I never believed in the hive mind. Not until I felt it in my teeth.

Now I’m on my hands and knees in a tunnel that wasn’t on any map, the air thick with the smell of iron and ozone. The mission was supposed to be in and out—retrieve the core data from the collapsed sector and return before the atmospheric filters failed. But the lift’s gone, the walls are breathing, and my suit’s telling me my heart rate is 140… but I’m not moving fast.

Something’s wrong.

I saw the first one fused into the wall—half-man, half-machine, veins glowing like live wires. His eyes were open, pupils gone, replaced by flickering red light. He didn’t scream. He whispered, in perfect sync with the pulse of the tunnel: 'Join us. You’re already inside.'

I keep crawling. Because stopping means becoming part of it. And I don’t know which is worse—dying… or being absorbed.