The steady drone of the Lunar Explorer-7 (LE-7) had become Vacem's lullaby, a mechanical heartbeat that filled the silence of space and replaced the soothing sway of his cradle back on Earth. For weeks now, that low hum was all he'd known—constant, dependable, almost comforting. The spacecraft's sterile interior had become his home, a cold but familiar cocoon shielding him from the infinite dark outside.
Beyond the walls, the universe stretched out endlessly—black, vast, and scattered with stars that gleamed like shards of glass. It was beautiful, in a way that also reminded them just how small they were. But feeling small was a luxury they didn't have time for. The moon—their destination—was growing larger in the viewport with every passing hour, a cratered world of shadows and ancient scars that waited without welcome.
Vacem's gloved fingers slid across the cold metal of his console, the familiar grooves and edges anchoring him in a reality that often felt far too vast. It was one of the few constants out here... Solid, tangible—when everything beyond the hull felt infinite and unknowable.
Next to him, Michel, their ever-chatty geologist, was muttering under his breath about the tragic lack of protein bars. His voice, typically full of energy, was soft now over the comms, like a man sharing a secret with the void.
"Honestly, Vacem," he said, "if we bump into a sentient alien race, I'm asking them for one thing—dark chocolate. In a vending machine. That's all I need."
The true weight of their mission—far heavier than any g-force—settled quietly between them. This wasn't just another geological survey or lunar sample run. They were chasing something far stranger: an anomaly buried deep beneath the moon's crust. A structure—massive, ancient, and wrong.
The data had come from the Planetary Defense Agency, and none of it made sense. According to their readings, the moon's orbit had shifted—by just a tenth of a centimeter. Insignificant at first glance, until the effects started to ripple across Earth: tides behaving unpredictably, migratory animals veering off course, subtle changes in atmospheric pressure that had meteorologists on edge.
Something was pushing the moon. Or worse—something was the moon. And it was starting to move on its own.
"Speaking of joyrides," Luis's voice came over the comms, smooth and steady from his post across the cramped command module. "Deceleration burn is holding steady. We'll be in lunar orbit in… seventeen minutes."
His tone was calm, almost casual—a sharp contrast to Michel's earlier grumbling. It helped ease the tension, if only for a second.
"Excellent," came Commander Loterro's reply. His voice was clear and firm, slicing clean through the moment like a scalpel. Everything about him—his posture, his timing, his words—was sharp, exact. Loterro didn't leave space for doubt. In this crew, he was the center of gravity.
"Final pre-orbital checks," he ordered. "Vacem, verify the integrity of the drilling module. Michel, prep the remote sensors for a deep scan. Luis, hold trajectory. I'll keep watch on gravitational fluctuations."
With those words, the crew snapped into motion, each movement practiced, each task drilled to muscle memory. They were heading into the unknown, but they were trained for that.
Or so they hoped.
Vacem worked quickly, every motion fluid, his fingers gliding across the holographic interface like a pianist playing a well-rehearsed piece. The lunar drilling module was their crown jewel—a masterstroke of engineering built to cut through miles of solid rock without flinching. It was tough, relentless, and designed to survive the unimaginable.
And it was their only way in.
As green indicators blinked to life, one by one, a quiet rhythm of readiness pulsed across the console. The system was go. The tool was ready. But were they?
The cabin felt tight with pressure—not from the ship, but from something harder to measure. A heaviness in the air. Like the moment just before a storm hits. Everyone could feel it, even if no one said it aloud.
This wasn't a normal science mission. This was reconnaissance into something no one could explain. They were chasing rumors of a symmetrical structure—perfectly formed, impossibly deep—hidden beneath the lunar crust. And then there were the vibrations. The strange, low-frequency oscillations that no one could identify, but everyone could feel in their bones.
At first, the reports were dismissed. But when the moon shifted—even by just a hair—it triggered chaos on Earth. Tides misbehaving. Animals losing their way. The sky itself feeling... Wrong.
What they were flying toward wasn't just an anomaly.
It was waking up.
"Gravitational anomaly detected!"
Luis's voice, normally calm and measured, broke through the comms sharp and strained—laced with panic. "Magnitude's… it's off the charts! Something's pulling us in!"
Before Vacem could react, a brutal jolt slammed him into his seat, knocking the air from his lungs. The familiar hum of the ship morphed into a high-pitched shriek as if the vessel itself were crying out. Consoles lit up in a frenzy of red warnings, alarms screaming over one another. Metal groaned—a deep, tortured sound like something massive cracking under pressure.
Vacem turned toward the viewport—and froze.
The moon wasn't a calm, distant sphere anymore. It was looming now, impossibly close. Growing. Rushing toward them like a predator ready to strike.
"Thrusters at maximum!" Loterro shouted above the chaos, his voice cracking but commanding. "Counteract the pull! Vacem, talk to me—are you seeing this?!"
Vacem stared at the display. The readings were going wild—red zones bleeding into black. Nothing made sense.
"It's not just gravity," he said, his voice rough. "This isn't natural. It's localized—like a singularity, right at the moon's core. Right where the anomalies are."
The ship convulsed, thrashing like a trapped beast. Vacem was thrown hard against his harness as Michel let out a sharp cry. He was flung sideways—slammed into the bulkhead with a horrible, bone-snapping sound.
"Michel!" Vacem shouted, eyes wide. But Michel didn't move. Blood bloomed across his white suit.
"Stabilize! Stabilize!" Loterro barked, but even his iron control was beginning to fray.
Then came the explosion.
It tore through the vessel like a thunderclap. Lights blinked out, the world dropped into black—then returned in flickers, strobing to reveal chaos. Sparks poured from ruptured conduits. Smoke thickened the air. A section of hull near Luis's station was gone—ripped open to the vacuum. Everything beyond it was void.
The alarms screamed: Atmosphere compromised.
"Breach! Gamma-Seven—!" Luis's voice was cut off mid-sentence.
Vacem turned just in time to see him—still strapped to his seat—wrenched through the rupture. One blink he was there. The next, gone.
Torn into the black.
A silent, spinning shape lost to the stars.
"Luis!" Loterro's voice cracked—but the commander in him didn't break.
"Seal Gamma-Seven! Vacem—damage report. Now!"
Vacem's hands shook as he scrambled across the console. He could barely process what he'd just seen. The data poured in like a flood.
"We've lost control," he choked out. "Main thrusters are gone. Aux power is dropping. Hull integrity… it's bad. We're not going to hold together much longer."
"We're losing everything," Vacem said, coughing through the thick smoke. His eyes flicked to Michel—still, silent, blood soaking into his suit.
He was already gone.
The moon wasn't distant anymore. It was everything—filling the viewport like a colossal, cratered face crashing toward them.
Then the ship screamed.
A hideous shriek of metal tore through the air as the command module was ripped clean from the body of the LE-7. Vacem was thrown into a chaotic spin.
He caught one last glimpse of Loterro, strapped in, staring into the abyss with wide, terrified eyes.
And then—he was gone too.
Vacem was alone.
Utterly, terrifyingly alone.
The crash wasn't fast. It was slow—drawn out. A nightmare of screaming metal, snapping cables, and grinding rock. Vacem was tossed like a ragdoll through the debris. Something cracked against his skull. Light flashed—white, searing.
Then nothing.
But it wasn't unconsciousness. It was... absence. A vast, oppressive void. Time stopped. Space stopped. Even self-awareness slipped into static.
When he began to feel again, it wasn't pain that returned first.
It was the smell.
Thick, cloying, and wrong—like rotting meat soaked in metal and acid. It seeped into him, clung to his skin, filled his lungs.
His body was heavy. Wrong. He tried to move—but nothing responded. Only a dull, low throb echoed in his ears. Not a heartbeat. Something deeper. Older.
He forced his eyes open.
And the world hit him like a punch to the soul.
He wasn't on the moon.
He wasn't anywhere.
The ground pulsed beneath him—squishy, glistening, alive. A sick patchwork of purple, green, and sickly brown. Veins squirmed beneath its translucent surface, pulsing to that same rhythm in his ears.
His suit was gone. Replaced by a coarse tunic and pants—clean, but out of place.
He staggered to his feet, head pounding.
Then looked up.
And screamed.
The sky was no longer black and starry. It was a swirling infection of sick yellow and bruised grey, constantly shifting like something wounded. From its depths, enormous, dripping tentacles descended—thick as skyscrapers, covered in countless, perfect circular holes. Each oozed, each sucked, each watched.
A primal fear detonated inside him.
Trypophobia—the word surged unbidden.
He fell back, gagging. His vision blurred. His stomach twisted violently. He retched, nothing but dry heaves escaping.
But there was nowhere to run.
Every direction was the same grotesque hellscape. The stench, the throbbing, the tentacles—all pressing in.
This wasn't the moon.
It wasn't anywhere human had ever known.
It was madness.
It was alive.
It was watching.
Vacem dropped to his knees, trembling as the fleshy ground squelched beneath him. The pulsing rhythm beat louder now—inside him. Around him. Through him.
He wasn't an astronaut anymore. Not a scientist.
Just a broken, trembling thing in a world not made for life as he knew it.
Above him, the sky pulsed. The holes… stared. The tendrils twisted with hunger.
And finally—mercifully—his vision dimmed again, the nightmare giving way to temporary blackness.
To Be Continued...