"Sector Seven's output dropped by 12%!" Overseer Hawke's voice cracked like a whip, punctuated by the sharp crackle of his electro-flail. Carlisle kept his head low, avoiding the spray of blood. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the punished worker—a young boy who had just arrived yesterday. Now he lay curled on the ground, the spikes of his neural collar embedded deep into his throat, dark red fluid dripping from the Imperial Aquila insignia.
"Double shifts tonight!" Hawke barked, kicking over a mining cart. Blocks of synthetic rations spilled onto the ground. Carlisle bent down to gather them up, only to feel something unusual stuck to the cart's underside: half a crystallized finger, with shards of star-shaped purple crystals embedded under the nails. He recalled his wife Susan's warning: "Don't touch those things. They'll crawl into your dreams…"
The alarm blared. A muffled, thunderous collapse echoed from the northwest sector, and vents spewed dense purple mist into the tunnels. Hawke's electro-flail fizzled and shorted out. The prisoners' collars began to fail as their hollowed eyes glowed with an eerie violet light.