They moved through the ship's corridors with purpose now, though Lilith wasn't entirely sure what that purpose was.
Find a way out. That's step one. Figure out the rest later.
Eve walked beside her, their hands still linked, her red eyes scanning their surroundings with an alertness that Lilith found both comforting and unsettling. Her twin moved like a predator—silent, efficient, ready to respond to threats that Lilith couldn't even perceive.
The corpses were everywhere.
Lilith tried not to look at them. Tried to focus on the path ahead, on the walls, on anything but the twisted remains of what had been people just hours ago.
But it was impossible to ignore completely.
A servitor slumped against a doorway, its torso bent at an angle that defied the existence of a spine. A tech-priest whose augmetics had fused into a single mass of metal and flesh, mechadendrites coiled through his ribcage like steel vines. A junior technician—or what had been one—reduced to something that barely resembled human anymore.
I did this.
The very thought kept circling back, a persistent whisper in the back of her mind.
Her stomach churned, but she forced the nausea down.
Can't afford to fall apart. Not now. I need to focus. We need to survive.
Still, the uneasiness wouldn't leave.
It sat in her chest like a weight, pressing down on her lungs, making each breath feel slightly harder than it should be. Eve's presence helped—that strange warmth that came from physical contact dulled the sharp edges of panic—but it wasn't enough to completely dispel the growing sense of wrongness.
Something felt off.
Not just the dead bodies or the twisted metal or the oppressive silence of the ship.
Something else.
Something deeper.
Lilith stopped walking abruptly, and Eve stopped with her, tilting her head in silent question.
"Eve," Lilith said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "We need to leave. We need to get off this ship."
Eve blinked once, then nodded. "Okay."
No questions. No hesitation. Just immediate agreement.
God, she trusts me completely. Even though I barely know what I'm doing.
They continued forward, moving faster now. Lilith's right eye darted from door to door, searching for anything that might indicate an escape route. Signs, markings, anything—
There.
A corridor branching off to the left, marked with faded Gothic script that Lilith's newfound linguistic knowledge translated automatically: EMERGENCY EVACUATION - TERTIARY DECK.
"This way," she said, tugging Eve's hand.
They hurried down the corridor, the uneasiness in Lilith's chest growing with each step. The air felt heavier here, thick with the smell of ozone and something else—something metallic and wrong.
The corridor opened into a small chamber lined with sealed pods embedded in the walls. Escape pods, Lilith realized, though they looked nothing like the sleek, aerodynamic vessels from science fiction movies she'd seen in her old life.
These were brutal, utilitarian things. Coffin-shaped. Riveted metal plating. Thick glass viewports reinforced with adamantium bars. Each one was stamped with the Imperial Aquila and a string of identification codes.
Lilith approached the nearest pod and stared at it, uncertainty gnawing at her.
I've never even seen one of these in real life. Hell, not once even in my life. And now I'm supposed to trust my life to this thing?
She glanced at Eve, hoping her twin might have some insight, but Eve just looked back at her with those unblinking red eyes, expression blank.
Right. She was raised in captivity. Probably never even left whatever chamber they kept her in.
Lilith turned back to the pod, her jaw tightening.
"This might be our way out," she said, more to herself than to Eve. "I think. Maybe. I'm not—I'm not actually sure."
The uneasiness spiked.
It wasn't rational. They had food—well, they'd had food, but they'd eaten it all and there was nothing left. They had each other. They had a potential escape route.
But something in Lilith's gut was screaming at her that they needed to leave, that staying on this ship was dangerous in ways she couldn't articulate.
What if something else comes? What if there are other ships? What if—
Her thoughts drifted unbidden to her old life.
Maverick Langley. Twenty-three years old. Unemployed—or mostly unemployed. Living in a cramped apartment, scraping by on freelance work, spending too much time on Reddit and not enough time figuring out what to do with his life.
He'd had a family. Parents who worried about him. A younger sister who called him occasionally to complain about college. Friends—not many, but a few good ones—who he'd game with online or grab drinks with when money allowed.
A life.
Not a great life, maybe. Not particularly successful or noteworthy. But his.
And now that person was gone.
Is Maverick even real anymore? Or did he stop existing the moment Lilith woke up?
The thought made her chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with physical pain.
She shook her head sharply, forcing the memories back.
No. Can't think about that. Can't afford to.
She turned to Eve, who was watching her with that same quiet intensity.
"Eve," Lilith said slowly, "if we... if we were to die. Would you be okay with that?"
Eve blinked once. Then she nodded.
"Yes."
The answer came without hesitation, without fear.
"As long... as I'm with you."
Lilith felt something crack in her chest. Not pain, exactly, but something close to it.
She's just a kid. And she's already accepted death. Is it ignorance? Or does she know what it is?
Lilith squeezed Eve's hand tightly, almost desperately.
"I don't want you to die," she said, her voice rough. "I don't want either of us to die. Okay? So we're going to get in this pod, and we're going to survive, and—and we'll figure it out from there."
Eve tilted her head slightly, as if considering this, then nodded again.
"Okay."
Lilith took a breath, then reached for the pod's access panel.
The interior of the escape pod was cramped and spartan.
Two harness seats, barely padded. A small control panel with switches and indicators that Lilith couldn't fully decipher. A tiny viewport showing the dark metal of the ship's hull beyond.
No destination selector. No navigation interface. No options at all, really.
Just a single prominent lever marked with Gothic script: LAUNCH.
Of course. Because why would anything in this nightmare be easy?
Lilith climbed in first, settling into one of the harness seats. The restraints were stiff and uncomfortable, clearly designed for function over comfort. Eve followed, moving with that same eerie grace, and settled into the seat beside her.
Their shoulders touched. That warmth again, cutting through the cold dread in Lilith's chest.
Lilith reached over and pulled Eve closer, wrapping her arms around her twin in a tight hug.
It's going to be okay, she told herself, repeating it like a mantra. Everything's going to be okay. We're going to survive this. We have to.
Her hands moved to the control panel, hovering over the launch lever.
No turning back after this.
She pulled it.
The pod shuddered. Clamps released with heavy thunks that reverberated through the metal walls. Warning lights flashed, bathing the interior in alternating red and amber.
Then the thrusters ignited, and the pod launched.
The acceleration slammed them back into their seats with brutal force. Lilith gasped, her arms tightening around Eve, her eyes squeezing shut against the sudden pressure.
The pod shook violently, rattling like it was going to tear itself apart. Metal groaned. Something hissed in the walls—pressurization systems, maybe, or thrusters compensating for trajectory.
And then, abruptly, the shaking lessened.
Lilith opened her eyes—her right eye, at least—and looked out the viewport.
Darkness.
Endless, absolute darkness, broken only by the faint glitter of distant stars.
They were in space. In the void.
And they had no idea where they were going.
Lilith felt the tears coming before she could stop them.
They welled up hot and stinging, blurring her vision, spilling down her cheeks in silent tracks.
She tried to hold them back—tried to be strong, to stay composed—but it was too much. All of it. The fear, the uncertainty, the overwhelming wrongness of everything that had happened.
I'm going to die out here. We're both going to die, and no one will even know. No one will care.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Eve, I'm so sorry. If we die, it's my fault. I didn't—I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know anything. I just—"
Eve's arms wrapped around her, small and surprisingly strong, pulling her closer.
Lilith buried her face against Eve's shoulder and let the tears come.
They sat like that for a long time, drifting through the void in a tiny metal coffin, holding onto each other like lifelines.
Eventually, the tears slowed. The sobs quieted. Lilith's breathing evened out, though the ache in her chest remained.
She pulled back slightly, wiping at her face with one hand.
"I'm sorry," she said again, her voice hoarse. "I'm supposed to be the strong one. I'm supposed to—"
"Me. Strong," Eve said quietly, interrupting her.
Lilith blinked. "What?"
Eve's red eyes met hers, glowing faintly in the dim light of the pod.
"Don't know... Why you. Need be strong. But you're... here. With me."
She tilted her head slightly.
"That's... enough."
Lilith felt her throat tighten again, but this time it wasn't from fear.
She squeezed Eve's hand and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
They sat in silence for a while longer, the pod drifting aimlessly through space.
Then, desperate for something—anything—to fill the oppressive quiet, Lilith started talking.
"I had a family," she said softly. "In my old life. Before I woke up here."
Eve's head tilted, listening.
"A mother and a father. They... they took care of me when I was little. Fed me, clothed me, taught me things." Lilith paused, trying to find words that Eve might understand. "They loved me. That's what parents do. They love their children."
"Love?" Eve repeated, the word sounding foreign on her tongue.
Lilith nodded. "It's... it's when you care about someone. When you want them to be happy and safe. When you'd do anything to protect them."
Eve was quiet for a moment, processing this.
"Like... you and me?"
Lilith felt her chest tighten. "Yeah. Like you and me."
Eve seemed satisfied with this answer. "What is... mother? Father?"
"A mother is... she's the one who gives birth to you. Who carries you inside her body before you're born." Lilith hesitated, realizing how alien this concept must be to someone who'd been created in a lab. "She's usually the one who nurtures you. Takes care of you when you're small and helpless."
"And... father?"
"He's... the other parent. The male parent. He helps raise you too. Protects you. Teaches you things."
Eve frowned slightly, the first real expression Lilith had seen on her face beyond blank neutrality. "We... don't have these."
"No," Lilith agreed quietly. "We don't."
But Eve didn't seem upset by this. Just curious.
"What else?" she asked.
So Lilith told her.
She talked about her younger sister, about how they'd fought constantly as kids but had grown closer as they got older. About her friends, the ones she'd game with late into the night, laughing at stupid jokes and arguing over strategies.
She told Eve about school, about learning to read and write and do math, about the frustration and boredom and occasional joy of education.
She talked about her apartment, small and cramped but hers, about the simple pleasure of coming home after a long day and just existing in her own space.
She talked about food that actually tasted good—pizza and burgers and ramen that wasn't from a packet. About movies and TV shows and books, stories that transported you to other worlds.
About a world where you could walk outside without fear of being eaten by aliens or corrupted by demons. Where most people lived relatively peaceful lives. Where death wasn't a constant, looming presence.
Eve listened to all of it, asking questions when she didn't understand.
"What is... pizza?"
"It's food. Flat bread with cheese and toppings. It's really good."
"What is... movie?"
"It's like... a story you watch. Moving pictures with sound. People act out scenes, and you see it happen."
"What is... peace?"
That one was harder to explain.
"It's when there's no fighting," Lilith said slowly. "No war. When people can just... live. Without being afraid all the time."
Eve considered this for a long moment.
"That sounds... nice."
"Yeah," Lilith whispered. "It was."
They drifted in silence after that, the weight of the conversation settling over them like a blanket.
Lilith stared out the viewport at the stars, watching them slowly drift past, and wondered if she'd ever see that peaceful world again.
Probably not.
Probably, she'd die out here in the void, or on some hostile world, or torn apart by something horrible.
But at least she wouldn't be alone.
She glanced at Eve, who was still pressed close against her side, and felt that strange warmth again.
At least I have you.
It wasn't much.
But maybe it was enough.
The ship hung in the void, silent and still.
It was a small vessel, barely more than a research frigate, its hull scarred with the telltale signs of hasty modification and experimental augmentations. The Imperial Aquila on its side was faded, barely visible beneath layers of tarnish and wear.
And now it was a tomb.
Another ship materialized from the darkness, its form blocky and utilitarian, engine nacelles glowing with the sickly green of plasma drives. It maneuvered carefully, extending docking clamps that latched onto the dead vessel's hull with heavy clangs that echoed through the void.
A boarding ramp extended. Mag-locks sealed. Atmosphere equalized.
And then the second ship's occupants boarded.
The Magos moved with mechanical precision, his robes sweeping across the blood-slicked floor, mechadendrites probing the walls and terminals with curious intent.
Behind him, a squad of servitors followed in perfect formation, their hollow eyes staring at nothing, their augmented limbs moving with programmed efficiency.
The Magos stopped in the center of the main corridor, optical arrays sweeping across the carnage.
Bodies. Dozens of them. Twisted. Warped. Fused with their own augmetics in ways that defied all logic and biological law.
"Fascinating," the Magos said, his voice distorted through layers of vox-grilles and mechanical filters. "Catastrophic Warp incursion. Localized reality distortion. Subjects deceased via cellular corruption and molecular reconstruction."
He knelt beside the corpse of another tech-priest—the one who had run these experiments, judging by the data-tethers still connected to his ruined cranium.
"Cause of incursion: unknown. Origin point..." He tilted his head, optical lenses clicking as they adjusted. "Intriguing."
He stood and gestured to the servitors.
"Collect all data. Terminals, data-slates, cogitator cores. Everything. I want a complete record of what occurred here."
The servitors moved immediately, spreading out through the ship, their augmented limbs prying open access panels and extracting storage drives with mechanical efficiency.
The Magos continued deeper into the ship, his interest piqued.
Whatever had happened here, it was no ordinary accident. After all, they had detected warp signature in this location.
And he intended to find out exactly what had transpired.