Chen struck the flare.
It ignited with a hissing roar, brilliant red light flooding the corridor. The heat was immediate, intense, pushing back the cold.
"No," Chen said firmly. "I've made enough compromises. Not this one."
The Tanaka-shape recoiled, shielding its face. The crystalline growths on the nearby walls shriveled and blackened. Chen pressed forward with the flare, driving it back.
"You're making a mistake," it said, but the voice was changing—losing coherence, becoming static and noise. "I could have given you immortality. Understanding. Purpose."
"I already have purpose." Chen looked at their infected arm, then pressed the flare against it.
The pain was beyond description. Chen's vision whited out. The smell of burning flesh filled the corridor. But they felt the infection dying—the black veins withering, the alien tissue turning to ash. Chen gritted their teeth and held the flame steady, burning away everything that wasn't them.
The entity screamed—not with one voice but with twelve, all the people it had consumed, their final death rattles echoing through the station's walls. The crystalline growths throughout the visible corridor convulsed and blackened.
"You're... hurting... me..." it gasped. "All of me. Connected. When you burn yourself, you burn... the network... didn't know... didn't understand..."
Chen understood now. The infection had made them a node in its distributed consciousness. By burning themselves, they were causing cascade damage through the entire system. The pain they were experiencing, it was experiencing everywhere at once.
Good.
"Dr. Martinez," Chen said through gritted teeth. "Dr. Kowalski. Richards. Jensen. All of them—they didn't want this. They wanted to live. You took that from them."
"I gave them... eternity..."
"You gave them slavery."
The Tanaka-shape was collapsing, losing cohesion, puddling into that translucent biomass. But it reformed—this time as Sergei. Scarred hands, bearded face, sad eyes.
"Alex," it said in Sergei's voice, perfect and heartbreaking. "Alex, is me. Still me. Small piece. Sergei is still here. Please. Do not burn. Do not kill what is left of me."
Chen faltered. Was it possible? Could some fragment of Sergei's consciousness still exist in there?
"Remember," it continued. "Remember when Sergei saved you. Gave you time. That was choice. His choice. Not monster's. Sergei still choosing. Still fighting. Still helping."
Chen's arm was a charred ruin, but the infection was gone. The flare was burning lower. Maybe thirty seconds of fuel left.
"If... if Sergei is really in there," Chen said slowly, "then Sergei would tell me to burn it all. He died to buy us time. He wouldn't want that sacrifice wasted."
The Sergei-shape's expression changed. The sadness became something else—respect, maybe.
"Da," it said quietly. "You are right. Old man did not die for nothing." It straightened, stood tall. "Then I tell you what real Sergei would say: Go into dark now, Alex Chen. What comes next is not for your eyes. Go quick. Go brave. Do not look back."
It lunged.
Not at Chen—at the wall behind them. Its form splashed against the crystalline growths and spread, flowing through them, racing away down the corridors toward the engineering level, toward the main hub, gathering itself.
Running from what was about to happen.
From below, Chen heard Marcus's voice, distant but clear: "CHEN! GET DOWN! THIRTY SECONDS!"
They'd set the timer. The incinerator was about to blow.
Chen was at the top of a stairwell leading down—toward the explosion. The only exit was behind them, through the main hub, through corridors now crawling with the entity's retreating biomass.
Their burned arm was useless. Their flare had maybe ten seconds left. And they had thirty seconds to decide: go down toward their team and the explosion, or run for the exterior and hope they could make it.
The station groaned. Deep in its guts, something was heating up, building pressure. Chen could feel it through the floor—the thrumming of the incinerator reaching critical mass.
Marcus and Nora would have a route out—maintenance tunnels, emergency exits from sub-level 2 that led directly to the ice shelf. They'd planned this. They'd survive.
But Chen was up here. Alone. Injured.
The flare sputtered. Died. Darkness swallowed them except for the red emergency lights.
"Twenty seconds," Chen whispered to themselves.
They could run for the main hub and the exterior. They'd bought their team time—now save themselves. Get to the landing zone. Call for extraction once the station burned.
Or they could go down the stairs toward the blast. Find Marcus and Nora. Whatever happened, they'd face it together. As a team. The way it should be.
The emergency lights flickered. The station's frame groaned again, louder this time.
"Fifteen seconds."
Chen's hand tightened on the tactical knife Marcus had given them. Their burned arm hung useless at their side, but their legs still worked. They could still run.
The question was: which direction?