Abel ran.
Somewhere, in the blur and haze of his mind, he knew he dreamt. But greater than this knowledge was the fear, the fright, the overwhelming certainty that he was being chased by a monster birthed by maliciousness and time.
His steps took him to the fighter's bay on the Sleipnir, a place he was not entirely familiar with. Tables were overturned, and scraps of fighters' suits were scattered across the floor, but the area was otherwise deserted.
He hurried to the opposite door, his breath heavy in his chest. As he reached for the keypad, the wall began to hiss and drip; a red-tinged growth steadily crept across the door, tendrils like roots, its mass swelling and sprawling as it spread like some man-sized tumor, splitting open at bulging ends to dribble pus onto the floor.
Abel jerked his hand away in horror, quickly backing up. He covered his mouth as the smell of fresh decay permeated the room. The mass over the door continued to bubble, and suddenly Abel could make out the hollow impression of eyes between layers of slick rot.
With a startled yelp, he turned to run, but the previously deserted bay was covered in fresh smears of blood. Red adorned walls, ceiling, and floor, and Abel thought he could make out some sort of uniformity in the streaks, some hint of communication. But before he could focus on any of it, the floor heaved, matching his breaths with its own, until all at once it disappeared, and he was falling. Falling and falling, the stars rising up to greet him, the iciness of space filling his lungs, unintelligent but unforgiving, until he felt his mind slipping and there was nothing else to feel.
Abel awoke with a visible start, hands flying to his chest as he took quick, uneven breaths. The sheets were damp with sweat and tangled around him.
"Just a nightmare," he whispered thickly, mouth dry and bitter. "That's it."
To the left of the bed, his tablet flashed with a new message, pulsing green every few seconds. He reached over and shakily opened the message, eyes scanning without really seeing before he shook his head and read it again.
All navigators were to report to medical for routine check-ups due to mission stress levels. Codenames A through C were scheduled for 0800 hours; codenames D through F were scheduled…
Abel scanned the rest of the message for anything important before glancing at the clock. 0724 hours, which meant he had time for a quick shower and a bite to eat in the mess if he hurried.
He took a few settling breaths before kicking the covers to the end of the bed. There was no time to focus on dreams, he reminded himself, not when they were in Colteron space, not when he had so much important work to do re-configuring the engine types. He needed to focus, otherwise he'd be letting his comrades down, and he'd be putting Cain and himself in danger. And that was that.
Newly motivated, Abel rinsed off -sparing a few minutes to shave and mentally sigh over Cain's impressive assortment of hair care products occupying most of the bathroom counter- and changed into his standard uniform. With one last look at their room, he turned off the light and left.
It was hard not to notice how unusually quiet the halls were. More than once, he met the gaze of some fighters, almost hoping one of them would curl a lip or toss a crude word, but even they seemed somewhat subdued.
It was like everybody knew something was wrong, but nobody could pinpoint the fault, so tensions ran high and comfort came in numbers. It was like a pack mentality, Abel realized.
When a familiar voiced called from behind, he felt a twinge of relief and wondered at that.
"Abel! Hey, hold the lift!" Ethos piped, hurrying to step inside. "Man, am I glad to see you. This place is giving me the heebs this morning, you know? Everyone's all wound up."
Abel nodded knowingly. "I wish I could have walked with Cain, to be honest. What floor?"
"Oh. Five," Ethos said, watching as Abel set the lift. "I get what you mean, though. I'd have walked with Praxis for the company and reassurance but," he shrugged guiltily, "you know."
"Still no luck with him?" Abel asked.
"No. But I'm not going to give up. I just, you know, might end up driving him crazy from all of my effort."
The lift came to a stop as Abel smiled and shook his head. "It'll all work out. Give it time."
Ethos ran a hand through his unruly hair as he stepped into the hall. "Thanks. Anyway, I'll see you later. I've been assigned to cover for Epiales."
"Wait," Abel stopped him, frowning with concern. "What's wrong with Epiales? Is he sick too?"
Ethos' eyes widened a fraction. "You didn't hear?"
Abel shook his head, about to ask for the details, but a pair of fighters turned the corner and entered the lift. Quickly glancing at the time on his tablet, Abel stepped into the hall and joined Ethos as he walked to the lab. "Is he okay?" he asked with concern.
"Um, I don't think so, not really. I'm sorry. He sort of just... Well, I heard from Bazin that he started muttering all these weird things about letters and markers or something. Apparently he even got really aggressive with his fighter- you know, that big guy with the scar across his shoulder? The really tall one?"
Abel nodded, wanting Ethos to go on.
"Anyway, his fighter tried to calm him down in the hall right outside the third floor training room, and he just lost it. Started screaming and hurting himself with his pen." Ethos shuddered, shaking his head briefly and unconsciously quickening his steps. "I can't imagine... They said it got pretty bad before Lieutenant Keeler and the medics stepped in."
"That's horrible," Abel breathed. "Do they know what caused, I mean…"
Ethos rolled his eyes. "Stress, like that's news."
Neither of them looks convinced, their expressions turning grim.
"What was he working on?" Abel finally asked.
"Eh. Nothing different from what we all have. He had an index on parts from when we converged with the Munera last week, and a report on outdated engine schematics."
"What?" Abel asked sharply, stopping abruptly. "What did you say?"
"Don't worry, we're not using them; they'll probably be trashed when-"
"No, no," Abel interrupted, unease threading fingers across his nerves. "Converged. You said 'converged'. With the Munera."
"Uh, yeah." Ethos said with an odd look. "It's just the word that came to mind. Weird, but it's been in my head all day. Why? Did I use it wrong?"
"No, it's not that, it's-" Abel shook his head. "I don't know," he said at last, wondering at his own nervousness. "Don't worry about it."
Ethos titled his head. "After your check-in with medical, you might want to get some rest. Speaking of which, aren't you supposed to be there soon?"
Abel ran a hand over his tablet and winced at the glowing 0801. "Shoot! I'm late. There goes breakfast." He started to turn when Ethos grabbed his sleeve.
"Wait," the younger man said, pulling an apple from his jacket pocket. "Here. Better than nothing."
"Thanks!" Abel took the fruit and waved with his free hand before jogging back toward the lift. If medical was going in alphabetical order, his name was going to be the first on their list. Which meant he had some angry nurses to look forward to.
When Abel opened the door to medical, though, the sign-in room was empty. Fresh coffee steamed from a pot in the corner, and generic music played overhead, but the usual flurry of medics was absent. Besides personnel, there should've been about ten other navigators too. He was late, but only by a few minutes. Where was everyone else?
With a confused little frown, he peered over the counter and noticed a random shuffling of paperwork on the floor. "Hello?" he called, then paused to listen. "Anyone?"
There was a muffled cry from the next room, followed by silence. Abel put his tablet and apple on the counter and walked to the door, hesitating. He knocked once, and the door was cold under his knuckles. "Hello?"
When he heard nothing else, he tentatively hit the open button. At the end of the hall, where the floor formed a T, Abel could make out strange gouges in the wall. They were jagged but parallel, each of them about a foot long. He stared at the scratches with a sense of unplaced dread, feeling his chest pull each breath heavier than before. He walked forward, each step slow but steady, aiming his way to the end of the hall, recognizing those gouges even though he told himself that he couldn't, because dreams were dreams and that was all.
A moan suddenly broke the silence, and Abel ran the last few feet. In the hallway to the right, a navigator sat against the wall, face bloodied and left arm twisted at an unnatural angle. Scraps of flesh hung from his shoulders and upper chest, as though something had done its best to gnaw through him. "Oh God," Abel whispered, crouching in front of the navigator, uselessly moving his hands as he tried to recall his studies in first aid, as if the basics covered anything like this. "Aureus, what happened?" he asked frantically, quietly, applying pressure to the deepest of the gashes in the navigator's shoulder.
"Abel," he whispered, breathing hard. "Monsters. From the morgue. Monsters."
"What do you- Like, animals? Colterons?"
Aureus shook his head, wincing when the effort cost him. He finally lifted his hand to point further down the hall; Abel followed his gaze to the smears of blood lining the floor, smears that looked suspiciously like drag marks. As he stared, a growl sounded from another room, a guttural, wet-sounding noise that cut through the air.
"Run," Aureus gasped, breaths hitching, becoming shorter.
"Stay with me!" Abel quietly commanded, lightly patting Aureus' face. "I'm going to get help. Aureus!"
The growling continued, followed by a bizarre clicking noise, like blades snapping together, and the navigator sagged.
Abel felt his heart lurch. He backed away, unable to tear his gaze from the navigator's ripped body, when the lights suddenly flickered. Feeling fear like energy, Abel turned to run when he saw it, a large figure at the end of the opposite hall, an angry shape hosting inhuman limbs and large, scythe-like blades at the ends of its wrist, flesh peeled back from its mouth, red tongue protruding from broken incisors. Medical clothes hung from its disjointed body, streaming like ribbons as it took a lurching step forward.
Abel kept still, heart raging in his chest, eyes darting as he tried to gauge the distance to the exit. The monster stilled, quivering in place, and as Abel looking into its sunken eyes, he knew he saw eagerness.
The monster paused, waiting for its prey to start the game of chase.
Abel ran.