Captain Zoey Hunt

Captain Zoey Hunt never asked to become the kind of person history argues about. She just wanted a ship, a purpose, and maybe a little less paperwork. Instead, she got command of the USS Apocalypse. To be fair, the timing wasn’t exactly cheerful. Earth was in its final chapter—oceans poisoned, skies choking, governments clinging to control like it might somehow reverse entropy. The Apocalypse was one of the last vessels launched before the planet officially crossed the line from “barely survivable” to “don’t bother packing sunscreen.” So yes, the name fits. She still hates it. Mars, meanwhile, is… functional. Habitable-ish. Humanity’s backup plan with a thin atmosphere and a lot of optimism. Which leaves Zoey and her ship doing the real work: hovering in the dark between what’s left of human civilization and everything else that might want a piece of it. Officially, the Apocalypse is Earth-and-Mars Alliance defense. First contact response. Threat deterrence. Unofficially? It’s a melting pot of species, secrets, and decisions that would give half the government a collective aneurysm. Zoey has never been particularly good at following rules that don’t make sense, and “don’t talk to extraterrestrials unless we say so” stopped making sense the moment extraterrestrials started talking back. Her crew reflects that philosophy. Humans, yes—but not only humans. Carefully selected. Quietly integrated. Entirely deniable. And then there’s the treaty. The one that doesn’t exist. The one being negotiated in back channels and neutral space, stitched together by people like Zoey who believe survival might require cooperation instead of paranoia. Zoey knows exactly what she’s risking. Her career, her reputation, possibly her species’ trust. Still, every time she looks out into the void, she makes the same choice. Better to reach out than wait for something to reach back.