The metallic clang echoed down the corridor like a challenge. Rotham froze, instincts sharpening.
He checked his handheld scanner — a tool he barely used, now pulsing red.
UNREGISTERED BIOSIGN DETECTEDLOCATION: DECK C, SECTOR 12MOVEMENT: ACTIVE
Someone — or something — was onboard.
He moved carefully, keeping close to the shadows as he made his way toward Deck C. The flickering lights above cast uneven beams across the corridor, making it difficult to distinguish motion from illusion.
As he turned a corner, the spiral symbol flashed briefly on a wall panel, glowing softly before vanishing. The station was watching.
He reached the bulkhead to Sector 12. The door was half-open — pried apart. Old scorch marks lined the edges, and beyond lay darkness far thicker than the rest of Adra-9.
Rotham reached for his flashlight and stepped through.
Inside, the air was colder.
Panels had been ripped open, wiring torn out. This section hadn't simply decayed — it had been attacked. Signs of resistance. Blaster scoring. Defensive turrets, deactivated and rusted.
Suddenly, static erupted in his earpiece.
"He's here…"
The whisper came not from the room, but the comm — hijacked.
Rotham spun around.
In the shadows, a shape moved — tall, mechanical, but vaguely humanoid. Its single red optic blinked on. Not AI. Not scavenger.
Something built to survive Adra-9.
A relic.
The being stepped forward, voice deeper now, layered with synthetic decay.
"Keyholder Rotham… your memory does not belong to you."