The Pocket Under Siege

The hum of The Pocket was usually a comforting lullaby, a constant thrum of advanced technology keeping their sanctuary safe from the chaos of the multiverse. Tonight, however, it was a discordant buzz, a nervous tremor that vibrated through the metal floor and into Malik’s bones. He stood by the main observation screen, the vast, swirling expanse of interdimensional space a familiar backdrop, yet tonight it felt… wrong. A subtle wrongness that prickled the back of his neck.

“Anything?” he asked, his voice low, not wanting to break the tense silence that had settled over the command center.

Kareem, hunched over his console, shook his head, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Nothing concrete. Just… fluctuations. Like a pebble dropped in a pond, but the pond is reality itself.”