We Boarded an Abandoned Space Station. We Didn't Expect This Inside.

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 stared at the monitor, checking the sensor readings for the third time in an hour. My job as Anomaly Detection Specialist aboard the ESS Forerunner wasn't usually this tedious, but we'd been patrolling this sector for weeks with nothing to show for it.

Just empty space and the occasional bit of cosmic radiation that the computer flagged as unusual. Still nothing? Captain Hanson asked, coming up behind me. I shook my head. Nothing significant, Sir, just the same background fluctuations we've been tracking all week.

The bridge of the Forerunner was quiet today. Most of the crew was catching up on maintenance tasks or personal projects. Our mission to monitor deep space anomalies in this quadrant was important. At least that's what Command kept telling us. But it felt like we were just ticking boxes.

I adjusted the sensitivity on the quantum field detector and watched the readouts shift slightly. The technology was impressive, capable of detecting the slightest ripples in space-time, but it wasn't much use when there was nothing to detect. You know? I said to no one in particular. They could have at least sent us to a sector with a decent nebula or something to look at.

Claire Weaver glanced up from her communication station. Careful what you wish for, Ronald. Last time I complained about boredom, we ended up spending three days dodging micrometeors. I laughed. Fairpoint.

Claire turned back to her station, adjusting her headset. She was good at her job, probably the best communications officer I'd worked with. She had this way of finding patterns and signal noise that most people would miss. I was about to take a break when Claire suddenly sat up straight. Her fingers flew across her console, adjusting frequencies and signal strength.

Captain. She called, her voice sharp with sudden intensity. I'm picking up something. Captain Hanson moved to her station. What is it, Lieutenant?

A distress signal, Sir. Automated emergency broadcast. She frowned, adjusting something on her screen. It's using an older encryption protocol, but it's definitely one of ours. I joined them at her station, curious.

We hadn't encountered another vessel in weeks. Can you identify the source? Hanson asked. Claire nodded slowly, her expression growing confused. That's what's strange, Sir.

According to the transponder code, it's coming from the ESS Hermes. The name hit me like a punch to the gut. Everyone in the fleet knew about the Hermes. It was a research station that had gone dark almost 50 years ago. The official story was that it had been abandoned after some kind of system failure, but there were always rumors about what really happened.

That can't be right. I said the Hermes was decommissioned decades ago. Claire shook her head. I know, but this signal is live, not a recording, and it's definitely coming from the Hermes's location. Captain Hanson's face hardened.

Put it on speaker. A moment later, a crackling voice filled the bridge. The message repeated in a loop. This is automated distress beacon ESS Hermes. Station experiencing critical systems failure, requesting immediate assistance.

This is Automated distress beacon ESS Hermes. How far? Captain Hanson asked. Claire checked her readings. About 6 hours at Standard drive, Sir.

The Captain was quiet for a moment and I could almost see him weighing the options. Protocol was clear. All distress signals required investigation, but the Hermes had been abandoned for decades. This had to be some kind of malfunction or echo, Sir. I said quietly.

It could be a trap, or just a system glitch that's persisted all this time. Hanson nodded. I'm aware of the possibilities, Lieutenant Campbell. He turned to his navigation officer. Plot a course to the Hermes location.

Standard approach protocols. Yes, Sir, the officer replied. I felt a knot forming in my stomach. Something about this didn't feel right. The Hermes was practically a ghost story in the fleet, the station that everyone left, but nobody talked about why.

And now, after 50 years of silence, it was calling for help. Captain Hanson must have noticed my expression. You have concerns, Lieutenant. I hesitated. Just a feeling, Sir.

The timing seems odd. Noted, he said. But we have our orders. All distress calls must be investigated, even the improbable ones. Of course, Sir.

As the bridge crew prepared for our change in course, I returned to my station. The anomaly sensors were still showing nothing unusual, which somehow made me even more uneasy. If there was something wrong with the Hermes, shouldn't there be some kind of energy signature? Or radiation spike. Six hours later, we were approaching the coordinates.

I'd spent the time researching everything I could find about the Hermes in the ship's database, but the information was sparse. Research station crew of 32, decommissioned in 2173 after an operational incident. No details on what the incident was or why they abandoned rather than repaired the station. Captain Hanson called me to his ready room about an hour before arrival.

Lieutenant Campbell, I'm putting together A-Team to board the Hermes and investigate this signal. I want you to lead it. I nodded, though my unease hadn't diminished. Yes, Sir. Any specific objectives?

Find the source of the distress signal, determine if there's anyone aboard who needs assistance, and gather any data you can about what happened there. He paused. And Ronald, be careful. Something about this doesn't add up. I've had the same thoughts, Sir.

I'm sending Jordan, Rios, and Rice with you. A small team should be sufficient for initial assessment. I nodded. Chief Engineer Christian Jordan was solid, methodical and thorough. Dr.

Caroline Rios was our medical officer, calm under pressure, and Ensign Jayden Rice was young but eager to prove himself. It was a good team. We'll be ready, Sir. An hour later, we got our first visual of the Hermes. The station hung in space like a forgotten toy, its cylindrical body rotating slowly.

Solar panels extended from one end, many of them damaged or missing. The hole was scarred in places, but overall it looked remarkably intact for something that had been drifting for 50 years. That's not what I expected, Christian said, staring at the main view screen. Me neither, I admitted. I thought it would be more deteriorated.

We suited up and boarded the shuttle. As we detached from the Forerunner, I briefed the team on what little we knew. The Hermes was a research station, but the files don't specify what kind of research. Standard protocol is to check life support, locate the source of the distress signal, and secure any survivors, though that seems unlikely given the time frame Caroline was checking her medical kit.

Even if there's no one alive, we might find remains that could tell us what happened. Jaden looked nervous but excited. This was his first real mission since joining the Forerunner. Do we know why it was abandoned in the 1st place? I shook my head.

Records just say operational incident, nothing specific. Christian frowned. That's unusual. Typically there would be a detailed report, especially for a full evacuation. Maybe we'll find some answers inside, I said, though I wasn't convinced we'd like what we found.

As we approached the station, my sense of dread intensified. There was something wrong about the Hermes. It looked too intact, too. Waiting. Preparing for docking, Christian announced from the pilot's seat.

The shuttle aligned with one of the station's airlocks. Despite decades of abandonment, the docking system engaged smoothly. Another detail that didn't make sense. Docking complete, Christian said. Pressure equalization in progress.

We checked our equipment one last time. Standard issue environmental suits with two hours of air, though hopefully the station still had atmosphere, handheld scanners, communication devices linked back to the Forerunner and sidearms just in case. Remember I said we stay together. First priority is locating the source of that distress signal. The airlock cycled and the inner door slid open.

I expected darkness, but dim emergency lighting illuminated the corridor beyond. The air was stale but breathable, according to our scanners. Power systems still functional, Christian muttered, checking his reading. Environmental systems running at minimal capacity? That's impossible, Caroline said.

After 50 years, should be. Christian agreed. But here we are. We moved into the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the silence. The interior of the station was eerily clean.

No dust, no debris, just the sterile environment of a space station preserved like a museum exhibit. Life signs? I asked. Caroline checked her scanner. Nothing conclusive.

Some energy readings that could be biological, but the signals distorted. We passed what looked like a recreation area. The tables and chairs were arranged neatly but personal items were scattered around. 1/2 finished game of chess tablets with screens long dead. A coffee mug still half full of what had once been liquid but was now a hardened mass.

It's like they just vanished in the middle of their day. Jayden said quietly. I nodded. The scene was disturbing in its ordinariness. Whatever happened here, it happened quickly.

People didn't have time to take their belongings or even finish their drinks. We continued through the station, finding more of the same living quarters with personal effects still in place, workstations with chairs pushed back as if someone had just stepped away for a moment. Nothing to indicate panic or emergency evacuation. The distress signals coming from the main research lab.

Christian said, checking his scanner. 2 levels up. As we made our way toward the lab, I noticed Christian becoming distracted. He kept glancing into rooms we passed, his attention drifting from our mission. Everything OK?

I asked him quietly. Yeah, just. He shook his head. Place gives me the creeps. We reached a junction in the corridor, and Christian suddenly stopped, staring through an open doorway.

I followed his gaze to what looked like a maintenance room. Tools were arranged on shelves and workbenches, standard equipment for a station this size, but Christian was fixated on something in particular, an old, rusted toolbox sitting on one of the benches. It was distinctive, painted red with some kind of logo that had faded with time.

Christian. I prompted when he didn't move. He walked into the room as if in a trance, heading straight for the toolbox. The rest of us followed, exchanging concerned glances. We should keep moving, I said.

The lab's not far. Christian didn't seem to hear me. He reached out and touched the toolbox, running his fingers over the rusted metal. This is mine, he said, his voice strange. I frowned.

What do you mean, yours? This toolbox, it's mine. He opened it, revealing an assortment of old tools inside. I got it for my 10th birthday. My dad gave it to me.

A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the station's temperature. Christian, that's not possible. This station was abandoned decades before you were born. He looked up at me, his expression confused and insistent. I know what my own toolbox looks like, Ronald.

Look. He pointed to the faded logo. That's the Martian engineering core symbol. My dad was in the core. He got this specially made for me.

Caroline moved closer, concern evident on her face. Christian, maybe it just looks similar to 1 you had. No. His voice was firmer now, almost angry. This is definitely mine.

See this dent on the corner? I did that trying to fix my mom's hover scooter and these initials. He pointed to some barely visible scratches on the inside of the lid. CJ. Christian Jordan.

I stepped forward, trying to redirect his attention. We need to focus on the mission, the distress signal. I'm telling you, this is my toolbox. Christian insisted, his voice rising. How the hell did it get here?

The impossibility of his claim hung in the air between us. There was no way his childhood toolbox could be on a station abandoned before he was born. Yet he was absolutely certain. Maybe someone had a similar one? Jaden suggested hesitantly.

Christian shook his head vehemently. No, this isn't just similar. This is mine. He picked up one of the tools, a small wrench with a worn handle. This was the first real tool my dad let me use.

I know every scratch on it. I exchanged a worried glance with Caroline. Something very strange was happening here. Either Christian was experiencing some kind of delusion, or there was something about this station that defied explanation. Christian, I said carefully.

I need you to step back and think about this. What you're saying can't be possible. He looked at me, and for a moment I saw doubt flicker in his eyes. Then his expression hardened again. I know what I'm seeing, Ronald.

This is my toolbox. I don't know how it got here, but it's mine. It's. The conviction in his voice sent a chill down my spine. Whatever was happening on the Hermes, it was affecting one of my team members already, and we still hadn't even reached the source of the distress signal.

I grabbed Christian's arm. We need to check out the command center now. Caroline nodded, already moving toward the corridor. That's our best chance of finding out what happened here. Christian hesitated, fingers still wrapped around the wrench.

I can't just leave this. You can. I said, firmer this time. And you will. That's an order.

He stared at me, then slowly placed the wrench back in the toolbox. The look on his face made my stomach not up. Let's move, I said, nudging Jayden, who'd been watching the whole exchange with wide eyes. We followed Caroline down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the empty space. Christian kept looking back over his shoulder.

I stayed close behind him, worried he might turn around. The whole situation felt wrong. People didn't just fixate on objects like that, especially ones that couldn't possibly be theirs. Command center should be 1 level up. Caroline said, checking the schematic on her wrist display.

Standard layout for research stations of this era. The lift was operational, which surprised me. 50 years abandoned and the basic systems still worked. We stepped inside and I pressed the button for the upper level. The doors closed with a soft hiss.

What do you think happened to them? Jayden asked, his voice too loud in the small space. That's what we're here to find out, I said. The lift doors open to reveal the command center, a circular room with workstations arranged in concentric rings around a central holographic display. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust, but otherwise looked perfectly preserved.

No signs of struggle, no evidence of panic. Look at this, Caroline said, moving toward the Captain station. Everything's still powered up in standby mode. I joined her at the terminal while Christian and Jayden checked the other workstations. Christian seemed more focused now, which was a relief.

Maybe whatever had happened in the maintenance room was just a momentary lapse. Can you access the logs? I asked. Caroline's fingers moved across the interface. Systems are responding.

Let me see if I can. The screen flickered and a list of files appeared. Got it. Station logs, personal logs, research data, all intact. Check the captain's final entry.

I said. She nodded and selected a file. The screen changed to show a man in his early 50s with thinning Gray hair and deep shadows under his eyes. The timestamp showed it was recorded 50 years ago, just days before the Hermes went dark. Captain's log ESS Hermes Dale Singh, commanding.

His voice was strained, his eyes darting off camera occasionally. This will likely be my final entry. We've lost 17 crew members in the past week. The Entity. Whatever it is, it's getting stronger.

I leaned closer. Entity. Singh ran a hand through his hair. It started with simple hallucinations. Crew members reported seeing loved ones, family members who couldn't possibly be on board.

Then the visions became more invasive. Michaels followed his wife right out an airlock yesterday. She's been dead for 12 years. Caroline's breath caught. I felt a chill run down my spine.

We've sealed off the research lab, Singh continued. But it's too late. The entity has spread throughout the station. It's in the walls, the air systems. It's feeding on us, on our memories, our fears.

He looked directly at the camera now, his eyes wide. If you're seeing this, do not attempt rescue. Quarantine the Hermes. Destroy it if possible. This thing, it gets in your head, makes you see things that aren't there, things you want to see or things you're afraid of, and once it's in, it doesn't let go until it's consumed everything you are.

The recording ended abruptly. Caroline and I exchanged looks. So much for a simple system malfunction, she said quietly. We need to get back to the Forerunner, I said, and report this to Captain Hanson. Whatever happened here?

A sound cut me off, a strange high pitched tone that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It lasted only a second, then faded. What was that? Jaden asked, turning toward the corridor. Some kind of system alert?

Christian suggested, but he didn't sound convinced. The sound came again, longer this time. It wasn't mechanical, it almost sounded like. Did you hear that? Jayden whispered, staring at the doorway.

Hear what? I asked. That voice. He took a step toward the corridor. Someone's calling my name.

I grabbed his arm. Jayden, there's no one else here. He shook his head, still looking at the doorway. It's Mia, my sister, She's out there. My blood ran cold.

Singh's words echoed in my head. Crew members reported seeing loved ones. Jayden, listen to me, I said, tightening my grip. Your sister isn't here, she's back on Earth. Remember, this is exactly what happened to the Hermes crew.

No, you're wrong, he said, pulling away from me. I can hear her, she needs help. Caroline stepped forward. Ensign Rice, this is what Captain Singh was warning about. The entity is making you hear things that aren't real.

Jayden wasn't listening. His eyes had a distant, unfocused look. She's by the emergency hatch. I need to go to her. He bolted for the door before I could stop him.

Jayden. I shouted, running after him. Christian and Caroline followed close behind. Jayden was fast sprinting down the corridor toward the emergency airlock at the end. Two pushed myself harder, lunging to grab him, but he was just out of reach.

Jayden, stop. I yelled. It's not real. He reached the emergency hatch and started entering the override code into the panel. Mia, I'm coming.

He called out, his voice breaking with emotion. I finally caught up to him and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around. There's nothing out there but vacuum. The look in his eyes wasn't right. His pupils were dilated and there was a strange intensity I'd never seen before.

Let me go. He said, his voice suddenly calm. She needs me. I tried to pull him away from the Hatch. Listen to me.

Your sister isn't here. This is exactly what happened to the Hermes crew. The Entity is making you see things. For a second, doubt flickered across his face. Then he looked past me and his expression softened.

Mia. He whispered. Before I could react, Jayden shoved me back with surprising force. I stumbled, crashing into Caroline who just reached us. We both went down hard.

Christian lunged for Jayden, but he was too late. Jayden hit the final override and the Hatch began to cycle open. No, I shouted, scrambling to my feet. The safety protocols should have prevented the Hatch from opening while the corridor was pressurized, but something had overridden them. The outer door slid open, and the sudden decompression hit like a physical blow.

Alarms blared as the air rushed toward the opening. I grabbed a wall bracket, holding on with everything I had. Caroline clutched my leg and Christian managed to hook his arm around a pipe. Jayden made no attempt to save himself. He spread his arms wide, a peaceful smile on his face, and let the vacuum take him.

One moment he was there, the next he was gone, sucked into the blackness of space. The emergency systems kicked in. Seconds later. A blast shield slammed down over the Hatch, cutting off the decompression. The alarms continue to wail as emergency oxygen flooded the corridor.

I lay there for a moment, gasping, my ears ringing. Then I remembered Caroline and looked down. She was still holding onto my leg, her face pale. You OK? I asked, reaching down to help her up.

She nodded, unsteady on her feet. We need to get out of here now, Christian. I called, looking around. He was picking himself up a few meters away, his expression shocked. He just walked into space.

It's what Singh warned about. I said. The entity made him think his sister was out there. We need to evacuate immediately. Caroline said, her voice shaking but determined.

The entity is active and targeting us. I nodded back to the shuttle. Where's Christian? We both turned. Christian was gone.

Christian. I called out. A crash echoed from further down the corridor. We ran toward the sound and found him in a small storage room, backed against the wall. He was swinging his arms wildly, fighting off invisible attackers.

No, get back, he shouted. The supports are giving way. Caroline grabbed my arm. He's hallucinating the Titan mining collapse. He was the only survivor.

Three of his friends died. I approached slowly, hands raised. Christian, it's Ronald. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real. They're trapped.

He cried out. We have to get them out before the whole tunnel comes down, Christian, I said, keeping my voice steady. Look at me, you're on the Hermes. There's no mining tunnel, no cave in. He didn't seem to hear me.

Sweat poured down his face as he fought against something only he could see. The air. He gasped. It's too thin, they can't breathe. Before I could stop him, Christian reached up and released the seal on his helmet.

No, I lunged forward, but it was too late. He pulled the helmet off. For a second, nothing happened. Then his eyes widened in panic as he realized his mistake. The atmosphere was too thin to support human life without assistance.

He clutched at his throat, gasping for air that wouldn't come. I reached him in two strides, trying to get the helmet back on, but he was thrashing too much. Caroline was there beside me, trying to help, but Christian's movements grew weaker, then stopped all together. His eyes stared at nothing, his chest still.

Damn it. I slammed my fist against the wall. 2 crew members lost in less than 5 minutes. Caroline checked his pulse, then shook her head. He's gone.

I helped her to her feet. We need to get back to the shuttle now. She nodded, her face grim. You were right about the station. It's alive somehow, and it's feeding on us, on our memories and fears, just like Singh said.

I grabbed Caroline's arm and pulled her away from Christian's body. We had to move now. Come on, we need to get to the shuttle. She nodded, still staring at Christian. Her medical training was fighting with her shock.

I'd seen it before, that moment when the professional part of your brain shuts down and the human part takes over. Caroline. I said, sharper this time. We need to go. That seemed to snap her out of it.

She blinked and focused on me. Right, yes. We left Christian there. There wasn't time to bring him back, not with whatever was happening on this station. 2 crew members dead in minutes.

I wasn't going to lose a third. The corridors seemed different on the way back, Darker. The emergency lights flickered more than before. I kept my hand on Caroline's shoulder, guiding her forward while checking my wrist display for directions back to the docking Bay. Did you hear that?

Caroline stopped suddenly. I listened. Nothing at first. Then something, a faint whisper that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Ignore it, I said.

It's the station. Whatever's here, it's trying to get in our heads. We picked up the pace. The shadows at the edges of my vision seemed to move, just little flickers of movement that disappeared when I turned to look. I tried focusing straight ahead, but they kept dancing in my peripheral vision.

Ronald, Caroline whispered. Something's following us. Don't look back, I said. Keep moving. The whispers grew louder.

I couldn't make out words exactly, but they sounded like my name over and over. Ronald, Ronald, Ronald. We turned a corner and I recognized the corridor that led to the docking Bay. Just another 100 meters or so. The shuttle was close.

Caroline stopped so suddenly I almost crashed into her. Do you hear that? She asked, her voice distant. I didn't hear anything different, just those same whispers. What?

What do you hear? The music? She said, her eyes unfocused. Piano music? I grabbed her arm.

There's no music, Caroline. It's the station messing with your head. She pulled away from me, turning in a slow circle. It's Emily's recital. I missed it, her first big performance, and I was off world Caroline.

I stepped in front of her. Emily isn't here. There's no music. I can see the stage, she said, reaching out to touch something that wasn't there. They decorated it with those little white lights.

She's wearing the blue dress we picked out together. Doctor Rios. I tried using her title, hoping the formality might snap her out of it. We need to leave now. She didn't even look at me, her eyes were fixed on something I couldn't see.

Tears started rolling down her cheeks. She's playing so beautifully. She whispered. I knew she could do it. I grabbed her shoulders.

Caroline, listen to me. Your daughter isn't here, this isn't real. For a second, her eyes focused on mine. Ronald, yes, we're on the Hermes. We need to get back to the shuttle, but I can hear it's not real.

I repeated. Remember what happened to Christian and Jaden. The station is doing the same thing to you. She blinked, confusion crossing her face. I don't.

Then her eyes rolled back and she collapsed. I caught her before she hit the floor. Her body was completely limp, but she was still breathing. Damn it. I muttered.

I checked her pulse, steady but rapid. She was alive, but completely unconscious. I tapped her face lightly. Caroline, Caroline, wake up. Nothing.

I couldn't leave her here. I hoisted her up and over my shoulder in a fireman's carry. She wasn't heavy, but awkward to manage in our Eva suits. I adjusted her weight and started moving again, slower now. The whispers grew louder.

The shadows at the edges of my vision grew bolder, darting across the corridor ahead of me. I kept my eyes on the floor, focusing on putting 1 foot in front of the other. The corridors seemed longer than I remembered. Much longer. I'd walk this way less than an hour ago, and it had taken maybe 2 minutes.

Now it's stretched out ahead of me like it went on for kilometers. It's not real, I told myself. The station is messing with your perception. I took another step, then another. Caroline's weight pressed down on my shoulder.

My muscles burned with the effort of carrying her. The corridor walls seem to pulse like they were breathing. The floor felt spongy under my boots. Not solid metal anymore, but something organic, Something alive, not real. I muttered.

Keep moving. The whispers changed, not just my name now, but sentences I couldn't quite make out. Voices. I recognized my father, my old captain from the Academy, crew members I'd served with over the years. I stopped and closed my eyes, took a deep breath, opened them again.

The corridor looked normal, just a standard station hallway with metal walls and floors, emergency lighting strips along the bottom edge. I took another step. The floor was solid. Good, I said. That's good.

Then the corridor stretched again, warping and twisting like something from a nightmare. The walls bulged and contracted. The ceiling rose up impossibly high, then dropped down so low I had to duck. Not real, I repeated. Just get to the shuttle.

I kept moving 1 foot in front of the other. The corridor twisted and turned in ways that made no sense. Sometimes it seemed to loop back on itself, sometimes it's split into multiple paths that all led to the same place. I don't know how long I walked. It felt like hours.

My shoulders and back screamed with the effort of carrying Caroline. Sweat dripped into my eyes despite the environmental controls in my suit. Then suddenly, the corridor straightened out. The docking Bay door appeared just ahead of me. Normal, solid, real.

I didn't trust it at first, another trick of the station. But as I approached, it looked more and more real. The control panel glowed with the standard docking protocols. The airlock's cycle indicators showed green. I shifted Caroline's weight and punched in the access code.

The door slid open with a hiss of equalizing pressure. Inside was our shuttle, exactly where we'd left it. I almost cried with relief. I carried Caroline through the airlock and into the shuttle, laying her down carefully on one of the acceleration couches. Her breathing was steady, but she was still unconscious.

I strapped her insecurely, then moved to the pilot's seat. My hands were shaking as I started the launch sequence. Standard protocols. Disengage docking clamps, power up engines, retract boarding tube. Every step felt like it took enormous concentration.

The controls seem to blur and shift under my fingers. Focus, I told myself, just focus on the controls. I finished the pre launch checklist and fired the maneuvering thrusters. The shuttle pulled away from the docking port through the viewport. I watched the Hermes grow smaller as we moved away.

As the distance between US and the station increased, my head started to clear. The shaking in my hands subsided. The controls stopped shifting and stayed solid under my fingers. I set a course back to the Forerunner and engaged the autopilot. Then I checked on Caroline.

Her color was better and her breathing had slowed to a normal rate. As I watched, her eyelids fluttered. Caroline. I touched her shoulder gently. She groaned and opened her eyes.

Ronald, what happened? You passed out. We're on the shuttle, heading back to the Forerunner. She tried to sit up, then winced. My head feels like it's splitting open.

Take it easy, I said. We're safe now. She looked around the shuttle, then her eyes widened. Christian and Jayden. I shook my head.

We couldn't bring them. She closed her eyes. I remember now, Christian. He took his helmet off. Yeah.

And Jayden, the airlock. Yeah. She was quiet for a moment, processing that station. It got into our head somehow. Captain Singh's log was right.

I said there's something on that station, something that can read our minds or our memories at least. The shuttle's communication panel lit up with an incoming transmission from the Forerunner. Captain Hansen's voice filled the cabin. Shuttle One, this is Forerunner status report. I moved back to the pilot's seat and opened the channel.

Forerunner, this is Campbell. We're returning with one survivor. Officers Jordan and Rice are dead. A pause. Understood, Campbell.

What happened? It's complicated, Sir. Request full debrief upon return. Granted. Medical team will meet you in the Bay for a runner out.

The rest of the trip back was quiet. Caroline drifted in and out of consciousness. I monitored the shuttle systems and tried to organize my thoughts for the debriefing. How was I going to explain what happened? It sounded crazy even to me, and I'd lived through it.

When we docked with the Forerunner, the medical team was waiting. As promised, they took Caroline straight to the medical Bay. Captain Hanson was there too, his face grim. My ready room. 10 minutes, he said.

I nodded and headed to my quarters. First I needed to get out of my Eva suit and take a quick shower. I felt contaminated somehow, like the station had left some residue on me. 10 minutes later, I sat across from Captain Hanson in his ready room. He looked at me expectantly.

Tell me what happened out there. I took a deep breath and started from the beginning. The Toolbox Christian found, Jaden's hallucination about his sister, The Captain's log warning about the entity, Christian's mining accident hallucination, Caroline hearing her daughter's piano recital. So you're telling me the station itself is somehow alive, that it can read mines?

Hanson asked when I finished. I know how it sounds, Sir, but I can't explain it any other way. The station, or something on it, was able to access our memories and use them against us, and it affected everyone but you. I shook my head. It affected me too, just not as strongly.

The corridor kept changing. I heard whispers, saw things moving in my peripheral vision. Hanson leaned back in his chair, considering. Doctor Rios is still being evaluated, but her initial scans show unusual brain activity patterns the medical team hasn't seen before. The station did something to her, to all of us.

The question is, what do we do about it? Hanson said. Sir, with all due respect, I think we need to destroy the Hermes. Whatever's on that station is dangerous. It lured us there deliberately.

That's a serious step, Campbell. The Hermes is Earth space service property. It's killed two of our crew, Sir, and based on Captain Singh's log, it killed his entire crew 50 years ago. Hanson was quiet for a moment, thinking, then he nodded. I'll contact command, but I agree with your assessment.

That station is a clear and present danger. Thank you, Sir. Report to weapons control, prepare the missile systems for a targeted strike. I want that station completely destroyed. Yes, Sir.

I stood to leave. And Campbell, Sir, Good work getting Doctor Rios out of there. I nodded and left the ready room. The corridors of the Forerunner felt safe and familiar after the nightmare of the Hermes. Crew members nodded as I passed, going about their normal duties.

Everything felt so normal, so real. I reached weapons control and logged into the system. The missile targeting computers came online, and I began programming the attack sequence. The Hermes appeared on my screen, still drifting silently in space. From this distance, it looked harmless, just an abandoned research station.

I knew better. I completed the targeting sequence and notified the bridge weapons control to bridge missiles ready for launch. On your command bridge acknowledges, came the response. Standby for launch authorization. I waited, finger poised over the launch control.

Just a few more minutes and that thing would be space dust. Then the communication panel lit up. Not the internal ship communications, but the long range system. A signal was coming in. No one had activated it.

The system had turned on by itself. A chill ran down my spine as I watched the communication system activate, cycling through frequencies without anyone's command. The communications panel lit up with static before resolving into a face I recognized from the logs. Captain Dale Singh of the Hermes stared back at me, his eyes wide with desperation.

The image was grainy, flickering in and out like a bad connection, but it was unmistakably him. Please. He said, his voice breaking through layers of distortion. Don't fire on the station. We have survivors here, we need evacuation.

I froze, my fingers still hovering over the launch control. Captain Hanson's voice came through my headset. Campbell, what's happening? Why haven't you fired? Sir, There's a transmission coming through.

It's it's Captain Singh from the Hermes. That's impossible, Hanson replied immediately Put it through to the bridge. I redirected the feed and heard Hanson's sharp intake of breath over the calm on my screen. Singh leaned closer to the camera, his uniform dirty and torn, dark circles under his eyes. Please.

We're still alive here. Some of us have survived all this time. We need help, not destruction. Something pulled at me, a deep, instinctive need to help. The desperation in his voice sounded genuine.

His eyes looked real, human, pleading. But I'd seen the logs. I'd watched Christian die. I'd carried Caroline's unconscious body back to the shuttle. Captain, I said, addressing Hanson but keeping my eyes on Singh's face.

This isn't real. Captain Singh died 50 years ago. We saw his final log. Singh shook his head violently. No, no, you don't understand.

Time works differently here. What's been 50 years for you has only been months for us, the entity. We've learned to live with it, to control it. Please. We have children here now.

My stomach turned. Children. The manipulation was getting more sophisticated, Sir, I said to Hanson, my voice steadier than I felt. This is exactly how it works. It's in our heads, using our compassion against us.

Singh's face contorted with anger. You're leaving us to die. You're no better than the ones who abandoned us the first time. I watched the screen, noting how Singh's face occasionally seemed to shift, subtle distortions around the edges, like a mask that didn't quite fit. Campbell.

Hansen's voice came through, hesitant Now. Are you absolutely certain? Yes, Sir. We lost Christian and Jaden to this thing. The logs showed everyone died.

This is the same trick it tried on us inside the station. On the screen, Singh's expression changed, becoming eerily calm. Benjamin Campbell, he said, using my full first name, which I hadn't given him. I know about your sister, the fire when you were 12. You couldn't save her either, could you?

My blood went cold. I'd never told anyone on the crew about that, not even in my personnel file. Sir, I said to Hanson, my voice tight. Fire the missiles now you're making a mistake, Singh said, his voice dropping to a whisper. We can help you understand what happened to your sister.

We know the truth. I watched Singh's face, looking for the tells there at the corner of his mouth, a twitch that wasn't quite human around his pupils, A faint ring that shouldn't be there. Sir, I repeated to Hanson. This thing is in our communication system. It's reading our minds.

Somehow. The longer we wait, the more it learns. I heard Hanson conferring with someone in the background. Singh's face on the screen began to change subtly, his features becoming sharper, his skin taking on an almost translucent quality. Think about your crew, Singh said, but his voice had changed too, multiple tones overlapping like several people speaking at once.

Think about Caroline, she has a daughter waiting for her. What if we could reunite them? I clenched my jaw. That's what you promised Christian and Jaden too, wasn't it? Right before they died.

The image flickered, Singh's face momentarily replaced by something else, something with too many angles, too many eyes, before snapping back to human form. Campbell. Hansen's voice came through finally, firm with decision. Fire the missiles. Yes, Sir.

I said, not taking my eyes off the screen. No. Singh's face contorted, stretching in impossible ways. You don't understand what you're destroying. I pressed the launch control.

The screen showed the missiles deploying, streaking away from our ship toward the distant shape of the Hermes. Singh's image began to break apart, digital distortions tearing across his face. You'll never be free of us. He shouted, his voice no longer even attempting to sound human. We've already touched your minds.

I watched the trajectory display as the missiles closed in on the Hermes. Singh's face dissolved into a writhing mass of shapes and colors that hurt to look at. The first missile struck the station's research module. The second hit the central hub. The 3rd and 4th struck the power core.

The Hermes erupted into a brilliant flash that temporarily whited out my screen. When the image cleared, there was nothing but expanding debris and dissipating energy. Through the speakers came a sound I'll never forget. A scream that started human but ended as something else entirely. A high pitched whale that seemed to vibrate through my skull rather than my ears.

Then silence. As the communication system went dead, I sat back in my chair, suddenly aware I was drenched in sweat. Target destroyed, Sir. I reported, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. Good work, Campbell, Hanson replied after a long pause.

Report to medical for evaluation. Yes, Sir. I logged out of the weapon system, my hands steadier than I expected. Whatever had been on that station was gone now, but as I stood up to leave, I couldn't shake the feeling that something of it had come back with us. Three months later, I sat in my quarters recording my official statement for the final incident report.

This is anomaly detection specialist Ronald Campbell, service number 47329 AC. This statement concerns the ESS Hermes incident final addendum. I paused the recording, took a sip of water and looked around my quarters. Everything was exactly as it should be. Bed made to regulation standards, personal items neatly arranged on the shelf.

View port showing the endless star field beyond normal safe. I resumed recording. After the destruction of the ESS Hermes. All crew members who had contact with the station underwent extensive medical and psychological evaluation. Doctor Caroline Rios has recovered physically from her experience but has requested and received transfer to Earth Station Alpha.

Her brain scan showed temporary abnormalities that have since resolved. I didn't mention the nightmares Caroline had described to me before she left. Dreams where she kept hearing her daughter's piano recital getting closer to the concert hall door each night but never quite reaching it. Ensign Jayden Rice and Chief Engineer Christian Jordan have been listed as killed in the line of duty.

Their service records have been updated to reflect their sacrifice, with full honors granted posthumously. I swallowed hard before continuing. Guskara Engineer Melissa Jordan, Christian's sister, has requested and received transfer to the Forerunner. She arrived two weeks ago to take up her brother's position. Captain Hanson approved the transfer despite my concerns about potential psychological complications.

Miss Jordan has stated her desire to understand what happened to her brother and to ensure his work continues. I didn't add that Melissa had the same amber eyes as Christian and that sometimes when she concentrated on a technical problem she tilted her head exactly the same way he did. The entity encountered on the Hermes appears to have been completely destroyed.

Its nature remains unknown, though speculation includes possibilities of a non corporeal life form or a technological creation that achieved sentience. What is clear is that it could access human memories and manipulate perception to create convincing hallucinations. I paused again, wondering how much of my personal experience to include. Regulation required complete disclosure, but some things felt too private to share in my professional assessment.

The entity posed an extreme danger to human life and could not be contained or communicated with in any meaningful way. The decision to destroy the station was the only viable option to prevent further loss of life and potential spread of the entity. I looked down at my hands. They were steady now, but sometimes late at night they trembled for no reason I could explain.

All communication logs and sensor data from the encounter have been archived according to protocol. Visual records of the entity's manifestations were corrupted beyond recovery, but audio logs remain intact. For research purposes, that wasn't entirely true. Some of the visual data had been recoverable, but I'd personally classified it as restricted after reviewing it.

No one needed to see what I'd seen in those final moments. The thing behind Singh's face. In conclusion, I believe the threat has been neutralized. However, I recommend continued monitoring of this sector and immediate quarantine procedures for any vessels reporting similar phenomena. I stopped the recording, saved it, and transmitted it to Captain Hanson for review before it would be sent to command.

My official duty was done. I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes. The truth was, I wasn't entirely convinced we destroyed it completely. Sometimes, in that space between sleep and waking, I still heard whispers. Nothing clear, nothing I could put into words, but something that felt like an echo of what we'd encountered.

Dr. Rios had experienced the same thing. So had two other crew members who'd been monitoring our communications during the incident. None of us talked about it officially. I opened my eyes and looked at the small photo on my desk.

My Academy graduation, before any of this happened. I looked younger, more certain about everything. The darkness we encountered on the Hermes would never truly leave me. I knew that now. Some things once seen can't be unseen.

Once touched by something like that, a part of you stays connected to it, even after it's gone. I've been having the same dream for weeks now. I'm back on the Hermes, walking those empty corridors. But I'm alone this time. No Christian, no Caroline, no Jaden, Just me and the whispers.

They start off faint, like someone's talking in the next room. Then they get louder, closer, until they're right behind me. I never turn around. I learned that much, at least. Last night I woke up at OO 247 hours, drenched in sweat.

The whispers followed me into consciousness, fading, but definitely there. I sat up and listened to the hum of the ship's systems till they disappeared completely. I didn't go back to sleep, couldn't. So I went to my station early. The night shift guy and Saint Peters seemed happy to hand things over and get some extra rack time.

I didn't mind. The anomaly detection lab feels safer when I'm the only one there. I ran the standard diagnostics, checked the sensor calibrations, everything normal. But then I saw it. A tiny blip on the quantum field detector, gone almost before I registered it.

I replayed the last 30 seconds of data. There it was again, a signal pattern I recognized immediately. It matched the Hermes. I stared at the screen for a long time. Maybe I imagined it.

Maybe the lack of sleep was getting to me. I ran a system diagnostic. Everything checked out fine. The blip appeared 2 more times that shift. Brief, almost imperceptible, but definitely there.

I didn't report it. Three days later it happened again, this time during my regular shift. The pattern was clearer, a quantum fluctuation with the same signature we detected from the Hermes just before everything went to hell. I saved the data to my personal drive and erased it from the main system. Captain Hanson stopped by my station that afternoon.

Everything quiet, Campbell? Yes, Sir, Just background radiation. He nodded, studied my face a little too long. You getting enough sleep? Yes, Sir.

Good, we need you Sharp. He clapped me on the shoulder. Doctor Rios sends her regards, by the way. She's settling in well at Alpha Station. Glad to hear it, Sir.

After he left, I pulled up the saved data again. The signature was unmistakable. But what did it mean the Hermes was destroyed? We all saw it blow apart. There was nothing left but debris unless something escaped.

I closed the file quickly. That kind of thinking would land me in psych evaluation. They'd say I was suffering from post traumatic stress. Maybe I was, but the data was real. The signals were real.

For the next week I documented every anomalous reading. They were becoming more frequent, always brief, always with that distinctive Hermes pattern. I kept the information to myself, not sure what to do with it. If I reported these findings, the crew would think I was cracking up. Hell, maybe I was.

But then Melissa Jordan started her shift in engineering. I'd avoided her since she came aboard. What do you say to someone whose brother died under your command? Especially when the official report can't explain what really happened? But now I found myself hanging around engineering, looking for a chance to talk to her.

She caught me on my third visit. Something I can help you with. She had Christian's eyes. Same amber color, same intensity. Just checking on some sensor calibrations.

I said three days in a row. She sat down her tablet. You want to talk about Christian, just say so. I wasn't prepared for that. I'm sorry about your brother.

Yeah, well, the official report says he removed his helmet in an area with insufficient atmospheric pressure. What it doesn't say is why I looked around. Several other engineers were within earshot. Can we talk somewhere private 10 minutes later? We were in my quarters.

I pulled up the anomaly data on my personal console. What am I looking at? She asked. Quantum field fluctuations. This pattern.

Here I pointed to a distinctive. Spike in the. Readings. It's the same signature we detected from the Hermes before everything went wrong. She studied the screen.

And you're picking this up now, after the station's been destroyed? Yes, Started about two weeks ago. Getting stronger and more frequent. Melissa was quiet. For a long time.

Then she said, I've been having dreams about Christian. Something cold settled in my stomach. What kind of dreams? He talks to me, tells me things. She wouldn't meet my eyes, says it's not over.

Not over, I repeated. The whispers from my own dreams echoed in my head. I know how it sounds, she said. But it feels real. And he's different.

Not quite himself. Different how? She shrugged just off, like someone trying to be Christian but not quite getting it right. She looked at the data again. You think?

Whatever. Was on that station. Is still out there? I don't know, but I'm not taking any chances. I showed her the rest of my findings.

I've been tracking these signals trying to see if there's a pattern. We spent the next three. Hours analyzing the data. Melissa had a sharp mind, maybe even sharper than her brother's. She spotted something I'd missed.

Look at this, she said, pointing to a cluster of readings. If you map these signals based on their intensity and direction, they form a pattern. Her fingers flew over the console. A star map appeared, with a series of points highlighted. They're pointing somewhere.

She was right. The signals formed a directional pattern, pointing to a specific sector of space. I pulled up the navigation charts for that area. There's an old research outpost there. I said.

Abandoned decades ago. The Prometheus Station. Melissa looked up at me. Another abandoned station? Yeah.

Decommissioned around the same. Time as the Hermes? That can't be a coincidence. It couldn't be. But what did it mean?

Had whatever was on the Hermes found a new home, or had it been in multiple places all along? We need to tell Captain Hanson, Melissa said. I hesitated. You might think we're both losing it. Then we need concrete evidence.

She tapped the console. Let's keep monitoring these signals. Document everything. Build a case he can't ignore for the next week. That's what we did.

We met after our shifts, pooling our findings. Melissa rigged A specialized detector in engineering that could pick up even fainter signals than my equipment. The pattern became clearer. Something was reaching out from that abandoned station, sending pulses that match the Hermes signature exactly, and my dreams got worse. The whispers turned into words I could almost understand.

Almost, but not quite. And that was somehow worse than. Hearing them clearly. I'd wake up with fragments. Stuck in my head.

Coming back never left find you. Melissa was having similar experiences. Christian keeps saying the same thing. She told me one night, it's not over, it's not over, it's not over. She looked exhausted.

Last night he said something new. He said it's hungry. That was enough. We had to take what we knew to Captain Hanson. We requested a meeting the next morning.

Hanson listened patiently. As I explained. What we discovered, the anomalous readings, the pattern pointing to Prometheus Station, the similarities to the Hermes signals. And you're certain these readings are accurate? He asked when I finished.

Yes, Sir. We verified them with multiple sensor arrays. He turned to Melissa. And you believe these dreams about your brother are connected? She straightened.

I believe something is trying. To communicate using. His image, yes, Hanson sighed. Look, I understand you both went through a traumatic experience. Campbell, you lost 2 crew members under your command.

Jordan, you lost your brother. It's natural to look for connections, explanations. Sir, with respect, this isn't about trauma. I said the data is real. Something is out there and it matches what we found on the Hermes.

The Hermes was destroyed. Campbell, we all. Saw it. What if it wasn't just the station? Melissa asked.

What if whatever was there moved on, Found a new home? Hanson leaned back in his chair. That's a pretty big leap, Sir, I said. I recommend we at least issue a warning to any ships heading toward that sector. Tell them to maintain distance from Prometheus Station until we can investigate based on some anomalous readings and dreams.

He shook his head. Command would laugh me out of my position. I was about to argue. Further, when the calm. Panel on his desk.

Chimed Captain. Came Claire Weaver's. Voice, we're picking up a distress signal from Sector 47-B. Hanson frowned. Source unknown, Sir.

But she hesitated. It's using an old encryption protocol similar to the one we detected from the Hermes. The captain's eyes met. Mine. Put it through.

The message was garbled. Breaking up with. Static but clear enough. Critical systems failure require immediate assistance. All personnel danger location.

Hanson asked. The signal appears to be coming from the vicinity of Prometheus Station, Sir. Melissa gave me a look that said Told you so. Hanson was quiet for a long moment, then he stood up. Plot a course to Sector 47-B, but maintain safe distance when we arrive.

No boarding parties until we know what we're dealing with, Sir, I said. I recommend we prepare missile systems for a targeted strike. If this is the same entity that was on the Hermes. We don't know that yet, Campbell, but I'll take your recommendation under advisement. He looked at both of us.

In the meantime, I want you 2 to compile everything you found, every reading, every pattern. I need something solid to. Take to command. If we're going to destroy another abandoned station, yes Sir, We both said as we left the captain's ready room. Melissa whispered.

He believes us now. Maybe, but we need to be ready. I stopped in the corridor. I need to lead whatever mission they send. I faced this thing before.

I know what it can do. She nodded. I'm going with you. No. It's too dangerous and it'll use Christian against you.

It's already using him against me, she said. And I'm not letting you face this alone. Whatever's out there killed my brother, I need to see it destroyed. I understood if our positions were reversed, I'd feel the same way. All right.

But we do this by the book. No risks. If we detect anything like what happened on the Hermes, we pull back and blow the whole station. Agreed. We spent the rest of the.

Day preparing our case for. Captain Hanson, the evidence was overwhelming when put together. The signal patterns, the directional indicators, the matching distress call. By the time we finished, even I was surprised by how clear it all was. Captain Hanson called us back to his ready room that evening.

He'd reviewed our findings and spoken with command. They've authorized A targeted strike on Prometheus Station, he said. No boarding party will launch from maximum safe distance. Relief washed over me. Thank you, Sir.

Don't thank me yet. Command wants confirmation that the threat is real before we destroy another station. We'll be sending a probe first, with you controlling it remotely. He looked at me. You're the only one who's experienced this entity first hand.

You'll know what to look for. I nodded. It made sense. But part of me wanted to just fire the missiles and be done with it. We'll reach Prometheus.

Station in approximately. 14 hours, Hanson continued. I suggest you both get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be a long day rest. As if that was possible.

But he was right. We needed to be sharp. As I walked back to my. Quarters, I felt. Something I hadn't experienced since the Hermes purpose.

For months I'd been going through the motions, doing my job, trying to pretend everything was normal. But those whispers in my? Dreams those. Signals on my monitors, they'd been reminding me that it wasn't over. Now I had a chance to finish it, to make sure no one else would experience what happened to Christian and Jayden, to destroy this thing before it could spread further.

Because I understood now what we were facing. Not just some alien presence or a strange phenomenon, but a predator, intelligent, patient and hungry. Something that fed on. Minds and memories. That used your past against you and it was waiting out.

There in the darkness between. Stars calling to us this time. I wouldn't let it. Win.