I Work at a Secret Lunar Based. They Don't Want You To Know This.

Hello and welcome back to another episode by Sleepy Pasta. Before you doze off tonight, don't forget to leave a five star review and a comment where you are watching from. Let's begin. I heard the knock at my door three times before I bothered to get up. Not many people knew where I live these days, and fewer still had any reason to visit.

The television droned on about agricultural production quotas while I shuffled across my cramped Moscow apartment, stepping over a pile of technical journals I've been meaning to organize for months. When I opened the door, Colonel Oscar Jacobs stood in the hallway, his imposing frame filling the doorway. His cold blue eyes assessed me with clinical detachment.

Finn Guerrero, he said. Not a question, but a confirmation. May I come in? I stepped aside without answering. There was no point refusing.

AK. GB, Colonel, especially one I knew from my past life. He walked past me, his gaze sweeping my apartment with practice deficiency, taking in the shabby furniture, the half empty bottle of vodka on the coffee table, the technical manual stacked on every surface, living modestly. I see. He said, running a finger along my bookshelf.

What do you want, Colonel? I asked, closing the door. He turned to face me, reaching inside his Immaculate uniform jacket to pull out a Manila folder. The state requires your services again, Guerrero. I laughed, a short, bitter sound.

I was discharged 3 years ago permanently. Circumstances change. He placed the folder on my table, pushing aside a stack of engineering periodicals to make room. The Vostok Lunar Research Station has gone silent. My stomach tightened.

I had helped design the environmental and communication systems for Vostok during my final years with the program. Equipment fails. Send a technician. We've lost all contact with the station. 23 personnel.

No distress signal, no scheduled communications. Nothing for the past 72 hours. I crossed my arms. And this concerns me how you're being reinstated to the cosmonaut program, Jacob said, opening the folder to reveal official papers with my name already filled in. Effective immediately, no.

I turned away, walking to my window that overlooked a Gray Moscow St. I made my position clear when I left. The safety protocols were insufficient. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed, Finn.

His voice dropped lower. You're no longer in a position to refuse. I turned back to him. I'm a civilian now. A civilian with an ex-wife and daughter living in Leningrad.

His tone remained conversational, but the threat was unmistakable. Annie and Shannon, Yes. Shannon is what, 12 now, Attending school #237 I believe quite gifted in mathematics, like her father. The room seemed to grow colder. I stared at him, fighting to keep my expression neutral.

Leave them out of this. The state never leaves anyone out, Finn, you know that. He tapped the papers with one finger. You have expertise with the station systems that we need. Colonel Barkoff has personally requested you for this mission.

Barkoff. The name sent a chill through me, the man who had engineered my discharge after I'd raised safety concerns about the Vostok station. What happened up there? I asked. That's what you're being sent to find out.

Jacobs pushed a pen toward me. Sign the papers. I picked up the pen. It's weight suddenly immense. And if I refuse?

Then I cannot guarantee the continued comfort of your family. His eyes never left mine. Annie's teaching position at the university is quite prestigious. It would be unfortunate if her loyalty to the state were called into question. My hand tightened around the pen.

When do I leave? 48 hours. The car will collect you tomorrow morning at 600 hours to transport you to Baikonur Cosmodrome. He nodded as I signed my name. Pack lightly, Everything you need will be provided.

How long is the mission? Two weeks. Standard rescue and assessment protocol. He collected the papers, returning them to his folder. You'll be briefed fully upon arrival.

After Jacobs left, I sat in silence for a long time, staring at the door. Three years of civilian life erased with a signature. Three years of trying to forget what I'd seen, what I'd done in service to the state, and now they were pulling me back in. I picked up the phone and dialed the Leningrad number I knew by heart.

It rang five times before Annie answered. Hello. Her voice was cautious. It's me, I said. A pause.

Finn, is everything all right? I wanted to check on Shannon and you. Another pause. We're fine. Shannon got top marks in her physics examination last week.

That's good. I struggled to find the words. How could I tell her that the same people who had torn our family apart, we're now using her and Shannon as leverage? I'm going away for a while. Work.

I thought you were teaching now. It's complicated. I rubbed my eyes. If anyone comes asking questions about me, be careful what you say. Finn, what's happening?

The concern in her voice made my chest ache. Nothing, just a precaution. I'll call when I can. I hung up before she could ask more questions, questions I couldn't answer without putting her at risk. I spent the night gathering what few personal items I wanted to take and destroying anything that might be used against me or my family in my absence.

The car arrived precisely at six the next morning. I was already waiting outside my building, a single bag at my feet, the driver a young man in military uniform. It didn't speak as he loaded my bag into the trunk and opened the rear door for me. The journey to Baikonur took most of the day.

I watched the Russian landscape roll by, forests giving way to the vast Kazakh steppe. By the time we reached the cosmodrome, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the launch facilities. I was escorted directly to a briefing room where five men waited around a table. They fell silent as I entered, all eyes turning to assess me.

A tall man with closely shaved black hair and the bearing of career military stood Guerrero. I'm Commander Grant Haley. His handshake was firm to the point of painful, his eyes cold. He clearly knew my history and had already formed his opinion. This is your crew.

Haley continued, gesturing around the table. Navigation officer Johnny Gross, a blonde man with light blue eyes, nodded stiffly. Communication specialist Austin Scott, a younger man with WAVY brown hair, gave me a nervous smile, and engineers Tommy Harrison and Bill Moss Harrison, dark haired with a solid build, barely acknowledged me. Moss, stocky with thinning black hair, studied me with unusual intensity.

I took the empty seat, noting the subtle signs that marked at least three of them as KGB. The way Moss sat slightly apart, observing more than participating, The precision in Gross's movements. The way Haley's eyes constantly assessed cataloguing reactions. They weren't even trying hard to hide it. Now that we're all here, Haley said, let's review the mission parameters.

The technician entered, distributing sealed folders to each of us. I opened mine, scanning the contents quickly. The mission brief was frustratingly vague. Standard rescue and assessment protocol for a station that had gone dark. Technical specifications for Vostok that I already knew intimately.

Emergency procedures that seemed oddly extensive for what should have been a straightforward mission. Questions. Haley asked after giving us a few minutes to review. What was the last communication from the station? I asked.

Haley glanced at a thin man seated in the corner, whom I hadn't noticed before. The man nodded slightly. Routine status update, Haley said. No indication of problems, and then nothing for 72 hours. I pressed.

No distress signal, no automated systems alerts. That's correct. That's not possible, I said. The systems I designed include multiple redundancies. Even with catastrophic power failure, the emergency beacon would activate.

Yet here we are, Haley said coldly. Perhaps your systems weren't as foolproof as you believed. I felt the others watching this exchange with interest. I'd like to see the transcripts of the last communications. Those are classified beyond your clearance, the thin man in the corner said, speaking for the first time.

You have the information you need for your role, specialist Guerrero. I recognize the dismissal but couldn't shake my unease. Something about this situation felt wrong. Launch is scheduled for O 600 tomorrow, Haley continued. We'll dock with Soyuz station for final preparations, then make the lunar transit.

Estimated arrival at Vostok is 72 hours from launch, and once we arrive, I asked standard protocol. We establish contact if possible, assess the situation and determine next steps. After the briefing, we were escorted to our quarters for the night. I lay on my bunk reviewing what little information I had been given, trying to make sense of it.

The Vostok station had been operational for 18 months without major incident. The crew was experienced, the systems were stable. What could have happened to cut off all communication so completely? My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at my door. It was Austin Scott, the communication specialist.

Mind if I come in? He asked, glancing nervously down the corridor. I stepped aside to let him enter. He was young, probably on his first major mission. I wanted to ask about the communication systems at Vostok, he said, once the door was closed.

The briefing materials don't include detailed schematics. That's because they're classified, I said, watching him carefully. Why are you asking me instead of your superiors? He fidgeted with the sleeve of his uniform. Commander Haley said you designed them, I thought.

I want to be prepared. I studied him, trying to decide if this was a genuine request or if he'd been sent to test me. The primary system uses a focused beam transmission to Soyuz station, which relays to Earth. Backup systems include omnidirectional radio and an emergency beacon that activates automatically if primary systems fail.

Could all three systems fail simultaneously? Not without deliberate sabotage, I said. Or something catastrophic enough that communications would be the least of their problems. Austin nodded, his expression troubled. Thanks, I appreciate it.

We turn to leave, then hesitated. They're not telling us everything, are they? I chose my words carefully. In my experience, that standard procedure. After he left, I tried to sleep but found myself staring at the ceiling, turning over possibilities in my mind.

What wasn't I being told? What were we really being sent to face? The next morning, we assembled at the launchpad. The Soyuz rocket towered above us, steam venting from its sides as final preparations were made. I watched as cargo was loaded, noting several crates that weren't on the manifest I'd seen.

When 1 was briefly left unattended, I moved closer, catching a glimpse of the contents through a partially open lid. Weapons, Not standard equipment for a rescue mission. Curious about something Specialist Bill Moss appeared beside me, his expression neutral. I stepped back from the crate. Just checking the loading procedures.

Old habits. He nodded, not believing me for a second. Commander Haley wants us suited up in 20 minutes. As we walked toward the preparation area, I noticed more security than would be normal for a standard mission. Armed guards at checkpoints, additional personnel monitoring communications.

Quite a show of force for a rescue mission, I commented. Moss gave me a sidelong glance. The state values its investments. In the shooting room, the tension was palpable. Johnny Gross methodically checked and rechecked his equipment.

Tommy Harrison made crude jokes that no one laughed at. Austin Scott's hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his suit. Seals Commander Haley entered, already suited except for his helmet. Final checks, gentlemen. We launch in 30 minutes.

As we made our final preparations, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being sent into something far more dangerous than a communications failure. The weapons, the secrecy, the KGB presence, none of it added up to a standard rescue mission. What had happened at Vostok? What were we really being sent to face on the moon?

And most importantly, did they expect us to come back? As we walked toward the launch vehicle, these questions churned in my mind. I looked up at the rocket that would carry us to the moon, it's white form stark against the blue Kazakh sky. Whatever waited for us at Vostok, I had a growing certainty that the true nature of our mission was far more dangerous than officially stated.

I spent the three day journey to the moon studying the Vostok station schematics, trying to memorize every corridor, junction, and emergency exit. The blueprints were spread across my tiny sleeping compartment, illuminated by the harsh white light that never dimmed in our spacecraft. Commander Haley watched me with undisguised suspicion whenever he passed by.

Preparing for something. Guerrero? He asked during our second day, lingering at my doorway. Just doing my job, I replied without looking up. Someone should know the layout When we arrive.

The station schematics revealed a standard Soviet Lunar Research Facility central hub, with six extending corridors like spokes on a wheel, each leading to specialized sections, research labs, living quarters, communications center, life support storage, and the main airlock. I paid special attention to the ventilation systems and emergency protocols, knowing they might prove crucial if something had gone catastrophically wrong.

Austin Scott visited my compartment several times, his technical questions about the station's communications array barely masking his growing anxiety. I answered what I could, but kept my deeper concerns to myself. You think we'll find survivors? He asked during our final approach. Let's focus on what we can control, I told him.

It wasn't an answer, but it was all I had. The lunar landing sequence began with a series of automated burns through the small viewport. The grey pockmarked surface of the moon grew larger until I could make out individual craters. Our Lander touched down with a gentle thud, kicking up a cloud of dust that slowly settled in the airless environment 200 meters from the station entrance.

Johnny Gross announced from the navigation console. Perfect approach. I looked across at Austin, who was checking his suit seals for the third time. His hands trembled visibly as he struggled with a connector. Here.

I said, leaning over to help secure it. Deep breaths. Thanks. He whispered. First time on the moon.

It's just another job site. I said, trying to sound casual. Focus on your training. We exited the Lander in formation, descending the ladder 1 by 1. The familiar sensation of lunar gravity, 1/6 of Earths, made my movements feel unnaturally buoyant.

Despite the bulky pressure suit. Our boots left perfect imprints in the untouched regolith as we walked in single file toward the looming shape of Vostok Station. The facility's exterior appeared undamaged, a series of white cylindrical modules partially buried in the lunar surface for radiation protection, with solar arrays extending like metallic wings. No external signs of catastrophic failure or meteorite impact.

The main airlock stood before us, it's outer doors sealed tight. Tommy Harrison stepped forward with the access codes, punching them into the external keypad. The airlock cycled open with a hiss of equalizing pressure. Atmosphere readings normal. Bill Moss confirmed checking his instruments oxygen levels within parameters.

We entered the airlock in pairs, cycling through until all six of us stood in the small antechamber. Commander Haley gave the order to remove our helmets only after confirming the inner environment was stable. The inner door slid open and I recoiled instantly at what lay beyond. The main corridor was bathed in dim red emergency lighting that cast everything in a hellish glow.

Blood, dark and dried, splattered the walls and floor in chaotic patterns. Equipment lay smashed and scattered across the deck. A tablet computer with a cracked screen displayed a frozen image of a data chart. A coffee mug lay on its side, its contents long dried into a dark stain. What the hell happened here?

Tommy whispered, his voice tight. A metallic Tang of blood mixed with the sterile, recycled air hit my nostrils as I took a tentative step forward. Nobody's just blood. Far too much blood pressure. Breach.

Johnny suggested, but I shook my head. The station's structural integrity is intact. This was something else. Commander Haley's expression hardened as he surveyed the devastation. We stick to the mission, find survivors and determine what happened.

He pointed to different sections on his wrist mounted schematic. We'll split into teams. Gross and Scott check communications and command center. Harrison and Moss life support and crew quarters. He turned to me.

Guerrero, you're with me. We'll check the research labs. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak as I took in the scene of carnage. Whatever had happened here went far beyond equipment failure or typical accidents. Radio check every 15 minutes, Haley ordered.

Report anything unusual? Immediately, the team separated, moving cautiously down different corridors. I followed Haley down the main passage toward the research section, our boots making soft sounds against the metal floor. The blood trails became more pronounced as we proceeded, long smears that suggested bodies had been dragged. Some handprints marked the walls at odd intervals, as if someone had tried to brace themselves while being pulled away.

23 personnel, I said quietly. Where are they? Haley didn't answer, just kept moving forward with his flashlight, supplementing the dim emergency lighting. The research lab doors stood partially open, jammed by a fallen cabinet. We squeezed through the gap into a room that looked like the sight of a desperate struggle.

Microscopes and sample containers lay shattered on the floor. Computer terminals had been ripped from their moorings. Blood coated one entire wall in a wide spray pattern. Check those terminals, Haley ordered, pointing to a Bank of computers against the far wall. See if you can access any logs.

I moved carefully across the debris strewn floor to the least damaged terminal. Its screen flickered weekly when I touched the power button. The system prompted for access credentials, which I bypassed using the emergency override codes from our mission briefing. Last entry was 76 hours ago. I reported scrolling through fragmented data files, something about unusual readings from the excavation site.

I tried to access more detailed logs, but the system kept freezing. That's when I heard it. A metallic clang from somewhere deeper in the station, distinct and deliberate, like something heavy being dropped or a door being slammed. Haley froze, his hand moving to the sidearm concealed beneath his suit. What was that?

Before I could answer, the emergency lights flickered once, twice, then died completely. Darkness enveloped us, absolute and disorienting. I fumble for the flashlight attached to my belt. I felt a sudden rush of air past my face, like something moving rapidly in the darkness. Haley grunted, a short, surprised sound, then nothing.

My fingers finally closed around my flashlight. I activated it, the beam cutting through the darkness. Haley was gone. The spot where he had stood seconds before was empty. No sign of struggle, no indication of where he might have gone.

Just gone as if he'd never been there at all. Commander. I called out, my voice sounding thin in the darkness. Commander Haley. Silence answered me.

I swept the flashlight beam across the laboratory, illuminating the blood spattered equipment and overturned furniture. Nothing moved. No sign of Haley. My radio crackled to life, making me jump. Something here?

Tommy's voice came through, distorted and panicked, moving in the shadows. Not alone. Tommy, Tommy, repeat. I shouted into my radio. Can't see it clearly.

His breathing came in rapid bursts. Something else in the station with us. A screen tore through the radio transmission, followed by a crash and the sound of something heavy being dragged across the metal flooring. Then silence. The radio connection went dead, leaving me alone in the darkness.

With only my flashlight beam for company, I moved through the darkened station alone, my flashlight beam cutting through the darkness like a knife. The weak light barely reached 10 feet ahead, leaving the rest of the corridor in impenetrable blackness. I swept the beam upward, checking the ceiling panels, when something caught my eye, a dark, fluid movement along the metal surface.

Something was Slytherin above me, just at the edge of my light's reach. I froze, holding my breath. The thing, whatever it was, moved like oil across water, flowing rather than crawling. It seemed to pause when my light touched it, then retreated into the shadows beyond my beam's reach. My heart hammered in my chest as I backed up slowly, keeping the flashlight trained on the ceiling.

The station's emergency lighting had failed completely, leaving me with only my handheld light against whatever had taken Haley and attacked Tommy's team. I needed more light, and fast. I spotted a maintenance closet to my right, it's door slightly ajar. Without taking my eyes off the ceiling, I sidled toward it, reaching blindly for the handle.

Once inside, I pulled the door shut and swept my beam around the small space. The closet was packed with maintenance supplies, tools, replacement parts, and emergency equipment. My light caught the reflective strips on a box marked emergency supplies. I tore it open and found exactly what I needed, six red emergency flares and a battery powered Lantern.

I clicked on the Lantern, flooding the small space with bright white light. The sudden illumination was almost painful after the darkness, but it steadied my nerves. I shoved 3 flares into each pocket of my suit and gripped the Lantern in my left hand, flashlight in my right. Armed with my new light sources, I cracked open the door and peered into the corridor.

The ceiling where I'd seen the movement was now empty, but that didn't mean whatever had been there was gone. I stepped out, sweeping both lights in wide arcs around me. The station's silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional creak of metal contracting in the lunar cold and my own careful footsteps. I moved forward, following the corridor toward the communication center where Scott and Gross had been sent.

If anyone was still alive, finding them was my priority. As I rounded a corner, my foot slipped in something wet. I looked down to see a dark smear across the floor. Blood still tacky. I followed the trail with my lights, revealing more splashes along the wall leading to a half open door.

Hello. I called softly, raising my flashlight. Scott Gross anyone? A weak groan answered me from inside the room. I approached cautiously, pushing the door wider with my foot.

The communication center was in shambles, Equipment torn from walls, monitors shattered, chairs overturned. And there, slumped against the far wall, was Austin Scott. He was alive, but barely. Blood soaked the front of his suit from a deep gash across his chest, and his right leg bent at an unnatural angle. His eyes fluttered open when my light hit his face.

Guerrero. He whispered, his voice barely audible. You're still alive. I hurried to his side, setting down the Lantern to examine his wounds. What happened?

Where's Johnny? Austin's eyes widened with remembered terror. It took him right in front of me, like a shadow but solid somehow, wrapped around him. And he swallowed hard, wincing in pain. It was so fast.

Then it came for me, but I managed to hide under the console. Heard Tommy on the radio before it went dead. I nodded, checking the makeshift bandage he'd applied to his chest. I heard him too. What about Harrison and Moss?

Don't know, haven't seen them. Austin grabbed my arm with surprising strength. We need to get out of here. The ship. His eyes suddenly fixed on something behind me, widening in pure terror.

It's back, he whispered. I spun around, raising both lights, but saw nothing in the doorway. When I turned back to Austin, his body was being dragged backward at incredible speed, as if pulled by invisible hands. He clawed desperately at the floor, screaming. I lunged for him, grabbing his outstretched hand, but something yanked him with such force that his fingers slipped through mine.

In seconds, he vanished into the darkness beyond my light's reach, his screams cutting off abruptly. I stood frozen, lights pointed at the spot where Austin had disappeared. Nothing moved in the darkness, but I felt watched. Haunted. Panic surged through me.

I backed out of the communication center, both lights sweeping wildly around me. I needed somewhere defensible, somewhere I could barricade myself while I figured out what was happening and how to escape. The research director's office was nearby, a private space with reinforced doors designed to protect sensitive information. I ran down the corridor, no longer concerned with stealth.

Whatever was hunting us already knew I was here. I reached the office and slammed the door behind me, engaging the manual lock. The room was small but secure, with no vents large enough for anything to crawl through. A large desk dominated the center, with a computer terminal still powered by emergency batteries. I dragged a heavy filing cabinet in front of the door, then added a bookshelf for good measure.

Only then did I allow myself to breathe, setting the Lantern on the desk to illuminate the entire room. The computer was still functional, it's screen displaying a login prompt. I entered the emergency access codes from our mission briefing, hoping they'd work on the station's internal systems. After a tense moment, the screen flickered and granted me access to the research logs.

I scrolled through the entries, working backward from the most recent. The final entry was dated 76 hours ago, matching what I'd seen in the lab with Haley. I opened it and began reading. Excavation site has yielded unexpected findings, the log read. Doctor Gardner reports unusual energy readings from the cavern structure.

The formations appear artificial, not natural. Lunar geology Carbon dating suggests the structures are over 100,000 years old. This contradicts all known lunar exploration history. I continued reading, each entry revealing more disturbing information. 3 weeks ago, the station had detected unusual seismic activity beneath the lunar surface.

They'd established an excavation site 2 kilometers from the main station and discovered an uncharted cavern system. Inside, they found structures that appeared to be artificial, not human in origin. The final logs detailed increasing concern about energy fluctuations within the cavern and strange effects on electrical equipment. The last entry ended mid sentence. Gardner insists on bringing the artifact to the main lab, despite Mitchell's objections.

The energy signature is unlike anything we've. A sharp knock at the door made me jump. I stared at the barricade I'd created, my hand automatically reaching for a flare. The knock came again, more insistent. Hello.

Is someone in there? A human voice, male, tired, but very much alive. I hesitated, remembering Austin's fate. Identify yourself, I called Doctor Albert Gardner, research director, Came the reply. I'm with Commander Mitchell.

We're survivors. Please, if you're from Earth, let us in. I moved the barricade cautiously, keeping the Lantern and flashlight ready. When I cracked the door open, I found two haggard men standing in the corridor. One was tall and gaunt, with wild white hair, presumably Gardner.

The other was a broad shouldered man in a tattered commander's uniform, his face lined with exhaustion and streaked with blood. Thank God. The commander said, his voice hoarse. We thought everyone was dead. I let them in and quickly replaced the barricade.

Up close, I could see both men were in rough shape. Mitchell had deep lacerations across his torso and arms, while Gardner's hands were badly burned. You're from the rescue team? Mitchell asked, sinking into a chair. I nodded.

Finn Guerrero. There were six of us, but I think I'm the only one left. Gardner's eyes darted nervously around the room. Did you see it? The Entity?

I saw something, I admitted. It took my commander, then Austin Scott from communications. What exactly is it? The two men exchanged grim looks before Gardner spoke. It's ancient, older than humanity.

We found a dormant in a sealed chamber beneath the lunar surface. He held up his burned hands. We were fools. We brought an artifact back to study, a black crystalline structure that emitted energy unlike anything we've recorded. When we began tests, the crystal activated.

Somehow, the entity emerged from it. Mitchell continued wincing as he shifted in his chair. Like a shadow at first, but it grew stronger. It absorbs energy, electrical, thermal, even biological, and it uses blood to track its prey. That's why there are no bodies.

It doesn't just kill, it consumes. How have you 2 survived? I asked. Light. Gardner said simply.

It avoids strong light. We've been moving between illuminated areas, using flares when necessary, but the station's power is failing section by section. We won't last much longer here. I thought of the missing spacecraft that had brought my team. My mission was supposed to be rescue and evacuation, but I've lost contact with my crew.

I need to get back to our Lander. Mitchell shook his head grimly. If it's like our vessels, it's probably gone. The entity disabled our escape craft first. My stomach sank.

Then how do we get off this rock? Gardner leaned forward. There's another option. The lunar Rovers in the auxiliary hangar. They're designed for long range exploration, sealed environments with their own power and oxygen supplies.

If we can reach them, we might be able to make it to the Chinese mining outpost on the far side that's 300 kilometers away, Mitchell pointed out. Better than waiting to die here, Gardner countered. I considered our options. The Rovers were designed for lunar surface travel, not Space Flight, but they were our only chance if the Lander was compromised.

Where's this auxiliary hanger? I asked. Mitchell pointed to a schematic on the wall. East wing through the life support section. It's separate from the main structure, connected by a pressurized corridor, which means we have to cross half the station.

I said, understanding the challenge through areas where the entity might be hunting. Gardner nodded gravely. It's a desperate plan, but it's all we have. I checked my flares and the Lantern battery. How many of these Rovers are there?

2 Mitchell answered. Designed for four passengers each, but they can function with just one driver. I stood up. Decision made. Then we leave now, while we still have power in this section.

The longer we wait, the weaker the emergency systems will become. The three of us gathered what supplies we could find. Mitchell had a pack with medical supplies. Gardner collected door to drives with his research, and I distributed the remaining flares between us. As I moved the barricade away from the door, I realized this might be our only chance at survival.

Stay close to me, I instructed. Keep your lights on at all times. If you see anything, move in the shadows. Don't hesitate. Light a flare immediately.

Mitchell checked his makeshift bandages, then nodded grimly. Let's go. I opened the door, sweeping my lights across the corridor. It was empty for now, but somewhere in the darkness, the entity waited. Our only hope was to reach the Rovers before it found us again.

I swept my flashlight beam across the blood stained floor, trying to ignore the metallic smell that somehow penetrated even through our suits. Doctor Albert Gardner limped along beside me, clutching his data drives to his chest like a mother protecting her child. Behind us, Commander Leonard Mitchell struggled to keep pace, his breathing laboured as the makeshift bandages across his torso slowly darkened with fresh blood.

We need to take the next left. I whispered, though I wasn't sure why I was keeping my voice down. The station's emergency power had reduced the lighting to dim red strips along the baseboards. Barely enough to see where we were stepping. The auxiliary hanger should be about 50 meters down that corridor if we make it that far.

Albert muttered, his eyes darting nervously to every shadow. The entity seems to be growing more aggressive with each encounter. Leonard coughed, a wet, ragged sound. It's learning, adapting to our patterns. I didn't want to admit it, but they were right.

Whatever this thing was, this shadow that moved like oil across surfaces and consumed people without leaving bodies behind, it was getting smarter. First it had taken Haley, then Gross and Scott. I had no idea what happened to Harrison and Moss, but the silence on their comms told me everything I needed to know.

The corridor ahead split into AT Junction. I paused, holding up my hand to stop the others. Something felt wrong. The air seemed thicker here, colder against my face. What is it?

Albert whispered, his voice trembling slightly. I didn't answer immediately, instead focusing on the sounds around us. The background hum of the station's life support systems had been a constant companion since we entered. But now I noticed something else. A wet Slytherin noise coming from both left and right at the junction ahead.

Get back. I hissed, pulling them both against the wall. We froze in place, barely breathing. The Slytherin grew louder, more pronounced. It reminded me of wet clothes being dragged across metal or thick oil pouring over a surface.

My hand instinctively went to my pocket, feeling the reassuring shape of the flares I distributed between us. It's coming from multiple directions. Leonard whispered, his military training evident in his calm assessment despite his injuries. I swept my flashlight and Lantern across the walls in wide arcs, trying to catch any movement. For a moment there was nothing, then as the beam passed over a ventilation grate near the ceiling, I caught a glimpse of something dark and fluid retreating from the light there.

Albert gasped, pointing to another spot where my light had just passed. I swung the beam back, catching a rippling shadow like mass sliding along the wall. It wasn't solid, more like a living patch of darkness that absorbed light rather than reflected it. As soon as my beam touched it, it retreated, flowing like water up toward the ceiling and into the narrow gap between panels.

It's surrounding us. Leonard said, his voice suddenly firm with resolve. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his flares. You 2 need to make a run for it. Well, what are you talking about?

I demanded, keeping my light moving to prevent the entity from approaching. Leonard looked at me, his face pale but determined. I'm not going to make it anyway. These wounds. He glanced down at his blood soaked torso.

The entity is drawn to blood. Mine is leaving a trail it can follow. We're not leaving you behind. I insisted, though the tactical part of my brain was already calculating our diminishing odds. Listen to me, Guerrero, Leonard said, gripping my arm with surprising strength.

You have the best chance of getting back to Earth with what we know. This thing can't be allowed to spread. Gardner has the research data. You have the skills to pilot the Rover and navigate. I'm just slowing you down.

Albert looked between us, clutching his precious data drives tighter. Commander, there must be another way. The Slytherin sounds grew louder, closer. My light caught another glimpse of the entity, larger this time, spreading across the sealing junction like spilled ink. Leonard shook his head.

There isn't, Now go. He pulled the pins on 2 flares simultaneously, the sudden bright Crimson light making the shadows retreat instantly. I'll create a diversion. Head left at the junction, That's your clearest path to the hangar. Before I could argue further, Leonard charged forward toward the junction, igniting his remaining flare and waving all three in wide arcs.

Come on, you bastard. Fresh blood right here. Now's our chance. I told Albert, grabbing his arm. Stay close to me.

We rushed forward, turning left at the junction as Leonard had instructed. Behind us, I heard him shouting, taunting the entity. The bright flare light created long distorted shadows down our escape Rd. I glanced back once and immediately wished I hadn't. Leonard stood at the center of the junction, surrounded by a circle of flare light from all directions.

Shadowy tendrils were creeping toward him, testing the boundaries of the light. As we watched, one tendril shot forward, wrapping around his ankle. Leonard didn't scream. He just kept waving, the flares creating a barrier of light that gave us time to escape. Don't look back, I told Albert, pulling him forward.

Just run. We sprinted down the corridor as fast as Albert could manage. Behind us, the light from Leonard's flares began to dim. I heard a single choked cry, then silence. The Commander had made his sacrifice.

The hanger door appeared ahead, a heavy metal airlock with a keypad. I punched in the emergency override code I'd memorized from the station schematics, praying it would work. The panel flashed green and the door slid open with a hydraulic hiss. Get inside, I ordered, pushing Albert through before following and slamming my hand on the interior panel to close the door behind us.

The auxiliary hangar was dimly lit by the same emergency strips, but it was enough to see the 2 lunar Rovers parked side by side, bulky utilitarian vehicles with pressurized cabins and large solar panels folded along their sides. Can you drive one of these? Albert asked, his voice shaking. I've trained on similar models.

I replied, moving toward the nearest Rover. Help me check the systems. We worked quickly, Albert following my instructions despite his trembling hands. The Rover's battery showed an 80% charge, enough to get us to the Chinese mining outpost if we were careful with power consumption. What about the airlock?

Albert asked, looking at the large Bay doors that separated us from the lunar surface. There's an emergency protocol, I explained, climbing into the driver's seat and activating the Rover's systems. The outer doors will open automatically when we approach, then seal again after we exit. It's designed for evacuation scenarios. Albert climbed in beside me, buckling himself into the passenger seat.

Like this one? Exactly like this one, I agreed, powering up the Rover's engines. The vehicle hummed to life, it's exterior lights illuminating the hanger in bright white beams. As I maneuvered the Rover toward the airlock, a movement caught my eye. Something dark was seeping under the door we'd come through, spreading across the floor like spilled oil.

It's here. Albert whispered, his face going even paler. Hold on, I said, pushing the Rover to its maximum interior speed. We lurched forward, the headlights cutting through the darkness and causing the shadow like entity to recoil. The emergency protocols worked as expected.

As we approached the outer doors, warning lights flashed and the massive airlock began to cycle. The entity surged forward, moving faster now, tendrils reaching out toward our Rover. But as our exterior light swept across it, it shrank back, seemingly unable to tolerate the intensity. It hates strong light. Albert observed, his scientific mind still working despite our desperate situation.

Good to know, I replied, keeping the Rover's headlights aimed at the approaching darkness. The airlock completed its cycle, the outer doors sliding open to reveal the stark lunar landscape beyond. I didn't hesitate, driving the Rover forward and out onto the Gray, dusty surface. Behind us, the airlock doors began to close, automatically sealing the entity inside, at least for now.

I felt a momentary surge of relief as we pulled away from the station, our headlights illuminating the barren terrain ahead. The Earth hung in the black sky, a blue white marble that had never looked so distant. We need to get to our Lander, I said, adjusting our course toward the landing site. It's only about 200 meters from the station entrance.

Albert nodded, his eyes fixed on the data drives in his lap. With the Landers communication systems, we can warn Earth about what happened here, about what we found. I didn't respond, focusing instead on navigating the Rover across the uneven lunar surface. As we crested a small rise, the landing site came into view and my heart sank.

The landing pad was empty. Our spacecraft was gone. Where is it? Albert asked, leaning forward in his seat. Did someone move it?

I stopped the Rover, staring at the empty landing pad. The reality of our situation crashed down on me with crushing weight. No one moved it. It was never meant to stay. What are you talking about?

I turned to look at him, the bitter truth settling in my gut like lead. Colonel Barkoff, this wasn't a rescue mission. It was a containment operation. They sent us here to assess the situation and report back. Once we entered the station and broke communications protocol by removing our helmets, the Lander was programmed to return to orbit automatically.

But that's, that's a death sentence. Albert stammered, his scientific composure finally breaking. They left us here to die. They left us here to make sure whatever is in that station doesn't get back to Earth. I corrected him.

Barkov never intended for any of us to return. That's why he blackmailed me into coming. He needed someone who understood the station systems but was also expendable. Albert fell silent, processing this revelation. Finally, he asked.

What about the Chinese outpost? I checked the Rover's systems. We have oxygen and power for maybe 3 days if we're careful. The outpost is 300 kilometers away across difficult terrain. We might make it, but, but the odds aren't good.

He finished for me. I nodded, looking back at the dark entrance to the lunar station, then up at the distant Earth. The same planet where my daughter Shannon was excelling in her mathematics classes, where my ex-wife Annie was teaching at the university in Leningrad. A world I would likely never see again. What do we do now?

Albert asked quietly. I turned back to the controls, my mind already working through our limited options. We survive as long as possible. We find a defensible position, conserve our resources, and look for any way to communicate with Earth or the Chinese outpost. And if that thing comes after us?

I thought about how the entity had retreated from our lights, how it had tracked blood and seemed to absorb energy. Then we use what we know against it. It avoids strong light, it follows blood, it consumes energy. That gives us something to work with. Albert nodded slowly, some of his scientific curiosity returning.

I might be able to modify our equipment to create a more powerful light source, perhaps even a weapon of sorts. That's the Spirit, I said, putting the Rover back in motion. We're not dead yet, Doctor, and I don't plan on making it easy for that thing if it decides to follow us. I steered us away from the station, looking for elevated ground where we could set up a temporary base.

The lunar landscape stretched out before us, desolate and unforgiving, but also our only chance at survival. Behind us, the dark entrance to Vostok Station loomed like an open mouth, housing an ancient entity that had waited thousands of years for prey. It would have to wait a little longer. I wasn't ready to die on this godforsaken rock, Not when I still had a strategy forming in my mind.

Not when I still had something to fight for.