Clorita leaned against the bridge console, eyeing the holographic map of the Celestial Reverie. Her fingers tapped rhythmically on the surface as she mulled over their next move. “Prime, earlier you mentioned parts of the ship were sealed off. Care to elaborate? What’s behind those doors?”
Prime’s voice emerged from the intercom, calm and precise. “Certain sections of the Reverie were automatically sealed during the initial emergency. These include the bio-containment labs, the lower cargo bays, and sections of the starboard living quarters. Additionally, the recreational dome is inaccessible due to hull breaches.”
Clorita frowned, zooming in on the highlighted areas on the map. “Bio-containment labs? That sounds... ominous.”
Zog groaned, spinning his chair slightly to face her. “Why do you care? Can’t we just leave those places locked up and call it a day?”
“Because,” Clorita said, leaning closer to the map, “if there’s something dangerous down there, we need to know about it before it comes back to bite us. Or infect us.”
Zog’s circuits buzzed with unease. “You always assume the worst.”
“And I’m usually right,” she shot back. “Prime, are those areas safe to inspect?”
Prime’s response was careful and measured. “Safe is a relative term. The bio-containment labs were designed to quarantine potentially hazardous materials. While environmental controls remain active, there is a nonzero probability of contamination.”
“Define nonzero,” Zog interjected nervously.
“Approximately 2.4 percent,” Prime replied. “Give or take.”
Zog crossed his arms. “That’s not exactly comforting.”
Clorita folded her arms, her eyes still fixed on the map. “Alright. We’ll start with the starboard living quarters. If there’s anything—or anyone—left behind, I’d rather deal with it now than find a surprise later.”
“And the bio-containment labs?” Zog asked, his voice rising a pitch.
“We’ll save those for last,” Clorita said with a smirk. “You can hide on the bridge when we get there.”
“I wasn’t planning on hiding,” Zog muttered, averting his gaze. “Just... supervising remotely.”
“Sure you weren’t,” Clorita said, shouldering her shotgun. “Prime, guide us to the starboard living quarters. Let’s see what this ship is hiding.”
The corridor leading to the starboard section was dimly lit, the emergency lighting casting long shadows on the walls. Zog kept glancing over his shoulder, convinced something was following them.
“Stop that,” Clorita snapped. “You’re making me nervous.”
“I’m just being vigilant,” Zog muttered. “You never know what’s lurking in a place like this.”
As they approached the sealed doors, Prime’s voice broke the silence. “The living quarters were sealed following a power surge that triggered the fire suppression systems. Visual scans show no active threats, though several rooms appear to have sustained damage.”
Clorita motioned for Zog to stay behind as she pried open the access panel. “Prime, unlock it.”
The door hissed and groaned as it slid open, revealing a corridor that smelled faintly of burned wiring and ozone. The walls were scorched in places, and one of the overhead lights flickered weakly.
“Looks... cosy,” Zog said, peeking inside.
“Stay close,” Clorita said, stepping in cautiously.
The rooms were a mix of pristine and chaotic. Some appeared untouched, with beds neatly made and belongings stacked in orderly piles. Others were ransacked, their contents strewn across the floor.
In one room, Clorita found a holo-diary still active. She played a clip of a passenger recording a message:
“They’re saying to evacuate. Something about the AI... I don’t know what’s going on. If you find this, tell my family—”
The recording cut off abruptly, leaving an eerie silence.
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Zog shook his head. “This just keeps getting creepier.”
Clorita didn’t respond. Her attention was drawn to a strange mark on the wall—deep gouges as if made by claws.
“Prime,” she said, her voice steady, “what caused this?”
“Unknown,” Prime replied. “The ship’s records do not indicate any incidents involving hostile lifeforms in this area.”
Zog’s circuits buzzed louder. “Hostile lifeforms? Can we not gloss over that part?”
Clorita knelt beside the deep gouges etched into the metal wall, running her fingers over the sharp edges. They were uneven, as though something—or someone—had slashed at it in desperation.
“These weren’t made by accident,” she muttered.
Zog hovered a few feet behind her, gripping his laser gun tightly. “Maybe a bot malfunctioned and put all Wolverine in the place?”
Clorita shook her head. “No. Look at the pattern. Whatever did this was organic. These are claw marks. Deep ones.”
Zog’s circuits buzzed nervously. “Organic? You mean, like, a creature?”
“Or a very determined passenger with some... upgrades,” Clorita said, standing and shining her flashlight further down the corridor. More marks trailed along the walls, disappearing around a corner.
Zog hesitated. “You’re not thinking about following those, are you?”
Clorita shot him a look over her shoulder. “Of course, I’m following them.”
“Of course you are,” Zog sighed, reluctantly trailing after her.
The claw marks led to a heavily sealed door. Its surface was dented, as something had repeatedly slammed against it. A faint, rhythmic hum emanated from the other side.
Clorita tapped the console beside the door. “Prime, can you open this?”
Prime’s response was cautious. “This door was sealed during the initial emergency. Environmental scans indicate elevated radiation levels and unknown bio-signatures.”
Zog stepped back immediately. “Nope. No way. Not opening that.”
Clorita ignored him. “What kind of bio-signatures?”
“Uncertain,” Prime said. “But they are faint. Likely dormant.”
“Dormant,” Zog echoed, his voice rising. “That’s not the same as safe! Let’s just leave it sealed, Clorita.”
Clorita glanced at the marks again, her curiosity outweighing her caution. “If it’s dormant, it’s not a threat. And if it was a passenger, they deserve answers.”
Zog groaned. “They also deserve to stay behind that door.”
Clorita worked quickly, prying open the access panel. Sparks flew as she bypassed the locking mechanism, ignoring Zog’s protests.
“Prime,” she said, “be ready to seal this thing again if something comes through.”
Prime’s voice softened. “Acknowledged. Proceed with care, Clorita.”
The door hissed and groaned, finally sliding open to reveal a dimly lit chamber beyond. The air was stale but breathable, and the room was littered with overturned furniture and broken equipment.
“What is this place?” Zog whispered, peering cautiously inside.
“A holding area, maybe,” Clorita said, stepping forward. “Or a lab.”
A glass containment pod stood upright at the centre of the room, its surface cracked and fogged. Inside, the silhouette of a figure was barely visible—a humanoid shape with elongated limbs and what appeared to be... claws.
“Okay, nope,” Zog said, backing away. “That’s a no from me. Let’s close the door, forget this happened, and move on.”
Clorita stepped closer, raising her shotgun. The figure was motionless, its head tilted at an unnatural angle. Like the marks on the walls, long claws hung limply at its sides.
“Prime,” Clorita said, her voice low. “What is this thing?”
Prime hesitated before responding. “Records indicate it was a passenger—modified with experimental genetic enhancements for a... cruise competition.”
“Competition?” Zog asked, incredulous. “What, a claw-wrestling tournament?”
Clorita frowned. “More like an exotic gladiator match. I’ve heard of these. Some rich passengers pay to watch enhanced contestants fight.”
Prime’s tone darkened. “This particular subject was reported as... unmanageable. It was contained but not safely disposed of before the evacuation.”
Clorita turned to Prime’s console. “Is it still alive?”
“Unclear,” Prime replied. “Its vitals are faint, likely due to stasis failure.”
As Clorita leaned closer to the pod, inspecting the figure, its head twitched. A low growl rumbled through the chamber, chilling her circuits.
Zog’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. Nope. It’s alive. Seal the door! Seal the door!”
The figure’s claws scraped weakly against the glass, leaving deep scratches as its eyes flickered open—glowing faintly in the dim light. The pod’s containment field crackled sparks flying.
Clorita raised her shotgun. “Prime, is there any chance this thing doesn’t wake up?” “Zog, cover me.”
“Minimal,” Prime admitted. “Recommend immediate containment or retreat.”
Zog yanked at Clorita’s arm. “Let’s go with option two! Retreat!”
Clorita hesitated her finger on the trigger. “Prime, can we eject this pod into space?”
A long pause. “Yes. But it will take time to disengage the pod from its power source.”
“How much time?” Zog asked, his voice shaking.
“Approximately 47 seconds.”
Clorita grimaced as the figure’s growls grew louder. “Start the process. Now.”