U_m_p_a_4x17

The terminal flickered, the green phosphor glowing against the darkness of the subterranean lab. For three decades, the array had heard nothing but the rhythmic hum of cosmic background radiation—the static of a lonely universe. Then, at 04:17 AM, the silence broke. It wasn't a signal from a distant star or a pulsar's heartbeat. It was a string of characters that shouldn’t have existed: .

"Ma'am, it's not a code," the young technician whispered, his hands trembling over the keyboard. "It’s a coordinate. But not for any map we have." U_M_P_A_4x17

: The specific frequency—four pulses across seventeen micro-dimensions. The terminal flickered, the green phosphor glowing against

to see if Halloway responds to the transmission. The terminal flickered