The station was a labyrinth of humming wires and salt-crusted monitors. Its director, a woman known only as The Archivist, met him at the airlock.
"You’re late, Elias," she said, her voice barely audible over the roar of the gale outside. "The Static reached the mainland an hour ago. Maputo is silent." mz caution
As they hurried toward the central core, the station groaned. A flicker of iridescent mist — the Static — seeped through a hairline fracture in the hull. It didn't look dangerous; it looked like sunlight hitting a soap bubble. But where it touched the wall, the emergency lights didn't just go out; the fixtures themselves seemed to forget they were ever made of metal, crumbling into a fine, grey powder. "The core!" The Archivist shouted. The station was a labyrinth of humming wires
"Keep going!" The Archivist yelled, her own hands beginning to translucent. "The Static reached the mainland an hour ago