Shivers 2

Missing

Blazing through the dark infinite abyss of space, Outpost Zulu Alpha sat perched on the edge of the Galaxy. Its metallic skin, bruised and beaten by cosmic winds, kept safe a fragile cargo: the pioneering men and women, who, following the ancient, relentless itch of human curiosity, had left the warmth of Earth to prepare this cold, dead rock for colonisation.

In the bowels of the station, Captain Blaine Frost turned the weather-worn drone over in his roughened hands, examining it, reading it like a disturbing yarn that only he could translate. Aerial Drone 12, their latest technological toy designed to map out the unforgiving terrain, had mysteriously gone offline along with its eleven siblings. His ice-blue eyes narrowed as he reviewed its silent narrative over and over again, as though hoping the story would change. It didn't.

Tossing the chewed-up hunk of metal onto a table, he looked out at the other four members of his crew: Communications Officer Lila Rogers, the whip-smart scientist Dr. Adrian Powell, fierce Mechanic Jonesy Hanwell, and the young Pilot Eli Hawthorne.

"Pack up," he grumbled, authoritative and distressed, "We're going on a rescue mission."

The terra firma, underneath the purple-grey skies of this uncharted world, was a treacherous maze of craggy mountains and jagged valleys. As the armoured carrier lurched through the desolate terrain, an eerie silence swept over its occupants, save for the rhythmic hum of its engines.

That's when they received the first SOS call from Drone 9, its mechanical voice stuttering in fear. Minutes later, Drone 2 joined the chorus in cacophonic unison. A harrowing dread permeated the air, intoxicating them one by one.

"Let's split up," suggested Blaine as he brought the carrier to a halt. He and Jonesy decided to take a short detour to retrieve Drone 9, while the others made their way towards Drone 2.

Their surroundings grew more alien and hostile. They collected Drone 9 and found it unscathed, its lights blinking in terrified randomness. The relief was short-lived, however. An anguished scream echoed in their radios: it was Lila.

Racing back, they found their carrier abandoned and in disarray. The radios crackled with Lila's terrified voice, heavy with dread, "T-There...subterranean...” Her transmission faded into an ominous stillness.

With eyes wide with fear and hearts pounding, they searched fruitlessly for their companions. Only a deafening silence greeted them. An anxiety-filled night draped itself around them; the sort of night that crept furtively, ravenous and red-eyed.

In the newfound darkness, something stirred, something wicked and grotesque. Slowly, one by one, it claimed them. Rogers' shriek filled their radios, a sound so hollow, so terrified that Frost felt it in every marrow of his bones. Then Jonesy, his gruff voice wafting away into nothingness.

A tumultuous sorrow seized them, and they bolted back to the carrier. The doors sealed shut, creating a steel cocoon that felt flimsy under the sadistic gaze of the night. As the darkness pounded on their metal shields, Dr. Powell murmured, "They can...shape-shift.”

The terror was novel, inexplicable and imminent.

And then it came, hiding under the cloak of their fallen comrade Jonesy. The metamorphosed monstrosity grinned at them, its eyes afire with hellish intensity. "Don’t be scared...I just want to know...what humans taste like...,” it oozed with malicious mirth.

The terrified team huddled closer, the once formidable armoured carrier a mere spectacle of inferior human architecture. The screams that left their strained throats reverberated through the time and space, reminding the stars where the brave pioneers were: on a forgotten outpost, far, far from the warmth of Earth.

Wracked by the beast's monstrous appetite, they gave in to the unforgiving night, leaving behind a monologue of broken signals and beeping drones. As their life found its end in the jaws of the cunning chameleon like predators, haunting desperation echoed across the silent outpost: the colony's new residents promised not soft footprints, but a hunger beyond reason, waiting patiently for the feast to come.