Dr. Oliver Blackwood wiped the sweat from his brow as he stared at the massive device dominating Laboratory Seven's main chamber. The portal generator looked like something from a fever dream—a colossal array of focusing crystals and electromagnetic coils arranged in a precise geometric pattern, all aimed at a single point in space where they hoped to tear reality itself apart.
Four years. Four years since Strategic Corporation had implemented the Great Disconnect, abandoning the outer colonies to save their own reputation. Four years since Oliver had slowly pieced together the truth about what his employers had really been doing.
The British physicist had been fresh out of Imperial College London when Strategic had recruited him, promising groundbreaking research opportunities and the chance to push the boundaries of known science. They'd painted themselves as humanity's greatest hope for expansion beyond Earth's dying resources, offering him projects that would make his name legendary in scientific circles.
The reality had been far different. Strategic Corporation wasn't interested in advancing human knowledge—they were interested in profit margins and maintaining their monopoly on interstellar commerce. The research projects they'd assigned him were mundane at best, focused on improving mining efficiency or developing more cost-effective industrial processes. His revolutionary theories about quantum mechanics and space-time manipulation had been filed away in some database, deemed "non-essential to current operational objectives."
Still, Oliver had persevered, telling himself that the grunt work was necessary preparation for the truly groundbreaking projects that would surely come. He'd even managed to find some satisfaction in the technical challenges, using his spare time to conduct unauthorized experiments in theoretical physics.
Then the Red Agony had appeared, and everything had changed.
The virus had emerged from Strategic's research facility at Dromovyst, though the corporation had initially denied any connection. They'd claimed it was a natural mutation, some kind of zoonotic spillover from the planet's indigenous wildlife. Oliver had believed them at first—why wouldn't he? He was a physicist, not a virologist, and Strategic's official statements had seemed plausible enough.
It had taken months of careful investigation, of piecing together fragments of overheard conversations and classified documents that had leaked during the initial chaos, before Oliver began to understand the true scope of Strategic's betrayal. The corporation hadn't just been conducting dangerous research—they'd been deliberately creating bioweapons designed to generate profit.
The leaked documents revealed a chilling business model: Strategic would develop highly contagious diseases in secret, then position themselves as the exclusive supplier of treatments and vaccines. They could effectively hold entire colonies hostage, demanding exorbitant payments for medicines that only they could provide. It was the ultimate monopoly—creating the demand for their own products through biological warfare.
The Red Agony had been their prototype, a disease engineered to be both terrifying and treatable. The infected would undergo dramatic physical transformations that would terrify the uninfected population, making them desperate for any solution. But the virus had also been designed with built-in weaknesses that Strategic's medical division could exploit to create vaccines and treatments.
What they hadn't anticipated was the virus mutating beyond their control. The Red Agony had evolved faster than their computer models predicted, developing resistance to their experimental treatments while becoming even more virulent. By the time they realized their mistake, it was too late to contain the outbreak.
Oliver had been stationed at Research Station Gamma-7, a small facility about fifty kilometers from the Olson fortress complex, when the first cases appeared. The symptoms had seemed relatively benign at first: fever, muscle aches, the typical signs of a viral infection. But within days, the infected began to change in ways that defied every known law of biology.
Their skin took on a mottled, crimson appearance, as if their blood vessels were bursting just beneath the surface. Their eyes developed an unnatural luminescence, glowing with an inner red light that made them visible even in complete darkness. Their fingernails grew into razor-sharp claws, and their teeth became needle-like instruments perfectly designed for tearing flesh.
But the physical transformations were nothing compared to the behavioral changes. The infected lost all semblance of human personality, becoming driven by an insatiable hunger for blood and raw flesh. They moved with predatory grace, their reflexes enhanced far beyond normal human capabilities. Worse still, they retained enough intelligence to coordinate their attacks, working together to hunt down uninfected survivors.
Oliver's first encounter with the infected had come during his third week at the station. He'd been working late in the laboratory, trying to complete a project before the morning shift arrived. The facility's water recycling system had been malfunctioning, and he'd volunteered to help diagnose the problem.
Around two in the morning, he'd stepped outside to check the external filtration units. The night air was cold and crisp, and he'd taken a moment to relieve himself behind one of the storage sheds before heading back to the dormitories. That's when he'd heard the sound—a low, wet breathing that didn't belong to any human being.
The infected had been waiting for him in the shadows.
The creature had once been Dr. Martinez, a biochemist Oliver had worked with on several projects. But there was nothing of Martinez left in the thing that emerged from the darkness. Its skin had taken on the characteristic crimson mottling, and its eyes burned with that terrible red luminescence. When it opened its mouth to emit a low hiss, Oliver saw rows of needle-like teeth that belonged more to a deep-sea predator than a human being.
Oliver had barely managed to activate his emergency beacon before the creature lunged at him. Only his combat training—mandatory for all colonial personnel—had saved his life. He'd rolled aside as Martinez's claws raked the air where his head had been, then sprinted toward the main facility while screaming for help.
The security team had arrived within minutes, but it had taken eight plasma rifle shots to finally bring the creature down. Even then, it had continued to writhe and snap at them until someone had put a final shot through its skull. The autopsy later revealed that the thing's entire cardiovascular system had been rewritten, its blood replaced by some kind of synthetic fluid that glowed with bioluminescent properties.
That night had been the beginning of Oliver's education in Strategic Corporation's true nature.
The Great Disconnect had been implemented within months of the outbreak: all communication with the outer galaxy was severed, escape vessels were shot down by automated defense satellites, and the nearest supply station was moved beyond the range of any ship that might launch from the planet's surface. Strategic had written off the entire Drotastea system rather than face the consequences of their actions.
A vaccine had eventually been developed by the surviving medical staff, but by then, paranoia and desperation had taken hold. Many colonists refused the treatment, convinced it was another Strategic plot to control or eliminate them. Others had simply disappeared into the wilderness, choosing to take their chances with the infected rather than trust any authority figure.
Oliver had been among the lucky few who'd made it to Olson before the fortress sealed its gates. General Harrison, the citadel's commanding officer, had implemented ruthless quarantine protocols. Anyone showing symptoms was shot on sight, and the walls bristled with automated defense systems programmed to kill anything that approached without proper clearance codes.
But even Olson's mighty defenses couldn't protect them from the slow death of isolation. Food supplies dwindled, medical equipment failed without replacement parts, and the colonists began to realize that they were trapped on a dying world with no hope of rescue.
That's when Oliver had volunteered to transfer to Aeternitas One. The smaller outpost had been converted into a research facility, its surviving scientists working around the clock to find a way off-world. Oliver's expertise in theoretical physics had made him invaluable to their most desperate project: an experimental attempt to create artificial wormholes by tearing holes in space-time itself.
The project was based on rift theory, a controversial branch of physics that most mainstream scientists dismissed as dangerous pseudoscience. The basic concept was deceptively simple: if you could concentrate enough energy at a single point, you could theoretically punch a hole through the fabric of reality. The problem was that no one knew where such a portal would lead, or if it would even be stable enough to allow safe passage.
Dr. Sarah Chen, the project's lead physicist, had been brutally honest about their chances during the initial planning sessions. "We're not just trying to create a wormhole," she'd explained. "We're trying to tear a hole in the universe itself using technology that barely exists. We don't know where the portal will open—it could lead to empty space, the heart of a star, or somewhere completely outside our dimensional framework. The chances of success are infinitesimal, and the potential for catastrophic failure is... well, let's just say we could accidentally destroy half the continent."
Oliver had nodded grimly. They all understood the stakes. But with no other options available, they had to try.
The device they'd constructed was essentially a massive ray gun designed to focus incredible amounts of energy at a single point in space. At its core was an array of exotic matter—artificially created particles that existed in a state of quantum superposition, neither fully matter nor energy. These particles were contained within a complex network of electromagnetic coils and focusing crystals, all precisely calibrated to channel the energy output of their fusion reactor into a beam capable of tearing through space-time.
The power requirements were staggering. They would need to channel the entire output of their fusion reactor into the device, pushing it beyond its design specifications. The reactor could maintain such output for maybe fifteen minutes before overloading and shutting down permanently—assuming it didn't explode first.
"Final systems check," Oliver announced, his hands trembling as he made last-minute adjustments to the targeting array. Around him, the other team members were scattered throughout the facility, monitoring different aspects of the experiment.
Dr. Marcus Webb handled the computer systems, his fingers dancing across holographic interfaces as he tracked thousands of variables simultaneously. Engineer Lisa Rodriguez managed the fusion reactor's output, carefully feeding power into the portal generator. Dr. Chen coordinated the exotic matter containment fields, ensuring that the artificial particles remained stable until the moment of activation.
"Reactor output at 98% efficiency," Rodriguez reported. "All safety interlocks are green, but I'm reading some fluctuations in the magnetic confinement system."
"That's within acceptable parameters," Chen added. "Exotic matter is stable and contained. Focusing array is aligned and ready."
Oliver took a deep breath, thinking of all the colonists trapped on Drotastea, all the people who'd been abandoned by Strategic Corporation. This was their only chance—their last hope for escape, even if they had no idea where the portal would take them.
"Initialize the sequence," he commanded.
The fusion reactor's hum deepened to a bass rumble that Oliver could feel in his bones. Throughout the facility, lights flickered as enormous amounts of energy were channeled into the portal generator. The air itself seemed to crackle with electricity, and Oliver's hair stood on end despite the protective shielding.
In the test chamber, the focusing array began to glow with an otherworldly light. The electromagnetic coils hummed to life, creating invisible forces that bent and twisted the space around them. The exotic matter at the device's core started to emit a brilliant blue-white radiance that hurt to look at directly.
"Energy output at 40% and climbing," Rodriguez reported. "Magnetic confinement is holding steady."
"Exotic matter is responding to the field fluctuations," Chen added. "Space-time distortion is beginning to manifest at the focal point."
Oliver watched in fascination as reality began to warp around the target zone. The air itself seemed to shimmer and bend, creating optical distortions that made his eyes water. The very fabric of space-time was being stressed by the incredible energies they were unleashing.
"70% power output," Rodriguez announced. "Approaching the theoretical threshold for dimensional breach."
The focusing array was now blindingly bright, its radiance casting stark shadows throughout the laboratory. The exotic matter at its core had begun to vibrate at frequencies that registered on every instrument in the facility. The targeting zone itself had become a sphere of twisted space, reality bending and warping under the tremendous forces being applied.
"90% power output," Rodriguez called out. "We're approaching the point of no return."
Oliver felt his heart pounding as they crossed into uncharted territory. No human being had ever attempted anything like this before. They were literally trying to punch a hole through the universe itself, using technology that existed more in theory than in practice.
"95% power output," Rodriguez announced. "Dimensional breach is imminent."
The focusing array was now so bright that Oliver had to rely on filtered camera feeds to observe the target zone. The exotic matter was vibrating so violently that the containment fields were beginning to fluctuate. The air around the focal point had taken on a strange, oily quality, as if reality itself was becoming unstable.
"100% power output achieved," Rodriguez shouted over the growing roar of the reactor. "Dimensional breach occurring now!"
For a moment, Oliver thought they'd succeeded. The explosion of light was beyond anything he'd ever witnessed, and for an instant, he could swear he saw something forming in the target zone—a dark aperture that seemed to lead somewhere else entirely. Through that brief opening, he glimpsed something that his mind couldn't quite process, shadows moving in impossible ways.
But then everything went wrong.
The exotic matter containment field collapsed without warning, releasing forces that no human technology was designed to handle. The portal generator became a bomb, its exotic matter core detonating with the force of a small nuclear weapon. The explosion tore through Laboratory Seven like a hurricane of pure energy, vaporizing everything within a fifty-meter radius.
Oliver felt himself thrown backward as the shockwave hit, his body slamming into the far wall of the laboratory with bone-crushing force. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the portal generator collapsing in on itself, its exotic matter core consuming everything in a brilliant flash of annihilation.
When he regained consciousness, the world had become a nightmare of pain and darkness. He couldn't see—whether from the explosion's flash or from actual damage to his eyes, he couldn't tell. His entire body felt like it was on fire, and he could taste blood in his mouth.
But it was the sounds that terrified him most.
Growls. Low, wet growls that seemed to come from everywhere at once, unlike anything he'd ever heard before. They weren't the familiar sounds of the infected—these were deeper, more otherworldly, carrying undertones that made his skin crawl. Something had come through the portal in those brief moments before the explosion, something that didn't belong to their world.
Oliver could hear them moving through the wreckage, but not with the clicking claws of the infected. These movements were different—a wet, sliding sound, as if something without bones was dragging itself across the debris. The air itself seemed to thicken with an otherworldly presence that made breathing difficult.
And there were screams. Human screams, cut short by wet, tearing sounds that made Oliver's stomach churn. But the screams were wrong somehow—they didn't sound like people being torn apart by infected. They sounded like people being consumed by something far worse, something that fed in ways that human minds weren't meant to comprehend.
Oliver tried to move, but his body wouldn't respond. He was trapped beneath something heavy—part of the laboratory's ceiling, by the feel of it. He could only lie there in the darkness, listening to the sounds of his colleagues being devoured by creatures that had slipped through their dimensional tear in the moments before the explosion sealed it shut.
One by one, the screams fell silent. The wet growls continued, growing closer as whatever had emerged from the portal finished with their first victims and began searching for more. Oliver held his breath, trying to make himself as small as possible, praying that the debris would hide him from senses he couldn't even imagine.
But he knew it was only a matter of time. The wet growls grew closer.
Oliver closed his eyes and waited. In the darkness, something found him.