The drop pod hissed open, releasing a cloud of frigid air. The Chasm wasn't a chasm in the geological sense. It was a wound in reality, a scar left by a failed Faster-Than-Light drive test a century ago. A mile-wide tear in the earth where physics went to sulk. And from that tear, a perpetual, low-frequency hum droned on, a sound that felt like a grey toothache.
The last thing Kaelen saw was the black glass of the Chasm reflecting his own face. But it wasn't his face. It was a mask of pure, patient silence, with a million whispering mouths.
He realized the truth with a sickening lurch. The “fragmented audio data” wasn't in a black box. The black box was the Chasm. The failed FTL drive hadn't just torn a hole in space. It had torn a hole in time , or at least, in causality. Every stray radio wave, every shouted order, every panicked breath from the original disaster had been trapped here, caught in a recursive loop, amplifying and corrupting itself for a century. And now, it was aware.