Chapter 1 – Song of the Sea

The following is a compilation and analysis of highly sensitive files provided by an anonymous source from within the US Navy, which were in turn sourced from fishermen in the West Pacific. Names, dates, and locations have been altered to protect the identity of those involved.

Jan 20, 2020

My mission director Simon always tells me to write down my experiences during these deep sea dives because “it helps ease the boredom” down here or something. The thing is, I haven’t been bored the past few weeks. Quite the opposite, in fact, I’m stressed out of my mind. But I’m sure Simon would just come up with another reason for me to do the logs, so I might as well get it over with anyway.

I am currently on mission day one aboard the submarine Deepwater Enigma as part of her rotating crew of pilots. She’s a big girl, measuring about a football field in length and capable of housing about twenty people. It’s the biggest and most technologically advanced sub I’ve ever piloted, but you wouldn’t know it from the cramped living quarters or the constant racket of the engines. I’m not strictly allowed to say much more about it, except that it’s supposedly intended for long duration deep sea exploration even though it seems to be better fitted to carry warheads.

I’m accompanied by my Russian copilot Anton (a big gruffy guy who likes to get on my nerves with dad jokes, I only put up with it because he’s an excellent helping hand), Jessica (our radar technician), Alex (our medic), Simon, and a couple of researchers and helpers. We’re keeping this sub relatively empty because, well, we’re on a rescue mission.

The circumstances surrounding my deployment have been… strange, to say the least. Even weeks leading up to it, everyone could sense that something was wrong. See, our exploration program is based at Thalassa Research Station, a floating facility located near the edge of the Mariana trench that is primarily tasked with monitoring fish populations and deep sea ecosystems. Recently, sub pilots began reporting strange phenomena. A strange, oil-like pollutant seemed to be leaking from within the trench, only to disappear before reaching the surface. Weirdly mutated fish were being photographed in the bathypelagic zone, including trout that was the size of a car and as white as snow. And most strange of all, seamen reported hearing very clearly, from within the thick iron hulls of their subs, a faint songlike tune from within the inky depths.

All this was creepy enough before the Nauticus Blue lost radio contact and failed to return on a deep dive with 19 people onboard. Which is where I come in, because the Enigma has been tasked to try and locate the Nauticus and, if possible, rescue its crew.

After one goes missing, send another one! What could go wrong?

Jan 21, 2020

We reached the edge of the trench this morning and have been crawling along it for the whole day. You’d think being a submarine pilot would be exciting, but I mostly just made sure we didn’t crash into anything as we inched across the ocean floor while my copilot Anton literally dozed off.

Oddly enough, the coordinates we were given of Nauticus’s last known location aren’t anywhere near the route they were supposed to take, which was to be east across the open seafloor.

I think I just spotted a giant squid in the distance. It was too dark to be certain but I swear it had way too many arms.

I don’t like this at all.

Jan 22, 2020

My shift is starting soon so I have to be quick about this. We got a notification a few hours ago that Headquarters picked up a quick blip from Nauticus’s transponder that supposedly came from within the trench. The signal was too scattered to accurately locate but the transponder readings gave a depth of forty thousand meters, which is obviously an erroneous reading because the trench only goes down a quarter of that at its deepest.

We think they must be trapped somewhere down there with a malfunctioning depth sensor. Beginning the dive now.

Jan 23, 2020

Okay, something is seriously wrong. We’ve been diving for almost four hours, but the depth counter is moving far slower than it should. A typical dive to the bottom of the trench only takes three hours at most, but according to the sensors we’ve only descended about 200 meters.

(note: transcript omitted shaky writing)

Simon called an emergency meeting. The sub has refused to respond to surfacing commands despite every bit of troubleshooting Anton and I tried. We’re now ten hours in and apparently only 700 meters deep, despite sinking like a rock.

We’ve also determined that none of the submarine’s actual hardware or software has been damaged or altered, as far as we can tell. It’s like the Enigma just… wants to keep sinking. It sounds crazy, but that’s the only way I can explain it.

To make matters worse, Jessica (the radar technician) tells us that the sloped floor of the trench seems to have disappeared. Not even our military-grade floodlights can penetrate the oily waters.

There’s nothing but darkness now.

Onboard logs show that at 21:00 a massive sonar blip begins to follow the sub

Jan 25, 2020

It’s been two days since my last entry. I’ve been busy trying to make sense of everything that’s happening.

Things are going to shit.

Jessica… she used a wrench to destroy every screen in the sonar room not long after that meeting. Of course we tried to get her to tell us why she did it but the only thing she would talk about was how beautiful the songs were. They were calling to her, she said, while her ears bled.

She hung herself this morning.

We didn’t have much time to mourn because the sub began sinking faster, at least according to our instruments. By the time everyone gathered to hear Simon say a few quick words and store her body away, we’d descended more than 1500 feet.

At 1600 the cockpit video recorder shows Anton sobbing at the controls. The glowfish outside have strangely human eyes.

Jan 26, 2020

Over the past few days, I haven’t felt the need to eat or drink at all. In fact, I’ve checked with Simon and he told me even the fuel and air reserves are barely being used up. Great, at least we won’t starve or asphyxiate. I guess the trench wants to keep us alive before it kills us.

Without working sonar, things have become far more dangerous. As pilot I don’t even have much to do anymore, on account of the pitch black waters and zero control over the sub. I’ve decided to make myself useful by helping Alex treat Anton, who’s been coughing and shivering for the past few days. We think he may have some form of pneumonia, but it’s hard to say with the limited medical equipment down here. What’s strange is that he’s the only one so far. In a crowded and dirty submarine, it’s hard for a biological disease not to spread like wildfire.

Still, we’ve got him isolated. I’m looking out for any other strange behavior among the crew, especially with Simon. We need him.

I’m starting to hear singing. But unlike Jessica, I hear only one voice.

My father died fifteen years ago in a fishing trip, tossed overboard and torn up by the propellers.

When I put my ear to the hull, I can hear his screaming.

Jan 27, 2020

Onboard data logs indicate that the Enigma’s engines began to steer toward an unknown target in the depths as the bathymeter measured 6000 feet.

There’s no way we’re only six thousand feet deep. We’ve been diving for days.

Half the crew have succumbed to a pneumonia-like disease. Anton screams until bits of lung fly out his crusted throat.

Of my close group of friends, Alex, Simon, and I are the only ones who are still sane (well, somewhat) and healthy. Every sick crewman is isolated at the back of the sub inside the cargo holds.

Alex, well, he’s sort of given up on saving Anton and most of the crew. The few that seem manageably infected are quarantined separably in hopes that they’ll take care of each other.

All thoughts of saving the Nauticus have been abandoned. I’ve accepted that I’m not making it out alive.

The log indicates that the crew couldn’t access the sonar data at the time. The black box shows the massive sonar blip getting closer to the Enigma.

At 0600 hours several new blips appear below, darting around erratically. Further analysis approximates dimensions of up to a mile, traveling at hundreds of miles an hour and then rapidly changing direction. The identity of the blips are unknown.

The only reason I’m still writing this is because it seems to keep me sane, somehow. That, and the painkillers I’ve been taking under Alex’s nose. Everyone else who reported hearing the singing got sick or went crazy within a few hours.

The water outside has become a thick, dark crimson.

Jan 28 2020

A tall column of hard stone appears on sonar below the submarine. There is no sign of the ocean floor.

The singing has gotten louder, and it’s not just one voice anymore. Hundreds, moaning and screaming to some twisted tune. Alex is in the latrine, he’s been throwing up all day. Simon, well, Simon seems oddly fine.

When I put my ear to the hull now, I hear tapping and scratching, as if countless disembodied fingers were clawing at the hull, looking for some way in.

I’m scared out of my mind, someone please help

{illegible writing}

Video footage shows the waters clearing. The Enigma’s rate of sinkage appears to slow to a standstill.

The floodlights illuminate an isolated plateau on top of a pillar in the endless dark abyss.

A swarming mass of rotting corpses writhe on top of a rusted, barnacled city.

It’s the light, they see it. They’re coming.