Chapter 9: Ghosts in the Machine - Part 2

People often say that dreams are like the morning mist—clear and vivid when we first awaken but quick to fade into the recesses of memory.

Yet, sometimes, they are not.

Sometimes, a dream is so vivid, so deeply etched into the mind, that no amount of willpower can erase it.

For Sonia, it was worse than that.

Her dream was always the same, unfolding in every identical detail. She remembered it not because it was special, but because it repeated itself every single night.

In her dream, she stood in a vast, circular chamber. The walls, ceiling, and floor were a seamless, stark white, so uniform it was difficult to discern where one ended and another began. It felt like a void, an emptiness, except for the two figures standing at the center of the room, facing each other.

One of them was Esther. She was speaking, her mouth moving with urgency, but no sound reached Sonia’s ears. Esther’s expression was a painful blend of despair and fury, her gestures frantic, as though begging to be understood.

The other figure was a young man, someone Sonia hadn’t even known by name when she first began having the dream.

His face was emotionless, a cold mask devoid of humanity. In his right hand, he held the hilt of a slender blade, its edge gleaming sharply in the featureless light of the chamber.

Sonia always knew what would happen next. She even knew, with bitter certainty, that she was dreaming. And yet, she tried—desperately—to stop it. She screamed, her voice swallowed by the oppressive silence. She willed her limbs to move, to intervene, to do anything.

But she wasn’t even sure she existed within the dream.

And as always, just like every night before, all she could do was watch as it happened.

The young man gave a slight flick of his wrist before thrusting his arm forward, driving the blade through Esther's abdomen.

The tip of the blade emerged from the back of the blonde girl, and Sonia watched as her friend’s mouth opened in a silent gasp, her expression frozen in shock and disbelief.

Blood began to trail down the length of the blade, dripping onto the pristine white floor. Esther coughed, crimson spilling from her lips in uneven bursts.

Sonia didn’t know what a person would truly look like when impaled—she had never witnessed such a thing in real life. But every detail of the scene before her felt terrifyingly real.

The trembling legs. The eyes filled with the harrowing awareness of approaching death. The ragged, faltering breaths.

Yet the young man remained impassive, his expression cold and unflinching, as though the act he had just committed was of no consequence at all.

Esther slowly collapsed forward, her weight pressing the blade deeper into her body until her face and upper torso came to rest against the young man’s chest.

And then Sonia saw it.

A shadowed figure seated behind them.

Esther’s position had always blocked this figure from Sonia’s view, but now, as her friend’s body fell, the shadow was revealed.

The figure sat with its back turned to Sonia, its silhouette unmistakably human. It was the kind of shadow cast when someone stood before a blinding light, sharp-edged and distinct.

In front of the figure was a large, obsidian-colored contraption. A lid, propped open on hinges, sat atop it, while rows of white and black keys stretched across its width.

The shadow's hands moved over the keys, deliberate and slow, each motion measured with precision, as though the figure understood exactly which keys to press and when. Though all the keys appeared identical, the shadow manipulated them with practiced expertise.

Each time the shadow's fingers descended on a key, a melodic note resonated through the room—a hauntingly beautiful sound that seemed to fill the void.

It was the only sound in the dream.

No dripping of blood onto the floor.

No slicing of steel through flesh.

No cries of anguish.

Only the music from that instrument.

It was a melody Sonia had heard before—a song broadcast through the radio waves Esther and her father once used to send signals.

The same melody the people on the drilling platform claimed to have heard at depths of five thousand meters.

The song Esther once told her came from an instrument that no longer existed in the Sunless World.

And yet, there it was. Sonia could see it clearly, every intricate detail of the instrument, though she had never laid eyes on such a thing before.

At last, when Esther's lifeless body lay sprawled on the floor, a pool of red spreading outward like a blooming flower, the shadow’s hands came to a stop.

The figure slowly turned its head, as though sensing Sonia's presence, and looked directly at her.

For the first time, their gazes met.

For the first time, she was about to see its face.

Sonia woke up.

…

Sonia idly pushed around the scraps of meat on her plate, her gaze distant as her mind lingered on the dream.

They sat in the mess hall, having just returned from the mourning ritual held on the ship’s deck. Around them, a handful of crewmates prepared for the daytime shift, their low chatter barely audible over the soft hum of the Washington’s engines as the vessel began its descent beneath the waves.

Esther was by the small kitchenette, unwrapping her breakfast ration—a dense, frozen cube of vegetables, starch, and protein laced with a salty glaze designed more for preservation than flavor. She placed it into the ship’s compact oven to thaw, the machine humming softly as it began its work.

The ship’s rations were practical, engineered for efficiency and longevity. But Sonia thought they were an insult to the concept of food, even without her current lack of appetite.

Esther returned to the table and sat across from her, though she didn’t immediately begin eating either. Her face carried a troubled expression, one that Sonia noticed despite her effort to avoid meeting her friend’s gaze.

“So,” Esther began, her voice careful, “are you ready to tell me now?”

Sonia knew exactly what Esther was referring to, but she feigned ignorance regardless. “Tell you what?”

“Why you told me not to trust Rain.”

Sonia had indeed warned her on the island, but now she hesitated. How could she explain? Telling Esther about the dream—how she saw Rain stab her over and over, all while the haunting notes of Moonlight Sonata played in the background—seemed absurd, even to herself.

Especially since Rain had fought tooth and nail to protect them on that cursed island.

How could she possibly tell Esther something that absurd?

Sonia might have dismissed the dream as mere coincidence—if it weren’t for the shadow. That dark silhouette looming behind Esther in every single one of them.

Sonia had no formal knowledge of music. She had listened to some old-world records before—songs played with a variety of instruments blending into a harmonious melody. Yet, she couldn’t picture what a drum set or a guitar might look like. But in her dream, she was fairly certain that the white and black keys belonged to a piano—the instrument capable of producing Moonlight Sonata.

So what was her dream? A random creation of her overworked brain?

Or was it an omen?

Esther was still watching her, waiting for an answer. Sonia sighed. “I think I’m just stressed. Lately, I’ve been having strange dreams,” she deflected. It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either.

Esther frowned, her concern evident. “You’ve just been through a near-death experience. You should see the ship’s doctor,” she suggested earnestly. “I heard submarine medics are trained to help with stress from long journeys.”

Sonia knew this to be true. Life aboard a submarine was considered safer than working on surface vessels, but it came with its own set of challenges—chief among them, the toll it took on a person’s mind.

Crew members who spent too long underwater often came back… different. Not physically, but emotionally. Families and neighbors would often report subtle changes in their behavior or temperament once they returned home after months—or even years—at sea.

Sonia had eavesdropped on D.C.’s police radio channels in the past, and she’d heard more than her share of reports—submarine sailors involved in suicides or even murders. And that was just in the D.C. harbor.

Her mind flickered to the stoic faces of Captain Holland and Rain. She remembered the captain’s unflinching gaze as he raised his gun toward her. She remembered the cold precision in Rain’s movements as he drew his blade, cutting down the frenzied islanders. Both of them had displayed the same detached calm, even amidst chaos and death.

How long had the two of them been living on submarines?

Had either of them ever sought help from a psychiatrist?

For that matter, did she need to see one?

“So, what exactly were you dreaming about?” Esther’s offhanded question almost made Sonia choke on the soup she was sipping.

A vivid image of Esther, lying in a pool of blood, flashed through her mind. Sonia froze for a moment, staring into the distance.

“I dreamt of the Siberian plains,” she finally said, her voice distant. “It was an endless expanse of white ice, stretching as far as the eye could see.” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully.

It wasn’t her dream at all.

It was a story her father used to tell her on sleepless nights. He would recount tales of her grandfather’s homeland—the frozen tundras of Siberia—painting vivid pictures for her to imagine as she drifted off to sleep.

“Above the plains, there’s a faint blue glow from the moss, just enough to light up the surroundings,” Sonia continued, her voice steady. “The reflection on the ice makes it so that, on clear days, you can see for miles upon miles.”

She didn’t narrate it as vividly as her father once had, but Esther listened intently. Her wide eyes and furrowed brow hinted at the mental image she was trying to piece together—a luminous blue tundra, stretching endlessly.

“Have you ever been to Siberia?” Esther asked.

Sonia shook her head. “I wish our route would take us there,” she admitted, casting a glance at the clock mounted on the wall. She noticed she had only ten minutes of her break left.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“I should get going.” Sonia picked up her tray, ready to return it to the collection area.

“Is there anything I can help with?” Esther’s voice stopped her.

Sonia turned, catching sight of the blonde girl, her brows furrowed in worry.

“I just feel useless... I need something to do,” Esther confessed, a hint of embarrassment creeping into her voice. It was enough to make Sonia smile.

"I think there might be something for you. I'll ask Matthew about it," Sonia promised, setting her tray on the rack beside the kitchen. Turning back, she noticed Esther was still frowning deeply.

“Come on, I said I’d check for you. Stop making that ‘end-of-the-world’ face already.” Sonia teased lightly, turning to face her.

“I really want to help,” Esther said earnestly.

Sonia raised a thumbs-up and gave her an exaggerated look of reassurance, the universal don’t worry about it face. Then, she stepped out of the mess hall.

The corridor outside was empty, quiet except for the faint hum of the ship’s systems. Sonia leaned her back against the wall and took a deep breath, letting the tension ease out of her shoulders.

Maybe it meant nothing.

It was just a dream, after all.

Her eyes drifted down the hallway, toward the steel staircase at the far end. She glanced at the overhead lights, noting how one bulb flickered, its glow weaker than the rest. She made a mental note to report it to the technical crew.

It was a small, insignificant thought, but it gave her something to hold onto. Something to tether herself to reality.

Then the corridor lights went out.

Sonia flinched, her vision snatched away in an instant. Her hands fumbled for the mess hall door handle, only to curse under her breath as it refused to budge.

“Hey!” she shouted, banging on the door with her fist.

No response. Silence engulfed her.

She pressed her ear to the door, straining to catch the muffled voices she knew should be audible from the other side. Instead, she heard something else.

Clang.

A metallic sound echoed faintly—a soft impact, but in the utter stillness of the corridor, it was loud and clear.

She whipped her head toward the source of the noise: the steel staircase at the far end of the hallway.

What was that?

Her eyes scanned the darkness.

Clang.

The noise came again, and this time Sonia caught the faintest flicker of movement near the stairs. She could swear she saw a shadow shift.

Clang.

Someone—or something—was climbing the steel ladder, its back turned to her. Sonia’s breath hitched as her gaze locked onto the faint outline of a dark figure. The sound of metal on metal echoed again, unmistakably the sound of footsteps against the ladder rungs. Slowly, methodically, the shadow ascended, moving toward the third deck.

“Who’s there?” Sonia’s voice trembled, a chill creeping through her.

No reply.

The shadow halted, frozen mid-motion. Sonia swallowed hard, her instincts screaming at her to run, yet her curiosity compelled her forward. Her footfall on the metal floor echoed softly, tentative but resolute. She had to see who—or what—it was.

The instant her footstep rang out, the figure’s head twisted sharply toward her.

Sonia’s breath caught in her throat. Long hair whipped about its head, catching on the steel rungs of the ladder.

A woman?

Before she could process the thought, she felt a hand land firmly on her shoulder.

Sonia let out a startled cry, spinning around. Her heart pounded, her mind racing with nightmarish scenarios of bloated, decayed faces or ghastly grins leering back at her—the perfect setup for a horror story she’d read too many times.

But all she saw was Rain's impassive face.

"Are you alright?" he asked, tilting his head slightly to look up at her, given their difference in height.

Sonia glanced around. The corridor was now fully illuminated, the lights shining steadily. When she turned back toward the staircase at the end of the hall, it was empty.

“Did the lights just go out?” she asked, her voice shaky.

The boy in front of her shook his head.

“Did you see someone climbing the ladder just now?”

This time, Rain frowned, his expression puzzled. “I just came down that ladder and saw you standing here… staring off into space.” He stopped, his sharp eyes narrowing as if trying to gauge her state. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Sonia forced herself to stay calm, willing her racing heart to settle. She plastered on a weak smile, though she felt anything but composed. “I’m fine! I was just… lost in thought, that’s all!” Her inner voice mocked her: Really convincing, Sonia. But it was the best excuse she could muster in the moment.

Rain continued to study her with that unreadable gaze, his silence stretching long enough to make her uncomfortable.

What? Am I not allowed to see hallucinations on a submarine? she thought, teetering between irritation and nervousness. She opened her mouth to say something snarky, but Rain turned away before she could. His hand reached for the mess hall door handle.

“Hey…” Her voice came out suddenly, stopping him in his tracks. His hand paused mid-turn, gripping the handle.

“How long have you been on submarines?”

Rain didn’t so much as blink. His expression remained blank, his voice utterly monotone. “I don’t remember.”

With that, he stepped inside, leaving Sonia frozen in the hallway, stunned.

Rain should’ve been about the same age as Esther—barely old enough to even be considered for a life at sea. And yet, his demeanor, his movements, the way he carried himself—all of it spoke of someone who had spent far too long in the endless darkness of the Sunless Sea.

If he had started young, maybe even as soon as he could walk, how many years would that make? Not more than twenty, surely.

Some people encounter moments or events that irrevocably change them—altering their personalities, their emotions, their very outlook on life.

But the expression Rain wore as he stood there staring at her—the same expression he had when he killed, the same detached calm that seemed as unyielding as stone—wasn’t the kind that came from facing death once or twice.

It was the expression of someone who had grown accustomed to it.

Can people really do that? Sonia wondered, her stomach knotting. Could someone truly become indifferent to death, treating the horrors of the world as just another routine part of their day? Could a person exist who had seen, survived, and somehow adapted to the unrelenting darkness of the Sunless World—and lived with it, day after day?

Her hands trembled as her mind flashed back to the Soviet outpost, to the moment Holland had leveled a gun at her head, finger on the trigger. Or to Solaris Island, when she had sunk beneath the waves, bound and helpless.

How many times would she have to endure situations like those before she, too, could wear that same unflinching expression?

No. Only a lunatic could get used to something like that.

Then the image from her dream resurfaced in her mind: Esther, slumped against Rain’s chest, her blood soaking his blade. And Rain’s face, devoid of feeling.

It was the same face he wore when he disemboweled the islanders to protect them.

Sonia clenched her fists, her feet carrying her forward almost instinctively. She headed down the corridor, past the stairwell, toward the infirmary.

If this is madness—if it’s just the dream or the hallucinations driving me crazy—then so be it, she thought grimly.

If it really is just a dream or a trick of the mind…

Sonia was beginning to regret seeking out the ship’s doctor as she glanced around the infirmary. The room was cluttered with shelves brimming with bottles of medicine and jars containing preserved specimens, their grotesque forms suspended in murky liquid. Her discomfort only deepened when her eyes landed on the bald, mustachioed, and perpetually stern-looking man seated behind the desk. He was engrossed in sketching something in a notebook, seemingly unaware of her presence as she hesitantly stepped inside.

The doctor didn’t even look up when he gestured wordlessly to the chair opposite him. Sonia sat down cautiously, unsure of what to expect.

“Are you the ship’s doctor?” she ventured after an awkward silence.

“Call me Heisenberg,” the man replied, his deep voice carrying a distinct Dirkish accent.

Dirkish—a language of the Reich Isles, a once-mighty empire now fragmented into semi-feudal states. Sonia recalled lessons from history class about how the Reich had once been the most advanced nation in the Sunless World. That is, until their ill-fated war with the Soviets, culminating in defeat during the Battle of the German Gulf when the U.S. entered the fray.

Today, the Reich was renowned for exporting top-tier medicines and medical professionals. Passing the Reich’s medical licensing exams was a near-universal mark of excellence, a fact that should have put Sonia at ease.

But as Heisenberg finally looked up, his piercing yellow eyes locking onto hers, Sonia’s unease only grew.

“Menstrual issues?” he asked bluntly, his tone devoid of emotion.

Sonia blinked, caught completely off guard. Is this guy for real? she thought, momentarily wondering if he might be insane. “No… I came to talk about something psychological.”

When Heisenberg didn’t respond, she pressed on hesitantly. “Do you think dreams can be… omens?”

Heisenberg paused mid-sketch, lifting his gaze to meet hers. His sharp, predatory eyes seemed to scrutinize her every thought. Sonia shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of his stare.

“What kind of dreams?”

“The kind where it’s the same every night,” she replied, her voice quieter now.

Heisenberg folded his hands under his chin, his expression as inscrutable as ever. “Describe it to me.”

At least he hasn’t called me crazy, Sonia thought, though she wasn’t sure if psychiatrists would openly say that to a patient anyway. She hesitated before speaking again, carefully choosing her words.

“I dream… of my friend being killed,” she began slowly. “And at the end of the dream, there’s always someone else standing behind them. But before I can see their face, I wake up.”

Heisenberg listened without a hint of surprise or judgment. When she finished, he leaned forward slightly.

“Is there any sound in your dream?” he asked, his deep voice as steady and emotionless as before. But the question made Sonia freeze.

“There’s no sound,” Sonia said slowly, “except for the music playing in the background.” She watched Heisenberg closely, wondering why he seemed so fixated on the auditory details of her dream.

“And the person you see at the end of the dream… are they male or female?” His next question made Sonia frown despite herself.

“I’m not sure…” she admitted, trying to picture the dark silhouette but failing to determine any distinguishing features. “Does it matter?” Her frustration began to show.

While she was relieved to have someone to share her strange dreams with, she hadn’t expected such meticulous interrogation.

Heisenberg exhaled a soft, measured breath. “Everything matters, no matter how small or insignificant it seems.”

“But it’s just a dream,” Sonia countered, irritation creeping into her voice.

A faint smirk tugged at the corners of Heisenberg’s lips. “You were the one who asked me if dreams could be omens.”

“Well, are they?” she shot back.

“That depends on the components of the dream,” he said calmly. “Most dreams are fragmented and nonsensical, and we usually forget them shortly after waking up.” He paused, exhaling deeply before continuing. “But there are certain elements that can indicate when a dream is… different.”

“Like what?” Sonia swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.

Heisenberg’s faint smirk widened slightly. “Miss Sonia, dreams are constructed from the patchwork of our experiences. They are a product of the parts of our brain that remain active while we sleep, rearranging, enhancing, or looping our memories. That is the nature of ordinary dreams.”

Sonia stayed silent, waiting for him to elaborate. Outside the infirmary, she heard the faint footsteps of someone passing by. It must be the start of a new shift, and she was probably already late. But she didn’t care.

"But what if there's something in the dream that's beyond your own experiences?" Heisenberg's voice broke the silence. "Something like… a melody you've never heard, a person you've never met, or—"

"A musical instrument that no longer exists in this world," Sonia finished in a hushed tone, her voice barely above a whisper.

Heisenberg nodded slowly. "Dreaming of the same scenario repeatedly is unusual enough, but if both conditions apply, it’s hard to dismiss as coincidence."

"So, it is an omen, then?" Sonia asked, the skepticism in her tone battling against the growing unease in her chest.

Heisenberg shook his head, the motion deliberate and measured. "I didn’t say that. I’m simply saying it’s not random. Interpreting dreams isn’t exactly my specialty." His sharp, hunter-like gaze bore into her once more. "It depends on what you choose to believe."

What did she believe? The words of Dimitri, the maddened island chief, surfaced unbidden in her thoughts.

"Does it even matter?" she asked, her voice tinged with frustration.

Heisenberg didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he removed his glasses and began wiping the lenses with a cloth. "I believe the future is like the Sunless Sea, and I am the submarine," he began, his voice calm and deliberate. "As long as I don’t adjust the rudder, I can predict exactly where the submarine will go."

He blew a speck of dust off the lens before slipping the glasses back on. "But on the other hand, perhaps I’m not the one steering the submarine at all. Perhaps I’m just a passenger, adrift on the Sunless Sea, with no control over my direction—my course decided entirely by a captain I cannot see."

Sonia felt the weight of his metaphor sink in. Are we the ones shaping the future, or is everything already predetermined?

Heisenberg gently slid his open notebook across the desk toward her. On the page was the sketch he’d been working on when she first entered. It now lay fully exposed before her.

Sonia stared at the drawing.

A wave of cold terror surged through her as recognition struck.

It was the same image she had seen beneath the island. The nightmarish form that emerged from the depths as Dimitri, the island chief, sacrificed her to the island's ancient god. It was the last thing she saw before she lost consciousness.

The gaping maw, smooth, leathery skin, predator’s eyes—all rendered in unsettling detail, emerging from the mouth of a massive underwater cave beneath the island.

"You’ve never seen a turtle before, have you?" Heisenberg’s voice drew her back, though she barely registered his words. "They’re fascinating creatures. They live and grow within a shell that protects them from predators. Some say they can live for hundreds of years. Some even say they can grow to colossal sizes."

Sonia barely heard him. Her wide eyes remained fixed on the sketch, disbelief and horror etched into her features.

She had never told anyone about what she’d seen beneath the island—except Esther. And even then, she’d only mentioned that the island was alive, an ancient being drawn to the bodies sacrificed to its depths. She hadn’t described its form, not even in passing.

Coincidence? Could it really be a coincidence that this psychiatrist she’d impulsively decided to visit was sketching the very creature that haunted her nightmares?

"I’ve never seen a turtle myself, either," Heisenberg said, pulling her attention back to him. His words came softly, almost conspiratorial.

"I just dream about it every night."

And then Heisenberg smiled.