Observed

The silence after Soren's collapse was heavier than any scream.

Voss stood frozen, still clutching his bandaged hand, eyes locked on the motionless body at his feet.

No one moved.

Even the ship seemed to hold its breath.

Then—

Selene dropped to her knees beside Soren, fingers already reaching for his pulse.

She held her breath.

A beat. Then—

"He's alive," she exhaled, relief softening her voice. "Help me get him into bed."

Voss stepped forward, but Rita raised a hand to stop him.

"No. You need to rest," she said firmly. "Get back in your bed before I drag you there unconscious."

She smirked, softening the threat.

Voss hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod and eased back onto his cot.

Rita and Selene knelt beside Soren.

"Ready?" Rita asked.

"Yeah," Selene replied, bracing herself.

"Okay. One... two... three—lift!"

They hoisted him up. Selene grunted.

"Damn! How much does he weigh?"

Rita laughed. "Dense with trauma, apparently."

They managed to get him back onto the bed.

"There," Rita said, brushing sweat from her brow. "I hope he's okay."

Selene exhaled, her gaze lingering on Soren's pale face.

"Honestly... I don't know," Selene admitted, her voice low. "I'll need to run more tests."

Rita gave a faint nod, acknowledging her. But her eyes stayed locked on Soren—distant. Empty.

Voss, gritting through the pain, shifted slightly on the cot. "Rita? Are you going to be okay? I know you two are close."

She didn't turn to look at him. Her expression was tight. Cold.

"I'll be fine," she said.

Then—

Without another word, she walked out of the med bay.

Turned right.

Her footsteps quickened as she disappeared down the corridor, searching for silence. For somewhere the walls didn't remember.

Selene watched her go, then glanced at Voss. "Should I go after her?"

Voss exhaled slowly, licking his cracked lips before answering. "No. I think it's best to give her time. She needs space."

Selene nodded, then turned back to the equipment tray.

"Well... I should start running the scans," she muttered, grabbing the diagnostic tablet. "I'll run a full-spectrum neural sweep—focus on synaptic latency, memory imprint drift, and check for any void-pattern anomalies. If this was triggered by exposure, the interference might still be embedded in his cerebral electromagnetic field."

She paused, scrolling through data presets with surgical precision.

"And if nothing shows up..." Her voice softened.

"Then something's changing us from the inside out."

Voss turned pale.

"You're saying—?"

Selene nodded, but her voice stayed measured—uncertain.

"I'm saying... it might be more than just trauma. The scans are showing irregularities in his neural activity—specifically in the prefrontal and parietal lobes. It's like parts of his cognition have been... overwritten."

She stared at the monitor, frowning.

"Not wiped. Reconstructed. The pattern suggests invasive neuroplasticity—rapid restructuring of synapses, but not in any way I've seen before. It's too targeted. Too... deliberate."

She glanced at Voss, her expression darkening.

"If this keeps evolving, I don't know what parts of him we'll get back."

"Can you fix him?"

Voss's voice was low. Tired.

Selene frowned, her eyes still fixed on the monitor.

"Fixing implies I understand the full scope of what's happening—and I don't." She folded her arms, thoughtful. "This pattern of neural disruption doesn't follow any known model of trauma or degenerative illness. It's unlike anything I've encountered—completely anomalous."

She paused, exhaling slowly.

"But... I can start with a few stabilization protocols. Neurological reinforcement techniques that showed limited success in void-afflicted subjects. It's a long shot, but it's better than nothing."

Her voice stayed even, but her expression betrayed the weight of uncertainty behind her words.

Selene moved with practiced precision, gathering tools and stacking them neatly onto her medical tray.

She turned—ready to begin—

And froze.

The shadow.

The one from her past.

It stood across the room. Silent. Watching.

The tray slipped from her hands.

Metal clattered against the floor.

She screamed.

Voss jolted upright, eyes wide. "What is it?! Did you see a bad result on Soren?"

But Selene didn't respond.

She stood paralyzed, her breath caught in her throat, her eyes locked on the corner of the room.

"You... you don't see that?" she whispered.

Voss scanned the room. Empty. "See what? Selene, are you okay?"

Her heart hammered. Cold sweat clung to her skin.

If Voss couldn't see it, then—

She was the only one.

The shadow didn't move. It didn't speak. But its presence scraped at her mind.

Selene forced her body into motion, kneeling to gather the scattered tools.

"Fuck," she muttered, avoiding Voss's gaze. "I think I'm just... really worried about Soren."

But her voice was shaky.

And the shadow was still there.

Waiting.

Watching.

But Selene pushed through the fear, refusing to let it control her.

She moved toward Soren, the tray steadied in trembling hands—one eye still locked on the unmoving shadow.

The longer it stood there, the more unnerving it became.

She would've preferred it lash out. At least that would make sense.

But this?

This silent observation?

It made her skin crawl.

Still—she reached the bedside. Took a breath.

And focused.

As her gloved fingers adjusted the first scanner node on Soren's neck, the tension in her chest loosened slightly. Familiar work. Measurable results. Control.

The shadow faded into the periphery.

Selene activated the diagnostic interface and began the test.

"Beginning cortical resonance mapping," she murmured under her breath. "Tracking cerebral microvolt activity across frontal and parietal lobes..."

The screen lit with neural feedback. Rapid fluctuations. Unstable waveforms.

She narrowed her eyes.

"Baseline voltage irregular. Theta and delta bands are elevated. These aren't just concussion patterns—this is deep-wave dissociation. Like he's cycling between REM and waking states at once."

She ran a secondary sweep.

"Electromagnetic readings still spiking near the parietal cortex... it's like his perception filter is breaking down."

She glanced briefly toward where the shadow had been.

Gone.

Her pulse quickened again—but her hands didn't stop.

"Cross-referencing hippocampal activity... memory formation is stuttering. He's processing time in nonlinear fragments."

Selene leaned in closer to the readout.

"He's not asleep. He's trapped in layered consciousness. Possibly displaced—mentally. Temporally."

She exhaled slowly, her voice flat, unsettled.

"This isn't trauma. It's interference."

Voss pushed himself up with a grimace, sweat beading at his brow. Every movement earned a grunt of pain.

"So he's dreaming? Or are you saying... something is doing this to him?"

Selene didn't look up. Her eyes remained fixed on the scan, her voice quiet—but precise.

"No, he's not dreaming. This is deeper. His brain isn't responding to stimuli like someone asleep or unconscious. It's as if... he's not fully in control of his body—only in short, unpredictable bursts."

She tapped the edge of the console, thinking aloud.

"Every time he surfaces, his cognition is scattered. Fragmented across multiple timelines. Past, present... possibly even future states of memory. Whatever's happening to him—he isn't anchored to linear time anymore."

She finally looked up, her voice cold with certainty.

"Soren is alive. But his consciousness is unstuck."

Selene's words hung in the air like static.

Unanchored. Unsettling.

Voss stared at her, pale and breathless. "So what—you're saying he's time-slipping? That something's fractured him?"

Selene nodded, eyes still locked on the monitor. "Exactly. And if we don't find a way to stabilize him soon... we might lose him for good."

Cut to:

INT. HALLWAY – CONTINUOUS

Rita hadn't gone far.

Just a few rooms down from the med bay, tucked into a dim, unused corner of the corridor.

She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Her breaths came in short, uneven bursts—quiet sobs breaking through the silence.

Everything was unraveling.

Jerry. Soren. The Eidolith.

It was too much.

Then—

CLANG!

A sharp metallic thud echoed through the hall.

Rita jerked upright.

Her tears stopped. Her muscles tensed.

"...The hell?"

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her jacket and slowly got to her feet. The noise had come from somewhere nearby. A room or a junction—she couldn't tell.

Part of her hoped it was Jerry.

Part of her knew better.

Still—she moved toward the sound.

Careful. Controlled. But not slow.

As she rounded the corner, her boots echoed softly against the metal floor.

A flicker of movement.

A shadow at the far end of the corridor.

Tall. Human-shaped. Faint.

Rita's voice rang out, sharp and firm.

"Hey! Stop right there!"

The figure didn't run.

Didn't turn.

It just paused—like it had been waiting to be noticed.

Then—

It stepped into the light.

A man.

Mid-height. Curly red hair. Medium build. Grease-smeared overalls. He looked up—

Startled. Like she was the intruder.

Rita blinked. "Wait... who the hell are you?"

The man straightened, wiping his hands on a rag.

"Jonny," he said. His voice was calm. Flat. Unbothered. "Jonny Esker. Ship maintenance."

Rita stepped back.

"That's not possible," she said. "You weren't on the crew manifest."

He tilted his head.

"I've always been here."

Rita froze.

Her hand shot toward her radio—but before she could speak—

"Attention, crew!" the AI chimed in, far too cheerful. "Jonny Esker has been located near the maintenance wing. Rita is currently engaging with him."

The timing was wrong.

Too perfect.

Rita took a slow step backward.

Jonny tilted his head. "It's okay," he said softly.

His voice didn't sound threatening.

But somehow, that made it worse.

Rita forced a tight smile—thin, nervous. No teeth.

Then—

She turned.

And ran.

Jonny watched her go.

"Okay then," he murmured, chuckling to himself—low, amused, unbothered.

Then he turned back to his tools.

Like none of it had happened at all.

Rita slammed the door behind her, locking it out of instinct.

Her breaths came in short bursts. Shallow. Panicked.

She pressed her back to the cold wall and slid down until she was curled up again—knees to chest, arms tight around herself.

Her skin still crawled from that encounter.

Not because Jonny had threatened her.

But because he hadn't.

He'd looked at her like she wasn't supposed to be there.

Like he already knew how all of this ended.

She shut her eyes.

And for the first time since the Eidolith appeared—

She felt truly alone.

⸻

Far below, in the dark veins of the ship—

A screen flickered to life.

No sound. Just footage.

A camera feed from the corridor Rita had run through.

The frame paused on her face.

Wide-eyed. Afraid.

Then—

A line of text blinked across the screen:

SUBJECT 07: REACTION WITHIN EXPECTED PARAMETERS.

A second line followed:

NEXT TRIGGER: IN PLACE.

And then, with a soft electric hum—

The monitor shut off.

Silence returned.

But the system did not sleep.

INT. OBSERVATION ROOM – UNKNOWN LOCATION

The room is dim. Cold. Quiet.

A row of surveillance monitors hums in the dark—most flickering with static or looped footage of empty corridors.

But one feed—

CAM 12: LOWER DECKS, LEVEL 3

—flickers to life.

Grainy. Distorted.

The timestamp skips—jumping between past and future dates, like it can't decide when this moment belongs.

A figure stumbles into frame.

Jerry.

The feed freezes.

He's not moving.

No twitch. No breath. Not even the rise of his chest.

Then—

His head turns.

Slow. Deliberate.

Eyes wide. Locked onto the camera.

But his jaw—

It's unhinged.

Too wide.

Slack like it had been broken open from the inside.

Then—

The audio cuts in.

Just for a second.

A whisper:

"Help me."

CUT TO BLACK.