I Was Sent to a Deep Sea Lab for a Project. They Kept This Hidden.

I woke up with my face pressed against cold metal, the submarine's engine humming beneath me. My stomach lurched as we dropped another few feet. 12 hours of this nauseating descent had left me clammy and exhausted. The pilot had warned me about the pressure changes, but nothing prepared me for the reality of sinking nearly 7 miles below the ocean surface.

5 minutes to docking, Dr. Warren, The pilot called back without turning. His voice sounded tinny through the small cabin. I straightened up in my seat, trying to look more composed than I felt. The Deep Ocean Research Laboratory, Dioral, as the briefing documents called it, represented the pinnacle of my career.

An invitation to join their team meant my research had finally been noticed. You might want to brace yourself, the pilot added. Final approach can be rough. The submarine slowed, then jolted as metal scraped against metal. I grabbed the edge of my seat, knuckles white.

Water rushed around us as pressure equalized, and then everything went still. Welcome to DORL, Doctor Warren. The pilot flipped a series of switches powering down the engines. They'll be waiting for you in the airlock. I collected my duffel bag and laptop case, taking a deep breath to settle my churning stomach. the Hatch opened with a hydraulic hiss, revealing a sterile white corridor.

I ducked through the opening, my shoes clanging against the metal floor. A woman stood waiting, her posture rigid and unwelcoming. She wore a pristine white lab coat over a charcoal suit, her dark hair pulled back so tightly it looked painful. Doctor Warren? She didn't offer her hand.

I'm Doctor Michelle Ramirez, facility director. You're late. I checked my watch, confused. The departure schedule said the schedule accounts for optimal conditions. You should have built in contingency time.

She turned sharply. Follow me, we don't waste time here. I hurried after her, my bag banging awkwardly against my leg. The corridor opened into a larger hub with multiple hallways branching off like spokes. Doral houses 32 researchers and 18 support staff.

Doctor Ramirez said as we walked. We operate on a 24 hour schedule. Your credentials grant you access to general areas and your assigned laboratory only. What exactly will I be working on? I asked, trying to keep pace with her brisk stride.

The briefing was vague. She stopped so suddenly I almost ran into her. You'll be assigned to Project Amphetrite. Dr. Frost will brief you on the specifics.

Amphetrite. Like the Greek sea goddess? Her eyes narrowed slightly. You were selected for your expertise in marine bioacoustics, Dr. Warren, not your knowledge of mythology.

Though I suppose the connection isn't entirely irrelevant. Before I could ask what she meant, a tall man with silver streaked hair approached. He wore a lab coat. Doctor Frost Ramirez said. Our new team member has arrived.

Please show Doctor Warren around the facility and to his quarters. He'll begin work tomorrow at O 600. Doctor Frost nodded, his expression unreadable. Of course. Director Ramirez walked away without another word, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.

Don't take it personally. Doctor Frost said once she was out of earshot. The Director maintains a certain atmosphere of professionalism. Is she always that warm and fuzzy? I asked.

The corner of his mouth twitched. That was actually quite cordial by her standards. He gestured down one of the hallways. Let me show you the main research areas first. The staff members we passed kept their eyes down, moving quickly by with mumbled greetings or no acknowledgement.

One woman pressed herself against the wall to avoid us. Is it just me or is everyone avoiding eye contact? I asked quietly. Dr. Frost slowed down.

We're a focused group, Doctor Warren. Most of us have been down here for months without rotation. Social niceties tend to diminish over time. He led me through a series of labs, each filled with equipment I recognized and some I didn't. One room contained what looked like audio analysis stations, with headphones sealed in clear containers.

This is where you'll be working. Doctor Frost said, using his badge to unlock the door. You'll be partnered with Doctor Manuel Edwards. He's been leading the acoustic analysis portion of Project Amphetrite. What exactly are we analyzing?

I asked, looking at the complex array of equipment. Doctor Edwards will brief you on the specifics tomorrow. He's quite particular about his work. I nodded, though frustration bubbled inside me. Everyone seemed determined to keep me in the dark.

We continue the tour, passing through the cafeteria, currently empty recreation area sparsely furnished and medical Bay uncomfortably well equipped for such a small facility. And this doctor, Frost said, stopping at a narrow door. Is your quarters? He swiped his badge and pushed the door open. The room was small and utilitarian.

A twin bed, desk, small bathroom and a locker for personal items. No windows, of course. We were at the bottom of the ocean. It's not the Ritz, Dr. Frost said.

But it serves its purpose. No room service, I take it? He didn't smile. Meals are at O613100 and 1900 hours in the cafeteria. Missing them is not recommended.

Got it. Your badge? He handed me a plastic card on a lanyard. Don't lose it. Replacement requires director approval, and she's not generous with second chances.

I slipped it around my neck. Thanks for the tour, Doctor. Frost nodded. Get some rest, Doctor Warren, tomorrow will be demanding. He turned to leave, then paused.

And if you hear anything unusual during the night, it's just the pressure on the hull, nothing to be concerned about. Before I could ask what he meant, he was gone, the door sliding shut behind him. I sat on the bed, exhausted. The journey, cold welcome, and strange staff behavior all felt off. I unpacked my belongings into the locker and put my laptop on the desk.

The silent room had no windows. I checked my watch. 830 in the evening, though time meant nothing down here. I lay down, staring at the ceiling. Sleep felt distant, despite my exhaustion.

The bed was uncomfortable, the pillow too thin, and I closed my eyes anyway, trying to quiet my mind. I must have dozed off eventually, because I woke with a start, disoriented in the darkness. The rooms ambient lighting had dimmed to a soft blue glow for night cycle. I reached for my watch. 217 in the morning.

Something had woken me. I lay still, listening. There it was again, a sound so faint I wasn't sure if I was imagining it. A singing, almost. Not human exactly, but melodic.

It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, as if the ocean itself were humming. I sat up, fully awake now. The sound faded, then returned slightly louder. It reminded me of whale songs I'd analyzed in my research, but different, more complex, almost intentional. I pressed my ear against the wall.

The singing grew clearer, multiple voices weaving together in patterns that made my skin prickle. Then another sound, closer, more immediate whispers in the corridor outside my door. I moved quietly across the room, pressing my ear to the door, this time getting louder. A man's voice said, barely audible. Can't keep ignoring, a woman responded.

Ramirez says. The voices moved away, becoming unintelligible. I returned to bed, uneasy. Between the strange singing from the ocean and the whispered conversations, something was happening that no one had told me about. Sleep came fitfully, my dreams filled with voices calling from dark water.

I woke groggy and on edge, with no windows. I checked my watch. 545I showered in the tiny bathroom, the water at least hot. After dressing, I headed to the cafeteria, following the route Doctor Frost had shown me. A few staff members were already eating, sitting at separate tables with significant space between them.

I grabbed a tray of what looked like oatmeal and coffee, then sat alone. The food was bland but filling. I checked my watch again. 7:30 Doctor Frost had told me I'd be meeting with Doctor Hendricks at 8 to begin my orientation to Project Amphetrite. I found the meeting room easily enough and settled in to wait.

8:00 came and went. By 8:30 I was checking my watch every few minutes. 9:00 past, then 9:30 at 10. The door opened. Doctor Frost walked in, looking tired.

His lab coat was wrinkled, and dark circles showed under his eyes. Doctor Warren, he said, his voice tight. I apologize for the delay. Is Doctor Hendricks coming? I asked, standing.

Doctor Frost's expression flickered, something between worry and annoyance. There's been a change of plans. Doctor Hendricks has been transferred to another project area. Transferred when? Last night he wouldn't meet my eyes.

These things happen sometimes. The nature of our work requires flexibility and staffing. So who will I be working with? You'll still be partnered with Doctor Edwards as planned. He'll meet you in the lab this afternoon.

Doctor Frost, move toward the door. I suggest you use the morning to review the facility protocols on your terminal. Doctor Frost? I called as he reached the door. What were those sounds last night?

He froze his back to me. Sounds like singing coming through the hall. His shoulders tensed visibly. As I mentioned, the pressure creates unusual acoustic effects. Nothing to concern yourself with.

And the people whispering outside my door. He turned slowly. Doctor Warren, we're 7 miles below the surface. The pressure here can affect people in strange ways, including auditory hallucinations. I suggest you focus on your work and adjust to the environment.

With that, he left the door sliding shut behind him with a finality that felt like a warning. I stood alone in the meeting room, increasingly certain that something was very wrong at the URL. Doctor Hendricks had vanished overnight. Everyone avoided eye contact, and no one would tell me what I was actually here to study.

And then there were those voices in the dark, singing from the depths of an ocean where no human song should exist. I accessed the Project Amphetrite files from my workstation, surprised by how easily my credentials worked. The system hummed quietly as I navigated through folders, each click bringing me deeper into the project's digital architecture.

Most of what I found was heavily redacted black bars covering entire paragraphs of research documents about unusual audio frequencies detected in the deep water columns surrounding the facility. I scrolled through page after page, piercing together fragments of information. The unredacted portions mentioned unique harmonic patterns and sustained tonal anomalies that didn't match known marine life.

One report noted that the sounds intensify during facility night cycle and appear directed rather than ambient. A subfolder labeled Biological Samples caught my attention. Inside were photos of tissue specimens with bizarre cellular structures, translucent fibrous material that the notes described as containing unknown DNA markers and exhibiting properties inconsistent with known marine species.

The cells had strange bioluminescent properties, according to the lab notes, but most of the analysis was again hidden behind black redaction bars. I nearly missed the reference to sirens in a memo between Doctor Ramirez and someone called Doctor Hartfield. The brief exchange mentioned increased siren activity near the eastern quadrant and a recommendation to reinforce acoustic shielding in residential sections.

The rest was redacted, but that single word sirens stuck with me. It seemed like an odd code name for a scientific project. My stomach growled, reminding me it was almost dinner time. I closed the files and headed to the cafeteria, my mind still turning over what I'd found. The research was clearly focused on some kind of unknown sound source, but the heavy redactions made it impossible to understand what they'd actually discovered.

The cafeteria was half full when I arrived, researchers and support staff sitting in small clusters, their conversations dropping to murmurs as I walked past. I grabbed a tray of what looked like beef Stew and scanned the room, noticing A technician sitting alone at a corner table. I recognized him from my earlier tour, Lucas White according to the name tag on his uniform.

He seemed less guarded than the others, focused on his meal rather than watching me with suspicious eyes. I walked over, tray in hand. Mind if I join you? Lucas looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Sure.

Free country? He paused, then added. Well, not exactly a country down here, but you know what I mean. I sat down across from him. I'm Jace Warren, just arrived yesterday.

Yeah, I know who you are. Everyone does. Lucas pushed his food around with his fork. You're the new guy for Project Amphetrite. I took a bite of Stew, which tasted better than it looked.

Seems like everyone knows more about my assignment than I do. Lucas glanced around before leaning slightly forward. That's how it works here. You'll get the full briefing when they're ready. I decided to test the waters.

I was supposed to meet with Doctor Hendricks yesterday, but apparently he's been transferred. Do you know him? Lucas's posture changed immediately, shoulders tensing, eyes darting to check who might be listening. Look, man, word of advice, don't ask about people who disappear. Just do your work.

Disappear. That's a strange way to put it. It's not strange if you've been here long enough. Lucas lowered his voice further. Just focus on your research.

That's all any of us can do. I leaned closer. What exactly is going on here? The files mentioned something called sirens. Lucas's fork clattered against his plate.

Keep your voice down. He hissed. And stay away from that stuff if you know what's good for you. I'm just trying to understand what I've been brought here to work on. They'll tell you what they want you to know.

Lucas stood up, grabbing his tray. Before leaving, he bent down and whispered one more thing. If you hear singing at night, cover your ears and lock yourself in. Don't come out, no matter what. I watched him hurry away, dropping his tray at the collection station before practically jogging out of the cafeteria.

His warning left me cold, despite the warm food in front of me. I finished my meal alone, aware of the occasional glances from other tables back in my quarters. I tried to make sense of everything. The redacted files, Lucas's warning, the strange behavior of the staff, and the mysterious sirens. I prepared for bed with an uneasy feeling, double checking that my door was locked before finally lying down.

Sleep came eventually, but it didn't last. I woke suddenly in the darkness, unsure what a disturbed me until I heard it. A melody, faint but clear, coming through the ventilation system. It wasn't the whale like sounds from the previous night. This was different.

Hauntingly beautiful, complex harmonies that seem to resonate inside my head rather than my ears. I lay still, listening. The melody grew more intricate, layers of sound weaving together in patterns that made me think of moonlight on water, of depths and currents and ancient things moving in darkness. Without realizing I'd moved, I found myself sitting up.

Then, standing beside my bed, the song pulled at something inside me, creating a yearning I couldn't name. I walked to the door, my movements not entirely my own. My fingers punched in the exit code on the keypad and the door slid open with a soft hiss. The corridor outside was empty and dimly lit by the night cycle lighting.

The song was clearer now, calling me forward. I followed it down the hallway, past closed doors and silent labs, taking turns without thinking about where I was going. Part of me knew I should turn back, but that thought was distant, muffled beneath the beautiful melody that promised something, something wonderful, if only I kept walking.

I passed through the main hub and took the eastern corridor, moving toward the outer ring of the facility. The song grew louder with each step, filling my head until there was room for nothing else. I reached the observation deck, a circular room with thick view ports looking out into the midnight blue of the deep ocean.

Pressing my hands against the cold glass, I peered into the darkness. The exterior lights were off, but I could make out movement, graceful shapes gliding through the water just beyond the reach of the facilities ambient glow. They moved with purpose, circling closer, their form suggesting something almost human in the upper body before tapering into something else entirely.

The song reached a crescendo that made my ears ring and my vision blur. My hand moved to the control panel beside the viewport, fingers finding the emergency release for the pressure door. A small voice in the back of my mind screamed warnings, but it was drowned out by the melody that promised answers.

Connection completion. My thumb hovered over the release button. Just one press in the outer door would open, equalizing pressure with the crushing depths outside. One press and I could join the singers, become part of their eternal song. Something made me hesitate.

A flash of Lucas's frightened face, perhaps, or some deep survival instinct not yet smothered by the song. In that moment of clarity, I bit down hard on my tongue, the sharp pain cutting through the musical fog in my mind. Blood filled my mouth, metallic and warm. The song faltered, its hold on me weakening.

I stumbled back from the control panel, the spell broken enough for me to realize what I'd nearly done. Opening that door would have killed everyone in this section instantly, including me. I backed away, the taste of blood grounding me as the beautiful melody tried to recapture my mind. With tremendous effort, I turned and ran, the song pursuing me through the corridors as I made my way back to my quarters.

I slammed my door shut behind me, breathing hard, the copper taste of blood still on my tongue. The singing continued, muted now by distance and walls, but still audible. Still calling, I grabbed a towel from the bathroom and stuffed it against the ventilation grate, then pulled my pillow over my head. Even with my ears covered, I could feel the song vibrating through the hull of the facility.

Whatever these sirens were, they had nearly made me kill myself and who knows how many others. And as I lay there shaking with the aftermath of what had almost happened, I understood why people disappeared from Doral, and why no one wanted to talk about it. I woke up with a jolt, my head pounding.

The silence hit me first. No hum of ventilation, no distant footsteps, no murmur of voices. Something was wrong. Hello. I called out, my voice sounding too loud in the quiet room.

No answer. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, trying to piece together what had happened after I'd made it back to my quarters last night. The singing had eventually faded. I must have fallen asleep at some point. I checked my watch at 10:30 in the morning, way past breakfast time.

I got up, pulled on my clothes, and opened my door. The corridor stretched empty in both directions, the overhead lights casting a harsh glow on the white walls. Hello. I tried again, louder this time. My voice bounced back at me.

I walked toward the cafeteria, my footsteps echoing. The doors slid open automatically, revealing rows of empty tables. Half eaten meals sat abandoned, chairs pushed back as if everyone had left in a hurry. A coffee mug lay on its side, a brown puddle spread across the table beneath it. Is anyone here?

I called out. The kitchen area was deserted too. The industrial coffee maker was still on a pot, half full and burning on the hot plate. I switched it off, the smell of scorched coffee hanging in the air. This wasn't right.

Even during shift changes there were always people around. I headed for the research labs, walking faster now. The main lab doors opened with a soft hiss, revealing workstations with screens still glowing, some showing active data streams. Papers were scattered across desks. A chair lay tipped over and someone's lab coat hung from the back of another chair.

I moved to one of the computers and tap the keyboard. The screen showed a spectrogram of audio frequencies, the same kind of patterns I'd seen in the files I'd accessed yesterday. The time stamp showed the recording had been made at 2:15 this morning. Doctor Edwards? I called out, remembering my missing colleague.

Dr. Ramirez. Anyone. I tried the intercom system mounted on the wall, pressing the button for facility wide announcement. This is Doctor Jace Warren, if anyone can hear this please respond.

Where is everyone? I waited but only static answered me. My heartbeat faster as I left the lab and headed for the security center. If anyone would know what was happening it would be the security team. The security center door was unlocked already a bad sign.

Inside, banks of monitors show different sections of the facility all empty. The main security console was still active screens displaying various system statuses. Most were green, but several flashed yellow or red warnings. No security personnel insight. I scanned the monitors, looking for any sign of movement, any hint of where everyone might have gone.

Nothing but empty corridors, vacant labs, and deserted common areas. Where the hell was everyone? The director's office? Ramirez would have answers, or at least access to emergency protocols. I left the security center and made my way to the administrative section.

The door to Ramirez's office was a jar, which seemed out of character for the rigidly professional director. I pushed it open. The office was empty, but unlike the chaotic cafeteria, everything here looked orderly. Ramirez's desk was neat, her chair pushed in. The only unusual thing was Doctor Frost's terminal in the corner.

It was still on the screen, showing a login prompt. I hesitated for a moment. Using someone else's terminal without permission was against protocol, but given the circumstances, I sat down at Frost's desk and tried my own credentials. To my surprise, they worked, giving me access to his files. I navigated to the emergency log section, hoping to find some record of what had happened.

A video file from yesterday was marked as high priority. I clicked on it. The screen filled with the face of a man I didn't recognize, broad shouldered with a completely bald head and a salt and pepper beard. His expression was grim, his blue eyes intense. This is chief security officer Bryson Castro.

Emergency report, he began, his voice deep and authoritative. We have confirmed siren incursion in the eastern quadrant. Hull integrity compromised in sections E7 through E12. All personnel have been evacuated from those sections. Castro looked off camera briefly, then continued.

We've lost contact with the maintenance team sent to assess damage. Doctor Ramirez has ordered all non essential personnel to shelter in their quarters while security attempts to secure the breach. The video cut to another clip, time stamped 4 hours later. Castro looked more disheveled now, a small cut visible on his forehead. Situation has escalated.

The sirens have penetrated further into the facility. Their song is affecting more personnel than our countermeasures can handle. We've lost access to the eastern wing entirely. He ran a hand over his head, a gesture of frustration or fatigue. Dr.

Hartfield has more information on these things, patching him in now. The video split to show a second face, an older man with wild Gray hair and thick glasses. The creatures we're calling Sirens appear to be an ancient deep sea predator species, Hartfield explained, his voice shaking slightly. Their song creates neurological effects similar to hypnotic suggestion, but far more powerful and irresistible compulsion.

They use it to lure prey. Castro cut in. Pray. Meaning us. Doctor Hartfield nodded grimly.

Yes, we've already lost 37 personnel. Some walked willingly into flooded sections. Others he swallowed hard. Others turned on their colleagues, opening hatches or disabling safety protocols. How do we stop them?

Castro demanded. The song effects different people with varying intensity. Some seem more resistant than others. Physical pain can temporarily break the trance. Blocking the sound helps, but they seem capable of projecting their song through the hull itself, possibly using some form of resonance we don't fully understand.

Hartfield looked down at something off camera, then back up with wide eyes. They're intelligent, far more than we initially. He stopped suddenly, his head turning to look at something out of frame. His expression changed to one of pure terror. They're here, he whispered.

Oh God, they're The video cut off abruptly. I sat back in the chair, my heart hammering in my chest. 37 personnel lost. And that was before whatever had happened to make everyone else disappear. I searched through more files, looking for anything that might tell me what to do.

A folder labeled Emergency Protocols caught my attention. Inside was information on something called Protocol Oceanus. I open the file Protocol Oceanus Facility Self Destruct sequence to be initiated only in case of catastrophic containment failure or imminent threat to surface world. Requires authorization from 2 senior staff members Level 5 clearance or above. The document detailed how the protocol would collapse the facility's structural supports and trigger controlled explosions that would bury DORL under thousands of tons of rock and sediment.

A last resort. I checked the time 6:15 in the evening. The facility would be entering night cycle soon, when the siren song had been strongest. As if on cue, the main lights dimmed slightly as the facility shifted to night mode, and with the change in lighting, I heard it. Faint at first, but growing stronger.

The singing. It was different from last night. More voices, more complex, more beautiful, and louder, much louder. I had to find somewhere safe to think. I ran back to the security center, the singing following me through the corridors.

Inside, I slammed the door shut and looked for something to barricade it with. I dragged a heavy metal cabinet in front of the door, then added a desk for good measure. The singing grew louder, seeming to come from everywhere at once. I grabbed a pair of noise cancelling headphones from one of the desks and put them on, but the song still reached me, vibrating through my bones rather than my ears.

I turned to the security monitors, cycling through different cameras. Most showed empty corridors, but then I spotted something that made my blood run cold water seeping through cracks in the outer hull of the eastern section. The camera view was distorted, the image flickering, but I could clearly see water pooling on the floor, spreading slowly but steadily.

I switched to another camera near that section. More water and something moving in it, Something that wasn't just water flowing, something deliberate. The singing intensified, and I felt the same pull I'd experienced last night, an urge to go to the sound to see what was making it. I tore off strips of fabric from my shirt and stuffed them in my ears.

It helped a little, dulling the song to a more manageable level. I needed a plan. I couldn't stay here forever. The escape pods. There were three of them, according to the facility schematics, displayed on one of the security monitors, one in the eastern section, already inaccessible due to flooding, one near the research labs, and one in the western maintenance Bay.

I studied the monitor feeds, trying to plot the safest route. The singing made it hard to focus, but I forced myself to concentrate. The western maintenance Bay looked clear on the cameras. If I could make it there, I gathered what I could find in the security center. A flashlight.

A security badge I found in a drawer that might give me access to restricted areas and a small first aid kit. I stuffed the fabric deeper into my ears and prepared to make a run for it. The singing pulsed around me, trying to pull my thoughts away from escape. I bit my lip hard, using the pain to keep myself focused.

I had to reach that escape pod before whatever happened to everyone else happened to me too. I grabbed A duffel bag from behind the security desk and stuffed it with everything useful I could find. A flashlight, the first aid kit, a security badge, and some protein bars from a desk drawer. The singing grew louder, making it harder to focus on what I needed.

I kept pushing the fabric deeper into my ears, but the melody still seeped through, tugging at my thoughts like invisible hooks. The security monitors showed flooding in the eastern section, getting worse. I needed to move fast. In the corner of the room stood an emergency cabinet with a glass front. I broke it with my elbow and pulled out a small oxygen tank with a mask.

It wouldn't last long, maybe 15 minutes, but if I hit flooded sections, it might make the difference between making it to the escape pod and drowning. I opened the security center door, duffel bags secured over my shoulder. The corridor stretched ahead under emergency lighting. My target was the western maintenance Bay, the only escape pod within reach.

The singing hit me harder in the open corridor. It wasn't just sound anymore. It felt like pressure against my skin, like being pulled by a current. I bit my lip again, using the sharp pain to anchor myself to reality. Just keep moving.

I whispered, my voice sounding strange and distant in my fabric stuffed ears. I made my way down the main corridor, staying close to the wall for support. The facility seemed to pulse with the song. Every few steps I had to stop and shake my head to clear it. A Slytherin sound came from a head.

I froze. The noise moved across the ceiling like something heavy dragging. Then silence, except for the singing. I continued forward, my shoes making soft squeaking sounds against the floor. The corridor branched, and I took the right turn toward the research labs.

According to the facility map, I could cut through them to reach the maintenance Bay faster. The lab door stood partially open, as if someone had left in a hurry. I pushed through, sweeping my flashlight across the darkened room. Something lay on the floor near the central workstation. I stepped closer, the beam of light revealing a body sprawled face up.

Lucas White stared at the ceiling with wide, unseeing eyes, his mouth frozen open in a silent scream. His face looked wrong, parts of his skin appeared melted, the flesh underneath partially dissolved. A thick, clear substance coated his neck and chest, giving off a faint chemical smell. Jesus, I whispered, kneeling beside him. Lucas had warned me.

He tried to help me, and now he was dead. I closed his eyes with my fingers, the skin cold and slightly tacky from whatever had started to digest him. I forced myself to look away and continued through the lab. On one of the workstations, several specimen containers sat in a rack, their contents visible through the clear sides.

I moved closer, shining my light on them. The samples looked like tissue, translucent pieces floating in preservation fluid. But what caught my attention were the labels. Siren 07 Epidermal layer. Siren 12 Gill structure, Siren 03, Vocal apparatus 2 picked up one of the containers holding it to the light.

The tissue inside had both fish like scales and what looked disturbingly like human skin merged together. Another sample showed what appeared to be a vocal structure unlike anything I'd ever seen, complex, with multiple chambers and vibrating membranes that no known sea creature possessed. These weren't mythological creatures from sailor's tales. They were real biological entities that had evolved in the crushing depths, and Doral had been studying them, perhaps even trying to communicate with them.

A loud bang from somewhere in the facility made me jump. I shoved one of the smaller sample containers into my duffel bag and moved toward the exit on the far side of the lab. As I reached the door, the lights flickered, plunging the lab Into Darkness for three seconds before the emergency systems kicked in.

Red warning lights now bathed everything in a bloody glow. The facility's automated voice came over the speakers, barely audible over the singing warning. Hull integrity compromised In Sectors 7 through 12. All personnel evacuate to designated safety zones. I pushed through the door into another corridor.

The singing grew stronger here, making my head swim. I had to stop and lean against the wall, digging my fingernails into my palms until the pain cleared my thoughts enough to keep moving. The map in the security center showed the maintenance Bay past the auxiliary research wing. I was close. The corridor sloped downward with water pooling around my shoes.

Not good. The flooding was spreading faster than I'd thought. Cold seawater reached my ankles as I moved forward, each step becoming heavier. This wasn't recycled facility water, but ocean water seeping through breached sections. I rounded the final corner and the maintenance Bay doors stood just 30 feet ahead.

Relief flooded through me until I saw what waited between me and escape. It stood, or rather hovered in the water that now reached mid calf. At first glance its upper body looked almost human, a torso with arms and what might have been a head. But as my flashlight beam caught it fully I saw the truth.

Its translucent skin revealed pulsing glowing organs. Instead of legs, it had an eel like lower body with fins. It's face barely resembled human features, with glowing blue orbs where eyes should be all fixed on me. Most horrifying was its mouth, a small opening that suddenly split and expanded, revealing rows of needle like teeth in a maw that opened impossibly wide.

The creature sang. It's song hit me with physical force, my knees buckling as I dropped into the rising water. The duffel bag slipped from my shoulder as my body stopped responding. The song promised peace, rest and end to fear. All I needed to do was listen, let go, join the others who had already answered the call.

My hand touched something cold and metal in the water, the emergency fire axe that had fallen from its wall mount. My fingers closed around it, the action seemingly separate from my conscious thought. With every ounce of willpower, I forced my arm to move, lifting the axe as the creature glided closer, its mouth widening further in anticipation.

The singing peaked. I swung the axe hard, burying the blade in the creature's torso. A shriek replaced the song, Alien and piercing black ecore sprayed from the wound, sizzling in the water. The creature thrashed its claw slashing my left arm through shirt and flesh. Pain cleared my head completely.

I yanked the axe free and swung again, this time catching the creature in what passed for its throat. The blade severed something vital, and the shrieking stopped abruptly. The glowing organs dimmed as the creature collapsed into the water with a splash. Blood poured from my arm, mixing with the black icore and seawater.

I stumbled past the dead siren, splashing through water that now reached my knees. The maintenance Bay doors stood partially open and I squeezed through into the small chamber beyond. I slapped the activation panel on the metal egg shaped escape pod. the Hatch slid open with a hiss. Water poured in from the corridor, rising faster now.

Something splashed in the distance, more sirens coming to investigate their fallen kin. I threw my duffel bag into the pod and climbed in after it, slamming my hand on the interior launch button. the Hatch sealed just as the water reached waist height in the Bay. Warning lights flashed inside the pod as the automated systems ran through emergency checks.

Launch sequence initiated. A computerized voice announced. Prepare for emergency ascent. The pod shuddered violently as the clamps released. Through the small viewport, I watched the maintenance Bay disappear as the pod shot upward into a narrow tube.

Water pressed against the glass, and for a terrifying moment I thought the tube might be blocked. Then came a final jolt and the pod burst free of the facility, beginning its ascent to the surface 7 miles above. My ears popped as the pod rose, groaning around me. I pressed my hand against my bleeding arm.

The wound burned something in the sirens claws or that black fluid that it sprayed everywhere. The pod rose through the darkness, the sirens song still following me from the depths, calling me back to the abyss. The escape pod groaned and creaked around me. The small metal capsule felt like it might shake apart at any moment.

Every few seconds it would jolt violently, sending a fresh wave of pain shooting through my injured limb. The pods emergency lights cast everything in a sickly red glow. I leaned back against the curved wall, trying to steady my breathing. My ears still rang with that awful melody, fainter now, but still there, following me up from the depths.

You're 7 miles from them, I whispered to myself, voice raspy. They can't reach you here. But even as I said it, I could feel their song tugging at the edges of my mind, like phantom fingers trying to pull me back down. I jammed the wadded up fabric deeper into my ears, but it made little difference.

The song wasn't just sound, it was something else, something that bypassed normal hearing. I glanced down at my arm. The wound looked bad, 3 deep gashes where the sirens claws had raked across my flesh. The edges of the cuts had an unnatural blackish tint that worried me. I fumble one handed through the first aid kit I'd grabbed, finding gauze and antiseptic wipes.

The antiseptic stung like fire when I applied it, making me hiss through clenched teeth as I wrapped the gauze around my arm. The pod lurched again, spinning slightly in the current. My stomach rolled with the motion. The digital depth gauge on the wall showed I'd risen about two miles already, but I still had a long way to go.

The song grew fainter as I ascended, but never disappeared completely. It changed from a direct assault to a distant call, like a radio station. You can barely TuneIn part of me, a part I didn't want to acknowledge, wanted to hear it more clearly. I must have passed out at some point, because I woke with a start when the pod gave a particularly violent jerk.

The depth gauge now showed less than a mile to the surface. My arm throbbed with each heartbeat, and when I checked under the gauze, the skin around the wound looked red and puffy. Great, I muttered. Probably infected with some prehistoric deep sea bacteria. The final stretch seemed to take forever.

I counted the minutes, watching the numbers on the depth gauge slowly ticked down. 300 meters, 201 hundred. Then, with a massive lurch that nearly threw me from my seat, the pod broke the surface. Sunlight streamed through the small window. I crawled over to look out, seeing nothing but open ocean in every direction.

Dawn was breaking in the east. I watched the sunrise in silence, feeling a strange mix of relief and emptiness. I was alive. I had escaped, but I knew no one would ever believe what had happened down there. Not the sirens, not the way they had taken control of people's minds, not how the facility had been compromised.

The official report would blame structural failure. Water pressure at those depths was unforgiving. A single weakness in the hull could be catastrophic. They'd say the staff had evacuated or died in flooding. No mention of ancient predators with songs that could enslave minds.

I checked the emergency beacon, making sure it was transmitting properly. The small red light blinked steadily, sending out its SOS to any ships in the area. Now all I could do was wait and hope someone picked up the signal before my limited supplies ran out. My arm throbbed with renewed intensity. I unwrapped the gauze again, wincing at what I saw.

The wound looked worse. The black discoloration had spread outward from the cuts, following the path of veins under my skin. When I touched the area around the wound, it felt hot and tender. Whatever the siren had done to me, it wasn't a normal injury. I rewrapped it with fresh gauze from the first aid kit, then swallowed 2 pain pills dry.

Hours passed. I dozed fitfully, waking often to check the horizon or when the pain in my arm spiked. The sun climbed higher, turning the pod into an oven. I sipped water sparingly from the emergency supplies, knowing I might be out here for days. Around midday, I spotted something on the horizon, a dark shape, breaking the clean line where sky met sea.

I pressed my face against the window, hardly daring to hope. It was a ship, a large cargo vessel by the look of it, and it was heading in my direction. The emergency beacon had worked. I let out a laugh that sounded more like a SOB as the ship grew larger on the horizon.

I gathered my few possessions, the duffel bag containing the siren tissue sample, and the portable drive with Doctor Hartfield's video. These were my only pieces of evidence, the only proof that what happened down there was real. The cargo ship was close enough now that I could make out details. The rust streaked hull, the towering bridge, the name Pacific Trader painted on the side.

A smaller rescue boat was being lowered into the water. I clutched the duffel bag to my chest, wincing as it pressed against my injured arm. The song of the sirens had faded to almost nothing now, but I knew it would never truly leave me. It had worked its way into my mind, carved grooves into my memory that would never smooth over.

I would never look at the ocean the same way again. Its vastness now seemed threatening, its depths hiding horrors I couldn't Unsee. The rescue boat drew closer, and I saw figures waving. I waved back with my good arm, feeling a surge of relief so powerful it made me light headed. But even as rescue approached, I knew part of me remained in the darkness.

The siren song had claimed something I would never get back. It would echo in my dreams, calling me back. And in moments of weakness at night, I might find myself longing to answer.