The Galactic Plumber

You ever watch your worst nightmare unfold in real time? Like, imagine you clog a toilet so bad it gains sentience, then evolves into a spacefaring horror that commands a hive-mind fleet—and now, it's warping reality itself to turn its flagship into a living entity.

Yeah. That's my life.

And it was about to get a whole lot worse.

A Ship That Shouldn't Be Alive

The viewscreen displayed the impossible. The enemy flagship, once a sleek black war machine, had cracked open like some grotesque cocoon. Metallic plating peeled back, revealing something… organic beneath. Pulsing, sinewy tendrils wove through its hull, wrapping around weapons arrays, integrating with the ship's structure. Its main engines glowed with an eerie green light, now flickering like a heartbeat.

And at the center of it all, seated on a grotesque throne of shifting bio-metal, was Specimen 37.

It wasn't just piloting the ship anymore.

It was the ship.

And it was staring right at us.

Benny, still clutching his datapad like a security blanket, muttered, "That's… not supposed to happen."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "No kidding, Benny."

Captain Ryker's voice was sharp as a knife. "Weapons status?"

Orla was already scanning. "The thing's power levels are off the charts. I don't even think our best shots would scratch it."

"Shields?" Ryker pressed.

"Holding… barely," Orla said. "But if it fires a direct hit, we're done."

Right on cue, the enemy ship's glowing core pulsed brighter. The entire bridge filled with the sound of incoming energy readings.

"They're about to fire," I said. "We need to move."

"Evasive maneuvers!" Ryker barked.

The ship jolted as the S.S. Nebulon-7 banked hard, narrowly dodging a blast of green energy that seared past us. Even missing, the force of it sent shockwaves through the hull.

I grabbed onto the nearest console. "We cannot take a hit like that!"

"Working on it!" Orla growled, her hands flying over controls.

Another blast streaked toward us. This one barely missed.

"Okay," Benny stammered. "Uh, fun idea—what if we ran away?"

I turned to Ryker, expecting him to reject the idea immediately. But instead, he was staring at the screen, thinking.

"We might not have a choice," Ryker admitted. "But we won't outrun them."

I hated that he was right. The Nebulon-7 was fast, but the thing chasing us wasn't bound by normal physics anymore. It was alive. And worse, it was learning.

"Then we need another plan," I said. "Something crazy."

Ryker's eyes flicked toward me. "How crazy?"

I took a breath. "We still have some of that… experimental garbage from the science lab, right?"

Benny's eyes widened. "You mean the unstable antimatter sludge? The one Dr. Vex said 'should never, under any circumstances, touch the engines'?"

"That's the one."

Ryker's expression darkened. "You want to weaponize it?"

"I want to flush it down their throat," I said.

Benny looked horrified. "That could blow us up too!"

I shrugged. "Yeah, but so could not doing it."

Ryker considered this for only a second before nodding. "Do it."

The Dumbest Plan Ever

Back in Engineering, my team scrambled to put together the worst (or best) idea I'd ever had.

We had one chance. One insane, poorly thought-out, jury-rigged attempt to use a batch of hyper-reactive antimatter sludge as a payload, slingshotting it straight into Specimen 37's corrupted core.

"Alright, listen up," I said, pacing in front of my engineers. "We're about to turn the ship's waste management system into a planet-killer. We're gonna load this nightmare fuel into our venting array, reverse the pressure flow, and yeet it straight into their gaping horror-mouth."

A young engineer raised a hand. "Uh, sir? That's… not how physics works."

I pointed at him. "Not with that attitude."

Benny looked up from his console. "It's ready. I, uh… really hope we don't die."

"No promises," I muttered.

The Setup

I bolted back to the bridge.

"Captain!" I shouted. "Package is loaded!"

Ryker nodded. "Orla, get us a firing solution."

She was already ahead of him. "Aligning trajectory. We'll have one shot."

"One's all we need," I said, gripping the back of my chair.

Onscreen, Specimen 37's monstrous ship twisted its form again, opening what I could only describe as a massive, gaping maw lined with energy tendrils.

"Oh, hell no," Benny whispered.

It was trying to consume us.

"Fire now!" Ryker ordered.

Orla hit the release.

With a thunderous whomp, the Nebulon-7 ejected its payload—a spinning mass of unstable antimatter sludge, hurling straight for the enemy's exposed core.

Specimen 37 must've realized too late what was happening. The organic tendrils around its hull lashed out, trying to stop the incoming projectile. But it wasn't fast enough.

Direct hit.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then everything happened at once.

The enemy ship convulsed, its entire structure rippling like a living being in pain.

A high-pitched, inhuman shriek filled our comms—Specimen 37, screaming in rage and agony.

The core began to overload.

"We need to get out of here!" Benny yelled.

"FTL jump, now!" Ryker commanded.

I slammed my hand on the emergency drive override. The ship groaned, engines roaring as we punched a hole through space-time.

The last thing I saw before the Nebulon-7 vanished into hyperspace was the living ship collapsing inward, its core imploding in a swirl of green fire.

And then—

Silence.

Aftermath

The Nebulon-7 emerged from hyperspace hours later, drifting in the quiet void.

We survived.

Barely.

Engineering was a mess. The hull was scorched. The shields were fried. Half the crew smelled like burning wires and stress-induced regret.

But we were alive.

On the bridge, I exhaled. "So, uh… we won?"

Benny, still shaken, muttered, "I don't even know what winning means anymore."

Ryker chuckled, shaking his head. "We're still here. That's enough."

I flopped into my chair, exhausted. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in Engineering. Fixing the ship again."

As I got up to leave, Orla frowned at the console. "Hold on. We just got a transmission."

I paused. "From who?"

Orla hesitated. "It's… heavily encrypted. I can't trace the source."

The viewscreen crackled—static resolving into a dark, shadowy figure. A voice, smooth and calm, cut through the silence:

"You've made quite an impression, S.S. Nebulon-7. But this fight is far from over."

And just like that, my problems weren't over.

They were just getting started.