CARNELIAN’S - A carnivorous, ravenous race found throughout
the galaxy and on Jupiter’s moon Europa.

This piece is shown through Brody's Journal

Sun October 3

Everything has gone horribly wrong. Over the last few months we’ve made
some excellent strides in warming Europa’s icy core. However, in the process
we’ve encountered some sort of vicious alien species.
We’ve found several different forms of this blue organism that we found
During one of her missions, Ellen accidentally brought one back with her,
and it has since escaped into the dark recesses of the station.
Hooper and Shaw have seen many of these things escaping from underneath
the icy crust, literally swarming over the surface.
At first glance, these things seem to thrive in this type of climate and
environment. Shaw told me he has seen these organisms crawl, run, climb and
kill one another in vicious attacks. There are small ones, medium ones, and the
adult sized, which stand at about two feet tall.
Shaw also said they have some sort of antenna on their heads which seems
to be the centerpiece of their existence. He seems to think that these aliens can
communicate using the antenna.
I will maintain a close eye on these creatures.

Sun October 31

Reggie was attacked in the control room today by a swarm of these creatures.
They found their way through the air ducts and a small crack in one of the doors
in the lower level of the station. We are compromised and have started to arm
ourselves from the artillery room as a defensive measure.
Reggie was left for dead, his body a bloody mess from the vicious attack.
Shaw and I couldn’t get to him in time. These creatures had the entire room
flooded and our firepower wasn’t sufficient enough to eliminate the threat.
Shaw and I decided to divide and conquer.
I have been unable to locate Ellen. I fear she might have been attacked
somewhere else inside the station.
We have also lost contact with Earth and our own ship is beyond repair
at this point in time. We simply didn’t have enough time to work on her. Our
engineer was a part of the other team on the Amity. He died on the voyage out
here after his body failed from the frozen stasis.
We are stranded.

Sun November 14

It’s gotten worse here. I haven’t been out of my quarters in over a week. I
don’t even know if the rest of my team is alive. I am a prisoner inside my own
mind, as well as my quarters.
I’ve thought about blowing up the whole damn station, but I don’t have
enough manpower to pull it off. My explosives are in my locker, but I fear it is
too dangerous to attempt. These creatures have swarmed the station.
I have been studying them, trying to find their weakness.
They seem to prefer the dark, as they have chewed through many of the
electrical lines, blanketing most of the station in darkness. Only the main
corridor, and the medical and science labs are still well lit. However, the entire
lower level is blacked out.
The smaller ones seem to prefer to crawl and slink along. The larger ones
cause most of the damage. They are quick, violent, and cunning. They can run,
walk, crawl, even rolling themselves up and tumbling along the floor.
I was attacked in the hall the other day by the smaller worm-like organisms
on one of my few attempts to gain access to the explosives. I fell and hit my head
as I tried to slap them off of my body. I briefly blacked out, and when I awoke,
they were nowhere to be found. I searched my body and found several marks down
my arms and chest.
I don’t know what to do.

Sun November 21

I’m tired and sick.
My stomach churns. My throat’s scratched—I’m coughing up decent
amounts of blood. They haven’t come for me yet, although I feel some sort of
change inside me. I can see the skin on my arms and legs move. I feel I am
going crazy. Small bumps move across my arms and legs, indicating something is
crawling underneath my skin.
I’ve come up with a name for our new guests. The Carnelians. It’s what they
tell me their name is. I can hear them inside my head. They talk to me and urge
me to do these horrible things. I will not break to their will. I must stay strong.
They want me to get them off the moon and take them to this new planet I have
knowledge of.
They tell me that they crashed here on their journey through our solar system
to find new hosts. They have been frozen in stasis here on the moon ever since a
comet interrupted their ship’s course to Earth. They have come from several other
planets and use humans as hosts to do most of their evil bidding. I am starting
to understand why I never watched all those sci-fi movies alone in the dark.
I fear I am the only one left alive.
Ellen and Shaw have not come back.
I sit here alone in my quarters, tired and hungry. My stockade of juices,
teas, and coffee beans are diminishing as well as my putrid packages of freezedried
I was able to raid the kitchen almost without any sign of the aliens before
being attacked.
I am also in need of a shave. My beard is definitely fully grown. I feel dirty
and unclean.

Tue November 23

I can’t take it any longer. Forgive me, I have to end it now. I’ve made a video
journal and have left it by the laptop over on the table for the next team if they
make it here alive.
They are in my body and in my head. Their voices grow louder and louder
with every passing day. I can see their movements underneath my skin, and
there’s nothing I can do. I have tried cutting them out of my arms, but they are
too quick for me.
This is not how I wanted my life to end. But, there is no other choice.
My final words of advice?
Get the hell out. Don’t come here.
Always keep the lights on, and pray to your God.
If there is one.


President Jackson Forsythe

States, son of the late, great Quentin Forsythe who held the key in
wiping out a vicious worldwide disease in Africa back in 2003. Early
40’s, 1st African-American president.

State of the Union
December 24, 2045
Washington D.C.
2 PM
Twelve years later, President Jackson Forsythe shifted nervously
while he stared into the lingering eyes of the large collection of
television cameras. He was following in the footsteps of a powerful
predecessor. President John Faulkner had kick started many programs,
including environmental awareness, space exploration, and widening
the global scope of Yellowstone’s super volcano. Forsythe wasn’t fully
prepared to delve into what was about to happen. After many restless
hours of pouring over countless streams of data, conferring with his
most trusted cabinet members, and world-renown volcanologist, Dr.
Nolan Drake, the president had found it necessary to relinquish the
information he had gathered to the public.
Dressed in a black suit, the president began to sweat under the
hot lamps. His State of the Union would be broadcast across the
world, to millions of homes. He didn’t delude himself; his victory
at the polls was a conglomeration of outstanding heritage, robust
intellect, and marvelous good looks, not to mention his attention to
detail and keen eye for fashion. All of it culminated into the ultimate
GQ president.
Forsythe was a young gentleman. He had become the first
African-American man to be elected president. The 2044 election
was a landslide for Forsythe. He came out of a very productive first
term that catapulted him into securing a second.
The president was now faced with a threat unlike any other. He
would need the smartest scientists, keenest intellects, and strongest
wills to combat this new menace; a menace that had been hiding
for the last six hundred thousand years and quietly building enough
energy to shatter the very world they lived in.
“Are we ready?” he asked the director.
“In exactly thirty seconds, Mr. President,” he answered.
“I have the best speech writers on the planet. Ironically, I have
absolutely no idea what to say to the American public.”
“Just speak from your heart, Dad,” Valerie Forsythe said, trying
to cool down her nervous father.
“Thanks Sweetie.” He gave her a fatherly wink. In some odd
way, a six-year-old child always seemed to bring a pinch of normalcy
back into the fold of any tumultuous agenda.
“Ten seconds.” The director gave him a quick flick of his hand.
“Here we go.” The president jumbled his independence theme
tie at the last moment trying to reconfigure the sharpened entity
back to form.
“Five, four, three…,” The director’s words trailed off as he
brought down his hand in a silent gesture, signaling the president to
begin his address.
“Good evening, Ladies and Gentleman, my beloved citizens,”
Forsythe began.”I have a most pressing issue to talk about tonight.”
The president squinted underneath the increasingly hot lights.
The lamp’s distraction made it a chore for Forsythe to read off the
Teleprompter. His nerves began to get the better of him, forcing
sweat to congeal underneath his arms.