Cain stepped into the dimly lit crew quarters, the sterile white lights flickering overhead, casting jagged shadows against the cold steel walls. The hum of the Voidwalker vessel's life support systems buzzed low and constant, like a heartbeat buried deep within the ship.
He scanned the room. It smelled of sweat, recycled air, and something sour—probably the rations they'd be stuck with for the next several months. The crew was already gathered around the central table, an illuminated holographic display flickering in the middle, showing a rotating image of Exo-9, their destination.
"Well, look who finally rolled out of the icebox," a voice drawled from across the room.
Cain turned his head and met the smirking gaze of Ethan "Ghost" Reyes, the ship's tech specialist and resident pain in the ass. Thin, wiry, with a tattooed circuit pattern running down his neck, Reyes leaned back in his chair, boots kicked up onto the table. His fingers danced over a small device, fiddling with something that Cain was sure was against ship regulations.
Cain grunted, stepping forward. "Glad to see you didn't die of boredom without me."
Reyes flashed a grin. "Yeah, well. Not everyone gets the luxury of beauty sleep."
Across from Reyes, Sasha Rourke, the ship's combat specialist, sat with arms crossed, eyes sharp beneath a curtain of short, dark red hair. She didn't say much, but the cold, assessing gaze she leveled at Cain spoke volumes. She was ex-military, like him—though from what he heard, her past was even messier than his.
"Voss," Sasha finally said, her voice low and controlled. "You up to speed, or do we need to dumb it down for you?"
Cain snorted, rolling his shoulders. "Brief me."
Commander Ryker Shaw stood near the front of the room, as stiff and unyielding as ever, his hands clasped behind his back. The man had a face carved out of granite, every wrinkle a testament to years of duty and distrust. He nodded curtly toward the display.
"We reach Exo-9 in approximately seventy-two hours," Ryker began. "Final approach protocols will begin in thirty-six. Our mission remains unchanged—survey, secure, extract. However—" He paused, glancing around the table. "—we've had some… complications."
Cain arched an eyebrow. "Define complications."
Dr. Elara Monroe, the ship's lead scientist, spoke up then. Tall, with platinum blonde hair pulled into a severe bun and eyes that never seemed to blink enough, she carried an aura of detached efficiency. "Data irregularities," she said, her voice precise. "The probe we sent ahead detected anomalies in the planetary atmosphere. Fluctuations in electromagnetic fields, inconsistent terrain scans."
Cain frowned. "Meaning?"
Elara's lips pressed into a thin line. "Meaning Exo-9 may not be as uninhabited as we were led to believe."
A silence settled over the table.
Cain exhaled slowly. "Great. So, it's not just rocks and dust. What else?"
Ryker's jaw tightened. "AI malfunctions. Systems glitching all across the ship. Power fluctuations in key sectors. Engineering is investigating, but we're working blind until we land."
"Fantastic," Reyes muttered. "Stranded on an alien hellscape with no backup. Love it."
Cain leaned forward, elbows resting on the metal table. "So let me get this straight—we're flying into a planet with unknown hazards, in a ship that's falling apart, with a crew that barely trusts each other?" He glanced around the table. "Sounds like a solid plan."
Sasha's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Welcome to the Voidwalker."
Cain's gaze shifted to the final member of the crew standing silently at the back of the room—Dr. Henry Kessler, the ship's medic. He was an older man, eyes sunken with exhaustion, nervously tapping his fingers against his datapad. Unlike the others, he avoided eye contact. Cain filed that away for later.
"Alright," Ryker continued, ignoring the tension in the room. "We stick to protocol. No unnecessary risks, no heroics. The primary objective is to locate the energy source and secure it. Nothing more."
Cain leaned back in his chair. "And if we find something else?"
Ryker's eyes locked onto his. "We handle it."
There was something in the commander's tone that Cain didn't like—too rehearsed, too confident. He exchanged a glance with Reyes, who subtly raised an eyebrow as if thinking the same thing.
Elara cleared her throat and tapped the display, shifting the hologram to a new set of schematics. "We've identified a landing zone near the northern hemisphere—high ground, stable surface. We'll set up a perimeter and deploy drones for reconnaissance. Standard procedures."
Sasha cracked her knuckles. "Let's hope standard procedures apply to whatever the hell's down there."
Cain exhaled, rubbing his temples. The unease in his gut was growing stronger. Something wasn't right about all this, but no one was saying it out loud. They all had their secrets—himself included.
Ryker's gaze swept over the team. "Gear up. We'll run final simulations in one hour. Dismissed."
Chairs scraped against the floor as the crew dispersed.
As Cain stood to leave, Elara caught his arm. Her fingers were ice-cold. "Be careful, Cain," she whispered, her eyes sharp. "This mission... it's not what it seems."
Cain studied her face, searching for cracks in that perfect composure. "It never is," he muttered, pulling away and heading for the lockers.
Behind him, Reyes called out, "Yo, Voss. Bet fifty creds we don't make it back in one piece."
Cain didn't break stride. "I don't bet on losing hands, Reyes."
The tech chuckled darkly. "Smart man."
Cain entered the locker bay, staring at his reflection in the polished metal. His face was haggard, eyes shadowed, jaw clenched. For a second, he thought he saw something—something wrong with his reflection. A flicker. A shift. His lips moved on their own.
He blinked. It was gone.
Shaking it off, he turned and began suiting up, preparing for whatever Exo-9 had in store.
In his gut, he knew: the worst was yet to come.