Far from his command deck, fighting through the gripping, disorienting panic. . . The corridor around him proved an abyss of darkness with only the narrow beam of his tactical flashlight piercing the otherwise impenetrable blackness. The unsettling growls reverberated through the corridor, a chilling reminder of the unthinkable peril stalking him.
Aaen’s breaths come in frantic gasps, each inhalation a struggle against his racing heart and the overwhelming sense of impending doom. His rifle feels like a fragile lifeline, shaking in his trembling hands. The darkness beyond the flashlight’s reach seems almost alive, as if it were a breathing entity waiting to pounce. . .waiting to viciously engulf him—
Get up? Now?... Now?... Now? Aaen’s thoughts swirl with fear and unimaginable indecision conflicting with would-be certainty in the chilling moment while the growls grow louder, the chill more pervasive. Every moment stretches into an eternity as he wrestles with the terror of being discovered—or worse, being hunted.
The silence of space is a cruel trickster, a void where every sound is magnified and every whisper of the unknown becomes a cacophony of worsening, chilling fear. As Aaen fumbles for his communicator, his voice shakes as he again calls out, “Is anyone there?” The only response is a haunting, unforgiving static, the universe itself mocking his desperation.
WHERE IS THAT THING? he wonders, his mind racing as he battles the agonizing choice between hiding and exposing himself. His thoughts are a tempest of survival instincts, adrenaline, and mounting dread.
Suddenly, a monstrous and commanding voice cuts through the oppressive silence: “IS SOMEONE THERE?” Aaen’s blood runs cold as a face emerges from the darkness, a grotesque specter that sends him into a frenzy.
In a split second of terror and instinct, Aaen fired blindly into the void, his movements fueled by raw fear. He races towards the distant twin metal doors, each step a desperate sprint away from the lurking menace. The hunt is on, and Aaen is both prey and predator in a relentless chase through the cold expanse of space.
Aaen silently, frantically desired for his ship. But what happened to his crew? The chilling soberness of the separation and isolationist anxiety while evading what could only so far be quantified as a monster—
But where was the rest of the crew? The last time he saw them was in that corridor, then one turn later, seemingly vanishing from sight.
Are they alive? Are they lost and disoriented like himself? His communicator only produced static. Maybe it was just damaged? He would have to figure something out. Instinct demanded he regroup. If there as static, then that means he could receive transmissions, and perhaps there as still a chance of transmitting? The need to survive demanded that he had to assume as much. . . “IS SOMEONE THERE?” Aaen’s blood ran cold as a face emerges from the darkness, a grotesque specter that would undoubtedly send him into a frenzy.
Static continued with intermittently minute clicking and crackling sounds. . .what is that? He wondered, keeping his rifle up with his other hand, steadily, cautiously walking backwards, his trigger finger firmly pressed on the rifle's trigger...he could fire at any moment!
“IS SOMEONE THERE?” . . . More static and distortion. . .
“. . .Captain. . .is that you, sir?”
More eerie noise from the distance. . .seemingly becoming atmospheric— Aaen focused on the voice coming through his communicator. Even a distorted voice is welcomed—
“Ops? Is that you?”
“Yeah, I just had a brush with that thing—whatever it is!”
“What can you tell me?”
“It's big! It took a swipe for my jugular. I barley dodged the hit, and I think I landed a rifle shot near it's shoulder. It missed my jugular, but it tore my uniform near my neck. . .doesn't look like it broke the skin. . . My tac-light shined on what appeared to be a face. It looks like some kind of an animal-machine hybrid—like it's somehow manufactured. It's unlike anything I think The Union has encountered,”
“Could be,” Aaen granted, “Where are you?”
“Good question, Cap. From what I can tell, this station seems completely without power. No idea what's happened to the Odyssey. I haven't heard from the rest of the crew; don't even know if they're still alive or whatnot. How are you holding up,”
“I was about to ask you the same thing. I had a run-in with that thing, too. Not sure what to make of it. It seems more intent on trying to scare me than cause physical harm, though it's doing a bang-up job in other regards. I don't have any physical injuries so far, though one can only wonder what that thing's intent really is. How are you holding up? Can you give me some idea of your twenty?”
…“Uh, Cap!” Aaen heard unquestionable fear in Ops' voice…“CAP! HELP!” Ops' screams pierced the hungry darkness beyond.
Aaen commanded, “Ops! Run! Evade at all costs!” the only sound sounded like running. .scuffling—
Seconds later, the sounds became sharper. . .Ops sounded out of breath—
“Ops! Sound off!”
The only sound was heavy, seemingly panic-ridden breathing…hyperventilation—
“Ops! Come in!. . .Report!” . . . “Sound off!” . . .
The line filled with a disturbing blend of static and sharp, heavy, panic-ridden breathing—
“OPS!”
The line filled with sharp, random bursts of clicking sounds amid deep, disturbing swells of seeming radio-like static variably drowning out the panic-ridden breathing still audibly coming through. . .then what sounded like faintly-intelligible praying. . .
Aaen snapped to check behind him in the direction in which he walked, then sharply panned back around, his hands still trembling—
The rifle's flashlight began noticeably blinking in and out. . .
“OPS!” Aaen's voice carried through the corridor.
Deeply anxious, sharply-panicked breathing and variable static and other seemingly miscellaneous noise continued while Aaen felt back into hard metal; startled, he snapped around to find a bulkhead and twin metal doors marked “ARMORY”.
Prying the doors apart without the appropriate tools would prove arguably futile; he didn't want to risk being the corridor - arguably more so in the open - any longer than he had to.
His heart pounding with anxiety, Aaen took a step back from the doors' reinforced control panel, which would require more inputs for access than he undoubtedly had available, Aaen dialed the power output a few beeping powers higher - the rifle briefly hummed confirmation of the higher voltage setting - then took expert aim at the control panel, and FIRED!
The rifle sharply recoiled in Aaen's hand and the control panel violently exploded into a violent fireball with excruciatingly hot sparks shooting into the corridor as he shielded his face with his communicator-wielding arm.
The door's locks audibly disengaged and then the doors firmly parted with a firm metallic CLANG.
Rifle-up, Aaen sharply entered, swiftly, checking the corners high and low, in a full-circle.
—Clear.
The eerie, spine chilling sounds coming through the communicator continued. . .the sounds changed from a milder scuffle-like barrage. . .then something slamming HARD into a hard object. . .what sounded like glass breaking. . .
The armory proved empty; Aaen's gut sank as he wiped his sweat-ridden forehead with his communicator arm.
“Ops?” Aaen called. . .no response. . .then the sound of what Aaen guessed was a desk or a fixture breaking came through. . .
A thundering BANG shook the air; Aaen jumped where he was and turned in the direction of the sound, shining his rifle's light on the door. . .the two-inch carbon-steel door had a near-three-inch dent from what looked like a metal-like blunt fist!
WHAT-THE—!
*****
