You fire to chase the cartoon.

The jets are loyal to your hands, not to the universe. The smear in the real window speeds up. A new rate alarm joins the choir. The overlay, still confident, paints Earth on a patch of actual black sky. A proton sparkle becomes a “star” the software tries to love.

“Cut them,” Mira says.

You can. You can also keep chasing, because the picture is right there, and your inner ear is already lying in the same language. Fuel is becoming a story about the past. Jax’s laptop loses the Velcro and becomes a slow missile until a tether snags it. The killer whale rotates like a planet that did not ask.

Newton is not mad. Newton is busy. Every puff writes a new corkscrew on top of the old one. The IMU will remember this, if you let it live long enough to be asked.