Evil has awoken.
When an isolated mining colony sends a distress call, a search and rescue team arrives on the scene to investigate. As they enter the colony, only blood and death await them. However, as their search for survivors continues, something begins hunting them.
It is ancient beyond counting. Evil beyond comprehension.
With the cold resolution of death itself, it moves towards one goal:
Command was dark. Command was cold. The rain beat hopelessly against the bleak exterior of the vaulted structure. It rose above them ominously in the darkness. Surrounded by rain and silence, Powell led the squad towards the gaping, stygian maw that represented the entrance. He had opened up some of the tiny vents placed along the exterior of his suit and now the thick stench of death was filtering in through them.
He ignored it, as he had long ago grown used to it. He stepped inside, assault rifle raised and ready for combat at the slightest provocation. The way ahead was bathed in the crimson glow of emergency lighting. It gave the area an ominous feel. Powell felt his heart tightening in his chest, his muscles tensing in anticipation of some unseen attack. The feeling of being watched, of being hunted, grew ever stronger.
The trio moved slowly and quietly down the corridor, studying their surroundings. The halls were painted with thick swaths of blood and crimson gore that looked all the same beneath the emergency lighting. Accompanying the splashes of blood were deep, thick rents in the metal walls. Unable to activate his night vision due to the crimson lighting, Powell stalked on.
He stepped on something and hesitated. It squelched beneath his boots. It was hard, but squishy. Powell glanced down and pulled his foot back. The others halted, weapons raised in nervous anticipation while the Sergeant knelt.
“Jesus Christ...” he muttered.
“What is it?” Lynch whispered apprehensively.
“It's a finger.”