To engineering

The corridors twisted around them, narrowing, warping in the half-light.

Sarah led the way, the pistol steady in her grip, even though every instinct in her screamed to run the other way. Devlin flanked her, his breathing harsh, too loud in the claustrophobic space.

They made their way toward Engineering — the logical place. Wren and Torres would be there, working on life support or propulsion, trying to claw the ship back from the brink.

At least, that was the hope.

The hatch to the Engineering section stood slightly ajar when they reached it, the emergency lights beyond flickering in frantic, sickly pulses.

Sarah pressed her back against the wall beside the door, glancing at Devlin. He nodded, raising his weapon, ready.

She counted silently — one, two, three — and then shoved the door open with her shoulder, sweeping into the room.

And froze.

The air was thick, humid — almost wet. The temperature had climbed unnaturally, beads of sweat immediately forming on her skin. The overhead lights buzzed and popped, casting erratic flashes across the room.

In the center of the chaos, Wren and Torres stood.

Or — something that looked like them stood.

They were locked together in a grotesque parody of intimacy.

Wren straddled Torres’s lap atop a broken console, her jumpsuit half-shredded, her bare skin gleaming with sweat. Torres’s hands clawed at her hips, ****, mechanical. Their faces were twisted in rictus smiles — stretched wide, unnatural, wrong.

Their bodies moved against each other in slow, rhythmic thrusts, but their eyes — glassy, empty — stared blankly past each other, not seeing, not feeling.

Sarah’s stomach turned over violently.

A sticky, translucent substance dripped from their bodies, pooling on the deck, the air thick with the sharp scent of ozone and something far fouler.

Devlin let out a soft, strangled noise beside her — half a curse, half a plea.

Wren’s head jerked up suddenly, the movement too fast, too sharp. Her dead eyes fixed on Sarah and Devlin in the doorway.

And then she smiled.

But it wasn’t Wren’s smile.

It was something wearing her body like a suit.

"You’re just in time," Wren crooned, voice distorted, dual-toned, as if something else spoke alongside her. "Come join us."

Torres's jaw unhinged slightly, a soft, gurgling moan slipping out — thick, bubbling.

Sarah staggered back, bile rising in her throat.

Devlin grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the door. "Go—!"

They stumbled into the hall, Sarah slamming the hatch closed and twisting the manual lock with shaking hands. She could hear them inside — Wren and Torres — laughing now, the sound twisting into inhuman shrieks that rattled the very air.

Devlin sagged against the wall, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"This isn't just hallucinations," Sarah said, voice shaking with fury and terror. "They're inside them. Using them."

Devlin nodded grimly. "And they want us too."

A heavy, mechanical bang echoed from down the hall — not from Engineering.

From somewhere else.

Somewhere closer.

Sarah locked eyes with Devlin, the unspoken understanding passing between them in an instant.

We have to find Ward.

Before it's too late.

And somewhere in the ship’s dead corridors, unseen hands kept reaching — hungering — ready to pull them both under.