The breaker wall is a metal hymn of black switches and little windows that should be green. Most are dark. A sticker, half peeled, says ONE BUS AT A TIME — INRUSH, in someone’s tired handwriting.

You actually read it. The little windows stay dark while you do. The spin has not gone anywhere.

Captain Mira Chen’s voice punches through the handheld, not the ceiling. “Cadet. Panel is not a piano. One bus. Then the next. I want a checklist, not a firework.”

Jax Rivera, the intern, appears upside down in the hatch with a laptop hugged to their chest. A tiny killer-whale sticker grins from one corner. “Checklist is still on the panel if we have a panel,” Jax says. “Or we can sweep a row and see if luck is a system.”

The sticker on the wall is still there. LIFE SUPPORT. CDH. ATTITUDE. It looks bossy. It also looks like it has survived people like you.