Chapter 1 — The Signal
The first time the signal came through, it was nothing more than static—faint, irregular pulses of white noise filtering through Jett's homemade receiver in his bedroom above his uncle's repair shop. He almost dismissed it. Almost. But something in the rhythm nagged at the back of his mind, like a code trying to remember itself.
Jett tapped the side of the receiver, adjusting the frequency dial. The old oscilloscope lit up with brief flickers of waveform. The signal returned: a low thrum punctuated by five sharp pulses, repeated every 9.7 seconds. Definitely not background noise. And definitely not natural.
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen. "You're not supposed to exist," he murmured.
The next day, under the cover of dusk, four teenagers met at the abandoned skatepark near Ridgepoint Hill. It had once been the town's weekend hotspot—until the sinkhole swallowed the north side. Now it was quiet, off-grid, and perfect for strange discoveries.
Aya arrived first, backpack slung across her shoulder, hair wrapped in a patterned scarf that fluttered slightly with the wind. She didn't speak until the others appeared. Lena strolled in next, wearing her ever-present leather jacket, combat boots crunching over broken concrete. Noah arrived just after, his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, eyes scanning the sky.
Then came Jett, late as always, carrying a rugged, black metal case.
"Well?" Lena said, arms crossed. "What's the mystery? I ditched my patrol shift for this."
Jett set the case down and opened it. Inside was the receiver, humming with a soft, urgent pulse. The same five-beat rhythm echoed faintly from a small speaker.
"What is that?" Aya asked, crouching closer.
"I don't know," Jett said. "But it's not radio chatter. I triangulated the source. It's underground."
"Underground where?" Noah asked.
Jett pulled out a rolled map. It was old and water-stained, but the ink had survived. He spread it out on the crumbling picnic table. "Here," he said, pointing to a red dot half a mile outside town—deep in the woods, past the floodplain. "This symbol appeared on the signal trace."
A circular glyph was sketched in the map margin—five concentric rings with a diagonal slash through them.
"Is that... a lab?" Aya asked.
Jett nodded. "Echo Cradle. It was shut down before we were born. My uncle says the government denied it even existed."
"Then how do you have a map to it?" Lena asked.
Jett smirked. "Found it buried in his attic. Along with this receiver."
They stared at the map in silence. Somewhere below their town, something long forgotten had woken up—and it wanted to be found.
"I say we go," Lena said finally.
"Obviously," Jett grinned.
Noah hesitated. "What if it's dangerous?"
Lena glanced at him. "We've handled danger before."
Noah looked at her for a long moment, then nodded.
Aya touched the glyph with her fingertip. "Echo Cradle," she whispered. "Why does that sound... familiar?"
They agreed to meet the next night. No phones. No GPS. No digital trail.
That night, Aya dreamed of metal corridors humming with electricity, a heartbeat echoing through walls that breathed. Her reflection in a polished steel surface looked back at her—older, eyes glowing faintly.
"You're almost home," a voice said in her ear.
She woke up gasping.
The next evening, beneath a slivered moon, they ventured into the forest, flashlights cutting through thick brush and tangled branches. The map led them to a moss-covered hill at the edge of the old power grid. What once might have been a gravel service road had been overtaken by roots and vines.
Then Jett spotted something—a steel hatch half-buried in mud and leaves.
"It's real," he breathed.
The hatch groaned open after ten minutes of prying. A cold gust of air exhaled from the darkness below.
One by one, they descended the rusted ladder into the belly of the forgotten facility.
The air inside tasted metallic. Faint emergency lights still flickered, powered by some ancient battery backup. Corridors stretched in both directions—gray walls lined with inert monitors and sealed doors. It was like walking into a dream half-remembered from childhood.
Aya touched the wall. "It's like I've been here before."
"Creepy," Jett muttered.
They moved deeper.
In the central chamber, they found it—a console that still worked. Dusty, but alive. Screens lit up as they entered. One display pulsed with the same five-beat rhythm from Jett's receiver.
Then a voice crackled through hidden speakers—distorted, old, fragmented.
"…access confirmed… subjects located… protocol… awakening…"
The lights brightened. All of them flinched.
A low rumble echoed from the eastern corridor. Something had heard them. Something was waking up.
From the shadows, movement. Gliding silently, metal limbs twitching—drones, built for surveillance but clearly repurposed.
"Back!" Lena shouted.
The first drone surged forward, its emitter glowing.
Noah stepped between it and Aya, arms raised instinctively. To everyone's shock, a translucent wall of light flared into existence—just for a moment—before shattering as the drone crashed through.
"What the hell?" Noah gasped, staring at his own hands.
Lena lunged forward, driving a metal rod into the drone's side. Sparks erupted.
Jett yanked a panel off the wall and rewired a junction box. "Stalling it—ten seconds!"
They ran.
Behind them, more lights flickered on. Doors unsealed. Systems rebooted. The Cradle was no longer sleeping.
They emerged into the night, lungs burning, hearts pounding.
Above them, the stars seemed to pulse in unison.
Noah stared at his palms. "What was that? What did I do?"
Aya's eyes were wide. "Something inside us... answered."
And deep underground, the signal continued pulsing.
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