You're listening to Sam's Fiction Hub, where stories breathe between the lines. In this episode we begin our journey into the first arc of Breathless, a psychological sci-fi thriller about memory, grief and the voices that follow us through silence. Elias and Maren arrive in a quiet mountain town town hoping to recover from a tragedy they rarely speak of. But the past doesn't stay buried, not here, not when the air itself hums with fragments of a forgotten protocol, and not when a child peers in the woods alone, alone, silent and drawing things that should not be remembered. This is Arc One, the signal beneath the silence. Chapters One through Ten, and nothing will be the same after the Gremlin speaks.
Speaker 2:Chapter One Familiar Shadows. The gravel crunched under the tires as the car rolled to a slow stop. Beyond the windshield the house loomed Two storeys of weather-worn wood and grey siding, half-swallowed by skeletal trees. A chill wind passed through the clearing, whistling like it was warning them off. Elias stepped out of the car. His boots sank into the earth with a softness he didn't expect. The air tasted like ash and pine and for a second, just a flicker he felt like he'd been here before. Not just the shape of the house, not just the trees, the weight of it like a dream half-remembered. Just the trees, the weight of it like a dream half-remembered.
Speaker 2:Marin slammed her door and adjusted her jacket. It's just for a few weeks. She said, without looking at him. Let's focus on Sophia. Okay. Elias nodded but didn't move. His eyes remained on the front door where the paint peeled like skin after a sunburn. Somewhere inside the house seemed to exhale, not with sound but with a shift in presence. Sophia he almost said her name aloud. Instead, he grabbed the duffel from the back seat and followed Marin up the porch.
Speaker 2:The key scraped against the lock for longer than it should have before finally giving way against the lock for longer than it should have. Before finally giving way, the door swung open into a stale silence. Inside, the house was cooler, older, more aware. Elias paused in the threshold scanning the shadows along the ceiling. Wooden beams stretched like ribs over a living room filled with dust-covered furniture and sunlight fractured through gauzy curtains. Filled with dust-covered furniture and sunlight fractured through gauzy curtains. A framed photograph sat alone on the mantle a woman and child he didn't recognize. As he walked past it to set the bag down, the frame shifted just a twitch, as if something had nudged it from behind. He turned. Marin hadn't noticed. Probably just loose wood, he told himself. Or maybe the floorboards weren't level. But the hairs on his arms stood up, alert and listening to something his mind couldn't name. Yet Later, after an awkward dinner of reheated soup and wordless glances, elias lay awake on the pull-out couch in the living room.
Speaker 2:Marin had retreated early. Her door closed like punctuation at the end of a long sentence. Outside, the wind whispered across the roof. Inside, the house held its breath. Eventually, sleep took him.
Speaker 2:He was standing in a hallway impossibly long, with walls that wept in slow black tears. Light flickered from exposed bulbs overhead pulsing in rhythms that didn't feel random. At the end of the corridor stood a creature, half-shadow, half-child's nightmare. Its body was small, hunched, its skin shimmered like oil and its eyes, too wide for its face, locked onto him with hungry familiarity the gremlin. It didn't move, it just watched him, not with menace, with recognition. Elias tried to speak, but his voice fractured. The creature tilted its head and though it had no mouth, elias heard it inside him you came back. He woke with a start, breath catching in his throat. The room was still. The photo on the mantle now faced the wall. Elias stared at it for a long time, not daring to move. Welcome home, chapter 2, the Box in the Attic.
Speaker 2:The next morning arrived grey and quiet, as if the sky itself had forgotten how to speak. Elias sat at the edge of the pull-out couch staring at the mantle. The photograph was still turned to face the wall. He hadn't touched it. Upstairs, a dull creak echoed across the ceiling. Elias stood, the sound repeated, wood shifting against weight, not footsteps, exactly more like the house adjusting to a memory. He followed the noise toward the hallway. Dust spiraled in the narrow shaft of light pouring from the ceiling.
Speaker 2:The attic ladder was down, wooden slats dangled like the tongue of something waiting to swallow him whole. He didn't remember it being open. The night before Marin he called. She stepped out of the kitchen drying her hands on a towel. What is it? He gestured upward. Did you go into the attic? Her brow furrowed. I didn't even know there was one. She walked over, squinting at the pull-down hatch. Could have just loosened over time. These old places are full of creaks and shifts. Let's not start chasing ghosts. I'm not chasing anything. Elias said quietly, though something in his stomach twisted at the lie. Marin climbed the ladder first, flashlight in hand. We'll check it out, prove it's nothing. Elias followed the wooden steps, groaning beneath his weight.
Speaker 2:The attic space was shallow, unfinished beams, insulation, the skeletal underside of a roof and one object sitting in the far corner a box, square metal, weathered but sealed. Metal, weathered but sealed. Elias stopped cold. He'd seen it before in his dream, not the one from last night, the one from before, before they even got here. The vision that started all of this. A glimpse fleeting of a box with edges like memory and weight like silence.
Speaker 2:He stepped closer. The lid was carved with symbols etched deep into the metal. Some resembled circuitry, others mirrored glyphs. A fusion of logic and language, meaning without translation. Marin crouched beside it brushing off dust. Weird design, could be an old military lockbox or, I don't know, custom tech.
Speaker 2:Elias didn't answer. The symbols hummed beneath his skin. He reached out, fingers hovering an inch above the lid. The air felt colder near it, denser, like breathing near ice. Elias Marin said more firmly now we need to stay rational. Remember. It's probably nothing, a relic, someone's idea of art, Maybe it belonged to the last tenant. It matches the one in my dream. He said. She blinked. You never mentioned a box. I didn't want to. He pressed his palm to the lid. The symbols glowed faintly, as if responding to the contact then faded.
Speaker 2:That night sleep didn't come easily. When it did, it came sharp and sudden, dragging him under like a riptide. He stood in a field of static Trees, flickered between forms. Stood in a field of static Trees, flickered between forms, digital outlines warping into branches then melting into code. The sky above shifted between storm clouds and satellite grids. The gremlin waited again, crouched beneath a flickering street lamp with no post, its eyes gleamed like wet coal. It whispered his name, elias, software Childlike, with something old beneath the syllables Elias. He tried to move but felt locked in place. The creature stepped forward, bare feet on glass body flickering in and out like bad reception. It lifted one hand and pointed straight at the box. Then it smiled.
Speaker 2:Elias awoke, breathless sweat beading down his spine Down the hallway. Something tapped from above A soft, rhythmic knock against the attic door. Chapter 3 Dust and Whispers. The storm came early. Just past midnight a low roll of thunder stirred Elias from restless sleep. He sat up slowly, heart still echoing the gremlin's whisper from his dream. Wind lashed the window, rain struck in pulses irregular, as if it didn't want to be heard.
Speaker 2:He padded barefoot down the hallway toward the bathroom. The house creaked like something turning over in its sleep. That's when he saw them. Footprints, wet, bare, small. They tracked from the front door to the middle of the hall, then vanished mid-stride. He knelt beside them. The prints weren't muddy, just damp impressions left behind like condensation on glass. The rain outside had just started.
Speaker 2:Elias stood and moved to the front door, hand hovering near the knob. The deadbolt was still locked. He undid it and stepped out into the cold. No signs of entry, no trails in the grass, no motion at all, except for the trees bowing against the wind like mourners. When he came back in, marin was waiting in the hall arms crossed. When he came back in, marin was waiting in the hall, arms crossed. Why were you outside? There were footprints, he said, nodding toward the hallway. She looked, they were gone. She shook her head slowly. You're sleepwalking again. I was awake, elias replied. And they were here, I swear Her shoulders dropped. Maybe you're just. She stopped eyes narrowing. She'd turned toward the air vent near the baseboard. Something was wedged inside. She crouched and reached in fingers brushing against metal A camera, small, embedded deep in the vent, lens barely visible behind dust and shadow. She pulled it free and held it up. Elias felt his pulse skip. Tell me that was here when we moved in. She said I don't think it was. They stared at it its blank, unblinking eye, somehow more unsettling now that it wasn't watching. In the attic the box began to hum, not loud, not mechanical. It was more a feeling than a sound like pressure against the bones of the ear, a resonance that crawled down the spine and nested deep in the chest. Elias turned his gaze toward the ceiling, sensing its pull. Later that night, while Marin was asleep, elias sat alone on the couch. The lights were off, the rain had stopped. The hum continued intermittent, like a heartbeat. He was staring at the front door. When it happened, the shadows shifted and in the flicker between lightning and silence he saw it, the gremlin Not in a dream, not in his head Standing just past the doorway, half lit by the dying glow of the hallway lamp. Its frame was small, curled, like a forgotten child who had seen too much. Its eyes reflected nothing and everything. It raised one finger to its lips A hush, then it was gone. Elias didn't move. The hum from the attic fell silent. He remained on the couch until morning, waiting for the house to exhale again. The house to exhale again. Chapter 4 the Device. The morning came hollow. Pale light seeped through the curtains, but it brought no warmth. Elias moved through the house like he was a stranger in his own skin. The hum had stopped, the gremlin had not returned, but the silence was heavier than before. Like the house was holding its breath again, he kept returning to the hallway, to the section of wall just past the bathroom where the air always felt colder. He pressed his palm to it. A vibration, faint and rhythmic, pulsed beneath the wallpaper. Not the hum, this time this was mechanical, real. Instinctively, he peeled back the aging wallpaper and knocked Hollow. He fetched a screwdriver from the drawer and pried at the baseboard, the panel gave Behind it a hidden compartment lined in steel Wires, webbed into a hexagonal frame that housed a dull black canister no larger than a fire extinguisher and just below it a small display 000452. The numbers blinked red. His breath caught Marin, he shouted, stumbling back. She came running, stopping short at the open wall. What is that? I don't know? Elias said, heart pounding. But it's counting down. Is it a bomb? He shook his head. It doesn't feel like a bomb. She looked again, her eyes scanning the layout. A faint logo was printed into the metal casing, eroded by time but still visible A stylized V nested inside a circle. We're leaving. Elias said Now Wait, what if we call someone? No time. He was already grabbing their bags, hands shaking. Marin hesitated, then moved with him. They were out the front door within seconds, keys jangling. As he fumbled to start the car, the engine growled to life. Behind them, the house stood still unchanged, unthreatening, until it wasn't. They had barely cleared the dirt path when the air snapped. A muffled pulse boomed from the house, not an explosion, more like an exhale from deep underground. They stopped at the edge of the woods and turned. A dark cloud leaked upward from the house, thick, slow-moving. Not smoke, not gas, but something else entirely. It clung to the light warping the sky around it. The birds stopped singing. The air went still Far in the distance, a siren began to w enforcement, something older, something triggered. Marin turned to Elias, eyes wide with panic what did we just run from? Elias didn't answer because deep in his chest he already knew they hadn't run far enough. Chapter 5. Trainyard Refuge. The sky had gone the colour of a dying flame when Elias brought the car to a stop near the broken fence of the old trainyard. It shouldn't have been here. He couldn't explain how he knew, but every instinct, every flash of that dream vision, told him this place was important. A rusted sentinel of the past, forgotten by maps, hiding something beneath the bones of steel and time. He stepped out first. The air tasted like metal Over here, elias said, pointing toward a collapsed maintenance shed. Marin followed silently. Her boots crunching gravel. That's when they saw him A boy. Her boots crunching gravel. That's when they saw him A boy, no older than ten, sitting cross-legged near a concrete hatch, eyes locked on the door, like it was the only thing keeping the world from swallowing him whole. He looked up, didn't flinch, didn't run. Marin knelt carefully hey there, are you okay? The boy didn't answer. Elias crouched beside them. What's your name, corey? Are you alone? Marin asked. He nodded slowly then turned his gaze back to the shelter door. We need to get inside, corey, said. His voice was steady but urgent said His voice was steady but urgent, like someone repeating instructions that had been drilled into him. Now Elias didn't question it. He grabbed the edge of the hatch and heaved the door, fought back rust and earth, resisting until it finally gave way with a metallic scream. They descended into the dark. Inside the air was thick, cool and still. The emergency lighting flickered to life, pale yellow strips lining the ceiling. The shelter was empty. Dust clung to corners, but the space was intact Lockers, cots, an old radio Signs. Someone had lived here. Radio signs, someone had lived here long ago. Corey moved quickly, like he'd been here before. Marin watched him then turned to Elias. Why was he just sitting out there? That didn't feel like a lost kid. Elias didn't answer. He walked to the far end of the shelter scanning the wall for vents or emergency controls. Then he paused On the floor beside one of the cots. He saw a drawing, A crude sketch, done in dark pencil. A figure, hollow eyes, sharp fingers. The gremlin he turned, corey was staring right at him. Outside the night screamed A train horn Louder now. Elias ran up the stairs. The sound vibrated through the soil Close, but no lights, no wheels, no actual train, just the horn like a memory on repeat. He looked back at the shelter door and suddenly Elias understood Corey's urgency. Whatever was out there, it didn't need tracks and it was coming.
Speaker 1:Enjoying the layered tension and unraveling truths of breathlessness, be sure to subscribe to Sam's Fiction Room, where fiction breathes, echoes and strikes deep. Looking for your next immersive read, grab Echoes of 24, the gripping sci-fi time loop thriller. Launch the Echo Series and don't miss your chance to pre-order the Gauntlet of the Alliance, a sweeping dark fantasy tale where the Greyborns fight to reclaim what was once lost. Trust alliances and the Forgebound will be tested. Links are in the show notes. Support the stories. Stay with the signal, chapter 6.
Speaker 2:Corey. They lit a small emergency lantern in the shelter's corner, its flicker casting long shadows against the concrete walls. The storm outside had passed, but the silence it left behind was stranger than the thunder, not peace, pause. Marin crouched beside Corey who sat with his arms around his knees on the nearest cot. He hadn't spoken since they came inside, just stared at the door waiting. You hungry? She asked gently. He shook his head. You cold? No? Marin gave a faint smile, then reached into her pack for a med kit. Well, you've got a pretty bad scrape on your leg. Let me take care of that at least.
Speaker 2:Elias watched from across the room, leaning against a support beam. The shelter still felt wrong, not dangerous, but used, like it remembered something that hadn't happened yet. Marin pulled up Corey's pant leg Dried blood and dirt ringed an older cut. Looks like you've been out there for days. She said softly Where's your grandma now? Corey finally spoke. His voice was thin, uncertain. Last time I saw her we were running. She told me to keep heading east, follow the tracks that I'd find. The old door Said it was safe here. Elias knelt down near them. How long ago was that, I don't know. Corrie looked down. There were these people in suits. She told them I wasn't one of them. Then they tried to take her and she pushed me away. His eyes shimmered but he didn't cry. She said she'd find me.
Speaker 2:Elias shifted, brushing against the far wall. The paint beneath his hand flaked at the edge, damp, brittle, and a strip peeled loose without effort. Behind it, faint lines in crayon curved upward, soft and uneven. A child's drawing, crooked stars, a figure with arms outstretched, a name nearly gone, just three letters left. He didn't recognize it, but the shape of it made his chest tighten. He traced the edge gently. It shouldn't still be here.
Speaker 2:Marin's hands didn't stop moving as she wrapped the wound with gauze. Then we'll find her. Corey looked up. Really, we promise, she said at first light. Elias opened his mouth to speak, but something shifted in the corner of his vision.
Speaker 2:His breath caught Near the stairwell. In the strip of shadow cast by the lantern, a shape had formed Small, slight, familiar. Small, slight, familiar the gremlin. It stood in silence, half-formed, against the flickering light. Its eyes glowed softly, reflecting Elias's breath. And this time it wasn't looking at him, it was looking at Corey and pointing A slow, deliberate motion of a thin hand extending, not accusing, but warning. Elias blinked and the figure was gone. No footsteps, no flicker, just gone. Elias, marin's voice tugged him back. He shook his head it's nothing, but it wasn't. He looked at Corey again. The boy had turned his head toward the stairwell as if he had seen it too.
Speaker 2:And then crackle. A low burst of static broke the silence. They all turned to the far side of the shelter, the old radio, dusty, half buried under blankets, lit up with a dull red glow. Another crackle, then a voice, filtered, broken, not quite language, not quite noise. Sequence zero Over threshold. Child identified Standby Repeat. The message looped once, then went dead. Pete, the message looped once, then went dead.
Speaker 2:Marin looked at Elias. Corey sat perfectly still. No one spoke, but the air. The rain had passed, the woods beyond the train-yard glistened under pale light, but the sky above the tree-line held a strange persistent orange. Not sunrise, not storm-clouds, a glow that pulsed like it came from within the earth itself.
Speaker 2:Elias stood just outside the shelter hatch scanning the horizon. The wind had shifted, the air smelled Thicker, burned metal and static. Through a break in the trees the city skyline came into view. It looked wrong. Buildings loomed like broken teeth beneath a sky tinged in fire. A dull haze hung low as if the atmosphere itself was bruised Behind him.
Speaker 2:The hatch creaked open, elias. Marin's voice was hoarse from sleep. What are you? Boom. A pulse of light tore across the skyline, an explosion, followed by a thunderous shockwave that struck with gut-level force. The trees bent and the ground seemed to jump beneath their feet. Marin stumbled forward, catching herself against Elias. Her eyes snapped toward the horizon. Oh my God, she whispered. What the hell was that A warehouse? Elias said numb. I think Marin's breath caught in her throat. Jesus, that's not just fire. He nodded slowly, voice low, it's spreading.
Speaker 2:They stood in stunned silence watching the smoke bloom into the air like some unnatural flower. He remembered a birthday once. Someone had brought cake, candles, lit, smoke curling upward into the ceiling fan, as a child laughed in the next room. It wasn't Sophia, it wasn't anyone he could name, just the warmth of it, the breath between joy and silence. Marin stepped back shaken. It wasn't just the house, no, elias said, jaw clenched. It never was.
Speaker 2:They descended back into the shelter, the hatch groaning shut behind them. Near the bunk wall, marin wordlessly handed him a sealed chemical filter unit, military grade, tucked behind a vent panel. She'd just pried open. I found these, she said, fresh, unused. Elias turned it over in his hands Toxin neutralizers. This wasn't just a place to hide, it was a place to wait out contamination.
Speaker 2:Corey sat quietly nearby, clutching his sketchpad. He looked up slowly. Are we already infected? He asked. The question lingered like smoke in the room. Elias looked at Marin. Marin looked at the filters. Neither of them had an answer. Only the city did, and it was still burning.
Speaker 2:Chapter 8. The Burial. They waited two days, long enough for the smoke to thin and the winds to shift. Long enough for the filters to be tested, adjusted and strapped on tight. The gear was old but functional canvas suits, rubber seals, cracked visors Everything smelled like dust and plastic. The air outside wasn't visibly toxic, but something had changed. You could feel it on your skin, hear it in the silence, between wind gusts.
Speaker 2:Elias and Marin moved with quiet purpose. Neither mentioned Sophia aloud, but every step through the ruined outskirts of the city carried the same silent refrain we have to get to her, to Sophia Still recovering, still out there, too far from here, too close to whatever this was. They followed Corey's description through cracked streets and overgrown paths. The quarantine markers appeared like bruises, spray-painted signs, torn fencing, scraps of plastic flapping in the wind, in the shadow of a collapsed overpass. They reached the clinic From the window of a nearby hill cabin, half hidden behind overgrowth and brush.
Speaker 2:A man watched through old binoculars, breath held, as the trio entered the ruin below. He saw the boy first, then the two adults beside him, moving like they'd done this before. He didn't blink when the woman reached for the child's hand or when the man hesitated at the threshold, as if some part of him remembered this place. The man in the cabin adjusted the focus. His hand trembled just slightly. Elias, after all these years. He lowered the binoculars and stepped back into the shadows.
Speaker 2:Below, inside the crumbling clinic, they found her Corrie's grandmother lay on a cot beneath a shattered skylight. Her body rested peacefully, hands folded, shoes placed together at the side. Corrie knelt beside her without a word. Marin reached for him but stopped. She understood grief like this. It didn't want comfort, just space. She stood watch instead, body still, eyes alert, shoulders braced against everything. Corrie didn't say. They buried her at the edge of a field beyond the clinic.
Speaker 2:Elias dug in silence. Marin arranged stones into a crude marker. The earth was dry, resistant. When it was done, corey stepped forward and clung to Elias without warning, his arms wrapped tight around the man's waist, head pressed against his ribs. Elias froze, unsure how to hold something this real. He hadn't been touched like this in months, maybe longer, not since…. He closed his eyes, his hand rested gently on the boy's back. I'm still here. He needs me to be, and she's still waiting. From the distant cabin window, the man still watched. He didn't interfere, not yet.
Speaker 2:Elias stepped back and removed his mask. The air tasted strange, but he needed to feel it to know it hadn't changed him, that he hadn't changed. That's when he saw it the gremlin standing near the treeline, still and sorrowful, its dark eyes shimmered, weeping in the light. Not warning, not fear recognition. It placed one hand on its chest and stared this pain is yours, elias. Didn't run, didn't flinch. Pain is yours, elias. Didn't run, didn't flinch, because something in him finally saw it clearly. Not the shape, not the distortion, but the familiarity behind the eyes. And it wasn't just about him anymore. That night, elias told Marin everything the dreams, the hallucinations, the whispers, the feeling that something had been following him long before they ever reached the house. She listened without blinking, not because she didn't feel it, but because she had already suspected the truth. Then she said we'll face it for Corrie, for Sophia. Elias nodded because somewhere beyond the horizon his daughter was waiting and someone else now knew he was alive.
Speaker 2:Chapter 9. Shelter and Secrets. They hadn't made it far beyond the burial site when the cabin door creaked open. A voice called down from the porch dry as rust. No need to sneak, I've watched you since the clinic, elias froze.
Speaker 2:Marin stepped instinctively in front of Corey. An old man stood in the doorway, a rifle resting against the frame. His clothes were layered and worn, patched together like his home, behind thick glasses and a snowdrift beard. His eyes tracked Elias like a man reading a half-remembered book. He pointed a crooked finger. You look like someone I buried in a file drawer decades ago. Elias kept his hands visible. You know me. The man tilted his head. Not you exactly, but I've seen your shadow Enough times to recognize the shape it leaves. He turned and stepped back into the cabin without another word.
Speaker 2:Inside, the heat from a small stove hummed softly, warping the scent of old electronics and dry paper. The cabin looked like it had grown out of the earth, twined in wires, analogue monitors, hand-marked maps and the ache of too many years. Alone. The man poured three cups of something warm and bitter. Corey curled up on a blanket near the hearth sketchpad in his lap, silent but observant. Marin stayed close, her eyes never straying far from the old man's hands. I'm Wally, he said, lowering himself into a chair Used to be maintenance on a black project, back when people still believed in protocols, he sipped, let the silence expand. Project Vale, he added. Elias exchanged a glance with Marin. That name keeps coming up. What was it? Wally ran a hand down his face like dragging memory out of sleep.
Speaker 2:It started as signal therapy, tech-assisted trauma work for kids who'd seen too much. The idea was reshape pain, filter memories, recondition emotional responses, neural scaffolding layered with empathy patterns. In theory it helped them cope and in practice, marin asked voice sharp. In practice, wally sighed. We built a maze inside their heads and called it medicine. Elias stepped forward. I was part of this. Wally hesitated, then nodded once Phase one, you were a high responder, full resonance Across the room. Corey didn't speak, but his pencil slowed.
Speaker 2:Wally opened a drawer and withdrew a brittle folder. Inside grainy photographs, faded logs. He handed one to Elias, a boy no older than six sat cross-legged on the floor of a white room. Electrodes clung to his temples. The expression in his eyes was far older than the rest of him. I don't remember this. Elias murmured you weren't supposed to. Wally replied After what happened? They ordered all subjects. Wiped paper trail, burned, names, ghosted. They ordered all subjects wiped paper trail, burned, names, ghosted.
Speaker 2:Marin moved toward the back of the room, eyes scanning the shelves. You said something, followed him something that still might be. Wally's hand hovered over the folder, then slowly reached for a battered notepad. He tore out a yellowing page. A single word was written in capital ink Theta. Elias read it aloud and the air seemed to thin. Wally leaned forward, voice hushed. It was never supposed to persist.
Speaker 2:Theta was an anchor, a generated presence designed to comfort, to guide. It took the form. Each subject needed A mentor, a parent, a gremlin. We called it safe. Hallucination contained delusion. But something cracked the loop. It started showing up uninvited. It evolved. Marin said it remembered. Wally corrected.
Speaker 2:Marin pulled a rolled up map from the shelf and spread it on the table Red rings and black slashes bleeding across a city grid, signal disruption patterns. She said this matches the broadcasts, the behavior shifts, all of it Symptoms. Wally nodded of something waking back up. Elias's voice was quiet. You think Theta's still alive. Wally gave the slightest shrug. Alive isn't the right word, but it's listening again and if it's coming back it didn't forget you.
Speaker 2:Behind them, corey paused his drawing. His fingers hovered above the paper. He didn't speak, but the figure on the page had weeping eyes and the mouth Wide open, calling something home, chapter 10. Ambush, the forest held its breath, not the calm kind, the kind that knows what's coming. Even the wind had stopped moving. Inside the cabin, wally squinted at a flickering motion loop on an old surveillance screen Static warped half the display. Then the alert pinged the display. Then the alert pinged Sharp and cold. Four infrared signatures, north Ridge Fast. Wally's cigarette hit the ashtray. We've got company.
Speaker 2:Marin rose from where she was checking Corey's breathing. Her tone snapped taut. How many? Three Tight formation Military, trained Three Tight formation Military trained. Fourth's a scout drone. He crossed to the corner, pulled back a rug and revealed a keypad embedded in the floor. His fingers moved like muscle memory. Metal shutters groaned to life. Behind the windows, plates locked into place, old servos whining as dormant defenses woke from sleep. I thought you were retired, elias muttered, already checking for weapons. I was, wally said, but I never stopped planning for the day they'd come back for my ghosts. Outside boots broke the brush line. The three-man tactical team moved like a scalpel Black visors, carbon suits, total silence Inside. Marin handed Corey a pack and crouched beside him. Hatch room, don't come out unless it's one of us, you understand. He nodded, clutching his sketchpad eyes, huge but unblinking Go, she said he ran.
Speaker 2:The first breach hit like a memory. A metal charge sizzled through the front hinges, detonated in a burst of heat and light. Elias barely flinched. Somewhere in the past that sound had lived too long. The first intruder slipped through, quick, precise. Elias met him in the kitchen. No hesitation, a metal pipe to the jaw Bone crunched. The attacker reeled. Elias kicked the weapon across the floor.
Speaker 2:The second entered near the dining room. Marin had already rolled behind the overturned table. Pistol drawn A clean shot, two to the leg. The man collapsed in a burst of breath. They moved together, fluid and exact, no wasted words, no confusion. Not your first time, wally called from the back. Not even close. Marin answered her eyes, never leaving the doorframe.
Speaker 2:The third came from the rear, heavier, fully geared. Elias turned, moving to intercept, and time broke, his vision fractured. The air thickened, not from smoke but from something older. Theta stood in the breach, fully formed, a pale flicker of memory stitched to light. Thin arms, dark eyes, a face that wavered just beneath comprehension. It didn't smile, it spoke. You're not where you belong, elias. He froze. The sound wasn't in the room, it was behind his ribs. Then the attacker lunged too fast, but Marin was already there, slamming the man sideways into the wall, wrestling the weapon down. The gun fired once splinters scattered. Elias blinked and Theta was gone, but the voice lingered. They will keep coming.
Speaker 2:When the smoke cleared, the cabin was scorched and splintered. Two attackers unconscious, one escaped, blood trailing into the trees. Wally checked the console Comms are jammed. They weren't scouting, they were hunting. Marin wiped her blade on her sleeve, her breath still measured, but her stance on edge, someone's, mapped our route. Corey stepped out of the hatch, eyes sharp. He didn't cry, but he looked at Elias like something had shifted, like he'd seen more than he was supposed to. Elias didn't speak because part of him hadn't moved. Part of him was still in the breach, still staring at Theta, and now Theta was staring back.
Speaker 1:That was arc one of Breathless, where echoes whispered, reflections twitched and the first fracture in Elias's mind let the past bleed forward. In the next arc, the mystery deepens. The child Corey remembers what no child should. The signal isn't just returning. Waking, and buried in the ruins of Project Veil, the ghosts of a program called Theta begin to stir. Join us in Arc 2, threads that Shouldn't Pull. Chapters 11 to 20 of Breathless, where every step forward reveals memory was never the enemy, it was the design.