… make your own path

You take out your mini fusion welder, engage you anti-grav harness, float upwards and start to cut a hole in the roof with your mini fusion cutter. The plate falls away clattering to the floor below to reveal a room above.

You hover as you look inside cautiously, your anti-grav harness whining softly. The air of the new room is colder, sharper, tinged with a metallic tang that stings your nose. The breached room is a low-ceilinged chamber, its walls are of dented metal and damaged conduits.

There are two rows of haptic beds lined up against the walls and half show signs of having been occupied, being blood stained and torn. Each haptic bed has a mind scanner, the damaged ones being in disarray.

Dim light seeps from a cracked holo-panel in the corner, casting jagged shadows. You float up and to the side, your boots touching down lightly, the grav-harness powering off with a faint hum.

The floor is sticky underfoot—something dark and dried smeared across it, trailing toward the only other entrance to the room, a damaged hatch.

Your comms crackle. “Ben,” Jenson’s voice is tight. “What the hell’s that?”

“Dunno,” you mutter, eyes tracing the room. To your left, a hatch hangs ajar, its edges bent and torn as if clawed open, leading into darkness. To your right, a tangle of cables spills from a busted console, sparking faintly. The holo-panel flickers, showing fractured glimpses of a woman’s face, her voice garbled: “—protocol—scan—integrate…”

Your pistol hums in your grip. The air feels heavier now, pressing against your suit.