Whispers in the Wire

Beneath the twisted frame of a collapsed comms tower, something still pulsed.

Gaius knelt slowly, shotgun resting across his knee.

Mist licked at the ground, swirling around the wreckage, whispering against metal.

At the heart of the ruin lay a fractured data-core—once sleek and gleaming, now split and bleeding faint streams of corrupted light.

Hairline fractures webbed across its casing, pulsing faintly with residual charge.

A heartbeat... mechanical, wrong.

Gaius reached out carefully, activating his portable decryptor.

The core sparked against his tool, struggling to respond. Then, through a warble of static, broken voices began to bleed from its cracked surface.

Not full words.

Fragments.

"—inside the mist—"

"—planted in us—"

"—the seed grows—"

"—not dead—"

"—never dead—"

Each phrase cut out violently, like a hand slamming against glass from the other side.

Gaius listened, face unmoved.

He had heard madness before.

This was something colder.

The data-core pulsed once more—then snapped, its flickering light spiraling into nothingness with a thin, final whine.

Silence rushed in again, heavy and thick.

Gaius rose, the shotgun swinging back into low guard.

Whatever had touched this expedition had hollowed it out from the inside—and the infection was not contained.

The mist ahead deepened into a darker hue, almost black.

Without a word, Gaius turned toward it.

Toward Grief Hollow.