They threw the bodies down the garbage chute like broken offerings to a ravenous void.

  The fairy’s corpse was the first to go, but the thing refused to die quietly. Even in death, it twitched and pulsed, its flesh bubbling grotesquely, as if still alive. Its body kept growing, the tissues swelling and stretching, evolving into something even more alien.

  Murat and Satoshi returned with fmethrowers, dousing the abomination in searing fire. The stink of burning meat filled the room, mingling with the acrid tang of melted cartige and bckened bone. For a moment, it seemed like the fmes had done their job. But then, they saw it: yellowish clumps sprouting from the charred remains, like malignant tumors.

  –. Fuck this. – Satoshi hissed.

  They stuffed the corpse into a bag, packed it with quicklime, and shoved it down the chute. The acid hissed and sizzled as it ate away at the remains. Murat muttered a prayer under his breath, though even he didn’t seem to believe it would work.

  The fallen crew members were next.

  The first body they retrieved was Biagio’s. If his screams had been the soundtrack of nightmares, his body was the masterpiece of horror.

  His back was split wide open, his flesh fyed so deeply that Yakiv could see the glistening curve of his spine. The creature had torn off his right arm, smashed his jaw into a shapeless mess, and gutted him like a butcher dissecting an animal. His intestines were spilled across the floor, tangled and shredded, as though the monster had stirred them like soup.

  Limona’s body was worse. Her head had been crushed like a watermelon, the shards of her skull jutting out at jagged angles. Pieces of brain oozed from the cracks, and her eyes hung loose from their sockets in grotesque defiance of gravity. Her chest was caved in, her ribcage ripped open, exposing the gory remains of her lungs and heart. The beast had feasted on her, tearing through her belly and chewing her organs like a wild animal gnawing on its kill.

  Lexner, at least, had died quickly.

  The survivors gathered the remains, piecemeal and ragged, wrapping the bodies in whatever they could find. There were no words of farewell. No prayers. Just the grim silence of exhausted grief. One by one, the bodies were sent down the garbage chute, disappearing into the darkness.

  In theory, the closed ecosystem of the ship would break the bodies down into their essential molecules. The replicators would turn their flesh into nutrients for the hydroponics, their clothes into raw material for tools and spare parts. A perfect, merciless cycle.

  But theory was a luxury they no longer had.

  The garbage module had long since surpassed its capacity. The stench of rot and decay had been seeping into the air for days. Somewhere down there, Max knew, the Firefly Forest was taking root. Among the piles of waste and corpses, the alien infestation was spreading, growing like a cancer.

  Max shuddered, the thought slithering into his mind like a parasite.

  –. Would being assimited count as reincarnation? – he wondered. The question left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  ***

  The crew gathered around the coffee table, their arsenal and remaining supplies id out before them. The dim light flickered overhead, casting long shadows on their faces. No one spoke for a moment. The silence was heavy, oppressive, the kind that pressed on their skulls like a vice.

  Max broke it, his voice quiet but resolute.

  –. We’ll go to the bridge. There’s no other way. –

  The group exchanged uneasy gnces.

  –. Staying here isn’t safe anymore. – Max continued, his eyes distant, as though repying the horrors they had just survived. He thought of the fairy’s corpse, now somewhere in the garbage module—how it had swelled into a grotesque flesh-tree, its twisted roots spreading.

  –. All right, but what do we do when we get there?– Yakiv asked, his voice sharp with frustration. –. Sit and wait to be eaten, just like here? –

  Max shook his head emphatically, his hands cutting through the air.

  –. No. We assess the damage. We see which systems still work and which don’t and figure out what can be repaired. –

  Gavin snorted, his voice tinged with bitter sarcasm.

  –. Impossible. We’re a fraction of the crew this ship needs to function. It’s a logistical nightmare. We don’t have the resources. Or the tools. –

  –. Not to mention those things out there, prowling the ship. – Delih added, crossing her arms tightly. Her voice was thick with anger, but it couldn’t quite mask the fear beneath. –. We’re no better off than before. –

  –. An AI would have to help us – Oscar Novak said suddenly.

  Max nodded.

  –. That’s why we’ll reboot EREBUS. – The name sent a ripple through the group. –. We’ll find out why it shut down, and we’ll give it instructions to help us. – Max continued, his voice gaining strength.

  –. What kind of help?— Satoshi asked skeptically. —Weapons? Fortifications? Come on, it’s still a cage.—

  –. Containment and extermination,— Max said, his tone sharp and decisive –. We’ll instruct it to recognize the invaders as hostile alien organisms. EREBUS will isote us on the bridge while it eliminates the creatures. Poison. Fire. Whatever it takes. It’s an AI. It’ll find their weakness.—

  Murat leaned back, a faint, nervous smile on his face.

  –. And if we succeed, we repair the ship and take her home.— He nodded, his expression softening –. Sounds good, Max. Just so you know, I never doubted your appointment as acting captain.—

  Max gave a small, grateful smile.

  –. Thank you, Murat.—

  –. Someone has to wake up EREBUS, though,— Gavin said, stepping forward. –. I’ll do it. I worked with it more than anyone else. If something’s wrong, I’ll fix it.—

  –.I’ll help,— Oscar added. –. I’m no engineer, but as an AI psychologist, I might catch something in its reasoning. If there’s a fw, I’ll find it.—

  Delih’s voice cut through the room.

  –. And what about fuel? If we’re setting fire to the atmosphere, we need hydrocarbons. How do we manage that?—

  Naomi finally spoke, her voice low and steady.

  –. The chemical depot in Hydroponics has everything we need—fertilizers, acids, methane, ethanol. If we want EREBUS to burn these things to hell, we’ll get it from there.—

  Delih nodded slowly, her brow furrowed

  –. Sounds workable.—

  The room fell silent again, the weight of the pn settling over them like a funeral shroud.

  Harding cpped his hands loudly, breaking the tension.

  –. Sounds like a pn. So, what the hell are we waiting for? Let’s move!—

  ***

  Each of them took the closest thing to a weapon from their pitiful arsenal. It was a desperate collection of tools rather than instruments of war—things meant to cut, burn, or bludgeon, now entrusted with their survival. Max gripped the Psma Saw tightly, his knuckles almost white. The tool hummed faintly in his hands, its vibration steady, almost comforting—like a lucky charm in a world that had lost all sense of fortune.

  They moved cautiously toward the bridge, their footsteps muffled by the grotesque transformation taking hold of the ship. Every shadow was a threat; every sound, an omen. Confrontation was suicide. Their only hope was to avoid it.

  During the hours Max had been unconscious, the fireflies had taken the ship.

  They weren’t just infesting it—they were terraforming it, reshaping it into something alien, something hostile. It reminded Max of how humanity had once bent entire worlds to its will, transforming barren ndscapes and toxic atmospheres into livable oases. But the fireflies’ work was the inverse of that dream.

  The changes they left behind were grotesque, deliberate, and cruel, as though the infestation itself had intent.

  The survivors could only stare in silent horror at the ship’s new anatomy. What had once been sterile corridors of reinforced steel and composites was now a cancerous byrinth of pulsating tissue. Yellow clumps of alien growth clung to the walls, pulsating like diseased organs. These weren’t random tumors—they were structures.

  Max’s stomach churned as they passed what used to be the recreation complex. Something new had taken its pce: toothed stomachs, wet and glistening, protruded from the walls, their jagged maws lined with rows of glistening teeth. They opened and closed slowly, as though chewing the air, and a low, wet gurgling sound accompanied their movements.

  In the garden, every bush and pnt had been repced by fleshy sacs, infting and defting like lungs. They wheezed as they pumped noxious gases into the air, their surfaces veined with sickly yellow and bck patterns. The stench was unbearable—a mix of sulfur, decay, and something distinctly inhuman.

  It was like walking through the rotting belly of a leviathan. Every step felt wrong, as though the ground itself was alive, squelching beneath their boots with the consistency of raw meat.

  They entered what used to be the Generative Gallery. Now, it was a monument to despair.

  The body of a woman y sprawled across the floor, half-buried in the alien growth. Her legs and chest were still recognizable as human, but the rest of her had been consumed. Strange, stalk-like protrusions sprouted from her torso, twisting upward and disappearing into the pulsating mass above her.

  Max froze. He tried to recognize the body—crew member, passenger, colonist—but there was nothing left to identify. Her face was gone, repced by a smooth, fleshy surface.

  He was about to look away when he saw movement.

  Her chest infted.

  The rhythm was slow, agonizing—an imitation of breathing. The movement spread outward, traveling through the stalks that sprouted from her, rippling through the mass like a stone dropped into a still ke. The osciltion reached their feet, making the ground tremble faintly.

  –. What is that?— Ayna whispered, her voice trembling.

  The sound of breathing filled the air—slow, bored, and inhuman. It seemed to come from the walls themselves, vibrating through the ship’s structure like a living thing.

  –. It sounds like breathing,— Max muttered, his voice hollow.

  Then came another sound: a distant, rhythmic thumping. It was faint at first, like a muffled hammer striking metal, but the longer they listened, the clearer it became. It wasn’t hammering. It was a heartbeat.

  Satoshi stepped forward, his boot crushing something beneath it with a sickening crunch. The sound was wet, organic—like tendons snapping under pressure.

  The ship responded.

  The walls trembled. The pulsating growths quivered violently. A deep, mournful roar reverberated through the corridors, like the cry of a wounded animal—a sound so vast and ancient it seemed to shake the very air.

  –. This isn’t just an infection, is it?— Yakiv asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He turned to Max, who stood frozen, his face pale. Max gripped the Psma Saw like a lifeline, his eyes darting around the room, expecting something to emerge from the shadows.

  –. Of course not,— Delih said, her voice trembling. There was a strange mix of fascination and terror in her tone. —It’s a life form. Something truly alien. For the first time in six hundred years, we’ve encountered something we don’t understand.—

  –. And we weren’t ready,— Murat added, his voice bitter as he carefully stepped over the roots spreading across the floor. —If these things did this to a colony and a Starscraper, imagine what they could do to Mars. Earth. The entire sor system.—

  Max’s breath hitched at the thought. The cradle of humanity, reduced to this… pgue.

  He imagined the great cities of Earth—Shanghai, Paris, Moscow, Tokyo, New York—consumed by the Firefly Forest. Tangles of yellow flesh covering skyscrapers like a cancerous mantle, roots burrowing through concrete and steel. Families fused into grotesque sculptures, their faces distorted beyond recognition.

  He imagined his sister. Lay. Her body twisted and mutated, her voice lost in the chorus of alien screams. The thought was enough to knot his stomach and tighten his throat.

  –. We can’t let them spread,— Max murmured to himself. –.We can’t let them reach home.—

  They reached the transport node beneath the Athletics Bay. The maintenance ducts led them to the central elevator, where the internal monorail connected to the bridge.

  But when they arrived, they found the aftermath of a massacre.

  The stench hit them first—charred flesh, blood, and death. The sharp tang of psma cartridges mingled with the sickly-sweet odor of decayed tissue. The floor was slick with blood, the walls painted with smears of brown exudate and gore.

  Corpses littered the area, both human and inhuman. The remains of the crew were scattered like broken toys, their bodies torn apart, limbs twisted into unnatural angles. The alien aberrations were no better—hulking, misshapen things with too many limbs and too few faces, their flesh riddled with bullet holes and psma burns.

  On one wall, amidst the carnage, a cryptic message was scrawled in yellow spray paint:

  —. Shoot the light. —

  Max stared at the words, his brow furrowing. His nose wrinkled as the smell grew stronger, and a chill ran down his spine.

  Something was wrong.

  —. They’re not taking root. — Max muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

  The words hung in the air like a fragile thread, as if speaking too loudly might unravel the thin veneer of hope they carried.

  —. No. — Harding agreed, his tone grim. —. Not at all. Someone’s been... taking care of them. Efficiently. —

  Naomi’s eyes darted to the carnage surrounding them, her shotgun clutched tightly to her chest.

  —. What could’ve done this? — she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of curiosity and dread.

  Yakiv stepped forward cautiously, his boots crunching against the brittle remnants of charred flesh and broken bones.

  —. I wish I knew. — he murmured. His words felt more like a confession than a statement. —. Would’ve saved us a hell of a lot of trouble. Back at the colony. Even here. —

  He stopped in front of one of the bodies, its twisted form sprawled across the ptform like a broken marionette. It was unmistakable: a Fairy. Its egg-shaped head, vaguely humanoid torso, and grotesque butterfly-like wings were unmistakable, though now its flesh was dull and shriveled, as if drained of the monstrous vitality that had once animated it.

  Yakiv crouched, his breath catching in his throat as he studied it. For once, there were no yellowish clumps sprouting from its corpse, no signs of regeneration, no twitch of lingering life. It was truly, unmistakably dead.

  —. Someone put it out of its misery. — Yakiv muttered to no one in particur.

  He reached out with his boot and kicked the body. The sound was hollow, like a sack of wet cy hitting the ground. Nothing happened. No spasm, no reaction. Just... nothing.

  —. It’s dead. — Yakiv confirmed, though his voice cked conviction.

  The group’s collective exhale was cut short by a metallic screech that tore through the air, sharp and sudden as a guillotine.

  Fear ripped through them like a live wire. Weapons were raised in unison, their trembling hands betraying their readiness to fight—or die. Max’s Psma Saw roared to life, its blinding electrical glow illuminating the ptform in violent fshes of blue.

  Something glimmered in the center of the room.

  For a moment, it looked like a specter—an ethereal figure flickering in and out of existence. But as the light steadied, they realized it was a hologram.

  The projection sharpened, revealing a tall, lean man with broad shoulders and a sturdy build. His bulky red spacesuit only seemed to emphasize his presence, making him look more like a battle-worn samurai than an engineer. His snted eyes, framed by dark circles, stared out at them with a mix of exhaustion and grim determination. His trimmed beard and disheveled bck hair gave him the air of a man too focused on survival to care about appearances.

  —. This is Daimonji, from Engineering. — the figure said, his voice distorted by static but still commanding. He held a psma pistol in one hand, twirling it absently as he spoke. A crooked smile tugged at his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

  —. I’ve found the weak spot of these little shits. — Daimonji said, motioning to the carnage around him. The ptform was littered with Fairy corpses, their mutited bodies spyed out in grotesque poses. He nodded toward them with grim satisfaction.

  —. When they mutate, when they twist, when you give them hell, their guts light up. Looks like they’ve got fireflies inside. You aim there. That’ll kill them for good. No regeneration. No roots. No resurrection. That’s a promise. —

  Max’s eyes widened. The cryptic graffiti they'd seen earlier “Shoot the light”, suddenly made sense.

  Daimonji continued, raising his left hand to reveal a gauntlet with copper ptes glinting faintly in the projection.

  —. I found a trick to make it easier. Use the Reverse Field. Paralyze them. Blow off a limb, and when their guts start glowing, you shoot there. Works like a charm.—

  He paused, his expression hardening.

  —. This trick works on the smaller ones. Goblins. Fairies. Whisperers. Gorgons. Haven’t tried it on the bigger ones yet, and I sure as hell don’t want to. Might need bigger weapons for that. —

  Daimonji gestured behind him, where the blurred outlines of machinery loomed in the hologram’s background. —I dumped a bunch of scrap into the Warchive on the bridge—a few micro-reactors, cells, antimatter containers. Ordered up psma pistols, heat cannons. Don’t know how many it printed, but if you find them, make good use of them.—

  The group exchanged gnces, a flicker of hope breaking through the oppressive dread that hung over them.

  Daimonji’s attitude shifted. He turned away from the drone recording him, pacing with nervous energy. The hologram flickered as he moved, the distortion giving his figure an otherworldly quality.

  —. If there are more survivors... if anyone finds this log, listen carefully. You’re not alone. — His voice softened, tinged with weary resolve. —. We’re trying to fight back. Me, Sawatari, and the guys from the bridge—we’re heading to the Manufacturing Deck. —

  He paused, gncing over his shoulder as if expecting something to appear behind him.

  —. Whoever sabotaged EREBUS tried to do something with the Replicators. They haven’t succeeded yet, but... whatever they’re trying to do, it’s not good. We’ll try to stop them. —

  A sudden, piercing howl cut through the recording. The group froze, their weapons trembling in their hands.

  In the hologram, a Fairy lunged into view, its grotesque form twisting as it charged at Daimonji.

  —. Fuck! — Daimonji shouted, raising his psma pistol. The fight was chaotic, the Fairy’s movements erratic and animalistic. Daimonji fired, the psma discharge tearing into the creature’s shoulder. Its guts ignited, glowing like molten embers. —Shoot the light!— Daimonji yelled, kicking the creature back. He fired again, this time straight into its stomach. The Fairy let out a high-pitched screech as its body convulsed violently, then colpsed to the ground.

  The hologram flickered and died, leaving only the echo of Daimonji’s struggle fading into the corridors.

  ***

  Max entered his acting captain codes into the terminal at the bridge level. The keypad beeped faintly, a sound so sterile it felt alien in the oppressive silence. With a hiss, the doors slid open.

  The bridge greeted them like the hollowed-out skull of a once-great beast, its stillness unnerving. Max’s boots clicked softly against the metal floor as he stepped inside, the sound reverberating faintly, swallowed by the oppressive void.

  The nerve center of the Chronos, once alive with chatter, commands, and the hum of machinery, now y cold and abandoned—a tomb for ghosts. The terminals flickered with ominous error messages, their red and yellow warnings casting distorted reflections across the lifeless consoles.

  From the rge windows, the emptiness of space stretched infinitely, broken only by the curve of the ship’s rotating habitat. Metal bst shutters had fallen in some sections, sealing off decompressed areas and leaving jagged, broken shadows across the room. The bridge was both fortress and graveyard, and the stillness carried the weight of countless unseen horrors.

  —. Looks like this was a refuge, too,— Murat said, pointing toward the mapping station.

  They turned to see two mattresses sprawled haphazardly on the floor around the station. A hologram projected above it—a sickly, flickering image of Lohengrin and its two moons. The hologram’s citrine glow bathed the room in a nauseating light, its hue disturbingly reminiscent of the fireflies.

  A cup sat abandoned nearby, half-forgotten, its ceramic surface chipped but intact. Satoshi picked it up, turning it in his hands. The faint, bitter scent of coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the smell of sweat and desperation.

  Max scanned the room, his mind filling the empty consoles with the figures who once worked there. Xiliya at systems. Benjamin Mubambwe at engineering. Sawatari in communications. Sarraf at navigation. He could almost hear their voices, feel their presence—each one a ghost haunting his memory.

  The captain would have sat at the center, overseeing it all from his throne, imperturbable and commanding. Max could see himself at the helm station to the right, Galloway to the left at engineering.

  The memory twisted in his mind, sour and cruel. He remembered the state of Galloway’s body—the grotesque ruin the fireflies had made of him.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Max thought he saw a shadow slip into the captain’s office. His breath caught. He turned sharply, but there was nothing there. Just Oscar tinkering with a small food replicator, its pcement on the floor oddly out of pce.

  –. What do we do now?— Naomi asked, her voice cutting through the heavy silence.

  Max straightened, forcing himself to project confidence. —Stop wasting time,— he said firmly. —Gavin, do a general damage control and get me a report.—

  –. On it,— Gavin replied, already moving toward the nearest console.

  –. Naomi, check the Warchive. See if there’s anything left of Daimonji’s arsenal. Take Harding, Yakiv, and Murat with you. Bring back everything. We’ll need it.—

  –.Understood. — Naomi said, her voice steady. Harding and Murat exchanged curt nods, already preparing to leave.

  –. The rest of you, secure the bridge. Make sure nothing—— Max paused, his gaze hardening. —Nothing—gets in.—

  –. Got it,— Satoshi replied. He gestured to Ayna, who nodded, though her face remained etched with sorrow.

  As the group dispersed, Max stayed behind, his eyes lingering on the empty captain’s chair. For a fleeting moment, he thought that maybe he could have been a good captain. Another reason to leave, he told himself. He didn’t want to end up like Matkovich, fused with the ship, a living relic of his own failure.

  His thoughts drifted to Lay. What if she had stayed on the Chronos? Would she have survived? Or would she have been consumed by the fireflies, just like the others? The image of her face, twisted and fused into the alien growth, was enough to make his stomach churn.

  It wasn’t long before Harding returned, his arms den with weapons.

  –. Daimonji′s legacy. — he announced, his voice tinged with grim satisfaction.

  Just as Daimonji had promised, the Warchive had delivered. Psma rifles and energy pistols gleamed under the flickering lights, their surfaces pristine, untouched by the horrors of the ship.

  The group began ying the weapons out on the counter, a grim inventory of survival. Among the arsenal were the Reverse Field Devices—sleek gloves with copper ptes that hummed softly when activated.

  Murat slipped one on, flexing his fingers. The glove fit perfectly, as if designed specifically for him.

  –. These things are something else,— he muttered, turning his hand to inspect the intricate design.

  When activated, the glove released a swarm of nanites—a shimmering, ethereal fog that formed a diamond-hard net. It was a prison of carbon nanotubes, impenetrable to conventional bullets and capable of neutralizing even the most erratic movement.

  –. I never thought of using the Reverse Field as a weapon,— Harding admitted, his tone heavy with unease. —It was meant for detaining unruly crew members. Stowaways. Mutineers. Using it like this... it feels like a war crime.—

  Naomi slid her lit glove across the counter, stirring a cloud of dust that swirled like a miniature storm.

  –. Depends on whether you’re the victor or the defeated,— she said dryly. With a flick of her wrist, she deactivated the glove, the hum fading into silence. —For now, it’s an advantage. And we’ll take it.—

  –. Sure, sure. Daimonji’s a genius,— Murat said, his tone sarcastic but not unkind. —But did he think of anything to make traditional weapons useful? Relying on energy discharges is still a pain in the ass.—

  Max smirked faintly.

  –. I’ll ask him if we find him,— he said. —Are these all the weapons the Warchive produced?—

  –. Two Argus Heat Projection Cannons. Five psma pistols. Three PR-590 Impulse Rifles with thirty rounds each. One SG-FF automatic shotgun, with hyperdiamond shrapnel shells and a round of white phosphorus incendiaries. The rest are... modified tools.— Naomi answered.

  Max frowned, his mind already calcuting their odds. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  –. Good. Organize them. We’ll need every advantage we can get.—

  He gnced out the bridge windows, his gaze fixed on the endless expanse of space. Somewhere, out there, the fireflies were waiting. And here, within the ship, their infestation continued to grow.

  Max tightened his grip on the Psma Saw. They would fight. They had to.

  –. Is this what I think it is?— Yakiv asked, his voice ced with both curiosity and unease as he hefted a heavy contraption in his hands.

  Murat leaned closer, squinting. –. Looks like a Pneumatic Hammer.—

  Yakiv tilted the weapon, examining it with a grim familiarity. —Not quite,— he said, his tone carrying the weight of old memories. —It’s a Prospecting Spear. Back in the colony, we used these to drive C4 explosive stakes into rock using a Ferromagnetic Rail. Good for checking soil density.—

  He paused, running a hand along the weapon’s crude modifications. —But someone’s been busy. They’ve added a stock and a trigger, like a rifle. A grip too, for better aim. Though…——he raised it to his shoulder as if taking aim——the recoil on this thing must be like getting kicked by a mule on steroids. And see this? They removed the safety. That second trigger here? Remote detonator.— He gnced at Max, who had instinctively taken a step back, raising his hands defensively. —Looks like it could turn those things into kebabs——

  –. And blow them to pieces,— Max finished, his voice tight.

  Yakiv gave a grim chuckle, lowering the contraption. —Exactly.— He let out a breath, shaking his head. —Your friend Daimonji is either a genius or completely insane.—

  –. Mining explosives don’t leave much behind.— Max said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. —. A friend of my uncle’s got caught in a detonation while prospecting. Blew apart into nothing. And in space… – he gnced out the bridge window, the void staring back—there’s nothing to pick up. Just gone. —

  Yakiv nodded in silent understanding. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of what they were handling—and the horrors they were trying to fight—settling heavily in the room.

  –. Is this all the arsenal we’ve got?— Max asked after a moment, his tone sharper now, pushing away the lingering thoughts. —Or did someone beat us to it?—

  Naomi shook her head, her expression grim.

  –. This is everything. What we found is exactly what the Warchive printed. Stacked in the container. No one had even opened it before we got there.—

  Max exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath.

  –. So, that’s it. Does that mean we’re the only ones left?—

  The room fell silent. No one dared to answer.

  –. Any trace of Daimonji’s RED?— Max finally asked, his voice quieter now.

  Murat shook his head.

  –. Only what we saw in his transmission. He was heading to the Manufacturing Deck. After that? Nothing.—

  Max frowned, his mind turning over the cryptic warning Daimonji had left behind. Someone had altered the Replicators on the Manufacturing Deck. But why? The Replicators were limitless in their potential—capable of fabricating anything: food, tools, weapons. As long as it wasn’t alive, they could create it.

  Why sabotage that? The thought gnawed at him.

  A faint yellow glow caught Max’s attention, dragging his gaze to the far end of the bridge.

  At the crossroads between two corridors, a silhouette stood. The figure was unmistakable: the captain. He was staring directly at Max, his face shrouded in shadow but somehow still visible. The man’s uniform was torn and charred, his outline flickering like a broken hologram.

  Around him, fireflies swirled in zy patterns, glowing with an otherworldly light. On the walls behind him, strange symbols began to appear—runes etched in lines of flickering yellow, like the echoes of ancient crop circles. The symbols pulsed faintly, as though alive, and Max felt them burrowing into his mind.

  The glow grew stronger, and with it came an overwhelming sense of dread. It wasn’t fear; it was worse. It was the suffocating weight of inevitability. The symbols seemed to call to him, whispering secrets he couldn’t quite hear.

  Max tried to speak, but no sound came. His mouth moved, but his voice was gone.

  The captain’s lips parted, his voice a low, mournful murmur.

  —. The light is coming. —

  And then he was gone, vanishing into the flickering shadows.

  —. I’ve got the report — Gavin’s voice broke through the oppressive silence.

  Max startled, blinking rapidly as though waking from a dream. He let out a long breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his forearm. His pulse thundered in his ears.

  Naomi frowned, stepping closer.

  —. You okay? You look pale. —

  —. I’m fine. — Max lied, waving her off. He gnced back toward the captain’s office, but there was nothing there. Just shadows. Just... nothing.

  —. What do you want first? The bad news, or the worse?— Gavin asked.

  Max swallowed hard, pushing down the knot in his throat.

  —. It’s bad either way. Start wherever you want. —

  Gavin nodded, gncing at his tablet. The rest of the group gathered around, their faces pale and drawn. Max forced himself to focus, though his mind lingered on the vision he’d seen.

  None of them had reacted. No one else had seen it.

  It was just him.

  —Almost all systems on the Chronos are in the red. — Gavin began, his voice heavy, like a eulogy spoken over an open grave. —Decompressions on several decks—caused by shuttle fragments and debris impacts. The Asteroid Defense System is gone. The PDCs are offline. Nothing is working except manual controls.—

  The words nded like hammer blows. The Chronos was crumbling around them. Gavin paused briefly, his eyes scanning another flickering terminal, before delivering the next blow.

  —. The Oxygen Recovery Units are at 45% efficiency... and dropping fast. At this rate, atmospheric quality will be compromised. In forty-eight hours, we won’t be able to breathe without suits.—

  A heavy silence followed, the weight of his statement suffocating.

  —. It gets worse. — Gavin pressed on, his tone subdued but relentless. —. The Air Hyperfiltration Towers are at critical levels. Saturation is accelerating. Every second, the air becomes harder to clean. —

  —. It sounds like cascade failure is imminent.— Delih’s voice shattered the silence, a sharp, bitter edge to her words.

  —. Thank God it’s all good news,— Murat muttered dryly, though his smirk only barely masked his unease.

  —. On top of that. — Gavin continued, ignoring the comment —. all Recreation Systems are down. Simution Units, Holodecks, Virtual Reality—everything’s shut down. The AI-controlled interfaces have been forcefully disabled to divert power to Life Support Systems, which, as I just mentioned, aren’t holding out much longer. —

  Max, standing near the terminal, shook his head and waved a hand impatiently.

  —. Focus on EREBUS. What did you find?—

  Gavin nodded, scrolling through more data.

  —. It’s not an energy loss. Daimonji was right—this is sabotage.— He turned to face the group, his expression grim. —. The Quantum Processing Unit—the QPU—is compromised. The Entanglement Synchronizers are completely misaligned. That doesn’t happen by accident. Someone did this. Deliberately.—

  The room fell into stunned silence. The words hung in the air like a death sentence, each of them trying to process the implications.

  —. And since every major system aboard the Chronos is entangled with EREBUS, its bckout is causing a negative feedback loop,— Gavin added, his voice dropping further. —It’s accelerating the cascade failure.—

  Murat let out a low whistle, shaking his head.

  —. Damn. We’re already knee-deep in shit, and now it’s up to our necks. —

  Max turned to Gavin, his voice sharp, cutting through the tension.

  —. You were OPS Chief. You were prepared for this, weren’t you?—

  Gavin nodded slowly, though his expression betrayed his uncertainty.

  —. In theory, yeah. But this? Sabotage on this scale? It’s something else.—

  —. How long to repair EREBUS? —

  Gavin scratched his head, muttering under his breath as if calcuting probabilities in real time.

  —. It’s hard to tell. I’d have to go down to the server room and do an on-site damage assessment. Check the hardware, the software, see if any of the sabotaged components are salvageable. Plus, I’d need to confirm if we even have the spare parts. —

  —. Just give us a number, Gavin,— Harding interrupted, his tone firm.

  Gavin exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching as if mentally sketching calcutions in the air. Finally, he snapped his fingers.

  —. Three to five hours. That’s my best estimate. Could take longer. There are too many unknowns. —

  —. Can you do it in two?— Max’s question nded like a challenge. His eyes locked on Gavin’s, the desperation behind his calm exterior impossible to miss.

  Gavin hesitated, then nodded faintly.

  —. I’ll try. But listen, there’s something else. —

  The group turned toward him, their faces a mix of exhaustion, desperation, and faint hope. Gavin pointed toward a blinking communication terminal, its light casting a faint, rhythmic glow across his face. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he spoke.

  —There’s a ship out there,— he said, almost trembling. —. According to the transponder, it’s called Ebisu. They’ve been trying to communicate with us.—

  Naomi leaned forward, her brow furrowed.

  —. How? —

  —. Laser comms. — Gavin expined. —. They’ve been targeting us for the past two hours.—