The pink sunset over the moon colony was silent.

​

Its light beamed through the artificial atmosphere, soft and alien, casting a rose-hued tint across the glass domes and skeletal infrastructure. The colony itself was built around three immense dome structures, each one housing a different facet of survival—agriculture, research, habitation—all dwarfed by a single tower that rose above them like a needle through fabric.

 

It watched over everything, unmoving, unblinking.

​

The buildings—sleek, metallic, utilitarian—sat beneath the tower's shadow. Nothing moved with urgency. No birds. No wind. Only the hollow hum of recycled air and the distant hissing of pressure locks opening and closing.

​

Inside the domes, colonists moved like clockwork. Farmers in soil labs adjusted nutrient tubes to the roots of synthetic crops. Engineers ran diagnostics on life-support units. Researchers stared into data displays, their faces washed in ghost-blue light. All of them were quiet. All of them were tired. No one laughed anymore.

​

No one talked about their home world anymore.

​

But even if no one said it, the grief clung to everything—the way people avoided eye contact, the hollow way they said “Good morning,” and the way every hallway echoed too much, like the colony itself had grown too big for the shrunken souls inside.

​

A hydration dispenser blinked red, a flickering screen taped over with a handwritten message:

OUT OF ORDER – 3RD REQUEST SENT

No one even glanced at it. It had become part of the wall.

​

A hollow chime rang overhead. The voice of the colony’s synthetic PA system echoed through the corridor, always calm, always sterile:

​

“Evening Cycle ends in 45 minutes. Please return to living sectors. All non-essential movement will be suspended after curfew.”

​

Still, no one moved faster. There was no urgency. Just slow, quiet compliance.

Along one curved wall near the entrance of Dome 2, a large screen glowed dimly — the Colony Memorial Archive. A long list of names scrolled endlessly, softly illuminated in pale gold. Above it, a phrase read:

​

"REMEMBER THOSE WE LEFT BEHIND. WE LIVE FOR THEM."

​

No one stood in front of it.

​

Dust had gathered along the bottom edge of the screen. A flickering candle icon on the far left had glitched, stuck in an endless loop of trying to light, then failing. Someone had once placed a photo beneath it — a family in front of a blue ocean — now curled and yellowed at the edges.

​

Children passed it without looking. Adults didn’t pause. Grief had become part of the architecture.​

​

And then came the bark.

 

A sharp, energetic sound that cut through the dull machinery of the evening.

 

Through the narrow walkways of the residential sector, a boy and a dog tore through the haze. Ellio—around eleven, slim and bright-eyed—wore what most in the colony wore: a slate-blue jacket traced with faint, glowing cyan seams that softly pulsed with every movement, paired with matching fitted pants and a plain tunic beneath. Functional and almost uniform-like, yet with a subtle elegance that hinted at the colony’s quiet hope for the future. 

 

At his side bounded Baylo, a golden retriever whose honey-gold coat shimmered warmly against the cool-toned walls and mist. His ears flopped wildly with each exuberant leap, tongue lolling, as Ellio—an unexpected spark of life in a world allergic to joy—raced after him, the pair weaving effortlessly through the pale metal maze that so many called home.

 

“Baylo! Slow down!” Ellio shouted, laughing.

 

Baylo barked again and skidded around a corner, startling a technician who dropped a tablet. Another colonist glared as the dog zipped past, weaving between legs and almost knocking over a crate of lab tools.

 

“Not again…” someone muttered. “Whose dog is that?” said another. 

 

Ellio dashed by moments later, breathless and smiling. “Sorry! He’s just excited!”

 

Baylo darted ahead, tail wagging like a flag of rebellion against the moon’s strict silence. For a few fleeting moments, it felt like a real place. A living place. 

​

The metal panel squeaked as Ellio ducked in behind him, crouching low as they crawled through the narrow shaft.

​

They emerged behind a forgotten section of the old engineering scaffold, tucked between support beams and emergency backup conduits. A place no one patrolled anymore. Half the warning signs were peeled and curling at the edges.

​

Ellio climbed onto the mesh platform, brushing dust from the small, fogged observation panel embedded in the outer dome wall. It faced west—right where the pink sun dipped behind the craggy horizon each evening.

​

Baylo flopped down next to him, tongue out, tail thumping like he was proud of himself.

Ellio grinned and swung his backpack around.

​

“Alright, alright… I brought the good stuff.”

​

He pulled out a small food pouch and tore it open. Baylo’s ears perked immediately. Ellio tossed him a treat. Baylo chomped it midair, then immediately shoved his head straight into the backpack, sniffing around wildly.

​

“Baylo—hey! Stop it, boy—c’mon!”

Ellio laughed, tugging at the bag.

“Okay, fine. One more. But that’s it.”

​

Baylo sat, smug, crunching happily while Ellio pulled out a protein bar for himself. Together, they sat on the ledge, Ellio’s legs dangling.

​

Before them, the sky was on fire. Waves of pink and gold rippled across the dusty atmosphere, painting the cracked hills in molten color. The light made the inside of the dome glow, just faintly—soft and warm, like the memory of a world long gone.

​

“No one even looks up anymore,” Ellio muttered.

​

Baylo leaned into him, still chewing.

​

Ellio smiled quietly, and together, they watched the last light slip behind the ridge—alone, in their hidden corner of the galaxy.

​

 

Inside one of the colony’s standard living quarters—a boxy, prefabricated unit lined up beside dozens of identical replicas—Dr. Thane Carroway sat hunched at his workbench. From the outside, the quarters looked like stacked silver modules, clean and utilitarian, with soft pulses of blue light along their seams. It was housing—but not quite home.

​

The interior was small, neat, and sterile. Every object had its place. The furniture was minimal: a compact bed recessed into the wall, a collapsible table, and a built-in storage wall with folded clothing behind glossy panels. The lighting was soft but uninviting, casting a constant artificial white across the surfaces. No pictures. No warmth. Just function.

​

At the center of the room, Thane’s fingers moved swiftly across a holographic keyboard, the projected keys responding with faint chirps. Before him hovered a containment cylinder, suspended midair by a stabilizing field. Inside, a strand of vibrant, swirling purple gas twisted and shimmered in weightless motion—cosmic energy, alive in microgravity.

​

It pulsed gently, like a heartbeat from another universe.

​

Thane’s eyes didn’t leave it.

​

He wasn’t just studying it.

​

He was searching for something.

​

Thane was a researcher, but lately, it felt more like a priesthood—worshiping something beyond understanding, trusting in the promise of power.

 

He didn't look up when the door whooshed open.

 

Ellio entered, cheeks flushed, Baylo charging in behind him. The dog leapt onto the desk, tongue out, sniffing wildly toward the energy cylinder.

 

“Baylo, no—down!” Thane barked, grabbing the dog by the collar and pushing him to the floor. “Stop it. Baylo, stop.”

 

Baylo whined softly.

 

Thane exhaled through his nose and resumed typing. Ellio stood awkwardly, holding Baylo by the collar, unsure whether he should leave or speak, a feeling he experienced all too often when it came to his dad. His mother, Maelis, walked in behind him. Her voice was quiet. 

​

“He just wants your attention.”

 

“I’m working,” Thane replied, not turning around.

 

Ellio gazed at his distant father.​ Maelis gave Ellio a tired smile. 

​

“Go on. Take him to your room.”

 

As they left, she paused.

​

“You know… You got that dog for him. The dog is the only warmth he has here.”

 

Thane’s gaze flicked to the cylinder. 

​

“He’s also a disruption.”

​

Later that evening, the silence between bites was heavy.

​

Ellio sat across from his parents at the family table, poking at his food. Baylo rested under his seat, tail occasionally tapping the floor. Maelis sat beside Thane, trying to maintain a pleasant expression as the tension slowly simmered across the table.

​

Thane ate with military precision—fork, chew, swallow, datapad glance, repeat.

Baylo nudged Ellio’s leg with his nose. Ellio casually dropped a scrap under the table.

A soft crunch followed.

​

Maelis sighed. 

​

“Ellio…”

​

Ellio grinned and whispered, “It’s just a little piece.”

​

Thane finally spoke, voice firm and clipped.

​

“Ellio, don’t forget I’ll be taking Baylo into the lab tomorrow morning.”

​

Ellio blinked. 

​

“Wait—what? You just took him in last month.”

​

Thane didn’t look up.

​

“Yes. It’s a monthly check-up, Ellio. He’ll be fine.”

​

“But I thought—”

​

“That’s the schedule.”

​

Ellio leaned back, scowling slightly. Baylo sensed the shift and rested his head on Ellio’s foot.

​

Maelis cleared her throat and tried to gently redirect the mood.

​

“The sunset was beautiful today wasn’t it, did anyone notice?”

​

Ellio perked up slightly. Thane gave no response.

​

Thane finished his last bite, stood, and took his dish to the small wash sink.

​

“Thank you for dinner,” he said to Maelis. “I have to finish compiling data before midnight.”

​

He turned to leave.

​

Then Maelis sniffed the air.

​

“What is that smell?” she said.

​

SQUELCH.

​

Thane’s foot skidded violently as he caught himself on the counter edge, nearly falling. His other hand knocked over a cup.

​

Everyone froze.

​

All eyes turned to Ellio.

​

Ellio looked down.

​

“Uhh…I may… or may not have forgotten to take him out earlier.”

He smiled awkwardly.

Baylo wagged, proudly unaware of the tension he left in his wake.

That night, Ellio waited until the hallways fell quiet. Then, barefoot and silent, he crept to the kennel.

 

“Hey, boy,” he whispered, unlocking the gate. Baylo bounded out. He darted around Ellio in circles, while whimpering and whining joyfully.  Ellio hushed Baylo.

 

“Quiet, Quiet, Boy. You're gonna wake up, Mom and Dad.” Ellio said softly.

 

Baylo sat and tilted his head. 

 

Immediately, Baylo curled into Ellio’s arms. They climbed into bed together, pressing close under the scratchy blankets. Through the narrow window, the pink moon loomed—soft and surreal.

​

“I wonder if we’re ever gonna get off this rock,” Ellio whispered. 

 

Baylo pressed his head to the boy’s chest. Ellio wraps his arms around Baylo's golden fur. His warmth was enough. Baylo raises his eyes, the fur on his forehead pushed upwards, forming skin folds.  He looks out the window.  A silent admiration of the sparkling stars accompanied by the dazzling pink moon, reflected in his pure brown eyes. 

 

 

The pink sun rose, spilling soft light through the scratched window of Ellio’s bedroom. The soft shimmer spread across the floor, then over the bed—where Baylo laid completely draped over a lump of tangled blankets and Ellio.

​

Baylo shifted in his sleep, tail twitching. A muffled voice came from beneath him.

​

“Baylo… buddy…”

Another groan. “Seriously, dude—I can’t breathe.”

​

Baylo opened one eye, looked down, and saw Ellio’s squished face staring up at him, half-buried in the pillow.

​

“You’re not a blanket, y’know.”

​

Baylo responded with a long yawn—then immediately started licking Ellio’s face.

​

“Ugh! No! That’s worse!” Ellio laughed, squirming under the slobbery assault.

​

He wrapped his arms around Baylo anyway, pulling him close for a sleepy hug.

For a brief moment, everything was peaceful.

​

Then—

​

KNOCK KNOCK.

​

The bedroom door slid open with a soft hiss.

Thane’s voice, clipped and businesslike:

“Ellio. Get Up. You’ve got school in less than an hour.”

A pause. “And I’m taking Baylo in for his check-up.”

​

Ellio let out a louder groan than before and rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head.

Baylo jumped off the bed with a soft thud, tail wagging as he stretched out and shook off sleep.

​

Ellio sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. Baylo nudged at his leg.

​

“Don’t look at me like that,” Ellio said, managing a small smirk. “You’re the one getting pampered all day.”

​

He grabbed Baylo’s leash from the wall hook and crouched down, clipping it gently to his collar.

​

Baylo tilted his head, sensing something different.

​

Ellio wrapped his arms around Baylo’s neck and held him tightly.

​

“See you later, okay? Just another dumb check-up.”

​

Baylo licked his cheek again.

​

Ellio smiled, but something in his chest felt tight.

​

Thane stood there waiting.

​

Baylo trotted over obediently. Just before leaving, he turned back for one last look at Ellio.

​

Ellio raised a hand.

​

“Bye, boy.”

​

The door slid closed behind them with a soft hiss.

​

The room was suddenly quiet.

Too quiet.

 

 

In an observation room, ​Thane gripped Baylo’s collar firmly as they walked through the sterile corridors.

 

Baylo trotted beside him, tail wagging, tongue out—still wearing that unshakable dog’s smile. His bright eyes wandered to the researchers working at their stations, but the looks he received in return were anything but friendly. Cold. Calculating. As if they already knew what was coming.

 

Thane approached his colleague without a word—shoulders stiff,  jaw tight, his expression unreadable. The man gave no greeting. Just a brief glance before returning to the stream of data projected across his terminal.

 

“Where are we with the energy trials?” Thane asked, voice low and clipped.

 

The researcher shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flicking toward Baylo, who had wandered to his feet and begun sniffing curiously at his boots. The man recoiled slightly,  jerking his leg back.

 

“Still running simulations. We haven’t isolated the stable frequency range yet.”

 

Before Thane could respond, the sharp click of heels echoed across the floor.

 

A woman entered the room in a crisp white lab coat, black heels tapping with precision. Her dark hair was pulled into a severe knot, and her presence drew every eye.

 

Dr. Lezious.

 

Her voice cut through the room like frost.

 

“Is the subject ready for testing, Dr. Carroway?”

 

Her eyes landed on Baylo—not with empathy, but with expectation, like she was assessing a piece of equipment, not a living being.  

 

Baylo looked up at the doctor. All he could see was her towering silhouette, the cold gleam of light reflected in her glasses. To him, she wasn’t a person—she was a shape, a presence. A void wearing a white coat. His tail stopped wagging. The smile faded from his face. He took a step back, ears low, a soft whimper escaping his throat.  Something deep in him knew: This woman wasn’t here to pet him.

 

Before Thane could respond, his assistant said

 

“Yes,' Ma'am, he is.”

"Excellent. Then let's proceed to the testing chamber."

 

Dr. Lezious swept past Thane without so much as a glance, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. It was as if he wasn’t even there.

 

Around them, the other scientists began quietly gathering their things, slipping out of the room without a word. The air shifted—clinical, but suddenly heavier. Emptier. Thane hesitated.

 

Something felt… off. A weight in his chest he couldn’t explain.

 

He glanced down.

 

Baylo looked up at him, eyes wide and curious, head tilted just slightly—as if sensing it too.

 

For a second, Thane almost turned around.

 

But instead, he let out a breath, low and resigned, and stepped forward toward the testing chamber.

 

The door slid open. Thane stepped in, Baylo trailing at his side. The moment they crossed the threshold, the atmosphere shifted.

 

The air was colder. Still.

 

No idle chatter. No sunlight filtering through the colony’s panels. Just white walls, dim lighting, and the low electric hum of machinery.

 

At the center of the sterile chamber sat an enormous machine—tall, skeletal, and alive with energy. Thick wires spilled from its core, crawling up toward the ceiling like veins. A massive glass tube rose from its center.

 

Surrounding it, scientists and technicians sat in a wide horseshoe formation, tucked behind monitors and instrument panels. Their eyes barely lifted from their screens.

 

Thane paused.

 

Too many people.

 

This wasn’t standard protocol—not for a behavioral scan.

 

His eyes scanned the room, unease rising in his chest.

 

He’d brought Baylo in for months now. Always the same routine. Vital signs. Reactions. Nothing invasive. Just “check-ups,” he told Ellio. “Nothing serious.” But Baylo had never been brought into this room. And that machine had never even been mentioned.

 

A young assistant approached, clipboard in hand, and reached down for Baylo’s leash.

 

Baylo’s tail stopped wagging.

​

He let out a low bark, ears pinned back.

 

The assistant tugged, trying to guide him toward the open glass chamber.

 

“Wait,” Thane said, stepping in. “What’s going on?”

 

​Dr. Lezious entered from the side without looking up. “Proceed with containment.”

 

Thane turned sharply. “Containment? This was supposed to be an observational test. You said—”

 

“I said we were escalating the trial. You agreed in principle,” she replied, cold and direct. “We need a viable organic subject. The dog is suitable.”

 

“You don’t even have a stabilized frequency range. You don’t know what that machine will do to him.”

 

Baylo growled softly now, tugging against the leash.

 

​“Shut it down,” Thane snapped. “This wasn’t the agreement. He’s not—”

 

“We don’t need your permission, Doctor,” she said. “Stand aside.”

 

Two guards stepped forward near the back wall.

 

Baylo barked—louder this time, pulling back harder.

 

​Thane looked down at him.

 

The dog’s eyes met his.

 

Fear. Trust. Confusion.​

 

And then the assistant pulled Baylo into the machine.

 

The glass door hissed shut.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

 

Baylo clawed at the glass, trying to get out.

​

His paws scraped against the smooth surface, leaving streaks where his nails dragged down. He barked—once, then again—louder, sharper, desperate.​

 

Inside the chamber, the lights dimmed.

​

The machine began to hum—a low, resonant sound that vibrated through the floor. From a thick, glassy tube above, a swirling violet mist poured downward like liquid starlight, spiraling into the chamber below. 

​

The light shimmered and flickered, not like fire, but like something alive, pulsing with patterns that made the eye ache if stared at too long. 

​

It drifted through the air in ribbons, curling around Baylo’s body, seeping into his fur. He inhaled slowly, chest rising as the strange glow wrapped tighter, coiling around him like it was choosing him—breathing with him.

 

“Let him out,” Thane said, stepping forward. His voice was firm, controlled—but there was a tremor in it now. “He’s not responding well. Shut it down.”

​

No one moved.

​

Baylo’s barking turned to whimpers. He pressed his face to the glass, tail tucked, eyes darting between the figures outside like he was begging one of them—any of them—to help him.

 

Thane looked around. The scientists were glued to their monitors, watching data stream across their screens with clinical detachment.

 

Dr. Lezious didn’t even flinch.

 

“Shut it down!” Thane barked.

​

Still nothing.

 

Then the chamber’s inner core began to glow—a deep violet, pulsing like a heartbeat.

The sound grew louder. The air grew colder.

 

Baylo backed into the corner, fur bristling. He gave one last cry—sharp, terrified, primal.

 

And then the light swallowed him.

 

Then—flatline.​

 

The screen showed a flat green line.​

 

No movement. No pulse.​

 

“He’s gone,” one of the technicians said flatly.​

 

“Power it down,” Dr. Lezious ordered, her voice like ice.

​

Thane stood motionless, the breath caught in his lungs.

 

Shock. Guilt. Regret.​

 

All he could do was watch as Baylo’s body—still, silent, and small—lay inside the chamber.

 

His hand twitched at his side.

 

He wanted to go to him.

 

To check, to hold him, to say something.

 

But his legs wouldn't move.

 

His chest tightened with the weight of guilt.

 

Before he could take a step, two lab assistants entered the chamber. With practiced, quiet movements, they lifted Baylo’s body from the platform and placed him onto a nearby observation table.

 

A cloth was drawn gently over the golden retriever. 

 

No one looked at Thane.

 

No one needed to.​

 

Thane turned away.​

 

His eyes landed on Baylo’s leash, left coiled on the edge of a steel table nearby.

 

He picked it up slowly, wrapping it around his hand until it disappeared in his fist.​

 

Still warm from Baylo’s neck.

 

Then, without a word, he forced himself out of the room.

------

​

Hours passed.​

 

The lab had long since gone quiet.​

 

The observation chamber now sat in low-power mode, its lights dimmed to conserve energy. Only a soft ambient glow remained—blue and sterile.​

 

Most of the scientists had gone home, their shifts over.​

 

The testing room was empty, save for the quiet hum of idle machines and the soft whir of ventilation.

 

Baylo’s body lay undisturbed on the steel observation table, just outside the main chamber, under a low glass canopy. A light sheet still covered him.

 

Nothing moved.​

 

Not for a long time.​

 

Then... a flicker.​

 

A subtle pulse rolled across the lights. 

 

Baylo’s paw twitched.

​

Once.

​

Then again.

​

The fabric shifted slightly.​

 

A dim violet glow began to pulse beneath his fur, starting at his chest and spreading outward like starlight emerging from the dark.

 

Then—his eyes snapped open.​

 

Emerald. Bright. Alive.

​

His body rose slightly from the table—hovering, as if drawn upward by unseen force.​

 

The machines nearby sparked and flickered.

 

A low hum filled the room.

​

It wasn’t mechanical. ​

 

It was something deeper. Cosmic. Ancient. Watching.

 

Baylo had awoken.

 

But he was no longer just a dog.