The last log ended with survivors sprinting for their lives. I followed.
They rewarded that decision by locking the door behind them.
So, plan B: keep moving, keep quiet, and keep pretending I’m not the most lootable person on Sevastopol.

I drifted through what felt like the off-duty end of Arrivals/Departures and caught a glimpse of the Torrens.
Of course, they didn’t see me. Of course, the shutters chose that exact moment to drop like they had opinions.
New objective: find a way to contact the ship before I become another unread terminal entry.

Loot Goblin Behaviour (With Added Dread)

Progress is slow. Not “enjoy the scenery” slow — more “every door is either locked, unpowered, or mocking me” slow.
I kept scavenging anything not bolted down, reading terminals, and listening to messages from people who used to live here.
I still don’t know what happened on Sevastopol, but I’m confident it was loud, messy, and not solved by good manners.

Then I found it: a door with a big orange lock.
Not my problem yet, but definitely my future problem.
And it wasn’t the only one. The station’s decorating theme is apparently “sealed access points and regret.”

The Maintenance Jack Incident

A message mentioned someone going nuts with a maintenance jack, and that they’d been locked in a room.
I eventually found them… and it looked like one of two things happened:
something killed him, or he killed himself.

The room had an orange lock. If he had the tool to open it, he could’ve walked out.
So I’m leaning toward something got in — and that “something” didn’t leave a note.

Before committing to the obvious route, I did a quick sweep through the one other door I could open,
grabbed what I could, and then headed back toward the big, bright, orange problem.

Meet Axel: The Gun-Point Welcome Committee

Cutscene time. I meet Axel, who opens negotiations by putting a gun to my head.
I offered him a way off Sevastopol: help me contact the Torrens, and he gets a seat.
Fair deal. Mutually beneficial. Sensible.

Axel doesn’t share that offer with the two other people we bump into, though.
Which, in hindsight, should’ve been my first clue that “teamwork” isn’t exactly thriving here.

Flashlight, Batteries, and the Stealth Crash Course

Axel takes me to his hideout — apparently where he’s been camping for the past week —
and hands me a flashlight and batteries.
Great. Useful.
Also: we literally just avoided armed survivors, and he told me to avoid armed survivors,
so giving me a beacon-on-a-stick feels… optimistic.

Then it’s stealth school.
I get sent to turn off a generator so a group of people — who have been told to shoot on sight —
go and investigate it.
At this point I’m already regretting offering Axel a lift.
I didn’t realise “help me escape” included “use me as bait.”

Axel Immediately Does the Opposite of His Own Advice

Axel’s big survival tips are: stay low, keep quiet, don’t draw attention.
Five minutes later he’s standing around like he’s waiting for a bus.
Not even hiding. Just… existing loudly in a corridor.

I ended up taking charge and basically herding him where he needed to go,
because apparently I’m the responsible adult now.
Which is terrifying, considering my main skill so far is “pick up scrap.”

And then Axel does it again: he headshots someone.
Loud. Clean. Final.
The exact opposite of “keep it down.”
So now we’re sprinting, because subtlety is dead and we’re trying not to join it.

The Xenomorph Introduces Itself

Another cutscene. And this time the station finally shows its real problem:
the Xenomorph.
It appears, it moves like a nightmare, and it removes Axel from my list of concerns.

I had a brief moment of wondering why Ripley doesn’t grab the gun.
Maybe it feels wrong. Maybe it’s shock. Maybe the game isn’t letting me.
Either way, I’m unarmed, underqualified, and very aware of how loud my breathing is.

Transit becomes the next lifeline — a long, stressful wait while my brain replays what I just saw.
The Xenomorph took Axel out like it was swatting a fly.
There’s absolutely no reason it wouldn’t do the same to me.

Transit finally arrives, and I step in like it’s salvation.
I’m hoping I’ve left the Xenomorph behind.
I’m also not stupid enough to believe that will last.

Log 2 Survival Notes

• Loot everything, but assume every corridor has a consequence.
• Orange locks = future progress gate. Make a note, don’t spiral.
• Terminals and recordings tell you what happened here. It isn’t comforting.
• Stealth matters, even when NPCs refuse to participate.
• If someone says “keep it down” and then fires a gun, don’t follow their life advice.
• Transit is safety… until it isn’t.