"The Union Aerospace Corporation is the largest corporate entity in existence.
Originally focused on weapons and defense contracts, new ventures have expanded into:
-Biological Research
-Space Exploration
And other scientific endeavours.
With unlimited funds, and the ability to engage in research outside of moral and legal obligations, the UAC controls the most advanced technology ever conceived."
When I was transferred from the UMOE (United Maintenance Organisation of Earth) to the UAC in 2143, I never thought I would end up on another planet.
I had never really heard much about Malcolm Betruger. I knew him to be an eccentric scientist and a bit of a nutcase, but when I discovered I was working under him, I did not freeze in shock or try to transfer back. It is ironic now, but back then, the Mars project was new and enthralled many people. I, however, accepted the dreary post of "Maintenance Staff" on Mars with little more than a shrug of the shoulders-it was just another job for me. Even the paycheck was nothing to write home about.
When I arrived on Mars, I was immediately put off the station. It was nothing short of freezing, and the air smelt of a combination of ship fuel and smoke. The soldier appointed to customs rudely signalled where I was meant to check-in. I never saw that man again.
After the arduous process of moving through customs, I finally entered the departure lounge. It was nothing like the one on Earth; for one thing, it was completely desolate-there was not one thing moving in that lounge. I went through the automatic door to see some receptionist. He gave me a PDA and abruptly told me that I was to report to the Head of Maintenance. I did as I was told.
For three weeks I had to stay up until 0400 hours, reading the manuals that elaborated on most of the equipment in the base. It took me a little under six months to be able to repair ANYTHING without referencing to the manuals.
I never had many friends on the station-everyone seemed so...isolated. It took me a year to finally remember anyone who wasn't my boss's names, I didn't see them that much. I was, however, in frequent contact with my family. I never enjoy my work-it wouldn't be work if I did-but I was happier there than in the UMOE.
It was in June 2144 that I heard the news. I was deleting all the shit spam I get from the UAC when I received an e-mail from Bertruger, intended for someone else. By law, I should have deleted the message there and then, or even better, reported the event to my superior and replied to Dr. Betruger, notifying him of the error. However, I felt compelled to disobey my obligation, for the title of the e-mail aroused my suspicion. I mean, what WAS NOT outstandingly captivating about "Teleportation Successful-Subjects Captured-Loss of Seven Lives"?? The e-mail itself was encoded, and being a lowly "Maintenance Staff", I did not have the intelligence or the personnel to decode it. I kept this knowledge to myself.
Then, in Novemeber of that year, I was working on a malfunctioning airduct when I heard something. I was wearing an O2 mask at the time, but I know what I heard wasn't a trick of the mind.
It was a screech. The screech only the most delirious, painful nightmare can procure. It shivered through me like an icicle of fear and caused me to drop the blue plasma-laser I had been cutting through the bulkhead with onto my left thigh. The laser engorged itself on my flesh and muscle as I burst out in a series of shouts, curses and thumps against the bulkhead. Thankfully, a man named Adam Berneche was working nearby and came to my aid.
The next thing I knew, I was in sickbay. My left leg was fine, aside from a massive, stitched scar that strectched along my thigh. "Relax, you'll be alright" said the doctor. I did not believe it. But then again, he wasa doctor, and even if my leg looked ready for amputation, he seemed strangely...trustworthy. It was then I noticed Adam Berneche standing in the corner of the sickbay. He shook my hand and left. I never saw him again, either.
The screech still haunted me, and I found it difficult to sleep. In the next few months, people reported similar "unexplainable things", and the number of transfer requests had skyrocketed. My workload, also, had increased dramatically. Before I knew it, almost every electronic piece of equipment in the station broke down at least once. I was fine with it though-more work meant more money-and did not really feel affected by the silent terror that gripped my colleagues. I, also, was too busy to notice the messages that came over the comm, about "volunteers" for experiments in the Delta Labs. It seemed like like the base was at breaking point, and people were acting strangely. I heard rumours of workers attacking fellow workers, and a myth that Betruger was insane. I curse myself, now, for not observing the signs, and getting of this damn planet when I had the chance. No, I was too consumed in my pathetic work.
Then it happened.