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“Log entry 6 dash 6. Fredrick, Senior Investigator for Corporate Assets Division, ID 270 dash 10418, reporting in. Docking with the S.S. Ruby in approximately 4 minutes and 15 seconds."

I held my PDA against my chin. Company policy requires all Investigators to record their status at least every second hour while on the job.

“Mission briefing: the S.S. Ruby is a small observational research station orbiting the gas giant Echo 59 in Sector 359B. Designed to be operated by six people, intended to be stationed long-term. The crew—oh, sorry, assets…"

I squeezed my PDA as I thought back to Ubisphere's newly issued fifty-something page 'Approved Corporate Terms' handbook. It was outrageous that they dock pay for over five errors on a mission. After losing half of the previous contract's payout for hitting the ten 'offensive terms' limit, I needed to be extra careful this time. That, or I pick up fasting as a hobby.

“The assets went dark nine days ago. All comms have gone unanswered. No evidence of foul play, but Ubisphere thinks there's been a revolt. Talks of underpayment, or some bullshit like that."

Fuck, that's already one offensive term.

“Mission objectives: ascertain status of assets, detain or neutralise if necessary, secure S.S Ruby, report to Ubisphere as to status of assets and necessity of replacements, and deliver any detained assets."

I wasn't particularly thrilled about being sent off on another mission alone. Ever since Phi 9AB, my superiors treated me as a pseudo-one-man army, and with that came my promotion to 'Senior Investigator'. Now most of my tasks involve me taking on all the danger—and all the guilt—alone. Too bad the pay wasn't commensurate to that. And more Investigators are always better—squadmates lower the chance of you dying from your own stupidity.

“Current readings: oxygen supply looks normal. No visual damage to exterior. Power is active. Station maintaining expected orbit. No signs of foul play. But no signs of crew—FUCK, assets! No response to comms hails."

That's two.

Through the grimy windows of my shuttle, the dark silhouette of the station was taking shape. It was floating there, suspended in empty nothingness, like a spinning top about to topple over. The only light it emitted was the orange glare from the colossal gas giant reflecting off its metallic exterior.

Despite my hesitation, I had to put on a brave, eager face for Ubisphere.

“Payment: not fu—flipping enough for this mundane shit. I swear to god, if it's another pet hamster chewing the comm lines, I might ram this shuttle right into the station. End log."

---

My boots struck the metal flooring of the docking bay as I leapt from my shuttle. The automated doors scraped open with a grinding of rusted metal, beckoning me into the station proper. Like most of Ubisphere's assets outside of the major sectors, the whole place looked to be on its last legs. A forgotten relic of the prior era, perhaps not too dissimilar to the unlucky skeleton crew forced to work here. Well, forgotten about, until they stop working.

I was grateful that my shuttle was correct about the readings—there was air and power. At least, enough power to open an automated door, but the station lights were out. That's ordinarily a bad sign: it means the crew is no longer 'around' to keep them on, or I'm walking straight into an ambush.

I did a quick mag count, made sure the safety was off on my pistol, and turned my chest light on. The plan was simple: the mess hall first—always the mess hall. If there are still crew around—living ones—there'll be signs of activity there; people need to eat.

With the lights out, the station's steel corridors were claustrophobic and unwelcoming. They were also needlessly long; my chest light didn't reach the end of the first hallway. My boots echoed against the metal grating as I marched onwards, pistol remaining at the ready.

On second thought, maybe the hamster mission wasn't so bad after all.

---

“Log entry 6 dash 7. Fredrick, Senior Investigator for Corporate Assets Division, ID 270 dash 10418, reporting in. No signs of life in the mess hall. No one's been in here for at least a week. Everything seems in place, but the fridge… there's black slime on the handle. Don't know what it is. Scanners aren't identifying anything, but I'm sure as fu—luck not touching it. At the very least, it's not rotting food. There's also… hold on."

A glint of something on the furthest chair caught my attention. A faint, pale green light, slowly blinking—a digital audio log memory strip. These were compatible with my PDA, of course; they're both patented by Ubisphere Incorporated.

“Audio log located in mess hall. Likely from cr—assets. Ending recording now to listen. End log."

I was hopeful that this would provide some hint of what happened, or at least where to look next. I picked up the small, rectangular log and held its microchip against my PDA. After a couple of seconds, the log was transferred and played automatically. A young man's voice greeted me from my device's cheap plastic speakers.

“This is Junior Research Assistant Warwick, ID 359 dash 12018. Five of us were in the cafeteria, but we just heard Steve screaming from the direction of the observation room. I don't know if it's a joke—he's always been such a kidder. Still, I don't like it. We're all on edge.

“I, I just wanted to make a quick note. In case… well, in case something happens. It's probably nothing, but… you never know. It's just me here right now. We've decided to fan out separately towards where Steve was, and the others have already left. I think I'll start at the restroom near the observation room. Over and out."

Great, a scream and a crew that split up. I wasn't getting paid enough for this. According to the map of the station on my PDA, the observation room wasn't far, and the restroom was pretty close by. At least I had somewhere to check next, given the mess hall plan was a bust.

---

A single restroom greeted me. With a gender-neutral sign, of course. Ubisphere is big on its public image; it helps to downplay that whole 'violent suppression of rogue employees' reputation they've had for a few decades.

Everything looked normal at first glance, save for the lack of life, though as my flashlight passed over the sides of the restroom door, my breath got caught in my throat. A deep, jagged fissure—at least a metre long—had somehow torn through the steel plating of the corridor walls. The slash led my eyes directly to the restroom door.

I pride myself on staying calm in situations like this, but I couldn't stop myself from breaking out into a cold sweat. No human or weapon could make that, so what the hell was this?

With a deep breath of musty, filtered air, I approached the door. It was only then—with that pang of unease tightening my chest—that I appreciated how silent the station was. I could only hear my footsteps echoing down the sterile hallway and the ominous groaning of the station's internal machinery from within the walls.

The metal glint of the doorknob called for my attention as my chest flashlight came to rest on it. I twisted it slowly, but years of disrepair caused it to squeal like a cat in heat. With all subtlety gone, I jerked it the rest of the way and kicked the door open.

Empty.

Though contrasting with the white of my flashlight was an eerie green glow—another audio log. I tried to keep my pistol trained forward on nothing in particular as I knelt to grab the tiny thing. As I placed it against my PDA, another recording played, and Warwick's voice sounded once more. While he was quieter, his words oozed out of my PDA speakers in a frightened flurry.

“Oh god. Oh man… This, this can't be happening. I just heard Davies. Crystal clear. He screamed—right from the bathroom. He was in there—I know he was! He just screamed like… I don't even know. I've never heard him scream before. I ran in, and… there's no one here. It couldn't have been over ten seconds."

His trembling voice filled the soundless bowels of the station.

“I just… I just don't understand. Where did he go? I… I can't even bring myself to yell his name. I don't even know why. But he's gone—how is he gone!?"

Warwick gave a deep, laboured breath. It sounded like he was about to sob, but he restrained himself—only barely. His voice was still on the verge of breaking apart as he started speaking again.

“This has to be a joke… has to be a joke—what the hell is everyone pulling!? They're trying to get me—get me good! Can't… can't let them see me like this. Okay. Okay. I'm… I'm going to find them. Have to be brave. Ha ha, real funny guys—got me a little spooked. Hardy ha ha… “

Warwick burst into a fit of coughing and gasping. Did he forget to breathe?

“… Okay. I'm okay. It's just a joke. O-over and out."

I also hoped it was a joke. Unfortunately, it seemed to have been running on a bit too long for that to be true—nine days too long, in fact. Which left, as the more likely possibility… what, exactly? People don't just 'disappear', at least not in 10 seconds.

I rubbed my hand along my vest to pull out my flashlight and pointed it at the tiled floor. I needed something—anything—to go on: a bloodstain, signs of a struggle. Just some clue to show what could have caused Davies to 'disappear'.

All I could find was a small puddle of black sludge—sludge that resembled what was on the fridge in the mess hall. Except, this stuff appeared to have hardened as if it had dried out.

I lifted my head to stare at the ceiling, only to trip backwards in shock. On the roof was a square air vent, the grey-steel grate of which was open and swinging from its edge. It just so happened to also be stained with black ooze.

Worst of all, the first thought that came to my head was that it was a pretty large air vent—definitely wide enough to fit a person inside.

At least I now have a clue about how Davies disappeared so suddenly.

There was nothing further to see, and there was no way I was sticking around in here or crawling up that vent. I hurried back out to the hallway, with my gun hand trembling. Warwick had mentioned that the others headed in the direction of the observation room, so that was my next stop.

Well, it would have been, if I hadn't almost tripped flat on my face—my foot had caught on something solid. My panicked skipping reverberated throughout the dark station as I tried to maintain my balance. Once I found my footing, I looked back. The steel tiles had a sharp fissure—inches wide, and metres long—as if something had cleaved the middle of the hallway in half.

There was no longer any doubt in my mind: what I was dealing with wasn't human.

Still, the damage left no other apparent clues—no blood, no sludge. Only an ominous cleave from something strong and sharp enough to pierce steel plating.

Great. I could really go for some squadmates right about now…

---

As expected, the observation room was also abandoned. The sensors were still on, and the various monitors continued to relay and record indecipherable information about the gas giant, Echo 59. The only thing out of place was that no one was around to read them.

Still, I found my next clue; another audio log was resting under one of the monitor-covered tables. As I picked it up, I took a second to think about whether I even wanted to play it. I had a sinking feeling that I wouldn't be getting any good news from it. But I had to; if not for reporting to Ubisphere and being able to afford food, then at least to make sure that I did all I could to stop myself from sharing the same fate of whatever befell the crew.

As Warwick spoke, it was clear that I was right to be pessimistic. “It's not a joke. Oh god…"

There was a long pause from Warwick, during which the only sound that played was his panicked breathing. He was hyperventilating.

“I saw Leon. He had turned the corner. Running… running… Then… I don't even know… something, something black, coiled around his neck—and yanked him back. Around the corner. I heard him gasping, kicking… kicking against the walls. And I just… I just froze. Oh god, I just stood there…"

Quiet from the tape. Warwick was snivelling, though his soft, quivering voice returned before too long.

“I don't know how long I stood there—couldn't have been that long. I ran—turned around the corner. And he was gone. Just gone—not even a trace. I even yelled for him this time. Nothing. But I swear to god, I heard something else. A rattling from something. Something… whatever that thing was that got him—I thought it was coming back! I'm under the desk now, but it hasn't come back. There really is something out there.

“How long has it been since Steve screamed? 15, 20 minutes at most? And now we're just getting picked off. Oh god, Steve, Davies… Leon. Three of them, just gone. Where are the other two? Please be okay, please be okay…"

Was 'that thing' still here? The station had been dark for nine days—surely it would have moved on by now? But I thought back to the sludge on the fridge. That was wet, unlike what was in the restroom. Did that mean—

“The comms room. I… I've got to get to the comms room. I need to call for help. And then, and then… and then I find the others. Okay... okay. Come on, Warwick—you can do this. Just… just… deep breaths. You can do this. You need to. Over… over…"

And then I was left in silence; Warwick didn't bother to finish his sign-off before stopping the recording.

The comms room was my next destination. Warwick must have failed to get it online, but maybe I could. I checked my map and then squinted in its general direction. The station's hallways seemed to stretch out into infinity before the blackness consumed them.

I had to keep moving.

---

My heart sank as soon as I looked through the comms room door. The entire room was coated in a thick layer of black goop, still semi-solid, as it had been applied recently. Or perhaps this was another layer of goop above an already solid layer. Regardless, the stuff had oozed into the electronics; sparks flew from various equipment and wall outlets, occasionally lighting up the room like lightning in a nebula. There was humming and crackling coming from every corner. Again, dread washed over me—a single wrong step could cause me to be electrocuted.

It was within the brief moments of silence and darkness—in between the random sparking—that I noticed a very faint, ghoulish green glow. Could it be another audio log? I scanned the room, but it was difficult to spot anything with the hazardous light-show taking place. But then I noticed it, buried underneath what appeared to be a fresh layer of slime, only a few feet from the entrance. I tip-toed to it and pressed my PDA against the goop. Please, fucking please, read this thing. I didn't want my hand anywhere near that stuff.

Unfortunately, quality manufacturing was not on my side. No beep of acknowledgement. Nothing. I… I needed to reach into that unidentifiable sludge and grab it.

I was beginning to regret my stylistic decision to forgo protective gloves.

Was this even worth it? I was being underpaid before I even stepped foot on this station, and now I was literally risking my skin for a meagre number of credits. And that was if I was lucky. If not, I could end up sharing the same unknown fate as the crew.

Still, I was hurting for money after that last assignment. And as they say, nothing ventured…

I extended my middle finger—the one I'd be happy to forego if this turned out to be a bad idea—and, with bated breath, pressed it into the sludge. A sloppy glorp sounded as my finger broke the surface and slid in. It was surprisingly warm—almost comforting compared to the lifeless cold of the station. Though my arm immediately met resistance as I tried to push my finger deeper. I was gritting my teeth as I forced it, and half-afraid I wouldn't have the energy to pull it out again.

Eventually, I hooked my finger under the audio log, and with a laboured grunt, got it moving. With a little more effort, I flicked it out of the sludge and caught it with my free hand. My finger followed, though a thick, girthy trail of goop still connected me to the mysterious gunk. With a sigh—half of defeat and half of disgust—I cleaned my finger against my padded leggings. At least I had my prize—the next piece of this puzzle.

I played the tape.

This time, it sounded like all hope had left Warwick. His muddled voice was all but drained from its previous intensity—only horror and despair remained.

“It's over… it's over… That, that thing… it's destroyed everything in here. It's smart, too smart… it knows what it's doing..."

Warwick chuckled. The laughter of a defeated man. It droned on, echoing throughout the outside corridors as if the station itself were taunting me. Once it ended, there was a short period of silence before his voice crackled back to life.

“Got Billy, the bastard. He was in the hallway, saw me in here. Came running. Maybe thought there was still a chance. The thing just popped open the vent. Didn't even see what it looked like. Just those claws. Those claws… like scythes. And before Billy even had a chance to scream, his legs… his legs just got pulled in."

Warwick confirmed my suspicions, at least. Whatever this thing was, it travelled around the station using the ventilation system. That must have been how it got Davies in the restroom. So now I had to keep my eyes trained upwards as well. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“I could hear him screaming. Getting softer and softer as he got pulled deeper in. I thought it was gonna stop. Just, you know, cut out. A nice, clean kill. But no. That thing—that FUCKING thing… it's fucking playing with us. I heard him. Yelling… just… just screaming… for minutes. Poor Billy…"

A long silence followed as Warwick's voice trailed off. I thought the tape had finished, but straining my ears, I could still hear Warwick's shallow breaths. It was as if he needed time to consider what to do. Or figure out what little he could do.

His voice cut in again, though he seemed to be muttering to himself. Did he forget to turn off the audio log?

“No escape pods on Ubisphere's research stations. 'Who needs to escape a research station?' they said—cheap bastards. Think back… think back to orientation… how long did they say it took them to send someone to investigate? A week, right? I think it was a week. It's been, what, less than an hour? There's me, and god, maybe Bishop, left. Seven days. Can we hold out that long? Maybe find a place to hide—a room without vents? But what about food? Water?

“… I-I gotta find Bishop. Captain… if he's still alive, he'll know what to do… please… please be alive, Captain..."

The tape faded into static, and then quiet.

A sudden blaring of noise came from the hallway, forcing my attention from the crackling of electricity within the goop-covered room towards the never-ending, dark abyss beyond. Just within reach of my flashlight, I could make out an open vent on the ceiling outside the door. And below it, a maintenance vent cover was clattering against the cold, uncaring steel before falling flat. The horrible sound of clanging metal reverberated throughout the station.

I slammed against the sludge-covered, internal wall of the comms room, flicked off my chest light, and peeked my head out from the door.

Time passed, but nothing was there. Or at least, nothing I could see. But then I heard it—the slopping of liquid pooling onto itself. It was only during an intense strobe of sparks from behind that I could make out a pitch-black, unbroken trail of fluid connecting the vent to the ground.

One thought raced through my head: I needed to stay completely silent. I held my breath.

A frustrating period of darkness ensued as I anxiously awaited the next surge of light from the broken electronics. It eventually came with a booming buzz of sound from behind, but this time, a bright, reflective glint from the hallway's ceiling caught my gaze. My eyes locked onto the location of the strange shimmer while I waited for the next pulse of electrical light. With another sudden sizzle of static, I could make out something steely white emerging from the vent. Another spark, and suddenly, there were two.

I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me at first; those things camouflaged themselves against the grey, metal plating of the ceiling, and the sporadic, flashing light wasn't helping. I thought back to the audio log and the wall next to the restroom—those things must be claws. Scythe-like claws. Dangling out of a vent, which just so happened to be used as a means of travel by whatever creature attacked the crew.

It was there—whatever it was. Nine days later, it was still stalking the station.

And now it was hunting me.

There was another extended period of blackness. I tried my best to listen instead, though all I could hear was a constant, messy splatter of fluids just outside the doorway. A powerful crack of thunder from behind almost caused me to jump. It was followed by a sizzling noise and the smoky scent of burning plastic, as if another machine had suddenly self-combusted. But it heralded a cluster of piercingly bright sparks, which intermittently illuminated the hallway like a makeshift strobe light.

With each flash of light, the scythes seemed to change position. With another series of strobes, it became clear that they were moving closer to each other. They eventually met.

I strained my eyes to make out what it was doing in those brief moments of visibility. But once again, I heard it before I saw it.

A shrill Shinnnnnngggggggg , like a knife being sharpened, drowned out the sputtering of electronics. It echoed throughout the empty hallways of the station, amplifying to a painful volume. I flattened my back against the door—half expecting it to leap out to strike. But no other sound came from outside. Only another piercing Shinnnnngggggggg. And then another. And another.

The minutes seemed to stretch on for an eternity. My ears were pounding from the constant noise. It must have been grinding its scythe-like claws together. Even though the sound should have been coming from just outside the room, it was blaring from every inch of the station, as if the walls themselves were pulsing with noise.

The only coherent thought running through my head was a simple question: why was it making that noise?

I didn't know. I couldn't know. But whatever it was doing, it seemed to give up; eventually, the sound stopped. I poked my eye past the door frame once the echo died out. Another flash of light showed that the scythes were gone. In between a few more sparks, the dripping gunk leaking from the vent trickled to a slow, unsteady drip, before coming to a complete stop.

It had left.

I could only celebrate with a deep sigh of relief. Though that relief was temporary—I had to keep moving. At the very least, I had to confirm the captain's fate; only then would I be entitled to the minimum payable under the contract.

'Captain': it was more of an honorary title for research stations—they merely acted as an overseer. Still, there was a 'Bridge' on the station's map. The next, and hopefully second to final, stop. And then, a terrifying walk back to the docking bay to get the fuck out of this hell.

---

I crept through the dark innards of the station. As I turned a corner, I saw the emergency lights of the bridge; their pale blue, pulsing glow from the far end of the corridor seemed to beckon me closer. Why did only the bridge have emergency lighting? It wasn't like the captain could pilot an orbiting station away from danger. Regardless, it was a welcome relief to finally see a light source from something other than my flashlight and exposed electricity.

As I trudged up the stairs to the bridge, I stopped halfway to peer at the steel staircase. More slashes adorned its stainless façade. A great, cavernous cleave sliced diagonally through an entire step, partially covered in the remnants of hardened sludge. I could do nothing more than swallow my fear and push onwards. My hand squeezed ever-tighter around my pistol, which was now cutting into my flesh; a faint trickle of blood was running down my wrist, now visible thanks to the emergency lighting.

The bridge had windows facing towards Echo 59. The gas giant cast an ominous, orange glow within the room, mixing with dim blue to shower the entire room in harshly contrasting light. A crimson, neo-leather captain's chair occupied the far end of the room—usually capable of swivelling in place.

Except, it wouldn't be doing any of that now. Deep gashes ran along its blood-red surface; its cotton insides eviscerated in a sickening display of brutality. It's not easy to tear neo-leather, let alone annihilate it with such ease.

The seat itself wasn't the only part that had met its end—its foundation was nearly torn right out. Only a single bolt was left to hold it to the floor. Its base was twisted at an unnatural angle, like a broken bone jutting out from its legs. There were even puncture marks in the cushion—blending in with the slashes—as if it had been repeatedly stabbed with a spear tip.

I counted the holes that embellished the once-luxurious throne. 28. 28 stab wounds.

And on its corpse lay another audio log.

Why the fuck did Warwick make so many audio logs?

“Bishop… I found Bishop… He said he had a plan, a way to kill this thing. He… he seemed so certain. And then… it… it… oh go—"

A horrific howl shattered Warwick's meek, desperate voice. It blared out of PDA's speakers, which seemed to crackle and pop as if they were about to break apart from the sheer force of the noise. That… thing, sounded horrendous. Its voice was a warble mixing the deep moan of a dying whale with a crazed wolf howl, changing in pitch at random intervals—like unhinged, maniacal laughter.

As abruptly as it started, the sound ended, leaving dead silence once more. A minute passed. The tape was still playing. Warwick broke the silence.

“It… it was toying with him—with us! It, it… just walked up the stairs. Scraping its claws together! It didn't even try to hide. Fuck! As if it knew we couldn't do anything to stop it. It… it just… walked… towards Bishop. And, and… and Bishop… Bishop just stood there. I stood there.

“It didn't even kill him. Though… it wanted me to see that it could have. It, it-it-it just lunged at him. Pushed him to the floor with a single, fuck, hand? I don't know… it wasn't like any hand I've ever seen. At then, with its other arm—the one with the scythe—it just… just destroyed the chair. It kept swiping and swinging—not even looking at it. It was looking at me. I-I-I think it was? I don't know… I couldn't see its eyes. But its head was definitely looking at me! It knew where I was…"

Warwick couldn't see its eyes; were they too small? That's possible; whatever this thing is, it seems to be comfortable hunting in complete darkness. It must rely on another sense to find its prey.

“And then, and then, it lifted its tail. It was huge—almost double its size. B-but, but the tip, the tip… it had a bulb. Like a scorpion. It was… dripping. A stinger? I don't know. It doesn't even matter—that thing could tear a hole in you with a single jab. But it showed me its stinger, and then thrust it into the chair. Straight through! T-the tip… the point of its stinger… was pointing directly at me. And then, it thrust again, and again, and again, and again and again and again…"

Warwick's voice became unintelligible for a few moments before trailing off. I glanced over at the decimated captain's chair. What did it do to deserve that?

A deep gasp sounded out from the tape, likely Warwick remembering he still needed to breathe. And that he had more to say.

“… Bishop kept screaming. He was muffled, but I could hear him. He was begging for help. And again, I stood there. Shaking. Fucking useless… And, and, and when it was done… when it was done with the chair. It just… grinned. I think. Its… its mouth… was blacker than its body, somehow.

“And then, like, like it was nothing, it just picked Bishop up. With a single hand? Claw? Wrapped around his head. I couldn't even see his head. And it held him up high, like a fucking trophy… Then it, it, it turned around. And left. Back down those stairs. It left me alone. I could hear it laughing as it went. It was laughing. That sound… was laughter—the worst sound I've ever heard. I can still hear it, somewhere… it's coming from somewhere. I don't know where… And I can still hear the scraping—it scraping its claws. Like it's fucking sharpening them."

The same thing it did to me. Was it intended to be a threat? Or maintenance of its preferred method of killing? I doubted I would ever understand what was going through that creature's mind, though perhaps that was for the best.

“It'll be back. Soon enough… Maybe I should just give in? It didn't kill Bishop. At least, not in front of me. But maybe, maybe… what if that's even worse? Maybe… I should hope it kills me. I don't know what it's done—what it's doing to Bishop and the rest of the crew.

“All I know is, I gotta move. I gotta at least… at least try to hide. There's only one place, one last place where… well, where I might have a chance—no vents. I gotta try, I gotta—"

Ding Dong Ding Dong

Warwick's final words were cut out by an irritatingly joyful jingle playing over the station's loudspeakers. Once it stopped, an automated, over-exaggeratedly cheery and feminine voice sounded out throughout the station. I hear that voice all the fucking time at Ubisphere Sector-HQ's. Well, save for the robotic auto-speech that whiplashed me in the middle of it—that was new.

“Attention. The shuttle has departed from the docking bay. Your period of service on board the S.S. Ruby will end in approximately— 341 EARTH DAYS —… Ubisphere Incorporated thanks you for your loyal service. And remember: Our future, is your future."

Ding Dong Ding Dong

The shuttle? What shuttle? I didn't see any shuttles when I docked mine at the…

Wait.

MY SHUTTLE!?

My PDA almost popped out of my hands as I started hammering at it. I always keep a waypoint beacon in my shuttle to help with navigation. Let's see… 378 metres away—no, 418 met—460… 532… 621…

It was… drifting away.

I was stranded.

I kept watching the distance counter clock higher and higher, hoping it would somehow reverse. However, I gave up on that foolish hope once it hit four digits.

I did the only thing I could do—make another log entry. I changed my PDA's screen to the recorder, though it took a few attempts to aim my finger onto the correct menu button. And a couple more tries to hit the record button.

“… Log entry 6 dash 8. Fredrick, Senior Investigator for Corporate Assets Division, ID 270 dash—whatever. This… this may be my last ever entry. I've investigated the S.S. Ruby. The assets have been hunted down by an alien life-form, which is still present on board the station…"

I hadn't given myself enough time to process my emotions before hitting record. It was odd. I almost felt… ambivalent? It was a strange thought, but I was grateful that my doom would come from something terrifyingly powerful and intelligent, rather than what I always feared—a careless mistake on my part.

“… It's smart. Too fucking smart. It released my shuttle from the docking bay, so now it's hurtling through space. Leaving me here. Stuck. Just me and my new alien buddy. Designation… fuck, let's just say GMAD-27. Goddamn Murderous Alien Douchebag. 27 is there because I like the number."

The ten-word limit on offensive terms wasn't going to matter now.

“Ubisphere wanted a report within the month. I got here on day… six? So that leaves 24 days before they 'follow up'. And then, what, maybe another week before someone else comes to investigate? So, a month in total. That's what I fucking get for being early for once…"

It took all my willpower not to crush that piece of shit PDA right then and there. But I held firm; there needed to be some evidence of what became of me.

“I'm stuck on board this lightless, floating coffin against a hyper-intelligent, deadly alien—armed with only a pistol, a flashlight, and a neo-leather vest—for the next month."

I glimpsed over to the remains of the neo-leather captain's chair.

“So, chances are, by the time someone listens to this message, I'll be dead. Given that, and to maybe help that unlucky fuck be less dead than me…"

As much as I hated it, the ingrained, instinctual urge to follow corporate protocol for making a formal report took over. A few deep breaths helped get the uncontrollable urge to swear out of my system.

“… I now make my final report on the investigation into the fate of the assets… eh, crew, of the S.S. Ruby.

“Steve, ID 359 dash 10275 Researcher. Attacked by GMAD-27 in vicinity of observation room. Presumed dead.

“Davies, ID 359 dash 10047. Chief Researcher. Attacked by GMAD-27 inside restroom closest to observation room. Presumed dead.

“Leon, ID 359 dash 11037. Maintenance and janitor. Attacked by GMAD-27 in hallway perpendicular to observation room. Presumed dead.

“Billy, ID 359 dash 10924. Comms Officer. Attacked by GMAD-27 in hallway directly outside comms room. Presumed dead.

“Bishop, ID 359 dash 9810. Captain. Attacked and captured alive by GMAD-27 on bridge. Still presumed dead.

“Warwick, ID 359 dash 12018. Junior Research Assistant. Fate unknown, but no signs of life found. Presumed dead."

What else? Oh, may as well warn the next idiot 'one-man army' Investigator who comes looking for me under the guise of an 'easy' contract what they're up against. Hope he brings more than a pistol.

“Identifying characteristics of GMAD-27: visually identified a single claw extending from what is likely each of its arms. Very long—curved like a scythe. Has a habit of grinding them together to create a loud noise—purpose unknown. Appears to travel and hide in the station's ventilation system. Hearsay accounts suggest the creature also has hands capable of grasping, separate from its scythes. Hearsay also identified a tail almost double its size with a venomous tip. Possibly poor vision. Also leaks a black tar- or sludge-like fluid. Composition, source and purpose unknown."

I considered my following words very carefully. If I was going to die—which was all but guaranteed—I at least wanted to make myself sound cool in my last log, just to make everyone think I went out in a blaze of glory. Or something like that.

“Proposed next steps: see if Warwick can be located, see if remains of the crew can be located, shoot Goddamn Murderous Alien Douchebag in the face as many times as I can. And then die. End log."

That'll do.

I smashed the stop button with my thumb before tearing out three of the eight audio log memory strips from the back of the PDA and chucking them onto the captain's chair. There was no need to worry about breaking this piece of junk if I would never use it again.

Except, maybe one more use…

“Log entry 6 dash 8, addendum 1. I have always enjoyed my time working for Ubisphere Incorporated as an Investigator for the Corporate Assets Division. Ubisphere Incorporated has always treated me well, and it has been a great honour to work for them. All I ask is that Ubisphere Incorporated keep that in mind when they review and consider the applicability of my company-issued discretionary life insurance policy. End addendum."

Another flashing log strip joined the other three on the chair. With my gun still at the ready with five full mags in reserve, I retreated down the steps and left the bridge. If I was going to die, I wanted to find that thing before it finds me.

---

My stop was the only place with no ventilation shafts—a small storage room.

Despite the lack of air circulation, it was now potentially the safest place in this death trap of a station. However, the automated door leading in had been turned off, leaving the reinforced metal wide open like a gaping maw. Not the best for a defensive position, but I didn't want to waste time figuring out how to reactivate it.

Inside, the room was coated in a flashing hue of green—another audio log, sitting on top of a metal crate. That wasn't the only thing that caught my attention, though. Scanning my flashlight along the floor, I spotted a mound of dried sludge. Well, two mounds, each a few feet apart from the other. Surrounding the leftover blobs of goo were deep, jagged scratches torn into the metal plating. The gashes seemed to have been carved with precision to make a mocking caricature of the human form. Was that a taunt from the alien? Or a threat?

I took a deep breath to steady myself; this could be Warwick's 'final' entry. With a trembling hand, I pressed the audio log against my PDA. My speakers crackled to life once more.

Warwick was whispering. But he sounded enlivened—as if he had somehow found hope.

“I think I finally figured out how this thing works. It doesn't have eyes—it's blind as a bat! It hunts by sound. I saw it in the corridor, right in front of me. I froze—thought that was it. But it didn't even look at me. The bastard just turned the corner and left. Finally, something good!

“Speaking of bats, I have a theory. That sharpening thing it keeps doing with its claws—the noise is intense, like a ping of sound. Powerful enough that it echoes throughout the entire station. Maybe that's how it hunts? On top of listening to the sound from us, it also listens to its own, like echolocation. I-it's… it's only a theory, though. I'll probably never get a chance to find out for certain…"

Was that what it was doing while hiding in the vent—scraping its scythe-claws to search for me? If Warwick was right, I might have made a life-saving decision by pressing myself flat against the wall.

“But this is good news! I just need to stay quiet. Stay still. And stay behind something when it does its claw thing. And it won't be able to find me. I'll be able to—"

The rusted sound of automated doors activating drowned Warwick's voice out. I flinched and jerked my head to the entrance to the storage room before realising it was coming from my PDA. As the groaning from the doors faded, Warwick shrieked. I didn't need to wait long to understand why; a warbled growl boomed out of my speakers. Despite how alien the sound was, the feeling it conveyed was clear—ravenous anticipation.

It had found its last human.

“N-no! GET BACK! No! No no no STOP! PLEASE! OH GOD STAY AW—"

The alien answered Warwick's pleas with an ear-splitting snarl, which oozed out from the log in pitch-shifting waves. Its stomps grew in volume as it loomed towards its cornered prey.

“N-NO! NO! AaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHH—"

Warwick's scream broke apart into static. And then there was silence from the tape.

I had confirmed the fate of the final crew member.

My legs quivered. I knew I should have suspected—no, assumed the worst, but I had a misguided hope that Warwick could have somehow survived. He had way too many audio logs just to be killed off.

While wiping away the beads of sweat forming on my forehead, another burst of static sounded out from my PDA—the log was still playing? As I brought it to my ear, the static faded. And the noises that followed… well, I wouldn't have believed them without hearing them for myself.

“Ooooooooow… fuck… my head…"

“Are yooou hurt?"

Warwick was alive!? How? And that garbled voice… was that—?

“Oooooow—fuck… Is that you, Bishop?"

“You're bleeeeding… Let MEEEE help..."

“Thanks Bis—AAAAAAAAGH FUCK! GET AWAY GET AW—Huh!?"

As Warwick's scream faded, I could hear a strange sloshing sound. It was similar to when I had to pull the audio log out of the sludge, back in the comms room.

“W-what have you done to my hands!? G-get off of me! Help! HELP!"

“No one coming to HEEELP. Just MEEE."

“HELP! W-why the fuck am I stuck in this shit!?"

“Keep YOOOU still. Now, relax…"

I brought my PDA closer to my ear, desperate to hear what was going on. I could make out deep gasps from Warwick, and occasionally, an uncertain whimper. Just like me, he seemed to have no idea what was going on. Suddenly, the panicked sounds of Warwick were broken by a slick gurgle, like the dripping of slop.

“W-what the fuck are you doing?! Get away from me!

“Need to seal WOOOUND. Before BLEEEED out."

“B-by DROOLING on it?

“Not drooool. Musimmi. Sealant. Trapper. Trap PREEEY."

Musimmi? Was that the black tar it secreted? If the alien was using it to 'help' Warwick, it must be safe. I glanced at my still-sticky middle finger; it would survive another day.

Warwick gave an odd yelp, before saying, “W-why the fuck do you care anyway!? YOU KILLED EVERYONE ELSE!"

“Not KILL. Take. SAAAAVE for later."

“Take!? TAKE WHERE?"

“Beds. Trapped to beds."

“W-what? What… what are you talking about? You were hunting us!" The fear and rage in Warwick's voice had been replaced with confusion.

“Yes, I HUNT. Neeeed new MATES."

“M-mates?"

Warwick's voice was an understandable mix of concern and sudden hopefulness. He had the same realisation I had; the crew was still alive? The dormitories were on the sub-level of the station. Was everyone there?

“Huuumans should be CAREFUL about entering territory during HEEEAT CYCLE…"

“W-wait. Heat cycle? Does… does that mean—?"

“It mean I CATCH six huuumans to MATE."

Warwick was dead silent, but the alien's deep breaths were loud and jagged. Eager, even. Having processed what was happening, Warwick responded appropriately.

“You just want to FUCK us!?"

“YES! And six HUUUMAN on station to MATE. Cannot ESCAAAPE!"

The constant trembling of the creature's voice seemed to intensify, as if it was excited to reveal its plot to Warwick. I shuddered as well; while the crew were hopefully still alive, they've been the playthings for some horny alien? For the last nine days!?

Warwick's shaky voice cut through my thoughts once more to ask the questions that needed answers.

“Okay… okay… that's still not the best… but, but it's better than… what I thought was happening. Then, then why stalk us? Why try to scare us?"

“Because HUNTING YOOOU very exciting! Look!"

A subdued shuffling sounded from the audio log. Was the monster readjusting its position? As the sound ended, Warwick gasped.

“I-is that… your… That's what it looks like? Holy fuck…"

Another extended pause gave me time to realise what Warwick was likely looking at. He probably needed time to process the sight of alien genitalia, just like I needed time to process the absurdity playing through my speakers.

“W-wait. Wait wait wait! Y-you're… you're gonna fuck me now? In this fucking storage room!?"

“YES! YOOOU most exciting PREEEY! Yooou be first MATE. I save hunting YOOOU for LAAAST!"

“For last? You mean… on the bridge…?"

“Not just on bridge. EVERYWHERE! Yooou so LOUD! Keep recording self. Always know where YOOOU ARE."

The tape captured what could only be described as a distorted nicker from the alien, as if it was chuckling at Warwick's stupidity. Truth be told, Warwick did make a few too many audio logs. Personally, I try to limit myself to less than four a mission. Otherwise, everyone starts skipping them.

“No point HUNTING easiest PREEEY first. Catch quiet PREY before they learn to hide. Leave YOOOU for LAST."

“F-fuck… I… uh…" As Warwick's voice crackled out, he gave a nervous, almost embarrassed laugh, before saying, “You're, uh, pretty smart…"

“Nice HUUUMAN. Give HUNTER praise." If Warwick was trying to appeal to the alien by compliments, its following words proved that the approach backfired. “YOOOU will be favourite MATE for heat cycle. Will spend LOT of time TOGETHER. Now, hold STILL."

During a pause in the recording, a sudden yelp of fear from Warwick caught me by surprise. Ripping noises followed, as if fabric were being torn and shredded—barely audible over the monster's deep growls. The alien's next words caused my speakers to buzz; they were louder and more aggressive. “YOOOU won't be needing that EVEEER AGAIN!"

“Ugh! Fuck! H-how sharp are those things?" Warwick gave a series of panicked gasps as if he was trying to find out if the alien had sliced him in half. Though a relieved sigh suggested he was unharmed. “A-and I kinda do need those. The company charges triple what they're worth if they get damaged..."

It's true. If you're not careful, you can end up owing money to Ubisphere by the time you reach payday.

Though Warwick soon realised he had a more pressing concern. “B-but, my… my back. F-fuck, it's so cold!" Assuming Warwick was still bound by the 'musimmi', he would have been naked against the near-freezing steel floor.

“Don't worry. I HEAT YOOOU soon. But this first time meeting HUUUMAN! Don't know what huuuman LOOK LIKE."

“So, you really are blind then?" Warwick sounded oddly happy about that fact, though that might be because he theorised it earlier. Researchers were always full of themselves. “I, uh, don't know how I can show you what—"

“No need to SEE huuuman to learn. Can FEEL huuuman."

There was another period of silence, as if the alien was figuring out where to start on its trapped 'prey'. Warwick spoke. “W-wait. Those claws are really sharp! I… you can feel, okay? But, please, be careful…" He sounded less panicked than he should have been.

“Do not WORRY. I will be very careful with SOOOFT HUUUMAN. Good MATE…"

The monster's laboured breaths softened as if it was concentrating, hopefully taking care not to harm its new 'mate'. Warwick also seemed to calm down after a few gasps—likely in response to the alien touching him. Was it using its sharp scythe to feel Warwick's naked form, or its 'normal' hands?

Well, whatever it was doing, it didn't take it long for Warwick to get used to it. His uneasy gasps were replaced with gentle words to help the alien identify the parts he was touching. Nose. Mouth. Cheeks. Ears. Neck. It went on and on. The creature occasionally made a rolling, rumbling noise, as if it were trying to envisage the part it was touching.

I've seen and heard a lot of bizarre shit in this job. But this… this was almost indescribable. This terrifying alien, which I thought killed everyone here—and hell, thought would be the end of me—suddenly seemed very tender and caring. And yet it remained utterly alien—both literally, and in sound and behaviour.

A loud gasp from Warwick snapped me from my thoughts. “W-wait! Not there, please!"

“What is this paaart, HUUUMAN?"

I gulped. That didn't sound like a genuine question; it was more akin to a taunt.

“T-that's um… that's, that's…"

“Oh. I know. Huuuman is male too, YES?"

Well, at least I now know the alien is male. That's a start.

“W-wait! D-don—A-aahh! ... Ahn..."

Was Warwick moaning now? What the hell was going on!?

“No need to be shy, HUUUMAN! We both enjoy this, YES?"

“B-but… you're… I don't even know what—Mngh-ph!" Warwick's voice cut out with a sudden thud. Did… did the alien cover his mouth somehow?

“I am HUNTER. And yooou are PREEEY. Now relax like good WEAK PREEEY…"

Warwick did as he was told—at least as best he could. A mix of muffled, panicked gasps followed, but they became more relaxed as time went on.

Again, what the fuck was going on!?

As if to answer that question, I heard a soft groan from Warwick. In the back of my mind, I knew what was going on. But I didn't want to believe it—Warwick was lying there and letting this… thing, do whatever he wanted to him? That monster's claws—his scythe—must have been mere inches away from Warwick's dick. And Warwick was just… moaning? Sure, a tinge of fear was underlying those moans, but it became less and less apparent as time went on. And as if that wasn't strange enough, to add to this bizarre cacophony was the monster's staggered growling, which became louder in response to each of Warwick's grunts.

Whatever the monster was doing quickly became too much for poor, muffled Warwick. “A-a-ahhmmn. Nnhg! M-MMMNGH!!"

… If I were to make an educated guess, those were the telltale sounds of an orgasm—an orgasm accidentally recorded by Warwick on his own audio log. Poor guy can't catch a break.

He actually sounded kind of cute, which is no wonder why the alien only became more excited in response. He gave a rumbling growl, seemingly of approval, as he said, “Gooood huuuman. I pick gooood PREEEY to be MATE." A ragged breath followed—as if that thing was thinking of what to do next—before he said, “Time to clean..."

Warwick's panting suddenly mixed with the gentle sounds of swirling fluids, with the occasional gloop. My first thought was that more ooze was being applied, but there were no dripping noises. Was the musimmi being applied directly from the source? And if so, did that mean the alien was… licking him?

“Huuuman TASTE good. Like proper PREEEY!" Well, licking him clean, apparently.

The recording was silent once more, as if the pair didn't know what to say next. Surprisingly, Warwick was the one to break the silence. “You know, you're… you're really handsome. Up close. I, uh, wasn't really expecting that."

Ugh, so one hand job is all it takes for this guy to get Stockholm syndrome? Well, maybe he has a plan on how to pacify this alien. Researchers are supposed to be smart, right?

The monster gave a gentle growl in response, seeming to appreciate the compliment. That put Warwick more at ease, as he considered this an excellent opportunity to sate some of his earlier curiosity. “That grinding thing you do with your claws. What is it?"

The alien gave a playful snort (at least, I hoped it was playful), and said, “Use to FIND YOOOU. Cannot HIDE from my sound."

“I thought that's what it was! Could, could you do it again?"

Warwick was encouraging him now? This guy better have a plan…

“Huuuman like sound of being HUNTED? Gooood PREEEY..." Those gentle growls stopped, only to be replaced with an intimidating snarl. “Will do HUUUMAN one better. Will make sound against ear. Will GROWL all those words that PREEEY like to HEEEAR."

Warwick had chosen his words poorly. I held my breath; I already knew that sound was terrifying. And it was coming.

Shinnnngggggggg** … Shinnnngggggggg…**

My crappy PDA speakers may have absorbed some of the impact, but it still made my blood run cold—and that was right against Warwick's ear! I thought I heard an audible shudder from the unfortunate researcher.

And it wasn't over yet. As promised, the alien shared some of those 'words' he mentioned. They were whispered, as if the monster had pressed his maw against Warwick's ear to make sure he could enjoy every single syllable in crystal-clear clarity.

“You're mine. All mine. Noooo escape... I keep yooou forever..."

The creature snorted, though he sounded less playful this time. Much less playful. “Shiiiinggg, shiiiinggg… That sound of me finding yooou... Yooou cannot hide." He was verbalising the sound his scythes made. Was he mocking Warwick?

There was a sudden silence from the alien—both his voice and breathing seemed to have ceased. All I could hear was Warwick's panting. His breaths came in shallow waves and broke in and out as if he was shivering. The creature was seemingly taking a moment to enjoy the impact of his threatening words.

“Strange preeey. Prey shouldn't like claws. You knooow..." His tone was suddenly perverse and leaking with malice. My chest tightened.

From nowhere, a deafening rattle rocked my speakers. It sounded like the banging of metal slamming against metal. The audio log wouldn't have captured its full intensity, but Warwick would have had no protection from it. I twisted my head and flashlight to where the leftovers of his bindings were. A steel tile had been cracked in half with a deep puncture at its centre. Judging from the location of the bindings, Warwick's head would have been mere inches from it.

As the echo of the horrifying noise died out, I could hear a trembling wail from Warwick. When the alien next spoke, he was no longer whispering.

“Could SLICE YOOOU in HALF!"

My legs shook; all pleasantness from this thing had evaporated.

“But that noooo fun. Then YOOOU don't STRUGGLE!" His sentence transformed into a terrifying warble of malevolent laughter. “And PREEEY MUST STRUGGLE! More exciting if PREEEY STRUGGLE!"

Warwick cried a pathetic mewl that made my heart sink; he was entirely at this insane monster's mercy. And he had something in store for him, though it wasn't clear what from the audio alone. It wasn't clear to Warwick either, who said, “W-wha… w-why are you p-point—"

“SHHHHHHH…" A harsh shush. Sharp and effective, as Warwick's cries immediately ceased. “Make sure YOOOU stay very STILL. Or ELSE. Yooou might BLEEEED!"

Another explosive bang caused me to twitch; his claw must have struck the ground again.

“P-please… d-don't—"

“SHHHHHHHH! It too LATE for YOOOU to BEG! Can only hope now..."

“H-hope…?"

“HOPE that I remember where YOOOU ARE!"

Remember? What was the alien talking about? He sounded so terrifyingly ominous. And as if to bring that home, another rolling cackle echoed throughout the storage room as he set his plan into motion.

KRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE** —SCREEEK!**

A horrible screeching thundered from my speakers. What was that?

KRREEEEEEEEEEEEE—SHHHHHHNK!

It kept going, following a pattern of a loud, drawn-out screech and stopping with a sound reminiscent of a sword being sheathed. When it stopped, a few seconds would pass before it started again.

I glanced at the ground, taking in the deep scratches on the metal plating—in the shape of a body outline.

KRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE** —**

He was… he was carving the metal floor around him—a blind alien was grinding his scythe around a trapped human! Fuck! One mistake—one slip up—and Warwick would be no more…

Warwick seemed to realise that as well. He was dead silent. I couldn't even hear him between the breaks in sound as the creature readjusted the angle of his claw.

Well, Warwick eventually made one sound—a drawn-out, pitiful squeal. That elicited a comment from the alien. “HUUUMAN better HOPE I don't MESS this part up..."

KRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE** —**

What… what part was that? I stared at the gashes in the shape of a human, trying to piece the alien's words together. What caught my eye were two connected lines, like the beginning of a triangle, without a base. Those must have been Warwick's inner legs. And the corner connecting those two lines was…

My stomach churned at the realisation. And yet the noise kept going; I couldn't find the strength to stop the recording.

—EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—SCREEEK!

Another sharp CLANG of metal meeting metal sounded, accompanied by a cry from Warwick.

KRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—SHHHHHHNK!

“… Lucky HUUUMAN..."

Though it was still too early for Warwick to breathe a sigh of relief—the sound continued for another minute. Even I was holding my breath. Following one last grind against the metal, there was an extended period of silence from the tape. Was Warwick okay?

“Look like PREEEY get to LIVE another day. Lucky PREEEY..."

Both Warwick and I sighed in unison. There were desperate breaths from Warwick at irregular intervals, as if he could finally breathe again after being smothered. As he calmed down, the alien spoke once more. He sounded less horrifying. Still scary, of course, but back to his ordinary, slightly less malicious self.

“How was that, PREY? Yooou enjoy?"

I almost choked. Enjoy? How the fuck could someone—

“Oh god… t-that was fucking incredible!"

Okay, what the fuck, Warwick!? Does Ubisphere not do psyche checks anymore before shipping people to isolated research stations?

In contrast to my reaction, the monster couldn't have sounded more overjoyed at the response he received. “Gooood PREY! Precious PREEEY! I KEEEEP yooou for LONG TIME…"

Or more excited…

“Now it my TURN! Lift legs, PREEEY!"

“W-wait! WAIT! Okay… okay, look. Uh. Mister alien. I-I'm flattered. Really!" Oh good. Warwick finally realised that he was in over his head. A little late, perhaps. “B-but… that, that thing… Can it even… will it fit?"

“PREEEY should relax. I not going to BREAK PREEEY. Slimy. Smooooth... Relax. Enjoy..."

“Oh… okay!"

Whoever this Warwick guy was, he was way too easy for his own good.

“Yooou should lick. Before start." There were shuffling sounds, probably the alien moving a certain something closer to Warwick's mouth. To me, it seemed obvious what it was. Though, by now, I should have learnt to expect the unexpected.

“Y-your tail?"

“Yeees. Lick tip."

“U-ugh…" Was Warwick's sense of self-preservation finally kicking back in? “I-is that safe? I can see it dripping venom."

“Venom?"

“Yeah? Right from your stinger."

“Stinger?"

“W-what…?" Warwick seemed sincerely confused. He paused, before saying, “Y-your tail's not a stinger?"

“I have no venom… That OVIPOSITOR, not stinger."

Oh no.

“W-wait! WAIT WAIT WAIT! W-w-wha—"

“Why HUUUMAN confused? I told YOOOU. It heeeat cycle. Need MATE!"

“N-no! N-nonononono! Hold on! T-that… that thing lays EGGS?"

“Yes! Lots of EGGS! That why NEEEED lots of MATES! To be HOSTS!"

“I, I uh… I-I-I, I'm n-not, um…" Warwick was desperately racking his mind for an out. He kept stuttering until eventually blurting out the best he could come up with.

“I-I'm not ready to be a parent!"

It could have been better, but given the circumstances…

“Oh." The creature paused, as if he needed to reflect on his newfound knowledge that not everyone was ready to have alien eggs pumped into them. “When will PREEEY be READY then?"

“Uh, I, I don't know… M-maybe just… just give me a bit of time?"

God damn it, Warwick! This was the last time I ever put my faith in the intelligence of a researcher.

“I understand. Will KEEEEP PREY until ready. I know PREEEY will make good HOST!" There was more shuffling from the creature, hopefully to present something different for Warwick to lick. “Yooou still satisfy NEED, yes?"

“O-of course. But uh, could you free my arms?"

“PREEEY can move later. I more EXCITED when PREEEY is BOUND! Now LICK!"

A wet plat sounded, though Warwick quickly spoke up. “H-hey! Careful! That was right next to my eye!"

“Oh. Sorry. Cannot seeee."

“I know, just… just wait until I line it up, okay?"

I looked at the black square on my PDA's screen—the stop button. Now was the time, right? I couldn't just stand here and listen to this, right? I hovered my twitching thumb above the button.

“Okay, this should—MMMPH!?" Warwick was silenced with another loud plat.

“Gooood prey..."

The voices stopped, and yet the tape continued. Should… should I stop it? No. I needed to… learn all I could about this alien, to have any hope of escaping this station unscathed.

At least, that's what I told myself.

The seemingly unending recording caught an assortment of obnoxious slurps, muffled gags, even a warbled moan or two. I shifted in discomfort, but I couldn't stop listening. As if on repeat, constantly hammering in the background was a rhythmic, moist-sounding plat, plat, plat.

I could fill in the blanks.

“I usually eager to TASTE PREEEY," the alien snarled in apparent mockery. “PREY rarely this eager to TASTE ME!"

The plats were becoming faster and louder; the creature was speeding up. The sounds coming from Warwick didn't form any distinguishable words, as if no room was left in his throat to speak. Every choked murmur and groan from him was met with a pleased grumble from the alien, as if he was happy that his 'prey' was trying so hard to stay conscious. Though Warwick's sounds of desperation were becoming weaker and more strained—there was no way he could hold out.

As I tensed in fear, sudden relief came in the form of a sloppy splunk, followed by a laboured heave from Warwick. As I listened to Warwick's wheezing and sputtering, however, I doubted that allowing him to breathe was an act of mercy from the monster. More likely, he just wanted to prolong this for as long as he could.

A sudden warble proved me right.

“YOOOU not DONE YET!"

Thankfully, the alien wasn't relentless; he waited for Warwick to catch his breath. As Warwick's rasping slowed, the alien said, “YOOOU know what happens next, YES?"

Warwick coughed. “Y-yeah."

“GOOOOD! Hold legs up. Easy to ENTER."

Movement sounded from my PDA, though it was barely audible over the alien's constant growls. After a few seconds, I heard a moist splat, followed by a gasp from Warwick.

“Feeeel THAT against hole, HUUUMAN?" More splats, in varying volumes. “So slick. Could slide RIGHT IN!"

The sensation of an alien cock pressing against his asshole seemed to be too much for Warwick to handle. He made frantic gasps, but they were less from fear and more from being overcome by pure arousal. He had utterly given in to the creature.

“P-please, don't tease—"

“Beg."

“W-what?"

“BEG FOOOR IT!"

A moment of silence—Warwick's last chance to save whatever scrap of dignity he had left. Thankfully, the alien's demand had made him hesitate. He must have realised that—

“P-please! Please fuck me!"

“Gooood PREEEY. Now, grit teeth."

Qusssssshhhhh…

Warwick gave an almost inhuman groan—pleasure mixed with pain—as the alien finally entered him.

“PREEEY should be proud. First MATE of heat cycle..." A rolling growl followed, accompanied by more grunts from Warwick.

“A-ah, fuck!" Warwick was cursing through clenched teeth, but that elicited a surprisingly empathetic reaction from the alien.

“Huuuman fine? Need to stop?"

“F-fuck… don't you dare fucking stop…!"

Warwick might be as messed up as the alien.

There were further grunts and gasps from Warwick. Eventually, the monster joined in; his groans warped through my speakers before ending in a distorted sigh of relief. “Good PREEEY. You can take all. Feel good. Very gooood."

Before Warwick could respond, I heard a wet smack, followed by a sudden yelp. That alien's hips (or whatever he had) must have been slapping against Warwick's cheeks. From the sounds of it, the alien had wasted no time testing the waters; he was literally a monster in heat, after all. So it was no surprise that he was fucking Warwick as hard as he could.

“Aaaaagh-ah! G-god fu—Nnhg!"

The alien responded with a guttural gurgle, constantly shifting in pitch. “RRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRGGGGgggggGGH—"

Despite the garbled symphony and my low-quality speakers, the audio log still picked up the sound of alien contacting human. It rang out like a stinging slap each time it happened. I might have imagined it, but I thought I could also hear what was possibly the alien's heavy sack smacking against Warwick's rear. Warwick was, after all, apparently the alien's first mate of his 'heat cycle', so those hypothetical nuts would undoubtedly be hefty and aching for release. It was hard for me to picture them as anything other than a pair of fat, swaying, wrecking balls.

To be entirely honest, by this point, my face was flushed. I should have stopped listening ages ago, but I couldn't. And as much as I wanted to pretend that only pragmatism influenced my decision to let the log continue to play, that bulging pressure in my pants said otherwise.

“NNNNNnnnnggGGGGGHH... Get ready, PREEEY..."

I couldn't see it, but I could picture it: 'Poor' Warwick, trapped on his back, with his legs held up as the alien pounded his vulnerable ass. Thrust after thrust. Pleasured gasp after gasp. Warwick seemed to be living up to his new namesake of 'mate'; he was likely receiving the most potent mating press of his life.

Suddenly, the tone of the constant slaps changed. They became softer and wetter.

“Ngh—FUCK! W-what is tha—Mmmmhgh!?"

There was another loud slap, though this time of a different volume. Did Warwick have his mouth covered again? Before I could figure it out, more sinister, warbled laughter oozed out of my speakers. The alien had one more surprise to share.

“That knot. To PLUG YOOOU!"

“M-MMMGH—MMNOT!?"

“Brace yourself, PREEEY!"

Not even the monster's hand could fully muffle Warwick's moans. The sloppy sound of the knot pounding against his hole gradually increased in speed. It was the only constant source of noise from the tape, as the alien's distorted rumbles now shifted in pitch with greater randomness.

All it took was a minute—a minute of that alien abusing Warwick's ass—before I heard a lewd spluuughk. The smacking sounds came to a sudden stop. And one last throaty roar from the monster—dripping in predatory lust—bellowed out in victory.

“mmmMMRRRRrrrrRNNNNnnnGGGggg—NNNNHGGGGHH!!"

Accompanying that terrifying cry were two ear-splitting bangs against the steel ground in quick succession—his scythes must have struck with thunderous fury as he claimed Warwick. As the piercing ringing faded, I could make out faint spurts. That the recording could even capture that noise suggested the creature was pumping its seed into Warwick with almost-explosive force.

I don't know how long it went on, but the sound from the tape eventually quieted. Neither Warwick nor the alien spoke for a time, though both were panting in exhaustion, each as unsteady and disjointed as the other. Shockingly, it seemed like Warwick recovered first, as he sighed and said, “Fuck… that… that was something else…"

There was a soft growl from the alien. “Huuuman enjoy?"

“That… that was absolutely incredible."

“Straaange huuuman. But make me happy. Gooood mate…" There were sounds of swirling fluids—either alien cum being displaced from Warwick's knotted rear, or he was receiving a few affectionate licks. “Hold still. I free huuuman now." A mix of gloops and glorps sounded, which were hopefully Warwick's arms being pulled free of their binds. A sudden splat followed them, and then a second—probably the trail of goop breaking and smacking back onto the ground.

The two seemed to remain silent for a time, though the alien soon started cackling, albeit softly. “Yooou going to be stuck with me for a while..." He grunted in apparent amusement. “Can get to know new MATE better..."

“Seems like a bit of a missed opportunity, doesn't it? I mean… we'll have plenty of time for that later."

Warwick?

“I not understand..."

“A human tied to an alien. That would be a terrifying sight for any other human, wouldn't you say?"

Maybe humans were the real monsters all along?

“Straaange preeey. Very straaange. But FUN idea!" The darker tone of the creature's voice was returning, revived by Warwick's horrible suggestion. “I parade you in front of other PREEEY. Gooood example of what will SOON happen to other PREEEY!"

“And once that's done, could we do this again? Like, me hiding on the station? And you trying to find me?" Warwick's voice was too excited. I clenched my hand tighter around my pistol. “It'll… it'll be a lot more fun, I think, knowing that I just get fucked instead of killed if you find me."

“Remember. I WILL FIND YOOOU..."

The alien ended his promise with a warped laugh, gradually intensifying in volume and shifting in tone. Once it ended, the following noises were of an automated door grinding open, and then a human being dragged over smooth, steel flooring. Both slowly faded into nothingness. And then everything was quiet. The tape seemed to be still playing, but the recording picked up no other sounds.

This was one audio log I might leave out of my report.

Shaking my head and ignoring how uncomfortably aroused I was, I started to strategise my next steps. The crew was likely alive, but they may need medical attention. What about food and water? And was there any way to appease or placate that alien while waiting for rescue to arrive?

A sharp prod against my back ended those thoughts. I froze. Another stinging jab followed it. And another—three pokes. A shrill, garbled voice spoke from behind.

“I FOOOUND YOOOU..."

A brief flash of white. Something struck the ground inches in front of me with a clang of dented metal, followed by a strange series of bangs. My eyes darted down towards the sounds. A curved steel-like blade was imbedded into the reinforced tiles, and the front half of my gun's barrel was rattling along the floor.

“YOU'RE MINE NOOOW..."

Damp breath washed against my ear as the alien brought his head to my shoulder. The heat radiating against my nape contrasted with the almost-freezing temperature of the station. I couldn't help but shudder—both from the clashing temperature and the deep, primal terror welling up within me. My breath had stopped. My throat was dry. I thought I was about to collapse. I only had the strength to grip my now-worthless pistol tighter and utter a single word.

“H-how…?"

The alien made a mocking scoff against my ear. “YOOOU spend 20 minutes playing recording of me MATING."

“Oh…"

“Yes. Bad idea. I could HEEEAR from other side of station. I FOOOUND YOOOU in a minute."

“O-only a minute?"

“Yes. I behind YOOOU the entire time." His tone turned quizzical. “Why YOOOU listen to loud tape on silent station? YOOOU want to be FOOOUND? Want to be MATE?"

“I… uh…"

“I wait. Think you will realise BAD idea and turn tape off. YOOOU turn around. I POUNCE on PREEEY! Would be fun way to CAPTURE PREY." His voice became louder and more warbled. “But NOOO. PREEEY had to play ENTIRE thing. I stand here ENTIRE time waiting and NOTHING HAPPEN. Make me MAD!"

Okay. I definitely needed to apologise to both him and myself for that. Because I was genuinely sorry for doing something so stupid to myself, and because I hoped an apology might lessen whatever he had in store for me.

“S-sorry…"

“Oh. Nice PREEEY. It fine. Listening to tape help MEEE prepare to MATE!"

Further warmth spread against my back as he stomped closer. His weight was pressing down against me. Something… else—almost as hard as his claws—was pressing against my lower back.

Oh. Oh no.

More words oozed out of his maw, whispered right against my vulnerable ear. “So we can skip some of the foreplay. Yeees?" He sounded even more distorted up close.

His mouth clamped around my earlobe, and he nibbled at it while continuing to huff humid air. The goopy drool leaking from his maw was sticking to me. It was hot—too hot. And to add to the freakish mix of sensations, his arms brushed against my shoulders as he brought his long scythes within my vision, and then together.

SHINNNNGGGGGGGG** … SHINNNNGGGGGGGG…**

“I KEEP YOOOU FOREVER!"

A clicking, right in my ear. Even with my ears still ringing from the sound of his scythes, I could make it out—it was as sharp and effective as his claws. He was reminding me that my own stupidity had led to this.

“YOOOU have no say in this..."

There was nothing I could say. Fear overtook—

“Oh! Can YOOOU start recorder before we begin?"

“M-my… recorder? Why?"

“Because they gooood BAIT for PREEEY. Cannot RESIST playing tape." A warped chuckle tingled my eardrums as he dropped his scythe-claws from my sight. “So EASY to FIND YOOOU when YOOOU stand still and play tape."

“Please stop reminding me…" Way to add insult to imminent injury.

“Need more to leave out for other MATES to find. When they come looking for YOOOU."

He knew more would come to find me? How many humans did this thing need before he would be satisfied? As if to answer, he gave my ear a sickeningly sloppy slurp, leaving behind a sticky strand of sludge connecting to his tongue.

“Begin recording, PREEEY..."

Something pressed against my arm—the one holding the PDA—and pushed it upwards. I couldn't move my head. But I didn't need to. My limp arm was slowly brought into view, held up by the blunt underside of his scythe.

He was waiting for me to press record.

Click

“L-log entry… 6 dash 9…"