Chapter 3 - The Weight of Steel
The showroom air felt thin, tasting faintly of ozone and old dust. Victoria stared at the small data cartridge resting on the old woman's scarred palm. The glowing blue lights embedded in the wedding dress pulsed in a slow, rhythmic cadence, mimicking the erratic beat of Victoria's own heart. She wanted to turn around, unlock the boutique doors, and run out into the safety of the sunlit avenue. Yet her feet were anchored to the marble floor by a morbid, irresistible gravity.
“What do you want?” Victoria asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper. The imperious wealthy persona had completely fractured, leaving behind a terrified young woman caught in the crosshairs of history. “Money? A settlement? Name your price. My fiancé’s family can make this disappear.”
The old woman let out a dry, humorless chuckle that sounded like grinding stones.
“Money? You think currency can buy back thirty years of oxygen denied to a mother’s only child? I don’t want your father’s dirty fortune, Victoria. I want you to listen.”
With trembling fingers, Victoria reached out and took the cold metal cartridge. Her skin brushed against the old woman’s metallic knuckles, sending a sharp, electric chill up her arm.
“If this is a forgery—” Victoria began, her voice faltering.
“Plug it into the boutique’s master terminal,” the old woman instructed, gesturing toward the sleek glass desk in the corner. “Hear the sound of steel groaning under pressure. Hear your father’s voice giving the order to seal the hatch.”
Victoria walked toward the desk like a person walking to the gallows. She inserted the cartridge into the slot. The monitor flickered to life, displaying a simple audio waveform labeled LEVIATHAN_RECOVERY_FINAL. Her hand hovered over the play button. Every instinct screamed at her to abort, to smash the screen and pretend this encounter never happened. But the glowing blue eyes of the old woman watched her with unyielding, mechanical patience.
Victoria pressed the cursor down.
The speakers hissed with static, followed by the deep, terrifying groan of metal under immense oceanic pressure. Then, a man’s voice cut through the noise—unmistakably her father’s, calm, cold, and utterly detached.
“Seal forward compartment two. We can’t risk the hull integrity.”
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Victoria gasped, clutching her ears as a secondary voice broke through the static—a woman screaming in terror before the sound was violently cut short by a heavy hydraulic thud.
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