«I’m sure,» Kyle replied, though deep down a worm of doubt had long been gnawing at him. The drone data was fragmented, incomplete, and the signals from the Rift itself were distorted beyond recognition. But they had no other choice, no other lead. «We’re sticking to the plan. „Echo-7“ is sixty miles out. If we’re lucky, and the Wasteland doesn’t show its teeth too soon, we’ll get there in a day.»
Lina Cyrus, sitting on a dusty box of medical supplies, raised her head. Her face was paler than usual, almost transparent, but in her wide-open eyes burned a feverish, desperate determination. She went through the medkits again and again, checking vials of neuro-stabilizers, injectors, and portable scanners, as if these fragile instruments could protect them from the unspeakable horror that awaited.
«I’ve prepared enhanced neuro-stabilizers,» she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly, but she tried to hide it. «They should help if… if the Rift starts messing with our heads too much. I’ve read all the available reports. The people who came back… the few… they said they saw things. Their deepest fears, nightmares come to life. Unreal, but… too real. Some were never able to distinguish them from reality.»
Kyle nodded briefly, but his thoughts were already far away, there, in the pulsating heart of «Echo-7.» He knew what she was talking about. Illusions. Mental traps. The Rifts didn’t just break physical reality – they penetrated the mind like a virus, pulling out the deepest fears, the most painful desires from its darkest depths, turning them into sophisticated weapons. He himself felt it, every time he heard the ghostly echo of Ella’s voice. But he wasn’t going to talk about it aloud, share this vulnerability of his. Not now. Not with them.
Drake Holt, as always, stood ostentatiously apart, leaning casually against the cold wall of the hangar. In his hands, he twirled his plasma cutter with lazy grace, its blade gleaming dully in the semi-darkness. His gaze, heavy and unreadable, was fixed on the Wasteland beyond the flickering dome, as if he saw something there inaccessible to the others – or, conversely, was looking for confirmation of his darkest expectations. His smirk, permanent as the ingrained tattoo on his neck, irritated Kyle more than he was willing to admit to himself.
«Messing with heads?» Drake snorted, his voice dripping with open, mocking derision. «Come on, Doc, don’t scare us. Maybe the Rift will show you something really interesting. I’ve heard some people see their dead there. Maybe you’ll meet someone… especially close. Say, someone you couldn’t save on the operating table?»
Lina flinched as if struck, her fingers freezing on the medkit, her face flushing. Kyle felt a wave of icy anger rise within him, but he restrained himself again. Drake deliberately looked for weaknesses, tested their strength, like a predator testing its prey. It was his disgusting game. And Kyle wasn’t going to play it.
«Shut up, Holt,» he growled, stepping closer, his voice low but laced with menace. «If you have something relevant to say, say it. Or keep your dirty mouth shut until we get to „Echo-7.“ Your jokes aren’t needed here.»
Drake just laughed loudly, raising his hands in mock surrender, but his eyes, dark and cold, gleamed with something unkind. Kyle turned away, feeling the tension in the team grow with every minute, like a taut, invisible string ready to snap. They hadn’t even left Bastion yet, and they were already ready to tear each other’s throats out.
«Everything’s ready,» Eva interrupted the protracted silence, slamming the exosuit panel shut. The clang of metal against metal sounded deafening in the tense atmosphere. «We can move. But I’ll repeat, Rain, for the especially gifted: if something doesn’t go according to your brilliant plan, I’m not going to die for your ghostly ideas or personal crusades. We have one, clearly defined goal – to find the source. No deviations. No freelancing.»
Kyle didn’t answer. He knew what she was hinting at. His family. His unhealed pain. His desperate, almost insane hope. But that was none of her business. He just nodded, heavily donning his exosuit – cumbersome, but necessary for survival in the Wasteland’s aggressive environment. The metal plates closed around his body with a dull click, and the neural interface on his wrist habitually synchronized with the system, transmitting a faint, barely perceptible hum to his nerve endings. It was a bitter reminder of the old days, when technology seemed like salvation, a universal key to all doors, not a curse that opened the gates to hell.
The team silently loaded into the Thunderclaw. The transport roared to life, its ancient engines coughing from age and lack of quality fuel, but still started, spewing a cloud of bluish smoke. The protective dome of Bastion began to open slowly, with a grinding and groaning, and the cold, acrid air of the Wasteland, saturated with radiation and the smell of decay, rushed in, making Lina cough and Kyle wince. He watched through the thick, scratched armored glass as the world beyond the dome unfolded before them – a boundless, scorched desert, pierced by glowing, bleeding cracks of the Rifts. Somewhere out there, to the north, in the very heart of this agony, «Echo-7» awaited. And perhaps, answers. Or final oblivion.
They had only traveled a few miles when the first, barely perceptible sign of an anomaly appeared. The air in front of the transport shimmered like heat haze, distorting the outlines of distant ruins, and suddenly time seemed to slow down, stretching like molasses. Kyle felt his heart stumble, beating in a strange, disjointed rhythm, and the sounds inside the Thunderclaw – the hum of the engines, the breathing of his companions – stretched, transformed into a low, viscous drone, as if someone was playing an old recording at minimum speed. Lina cried out briefly, her voice low and distorted, as if coming from the bottom of a deep well, and red indicators lit up alarmingly on the dashboard in front of Eva.
«Time jump! Local distortion!» Eva shouted, her fingers, as usual, flying quickly and accurately across the control panel. «Hold on! This should pass in a few seconds! Don’t panic!»
But to Kyle, it seemed to last an eternity. In this distorted, stretched moment, where every second was like a hammer blow on an anvil, he heard it again – the echo. Ella’s voice, soft, distant, almost indistinguishable, but so painfully real that an icy needle pierced him through. «Daddy… I’m here… I’m waiting for you here…» the voice whispered, and Kyle involuntarily, against his will, turned his head to the window, where beyond the armored glass, in the shimmering, iridescent haze, a shadow flickered for a moment. A small, fragile figure, with fluttering pigtails, just like hers. He blinked, desperately trying to focus, and the vision vanished, dissolved, leaving only the desert and the ominous cracks of light.
«Rain!» Eva’s sharp voice snapped him out of his stupor, brought him back to harsh reality. Time returned to normal, the Thunderclaw lumbered forward again, but Kyle felt cold sweat streaming down his back. «Are you alright? You looked like you’d seen the Devil himself. Or something worse.»
«I’m fine,» he lied, quickly turning away to hide his expression. But his hands, gripping the railing, were trembling so much that it was noticeable even in the dim light of the cabin. This was only the first jump. The first, light touch of the Rift. The first warning. And what awaited them closer to «Echo-7»? He didn’t know. But he knew he had to go on, even if this journey shattered his mind into a thousand sharp, bleeding shards. For her. For them.
Chapter 4: «Voices from the Cracks»
2247. The Wasteland, 15 kilometers from «Echo7.»
The Thunderclaw crawled forward, its worn tracks grinding the debris of the old, buried world beneath it. The Wasteland around them was like an unhealed scar on the planet’s body – black, scorched, dead earth, pierced by a network of glowing, pulsating fissures, from which, like death rattles, faint,