Juc-877 'link' 99%

The humming spiked. The lights flickered. On the viewing deck, inmates screamed—the observation window showed not stars, but teeth . A shape that had no geometry, pressing against the hull like a fist against wet silk.

The Mourning Star lurched. Alarms blared. The shape was inside now—not in the corridors, but in the air , in the minds of the crew. Men and women began weeping, clawing at their ears, whispering in a language that had no vowels. juc-877

In the end, Kael made a choice. He jettisoned the reactor core—with Seven still pressed against it. As the core tumbled into the void, the shape hesitated. It turned, almost curious, and followed her down. The humming spiked

“JUC-877. Convicted: Unauthorized temporal drift. Sentence: Permanent exile aboard the Mourning Star . Additional notes: Extremely dangerous. Do not engage in conversation.” A shape that had no geometry, pressing against

Kael grabbed Seven’s arm. “How do we stop it?”

She smiled. It was a terrible thing to see. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

The designation was simple: . No name, no history, just a barcode on a cryo-pod and a slot in the penal fleet’s ledger.