Julian Vance stepped off the dry elevator sill into six inches of dark harbor brine.
The thick vulcanized rubber of the post-mortem overshoes took the full weight of his stride.
A cold, heavy pressure pushed against his shins.
Beneath the rubber soles, the water vibrated with an intense, continuous electrical hum.
Sixty cycles per second.
The communal cardiac memories of sixteen drowned patients buzzed against the dielectric neoprene, unable to pierce the four-thousand-volt insulation.
“Julian,” Elena called out from the threshold. “Report your baseline.”
“Insulation is holding,” Julian said, planting both feet firmly on the submerged hexagonal tiles. “Four thousand volts of dielectric resistance. The current can’t touch my skin.”
