The Last Signal
On a dying Earth, a lone operator maintains a communications tower — waiting for a signal that may never come.
The oceans had swallowed the cities decades ago.
Now, all that remained of humanity were scattered outposts, struggling against an Earth grown wild and violent.
Jace Renn was the last operator at Relay Station 9.
His job was simple:
Listen.
And if the message came, respond.
Every day, he climbed the rusted tower, checked the dials, tuned the ancient transmitters.
Every night, the same static hissed in his ears.
Until one evening, as the sun sank into a crimson sea, the static changed.
A voice — faint, broken, ancient:
"Hello? Is anyone left?"
Jace’s hands trembled.
He hadn’t heard a live signal in five years.
He shouted into the transmitter:
"I hear you! Where are you?"
But the reply came cold and slow:
"Behind you."
Jace turned.
Across the horizon, dark shapes were rising — towers, yes, but not built by human hands.
Structures that breathed and pulsed, reaching skyward.
And in the growing dusk, they were already listening back.
Now, all that remained of humanity were scattered outposts, struggling against an Earth grown wild and violent.
Jace Renn was the last operator at Relay Station 9.
His job was simple:
Listen.
And if the message came, respond.
Every day, he climbed the rusted tower, checked the dials, tuned the ancient transmitters.
Every night, the same static hissed in his ears.
Until one evening, as the sun sank into a crimson sea, the static changed.
A voice — faint, broken, ancient:
"Hello? Is anyone left?"
Jace’s hands trembled.
He hadn’t heard a live signal in five years.
He shouted into the transmitter:
"I hear you! Where are you?"
But the reply came cold and slow:
"Behind you."
Jace turned.
Across the horizon, dark shapes were rising — towers, yes, but not built by human hands.
Structures that breathed and pulsed, reaching skyward.
And in the growing dusk, they were already listening back.
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