The 4,000-Meter Door: A Saturation Diver Uncovers His Cult-Leader Father's Abyssal Vault
The world inside my suit felt like a slow-motion nightmare. My body felt like lead, my thoughts thick with cotton. The altered gas mix, low on oxygen, was making my head swim, each breath a struggle. I knew this feeling—the insidious creep of narcosis—but this was sharper, faster.
Captain O’Shea’s voice, gravelly and triumphant, crackled through my helmet. “Having some trouble down there, Arthur? Too much pressure for an old man?”
My vision blurred at the edges. O’Shea, Jeremiah’s unyielding devotee, was actively trying to incapacitate me. This wasn’t an accident. This was deliberate.
I fought against the sluggishness, my gloved hand fumbling for the manual override on my suit’s mechanical arm hydraulics. The controls felt stiff, unresponsive.
“He wants you to comply, Arthur,” O’Shea continued, his voice echoing with a cruel edge. “It’s for the Rebirth. Don’t fight the will of the Covenant.”
With a surge of desperate energy, I jammed my thumb down, bypassing the system. The hydraulics whined, groaning under the strain.
My arm jerked, tearing at the thick umbilical. Sparks flared in the black water as the surface telemetry wire snapped.
My comms went dead, replaced by the rush of my own ragged breathing. A small victory, but my suit was failing.
I could feel the power draining, the life support flickering. The thrusters were already sluggish.
The dive bell loomed nearby, a squat steel cylinder anchored to the trench floor. My only chance.
I kicked hard, my heavy boots stirring up dark clouds of silt, propelling myself towards its open hatch. Each movement was a monumental effort.
My body felt like it was moving through molasses, oxygen debt burning in my lungs. The distance felt immense.
I slammed into the bell’s side, scraping titanium against steel. My helmet light flickered, casting wild shadows.
I wrestled with the hatch, my fingers stiff and clumsy, the air growing thin. I pulled it shut, the heavy seals hissing as they engaged.
Darkness enveloped me as the suit’s power finally died. Only the dim emergency lights of the bell illuminated the cramped interior.
I tore off my helmet, gulping at the recirculated air inside the bell. It tasted metallic, but it was breathable.
As my breathing stabilized, a faint, rhythmic tapping pulsed through the thick steel hull, vibrating from the ocean floor bedrock.
It was a high-frequency acoustic telegraph, a series of short and long bursts. Not some holy chant.
My mind, still clearing from the hypoxic fog, ran through the patterns. Dot-dot-dot, dash-dash-dash, dot-dot-dot.
S. O. S.
A cold dread settled in my gut, replacing the oxygen-starved haze. This wasn’t an empty bunker.
There were people in there. Living people. Trapped.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours