Station Omega
You spot a nearby environmental control panel embedded in the wall. Fighting the fear clawing at your chest, you decide to stop and access it, hoping to gather data on the station’s atmosphere, power levels, or any anomalies that might explain the eerie behavior of the corridors. The oppressive silence is unbearable, and the feeling of being watched grows stronger. You grab a loose piece of metal piping from the floor and hurl it down the corridor behind you, the clatter echoing into the distance. With luck, the noise will draw attention away from your path to the maintenance bay. As you move cautiously forward, your flashlight beam catches a partially functioning console in the wall. You hesitate, then decide to access the security logs. If there’s any record of what happened here—or what might still be lurking—it could help you survive the journey ahead. The maintenance bay feels impossibly far, and the sense of danger grows with every step. You pause to gather nearby debris and tools, quickly assembling a crude tripwire or barricade behind you. If something is following, you’ll at least have a chance to slow it down.