NABC Chapter 235: Static, Then Signal
Chapter 235: Static, Then Signal
Chapter 235: Static, Then SignalThe blinking red lens didn’t move. Just hovered, half-shrouded in canopy and mist, like it was waiting for something—maybe us.
I narrowed my eyes, letting my System interface open up Database and
Evelyn took a step forward. Not cautious. Curious.
"You’ve been searching," she said. Not a question.
"Yes," the voice responded. "And until now, we weren’t sure you were still alive."
Sienna let out a soft exhale. A dry breath that still managed to sound like a sarcastic victory.
"Well," she muttered, "surprise."
No laughter followed.
Only the quiet.
Operative Theta’s voice returned after a breath:
"Our team has not made landfall. Only the drones. We were ordered to monitor and make contact only if the survival likelihood dropped below protocol minimum—or if you initiated."
He paused.
"You just did."
I scanned the group. Faces lit in shades of disbelief and calculated relief.
Sienna stood at the edge of the hollow, blood drying on her temple, eyes darting between trees like she was waiting for the other shoe to explode.
Alexis hadn’t budged—her fingers curled tightly around her makeshift stone weapon like it was still the only truth she trusted.
Camille sat upright now. Her body trembled, but her stare had hardened—nailed to the hovering drones like they owed her something personal.
Evelyn remained by my side, unreadable. But she’d shifted slightly. Just enough that I could feel her shoulder brush mine, a subtle indication of readiness—or protection.
And 3830?
She hadn’t blinked.
Her arms were still. Her eyes even more so. That stare—half-analysis, half-recognition—hadn’t broken since the first ping.
I drew in a breath and straightened, jaw tight.
"I want the truth," I said. "Why would you help me now?"
There was no delay this time.
"You are Reynard Vale," Theta said. "Candidate for the next World President. Your survival matters. Your leadership matters."
He didn’t say it like a campaign poster.
He said it like an order. Like a report filed under critical assets.
And then—slowly, like reading from a directive he wasn’t sure would ever be spoken aloud—the voice continued:
"Reynard Vale, as a candidate for the next World President, you hold supreme power regarding decisions and strategies."
There was a soft hum through the drone speaker. A click. Final. Waiting.
"Give us the order, captain."