Chapter 5: Feels Like a Trap

The mess hall was eerily still, a stark contrast to the chaos the team had encountered elsewhere. Long rows of overturned tables stretched into the shadows, their surfaces littered with abandoned trays and broken utensils. The faint smell of stale food lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of decay. The emergency lights flickered intermittently, casting the space in uneven, ghostly illumination.

Sirius Capella stood just inside the entrance, his weapon lowered but ready. His eyes scanned the room for any sign of movement, his ears straining for the faintest sound. Behind him, Maya Ramirez adjusted her grip on her rifle, her expression wary.

“This place is too quiet,” she muttered, her voice low. “Feels like a trap.”

Akira Tanaka moved cautiously to one of the overturned tables, his scanner emitting soft beeps as it collected environmental data. “No signs of movement,” he said, though his tone lacked conviction. “But the air here—it’s different. Stale, but… warmer.”

“Something was here recently,” Sirius said. He gestured toward the far end of the room, where a service counter stretched along the wall. The steel shutters that once secured it were bent and twisted, as though something had forced its way inside. “Keep your guard up.”

The team advanced slowly, their footsteps muffled by the debris-strewn floor. Tino, the team’s AI companion, moved with mechanical precision, scanning the area for threats. Its synthetic voice broke the silence. “Residual heat signatures detected. Multiple sources. Probability of non-hostile survivors: low.”

“Low is better than zero,” Maya said grimly. “But let’s not assume anything.”

As they approached the service counter, a faint sound caught their attention—a muffled thud, followed by a series of faint clicks. Maya froze, raising her rifle. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, his voice steady. He motioned for the team to spread out. “Tino, take point. Akira, stay back.”

Tino moved forward, its optics glowing faintly as it scanned the counter. The clicks grew louder, more erratic, as if whatever was behind the shutters was agitated. Then, without warning, a figure emerged from the shadows behind the counter. It was human, disheveled and wide-eyed, clutching a metal pipe.

“Stay back!” the man shouted, his voice hoarse and trembling. He swung the pipe wildly, his movements erratic. “Don’t come any closer!”

Sirius raised a hand in a calming gesture, stepping forward slowly. “We’re not here to hurt you,” he said, his tone firm but nonthreatening. “We’re survivors, like you.”

The man hesitated, his grip on the pipe tightening. His eyes darted between the team members, then to Tino, his expression a mix of fear and confusion. “You—you're not one of them?”

“No,” Sirius said. “We’re from the Odyssey. We came to investigate the distress calls. Who are you?”

The man lowered the pipe slightly, though his posture remained tense. “Dr. Alden Mercer,” he said. “I—I work here. Or… worked here. I don’t know anymore.”

“Dr. Mercer,” Akira said, stepping forward cautiously. “You’re alive. That’s a good sign.”

Mercer let out a bitter laugh, his shoulders slumping. “Alive. Barely. Do you have any idea what’s happened here? What they’ve done?”

“We’re starting to piece it together,” Sirius said. “But we need more information. What can you tell us?”

Mercer leaned against the counter, his breathing uneven. “The experiments—they were supposed to be contained. Controlled. But something went wrong. The creatures… they adapted faster than we could predict. They breached containment, and then…” He trailed off, his eyes distant.

“And then?” Maya prompted, her tone sharp.

“Chaos,” Mercer said, his voice a whisper. “They overwhelmed the security systems, took out the staff. And those who didn’t die… some of them changed.”

“Changed how?” Akira asked, his brow furrowed.

Mercer hesitated, his gaze flicking to the floor. “The creatures—whatever they are—they’re not just killing. They’re… assimilating. Infecting. Some of the staff turned into… things.”

A heavy silence fell over the team as they absorbed the grim revelation. Maya broke it with a curt question. “How many survivors?”

“Not many,” Mercer admitted. “A few of us holed up in different parts of the center, but we’re scattered. Communication’s down, and moving between sections is suicide.”

“Where’s the nearest group?” Sirius asked.

Mercer hesitated again, then pointed toward a door at the far end of the mess hall. “Through there. Storage rooms. A few others were hiding there when I got cut off.”

Sirius nodded, his decision immediate. “We’ll check it out. Stay here for now.”

“You’re leaving me?” Mercer asked, his voice rising slightly.

“Stay low and stay quiet,” Sirius said. “If we don’t come back, don’t wait for us.”

Maya shot Sirius a look as they moved toward the door. “You really think he’ll still be here when we get back?”

“No,” Sirius admitted. “But he’s more useful alive than dead.”

The storage area was a sprawling labyrinth of shelves and crates, the dim lighting casting long shadows that seemed to move with the flickering bulbs. The air was colder here, and a faint, unpleasant smell lingered—something acrid and chemical.

Maya led the way, her rifle sweeping over the rows of stacked supplies. “If anyone’s in here, they’re not making it easy to find them.”

“They’re probably hiding,” Akira said. “Wouldn’t you?”

A sudden crash from one of the aisles made them all freeze. Sirius held up a hand, signaling for silence. The sound of labored breathing came from nearby, followed by a soft whimper.

“Someone’s here,” Akira whispered.

Sirius moved toward the sound, his footsteps careful and deliberate. As he rounded a corner, his flashlight illuminated a figure huddled against the base of a shelf. It was a woman, her clothes torn and her face pale. She flinched at the light, shielding her face with her hands.

“It’s okay,” Sirius said, lowering his weapon slightly. “We’re here to help.”

The woman hesitated, her eyes darting between Sirius and the others. Slowly, she lowered her hands. “You’re not like them?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“No,” Sirius said. “What’s your name?”

“Anya,” she said. “Anya Patel. I—I thought I was the only one left.”

“You’re not,” Maya said, stepping forward. “But we need to move. This place isn’t safe.”

Anya nodded, though her movements were sluggish. “There were others,” she said. “We got separated. They might still be in the storage area.”

“Then we find them,” Sirius said. He gestured for Tino to scan the area. “Tino, any signs of life?”

Tino’s optics glowed as it processed the request. “Three additional heat signatures detected. Stationary. Approximately seventy meters to the northeast.”

“Let’s move,” Sirius said.

They navigated the maze of crates and shelves, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional creak of metal or the soft hum of their equipment. As they approached the location Tino had identified, the faint sound of voices reached their ears.

“Help,” someone called weakly. “Please…”

Sirius quickened his pace, rounding a corner to find a small group of survivors huddled together. Two men and a woman, their faces gaunt and their eyes hollow. One of the men clutched a makeshift weapon—a broken pipe—but lowered it when he saw Sirius.

“You’re not infected,” the man said, his voice hoarse with relief.

“No,” Sirius replied. “We’re here to get you out.”

The woman began to cry, her sobs muffled by her hands. “We thought no one was coming,” she said. “We thought we were going to die here.”

“You’re not dying here,” Sirius said firmly. “But we need to move. Now.”

As they prepared to leave, a distant sound reached them—a guttural, inhuman growl that echoed through the storage area. The survivors froze, their expressions turning to terror.

“They’ve found us,” one of the men whispered.

Sirius tightened his grip on his weapon. “Not yet. But we need to go. Now.”