"We go back for engineering control," Chen decided, checking the flares Sergei had distributed. "Fire is our backup plan, but right now we need systems online. With main power, we can control environmental systems, seal sections, maybe even vent the atmosphere in certain areas. And we need communications."
"The maintenance corridor is barricaded," Marcus reminded them. "That thing we saw—"
"Might not have been the only entrance," Sergei interrupted. "There is maintenance access through floor grates. Slower, harder, but possible."
From the vents above, Chen's own voice echoed back: "...need systems online... control environmental systems..."
It was listening to everything. Learning their plans as they made them.
"Then we stop talking," Marcus said quietly. He pulled out a small notepad and pen from his tactical vest, wrote something, and showed it to the group: HAND SIGNALS ONLY FROM HERE. IT CAN'T COPY WHAT IT DOESN'T HEAR.
They all nodded. Marcus established basic signals—forward, stop, danger, and enemy contact. Then they moved out, maintaining absolute silence except for the necessary sounds of boots on metal floors.
The main hub was exactly as they'd left it—the barricade still in place across the maintenance corridor entrance. But as they approached, Chen saw something that made their blood run cold.
The furniture had been rearranged. Not violently—carefully. The filing cabinet they'd tipped over was upright again. The desk was pushed to the side. Someone, or something, had been playing with their barricade, testing it. Rearranging it like a puzzle.
Marcus signaled: HOLD POSITION.
He approached slowly, rifle raised. The barricade looked intact, but there was a gap now—maybe two feet wide, just large enough for something to slip through if it could compress itself enough.
And on top of the desk, arranged carefully, were four ID badges from the Polaris crew:
YUKI TANAKA
DR. MARIA KOWALSKI
LT. JAMES RICHARDS
DR. HASSAN MARTINEZ
A message. It was showing them what it had consumed. What it could become.
Sergei pointed to a floor grate near the barricade, then made a gesture—ACCESS POINT. He knelt and carefully pried it open with a crowbar from his toolkit. Below was darkness and the sound of dripping water.
The grate opened onto a narrow maintenance crawlspace, maybe three feet high. They'd have to crawl through it on their hands and knees. Sergei shined his flashlight down—the passage extended about thirty meters before opening into what must be the engineering level.
It was a death trap. Single file, no room to maneuver, no way to defend themselves if something came from either direction.
Marcus shook his head emphatically, pointing at the barricade, then making a "push through" gesture. He'd rather take his chances with a frontal approach than crawl through that tunnel.
But Nora pointed at the ID badges, then at the barricade's gap. She made a "slipping through" motion with her hand. The entity could be waiting on the other side. It had had time to prepare.
Chen was the team leader. The decision was theirs.
Before they could signal their choice, the intercom crackled to life. This time, the voice was crystal clear—Chen's voice, perfect in every way:
"Dr. Chen, can you hear me? This is Dr. Chen. I made it to communications. The relay is working. Extraction is coming. Meet me in communications room. Come alone. The others might be compromised. I don't know who to trust anymore."
It was a perfect imitation. If Chen hadn't been standing here, they'd believe it was really them.
Then another voice—also Chen's, but slightly different in tone: "Don't listen to that. I'm the real Chen. I'm in the research lab. I found something. Something important. Come quickly."
A third voice, still Chen's: "Both of them are lying. I'm in engineering control. I've restored main power. But I need help. Please. I can't hold out much longer."
Chen's own voice, speaking from three different locations, all claiming to be them.
Nora looked at Chen with wide eyes. Marcus's jaw was clenched tight. Sergei made the sign of the cross.
The psychological warfare was exquisite. Even though they were all here, together, seeing the real Chen—there was a moment of doubt. A flicker of uncertainty. What if one of them was telling the truth? What if the entity had gotten to Chen somehow and they didn't remember?
Chen shook it off. They were here. They were real. This was just another trick.
But how long until the entity got good enough that they couldn't tell the difference? How long until it was one of them, and they didn't realize it?
Marcus made a decisive gesture: CHOOSE NOW. CRAWLSPACE OR BARRICADE.
In the vents above, they heard movement. Multiple sources, converging on their position.
The crawlspace was defensible with fire—one flare in that tunnel would cook anything inside. Slow and claustrophobic, but safer than a frontal assault.
Or they could push through the barricade—fast, direct, staying mobile. Marcus could provide covering fire and they could retreat if necessary.
Chen looked at the dark crawlspace, then at the gap in the barricade. Their voices continued to call from the intercoms, pleading, warning, lying.
Time was running out.