We Boarded a Space Ship That Vanished Decades Ago. Something Was Waiting Inside.

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I couldn't believe what I was seeing on the monitor. The Hermes was just sitting there, floating in the black like it hadn't been missing for 20 years. The hull looked clean. Too clean. No micrometeorite impacts, no radiation discoloration.

Nothing you'd expect from a ship that had been adrift for two decades. This can't be right, I muttered, adjusting the resolution on the display. The ship's profile was unmistakable, though. The Hermes was a Valkyrie class research vessel designed for deep space exploration. Twin engine cells, cylindrical midsection with that distinctive observation Dome on the dorsal side.

I'd studied the specs during mission prep, but seeing it now, looking factory new made my stomach tighten. I checked the readings again, Oxygen levels, temperature, power signatures, all showing green across the board. It didn't make sense. A ghost ship shouldn't have life support running. It shouldn't have power at all.

I pulled up the historical data on my tablet. The Hermes disappeared during a routine survey mission in the Kuiper Belt. No distress signal, no debris field, nothing. Search teams combed the area for months before declaring it lost with all hands, 17 crew members, some of the best minds in the program gone without a trace.

Until now. I zoomed in on the hull, looking for the registration number. There it was clear as day. USC 27891, The Hermes, without a doubt. Taylor Terry's voice came through my earpiece, interrupting my thoughts.

Ray Mendoza wants everyone in the briefing room. 5 minutes. Copy that. I replied, taking one last look at the monitor on my way. I grabbed my tablet and headed out of the observation deck, passing a few crew members who were talking in hushed tones.

Word was spreading fast, finding the Hermes was big, the kind of big that made people nervous. The corridors of our ship, the Artemis, were brightly lit and efficiently designed. Nothing fancy, a heart, just functional. I nodded to a couple of engineers as I passed them, their conversation stopping as soon as they saw me.

Everyone knew something was up. When I reached the briefing room, most of the senior staff was already there. Isabella Knapp, our science officer, was reviewing data on her tablet, her brow furrowed in concentration. Terry Williamson stood near the communications console, adjusting something on his headset. A few others were settling into their seats around the Oval table.

Ray Mendoza entered last, her stride purposeful as always. She had that look on her face, the one that said she'd already made-up her mind about something and was just going through the motions of consulting us. All right, people, let's get started, she said, activating the main display screen. The image of the Hermes appeared, rotating slowly to show all angles.

As you can see, we've located the Hermes. Preliminary scans confirm it's the real deal. How is that possible? Asked one of the junior officers. It's been 20 years, that's what we're going to find out, Mendoza replied.

She pulled up a series of redoubts on a secondary screen. These are the current scans of the vessel. Life support is operational. Internal atmosphere is stable, no detectable hull breaches. Power systems are functioning at approximately 68% capacity.

I leaned forward. That can't be right. Even with minimal systems running, they should have exhausted their fuel cells years ago. I agree, Mendoza said. It defies explanation, but the readings are consistent across all our scanning equipment.

Isabella raised her hand slightly. Have we detected any life signs? No Mendoza shook her head. No biological signatures that we can identify, But with systems operational, we need to consider the possibility that someone or something is aboard. The room fell silent as everyone processed that thought.

So what's the plan? I asked, already guessing the answer. Mendoza straightened her shoulders. We're going to dock and investigate. This is too important to ignore, and Command agrees.

They've given us full authorization to board and assess. Isabella frowned. With all due respect, Ray, how does a ship maintain itself for 20 years without a crew? The environmental systems alone would require regular maintenance, not to mention the power source keeping everything running. That's precisely why we need to investigate, Mendoza replied.

The Hermes was carrying experimental technology, some of it classified. We need to recover what we can and determine what happened to the crew. She turned to me. Taylor, you'll lead the boarding party. Take Wyatt Santos for security and Hunter Sing for Technical Support.

I want a thorough, cautious exploration. Primary objectives are to secure the bridge, check the ship's logs, and assess the engineering section. I nodded. It made sense that I'd be going as mission specialist with Eva certification. I was the obvious choice.

Wyatt was solid, former military level headed in a crisis, and Hunter was the best engineer we had, though he tended to get distracted by interesting tech. What's our timeline? I asked. We'll begin docking procedures immediately. Mendoza said.

Estimated time to complete docking is 3 hours. I want your team ready to board 3 hours after that, full environmental suits until we can verify the atmosphere is safe, despite what the readings say. She looked around the room. Any other questions? When no one spoke up, she nodded once.

Dismissed. Taylor, stay behind for a moment. As the others filed out, I remained in my seat, watching Mendoza's face. Once we were alone, her professional mask slipped just a bit. Taylor, I don't need to tell you how strange this is.

She said her voice lower. Command is extremely interested in what we find, but they're also concerned if anything seems off, anything at all. I want you to pull your team out immediately. Understood. I said.

Any specific concerns I should know about? Mendoza hesitated, which wasn't like her. The Hermes was testing some new propulsion theories. Nothing weapons grade, but still sensitive. Command is worried about technological theft.

You think someone hijacked it? I think after 20 years we should be prepared for anything. She pulled up a schematic of the Hermes on her tablet and slid it across to me. Familiarize yourself with the layout. I want regular check insurance every 30 minutes once you're aboard.

I nodded, taking the tablet. We'll be careful. See that you are, she said, her professional demeanor returning dismissed. The next six hours passed in a blur of preparation. I reviewed the Hermes schematics until I could navigate the ship in my sleep.

Hunter tested and retested our equipment while Wyatt checked over our sidearms. Standard procedure for unknown situations, though I hoped we wouldn't need them. We suited up in the prep room adjacent to the airlock. The environmental suits were bulky but necessary until we could confirm the ship's atmosphere was actually breathable. You ever been on a ghost ship before?

Hunter asked as he adjusted his helmet seals. There's no such thing as ghost ships. I replied, checking the oxygen flow in my suit. Just ships with stories we don't understand yet. Wyatt grunted as he secured his equipment belt.

I'll take ghosts over hijackers any day. At least ghosts don't shoot back. Let's just focus on the mission. I said get in, gather information, get out. Standard procedure.

Nothing standard about this, Hunter muttered, but he nodded anyway. The docking procedure completed without a hitch, almost too smoothly for a ship that had been abandoned for two decades. The Artemis's systems linked with the Hermes like they were made for each other, establishing a secure seal between the two vessels. Terry's voice came through our comms.

Docking complete. Seal integrity at 100%. You're clear to proceed to the airlock. Copy that. I responded.

Team moving to position now. We gathered at the airlock, a circular chamber that would serve as the transition point between our ship and the Hermes. I did one final check of my team's equipment. Comms check, I said. Santos here, reading you 5 by 5, Sing here, comms operational.

I nodded, satisfied. Remember, we stay together. No wandering off, no touching anything without clearing at first. We don't know what we're walking into. Artemis command to boarding team.

Mendoza's voice came through clearly. You are cleared to proceed. Exercise extreme caution. Acknowledged. I replied, beginning boarding sequence now.

I activated the airlock cycle. Our side sealed first, then the pressure equalized with a hiss that we felt more than heard through our suits, the status light above the outer door turned from red to green. Here we go. I said, pressing the release for the outer door. It's lit open with surprising smoothness, revealing a brightly lit corridor on the other side.

The lighting was steady, no flickering, no emergency mode. Just normal illumination, as if the crew had stepped out moments ago instead of decades. Our suit sensors immediately began analyzing the atmosphere. I'm getting readings consistent with Standard Life support parameters, Hunter said, checking his wrist display Oxygen at 19.8% nitrogen balance trace CO2 temperature 21 Celsius.

That's impossible, Wyatt said, staring at his own readings. Power systems can't maintain these conditions for 20 years without maintenance, yet here we are, I replied. I took a cautious step forward, my boot crossing the threshold between the Artemis and the Hermes. The corridor stretched ahead, clean and well maintained. No dust, no signs of abandonment or struggle.

Air readings are holding steady. Hunter confirmed. If these sensors are right, we could breathe normally in here. Keep your helmets on until I say otherwise. I ordered.

Let's move forward, slow and steady. We stepped fully into the corridor of the Hermes, our footsteps echoing slightly on the metal floor. The walls were a standard off white, with directional markers and safety notices still clearly visible. A status panel nearby showed all systems functioning normally. Taylor, are you seeing this?

Hunter asked, moving toward the panel. According to this, all primary and secondary systems are operational. Life support, artificial gravity, Power Distribution, all nominal. Log it, I said, but don't interface with any systems yet. Wyatt moved slightly ahead, his posture tense as he scanned for threats.

No signs of forced entry or combat damage, No blood, no burn marks, nothing. I checked our position against the mental map I'd built from studying the schematics. Bridge is 2 decks up, Engineering is 1 deck down. Crew quarters are on this level. F section.

Where do we start? Hunter asked. Bridge. I decided. That's where we'll find the ship's logs and get some answers.

We moved cautiously down the corridor toward the central lift system. Everything was so pristine it felt artificial, like walking through a simulation rather than an actual ship. Artemis, this is Gutierrez, I said into my calm. We've entered the vessel. All systems appear operational.

Proceeding to the bridge. Now. Copy that, Mendoza's voice replied. What's your assessment so far? I paused, trying to put my unease into words.

It's too perfect, Ray. Like the ship's been maintained all this time, but there's no one here to do the maintaining. Understood. Proceed with caution. Next check in in 30 minutes.

We reached the lift and I hesitated before pressing the call button. Hunter, can you check if this is operational without triggering any alarms? He pulled out a small diagnostic tool and held it near the control panel. Power's flowing normally, no security lockouts detected. It should work just like any standard lift.

I nodded and pressed the button. The doors opened immediately, revealing a clean, well lit elevator cabin. This is getting weirder by the minute, Wyatt muttered as we stepped inside. I selected the bridge level and the lift moved smoothly upward. When the doors opened again, we found ourselves in another corridor, this one curving slightly to follow the contour of the ship's design.

Bridge should be straight ahead, I said, leading the way. The main doors to the bridge were closed, but not locked. They slid open as we approached, responding to proximity sensors that somehow still functioned perfectly after all this time. The bridge of the Hermes was larger than ours on the Artemis, designed for a bigger crew complement and longer missions.

Workstations ringed the perimeter, all showing active displays. The captain's chair sat empty in the center, facing the main view screen, which currently displayed a star field. It's like they just stepped out for a coffee break. Hunter whispered, the awe evident in his voice. Wyatt moved to check the adjacent rooms.

Ready room, communication suite, tactical station. While I approach the main console. Hunter, see if you can access the ship's logs without setting off any security protocols. I said. He nodded and moved to an engineering station, carefully beginning to work through the access procedures.

I stood in the center of the bridge, turning slowly to take it all in. Everything was in perfect order, no signs of struggle, no emergency protocols activated, nothing to indicate why 17 people would abandoned their posts and disappear. Wyatt, what do you see? I called out. He emerged from the ready room, shaking his head.

Nothing out of place, personal items still there. Looks like the captain was reviewing some kind of research data before whatever happened. Hunter made a small noise of triumph. I'm in. Ship's logs are accessible.

I moved to a station. Bring up the final entries. That's the thing, he said, scrolling through data. According to this, the last log entry was made less than an hour ago. What?

I leaned closer, sure I'd misheard. System timestamp shows continuous log entries for the past 20 years, Hunter said, his voice tense with confusion. Environmental readings, course corrections, system diagnostics, all logged as if the ship's been operating normally this whole time. That's not possible, Wyatt said, joining us at the console. Who's making the entries?

The system itself, apparently. Hunter replied. But that doesn't explain how it's maintained power for two decades. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with my suit's temperature. Pull up the final crew logs.

Let's hear from the actual people, not the automated systems. Hunter nodded and accessed a different section of the database. Last personal log was from Captain Chen. Dated the day before the Hermes was reported missing. He activated the playback and a woman's voice filled our calms.

Calm professional with no hint of concern. Captain's Log Standard date 21138.04, point 17. We've completed our survey of the anomaly and are preparing to return to Earth with our findings. Doctor Singh believes the energy signature could revolutionize our understanding of propulsion theory. The artifact is secure in Lab 3, though it continues to exhibit unexpected properties and long.

We stood in silence for a moment after the recording finished. Artifact Wyatt finally asked. What artifact? Lab Three? I said, recalling the ship's layout.

That's two decks down in the research section. Hunter was already accessing more files. There's a research log about it, something they found floating in the Kuiper Belt, an object of unknown origin and composition. Does it say what happened to the crew? I asked.

He shook his head. Nothing obvious. The logs just stop after that entry. I made a decision. We need to see this lab.

If they found something that could affect a ship this way, we need to know what we're dealing with. Agreed, Wyatt said. But we should report back first. I nodded and activated my calm. Artemis, this is Gutierrez.

We've reached the bridge. All systems are operational, but there's no sign of the crew. We found logs mentioning some kind of artifact they discovered requesting permission to investigate the research lab. Static answered me. Artemis, do you copy?

I tried again but got nothing but more static. Comms are down. Hunter confirmed checking his equipment, but they were working fine a minute ago. Could be interference from something on the ship. Why it's suggested, though he didn't sound convinced.

Let's head to lab three. I decided. We'll try to re establish contact on the way. We left the bridge and returned to the lift. As the doors closed behind us, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched, though.

The ship's internal sensors showed no life signs but our own. Lab 3 is on deck, CI said. Selecting the appropriate button, the lift descended smoothly, and when the doors opened again, we found ourselves in a corridor that looked identical to the others. Clean, well lit, maintained to perfection. Research section should be to the right, Hunter said, consulting his schematic.

We moved carefully down the hallway, passing storage rooms and smaller labs until we reached a door marked Lab 3. Restricted access. Security lockout on this one, Hunter noted, examining the control panel. But it's still powered and functional. Can you bypass it?

I asked. Should be able to, he replied, connecting his diagnostic tool to the panel. After a moment of work, the light changed from red to green, and the door slid open. Lab 3 was larger than the other research spaces we'd passed. Equipment lined the walls.

Analysis stations, containment units, monitoring devices, all still powered and running. In the center of the room stood A cylindrical, clear chamber about two meters high. And inside it. What the hell is that? Wyatt whispered.

Inside the chamber was an object unlike anything I'd ever seen, about the size of a basketball. It appeared to be shifting constantly, not physically moving, but changing somehow, as if it's very structure couldn't decide what it wanted to be. It wasn't quite solid, wasn't quite liquid, and emitted A faint bluish glow that pulsed in a rhythm that seemed almost deliberate.

That must be the artifact they mentioned. Hunter said, moving closer to the containment field. I've never seen anything like it. Don't get too close. I warned, noticing how the object seemed to pulse more rapidly as Hunter approached.

The energy readings are off the charts. He said, checking his scanner. But they don't match any known pattern. This thing could be the power source keeping the ship running, why it stayed near the door. His posture tense.

We should report this and wait for instructions. This is way beyond our pay grade. Comms are still down. I reminded him, trying my link again and getting nothing but static. We need to gather what information we can and return to the Artemis.

Hunter had moved to a research station and was scrolling through data files. According to these notes, they found this thing just floating in space. No housing, no technology around it, just this object all by itself. They brought it to board for study end. He stopped suddenly.

And what? I prompted. That's where the research notes end. He said mid sentence, like they were interrupted. I looked back at the artifact, watching it.

Strange fluid like movements within the containment field. As I stared, I could almost swear it was reacting to our presence, the pulses changing tempo, the shifts becoming more pronounced. We need to go. I said suddenly, a feeling of wrongness washing over me now. But we just got here.

Hunter protested. This could be the discovery of the century, and it'll still be here after we report back. I insisted. Something's not right, we're leaving. Wyatt nodded in agreement, already moving toward the door.

Listen to Taylor, we need to regroup. Hunter reluctantly stepped away from the console, but as he did, the artifacts pulsing intensified dramatically, the blue glow brightening until it was almost painful to look at. Move. I ordered, grabbing Hunter's arm and pulling him toward the exit. We hurried out of the lab, the door sliding shut behind us.

The corridor lights flickered once, then stabilized. What was that about? Hunter asked, shaking off my grip. I don't know, I admitted. But that thing, it was reacting to us.

I could feel it. Feel it, Wyatt repeated skeptically. I don't know how else to describe it, I said. Let's get back to the airlock and try to contact the Artemis again. We made our way back to the lift, the ship around us still eerily pristine and functioning.

When we reached our entry point, the airlock connecting to the Artemis was exactly as we'd left it, open and ready. Try the comms again, I told Hunter as we approached. He adjusted some settings on his suit, still nothing but static. It doesn't make sense. We're right next to the Artemis now, let's go through and report what we found.

I decided we need more equipment and probably a science team to properly assess that artifact. We stepped up to the airlock and I reached for the control panel to cycle it open. Power's still working, I noted as the panel lit up under my touch. The door slid open, revealing the brightly lit corridor with surprisingly clean air.

I stepped forward as Wyatt noted behind me. This is impossible, the power shouldn't still be working after all this time. I led the way into the corridor, noting how the air quality remained fresh and clean, impossible for a ship that had been abandoned for 20 years. The lights shown at standard brightness, not the emergency settings you'd expect.

We need to document everything, I said, tapping the camera control on my helmet. A small light blinked green in my peripheral vision, confirming it was recording. Make sure your cameras are on. Wyatt and Hunter both nodded, activating their helmet cameras with quick taps. Let's start with a systematic sweep.

I said. We'll check the mess hall first, then work our way to the crew quarters, engineering, and any other areas of interest. What about that artifact in the lab? Hunter asked, his voice eager. Shouldn't we analyze it more thoroughly?

I shook my head. Not yet. We need to understand what happened here first. That thing gives me the creeps anyway. We moved through the corridors, our footsteps echoing in the empty ship.

Every system appeared operational. Air circulation, lighting, temperature control. It was as if the Hermes was just waiting for its crew to return. The mess hall doors slid open automatically as we approached. Inside, the large room was spotless except for one detail that made my skin crawl.

Look at this, I said, moving toward one of the tables. Meals set out and ready to eat. 5 trays sat on the table, the food on them dried out but still recognizable. Some kind of pasta dish with vegetables. Utensils were placed neatly beside each tray.

Cups half filled with what must have been coffee or water stood nearby. They were about to eat, Wyatt said, scanning the room with practiced eyes. Something interrupted their meal, but no signs of panic. I noted, turning slowly to take in the entire space. No overturned chairs, no dropped utensils.

It's like they all just got up and left. Hunter moved to another table where a data pad sat. He tapped it, and the screen immediately lit up. Power still running to the personal devices too. This one's locked to someone named Matthews.

I checked the other tables, finding three more data pads, all still functioning after 20 years. It didn't make sense. Let's check the bridge next, I decided. The bridge was just as we left it, pristine and operational. I moved to the captain's chair and ran my hand over the smooth material.

No dust. The navigation console showed the ship's last recorded position in the Kuiper belt from 20 years ago. The data was frozen in time like everything else on this ghost ship. Pull up the ship's logs again. I told Hunter.

I want to check if there's anything we missed. Hunter nodded and moved to the communication station. His fingers flew over the controls, bringing up the ship's log entries. Here's the final entry from Captain Gutierrez. Hunter said, stepping back so I could see the screen.

I leaned forward, studying the text. Captain Ray Gutierrez, no relation to me despite the shared surname, had made his final entry at 14 to 23 hours on June 17th, 21 to 84. It was a routine status report, noting that they were continuing their survey mission and had recovered an object of interest that the science team was studying.

Nothing unusual, nothing that would explain what happened to 17 crew members. What troubles me most is the lack of bodies. I said, voicing the thought that had been gnawing at me since we boarded. No signs of struggle, no evidence of a rapid evacuation. It's like everyone just vanished.

Could they have evacuated in the escape pods? Why? It suggested. I shook my head. We checked that already.

All escape pods are still docked. Besides, why would they leave a perfectly functioning ship? And why would they leave in the middle of a meal? Hunter added. Let's check the crew quarters, I decided.

Maybe we'll find something there. The residential section of the Hermes consisted of small but comfortable private quarters for the senior officers and shared cabins for the rest of the crew. We started with the captain's quarters. The door slid open at my touch, revealing A neatly organized room. The bed was made with military precision.

A uniform hung in the open closet. On the desk sat a framed photo of a woman with two young children, a boy and a girl, maybe 8 and 10 years old. His family, I said quietly, picking up the frame. They never found out what happened to him. I set the photo down, feeling like an intruder in this man's life.

20 years had passed. Those children would be adults now, still wondering about their father's fate. We checked the other quarters, 1 by 1. Each told the same story. Personal belongings left behind as if the occupants expected to return.

Clothing hung in closets, books and data pads sat on night stands. One room had a half written letter displayed on a screen, never finished, never sent. In the chief engineers quarters, I found a small wooden carving of a sailing ship, the kind of personal touch that reminded me these weren't just names in a report.

They were people with lives, with families, with hobbies and dreams. They left everything behind, I said, setting the carving back on the shelf. Whatever happened, they didn't have time to take anything with them, or they thought they'd be coming back. In the science officers quarters, I found a family photo similar to the captain's, a woman with a young boy.

The boy was wearing a baseball cap and holding a Mitt, grinning widely at the camera. He'd never see his father again. A wave of uneasiness washed over me. Taylor Hunter's voice crackled through my comms. You need to see this.

Where are you? I asked. Deck C-section 7, there's a room here that's not on the schematics. I glanced at Wyatt, who shrugged. I'll finish checking these quarters, he said.

You go see what he found. I made my way to Deck C, following the numbered sections until I reached Section 7. Hunter stood outside an unmarked door at the end of a corridor. What is it? I asked.

I was checking the maintenance access panels when I noticed this. Hunter said, pointing to the door. It's not on any of the ship's layouts. The door had no markings, no identification panel like the other rooms, just a simple biometric scanner beside it. Did you try to open it?

I asked. Hunter nodded. It's locked, but the systems recognized my engineering override. I wanted to wait for you before going in. Good call.

I said let's see what's inside. Hunter placed his hand on the scanner. After a moment, the door slid open with a soft hiss, the lights inside automatically activated, revealing a room about 20 feet square. What we saw made us both stop in our tracks. The room contained nothing but shelves, shelves that lined all four walls from floor to ceiling, and on those shelves sat hundreds of identical small black cubes, each about 3 inches on each side.

What the hell? I muttered, stepping inside. The cubes were arranged in perfect rows, each one placed exactly the same distance from its neighbors. They had no visible markings, no obvious purpose, just black cubes. I've never seen anything like this.

Hunter said, moving to examine one of the shelves. As we move deeper into the room, I became aware of a sound, or not exactly a sound, but a sensation, A humming that I felt rather than heard, vibrating directly in my skull. Do you feel that? I asked. Hunter nodded.

It's coming from the cubes, some kind of resonance. I approached one of the shelves, studying the cubes without touching them. They appeared to be made of some kind of matte black material that absorbed light rather than reflected it. These weren't in any of the mission briefings, I said. Nothing in the logs mentioned collecting hundreds of mysterious black boxes.

Hunter reached out toward one of the cubes. I wouldn't touch that if I were you, I warned. We need to analyze 1, Hunter argued. Figure out what they are. We don't know what these things do, I said.

Remember that artifact in the lab? The crew disappeared after bringing unknown objects aboard. Hunter hesitated, then reached for the cube. Anyway, we're already wearing protective gear, and we need to bring back something concrete. Hunter, don't, I started, but he had already picked up one of the cubes.

Nothing happened. No alarms, no power surge, no dramatic effect. The cube sat in Hunter's gloved hand, still emanating that strange vibration. See. Hunter said.

It's fine. I'll put it in a containment case for analysis back on the ship. I wasn't happy about it, but he had a point. We needed to understand what we were dealing with. Fine, but just one and keep it in containment.

Hunter carefully placed the cube in a specialized container designed for unknown materials. The humming sensation diminished slightly as the cube was sealed away. Let's finish our sweep and get back to the Prometheus. I said. I don't want to stay here any longer than necessary.

We completed our inspection of the Hermes, finding nothing else that explained the crew's disappearance. The engineering section was in perfect condition, the reactor running at minimum power. The medical Bay was untouched, with no records of illness or injury. It was as if 17 people had simply ceased to exist, leaving everything else intact.

Back on the Prometheus, we delivered our report to Commander Mendoza and the science team. Doctor Isabella Knapp examine the black cube with particular interest. The material doesn't match anything in our databases, she said, studying the readings from her instruments. It absorbs almost all light and emits A consistent frequency that seems to operate on a quantum level.

Any idea what it is? Mendoza asked. Doctor Knapp shook her head. Could be a data storage device of some kind. Or possibly alien technology.

Without more information, it's hard to say. And you found hundreds of these on the Hermes? Mendoza asked me. Yes, Sir. All identical as far as we could tell, arranged in a hidden room that wasn't on the ship's schematics.

Mendoza frowned. And the artifact in the lab, the one mentioned in the final logs? Still there, some kind of shifting mass that seems to respond to presence. We left it untouched after seeing how it reacted to us. I want a full analysis of this cube, Mendoza said to Doctor Knapp.

Priority one. I glanced at the black cube sitting in its containment field. Something about it made me uneasy. The strange humming had followed us back, even through the containment field. Isabella ran her tests as I kept an eye on the cube.

Fascinating, she said, adjusting her glasses. It absorbs all wavelengths of light we've tested. It's like a perfect black body. Hunter stood too close to the containment field, staring at it. Have you tried communicating with it?

Isabella looked up from her tablet. Communicate. It's an object, Hunter, right? He said, but didn't step back. Of course, that was the first sign something was off, but I didn't recognize it.

Then over the next 48 hours, things got worse. Hunter stopped showing up for meals. When I did see him, he looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes. He kept checking his tablet, making notes then erasing them. During the second night cycle I couldn't sleep and went to grab coffee from the mess.

I heard voices coming from the lab and figured Isabella was still working, but when I poked my head in, it was just Hunter alone talking to himself. I understand. He was saying, standing in front of the cubes containment field. Yes, I see now you're right. I stepped inside.

Hunter, you OK? He jumped like I'd shocked him. Taylor didn't hear you come in. Who were you talking to? Just thinking out loud.

He ran a hand through his hair. It stuck up in all directions, like he hadn't showered in days. Working through some theories, I nodded toward the cube. About that thing. It chose me, you know.

His voice dropped to almost a whisper. Out of everyone, it speaks to me. The cube speaks to you. I kept my voice neutral, but alarm bells were going off in my head. Not with words.

It's more impressions, ideas. He stepped closer to the containment field. It's been alone for so long, Hunter. When's the last time you slept? Sleep.

He laughed, a strange high pitched sound I'd never heard from him before. There's no time for sleep, it has so much to show me. I took a step toward him. I think you should get some rest. Let's go to medical, have Emily check you out.

No, He backed away. I'm fine, better than fine, I just need to keep working. Working on what, exactly? He gave me a smile that didn't reach his eyes. You wouldn't understand, not yet.

I left the lab but didn't go back to my quarters. Instead, I went straight to Commander Mendoza's office and pressed the call button. She answered almost immediately, looking alert despite the hour. Gutierrez, what is it? We need to talk about Hunter.

I said. Something's wrong. 20 minutes later, we were in the briefing room with Isabella. I told them what I'd seen. He's been acting strange in our sessions too, Isabella confirmed, asking unusual questions about quantum entanglement and consciousness transference.

Theoretical concepts weigh outside his specialty. Mendoza's face remained impassive, but I could see concern in her eyes. Doctor Knapp, is there any evidence the cube is emitting radiation or some kind of field that could affect cognitive function? Nothing we've detected, Isabella said. But that doesn't mean it's not happening.

Our instruments have limitations. I want Doctor Green to examine him, Mendoza decided. Full work up blood tests, brain scan, and I want the cube moved to a more secure containment. He won't like that I said. This isn't about what he likes, Specialist.

Mendoza stood up. This is about crew safety. I'm ordering a level 2 quarantine protocol on both Sing and the Artifact. I nodded. Yes, Commander.

Things moved quickly after that. Mendoza called Doctor Green while Isabella went to secure the lab. I volunteered to bring Hunter to medical. When I got to his quarters and pressed the call button, there was no answer. I tried again, then used my security override.

The door slid open to reveal an empty room. But what caught my attention wasn't what was missing, it was what was there. Every surface, walls, desk, even the ceiling was covered with equations and diagrams drawn in what looked like black marker symbols I didn't recognize mixed with standard mathematical notations. In the center of the far wall, larger than the rest, was a perfect drawing of the cube.

I tapped my calm Gutierrez to Mendoza. Hunter's not in his quarters, but you need to see this. She arrived 5 minutes later with Doctor Green. They both stopped short when they saw the walls. My God, Emily said.

How long has he been like this? Mendoza walked to the center of the room, examining the equations. Doctor Green, what's your medical opinion without examining him? Possibly a psychotic break or severe obsessive episode. She touched one of the drawings.

The precision is remarkable, though. He's not in the lab either. Isabella's voice came through our comms. And the cube is gone. Mendoza's expression hardened.

Locked down the ship. Find him. We searched everywhere. Mess hall, engineering observation deck. No sign of Hunter.

It was Wyatt who figured it out first. The maintenance shafts. He said, pointing to an Open Access panel near the docking Bay. He could have gone back to the Hermes. Mendoza nodded.

That's our best bet. Gutierrez, take Santos and Doctor Green find, Sing, and retrieve that cube. Use force if necessary, but prioritize his safety. Yes, Commander, we suited up quickly. No environmental suits this time, just standard tactical gear.

Wyatt checked his sidearm while Emily packed a medical kit with sedatives. If he's experiencing A psychotic episode, approach slowly, she instructed as we walked toward the airlock. No sudden movements. Let me do the talking. And if that doesn't work?

Wyatt asked. She padded A pneumatic injector in her kit. This should knock him out within seconds. The Hermes was still brightly lit when we boarded, everything exactly as we left it. Too perfect, too clean.

The humming I'd felt before seemed stronger now, vibrating at the edge of my senses. Where would he go? Emily asked. The cube room? I said without hesitation.

That's where he'd take it. We moved through the corridors quickly but cautiously. I took the point. With Emily behind me and Wyatt covering our rear. The ship felt different somehow, more alive, as if it was watching us.

When we reached the unmarked door on Deck C, it was already open. I signalled for the others to wait while I peered inside. The room was different. Many of the shelves that had held hundreds of identical cubes were now empty. The remaining cubes pulsed with faint blue light.

And there, in the center of the room, stood Hunter. His back was to us, but I could see he was holding something in his hands, our cube now glowing brighter than the others. Hunter. I called softly. It's Taylor, We're here to help you.

He turned slowly. His face was pale, eyes wide and bloodshot. Taylor, you came. His voice sounded normal, relieved even. I was hoping you would.

What are you doing here, Hunter? I stepped into the room, motioning for the others to stay back. I understand now. He held up the cube, which pulsed in rhythm with the others. What it is, what they all are.

It's beautiful, really. Why don't you put that down and come back with us? Emily wants to check you out. I can't leave now. He smiled, but it wasn't his smile anymore.

It's already started. That's when I noticed his hands. The skin around his fingers where he touched the cube had changed, darkened to the same perfect black as the cube itself. The blackness was spreading up his wrists like veins. Hunter, your hands.

I couldn't hide the horror in my voice. He looked down, seemingly unsurprised. I know it's the joining it shows me. Emily stepped forward, her voice calm and professional. Hunter, you're experiencing a severe reaction to something.

Let me help you. There's nothing wrong with me. He clutched the cube tighter. I'm becoming something more. Wyatt moved to my side, hand on his sidearm.

Sing, put down the cube and step away. That's an order. Hunter's expression darkened. You still don't understand. None of you do.

The blackness crept further up his arms. But you will. Emily approached slowly, injector in hand. Hunter, I'm going to give you something to help you relax, OK? She got within 3 feet of him before he moved.

It happened so fast I barely saw it. Hunter's arm shot out, grabbing Wyatt by the throat and lifting him off the ground with impossible strength. Then he threw him, sending Wyatt flying across the room to crash into the shelves of cubes. Hunter, stop. I shouted, drawing my sidearm.

But he was already moving, darting past us with unnatural speed. The blackness had spread to his shoulders now, his hands completely transformed into something that wasn't quite solid anymore. After him, I helped Wyatt to his feet. He was dazed, but conscious. What the hell was that?

He gasped. I don't know, I admitted. But we need to stop him. We follow the trail of black residue Hunter left behind, oily droplets on the floor that seemed to evaporate seconds after we passed them. The trail LED deeper into the ship, toward Engineering.

As we ran, I began hearing something else beneath the humming whispers just at the edge of my awareness. Words I couldn't quite make out, speaking in a language I didn't know but somehow almost understood. Do you hear that? I asked the others. Hear what?

Emily looked concerned. Nothing, never mind. The engineering Bay doors were open when we arrived Inside, the massive engine stood silent, but there was a strange glow coming from the reactor housing. We moved forward cautiously, and there was Hunter, or what used to be Hunter. His entire body was black now, the same light absorbing material as the cube.

His form shifted and flowed, maintaining a roughly human shape but rippling like liquid. The cube was gone, absorbed into him. I realized. Hunter. Emily called, her medical training overriding her fear.

Can you hear me? The figure turned. Hunter's face was still recognizable but distorted, features sliding and reforming. Emily Taylor Wyatt, His voice echoed strangely. You should join us, It's wonderful.

Us. I asked The network. The collective. His arm extended, elongating impossibly. We've been alone so long.

Emily, brave beyond reason, stepped forward with her injector. Hunter, you're sick. Let me help you. I've never been better, he said, and lunged toward her. Wyatt fired three shots from his sidearm.

The energy bolts passed right through Hunter's fluid form, striking the wall behind him. Hunter's arm wrapped around Emily's throat, lifting her off the ground. She struggled, gasping for air, the injector falling from her hand. His body continued to lose definition. Wyatt and I both fired now, but it was useless.

The bolts passed through him without effect. Emily's face was turning blue. As Hunter's Formless. Body began to envelope her. Hunter, stop.

I. Shouted You're killing. Her, but the thing that had been Hunter. Sing didn't seem to care. Or maybe it didn't understand.

It just continued to flow around Emily, who had stopped struggling, her eyes rolling back in her head. I couldn't look away. That thing Hunter was flowing around Emily like black water, covering more of her body every second. We need to go now. I grabbed Wyatt's arm and yanked.

Him toward the door. He stumbled, still dazed from being thrown across the room. Come on. Wyatt's eyes fixed on Emily. We can't leave her.

She's gone. We'll be next if we don't move. I dragged him into the corridor. My boots skidding on the metal. Floor.

The whispers started then, soft at first, like background noise. Not words, exactly, more like thoughts that weren't mine, pushing into my head. We ran through the corridors of the Hair Maze, the ship that had felt wrong from the moment we'd stepped aboard. The whispers grew louder with each step, forming into something almost understandable.

Do you hear that? I panted, pulling Wyatt along. Hear what? Wyatt's voice sounded distant, even though he was right beside me. The whispers intensified, and suddenly they weren't just sounds anymore.

Images flashed through my mind, the Hermes crew screaming as black liquid consumed them. I saw Captain Chen backing away from something in the lab, a woman in a science uniform watching in horror as her hands turned black. A man in engineering being surrounded by flowing darkness. I saw them all being absorbed, transformed, their consciousness trapped as the black material hardened into perfect cubes.

Hundreds of cubes, all of them aware, all of them waiting. Oh God, I stumbled, nearly falling. The crew there, The cubes. The cubes are the crew. What are you talking about?

Why? It shook his head, trying to keep up. The missing crew. They were transformed, hunters joining them now. That's what happened here.

The images wouldn't stop. I saw the artifact, the first one they found, breaking apart, flowing like liquid, consuming everything it touched, multiplying. We turned the corner, the airlock just ahead. 20 more feet and we'd be back on the Prometheus safety. I pulled Wyatt harder.

Then he stopped, just froze in place. Wyatt, come on. His eyes went wide. Mia. What?

Mia? I hear my daughter. His voice had changed, softer now, wondering. There's nobody here, Wyatt. It's in your head.

The cubes, they're doing something to us. I tugged his arm, but he wouldn't budget. She's calling me. He turned his head, looking back down the corridor. She needs help.

It's not real, Wyatt. Your daughter is back on Earth. It's making you hear things. I grabbed his shoulders. Forced him to look at me.

It's how it gets you, How it got Hunter. For a second I thought I'd reached him. His eyes focused on mine, and he nodded. Then his head snapped around again. Daddy, help me.

He repeated words I couldn't hear. She's scared. Wyatt No. He tore away from. Me with surprising strength.

Before I could stop him, he was. Running back the way we. Came toward the voices only he could hear. Wyatt. I shouted after him.

God damn it, Wyatt. I took two steps to follow. Him then. Stopped. The whispers in my head turned to screams.

The trapped crew, their voices pleading, begging for release, promising things, threatening things. Wyatt's scream echoed through the corridor. A human sound at first, then something else entirely. I ran for the airlock. My hands shook.

As I punched in the code, the inner door slid open and I threw myself inside, hammering the panel to close it behind me. Through the small window, I watched the empty corridor, waiting for Wyatt to appear, or Hunter, or whatever was left of Emily. Nothing came, just the whispers in my head growing more insistent, more angry.

The cycle completed, the outer door opened, and I practically fell into the Prometheus airlock. I sealed it behind me, cycling through decontamination on autopilot. My mind kept replaying what I'd seen, what I'd heard. The crew, the Cubes Hunter. I made it to the bridge in record time.

Commander Mendoza looked up from the console, her face hardening when she saw I was alone. Where are the others gone? My voice sounded strange even to me. They're all gone. We need to leave now.

Explain one word. But it carried the full weight of her authority, so I told her everything. The hidden room full. Of Cubes, Hunter's transformation, the whispers, the visions of the Hermes crew being consumed and transformed. They're not dead, I said.

They're trapped, conscious, and they want more of us. Mendoza's face remained impassive, but her knuckles whitened as she gripped the console edge. Terry, full diagnostic on our systems. Isabella, check Taylor for contamination now, Commander, we don't have time, I insisted. We need to break away and warn Earth.

Whatever this is, it's not just dangerous, it's intelligent. It's patient. It waited 20 years for another ship. Isabella approached with a scanner, running it over me while I continued talking. The Hermes isn't just a ship.

Anymore. It's like a hive or a nest. Those cubes are connected somehow. They're all part of the same thing. He's clean.

Isabella reported. No signs of foreign material or neural interference. Terry. Mendoza looked at. Communications.

All systems nominal, no unauthorized transmissions or data transfers. Mendoza nodded once. Disengage docking clamps. Full reverse thrust. Once we're clear, maintain distance of 1000 meters, Commander.

I stepped closer. We need to get further away. Much further. We will, but first we need to document everything. The Admiralty will need proof before they quarantine this entire sector.

The ship shuttered as the. Docking clamps released. On the main view screen. I watched as we. Slowly backed away from the Hermes, It looked exactly as it had when we'd found it.

Pristine, untouched by time. A perfect trap. Full reverse, steady, the pilot announced, and the Hermes running lights flickered, all of them in sequence, like a wave passing from stern to bow. What was that? Mendoza leaned forward.

The lights flickered again. Then the ship's thrusters fired. It's following us, I whispered. Evasive maneuvers, Mendoza ordered. Maximum thrust.

For three days, the Hermes trailed us. No matter what course we plotted, what speed we maintained, it adjusted and followed. Not closing the distance, just following. Waiting. The whispers in my head grew stronger each night.

I stopped sleeping, started seeing things in the shadows of my quarters, faces pressing through the walls, black liquid seeping from the vents, then vanishing when I blinked. I wasn't the only one 2 crew members tried to steal. Shuttles on the second night. Claiming they needed to go back, security stopped them. But they kept insisting.

They heard family members calling them from the Hermes. On the third day, Mendoza called me to the bridge. Her face was drawn, the decision clearly weighing on her. We can't outrun it, she said simply. And we can't let it follow us back to populated space.

I knew what she meant. The cube survived 20 years without power. What if we have to try? She turned to weapons. Armed missiles target their engineering section.

I watched on the screen as the. Targeting system locked. Onto the Hermes, the ship that had been my father's last command, the ship where he died, or worse than died, fire, Mendoza ordered the missiles streaked across the. Void they. Struck the Hermes amid ships, right where the main reactor would be.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then a flash of light erupted from the impact point, spreading outward as the ship broke apart. The explosion was massive, far larger than it should have been. The Hermes didn't just break apart, it disintegrated, and among the debris, spinning away in all directions, I could see them. Hundreds of tiny black cubes scattered throughout the void of space.

I stared at the screen, watching the cubes disappear into the darkness. I've been staring at this screen for three hours now, trying to figure out how to write this report. My fingers hover over the keyboard, then pull back. I've deleted and rewritten the first paragraph 17 times. How do you even start to explain?

Something like this? I type Official Mission report Prometheus Expedition to investigate USC 27891 Hermes filed by Lieutenant Taylor Gutierrez. That's as far as I get before stopping again. The facts are easy enough. We found the Hermes after 20 years missing.

We boarded, we discovered those cubes. We lost 3 crew members but putting it all in a report. Feels wrong somehow. Like I'm reducing what happened to bullet points and technical language. I rub my eyes.

My quarters are quiet except for the. Hum of the ship. 'S systems. We're four days into our return journey to Earth. Four days since we blew up the Hermes. 4 days of looking over my shoulder, checking vents and flinching its shadows.

I try again. Upon boarding the Hermes, the away team discovered unusual conditions inconsistent with a vessel abandoned for 20 years. That's better. Stick to facts. Don't mention the whispers, Don't talk about how Hunter changed.

Just the facts. I keep typing, describing our initial exploration, finding the mess hall with abandoned meals, the bridge with all systems functional. I document the crew quarters with belongings left behind. Then I get to the part about the hidden room of cubes. My fingers freeze again.

I see Hunter standing there, holding that cube, his skin turning black. I hear his voice changing as he talked about joining and the network. I see Emily's face as that thing. Wrapped around her. Throat.

I push back from the desk. My hands are. Shaking. I've lost crew members before, but not like this. Not watching them become something else.

Hunter, Wyatt, Emily, all gone and for what? We still don't understand what those cubes were or what happened to the Hermes crew. The worst part is I keep. Thinking I could have done something. Different if I'd ordered us to leave as soon.

As we found that artifact. In the lab, if I'd insisted Hunter get medical attention the first time he acted strange if I'd stopped Wyatt from running back. When he heard those. Voices. Maybe they'd all still be here.

I forced myself back to the keyboard. Commander Mendoza needs this report. Before we reach Earth, everyone needs to know what we found out there. I head to the medical Bay for my daily check. Mendoza ordered them for everyone after what happened.

Temperature readings, blood tests, skin examinations, looking for any sign we might be changing like Hunter did. Doctor Chen nods when I walk in. Lieutenant, take a seat. I sit on the examination table. While she runs the.

Scanner over me checking my vitals. Any unusual symptoms She asks. Headaches. Unusual thoughts? Skin disc discoloration.

She's asking the same question. She does every day. In the same order. Nothing new. I say It's not exactly true, but.

I'm not ready to talk about. The whispers yet? Or how sometimes when I look in the mirror I think I see something dark moving under my skin. Could just be exhaustion. I haven't slept more than two.

Hours at a stretch since we left. The Hermes, she draws blood. Examines my skin. Checks my eyes with a pen light. Your cortisol levels are elevated, she says, looking at her tablet.

And you're showing signs of sleep deprivation. I'm fine. I can give you something to help you. Sleep. I shake my head.

Thanks. But I need to stay alert. She gives me a look that says she doesn't agree, but she doesn't push it. All right, you're cleared. Same time tomorrow.

I nod and head out. The hallway seem. Emptier, now quieter. We lost three people out of a crew of 12. That's a quarter of our personnel.

The remaining nine of us are spread thin, taking on extra duties, working longer shifts. But it's more than just being short handed. There's a heaviness to the air, like everyone's holding their breath, waiting to see if what happened to Hunter is going to happen to one of us. Isabella's set up in the science lab, surrounded by screens showing footage from our helmet cams.

She's been analyzing everything since. We got back. Trying to make sense of what we found, Commander Mendoza ordered a full investigation, not just for the report to Earth, but to make sure we're safe. Taylor, she says when I walk in, she looks tired. Dark circles under her.

Eyes hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. I was just going through the footage from the cube room again. I look at the screens. One shows Hunter. Standing in the center of that room, holding the cube, black veins spreading up his arms, I look away.

Found anything new? I ask. She shakes her head. Not really. The cubes absorbed all wavelengths of light, just like the sample we brought aboard.

The energy readings are consistent with quantum level activity. But beyond that, she trails off, frustrated. I can't explain what they. Are or how they work? What about the connection to the Hermes crew?

That's where it gets interesting. She pulls up another screen. Showing a. Simulation based on the number of cubes. We saw and the crew.

Manifest of the Hermes. There's a correlation. 17 crew members, 17 cubes in that first batch we found. You think each cube was a crew member? It's a theory.

She rubs her eyes. The problem is, there were hundreds more cubes in that room. Where did they come from, and why were they arranged so precisely? I remember Hunter's words about the network and the collective. I tell Isabella about it.

She nods slowly. Some kind of hive mind maybe? Or a way to? Store consciousness. She turns back to her screens.

The artifact. They found that thing. In the lab. It had to be the catalyst, but how it works, what it wanted? She shrugs.

We just don't have enough. Data. So we're heading back to Earth with. More questions than. Answers, I say.

Pretty much. She looks up at me. How are you holding up? I'm fine. She gives me the same look Doctor Chen did.

Nobody believes me when I say I'm fine, and they're right not to. But what am I supposed to say? That I hear whispers when I'm alone? That I'm afraid to close my eyes, you know, she says. It wasn't your fault.

What happened to them? I was team leader. It was my. Responsibility to bring everyone back against something we don't understand, something we've never seen before. She shakes her head.

You got out. You warned us. If you hadn't, we might all be cubes by now. I don't have an answer for that. I just nod and leave her to her work night cycle on the ship.

The lights are dimmed to simulate evening, though out here in space there's no real day or night, just the artificial rhythm we create to keep ourselves sane. I'm lying in my bunk, staring at the ceiling. Sleep won't come. Every time I close. My eyes.

I see Hunter's face as he changed, hear Wyatt's scream echoing down the corridor, see Emily's eyes rolling back as that thing wrapped around her throat. And then there are the whispers. They start as a faint hum at the. Edge of my hearing. Then form into words I can almost understand.

Almost, but not quite. Like they're speaking a. Language I should know, but I've forgotten. I sit up, turn on the light. The whispers fade.

It's always like that. They come in the dark. In the quiet, when I'm alone with my thoughts, I get up and go to the small. Bathroom attached to my quarters. Splash some cold water on my face.

Look in the mirror. For a second, I think I see it. A darkness moving under my skin, like black ink flowing through my veins. I blink and it's gone, just my face, pale and tired, staring back at me. Is it real?

Am I infected with whatever God Hunter? Or is it just my mind playing tricks, showing me what I fear most? I've checked my blood myself, run scans, nothing shows up. But then we don't really know. What to look for?

The changes in Hunter weren't detectable until it was too late. I go back to my desk and open my report again. I need to finish this. Earth needs to know. What's out here?

What they might be facing if those cubes reach a populated area, I type recommend immediate quarantine of sector J-47 coordinates enclosed all vessels to be warned away from this region of space until further notice. Unknown contaminant with high risk of spreading. I pause then add. Be advised that visual. Confirmation of destruction.

May not be sufficient. The entities we encountered survived 20 years without apparent power or life support. Standard containment protocols may be inadequate. I sit back. Thinking about those.

Cubes spinning away from the Hermes explosion, hundreds of them scattered across space. How many ships pass through that sector every year? How long before one of them picks up a cube, brings it aboard, studies it like we did? The whispers start again. A little louder this.

Time I ignore them and keep typing. The report has to be finished. It's all I can do now, Warn them, make sure no one else makes the same mistakes we did. But as I type I can't. Shake the feeling that it's.

Already too late, those cubes are out there, drifting, waiting, and somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder if part of me is out there with them.