Chapter 9 - The Transmission Origin
The subterranean air grew thicker, heavy with the scent of ozone and ionized air. The faint violet pulse from the fiber-optic cable rhythmically illuminated the damp, concrete walls of Sub-Level Nine. Sarah knelt beside the jury-rigged terminal, her gloved fingers flying over a secondary diagnostic keypad she had pulled from her tactical pouch.
“The download speed is accelerating,” Sarah warned, her eyes darting across her handheld monitor as lines of chaotic green code cascaded down the screen. “At this rate, the entire naval nuclear registry will be uploaded to the anomaly’s core within three minutes. We have to sever the main trunk line right now.”
Lucas positioned himself protectively behind her, keeping his weapon raised toward the dark corridor branching off deeper into the abandoned facility.
“Do it,” Lucas urged. “Cut the cable. I’ll cover our six.”
Before Sarah could plunge her tactical cutting tool into the thick violet fiber-optic cable, a low, resonant chime echoed from the ruined console in front of them. The shattered monitor suddenly flared to life, casting an blinding white glare across the room. The erratic blue electric arcs vanished, replaced by a pristine, stable visual feed.
Marcus stepped forward, his breath hitching as he stared at the screen.
“That’s impossible,” Marcus choked out, his hands gripping the edge of the melted console.
On the screen, a crystal-clear interior view of a naval command bridge appeared. The polished brass fixtures, the vintage analog dials, and the stark white bulkheads were unmistakable.
“It’s the bridge of the USS Leviathan,” Sarah whispered, her voice trembling for the first time since they had entered the base. “The destroyer that vanished without a trace during the North Atlantic exercise twenty-six years ago.”
Lucas lowered his weapon slightly, staring at the screen in pure disbelief.
“That ship was completely vaporized,” Lucas argued, his mind struggling to process the impossible visual evidence. “There was nothing left on the surface except an oil slick and floating wreckage.”
“It wasn't vaporized, Major,” a distorted, metallic voice echoed from the computer's internal speakers, cutting through the silence of the bunker like a razor blade.
All three officers froze instantly. The voice on the speaker wasn't computerized; it sounded human, yet layered with an unnatural, echoing frequency that seemed to vibrate directly inside their skulls.
“Who is speaking?” Marcus demanded, stepping up to the monitor, his voice shaking with long-repressed fury and grief. “Identify yourself!”
The figure on the screen slowly stepped out of the shadows of the bridge's navigation alcove. Dressed in a pristine, unblemished white Navy officer dress uniform adorned with medals, a man with familiar silver hair looked directly into the camera lens.
Sarah’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated horror as she recognized the face looking back at them from the past.
May you like
“Captain Vance,” Sarah whispered, her gaze snapping from the screen to the living, breathing senior officer standing right beside her. “That’s... that’s you.”
---
