JESSI.
The soft hum of grow lights cast long shadows across the planters. Jessi lay on a cot in the corner, covered in a light blanket, her brow damp with sweat. Boris had turned off every unnecessary source of light or sound, but it wasn't enough.
Her fingers twitched.
Then her breath hitched—sharp and sudden.
Too loud… too loud…
She bolted upright with a strangled cry, eyes wide, unfocused. Her pulse thundered in her neck. She clutched her temples, trembling.
They're screaming—why are they still screaming?
She gasped for air that didn't seem to exist. The feelings—panic, rage, betrayal—ricocheted through her until it felt like her own skin was trying to peel off.
Make it STOP—
She screamed. A full-body, soul-ripping scream that startled the plants, sent birds fluttering outside the glass. It wasn't just her voice. It was grief. Pain. A dozen others crashing through her.
It's not mine—it's not mine—it's not mine—
BORIS.
"Jessi, it's okay, I've got you!"
Boris rushed in with a prepared syringe in one hand and a steadying balm in the other. He didn't hesitate.
"I'm sorry. I know. Just hang on. Just a little longer. We're building a fix for you. It will help. I promise."
He knelt, wrapping one arm around her shoulders to keep her steady. She flailed once—then locked eyes with him, as if she barely recognized him.
"They're going to die. They're all going to die." Jessi whispered hoarsely.
"Not tonight" Boris answered.
He injected the sedative quickly, then pressed the balm to her neck—cooling, numbing. Jessi's body tensed… then slowly slackened. Her breaths came in shudders until, finally, her eyes fluttered closed.
He lowered her gently back to the cot, brushing sweat-soaked hair from her face.
"We need to finish that tank fast."
He stood, exhaling shakily, and clicked on his walkie, "Guys, she woke up, it's worse than I thought -- we're out of time. We need the tank by the time she wakes up again or we might lose her."
--
JULES.
The room was small, cluttered, and boiling with the low buzz of adrenaline. A single industrial lamp glowed over Jules's workspace, casting stark shadows across blueprints, soldering tools, and stripped-down machine parts. The hum of a generator in the hall masked the faint noise of chaos below.
Jules wiped the sweat from her temple with the back of her wrist and adjusted the tubing she'd been fusing together. She moved with precision—fast, steady, surgical.
The clink of metal. The fsss of a sealant torch. The hiss of something welding shut.
On the table beside her: a half-finished isolation chamber, repurposed from a spare water tank. Steel reinforcement lined the interior. Mesh wiring. Tubing for air filtration, water buoyancy control, and temperature regulation. Crude, but effective.
She glanced at her comm device, still buzzing with incoming reports from other floors, ignored them all, and turned up the music—a soft instrumental—just enough to drown out the memory of Jessi's scream.
"You're okay. You're gonna be okay."
She didn't mean herself.
She worked faster.
The door creaked open behind her. Josh stepped in, still in a sweat-darkened shirt, face drawn but calm.
"You need help?"
Jules didn't look up.
"Only if you can bend time or fabricate industrial-grade insulation out of air."
Josh moved beside her anyway, eyes scanning the half-built tank.
"How close are we?"
"Six hours if no one talks to me. Four if you hold that side while I fuse the baseplate."
Josh stepped forward and steadied the panel.
"She doesn't need quiet. She needs zero input. No light, no sound, no emotion bleeding off someone nearby. This thing has to drown the world."
"Then it will."
For a beat, they worked in silence, shoulder to shoulder.
Then Jules paused, glancing toward the closed door.
"You think she's really going to survive this?"
Josh didn't answer at first.
"She has to. She's not the only one waking up."
Jules's hand froze on the torch.
"You too?"
Josh gave a faint nod, eyes locked on the machine.
"Finish the tank. Then we figure out what the hell we are. We might need more than one of these before we're done."