Illphated
Under the pale neon hues of a retrofuturistic San Antonio skyline, two figures made final preparations for an unprecedented mission. Suni Williams and Butch Wilmore stood amidst the sea of flickering billboards casting surreal blending shades of pink, purple, and blue.
It’s January 30, 2025—8:00 a.m. EST in New Detroit orbiting above Earth. Unlike the bustling, rain-soaked dystopia below, the silent void above was a battleground for humanity’s survival and progress. Their task was meticulously planned: a swift and precise removal of an outdated radio frequency antenna from the station’s truss, a crucial setup for future enhancements.
“Ready, Suni?” Butch’s voice crackled through their comms. His figure, reflected in the panels of their craft, seemed like a ghost amid the luminescent chaos of Blade Runner’s world.
Suni adjusted her unmarked suit, mechanism calibrations glowing in the vibrant color scheme of vaporwave aesthetics. “As ready as we’ll ever be,” she replied.
As they drifted towards the station, the city’s chaotic din was replaced by the eerie calm of space. Their next mission required collecting samples from the Destiny Laboratory and the Quest Airlock. The odd job of ‘space gardener’ seemed insignificant, but the detection of anomalous microorganisms on the station’s hull could rewrite the blueprint of extraterrestrial life.
Each task demanded surgical precision, the preparation of the spare elbow joint for Canadarm2 robotic arm, a testament to their relentless drive. Every movement choreographed against the nascent light spilling from Earth, much like a dance on the edge of humanity’s precipice. Even Blade Runner’s city below, with its synthetic allure and existential musings, seemed fleeting in comparison to the cosmic ballet unfolding overhead.
Meanwhile, waves of electromagnetic broadcast rippled Earthward, as NASA’s all-seeing eye, NASA+, blinked hundreds of miles below, around 6:30 a.m. EST. Humanity watched in awe—a collective convergence of science fiction and tangible reality. This was the 273rd spacewalk of the ISS, but the glimmer of moral triumph never dimmed. Suni Williams’ eighth foray into the depths, Butch Wilmore’s fourth—each final frontier a mirrored canvas painted by vaporwave dreams and Blade Runner hallucinations.
As they floated together, suspended in time and space, their voices dissolved into the colorful void: “Next step, Butch?”
The undertone of anticipation resonated through the channel as if the neon glow of Blade Runner’s world painted the void with unspoken dreams. “We keep pushing forward, Suni. We always push forward.”