The medical bay was too quiet.
The hum of machinery had dulled to a soft murmur, like the ship itself was holding its breath.
Commander Voss shifted on the cot, sweat clinging to his skin as pain lanced through his ribs. The bandages wrapped tight across his side pulled with every movement, the sharp ache grounding him in the present.
He turned his head, blinking through the dim light.
Soren was sitting upright on the opposite bed.
Still.
Too still.
"Soren?" Voss rasped, his throat dry. "You okay?"
No response.
No blink. No flinch. No recognition.
Just silence.
Voss frowned, pushing himself up slowly, one hand pressed to his side. The pain was immediate and punishing.
He hissed through clenched teeth, nearly collapsing as his legs failed to hold him.
"Shit—Soren?" he tried again, louder this time. "Say something, damn it."
Still nothing.
Voss's body gave out, and he hit the floor hard.
"Ahhh—fuck," he groaned, clutching his ribs, vision swimming.
On the bed, Soren didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
And the lights above began to flicker.
Voss's heart pounded in his chest.
Adrenaline surged through his veins, overriding the pain. His breathing quickened, each inhale sharp and shallow.
He was on the floor. Vulnerable. Bleeding.
But he wasn't afraid to fight.
"Come on, you fuckers!" he shouted into the dark. "Come and get me!"
Still—Soren didn't move.
He sat motionless on the bed, head bowed, body slack. Lifeless. Like a corpse that hadn't realized it was dead.
Then—
The lights died.
No flicker. No warning.
Just darkness.
Thick. Total. Absolute.
The temperature dropped in an instant, cutting through the warmth like a blade of ice. The air tasted metallic. Wrong.
Voss tensed, forcing himself upright, using the edge of the nearby cot for leverage.
The silence dragged on for a heartbeat too long—
Then it broke.
"Voss..." a voice cried. Strained. Weak. Distant. "Voss... help me!"
Jerry.
Or what was left of him.
But it wasn't just Jerry.
Other voices followed. Layers of them.
Whispers and cries and guttural screams—overlapping, rising from the shadows like a chorus of the damned.
Then—
A voice deeper than the rest. Calm. Final. It pressed into the air like a weight.
"Commander Aelric Voss," it said.
Voss froze.
"You owe. And it is time to pay your debts."
Voss was spiraling.
Panic clawed at his chest, thick in the air—so heavy it felt like you could taste it.
Then—
He jolted awake.
Gasping.
Soaked in sweat. Heart slamming against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
The med bay was calm.
The lights were steady. No flickering. No shadows. No voices.
Just warmth.
Thin, recycled air.
And silence—broken only by the soft, steady beep of a heart monitor.
Soren was still in the bed beside him.
Unmoving. Asleep.
Peaceful.
Everything looked normal.
Too normal.
Voss wiped a hand down his face, breath shaky.
"What in the hell?!" he muttered, eyes scanning the room like it might shift again at any second.
Then—
Soren stirred.
He rubbed his eyes, slow and groggy, then turned toward Voss.
"What happened?" he mumbled.
Voss didn't answer.
Couldn't.
His breathing was shallow. His pulse still pounding.
Soren sat up further, brow furrowing at the look on Voss's face.
"What happened?" he repeated, this time sharper. More awake.
Voss blinked.
His eyes scanned the med bay—lights stable, air warm, no shadows in sight. Still, his body refused to relax.
"I..." he began, voice hoarse. "I was attacked. Thrown into the wall. My rib... it punctured through. Tore the skin."
Soren stared at him.
Silent. Still.
But his eyes twitched—subtle, darting back and forth, like he was replaying something behind them.
"Soren?" Voss asked, his tone quiet. Careful.
A beat.
Then Soren spoke, his voice low. Almost detached.
"You didn't see anything?"
The question made Voss's stomach twist.
He shook his head slowly, unsure if it was the truth or just what he wanted to believe.
"No. I didn't see what hit me. If anything... actually did."
Soren was quiet.
Too quiet.
Then—
"So you didn't see anything?"
Voss exhaled hard, annoyed. "No. I said I didn't!"
But Soren didn't flinch.
Didn't react.
He just kept staring.
"Soren?" Voss asked, softer now, guilt creeping in from snapping. "Soren?"
Nothing.
A chill crawled up Voss's spine.
They were alone.
Just the two of them.
He planted his hands on the sides of the bed, pushing hard. Slowly—painfully—he started to rise.
It took effort.
Too much.
Grunts, swearing, shallow gasps.
"Fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth as his boots finally hit the floor.
Sweat was pouring down his face.
His wound burned.
One step.
Another.
Each one a war.
Then—
He slipped.
Voss fell hard, his hand flying out to catch the edge of the nearby table—
He missed.
But not the tray.
One of the surgical knives—
Straight through his palm.
Clean in. Clean out.
"AHHH—FUCK!"
The scream ripped through the med bay.
Rita was the first through the door, but Selene wasn't far behind. Her eyes locked on Voss—and immediately, she dropped into crisis mode.
Seconds later—
"Shit—Aelric, don't move!"
Voss was on the floor, hand pinned to the metal plating by the scalpel. Blood oozed out in slow pulses, dark and heavy.
Selene was already pulling gloves on as she knelt beside him. "Rita, sterilized gauze and the lidocaine injector—now!"
Rita scrambled to the nearby tray, her hands shaking as she passed the supplies.
Selene worked fast. She snapped a small device from her belt and pressed it just above the wound. "Administering 2.5cc of lidocaine, subdermal. This will burn, but it'll numb you in about fifteen seconds."
Voss gritted his teeth, groaning.
Selene didn't look up. "Your vitals are spiking. If I don't pull this clean, you'll risk severing tendons or worse. You need to stay perfectly still."
"Wasn't planning to dance," Voss muttered through clenched teeth.
Selene grabbed the scalpel with one hand and positioned the gauze with the other. "On three," she said. "One—two—"
She pulled.
Voss howled. Blood splattered across the floor.
Selene clamped the gauze instantly, applying direct pressure.
"Rita, activate the dermal gel. We're sealing it before he loses more than a liter."
Rita handed her the small injector. Selene clicked it into place and sprayed the compound across the entry and exit wounds.
The bleeding slowed.
Then stopped.
Voss's breathing was ragged, sweat beading at his temples.
Selene's voice softened, but remained clinical. "You'll need bone-regeneration treatment and probably nerve scans. But you're not dying today."
He managed a shaky laugh.
"I'll take that as a win."
Then—
The med bay flickered.
Just once. Quick. But enough for Selene's gaze to lift.
Something shifted in the air.
Not in the room—
In her mind.
Her eyes glazed over slightly, and for a brief moment—
She was no longer there.
FLASHBACK
It was quieter then.
The med bay was sterile, pristine. The hum of the ship's core was sharper, newer. No blood, no panic. Just purpose.
Soren sat on the edge of an examination table, shirtless, his spine rigid. The younger version of him still carried the same sharp gaze—but it was colder, more deliberate.
Across from him, a technician adjusted the scanning node on the back of his neck.
"You sure about this?" the tech asked, hesitant. "You're not even crew."
Soren gave a thin smile.
"I'm sure."
The tech scratched his head. "You passed the psych eval, barely. But you don't look like the curious type. Most volunteers sign up for the Crying Room for credits, or a clean slate. You don't need either."
Soren's smile faded.
"I'm not here for credits."
The technician hesitated, waiting for more.
But Soren didn't give him anything else.
Later—
He stood alone outside the Crying Room's reinforced glass, staring in.
Inside, the lights were cold. The walls were white. The equipment blinked softly like eyes half-awake.
And Selene stood at the center of it all.
Clipboard in hand. Expression unreadable. Too calm. Too perfect.
Soren's jaw tightened.
"She's hiding something," he whispered to himself.
He pulled a small voice recorder from his jacket and clicked it on.
"Day one. I've entered under false pretense. My goal is simple—observe Dr. Selene Kael. Confirm what happened during the last test cycle. Get proof she's not who she claims to be."
He glanced down the hallway, then back toward the Crying Room.
"She's good at hiding it. But I know something's off. I've read the logs. The signatures don't match. Too many gaps. Too many corpses."
He clicked the recorder off.
Tucked it into his coat.
Then walked into the Crying Room.
The flashback blurred.
Memories warped.
Pain. Screaming. Light. Then—darkness.
Everything fractured.
And when Soren opened his eyes again—
He didn't remember the recorder.
He didn't remember why he volunteered.
Only the void.
Only the screams.
Back in the present
The lights above Voss and Selene buzzed faintly.
Soren remained on the bed. Still. Breathing. Watching.
But not all of him had come back.
And Selene—
She didn't realize it yet, but a shadow had just returned from her past.
And it was sitting across the room.
Just staring.
Watching the scenes play out.
Then—
Rita approached Voss with a small smile. "What were you thinking?" she said, giving him a light punch on the shoulder.
"Ouch!" Voss winced with a laugh. "I know it was stupid, but I'm worried about Soren. He doesn't seem like himself."
Rita reached out, placing a hand gently on his shoulder.
Before she could speak—
Selene stepped in, her tone precise, clinical.
"It's likely post-traumatic. He's exhibiting classic signs of concussion—confusion, delayed response, short-term memory disruption. His hippocampus could be misfiring, or worse, his temporal lobe might've been compromised during the initial impact. Until we run a full neuro scan, we can't rule out deeper cognitive disruption."
Rita turned her gaze toward Selene.
"I'm not qualified to speak on this, but I have a feeling it's something more than that. He shows signs of a concussion, sure, but he should still have some motor functions. He's completely bedrested right now with slight talking."
Selene sighed. "You want me to run a scan right now? I mean, it's easier with two hands anyway."
Rita nodded and made her way to Soren's side, gently helping him lie back into the bed.
"Let's do it. I want to make sure he's fine."
Selene moved quickly, grabbing the portable neurodiagnostic scanner from the equipment shelf. She powered it on, and a low whir hummed from the compact device.
"Activating synaptic mapping and cerebral activity monitoring," she said, attaching a small array of bioelectrodes to Soren's temples and occipital ridge.
Rita watched anxiously as a blue light pulsed across the scanner's screen.
"Running a transcranial neural activity sweep... measuring delta and theta wave patterns..." Selene muttered under her breath, eyes narrowing as streams of real-time data scrolled across the display.
After a moment, she frowned.
"There's abnormal activity in the prefrontal cortex. The readings show disrupted electrical patterns—almost like synaptic misfires. This isn't just a concussion."
She zoomed in on the neuroimaging results.
"His reticular formation isn't regulating properly. That could explain the catatonia. But..." She trailed off, tapping through another set of diagnostics. "There's something else. A spike in electromagnetic flux localized around his parietal lobe."
Rita blinked. "What does that mean?"
Selene looked up, her voice quiet, unsettled.
"It means something is interfering with the way his brain perceives reality."
Rita turned toward Soren, placing her hand gently on his arm.
"You'll be okay. I promise."
But the moment her skin touched his—
Something shifted.
Soren's eyes snapped open, unfocused. Wild.
He blinked rapidly, then pushed Rita back—hard.
"Get the hell off me! You—who are you?!"
Rita stumbled, caught off guard. "Soren?! It's me, Rita! I'm a friend—your crew mate!"
But he didn't seem to hear her.
His eyes darted around the room, filled with panic and confusion. No recognition. No clarity. Just raw fear.
Selene moved in, brows furrowed, already scanning his body language, posture, eye movement—anything that made sense. Anything she could diagnose.
But nothing matched.
"This doesn't make sense..." she muttered under her breath. "There's no neural trauma severe enough to explain this. He's lost time. Orientation. Context."
Soren clutched at the sheets like he was bracing for a fall.
"Fuck... what's going on?" he mumbled. His words were slurred. Fragmented.
Rita stood frozen—hurt flashing in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak again, but Voss cut in, stepping forward.
"Soren," he said calmly. "Do you know who I am?"
Soren turned to him—his eyes locking in. There was a flicker. A spark of recognition.
"Voss... remember you, I think," he said, the words clumsy, disjointed. "Scared right now. Really scared."
Voss nodded slowly.
He understood.
Soren didn't remember much—but he remembered him. And that was something.
After all, Voss had fought to get him on this ship in the first place. He knew Soren's past—his trauma. His instability. His brilliance. He also knew what Soren was capable of, when he trusted someone enough to let them in.
Voss took a careful step closer.
"Okay," he said softly. "I'm right here, Soren. You're safe. Just focus on me, alright?"
Soren's fingers twitched at the edge of the blanket.
His lips trembled.
But he didn't fight. Not yet.
And for a moment—just a flicker—Soren's eyes lost focus again.
Not confusion.
Memory.
Like a crack splitting open in his mind, letting the past bleed through.
Then—
Flashback – Years Ago, Departure from the Mothership
Soren walked calmly down the corridor.
The ship was new. Its launch day—the first time it would leave the mothership.
The crew was young, excited, and eager for adventure. For freedom. For the stars.
But as the vessel pulled away from its birthplace, Soren felt... something.
A presence.
He didn't say anything. But the sensation lingered, crawling beneath his skin.
"Soren, you excited?" a girl asked, her voice bright. She grinned up at him, eyes full of light.
His sister.
"Tris, I've been dreaming about this day my whole life," he said, breathless with awe. "I'm speechless. I'm so damn excited."
She laughed—hard.
"I know! I just love messing with you."
Soren blushed. "Tris, stop. You're embarrassing."
"Shhh!" the team captain snapped from up ahead.
As the captain approached, the lights above him flickered—then cut out for a moment as he passed beneath them.
Soren stiffened.
"What the fuck..." he muttered.
Then—
"Eidolith detected. Evacuation is imminent. Entity is extremely dangerous," the ship's AI blared, sudden and shrill.
Tris met Soren's eyes.
He understood instantly.
The pods.
"Go!" she screamed.
They sprinted.
But as Soren dove into the nearest pod—
CLANK.
The hatch slammed shut.
Right in Tris's face.
"No! No—fuck!" Soren shouted, slamming his fists against the glass.
Tris stood frozen.
She knew.
She wasn't getting out.
"I love you, Soren," she said, her voice calm. Strong. "It's okay. Survive. Maybe we'll meet again. Mom would be—"
She never finished.
The darkness came too fast.
And the last thing Soren saw—
Was her silhouette swallowed whole.
The pod detached.
Thrusters fired.
He was safe.
But he didn't feel safe.
He collapsed to his knees, sobbing, fists trembling against the pod's glass.
Days Later
A scavenger ship found the wreckage.
The crew was confused.
No bodies.
No signs of life.
Only Soren.
They scanned him, certain he was hallucinating.
But the scans came back clean.
No trauma. No damage. No abnormalities.
Sane.
Even though he'd watched his entire crew die.
Even though he remembered every second.
He overheard the crew whispering:
"There's no way. The Eidolith doesn't come this far. That creature never leaves its zone."
Then came the call.
The mothership.
They brought him home.
And suspended him.
No flights. No missions. No explanation.
He obeyed. But not quietly.
He messaged Voss:
They've grounded me. Said I stole the ship. Said I shut it down and ejected. They think I'm fucking crazy.
But Voss believed him.
Fought for him.
Vouched for him.
It took three years—but the investigation finally ended.
And Voss brought him aboard his crew.
Back to the Present
The lights flickered once.
Then stabilized.
Soren's eyes slowly drifted back into focus.
And that old feeling?
The one he'd felt on that first launch day?
It was back.
But he didn't feel excited.
He felt angry.
Like his sister had just been taken from him all over again.
"Where the fuck is Tris?!" he roared.
Adrenaline surged through his veins.
He pushed himself upright, ripping the needle from his arm in one violent motion—and clutched it like a weapon.
His eyes were wild. Confused. Terrified.
"Stay the fuck back! I'll kill you—I swear to god! Where is my sister?!"
The crew froze.
No one dared move.
And then—
His body gave out.
Soren dropped hard to the floor, unconscious.