Shane crawled through the dark, cramped vent, his clothes catching on the sharp metal edges. The air was thick and foul, filled with the same sickly-sweet smell that now clung to the ship's corridors. Behind him, he could hear them—the scraping of hands on metal, the low, guttural moans of the corrupted crew. They were searching for him, moving with a tireless, terrifying purpose. He pushed forward, the beam from his torch cutting a narrow path through the oppressive blackness. Every sound was a hammer blow against his nerves, every shadow a phantom. He wasn't just hiding from the crew; he was hiding from a part of the ship itself.
The Supreme was built to live and breathe, but now it was a dying animal, a broken thing turning against its own kind. The vent walls, once a cold, hard shell of steel, now felt soft and warm to the touch. Veins of glowing purple light pulsed just beneath the surface of the metal, like blood vessels. He saw patches of the ship's organic tissue growing on the ductwork, pulsing like hideous hearts. The ship wasn't just being unmade; it was being reborn as something monstrous.
He tried to keep his mind clear, to focus on a goal. He had to get to the main engineering bay. It was the heart of the ship, the place where all the core systems were managed. If he could access a command terminal there, he might be able to find out what was truly happening to the ship, and maybe, just maybe, find a way to fight back. It was a stupid, desperate idea, but it was the only one he had.
The crawl seemed to go on for an age. The sounds behind him faded, but the silence that replaced it was even worse. It was the stillness of a predator waiting for its prey. He reached a junction and peered down a vent. It led to a service shaft. It was a risk, but it was faster than crawling through the cramped vents. He had to take it. He slid out of the vent and down the shaft, landing with a soft thud on a maintenance platform.
The shaft was a dizzying vertical space that went down for hundreds of feet. He saw more of the organic growth here, thick, ropy tendrils that pulsed with the same sinister light. The air was even heavier, and the scent was overpowering. He felt a deep, chilling sense of wrongness, as if he had entered a space that was not meant for human eyes.
He began to climb down a ladder, his hands shaking. He looked up, and his blood ran cold. One of the corrupted crew members was standing at the entrance to the shaft, a dark silhouette against the flickering light of the corridor. It didn't make a sound. It simply stood there, its head tilted, as if listening. It then slowly began to climb down the ladder after him, its movements jerky and unnatural. It was hunting him.
Shane scrambled down the ladder, his fear a sharp, bitter taste in his mouth. He wasn't just a target; he was a toy. The thing wasn't running after him. It was toying with him, enjoying the chase. He reached the bottom of the shaft and darted through a door, slamming it shut behind him. The door's lock wasn't working. He grabbed a heavy toolbox and wedged it under the handle, hoping it would hold for a few seconds.
He was in a small control room just outside the main engineering bay. The view screen showed the vast, open space of the engine room. It was not a place of order. Machinery was twisting into impossible shapes, metal and glass flowing like thick syrup. A massive engine core, which should have been a clean, humming cylinder of power, was now covered in grotesque, fleshy growths that pulsed with a deep red light. The entire space was a horrifying blend of science and dark fantasy.
Shane saw someone else in the engine room. A security guard, still wearing his uniform, was slumped against a wall, his head in his hands. He looked untouched, still sane. Shane felt a desperate rush of hope. A friendly face. He had to get to him.
He looked at the door leading into the engine room. It was sealed, and the manual override was dead. He looked at the window. It was a thick pane of reinforced glass. He had to get through it. He looked back at the door he had just come through. The toolbox was groaning under the pressure, the handle bending. The corrupted crew member was getting through.
He grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall and smashed it against the window. Nothing. He hit it again, and again, putting all his strength into it. A single, hairline crack appeared. He could hear the creature on the other side of the door now, a low, rasping sound.
With one last desperate swing, he smashed the extinguisher against the glass. It shattered with a muffled crack. He scrambled through the opening, landing hard on the floor of the engineering bay. The air was hot and humid, and the sickly-sweet smell was now mixed with the acrid scent of ozone and burning metal.
The guard looked up, his eyes wide and panicked. "Don't come in here!" he screamed. "Get out!"
Shane was confused. "What's wrong? We can fight them."
The guard shook his head, his face a mask of terror. "It's not them... it's it!" He pointed a shaking finger at a massive console, one of the main control stations for the engine.
Shane turned to look. A vast, dark shadow rippled across the console, a formless shape that seemed to be made of pure, cosmic blackness. It was the same shadow he had seen on the view screen. It was inside the ship now, not just outside. It was a wave, a living darkness that was spreading. And at the heart of the shadow, a single, impossibly bright, milky-white eye opened, a twin to the eyes he had seen on Lyra's face.
The shadow rippled, and a low, terrible voice filled the entire bay, a voice that wasn't in his ears, but in his mind. "You have come to our heart," the voice said. "Now, we will show you what it is to be unmade."