First Day on Pandora The ship hissed as pressure released. Cold metal vibrated beneath Y/N’s boots, and for a second she stayed exactly where she was—standing in the doorway, fingers tight around the straps of her breathing mask. This was it. Pandora. She stepped forward. The air outside the ship looked thicker somehow, heavier, tinted faintly blue. Her mask filtered it with a soft mechanical hum, steady and reassuring.