NOVPUBDecember 16, 2025 — 4:12 AM
MOA Complex – Executive Offices, Conrad Tower.
The elevator doors opened with a soft hiss, revealing the quiet corridors of Conrad Tower's upper floors. Unlike the operational wings or the barracks below, this level was silent—reserved for Overwatch's core command structure. No idle chatter. No bootsteps. Just the dull hum of powerlines and the low thrum of air recyclers.
Thomas Estaris stepped out, still in his battered field gear. A fresh bandage ran across his temple. His vest was half-zipped, stained with salt and blood. His boots left wet prints across the polished floor.
Marcus stood waiting by the glass door to his office, hands tucked behind his back. His uniform was pressed, collar sharp, but the worry on his face was obvious.
"You sure you're fit for this?" he asked quietly.
Thomas didn't slow. "I'll sleep after the war."
Marcus sighed and keyed the door open. 𝔫𝖔𝔳𝔭𝔲𝔟.𝖈𝔬𝔪
The office was spartan, like everything else they used. A matte black desk. Two chairs. A reinforced glass window overlooking the southern docks. A pair of digital boards displayed real-time telemetry from radar stations and airspace grids. No personal photos. No decorations. Just work.
Thomas dropped into the nearest chair without ceremony. His body moved like it had aged five years in a day.
Marcus took the seat across from him and activated the tabletop projector.
"All right," Marcus said. "Start from the beginning."
Thomas leaned forward and clasped his hands together, letting the silence settle for a second.
"We left Japanese airspace on schedule. Stratotanker was in stable condition. Clear skies, calm current, and no radar anomalies for the first four hours."
"Then?"
"Something hit us mid-transit. Altitude twenty-one thousand. Radar picked up a massive contact just seconds before it happened. Not a missile. Not a bird. Bigger."
Marcus narrowed his eyes. "You're saying the plane was intercepted mid-air?"
Thomas nodded. "It was a flying organism. Bloom-adapted. Massive wingspan. Speed estimate—Mach 0.6, maybe faster. It collided with the port side fuel compartment. Ripped right through the skin."
Marcus muttered a curse under his breath.
Thomas continued. "Fuel loss. Engine fire. Hydraulics gone. We didn't have time to reroute. Only enough time to try and slow descent. We crashed somewhere in the East China Sea."
"And you were the only one that survived?"
Thomas nodded. "Madel's fate… unknown. I got blown clear. Landed on a floating debris panel. No signal. No backup. I activated the system."
"The Sea Phantom," Marcus said, catching on.
"Right. Emergency recon boat. Single-seat. It deployed near me. I used it to stay afloat and navigate toward Luzon."
Marcus leaned back in his chair, arms crossed now. "And that's when the Bloom attacked?"
Thomas shook his head. "No. Not right away. I was in open water for nearly two hours before I encountered the first one. At first, I thought it was a drifting corpse. Human torso. Fish tail. Gills. Bloom-mutated. I thought it was just another dead variant."
He paused.
"But then it moved."
Marcus didn't interrupt.
"It dived back under. I ran sonar. Got pings. Multiple. They weren't drifting—they were tracking me. By the time I was seventy nautical miles out, they were attacking in waves. I counted at least seven different aquatic forms. All Bloom. All coordinated."
He pulled a data slate from his side pocket and slid it across the table. Marcus tapped it once—the screen flickered to life with sonar logs, images, and audio clips. Screeches underwater. Dragging sounds against hull plating. Snapshots from the Sea Phantom's rear camera showing glimpses of twisted, eel-like creatures and humanoid swimmers with elongated arms.
"They weren't just swimming," Thomas said. "They were ambushing. One tried to crawl into the cockpit. Another used its tail to slam the stern. I had to use the onboard stunner, emergency depth charges, and flares. Even then, the boat's hull integrity dropped to forty-five percent before I shook them."
Marcus stared at the footage. One clip showed a creature breaching the surface, jaws gaping wide, dorsal spines glinting under moonlight before vanishing beneath a wall of spray.
"These things… they were coordinated?"
Thomas nodded. "The sonar tracks show them moving in parallel patterns. One would herd while another attacked. Some would feint from below. They weren't just acting on instinct. They were… tactical."
"And the size of the largest?"
Thomas tapped the table. "Twelve meters minimum. Possibly more."
Marcus leaned forward now, resting his elbows on the desk.
"This confirms it then," he said grimly. "The Bloom isn't confined to land anymore. It's spreading through marine ecosystems. Coastal. Deep-sea. Maybe even through ballast water or submerged spores."
"That's the working theory," Thomas said. "And I don't think the waters around Luzon are clean either. We've never had long-range sonar or enough naval patrols to prove it. The sea's been too quiet."
Marcus exhaled, rubbing his temples. "And now we know why."
They sat in silence for a long moment, the ambient hum of the command tower surrounding them.
Finally, Marcus asked, "What's our play?"
Thomas didn't hesitate.
"We stand up a naval division," he said. "Full spectrum. Patrol, recon, interdiction, and coastal defense. Start with drones and fast-response skiffs. Scale into mid-size cutters, sonar platforms, and gunboats."
"We don't have a drydock," Marcus said flatly.
"We can build one," Thomas replied. "Or summon it piece by piece and assemble it under cover."
"You already checked the system?" Marcus asked.
Thomas nodded. "C-17 was a heavy lift solution. We can get modular shipyard sections. Hull stockpiles. Even offshore support platforms. But I'll need at least two weeks to build the framework and two more for integration."
Marcus processed that. "What about personnel?"
"We don't train sailors. We train operators. AI-assisted navigation. Minimal crew. If it floats and shoots, we make it work. Besides, we won't need a navy in the traditional sense. No carrier groups. No fleets. Just mobile platforms that don't sink when a Bloom decides to crawl on board."
Marcus cracked a thin smile. "That's the most optimistic description I've heard all week."
"I'm too tired to be poetic," Thomas said. "But I am serious. The next phase of this war isn't going to be fought in farmland or ruins. It'll be out in the open water. On trade lanes. Near rivers. Around island corridors. And we can't let the Bloom turn the sea into its next breeding ground."
