Deep Space Paranoia

I am the sole crew member on a deep space voyage, accompanied only by a batch of fruit flies for biological experiments. Yesterday, their incubator was breached. They were gone. Then, the anomalies began. A low, rhythmic buzzing echoed from the vents. My vacuum-sealed food packets were torn open. Unidentified slime coated the main console. Last night, something brushed past my ear in the dark, leaving a thick, sticky trail on my cheek. Certain the cosmic radiation had mutated them, I donned my heavy EVA suit, armed myself with a plasma torch, and wrenched the vent cover off. I shined my light into the dark shaft. Staring at what was inside, I froze—then burst into uncontrollable laughter.