Charybdis

Why do you wanna be us? Be you, you know? Fuck.

Do you wanna go handle the fucking Charybdis?

"We could handle the Charybdis."

Then go do it.

Fucking do it then.

"We don't need to go and get a flute or a, a core of a world."

Then go fucking fight the Charybdis.

Jesus fuck, man.

Weathermon, who's just, you have, uh-

You have the, uh, Charybdis.

Charybdis.

You have the dragon, which you've now seen.

Oh yes, that's right.

I worked the decryption, feeling as if my own hands moved by someone else.

The directory was labeled Charybdis.

The files stuttered open, Cold War era logs, typewritten, scanned, blurred photos of a younger, different Sable Point.

Government property.

Sable Point was awake, and it was using us for a purpose lost in memory, erased before we could name it.

Sable Point was awake, and it was using us for a purpose lost in memory, erased before we could name it.

I held the printout from the Charybdis directory between my damp palms, the paper thin as newsprint, trembling minutely.

Tomas hovered by the terminal, lips pressed tight, ready to kill power if the file purges started to jump systems.