The slap of footsteps echoed down the sterile, metallic corridor of the sprawling orbital station “Sanctuary-1.” Emergency lights pulsed rhythmic red streaks across the walls, casting shadows that danced like malevolent spirits, while distant warning klaxons wailed in overlapping waves of chaos. Tifa Lockhart darted around a corner, her breath coming in quick bursts, the tails of her modified nurse’s outfit fluttering behind her. White fabric with crimson accents hugged her athletic frame, the corset-like bodice tailored to highlight her powerful yet graceful build. Her white cap, adorned with a bold red cross, sat askew on her dark mahogany hair, but her focus never wavered. Every step was deliberate, her boots crunching against metal grates as she sprinted toward the control room—or so she hoped.
Outside the station’s observation windows, a gas giant loomed in vibrant shades of blue and green, framed by glowing auroras that shimmered against the black void. The Sanctuary-1 was tethered to the gaseous titan, siphoning resources crucial to humanity’s outposts across the farthest reaches of the galaxy. Yet, tonight, the beauty of the cosmic backdrop seemed to mock her. She wasn’t running from planetary wonders—she was running from them.
“They’re in Sector C7 now!” a man’s voice crackled through her handheld comm. Tifa didn’t slow, didn’t answer. With her free hand, she tightened the red tie around her neck and adjusted a leather holster strapped to her thigh, where sleek syringes filled with a shimmering blue serum were secured. Behind her, the sounds of guttural growling, punctuated by the screech of claws against walls, closed in.
The creatures had emerged four hours earlier. No briefing had prepared them for this—staff torn to pieces, patient halls now reservoirs of carnage. The “infected,” if you could call them that, weren’t human anymore. Instead, they were pale, sinewy monsters with black, bulbous eyes and too many sharp, chittering teeth. They moved faster than anything should in zero-G and operated as if some grim hive mind connected them.
As Tifa slid into a small alcove to catch her breath, she felt the bite of the station’s chilling air conditioning press against the exposed skin along her thighs and arms. Her stockings weren’t exactly the most combat-ready gear, but practicality hadn’t been the day’s theme when the disaster struck. She had been in costume, playing along with her crew—a simple laugh before treating her battered friends in the stationed medical bay. Now, the blood-red lighting turned her attire into something grotesquely poetic: a battle-worn angel in devilish hues.
The comm barked again. “Lockhart! Did you hear me?” shouted Barret, his deep voice laced with urgency. “Get to Control—NOW. We’re sealing this station in fifteen minutes whether you’re on it or not.” There was a pause, static hissing between his words. “Don’t make me do this, Tifa. You’ve got people back home.”
“I know,” she muttered, shoving the communicator into her pocket as she emerged from the alcove. Yet, her hesitation lingered. She bit her lip, her mind flashing back to a memory just hours ago—Cloud smiling faintly at her as she handed him a steaming mug of coffee, Aerith’s teasing lilt as she called her outfit “a little risqué, don’t you think?” It was supposed to have been a night of camaraderie. Instead, it had unraveled into this nightmare.
She pushed forward. Sanctuary-1’s Control Room wasn’t far now. It lay at the station’s heart, behind reinforced doors that, if sealed properly, might hold long enough for her and any survivors to evacuate. Her eyes caught the room’s entrance, glowing green against the blood-red backdrop of emergency lights. Relief was premature. A snarl reverberated behind her, the sound chillingly close. She quickened her pace. Her legs burned, arms pumping with relentless determination, even as she heard claws scrape closer and felt the primal heat of her pursuer breathing down her neck.
“Time to end this,” she muttered. Reaching the doorway, Tifa spun and fluidly slid a syringe from its holster. With precision honed through years of training, she hurled it toward the corridor behind her, the glass glinting sharply in the strobe-lit darkness. The projectile struck her stalker—a lunging infected whose elongated limbs twitched erratically—as the serum burst into its translucent flesh. The creature let out a guttural wail, collapsing in a convulsing heap of spasms.
Enough to slow them down. For now.
Bursting into the Control Room, Tifa’s eyes quickly darted to the console. As expected, she saw the holographic interface Barret had described, its flickering blue readout depicting Sanctuary-1’s deteriorating subsystems. She slammed the door’s manual override, thick steel panels groaning as they locked into place, cutting off the corridor outside. A final snarl dissipated as the seals hissed shut, though thudding impacts from clawed fists quickly replaced it. There was no time to waste.
Another figure stepped forward from the shadows. It was Jessie, her braided hair falling loose over her soot-streaked face. Unlike Tifa’s costume, Jessie wore something mundane and utilitarian—cargo overalls and a thick thermal jacket, though they couldn’t conceal the exhaustion evident in her slim frame. “You’re late,” the engineer quipped, nodding toward the console. “They already breached Subdeck C. We’ve got five minutes to eject this station before they hit Aggression Protocol.”
“Where’s Cloud?” Tifa asked, ignoring the pang of guilt in her chest as Jessie’s face fell.
“Don’t ask,” Jessie murmured, her usual sharp tone muted. “He bought us time. That’s all I know. Don’t make it pointless.”
Tifa nodded, swallowing her emotions. She approached the holographic controls, her skilled fingers flying across the glowing sigils as she accessed the station’s core systems. Energy reserves were critical, and backup protocols flickered with ominous warnings. Still, her mind worked on autopilot, systematically overriding secondary locks and preparing for manual detonation. Jessie moved quickly as well, setting charges on the station’s stabilizers to ensure it would drift into the void, taking their monstrous hunters with it.
The pounding against the door grew fiercer. Metal dented inward with each blow, but Tifa refused to look back. She had learned too many times that the past would only slow her down.
“Done,” Jessie called, wiping her hands and stepping back as Tifa hit the final command. The station shuddered violently, and the gas giant’s auroras erupted into brilliance through the observation windows, reflecting off Tifa’s determined expression.
“Let’s get out of here,” Tifa urged, grabbing Jessie’s arm and dragging her toward the nearest escape pod. As the pounding reached its crescendo and the steel barrier behind them finally burst inward, the two women launched themselves into the pod’s confines. With a hiss, the capsule detached, sending them spiraling into the vast, silent expanse of space.
As breathless minutes passed and the infected station dimmed into nothingness behind them, Tifa leaned back against the pod’s wall, her chest heaving. The red cross on her cap was stained darker now, a symbol not of healing, but survival. Jessie sat across from her, her head bowed.
“We made it,” Jessie finally whispered.
Tifa didn’t immediately respond. Her gaze was locked on the glowing red dot on the console in their pod—another distress signal blinking miles away. For them, it was over. But in a universe rife with terror, no reprieve lasted long.
“For now,” Tifa said softly. Her hands clenched into fists, but she didn’t look away.
The gas giant loomed larger, a silent witness to their escape, as the faint light of distant stars painted flickers of hope against the endless black.
Genre: Sci-fi action/thriller
The Source…check out the article that inspired this amazing short story: This Edgy White and Red Nurse Cosplay Costume Will Slay Your Next Con
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