"We stay together," Chen said firmly. "Nobody goes anywhere alone. Not until we know what we're dealing with."
Marcus gave a curt nod of approval. "Smart. Standard sweep formation. I'll take point, Volkov covers rear. Chen, Okafor, stay center." He checked his rifle one more time. "Anyone sees or hears anything unusual, you call it out immediately. No heroes."
The four of them approached the airlock. Up close, Chen could see that the door's hydraulic seal had been damaged—not broken, but deliberately overridden. Someone had used the emergency manual release from the inside. The question was: were they trying to get out, or let something in?
Sergei put his shoulder to the heavy door, and it groaned open. A gust of stale, frigid air rushed out. The interior was dark except for the emergency lighting—red bulbs spaced every ten feet along the walls, casting everything in an unsettling crimson glow.
Chen stepped into the decontamination chamber. It should have activated automatically—UV lights, air filtration, the works. Instead, nothing happened. The systems were dead.
"Power's diverted," Sergei muttered, examining a panel. "Someone shut down non-essential systems. Running on emergency only."
The inner airlock opened into the main hub, and Chen's breath caught.
The central dome was a circular space fifty feet across, designed to be the heart of the station. Workstations ringed the perimeter. A large situation board dominated one wall, covered with maps, photos of the cavern system, and research notes. Everything was exactly as it should be.
Except for the people.
Coffee mugs sat on desks, still half-full, the liquid frozen solid. Someone's parka hung on a chair, as if they'd just stepped away for a moment. A child's drawing was pinned to one workstation—stick figures labeled "Daddy," "Mommy," and "Me" with a crayon sun overhead.
On a small table, a chess game sat abandoned mid-match. White was winning.
"It's like they vanished," Nora whispered. "Just... stopped existing in the middle of their day."
Marcus moved silently around the perimeter, rifle raised, checking sight lines. "No signs of struggle. No blood here. But look—" He pointed to a corridor leading off from the main hub. "Floor's wet. Melted ice. Someone tracked it in recently."
Chen followed the water trail with their eyes. It led toward the residential quarters, leaving small puddles that hadn't frozen yet despite the cold.
"Recently as in hours," Marcus clarified. "Maybe less."
The implication hung in the air: someone might still be here.
The station's intercom suddenly crackled to life with a burst of static. They all froze, weapons and tools raised. But it was just noise—electromagnetic interference, probably. Still, for just a moment, Chen could swear the static almost formed words.
Three corridors branched off from the main hub.
To the left: residential quarters and the cafeteria, where the wet footprints led.
Straight ahead: the research laboratory and medical bay.
To the right: communications room and the drilling platform access.
Chen needed communications operational. But those footprints were fresh. And the laboratory might hold answers—logs, samples, evidence of what had happened.
Marcus watched Chen carefully, waiting for the decision. Nora's eyes darted between the corridors, her hand gripping the sample case tighter. Sergei stood silent, his expression unreadable.
The wet footprints glistened in the red emergency lighting, leading deeper into the residential section. Fresh. Human-sized. Someone—or something—had walked through here within the last few hours.