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TERROR IN SPACE
by Stan Beezlebub

I arrived on Development Hub X just two minutes into the latest shift change.
A haunting miasma pervaded the air as I wandered the barren halls. It struck me as I passed the first Security Office that there was no security detail this shift... Certainly a foreboding thought.

I made my way to the bar after hearing a gunshot only to find the corpse of one Duke Kickem, barman on board this floating trash heap NT passes of as its state-of-the-art Space Station 13. Duke was surrounded by onlookers who gaped at his body, uncertain of how they should proceed with their shifts.
It was at this point that Molly Mirrions the chef made her way over and with the very same pistol recently used to blink out the life of Duke scattered her brain matter across the bar.

A bloodcurling scream issued from Throrvardr Finvardrarson's throat and he quickly made the decision... to cook his recently departed crew members.
This was to be a pipe dream: vanishing with the pull of a trigger as he too succumbed to the will of a bullet passing through his skull. 

I crept away slowly but not before noticing something even more disturbing.
Scrungo Beepis made his was to the corpse of his fallen crew and began to feast on the still warm flesh of Mr. Finvardrardson. A bruised and battered man came stumbling down the hall with a monkey in hot pursuit. Israel Mccune tried to defend himself but the monkey was fierce and wouldn't back down. He was forced to flee for his life but not before collapsing outside of the fitness center just as the clown emerged.

This would be the last time Israel was seen alive. 

Some say the clown drained the fluids from his body, leaving him a dessicated husk of the man he once was. I write this as the crew fends off a ravenous plant that is quickly enveloping the station. I don't know how any us will survive. I don't know if we should live to tell of the horrors we've seen here today.