I Worked on The Coast. Something is Very Wrong Here.

Hello and welcome back to another episode by Sleepy Pasta. Before you doze off tonight, don't forget to leave a five star review and a comment where you are watching from. Let's begin. I stared at the classified section spread across my kitchen table, running my finger down the column of job listings while my coffee went cold beside me.

The red circle around my bank balance on yesterday's ATM receipt sat in the corner of the table like a warning sign. Two months without steady work had whittled my savings down to practically nothing Commercial Deaver needed for salvage operation. Three day job, international waters. Experienced personnel only. Immediate start payment upon completion.

The listing included a Japanese phone number. Salvage work wasn't my favorite. It usually meant long hours and poor visibility hauling up someone else's mess, but the immediate start and payment upon completion were exactly what I needed right now. I picked up my phone and dialed before I could talk myself out of it.

A man answered on the second ring, Barry Thornton speaking. His voice was gruff, like he'd been expecting someone else. Hi, I'm calling about the diving job in the classifieds. My name is Maurice Hudson. Hudson.

He paused. What's your certification level and experience? Commercial diving certification, ADCI certified. Eight years experience, mostly pipeline inspection and salvage work. The Gulf rigs for five years before moving to freelance depth certification rated to 250 feet.

The questions continued. Rapid fire. My equipment specs, medical clearance date, availability. No small talk, just business. I answered each one, feeling like I was being processed rather than interviewed.

You'll do, he said. Finally, the job pays 15,000 U.S. dollars upon completion. We're recovering a shipping container that went down in the Pacific. Standard retrieval. Nothing complicated.

When do you need me? How soon can you get to Yokohama Harbor? I blinked. Japan. I'm in San Diego right now.

Is that a problem? His tone suggested it better not be. No, just that's international. I'll need to arrange. We'll cover your flight and visa requirements.

Can you be ready in three days? The urgency in his voice made me pause. Salvage operations usually had more lid time, especially international ones. Something felt off, but my bank account wasn't giving me many options. Yeah, I can make that work.

I said. Good, I'll e-mail you the details. Pack light, we provide all necessary equipment. He hung up before I could ask anything else. I sat back, staring at my phone.

The conversation had lasted less than 5 minutes, and I'd somehow agreed to fly to Japan for a job I knew almost nothing about. But $15,000 would solve a lot of problems. Three days later, I stood on the Yokohama Harbor dock with my duffel bag, looking up at the Nomad. It was smaller than I expected, about 80 feet long, with research equipment on the stern, not the industrial salvage vessel I'd pictured.

A stocky man with salt and pepper hair came down the gangplank. He wore a Navy captain's jacket, and his face had the permanent tan of someone who lived on the water. Hudson, he called. I nodded and walked forward. That's me.

Barry Thornton. We spoke on the phone. He extended his hand but looked somewhere past my left shoulder as we shook. His palm was clammy and he withdrew it quickly. Come aboard, we're leaving in an hour.

I followed him up the gangplank. His shoulders were tense, and he kept checking his watch. The deck showed signs of heavy use, worn patches, and repeatedly repaired equipment. Let me introduce you to the crew. Barry said, leading me toward the bridge.

They've been briefed on the operation. Inside, a thin man with short black hair and glasses looked up from a navigation console. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, showing a burn mark on his right hand. This is Gavin Gilbert, first mate, Barry said. He'll be your topside communication during the dive.

Gavin nodded, but didn't smile. Hope you're thorough Hudson, we need this job done right. Something in his tone made me wonder what right meant to him. A woman came through a side door, wiping her hands on a rag. Her Auburn hair was in a ponytail and her green eyes quickly assessed me.

Elaine Gross, our engineer, Barry said. She'll check your equipment before you go down. Welcome aboard, she said, her voice professional but distant. I'll need to see your diving cert before we head out. Got it with me, I said, patting my jacket pocket.

Two more crew members entered from the deck, both tall with similar features that marked them as related. The broader one had a distinctive tattoo of coordinates on his forearm, while the younger had a red bandana tied around his wrist. Kaden and Tucker Singh, Barry said, gesturing to them in turn. Deckhands. They'll help with the retrieval Winch.

Kaden gave me a nod. Tucker just looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Something between pity and concern. All right, get your gear stowed, Barry said. Cabin 3 is yours.

We cast off in 50 minutes. As the others dispersed to their stations, I caught Barry by the arm. What exactly are we retrieving? The ad just set a container. His eyes finally met mine, and I was struck by how bloodshot they were.

Standard shipping container went down during a storm three years ago. Insurance finally approved recovery. What's inside it? His jaw tightened. Company business.

Your job is to secure the retrieval cables. That's it. He turned away, effectively ending the conversation. I watched him walk toward the captain's quarters, noting how the rest of the crew seemed to give him a wide berth. With my duffel stowed in the small cabin assigned to me, I spent the rest of the day familiarizing myself with the vessel as we headed out to sea.

The crew was professional but quiet. Too quiet for a small ship where people normally got chatty to pass the time. That night, after dinner in the galley, I stepped onto the deck. The moon lit the water. Instead of finding the ship's movement calming, I felt the same unease I'd had since boarding.

I heard Elaine and Gavin talking in hushed, intense whispers from an open equipment room hatch. As I turned to go back inside. Just like the last dive team, Elaine was saying. Barry promised this would be different. What choice do we have?

Gavin replied. If it's happening again, we should tell him. He has a right to know what he's getting into. And say what? That we?

They both looked up as a floorboard creaked under my foot. Their faces froze in identical masks of surprise and guilt. Evening. I said, trying to sound casual. Just getting some air.

Elaine recovered first. If it's late, you should rest before tomorrow. Big day. Gavin added, his voice suddenly too loud in the quiet night. They brushed past me without another word, leaving me alone on the deck.

I walked slowly back to my cabin, my mind racing. The last dive team. It's happening again. What the hell had I signed up for? The $15,000 suddenly seemed less like an opportunity and more like compensation for something the others knew and I didn't.

In my cabin, I sat on the narrow bunk, listening to the hum of the engines and the occasional creak of the hull. Sleep felt impossible now. Whatever was waiting for me at the bottom of the ocean tomorrow, I had a feeling it wasn't just a shipping container, and everyone on this ship except me knew exactly what it was.

I checked the equipment one more time, making sure the regulator worked properly and the air tank was secure against my back. The weight of it was familiar, almost comforting. The Nomad had reached the dive site about an hour ago, and now I stood at the stern, ready to go into the water. Tucker Singh approached, the red bandana on his wrist bright against his tan skin.

He unrolled a waterproof chart and pointed to our location. The container's about 180 feet down, he said, tracing a finger along a marked shelf. It's sitting on this ledge, right above a deep sea trench. Current shouldn't be too bad at that depth, but watch yourself when you get close to the edge. I nodded, adjusting my mask.

How long has it been down there? Three years, Tucker answered, rolling the chart back up. Got lost during a big storm, Ship reported. It went overboard about 20 miles northeast of here, but ocean currents probably dragged it to this spot. Something about his tone made me pause.

Anything else I should know before I go down? Tucker looked over his shoulder, then back at me. His eyes darted around nervously. Just stay on communications the whole time, OK? Don't go quiet on us.

Barry wants constant updates. Got it. I pulled my mask down over my face, checked the seal and gave Tucker a thumbs up. I stepped off the back of the boat and into the Pacific. The water closed over my head, cool and clear.

I adjusted my buoyancy and began my descent, watching the bubbles stream upward toward the hull of the nomad growing smaller above me. The water pressure felt wrong. I'd done hundreds of dives, but this one was different. The pressure pushed against me from all directions, not just from above, and it was too quiet.

The normal sounds of marine life, my equipment creaking, and my breathing through the regulator were all muffled, as if coming from much farther away than they should. 100 feet down, I spotted a large school of silver fish ahead. They moved in unison, a shimmering wall. Then they suddenly scattered in all directions, as if spooked by a predator, but I couldn't see what.

It scared them. The radio in my helmet crackled to life. Hudson status report. Berry's voice came through tinny and distant passing. 100 feet, I replied.

Everything's normal, but the fish are acting strange. Ignore the fish. Focus on the container, I continued downward, following the slope of the ocean floor as it dropped away beneath me. My depth gauge ticked steadily. 1214160 At 180 feet, my lights caught the rectangular shape of the cargo container.

I swam closer, frowning behind my mask. The container looked wrong. It was sitting upright on the shelf, perfectly positioned as if someone had placed it there deliberately. More concerning was its condition. The metal sides were clean, with no sign of rust, barnacles, or sea growth.

It looked like it had been dropped into the ocean yesterday, not three years ago. I found the container, I reported. But something's not right. It's in perfect condition. No corrosion, no marine growth, nothing.

Barry didn't respond right away, and when he did, his voice was tight. Just secure the retrieval cables, that's what we're paying you for. I was about to reply when my light caught something floating near the container. I swam closer, my heart racing. Three bodies floated in the water near the container.

They wore diving suits with different company logos than mine. Their arms stretched outward, frozen mid job. Their equipment looked new, couldn't see what had killed them. Barry, I said. My mouth dried despite the regulator.

There are bodies down here. 3 divers floating near the container. A long pause, then ignore them. Focus on the container, That's your job. Are you serious?

There are three dead people down here. We need to report this. A Hudson. Barry's voice hardened. We knew there might be complications.

Those divers aren't your concern. Secure the retrieval cables to the container. Do not touch anything else. Do not open the container. Just attach the cables so we can bring it up.

I stared at the bodies, then at the container. What had I gotten myself into? The warning signs were there from the start. The crew's tension overheard talk about the last dive, team, Barry's secrecy about what was inside. Barry, What's really going on here?

I asked, but got no answer. I looked back at the container sitting impossibly clean on the ocean shelf, and at the dead divers floating nearby like macabre Sentinels. Whatever was happening here went far beyond a simple salvage operation, and now I was right in the middle of it. I checked the three bodies floating near the container, their dive suits way too modern to have been down here for three years.

Each one had Pacific Marine Recovery logos on the shoulders and equipment, a company I knew well from the commercial diving circuit. The closest diver drifted about 10 feet away, face obscured by his mask, arms spread wide like he was frozen mid swim. I pushed off the container's edge and glided toward him, my light catching the name badge still attached to his suit.

Oliver Carlson. My stomach dropped. I knew that name. Not personally, but Pacific Marine had made industry news about a year back when they lost an entire team during a recovery job. The company folded shortly after, couldn't recover from the insurance hit and the reputation damage, and now I was looking at what had to be that very team.

I grabbed Oliver's arm and turned him slowly. No visible trauma on his body, no rips in his suit. His equipment looked functional, the tank gauge still showing air. It was as if he just stopped. The other two divers floated in similar states nearby.

Whatever happened down here took them quickly. Hudson report. What's taking so long with those cables? Barry's voice crackled through my headset. I didn't answer right away.

My mind was racing. Barry had to know about Pacific Marines failed recovery attempt. He knew there were bodies down here. He knew and sent me anyway. Hudson, respond immediately.

I'm examining the divers, I said, my voice tight. They're from Pacific Marine Recovery, the team that disappeared last year. You knew about this, didn't you? The radio went silent for several seconds. That's not your concern, Barry finally replied, his voice harder than before.

Secure the cables to the container, that's what I'm paying you for. I turned back toward the container, anger mixing with a growing sense of dread. The door hung partially open, about two feet of gap between the edge and the frame. That wasn't normal. Shipping containers are sealed tight, especially ones transporting valuable cargo.

If it had broken open during the sinking, it would have flooded and anything inside would have drifted out. Protocol said I should secure the retrieval cables first. That's what I was hired to do, but something wasn't adding up and I needed answers. I swam back to the container, positioning my light to shine through the gap in the door.

The beam cut through the dark water inside, revealing nothing. Just an empty metal box. No cargo, no crates, nothing that would be worth recovering after three years underwater. I pushed the door wider and swam inside, sweeping my light across the interior. Still nothing along the walls or floor, but as my beam reached the far end of the container, I froze.

There was a window or portal embedded in the metal wall, a perfect circle about 6 feet in diameter, unlike anything in standard shipping containers. The surface rippled slightly within the circular frame. Hudson, what's your status? Have you secured the cables yet? Barry's voice had an edge of panic now.

I swam closer to the portal, ignoring him. My light penetrated its surface, revealing something impossible. Beyond the portal stretched an underwater city. Massive structures with glowing Spires rose from the ocean floor, connected by bridges. Domed buildings spread across the landscape, their surfaces etched with pulsing patterns.

The city extended beyond where my light could reach into the darkness. I found it, I whispered, more to myself than to bury. Found what? The container. Secure the dam cables, not the container.

I said, unable to tear my eyes away from the impossible sight. The city. There's an entire city down here. Barry, what the hell is this? Get out.

Barry's voice exploded through my headset. Get out of the container. Now. That's an order. But I couldn't move away.

The city called to me, it's building patterns shifting as I watched. I drifted closer to the portal, my hand reaching out. It's beautiful, I said softly. Hudson, do not touch anything, get out now. The water around me began to vibrate.

I thought it was the nomads engines above, but this felt different, like sound waves through liquid at a frequency I could feel rather than hear. The vibrations intensified and my vision blurred. Something was reaching out from the city, a force pulling me closer. The glow from the Spires brightened, pulsing with the vibrations in the water.

Hudson, report. What's happening? Barry's voice sounded distant now, like he was calling from miles away instead of just above on the boat. The city? I said as the force pulled me toward the portal.

It's alive. The vibrations intensified as my vision narrowed. The nearest Spire flared with light, reaching toward me through the portal. Get out of there, Hudson. Get.

Barry's voice cut off as darkness claimed me, the city's glow the last thing to fade from my sight. I came to with a jolt, my lungs burning like I'd been holding my breath for minutes. Something plastic pressed against my face, an oxygen mask. The sky above me was a deep blue, fading to purple sunset.

I tried to sit up, but my body felt like it weighed 1000 lbs. Easy there. A woman's voice. Elaine. She knelt beside me on the deck of the Nomad.

Her fingers pressed against my wrist, taking my pulse. Just breathe normally. I blinked hard, trying to clear the fog from my brain. I was lying on my back on the deck, still damp, but no longer in my diving suit. Instead, I wore AT shirt and sweatpants I didn't recognize.

My head pounded with each heartbeat. What happened? My voice came out as a croak, muffled by the mask. Elaine looked at her watch. You've been out for about 8 hours.

We got your suit off you and have been monitoring your vitals. She had dark circles under her eyes and her usual neat ponytail had come loose, Auburn strands falling around her face. Your oxygen levels are stabilizing. How's your head? Feels like someone took a hammer to it.

I winced as I tried to sit up again. This time Elaine helped, supporting my back as I pushed myself upright. The world tilted for a moment before settling the container. There was a city. She finished, her expression unreadable.

Barry told us. I turned as Kaden Singh approached. He handed me a bottle of water after Elaine removed the oxygen mask. What happened down there? I asked after taking a long drink.

Last thing I remember was being inside the container. And then the memory was there, but slippery, like trying to hold on to a dream. Kaden squatted beside me. You disappeared for about 20 minutes. Barry was panicking, yelling into the comms.

He glanced at a lane. Then you just appeared at the surface. No controlled descent, no decompression stops. Just shot up unconscious. That's impossible.

I knew enough about diving to understand what he was describing. Couldn't happen at that depth. I should have gotten the bends coming up that fast. I should be dead, or at least paralyzed. Yeah, Kaden said quietly.

You should be. Elaine checked my pupils with a small pen light. No signs of decompression sickness. No nitrogen bubbles in your bloodstream that we can detect. Medically speaking, it's like you were never down there.

I tried to make sense of what they were telling me, but the container, the divers? Hudson. Barry's voice cut through the conversation like a knife. I hadn't noticed him approach. He stood a few feet away, his face haggard, eyes bloodshot.

My cabin now. Elaine looked like she wanted to object, but stayed silent. Kaden helped me to my feet, steadying me when I swayed. My legs felt rubbery, disconnected from my body. Can you walk?

Kaden asked. Yeah, I said, though I wasn't entirely sure I got it. I crossed the deck. Barry had already disappeared inside. The ship felt different, quieter, tenser.

Or maybe it was just me. Barry's cabin at the bow was larger than mine, but still cramped. Maps, charts, and old newspaper clippings covered one wall. Barry sat behind a small desk with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. His hands shook as he poured.

Sit, he said, pushing one glass toward me. I lowered myself into the chair across from him. What's going on, Barry? What was that thing in the container? He knocked back his whiskey in one swallow and immediately poured another.

Tell me exactly what you saw. Everything. You first, I said, leaving my glass untouched. You knew those divers would be down there. You knew about the container.

Barry's jaw tightened. I need to know what you saw. We stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, I decided the fastest way to get answers was to give him what he wanted. The container was pristine.

I began. No rust or growth to suggest it had been underwater for three years. I watched Barry's face as I spoke. Inside was empty except for a portal in the far wall. Through it, I saw an underwater city.

Buildings with glowing lights, Spires, bridges, architecture unlike anything I've ever seen. Barry closed his eyes briefly. It's happening again, he muttered. The water vibrated, continued. Something pulled me toward the portal.

The city seemed alive, watching me, calling me. I stopped, realizing how crazy it sounded. Barry didn't seem to think it was crazy. He opened a drawer and pulled out a worn leather bound journal, placing it on the desk between us. The cover was cracked with age, the pages yellowed and dog eared.

My grandfather's journal, he said. Donald Thornton. He was an archaeologist specializing in lost civilizations, Spent most of his career being laughed at by his colleagues. Barry flipped the journal open to a page marked with a faded ribbon. He found references to a civilization called the Lemurians.

Supposedly they built underwater cities thousands of years ago. I glanced at the journal. The page showed detailed sketches of structures that looked eerily similar to what I'd seen through the portal. Domed buildings, tall Spires with flared tops. Your grandfather drew these?

Barry nodded. He became obsessed with finding proof they existed. Everyone thought he was crazy. Turned several pages showing more drawings, maps with circled locations, notes, and cramped handwriting. He believed the Lemurians didn't just build underwater, they existed between dimensions.

That's why no one's ever found concrete evidence of them. And you believe this? I asked. Barry looked up at me, his eyes hard. You saw it.

You tell me. I didn't have an answer for that. What I had seen defied explanation. My grandfather found what he believed was a Lemurian outpost. Barry continued.

Not a major city, but some kind of research station maybe. He recovered artifacts. Small objects, tablets with writing pieces of their technology, things that shouldn't exist. And these artifacts were in the container? I guessed yes.

Barry took another drink. My father continued my grandfather's work after he died. He recovered more artifacts, was transporting them for study when he trailed off, staring into his glass. The ship carrying the container reported strange phenomena. Lights in the water, equipment malfunctions.

Then, during a storm, the entire crew vanished. Just gone. The ship was found adrift with no one aboard. The container was missing. A chill ran through me.

And you've been looking for it ever since? Three years? Barry confirmed. I've hired multiple dive teams. None of them came back up until you.

The divers I found Pacific Marine Recovery, They were the second team I hired. The pieces were falling into place, but they formed a picture I didn't want to see. So what happened to them? What happened to me down there? Barry shook his head.

I don't know exactly, but the artifacts, I think they somehow activated during transit, created some kind of doorway. The Lemurians, or whatever's left of them, they're still there, still alive in their own way. His hands were shaking so badly now he had to set his glass down. And they want something from us.

What do they want? I don't know. Barry's voice cracked. But everyone who sees the city, it affects them, changes them. I thought about the strange pull I'd felt toward the portal, the sensation of the city reaching for me.

How does it change them? Barry didn't answer directly. He flipped to the back of the journal and pulled out a faded photograph, sliding it across the desk to me. The photo showed a man in his 60s standing on a beach, Gray hair wild in the wind, eyes bright with excitement. He held what looked like a small stone tablet covered in swirling cymbals.

My grandfather Barry said two weeks after this photo was taken, he drowned himself in the bathtub. His voice was flat, emotionless. He left a note saying he could hear the city calling him that. He saw it every time he looked at water, any water in glasses, puddles, the ocean reflections that shouldn't be there.

I picked up the whiskey glass and drank it all at once. And your father, same thing. After recovering more artifacts, he started having visions, talking about the city beneath the waves. Said he could hear voices speaking in languages no human has ever spoken. Barry poured more whiskey for both of us.

Six months later, he took a boat out alone, Never came back. Jesus. I ran a hand through my still damp hair. And the other dive teams, the ones who made it back to the surface alive, all reported the same experiences, visions, voices, the city appearing in reflective surfaces. Barry looked at me with bloodshot eyes.

It's why I never went down myself. I've seen what it does. The implications hit me like a punch to the gut. So you sent me down there, knowing what might happen, knowing what happened to the others. Barry didn't flinch.

I needed someone to reach the container, to confirm it was the right one. You used me as bait. I said, anger rising in my chest. I needed to know if the artifacts were still there. Barry said, as if that justified everything, If there was still a chance to understand what happened to my family.

I stood up so quickly my chair fell backward, clattering against the cabin floor. The container was empty. Barry. Whatever artifacts were there are gone. Now.

All that's left is that doorway and the dead. Barry stared up at me, something like desperation in his eyes. But you saw the city. You can help me find it again. Find it?

Are you insane? After what you just told me about your grandfather, your father, the other divers you don't understand. Barry cut in. This is bigger than just my family. If the Lemarians really built cities that exist between dimensions, if they had technology that could create portals like the one you saw, imagine what we could learn.

I backed toward the door. I'm not going back down there. You might not have a choice, Barry said quietly. If you really saw the city, if it connected with you the way it did with the others, you're already part of it. My hand found the doorknob.

We're done here, Hudson. Barry called as I opened the door. When you start seeing it in the water, when you hear the voices, come find me. I'm the only one who understands what's happening to you. I slammed the door behind me, my mind racing.

The corridor felt too narrow, the air too thick. I needed space, needed to think. I made my way back to the deck and gripped the railing, trying to steady myself. You OK? I turned to find Elaine standing nearby, cigarette in hand.

This glow lit her face in the darkness. Did you know I asked about the container, the city, all of it. She took a long drag before answering. Not everything. Barry keeps his cards close.

She exhaled smoke that drifted away on the breeze. But I knew enough to be worried. When you went down, he used me, I said. Sent me down there knowing what might happen. Elaine nodded slowly.

Berry's obsessed. Has been since before I joined the crew. His family legacy, or curse, or whatever you want to call it. She flicked Dash over the railing. What did he tell you about the city?

I hesitated, unsure how much to share. That it was built by some ancient civilization called the Lemurians? That it exists between dimensions, that people who see it become connected to it somehow. You believe him? I thought about the portal in the container, the impossible city I'd seen.

I don't know what to believe anymore. Elaine studied me for a moment. Get some rest, Hudson, we're heading back to port tomorrow. She dropped her cigarette into the ocean and walked away, leaving me alone with the stars and the water. I glimpsed a blue-green globe beneath the waves hitting the hull, a pattern of lights that shouldn't be there.

I jerked back from the railing, my heart racing. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, leaving me wondering if I'd imagined it. Berry's words echoed in my head. When you start seeing it in the water. I turned away from the ocean and headed toward my cabin, afraid to look at any reflective surface.

The ship felt like a trap, surrounded by water that might show me things I didn't want to see. That night in my bunk, I knew something had changed. The city had reached out through the portal and I had responded. Whatever connection formed in that container wasn't over. I woke up sweating for the third night in a row, the same dream again, watching from below as entire city sank beneath churning waves, stone buildings crumbling as water rushed through streets, people screaming in silence as the ocean swallowed everything.

The worst part wasn't watching them drown. It was feeling glad about it. I sat up in my narrow bunk on the Nomad, rubbing my face, my T-shirt stuck to my back, completely soaked through. The ship's engine hummed steadily below, a constant reminder we were still at sea, still above that container, still above that city.

The digital clock on the wall read 4:15 in the morning. No point trying to sleep again. I swung my legs over the side of the bunk and reached for the water bottle I kept beside the bed. As I tilted it back to drink, I froze. There it was again, in the water, just a flash of blue-green light, a suggestion of those impossible Spires I'd seen through the portal.

I dropped the bottle, water spilling across the floor. Stop it, I whispered to myself, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. It's not real. But it was, and it was getting worse. The first day after the dive, I'd only seen it in the ocean itself, glimpses of light beneath the waves when I looked over the rail.

By yesterday, I started seeing it in the bathroom sink. Now it was in my water bottle. I got up and pulled on my pants, careful to step around the puddle on the floor. I didn't want to see what might be reflected in it. As I made my way to the galley, I heard them again, whispers just at the edge of hearing.

Words and languages I didn't know, couldn't possibly know, yet somehow understood, were calling me back, beckoning me to return. The galley was empty this early. I made coffee, avoiding looking at the liquid as it filled the pot. I'd learned that trick yesterday. Focus on something else, anything else.

The coffee maker, the worn edge of the counter, My own hands. I sat at the table with my mug, staring at the wall instead of my coffee. Three days since the dive and it was getting harder to ignore what was happening to me. Barry's warning echoed in my head. You'll come tell me when you start seeing the city and water.

I hadn't told him something about his eagerness. That hungry look in his eyes when he showed me his grandfather's journal made me keep my mouth shut, but I couldn't hide it much longer. Not when I was jumping at every cup of water, every puddle on deck. Hours passed as I sat there, watching the sky lighten through the porthole.

The crew started filtering in for breakfast. Tucker nodded at me as he grabbed coffee, dark circles under his eyes. Kaden followed shortly after, clapping his brother on the shoulder before getting his own food. Neither spoke much, the whole ship felt like it was holding its breath. Elaine came in next, giving me a long look before getting coffee.

You look like hell. She said, sitting across from me. Didn't sleep well. Nightmares. She asked, her voice carefully neutral.

I just nodded, not trusting myself to say more. She seemed about to ask something else when Gavin walked in, followed by Barry. We're changing course. Barry announced, not bothering with food or coffee. Heading back to the site, my stomach dropped.

What? You said we were going back to port. Barry's eyes fixed on me. Plans change, we need to try again. Try what again?

I asked, though I already knew another dime. Elaine set her mug down hard. Barry, we talked about this. I'm the captain, he said, voice flat. We're going back.

No one argued. Barry left, and the galley fell silent. I caught Gavin watching me, his expression unreadable behind his glasses. The day dragged on. I avoided Barry, avoided water, avoided thinking about going back to that container by dinnertime.

My head pounded from dehydration, but I couldn't bring myself to drink anything. The crew gathered in the galley again, the mood tense and silent as we ate. I stared at my plate, pushing food around without eating. Someone set a glass of water next to my tray. I tried not to look at it, but my eyes kept drifting.

Over there, in the still surface, I saw it again. The underwater city, clearer now than before, Spires reaching up, pulsing with that eerie blue-green light. I could make out details I hadn't seen before, archways connecting buildings, patterns etched into the stone that seemed to move and shift as I watched. You see it, don't you?

I looked up. Gavin sat across from me, watching my face carefully. What, the city? He said quietly in the water. You're seeing it?

I glanced around. The others were still eating, not paying attention to us. How did you know? I asked, keeping my voice low. Because we all saw it too.

Gavin pushed his glasses up after we dived. What do you mean, we all? Gavin leaned forward. You think you're the first diver Barry sent down there? Elaine went first about two years ago.

Then me, then the Singh brothers. I stared at him. You all dived to the container? Yes. And we all saw the city, and now we all see it in the water afterward.

He nodded toward my untouched glass. It starts small, gets worse. Why didn't anyone tell me? I asked, anger rising in my chest. Barry wouldn't let us, said it would compromise the operation.

Gavin's mouth twisted. Besides, would you have believed us? I thought about it. No, probably not. The Pacific Marine Recovery team, they went down too, before us.

Gavin's voice dropped even lower. Barry keeps bringing people back over and over, but he never dives himself, I said, the realization hitting me. Never, not once. I pushed my chair back. I need to talk to him.

Be careful, Gavin warned. He's not rational about this. I found Barry in his cabin, hunched over his grandfather's journal. He didn't look up when I entered. You lied to me, I said.

Did I? He turned to Page, still not looking at me. You sent the entire crew down to that container before me. You knew exactly what was down there. Barry finally looked up.

I knew there was something I needed to confirm it was still there. And the Pacific Marine recovery team? What about them? And unfortunate loss? His voice was flat, emotionless.

You're using US, I said. All of us. As what? Test subjects? Barry closed the journal.

Everyone who sees the city becomes linked to it. The visions and water, the dreams, the voices. They get stronger, more insistent, until eventually, until what? Until you can't resist the pull anymore? Barry stood up.

My father couldn't. He drowned himself trying to reach the city. I'm trying to break the cycle by sacrificing more people. I asked incredulously. By recovering the artifacts.

Barry's eyes burned with intensity. If I can get them back, study them properly, I can end this. My grandfather almost figured it out before he died. There are no artifacts in that container. I said.

It's empty except for the doorway. Then they're through the doorway. Barry stepped closer. And you're going to help me get them? Like hell I am.

You don't have a choice. Barry said, his voice softening to something almost sympathetic. You're already part of it. Now the city has you. Cold realization washed over me.

You knew. You knew exactly what would happen when you sent me down there. I needed someone who could get close enough to see if the doorway was still active. Someone expendable. Bait.

I said the word, tasting bitter. You used me as bait. Barry didn't deny it. The visions will get worse. The voice is louder.

Eventually you'll beg to go back down. You're insane. No. Barry shook his head. I'm the only one thinking clearly.

Everyone who sees the city becomes obsessed with returning. Everyone except me. I'm immune because you've never seen it, I said. Exactly. That's why I can fix this.

That's why I need you, all of you, to help me get those artifacts. I back toward the door. I'm not helping you with anything. We're going back to port, and I'm getting off this ship. Barry smiled thinly.

We'll see. I left his cabin, shutting the door harder than necessary. My heart pounded in my chest as I made my way to the deck, needing air that didn't smell like Barry's obsession. The night was clear, stars reflected in the dark water below. I gripped the railing, careful not to look down at the ocean surface, but I knew what I'd see if I did.

The city waiting for me, calling to me. And the worst part was some small part of me wanted to answer. I decided to make my move at dawn, when the ship was quietest and the crew was just starting to stir. The Nomad had changed course during the night. I felt the shift in direction while lying awake in my bunk.

The plan was simple, get to the communications room, radio for help and hope someone answered. Before Barry realized what I was doing, I'd spent most of the night rehearsing what to say, how to explain the situation without sounding completely insane. I slipped out of my cabin and moved down the narrow corridor, pressing my back against the wall whenever I heard voices.

The communications room was two decks up, past the galley. I caught a glimpse of Tucker in the kitchen area, his back to me as he prepared coffee. His shoulders looked tense, his movements mechanical. I wondered if he was seeing the city too. The metal stairs creaked as I climbed to the upper deck.

I paused at the top, listening for anyone who might have heard me. Only the engines hummed as the ship pushed through the waves. The communications room door was unlocked, a stroke of luck I hadn't counted on. Inside, radio equipment lined one wall, with a small desk and chair positioned in front of the main console.

I closed the door behind me as quietly as possible and moved to the radio. My hands shook as I adjusted the frequency dial. I'd worked on enough ships to know the emergency channel, but my fingers felt clumsy, like they belong to someone else. When I finally got the right frequency, I picked up the handset and pressed the transmit button.

Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is commercial diver Maurice Hudson aboard the research vessel Nomad. I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Requesting immediate assistance from Japanese Coast Guard captain has become unstable and is endangering crew. Current position approximately.

The door slammed open. Barry stood in the doorway, his face twisted with rage. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair wild, like he hadn't slept in days. What the hell do you think you're doing? He growled, stepping into the room.

I kept the transmit button pressed. We are being forced to dive to a dangerous underwater site where multiple divers have already died. Captain Barry Thornton is Barry lunged at me with surprising speed for a man his size. His shoulder caught me in the chest, knocking me back against the console. The handset clattered to the floor, still connected by its coiled cord.

You have no idea what you've done. Barry snarled, grabbing my shirt with both hands. Years of work, my family's legacy. You think you can just call for help and walk away from this? I tried to push him off, but his grip was like iron.

It's over, Barry, you can't keep sending people down there to die. It's not death. He shouted, his face inches from mine. It's transcendence. My grandfather knew it, my father knew it.

They were just too weak to complete the journey. I saw something glint in his hand, a knife, the blade catching the overhead light as he raised it. Pure survival instinct took over. I grabbed his wrist with both hands, twisting hard to the right. Barry howled in pain, but didn't drop the knife.

We struggled, crashing into the equipment racks. Papers flew, tools clattered to the floor. Barry was stronger than he looked, driven by something beyond normal determination. His eyes had the same blue-green glow I'd seen in the water. They're calling to us.

Barry hissed through clenched teeth. Can't you hear them? They've chosen us. I managed to get a knee up between US and pushed hard, creating enough space to slam my forearm into his knife hand. The blade fell but skidded across the floor out of reach.

Barry didn't seem to care. He came at me again, hands reaching for my throat. I ducked under his arms and drove my shoulder into his midsection. We spun around and I shoved him hard. Barry stumbled backward, trying to regain his balance.

I watched him fall. His head struck the corner of the metal console with a wet crack. Barry went limp instantly, collapsing to the floor like his strings had been cut. Blood began to pool beneath his head, spreading across the metal floor in a dark, expanding circle. I stood frozen.

Barry didn't move. Blood dripped from the edge of the console while the radio I dropped crackled in the distance. The door burst open again. The lane was first through, followed closely by Gavin and Kaden. They stopped short at the sight of Barry on the floor.

Jesus Christ. Gavin whispered, his face going pale. Elaine pushed past him, kneeling beside Barry's body. Her hands moved with professional efficiency, checking for a pulse at his neck. What happened?

Kaden asked, his eyes moving from Barry to me and back again. He caught me, calling for help. I said, my voice sounding strange in my own ears. He pulled a knife, We fought, and he fell. Elaine looked up at us, her face grim.

He's dead. Tucker appeared in the doorway, his eyes widening at the scene. What's going on? I heard he stopped mid sentence when he saw Barry's body. He was going to force us back down there.

I said, looking at each of them in turn to the container. He knew what would happen. He knew what happened to all the others who went down there, and he was going to make us do it anyway. No one spoke. The ship creaked as we headed toward the dive site, toward the city that called to us through water and dreams.

He's been doing this for years, Elaine said, finally standing up and wiping her bloody hands on her pants. Bringing divers out here, sending them down, watching what happens to them afterward. How many, I asked. More than the Pacific Marine Recovery team, she said. There were others before them, before us.

Kaden moved to stand beside his brother, putting a hand on Tucker's shoulder. What do we do now? I looked at Barry's body, at the blood still spreading across the floor. The man had been obsessed, driven by a legacy of madness passed down through generations. He'd sacrificed others without hesitation, all to chase something he didn't understand and was too afraid to face himself.

We're leaving, I said firmly. All of us. We're going back to port and we're getting off this ship. No one argued. Hours later, I stood on the deck watching a Japanese Coast Guard vessel approach.

Elaine had helped me clean up and bandage the cuts on my hands and face from the fight. The crew had wrapped Barry's body and moved it to the cold storage room. We'd agreed on a simplified version of events. Barry had become increasingly unstable during the expedition, fixated on an underwater discovery. When I tried to radio for assistance, he attacked me in a paranoid rage.

The knife, the struggle, his fatal fall. All true, just stripped of the context that would make us sound as crazy as Barry had been. The Coast Guard vessel pulled alongside and officers boarded. I stepped forward to meet them, rehearsing my story one last time. Behind me, the others watched.

Elaine, Gavin, Kaden, and Tucker, all of us now connected by what we'd seen. An ancient city calling through water, dreams of sinking civilizations, and a doorway waiting somewhere out there. I sat on the edge of the hotel bed, staring at the unopened bottle of water on the night stand. It had been there since yesterday.

My throat felt like sandpaper, but I couldn't bring myself to touch it, not after what I'd see in the liquid. Two weeks had passed since the Coast Guard pulled us off the Nomad. 2 weeks of questioning statements and carefully constructed half truths about what happened to Barry. We all stuck to the story.

Barry became unstable, attacked me when I called for help, died in the struggle. Nobody mentioned the underwater city, the doorway, or the dead divers. Those details stayed between us. The Tokyo authorities eventually cleared me of wrongdoing. self-defense they called it. But I wasn't free, not really.

I reached for the TV remote instead of the water bottle, turning up the volume to drown out the whispers that had started again. They came and went, speaking in languages I shouldn't understand but somehow did, telling me about ancient knowledge, promising answers if I just return My flight back to San Diego left in six hours.

I've been counting down the minutes, though I knew distance wouldn't help. The visions had only gotten worse since we left the Nomad. I pulled out my laptop and opened the document I'd been building for days. Pages of research on Lemurians, scattered references from obscure archaeological journals, dismissed theories, ancient texts. Most scholars consider them mythological, like Atlantis, a supposed advanced civilization that vanished mysteriously thousands of years ago.

But I'd seen their city. And it hadn't vanished. It had just moved somewhere else, somewhere between dimensions, according to Barry's grandfather. I scrolled through digital copies of articles I'd found in the Tokyo University library. References to Lemurian artifacts dating back centuries.

Descriptions of blue-green stones that glowed without any power source. Ancient tablets depicting underwater structures with Spires and domes. My phone rang, breaking my concentration. I checked the screen. Unknown number with an Australian country code.

I hesitated before answering. Hello, Maurice. It's Elaine. I set up straighter. Elaine, how'd you get my number?

Kaden had it. Are you OK? I'm fine. The lie came automatically. Just waiting for my flight home.

A pause on the line. Are you still seeing it? The city. I looked at the water bottle again this morning. I'd caught a glimpse of glowing Spires in a drop of condensation on the bathroom mirror.

Yeah, you. Every time I look at water. Her voice sounded tired, but that's not why I called. It's about Gavin. My stomach tightened.

What happened? He called me yesterday, said he couldn't fight the pull anymore. Elaine took a deep breath. He's going back, Maurice. Back to the site.

What? How would he even get there? Chartered a boat in Yokohama, Used his savings. She paused. And Tucker's going too, Tucker.

I stood up, pacing the small hotel room. Did you try to stop them? Of course I did. So did Kaden. But you know how it is.

The voices get louder, the visions get clearer. Eventually. She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to. What about you?

I asked. I'm in Sydney, trying to stay away from the ocean, which isn't easy here. She gave a humorless laugh. Kaden's with me. We're holding on for now.

I walked to the window, looking out at the Tokyo skyline. Rain had started falling, streaking the glass. And you called to warn me. I called because I'm worried we're all heading the same way. Barry was right about one thing.

Once you see the city, it doesn't let go. Have you found anything, any way to break the connection? Nothing yet, but I'm looking. She sounded exhausted. Just don't do anything stupid, OK?

Don't go alone like Gavin and Tucker. I won't. I said, though I wasn't sure if I was lying. Call me if the visions get worse, or if you find anything that might help. I will.

Stay safe, Elaine. After we hung up, we kept staring out the window. The rain was coming down harder now, drops racing down the glass. And then I saw it. Not just a flash or a glimpse, but a full, clear image.

The underwater city, its Spires and domes glowing that distinctive blue-green superimposed over my own reflection in the window. My face looked ghostly, transparent with the ancient structures shining through. The Spires seem to reach toward me, pulsing with light. I didn't jump back this time. I didn't look away.

I just stood there, watching the city and feeling the pull. It was getting stronger every day. The truth hit me with sudden clarity. I hadn't escaped. None of us had.

Whatever connection formed when I saw the city through that doorway in the container, it wasn't going to break on its own. Eventually, the visions would become unbearable, the voices would drown out everything else, and I'd end up like Gavin and Tucker, like Barry's father, like all the others who'd seen the city and couldn't resist its call.

But I wouldn't be like Barry. I wouldn't drag others down with me, using them as test subjects or sacrifices for my obsession. I'd face this alone. I turned away from the window and went back to my laptop. I had six hours before my flight, and then however long it took before the pull became too strong to resist time, to use it wisely.

I'd research, prepare, try to understand what connected me to this ancient city and why it wanted me back. And when I could no longer fight it, when the visions and voices became too much, I'd return on my own terms, not as a victim or a sacrifice, but as someone determined to break the cycle rather than continue it.

I opened a new document and began typing everything I knew about the container, the doorway, the city, everything I'd experienced and everything the others had told me. If I was going to face this, I needed to understand it first. The rain kept falling outside my window, and behind me the unopened water bottle sat on the night stand, waiting to show me glimpses of what was calling me back to the depths of the Pacific.