Chapter 2: Awakening the Beast
The sea closed again over the vessel like a secret, swallowing light, heat, and sound. On the deck of the Calyptra, the crew stared into the rippling black water, stunned into silence.
But for Dr. Eliza Maren, it was not fear that gripped her—it was awe.
Hours Later
The Calyptra drifted, powerless. Shaw and the engineers worked feverishly below deck, but the engines refused to respond. The receiver continued to pulse, louder and faster now—as if the message had changed.
Then the sound stopped.
Not faded.
Stopped.
A click. A hiss. A sudden rush of compressed air somewhere deep below the hull.
“Eliza!” came the cry from a deckhand above. “There’s something—”
The sea beneath the ship bubbled again, but this time it did not rise gently.
It grasped.
Metallic arms—sleek and segmented like the limbs of some monstrous cephalopod—rose from the depths and clamped onto the Calyptra. The ship shuddered. The crew shouted. Eliza ran to the rail just as the Calyptra was yanked sideways—downward—toward a rising shadow beneath the water.
The Nautilus had surfaced again, its upper hatch opening with a hiss of escaping pressure.
A wide iris-like aperture gaped at the top, a tunnel of brass and glass. And into that open mouth, the Calyptra was being drawn.
Eliza gripped the rail, eyes wide.
“It’s docking with us.”
Shaw appeared beside her, pistol drawn, soaked and shaking.
“Not if I can help it.”
“Wait—Ryland, look!”
The iris was not just open—it was inviting. Soft lights shimmered in concentric circles inside, like a pulse. As if the ship recognized them.
A low chime rang out across the water—six notes, melancholy and mechanical.
Like a greeting.
Eliza turned to Shaw. “We can’t fight it. But maybe… we don’t need to.”
He grimaced. “You want to board it?”
“I think we’ve already been chosen to.”
Inside the Beast
The Nautilus had not rusted.
Its walls, though dim with age, gleamed with opal-toned steel. Brass piping wound like vines through vaulted passageways. Floor tiles hummed faintly underfoot, as if the ship were alive.
No crew. No bodies. No decay.
The air was fresh. The lights flickered on as they passed.
“It’s like it woke up just for us,” said Ensign Hallor, her voice echoing in the silence.
“No,” Eliza whispered. “It never slept.”
They moved as a group, six in total, deeper into the ship, through arched corridors that resembled cathedral naves—fins of metal overhead like ribs.
Finally, they reached the heart: a great circular chamber with a glass ceiling, looking out into the sea like a planetarium beneath the ocean.
At the center stood a console.
Simple. Elegant.
Waiting.
Eliza approached, hand trembling, and placed her palm on a brass disc.
The ship responded instantly.
With a thrum, lights activated across the ceiling, casting scenes in thin filaments of light—maps, naval trajectories, faces, names. It was a database.
No—an intelligence.
The images slowed. A final screen emerged: the unmistakable portrait of Captain Nemo.
Older than she remembered from the sketches in her father’s journal. Weathered. Noble. Sad.
A line of text scrolled beneath his image:
"If you read this, then war has come again."
Shaw stepped beside her. “This isn’t a ship. It’s a damn war machine.”
“No,” Eliza said, breath catching in her throat. “It’s something else. It’s… a message.”
Suddenly, a new alert flared across the control board—an incoming vessel on sonar.
A British warship.
The HMS Resolute.
And as the crew watched, horrified, the Nautilus made its decision without them.
A Ghost That Hunts
Without warning, the Nautilus moved.
The crew stumbled as the vessel accelerated—smooth and silent. The screens changed—now showing blueprints of the Resolute, targeting data, torpedo trajectories.
“No—no, shut it down!” Eliza cried. She ran her hands across the controls, searching for a command override. Nothing responded.
Shaw raised his pistol and pointed it at the console.
“You said it was a message. Well, it's become a bloody threat!”
“Wait—look!”
A new screen flickered to life—log entries. Nemo’s voice, tinny but preserved.
“I have entrusted my final design to the tides. Should men return to their machines of war, the Nautilus will defend the sanctity of the sea. I regret this burden, but I do not rescind it.”
The ship shook. A deep hum sounded—charging systems activating.
Weapons.
“She's going to fire,” Hallor whispered.
“No,” Eliza said, placing both hands on the console. “I won't let her.”
The lights flared. Her pulse echoed in her ears.
And suddenly, the screens faded.
The hum died.
The weapons did not fire.
The Nautilus stopped—just beneath the Resolute, unseen. Watching.
Waiting.
Epilogue of Chapter 2
Later, in the crew quarters, Eliza sat alone, reading through Captain Nemo’s final journal entries.
Each page told of a man who had once fled the cruelty of empires only to create a weapon so powerful it haunted him. A vessel meant to outlive him… but not his mistakes.
She looked up at the walls of the ship.
Not cold, not empty.
Alive.
The Nautilus had not saved them.
It had tested them.
