Observations in the Dark

Several minutes had passed since the med bay was swallowed by darkness.

The lights flickered.

Not randomly—but in slow, pulsing intervals. Like the ship was breathing. Like something beneath it all was alive.

The emergency lights refused to return. The air was heavy, dense with static. The med bay walls seemed to press inward—not physically, but perceptually. As if space itself was warping by the second.

Selene's breathing was steady, but her pulse wasn't. Her fingers twitched near her thigh, a physical tell of a mind locked in overdrive.

She needed data. A variable. Anything to analyze.

Instead—

A voice rose from the dark.

Deep. Low. Calm.

The Eidolith.

"Selene."

Her muscles locked involuntarily.

She shouldn't have been surprised. Jerry was already lost—absorbed. But part of her, the irrational human part, still clung to the idea that he might fight back. That some trace of his consciousness remained.

But this thing was not Jerry.

"I am... what you call... the Eidolith."

The cadence was too deliberate. Too human. As if it had studied language—worn it like a mask.

Selene steadied herself. If it could speak, it could be reasoned with. If it could be reasoned with, it could be stalled.

She adjusted her posture, drawing on the only weapon she had left—scientific inquiry.

"Self-awareness," she said calmly. "An interesting trait for a cosmic anomaly."

The figure didn't move. But she felt it. Not heat. Not pressure. A presence. Like something inside her neurons—rifling through her thoughts.

She kept going.

"Are you sapient? Or merely a projection of something larger? A fragment of a collective consciousness?"

A slow pause.

Then—

"I am."

Selene's breath caught in her chest. That response carried weight. Not just awareness. Identity.

"Do you require a biological host," she pressed, "or are you fully autonomous?"

The lights flickered again, dimming for half a second longer than before.

"You ask as if it matters."

"It does." Her tone sharpened. "Host dependency implies physical limitation. That's a crucial distinction."

"You are not omnipresent," she continued. "If you were, Jerry wouldn't be necessary."

Another pause.

"You assume I need him."

Selene narrowed her eyes. It was trying to misdirect her—but that too was a data point.

"What does a human body offer you? Structural access to physical space? Emotional mimicry? You're using him as an interface, aren't you?"

The entity responded faster now.

"You analyze like a child discovering its shadow."

An insult. Defensive. That meant she was right.

"So the vessel is temporary," she said, her tone quiet but firm. "He's degrading."

The lights pulsed again—brighter. Then dim.

"The vessel... is temporary."

Selene's spine stiffened.

Jerry wasn't the host. He was a host.

"How many before him?"

Silence.

She stepped forward.

"How many, Eidolith?"

Jerry's body jerked—sharp, unnatural.

Then—

"Time is circular."

Selene blinked. The phrase chilled her deeper than silence.

That wasn't an answer. It was a warning.

She recalibrated.

"What happened to the others?"

"They are."

Selene's blood ran cold.

Not were.

Are.

Still present. Still part of it.

"Are they inside you?" she whispered.

"They are me."

The lights buzzed—flickered.

Selene's hands shook. But she had to keep going.

"What do you want?"

"You assume I want."

She inhaled. That phrasing again—subtle corrections to her perception.

"Then what is your purpose?"

A smile formed across Jerry's face.

But it wasn't his smile.

"To correct what was never meant to be."

The lights surged—then snapped to full brightness.

And in that moment—

Selene understood.

The ship wasn't theirs.

It never had been.

Then—

Jerry was gone.

Just gone.

No sound. No flash. No trace.

**

Back in the Cafeteria

Soren stumbled, his body swaying like a marionette with tangled strings. He clutched a nearby table, trying to steady himself.

Each step felt misaligned—like his legs and brain were negotiating different directions.

"F–fuck... what the—?" he muttered, wiping blood from his brow.

The room spun.

His own voice sounded wrong. Like it echoed before he even spoke.

His vision blurred.

But one thing remained certain.

Something had touched him.

And it wasn't done.

But Soren didn't know that.

Not yet.

He kept moving, staggering toward the cafeteria entrance, blinking hard, trying to focus, trying to remember how to walk in a straight line.

Then—

Rita rounded the corner, fast. Too fast. She nearly slammed into him.

"Shit! There you are, Soren!" she gasped, grabbing his arms to steady him. "Are you okay?!"

Soren blinked at her.

His pupils didn't focus right. His breathing was shallow.

Then—

"You... who are?"

The words came slow. Out of order. Like his brain was buffering.

Rita's stomach twisted.

She reached for her radio, thumb trembling over the transmit button.

"Guys, I found Soren," she said, keeping her voice steady. "But he's not okay. He looks like he hit his head, and—he doesn't remember me. His speech is off. We're in the cafeteria."

Static crackled. Then—

"I'm coming," Voss barked. He was already changing direction, feet pounding against the floor as he sprinted toward them.

But then—

It hit.

Voss was lifted off his feet and slammed into the wall.

Hard. Bone-crunching hard. Like something massive had blindsided him out of nowhere.

"AHHH!" he shouted, pain ripping through his ribs as he crumpled to the floor.

Gasping, he looked up—

Nothing.

Nothing there.

But he had felt it.

He knew something hit him.

And it was still out there.

His fingers fumbled for his comm.

"F-fuck—!!" he groaned. "Guys, something just—something just attacked me!"

"Shit—where are you?"

A beat of static.

Then Selene's voice cut through, steady but strained.

"It could be Jerry... the Eidolith is controlling him."

Soren blinked, eyes locking onto Rita's.

Confused. Empty.

"Jerry... is he dead?"

Rita hesitated, her throat tight.

"I don't know."

And then—

The AI interrupted.

Its voice was calm. Flat. As if it hadn't just watched the crew unravel.

"Jerry was just spotted in the command room."

Soren and Rita moved fast—but cautiously—toward the command room, weapons drawn and nerves stretched thin.

Selene broke in the opposite direction, heading toward where Voss had last reported.

"Voss? Voss, come in! Do you copy?!" she shouted into the radio, her voice tight with concern.

Static.

Nothing.

She gritted her teeth, heart pounding.

What if he's unconscious?

What if the Eidolith got to him first?

What if he's already... changed?

The thought hit like ice water through her veins.

She pushed forward.

After several tense minutes of corridor after corridor, she found him.

Voss—slumped against the wall. Motionless. Bleeding.

"Voss!" she gasped, dropping to her knees beside him. "Voss, can you hear me?!"

No answer.

Then—the temperature dropped.

The air turned thick.

Smoke—black as pitch—began to creep in from the corners of the corridor, seeping through vents, oozing from beneath the doors.

Selene's breath caught.

No. Not again.

Within seconds, the lights vanished.

Everything went black.

She reached for Voss, fingers brushing only cold metal.

He was gone.

"What the fuck?!" Selene shouted into the dark.

And then—she wasn't alone.

They appeared.

Shadows—fluid, writhing—emerging from the smoke like wraiths.

Not silhouettes. Not figures.

These were imprints of people. Echoes of something long gone. Or never meant to be.

Their heads turned toward her—jerky, too fast, like corrupted animation.

One of them cracked backward, spine bending the wrong way, and began to crawl—upside down—toward her.

Another twisted its legs fully backward, bone snapping audible in the silence, and lurched forward like it was walking in reverse.

Selene's body locked.

She scrambled back, heart hammering, slipping on something slick beneath her.

"No—no, no, no!"

Her hand hit cold metal. She shoved herself upright and ran—

Only to stop dead.

They were ahead of her, too.

More of them.

More twisted, broken shapes.

They were closing in.

No exits.

No light.

Just her and the dark.

Selene clenched her fists, breath ragged. If she was going down—she'd go down fighting.

Then—she saw her reflection in a shattered console screen.

Her hair—white.

Her skin—aged. Wrinkled. As if years had passed in seconds.

"What... I don't understand?" she whispered, stunned.

The shadows rushed in.

She braced.

But—

A hand.

Voss's.

It yanked her back through the dark, into the ship's light.

"Selene!" he shouted. "Fucking snap out of it!"

She gasped as the shadows vanished, the smoke retreating like a tide.

Selene blinked.

She was back.

Back in the corridor. Voss beside her, pale and sweating, but alive.

But her hands were still trembling.

"What... what was that? What the fuck just happened?" Selene whispered, still staring down the corridor as if the shadows were still there.

Her breath was uneven. Her hands were clenched, knuckles white, trembling. The black smoke. The twisted figures. The way her body had aged right in front of her—it had all felt real.

Voss crouched beside her, every breath labored, one hand pressed hard against his ribs as he winced with every movement. His face was tight with pain, sweat beading along his brow. But his eyes—wide, wild—were fixed on her, like someone who'd just yanked a drowning woman from the depths.

He hesitated before speaking. "Selene... I know you're the doctor, but whatever just happened..." He shook his head. "I didn't see a damn thing. You didn't move. You didn't say anything. You were just standing there... frozen. Like you weren't even here anymore."

Selene blinked rapidly. She looked down at her hands—smooth, young, unaged. She touched her hair, running her fingers through the strands.

Still dark.

Still hers.

Her lips parted slightly, breath catching.

"No... That doesn't make sense. I saw them. They were all around me. The shadows... the way they moved—my skin..."

Voss just watched her, confused, cautious.

She turned, scanning the hallway.

It was clean.

Bright.

Empty.

Her scientific mind raced to rationalize it. Hallucination. Temporal feedback. Trauma-triggered memory projection. She cycled through every theory, trying to land on one that didn't terrify her.

But none of them fit.

She stumbled back a step and blinked—

—and it was gone.

Everything.

The cold. The smoke. The figures. The sense of decay.

It had never been there.

And yet—she knew it had.

Only she had seen it.

And that was worse.

Then—

Soren and Rita finally reached them.

The echo of shouts and panic had been their guide through the labyrinthine corridors.

"You guys okay? We tried to track you down, but the acoustics in this ship are a nightmare," Rita said, breathless.

Voss let out a low groan, clutching his side.

"Guys, sorry to interrupt, but I'm in a lot of pain here."

Rita gave a nervous, apologetic smile. "Oh shit—sorry! I didn't realize how bad—"

Voss gave a weak wave, trying to keep the tension down. "It's alright."

Then—

The intercom blared to life.

Cheerful. Calm. Horribly out of place.

"Critical health detected in crew member: Commander Aelric Voss. Please seek immediate medical attention."

Every eye turned to Voss.

Selene's gaze narrowed. Her voice sharpened.

"You're not just in pain—your vitals are failing." She knelt beside him, pressing two fingers just above the wound, watching his response. "He's got a punctured rib—left side, sixth or seventh intercostal space. It broke the skin. Possibly hit the lung."

Blood was leaking steadily through his uniform.

"Dammit," she muttered. "You're hemorrhaging. The tissue integrity's compromised. We need to seal the wound and stabilize internal pressure now."

Selene pressed her hand to the wound, applying just enough pressure to reduce the bleeding without exacerbating the injury.

"Rita," she said quickly, but clearly, "I need the portable suture unit and the hemo-stabilizing agent from the med bay—fast. It's in the refrigerated case labeled BX-11. Left shelf."

Rita didn't waste a second.

She turned and sprinted down the corridor—no hesitation.

Voss let out another pained grunt, teeth clenched.

Selene kept her hand steady, her other on his shoulder. "Stay with me. You've survived worse." She looked him in the eye. "And I will fix this."

As Rita reached the med bay, she sprinted toward the refrigeration unit, yanking open the first door with trembling hands.

In her rush, she missed the correct compartment entirely—slamming the door shut as she darted toward the others.

She opened fridge two—empty. Three—only sterile gauze. Four and five—nothing but outdated nutrient packs and spare coolant units.

Her chest tightened. Panic rising.

"Rita, have you found the medical equipment?" Voss's voice crackled through the comm, broken by groans of pain.

"I—I can't find it!" she called back, her voice shaking.

Then—back to the first fridge.

Her eyes caught the familiar label this time: BX-11. Sitting right where it should've been.

"Shit—nevermind! I just found it. On my way!!"

She grabbed the case and bolted out of the med bay, her heart pounding in rhythm with her footsteps.

The sprint back felt like a blur—she barely remembered breathing.

Then—

She skidded to a halt beside them, thrusting the case into Selene's hands.

"Here! Save him, Doc!"

Selene nodded, already activating the suture unit.

"Applying direct pressure first. Voss, I need you to stay conscious."

She ripped open the case. Inside, a compact unit blinked to life as she primed the surgical sealant and stabilizing injector.

"Starting with subcutaneous hemofoam to slow internal bleeding," she said, voice clinical but steady. "This'll expand and absorb blood within the pleural cavity, minimizing internal damage. Next—dermal regeneration gel."

She pressed a small cylinder to the wound. The hiss of compressed gas filled the air.

Voss clenched his jaw. "Hurts like hell."

"That means your nerves are still functioning," she replied. "That's a good sign."

The incision sealed rapidly as the gel activated on contact with blood and tissue, forming synthetic bonds. Selene didn't pause.

"Okay—stitching dermal layers now. Rita, hand me the micro-suture wand."

Rita fumbled slightly, then passed it over.

Selene worked quickly—methodically—until the bleeding had stopped and the wound began stabilizing.

After a moment, she leaned back, breathing hard.

"Bleeding's controlled. We'll need to keep him under observation for internal shock, but..." she glanced at Voss, "you're going to make it."