The words of afeique

Dr. Priya Das

Dr. Priya Das braced herself against the flickering console as she rerouted the last of the emergency power. The deep-sea research outpost groaned under the ocean’s crushing weight, each metal beam shuddering in protest. In the stale, cold air, Priya’s breaths came shallow and fast. She fought to steady her trembling hands while connecting a tangle of red and yellow wires – a makeshift bypass to bring the mainframe back online. Please, let there be enough power… she thought, biting her lip until she tasted coppery blood. The only lighting came from a few dim red emergency bulbs overhead, painting the narrow lab in shifting crimson shadows.

With a snap and a spark, the console screen blinked to life in front of her. Priya released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Come on, come on,” she whispered, coaxing the aging computer to boot. Lines of boot code scrolled, many characters corrupted or incomplete. Finally, the mainframe’s login prompt glowed a sickly green. Priya’s fingers flew over the keys. ACCESS OVERRIDE – RESEARCH LOGS, she typed, her pulse thudding in her ears. If the system held together for just a few minutes, she could retrieve the data logs and maybe send a distress signal.

The screen filled with lists of files and error messages. Many logs were unreadable – clusters of text replaced with garbled symbols from the system crashes. Priya grimaced and navigated through what she could salvage. A recent entry caught her eye: “Sample 8B Human Tissue – Exposure Results”. Her stomach tightened as she opened it. The lab’s report appeared in fragments:

“Subject: Technician Reyes – accidental contact with biotoxin sample (blue viscous fluid).” “Immediate reaction: burn lesions on hand (acidic content confirmed). Subject dizzy, hallucinations reported within 5 minutes.” “Genetic analysis of blood post-exposure: Abnormal sequences detected… human DNA showing rapid mutations. Cells replicating beyond normal rate…”

Priya’s eyes widened. She scrolled further, dread coiling in her gut.

“Mutation characteristics: Foreign genetic markers present. Tissue exhibiting cephalopod-like regenerative properties. Neurological changes suspected.”

“Subject status: Deteriorated into coma, veins turning blue. Quarantined in lower lab containment.”

The log ended abruptly in a series of corrupted lines and a blinking cursor. Priya clapped a hand over her mouth. Technician Miguel Reyes had been her colleague, a friend who joked with her over coffee. She remembered his scream when he’d sliced his hand on that sample container yesterday. They had thought it was just a minor burn from some unknown chemical. They’d been so wrong. The blue fluid… it’s rewriting human DNA.

A cold sweat broke out under her collar. Priya backed away from the console, pressing a fist to her lips. Miguel had been isolated in the lower labs behind a thick containment door. If these logs were right, the biotoxin – no, the creature’s blood – was far more than poison. It changed him. Her thoughts flashed to Miguel convulsing hours after exposure, the spidery blue veins crawling up his neck as they rushed him into quarantine. She had tried to reassure him – and herself – that he’d be okay. The data now told a different story: Miguel might not even be Miguel anymore.

The overhead lights dimmed for a moment, then surged back to their weak glow. The power was straining. Priya swallowed hard and forced herself to focus. She needed to know what happened next. If Miguel… transformed, could he still be alive somewhere in the outpost? The idea was unthinkable, yet an image from a nightmare intruded: Miguel’s face contorted, eyes bulging and empty, veins glowing that unearthly blue.

She shook the thought away and moved to the next intact log.

“Specimen Containment Breach Report” flashed on screen. Her heart pounded as she opened it:

• “Specimen 3 (Octopod entity) – containment status: CRITICAL FAILURE.”
• “Time: 02:10 – Power loss and security system offline. Last recorded observation: Specimen 3 exhibiting agitation, increased tentacle force on enclosure.”
• “02:15 – Containment glass compromised. Specimen 3 escaped holding tank.”
• “Security footage (corrupted): movement detected in ventilation shafts.”
• “…Personnel missing: Dr. H. Brandt, Technician L. Singh…”

Priya covered her eyes, unable to read further immediately. Brandt and Singh were missing? They must have been in the lab when the power failed – likely checking on the creature. Specimen 3 was the small c’thalhai they had managed to capture from the trench. The one that attacked the remote submersible last week – a juvenile, they’d thought. It had been sedated in a reinforced tank for study. Apparently not sedated enough. Priya’s mind conjured the last image she had of it: a tangle of slick, grey-blue tentacles in a glass cylinder, one baleful black eye watching her with hateful intelligence. She remembered shuddering then at the thought that it seemed to be studying them too.

A distant metallic thud reverberated through the floor, jolting her out of the memory. Priya’s head snapped up. The lower labs. It came from directly below her feet – a heavy, rhythmic banging, like something hitting a bulkhead door methodically. Bang… scrape… bang… The pattern was too deliberate to be any random noise of the aging station. Each impact rattled the bolts underfoot in a steady cadence. Priya’s blood turned to ice. Something down there was moving. Something strong.

Her first thought was Miguel – could he be alive, pounding on the door for help? Hope flared painfully for an instant. She snatched a portable radio from the desk. “Miguel?” she whispered into it, voice trembling. Only static answered, punctuated by the distant thud… thud… thud. No human could keep knocking with such force and such unnatural rhythm.

Priya’s grip tightened on the radio. She recalled the final, panicked announcement before communications died: one of the techs yelling about an “escaped specimen” and then a scream cut short. The power outage that followed had plunged the outpost into silence and darkness. She had been alone since. Now, in the deadly quiet, the steady banging below was like a heartbeat in the belly of the facility – a cold, alien heartbeat.

Her rational mind fought to assert itself. Specimen 3 has broken containment, she reasoned. It’s loose in the lower level. Possibly injured from smashing through the tank, but alive and hostile. It might be searching for a way out – or hunting for food. A shiver traced up her spine. If Miguel had turned into something, he could be roaming too. But the sounds were heavy, powerful – more likely the creature itself.

Suddenly, the lights overhead flickered wildly. The red glow strobed the corridor beyond the lab in long shadows that slithered as if alive. Priya’s breath hitched. In the corner of her eye, just for a second, she thought she saw a silhouette at the end of the hallway – a hunched figure, impossibly gaunt, with too many limbs. She spun to face it fully, heart hammering. The corridor was empty, just a flickering light and the distant drip of condensation. Just a trick of the light… or a hallucination? Priya pressed a hand to her clammy forehead. The recycled air was thick with chemical tang from the earlier spill. She’d cleaned up the blue sample as best she could, but traces must linger. Was it affecting her mind?

She forced herself to take a slow, shaky breath. She had to keep it together. Another metallic crash boomed up from below, this time followed by a shrill, keening sound that echoed through the pipes. Priya’s knees nearly buckled. It sounded almost like an animal’s cry – or a distorted human scream.

She stumbled back toward the console, torn between fleeing the lab and staying to glean more information. Her eyes darted to the doorway – beyond it lay a staircase leading down to the lower labs, engulfed in darkness. A faint blue light pulsed there, around the corner at the top of the stairs, glowing then fading in a steady rhythm. Priya’s heart climbed into her throat at the sight. It was as if something just beyond her vision was signaling, an eerie bioluminescent glow reflecting off the wet walls.

Each pulse of light coincided with a soft, wet thump. Thump… glow… thump… The pattern was mesmerizing in its alienness. Priya took an involuntary step forward, transfixed. Was it drawing closer? She realized her legs were moving on their own, drawn toward the staircase, toward that rhythmic glow. In her pocket, the radio let out a burst of static that made her jump. The spell broke. Priya stumbled to a halt and clutched the doorframe, catching herself.

“No,” she mouthed, barely a sound. She would not walk blindly into whatever waited. For all she knew, the creature was right there, just out of sight, its luminescent skin flashing to lure her in. She thought of an anglerfish’s lure in the deep, and her blood ran colder.

Summoning her courage, Priya backed away, keeping her eyes on the corridor. She reached into a cabinet by the console and pulled out a flare gun – standard issue for deep-sea expeditions. It only had two shots, but it was better than nothing. Her free hand found a scalpel from the lab bench and she slipped it into her coat pocket with shaking fingers. If Specimen 3 – or Miguel – came for her, she refused to go down without a fight.

Silence fell again, broken only by the soft hum of the struggling mainframe and Priya’s own pounding heartbeat. The blue light had vanished, leaving only darkness down the stairwell. But she knew it – he – was still down there. Perhaps directly below her, listening as she was listening to it.

Priya realized she had to make a choice, and soon: try to reach the comms array at the far end of the outpost to call for help, or head down into the labs to contain the threat. She glanced at the console one more time, scanning for any last useful data. A single corrupted line from the breach report flickered on screen: “…specimen possibly attempting egress via moonpool… may reach ocean…” The words sent a stab of alarm through her. If the creature escaped into open water, it could reach the surface – or anywhere.

Her mind raced. If this thing gets topside, with that toxin in its blood… She didn’t finish the thought. The implications were too dire. Priya knew they’d been studying something world-changing, possibly world-ending, but only now did the full horror dawn on her. If even one of these creatures got out, it could spell disaster far beyond this ocean floor.

The station groaned again, a long moaning sound of metal under stress. Priya steeled herself, wiping her sweaty palms on her lab coat. She had to move – either to send a warning or to stop the monster below. Gathering every ounce of resolve, she stepped toward the door and into the blood-tinged glow of the corridor, senses straining for any sign of movement in the dark.

Lt. Cmdr. Mark Davis

Lt. Commander Mark Davis dragged himself through a half-collapsed passageway, one hand clutching his side. Every breath was a knife of pain in his ribs. The emergency lights aboard the wrecked USS Reliant flickered weakly, casting intermittent flashes over the flooded corridor. Mark’s ears rang with the echo of the blast that had torn the submarine apart hours ago. He tasted blood – his own – where a gash on his forehead had oozed down to his lips. Focus… just keep moving, he urged himself, though his legs felt like lead. Oxygen was running thin; the air had a sharp, metallic tang and a whiff of something chemical that made his head swim.

He paused at an intersection of two corridors, bracing against the bulkhead. The floor here slanted down toward the bow – that section was completely submerged. Dark, oily seawater lapped at Mark’s boots. In the sputtering red light, the water looked almost black, rippling with each groan of the dying sub. Mark coughed, and the effort sent white-hot agony through his chest. Possibly cracked ribs, maybe worse. He forced the pain aside. Somewhere in this section was an emergency beacon or radio he could use to signal for help. If any help was left to come.

“Hello?” he had tried shouting when he first came to, slumped against a jammed hatch. No answer – just the creaks of stressed metal and the slosh of water. Mark had found three of his crew in the control room… or rather, what remained of them. He squeezed his eyes shut against the memory: Ensign Patel’s empty stare, half her body pinned under a fallen console; Chief Mallory, his neck at an impossible angle; the Captain – gone, likely swept out into the sea through the breached hull. Mark had checked for pulses with shaking fingers, already knowing it was futile. He was the only one left breathing in that tomb.

Now, hours later, his hope of finding another survivor had faded. Get a grip, Davis, he scolded himself. If I made it, someone else might have. And if they did, they’d need rescue fast – especially with oxygen dwindling and cold seawater steadily creeping in.

Mark patted the pocket of his tattered uniform and felt the small cylindrical transmitter he’d salvaged – a distress beacon. He had yanked it from an emergency kit, but it needed higher ground and ideally deployment to the surface to broadcast effectively. The sub’s internal comm system was dead without power. He’d have to reach the communications room and see if the backup battery had anything left to send a ping topside. If not, the beacon might at least send a basic SOS if he could get it near one of the shattered hull sections closer to the surface.

As he limped forward, one hand trailing along the wall for support, Mark’s vision swam. The darkness at the edges of the corridor seemed to writhe. He blinked hard. There was a blur of motion just outside the range of the red light. Mark’s pulse spiked. “H-hello?” he rasped, voice echoing hollowly. He squinted, aiming his flashlight. The beam illuminated only twisted pipes and drifting motes in the damp air. Nothing moved now.

He grimaced. It was not the first time he’d thought he saw someone or something in the corners of his vision since waking. Possibly the head wound playing tricks – or the fact that the air reeked of that blue fluid. In the chaos of the attack, the creature that boarded them had sprayed or bled a strange azure substance. Mark recalled the sizzling sound as droplets of it hit the deck, the way Ensign Wilcox had collapsed choking after a mist of it hit his face… Mark had dragged Wilcox’s body out of that hellish encounter, his eyes already glassy and veins blackened. The memory made Mark’s stomach churn. Now, hours later, traces of that fluid hung in the air as an invisible toxin, twisting his senses. He could feel it—a tingling at the back of his throat, a creeping numbness in his fingertips.

“Keep it together,” he mumbled to himself, pressing on. The corridor ended at a heavy bulkhead door that hung partially open, warped by pressure. This was the entrance to the comms room. Mark wedged himself through the narrow gap, sucking in his gut with a groan as his ribs protested. Inside, the compartment was in shambles. Equipment racks had toppled over like dominoes. Water spurted in thin jets from hairline cracks in the hull, misting the air. A radio panel on the wall flickered with a weak yellow indicator—miraculously, the backup battery hadn’t completely drained.

Mark sloshed to the panel and wiped a trembling hand over the controls, clearing a sheen of moisture. He flipped the emergency broadcast switch. Static hissed loudly, startling him with its volume in the silence. The speaker popped, and for a second Mark thought he heard… voices? He leaned in, heart pounding. Amid the crackling static, a faint pattern emerged, almost like words underwater. “…Mayday… USS Reliant … any… copy….” Mark’s breath caught. That was his sub’s call sign being transmitted – the automated distress must have looped when the sub first went down. The system was barely functional, repeating fragments of the SOS.

With clumsy fingers, Mark pressed the transmit key. “This is Lt. Commander Mark Davis of the USS Reliant,” he said, voice hoarse but firm. “We have… we have survivors aboard. Location approximately…” He glanced at the overhead coordinates display – dark. No power for that. “Approximate position, North Atlantic sector C…” he continued, hoping the base could triangulate. “Request immediate evac. Hull breach, oxygen low. Please respond.” He released the button and waited, each second stretching out.

Nothing but static replied. Mark’s heart sank. He tried again, forcing each word through parched lips. “Mayday, mayday, USS Reliant. If anyone can hear—”

A sudden burst of feedback howled from the speaker, drowning his voice. Mark winced and pulled back. The static morphed into a high-pitched whine that set his teeth on edge. Through that piercing sound, he almost discerned something else – a soft chittering or clicking pattern, like dolphin echolocation or… speech? The noise set off a flare of pain in his skull, stirring an involuntary wave of nausea. He snapped off the transmitter, breathing hard. What the hell was that? Some malfunction, or interference from the saltwater… or maybe one of those things jamming the signal?

Mark rubbed his temples. The hallucinations weren’t just visual now; even the radio seemed to carry ghost voices. He had to assume no one heard him. Rescue might not arrive in time – or at all. Swallowing his disappointment, he took the small beacon from his pocket. It was a sealed tube with a manual crank to charge it. If he could find a section of the submarine’s hull that was open to the ocean, he could let it float up and transmit. The idea of diving out into the open sea, injured and possibly bleeding, was terrifying – every shadow out there could hide one of those monsters. But staying here meant suffocating or drowning when the Reliant finally gave up to the sea.

The choice was being forced upon him when a metallic clank echoed somewhere behind. Mark tensed. It sounded like something heavy falling in the adjacent compartment. Water? Debris shifting? Or… someone moving?

He realized he had been so focused on the radio that he’d relaxed his guard. Now, adrenaline spiked anew. Slowly, Mark reached for the sidearm at his hip. Standard issue: a pistol loaded with hollow-point rounds. He had grabbed it earlier, though he wasn’t sure a handgun could do much against the nightmare that slaughtered his crew. Still, the weight of it was reassuring in his grip.

“Hello?” he called out again, more quietly, as he moved back toward the comm room hatch. “Anyone there?” A dull drip of water was his only answer at first. Mark felt a prickling on the back of his neck. The air was colder here. In the corridor beyond the hatch, the emergency light was completely out – darkness yawned like an open maw. He raised his flashlight and stepped through the gap, pistol first.

The beam cut through the gloom, illuminating floating dust and splashes of dried blue residue on the walls. The sight of those blue stains made Mark’s skin crawl; the substance was everywhere, a constant reminder of the creature’s rampage. He advanced slowly, sweeping his light across the corridor intersection ahead.

His boot struck something solid – a tool box that had slid across the floor. That must have been the noise. Mark let out a breath, almost laughing at his jumpiness. But relief fled instantly as his flashlight moved past the tool box and caught on something on the wall beyond.

At first, Mark couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. It looked like a large bundle of slick ropes or cables glued to the metal wall. He squinted, taking another step closer, and the image sharpened. Not ropes – limbs. An arm, a human arm. His blood ran cold. The beam revealed the pale flesh of a forearm tangled in fibrous blue slime. It was a human body cocooned to the wall in a sticky, translucent film.

“God… no,” Mark breathed, his throat constricting. He recognized the navy uniform fused into the gelatinous webbing. Inside that cocoon, a man’s form sagged, half-submerged in some viscous fluid. Mark pressed closer, holding the light up with trembling hands. It was Ensign Taylor – one of his crew. The young sailor’s face was partly visible through the bluish slime. Taylor’s eyes were closed, his head tilted at an unnatural angle. Blue-black veins spiderwebbed across his neck and temple, stark against ashen skin. Mark could see the ensign’s mouth slack and jaw distended, as if frozen mid-scream.

A surge of bile rose in Mark’s throat. He had searched this area earlier and found it flooded and empty – how had he missed this? Perhaps the cocoon had been above the waterline, shrouded in darkness until some shifting of the wreck exposed it. Or worse, what if it hadn’t been here earlier at all? The implications rattled him.

Mark reached out, almost touching the sticky substance encasing his crewman, before pulling back. The slime had a faint bioluminescent sheen, glowing a dull blue where his flashlight hit it. It looked like the same horrific ichor the creature bled. Taylor’s body was plastered to the wall by it, chest and limbs wrapped tight except for that one arm hanging free – the skin at its end peeling into ragged strips where the hand should be. Mark recoiled when he realized the hand was missing entirely, dissolved by acid or… eaten off.

He had to stifle a cry, the horror threatening to overwhelm him. He’s dead… he has to be dead, Mark told himself, though a small part of him prayed he was wrong, that Taylor was unconscious and could be saved. But as he stared, he noticed the ensign’s chest – it twitched. A slow, shallow rise and fall, nearly imperceptible under the translucent cocoon.

Mark’s heart lurched. Taylor was alive. The poor kid was somehow still breathing inside that nightmare. “Taylor!” Mark whispered urgently. He holstered his pistol and with shaking hands tried to peel at the edges of the sticky film. It was rubbery and tough, clinging to the wall and to Taylor’s uniform. Mark’s fingers slipped; where the slime smeared his skin, a numb tingling spread almost instantly. He yanked his hand back with a hiss of pain, rubbing his fingertips. It felt like he’d dipped them in icy lidocaine – the beginnings of paralysis from the toxin. Direct contact was a mistake.

Inside the cocoon, Ensign Taylor’s eyes fluttered. Mark saw the young man’s eyelids crack open. For a heartbeat, he felt a rush of hope – maybe he was conscious! “Hang on, I’ll get you out!” Mark said, trying to keep his voice calm though panic was rising in him.

Taylor’s eyes opened fully at the sound of Mark’s voice. But something was terribly wrong. The whites of his eyes were marbled with creeping blue. His irises, once brown, had clouded to a milky gray. Those eyes didn’t focus on Mark so much as stare through him. Taylor’s lips moved behind the membrane covering his face. A wet choking sound came out, a garbled attempt at words. “Ensign? Lucas, it’s me, Mark,” he said, shining the light gently on Taylor’s face. “We’re going to get you out of there.”

Taylor’s mouth convulsed, a shudder passing through his trapped form. Then a strained sound bubbled up from his throat – a guttural clicking sigh, like air slowly escaping a flooded lung. Mark’s blood chilled. That did not sound human. Taylor’s half-free arm twitched and then, with a grotesque crack, bent at the elbow in the wrong direction. Mark stumbled back, shock and revulsion exploding through him. The ensign’s body jerked again, and this time his eyes locked onto Mark’s. There was a glint of something alien in that gaze now, something that recognized him not as a commander or rescuer, but as prey.

Mark’s mind screamed at him to run, to get away from this abomination that had been his friend. But he forced the urge down. He’s infected. It’s not his fault. He might still be in there. “I’m sorry, Taylor,” Mark choked out. He raised his pistol once more, arms shaking. He might be about to shoot a crewmate – but was Taylor even a person anymore? Inside that cocoon, fingers and limbs were visibly shifting, the outline of his body warping in subtle but awful ways. Ribs strained against the uniform as if reshaping; something that looked like a tendril rippled beneath the skin of his abdomen. The infection was remaking him, cell by cell, into one of those monsters.

Mark clicked the safety off, tears of anger and heartbreak brimming in his eyes. A part of him desperately wanted to keep trying to save the young man, but a louder instinct screamed that it was too late. Taylor let out another wet, inhuman croak, his jaw opening wider than any human jaw should, as if unhinged.

“I’m sorry,” Mark whispered again, finger tightening on the trigger.

Dr. Priya Das

Priya crept forward through the corridor, every sense on high alert. The outpost’s layout was seared into her memory – about twenty meters ahead, past the research labs, there was a junction: left led to the small communications alcove and operations console, right led to the stairwell descending to the moonpool and submersible bay. The choice loomed before her in the crimson gloom. She tightened her grip on the flare gun. The silence was oppressive; even the distant thumping had ceased. Only the hum of the life support pumps remained, a low vibration in the metal walls.

As she inched along, her foot nudged something on the floor. Priya risked a quick glance down. Her stomach flipped – it was Dr. Brandt’s ID card, smeared with something dark. Next to it lay a single shoe, its owner nowhere to be seen. Priya’s mind conjured a flash of memory: Brandt shouting as the lights died, a tentacle coiling around his leg and dragging him into the lab shadows. She had been on the other side of a glass partition, helplessly watching him vanish. The bloody shoe was all that remained. Bile rose in her throat; she forced it down and stepped over the forlorn objects, pushing onward.

At the junction, Priya hesitated. The doorway to the comms alcove was partially open on her left. Inside, she could just make out the faint green glow of indicator lights – the comm panel must have its own backup power. Relief and urgency flooded through her. If she could send out a signal, warn the surface or call for rescue, she might save countless lives. But to her right, down the dark stairwell, lay the labs – and the creature, along with possibly Miguel in some monstrous form. The thought of turning her back on that threat made her skin crawl.

She licked her dry lips, heart thudding as she deliberated. Warn the world or neutralize the danger? A strangled half-sob escaped her throat; how had it all fallen on her? She was a scientist, not a soldier. Yet, there was no one else left here.

Another flicker of blue light danced at the bottom of the stairwell, reflected off a puddle of leaked coolant. Priya’s decision was made for her by that eerie glow – the creature was on the move again. She had to act now.

In a burst of motion, Priya lunged into the communications alcove and shut the door behind her. She spun the manual locking wheel until it jammed – a flimsy barrier, but it made her feel a fraction safer. The comm room was closet-small, barely enough space for two people. She squeezed in beside the console, immediately scanning the channels. The headset lay on the panel, speckled with dried blood. Priya winced but clamped it over her ears and pressed the transmit button.

“This is Dr. Priya Das at Deep-Sea Outpost Delta,” she whispered at first, then found strength, her voice rising. “Priority emergency! If anyone can hear me – the research station has been compromised. We have a biohazard containment breach… a creature has escaped. Repeat: a hostile organism has escaped into the facility. It’s extremely dangerous.” She spoke quickly, forcing calm authority into her tone the way she’d heard military officers do on drills. “All personnel are down. I am alone. I need immediate evacuation and quarantine measures. Over.”

She released the button and listened. Static hissed. No reply. Priya’s throat tightened. She tried again, switching frequencies to the channel for Fort Armitage base. “Fort Armitage, come in. This is Dr. Das at the deep-sea outpost. Please respond.” A crackle, then faintly through layers of static she thought she caught a voice – “…Reliant… survivors….” It was garbled, distant – a man’s voice, weary and strained. Priya pressed her ear to the headset. Reliant? That was the submarine that had gone missing. Survivors – did someone survive the sub’s destruction?

Her heart leapt. She tried to respond: “Reliant, I read you. This is Priya Das, what is your—”

A loud clang jolted the entire door behind her. Priya yelped and dropped the headset. Another clang – the sound of something heavy slamming into the metal door. The wheel lock rattled violently. Priya’s blood turned to ice. The creature had followed her.

She fumbled for the flare gun, backing up against the console. The door dented inward on the third blow, a bulge the size of a basketball deforming the thick steel. Priya raised the gun, aiming with trembling hands at the growing dent. The thing on the other side gave a wet, shrieking hiss. It was a sound of pure malice that cut straight through her, triggering a spike of terror.

The next impact tore the door half off its hinges with a screech of shearing metal. In the dim red light, a slick, boneless appendage slithered through the gap – a tentacle, mottled grey-blue with sucker cups along its underside. Priya caught the gleam of a barbed tip as it groped, searching. With a cry, she fired.

The flare erupted from the gun with a bang, a comet of white-hot magnesium that illuminated the tiny room in a blinding glare. It struck the tentacle at point-blank range. There was a searing whoosh as burning phosphorus clung to alien flesh. An unearthly screech split the air – a noise so piercing that Priya clapped her free hand over one ear. The tentacle convulsed, flailing wildly as fire and acrid smoke filled the corridor.

Outside, the creature yanked its limb back through the doorway, thrashing in agony. Priya smelled something foul – like burning rubber and rotting fish – as the flare’s incendiary chemicals ate into the appendage. Blue fluid gushed and sputtered from the wound, droplets sizzling as they hit the floor and walls. Priya realized with horror that some of that fluid had sprayed inside. A splatter of glowing blue landed inches from her feet and began to eat a smoking hole through the grated floor. Another drop hissed on the console, the metal bubbling.

She kicked off from the console just as a rivulet of acid burned through a wire bundle, frying the comm panel in a shower of sparks. The lights flickered off, plunging her into darkness save for the hellish white flare bouncing erratically beyond the door. Priya scrambled back against the wall, reloading the second and last flare into the gun with numb fingers. Her eyes watered fiercely from the smoke and the biting stench of toxin.

In the strobing flare-light, she saw the creature rear into view at the shattered doorway. For the first time, Priya beheld the full shape of Specimen 3 unleashed – and the sight almost paralyzed her with fear. It was like a nightmare come to life: roughly the size of a large dog, but with an elongated, sack-like body and a mass of coiling tentacles propelling it forward. Its skin was a camouflaging riot of color even in the glare, rippling from deep-sea grey to a furious, warning blue. Patches of it still glowed from bioluminescent organs, flashing in that same rhythmic pulse she had followed earlier. Two of its larger tentacles were curled protectively around what looked like a pair of glossy black eyes set in a wedge-shaped head. One eye wept milky fluid – partly blinded by the flare’s burn – but the other fixed on Priya with unmistakable intelligence and hatred.

Priya gagged on the thick smoke as the creature squeezed partially into the doorway, using its remaining good arms to lever itself. It couldn’t fit fully through – the gap was too small for its central body – but that didn’t comfort her. Three smaller tentacles, each at least six feet long, snaked through the opening, probing for her. They lashed the air, knocking over equipment and feeling for the soft, warm human they knew was trapped inside. The door groaned, being pried wider by the thing’s muscular limbs and sheer will.

“Stay back!” Priya shouted, voice cracking. She raised the flare gun again. Inside, she was shaking apart – every survival instinct screamed to flee, but there was nowhere to go. The creature answered her shout with a chittering growl, and one tentacle darted toward her ankle. Priya fired the second flare.

This one streaked just past the reaching limb and exploded against the metal jamb with a burst of sparks. The corridor ignited in ghostly white light once more. The creature shrieked and recoiled – not directly hit this time, but the sudden brilliance seemed to disorient it. Priya seized that moment. She shoved past the flailing smaller tentacles and dived through the half-ruined doorway, scrambling over the creature’s smoldering injured arm. The hot rubbery flesh under her scraped palms made her skin crawl, but adrenaline drove her onward. She had to get out of this death trap of a room.

She tumbled into the corridor, landing hard on her knees. Behind her, the monster writhed, trying to pivot toward its escaped prey. One flaming tentacle left oily soot streaks on the ceiling as it thrashed. Priya knew she had only seconds before it recovered enough to give chase.

Coughing and gagging, she stumbled to her feet and ran – not back toward the labs, but forward, deeper into the outpost where the escape submersible bay and moonpool were. Her logic was primal: she couldn’t fight this thing, but maybe she could outrun it or outmaneuver it in the larger bay. If there was any chance to trap it or even eject it into the ocean, it would be there.

The hallway opened into a broad chamber with a high ceiling – the staging area for dives. Priya’s boots splashed through shallow water that sloshed across the floor; the station’s lower level was beginning to flood from all the damage. She spied the moonpool – a circular opening in the floor where a small submersible was docked. The sub’s lights were off; it looked like a dark ghost in the gloom, half-submerged. An access hatch on its side hung open, beckoning. Could she get inside and seal it? The submersible was meant for two-person crews, but Priya had basic training to operate it in emergencies. If she could hide there or even launch it…

Behind her came the clatter of metal on metal. The creature had pulled itself fully into the corridor and was pursuing, rage fueling its movements. Priya dashed behind a stack of diving equipment crates, her legs threatening to give out from terror and exhaustion. She clutched the empty flare gun like a talisman. The only illumination now was the soft, pulsating blue glow emanating from the creature itself as it entered the bay – the emergency lights had died with the comm panel shorted out. In the darkness, that glow was both beautiful and utterly terrifying.

Priya peeked around the crates. The c’thalhai juvenile – for she realized grimly that’s what it truly was, not just an “octopod entity” but a child of an alien race – slithered into the open space, its tentacles flowing over the floor in jerky motions. It was hurt; one limb dangled, still smoking from the flare’s burn, and viscous blue droplets pattered from it, burning holes where they landed. But the creature was very much alive and furious. It cast about, its one good eye reflecting like a dark mirror as it searched for her.

Priya’s mind raced. If she could just… lure it back towards the moonpool. Perhaps she could knock it into the water, or trick it into leaving. But how? She had no weapon now – the flares were spent, and a scalpel would be laughable against that hide. One scratch from its barbed suckers could paralyze her in moments, she knew that from the toxin’s effect on Miguel. Miguel… Was there even a chance he was still down there somewhere, or had this creature already gotten to him? She prayed he was beyond suffering by now.

The creature paused, tentacles lifting as it tasted the air or sensed vibrations. Priya realized to her dismay that it could probably hear her ragged breathing or the thump of her panicked heart. It let out a series of soft clacking chirps. The sound made Priya’s head throb – it was as if the clicks resonated inside her skull. She gritted her teeth as a wave of dizziness rolled over her. Those clicks weren’t just sound; they burrowed into her mind, stirring half-formed visions: fleeting images of the vast ocean, of writhing shapes in the deep, of herself floating helplessly in black water. She squeezed her eyes shut to dispel the hallucination. It’s trying to get in my head… she realized with revulsion. Telepathy? Some psychic lure like an angler’s light, drawing her out? The science of it eluded her, but the effect was clear. The creature’s hive mind – or whatever fragment of it this juvenile carried – was reaching out like a dark tendril, seeking to crush her will.

Priya pressed a hand to her temple and steadied herself against the crate. “No,” she whispered, forcing the word out. “You’re not real. You’re not in my head.” She dug the point of the scalpel in her pocket lightly into her thigh – the stab of pain grounded her, clearing some of the fog. The c’thalhai gave a frustrated trill, as if sensing its psychic attack had failed to fully take hold.

In that moment, another sound cut through the bay – a deep rumble from overhead. Both Priya and the creature froze. The rumble grew to a roar: thunder. Priya’s eyes widened. It must have been morning above the surface, and the storm they’d seen on the forecast was rolling in. The water in the moonpool rippled with the distant turbulence of waves far above. Light flashed – maybe lightning penetrating even these depths, or perhaps it was just her mind exaggerating the bioluminescence around the creature. But the thunder’s tremor seemed to galvanize Specimen 3. It suddenly reared up, tentacles coiling, and emitted a loud, modulated call – an almost trumpet-like sound that reverberated through the facility. It sounded like a signal.

Priya’s blood went cold. Was it… answering the storm? Or calling out to its kin? The notion was terrifying: if there were others nearby, they would hear this cry.

The creature began moving again, faster now, skirting the edges of the bay. Priya realized with a lurch that it was avoiding the open center. It had learned caution; perhaps it suspected a trap. She had to act before it cornered her. She glanced at the submersible hatch – still a few yards away, across an open stretch of floor. She might only get one chance to sprint for it.

Clutching the scalpel, Priya mustered her courage. She sucked in a breath, then kicked one of the portable air tanks stacked by the crate. The metal cylinder clanged loudly as it rolled out across the floor toward the opposite side of the bay. In a blink, the creature pounced at the noise, striking the tank with such force that it slammed against the far wall. In that same heartbeat, Priya bolted from hiding and ran.

Her boots splashed and skidded through the pooling water. She threw herself toward the submersible’s open hatch. For a second, she felt exposed in the creature’s bioluminescent glow – a flailing, panicked figure in the dark. But momentum carried her into the sub’s cockpit. She grabbed the hatch handle and hauled it down just as a tentacle whipped against the side of the sub with a heavy thud.

The hatch sealed with a hiss. Priya spun the locking wheel until it clicked, her lungs burning as she gasped for air. Outside, she heard the creature’s tentacles scraping over the sub’s hull, sucker cups popping against the glass of the small viewport. She stumbled back into the pilot’s seat, heart pounding so fiercely she thought it might burst. But she was inside. A barrier – however thin – now separated her from the monster.

The submersible’s interior was dark, but emergency power was available here too. With shaking hands, Priya hit the battery switch. To her relief, the console came alive with a faint glow. The sub’s systems were on standby, not drained. Possibly, the automated launch sequence had been interrupted by the power loss but the backup was still ready. Through the viewport, she saw a silhouette slide past – the creature circling, its blue aura bright against the water outside.

Priya’s fingers danced over the controls from memory, priming the launch. If she undocked now, water would flood the bay – but it was flooding anyway. She hesitated. Could she really abandon the station? Yet what choice was left? The research outpost was compromised beyond saving. The mainframe was likely fried. The specimen was free. If it reaches the ocean… Her thought trailed off as she watched it through the glass. It wasn’t trying to smash into the sub. Instead, it moved toward the moonpool opening, drawn perhaps by the call of open water and the distant chorus of its kin above.

“No…” Priya breathed. She realized what it was going to do a second before it did. With a final undulation of its limbs, the c’thalhai juvenile slid over the lip of the moonpool and plunged into the black water with a splash. Its bioluminescent glow faded as it descended into the ocean, disappearing from her view entirely.

A mix of relief and dread hit Priya like a wave. The creature was no longer hunting her – but now it was loose in the endless expanse of the sea. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the viewport, tears of exhaustion and frustration stinging her eyes. Far above, another peal of thunder resonated down. The storm… and who knew what horrors it might carry onto the surface.

Priya quickly blinked away the tears. Don’t lose it now, she urged herself. There was still a chance to do something useful. She turned her attention back to the sub’s controls. Through the gloom inside the bay, she could make out water now pouring in through the compromised hatch the creature had forced. The outpost wouldn’t last much longer. If she was going to escape, it had to be now.

Her hands flew across toggles and switches as she engaged the submersible’s motors. A mechanical whine sounded beneath her as the clamps disengaged. The mini-sub bobbed, suddenly buoyant and free in the moonpool.

Priya strapped herself into the pilot seat harness. Her face was lit by the green glow of the navigation display. Depth gauge: 300 meters. Compass erratic due to the storm above, but she knew the general direction to Fort Armitage’s base on the coast. Taking a steadying breath, she reached for the radio one more time. Perhaps with the sub’s antenna buoy, she could send a clearer warning.

Before launching, she keyed open the broadcast channel and spoke, voice raw but resolute: “This is Dr. Das, launching in escape submersible from the deep-sea outpost. The specimen has breached containment and entered the ocean. It is heading for the surface. I say again: hostile organism en route to surface. Alert all coastal stations… prepare for emerging threat.” She paused, then added in a voice almost cracking, “They’re not isolated. I think… this is part of something bigger. If anyone hears this, humanity must be ready.”

Priya didn’t know if anyone was listening, or if the message would reach through the storm. But she had to try. She closed the radio channel, sealed her helmet, and slammed the throttle lever forward. The submersible’s propellers kicked up, thrusting the little craft up and out through the moonpool into the open sea beyond.

For a moment, everything was a dizzying swirl. Turbulent water buffeted the sub as she cleared the station. Priya caught a last glimpse of the outpost’s lights flickering and then blacking out below – the place that had been her safe harbor now a sunken tomb and battleground lost to the deep. Lightning flashed somewhere far above, illuminating the water in ghostly white shafts.

She angled the sub upward, toward the surface. As it ascended, Priya felt a numbness settle in her bones. Part of it was shock, part of it resignation. The creature was gone – and with it, any chance of containing the horror down here. Now it would be up there, unleashed on the world. She thought of that rhythmic blue pulse, of the infected human DNA in Miguel, of the hallucinations and telepathic whispers. The pieces clicked together in her mind with awful clarity: This wasn’t an isolated incident. The c’thalhai – for that’s what they had to be – were making their move. Mark’s submarine, her outpost, the strange reports topside… it was all connected. An invasion from the depths, long planned and now begun.

As the submersible raced toward the storm-lashed surface, Priya closed her eyes. She knew the others at Fort Armitage, at every coastal city, had no idea what was coming for them. But they would soon. The inevitability of it was like a weight in her chest heavier than the ocean above. In the darkness behind her eyelids, she saw a mental image – or perhaps a telepathic echo – of countless glowing blue eyes rising from the deep, like a field of ghostly lanterns drifting upward. It was a vision of the future she could scarcely comprehend, yet she knew with grim certainty that it was real.

Somewhere above, daylight was trying to break through the storm clouds, but for humanity, dawn would not bring salvation – only a new horror rising from below. Priya tightened her grip on the controls and steeled herself for whatever awaited at the surface. It’s begun, she thought, heart pounding with a mix of terror and determination. God help us, it’s all beginning now.

Lt. Cmdr. Mark Davis (cont.)

The shot rang out deafeningly in the confined corridor. Mark’s finger jerked the trigger twice, a reflex born of terror and training. The muzzle flash lit the grotesque scene: Ensign Taylor’s transforming face convulsing inches away, his partially freed arm lunging toward Mark with unnatural speed. The hollow-point rounds tore into Taylor’s chest and shoulder. For an instant, the cocoon’s slimy film ballooned with the impact, then it ruptured in a spray of blue-tinged gore.

Mark staggered back as a wave of the viscous fluid splashed out. He threw up an arm to shield his face, feeling hot droplets pepper his sleeve and cheek. A searing burn followed immediately; the liquid ate through cloth and bit into flesh. Mark screamed through gritted teeth, swiping at his cheek. His palm came away smeared with luminescent blue, and a patch of skin on his face flared in agony. He frantically wiped the residue off on his damp pant leg, knowing every second counted before the toxin sank deeper. It left a raw, stinging welt across his cheekbone, but the worst seemed neutralized – for now.

A hiss and sizzle filled the air. Mark’s ears rang from the gunshots, but he could still hear the acidic blood working its horror. The bulkhead where Taylor had been pinned was now pocked with holes, the metal fizzing and smoking. Taylor’s cocooned form sagged, held up only by a few stubborn tendrils of slime. The ensign’s body twitched once, then fell still, mercifully slumping into silence. Mark’s chest heaved with sobs he refused to let fully form. There would be time to grieve later – if he survived. “Rest easy, sailor,” he choked out softly, his voice breaking. He hoped that in those final moments, his crewmate had found release from the alien nightmare.

But Mark had no time to mourn. The corrosive fluid was chewing through the submarine’s interior with alarming speed. A rivulet of acid ate along the ceiling, and with a metallic groan, a section of plating gave way. To Mark’s horror, a crack opened overhead, spewing a torrent of seawater into the corridor. The submarine’s already weakened hull was being literally dissolved by the creature’s blood.

Within seconds, ankle-deep water became knee-deep. Freezing cold saltwater surged around Mark’s legs, knocking him against the wall. Gasping at the shock of it, he realized the entire compartment would be flooded in moments. The narrow beam of his flashlight, now dropped on the floor, shone underwater like an eerie spotlight. In its glow, Mark could see the deadly blue ichor diffusing in the water like ink – diluted, perhaps less dangerous, but all around him.

With adrenaline reignited, Mark holstered his pistol and turned on his heel. He had to get out, now. Sloshing forward, he fought the rising water to reach an emergency locker he’d passed earlier. His hands clawed at the latch. Please be something… The panel popped open, revealing a neatly rolled Submarine Escape Immersion Equipment suit – essentially a reinforced dive hood with a small oxygen rebreather for emergencies. Trembling with urgency, Mark shrugged off his sodden jacket and yanked the escape hood over his head. It was like pulling a deflated balloon down to his shoulders, but he managed to secure the rubber collar snugly. He crammed the attached mouthpiece between his teeth and bit down; the unit whirred, providing a trickle of precious oxygen.

Water was at his waist now and rising fast. Mark clutched the waterproof case of the distress beacon – his last lifeline – and shoved it inside his shirt for safekeeping. With one hand on the bulkhead to steady himself against the current, he stumbled toward a jagged opening where the acid had torn through to the next compartment. It was nearly wide enough to fit through. Beyond it lay darkness and the open ocean – he could feel the current pulling, as the pressure sought equilibrium. The submarine was quickly becoming one with the sea.

A terrible creak reverberated through the Reliant’s skeleton; the bow, already flooded, must be pulling the wreck deeper. Mark had seconds at best. He activated the beacon’s release switch, hoping it would float to the surface once he was out, then braced himself at the torn hull. Cold water pounded against his chest. His heart thundered with fear. You’ve survived this long, he told himself. One more gauntlet. Let’s go.

With a deep breath through the mouthpiece, Mark pushed through the jagged gap and let the sea take him. Icy darkness enveloped him completely. He kicked free of the wreck, careful to avoid snaring his suit on sharp edges. In the faint light spilling from the breach behind him, he caught a final glimpse of the USS Reliant’s interior as it was claimed by the abyss – a red glow of emergency lights flickering out, like the dying embers of a foundering hearth.

Mark turned upward and began to swim, each kick sending lances of pain through his cracked ribs. Bubbles streamed from the rebreather as it worked to regulate the pressure. He forced himself to ascend as steadily as he could – too fast could rupture his lungs or cause the bends, but he doubted he had the luxury of a cautious climb. The beacon’s thin tether unspooled from his belt, intended to trail him and then pop the beacon to the surface ahead of him.

As he rose a few meters, an uncanny illumination stopped him cold. Far above, the water was dappled with shifting blue lights – at first he thought it was the morning sun somehow piercing the storm clouds. But it was moving. Multiple points of bioluminescence, swirling and converging, like a school of predatory fish… or a hunting pack. Mark’s eyes widened in realization. They’re here… so many of them. The c’thalhai were ascending en masse, their glowing forms painting the darkness with an otherworldly azure hue.

From below and around him, Mark sensed faint pulses of that same blue light. He craned his neck in the gloom. There – to his left, maybe twenty yards away, a sinuous shape undulated upward: one of the creatures, larger than the one he’d encountered, its eight limbs propelling it gracefully through the water. And another beyond it – and another. Silhouettes moving in the deep, all heading in the same direction he was: toward the surface, toward the world of light and land above.

Mark felt a chill that had nothing to do with the frigid Atlantic. In that moment, suspended in darkness and silence, he was a witness to the start of the invasion in its purest form. Dozens of c’thalhai – maybe more – were rising from the depths like a phantom army. The distant thunder of the storm rolled through the water, as if heralding their approach.

Anger, grief, and dread warred within Mark’s chest. His friends had died to these monsters – and now those sacrifices felt like just the first drops in a coming flood. With a surge of determination, Mark resumed kicking upward. Each stroke was agony, but he welcomed the pain – it meant he was still alive, still fighting. As he ascended through the forest of glowing predators, he kept one hand on the beacon’s tether, silently praying it would breach the surface and do its job: alert someone, anyone, that he was here… and that hell was coming with him.

A few curious lights broke formation to spiral closer toward the lone human drifting upward, but a sharp series of clicks echoed through the depths – some unheard command – and they veered away again, racing to join the congregation above. It was as if, for now, Mark didn’t matter; the c’thalhai had a greater purpose driving them.

Mark’s lungs burned for fresh air as he neared what he hoped was the surface. The rebreather was running low, he could tell by the heavier pull on each breath. Through the gloom, he finally spotted a paler shade of darkness: the surface waters, faintly illuminated by cloud-filtered daylight and flashes of lightning. The storm churned the sea, creating froth that frothed white above him.

At last, Mark’s head broke the surface. Rain pelted his rubber hood as he ripped off the mouthpiece and gulped in sweet, cold air. He was alive – coughing, crying, but alive. Bobbing in the heaving waves, he quickly scanned for the beacon. There – a small orange canister was blinking not far away, emitting a distress strobe and pinging an SOS into the stormy morning. Relief flooded through him; at least that part of the plan was working.

But any hope was tempered by the sight that met his eyes as he turned in the water. The dawn sky was bruised with storm clouds, and the sea around him was chaos – not only from the weather, but from shapes breaking the surface. Here and there, slick tentacles and glistening carapaces breached the waves. Mark watched, mouth agape, as one of the larger c’thalhai hauled itself partially above the water not fifty yards away. In the flash of lightning, he saw its eyes – huge and black – scanning the horizon where, faintly, the outline of a coastline was visible beyond sheets of rain. With a fluid motion, the creature submerged again, pressing forward toward land like an inevitability.

All around, the ocean rippled with the legion of monsters rising beneath. Mark could only tread water and witness the nightmare unfold. He now understood with dreadful clarity: the attack on his submarine, the incident at the outpost, all of it had been the opening moves. This is it. It’s really happening. The c’thalhai were surfacing to claim the world above.

A swell nearly pushed him under, and Mark kicked hard to stay afloat. The salt water stung the burn on his cheek and his eyes, but he refused to blink. In the distance, through rain-blurred vision, he thought he saw a faint red glow – could it be the lights of a rescue chopper, or simply lightning reflected on the waves? He couldn’t be sure.

Mark felt small and powerless in that moment, a lone man bobbing in an endless ocean amid titans. Yet he was alive, and as long as he lived, he carried a warning. He thought of Priya, of Rafe and Sarah – people he hoped were safe and fighting out there. They needed to know what he’d seen. Humanity needed to know what was coming for them, if they didn’t already.

Gritting his teeth, Mark began to swim toward the blinking distress beacon, toward whatever slim chance of rescue it promised. Each stroke was sheer willpower. Behind him, the vanguard of the c’thalhai invasion surged onward through the storm-whipped sea, their bioluminescent trails bleeding into the dawn light. The nightmare that had lurked in the deep was now ascending, unstoppable as the tide.

Lightning cracked and illuminated the silhouette of the shoreline ahead – a shoreline that would soon witness unimaginable horror. Mark swam on, a spark of defiance in his chest. This isn’t over, he vowed silently, even as tears of exhaustion mingled with the rain on his face. The surface invasion had begun, a fate perhaps inevitable, but he was determined to face it head on. In the howling wind and crashing waves, with monsters at his back and uncertainty ahead, Mark Davis kept going, one desperate stroke at a time, into the oncoming storm.