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heroes — chs

💿 heroes - david bowie 🎶

🪐 pairing: chwe hansol x gn!reader 🪐 theme: sci-fi/horror au 🪐 wc: 13.9k 🪐 warnings: suspense, scary imagery, mild gore (nothin crazy), minor character death, doppelgangers, lots of talk about goo, wistful yearning, some good old fashioned angst. 🪐 a/n: here it is!!! my longest work to date!! this fic is inspired by the movie Alien (1979), one of my all time favs - and who better to star in it than our favorite Movie Guy™️ chwe hansol. i truly had so much fun writing this, definitely made some stuff up about space ships and physics along the way but i hope u find the world of this fic to be immersive, intriguing, and best of all - spooky!! :) huge shoutout to @haologram for beta reading and @miniseokminnies for being my writing buddy and listening to me go insane ♡

You’ve been Captain of the Atlas IV for five years now, so a months-long interstellar cargo haul like this one is standard work for you. But when you’re mysteriously woken prematurely from your cryogenic sleep-stasis to find yourself still in the middle of deep space, nowhere near your destination planet, it’s up to you and your Pilot to figure out what triggered the Emergency Revival System - before it’s too late.

hisssssss

Your brain begins to awaken as you re-enter consciousness. Somewhere in the back of your mind you recognize the sound of the sleep pod unlocking, signaling your long journey through the depths of space must be coming to an end - but right now the only thing you can think about is how dead you feel. Waking up after such a long, artificial sleep is always physically challenging, but nothing you’re not used to by now. You give yourself a couple minutes to lay there, still half-lucid, letting your body slowly readjust from the months-long cryogenic sleep cycle. You listen to the ambient sounds of the ship. The noise is loud, but low - mere background noise that you’ve grown accustomed to. The mechanical rumbling of the engine amidst the otherwise silent ship brings you a strange sense of comfort, a contrast to the usual chatter of the crew and beeping and blooping of machinery. You decide to take a few more moments to enjoy the peace and quiet before you have to get back to work.

Suddenly, you are flooded in the sterile brightness of the ship’s interior lighting as the capsule lid is opened - nearly blinding you even behind closed eyelids. You reluctantly open your eyes to, to see-

A face, staring down at you.

You jump a little. You blink a few times as you sit up, still processing the identity of the face’s owner. Then it registers: it’s your Pilot.

“Jesus Hansol, you fucking scared me.”

“Sorry, Captain,” he apologizes. He just stands there, upright, so still that he could be mistaken for a mannequin if you weren’t paying too much attention.

“Why are you standing over my pod?" you grumble, still adjusting to being roused so abruptly.

He looks at you, his demeanor calm as always - but based on the concerned look in his eyes, you guess he’s going to tell you that there’s a bit of a problem.

“We have a bit of a problem.”

“Yeah, I guessed that much. What-”

Before you can ask anything, he’s already spun around on his heels, making a beeline back to the cockpit. You stumble out of the pod and quickly don your coveralls before hurrying after him.

You enter the control room, its many processors and screens humming all around you. At first glance, everything seems fine - all machines are fully operational, no blinking lights, no alerts going off. Somehow, you find this more worrying than if all the alarms were blaring.

Hansol hovers over the main computer. You join him, stepping up next to him to get a good look at the screen. To an untrained eye it would be incomprehensible, but you could interpret the map in your sleep. You take one look at the coordinates and the issue is glaringly obvious.

“Shit.”

Your whisper is barely audible, but Hansol gives you a stoic nod.

“Yeah.”

You’ve captained the Atlas IV for five years now - you’ve been on so many of these routine, months-long cargo expeditions that you’ve stopped keeping count; every last detail of its operations is ingrained in your memory at this point. The ship is programmed to wake up the crew in stages upon entering a 0.5 parsec orbital radius of the destination planet (Pilot first, Captain next, and then the remaining crew), allotting plenty of time to communicate with the ground crew and prepare for landing.

However, the blinking blue light indicating the ship’s position is nowhere near the destination planet. It’s not even near any planet - you are in the middle of fucking nowhere.

The system is designed to wake the crew early if an emergency arises - a critical built-in safety measure - but there’s no emergency. Aside from the fact that you’re deep in interstellar space, there doesn’t even appear to be a minor issue at hand.

You look up at Hansol, who is patiently awaiting your response.

“Why was the Emergency Revival System triggered?” you ask hesitantly.

He stares at you for a second before responding.

“I don’t know.”

“And is anything malfunctioning? At all?”

He shakes his head.

“I’ve run all diagnostics twice - nothing. If there’s a problem somewhere, it’s undetectable.”

You grimace. Hansol lets out a sigh. You both know you only have one option here.

“Well, guess we better start combing the place. Find the problem ourselves.”

He nods resolutely. You head to the supply room together, gearing up in silence. You grab as many tools as you can carry - anything you might need to repair… whatever the issue is.

“Alright, I’ll start at the fore, you start at the aft. Take your comms - radio me if you find anything, no matter how trivial.”

You prepare to head out, but the silence filling the room stops you. You turn around to see Hansol, geared up head to toe with supplies, holding two pulse rifles. He extends one to you.

“Why-”

“Just in case.”

“We’re the only ones here, and everyone else is still in stasis. Who would I possibly need to shoot?”

“Nobody. But you never know what you might come across.”

“Hansol if there was anyone, or… anything else on this ship we would know about it,” you reply, but not confidently. You know he’s right. Weird shit happens in deep space sometimes - better safe than sorry. You take the rifle.

“Be careful, y/n.”

Normally if a subordinate addressed you informally, you would scold them. You have a good camaraderie with your crew, but you still demand respect. But you and Hansol have known each other for years - although you were never super close, you were still in the same class at the Academy. You did all your basic trainings together - and that kind of shit builds an unspoken bond. You wouldn’t necessarily consider him a friend, but truthfully you do see him as your equal. Being on a first name basis with him just comes naturally.

You give him a firm nod. “You too.”

He clips his rifle to his utility belt. “Meet you in the middle. Unless I find something first.” He shoots you a playfully-smug grin. “Which I will.”

You roll your eyes, but you grin back at him. “Hey, take your fucking time, it’s not a competition.”

“I know,” he says as he exits the room. His voice echoes from the hallway. “But I’m still gonna win.”

[two hours later]

You wipe the sweat from your brow as you shut the large panel door. You’ve checked what feels like a million controls and systems at this point, but - frustratingly - everything appears to be in order. Still no insight into what’s going on.

With an exhausted groan you sit on the ground, leaning your head back against the wall. You grab your canteen and chug some water. This type of work isn’t hard, but it’s fucking tiring. Not to mention boring as hell. At least you have an old mp3 player to keep you company, but you’re still too alone with your thoughts for your liking. As level-headed as you normally are, your mind can’t help but wander, imagining every terrible thing that could possibly happen. You try to push those thoughts aside, knowing you’re probably overthinking it. But the worries still linger.

You close your eyes, zoning out to the sound of David Bowie’s voice in your ears:

I, I can remember (I remember) Standing, by the wall (by the wall) And the guns, shot above our heads (over our heads) And we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall) And the shame, was on the other side Oh we can beat them, for ever and ever Then we could be Heroes, just for one day

“Captain! Come in Captain!”

You jolt upright. You curse yourself, realizing you must have drifted off to sleep for a bit. It takes you a moment to process where the voice is coming from - but then you notice the red light of your comms lighting up on your wrist.

“Hansol, come in.” you reply, bringing your arm up to your face.

“Geez, I was starting to think something happened to you.”

“Sorry, was just taking a rest. What’s up?”

“I found… something.”

“What do you mean ‘something’?"

“It’s easier if you see for yourself. Meet me in Cargo Bay 7.”

“Roger, on my way.”

The large pneumatic doors to the cargo bay open with a deep whoooosh. The coldness of the hangar stings your face as you step into the freezing room. Hansol’s head pokes up from behind several rows of large crates, his breath visible in the frigid air. He waves you over to him.

“What is it?” you inquire as you approach him, but as you step around to where Hansol is facing, you see it. Along the side of the crate, where the door is meant to be sealed shut, is a large hole ripped through the multilayered titanium walls. The shredded-up metal protrudes outwards in a peculiar manner, almost as if…

You lean in to get a closer look at the busted door. Hansol’s arm instinctively shoots out in front of yours to stop you from getting too close.

“Be careful - we don't know what's in there.”

You give him a firm nod. You retrieve a crowbar from your toolkit, sticking it into the small opening. Hansol lifts his pulse rifle into position, pointing it at the crate. Slowly you heave the large door open.

The beam of your flashlight illuminates the crate’s interior. In the center of the crate sits a biocapsule - not unlike the ones you use to enter stasis during long journeys, though notably larger. The capsule’s exterior is fitted with several, heavy-duty locking devices that appear to have been inadequate, given that the glass lid is almost entirely missing, accounting for the thick shards of broken glass strewn all over the floor. Dozens of tubes and wires connect the capsule to various bizarre pieces of machinery, presumably keeping its former occupant in stasis or something of the like. But now, it is vacant. Whoever - or, whatever - was in there, is gone.

“Okay, this is fucking weird,” you say, turning to Hansol. “Live cargo isn’t even permitted on this ship. What do the logs have listed for this shipment’s contents?”

Hansol lifts his arm and activates what looks like a sleek wristwatch. The watch projects its hologrammatic display into the air in front of his face, featuring a small keyboard. He types in the crate’s serial number into the interface.

“Um,” he starts, his face remaining placid, but you can see the confusion in his eyes. “There’s no record of this container in the system.”

“Like… at all?”

He types in the number again, checking if he made a mistake. But the projected screen once again only says 0 results found.

“Nothin’.”

You furrow your brow. That should be impossible - crates go through two checkpoints to ensure they are registered correctly before they are even allowed on the ship.

“Search the lot number.”

He types AT-07 into the device. It brings up the general cargo bay information - shipments are sorted into different bays depending on the type of contents they carry.

“‘General Plumbing Equipment’,” he reads from the screen.

You let out a short laugh.

“Plumbing equipment my ass.”

“Yup,” Hansol agrees. “This has gotta be contraband.”

Despite all the weird shit that’s been going on, the man has remained cool as a cucumber the whole time. You’re reminded why you’ve hand-selected him to be your Pilot for the last six missions.

“So, we have no idea what this is or where it even came from.”

Hansol nods. “Affirmative.”

You take a closer look at the hole. Crude, jagged edges line the gashes where the wall was torn asunder. Worse, however - deep scratches lay engraved around the hole’s perimeter, distinctly made in sets of three; they look eerily like claw marks. It looks exactly like what you’d expect a titanium crate to look like if something large broke out of it. But, the impenetrable thickness of the walls renders the crate nearly indestructible. Whatever being was held here - it is capable of gargantuan strength.

“What could have possibly done this?” you ask - not necessarily to Hansol, for you know he doesn't know either. You really would rather not find out, but that doesn't seem like an option at this point.

Hansol stares into the bizarre crate, mind racing with theories and questions.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

You turn to face your Pilot. His demeanor is unchanged, but he looks undeniably concerned. As are you.

“Well. What now?”

Hansol gives a slight shrug.

“It's your call, boss.”

“Right,” you sigh. Being in charge of decision-making is something you've gotten very good at over the years, but it certainly is a burden sometimes.

A sudden few beeps resonate from Hansol’s wristband. He lifts his arm to read the notification.

“The rest of the crew is waking up now,” he informs you.

“Shit. We better go brief them on the situation.”

Hansol nods in agreement. He puts his flashlight back on his tool belt and pulls his pulse rifle up again - safety still on, but ready to fire if needed. You do the same, silently praying to any god who might be listening that you won't need to use it.

But you're not too optimistic about that.

You head back up to the sleeping quarters to find the four other members of your crew mulling about - most still pretty dazed and grumpy from the waking process. Your Lieutenant, Jones, is the only one who doesn’t look like they want to kill somebody.

“Captain,” she greets you with a salute.

“Alright, listen up,” you command your squad, cutting right to the chase.

“We have a bit of a situation,” you start. Your crew is focused, listening attentively, but a nervous air of tension hovers in the room. Those are definitely not the words they were hoping to hear.

“First off, we’re not at the destination planet. Not even close.”

Hushed murmurs echo throughout the room. You continue.

“Chwe and I have not yet identified the source that triggered the Emergency Revival System. We did, however, find something of interest.”

You glance over at your Pilot. He gives you a subtle nod of assurance.

“A crate in one of the storage rooms was… breached," you start, trying to give as unalarming an explanation as you can manage. But, you know your crew isn’t stupid.

“To speak candidly, I have reason to believe this crate - which is missing from the ship’s logs - was transporting some kind of contraband life form.”

“Life form?” chimes in your Sergeant, Ridley. “What kind of life form?”

“Unclear,” you respond. “I don’t know exactly what I saw, but the crate seemed to be some kind of stasis chamber. Now, there is no reason to panic just yet. But I want everyone to remain vigilant, so I am issuing a Code Gray until we have an all-clear.”

A few subdued grumbles roll through your crew, but everybody knows it’s the right call. Code Gray indicates a potential hazard to the wellbeing of the crew or ship - not yet an emergency, but could quickly become one if things take a turn for the worse.

“Alright, let’s get going people,” you say, clapping your hands together. “Jones and Ridley, take the mid decks. Liang and Destin, lower decks. Follow code protocol, you know the drill. And radio if you find anything, no matter how small.”

The crew disbands, splitting off into designated pairs and gearing up for duty. As the duos depart, you nudge your head up at Hansol, signaling for him to follow you.

“Let’s go back to the cargo bay,” you tell him quietly. “I want to investigate every inch of that crate.”

You spend at least an hour poring over the crate’s contents, learning frustratingly little about its former occupant. All you can really tell is that the capsule was built to accommodate an individual approximately 8-9 feet tall, slender, with undeniably alien proportions. Your biggest lead is the mainframe - you’re not able to view any of its contents, as it appears to require an eye scan and a passcode, but you recognize the display language to be Acheron. Unfortunately, neither you nor Hansol can read a single word of it - and while it’s not the most ubiquitous language in the known galaxy, it’s still fairly widespread, only narrowing down possible origins to a minimum of 500,000 different star systems. But, it’s at least a start.

The only other discovery you make of potential interest is a thick, black, slimy residue coating the various internal components of the capsule. You collect several samples, scraping it into miniature vials for analysis.

“Well, let’s hit up the lab,” you tell Hansol as you wrap up your painstakingly thorough investigation. “I don’t think we’re going to find much else in here.”

“Should we send everyone an update?” he inquires.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “What exactly are we going to tell them? All we can say for certain right now is that it’s big and gooey.”

Hansol scrunches his nose in disgust.

“Please don’t say ‘big and gooey’.”

A subtle smile creeps onto your face. “Big and gooey,” you repeat.

“Blech,” he grumbles, pretending to gag - but the tiniest upward curvature of the ends of his lips breaks his facade.

“Let’s get these samples analyzed,” you say as you pack the vials into a red plastic bag bearing the words CAUTION: BIOHAZARD. “I don’t like how much time is passing without us getting any answers.”

“Do you remember that time at the Academy when you nearly killed that guy during a drill?”

The trek to the ship’s biolab has so far been traversed in silence, the only sound present other than the ambient rumbling of the engines being the muted echoes of boot-steps as you and Hansol walk down a seemingly endless number of corridors.

“Oh my god,” you groan. “I couldn’t forget about that if I tried. And trust me, I have.”

A wide grin spreads across Hansol’s face. One thing about your Pilot: you can always know exactly what he’s thinking by his expression. You know for a fact that it’s not that he can’t hide it - he simply doesn’t feel the need to.

“I still can’t believe I set my comms on the wrong channel,” you lament, shaking your head in embarrassment. “Did NOT get the memo that the drill was long over.”

“That’s why Sergeant Briggs personally went searching for you. We all thought you died.”

“Nope, not dead. Just an idiot,” you sigh. “And then he scared the shit out of me and I almost blasted him in the head.”

“Hey, we all make mistakes,” Hansol reassures you. “And in the end nobody got hurt, that’s what’s important.”

“You’re right,” you sigh in agreement. “Some mistake though, huh?” Hansol says nothing, but smiles.

You walk a few moments without conversation, but the silence feels too heavy. You’re not one to make small talk - but in the quiet your mind starts to wander, and now is not the time to let your nerves get the best of you.

You turn your head toward Hansol. “What the hell made you think of that, anyway?” you ask, the question genuinely on your mind anyway.

“Oh.”

Hansol looks up. His eyebrows scrunch a bit as he stares off down the hallway, seemingly deep in thought. He muses for a moment, then nods to himself.

“I felt similar then, like I’m feeling right now,” he tells you, his eyes still lingering in the distance. “I wouldn’t call it fear - I’m not scared. But there’s certainly the same… palpable sense of dread. And the anxiety of not knowing.”

He looks back at you. You meet his gaze, struck by the unexpected gravity of his answer. Despite knowing Hansol for years, he’s never opened up to you like this before. It’s not that he had anything to hide - he’s always been honest and communicative, and you trust him with your life. But, this conversation feels deeper, more intimate than any you've had with him in the past. Your eyes linger on his for a moment, unsure what to say, but as the next airlock whooshes open your attention shifts to the figure at the end of the corridor. It’s your Engineer, Liang, her back turned to you as she faces the next airlock - but given that she was assigned to search the ship’s lower quadrant with Destin, your Science Officer, her presence on the upper decks catches you off guard.

“Liang,” you call out, your voice carrying in a hollow echo down the long corridor. Her head snaps around to face you with startling speed. She stares back at you for several seconds, unmoving, before twitching slightly to stare at Hansol. Then, she bolts - disappearing into the adjacent corridor in the blink of an eye.

You glance at Hansol, who stares back at you equally confused.

“What was that about?” he questions. You lift your comms and page the Engineer.

“Liang? Come in, Liang.”

A couple moments later her voice rings through the device.

“What’s up, Captain?”

“Is everything okay? What are you doing in the upper decks?”

“I’m not in the upper decks,” she replies matter-of-factly. “Me and Destin are down on Deck 27 still. Haven’t found anything yet, though.”

You and Hansol stare at each other for a moment. The figure you just saw was undeniably Liang - her short stature and fiery red hair were a dead giveaway.

You switch the comms to all channels.

“Atlas Crew, report back with your positions,” you order the whole team.

A curt female voice rings through the comms. “Jones here, me and Ridley are on Deck 14, nearing the engine rooms.”

“Ridley here,” replies a deep voice. “Ditto.”

“Destin reporting from Deck 27,” a second male voice replies. “I’m here with Liang.”

A sinking feeling swells in your gut as the realization sets in: nobody is even remotely close to you and Hansol right now.

Your mind starts to race, but now is not the time to stand here and think. You raise your pulse rifle at the ready and motion for Hansol to follow you.

“Who the hell is up here with us, then?” he asks as he marches beside you with haste.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like this one bit,” you mutter as you head toward the corridor the figure vanished into. “Something feels very off here."

The pneumatic door to the connecting corridor is sealed, but not locked. It opens as you approach it, revealing a short, dimly lit passageway leading to a handful of Emergency Ejection Modules. The gargantuan ship has many such escape pod installments - fortunately, you’ve never had to use any of them, but they do offer a sense of security when you’re stuck on board for months on end. However, their quiet stillness feels eerie as you peer down the vacant hallway, their glowing red standby lights glaring ominously back at you through the darkness. As you and Hansol slowly move down the corridor, you notice a faint, mellow beep resonating in the distance. Then, you see it: the lights of the furthest Module blinking slowly, in sync with the beeping sound. In glowing green text, the panel screen beside the pod’s airlock displays the words MODULE DEPLOYED. You tap the screen and pull up the record log; sure enough, the pod is gone - deployed not even one minute ago from this terminal.

WHOOOOSH

Startled, you jump slightly at the loud sound coming from behind. You whip your head around to see the pneumatic door sliding open, gatching the briefest glimpse of a large, dark shadow fleeing the corridor.

You cock your pulse rifle and charge after the figure, bursting back into the vivid light of the main corridor to see… nothing.

Hansol appears beside you in a flash, but also stops in his tracks. The hall is far too long for anyone to have escaped on foot already, and the airlock behind you wasn’t opened. Whoever you’re chasing after has seemingly vanished into thin air.

“Atlas Crew, come in,” you call as you raise your comms. “I’m issuing a Code Orange effective immediately. Engage shipwide lockdown protocols and be on high alert. Rendezvous at the bridge ASAP.”

“Affirmative,” three voices reply one after the other.

“Affirmative,” Jones responds a moment later. “What’s going on, Captain?”

“I’ll explain when we get there, but be on high alert.” You glance nervously at Hansol, finding an equal amount of fear in his eyes. Somehow, you find it reassuring. You raise your arm once more to speak into the comms.

“There’s somebody else on this ship with us.”

“I just don’t understand,” Jones says as she reads the biologistics report on the screen for the fifth time. “There’s not a single biometric signal readout on this entire ship except for the six of us. If there were another human present on this ship - or any being for that matter - we would know about it even if they were dead.”

Your crew is gathered in the main control room on the bridge. You just finished giving them a detailed rundown of what you saw, relaying the uncanny events exactly as you witnessed them.

“And you’re sure it was me you saw?” Liang repeats, her brow furrowed.

“100%,” Hansol confirms. “They looked exactly like you. And besides, you’re the only one here with bright red hair.”

She lets out a somber laugh. “Fair enough. But it’s not like evil doppelgangers actually exist, and we’ve confirmed there’s no other living beings on board. So… you must have been seeing things right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply with a frown. “We both saw the exact same thing though.”

“You’re forgetting the missing creature.”

You turn, shifting your focus to the voice across the room. You see Destin, who had been silent until now. He sits hunched over in his chair, elbows balancing on his legs as he rests his chin upon his clasped hands. His legs bounce slightly in his usual anxious manner.

“What about it?”

“Nobody’s found the thing that escaped that crate,” he reminds the group.

“True,” you respond. “But whatever it is has to be dead by now. There’s no trace of it at all.”

“That’s just it, though.” His legs still as he sits up straight, resting his palms upon his knees. “Like Jones just said - if there were someone else on the ship we would know about it even if they were dead.”

The room fills with silence as everyone sinks deep into thought. Your mind races, trying to think of any logical explanation to any of this - but nothing makes sense.

“What about the Emergency Ejection Module?” Ridley finally asks, looking toward you and Hansol. “You guys said one was deployed as a decoy, but what if somebody… something was on it after all?”

Hansol quickly strides over to the nearest terminal, a blue glow illuminating his face as he pulls up the interface. His fingers fly as he speedily types upon the keypad. Every escape pod is equipped with a tracking device and a biometric monitor built in as a safety precaution; he hones in on the ejected module.

“I’ve located the pod.”

You hurry over to the terminal and look at the screen. Unfortunately, there’s no good news.

“It’s currently 0.02 parsecs from the ship. No sign of life on board. Or death.” His shoulders drop as he closes out the terminal in defeat. “There’s nothing.”

“Okay, so whoever we saw on the upper decks is still on the ship,” you state. “And we have an unknown specimen on the loose who is evading all detection. The most logical explanation is that the specimen is our mystery guy. But that doesn’t explain why they looked exactly like Liang. That part is…”

“Unsettling,” Hansol finishes your sentence for you. You nod in agreement.

Jones stares at the computer screen, reading the metrics over and over again in hopes of a revelation, but she knows the effort is futile. She shakes her head and turns the screen off with a sigh. “The way I see it, whatever escaped the crate is some kind of unknown biological specimen that can either shapeshift or induce hallucinations. Or maybe it’s advanced android technology. Regardless, we should still be able to detect something. But there’s not even a residual trace of electromagnetic radiation we can’t account for. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Chwe and I were on our way to the lab to analyze the substance we found in the crate,” you inform the crew. “Hopefully a molecular analysis will provide some insight into whatever the fuck is going on here.”

“I sure hope so,” Jones grimaces. “I’m not one to be superstitious, but I have a bad feeling about all of this.”

“What do you want us to do, boss?” Ridley asks from across the room. “While you guys run the tests?”

“Try and track down where that crate came from,” you tell him. “The mainframe language is in Acheron - that’s all I could glean, but start there and see if you can narrow down potential origin planets.”

You turn to the others. “Destin, you’re with me and Chwe. We need your expertise. Jones, Liang - try and figure out why we aren’t able to detect it. Search the scientific database - there’s gotta be something we’re missing.”

“What’s the protocol if we encounter the specimen?” Hansol’s voice resonates from behind. You turn, finding his eyes locked on you - focused and attentive.

“We know barely anything about it,” you respond, addressing the whole crew. “We don’t know its intentions or motives. But in an abundance of caution, assume the subject to be hostile. Set pulse rifles to stun - we don’t want to cause it any unnecessary harm. Worst case scenario, though…”

You hesitate. For all you know, whatever this species is may be friendly, intelligent. You certainly have a hunch that it has high intelligence - but as for friendly… Your gut tells you otherwise. And above all else, your duty is to protect your crew.

“If it comes down to it,” you continue, “do not put your life in jeopardy. Use your best judgement. Shoot to kill only as a very last resort.”

Several “yes, Captain”s are solemnly murmured through the room. Every member of your crew has years of experience under their belt, and you were all thoroughly trained for any type of situation. But simulated drills at the Academy, while intense, are nothing compared to the real thing - and none of you have ever experienced any true threats on a mission before.

Except for Hansol.

You don’t know the details. He’s never offered them, nor have you ever asked. But you know through the chatter of colleagues that one of his past missions involved an emergency on board, and - allegedly, according to some - one of the crewmates did not survive. Your gaze falls on him once more: still calm and collected, focused and taking his job seriously as usual. But his focus on you is more intense than you’re used to, and you detect a somber aura looming around him. You find yourself wanting to pat him on the arm, to tell him everything’s going to be okay. But, although you care greatly for each member of your crew, you know that would be starkly unprofessional. You cannot let your personal connection to Hansol cloud your attention right now.

And besides, you can’t tell him that anyway, because you don’t even know if you believe it yourself.

“These readouts are incredible - like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

You and Hansol stare at the monitor as Destin pulls up the lab results. You both have a fairly extensive background in science, as everyone who graduates from the Academy does, but the overwhelming jumble of data readouts on the screen are far beyond your paygrade. So you let your Science Officer do the interpreting.

“99% of all life discovered in the galaxy so far is carbon-based - it’s one of the most abundant elements in the universe, so that makes sense. But this specimen has a silicon-based biochemical makeup. Now, we have seen a few silicon-based lifeforms from a few remote planets, but all of them thus far have been primitive, relatively speaking,” he explains. “We’re talking mostly single-celled organisms. There’s been a small handful of multicellular silicon-based species discovered, but nothing more complex than bacteria or algae. Certainly nothing like the large and presumably-advanced specimen that’s running amok on the ship right now. But look at this…”

He pulls up a 3D image rendering of what you can only assume must be the creature’s DNA - but it’s nearly unrecognizable as such. The main culprit is its triple-helix structure - something that’s been theorized as potentially possible, but has never actually been seen before in nature. Though, the bizarre molecular formations you’re staring at makes you wonder if this creature is even naturally-occurring - it’s so strange that it almost makes you think it must have been engineered in a super-advanced laboratory, on some planet unknown to science.

“Obviously, the triple helix is astounding in and of itself,” Destin continues. “But even stranger is there is no water present in its chemical composition.”

“No water?” Hansol echoes, a perplexed expression etched onto his face. “Like, at all?”

“None whatsoever,” Destin confirms. “There are some known species who use ammonia as a solvent - which makes sense, because ammonia and water are both polar molecules, so their structure is similar. But this specimen appears to use methane as a solvent instead. Which, it’s a hydrocarbon, so that is theoretically possible, but with its tetrahedral structure…”

He glances over to you and Hansol, seeing that he’s starting to lose you in his technical jargon. He shakes his head, abandoning the in-depth explanation.

“Basically, this creature is theoretically possible. But for all intents and purposes, it shouldn’t exist.”

The laboratory air hangs still around the three of you as nobody speaks for several prolonged moments. An unnerving chill runs through your body - you thought you would feel better after gathering more information, but at this point you feel even worse. None of these findings comfort you in the slightest.

“Well, at least we have a lead here,” Hansol points out, breaking the silence. “We can eliminate a large majority of possible origin planets.”

“True,” Destin agrees. “It’s a good start. But I have a feeling based on this completely unfamiliar biochemistry that we might be dealing with an unregistered planet here.”

You frown, but you know he’s right. You may have narrowed your search down, but the answers you’ve found thus far have only led to more questions.

“There’s one more thing.”

Destin types on the interface again. An empty chart pops up on the screen.

“These are the readouts on the spectrometry analysis.”

“It looks blank,” you tell him, confused.

“Yeah. It is.”

He turns back to you, the wrinkles on his forehead more prominent than normal.

“That’s not a mistake - the test was completed. The results are either nonexistent or off the charts, neither of which makes any sense. Basically, all living beings produce bioelectric fields, giving off some form of radiation. Radio, infrared, our visible spectrum, ultraviolet - wherever it is on the electromagnetic spectrum, there should be detectable waves. But there’s nothing.”

“How is that possible, then?” Hansol asks.

“I don’t know,” Destin responds quietly. “I can’t even begin to reason why this might be the case. But this must be why we aren’t able to detect it.”

He looks anxious, and you don’t blame him. It’s your job as Captain to know what’s happening on the ship at all times - uncertainty is not an option.

“Send these results over to Ridley and Liang,” you tell him. “We can rendezvous with them and see if they’ve found anything. Maybe they can help fill in some of the missing pieces.”

“The good news is: based on its system’s language, I’ve definitely narrowed down the crate’s potential origin.”

Ridley picks up a mug sitting on his desk, taking a large sip of what appears to be lukewarm black coffee. His small office very clearly is not meant to accommodate four people at once; you crowd around his screen, standing sandwiched between Destin and Hansol as you listen to his report.

“And the bad news?” Hansol inquires.

“The bad news… only to around 50,000 star systems.”

“Fifty thousand??” Destin blurts out, incredulous. “That’s it?!”

“Hey, out of the one billion star systems in the galaxy known to have life? Could be a lot worse,” Ridley counters.

“Did you import the data from Destin’s test results?” you ask. “Maybe that can help pinpoint it further.”

“Unfortunately, that didn’t help. In fact it eliminated all 50,000 of them - not a single one has an atmospheric composition matching the creature’s biology.”

“Sounds like you were right,” you nod your head toward Destin. “The creature must be from an unregistered planet, then. Whatever planet this crate came from was probably just transporting it.”

“I’ll check the ship logs and see if I can piece together where we might have picked this crate up,” Ridley states. “I don’t think that will tell us any more about the creature but maybe we can figure out how we ended up with it in the first place.”

You nod in agreement. “Destin, you go with Ridley. Hansol and I will see what Jones and Liang are up to.”

As if summoned, you hear Jones’ voice echo from your comms.

“Captain, come in. Are you alright?”

You stare at the device for a moment. The other crew members in the room turn to look at you, also confused. You raise your wrist toward your face to reply.

“I’m here. What do you mean?”

“We just saw you down the corridor but you were acting… weird. Are you on Deck 7 right now?”

Your stomach drops.

“No, we’re in Ridley’s office. Jones, that wasn’t me.”

“Shit. It looked just like you, Captain, I swear,” she replies.

“What was… it doing?” you ask reluctantly. But you have to know.

“You… well, the creature I guess - it was walking really fast toward the medical bay. I called your name out and it turned and looked at me but…” her voice trails off. “I’m not gonna lie, the look in your- its eyes scared the shit out of me. It was a cold dead stare. Then it said something but I couldn’t understand, it was unintelligible. But it was your voice, Captain.”

You instinctively look up at Hansol, meeting his gaze with horror in your eyes. He looks deeply concerned, but he remains calm. You would never admit it to him, but his presence always reassures you when you would otherwise be freaking out. You take a deep breath; your mind refocuses, and you decide you can worry about the details later.

“Should we go after it?” Jones’ voice rings through the comms.

“No, not yet - it’s too risky. Stay where you are, Hansol and I are on our way.”

You signal to your Pilot to follow, but he’s already by your side, pulse rifle at the ready.

"Turn your locators on your comms on,” you order to the whole crew. “Send a ping to check positions if you see somebody out of place. Report back with any anomalies. And stick with your partner at all times. I don’t want anybody going off by themselves.”

You and Hansol head straight for Deck 7, walking hastily but with caution. Every corner you turn, every airlock you open - you expect to see the image of a crew member lurking there, out of place. You remain focused, but there’s no denying you’re a little on edge.

Hansol notices, of course - he always does. You’re good at hiding it when you’re stressed or anxious - it’s part of the job, after all - but he’s known you long enough to recognize that you’re growing increasingly nervous. He watches the back of your head as you walk briskly down the corridor, alert and attentive as you clear each passing airlock.

“Hey,” he speaks softly. “Captain.”

You make sure the next hallway is clear before turning to face the voice behind you. It’s just Hansol, but something about seeing him gives you a sense of reassurance you didn’t know you needed.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Do you think we should send a distress signal?”

You pause for a moment, staring off into the distance as you mull over his words. Slowly, you begin to nod your head.

“I’ve been considering it for a while now,” you admit. “I didn’t want to jump the gun, but I think at this point it’s better safe than sorry.”

“I agree,” he nods. “Let’s head to the bridge after we meet up with Jones and Liang - no need to split up.”

You continue toward Deck 7. As you near where your crew is stationed, you hear loud banging sounds, followed by a thunderous CRASH. Your heart rate spikes. Glancing at Hansol, he looks equally as concerned. You raise your pulse rifles and start running toward the noises, when then you hear Liang’s voice ringing through the hallway.

“FUUUUCCCKKKKKK!!!”

You and Hansol burst into the room, prepared for the worst - but all you see is the Engineering Lab, looking like a tornado went through it. Liang is at one of the workstations, smashing some sort of device with a hammer while screaming expletives. Jones is laying on the floor, looking like she has given up.

“What the hell is going on??” you inquire loudly, relieved that there is no emergency but exasperated from the near-heart attack Liang almost gave you. “I thought you were dying in here!”

“Liang is smashing her third attempt at a tracking device with a hammer,” Jones remarks dryly. “I’m lying on the floor.”

“Yes, I see that,” you reply with an eye roll.

“It’s not BANG fucking BANG WORKING!!!” Liang bellows, giving the busted machine a final BANG before shoving it off the desk. Her shoulders slump as she hangs her head in her hands. You glance at Hansol out of the corner of your eye; he meets your gaze. You stare at each other for a moment, then the corners of his mouth start to twitch. You bite your lip to prevent bursting out in laughter; Hansol tries his hardest to stifle his grin. Nothing about this situation is funny, but the ridiculousness of it all definitely offers some comic relief.

Hansol clears his throat, shoving the laughter back down. “Um, so what have you tried so far?”

“Well, somebody fucked up the first machine because they got a little too solder-happy,” Liang grumbles, shooting a glare at Jones.

“I said I was sorry!” Jones retorts, exaggeratedly throwing her hands up into the air.

“The second one was close, I could feel it - but then I fucked up the wiring so bad I just decided to start from scratch again.”

“And you see how well that went,” Jones teases. Liang picks up a pencil and chucks it at Jones, hitting her in the forehead.

“OW!”

“Get up, dumbass. Make yourself useful and go get some power couplers,” Liang gestures at the giant wall of spare parts.

“Alright, alright! Damn!”

She hops up and brushes hastily past a shocked-looking Hansol to go fetch the requested parts. You laugh, remembering that this is his first mission working with these two.

“They’re always like this,” you reassure him out of earshot of your crew members. “Trust me, they’re best friends.”

Hansol scratches his head, letting out a nervous laugh.

“If you say so, boss.”

You head over to Liang’s workstation as she plops what you can only assume is Attempt #2 onto the desk. It’s a bulky, unsightly thing - a crudely-soldered collection of mismatched parts - but as she flips a switch it whirrs to life, displaying a blue hologram screen that you recognize as the ship’s schematics. Four glowing white dots appear upon the map.

“So obviously, that’s us,” Liang states. She makes some adjustments, zooming the display out to show the whole ship, and two additional white dots pop up. “And that’s Destin and Ridley up on Deck 3. Still no sign of our alien anywhere.”

“I assume you built an electroscope into the device?” Hansol asks Liang.

“Yeah, but it’s not detecting any anomalies.”

“What’s the detection threshold for static electricity, millivolts? Microvolts?”

“Microvolts,” Liang answers, raising her eyebrow at Hansol. “Why?”

“Instead of volts, hone in on the amps,” he instructs. “And up the sensitivity to nanoamps. I have a hunch.”

“Oookay,” she agrees with a shrug. “Can’t hurt to try anyways.”

Jones returns, setting a handful of power couplers on the desk. Hansol gets to work rummaging through endless boxes of parts; he returns in a few minutes with dozens of tiny pieces of machinery. He and Liang get to work, fine-tuning the machine. You don’t exactly want to sit around doing nothing, but you’re not much use here - and besides, you could use a few moments of rest. You plop down on a nearby rusty folding chair, watching your crew diligently fiddle with the contraption, but you quickly catch yourself zoning out. You didn’t realize how exhausted you were until right now. You close your eyes, just for a minute, you tell yourself. Just a quick breather…

“Captain!”

You jolt awake from the nap you didn’t know you were taking, nearly falling off the flimsy chair.

“What’s happening?” you ask frantically. “What time is it? What-”

You feel a hand on your shoulder. You look up to find Hansol’s face hovering above yours.

“God, you have got to stop doing that!”

“Sorry,” he replies with a sheepish smile. “We finished.”

“Fuck, how long was I out?”

“16 minutes and 58 seconds,” Jones reads from her watch.

“Oh,” you say as the panic in your body ceases. “That was fast.”

“Yeah, because me and Hansol are geniuses,” Liang says smugly.

“Well, does it work?” you inquire, getting up and walking back to the workstation.

“Don’t know,” Hansol replies matter-of-factly. “We’re about to fire it up.”

“Moment of truth…” Liang says with hesitant optimism. She flips a few switches, but the machine remains silent. Her eyes widen, looking like she’s about to reach for her hammer again, but fortunately the machine slowly starts booting up.

“Oh thank fuck,” she exhales. The blue screen pops up again, showing the same dots as before. Grimacing, she stares at the machine tiredly. “Well, nevermind that.”

“Wait,” you call out, leaning in to get a better look at the display. “Zoom in on our location.”

Liang zooms in on the Engineering Lab, the cluster of four dots growing larger.

No… five dots.

Everyone stares at the display in silence, processing what is being shown.

“Zoom back out?” Jones requests quietly.

Liang zooms out. Two additional dots appear for Ridley and Destin, still on Deck 3. You look back at the five dots in the Engineering Lab. Four are stationary, the fifth one slowly circling the others.

“There it is…” Liang utters, her voice barely more than a whisper.

You raise your comms to your chin. “Ridley, Destin, come in. State your locations,” your voice wavers as you ask the question you already know the answer to.

“Ridley here. I’m with Destin on Deck 3.”

“Destin here, copy that.”

You ping them on the locator, just to triple check - but they are indeed still up on Deck 3.

You stare at the fifth dot at your location. It’s still circling the other four, the eerie steadiness of its creeping pace sending a haunting chill up your spine. You feel the room shift, abject horror washing over everyone’s faces as the severity of the situation sinks in.

You slowly raise your pulse rifle, signaling for your crew to do the same. Everyone looks around the room anxiously.

“Where the hell is it?” Jones whispers reluctantly. The room falls silent as everyone tries to detect any trace of the creature. Then, you hear it.

swhoooooosh

The sound comes from above. It’s almost undetectable, but you hear it: the sound of wet, muted slithering from hell, accompanied by horrid crackling noises.

Hansol hears it too. He peers up, staring at the ceiling, his eyes widening with fear.

“It’s in the walls.”

“How…” Jones’ voice trails off momentarily. “I thought it was supposed to be gigantic… how can it fit in there?”

“I don’t know,” you respond as you cock your rifle, holding it at the ready. You point the barrel at the source of the sounds, tracing steadily along the ceiling as you hear it move above you. “But that doesn’t really matter right now. Everyone stick together at the center of the room - but hold your fire.”

“Blasters to stun?” Hansol checks, his arm brushing against your shoulder as he takes his position beside you. You turn, unintentionally staring directly into his eyes; your mind is racing, but his steadfast gaze grounds you back in reality. You nod at him.

“For now,” you add quietly.

The slithering and crunching continues, barely audible, but it echoes through your skull like nails on a chalkboard. You continue tracing the sounds with the muzzle of your rifle, when suddenly the noises cease, right above a vent cover.

“The vent!” Jones stammers. Time seems to freeze as you all stare at the hatch in the ceiling, terrified to blink or breathe lest it makes its move. You don’t know how much time passes - all you can focus on is the dreadful roar of blood rushing through your ears. Your heart pounds in your chest, so heavily it threatens to burst through your ribcage. But all there is is silence. Until-

BANG.

The vent cover rattles in its frame as the creature slams against it.

BANG.

Dust and particles trickle down from the ceiling. The whole room seems to shake.

BANG.

The vent protrudes from the blows, threatening to burst at the seams.

BANG!!!!

The dense metal covering gives way, falling to the ground below. Harsh clanging sounds ricochet through the room as it bounces off the floor - but the creature remains in the shadows above.

“I can’t see it,” Liang frantically hollers, staring up into the dark hole. “Where is it?”

Nobody moves as dust and shards of metal settle onto the ground, leaving behind deafening silence. Then, a series of deep, hollow clicks starts rippling through the air - you can’t tell where it’s coming from, it feels like it's all around you. A large dark figure suddenly plummets to the ground, landing with another deafening CRASH. You immediately fire your weapon, but it darts away, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

“It’s over there!!” Jones screams, firing at a black blurry form in the corner of the room. You turn your head, trying to follow the horrid clicking sounds, but it’s as if you’re moving in slow motion - by the time you are facing it, it darts off in another direction. You do your best to aim and shoot, but your vision grows fuzzy, your head spinning with vertigo as you struggle to maintain focus.

“I can’t see!!” somebody shrieks. The room wobbles around you as you try to locate the creature, but it's near impossible. Finally, you spot the dark figure hovering not five feet in front of you, standing above one of your crew - your vision is too obscured to tell who. It raises its appendage, ready to attack. You scream, raising your pulse rifle with frustrating slowness, aiming it at the creature, but you know you’re too late. The crew member cries out in terror as the creature swings toward them, but then the room fills with a blinding flash of somebody firing point-blank at the creature. The creature howls, flying back up into the vent in a single leap. You hear it slithering away, its body crunching and creaking as it forces itself through the walls. By the time you can see straight again, it’s long gone.

Your eyes focus on the crew member laying upon the ground: it’s Jones. Her left sleeve is ripped clean off her jumpsuit, exposing a set of three slashes in her skin. You rush to her side, careful not to touch the wound. All things considered, it could be a lot worse - it’s not very deep, just a scratch, but the wound is already turning a concerning shade of purple. You whip your head up to find Hansol - you spot him across the room, helping Liang off the ground, both of them seemingly unscathed. Jones grits her teeth as she groans, clutching her arm in pain.

“How bad is it?” she asks reluctantly.

“Not the worst I’ve ever, but also not great,” you tell her truthfully. “Looks like our alien is venomous, unfortunately.”

“Yeah, might explain why it feels like my bones are on fire,” she remarks with a forced laugh. Hansol and Liang appear by your side, crouching down to get a good look at the wound.

“Yikes,” Hansol exclaims as his face grows contorted with disgust. Liang elbows him in the rib. “I mean, you’ll be fine,” he adds. He looks up at you. “Looks like we need an antidote. I think we can use the goo.”

“Shit, you’re right.” You jump into action, paging your Destin and Ridley on your comms. “Atlas crew, come in. We encountered the alien. This is Code Red - I repeat, this is Code Red.”

“Is everyone alright? What happened?” Ridley’s voice rings through the device.

“I… I don’t know really. We were attacked. Jones got hit and turns out the damn thing is venomous. We need an antidote - Destin, you there?”

“Copy, Captain. I can use the sample from earlier to cook one up. We’ll head to the lab, stat.”

“Wait,” you reply hastily. You return to the tracking device, thankfully unharmed despite the commotion. Zooming out, you see the seventh dot rapidly heading toward the upper decks.

“It’s headed right toward you. You have to go now - and FAST.”

“Roger that, Captain,” Destin responds. “We’re quite close to the Laboratory so we should be okay, but we’ll remain on high alert.”

“Keep us updated. Liang will take Jones straight to the Medical Bay. Me and Hansol will meet you at the lab to fetch the antidote.”

“Got it.”

You grab the bulky tracking device off the desk, taking a spare strap of leather from the ground and hurriedly fastening it to the device with some rivets. You go to put the strap around your shoulders, when Hansol stops you.

“I’ll take it,” he insists, attaching the device to himself before you can protest. “You’re a better shot than me, in case we encounter that fucking thing again.”

“Captain-” Liang shouts from behind. You turn to see her lifting Jones off the ground, but barely - as Jones is nearly a head taller than herself. They both stumble - you rush in to grab Jones’ torso, hoisting her back up while being careful to avoid touching the wound. You look back at Hansol.

“I’ll go get the antidote. You guys get Jones to Medical.”

“No!” you shout, louder than you mean to. “I don’t want you going by yourself. Come with us-”

Hansol shakes his head. “You know it’ll be faster if I go alone. We can’t waste any time.” He gestures to Jones’ arm, which is even more purple at this point.

You sigh reluctantly, but you know he’s right.

“But be careful,” you tell him sternly. “Please,” you add in a softer voice.

He gives you a quick salute, then disappears out of the room, tracking device and pulse rifle in tow. An anxious pit starts to develop in your stomach, but you ignore it. He’ll be fine, you tell yourself. And you know it’s true. But if something happened to Hansol… you would never be able to forgive yourself.

Turning back to Jones, you hoist her up so she can lean most of her weight on you. Liang pulls her rifle at the ready - and the three of you take off to the Medical Bay. It’s not terribly far from where you are, but having to drag an entire crew member with you makes the journey feel ten times longer than it actually is. You wish you had the tracking device to calm your nerves, but you know it was the right decision for Hansol to take it - he is heading in the same direction as the creature, after all. Eleven grueling minutes later, you arrive at the Medical Bay. You quickly help Jones into a medical capsule - the stasis technology won’t stop the venom from spreading, but it will at least slow it down slightly. You just hope and pray it’s enough.

“I’m going to the Bridge to send the distress signal,” you inform Liang. “Stay here with Jones, ping my comms if anything changes.” She stares back at you solemnly, not liking that you have to go off alone too, but she nods in agreement.

You run as fast as you can toward the Bridge, willing the creature to be anywhere else but in your path. You approach the final corridor, relief washing over you that you’re almost there. The pneumatic door whooshes open as you turn the corner; you look down the long hall to see the Bridge’s bright blue security door-

And Hansol is standing right in front of it.

Except, it’s not Hansol. You don’t even have to stop and think about it, you just know: that’s. not. him.

The creature disguised as Hansol stands unnaturally stiff, in an unnaturally wide stance, shoulders hunched in a way that seems painful. But the dead giveaway is the eyes - instead of the familiar warm gaze of Hansol’s brown eyes, you are met with a cold, hard glare of solid black irises. The hollow, disturbing clicking sounds from earlier begin again as the creature contorts Hansol’s lips into a hideous snarl. The same disgusting slimy goo you found in the crate starts to ooze from Hansol’s mouth, frothing and gurgling repulsively; it has also started pooling around Hansol’s boots where the vile creature stands. You stare back at it intensely, trying to see if you can get any read on it, any sense of kindness or well intentions - but all you can glean from its dead piercing eyes is a dark, harrowing sense of evil.

Then, it charges at you.

The Hansol doppelganger runs awkwardly, but startlingly fast, speeding straight down the corridor to where you stand. You don’t even have time to think - you shut the airlock and engage the blast shields moments before it reaches you. It thuds against the blast shields with a thunderous BANG.

You run. You don’t know where you’re going, you just run - as fast as you possibly can. All you can hear as you run away is

BANG.

It grows quieter the further you run, but you know if the creature can’t break down the blast doors it will just find another way out. You run, zig-zagging randomly down the corridors, until your legs feel like they’re going to give out. You slow to a stop - just for a moment, to catch your breath, when Ridley’s voice suddenly echoes from your comms.

“I just ran into the alien,” he frantically informs all channels. “And it fucking looked like me.”

“Ridley - are you hurt?” you quickly respond.

“My shoulder, it might be sprained,” he groans. “I’ll live. But shit, that was fucked up man, that was so fucked up…”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I turned the corner and saw myself standing right in front of me, god it was so fucking weird. But Captain - it talked. In my own voice. It said… It asked me, ‘Whoooo areeee youuuuu’. Fuck, it was so creepy. I blasted it in the face five times, that fucker barely even flinched. Then it picked me up and threw me into the wall. Landed on my shoulder, I think I might have sprained it - but I’ll live.”

“Where is it now, Ridley?” you ask imperatively. “Where did it go?”

“Ran off toward the upper decks, I think. Starboard.”

You look up, checking the corridor number where you ended up. Sure enough, the creature must be headed your way. Just my fucking luck. You start off in the opposite direction, aiming to avoid running into it, when you hear the thump thump thump thump of heavy footsteps growing louder.

It’s coming.

You have no time to think. You spot a supply closet - definitely not the world’s greatest hiding place, but it’ll have to do. You pull the door shut as you stumble into the closet, practically throwing yourself to the ground. You sit against the wall behind one of the shelves, pulse rifle across your lap in case you need to think quick. The thump thump thump thump-ing continues, the owner of the footsteps clearly getting closer. And closer. And closer. Then, they stop - right outside the closet door. You practically hold your breath, lest you make any sound to alert it to your presence. The doorknob squeaks as it slowly turns; bright light floods the small closet as the door opens. You raise your weapon, aiming it at- Hansol?

His eyes widen as he stares down the barrel of your rifle. He gently raises his hands, gesturing to you to lower the weapon.

“Hey, Captain-”

“Don’t move!!” you scream, rifle trembling in your grasp.

“Captain, it’s me-”

“How do I know it’s really you??”

Tears flood your eyes as you stare down your Pilot, blaster aimed directly at his head.

“Y/n, what happened?”

His soft voice fills your ears. You stare into his eyes - warm, brown, gazing down at you with concern. Those are Hansol’s eyes alright, but you know the alien keeps getting better at mimicking your crew - plus, it can speak now. You have to be sure.

“Tell me something so I know it’s really you,” you demand, your voice wavering. “Something only the real Hansol would know.”

He looks back at you for a moment, thinking.

“Do you remember how we first met?”

You stare up at him, still afraid, but you wait for him to continue.

“It was our first year at the Academy, on our third day of training. I was exhausted already - we all were. That first week was rough, I mean they really tried to kill us with the physical examinations, huh,” he says, a small grin appearing on his face as he reminisces. “Anyway, I didn’t know it but I had somehow already made an enemy. Chadley Praxton.” Mumbling, he adds, “stupid fucking name…” You’re still trembling, but the corners of your mouth twitch briefly into the tiniest of smiles. “Anyway, he was an asshole and decided I was a nerd or something, I don’t know what his deal was. In the mess hall that night he kept throwing peas at my head, for some reason. I ignored it, but then he started flinging bits of mashed potatoes with his spoon. I grabbed my tray and started to leave - but not before this random girl from my barracks walked right past him and dumped her full cup of cola and ice on his head.” He laughs, shaking his head at you. “You went, ‘Oops! Sorry!' in the most insincere tone and just kept walking. That’s when I knew I wanted to be your friend.”

He makes eye contact with you again, the smile on his face so kind you almost forget where you were for a moment. You go to lower your weapon, but realize you’ve already lowered it. You drop it to the ground, then burst into tears.

Hansol stands there, unsure what to do for a moment.

“Can I… come in?”

Your face is buried in your hands as you sob uncontrollably, but you nod. He enters the supply closet, shutting the door gently behind him, then plops down right next to you. Hesitantly, he gives you a couple pats on the shoulder - you lean in to him, burying your head in the crook of his neck. Fuck it, he decides, and wraps his arm around you, letting you cry as he holds you. After a few minutes, you start to calm down.

“Sorry,” you say with an embarrassed sniffle. “I didn’t mean to have a mental breakdown on you.”

“It’s okay.”

He rubs your arm as he embraces you, letting you lean against him still. You wonder when the last time you felt this calm was.

“I ran into the creature earlier. It looked like you, but it was all horribly wrong,” you explain. “That’s why I freaked out when I saw you.”

You feel him nod. “I figured.”

“Hansol, I was so fucking scared. I mean, I still am - I don’t know what’s going to happen. And I hate not knowing.”

“I know, me too,” he says as he rests his chin against the top of your head. “It’s going to be okay though.” He pauses, then somberly adds: “It has to be.”

You sit in silence for a few moments, listening to the steady rhythm of Hansol’s heart beating in his chest.

“Can I ask you something?”

You lift your head up to look at him after you ask. You see your trusty Pilot before you, but more importantly, you see your friend. Hansol.

“Sure,” he answers. “Of course.”

“I’ve heard rumors, but I’ve never known for sure. Did you have a mission that ended… badly?”

Hansol closes his eyes, giving you a solemn nod.

“Yeah. Four years ago, I was on a short transport mission. Was supposed to be super easy - one payload to be picked up and delivered. We’d all done it a hundred times. We were nearly at the destination planet when the ship had a strange malfunction. One of the engines shut down and nobody could figure out why. I offered to suit up and go check it out, but our Captain insisted he would go instead. Because it was my birthday.” He laughs softly. “He was always like that - he really cared about the crew. Just like you do.”

He looks back to you as he says it, and it makes your heart sink.

“So he went out to do a routine maintenance check. But, turns out the engine shut down due to a gas leak. I don’t know how it went undetected, but it did. The moment he took a pistol grip to the tank carriage, it exploded.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter softly.

“Yeah. It severed his tether and pierced his primary life support system. He died instantly.”

A gentle stream of tears falls from each of his eyes, running gracefully down his face.

“We had to make an emergency evacuation in the auxiliary shuttle. There was no time to even retrieve his body. That was the worst part of it all: watching him float off into the void of space as we flew away to safety, knowing there was absolutely nothing we could do. I’ll never be able to get that image out of my head. It haunts me.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, placing your hand on top of his.

You stay there together, sitting in silence for a bit. You find yourself leaning your head on his shoulder again - it’s comforting for both of you.

“Thank you,” you finally say.

He tilts his head to look at you. “For what?”

“For being there.”

He smiles softly. “You too.”

You sit up abruptly. “The antidote!! And the distress call! Did we-”

“We got it,” he answers immediately, quelling your worries. “I noticed the distress signal wasn’t sent yet, so after I delivered the antidote to the Med Bay I went to the Bridge - everyone else stayed behind with Jones. You weren’t in the Bridge, so I sent the distress call and went to come find you.”

“Why didn’t you just call me on the comms?”

He grins, lifting up his wrist to show the busted remains of what was once his comms.

“What the fuck did you do?” you inquire, your eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“Had a brief run in with the alien. It was a giant dark blur again - I fired at it like 15 times in a row but it still managed to body slam me into the ground.” He shrugs. “Then it ran off.”

“And the only thing hurt was your comms?”

“Um, I might have a broken rib,” he admits, scratching his head. “But it’s fine.”

“What?! Okay, come on, let’s get you to Medical too.”

“I’m fine, really,” he insists, but he reaches for the tracking device from his stash. “Here.” He fires it up, the hologram display projecting seven white dots before you. Two are you and Hansol, in this stupid supply closet. Four are the rest of your crew up in the Medical Bay. And one lone dot lingers near the engine rooms.

“Okay, the creature isn’t close, that’s good,” you comment. “But why is it down there…”

“I dunno, but it can’t possibly be up to anything good.”

You and Hansol make it back to the Medical Bay with no issues - the creature appears to be staying put for now. You’re relieved to find Jones with two intact arms, the sickly scratches looking significantly less purple after the antidote.

“Practically good as new, boss,” Jones announces cheerfully. “I’m ready to get back out there. What’s our game plan?”

“Well, Hansol sent the distress signal but so far, no response. One option: stay here - lock down Med Bay and wait for someone to pick up our beacon.”

“And hope and pray that the creature can’t break in?” Destin questions. You sigh, but you know he’s right. “What are our other options?” he asks.

“Well, we could-”

Your sentence is cut off by the sudden blaring of the emergency alarms.

Startled, everybody jumps to their feet. A loud, grating bell rings on top of the piercing sirens.

“What’s happening?” Liang shouts over the noise.

Hansol is already at the terminal, pulling up the reports. His face drops as he reads the text on the glowing blue screen.

“One of the exhaust pumps on the portside engines is malfunctioning!” he shouts urgently.

“What??” you shout back. “How-”

You are interrupted by another bell ringing.

“A second exhaust pump is offline??” Hansol yells with confusion. He scrambles back to the tracking device - six dots up in Med Bay, one down in the engine room.

Another bell. You don’t have to look at the terminal to know exactly what is happening.

“That thing is dismantling the exhaust pumps!!” you shout, watching as fear washes over your crew’s faces yet again.

“The ship is gonna fucking blow if it keeps this up!!” Liang shrieks.

You find yourself looking to Hansol. He nods to you, and you know what must be done.

“EVERYBODY TO THE AUXILIARY SHIP,” you command your crew. “WE’RE EVACUATING - NOW.”

“What about the alien??” Ridley yells. “What if it comes after us?”

You look back at him, replying with a single word.

“Run.”

The blaring alarms screech in your ears as you and your crew bolt through the ship, heaving footsteps clanging against the metal floors as the emergency lights flood the hallways with their incessant flashing. You sprint, as fast as your exhausted body will allow, but time seems to lag, your movements occurring in slow motion. But you can’t stop - not until your whole crew is safe.

“It’s running right towards us!” Hansol hollers from right behind you. “Approaching fast, from behind, 1000 meters…” Then, seconds later, “800 meters… 600…”

“Shit,” you growl under your breath. You yank your pulse rifle up, cranking the blaster to maximum voltage. You’re not taking any more fucking chances.

“500 meters,” Hansol shouts. “400… 300…”

You stop in your tracks, whipping around to face the hallway you just came from. Your crew follows suit.

“KEEP GOING,” you shout to your crew.

“No way,” Ridley shouts back. “We’re sticking with you.”

“THAT’S AN ORDER.”

You scan the faces of your crew - they are filled with terror, but you see the determination in their eyes. They each salute you, then run. You watch the backs of their heads as they flee down the corridor. A horrible feeling that you will never see them again creeps into your head.

You turn back around, Hansol standing beside you, ready to fight.

“Hansol, GO.”

He shakes his head in refusal. “I’m not leaving you, Captain.”

He looks at the tracking device once more.

“200 meters, 150, 100…”

You hold your ground, bracing yourself for the worst. You hear the repulsive scuttle of the creature’s footsteps, rapidly approaching, accompanied by the god-awful scraping of its claws against metal. You aim at the airlock, finger on the trigger - but the pneumatic door doesn’t open. The horrifying realization sinks in as you hear it stomp and crunch above your head, passing you in an instant as it heads directly for the auxiliary ship.

“It’s still in the fucking walls!” you yell urgently to the rest of your crew over your comms. “It’s heading straight for our escape route - divert course immediately!!”

Several seconds pass with no response, and you fear for the worst. But then you hear Jones’ voice crackling through.

“We’re headed to the nearest Emergency Ejection Modules,” she shouts through the static. “We lost Destin though, I don’t know where he went!”

“Keep going - don’t stop for anything.”

You switch channels, pinging Destin’s comms.

“Destin, come in - where are you?”

“I’m going to distract it,” his voice rings distantly through the device. “You and Hansol get to the auxiliary ship, I’ll lure it away.”

“No! It’s too dangerous-”

“Godspeed, Captain.”

The channel goes quiet as he shuts off his comms.

“What the fuck is he doing??” you cry out, staring incredulously at Hansol.

“I don’t know, but it’s working,” he replies as he looks down at the tracking device. You see two stray dots on the map, heading for the aft. The confusion on Hansol’s face lifts as he realizes.

“I think he’s going to try and trap it in the garbage receptacle.”

“He’s going to get himself killed,” you grumble.

“What do we do?”

You meet Hansol’s eyes. He patiently awaits your order, looking back at you with all the trust in the galaxy. It nearly rips your heart in half.

“I don’t-”

BOOOOOOOOM.

The rumbling explosion cuts you off. You feel the ground shake beneath your feet.

“That was nearby,” Hansol announces with concern. Pulling up the map again you see a third dot on the deck above your current position, unmoving. Another dot speeds back in the direction of the other crew members.

“Quick!” You sprint up the nearest stairwell, Hansol right by your side. Up on the next deck you find yourself in Central Mainframe Storage, but one of the huge towers of computers has been fully knocked over. Spark zap in the air as the exposed wiring flickers to death. Then, at the other end of the room, you spot your Science Officer. He clings to the Terminal as balances himself on one leg, the other appearing to be badly mangled.

“Destin!” you shout. He peers over his shoulder, his face contorted with pain.

“You have to go,” he tells you somberly as he types a long string of codes into the Terminal. “I’m gonna blow this shit to pieces.”

Flashing red lights fill the room as a deep, thundering alarm overtakes the air. The sound fills you with imminent dread.

“Emergency Self-Destruct System activated,” a robotic female voice echoes through the chamber. “T-minus 10 minutes until self-destruction.”

“Destin what the hell?!?!” you shriek.

“This is all my fault,” he laments, hanging his head low in shame. “I’m the one who allowed the crate containing the specimen on board.”

“What? I…” you struggle to form words as shock, confusion, betrayal course through you all at once. “Why?”

“Three months ago I was contacted by a strange man. I never even found out his name, he told me just to refer to him as The Ambassador.” He rolls his eyes with a huff. “That should’ve been the first red flag. But he was looking for a recruit to help him on a project called Operation Prometheus. He told me it was a classified government-funded operation and that he couldn’t give me many details, but he needed somebody on the inside to help him bypass security measures to get a crate on this ship for its next mission. I don’t know where it came from, it was being transferred from another cargo ship. Another measure to bury the trail, I guess. But the payout was incredible, almost too good to be true, but he paid me 50% up front. So I agreed. He told me the crate contained new weapon technologies, but he assured me it was perfectly safe for transport.”

He lets out a deep sigh. “I should’ve known better. I don’t think he meant for the alien to ever escape, but regardless I shouldn’t have trusted a word he said.” He pauses, lips quivering as tears start to fall from his eyes. “The only reason I did it was for my family - my daughter, she was diagnosed with a rare blood disorder last year. I took on extra missions, my wife got a second job even, but the bills were insurmountable. We were drowning. Even just the 50% payment was enough to change our lives. My family can be free now.”

“T-minus 9 minutes until self-destruction,” the robotic voice booms through the air.

“You have to go,” he urges you and Hansol.

“We can get you out of here-” Hansol starts, but Destin waves his hand.

“It’s too late, I’m not going to make it,” he shakes his head in defeat. “My leg is broken to pieces and I’ve lost too much blood.”

“Shut up, you’re coming with us,” Hansol snaps, charging over to the Terminal, but he stops in his tracks as Destin raises his rifle at him.

“Please,” he begs. “I couldn’t live with myself anyway. My will to live is long gone.”

“T-minus 8 minutes until self-destruction.”

“Go!!” he insists again. You grab Hansol’s arm, pulling him along as you back out of the room. He looks at you, distress coloring his face. You shake your head in defeat.

“There’s no time.”

He nods, reluctant, but he understands. As you step back into the hallway, you take one last look at your Science Officer. Solemnly, he gives you a final salute. He disappears as the airlock shuts itself closed.

“The alien is still headed toward the rest of the crew,” Hansol informs you. “I think we can make it to the auxiliary ship in time.”

“Atlas Crew, come in,” you call to all channels, panting through labored breaths as you and Hansol run down the hallway. “The alien is headed directly toward your position, get out of there.”

“Roger, Captain,” Ridley responds immediately. “We’re all in the Modules, ready to Evacuate. We may lose contact once we stray too far from the ship.”

“Ejection in 10 seconds,” Liang announces through the comms. “Goodbye Captain, Hansol. If you two don’t make it out alive I’ll kill you.”

A smile spreads across your face. “Godspeed, Crew.”

“Catch you on the flip side,” says Jones. A loud whooshing sound overtakes the comms - the Modules have deployed.

“T-minus 8 minutes until self-destruction.”

“We’re almost there,” Hansol shouts over the awful cacophony of sirens and alarms. You turn the corner, the airlock to the auxiliary ship waiting for you at the end of the corridor. You sprint down the hall, traversing the final 50 meters as fast as you possibly can. You reach the door, scanning your hand to unlock it. It zips open, and you and Hansol practically throw yourselves into the airlock.

“T-minus 7 minutes until self-destruction.”

You scramble into the craft, sealing the blast doors on the airlock and taking your respective places on the flight deck. Hansol fires up the ignition - it gives a few sad-sounding spurts, but the engines fail to start. He stares at the controls, trying again. Same thing. He tries again. And again.

“Oh my fucking god,” he mumbles, burying his face in his hands as he sinks into the chair in defeat. “You have got to be joking.”

You flip a few more switches - the interior lights turn on, as does the climate control.

“We have power,” you tell him. “The engines just aren’t firing. Looks like the combustion chambers are offline.” You groan as you too sink into your seat. “I don’t think we could even fix that if we tried.”

“T-minus 6 minutes until self-destruction.”

“Fucking SHUT UP!!!” you scream at the robot voice. Taking a deep breath, you quietly ask Hansol, “What the fuck are we gonna do?”

He thinks, staring blankly at the ceiling. Suddenly, he bolts upright. He starts flipping switches and adjusting dials on the deck. “We have system power, right? So we can at least detach. We float away until the main ship self-destructs, then the explosion will propel us away. Comms are up, we can send a distress signal once we reach a safe distance.”

“‘The explosion will propel us away’.” you repeat. “That, or it blows us to smithereens.”

“Yeah, one of those.”

You mull it over briefly, then shrug your shoulders. “It’s the best shot we’ve got. Let’s do it.”

Hansol dismantles the coupling, detaching the smaller ship from the main hull. Without power, you linger for a moment, but then the ship jolts, sending you floating out of the bay.

“T-minus 5 minutes until self-destruction,” you hear the ominous voice fade as you slowly drift away.

The ambient humming of the ship’s generator fills the air as you sit there together in silence, unmoving except for the steady heaving of your tired chests, waiting out the longest five minutes of your life. You watch the seconds fall in the countdown as you drift, putting good distance between you and the ticking time bomb that is the ship you’d grown quite fond of over the past five years.

“Almost…” you announce as the timer approaches zero. Hansol extends his arm, placing his hand on yours. The unexpected sensation makes your stomach do a little flip, but you accept, turning your hand to lace your fingers through his. You stare out the window, bracing yourself.

Suddenly, the ship begins to burst. A blinding flash of light causes a momentary white-out - you abruptly squeeze your eyes shut; when you open them again, you watch as your ship silently erupts in a massive ball of fire. The explosion violently shakes the ship, the vibrations rattling deep in your bones. You don’t realize how tight your grip has become on Hansol, but he doesn’t mind. Together, you watch the fiery remnants of the Atlas IV grow smaller as your vessel is safely propelled away by the shockwaves, drifting aimlessly into the void of space.

“Do you think we’re gonna make it back home?” you ask Hansol softly after a few minutes.

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation. Without thinking, he rubs his thumb over your hand lightly, as if he’s done it a million times before. “We’re gonna be okay, y/n.”

“You think we’ll see the rest of our crew again?”

Hansol ponders for a moment, then a gentle smile appears on lips. He squeezes your hand in his, with no plans to let go.

“I hope so.”

♡ if you liked this fic, REBLOGS, TAGS, and COMMENTS are extremely appreciated ♡

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