GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: Final Transmission

Final Transmission

Aten floated alone in the sealed wing of the Odyssey-9, the emergency lights flickering in erratic pulses. His hands trembled as he replayed the events in his mind. Europa. The ice. The way something moved beneath it. How the parasite clung to his suit, invisible, waiting.

It had taken Carter first—his vacant stare before he tore out Patel’s throat. Then it jumped to Patel, then Ruiz. One by one, Aten put them down, their screams echoing long after their bodies stilled.

Now, it was just him. And it.

He felt the creeping sickness already, the itch in his brain, the whispers curling in his thoughts. He had minutes, maybe seconds, before he lost control.

Aten made his way to the airlock, clutching his guitar. He had smuggled it aboard against protocol, and now, it would be the last thing tethering him to himself.

He strummed a chord. The sound wavered in the sterile air.

The parasite clawed through his mind, gnawing at his memories. He pressed the release. The airlock hissed. Cold, merciless space swallowed him.

Stars spun. His fingers still found the frets.

As his vision darkened, he felt the parasite consuming him, unraveling his mind, devouring his soul.

But as long as he could still play, for these last few moments—It was hard to think but a song from his childhood seeped through to his hands. They moved on their own playing the beginning of Bela Lugosi’s Dead, by Bauhuas. He hadn’t thought of this song in years and he smiled as he heard Peter Murphy’s voice in his head.

He would succumb to the infliction on his own terms knowing the crew was safe.

Undead, undead.

Art and story by Hal Hefner.
Produced by Catmonkey Studio