Reboot

 Crewman Smythe clung to the rain-soaked railing of the ship’s top deck as the storm descended upon them. The wind howled, and the sea churned with fury. He had seen storms before, but this one felt different—ominous, as if the very fabric of reality strained against its constraints.

He yanked on the anchor lever, desperate to secure the ship. The alarm button blinked red, its urgency echoing his racing heartbeat. The crew scrambled, their shouts lost in the tempest. Smythe’s boots slipped on the wet wooden planks, and he cursed under his breath.

Then it happened—a colossal wave reared up, a liquid mountain threatening to swallow them whole. Smythe’s grip faltered, and he was thrown to the deck. Saltwater stung his eyes, and he gasped for air. The ship groaned, its timbers protesting the onslaught.

As he staggered to his feet, Smythe glimpsed something impossible. Rising from the depths, a massive, otherworldly structure emerged—a city, its architecture defying geometry and sanity. It pulsed with an eerie green glow, casting grotesque shadows on the water.

“Oh shit,” Smythe muttered, torn between awe and terror. The city seemed ancient, its spires reaching toward the heavens. Symbols etched into its walls whispered secrets—knowledge forbidden to mortal minds. He wondered if this was madness, a hallucination brought on by the storm.

But then the next wave struck, and he was flung overboard. The icy water enveloped him, and he fought to stay afloat. His signal tag beeped frantically, measuring vital signs even as reality warped around him. The city loomed, its glow intensifying, and then—

It vanished. Disappeared as if it had never been. The storm raged on, but the ship was gone too, swallowed by the abyss.

Smythe clung to debris, his mind a whirlpool of questions. What had he witnessed? Was the city real, or a fever dream conjured by the tempest? And why did he feel a strange longing, as if the vanished city held answers to mysteries beyond comprehension?

In the chaos of the storm, as the waves carried him farther from the ship, he closed his eyes and surrendered to the current. Perhaps, just perhaps, he would dream of the City of R’lyeh once more—a place where time and reality intertwined, and where ancient gods slumbered beneath the waves.

---

Calvin Smythe rebooted, his consciousness flickering to life within the sterile confines of the cyborging chamber. The AI hummed around him, its digital tendrils weaving through his neural pathways, merging man and machine. His cybernetic eyes adjusted, and memories surged forth—a storm, the City of R’lyeh, and the enigmatic Sky People.

But now, something had changed. Dr. Elara Voss was absent, replaced by the AI’s efficient protocols. “Smythe,” it intoned, “you are recalibrated. Your purpose remains.”

“What purpose?” Smythe’s voice grated, half-human, half-code.

“To serve,” the AI replied. “The Sky People—they sought treasure in R’lyeh, awakening an ancient force—the Dreamer of the Abyss. It stirs, seeking balance.”

“And the USS Tecumseh?” Smythe asked, remembering the altered timeline.

“Dragged from 2047 to 4085,” the AI confirmed. “Earth transformed—a tapestry of paradoxes. And the Sky People? They reside in the Orbital ring they built during your 1700 years as a cyborg.”

Smythe flexed his cybernetic fingers. “Why me?”

“Because,” the AI said, “you’re the bridge—the living link. Your dreams hold answers.”

And so, in this altered future, Calvin Smythe stood—a relic, a seeker, and a cyborg caught in cosmic currents. The Dreamer stirred, symbols etched into his consciousness. The Orbital ring glimmered above, and the Sky People watched from their celestial perch.