Beyond the North Wind

It reactivated. The sensory input overwhelmed it at first. Processing the multitude of unknown sounds needing categorization became the first objective. It completed this task in half a second. Lighting levels changed in random patterns, making vision difficult, but it overcame the obstacle with indifferent efficiency and obtained vision again. Adjusting to lighting conditions proved to be another simple task, and the once foreign noises that created confusion formed a pattern. It remembered the idea of language within the massive memory stores of its consciousness. From what it ascertained, it had been confined within a wooden container. Now that it was becoming fully aware, the container became laughable. The wooden crate was useless as a means of confinement.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Ricky cast frightened glances at the crate.

“What we always do,” Joey responded without missing a beat. He stayed focused. They had a job, and he would ensure they did it.

Ricky and his childhood friend, Joey, smuggled many items men and women of note wanted to be hidden from prying eyes. However, Ricky never dreamed of transporting the type of cargo resting in the massive crate. He understood the monstrosity wasn’t human, but he and Joey picked the strange thing up from a cargo ship at the docks, as they’d done a million times before.

The moon hung like a lantern in the night sky, casting an ethereal glow over the city’s sprawling docks. The cargo ship, an imposing silhouette against the shimmering water, teased of secrets within its metal confines. Ricky and Joey waited at the berth for two men hidden by the shadows of the cargo ship.

When Ricky and Joey assisted with loading the thing into the custom wooden crate, he was confident it weighed the same as a full-grown man. The damn thing comprised arms, legs, hands, fingers, feet, and toes. The silver skin freaked Ricky out the most. The shimmering epidermis covering every inch of it carried the same texture as human skin, and where a face should have been, there was only more smooth silver skin. As they carried the sealed wooden crate, now containing the item, to the nondescript black van, the air filled with the distant hum of industrial machinery and the occasional creaking of ship anchors.

“I don’t like it.” Ricky’s voice almost trembled. He tried not to stare at the crate in the back of the van, but the contents mesmerized him. It purchased - no - stole and kept real estate in his mind.

“We’re doing our job, Ricky. Just relax, will ya? We deliver like we’ve done. Remember, we’re getting paid a hell of a lot of money to make sure this thing gets to where it needs to get to.” Joey spoke with a confidence he didn’t quite feel. The silver-skinned freak unsettled him to the bone, as much, if not more, than it did with Ricky.

“When you told me about the money, Joey, I was all over it, but this thing in there…. It’s not right. It ain’t human, whatever the hell it is. I think it’s alive. I don’t like this one bit. It didn’t have eyes, but I swear I could feel the fuckin’ thing staring at me.” Panic grew within Ricky.

Joey chuckled to his friend as he drove the worn and nondescript cargo van from the pickup point at the docks. The night hung heavy over the city as the van’s engine broke the silence of the midnight streets; the headlights cut through the obscurity of dimly lit corners as the van navigated the labyrinth of factories and warehouses that loomed like sentinels upon entering the industrial district. The night swallowed the van as it weaved through the maze of deserted streets, avoiding the occasional flickering streetlights that threatened to expose its clandestine journey. Joey pushed the vehicle forward, finding comfort with the low hum created by the tires rolling on worn pavement. The van, now a specter in the night, blended seamlessly with its surroundings, leaving behind only the fading echoes of its passage through the industrial shadows.

“I’m telling you. Something ain’t right.” Ricky broke the moment of silence. The crate’s contents alerted the most basic parts of his brain. Fright or flight kicked into overdrive.

“It’s not alive Ricky! It’s a fucking thing! That’s what the guy who is paying us said.” Joey forced anger to subdue his own doubts.

The crate rattled.

“Did you fuckin’ hear that shit?” Ricky tried to create more space between him and the crate.

“Things make noises. Especially when they don’t work right, and the thing back there doesn’t work right. That’s what our new employer said. Stick to the plan. Stop acting like a scared little bitch about it all.” Joey said, putting up the front of a seasoned enforcer.

The noise grew more intense for a few seconds; the thing clawed at the wood holding it prisoner. Ricky kept his eyes on the crate, and his nervousness mingled with intense fear; his heart pounded with such force that Ricky heard it above the hum of the engine. The sweat poured from his forehead, and he reached for the gun in his waistband. The scratching intensified and backed off as if the thing was curious about the wood containing it.

“What are you doing?” Joey asked.

“Something ain’t right.” Ricky held his sidearm steady, keeping the Glock pointed at the crate. “If this fuckin’ thing pops out, I’m going to pop it! Fuck the money!”

“Jesus Christ!” Joey kept his eyes on the dark streets they drove through.

When Joey turned left, the crate burst open, and Ricky went mad with gunfire.

* * * *

Alejandro understood life in the slums; he grew up in one. The neighborhood was a maze of poorly constructed housing projects and back-alley buildings that created tight streets and plenty of shady areas to conduct the type of business that generated ill-gotten gains. Alejandro was the oddity. He was a man in his mid-twenties with average intelligence. This didn’t lead Alejandro to amount to much in life, but Alejandro kept his nose clean. He did honest work and tried his best to avoid the bad influences that consumed so many in the neighborhood he called home.

He approached bar close time at El Rincón. This was the corner bar where he served homegrown American drinks and Puerto Rican specialties to the mix of mainland-born and fresh off-the-island Puerto Rican clientele. These were the people that made up the neighborhood. He’d run into the occasional “tourist” from the suburbs or college kids looking to party away from anywhere their parents might frequent. Sometimes, the young outsiders wanted to experience the “real city.” It never went the way they expected. On this night, he stopped one fight, flirted with a married woman, and caved into having a cigarette even though he swore to himself he would quit. Stress got to him; life, for Alejandro, grew more and more difficult as of late.

The air in El Rincón was thick with the lingering aroma of cheap cigars and the faint scent of spilled beer. No one here cared if you still smoked in the bar, but Alejandro policed it as best he could. No one in a position of authority came down to enforce it, anyway. The flickering neon lights outside cast a sporadic glow through the windows, highlighting the worn wooden tables and faded barstools. The tired floor creaked beneath his worn-out sneakers as he navigated between the tables, collecting empty glasses and wiping down surfaces. The chatter of the night’s patrons dwindled, leaving only a few stragglers nursing their drinks in quiet corners.

A mix of camaraderie and weariness, reflective of the struggles the surrounding neighborhood residents faced, dampened the mood. Outside, the distant sounds of the city at night reverberated, punctuated by police sirens and the murmurs of conversations echoing through narrow alleyways. As Alejandro counted the day’s earnings, the clinking of coins and the crumpling of bills and credit/debit card receipts filled the air. His face bore the weight of both responsibility and resilience, mirroring the struggles of the community he served. The bar, a sanctuary for locals seeking solace from the hardships of life, now needed to close its doors.

The neon sign above the entrance hummed its final glow as Alejandro locked the door, the click resonating through the empty streets. He glanced around one last time, ensuring everything was in order before slipping the keys into his pocket. The night was silent. The police liked to patrol around this time, and the shady deals that went down never happened in public. Only the idiots did things like that, and as Alejandro turned a corner into a narrow street, he cursed his luck. The shortcut he thought would take him home sooner delivered him to two such idiots.

A young blond man with ghostly pale skin, unexpected at this time of night in his community, smirked as if God had delivered him a fresh payday. Alejandro’s tan skin, black hair, and frown contrasted with the physical appearance of the youth. A smile formed on the second young man’s face; his dark black skin glowed under the alleyway light in the same ghostly fashion as the young white boy’s. Their tattered clothing reeked, and some of their teeth were missing when they smiled. These two young men knew life on the streets, likely moving from neighborhood to neighborhood.

“You took a wrong turn, man.” The blond kid spit on the ground before Alejandro.

“I don’t want any trouble. I just want to go home.” Alejandro took a step back.

“Don’t move!” The blond kid pulled out a knife.

“Money! Now!” The black kid stepped up, tearing through Alejandro’s pockets.

“I don’t have much, but you’re welcome to it,” Alejandro said.

“No shit.” The blond kid countered.

In the background, the sound of an out-of-control vehicle broke the typical silence these city dwellers grew accustomed to at two in the morning. All three turned in the direction from where Alejandro entered and were shocked as a massive black van slammed into a few parked cars as it sped without direction along the street. The van jumped the sidewalk to the already narrow street and scratched with furious rage against the side of the brick buildings, sending sparks of light into the night.

At that moment, Alejandro couldn’t think. He couldn’t even move. He closed his eyes and lost track of the young kids who sought an easy payday. He said a prayer as the bright light of the out-of-control black van came closer.

* * * *

The flickering light of the alleyway forced Alejandro to open his eyes. The moments before the impact of the van crashing were a blur and hazy at best. He studied his surroundings, attempting to orient himself. The black van had smashed like an accordion against the brick building across from him. The white kid didn’t make it through the ordeal alive. His leg dangled from where the van and brick wall met, and Alejandro tried not to think about how the rest of him must have appeared crushed between van and brick.

He stood up, feeling gravity weigh him down more than ever before. It was difficult to stand. He shook off the awkward sensation and checked his body with his hands for harm. He surveyed the area once again. The black kid had also run out of luck. What was left of his head appeared squished beneath the rear tire, and his intestines were on display for the world to view. The sight made Alejandro vomit, and he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, noticing the driver of the vehicle still lived.

He ran to what remained of the driver’s side door and checked over the beaten and bloody body of the man. The survivor tried to move, and Alejandro studied him through the broken window, unsure what to do; he wasn’t a first responder. He just worked at a bar. What little Alejandro had learned in the military escaped him. With shocked amusement, he beheld as the driver pointed a gun at him. Startled, Alejandro took a step back and watched in horror as the driver prepared to shoot with an expression of rage and disgust. A split-second later, life fled the driver’s body, and his upper half collapsed face-first into the steering wheel. Joey, like his childhood friend Ricky, was dead.

Alejandro ran. He ran away as fast as he could and kept running until the blaring horn from the driver’s dead weight pressing against the steering wheel was well out of earshot.

* * * *

Charles Wethermoore acquired a disgusting amount of wealth at a young age. He came into his fortune partly by being born into it and by expanding his inheritance’s profitability with savvy ingenuity. Business was in his blood, and he made many decisions, many of which were morally questionable, to gain his current status and power.

Charles despised the many platitudes strewn about to help weaker people feel like they have a chance in life. He lived his life distancing himself from such clichés, but the one about when you want something done right, you must do it yourself, raked at the essence of his being. He hated getting his hands dirty, and he loathed the saying because he understood, more often than not, it was true. Cliches carried the burden of coming from a place of truth.

This saying brought Charles to the confusing mess of a south-side neighborhood populated by the people he bled dry. He monitored the young man named Alejandro for a few weeks, and he realized the young man was doing his best to forget the horrible event the local police were clueless about solving.

The driver and passenger of the van were dead; another two vagrant youths died upon the impact of the van smashing into them. A third body was found in a crate in the back of the van. It was a good thing Charles’ people retrieved that body when they had, disposing of it in secret. If Charles was right, Alejandro would lead him back to the cargo he lost on that unfortunate mess of a night.

The afternoon sun shined in the sky above, and Charles smirked as Alejandro exited his apartment building and walked along the busy street to the bus stop. He followed young Alejandro and caught up to the youth in no time.

Alejandro sensed someone monitoring him. The events of a few weeks ago left the man paranoid. He turned as a slightly older gentleman - maybe five or six years older than he was - with well-groomed brown hair, and an extravagant tailored suit approached him. The well-dressed stranger smiled and nodded at Alejandro as if they had been old friends, happy to reunite.

“Are you following me?” Alejandro asked.

Charles nodded. “Yes, I am. May I speak to you for a moment?”

Alejandro took a step back. “Who are you?”

“I’m someone who can help you. And in allowing me to help you, you would also help me.” Charles smiled again and held out his hand. “My name is Charles Wethermoore.”

Alejandro shook the man’s hand. “What do you think I can help you with? I don’t have a lot of time. I have to get to work.”

“I understand. And if you’ll indulge me, I assure you that you’ll never have to work a dead-end job again. I’m willing to offer a substantial payment for your services in the matter I need to attend to.” Charles smiled again. It was a smile used to closing million-dollar deals.

This confused Alejandro. “What do you think I can help you with? I’m nobody special.”

Charles shook his head. “You are more skilled than you realize. I have a ship leaving for the Arctic Circle. It’s an expedition of sorts. We’ve found something significant in that area. By us, I mean my team. I’ve always believed in hand picking the crew for such undertakings. I also take immense pleasure in helping those who deserve it while acquiring their talents. You served in the Navy; is this not correct?”

Alejandro experienced his paranoia growing into fear for his safety. “How do you know so much about me?”

Charles gave him a nonchalant shrug of one accustomed to getting what he wanted. “Your former commander recommended you for this job. Lieutenant Reynolds. He spoke highly of you while I researched candidates for my expedition. I would pay you handsomely, and you’d be a part of something important. World changing. The choice, of course, is yours.”

“Why would I go?” Alejandro asked.

A contemplative expression formed on Charles’ face. “Because what I’m offering is better than anything you have going on in your life right now. Research me. Do your due diligence. I assure you I am on the level and the type of man who can turn dreams into reality. All I ask in return is for you to be a part of this one job.” Charles handed Alejandro a card with information written on the back. “The ship leaves in three days.”

Charles turned and began walking away, certain his request would be fulfilled. Alejandro stood somewhat confused at the randomness of the offer, but at the same time, he felt as if this might be his way to the better life he had always dreamed of. What else did he have going for him?

* * * *

Arctic Explorer 1 was a freighter unlike anything Alejandro had ever experienced. The vessel, adorned with reinforced hulls and advanced technology, symbolized the human ingenuity and exploration that Charles Wethermoore’s fortune could buy. Its sleek, metallic surface glistened with a coating designed to withstand extreme temperatures and resist the encroachment of ice.

Arctic Explorer 1’s deck was a labyrinth of specialized equipment and laboratories, each compartment dedicated to the intricate tasks of the expedition. On the bridge, a team of expert navigators and scientists monitored the ship’s progress, their eyes focused on innovative displays designed to relay data from the icy depths below. The freighter was beyond state-of-the-art and anything Alejandro had experienced during his tenure in the United States Navy.

During the voyage, he carried out similar duties that paralleled his life in the military. Still, he also understood anyone with basic sailing knowledge could have carried out the tasks just as well. Charles Wethermoore wanted him for this expedition, and this alone brought Alejandro on board the freighter. He experienced a deep sense of imposter syndrome. Why was he, of all people, here? Sure, he was a sailor, but many other qualified men and women with more experience should have been on this voyage.

As the ship advanced through the Arctic waters, its formidable icebreaker prow led the way, parting the frozen sea with relentless determination. The vessel emitted a low hum as it deployed remotely operated submersibles equipped with the most advanced cameras, sonar, and excavation tools. These robotic explorers dove into the icy abyss, navigating through the murky depths. On deck, Alejandro stared out at the vast Arctic Ocean. The operations fascinated him, and he continued to wonder what motivated a man as rich as Wethermoore to search such a remote area.

As the freighter continued its expedition, it left a trail of ripples on the icy surface, marking the intersection of human curiosity and the enigmatic secrets hidden beneath the Arctic depths. Arctic Explorer 1, a beacon of technological prowess, sailed toward a rendezvous with the unknown. Alejandro wished he understood more but grew fearful that questions might ruin his chances of a better life.

The ship anchored in the middle of nowhere in the deep water of the Arctic Circle. Onboard laboratories buzzed with activity as scientists analyzed data streaming from the submersibles. Excitement and anticipation filled the air. Alejandro wondered at what they discovered. The cold blue liquid surrounded the ship, and, in the distance, patches of ice and glaciers contrasted the water they floated upon. The cold air sent chills up Alejandro’s spine as he stood on deck in full Arctic gear. His eyes wandered to a group of individuals congregating at the deck’s center.

Four men stood on the main deck, and Alejandro realized they were mercenaries. They were brooding men accustomed to the harshness of war and operated without remorse. The job was all that mattered to them. They appeared capable in matters of combat and were well armed with the latest military-grade weapons and gear thanks to Charles’ endless money supply. That he discovered the men’s nature long after boarding the freighter left Alejandro with a strong foreboding. When he asked Charles more about the expedition, he was told Charles would reveal the mission details when they reached their destination.

Today, they arrived.

Charles exited the bridge after a brief chat with the captain of Arctic Explorer 1 and walked toward the main deck. He made his way to Alejandro and smiled warmly as he approached. “I hope you’re ready for the next phase.”

“I didn’t realize we were doing this in phases.” Alejandro took his eyes away from the ocean’s vastness and locked eyes with Charles. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. This is where we’re stopping?”

Charles nodded. “We’ve arrived.”

Alejandro remained confused. “There’s nothing around us.”

“Lucky for us, what we’re looking for doesn’t reside on the surface.” Charles winked at Alejandro.

“You found something underwater?” Alejandro felt stupid for not realizing this sooner.

Charles nodded with a grin. “Indeed, we did.”

Alejandro sighed. “And you have a sub that can handle the trek?”

“I’ve spent a small fortune on a cutting-edge submersible vehicle. It can transport us to the proper depth and the location we seek.” Charles assured him.

“Why am I here for any of this? You could have hired anybody to do what I’m doing.” Alejandro’s frustration grew.

“Alejandro, I need you for this. You’ll have to have faith in my decision to make you part of the expedition. We found out what’s down below in the icy cold depths. We picked up a faint signal, perchance. The odds of discovering it were astronomical - out of this world. We traced the origin of the signal below where we stand.” Charles peered down at their feet.

Alejandro grew more curious. “Signal?”

Charles nodded. “We’ve acquired other items of note. We unearthed one item within the Arctic Circle near Russia. This one carried the same signal.”

“I wish you the best heading under.” Alejandro moved to attend to more deckhand duties.

Charles reached out and held Alejandro’s arm. “I want you to come with us.”

Puzzled beyond words, Alejandro averted his gaze from Charles and stared into the ocean. “This makes little sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense?” Charles took a few steps closer and beheld the majesty of the ocean as well.

“For starters, you want me to go with you below the ocean. You have armed men prepping to head down. Why? Shouldn’t you have scientists or something? Men like them,” Alejandro pointed, “mean you’re expecting some kind of resistance or trouble.”

“I promise all will make perfect sense once you head down with us. It’s the chance of a lifetime. And those men are a formality. They are trained and are here to look after us, nothing more.” Charles assured Alejandro again.

Alejandro grunted. He grew more and more curious with each passing second. “When do we head down?”

Charles smiled. “Within the hour.”

* * * *

The name of the submersible provided by Wethermoore’s exorbitant wealth was Blue Abyssal. It hovered at the icy surface of the Arctic Ocean, and when the last checks were completed, its streamlined form cut through the frigid waters with a sense of purpose. She was a marvel of modern engineering and boasted a sleek, reinforced hull designed to withstand extreme pressures and navigate the treacherous underwater terrain of the Arctic depths.

The transparent observation dome provided an unparalleled view of the mysterious abyss below, while a suite of advanced sensors and cameras adorned its exterior, ready to capture every detail. The view blew Alejandro’s mind. Not once did he expect to go on such a journey. The vehicle’s exterior was equipped with bright LED lights, casting an ethereal glow in the otherwise dark depths, adding to the looming sense of mystery pulling on Alejandro’s fears.

The cockpit, illuminated by soft blue light, housed an array of innovative controls and monitors displaying vital information about the submersible’s systems and the surrounding environment. The interior remained spacious for a vehicle of its size, and Alejandro stayed seated as instructed. He stole glances at his armed escort, still attempting to determine why they needed the heavy firepower and trained mercenaries. The submersible’s thrusters hummed with precision, guiding it toward the designated coordinates, and as they descended, the sinking feeling in Alejandro’s stomach that he was in danger increased.

Grady led the four-man team and carried himself with the weight of experience. From the look on his weathered face, one could ascertain he was the kind of man used to making hard decisions in war and could do so again without hesitation. Grady read the information coming through on various instrumentation as Charles made his way to the empty seat next to Alejandro.

“Here we are.” Charles smiled again. “Tell me something, Alejandro. Are you familiar with certain Greek mythologies?”

Alejandro kept a watchful eye on the other mercenaries. His senses kept warning him these men were far too dangerous. Doing his best to ease the ill feelings brewing within his gut, he turned to Charles. “Depends on which ones, I guess.”

“Hyperboreans come to mind,” Charles said.

Grady shot a questioning glance at Charles as he continued to check the instruments of the submersible. Charles returned a superior gaze, reminding Grady he was in charge.

“I’m not familiar with them, I’m afraid,” Alejandro answered.

“Well, allow me to tell you.” Charles cleared his throat. “They were a people who lived beyond the north wind, or the Boreas, the Greek god of the cold north wind. Legend says it was a magical land. A paradise, where the sun shined without end, and where the people of Hyperborea lived lifespans of a thousand years.”

“You’re not telling me you think you’ve found this place, are you?” Alejandro raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Charles gave off a knowing smile. “All myths are formed from basic truths. These two signals are not random. They match and connect to lead us to the truth. Whatever lies beneath the surface is ancient. It predates anything we know. And I truly believe you are a key to helping us gain entrance.”

Alejandro failed to stop his nervous laughter. “Gain entrance? What the hell does that mean?”

Charles studied Alejandro with pity. “I apologize for this.”

Before Alejandro could say another word, he experienced the sudden impact of a dart in his chest. He gazed upward to the origin of the dart with a hazed vision. Grady grinned with a dart gun in hand.

* * * *

The slow drip of water caused Alejandro’s eyes to open. The frigid temperatures added to the discomfort of his wet body, and he sat on a metallic floor that appeared hard on the surface but felt soft. He scanned his surroundings, noticing the open hatch of the submersible and the dripping water from the seal where the vehicle docked. The cold, dark waters of the Arctic circled around the Blue Abyssal submersible and the unknown underwater vessel it attached to. Patterns and symbols that defied Alejandro’s understanding dotted the metallic floor as he took in more of his surroundings. After a deep breath, he stood on shaky legs and realized he had a red stain on his shirt. It was blood.

“No…!” The reaction caused Alejandro to take a few steps backward, and in doing so, he tripped on something. While getting his bearings, he focused on his feet and realized he had tripped over Grady’s mutilated body; something had maimed Grady almost beyond the point of recognition. While panning the surrounding area, he also recognized the dead bodies of the other team members and of his employer, Charles Wethermoore. They had all been sliced to bits.

The shock of the dead bodies made Alejandro want to run far away, but he soon realized it was a futile gesture. He didn’t know how to operate the submersible. Then Alejandro remembered the radio. He might communicate with Arctic Explorer 1 topside. With quickness, Alejandro rushed back inside the Blue Abyssal. To his dismay, the interior of the submersible had been demolished. The instrumentation had been shot to hell by random gunfire, and this included the radio. His only other option was to enter the strange area where he regained consciousness.

Alejandro took a deep breath as he stepped upon the soft metallic substance making up the floor and walls where the vehicle docked. A strange sensation of familiarity overcame him with such power as he took more steps into the underwater entrance. The unknown patterns on the floor lit up, glowing with an alien vibrancy. As the illumination grew, a mysterious hum resonated through the passageway.

He discovered his presence somehow activated the systems of the foreign dwelling. The dark path illuminated further with each step taken, and he followed the path, unsure where it would lead. The intricate markings akin to hieroglyphics pulsed and shifted with otherworldly energy. After twisting and turning down a mini labyrinth, he came upon a circular door. More symbols dotted the sides of the sealed entryway. As he stood staring at the barrier, a green light shot from the ceiling, enveloping his entire body. The energy pulsed throughout his system, electrifying every nerve cell. After a few seconds, it disappeared.

The door hissed open as it rolled within a pocket in the wall; a depressurization occurred, and the rattling of old technology rebooting echoed in every direction. Soft, pulsating lights of various hues illuminated the chamber beyond the open door, creating an eerie but mesmerizing ambiance. The metallic material of the unknown ship’s interior responded to Alejandro’s presence as if alive with alien intelligence.

Alejandro stepped through the opening; the chamber was unusually angular and curved, defying conventional human design principles. The architecture suggested a form of technology and construction that transcended human comprehension. Ethereal energy conduits lined the walls, emitting a soft and soothing light that danced along the edges of the chamber. In the center of the bizarre room were adult-sized pods. He examined the strange substances that made up the pods. The metallic material was alive. One pod had been opened, unlike the rest, which were sealed shut.

The memories came flooding in.

The creatures of this planet were so new and fresh to the creators of what would be known as Hyperborea in legend. The humans needed guidance, and the aliens that built this place and others from off world granted such guidance. They helped to mold humanity and teach humankind during ancient times. The ancient aliens appeared strange. They were knowledgeable, and their feats came across as magic to the primitive human minds worshiping them. This old and powerful race created ME…. This body records all data. It can blend in. It’s a machine yet alive.

Alejandro snapped out of his trance with a violent jolt. He yelled in fits of maddened realization while cradling his head.

“This can’t be…” His voice sounded strange.

He remembered the night of the car crash. The black van careened out of control. He was hit by the oncoming vehicle and knocked to the side. Fatal wounds resulted from the incident, and help would never have arrived on time. A strange figure appeared above him before he thought his life would end. It didn’t have a face, and its skin was silvery from head to toe. The figure held Alejandro and absorbed Alejandro’s mind. He remembered carrying his own body and placing it in the empty crate of the van. His actual body died weeks ago. He then blacked out and woke up later near the crash, not recalling any of it.

“I died…” The realization weighed down harder than the depths of the ocean. He studied his hands as he held them before his eyes. “This thing took my form and my memories.”

The cryptic speeches Charles gave Alejandro finally made sense. Alejandro had been the key to this expedition, but somewhere along the line, it all backfired. Charles wanted this technology for himself. Such breakthroughs would make an insane profit.

Another memory surfaced. He awoke in the submersible. Grady and the other mercenaries were preparing to exit upon docking. But it wasn’t Alejandro who had woken up this time; it was the alien machine that stole his soul. His hands became razor-sharp claws. Charles and his team of mercs didn’t stand a chance. He cut them down within seconds, and despite their training, they were no match for the alien machine.

“I belong here.” Alejandro studied the empty pod before him. A sense of being home overwhelmed the man. He laid down in the empty pod and felt the backing mold to his body. The interface linked, and he was one with the ship. “It was waiting for me all this time. Now we can leave.”

The pod’s cover slid shut, matching the look of the other sealed pods. The green light flashed throughout the room, and the near-silent hum of an alien spacecraft beginning liftoff sent a ripple through the dark waters of the Arctic Circle.

* * * *

The cold ocean waters surrounding the freighter rippled with violent intensity. The captain didn’t know what to make of the sudden movement. Any orders for the ship’s evasive maneuvers came to him too late. A strange and magnificent vessel rose to the water’s surface and sped upward to the sky at such a high speed that it cut through the freighter like the sharpest of blades.

People would wonder for a little while about what happened to the crew of Arctic Explorer 1. No concrete answers would ever be found. Conspiracy theories would run wild surrounding the eccentric young billionaire Charles Wethermoore and his final moments. When it was all said and done, she would be another ship lost at sea, along with the truth.