Part I – Secondary Storage
The secondary storage sector was stable.
At least compared to everything below.
The flooding hadn’t reached this level. The walls remained dry, the emergency lighting steady enough to work under, and the systems—while unstable—still responded often enough to be useful.
The atmosphere hadn’t changed, though.
The rigid black walls.
The cold industrial air.
The oppressive silence that seemed built into every level of Black Sun itself.
Frederick scanned the area carefully before lowering his weapon slightly.
“Alright,” he said. “This place is secure enough for now. Get the equipment functioning.”
Viola and the others immediately got to work.
Power lines were connected first. Then the portable monitors. Ventilation units followed shortly after, humming weakly as backup systems accepted the load.
Viola adjusted one of the diagnostic units before stepping back to look around.
“We can work with this,” she said. “Temporary medical station. Minor injuries, stabilization… suit filtration too.”
One of the nurses looked up.
“For pressure suit buildup?”
Viola nodded.
“If anyone’s been sealed in those too long, we’ll need to cycle dangerous gas accumulation before it becomes a problem.”
The nurse gave a tired nod and continued working.
Near the entrance, the guards remained on watch.
Weapons ready.
Eyes fixed on the corridor outside.
One of them exhaled quietly.
“I never thought I’d miss normal patrol duty.”
Another guard gave a humorless laugh.
“Or the way GUARD handled things.”
That earned a few small nods.
As rigid as the organization was, people trusted the structure.
The routines.
The certainty.
Right now, none of that existed.
Frederick glanced back toward the medical team.
“You doctors stay here,” he said calmly. “We’ll check the surrounding sectors. See if there’s anything useful nearby.”
Viola looked at him briefly, then nodded.
“Be careful.”
Frederick gave no response to that.
He simply motioned for the guards to move.
The corridor outside remained quiet.
Too quiet.
Then—
Movement above.
Several drones descended from the ceiling routes, scanning lights cutting through the dim red glow.
The guards immediately relaxed slightly.
One even let out a breath of relief.
“Finally,” he muttered. “System support.”
Another guard stepped forward.
“GUARD response unit, identify active comma—”
The drones fell.
All at once.
Metal crashed against the floor.
Scanning lights spun uselessly before fading out.
The silence that followed felt heavier than before.
“…That’s not possible,” one of the guards whispered.
Frederick stared at the inactive machines for a moment.
Then looked further down the corridor.
A nearby access door caught his attention.
No markings.
Minimal panel lighting.
He approached carefully and triggered the control panel.
A voice responded immediately—
But it was distorted beyond recognition.
Fragments of words.
Overlapping tones.
Glitching feedback that sounded less like a system malfunction and more like multiple messages speaking over each other.
The door remained shut.
Frederick tried another access point further down.
This one responded.
Barely.
The door slid open halfway—
Then stopped abruptly.
A second later it snapped shut again with enough force to shake the frame.
Another guard tried the nearby elevator.
“Access denied,” the system replied instantly.
Frederick frowned slightly.
This level housed command support sectors and upper guard infrastructure. Bypass access here should have been easier than the lower levels.
Instead—
Everything felt selective.
Behind them, inside the storage ward, Viola continued sorting through inventory records.
Then paused.
“…What?”
One of the nurses looked over.
“What is it?”
Viola stared at the terminal.
The logs had changed.
Not corrupted.
Changed.
Supply allocations no longer matched sector assignments.
Equipment transfer times were wrong.
Entire entries appeared displaced.
“When did this happen…” she murmured.
She scrolled further.
The deeper she checked, the worse it became.
Information was shifting.
Not randomly.
Systematically.
Viola slowly leaned back from the terminal.
Something was interfering with more than infrastructure now.
If she wanted accurate logs—
Or accurate information at all—
She would need someone higher up.
A command officer.
The Warden.
Someone with clearance above the system distortions.
Because whatever was happening inside Black Sun—
Part II – The Warden
Water still dripped from parts of the north wing.
The floor beneath Titus’ boots remained slick from the flood surge, though the emergency drainage systems had finally started catching up. The surviving group stayed near the sealed control section, exhausted but alert.
No one fully relaxed.
Not after what they had just survived.
Static crackled through the comms again.
Then stabilized.
“…respond.”
The voice was clearer this time.
Older.
Controlled.
The Warden.
Titus activated his comm immediately.
“This is Titus. North wing access corridor. We made it out.”
A brief pause followed.
Not from interference.
From thought.
“…Understood,” the Warden replied.
He sounded relieved.
But only slightly.
“How many survivors?”
Titus looked around.
Carlos.
The technician.
Two guards.
That was all.
“Five besides myself,” Titus answered.
Another pause.
Then the Warden asked the question Titus had expected least.
“How many cells were opened?”
The group exchanged glances.
Carlos frowned slightly.
Titus answered carefully.
“We couldn’t get full records. Several cells were breached.”
“Estimated count.”
Titus hesitated.
“…Unknown.”
The silence on the line stretched longer this time.
Then:
“Describe the prisoners.”
Carlos looked at Titus immediately.
That felt wrong.
“We had limited visual confirmation,” Titus said slowly. “Armed. Coordinated. They had access to guard weapons.”
The Warden responded immediately.
Too immediately.
“Restraint systems failed?”
The technician looked up sharply at that.
Titus noticed.
“Yes,” Titus replied. “We assumed interference—”
“Of course you did,” the Warden interrupted quietly.
Something about the tone shifted there.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Something else.
Titus narrowed his eyes slightly.
“You already knew the lower sectors were compromised.”
Silence.
The static on the line crackled softly.
Then the Warden spoke again.
“…We detected abnormalities in the lower systems before your beacon signal reached command.”
Carlos folded his arms.
“How long before?”
No answer.
Titus stepped in before the tension worsened.
“The maintenance gate,” he said. “The one below the flooded sectors.”
Another pause.
Then:
“…You reached that door?”
That got everyone’s attention.
Titus’ voice stayed even.
“Yes.”
The Warden inhaled slowly through the comm.
Not fear.
Recognition.
“It opened briefly,” Titus continued. “Then refused access.”
The line went quiet again.
Long enough to feel deliberate.
Finally—
“You were never supposed to reach that sector.”
Nobody spoke.
Even the technician looked unsettled now.
Carlos frowned.
“What the hell does that mean?”
The Warden ignored the question.
“Listen carefully,” he said instead. “Do not attempt to access any lower containment routes again. If you encounter sealed sections marked with authority overrides, you leave them alone.”
Titus’ expression hardened slightly.
“With respect, sir, prisoners are loose because something already opened them.”
No response came immediately.
Then, very quietly:
“…I know.”
The comm line distorted again.
Not fully static.
Something stranger.
Like another signal trying to overlap the conversation.
The technician looked at his scanner.
The readings were pulsing again.
Stronger than before.
And somewhere deep below Black Sun—
Something answered back.
Part III – Frederick Moves
Frederick moved alone.
The guards had remained near secondary storage after the drones failed again. No one argued when he said he would continue scouting ahead.
Something about the corridors beyond felt wrong in a way he couldn’t fully explain.
Not dangerous.
Not yet.
Just… altered.
The maintenance route should have been sealed.
According to protocol, the flooding below should have triggered automatic isolation across multiple adjacent sectors. Several access corridors should no longer have been reachable at all.
Yet the door ahead of him slid open the moment he approached.
Smoothly.
Silently.
Frederick stepped through.
The corridor beyond was dark except for intermittent red emergency strips running low along the walls.
Water still coated parts of the floor.
Not deep.
Just enough to reflect the dim lighting back upward in distorted ripples.
He continued forward carefully.
The deeper sections of Black Sun felt different from the upper sectors.
Older somehow.
Less refined.
More hidden.
Another panel waited at the end of the corridor.
Minimal markings.
Almost intentionally overlooked.
Frederick crouched slightly and opened the maintenance cover beside it.
A concealed access interface lit up beneath.
He stared at it for a moment.
Then entered a short override sequence from memory.
The wall beside him unlocked with a low mechanical shift.
A narrow passage opened.
Frederick stepped inside.
The room beyond resembled an observation sector.
Small.
Reinforced.
Dark monitors lining one wall.
Most inactive.
A few still flickering with fragmented feeds from distant parts of the facility.
One screen flashed static.
Another showed an empty corridor somewhere below.
Another—
Gone.
Frederick moved deeper into the room slowly.
Then stopped.
The air felt colder here.
His eyes lowered toward the floor.
Water.
Fresh.
Still moving slightly.
Not from flooding.
From disturbance.
Someone had passed through here recently.
Frederick’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly.
He scanned the room carefully.
Nothing visible.
No bodies.
No drones.
No signs of forced entry.
Then he noticed it.
One of the reinforced storage lockers along the far wall stood partially open.
Not broken.
Opened.
Frederick approached slowly.
Inside—
Empty mounts.
Something had been removed.
Recently.
For the first time since entering the room, Frederick looked genuinely unsettled.
Because whatever had come through here—
Knew exactly where it was going.