Recovered Log // Simulation: Theta-Strain // Source: Unknown Observer
---
I woke up alone.
Not unusual. The bunks are rarely occupied anymore.
I stretched, blinked the fog from my eyes, and checked the time.
HALCYON didn't greet me. No "Good morning, Commander." No dry wit. Just silence. Static. The kind you hear when an old TV loses its signal. Except… we don't have TVs.
The hallway lights flickered when I stepped into them. They always flicker now. Like the ship isn't sure what it's supposed to look like. Like it's remembering instead of powering on.
I headed to the bridge.
No one was there.
I thought Nolan would be waiting at the console like always, chewing that same synthetic gum, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. But he wasn't. The chair was empty. The console was active.
The screen pulsed.
A frequency I recognized too well:
19.84 Hz – The Signal.
Always the same. Always calling. Always there.
I hesitated, then played it.
It wasn't sound this time. Not just sound.
The waveform moved like it was alive. Shifting between patterns—some familiar, some mathematical, some… organic. Like muscle contractions. Or brainwaves.
And then a voice. No distortion. No static. Just clarity.
> "You asked for it."
I turned. Keene was behind me.
But—Keene had been gone. Weeks ago. I remember his funeral. We vented his body into the stars. I said words. Lyra cried.
But there he was.
Smiling.
Too many teeth.
"Keene?" I asked.
He nodded. "You asked for it," he said again. "You kept listening. Even after the dreaming began."
I backed away.
He followed.
"Where's Nolan?" I asked.
His smile twitched. "Who?"
"Nolan. You know. Our communications—"
"There's no Nolan on this ship," Keene said.
I checked the manifest.
He was right.
No Nolan. No Lyra. Just me. Keene. HALCYON.
But HALCYON was offline.
"Stop it," I muttered. "This is a trick."
"No," Keene said, eyes unfocused. "This is the first time you've noticed."
Behind him, the console shifted.
The display no longer showed a frequency. It showed an eye. Watching. Blinking. Then:
WELCOME BACK.
I heard footsteps.
More than two sets.
But no one appeared.
Just the hum of the Signal.
---
I returned to my quarters. Wrote this down in the logbook. Not the digital one—the paper one, hidden behind the wall panel. Because I don't trust the system anymore.
I flipped to the last page.
My handwriting was already there.
> "There's no Nolan. There never was. You asked for it."
And beneath that, in crayon:
"WELCOME BACK."