Sequestered for so long at the lunar outpost, the sleepwalking, going through the motions captain couldn't watch videos of cats playing a piano and listen to conspiracy podcasts all the time so he had learned to easily hack the mainframe, circumvented security codes and launched an unsanctioned solo rescue operation. "Computer says no. Eggheads can't wait to get back to their chemistry sets. There goes the Wheaties box. It's not that I haven't enjoyed the special alone time, but remember that time I made a really bad decision in order to prevent a regret?" the space jockey wondered aloud offhandedly pulling on a carbon fiber and polyamide constructed pressurized life suit.
The undying spacewalker glided expertly through zero gravity in airlock tubes illuminated by an eerie preternatural white light to board a slick moon roadster. The shuttlecraft broke free from its platform mounts like a set of false teeth, and then hijacked the passing rocket the way the parasite lancet liver fluke takes control of an ant by manipulating its nerve cells forcing the zombie ant to climb to the top of a blade of grass, then clamp its mandibles onto the grass and wait to be eaten by a grazing host animal. The short-range auxiliary vehicle made contact at the projectile hull. Beside the appellation Xcalibur, handwritten words read: "Cheers Big Bad John," and "Let there be light!"
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