LAST TRANSMISSION

LAST TRANSMISSION

If anyone hears this… I’m still alive. For now.

---

Woke up to a ship that feels dead.

Alarms frozen, lights shaking like they’re scared.

Hull’s cracked somewhere behind engineering.

Everyone else? Gone or worse.

Last thing I remember was shadows crawling the ceiling,

captain yelling to cut the power,

then darkness swallowing the whole crew.

Now it’s just me

and whatever keeps moving in the vents,

pretending I don’t notice.

---

If you find this transmission,

don’t come for me.

This ship is a tomb drifting through nothing.

I’m just the leftover voice

calling into the dark,

hoping nothing answers.

---

Oxygen’s dropping fast.

Mask said thirty minutes an hour ago.

Gravity flickers—

sometimes it floats me, sometimes it slams me.

Comms spit out static mixed with whispers

that don’t sound human

and don’t sound alien either—

just wrong.

Whatever’s here…

it might already be inside the hull.

---

If you find this transmission,

don’t come for me.

Something killed this ship.

I’m only the echo left behind,

talking into the void,

hoping nothing talks back.

---

I saw it.

Or something shaped like not-being-there.

A shadow that forgot its own outline.

No eyes, no face—

just presence.

It moved like it already knew me.

I ran until the hallways bent

and the alarms died.

Now I feel it watching through the ducts.

Every breath I take,

it takes one with me.

---

I’m by the final bulkhead.

Window’s cracking like ice under footsteps.

It’s coming.

Slow.

Certain.

Like this is the ending the ship chose.

I’m broadcasting on every channel—

even after telling you not to come—

because I’m terrified,

and I don’t want to die alone.

---

If you find this transmission…

don’t board this ship.

I’m fading with the static,

slipping into the dark,

hoping it forgets my name.

---

…The windows breaking.

If anyone—

—transmission lost—