Static Line
After a technician goes missing at a remote mountaintop tower, the crew discovers strange signals, fractured memories, and an abduction buried beneath the surface—literally.
We were just a crew of four repairing comm towers in the Rockies. Nothing exciting. No drama. Until Station 7 went silent.
Command thought it was a blown repeater. So we hiked up.
The tower was fine—no signs of damage. But the shed was open. Gear tossed, coffee still warm, no sign of Marcus, the tech stationed there.
We checked the perimeter. No tracks in the snow. No animal signs. Just static on every line, all bands.
Then Steve screamed.
He was standing by the dish, staring into the sky, but when I looked, there was nothing there. Just blue sky and thin air.
He kept saying the same thing over and over: “They’re underneath. Not above. Underneath.”
He wouldn’t stop.
We carried him back. He slept for 16 hours and woke up with no memory of it. Then he started drawing symbols. Pages and pages. None of us could read them, but our comms stopped working around the pages.
I reported everything.
A week later, two men showed up. Badges, sunglasses, the whole cliché. They took the pages. Took Steve. Said nothing.
I got transferred to a desk job two days after that. They said the tower was never manned. Said Marcus didn’t exist. But I still have the team photo—four of us, smiling. Marcus right in the middle.
Except... last night, he vanished from the photo too.
Command thought it was a blown repeater. So we hiked up.
The tower was fine—no signs of damage. But the shed was open. Gear tossed, coffee still warm, no sign of Marcus, the tech stationed there.
We checked the perimeter. No tracks in the snow. No animal signs. Just static on every line, all bands.
Then Steve screamed.
He was standing by the dish, staring into the sky, but when I looked, there was nothing there. Just blue sky and thin air.
He kept saying the same thing over and over: “They’re underneath. Not above. Underneath.”
He wouldn’t stop.
We carried him back. He slept for 16 hours and woke up with no memory of it. Then he started drawing symbols. Pages and pages. None of us could read them, but our comms stopped working around the pages.
I reported everything.
A week later, two men showed up. Badges, sunglasses, the whole cliché. They took the pages. Took Steve. Said nothing.
I got transferred to a desk job two days after that. They said the tower was never manned. Said Marcus didn’t exist. But I still have the team photo—four of us, smiling. Marcus right in the middle.
Except... last night, he vanished from the photo too.
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