THE BLUE LED LIGHTS OF THE ABYSSAL SILK WEDDING DRESS FORETOLD A SHIPWRECK

The red digital countdown clock mounted above the glass containment doors of Station Nine ticked downward with unforgiving precision.

02:14:59... 02:14:58...

Victoria stared at the glowing numbers, her heart pounding in her chest. The automated purge sequence David had mentioned wasn't just a threat—it was a pre-programmed failsafe installed by Sterling Maritime to incinerate the facility and all its surviving witnesses if a security breach was ever detected.

"How do I unlock the pods?" Victoria asked, her voice steady despite the overwhelming pressure crushing down upon her. She turned to face Martha and David, her posture upright and resolute inside the glowing abyssal silk dress.

Martha walked over to a central control console embedded in the bedrock wall beside the glass. She typed a rapid sequence into the keypad, but a harsh, blaring red error message flashed across the screen.

ACCESS DENIED. MASTER BIOMETRIC OVERRIDE REQUIRED: STERLING BLOODLINE MATCH.

"The system requires a direct genetic signature from a primary Sterling bloodline holder," Martha explained, her blue robotic eyes flickering in the emergency alarm light. "Your father locked himself in the courtroom holding cell to avoid giving his blood, but you carry the exact same genetic marker."

Victoria didn't hesitate. She stepped up to the console, baring her wrist. "What do I need to do?"

"Place your palm flat against the biometric scanner and hold it there until the system verifies your DNA," David instructed, stepping back to give her space.

Agent Miller stood guard near the corridor entrance, holding his weapon ready in case any corporate security forces tracked them to the subterranean bunker. "Hurry! I'm picking up encrypted radio frequencies approaching the cliffs overhead. They've found the facility!"

Victoria pressed her right palm firmly against the cold glass of the scanner.

The console hummed to life. A sharp needle pierced her skin from a hidden port inside the scanner, drawing a micro-sample of her blood. The blue LED lights embedded in her wedding dress suddenly flared to life, matching the frantic pulsing of the console's indicator lights.

BIOMETRIC MATCH CONFIRMED. WELCOME, DIRECTOR STERLING.

The heavy pneumatic seals on the hyperbaric survival pods across the subterranean pool hissed loudly as they depressurized one by one. Slowly, the glass lids lifted, and the elderly survivors began to stir, coughing softly as they breathed fresh, uncompressed air for the first time in thirty years.

Victoria exhaled a shaky breath of relief, watching the pods open. But her moment of triumph was cut brutally short when the heavy steel entrance door at the end of the corridor blew inward with a deafening explosion.

Through the thick, billowing smoke, a heavily armed tactical squad wearing Sterling Maritime combat gear poured into the facility, led by a man in a crisp charcoal suit holding a military-grade detonator.