You look out into the corridor. There's an eerie shadow in the infirmary doors 80 metres away, but then the doors shut and the shadow is gone.
You heft your tranq applicator and consider tracking it, but discretion seems wise.
You're within darting distance of the station's starboard cafe, its Greenhouse B agricultural center, and the lifts to other levels. The corridor is still clear.
The lights go out in the science lab you are in. You hear faint moaning from the direction of the late Dr. Stewart's body, which was very cold and very not alive not five minutes ago.
It seems like a good time to vacate the lab. You sprint down the climate-controlled space station corridor in your bra and panties. |