by S. A. Lusher
“Oh fuck yes,” he whispered, finding both a shotgun and another pistol in the shadows beneath a workbench. He also managed to find another pair of magazines for the pistols and enough shells to fully load the shotgun and have a few to spare scattered across the room, as well as a pair of holsters. He moved back to the others.
“Here,” he said, passing each of them a pistol and whatever ammo he’d been able to find. They accepted it all, and the holsters, attaching them to their belts and pocketing the ammo. Greg studied the shotgun as they did this.
“Nothing else? No armor?” Drake asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Greg replied.
“Well, it’s a step up, anyway,” Drake said. He paused, closed his eyes, winced. “I think-” He turned away suddenly and leaned over, then puked. Both men hung back, uncertain of what to do or how to help him. He finished throwing up, and Greg was disturbed to see at least some red in the vomit, then leaned against the wall, panting. He spat several times. “God, need a fucking Vex or something,” he muttered.
“We’ll see if we can find one after we get the reactor dealt with,” Eric replied, stepping forward and gingerly rubbing his back.
“Thanks,” he said softly. He spat a few more times, then straightened up. “Let’s go.”
The three of them left the security center, hurrying even faster now. Greg couldn’t help but feel like shit as he led them on, towards the reactor core. He’d been sitting there, dicking around with changing his clothes, showering and grabbing a bite to eat while Drake was dying of poison and the reactor was going into fucking meltdown. He felt a cold chill settling over him as he thought about a few what ifs…
What if he’d been passed out longer, either the first or second time?
What if he’d taken longer to find that keycard?
What if he’d spent longer trying to dig for answers?
Enough extra minutes added up to an hour, and they’d all be dead because the reactor would have fucking atomized them. It made him a little sick to think about and it just reinforced the notion that life and the universe was just pure fucking chaotic luck. You could stack the deck in your favor and bust ass to take advantage of it when things went your way, but at the end of the day, life was a fucking roulette wheel and sometimes, a lot of times, all you could do was hold your breath and hope that things turned out for the best.
It was a sickening, miserable realization and he hated thinking about it, hated admitting that most of his own continued survival belonged mainly to luck. The idea of not being in control of your own life was an awful thing to swallow. But there wasn’t really any other choice, you either digested that information and lived with it, or you were a fool who believed that either you had total control over your life or if you were really, really good and behaved like a good little boy or girl, the universe would notice and reward you.
There was no sentient force out there, watching everyone and ensuring that the good people were rewarded and the bad people were punished.
He had no idea how anyone could believe that, because look at all the great people who got fucked over arbitrarily, look at all the fucking assholes that succeeded. How many of them went their whole lives without getting what they deserved? Not every good person died painlessly and peacefully after a long, successful life and not every asshole died of cancer or got gunned down. Too often, actually, it was the other way around.
Greg shook the anger and misery from himself.
Functionally speaking, all the metaphysics didn’t make a fucking bit of difference. Whether or not there was an omniscient force watching you didn’t matter. What mattered was what you did, and right now what Greg was going to do was to stabilize this reactor, save Drake and figure out how fucked they were and who had fucked them.
And then fuck them over.
They came to the end of the central corridor, passed through an outer transfer chamber and came at last to the reactor bay itself. It was a huge room built around an immense piece of technology that dominated the very center, a thick pillar of metal and glass and technology, running from the floor to the ceiling.
They spread out and cleared the area, finding no other Mutants, Harvesters or Guardians around, or anything else for that matter.
“Okay, give me a minute,” Eric said as they got him to a large, important looking workstation. He righted a chair that had been knocked over, sat down and set to work. “I just need to figure out what the hell the actual problem is.”
Greg kept watch as he moved over to Drake, who had taken a seat at another nearby workstation. “You doing okay?” he asked.
“Yeah...well, no, but I’ll hold together,” he replied. He was paler now and looked very sick.
“You want some painkillers? I have some.”
He shook his head. “No, I have no idea what they poisoned me with and so I have no idea how even generic painkillers might react.”
Greg sighed. “Good point.”
“How about you? How are you doing? We haven’t gotten much of a chance to talk after Mezzanine. I mean...how’s things going with Vanessa? No offense but she’s always struck me as a bit...grim and humorless.”
Greg laughed. “Yeah, I mean, she’s uh...she’s kind of intense, most of the time. But, you know, when we’re alone and she doesn’t have to put on her armor, so to speak, she’s actually pretty great. She’s got a bleak sense of humor, but hey, who doesn’t in our line of work? We’re doing pretty well together. Or at least that’s what I’d like to think. How about you?”
Drake glanced over at Eric, who seemed absorbed in his work. “We’re okay,” he said. “We’re both still getting used to each other, and the fact that we’re so goddamned busy that we don’t have time for more than sleep and sex isn’t helping.”
“I hear you there.”
“But I think we’re going to be okay. I like the relationship. I’m happy. I can at least say that with certainty. I’m happy, and he seems to be happy, too.”
“That’s good...happy’s important. I think a lot of people underestimate happy. Some people call it simple or basic...I guess I’d rather call it fundamental. It’s one of the big building blocks of a good life,” Greg said.
Drake nodded. “Yeah, well put.”
“Okay, give me another minute,” Eric said suddenly, leaving the workstation and moving towards the huge pillar of technology in the center of the room.
Greg offered Drake a hand and helped him to his feet and they followed after the technician. Eric had a tendency to get lost in his job when he was really into it. They stuck with him, watching the exits, as he discerned his job. Finally, after a few minutes, he turned away from the reactor core and faced them.
“Okay,” he said, “I need a toolkit and some parts. There’s a maintenance bay next door that should have it all. I can fix this in ten minutes.”
“Then let’s get to it,” Greg replied, raising the shotgun.
They moved across the room to a door set in the far left wall. Greg went first, slapping the access button and preparing to step inside. He froze, however, as a wave of chilled warning washed over him. Frowning, he stared into the room beyond. It was wreathed in an uncomfortable collection of shadows that seemed to gather along the peripheral. There was nothing immediately obvious, and yet...he couldn’t shake the tense foreboding.
“Something’s wrong,” he murmured.
“What?” Drake asked.
“I...I don’t know. Wait here,” he replied, taking a cautious step forward.
“Greg, we don’t exactly have time-” Eric began.
“Wait here!” Greg hissed, then focused. He stopped about a meter past the threshold, then reached down along the length of the shotgun barrel, found the switch for the flashlight mounted on its end and flicked it on.
A powerful beam of white light cut into the darkness. Slowly, carefully, Greg began to move the beam across the room, starting at his immediate left and then slowly moving across the walls. The room was rectangular in
nature, with him standing at the head of it. All along the edges of the area, his light revealed the kinds of things he’d become used to seeing in maintenance bays: workbenches and foldout tables scattered with spare parts and tools, stained with grease and other liquids, lockers and shelves, crates and stools.
There.
His light froze on something in the far back left corner of the room, maybe fifteen meters away. He frowned, staring hard, trying to figure out what in the hell he was looking at. All he could see was...a deeper darkness, something blacker than black among the shadows. He wasn’t even sure if he was actually seeing something, except that his instincts were shrieking at him and he’d grown to trust them more than he trusted anything else in his life.
Abruptly, twin blue lights, colder than deep space, sparked to life.
Eyes.
Then it moved, it moved fast, coming straight towards him.
He screamed and fired. The slug shell connected dead on and abruptly the whole thing disappeared like blood in water, dispersing into the air until it was gone. Greg hardly had time to draw breath before he heard a soft whispering sound from his right. He spun, swinging his shotgun around just in time to see another shadowy figure, something that only vaguely resembled a human being, with two more eyes of flaring electric blue.
It was coming for him.
He fired once more and the same thing happened: the slug shell smashed into it and it came apart in a second, dissipating into the air.
“What was it!?” Eric called.
“Shadows,” Greg whispered. “Oh god, what have they done?”
“What the fuck...shadows? What do you mean?” Drake replied.
“Get the lights on,” Greg replied quickly, backing up. “We need the lights on.”
He hit the door frame and groped blindly along the walls until Eric finally came in, found the light control panel and flipped them on. The whole room was thrown in brilliant light, revealing nothing more. No more Shadows.
“Now what are you talking about?” Eric asked.
“Shadows...didn’t Allan tell you about them?” he asked, trying to get himself under control. Both men shook their heads as they moved deeper into the room and Eric began to search carefully for the things he needed. Greg pressed on. “Near the end of our campaign against Rogue Ops, Allan had to lead a squad onto an abandoned alien ship. It was ancient, even to the Cyr. It was utterly alien. There were these chambers onboard, these honeycombed chambers, and each one held a...Shadow. A creature made of living darkness. If they touch you, you die. Instantly. No ifs, no ands, not buts, you fucking die. End of story,” he explained.
“What...how?!” Drake cried.
“No idea, but you turn into a skeleton...yes, I said that, no I’m not joking. You instantly turn into a skeleton. And armor makes no difference. He called them Shadows. They have glowing blue eyes and make whispering sounds. You need to watch for them closely,” Greg said firmly.
“Christ...as if we didn’t have enough to worry about,” Eric muttered.
Greg was thinking the exact same thing. As Eric found his tools and parts, led them back out into the reactor bay and began his repairs, he found himself ruminating on the discovery. Someone had apparently kidnapped at least three of Anomalous Ops’ most prominent and effective members. There had been a string of raids on top secret, government-based research facilities containing paranormal or extraterrestrial beings or items of interest.
And now, they had confirmed sightings of both Mutants and Shadows.
Which made Greg wonder, what in the fuck else did they have hidden away onboard Tempest Station? What else was loose?
“Got it!” Eric said after several more minutes. “Lemme just double-check.” He moved back over to the workstation, sat down and went back to work. After another two minutes, he nodded to them, grinning big. “I did it. The reactor is stabilized. It isn’t perfect and it won’t stay stable forever, but it should be enough time for us find some way off of this place.”
“Great. Let’s track down that command center,” Greg replied.
They headed back out of the reactor core.
CHAPTER 04
–Control–
“Okay Eric, what’s the shortest route possible through Sector Two?” Greg asked, his voice tight. Tension sang through him as they stepped back into the junction area. They’d successfully repaired the reactor and navigated their way back out without running into any more hostiles. For which he was very grateful. Unfortunately, it just felt like there was going to be a fresh horror waiting around every corner, and every corner they turned, every door they stepped through where there wasn’t anything just ratcheted up the tension another notch.
And Greg knew it was only going to get worse.
To make the situation even more strenuous, Drake was looking shittier now. He wasn’t saying anything anymore and he’d puked twice, dry-heaving the second time since there was nothing left in his stomach to come up.
“Hold on,” Eric murmured as he quickly crossed the terminal, fired it up and located a map of the area beyond. He muttered to himself for a moment, then called them other. “Here, look,” he said, pointing to the topographical overlay of the living quarters. “We can head immediately into this mess hall, cut through a storage area at the back of the kitchen section, then across this rec room and through these two infirmaries. That’ll put us at the next junction, which should grant us access to the control room,” he explained.
Greg looked it over, scrutinizing the route, both to double-check it and to ensure there wasn’t a shorter way through, but he couldn’t see one. He nodded tightly. “Okay, let’s get going. Sooner we’re out of this shitstorm, the better.”
Drake just grunted quietly in agreement. He was leaning heavily against a nearby wall. As Greg and Eric prepared to move out, Drake tried to straighten up, but groaned. “Shit, Eric, gonna need some help here,” he said, his voice slurring slightly.
Greg felt a fresh wave of cold fear roll through him as Eric helped him up. Drake was tough, simply put. He didn’t ask for help unless he absolutely needed it. This was a good thing, because it meant he wasn’t an idiot too obsessed with pride, but it also meant that he was nearing the end of his rope, physically speaking.
He couldn’t go on for much longer.
Once Drake was up, Greg moved over to the large door that separated the junction from the rest of the station and opened it up. An entrance lobby awaited him, a place of destruction and death. Wrecked furniture, corpses strewn about, blood on the walls. Greg did a quick search of the area, knowing that they didn’t have time for it but also knowing that he needed more ammunition if they were going to make it through this alive.
There was nothing in the lobby, but he managed to track down a box of shells in the security station attached to the lobby. Nothing else, though. He reloaded his shotgun and pocketed the rest. Feeling the immense press of time, Greg led the way out of the lobby, into a corridor and through the first door on the left, in the first part of their journey: the mess hall. It definitely lived up to its name. It looked like when whatever it was had happened, whatever horror had swept the station, it had been in the middle of a meal.
There were plates and bowls and cups everywhere, silverware glinted under the remaining lights, mixed in with pools of blood. Half-chewed corpses were strewn at total random in between rows of tables and benches. Sticking to the right side of the room, Greg led the pair through it. There didn’t seem to be anything lurking. They managed to hit the back of the room, get behind the serving tray line and pass through a doorway at the back. They came into a kitchen and moved through a second door that led to the storage bay.
So far, so good.
The storage bay was packed and unruly. Obviously some kind of explosion or maybe a hull rupture nearby had sent everything off the shelves, scattering the supplies across the floor. And, mixed in with those supplies...Greg hesitated. Bones. Pure, clean, bleached bones, thrown into a chaotic pile. Shadows had
been here.
“Shadows might be nearby,” he murmured as they pressed on. Although...he frowned as he studied the scene further. The clothing that some of the bones were half-in/half-out of was tattered and torn and stained with blood, and they reeked like that of a Mutant...did that mean they were fighting each other? Oh man, wouldn’t that be fucking great.
They pressed on through to the other door, opened it up and stepped out into a passageway beyond. Greg looked left and right, saw nothing but lonely stretches of corridor, and then passed through the doorway directly across from them. They were making good time, Greg thought, but then came up short as he stepped into the recreational area beyond. A pair of Mutants were wandering purposefully around among a maze created by couches, knocked over arcade cabinets and chairs. They seemed distracted and not at all interested in the three people who had stepped into their territory. Greg raised his shotgun, then hesitated.
From the right, in a corner of the room that was bathed mostly in darkness, one of the shadows detached from that darkness and bounded up over a broken, tipped-over arcade cabinet. One of the Mutants turned to face it and took a swing at it as the Shadow leaped onto it. Watching all of the skin, the muscle, the meat, the organs, the blood...all of it pop out of existence was an utterly surreal thing. In fact, Greg wasn’t even sure he’d actually seen it, like his brain was having difficulty admitting that it had just taken place.
The bones and the Mutant’s yellow uniform dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
Without hesitation, the Shadow leaped onto the next Mutant and again, the second contact was made, the same thing happened. When those twin, glowing blue eyes turned on him, Greg was jolted into action. He aimed and fired, pounding out a round that went wide as the Shadow began coming for him. Cursing, he adjusted his aim and fired again, this time connecting and blowing the thing to hell. Breathing heavily, he looked around the room, but saw nothing more.
“Holy shit,” Eric whispered. “Those things are pure horror.”
