Ryan spent the next few days immersed in his work, monitoring the Primer—the planet teetering at the edge of calamity as it entered the beginning of the third stage of Erebus Anomaly. Though the planet was far from the devastation of the stage-four, its volatile state demanded constant vigilance. The storms intensified, tearing through the planet’s surface in violent waves, leaving scars of destruction in their wake. Ryan took detailed notes, documenting weather patterns, temperature shifts, and gravitational anomalies. Yet, despite all the data, answers remained elusive.
The stage-four planet, which had been the focal point of the main team’s research from past few days, continued to exhibit disturbing developments. The anomaly’s influence had reached the moon orbiting the afflicted planet, spreading its tendrils across its surface. Reports indicated that the moon’s once-stable geography now sported fissures large enough to be seen from orbit, and strange, unidentifiable phenomena began to manifest. Ryan often caught glimpses of the team’s findings during their discussions in the observation room, though he chose to focus on Primer. He knew the stage-four planet was better left to the experts. His job was to observe and learn, but the scale of what was happening still weighed heavily on his mind.
The days dragged on in a tiresome routine. Each day brought new experiments, most of which failed spectacularly. Advanced technologies—the kind that seemed like pure science fiction to Ryan —were deployed, yet none could halt the anomaly’s spread. Even the brilliant minds around him appeared stumped. Their theories unraveled in the face of chaos that defied known physics.
One day, a sleek silver probe loaded with anti-chaos materials was launched into the stage-four planet’s atmosphere. The scientists hoped the material would neutralize the storms and create a stabilizing effect. Ryan watched from the observation deck as the probe descended, its shimmering trail visible even from their distant vantage point. For a moment, hope flickered in the room.
Then, the probe disintegrated upon contact with the storm even before it reah the planet, its fragments consumed and swept away. Another failure, logged and added to a growing list of dashed hopes. Experiment 317. Ryan couldn’t help but marvel at the persistence of the scientists, even as frustration mounted.
In the quiet moments between work, Ryan found time to communicate with Keira through the station’s comms. Her voice, usually so confident, betrayed an undercurrent of unease.
“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” she asked one evening. The faint hum of machinery in the background underscored her words.
Ryan hesitated before answering. “Not worse, exactly. More... unpredictable. The anomaly hasn’t spread beyond the moon yet, and the other planets are still stable in comparison. But yeah, it’s a lot to process.”
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“And you?” she pressed. “How are you holding up? You’re right in the middle of it all.”
Ryan smiled despite himself. Keira’s concern was comforting, even if he didn’t want her to worry. “I’m fine. The substation’s well beyond the solar system’s edge. We’re safe for now. Just a lot of work and not enough answers.”
“For now,” she repeated, her voice tinged with anxiety. “And if it spreads further? If it moves beyond the moon? What then?”
“Then we adapt,” Ryan replied firmly. “We’ve got protocols in place. And honestly, the tech here is lightyears ahead of anything we had on Earth. If anyone can figure this out, it’s these people.”
Keira let out a long breath. “I’ll hold you to that. Just... stay safe, okay? We’ve been through too much already.”
“I will,” Ryan promised. “You too.”
Their conversations became a small comfort in the otherwise monotonous days. Keira’s perspective—a mix of scientific insight and grounded practicality—helped him process the overwhelming situation. He found himself looking forward to these exchanges, even if they often left him reflecting on the precariousness of their circumstances.
The failed experiments continued to pile up. Each attempt to disrupt the anomaly was more sophisticated than the last, involving technologies that Ryan could barely comprehend. He often felt out of his depth, a mere technician among geniuses. But he reminded himself that his role, however small, was still important. Every observation, every piece of data, contributed to the greater effort.
One day, a scientist on his team launched a probe filled with an experimental substance—a solid cube, iridescent substance designed to interact with the anomaly. When Ryan asked about it, the scientist explained in clipped tones: “Theoretically, the substance will create a small balck hole of controllable matter”
Ryan watched as the probe descended toward the stage-four planet. For a moment, it seemed to hold—the material interacting with the storm in a dazzling display of light. But then, as with so many other experiments, it failed. The probe was consumed, and the storm raged on and no sign of the said black hole even after the activation.
“Experiment 323,” the scientist muttered, shaking their head. “Another dead end.”
Ryan’s frustration mirrored theirs. Despite the advanced technology and brilliant minds at work, the anomaly remained impenetrable. It was a humbling reminder of just how little they understood.
Still, Ryan pressed on day after day. The work was demanding, but it kept his mind occupied. And in the quiet moments, when he could steal a glance out the observation windows, he found a strange kind of solace in the vastness of space. The Lugias system, with its seven planets and solitary star, was both beautiful and haunting. It reminded him of what was at stake—not just for this galaxy, but for all of existence.
As another long day drew to a close, Ryan returned to his cabin. He was physically and mentally drained, yet his mind refused to quiet. The anomaly’s ever-changing nature gnawed at him, filling his thoughts with questions that had no answers. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if they would ever find a way to stop it.
“Tomorrow,” he muttered to himself, finally closing his eyes. “Maybe tomorrow will be different from today and finally they will get some answers.”