The corridor stretched before us, impossibly white and sterile. It was a stark contrast to the darkness we had just escaped, but it offered no comfort. The air was freezing, and the only sound was the soft hum of our suit systems and the echo of our boots on the metal floor. Our flashlights carved pale tunnels through the gloom.
"What is this white corridor?" Bob whispered, his voice barely audible.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. The silence felt fragile, like speaking too loudly might shatter something. Doc was equally quiet.
"I don't know," he finally replied.
We moved forward, the white walls seeming to close in on us. Then, our lights found a door. It was made of glass, but the surface was shattered, a spiderweb of cracks radiating from a central impact point. It looked like someone—or something—had broken through it recently.
We exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing. There was nothing to say. We stepped through the broken frame and into another vast, open space.
"Are Russians really obsessed with giant square rooms?" Bob muttered, his flashlight sweeping across the emptiness.
"I'm sick of these huge places," I admitted. I tilted my head back, letting my light trace the ceiling. And then I froze.
"Hey, look!" I gasped. "Bullet marks! Hundreds of them!"
Doc and Bob aimed their lights upward. The ceiling was riddled with holes, the metal torn and scorched. It was a chaotic pattern, the work of someone firing wildly, desperately.
"What the hell happened here?" Bob asked, his voice tight with worry. "Someone was shooting at the ceiling. That person was either insane or... shooting at something on the ceiling."
"Guys," Doc interrupted. "Look at that door."
We followed his beam. On the right side of the room was a door. But it was barricaded—a heavy desk and two chairs had been shoved against it, bound together with thick rope. It was a desperate, makeshift barrier.
"Do you think we should open it?" Doc asked.
"Are you insane?!" Bob hissed. "Don't be the stupid character in a horror movie! That door is blocked for a reason! If we open it, we're letting out whatever they were trying to keep in!"
"He's right," I said, my voice firm. "We should leave it alone."
Doc nodded slowly. "Yeah. You're right."
We turned away from the barricaded door and surveyed the rest of the room. There was a corridor on the right side, and two more doors. One on the left, one in the middle. Just as we were deliberating, a crackle of static filled our helmets.
"Guys... bzzzt... do you find... bzzt?" It was Sarge. His voice was faint, broken by interference.
"Sarge! Get your ass down here! This place is a nightmare! Four people are better than three!" Bob shouted into his mic.
"No... I can't... bzzt..." Sarge's voice faded in and out.
"Where are you, Sarge?" Doc asked.
"In the... bzzt... rocket. Storm is... very strong... can't... bzzt..." The static swallowed his words. "Bye... team." The channel went dead.
"Wait—" Doc started, but it was too late. Sarge was gone.
Doc lowered his head, his expression troubled. "I wanted to ask him about the Watson name. Why his family name was in that computer log."
"Do you suspect Sarge, Doc?" I asked quietly.
Doc stared at me for a long moment, his face unreadable behind his visor. "No..." he said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"Alright, enough conspiracy theories," Bob interjected, his impatience returning. "Which way do we go?"
"Doc, can you read the signs?" I asked.
Doc pointed his light at the doors. "The one on the left has a broken sign. I can only make out the word 'Office.' The middle one... it says 'Laboratorium.' As for the corridor, there's no sign at all."
"Laboratorium?" Bob repeated. "Why is there a laboratory down here?"
Before anyone could answer, the Captain's voice burst through our headsets. This time, it was clear.
"Hello, team. What do you find?"
"Hearing you ask is starting to piss me off," Bob muttered.
"Shut up, Bob," I snapped.
Bob fell silent. Doc took a breath and launched into a report. "Captain, we're now below the lunar surface. We've found another large chamber. There's one door that's been barricaded with furniture, a laboratory, another room that appears to be an office, and an unmarked corridor."
There was a long pause. Then, the Captain's voice returned, cold and authoritative. "Can you enter that blocked room?"
"Are you insane, Captain?!" Bob shouted, his voice cracking with disbelief. But the Captain didn't respond to him.
"We can, Captain," Doc said carefully. "But are you sure? This place is... wrong. That door was blocked for a reason."
"This is an Order," the Captain replied. His tone was flat, devoid of the warmth and concern he had shown before.
We stared at each other's helmets, a cold dread settling over us. This wasn't the Captain we knew. Something had changed.
"This is insane," Bob whispered as we reluctantly approached the barricaded door. "Why the hell is the Captain giving us an order that will probably get us killed?"
"I don't know, Bob," Doc replied. "But we have to follow orders. Private, get your AR ready. Whatever is behind this door, we need to be prepared."
I nodded, switching on the tactical flashlight mounted on my rifle. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. Together, we untied the ropes and dragged the heavy furniture away from the door. It was hard work, and every scrape of metal against the floor echoed through the silent hall.
Finally, the door was clear. Doc gave me a nod. I took a deep breath and pushed it open.
The room was small, like a control center. But the walls were painted with blood. Dried streaks and splatters covered every surface. And on the floor, just a few feet from the door, lay a body.
It was a woman. Her head was gone, obliterated by a gunshot. She was naked, her pale skin contrasting sharply with the dark, rust-colored stains around her. A revolver lay beside her outstretched hand.
"Looks like she killed herself," I whispered, my voice hollow.
Then I noticed a panel on the wall. There was a single word printed on it, in stark Cyrillic letters.
"Doc, what does that say?" I asked, pointing with my light.
Doc stepped closer, his brow furrowed. "It says... NMM. But that's not a Russian word. It must be an acronym."
"NMM?" I repeated. "What does it stand for?"
Bob suddenly let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "Hey, I know why she killed herself!"
"Why?" I asked, dreading the answer.
"Because she's... Not a MerMaid!" Bob cackled.
The joke fell into the silence like a stone into a deep well. No one laughed. Doc turned and fixed Bob with a cold stare.
"Bob, shut up. This is not the time."
I stared at the woman's body, a chill running down my spine. Why had she done it? Was she trapped? Was she trying to escape something worse than death? Or had she been driven mad by something in this place?
"There's nothing else here," Doc announced, his voice flat. He stepped back and bowed his head, murmuring a quiet prayer over the corpse.
"Captain, the room is clear. There's nothing of use here. Which way should we proceed?" Doc asked.
Silence.
"Captain?" Doc tried again.
The comms channel was dead. Only static.
"The storm must be interfering again," I said.
Doc let out a slow breath. "Alright. I'm taking command. We'll try the room with the broken sign first. The one that says 'Office.'"
We filed back out into the main chamber. The darkness seemed deeper now, more oppressive. As we approached the office door, Doc suddenly stopped and held up a hand, signaling for silence.
"What is it?" Bob whispered.
"I heard something," Doc replied, his voice low. "In this room. Someone... talking."
Bob and I exchanged glances. "I didn't hear anything," I said.
"Me neither," Bob added.
Doc looked at us, his expression haunted. "You really didn't hear it? It was... Russian. People speaking Russian."
"Doc, we're on the Moon," Bob said slowly, as if explaining something to a child. "How could we hear someone talking without a comm channel? Sound doesn't travel in a vacuum."
Doc stared at him, then at me. His face went pale. "But I heard it. It was so clear..."
A cold dread wrapped around my heart. Something was very, very wrong.
"Alright, let's just... let's just get this over with," I said, gripping my rifle tighter. I stepped towards the office door, reaching for the handle.
Just then, the Captain's voice crackled back into our headsets.
"Hello... bzzt... team! How is... bzzt... going?"
"Captain, we're about to enter the office," Doc reported, his voice relieved.
"Wait... bzzt... where are you... bzzt... right now?" the Captain asked.
I froze, my hand hovering over the door handle. Did he just ask that?
"Huh? Don't joke around, Captain! Doc already explained where we are!" Bob snapped, but there was a tremor in his voice. I could feel his fear.
"No... bzzt... this is the first time... bzzt... I've spoken to you since the room with the printer," the Captain said. His words were like ice water in my veins.
"GUYS, I WANT TO GO HOME RIGHT NOW!" Bob screamed, grabbing my arm in a vice-like grip.
My mind reeled. If this was the first time the Captain had spoken to us since the printer room... then who had ordered us to enter the barricaded room?
I saw Doc freeze, his face a mask of horror. "Then... who gave us that order?" he whispered.
"An order? I didn't... bzzt..." The Captain's voice dissolved into static and then silence.
"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! I WANT TO FUCKING GO HOME!" Bob was hysterical, his grip on my arm so tight it hurt.
Doc moved quickly, grabbing Bob by the shoulders. "Hey! Hey! Calm down! Breathe! In and out! We're going to get through this. We stick together. We're not separated. We're okay."
Bob's breathing slowly steadied. He released his grip on my arm and clung to Doc for a moment, his body trembling. Finally, he pulled back.
"Alright... alright," Bob stammered. "What do we do now, Vice-Captain Doc? Lil boy?"
"We enter this room," Doc said, his voice regaining its composure. He looked at me, and I understood.
I stepped forward and tried the handle. It didn't budge.
"It's locked from the inside," I said.
"Then we proceed to the Laboratorium," Doc replied, his voice firm.
We moved towards the middle door, my nerves frayed. I kept my rifle raised, the flashlight beam jumping from shadow to shadow. The feeling of being watched was overwhelming, a constant prickle at the back of my neck.
"Doc, Bob," I whispered. "Do you guys feel like... we're being watched?"
"Yes," Doc admitted quietly. Bob said nothing.
We stopped in front of the laboratory doors. They were heavy iron, with small, reinforced windows set at eye level. I couldn't see anything inside.
"It's a lab. It probably has an anteroom," Bob observed, his voice still shaky.
"Private, open the doors," Doc ordered.
I took a deep breath and grabbed the handles. They weren't locked, but they were incredibly heavy. "Bob, help me with this," I grunted.
Bob joined me, and together we shoved. The doors groaned and scraped open, revealing the room beyond. The sight that greeted us stopped my heart.
The anteroom was a charnel house. Bodies lay everywhere, their white lab coats stained crimson. Bullet holes peppered the walls. The floor was slick with dried blood.
"What the fuck... this is a slaughterhouse!" Bob gasped.
"Private, are you okay?" Doc asked, extending a hand to help me up. I hadn't even realized I'd stumbled backward.
I took his hand and stood, my legs shaking. "These were scientists?" I managed.
"They're not wearing lab coats now," Bob said, his voice low. "But they were murdered. Shot."
"I take back what I said earlier," Bob whispered, staring at the bullet-riddled walls. "The person who shot the ceiling... they were definitely insane."
Doc and I didn't reply. We picked our way carefully through the carnage, stepping over the fallen, their frozen faces twisted in terror. At the far end of the anteroom was another set of doors, leading to the main laboratory.
"It's locked," Doc said, examining the card reader beside the door. "It needs an ID card."
"Where are we supposed to find an ID card? In one of these corpses?" Bob asked, gesturing at the bodies.
I thought of the woman in the barricaded room. The way she was isolated. The revolver. "I think the ID card is with that woman we found," I said.
"Are you sure?" Doc asked.
"Think about it. Why was she alone, and the door blocked from the outside?" I reasoned. "Maybe she wasn't a prisoner. Maybe she was important. Maybe someone was trying to protect her."
"Or maybe she was dangerous, and they were trying to keep her in," Bob countered.
"Her logic makes more sense," I said. "I'll go check. I saw her clothes in the corner of that room."
"Be careful," Doc said.
I nodded and made my way back through the anteroom, stepping over the dead. The silence was deafening. I emerged into the main chamber, my rifle raised, scanning every shadow. The corridor on my left seemed to pulse with darkness, an endless maw that swallowed my light. I felt it again—that overwhelming sense of being watched.
I forced myself to move, walking quickly back to the room with the HMM panel. The woman's body lay where we'd left it, a silent sentinel. Her clothes were piled in the corner—a Soviet-style military uniform and a white lab coat. I searched the pockets, my hands trembling.
And I found it. An ID card.
I held it up to my light. Her photo stared back at me—a beautiful woman with striking white hair. Her name was printed below in Cyrillic.
"I found it, Doc," I said into my mic.
"Good. Get back here, now," Doc replied.
I retraced my steps, the feeling of being watched intensifying with every passing second. I moved as fast as I could, my light sweeping from side to side. As I passed the unmarked corridor, I paused. I was sure I saw something move in the darkness. A shape. A flicker.
But when I aimed my light, there was nothing. Just an empty corridor stretching into the void.
I swallowed hard and kept moving. I re-entered the anteroom, where Doc and Bob were waiting.
"You're one brave kid," Bob said, a hint of genuine respect in his voice.
I handed the card to Doc. "Her name is... Maria Ivanovna Petrova. She was the head of this laboratory."
Doc held the card up to the sensor. The light flashed green, and the locks disengaged with a heavy clunk. Doc pushed the door open, and we stepped inside.
The laboratory was surprisingly clean. No blood, no signs of struggle. But the room was a mess of cables—thick, black cables snaking across the floor and climbing the walls, converging on something in the center.
"What is this place?" Bob wondered aloud.
As if in response, the lights flickered and then blazed to life, flooding the room with harsh, white light. We all jumped.
"Damn! I thought this building had no power!" Bob exclaimed.
"Focus," Doc ordered.
I turned my attention to the cables. They all led to a large, cylindrical tank in the center of the room. Inside, suspended in a murky, greenish fluid, was something that made my blood run cold.
It was a brain. But it was wrong. The proportions were off, the folds too complex, the color a sickly grey-purple.
"Hey, guys. Come here," Bob called, his voice trembling. He was standing by the tank, pointing.
Doc and I approached slowly. "What is that?" Bob asked.
Doc stared at the floating organ, his face pale. "I don't know. I've never seen anything like it. And I don't think... it's not from Earth."
"So it's an alien brain?" I whispered.
Before anyone could answer, a deafening alarm blared through the laboratory. Red lights flashed, casting long, dancing shadows. A siren screamed, its wail echoing off the walls.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!" Bob shouted over the noise.
"PRIVATE, GET READY! BOB, TAKE COVER!" Doc yelled.
We dove behind a heavy lab bench, my rifle trained on the door. The alarm continued to shriek, the red light pulsing like a heartbeat. We waited, tensed for an attack. But nothing came.
After what felt like an eternity, the alarm stopped. The silence that followed was suffocating.
"Are we safe?" Bob whispered.
"I don't know," Doc said. "Private, I'll cover you. Check the door."
I nodded, my mouth dry. I stood slowly, rifle raised, and moved towards the laboratory doors. I peered through the small window into the anteroom beyond.
My blood froze.
The anteroom was empty.
The corpses were gone.
"Doc..." I stammered. "The bodies... the bodies are gone..."