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The hatch hissed open, revealing a yawning void of blackness. D’rinn stood at the edge, his suit light cutting a narrow beam into the corridor beyond. Dust motes danced lazily in the beam’s glow, settling like ghostly remnants of centuries gone by. He took a step forward, the sound of his boots muffled against the ancient deck plates. “Seriph, give me a status report,” he muttered, his voice crackling slightly in the comms. The AI’s response was as dry as ever. “The suit is detecting a faint but breathable atmosphere. Oxygen levels are minimal but sufficient for human standards.”

D’rinn paused mid-step and tilted his helmet toward the ceiling. “Minimal, huh? Well, look at that. Fancy a nice lungful of ancient death, Seriph? Maybe I’ll save on oxygen and take off the helmet.” “I recommend against it,” Seriph replied curtly. “The atmosphere could contain contaminants, pathogens, or worse. Statistically, exposure would result in respiratory failure within, ” “Yeah, yeah,” D’rinn interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re such a buzzkill, you know that?” He took another step forward, his suit light swinging across the corridor. The darkness seemed to press in from all sides, heavy and oppressive. Every surface was coated in a thick layer of grime and corrosion. Dust-covered panels lined the walls, their ancient screens cracked or shattered. As he moved further in, he felt it, a faint vibration beneath his boots, subtle but persistent, like the slow heartbeat of something vast and ancient.

“Seriph,” he muttered, his antennae twitching, “you feel that?” “I lack physical sensation, D’rinn,” Seriph replied flatly. “However, I am detecting minor vibrations consistent with residual energy flows. It’s likely the ship’s systems are not fully dormant.” D’rinn smirked. “Not fully dormant, huh? So you’re saying it’s alive? Great. Should I introduce myself now or wait for it to eat me?” “If this vessel is capable of consumption, you’ll likely have no choice,” Seriph said. D’rinn chuckled despite the faint unease creeping into his chest. He swept his light across the walls, revealing deep scorch marks and jagged scratches that looked disturbingly deliberate. “Okay, that’s new,” he muttered, crouching to inspect one of the marks. “Claw-like. Big claws, too. Remind me again how humans wiped themselves out when they had monsters like this hanging around?” “Historical records suggest humans were more proficient at self-destruction than they were at dealing with external threats,” Seriph offered. “Comforting.”

He stood and continued forward, his light catching glimpses of broken human tech scattered along the floor. A rusted, boxy device sat to the side, its wires spilling out like the entrails of a mechanical corpse. D’rinn crouched down and tapped it with a claw. “No power,” he muttered. “Figures. Humans built their stuff to last, but I guess nothing survives thousands of years in a place like this.” “Except you, apparently,” Seriph quipped. D’rinn smirked. “I’m a tough one.” The corridor stretched ahead, eerily quiet save for the occasional creak of metal underfoot. He paused at an intersection, shining his light in both directions. To the left, a collapsed bulkhead blocked the way. To the right, a faint glow caught his attention. “Well, that’s inviting,” he muttered, turning toward the glow.

As he approached, the light grew brighter, emanating from a wall panel partially hidden beneath layers of dust and grime. It was faintly glowing, its surface etched with faded human glyphs. D’rinn stepped closer, brushing away the dust with a claw. “Seriph, tell me this thing isn’t about to explode,” he said, his tone half-serious. “I detect no immediate threat. However, interacting with unknown systems is highly inadvisable. It could trigger defensive mechanisms or compromise structural integrity.” “Yeah, yeah,” D’rinn muttered, his curiosity already overriding the AI’s warnings. “What’s life without a little danger, right?” He tapped a button at random, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then a low mechanical groan reverberated through the corridor, sending a shiver down his spine. The panel flickered to life, its glyphs shifting and rearranging themselves into a barely comprehensible pattern. D’rinn leaned closer, squinting at the screen. “Well, that’s not ominous at all,” he muttered.

The faint glow extended down the corridor, emergency lights flickering on and bathing the area in a dim red hue. The vibrations beneath his feet grew slightly stronger, and the hum of residual energy deepened, almost like a whisper in the back of his mind. “Seriph, I think I just woke something up,” he said, half-joking, half-serious. “Indeed. Congratulations on your continued pattern of ill-advised decisions,” the AI replied. D’rinn straightened, glancing over his shoulder at the corridor behind him. It was empty, but the oppressive silence felt heavier now, as if the ship itself was watching him. “Right,” he muttered, gripping his flashlight tighter. “Let’s keep moving. What’s the worst that could happen?”

The vibrations pulsed again, stronger this time, and for a brief moment, he thought he heard something, a faint metallic scraping, distant but deliberate. D’rinn froze, his hearts hammering in his chest. “Seriph… tell me you heard that.” “I have no auditory capacity,” the AI replied, “but sensors indicate a faint movement in the vicinity. Likely residual mechanisms.” “Residual, my ass,” D’rinn muttered, turning back toward the darkened corridor. The scraping sound came again, louder this time, echoing through the ship like a warning. “Well,” D’rinn muttered, forcing a grin, “this just keeps getting better.” The dim emergency lights cast the corridor in a blood-red hue as D’rinn crept forward. Each step echoed faintly, swallowed almost instantly by the oppressive silence. The vibrations beneath his boots hadn’t stopped, in fact, they seemed to pulse with a rhythm now, slow and deliberate, as if the ship was breathing.

“Seriph, tell me again this thing isn’t alive,” he muttered, gripping his flashlight tighter. “I have no evidence to suggest biological activity,” the AI replied. “However, the residual energy patterns are intensifying. Proceed with caution.” D’rinn smirked, though the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Caution? Where’s the fun in that?” As he rounded the corner, the corridor opened into a larger space. His suit light swept across the room, revealing a circular chamber with shattered screens lining the walls. The glass from several displays crunched beneath his boots as he stepped in, the sound unnervingly loud in the quiet. “Okay,” he said, scanning the room. “This looks important.” “It appears to be the ship’s control center,” Seriph offered. D’rinn approached the central console, a massive slab of ancient Terran engineering. Its surface was cracked in places, and wires dangled haphazardly from underneath. He brushed a claw over the dusty controls, revealing faint, faded glyphs beneath the grime. “Humans sure loved their buttons,” he muttered. “D’rinn,” Seriph said sharply, “I must reiterate, interacting with unknown systems could trigger unintended consequences. This ship may contain–, ” “–treasure,” D’rinn interrupted, his grin returning. “Come on, Seriph. If they didn’t want people pressing buttons, they shouldn’t have made them so shiny.” Before Seriph could protest further, D’rinn tapped a button at random.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a low groan that seemed to come from the depths of the ship, the console flickered to life. Lights danced across its cracked surface, and several of the shattered screens on the walls sparked and buzzed. “Well, would you look at that?” D’rinn said, leaning closer to the console. The displays sputtered and finally stabilized, showing corrupted lines of human text interspersed with schematics and flickering maps. One of the screens in particular caught his eye, a map of the ship, with a pulsating red dot deep within its lower levels. “Seriph, what am I looking at here?” The AI scanned the data. “The map appears to highlight the ship’s layout. The red marker likely indicates either a critical system or an anomaly.” “Treasure,” D’rinn declared, pointing at the screen. “That’s gotta be treasure.” “I must remind you, D’rinn, that anomalies rarely signify something desirable. It could be a reactor meltdown, a security system, or, ” “Something shiny,” D’rinn finished, grinning. “I’m going with shiny.”

Before Seriph could respond, a new sound interrupted the moment, a loud metallic groan from deep within the ship. It reverberated through the chamber, followed by a faint, rhythmic thudding. D’rinn froze, his antennae twitching. “Uh… what’s that?” “I am detecting movement several decks below,” Seriph said, his tone unusually tense. “This ship is not dormant.” The thudding grew louder, accompanied by faint clicks and scrapes. D’rinn glanced back at the map, noting the red dot’s position, it hadn’t moved. Whatever was making the noise, it wasn’t coming from the marked location. “Looks like we’ve got company,” D’rinn muttered, his sm…

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