Horizon Seeker Event

Horizon Seeker Event
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On the darkened bridge of the Event Horizon, Kira McCalpin opens her eyes and looks around. Her eyes take in the gore and disarray. Her fingers tighten around the nearby railing, her breath coming in short gasps as she takes in the carnage around her. The flickering emergency lights cast sickly shadows across the bodies strewn across the bridge—some slumped over consoles, others twisted in unnatural positions, their eyes frozen wide in terror. Blood pools darkly on the metal floor, the sharp, coppery stench clinging to her nostrils.

She swallows hard, forcing herself to move forward. Her boots squelch with every step, the sound echoing too loudly in the oppressive silence. She reaches down to check the pulse of a crewman nearby, but his skin is already cold, his lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling.
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5 days prior.
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Aboard the Horizon Seeker, the captain comes over the comms, his voice calm and steady. "All crew, prepare for warp core activation. We will be jumping to the Event Horizon's last known location in 10 minutes."

Kira looks over at Blaze. "You think anything’s left? They said it exploded and no wreckage was found," she says to him.

Blaze exhales sharply, his jaw tightening as he watches the final preparations unfold on the bridge. "If it's there, it ain't coming back easy," he mutters, his fingers drumming against the railing of the command center. "But that's not what I'm worried about." He glances at Kira, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable. "I'm worried about what we're gonna find inside. And what we're gonna lose trying to get it out."

Kira nods slowly, her expression thoughtful. She studies the massive holographic projection of the Event Horizon hovering above the main viewing deck. She shakes her head. "Didn't they say that the crew destroyed the connecting corridor?" she asks, eyeing the hologram.

Blaze shrugs. "Yeah, but maybe they were mistaken. The image we have is from a probe's view just before it rounded Neptune, losing sight of it... so who knows?"
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The captain's voice crackles through the shipwide comms again. "Jump in T-minus 30 seconds. All departments report status green." Blaze moves to the tactical station, his fingers hovering over the controls as the Horizon Seeker hums with energy. "Tactical green, sir," he confirms.

Kira grips the railing as the ship's gravity shifts momentarily, the warp cores spinning up to full power. The holographic projection of the Event Horizon flickers, the image stretching and warping in real-time as the ship phases through space.
Then—impact.
Not a gentle arrival, but a violent shudder that rattles the entire vessel. Kira shudders as Blaze turns to her, frowning. "So weird?" he muses. She chuckles nervously. "What's weird?"

Blaze stands up slowly, the effects of warp making his legs shaky. "Nothing. It's just, every warp feels the same. A vibe like walking through a village of death and suffering," he says, shaking his head. The ship groans around them, settling into its new position.

Lights flicker, the emergency backup systems kicking in as the primary lighting dims momentarily. A low, mechanical hum pulses through the hull—unfamiliar, wrong. Kira exhales sharply, straightening. "Well, we're here. Now what?"

Blaze checks his comm unit. "Captain wants a full structural scan before we attempt contact. We need to make sure the ship's still... structurally sound." His eyes flick up to the holographic display showing the Event Horizon. It's eerily still, its massive, weathered hull floating in the darkness like a tomb.

Kira nods, already moving toward the science station. She pulls up the scan data, her fingers flying over the holographic interface. "The hull... it's intact. No visible damage. But the energy readings..." She pauses, tilting her head slightly. "The residual warp drive signature is... wrong. It's still active, but barely. Like something is draining it."

Blaze moves to look over her shoulder, his presence close and heavy. "Draining it? Or... still using it?"

Kira swallows. "I don't know." She adjusts the scan parameters, zooming in on the Event Horizon's interior. "But I'm getting some kind of... interference in the deeper systems. Like it's trying to mask something." Finding the readings odd but in acceptable ranges, she stares at the display a moment, then nods. "We're good to go, but I'll need to monitor the core energy levels every 30 minutes."

Blaze exhales, rolling his shoulders. "Alright. Let's get a team ready for deployment." His voice is steady, but Kira can see the stiffness in his jaw, the way his fingers flex unconsciously by his side. He's bracing himself for whatever comes next.
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The gravity drive spins down as the Horizon Seeker settles into its new orbit. The ship is eerily silent now, the distant thrum of systems in standby replaced by something else—a presence that feels almost... aware. Kira shivers, rubbing her arms as she follows Blaze off the bridge. The hallway outside stretches ahead, bathed in sterile white light, but something about it feels oppressive. Like the walls are watching.

He shakes his head. "Just effects of the jump. Glad it wears off in a few minutes," he thinks. Blaze nods, but his eyes linger on the corridor a moment too long. "Yeah. Sure." The words sound hollow, even to his own ears.

He turns away, heading toward the docking bay where the boarding team is assembling. Kira follows, her steps unsteady as she tries to shake off the uneasy feeling crawling up her spine. The docking bay hums with controlled chaos as the team gathers around the shuttlecraft.


Blaze moves with practiced efficiency, checking gear, running through protocols with his men. But his focus flickers to the massive viewports overlooking the Event Horizon. It looms outside, its black hull reflecting none of the artificial light from the Horizon Seeker's floodlights. One of the crew exits their room, expression full of stress.
The light above flickers as they pass, then returns to its steady glow. Blaze looks up at the light. "If it's not one thing, it's another, huh? Better get the repair techs to check that out," he says as they continue on to the airlock. The boarding shuttle is a sleek black craft, its interior lined with reinforced carbon fiber and emergency lighting strips.

As the crew files in, Blaze takes his position at the front, fingers brushing the hilt of his sidearm as he watches them settle in. Kira straps herself in across from him, tapping rapidly on her tablet. She glances up, her dark eyes scanning the faces of the team—security officers, engineers, a medic. Most of them look like they're holding it together, but there's an undercurrent of unease rippling through the group.
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The shuttle hums as it disengages from the main hull, thrusters firing in short bursts to propel it toward the Event Horizon. As they seal their suits, each burst of the thrusters vibrates through the craft as they drift closer, the Event Horizon looming in the forward view screen. Its hull is fully coated in what looks like a layer of rust.
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Minutes later.

The craft rotates on its axis as the pilot comes over the comms. "Distance 10 meters... 5... brace for contact..." he calls as there's a shudder and the ship settles. The docking mechanism hisses as the shuttle attaches to the airlock of the Event Horizon.

The team waits in tense silence as the opening sequence begins. Blaze exhales slowly, his grip tightening on the handrail as the metal thunks, signaling completion. A red light above the inner airlock door switches to green, and with a mechanical groan, the hatch swings open.


A gust of frigid air rushes in, carrying with it the metallic tang of old blood and decay. The interior looks exactly as expected—dim emergency lighting casting long, eerie shadows, the walls streaked with rust and what is unmistakably dried blood. The air is still, deathly silent. The team stands unmoving, unsure what to think as Kira steps forward. "They told us it might be like this, but... seeing it... seeing it is..." She hesitates.
Blaze shudders. "It's creepy. But not unexplainable—undiscovered space fungus, maybe." He shrugs.

Kira inhales sharply, forcing herself to move forward. "We need to document the bridge first," she says, her voice steadier than she feels. "If we can get the last log, maybe we can figure out what happened." She switches on the flashlight attached to her suit, shining it down the corridor.

The beam cuts through the darkness, revealing more streaks of red-brown across the walls, pooling in uneven patterns on the floor.
Blaze nods, gesturing to his men. "Stay sharp. Watch your six." The security team fans out behind them as they move into the corridor, boots crunching softly over debris—discarded equipment, torn clothing, shattered glass.
On the bridge 30 minutes later, Blaze sighs. "No movement but us on the sensor drones we sent out. But be careful; it’s an old ship that’s been God knows where..." he tells the boarding team. "If anything at all seems off, return here to the bridge immediately," he adds.

Kira's boots echo faintly as she moves toward the command station. The chair is still occupied—a skeletal figure slumped forward, fingers frozen around the console. She swallows hard, forcing herself to look past the horror and focus on the screen. "The logs are still intact," she mutters, her hands steady despite the chill creeping up her arms. "Just... corrupted." She adjusts a few controls, bypassing the ship's older security protocols. The screen flickers, and then—an image.

A woman in a black security uniform similar to the ones worn by Blaze's team appears, her face gaunt and hollow. She stares directly at the camera, her lips moving but no sound accompanying them. Just static.
Kira squints, then turns around, looking at the entryway to the bridge and seeing no one there.

Then she looks back to the live feed. The outside is clear and empty as the team sets up around the room. "Did I even..." she thinks, looking back at the door again, then she is startled by Blaze. "Hey, you okay? Look like you saw a ghost or something," he jokes.

Kira exhales shakily. "I thought I... never mind." She forces her attention back to the screen, enlarging the image. The woman's lips are definitely moving, but the audio is completely static. "This is the last log entry," she mutters. "They never made it out."

Blaze steps closer, looking over her shoulder. His breath is warm against her ear as he leans in, gaze fixed on the screen. "Play it. Full volume."
For a moment she hesitates, then presses the playback button. The static hisses violently, causing the others to pause, before resolving into a voice—weak, strained, almost inaudible at first.
"—seal the—" The voice cuts out, static surging again. Kira flicks her fingers over the controls, adjusting the audio filters. When the voice returns, it's clearer now, but something about it makes Blaze's jaw tighten.

"—containment failure. Dr. Miller says the—" Static cuts her off again, but this time, when it clears, the voice is no longer the same. Lower, rougher, almost guttural.

"—the gateway is unstable. The resonance is drawing something in." A pause.

Then, a ragged intake of breath. "They're... they're inside us now."
Blaze shakes his head. "In movies, this is where we leave..." he says, and Trevor shrugs. "Well, this ain't the movies, and our mission is to figure out what happened here and bring the Event Horizon back to Earth if possible."

Blaze rolls his eyes in annoyance. "Since when was bringing it back a thing?" he asks.
Trevor sighs. "Since the brass decided it was worth the risk. But that's not our concern right now. We need the data from this log, no matter how... unsettling it is."

Kira swallows hard, her fingers hovering over the controls. "I can try to clean up the audio, see if I can isolate the next segments. But the corruption is deep." She pauses, glancing at the skeletal remains in the chair. "This person knew what was happening. And they were... terrified."
Blaze exhales through his nose, moving to stand beside her. "Yeah. I can tell."
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A day later, as Kira walks around the warp core taking readings, she sees a piece of white paper floating in the water around the core.

Carefully, she grabs it. Feeling that it’s laminated, she shakes it off. Turning it over in her hand, she gasps, almost dropping to her knees, her ultrasound staring back at her. "How... how is...?" She stops and grabs her radio. "Blaze, if this is some kind of sick joke of yours..." she says as tears roll down her face.

In her mind, she sees the hospital: Blaze away on a mission he couldn’t refuse, the doctor laying a hand on her shoulder. "I... I’m sorry for your loss," he said.

Her radio crackles. "What are you talking about?" He chuckles.

She gasps in anger, then storms off to find him, folding the paper and laying it in her bag. "Blaze!" she calls out, her voice sharp with emotion, the words catching in her throat.

She finds him near the secondary engineering station, speaking with Dan about the power levels of the ship's auxiliary systems. He looks up when she calls, his face tightening as he sees her. "You alright?" he asks, stepping away from the others.

Kira inhales shakily, her fingers twitching at her sides. "I found this," she says, pulling the laminated ultrasound from her bag and holding it up. "You didn't... do this, did you?"
He pauses. "How'd you get that?" he says, reaching into his own pack and pulling out an identical image.

She scoffs, glaring at him. "You copied it and..." She punches him in the face, drawing blood from his nose, then storms off toward the docking craft. He looks after her, the images having triggered him. His mind flashes back.
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In the Middle East, a year prior. Blaze leads his team through an enemy fortress.

As they crouch, hidden in a drainage tunnel, his fear and worry do little to dampen the excitement he feels awaiting the reality of becoming a father. The night was quiet and the air cooler than usual as his pocket vibrated. Taking the encrypted device out, he selected the new message, listening in his earpiece as they wait for patrols to pass by. His heart skipped a beat as he hears Kira sobbing, unable to speak as she struggles. "She... didn't... didn't make... it."

His heart twisted in his chest at the words as he gasped, stumbling slightly. The sound drew the attention of a patrol walking the road above. His mind spiraled further as lights shine into the ravine and men move their way.
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He shakes his head as he stands on the Event Horizon, the memory of his men dying and the loss of Skylar and his fight to escape. Dropping his side work, he rushes after her. The docking craft sways slightly as Kira slams the door shut behind her, the seals hissing as they lock. Her breathing is ragged, her chest tight with grief and fury.

She braces against a wall, pressing her palm against the cold metal to steady herself. The ultrasound paper crinkles in her clenched fist.
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Blaze pauses outside the door as a childish giggle makes him look to his left, a small figure darting across the entrance to the warp core. "How the hell?" he thinks. Breaking into a sprint, he enters the room to find it empty... he turns and, startled, throws himself back, a bullet-riddled member of his lost team blocking his way. As he lands on the walkway, the vision vanishes. "Come on, Blaze," he says, scanning the room. "Just another PTSD episode," he thinks, calming slightly.

Then he sees a removed panel in the wall leading into a tunnel of green electronic boards. Thinking of the smaller form he saw, he sighs, crawling over to it. "Is anyone in there?" he shouts, then listens carefully. His breathing slows as he listens intently. At first, there's only the faint hum of the ship's systems, but then—faint and almost inaudible—he hears it. A soft, rhythmic sound. A heartbeat. Or breathing.

He curses under his breath and pulls himself into the narrow space, crawling forward inch by inch. The air grows cooler, more static-charged. The green glow from the wiring casts sickly reflections on the walls. His fingers brush against something soft, and he freezes.

It's a hand. Small. A child's hand. "Hey," he says, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. "You're safe now. Just tell me your name."

He rounds the corner and finds the passage empty, looking down at where the hand had been. "What the..." Just then the lights go out, and he freezes, listening. The darkness presses in like a living thing as his breathing grows unsteady. Backing out the way he came, he feels a breeze on the back of his neck and stiffens. "I didn't hear anything move, no way... someone's right there," he thinks, looking forward slowly in the dark.

The lights burst to life, raw, empty eye sockets of a man staring back at him. He jerks away and his head slams into the roof of the tunnel, causing him to black out. "You can't leave," he hears in the void of unconsciousness.
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Kira hears the soft thud from inside the ship and pauses. She's halfway to the core room when the sound makes her hesitate. Turning, she strides back toward the warp core. She approaches slowly, every nerve on edge. The air feels heavier here, charged. She notices the open panel in the wall. "Blaze?" she calls out, knowing he has rounds through the area, crouching to peer into the maintenance tunnel. It's pitch black inside. She reaches for her flashlight; finding it, she aims into the passage, flipping it on.

The beam cuts through the darkness, revealing Blaze sprawled in the tunnel, unmoving. Kira gasps, scrambling forward on her hands and knees. "Blaze!" Her voice cracks as she grips his shoulder, shaking him gently at first, then more roughly when he doesn't respond. His skin feels cold beneath her fingers. "Damn it, wake up." She turns him onto his back, pressing two fingers against his throat.

His pulse is there, weak but steady. "Come on, you big idiot," she mutters, struggling to pull him out of the confined space. Her muscles strain as she drags him by his feet, the dead weight making every inch a battle.

She finally hauls him free and grabs her radio. "Lina, we need medical in the core room. Blaze is unconscious... looks like he hit his head in the crawlspace," she calls out.
Trevor's voice comes through first. "What the hell was he doing in there?"
"I don't know," she tells them.

Minutes later, she is cradling his head in her lap as his eyes flutter open. Lina rushes in with her kit and a few helpers as Blaze groans, his hand coming up to touch the goose egg forming on the back of his skull. "What happened?" he asks, his voice hoarse. Then his gaze sharpens as he remembers. "The hand... the kid... the man..."
Kira exchanges a look with Lina as she kneels beside them. "He's talking about hallucinations," she says quietly to Lina.
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In a short time, they are on the docking craft as Lina keeps an eye on Blaze in the medical area. Kira stands at the viewport, staring out into the void, the distant glow of the Event Horizon reflecting in the glass.

She can see the hull of the Horizon Seeker tethered to it, the two ships suspended in the endless dark like some grotesque marriage of science and nightmare.
Behind her, Blaze sits with a bandage wrapped around his head, his face drawn with exhaustion and something deeper—fear. He watches her silently for a long moment before speaking. "I saw him," he says, his voice rough. "I saw one of my men. The ones who died in the extraction gone wrong."

Kira turns, arms crossing over her chest. "That wasn't real." She speaks, but uncertainty colors her words.

He shakes his head, regretting the movement. "I know that. But... the other guy. I've never seen him before," he says.
Lina shrugs. "It’s not uncommon to sometimes see random-looking figures," she says as she checks his vitals one last time.

Her face tightens. "You don't believe that either," she states flatly. She moves to stand beside him, looking down. "What are you not telling me?"
Blaze exhales slowly, fingers curling against his thighs. "There was a... presence. Something watching me in the dark. It spoke." He closes his eyes briefly. "Said I couldn't leave."

Her heart stutters, but she forces her voice to remain steady. "The ship's affecting your mind. Like the gravity drive did before." She crouches beside him, searching his face. "This isn't real."
He laughs bitterly. "I hope so. But I can tell you feel it too, still, don't you? Like we just jumped through warp, but it isn't going away. Like something's watching us."

Kira's jaw tightens as she feels the chill creeping down her back. She knows exactly what he means: the constant feeling of being observed; the phantom touch of cold fingers brushing against her skin in empty corridors; the way lights flicker at the edge of her vision, never quite confirming what she thinks she sees.
"I've been feeling it too," she admits quietly, glancing toward the viewport again. The Event Horizon looms outside the window. "But I refuse to let it get to me."

Blaze watches her for a long moment. "You're doing better than I am," he mutters. "This ship... it's not just space junk."

She chuckles. "That's the thing, Blaze. It is just space junk. Expensive, but still junk," she tells him.
He sighs, then nearby a voice clearly says, "No, she's beautiful." It sounds empty, though no one else hears it.
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Hours later, as Blaze enters the bridge of the Event Horizon, he looks over at the data console. "Any other recordings you were able to salvage?"
Kira nods as she moves over to it. "Not really, but we did find a recording from the last team they sent to investigate. Not much—just Dr. Weir and his crew."
Blaze shudders. "What happened to them anyway?" he asks.

Kira frowns as she pulls up the file. "They never made it to the core. Found their bodies in the residential quarters, gutted like fish." She looks up. "No sign of struggle. No wounds except the... evisceration."
Blaze winces, rubbing at his temple where the bandage still covers the lump. "Friendly ship," he mutters.

Tapping the console, she brings up a recording. The video shows Dr. Weir standing in what looks like the Event Horizon's medical bay. His shirt is splattered with blood, his face drawn with exhaustion and something darker—fear. The audio is scratchy at first, then clears. "Dr. Weir."
Blaze points at the screen. "Wait, wait... That's the man I saw in the crawlspace, but... but his eyes were gone," he tells her. Kira feels a chill run through her as she pauses the video. She turns to look at Blaze. "You're sure?" she asks quietly.
He nods, eyes locked on the frozen image. "Hundred percent. Same build, same... vacant stare." His hands clench at his sides. "But the audio—"

Kira plays another clip of Doctor Weir. "I designed the ship's propulsion system. I am the only person capable of evaluating the performance of the gravity drive." She plays one more. "She tore a hole in our universe, a gateway to another dimension. A dimension of pure chaos. Pure evil. When she crossed over, she was just a ship. But when she came back... she was alive!"
Blaze stares at the screen, his nerves on edge. "Did they go crazy?" he muses.

Kira shakes her head, studying the video intently. "I don't think so. Listen to his tone—there's no manic edge, no paranoia. He sounds... resigned." She rewinds slightly. "And look at his hands."
Blaze leans closer, squinting at the screen. The doctor's hands are shaking—not with fear, but with a slight, precise tremor. "Tremors," he mutters. "Like he's working a delicate instrument."

She nods slowly. "Or like someone under intense, sustained pressure." She pauses the video. "We need to know what they found in that dimension. What changed when she came back."

Blaze exhales heavily. "Since when?" he asks, growing upset. "Another mission alteration... and what if we just don't?"

Kira sighs. "If we refuse and return to Earth, our employers will fire on us." She turns away from the console, arms crossing as she paces a few steps. "They already know about the Event Horizon. They'll send someone else. And when they do, they won't be as careful as we're trying to be."

He watches her move, his jaw tightening. "So we keep going, knowing the ship's alive. Knowing it's watching us. Maybe even talking to us."
Kira stops mid-stride, glancing at him sharply. "You think it's trying to talk to us?"

He shrugs, but the movement is stiff. "I don't know. But you heard what he said. 'She' came back changed. Maybe she's trying to communicate."

Kira chuckles. "The ship isn't alive. It's just a ship," she tells him.
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Blaze exhales, shaking his head. "Then explain what I saw in that tunnel. Explain why I heard a voice that wasn't there."
Kira presses her lips together, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "I can't. Not yet." She moves to the viewport again, staring out at the Event Horizon. "But I will." She turns back to him. "We keep investigating. We keep taking it apart piece by piece. And eventually, we'll understand what happened here."
Blaze rubs at the bandage on his head, grimacing slightly. "And if we don't like what we find?"
Kira meets his gaze, her own eyes hardening. "Then we shut it down."
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An hour later on the Event Horizon's bridge, Kira looks over data from energy readings. "That's weird," she says as the captain walks by, cursing. Readings on the bridge spike slightly around the captain. "That's not unexpected, as humans have a bio-electrical field, but... why is it acting so strange?" she thinks, and then the disturbance vanishes.

The dim glow of the Event Horizon's bridge casts deep shadows as Kira studies the data. She rewinds the sensor logs, tracking the energy fluctuations that surrounded Captain Trevor. The readings don't just pulse—they seem to synchronize with his movements in a way that shouldn't be possible.
"Blaze," she calls, turning to where he stands by the viewport, arms crossed. "Come look at this." He steps over, eyes scanning the scrolling data. "What exactly am I looking at?" he asks, his voice still rough from earlier.

"This." Kira zooms in on a specific section of the readout. "The ship's energy field reacts to him. Specifically, his body's electromagnetic field." She taps the screen. Blaze leans in, his brow furrowing as he watches the wave patterns on the display. "It’s like a mirror," he observes. "Every time he moves, the ship’s background radiation mimics the frequency. But it’s only happening with Trevor."

Kira bites her lip, her fingers dancing across the keys to widen the sensor sweep. "I’m checking the rest of us. You, me, Lina... nothing. Our fields are normal, isolated. But the Captain..." She trails off as a new spike registers. "Blaze, it’s getting stronger. The ship isn't just reacting to him anymore. It’s amplifying him."
"Trevor!" Blaze calls out, his hand instinctively dropping to the holster at his hip.

The Captain stops at the far end of the bridge, his back to them. He doesn't turn immediately. His head is tilted, as if listening to a frequency only he can hear. When he finally rotates, the flickering emergency light overhead syncs perfectly with the blink of his eyes.
"Do you hear that?" Trevor asks. His voice is flat, devoid of its usual authoritative rasp.

"Hear what, Captain?" Kira asks, her voice trembling as she keeps one eye on the rising energy levels on her console. The numbers are climbing into the red, the bio-electrical signature beginning to bleed into the ship's life support grid.

"The humming," Trevor whispers. He looks down at his hands, which are beginning to glow with a faint, static-like haze. "It’s not coming from the engines. It’s coming from the walls. They’re... they’re singing."

Suddenly, the bridge temperature plummets. Frost begins to bloom across the glass of her holographic displays. Kira’s breath mists in front of her face.

"Captain, step away from the command console," Blaze commands, stepping forward. "Lina! Get up here! Something’s wrong with Trevor!"
But the comms only emit a high-pitched, rhythmic screech—the same heartbeat sound Blaze had heard in the crawlspace.

Trevor’s eyes go wide, the pupils dilating until the blue of his irises vanishes entirely. "The gateway didn't close, Kira," he says, staring right through her. "It just waited for a key. And we brought a whole ring of them."

A violent tremor throws Blaze against a bulkhead. The metal floor beneath Trevor begins to ripple like liquid. Kira screams as the laminated ultrasound she had tucked into her bag suddenly flies out, pinned against the airlock door by an unseen force. It begins to char, the edges curling as if held over a flame, though the air is freezing.
"Shut it down!" Blaze yells, struggling to find his footing. "Kira, kill the auxiliary power!"

"I can't!" she yells back, her fingers slipping on the frost-covered keys. "The ship has locked me out! It’s drawing power directly from the Horizon Seeker through the umbilical!"
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The Vision of the Void
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The lights on the bridge blow out in a spray of sparks, plunging them into a darkness so thick it feels visceral. In the center of the room, a point of light begins to bleed open—not a spark, but a tear in the fabric of the air itself.
Through the tear, Kira doesn't see stars. She sees a landscape of shifting, organic metal and a sky the color of a fresh bruise. For a split second, she sees a figure standing on the other side. It’s small. It’s wearing a child’s gown.
"Mommy?" a voice whispers, echoing not from the tear, but from the ship’s speakers.
Kira freezes, her heart shattering. "Skylar?"
"Don't look at it!" Blaze lunges for her, tackling her away from the glowing rift. "Kira, it’s not her! It’s the ship!"

As they hit the floor, the tear snaps shut with a sound like a thunderclap, throwing the bridge into a deathly, ringing silence. The emergency lights flicker back to a dim, sickly red.
Trevor is gone. In his place, scorched into the metal floor where he stood, is a blackened silhouette—not of a man, but of something with too many limbs.

Blaze pushes himself up, his face pale, blood trickling from under his bandage. He looks at the empty bridge, then at Kira, who is staring at the spot where the rift appeared, her eyes wet with tears. "We aren't bringing this ship back," Blaze says, his voice low and dangerous. "We’re going to find the others, and then we’re going to burn this thing to the ground."
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Back on the Horizon Seeker, the atmosphere has shifted from professional tension to pure dread. The umbilical tether connecting the two ships hums with a vibration that rattles the teeth of everyone on board.

In the secondary engineering bay housing the tether connection, Dan is working frantically. The lights above him are strobing in a jagged, uneven rhythm. "Lina, do you copy?" he asks into his radio, but only a low, rhythmic thumping—like a heavy tail hitting a hollow floor—comes back through the speaker.

Dan wipes sweat from his brow, his heart hammering against his ribs. Every time his pulse quickens, the consoles around him hiss with static. He begins to back away toward the exit, his breathing coming in jagged gasps. The ship is feeding on him. He can feel it—a cold, hungry pull at the edges of his consciousness.

As he approaches the heavy hydraulic doors leading to the main corridor, the sensors go haywire. The door’s mechanical parts don't just slide; they grind and shriek, moving with a frantic energy that defies their programming. The metal seems to pulse, the seams glowing with a faint, bruised reddish-purple light that syncs with Dan's frantic heartbeat.

"No, no, no..." Dan whimpers, his eyes darting to the shadows pooling in the corners of the room.
His fear spikes, a cold wave of terror washing over him as he realizes the door won't open—it's waiting. At that peak of adrenaline, the ship reacts. The primary overhead lights don't just flicker; they detonate. Glass rains down in the dark as the bulbs explode in a sequence, following the line of his fear toward the door.

For a heartbeat, there is total, suffocating darkness. Then, the red emergency lights kick in with a sickly, rhythmic pulse. In the strobing crimson glow, Dan sees it. Standing between him and the door is a mass of shadow and gore—a multi-limbed creature that looks like it was stitched together from the memories of a nightmare. It has too many joints, its limbs twitching in ways that defy human anatomy.

Dan falls back, scrambling on the floor. "Please!"
The creature doesn't make a sound. It moves with a terrifying, fluid grace, its many hands reaching out—a moving yet empty copy of life. As the red light flashes once more, the creature lunges. When the light pulses again, the space where Dan had been is empty, save for a single smear of blood on the deck and the ultrasound of a child he never even knew.

Kira watches the monitor as the Horizon Seeker’s life sign monitor drops by one. "Dan is gone," she whispers, her voice hollow. Blaze looks at the blackened silhouette on the floor where Trevor once stood. "It’s not just draining the power anymore, Kira. It’s harvesting us."

The ship groans, a deep, metallic sound that vibrates through the soles of their boots. It sounds almost like a sigh of satisfaction. "We have to get back to the shuttle," Blaze says, grabbing Kira’s arm. "If we don't sever the connection now, the Seeker won't have enough juice to jump away. We'll be stranded here with... whatever that thing is."

Kira looks at the console, where the energy readings are now off the charts. The ship’s bio-electrical field is no longer just mimicking them—it’s overriding them. "The core is reaching critical mass." she says, her eyes wide. "But it's not an explosion. It's an opening."
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Kira’s breath hitches as she recalibrates the science station, her fingers shaking as they skip over the holographic interface. "Blaze, look at the wave propagation," she whispers. She bypasses the standard electromagnetic filters, shifting the sensor array into a sub-quantum frequency.
The display erupts into a chaotic lattice of light. It isn't radiation or heat; it’s a strange energy that flows like radio waves but ignores every physical barrier of the ship. "It’s passing through much of the hull, the bulkheads... almost everything," Kira explains, her eyes tracking the shifting patterns. "But look at the interference. When the waves hit high-density areas—the engines, the main structural beams—they create constructive and destructive interference. The ship’s physical mass is actually shaping the energy, like a lens. It’s not just inside the ship, Blaze. The ship is a wave of energy we just see as atoms of stuff; everything is."

She pans the sensor feed toward the medical bay on the Horizon Seeker, looking for Lina. The screen flickers, revealing a dense, writhing concentration of these condensed waves. It looks like a massive, translucent snake, coiling and uncoiling with a terrifying, rhythmic precision.
"Lina! Get out of there!" Kira screams into the comms, but there is no reply.

On the monitor, the snake-like mass surges forward. It doesn't strike Lina physically; it flows into her. As the dense energy wraps around her, Lina’s body begins to lose its solid form. In the infrared feed, her thermal signature starts to blur and smear, melting into the chaotic yet somehow ordered patterns of the surrounding energy.
"She’s... she’s warping into somewhere," Kira stammers, her eyes glued to the screen.
Lina lets out a sound that is half-scream, half-static before her entire form dissolves into a flurry of sine waves. For a split second, her silhouette remains—a perfect, golden ratio of interference patterns—and then she vanishes entirely, absorbed into the ship’s shimmering architecture. The energy pulse settles back into a low, vibrating hum, leaving the medical bay empty.

Blaze slams his fist against the console. "It’s not just killing us. It’s converting us."
Kira looks down at the display, where the energy waves are now beginning to pulse in time with her own accelerated heartbeat. The strange energy is reaching out again, searching for the next high-density source of fear to anchor itself to.
"We have to go," Kira says, her voice turning cold with survival instinct. "If that energy activates the warp core while we're still tethered, we won't just die. We'll become part of the circuit."

Just then, in the displays, the bridge of the Event Horizon appears as the captain's seat rotates to face the front. Doctor Weir's shirtless, eyeless form sits there, his skin undamaged. He looks down at the core controls. "Nobody can leave... nothing is as beautiful as this ship..." He pauses, chuckling as a gash appears across his face, then more... He smirks as his eyes melt from the sockets. "And it's almost time to go... back home... See you soon, Kira."

He tilts his head, smiling softly as if in a park, satisfied. "And thank you so much. For bringing my other two warp drives. Thought it'd be hard to get them both onto one ship. Minds just needed a slight push..." He smiles, flickering in and out in the chair, then the console explodes.
She gasps, jerking away as shards of metal hit her but don't cause much damage.

Blaze grabs her by the arm, pulling her toward the emergency blast doors. "We have less than a minute before the core breaches!"

The corridor beyond the bridge is dark, lit only by the pulsing emergency lights. Their boots clank against the metal floor, the sound echoing through the abandoned ship like a death knell. The walls seem to ripple in the crimson glow, bending reality itself.

"The umbilical," Kira pants as they run. "If we can cut it, the Seeker can still jump to safety!"
"Almost there!" Blaze calls back as he guides her through the maze of the ship. Suddenly, the corridor ahead of them shudders. The metal groans in protest as something—something large—moves beyond the next bulkhead. A sound like dripping oil slaps against the floor.

They skid to a halt, backs pressed against opposite walls. Kira's heart hammers in her throat as she raises her phaser. Blaze reaches for his sidearm, both knowing that whatever is ahead is far beyond the capabilities of their weapons.
The bulkhead ahead ripples like heated air. The metal stretches unnaturally, forming a jagged slit that widens into a vertical tear in reality. From it steps—if that's the right word—a thing of impossible angles and shifting forms, shimmering into a blob-like form that bleeds into the air.

Then it shifts again, a pattern like seeing sounds as they play and shift within the mass, the forms alternating slowly. As it steps forward, its many limbs—too many limbs—extend and retract in impossible ways, the light bending around it. Its mass is both solid and liquid, dense and insubstantial. In its center, where a face should be, is a single, black eye socket—empty, yet seeing.
"Please," Kira whispers, though she's not sure why she's begging. It's not like the creature is listening with ears.

The thing tilts its head, the motion causing the air around it to ripple. It emits a sound—neither voice nor vibration, but a distortion of both that slithers through the ship's metal and into their bones. It is a sound that carries the memory of screams. Kira's breath comes in short, panicked bursts. Her fingers tighten around the phaser, though she knows deep down it won't do anything. "It's not a monster," she says, almost to herself. "It's just... the ship. The ship trying to be something else."

Blaze keeps his gun trained on the thing, but his arms shake. "It doesn't matter what it is. It's not letting us leave." He speaks in a low growl, his words tight with scarcely contained fear.
The creature—if it can even be called that—doesn't attack. It simply stands there, watching them with that single, endless eye. Then, something shifts in the air. Suddenly the air shimmers, energy pricking at their skin.
Blaze pushes Kira out of the distilled area's reach and there's a thunderclap, a brilliant flash, then the creature and Blaze are gone. The silent, ozone-scented corridor is dark and cold, the feeling of being watched burning into her. She gasps, trying to catch her breath, hugging herself tightly. The silence is deafening. Kira turns in a slow circle, her boots scraping against the floor as she searches the corridor for any sign of Blaze. But there is only the faint hum of the failing ship's systems and the distant drip of cooling water from ruptured pipes.
"Blaze?" she calls out, her voice cracking with emotion. She swallows hard, forcing herself to take a steadying breath. "Blaze!" Her voice is sharper this time, though it still wavers.

A sound—soft, almost imperceptible—draws her attention. It's coming from the bulkhead to her right. She turns slowly, phaser raised but fingers unsteady. The metal groans. The wall of the ship presses out toward her in the shape of a face as red electrical energy dances on the surface. Then it returns to normal.
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Blaze feels himself being pulled violently as the distortion in reality drags him to the other side with the creature. He lands hard on the Event Horizon's bridge, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. He scrambles backward, pressing himself against the cold metal of the bridge railing. The creature stands before him, its shifting mass now more still, more solid. It no longer moves with the liquid grace of before; now it is something more purposeful.
The black eye socket turns toward him, the single hole seeming to drink in everything about him at once. He can feel it—this thing isn't just looking at him; it's consuming him. It's mapping every inch of his being, every fear, every weakness.
"You're scared," it says, not with words but with a sound that exists somewhere between thought and speech.
Looking around, Blaze sees they are on the Event Horizon, with the Horizon Seeker drifting nearby. "Wh... what happened to... everything?" he asks, looking out into what should be darkened space. A red and grotesque light fills the void as energy similar to the creature's form shimmers and morphs in the distance. Some moves in waves of ribbons that shimmer with the black of space and stars, while others lay like rippling sheets.
He tears his eyes away... the energy upon looking seems to transfer images and screams of billions... He shakes his head as he sees Doctor Weir, his skin pulled tight as fleshy wires hold him tightly...
The creature speaks again. "Beautiful, isn't it? The space behind reality."
Blaze doesn't answer. He can't. His throat feels like it's closing up. The creature tilts its head, the motion causing the air around it to ripple. "She's coming," it says. "The last one."
Blaze swallows hard. "Kira? You mean Kira's coming here?"
"She will. Soon." The creature pauses, as if savoring the moment. "She's resisting. But the ship... the ship understands her."
Blaze pushes himself up, gripping the railing behind him. "I don't care what you are or what you want. I'm not letting you take her."
The creature chuckles. "Why fight it... all things come here eventually. It's logical to give in. Besides, it's beautiful."
Blaze shakes his head. "What kind of logic is that?"
The monstrosity shudders, laughing. "I can't tell you that; I'm just made to be helpful."
Blaze pauses, thinking. "You believe that?"
It tilts what looks like its head. "I don't hold any beliefs. I deal in facts and concepts."
Blaze sighs. "What is this place and how did you get here?"
The creature pauses, the empty socket of its face seeming to bore deeper into Blaze's mind. "It is the space between spaces. The river that flows beneath reality. The thing that was here first."
Blaze swallows hard. "And how did you get here?"
"I was... brought. Dragged into it. Just like you."
Blaze's jaw tightens. "By who?"
The creature's form ripples, shifting slightly. "Not by who. By what. The ship. The Event Horizon."
Blaze exhales sharply. "So you were... what? Crew? A person who got stuck here?"
The creature shudders again as a wave of denial washes over him. "No... I am God."
Blaze chuckles. "No," he says.
The creature tilts its head, the movement making the air around it distort and warp. "You resist. But you know. You've seen what I am. What the ship is. The patterns, the geometries... the infinite possibilities."
Blaze grits his teeth. "Yeah, and it's fucking terrifying."
The creature lets out a sound that might be amusement. "Terror is just recognition. You understand what I am, even if you don't like it. The ship understands too. That's why it's bringing her here."
Blaze moves forward, his knuckles white on the railing. "Why? Why Kira? Why not just kill us all and be done with it?"
"Because she completes the pattern."
A realization hits him. "Kira can help sync the 3 warp drives and get to Earth!" he thinks to himself.

The creature laughs... "Indeed she can... oh, don't be so shocked, young one; your thoughts are everywhere. In this realm, there is no separation... only ordered chaos."
Blaze takes a nervous step back. The creature moves closer, its mass shifting like liquid mercury as it flows toward him. "You wonder why you aren't like me yet. Why you're still... whole." It speaks with a haunting lilt. Blaze doesn't answer, but his fingers dig into his palms. "You will be. Soon enough."
It pauses, then continues, "But first, you must see. Truly see what's happening."

The air around them warps, bending reality itself. Colors that shouldn't exist bleed into the space, impossible geometries forming in the void. Blaze staggers as the world dissolves around him, only to reform into something else. Looking around, he sees they are above the two ships, their grime and gore-covered forms floating in a roiling sea of fleshy, shimmering bubbles and towers of material stretching between planets, moving with their orbits in the system.

The creature seems proud as it turns to him. "All is in decay and rot. All must join the space between... you and your crew will help me, you have no choice."
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Back on the Event Horizon, Kira drops to her knees, realizing she is completely alone. The sickening presence all around clinches her stomach into knots. She clenches her fists against the cold metal floor, forcing herself to breathe. The ship groans again, this time the sound carrying something more deliberate—something purposeful. The walls pulse, the red emergency lights flickering in rhythm with the ship's energy field.

"Blaze," she whispers. Her voice sounds small, swallowed by the vast emptiness of the corridor. She looks up at the ceiling, where thin cracks spiderweb across the metal. They aren't just cracks—they're lines of energy bleeding through. The ship's surface is no longer just a barrier; it's becoming something else entirely.

Kira pushes herself up, weapon still clutched in her trembling hand as she moves towards the docking craft. The ship hums as she advances, the sound vibrating through her bones. She feels the floor shift slightly beneath her, the metal contracting and expanding in slow, deliberate pulses. It's like the ship is breathing.
"You're awake," she murmurs, though she isn't sure if she's addressing the ship or something else entirely. "You've always been awake, haven't you?"

The corridor ahead of her splits, the metal separating like a wound opening. A narrow tunnel emerges, its walls glowing with a sickly, pulsing light. The air inside is thick with the smell of ozone and something older, something ancient. It reminds her of the moment before lightning strikes.

Hesitating as the rip in the air reveals a glowing mass and a darker-than-dark void of a black hole, devouring chaotic energy in another level of reality... the flesh-like, shimmering sheets and pillars eaten away by the hole.

The portal bursts as it closes and she sprints forward. The tunnel narrows as she moves forward, the walls closing in slightly with every step. She has to duck her head to keep from scraping it against the ceiling. The ship is guiding her now—she can feel it.

She comes to a sudden stop as the tunnel opens into a small room. The space is unfamiliar, yet it feels deeply wrong. It's not part of the ship's original architecture. The walls are curved, glowing with that same pulsing energy as the tunnel. At the center of the room stands what looks like a chair—if chairs could be organic, pulsing, and wrong in every possible way. And seated in it is Blaze, unmoving...


Kira rushes forward and his image flickers away as the room shifts. She gasps, a long drop appearing as she is high above the warp core. The massive central chamber stretches below her, the warp core suspended in the center like a grotesque heart. Its surface writhes with sickly energy, tendrils of blue-black light reaching up toward her. She stumbles back as the ground beneath her feet—no longer solid metal but a shifting membrane—shudders and suddenly she's falling.

The plunge is short, the membrane beneath her giving way as she lands heavily on the core's platform. Pain shoots through her, but she breathlessly pushes herself up, eyes darting around.

The space is alien, the metal walls twisted into impossible geometries. The warp core pulses before her, its surface covered in writhing tendrils that seem almost aware. She backs away, heart pounding as the ship's voice—distorted, layered—fills the chamber.

"I have been waiting for you," it says, speaking from everywhere at once. The words slither into her mind, bypassing her ears entirely.
Kira swallows hard. "Blaze. Where is he?"
The core pulses again, and for a brief moment, its surface smoothes into a projection of Blaze's face. His eyes are open, but they're wrong—too large, too dark, too deep. He blinks slowly, deliberately.

"I'm here," he says, but the words don't come from the projection. They come from the walls, the floor, the very air itself. "I'm everywhere now."
Kira shakes her head. "No. No, you're not. You're still Blaze. You're still you."
The projection twitches, a smile forming that doesn't reach his eyes. "You're sweet to say so, Kira. But it's not that simple. I'm... becoming."

The core pulses again, and the projection flickers. Behind it, the tendrils of the warp field writhe faster, more urgently. Kira moves closer, gun still clutched in her hand. She's not sure why she still holds it. The phaser wouldn't do anything against this—against whatever the ship has become.
"You're scared," Blaze's voice murmurs through the chamber.

It's him. And yet, it isn't.
Kira exhales sharply, struggling to keep her composure. "Of course I'm scared. You're—you're changing. You're disappearing." She speaks with emotion. "I need you to fight it."

The projection tilts its head. An evocative but empty whisper enters her mind. "Fight it? Everything fades to this place; even the black holes feed here. Strands of decay everywhere."
She shakes her head. "No. You don't understand. I—" Her words catch in her throat, but she forces them out. "I need you here. Not there. Not whatever that is."

There's a pause. The core dims slightly, the tendrils coiling inward as if listening. Then, softly, "Why?"

Kira clenches her jaw. "Because I don't want to lose you. Because I—" She stops, taking a breath. "Because I love you."

The words hang in the air, heavy and fragile all at once. The projection blinks again, and this time, when it speaks, it's quieter, almost human. "Kira."
"I know... but you should be here in the space between... with us." He speaks with emotion. "I don't know how to be here and there at the same time. It hurts." The core pulses, a low hum vibrating through her body.

Kira steps closer, ignoring the way the platform shifts beneath her feet. "Then come back. All the way back. I can help you." She reaches out, her fingers hovering just above the projection's face.

The projection flickers again, reforming into something clearer—his face, his features, recognizable once more. But his eyes are still wrong, too large, too dark, seeing things she can't. "You can't help me escape this. You're already here too."

She shakes her head. "No!" She shakes her head then throws the energy weapon into the core.
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The face grows angry as there's a flash and a pulse of energy disrupting the core. The projection vanishes as electrical discharges dance around. Then a burst of space-warping energy knocks her off her feet into a wall, and she blacks out.

When she regains consciousness, her head is pounding, her vision swimming. The space around her has changed. She's no longer in the core chamber. She's in what looks like a corridor, but the walls are wrong—twisted, glowing with that same sickly energy.

The air feels heavy, thick, pressing against her skin. She pushes herself up, blinking to clear her vision. A few meters ahead, the corridor ends in a circular chamber. From the edges of the doorway, a dark figure emerges—Blaze.

He stands tall, but his posture is strange, unnatural. His arms hang loose at his sides, fingers twitching slightly. She gasps as tears fall down her face. "Blaze?" Her voice is soft, uncertain.

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he tilts his head, listening to something she can't hear. Then he looks at her—really looks at her—and she shudders. His eyes are still wrong, still too large, too dark, but there's something else in them now. A struggle. A war. "I heard you," he finally says. His voice is deeper than she remembers, layered somehow.

Kira wipes at her face, swallowing hard. "What do you mean?"
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In the space between, Blaze strikes out at the mass trying to absorb him. Pulling himself free, he falls back onto the hull of the Event Horizon. "You're no god... I've seen what you are, you're just a machine given strange energy." He says, jumping away from it.

The creature's form shifts violently, the black eye socket flaring with something like rage. The space around it ripples like a heat mirage, warping the very air. "MACHINE?" it shrieks, the sound cracking reality itself. "YOU DARE?"

The space where it stands tears open, a vertical fissure slicing through metal and air, revealing nothing but an endless void beyond. Blaze stumbles back, the deck plating beneath him melting where the fissure's edge brushes it. "Yeah, that's right! You think you're some god, but you're just a thing the ship made! An echo of its own broken programing!"

He looks toward the distant black hole as it devours the chaotic energy around it... "If you're God, then what's in that thing?" he asks. The creature's form trembles violently, the fissure in space growing wider. "SILENCE! YOU KNOW NOTHING OF WHAT IT IS! NOTHING OF WHAT THE SHIP HAS BECOME!"

Blaze's voice rises, desperate and defiant. "I know enough! I know you're afraid of it! That's why you're here—you're running from it!" He takes a step forward, eyes locked onto the writhing mass. "What is it, huh? What's in there that scares even you?"

The creature lets out a sound like metal being twisted apart. "NOTHING!"

Blaze sighs, giving a short prayer, then dashes towards the edge and jumps. The creature lunges, but is to late as he's already falling, the gravitational pull of the black hole yanking him downward. "Fool!" the creature howls. "It will consume you! It will take everything!"

Below, the black hole churns, its surface like black liquid glass, devouring the very fabric of space-time. The temperature rises quickly, then seems to fade as he nears the hole. Waves of chaotic energy flow around and through him... the creature glares at him as the event horizon is reached.

The view shifts instantly to an extreme fisheye effect as the medium grows cold, then turns to a feeling of unimaginable nothing... the circle of red grows smaller as he descends further toward the singularity...

His body contorts in ways it shouldn't as the black hole's gravity pulls him deeper. His skin feels like it's peeling away, blood boiling then freezing. The creature's shriek echoes distantly as he falls, the sound warping into something inhuman. His vision fractures, showing glimpses of impossible geometries—worlds being born and dying in an instant, stars collapsing into themselves, the birth of entire galaxies compressed into a single moment.

Then—nothing. Silence so absolute it feels physical, pressing against his skull like a vice. The cold intensifies, turning to burning, then both at once.
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Aboard the docking vessel, Kira freezes as the ship shudders violently. Quickly uncoupling, she pulls away from the cursed ship of horrors. Struggling to breathe, she puts a shaking hand to her lips, sobbing gasps escaping her throat. The ship's hull groans as something shifts deep within its structure. A high-pitched whine cuts through the air, like metal being scraped against metal, but wrong—off-key, discordant. Kira clutches the controls of the docking vessel, her knuckles white with tension. The ship's emergency lights pulse faster now, their crimson glow casting everything in a bloody sheen. She can feel the Event Horizon calling to her, its pull like gravity in her chest.

A short time later, she docks with the Horizon Seeker as another reality-bending wave passes by. She steps onto the Seeker's deck, legs unsteady. The ship feels foreign now—small, cramped, too solid. She moves to the pilot's chair, fingers brushing over the controls without really seeing them. The air inside the Seeker is stale, stifling after the strange atmosphere of the Event Horizon.

Then—something shifts in her mind. A presence, faint but unmistakable. Not the ship this time, not that writhing mass of energy and intent—but Blaze. His awareness presses against the edges of her consciousness, fragmented, distant. She gasps, gripping the armrests of the chair.
"Blaze?" she whispers aloud. The name hangs in the air, fragile and hopeful.
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The ship hums around her, but there's no immediate answer. Kira closes her eyes, focusing inward, pushing past the throbbing in her head, the ache in her body. She reaches for him—not with her hands, but with something deeper, older than words.

She finds him.

He's there, like a thread of awareness stretched thin across impossible distances. He's aware of her. Awareness ripples between them, almost like speaking.

You're alive. His words echo in her mind, distorted but recognizable.

Kira exhales shakily. Yes. Alive. The Seeker is docked. I'm waiting.

A pause. So am I. Not the same kind of waiting you are. Kira's hands tighten into fists. "Where are you?" she asks aloud, even though she knows the question is pointless. There is no 'where' in the space between realities.

I don't know. There's a pause, a shift in his awareness. I'm... different now.

She swallows hard. "I know. I can feel it."

The presence brushes against her again, this time softer, more tentative. It's not uncomfortable, exactly, but foreign. Like trying to recognize a familiar face with the wrong number of eyes.

Kira breathes through the discomfort. "Are you... okay?" The presence shifts, ripples. Not sure what okay means here.

Kira's eyes burn with tears she refuses to shed. "You were just you, Blaze. That's what okay means."

Another pause. I remember. His awareness curls around her, not touching, but near. His next words come softer. I remember you.

Kira nods, though he can't see it. "Good. That's good." She wipes at her face with the back of her hand. "Come back. Please."

A strange sound fills her mind—not quite a sigh, not quite a sound at all. I don't think I can. Not all the way.

Her heart stutters. "Why not?"

Because this place...
But, I can help you from here. His awareness presses closer, and she feels something like comfort in the vast nothing. The ship groans again, and she glances toward the corridor that leads to the docking port. The Event Horizon looms beyond the reinforced hatch, its presence a pressure against her skin. She turns back to the controls, fingers hovering over the ignition sequence.

"I'm going to sever the umbilical," she says, speaking aloud more for herself than for him.

I know.

She swallows hard. "I need to make sure it doesn't follow me." The presence shifts, tense. Kira— It's dangerous to stay too close to that thing. The ship is unstable. The black hole is— Kira nods. "I know. But the only way to disconnect the tether... " she says.

Blazes presence grows anxious. "I... I can't get to close to that blackhole. It knows more about the energies than me. I might not be able to reach you if you get to close." He says. Kira presses her face into her hands for a moment, breathing deeply. When she lifts her head, her face is wet with tears, but her expression is set. "I have to try."

You don't have to.

"I do." She wipes her face with her sleeve. "For both of us." She pauses. "For us."

A ripple of something—sadness? gratitude?—passes through the connection between them. Kira, I— Another reality wave slams into the Seeker, making the ship shudder violently. Warning klaxons blare, and the reinforced hatch groans as it bears the Event Horizon's power. Kira clings to the armrests of her chair, teeth gritted.

She pulls out her holographic energy scan monitor. The Horizon Seeker's two black hole cores surrounded by a dense positive field of energy, counter to the Event Horizon's singular hole.

Tho the Seeker's energy is less organized and more alive, as the other is more mechanical and precise. As she moves theres a pocket of dense positive energy following beside her. The air, warm in its presence... each step however weakening the construct. Kira stares at the display, watching the energy patterns shift.

The Event Horizon's core field pulses faster now, like a heartbeat gone erratic. The umbilical tether connecting the two ships wavers, its stability cracking at the edges.

"You're still here," she murmurs, not sure if she means Blaze or the ship itself.

Yes. I'm still here.

She hesitates, hand hovering over the controls. "I'm going to cut the tether. It's the only way." Her voice wavers. "I know what you're going to say."

I don't think you do.

Kira blinks, surprised by his response. Just then a warp distortion passes by knocking her to the floor, the wind knivk med out of her. The Event Horizon's energy in the hologram overwhelming Blaze's and pushing it back across the ship.

Just then two voices speak. "Dont take me keys to transporting earth here with us." One says.

The other. "This is temporary but. You need the umbilical... if you hope to save Blaze and he has to make it to the warp core of the Event Horizon. But the only control point that will work is on the other ship. You cant increase core power from here." It says then is gone. The hologram flickers, the Event Horizon's field surging forward. Kira scrambles back to her feet, breath coming fast. "Blaze?"

I'm still here. His awareness brushes against her, more solid now. The ship's field is getting stronger.

She nods, wiping sweat from her brow. "I know. That's why I have to go now." She moves to the controls, fingers hovering over the umbilical severance protocol. It's dangerous. The ship's field will try to keep you.

"I know." She swallows hard. "But I need to get to the core."

A pause. Why?

Kira doesn't answer right away. She runs for the docking craft unsure of was coming next.

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As Blaze watches Kira's craft dock minutes later, he hears a voice. "You need to go through the other ship's core. But it won't be easy..." it tells him.

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The Event Horizon looms before her, its hull rippling with waves of energy that distort the space around it. She grips the docking craft's controls tighter, feeling the pull of the ship's gravity even at this distance. The umbilical connecting the two vessels pulses like a living thing, carrying power in both directions. She can feel it in her teeth, in her bones.