# Chapter 18: Terminal Echoes

Elias Thorne gripped the vault door's manual override, the metal cold and slick under his bloodied palms, as the whisper signal's hum crescendoed into a chorus of stolen voices. The vibrations traveled through his marrow, a low-frequency grinding that made his teeth ache. His vision blurred at the edges, the frantic strobe of emergency red lights turning the corridor into a series of jagged, disconnected images. 

He threw his weight against the lever. The hydraulics whined, a mechanical scream that competed with the whistling in his ears.

"Elias? Elias, do you copy? The t-t-telemetry is spiking. You're losing time." Sarah's voice crackled through his earpiece, thin and distorted by the growing electromagnetic interference.

"I'm in," Elias gasped, the vault door finally yielding. He slipped through the gap into the freezing air of the server sanctum. The room was a cathedral of blinking LEDs and black glass, the air smelling of ozone and stagnant frost. "Sarah, I'm at the terminal. But the voices… they're louder in here."

"Ignore them," Sarah snapped, though her voice lacked its usual steel. He heard her sharp intake of breath, followed by the rhythmic *tap-tap-tap* of her digital recorder—a nervous tic he'd come to recognize as her only concession to fear. "Empirically speaking, sound is just vibration. It's data. Filter it out."

Elias stumbled toward the central console. As he approached, the hum shifted. It wasn't just white noise anymore. It was a layering of tones, a harmonic resonance that shaped themselves into words. *Elias… stop… come home…*

He froze. It was his father's voice. Dead fifteen years, but the inflection—that specific, gravelly dip at the end of the sentence—was perfect.

"It's not just data, Sarah," Elias said, his voice shaking as he hammered at the console keys. "I should have told you. I didn't want to… I thought I could spare you the weight of it. The signal. It isn't generating these sounds. It's harvesting them."

There was a silence on the line, punctuated only by the distant, muffled sound of a security siren in the Hub.

"H-harvesting?" Sarah whispered. "Explain."

"The Archive didn't just store documents. It stored audio. Surveillance. Personal logs. The signal is using an algorithmic mimicry patterns to pull voices from the dead files. It's a lure, Sarah. It finds the frequencies we're most vulnerable to and weaves them into the broadcast. It's a ghost in the machine made of our own grief."

"That's… from a rational standpoint, that's predatory architecture," Sarah said, her voice tightening. "E-Elias, focus. The countdown is at eighteen minutes. If that signal hits the surface transmitter, it won't just be Oakhaven hearing those voices. It'll be everyone. A mass-scale psychological breach."

"I'm trying to bypass the primary shunt," Elias said, his fingers fumbling over the keys. His lacerated palm smeared a streak of red across the sleek interface. "But the system is fighting me. It's like it knows."

Suddenly, the monitors in the vault flickered. The black glass didn't show code; it showed waveforms that pulsed like a heartbeat. 

"Elias, wait," Sarah's voice rose an octave, a frantic edge cutting through the clipped precision. "I have a problem. The IFF protocols—the internal defense grid—it just flagged my terminal as a foreign intrusion. The automated turrets in the Hub are… th-they're tracking me."

"Get out of there!" Elias shouted.

"I can't! If I leave this station, I lose the handshake with the vault. You'll be locked out of the core." He heard her frantic typing. "D-data doesn't lie, but someone has manipulated it. Elias, the security bypasses were pre-staged. This wasn't just a signal glitch. Someone inside sabotaged the Archive's firewalls before we even got down here. They wanted the signal to reach the surface."

"Who?"

"I don't know, but they've locked the primary extraction elevators. I'm… I'm looking for a workaround. I'll find us a back way out through the ventilation scrubbers, but only if you kill that broadcast now."

Elias looked at the terminal. The ghostly choir was reaching a fever pitch. He could hear his mother now, calling for him, her voice sounding like it was trapped behind a thick sheet of ice. Beneath it, a deeper, more resonant tone began to emerge—a rhythmic pulsing that felt like it was trying to sync with his own heart.

"I have to purge the local cache," Elias muttered. "It's the only way to break the loop."

"Elias, wait! If you purge the cache without a hard-reset, the surge will—"

He didn't listen. He slammed the override command. 

For a second, the vault went silent. The LEDs turned a blinding, sterile white. Elias felt his knees buckle. The tinnitus vanished, replaced by an absolute, terrifying vacuum of sound. 

Then, the screens turned blood-red. 

"Partial failure," Sarah choked out. He could hear her wincing, likely clutching her temples as the feedback hit her. "The amplitude is dropping, but the signal isn't dying. It's… it's adapting. It shifted to a secondary frequency. It's moving to the surface link *now*."

"I'm locked out!" Elias screamed, punching the console. "Sarah, I can't stop the uplink from here!"

"Then we r-run," she said, the stammer thick in her throat. "The scrubbers. Sub-Level 4, Section Blue. I've overridden the vent fans. We have six minutes before the integrity of the vault fails. Meet me there, or we're both archived."

Elias turned, his legs heavy as lead. He began to sprint, leaving the vault behind, the server racks now screaming with a mechanical heat that felt like a localized sun. He burst into the hallway, his boots echoing against the metal floor. 

"Sarah, I'm moving! Are you clear of the turrets?"

"Barely," she panted. "I had to… I had to crawl through the sub-floor. Elias, get here. I can hear it even without the headphones now. It's coming from the walls."

The facility groaned around them, the sound of structural failure mingling with the electronic wail of the dying broadcast. Elias reached the Section Blue junction, his lungs burning. He saw Sarah leaning against a bulkhead, her face pale, a thin trickle of blood running from her ear. She was still holding her digital recorder.

"Empirically speaking," she whispered, looking at him with wide, glassy eyes, "we're dead if we don't move."

They scrambled into the narrow, dark maw of the ventilation shaft, the air thick with dust and the smell of ancient paper. Below them, through the grates, the Archive continued its mechanical death rattle. The countdown timer hit zero. 

High above, at the surface of Oakhaven, the massive transmitter towers hummed to life, pulsing a silent, invisible wave into the night sky.

Elias and Sarah clawed their way upward, the metal slick with condensation. They were inches from the surface hatch when the static in Elias's earpiece suddenly cleared, becoming crystal sharp.

But then the whispers spoke Sarah's name in Elias's dead mother's voice.