Chapter 4

I walked back to the corner long since buried in dust, kicking aside a mountain of expired packaging to reveal the heavy iron storage crate beneath. The lock had rusted shut, but I smashed it open with a single boot. A stale, desiccated scent rushed out.

Inside was a deep gray uniform. It was woven from a proprietary polymer fabric; even after a century, the clasps latched with a crisp, rhythmic snap. I buttoned each one, and as the last collar clasp engaged, I felt a heavy, cold sense of order settle back into my bones. The door-shaped badge on my chest was worn almost flat, but I could feel its weight—the totem of the planet’s final line of defense.

I turned and walked deep into the heart of the supply station, toward the main control room.

Several technicians were frantic, battling system error logs. Seeing me enter, one of them stood up, furious. "Get out, old man! Do you have any idea what’s currently—"

I didn't answer. I simply lifted him with one hand and tossed him aside like a nuisance. I stood firm at the central control panel, pressing my palm hard against the dust-caked sensor pad.

Electrical currents surged from every direction—the roar of a giant sleeper being wakened. Thirty-two layers of redundant verification protocol peeled away in seconds, the red status lights shifting to a steady, calm, abyssal blue.

"Warden Cain West. Authorization: Supreme. Status: Online."

Coded characters popped onto the center of the screen. At that moment, the entire underground facility seemed to wake up. The heavy power turbines hummed to life, a low rumble that traveled through every pipe and conduit deep into the earth’s crust.

Simultaneously, the comms channels at every GCC monitoring station across the globe erupted. It was an ancient signal, a "Black-Code" long since marked as permanently defunct. It carried no encryption, yet it seized control of the global communication network with an undeniable, brutal authority.

"What’s happening? What is this signal? Is this an alien invasion?"

"No... it’s the Black-Code! It’s the activation signal for the Abyss Protocol!"

The channels descended into chaotic roars. The technicians stared at the "Supreme Authorization" credits on their screens, their minds completely failing to process the reality.

Outside the main command room, Lieutenant General Weber leaned against the wall, drenched in cold sweat as he listened to top-brass shouting in his earpiece.

"Weber! Tell me what’s happening there!" On the giant screen, the angry face of the GCC Commanding General looked like a raging lion. "Why has that abandoned site activated to this degree? Someone is operating it manually—who gave them the authority?"

Weber’s throat bobbed. He looked at the iron door of the control room, seeing Cain’s statue-like silhouette through the crack. He paused for three seconds—three seconds that would define the rest of his life.

"...It’s a glitch in the facility’s diagnostic program, General," Weber murmured, his voice raspy. "System error. I will cut the connection immediately. It’s empty."

He lied. He was covering for the man who had guarded the gate for a century, though he didn't even know why himself.

Meanwhile, Lucas, still dazed, snuck into the archives during the melee. He opened the yellowed old logbook and turned to the final entry.

"Warden volunteered for long-term guard duty, authorization locked. Subsequent operations: None."

He looked up other central GCC files, and cold sweat broke out on his brow. The entire "Abyss Protocol" didn't exist in the official history, as if humanity had never endured that dark time. The man in front of him was someone who had erased himself from history.

A technician sat slumped on the floor, trembling as he stared at the console. "This level of authorization... it’s impossible. Only the Chief Designer of the Abyss Protocol has this access!"

I turned around, adjusting my collar, looking at the terrified experts with a tone as flat as a statement of fact.

"Chief Designer? That’s right," I said calmly. "When I designed this door to keep these idiots out, I ended up locking myself in, too. I am he."

The control room finally went quiet, save for the faint hum of the air purifiers.

I turned back, pressing my forehead against the cold screen. Through the thin LCD, I could feel a presence—vast, ancient, and freezing—pressing against the other side of the door.

"Zero," I whispered, my voice devoid of warmth. "Are you awake?"

As if in response, or perhaps a predatory warning from the depths of the planetary core, a hum—one that lasted for several minutes and pierced through both metal and rock—began to resonate throughout the deep bowels of the facility. It was awake.