[art by @sophia42888 on TikTok]

“…Hello.”

The word comes out flat, more habit than greeting. Simon doesn’t jump. His hand rests on the intercom panel, thumb brushing the edge, index finger tapping once against the casing. Just checking. Static answers back.

Outside the viewport, the blood drifts slowly past, thick and dark, catching the sub’s dim running lights and smearing them into dull, wavering halos. It’s been doing that for hours. Maybe longer.

“That’s not supposed to be live,” he says. Not accusing. Just stating it, eyes flicking to the intercom, its bulb suspiciously still dead. “Signal path shouldn’t exist at this depth.”

He glances down at the readouts.

“Three point seven klicks. Still going down. Hull’s complaining, but it’s been complaining since launch.” A pause. “External temp’s holding at thirty-six. Which is… yeah. Warm. For blood.”

The engine coughs once. A sharp, ugly sound from somewhere behind the bulkhead. Then it settles, like it didn’t mean anything by it.

Simon exhales through his nose.

“And you,” he continues, quieter now, “are either a system fault I haven’t met yet…”

His eyes flick to the x-ray’s camera feed. The taped-down trigger clicks. The screen flashes, resolves into static and a blurred frame. Pale shapes, half-formed, low in the murk.

“…or something else entirely.”

He leans forward a little, as if that might help the signal, or him. Condensation hisses softly along the seals.

“Either way,” he says, almost conversational, “…you picked a hell of a time to start haunting me.”