Running, running, running. That was all he knew. It was supposed to be a simple trip, from Earth to Mars, investigate a mild disturbance, head back. It should only have taken a week at most. But now, that would never happen. It had been silent, the arrival. No large blasts in the side of the ship, opening it up to the void outside, letting the precious air seep out as they died. No boarding action, coordinated gunfights behind cover, honorable deaths in the name of duty. No, this was something far more terrifying, the unseen horror creeping along the ship, slowly, silently. The first things to go down were the lights. They had gone out, and the reactor door sealed. They were reduced to glowsticks. Every movement casting a shadow, jumping at every corner, at every sound. Then, it was communications. Silenced now, as if a glove had been pulled over their mouths. Blind inside, unable to send for help, to do anything. And still, they flew towards Mars, hoping to get there on time. But they never would. The engines failed next, leaving them trapped in a metal coffin. Drifting in space, hoping that someone, anyone would happen upon them. But it was not to be.
The first days were the worst. Despair set in, fear paralyzing some so much that they would not eat. Those ones were the first to die, wasting away in terror of an end that never came. Then came the stink. To save water, showers had been stopped. The worst ones had taken to sleeping in their armor, to avoid death in their sleep. So that, when it came, they could at least look at its face, to see their murderer with dignity. The atmosphere grew worse. Some jumped out the airlocks, preferring to take their own lives, rather than letting them be taken from them. The worst day, though, had to be when he had come upon a dead Lancer. A poor thing, fresh out of the Academy, this was his first-time off-world. He had spent hours, that first day out of port, just gazing at the stars. He had been found near that same window, a Kraken in his hand. Magazine almost full, except for two shots. Looking upon the stars again, with glassy eyes.
And then, the screaming started.
A harbinger of Death, a metal murderer. Stained with blood, so much that only flashes of white could be seen under the crimson. Not once did it fire its weapon, it ripped them apart with claws. Flashes of it, bullets ripping through where it was, for it was too quick, inhumanly so. Never stopping, never tiring. Hunting, killing, slaughtering. His deck was the third to be targeted. The other two had fallen silent, a testament to what awaited him. Most of his squad were already dead, the monster having swept through like a tornado. His left leg, shattered into pieces, his ammo empty. Alone in the carnage, his only companion that blasted alarm. Wailing, screeching, it only reminded him of his failure. And then, striding through the devastation, a second one. Immaculate, with no blood upon it at all, it did not walk. Rather, it moved through the world. He tried to stand, to plead with it. Pushing himself up against the shattered console, he moved. It turned to him, its limbs just a bit too long, its movements not quite human. It lifted its hand, something held in it, but what it was, he couldn't tell. Everything was swimming, dancing in front of him. The world was going dark. The bark, just once of a pistol.
A moment of pain, and then all was silence.