The Mississippi stretched before them like an ancient vein, pulsing with secrets and shadow. At this hour—long past midnight—the river looked like obsidian glass, broken only by the ripple of current and the whisper of night winds. The storm from earlier had passed, but the air still held its weight.
Nate stood at the dock in a black thermal dive suit, examining the harness that connected the shard container to his vest. Mallory adjusted her gear beside him, meticulous in her movements. Tuck sat nearby in a half-submerged boat that looked like it belonged in a smuggling scene from an 80s film, sucking the last drops from a metal flask.
"You sure that contraption's waterproof?" Tuck asked, nodding at the box Nate was strapping on.
"It's shielded up to 300 meters," Nate replied. "We'll be less than 50."
"I've heard that before," Tuck muttered, rubbing his temples. "You better hope it holds, or you're going to come out of there glowing like a rave stick."
Mallory checked her oxygen feed. "We enter at the side tunnel, forty meters east of the dock. There's an underwater grate. I cut it yesterday during recon."
"You cut a corporate security gate underwater, alone?" Nate raised a brow.
She shrugged. "Had to test the current. Besides, no one was watching."
Tuck spat into the river. "Y'all are nuts."
Mallory threw him a grin. "You signed up for it."
"Because I like crazy," he said. "But just once I'd like a job that ends with a beach instead of bullets."
---
They slipped into the water silently, one after the other. Nate's world shrank into a cold, dark whisper. Bubbles. Breathing. Heartbeat.
Mallory led, a green light on her tank blinking with each kick. Nate followed, muscles tense, every sound amplified underwater. Behind them, Tuck drifted in the boat with one hand on a modified sonar disruptor.
They reached the tunnel in under three minutes. Mallory guided them to the severed grate, where a sliver of current pulled slightly into the substation shaft. The metal was jagged, fresh.
Nate squeezed through, his gear brushing the sides.
Inside, the current died. It was pitch black until Mallory activated a soft red light on her wrist. It cast eerie shadows on the flooded corridor—a submerged maintenance tunnel filled with forgotten tools and rusted panels.
They swam deeper.
Mallory led them to a vertical shaft. A ladder ran up the side. She motioned up. Nate followed, feet finding slippery rungs. Water streamed from his suit as he emerged into air.
They were inside the station.
---
It was a hollow place—metal bones humming with distant energy. Lights blinked in rhythm with the pulse of something deeper. And it smelled sterile, like recycled air and damp metal.
Mallory dropped to a crouch, pulled out a signal jammer. "We've got twelve minutes until the next drone pass."
Nate pulled the shard box free, placed it on the floor. "This is where the map pointed."
They found the socket chamber after three turns—a small room with smooth walls and a central pedestal. It looked like it had been built around something ancient. Not designed. Preserved.
In the pedestal's center sat a socket the size of a brick. Lines etched into it pulsed with a faint cyan glow.
Nate opened the case, slowly lifted the shard.
It hummed in his hands. A warmth in his palms. Familiar. Alive.
He fit it into the socket.
The pedestal flared to life.
Holograms exploded around them—maps, energy signatures, glyphs in a hundred languages. And in the center, a sphere pulsed.
"This is a relay," Mallory said. "Not just a key. It's transmitting."
Nate nodded. "Or listening."
Suddenly the lights changed. Everything froze. Then—
A voice.
Male. Cold. Not human.
"Access Granted. Protocol Xeno-7 Engaged."
The door behind them slammed shut.
Mallory spun, gun out. "They traced us."
"No," Nate said, staring at the projection. "It's not them."
Images changed. Coordinates blinked. Earth... and beyond.
A star chart. A fleet. Dozens of vessels, orbiting something massive.
Tuck's voice crackled through the comms. "Guys, you've got inbound. Blackhawk drones. Too fast for standard patrol. Someone knows you're there."
Mallory cursed. "Extraction point?"
"East spillway. Fifteen minutes tops before it's covered."
Nate grabbed the shard.
The pedestal wouldn't release it.
"It's locked in," he said.
"Then break it."
He hesitated. "We could lose the data."
"Better than losing your head."
He slammed the emergency override. Sparks flew. The shard tore loose. The projection stuttered. Something screamed through the comms—a digital shriek like corrupted memory.
They ran.
---
The hallway lights flickered. Alarms blared.
Mallory kicked open a side door, leading to a flooded stairwell. Nate plunged after her, shard clutched tight.
Drones swarmed outside. Tuck saw the first one emerge over the treeline—black, angular, silent. He fired the disruptor. The drone spasmed and fell into the water with a hiss.
But more were coming.
Mallory surfaced first. "Go, go!"
They pulled themselves into the boat, firing as they moved. Tuck spun the throttle. The old motor screamed.
Behind them, the station's upper levels lit up. Spotlights swept across the river. Gunfire hissed into the dark.
Nate ducked, cradling the shard.
"Tuck!"
"I see it!"
A drone dove. Mallory fired, winged it. It spiraled past.
Then—silence.
They vanished into the reeds.
---
An hour later, they hid in an old tugboat hulk moored in a dead canal. Tuck checked his bruises. Mallory paced. Nate sat on a crate, the shard beside him, glowing faintly.
"What did we see?" Mallory asked.
"Something alien," Nate said. "Something watching Earth. Waiting."
"Why now?"
"Because the relay activated." He looked up. "We woke it up."
Mallory rubbed her temples. "This isn't just a score anymore."
"No," he agreed. "This is a countdown."
They all went quiet.
In the distance, thunder rolled again.
And above them, hidden behind clouds and silence, something shifted in orbit.
Something no longer waiting.
---