Chapter 12 - ABYSS NINE
The bathyscaphe docked against the auxiliary maintenance hatch with a deafening hydraulic thud. Ethan drew his suppressed underwater sidearm, while I primed a breaching charge.
The pressure seal released with a sharp hiss. Cold air smelling of ozone, rust, and old oil rushed into the chamber.
We stepped out onto the metal grating of Station Abyss Nine. The facility was dead silent except for the low, rhythmic groan of titanium plates holding back millions of tons of ocean water. Red emergency strobe lights washed over rows of smashed server racks and shattered glass vials.
"Search pattern delta," Ethan whispered, moving swiftly around a corner with weapon raised. "Look for life signs."
I moved down the narrow corridor, my tactical torch sweeping over the walls. Blood spatters painted the bulkhead. The syndicate mercenaries had already entered the facility.
At the end of the hall, behind a heavy blast door reinforced with triple-inch steel, a mechanical hum vibrated through the floorboards. I stepped up to the reinforced window port and wiped away the condensation.
Inside a containment pod filled with oxygenated gel sat an elderly man. His beard was silver-white, his body covered in scars from decades of covert confinement. Despite the decades of isolation, his posture remained rigid and proud. Pinned to his ragged thermal shirt was a rusted Air Force Combat Rescue badge.
May you like
Arthur Vance. My biological father.
Beside his pod stood three mercenaries in black combat gear, setting explosive charges directly onto the primary control column.
