It wasn't a message; it was a frequency. A heavy, rhythmic pulsing that vibrated through his reinforced carbon-fiber hull. He ran a spectral analysis. "Trappist-1?" he whispered.
As his ship was pulled into the violet rift, the last thing Silas saw on his console was a scrolling line of text: DANCE OR DISCONNECT. Hacker Bay Trapist Trap Bass
Every time the "drop" hit, the air in the cabin ionized into a neon violet haze. It wasn't a message; it was a frequency