1:7

You jump aside as it falls towards you, hitting the desk with a dull clang.

A corpse.

You turn away, coughing and gagging, desperately trying to avoid vomiting inside your suit. For a moment — just a moment — you thought it was coming right at you.

There is a sound, just at the edge of hearing. It sounds like a hissing. Like shifting sands.

You push your nausea down and turn to look at the body. A middle aged man in life, wearing the greasy overalls of a mechanic. His face is sunken. He has fallen in such a way that his cheek is dragged upwards, so it looks like he is trying to smile at you.

He is surrounded by metal dust. Was it there before? You don’t remember.

It was there before, wasn’t it?

It’s moving.

It’s moving.

You take an involuntary step back. Something silver flashes in the corpse’s eyes. Something begins to trickle from his nose.

The lights go out again.

You grope frantically for your head torch.

A thin beam of light flickers out.

Metal is pouring from the man’s face now. His nose, his eyes, his ears. Silvery particles stream down his pale face, joining the pile on the floor. That’s the hissing sound. It’s coming from all around you.

Your skin feels itchy. Your suit is sealed, isn’t it? It must be sealed. You’d know if there was a leak.

You’re breathing harder and harder. Your visor mists up. Your hands are sweating inside your gloves. Your stomach turns.

You look down and a stream of metal is halfway up your leg.

Kick it off. You’re sealed. This tub could be heaving with loot. Pull yourself together.

This is bad news. Run.