Nighthawk22 — - Isolation Midi

The rain didn’t fall. It watched .

The silence has started talking.

It was sitting against a streetlamp, perfectly preserved by the toxic air. A woman in a technician's uniform. Her eyes were open. They weren’t clouded or blank. They were alert . And she was smiling. A wide, serene, deeply wrong smile. There was no wound, no sign of struggle. She looked like someone who had died of pure, unbothered peace.

The second hour, he found the first body. nighthawk22 - isolation midi

He looked up at the sky. The bruise-colored clouds had parted. He saw stars. Thousands of them. They were not points of light. They were eyes . And they were all looking at him.

The hatch hissed shut. The magnetic clamps disengaged. And then there was only the hum.

Not the hum of the ship. Not the hum of life support. The hum was inside his helmet, a low, throbbing sine wave that seemed to sync with his heartbeat. It was the sound of a world without noise. The sound of Isolation . The rain didn’t fall

The black box was in the central server room. He found it easily, a hardened data cylinder nestled in a cradle of sparking wires. As he reached for it, he saw the terminal screen.

He forced his hand still.

Seventy-two hours later, the transport window opened. The cargo ship Event Horizon received a single, automated ping from the colony’s surface. It was Kael’s emergency beacon. It was sitting against a streetlamp, perfectly preserved

He was the only one who stepped out.

It was the sound of Isolation , given flesh.

A single line of text, repeated over and over, scrolling up the monitor:

Kael’s hand drifted to the sidearm at his hip. He didn't draw it, but he felt the cold plastic of the grip. He took a wide arc around her.