Hope Lost

Difficulty: 10/10 (emotionally dense, technically catastrophic)

In the cold wreckage of orbit, a lone pangolin astronaut sits still—wrapped in silence and scorched metal. His helmet lies beside him. A faint blue signal flickers on a dying console. Is it a message? A farewell? Or just static from a planet that forgot him?

The stars burn like old regrets across the cracked dome of his ship. Fragmented debris arcs past like cosmic punctuation. You can feel the weight of time here. Of missions abandoned. Of purpose unraveling.

And still, he watches.

Not because there's hope.

But because that’s what you do when you're the last one left.

🛰️ Ideal for: puzzle veterans, quiet apocalypse enthusiasts, and fans of slow, poetic heartbreak in the vacuum of space.

📡 Assembly hint: begin with the helmet or the stars—you’ll need something to anchor you.

🌒 Side effect: long stares out of windows and spontaneous existential reflection.