★ Martin ★

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Martin sat contemplating his future.

He was staring straight ahead, but there wasn’t much to look at. This was an eight-by-eight holding cell with white walls.

He deserved to be here, and he knew it.

Martin normally wasn’t one to be afraid, but the fear that welled up within him now whispered in his ear and told him that he should be very frightened indeed, because the only future he saw for himself—all the time that lay ahead—was now contained within this room.

This wasn’t just any jail that held him.

He was on the Europa Station, which would’ve been fantastic under any other circumstances. This fortress in the stars was an engineering marvel—the stepping stone for humanity’s leap into the cosmos, serving as the central hub for the Space Corps and housing the majority of their operations.

But Martin didn’t know much about all that. He was a civilian. He shouldn’t have been here at all, but he’d angered the wrong people.

Ten days ago he’d been a normal person living a normal life, with little indication that anything was about to change. Looking back, the signs were there—he’d sworn he was being followed, but chalked it up to paranoia. Small items in his house had gone missing or been misplaced, and he was certain he hadn’t left them like that. Surely someone hadn’t been there while he was gone.

Now he knew the truth, but it was too late. He’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to, and one way or another, he needed to disappear. It was either going to happen on his terms or theirs, and he’d thought—stupidly—that he had time. In retrospect, this was yet another form of delusional thinking—a futile attempt to pretend nothing had happened. Of course they’d acted first. They’d likely been planting evidence before the arrest, and now, less than two weeks later, he found himself here—being held for questioning, mired in a corruption case, his name listed alongside high-profile criminals.

He wasn’t sure what he’d be charged with. Functionally, it didn’t matter. They’d come up with something, and the sharks on their legal team would make sure it stuck.

They.

Martin didn’t know their names—not their true names, anyway. All he knew was that they were affiliated with the Consortium—the secretive alliance of corporations whose power rivaled that of individual countries—and that when their representatives had reached out with an offer, his uncle had agreed to work with them.

A deal with the devil, Martin had thought at the time. He’d had his reservations, and he’d made them known. It sounded too good to be true, but he thought it prudent to keep these thoughts to himself, at least for a while. As time went on, though, it got more difficult, because the things they asked were a tall order indeed. Before long he'd found himself delivering unmarked shipping crates to isolated warehouses deep in the desert, where he had to enter gated compounds through checkpoints with armed guards posted outside. Each time he passed through, some small part of him wondered if he’d be allowed to leave, and he dared not inquire about the contents of those boxes. But when he voiced these concerns to his uncle, he’d been dismissed, and for good reason—those deals had never gone wrong in the past. This one appeared no different, and if it went according to plan, they wouldn’t have to work again for a very long time. The money was too good to turn down.

He ignored that gut feeling even as it grew stronger, and he’d done everything they asked of him. But one afternoon, as he was leaving after completing a delivery, he made an error in judgment that changed everything.

His assignment had taken him to a back corner of the property, and on his return, he realized that cutting through a building instead of going the long way around would save him nearly a mile of walking under the scorching desert sun. He knew he probably shouldn’t, but he was thirsty and tired, and as far as he could tell, he was alone. Not only that, but he was running late, and it would shorten his trip through the complex by nearly twenty minutes. So he cast one final glance around to ensure no one would see, then darted inside, winding through a dark, narrow labyrinth of hastily constructed passageways framing the back wall.

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Once the main entrance was out of view it became nearly pitch black, and he knew the moment he rounded the first corner that he’d made a terrible mistake. But he pushed on and kept going, ignoring the numerous forking hallways and rooms branching off the main corridor. It seemed to go on forever, but after making several odd turns and fearing he might’ve become lost, he wandered into a large, open space. And there, he saw it.

Something no human was meant to see. An impossible thing. Something that felt fundamentally wrong to even lay eyes on.

In that moment, he realized these were no mere criminals. A darkness straight from the pit that gives birth to nightmares was housed here, and for reasons unknown, they’d elected to host it.

He stood there, frozen, trying to determine if the thing before his eyes was real. But it remained, and after a moment he snapped out of his trance and realized he needed to leave—quickly.

He flattened his back against the wall, crept toward the opposite end of the room, ducked into the first hallway he found, and kept going. Eventually he reached the end, where daylight greeted him like a thunderclap, and once he’d made his way outside he stood there trying to eradicate the thing he’d seen from his memory. But he couldn’t—it had embedded itself in his mind just like it embedded itself in this world.

He gathered his things and left as quickly as he could, doing his best to pretend he hadn’t seen it. He passed through those gates just like he’d done every other time, and to his surprise, they let him go. But his life was a living nightmare in the wake of this new discovery, and he couldn’t quite shake the feeling it left behind. Time’s passage was altered in light of this newfound knowledge, and each day that elapsed was slightly worse than the one that came before. And then, after six sleepless, agonizing nights, he heard a knock at his door.

Them.

He knew why they’d come here. The Consortium didn’t leave loose ends; they always cleaned up after themselves. When they ordered him to leave, he didn’t argue.

He didn’t ask where they were taking him. He said nothing at all. He spent every moment of his journey preparing to meet his end, but it went on, and on, and on—first to a private spaceport, then into near-Earth orbit, then through one of the jump points, and after the longest shuttle ride of his life, he’d found himself on the Europa Station, being whisked through Security and brought here, to this room, where he’d sat for the past three days. And in the hours that elapsed since, he’d had lots of time to think.

For all his faults, Martin had an excellent sense of introspection, and he knew exactly why he was here. It had little to do with what he’d witnessed, and everything to do with the choices he’d made.

He’d chosen to follow his uncle throughout his entire career in their family’s business.

He’d never asked where the money came from.

He’d enriched himself with those ill-gotten gains, turning a blind eye again and again.

He’d pushed the limits very far indeed, and reaped the rewards of unfettered boldness.

He’d known the risks, and he’d chosen to participate regardless of what could happen. And now, “what could happen” was calling to collect its due.

The consequences were always more of a thrill than a threat until they were real, and then they were terrifying. And at that thought, fear welled up stronger than ever.

He pushed it down and countered with whatever lingering shreds of optimism he could find. He wasn’t dead yet, he told himself, which was probably better than could be said for some of his uncle’s associates. They were a much higher priority since they’d arranged the whole thing, and he knew the Consortium had likely gotten to them first.

Fear whispered again, though, and reminded him that the Consortium had fully earned their reputation. They guarded their secrets carefully, and they were cautious enough to eliminate any potential witnesses, which in his case meant tossing him into one of the most remote prisons in existence.

He could only assume he was in Space Corps custody now, given where they’d taken him. He hadn’t been sentenced yet, but he guessed they didn’t take organized crime lightly out here, and his trial, if he was even granted one, would not end in his favor.

So now, here he sat, awaiting his lawyer’s arrival—a lawyer who was already late. A lawyer who probably wouldn’t be of much help, and who didn’t particularly want to help. If they did, they’d already be talking to him.

The lights in here were uncomfortably bright. These walls were far too white. This bench was terribly cold. Everything in this room screamed that his presence was unwanted, but he wasn’t allowed to leave.

Every minute he spent there was interminable, but the uncertainty of what lay at the end of it was even worse. This place was unpleasant, but there were worse out there, and he might just be sent to one of them. The Space Corps at least had records, trials, courts, and some semblance of a justice system. His uncle, meanwhile, had disappeared with the Consortium, and Martin doubted he’d ever see him again. His last remaining family member was gone.

Fear crept up again and whispered that one thing was certain.

He wouldn’t be getting out of here anytime soon.