The holographic display in the medical bay is a nightmare of flashing crimson warnings.
"Ocean surface temperature in the Indian Ocean sector is rising at four degrees Celsius per minute," Morgan’s voice crackles over the comms, thick with sheer terror. "The kinetic virus is forcing the biological moss in the water to generate massive thermal energy. The water is literally boiling, Luna. If the temperature hits one hundred degrees, the Leviathan will suffer catastrophic thermal shock. It will die."
I am strapped into the central interface chair, my left arm completely numb, a dead weight resting against the sterile sheets. The neuro-regenerators Margot is pumping into my bloodstream feel like liquid ice, but they do nothing to dull the diffuse, blinding static that crackles behind my eye
