04APR3025
I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. Signing onto a bandit crew? Bad. Letting Vess Barlo talk me into this cargo retrieval job? Worse. Investigating a cargo pod that moved on its own instead of immediately running the other way? Possibly the worst.
But at the time, my reasoning was sound. I was already here. Might as well see if whatever was inside the pod was worth the trouble. Spoiler: it wasn’t.
I suited up, drifted over, and got my first up-close look at the thing. No markings, no serial numbers—just a smooth, metallic surface with patches of something organic-looking, like hardened resin or old scar tissue. The closer I got, the more I noticed little spiderweb fractures across the hull, like it had been through hell but refused to break.
Then it started ticking.
I don't know about you, but in my experience, cargo isn’t supposed to tick. I had just enough time to mutter “this was a mistake” before the whole damn thing cracked open like a rotten egg.
Two things happened at once:
A thick, inky cloud of something poured out, spreading fast, like it had been waiting to be freed.
My suit’s HUD went nuts. Warning lights, system failures, proximity alarms—I’ve never seen so many flashing red lights that weren’t on my ship’s dashboard.
Then my comms flared to life. A voice I did not recognize said, in a very calm and very unsettling way:
"Do not move."
I moved.
I burned my thrusters so hard I overshot the Rust Rat and had to manually reorient before slamming into the airlock. The last thing I saw before sealing the hatch? The cloud shifting direction—following me.
Now I’m locked inside my ship, every external sensor fried, and something out there knows I exist. Also, Vess? Still conveniently missing.
I have a very bad feeling that I just stumbled into something way above my pay grade.
Scootch
Quote of the Day:
"If something starts ticking in deep space, you have two options: Run, or make peace with your gods."
