The engineering bay was chaos, a cacophony of alarms, flickering lights, and the groans of a dying starship. Engineer Mason's hands worked like a man possessed, splicing wires, punching commands, and rerouting power to systems that were failing faster than he could repair them. The Endeavor was outgunned and outmaneuvered, taking hit after hit from the sleek enemy vessel tearing them apart piece by piece.

"Shields at six percent!" called Vasquez, Mason's assistant, his voice muffled by the bulky protective helmet he always wore. He stood by the coolant tanks, his gloved hands gripping a stabilizer rod. "If those shields drop, we're toast, Chief!"

"I know!" Mason barked, sparks showering him as an overhead panel burst into flame. He grabbed a nearby extinguisher and doused it, coughing through the acrid smoke. "Keep monitoring those stabilizers! If they blow, we're done!"

"Done anyway, Chief," Vasquez muttered, but Mason was too absorbed in his work to respond. He slammed a fist into the console when it refused to accept his commands. The ship shuddered violently as another barrage struck.

"Come on," Mason hissed through clenched teeth, yanking open a service panel. He reached inside, his fingers fumbling through a mess of exposed wires. His breath came in ragged gasps, his mind racing for a solution.

Behind him, Vasquez's voice came again, eerily calm this time. "Tick-tock, Chief."

Mason froze. "What did you say?"

"Tick-tock," Vasquez repeated, stepping closer. The sound of his boots echoed unnaturally in the cramped space. "Time's running out."

Mason turned to face him, his pulse pounding in his ears. Vasquez stood unnervingly still, his helmet's reflective visor fixed on Mason like a mirror of his own fear.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Mason snapped. "We're in the middle of—"

Before he could finish, Vasquez reached up and unclasped his helmet. Mason's heart skipped a beat. The hiss of the seal breaking filled the air, and vapor spilled from the edges of the helmet as Vasquez slowly lifted it off.

Beneath the helmet wasn't Vasquez's face. There was no flesh, no features—only a bare, yellowed skull staring back at Mason with empty sockets. The jaw moved as if grinning, and when it spoke, the voice was Vasquez's but twisted, distorted, and layered with something...

"Tick-tock, tick-tock," it said, its bony jaw moving in mockery of speech. "Time's running out, Chief. What will you do?"

Mason stumbled back, his back hitting the console. "What... what are you?!"

The figure stepped closer, its skeletal grin fixed on Mason. "What I am doesn't matter. What you do does. Tick-tock..." It tapped a gloved finger against the side of its exposed skull. "Tick-tock."

The ship shuddered again, and Mason's mind reeled. The systems were collapsing, the shields nearly gone. Panic clawed at him, but deep inside, something else stirred—a stubborn refusal to give up.

With a sudden surge of determination, Mason slammed a fist into the emergency override lever. The engines roared to life, drawing power from every remaining system. The ship screamed in protest, but Mason didn't care. If they were going down, they wouldn't go alone.

"You can keep counting all you want," Mason growled, his voice steady despite the chaos. "But I've got my own timer."

The skull tilted its head, its grin somehow growing wider. "Brave words, Chief. Let's see if you make them count."

As the Endeavor surged forward, the enemy vessel loomed larger in the viewport. The collision was a blinding flash of light, an eruption of destruction that consumed everything.

And in the last moment, Mason swore he heard it laughing.