Chapter 20: The Spectre Protocol
The subterranean secret consumed most of Joric's processing cycles, but he did not relax his vigilance on the surface. The newly deployed sensor net and his constantly patrolling servo-skulls monitored every heartbeat of the surrounding wasteland.
Several days later, at dusk, an alarm was triggered.
An alert pinged in the manufactorum: ++Unauthorized Motive Signatures Approaching Perimeter.++
Joric's gaze lifted from the subterranean schematics to the main display. Real-time footage from one of his servo-skulls showed three thermal signatures moving cautiously, about two kilometers east of the town. They were in a small, beat-up, modified dune buggy, moving slowly, stopping often as one of them scanned the town with binoculars.
++Bio-Signatures: Standard human, low-grade cybernetics. Armament Scan: Sub-par projectile weapons, improvised explosives. Behavioral Pattern: High-alert, clear reconnaissance intent. Threat Level: Minimal.++ the servo-skull reported with cold logic.
Not the Slashers. Their gear was worse, their movements more cautious. They looked like common wasteland scavengers.
In the past, Joric's choice would have been simple: either ignore them or, if they breached the sanctum's perimeter, purge them physically.
But now, as he watched the three small, opportunistic figures on the screen, a different litany formed. Killing consumed energy, created bio-waste that had to be processed, and could attract more unwanted attention. More importantly, his recent reverse-engineering of this world's cybernetic and network protocols required field-test data.
"An opportunity to test a new protocol," Joric stated. "A more efficient form of passive defense. Not annihilation, but misdirection. To guide them to leave of their own accord and, in doing so, spread information that will isolate this location."
He quickly wrote a new string of code, integrating the principles he had reverse-engineered from the local network protocols. "Old Friend, execute 'Spectre Protocol.' Attempt to infiltrate their optical-cybernetic data-streams. Override visual signals. Inject pre-loaded terror-iconography modules. All other units, coordinate with anomalous acoustic effects and minor energy-field disturbances."
++Directive Confirmed.++
The primary servo-skull melted silently into the twilight, drifting toward the three scavengers. Two of the replicas began generating subtle, hard-to-pinpoint noises on the edge of town—the groan of stressed metal, a whisper-thin sigh, the faint crackle of an energy overload.
The three scavengers, oblivious, parked their buggy and decided to proceed on foot.
"Stray, this place is preem creepy. It's not even on the maps," a younger voice said, laced with nerves.
"Shut it, Mole," the one called Stray, the leader, hissed back. His right eye was a cheap, glowing red optic. "The creepier the place, the better the scrap. Look at that metal framework. We could strip that for a good stack of eddies."
"Sniffer, your sensor picking up any juice?"
The third scavenger, 'Sniffer,' raised a crude radiation and energy detector on his wrist. "Something... a faint pulse, but it's all static, can't get a lock... wait, the reading's jumping..."
At that moment, the servo-skull had silently maneuvered into position above and behind them. A directed, silent data-stream lanced out, interfacing with the wireless receivers of Stray's and Mole's optical cyberware.
Stray blinked hard. "Scrap! My eye's glitching... Did you see something move? By that wall? Something white..."
Mole's voice cracked. "S-Stray! I saw it too! A... a floating skull! It was glowing! Right behind you!"
In their vision, a pale, distorted, spectral skull, its eye sockets burning with cold blue fire, was now hovering in the air, grinning at them silently. It would flicker, vanish, and reappear from a different angle. It was the synthesized illusion, successfully injected by the servo-skull.
"What're you... Stop talkin' crazy!" Stray barked, but his own voice was trembling. His cyber-eye was showing him the same horrifying phantasm.
"The detector! The detector's gone psycho!" Sniffer screamed. The readings on his device were spiking erratically, the alarm wailing as the replicas flooded the area with energy interference.
Then, a low, keening sound, like a woman weeping, was broadcast on a directed frequency, mixing with the wind and drilling into their ears.
"Ghosts! It's a ghost town!" Mole was the first to break, dropping his iron pipe and running.
Stray's courage evaporated. The visual terror, the haywire tech, the phantom wailing... it all pointed to one conclusion: This town wasn't just abandoned. It was haunted.
"Move! Get back to the ride!" he roared, stumbling after Mole. Sniffer was already scrambling back on all fours, screaming.
The three of them piled into the buggy and tore off into the desert, not daring to look back.
The servo-skull hovered silently, its ocular light returning to a calm blue, the data-injection ceased. The illusion vanished. The wailing stopped. The energy disturbances faded.
++Test Result: Infiltration of low-grade optical cybernetics: successful. Phantasm-module operation: stable. Efficacy in inducing target terror-response: confirmed. Coordinated interference: effective. Target repelled. Energy expenditure: negligible.++ The servo-skull reported as it flew back to the manufactorum.
Joric reviewed the data with satisfaction. "'Spectre Protocol' is now archived. Designate as a standard response for low-threat, unauthorized incursions."
He paused, then added, "Continue monitoring local electromagnetic chatter. Capture all anomalous rumors pertaining to this location."
As he had calculated, a few days later, the servo-skull's passive scans of nomad and scavenger comm-channels filtered out several interesting fragments:
"...No lie, choom. Flint Town is haunted! Eyes-on, and I still don't believe what I saw..."
"...Don't go near it. Stray and his crew almost didn't make it back. Said they saw a skull-ghost, and all their tech went haywire..."
"...Cursed ground. Must be all the ghosts from the last Corp War..."
"...Stay the hell away from that patch of desert. It's bad, bad news..."
The rumors, like a drop of ink in water, began to spread. "Ghost Town." "The Boneyard." "The Cursed Place." These new designations became associated with the derelict town.
Joric stood in his sanctum, listening to the reports. This was an acceptable outcome. A supernatural terror was a far more effective deterrent against casual scavengers than the rumor of an armed-and-hidden techie. It would filter out the flies without attracting the attention of the corporations.
His defensive doctrine had been upgraded. It now incorporated the litanies of information and psychological warfare.
The exploration of the depths was about to begin. He needed the surface to be quiet. And these terrified scavengers, and the ghost stories they carried, were the best warding sigil he could have asked for.
The red-robed figure turned back to his analysis of the subterranean schematics, the whispers of "ghosts" from the outside world nothing but a prelude to his next great work.