“It’s not a distress signal,” I said, voice low. “It’s a transmission.”
The ship’s lights flickered.
The radar screen scrambled.
An alarm shrieked through the control room.
“We’re being scanned!” someone shouted.
A deep hum vibrated through the hull, making the metal tremble under our feet.
“Kill external transmitters!” I barked.
But before we could, a voice broke through the static.
Mechanical.
Layered.
And faintly… familiar.
“Falcon One. You were not supposed to return.”
The room froze.
Every face turned toward me like I was the answer.
My skin went cold, because I had heard that voice once before—on the last mission, right before everything went silent.
“Who is this?” I demanded. “Identify yourself.”
The reply came slow, broken like it was stitched together.
“Mission. Continuation. Omega Directive. Secure the signal.”
The younger pilot swallowed hard. “Ma’am… what’s Omega Directive?”
I stared at the feed.
