.

"Next transport is in three weeks," the voice said. A young woman slid onto the stool next to me. She had the pallor of someone who had grown up under artificial light—gray skin, translucent veins. She wore a patched flight suit with the insignia of the Orbital Docks ripped off. "Unless you have credits. Then it’s sooner. Or you can buy a ticket to the lower levels. They say you don't feel the cold down there."

Upon sighting, the security team immediately retreated to a safe distance and secured the area. Lieutenant Vasquez contacted Command Center personnel to report the incident and request backup.

She stood up, adjusting her greasy jacket. "Because I’m trying to leave, too. And I need someone to tell the core worlds that we’re still here. That Babylon 59 isn't just a graveyard."

I didn't turn around. In Babylon 59, looking someone in the eye was an invitation to a shanking. "I’m just passing through. Waiting for the next transport out."

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