In the management area of the eastern military port of Frost, countless individuals had been working relentlessly throughout the night. The alarm bells had rung for over a day and night since the last contact was made with the naval vessel, the Seagull, and the heightened tension was palpable. Despite desperate attempts by the psychic personnel stationed at the port’s chapel to reach out to the ship’s spiritual advisor onboard the Seagull, all calls fell upon deaf ears, only fueling the mounting dread.
Hints and remnants of information they had at their disposal painted a grim picture, each detail suggesting dire circumstances. In the midst of this chaos, the harbor office, normally bustling with activity, was draped in heavy silence.
A middle-aged man, clad in the distinguished uniform of a Frost Navy Commander, with signs of his hairline receding, sat behind his desk with a stern countenance. Although not especially large, the room was packed with several other high-ranking officials. The atmosphere hung heavy with anxiety, mirroring the tension and anticipation of an impending storm.
“Yet again, no sign of the Seagull,” announced a civilian officer, his light brown hair shaking subtly with the negative gesture of his head. “We’ve conducted thorough searches originating from the Seagull’s last reported location towards Frost, and repeated them thrice over. Nothing surfaced from the ocean depths.”
“Our most hopeful scenario is a failure of the Seagull’s communication system, coupled with a possible accident involving the ship’s priest that led to the vessel veering off course and out of control,” another officer sighed heavily before continuing, “But, truthfully, that’s a highly optimistic assumption. A vessel of the Seagull’s magnitude, even if adrift, could not have moved out of our search parameters in such a limited span of time. A more plausible explanation is that the Seagull encountered a disastrous event and now lies at the bottom of the sea… Previously, a nearby patrol vessel reported faint sounds of explosions and distant flashes of light piercing the dark sky. It’s conceivable that was the Seagull.”
“But a vessel that size would take hours to sink, wouldn’t it? We deployed search teams instantaneously when the Seagull ceased communication,” countered the light-haired civilian officer, a frown creasing his forehead. “Moreover, there would be considerable oil spillage contaminating the sea’s surface; how could all traces vanish so abruptly? Could the entire ship have plummeted to the ocean floor in a blink?”
“A search party should be dispatched to Dagger Island to investigate,” suggested a female officer. “Perhaps the Seagull did not set its course towards Frost as planned and was instead delayed near Dagger Island due to unforeseen circumstances…”
“Dagger Island is currently in a sensitive state. Any attempt to send personnel there will require a complicated set of procedures…”
“We could simply establish communication, that’s a relatively easier process. We could hear from the governor’s office within thirty minutes at the earliest…”
The conversation continued to fill the room with varying theories and plans until a solemn voice from behind the desk brought everyone to a halt: “Contingency 22.”
All chatter ceased abruptly, and the room fell silent. The officers in discussion turned their attention to the middle-aged man seated behind the desk, his thinning hair and serious demeanor reflecting the gravity of the situation.
“It’s possible that Contingency 22 has been triggered – the circumstances may have become too critical, or perhaps there’s a risk of hazardous ‘meme’ leakage, or worse yet, the Seagull may have completely fallen under the control of a third party, hence the radio silence,” began the harbor defense commander, Lister, his tone subdued yet firm. “However, this still doesn’t account for the inexplicable disappearance of the Seagull’s wreckage.”
The officers in the room exchanged uneasy glances. The mere utterance of the phrase “Contingency 22” sent an additional wave of chilling dread through the room, casting a shadow that made the already oppressive atmosphere even more formidable.
After a brief pause to allow his words to sink in, Commander Lister continued, “I am acquainted with General Duncan. If the Seagull indeed encountered an insurmountable instance of supernatural contamination, he would unquestionably initiate Contingency 22 without any second thoughts. Consequently, our next steps must include continuing our search for any remaining traces of the Seagull and uncovering what caused the ship’s assault and subsequent contamination. If there’s indeed an assailant, it may not be physically discernible, and that poses a significant threat to Frost.”
“An assailant…” The female officer who had spoken earlier let the word linger, her expression growing increasingly grave. “If such an attacker exists, do you suppose it wasn’t eradicated along with the activation of the Seagull’s ‘Contingency 22’?”
“In dealing with supernatural calamities, one fundamental rule prevails: unless there is compelling direct evidence to the contrary, always operate under the assumption that the adversary persists,” Lister articulated thoughtfully. “Whether they be supernatural artifacts or phenomena, their ‘resilience’ is often alarmingly robust.”
The officers shared another round of apprehensive glances before one tentatively brought up a topic, “What about Dagger Island…”
“I intend to submit an investigative request to the governor. Even though the Seagull encountered the catastrophe on its return journey to the main island, the situation on Dagger Island remains questionable now, considering the ship’s unfortunate incident.” Lister gradually rose from his seat, bracing himself against the table with both hands. “Now, all of you…”
Lister’s directives were abruptly cut short by the sound of urgent footsteps echoing down the hallway, followed by an assertive knock at the door.
A frown furrowed Lister’s brow, “Enter.”
A secretary stepped into the room, briskly saluting the officer behind the desk, “Sir, Gatekeeper Agatha has arrived.”
“The Gatekeeper?” Surprise was evident on Lister’s face. “What brings her here?”
“She mentioned it’s in relation to the Seagull, sir, and she insisted it was urgent.”
“Let her in…” Lister’s command was almost immediate, but even before his words could fully echo through the room, a gust of gray wind was already swirling through the hallway outside. The wind, which appeared to be infused with fine dust, swept into the room, encircling the office rapidly. Out of the ethereal gust emerged Agatha, tightly gripping a tin staff, a distinctive accessory always associated with the clergies of the Death God. Through the layers of her bandages, her eyes radiated a tinge of regret.
“I apologize for the intrusion, Colonel Lister. It’s urgent, so I took the liberty to enter as soon as I heard your acknowledgment,” Agatha began, extending a polite nod in his direction. “I am here to inquire about the progress of your investigation regarding the Seagull’s whereabouts?”
Lister did not display any annoyance towards Agatha’s sudden entry into his office. A competent military man knows how to prioritize, and as the city-state’s “Gatekeeper,” Agatha was granted numerous emergency privileges. If she showed up in such a haste, the matter at hand was clearly urgent enough to override the formalities of etiquette.
“As of now, we’ve yet to locate any traces or debris of the Seagull. Our current suspicion leans towards General Duncan having activated ‘Contingency 22,’ which might have caused the Seagull to sink,” he replied, his countenance stern. “Our subsequent actions will involve expanding the search area, seeking any evidence of the attacker in the open sea, and gearing up to investigate the circumstances at Dagger Island.”
“Your assumption regarding Contingency 22 is accurate. The Seagull was indeed infiltrated and contaminated by supernatural entities. The ship served with honor, but I would advise against any immediate investigation into Dagger Island,” Agatha responded quickly. “There’s a chance the island may have slipped entirely out of control.”
“Dagger Island has lost control?” Lister’s facial muscles tensed noticeably. “What evidence do you have to support this?”
“The source of the information is… inconvenient to disclose at this moment,” Agatha conceded with a hint of reluctance. “However, I can assure you of its reliability. I haven’t had the opportunity to relay this situation to the Silent Cathedral and City Hall, as any delay might prove costly. Colonel Lister, I urge you to initiate an immediate blockade of all sea routes surrounding Dagger Island, prohibiting vessels from approaching or departing that place, especially preventing them from landfall on Frost.”
“Miss Agatha, I must remind you, this approach does not adhere to protocol,” Lister’s tone grew serious. “I am willing to place faith in your judgment as Frost’s Gatekeeper, but you must understand that every regulation is borne from the cost of human lives. Mobilizing the navy to blockade Dagger Island is no trivial task, and I require more precise orders and explanations.”
“Taking this action, at the very least, won’t exacerbate the situation,” Agatha stepped forward. “I have already dispatched a messenger to the Silent Cathedral; further orders should be arriving shortly.”
Lister seemed poised to counter, but an abrupt, piercing ring in the corner of the room cut him off.
The defense commander shot a glance at Agatha, then quickly strode over to a small table nearby, pressing a button on its surface.
Seconds later, the sound of air hissing and the rapidly nearing clicks emitted from the fixed copper pipe mounted on the wall next to the table. The pipe shuddered with a sharp metallic clang, followed by a puff of white gas escaping from the fastening device at its end.
Lister unlatched the buckle, flipped open the cover, and retrieved the capsule chamber from within the pipe. He quickly scanned the message contained inside, and his facial expression turned notably grim.
“What does it say?” Agatha asked, curiosity evident in her tone.
“A ship has emerged in the offshore region and transmitted a signal seeking port entry,” Lister raised his head slowly, his countenance grave. “It’s the Seagull.”
A silence fell over the room.
The officers exchanged uncertain looks, Agatha’s gaze hardened, and after a tense pause of a few seconds, Lister abruptly declared, “Let’s proceed to the dock.”
Following more than twenty-four hours of inexplicable disappearance, the Seagull had resurfaced and was heading directly towards the eastern military dock. The sudden appearance, irrespective of who it involved, would naturally instigate suspicion.
From the vantage point of the lookout tower at the east port, the silhouette of the steamship began to take form, progressively expanding on the distant horizon, with columns of steam billowing above it, resembling misty clouds.
“The silhouette and the identification on the bow flag… confirm it’s the Seagull.”
A junior officer set down the telescope in his hand and made the confirmation, his voice carrying a mix of emotions.
Lister, however, stood still, his gaze fixated on the approaching silhouette at sea, remaining silent for a prolonged period.
The faint sound of a steam whistle echoed across the water, punctuated by a specific pause in its rhythm.
“Second round of signals, the Seagull is requesting permission to dock,” the junior officer turned to Lister for guidance. “Sir…”
“Sink it.” The words cut through the tense silence, a stark directive from Agatha, who had been silent up until that moment.
