The hatch groaned open. Not from age—from the pressure difference. My suit lights cut through the dark, revealing corridors that should not exist in this section of the ship. According to the blueprints, this was a storage bay. But the walls pulsed with a slow, organic rhythm, and the floor was warm beneath my boots.
Then I saw the first inspection drone. Or what was left of it. Crushed into a sphere, floating in midair, slowly rotating. Its camera lens was still blinking red. Recording. Preliminary Inspection -RAW- -3D-
“Preliminary inspection of Sector 3D,” I muttered into the recorder. “Raw data feed only. No filters.” The hatch groaned open