I Explored a Deep Space Void. Something Odd Happened.

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I ran through the pre launch checklist again, even though I'd already done it twice. The manifest showed all supplies accounted for. Oxygen reserves at 100%, water recyclers functioning, food stores sufficient for the six month mission. The Artemis hummed around me. All systems green across the board.

Still, I checked them personally, always did. Captain, if you stare at those readouts any longer, you'll burn a hole through the display. Kelly said, sliding into the seat next to mine. Just being thorough. I tap the screen, scrolling through the propulsion diagnostics one more time.

Thorough. Callie laughed. You're being obsessive. The automated systems have verified everything three times over, and now I'm verifying their verification. I glanced at her.

That's why they put humans in charge, Douglas. Fair enough. She leaned back in her chair, watching me work. But we're scheduled to launch in 30 minutes, and you haven't even had your coffee yet. I'd forgotten about that.

Coffee was usually the first thing I did. But today was different. Today we were headed into the Void, that mysterious region of space where 13 previous missions had disappeared without a trace. We'd be the first to come back with answers. At least, that was the plan.

I'll grab some after I finish this. I pulled up the navigation systems, checking the plotted course one more time. Callie shook her head, but I caught the smile. She'd been my first officer for three years now. She understood my methods, even if she liked to give me a hard time about them.

The bridge door slid open and Catherine walked in, tablet in hand. My wife, brilliant xenobiologist, head of our science division, and the only person who could match my level of preparation. All science equipment is calibrated and ready. She said, not looking up from her tablet. The new sensors are installed and functioning at optimal levels.

We should be able to detect anomalies down to the quantum level. Good. I nodded, feeling some tension ease. If Catherine said the equipment was ready, it was ready. She finally looked up, her eyes meeting mine.

You haven't had coffee yet, have you? That's what I said. Kelly chimed in. I sighed. I'll get to it.

Just finishing the checks. Catherine handed me a thermos. Already taken care of. Black, no sugar. I took it gratefully.

This is why I married you. And here I thought it was my ground breaking research on exobiology. She smiled, the kind that still made my chest tighten after 15 years of marriage. I took a sip of the coffee. Perfect, that too.

The calm system chirped. Captain Corey's voice came through. Engine room reports ready for launch. All systems nominal. Thank you, chief.

I set down the thermos and stood. Time to address the crew. Catherine squeezed my arm. They're ready, we all are. I nodded, more to myself than to her.

This crew had been carefully selected the best in their fields, all volunteers who understood the risks, 12 of us total. Embarking on what could be a one way trip, I made my way to the central meeting area where the crew had gathered. They fell silent as I entered, all eyes turning to me.

I'd never been one for speeches, but some moments demanded them. In one hour we launch into the unknown. I began, looking at each face and turn. The Void has claimed 13 vessels before us. None returned.

None sent distress signals. They simply vanished. Levi Allen, our security officer, stood with arms crossed, his expression serious as always. Next to him, Katie Singh, our medical officer, listened attentively. We've been tasked with discovering why, I continued.

Each of you was selected not just for your expertise, but for your ability to think creatively when faced with the unexpected. We don't know what we'll encounter in the Void, but whatever it is, this is the team I want facing it. Derek Burns, our xenobiologist, nodded eagerly. The man lived for the unknown.

Beside him, Ruby Price, communication specialist, was already taking notes. The Artemis is the most advanced vessel ever constructed. The sensors Doctor Morgan and her team have developed will detect anomalies previous missions couldn't have seen. Chief Gonzalez has overseen modifications to our engines and life support systems that make us more resilient than any previous expedition.

Corey nodded, his expression serious. He'd spent months preparing the ship, treating every system like it was his own child. Donnie, your work on theoretical physics might be what finally helps us understand what's happening in there. I looked at Donnie Pierce, who seemed lost in thought, probably already running calculations in his head. Evelyn, Walter, Donna, your technical expertise will keep us functioning no matter what we encounter.

The three technicians straightened slightly at being acknowledged. We're making history today, not just by going in, but by coming back out with answers. Paused, letting that sink in. Launch in 50 minutes. Final preparations now dismissed.

The crew dispersed, each heading to their stations. Catherine lingered behind. Good speech, she said, short and to the point. You know me, she nodded. That's why I'm here.

We'd had this conversation before, about the risks, about her insistence on coming. Despite my initial objections. Catherine was stubborn, brilliant, and right. If anyone could make sense of the void, it was her. See you on the bridge, I said.

Wouldn't miss it. She squeezed my hand before heading to the science lab. The next hour passed quickly. Final checks, systems verification, clearance from command. And then, right on schedule, we launched the Artemis lifted smoothly from the space dock, her engines purring like they've been built yesterday instead of after months of Corey's obsessive tinkering.

Earth shrank beneath us, then Mars, then the outer planets. Our course took us toward the edge of the solar system, to that region of space that defied explanation. The void didn't look special from a distance. No swirling colors or visible distortions. Just a region of space where ships disappeared.

We'd spend 3 days approaching its boundary, taking readings, establishing baselines before we cross the threshold. Those three days were uneventful. The crews settled into their routines. I maintained regular logs documenting our findings, or lack thereof. Our sensors detected nothing unusual as we approached.

No radiation spikes, no gravitational anomalies, nothing to explain why ships vanished here. Still nothing on the quantum sensors, Catherine reported on the morning of the 4th day. Whatever's out there, it's not showing up on any instruments we have. Maybe there's nothing to find, Callie suggested. Maybe it's just bad luck.

13 ships having mechanical failures in the same region, 13 ships, all different designs, all fully functional before entering, all disappearing without a distress call. I shook my head. That's not bad luck, that's something else. Well, we're about to find out. Corey said from his station, crossing the threshold in 5 minutes.

I straightened in my chair. All stations report. One by one they called in. Navigation ready, engines ready, life support ready, communications ready, science ready, security ready. Crossing in 321 Cali counted down.

I felt it. A subtle shift, like the moment an elevator starts moving but before your body registers the motion. Nothing visible changed. The stars look the same through the viewports. The readings on our instruments remain stable.

But something was different. We've crossed the threshold. I announced all stations continuous monitoring. Report any anomalies immediately, no matter how small. The hours passed, nothing happened.

We continue deeper into the void, sensors sweeping, everyone on high alert, but by the end of the day, we'd found nothing unusual. Maybe the void is just a myth? Derek suggested during the evening meal. A cosmic ghost story. 13 ships don't disappear for nothing.

Levi countered. Perhaps the effect isn't immediate. Donnie offered, pushing his food around his plate. Maybe it takes time to manifest. We'll maintain alert status.

I said, ending the speculation. Keep to the mission parameters. That night, I fell into an uneasy sleep in my quarters. I woke suddenly, disoriented. The room seemed wrong somehow, though I couldn't immediately place why.

I checked the time. 0300 hours. Something had woken me. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and noticed the chronometer on the wall was flickering. The display jumped between different times, 0300, then 317, then 252, then back to 300I blinked hard, focusing on the numbers.

They stabilized it over 300. Must have been a glitch, or maybe just my eyes adjusting to the darkness. I made a mental note to have Evelyn check the ship's timing systems in the morning. Too tired to worry about it now, I lay back down. Probably nothing, just a minor electrical hiccup.

I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep. I woke up feeling groggy and checked the time again. 06/30 normal wake up time, but I felt like I'd barely slept. That weird chronometer glitch still bugged me, but I had bigger things to worry about. We were deep in the void now, and I needed my head clear.

I splashed some cold water on my face and got dressed. Catherine had already left our quarters, probably headed to the science lab early as usual. I made my way to the bridge, nodding at crew members I passed in the corridor. Everyone seemed to be going about their morning routines. Almost everyone.

When I stepped onto the bridge, I spotted Callie at her station. Something was off. She wasn't moving, just staring at her console with a blank expression. Not typing, not scrolling, not doing anything. Callie.

I said, moving closer. Everything OK? She didn't respond for a few seconds, then suddenly blinked and looked up at me, like she was surprised to see me there. Captain. She said, straightening up.

Sorry, I was just reviewing these navigation charts. I glanced at her screen. It was displaying the same basic system diagnostic it always showed during morning checks. No charts at all, right? I said, not wanting to push it.

How are we looking today? All systems normal. She said, but her voice sounded mechanical. We're maintaining course through the void, no anomalies detected. I nodded and moved to my station, kept watching her from the corner of my eye.

After a minute or two she went right back to that blank stare, not moving, not working, just staring. I decided to check in with engineering before bringing it up. Maybe she was just tired, we were all under stress being in the void. The walk to Engineering took me through the main corridor. The ship seemed quieter than usual.

Normally there'd be crew members moving between stations, chatting, working. Today, everyone I passed seemed focused on their own thoughts, barely acknowledging me. When I reached engineering, I found Corey hunched over an access panel, tools spread out around him. Morning, Corey, How's the engine room today? He glanced up briefly.

Fine, Captain, just doing some routine maintenance. I watched as he carefully removed a component, examined it, and then put it back exactly where it was. Then he did the same thing again and again, like he'd forgotten he'd just checked it. Is there a problem with that component? I asked.

No Sir, just being thorough. He removed it again, inspected it again, reinstalled it again. You've checked that three Times Now? I pointed out. Corey paused, looking confused.

Have I? He glanced down at the component like he was seeing it for the first time. I guess I have. Sorry Captain, didn't sleep well last night. That made two of us.

No problem, Just make sure you run the full diagnostic when you're done here. Yes Sir, of course. I left engineering with an uneasy feeling in my gut. On my way back to the bridge, I spotted Evelyn working on a panel near the mess hall. Evelyn.

I called out. Got a minute? I need you to check the chronometers when you get a chance. The one in my quarters was acting up last night. She didn't look up from her work, didn't even acknowledge that I'd spoken.

Evelyn. I moved closer, standing right next to her. Did you hear me? She continued adjusting something inside the panel, completely ignoring me. It was like I wasn't even there.

Technician Wilson? I said sharply, using her formal title. That got her attention. She jumped slightly and turned to me. Captain, I'm sorry, I didn't.

I was focused on this calibration. I asked if you could check the ship's chronometers. Mine was glitching last night. She nodded quickly. Yes, Sir, I'll put it on my list.

I wasn't convinced she'd remember, but I thanked her anyway and headed to the science lab to find Catherine. The lab was Catherine's domain. She ran it with precision and passion. When I walked in, I found her hunched over a microscope, making notes on her tablet. At least she seemed normal.

Morning. I said, walking up behind her. Have you noticed anything strange with the crew today? She looked up, pushing her hair back from her face. Strange how Kelly's zoning out on the bridge.

Corey's checking the same component over and over. Evelyn completely ignored me until I used her title. I leaned against the lab table. Could be nothing, could be the stress of being in the void, but something feels off. Catherine set down her tablet with a sigh.

I've been experiencing something odd myself, but I wasn't sure if it was just me. What is it? Time discrepancies? She gestured to her experiment setup. I've been running these cell cultures since early this morning.

For me, it feels like I've been working for about four hours, but according to the ship's clock, I've only been here for 47 minutes. I frowned. You're sure? I'm sure. She pulled up a log on her tablet.

Look, I've been timing each stage of the experiment manually. According to my records, I started at 5:30 and have completed 4 hours of work. But the ship's log shows I entered the lab at 613, and it's only 700 now. That matched the chronometer issue I'd seen last night. So either your perception of time is off, or the ship's chronometers are malfunctioning.

That's what I thought at first, Catherine said, lowering her voice. Even though we were alone. But it's more than that. I've run 3 identical experiments this morning. Each one takes precisely the same amount of steps, the same processes, but each time I experience it differently.

Sometimes it feels like minutes, sometimes hours. I rubbed my temples feeling a headache coming on. We need to keep an eye on this. If the crew is experiencing temporal perception issues, it could affect everyone's performance. I'll run some cognitive tests.

Catherine said. Start gathering data. Maybe there's something in the void affecting our perception. I nodded. Do it quietly for now.

I don't want to cause a panic. I'll keep watching the crew. Over the next two days, things got worse. What started as odd behavior became concerning patterns. Crew members would freeze mid sentence, forget what they were doing.

Or insist they'd completed tasks that were clearly unfinished. I tried to keep track of everything in my personal log, but even that became confusing. According to my entries, we've been in the void for eight days. But when I checked the ship's automated logs, they showed only six days had passed since we crossed the threshold.

The morning of what I thought was our eighth day, I found Walter standing in the middle of a corridor, completely motionless. His eyes were open, fixed on a point in empty space. He didn't respond when I called his name, or even when I waved my hand in front of his face. I called Doctor Singh on my calm.

Katie, I need you in corridor. See Section 4 immediately. It's Walter. She arrived a few minutes later, medical kit in hand. How long has he been like this?

I don't know, I found him this way about 5 minutes ago. She checked his vitals, shined a light in his eyes, Pulse is normal, pupils responsive. It's almost like he's in some kind of trance state. She administered A mild stimulant and after a few moments Walter blinked and looked around in confusion. Captain, Doctor, what's going on?

You tell us, I said. What were you doing just now? He looked genuinely puzzled. I was heading to my station to start my shift. Walter.

You were standing here, completely frozen, staring at nothing, Katie explained gently. That's not possible, he said, but I could see the fear creeping into his expression. I was just walking. Katie put a hand on his arm. I want you to come to the Med Bay.

I need to run some tests. After she led him away, I continued my rounds, checking on each crew member. Most seemed functional, if a bit disoriented. But by afternoon, things escalated dramatically. I was in the mess hall with Catherine and Levi when we heard the screaming.

We ran toward the sound, finding Donna backed against a wall in the main corridor, pointing at the metal panels with a look of absolute terror on her face. They're moving, she shrieked. The shadows inside the walls, they're moving and watching us. Levi approached her carefully. Donna, there's nothing in the walls.

You're safe. No. She swung at him wildly. You don't see them because they don't want you to, but they're there. They're always there.

Katie arrived moments later, already preparing A sedative. Donna, I need you to try to calm down. Don't touch me. Donna's eyes were wild, darting between the walls on us. They'll get inside you too, through your skin.

They're waiting for us to sleep. It took Levi and me both to hold her still enough for Katie to administer the sedative. As it took effect, Donna's struggles weakened, but her eyes remained fixed on the wall, tears streaming down her face. They never leave. She whispered as she went under.

They never leave. After we got Donna to the Med Bay, Katie pulled me aside. Captain, I need to speak with you privately. We stepped into her office and she closed the door. Something is affecting our minds, she said bluntly.

I've been monitoring brain activity in the crew members who've shown symptoms. Look at these scans. She pulled up several images on her screen. Even with my limited medical knowledge, I could see the abnormal patterns. These areas lighting up are consistent with hallucinations, time perception, distortion, and dissociative states, she explained.

It's affecting different crew members in different ways, but the pattern is spreading. Is it contagious? I asked. I don't think so, at least not in the traditional sense. But whatever's causing it seems to be affecting more of us as time passes.

She looked exhausted. So far, you, Catherine, Callie, and Levi seem relatively unaffected, but I can't say how long that will last. By what I believed was our ninth day in the void, the situation had deteriorated further. Half the crew was either sedated or confined to quarters for their own safety. Only Catherine, Cali, Levi and I remained fully functional, though I couldn't be sure any of us were completely unaffected.

I found Catherine in the observation lab that evening. She was standing motionless in front of one of the external monitor feeds. Something about her stance reminded me of how I'd found Walter in the corridor. Catherine. I approached cautiously.

She didn't respond, just kept staring at the screen. When I reached her side, I looked at what had captured her attention so completely. The monitors showed what appeared to be our ship, the Artemis, floating in the blackness of the void. But it wasn't our ship as it was now. This version was decayed with hull breeches and darkened sections, like a ghost ship abandoned for decades.

That's not possible, I whispered. That's an external feed. How could it be showing our own ship? Catherine's voice was distant, dreamy when she finally spoke. Because we never leave, Atticus, don't you understand?

Yet we never leave. I stared at the monitor, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Our ship, but not our ship. Catherine's eyes had a vacant, faraway look. What are you talking about?

I asked, stepping closer. Catherine. She didn't respond for several seconds, just kept staring at the screen with that empty expression. Then she blinked rapidly, like someone waking up. Her head turned toward me in a jerky motion that didn't look right.

We're trapped, she whispered. Can't you feel it? They're inside me now. I reached for her arm. Catherine, you need to see Doctor Singh.

Something's affecting the crew, and she moved so fast I didn't have time to react. Her teeth sank into the flesh between my thumb and index finger. I yelled and tried to pull away, but she clamped down harder, her eyes wild and unfocused. Catherine, stop. I tried to pry her jaw open with my other hand.

Blood welled up around her teeth. The pain shot up my arm. I heard footsteps pounding down the corridor. Levi burst into the room, took one look at the situation, and rushed over. He grabbed Catherine from behind, wrapping his arms around her chest and pulling her backward.

Captain, what the hell? He shouted. Catherine finally released my hand as Levi dragged her away. She thrashed in his grip, making these horrible guttural sounds I've never heard from her before. I cradled my bleeding hand.

She just attacked me. She's gone crazy like the others. Levi said, struggling to hold her. We need to get her to medical. Catherine suddenly went limp in his arms, then started sobbing.

Atticus, what's happening to me? We're taking you to Doctor Singh. I said, wrapping my handkerchief around the bite. She'll help you. Levi and I have carried her to the medical Bay.

She alternated between fighting us and periods of confusion where she seemed almost normal. Blood soaked through my makeshift bandage. Katie looked up from her desk when we entered, her eyes widening at the sight of Catherine between US. She attacked the captain. Levi explained.

Bit him. Get her on the bed. Katie ordered, already reaching for a sedative. Strap her down. We secured Catherine to the examination bed with the restraints.

She fought against them, her body arching off the table. They're in the walls. She screamed. They're watching us, They're waiting. Katie approached with a sedative.

This should calm her down. As soon as the needle went in, Catherine's body relaxed. Her eyes found mine suddenly clear. Atticus, she whispered. I'm sorry, I don't know what's happening to me.

Then her eyes drifted closed. Katie turned to examine my hand, cleaning the wound with antiseptic that stung like hell. It's not deep enough for stitches, she said, applying a proper bandage. But human bites can get infected easily. I'll give you an antibiotic.

As she prepared the injection, I noticed her hands trembling. Katie. I asked, Are you all right? She nodded too quickly. Fine, just tired.

Everyone's getting sick, and I don't know how to help them. After she gave me the shot, she turned back to her desk and froze, staring at her computer screen. Katie. I called, no response. She just stood there completely still.

Levi and I exchanged glances. Doctor Singh? I said more formally. She slowly turned her head, her eyes had the same vacant look Catherine's had. They're coming through.

She whispered. I can see them in the code. Levi, grab her. I ordered, but before we could reach her, Katie collapsed to the floor, her body convulsing. We managed to get her onto another bed and administer A sedative from the cabinet.

That's our doctor gone. Levi said grimly. Half the crew is either sedated or locked in their quarters. It's just you, me and Callie now. I nodded, feeling the weight of the situation.

Let's secure the ship, we'll take shifts watching the bridge. What about food? Levi asked. We'll meet in the mess hall at 1900 hours, I decided, all three of us. Safety in numbers.

I spent the rest of the afternoon checking on the sedated crew members and securing the ship as best I could. My hand throbbed, a constant reminder of how quickly things had deteriorated. By evening, I was exhausted but forced myself to stay alert. At 1900, I headed to the mess hall. The moment I stepped through the doorway, I knew something was wrong.

The lights were dimmed and I heard a wet gurgling sound. Levi, Callie. I called out. No answer, just that terrible sound. I hit the wall panel to bring the lights up to full brightness.

The scene that greeted me stopped me cold. Levi lay on the floor near the food dispenser, blood pooling around him. Callie knelt over him, a kitchen knife in her hand, repeatedly stabbing him in the chest. She didn't even look up when the lights came on. Callie, stop.

I shouted, rushing toward them. Levi's eyes found mine as I approached. His mouth moved, trying to form words, but only blood came out. His hand reached toward me, then fell limp. Callie finally looked up, her face and uniform splattered with blood.

The knife came down again into Levi's unmoving chest. I grabbed her from behind, wrestling for the knife. She was surprisingly strong, turning the blade toward me. We struggled, crashing into tables and chairs. They told me to do it.

She hissed in my ear. They said he was infected. They said you're next. I managed to slam her wrist against the edge of a table. The knife clattered to the floor.

I kicked it away and pinned her down, but she continued to fight, scratching at my face, trying to gouge my eyes. Using all my strength, I flipped her onto her stomach and twisted her arms behind her back. She screamed obscenities, threats, nonsensical phrases about shadows and time. I had to drag her all the way to her quarters, fighting every step.

Once inside, I shoved her in and sealed the door, overriding the controls so it could only be opened from the outside. Her fists pounded against the metal. Let me out. They'll get you too. They're already inside.

I stumbled away from her door, my body shaking with adrenaline and grief. Levi was dead. My first officer had killed him. Catherine and Katie were sedated in medical. The rest of the crew was either confined or catatonic.

I was alone. I made my way back to the mess hall. Levi's body lay where I'd left it, surrounded by blood that had stopped spreading. I couldn't leave him there, but I didn't have the strength to move him yet. I'd have to come back.

Instead, I headed for the bridge and sealed myself in engaging the emergency protocols that would prevent anyone else from entering without my authorization. I sank into the captain's chair, my mind racing. What was happening to my crew? What was happening to my ship? Catherine's words echoed in my head.

We never leave. I pulled up the ship's logs on the main console. According to the official record, we'd been in the void for three weeks and two days. But when I checked my personal log, the time stamps showed we'd crossed the threshold only three hours ago. That couldn't be right.

I scrolled through the data, checking and rechecking. The environmental systems showed three weeks worth of air cycling and water usage. The engine logs showed three weeks of continuous operation, but the navigation data indicated we'd travelled only the distance possible in three hours. Both sets of data couldn't be correct, yet there they were, side by side on my screen.

I switched to the external cameras, cycling through the different views. What I saw made no sense. From 1 angle I could see the Artemis, our ship, floating nearby. Its whole, pristine and undamaged. From another angle I saw a different version of the Artemis, this one with visible damage to the port side.

1/3 camera showed yet another Artemis, this one the decayed version. Catherine had been staring at it earlier. I sat back in my chair, trying to process what I was seeing. Multiple versions of our ship all existing simultaneously. It was impossible.

I had to talk to Catherine. Even in her current state, she was the only one who might understand what was happening. I grabbed A sedative from the emergency medical kit stored on the bridge, just in case, and made my way back to medical. Catherine was awake when I entered, her eyes clear and alert.

She'd managed to free one arm from the restraints. Atticus, she said when she saw me. I'm having moments of clarity. They don't last long. I approached cautiously.

Who are they? Catherine, What's happening to us? The void isn't empty, she said, her voice steady. It's a temporal anomaly. We're caught in it, experiencing multiple timelines simultaneously.

I don't understand. The ship's logs show 3 weeks, your personal log shows 3 hours. Both are correct. She took a deep breath. We've entered the Void countless times, Atticus.

We keep reliving the same mission over and over, but with variations. The previous ships that disappeared, They're us, we're them. That's not possible, I said. Look at the external cameras, She insisted. You can see the other versions of the Artemis.

In some timelines, we all go insane and kill each other. In others we drift until life support fails. In others we try to escape and tear the ship apart. Her eyes started to lose focus. It's happening again.

I can feel it coming back. Fight it, Catherine, I pleaded. Listen to me, she said urgently. The temporal loop is unstable. That's why we're seeing glimpses of other timelines, why the crew is breaking down.

Our minds can't handle experiencing multiple realities at once. Her back arched suddenly and she screamed. I moved to administer the sedative, but she grabbed my wrist with surprising strength. No, I need to tell you. Find a way to break the loop.

You have to. Her words dissolved into incoherent muttering. I had no choice but to sedate her again. The next few days, if they were days at all, became a nightmare. I moved between the bridge and medical, checking on the sedated crew members, bringing them water, trying to keep them alive.

But one by one, they slipped away. Corey woke from sedation long enough to overload the engine coolant system. I managed to prevent a complete meltdown, but the damage was extensive. Ruby and Derek somehow freed themselves from their restraints, killed each other in a brutal fight in the corridor outside medical. I found them too late.

Evelyn, Walter and Donna never woke up, their vital signs simply weakened until they flat lined one after another. I couldn't save them. Cali continued to rave behind her locked door. Until suddenly going silent on what my personal log called day 5. When I checked, I found her hanging from a makeshift noose.

Catherine lasted the longest. She had periods of lucidity where she tried to explain the temporal loop theory further, drawing complex equations and diagrams that I couldn't understand. Then she'd slip back into madness, screaming about shadows and time fragments. I was with her when she died. 1 moment she was talking about quantum entanglement, the next she was gasping for breath, her body seizing.

Catherine. I held her hand. Stay with me. Her eyes found mine one last time, different this time. She whispered.

You're still saying maybe you can break. Then she was gone. I sat with her body for a long time, unable to move. Eventually, I carried her to the cryogenic storage unit where I'd place the others. I couldn't bring myself to jettison them into space, Not yet.

I sealed the pod containing Catherine's body and rested my hand against the frosted glass. I pulled my hand away from Catherine's cryogenic pod. The glass was cold, like everything else on the ship now. I didn't know how long I'd been standing there. Minutes, maybe hours.

Time wasn't working right anymore. I needed to keep it together. I was the only one left. I went back to the bridge and sat in my chair. The displays showed normal readings, but I couldn't trust them.

Nothing on the Artemis could be trusted now. I grabbed my personal tablet and started a new log entry. Captain's personal log. I'm. I'm the only one still functioning.

The rest of the crew is gone. I've placed them all in cryogenic storage. I don't know what date it is. Ship's computer says we've been in the void for 32 days. My last dated log entry says 17 days.

Neither feels right. I paused the recording and rubbed my eyes. I was exhausted but afraid to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw things. Impossible things.

The walls breathing, the corridors stretching, my dead crew walking around the ship like nothing had happened. I resumed the log. I need a system, a routine, something to keep me grounded. Starting now, I'll maintain hourly, check insurance, regular meals, exercise, and I'll document everything, no matter how strange. I set alarms on my tablet, spaced exactly 1 hour apart.

Then I made a checklist. Systems check, Physical condition, mental state, observations, simple concrete things I could measure and record. The first alarm went off. I did a systems check. Life support, stable engine output, normal position unchanged.

I wrote it all down, then took my pulse and blood pressure using the medical scanner I'd brought from sick Bay. Both elevated, but not dangerously so. I noted my mental state, anxious but coherent for observations I wrote. No visual or auditory hallucinations in the past hour. Chronometers still inconsistent.

Bridge display shows 1427 hours. My tablet shows 1352 hours. My watch shows 15-O four hours. I repeated this process when the next alarm sounded, and the next, and the next. After six.

Check insurance. I tried to sleep. I lay on my bunk, staring at the ceiling, listening to the ship systems humming. Eventually, I dozed off. I woke suddenly, heart pounding.

The wall across from my bunk was rippling like water. I blinked hard, and it stopped. A hallucination. I recorded it in my log, then went back to my routine. Days passed this way, or what felt like days.

I maintained my schedule religiously. When the routines weren't enough to keep me grounded, I added more structure. I mapped out the entire ship and created a patrol route, checking each section methodically. I talked aloud to myself, constantly narrating what I was doing. Now I'm entering corridor B, all lights functioning, no anomalies visible.

Proceeding to junction 4 and what my log indicated was day 45 in the void, I decided to try breaking free. I went to the navigation console and plotted a new course directly away from our entry point. The engines responded normally, the ship moved, but after 8 hours our position relative to the voids boundary hadn't changed.

I tried again with a different vector, same result. I increased power to the engines, nothing changed. I ran full diagnostics on the navigation system, everything checked out, but we weren't going anywhere. I tried the emergency protocols next. First the distress beacon.

I activated it, but the signal strength indicator remained flat. The beacon was working, but the signal wasn't propagating beyond our immediate vicinity. I considered the emergency warp drive a last resort system designed to make a single unguided jump in case of catastrophic failure. It might tear the ship apart, but at this point I was willing to risk it.

I initiated the startup sequence and waited. As the drive charged, the ship shuttered, alarms blared, the emergency warp engaged, and then nothing happened. The computer reported a successful jump, but our position hadn't changed. I slammed my fist against the console, then immediately regretted it. Losing control wouldn't help.

I took 3 deep breaths and went back to my routine. On day 63, according to my personal log, I was on the bridge when the main view screen flickered and changed. Instead of showing the star field ahead, it showed the bridge itself, but different. I was there, but older, much older. My hair was completely white, my face deeply lined.

The older me was muttering to himself, moving between stations with shaking hands, I approached the screen cautiously. Computer, what am I seeing? No response. I reached out and touched the screen. It felt normal, but the image remained.

I watched as the older version of myself collapsed into the captain's chair, eyes vacant. The screen flickered again. Now it showed the mess hall. The crew was there, all of them. Catherine, Callie, Levi, all the others.

But they were wrong. Their movements were jerky and unnatural. Their eyes were black voids. They turned toward the camera in unison and opened their mouths impossibly wide. I shut off the screen, manually cutting the power to the display.

My hands were shaking. I recorded everything in my log, then continued my routine. The visions became more frequent. Sometimes they showed me alone, aging and dying on the ship. Sometimes they showed the crew alive but transformed into something inhuman.

Sometimes they show the Artemis drifting empty and dark. I couldn't tell if they were hallucinations, glimpses of alternate timelines, or something the Void was showing me deliberately. I documented each one meticulously, looking for patterns or clues. 3 months into our mission, by my increasingly unreliable count, I was running a standard communications check when I detected something new.

A faint signal just at the edge of our sensors range. It wasn't coming from inside the void, it was coming from outside, near the boundary. Another ship. I adjusted our communications array to focus on the signal. It was getting stronger.

They were approaching the void. Panic surged through me. They couldn't come in here. They'd be trapped like us. I opened all frequencies and began broadcasting.

This is Captain Atticus Morgan of the research vessel Artemis. Do not approach the void. Repeat. Do not approach the void. It's a trap.

Time distortions, hallucinations, madness. My entire crew is dead. I'm the only one left. Please acknowledge I repeated the message continuously for hours. Finally, a response came through, broken and staticky.

Artemis, this is search vessel Horizon, We've been looking for you. Your mission overdue Months, months. Had we been missing for months in normal space. Horizon, do not approach the void boundary. I repeat, stay away from the boundary.

More static then detected unusual temporal around your position. We believe. Help. I adjusted the array again, trying to clean up the signal horizon. Please clarify.

You think you can help us? The next transmission came through clear. Artemis, This is Commander Rita Baldwin of the research vessel Horizon. We've been tracking your ship for three weeks. You disappeared six months ago.

We've detected severe temporal distortions surrounding your vessel. Our scientists believe we can generate A tachyon pulse that might create a temporary corridor through the distortion field. Six months. We've been in the void for six months in normal space, while my logs showed only three months of subjective time horizon. This is Atticus Morgan.

Be advised that approaching the void is extremely dangerous. The temporal effects caused my entire crew to go mad. They're all dead. There was a long pause before Baldwin responded. Understood, Captain Morgan.

We're maintaining position outside the boundary. We believe we can help without entering the void ourselves. The tachyon pulse can be directed from our position, but we'll need your help to modify your systems to create the exit point of the corridor. For the first time in months, I felt something like hope, but I was also suspicious.

Was this real or another trick of the void? How can I verify you're real? I asked. Good question, Baldwin replied. We can transmit our ships identifier codes and mission parameters.

You can check them against your database. We're also sending a visual transmission now. My screen flickered and showed a woman in a commander's uniform. Dark skin, short hair with silver at the temples, steady gaze. She looked solid, real.

Not like the distorted visions I've been seeing. Captain Morgan, we were sent specifically to find you. The Artemis Project has been a top priority since you disappeared. We've spent months developing the technology to reach you. I checked their codes against our database.

They matched. The Horizon was a real vessel, and Baldwin was its registered commander. What do you need me to do? I asked. We need to modify your ship's deflector array to serve as a focal point for the tachyon pulse.

Our science team will walk you through it. It's going to take some time, and it will drain what's left of your power reserves. Time isn't working normally here, I warned her. What might be days for you could be weeks for me, or vice versa. Understood.

We'll establish a communication protocol that accounts for the time differential. Let's start immediately. For the next three days, according to the Horizons time. I worked with their science team. I moved through the ship, modifying systems, rerouting power, reprogramming the deflector array.

It gave me purpose, something concrete to focus on. The work was complicated by the voids effects. Sometimes I'd find myself standing in a corridor, tool in hand, with no memory of how I'd gotten there. Sometimes I'd complete a modification only to find it undone when I checked it later. I had to redo several sections multiple times before they'd hold.

The ship's power levels dropped steadily as we worked. Life support was the only system I kept at full capacity. Everything else, lighting, heating, non essential systems, I shut down to conserve energy. On the third day, Baldwin contacted me. Captain Morgan, we're ready on our end.

The tachyon pulse will create a corridor, but it will only last for approximately 45 seconds. You'll need to be in your escape pod and ready to launch the moment we initiate. The escape pod only has room for one. I said. There was a pause.

Our scans show only one life sign aboard your vessel. Yes, but my crew, their bodies, I can't just leave them. Baldwin's voice was gentle but firm. Captain, there's no way to bring them with you. The corridor will barely be stable enough for the escape pod.

I'm sorry. I knew she was right. The pods were designed for a single occupant. There was no way to bring 12 cryogenic units with me. I understand.

I said finally. I spent my last hours on the Artemis saying goodbye. I went to each cryogenic pod, placing my hand against the glass, speaking to each of my crew members one last time. I apologized for failing them, for not recognizing the danger sooner, for not finding a way to save them. When I reached Catherine's pod, I broke down completely.

I pressed my forehead against the glass, tears streaming down my face. I'm sorry, I whispered. I'm going to try to break the loop, like you said. If I make it out, I'll make sure everyone knows what happened here. I gathered a few essential items.

My logs, some personal effects, a small photo of Catherine and me, and made my way to the escape pod. The ship was nearly dark now, running on minimal power. I sealed myself inside the pod and ran through the launch sequence. Horizon, this is Morgan, I'm ready. Stand by Captain.

Initiating tachyon pulse in 321. The space outside the Artemis lit up with blue white energy. A corridor appeared, a tunnel of normal space cutting through the distorted region. Corridor established. Launch now, captain.

I hit the launch control. The pod detached from the Artemis with a jolt. The ship's last power reserves channelled into the deflector array, strengthening the exit point of the corridor. The pod accelerated toward the glowing tunnel. As I entered, alarms began blaring.

The pod shuddered violently, metal groaning under forces it wasn't designed to withstand. Warning lights flashed across the control panel. The viewport showed swirling, chaotic patterns of energy all around me. The pod lurched forward, systems failing 1 by 1 as I hurtled through the temporal corridor. I blacked out sometime during the journey.

When I came to, the pod was spinning wildly. Warning lights flashed red across the control panel. The viewport showed nothing but streaks of light and darkness as the pod tumbled through space. The comms crackled with static. Then a woman's voice cut through.

Escape pod, this is horizon. Adjust trajectory 5° port. We have you locked in tractor beam. Stand by for retrieval. I tried to respond, but couldn't find my voice.

My hands shook too badly to reach the controls anyway. The pod gave a sudden lurch as the horizon's tractor beam caught hold, steadying the wild spin. Through the viewport I caught glimpses of a large vessel approaching, sleek and official looking with ues Through the viewport I caught glimpses of a large vessel approaching, sleek and official looking with ues horizon emblazoned across its hull in bold white lettering.

The pod shuddered again as it aligned with what looked like a docking Bay. Metal scraped against metal. The tumbling stopped completely. A series of clunks and thuds vibrated through the hull as docking clamps secured the pod. I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't cooperate.

The door hissed open and bright light flooded in. Silhouettes appeared in the doorway. People in uniforms. Someone reached for me. Captain Morgan, can you hear me?

I opened my mouth to answer, but just ended up coughing instead. My throat felt like sandpaper. How long it had been since I'd had water. He's conscious, but disoriented. Someone said.

Vital signs unstable. Get a Med team here now. I felt hands gripping my shoulders, helping me up. My legs gave out immediately. 2 crew members caught me as I collapsed forward into their arms.

I got you Sir. A young man said, supporting most of my weight. Medical bays not far. They half carried, half dragged me through corridors that seemed impossibly wide and bright after months alone on the Artemis. Everything blurred together.

Faces, voices, questions I couldn't process. My head pounded. The lights overhead were too bright, too harsh. The crew, I managed to say. My crew.

Just focus on staying conscious, Captain, someone replied. Commander Baldwin will debrief you once you're stabilized. They transferred me onto a bed in what had to be their medical Bay. Someone pressed an oxygen mask over my face while another person inserted an IV into my arm. The cool rush of fluids entering my system made me realize how dehydrated I was.

A doctor. At least I assumed she was a doctor from her uniform shined a light in my eyes, pupils responsive but dilated. Signs of extreme fatigue, dehydration, possible malnutrition. I'm fine, I tried to say, but the words came out slurred. You're not fine, Captain Morgan, the doctor replied firmly.

Your body's showing signs of extreme stress. When's the last time you slept? I couldn't answer that. Days blurred together in the void. Time meant nothing there.

They worked around me, checking vitals, administering medications. I tried to stay alert, but exhaustion pulled at me. I fought it. Couldn't sleep, not yet. Had to tell them about the void.

Had to warn them. Catherine. I mumbled through the mask. The others rest now. The doctor said Commander Baldwin will be here soon.

I must have drifted off despite my efforts, because the next thing I knew, someone was gently shaking my shoulder. I jerked awake, momentarily disoriented. Captain Morgan? I'm Commander Rita Baldwin. The woman standing beside my bed was tall, with short hair graying at the temples.

She had the composed, confident bearing of someone used to command. Her dark eyes studied me with a mixture of concern and curiosity. How long was I out? I asked. My voice sounded stronger now.

Someone had removed the oxygen mask while I slept. About four hours, Baldwin replied. Doctor Patel says you were severely exhausted. Your body simply shut down once it recognized it was safe. Safe.

The word felt foreign. I hadn't felt safe in months. I pushed myself up to sitting position, wincing at the stiffness in my muscles. I need to tell you about the void, about what happened to my crew. Baldwin pulled up a chair.

I'm listening, Captain. Take your time. I didn't know where to start. How do you explain something that defies the laws of physics? How do you describe watching your crew, your friends, your wife lose their minds 1 by 1?

The void isn't just empty space. I finally said it's wrong. Time doesn't work right in there. Reality bends, breaks. I rubbed my face with my hands.

We lost track of time almost immediately. The ship's chronometers said 17 days had passed when we tried to leave, but it felt like months to me. Baldwin nodded, her expression grave. According to our records, the Artemis disappeared six months ago. Six months.

The information hit me like a physical blow. That's impossible. I was only in there for three months, maybe 4 at most. That's what I'm trying to explain, I continued. Time isn't linear in the void.

It loops back on itself, stretches, compresses. Catherine, my wife, our science officer, she figured it out toward the end. The void exists outside normal space-time. We were experiencing multiple timelines simultaneously. Baldwin's brow furrowed.

Multiple timelines. We saw our own ship through the external cameras. Not just once, but multiple versions of it. One pristine, like when we entered 1 damaged. One that looked abandoned for decades.

My hands started trembling at the memory. The previous missions that disappeared, I think they were us. Different versions of us, trapped in different iterations of the same mission. And your crew? Baldwin asked quietly.

The question sent a wave of grief through me, so intense I had to close my eyes for a moment. They couldn't handle the temporal distortions. Their minds broke. One by one, they lost touch with reality, started seeing things, hearing things. I swallowed hard.

Some became violent, others catatonic. I had to sedate most of them eventually, put them in cryo storage when they I couldn't finish the sentence. I'm sorry, Baldwin said, and I could tell she meant it. Callie, my first officer, killed Levi, then herself. Corey damaged the engines before I could stop him.

Ruby and Derek killed each other. The others just faded away. I took a deep breath. Catherine lasted the longest. She had moments of clarity, where she'd explained theories about what was happening to us.

Then she'd slip back into madness, talking about entities in the walls, things watching us. But you survived, Baldwin observed. Your mind stayed intact when others didn't. Why? I'd asked myself that question countless times during those final weeks alone on the Artemis.

I don't know for certain, I admitted. Maybe it was my obsession with routine and order. I created strict schedules, hourly check insurance, patrol routes. I narrated everything I did out loud to stay grounded in reality. Maybe that anchored me somehow.

I shrugged. Or maybe I was just lucky. Baldwin studied me for a long moment. Whatever the reason, you're here now, and your experience could save countless lives. No one can ever go back there, I said firmly.

The void needs to be marked as a no travel zone permanently. Whatever's in there, it's not meant for us to understand. I agree. Baldwin nodded. We'll make the recommendation to command as soon as we return.

Your logs and testimony will be crucial evidence. My logs, I said suddenly, sitting up straighter. Did you recover my tablet from the escape pod? It has all my documentation. Yes, it's safe, Baldwin assured me.

Along with your personal effects, relief washed over me. At least I had that proof of what happened. Evidence that Catherine and the others had existed, had fought, had tried to understand what was happening to them. We've set course for Earth. Baldwin said, standing.

We should arrive in about 3 weeks. In the meantime, Doctor Patel wants you to rest and recover. We can continue debriefing when you're stronger. I nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted again. But before Baldwin could leave, I had to ask.

Can I? Is there a viewport somewhere? I need to see it. Need to see. We're really leaving it behind.

Baldwin seemed to understand. Once Doctor Patel clears you for short walks, I'll take you to the observation deck myself. Two days later, Baldwin kept her promise. My legs were still shaky, but I could walk on my own now. She led me to a small observation deck at the rear of the ship, and there it was through the view screen.

The void. From the outside, it looked deceptively ordinary, just a darker patch of space where stars should be. No swirling energies or visible distortions, nothing to indicate the horror it contained. I placed my palm against the cold glass, staring at that empty blackness, growing smaller as we moved away. Somewhere in there, I said quietly.

They still exist. Catherine, Cali, all of them trapped in that moment over and over again. Baldwin stood silently beside me, respectfully giving me space with my grief. I felt a complex mix of emotions watching the void recede, profound relief that I'd escaped, crushing guilt that I couldn't save the others, and a hollow ache of loss that I knew would never fully heal.

But there was also a small measure of comfort, knowing I could warn others away from the fate that claimed those I loved.