Every spaceship has a voice; a melody of machinery and subsystems its crew learns intimately during long travels. The problem is, ever since the last mission our ship sounds WRONG. There’s something foul in the way it’s speaking to us. Barely audible murmurs. Strange whispers no machine could make. The dark corridors and vast halls almost seem to SING.
Some of us have tried to locate sources of this interferences, but they always seemed two steps ahead. Stalked by their never-ending presence, we soon started cracking. Our engineer has cut some words on his flesh. When we asked why, he replied:‘Incandescent secrets need to be written in blood’. Then, our navigator took a spacewalk without her suit. When we pulled her in, her entire face frozen and cracked, she grinned in a way I will never forget.
Now, it got even worse. Noises turned into voices, sharing tales of slaughter and terror. They do not run from us anymore. They encircle us and herd us through the ship to some dark purpose. I need to UNDERSTAND them before it’s too late. I put my hand on the pistol grip, looking at the backs of my last two crewmembers. I see dark mysteries swirling under their skulls. It would only take two bullet holes to release them..."