Violet tossed the ball off the wall for the zillionth time. She heard her mother’s voice correcting her in her head, “there’s no such thing as a zillion.” She missed her mom. Would she ever get to see her again?

The orange rubber ball thudded off the wall and she caught it, rolled it around her palms and felt the smoothness of its surface against her skin before she threw it at the wall again. Maybe she should start counting. What’s the galactic record for something like that, anyway?

She checked the time. Six minutes since the last time she’d checked. She was going to go insane, she was certain of it.

To make matters worse, her back and part of her neck burned like hell where the crazy psycho had scratched her, and she felt warm all over as if she had a fever. Sweat rolled down her scalp and soaked her clothes.

She tugged at her collar and fluffed her shirt, trying to cool off a little. What was the thermostat set on? She wiped the sweat from her forehead with a used towel that was lying on the bed and a nagging thought occurred to her—what if the monster was contagious? What if the scratches on her neck and back were infected with whatever had caused that guy to freak out and mutate into that creature?

Her fingers tingled and she swore she could feel bugs crawling through her veins. She had to get out of her tiny apartment before she lost her mind completely.

But what if she was infected? Her entire sector was quarantined. Even if she found a way out, they wouldn’t let her rejoin the rest of the station. What was the point?

She thought about it and supposed she could always die with a drink in her hand—if only she had a drink. Becky had cleaned out her last supply of synth several nights prior. Hence, why they’d pre-gamed at Becky’s place.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

She checked her messages again. Nothing.

She sighed. Where the hell was the security guy? He was supposed to have responded by now. And for that matter, where was any kind of response from the authorities? Why hadn’t a squadron of station police marched through the corridor and blasted that freak in the hall to kingdom come?

The faint noise of metal scraping against metal came from above her. Somewhere in the ceiling above her head.

Violet tried to convince herself it was nothing, but after the third time, her excuses were wearing thin.

“No problem…” she said. She needed the comfort of a human voice, even if it was her own. “It’s a big station. Lot of joints and moving parts. Metal bumps into other metal all the time. No big deal.”

The scraping noise repeated itself, but louder this time.

Violet shut her eyes and shook her head as if she could will the sound away. “Whatever it is, it’s definitely not that thing that chased us out in the hall.” She rolled her eyes. “Now, I’m referring to myself as us. Great! Fucking losing it over here!”

She called Security Services again, and again no one answered. She left another message, doing her best to keep the panic she felt out of her voice.

She needed to move, that was all. The small confinement of her apartment was getting to her. If she could just get some blood flowing she’d be fine.

Or so she tried to convince herself.

She dragged herself off the bed and forced her body to stretch. She tried all her favorite yoga poses, but relaxation remained elusive.

Walking over to the door, she contemplated poking her head outside to see if anything was happening.

That’s when the entire station shook beneath her feet.

She fought to keep from falling as the sound of an explosion rang in her ears.

And then there was another, and another.