Borneo Basin — April 2014
Dawn broke in streaks of copper and mist.
The jungle hummed with the low vibration of engines. Dozens of Monarch transports crept through the flooded valleys—choppers, hovercrafts, and armored carriers, their insignias half-hidden under the moss-green camouflage.
Operation Containment Halo had begun.
Their target: the Titan codenamed Serpentis.
Their mission: establish perimeter anchors, deploy containment drones, and—if possible—sedate the organism for study.
No one truly believed it would work.
Observation One — "He's Watching Us"
From the command post built on the basin's edge, Dr. Elaine Graham studied the motion sensors.
Every reading came back wrong: movement registered behind them, then in front, then beneath.
It was as if the serpent were everywhere and nowhere.
"He's not circling us," Graham whispered.
"He's learning how we move."
Unseen by the team, beneath a tangle of mangroves, twin golden eyes tracked the convoy.
Serpentis moved with deliberate silence, his body weaving through the roots like smoke through a graveyard.
He had felt the disturbance days ago—metal, oil, the heartbeat of machines.
But rather than attack, he observed.
His curiosity outweighed his aggression.
He wanted to understand what these fragile, two-legged intruders were doing in his world.
He tasted the air.
It reeked of electricity and fear.
The Trap
By midday, Monarch deployed the trap: four sonic pylons arranged in a diamond around the basin. Each emitted a frequency tuned to mimic Hollow Earth energy—a lure meant to draw Serpentis into the open.
He didn't take the bait.
Instead, he circled the perimeter and studied the pylons themselves. His forked, elastic tongue flicked across one tower, absorbing the vibration. Within minutes, the serpent began to imitate the signal—a low-frequency hum emitted from his chest cavity.
Every Monarch instrument went haywire.
"We're losing resonance! He's feeding it back!"
"What do you mean, feeding it back?!"
"He's counter-signaling—he's cancelling our frequency!"
Serpentis slid into view only when he wanted to be seen.
A shadow against the trees.
Armor glinting like wet obsidian.
Lightning forked behind him, and for a single heartbeat, Monarch saw the full scope of their mistake.
Observation Two — The Petty King
The field team fired tranquilizer rockets. Two struck his scales and disintegrated before the compounds could penetrate. The third hit his jaw.
Serpentis paused.
Not because it hurt—but because it annoyed him.
Slowly, he turned his head toward the launcher team.
A single flick of his whip-tail snapped through the air, slicing the tree line like a scythe. The soldiers dove for cover as a wall of water exploded behind them.
Then he stopped.
He could have crushed them, but he didn't.
Instead, he coiled around one of the sonic pylons and, with deliberate care, pushed it over.
The tower fell into the swamp with a hiss of static.
Dr. Graham (radio): "He's… mocking us. He's toying with the array."
When another pylon sparked and died, the serpent flicked his tongue again—as if tasting victory.
A petty gesture, but one that felt almost human.
The Calm Mind
Monarch's backup plan came online: Orbital Drone Unit Kappa, armed with electromagnetic nets and sedative munitions. The drones descended, flooding the basin with searchlights.
Serpentis didn't panic.
He slid beneath the water, moving with the stillness of a patient hunter.
As the nets deployed, he simply rose between them, coiling upward in a spiral that forced the drones into their own lines. The wires tangled, cracked with current, and fell sparking into the swamp.
When the water cleared, only ripples remained.
The serpent had vanished.
"Negative contact—target submerged."
"Heat signature?"
"Gone. It's like he never existed."
But deep below, he was there—listening to their voices echo through the sonar. He understood them now, at least the rhythm of their speech. Not words, but intent.
And that intent was danger.
So he waited. Calm. Silent.
A god within his own temple.
The Final Gesture
Hours later, as the operation withdrew, one drone feed flickered back to life.
In the clearing where their base had stood, something new glowed faintly in the mud: the shattered remains of a Monarch insignia plate, arranged into a spiral—carefully coiled, like a serpent.
He'd returned their symbol, rearranged.
A message.
"Leave," Dr. Graham whispered. "He's telling us to leave."
Monarch Incident Report — April 27, 2014
Codename: TITANUS SERPENTIS
Status: Uncontained
Casualties: Minimal (3 MIA)
Behavioral Summary:
Subject demonstrates unprecedented cognitive capacity for a non-human organism. Displays caution, strategic observation, and deliberate non-lethal retaliation when provoked.
Personality Assessment (field observation):
• Cautious but inquisitive
• Highly observant, slow to act
• Displays irritation/pettiness when attacked
• Exhibits calm demeanor under stress
• Minds own territory, defensive when violated
Recommendation: Terminate all containment operations. Observation only. Maintain safe perimeter of 50 km.
Do not provoke.
Night falls again over Borneo.
Lightning flashes through the clouds.
Beneath the surface, Serpentis glides through his domain, eyes dimly glowing gold.
He hums a low note—a mirror of Monarch's failed frequency—and the jungle around him vibrates in answer.
Somewhere far across the ocean, another ancient hum rises from the deep.
The two frequencies—one from land, one from sea—begin to resonate.
The world is waking up.
And the Hollow Serpent knows it.