I am so sorry this took me so long to update. I know this story doesn't have a large following, but I still feel guilty for making a few of you wait so long. From now on, I'm going to try to update regularly, but the chapters may be on the short-side because of it.

Fear could make a man fast.

Abel's felt tightness in his lungs as he sprinted forward, demanding speed and coordination from a split second burst of adrenaline. Instinct made his skin prickle, and muscle memory built from something old and deep and primordial told him he was running straight toward danger, straight against those snapping blades and that flesh-torn grin. But Abel knew if he didn't make it around the corner in time, he'd be stuck in medical bay, stuck with this monster and the foreign sounds in the hallways behind him.

The creature did not waver, and Abel did not know if it was intelligence or bloodlust that caused it to run, but they reached the junction at nearly the same instant. Abel threw his weight to the side, feeling his balance slip on the neatly swept floor, and he scrambled for better footing and another burst of speed just as a bladed limb swung at the space over his head. Shouting, unable to keep quiet when his pulse was loud in his ears and terror overrode all functions but flight, he pushed off the corner and darted forward.

The exit door was only thirty feet ahead, and desperation made him focus on it with something akin to tunnel-vision. He panted, eyes wide, fingers reaching for the door panel out of reach, when blunt pain suddenly struck his back as the monster's flailing sprint toppled him over.

He crashed to the floor with a started yelp, rolling himself over in a tangle of shaking limbs. The monster shrieked, the sound shrill and wet and almost gleeful. Up close, Abel could see the way its jaw was broken off, how its top incisors were yellowed and elongated. It lurched forward, bending unnaturally as though its spine were crooked, and Abel kicked out in his fright; the bottom of his boot made a crunching sound as it met the beast's nose, but its only response was to growl; angry, hissing, its eyes narrowed, the small digits along its extended arms twitching and snapping.

Abel crawled backward, trapping himself behind the check-in counter. Papers made his hands slide on the floor, but he only whimpered, pushing himself against the wall, curling his body underneath the desk as his senses, wired and frantic, stole logic.

The monster prowled forward, unhurried, almost lazy as it lifted one razor-sharp appendage to slaughter. Abel couldn't look away, thinking, over and over, I don't know what it is. I don't know what's about to kill me.

But there was a shout, and a noise like flesh caving (a squelch, a slick snap, a sour scrape), and the monster was suddenly barreled to the side. Abel peered from under the desk to see Porthos swing a chair down on the creature's chest, cursing and grunting from the effort as the monster began to writhe on its back. One of its flailing blades sliced the back of Porthos' thigh, and the bulky navigator let out a strangled cry before he stomped on the offended limp, putting his weight onto the joint where arm met shoulder, the bottom of his white boot coming away with strings of blood and tissue; and as the creature began to shriek, incensed instead of pained, Porthos heaved the chair once more. "Son of a bitch."

"The head," Abel croaked, swallowing before he found volume. "The head! Try crushing the head!"

Porthos didn't hesitate, swinging the plastic and metal down on the monster's skull with as much force as he could. There was a crunch, and brain matter splattered across the floor. Still, the creature kicked out, its remaining arm swiping blinding in the air, and Porthos struck it twice more before it finally stilled.

Everything was quiet for a moment, the silence only truly interrupted by their heavy, nervous breathing, and Porthos leaned against the wall. His face was pale, blanched, and he looked at the mass of gore at his feet like he might throw up. He kept a tight grip on the mangled chair, though.

"Porthos," Abel began timidly, having not left his corner, but the other navigator interrupted.

"What the fuck is that thing? Where did it come from?" he asked exhaustedly, his words slightly shaky.

"I don't know. I just showed up for my evaluation. It was here, it- Aureus," Abel moaned. "Aureus is dead. I don't know about the others. If you hadn't shown up when you did…"

Porthos closed his eyes, still breathing deeply. "Fucking migraine," he explained. "Already made me throw up. Just wanted some pills."

Abel found himself staring at the butchered monster again, tracing the unnatural breaks in its anatomy, the way its long legs were meant for speed, its body twisted and distorted. He thought he saw a gap in its stomach, some suggestion of extra, stunted limbs, but he looked away before he could think about it too much. Instead, he glanced at the red spot slowly spreading across Porthos' thigh, letting concern replace nausea. "Your leg. Are you alright?"

Porthos shifted his weight experimentally and grimaced. "It stings. But it's not bleeding very much. I'll be fine." He lifted one of his boots and looked sickened by the way it dripped. "You? You hurt?"

Abel paused, finally letting himself become aware, to take account of what he was feeling. "My back hurts. But I think it's only bruised." He realized he was still standing behind the desk, and he suddenly felt like a coward, small and weak even compared to the other navigator. "Porthos, I'm so sorry. I just stayed here…"

The ceiling panels abruptly rattled with weight, and there was the faint scratching of metal on metal before the noise quickly traveled to a different room.

Porthos stared up in horrified disbelief, oblivious to the way his mohawk glistened with small chunks of flesh. "No time for that," he told Abel quietly, his voice barely raised above a murmur. "Whatever they are, they're in the ventilation. We need to warn everyone."

Abel nodded, his voice lost in his dry throat, and he thought he heard hissing resume from down the hallways again.

"Come on," Porthos ordered sharply, letting loose of the chair as he sprinted toward the exit.

Abel hurried after him, wondering how fear could make a man run so fast.