The blast doors groaned open—
Lieutenant Sarah Chen stumbled through, uniform torn, headset sparking. Her emergency beacon pulsed crimson against the steel walls as she collapsed into the lobby's light.
"We've lost communication with Global Headquarters!" Her voice cracked under strain. "Quantum channels… satellites… even emergency bands—everything is dead! The hyperloop feeds back only static!"
The words froze the air.
Then another figure appeared. Captain Marcus Webb, his uniform shredded, his face slick with sweat. His breath came ragged, haunted.
"The surface…" He swallowed. "It's gone. Black fog—thicker than oil. Zero visibility. Our drivers…" His voice broke. "…they collapsed the instant the hatch opened."
The crowd of 189 gasped as one.
Twelve delivery drivers now lay behind sealed blast doors. Alive—but their brains trapped in patterns that defied every scan.
Elena's hand flew to her mouth. Mothers clutched their children. Engineers hammered at tablets, racing through calculations. The atrium filled with desperate voices—questions, fear, denial.
And yet—
In the center of the storm, Tian sat slumped on the sofa. Muttering. Fingers twitching as if sketching invisible equations. His lips repeated the same words like a prayer:
"Ninety-nine point seven… so close… if I adjust the field harmonics…"
Oblivious. Blind to catastrophe.
7:35 AM
Elena led thirty-four residents to Surveillance Control. The main screen flared to life—only to show endless black.
"Switch to wide-spectrum."
Nothing.
The cameras—designed to pierce fifteen kilometers of atmosphere—saw nothing.
Light sensors read: 0.0001 lux. Darker than the deepest cave.
Atmospheric composition: UNKNOWN.
Neo-Singapore's skyline… erased. No sun. No stars. No city lights.
"Try emergency frequencies."
The room filled with static—then a low, unnatural hiss that slithered into their bones.
"Military channels?" Elena asked.
"Silent."
Global networks were gone. The world above was gone.
Dr. Sarah Kim's trembling voice broke the silence:
"Yesterday at 2:30 PM… clear skies. I saw fishing boats returning. The director himself visited the lab." Her words faltered. "What happened in just four hours?"
Fear spread like fire. Children sobbed into their parents' arms. Elderly scientists prayed.
Resource projections—once a safety net—now read like a death sentence: 18 months of survival if carefully rationed.
And still Tian… whispered formulas.
Kai finally snapped. He stormed to the sofa, gripping Tian's shoulders.
"The surface is gone! People are dying! And you're still counting decimals?"
Tian looked up. His eyes—vacant, haunted.
"The quantum tunnel was stable. If I just—adjust—the frequency—"
"WAKE UP!" Kai shook him. "This isn't about numbers! This is about survival!"
But Tian's gaze slipped past him, back into equations only he could see. The brilliance that had once led them had shattered into obsession.
7:47 AM
The truth fell like a hammer. With only thirty percent power… with no contact, no supply lines, no sun above… their underground city was no longer a research facility.
It was humanity's last refuge.
Elena climbed the central platform. Her voice shook but did not break.
"From this moment—emergency protocols are permanent. Air recycling. Resource conservation. Medical priority for the unconscious drivers." She scanned their terrified faces. "We survive until we understand what has happened."
A voice cried from the crowd: "And if we never understand?"
Elena met the gaze, her jaw set.
"Then we survive anyway."
The atrium fell into silence. Not peace. Not comfort. Only the muted heartbeat of 189 souls suspended between hope and annihilation.
Outside their walls, the blackness pulsed like a living thing.
Inside, deep in the wounded quantum systems, strange resonances continued their alien song—echoes of Tian's forbidden experiment.
The world above was swallowed whole.
And now… the darkness was listening.