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I didn't want to be there.
No one did.
But it was me, the least of these standing on the prow of a Dragon 10, spaceship, once designed to ferry us to Mars, but now tasked with investigating the moon anomaly. And possibly my celestial coffin.
For weeks, scientists had scrambled for answers while the world fell into chaos. Humanity, desperate for answers, did what it always did: it turned to worship. Old gods found new followers, and new gods were born out of chaos. Faith became a currency, traded for comfort and meaning. Humanity was going to worship something. Old texts were being dragged to the surface, new religions were being born. Old conspiracies found new life, fresh cults emerged overnight, and the Cult of Luna surged to prominence, their doctrine chilling in its simplicity: the moon is alive, and its awakening is divine judgment.
No one knew what was going on. The moon, our constant companion, the anchor of tides and time, was no longer something we could take for granted. Destroying it wasn't an option. We needed the moon—but what do you do when something you need becomes the very thing that might destroy you?
Governments couldn't hide it, couldn't explain it away to an unsuspecting populace. Fear was rampant. Social media was abuzz with every change, every crack that surged. Telescopes remained glued to the sky as the world held its collective breathe.
Then there was me, the least of these, the expendable one being sent up.
The lamb to the slaughter.
In the name of science of course.
I am a janitor, literally the least knowledgeable brain on the campus.
The Dragon 10 lurched as it entered lunar orbit, bringing me back to reality. I felt the faint tug of gravity—or maybe it was just my imagination. I had no clue what half the readouts on the console meant. The only thing I understood was the blaring red warning light that kept flashing STRUCTURAL STRESS DETECTED.
I was alone on this damned ship.
Below us, the moon loomed like a wounded animal. Massive cracks webbed across its surface, glowing faintly with a light that didn't look natural. Chasms had opened, their edges glowing with a brilliant yellow radiance. Pieces of the moon hung in orbit around it, fragments large enough to pulverize entire cities if they fell to Earth.
"Control, this is Dragon 10," I said into the comms. My voice sounded thin and shaky, even to me. "We're in position. What's the next step?"
Static.
"Control?"
Nothing.
The glow from the moon intensified.
I don't know how to describe it. It wasn't just light—it was alive. It rippled and pulsed, spiraling out of the cracks in the lunar surface like tendrils of smoke. But smoke doesn't move with purpose. Smoke doesn't watch you.
