Jack Ma still remembers the screams, gunshots, and horrific laughter that echoed in the employee dormitory area.
But for him right now, the worst thing is the cold. As soon as their breath leaves their mouth and nose, it turns into mist, taking away the precious warmth.
It is obvious that the space station's life-support system is gradually paralyzed.
Jack Ma was not a doctor, but he knew that they could not survive one more night in the space station.
The killers, whatever they were, were probably trying to force the survivors out of their hiding places.
Or maybe they were tired of hunting and just wanted to freeze the remaining people to death in their hiding place.
Neither thought was very comforting anyway.
"Did you hear that?"
Jackma whispered,
Something metal hammered away in front of them.
The three of them stopped at the same time, and three beams of light swept forward through the corridor.
But it was empty, just an empty corridor, but the creaking sound was still playing.
"That movement... was a turbine ventilator."
Dimo, who used to be a plumber repairman, whispered:
"It's just a ventilation fan."
Jack turned around, avoiding the man's wide eyes and the wafting stench from his body.
"you sure?"
"It's just a ventilation fan, that's what I thought. I come here often to check on it."
Demo's voice was shaking as was his hands.
"I've worked in those pipes and I know the sound they make."
"Then let's go."
They move with exaggerated caution, knowing little about what the killers can sense.
Only Dimo has seen the killer. He sees it most clearly, but he just refuses to say it. Michelle, the cleaner behind the trio, claims to have seen it more clearly than Dimo, but there are still not many clues - white Skull, huge red eyes, that's all they knew.
In fact, Jackma knew that Michelle ran away before he could see anything. He rushed in through a maintenance hatch and panted down the crawling tunnel. The others were rattled behind him. Dismembered.
Of course, Jackma himself hasn't gone anywhere yet. He has been sticking to the smallest passage since he first heard the report of the attackers' landing. Others were constantly sweeping the food cabins or searching for battery packs in the warehouse, but then They all died, and only Jack Ma, the most cautious, survived.
"It's so cold that we have to move and pray that there's heat left in other areas of the station."
Jackma also considered giving up and lying down in the cramped crawl space of a maintenance tunnel and letting the frost take him away, which would make things much easier - he might not rot after he died.
At least not until the heat exchanger is restarted...
But he still couldn't accept letting himself become a stain of corruption on the steel.
When the three of them reached the next intersection, Jackma stopped again and tried his best to listen to his heartbeat.
Then, he began to move along the passage on the left.
"That's a dead end."
Jackma heard Dimo sigh, but the other man remained silent.
"This is the way to the cafeteria."
He explained as gently as possible:
"We need supplies. This is not the time for arguments. If the attackers are satisfied, they may leave, and we must struggle to survive in a cold space station. Food is a must."
"But that's not the way to the cafeteria. The cafeteria is on the left."
Dimo pointed to the corridor opposite.
"That leads to the eastern technical deck."
Jackma shook his head and denied the other party's statement.
"Not really."
"I've been here several times!"
Dimo's voice became louder and louder, with a sense of resentment.
"We should go this way."
As they argued, a nearby ventilation fan continued to make a slow clicking sound.
"move."
Michelle said to Jackma:
"Leave him alone."
"No, no, I'm coming right now, don't leave me."
"Then lower your voice."
Jackma said gently, wondering if it would actually make a difference.
"So does the flashlight."
Jack Ma led them forward to another left turn.
There was another long corridor ahead, and then they turned right cautiously.
But suddenly, Jack Ma froze at the turn, and reluctantly pointed the flashlight along the corridor at the entrance to the double-layered bulkhead of the canteen.
"No……"
His voice was soft and weak, not even a whisper.
"What's wrong?"
Dimo asked in a low voice, but Jackma just narrowed his stinging eyes and let the beam of light flicker around the shattered doorway.
The bulkheads were loose at their joints, a tangled mess of tattered metal torn from the wall.
"Oh no."
He murmured:
"Those bastards were here."
"They're everywhere."
Michelle almost sighed.
The three of them stood shivering in the biting cold, and the flashlight beam weakened as their hands trembled.
"let's go."
Finally, Jackma made up his mind.
"Go quietly."
As they approached the damaged door, Dimo sniffed the air.
"I smell something."
Jackma then took a slow breath, the air cold enough to make his lungs burn with ice, but he couldn't smell a damn thing except wet metal and his own stink.
"I don't smell it, what is it?"
"Spice, spoiled spice... seems to be mixed with something? It's blood, it smells like blood!"
Jackma turned back from Dimo's trembling eyes. Needless to say, the other party was now broken.
He could only turn the first corner, tiptoeing to the torn doorway, and look around the huge cabin in the siren-like red light. All real details were shrouded in darkness.
Dozens of tables were overturned and thrown haphazardly everywhere, the dark walls were dented by gunfire, and chairs were scattered all over the floor - undoubtedly, this was the remains of a useless barricade.
But there were corpses, piles of corpses, lying on the table and on the ground, with their limbs spread out, covered with frost, their open eyes shining with the light of ice crystals, and the blood under their bodies turned into strange and beautiful shapes. Ruby glass pool.
But at least, nothing was moving.
Behind him, Michelle also raised a flashlight to let the light shine in.
As the darkness separates in front of a flashlight, it reveals much that emergency lighting cannot.
"God Emperor, what's going on?"
Seeing the horrific slaughterhouse, Michelle immediately lowered her flashlight light.
"You stay here."
Jack Ma turned his head and said something.
"Don't run around, don't make any noise. I'll get the supplies out, and then we'll go to the infirmary. The containment measures there are the best, and there's also an independent small oxygen generator. Maybe we can get through it."
He walked into the cafeteria, his boots crunching on the red glass splattered with frozen blood, and his breath was like a white mist that gradually dissipated as he moved in the dim light.
Although it was difficult to keep a distance from the corpses, Jackma tried not to touch them, but occasionally he couldn't help but take a look.
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