Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 6+ Hours of Horror Stories from the Dark Side of the Moon

Episode Date: October 10, 2026

The Moon has always been a source of mystery, but what if its darkest secrets are hidden on the side we'll never see from Earth? In tonight's collection of horror stories, we venture beyond the familiar lunar surface into a place where terrifying discoveries challenge everything we thought we knew about our closest celestial neighbor. Because some secrets are buried in darkness for a reason, and perhaps the far side of the Moon was never meant to be explored. Still drinking stale, store-bought coffee? Head to⁠ ⁠⁠⁠NoSleepCoffee.com⁠⁠⁠⁠ and pick up a bag of fresh roasted-to-order coffee delivered straight to your door! Use promo code NOSLEEP20 at checkout for 20% off your first order! NoSleep Coffee – The freshest coffee money can buy. Guaranteed. ▶ Listen to Bedtime Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep on ⁠⁠Spotify⁠⁠ and ⁠⁠Apple Podcasts⁠⁠, or wherever you get your podcasts. Huge thanks to our sponsor: EarnIn: Download EarnIn on the App Store or Google Play. And when you sign up, type in “ScaryHorrorStories” under PODCAST. It really helps support the show. * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised.  #scarystories #horrorstories #drnosleep #doctornosleep #creepypasta #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

On the 7th of December, 1972, three men, Eugene A. Sarin, Ronald E. Evans, and Harrison H. Schmidt, set out on a lunar mission that would last for 12 days, 13 hours, 51 minutes, and 59 seconds. They set down on the moon on the 11th of December and would spend three days wandering the surface of Earth's closest celestial body. classified as a J mission, one of only three to have taken place throughout recorded history, their research proved valuable for the understanding of our local universe. Alas, despite ambitious plans for a return to the moon, Apollo 17 is publicly known to be humanity's last journey to another world. Time would pass, and the memory of one of humanity's greatest collective achievements

began to fade to the back of the public's mind. Unknown to them, another mission had been planned in secret, a mission that would not be undertaken by NASA, but by their greatest competitor, the Soviet Space Program. Formed in 1955, it would take them three decades to put their own craft down on the moon. But rather than boast about their undeniable success,

their achievement would be clouded in missing and any information relating to its existence would be buried under the collapse of the Soviet Union, washed away by the tides of time. It suddenly struck me that that tiny pea, pretty and blue, was the Earth. I put up my thumb and shut one eye, and my thumb blotted out the planet Earth. I didn't feel like a giant. I felt very, very small. Neil Armstrong.

Rise and shine, Commander. It's midday and the moon is high up in the sky, Clara said as she gently shook me back to life. Opening my eyes, I noted a lack of bodily aches that had usually accompanied me in the early mornings. With absolute weightlessness, sleeping in an odd position had become a thing of the past, but I still felt tired.

Stretching out my arms, I dragged myself to the nearest window. I peered out into the blackness of space, It was filled to the brim with minute lights in every direction, each a star with its own shrouded history. The Earth was still in sight, sinking away beyond the moon's horizon. In a few hours, we'd be cut off from home, left alone in the infinite vastness of the universe, with only the moon to break its monotony.

The gray celestial body, which had accompanied Earth almost sensitive, its creation would be our home for the coming two days. I can't believe we're actually here. Angelica chimed in. My whole life, I've wanted only this. It's a magnificent sight, isn't it? Clara asked.

I thought it would be, but it feels odd. Nothing like I thought it would. Caught in the moon's gravitational field, the craft had shifted, allowing our ship, the Ares Command and Service Module, to enter its orbit. With an orbital period of 20 hours, we'd reach the far side of the moon in just under eight, at which point we'd lose contact with the command center back home on Earth. Our mission, Ares 4, had been years in the making,

but our departure from Earth had only occurred three days prior. It would be marked as the first manned expedition to set down on the surface of the far side of the moon. Five years after China's Chang'eux 4 achieved humanity's first, soft landing on the far side surface. It was unmanned, but a tremendous achievement nonetheless. Though its mission statement included studying cosmic rays, measuring the chemical composition of lunar soil and temperature measurements, something else had been discovered in the craft's first panoramic composition.

There, just on the edge of the horizon, a shape had been depicted, one not conforming to the soft hills of the moon, but one only compatible with artificial, purposeful construction. Since the discovery was out of reach of Chong-E-4's Lunar Rover, we'd personally been sent to investigate, a first for humanity. I stared expectantly at the moon's surface for what must have been minutes without as much as blinking. I studied every crater, every landmark, every oddity, hoping to be the first to set eyes on the sought-out structure.

but we still hadn't reached our destination, and our altitude was far too high. I pushed myself off the wall and glided to our craft's other end. There, I could just get a glimpse of Earth as it faded beyond the horizon. Seeing our home that far away, I had expected to feel a sense of amazement or gained some perspective in the grand scheme of our existence. But none of these emotions hit me. Instead, I felt small, insignificant, as if everything we'd been sent to do would serve no purpose towards the fate of our universe. We were merely God's playthings, tiny and unimportant.

You all right? Clara asked. Yeah, I'm fine. I mumbled back. It's just... It's a lot to process, isn't it? Funny, I was about to say that. I replied with a smirk.

Well, take a moment to be overwhelmed, but get it together quickly. You're the leader of this mission, and the crew needs you to hold it together. Don't be so grim. She put her hand on my shoulder, gently reassuring me that what we had come to do mattered. She'd always been my voice of reason, all throughout her training. There were moments where I swore she could read my deepest, most intimate thoughts. I appreciated the gesture and took a few seconds to let my insecurities overflow in silence, if only for a single moment.

Once it had passed, and the Earth had vanished from sight, I redirected my attention back to the moon, and got the crew ready for landing. Ares 4 had not been equipped with a standard lunar lander. Instead, an advanced lunar module had been installed, alongside a separate surface-operating base, holding a small laboratory and living quarters large enough to house four of our crew. Only Stephen Lawrence, our shuttle's pilot, would remain on the Ares Command and Service module

as the rest of us set foot on the moon's surface. But first we had to complete one orbit around it to survey the landing site. For the first time in decades, the far side of the moon would be seen directly by human eyes. Landing site cited, Angelica announced. Beginning analysis. While the previous lunar mission had chosen landing sites near the visible equator within what was known now as the Apollo Zone, our landing site had been chosen based on images produced by the Chong'a 4 lander.

Five landing sites had been chosen, and based on our visual findings, we were to choose the one closest to the structure, referred to by command as the aberrant lunar object 3. Do you have a visual of AL-O-3? I asked. Not yet. The altitude is too high, and the given coordinates don't appear occupied. Angelica responded. What exactly do we think we're looking for? Clara asked, as Angelica kept searching.

I've seen the pictures, I responded. It could be a photographic artifact, could be a crashed alien craft, or it could be an oddly shaped rock. But even if it's nothing, we're still the first people to set foot on the far side of the moon. That alone is worth the journey. Is that why you signed up? Angelica asked with a snarky undertone. Sight-seeing. Anything to advance our progress of setting down a permanent human settlement? I replied as matter-of-factly as I could. I too am happy to search for a non-existent spacecraft, as long as they pay me. Stephen chimed in from the pilot seat. But I'll be stuck up here and you'll be free down there. At least you'll be all

snug and comfy, Angelica joked. You never liked the spacesuits anyway. I like to be able to scratch my nose, Stephen responded. Yuri, our devoted engineer, had remained uncharacteristically silent for the past few hours, going over the lunar module system over and over, not speaking a word. Up until takeoff, during the entirety of our training program, he'd been practically impossible to shut up. It was odd seeing him so foe.

Once Angelica gave up searching, Clara resorted to scanning over the moon's surface once more. Almost disappointed that we hadn't laid eyes on the ALO. She'd always dreamed of establishing contact with extraterrestrial beings, and an unnatural formation on the moon seemed to be the best evidence of aliens existing within our solar system. Though I was sorry to disappoint her, I feared our mission would serve as more of a proof of concept than any other. concept than anything else. Orbiting past the far side of the moon without citing the aberrant lunar object, we reestablished contact with mission control.

We confirmed that all systems were functioning, and that we intended to disembark from the command and service module and set down on the moon's surface. In half a day, we'd once again hover over the landing site, isolated, and with no means of contacting home. We spent this time resting, knowing that we needed to be fully alert for what would likely be the most critical part of our mission, setting down our surface operating base. Think about how strange it is that we work, earn money, and then still have to wait to actually get paid. We're used to getting almost everything else instantly, but somehow payday is still on a schedule. That's where Earning comes in. Earnin gives you access to money you've already

earned with up to $150 per day and up to $1,000 between paychecks. So if you've already put in the work, it can give you more flexibility around when you access your money instead of always waiting for payday. It's a simple way to make payday timing feel less restrictive. Download earn-in on the app store or Google Play, spelled like earning money but without the G. And when you sign up, type in scary horror stories under podcast. It really helps support the show. Ernin is a financial technology company, not a bank. Access limits are based on your earnings and risk factors. Standard cash outs, take one to two business days with no mandatory fees.

Expedited transfers available for a fee. Tips are voluntary and don't affect the service. Available in select states. Terms and restrictions apply. Visit earnin.com for full details. If you're into horror with a heavy dose of sci-fi, classified experiments, and things humanity was never meant to understand, check out my other podcast, the SCP experience.

Each episode pulls you into the hidden world of the SCP Foundation, where dangerous anomalies are studied, contained, and sometimes unleashed. These aren't just scary stories. They're classified nightmares. Click here to listen now or search for the SCP experience wherever you get your podcasts. Once we were approaching the drop point, four of us entered the lander. The surface operating base, or SOB, would be ejected separately, landing no more than a kilometer away from our lunar module.

Donning our spacesuits, we fastened ourselves to our seats, ready to detach. In the meantime, Stephen slowed down our orbit, allowing for a soft landing on the moon. Everybody good and comfortable in there? Stephen asked from the pilot seat. Seat belts fasten, checklists in hand? Strapped in and ready. I confirmed. The doors closed, separating our module from the C-O-Lead.

SM. Contact with our pilot would from there on occur via our spacesuits built-in radios. Seconds. Stephen announced. Blank Disky. Disky blank. Clara confirmed. Average G. The lunar module was moved into position. Two lights were active, one for altitude, one for velocity. Their activation indicated that the landing radar had yet to lock onto the surface.

Confirm the olage, Clara said. Standing by for ollage. Stephen responded. After a brief pause, we were ready for the countdown. June seconds, Stephen said. Looking over to my crewmates, I checked my helmet, making sure it had been properly latched on. The rest of the team did the same, giving me a gentle nod to gesture that they were secured. A gentle shake reverberated through the craft as the surface operating base was released, unoccupied. S-O-B has left the CSM. Flera announced.

Eight, seven, six. The module shifted slightly as the harness detached, allowing the module to float or fall freely, depending on your point of view. But it still remained with the CSM, as the descent engine had not yet started its propulsion. I double-checked the controls, making sure everything remained in the green. At this stage in our mission, we couldn't afford a single mistake. The engines began worrying, starting a gentle propulsion that would soon eject us from the command and service module.

I took a deep breath, as excited as I was nervous. In less than 15 minutes, we'd set down on the surface. The engines picked up speed, and the lunar module started to move away, finally entering the darkness of space. Within only a few seconds, the CSM was out of sight, holding a sole astronaut that would pick us up in about two days' time. Ignition! Clara repeated.

Altitude looks good. Stephen called over the radio as we rapidly fell towards the ground. The gray hills and valleys became more prominent, with vast dunes of dust waiting to greet us. Still, there was no sight of the ALO. Wherever it was, we might have to travel great distances to reach it. Touchdown in about nine minutes. Clara announced, while we diligently went through each point on our checklist.

As we got closer, we could see the SOB's landing site, seemingly intact. Minute by minute, we neared the surface. The landscape outside grew even larger. What had seemed so small upon approach had now transformed into an entire unexplored world, Clara said. Approaching a thousand feet, H. Dot's a little hot. Clara relayed after a small adjustment. We held the rate of descent, making minor adjustments to make sure we arrived at the appropriate landing zone.

90 feet, I said, Clara said. Stand by for touchdown. Touchdown was remarkably soft. Yet, the moon's gravity hit us immediately. Though only measuring about one-sixth, that of Earth's, it felt odd having any force at all, exerting on our bodies after four days of weightlessness. Going through the final points of the checklist, we made sure everything had gone according to plan. I gave myself a second to just stare out through the window, onto the brilliantly bright surface,

akin to sun-bathed snow. Though I knew the surface could heat up to 250 degrees in the sun, it looked all too cold outside. But no matter the temperature on the moon, our suits could easily handle the challenge. Angelica trailed off, marvelling at the monotonous landscape before us. While not an inherently beautiful sight, its otherworldly origin alone was enough to render us almost speechless. Yuri stood silently by the window. He'd remained stoic until the landing, but was very clearly now in the brink of tears.

Fifty years had passed since the last Apollo mission to the moon, and at last humanity had returned, I asked, gesturing for the hatch on our craft. Go on, Commander, Clara said. This is your moment. With one final, deep breath, I opened the hatch and climbed down the short ladder. Dust shot up around my feet as I took my first step onto the moon's surface. It felt good to touch solid ground after four days in space, overwhelming even. Here before us, this marks the beginning of a new air.

for humanity, I let out, hoping it would come across as a more monumental statement than it did. But no matter the words I chose, our mission was clandestine, meaning that no one back on earth would ever learn of its existence. Angelica and Clara followed suit, with Yuri securing the craft before joining us. From this journey, Yuri said. This moment is for us alone. From there, we prepared the lunar roving vehicle, ready to head to our surface operating base, which had touched down only a kilometer away.

You've touched down safely. All systems green. Stephen called through the radio. Now alone aboard the CSM above us. For the SOB, I responded. ...avis on the ALO, he explained. Just follow the coordinates. The object might be too small to inspect from orbit. Copy that. As soon as we settle down, we'll be on our way.

We'd have another six hours of reliable radio contact with Stephen before he'd fall down beyond the horizon. After that, we would truly be on our own. Loading up the rover in haste, we took our seats. Uri would operate the vehicle, allowing the rest of us to get a good view of the moon's barren landscape. Though traversing the distance wouldn't take long, Each moment on the surface felt like a blissful eternity.

Our craft had been set down on the edge of the Von Karmin crater, as had our base. The crater measured 186 kilometers in diameter, and the lunar object was supposedly situated just outside the northern border, where it had been spotted by Chong of 4. The rover had a maximum speed of about 10 miles per hour, and we reached our base in just a few minutes. There it stood, already powered up with the breathable atmosphere inside. We entered, taking off our helmets for the first time since leaving the CMS.

Though anticipation had reduced our appetite, a proper meal was an order. A small celebration to collect ourselves and gather energy for our next longer journey. Stephen had marked the supposed location of the lunar object on our map, allowing us to plan our route. Since it was situated outside the crater, we needed to make sure the rover could make the trek uphill. Luckily, the slope didn't appear steep enough to pose a threat. Oh, thank God! Angelica let out as she rushed for the coffee machine, aptly named ISS Spresso.

Coffee in space, Yuri said. Is this the American dream you've told me so much about? We spent the next few hours getting settled in. feasting on waffles and granola bars before planning the next part of our excursion, which included our second bout of extra vehicular activity. All right, boys and girls, Stephen called over the radio. I'm about to cross the horizon. Best of luck on your excursion.

I'll be in touch in about 12 hours. I'll let command know you're all safe on the surface. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Thank you, Stephen. See you in a bit. I responded. safe journey. After going over our procedures and plan of attack for the nth time, I announced that it was time to step back outside. Entering the airlock, we secured each other's

suits and opened the hatch. Every moment outside felt freeing, as we were no longer confined by small chambers, only decorated with equipment, buttons, alerts, with only the occasional poster. Fifteen kilometers. I reminded my team as we boarded the rover, and started heading for the north edge of the crater. If everything went according to plan, we'd reached the anomaly in less than an hour. We sat mostly in silence for the first part of our journey. Each of us was preoccupied, just taking in the scenery, still in disbelief that we had actually made it to the moon. Think about how strange it is that we work, earn money, and then still have to wait to actually get paid. We're used to getting almost everything else instantly,

but somehow payday is still on a schedule. That's where Earning comes in. Earnin gives you access to money you've already earned with up to $150 per day and up to $1,000 between paychecks. So if you've already put in the work, it can give you more flexibility around when you access your money instead of always waiting for payday. It's a simple way to make payday timing feel less restrictive.

Download Earnon on the app store or Google Play, spelled like earning money but without the G. And when you sign up, Keep in scary horror stories under podcast. It really helps support the show. Earnon is a financial technology company, not a bank. Access limits are based on your earnings and risk factors. Standard cash outs take one to two business days with no mandatory fees. Expedited transfers available for a fee. Tips are voluntary and don't affect the service. Available in select states. Terms and restrictions apply. Visit urnin.com for full details.

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the place felt all too different from the pictures we'd do. scene of other astronauts wandering the surface, looking back at the Earth clearly in view as a blue marble in the dark sky. They had reliable contact with their home, whereas we were stranded, our only means of contact out of reach as he orbited the moon once more. There was nothing but a pitch-black universe to look down upon us. Clara tapped my shoulder and held up two fingers to indicate another radio channel for privacy. Counter to Protocol, I obeyed. obliged. Do you think the others felt this lonely?

She asked, as if reading my thoughts. What do you mean? I asked, though I knew exactly what she meant. I can just imagine the first astronauts looking back at her home, so small and insignificant, as if their problems no longer mattered. Do you think it gave them perspective to feel so unimportant, or do you think they felt alone?

I think they felt at peace. I explained. But you don't. No, I don't. Why not? She asked, but I didn't need to respond. She felt the same, and though we'd never mention the reason, we both knew the answer. You think I don't know what you're talking about just because you changed the radio channel? Yuri chimed in from the driver's seat, prompting us to switch back to an open channel.

You damn Americans love bring here is important. We will be heroes, whether humanity knows about it or not. They won't know about it, Angelica said. We signed non-disclosure agreements. Rumors will spread, and the company doesn't need to know where they started, Yuri argued. Driving at a constant speed of 10 miles per hour, we quickly reached the edge of the crater,

where a narrow ridge extended up as a makeshift path, just steep enough that the rover started kicking up dust on the incline. You sure I can make it? I ask. Am I sure? Yuri repeated. I'm a brag Matthews to doubt this thing until it gives us a reason to. It spun on the fine dust for a few moments, before finding its grip once more and slowly ascended up the hill.

Though not the tallest point on the moon, a vast landscape revealed itself beneath us, with our base barely within view, an insignificant speck on the surface. Once at the top, we parked the vehicle and turned around to get a good view of the criss. There, we could even see the lunar module several kilometers away. No one has seen this before us.

Angelica led out in stunned admiration. Why don't you take a picture? Yuri suggested. At first, it had come across as a sarcastic quip, but I realized he was serious. Yuri had brought a camera to document our journey for prosperity. Even if no one else would see the image, he would serve as a nice souvenir for the team.

team. The crew quickly agreed, and we sat the camera down on its tripod and activated a timer. We placed ourselves near the crater cliff, with a good chunk of the universe situated in the background. When zooming in, one could probably even see the base and the lunar module in the distance. The picture was snapped, and we took a minute just to cherish the moment. "'Poor Stephen,' Angelica said. "'He would have loved this. If he wanted to do it, if he wanted to be a minute, just to cherish the moment.' to be down here, he shouldn't have opted to be a pilot, Clara replied. We continued through the surprisingly uneven terrain for another kilometer.

As we passed another minor hill, something peaked up on the other side. A pale gray, large object, obviously not of lunar origin. Though its color alone could explain why it had been practically invisible from orbit, it was the aberrant lunar object. Are you guys seeing this? I asked. There it stood. A massive set of spherical structures scattered across the ground

in several circular patterns, extending inwards, leading to a massive dome in the center, with a telescope pointing outwards into space. Traversible hallways connected the various spheres and domes, creating an interconnected network, almost labyrinthic. Small windows were visible, hinting that the structure was indeed habitable, but what stood out was its clear human design.

It looked terrestrial in origin, not alien. How is this possible? Angelica asked. Uri mumbled. Did you know about this, commander? I shook my head. This can't possibly exist. And yet, there it is.

Yuri responded. Rendered almost speechless by the sight, we just marveled at the structure. There were no existing protocols on how to approach a human settlement on the moon. Nor could we call back to Earth and ask for directions on how to proceed. We were on our own and had to act accordingly. Commander? Lara asked, waiting for orders.

Angelica asked. This is an unprecedented situation. I'm not going to force anyone to investigate this structure. Those who oppose this mission are free to wait in the SOB. As much as I think this is a bad idea, there's no way in hell I'm letting this opportunity slip. Let's go. Driving as close to the structure as the terrain would allow, we inevitably had to leave the rover behind.

Before us were several half-s spheres attached to the ground. Only one held an entry point, an airlock marked with the number three, which alone was enough to confirm its terrestrial origin. We approached, keeping an eye out for any movement on the moon's surface or from within. But the structure appeared dark, with no visible. lights ignited on the inside. The airlock's operating mechanism seemed surprisingly archaic, with technology several decades old. It could easily be operated from the outside without any security measures. As long as the airlock was empty and the inner hatch remained closed, we could effortlessly

open it from the outside. Angelica commented, they were expecting guests, I replied. We entered into a small room barely large enough to hold the fore. of us, and we shut the hatch behind us. There was a simple control panel on the wall with instructions written above. The text was written in Cyrillic. This structure is Russian? Clara asked. Soviet, Yuri clarified, noting how old the technology appeared. Using the controls, we sealed the door behind us, allowing the airlock to pressurize. The inner hatch unlocked, and we were able to enter the first segment of the station. A dark atmosphere awaited us on the inside, with only the dimmest emergency lights lining the floor, leading further within.

The station appeared to be operating on limited power, meaning the life support systems might be malfunctioning. Suspecting that the atmosphere might not be breathable, we opted to keep our suits on until we met the station's crew. The first module of the station was a prep room, filled with spacesuits, equipment, and a separate room locked off from the rest, appearing to be a small medical bay or isolation chamber. Several posters hung around the room, all in Russian, holding instructions and operating procedures. Though our crew had been well-versed in the Russian language, we'd have to rely on Yuri for a fully fluent translation. Where is everyone? Angelica asked.

This place looks abandoned. Based on the technology, it appears this station was constructed in the 80s. Uri explained. It's possible. It was never inhabited at all for years? I asked. Then why is it still running? And where does it get its power from?

That is a question I would like answered this well. Yuri said. At the moment, I'm just speculating. We traversed the dark hallways, encountering no signs of life. The narrow hallways led to small dome-shaped modules. One had been created for habitation, holding bunk beds and a small common area. Well, someone definitely used to live here, Angelica said as she pointed out personal items, scattered across the room.

There were faded pictures, old books, and clothes folded neatly on their beds. No staff have evacuated. I suggested. Continuing ahead, we eventually stumbled across a chamber far larger than the rest. A security station subdivided into several workbenches, each with block computers from a bygone era. After clearing the room, I attempted to boot one up, but with the station running on emergency power, it wouldn't start. We checked through some of the papers, quickly realizing that each workstation held identical folders with valuable information regarding operating procedures and protocols. It was titled Bellow Bog 2, the station's name. A simple map was included

within. On it, three generator rooms were marked. If we could navigate there and figure out how to operate them, we might even get the station back up and running. Taking charge, I led the team through the next set of hallways, each wider than the last as we neared Bellabog's center. To get to the nearest generator, we'd have to traverse a dome marked as a biolab, situated within one of the largest subdivisions. But as we arrived at its doorstep, we were met with a locked hatch. Looks like we'll have to walk around, Clara said. I glanced at the map, searching for an alternative route. There are some options, but there's no guarantee we won't hit another dead end. Yuri said as he investigated the hatch, might just be... Upon inspection,

It became clear that the door hadn't sealed automatically. Someone had locked it, with the only way to unlock it, requiring an override from the security station. But with insufficient power to run the computers, we were trapped. Any ideas? I asked. These doors are running on emergency power, electricity. They'll most likely remain shut. Angelica explained. We need to gain access through the computers.

She skimmed through the manual again. Yuri, you're good at these things. Do you think you could redirect power into one of the computers? Maybe I could dig some cables out of the wall and power up one computer. Yuri responded. That is, if I don't cut the wrong cable and destroy the life-supported system. It's not like we need the atmosphere, Clara said. We won't.

But if we are wrong, and this place isn't abandoned, I began, not needing to finish my sentence to make sure the team got the message. assist me please Here he said Think about how strange it is that we work Earn money and then still have to wait To actually get paid We're used to getting almost everything else instantly

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instead of always waiting for payday. It's a simple way to make payday timing feel less restrictive. Download Earnin on the app store or Google Play, spelled like earning money, but without the G. And when you sign up, type in Scary Horror Stories under podcast. It really helps support the show. Earnin is a financial technology company, not a bank. Access limits are based on your earnings and risk factors.

Standard cash outs take one to two business days with no mandatory fees. Expedited transfers available for a fee. Tips are voluntary and don't affect the service. Available in select states. Terms and restrictions apply. Visit urnand.com for full details. If you're into horror with a heavy dose of sci-fi, classified experiments,

and things humanity was never meant to understand, check out my other podcast, the SCP experience. Each episode pulls you into the hidden world of the SCP Foundation, where dangerous anomalies are studied, contained, and sometimes unleashed. These aren't just scary stories. They're classified nightmares. Click here to listen to, now or search for the SCP experience wherever you get your podcasts.

While our engineers got to work on redirecting the power, the rest of us chatted about the station's origin and purpose. The fact that the Soviet Union had created it while leaving the rest of the world in the dark, without a single leak, was a magnificent feat on its own. Thousands of people and an incalculable number of resources must have been spent on the project. And here it lay, abandoned. As to its purpose, with the massive telescope sitting on the station's center, we figured they had to be looking for something. We just didn't know what. It's done.

Try the computer, Yuri announced. Upon flipping the power switch, the computer word to life. A basic operating system holding only text displayed on the screen. It was simple, but it would suffice. We navigated to the emergency systems, which required another pass code that had been conveniently written into each of the manuals. After gaining access, Uri was able to make quick work of the locked door and offered to stay behind and keep our path clear with the computer. Angelica was opposed to this suggestion, stating that Uri had far more experience than any of us working on generators. If we were to stand any chance at reactivating Bella Bogg 2, we'd need him.

You can handle the operating system? Yuri asked. I can handle it. Angelica insisted. It's in Russian. Every astronaut can speak and read it. While keeping contact with Angelica via radio, we proceeded back to the now-opened door and entered a biolab.

It was an elongated room subdivided into several isolated sections. Scattered around were overgrown, dried out petri dishes, microscopes, and several chambers locked. behind heavy glass doors. Check this out, Clara said, pointing at the chamber furthest away from the entrance. Within Leah's space suit huddled up in a corner. Is that a cosmonaut or just a spacesuit? I asked. Based on the posture, it almost appeared occupied.

But with the visor down, we couldn't see inside. Clara instinctively tried to open the door to the chamber, but the door wouldn't budge. It, too, had been sealed on purpose. What are you doing? I asked. Don't you think we ought to check if someone's in there? Clara replied. Even if the suit's occupied, it'd be long gone. Still, we should make sure.

Clara insisted. First, we find the generator. Then we figure out what happened here. We've already taken too many risks setting foot inside this station. Clara didn't seem convinced and kept glancing back at the occupied chamber. To end the conversation and to try to find a conversation, and to try to find a lot of the station. to compromise, I put a hand on her shoulder and promised her we'd come back to check it out once we had enough information. Years had passed, another hour wouldn't change anything.

From there, we followed the map to the generator room, taking us through twists and turns of many hallways and larger modules. There was a surprising amount of sleeping quarters. Based solely on what we came across, we estimated that the station must have housed up to 200 crewmen at some point. We had reached the generator room within half an hour. Based on the generator, it became immediately apparent that apart from the solar power generated by the panels on Bella Boggs' roof, the majority of the energy produced by the station came from a geothermal source. Though it had been thought that the moon's core was cold and solid, it had been long theorized that sections of the moon still held molten iron, which produced enough heat to harness his energy.

Yuri said as he pointed out the marvel of a generator that stood before us. It was inactive and displayed external damage that had clearly been intentional. Someone had sabotaged it. But according to the map, there were three such generators spread out across the station, each of which would be powerful enough to power the entire station on its own. If all three had been rendered inactive, it had to have been on purpose. Clara asked. Of course, Yuri said.

His eyes locked on the machine as he circled the room in search of tools. He quickly got to work, and within the hour, he had completed the repairs. The generator returned to life, immediately unleashing an immense amount of heat that penetrated our suits, causing us to bathe in our own sweat. Lights turned on, and moments later, Angelica called us over the radio to let us know that power had returned at the security station. We now had full control over the majority of the security station. over the majority of Bellabog 2.

She announced, Great, stay put. We'll be right with you. I replied. As we headed back through the bio lab, Clara again went for the chamber with the spacesuit. But before she could try to open it, I again ordered her to leave it

until we had more information. Though she hesitated, she eventually decided to follow my command, and we joined Angelica back at security. We'd been gone for less than two hours, but Angelica had been diligent with her time. She'd already gathered a list of inhabitants, 224 crewmen, alongside logs describing mission statements, scientific studies,

weapons development, even including a whole subsection on extraterrestrial life, the latter which caught our attention. While reading through, it became clear that Bellabog's main purpose was to search for existing life in the vastness of space, And based on the many logs dedicated to this very subject, they had found something. Going chronologically, we sifted through a countless number of documents, describing objects in our local group of galaxies, focusing on objects heading in our general direction.

There was seven years of fruitless research, before one significant log dated back to the 7th of August, 1988, describing an unexpected incident on the moon's surface, This particular entry was surprisingly short and vague about what exactly had taken place, only describing an impact of unknown origin on the surface and stating that one crew member had been injured during the investigation. At the entry's end, a list of video logs had been included. We accessed the first log, which returned a poor-quality footage of the biolab

with a date listed in the bottom right corner, August 7, 1988. The camera was pointed at one of the glass chambers, the same one that was currently occupied by the spacesuit. A man dressed in a work uniform stood inside. He favored his left leg, with the right visibly wounded. Behind him lay the spacesuit he'd worn, the very same that currently occupied the chamber. Next, an older man stepped into frame and introduced himself as Dr. Anton Pirogov. The subject has been isolated for it. following an impact incident, he explained to the camera.

There is a risk of infection following an open injury to his right calf. The subject will remain in quarantine for no less than 56 hours. Samples have been securely obtained and will be processed and analyzed within the next 12 hours. The footage cuts, and Dr. Pirogov now stands by the glass door, communicating with the subject through a microphone on the wall. State your name and position, Pyrogov commanded. Alexei Leonov, flight engineer. Can you describe the events that preceded your quarantine?

There was an impact during a session of extra vehicular activity. What impacted? Pyrogov went on. A meteor. Alexei explained. Were you injured by the impact? No. No, a fragment split off.

Are you experiencing any discomfort, excluding the injury to your leg? No. Nause. Dizziness. Sweets. No, nothing. This subject has been given prophylactic treatment with broad-spectrum antibiotics. No significant symptoms to mention.

The footage ended abruptly without a conclusion to the interview, presumably due to corrupt data. Without knowledge on how to recover the lost footage, we simply moved on to the next log. August 8, 1988. The footage now showed analysis of the retrieved sample. An organic compound had been discovered. One containing RNA-esque sequences,

similar in structure, but using non-nitrogenous bases. Alongside the sequences, bizarre enzymes with unclear functions were found. Despite the limited data available, it was clear that whatever had injured the cosmonaut might have left behind a possible infectious agent. Next, the footage showed a laboratory assistant taking a part of the sample and injecting it into a fruit fly, a cockroach, and a mouse. They were all kept isolated within separate, sealed glass cages. The footage skipped ahead five hours.

Dr. Birogov appeared in frame. in frame, holding up what appeared to be the remains of the fruit fly, which had lost its exoskeleton, but remained alive. It now resembled a fleshy blob with wings attached to its body. The subject was infected with the pathogen five hours and seven minutes ago. The pathogen appears to have indiscriminately integrated itself into the host genome. A sample showed an almost complete replacement of the subject's DNA. subject's DNA. The subject remains alert and alive despite its biological adaptation. Next, the mouse came into view. Its changes were less obvious, with patches of red hairless skin

having appeared around the injection site. The door appears to be size-dependent, Pirogov noted. Subject suffers from increased temperature and loss of sensation around the wound site. We will now attempt the bridement of the infected tissue. A close-up of the mouse was shown. Parts of the skin had entirely shredded away, revealing fat and muscle tissue underneath. The video log ended there.

Jesus Christ! What the hell did they find out there? Angelica asked. But it was a question none of us were qualified to answer. And we still didn't know the ultimate outcome of the infected individuals. We started up the third video log, dated the 11th of August. Alexei sat on the floor, his leg, having massively deteriorated since we last saw him. Muscle and bone had become exposed, with the vessels appearing to have been eaten away,

replaced by a brown, organic meshwork, similar to what we saw on the mouse. He was still able to put some weight on it as he tried to stand up, but his movements were close. as if he no longer had the ability to control it. Dr. Pirogov stepped up to the glass and inspected the man without speaking a word, just jotting down scribbles in a notebook. Pirogov replied. A blue screen replaced the footage, showing a few lines of text. This subject, therapeutic agents, in an attempt to halt a pathogen,

which displays a cancer-like seeding of its cells. Amputation of the infected extremity. has been attempted in infected rodents. It did not slow the progression of the disease. The picture again returned to Alexei and Pirogov. Alexei's breathing had now become labored, and Pirogov notes that the infection might have reached his lungs. How?

Alexei asked out of breath. They haven't shown any signs of infection. They are isolated in the medical bay. Good. I will die alone. I suppose. Pirogov didn't respond. Just give me something for the pain.

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or search for the SCP experience wherever you get your podcasts. Again, the footage ended, and the next few logs were all too corrupted to even open. We clicked through them, hoping to learn about Alexei's fate. But the next uncorrupted log had been dated 20 days

following the impact incident. August 27. 7, 1988. A bleak image was displayed before us, as the camera was directed at Alexei's deteriorated body. His abdomen and chest cavity had been hollowed out, replaced by the same mesh that had first appeared on his leg. There were no muscles, tendons, vessels, nerves, nor organs, just bones wrapped in a homogeneous meshwork. In addition, the entire surface of his body had been Even his eyes had been eaten away by the parasitic infection, leaving gaping sockets on his no longer recognizable face.

But his body had not yet succumbed to the injuries. Though he sat almost lifelessly still, there were minor twitches, a mere remnant of the life his body had once held. Dr. Pirogov approached his chamber. He looked, exhausted, and had clearly lost weight. He knocked on the glass. But Alexei couldn't or wouldn't respond. Alexei, can you hear me?

Pirogov asked. No response. Do you remember who you are? Nothing. He repeated the question, which finally triggered a response. Alexei, or whatever remained of him, slowly turned its head, and appeared to be studying Pirogov with his eyeless sockets. Do you understand me?

He went on. Alexei's jaw started moving, producing a low-pitched hum that mimicked barely recognizable words. Was all he got out before the footage cut out once more. When the picture returned, hours had passed, and the chamber which had held Alexei appeared empty, except for the space suit still lying unmoved on the floor. A laboratory assistant walked by, and upon noticing the empty chamber, He immediately hit the alarm, marking the end of the log. Only one log remained, taking place 103 days following the impact event.

We were met with a dark, quiet atmosphere, with only the emergency lights still providing dim illumination, similar to what we'd experienced upon first entering Bellabog II. Dr. Pirogov walked into frame. He was frazzled, a mere husk of his former self. He sat himself down in front of the camera and just stared ahead with a mixture of terror and defeat present in his eyes. I thought to vivor save the infection. He began.

The pathogen is intelligent. It knew to wait to lay dormant until we thought we'd stopped it. We tried to save ourselves. Now they're all dead. In eerie, low-pitched hum could be heard in the background. I've confined the husks within this half of Belabog too. The doors have been sealed, and I have destroyed the generators. I will attempt to detonate them using the shuttle's propulsion engines.

I pray that the explosion is vast enough to kill everything still roaming this place. I am recording this message for prosperity. Once this satellite completes its orbit once more. The message will be sent back home. This is my warning. Do not return to the moon. We were not meant to be here. Goodbye.

With those parting words, the last log had ended. Birogov had set out to break the generator and blow them up. But for whatever reason, he'd only been able to go through with half of his plan. Yuri led out in a mere whisper. Out of this place, Angelica replied. Though the footage was closing up on four decades in age, what little we had seen was enough to put the fear of God in us. An alien pathogen had wiped out over 200 people in just a few months, leading Dr. Pirogov to attempt a complete destruction of the station. A quest he had inevitably failed for unknown reasons.

We're leaving, I announced. Seal off the biolab again. Lock it down. If this pathogen is still active, we're going to want to keep it in some. inside the station. We're going to need the notes in the lab. Clara demanded. We're not going anywhere near that lab. I shot back.

No, we need to understand this thing to fight it. There's bound to be a stored sample somewhere. Are you insane? Uri joined in. We can't bring this infection back to Earth. Uri's right. We're not doing it. I'm not saying we should bring it back to Earth,

but we should investigate it closer back at the SOB. I just need a single sample to a single sample to a experiment on. Clara argued. No, this is not a discussion. We need to close the door on site. Yuri interrupted. We might as well collect the notes, but I cannot condone taking a live sample with us. All right, I'll go with you. Clara, stay here with Angelica and download as much data as you can. Coming with you, Clara insisted. Clara's disobedience during such a critical moment was starting to get to me. But before I could shut her down, Angelica took charge of the situation and made the choice for us. Stop wasting place down, computers on my own.

Leaving Angelica in the supposed safest section of Belabog 2, the rest of us headed for the biolabs to shut everything down. More than 30 years had passed since the infestation began, and we had yet to see any signs of life, human or otherwise. I had to question whether it was even possible for an infestation. to survive that long, without sustenance, an idea that seemed to have lulled Clara into a false sense of security. I was determined to keep the mission brief, lock down the lab, and get the team out of the station in time for Stephen aboard the CSM to complete his orbit and pick us up.

All right, be quick, I told Clara, as she rushed in to retrieve any piece of information she could get her hands on, while Yuri and I prepared to seal the door. But after only taking a few steps, inside, Clara frozen place. Her eyes fixated on the glass chamber we'd seen Alexei perish within. She led out meekly. A space suit is gone. It hit me then that Pirogov had been correct. This wasn't some mindless pathogen we were dealing with. It was something else. Something intelligent. It had never vanished from the chamber in the footage. It had just relocated inside the suit, hidden, biting its time until it could strike. Waiting for someone.

to be foolish enough to let it outside. We'd been the fools that unlocked the chambers. It's time to leave. I ordered as I called Angelica over the radio. To have to suffice, I paused for a moment, giving Angelica time to respond. But a reply never came. Nothing. Before we could process what was happening, the tension was cut by a large thud emerging from within the walls. Who's dead? Here he began, before getting interrupted by another thump. This time from the ceiling vent. I let out as more and more thumps were heard around us.

Run! Rushing back to the security station, I kept trying to get in contact with the radio silent Angelica. Once we reached her last known location, she was nowhere to be seen. A sliver of hope still remained that she had headed for the exit, but was suffering from a malfunctioning radio. The impulse to go searching for her remained, but we had to trust that she'd followed protocol and headed for the exit. With no time to lose, we ran for the airlock,

constantly pursued by the ever-increasing number of loud thumps coming from within the ventilation system. However, no matter how close they got, they never attempted to breach the metal hull, as if they had the forethought to wait for an opportune moment to strike. It only took about 10 minutes traversing the hallways before we reached the airlock that we entered Belabog 2 through. But as the inner hatch came into view, all hope of escape was swiftly extinguished.

There we found Angelica, on the brink of being unrecognizable, if not for the spacesuit, torn apart and dispersed throughout her mangled remains. Her flesh had been converted to the same mesh-like structure we'd seen on the tape. But rather than maintaining her humanoid shape like the husks had, she'd been spread out. Her body now covered the entirety of the airlock, making it a moment. impossible to traverse. Few human traits remained, a few patches of skin, some bone fragments, and the outline of a head with eyes darting around the room in a panic. Even her mouth had been left in place, and though she was trying to scream, she was rendered unable to produce audible

sound as her lungs had already been consumed. I let out in shock. Clara chimed in, but it was a truth we couldn't deny. The poor husk before us had one of the been our friend. How do we get out now? Yuri asked. Though callous, it was a valid question. The thumps increased in intensity as more and more creatures gathered within the vents, and at last they started hammering on the hatches, trying to get through to us.

We need to find another way. I said as I looked down at the map, looking for an alternative escape route. What about Angelica? Clara asked. Uri argued. Clary yelled back. back. The first hatch broke halfway off its hinges, forming a crack through which the creatures reached out their stringy, pale flesh. Unlike Angelica, these things had maintained their humanoid form,

based on the one biological conversion we'd seen. It had taken them almost a month to convert. Why it happened to Angelica in mere minutes was a question that remained to be answered. Oh, you're a yelled. Kyle! Clara pleaded. I'm sorry, but she's gone. By then, the entire hatch had broken off, prompting the first of the husks to drop down before us. Vaguely resembling a twisted version of a human being, except with porous, skinless flesh.

They moved with jerked movements towards us, akin to newborn toddlers taking their first upright steps. As they did, they let out a low-pitched humming place of a voice. Commander! You're a yell. Having memorized most of the pathways within Bellabog, too, I had come up with a possible escape route. As much as it pained me to leave someone behind, I had no choice but to order the remainder of my team to follow me as I led the way. The husks remained behind, gathering in numbers, learning to use their bodies again for the first time in decades. They appeared to quickly get a grasp of it, but it had bought us just enough time for a swift escape deeper into the station.

There we're going, Yuri asked, I explained. Yuri stated, we're not exactly running on a lot of options. It's our only chance. Closing the doors and hatches behind us as we ran, we forced the creatures to return to the ventilation shafts, slowing their progress as we fled. It only bought us a few seconds at the time, and the longer we attempted to flee,

the more the creatures started to feel comfortable within their stolen bodies. What had started out as slow thuds inside the walls had quickly turned to a gallop, even through the narrow spaces they were forced to traverse. We passed through the biolab and ran past the first generator room. Next, we entered a small shuttle bay with two ships still docked. They seemed intact, but the hatch above had been damaged beyond repair in an act of sabotage, just like Dr. Birogov had sworn. He had made sure none of the husks left the station, sealing the fate of his entire crew in the process.

containers of kerosene littered the floor, seemingly what Pyrogov and his men had planned to use to detonate the station. But the containers remained untouched. One of the shuttles was open, occupied by filaments of flesh, spread out across the surface, a similar fate that Angelica had met. Occupying the hive-like structure were five husks in a dormant state, mindless of our presence, mere remnants of the cosmonauts that had once thrived within Belabon. too." Uri asked in a whisper.

It was a question that didn't require an answer. We just kept running, careful not to awaken more of the monstrosities. In the distance, we could hear the rest of them approaching via the ducts. We were running out of time. Through twists, turns, and locked sections, we eventually reached the second airlock. What had been a hopeful escape turned more dire. There had been significant, purposeful damage to the inner door. damage to the inner door. We had no hope of getting through.

Damn it! I let out. We have to keep moving. There is another error. Yuri said as we started running. Maybe we shouldn't. Clara asked. Yuri nodded. We don't know how this thing spreads. We might all be infected already, take Angelica. How do we know she didn't end up like the cosmonaut in the chamber? Maybe she was infected before we even entered the station.

You really think we're infected? I asked. I replied. Mooned or a scratch out of our suits since we entered this place. Clara argued. Maybe it's on the moon surface. The risk. Uri asked, Blunt, pausing for a moment, we could hear the monsters getting closer.

We had to make a decision. Death or escape. We only had seconds to choose. Yuri said, We can destroy this station. Survive. And command back home decides to send in another team to investigate. We die for nothing.

Clara went on. Fury sighed, contemplating the options before turning to me. It's your call, Commander, he said. Attacked Stephen. Another couple of hours? I asked. Two hours and 14 minutes, Clara said. That's it then.

We're not wasting our lives on a hunch. We're going to survive until we can contact him and warn him about what we've seen down here. We're going to escape this god-forsaken place and hold up in the SOB. Only then will we decide what becomes of us. If we are to die on the damn sure it's worth our lives. Yes, sir. Yuri agreed. We continued through the station,

sealing every door we came across in a futile attempt at slowing the husks down. As we progressed, we noticed the thuds getting quieter and quieter, and for a moment we felt like we were successfully outrunning them. That's when we came across another module, a large dome that had been set up as a living quarters. Within were bunk beds, furniture, even a billiard table, all of which had been covered in biological matter. It looked like several converted crewmen fused together into a giant hive, split open, and were used as decor for the place.

The walls, ceiling, floor, it was all covered in the flesh of the dead. Clara asked, I replied as the thumps got closer once more. Come on. Taking a first step onto the flesh, I half expected it to wrap around my feet and swallow me whole. But the only response to my body was a mild twitch that propagated through the hive. As eerie as it felt, the action itself didn't appear to be directly hostile. "'Don't you stand there,' I said, walking further into the room. Dispersed in the flesh were old clothes and personal effects, ancient memories of the people that had once thrived here. They had known that building a settlement on the moon might cost them their lives, but I doubt any of them had been expecting their dead bodies to be used as spare parts for an extraterrestrial

infection. Please, Scott, Dury mumbled to himself. The hive twitched more violently as all three of us stood on its mass. And what I had previously thought to be indiscriminate reactions to our presence turned out to serve a horrific purpose. The impulses propagated to specific structures protruding out from the ground. Within them, human larynxes. vocal cords and tracheas had been integrated, with air-filled pouches attached to the end.

Once the signals reached them, they led out distraught, human-like whales, loud enough to shatter glass and rupture our eardrums. I instinctively put my hands to my ears, forgetting that the spacesuit's helmet stood in the way. But the screech was not a form of an attack, but rather a biological alarm system meant to awaken any hibernating husks. They called back with a low-pitched hum, followed by a rapid stampede coming in our direction from all sides. I yelled as we sprinted through the living quarters

into another set of narrow hallways. Turning another corner, we dove into a massive dome, containing what appeared to be an experimental vehicle and weapons facility. Most was just inert garbage that hadn't even been fully constructed. Is there anything here we can use? Clara asked. Look for any... Yuri said, but the station appeared to lack standard projectile weapons,

holding only experimental, bizarre-looking equipment that we could risk operating. They had to make this complicated, Yuri said, annoyed. Onoxidizing agent, only one unlocked closet-held weapons we could comprehend. It was a bunch of staffs that resembled prodding sticks, simple enough to operate, even with zero training. Without time to look through all the weapons, and wanting something we could at least swing at the assailants, We each picked up one.

We tested the button, which emitted a powerful electric spark produced from its distal end. But I still vote for running, I said. We headed for the far side exit on the other end of the dome, with the next and final possible airlock, only a short distance ahead. But no sooner had we set foot within the next set of hallways, than we were met with half a dozen husks coming from the opposite direction, effectively cutting us off.

Even with weapons in hand, it was a fight we couldn't win. So we retreated back into the facility, knowing there was only one alternative path, one taking us to a secondary shuttle bay. This way! I ordered as I let Clara take the lead. Yuri trailed just behind us, trying to get a better grasp of how his weapon worked.

Moving, Yuri! I followed Clara into the hallway and waited for Yuri to join us. But as soon as he set foot inside, The hatch from the overhanging ventilation shaft came plummeting down, alongside a husk that landed directly on top of Yuri, sending him crashing down. The rest of the horde quickly joined in. But rather than splitting their strength and going for Clara and me, they decided to focus their attention on the already incapacitated Yuri,

who was screaming in agony as they tore into his spacesuit and then his flesh. Having no chance to escape, we used our prods at the monsters, hitting them to no avail. We then attempted to shock them. I hit the button and pressed the prod against the closest creature. The force of the shock alone was enough to send not only it, but also myself flying across the room. It held enough of a punch to light the husk on fire, its skin turning to ash as it led out a horrific whale.

I quickly got back on my feet and grabbed the prod, striking a second one. Clara did the same. Our unexpected attack was enough to redirect their attention to us, letting Yuri crawl to safety. Igniting two more of them, we were able to push them out of the hallway and seal the door between us.

The smoke produced by the burning husks had activated the fire suppression system in the weapon testing facility, which began sucking all the oxygen, sealing each connecting door in the process. Our hallway had been spared just enough to leave an intact, albeit weak atmosphere with some oxygen.

I just stood there, staring through the glass door in anticipation, waiting for the creatures to asphyxiate. But even as all the oxygen was removed, they kept moving, trying to break through to us. Clara asked, we quickly tended to our injured companion, who sat, leaned up against the wall.

I inspected the wounds on his abdomen as he whimpered. I demanded as I tried to help Yuri to his feet, but the injuries were too grave. He said, Don't. I began before Yuri interrupted me. I argued as I removed his broken house. Though we were in a pressurized section of the station, the atmosphere was too thin to sustain life.

Even if the wound didn't kill Yuri, it'd slowly suffocate. It's not like I want to die here in this hellscape, but I know what the alternative is. Don't let me turn into one of those things. Though he didn't say it out loud, I knew what Yuri was hinting at. Clara let out in a meek whisper. It has to be you, Commander. Just make it quick. I'm sorry, was all I could think to say.

Don't waste your words on me. I'm not going to be around to remember them. Now, do your duty. I nodded. Before reaching out my hands and wrapping them around Yuri's exposed neck, though it had been his wish to go out on his own terms, his body automatically resisted. He tried to break himself free.

But with his body already weakened by the attack, he was no match against me. I squeezed, listening in horror, as Yuri let out struggled breaths. Little by little, his body grew weak, and the breaths faded until his eyes just turned blank. My hands finally loosened their grip on Yuri, and I fell to the floor in shock, unable to believe what I'd just done. All the while, the husks on the other side kept glaring at us. They had stopped their attempt to get through, but their actions weren't the result of defeat, but rather the certainty that they would emerge as victors.

They knew something we didn't. They were waiting for something. Their secret would quickly reveal itself as Yuri's body started twitching and moving. From the edges of the wound, the flesh quickly converted to the biological mesh, consuming his skin, muscles, and organs in an instant. I had thought the death would take the infection with it, But on the contrary, it only sped the conversion up. The site alone was enough to break me free from my shock.

I shot to my feet, and Clara grabbed my hand, forcing me to keep running. Very shuttle bay isn't far away. I had lost the map in the struggle, but had long since memorized the passages. Clara asked, We're not going to fly it, I replied. We reached the shuttle bay, again holding a fully functional vessel blocked by a broken hatch. What now? Clara asked.

We're going to activate the engines and try to blow a hole in the hull. I explained. And if the entire shuttle explained... Clara nodded in agreement. But with somber acceptance, clearly visible in her eyes that our chances of survival were slim. I climbed up the ladder to enter the cockpit, only to find it entirely occupied by another hive. To our luck, there weren't any dormant husks within. But with the hive taking up most of the space, I couldn't fit inside.

I was simply too large. I let out, with a significantly smaller frame and therefore a smaller suit. Clara might just be able to squeeze herself inside the hive and activate the shuttle. She climbed up and pushed her way inside, grunting, struggling. Unlike the hive in the living quarters, this one wasn't developed enough to have a screaming apparatus.

Not that it would have made a difference, seeing as the creatures already knew where we were and were actively trying to get through. She called back as she fiddled with the partially consumed control panel. The engines booted up, preparing for combustion. But it had a minute-long countdown timer to allow for the crew to clear the area. From above, I could hear her struggling to wriggle herself free from the cockpit. With the countdown progressing, I only had seconds to climb up and get her out.

The flesh had contracted around most of her lower body, leaving only one arm free. I reached in and grabbed her, pulling with all my arms. might as we got closer and closer to the combustion of the engines. Just leave me, she begged, but I kept pulling, finally feeling her getting loose. Slipping out from the hive's grip, we both fell from the ladder onto the ground. I groaned as I tried to breathe. I was certain I fractured a couple of ribs, but I got to my feet and pulled Clara up with me. From there, we limped over to the nearest supply closet and barricaded it with whatever supplies and furniture we could get our hands on. It wasn't much.

we could only prey which shield us from the blast. The propulsion systems activated, but with a sabotaged hatch, it couldn't take off. Instead, the entire energy of the engines was ejected into the narrow bay with no way out. Flames spouted across the platform, tearing it apart, filling the room with smoke as the emergency alarm screeched for everyone to evacuate. I embraced Clara in a hug as we felt the room shake around us, followed by a loud explosion as the shuttle tore itself to pieces, taking the exterior hull with it.

The walls around us began to fall apart, and I could feel my feet lifting off the ground as the atmosphere was pulled out into the vacuum of space. We both screamed, unable to hold on, and as I was finally ejected out, the world around me just went dark. I couldn't have been out for more than a few seconds, and when I came back too,

I found Clara standing above me, desperately trying to wake me up. She was injured, with a laceration in her suit, leaking oxygen. We were back outside on the moon's surface, surrounded by debris in the unmoving bodies of the husks, littering the ground. The damage to Bellabog II itself was significant, but more than a quarter of the station was still intact.

You're wounded, I pointed out. The suit has already begun to seal the breach. There was a self-repairing gel layer on the inside of the suit, which could prevent the air from being sucked out in case of damage to the exterior. While it wasn't a perfect mechanism, it would prevent asphyxating due to minor damage. I glanced over at the nearest husk, which had already begun twitching and observing its surroundings with its eyeless face. None of them had perished in the explosion. They were just momentarily stunned.

Unlike us, they were not in need of an atmosphere to function. It would take a moment for them to gain their bearings and get back on our tails. Where's the rover? I asked. This way, Clara said as she started walking, only to collapse under her own weight, too weakened by her injury. I put her arm over my shoulder, and together we limped away from the quickly awakening husks. We slowly climbed the hill to the plateau, where the rover had been parked. We counted the minutes until we could contact Stephen back on the CSM. Clara demanded.

Don't hurt yourself even more. Though hesitant, she let me take the driver's seat, allowing her to keep an ear open for Stephen's return. I'll take us to the SOB first. There are medical supplies there. We'll patch you back up. Clara groaned. Once we'd reached the edge of the Von Karmin Crater,

the radio finally returned to life. Stephen's static-filled voice slowly cut through the interference. Worry, clearly present in his voice. Stephen asked. I saw an extraction. We're not alone. He pushed on. I'll explain everything once we get to the SOB.

Clara's injured. The others. I trailed off. Angelica and you're to save them. I'll prepare for an extraction. Del ASAP. You have 90 minutes to take off. Or you'll have to wait for me to complete another orbit.

Can you make it? I looked back to Clara, who was looking worse. Her face was growing paler with each passing minute, indicating ongoing blood loss. We had to get her to the SOB, but there wasn't time for a pit stop, a fact she was well aware of. Just get us out of here, she said.

On the horizon, a large group of husks had gathered. Though they weren't quick enough to keep up with the rover, they could see or sense where we were heading. Pausing even for a few minutes would mean certain death. Entering the crater, we drove for the lunar module, now on a deadline of less than an hour. By the time we reached the crater's floor, Clara was drifting in and out of consciousness. Even if we made it back to Stephen on board the CSM, the aspect of her survival was questionable at best.

I asked as I glanced back at my now unconscious friend. My words were just barely enough to wake her into a fragile state of consciousness. She whispered weakly, But it was a futile task. She passed back out, leaving me alone with my empty surface. surroundings as I drove full speed towards the lunar module. The minutes counted down, but if my calculations were correct, we'd reach the module with half an hour to spare, just enough time to take off while skipping the checklists. And before I knew it, the module appeared on the horizon.

We were almost there. Clara whispered, we're so close. You don't have a choice. What are you? I began as I turned to face her. No sooner had I laid my eyes upon, her, then I realized why she'd given up. From the wound on her side emerged small, unmistakable stumps of infected tissue. But so too. She began. But it must have happened as I crawled. It constricted around. We can fix it. I suggested out of desperation. We can turn around and head for the SOB and let Stephen Orbit the moon another time. We can still save you. No, but inside me, it's in my head, messing with my memory. memories. You need to leave me. She was right. No one had survived the infection. And even if it

remained dormant for long enough to bring her aboard the CSM, taking her back to Earth would be too risky. I just need you to promise me one thing. She went on. Anything. Promise me. She began, interrupted mid-sentence as she started to cough up a large amount of blood, covering the insolm, side of her visor. She couldn't even think to react before her chest was torn open. Large amounts of tainted flesh poured out onto the vehicle, wrapping itself around the wheels and causing it to flip. I tried to hold on, but it launched me into the air. As I collided head first with the ground before me, I was immediately knocked out cold. A faint voice called through the darkness. I slowly opened my eyes, seeing nothing but vast darkness above me. An alarm was beeping incessibility.

within my own suit. My visor had cracked, slowly letting oxygen seep out. Stephen kept calling my name over the radio, ordering me to get on the lunar module and take off. I responded, there it stood, only a few steps ahead. Behind me lay the rover flipped on its side, covered and what had once been Clara, now reduced to a hive. I tried to get on shaky feet, realizing I had little to no sensation on my right side. At first, I thought I'd just broken my leg, but then I noticed the infected wound. I let out a defeated sigh. My willingness to keep biting had died alongside Clara. After all that had happened, I would gladly remain on the moon if it meant humanity could live on. All I needed was for Stephen to know the truth,

and to bring back people to bomb the surface from orbit. I called him, ready to break the news that he'd be traveling back home alone. Stephen, I wasn't sure what to say, but I figured the specifics of the words didn't matter. He just needed to get a gist of our predicament. I prepared to speak, but no matter how hard I tried to form any sort of coherent warning, I couldn't physically bring myself to utter the words.

Any attempt was simply met with a splitting headache, leaving me dazed. Commander, Stephen asked. Then I finally spoke. I ordered against my own wishes. Stephen asked. She's unconscious, but she'll be fine. I lied.

Get her home safe, Commander. With that involuntary lie, I entered the lunar module and prepared for takeoff. I struggled against it, looking for any way to sabotage the craft, but my body was no longer mine to command. Any action I took against the will of the infection was met with an immediate shutdown. I entered the commands, and the lunar module lifted off from the command. the ground. Whatever monstrosity had been let into my body was now fully in control. I could only watch on in horror as it steered us towards the CSM, which we would reach in a matter of hours.

So I sat myself down, unable to protest. I could only pray that something malfunctioned on the way, taking me out before we reached our ride home. Chances were slim, and as soon as we were received by the CSM, Stephen would be the infection's next victim. I hope they put us into quarantine back home, but this infection is intelligent. It knows how to lay dormant, striking only at the perfect moment. I might appear healthy, convincing the crew on the ground that I'm myself. I can only pray that they notice that Commander Kyle Hastings died on the moon, and that whatever husk makes it back to Earth isn't even human. Your mornings deserve better than boring coffee. No Sleep Coffee is roasted for horror fans who want bold flavor, serious caffeine,

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scatters the colors, painting the evening sky with warm reds and oranges and golds. But out here, flying 10 miles above the lunar surface, the sun was just a cold white spotlight in the sky behind him. And when it slipped beneath the moon's horizon, it went out as if someone flipped a switch. No colors. No transition period. Nothing. Instant darkness. William sighed. What the s' what the a-ha-ha-was even doing here? cooped up in what they'd ironically called the guest suite. It was really just a cramped closet with the sleeping bag on one wall and a display screen on another.

He felt more like he was trapped in an old-fashioned submarine than soaring through the heavens in a $40 billion space jet. Clutching a hand to his stomach and groaning, he left the suite, pulling himself gingerly into the hall. Zero gravity was no fun at all for the middle-aged scientist, who could get dizzy, just looking at a roller coaster. And as he floated awkwardly up the tight corridor,

with its countless vents, panels, monitors, and exposed cables that left very little room to maneuver, he felt as nauseous as he did claustrophobic. He reached the door to the cockpit and pounded on it with one hand. Hey, any update? What's our ETA? Guys? Hello?

After a few seconds, the door beeped and slid open. Thanks. He glided carefully into the cockpit, which was almost as cramped as the hall. There was barely room for him to squeeze in between the two pilot seats, and look at the wraparound display that showed a high-resolution holographic of the lunar landscape they were passing over. William didn't know much about the moon, but he had always found it strange how different its two hemispheres were from each other.

The side tidily locked to Earth looked like an abstract painting, with vast seas of silver and gray splayed out in splotchy patches. It's no wonder ancient peoples saw a face in it. But this side of the moon, the mysterious half that wasn't glimpsed by human eyes until 1968, it looked like one giant desert, pot marked with a billion little craters. In the holographic display, the scant settlements down there were highlighted and labeled, research stations, mining facilities, and telescope relays. Each was colored to match its nation of origin,

blue for the U.S., white for the new Soviets, red for China, and green for the East African alliance. So which of these dots are we headed for? William asked. Neither of the pilots answered him. Come on, guys. You show up at the office while I'm grading papers, walk me out in front of my students like some sort of criminal,

and whisk me away to the dark side of the freaking moon. The least you can do is tell me our destination. The pilot on the left, who was pale and blonde, and so young she could be in one of Williams University classes, glanced over at her co-pilot. That guy was older, with dark skin and gray hair and a face like a wrinkly bulldog. You want to know where we're going, Dr. Denebriggs? Asked the older pilot.

Yes, I do. Very well. Valis Secretorum. William looked puzzled. That would mean, the Secret Valley? I've never heard of that. Well, damn, I wonder why. The younger pilot chuckled.

William moved closer to the display, holding himself in place by the backs of the pilot's chairs. Hmm, secretorum. I don't see that name on the map. That's because it's not on the map, but it's down there. Selenographic coordinates, 0 degrees north, 180 degrees east.

Where the equator meets the meridian, that's our bull's eye. Okay, and what exactly is in this valis secretorum? When no one answered him this time, William started to lose his patience. Look, I'm not an idiot. Either the military screwed up royally and kidnapped the wrong William Tenebricks, unlikely, or else you guys found something very, very unusual down there. and while I'm willing to bet my salary that whatever it is, you've completely misinterpreted its origin. The fact that I'm here at all means your commanders must think I can be useful.

The pilots exchanged a look. But how am I supposed to be useful? If I don't even know what it is, I'm doing here. He got a little too excited, accidentally pushing off the chairs with his hands so that he floated straight up. And he would have bumped his head against the ceiling. The older pilot not grabbed him and pulled him back to the floor. Fair enough, growled the pilot. Valus Secretorum is a mining facility.

William exhaled and nodded. See, that wasn't so hard. So? What do they mine there? Mostly helium three. It's got the richest deposits found anywhere on the moon. And what is helium three? The young pilot coughed a laugh. Aren't you supposed to be a scientist?

Not that kind of scientist. William sneered back. wishing the kid was in one of his classes so that he could flunker. Helium 3 has many uses. Neutron detection, quantum computing, but mostly it's used in nuclear fusion, and it works especially well in ZR missiles. Uh-huh, and I'm guessing the U.S. hasn't exactly been forthright in alerting the other nations about this secret mine of ours, which is a violation of 2112 lunar treaty. That's why you're being so twitchy. You don't want the him to find out and go ballistic. For the first time, the gray-haired man turned in his seat

to look William Tennebricks in the eye, and his expression was as serious as the grave. In case you're unaware, Doc, the current geopolitical landscape is one giant game of Jenga. Any major disturbance could trigger a total collapse. So, am I being careful? Hell yes, I am, because going ballistic might be exactly how our adversaries would respond. I'm trying to avert the onset of World War IV and trying to stop the earth from being consumed by fire. That's why you're here in person. Instead of doing all this over a video call, we can't afford any Intel intercepts. William gazed down at the man for several long seconds, then hung his head. Oh, well that's genuinely terrifying. But if the stakes are so high,

bring me along at all? Why now? Because some things are too important to put on hold. He turned back in his seat, scowling at the holographic display. William stared at the back of his wrinkly head. You're not. Just the co-pilot, are you? No, sir. I am Fleet Admiral Horatio Slade of the United States Strategic Space Authority and High Commander of the Apollo Knott Battalion. No kidding? Whoa. This whole thing's getting more intriguing by the minute. So am I supposed to salute you or something?

Slade made a sound in his throat like a growl. Why don't you head back to the guest suite and get some rest, Doc? We'll be landing in a few hours. Then we'll suit up, head down into the mine, and you will experience enough intrigue to last a lifetime. I guarantee it. The shuttle came in low, its engines kicking up spirals of dust as it soared just above the valley floor. The wings were of no use in the moon's thin exosphere.

It headed straight toward what appeared to be a high gray cliff, reversed its engines, and lowered its landing gear. As it reached the mountain side, the spacecraft kept going, passing through the large-scale holographic projection that disguised the hangar's entrance. Touching down on the runway hidden within the hollowed-out belly of the Lunar Mountain, the craft slowed and pulled up to the parking bay. An air-locked bridge extended and connected to the shuttle's starboard door. Then the young pilot and fleet Admiral Slade climbed out,

followed by a very shaky William Denebriggs. He couldn't understand how the other two moved so easily, guiding themselves with the handrails and bounding down the bridge in long, light-strikes. It took William almost a minute just to reach the other end, and when he finally did, he was disappointed by what he saw there. He was hoping the mining installation would have large, brightly illuminated rooms, maybe with artificial windows and homie touches. No such luck. The Valis Secreitorum mine was, well, like a mine. The place was dimly lit, the ceilings were low, and though this part was sealed and they could breathe without a spin.

The air smelled all wrong, like burnt gunpowder, body odor, and a hint of rotten eggs. They were greeted by four soldiers, all dressed and the distinguished metallic camo uniforms of the Apollo Not Battalion. Welcome back, Admiral. Your team is standing by a depot four, sir. Thank you, Lieutenant. But first, I'm going to escort our guest here over to the Chow Hall. Understood, Admiral. William clung to a railing against the wall, bouncing experimentally on the balls of his feet.

His body couldn't seem to get used to the lunar gravity. It felt a bit like jumping on a trampoline, except that the floor was solid. Admiral Slade saluted his troops and leaving the pilot to return to the shuttle. He set off down a hallway, monitoring for William to join him. William tried to keep up. Luckily, the handrail continued around the corner and down the hall. Lights on the floor and ceiling faded on as they approached, then faded off when they had passed.

So they moved forward in a haunted little pocket of light. Out of darkness, into darkness. It made William feel disoriented almost right away, and he thought of the colossal mountain over his head didn't help. Well, he panted, at least I'll be glad to get something to eat. That liquid stuff on the shuttle did not do it for me. Slade turned through a doorway, and William smiled in relief as he reached the door. They came to a stop just inside a big room, and when the Admiral punched a button on the wall, lights overhead flickered on, one by one, illuminating four pairs of long dining tables.

Slade walked forward into the aisle between them, but William remained in place by the door. His smile fading as he squinted at the strange, cloth-wrapped objects laid out on the tabletops. like some macabre dinner party. Uh, sir, are those actually? Admiral Slade turned to one of the tables, grabbed the edge of a sheet and folded it back. A man's naked head and shoulders were revealed. Oh God, what the hell is this?

Slade moved from table to table, pulling back the sheets. The faces of the dead men and women were discolored, their skin tight and swollen. Their eyes closed, but bulging, and their lips were shriveled. Some of their mouths were open, some closed. Why would you show me this? Pulling back the final sheet, the Admiral stared at the dead face of a young black man, dead on the table. Why show you?

As a cautionary tale, Dr. Denebricks, one that you would do well to take seriously. But who are they? These fine men and women were the ones who made the discovery. They were all highly qualified, experienced, psychologically evaluated, and monitored members of the U-Triple S-A mining division. And yet, he draped the sheet back over the young corpse and turned to William. When they entered the unsealed, airless chamber that you and I are headed to next, they each chose to remove their helmet, sit on the floor, and die a very exquisite. excruciating death.

William stared at the Admiral, not blinking, not speaking, trying not to look at the other faces as Slade went on. Do you know how you die in the vacuum of space, Doc? It's not like in the movies. It's not quick. Your eyes don't pop out while you scream and turn to ice in a matter of seconds. No, sir, it's not that easy. Slade took a step toward the scientist.

His jowls twitching, his eyes squinted and bloodshot. The lack of pressure causes the air in your lungs to rush out. Then the moisture in your body starts to boil, even your saliva, even the tears in your eyes. Your body begins to bloat as gases expand beneath your skin. So I imagine it comes as a blessing when, some 15 seconds into this nightmare, you start to lose consciousness. That's from cerebral hypoxia. Your brain isn't getting oxygen and starts to power itself down.

Meanwhile, frostbite sets in across the surface of your whole body. Blood is no longer circulating, so your organs cease to function. And then, after a minute or maybe even two, full systematic failure, Finito Tenebricks, game over. William swallowed, and finding his voice, asked, Why am I here, Admiral?

Slade stepped right up to him. His gaze was harsh and cold, and William saw the anger in his eyes, and the bewilderment and the fear. Because I need to understand what it is these people found, and why it caused them to do what they did. I need to understand. But if we go in there,

what if whatever happened? happened to them? You know, Slade reached out a hand and clasped it onto William's arm. It's all right, Doc, I'll be with you. And we've gone in since that first time. Some of us more than once, without issue. That's not very reassuring. And, uh, what would happen if I just said no? Slade's expression softened, and he let out a little chuckle. Well then, I guess you could go home, though my shuttle is for military personnel only, and those assisting in our operations here, so you would have to find your own way. Funny.

Well, I guess that means I'm in. Good, the Admiral squeezed and released William's arm, hard enough to leave a bruise. Now then, we are in the chow-hall. Want me to make you a sandwich or something? William shook his head, wincing as he rubbed at his sore arm. Uh, no thanks. I'm not hungry anymore. Well, damn, said Slade, walking back to the tables to drape the sheets back over the remaining bodies. I wonder why. They suited up before heading down into the mine.

Strapping on the heavy-duty space suit reminded William of a scuba diving class he once attended while on vacation, though he had been too afraid to actually get in the water. He remembered being annoyed that the instructor hadn't given him his deposit back. And now, here he was, a quarter million miles from home, about to submerge himself. Not in balmy Caribbean waters, but the pitch-black bowels of the moon itself. For God only knows what insane purpose. Once their suits were on, and they had checked the life support levels displayed on their wrist screens, the workers assisting them connected extra layers of tamper-proof locking mechanisms,

onto each of their helmets, ensuring that they could not be removed without specialized equipment. William couldn't tell if this made him feel better or worse. He had the same unsure reaction to watching Admiral Slade, except a compact pulse pistol from one of the Apollonaut troopers, and slide it into a custom holster in his suit. Why would anyone need a gun in a lunar mine? William did appreciate how much easier the suit made walking. The added mass and stability

made his body feel more like its standard earth weight, and he had less trouble keeping up with the Admiral as they descended a ramp, entered an airlock, and walked down into a long chamber that looked almost exactly like a metro station. Barked on a set of tracks built into the gray moonstone floor, a Maglev vehicle about the size of a city bus was waiting for them.

As they climbed inside the vehicle, he saw that a pair of suited-up Apollonauts was sitting in the front, and two more individuals were already in their seats in the main cabin. Slade introduced these two as Yusuf Abdallah, chief of mining operations, and Dr. Fran Moody, the resident lunar geologist. They both nodded politely to William, though neither extended a heavy-gloved hand, and their expressions made it clear that they felt as unnerved about the day's mission as he did. Dr. Moody, kept fingering the extra lock on her helmet, as if double-checking that there was truly no way for her to force the helmet off.

As soon as their seatbelts were all clipped in place, the mag car shot forward. Without air resistance or friction on the wheels, the vehicle accelerated so fast that it pinned William into his seat. Then he was lifted slightly off it, held down only by his seatbelt, as their path descended at a sharp angle. The tunnel around them was completely dark, but by the glow of the Magcar's interior lights, he saw the curved wall of stone zipping by in a blue-gray blur. How far down do we have to go?

He asked, speaking into his helmet's microphone. Chief Abdullah turned his head, winking at William. And we got to go up, he exclaimed, his voice coming through the helmet speakers. Down through, what's worse than hell? Dr. Moody rolled her eyes. The location actually isn't deep at all. Just 10 meters down from the surface, she told him, still fiddling with her helmet lock. It was discovered while tunneling an exhaust port up from the main shaft.

And actually, we think its exact coordinates are the precise epicenter of the far side. In other words, it's as far away from Earth as you can possibly get and still be on the moon. The mag car jolted and leveled out, and the walls outside the windows vanished. William peered out into the void. So are we now in the main shaft? Yes, it is, said the Admiral, who was leaned back in his seat. His gloved hands crossed on his lap. His eyes closed.

William puffed up his cheeks and groan. Something about the scale of the darkness outside, the immensity of the nothingness all around them. It made his stomach clench. What happens if I vomit in my helmet? He asked. Then you'll have a bunch of vomit in your helmet, said Admiral Slade. And behind her faceplate, Dr. Moody,

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now or search for the SCP experience wherever you get your podcasts after a few minutes in the main shaft then a final ascent the mag car pulled to a stop all six passengers rose to their feet and moved out onto the dim platform the apollo not troops william saw both carried electro mag coil heavy machine guns the side of those HMGs did nothing to calm his nerves as they walked in silence, the soldiers leading the way up a sloped corridor. The only lights here were those on their suits, and the dust, floating in their beams, made William feel like they were underwater. They reached an intersection with another passage, this one circular and roughly hewn. The curved walls bore a chiseled spiral pattern. It was clearly just an exhaust tunnel, carved by a huge drill,

and proved difficult to walk in. The team turned left, heading down the tunnel into darkness, but William paused, staring to his right instead. He took a few steps in that direction, breathing deep, and approached the source of a cool white light ahead, which came from where the tunnel ended, high up on a mountain ridge at the edge of the Valus Secretorum. Looking out through the circular opening,

William stared down across the starlit lunar landscape. All that blue-gray dusty stone, those rugged mountains, those ancient blasted craters, the view was truly beautiful, but joyless. It didn't seem right somehow, standing here, seeing this alien place with his earthling eyes. It almost felt as if, as if there might have been a reason behind the tidal locking of the moon to the earth, a reason to hide this vista from the prying eyes of his species, locking it away from the forever in the realm of mystery, barked Chief Abdullah, making William jump and snap back to the moment. Brave Digger, he mumbled to himself. He'd been called nicknames before, but that was a new one.

He stumbled back down the tunnel toward the others, who were gathered at the mouth of an adjacent passage. It looked as if the drill had cracked the mountain at this spot as it barreled through, splitting open a fissure that extended in a jagged hallway to their right. Into this opening, they advanced one at a time. No one spoke. Soon, the passage widened, and there were battery-powered worklights set up to illuminate the path. They came to a stop as the passage ended in a sheer wall,

and peering around the others, William saw a low, square opening, like a short entryway in the wall. Everyone's helmet secured? asked Slade, and when none of them indicated otherwise, the Admiral nodded to his Apollonauts. You know the drill, weapons away. With some reluctance, the troopers stood their HMGs up against the wall beside the doorway. The Admiral, William noted, did not remove his own sidearm.

The Apollonauts entered first, crouching and dugging through the entrance. Admiral Slade followed, then Dr. Moody, then Chief Abdela. William tried not to think about what he was doing, or what he might be about to see as he crouched and came in behind them. Straightening up, he blinked in the glare of the many worklights spread out around the spacious chamber on the other side. The lights illuminated the row of heavy stone pillars on each side of the long room, and the stone shelves between them, and the hundreds of objects on those shelves, all coated in a fine layer of moon dust that glittered like a trillion tiny diamonds. He turned slowly in place, his gaze drifting over the impossible sight of the underground chamber, which looked very much like many of the ancient earthly ruins he had stood in countless times before.

Admiral Slade's voice sounded in his helmet speaker. Expensive prank to play on you, Doc. The Russians found out of him, and they decided to... It's real, Dr. Tennebriggs, said Dr. Moody. And it's ancient. William shook his head. So, why did you bring me here? You need someone in SETI research?

Nope, said Admiral Slade, walking back across the dusty floor toward William. Is a paleoanthropologist, we need you. He motioned with the hand. Back at this temple to see them. Slade called out, turning and walking deeper into the temple. William felt a chill go up the back of his neck. They're still here. For several long minutes, Dr. William Tennebricks stood in place.

His arms crossed, his eyes fixed upon the strangest, the greatest, the most impossible, and most beautifully surreal thing he had ever seen. He said nothing. All around him, on the shelves between each pair of columns in the buried lunar temple, fantastical objects glinted in the worklights, primeval tools of stone and bone and colored crystal, spheres of polished metals and gems, archaic weapons of bizarre design,

and puzzling little control. of interconnected gears. All of these items would be of great interest to any palean anthropologist, but first, William had to wrap his head around, The Throne. The ancient chair was tall and broad, carved from the blue-gray lunar rock, and inlaid with symbols he did not recognize.

And, most shocking of all, the chair was occupied, William finally said, breaking the heavy silence that had filled, the chamber. I remember reading about this astronomer quack. This was back at the turn of the 20th century. His name was Percival, something, Lowell, I think. He wrote a best-selling book, claiming that Mars was covered in a massive irrigation system with thousands of interconnected canals. He presented it as proof that an advanced alien species had once lived on the red planet. Of course,

Lowell was way off. In fact, a lot of people. People now think he was using a damaged or dirty telescope, and not the canals were really just scratches on the lens. Pretty funny. A few feet away, Fleet Admiral Horatio Slade tapped the toe of his right boot impatiently. What's your point, Doc? William uncrossed his arms and instinctively brought up his right hand to stroke his chin, which resulted in him smacking the helmet of his spacesuit. Clearing his throat, he put his hands on his hips instead. Well, when you guys showed up at my university and said you had something to show me,

I thought it would be like that. Like Percy Lowell's Martian canals, some natural feature of the moon that sort of looked man-made. But this? I never could have imagined this. It changes everything. Chief of mining operations, Yusuf Abdallah, who stood leaning against the nearest pillar, exhaled in annoyance. Why? Why do you think it is? because to me, it just looks like some crazy, two-headed alien.

Wrong on all points, said William, moving closer to the occupants of the Grey Throne. They are most definitely human. Look at its faces! Complained to Abdullah. Those tiny eye sockets, the jutting foreheads, the flattened skulls. I said they're human. William repeated. But they are certainly not Homo sapiens.

No, no, no. They're much older. From a separate, extinct branch of our... Early hominids. Why? They may even be our ancestors. So you think this, priest and priestess are perhaps Neanderthals? Something like that. asked Slade. William shook his head. Can't be Neanderthalensis. The rouse are too low. The limbs are too long and they look too tall. So then, what are they? asked Dr. Fran Moody, the lunar geologist. I can't be sure yet. But have I had to guess?

the Homo Heidelbergensis, the pioneers of early humanity. They were the first to build shelters, to migrate to many new environments, to hunt in large organized groups, even to bury their dead. And to what? Fly to the moon and bury a damn temple? Sneered, Abdullah. That's ridiculous. And besides, the thing has two heads? William grinned.

Nonsense. Look. He moved closer, pointing at the pair of people. bare feet sticking out from under a tattered metallic robe. The feet were shriveled, skeletal, with tight leathery skin stretched across protruding bones. Two feet, two legs, and one waist. But then the torso widens and divides. There's two separate spines, I think, and probably two hearts. Then there's one arm on each side and the two separate heads.

He nodded, staring from one emaciated face to the other. Both had opened mouths and empty eye socket. The head on the left was leaned back against the throne, and its face was wide and brutish, with a beard of wiry gray hair. The head on the right was flopped down onto the shoulder. The back of that head had long, coarse, silver hair. They're twins. Dicephalic peripage's conjoined twins, a brother and a sister by the look of it, which is strange.

I thought conjoined twins had to be identical. That's what strange? barked Abdullah, asked Admiral Slade. William shrugged. Heidelbergensis existed from about 700,000 years ago, all the way to about 200,000 years ago. That's half a million years of possibilities. To get a better estimate, I'd have to take samples and...

No touching! Boomed the Admiral, marching a step forward, and bringing his right hand down to hover by the pistol in his holster. Whoa! Okay, okay! said William backing off. God! Abdures. But, huh? William stared at the admiral's livid face, then turned back to the figures on the throne.

The brother, whom Slade had called the priest, had the skeletal fingers of his hand hooked around the rod of a short staff, which was topped with a piece of red, glassy mineral, probably quartz. Was it a scepter? Or a short spear? It definitely looked ceremonial. The bony hand of the sister, the priestess, was empty. But at her feet in the dust, there lay a second rod, this one bearing a violent gemstone at its tip.

Interesting, mused William. Is it your theory then, Admiral? That when your people first encountered these remains, one of them, tampered with that scepter, knocked it from her hand, and that's what caused them to, you know, remove their helmets? Yes, whispered Slade. His eyes fixed on the purple stone on the sister's scepter. Oh, goodness gracious, grumbled Dr. Moody, crossing her arms. Really, Horatio? The discovery of this place is certainly odd.

But as a scientist, I have to object. I mean, a cursed Scepter? Seriously? We're standing in an archaeological find, not some fairy tale. Even the terminology you're using, temple, priest, priest, scepter. We don't know what this place was. And it won't help to speculate about, fuck your science, Fran. Growled Slade.

Can your science tell us why my men and women are dead? No, sir, but... Can it tell us why my son is dead? William bit his tongue to keep from gasping, remembering the young man dead on the table. The face Admiral Slade had spent so long staring at. Oh, God. He looked from the Admiral to the geologist. Tears came in Dr. Moody's eyes.

No, sir. I'm sorry, sir. Admiral Slade made another growling sound in his throat, then closed his eyes and began to swoon. Both his Apollo knots hurried over to take their officer by the elbows. Gently, they lowered him to sit on the tiled floor. The old man put his helmet in his gloved hands and went very still, said William. And when Dr. Moody started to object, he added,

Not until we understand more. You said it yourself. We don't know what this place is. I'm going to look around, see what I can figure out. Leaving the others gathered around the throne, William began to pace slowly past the temple columns, examining the dusty surface of the chiseled stonework, then the objects of the shelves along both walls.

Some of the items looked like the sort of things he had excavated at many sites back on earth. Shell beads, a bone flute, a clay figure of a jungle cat, a knife of black obsidian. But other objects were strange. harder to identify, stones that seemed to glow ever so slightly. And on one shelf, a sort of toy marble?

Like a pyramidal Rubik's cube, but made of what looked like pieces of petrified wood, he mumbled. Then he jumped, as Dr. Moody's voice sounded in his helmet speakers. See, it's all primitive, acknowledge you here, much less anything. William squinted and rocked his head side to side. Yeah, I think the admiral might have a point. You too! William looked back at the throne. Slade was still on the ground,

his troops kneeling beside him. Chief Abdullah was watching him and Dr. Moody from the corner, looking positively miserable. I'm not saying this place is cursed or anything, William said to the geologist. But it is different, different from anything known to archaeology.

And its existence means we have to reconsider everything we thought was true about natural history. Well, no. not everything. He turned and resumed his pacing with Dr. Moody at his side. Everything here seems to be made by human hands and built to human scale. I see no evidence of any involvement of extraterrestrials. What's more, the evolutionary record is clear and remains unaffected.

Humans, like all other life on Earth, evolved right at home. But the hominid siblings in that ancient chair? They prove that we are missing some very big people. of our own history. He waved at the shelves. These objects, they don't look like higher-level technology, but I think they must be, but of a sort totally unlike our own.

Dr. Moodycockton eyebrow. Stone tools and crystal scepters? William shrugged. Why not? If they operate in ways we don't yet understand, it might be like, like quantum mechanics versus Newtonian physics. Both are undeniable features.

of the natural universe, but it's difficult for our minds to grasp the quantum world. The geologist didn't look convinced. If that's true, where's the evidence back on Earth, of their quantum crystal technology civilization? William smiled. A good question. He started walking toward the second biggest object in the temple, after the throne, which was a stone sphere several feet in diameter, balanced on a square stand. Maybe they developed this technology without ever building a large-scale society, or maybe, maybe theirs was a culture whose highest ideal was a belief that one must leave no trace of their existence. They could have a religious practice that discouraged them

from building permanent settlements, for example, or only pass on knowledge through oral traditions. And yet somehow they made it to the moon. William knelt beside the sphere, which proved to be an accurate representation of planet Earth. I thought so. It's a globe. The world it depicted was more or less the same as today, though the edges of some land masses

looked slightly extended. That would make sense if the sea levels were lower. There were many highlighted features, too. Certain added bumps and ridges, lines and symbols. Some of them seemed to align with major mountain ranges or geological features. Others seemed random, such as a crescent moon shape in the center of Antarctica.

Moving closer, he saw that the stone globe wasn't actually solid. The surface was cracked, intentionally, all along the edges of major land masses. Shifting side to side so that the lights on his suit shined inside the tiny gaps, he beamed. Wow, maybe even some kind of... Called Chief Abdullah from the back of the temple. You nerds figure it all out. Doctors Tennebricks and Moody stood and walked back to the throne. Well, so far, said William, trying not to sound too excited, considering the plight of the Admiral

on the floor. He looked back at the throne, the scepters, and the ancient shriveled bodies. Need to establish a base camp. I'll make a list of the equipment. And obviously, we need a much bigger crew, but we'll be cautious. We can send in unmanned drones to do the scanning and cataloging, and then the drones can collect the samples and— No!

Admiral Slade's scream made all of them jump. I was wrong, bringing any of us here. He sat up, looking up at the scientists. His face was sickly, dripping with sweat, and his eyes were dark. He started to rise, and the Apollonauts offered assistance. But he swatted their hands away and got dr. It's evil, yes. But we did find it, sir, said Dr. Moody.

And Horatio, listen to yourself. Bewitched? That doesn't sound like you now, does it? You're in the throes of grief, sir. You're not thinking clearly. He growled, spit spraying from his lips and misting the inside of his helmet. I feel it like a fire isn't miles away from my boy's mind seizing control. Admiral! declared Dr. Moody. That is all in your head!

And she stepped forward, reaching out a hand. Don't! Screamed, as Dr. Moody's gloved fingers touched down lightly upon the red crystal on the brother's scepter. For a moment, the tiny little. of moments, nothing happened. And then? William gasped, backing up against a pillar as Dr. Moody spasmed and shrieked and fell to her knees. Her arms straight and trembling, her gloved fist locked around the crystal. Chief Abdullah ran for the exit, tripping over his boots and hitting the ground with a thud. Admiral Slade drew his sidearm and raised it in a two-handed

grip. By the throne, still clutching the scepter, the geologist's body stopped spasming. Raising her head. She exhaled fog against the inside of her faceplate, and then, closing her eyes, she spoke in her own voice and the voice of another. Go, row, Kai, lock, she chanted. William's eyes bulged. Oh my God. Boon, die, Franosok! The floor beneath them quaked, and dust rained from the ceiling above. Ah, fuck this shit! grunted Abdullah, scrambling back to his feet.

He sprinted from the room. William remained frozen in place, the pillar at his back vibrating ominously. On the other side of the throne, the admiral aimed as pulse pistol at the geologist. Dr. Moody opened her eyes and rose to her feet, pulling the scepter from the priest's dead hand and clutching it like a prize. She began to turn in place, looking around the temple, and William saw the sly grin on her lips, and the red glow in the depths of her eyes. At last, the reassembly may.

Begin! She raised the scepter above her head, and the ground gave another great shudder. Objects fell from the shelves, shattering into dusty pieces, and William held out his hands to keep his balance. The undergates are open. Liquid iron flows through the spillways once more. The foundation gears are turning. And the earth, and her sister, the cores realign. the great mccanaton.

She bumped the scepter in victory, and its gemstone shone like crimson fire. Shall make the world anew! There was a crackling sound behind them, and turning, William looked at the stone globe. It was changing. Cracks spread across its surface, and pieces of the spherical map popped out, twisting on metallic rods, and began to rearrange themselves, as mechanisms within world and clanged. What the hell is happening?

He moaned. Stop this, commanded Admiral Slade, taking a step toward the raving woman. Now! At his sides, the Apollonauts looked tense and conflicted. Then one of them ran for the exit. Their weapons were in the tunnel outside. Dr. Fran Moody, or at least, the body that had been the lunar geologist, turned to face the old fleet admiral, and cocked her head playfully to one side.

The ground lurched, knocking all of them over, and spilling the remaining contents of the shelves. Slade's pistol clattered to the floor. William collapsed to his hands and knees, blinded by gray-blue dust, his heart pounding in his ears, almost as loud as the moon quake beneath them. Looking up to the chaos, he saw Admiral Slade crawling on the tiles, left and right, searching for his gun.

Then the Admiral straightened up, holding out a weapon. But it was not the pistol. He was holding the other scepter, the scepter of the priestess, and its gemstone tip blazed with violet light. The rumbling faded, the ground ceased to tremble, and the dust began to clear. William backed away across the floor, breathing hard as the two space-suited figures each aimed their glowing scepters at each other.

Slade opened his mouth to speak, and his words came out in an eerie harmony of voices. What have you done, my brother? Dr. Moody cackled proudly. You thought you had beaten me, didn't you? by strangling my mind with your gift and trapping our bodies here in this distant prison cell? Oh no, sister, you failed. My plan is, at last, in motion.

Slade's eyes widened and his hands shook. You mustn't. It will destroy everything. It will remake everything. The second Apollo not re-entered, now holding up their electromagnet coil, HMG, aiming first at Dr. Moon. Moody, been hesitating and aiming for the Admiral instead.

Back and forth, desperate and confused. William got to his feet, scooting to stand beside the armed soldier, watching, listening as this. This ancient sibling rivalry unfolded, impossibly before his eyes. You're too late, sister! Cruned the possessed, Dr. Moody. The engine is awake. Even now, the energy fields converge.

The great reassembly cannot be reversed. No! No! As I told you so long ago, you can haunt the minds of all who might assist me. You can wipe any trace of our grand empire from the earth. You can even turn the moon herself. But you cannot stop the sacred plan.

Dr. Moody raised the brother's crystal high. Nothing can! The ground quaked again, fiercer, louder. The ceiling cracked, and one great pillar fell with a boom. Admiral Slade lunged through the raining dust. driving the sister's scepter forward in a violet blur and stabbing its crystal tip through Dr. Moody's faceplate in a burst of broken glass and splattered blood. As their bodies tumbled backward, the Apollonaut beside William opened fire, spraying white-hot bullets wildly at supersonic speed, slicing through the bodies of Slade, Moody, and the other soldier,

punching holes in the rock walls and shattering the throne into gravel bits. William threw his arms up, stumbling backward as the temple shook and dust and blue. and fragments of pulverized spacesuit flew everywhere. He caught a fleeting glance of the red crystal spinning through the turmoil, broken free from its scepter. Then it hit the floor with a crack and exploded in a sphere of crimson light and energy. William was knocked off his feet. He flew backward, hit the floor, bounced, and was sent spinning through the air.

Then his body slammed against stone. His head smacked the inside of his helmet and the world went dark. The paleoanthropologist awoke. His head was throbbing. His whole body was throbbing. Actually, it was the whole world around him, rumbling, grumbling, groaning with an endless roar of shifting stone and turbulent magma.

Everything was dark, and for a moment, William thought he was blinded. And then he raised an aching arm to his helmet and wiped thick dust off his faceplate. As the dust cleared, he saw. He saw starlight, glinting softly on the ridges of chiseled stone. He was on his back, lying on the floor of that circular tunnel, whose drilling had led to the temple's discovery in the first place.

He must have been blasted clear down the last passage. He tried to raise his head, but his body felt incredibly heavy, like gravity was on overdrive. With an enormous effort, he shifted onto his side, wheezing. He saw the jagged passage to the temple, but the ceiling there had caved in, filling it with debris, and... That's strange? The passage was in the wrong place. It was too high, almost on the ceiling.

What was happening? He blinked, swallowed painfully, and tried to focus. His head was still spinning. Or was that just the moon beneath him? Turning his neck with a groan, he saw the end of the tunnel, mere meters away, where little lights were moving. Were they?

Yes, those were the stars. The stars outside were drifting, downward and to the side, in a steady stream. flipping onto his stomach, William clawed at the chiseled moonstone, pulling himself inch by inch up to the tunnel's end, where one could gaze down upon that cold and beautiful moonscape, stretched out beyond the mountain. But as that vista came into view, William saw that it looked crooked, as if the whole of the moon was hurtling through space at a new and unnatural angle, pinning him against the tunnel wall, shifting up and down, crushing the very stone of the celestial body,

and the landscape itself, it was all changed. The surface of the moon was split open and branching cracks, spewing up debris and slow-motion geysers that curled against the shifting stars. The sides of nearby mountains had crumbled away, revealing, stepped pyramids within. Was this some sort of ancient city then? His suits, speaker, beeped in his ear. He didn't know what to make of that. Then he noticed a flashing light on his wrist display,

and wiping at the dust there, he saw the warning, his oxygen level. It was down to 2%. Yeah, that seems about right. The light around him began to change, ever so slightly. The cold white mingled with cool blue and fiery red, and looking back out to the horizon, William saw why. The earth was rising, and so close, so large, so magnificent and terrible to behold,

framed by the sparkling heavens. He watched as his home plan, planet's colored edge appeared and grew, watched as oceans and land masses came into view. But the earth, it was coming apart at the seams, glowing orange lines, stretching like cracks across the surface. Several large chunks were already breaking away, revealing the red-hot interior and the astonishing movement within that swirling ocean of magma, as if the workings of some gargantuan mechanism were at play. Dr. William Tennebricks lay, peering out from the mouth of the tunnel, bearing witness as his world ended, and a new world was constructed before his very

eyes, the fulfillment of an ancient plan of the ancient world, rewriting the future in dust and fire. Hey guys, we just launched a brand new show called Bedtime Horror Stories by Dr. No Sleep. It features eerie, atmospheric horror made for late night listening, with relaxing rain and soothing narration, no sound effects, no jump scares. If you enjoy falling asleep to scary stories, click the link to bedtime horror stories in the description below and subscribe with all notifications on. I used to look up at the moon with my dad. He loved talking about it. He would sit beside me and point at the moon. Doesn't it look like a face? That's the moon, son. You can always see him up there With those crater eyes watching over us little people of Earth,

there's a whole other side to him that we can't see way down here. Only the spacemen that have walked on the moon have seen what's on the back of his head. The dark side of the moon. I can still hear my dad's voice echoing through my head, and I've been looking at the moon more than ever lately. I've always had a fascination with the big space rock hanging over us. That interest and that pace. Passion has led me all the way to my career as an astronaut.

It has led to my first journey to space and my current mission to land on the moon. It will be the first moon landing in over half a century. The Apollo 17 mission brought astronauts to the moon surface in 1972, and yet, miraculously, we decided to never go back there. I've always wondered, why have we never gone back? No one has ever really been able to give me a satisfactory answer. Scholars say that it was budgetary cuts, or just a loss of interest after we beat the Soviet Union

to the lunar surface in the middle of the Cold War. Then there are other people that think the whole moon landing is a conspiracy, and that we've never even gone there at all. There's a lot of debate, but the fact remains that for whatever reason, the United States hasn't sent anyone back up. there. Until now, the Phoebus One is going to continue the work of the defunct Apollo space missions to the moon. I will be one of the astronauts along with three others in my crew.

Only 12 people have walked across the surface of the moon in the history of mankind, all American astronauts, and we intend to join them in that honor and raise that count by four. It will be my proudest achievement and what I have always dreamed about. Even now, as I stare up at the moon from the structure we'll be launching from, I know that I will be there soon enough. I will be able to join the moon man that my dad always told me about, and watch over the people of Earth from up there. I'll even be able to see what's on the dark side of the moon, another thing that my dad always wondered about. I wish he was alive to see me do this. If heaven is up high in the clouds, like they say,

say, then I hope he's close enough to watch the moon. I stare at the majestic celestial body a little too long while I walk, and I trip over my own feet. I fall hard to the asphalt and someone laughs behind me. Gravity's got to get a few good shots in on you before we're out of reach. The commander of our mission, Bruce Wint, stands over me with a big smile in his face before he reaches for me and offers his hand. I take it, and he's a little bit. I take it, and and am heaved to my feet by my superior, immediately feeling a little embarrassed. Sorry, sir. I get it, he says, glancing up at the moon. That's one amazing rock up there, but you'll be getting a much better look at it about four days from now.

As long as everything goes well on the launch tomorrow, we'll be well on our way to Cratertown, population zero, until the four of us start running around. Are you excited? I try not to show how giddy I am about it. I need to keep some professionalism with my commander, but it's hard to hold it all in. I've waited for a chance to set foot on the moon since I was a kid, and all of the hard work I've done since then has prepared me to make that dream a reality.

It's all I have ever truly wanted, so there's no words that can properly convey my excitement. I choose to settle for a simple answer. Yes, sir. I'm very excited and ready. Commander Wint grins at that. That's what I like to hear. I'll see you at the launch tomorrow morning.

Try not to stare too long at the moon tonight. You're going to be sick of seeing it real soon. I doubt that. I don't think I could ever get sick of the moon. Are you excited, Commander? Wint's smile falters for a moment, but only a moment. Of course. Morning comes and engineers make final.

preparations for the launch of Phoebus 1, while cameras and reporters document every moment of the preparation. Our crew gets equipped for the launch as we make our way to the rocket. Everyone I'm launching with are all well-trained astronauts that are perfect for this high-profile mission. I'm lucky to be among them. There's Commander Wint, leading the mission to the moon. I'm most well acquainted with him. He personally requested that I be given the chance to be part of the journey, and I'll always be grateful for that. There's our lunar module pilot, Alex Moore, who I've become fast friends with. He always finds a way to laugh and is constantly telling stories about his son.

Lastly, is our command module pilot, Sebastian Kelts. But everyone just calls him Seb. He's great at his job, but he's the crew member I know least. That's fine. He won't be touching down on the moon's surface with us. He'll be staying in lunar orbit, in size. of the command module once we're up there, standing by to pick us up once we've explored the moon. We take part in the final preparations as control cues us in on the countdown sequence.

I would be extremely nervous if it wasn't overpowered by my sheer excitement. Things have gone wrong on rocket launches before. Sometimes they never leave the ground. Sometimes the rocket explodes once it's in the air. Then there's the chance that we could all burn up in the atmosphere. There's a lot of of horrifying possibilities, but I try not to dwell on things like that. I just remind myself that a lot of very smart people worked hard to make this mission possible. That's what I need to hold on to. They did their job well, and I just need to do mine. The roar of the rocket is deafening as we launch. The blue sky and the clouds fade away as we continue our ascent. The sky gradually turns into a black veil of countless stars. We leave the whole human race.

behind us, breaking through the stratosphere to what lies beyond. Once we're in space, I breathe a sigh of relief. That's one step closer to my dream. It's a three-day journey to reach the moon's surface. It gives us plenty of time to chat and find ways to pass time, all while making sure we stay on course. Moore is laughing to himself, shaking his head. My kid is watching us right now.

He got to see his daddy fly into space. Seb whistles. How old is he again? Your boy? Moore is beaming in a way that only a proud dad can. Ryan just turned six in August. That's great, I say. I'm sure you're his hero.

I really hope so. He's the best. The way he just lights up. His mom made sure that he knew his daddy was flying. And he told me he'll be looking up at the moon every day when I'm up here. And I told him, I'd be looking right back. That's sweet. It reminds me a little of myself and my dad, though my dad never came close to actually flying up to the moon. His son must be so proud of him, and is probably telling all of his friends at school about his astronaut dad.

My little girls wouldn't stop crying when I was leaving, Seb says, rubbing the back of his head with some embarrassment. They always want me to stay home with them. They're still not really old enough to understand what I do. All they know is that I'm leaving for a little while, and they hate that. You're lucky, Commander Wint says. The ladies in my life couldn't wait to get rid of me. My wife, my sister, they're all sick of me, and are looking at this as a nice vacation. I think they're even going to go to the spa together while I'm gone. I'm sure they're all going to miss us, I say, not really having anyone waiting for me at home anymore.

I can't relate to my crew as well as I wish that I could. But we'll be back before we know it. Commander Wint frowns and looks at me for a moment. Yeah, we will. I've officially left the planet. It's a huge step for me and everything I've ever wanted in my life. I dreamed of being an astronaut, and now I finally am one. All I need to do now is set foot on the moon,

and I will have accomplished something that I've thought about since I was a child. We're so close. It's almost hard to believe. On the third day, the moon is practically within touching distance. Most people in the world will never be that close to it. I can feel my childlike wonder coursing through me, as if it never left. It's like I'm still just a giddy little boy dreaming of going to the moon, and now here I am.

We load into the lunar lander as Seb makes the preparations to keep the command module in the moon's orbit. We'll stay there until it's time for us to link back up with him so we can bring us back to Earth. I'm a little jealous, he says with a grin. I get this close to the moon, and I don't even get to touch the damn thing. We'll bring you back some moon dirt if it makes you feel any better, Seb. Gee, thanks. Have fun on the rock.

I'll keep the car running for you guys. We seal the door between the command module and the lunar landing module, detaching them. I watch as more guides the lunar lander down to the moon. moon's gray surface. When we touch down safely, I'm already overcome with a wave of emotion. I'm officially on the moon. I wish Dad could see me now. I'm anxious to leave the lander. I can't wait to touch down on the moon with my own two feet. It's something I've always thought about ever since Neil Armstrong did it. It may not be as massive of a leap for mankind now as it was then, but it is a huge step for me. Moore seems just as excited as I am. The two of us get ready

to seal our helmets, but that's when I noticed the commander. Commander Wint doesn't start to get ready. He just sits in his seat, looking at a picture of his family in his hand. Now that we're here, there's something that you all need to be made aware of. This mission isn't what you have been told so far. More lets out a nervous laugh, like he's waiting for a punchline to a joke that never comes. What do you mean? The Phoebus One mission has been kept under the strictest and most secure confidentiality since its inception. The specifics of it only shared with a select few, reaching as high as the White House and even higher.

As the commander of the mission, I was made privy to the truth of our objective, but instructed not to brief the rest of the the crew until we safely landed. So, now is the time, I guess. I get a pit in my stomach hearing that. For something as dangerous as manned space travel, we need to be fully aware of our situation, but that clearly hasn't been the case so far. We're all supposed to be a team, but it's hard to trust my team when our leader has been keeping secrets. It must be something bad if he wasn't willing to share it until now, when we have no choice but to continue to More looks just as flustered as me, but he takes a long, calming breath to compose himself before speaking. Just tell this, Commander.

There's a very good reason that the United States and NASA haven't sent people to the moon since 1972. I hang on to his every word. It's something I've wondered about my whole life, and I might finally be getting an answer. Commander Wint keeps pausing, but it doesn't seem like he's doing it for dramatic. effect. Now, he's struggling to even get the words out. His whole body is trembling, but he keeps collecting himself to say a bit more. Whatever it is, he's scared to even talk about it. The crew of Apollo 17 discovered something on the moon. Some kind of alien life. Moore shakes his head, nervously chuckling. What the hell are you talking about? Aliens? Little Green

Spaceman? You're not serious. It's clear Commander Wint isn't joking. This is not some kind of prank that he's pulling on us. Every word he speaks is the actual truth. Something that's not easy for him to share. His trembling hand moves to the console. It'll be easier for you to hear it straight from the source. These recordings have been buried for over 50 years.

Again, under the strictest confidentiality. It'll... He breathes in to calm himself. It should make things more clear. A man's voice speaks through a lot of static and interference. This is Commander Eugene Sernan of Apollo 17. Broadcast date December 14th, 1972. This is our third day of our mission.

The voice stops, and the man seems to lean away from the microphone. I listen closely and can hear the man starting to choke up, releasing some profanities away from the microphone. where he apparently thought he wouldn't be heard. After a moment of static, his voice returns but is wavering nervously, like he's doing his best to push forward despite his audible terror.

We have found something up here. Some kind of phenomena that we can't explain. We're not sure what it is, but, well... The voice chokes back a sob through the static. We're seeing things. Things that can't be real. Shadows. The commander of Apollo 17 starts to cry.

It's more intense than just letting out a few tears. It's a deep, terrified, hysterical sobbing that can't be held back any longer. We need to- It's trying to come with us. Please make all preparations for our early return. We have no choice. If we wait any longer, it'll go with us to Earth. Commander Wint, rubs his brow, nodding solemnly.

Now you know, we're not here to test the New Moon landing advancements, we're here to investigate what the crew of the Apollo 17 saw. They all made it home, but none of them would talk about the things they witnessed. Maybe it was trauma. Maybe they just wanted to wish it away like it never happened. That recording is the world's best evidence of life out here. And it doesn't sound very friendly, does it? Moore isn't able to find humor in any of it like he usually does. Instead, his face grows red and he lunges for the commander. I managed to get in the way, but it takes all of my strength

to hold him back. Moore is shouting and is absolutely inconsolable. You bastard! You brought us up here after hearing that? You didn't think that was something we should know beforehand? I have a kid at home, you piece of... I was following orders. Commander went to counters, but tears are starting to form in his eyes. They needed a crew to come up here and most astronauts wouldn't want any part of it if they knew. You're damn right we wouldn't. More snaps. You're damn right. Alex, listen to me. I try my best to talk rationally while I keep him at bay.

I don't like this either, okay? We shouldn't have been made to come up here without knowing the truth. I'm with you on that. But hurting the commander isn't going to help anything. We're up here now, and we have a job to do. This wasn't part of the job. Moore relaxes a little, halting his mad dash to attack Wint, but points of fink. at his commander. You lie to us, and you're putting us all at risk. I know. My mind is still racing. It's hard to process everything that we just learned, because it goes against everything that most of humanity believes, everything that we ever thought we knew. What about Seb? Does he know? Wint shakes his head. No, and we can't share it with him. Hearing what's going on,

it might spook him, and the command module is the only way we're getting back home. We can't him leaving us here. Spook him? More scoffs. We're the ones on the moon with whatever the hell Apollo 17 found. We just need to stay calm and focus on the mission, Wynce says, but even he doesn't seem to buy his own words. All we are here to do is observe and see if we see anything similar to what that crew did. If we do, we report it back to control.

We don't have to do anything but keep our eyes open. For all we know, there isn't even anything here. and if there was back then, maybe they're all dead by now. I tried to push aside the mounting terror and all of the anger coursing through me to focus on what's ahead of me. I'm finally going to set foot on the moon. I will join such an exclusive group of human beings that have ever been given that honor. The moon's surface should look like my dreams being made real, but instead, now it feels more nightmarish, knowing that we might not be alone here,

and we might be in a great deal of danger, somewhat ruins the moment for me. I can't get that staticy voice of the Apollo 17 commander out of my head, no matter how hard I'd try. I just keep trying to focus on the joy I was feeling about the whole thing, hoping that it will outweigh all of the new information. We all get dressed in our spacesuits. I lock my helmet in place. We open the door to the vacuum of space outside of the lander. The gray, uneven landscape is ahead of me.

waiting for me just like it always has been. I'm finally here. I touched down and for a moment, all of my fears dissipate and I feel an overwhelming sense of fulfillment. All of my hard work over so many years has paid off. I've made it to the place I've always aspired to be. Earth is to my right and it seems so small.

The view of it from up here just puts everything into perspective. I spent every minute of my life on that, globe except for these moments, and there's something incredible about that. It's just like Dad used to talk about, except I'm the moon man looking down on Earth now. When I look around at the barren rock that we're exploring, it's hard to imagine that anything living could be here. There doesn't seem to be any sign of civilization or any kind of life. The only signs of life are from previous humans that came before. There are a few American flags stand. still from the spots where they were planted, undisturbed.

I make sure my cable is secure to the lander and start to make my way forward. I bounce over to a large crater. It could be one of the craters that I used to think were the eyes of the moon man when I was a kid. I craned my head over to look down into the enormous hole. The crater is a massive abyss with no apparent bottom, a gaping pit of darkness. I just keep peering into the deep, dark hole. A strange feeling washes over me as I look into the depths of the crater.

Something is looking back at me. Moore's voice pulls my attention away from the chasm on the moon's surface. I turned to find that my fellow astronaut is a few leaps away from me, but he's not as enamored with the craters as I am. Instead, his attention seems to be on the lunar surface. Moore is looking out across the gray landscape to his left. I follow his gaze and find nothing but the moon and then empty black space. I skip over to him, letting the weightlessness of space do most of the work.

I tap him on the shoulder. He ignores me, frantically flailing his arms around like he's trying to get someone's attention. Again, I try to see what he's looking at, but find nothing at all. Is he having some kind of mental breakdown? He's yelling for his six-year-old son, the one waiting for him back on Earth. I say to him, grabbing hold of his arm to try to get him to hear me. He keeps pointing his finger, but no matter how many times I have. look, there's no little boy on the moon. I'm careful when I shake him. I don't want to

accidentally rip his suit, but I need to somehow get through to him. Just use your head for a second, all right? How would your son be? More doesn't seem to hear me, or he chooses not to. He's just waving his hand at a boy that isn't there, pulling away from me and skipping across the moon's surface in the direction that he's looking. He keeps calling out to his son. I turn to grab hold of his toe line and reel him back in, but something moves out of the corner of my eye. It's hard to see things behind my helmet, so I turn my whole body around to get a good look at whatever it was that caught my eye. Something is moving on the edge of the deep crater I was looking in. As I step closer, I get a better look at the cause of it. It's a hand,

reaching out from the darkness of the crater. A shape pulls itself upward out of the hole, rising up to stand in front of me. Hi, son! It's not possible. It can't be Dad. He's gone, but it looks just like him, like he's been plucked out of all the memories I have. It's like he never left.

He's standing there with his hands tucked in his jean pockets, like how he always used to stand in the kitchen. He's got his Montreal Expo's ball cap on his head, and is wearing that green vest over his plaid shirt. He's exactly how I remember him. But there is one thing he's notice of. not wearing, a space suit. He smiles at me. Just look at you. You've gotten so big. The logical part of my brain is desperately trying to figure out how I'm seeing him. It's got to be

some kind of hallucination. Maybe there's something wrong with my oxygen, or it's some trick from cosmic radiation or some lunar mirage. But then there's the other part of me, the part that is so happy to see my dad for the first time in years. Even if he can't realistically be there, it's so comforting to actually hear his voice again. How? He just chuckles with that same coughing fit that always used to follow his laughs. Son, didn't we always teach you about faith? There's life after death, and this is it.

So you're what exactly? A spirit? I'm whatever you need me to be, sport. I wanted to be him, but my instincts are screaming at me. keeping me grounded in reality. I watched my dad die years ago. I saw his burial as they put him into the ground, a long way away from the moon. There's no possible way that he's on the moon, spirit or not. I don't believe that it's him. I hear the voice on that recording echoing on my brain. We're seeing things. Ghosts, shadows. Those words keep repeating in my mind as I stare at the thing

in front of me. The thing that looks just like my dad used to. The thing just keeps smiling. Of course I am, son. I look down at the moon's surface because I can barely stand the sight of him. Look at me, son. I keep ignoring him. I said, look at me, you little shit. I flinch but keep my composure. It's obvious that this is some kind of trick now. He never spoke like that. So what are you? His face twists into an expression I never saw the real man make before. It contorts in a way that most human faces would never be able to. His smile grows wider than it should be able to. I am the one who has been waiting a long time.

You're some kind of alien. An alien? Because we're not on Earth? Look how close our homes are. We're neighbors, sport. Sorry, the thing says, still grinning. It's just so much fun. And we don't have much fun here.

We don't have much of anything here. But there, he points at Earth below. That's a whole new world to see, so very different from here. You come from a place of possibility, just like the ones that came before you all that time ago. The Apollo missions. We heard some of the first-hand accounts from the last mission to the moon. I take it that you are one of the things that they were talking about.

The shadows? We've been here so long. So very long. We just want to see something new and to go somewhere new. He makes a strange, shivering motion, and then stares at the blue and green planet, beaming at it with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. It's always so close. It's almost within reach. Just sitting there, tempting us, beckoning for us to come and see what things it has in store. It looks so much more vibrant than this rock. He points at me and his face.

finger twists unnaturally when he does. You. You're here to deliver us, just like the others could have. We tried a longer, softer approach with you people, but we're tired of this. We just want to leave, and we want to leave now. I'm not going to let that happen. Of course you are, he says. We're not going to give you a choice.

You're not real, I say. This is a mirage or something. You're not even here. I turn off the speakers in my suit. I shouldn't be able to hear anything, but when he speaks, he sounds just as clear as he did before. Are you starting to figure it out? I realize that it's not my ears hearing his voice.

It's my mind. He's somehow psychically communicating with me. He's in my head, probably digging around for things to exploit. That must be how he looks like my dad. Whatever these things are, these shadows on the moon, They are able to peel our heads open and get into our brains. You are going to take us away from here. I won't, I say, feeling a strain pulsating on my skull.

It will. I turn and find Commander Wint, looking at me. I see the concern on his face through his helmet. Is everything all right over there? I swing around to try to show him the thing pretending to be my father, but it's nowhere to be found. Where's more? I turned toward the direction he was in the last time I saw him. Thankfully, the tow cable he was attached to is still there.

We hurry over to it and start tugging at it. We keep pulling at his cable, reeling it in until we finally see the end of it. The astronaut it should be attached to is nowhere to be found. Damn it! I say, swearing under my breath. He ran off. He thought he saw his kid out here. I look up from the cable at Commander Wint, who has a strange expression on his face.

He's never looked at me like that before. I shake my head. No, of course not, sir, not to trust any of you. I freeze. What did you say, Commander? That you're all still mad going to try to leave me here, because I'm the only one that knew about what was up here. We're not going to leave you,

and that wasn't your wife and sister, Commander. It's these things, the ones that Apollo 17 saw. They're messing with all of us, showing us illusions and things that aren't actually there. They showed me my dad, and they're showing you your family. They're manipulating us. He doesn't look convinced. He's lost in whatever spell those things put over him.

I shake him, trying to get through to him. The things that are living here are just trying to convince us that our loved ones are here with us, but they're back home. They're back home waiting for us. Your wife and your sister, they're waiting for you on earth. You want to get back to them, right?

Commander Wint blinks hard, and I see some recognition coming back to his face as he looks at me. He seems to come out of his stupor. At least, I hope he has. Who knows what will happen if they're around a whole population of... He says with a groan, holding his head in pain. You have to stop them. The two of us start to make our way back toward the lander.

As much as we want to help more, we both have a silent understanding of what is most important, and that's stopping any threat to our planet. Commander Wendt speaks up beside me as we hop along the gray ground beneath our feet. On what this really was. It isn't the time for him to be confessing his sins. It's wrong that he brought us here under false pretenses, and it's wrong he didn't tell us about the dangers,

but it's too late for apologies. We can argue more about it if we make it back to Earth. For now, we just need to work together to keep those things from getting a ride home. We turn and find a man in a spacesuit standing behind us. It's Alex Moore. Commander Wint asks him. Wint sounds even more regretful than he already did. He wants to make amends so badly.

It comes first, Moore. It wasn't personal. I put a hand on Commander Wint and shake my head. I know it's not. It's just like with my dad. The imitation is close, nearly perfect, but there's just something off about it. Even though this illusion is a little more convincing, it's still not quite right. It's like I'm seeing through him because he's not really there at all. He's just another mirage that these creatures are conjuring from our minds.

There is something behind Moore's image. It's hard to see, like my eyes aren't quite able to process what they're seeing. It's a vague shape that almost seems invisible, or camouflaged somehow. It's a silhouette made of the starscape around us. It's large and lingering behind the illusion of Moore, like it's puppeteering it. Commander Wint asks. I'm right here, Moore says with his usual little cheeky laugh. Can't you see me?

Enough, I say. You're not fooling us. Moore's grin suddenly vanishes. Fine. You want to know what happened to me when you let me wander off on my own? I'll show you what happened to me. The astronaut starts spasming in front of us. He looks at us with wide, terrified eyes, and his mouth opens like he's screaming, but no sound is coming out of him.

The spacesuit he's wearing starts to expand and puff up, like there's something inside filling it. Blood suddenly rises up into view through Moore's visor. It rises up over his head until the entire helmet, is full of blood and we can't see him anymore. He's drowning in there, in his own space suit, on his own blood. His voice speaks in our heads as the bloated, blood-filled astronaut starts taking steps in our direction, reaching out for us.

Is this what you wanted to know? Is this what you wanted to see? He was so happy to find his little boy, so gullible. He just wanted to go home and see his kid so badly. He never will. But we'll do that for him. We'll go see little Ryan, just like we'll see little Ryan. Just like we'll see your wife, Lila, and your sister too, Brucey.

We'll pay your family a visit and have such a good time together. Commander Wint lets out a roar of anger as the two of us are holding our heads, trying to get that voice out. There's nothing we can do, though. That thing is gripping our brains and won't stop whispering. Oh, yes, we are going to have so much fun once we get to our new home. We'll tell them what happened to you. We'll tell them why you never came back down.

Shut up. The commander leaps at the deformed, red-faced astronaut in front of us. He's not thinking, completely lost in his fear and rage. He tries to tackle the illusion of Moore, but passes right through him. Instead, he gets close to whatever that thing is behind Moore, the puppeteer. Unfortunately, Commander Wint doesn't stand a chance against it. It's hard to see what that thing is doing exactly, but I watch my commander suddenly be lifted off of his feet.

He's raised about 10 feet off of the surface of the moon. He starts screaming in agony as I hear his bones crack. The creature slams Wint back down onto the moon's surface, kicking up debris that floats gently around him. He is heaved back up and brought back down over and over again. Wint looks like a rag doll being tossed around, and then I hear his visor crack on one of the impacts. I see how dazed he is when he has brought back up

by whatever invisible hand is holding him. He looks at me with a lot of regret on his face. I know he wishes he warned us about this point, before we got here. And now I'm sure that he feels guilty that he ever got any of us involved. He came to me personally when I was recruited. He wanted me here, and he got what he wanted in that regard. Now I'm here to watch him die, and I'll probably be next. Wynne's body smashes down to the moon's surface again, this time making a new little crater from how hard he lands. I see his visor shatter and see his mouth open wide as the vacuum of space pulls the life

from his body. His face bloats and freezes before my eyes. The shadow that killed him laughs in my head. Commander Wint is suddenly dragged across the surface of the moon and is pulled into one of the deep craters nearby. I bounce over to follow, looking around me with terror for that almost invisible force that's still laughing at me. When I reach the edge of that pit, I stare down into the blackness, hoping to find the body of Commander Wint. I can maybe at least bring him home to have a proper burial on Earth like he deserves. Something I won't be able to give to Alex Moore. That's all I want.

I can't see him. It's too deep and too dark down there. It's a lost cause trying to recover him. That's instantly obvious. I turn to try to get back to the lunar lander. I need to take off and get back to Seb so we can escape to Earth without letting these monsters on the moon escape their exile. Just as I turn away from that crater,

I feel two hands wrap around my ankles, and I'm pulled onto my stomach. I look down and find both of the astronauts I came to the moon with, hanging on to me from the darkness of the crater. There's Alex Moore, his face, still shrouded by the blood filling his helmet. And Commander Wint is beside him. His visor cracked open, and his face deformed and bloated from the exposure to the conditions in outer space. They're both trying to pull me into the pit to wherever those depths lead.

I hear more laughing from within that helmet full of blood, making red bubbles fizzle and pop within the visor. Commander went to snarling and excitedly whooping at me, his face twisting and contorting in in human ways. I know it's not really them. That creature is trying to kill me, just like it did to them. The things that have been living on the moon want to take our places on the lunar lander

and use our equipment to fly to Earth. It's clear that they aren't friendly extraterrestrials. If what they are saying is true, then they want to go down there and hurt them. the people that we love. You don't have to worry about that, do you? Commander Wint says, though the voice doesn't sound like his own.

One of those things is speaking through him. It's in my head. It's hearing my thoughts. We won't kill any of your family or friends because you don't have anyone left down there anyway, do you? No one cares about you. You have always been so focused on getting up here that you completely neglected anything down there.

All of those opportunities squads. All of those relationships, lost. What a waste. We'll give you what you want. You will get to be on this rock for a very long time. It's trying to get to me. Peaking and peeling into my memories and my insecurities. It's trying to get to me just like it got to my crewmates.

But I just keep focused on the mission. It's clear to me now what the objective has really become. Survive and get back home. That's what matters now. I need to get back to Earth and warn them all. about what I've seen here. I won't be quiet like the crew of Apollo 17 were. I'll tell everyone that will listen, and maybe we'll be able to come back without all of the secrets and all of the caution. We'll send people that will be able to kill these things. Do you really believe that?

Both of the astronaut corpses keep laughing at me, but the laugh belongs to the creature reading my mind. You think that you're going to be able to leave without us? No. We have been waiting too long for that. Far too long. We've been patient, so very patient, but it's time. It's our time now. I keep kicking my legs out, trying to shake those things off of me. I try to pull myself up from the edge of that seemingly bottomless crater. You're stained! The voice yells through Commander Wynne's mouth. That's an order. Your commander is giving you an order. Shut up! I snap, trying to ignore the voice and the two dead astronauts clinging to me. I hear roars beneath me, but with all of my strength, I pull myself out of the pit,

dragging myself across the lunar surface to get away from the crater. When I look back, the two mangled astronauts are gone. I wait for them to follow me out of the hole, but the disturbing recreations of Wint and more are nowhere to be found. My breaths fog up the visor of my spacesuit for a moment, and I try to calm them down. I'm the only human left on the moon. I wanted to come to this place so badly, but now I want nothing more than to leave. It's clear that the moon is better from a distance, a very far distance. I pull myself to my feet and look across the lunar surface to where the lander still sits.

I just need to get to it and initiate the launch. I might not be the pilot, but I was trained on enough of the equipment to be able to get it out of this place and back up to the command module. From there, Seb and I will be able to get back to Earth. Too late. The voice in my head is more intense than ever, nearly knocking me over from the sheer weight of it. It prods at my brain.

I already told you. We are leaving, and we are leaving now. No, I won't let them. I'm the one that's going to leave, and I'm not taking anything back with me. I start to move as quickly as I can, jumping over craters and bouncing across the space rock. The lunar lander is getting closer and closer.

I'm surprised when I reach it. The shadows didn't stop me. I immediately get to work initiating the launch sequence. Seb and the command module can come and intercept me. All that matters right now is getting away from the moon's surface and getting out of their reach. The lander shakes and rattles as the thrusters slowly start to ignite. I'm getting away from the moon,

and the whole world will know what's actually up here. A horrible, inhuman voice whispers in my ear. Thanks for the ride! A wide-gloved hand grabs hold of my shoulder. I turn to find both of my crewmates in their warped, disfigured space suits in the Lander with me. Those cloaked, formless things are behind them, though. The door to the Lander opens, and I'm shoved and pulled toward the door, toward the moon waiting outside. I yell out, but it's no use.

They're too strong for me. They're moving me just as easily as they tossed around Commander Wint. I can't do anything to fight back against them. I'm thrown out of the Lunar Lander, and the door is sealed shut behind me. I throw myself at it, and when I look through the small circular window to see what's inside, I see three people that look just like Commander Wint, more, and myself, all acting as if it's a perfectly normal launch, just like it should have been. That's what the return trip should look like, but it's not really us. It's those things. They're leaving the moon.

I slam my hands against the door, desperately trying to open it back up, but the thrusters go into full power. I leap out of the way as the lander lifts off the moon surface and into the blackness of space. The command module isn't far from where the lander is going. They'll be found by Seb, and he'll take them back to Earth. It can't be over. If I can warn them, I can still stop them. I open up the radio channel to try and reach our module pilot. There's no response.

I just watch helplessly as the two modules meet in orbit and connect. Those things are going to have what they need to get to get. to their new home. There has to be a way to reach him. I keep trying. I finally hear an answer. Seb shouts back to me through my headset. There's not us on board the... There's no response. There's a long moment of silence before Seb finally speaks. I can only stand and watch the command module begin its trip back to Earth. There's no stopping it now. The things from the moon are going to enter our atmosphere, and then there's no way of knowing what happens then. It won't be anything good.

I tried to stop them from leaving here. I tried. I break down and just start sobbing. My screams echo all around me in my helmet. I'm tempted to just rip it off and let the vacuum of space put me out of my misery. I'm stranded, but the worst part is how I failed. I finally got to go to the moon, and I doomed the world. It's okay, sport.

I turn. The shadow is right beside me. It looks just like my father again, casually standing on the moon in his Montreal Expos hat. Everything is going to be all right now, son. One of those aliens must have been left behind, or maybe a lot of them chose to stay behind while their brethren go to Earth.

I don't know. I've already stopped trying to make sense of them. I still don't even know what they really look like. It's not for me to know. Not anymore. It wouldn't do me any good. All I know is that those things are going to cause so much pain on Earth. It doesn't matter.

Nothing matters now. The thing that looks like my father puts an arm around my shoulder just like he used to. It doesn't feel like him, though. The grip on me isn't a gentle and comforting one, even if it's trying to convince me that it is. Come on. We always talked about what might be on the dark side of the moon, right? Let's go see.

Let's go see the other side of the moon man's head. There's no point trying to resist. I can't do anything about it. I'm never going to leave the moon. I'm stuck in space with nothing but shadows to keep me company. The last slivers of my hope got launched into space when those things left. They took my sanity with them. I let all of the hopelessness wash over me and give in.

The shadow walks me away from Earth. where I'm already so far from home. The world I know disappears from view as we move across the curvature of the lunar surface. Toward whatever awaits me on the other side, I go where no one on Earth will ever be able to see from down there. The roller comes to a slow stop as I ease my boot off the accelerator

and glance at the pistol set in the center console. It's secured in its bracket, locked until either Carlson or I presses our thumb to the biometric scanner, on the grip. The thing is far from legal, yet even its illicit nature doesn't stop safety measures. Not when you're on the moon and have the thinnest of atmospheres between you and the vacuum of space. Carlson grumbles from the passenger seat. Topper, relax. Stopper, relax. Stop staring at the gun, man. We won't need that. He smirks at me, then turns his attention to the windshield

and the near-perfect shadow line that delineates the light side of the moon from the dark. I follow his gaze and study the barren landscape as it slides into shadow. You never know what we might need out here. I take another look at the pistol. You heard the chatter? Absalom Corp landed two days ago. That's not a coincidence. Yeah, I doubt that means anything. I heard it from one of the foremen on the base is loading docks that Absalom is here for some meeting about Mars.

Not because of the rumors that the UN is opening the dark side for exploration. exploration, which is code for exploitation. Do you really believe what a foreman says? All it takes is a little cash-changing hands, and that foreman will tell you exactly what Absalom wants everyone to hear. There's no way they're on the moon just for a meeting about Mars. They could have done that from Earth. Nah, they're here for the dark side, Carlson. Everyone knows it. Man, you are one paranoid bastard. Am I wrong? He stares out the windshield, I let him. Carlson and I have been partners in chaos or crime, depending on your viewpoint, since foster care.

I know his moods and methods. He's no rocket scientist, but that's fine because on the moon, we got plenty of them. No, what he's got is even better. Instinct. I've learned to ignore it at my own peril. Carlson finally looks away from the landscape and over at me. No, you're not wrong. It feels off. Way off. Exactly. I nodded the gun.

And that's why bringing this pistol is not the worst idea I've ever had. I don't know about that. He laughs and shakes his head. Then he nods at the windshield. If we want to keep our asses intact, we should get moving. Garner is expecting an update by 0-900. Our time are Earths. Earths. Folks down there don't give a shit about our time. They just look up into the sky at night and see dollar signs. Or cheese, some people see cheese. That's whacked, man. Why did anyone think the moon was made of cheese?

Who freaking knows what people think? I pause a moment and study the shadow line. It's only a few yards away, and yet it's like a whole other world. I stare at the darkness, and to me, it feels like the darkness stares back. A shiver runs up and down my spine, despite wearing a furrow. an exosuit and having the heat cranked up in the roller. No, seriously, Topper, we should get a move on. Right, sorry.

I put the roller back in gear and press the accelerator slowly. You accelerate too quickly on the moon and you're liable to launch yourself into space. Normally, closer to moon-based Columbia, that isn't a problem. There are safety redundancies upon safety redundancies in place to make sure no one ends up flying off into the nothing. But out here, only meters away from a restricted zone, there's no one here to save us. No, no one even knows we're here. If I launch us off this rock accidentally, then that's all she wrote. We'd float into open space.

Our lives cut down to the amount of oxygen in the roller's life support tanks. The roller bumps up and down a little, but overall it's a smooth ride. We're still on one of the established paths that crisscrossed the moon's surface. They can't really be called roads, since there's nothing formal about them. They're just roots everyone repeatedly uses, except for this one. This route leads directly to the dark side of the moon, a place that has been off limits ever since the UN treaty was signed. Too little is known. Too much is at stake. Rumors, stories, whispered hearsay. Three expedition teams were lost before the fourth finally returned, and no one on that team would say shit about what they found,

at least, not publicly. So off-limits it's been, until now, or soon from now, that is, it ain't open yet, which means we're about to break close to 100 maritime laws the second we cross the line. As we roll closer to that shadow line, I sneak a glance at Carlson. What? Nothing. Bullshit, Topper, what's on your? mind. I think about my next words, forming them carefully. Partners or not, I wouldn't exactly call us good people. Do I trust Carlson with my life? Yeah, I have to. Do I trust Carlson not to throw me under the bus to save his own ass? You bet. We've been through some stuff together.

We're both survivors, and that means we have to do what we have to. But our world is a dangerous us one. So caution is always the smart approach. Topper? Spit it out. Why does Garner care about the dark side? Carlson shrugs. Because he does. Garner doesn't have to give us reasons. He gives us orders. We carry out those orders. You weren't curious? Curious? Of course, man. But if the second most powerful crime boss on Earth wants to set up shop on the side of the moon that can't be monitored or observed from Earth, well, he don't need pen and paper to connect those dots, Topper. No, I get the strategic value, I do. I just don't see why he's going to the expense.

He could buy a small country on Earth and be as clandestine as he wants. It's not like governments run things anymore. He's bigger than they are. And corporations like Absalom are bigger than Garner. If the boss thinks making a move for Darkside Territory is the right freaking strategy, then I trust him to be wrong. Right, don't you? Carlson laughs before I can answer. Oh, wait, right. You don't trust anyone, do you, you paranoid bastard? Shut up with that crap. I'm not paranoid. I'm cautious. I roll my eyes.

And it's not like you haven't heard the stories. The rumors about the dark side? Spooky stuff over this way, man. Carlson's about to respond. But we hit the shadow line and both go silent. The rollers halogens automatically turn on and illuminate the same great. gray dust and rock that we just left behind. Damn, it's never easier, is it? Going from light to complete dark in the snap of your fingers? Creeps me out every time. He shakes his head.

This feels different, though. How so? I don't know. Different. Maybe because this time we're going all the way in, not just testing NBC's shadow line surveillance. Maybe. Yeah.

It's the real deal this. time. So keep an eye on the scanners. The last thing we need is for Moonbase Columbia Security to sneak up on our ass. Until the dark side officially opens up to everyone, this is still a crime worth a decade in lockup if we get caught. I got it, I got it. Relax. I'll relax when we're back in our bunks at NBC. Until then, high alert. High alert? From NBC security? Shit, Topper. I'm not worried about what NBC security will do to us if we're caught. I'm worried about what Garner will do to us if he finds out we got caught. It's bad enough that he's threatening families now. I snap my head to the side and grimace at Carlson. The roller jerks a bit, and I quickly adjust, getting us back to

straight and smooth. What does that mean? What? I thought you heard. Heard what? He's threatening families now? Carlson sighs. Garner is so gung-ho on stake in a claim on the dark side that he has his goons watching the families of everyone who works for him on the moon. He expects loyalty and results, but mostly results. If he doesn't get any, well, then his goons start kicking indoors. How did you not hear about this? There's a pretty obvious reason. We don't have families, man. That's not true. He turns and bats his eyes at me, while holding his hands under his chin in some faux cute pose. You are my family, Topper. I'd do anything for you. Shut up. I shake my head and frown. Then slam my hand on the steering wheel.

Fucking Garner. He's a bad dude, I know. But threatening families is stepping over the line. What an asshole. What? You think you could do better? Than Garner? Hell yeah. We both could. Not me. I don't want to be in charge. But I'll stick by your side when you orchestrate the coup. Good luck. He gives me an extremely sarcastic thumbs up. Who knows, man? Maybe one day. I will be in charge. Garner started somewhere, and so can I. I'll alert the press. Then he gives an aw-shucks gesture and points at the perpetual darkness. Oops, never mind. No calms this side of the moon. Shut up. We're joking like we always do, but there's an unease in the roller. I don't know if Carlson can feel it, but with his instincts, I don't know how he can't. A deep pit of anxiety

begins to swirl in my guts, and I have to bite down on my tongue to keep myself from screaming, not in fear, but in rage. What kind of monster uses a person's family as a bargaining chip? I know Garner is one step up from pond scum, but even for him this feels like too far. So, yeah, since it came up, I could do a better job at running things than Garner. Guys like him need to just go the hell away. Fear and violence aren't the only ways to run an organization. I snap out of my thoughts and yank the wheel to the right, just skimming the edge of a large crater. Where's your head at, man? Just thinking.

He stares at me, then laughs. You really think you can run shit? He waves a hand at the intense darkness. Maybe get your head in the game first, or you're going to drive us into a canyon, a crater, or ravine or whatever. None of which I want to die in. I'm good. Relax. He laughs hard.

hard, and I can't help but crack a smile. Good advice. Maybe take it yourself, man. You are wound tighter than the seal on a transport shuttle commode, and I'm tired of trying to unwind you. You? Unwind me? I'm serious, Topper. You're going to stroke out. I don't respond. No point. Carlson will just keep countering anything I say, and I don't get a chance anyway, as the scanner lights up. Boogie, three clicks out. I stopped the roller and power down everything except for life support and the scanners. Let's hope they aren't paying too close attention. Carlson doesn't say a word.

He's too busy studying the scanners. I begin to ask him a question, but he holds up a hand, so I stay quiet. We sit for several minutes. Then Carlson sighs and eases back into his seat. They're gone. Who was it? Could you tell? Did they have a transponder? He doesn't answer.

which doesn't help my already anxious stomach. Carlson, did you see who it was? He groans. Yes, it was Absalom. Ha! I point a gloved finger at him. Told you! Yes, you did.

But that's not the shitty part. The shitty part is they had their transponder on. I frown. Then it hits me. They have official permission to be here. I start the roller back up and nod out at the dark expanse. Then we better move ass.

Carlson nods as I slam my foot on the accelerator, throwing all caution to the wind. No time to go slow and be careful anymore. We're in a damn race. We drive for another 20 minutes before we come around a low hill and see a long incline ahead of us. Hold up. This isn't right. Carlson checks the scanners, bringing up the hollow of the topographic map of the dark side. Why are we climbing? Because the ground is getting higher.

Ha ha, funny. Carlson swipes his hand and pulls the hollow out of the scanner screen, giving it a 180 spin. No, seriously, look at the topo. I take a quick glance, but don't see anything weird. As Carlson continues to stare at me, I slow the roller to a full stop and study what he's pointing at. Then I see it. This should be a depression, not a rise. I look around the landscape.

Not that I can see much out there. We've barely been driving. How are we so far off course? Carlson points at the coordinates at the bottom of the topo. We aren't. Look, navigation says we're exactly where we're supposed to be. The coordinates match. Well, obviously something is off.

Either navigation has us in the wrong spot, or the topo is incorrect. Obviously. Do we have time to run a diagnostic? No. Let me rephrase that. Can we risk driving further if either our navigation or our scanners are malfunction? I sure as hell don't want to get lost on the dark side. He takes a deep breath and narrows his eyes as he studies the topo.

I grab my water and let him think. If that instinct of his is telling him something, then I'll just let it. I sip my water and wait. Okay, okay, I'm overthinking this. We'll be fine. Keep going. He swipes the hollow back into the screen. What's the worst that can happen? It's not like we can really get lost, right?

right? All we need to do is drive straight, and eventually we'll be back in the light. That's the beauty of being on a sphere. Eventually, you end up right back where you started. In theory, I tap the dash, specifically the fuel cell readings. No light means no solar, Carlson. We don't have enough choose to cross half the moon. Our orders are to survey what we can and find out if there's anything worth claiming for Garner, not take the scenic route back to MBC. Yeah, scenic. He looks out at the darkness, then grumbles as he returns his attention to the scanners, flipping through the readings while also glancing at the navigation console.

After a moment, he shakes his head in frustration. I don't get it. Everything appears to be working. I say we run diagnostics. No time. We keep going. While I trust Carlson's instincts in the field, When it comes to navigating the politics of a massive crime organization, I wouldn't trust Carlson farther than I could throw him in heavy G-atmosphere. But if Garner comes for me, Carlson would throw himself in front of that bullet and vice versa. So when he says we should keep going, I know he means it.

His ass is on the line just as much as mine. Fine. We keep driving. I get the roller moving once more, and up we go. It feels like it takes forever for us to climb the rise, but when we get to the top, all sense of time and place gets turned on its head. The two of us stare out of the windshield as the roller's halogens illuminate an impossible sight. And it truly is an impossible sight. You see that, right?

I nod and try to speak, but the words get stuck in my throat. I grab my water and take a sip, and take a deep breath. If you are talking about the structure about three clicks out, then yeah, I see it. Good. I thought maybe I was hallucinating. We could be. Both of us? He shakes his head, then stops and continues staring. We sit silently for a good few seconds. What is it?

I snored out a frightened laugh. The hell if I know. But if we want to find out, we need to get closer. It's his turn to snort out a frightened laugh. You want to get closer to that? He jams a finger at the windshield. I'm all for high risk, high reward. But whatever that is, it shouldn't be there, Topper.

Nothing should be there. There are zero man-made structures on the dark side. Everyone knows that. It's been a long-held fact. So, when I look at that thing, I see only high risk with no reward. I nod. And we sit for a few more seconds.

There's only one problem with your argument. It's not an argument. It's me saying hell no. He points again. That's trouble. My eyes say so, my brain says so, and my guts say so. We either go back or go around or... You assume it's man-made. Carlson slowly looks over at me, his eyes wide. Alien? You think it's alien? I'm not saying it is. It looks human-made, but we should get closer to see. If it is alien well, then we just struck gold. And if it's man-made, well, we might get ourselves a nice little finder's fee from NBC security. Garner would kill us if we didn't take this to him first. And tell them what? We don't even know what it is.

Carlson keeps studying me, and I let him. Listen, when we left NBC an hour ago, I had no idea what we were looking for, or what we would find. Honestly, Carlson, this felt like a snipe hunt. A what? Snipe hunt. Looking for something that doesn't exist. It's my turn to point out the windshield. I stab my finger over and over at the structure.

But that? That is tangible. That is worth the trip. That is something we can explore and report back on. I pause and can't help but smile. Or not? Or not? Let's have a look.

Then we can figure out what we're going to tell Garner. Carlson takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. We both do. Well, I know that tone, Topper. You're looking to start something. Me? Never. Yeah, okay, whatever you say. His laughing stops.

If Garner finds out we saw this and didn't investigate, he'll slice our nuts off. At the very least, I don't wait for more discussion. I throw the roller into gear and drive us down the other side of the rise. Or try to. Hold on! Stop! He studies the scanners, his eyes wide. There's a drop-off right in front of us!

Nearly impossible to see because it's like the ground is curling over on itself! He swipes and tosses the image at me. I study it for a few seconds. Looks like we're on the crest of a wave! Carlson takes the hollow back and spins it, taking in all angles. Crap! You're right. That's weird!

I point at the impossible structure before us. No. Weird. Find us a route down to it. Carlson does. And we have to drive to the side for a click or so before I can ease the roller down the other side of the rise or wave or whatever. Once down, I aimed the roller directly at the unbelievable structure. As we get closer, more details emerge. And I realize that the structure isn't as far away as I thought. It's just that it's massive, probably several stories high, and about half as wide as NBC. What the hell is it?

I don't know, but it looks familiar. Carlson leans forward. Like something from school? School? That looks nothing like any school we went to. No, not the school itself, numnuts. It's like something we learned in school. It's driving me crazy.

There's a name for this thing. I let him work it out while I keep on driving. The way is treacherous, even with the strength of the halogens lighting up the landscape. Tiny craters from meteoroid impacts dot the ground, and I have to slowly steer around one while also making sure I don't drive us into another. What should have been a straightforward route quickly becomes a meandering zigzag of lefts and rights, stops and starts.

It's like it doesn't want us to get to it. My first reaction is to laugh, but I swallow the chuckle, stuffing it down deep. He isn't exactly wrong. For every crater I dodge, a half dozen more appear. Soon, we're basically driving sideways more than we are straight on. When we're halfway to the structure, I stopped the roller and set the brakes. Carlson doesn't protest or ask what I'm doing. He sees it too.

The ground is too treacherous. We'd lose the roller in a crater or ravine or sinkhole before we got another 20 meters. On foot it is. He reaches back behind us, grabbing my helmet first and hands it to me, and grabs his. With practiced ease, we slide our helmets on, twist them until they click into place, then begin our exosuit diagnostics checklist. Coms? BITSEAL? Seal?

Check. Heads up display? HUD, check. Oxygen levels? Tanks at max, check. Kitts? He turns around again and grabs each of us a Teflon carrier bag. He plops one in my lap and keeps one for himself.

Kids, check. Then we both look down at the gun sitting in its bracket in the center console. Carlson looks away from the pistol, glances out at the structure, and over it at me. Not such a bad idea, told you so, me, Topper. Did we take the gun or not?

It's a gun topper. It's designed to hurt. He smacks his helmet in frustration. Punctures a suit out here. If either of us is wounded, the almost complete absence of gravity would result in a blood dome or worse. I gave him a funny look.

which I doubt he can see with my helmet on. Did you search gunshot wounds in zero-g before we left NBC? You insisted on bringing it, so do you feel better now? Hell no. I should have stayed ignorant. There was really some gross images in that search. I grabbed the pistol's grip, and a loud beep echoes in the roller. Grab. I slip off my glove, then grab at it again.

A chime echoes instead of a beep, and the pistol comes free of its bracket. I stuff it into a zippered pocket on the outside of my kit bag, then I place my palm on the center console, and a small compartment reveals itself. I grab out two extra magazines and place them in the pocket with the pistol, zipping it up after. Putting my glove back on, I double-check the seal, then stand up into a crouch and step over the center console

into the roller's back compartment. Carlson follows without comment, and we are both crouched against the rear hat. I slap a large red button, which purges the air from the roller and opens the hatch. Tapping at a small control panel on my wrist, the rear halogens light up, showing us nothing but thick moon dust and rocky craters for as far as we can see. Exiting the roller, I wait for Carlson to follow, then pop a small box open and press the red button within, closing the rear hatch behind us. We each switch on our helmet lights, then turn in a full circle, taking in our surroundings and orienting ourselves to being outside the roller and on the moon's surface proper.

Then we slap shoulders and start walking around to the front of the roller. I say that without being 100% sure. He could be right. It does seem bigger now that we're walking towards it, instead of driving back and forth to avoid craters. As we get closer, the structure looms before us, nothing but sharp angles and long lines. There's a central building to the structure. but it's almost completely lost behind walkways and steel girders. There's no way to tell yet from this distance, but the structure feels old, ancient old, not just a decade or so old.

It's a platform, Carlson points. Then he does a little jump and grabs my arm, spinning me to face him. I know what it is. He spins me back around to face the structure. See those columns? They're called pylons or pilings or piles or something like. that. Piles? Enos. It's supposed to be on Earth and the ocean. It's a deep sea oil drillers in school. In history class, been used in over a century. That doesn't make sense. I think the list of things

that don't make sense is going to be a long one, Topper. Come on. He moves off, and I follow. Deep Sea oil rig or whatever, it's not like we're going to turn around at this point. It was an impossible structure before, and it's still an impossible structure. We just now know what kind of impossible structure it is. We answer this rig. If we don't, and Garner finds out someone else came along and found something important. We're as good as dead. Carlson fiddles with his wrist controls. Be sure and record everything you see.

We should probably turn our cameras on now. We don't want to miss anything. We're a couple hundred meters out, Carlson. I think we can wait. You can wait. I'm recording as of right now. I gave him a thumbs up, then fiddle with my own wrist controls, turning my four and aft cameras on. Carlson starts talking under his breath, obviously attempting some sort of narration to go with this video.

I just keep walking, making sure I'm looking straight at the rig, capturing its size and scope as we get closer and closer. We both stop at the same time, small gasps echoing back and forth over the comms. Did you see that? Did you see? I saw it. For a moment, I almost pull out the gun. Although it won't do much good with my gloves on.

Still, I wish I was carrying some sort of weapon at the ready. Nothing good can come from whatever we just saw. That was a person, right? I pause, then nod. Look like it to me, Carlson shakes his helmet. But it can't have been right. No, no, it can't. And we both know why.

Whoever that was wasn't wearing an exosuit. At least, that's what it looked like. It's dark as hell, and with only my helmet halogens pointed at the structure. I couldn't quite be sure. So maybe they were wearing a light suit. One meant for quick excursions. Not the heavy-duty exosuits Carlson and I are wearing. That's what I tell myself at least.

Neither of us gets moving right away. We stand there and watch the rig for more movement. But after a few minutes, Carlson smacks my arm, and we start off again. Nothing else appears as we approach the rig. It stands there. A relic from the past of a planet it isn't even sitting on anymore. Not that I know if it ever was. But it had to be.

Oil rigs are from Earth, not the moon. Although I suppose this one is an argument against my assumption. Then we reach the first pile. A skinny steel ladder is bolted to the pile. I follow it up the structure with my eyes, tilting my helmet back until it won't tilt anymore. The topmost part is lost from my view, although I doubt I'd see it anyway,

even with my halogens. It's a long way up there. Carlson echoes my thoughts. Even with almost zero Gs, this is going to be a bitch. And let's get to it. Carlson starts climbing first. Once he gets up a few feet, I grab the closest rung and pull myself up,

until my boots can find purchase. Then hand over hand, boot over boot, I climb. Just riding at 10 o'clock. I look that way and see the words, Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. That's not cool. Maybe next time, Garner can drag his fat ass up to the moon and do some of his own creepy ass exploring. Personally, I'd bail on this right here and now. Carlson doesn't say anything as we keep climbing. What? Say it. Are you recording, Topper? Ah, shit. Yeah, I'll pay attention to what I'm saying. Sorry, Garner, if you're watching this. Just needed to say how damn freaky this rig is. And those words back there don't help. Carlson chuckles. Eat my ass, man. Did you just tell Garner to eat your ass? I'm just messing with you. We can always edit the footage and leave out the... My helmet bumps into the bottom of one of his boots. I backed down a rung and look up.

Anything past your ass. A body? There's a goddamn body above me. Um, a human body? Yes, a human body. And it's blocking the hatch onto the platform. Can you move it? To reach up and just do what?

Grab it and let it float slowly to the surface? Uh, yeah. That sounds like a good idea. Unless we want the extent of our exploration to end on the this ladder. Carlson doesn't say anything. Then a body dressed in jeans, work boots, a thick flannel and some sort of safety vest goes drifting past me. It's missing both legs in one arm. The head is a shrivelled, dried out husk with a single strand of hair still clinging to its eyeless skull. Carlson is moving again, and I hurry up after him through the hatch, glad to be

off the ladder and on something solid. We're on a walkway with a steel mesh floor, and a railing that is rusted and broken every few feet. Carlson points to the end of the walkway. Stairs, come on. We're halfway across when I realize I can hear our boots clanging on the metal. Between the extremely low atmosphere and my exosuit helmet, I shouldn't hear anything. I stop walking, and the sound goes away.

I start walking again, and it returns. I look up for my boots and see he's stopped, and is waiting for me by the stairs. How do he get so far ahead? I walk a few steps, the clanging of my boots as clear as a bell in my ears. He backs up without looking behind him. Then I realize I can still hear boots clanging,

except I'm not moving, and the footsteps are staggered and uneven. I turn and look behind me and almost scream as I see three people shuffling in my direction. Not one of them is wearing an exosuit, just the same jeans, boots, and safety vests, has the body blocking the hatch, except they each have a different colored flannel under their vests. But the lack of exosuits isn't what makes me want to scream. It's the fact that they

are nothing more than walking corpses. Dried skin is pulled tight over their skulls, with patches of bone showing through. Their teeth are shattered, broken nubs. One is missing a left arm, another is missing a right arm. The one in the lead, the one closest to me, at least has both his arms. but they are stretched out in front of it. Boning fingers formed into claws. Topper! I realize that Carlson has been yelling at me for a while now. I shake off my shock and turn tail to run to the stairs.

But Carlson isn't there anymore. Then I hear him shouting over the comms. Topper! I hurried to the bottom of the stairs and look up. Nothing. I race up the steps and on to another walkway. I spin in a fast circle, hunting for any sign of my partner. Static fills the comms.

More static. The static grows so loud that I have to kill the comms or go deaf. I look left, see only more walkway. I look right, and there's another set of stairs. As fast as my suit will allow me to, I sprint toward the stairs. I glanced down and could just make out through the steel mesh the three dead people still shambling their way across the lower walkway. When I look back up, two men are waiting for me right at the bottom of the stairs.

and they don't look any healthier than the others. I skid to a stop and hold up my hands. I don't know what the hell is going on, but all I want is my partner back, and then we'll get the hell out of here. I have no clue what you people are or what you are up to, but that's your business, not mine. Just give me back Carlson, and we won't bother you anymore.

The two what? Corpses, zombies? I don't even know what to call them, but they both step aside and make way for me to climb the stairs. Bring Carlson down to me, and then we'll leave. No harm, no foul. They stay right where they are, each on one side of the stairs, waiting. I worked the comm's control on my wrist, cycling through every conceivable channel he could be on. Carlson!

All I get is static, until a whispering, like a voice talking from a room away, filters up through the noise until it is front and center in my ears. A scream so loud and so terrifying fills the commas. arms, forcing me to my knees. My hands slap against my helmet, and I have to will myself not to yank it off and get away from the terrible sound. Instead, I punch at my wrist controls over and over until the calms shut off, and blessed silence fills my helmet once again. Slowly, painfully, I get back to my feet. The dead-looking men are still standing there, patiently waiting for me to walk past them and ascend the stairs. Brat this. I say this to no one, as I take a

A definitive step forward, then another, and another, until I'm walking to the stairs, past the animated corpses, and up the steps to the next landing. Before me is a large building set in the center of the structure. It's big, at least three stories, with sections jutting out this way and that, and what looks like a haphazard manner, but must have something to do with the rig-specific engineering, that's what I hope. Otherwise, this place was built by a crazy person, which isn't a stretch considering. A door in the side of the building opens, swinging outward until it smacks into the wall and almost bounces closed. Then it swings back open and stays put, the intention quite clear.

Carlson better be in there. Cautiously and ready for this ordeal to be over, so I can go back to MBC and face whatever consequences Garner has in store. I hurried to the doorway and look inside. An empty corridor. Well, not exactly empty. The floor is littered with bones, and from what I can see, they aren't all human. Don't get me wrong, plenty are. But plenty are also birds and fish and other creatures I can't identify. I hear a sound from behind me and spin around to see eight people standing there, watching me with their empty eye sockets. They all point as one. Yeah, I'm going. I spin back around. to face the corridor. I have to move slowly and carefully in order to not crush the bones. When I'm

all the way inside the corridor, the door slams behind me, causing me to jump. My foot lands on a tiny skull, and it pops under my boot. From deep within the rig, a keening whale erupts, rolling along the corridors and internal stairwells until it reaches me. I can almost feel it, like a soft, desert wind gusting through a tight ravine. I switch the comms back on to see if Carlson is trying to reach me. No answer. And the whale doesn't repeat itself. I turn them back off just in case there's more ear-shattering static and keep going. When I get to the end of the corridor, I look left, then right. Neither way has a floor covered in bones. Although, to the left, the walls are strained with something dark. And to the right, the ceiling is dripping a thick.

viscous fluid. I go left. The whispers and the comms return, which shouldn't be possible since I have them turned off. Out of habit, I glanced down at my wrist controls. The damn comms are back on. What the hell? I keep walking, making sure my helmet is facing straight ahead, so I can ignore the dark stains coating the walls. A chill fills me even though my exosuit is set at a toasty 68 degrees. Even as the words come out of my mouth, I know it's not Carlson. I've heard every version of that man's voice, from puberty and up, and it has never sounded like this. Movement catches my eye, and I whip my helmet to the right. One of the stains is moving.

I pick up my pace and hurry toward the end of the corridor. When I reach it, I look left and see my way blocked by a collapsed ceiling. To the right is a single door. I guess the choice has been made for me. A handheld scanner would be useful right about now, but I didn't think to bring one. There might be one back in the roller, except that ship is sailed. Ironically, the second the ship is sailed thought enters my mind, I catch a whiff of seawater. I look at the readings on my wrist controls and see that my life support is at nominal levels and working fine.

I have several more hours of oxygen left. With any luck, I'll find Carlson, and will be long gone out of here before air even becomes an issue. Walking to the door, the whispers and the calms get louder and louder. The door swings open before me. The voice stops. I aim my halogens at the doorway, but all I see is darkness. Even when I turn them to full power, the room beyond is still inky black. Taking one step I pause.

Nothing happens. Another step in pause. Still nothing. A third, a fourth, a fifth. And I'm walking through the doorway, standing in a pitch black room, spinning in a circle, looking for Carlson, looking for something. The door slams closed, and the darkness becomes complete. My halogens flicker and turn off.

I'm smacking at my wrist controls, but even the small display is black. The room is the embodiment of a complete and total lack of light. I wave my gloves in front of my helmet, but I see absolutely nothing. Carlson! Infin is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. The casual voice comes from behind me. When I spin around, the room is illuminated by a dozen.

A hundred, a thousand candles, and I am staring at a man seated in a high-backed chair, a pile of rags at his feet. The pile of rags stirs, and I suddenly recognize Carlson's shaved head and trimmed beard. Carlson! I take a step forward, and dozens of hands grab me, holding me in place.

The stench of death permeates through the exterior of my exosuit, and I start to gag. The man in the chair stands up. He's wearing loose fitting. jeans and no shirt. His skin is fish belly pale, and his eyes are so sunken that I can barely tell that they are open. On his skin are a hundred different scribbles and sigils and signs. They look to be carved directly into his flesh, and not carefully. The lines are jagged and torn, many seep with pus, while others are bright red scabs or dark brown wounds. He's not

wearing an exos suit, yet seems to be breathing just fine. And unlike the the things holding me in place, he doesn't appear dead. Of course, in a hellscape like this, dead may be relative. Who are you? What are you? He holds up a finger, and my questions fall away. Then he points down at the rags that are my partner. Stand, Carlson. Carlson stands, and I get a good look at him. His clothes are shredded, and where I can see skin, there's nothing but bruises. The skin under and around those bruises isn't as pale as the man standing by the chair, but it's pretty damn pale. He is truly a horrible sight to behold.

But the worst part is his eyes. They are clouded over as if a film has covered them. Milky White, hiding everything except for the barest outlines of his irises. Would you like to say something, Carlson? Carlson straightens his back and nods. Then his mouth opens and he bellows. Infinite is the horror. He runs at me and grabs my suit by the shoulders, giving me a hard shake.

Infinite is the horror! Forever! That's it. I can't take anymore. I shove Carlson away, break myself free of the grabbing hands, turn, and punch my way through the animated corpses, blocking my way until I reach the door. I yank it open and run as fast as my suit will allow. I turn left. I turn right. I turn right again. I'm completely lost and about to panic when I see a hatch before me.

It's porthole illuminated by a weak light. Weak or not, I'll take it. I'm breathing hard by the time I get to the hatch and shove it open. Then I'm stumbling outside onto a walkway, and I'm about to turn and slam the hatch closed. But stop short and just stare out at the view before me. It's an ocean! For as far as I can see, there is nothing but ocean. Waves as tall as buildings lift and crash down, creating a cacophony that shakes me in my boots.

Above the waves are stars. So many stars that they reflect light brightly off the crashing waves on the endless ocean. I stumble over to the railing and look down. More ocean. Heavy waves crash against the piles, sending white spray flying into the air, almost to the walkway I stand upon. The words echo inside my helmet as I collapsed to the walkway, my hands still gripping the railing.

I stare at the ocean, terrified, confused, frozen in place. Oh, God, what have I stumbled into? What is this madness? I don't know how long I sit and stare at the massive waves of an ocean that can't be, but a beeping slowly brings me back to myself, and I realize that it's getting hard to breathe. I check my wrist control, glad to see that the interface is working again,

and ironically gasp at the fact that I have about four minutes of oxygen left. Panic sets in, and I pull myself back to my feet, the impossible ocean crashing, and roaring before me. The stars above are so thick and bright that they feel almost oppressive, like they are weighing on me, squeezing out what little air is left in my suit.

Hey pal, you okay? I turn to see a man a few feet from me, leaning on the walkways railing, eyebrows up in concern. You should take that helmet off, take that whole suit off. Why are you even in that up here? All diving suits are to be stowed below in the diving chamber. It's kinda in the name, pal. He chuckles and pushes away from the railing, walking toward me.

You knew here, pal? I don't remember seeing you before. He motions with his hands. Here, let me help you with that helmet. Get a better look at your face. The beeping is louder, and I glance at my wrist controls. Two minutes of air left. My hands go to my exosuit's collar, the gloves of my fingers sliding under the metal clasps. There you go, pal. Just a couple pops and you'll be free. He's reaching out, ready to help me.

His fingers wriggling like snakes or eels? A sickening feeling fills my belly, and I pause what I'm doing. Who are you? Where am I? Really? He laughs and keeps reaching for my clasps. That's funny. I take a step back, and he frowns. Hold still. I'm just trying to help.

The beeping is louder. A quick glance shows me I have one minute. The booming waves draw my attention. back out to the ocean. I see storm clouds brewing on the horizon, lightning flashing within them. It's too far away for me to hear the thunder, not that I could hear anything over the crashing waves. So how am I hearing this guy? The one still reaching for my helmet. He's not on my comms, and without atmosphere, sound won't travel. Maybe I should take my helmet off. This guy isn't wearing an exosuit, and he looks fine. But the way he's dressed, work boots, jeans,

Flannel shirt with a safety vest pulled over it is achingly familiar, and within that ache is a healthy dose of caution. My lungs tighten and spots form before my eyes. A dull headache begins at my temples and then spreads up over my skull, coming to rest at the nape of my neck. Numbness and tingling attack my extremities. I'm dying of carbon dioxide poisoning. My own exhalations are killing me. My fingers grip the clasps once more, and I begin to flick them open. That's right, pal. You don't need that bulky helmet anymore.

Suddenly, hands grip my wrists from behind and yank my fingers away from my helmet clasps. Do not take your helmet off. I know that voice. Never take your helmet off. You hear me, Topper? Carlson? Mr. Helpful, in front of me, glares at a spot over my shoulders. I have this, Carlson. No you don't, Bevins.

How about you go walk a different person? heart of the rig. See what the ocean looks like on the west side. Mr. Helpful, Bevin's is his name, I guess, continues glaring. His hands still outstretched, still ready to help me get my helmet off. Then he yanks his hands back, sneering viciously. The new pet thinks he has some balls. Bevin turns and spits over the railing, then looks back past my shoulder. But you're just a young pup. You have no idea what this place is like Carlson. You need friends here. Without friends, Who do you have to watch your back? He spits over the railing again, but stays facing the ocean this time.

Oh, and on the rig? You need someone to watch your back. It would be an awful shame if you fell into that ocean, Carlson. Doom to float and drown and sink and rise and float and drown and sink and rise. Over and over and over for eternity. Yep, Evans, you're right. That suck. So I'm going to avoid that.

Thanks for the heads up. We'll see. One thing about this place is you can't avoid things forever, even with eternity on your side. He spits one last time and then walks off without another word. He doesn't even look back at me, just disappears down some stairs, lost from view as he heads to a lower deck. Never take your helmet off, Carlson slowly turns me around. By this time, I'm gasping so hard that I can't even think of a reply. The only thing I want to do is take my helmet off.

and breathe the same ocean air that a fairly normal-looking Carlson is breathing. I stare into his eyes through my visor. An image flashes inside my mind. An image of Carlson, standing in a dark room lit only by candles. His eyes, milky white. I stumble back a step,

and my fingers go to my clasps once more. No! Carlson slaps my hands away and grips me by the shoulders. Dumbass! What I just tell you? Never take your helmet off! I fall to one knee and reach for him, the fingers of my gloves, scratching at his jeans. Jeans? As my vision blurs, I see he's wearing the same damn uniform as the others. Heavy work boots, jeans, a flannel shirt with a safety vest pulled over it.

He crouches down, bringing himself to my eye level. Just breathe, Topper. Breathe like normal, and it'll all be fine. Your suit isn't running out of air. Trust me, you have plenty of time. In fact, you have all the time in the universe, and when you run out of time in this universe, you just get more from the next one over, and the next one over, and the next one over. He stands and grabs onto the railing, as if he's about to be swept out to sea. And the next one over, and the next one over, and the next one over. Carlson, what is wrong with you?

I gasp with surprise. I can breathe. I'm no longer suffocating. No longer about to pass out and never wake up again. Carlson! Hey! He stops his repetition, but doesn't look down at me. I slowly get to my feet and join him at the railing. What is happening, Carlson? What is all this?

He doesn't respond. Just stares out at waves that reach up as high as skyscrapers before crashing down into bottomless canyons. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. Then he shakes it off and turns and smiles at me. I don't have any answers, Topper. Only questions.

That phrase you just said. I remember it. A million images flashed through my head. The moon's surface. Seeing the oil rig as we came down the other side of that rise or wave or whatever. And dead people. So many dead people. Then the marked man.

Who is the marked man? What did he do to you? Carlson's smile falters. and a brief look of pain mixed with grief and horror flits across his features. And for one blip of one moment of one second, Carlson's eyes go milky white. Then it's all good again. Only ocean. Only Carlson.

Only the rig. The marked man, Carlson laughs. And it sounds like pity and despair bubbling up out of a cesspool of human filth. That's a good name for him. I like that. What do you call him? Did he give you a name? Carlson begins to nod, but then shakes his head.

No, no, the name isn't for you. His hand reaches out and claps me on my exosuit's shoulder. Quite a bitch of a situation we've gotten ourselves in, hey, Topper? If I knew what the situation was, I'd agree. Then join me in the mess, Mr. Topper. I spin at the sound of the horrifying voice coming from behind us both. I already have my fists up, ready to start. start fighting my way free again.

But I lower my fists when I see the man standing in the hatchway. He's no longer shirtless. In fact, he's dressed just like everyone else. But it's obvious I'm looking at the marked man, even if I can't see all the scribblings and sigils and oozing pus. No need for violence, Mr. Topper. You are a guest here now. A surprise guest considering, but a guest all the same.

He's grinning as if I hadn't been through what I'd, had been through, hadn't seen what I saw. But I am not on an oil rig in the middle of an impossible ocean, on an impossible oil rig sitting on the surface of the dark side of the moon. All of that. As a guest, I want you to be as comfortable as possible. So how about you take that helmet off and breed some of this fine, fresh ocean air? I look back at Carlson, but he's still facing the waves as if the conversation between me and

the marked man isn't happening. Carlson? He doesn't respond or turn to look at me. Don't bother yourself with Carlson. He's off traveling the infinite. It's something you should try. He'll love it. He takes a step forward.

His hands rising. Now, let's get that helmet off of you, shall we? I slap his hands away. And for the briefest of moments, there is no ocean, there is no oil rig. There is only complete and total darkness. A darkness filled with a presence. something ancient, something so much bigger than I can comprehend.

I feel it waiting, watching. I feel it moved toward me, in me. Then I snap out of it and only see an angry man standing before me, his eyes shooting daggers of rage in my direction. That was rude, Mr. Topper. Very rude. I have my limits, you know, and you do not want to find them. Just ask my people.

They'll tell you all about finding my limits. He gestures to my right, and I look over to see the walkway filled with workers, everyone wearing those damn boots and jeans and flannels and vests. I shuffle to the side and bump into something, which elicits a startled cry from my mouth. It's me! Carlson's hands wrap around my arm.

Come on, you need to be somewhere else. He pulls me away, and I walk sort of sideways and backwards, as I try to keep the group of people and the marked man still within sight. Carlson's grip becomes more urgent, and I look at him just in time to see that we're about to walk down a set of stairs. Footfalls behind me make me whip my head back around, but no one has moved. They all just stand there, watching me and Carlson descend to the deck below. Where are we going? What is happening? Carlson only shakes his head as he continues guiding me down the stairs, then on to the lower walkway.

More workers mill about at the end of the walkway, and they turn as one to stare at us. Carlson yanks me to the right, and we take a middle walkway, heading directly for the other side of the rig. I glanced down through the steel mesh and can see two more decks below me, and under that, nothing but churning, violent water.

Carlson, what is happening? Shut up and hold your shit together, Topper. We get to the other side of the rig, and all I see is the same impossible ocean, the same skyscraper waves, the same foreverness to it all. And far off is a storm on the horizon, an exact duplicate of the storm I saw on the opposite side. I turn and crane my neck so I can see as far to the left as possible. Yep, it's the same sight. I crane to the right and see it all repeated there too.

Carlson takes us right, and we walk to the next set of stairs, descend down those to a another walkway, and we keep going until we're all the way at the end, then stop. Carlson looks up, down, left, right, and past me. Then he nods. We should be okay here for a few minutes. They'll come. They always do, but we can talk quickly before then. They'll come because they always do? What in the hell does that mean? It's hard to explain. Well, try, God damn it. I'm gonna, so shut up and listen. He takes a few deep breaths, looks all around again, the nods. It's a nod more to himself than to me.

That's obvious by the haunted look in his eyes. How long were we on the rig before I disappeared? I don't know. Only a few minutes at the most. You were there, then you weren't. So, with some prodding by a bunch of dead folk, I went looking for you. I swallow hard. Then I found you.

How long was that? From when you went missing to when I found you? I don't know. Figure it out. He looks at my wrist controls. He shakes his head. No, no, that won't help. Nothing there can be trusted.

Remember how we told you that you were out of air? It's all lies. He spreads his arms wide. All of it. It's all lies. The clanging from above makes him drop his arms and then hug himself tightly. Crap, shit. Gotta be chill.

Calm down, Carlson. Calm down. He looks directly at me. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. I jam a gloved finger at him. That! What does that mean? What does what mean?

Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. Shit! Don't say that! Never say that again, you hear me? If we're going to get you out of here, you have to promise me you won't say it, understood? Yeah, sure. Promise me, Topper. I promise. But you have to tell me what it means. I can't. I don't know. As soon as I say the words, they just...

appear from my mind as if I never said them. I can't explain it. Okay, well, forget the words. Tell me where we are. Everywhere, he sighs. Nowhere. Kind of need more explanation than that man. We were on the moon, and now we aren't. How? Why? More clinging from above, and Carlson jumps. Come on, we'll go inside. Inside? Aren't there more of them inside? More than you can possibly count, but we'll be fine.

I'll look for a pocket and duck us in there. Before I can ask anything else, he pulls me down the walkway along the side of the rig, then stops before a large hatch. Carlson peers through the porthole, nods, then opens the hatch, and ushers me inside. We walk into a nasty-looking dive bar that has to be at least a couple of centuries old. The decor screams 20th century, and I can't help but stare at everything. There are a few patrons, all dressed in the same oil-reliven. rig outfit is everyone else, but they ignore us as Carlson leads me over to a large booth in the

corner. You should be able to fit here. He gestures for me to have a seat. Are you kidding right now? I snap at him, still goggling at the insanity I found myself in. Where the hell are we? Are we still on the oil rig? At the mention of the oil rig, a few patrons glance my way and glare. Then they slowly return their attention to their drinks, sitting before them. Hush. He gives me a shove. Sit down and I'll try to explain. How is any of this possible? I don't know. Sit down.

But I thought you were going to explain? Damn it, Topper. Just sit the hell down and I'll tell you what I know. The heads turn again, and I see pure hatred in their eyes. Sit down. I managed to squeeze the bulk of my suit into the booth. The second I do, the patron's eyes all glaze over. And they look away as if I don't exist. Carlson sits down next to me, nudging me with his hip to scoot over.

I do, then turn and frown at him, waiting for the explanation. He starts speaking several times, but can't seem to get the words out. My suit begins to beep again, but I ignore it. So far, I haven't died of asphyxiation. So Carlson is right about one thing. Now he just needs to explain the five trillion other things that are happening. My voice brings him out of his thought loop, and he nods vigorously, almost painfully. I grab his hand and grip it in my glove.

Start at the beginning. What happened to you back there? His head nodding turns into head shaking, and I give his hand a harder squeeze. He stops and takes a breath, looks around the bar, then swivels in the booth to face me and only me. I don't know. The ride here feels like centuries ago, so it's hard to piece together. but it also feels like only minutes ago, which makes it even harder to figure out. I tap at my wrist control. If this is accurate, we've been on this oil rig for six hours. I frown and check the reading again.

Six hours? That can't be right. We've been here for maybe two hours at the most. You're right, I can't trust this thing. Yeah, because it's been longer than that. Way longer. Carlson rubs his face. I need a drink. We're in a bar, so...

No, no, we can't drink here. This is a place to get lost and stay lost. If I even have one tiny sip, I won't be leaving here for... Well, I don't know if I'd ever leave. None of that makes sense. Now you're getting it. He rubs his face again. Yet, somehow, it all makes sense.

Carlson grabs my glove and squeezes hard. We aren't on the moon. I can tell. The huge ocean was kind of a dead giveaway. The ocean. He laughs, and it's not exactly a sane laugh. There is no ocean, and yet all there is to see is nothing but ocean. That crazy laugh burbles up out of his throat again. We aren't even on an oil rig. None of this exists. His laugh squirms and squishes itself into an anguished cry.

Oh, but we exist. We exist forever. His grip becomes almost painful, which shouldn't happen, since my exosuit's gloves can handle pressure a thousand times worse. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. I yank my glove away and pull back. Then I stab a finger into his chest a few times until that weird, haunted look in his eye changes, and he focuses on me. What do those words mean? He shrugs. Your guess is as good as mine. I can't even really think when I say them. They sort of bubble up out of me. Two patrons stand up. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. Infinite is the horror.

Forever is the nightmare. Neither patrons move nor change their behavior. They just utter the words and return to their semi-catatonic states. Okay. What I do know is that this place, whatever it is, whenever it is, is between everything. That doesn't help. It's all I know. And I don't even really know it. know it. It's just a feeling I have in my guts. When Carlson mentions his guts, I remember who I am

dealing with again. My partner in crime, my closest friend and ally, the guy whose instincts I have come to rely on over and over again. Okay, keep talking. He struggles for words, and I can't help but feel sorry for the guy. It's like we're walking through the spaces between walls. Reality is on the other side, but we can't get to it. It has to get to us. Does that make sense? Hell no. He groans and closes his eyes.

What I mean is... His eyes shoot open, and he jumps up from the booth. Oh, shit, come on! We need to go now! All of the other patrons stand as well. Then the bar's door opens, and the marked man walks in. I get up quickly and stand next to Carlson, waiting for his next move. What do we have here, Carlson? Giving your friend the Grand Tour.

The marked man wags a finger at us, and I can see words and scribbles fade in and out on his skin. Noddy, naughty. None of this is for him. Not until he removes that helmet of his. He takes one step forward, and then is suddenly standing right in front of me, his nose, almost touching my helmet's visor. My HUD comes to life and tries to warn me of his close proximity, But the words begin to run together

until they are just a jumble of useless lines until they stop and coalesce into the phrase. Infinite is the horror, forever is the nightmare. The marked man smiles and rises up onto his toes, leaning in like he can see inside my helmet and read the words digitally projected there. It's a remarkable phrase, don't you think? He lowers himself back to his souls.

Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. The bar patrons all turn and look at me, their mouths opening to repeat in unison. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. What does it mean? I don't even want to ask the question, but it's like the words have to come out of me. Like something huge is pushing me forward to say them. The marked man's smile becomes twisted and cruel. That is only for me to know, Mr. Topper. I could tell you, though, if you really, really want. He reaches out and wraps his knuckles on my helmet. But until you take this off, you won't be able to understand.

Carlson grabs my arm and pulls me toward the bar's back hallway, where both an exit sign and a restroom sign hang over the opening. Don't go too far, Carlson. Wouldn't want you and your friend to get lost. The marked man's words follow as we hurry down the hallway toward the exit door. But Carlson turns and pulls me into the women's restroom instead. He pushes me into the middle of the small, single toilet space, slams the door closed, and shoves an overflowing trash can in front of it. That's not going to hold, Carlson.

I frown at the trash can. Like, at all. He taps his temple. It's the thought that counts. Then his eyes widen, and he smiles. That will help. It's the thought that counts. The single toilet gurgles twice, then goes silent.

Both Carlson and I turn to look at it. We have to hurry. You can stop saying that. I know we need to hurry. I want the hell out of this nightmare. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. Carlson claps his hands over his mouth. The toilet gurgles again. It's my turn to take him by the shoulders. Carlson? Focus. What do you mean? It's the thought that counts? He pulls his hands away from his mouth and blurts.

There is no time or space. Only all of time and space. Think it and it will become real. Think it and it becomes real. real? Think what? What you need to think so you can finally be free. All you have to do is infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. His hands clamp back over his mouth. The toilet's gurgles get louder and more urgent. Then there's a wet, slapping noise. And we both turn again. A long, thin tentacle eases up out of the toilet. Its skin, a mottled red, its suction cups cracked and broken and bleeding. Nasty toilet water tinged with blood and piss and shit. spills out onto the bathroom floor.

The tentacle continues its journey up out of the bowl, the skinny tip waving around, almost as if it's looking for something or someone. It freezes when the tip points directly at me. Oh no, they got in! He grabs the trash can and tries to pull it away from the door. It won't budge. Help me, Topper!

But I can't. I can't help them at all. I only have eyes for the tentacle, which is now at least six feet long, and shows no signs of stopping. The tip stays pointed at me as the rest folds down around the toilet. It begins to wrap itself around the base over and over again. Topper! Carlson is still trying to get the trash can out of the way.

Don't stare at it. Think of something else. Somewhere else. I laugh at his suggestion. How do I not look at it? It's a goddamn tentacle wrapping around a toilet. And now the tentacle is squeezing and squeezing and squeezing. The toilet explodes into a thousand ceramic shards. all headed straight for me. I dive to the floor and pray my suit isn't hit by any of the foul shrapnel. I angle my helmet up for a look at the damage,

and all I see is a small wave of bloody, shitty, shitty piss water racing at me. Followed by what are now three tentacles. Three that are coming for me, at least. There are two others that have planted themselves against the bathroom floor, and are pushing hard to bring something large up through the opening where the toilet used to be. When the three tentacles reach me, they slap against my helmet, then slide down to my collar. No!

Carlson stompes on one of the tentacles. It bursts under his foot, sending red-black goose spurting across my visor. He keeps kicking at the other tentacles, but after witnessing what happened to one of their own, they rear back and wave madly in the air. I scramble up onto my feet and stare at the thing slowly being revealed where the toilet used to be.

Topper, think of somewhere else! I can't. I try, but the sight of whatever is coming has me transfixed. It's all I can think about. What is down below? Is it a giant octopus? The tentacles give that thought some credence. But as the body slowly shows itself, I begin to doubt that theory.

Octopi don't have human eyes set in a warped and bloated human face. Go away! The creature laughs and gives me a wink. Come now, Carlson. Be a team player! It's the marked man's voice coming from the beast's mouth. A mouth full of a trillion razor-sharp teeth. The disgusting head. Disgusting head, grins those shark teeth at Carlson.

And stop trying to tell your friends to think this way out of this, Carlson. You know what we say. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. Carlson groans after saying the words. He deflates, like a heavy weight has been set on his shoulders. He looks at me. Sorry, Topper. Sorry? Sorry for what?

I tear my eyes away from the marked man octopus monster thing and see that Carlson has stopped trying to move the trash can and has taken several steps back. Oh, Carlson has only so much willpower left, I'm afraid. And we can't have that. Too much spree thought leads to chaos. And chaos leads to, I don't know what, but nothing good. Infinite is the horror.

Forever is the nightmare. Carlson has frozen in place, except for his eyes. They flit in my direction, and I can see the pain and fear inside them. Borset! A kick hard at the trash can. It goes flying to the side. I grab Carlson's hand and yank the bathroom door open. Standing in the hallway are the bar patrons, all chanting.

Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare! I lower my shoulder and shove through them, knocking several to the ground. I don't bother stepping around them. My boots fall on hands and chests and faces as I drag Carlson with me. Then I turn to the exit door and move as fast as my exosuit. My exhaustion, my panic, and my grip on Carlson will let me. As we run, tentacle.

Bulls explode through the wall, missing us by only inches. We slam into the exit door and bounce off it like we hit a brick wall. As we fall onto our asses, Carlson groans, and says in an almost joking voice, Infinite is the horror, forever is the nightmare! I laugh, I can't help it. My friend is in there. Shoving back up onto my feet, I lower my shoulder, take a deep breath, and ram the exit door. Again, it doesn't budge.

I stumble back, nearly stepping on Carlson. A tentacle bursts from the bottom of the wall and wraps itself around one of Carlson's legs. Then yanks him toward the wall. He's going to be shredded into tiny Carlson bits if that tentacle tries to pull him back through that hole. So I do what I have to do and walk over to the tentacle, raising my boot directly over it. The tentacle does the opposite and pulls Carlson even faster. My boot comes down and red-black blood squirts everywhere. The marked man's voice bellowed.

from the other side of the wall. You are nothing, Mr. Tauer! Nothing! I hear his voice, but I also hear Garner's voice. How many times has that bastard told me the exact same thing? Too many. Eat shit, asshole! I turn and charge the exit door one more time. This time it cracks down the middle,

and all it takes is one well-placed kick to split it in half. I don't even look at Carlson. I just reach behind me, feel for his leg, grab it, and drag my partner through the open, door with me. We're back on an outside walkway, and I let go of Carlson the second he is clear of the door, so I can turn and slam it closed, severing a tentacle that chases after us. The piece of tentacle dances and flops on the walkway, then goes flying out over the water as I give it a swift kick into the ocean. Infinite is the horror forever is the nightmare. Carlson's eyes meet mine. One is

milky, the other is clear. I focus on the clear one. Can we get out of here? Carlson sort of shrugs, then nods, then shakes his head. Fair enough. I crouch in front of him. Can you walk? Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. He shakes his head.

Are you kidding? Are you seriously going to make me carry you? He nods. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. I laugh a bitter laugh and get my arms under him. Okay. Enough with that shit already.

I lift him up and throw him over my shoulder. I heard it the first dozen times. He mumbles and mutters the phrase, over and over as I stagger down the walkway toward the stairs. This isn't the moon, that's for sure. Carlson's weight is full G, and I'm feeling the effects quickly. We get to the stairs, and I have to cautiously take each step one at a time. One foot down, the other foot down.

Then the next step. One foot down, then the other foot down. Step by step I go, as Carlson continues muttering. Infinite is the horror forever is the nightmare. Infinite is the horror forever is the nightmare. Infinite is the horror forever is the nightmare. Hold on, buddy. I'll figure out a way to get us free from this. I almost say nightmare, but that word is a little overused.

Uh, free from this shit! His response is predictable. Infinite is the horror forever is the nightmare. We make it down the stairs without falling and killing ourselves. Then I face the long walkway to the next set of stairs. Without pausing, because if I do, I'll just sit my ass down and call it a day. I stagger us to the next set of stairs, and the next, and the next, until we're finally at the hatch at the bottom of the platform that leads to the ladder,

which, hopefully, will take us off this thing. I set Carlson down and plop down next to him. Then I lean over and look down through the hatch. Ocean. Nothing but the ocean. That's not what I want. I say it like I'm sending a dish back at a restaurant. I want the surface of the moon back. I want to see gray dust and rock and solid ground.

To my surprise, the ocean below shimmers, like a broadcast being interrupted by sunspots. But it's only a shimmer. The ocean is back to its wave crashing self in the blink of an eye. Mr. Topper, please stop what you were doing. I hear the sound of a hundred tentacles. Screw this! I climbed down through the hatch.

If I want the damn moon, then I'm going to get the damn moon. I reach back to the platform and grab Carlson. I slide him over to me, then carefully maneuver him onto my shoulder once more. His head smacks the side of the hatch hard. Sorry, man. Just hang on, will you? I'm getting us gone. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. His voice is weak. Carlson sounds sickly, like he's only a couple of breaths away from his last. Don't quittle me now, asshole. I get him secured, then take the rungs one boot and one glove at a time.

The water continues to rage below me, and each time I look down, my insides feel like they'll turn to jelly. I want the moon! Where you going, Mr. Topper? Come back, let's talk! I glance up and see the marked man's grotesque face. It's no longer Octopi-related, but it sure isn't back to looking human. His face fills the hatch, and a line of bloody drool hangs from the corner of his mouth. When it breaks loose, I dodge to the side, nearly dumping Carlson from my shoulder.

The drool hits a rung above me, and the metal sizzles and begins to melt. I get moving again and don't look up, no matter how much the marked man rages at me. I look down, and I'm only one rung away from the crashing waves. Reality spins, and Carlson shouts, Infinite is the horror! Forever is the nightmare! Then my gloves slip, and we are both falling through open air. It lasts barely a second before we crash hard, sending a cloud of moon dust flying up around us. I did it.

I watched the dust settle onto my visor. I fucking did it! I roll over, careful not to squash Carlson, then use the ladder to pull myself upright. I bend over, my gloves on my knees, and breathe deeply several times. Then I smile at, my friend. We did it, Carlson.

For free. Carlson is silent, deathly silent. His skin is pale and gray, almost matching the moon dust, and his eyes are back to full milk. status. I kneel next to him and pat his chest. Carlson? A sudden shouting over my comms sends me off balance, and I collapse onto my ass as I look for the source. About 30 yards away, an operator team dressed in sleek, military guard,

exosuits, races toward me. Their carbines up and aimed directly at me. I throw my hands into the air. Whoa! We assess your threat level! I do as asked and wait for them to reach me. When they I can't say I'm surprised to see a certain logo on their exosuits. You guys are with Absalom Corp? I laugh and shake my helmet. Carlson's body lurches up to its feet, spins, and screams at the security team. Infinite! They opened fire, pummeling his body with round after round after round.

No! My scream is worthless and too late. Carlson is a shredded mess. His body wavers for a moment, then collapses into a bloodless, dried-out husk. His eyes are no longer milky. They aren't even there anymore. All I see are empty sockets, staring up from a nearly bald skull. When I look over and glare at the team, their carbines turn from Carlson and on me.

One of the operators snarls at me. Even from where I stand, I can see the gleam in his eyes. He wants me to be a problem so bad that his trigger finger is twitching as he tries to keep it under control. You in a restricted area. Then he looks up and asks the more important question. And what the hell is this thing? A hundred answers come to mind, but are quashed when I look past the team and see what's coming for us.

Wave! To hell what the carbines aimed at me. I raced to the ladder, realizing that I hadn't moved from the frying pan and into the fire. No, the fire hasn't even been lit yet. I see sparks fly from the pile as I climb as fast as my body will allow. The Absalom operators are firing their carbines at me, and they aren't going easy on their triggers. I keep waiting for my life to be cut short by the impact of one of the high-speed bullets,

but somehow I continue living. Then the sparks stop, and I have a feeling one of the operators looked over their shoulder and saw what was coming. I'd have loved to have seen the looks on their faces when they realized that, yes, that is a tsunami headed straight for them, and, yes, it is impossible for a tsunami to be on the moon. Also, yes, that a tsunami doesn't give a shit where it's supposed to be. It's coming this way whether it's impossible or not. Risking a glance down, I see half the operators following me up the ladder,

while the other half try to make a run for their roller, which sits only a few yards away. I return my focus to my climb and struggle my exhausted ass back up onto the platform. When I'm through the hatch, I spin about and almost kick it closed on the operators who are trying to outclimb the tsunami. But when I see one of them lock eyes with me, and I recognize the pure fear and confusion in that look, I step back and let them climb onto the platform.

One of them races at me, grabs me by my suit, and shoves me up against the pile. His voice screams at me over the comms, and it's then I truly realize that the entire time I was talking to Carlson or any of the dead things, it wasn't through the comms. I could hear them clear as day,

despite my helmet's insulation. To explain it, he says, so that's not happened. The guy stares at me. Carlson? I shoved the fuming operator away from me. Guns are out and pointed at my helmet. Exhausted ass.

One of the operators steps forward and sizes me up. Cheap exosuit, probably the same one we thought we saw on the scanner. Which one of the scumb balls do you work for, punk? They wait for an answer. But I have no intention of making things easier on them. Plus, if I do get out of this hell, and Garner were to find out I ratted to out, Absalom security, then I might as well walk out on airlock myself.

Now, sir. I glance past the asshole in front of me and can see the top of the tsunami still racing straight for us. Better listen to your guy there. I nodded the oncoming wave. Then I really focus on the guy and look him dead in the eye. He grabs me by my suit and yanks me over to the railing. I glanced down and see the other half of the team hop into their roller. The guy grabs me by my helmet and forces me.

to look at this tsunami. Great answer. I feel hands grab the back of my suit and start to lift me off the platform. He points at the wave, getting his helmet right up against mine so he can look me in the eye. Before I can answer,

a loud banging comes from the hatch on the platform's floor, the one we just climbed up out of, and it's loud enough for us all to hear it through our helmets. I laugh, because I have a feeling I know who's knocking. The commander slams his palm against the railing.

He eyes me for a lot. a second, then sneers. He smacks my helmet, then points at the tsunami again. There's a shout from the comms, and the commander looks over his shoulder. I don't waste a second. I shove him as hard as I can and yank free of the hands holding me. I'm throwing elbows into exo suits and running down the platform right when the first screams begin. My heart is beating in my ears like thunder. Then I realize that the sound isn't my heart. It's the tsunami. I look to the side and see that it's almost on us. And just when I thought I'd hit my quota of impossible sights for the day, I see the Absalom roller tumbling and spinning up the surface

of the massive wave until it's at the top, cresting the water, surfing like it's a tourist at the beach. But that somewhat funny image only lasts a brief moment. The roller does one more spin, then is swallowed whole by the giant wave, gone from sight in the blink of an eye. I need cover, and I need it now. Turning left, I race down a walkway to a central structure with a single door. My gloves slap at the long handle. I pull, I twist, I yank hard. It refuses to move even a millimeter.

The commander's shoulders into me, and we both grab onto the handle. My gloves are cheap and bulky, while his are sleek and streamlined. One of his gloves is probably worth more than my entire exosuit. We twist our bodies and pull up on the handle. straining as hard as we can until there is a loud thunk and the door swings open. I hold it open while he ducks inside. I check behind us, but there's no one there. The walkway is empty.

I follow him into the dark space. He doesn't answer. I switch my halogens to wide spectrum and stand at the open door, searching the platform for signs that more operators are coming. Close it. He sounds utterly defeated. It's no skin off my nose for a couple of Absalom security. security operators to go missing. I mean, I did warn them. So I slammed the door closed and pulled

the inside handle down until it locks in place. Now I just pray the door stays closed when the tsunami hits. I shine my lights on him, and he wences, shielding his faceplate with his hand. I scoff at the sight of his exosuit. Mine is huge. You could probably fit two of me in it. His? It's form fitting, probably tailored for his body only. And it is armored like nothing I've ever seen. I think of the pistol in my kit and highly doubt the bullets would even pierce his suit. I get close, and he takes a step back.

Since he's the guy with the carbine in his hands, I do as he says and stay where I am. My hands raised at chest level. That was a tsunami. Could it survive? Well, that answers that question. Carlson was. There's a banging at the door and we both look that way. Don't you open it?

He warns me off by making sure the barrel of his carbine is aimed directly at me. If it's Carlson, I have to open it. But the problem is, I don't know if it's Carlson. That. And there's a tsunami headed straight for the rig. The banging rings out again, then silence. It rings out a third time, then silence. I look around the space.

It's filled with equipment and tools, none looking younger than maybe mid-20th century. It's all analog, from what I can tell. I cock my helmet and listen hard, but don't hear anything. Then I keep listening, realizing something is missing. As he shouts at me, I walk over to the door. I lean against it, but can't hear anything. And it's not like I can take my helmet off and put my bare ear to the metal. But even with my helmet on, I should hear something, anything.

There's a damn tsunami coming for us. Except it should have hit by now. I grabbed the door's handle, but before I can pull on it, I'm slammed inside. My arm's pinwheel as I try to stay upright, but I fail and stumble back, tripping over my own boots and go down hard. All I see is the barrel of a carbine in front of my biser. I look past that to the commander's enraged face. Tsunami should have hit by now.

It should have knocked this oil. brick off its pilings already. He glares down at me, then blinks and looks around. That's what this is? Before I can answer, there's a polite knocking from the other side at the door. Mr. Topper, are you in there? If so, could you come out now? Your friend would like to say something to you.

The commander spins and takes aim at the door. Ignoring him, I get back to my feet. Then I ease by him and grab the handle. Stop. Trust me. It doesn't make a difference. He's toying with us. He can open that door anytime he wants. Without waiting to see if I'm going to be shot, I pull the handle up and shove the door open. The marked man and some of his nasties are standing there. One of them shoves a body forward.

It's Carlson, just as rotted and gross as the others. They're like they were when we first stepped onto the rig. Sorry, man, we tried. A piece of Carlson's bottom lip falls off, and plodied. hops onto the deck. He goes to bend down to pick it up, but hands grab him and keep him upright. Then one of the jerks kicks the lip off the walkway. Unlike how his hands are shaking as he holds his carbine. From what I can tell, he's five seconds from completely losing his shit. I'd rather not be standing close when he does. Wave? The marked man looks over his shoulder, then back at the commander. What wave is that, Commander, Silo? All I see is dust and rocks. He points the carbine directly at the marked man's head.

Start talking or I start shooting! Oh, wait, I'm sorry. Did I say all I see are rocks and dust? My mistake. What I really see is a vast, endless ocean. Don't you, Commander Silo? The moonscape ripples and morphs into the endless ocean again. As the landscape changes, so do the marked man and his gang.

Their clothes become whole, as do most of their bodies. though a couple of them are still showing some rot, which is interesting. That hadn't happened before. There's a loud gasp in my comms, and I see Commander Silo's carbine slowly dip until it's just dangling in his grip, the barrel aimed at the deck. This isn't real. This can't be real. Real is irrelevant here.

I turned my attention from the commander to the marked man. And I think, so are you. The marked man cocks his nasty head. Oh, and that was that. I reach out and grab Carlson's arm, yanking him into the space. Then I slam the door closed and throw the handle. He shakes his head and wobbles on his feet. You think it, Topper. I told you that.

The commander's carbine is back up and aimed at Carlson. A zombie? A dead husk? Not the handsome stud, you see now? Carlson and I look at each other and both laugh. The commander surges forward and jams the carbine's barrel against Carlson's forehead. Exosuit. I think because, like you said, I'm dead.

Carlson looks at me. What do you think, Topper? Makes sense. Nothing makes sense. Fists bang on the door. The commander whips the carbine in that direction and pulls the trigger. Even with my helmet on, the noise is nearly deafening. Bullets, ricochet in every direction.

And I throw myself at the ground, trying to make my bulk as flat as possible. The gunfire has stopped, and I roll onto my back, then angle my helmet to the side. Carlson has his hands around the commander's collar and is lifting him high into the air. A pool of black blood grows at Carlson's feet. Dead doesn't mean I can't be killed, or hurt, or feel pain. He throws the commander across the space. The Absalom man slams into what looks like an oversized jackhammer and crumples to the floor. He doesn't move.

Carlson picks up the carbine, takes aim at the fall. fallen commander, puts his finger inside the trigger guard and squeezes. Nothing happens. Carlson tosses the carbine to the side. Damn, biometric lack. The fists keep banging on the door. Carlson looks that way and frowns. Why aren't they getting inside?

How should I know? Before he can answer, the commander stirs. He rolls over onto his back. Inside his helmet, blood pours from a gash on his forehead. I walk over and stand over him. His eyes flutter, and he tries to focus on me. But a swift kick to the temple of his helmet knocks his head into the other side, and those eyes close fast.

We'll leave him behind. Alive. Carlson shakes his head. Not the best idea. Do you think he can navigate this hell? Good point. There's a door at the far side of the space, and I point at it. Where does that go?

Carlson grins. Where do you want it to go? Home would be nice, but I'll take anywhere, take anywhere but here. Then let's have a look. Leaving Commander Silo behind, we walk to the door, look at each other, then nod and both grab the long handle. We each almost lose our balance as the handle moves easily, like it has been recently greased.

I shoved the door open, and we stare at the new scene. That's different. On the other side of the door is a meadow, and not just any meadow. It's one close to where I grew up. Or my life went to shit and I ended up in the foster system. Without waiting, I walk through the door. Carlson follows, and both of us step into the tall grass and long-stemmed wildflowers. I look behind me and gasp.

The oil rig looms off in the distance. But the door we came through is right here, close enough to touch. Back in! I step back through the door. Carlson lingers, and I have to reach out and pull him in with me. I close the door, count a three, and open it again. There are people milling about, hurrying from task to task, or just sitting and talking. That's the Hartwood Lounge, the one on the top level of MBC.

A woman is about to put a bite of muffin in her mouth, then freezes the pastry halfway to her lips. Her eyes go wide, and the bite and muffin tumble from her grip. Her companion glances over his shoulder at us and gapes. They can see us. I slammed the door closed and grabbed Carlson by the upper arms, giving him a shake. They can see us, Carlson! Whoa, whoa, easy there!

I'm not as solid as I'd like! He carefully plucks my fingers from his arms. And that was probably just a trick. This place messes with you, Topper, remember? Yeah, well, let's see about that. I pull the door open once more, and I met with a screaming wind and a thousand creatures made of fur and teeth racing toward us as a blizzard rink. around them. Carlson and I have to use all of our strength to get the door closed

again. A few snowflakes flutter about us, then subtle on the deck. I've never seen to do this before. The locations have always been something related to this oil rig. This is new. How would you know? You've only been here a few hours. He turns slowly and stares at me and says, Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. Then he shakes his head and frowns. I wish what you said was true, Topper, but I have been here a lot longer than a few hours. Feels like I've always been here. He looks down at his feet.

Like I'll always be here. Don't worry, man. We'll figure away. The door is ripped open, and a thousand tentacles grab me, pulling me past Carlson and into a deep void. I scream for help and reach for the doorframe, but I'm already meters, then kilometers, away from the open door before I can even raise my arms. All I see is a small spot of light. Then it winks out, and I'm plunged into a blackness that feels more impossible than the raging ocean or the charging tsunami or any of the madness I've witnessed.

Complete and total sensory deprivation is my new reality. I am drowning in the absence of everything, consumed by the infinite nothing. Then these words escape my lips and my feeling of falling, flying, being thrown, being pulled, being devoured and swallowed. suddenly ceases. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. As soon as the words have been uttered, I shake my head and mutter over and over. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Yes. Heart stops beating, and my mind goes completely blank. Then there is an explosion, as if light has been just invented, and the darkness is pushed back. In its place is an undulating, squirming, twisting, and wriggling, thing.

Yeah. Topper. Don't ask what it is. I don't ask who it is. I don't really care. I'm way past those questions. And I realize I'm way past all questions. All I know is...

Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. Yes. I stare straight into the wriggling mass. You are the horror. You are the nightmare. Yes. And so am I.

Yes. A feeling of deep longing and painful regret fills my insides. There's no way out of this. There never was. While I haven't met the same fate as Carlson, I have met a fate, my fate. And it is an undulating, squirming, twisting, and wriggling thing. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. I reach up and place my hands on my collar.

A tentacle slides from the mass and wraps about my wrist. Not yet. No explanation is needed. I nod and lower my hands. The tentacle withdraws back into the mass after whispering a name to me. Then it feels like I have been shot out of a rocket at a hundred G's. I scream as a small dot of light grows and grows and grows and grows. And I see Carlson standing at the door.

Then he's jumping to the side, and I'm flying through the doorway, my exosuit straining to stay intact. Not that I need it anymore. I collide with a piece of machinery, bounce off, and skid across the floor until I'm right by the first door. Slowly, I push up onto my hands and knees, glancing at Carlson on the opposite side of the space as he picks himself up. What the shit was that? The next order went clang shut, and the one next to me slowly opens. Mr. Topper, that was rude to shut me out like that.

The marked man throws a kick into my midsection, and I oof as I am sent rolling. When I bump up against Commander Silo's body, I feel him shift a little. That's good. Very good. I grab onto the huge jackhammer thing and pull myself to my feet. Topper, look out! I spin and see the wrench coming from my helmet, and am just barely able to duck in time. While I keep my helmet visor from being shattered, I can't stop the same outcome from happening with my shoulder.

The wrench comes down so hard that my entire left side goes numb. It must have hit a major nerve. So sad, Mr. Topper. You could have joined us. Could have helped me rule forever. With my good arm, I hang on to the jackhammer, using it to keep me upright. Then I give the man a big grin. For a dead man, you've got quite a swing.

Who says I am dead? I'm not dead. I'm more alive than I have... Look past him, hoping to see what I think I'll see. I do, and I'm glad I'm already grinning, or I'd give it all away. The marked man rolls his eyes at my widening grin. Beth, if you're looking for a dead man, then you can look in the mirror. He lifts the wrench high over his head.

I don't think so, Asher. My words stop him mid-lift. The confident madness from only a millisecond ago slipped some. What did you call me? Where did you hear that name? It doesn't matter. Not something you need to know. Tell me, why did you hear that name?

The wrench wobbles in his grip as he tries to lift it higher. But I can see that's never going to happen. His strength, his power, is going, draining from him before my eyes. What is this? The marked man, a person known eons ago as Asher Postulius, begins to tremble uncontrollably. What is happening? I straighten up and shuffle to the side, well out of range of the dangerously unstable wrench.

Then I look over at the marked man's guise and see some of them trembling also, while their bodies begin to rapidly deteriorate from the semi-normal-looking workers to the undead, rotted workers I first witnessed. The ones who aren't trembling and falling apart take several hurried steps to the side, away from the others. And loyalties will reveal themselves. I look over and see Carlson staring at me. I nod.

He nods. Then I move in close to the marked man and press. my visor against his ear. He's barely able to withstand the pressure and almost topples over. The wrench wobbles and nearly slips from his shaky grip. Infinite is the horror. The marked man recoils. Then his eyes go wide.

No, you can't have those words. They are mine. They were promised to me. Not anymore. Taking a step back, I put my gloves to my collar and undo the clasps. Topper, no! I ignore Carlson and twist. my helmet, then lift it up over my head, letting it fall to the ground. I take a deep breath,

tasting the impossibility everywhere on my tongue. The marked man gasps and falls to his knees. He loses his grip on the wrench, and it clatters to the deck beside him. When he looks up at me, his sunken and almost hidden eyes are filled with confusion, pain, and betrayal. It said I was the one. It lied. Then I slowly take my gloves off as the marked man, Asher Pastelius watches me, his gaze communicating his complete and utter defeat. This was my dominion. I was to rule. I unzip my kit and pull out the pistol. With my gloves off, my finger fits perfectly in the trigger guard.

I placed the barrel of the gun to Asher's temple. Yeah, well, infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare, asshole. I squeezed the trigger. His head explodes, and everything around me spins. I'm no longer standing in some equipment storage room on an oil rig, no. I'm standing on the edge of a volcano on some distant planet. Then I'm falling through sulfurous clouds. I'm buried deep inside a crystal mine. I'm floating on the edge of a nebula.

I'm digging through blood-colored sand. I'm laughing with a Yeti. I'm screaming at a behemoth with a trillion eyes. I'm sipping wine with a room full of cats. I'm eating apples, but they aren't apples. I'm singing a song that hasn't been sung. before. Then I'm back on the oil rig, and Carlson is standing before me, pointing at the open door. I think that's for you. There's a scene I recognize instantly beyond the doorframe. So far,

no one is looking this way. Thanks. I pat his shoulder as I hand him the pistol. Then I walk past him, heading straight for the door. I don't pause at the threshold. I just keep going until I'm on the other side. It takes a moment before I'm noticed. When I am, people scream and scramble out of their seats. Some climb over their desks, trying to get away from me as fast as they can. Security personnel shout for me to put my hands up, for me to get down on my knees, for me not to move.

They rush me, and a hundred carbines are aimed in my direction. I take a deep breath. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. The guards jolt. The Niche puts the barrel of their carbines. under their chins. Not yet. They freeze in place. Then I look at the terrified faces all around the huge assembly area. Ladies and gentlemen of the United Nations, I am here to tell you that you have

made a big mistake. Mouths hang open and eyes bug out. The dark side of the moon is not open, and it never will be. So please do us all a favor and let it go. Just walk away. No expeditions, no corporate interference, no crime bosses. The dark side of the moon is permanently off limits. Am I understood? The mouths hanging open slowly close. The bugged out eyes returned to normal, and brows furrow over them.

Hands fall away from cheeks and go to wrist-coms. A thousand angry voices erupt as one and assail me. I sigh and shake my head. I didn't think you'd understand. The delegates of Earth's nations continue to shout at me. They wave fists, and some even throw things like pencils and coffee mugs. Nothing reaches me. Anything even close bounces off the backs and shoulders of the frozen security guards standing in front of me. Their carbines still pressed under their chins. People like you

never do understand. You think of your houses and your riches and your status and your corporate earnings and your petty power plays, but you never look beyond to see what is truly at the center of All of this. I spread my arms wide. Infinite is this horror. Forever is this nightmare. The guards carbines go off at once. Blood and brains and bone shoot high into the air like a grotesque confetti cannon.

The United Nations General Assembly goes silent, and I savor the absence of noise. But it is short-lived as pure panic sets in, and everyone rushes for the assembly room's exit doors. I let them flee. I let them panic. I let them leave. Turning on my heel, I walk back through the door. It slams closed behind me. That was something. Carlson eyes me wearily. Um, Topper? Yeah, Carlson? What are you? I'm everything and nothing.

A shot rings out, and I look down at my suit. A smoking hole is dead center. I look back up and see Commander Silo standing across the room, his carbine to his shoulder. I stick a finger in the hole and withdraw it. No blood. I hold the finger up and shake my head. That may have worked a few minutes ago, Commander, but you lost your window. I nodded the men who used to belong to Asher Pustulius, the ones who aren't piles of dust and rags on the ground, that is. Bring him.

Before the commander can turn his carbine on them, they have him. in their grasp. His weapon clatters to the deck, and he is dragged to a spot only inches from me. I'll be honest, Commander. I'm still figuring all this out, but there's one thing you should know. What's that? I can't lose. I pat his cheek, and he recoils at my touch. I don't blame him. The skin on my hand is mottled and marred. I stare at it for a moment. Then I reach up and undo the zippers and clasps holding my exosuit on. I yank the top half of my suit up over my head, tossing it to the ground at the commander's feet.

He tries to step back, but my men keep him in place. The cool air feels delightful on my skin, cooling me through my sweat-soaked t-shirt. I look at my arms and see the sigils and scars and burns and cuts, but there's no pus, no rot. I slip out of the exosuit's legs and kick them aside, Then I get close to the commander's face again. Tell them that the old ways are over.

Tell them that if they want to hold on to what little power they still have, they'll never cross the shuttle line again. This, this is madness. Then he clears his throat and straightens his spine. I don't know how you are doing this, but I know it's all bullshit. When I tell my superiors about this place, they'll bring everything they have and wipe you off the face of the moon. They'll try.

They'll fail. I nodded my men, and they dragged the commander away. Take him to his roller. It should still be out there with what's left of his team. Might be a little banged up, but it'll get them back to MCB. The commander kicks and fights and curses the entire time. He's dragged across the deck by my men. His tantrum is unbelievably annoying.

So I'm glad when he's finally pulled from the equipment space and out onto the walkway. A quick glance tells me that outside, there is no impossible ocean or massive tsunami. There is only the dark side of the moon. When the door closes, I turn and look around me. We should move that chair in here. This is a much better space than that stinky tomb of a room Asher was using. Topper?

Yeah, Carlson? What the fuck, man? I shrug. Good question. He looks toward the closed door and then back at me. You know he's right. They're going to send everything they have at this place. Let them come.

I smile. There's a new marked man in charge now. And you know what, Carlson? What? Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. He nods with understanding. We both do.

It's going to feel good being in charge for a change. Year 2135. Location. Luna. The far side. The lander crunches down on the surface, and Reed Knowles double-checks the instruments, making sure the gear is solid and the lander is stable. Looking good, he says.

Copy that. Chase Buford replies from the other side of the small cockpit. Same here. Pressurizing the drop hatch now. We can exit and start the survey in five minutes. Five minutes can be an eternity out here, Reed says, peering out of the cockpit window at the endless expanse of darkness that covers the moon. far side surface, the dark side of the moon. Beyond the surface, though, are wonders of reflected light. Clouds of dust particles pick up the sun's ever-present rays and turn the open space

around the moon into a kaleidoscope of swirling hues, reds, oranges, greens and purples. Reed watches as the solar winds turn the clouds of dust into a spectacle as dynamic as the northern lights, a sight he watched endlessly as a young boy back in Petaluma. All right, even with the relays, comms are spotty on this side of the big hunk of cheese. So we need to be fast and careful when we get out of there, Chase says. No sightseeing, Reed. Got it? Got it. Reed replies.

And since when have I ever gone sightseeing while on mission? Every damn time, Chase laughs. You have your head in the stars. Even when you are out in them, command expects its astronauts to be on their game at all times. That's all they ask. They also ask us to leave our families for months at a stretch, so we can find them new ways of making money off of what shouldn't be touched in the first place. Reed doesn't even try to hide the bitterness in his voice.

Luna is for everyone, not just the highest bidder. Tell that to the highest bidder, which happens to be the company we work for, the company that keeps our bank accounts full, so that our families don't have to stand in breadlines, or purchase discount rebreathers just to live through the week. Now you're getting it. I was being sardonic.

You were being what? Sardonic. It's like sarcastic, but with bite. Yeah, well, keep your sardonic nest to yourself. Chase points at the cockpit ceiling. Command is always listening. That's right, you two, and don't forget it. A woman's voice calls out over the comms.

My panel is showing that your exit hatch is pressurized, so I have to wonder what you're still doing inside the lander instead of out-surveying the site, like you are being paid to do. Copy that, Angela, Chase says. We are heading out right now. We were just waiting to hear your lovely voice, Big Sister, Reid adds. Ah, I finally get that reference, Reed.

Angela Wokoff says from her safe and comfy office back on Earth. The 20th century novel 1984, right? That's right, Reed replies, as he and Chase stand up, each flipping switches and checking readings while they make their way to the circular hatch set into the cockpit. deck. The ever-present, inescapable Big Brother. So, basically, you are calling me a tool of the surveillance date.

Is that it, Reed? Pretty much. Well, considering how much I get paid, I could be called worse. That seems to be the sentiment around here, too. People gotta live, Reed. Chase protests as he spins the wheel on the hatch, waits for the heavy clunk that is followed by a loud beep and pulls hard. The hatch swings up, and Chase moves around it so he can peer down inside. Nothing's shifted during transit. All equipment is still stowed and secure.

Permission to drop in and get this party started, big sis. Not you too, Chase. Angela sighs. One asshole permission is about all I can handle. Yet you get yourself a two-for. How lucky for you. Gonna buy a lotto ticket on my way home tonight. I have so much luck. Dropping in, command, Reed says, not waiting for the official go-ahead. Hurry! Angela replies, and her voice is swallowed by a surprise. warm of static.

Losing comm's window in 10 seconds. You'll be dark for at least 20 minutes until the next orbital relay comes around. So be careful. You get into any trouble and I can't help you. Yes, because you are so much help from where you are, Reid says. He climbs down and steps aside so Chase can follow. Neither wastes a second and both begin putting on their exosuits, each meticulously checking every part for any signs of damage or issues.

Once encased and their protective equipment, Reed grabs the wheel on the second hatch, the one at their feet, while Chase climbs halfway up the ladder and closes the hatch to the cockpit. Good to go! Chase's voice crackles over the comms. Ready for exit. Copy that. Reed replies. Do you copy command?

We are exiting the lander now. A burst of static squelches in their ears, and both men adjust their comms volume quickly. We've lost comms with Angela. Chase says. The two men pull hard on the exit hatch and step back as a whoosh of air comes up from the pressurization bubble. Then the bubble dissolves as it's designed to do. And all that's between the two men and the moon's surface are six ladder rungs. After you!

Chase bows in the stiff suit. No, after you. A tip of my hat to you, kind sir. Chase laughs as he slowly descends through the hatch, down the short ladder, and onto the surface of the moon. He stands there for a moment. Turns in a slow circle, then stops and looks up at Reed. They don't call it the dark side of the moon for nothing, Chase says. You can't see shit out here.

Better go HUD. Reed switches on his heads-up display. He taps at a small keyboard on his suit's left wrist, and multiple readings stream across the helmet's visor. All right, turn 20 degrees to your left, and that's our first target site. 20 degrees, copy that. Chase taps at the wrist, and many floodlights on his helmet, illuminate the darkness. He starts walking as Reed descends to the surface quickly and follows

closely behind. Ground probing radar from the drones says the cave system should be approximately 60 meters ahead. Chase calls out. We need to find a way into the system. The company would rather not have to do any blasting. Humanity would rather the company didn't do any blasting. One wrong charge, and we split the moon in half. At best, we knock a chunk off and send it floating toward Mars. At this trajectory, the chunk would head for the sun. No, it would head toward Mars. You aren't accounting for. Not accounting for what?

Chase stops. Reed? You there? With no response, he looks over his shoulder. Reed is standing still, staring out at nothing. Reed? What? Oh, sorry. There was an electromagnetic spike, and I was trying to trace it.

Anything we need to worry about? No, no, probably a sunspy. Those aren't good. True, but I'm not picking anything anymore. We should be fine. Cool, great! Chase turns back to face the direction they were headed. A mouth full of teeth is all he sees, and before he can scream,

the mouthful consumes his helmet and a head within in one bite. Reed turns in time to see Chase's headless suit fall to its knees, then collapse onto its side. Then he sees the shape standing over Chase. It's massive maw chewing, chewing, chewing. doing? Oh dear God, Reed whispers. He turns to run back to the ladder, but the sight of the spacecraft is blocked by a second mouth full of teeth.

Unlike Chase, Reed has time to scream before his head is removed in a single bite. Year 2156. Location, company conference room. Captain Nolves, a question. A reporter shouts from the scrum of journalists, all jockeying for position, in front of the podium while simultaneously trying to control their camera drones. that hover above the crowd. All eyes are on the young man in the company flight uniform.

Yes? Castor Noel says, pointing at the reporter. Go ahead. Your father disappeared more than 20 years ago while trying to complete a mission, similar to the one you were about to embark on. That's not a question. Yeah, sorry.

My question is why? Why following his footsteps when those footsteps ended in tragedy? Well, we don't know it ended in tragedy, because we don't know how the mission ended. All we know is that my father, Reed Knowles and his partner, Chase Buford, landed on the far side of the moon, checked in with command, and proceeded to execute their mission. They were never heard from again. So, in between the last communication, and when the orbital comm's relay was back in range, they disappeared. The lander returned on autopilot when called from command, but there was nothing recorded or logged that could shed any light on what happened.

That still sounds like a tragedy to me, Captain. To you, maybe. To me, it sounds like a mystery worth solving. So this is personal? Of course it's personal. It's always personal. We live on a planet that, while not dying, isn't exactly living like it used to. Severe deforestation means our atmosphere is becoming more and more toxic. People are having a hard time breathing without mechanical assistance.

Yes, Captain, we all know. And, with drought now just part of the hotter months, and massive storms part of the colder months, mass agriculture is becoming nearly impossible. Sure, some small farms are eking by, but you can't feed a hungry planet with roadside produce stands, can you? Captain, my point was... Your point was to get me to give you a soundbite

that can perpetuate the notion that the moon is inhabited. Sorry, but I'm more a hard facts guy, and the hard facts are space as dangerous. My father and Chase Buford knew those dangers, faced those dangers, and in the end, the dangers won. It's that simple. So, yes, it is personal, but only because if my mission doesn't find a viable site for a new moon colony,

then a lot of people will die down here on Earth. Sir, even if you did find a site, it could only house about, and that's all for today, folks. Angela Wolkhov says, stepping to the podium and pushing between Castor and the large array of microphones. Captain Knowles needs to prepare for tomorrow's launch. Press packets will be sent to your ID logs when you exit the conference room. Thank you all for coming. The company hopes you have a great day. The journalists grumble and try to call out last-second questions. But Angela waves them off as she hurries Castor away from the podium and out a side door.

Not exactly on message, but not a total disaster. Angela leads cast her by the elbow down a hallway through a locked and guarded door, and into Command Central, where a dozen techs sit and work to prepare for the important launch. I told you I wasn't going to bullshit them, Castor says, as he's led into a glass-walled meeting space. What else should I have said? They asked about my dad. Not like I can say no comment, and leave it at that.

Oh, you most definitely could have said no comment. Angela responds. She points at a chair. Take a seat, Castor. It's time you saw something. Saw something. What are you talking about? Just sit and you'll see.

Castor sits, and Angela swipes her hand over the meeting room's table. A bright hollow appears, and Castor frowns. That's a transport. Caster studies the rotating hollow image. He leans closer. Um, hold on. That's a military transport. Yes, it is.

And one you are certified to pilot, although you won't be. No, I won't be, because I'll be piloting a lander that holds just me and Hirsch. We don't need a full transport, let alone a military one. You do if you are taking a squad of Marines with you. Kaster's shoulders drop, and he slouches back into his chair. Talk to me, Angela. I don't need to talk. I need to show you something.

Like I said, I was going to when I told you to sit. Kaster points at the transport. No, that's not what I wanted to show you. This is... The lights dim, and the hollow switches from the rotating military transport to a grainy, static-y-hud recording. And the lower third of the image is the name Noles R. The image is hard to make.

out, so Castor leans forward again. What am I looking at? He asks, quietly. Your father's exosuit was able to transmit this recording to the lander before... Before what? Well, you'll see. Caster does see, but barely due to the image quality. He sees something standing over Chase Buford's headless body,

but everything is a blur as Reed Knowles turns to run. What looks like a mouthful of teeth comes straight at the camera. Then, nothing. Does the squad of Marines make sense now, Castor? Angela asks, swiping the hollow away as the lights come back up. Yeah, I guess. What doesn't make sense is why you waited to show me this now. I should have seen this years ago.

The company is not leakproof. This has been kept under wraps for over 20 years. The company has just now received permission to return to the far side. We aren't screwing this opportunity up by that HUD vid getting out to the public. Angela, I'm not a Marine. I'm not military or trained in combat situations. I'm an astronaut engineer, just like my father. You send astronauts up to do research and come back with answers.

You don't send us up to fight whatever that was in that vid? Did you not hear the whole Marine Squad part of this? Regardless, this is way outside my comfort zone. Relax, you will have trained professionals protecting you. You will also have a very robust comm system that I personally designed after. Well, you know why I designed it. All of command will be watching and listening, so if anything goes wrong, we'll send backup immediately. Backup that has to travel from Lunar Base Echo and all the way to the other side of the moon, which takes how long, Angela? 90 minutes. How long

were my father in chase on the moon's surface before whatever you just showed me happened? Approximately eight minutes. I don't have to do the math for you, do I? Again, and I can't stress this enough. You will have Marines with you. If anyone gets eaten, it'll be them, because their job is to make sure you don't end up in some monster's belly. Kaster sighs.

What do we think those things are? No clue. The company has had every single zoologist and even cryptozoologists worth a damn look at the vid. I thought you said this has been under wraps. We don't tell them the vid is from the moon, Kaster. We say it's from a subterranean

cave in Southeast Asia. and was taken by a tourist. We leave out the Chase Buford part and also erase your father's name from the lower third. The company is very careful, hence the Marines. Now you understand. I was being sardonic. Sarcasm with a bite.

Yes, your father said the same thing often. Gaster glances out at the main command center and all the techs. We're only going to get one shot at this, aren't we? He asks after a minute of silence. Yes, the government has been. made it very clear to our team that they didn't want anyone to ever go back to the far side. But you know how persuasive the company can be.

I do. But if this goes wrong, well, the odds of ever going back again are slim. Not even Russia allows its cosmoniers to venture to the far side. They gave up before we did. Not that we exactly gave up. That's not the company's way. I suppose not. Caster narrows his eyes and nods.

All right. When do I meet the team? Year 2156, location, lunar base echo. Two weeks later, Hey, I said shut the fuck up and sit your asses down. Master Chief John Howerton shouts at the assembled squad of Marines standing before him. Without argument, each Marine shuts the fuck up and sits their asses down. Captain, Howardon says to Castor, who is standing off to the side, leaning against the transport's wall.

Thank you, Master Chief. Castor pushes off the wall so we can stand in front of the squad. I am mission leader Captain Castor Knowles. A hand shoots up, and Howerton points at the offending Marine. I will personally insert that arm inside your rectum and pull it out your left nostril if you do not put that hand down right now. He barks. The Marine puts his hand down. Anyway, I am the mission leader, and we will hit the LZ in about five minutes. Some of you are wondering why you are here, since the moon is uninhabited.

I am here to tell you that it is very inhabited, and we are going to find out with what? There's some nervous laughter amongst the Marines, and all eyes go to the master chief. He ain't shitting you sideways, folks. I've seen the vid myself. Whatever we are dealing with is taller than a man and has way more teeth. All true, Kaster steps forward. So you will need to stay alert, but also listen to me. My mission is to see if the subterranean tunnel structure the company detected on the far side, is usable as habitable space for about 300,000 emigrays looking to relocate to the moon.

Your mission, Marines, is to make sure Captain Knowles accomplishes his mission. Howarden barks. We will not fail, am I understood? Urah! The Marines shout in unison. Good. Caster nods at the master chief. I'll check on Hirsch and be back.

All suited up and ready to go. Clock is ticking, Captain. Be quick. Always. Castor hurries out of the transport's hold and up a ladder, down a corridor, and up another ladder. Hirsch! He shouts when he reaches the bridge. Let's go!

And that's why I don't swim in the ocean. Neil Hirsch says to the transport's marine pilot. The pilot doesn't laugh. I guess you had to be there. We need to suit up now, Castor says to Hirsch. We are landing in two minutes. One minute, Captain. The pilot says.

Well, I guess we need to hustle then, don't we? Hirsch pats the pilot on the shoulder. When I get back, I'll tell you the story about how I fought a gang of lady boys in Thailand. And almost won! The pilot doesn't respond. Hirsch shrugs and follows Kaster off the bridge, down the ladder, down the corridor, down another ladder, and to a gear room holding their exosuits.

We'll do checks on the go, Kaster says, racing to get a suit on. In 30 seconds, both men are in their exosuits, helmets tucked under their arms, and stepping into the hold, just as the transport touches down on the moon's surface. Good timing, Auerton says, then looks at the soldiers seated on each side of the hold. Time to do our jobs, Marines. Get your asses up and let's see what all the fuss is about. Ura. We should have a shout like that, Hirsch says to Castor as he puts his helmet on. Keep your head in the game, Castor responds, putting on his own helmet.

This is serious, Hirsch. I'm always serious. I'm not fucking around. My dad died up here. I intend not to. Same man. So relax. We got this. Systems in the green and ready to disembark. Howerton says to Castor. Caster looks at the holds huge hatch. Then he nods. We are a go. Powerton slams his fist against a large red button. A claxon blairs, red lights flash, and the hatch descends, becoming a ramp.

The Marines are already walking down the ramp before it has fully touched ground. Floodlights from the transport light up a surface that would normally be nearly pitch dark. In every direction are gray dust and large craters. Caster checks his hood and then points 46 degrees to the left. We go this way. He starts off walking. His slow-moving heavy boots kicking up large puffs of moon dust with every step. Hold your horses, Captain.

Auerton says over the comms. We'll lead the way. You and your partner can tuck it in the middle. My job is to get you two home in one piece. and I am very good at my job. Understood, Master Chief. Caster hangs back until half the Marine squad is in front of him

and half are behind. Caster shoots a map to everyone's huds. As you can see, there are large holes about a quarter-click away. At first, they were thought to be deep craters, but the company realized later that they are possible tunnel entrances. Tunnels? From what?

A Marine asks. No one knows. It's our job to find out. My guess is there used to be water on the moon, Hirsch says. No one agrees with me, but I like to think there were rivers all over the surface, and maybe one or two cut into the rock and made the tunnels. No one agrees with you because it's not possible, Kaster says. No one agreed with Galileo either. You, Hirsch, are not Galileo.

And see, we're picking something up, a Marine announces. Talk to me. Averton replies. Sending to Hutt now. The view from Kaster's visor is suddenly overlau. played with a scan reading, showing possible movement next to a tunnel opening. What is that? Is it a shadow? Yes, Hirsch. It's a shadow on the dark side of the moon. That makes sense,

Kaster says. Yeah, well, since nothing should be moving up here except for us, I went with a reasonable answer. What the fuck do you think it is, smart ass? Before Kaster can respond, the ground around the group explodes, as dozens of enormous creatures ripped through the moon's thin crust, surrounding the Marines and the astroneers. They're fucking worms! A Marine shouts, just as the creature swallows him whole.

Gunfire erupts everywhere, and Castor throws himself to the ground to avoid being cut apart by the swarm of bullets. Hirsch! He shouts into his comms. Get your ass down! But it's too late for Hirsch. The man stands there,

staring at a 12-foot worm with a mouth that is nothing but row after row after row of razor-sh sharp teeth. Hersch! Stray bullets punch bullets puncture Hershey's exosuit, and he screams into the calms as blood slowly spurts out of the holes, drifting in the almost zero gravity toward the towering worm. The droplets splatter across the worm's rough, scaly skin, turning the monster into a living Jackson Pollock painting.

Then it lunges and closes its mall around the top half of Hersh's body, biting the astroneer in half before Castor's eyes. No! Castor screams, but no one hears them. Or if they do, they don't pay it. attention. Everyone else has their own problems. One Marine tries to sprint back into the transport's hold, but the ground below him opens up, and a mouth, four times wider than himself, chops down on his legs, severing them just above the knees. The Marine's comms system shorts out from the volume of his whales. The man's body, leaking blood and oxygen from his exo-armor's legholes,

thrashes on the ground until the worm shoves up higher and devours the rest of him in one gulp before disappearing beneath the surface, the hole it made filling itself in automatically. Caster watches in horror as another worm slinks its way up the ramp and into the transport's hold. It can't fit. It can't. Caster mutters. Then, the comm's link between the group and the transport comes online. Get back to the transport! The pilot shouts.

I am lifting off in T-minus ten seconds. Everyone get back! The pilot's voice cuts off, and Caster watches the transport actually shouts. shake back and forth before going still. A few seconds later, the worm crawls its way back out of the transport and digs into the moon surface. Command! Castor shouts into his comms, burying his shock.

Command! Do you read? We have encountered hostels and are taking damage fast. Me back up immediately! The only answer is ear-piercing static. From that, and the bloody massacre painting the scene with slashes of crimson and moon dust, a chill runs down Castor's spine. Am I heading toward the same fate as my father? Then his breath catches, as a shape,

20 times the size of the attacking worms, stands tall over the battle. The smaller worms finish their rampage until nothing is left moving. One or two Marines grown in pain, but are silenced by mouths full of teeth. Castor is the only one left alive. The towering worm slides slowly

through the dead soldiers and looms over him. Caster knows. A deep, terrifying. voice digs into Castor's mind, just like the worms around him dig into the ground. They disappear, leaving him alone with the nightmare behemoth. Castor knows, you will listen. Caster doesn't have a choice. The voice has taken hold inside his mind and hooked into his flesh.

He feels teeth gnawing at his brain, unreal, but staggeringly painful as his skull reverberates with the powerful voice. His thoughts swim as he falls to his knees, squeaked. teasing his head. I knew a reed knolls for a brief moment. His mind was full of thoughts of you, but you were so much smaller than a larva. Caster can't respond. It takes every ounce of strength not to shriek until he shredded his throat raw and bloody.

You should not have come here. This is not a place for humans. I told your father the same, but he was not strong enough to relay the message. mind crumbled to dust under my influence. The madness that Castor tries to keep at bay creeps closer. You show a weakness also, but I believe you will survive this, at least to deliver my message. Castor flinches as the weight of the voice presses down on his mind. Before man, before Earth, before the moon, before the light spilt the universe and killed the darkness,

We have existed. We are older than your God. We are older than all gods. We are the first, and we will be the last. Warmth drips from Castor's nostrils. Unable to reach inside his helmet and wipe the blood away, Castor's tongue darts out and licks the blood from his upper lip. The moon is ours, Castor knows, and he will tell your people this truth. We have allowed your kind to land and build and live on the sight of light. But that will be no more. Your return here has shown us that humans are a virus, a pestilence. It stops now.

Caster's comms come back online, and he can hear the panicked voices from hundreds of crew members who populate and run Lunar Base Echo. Then the screams begin, and Caster squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can, hoping it will block out some of the horror he is hearing. doesn't and Castor slowly suffers until the very last voice says, Tell my family I... We have erased that abomination as if it had never been here in order to show your leaders that they are helpless before us. If they come again and try to build again, we will erase that too.

Then we will show your kind we are not bound only to the moon. We will drop upon your planet and devour every living thing until its surface is as bare. is the surface you cower on now. Dust and bones are all that will be left. Blood trickles out of Castor's ears, and he struggles to keep his eyes open, to stay awake and witness the giant evil that hovers over him. Its mouth easily large enough to swallow the transport hole. Images race through Castor's tortured mind of the destruction such a beast could wreak down on earth. The images stop on his family. He sees them in his mind's eye as if they were standing right in front of him.

He watches as the sun is blocked out, and a worm a hundred times larger than the one assaulting his brain, dives down and devours them in one gulp. But the gargantuan worm doesn't stop there. It keeps eating, swallowing whole chunks of the planet. And as it swallows, it grows, and it grows, and it grows until it is the size of a mountain range. Do you see, Castor Knowles? The deep voice booms, nearly shattering his mind with its force.

You cannot stop us. We have been and always will be the first and the last. So heed my warning, never return to the dark side of the moon, for if we see another human, it will be the end of you all. The man whimpers, and the worm laughs. It is a laugh that can rupture organs and burst eyeballs. You will tell your leaders when you return, Captain Knowles, you will. And then the worm is gone.

It retreats so fast that if it weren't for the massive dust cloud it kicks up, or the many bodies still strewn about the surface. Castor would have thought it all a heinous hallucination. Captain No! A voice shouts over the comms. Castor takes a deep breath and lets out a sob. Captain No! Collapsing to the dusty surface, Castor cries.

He cries for himself. He cries for his dying planet. He cries at the thought of his father experiencing what he just survived. When his cries become laughs, and in seconds he is curled in on himself, both crying and laughing as the voice continues to call his name over the comms. Year 2185. Location. The domed city of Petaluma, California.

Castor watches the children play in the sunlight that has been filtered through the ever-present dome that covers and protects the small California city from the ruined environment outside. His eyes dart this way and that, tracking their movements as they race around the mostly green yard, chasing each other with no game in mind, all just happy to be allowed outside, even if it is only for one hour per day. Dad, are you okay? A woman asks, Kaster. Can I get you anything? Kaster doesn't respond.

He never does. Once he delivered his message, Kaster Noles stopped speaking. No matter how hard they tried, the doctors, scientists. friends and family. None have gotten him to speak a word for decades. The woman takes the seat next to Castor and holds his hand. It's nice they get to play, she says. Thank you for this. I know I say it all the time, but without your company privilege, we'd be left out in the wastes with the rest. A girl slaps a boy on the back, and they both cackle and giggle and run.

Castor tracks them around the yard, then his eyes move past them to the hazy horizon. He frowns. Dad, are you okay? The woman asks. Castor's eyes narrow at the shape rising into the evening sky, ready to shine down on them once night comes. Oh, right. The woman says. The moon, how about we get you inside?

The children squeal and laugh until one of them points at the faded circle. Moon, moon, go away. The child sings. Come again another day. The rest finish. Then the children race back across the yard to swarm or around the woman and Castor. Look, look, Pappy Cass!

A girl says. It's the moon! You went there, right? A boy asks. Hey, kids, no. The woman says. We don't talk about... I know.

Caster says. The woman freezes, and the children go silent. Their eyes wide with surprise. Dad? I know why we never went back to the dark side of the moon. Caster says. He turns his head and looks at the children. Do you know?

They all shake their heads. Good. He lets the woman help him to his feet. Good. Then it will all be okay. Most of the children follow the woman and cast her inside the house. But one girl stays outside. Her eyes turned to the rising orb.

I'll go there one day, she says to herself. And no one can stop me because I'm a knolls. Look again at that dot. That's here, that's home, that's us. On it, everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was. The aggregate of our joy and suffering. Thousands of religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love,

every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every superstar, every supreme leader, every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there on a moat of dust suspended in a soul. sunbeam. These words were spoken by the great Carl Sagan. After they firmly strapped us in, I took a moment to relax and enjoy the final minute of Earth's gravity before takeoff. The rookie in the seat next to me looked tense, with pearls of sweat covering his pale face. He seemed so excited only moments before, but I couldn't blame him. The little blue planet had been his home, and now he'd leave it, never to return again.

First time in space, right? I chuckled, trying to keep the mood light. He nodded, his eyes still fixed at the control panel in front of us. I'd like to tell you that the acceleration would knock you clean out, but that ain't the case. Lying in that position, blood is basically forced into your brain. You'll be awake to feel each bump on the road, I said cheerfully. That little tidbit of information seemed to break his train.

He looked over at me and cracked a weak smile. I could have given him words of comfort or told him it wasn't that bad, but from experience, I knew that facetious humor would best aid our journey into space. I'm not worried about the takeoff, he said. It's just the magnitude of it all, you know? The countdown sequence started, and I braced myself while the rookie desperately tried to control his breath. Ten, nine, eight.

Time to say goodbye, kid. I yelled at him. Seven, six, five. Don't listen to him, the pilot said. You'll love it once we break out from Earth's atmosphere. Four, three. We go, here we go, the rookie mumbled to himself. Two, one.

The shuttle shook violently, rocking us back and forth in our seats. The rookie kept his eyes firmly shut in anticipation, with his arms firmly clenched on the armrests. Our spacecraft had taken off from the ground and started shooting up towards the vast sky above. It was a slow start as the engines worked their way towards maximum acceleration. It was an intense feeling of both horror and excitement, as our bodies crippled in weight, firmly locking us in our less than comfortable chairs. From takeoff to space itself, about nine minutes would pass. Each one would feel like an eternity on its own, as the shuttle accelerated from a standstill

to 17,500 miles per hour. Observer, you have cleared the tower. Launch control notified us over the radio. Appreciate the info. I didn't realize we'd started flying. The pilot joked as he looked over the control panel, making sure none of the warning lights had greeted us with their flashing alarms. As far as the works on the ground were covered, we were on a routine mission. According to any official document, we'd be staying away.

week in space before dropping back to Earth, landing gently in the massive deserts of Kazakhstan. In reality, our mission would take us much further away from home, and years would pass before any of us ever had the pleasure of returning. What followed were five minutes of intense shaking. If I hadn't known better, I would have believed we'd been thrown into a dryer, as clothes rumbling around in circles. I wondered what kind of unexpected bruises I'd find once we finally reached the base. The rookie finally opened his eyes. I couldn't hold his nerves against him. He hadn't seen the best part of our journey yet. The magnificent view of Earth as we drifted away, weightless in space. Observer. Prepare for station. Launch control suggested through the radio.

With that message, we were launched forward in our seats. Noses pressed hard against the smooth glass of our helmets, almost touching the control panel inches ahead. A loud clunk sounded through the shuttle, as the primary boosters detached from our ship, and the secondary boosters were activated. Minutes later, we'd entered orbit, and the three of us finally relaxed while we awaited the third stage. Being free of Earth's harsh gravity was a strange sensation. As a larger man, it made me seem so insignificant, as if my mass meant nothing against the empty vacuum around our shuttle. It felt like falling, except there was nothing left in the universe to fall against. Total freedom.

Hey Daniel, check it out. The pilot said as he let go of the checklist in front of the rookie. There it hung, gently rotating in a weightless state. Only seconds before the third stage would begin, officially starting our journey towards the moon. As we left our payloads behind, the escape tower was jettisoned out. For the first time, we had an unobstructed view of the, infinite darkness ahead of us. Millions of stars greeted us with their full glory. Without the

filter of Earth's atmosphere, we could see as far as space reached. There, in the distance, hung a white celestial body, seemingly small and insignificant. Unknown to the general public, it would be humanity's final hope. We were moving towards it at an almost impossible speed, yet it barely felt as if we were moving at all. Beautiful, ain't it? I asked. At least the rookie seemed less panicked. Without the literal weight of Earth's gravity to keep him pinned down, he could finally just sit back and enjoy the trip. Wow, I don't know even what to say.

It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen, he said. He spent the next few hours just staring out at space, still not willing to believe he had actually made it there. The rookie couldn't have been out of his 20s. He'd been specifically recruited for a lifelong mission on the moon itself. Tell me, was it worth it? I asked. Was what worth it? Leaving everything you've ever known behind,

to have the company fake your death and erase your presence from Earth, all so you can spend the next decade in a secret base hidden away from mankind. I mean, you don't even know what the job is, do you? He turned his attention towards me, finishing his staring contest with the universe. He pondered for a moment before finally responding. All my life, I wanted to make a difference, to be one of the few to ever venture into space, to advance science.

When the company contacted me, they didn't even tell me where I was going. They just said I'd be saving the world. He was smart, good physique, and socially intelligent. He could have had a fantastic life back on Earth, started a family, made a shit ton of money, and just enjoyed all of the luxuries home had to offer. Yet, he chose to help. knowing he'd never return. I knew then he was someone I could trust. The trip towards the moon would take about three days, leaving us with plenty of time to get properly acquainted. I'd been

tasked with picking him up from Earth, and based on the file they gave me on him, he was nothing less than a genius. Sleeping in space was oddly comforting. There are no uncomfortable positions when floating without ups or downs, no bumps to lie on top of, no need to roll around. The trip to the base was fairly routine. The planet we had left behind faded away into the distance, turning into a little pale dot. The base we were heading towards had been named Aries. It was a massive construction on the dark side of the moon, out of view from the people back on Earth. Aries was the greatest creation of mankind, one kept hidden for decades, known to only the 200 people living there and a handful of people situated back on Earth. When there, we had close to no

radio contact with ground control. According to command, the less contact we had with Earth, the less likely it was that our operations on the moon became public knowledge. As we were taken in by the moon's orbit, we started hearing static feedback. Before long, we'd be in contact with Ares itself. This is Observer 108 to Base Control. Do you copy? The pilot asked. Greetings, Observer. This is Base Control. We read you loud and clear. Station 7 is ready for docking. Get ready to initiate landing sequence. I pulled out another checklist,

while the pilot flicked around the necessary switches. Within a minute, we were approaching the docking station. The landing was smooth, and once the airlock opened, we finally got the chance to stretch our legs. We were immediately greeted by a decontamination crew and ordered to change out of our sweaty undergarments and into more suitable uniforms. It's been a pleasure, Rick.

The pilot said to me as we parted ways, It was time for the rookie's initiation into the system. I brought him to the sectional office, looking for his instructor and guide, Jennifer. Rick, how are you doing? Jennifer asked as she stepped out of the office. I don't see you around Section 7 very often. Just bringing you our newest scientist. Mind if I stick around?

Make sure you don't go too hard on the kid. She smiled and gestured for us both to follow her through the narrow halls of Section 7. As she explained protocols and rules around the country. compound. It was an impressive construct. It contained countless laboratories, workstations, and massive common areas for downtime. The station was big enough to comfortably house hundreds of people. The fact that it had been kept hidden for so long was an almost impossible feat on its own, one that had piqued Daniel's interest. Mind me asking how and why has this been kept secret for so long? Jenna smirked. It was a question inevitably asked by each newcomer. One

And she knew exactly how to answer. Ever heard of the Manhattan Project? She asked. Yeah, the race to build an atom bomb back in 1939. Daniel responded confidently. 130,000 people working together to create the most destructive weapon in human history, divided into hundreds of sections, each working on their part of a bomb to be dropped over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Out of these 130,000 people, only about a couple of dozen knew what the project would result in.

The rest were kept in the dark, unknowingly causing the death of countless people. That's exactly how the Ares Project was kept hidden, by giving each station a piece of the puzzle, just not enough to see the whole picture. I always loved listening to Jennifer's speeches about the Ares Project, the look of surprise and amazement as they realized the magnitude of this situation, but one final piece of information still strayed away from Daniel's knowledge. So, what exactly how we do we do? doing here? He finally asked. Before Jennifer got a chance to explain, the speaker system emitted a loud

and jarring message. Security head office calling Richard Fender. Report to section 9 immediately. Jennifer and Daniel looked at me questioningly. Sorry, I'll catch up with you later. I said as I started rushing down the hall. The act of running on the moon was a peculiar experience. With only one-fifth of Earth's gravity, you spend more time gliding through the air before each step hits the ground. In a way, it feels like flying, and you can reach speeds higher than what would be possible back home. On the other hand, without ground contact, it's hard to maneuver around corners, which is why Aries had been built almost exclusively with straight hallways. Within a few minutes, I made my way to the head security office.

Inside, I found a whole crowd of guards and officers, all frantically trying to yell over each other to make a decision. What's going on? I asked. My supervisor, Lance Hendry, took me to the side to fill me in. Rick, something landed next to PAW Station 12, he said. It doesn't show up on any of our instruments, but the crew swear they saw it. Particle accelerator weapon, Station 12, was the furthest reach away from the main base.

Situated near one of the major craters, it was the last of a set of cannons aimed into deep space. Weapons so powerful, they could deflect any meteor getting too close to Earth. What are they saying? We don't know. We lost contact with them 15 minutes ago. I need you to take a team out to the station and find what the hell is going on. I made my way to the hangar. A massive structure situated partially underground, doubling as the main oxygen production facility. The moon's crust is naturally rich in oxygen.

And by converting the rocks, we effectively produced and maintained an atmosphere within the station. Three of my colleagues, Derek, John, and Patrick, rendezvoused by one of the buggy. all wielding rifles. It wasn't a large team, but with the few trained guards we had at the station, the rest would stay behind. If something happened to us, the protocol was to lock down the entire Ares facility and abandon anyone trapped in the smaller stations. Station 12, this is Bucky Zele. Do you copy? John kept repeating as we endured the uncomfortable hour-long trip. It felt like an eternity passed before we reached the station. It was a large construct,

with a particle weapon towering up from the ground, staring off into deep space. In front of the station lay a large, diamond-shaped rock, covered in what looked like massive blisters, some of which had ruptures. What the fuck is that thing? John asked. I don't know, but keep your weapons ready. There were still two buggies parked outside the station, meaning that the crew couldn't possibly have left.

Station 12, we are entering through the main airlock. Get ready for boarding. I said as we manually unlocked. the front gate. We kept our helmets on, even though the airlock was pressurized. We didn't know what we could expect on the other side, so we had to be ready for a quick escape. We stopped dead in our tracks as we took our first steps inside. There, on the floor, lay the entire crew of PAW12, dead and mutilated to various degrees, with no sign of any other creatures. It didn't look like something murdered the crew, but as if they'd simply decided to

to kill each other, using whatever they could use as weapons. Some of their wounds were created with surgical precision, slit throats, stabbed heart, or crushed skull, while others were more morbid, as if they'd taken their time to finish the kill. The only discrepancy among the murdered was a man zip tied to the wall in a corner, some distance away from the others. While his neck had been stabbed, it didn't look like any major vessels had been injured. As I bent down to examine a tied-up man, he saw a suddenly jolted awake, screaming in horror. No, stop it! Get out! I don't want to!

I grabbed him in an attempt at keeping him still, worried he might exacerbate his injury. Calm down. You're safe. I kept repeating. His fear quickly turned to despair as he noticed the corpses littering the floor in front of him. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, he cried. I grabbed a sedative out of my kit and injected him through his port. I gave him a light dose, hoping he'd remain conscious enough to relay what had happened. The name on his suit read Frederick. Hey, Frederick, look at me.

I need you to tell me what happened here. He calmed down a bit following the injection. Then, he looked carefully around the room, as if he was recounting the events that had transpired. I tried to kill myself. I don't know why. I didn't want to, but the voices, oh God, the voices, they just kept telling me I had to do it.

They were so loud, so fucking loud. My team, they pinned me down in tight. me up, but it didn't help them. I'm so sorry. He solved, still breaking down. I looked back at the dead crewmen littering the floor. If they'd managed to tie him up before he died, then who'd killed them? What about the others? They just started killing each other, but it wasn't them. The things, they changed them. They made them do it. His rambles were only semi-coherent, but the last statement piqued my morbid curiosity. Who? Fuck, fuck, fuck, the things. They came from the vessel.

We didn't even see them, but they were there. They got inside our heads, made us do it. I'm sorry, please. You've got to believe me. Oh, God. Oh, God. He kept rambling for a couple of minutes. I gestured to Derek to put him to sleep.

He would only make things worse by panicking. If we stood even the slightest chance of bringing him safely back to the station, he had to be put out. Don't worry, Frederick. We'll get you out of here. I promise. Within a minute, he was out. And we brought in a strained.

treacher to carry him out. The rest of the crew were a lost cause, two destroyed to even fit into their suits. We had no choice but to leave them behind. We boarded our buggy and immediately got a transmission from the main bases. Buggy Zellet, do you copy? Yes, we made contact with station 12. There are multiple casualties, but we're bringing back a survivor. Prepare the medical bay. Buggy Zellet, we've lost contact with station four, six, eight, and nine. We are reading multiple heat signatures on the surface. Return to Aries immediately. Wait, what the fuck is happening? There was a brief pause while I waited for the next transmission. Areas, are you there? Then, they said words I had dreaded the most since I was assigned

to the project. A simple sentence that I thought was years away from ever coming true. They're here. We tied the injured crewman to our buggy, making sure he didn't slip off as we sped back to base. What do you mean? How can they be? here already. John asked over the radio. No response. Aries? Driving on the moon wasn't an easy task at high speeds. With the craters, it was a bumpy ride, and the ever-present dust increased the risk of sliding as we maneuvered towards the base. Bucky Zelead, we're initiating lockdown. Anger 2 will remain open until you arrive, but we're putting you into quarantine. Understood. We'll be there in 10 minutes. I nervously scanned the horizon.

looking for any sign of movement. Whatever creatures had been inside these pods, they had killed the entire crew aboard PAW Station 12. We saw more of them on the way. Each of them were diamond-shaped, obsidian black containers made out of bizarrely shiny material. They were covered in blister-like sacks, most ruptured, but some still intact,

pulsating and twitching. They looked almost wet, but any liquid should have evaporated immediately as it hit the harsh vacuum of space. We parked the buggy outside the hangar, and lifted Frederick into one of the surface airlocks. On the inside, we were met with the blaring sound of an alarm and a set of isolation capsules for each of us. On the other side of the airlock stood my supervisor.

We're going to need you all to get inside the capsules while we decontaminate the room. He ordered nervously. Lance Henderson was an abnormally calm individual, even in the most stressful of times. So, to see him on the brink of panic, alerted me to the true gravity of the situation. Lance, is it true? Are they really here? He nodded somberly.

Not a word more needed to be said. I knew then that the next couple of days would decide the fate for not only us, but for the rest of humanity. After we put ourselves into the isolation capsules, they prepared to move us to the medical bay. medical bay. Do we have any footage from the PAW stations? Lance shook his head. Most of it got corrupted after the pods appeared on the moon's surface. We're trying to restore it, but I'm not too hopeful. I'll let you know as soon as we find anything, he said. I'll link up with

you soon. Just do what the medics tell you. The medics carried my security team and I to an isolated room. Frederick, who'd sustained serious injuries to his neck, was put in a separate room next to us. It was a research facility, which meant it had glass walls for observation. There was no privacy as we got undressed and changed into sterile clothing. You better tie him up. He's not himself, John said as the medics put Frederick on a bed. By the time we'd been put into quarantine, the entirety of Ares had been put into complete lockdown. Anyone still outside the main base were on their own. Behind our glass walls, we could see crew members rush around in panic, each trying to fulfill their duty.

at a record pace. All the while, alarms kept blaring. Orders were shouted through the speaker systems, and we could do nothing but wait, uselessly stuck in isolation. Lance called me over the radio, briefing me on the situation. Rick, we'll have your test results in an hour or so. In the meantime, we're trying to establish contact with anyone outside the main base. If they're still alive out there, we need to figure out a safe way to bring them inside. Has anyone responded? No, but we've detected multiple heat signatures on the surface. A few of them match the crew's transponders, but... He trailed off.

But what? There are too many of them. We don't have that many people stationed on the moon. It's them, I said. My voice filled with premature defeat. Yeah, we've recovered some footage from Station 12. I'll send you the files. I turned to the computer mounted on the wall and typed in my credentials.

A single video file had been uploaded to my profile, a few minutes of salvaged footage. I hit play and prepared myself for the worst. What greeted us was an overhead view of Station 12's interior, only an hour before we entered. The crew relaxed in their leisure area, joking around, waiting for their shift to end. I immediately recognized Frederick standing in the corner, oddly quiet. He seemed to concentrate on something not visible on the camera. on the camera.

Hey, you guys hear that? He asked. The crew fell silent, and all of them listened intently to their quiet surroundings. Hear what? I don't know. It sounds like...

Without even finishing his sentence, Frederick grabbed a pen from a nearby table and started stabbing himself in his neck. Blood gushed out from the wound, and the crew immediately rushed to pin him down. What the hell are you doing? Stop that. Let me go. I need to do this.

Frederick yelled in protest. Get the damn zip ties. Boss, there's something outside. What are you talking about? After tying Frederick to the wall, the crew gathered to stare out the minuscule window. All of them were shocked by what they saw. After a minute of disbelief,

their boss grabbed the radio to alert Ares of the unidentified object. Ares, this is P.A.W. Station 12. We found something on the moon's surface. I don't think it's of lunar origin. In response, only static, could be heard. Fuck, the radio is cutting out. Robbie, would you check the connection?

Without responding, the crewman walked over to his boss and stabbed him with a screwdriver. One of the others lifted his weapon in a hopeless attempt at de-escalating the situation. Drop the fucking screwdriver, he ordered. But instead of helping, he turned his weapon on himself. Looking confused, and without hesitation, he shot his own leg. The rest of the crew scattered in disarray, some trying to help their boss, while Others wanted to grab the gun from their co-worker. The man with the screwdriver had already killed his boss,

and had turned his attention to himself. He proceeded to repeatedly stab his own abdomen, crying as he did. One by one, they all fell to the same insanity. Within only a few minutes, every single crew member had succumbed to their wounds, all except for Frederick, who'd been tied to the wall. The footage cut off abruptly, and we all stood speechless in front of the empty screen. What about the other stations? John asked.

Do we really want to witness that again? As we discussed the undeniable reality of an oncoming invasion, we started hearing groans coming from Frederick's room. He was waking up, luckily tied to the bed. Where am I? He asked. You're safe, Frederick. The dock is on his way.

Just stay calm. Oh, fuck. They're all dead. He saw. We should have given him more sedatives, John said. Where's the damn doc? Aries head physician, Dr. Livingston, was a neuroscientist of advancing age. The rookie, Daniel, would be his new apprentice.

When Dr. Livingston retired, Daniel would take over. They both arrived alongside Jennifer a few minutes later. We told them what had happened. Lance finally returned after patrolling the area. He locked down the entirety of our section and put guards on each airlock should something break through. Staff was scarce, but each employee, guard, or signs, had been trained to deal with situations like these. Dr. Livingston, they briefed you on the patient? Lance asked.

Yes, I'm well aware of the situation. ...stated matter-of-factly. Daniel, join me inside. We're going to have to cut your training short. I've always thought hands-on experience worked best anyway. Together, they entered the isolated room. Jennifer stood guard outside, ready to intervene should Frederick fall into psychosis once again. What followed was a barrage of uncomfortable but necessary questions. Frederick, who'd attempted to kill himself only hours earlier, was undoubtedly shook from the experience.

But whatever trance he'd been in had long since passed. Halfway through the examination, another alarm sounded through the base. Atmospheric breach in Section 9. All personnel must evacuate the area immediately. Lance immediately reached for his radio, demanding an explanation. Section 9, this is security chief Henderson. What the hell is going on? Someone just blew up one of the fucking airlocks.

A voice screamed from the other side. They took explosives from the factory. Who? I don't fucking know. We tracked a transponder from PAW Station 7. We tried contacting them over the radio, but he ignored us. Is the breach sealed? Lance asked.

Yeah, but half my team died in the vacuum. The rest of us are about to suit up in case the seal fails, but I don't know. He paused, and a loud hammering noise could be heard through the radio. What followed was a vague crashing sound before the call got interrupted. Damn it, I've got to go. Jennifer, stay here and help the dock, Lance said. Absolutely not. I'm coming with you. They'll need all the help they can get, she argued. And what about us? I asked. Sorry, Rick. You have to stay in isolation until the tests come back. Don't worry. They'll come and let you out as soon as possible.

The two of them rushed down the long hallway towards Section 9, while we remain trapped with no chance to help. Daniel and Dr. Livingston finished examining Frederick and called for our tests to be rushed through. 20 agonizing minutes passed as we waited for any updates on the situation. The occasional bang was the only thing keeping us company as it echoed through the outer hall of Ares. Over the radio, I could hear requests for additional security coming from various sections around Ares. It was a call no one had the capacity to answer, and I felt utterly useless stuck in isolation. Then we heard the sound of multiple footsteps rushing down the hall. Stay with me!

Jennifer shouted. They rushed past us, carrying two stretchers. On one of them, late Lance, bleeding profusely from multiple gunshot wounds to his abdomen. Jennifer, what happened? I asked in shock. She ignored me, and they brought the injured crew into a separate room. Though we couldn't directly see them, we could hear the utter horror in their voices as they futilely tried to stop the bleeding. It was a hopeless case, and from prior experience, I knew Lance wouldn't make it. Minutes later, he bled out. Jennifer came over to our room, staring at me through the glass. Her eyes were red from a mixture of panic and despair.

Jen, is he? Dead. I, I killed him. She stuttered. You did what? He just, he just went crazy. She continued. We were investigating the broken seal.

Even with the hull secured, something got through. Every single person who hadn't gotten out of Section 9 died in. instantly. How many? 37. Jesus Christ! She sobbed for a moment before continuing. Her blood-covered hands, visibly shaking from the ordeal. As we suited up, Lance said he heard something. I'd already gotten my helmet on and couldn't hear what he was talking about, but then he just... Another loud bang could be heard, followed by him along. Whatever things were killing our people, they were getting into the station. He shot the others point-blank, and he would have killed me too. I didn't have a choice.

I had to defend myself. I only wanted to stop him, but the first bullet didn't even phase him. I just kept pulling the trigger until he dropped his weapon. I killed him. It was me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. We didn't get a chance to continue the conversation as the medics rushed in to let us out.

Even without conclusive test results, we had been ordered to evacuate the area. The entire crew aboard Ares was pulling back into Section 5, the central and most secure hub of the station. They're closing all doors in five minutes. We've got to go now. One of them ordered. With no time to suit up, we started rushing towards Section 5,

ready to fight whatever creatures had entered the station. I just don't understand. They weren't supposed to be here for another five years. How is it possible? Jennifer asked. No idea. It doesn't make any sense. On our way, we passed numerous lockdown sections,

all breached, and their atmosphere replaced by an empty vacuum, housing little more than dust and the corpses of our deceased crew. Multiple distress calls emitted from my radio, but we could do nothing to help any of them. All we could do was hope that as many people as possible made it into Section 5, where we'd organize a fight against the invaders. Ritz, you there? Please respond. A voice hit over the radio.

I recognized the voice. It belonged to one of the senior security guards, Brandon Clifford. I'm here. We're en route to Section 5. Are you safe? Forget Section 5. We need to. you and the dock to come to the main lab immediately. The lab? Why? He paused for a moment, letting out a half-chuggle. We got one of them.

At trillions of dollars spent, Aries had been the most expensive project ever undertaken by mankind. It made the cost of the International Space Station seemed like pocket change in comparison. But for its purpose, it was worth it. Our goal had been simple to save humanity from an inevitable invasion.

one we'd foreseen since the early 70s, one we'd spent decades preparing for. Despite our best efforts, it had only taken the invaders a few hours to shut us down. In one fell swoop, they'd shut down our entire PAW defense grid, killed more than half our crew, and next on their list was Earth. Brandon Clifford had already gathered a team of doctors and engineers at the laboratories in Section 3, But, with half the station occupied by a vacuum, getting there would be a challenging task. Rather than crawling through the separate ventilation system, we suited up and traversed directly through the locked-off sections, weapons in hand, and eyes peeled for enemies.

We slowly made our way towards the lab, praying that the dead alien could provide us the answers we so desperately sought. So, they killed it, right? Jennifer asked. I sure hope so. I doubt we'd have the means of interrogating it, I responded. Besides, it's time for payback. These bastards killed half our crew without as much as a second thought.

John interjected. Once we finally made it to Section 3, we were met with a set of heavy metal doors. They were strong enough to withstand the vacuum of space and able to negate the power of a nuclear blast. They had to be manually activated and could only be opened from the inside. Brandon, you in there? I asked over the radio. Rick?

Yeah, it's me. I've got my security team with me. Would you please open the damn door? An airlock separated the lab from the rest of Section 3. It had been built in the early stages of Ares construction and functioned more as a minuscule station than part of the main project. Luckily, it had been able to maintain an atmosphere

despite the many breaches. It was a massive, dome-like structure divided into several microlabs. Each of them had been sealed off, hidden and distributed to different research teams, operating in isolation from one another. At the very end, was an autopsy room. It had been used to study the effects of low gravity on the decaying human body, but now it would be a place for alien dissection. Livingston and Daniel had arrived with a team of engineers, just in time to escape the breach in atmosphere. Whether they

liked it or not, they were trapped in the laboratory without enough suits to bring everyone out. Brandon met us by the entrance. He sustained a massive gash to his face, rupturing his left eye, which was covered by a crude bandage. He guided us towards the autopsy room, in one of the corners. I noticed a pile of corpses. While I didn't personally know them, I recognized them as the lab's maintenance crew. What happened to them? I was escorting Dr. Livingston and his assistant over here, making sure none of the invaders got to them.

As we got here, one of the crewmen complained about a loud one. noise before I got the chance to question it. He just pulled out a knife and slashed me across the face. I tried to get away, but he stabbed his co-workers. I had no choice but to shoot him. And the other two? I said, as I gestured to their gouged out eyes and slit throats. They, uh, they just dove in for the knife and started mutilating themselves. I couldn't stop them, he responded somberly. It wasn't until the adrenaline hit me before I noticed. that fucking creature standing in the hallway. I can't even explain it.

Just have a look at the thing. We entered the autopsy room. There, on the table, lay a massive creature. Though it had vague, humanoid features such as arms and legs, they were grossly disproportionate to what would function on Earth. Its skin was sickly, pale white, and covered in a mucus-like substance. The arms reached far beyond its own legs,

which were split in half down the middle. Instead of eyes, ears, and mouths, the head was covered in deep, dark cavities. There were multiple bullet holes on its center mass, which I assumed to be the cause of death. But, despite the high-caliber rifle used, there were no exit wounds. Is it dead? Jennifer asked nervously. No idea, Livingston responded. Its temperature hasn't changed, and it doesn't appear to bleed.

Our only comfort is that it doesn't show any kind of life. I looked back at Brandon, who tried to cope with his missing eye. So, what exactly happened to it? I chimed in. The thing was just wandering the hallway, covered in some weird, slimy film. I didn't exactly stop to ask any questions. I just shot it. Two fucking mags to bring the thing down.

I took another glance at the bullet holes. The injuries looked oddly clean, and the bullets inside had seemingly vanished, as if the creature had simply digested them. What do you think, Doc? Brandon asked. He mumbled something to himself. It's a remarkable creature. I have my theories, but I need to open it up to be sure. Then what are you waiting for? Do it! Brandon firmly suggested. Don't be ridiculous. This is not something you can just cut open with a scalpel.

Its skin is too powerful. Besides, we're going to need to scan it first. The creature must have been ten feet tall and weighed as much as all of us combined. Together, we pulled it onto a portable table. and slowly pushed it towards the CT scanner. Once inside, Livingston didn't hesitate to start the machine. A loud whirring sound could be heard as the machine started taking pictures. God damn it! Livingston exclaimed as the computer produced the scan.

To the untrained eye, it just looked like a massive flare occupying most of the screen. What's that? I asked. Starburst. It happens when there's metal in the way of an x-ray. Daniel explained. They put something inside the creature's head, and we're going to remove it. Livingston continued as he rushed off to gather some tools. He returned moments later with an ice pick and a hammer. Without a second thought, he started digging into the creature's skull.

Though the skin was immensely thick, it didn't seem to contain any bones. Before long, he retrieved a small metal box. What is it? I asked. I need to take it apart to be sure, Livingston said as he walked over to a set of computers. It looks oddly primitive though. Maybe. Before he could finish the sentence. A high-pitched sound emitted from the speakers.

We fell to the ground, clutching our ears in agony. Brandon, thinking on his feet, ran over to grab the device out of Livingston's hands. He threw it to the ground and started stomping on it. As the metal box shattered, the sound finally stopped. You idiot! Why did you do that? Livingston asked furiously. Why? Because it was fucking loud. Brandon shot back.

Livingston collected the broken pieces and went to inspect the device. In the meantime, Daniel proceeded to repeat the CT scan, this time without interruptions. We waited impatiently while the machine circled around the lifeless creature, slowly producing a picture I didn't have the proper education to comprehend. Wow, that's incredible. Daniel mumbled to himself as he looked over the alien. Livingston joined him, and together they threw around a plethora of medical jargon

none of us could understand. After a few minutes of discussing the creature's anatomy, me. They started to look worried. They rushed to the radio and quickly disconnected it before silencing every speaker in the room. Turn your damn radios off. Livingston ordered. The lab was plunged into deafening silence and we all awaited a logical explanation from the doctors. Sound. That's how they do it. Daniel said with a weird mixture of excitement and horror in his voice. Sound? That's how they put people into a trance. They delude people into killing themselves and those around them, appearing as voices in their heads, he continued.

Livingston kept studying the device, desperately trying to figure out its purpose. It's a transducer, he suddenly said. It converts sound to radio waves. That's probably how they communicate in the vacuum. It also means they'll be able to hijack our own communication channels. You think they could use them against us? He nodded. These things, they're unlike anything found on Earth.

They don't have a centralized nervous system, Nor do they need a heart to pump blood through their bodies. If anything, they resemble insects more than mammalian life. Except every vital organ seems to be diffused throughout their entire mass. That's why it's so hard to kill them. The only effective thing to fight back would be fire. He paused, looking over the creature once more. We have to freeze it.

Make sure it doesn't wake up. We lumped the creature onto a table and started pushing it towards the freezer. The freezer could decrease in temperature, to just a few Kelvin away from absolute zero, a temperature that could keep even atoms from moving around. We need to warn the others, Jennifer said. Send out a warning to Section 5, but keep it brief. As we attempted to push the creature into the freezer, I noticed it twitch.

Before I could even warn the others, Brandon just froze in place. No, no, no, no, he kept repeating. The alien moved again, not strong enough to get up, but clearly not dead. It's in my head. Get out! He yelled as he lifted his gun to his own temple. I dove into him, trying to pin his arm down. In the process, he accidentally fired off the round,

which ricocheted off the ground and hit Livingston in the leg. As I tried to subdue Brandon, two of the other guards fell to insanity. With little hesitation, they grabbed whatever sharp object they could find, and started hacking away at their own bodies, quickly bleeding out. Brandon knocked me off, but the gun had slid too far away for either of us to reach it. Rather than fight him, I grabbed a nearby bottle of isopropyl alcohol and drenched the alien in it. Before anyone could stop me, I ignited the alcohol and set the monster ablaze. Despite being on fire, it didn't let go of the grip it had on her crew.

Brandon, alongside the engineers, rushed to embrace the burning creature, lighting themselves on fire in the process. The sprinkler system started spouting out a mesh of carbon dioxide dry ice, but with the burning crew lighting everything they touched on fire, it hardly helped. Despite our best efforts, the laboratory would soon be gone. In the meantime, Daniel had attempted to stop the bleeding from Livingston's leg, but it proved to be a futile effort. It's his femoral artery. I can't stop it, Daniel said. By then, secondary measures had been activated to quell the fire.

It meant that all the oxygen would be sucked from the lab and expelled into the vacuum of space. Normally, it wouldn't be a problem. But with the entirety of Section 3 missing an atmosphere, it meant we needed to suit up. We need to get to Section 5 immediately. Jennifer, did you manage to get a hold of them? They're not responding, she said in panic. Not having time to come up with a better plan,

I rushed to get suited up with the rest of the crew. We only had two minutes before the oxygen levels dropped to fatal levels. Wait! Livingston called out. His face had turned to pale from blood loss, and I could easily tell he was only moments away from death. You have to disable your radios. It's only a matter of time before they figure out how to intercept our channels.

It meant that we'd be walking out there with little to no situational awareness, unable to communicate with each other. Despite the horrific realization, we all knew he was right. What about you? We all know I'm done for. Just go. I glanced over at the burning remains of my former security team. John and Jennifer still attempted to put out the fire.

but it was far too late. How were we supposed to stop them? You can't, Livingston said, his voice growing weaker with each word. But you have to warn Earth. Give them a fighting chance. We suited up at a record pace and got ready to unlock the laboratory doors.

The airlock would be sealed until the fire went out, which meant we had to watch Livingston suffocate before we could even walk outside. Jennifer grabbed a paper-sized whiteboard, allowing us to communicate even without radio contact. But the thought of going out there death still terrified me. Don't let this be for nothing. Livingston gasped as the last bit of air got pumped out of the room.

Seconds later, he fell silent on the floor. It's time to go, I said to the remaining survivors as we unlocked the doors. Death had quickly become a fateful companion on our mission. But if we could warn Earth, it would be worth it. There are a lot of misconceptions when it comes to the agonizing death you'd meet if faced with the vacuum of space. If an astronaut's suit should fail, exposing them to the vast emptiness around, how long would it take before they finally died? Would their blood boil over? Would they simply explode with nothing around them to withstand the body's internal pressure?

Perhaps they might just freeze to death. Fortunately, those are not the case. The body can withstand a lot more than one might think. Liquids won't boil if inside a closed system, nor can anything freeze quickly. Heat cannot easily escape our bodies without something to conduct towards. In reality, an astronaut's death in space is a horrifying but quick process. Once faced with the eternal darkness of space, there's no hope left of survival. There are only a few natural orifices on the human body.

First, air is sucked out from your lungs, no matter how hard you try to hold your breath. It's simply a futile task, and they collapse within a second. Then, whatever contents that once passed slowly through your digestive tract is forced out. After about 15 seconds of exposure, you lose consciousness, but not before feeling the saliva in your mouth boil over, and the vessels in your eyes rupture. Then, with soiled pants and a fading mind, your body suffocates, and your body is destined to drift through space, unable to rot until the end of time. Those were the thoughts that preoccupied my mind each time I put on my suit for any extra vehicular activity. Only then, the hostile territory wouldn't

be space, nor the surface of the moon, but our own base. It had been plunged into vacuum as the monsters invaded, and we could only pray that anyone else had survived. During any regular spacewalk, we'd have our communication channels to comfort each other. But with the invaders hijacking our radios to kill us, we had little choice but to wander in silence. Nothing except for a small whiteboard to deliver simple messages. The four of us, rifles in hand, headed towards Section 5. It had been the main hub to organize an evacuation, but following the miserably failed autopsy of the first invader, we lost contact. Fearing the worst, we could do little more than check up on them. Jennifer scribbled something down on the whiteboard and held it up

in front of us. Shortcut, this way. Being unable to respond, we had no choice but to follow Jennifer's orders. She brought us through a service airlock which hadn't been used since the construction of aries, but at least it would allow us to bypass most of the alien riddled hallways. Once we got outside and onto the moon's surface, we were faced with dozens of new pods. Each had housed an invader, but they were nowhere in sight. We kept our eyes peeled as we sneaked towards Section 5's service entry. Our theory thus far had been that the invaders tracked us through radio signals, but whether they could still find us without us communicating, remained an unanswered question.

Guns ready, Jennifer wrote in the whiteboard as we got ready to walk in the whiteboard as we got ready to walk in inside. I held my breath in anticipation, deafened by the sound of my suits fan. I could feel and hear my own internal organs churning, the beats of my racing heart, and the blood rushing through my arteries. As we opened the airlock, we expected a rapid flow of air escaping the middle compartment. Yet, we were faced with another vacuum. I felt my stomach drop as I was hit with the realization that Section 5 might have gone under. We raised our weapons, to face whatever monstrosities lay on the other side. The doors opened, and what we were faced with didn't resemble Ares at all.

The entire section had been destroyed, and the air had been replaced by an empty vacuum. The walls were covered in what looked like the charred remains of bluish flesh, and on the ground lay mangled body parts, seeming to belong to both our own crew and the aliens. I checked the room for an explanation, and quickly found a massive hole in the section's hall, In a last-ditch attempt, someone had blown up the section, hoping to kill as many invaders as possible, but there were no survivors.

Despite their heroic efforts, there were still hundreds of invaders roaming the rest of Ares. Jennifer rushed to the central control panel, miraculously booting it up, while the rest of us secured the area. Without a single word to mourn our friends and coworkers, we got to work. Our first task would be to contact ground control, and alert them to the oncoming threat of utter destruction. Our lives seemed painfully insignificant compared to the fate of Earth. Alas, the few satellites we could use to contact home

were either out of range or had been destroyed during the invasion. Without any means of communication, we would have to warn them ourselves, which meant evacuating the station. But, before any attempted escape, we had to find any remaining survivors aboard Ares. I wanted to believe that someone had escaped, but deep inside, I knew it was little more than childish hope. We attempted to track any familiar heat signatures through the system.

It was a slow process to filter out the numerous invaders, but we waited patiently, hoping they wouldn't find us. There were a few crew members in the section who'd managed to get their suits on before the slaughter. Daniel went to each of them and diligently checked for signs of life. but just like the rest of the crew, they'd perished in the explosion. Standing guard without aid of my own hearing was a horrible task. I periodically glanced back at Jennifer, checking to see if she'd made progress with a computer. Despite not being able to see her face through the helmet, I could tell by her body language that the news wasn't good.

She was quickly losing the last ounce of hope she had left. After a painful few minutes, she held up the whiteboard. 154 invaders, she wrote. I stared at her in a mixture of shock and awe, not knowing what or how to respond. Instead, I just pointed at the many corpses littering the section, hoping she'd get the gist of my question. She cleaned the whiteboard and wrote a single digit back on it. Zero.

I shrugged as to ask what her next plan would be. The factory, she wrote in response. The factory had been our weapons. testing facility. A few clicks away from the main base. At the time of the invasion, it hadn't been manned for weeks. It was simply a research station used on the rare occasion that we actually had to try out any new technology. Despite that fact, it had several escape vessels. But what Jennifer intended to do at the station remained an unanswered question. At the very least, it might not have been taken over. The fact that no radio signals had been emitted from there in the absence of any crew,

meant the aliens might have not found it. Then, Jennifer shot to her feet and frantically pointed to the computer screen. It seemed that our activity in Section 5 had attracted some unwanted attention from the invaders, and they were heading straight for us. We immediately started retreating back towards the airlock, hoping we could get out before they saw us. Alas, we were too late, and the monstrosities were too quick. Five of them entered, just staring at us in confusion. They didn't seem to understand, how we could resist their hypnotic sound and radio waves. Without hesitation, we opened fire on them, and slowly walked backwards towards the exit.

Once the invaders realized we could fight back, they charged at us with impressive speed. John stood before us, putting three rounds in one of them with absolute precision. It seemed to knock it out, if only temporarily. John stopped, just long enough for one of them to grab him. John! I foolishly called out, forgetting that he couldn't hear me. It was too late. No sooner had they touched him before he pointed the weapon at himself and pulled the trigger.

The bullet ripped through his abdomen and blood spurted out through the hole, lingering temporarily in the vacuum before starting to boil. Regardless of the bullet itself, the vacuum would kill him in under a minute. We could do nothing but keep firing as we pulled back into the airlock, unable to help him. We closed the airlock, giving him one final look of pity as his blood boiled in the heart. harsh vacuum of space. Take a look outside your window, gaze upon the beauties the world beholds, the trees, the skies, the laughter of children. They walk around, ignorant of the fact

that their world might end at any given moment. It could happen in less than a second, while you sleep peacefully at night, and you never even realize it. Imagine yourself, driving home from work. A brief flash fills the sky, an instance of surprise, and then nothing. The world ends, leaving no trace of life behind. That's how a gamma ray burst would appear, a vast source of energy created by colliding stars, millions of light years away. On the other hand, a false vacuum could extinguish all life in the universe just as easily, collapsing beneath the rules of physics, erasing everything humanity has ever been or ever could be, we wouldn't be able to stop it. Solar flares, black holes, or even reversal of the magnetic poles.

The universe is an endless, merciless, horrific void filled with uncertainty. Our place in it is absolutely insignificant. We are but parasites lingering in a hostile bubble, ready to burst at any given moment. Yet, we never take a moment to appreciate our luck. Every breath might be your last, so make sure it's worthwhile. Those were the words that raced through my mind. As I watched John fall lifeless to the ground, dead by his own hands. They were words spoken by my old professor, a genius with a nihilistic personality,

making sure we all knew just how fragile life truly is. John had given his life for us. standing his ground as the aliens charged. Yet, they only needed a simple touch to end his existence. That image, the fear and surprise, had been locked in my mind forever. We ran through the airlock, sealing it on our way out to make sure nothing else could get through ever again. Once back on the moon's surface, we had to walk around Ares and travel three hours just

to get to the factory. We couldn't even use a buggy, lest we want to get detected by its automatic tracking system. It had been two hours since we started our EVAs, but with our modern tanks, we could easily last eight hours before running out of oxygen, leaving us with an ample amount of time to get going. If we were lucky, the factory still had a functioning life support system, despite having been offline for the past two years. We walked slowly, exhausted from the combat and subsequent escape. Despite gravity being only one-sixth compared to that of Earth, our suits were not.

made movement difficult. And in the process of fleeing, Jennifer had dropped the whiteboard, leaving us with no means of communication. Night had long since taken over the surface of the moon, plunging it into eternal darkness. The picturesque view most think astronauts have, with the earth shining brilliantly in the background, was not one we had the privilege of witnessing, since Ares held the backside of the moon. We had little more than tiny stars filling up the sky, barely providing enough light to illuminate the dark, barren landscape before us. If nothing else, at least the darkness could provide us covered during our escape. Two hours passed, and we inched our way closer to the factory.

Our path barely lit up by our weak flashlights, purposefully set low to avoid detection. By then, we could just barely see the peak of the factory's observation tower, and we knew we were getting close. As we took a break to admire the magnificently tall structure, we noticed something drifting across the sky, barely visible in the darkness of space. It was another drop pod. It shot down, creating a minor crater on impact. Like the others, it had an obsidian black capsule and multiple massive blisters, each seeming to contain an invader. I gave the others a final glance, reassuring them that we would hold our ground until

the very end. With nowhere else to run, we didn't have any other options. The first blister burst, and slimy liquid tried to trickle down, boiling and evaporating before it could even hit the ground. One of the aliens crawled out got to its feet. Without hesitation, we opened fire, putting multiple rounds into both its head and torso. After about 15 shots, we finally brought it down. Before we could react, the remaining five blisters ruptured, and more monstrosities crawled out. That time, we didn't even wait for the liquid to clear before we started firing upon them. On Earth, the spectacle would have been loud enough to rupture ear drums and alert the enemy from miles away. Yet, on the moon, murder was a silent process. Any sound originating

within the chambers of our rifles was quickly quelled as it met the empty vacuum outside. The only thing we could hear were the vibrations propagating through our own bodies, shaking violently with each pull of the trigger. With limited ammunition, it wasn't long before we ran out. Two aliens, both riddled with bullets, kept charging at us. I hit one with the butt of my rifle and shoved it to the ground. I kept hitting it where it lay, not stopping for a second until it resembled little more than a pile of minced meat.

The second one that managed to prevail through the hail of bullets charged at Daniel. He grabbed onto his torso with its massive arms. Within a second, Daniel had fallen victim to their control, and Daniel pointed his weapon at himself before pulling the trigger. Nothing happened. His gun was empty. Once the first option failed, Daniel attempted to rip his spacesuit apart, an impossible task, luckily unknown to the alien. Both Jennifer and I ran at the creature and pumbled it to the ground,

smashing its horrific body with our empty rifles, not stopping until it died. Daniel had been freed, but in the process, he fell unconscious. We quickly investigated his limp body for any injuries. or holes in the suit. But, apart from his untimely slumber, he appeared to be fine. We looked at each other, realizing we'd have to carry him the rest of the way. I'd never been so thankful for low gravity. The rest of the factory came into view shortly after, an impressive structure full of empty hallways and failed experiments, most classified above my own clearance. It had been abandoned after the development of the PAW stations. They were the best our technology had to offer,

and yet they'd been eliminated within the first hour of the invasion. Our fail-safe and humanity's last hope against an inevitable end had been destroyed. Airlock, as I carried Daniel on my back. What lay ahead of us was a massive network of hallways, expertly organized to keep anything confidential out of sight. In the absence of a maintenance crew, the station had fallen dark, with only a minimal amount of emergency lights to guide our way. Unfortunately, the life support had been turned off in our absence, meaning we had to rely on the constantly diminishing oxygen supply still within our suits.

The factory, like Ares, had effectively lost its atmosphere. Of course, there were tanks of oxygen spread across the station by each airlock, but we would still be confined to our suits while we worked. Both Jennifer and I had been stationed there during our tenure aboard Aries. However, I suspected she knew more about the station than I did, as she guided us through the long hallways without an ounce of doubt. After several twists and turns, we ended up in a massive control area. It was dark, and every system had been deactivated to preserve power. Jennifer searched the room and quickly found a notepad and a pen. She grabbed them and jotted down a single word, Faraday.

Then she clicked her radio on, and I put Daniel down. down onto one of the chairs, making sure he still had enough oxygen available. With mild trepidation, I turned my own radio on, and for the first time since we left the laboratories back at Section 3, we could talk to each other. Each major station here is built with a Faraday cage. Nothing can get in or out without being connected to the mainframe. We should be fine as long as we're just using our suits radio systems. Jennifer said, all right, so you mind telling me what we're actually doing here? Shouldn't we get the fuck off the moon to warn Earth?

I asked. I don't even know if we can. How come? According to the records back in Section 5, two shuttles attempted to evacuate, but none even made it off the surface. These creatures must be tracking our systems. I figured we might stand a better chance here, but still.

Do we have any chance at all? She sighed. Maybe. But there's something we have to do first. What do you mean? Did they ever tell you about a project? called the last resort. I immediately knew what the project entailed. It was something I'd read about during my initiation, but back then, it had been little more than rumors and whispers. Just a theory

none of us ever believed would come to fruition. As I processed the shock, Daniel started to wake up. He quickly noticed us talking and turned on his own radio. So, we're talking now. Are we safe? I shook my head. Not yet, but they can't hear us here. That's a relief. I was about to go crazy. Jennifer interrupted. None of that matters anymore. It's time. Time for what? Daniel asked.

We're going to blow up Ares. There will come a time when the last word is spoken by the last human left alive. A moment heard by none to be forgotten by time itself. There will come a time where love dies and the last heart stops beating. One final embrace before death. takes us apart, and one last kiss to say goodbye. Humanity, for all of its worth, will perish like so many other species before us. We will fight it, tooth and nail, but no matter the case, our time will eventually come. There will come a time where all hope seems lost, but we will

not give up, because our lives and the lives of those we love are worth fighting for. As we prepared for our last mission. I recounted the events of the past day. Something about the situation didn't sit right with me. We'd been monitoring the oncoming invasion for the past 50 years, yet we'd completely missed its imminent arrival. It doesn't make any sense, I whispered to myself, forgetting everything would be broadcast to the others. What doesn't? Jennifer asked. They're numbers. We counted what? About 150 signatures aboard Ares. Awee's a weirdly small force that arrived five years ahead of schedule. How do you explain that?

The ship we detected back in 1970 was the size of the entire United States, but it's not here. What are you saying? Daniel chimed in. What if this is just a scout party? What if the main invasion is still five years away? If they're all confined within Ares and we blow it up, it should give us enough time to make it to Earth and warn them. My words, though meant to comfort,

hardly brightened the mood. If a scout party took out the best we had to fight them, I'm afraid we're utterly fucked. Jennifer responded. At least we know how they operate. If anything, I'd say that's the best advantage we possibly could have gotten. We need to make it back to Earth, I said. It was a simple enough plan in theory,

but even if we managed to blow up Ares, it wouldn't ensure that every single alien died in the blast. So, the last resort, what is it? Daniel asked. You know how Nikola Tesla worked on wireless transfer of electricity? Jennifer said. Daniel nodded. Well, it's like that, except weaponized.

It was supposed to be a device that irreversibly damaged electrical systems by overcharging them, harmless to people, but it could render any enemy station useless. Unfortunately, it had the side effect of blowing everything to pieces. So, we repurposed it as a measure of last resort. should anything take over Ares? Better than killing everyone with nukes, I suppose. Don't worry, we have those two. But let's not kill ourselves while we still stand a chance.

I shot back. In the end, we knew at least one of us had to escape to get a warning out to Earth. If we could kill any of these bastards in the process, that was just a bonus. Before we could fire the weapon, we'd need to restore the factory's power. Jennifer would take that task

and head for the basement. Once there, she could redirect any power from the neighboring stations and funnel it into the last resort. In the meantime, Daniel and I would climb the observation tower from where the last resort could be controlled. Once activated and Ares had been destroyed, we could retreat to the main hangar and pray that any of the escape shuttle still remained functional. Fuck it, let's not die today, Daniel said. Once we leave this room, we can't communicate anymore. Should they hijack our chance? channels were done for. We need to maintain total radio silence for the next few hours, no matter what happens. I ordered. They nodded and quickly turned off their radios. It was time

to re-enter the silent vacuum outside. No sooner had I turned my own radio off before I regretted not speaking any words of comfort. For all I knew, these could have been our last words ever spoken. We'd left the control room, equipped with little more than some paper and pens. Jennifer instantly ran to the lower levels, while Daniel and I headed for the elevator that led up towards the observation tower. With the power mostly out, the elevator didn't run, which meant we had to move up the ladder within the shaft itself. It was an exhausting climb, despite the lower gravity. We made slow progress, but determined to save ourselves and Earth, we eventually got there. Daniel gave me a look, not knowing what to do.

His face was wet from sweat, both from nervousness and exhaustion. I gave him a set of basic instructions, just which switches should be on and which off. He diligently followed orders while I started to reprogram the weapon. While its basic functions were active, we had to wait for Jennifer to turn the power back on before we could initiate the firing sequence. Half an hour quickly passed, and I started to get nervous. Another ten minutes, and I was about ready to go looking for her. As I jotted down an explanation to Daniel, I noticed one of the lights turned on,

alerting us that the power had returned. Without hesitation, we started the firing sequence and counted down the seconds until activation. Even from the observation tower, we could just barely see the peak of Ares, a place where hundreds of great lives and trillions of unimportant dollars had been lost. It had all been for nothing. Then the weapon finally charged. Ready? I wrote down on a piece of paper.

He nodded, and we fired the weapon. For a moment, I feared that Ares was too rid of oxygen to ignite in the blast. But these doubts were quickly stifled as a massive explosion emerged over the horizon. Tons of debris shot up from the moon's surface, powerful enough to escape orbit. A few seconds later, the ground beneath us rumbled. Shockwaves couldn't travel through a vacuum, but the explosion itself had been enough to shake the ground. Holy fuck, I could see Daniel mouth silently. I attempted to scan Ares for any identifiable heat signatures and radio signals.

But, in the wake of the explosion, I could only get a static-like image that proved impossible to read. There was no way to know how many aliens survived the explosion, but I knew that whatever was left was headed straight for us. We evacuated the tower. Luckily, the elevator had been activated alongside the rest of the station, meaning we were. didn't have to climb down. It was a minor victory, but it came with a downside of a re-establishing atmosphere. With the power on, we knew it was only a matter of time before the generators down in the basement produced an effective atmosphere. Soon, we'd be able to breathe and hear. By all measurable metrics, time was running out. The hangar in the factory was filled with experimental

vehicles, most only used for local travel, and none helpful in our escape. Despite that, the factory was equipped with several escape shuttles, two of which were still docked. Back on earth, common fuel only has a shelf life of about three to six months. Carosine fuel, on the other hand, can last years without degrading, and the factory had plenty of it. Once we got down there, I started the fueling process. Still, Jennifer was nowhere in sight. Once the process of refueling had started, I took to a control panel and scanned for any signs of life in the vicinity. In the distance, only a mile away, I could see dozens of creatures approaching us. Fuck!

I shouted, the words only echoing within my own suit. We still needed an hour to fuel, and based on the invader speed, they'd be here just shy of that. The hour slowly ticked down, and by each passing minute, our deaths approached. I couldn't risk waiting any longer, so I signaled for Daniel to stay put while I went to search for Jennifer. Based on her signature, I tracked her to the basement of the factory, running around around, radically. I rushed through the dimly-lid halls, slowly starting to hear the echo of my own footsteps. By then, the atmosphere was almost fully restored. The basement was a massive room, filled with generators converting moon dust to breathable oxygen. Jennifer was moving from generator

to generator, deactivating them in an attempt at stopping air from being produced. She wasn't even wearing a helmet anymore. I approached her, noticing that each pillar next to the generators had been mounted with explosive charges. We need to stop them! She shouted as she noticed my presence. I took my own helmet off, letting in a breath of stale air. We're about to leave. Come on. It's too late. They're almost here.

We need to bring the station down with us. I glanced at the charges, noticing a timer slowly ticking down. Within the next half hour, the station would blow. And unless we could escape, we'd be disintegrated with it. How did you even find these? I used to work here, remember? Now, put your helmet back on. I'm about to evacuate the air from this place.

With that, the atmosphere once again vanished, and we were plunged into everlasting silence. We left the basement and rushed back to the shuttle, which was still ten minutes away from being ready. As I prepared the craft, the others stood in uncomfortable silence. We all knew that the station could be run over at any moment, yet we had no weapons nor numbers to fight back with.

I glanced over at the control panel, the blips on the radar growing ever closer. Then we felt it. The station shaking as the first set of doors blew open, and we were still not ready to leave. We looked at each other, doubt, and fear on all of our faces. Then another movement was felt. As a second set of doors were breached, they were getting closer. In less than five minutes, they'd be upon us. How long?

Jennifer jotted down on the paper. I held up my hand, showing that we still needed five more minutes before we could launch. I looked at the door, wondering when it would blow open, and the monstrosities would barge in to end us. I knew what had to be done. Someone had to lead them away from the hangar, trick them into another part of the station. As I turned around, I saw Daniel inside the shuttle, detaching a portable radio from the dashboard. He'd made the same realization as myself and was going to sacrifice himself. I tried taking it from him, but he pushed me away and rushed for the doors. Before they closed, I could see him flick the radio on, creating a mess of radio signals that would attract the

aliens. Since it wasn't the one built into his suit, they wouldn't be able to control him. He started running in the opposite direction of the hangar, and the aliens followed diligently. Jennifer and I boarded the shuttle hesitantly and immediately got it running. She pointed back in the direction Daniel had run, but it was pointless. He'd given us an opportunity. and if we didn't take it, we'd perish alongside him. We shot through the evacuation tunnel, garnering enough speed to easily escape the moon's weak and unstable gravity. Even then, we couldn't speak until the oxygen levels rose within the shuttle.

All we could do was stare out the window and wait for the charges to detonate. There wasn't much of a blast to speak of, without oxygen to carry the fire. The station simply collapsed as the beams evaporated, killing anything within. within. Daniel had saved our lives and taken down what remained of the scout party in the process. Once at a safe distance, we finally removed our helmets, but kept the radio off. We made it, Jennifer said with a somber ton of voice. It was a bittersweet victory, and I let out a sigh of both sadness and relief. We'd failed to protect Earth, and Ares had been taken out by a simple scout party. It was only thanks to the herringes,

of our fallen friends that we were given a chance to warn Earth. We survived the first wave, but as previously suspected, a much larger force will reach us in the next five years. With current technologies and the multiple wars we fight amongst ourselves back on Earth, we don't stand a chance. The only hope of victory we have is to unite together as one. Want more? Subscribe and turn on all notifications so you never miss any of our

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