One

You wipe condensation from the truck window, peering into the dripping grey dawn of Whisper Creek Woods.

The radio crackles static, then a local announcer’s too-cheerful voice: *"...and remember, folks, if you see Mr. Aris Thorne, 78, grey cardigan, likely confused, call the hotline immediately."*

Beside you, your sister, Bethany, shivers, not from cold. "He wouldn’t just wander off, Cal," she murmurs, knuckles white on her coffee cup. "Not this deep. Not with... you know."

Through the pines, the first cluster of weathered rental cabins huddles like secrets, smoke curling from one chimney into the damp air. A raccoon darts across the muddy track, vanishing into ferns as thick as conspiracy.

You park outside Cabin 7, the one Aris rented. The door hangs slightly ajar, swaying in a breeze that smells of wet pine and something acrid—burnt plastic?

Inside, the single room is unsettlingly neat: bed made, kettle cold, a single framed photo of Aris and Bethany on the dresser.

But the small desk is a different story. Papers spill everywhere—maps circled in red marker, frantic scribbles about "Epsilon protocols," and printouts of dense medical jargon.

Underneath it all, a sleek, unfamiliar tablet glows faintly, its screen cracked but still alive. A low-battery icon blinks urgently.

Bethany picks up a crumpled sketch, her breath catching. "Cal... look." It shows a crude drawing of a cabin—this one—with a jagged arrow pointing to the fireplace.

Scrawled beneath it in Aris's shaky hand: *THEY WATCH THROUGH THE TREES. FIND THE SILVER EYES.*

You crouch by the cold hearth, running fingers over the rough stone. One loose brick near the back shifts slightly. Behind it, tucked in a shallow cavity, lies a small, sealed plastic bag.

Inside: a single, unmarked silver USB drive, cold to the touch. "Silver eyes," Bethany whispers, her voice tight. "What is he mixed up in?"

Outside, the crunch of gravel makes you both freeze. A sleek, electric park ranger vehicle glides to a silent stop beside your truck. The woman who steps out is striking – high cheekbones, sharp eyes scanning the cabin with unnerving focus, her uniform crisp against the wild backdrop.

"Morning," she calls, her tone smooth but carrying an edge. "Ranger Vale. Checking on reports of trespassers near restricted forestry zones. You folks lost?" Her gaze lingers on the open cabin door, then flicks to Bethany’s clenched fist hiding the USB drive.

Bethany steps forward, forcing calm. "Our grandfather rented this cabin. Aris Thorne. He's missing. We're just looking for clues."

Vale’s expression softens, but her eyes remain watchful, darting to the scattered papers visible through the doorway. "Thorne... yes. Tragic."

She sighs, pulling out a notepad. "We’ve had search teams out since the alert. Found his cardigan snagged on barbed wire near the old hydro substation fence, about a mile northeast. Strange place for a confused man to wander, don’t you think?"

The barbed wire detail hangs in the air – deliberate, not accidental.

Cal’s gaze narrows. "Substation? Isn't that Epsilon Energy property?" Vale nods curtly, tucking the pad away. "Restricted access. High voltage. Trespassers get more than a shock."

Her tone shifts, almost conversational. "Your grandfather’s notes... he seemed fixated on them. Ramblings about ‘silver eyes in the trees.’ Probably dementia hallucinations, but..." She pauses, studying their faces.

"We found trail cam footage near the substation. Infrared. Shows a figure that night, but it’s... distorted. Could be a glitch. Or an animal." She doesn’t sound convinced.

Bethany’s knuckles whiten around the hidden USB drive. "Distorted how?" Vale’s eyes lock onto hers. "Like static clinging to the shape. Almost like it was... shielded."

She takes a step closer, her voice dropping. "Look, off the record? Epsilon’s been testing drone surveillance in these woods. Experimental stuff. Long-range, silent, with reflective lenses. Folks call them ‘silver eyes.’"

A chill unrelated to the damp air snakes down Cal’s spine. Aris wasn’t hallucinating.

Cal shifts subtly, blocking Vale’s view into the cabin. "So a confused old man with dementia wanders near a high-security zone crawling with experimental drones? That’s your theory?"

Vale’s smile is thin. "It’s a theory. But dementia patients fixate. Maybe he saw a drone, got obsessed."

She pulls a card from her pocket. "If you find anything else... call me directly. Don’t touch strange tech. It could be hazardous."

Her gaze flicks pointedly to Bethany’s hidden fist before she turns back to her silent vehicle.

Two

The moment the ranger’s vehicle disappears down the mist-shrouded road, Bethany exhales sharply. "She knows about the drive, Cal." She pulls the USB from her pocket, its matte silver surface seems to absorb the grey light.

"Grandpa hid this for a reason. That ‘distortion’ on the trail cam? That was him. And Vale just warned us off." Cal stares at the drive.

"Epsilon protocols. Silver eyes. Restricted zones. This isn’t dementia. He stumbled onto something real." A crow caws sharply overhead, making them both flinch.

Cal nods toward the cabin. "We need to see what’s on this thing. Now." Inside, Bethany clears papers from the desk while Cal jams the drive into Aris’s cracked tablet.

The screen flickers, then resolves into a password prompt. Below it, a hint glows: *"Remember the silver birches."*

Bethany leans in. "His birthday? No... the clearing." She types: *SILVERGLADE*. The screen unlocks. Folders spill open: video logs, schematics titled Project Epsilon Shield, and a single audio file labeled FINAL WARNING.

Cal plays the audio. Aris’s voice, strained but lucid, rasps through the tinny speaker:

"Bethany... if you hear this, trust no one. Epsilon isn’t just energy. They’re testing neuro-pulse drones on us. Those ‘silver eyes’ don’t just watch. They... influence. Made me forget. Made me want to forget. The substation’s the key. Find the..."

A sharp electronic screech cuts him off, followed by dead silence. Bethany grips the desk edge. "That static... it’s like Vale’s trail cam footage." Outside, a twig snaps. Too close.

A shadow shifts near the cabin’s lone window. Cal dives for the light switch, plunging the room into gloom just as a beam of intense white light sweeps across the fogged glass. No sound. No engine hum. Only the faintest whirr of precision gears.

"Drone," Cal breathes, pulling Bethany low. The light lingers, probing the desk where the tablet glows. The USB drive pulses silver: a beacon. "It’s homing in on this," Bethany whispers, stuffing it into her jeans pocket. The light winks out. Silence returns, heavier than before.

Cal peers through the window crack. "Gone. Or waiting..." He grabs Aris’s hiking pack, shoving the tablet inside. "We can’t stay. Vale’s warning wasn’t just advice; it was a threat."

Bethany nods, pale but focused. She snatches the crumpled substation map from the desk. "Grandpa’s recording said the substation is key. And Vale planted his cardigan there like bait."

Outside, the woods press close, dripping. A raccoon’s eyes gleam from a pine branch, reflective. Silver. Bethany shudders. "Every shadow feels like it’s watching."

Cal shoulders the pack, scanning the tree line. "We go northeast. Substation. But not the main gate. Vale expects that." He taps the map where Aris had circled a crumbling service tunnel entrance near a dried-up creek bed. "Here. Grandpa marked it."

Bethany zips her jacket against the creeping damp. "If those drones are linked to Epsilon... they heard his recording. They know we have the drive." A low hum vibrates the air, felt more than heard, like the woods themselves holding their breath. Above, the crows fall silent.

Cal pushes open the cabin's back window, its rusted hinges groaning softly. "Creek bed's fifty yards through that thicket. Stay low."

They slip into the undergrowth, the wet ferns soaking their jeans instantly. The map crinkles in Bethany's hand as she navigates, her eyes darting between the paper and the shadowed woods.

"Cal," she whispers, pointing to a fresh boot print pressed deep into the mud beside a cluster of fiddleheads. "Not ours. And too sharp for hiking boots. Tactical?"

He crouches, tracing the tread. "Vale’s not working alone." The realization hangs between them as they move, the distant hum growing louder. It's a subsonic thrum that sets their teeth on edge.

Above, a flash of silver darts between the pines, too fast, too silent. Not a bird. Bethany freezes, pulling Cal behind a moss-covered boulder. "Silver eye," she breathes.

The drone hovers for a heartbeat, its lens rotating with a barely audible click-whirr, before gliding northeast. Toward the substation. "It’s herding us," Cal mutters. "Or corralling us for someone else."

The creek bed emerges ahead, a scar of cracked mud and slick stones beneath the fog. Aris’s circled tunnel entrance yawns darkly beneath a collapsed chain-link fence, half-hidden by poison ivy.

Bethany kneels, brushing aside damp leaves to reveal rusted rungs leading down. "Grandpa’s escape route," she says, but her voice falters. A smear of fresh blood glistens on the top rung. Cal touches it. Still tacky.

"Not his," he notes grimly, nodding toward a snapped sapling nearby, its trunk splintered like something heavy fell. "Someone else found this place first. And didn’t leave clean."

Three

A low, modulated buzz vibrates the air above them, closer this time. They scramble down the ladder into damp, echoing darkness. Cal flicks on his flashlight, the beam cutting through thick cobwebs to reveal a narrow concrete tunnel choked with the smell of ozone and decay.

Water drips somewhere ahead. Bethany pulls out the USB drive; its faint silver pulse casts eerie shadows on the walls. "It’s like a heartbeat," she whispers. "Do you think it’s… calling them?"

"Only one way to find out." Cal crushes the drive under his boot heel. The silver light sputters and dies. The humming above ceases abruptly, replaced by distant, frantic clicking.

"Bought us time," he mutters, but Bethany’s already moving, flashlight trained on a trail of crimson droplets leading deeper into the tunnel. "Whoever bled here knew where they were going."

The air thickens with ozone, sharp and metallic. The tunnel slopes downward, concrete walls giving way to damp earth braced by rotting timbers.

Ahead, a junction: left fork choked with rubble, right marked by a fresh scuff in the grime. A low groan echoes from the right.

They round a bend to find a figure slumped against the wall: a man in torn utility coveralls, clutching a bleeding thigh. His Epsilon Energy badge glints dully in the flashlight beam.

"Don't... don't look up," he rasps, eyes wide with terror. "The eyes... they don't just watch down here. They nest."

Cal crouches, ripping a strip from his own shirt to stem the flow. "Who did this? Vale's people?"

The man shakes his head weakly. "Worse... autonomous sentries. Patrol the lower tunnels. They... pulse. Like the drones, but focused. Short-range neural disruption."

He shudders. "Your grandpa... Thorne. He triggered the failsafe. That USB... it was a key, not just data. You crushed it... bought minutes, not hours."

He points a trembling finger deeper into the gloom. "Substation core... straight ahead. Thorne said... find the emitter array. Smash it. It's the only way to stop the signal."

Bethany kneels, pressing the makeshift bandage harder. "Why help us?" The man coughs, a wet, rattling sound. "Worked maintenance. Saw things... people changed. Forgot. Became... compliant."

His eyes glaze slightly. "The pulse... it's getting stronger. Can feel it... in my teeth." He grabs Cal's arm with surprising strength.

"Vale... she's not just a ranger. She's Epsilon's field controller. Her eyes... silver contacts. Let her see what the drones see. Command them." A faint, high-pitched whine builds in the tunnel walls.

Cal pulls Bethany up. "We move. Now." They leave the man propped against the wall, his breathing shallow.

The tunnel narrows, the air humming with tangible energy that makes their scalp prickle. Ahead, a heavy steel blast door stands slightly ajar, yellow hazard stripes peeling.

Through the gap, harsh blue-white light spills out, casting long, distorted shadows. The whine crescendos into a subsonic throb that vibrates their bones.

"The core," Bethany whispers, peering through the gap. Inside, a cavernous space dominated by a towering, cylindrical structure pulsing with light.

Banks of servers line the walls, but it’s the ring of sleek, tripod-mounted devices aimed inward that chills them. Each crowned with a single, unblinking silver lens. Projectors. Emitters.

"They're active," Cal mutters, spotting movement near the central column. Ranger Vale stands before a console, her back to them.

Silver lenses glint where her eyes should be as she gestures sharply at a holographic display showing drone feeds of the woods. "No sign of them at the tunnel entrance," she snaps into a headset, her voice stripped of its earlier smoothness, replaced by cold efficiency.

"The key’s signal terminated, but the neural imprint trail is fresh. Converge on Sector Gamma. I want them contained before they breach the emitter array." Her head tilts, lenses focusing on a flickering image. The maintenance man they left behind. "Dispose of the compromised asset. Cleanly."

Bethany grips Cal’s arm, her whisper barely audible over the emitter thrum. "She’s directing the hunt... for us." Cal scans the room. The emitter ring pulses rhythmically, bathing Vale in an eerie light.

Between them and the central column lies a maze of server racks and coolant pipes. "Distraction," he signs, pointing to a cluster of exposed, sparking wires near a ruptured pipe. He grabs a loose chunk of concrete. "On three. Aim for the pipe junction."

Four

Vale stiffens, her silver lenses snapping toward their hiding spot as the concrete shard arcs through the gap. It strikes true, a spray of steaming coolant erupts, dousing the wires in a shower of sparks.

Alarms blare. Vale whirls, drawing a compact pistol from her hip holster. "Intruders in the core!" she barks into her headset, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Neutralization protocol..."

Cal doesn't hesitate. He shoves the blast door wide, its hinges screaming, and dives behind a bank of humming servers.

The coolant spray creates a hissing curtain of steam. Vale's silver lenses glow through the vapor as she fires; pings ricochet off the metal server cabinets inches from Cal's head. "The emitters!..." he shouts, scrambling deeper into the maze. "Go left!"

Bethany ducks low, darting between sparking conduits. The subsonic thrum intensifies, vibrating her fillings.

She reaches the base of a towering emitter tripod, its silver eye swiveling blindly above her. "How do we break it?" she yells, spotting no obvious controls.

Cal scrambles behind a coolant tank as Vale's next shot shatters a glass panel beside him. "The projector lens! Aris's notes said they're vulnerable to physical disruption!"

He grabs a pipe wrench from a maintenance cart. "Here!" He hurls it toward Bethany just as Vale emerges from the steam, her pistol tracking Bethany's movement.

"Stop!" Vale commands, her voice distorted by the pulsing emitters. "You have no idea what you're unleashing!"

Bethany catches the wrench, its weight reassuring. She swings hard at the emitter's polished silver lens. It doesn't shatter, but a deep crack spiderwebs across its surface with a sickening crack.

A high-pitched shriek erupts from the emitter, and the central pulse light flickers violently.

Vale staggers, clutching her head as her silver lenses flicker and dim. "You fool!" she gasps, her voice momentarily losing its mechanical edge. "The feedback... it's not contained!"

Cal uses Vale's disorientation. He lunges from cover, tackling her around the waist. They crash into a console, sparks flying. Vale's pistol skitters away.

"The array!" Cal grunts, wrestling Vale's silver-lensed face away from him. "Hit them all!"

Vale claws at his eyes, her strength surprising. "You think this stops Epsilon?" she snarls, her lenses flaring back to life. "The protocol is bigger than one array! The signal... it's already out!"

Bethany doesn't hesitate. She swings the wrench again, shattering the cracked lens completely. The emitter shrieks, spitting arcs of blue energy. The subsonic thrum stutters.

She sprints to the next tripod, smashing its lens with a brutal overhead strike. Glass shards rain down. "Bigger or not," she shouts back, her voice raw, "this buys us time!"

The pulsing light from the central column flickers wildly, casting jagged shadows.

Cal grunts as Vale drives an elbow into his ribs. Her silver lenses flare, reflecting the chaos. "They'll find you," she hisses, her voice regaining its cold edge. "The protocol adapts. Always."

He slams her wrist twice against the console edge until she gasps and her grip loosens.

Her headset crackles with panicked voices: "Array integrity failing! Cascade event imminent!"

Cal shoves Vale aside, scrambling toward Bethany. The remaining emitters pulse erratically, their shattered lenses spewing jagged bolts of energy that scorch the ceiling.

Vale staggers to her feet, her silver lenses dimmed but still functional. She doesn't reach for her lost pistol. Instead, she slams her palm onto the central console, activating a shimmering holographic keypad.

"Containment breach confirmed," she announces, her voice cold and amplified through the facility's speakers. "Activating Protocol Scorch. Purge cycle in T-minus sixty seconds."

Red emergency lights strobe, bathing the core in hellish light. Heavy blast doors begin grinding shut at both ends of the vast chamber with a deafening screech of metal.

"Scorch?!" Bethany screams over the rising whine of the failing emitters, smashing the third lens. "What does that mean?!"

Vale staggers toward the closing eastern blast door, her silhouette stark against the strobing red light. "It means this facility becomes a crater," she shouts back, her voice devoid of emotion.

"Epsilon doesn't leave evidence. Or loose ends." She dives through the narrowing gap just as the massive door slams shut with a final, earth-shaking thud. The sound echoes like a tomb sealing.

Five

Cal grabs Bethany's arm, pulling her away from the last intact emitter. "Forget the array! We need out! Now!" The air crackles with escaping energy. The central column groans, fissures spider-webbing up its glowing surface. Fifty seconds.

Bethany's eyes dart frantically across the chaos, sparking wires, ruptured pipes, the sealed doors. Then she spots it: a faded yellow maintenance hatch labeled *COOLANT VENT ACCESS*, half-hidden behind a ruptured pipe spewing steam.

"There!" she yells, pointing. "Grandpa mentioned backup vents in his schematics!"

They scramble over sparking debris. Cal wrenches the rusted hatch open, revealing a vertical shaft slick with condensation. A ladder descends into roaring darkness. Forty seconds. The groaning central column pulses brighter, casting long, panicked shadows.

"Go!" Cal shoves Bethany toward the ladder. She climbs down into the deafening rush of air, the damp rungs vibrating under her grip. Cal follows, pulling the hatch shut just as a blinding flash erupts above, followed by a concussive whump that shakes the entire shaft. Dust rains down. Thirty seconds.

Their descent is a blur of noise and vertigo. They hit a grated platform at the bottom, lungs burning with the acrid tang of ozone and scorched metal. A narrow service tunnel stretches ahead, lit by flickering emergency strips. Behind them, the shaft groans ominously. Twenty seconds.

"Run!" Cal gasps, shoving Bethany forward. They sprint, boots echoing on the damp concrete. The tunnel shudders violently. Ten seconds.

A wave of searing heat blasts past them, carrying the smell of vaporized concrete and something organic, charred. Five seconds.

They round a bend just as the world behind them detonates in a roar of light and pressure. The tunnel buckles, a shockwave slamming them forward like ragdolls.

They skid across the wet floor, crashing into a pile of moldering maintenance sacks as debris rains down. Silence follows, thick and ringing.

Bethany coughs, spitting concrete dust. "Alive?" she rasps.

Cal groans, pushing a fallen pipe off his legs. "Barely." He flicks on his flashlight. The beam cuts through swirling dust, revealing the tunnel behind them collapsed into jagged ruin.

The air reeks of burnt wiring and scorched earth. "Scorch protocol delivered," he mutters, hauling Bethany up. Her hands tremble. "Vale... she just..."

"Later," Cal cuts in, scanning the debris-choked passage ahead. The emergency strips flicker erratically. "We need to move before this whole level pancakes."

He spots a faded stencil on the wall: SECTOR GAMMA - SURFACE ACCESS 500M. "Grandpa's map showed Gamma near the old ranger outpost. Vale's hunting ground."

They pick their way through the rubble-strewn tunnel. The air grows colder, damper. The flickering emergency lights reveal patches of moss and trickling water on the walls.

Ahead, the tunnel branches. To the left, a sturdy metal door marked SECURITY LOCKER. To the right, the path slopes upward, and a faint, grey pre-dawn light bleeds from around a bend. The distant sound of rushing water grows louder.

Bethany pauses at the locker door, her hand hovering over the handle. "Tools? Weapons? Vale's people might've cleared it, but..." Cal shakes his head, nodding toward the light.

"No time. That's the creek bed upstream from the tunnel entrance. We surface there, we're exposed." He points to the upward slope. "That's our way out. But listen."

The distinct thwap-thwap-thwap of helicopter blades pulses through the earth. "Epsilon's cleanup crew. Right on schedule."

Bethany stares at the locker door, then the light. "We go up blind into a search grid, or we risk five minutes for gear." She yanks the locker handle. It groans but holds. "Help me!"

Cal throws his weight against the rusted metal. With a shriek, it gives. Inside: two cracked hardhats, a fire axe missing its handle, and a single yellow Epsilon-branded flare gun with three shells. "Better than nothing," she breathes, snatching the flare gun and shells.

The helicopter thrum intensifies overhead, shaking dust from the ceiling. Cal grabs the useless axe head. Its weight solid in his grip. "Go!"

They scramble up the sloping tunnel, the grey light strengthening. The exit is a jagged hole partially concealed by a waterfall cascading from the cliff above, creating a natural curtain. Mist hangs thick in the creek bed beyond.

Cal peers through the water veil. "Helo's circling east," he whispers, spotting the black silhouette against the dawn sky. "Vale's probably directing from the ground. They'll sweep this area next."

Six

Bethany loads a flare shell with trembling hands. "Distraction?" she murmurs, eyeing the dense thicket downstream. "Give them something loud to chase?"

Cal nods, scanning the creek bed. The mist clings to the ground, perfect cover if they move fast. "Fire it toward the old logging road," he whispers. "Then we go upstream, against the current. Less obvious." He hefts the axe head. "Ready?"

Bethany braces against the damp rock, aims the flare gun skyward at a steep angle, and pulls the trigger. The flare arcs high over the creek bed, exploding into a sizzling crimson sun above the logging road.

Instantly, the helicopter banks hard, rotors thundering as it peels toward the false signal. "Now!" Cal hisses.

They plunge into the icy creek, boots slipping on mossy stones as they fight the current upstream. Mist swirls around their knees, swallowing them whole.

Behind them, shouts echo. Vale's amplified voice crackling orders through the chaos.

The creek's chill bites deep, the current tugging at their legs as they push upstream. Mist coils thick around their waists, turning the banks into ghostly silhouettes.

Bethany stumbles on a slick stone, gasping. "They'll flank us... helicopter can cover both directions!"

"Not if we vanish here," Cal rasps, pointing to a crumbling limestone overhang choked with ferns just ahead. Water roared from a fissure above it. "Cave entrance. Aris mapped it as unstable... perfect."

They scramble onto the bank, mud sucking at their boots. Cal shoves aside the dripping ferns. The opening is narrow, jagged, exhaling damp, ancient air.

Bethany squeezes through first, Cal wedging the axe head into the fissure above the entrance. He kicks it hard. With a groan, a slab of limestone shears loose, crashing down, partially sealing the gap and showering them with grit.

Dust hangs thick in the sudden gloom. Outside, the helicopter's thrumming peaks overhead, searchlight beams stabbing through the remaining gaps in the rockfall, probing the mist.

"Did they see?" Bethany whispers, pressed flat against the damp cave wall, her breath ragged. Water drips somewhere deep in the darkness.

Cal watches the searchlight sweep past their collapsed entrance. "Not yet. But they'll grid-search every inch once the flare fizzles."

He pulls out Aris's tablet, miraculously intact. The cracked screen flickers to life, casting a sickly glow on the rough walls.

"Grandpa had topographic maps of these caves. Said they connected to... wait..."

He zooms in, tracing a thin blue line snaking deeper. "There. See? An old mine ventilation shaft. Comes up behind the ranger outpost."

Bethany leans in, her shoulder brushing his. "Vale's command post. You think he planned this?"

"Knew they'd lock down the woods." Cal traces the path to a labyrinth of narrow passages marked UNSTABLE.

"Shaft exits near the outpost generator shed. Blind spot." The tablet flickers, battery icon blinking red. "Not good! Maybe ten minutes left."

Bethany eyes the flare gun. "Distraction burned bright. Now we need quiet." She pockets the remaining shells. "Lead the way. And try not to wake the cave bears."

Cal manages a grim smile. "Priority one." He moves deeper into the passage, tablet held high. The beam reveals slick walls narrowing into a fissure barely shoulder-width. The air smells of wet stone and decay. "Squeeze through here. Watch your head."

Bethany follows, wincing as jagged rock scrapes her jacket. "Unstable is right. Feels like this whole mountain's holding its breath." A distant crack echoes, sending dust sifting down. The tablet flickers again. "Cal..."

"I see it." He quickens his pace, the beam revealing a fork ahead. "Left goes deeper. Right climbs." He checks the dying screen. "Right. Shaft should be..." The light gutters, plunging them into near-total darkness.

Cal shoves the dead tablet into his pack. Darkness swallows them, thick and suffocating. Only the drip of water and their own ragged breaths break the silence. "Right fork," he whispers, voice tight. "Stay close. Feel the wall."

Bethany's hand finds his shoulder, grip like iron. They inch forward blindly, boots scraping loose scree. The air grows colder, damper. A faint draft brushes Cal's face upward. "Draft. Good sign," he mutters. A low rumble vibrates through the rock beneath them. Dust patters down like rain. "Move!"

Seven

They scramble up the steepening slope, hands braced against slick walls. The darkness feels alive, pressing in. Bethany hisses as her palm scrapes raw stone. "How far to this shaft?"

"Should be close..." Cal's boot dislodges a cascade of pebbles. They clatter down into the void behind them, the sound impossibly loud.

Above, a sliver of grey light appears: a jagged crack in the ceiling. Fresh air, cold and clean, cuts through the cave's damp rot. "There!"

They claw their way up the loose scree slope toward the light source. The crack widens into a vertical fissure choked with roots and ferns.

Cal shoves aside the foliage, revealing a view of the ranger outpost's back lot: a weathered generator shed, stacked fuel drums, and beyond it, the main cabin.

Vale stands silhouetted against the cabin window, silver lenses glinting as she surveys a holographic map projected onto a portable console. Two armed security personnel patrol the perimeter.

"Generator shed's ten yards left," Cal whispers, lowering the roots. "Distract them?"

Bethany eyes the flare gun, then the fuel drums. "Too noisy. We need Vale isolated." She nudges a loose rock with her boot. It tumbles down the scree slope inside the fissure, clattering like falling bones against the cave walls.

Vale's head snaps up, lenses flashing toward the generator shed. "Echo team, sweep behind the shed! Now!" she barks into her comm. The two guards pivot, rifles raised, advancing cautiously toward the noise.

Bethany presses deeper into the root-choked fissure, her voice a thread. "She took the bait. But they'll find nothing." Cal scans the outpost perimeter. A rusted ATV parked near the cabin, its keys dangling from the ignition. "Keys," he breathes. "If we can reach it..."

Vale strides toward the generator shed, her silver lenses scanning the treeline. "Full thermal sweep. I want no blind spots." The guards fan out, rifles sweeping the undergrowth. The ATV sits exposed, fifteen yards of open gravel between them and escape.

"Cover me," Cal whispers, already moving. He darts from the fissure, low and fast, boots crunching softly on loose gravel. Bethany raises the flare gun, tracking Vale's back.

One guard pauses, turning toward Cal's movement. Bethany fires a flare into the distant woods. The whoosh-crack ignites the canopy in crimson light.

"False alarm!" Vale snaps, lenses refocusing on the flare. "Perimeter breach southwest! Converge!" The guards sprint toward the distraction.

Cal lunges for the ATV, snatching the keys. The engine roars to life as Bethany scrambles onto the seat behind him. Vale whirls, drawing her sidearm. "Halt!" A shot ricochets off the ATV’s roll bar as Cal guns the throttle, spraying gravel.

They fishtail onto a narrow game trail, branches whipping at their faces. Vale’s voice crackles over the cabin’s external speakers: "Drone swarm deployed! You won’t clear the ridge!"

Above, the familiar thwap-thwap of silver-eyed drones emerges from the treetops, closing fast.

Cal wrenches the ATV hard left, skidding onto an overgrown logging trail. "Hold on!" Branches claw at them as the engine screams.

Bethany twists, spotting three drones weaving through the pines, lenses pulsing silver. "They're herding us again! Toward the ridge!"

Cal swerves to avoid a fallen log, the ATV's tires skidding on wet pine needles. Ahead, the trail dead-ended at a steep, rocky slope, exactly as Vale predicted.

"She's boxing us in!" He kills the engine, grabbing the useless axe head. "Ditch the ATV! We go vertical!"

They abandon the vehicle, scrambling up the treacherous slope on hands and knees. Loose shale slides beneath them, forcing them to dig fingers into crevices.

The drones hover below, their lenses tracking but not firing—herding, not eliminating. Vale's voice echoes from one drone, amplified and cold: "The ridge is a cliff face. Dead end. Surrender the data remnants."

Bethany scrambles higher, her boots dislodging a shower of rocks. "She wants us alive? Why?" Cal grunts, hauling himself onto a narrow ledge. "Failsafe triggered. We saw the USB destroyed, but what if..."

He freezes, staring at the cliff's edge. Not a sheer drop—but a crumbling path snaking along the precipice, vanishing into mist. "Aris's map showed this. Goat trail. Leads to the fire lookout tower."

Bethany follows his gaze. "Vale doesn't know?"

Eight

"Or she thinks it's impassable." Cal inches onto the narrow path, pressing his back against the cold rock face. Below, the drones ascend, maintaining their distance. "Move fast. One slip and..."

Bethany follows, her fingers white-knuckled on protruding roots. The trail crumbles under her boot, sending gravel cascading into the void. "She'll flush us like rabbits if we slow down."

The mist thickens, swallowing the valley floor. Vale's amplified voice cuts through the damp air, laced with static: "Last chance. The protocol adapts. Your minds won't."

Cal ignores her, focusing on the slick rock underfoot. The path narrows further, forcing them sideways. Below, the silver drone lenses pierce the fog like malevolent stars. One surges closer, its emitter humming. Bethany flinches. "They're priming!"

"Not firing," Cal grits out, pressing flat against the cliff. "Still herding." He spots a fissure ahead. A vertical crack in the rock face, choked with ferns.

"There! Go!" He shoves Bethany toward the narrow opening just as a drone emits a sharp, localized pulse.

The rock where Cal stood moments before shatters, showering them with debris.

"Herding us where?!" Bethany gasps, scrambling deeper into the fissure. It's a tight squeeze, damp moss slick under their hands.

The drone swarm hovers outside, lenses pulsing, but doesn't follow into the confined space. Vale's voice, distorted by the rock, echoes: "The tower is compromised. There's only one exit."

Cal wipes grit from his eyes, peering deeper. The fissure opens into a small, damp cavern. "She's not firing because she can't risk a collapse here."

He spots weathered wooden rungs embedded in the far wall. A ladder ascending into darkness. "Aris's escape route. Up!"

They climb, the damp wood groaning under their weight. The ladder emerges into a cramped, dusty space beneath the floorboards of the Whisper Creek fire lookout tower. Pale dawn light filters through cracks.

Cal pushes aside a loose floorboard, peering up. The tower's single room is empty, filled with cobwebbed forestry maps and a rusted stove.

Outside the grimy windows, the valley stretches below, wreathed in mist. Vale's drones hover like silver sentinels at the base of the cliff, blocking the fissure exit.

Bethany scans the room, her gaze landing on a dusty, old-fashioned radio set bolted to a desk. "Cal... if Aris planned this, maybe he left a way to talk out?"

She brushes cobwebs from the microphone. "Shortwave. Could bypass Epsilon's jamming?"

Cal kneels beside the desk, yanking open drawers. Dust motes swirl in the weak light. "If it still works. And if anyone's listening out here." He finds a coil of wire and a cracked battery pack. "Power's shot. Need a new source."

Bethany points to the tower's rusted wind vane spinning erratically outside. "That's generating something. Grandpa jury-rigged everything." She traces a thin, almost invisible wire snaking from the vane's base through a hole in the wall, connecting to the radio's side panel. "Look! Auxiliary input. Genius."

Cal grabs the cracked battery pack, ripping out its corroded terminals. He strips the wire ends with his teeth, sparks flying as he twists them onto the radio's internal power leads.

"Hold your breath." He flips the main switch. A low, promising hum fills the dusty air, followed by the flicker of a single, green indicator light on the console. "It's alive!"

Bethany snatches the microphone, her voice tight with urgency. "Mayday, mayday! Whisper Creek Lookout! Epsilon Protocol is live, repeat, Epsilon Protocol is live! Neural-pulse drones active! Vale is compromised!" Static crackles back, thick and impenetrable. "Anyone? Please!"

Cal peers through the grimy window. Below, a drone detaches from the swarm, ascending toward the tower's railing. Its silver lens pulses, scanning the structure.

"They're probing. That hum... it's not just surveillance." He flinches as a faint, high-pitched whine pierces the static—a precursor to the pulse that shattered the cliff face. "They're gonna bring this tower down on our heads!"

Bethany slams the microphone down. "Then we give them something else to target!" She grabs the flare gun, shoves the last shell into the chamber, and kicks open the rickety door to the lookout's catwalk.

Wind whips her hair as she aims not at the drones, but high above the mist-shrouded valley. The flare streaks upward, a final, defiant crimson star against the dawn.

"Scatter!" Cal yells, pulling her back inside just as the drone emits its pulse. The beam slams into the catwalk railing where Bethany stood, twisting metal with a shriek. The entire tower groans, timbers splintering.

Nine

Below, Vale's amplified voice cuts through the chaos: "Signal confirmed! Scorch protocol reinitialized! Contain the breach!" The remaining drones ascend in formation, lenses pulsing in unison, a coordinated attack pattern.

Cal grabs Bethany's arm, dragging her toward the ladder hole. "Back down! Now!" The tower shudders violently as another pulse strikes its base. Floorboards splinter upward. Dust rains from the rafters.

They scramble down the rickety ladder into the damp cavern below just as a deafening crack echoes above. The lookout tower groans, its timbers snapping like kindling. Daylight floods the cavern briefly as the structure collapses inward, sealing the ladder exit under tons of splintered wood and rock.

"Vale's not playing anymore," Bethany gasps, wiping dust from her eyes. The cavern trembles, more debris sifting down. "Scorch protocol means she'll bury this whole ridge!"

Cal scans the collapsed entrance: solid. "Back the way we came? Drones are waiting in the fissure." He kicks at the rubble, dislodging a chunk of limestone.

"Wait... there's air moving right here." He presses his palm against a damp section of wall where a faint draft whispers through hairline cracks. "False wall? Aris mapped exits like this."

Bethany joins him, running her fingers over the rough stone. "Feels... hollow?" She slams the heavy axe head against it. A dull thud echoes, different from solid rock. Another blow results in a spiderweb of cracks spreading. "Again!"

Cal heaves the axe head with both hands. Stone crumbles inward, revealing a narrow, dark passage sloping steeply downward. The air rushing out smells of damp earth and something else: ozone, sharp and electric.

"Downhill? Deeper?" Bethany coughs, peering into the gloom. "Aris wouldn't lead us into a trap."

"He led us out of one," Cal rasps, grabbing her arm. "Move!" They scramble into the passage as the cavern ceiling groans behind them, collapsing fully under the weight of the fallen tower.

The narrow tunnel slopes sharply, forcing them to slide on loose scree, bracing against slick walls to control their descent. The ozone smell intensifies, prickling their nostrils.

"Generator hum," Bethany gasps, her voice echoing in the cramped space. "Underground... Epsilon's backup grid?"

Cal slides to a stop as the tunnel levels out. The ozone stench is overwhelming now, mixed with the damp rot of deep earth. Ahead, a flickering blue glow pulses through a jagged archway. "Not a grid. A source." He peers around the crumbling stone edge.

The cavern beyond is vast, dominated by a humming cylindrical structure: a massive Tesla coil-like device crackling with arcs of blue energy.

Conduits snake from its base into the rock walls. "Aris mentioned this," Bethany breathes, eyes wide. "Epsilon's primary emitter array. Buried deep to avoid detection."

Cal spots movement near the coil's control console: Vale, her silver lenses reflecting the electric arcs as she inputs commands.

"Scorch protocol initiated. Purge this sector in T-minus 120 seconds," she barks into her comm. Two guards flank her, rifles scanning the shadows.

Bethany pulls Cal back. "She's resetting the purge! We stopped one array, but this..."

Cal scans the cavern. Water seeps down the walls, pooling near humming conduits. "That coolant leak earlier? It must feed this place, too."

He spots a corroded pipe junction above Vale's console, dripping steadily onto the rock floor. "One solid hit..."

Bethany follows his gaze, then looks down at the heavy axe head in her hands. "Got one shot before they light us up." She hefts it, testing the weight. "Distract her."

Cal nods, scooping up a chunk of loose rock. He hurls it high across the cavern. It clatters against the far wall, echoing loudly. Vale and the guards snap their rifles toward the sound, lenses pulsing.

"Contact! Sector Gamma!" Vale barks. The guards advance, sweeping their lights.

Bethany lunges from the shadows, hurling the axe head like a discus. It spins through the blue-lit gloom, striking the corroded pipe junction with a heavy clang.

Rust flakes explode. A pressurized jet of murky coolant sprays directly onto Vale's console. Sparks erupt in a shower of acrid smoke.

"Sabotage!" Vale snarls, staggering back as her silver lenses flicker erratically. The guards whip around, rifles searching the spray-filled gloom. One spots Bethany. "Target acquired!"

Cal tackles Bethany behind a cluster of stalagmites as gunfire ricochets off the stone. Sparks shower from the damaged console. The primary emitter's hum shifts to a dangerous, fluctuating whine. Blue arcs spit wildly, earthing themselves against the cavern walls. "It's destabilizing!" Bethany shouts over the din.

Ten

Vale claws at her malfunctioning lenses, stumbling back. "Override! Initiate manual shutdown!" she orders a guard, her voice distorted by static. He lunges for the console, but a rogue energy arc catches his vest. He convulses, collapsing in a smoldering heap. The remaining guard retreats, panicked.

The emitter's whine escalates to a shriek. Cal grabs Bethany. "Run! It's gonna blow!" They scramble back toward the tunnel as the cavern erupts in blinding blue light. Stone shrieks, buckling under the unleashed energy. Vale's silhouette is consumed by the cascade of failing power.

The shockwave hurls them into the passage. They crawl blindly over shuddering rock, the ozone stench replaced by acrid smoke. Behind them, the cavern collapses with a final, grinding roar, sealing Vale and the emitter under tons of stone. Silence crashes down, broken only by their ragged breathing and the drip of water.

Cal pushes himself up, coughing. Dust coats his skin like grey ash. "Vale... the purge?"

"Buried with her machine," Bethany rasps, wincing as she tests her weight on her ankle. "But that collapse... we're sealed in tighter than before."

She shines her dying phone light down the passage. The tunnel behind them is choked with rubble. Ahead, only darkness and the faint, fading scent of ozone.

"Air's still moving," Cal murmurs, pressing his hand against a cool draft seeping through a jagged crack in the wall. He digs his fingers into the loose shale, pulling away fist-sized chunks. "Not solid rock. We can dig."

Bethany joins him, wincing as she puts weight on her twisted ankle. "With what? Our fingernails?" She scans the debris pile, spotting a twisted piece of rebar jutting from the rubble. "There. Pry bar." She limps over, yanking it free with a grunt. The metal is cold and heavy in her hands.

Cal wedges the rebar into the crack, leveraging his weight against it. Stone groans, shifting incrementally. "Aris dug his way out of worse," he pants, sweat mixing with the dust on his face.

A faint, rhythmic thumping echoes through the loosened rock, distant, mechanical. "They're drilling. Epsilon's recovery team. We dig, or we're buried alive."

Bethany braces her shoulder against the wall beside the crack. "Heave on three." Cal plants his boots, the rebar biting into his palms. "One... two... three!"

They strain. Stone grinds, then a slab the size of a door shifts inward, revealing a sliver of blinding daylight and the roar of rushing water. Fresh, pine-scented air floods the passage.

"Go!" Cal gasps, shoving Bethany through the gap. She tumbles onto a slick, moss-covered bank beside a churning creek swollen with snowmelt.

Cal scrambles after her, collapsing beside her as the slab settles back into place with a final thud, sealing the tomb behind them.

Sunlight dappled through the pines. Real, unfiltered daylight. Bethany pushed herself up, wincing as she tested her ankle.

"The creek... this feeds into the main river. We follow it downstream, we hit the highway eventually." She scanned the steep, forested banks. "But they'll expect that."

Cal rolled onto his back, staring at the canopy. "Vale's gone. The core emitter's slag. But Epsilon adapts, like she said." He sat up abruptly. "The outpost. Her command hub. It's still live. And empty now."

Bethany followed his gaze upstream. "You think we double back? Strike while they're digging her out?" She flexed her ankle, grimacing. "I'm not sprinting anywhere."

Cal stood, brushing mud and pine needles from his clothes. "We don't need to sprint. We need to think. Vale ran that outpost solo, mostly. Her logs, her comms... proof. Everything we saw underground, everything Aris recorded on that USB, it'll be there. Raw data, before Epsilon scrubs it."

He offered her a hand. "And right now, every guard and drone is focused on that ridge collapse or searching downstream."

Bethany gripped his forearm, hauling herself up. "Blind spot. Right under their noses." She limped toward the creek's edge, splashing icy water on her face. "But how? That outpost is locked down tighter than Vale's secrets."

Cal scanned the opposite bank, dense with ferns and deadfall. "Aris mapped a service conduit. Wastewater runoff from the generator shed. It empties right into this creek bed."

He pointed upstream where the water churned around a half-submerged, rusted grate partially hidden by overhanging roots. "Vale's paranoia kept the main doors sealed, but she couldn't weld the pipes."

Eleven

Bethany limped closer, eyeing the dark opening. "Sewage crawl? Charming." She pulled a small multi-tool from her pocket, prying at the grate's corroded bolts. "Better than a drone swarm."

The grate groaned open, revealing a slick concrete tunnel sloping upward into gloom, the stench of stagnant water and oil thick in the air.

"Hope Aris remembered the rats," Bethany muttered, crawling in first, her movements stiff with the ankle injury. Cal followed, the cold, slimy water seeping through his clothes immediately.

The conduit narrowed, forcing them into single file, their breaths echoing loudly in the confined space. Distant, rhythmic thumping vibrated through the pipe walls. Epsilon's drills still working the ridge collapse far behind them.

They emerged into a cramped, dimly lit service chamber beneath the generator shed. Dust motes danced in the weak light filtering through a rusted vent grate above.

Cal pressed his ear against the metal door leading into the main outpost. "Clear," he whispered. "Just the hum of servers." Bethany jammed her multi-tool into the door's simple mechanical lock.

"Vale skimped on physical security down here. Too confident in her drones." The lock clicked. She pushed the door open a crack. The corridor beyond was sterile, lit by emergency lighting. Empty.

"Generator shed basement. Storage to the left, server room straight ahead. Vale's command nest is upstairs."

They moved quickly through the sterile corridor, the thumping drills now muffled. Cal paused at the server room door, its keypad dark. "Power's on backup. Manual override?"

Bethany jammed her multi-tool into the door's emergency release, prying the panel open. Sparks flew as she crossed wires. The door hissed open, revealing rows of humming servers and a central console.

"Bingo," Cal whispered, rushing to the main terminal. The screen flickered to life, demanding credentials. "Vale's login... think she'd use her birthday? Or something arrogant?"

"Try 'EpsilonPrime'," Bethany suggested, leaning against a server rack, favoring her ankle. Cal typed it in. Access Denied. "Okay, maybe not."

He spotted a sticky note tucked under the keyboard: Temp PW: ScorchProtocol1!. "Seriously?" He entered it. The screen unlocked, revealing a complex dashboard. "She really was arrogant."

Bethany limped over, pointing to a tab labeled "Drone Logs - Ridge Collapse." Cal clicked it. Raw footage streamed: Vale's final moments, the emitter overload, her distorted scream cut off by static.

"Proof she activated Scorch. Proof it killed her." He navigated to "Project Shield Archives," finding Aris's research flagged as "Containment Breach - Source." "All of it. Neural-pulse specs, test subjects... everything."

Bethany leaned closer, her face pale in the screen's glow. "Can we transmit it? Before they trace this terminal?"

Cal navigated to the comms panel. "Satellite uplink. Encrypted." His fingers flew over the keys.

"Routing to every independent news hub Aris bookmarked." He entered the final command. "Sending... now." A progress bar crawled across the screen: Transmitting 3.2TB... Estimated Time: 4 minutes.

The overhead lights flickered. A low, resonant hum vibrated the floor that was not the generators. "Drones," Bethany hissed, limping to the door. "Perimeter sweep. They're homing in on the uplink signal." She peered down the corridor. "We need to buy time."

Cal stared at the agonizingly slow progress bar. "Four minutes is forever. Can we jam their sensors locally?" He scanned the server racks. "Overload a power coupling? Create electromagnetic interference?"

Bethany limped toward a humming transformer bank. "Risky. Could fry the uplink too." She pointed to a thick cable conduit snaking up the wall. "But if we trip the outpost's main breaker... localized blackout might blind their thermal scans long enough."

She wrenched open an access panel, revealing a maze of circuits. "Find the master switch, a red lever, probably labeled 'Primary Grid.'"

Cal scanned the server racks, spotting a heavy red handle behind a plexiglass cover. "Got it!" He smashed the cover with his elbow, grabbing the lever.

"On three?" Bethany braced against the transformer, multi-tool jammed into a coolant vent. "Do it!" Cal yanked the lever down. Lights died. Servers whined into silence. Outside, the drone hum stuttered, replaced by confused whirs.

Darkness swallowed the room, save for the uplink terminal's stubborn progress bar: 2 minutes remaining.

"Thermals are blind," Bethany whispered, peering through the door crack. "But they'll swarm the entrance soon." Distant shouts echoed from upstairs; the guards were regrouping.

Cal crouched beside her. "We need a diversion outside. Something loud, attention-grabbing..." His eyes fell on the generator shed's fuel storage schematics glowing on the terminal. "Propane tanks. Ventilation shaft access near the tree line."

Bethany limped toward the back wall, spotting a rusted service hatch. "I'll vent it. You trigger the spark when I signal." Cal grabbed a severed server cable, stripping its wires. "Make it quick. Uplink's at ninety percent." She slipped into the shaft, crawling through cobwebs toward daylight.

Twelve

Outside, the propane tanks hissed as Bethany wrenched the emergency vent valve. White vapor billowed into the damp forest air. "Now, Cal!" she yelled. He touched the exposed wires to the terminal's backup battery.

A spark jumped. The propane cloud ignited with a deafening whump, engulfing the tree line in a fireball. Drones veered toward the heat bloom.

Inside, the uplink terminal chimed: Transmission Complete. Cal slammed the emergency purge command, wiping the terminal.

"Done! Move!" They scrambled back through the basement corridor as guards burst into the server room. Shouts echoed. "Breach confirmed! Lock down the sector!"

Bethany wrenched open the wastewater conduit access. "Back to the creek!" Cal shoved her in first, diving after her as boot steps pounded closer. They slid down the slimy pipe, landing in the icy creek just as the fireball above dimmed. Distant sirens wailed. The highway patrol responding to the explosion.

"Proof is out," Cal gasped, hauling Bethany onto the bank. Pine needles clung to her wet clothes.

Bethany stared at the distant plume of smoke. "They'll spin it. Industrial accident. Renegade hikers." She tested her weight on her ankle and winced. "Without us to testify..."

Cal scanned the creek bank downstream. "Highway's that way. But Epsilon will have roadblocks." He pointed upstream, toward the dense, untouched woods. "Or we vanish. Like Aris intended. Let the data do the talking."

Bethany limped toward the water's edge, splashing mud from her hands. "Run? After all this?" She shook her head, a fierce glint in her eyes. "No. We stay. We find a way to amplify the signal. Make ourselves too loud to disappear."

She pulled the dead tablet from her pack. "This still has Aris's map fragments. There's a ranger relay tower marked... here." She tapped a spot deep in the old-growth forest. "Off-grid. Might still broadcast if we can power it."

Cal studied the map. "That's Epsilon's blind spot. Thick canopy, mineral deposits mess with drones." He glanced at her ankle. "Can you hike it?"

Bethany tightened her boot laces. "Won't be winning any races, but I'll manage." She pointed to a narrow deer trail winding uphill away from the creek. "That way. Less exposed."

They moved into the dense undergrowth, the roar of the creek fading behind them.

Bethany leaned against a moss-covered pine, catching her breath. "That relay tower... Aris mentioned it once. Pre-Epsilon tech. Analog. They never bothered dismantling it because it 'didn't fit their frequency spectrum.'"

She winced, adjusting her weight off her injured ankle. "If we can get it online, we blast our testimony raw. No encryption to break."

Cal scanned the dense woods, listening for drones. Only the chatter of squirrels and distant creek water filled the air. "Analog means no Epsilon backdoors. But power? It's probably been dead for years."

He spotted a clearing ahead where sunlight dappled through the canopy. "There. That ridge matches Aris's map fragment."

They pushed through a thicket of ferns, emerging at the tower's base. It was a skeletal structure of rusted steel, vines choking its lower struts. A weathered sign read: Firewatch Station 7 - Decommissioned. At its peak, a crooked antenna pointed defiantly at the sky.

"Power's the problem," Cal muttered, circling the base. He kicked aside rotted plywood, revealing a corroded generator housing.

"Fuel lines are dust." Bethany limped to a small utility shed leaning precariously against a cedar. The door collapsed inward as she touched it. Inside, amidst mouse nests, lay a cluster of dusty solar panels.

"Not dust. Sunlight." She dragged one panel out, glass cracked but intact. "Aris was prepping this. Look." She pointed to fresh scrape marks on the mounting brackets.

Cal helped her haul three panels onto the shed's slanted roof. "Wiring's shot," he noted, tracing frayed cables snaking toward the tower. Bethany pulled a roll of electrical tape from her pack.

"Improvisation time." She spliced the panel cables directly to the tower's junction box, ignoring the charred connectors. "It's crude, but if we get any voltage..." A faint hum vibrated through the steel as Cal clambered up the rickety ladder, bypassing safety rails long gone.

At the top, he kicked open the transmitter shack door. Dust choked the air. A vintage radio console sat beneath a cracked window, its dials frozen. Cal blew grit from the microphone grill. "Power light's flickering!" Below, she slapped the last connection. "Try it now!"

He flipped the transmit switch. A low, steady hum filled the shack. Static hissed from the speaker. Bethany's voice crackled over the ancient intercom: "We're live, but range is garbage. Needs an antenna boost."

Cal spotted a manual crank beside the window: the tower's tilt mechanism. "Gotta point it toward town. Hold on!" He leaned his full weight on the rusted handle. Metal shrieked in protest.

Below, Bethany watched the antenna groan, shifting a few degrees. "More! Almost aligned!" Cal strained, veins standing out on his neck. With a final, grating shudder, the antenna locked into position.

The static cleared abruptly, replaced by a crisp, open carrier wave. He grabbed the mic. "This is Cal Hubbard. If anyone can hear this, listen carefully. Epsilon Protocol is real. They murdered Ranger Vale to cover it up. We have proof..."

THE END