The lights are the colour of a blue screened computer. The room is small and filled to the brim with barrels, crates, and lockers. One of the crates crashed over and spilled its contents of dehydrated food packets all over the floor. Many of the barrels are on their side and the crates and walls look banged up. As you take a step you stumble; the floor is at a tilt. Readjusting to the inclination you head towards the sole door at the front of the storage room. The doors open automatically for you.

The hallway is sterile. The walls are perfect white plastic, the floor faux-tiled and the roof metal grating with hanging lights. This isn’t a building; this is a ship. Opposite the door you just exited from is another door, this one does not open for you. To your left there’s a sign indicating the main deck, and on the right a sign for the laboratory. With little knowledge you turn left. With each step your footfall echoes in the perfect silence. Near the end of the hallway, you notice the first imperfections on the plastic walls. The walls are covered in singed marks, holes, and deep scratches. One of the cords hanging up a light has severed, dropping down and turned off. On your right side there’s another room with a sign reading, ‘Break Room’, and in front of you a silver door. There’s a key card reader to the side, but you do not have a keycard. The door to the break room is ajar.

Tracing your finger along the scratches in the wall, you inch your way towards the break room. You peer in to find a man laying face down on the floor. Your heart leaps into your throat as you stumble backwards. He looked injured. You focus on steadying your breathing. Question after question runs through your head, but every answer is another unknown. You try to make yourself ready to step back in. With your heart still beating out of your chest, you force yourself back towards the door. You bump it open with your foot. As it glides open, you take in the room.

It looks like a regular break room. There’s a sink, a fridge, a coffee machine, and a table. The table is flipped over and the chairs are thrown to the side, one of their legs having been torn off. There are broken mugs on the ground and a large gouge through the farthest wall. There are splatters of blood on all surfaces, and a large pool coalescing under the man. He’s wearing a lab coat, and his back is torn up. He has three scratches that reach deep under his skin, and large circular stab wounds. You don’t have to check his pulse to know he’s dead, and you don’t need to check his wounds to know he was killed recently.

You feel sick and double over. You hold your mouth trying not to throw up. The door slams as you yank it open and flee, but you instantly regret it. Running down the corridor you can’t help but ask yourself what did that to him. Who else is here? More than cognizant of the noise from your running and deep breathing you feel your panic begin to rise. You slow to a walk, your head spinning. You glance behind you. Nothing but hallway. You keep walking until you get to the laboratory.

Ahead of you is a set of automatic double doors. One of the doors has been knocked off its rails and thrown to the ground. The other is shifting from open to close. You step over the broken door and note more scratch marks. You are in an air lock. In front of you is a massive vault-like door leading to the laboratory. The top metal has been bent over and a gap has been created. The gap looks large enough for a human to squeeze through, but it’s too high up to reach. It dawns on you that these vault doors aren’t to keep people out, but to keep whatever was inside in. Only when you take a step back do you notice a glass tablet tossed on the ground. You pick it up and examine it. It’s rectangular and see through, and one side has a white plastic handle with a button. You press the button and the screen on the glass turns on, illuminating your face.

Lab Log #5:
Ides of October, year 2263
HMS Genesis - CENSORED Branch
Dr. Den Johnson, ID #41029382

They say that when life gives you lemons, you’re supposed to make lemonade. Unfortunately, we have not had success working out some of the issues. When designing the subjects we picked and chose our traits, and removed those considered unnecessary. The incomplete list includes boredom, claustrophobia, libido, and most emotion.

We were unsuccessful, as the subjects are observed acting agitated, especially during feeding. One thing has been constant during all our tests, they continue to attempt to speak. We have yet to figure out what they’re trying to say, and hopefully in our next edition we will reintroduce the speech gene. Perhaps I’ll ask the techs to add some more parrot. Luckily, the subjects remain placid, and theoretically happy.

Signed, supervisor, Dr. Den Johnson

Attached to the back of the log you notice a key card. Reluctantly retracing your steps, you return to the silver door and successfully buzz in. You step into the bridge of the spaceship. The bridge is a large area with stepped desks, at capacity fitting around ten deckhands and a captain. At the front of the deck is a large monitor setup with a control panel. No matter what button you press, there’s no response on the panel. Nonetheless, the display is still on. It’s open to the last report: Ship has crash landed…, planet Matratheo 7 …, no SOS signal…, Planet quarantined…, DO NOT SEND HELP …, No onboard human presence…, Ship engine disabled. As you read each word the situation begins to sink in. Desperately you scroll down on the console and get to another log.

Lab Log #6:
7 days before the Kalends of November, year 2263
HMS Genesis - Environment Branch
Dr. Ford Greeman, ID #44258102

Looks like experiment Eden is over. Late last night one of the lab technicians was doing evening measurements and feedings and got too comfortable. He was injured by subject #1 and sent to the infirmary. From my medical report: “Patient’s hand has suffered major puncture. The hole goes through the palm and out through the back of the hand.” The hands of the subjects are long, and the nails sharp which caused the injury. I would posit the cause being due to an overabundance of predator genes, but I am no gene scientist. All I know is that they’re dangerous, and the board back on Earth agrees. We have official orders to terminate the three subjects and to halt work on Generation XIV.

As for my project, I still have the go ahead. From my research, the ecological harm the subjects could impose is truly great. If they can reproduce, they surely could overpower all local fauna. From simulations, they would have no natural predators, and from gene editing done to reduce their food intake, they wouldn’t need much to survive. In all ways, unintentionally we have created the ultimate invasive species. The ultimate bio hazard. They cannot be allowed to be let lose. I cannot let nature die in the face of science.

That being said, I have overheard conversations from Dr. Johnson. He wants to keep them alive but sedated. Let us all pray he pulls the plug before it is too late.

Signed, physician, Dr. Ford Greeman

Just then, you hear a sound. You swivel your head but see nothing. The deck is not well lit, and your eyes scan the room for the source of the disturbance, unable to quell the unease in your stomach. Against better judgment you take a few paces forward. You notice something move out of the corner of your eye. The back of the deck leads to two hallways, one is the way you came, the other is towards the offices and sleeping quarters, a sign reads. In that hallway the lights are out. Focusing your eyes in the dark you try to get a better look down the hallway. Just then you hear a low growl. Freezing dead, you notice a humanoid figure a way into the dark. As eye contact is made it stands to full height.

You can make out its silhouette. It looks hairless and naked, its limbs emaciated and long. Its eyes are larger than a human’s and a ghostly red that almost glitters in the darkness like a ruby cat. It walks in a slink with its arms out in front of it like a gorilla. It tilts its head and takes a step towards you as you slowly back up. Its head emerges from the darkness and something from the core of your humanity screams. Its face is wrong, its forehead too small, its eyes too large, its nostrils flared and the lips too long. The gray skin is pulled over the hard bone. The lips part to reveal a thick set of gums with thin teeth.

By pure instinct you turn and run, but you notice another like it in the hallway you came from. You’re trapped. The two humanoids approach you slowly, like a cat stalking its prey, but also like a scientist studying a specimen. Your eyes dart around the room in search of any escape, like a trapped animal you feel the panic building. You know the damage these things can inflict… Just then, you notice it. At the back of the deck just reachable on the roof is an air vent, just large enough. You dash towards it, leaping over the desks and chairs as the subjects hunt after you. You rip open the vent cover and pull yourself in.

The inside of the vent is pitch black and moving fills your nose and lungs with dust. You scuffle along, your body pressed against all four sides of the venting. You scramble along as fast as you can, your knees banging against the bottom, your back scratching against the roof. You can feel sweat dripping off your body, and you hear the cacophony of metal banging behind you as the creatures climb into the vents after you. The vents curve and you take right after left in random search without a thought but to distance yourself. A glimmer of light jumps out at you right below you before the vent gives out. The vent cover you were crawling over smashes open, and you tumble out onto the floor.

With a cough you clear your lungs and throat and stumble upright, fighting a growing headache. You are still functioning, and the metal banging has let up. The room you find yourself in is lit with a dim red and the sound of humming and moving machinery is everywhere. There’s a strong smell of oil and acetone. This is some sort of engine room. Along the wall are stashed canisters of strange fuel and a workbench covered in oily and dirty tools. There you find another glass log.

Engineers Log #1:
Kalends of October, year 2263
HMS Genesis - Engine Branch
Norman Cevan, ID #39208050

Today begins our adventure off into the stars, powered by the Manhattan engine. Designed around constant propulsion, the ship is accelerating at a constant rate of 9.80665 m/s towards our destination, Betelgeuse 7. This in addition acts as a sense of gravity. This engine allows one to convert mass straight into energy using a process recently discovered by scientists on Earth.

We hope to reach our destination in two months, which will give the scientists on board plenty of time to conduct their experiments. I continue to update the system and keep it running and in check. We have yet to have any hiccups, and all is running smoothly for everyone aboard.

Signed, head engineer, Norman Cevan

You put the log back and stagger to the door on the other side of the engine room.

The next room is filled with turned off computer monitors and lockers. The locker doors are all open and the insides ransacked. You peak into each of the lockers, most contain security officer outfits, and all their holsters are empty except one. You pick up the laser blaster and check the charge; only a single shot left. Making your way over to the desk you notice another log.

Security Log #5:
1 day before the Kalends of November, year 2263
HMS Genesis - Security Branch
Bernard Callahan, ID #35272040

Security is at an all-time high. There are arguments among the scientists that we are not privy to hear, but I can hear the yelling - mostly Dr. Johnson. I fear we may have to step in. The security officers are nervous, some say that violence is going to break out. Needless to say, we did not expect this. I always thought we were giving security to the scientists from outside threats, but it looks like our job may be to protect the scientists from each other.

I sent out a standing order to keep a close eye on Dr. Johnson. Something recent seems to have made him quite upset, and he has been acting irrationally. If need be, we may have to have a talk with him about appropriate workplace conduct.

We will continue to be wary about potential threats. If anything is going on, then we should know. At least, that’s my opinion.

Signed, security officer, Bernard Callahan

After reading the log you notice the power button. You press it and the screen lights up. The system boots up, and the monitors fill with security camera feed. You see the main deck, the storage room, the engine room, then black screens from the offices. A pop-up alert appears on one of the lower monitors. You can’t read the text, but it illustrates a button on the console. You hesitate but press the button.

The lights in the security room and on the cameras dim, then the lights sequentially light up in the offices and the sleeping quarters. Scattered along the hallways are the corpses of scientists, security officers and others. At the end of the offices is a second entrance to the laboratory.

Before you can examine further, you hear loud banging in the engine room. Fear shoots up your body as you look for the closest entrance. You rush to the further door and slam your body against it. It doesn’t budge. You rip open the lock and throw open the door. In front of you is the door to the storage room where this all started. Both sides look clear. The banging sound behind you only rises.

You run down the corridor towards the main deck. Rushing past the desks you run down the now lit hallway to the sleeping chambers. You step over a few corpses along the way, all featuring the same distinct deep scratches. On one of the bodies, you notice another log.

Lab Log #2:
5 days before the Nones of October, year 2263
HMS Genesis - CENSORED Branch
Dr. Porterstein, ID #43172592

Thus concludes the first week of the Eden experiment. The subjects have been doing well. Feeding by mouth has continued to have difficulties, it seems something has gone wrong in their genetic code. Sustenance by syringe works, but other methods are preferable. Other than those troubles, work has been without hitch. Our measurements have all been within the safety factor, even the aggression factor. This gives us great hope for the long-term effects, as their recorded performance is measurably better than non-edited human astronauts.

As stated, our microgravity tests are very promising. During deep space trials, bi-original humans have observed blood clots, muscle dystrophy, radiation sickness, and even blindness; all symptoms our subjects have yet to have. Our editing looks to have worked; all we need to do now is to work out the… issues.

Signed, head scientist of project Eden, Dr. Porterstein

Having made your way past the sleeping quarters you’ve reached the officers of the scientists and project leads. You pop your head in a few of the offices, but most of them have nothing of use. Most of the offices are trashed from fighting, and you don’t have time to check each computer for answers. When you reach the door to the laboratory you attempt to key in, but it does not work. You curse under your breath. Retracing your steps, you stop at the biggest office. You open the door and walk in. Sitting on his chair, slumped over his desk is a dead scientist. He has a large stab wound in his neck. You grimace, then approach. Hanging from his belt is a key card that you grab, as well as another log from his desk.

Lab Log #9:
4 days before the Nones of November, year 2263
HMS Genesis - CENSORED Branch
Dr. Porterstein, ID #43172592

They escaped. All three. The first cage looks unlocked, the others forced open. Maybe we underestimated their intelligence, they are human after all. Or perhaps Dr. Johnson finally went insane and let them out. Who knows, it doesn’t matter now.

Promptly after, security went into overdrive. Dr. Johnson tried talking to them, but that’s all I know, I wasn’t there at the time. I think Johnson threatened them, he must have done something to deserve being shot. Or maybe not. Who knows? Either way, if he let them out or didn’t, he paid the price.

We’re all holed up in the canteen. The doors are blocked, and we raided the armory for laser blasters. People are worried about the vents, but there’s no way the creatures can fit through those. Either way we’re going to stay here until the ship lands and hope we can make it out. We’re all scared, but we’re hopeful. I plan to return to my office to grab my key card to the lab. Our Plan B may have to be our Plan A.

Signed, head scientist of project Eden, Dr. Porterstein

Your heart skips on the word plan. Is there a way out? Whatever the answer, you know you must get to the lab. Hands shaking, you key into the lab. Light green. You push the vault like door open before you feel a pair of eyes on the back of your head. You slowly turn to look behind you. Three of them. Without a second passing you dash into the lab and slam the vault door closed. The lock bolts click a second before a roar of banging starts on the door. The whole door is shaking on its hinges.

Scouring the lab you notice all the equipment. There are three empty cages, operating tables, and equipment racks with syringes, liquids, and medicines. On the side of the lab closest to you is a laptop and a large rectangular metal frame with a circular platform at the base. There are foot thick cables running out of the back into the wall. It all looks very complicated.

The banging is ceaseless and without a moment of hesitation you rush to the desk. Whatever Plan B was, there should be evidence… there needs to be. You rush to the operating tables, but there’s nothing there. Turning to the cages, you spot it. Thrown to the ground beside the first cage is a blood-stained lab log.

Lab Log #12:
Ides of November, year 2263
HMS Genesis - CENSORED Branch
Dr. Glen Edward Ibis, ID #43328794

We must have hit something because the ship jolted. Dr. Porterstein went to his office but never returned, soon after we were attacked. I managed to hole myself up in the lab, and I fear that I’m the only person left alive. If you anyone finds this log, let Earth know what happened here. The creatures can smell me, I know it. It’s only a matter of time until they get me.

I’ve been trying to get a signal from Earth, but communication must have seized when we crashed. It seems there’s only one way out, but it’s dangerous. In the lab we have a teleporter, it’s powerful and has enough charge to take me back to Earth, but I worry that if I teleport, these creatures will follow me out. I have a difficult decision ahead of me, but I think I know what to do. So I leave this log just in case anyone finds this ship. Please, tell Earth what happened.

Signed, last survivor(?) of project Eden, Dr Glen Ibis

The banging on the door reaches a climax, and the whole door shudders as a large thin arm rips through the metal. Five other limbs reach out through the hole and begin to tear into the door. The hole widens quickly as you rush towards the laptop. You slam the power key and boot in. Already up is the software for the teleporter, target selected: EARTH. Beside you the metal frame comes to life and begins to hum. You step up onto the platform as the vault door bursts open. Your hand reaches for the blaster with one shot. Do you press the button and teleport to earth? Do you shoot a creature? Do you shoot the teleporter?

The professor removes the headset from Smith’s forehead. He frowns and rubs his head.

“How was the experience, Smith?” An assistant offers him a water bottle.

“What happened? Where am I? What year is it? What did I… what did I choose?”

The professor frowns. She makes a note.

“Drink some water. One of the symptoms is mild discombobulation. You’re at the University of ML/AI in Boston. It’s still the year 2066. Please, take as much time as you need. I’m going to provide you with part B of the experiment so you may complete it when you feel ready.”

“Thank you,” Smith mutters feeling a little silly. The professor and assistant step out to talk. He glances at the packet the assistant handed him. The first half is a news article and the second is a questionnaire. Smith scans the title of the article, “Genetic Engineering breakthrough paves way for Deep Space Exploration in new research presented by team of researchers at the University of Genetics in Florida.” He flips the packet over and reads the questions, “How does this article make you feel? What did you notice when reading? What are the benefits of this research, what are the possible downsides?” He stops reading.

Driving home, something tugs at Smith. He parks his car and walks up the steps to his apartment. Once inside he looks at the pamphlet on his kitchen table. The bold title jumps out at him like it did when he first signed up, but something feels quite different about it now. “Participants needed for experiment on media literacy and artificial intelligence.” He picks it up. “Participants will be shown a tailor-made feed from our new AI designed to increase media literacy and understanding. Takes 1 hour, 170$ reward.” He throws the pamphlet in the trash.

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