The Galactic Plumber

Something Still Stinks

We didn't die.

That was the good news.

The bad news?

We were limping through space in a half-broken shuttle, carrying a sentient space poop, while the Warden and Specimen 14 were probably tearing reality apart behind us.

And to top it off?

The ship smelled like burning rubber and bad choices.

"Okay," Benny panted from the pilot's seat. "We're alive. That's… good?"

I ran a hand down my face. "Define 'good.' Because we just left behind a space station full of horrors, lost half our fuel in the escape, and—"

A loud BANG echoed from the back of the ship.

Orla snapped her rifle up. "Tell me that was turbulence."

It was not.

Another BANG.

Voss cursed. "Something's in the cargo hold."

Benny frowned. "Wait… didn't we leave the cargo hold empty?"

We all went dead silent.

Then—

Gurgling.

Wet. Sticky. Close.

"Oh, for—" I groaned, grabbing a wrench. "SPECIMEN 37. ARE YOU KIDDING ME."

The Chase, Again

We burst into the cargo hold, weapons raised, ready to fight off an aggressive mutant sludge abomination.

And what did we find?

Specimen 37.

Sitting on a crate.

Holding a wrench.

I blinked. "Is it… fixing something?"

Orla tilted her head. "Or making something worse?"

Benny's eyes widened. "Oh, crap. Look at the walls."

We did.

And that's when we saw it.

It had been writing.

Thick, inky smears of some alien script lined the walls—symbols we didn't understand, but they all had one thing in common.

They pointed toward a single word.

"HUNGER."

A chill ran down my spine. "Okay. Nope. We're not doing haunted cryptic space messages today."

37 gurgled again, its gelatinous body quivering. Then it did something new.

It lifted a hand.

Pointed at me.

And then pointed at the writing.

Benny took a shaky step back. "Uh. Logan. I think it's trying to tell you something."

I gulped. "Yeah? Well, I don't speak poop."

And that's when the ship lurched.

Lights flickered.

A horrible, deep groan echoed through the hull.

And Benny checked the radar—then went pale.

"Uh, guys? There's… something behind us."

Whatever It Is, It's Big

We rushed back to the bridge, boots clanging against metal.

"Define 'something,'" Ryker barked, grabbing the controls.

Benny's fingers flew over the console, pulling up the rear scanner.

A shadow appeared on the screen.

Huge.

Larger than a warship, shifting with an eerie, fluid motion.

Orla's voice was tight. "Tell me that's a sensor error."

It was not.

The screen fuzzed, then crackled with an incoming transmission.

Static. Distorted voices.

Then—

"…specimen… escape… return… before… hunger spreads…"

A sinking feeling hit my gut.

I turned to 37, still lingering near the entrance, its form shivering violently.

"Tell me," I muttered, "that thing isn't here for you."

37 just stared.

Then the ship rocked violently, throwing us forward as a massive tendril of darkness lashed out from the void, wrapping around the shuttle—

And began pulling us in.