Two minutes passed, then turned into five, and five minutes turned into ten.
Every once in a while, Jackma would click on his light box and point the flashlight at the wall-mounted timer, watching the passage of time with a frown.
Finally, the communication speaker installed on the door rang, but contrary to the automatic message he expected, the station-wide communication system was replaced with the same scream and whine as his screen, but twice the previous volume.
"Damn! What the hell happened!!"
His hands pressed against his ears, as if his fingers and dirty palms could block out hundreds of decibels of screams.
Jackma knocked open the door with his elbow and knelt in the public aisle, but the sound was always with him, and the deck speakers were also wailing wildly.
He found that other doors opened one by one, but this only amplified the sound: screams came from everyone's living room, and other staff staggered out of their cabins.
"what is going on?"
He shouted these words loudly, but no sound came out of his throat, and no one nearby responded.
And before all hell breaks loose, Guardsman Moss Baines is telling stories about his pets.
It's not a particularly funny or interesting story, but on the Overwatch deck, anything to pass the time is considered a welcome diversion.
Their rotation work was very simple. They spent twelve consecutive hours looking at the scanning screen that showed nothing, reading inspection reports that were the same as before, discussing what to do once they were transferred out of this dilapidated military depot, or Looking forward to the day when they can return to real fleet service.
It's just that a lot of unpleasant things happened today, including dead code that interfered with the system.
Under Mose Baines' quick reaction, the weapon array was activated, the defense turret stared into the void, the shield was opened, and layers of spherical invisible force protected the ugly shell of the space station.
The security officer's eyes wandered over the timer on the console. Seven minutes and 41 seconds had passed since the interference began. He called it "interference" because it sounded more reassuring than "damn screams." And there is a lot of science.
Currently, the damn tip--disruption is being broadcast over their internal communications network, reaching every deck at an insane volume.
They couldn't turn it off and no one knew why.
"The lights have just gone out at No. 2 West End!"
One person shouted:
"Oh, fuck...and West End One, West End Three, the whole East End, and—"
At the same time, the lights on the command deck also went out, and the backup generator started operating, bathing everyone in a headache-inducing emergency red light.
"It's been detected. It's an external signal."
The officer at the console next to the security officer tapped the screen—one of the few devices on the station that seemed to still be functioning.
"Whatever it is, that's where it comes from."
The command deck was always hot and the air filters never worked properly, so tension wasn't going to work.
"Details?"
The security officer wiped the sweat on his forehead with his sleeve.
The officer jabbed his fingertip to the screen again.
"A passive broadcast signal, recorded here in the archives just ten minutes ago, and as the signal was processed and archived by our contemplatives, it... spread, like some kind of disease, it flooded Specific space station systems: the communications array, and the more primitive components of the electrical grid.”
Mose Baines resisted the urge to curse.
"What about the gravity system?"
"Still operating normally."
"Shield system?"
"Still holding on."
"Oxygen, weapons, escape pods."
"It's all still there. It's a simple, cruel, random piece of abandoned code. It can't shut down complex things, just communications, auspices and...it looks like the lighting network is offline. It's the most basic system, but All are filled with intrusive code that hinders their functionality."
The security officer looked back at his scanning screen, which was consistent with the damage feedback he had seen ten minutes ago.
"Scanners, lights, and communicators... well, we're blind, deaf, and dumb, and you know we're going to be screwed if this keeps up, and the Tin Man will have demerits all over our resumes, look. Take a look."
Saying those words made no difference, and for the first time in countless shifts, the sergeant absentmindedly buttoned his uniform jacket.
"Aren't you worried that this might be an attack?"
another officer asked, and Moss Baines shook his head.
"Who's going to attack here? Our weapons and shields are still working, there's nothing to worry about except for those Tin Woodmen to hold them accountable, and that will be... Come on, don't piss off the Tin Woodmen. Their profit margins.”
Just a few years ago, he would have worried about all the people forced to work in the dark. Now he worries first about himself: the bosses and the red-coated ones won't tolerate serious production delays.
If this continues, he may have to pay a large sum of money in compensation.
A young officer next to him scratched his unshaved chin and said with complaint:
“So how can we be blamed for the production stagnation?”
Mose Baines tried his best to remain patient. This guy was new, he had only been on the job for two months, and he was not integrating well. The bionic equipment that replaced his left cheek, temple, and eye looked prohibitively expensive. Huo is obviously a rich man who is trying to be cheap.
Maybe his wealthy father sent him here as some kind of punishment. No matter what the truth is, as long as he wants to continue to maintain this kind of virtue, this girl is a difficult bastard to deal with.
Mose Baines snorted.
"What explanation do you think the Tin Woodman would hear? What a mess the pirates have made of us? Why the hell would anyone target a place like this? If everyone could find it, there wouldn't be anything worth grabbing."
"Sir! A special situation has been discovered! It's, it's a ship--"
Mose Baines stood up in his seat, opened his mouth, and stared out the window of the command deck at a ship that should not exist——
A figure shrouded in shadow licked his lips on the command seat, watching the image of the Star Pirates Space Station slowly expand in the eyeball display. They were sneaking in such a close state, and the instruments and weapons of the space station were unaware of it. But as they got dangerously close to the space station, the ugly silhouette became visible to the naked eye.
"Closer, closer."
The being on the command throne spoke slowly to the bridge crew.
"Keep screaming."
"damned--"
The monitors were still flashing a large amount of confusing data, and the flickering afterimages, lengthy messages, and traced signals were simply impossible to exist.
One moment it showed thirty-five ships huddled on top of each other, the next nothing but a vacuum.
The ship outside the inspection window is getting closer and closer, and it can be seen with the naked eye. Even its armor plating is clearly visible, with several layers of black and bronze - reflecting the dim brilliance of the stars in the distance.
"Looks like an Astartes strike cruiser, a big one."
The guard bit his lower lip, unable to take his eyes away from the approaching ship.
"Can they be identified?"
"Yes...it's the Astral Knight!"
