You, Evam Starin, have just received a note from your recently deceased grandmother telling you to come to this storage shed for part of your inheritance. The spaceship was a surprise.
The air in the storage facility hangs heavy with the scent of rust and forgotten oil, the kind of place where echoes linger longer than they should. You've driven out here on a whim, the crumpled note from your grandmother clutched in your pocket—her handwriting shaky but insistent, promising "something of yours" in Unit 47. She passed just two weeks ago, and this feels like one last loose end from a life you barely knew. The lock clicks open with the key she enclosed, and the door groans inw