The submarine’s interior was cold, the quiet hum of its engines the only constant sound. After removing our bulky suits and stowing them securely in the locker bay, we each took a moment to adjust to the cramped but breathable environment. Diego stretched his broad shoulders, his arms brushing the low ceiling. Tom fiddled with his gloves, flexing his fingers as if expecting some relief from the tight confines of his suit.

“Never thought I’d miss the cold air in the pod,” Diego muttered, his deep voice breaking the silence.

“At least I don’t have to wear those contacts anymore,” Tom quipped, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “My eyes feel like they’ve been rubbed with sandpaper.”

I chuckled lightly but said nothing, focused on the faint static flickering across the main display. The sub’s AI had been running a scan for over an hour now, searching for the missing ship. The murkiness of the acidic ocean wasn’t doing us any favors.

The cockpit console blinked to life with a soft chime. “Captain Mark,” the AI spoke in its usual calm, mechanical voice, “we have arrived at the coordinates of the last known location of the missing vessel.”

I glanced at Tom and Diego, who straightened instinctively. “Alright,” I said, leaning over to inspect the data. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

The coordinates pointed to a small trench a few hundred meters below us. The AI adjusted the external cameras to focus on the site. Visibility was poor, but the faint outlines of debris could be seen scattered across the seabed, twisted metal fragments, corroded panels, and what might have been parts of a hull.

“This doesn’t look like a ship,” Tom said, squinting at the monitor.

“More like the leftovers of one,” Diego added grimly. “Could the acid have eaten through the rest of it?”

I shook my head. “If this ship was built for combat then it can take some acid, at least for a time. Something else must’ve happened.”

“Something worse,” Tom muttered under his breath.

I ignored his comment and keyed in a command for the AI. “Run a deeper scan,” I instructed. “Look for anything resembling a structure or a core component that might’ve survived.”

A few moments passed as the AI processed the request. The tension in the room was thick, the only sound of the occasional beep of the console. Finally, the AI spoke.

“No significant structures detected within the immediate vicinity,” it said.

“Nothing at all?” Diego asked, his brow furrowing.

“Correct. However…” The AI paused.

I straightened in my chair. “However what?”

“I am detecting a signal consistent with the missing ship’s transponder,” the AI continued. “The signal is currently mobile.”

“Mobile?” Tom repeated, his voice stained with confusion.

Diego crossed his arms, his expression darkening. “Ships don’t just ‘move’ after crashing. Not here, not in this acid soup.”

The AI’s display flickered again, showing a map with a blinking dot moving slowly across the screen.

“There is more,” the AI added. “The signal is accompanied by multiple low-power energy sources.”

“Low-power?” I asked.

“Yes,” the AI confirmed. “The detected power sources are too weak to operate most modern technology. One of these sources matches the energy signature of the scrapper’s beacon encountered earlier.”

Tom leaned forward, his face inches from the display. “That doesn’t make any sense. Those beacons are designed to transmit, not move.”

I tapped my fingers against the console, my thoughts racing. “And the others?”

“Unknown,” the AI replied. “They are consistent with older, inefficient power systems not utilized in recent technology.”

“Old tech,” Diego muttered. “Scrappers’ junk?”

“Maybe,” I replied, though I wasn’t convinced. Something about this didn’t sit right with me. If it were scrappers that we were dealing with, then where are the rest of the signals that their tech comes with?

Tom shook his head, his nervous energy bubbling to the surface. “This is insane. We’re chasing ghosts, or worse.”

“Keep it together,” I said firmly. “We have a job to do.”

I turned back to the AI. “Adjust our course to intercept the signal. Let’s see where it’s heading.”

“Course adjusted,” the AI confirmed. The sub’s engines rumbled softly as we began to follow the blinking dot on the map.

As we moved, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being led into something we didn’t understand, something we weren’t prepared for. But there was no turning back now.

As time passed the acidic depths of Narix-6 became a more and more quiet, oppressive place. Even the hum of the sub’s engines seemed muted as we moved toward the source of the mysterious signal. Outside, the murk pressed against the reinforced windows, a reminder of just how hostile this environment truly was.

“Distance to the signal?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“Approximately six kilometers,” the AI replied.

Diego leaned back in his chair, his expression tense but thoughtful. “What kind of tech moves like this? A scrapper’s beacon, old power sources… none of this adds up.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Tom muttered, his eyes glued to the sonar display. “Not yet. We just need to figure out where it’s going. Once the mission is complete we should be given more info, or at least Mission Control says that’ll happen.”

We sat in silence for a moment, the occasional ping of the sonar the only sound. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something.

“Hold up,” I said, sitting forward. “What’s that?”

On the edge of the sonar screen, a faint blip appeared, not consistent with the wreckage or power sources we’d seen so far. The external cameras adjusted, and the murky water revealed a pale, undulating form just ahead of us.

Tom squinted at the screen. “Is that… flesh?”

The cameras zoomed in, and the thing became clearer, a tendril-like piece of organic material, faintly illuminated by the sub’s external lights. It drifted lazily in the acidic water, its pale surface marred by patches of exposed muscle and bone.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“That’s not possible,” Diego said, his voice low and wary. “This acid should’ve dissolved anything organic within seconds.”

“And yet, there it is,” I replied grimly.

The three of us stared at the screen, a mix of morbid curiosity and unease settling over us. Then I made the call.

“AI, halt the sub,” I said. “I’m going out to retrieve a sample.”

Diego shot me a sharp look. “Are you serious? That thing’s in acid. Even with the suit, that’s a risk.”

“We need to know what it is,” I replied firmly. “And we can’t analyze it from here, and it might have connections to the missing people, although hopefully not by being what's left of them”

Diego didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue further. Tom just muttered something under his breath about me being insane.

I suited up quickly, double-checking the seals and pressure systems before stepping into the airlock. The acid-resistant suit was cumbersome but necessary, and I carried a reinforced glass container made to withstand extreme pressure differences. It was designed to collect samples of things, though we’d expected to be collecting mineral samples, not… whatever this was.

The outer hatch opened with a hiss, and I stepped into the acidic ocean, the weight of the suit making me walk on the seafloor. The suit’s heads-up display flickered with environmental readings, the acidity levels off the charts. The tendril was just a few meters away, drifting lazily as if it didn’t have a care in the world.

As I approached, the details became more horrific. The flesh was regenerating. Slowly but steadily, the acid ate away at its surface, but just as quickly, new skin and muscle grew back, the process giving the material a grotesque, writhing appearance.

“Mark, what are you seeing out there?” Diego’s voice crackled through the comm.

I hesitated, struggling to find the words. “It’s… alive,” I said finally. “Or something like it. The acid’s eating at it, but it’s healing just as fast.”

“Regenerating?” Tom asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Yeah,” I said, cautiously reaching out with the container. “It’s like it’s stuck in some kind of loop.”

I maneuvered the container under the tendril and carefully sealed it inside. The flesh recoiled slightly, as if aware of being contained, but it didn’t resist. Once secured, I turned back toward the sub.

“Sample collected,” I said. “Bringing it back now.”

The return to the sub was uneventful, though I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Once inside, I placed the container on the examination table in the lab. Diego and Tom crowded around, their expressions a mix of fascination and unease.

The tendril twitched inside the container, its surface bubbling slightly from the residual acid. The regeneration was still ongoing, the flesh writhing grotesquely as it battled the corrosive environment.

“This is… not natural,” Tom said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No kidding,” Diego replied, crossing his arms. “This thing shouldn’t even exist. How is it doing that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I said. “But whatever it is, it’s tied to this planet, why else would it evolve to be able to regenerate so quickly?”

Tom adjusted his glasses and leaned closer to the container. “We should leave the acid in there,” he said. “If it generates cells even when it's not in the acid then it’s the only thing keeping this thing from going completely out of control.”

I nodded in agreement. “Good call.”

Diego frowned, his gaze fixed on the twitching tendril. “This just keeps getting weirder. First the signal, now this. What are we even walking into?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, staring at the unnatural sample. “But I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse.”

We secured the container in the lab, locking it down to ensure there was no risk of contamination. As we returned to the cockpit, the sense of unease lingered.

The submarine pressed forward, engines humming steadily as we descended deeper into the acidic abyss. Outside, the water shifted, the murky green-gray now tainted with a reddish hue. It was faint at first, just a trickle of color, but as we moved closer to the source of the signal, the redness deepened, spreading like blood in water.

Tom stared at the external feed, his brow furrowed. “Why’s the water turning red?”

The AI answered calmly. “Analysis indicates elevated levels of dissolved iron particles. The concentration increases as we approach the target.”

“Iron?” Diego repeated, his voice heavy with skepticism. “That’s not normal, even for a planet like this.”

“Nothing about this is normal,” I muttered, watching as the crimson shade thickened.

The deeper we went, the stranger the environment became. The water churned with debris, but the red tint seemed almost alive, shifting and swirling with an unsettling rhythm. Then, faint at first but growing louder, came a sound, a high-pitched screeching that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“What the hell is that?” Diego growled, his hand instinctively gripping the edge of his seat.

The AI chimed in. “The source of the sound is consistent with external interference. It appears to originate from the same coordinates as the missing ship’s signal.”

“Of course it does,” Tom muttered nervously. The screeching grew louder, reverberating through the sub’s hull like nails on a chalkboard. It wasn’t constant but came in bursts, each one more dissonant and jarring than the last.

Diego scowled, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me. “This isn’t just some malfunction or underwater pressure. That sound’s got a source, and as much as I don't like it, it sounds biological.”

I nodded, my jaw tight. “AI, can you isolate and analyze the audio?”

The AI paused briefly. “The sound’s frequency spectrum is highly irregular. It does not match any known natural phenomena or mechanical interference.”

Tom’s face went pale. “You’re saying… something’s making it? Something that you can't identify!”

“Yes,” the AI confirmed. “And the origin point aligns with the signal of the missing ship.”

A heavy silence fell over the cabin, broken only by the periodic screeching and the faint hiss of the sub’s systems. I could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on all of us.

“We’re reporting this,” I said, my voice steady but firm. “AI, establish a link with mission control.”

“Establishing connection,” the AI replied.

A few moments later, the familiar face of the mission controller appeared on the comms screen. She looked calm but slightly impatient, as though she’d been dealing with one crisis too many today. She did put a section on our contract to not make unnecessary calls, but this seems important to me.

“This is mission control,” she said briskly. “Status update, Captain Mark.”

I leaned forward, keeping my voice professional. “We’ve located what we believe to be the missing ship’s signal, but the situation is… unusual.”

“Define unusual,” the controller said, her tone sharpening.

I explained everything, the mobile signal, the accompanying power sources, the discovery of the regenerating flesh, and now the strange red-tinted water and screeching noises. As I spoke, her expression shifted from mild annoyance to deep concern.

“The regenerating flesh, did you secure a sample?” she asked.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “It’s contained and under constant observation.”

“Good. Keep it that way,” she said. “But our priority is the power sources. Can you confirm their potential functionality?”

Tom leaned into the conversation. “The signals we’re detecting are too low-power to operate anything modern. But one matches the scrapper’s beacon we found earlier.”

The controller’s frown deepened. “Low-power signals aren’t inherently harmless. If these sources are somehow amplifying each other, they could pose a serious risk. Monitor them closely and notify us immediately if there’s any indication they could power a warp engine or similar high-energy system.”

“What about the… flesh?” Diego asked, his voice tinged with unease.

The controller hesitated. “It’s concerning, but secondary for now. Our main concern is the possibility of unauthorized technology. I know this seems odd for us to be the most concerned about, especially in comparison to what you've seen, but we have a reason to fear this.”

Diego’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.

“We’ll keep you updated,” I said, ending the transmission.

As the screen went dark, the screeching outside grew louder, almost mocking. I exchanged glances with Diego and Tom.

“This mission keeps getting better,” Tom muttered sarcastically, his voice trembling slightly.

“Stay focused,” I said, gripping the edge of the console. “We’ll figure this out. One step at a time.”

The sub pressed onward, the red-tinted water thickening around us like a bloody fog. Each passing moment felt heavier, the oppressive atmosphere closing in as we neared the source of the signal.

“AI,” I said, breaking the silence. “How close are we?”

“Two kilometers,” it replied.

The screeching reached a fever pitch, a cacophony of sound that rattled the sub and sent chills down my spine.