After the encounter in her cabin, the station began to unravel in ways that no crew member could deny or explain; the lights dimmed unevenly, never brightening above a twilight glow, casting long, shifting shadows that seemed to move independently of any object, and the gravity plates fluctuated in subtle pulses, making cups and tools tremble or float briefly before crashing back down. Doors hesitated, sometimes refusing to open fully, as if something pressed against them from the other side, and the ventilation systems carried faint whispers or distant footsteps that could not be traced, echoes that traveled in impossible directions through the corridors. Cameras glitched whenever shadows passed before them, producing warped, static-laced images that suggested forms moving too quickly or bending in ways no human could, and the hum of the station itself grew erratic, pulsing in time with nothing discernible yet too regular to be coincidence. Crew members grew nervous, sleep-deprived, their conversation halting mid-sentence, fear hanging unspoken but tangible in every shared glance, and even their sense of taste and appetite waned as though the station's corruption had leached into their bodies. Food lost flavor, air felt heavier, and every step through the corridors reminded them that the darkness was no longer passive; it pressed, it lingered, it learned, and the signal that had come from the asteroid now pulsed from within the station itself, alive, patient, feeding on fear, growing stronger with every terrified heartbeat, reminding the crew silently and undeniably that they were no longer the hunters in this place, but the hunted, and whatever had awakened was shaping the station into its domain, one subtle distortion at a time, bending reality around them until the line between machine, shadow, and life became impossible to define.