Rina’s scarred eye twitched. She had one move left. She killed the engine. Shut down the reactor. Every system went dark. The UMS512 became a cold, dead hulk.
It began as a serial number on a shipping manifest, but to the five people crammed into the rusted hold of the UMS512 , it was a death sentence.
It wasn’t a glowing orb or a swirling maelstrom. It was a hole —a perfect sphere of absolute black, rimmed by a thin, furious ring of blue-shifted light. It looked like an eye. An eye that was watching them.