Low Orbit Deathcrawl

A world accumulates debris as it ages. The rust of time, quick-blooming civilizations fading away in shutterspeed, tectonic plates groaning imperceptibly towards each other. And above it, captured meteoroids, space trash left from satellites, ships, the detritus of industry, and something else. Floating, dark and hidden behind gamma shields now long since spent, a metal hulk the size of a village. Watching, memory reels clicking as it records the activities of the life below, following orders issued millennia ago by long-dead crew members alien to this star. An ancient mutiny has left no custodians to remedy its course.

Something has tipped the equilibrium of the ancient vessel, a chunk of star-trash hurtling towards it like a bullet. In 6 hours, the ship will irreversibly tilt, shedding altitude and in coronas of atmospheric flame.

When it crashes, the blast zone is equivalent to a medium-yield nuclear device, and a micro-black hole is born at its heart.

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A level-0 funnel for Bastards. set on a crashing alien starship.