The needle pressed against the surface of the vintage vinyl. At first, the noise of the background. A second later, his favorite song. He lit a cigarette. No need to follow safety protocols anymore. There is no one left to complain about the smoke. To lecture him about the fire hazards. His last dance has just begun.
Footsteps against the metal floor and ancient music echoed among the empty, blood-stained halls of the spaceship. The song was slow, just as his moves were. He hummed the melody while puffing. His breath synced with the slow three-four time, each exhale a step. His feet shuffled. He made a turn and moved to the side, swaying to the melody.
Anita would be filing a complaint to his superior for disturbing the peace and blocking the corridor. He never thought he would miss that annoying bitch.
He knew he was next. He knew he was the last one. He knew he didn't stand a chance.
Another turn and another sidestep. His left hand wrapped against an invisible partner. His right hand held his plasma pistol with one last bullet.
He heard the rapid, chaotic clanking. He stopped humming and turned towards the darkness. His body didn't stop dancing. There were a couple of seconds of his song left. The clanking echoed closer with each passing second.
A pair of eyes shone in the darkness. Then another, and another. Dozens of them.
"Time to end this dance," he mumbled.
With the last movement of his choreography and final notes of the song, he aimed the pistol at the approaching horrors. His hand moved lightly to the side, and he focused and fired.
Before the vinyl switched to the next song, the typical scratch was the last thing he heard before the explosion. The barrels he laid there ruptured a hole in the ship. The vintage phonograph spun into the void, along with him, along with THEM.
