Chapter 10 Nil #5
He mumbles something that sounds like “bring back chips and your big dick,” then rolls onto his back and passes out mid-mumble.
I pull on the nearest pair of pants. It’s a little looser, so I guess it’s his. I let it slide down my hips and take in the smell of it, liking it too much to take it off now.
After hours of putting him in his place, my body feels heavy and loose in a good way. Muscles pleasantly sore. Heart weirdly light. With how hard and heavy I was going for hours, that’s a nice surprise.
I run a hand through my hair and move toward the door.
The room’s dim. Only the low emergency strips along the floor are lit this late at night. It’s pretty quiet too, except for the constant drone of engines.
I’m halfway out the sliding open door when I hear it.
A sound. It’s light at first. A dull, short thud from somewhere out in the corridor.
I stop and listen carefully. The other usual noises of the ship keep going. Air vents. Distant pipes. Someone’s voice a few rooms away.
Then it comes again.
Thud. Heavier this time. Followed by a faint scrape. Then silence. It sits wrong in my ears.
I stand still. Maybe it’s nothing. Kys has been messing with everyone’s head. Idris and Em said heightened sensitivity might happen. Sound, smell, touch. Old fear patterns waking up, new ones forming.
I tell myself that’s it. A mistake in my senses. My brain turning normal ship noise into something it isn’t.
Thud. Sounds like something heavy met metal. Then that scrape again. Dragging along the floor or the wall.
The hair on the back of my neck rises. I go out into the corridor. It’s cold, empty. Most people are in their quarters by now. Security patrols are light. We’re in a ship. There’s nothing to do. Nowhere to go.
Thud. Followed by a low, breathy noise. Like someone exhaling hard through their teeth.
Every muscle in my body tightens.
This could be nothing. This could be Kys. But my instincts have opinions drugs can’t override. So I head down the corridor where the sound’s coming from.
My feet move fast. And now that I’m closer to the sound, it cuts through me clearer.
The sharp, mechanical jerk of a sliding door trying to close and failing.
Whirr. Thunk.
I round the corner.
At first, it’s just another door at the end of the hall. But the sensor light above it blinks red. The metal keeps twitching like it’s trying to shut and something won’t let it.
My steps slow.
There’s something sticking out at the bottom of the door.
A shoe.
I get closer, and my skin goes cold.
The shoe isn’t just wedged under the door. It’s attached to a foot.
The automatic panel tries to close. The metal grinds into the shoe, bites into skin and bone where the ankle meets the frame. It snaps back open, only to try again. Each time it makes contact, the body jerks.
Whirr. Thunk.
It takes my brain too long to realize that there’s a subtle wet sound…and it’s from flesh.
“Shit,” I whisper, the sound of my voice uneven to my own ears.
I move. The sensor fights me at first. The door keeps trying to cycle. I plant my feet, grab the edge, and shove.
The metal fights back. I can feel the resistance in my shoulders, my arms, the pull in my abdomen. My muscles complain. I’ve already used most of my strength today.
Adrenaline doesn’t care. It pours into my veins. I grit my teeth and push harder.
The panel gives an inch. Then another. I wedge my shoulder into the gap and drive forward until the door stutters all the way open.
The smell hits me hard. A metallic stench.
In my mind, a memory plays out. One I haven’t thought of for years. Red flames, red blood, red rage.
Blinking, my eyes drop down. That shoe… This room… Belongs to Sergio.
He’s on his back. One leg’s out the door, twisted at an ugly angle. His shoe’s half off, crushed at the ankle. The skin around it is raw and torn, almost chewed through by the automatic frame. Blood’s spread in a dark, tacky smear.
I step over his leg, careful not to touch it.
He isn’t moving.
For a second—one desperate second—I tell myself he’s only unconscious. His arms are flung. His chest looks flat beneath the thin ship-issued shirt. His head is tilted just off-center, like he slipped and cracked it but never got back up.
Then I see his face and freeze. His mouth’s open, like he was trying to talk. Maybe shout. The expression stuck there is almost shocked.
But what shocks me is his eyes. They’re gone. They weren’t torn out in some wild, messy way. Not clawed out, but…scooped out.
My stomach twists, acid climbing up my throat. Whoever did this was careful.
The skin around each socket is cut clean. The cut smooth and surgical. Someone knew exactly what they needed to remove.
My pulse slams so hard I feel it in my teeth. I’ve seen things. Clo’s labs. Otis’ notes. People reduced to puppets. Bodies piled and burning in a warehouse.
But I’ve never seen anything like…this up close.
There’s almost no blood on his cheeks. It’s all pooled under his head, soaked into his hair. The sockets gape up at the ceiling like two dark, hollow questions.
The room tilts. I drop to a knee beside him, reaching for his neck. His skin is cold. No pulse.
I pull my hand back, fingers shaking, and sit there for a second that stretches too long.
Sergio. The guy who argued with Tomas about pastries. Who always laughed at Stan’s terrible jokes. Who looked wide-eyed and worried when his thoughts got loud.
He’s nothing now but a body pinned in a doorway with dark holes where his eyes used to be.
I force in a breath. Then another. My lungs feel like they’re filling with sludge. “Okay,” I tell myself. “Move. Get help.”
Whoever did this could still be close. The hall was empty, but that doesn’t mean a thing. I look around the room. It’s a standard cabin. One bed. One opened door to the powder room.
Everything looks normal except for the corpse.
And what’s missing from his face.
My fingers tighten into fists. In my head, I hear Em’s calm voice describing “emotional interference.” I hear Idris promising no one here’s a lab rat. I imagine Stan snoring down the hall, oblivious to the fact that someone just turned this place into a hunting ground.
I stand slowly. Every part of me feels tense. I go back toward the door, keeping my eyes on Sergio. The panel tries to close again. I catch it with my hand and let it inch forward until it rests against the ruined shoe without biting down.
Whoever did this knew Sergio would be here. Knew how the doors work. Knew enough about bodies to take what they wanted and leave the rest.
Maybe it’s the Kys. Maybe it’s something else. Either way, this is messed up. Beyond messed up.
A monster’s moving through this ship, carving pieces out of people.
Now, I know. And soon, so will everyone else.