A mysterious illness has swept over the vessel after our excursion. We have named it, "The Thing". It has claimed the lives of Zynmew and Crazub. Borgan has begun breaking out in dots that will not stop itching. Thrakriss has already coughed out his voice emulator and breathing sack. They are on the verge of expiration. I have begun getting cold and experiencing trembling.
Our intact systems have no records of this disease. A cure is not currently at our disposal. Our only hope is to find one. We fear for the worst.
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Harvested
Short StoryNot every monster is who we think they are. This short story challenges what us humans think are monsters. A crew and their captain face inevitable doom from their quest of exploration. This simple science fiction short story shows us that not all m...
