Perspective: Ivan, Signalman, Clover-7 Outpost
Federation Calendar 2442, Standard Time, June 18, night, 11:07 p.m.
Northeastern edge of the "Contact Zone," Clover-7 Small Communications Relay Outpost.
Ivan yawned and gulped down a large mouthful of bitter coffee made from low-quality synthetic powder and an unknown energy supplement. His bloodshot eyes stared blankly at the old Federation Military Type-III signal monitoring terminal in front of him.
This outpost, jokingly called "The Abyss's Ear" by low-ranking tech soldiers, stood alone between the "Ash Border" and the "Outer Buffer Zone." Its main duty was to monitor, record, and analyze energy fluctuations and communication signals from the "Exotic Deep" around the clock.
The job was tedious and lonely, offering no hope for promotion. The only thing that gave him a morbid "thrill" were the encrypted channels on the monitoring screen marked "Source Unknown — High Risk Warning" by the AI "Xuanji." Ivan called them "ghost signals."
"This damned frequency again..." Ivan rubbed his sore, swollen eyes and cursed under his breath.
On the main screen, Ghost Channel 073 had become active again. The frequency band appeared without warning, lighting up for an extremely brief moment, like a phantom knocking at the door late at night.
It was a burst of noise lasting less than 0.3 seconds. It was sharp, cold, and devoid of any sign of life.
An unknown data packet appeared almost simultaneously with the noise. Shrouded in layers of digital fog and energy interference, it was encrypted with at least seven unknown algorithms and radiated an enormous amount of information entropy that made one's heart palpitate.
On the packet's "envelope," an energy shell that writhed and morphed into twisted geometric shapes like a living thing, was an insignia:
It was a pair of crossed scythes burning with black fire and a single bleeding eye.
This was the insignia used by the Internal Affairs Investigation Department's "Gray Dove" special operations team for forbidden missions requiring "highest-level clearance and existence erasure." The symbol represented "absolute silence," "burn after reading," and "prohibit recording and tracing."
Ivan's heart contracted violently. A chill shot from the base of his spine to the top of his head. He subconsciously reached out with his trembling, drink-stained right hand, intending to press the red emergency button for a "highest-level threat alarm."
At the last moment, a dangerous, beast-like intuition honed by the cruel wasteland and the Federation's bloody, unspoken rules stopped him.
He knew that, in the shadow of the Federation's vast, cold war machine, some secrets were not to be touched. For a low-level grunt like him, "knowing too much" was more dangerous than encountering a "Calamity-Tier" monster in the deep zone.
He took a deep breath, suppressed his racing heart, and mustered all his willpower to appear calm as he rapidly typed on the greasy control terminal. He packaged the "ghost signal," the data packet bearing the terrifying insignia, and his cautiously worded observation log. Then, he sealed it using the highest-level triple encryption he knew, mostly obsolete algorithms from the Golden Age.
He saved the encrypted file to a hidden folder deep within the outpost's database and named it after an ancient Earth symbol representing "taboo" and "calamity." Then he set biometric access permissions.
The tag: "Pandora's Box (Strictly Forbidden to Open)."
After doing all this, Ivan collapsed heavily back against the cold metal chair as if he were completely drained. His forehead was covered in cold sweat, and the lining of his combat suit was soaked through.
He knew this seemingly cowardly choice might have caused him to miss some Federation-toppling conspiracy, but it was more likely to let him live a few more days.
Outside the window, the lead-gray sky hung low, as dead and silent as ever.
Ivan did not know. Just a few hundred meters beneath the outpost, in an area officially designated as a "high-density inert metal ore layer," the neural network of a massive, secret, abandoned Golden Age communications experimental base was growing and spreading like a malignant tumor.
Somewhere in the network's core, an "observation node" activated. It flickered faintly, emitting a sound that only it and its true "master," far away in the seat of power in Rocky City, could "hear." It was cold and tinged with mockery.
"Information received and archived."
"Variable has been tagged."
"The script continues."