Chapter 8: Ghosts in the Machine - Part 1

The automatic rifle in his hands was raised, its metallic surface cold and gleaming beneath his fingers.

Before him, a horde of people charged forward, wielding crude melee weapons—a pitiful match for the weapon he held.

Yet they kept coming, mouths wide open, yelling with conviction, confidence, and unwavering faith.

Did they truly believe they could win?

A voice beside him cut through his thoughts. “Fire!”

His finger squeezed the trigger. Flames burst from the muzzle, expelling spent shells alongside plumes of smoke.

The advancing figures faltered, bodies collapsing in droves. Blood sprayed violently as bullets tore through them.

The weapon kept firing, turning the scene ahead into a mountain of corpses and a crimson lake.

Eventually, all movement ceased. Only a city engulfed in flames and desolation remained. Nothing stirred anymore.

And then, amidst the burning ruins and a sea of lifeless bodies, someone stood.

…

Will jolted awake, drenched in sweat. His chest heaved as though he had run a marathon. The short rest he had taken was over, and he knew there was no returning to sleep, no matter how hard he tried.

He pushed himself off the bed, stretching and wiping his damp face with trembling hands. The fatigue weighed heavily on him, a constant reminder that sleep, meant to be the ultimate reprieve, had become a cruel replay of memories he longed to forget.

Every night since stepping foot on that island, the dream—no, the nightmare—had come back to haunt him.

Will wasn’t naive. His family had served the U.S. military for generations. Tales of valor from his ancestors’ wars were the bedtime stories his father had recounted to him. So, when he enlisted, he understood what he was signing up for—to fight and kill under orders.

But in those tales of heroism, no one had mentioned the haunting visions that followed a first kill. No one had said it would be terrifying. No one had said it would be revolting.

“If you follow orders, you’re a good soldier.

If you complete missions, you’re a great soldier.

If you lead troops to victory, you’re a hero.”

Nonsense. What was heroic about gunning down islanders armed with wooden sticks and iron rods? It was nothing but a massacre.

Will pulled a pocket watch from his shirt pocket. Of all the belongings he had brought on this journey, the watch was his most treasured possession. Not because it was a marvel of Revachol craftsmanship, though it undoubtedly was, but because it was a keepsake from the person he loved most.

His mind returned to the figure in his recurring nightmare. Amidst the inferno and the sea of corpses, there was always a shadowy silhouette—someone standing. Though he could never make out the details, he was certain it bore a feminine outline.

“It’s not her,” he told himself, flipping open the watch. The hands pointed just shy of the sun emblem, signaling dawn.

Solaris was the predominant religion of the Revachol Republic, and its artisans marked timepieces with celestial symbols: the sun for waking hours and the crescent moon for rest. Given Revachol’s dominance in exporting clockwork mechanisms, these symbols had become universal across the Sunless World.

“The land she left behind,” he thought, a pang of sorrow gripping him. That land was his true reason for embarking on this journey, not the fame or accolades his family expected from being part of the first exploration team to the Sunless World.

Will sighed, snapping the pocket watch shut with a decisive click and slipping it back into his pocket. There was still time before his next shift. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could seek answers to his haunting dreams.

He quietly opened the door to avoid disturbing his three sleeping roommates and stepped into the ship’s main corridor.

At night, the hallway lights were dimmed to conserve energy. Emergency red floor lights provided just enough illumination to see, casting long, eerie shadows.

Will noted the absence of the engine’s hum. The ship must have surfaced to replenish air and oxygen reserves. The silence of the corridor, bathed in faint red light, felt unnervingly like a scene from a horror novel.

Shaking off the creeping unease, he made his way toward the infirmary at the end of the hallway. As he raised a hand to knock on the infirmary door, a movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention.

Turning, he saw the stairwell leading to the ship’s third deck. But it was empty.

Will shook his head. Just his imagination. Lowering his hand, he knocked on the infirmary door.

“Come in,” a voice called from within.

Dr. Heisenberg was a stern-looking old man from Dirk, his presence as intimidating as it was commanding. Though likely in his sixties, he appeared robust. His bald head gleamed under the infirmary’s dim light, and his goat-like beard was streaked with gray.

He sat at a desk facing the door, meticulously jotting notes by the glow of an oil lamp. Will closed the door behind him, his gaze sweeping the room. The infirmary resembled the crew quarters, albeit with only one bunk bed in the far corner. Shelves lined the walls, secured with ropes to prevent items from toppling during depth changes. The shelves brimmed with bottles of varying sizes, some containing preserved specimens suspended in liquid.

Will averted his gaze, grateful for the dim lighting that obscured the grotesque details.

Heisenberg gestured wordlessly to the chair opposite him. Will sat down.

The doctor didn’t look up, his pencil skimming across the pages of a thick notebook. His sculpted focus discouraged Will from speaking, so silence completely enveloped the dimly lit room.

Leaning forward slightly, Will caught sight of the page Heisenberg was working on. It wasn’t notes, but a sketch of an insect spreading its wings. The incomplete details made it unidentifiable.

“Nightmares, soldier?” The doctor’s deep voice broke the silence, startling Will.

“I heard about the orders you received to kill the inhabitants of that mysterious island in the Malamute Strait last week,” Heisenberg continued in an even tone, his gaze still on the sketch.

Will couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement, so he stayed silent.

“It was your first time killing, wasn’t it?” Heisenberg pressed, not even pausing his sketching.

“Yes,” Will admitted quietly.

Heisenberg’s pencil moved with deliberate precision, shading the insect’s wings. “They say people tend to remember their ‘firsts’ more vividly than other memories: a first kiss, marriage, the birth of a child...” The sound of pencil on paper filled the brief pause.

“But no memory stays vivid forever. Over time, the details fade. You might recall the sensation of a kiss but forget the other’s expression. You might remember her smile during the exchange of vows but forget the details of her dress. But the first time you kill someone...” He paused, letting the words linger.

“You’ll never forget. Every detail of that moment—the feel of the trigger, the scent of blood, their expression as they realize they’re about to die. Especially that expression—a mix of disbelief and shock, as though you’ve just exposed a terrible lie.”

Will shifted uneasily in his chair. The lamplight seemed to dim, shadows growing denser around him.

Heisenberg sighed. “So, it’s natural for it to haunt your dreams. Dreams are the brain’s way of processing unresolved memories, especially those you replay in your head while awake—your worries, your stresses...”

He trailed off, his hand still shading. The insect sketch grew increasingly lifelike. Unsure if the doctor was finished speaking, Will hesitated before finally finding his voice.

“What if... there’s something in the dream I’ve never seen before?”

Seeing no reaction, Will continued, “In my dream... it’s when the commander orders us to fire on the islanders charging at us. But aside from the commander’s voice giving the order, I hear nothing else. No gunfire, no shouting, no roaring flames. There’s only... music. A sound I’ve never heard before. I think it’s a song, but I don’t know any instrument that could make such a sound...” He faltered, noticing the doctor had stopped drawing.

Dr. Heisenberg slowly looked up, his yellow eyes gleaming like a predator’s under his reading glasses, reflecting the lamplight.

“And then?” he prompted.

Will swallowed hard, the memory vivid yet inexplicable. “At the end of the dream, behind the inferno engulfing the island’s village, amidst the fire... there’s a silhouette of someone standing.”

He couldn’t bring himself to say more. Even this much had been a struggle.

Dr. Heisenberg bent down to retrieve something from a drawer beneath his desk. He reemerged holding two glasses and a metal flask. The liquid inside sloshed audibly. He poured the red contents into one glass and slid it across the table to Will.

It was then Will realized how parched he was. But he only stared at the glass, the image of the blood-soaked dream still vivid.

“It’s red wine,” Heisenberg said, taking a sip from his own glass.

Will had seen his father drink wine before. It was extravagantly expensive—more so than his Revachol watch. Yet his family’s military home had never been without it. Will didn’t particularly like wine, preferring water instead, but refusing the doctor’s gesture seemed impolite.

He took a cautious sip. The rich, sweet flavor spread across his tongue.

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“Do you know who that figure is?” the Dirk doctor asked.

Will shook his head. “It’s just a shadow. Every time I see it, I wake up.”

Heisenberg nodded slowly, his yellow eyes never leaving Will’s face. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached beneath the table again and retrieved a peculiar metal box. It was rectangular, not much larger than a notebook, with buttons and an intricate circuit panel on its surface.

Heisenberg pressed one of the buttons. It clicked audibly.

Will was about to ask what it was when the sound began. Clear as glass, the melody rang out in a continuous rhythm. It was hauntingly beautiful, a blend of sorrow and elegance.

Will froze, his breath hitching. His gaze locked with Heisenberg’s in disbelief.

“That is the sound of a piano, Will,” the doctor said, folding his hands under his chin. “An instrument no longer exists in this Sunless World.” His glowing yellow eyes remained fixed on Will.

The sorrowful tune continued, enveloping the room.

Will’s discomfort grew with every passing second.

It felt as though the air was being sucked from the room.

As though the music pressed down on his very soul.

As though the predatory gaze of the doctor pierced his every thought.

It was the same melody he had heard in his dream.

But how could that be possible?

Finally, the mournful song came to an end. The button clicked back into place, silencing the box.

Will shot to his feet, stumbling back in fear, his hand fumbling for the doorknob behind him.

Dr. Heisenberg’s expression remained unchanged. “This isn’t just an ordinary dream, Will. It’s not born from your guilt or even the trauma of your first kill. I believe your dream is connected to something... something beyond your understanding or mine.”

Will’s hand found the knob at last. He pushed the door open and stumbled out, slamming it shut between himself and those piercing yellow eyes.

“If the dream finds you again… If that shadow shows you its face… you know where to find me,” Heisenberg’s voice echoed faintly behind the closed door.

Breathing heavily, Will stood alone in the dimly lit corridor.

All of this was too much, far beyond his comprehension.

The sound of an instrument long lost to the Sunless World.

The shadow of someone amidst the flames of his dream.

And most unsettling of all…

When he first boarded the ship, Commander Hector had introduced the infirmary and its doctor to all the soldiers. That was when Will met Dr. Heisenberg for the first time.

“It isn’t just an ordinary dream, Will.”

But Will was certain of one thing—he had never told the doctor his name.

Amidst his confusion and panicked breathing, from the corner of his eye, he saw a figure standing at the end of the corridor.

Will whipped his head around, expecting an empty hallway, hoping it was just a trick of the shadows.

But the figure was still there, standing at the far end. Shrouded in darkness, it was nothing more than a black silhouette.

Will could only stare, wide-eyed, as the shadow began to move toward him.

Then a loud click echoed as the corridor lights flickered to full brightness.

Will found himself standing alone, in an empty hallway.

The lights had been set to activate automatically at dawn, their brightness banishing the encroaching darkness. Yet Will stood frozen, heart pounding in his chest, staring at the vacant end of the corridor, uncertain.

Shaking his head, he tried to rationalize it—the wine’s effect, a trick of the light, anything.

It was just a shadow, Will. The hallway was dimly lit. Are you sure you saw what you think you saw?

But deep down, Will knew.

For a brief moment, he had seen it. He would swear on it.

The dark silhouette from his dream.

The shadow of a woman, standing amidst the ruins and flames.

…

The pressurized hatch opened with a hiss, letting fresh air flood in. Will stepped onto the ship’s deck, which floated on the surface to replenish oxygen. Darkness surrounded him, broken only by the faint glow of lanterns lining the ship’s edge. Will hadn’t expected much of a view; after all, this was the nature of the Sunless World—a place of perpetual darkness.

And with it, the constant fear of what might lurk within the shadows.

The air on the deck was colder than he had anticipated, causing him to shiver as he moved toward the faint lights on the ship’s port side. There, he spotted a group of people.

Troublemakers, Will thought irritably.

Everyone on this ship had duties to fulfill, each unit working in shifts to ensure the vessel ran smoothly and safely.

The engineers maintained the engines, inspected equipment, and handled radio communications.

The soldiers served as both warriors for onshore missions and laborers for cargo loading and torpedo operations.

The navigators controlled the ship, steering it under the captain’s orders, and operated sonar and hydrophone equipment.

But the group before him didn’t belong to any of these categories. To Will, they acted more like tourists on a leisurely cruise than crew members on a mission.

These were the same people, he thought bitterly, whose actions had led to the massacre on that island.

“The ship will submerge soon. Get off the deck,” Will ordered curtly.

The two girls standing by the rail flinched, turning away from the ship’s edge. One, a blonde, held a glowing lantern.

“Oh, sorry. Could we have just a moment longer?” the blonde girl asked hesitantly.

Will frowned. A moment longer? Privileges on board only went so far. "I’m not the one steering the ship, and I’m not here to ask for your permission. In fifteen minutes, this ship will be underwater, with or without you on it,”

Why did I have to be on the morning shift today? he thought with a weary sigh.

Turning away from the two girls, he prepared to head back to the pressurized hatch.

“You heard him, Esther. Let’s go,” said the other girl.

“But I don’t know how to do it,” the blonde protested. “Do we need to say a prayer to the Sun God or something?”

"It’s a mourning ritual, not a religious ceremony. Just the thought alone should suffice."

Will froze mid-step and turned back. The lantern in the blonde girl’s hands was adorned with seaweed, twigs, and salt—decorations typically used in sailors’ funerary rites.

“You’re holding a mourning ritual for the islanders?” he asked incredulously.

The blonde girl looked surprised by his question. She nodded hesitantly, her ponytail swaying behind her.

Will wasn’t sure why he felt so agitated. Was it because of her privileged status aboard the ship? Because of the exhaustion gnawing at him from sleepless nights? Or was it because she, standing there so naively, was the source of his nightmares?

He didn’t know. But the words spilled out anyway.

“Are you joking? You’re the reason they’re dead!” he snapped. “If you people hadn’t insisted on exploring that damned island instead of just following the captain’s orders and moving on, none of this would’ve happened! But no—you just had to go ashore. For what? To chase after some stupid mystery?”

He could see it vividly—the moment negotiations with the islanders had begun to seem possible. The villagers, armed with little more than crude melee weapons, had begun to trust them. They were on the verge of leaving peacefully.

But then the orders had come down. And now, here she stood, holding a lantern for their dead.

“I... I’m sorry,” the blonde girl stammered, her face pale with guilt. Her whispered apology only served to fan the flames of Will’s anger.

“Go apologize to the people on that island,” he snapped. “If it weren’t for you, they wouldn’t be dead.” And I wouldn’t have to see them in my nightmares, he thought bitterly, turning to leave.

“Hey.”

He stopped, clenching his fists before turning back, exasperation written all over his face. “What now—”

The words caught in his throat as a sharp impact struck his cheek, his head snapping to the side. A hot sting flared across his skin.

“Sonia! What are you doing?!” the blonde girl exclaimed, her voice high with shock.

Will turned back slowly, now face-to-face with the second girl. Her shoulder-length red hair framed a face set in defiance, and the oversized yellow uniform of the engineering corps hung loosely on her slender frame. Her hand, the one that had struck him, still lingered in the air, trembling slightly.

He froze, caught between disbelief and anger, as her piercing gaze locked onto his.

“You don’t know anything,” the red-haired girl spat, her voice trembling as she fought to rein in her anger. “Are you seriously saying it’s our fault that those people attacked us first, intending to sacrifice us to that cursed island?”

Will raised a hand to his stinging cheek, clenching his jaw as his fury boiled over. “The Sunless World is exactly that—a sunless, dangerous place! What do you think happens every time we set foot on land? Why do you think soldiers like me always go first? It’s because it’s dangerous! And yet, you put yourselves and everyone on this ship at risk. If you’d just stayed put, none of this would’ve happened! We wouldn’t have had to kill everyone on that island!”

The red-haired girl froze, her fiery glare faltering as she caught sight of his face.

His hand, still pressed against his cheek, felt a wetness he hadn’t realized was there.

Tears.

Will was crying.

The sudden realization struck him like a physical blow. Guilt swelled in his chest, suffocating and inescapable. She was right—he didn’t know what they had done on the island. But he did know that when his squad and the commander rushed into the village, the islanders had attacked them. If they had attacked the girls first, were they truly blameless?

The echoes of his father’s voice reverberated in his mind.

“That stupid girl, walking into a dark alley dressed like that—she was asking for it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Will noticed the blonde girl taking a tentative step closer to him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice soft but earnest. “It was my fault. I dragged myself and the crew into danger because of my selfish desire to solve the mystery.”

Her words were filled with both sorrow and sincerity, striking a painful chord within him.

“I introduced you to so many good girls, but you still chose to waste your time with someone like her.”

“I was a fool to trust the people on that island just because they seemed harmless,” she continued, her voice trembling with remorse.

“If you’re heartbroken, it’s because of the choices you made yourself.”

“And I’m sorry... that my actions forced you to kill them.”

Will’s hands shot up to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as he groaned in frustration.

Was it her fault? he thought bitterly. Was it her fault the villagers attacked them? Was it her fault that he was forced to shoot?

And then, like a whisper in the back of his mind, another question clawed its way into his thoughts.

Was it her fault that she was violated and killed?

The weight of it all pressed down on him, threatening to crush him beneath its unbearable gravity.

“But you know…” The girl stepped closer, her voice steady even as he struggled to see her through his blurred vision. “Even if I could go back, I would do it all the same.”

She continued, her voice filled with conviction, “You say this is just the way the Sunless World is—dark, dangerous, cruel. But does it have to be this way? Can’t we try to make it better?”

For the first time, Will looked up at her.

“This world is like this because we barely understand it. No one tries to uncover its secrets because it’s dangerous. And if we keep running away from those dangers, nothing will ever change.”

When had he started to believe otherwise?

When had he come to think that the villagers’ attack was solely because the girls had put themselves in harm’s way?

When had he accepted the idea that a woman being assaulted and killed was somehow her fault for how she dressed or where she chose to walk?

When had he convinced himself that such things were just the way of this world?

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice firm but tinged with sorrow. “It may sound like an excuse, but I will solve the mysteries of this world. I want to keep learning about it, because I want to change it.”

To Will, her words carried a strength, a determination, a yearning.

It was the same tone he had once heard from someone else, when she spoke of Revachol, her homeland, with that same unshakable belief and passion.

And just as he’d felt in Heisenberg’s infirmary, Will realized he couldn’t remain there any longer. But this time, the emotion driving him away wasn’t fear. It was something far heavier.

Will turned away, wiping at his tears with his right hand as he walked toward the pressurized hatch.

He felt too pathetic to face her right now.

Yet as he reached the hatch, he hesitated.

“You need to release the lantern into the sea,” he said, his voice low and rough, strained by the effort to sound composed. He didn’t turn back to face her. “That way, their souls will find their way home.”

And he hoped, in his heart, that she could find her way home too.