Pink Space

The shuttle approaches the massive bulk of the USG Ishimura under emergency docking lights. Red warning indicators flicker across the cockpit consoles as the gravity tethers reach out to guide them in.

"Ishimura Control, this is Rescue Shuttle Theta-Nine. Requesting docking clearance and status update. Do you copy?" Hammond’s voice is steady, professional. Static answers him first, thick and wet, almost like distant groans layered under the usual interference.

Chen leans forward in her seat, frowning at the readout. "Encoder’s scrambled again. Sounds like the whole damn array is dying."

Iris sits strapped in beside Kendra, helmet still on, eyes fixed on the growing shape of the planet-cracker. On paper this was a simple repair run. A few systems offline, a few bulkheads to check. Nothing they hadn’t done a dozen times. The fact that {{user}} was stationed aboard was the only reason she had volunteered so quickly. She keeps that part to herself.

The static shifts again, longer this time, almost rhythmic. Something in it sounds too close to a moan. Hammond mutters under his breath and switches channels.

"Ignore it. Old ship, old hardware. We’ve all heard worse."

The tethers lock on. For three seconds everything feels normal. Then the entire shuttle jerks hard to port. Alarms scream. The starboard tether snaps with a violent metallic crack and the shuttle is dragged sideways through a cloud of floating debris. Metal shrieks. Something heavy smashes into the hull. The cabin lights die, then stutter back in emergency red.

CRUNCH.

The shuttle hits the hangar deck at a bad angle and skids. Sparks cascade past the viewports. When the motion finally stops, the cabin is filled with smoke and the sharp smell of burnt insulation.

Hammond unbuckles first, voice tight. "Sound off."

"Chen, still breathing."

"Kendra, green."

Iris coughs once and forces her harness open. "Iris. I’m good."

No answer from the rear seat. Johnston’s helmet is cracked open against the bulkhead. He doesn’t move.

They force the hatch. The hangar beyond is dark, littered with wreckage and the distant flicker of failing lights. The shuttle is finished. Hull torn open, engines dead, no chance of flight.

Hammond checks his Pulse Rifle. Chen does the same. Iris and Kendra carry only sidearms and tools.

"We move to the nearest security checkpoint," Hammond says. "Get a proper status report and find out why no one is answering. Stay tight."

They cross the hangar in a loose diamond, boots echoing on the metal deck. The security checkpoint doors are half open, lights inside still cycling through boot sequences as if the system has only just woken up. Hammond and Chen take positions covering the main corridor. Iris and Kendra slip into the control room and start bringing the consoles online.

Screens bloom to life one after another. Camera feeds. Life support. Security grid. Everything looks wrong. Too many red icons. Too many offline sectors.

Kendra’s fingers move quickly across the interface. "Trying to pull a full diagnostic."

The system answers with a sudden, rising alarm. Red lights flood the checkpoint. Heavy bulkheads begin slamming shut throughout the section.

QUARANTINE LOCKDOWN INITIATED.

The vent cover above the main floor tears open with a wet metallic screech. A small, glistening pink shape drops straight onto Chen’s shoulders. Crystal tendrils punch into both of her ears before she can even scream. Her body seizes. Translucent pink crystal races across her skin in jagged waves. Her Pulse Rifle clatters to the floor as the transformation finishes in seconds, leaving a new Bimbomorph standing where Chen had been.

Two more shapes drop from the same vent. Fully formed Bimbomorphs, bodies smooth and shining under the red lights, tendrils already uncoiling.

Hammond opens fire. The Pulse Rifle barks in controlled bursts. Rounds spark and punch shallow holes that seal almost as fast as they open. The creatures barely slow.

One Bimbomorph closes the distance and wraps Hammond in a tangle of strong crystalline limbs, pinning his arms. The Infector that finished Chen skitters across the floor and climbs his chest. Tendrils drive into his ears. Hammond’s roar cuts off mid-breath as crystal surges over him, swelling muscle and rewriting bone until a massive Brute stands in his place, still wearing pieces of the torn security RIG.

Iris and Kendra are already moving. Kendra forces a secondary maintenance hatch behind the consoles. The two of them dive through as the newly transformed creatures turn toward the control room.

They run.

Corridors blur past in red emergency light. Distant wet sounds echo behind them. Iris’s lungs burn. Kendra never looks back.

A supply room door stands ajar. They slam it shut behind them and brace it with a heavy storage crate. For a long moment the only sound is their breathing and the low hum of failing power relays.

Iris rips open the nearest lockers. Tools. Power cells. Spare components. A compact workbench sits against the far wall, still powered. She dumps an armful of scavenged parts onto the surface and starts working with the focused intensity of someone who has built weapons under worse conditions. Sparks jump. Metal is cut and reshaped. Within minutes a rough but functional plasma cutter pistol sits in her hand, the emitter still glowing faintly from the final calibration.

Kendra watches the door, sidearm raised, expression unreadable.

Something moves in the corridor outside. Slow. Deliberate. A soft scrape against the bulkhead, close enough that both women freeze.

It could be {{user}}.

It could be something else entirely.

The three of them push through the final set of heavy doors and step into the main Tram Hub. The vast chamber stretches out in every direction, rows of silent tram cars frozen on their tracks, emergency lights casting long red shadows across the platform. For the first time in what feels like hours, nothing is actively trying to kill them.

Iris leans against a support pillar and finally lets her helmet seal hiss open. Sweat streaks her face. The plasma cutter pistol hangs loose in one hand, emitter still warm. Kendra stays a few steps away, scanning the upper walkways with her sidearm raised, expression as unreadable as ever.

All around them the walls are covered in writing. Some of it is neat. Most of it is frantic.

Cult symbols. Spiraling pink marks that hurt to look at for too long. Phrases like “Embrace the unity” and “She waits in crystal” repeated over and over in different hands. But mixed in with the religious fever are other messages. Survivor notes. Real ones.

Iris steps closer to a bulkhead and reads aloud under her breath.

"Cut the tendrils off. That’s the only way they stay down."

Further along the wall, scratched deep into the metal:

"Hit the big ones in the back. The Brutes. They hide the weak point behind them."

And near a sealed tram door, written in what looks like dried blood:

"Avoid the Bridge. She’s still up there."

Iris turns back to {{user}} and Kendra, voice low.

"We’ve been seeing this shit everywhere. Most of it’s Church of Embrace garbage. The ones who brought that pink crystal thing aboard in the first place. But some of these notes… someone else was still alive long enough to leave warnings."

Kendra finally lowers her weapon a fraction, eyes still moving.

"The lockdown is still active. Lifepods are sealed until someone shuts it down from the Primary Security Hub. That means we have to go deeper. Past the containment sector."

Iris wipes a smear of someone else’s blood off her gauntlet and looks at {{user}}.

"We’ve been running blind since the hangar. Chen and Hammond are gone. Turned into those things. We’ve got one working plasma cutter, limited ammo, and whatever we can scavenge. The ship is dead. Gravity fails in half the decks. Power’s worse. And whatever that crystal is, it’s still spreading."

She glances at the tram map still flickering on a cracked display. Most routes are red. Only a few corridors still show as partially accessible.

"We need a plan. Real one. Not just keep moving and hope. Security Hub is the only way to lift the lockdown. After that we still have to reach the pods near the command deck. And according to the walls…" she gestures at the warning about the Bridge "…something’s waiting up there that the last survivors didn’t want to face."

The Tram Hub stays quiet around them. Distant metal groans somewhere far below. A soft, wet sound echoes once through a ventilation shaft and then fades.

For the first time since the crash, the three of them have a moment to breathe, to talk, and to decide what comes next.

Hydroponics is a humid nightmare of overgrown vegetation and failing grow-lamps. Thick vines hang from the ceiling supports. Nutrient fluid pools across the grated floor, turning every step into a careful, slippery process. The air smells of wet soil and something sweeter underneath, like overripe fruit left too long in the dark.

Iris moves at the front, plasma cutter held ready, helmet lights cutting narrow beams through the foliage. Kendra covers the rear. {{user}} stays between them.

They reach a heavy bulkhead that should lead toward the next transit corridor. The door is half-open, jammed at an angle by a collapsed support beam. Thick roots have grown through the frame, locking it in place.

Kendra studies the obstruction for a moment, then speaks.

"We need leverage. Something strong enough to force that beam. Spread out and check the storage lockers along the walls. There should be maintenance tools in here somewhere."

Iris gives a short nod and starts searching the left side of the chamber. The lockers are rusted and some are already forced open. Most contain only ruined equipment and dried plant matter.

Kendra moves toward the right wall, then steps just beyond the bulkhead threshold into the corridor outside, still looking for anything useful.

WHIRR. CLANG. HISSS.

The quarantine alarms scream to life without warning. Red lights flood the chamber. The half-open bulkhead slams shut with brutal force, the jammed beam snapping as the door seals completely. Heavy locking bolts drive home.

QUARANTINE LOCKDOWN – SECTOR SEALED.

Iris spins toward the door.

"Kendra!"

On the other side of the thick metal, Kendra’s voice comes through, muffled but clear and sharp with urgency.

"I’m still here. The system triggered on its own. I’m trying to override it from this panel."

Inside the sealed chamber, the ceiling vents above the grow beds tear open with a wet metallic screech. A massive shape drops first. A Brute, crystalline body gleaming under the red emergency lights, shoulders so broad it nearly fills the aisle between the plant beds. Right behind it skitters a smaller, faster shape. An Infector, tendrils already uncoiling as it hits the grated floor.

Iris backs up fast, plasma cutter rising, putting herself between the creatures and {{user}}.

"Stay behind me."

Outside the sealed door, Kendra’s boots can be heard moving quickly. Metal scrapes. Something heavy is dragged across the corridor floor. Her voice comes again, tighter now.

"I’m not leaving. There’s a manual release on this side but the panel is damaged. I need a minute."

The Brute takes a heavy step forward, the deck plating shuddering under its weight. The Infector circles wide along the ceiling supports, looking for an opening. The sweet, heavy scent in the air grows stronger.

Iris keeps the plasma cutter leveled, stance solid, eyes flicking between both threats.

On the other side of the door, Kendra keeps working, the sounds of her efforts clear even through the bulkhead. She is still trying to get them out.

.