The Last Light

As Dr. Selene Kael wandered the dim corridors of the vessel, her breath fogged in the cold, stale air. The emergency lights flickered in uneven intervals, casting jagged shadows along the walls. She squinted into the void beyond the viewport, her heart lurching as something caught the light—a metallic glint, distant but unmistakable.

She turned and sprinted toward the command deck, ignoring the sharp sting of her scraped palms as she caught herself against the doorframe. "Commander!" she gasped, trying to steady her breath. "There's a vessel outside—starboard side. Reflective hull, partially obscured by debris. It could be a derelict, but I need a closer scan to confirm."

Commander Aelric Voss, his face carved with years of regret, shoved past her to the viewport. His eyes narrowed. The shape was unmistakable—hulking, broken, and impossibly adrift. He barely had time to register its markings when—

BOOM!

The impact sent him sprawling as the ship lurched violently. Sparks showered from exposed wiring. The emergency sirens blared.

"Critical damage. Shield integrity at eighty-nine percent," the ship's AI droned, its voice eerily calm against the chaos.

Voss fought to his feet, gripping the console. "Doctor, get to your quarters—now! We're headed straight into the Wraith Belt!"

Selene staggered down the corridor, her shoulder slamming into the bulkhead as another violent jolt rattled the ship. Blood trickled down her cheek from a fresh gash, but she barely noticed. Her mind was already running through calculations.

"The Wraith Belt. High-velocity asteroid field with dense gravitational distortions. No recorded survivors of long-term exposure." Her grip tightened against the cold metal railing. "Odds of successful navigation—low."

She barely managed to stumble into her quarters before—

BOOM.

A shockwave threw her against the metal floor. The walls groaned under the force of asteroid impacts. Her fingers trembled as she pulled herself up. The power flickered. The air felt thinner.

Then, over the intercom—

"Critical damage. Shield integrity at sixty-four percent. Oxygen depletion detected."

In the command deck, Voss gritted his teeth, wrenching the controls left, then hard right, dodging tumbling wreckage. He exhaled sharply with every near miss, but his stomach sank as a massive asteroid loomed ahead.

"I can't clear it."

He gripped the railings, knuckles white. "Brace for impact!"

The collision sent the ship spinning. Metal screamed. The world turned black.

Then—silence.

A high-pitched whine filled Voss's ears as he blinked through the dim red emergency lights. The air was cold. Too cold. He could feel it sinking into his bones.

"Doctor—" he coughed, struggling against the tightness in his chest. "Doctor, you okay?"

A flicker of movement caught his eye. Not the failing lights. Not the drifting debris. Something else.

Selene stirred, dust falling from her hair. Her head pounded. She inhaled sharply, quickly assessing her body's response to the oxygen depletion. "Respiration stable, but oxygen levels are decreasing. If we don't stabilize the system, we'll start experiencing hypoxia in minutes."

Voss turned toward the viewport, his stomach twisting. The asteroids were no longer striking the ship. They weren't moving at all.

Something else had stopped them.

The emergency lights flickered again, and in that half-second of darkness—

A shape moved.

Then came the first scream.

It wasn't a normal scream. It was garbled, distorted—wrong.

Voss grabbed the intercom. "Report! Who the hell just screamed?"

No response. Just the crackling static. Then, faintly—

"They're in the dark."

Selene's breath hitched. Her voice was steadier now but tense. "Commander... I think this is the Eidolith."

Voss turned to her, his blood running cold. "The what?"

She swallowed hard, her mind racing. "An entity described in fragmented logs from past lost vessels. Based on existing theoretical models, it's not bound by conventional physics. It doesn't move—it manifests. And its behavior is predatory. Fast. Relentless. No recorded countermeasures."

Another scream tore through the halls—this time cut short, as if someone had been yanked into the abyss.

The emergency lights flickered again.

The shadows seemed closer.

Voss exhaled, forcing himself to stay calm. But his hands were shaking.

"How much power do we have left?" he asked.

Selene checked the monitor, her fingers moving rapidly across the interface. "Fifteen minutes. After that, full power loss. Life support will shut down. Heat dispersion will cease, leading to rapid temperature drop below survivable levels."

Voss turned back toward the darkness.

"Then we have fifteen minutes to live."

Selene's fingers flew across the screen as she fought to restore power. Every failed command forced her to recalculate their odds.

"Come on, come on—"

"Shit!" she cursed. "Primary systems are unresponsive. The ship is locked in a power drain cycle. But—wait. I can decouple non-essential compartments and reroute energy reserves. It won't restart the main systems, but we can drift out of range of the entity and potentially realign the solar panels."

She turned to Voss, her breath controlled despite the urgency. "If we generate enough distance from the dark zone, there's a chance life support can reinitialize. Risk level is high, but failure to act results in certain death."

Before Voss could even respond—

BOOM!

The ship shuddered violently before splitting apart, its two halves drifting in opposite directions, propelled by the last remnants of power.

A lifeless voice crackled over the intercom.

"Life support critical. Power levels nearing zero."

The lights flickered—then began to die.

"Deep breath!" Selene shouted.

The intercom crackled weakly as the ship's failing systems sputtered their last breath. A wave of static broke through before the AI spoke one final time.

"Life support offline. Shutting down."

Darkness crept in, swallowing the ship—engulfing it piece by piece. Cold seeped into the air, and silence settled like a shroud.

Then—through the void—a flicker.

A glare cut through the darkness, weak but enough. Solar panels drank in the last desperate light, surging just enough power to ignite the thrusters—a final burst, hurling them away from death's grasp.

A heavy sigh of relief passed through the few remaining survivors—out of thirty good men and women, only seven remained. Some had survived by barricading themselves in the command room, listening to the screams of their crew as they fought... and failed.

Voss clenched his jaw, his hands tightening around the console. Slowly, he turned toward the rear viewport.

Beyond the glass, the void stirred.

The darkness was still there—trailing them, reaching for them, unwilling to let go.

"Voss, we did it! We actually escaped!" Selene exhaled sharply, her voice still uneven from the surge of adrenaline. "The entity exhibits predatory behavior, but it either lacks pursuit capabilities or chooses not to leave its domain."

Her breath caught as she scratched absently at her wrist—a nervous tic she had yet to suppress. She let out a weak chuckle, though there was no humor behind it. "That was the most extreme survival scenario I've ever encountered. And considering the data... it shouldn't have been possible."

Then, almost to herself, her voice grew quieter. "I was the only survivor of The Crying Room."

Silence settled over the cabin.

A low, shaken voice broke it.

"Shit... what's the Crying Room, Doc?"

The voice came from a frail, pale old man, struggling to his feet. His fingers curled around a monitor on the desk, using it for support.

The monitor wobbled.

Then—it gave way.

Voss lunged forward. "Wait—!"

Too late.

The old man collapsed, the weight of his body yanking the monitor down with him. A sickening CRACK echoed through the room as his head slammed against the desk's corner, splitting open like overripe fruit.

Voss froze, breath catching in his throat. His hands were still outstretched, inches away—too far, too slow.

"Fuuuck—!" He clenched his jaw, stomach twisting. "I... I couldn't reach him in time. Fuck!"

The room fell silent.

So silent, they could hear the void pressing in around them.

Everyone stood around the old man's corpse, frozen in shock. No one spoke. No one moved. Then—

A retching sound broke the silence.

It wasn't intentional. Just a body reacting to the horror.

One of the crew vomited violently, the low gravity sending chunks of bile splattering in all directions. It hit the walls. The floor. Their suits.

Everyone—except Selene.

She stood apart from the group, eyes distant, her fingernails digging into her wrist—scratching. Hard. Too hard.

"Selene!" Voss moved toward her, reaching for her wrist. But the moment he grabbed her—

She lashed out.

Her nails raked across his cheek, leaving a deep, burning scratch. Voss recoiled, hand flying to his face.

"What the hell is your problem?! Get a grip, dammit! We have bigger things to deal with than your—damn breakdown!"

Selene's gaze flickered—glassy, unfocused. She wasn't seeing him.

"I couldn't save them." Her voice was hollow. "I couldn't save any of them."

Voss hesitated. "What?"

Then—

"The cries... all those cries..."

Her breath hitched. Then the sobs came. She collapsed to the floor, shaking, as the weight of The Crying Room devoured her from the inside out.

Voss, being the gentleman he was, kneeled beside Selene, pulling her trembling head into his chest. His hand gently stroked her hair, as if trying to soothe the frayed edges of her soul.

"I'm guessing this has something to do with The Crying Room?"

She tried to suppress her emotions, wiping her eyes furiously, but the tears wouldn't stop.

"Yes... with everything that's happened today, I've lost control." Her voice cracked. "I'm scared, Voss. So damn scared."

She wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him for a brief moment of solace, as her sobs wracked her body.

The silence between them was thick—raw, intimate.

Then—

A crackling noise broke through the tension, a voice that didn't belong to either of them.

"Power levels back at fifteen percent. Booting all systems online."

The ship's AI spoke with an oddly cheerful tone, an awkward contrast to the rawness of the moment.

Voss sighed as he stepped toward the old man's corpse, staring down at the lifeless body. "Damn... you didn't deserve to go out like that."

With a grunt, he bent down, grabbing the man by the legs, and began dragging him toward the trash disposal unit.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

The voice—sharp, angry—cut through the tense silence.

Voss stopped in his tracks. The voice wasn't familiar.

He turned his head slightly as a younger woman stormed toward him, her eyes burning with outrage.

"It's been twenty damn minutes since he croaked, and you're already dumping his body like garbage?!" She clenched her fists. "Did you even know his name, you piece of shit!?"

Voss exhaled slowly, setting the old man's legs down with a bit more care this time. He straightened, rolling his shoulders as he turned to face her, his expression unreadable.

Finally, in a calm, steady voice, he said—

"His name was Elias Varro."

Her eyes widened, her clenched fists loosening, but her distraught gaze remained locked onto Voss.

"Elias was a good friend of mine, almost like a father." The young woman's voice trembled. "We worked together in the cafeteria, but we never had time to talk outside of our duties. He had three kids—two of them were on this ship." Her breath hitched. "But that thing... that fucking thing killed them. I barely made it out with my life." A single tear traced down her cheek.

Voss narrowed his eyes, studying her. "What's your name, dear?"

She blinked rapidly, as if the question pulled her back to reality. Wiping her tears away, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Rita. Wife of Kito Varin."

Voss's eyes widened slightly. "Marisa's girl? Damn..." He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. "Your mother and I grew up together on the same mother ship. She was like a sister to me before I left to command my own crew." His gaze darkened for a moment, his voice lowering.

"You know, I never understood how that ship kept producing more vessels. More supplies. More people." He shook his head. "It never made sense."

Rita's jaw dropped. "You knew my mother?"

Selene, still curled up with her knees pressed tightly to her chest, suddenly sprang to her feet—too fast, too unnatural. It was as if her body moved on its own, not even using her hands to push herself up.

Her breath hitched. Her eyes, wild.

"It's back."

A sharp crackle echoed through the intercom.

"Motion detected near camera three"

The ship's AI delivered the announcement in its usual monotone—but something about its voice felt off.

The remaining crew rushed toward the nearest glass panel, peering toward the garbage disposal unit.

"Motion detected near camera eight."

They spun around, darting from one side of the ship to the other, desperate to catch a glimpse of whatever was setting off the sensors.

But there was nothing.

No movement. No shadow. Nothing at all.

And that was the most terrifying part.

The AI's voice continued announcing each alert, but something was... wrong.

The more it spoke, the more distorted it became—as if something else was using its frequency, layering a second voice beneath its own.

For nearly twelve minutes, the crew darted from one corridor to another, trying desperately to catch even a glimpse of whatever was tripping the motion sensors.

Nothing.

Then—

"Welcome back, previous guests!"

The AI's chipper tone cut through the static, far too casual for the situation.

Silence gripped the room. Everyone froze.

Eyes shifted, scanning one another, the tension thick enough to choke on.

"Previous guests?" Rita muttered, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Voss clenched his fists. "AI, how many living creatures are currently aboard this vessel?" His voice was firm, commanding.

A brief pause. A flicker of static.

"As of this moment, I am detecting two life forms aboard this ship."

Voss's blood ran cold.

"The hell do you mean, two life forms?" Selene snapped. Her confidence, however, faltered just slightly. "There's only one type of life on this ship, and that's us humans. You don't count."

Another pause. Then, the AI responded, its voice eerily calm—almost... amused.

"Apologies for the misunderstanding, but I was not referring to myself as one of the life forms. I am a computer system, programmed by a human."

The room fell into a stunned, suffocating silence.

Then—everyone gasped.