Fighting through the gripping,
disorienting panic. . . The corridor around him proved an abyss of
thick darkness with only the narrow beam of his tactical flashlight piercing
the otherwise impenetrable chilling unknown. 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 and death. His rifle feels like a fragile lifeline,
shaking in his trembling arms. 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. 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 THE HECK 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, demonic 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 me? 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 ice cold as a face emerges from the darkness, a grotesque specter that would undoubtedly send him into another frenzy amid violent, excruciating heart palpitations. He had to stay focused and alert. . .what time is it? He had lost track in a strange sense of unpleasant, focus.
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! The rifle felt like it had the weight of a shuttle, yet, despite his arm's trembling, he somehow managed to keep it up and and in front of him.
“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? Where are you?!”
“Yeah, I just had a brush with that thing—whatever it is!” a deep, terrified gasp.
“What can you tell me?”
“It's
big! It took a swipe for my jugular. I barley dodged the attack, and I
think I landed a rifle shot near it's shoulder - if that was 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 - if that's what they call a face. Goodness! 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,” an absurd giggling and laughter ensued.
Aaen felt a deep need to help keep one of his crew focused and alert, “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. No idea how it's getting around so easily. 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— An obscenely loud BANG, seemingly instantly followed by a wild flurry of particle weapon fire.
“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; he continued along the echo's path.
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 - BETA”; the label partially forcibly scratched off, and the doors were hanging eerily crooked as though by some awesome physical force - or so he assumed.
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—!
