This is not merely a book.
This is the damaged archive of a lost orbital habitat, discovered, decrypted, and reassembled as best as we could.

Each numbered page represents a compartment of the station.
You begin in Room 1: Crew Dorms, and your objective is to reach Room 23: Central Control, then proceed to Room 40: Escape Pod, and survive the journey.

To move through the station, follow the exits embedded in each illustration. The direction each door leads is hidden in the art. Choose wisely. Every wrong turn brings you deeper into the belly of the derelict. Every right one brings you closer to air and light.

Clues are scattered across log entries and environmental details, visual motifs, timing anomalies, cryptic fragments. Some will help you. Some exist only to mislead. Some do both.

The optimal escape route takes exactly sixteen steps.
But don’t expect to recognize it on your first pass. Or your second.

Find the sixteen-room route from Dorms to Central Control to the Escape Pod. Then… return.
Yes, it’s possible. But only those paying close attention will ever notice the door open behind them.

The station contains a final lock, a hidden sequence of glyphs and fragments buried across the correct path. These do not announce themselves. Collect them. They may spell a command. Or a warning. Or something worse.

And remember:
You are not alone.
Something still stalks these halls.
It does not reason. It does not rest.
And if it finds you...
no one will hear your scream in the vacuum between walls.

Everything may be a clue.
Not everything should be trusted.

▶ Continue · the final transmission ⚙ Designer Panel

[Visual input corrupted. Emergency log overwrite engaged. Final 7.2 MB recovered.]

I don’t think there’s anyone left. Not really. Just echoing names and shredded suits.

The maps stopped helping days ago. Or hours ago. I can’t tell anymore. Doors open into different rooms than they should. Corridors end somewhere new every time I pass through them. I keep telling myself it’s stress. Lack of sleep. Low oxygen. Anything except the alternative.

I found Kamara’s rifle outside Quarantine. Bent almost in half. Not damaged. Folded. Like something grabbed it and kept squeezing.

The cryo decks are empty. The specimen pens are empty. The drone hangar is empty. That should scare me most. It doesn’t. What scares me is the silence. No alarms. No screams. No last stands. Just absence. Like the station swallowed everyone whole.

I saw it once. Only once. A single frame from a security camera. The image corrupted immediately afterward. Too many joints. Too many limbs. Moving low against the floor. The camera’s exposure flared around it as if the thing was drinking the light.

I’ve started leaving marks. Coordinates. Symbols. Warnings. Anything that might help someone find a way through. But they don’t stay. Every time I return they’re faded. Moved. Scratched over. Like something follows behind me erasing the trail.

I don’t know how it hunts. Heat. Noise. Movement. Maybe none of those. Maybe all of them. I only know that every time I stop moving, I hear it closer. A scrape. A click. A metallic tapping somewhere beyond the walls. Always behind me. Always gaining.

Central Control still responds. Barely. I think I can activate something from there. Maybe an escape route. Maybe a purge. Maybe nothing. I just need a few more minutes.

Wait. No. No no no… It’s here.

If anyone finds this… if anyone… Go to the… [unintelligible static] the frost mark… [transmission spike] Don’t…

[LOG CORRUPTED · END OF TRANSMISSION]

▶ Proceed to Room 1. The logs are waiting.