Radio Silence - Part 1

Safir gave a slow nod to the prison guard—a man with a build his father had always wished for him. Broad-shouldered, towering, a body of power, not the frail and wiry frame Safir had inherited.

Memories often became clearest in the wake of loss.

The guard retrieved a key from his pocket and unlocked the iron-barred door.

Inside, Holland sat slumped against the farthest wall of his cramped and stifling cell.

One eye swollen nearly shut. Bruised cheekbones, a sickly shade of purple. His torso bore fresh cuts—not deep enough to sever an artery, but deliberate enough to make him suffer.

Safir realized that he had been waiting for him.

As Safir entered, Holland lifted his head, his cracked lips curving into what might have been a smirk—had they not been split and bleeding.

"I could hear them, you know. The people outside." His voice was rough, strained. "They're shouting for my release. It's deafening in here."

He let out a hoarse chuckle.

"You wouldn't want to disappoint your people now, would you?"

"My father is dead," Zafir stated flatly. He was almost surprised by how easily the words left his lips.

Holland's smile vanished.

"I'm sorry," he said at last. "Sayid was a good man… But we both spent too many years obeying orders from bastards who never bled for them."

"My father never followed orders blindly, Captain Holland." Safir's voice was steady, but something burned beneath it. "He turned on you for a reason."

"And what might be a reason for that?"

"'Something' was hiding among your crew."

Safir watched as Holland's expression shifted.

"'Something'?"

"My father believed that the abyssal beast might infect or transform into one of your crew" He continued. "The only way to stop it was to end your journey here. To keep your people under surveillance until we uncovered which one of you carried the infection." He let the words settle before adding— "But that plan died with him."

Holland scoffed, rolling his shoulders against the wall. "My crew's got a way with words, huh?" he muttered.

"They've rallied the people against us." There was no hiding the edge in Safir's voice. "They've spun a tale where we are the villains—where we slaughtered you all and stole your ship. Our people already see you as their heroes. And heroes are untouchable."

Safir reached into his coat. Drew a key. And tossed it across the cell. Holland caught it effortlessly.

"Believe what you want, Captain Holland." His voice was measured. "But I know the kind of man you are. And I know you'll choose to protect your crew—no matter the cost."

Without hesitation, Holland unlocked his shackles, the motion practiced, as if it were not the first time he had done it.

"And you have no idea," he said casually, "the mission I'm on might just save this entire miserable world." He got to his feet. "So, are we done here?"

Safir stepped aside. Made way for him to leave.

As Holland passed, Safir spoke again—his words low, cold, and certain.

"I will hunt you down, Captain Holland. I swear on my father's grave— I will not stop until your ship is at the bottom of the Sunless Sea."

Holland did not pause.

Did not turn.

He simply raised a hand in a lazy wave as he walked past.

"I'll be waiting."

And then he was gone.

Safir's fist clenched.

And with a roar of frustration, he drove it into the wall.

…

Safir stood before his father's coffin.

Beyond it, the vast, lightless sea stretched endlessly before him. The black tide of the Sunless Ocean.

In ancient tradition, the dead were set adrift upon the Nile—the river that had given life to their people for millennia. It was only fitting that they return to the waters that had first carried them.

One by one, the mourners departed, their empty words of condolence little more than murmurs in his ears.

Safir waited.

He remained still, patient, until at last, an old man approached.

"Uncle," Safir greeted, rising to embrace him.

Despite his weathered face, his uncle's body was unyielding muscle beneath his robes— honed by years of discipline, hardened by battle.

"It's impossible, boy." Saharev gave a tired shake of his head. "The government has only seven submarines left. They're not going to waste one so you can chase another ship for your personal vengeance."

Safir sighed. If even his uncle, a man with influence within the government, could not help him, then there was no path forward.

"This isn't about vengeance," Safir said at last. "It's about protecting the world."

"From 'something'?" Saharev folded his arms, his aged eyes narrowing. "You truly believe it can inhabit a human body?"

"My father died believing it. And so will I." Safir's voice was firm. "Even without a submarine, I'll leave the navy. I'll use my own funds to hire a surface ship and pursue the Washington myself."

Saharev exhaled a long breath, then reached into his coat and pulled out a cigarette. He offered one to Safir, who refused.

A dry chuckle came from Saharev.

"You've grown. Not long ago, you were still just a boy." Saharev lit his own cigarette. "Now, you're ready to sail on your own."

His uncle smiled. "Reminds me of when your father first became a captain."

"I'm not ready." Safir shook his head. "I could never match my father's ability."

His father—the hero of the Open Sea War.

 A man who had seized command after his captain fell, who had led his ship through enemy ranks, carving an escape route for the fleet.

Safir would never be able to do something like that.

A captain of legend.

He was merely his son.

Saharev took a long drag from his cigarette, eyes drifting toward the endless black waters.

"Heroes, aren't made by their own will." he murmured, "They are forged by their belief in something greater."

"Will I succeed?" Safir stared into the abyss of the Sunless Ocean. Or was he merely chasing ghost of his father?

"You won't if I go alone," Saharev said. He stepped forward, placing his unlit cigarette atop the wooden coffin. "I'm coming with you. I've had enough of retirement. This will be my final mission."

Safir turned to him, surprised. "But… I don't even have a ship."

"Unless…" Saharev smirked. "The Tutankhamun is still on duty."

The realization struck Safir all at once.

His uncle's meaning was clear.

"Sayid's mission was to eliminate 'something' that destroy half of africa continent. If that 'something' has now taken refuge aboard the Washington, then our mission has not yet completed."

A stirring behind them.

Safir turned.

In the rows of empty seats, one group remained.

Watching him.

The crew of the Tutankhamun.

His father's men.

Saharev stepped closer.

"By maritime law, the ship is now yours." he said, "What is your first order, Captain?"

His father had tried to stop the looming threat that endangered this world, though he had failed.

Now, he would carry on that mission himself.

Safir exhaled, turning his back on his father's coffin.

He faced the men before him.

"We have all served together for years. You followed my father as your captain, and now he is gone. But his mission is not yet over."

He met their gazes—each and every one of them.

He knew these men.

He had grown alongside them.

"The creature that threatens humanity still lives. It hides among the crew of the Washington. And so long as it remains, the Tutankhamun's mission is unfinished. 

"I don't think I need to explain much. You already know well enough just how dangerous that 'thing' is to our species. So I will not force any of you to follow me.

"But if you believed in my father—

"Then I ask all of you to believe in me now."

Silence.

Then—one by one, the men stood.

None left.

Not one.

Safir felt the weight of it—not of duty, but of trust.

These were no longer his father's men.

They were his.

He swallowed once.

Then spoke.

"Prepare to set sail."

…

Safir sat in the captain's chair.

It didn't feel right.

It wasn't his seat.

No matter how many times he reminded himself that he was captain now—ready or not—the weight of his father's absence settled deep in his bones.

From behind, Saharev approached.

"We're south of New Marrakesh. it's open sea beyond the north gate."

The Tutankhamun's bridge was built in a sleek oval shape, with control panels lining the curved walls. His seat sat at the very front—before thick, reinforced glass that granted him a panoramic view of the outside world.

Now, it was his to command.

Safir turned his chair toward the broad map table behind him. His father had always liked to keep a battle planning table here. It made strategic discussions easier.

He leaned over the map, tracing their route with his fingers.

"We've been at sea for a week now, Safir," Saharev murmured. "There's been no sign of the Washington. It's possible they've already slipped into open sea. And if that's the case, we've lost them."

A reassuring squeeze on his shoulder.

"No." Safir shook his head. "We left Giza and cut through the New Georgia stations—we should be ahead of them now."

He pinned a marker onto the map, close to the ruins of New Marrakesh—the abandoned capital of New Morocco.

"Ahead or behind, it doesn't matter. We still don't know where they are."

"They want to get to open sea. That much is certain. And if that's their goal, they have to pass through here."

His uncle peered closer. "And how exactly do you plan to force them through there?"

"We close the water locks at New Marrakesh. Then they'll have no choice but to take the detour. And we'll be waiting for them."

This was the plan he had settled on—after an entire week of relentless calculations.

"They will come to us."

Saharev exhaled.

"I know Holland."

Safir glanced up.

"From your navy days?"

"No. After I retired." His uncle chuckled. "I liked to go out with the fishing boats. Help pull in the nets. Maybe I just missed the sea. One day, our nets caught onto something. And then—our entire ship was pulled along with the nets by powerful force."

Safir straightened.

He had never heard this story before.

Saharev continued.

"The crew screamed, 'Monster! Monster!'. I tried to cut the nets loose, but the force… the sheer power—Before I could react, I was thrown against the mast. Knocked unconscious. When I woke up, our boat was floating beside a surfaced submarine. And its captain's name was Holland."

That man has been a captain for that long?

"We thanked them, of course. But when our captain asked them who they were… Holland told us—"

"They were hunters."

Safir froze.

Hunters?

That was just a legend.

Old tales of men and women who sailed the abyss, hunting the creatures of the deep.

No one in their right mind would risk their lives like that.

…And yet.

If that man—Holland—was one of them…

Then everything had just become much more dangerous.

"Safir, anyone who's hunted abyssal beast before won't be easy to handle. Don't underestimate him."

"There are no real monster hunters, Uncle."

Even if monsters were real.

"And besides—it's not the hunters I'm afraid of. It's the monsters itself."

Even if it wore a human form, it had wiped out an entire strike team.

It had killed his father.

Safir wasn't sure what an abyssal creature could do while hiding inside a girl's body.

But there was one thing he was certain of—

It wasn't as powerful as it used to be.

As a leviathan, it had been unstoppable.

But here, trapped in flesh and bone? It had limits now.

He straightened, stepping down from the captain's chair.

"Bring us to the surface. We'll refill the auxiliary oxygen tanks—prepare for extended submersion."

…

Safir sat before the hydrophone receiver.

Eyes closed.

Listening.

Listening to the silence.

Through his headset, all he heard was the gentle hiss of bubbles breaking apart in the deep.

"Want to trade shifts, Captain?"

Azul, his hydrophone officer, glanced at him—the shaved surface of his head reflecting the dim cabin lights.

"No need, Azul. It won't be long now."

The officer chuckled.

"You remind me of Captain Sayid, back in his younger days."

Safir smiled faintly. "I'm not at my father's level yet."

"You should get some rest, Captain. Even if you're certain the enemy will pass through here today, there's always room for error. " Azul spoke in Hieroglyph, his voice measured. "Long battle stations wear down the crew."

"Give me three more hours." Safir didn't argue. "They'll come."

But what if they didn't?

What if the Washington had found the same shortcut they had?

By now, the enemy ship might have already disappeared into the open sea.

If that was the case…

This entire mission would have been for nothing.

Safir shoved the thought aside.

He had already made his decision.

Safir was just about to remove his headset, ready to hand it over to Azul and head off for a cup of coffee—

—when he heard something.

Something massive.

Something moving through the water.

In a flash, Safir shoved the headset into Azul's hands and sprinted toward the captain's chair.

"Fire torpedo, tube one!"

His uncle Saharev, standing by the internal communications panel, relayed the command in Hieroglyph without hesitation.

As soon as Safir threw himself into the captain's seat, the room was filled with the muted thoom of a torpedo launching from its tube.

Safir's gaze snapped to the sonar screen.

A slow-moving oval appeared on the display—

The torpedo.

It was sliding forward, gliding toward a target emerging from the far side of the strait.

They wouldn't see it coming.

They couldn't.

There was no way to miss.

Safir had calculated the firing angle down to the millimeter.

The torpedo would strike the submarine as soon as it passed through the tunnel entrance.

A dull tremor shook the Tutankhamun as the torpedo detonated.

"Azul!"

Safir turned immediately to his hydrophone officer.

"All I hear is collapsing rock, Captain." Azul's brows furrowed. "I think we missed."

They dodged it!?

"Change course!"

"Turn thirty degrees to port. Maintain medium speed!" The command left his lips instantly.

In submarine warfare, the first shot determined everything.

The first shot was the one they didn't see coming.

The one they couldn't dodge.

Miss that shot—

—and the battle would drag on into a brutal contest of endurance.

A battle of decisions.

A battle between captains.

Now that their enemy was aware, firing another torpedo was pointless.

"Advance five hundred meters and cut sonar. Enter radio silence."

The sonar display winked out.

The comms officers relayed radio silence orders throughout the ship.

One by one, every radio signal was shut down.

The entire vessel fell deathly quiet.

"Hold position." Safir's voice barely rose above a whisper.

He lifted his hydrophone headset.

And listened.

Silence.

The enemy had stopped moving.

The Washington had frozen in place after the first explosion.

If Holland had ordered his crew to listen in after the detonation, then he would have heard their sonar cut out just before they reached this position.

If Holland fired now—

He would miss.

And he would reveal his position.

Which meant—

Safir would get the real kill shot.

A faint metallic creak filtered through the hydrophone.

Then—

A torpedo launch.

So you fired first, Holland.

"Turn starboard, twenty-three degrees! Negative pitch, seven degrees!"

His helmsmen reacted instantly.

The Tutankhamun shifted.

Just before the enemy torpedo could hit.

"Fire torpedo, tube two."

As soon as their submarine stopped moving, Safir gave the order.

The whoosh of their own torpedo launch was drowned out—

By the deafening roar of an explosion.

The enemy's torpedo had missed.

Just as expected.

Safir smirked.

They were five hundred meters apart.

Not far.

Not far at all.

He counted down in his head.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

"Goodbye, Holland."

He waited for the sound of the Washington being torn apart.