I could feel the creature descending. The entire trip, my mind churned with self-pity—how could I have made such a foolish decision? I had quite literally leapt into death's jaws, hoping, somehow, to come out alive.

  They hadn't said a single word—not to me, not to each other. It didn’t matter what I asked or how I begged for my life. When begging failed, I cursed them in every language I knew.

  Still, nothing.

  No reaction.

  Just silence.

  I guessed about an hour had passed since my capture before we finally landed. Four of them grabbed me and dropped me to the ground without ceremony.

  The landscape was thick with fungus—its stalks rising like rusted iron pillars, spreading as far as I could see. I was lifted again and carried forward as the creatures that brought us here turned and quickly ascended back into the sky.

  The earth split open beneath us—a wide, grey maw that swallowed us whole. The opening sealed behind us as we descended deeper.

  It felt like moving through the guts of some immense, living thing. The walls were coated in a smooth grey resin, and the tunnel buzzed with activity. Dozens of BCU variants moved throughout the space in perfect harmony.

  I saw forms I’d studied in reports—real, walking nightmares now marching in synchronicity. It was like watching a grotesque ballet of automation, every step precise, every motion deliberate.

  As we went deeper, the tunnel began shifting. Some areas were still bare stone and soil, but not for long. A grey gelatinous mass was hardening around them, smoothing the path. It was alive and actively expanding the grey resin and growths.

  That confirmed one of my theories, its rapid expansion was indeed organic. Though my expertise lay in microbiology, this raised questions that clawed at my curiosity.

  My mind was still racing when I was suddenly dropped into a strange pod. It sealed shut. Strange appendages reached in, stripping me of my exo-suit as it flooded with water. That’s when the panic hit. I thrashed, shouted, and tried my best to resist.

  Then… the itch returned.

  I knew that sensation. The moment it touched me, my mind stretched and contracted as if being pulled into something massive, something intricate. My senses exploded in all directions.

  And then I woke up in my sphere aboard my ship.

  I looked around. The coral and fauna I had carefully arranged were still in place. But something was wrong.

  My memories were hazy. What was I doing here?

  Then I saw the wall screens flickering with scenes both strange and familiar. I stared in disbelief.

  They were my memories. Playing out. Rapidly.

  Panic set in. How was this possible?

  “So, Aegirarch’s fat now,” a voice chuckled.

  I turned. A creature stood before me—clearly a BCU variant, but one I had never encountered. Its carapace was etched with blood-red symbols. It had four arms, plus four more protruding from its chest. Ten tendrils extended from its back.

  “What are you? Who are you?” I stumbled back, knocking over coral.

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  “You could call me the anomaly. Nethros. Enemy. But I prefer Trumek,” it said. Its voice echoed through the space.

  “This isn’t real… Where are we?” I tried to summon my V.I. for security.

  “This is your mind,” it said calmly. “I’m keeping it intact—while absorbing your memories.”

  “What? How—how is that even possible?” I asked, trembling.

  “I don’t know yet. I left that to a section of my consciousness. It’s studying the process.”

  Kraklak didn’t know what to feel. Everything about this was alien and terrifying, he felt violated.

  “What happens after this? Do you kill me?”

  “No,” Trumek replied casually. “You just need… modifications. To survive serving under me.”

  “What?”

  He could feel emotions that weren’t leaking into his mind—anger, sadness, depression, confusion.

  The creature, in contrast, felt… amused.

  “This conflict is almost over,” Trumek continued. “I’m merely collecting useful assets for the final chapter—including Grithan’s.”

  “What…?”

  The creature tilted its head and stared. “You seem confused, Director Kraklak. Is memory absorption affecting your thoughts?”

  “I—I’m just in shock… this is overwhelming.”

  “Then I’ll need to refine the process in future operations,” it mused.

  “Wait… how am I useful?” Kraklak asked, completely unmoored from reality now.

  “Tell me, Director—how many stars have been charted in this sector?”

  He tried to recall the data. “Less than six hundred thousand.”

  “And among those? How many have signs of life on par with the Valurians or the Grithan?”

  “Fewer than five hundred…. Maybe even less.”

  “Exactly. I intend to expand and lay claim to every uncharted system. They will serve as an expanding haven—away from the rest of this chaotic galaxy.”

  Kraklak felt his mind freeze. The scale of what Trumek was describing was incomprehensible. It was a galactic extinction event waiting to happen.

  “I can feel your panic,” Trumek said, amusement in his voice. “Do you think me so thoughtless that I would repeat the genocide your species inflicted here?”

  “I—I don’t know what to think. I don’t even understand what role I have in all this.”

  “You will act as my envoy. You will explore, document, and study systems. If you find sentient life, you will leave it to me to be observed—nothing more.”

  That brought some small comfort. But then another question struck him.

  “What about the rest of the galaxy?”

  “I have no interest or want to interact with the rest of the galaxy,” Trumek replied. “But I will infiltrate and silently watch. I will preserve a buffer zone around my realm. If your species—or any other—attempts to expand into that space… I will destroy them.”

  Kraklak felt his stomach drop.

  “Some factions will fight. There are those powerful enough to challenge you,” he said weakly.

  “Perhaps. But your transformation is nearly complete. When you awaken, you will find your body… upgraded. Better suited for long-term servitude.”

  ———

  The Rust Widow groaned again.

  The noise wasn’t mechanical—more like an old beast coughing through layers of dust and rot. CT-0329 tapped the side of the console, watching the comms panel flicker between dull green and dead black. Static hissed through his helmet speakers.

  “Great,” he muttered. “Third time today.”

  Above him, a cracked ceiling light buzzed once, then died completely. The entire console was lit only by the glow of malfunctioning screens and backup LEDs, flickering like warning beacons in an abandoned crypt.

  “Comms are glitching again,” CT-0511 said, hunched over a terminal. “I can’t get a proper link to the bridge. The signal keeps bouncing between ghost pings and null returns.”

  CT-0720, their designated systems specialist, gave a low grunt. “That’s not ghost pings. That’s the cables on Deck 6 melting into each other again. The whole communication relay runs through that rusted panel grid.”

  CT-0329 kicked the base of his console. “What else is new? This ship’s held together by old prayers and star tape. Now we’re just a flying metal can with barely enough to run the cooling systems.”

  “You think that’s bad?” CT-0884 chimed in from the side. “I just ran diagnostics on the waste recycler. Guess what? It’s cycling the water with radiation again. I think I cleaned my teeth with this water in the morning shift.”

  CT-0511 snorted. “Explains the glow on your teeth.”

  “Shut up.”

  A dull tremor rattled through the floor beneath them. Loose wires overhead swung lazily, like vines in a dead jungle. No one flinched. These days, the ship always shook—either from its wheezing internals or whatever war front gravity spike they passed near.

  “Don’t worry,” CT-0720 muttered dryly. “That’s just the grave-stabilizers slamming themselves back into place again. Probably took another hit from those frayed coils in Sector 9.”

  “You mean the ones patched with melted tool cases and optimism?” CT-0329 grumbled. “Yeah, I trust those.”

  The lights flickered again—harder this time. The hallway seemed to jolt for a heartbeat.

  Then came the impact.

  A sharp, jarring thud ripped through the ship’s rear—like something huge had punched through the hull. Alarms wailed a half-second later, all of them distorted through static. A shudder tore through the floor plates.

  Sparks burst from an overhead panel.

  “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” CT-0511 shouted, grabbing the edge of the console.

  “Another reactor spike?” CT-0720 asked, tapping furiously on the keys. “Trying to check—systems are freaking out—external sensors are fried!”

  “Sounded like a hit!” CT-0329 said. “I’m checking port side cams—wait, we’ve got movement!”

  From the external feed, just for a second, a blur moved across the corridor cams near the aft cargo hold—no heat signature, no ID tag.

  Then the feed went dark.

  “BCUs—confirmed. They’re on the ship!” CT-0720 shouted.

  “Hull breach near the decaying access locks,” CT-0884 added, voice taut with panic. “Deck 14 is compromised!”

  The lights turned a dark blue as the ship shifted to lockdown. Hatches slammed shut along the spine of the Rust Widow. But it was too late.

  Screeching limbs, gurgling mouths, and acidic spit boiled through the air vents and utility shafts. CT-0329 barely pulled his tools before a spitter dropped from the ceiling onto CT-0511, melting through his chest plate in seconds.

  His scream echoed through the chamber, loud even in the vacuum-sealed helmet.

  Another lunged, tearing into CT-0720’s leg. The clone fought back in desperation, dragging himself behind a console, acid sizzling against the metal.

  “WE’RE GETTING OVERRUN.”

  CT-0884 hurled his tool bag down the hallway—but the BCU creatures were fast and slippery. They dodged with grace, crawling over walls and into broken conduits, reappearing where least expected.

  Amid the chaos, one clone didn’t move.

  CT-3214 stood in the corner of the hallway, untouched.

  Watching.

  A single BCU dropped in front of him, dripping with acid and snarling low, its many eyes reflecting the hallway’s dim glow. But it didn’t strike.

  Instead, it paused.

  Tilted its head.

  Awaited something.

  CT-3214 looked into its face with calm.

  Then he spoke.

  “Everything’s ready.”