Extreme SurvivalThe shuttle's ruptured hull creaked in the sulfurous light, surrounded by a graveyard of twitching limbs and cracked chitin. Ten days since the crash. Ten nights of them—clawing at the airlock, prying at the vents, peeling back the plating like scavengers tearing into carrion.
Aoi slumped against the bulkhead, her fingers clenched around an empty injector.
Tsurugi's knife was dull, her pistol a melted hunk of slag. She didn't speak. She didn't need to. The fractures spiderwebbing across the viewport said enough.
Beneath the shuttle's crumpled belly, the earth vibrated—something vast, something hungry, shifting in its sleep.
Aoi slumped against the bulkhead, her fingers clenched around an empty injector.
They're adapting,she breathed.
Last night, they used the dead as ladders.
Tsurugi's knife was dull, her pistol a melted hunk of slag. She didn't speak. She didn't need to. The fractures spiderwebbing across the viewport said enough.
Beneath the shuttle's crumpled belly, the earth vibrated—something vast, something hungry, shifting in its sleep.
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