The titanium bulkhead shudders under ten‑thousand‑atmospheres as crimson emergency strobes flicker against walls encrusted in crystalline‑black‑frost, while the bio‑acoustic‑sonar emits a frantic, static‑laden pulse of biometric‑distress. A thin veil of freezing breath fogs your helmet, and the station’s containment‑reactor hum deepens, warning that the infection is spreading faster than the vented air can purge.