Terryl felt ill, a gnawing in his stomach that had started in the hours following his return from Orion Prime’s surface.
The mission was uneventful, a ride through the red tide mist to the Orion-Beta mine site where the landing party deployed new communications boosters and completed routine software updates on the mining bots.
No one else from the team was reporting anomalies but several days later Terryl sat in sickbay awaiting his fourth assessment; his previous scans had come back normal, but he was certain something was eating away at his insides.
Later that evening and with another battery of negative tests under his belt Terryl tried his best to eschew contact with the crew and although he felt no hunger pangs the Captain insisted he join the others in the mess hall.
The evening had gone better than expected and Terryl had forgotten that feeling in his gut, laughing as each tale became more outrageous than the previous, when suddenly he stood up gasping and clutching at his gut, his skin crawling in the moments before millions of miniature red mist aliens spewed from his abdomen with the force of a volcanic eruption.
As the crew faded through the swarm a sense of dread filled him as he realised they’d be overwhelmed in a matter of minutes; in one last heroic gesture Terryl dragged himself to the nearest comms console and sent out a warning beacon for those who would come looking…
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