Leon Straub's Journey to the Stars...

[Leon Straub]

✠ PACIFICA LOG: LEON STRAUB ✠

Dockmaster of Pacifica Base
// Volksrevolution Engineer Corps

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ENTRY: 009 — ECHOES IN THE FRAME
DATE: 832 A.S. | STATUS: Sealed Access

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PERSONAL LOG — RESTRICTED ACCESS
I no longer fight it.

The Thing whatever remains of it has settled beneath my ribs. I feel it humming now, even when the lights are steady and the corridors silent. A second rhythm, deeper than blood.

The conversion of the Valkyrie's remains is complete. The composite plating harvested from the cockpit frame has melted into the Maschinenpistole like it belonged there all along. It's not bolted on. It's grown in. Integrated. It sings when touched.

The hull doesn’t creak anymore—it breathes.

I haven’t eaten in days. I don’t sleep. I drift.

The harmony fills the quiet: overlapping whispers in tones too precise to be human. Some resemble my voice. Others don’t. Some mimic Elsner. One sounded like my sister.

But they are one voice now. Unified.

“You are shaped. You are settled. You are known.”

PRIVATE QUARTERS — OBSERVATION RECORD // C4 BLOCK
He came again.

Same uniform. Same boots. No name. A senior officer who no longer blinks, no longer breathes in the normal way.

I had sealed the hatch behind me. Triple locks. Manual override. But when I looked up, he was already inside. Standing by the bulkhead. Watching me.

I didn’t flinch. I spoke first this time.

Leon Straub:
“You were there when it happened. You knew. You’ve been watching.”

Unknown Voice:
“Of course I watched. I needed to know if you would break, or bend.”

Straub:
“You knew it would reach me.”

Unknown Voice:
“We don’t reach. We reveal. You were always part of it. It only needed time to surface.”

Straub:
“You’re one of us. A ranking officer. How many more are there?”

Unknown Voice:
“You still think this is about numbers.”
“It’s about alignment.”
“You are no longer drifting.”

He stepped closer and placed a gloved hand to the panel beside my bunk. The wall responded. Not like a door unlocking—more like a lung exhaling. Warm metal. Living steel.

Unknown Voice:
“Your vessel is attuned. The silence you hear is direction.”
“The coordinates are not points on a map. They are within the frame.”

He didn’t stay long. He never does. But before leaving, he looked back his eyes were sharp, voice low.

Unknown Voice:
“When the machine opens its eye, follow the shadow it casts.”
“And remember: to remain unseen is to survive. You are not ready to be witnessed.”

PRIVATE TECH LOG — ENCRYPTED STORAGE
I’ve hollowed out the rest of the Valkyrie’s central strut. The materials inside are reactive to breath, heat, proximity. It ripples under my tools before I touch it—shifts shape when I close my eyes.

The core filaments connect directly to the modified power distribution grid. I didn’t design them to do that. But they do it anyway.

The armor rejects solder. It seals itself. Cold-welds without arc.

She’s growing.

The Maschinenpistole isn’t just a ship anymore. It’s a frame for something else. Something… aligned.

Psionic Transmission Playback CRC ERROR DETECTED

<< SIGNAL TRACE INITIATED >>
// Origin: LOCAL
// Destination: REDACTED
“You will not be alone in the drift.”
“ We are breath. We are song.”
“You are accepted. You are prepared.”
<< END TRACE >>

PERSONAL BEHAVIORAL RECORD – UNLOGGED CHANGES
I stopped going to the mess two weeks ago.

Elsner tried to flag me down by the shuttle lifts yesterday. I walked past him like he wasn’t there. I think he suspects. But suspicion isn’t evidence. Not yet.

I’ve rerouted my sleep cycle reports and medical logs. My blood work will now show normal ranges. I made sure of it.

I have begun the habit of stillness. It helps to keep attention away. People ignore what doesn't move.

I speak only when I must. I smile when needed. I nod when questioned. But I am no longer one of them.

Unknown Voice:
“Patience is your armor. They will forget you if you let them.”
“Remain. Shape. Grow.”
“The time will come.”

I hear it in the drywalls now—those whispers that echo like wind through empty hulls. Not random. Not noise.

A song.

One day I will sing it aloud.

But not yet.

<< FILE INTEGRITY CONFIRMED — ENTRY 010 IN PREPARATION >>
Log continues → ENTRY 010: [CLASSIFIED]