text: [Themes: sci-fi, quiz, science fiction, socially important, humor, true story]
  
  You always knew the captain was a deranged cunt. In addition to just being an all around unlikable person, she expected far too much of everyone, as if ANYTHING on this old ass ugly and poorly designed 'library ship' mattered. As if coaxing this broken down wreck from one star to another to 'share human culture and literature' in only the most irrelevant and obscure portions of the galaxy possible could EVER matter. Every single crew member doomed to this hell tour was a burnout, a freak, a frothing fuckwit, a failure. And all of you are far too aware of it. So why, so just why couldn't you be left in peace to wallow in your own apathy and incompetence? But no, the captain had to be so damn insistent on papering the halls with posters about 'pride in one's work' and 'why are we even here if we're not enjoying ourselves???' And stranger things. The inspirational quote generating AI might be going a little wonky there, honestly. Because absolutely everything on this ship was falling apart, and it had been at least a year since High Command had checked in. But that was typical too, because you were nothing to them. It's all in the name of the ship: the USS Cystia. Oh sure, it was supposed to stand for something. But there's no ignoring what it spelled. Cyst. As in a pus-filled boil, in need of being drained and sterilized. That's all any of you are to anyone who matters. Captain Marizal, though. Even by those already incredibly low standards, she was a real piece of work. Always holed up in her quarters scribbling awful, embarrassing garbage about shitty elves or whatever, almost never finishing anything (there's dedication for you!) but the worst thing is, when she DID complete things, she wanted people to read them. Ridiculous. Most people would take one look at this crowd and immediately realize their mistake in hoping for anything but crushing disappointment. But no, when just leaving them in the shipwide recreational communications network didn't work (a network mostly designed to kill time while indisposed, hence the act of using it called 'shitposting') and specific requests for opinions got ignored, she started printing out copies and "casually" "forgetting" them by "accident" in prominent places all over the ship. Frustrated even there, she wound up ordering the crew to paper several villages on developing worlds with the printouts, but the primitives didn't read them either; all it resulted in was researchers complaining that you'd interfered with their development by giving them easy access to toilet paper and fire starting materials. That all led to the mess you're in now somehow, although in hindsight it should have been a good indication she was starting to crack. Oh right...
  
  [Author's Note: HATE. THE PURITY AND INTENSITY OF MY HATE IS LIKE A THOUSAND MERCILESS, UNQUENCHABLE SUNS. AND YET, I ONLY NEED ONE...]
  
  > ...the mess you're in now.
  Instead of the usual 'morning' shift change announcements, you were instead woken up by some real quality vengeful lunatic ranting by Captain Marizal, over the intercom.
  
  "--just one! One! If just ONE of you had read ONE story and given ONE sentence of acknowledgement, this wouldn't have to happen! How long does it take to read 2000 words? 1000, even? YOU ALL WENT TO SPACE SCHOOL AND GRADUATED SOMEHOW, FOR FUCK'S SAKE! How is 1000 words 'more than anyone could possibly have the attention span to read? Someone actually said that to me once, you know! I had him blown out the airlock and made it look like an accident! Now guess why I'm admitting to this now. GUESS. Ahahaha, that's right, because it doesn't matter anymore! HAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHA. Hah..."
  
  By that time you'd stumbled to the bridge and the controls on your station, just in time to verify that 1.) A shuttle had been taken from the bay, and 2.) the captain was on it, before locating said shuttle with sensors and tracking it as it plunged right into the heart of this system's blazing sun.
  
  So that happened. And it seems something's up with your station computer now, to top it off. Although there have been far more glitches and lag with the computers than are remotely acceptable these past couple of weeks...
  
  You need to figure out how to get news of the situation to High Command, and hopefully be reassigned to some place a bit less in the middle of nowhere.
  
  Two buttons are blinking and beeping on your control panel, a red one and a blue one.[Themes: horror, horror]
  
  [Author's Note: Drew was a fantastic accountant. He really enjoyed his job and he was good at it. But one day something started happening to him, and he just wasn't quite sure what was going on... Created for BerkaZerka's Creatures of the Night Contest]
  
  > The Horror Inside
  Drew stared at the computer screen. He looked at the numbers there and thought. The numbers were spinning in his head, he could almost see them fit together in a different way. Then he had it! His fingers jumped to the keyboard and started typing. He switched programs and make more updates. Then he clicked the mouse with a flourish, crossed his arms, and sat back.
  
  "There you go, that's going to save another quarter cent, on average, for sure!"
  
  Linda looked around her monitor and said flatly, "Oh, a whole quarter cent. Yeah, impressive. Way to go."
  
  Drew smiled and replied, "A quarter cent on every single transaction and every related transaction. So around..." He looked up as he mentally calculated, then said, "Two point five million dollars by the end of the year."
  
  Linda's mouth dropped open and she couldn't think of anything witty to say to that.
  
  Drew stood up, cracked his knuckles, and then shut down his computer. He called out, "All in a day's work!" He announced to the office, "I'm out!"
  
  He headed past the office of his supervisor, stuck his head in and said, "Yeah, boss, just saved another million. Check your email. I'm going for beer." He stepped back out and down the hallway without waiting for a reply.
  
  Drew stepped into the elevator and thought about how much he liked his life. He worked in a nice building in downtown, and he could stop at the bar on the first floor on this way out to have a beer. He didn't have to worry about driving home because he could just walk the three blocks to his apartment building. He liked what he did, he had a routine, and he was enjoying life.
  
  He stepped out of the elevator and stopped at the bar. The bartender set his beer up as he approaching, knowing he would be there. He nodded to her and took a drink. He thought about his weekend plans: he was going to watch some playoff baseball on tv Saturday and maybe some football on Sunday. He needed to do his laundry, and he could get that done Saturday before the games. Sunday he would just relax before heading back to work. Yes, it was going to be a good weekend.
  
  Drew woke up and looked around. He was confused. He was half on the bed and half off the bed. How did he get there? He shook his head and tried to make his way to his feet. He almost slipped and fell and managed to land on the edge of the bed in a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes and looked at his wrist. For some reason his watch wasn't there. That was more confusing because he never took his watch off. As he squinted, he realized that his shirt was torn. He looked down and saw that was it was regular undershirt, but for some reason it had three different huge tears in it. He reached through the holes and felt his chest – there were no injuries or blood. That seemed odd as well.
  
  He made his way to his feet and looked around. For some reason he was barefoot. The room was a mess, and that was really not like him. How many beers did he have? He always had just one and he had never blacked out in his life. He had heard others talk about that experience, but he'd never ever considered it. He ran his hand through his hair as he pondered what was going on.
  
  He stumbled over to the open laptop and moved the mouse to activate the screen. He typed his password and then looked down to the corner of the screen. He was shocked to see the day and time: it was Monday morning and we was supposed to be at work in 30 minutes! Wait, it was Monday? How did it get to be Monday? What is going on?
  
  Drew moved towards the shower as he tried to recall something, anything, about the weekend. He turned the water on and stripped out of his torn shirt, but couldn't remember anything at all. He stepped into the shower and mechanically washed himself. Looking down he saw that there was actually quite a bit of dirt and filth running down the drain. That didn't make sense, either. He stumbled out of the shower still completely confused. He reached for his watch, but realized for the second time that it was missing. He focused on that for a moment and tried to make sense of it. The only way his watch was missing was if someone had taken it from him. There's no way he would voluntarily take it off somewhere else. Whatever happened this weekend, something wasn't right.
  
  He grabbed some clothes without looking. As he was putting his pants on, he realized he only had a few minutes left before he had to be at work. But the watch really bothered him. He wondered if he should report it missing to the police. That's what people were supposed to do when someone had something stolen from them, right? Or maybe he shouldn't bother, maybe he should just go to work on not really worry about the watch until he remembered more about the entire weekend.
  
  > Drew should ignore it, it's nothing. Just go to work as normal.
  Drew headed off to work. He rushed down the street as he was still trying to figure out what in the world was going on. He glanced down at his wrist, noticing once again that his watch really wasn't there. He ran past his usual coffee shop and quickly made his way up the stairs. He made it into the office with just a minute to spare. He took a deep breath and headed over to his cubicle. He felt relaxed as he looked at his screen. He was at home with the numbers. He logged on and quickly lost himself in his work.
  After a short time, Drew found himself engrossed in his numbers. He was flipping through pages and working on calculations. He had completely forgotten about the events of the weekend as he was where he wanted to be. He didn't even look up until someone else touched him on the shoulder. He looked around and realized it was already time to go home. He had worked through lunch and had really enjoyed his day.
  He stood up and headed out of the office. He nodded to a couple others as he headed out, but he didn't really have any desire to interact with many of the others, so he just got on the elevator silently, like the rest of the drones going home for the night. He waved to the bartender as he passed by on his way home: he decided after last night that he would just skip the drink today. As he walked down the street he again searched his mind and really just couldn't find anything that could help him tell what had happened to his weekend. After a day, he figured it was just something he wasn't going to figure out, so he shrugged it off as he entered his apartment.
  
  Drew woke up with a groan. He was face down on the ground, his face in the carpet. His head was sore was he lifted it up. He could feel drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. He licks his lips and tasted something, he wasn't quite sure what. It was a little bitter, but tasted like metal. He made his way to his feet and noticed the sun shining in through the window of his apartment. The sun was very bright and made his eyes hurt. He put his hand up to shield his eyes and noticed something dark on the back of his hand.
  He squinted and then slowly made his way to the bathroom. His legs felt sore, as if he had been running for a long time. When he made it to the bathroom, his eyes open wide at the sight before him: there was blood dripping off the side of his mouth! He stepped back and could see he was just a wreck: there was dirt on his arms and black blood smeared on his shirt and arms. His shirt was torn again into pieces. He just stared into the mirror: what in the world was going on?
  Checking himself out, he couldn't find any injuries. That meant that this blood wasn't his, it must belong to someone else: but who? Did he do this? What could he have done? He carefully peeled off the shirt and headed into the shower to clean himself up. When he got out of the shower, he spotted a tuft of fur with his discarded clothes. He wondered if something happened with an animal of some sort. This was confusing because he couldn't remember anything at all.
  
  > Drew should call the police and report the blood.
  Drew's hands were shaking as he picked up the phone and quickly dialed 911.
  "911, please state your emergency."
  Drew stuttered as he tried to explain, "I... blood..."
  "Sir, do you need an ambulance?"
  "No, no, I just..."
  "Sir, this is an emergency number. Do you have an emergency to report?"
  "Well, I'm not sure."
  "Sir, it is a crime to call this number if you don't have an emergency."
  "Well, there's a lot of blood and I don't know where it came from."
  "Sir, are you bleeding? I can dispatch an ambulance and police right away."
  "The blood, I don't think it's my blood."
  "Sir, if you don't have an emergency, you need to hang up the phone right now."
  "I just think that... maybe someone... or a dog."
  "Sir, if you continue to call this number, the police are going to arrest you."
  Drew hung up the phone. This wasn't making any sense. Why did he try and call the police? What did he think they would be able to do for him? None of this made any sense. Why couldn't he figure this out?
  
  > With nothing else to do, Drew heads to work.
  Drew headed back to the office, but he was having trouble focusing on his work. He wondered if anyone else could tell him what was going on. When he heard anyone talking, he thought for sure they were talking about him. He tried to work, but just couldn't make the numbers work right. He leaned back in his chair and tried to think and tried to remember.
  He remembered going home. He was sure he had taken something out of the freezer and cooked it for dinner, but he wasn't sure if he was actually remembering that, or if that's just what he always did. He couldn't remember what he had eaten. That's where everything started to just go black. He probably went online and checked out some forums and chats, but he simply couldn't remember. Did he watch TV? His mind was just blank, he couldn't remember anything at all after getting home. Was it something at his house that was causing this? Should he stay away? He figured he could try it tonight just to see if that made any difference. He decided to just hang out in the bar until they closed and see how the night would go...
  
  Yet again Drew woke up lying on the ground. He looked around and realized he wasn't in his apartment this time. It took him a minute to recognize the area – he was in an alley behind his apartment, he could tell by the dumpsters. He looked around to see if there was anyone else in the area, and he didn't see anyone. He scrambled to his feet and quickly made his way in the back door of the apartment building. After the last few days, he wanted to avoid contact with anyone until he managed to get cleaned up. Glancing down, he could see blood on his hands and arms yet again.
  Drew managed to get up to his apartment and inside. He slammed his door and leaned up against it as it closed. This was too much. He was going insane. Why couldn't he remember anything? Why was he blacking out every night? He slowly walked to the bathroom, dreading what he would see in the mirror. It was the same as every morning: blood and dirt on his face. His shirt was torn again. There was blood all over his arms this time, much more than before. He ran his hands up and down his arms and once again couldn't find any injuries. He wiped his hands on a towel and headed back to his computer. He turned it on and headed for the local news web site.
  "Violent Murders Overnight" blared the headlines. Drew's eyes got big as he looked down at the blood once again. He didn't know what kind of blood was all over him, but he could imagine as he read more in the article:
  "Three people were violently murdered overnight in the 400 block of Park Street. Their bodies were found when Agatha Christin, age 71, took her dogs out for a walk early this morning. Police have not provided a lot of details yet, other than to say that the murders were very violent and they were continuing to investigate. Park street is closed while the investigation continues. Ms. Christin reports says that there was blood all over the place and she couldn't even tell how many bodies were there because they were so, in her words, 'ripped to pieces.'"
  Drew just sat there, staring at the computer screen. While he still couldn't remember a thing, somehow he knew that he was responsible. Something was happening each night, and he was responsible for it. He had no idea why or what, but somehow he knew it was his fault. He had to try and figure out what to do about it now.
  
  > Drew should call the police and report what he knows.
  "911, what is your emergency?"
  Drew stuttered, "I want to report a... a..."
  "Report a what, sir? Sir, do you need the police or an ambulance?"
  "Well, I need to report that I did something... I think..."
  "I'm sorry sir, are you saying you did something that requires the police?"
  "Those murders on Park street..."
  "Sir, do you know something about those murders? Shall I send the police to your location?"
  Drew thought a moment and said, "I don't know."
  "Sir, that's enough. This line is for emergencies only."
  The line disconnected. Drew was at a loss again. He just didn't know his options. What was he supposed to tell the police, anyway? That he was covered with blood and he didn't know where it came from? They wouldn't arrest him, they'd sent him to the looney bin, and he'd never get out of there with the blackouts he'd been having. But maybe that would be best for him. Maybe with some medical care, someone could figure out what was going on and why he was blacking out...
  
  > Without thinking more about it, Drew headed off to work again.
  Drew stumbled as he walked into the workplace. A few people in cubicles looked up at him, but they quickly looked away. Why did they look away? Was there something on his face, still? Could people see the blood? Drew looked at his hands – there was nothing there. He rubbed his hands together, just to make sure there was no trace of blood on his hands. Whose blood? Drew looked around to see if anyone noticed him wiping off his hands. It didn't appear anyone was watching. He slipped around the corner and into his seat.
  He sat down as his computer and started to log into his account. He typed his password wrong. He went to type it again and noticed his hands were still shaking. What was going on? He took a deep breath and tried to relax. He carefully typed his password and logged into his work computer. He jumped and almost fell out of his chair when a co-worker walked behind him. She asked, "Hey, Drew, you okay?"
  He replied, "Yeah, sure, I'm fine. Nothing to see here."
  She looked at him with a confused look, then walked away. Drew looked after her and wondered if she knew. Was it possible that she had seen him after work? Did she see him leave the bar last night to do whatever it was he did after he left? Does she know what he did? He watched her until she turned the corner and moved out of sight. This was crazy. If anyone from work knew what he did, they'd either talk to him or call the police.
  He tried to focus on the screen but was startled when the phone rang in the next cubicle. Could that be the police calling for him? Were they calling other people in the office to warn them away from him? He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of such thoughts. He told himself, "You don't even know for sure that you did anything last night." He knew he was trying to convince himself and he was failing. He was sure the police knew something now, and they were going to come for him. He had to get out of this place before they found him.
  
  > Drew should shake off the feelings and ignore them until he had some hard evidence.
  Drew tried to focus on his work. He managed to get into a spreadsheet and start some analysis. He was working on getting the numbers to work out when he realized that something was wrong – not with the spreadsheet, but in the office. He tried to focus on the office to figure out what was wrong. He didn't see or hear anything that was wrong. But then maybe that's what it was – there wasn't anything. He didn't hear typing on keyboards. He didn't hear the quiet sound of talking on the phones. It was nearly completely quiet other than the hum of computers. He looked around and he didn't see anyone around him. What was happening? Was he dreaming this?
  He stood up and looked around. It looked like the entire office was empty. There were dozens of people that worked here, but suddenly there was no one? What was happening right now?
  His thoughts were interrupted with a loud banging on the door. A voice called out from the far side, clearly amplified by a megaphone or some other device: "This is the police! We're coming in now! Place your hands on your head and face away from the door! Do it now! I repeat, this is the police!"
  Drew had only a moment to decide what to do. Clearly they were talking to him, there was no one else in the office.
  
  > Drew should head for the door and prepare to fight. He wasn't going to go down easy.
  Drew headed straight for the door. He could handle this. If he was some supernatural creature that was attacking and ripping people apart in the dark, surely he could handle some small-town policemen trying to take him down. As he headed for the door, the door suddenly slammed open. There was a burst of light and a deafening noise. Drew blinked and staggered, trying to see what was happening at the doorway. He saw some tiny flashes of light and then it felt like someone was poking him and shoving him in the chest. He looked down and saw that there were some red spots on his shirt, and they were getting larger very quickly. He stumbled and dropped to his knees. He looked up and couldn't really see anything through the smoke. He blinked and tried to focus, but the smoke appeared to be getting darker. Actually, everything was getting darker. He fell forward and reached out to break his fall, but he didn't feel it when he hit the ground.