Welcome Rescue... or Not

Being adrift in space in a rescue pod is freaking scary. First, you just lost your HOME in space in some disaster, all your stuff, everything that kept you alive. Second, you were floating out there after you ran out of fuel sending a distress signal out loud and hopefully clear to any species who might be close. If you were rescue before you died in that pod, you'd better hope it was your species, or at least an ally of your species.

Just as the oxygen ran low and the hunger pains had ceased and I had resigned myself to death, my pod docked with another ship. I could not see the ship and was too delirious to really care whether I was rescued by a friend or an enemy. At least if I died in enemy hands, it would be swift. Wait, what if they healed me to torture me?

The airlock door swung open and a humanoid stood with one leg on the ledge and fists on hips, flexing his chest in a superhero pose.

"Ugh, not you," was all I could manage before I passed out.