The base was too quiet. Not peaceful—wrong. The kind of quiet that made your spine itch.
Nice sat on an overturned crate in the dim light of a hanging lantern, sharpening his knife with slow, steady strokes. The metallic sound echoed faintly, rhythmic and calming. Across from him, the tunnel entrance yawned in total blackness. He kept glancing at it, instinct twitching in the back of his skull like a phantom limb.
It had been hours since the supply run. His hands no longer shook from adrenaline, but the memory of the Swarm—how it moved, how it waited—refused to leave him.
In the far corner of the camp, Ezra was buried in wires, old terminals, and something that might once have been a car battery. The kid muttered to himself like a mad scientist, typing furiously on his laptop with cracked keys and glowing solder seams. Cables snaked across the floor like veins, glowing dim blue.
"You always this twitchy when you're working?" Nice asked, not looking up from his blade.
Ezra jumped a little. "Me? Twitchy? Nah. This is my focused look. You should see me panicking."
Nice gave a dry smile and went back to the blade.
There was a beat, then Ezra said more quietly, "Actually… can you come look at something?"
Nice slid the knife back into its sheath and stood. Ezra turned the laptop screen toward him.
It was a mess of static, pulsing patterns, and flickering alien glyphs. The symbols looked half-drawn, half-melted, constantly morphing.
"Looks like gibberish."
"That's what I thought at first," Ezra said, leaning forward. "But I've been tracking their signal waves—recording patterns. Today, after we set off that EMP, something different came through. A loop."
Ezra tapped a few keys. A distorted sound crackled through the old speakers. Static at first, white noise chewing on itself. But as it repeated, Nice leaned in. There was something there.
A pulse. A rhythm. A broken echo.
Then—something more.
A voice.
Nice's brow furrowed. "That's not Swarm."
Ezra nodded, voice low. "It's human. At least… it was."
He turned up the volume. The static separated just long enough to hear a strained, broken transmission:
"…kk-zzzzt… This is… Captain Royce of Aegis-Nine… requesting extraction… biological breach in progress… Echo Seven… anyone receiving…"
Then static swallowed it whole again.
"Coalition?" Nice asked.
"Old unit. Aegis-Nine was Special Response. Last seen during the second wave." Ezra's fingers drummed the side of the screen. "This message is bouncing through Swarm channels. Somehow piggybacking on their neural broadcast."
Nice's jaw tightened. "He's alive?"
Ezra shrugged. "I don't know. The signal's degraded, like it's been bouncing for weeks. Could be a trap. Could be legit."
A quiet voice cut through the tension.
"Or both."
Mara had entered from the southern tunnel, arms crossed, rifle slung across her chest. Her eyes went straight to the screen. She didn't look surprised—just cautious.
"We've seen how they mimic voices," she said. "This could be bait."
"But the code," Ezra added, quickly, "it's Coalition encryption. Pre-Collapse frequency tags. I checked them three times."
Mara stepped closer. "If that signal's real, someone out there survived longer than any of us. That makes them valuable—or very, very dangerous."
Nice studied the map Ezra had sketched on the wall—a dirty tarp with chalk marks and faded notes. Echo Seven was deep in the quarantine zone. Swarm-dense territory.
"Even if it's a trap," Nice said, "there's something transmitting from inside their network. That's new. That's worth the risk."
Mara didn't answer right away. She walked to the edge of the room and stood there, watching the flickering shadows on the wall. She was weighing the odds.
Cleo entered without a sound.
She always moved like she wasn't touching the ground. Long braids draped over her shoulders, coat flowing behind her like smoke. She didn't speak at first—just looked at the laptop, then at Ezra, then at Nice.
"They're talking," she said softly.
Ezra frowned. "Who? You mean the Swarm?"
"They've always been talking," she said. "We just never wanted to hear it."
Nice stepped closer. "What do you mean?"
Cleo stared into the blue light like it was speaking to her. "Their thoughts ride the air. The static. We dream about them for a reason."
Ezra rolled his eyes but didn't argue.
Mara finally spoke again. "Three-person team. Quiet, fast, armed. Confirm the signal source and get out."
"I'm going," Nice said.
Mara didn't even blink. "Figured."
Ezra raised a hand. "I have to go too. The signal's bouncing through alien code. Without me, you won't even find the source."
Mara nodded reluctantly. Then turned to Cleo.
"You in?"
Cleo gave one nod. That was enough.
Mara exhaled slowly. "Gear up. You leave at first light."
Later that night, Nice sat alone again, this time at the edge of the sleeping area, sipping cold tea that didn't taste like much. He watched the flames from a small burner flicker against the concrete wall. Footsteps approached.
Mara.
She sat down next to him without asking. She handed him a small pouch.
"Ammo," she said. "Custom rounds. Hit harder than standard."
"Thanks."
They sat in silence for a while.
"You think it's real?" he asked.
Mara took her time. "I think the Swarm knows we're listening. Whether it's real or not… they're learning how to talk to us."
"Feels like we're not ready."
She glanced sideways. "You scared?"
Nice smiled faintly. "Yeah. But I'm used to it."
"Good," she said. "The ones who aren't scared usually die first."
They didn't say anything else.
Not until the signal started repeating again in the background, looping like a heartbeat.