Everyone warned Laura never to touch Marco Bellini’s father’s chair, but when his heart device started beeping, she cut it open and uncovered a terrifying secret… / Chapter 67 / 100

Chapter 67 - The Ghost Frequency

Sitting in the chair was a skeleton.

It was dressed in a tailored, 1950s wool suit, perfectly preserved by the cold, dry nitrogen pumped through the chamber. The hands of the skeleton were resting on the armrests, bound in place by tarnished silver clasps. And directly in the center of the ribcage, visible through the rotting fabric of the silk shirt, was the unmistakable shape of Prototype Zero—the very first mechanical heart engine Richard Vance had ever forged.

“My grandfather…” Marco breathed, his grip on my shoulder tightening so hard it bruised. “Enrico Bellini.”

“He didn't die of a heart attack in a hospital,” I realized, stepping forward, the nurse in me analyzing the position of the bones. “He was the test subject. Samuel and Richard didn't start this in secret eighteen years ago. They inherited it.”

Suddenly, the skeleton’s chest clicked.

A dull, rhythmic sound echoed through the vaulted chamber. *Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.*

My artificial pacemaker leapt in response, sending a sharp, cold jolt through my clavicle. Marco gasped, clutching his chest as our purple light flared wildly.

“The frequency…” Marco groaned, dropping to his knees on the polished floor. “It’s broadcasting. Laura, something is waking it up.”

On the wall behind the chair, a massive bank of vintage vacuum-tube monitors flickered to life with a buzzing drone. Green phosphor lines drew wave patterns across the glass, tracing the rhythmic pulse emanating from the skeleton’s chest.

Then, a voice crackled through the antique speaker horn suspended from the ceiling. It wasn't recorded. It was live, accompanied by the wet, rhythmic sound of a ventilator bellows pumping.

“*You were always so predictable, Marco,*” the voice wheezed.

It was Richard Vance.

I spun around, looking at the empty shadows of the chamber. “You’re dead! The hull crushed you!”

“*The flesh is easily crushed, my daughter,*” Vance replied, a horrific electronic distortion warping his words. “*Did you truly believe the master unit was confined to a single organic frame? Samuel thought he could seal Enrico’s prototype away down here, cutting off the harvest. But by bringing the master key… by turning the watch… you have completed the circuit.*”

A low, industrial roar erupted from the foundation beneath our feet. Through the thick glass ceiling above, I saw blinding searchlights cutting through the black waters of Lake Michigan.