Updated cover, courtesy of HuckSawyer'S excellent eye for editry.
Just finished up the cover for that Rock Johnson story I played around with last year.
I essentially rewrote the entire story to be much much better, and tighter. And yeah, had to raise the price from 25 cents to 75, sorry about that. Darn inflation!
I am not sure I will do anything with this. I might share with a few friends, more of a fun creative exercise than anything else, but I had a blast doing it.
Operator: J. Taran | Date: Cycle 2447.98 | Vessel: SCV 12 “Bleeding Mercy”
I woke to the sound of the filtration alarms coughing again—three dry pulses, then nothing. Always three. Always before we drop. Can't say if it’s superstition or just the Mercy keeping rhythm with my heart. I’ve stopped reporting it to engineering. If it's trying to warn me, I’m past the point of caring.
Atmosphere outside reads stable. As stable as fog-soup ever gets.
Turret Command picked up a flicker overnight—something big and cold about 12 clicks out. It was moving but slow, and then it wasn't. Like a shadow trying to remember where it left itself. Could be thermal echoes. Could be one of the other diggers. Could be something else. No one said anything over comms, but the crew was quiet this morning. Even Kovics skipped his pre-dive grumbling, and that bastard complains like it’s sacred ritual.
We launched at 05:12.
The fog pressed in thick today, more than usual. Sensors cut out five minutes into descent. By now, I’m used to flying half-blind, running silent, just the orange glow of the interior lighting and the hum of the hull keeping me company. It’s like being in the womb of a dying god. Everything out here feels old, like it's been waiting for us a long time.
At 08:37, we hit payload.
The Mercy’s arms snagged a tangled chunk of stratum webbing—root-veined and humming low, like it was dreaming in static. Scry-Tech says it’s singing, some kind of harmonic signature we haven’t catalogued before. She recorded it. The sound loops in my head now, like a memory I didn’t live.
I was about to call for containment drones when one of the newer grabbers locked up. Arm #3, the thin one we installed last week. Just froze mid-pull like it saw something in the dark. That’s the second mechanical freeze this week.
While running diagnostics, I glanced up through the fogline and swear I saw movement above the Mercy—something massive, turning slow in the distance. The officers in the turret didn’t report visual. No heat signature, no signal trail. But I know what I saw. Or maybe I don’t. I don’t know anymore.
We processed and sealed the stratum chunk by 09:11. Orders are to bring it back to Platform A. R&D wants eyes on it, and the Scry-Tech thinks it’s got roots in something older than the ruins.
I can’t help but feel like we pulled a tooth from something we shouldn’t have touched.
End of Entry
Note to self: Check containment seals. And maybe... say something to Kovics. If it really was a shape above us, and not just my head playing fog games, someone else must have seen it.
I just don’t want to be the only one that does. Again.
This is brilliant, you should read it:
https://codexgigaspress.substack.com/p/the-dopamine-trap-why-your-brain
