Horror Story 2955 - Grasp of the Vara

The Merlin was old. Not vintage, just neglected. Its hull bore the scars of a dozen owners, each more desperate than the last. I watched that smog-choked hellhole shrink beneath me. Six years in Hurston's mines. Six years breathing poison. Six years dreaming of a life off-world. Finally free from that carcinogenic chrysalis, the Merlin clawed into orbit; thrusters sputtering like a Lorvillite’s lungs. As the city’s amber haze shrunk below, a weight lifted from my shoulders; same time as the gravity did.

That's when the comms died. No annunciator. Just static. I slammed my gloved fist into the console-nothing. A minute later, the nav system blinked out. Then the lights. A sharp pop behind me. Then the smell-burnt plastic. Noxious smoke poured over my shoulders. I twisted in my seat, heart hammering, grabbed the extinguisher and sprayed blindly. The engines groaned like a dying kopion as I hacked up what was left of my dust ridden lungs. It must have fried the ECU. The fire was out, But now I was coasting. No thrust. No power. Just fumes and silence. Everus Harbor shimmered in the distance. So close I could taste her recycled air. I hailed them out of desperation. Nothing. All was silent, save the tactile click of the switch. I checked my suit. Oxygen: 16%. I laughed, but it sounded more like a cough.

I shifted my gaze down to Lorville below. That rust-colored tumor on Hurston’s skin. I should’ve felt fear. Regret. But all I felt was lightheadedness. That's when I saw it. A ship-an abandoned exploration vessel? No, wait. I wiped the grime from my visor. Avenger-class. Floating dead. Shields down. She was mine for the taking. I double-checked my suit, popped the canopy, and launched into EVA.

8%.

The Merlin shrank behind me-Kissed by Stanton's fleeting glow. I clutched my P4, aimed at the Avenger’s ramp, and fired. The shot thumped through the vacuum, ramp dropping. Cautiously, I floated inside. Colder than expected, and dark; darker than it should have been. More tomb than cargo hold. Nearly silent except for a faint, ominous, hum. I moved deeper into the black, gripping my rifle tight. But there was no corridor. Startled, I flicked on my headlamp only to discover the heaping mass of a disabled EMP generator. Warlock. No cockpit access.

4%.

The Warlock’s hum wasn’t mechanical-it felt organic. Pulsating; like a Valakkar's heartbeat. I pressed my helmeted ear to the core of the generator and felt its warmth through my Second Life undersuit. It whispered to me. Not words. But... an impression. Harsh. Hungry. Unyielding.

Suddenly, I was on the Station. I walked the halls. I breathed clean air. Enjoyed a double-dog and watched the stars through diamond-fibered glass. The corridors were quiet, sterile, humming with life-support and promise. My sister was there. She smiled, radiant, untouched by Oparei’s dust storms. “You made it,” she said, and I believed her. I believed all of it. I felt a warmth in my chest, like gravity had returned just to hold me. I was safe. I was free.

Then I woke up.

Oxygen: 2%.

I opened my mobiGlas and started recording this log. The date blinked. October 27th: Day of the Vara. Of course. Why hadn't I thought of it before. The day the veil thins and the dead whisper through the comm array. The one day Hurston’s ghosts could claw their way into orbit and snatch me back from my solace. I looked down towards Lorville once more-the city lights writhing through gaps in the void like a headless snake. And I swear-I saw movement in the clouds. Shapes in the haze. Watching me. Waiting to devour my lifeless corpse upon my craterous reentry. One way or another, Hurston would have me. I closed my eyes. Maybe, if someone finds this log, at least they'll know I tried. Tell them I made it to orbit. Tell them I escaped-even if it was just into my own head. Even if I never really left.

END TRANSMISSION.

Log 29551027 - Aegis Avenger Warlock "VA-1027-RA"