Felzein and Cherlyn lingered for a moment in contemplative silence, visibly taken aback by the scale and grandeur of the underground installation.
Far beneath the surface, the space stretched wide and deep, an intricate network of reinforced structures and gleaming technology, exuding an air of calculated precision and formidable strength.
The cold metallic scent of machinery mingled with the distant hum of power conduits hidden within the walls.
“I must admit, I’m rather impressed,” Felzein murmured, his voice low but reverent, eyes roving across the vaulted chamber. “The subterranean level of this outpost is remarkable.”
Jonas chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly flustered, “Weren’t you the one who designed all this, Professor?” he said in a sheepish tone, as though reluctant to remind the man of his own genius.
Felzein let out a faint breath, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “I had nearly forgotten,” he replied, stepping forward with a calm ease. “I suppose I drafted the layouts for most of our branch facilities without much ceremony. Just sketches at the time...”
“Hmph. Arrogant much?” Cherlyn remarked under her breath, her tone half playful, half exasperated, arms crossed as she gave him a sidelong glance.
Felzein didn’t flinch. His expression remained composed, his smirk faint but unshaken.
“Confidence becomes arrogance only in the absence of skill,” he said mildly. “Fortunately, that’s not a concern in my case.”
Cherlyn did not spare another second, “Jonas, be quick about it. Open the chamber,” she commanded, her voice clipped and resolute as her gaze remained fixed on the steel door concealing the Swift70 beyond.
“Yes, Agent Lyn,” Jonas responded with a deferential nod, though a trace of hesitation lingered in his manner.
His face, though composed, betrayed a hint of discomfort.
He stepped forward and once more submitted himself to the retinal scanner.
The cool blue light swept across his eye with a faint hum.
After a brief moment, the mechanism clicked into motion, and the reinforced door began to part with a slow, pneumatic hiss.
Felzein tilted his head slightly, observing the machinery with narrowed eyes, “It all feels rather antiquated,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone in particular.
“What do you mean?” Cherlyn asked, glancing sideways at him with a frown.
“I mean,” he said, his voice laced with dry irony, “if everything hinges on retinal scans, things could become rather inconvenient should someone lose an eye.”
Cherlyn rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed, “You were the one who insisted on biometric redundancy protocols in the first place. Don’t act so surprised.”
Felzein offered a crooked smile, a glint of mischief flickering in his eyes, “True. I suppose I was rather enamoured with security back then.”
“Hmph. Enamoured is putting it lightly,” Cherlyn muttered under her breath, arms folded as the door continued to groan open.
He chuckled softly, entirely unbothered by the jab, “Guilty as charged,” he said lightly, stepping forward as the chamber beyond was slowly revealed.
As the reinforced door drew back fully with a pneumatic hiss, the blue vessel within was at last unveiled.
Swift70, a sleek, compact submersible designed for no more than four souls.
Yet it was no ordinary submarine. With its aerodynamic curves, smooth hull, and metallic fins.
It looked less like something meant to dive beneath the sea and more like a shuttle poised for orbit, a futuristic anomaly buried beneath concrete and steel.
Cherlyn let out a short, incredulous laugh, “A space-faring submarine,” she remarked drily, one brow arched in open derision.
“Set that on a runway and no one would blink if it took off,” she added, the corners of her mouth twitching in a smirk.
“Enough,” said Felzein sharply, his tone clipped and his eyes narrowing into a glare. “The appearance is irrelevant. What matters is performance.”
“Performance?” Cherlyn echoed with a sardonic tilt of her head. “It looks like it’s auditioning for a science fiction film. What’s next? Retractable wings and a hyperspace drive?”
Felzein breathed out slowly, suppressing his mounting irritation, and stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the vessel with quiet conviction.
“Say what you like. But when the sea turns treacherous and the enemy lurks where radar cannot reach, this will be the difference between life and death.”
Felzein turned on his heel, the weight of his gaze settling upon Jonas with the intensity of a thunderhead.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice smooth but dark as velvet drawn over steel, “have you ever truly tested her limits?”
Jonas straightened instinctively, caught in the force of Felzein’s presence, “Yes, Professor,” he answered quickly, though his voice wavered slightly.
“I’ve taken her down to five hundred metres below the surface. Beyond that, well, the structural integrity begins to falter. I was advised not to push further.”
Felzein’s expression soured with a slow, deliberate shake of the head, “Pathetic,” he said, the word falling like a verdict. “You were entrusted with a masterpiece and treated it like a toy in a paddling pool.”
Jonas gave a weak, embarrassed chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as though to dislodge the sting of the rebuke.
“Forgive me, Prof. We… we were told the Swift70 wasn’t designed for anything beyond light reconnaissance.”
Felzein’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward, the air around him seeming to crackle with restrained fury.
“Nonsense,” he snapped, voice clipped and cold. “She wasn’t built to sneak. She was built to dominate.”
He came to a halt before the vessel, its sleek body half-shrouded in the soft blue wash of the hangar lights.
There was reverence in his movements, but no hesitation, only the certainty of a man confronting the brilliance of his own creation.
“You both,” he said, turning to face Cherlyn and Jonas. “Watch closely. This is no mere submersible. What you see here is not some fragile experiment nor idle fancy. It is resolve, forged in silence and steel.”
With that, Felzein reached for the control interface.
His hand steady, his breath even as though calling forth a forgotten giant from its slumber.
“Let us see,” he murmured, “if the world remembers what true invention looks like.”
He inhaled deeply, then spoke a cascade of commands, each laced with elegant intricacy and layered logic, the language of machines dancing from his lips like poetry drawn from silicon and steel.
System Initialisation: SWIFT70, Version 3.8
Command issued: Engage submersible mode, maximum thrust, structural integrity at full capacity.
Command issued: Activate adaptive pressure system, calibrated for 15,000 bar oceanic compression.
Command issued: Deploy variable-frequency magnetic field, initiate and stabilise.
Command issued: Synchronise propulsion module, QuantumPropel system engaged.
Command issued: Establish neural network interface, enable with full security protocols.
Command issued: Override standard dive threshold, authorise descent to 10,000 metres, no time limitation.
Command issued: Engage energy flow monitoring, synchronise output with stealth protocols.
Command issued: Initiate security layers, verify system integrity, deploy extensive firewalls.
System report: Diagnostic override in progress, critical systems confirmed optimal.
Final status: Swift70 Model 7.4, fully operational. All systems active, stable, and standing by.
With that final keystroke upon the word stable, a mechanical hum stirred to life, low and resonant, followed by a crisp series of hisses and clicks.
Along the console, rows of stabilisation lights shimmered into a steady green rhythm, like soldiers falling into formation.
“Swift70 system initialised. Depth capability confirmed. HyperMode engaged. Energy flow stable.”
The vessel’s core systems awakened with meticulous grace, parsing data with methodical precision.
Pressure thresholds, hull integrity, and energy matrices were analysed and verified, each reading returned not only as optimal, but formidable.
This was no mere submarine. This was a creature born for the abyss, built to defy the crushing silence of the deep.
Then, without warning, the cold neutrality of the machine gave way to something disturbingly familiar.
A voice. But not just any voice.
A woman’s voice, soft, velvety, and unmistakably alive with playful inflection.
Cherlyn’s voice.
Yes, not a simulation, not an approximation, but her voice exactly, lifted, digitised, and embedded deep within the vessel’s core programming by none other than Felzein himself.
“Ah, Felzein… my darling, my beloved… my one true passion… you've finally returned to me. I’ve missed you… dreadfully…”
The words poured from the speakers in a hushed murmur, almost seductive, as though whispered directly into the listener’s ear.
The lighting flared and dimmed in tandem with the voice, casting the chamber in hues of crimson and violet, like the sighs of a waking phantom.
Jonas froze, his expression a blend of horror and awe.
Cherlyn stared, aghast, her lips parted in silent disbelief.
She looked not at the machine, but at Felzein, as though he had committed an unspeakable betrayal.
And then...
“FELZEIN!!!” she exploded, the fury in her voice thunderous. “WHAT IN GOD’S NAME POSSESSED YOU TO USE MY VOICE?!”
Her cheeks flushed scarlet, her eyes blazing with an indignation so fierce it might have melted steel.
Felzein, utterly unbothered, chuckled beneath his breath, the sound low and far too pleased with itself.
“Apologies, Lyn,” he said with mock contrition. “Yours was the only voice available at the time. It felt… fitting.”
“You insufferable maniac!” she snapped, fists clenched, voice rising like a blade drawn in daylight. “Replace it. Now. Or I’ll dismantle it with my bare hands.”
But then, without warning, Swift70's voice returned, louder now, with a razor’s edge of theatrical scorn.
“Oh, do shut it, you shrieking harpy! That’s no way to speak to my beloved.”
Cherlyn froze, mid-breath. Her eyes widened, gleaming with disbelief before narrowing into twin shards of murderous intent.
“You impudent, tin-plated degenerate!” she bellowed. “Did you just call me a harpy?! I will dismantle you with my bare hands!”
And with that, she launched forward, her boot arcing with righteous vengeance.
THUD!!!
The sound echoed as her foot struck Swift70’s side panel with bone-jarring force.
There was a beat of silence. Then the submarine hissed, quite literally.
“Ow! Brute!” the vessel screeched indignantly, its voice spitting with digitised spite. “Right. Your turn!”
BLAAARRRSHH!!
Without ceremony, a concealed nozzle atop the craft sprang to life, releasing a blast of high-pressure water straight into Cherlyn’s chest.
She was flung backwards, limbs flailing, a shriek tearing through the air as she landed in a heap.
Soaked, stunned, and absolutely livid.
“YOU BLOODY BUCKET OF BOLTS!” she roared, drenched from head to toe, steam practically rising off her.
Felzein and Jonas, meanwhile, had barely exchanged a glance before doubling over in unrestrained laughter.
The kind that made one stagger, clutching at walls for mercy.
Their howls of mirth rang out, a chorus of utter delight as Cherlyn stood amidst puddles and rage, fists clenched, jaw trembling.
“I’m fighting my own voice,” she hissed, half to herself, half to the universe. “It’s like being heckled by my evil twin! This is madness!”
Felzein, still laughing, gave a helpless shrug, “Brilliant coding, wasn’t it?”
“Brilliant my arse!” Cherlyn barked back. “Next time you want a voice for your bloody pet submarine, use yours! Let it flirt with you!”