A disoriented man walked into the railroad station in Havre. He studied the route map for a moment before approaching the counter.
“This is Montana?”
“I asked to be dropped off in Michigan.”
Solar radiation had taken a toll on Jimmy Hoffa. His skin peeled freely.
When the last shuttle left, some crew remained stranded at the Venusian station. The surface quaked, signaling that a resurfacing event was underway.
“I’m not going to force these cyanide capsules on anyone,” a remaining officer said, “but don’t say I didn’t offer.”
This was his last day working at the cryogenic outfitters. His years of service dashed due to budget cuts and a decline in deep space travel.
Of course, if there was a need for a rescue mission, he may just be rehired.
He reached in and carefully pulled out a few wires.
The escape pod was found drifting just beyond the Oort Cloud.
There was one survivor.
He had taken the liberty of building a bizarre memorial for his deceased crewmates.
Of course, this was constructed from the bones of the dead.
Investigators found the cut marks.