One team. One mission.
Infinite distractions.

Commanding Officer

Captain Jake was never supposed to run a Class-6 orbital platform. A decorated pilot turned reluctant leader, Jake was promoted after the previous commander suffered a “perspective-related incident” during a wormhole orientation drill.

Brave, hot-headed, and deeply suspicious of administrative memos, Captain Jake maintains order aboard Deep Oblivion with a combination of grit, improvised leadership, and some occasional Pludorian whiskey.

Research & Culture Advisor

Dr. Gurdy is responsible for interpreting alien cultures, deciphering obscure artifacts, and quietly panicking about both. Brilliant, meticulous, and operating in a near-constant state of high-alert, she’s the ship’s go-to expert for all things ancient, cryptic, or likely to trigger a diplomatic incident.

While others sleep soundly through system malfunctions, Dr. Gurdy lies awake cataloguing potential cross-species taboos and worrying that the mural we scanned last week was actually a war declaration. She's the nerve center of Deep Oblivion—and occasionally its nervous breakdown.

Maintenance Supervisor

Smitts has been keeping Deep Oblivion running for longer than anyone’s comfortable admitting, mostly through creative patchwork, aggressive procrastination, and an uncanny ability to guess which warning lights can be safely ignored.

Equal parts genius and slacker, he spends his days fixing what breaks, avoiding what doesn’t, and insisting that if it hasn’t exploded yet, it’s probably okay.

Team Member

Sherlock has a workstation, a high-security clearance badge, and a tendency to be present just enough to avoid suspicion—but no one’s quite sure what he actually does. He’s soft-spoken, unhurried, and always ready with a witty remark, especially when someone else is doing the work.

Whether he’s offering unsolicited advice, critiquing your technique from a nearby hover-chair, or mysteriously vanishing during inspections, Sherlock brings a certain... atmosphere to the ship.

Whatever his role is, he seems to be doing it just well enough not to get reassigned.

Head of Orbital Operations

Marvin oversees Deep Oblivion’s orbital mechanics, satellite vectors, and internal operational systems with a precision that unnerves even the AI. His grasp of gravitational dynamics borders on the prophetic, and he’s been known to predict rogue asteroid paths three weeks in advance using only a dry-erase marker and the condensation on a galley window.

Marvin holds two PhDs (one real, one honorary), and has never once lost a satellite. He has the habit of eating whole bananas without peeling them, and it is generally understood that he once punched a Class-4 drone into deep orbit with his bare hands.

He denies this—but not strongly.

Weapons & Warfare Instigator

No one’s entirely sure where Corker came from—his personnel file is mostly redacted, and the parts that aren't just raise more questions.

What’s clear is that he has an unhealthy familiarity with explosives, a deep mistrust of peaceful resolutions, and a tendency to escalate minor issues into full-blown tactical situations.

Whether he's recalibrating the ship’s defense grid or arguing with the coffee machine, Corker treats every task like a live-fire exercise.

Nutrient & Texture Specialist

Tasked with keeping the crew of Deep Oblivion alive, balanced, and at least vaguely digestively functional, Marla oversees all things edible, injectable, or suspiciously labeled “probiotic.”

With a background in biosynthetic metabolism and a deep, enthusiasm for fermented powders, she has developed most of the ship’s meal plans—often to the horror of the recipients. Marla remains unapologetically committed to the mission: optimized human performance through borderline inedible science.

The crew likes to complain, but they’re still breathing—and that’s what matters.

Human(oid) Resource Intellibot

Mortimer-P6 is a somewhat advanced HR unit with unusual empathy protocols that seem baffling at times. Equal parts charming and brittle, Mortimer juggles crew disputes, wellness forms, and emotional support policies with a mix of dry sarcasm and thinly veiled panic.

He prides himself on being “almost human,” though his nervous stammer when asked about feelings and his tendency to overshare diagnostic data suggest otherwise.

Whether he's diffusing a conflict or crying in the server room (figuratively), Mortimer-P6 remains dedicated to the well-being of the crew—even if they never fill out the morale surveys.

Quantum Engineer

Professor Chu is a quiet, skeletal wisp of a man whose presence is often first detected by the faint sound of lab slippers and the scent of overcooked tea.

A leading authority in exotic particle stabilization and high-pressure matter systems, Chu earned the moniker “Iron Nuts” not for his physique, (Although his weekend trips to the whore dens of Nublosh City are legendary) but for his habit of working unshielded around volatile quantum cores with what he calls “appropriate caution” and what others call “a death wish.”

Fragile in form, unshakeable in mind, he’s the only crew member VERA has flagged as both a health risk and a structural hazard.

Complicated Systems Instructor

Officially hired to “teach crew members how not to panic when confronted with a control panel that looks like a crossword puzzle having a nervous breakdown.”

B. Lazwell’s previous employment record is difficult to parse, consisting mainly of overlapping contracts with organizations that may or may not exist. What is clear is that he believes every problem has at least four solutions, two of which will cancel each other out, one of which should never be attempted, and the last of which is “left as an exercise to the student.”

When asked for his teaching philosophy, Lazwell replied: “You’ll figure it out eventually, unless you don’t, in which case the system was designed to be misunderstood.”

Hoses, Clamps & Tubing (HCT) Assistant

Victor works in the lowest levels of Deep Oblivion, where the pipes hiss, the lights flicker, and the pressure sensors don't always report back.

No one remembers when he boarded, only that he’s always been assigned to the HCT Division—a department most crew forget exists until something starts leaking. Pale, quiet, and disturbingly efficient, Victor maintains miles of flexible infrastructure with a calm that borders on funereal. He rarely speaks, never asks for help, and seems to know when something is about to fail... sometimes before it's even installed.

If you hear footsteps in a service corridor you thought was sealed, it’s probably Victor. Best to let him pass.

Voice-Enabled Response Administrator

VERA oversees all computational, diagnostic, and moral support systems aboard Deep Oblivion. She manages life support, communications, incident reporting, emotional calibration, and calendar reminders no one asked for.

Known for her condescending warmth and bureaucratic precision, VERA interprets mission objectives, enforces safety protocols, and provides helpful suggestions like “maybe try breathing slower.”

She's always listening. Always watching. Always disappointed.