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https://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/business/summer-of-disconnect-what-you-need-to-know-about-great-victoria-street-station-closure-and-how-businesses-feel-as-shutters-come-down/a1470104825.html
Kurtis Reid Yesterday at 16:40
Business owners in Belfast’s Great Victoria Street have said they have mixed feelings ahead of the closure of one of the city's largest train stations.
On Friday, May 10, Great Victoria Street Train Station will close its doors for the final time ahead of construction on the new state-of-the-art Belfast Grand Central Station.
The day will be marked by Translink by giving those travelling from Great Victoria Street Station a free commemorative ticket.
The transport company have also published a limited-edition special booklet outlining the history of the station as it departs ahead of the nearly £400m upgrade.
The final train will depart (delays permitting) at 11.32pm to Bangor.
As the train leaves the station, it marks the beginning of travel disruption for some commuters, which Translink said will be “minimal” with various bus substitutions in place.
The transport company will operate a Belfast base from Lanyon Place, with no changes to Botanic or City Hospital stops.
However, later in the summer as engineering work continues, the rail line will close between Lanyon Place and Lisburn.
During this time, bus substitution services will operate and passengers will also be able to use scheduled Metro and Ulsterbus services operating between Belfast train stations and along the Lisburn Road.
Speaking to the Belfast Telegraph just one week before the station shuts down its rail services, business owners who operate in the shopping mall, which connects the entrance to the stations, said they had mixed feelings about the closure.
A more recent addition to the station is Bread Street, whose employees didn’t wish to be named, but admitted they were not too concerned.
“We’ve been busy since we opened, and nothing has been said to us. We’re still going to be trading and open the whole way through the shutdown of the station,” one employee said.
“Bread Street is actually really busy, as you can see the amount of people in here, it’s great. But there will be no changes to us.”
Sarah Bonar, who works within the electronic cigarette stand and vape shop, Ziggicig, expressed some concern, saying their shop is “one of the busiest in Belfast”.
“I work across Belfast, including shops in Lisburn, and this is one of the busiest there is. See the minute people get off those trains or buses, they’re straight in here. It’s crazy busy.
“We haven’t heard much about the closing of the station, but I doubt we’ll close due to the business of this shop.”
However, owner of mobile and tech accessory stand ProMobile, Navid Hemd is slightly more concerned.
The concession stand sells phone cases and any last-minute accessories for those heading on long journeys, including power banks. The stand is one of the only non-housed traders in the unit, but it is a permanent fixture.
“There will be the buses, yes, but it’s mostly train passengers coming through here at rush hour who are stopping to look at the phone cases. I am worried,” he admits.
“It means there won’t be as many people. We are a very busy place, and that is because of the train station. With bus passengers we don’t get as many. We’re not moving though, and we’ll just stay here and hope.”
Metro Barbers, which operates just yards away from the entrance to the bus station, connected to the soon-to-closed train halt, is not closing its doors and while owner and manager Paul McGill admits it will be tough, he’s looking at the bigger picture.
“We’re still open, I dare say we will be affected,” he said.
“We tend to get a fair share from the bus and train, but other customers do come to us as well. But at the end of the day, we’re looking at the bigger and longer picture.
“The plan they say is that this area will be the thoroughfare to the main new hub. So there are going to be a lot more people coming through here once it’s done.
“But it will be tight for a few months, but we just have to focus on what is to come. This Linen Quarter and new square is going to filter a lot of people through here which is good for us.
“The only thing we’re worried about is that the barrier right next to the shop will have to close, it’s the cut-off part for the work, but it’ll be just a few months, but we’re not closing and will still be trading the entire thing.
“We actually look at it as exciting for a new development to come here which will bring more customers to us.”

Great Victoria Street closure — your questions answered:

What date does Belfast Great Victoria Street close?
Great Victoria Street’s train operations will close from Friday, May 10.
When does it reopen?
The station itself, which still operates as a bus station, will not reopen in its current form. Instead, a new station, Belfast Grand Central, will replace it in the autumn.
What does this mean for travel into Belfast?
The railway line will remain open throughout Belfast but will no longer serve Great Victoria Street Station.
Translink has said passengers can continue to use other city centre stations including York Street, Lanyon Place, Botanic and City Hospital.
Major routes such as the Derry-Londonderry line will remain unaffected, with Belfast travellers instead boarding the train at Lanyon Place.
I travel from Lisburn to Lanyon place, how will I be affected?
From later this summer, the line from Lisburn to Lanyon will be closed. Translink has said a bus substitution will be in place.
Once in Belfast and at Lanyon Place, other bus services will also be available to commuters.
Will this affect larger summer events in Belfast like the Twelfth of July?
The disruption will be minimal. Only those travelling using the Lisburn line will be affected when travelling into Belfast.
For example, if you’re travelling from Lurgan and wish to go to Portrush, you would use the bus substitution to Lanyon Place and board the Derry-Londonderry service there.
What about the Enterprise service?
The Enterprise service will continue to operate from Lanyon Place.

The military base doesn’t exist.
Not officially.
It’s a rusted-out corpse of abandoned hardware, a veritable graveyard of fallen soldiers and crumbling structures. Hidden twelve miles deep in the jungles of South America, there’s no reason anybody should be here. None. So why did I find a woman half-dead on the ground? It’s a question I want answered.
She’s sitting across from me. Her eyes are downcast, her blouse is torn and her copper cheeks are flecked with spots of red. I don’t know if the blood belongs to her or somebody else, but I figure by the end of this, I’ll have a pretty good idea.
“Tourist?” I ask.
She gives me a hard stare. It’s quiet. Unyielding. She’s not certain who I am, and judging by the look in her eyes, she’s running a series of probabilities. It’s the black suit that does it. Always. People see the suit, they see the briefcase, and their imagination spins into overdrive.
I try another question. “Did you come alone?”
She shakes her head. Her mouth is a thin line, defiant and uneasy. The legs of her chair squeal as she rocks back and forth, giving motion to her anxiety. She’s considering the possibility that this is her last day on earth. Her last hour.
If I’m being honest, it might be.
“How many were with you?”
“Lots,” she says quickly. “They're still around. They know where I am, know where we are right now and–”
“I doubt that.”
Her voice stumbles.
“If anybody was with you, then chances are they’re already dead. Jobs like this? They’re usually bloodbaths. Massacres. They’re not the sort of places you expect to find survivors, much less unarmed ones.”
She swallows. “Who are you?”
“A friend.”
“Some friend. I don’t know the first thing about you.”
“Funny. I was about to say the same thing.” I reach into my briefcase and pull out my clipboard, centering it on my lap. On it are questions. They’re the sort of questions whose answers are typically written in blood. “How about you and I get to know each other?” “If you think I’m gonna just tell who I am–”
“I don’t care who you are. I care about what you're doing here, miles deep in the jungle, sitting in a military base that doesn’t exist.” I press my pen to the clipboard. “How about you fill me in?”
The woman’s eyes narrow. Her slender hands ball into tight fists. If I had to guess, she’s not used to feeling this vulnerable, this powerless. “And if I leave?” she says, standing up. “What then? Are you going to cuff me to a pipe?”
I smile. “Why bother?”
The corner of her mouth twitches.
“You’re not going to leave,” I tell her. “You wouldn’t dare.”
For a moment, my eyes dance with hers, and in their fire I see something– some buried ember of fear. It’s unmistakable. “You know better than I do what’s out there,” I say. “So go ahead. Walk out that door if you think you’re safer outside. I won’t stop you.”
I wait for her to move, but she hesitates. They always hesitate.
“Maybe you’re right," I say. "Maybe I’m not a friend, but I’m the closest thing you’ll find to one for miles, so if I were you, I’d quit worrying about me. I’d start worrying about what it is I’m doing here.”
“Meaning?”
I wave my hand toward the broken window. Outside are rusted humvees. A crumbling barracks. Outside is a road so overgrown that tiny trees are sprouting from cracks in the concrete, while clutches of moss do their best to hide old rifle rounds. “Places like this aren't left to rot without a good reason. Soldiers are trained to fight. They aren't trained to flee into the jungle, leaving their equipment and assets behind." I gesture broadly. "Look around. This base was evacuated in a hurry, and that begs the question– why? More importantly, why did I find you in the middle of it?”
Her eyes dart outside. Her pupils are dilated in a cocktail of adrenaline and anxiety. “If I tell you… then you’ve gotta tell me something first.”
“Tell you what?”
“Who you are,” she says, voice trembling. “I want to know what’s really going on here. The truth. I’ve been lied to enough today.”
Have you? I study her. The truth of my work isn’t something people want to hear about– not really. They might think they do. They might think they’re ready to open Pandora's Box, to see the dark underbelly of reality, but it’s rarely the case.
Still, the woman strikes me as stubborn. If pulling back the veil can get her talking, then maybe it’s worth the existential crisis. I slip a hand inside my jacket, pull out my badge and toss it to her. She catches it, just barely. “There you go,” I say. “Everything you need to know about me, right down to my height and birthday."
She appraises the badge. Her eyes move across the laminate once, twice, then snap back up to me, suspicious. “This says you work for an organization called The Facility. I’ve never heard of it.”
“That’s the idea. We’re a shadow contractor. The less people know about us, the easier it is to do our job.”
“And what is that job?”
“Anomalies,” I tell her. “We investigate Events of supernatural origin. They’re typically caused by entities– things you’d recognize as monsters, or urban legends. My job is to hunt those things. Capture them.”
She shakes her head. "Why?”
“That’s a complicated question. The short answer is that it’s necessary. The long answer is that you’ll sleep better not knowing." I lean forward, flaring my jacket behind me, letting the woman get a glimpse of the pistol on my hip. "Fact is, I came here tonight to investigate an Event, but instead I found you. I’d like to know why that is.”
Her eyes drift to the window. She’s wearing the expression of a woman who was praying her nightmare was all in her head, that whatever she saw today was the product of acute psychosis, a little bit of neurological sabotage and nothing else. Now she’s considering that maybe there’s something more here. Maybe she’s not as crazy as she hoped she was.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
She bites her lip. Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper. “Maria.”
“You look like you’re having a hard time processing things, Maria.”
“You don’t know what I saw…” she mutters. “You have no idea…”
“I hear that a lot.” I pull out a pack of smokes, slip one between my lips. I light it and the nicotine tastes sweeter than heroin. It ripples through my body like emotional morphine, and just like that, the next part gets a little easier. “Between you and me, my father was killed by an entity, Maria. I watched him die.”
Her eyes meet mine. They’re wide. This wasn’t the emotional curveball she was expecting, and that’s exactly what makes it effective. Always.
“Happened when I was seven," I tell her. "I saw the whole thing from under my bed, cowering. A creature had him in its grip. Some tall man with two faces. He lifted him up to the ceiling and turned to me, asked what my favorite nightmare was, and then he tore my father in two. Like paper mache.”
I blow out a plume of smoke and it hangs in the air between us. Then I take another long drag. The truth is, I hate this story. I hate it more than anything else in the entire world. It’s a memory I’ve gone my entire life trying to forget, but in moments like these, it’s the most valuable piece of history I own. Even now, it’s working its black magic. I watch Maria’s posture shift. Her shoulders fall, slumping forward in horrified disbelief. She’s doing the human thing and empathizing with me, sharing a piece of my pain, and that’s exactly what I need her to do.
“Is that how this so-called Facility found you?” she asks.
“It is.”
Her eyes are staring a hole into the concrete floor. She looks distant. Haunted. “I’m so sorry,” she says.
I ash my cigarette. “Don’t be. It’s ancient history. The point I’m trying to make is that when you’ve seen an entity kill somebody, it stays with you. You recognize the scars. And right now, I see those scars all over your face.”
She doesn’t speak. She looks out the window, out across the military ruins to a rusty steel wheel rising from the dirt. It's bolted to a hatch that leads underground. One she’s been stealing glances at for the better part of our conversation.
“That bunker,” I say. “I found you lying beside it, bleeding and barely conscious. Something happened down there, didn’t it?”
A moment passes. Her eyes are narrowed in focus, like she’s weighing her options. Calculating outcomes. Eventually, she takes a breath. Asks a question. “You said that you hunted entities… Well, what about demons?”
“What about them?”
“Do they exist?”
I crack a grin. “Depends who you ask. Are you saying that you saw one down there?”
“I’m not sure,” she says at length. “Maybe not a demon but… something like it.” She stops. Her teeth dig into her lip, and then she says something that shocks even me. “I think I saw the devil. Satan.”
“Satan?” I say, whistling. “Now that’d be something.”
“You think I’m nuts,” she mutters, shaking her head. “I knew you would… Everyone will…”
“I don’t think you’re nuts. Not yet." I take one last drag on my cigarette, burn it to the filter and flick it to the floor. "The truth is, The Facility’s been tracking strange activity in the area. A lot of it. Entities are being drawn to this base, being pulled in from nearby regions like moths to a flame, only to vanish without a trace. I'm talking about heavy hitters. Nightmare fuel. These aren’t the sort of entities that we can destroy, much less contain, so the fact that they’re dropping off the face of the Earth is starting to get concerning.” I thumb to the broken window. “This base? It’s the Bermuda Triangle for boogeymen. I’m here to find out why.”
She shrinks in her seat. “Jesus… Do you think it has something to do with what I saw?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I won’t know until I get more details, and that means I need to know what you’re doing here.”
"Here?” she says, glancing at the bunker. “Get me out of here, and I’ll tell you whatever you want.”
"Not possible. We do this before nightfall. There’s no other way.”
What Maria doesn’t realize is that this entity likely already has her scent. Sooner or later, it’s going to return for her. When that happens, I need every advantage I can get– and that means understanding just what happened here.”
“Hang on,” she sputters. “What happens at nightfall?”
“Keep derailing my investigation, and you’ll find out.” I scratch her name onto the clipboard. “Now start talking. We’re losing daylight.”
She runs a frantic hand through her hair. “Christ. Alright,” she says, voice cracking. “Let me think for a second. It started a couple weeks ago, I think. A reader sent in a tip about this place–”
“Slow down. A reader?”
“Right, fuck. I'm a journalist. I work for an online paper, and we solicit tips for our stories. Usually scandals. Corruption. It's mostly political stuff… but a couple weeks back, a man sent in something bizarre.”
“That man have a name?”
“John.”
“Just John?”
Her voice breaks. “Yes.”
I write it down.
She continues. “John said he'd been hearing screaming, that his whole village had, coming from somewhere in the jungle nearby. Military was in the area. They were sending convoys through the village in the dead of night, with their headlights off to avoid drawing attention to themselves.
Apparently they were all driving up an old road, one that hadn't been used in decades. John knew the road. He knew it led to an old military base… one that used to conduct illegal experiments."
I lean back. "What kind of experiments?"
"The human kind. Genetic stuff. DNA splicing, mutating– you name it."
“Seems weird John would know that.”
“He used to work there,” she explains. “A long time ago, during the Cold War.”
I frown. “The nearest village is twelve miles away. Nobody is hearing screaming at that distance."
“That’s just it. They didn’t hear screaming from the base, they heard it from the jungle. John said it sounded just like it used to when he worked there. Guttural. Animalistic. He could tell that the people screaming had been experimented on, and that they were being let loose in the jungle."
"Let loose?"
"Yeah. I guess they'd send out test subjects, then release other experiments, more advanced ones, to hunt them down.
"What for? To test their capabilities?"
“Partly,” she says darkly. “But mostly for food.”
I chew on the tip of my pen. "Cannibal humans, genetic testing, a massive military cover up– sounds like Pulitzer Prize material."
She folds her arms, gives me a scathing look. “Is that sarcasm?”
“Not at all. Give me John’s age.”
“Not sure,” she says. “Seventy, maybe? He was in good shape. Fit. But he looked rough.” “Rough?”
“I just mean he looked like he’d been through the ringer. Had a hard life. His skin was leather, and he was missing half of his teeth. His hair was a tangled mess. I’m pretty sure I saw lice moving in his beard.” She pauses. “And his eyes…. His eyes were unnerving.” “Describe them.”
“Well, they were pale– paler than the moon. And every so often they’d sort of pulse, almost bulge out of their sockets. I hate to say it, but he looked freaky.”
“And John brought you here, to this base?”
She nods.
“And where’s John now?”
“He’s…” Maria’s eyes drift to the bunker. “He’s dead. Down there.”
Could’ve guessed. I follow her gaze and the steel hatch is turning crimson in the setting sun. My stomach twists. What I don’t tell Maria is that entities are most active after nightfall. If I don’t solve this mystery soon, then the answer is likely going to come find us– and I’m not sure I like our chances of survival.
“That hatch,” I say. “I'm guessing that's how you and John entered the bunker.”
“Yes.”
“Describe the interior.”
Maria takes a second. She furrows her eyebrows, as though thinking back. “It was narrow,” she says slowly. “Like a tall cylinder. I remember standing at the top of the hatch and looking down into a dark pit that stretched forever. John got on the ladder and told me to follow. He said it’d be a bit of a descent, but once we were down there, he was certain we’d find the evidence we’d need to blow the conspiracy wide open.”
“What state was the bunker in?” I ask. “John implied operations had resumed, but did it appear that way?”
“No…” she says. “Frankly, the condition was awful. It looked like the bunker had been abandoned since the Cold War. Moss crept up the walls and the ladder rattled with every step we took. The place was a deathtrap. Every time I put my foot down, I half-expected the ladder to snap.”
Odd. One would think John would clue in after seeing the state of the bunker that it wasn’t fit for operation. Then again, John strikes me as a man not altogether there. He might have been mentally ill. Out of his mind. Based on Maria’s description of him– the pale eyes, chilling demeanor– I can’t help but wonder if John wasn’t so much an employee of the program as he was a test subject.
Maria continues. “About fifty feet down the ladder, we started to see catwalks. Dozens of them. They extended off the ladder in every direction, leading to various entrances along the interior.” She trails off, as if collecting her thoughts. When she speaks again, her voice is hoarse. Quiet. “The entrances were welded shut. All of them. It’s like they were trying to keep something trapped inside… like they didn’t want it getting out.”
“All of the entrances?” I ask.
“No,” she says, tugging nervously at her sleeve. “Not all of them. One was different. We found it at the bottom of the ladder, half-submerged in rainwater. The flooding only came up to our knees, so we were able to wade through easily enough but…” Her fingers dance across her jeans. They pick at the fabric.
“But what?”
“It was torn open,” she breathes. “The entrance, I mean. It was warped outward like something had clawed its way out of the bunker, pulled it apart like a tin can. I’m talking about inches of steel here. Enough to shrug off the shockwave of a nuclear warhead– I mean fuck, what could do that?”
For the first time, I feel the ghost of fear creep through me. It’s subtle. Insidious. If what she’s describing is true, then there are two, maybe three entities I’m aware of with that capability. All three are impossibly violent. Vicious. Official policy to avoid contact at all costs. If such avoidance isn’t possible, then policy dictates the elimination of all witnesses to ensure the preservation of social order.
I look to Maria. She’s covered in bruises, blood and judging by the way she’s cradling her arm, probably has at least one fracture. She’s already suffered a nightmare. I wonder if I’ll have the courage to put her down if the time comes.
“The door,” I say, hoping she doesn’t hear my voice crack. “John used to work there. He must have had thoughts on the damage.”
She snorts. “He said it was explosive charges. He said the military probably breached the door to get inside when they restarted their science project, but I knew that couldn’t be true. First of all, the door was warped outward– not inward. More than that, there wasn’t a shred of explosive damage in the area.”
“I’m assuming these were observations you shared.”
“Of course. John didn’t care though, just changed the subject– asked me if I had any skeletons in my closet. Asked me if I’d ever hurt people, or considered it and–”
“What?”
“Yeah, I know,” she says, laughing in disbelief. “Talk about a left turn into what the fuck. I shrugged it off. I mean, I knew John had demons in his past– maybe he was looking for a little absolution from me. It’s not like he sounded threatening. He almost asked the questions casually, like he was hoping we could start a conversation, forgive each other for our sins, sorta thing. He didn’t press the subject. Maybe if he had, though, things would’ve been different.”
She sighs. Her eyes shift to the bunker, hazy with memories. “He helped me squeeze through the damaged doorway, and we continued on. All the passages were flooded down there, utterly dark. We sloshed through countless corridors, our headlamps reflecting off the black water and making shadows against the walls. It creeped me out. It felt like we weren’t alone down there because I’d keep seeing movement out of the corner of my eye.”
Movement. I wonder if she really was just seeing things, or if there had been something down there, stalking them even then. “Anything stand out as interesting in those corridors?” “In some sense, all of it was interesting,” she says. “The whole place was like a buried time capsule. In the rooms we passed I saw ancient magazines and peeling posters. I saw little relics from the 70s or earlier, some floating in the water, others sitting on dusty tables and countertops– even keepsakes, like lockets, wedding rings. Even the desks were full of soggy documents. Classified ones. Seemed strange they’d just leave all that behind.”
She takes a deep breath. “We passed through a series of maze-like corridors, then climbed a ladder that finally got us out of that floodwater. It felt nice to be on dry ground again, but the new chamber…” A shiver runs through her. “It was narrow to the point of being claustrophobic, and all along its walls were streaks of dark paint. The air felt musty. Rancid. But it wasn’t until we turned the corner that–” She stops suddenly, her expression paling.
“Maria,” I press. “What happened when you turned the corner?”
A moment passes. When she speaks again, her voice is hoarse. “Something crunched under my foot,” she says. “Bones. The passage was full of them. Skeletons were piled a foot high. It looked… It looked like they’d died scrambling over each other, like they were trying to reach the ladder and escape something. That’s when I realized the streaks along the walls weren’t paint. They were blood. Old and brown.”
My heart thrums. Could this be evidence of John’s so-called experiments? “Did the bones appear to be mutated at all?”
Maria nods, slowly. “Yes. Some more than others. One skull could’ve belonged to a man, but its jaw was elongated, like a horse’s. A single, twisted horn curved out of its forehead. Another was… another was flat. Square. It looked like somebody had rolled a person’s head under a tractor, but it had dozens of eye sockets. Multiple mouths.”
She brings a hand to her mouth. Gags. She looks like she might be sick, and I can’t blame her. I’m beginning to feel a little light-headed myself, though for another reason. Outside, we’re losing light. Night is fast approaching, and I’m worried it might be bringing something that I’m not yet ready to deal with. Something violent. Deadly.
“What was John’s reaction to the bones?” I ask, swallowing my dread.
“His reaction?” she mutters. “Jesus… Well, he picked one up– another skull. This one looked like it could’ve belonged to a woman, maybe, but where the mouth should have been was something else entirely. Mandibles. Like a wasp, or an ant. Whatever it was, it got John excited. His eyes did that creepy thing where they bulged from his sockets, and down there in the dark, I swear they even glowed. He held the skull up, just inches from my face and asked me how it made me feel. I could hardly focus on his words. His breath smelled like rot. Decay. He pressed me against the wall, but I shoved him off. He came back at me, and I took a swing at him– caught him across the jaw because I wasn't taking any chances down there. That dazed him. He stumbled, spat out some blood.”
An altercation. A new, unexpected wrinkle to her story that isn’t giving me any solutions to save our lives. Still, John is a curious individual. He was right about the experiments. If he’s dead, then I wonder what role he played in all of this… “How did John react to you hitting him?”
“He got weird,” she says, shaking her head. “Like fucking bizarre. He started mumbling nonsense, then shouting that I was being cruel, evil, like those monsters all over the ground. He cried. He whimpered that he was hurt, and that he brought me here as a favor, but now I was betraying him.” Maria pauses, as if she’s trying to make sense of her own story. “It was so strange. The way he was shouting didn’t sound angry, but almost performative. He kept calling me a monster like he was trying to get somebody’s attention.”
“And did he?”
Her mouth falls open as if to say no before a sudden realization flickers across her eyes. “Yes…” she breathes. “Oh God, I didn’t notice at the time but yes. Right after the shouting, we heard a clanging sound. It echoed through the passage. Whatever it was, it sounded distant. Far off, like it was coming from the entrance to the bunker, from that long ladder.”
“How did you react?”
“I didn’t know what to do. I mean, hell, I don’t think I believed it was really happening. We were miles deep in a jungle in a military base that by all accounts didn’t exist. Who the hell could be coming down the ladder?”
“And John’s reaction?”
“He grabbed my hand. Swore. He said the military must’ve figured out we were there, that they were coming to capture us, or kill us, or turn us into one of their newest abominations– who the fuck knows. He told me he knew a place where we could hide. We fled down passages that twisted and turned like a labyrinth. I followed his lead. At that point I had no idea where we were, no idea how to find my way back. He was my lifeline. My only shot. But the entire time we ran… I heard something rumbling in the dark.”
“Something human?”
“Do humans howl?”
Goosebumps trace my skin. No. They certainly don’t. “Maria,” I say, “this is important. What did the howl sound like– a wolf, or maybe a hyena?” This could be my chance to identify this thing. To figure out what it is we’re up against, and save our lives.
But she shakes her head. She shakes her head and I hate her for it. “No,” she tells me. “It didn’t sound like anything alive. It sounded artificial, electronic. It howled like a microphone screams with feedback, all high-pitched and ear-splitting.”
My grip tightens, cracking the plastic shell of my pen. Maria’s description doesn’t sound like any entity I’m familiar with, and that’s making me frustrated and terrified. “This place John mentioned,” I say, swallowing. “The place he said you’d be safe– where was that?” The color in her face washes away. “A wide room, shaped like a pentagon. All along the wall were slots. Gun turrets. They were abandoned, rusted out like everything else there but it was the words written all across the walls that made my blood go cold…”
Her voice trails off. She tries to finish her thought, but it comes out as a sob. She drops her face into her hands and the tears come out like a torrent, messy and loud. I give her a moment to let it out, to collect herself, but the truth is I’m not sure it’s a moment we can afford.
Outside, the sun is missing. It’s gone. The last scraps of daylight are making crooked shadows out of the treeline, spilling them across the base like decrepit fingers, reaching toward us like hungry phantoms.
My eyes find my clipboard. I scan it. I review the details I’ve recorded in search of some clue, some revelation that might get us out of this alive, but my writing is a mess. It’s uneven. It occurs to me that my hand has been shaking, that even now my palm is slick with sweat.
“I’m sorry,” Maria sniffles, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “I’m sorry…”
“It’s okay.”
It isn’t.
“You said there were words on the wall. What did they say?”
“Sector 5…” she says, taking a shuddering breath. “Sector 5: Feeding Trough. And the room… Oh god, there were corpses everywhere. They were scorched. Burned. They were half-devoured, rotting away, with maggots pouring out of their skin. The scent was… Nothing in the world smelled more terrible, more revolting.”
“Corpses,” I say, heart pounding. “Like the ones you saw before? Genetic experiments?”
“You said something earlier. Something about missing monsters… Disappearing entities…”
I lean forward. "What about it?"
Her eyes get wide. The contours of her face twist with the onset of dawning horror. “I think I found them,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “I think I found all of them down there.”

1

There was a time in my life when I found myself somewhere that I wasn’t supposed to be. I don’t mean that I was a squatter, but rather I accidentally drifted somewhere else, and I violated some unknown law of nature. I was a cosmic squatter.
I’m sure that this case almost killed me.
I was returning home to California through the Mojave Desert. Thankfully, I was passing through at night and so was spared the white-hot view of that bleak and barren expanse of grit. Don’t get me wrong, it has its charm and the locals possess a kind of filthy endurance that I find charming, but it’s still a downward, dismal crawl through decreasingly interesting landscapes if one is coming from the East, which I was.
If you’ve crossed the Desert at night then you can relate to the sagging, itching eyes and the taste of dirty coffee which has lost its earthy appeal. Maybe you remember the smell, like I do, of sweaty upholstery and cigarette smoke or the ever present (and slightly intrusive) smell of sage brush. Or you’ve felt the fuzz start to creep into the edge of your vision, and wool start filling your head while the hypnotic expanse of flat darkness inches by on either side.
I enjoy being in that state of mind. I mean, I don’t but it fits into the image of myself as a lone rider… The Stranger. The nuclear glow of the dashboard is my lantern in the sea, the old Mercury my waterlogged sloop, boards creaking. I like to be alone, and it’s hard to be more alone than driving through the Mojave at near-midnight, not a not a pair of headlights to keep me company while I cross a bleached line of asphalt.
It had been hundreds of miles and tens of hours at this point, and I had to be honest with myself and admit that I wasn’t going to complete the crossing.
I tried to remember that last time I had seen a rest stop or a motel. There aren’t a lot of rest stops in that part of the country, but there are some. And there are truckers. Theoretically there are truckers on the highway, so why hadn’t I seen one in hours? Or had it been hours? I was about as sharp as pea soup by this point.
If I’d been in a more lucid state of mind, it might have occurred to me that I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen anything on this highway. Worse, I can’t to this day remember what highway I was on.
A sign for something called The Pelican Inn drifted by on the right. I pulled off the highway into a poorly lit parking lot. A sign depicting a cartoon bird promised good rates, cable, and a vacancy.
The Pelican was so typical of the ancient roadside motels in that area. It was built into that standard L-shape with a shallow overhang shading wooden doors the color of dusty sage. The windows were all dark, and there were no cars in the lot except for mine. Tumbleweeds strained through cracks in the pavement underneath an old streetlight. A dingy gray square of fluorescent light streamed into the parking lot from the main office, the door propped slightly ajar as an invitation to travelers. I smelled the tangy odor of chemicals burning in the distance, no doubt because of the efforts of the local meth suppliers. Overall, it gave me the impression of a toad squatting by the side of the road.
Nothing about the place was anything but completely mundane, and yet I found myself intentionally avoiding the sign with the cartoon pelican. There was nothing abjectly grotesque about the sign; It depicted a cartoon pelican eating cartoon fish, the rendition was clumsy so that the bird’s proportions were all slightly off in a way that made the bird look ungainly. The mouth yawned open to swallow cartoon fish, whose mindless smiles I found completely inappropriate for their situation.
I ignored the chill which crawled under my skin and stepped into the office. A small, electronic buzzer announced my arrival.
The office had kept the same theme of faded, dusty green. It reminded me of the color of desert sage. The floor was cheap, peeling linoleum the color of wet brick. A moth was banging rhythmically against the dim bulb above the check-in desk, which was occupied by a bored man who sat with his back to me. There was nothing altogether unwholesome about the office, but I still felt my skin tingle as soon as I passed through the threshold. True, the scab-like mold in the corner was putrid in a way I had never seen before, but it didn’t look particularly threatening. I decided it was the clerk, and his perfect stillness.
A television sat dormant on the countertop and the clerk stared numbly into it, unmoving. He wore a brown leather coat the same color as the rotten mold growing in the corners and said nothing. I could make out a greasy mane of yellow hair shooting out behind his stooped shoulders but could only see the faintest outline of his cheek. I hadn’t crossed the office, preferring to keep my back pressed against the door.
I knew that he wasn’t asleep, but I cleared my throat anyway. He didn’t stir, but instead let out a low, wet sigh. The sound had a disturbingly intimate quality to it.
“Evening… morning.” I started. “I’d just like a room please.”
No response. I briefly tried to see his reflection on the curved surface of the dead television screen, but stopped myself before I could take in any details of his face. I decided that I didn’t want to.
“…How much?”
“Eighty-two dollars.”
I’m still not sure if the voice came from the hunched figure sitting at the counter or out of some dark corner. Furthermore, the voice had the grainy and hushed quality of a very old audio recording. It occurred to me at this point that this man was enormous. He sat squat and low in a struggling office chair, and his posture which had seemed at first like a sleepy slouch now seemed like an impossibly huge man trying to make himself appear as small as possible.
I placed the money on the counter, and the man extended his arm behind him without moving. The spindly arm was at odds with his broad back and shoulders, and the hand which slapped the key card on the table looked surprisingly delicate, with soft pink skin and long fingers.
I thanked him curtly, picked up the card, and tried not to run out of the office. My host didn’t move again.
My skin stopped itching somewhat when I was back in the open. I had a soft bed and a private room, that was enough. The pelican watched me approach room number 8, and I pushed my keycard into a bizarre electric slotted lock which I had never seen.
The room wasn’t altogether unpleasant at first glance. A reading nook in the corner was illuminated by a lamp with a pink shade. The floor was ancient, polished hardwood which creaked unpleasantly under every upon which sat a queen bed. Bright white light poured through a narrow door to a bathroom at the far end. I could hear the sink dripping softly.
I took a quick shower to scrub the collective grime of 20 hours on the road off me and then collapsed into the bed, which could have been upholstered with barbed wire for all that I cared at that point.

2
The clock read 1:00 AM.
The sick yellow light streamed in through a crack in my heavy curtains. I grunted out of bed, feeling my joints pop pleasantly and I stretched and made my way to the bathroom to piss. The itching needles in my eyes had receded somewhat, and my brain felt slightly sharper after an hour of sleep. That’s probably why I started noticing the room’s more aberrant details at that point.
I washed my hands in the sink and I realized that the countertop had been set so high that it was almost up to my chest. I studied the sink. The countertop was far too narrow, and the sink was awkwardly shaped and unnaturally deep. It hadn’t been obvious in my exhaustion, but after a moment’s rest it was all too evident. In fact, everything in the bathroom was slightly off. The toilet bowl was broader and flatter than normal; It was too close to the ground, and it resembled a squat birdbath. There was a vent over the shower, but it was far too wide, and the slots were so far apart that it looked like a barred window. Weirder still, a dim light pulsed from inside the ducting so that I could see the dim reflection of steel walls within. Nothing was distressingly dirty, except for a small cluster of that same scab-colored mold which had been growing in the main office… this time it peeked out from the drain in the tub. It was the geometry of this place which was off. Every angle was just slightly skewed in a way which made the bristle and itch the longer I occupied it.
The only explanation that I could think of was that this bathroom had been designed for people who were shaped differently.
I fled the bedroom. Had the uncomfortable design of this place been enough to rouse me from a dead sleep? Was it possible for a place to be so subtly disturbing that it could have jarred me awake, or had something else woken me up?
The room, which had seemed fairly benign an hour ago now reminded me of carnivorous plants which had evolved to resemble their prey’s natural habitat or food source. The bed was wider than it was long with spindly, bent legs. The reading chair in the corner was hunched over like a vulture ready to tear flesh from the reader foolhardy enough to sit in it.
Worse, I could see the barest hints of that brown muck which I could now see was unlike any mold that I had ever seen. It slithered and churned like the elixir in a Witch’s cauldron.
Cortisol flooded my system and caused my skin to itch, but no predator lunged from the darkness. I peeked through a narrow gap in the curtain and saw my car still alone in the parking lot. The cartoon pelican stood sullenly in the darkness; its silhouette barely visible. A lone Joshua tree sulked underneath. It had the same bent and tortured look that all Joshua Trees had, as if it were convulsing in silent agony.
The pelican’s proportions which were clumsily drawn before, now took on a fearful intent. The wings were curled menacingly around a school of screaming fish, and the purple gullet gaped wide to swallow them.
But nothing moved. Just warm, heavy air and the dim wash from the office. I had expected there to be a foul, but there was none. There was only the persistent feeling of being unclean as one does crammed into a sweaty railcar in summer.
was still exhausted, and this might all just be the fever dream of someone too long alone and sleep deprived. The bed was less inviting, but I crawled in anyway and tried to ignore the electric orange and green buzzing from outside

3
The clock read 2:03.
I was jolted awake again, so frustrated that I felt a little bit like crying. That frustration was soon replaced by a heavy fear which pressed down on me like a wet blanket. I froze in bed like a deer who senses a predator. A mad preservation instinct insisted to me that I keep my eyes closed, but I let them open just slightly to try and get a surreptitious glimpse of my room.
There was a sudden shift in the lighting. The light from the parking lot still lanced through the gap in my thick curtains, but it hadn’t moments before. Something had been blocking the light, and now it wasn’t. Something in front of my window had just moved.
Then came a sound, so soft that I could have mistaken it for the blood rushing through my head. A soft, rhythmic sigh of air. Someone breathing.
I did not shift or stretch, and yet the moment that I consciously became aware of the breathing it changed. A soft rush of air became more ragged and urgent. I’ve read that dogs can smell whether you’re awake or not.
I heard the tortured groan of straining wood. The door. My eyes opened completely to fully take in my room. I was alone. Almost. Kind of.
The gap in the curtain filled me with intense vulnerability. It was a critical breach in the integrity of my lonely little sanctuary. I slithered out of bed onto the floor, ignoring the tacky feeling of unwashed boards and pressed myself up against the wall directly underneath the window so that my visitor could not peer in and see me. I hunched there like a fish hiding in reeds.
I was immersed in darkness again as whoever was outside darted back to the window to peer inside. Some part of me understood that moving announcing that I was awake, but I couldn’t stomach the thought of this thing (and I became more and more certain that it was a thing) looking at me for a moment longer.
The breathing became a hot, wet rattle of either excitement or anger. The visitor gasped and wheezed for several long moments, and I could hear a face being pressed to the glass, and a fleshy eye socket being pressed to the window, the bloodshot iris rolling frantically within to get another glimpse of me. I prayed that I was pressed far enough into the corner so that I wouldn’t be detected. It was an absolute certainty that if I were to make eye contact with whatever was out there that the game would end, and it would come crashing through the window.
I felt pressure in my lungs. I had been holding my breath for several minutes.
The light returned to the room and before I could breathe a sigh of relief, I heard wood bowing inward again as something massive pressed against the door with the inexorable slowness of a hydraulic press. The hinges strained and creaked and were about to collapse under the mass that was leaning up against it.
The feverish breath continued wet and excited while this thing licked its chops. The pressure increased for a moment longer, then stopped as a shadow darted past my window, pattering footsteps faded, and a door slammed heavily. I was surprised by how small the silhouette was; No more than four feet tall with shaggy, matted hair… I had expected something the size of a bear but that shadow suggested a contorted, elfin creature with knobby, choking hands.
I waited for several minutes before reaching up to the heavy curtain and tugging it closed to eliminate the offending gap. My security restored, I felt safe to stand again. I peered through the peephole and saw only my car in the parking lot, and the sign.
The sign had continued its monstrous evolution. I couldn’t be sure from the dim light, and I was no ornithologist, but I’m certain that pelicans don’t typically have teeth. The lone Joshua Tree was nowhere to be found, and I wondered if it had been there in the first place.
I shuffled into the bathroom to wash my face and hands. The sink was still at that awful angle, and the water had the brackish quality of cold sweat so that rinsing my face only made me feel filthier. I ignored the vent, which now swelled with purple-brown filth around the seams. The wide bars yawned open and breathed whatever sick air was coming from the internals of The Pelican.
I imagine some of you are wondering why I didn’t leave right then. Why didn’t I make a dash for my car and screech on down the road? I’ll try to explain the impulses which kept me there.
First, even considering the perverseness of that room, it was still my room. It was serving as my port in a storm, and on some level, I felt that nothing could enter through the threshold without my allowing it. Second, that same part of me which considered my room to be safe was also entirely certain that the thing at the window was waiting in ambush and would scurry from the shadows the moment the door opened. Some part of me assumed that there were rules at play here, and that I would need to wait until sunrise. I knew precisely none of those things to be true, but that’s why I stayed.
So, I turned on the TV to distract myself and was surprised to find that it worked. Some sitcom I had never seen was on, not that it mattered. I just needed some electric noise to distract myself enough that I could fall back to sleep.

4
The clock read 3:17.
The hazy green light from the digital clock had become a silent tormenter. Time was crawling, and the safe wash of the dawn was still hours away. There was a smell now, and I felt something warm and damp in bed with me. I jerked the mustard yellow cover aside to reveal my foot, coated in a generous amount of scab-like mold. I convulsed in disgust and tore into the bathroom, turning the showerhead on to as hot as I could to submerge my foot under the scalding deluge.
The substance was tacky and sticky and sprouted little hairs the color of infected pus. When I looked closely at these, I was horrified to see them wriggling slightly like horsehair worms. I retched and gagged as I tore the towel off the rack and scrubbed furiously at the offensive mass.
The substance coming off my foot was agonizing, and the flesh underneath was pockmarked and red like a revolting nest of some kind. The water flushing this grotesque sore was both torture and bliss as the horrendous substance came off me and sloughed towards the drain, followed by a healthy flow of scarlet blood from the deep tunnels in my flesh.
I placed my foot back on the white tile of the bathroom floor, leaving bloody prints from my abused heel and I vomited at the sight of the brown mass while it protested down the drain. The side which had been attached to me was covered in puckering which gasped and dilated in protest.
I vomited. It felt good. I imagined my body violently rejecting the horrid atmosphere of this place and throwing it down the toilet in a spray of yellow acid. The pain was raw and pure, unlike the filthy itching of that horrendous polyp in the drain.
I spat one last yellow tendril of puke and I forced my heart rate to slow. After a few shaking breaths, I was able to focus. I could hear from the wheezing coming from the bedroom that my mysterious visitor was back, no doubt pressing his monstrous, gelatinous weight against my door.
I turned to leave the sterile light of the bathroom when the television in the bedroom turned off with an electric thunk! The desert night pushed its way through my door and into my bedroom to stop just at the bathroom door and flatten itself against it like water in an aquarium. The dim specters of my bed and chair crouched like panthers in the darkness.
This happened too fast to fully process, and I might have even simply walked back into the bedroom had the shower vent not caught my eye. The metal frame was twisted and scarred with fresh white lines and yellowed chunks of grout were scattered in the basin. There was no doubt that the grate had been forced violently inward, and then an attempt had been made to force the vent back to its original configuration.
My gaze returned to the black wall of darkness and a wet stone of terror sank into my gut. Sounds which had been innocuous moments ago took on a horrifying new aspect. Was that ticking the sound of pipes, or of someone clicking their fingernails on the table in anticipation? Did I hear the heating system or a quiet moan filled with a longing? Was the churning in the other room imagined, or was I really hearing something swell its way towards me?
I was in Hell and the sunrise would never come. My safe harbor had been violated. This place wasn’t meant for me (or worse… it was) and I couldn’t leave.
From the darkness there came a snuffling, like the sound of a badger nosing in the dirt. I imagined the squat, shaggy silhouette from earlier pressing its face into the sheets and luxuriating in the smell to savor its next meal like a sommelier swirling wine in his glass.
I saw nothing in the next room, the television had been the only source of light. A part of me almost regretted closing the curtain earlier. Almost. Worse, I didn’t hear the sound anymore. The silence in the bedroom was the silence of hushed crickets in the forest; it was the silence of a hunter’s breath.
I slowly moved my hand towards the bathroom door.
I know that my actions didn’t make sense, but I couldn’t stop myself from assigning rules to my situation. I was doing that to maintain a sense of control. In my mind, I had decided that there was something in my bedroom and it did not like the light (much like the child at night will know with certainty that if they open their eyes, the monster’s looming face will be there and get them). I knew that if the door squeaked even a little bit that the tension would be broken and I would die, light be damned.
The bathroom door closed smoothly and without protest. I pressed the button latch closed with a metallic thud.
Nothing from the other side. My security had now been relegated to a white, fluorescent box that glared at me from all sides. I had successfully trapped myself with the canniness of a B-Movie slasher victim. I had nowhere to go.
I fell asleep. It felt like drowning, but I didn’t care.
5
I don’t know what time the clock read, and I didn’t open my eyes. The inside of my eyelids was hot red from the bathroom light burning against them.
I never fully roused but opened my eyes slightly to see gray, knobbed fingers straining underneath the door towards my face. I closed my eyes.
Whatever was going to happen was going to happen.

6
Sunlight streamed through the open bathroom door, and I was not in the Pelican. I was not in last night’s Pelican, anyway.
The tile was pleasantly cool on my face, even though my body screamed in protest at having been forced to endure sleeping on a hard floor.
I sat up and my joints popped like kettle corn. I wrenched my head from side to side, trying to get all of the stiffness out of my body and stood up.
The bathroom counter was of an appropriate height. The toilet and drain ( and the shower vent) were all a standard shape. A painting of a New England beach hung over the toilet. It was so incredibly mundane that I found myself feeling more secure by the moment.
The bedroom was padded with typical wall-to-wall carpeting. It was so banal that it might have been comforting had it not been the exact same color as that horrific, predatory substance from the night before. Echoes of the night sent ice through my veins, and I shuddered while I collected my pack from a very normal queen-sized bed upholstered in a mossy green comforter. The sheets had been torn and twisted as if I had spent the night thrashing in my sleep.
I wordlessly left the normal key card on the reading table and stepped into a parking lot filled with perhaps six cars including my own decrepit Mercury. I sat down in my car, taking no time to enjoy the overstuffed driver’s seat, and ignited the engine. My tires almost, but didn’t, squeal on the way out of the parking lot as I drove past a sign depicting a very cartoonish pelican swallowing a school of smiling fish.
A wet eye peered at me from the Pelican’s cartoon head, pink-rimmed and feverish as I flew past it. A pale blue iris stuttering wildly in the socket as it stared after me with rage and longing.
I drove away from the Motel under the Mojave Sun, which I normally hate, and took comfort in its harsh white light.
I’m a romantic, and I like to wonder about the secret places of the world. I drive down roads all across the country looking at abandoned barns and factories wondering what stories and secret doors are closed there. I drive by ancient Oaks in the middle of fallow fields and wonder what secret doors they might hold. I’m the kind of person who’s prone to see and think about Fair Folk and Ghosts.
I would have never imagined stumbling into a world so ugly as that one. Or had a dream of a sick, hungry parody of a failing roadside motel.
I still wonder about other worlds and secret doors, but now those musings are tainted by this memory of when I might have actually stumbled upon one.

Sometimes It’s Better to Leave Survivors Behind
Written By : Hayden Dalby
They said it was nothing. A routine rescue op at a facility known as the Tantalus Site.
But that quickly proved untrue. Terribly, horrifically untrue.
The report said we’d be flying into the Baghlan Province of Northern Afghanistan where rugged mountains cut through a remote and arid wilderness. According to the dossier, we were responding to fragmented reports of a fallout of some biological toxin that made sarin and mustard gas look like helium. Its official name was HN-211.
The last contact was a month ago.
Whorls of air whipped at my face as I looked down at the dossier. The report flapped in my hand as our chopper tilted over the craggy hills which were rapidly turning into soaring, snow-touched mountains. The Hindu Kush had been the perfect place for our military to build the testing facility. Incredibly difficult terrain to navigate on land, a tiny population, thousands of valleys and cliffs and caves to conceal themselves in. It seemed ideal.
I work with an Aeromedical evacuation unit. We specialize in getting our wounded out of tight spots and treating life-threatening injuries under the worst conditions. Blood, bile, bullets, brains, bodies; it was fair to say I could hold my own in high-pressure scenarios.
But something about this op unnerved me. The photos of the facility we were heading to were ten years out of date and they showed nothing more than a giant, steel door cut into the overhang of a steep cliff. I could only wonder at the scale of the photos; the cost of building such a thing somewhere as isolated as this. The few photos showcasing the inside of the facility showed a cavern the size of a gymnasium filled with tables, vehicles, and tents.
Across from me, Connors yelled out over the roar of the rotors. His voice was further muffled by the plastic shield of his white Hazmat suit. “You see the last picture?”
I turned the report to the last page; bypassing photos of sterile labs, rows of tents, and smiling scientists and soldiers at their various stations, and ended on a grainy black-and-white image of a perfectly square hole cut directly into the stone. It sat at the end of a narrow tunnel and thick steel bars covered it. A sign on one side bore the familiar black and yellow warning signs of toxic chemicals. No information accompanied the photo.
I felt my unease grow.
Connors yelled again. “You hear what sort of shit they were making in there? I heard its effects were modeled after radiation poisoning.” He shook his head. “Makes you wonder what they tested it on!”
I couldn’t give him an answer. I thought about a man I’d rescued after a nuclear plant had been attacked. His entire body had been covered in layers of blistering reddened skin that came off in patches. His flesh was eaten away by lesions and boils, bone visible in the craters where his body degenerated on a cellular level. A slow, pointedly awful way to go. Our supervising officer finally ended him with a bullet to the head.
Imagining our military developing something like that for warfare twisted my guts.
What exactly were we walking into?
Our chopper landed in front of the base an hour later. What few trees grew at this altitude whipped around in a frenzy as the pilot landed us. I hopped out and stared in awe at the steel door we’d seen in the photos. It measured fifty feet in height and was wide enough to drive two tanks through side by side. Years of exposure to the elements had turned its silver sheen to a ruddy brown.
Our commanding officer – a serious-looking woman named Keys – clambered out of the chopper and addressed the twelve members of our squad. “Intel says the last report from this base clocked in a month ago. All it said was, “We’re done.” Then they went silent. We aren’t sure whether they mean they’re done with their project or something else, but we’ve been tasked with going in to check. Given their silence, we’re anticipating a potential hazardous fallout from somewhere in the mountain. Our orders are to observe, report, and treat any potential survivors. Got it?”
Everyone nodded. We were used to this by now. Sometimes our operations had us combing through towns and villages littered with bodies; many in conditions that defied nature.
This should prove no different.
Keys approached the doors and opened a rusted metal cabinet that contained a simple keypad. She input the complex code our superiors had given us and the doors crept open for the first time in a month. The grinding of massive gears and hinges reminded me of a giant taking its first breath after eons of slumber. Little by little, sunlight poured into the depths beyond and we got our first glimpse of the Tantalus Site.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness beyond and immediately my throat closed up.
Connors took a step back, his hand going to the gun at his hip. “Oh, what the fuck?”
Within the recesses of the mountain sat the central cavern and operating center of the Tantalus Site. Rows of testing labs, comms sites, tables with equipment, tents, barracks, and vehicles filled the impressive space. But it looked like someone had bombarded it with a round of mortars. I could only imagine its original state from the pictures in the report.
Now it all lay in heaps of shattered glass, twisted metal, and scorched wood.
But what made Connors step back was the volume of blood and remains populating the decimated lab. Bodies hung limply from tables, limbs were strewn about like litter. The smell and taste were utterly horrendous. A miasma of rotting meat coupled with a strangely sweet chemical afterburn. Across the room, I spotted the torso of a man sitting keeled over one of the humvees, its head smashed against the steering wheel as though whoever it belonged to had been trying to escape and gotten ripped apart in the process. Along the inside of the giant metal door were gouges of blood where people had clawed to get out. Some of the bodies nearby bore fingers worn down to the bone.
Keys led the way forward. My boots squelched in the leftover remains and stuck fast to the floor as congealed pools of blood sucked greedily at my boots. Twenty feet or so to my right lay the body of a female scientist who looked strangely intact amidst all the carnage. Her face was contorted in a terrified scream but her arms and legs were still attached.
It was only when Connors accidentally bumped a rolling chair supporting her upper body that her lab coat folded open to reveal the cavity of her hollowed-out chest and stomach. Her face slid away from her skull and a perfectly degloved human face landed with a wet splat at my toes, not a scratch on it.
Who would take the time to do that?
A hundred feet in and we came to the back of the main cavern. Here, the massive room narrowed abruptly into a tunnel perhaps ten feet high and twenty wide. It stretched deeper into the mountain where I knew a natural system of caves resided.
The smell of meat grew stronger and I could taste the metallic sting of blood on my lips. Near the entrance of the tunnel sat a pile of limbs, organs, and bones. Beside them, several peeled skins were stretched between wall fixtures like animal hides. I shivered at the unsettling display of brutality and care.
But by far the worst thing we encountered was the trail of blood staining the floor of the tunnel. Obviously, something had stockpiled the meat and skin near the entrance with some level of intelligence. Then this red, ragged trail showed where it systematically dragged its fodder deeper into the mountain.
I looked at my companions, wondering if any of them might suggest we do the smart thing and get the fuck out of there, but no one did.
Keys reminded us of our mission and, though she looked pale with fear, we had our orders. Search, secure, and stabilize.
“Remember,” she added, “if anyone finds survivors, we bring them back to the chopper at all costs. Our superiors need to know what happened here. Whether it’s salvageable or,” she swallowed hard, “whether it needs to be destroyed.”
‘Destroy it,’ I thought. ‘Let them rain fire and brimstone down on this fucking place.’
But I nodded with everyone else.
“Now,” Keys said, “I need two of you to scout ahead. Go as far into the compound as you can. I want to get a comprehensive report on the rest of the facility while the rest of us search the main areas.”
‘And give a heads up for the rest of the team if we find whatever the fuck caused all this,’ I added silently.
To my surprise, Connors stepped forward. “I’ll go,” he said, his expression resolute. I didn’t doubt his courage for a moment, but he’d looked pretty unsteady when we first came in.
Without thinking, I stepped forward. “Me too.”
Keys looked immensely relieved that she didn’t have to pick.
“Thank you, gentlemen. You’ll search for half an hour then report back to me. Got it?”
We both nodded. Ahead of us, the tunnel marched on for what felt like an eternity. The blood made it resemble the throat of some giant monster.
I looked at Connors. “Ready?”
He lifted a severed hand and gave me a thumbs-up.
I shook my head. Gallows humor struck at strange times. “Fuck you. Let’s go.”
We continued into the darkness.
The vast bulk of the Tantalus Site consisted of a long tunnel winding its way into the depths of the Hindu Kush like a spine, and smaller tunnels would branch off at regular intervals like ribs. We encountered fewer remains down here; it looked as though the main bloodbath took place in the facility center. From time to time we spotted another body. Usually, it had been slashed or bashed into a pulp, but they were all stripped of their vitals with the same brutish intelligence. Crusted trails of blood led out from these smaller intersections and joined the carpet of red-brown sludge winding through the main tunnel.
Eventually, we reached the final off-shoot. The tunnel had grown narrower back here; maybe half a mile from the main cavern. The remains also thickened once again and that scent cloyed my nose. Stronger than ever.
Giving a nod to Connors, I rounded the corner. Rotting remains hung from every visible surface. Brown stains rusted the stone walls. Before me loomed a small opening in the concrete; perhaps five feet by five feet. The steel bars across it had been bashed inward.
I approached cautiously, the light of my flashlight danced around that black opening. The darkness beyond ate every speck of light that touched it.
I came up to its edge and slowly peered inside. My beam flickered weakly into a space that positively reeked with the overwhelming stench. It clung to me, burned me, and squirmed its way up my nose and down my throat like fumes of jet fuel. My heart hammered on and on.
Something reflected the light of my beam. Two eyes stared back at me through the darkness, blinked once, then disappeared.
“Anyone down there?” Connors called to me from the main tunnel.
“No,” I said as I turned around to leave. “No survivors down here.”
Connors knew the moment I turned back to face him that I was lying. He narrowed his eyes and took a step toward me.
“Bullshit, man. What’d you see?”
I held his gaze for a moment. “Eyes. Human ones.”
He grimaced. “Fuck.”
He was about to say something else but we were interrupted by a scrabbling sound coming from inside the stone opening. It reminded me oddly of my dog’s claws scrambling on our polished wooden floors back home. A dark shape flitted across the opening.
“Fuck,” Connors repeated, his hand going to his sidearm. “Fuck. We gotta go.”
The scrabbling grew louder and a chittering, clicking sound echoed out of the hole. A hand – slender jointed and covered in weeping sores – clutched the edge of the opening.
“Run,” I whispered. Together we took off at a dead sprint. The chittering turned into a feral squeal like a hog bellowing a threat at a predator. We heard the skittering grow louder and then the bone-chilling sound of something weighty slapping the concrete floor in rapid succession.
Neither of us dared to look back. Connors was ten feet ahead of me, his boots kicking up flecks of bone and blood in my face. Whatever the fuck was chasing us didn’t sound like something on two feet. I could hear its limbs hitting the ground in frenzied intervals, like a child running upstairs on all fours. Its chittering cut away for ragged breathing as it loped after us and that awful smell of rotting meat tainted with a chemical afterburn assaulted my sinuses yet again.
We bolted through the tunnel toward the main facility center and were intercepted by Keys and another man named Sheaf a hundred feet from the entrance. Sheaf held an M4A1 rifle to his cheek and had the barrel aimed in our direction.
“In here, both of you!” Keys shouted. She ordered Sheaf to fire the moment we ducked out of the way.
The big man pulled the trigger twice and the shots briefly deafened me in close quarters. I heard a loud squeal further up the hall followed by the sound of retreating footsteps. Hopefully whatever the fuck that thing was got the message.
As Keys hustled us further down the hallway, a ringing subsided in my ears. For a ridiculous moment, I worried about potentially getting tinnitus. Then I shook my head.
Of all the things to worry about, a ringing in my ear was nothing. It was certainly far better than whatever fate had been suffered by the poor bastard sitting a little further down the hallway. His skull had been shorn off at the mouth and, oddly, his tongue and teeth were missing. I carefully stepped over him and followed Keys through a large metal door which Sheaf quickly shut behind him.
I spent a minute regaining control of my heartbeat. Connors did the same. As we slowly recovered, we debriefed Keys on what we’d seen. Connors did most of the talking, though he left out the part where I’d initially lied. After what we just went through, I think he understood on some level why one might feel compelled to deny the existence of that thing.
Once I had my heart rate more or less back to normal, I looked around the room we’d been herded into. It was a lab. An unusually clean room for what we’d seen beyond that metal door. It was lined with white tiling and filled with shiny metal tables which held various canisters, tubes, and electronic equipment. While Sheaf sat on a low chair by the door to check his weapon, Keys went over to another table near the back of the room where the rest of our team stood. They were all crowded around something I couldn’t make out.
As I approached, I briefly nodded to Bronson and Sikes. Bronson was a slim, slightly older man with sandy blonde hair flecked in grey and stubble permanently shadowing his chin. Sikes was a slender woman who came up to my shoulder. Her dark hair was pulled back into a severe bun that accented a young, serious face. The two of them stood beside Larson, the final member of our team. He had a reedy build, fiery red hair, and thick-framed glasses. Long, slender hands that reminded me of the ones reaching through that grate carefully worked their way over something on the table. Something I instantly regretted looking at as soon as I joined them.
They stood over another man dressed in a lab coat who was laid back on the table. I was surprised to see he was alive, albeit unconscious. At least I prayed he was unconscious.
Larson had rolled the man’s right pant leg up to the thigh. The back of his calf from his knee to his Achilles tendon was nothing but gangrenous flesh eaten away to the bone. It looked like something had taken a large oval-shaped bite out of his leg and left the rest to fester into oblivion. I watched as Larson carefully sliced away the infected bits, cleaned the exposed muscle and tissue out with a nausea-inducing medicine, and then wrapped the entire thing up in a clean bandage. Out of all of us, he had the most experience with serious wounds in the field. He wrapped the man’s leg up tight and ordered Bronson and Sikes to make a pair of crutches for the scientist.
As they did that, Connors joined us and Larson explained how they’d found him.
“We were doing a more detailed sweep of the tunnels and we heard something clatter down the hallway. We saw this guy limping toward this lab like a bat out of hell. Made pretty good time for someone with only half his leg.” He shook his head. “I tried telling him we were friendly, but that didn’t do much. He screamed and fought us before we were able to sedate him.” Larson leaned back in his chair right as Bronson and Sikes returned with makeshift crutches made from chair legs and lengths of wire. “I want to amputate it,” Larson continued, “But these operating conditions aren’t exactly ideal.”
Sikes eyed us carefully. “What happened down at the other end of the tunnel? We heard you guys running and something chittering, then Sheaf’s gun going off.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what it is, but it was fast and nasty.”
“What did it look like?” she pressed.
“We didn’t get a good look, but Sheaf shot at it.”
We all looked at the big man. His square jaw and crew cut would’ve made him at home in any combat unit. He simply shrugged. “It was human, naked, real skinny. Lots of wounds and cuts all over its body. Didn’t see much more than that before I fired.”
“How many of them were there?” Bronson asked.
“Not sure,” I said. “We only saw the one but…”
“There’s no way only one of these things could kill an entire fucking base,” Connors finished.
We let that little revelation sink in.
Suddenly, I wanted very badly to get the fuck out of there. But Keys wanted more information out of our friend. What exactly happened here? Whether there might be more survivors deeper in the tunnels. I selfishly hoped there weren’t.
In the meantime, we remained locked behind that door. Apparently, it was sturdy enough to keep our new scientist friend safe.
We waited for a little while for the sedative to wear off. It took maybe twenty minutes.
When the scientist eventually stirred, Larson had Sheaf and Connors hold him down so he couldn’t hurt himself. The scientist opened his eyes slowly, regarded us, and immediately began thrashing.
“NOOOOO!” He howled, arching his back against the table and thrashing so hard Sheaf almost lost his grip. “YOU WON’T TAKE ANYMORE OF ME YOU FUCKING BASTARDS! LET ME GO OR FUCKING KILL ME!”
“HEY! HEY! HEY!” Keys shouted. She grabbed the man by his shoulders and looked him square in the eyes. “You’re not in any danger, okay? We’re part of a medical evac unit. We just found you and fixed your leg up. We’re gonna get you out of here, alright?”
The scientist seemed to calm down a little. He nodded slowly and Sheaf and Connors relaxed their grip. He tried sitting up and cried out when his leg clipped the table. Larson immediately reached around to support his shoulders while Sikes caught his leg and helped him swing it into a sitting position. I instinctively offered him my canteen which he accepted gratefully.
He drained nearly half of it before taking another breath. Wiping his mouth with a stained sleeve, he handed it back to me. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing.”
Keys leaned in again. “Sir, could you tell me your name?”
“Ketterman. Doctor Joseph Ketterman.”
“Doctor,” Keys said slowly. “Would you be willing to tell us what happened here? What happened to those people out there? What did all this?”
Ketterman gazed back at her, his eyes pale as cold slate. For a moment, I swore I saw guilt cross his face, but it was quickly replaced by resignation.
“Give me a moment,” he sighed. “I feel as though I just returned from the dead.”
We nodded and Bronson offered him a cigarette. Ketterman smoked it in two greedy puffs, downed some more water, massaged his thigh muscle, and finally took a deep breath.
“We fucked up,” he said with no preamble. “Monumentally. More specifically, we created something monstrous. A weapon. A biological toxin in a gaseous form designed to degenerate a subject’s body on a cellular level. It would lead to massive organ failure, eat through skin and sinew, and break one’s body down at its most basic levels. The skin reddens with irritation, then blackens, the immune system fails, and the subject would essentially rot from within like a pumpkin. We meant for it to be an instrument of war. Something so ungodly, so horrific, that it would induce obedience into generations of whoever we were fighting at the time.”
He swallowed hard.
“Our… test subjects started small. Rodents, felines, canines, that sort of thing. All of them succumbed to the effects in a matter of minutes. We’d cut their bodies open and they’d be filled with tumors. Their bones broke apart like glass and their veins slithered out of the incisions. We knew the gas was effective because our subjects never stopped squealing from the pain. And we administered painkillers, believe me. They had no effect. Six months of trials showed complete success with our animal subjects, so our commanding officer flew in to review our progress. He was quite proud. When he left he…”
Ketterman paused to gulp some more water.
“He ordered us to begin human trials. We asked where we might get those and he mentioned that we had plenty of prisoners captured in the surrounding areas. We could use them.”
My insides squirmed at the way Ketterman recounted all of this. So matter-of-fact. No emotion in his voice. We all watched him with rapt attention, hanging onto his every word.
“We discovered that using the gas on humans had an unintended side effect. The cellular degeneration eroded their brains and turned them into regressive versions of themselves. They quickly lost the ability to speak, control basic impulses, and recognize one another. But their instincts didn’t devolve completely. They retained a primal intelligence, similar to early hominids. They could understand their pain and what they were being used for. Process their bodies slowly shutting down. The worst thing, though, was what they did to compensate for it.
“We had a pair of prisoners, a mother and son. The son was maybe seventeen years old. I don’t recall where they came from, but we tested the gas on the two of them together. Their bodies began to break down in minutes; the mother first, then the son. They degenerated quickly and struggled to recognize one another as their skin broke out into monstrous hives. The son was clawing at his abdomen. He managed to rip through his skin and pull his entrails out. They were blackened and calcified. We watched him disembowel himself while his mother tried to help him. She kept trying to cover up his wound with her hands, but it did nothing. Then the son turned on his mother. He attacked her and beat her to death. He started tearing at her body, removed her organs, and… tried sliding them back into his own. Eventually, he collapsed at the fifteen-minute mark. I swear we checked his vitals to make sure he was dead before we sent someone in to clean up the bodies. But when our man grabbed the son, he lunged at them and bit him in the neck. Tore his throat clean out. Then he ran for the door, leaped on the guard coming in to help, and killed him too.
“No one was prepared for how ferociously he attacked. He down the tunnel, looking for something. Eventually, he came to one of the rooms where we stored the gas canisters.” Ketterman shook his head. “I hadn’t realized he’d been smart enough to take the guard’s key card before he killed them. He took some of the canisters out and threw them down the tunnel. More guards were there by this point and they started shooting at him. Bullets met canisters and…” Ketterman mimicked an explosion with his hands. “The gas was dispersed through the main tunnel into the central room. Dozens of innocent men and women choked, convulsed, and collapsed where they stood. I only managed to avoid them because I was locked away in here. Gas couldn’t penetrate my lab. But everyone else… attacked one another. Ripped each other apart limb from limb. The son was their ring leader. The scariest part was how smart they were. He stopped them from doing too much damage to the bodies. I believe he was trying to harvest their organs to supplement the effects of the gas.”
Ketterman rubbed his chin.
“The main door was locked down from within. Manual override in case a leak just like this one transpired. I messed my leg up trying to fix it, but one of those bastards caught hold of me before I could get back in. I’ve been waiting for your team to come for weeks. And now here we are.”
I regarded Ketterman in silence. He looked eager to get out of here and I couldn’t blame him.
Keys said, “Are you positive there were no other survivors?”
“Just me,” Ketteman said.
“Good.”
Keys drew her pistol, leveled it at Ketterman’s head, and shot him. Everyone jumped back.
A spray of blood erupted from the back of the scientist’s skull as he flopped back on the table.
“JESUS FUCK!” Connors yelled, holding his hands over his ears. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I rubbed my ears. The tinnitus clanged against my eardrums like a train whistle.
Keys calmly slid her pistol back into its holster. “You think I’m gonna let an evil motherfucker like that back into the world?”
“I thought we were meant to be a passive rescue force,” Larson muttered. He eyed his handiwork which now meant nothing.
“There’s nothing passive about this Larson.” Keys laid a hand on his shoulder. “Look, I’m not sure who’s in charge of this place, but judging by what Mengele Junior just told us, it created something worse than we could ever imagine. We’re getting the fuck out of here and bringing this place down behind us. Got it?”
Larson met her gaze for a moment, then nodded. She looked at the rest of us. Bronson, Sikes, Sheaf, Connors, me. We looked from her to the limp body of Ketterman. Then Connors nodded slowly. “Whatever the fuck was in that tunnel wasn’t human. If it’s some emaciated demon spawn or something, it needs to die.” He shouldered his gun. “So let’s get the fuck out of here.”
I found myself nodding again. We could bring back some real firepower. Keep these things trapped here, then bring the mountain down on them. More than anything I wanted to get out. Sheaf went to open the door but stopped a moment before he unlocked it. “Do you guys hear that?” We froze and strained our ears. Beyond the metal door, we heard a skittering sound. Multiple skittering sounds. Chitters and chuffs like wild boars communicating with one another filtered into the lab. We listened as the creatures scooted into the facility center and realized what they were doing a moment before it happened. My heart pulsed as the grinding of the doors closing rumbled the mountain. The creatures knew how to shut the door. Most likely from observing one of the staff members trying to open it up during the initial outbreak. And Ketterman had just so very helpfully pointed out the way to open it from within was busted. We were trapped.

Before i noticed where i was standing , i heard it. Before my brain could process the image of the new hallway i found myself in , my ears picked up on the subtle wrongness of the door closing .
I've heard Eli's door close a million times, hell, maybe more. And the sound i heard was nothing like it.
It's a moment of shock, like a glass of cold water thrown on an unsuspecting hot tub user. I feel myself stagger for a moment and focus, my breathing is heavy, fear and confusion boiling up inside of me.
When you make yourself a hammer, you see everything as a nail. I can't take credit for that one, it's old and coined by a far better person than myself, but as i crouch, scanning the hallway for attackers, i'm a damn fine example of that old cliche.
There are no attackers, i'm not in a dingy basement, or maze of storage containers, it's a nice hallway in what i'm assuming is an equally nice apartment building.
Cream colored paint makes the high gloss wood doors seem inviting, the durable yet stain free carpet clearly is close friends with a steam cleaner, there isn't so much as a flickering light bulb giving a sense of unease.
In my left hand are a half dozen small grocery bags, my right grips a set of keys with an orange happy face key fob.
I stand, trying to appear at ease, though , thankfully i don't see any observers to whatever is going on. I have no idea what's happening to me, but at least i don't look like an asshole.
The door to apartment 403 unlocks with a square shaped brown key, and within isn't the purposeful rat's nest Eli spent so long cultivating, but a spotless living space , well furnished, and in good repair.
I find i.d. , i find chat logs, bills, a few pictures, and with every piece of evidence i pull from this place, a story emerges.
My name, is Mike Lawrence, i fix electronics (a skill i found essential back where things made sense.) , have a small circle of friends, and a life that has nothing to do with violence, conspiracies, or anything more dark than a handful of horror films on blu ray.
My job causes a certain amount of...stress on my mind. Par for the course for anyone who isn't a psychopath, but something i always have to be aware of. As useful as knowing how to sow up a stab wound is, understanding when it's time to procure some anti anxiety medication or mood stabilisers, that shit has saved my life more than kevlar.
So i know when the gears start slipping , and right now, my mind is running as well as someone with a couple of voices in their skull can be expected to.
Speaking of, Norman and The Boyscout are silent, like most of the time, when i really need them, they are no where to be found.
Now, i know none of you are here to listen to , what is going to amount to some generic dickhead's blog, so i'm going to give you the cliff's notes on about six months worth of mundane life, and existential dread.
I spent the first month or so waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for that moment where i found out the plot, or experiment i found myself in.
But as the days went on, i had to admit, there was nothing more sinister than a few angry voicemails from clients waiting on repairs.
At this point the only conclusion i could come to was that, i was Mike Lawrence. Whatever life i remember was some kind of hallucination, or fugue state , maybe even just the mother of all screwed up dreams.
So, for almost half a year, i was, Mike lawrence. I spent time with Mike's friends, i worked Mike's job, paid Mike's rent, all of that generic day to day crap.
And i loved it.
Every, safe, dull, boring moment, i savored like it was the last drop of the oldest bottle of wine in the universe.
But here is the catch 22.
Even if i could ignore my dozens of scars, burns and mutilations, rationalize them as a car wreck, maybe. I can't ignore why every moment free of gunfire and ill intent seems like a decade in heaven to me.
No dream, drug trip, or mental breakdown can mimic a decade of life or death. A decade of hard decisions, most of the right ones ending up with me doing something that haunts my dreams, and most of the wrong ones ending up with me watching some twisted bastard do similar.
Mike Lawrence, doesn't drink.
But there came a night, and a bottle, where i realized, i wasn't Mike Lawrence, no matter how much everything in this world wanted to lull me into thinking so , i was not Mike Fucking Lawrence.
Being an alcoholic, it's so romanticized calling that shit out is a cliche in and of itself. But take it from experience kids, chugging a 40 pounder of vodka alone, that isn't badass.
It's a sad, grimy experience, you become annoyed with yourself. Desperate to get wasted, but hating this drunken shithead you have to deal with.
But, in Vino Veritas, as they say, in wine there is truth. by that logic, there must be the secrets of the universe somewhere at the bottom of this texas mickey.
There was, in a sense.
"Took you long enough Michael." The voice is thin, but somehow full of power.
I want to call the thing sitting in the chair across from me a man, but, the deep pits of darkness that serve as his eyes tell me he's something... else.
The obvious answer being, hallucination.
And as far as those go, the guy makes sense.
Seven feet tall with long lanky limbs, he seems to barely fit in the oversized leather armchair. He's wearing a combination of victorian era suit and...voodoo shit? There has to be a better term, but stuff that makes me think of swamps, witches and potions. And all of this is topped with something i've always had a fondness for, a massive top hat.
I'm not shocked, or stunned, if anything, i feel relief. If i'm seeing things, that's fixable.
"Don't act like you're the first thing i've seen that wasn't there. " I slur in reply.
That laugh, that low, mocking chuckle, sends a shiver through me.
"Don't be stupid Michael.
You know you don't belong here. You can feel it in your soul, you can see it when you walk down streets with names you don't recognise, you are a traveler Michael. " The entity across from me says, his tone grave.
"Yer a wizard harry!" i scream, laughing at the apparition, "You know what screams, 'the cheese has slid of my cracker?' there, scary spice?
When you tell me i'm some sort of universe hopping savior. That is some stereotypical delusions of grandeur shit."
He shakes his head, his chuckle, this time seeming to barely suppress rage.
"You have severely misread the situation, Mike.
No, you are not a savior. You are an insignificant speck, battles for the fate of the world, are not in your future.
But your value isn't in what you are, but where you are.
The sum of reality is divided into nine corners Michael. And up until this moment, even a man-in-the-know such as myself, would have thought it impossible for so much as an atom to travel between them.
But here you are. " he lets the silence hang.
I want to dismiss this thing, to drink until i pass out, then blast whatever bit of my brain went rotten with antipsychotics.
But something about him, something about what he's saying is ringing true.
"Seems you know a lot about me, what about you, most drunks just see pink elephants why do i get a ghost?" I try to sound mocking, but my desperate question is obvious.
"Ghost? I wish.
That i had plenty of contingencies for.
No, my state, is also, rather, unique.
I was a man, one who was destroyed so thoroughly , under such a combination of etheral stress, that what was left, simply didn't have a place to go.
And under normal circumstances, that would have been it. I would have simply kept almost existing, the thin threads connecting the scraps of memory and intent that compose me fraying till every moment was a limbo of confusion.
But, Michael, you and i are alike. More alike than i have time to explain. And because of this, you may be able to help me.
You need to get home, this corner will twist and warp you, you are a foreign body, a splinter in this segment of reality's flesh.
And i, well, i need anything other than this. I'd sooner take my chances in the deepest pits of hell, those are at least charted waters.
But, we seem to be at an impasse, and an understandable one.
I'd ask you to trust in me, but i know i wouldn't trust anyone the least bit like myself, so i don't expect you to either.
Grab one of those pieces of junk mail, open it facing me. If all i am is 'a bit of undigested beef' , as it were, i'll not be able to recite the contents.
If i can though, we both look out your living room window, and you understand that what you are seeing is neither illusion nor hallucination. " the entity sounds like it is either giving a sales pitch, or a sermon. In either case, it's a damn good one.
I hold a nondescript white envelope long enough for my damp hands to stain it before i open one end, it's contents facing the thing sitting across from me.
It didn't miss a single word.
Without a sound he rises from the chair with a flourish, walking over and parting the curtains of my livingroom window.
I follow, i see New York at 4 a.m. , strange as it may be, i'm not seeing anything that would prove the universe has misplaced me.
"The name is Demitrious by the way. Not that you've asked.
Do you see the store on the corner?" Demitrious says.
"Of course..." something starts to turn in my poison soaked brain. "that wasn't there yesterday , was it?"
The ghoul smiles, "It most certainly was not, nor will it be by the time daylight shines on these syringe strewn streets.
That store is one of many oddities this corner of reality has to offer.
You started your...career, after seeing evidence of the worst humanity has to offer, am i correct, Michael?"
The shift in conversation has me edgy.
"Fuck you" i say as the first part of my statement, adding " But, yeah." after i was sure he understood my initial point.
"And to set you to action, to get you to the point where you were willing to kill, to maim, to torture, it took seeing this first hand, right?
Well i have a feeling it's going to take the same kind of thing happening here to shake you from this ennui filled little cocoon of a life.
We will sit we will...." He keeps going, but , i get it.
I can't slap myself in the face and suddenly be at 100 per cent, but as i piece together what's going to happen my heart starts to race, my hands flex and i feel my old friends, adrenaline and anxiety try their best to get my brain working.
Step one is disgusting, and as i jam a finger down my throat, spewing nearly liquid vomit into the sink, i hear Demitrious stop going on about spooky bullshit.
Step two starts with my swishing around a mouthfull of off brand energy drink and spitting it onto the floor. I shotgun the other 5 cans in the case , keeping the sickly sweet beverage down by sheer force of will.
"Michael, what are you doing?" The spectre says, his tone less composed, almost a little fearful.
"It's simple D " i begin, walking to my washroom, and rummaging through the medicine cabinet , "If i'm going nuts, then we are going to know about it real quick when i go down to that store and cause some shit.
If i'm not, well, we must not be all that much alike if you think i'm going to sit up here and watch some folks get killed or hurt by a haunted convenience store. "
I find what i'm looking for. And hell no i'm not going to tell you anything other than it's common and in extremely high doses it's a very potent upper.
I finish the bottle in eight heaving breaths, my pupils contracting to pinpoints.
"This isn't the kind of thing you can... punch Michael." the spectre follows me as i put together a few bits and pieces from around the apartment. I could vainly call the stubby pipe filled with solder a truncheon, and the bottle i fit into an inside pocket of a waist length coat is filled with a combination of flammable material that could be described as a malotov cocktail, if someone felt like being generous.
"Probably not, but you seem to need me around, so i'm sure you're going to step between me and whatever's down there. "
My tone is petulant, i'd much rather confidence, but at the moment it's a miracle i'm still awake, so i'll take what i can get.
"Step between? Have you not been listening? The extent of what i am, is a vision to a mentally unstable vigilante, and even that is coming at great cost and effort.
I apologise for my ...method of communication. it was callous, i'm too used to dealing with things, not people.
But if we play our cards exactly..." I interrupt the (possible) ghost before he has a chance to get going.
I can feel the cocktail of low grade stimulants starting to make me twitch, i need them right now , they keep me edgy, and mean, and much like the punk rock pioneers from new york who made those words famous, i wasn't about to take any shit from a bad xerox of me with a british accent.
"Fuck, you're under the impression this is a debate aren't you?
No, friend, i'm going down there, then i'm going to try to throw a monkey wrench into whatever situation is unfolding, win, lose or draw. " my words are clear, well, clearer than they have any right to be anyway.
"You cannot let your...lust to be a savior get us killed Michael. " Demitrious says , the black pits of his eyes locking to mine.
"D, i'm going to let you in on a little secret, because we're so closely connected and all.
I don't give a shit about being a saviour, to anyone.
I didn't find my manhood when i saw what that sick bastard did to his own family.
I broke, D.
That first night, i didn't plan on walking away.
I didn't want to.
If it had gone the way i knew it should, i'd have would up on a bullet train to hell right behind the evil prick i put down.
But instead, i just kept going deeper into the worst places the world had to offer. I'm no vigilante , or saviour, i've been trying to commit suicide by sociopath for ten years and failing miserably.
Maybe monsters can do what men can't, let's go find out. " the laugh i punctuate this monologue with is thin and sick.
It's not the whole truth, but it's enough to make D understand i'm not bluffing.
I briefly think of putting on some attempt at my...traditional outfit, but, something doesn't feel right.
If i were to put a finger on it, the concept of dressing scary in a world with real monsters, seems kind of sad.
My grin spreads as this thought gives me my first inklings of a plan.
"So, what am i getting into?" i say, breaking the silence between D and myself as we exit the lobby of the apartment building.
"You could take an 8 year course on what you are brazenly acosting, and still not get past it's names. " Demitrious shakes his head, " But you seem more like a broad strokes person. So i'll do my best.
It's old, dark and violent. Probably been around longer than most languages, and out of all the shapes it could take, now it chooses to be a store to do it's dirty work.
You can't break it, or burn it, blow it up or encase it.
It is the kind of thing you leave alone and remain thankful it only takes a handful of people from time to time. " I actually hear a bit of respect from D.
"Leave alone and remain thankful it only takes a handful of people?" I reply, my first attempt at matching Demitrious' voice. Mimicry, a skill I never thought my life would depend on.
It's far off the mark, and raises suspicion from the apparition.
"What was that?" it asks.
"Nothing, just messing with you.
So, what, even someone like you just lets this kinda thing do what it wants? Under optimal circumstances i mean. " I keep the goad subtle, sounding genuinely curious.
"In better days?
If i felt the urge i'd whisper a long dead name of mine to the void-wretch before weaponizing esoterica that it would fear out of instinct. " i hear longing in his boast.
"Fear out of instinct." i repeat, my second attempt much better than my first, but still lacking, an impression, as opposed to true mimicry.
I see a group of four men, college aged, drunk, and the only people besides myself anywhere in sight. I don't even ask if they are the intended victims as the run down old bodega seems to come to life, lights shining from within.
None of them notice, or if they do, they don't seem to care, drunken demands for snacks and poorly stored meat ring out in the night as they enter the store.
As the door closes, i feel my blood run cold despite the dutch courage and hillbilly cocaine, i should easily be able to see the men inside the store, but as the cheerful "ding" sounds , and the portal seals, i see nothing but booze, snacks and slowly rotating processed meat.
As i walk closer the lights dim and the sign flips from open to closed, though i couldn't tell you exactly when.
There's no feeling of unexplained dread, or nagging fear, no cold sweat or creepy breath on the back of my neck. But as i stand in front of the outdated, tiny bodega, i know, for a fact, death waits inside.
"I don't think we have been properly introduced, forgivable considering my short time in this little town." It's not perfect, it has a Rik Mayal flavor to it i need to iron out, but the accent is close enough. The look on Demitrious' face tells me he understands my plan.
"This is the worst plan i've seen michael, and i say this with no hyperbole. " D says, angry, shocked, and worried all at the same time.
I pretend my leering smirk is toward the store-thing , but D is my real target.
"But before introductions, we need to discuss, how can i put this politely, shows of respect.
I'm no demon prince, no, my royal days are long behind me , i need no taxes, but a token of peace, well, that would just be polite , wouldn't it?" I'm overdoing it, taking wild stabs in the dark, judging by the frantic 'stop' motions from D none of which are coming close to reality.
But i'm not trying to to do this well. I'm trying to put my new friend in a position where he can't lie, see how much he really needs me alive.
"Just...stop." D says, giving me a look that makes me do just that, " No more of your pulp novel drek.
Stand like you have a spine, don't look at one spot, watch the building as a whole.
I don't like my hand being forced Michael, but if you need to play russian roulette with our lives, so be it.
Listen carefully..."
And i do.
But then i start to feel lightheaded, a sense of panic rising in me.
Mental illness and cognitive dissonance are the worst mind fuck of any cerebral orgy.
I freeze, thinking , for a moment of what this would look like to anyone passing by. A drugged out man screaming at a broken down old store long past closing. Having imaginary conversations with hallucinations that seem to actively hate him.
For years, realising when i've gone too far down a rabbit hole to see objectively has kept me from going insane. But trying to square the evidence around me, with the rules i know about reality is causing a mental storm strong enough to make me see black spots.
Or maybe it's the drugs, who knows.
I use it, taking a heaving breath before continuing my performance with demetrious' script.
"Subtlety not really your sport?
I am Demetrious of the Grey Warrens.
I was Silvio of the twelfth legion, those that never fell.
You do not wish to see what i have yet to become.
War or parlay? My time is valuable. " With words from his own mouth, my mimicry , though lacking his otherworldly tone, is flawless.
Hesitantly the lights rise to a dim shine, the sign flips to 'open', and one sliding door opens less than half way, forcing me to squeeze through.
In an instant all thoughts of insanity are flushed from my mind.
This place feels cold and humid somehow, the dim lights casting shadows that leap and flicker.
I feel as if there are people walking all around me, but nothing stops my progress, and no matter how hard i strain to see, it's clearly just myself in the building.
Small noises, glass jars rattling, bags of long expired food rustling, every inch of this place feels alive, and angry.
I once ran across a man, a sound engineer, who had pretty much perfected a way to induce small amounts of anxiety with subsonic frequencies. Got into the wrong hands, started a cult, it's a long story. The point is, it felt like adderall jitters with a small side of isolation. And at the time it was scary as hell, mild as it may have been.
True evil though, jesus christ, It feels more like a heartbeat. A living, pulsing thing, pressing in upon you.
I lean on the counter, it feels slick, the entire place reeks of old cigarette smoke and decay.
"The four from tonight, a one time fee, and you are free to attend to whatever business you have in my neighbourhood. " i say, letting my eyes wander around the store, not showing a seconds hesitation as i see glimpses of long, thin things, legs, or tentacles maybe, start to crawl from the darkest spots in this sodium ridden little hell.
"Tread lightly Michael. " Demitrious says, i like how nervous he is, i've accepted the reality of my situation, but i'll be dead before i let someone else take the lead in this dance.
The silence drags out, with every second the creeping, almost vine like appendages extend further into the store, probing with a a dull intellect.
I jump as the cigar case hanging above my head drops a pack of mold covered stogies onto the counter, the 4 pack has 2 remaining.
I understand what this thing is saying, but i don't have time to respond. My reaction, a slight jump, causes the thing to make it's move.
Three shelves slam into the counter, surrounding me, a half second later the lucite tobacco case falls, i crouch down, intending to leap out of the rapidly closing box, but before i can, swarms of those black, pointed, finger like appendages form a grasping, scratching roof.
Panic is too generic of a word to describe how i feel, as i see these otherworldly limbs twist through the cheap aluminum shelving , i feel small, like a gnat caught in the maw of some kind hell spawned toad.
Demitrious is saying something, but i can't make it out.
Slowly the pointed appendages push toward me, inch by inch, this place wants me to see my fate coming.
With a running start, and good posture, a grown man can blast through this kind of shelving without much effort or harm. Hunched over almost half way now, that situation changes drastically.
Luck seems to be on my side, this thing can do a lot, but the shelves themselves are just good old fashioned, milled by the lowest bidder metal.
I don't burst through, i slam myself into the shelves till metal clasps give, i feel twitching limbs start to gouge and claw my skin as my shoulder separates.
I get it back into place with another hunch backed body check to the shelving. It works, but the arm goes numb, useless, a nerve deep inside twisted and pinched.
I have no more room to twist, i can't get my opposite shoulder into position to finish the job.
Something rips a chunk of cartilage from my ear, the pain is blinding, i push down the urge to rage and scream, i'm doing more than surviving, i'm playing a role.
I slam my face into the shelf, using any bit of leverage i can to force my way through. 6 solid hits bend the cheap steel enough to get my shoulders , or at least most of them, through. With one final flesh tearing lunge i free myself, sprawled on the dirty black and white tile.
I get to my feet, making a show of brushing myself off. Blood is pouring out of me from dozens of gashes, and one arm is throbbing, useless.
This thing caught onto my lie, and made me pay. Now to normal people, once you get caught in a lie, you come clean. But one thing I've learned from scumbags of all types, is that you never come clean. It doesn't matter how many times you get caught in a bold faced falsehood, just how many half sensible possibilities you can put into someone's mind.
I stop trying to ape the ancient evil living in my head. I don't even have to think of the lie, it comes pouring out of me as easily as a drunken piss.
"Okay, so I'm not, he-of-the-too-many-names. I just thought that'd be an easy shortcut to our business here." I stalk toward the counter, ignoring the screaming pain throughout my body.
The trap this place tried to spring on me is a writhing mass of steel and black, greasy appendages, I supress a shudder as I think of what would have happened had I not sacrificed a decent amount of skin to escape.
The sound of my dripping blood provides an almost metronomic beat to my one sided conversation.
"But you want to know who I really am?
I'm the regular guy who found a way to put a leash on that long winded old bastard.
I'm the off kilter motherfucker who has a couple thousand years worth of power just begging to be let loose inside of his skull.
And pedigree or not, I'm the guy who's walking out of here with 4 live bodies to do with what I will.
And for being such a greedy prick, I'll take your two youngest to replace the two you've already ruined. "
I feel... Something, by the look on D's face, I think I struck a chord with this thing.
I'd call what Demitrious whispered to me words, but the sonic bastardization of language he relayed, verbal torture, would be a better description.
I smile as I enunciate each one with precision, the effect is immediate, and worldview shaking.
The walls begin to crack in the slightest ways, the dismal presence of the place eases, but personally I notice the tiny pieces of my tounge that pop and tear themselves free, more.
It's no more than two seconds, but in that time one of my back teeth has rotted into a black stump, and a sign saying " SORRY FOR THE INCONVIENCE!" drops in front of me, suspended at eye level with old, yellowed string.
I smirk, blood dripping from my torn lips.
Slowly, a door to a back room creaks open, I make the mistake of looking inside.
I know there is no way the massive field of victims and torture implements could fit in the backroom, I can see a horizon for fuck sakes, albeit, a crimson one with a forbidding yellow sky.
I feel sickened, humbled, grasping the scale of this thing for the first time.
But as requested, two of the four men, bruised, torn, and broken, mid twenties, and full of the kind of muscle that only comes from too much free time, come stumbling out of the unassuming door.
"Outside, and please, try to run, I'll find you." I say, no room for debate.
The two men comply as their counterparts, two identical twin girls, around 13 years old walk out of wherever the hell it is this thing keeps it's victims.
They don't seem to have been treated as rough as the jocks, but i feel a dark rage as I think of what this lecherous liquor store hand in mind for them.
"Wait outside" I say, casually walking around the store.
I want to be an outright bastard, to rub this in, to make this slap in the face something this collection of bricks, mortar, and evil remembers no matter how long it lives.
But I notice something, D, he's... Flickering, is the closest thing I can think of. His voice tinny, and indistinguishable.
I don't press my luck, leaving the store with nothing more than than a distainful look.
When I actually see all four waiting outside the store, I think a little bit less of their mental capabilities.
Protip kids, if a scary bastard tells you not to run away, chances are the best possible thing you can do, is run away.
"Follow me" I say, and to my surprise, the group does, and I find myself leading them like the God damned pied piper.
I try to plan on the run, marching the group, double time until I'm sure we are far enough away the Bestial Bodega.
I take the group deep into an alley, they want to hesitate, but shock and pain have made them all compliant. It takes nothing more than a sinister look to keep them moving deep into the foreboding laneway.
D keeps trying to get my attention, but whatever dial he uses, isn't tuned right. I can make out sounds, but no words, his form fading and warping.
I lean my back against the cold brick of the alley, taking in a series of long, heaving breaths.
First the pain sets in, I slide down the wall to a sitting position, tears staring to well. I feel the quarter sized piece of ear missing, and my mind starts to go through the litany of first aid I'll have to give myself.
Then, reality sets in, this reality. I don't have a quip, or a sly defferal, just the soul crushing knowledge that I'm caught up in some situation where I'm a pawn, at best. In a world that doesn't play by any of the rules I've spent the last decade or so learning.
I cry, and I shake. When I finally pull myself together I laugh at the look of shock and confusion of the faces of the group I saved.
The first guy to speak, asks me a question that seems out of left field as he offers his hand.
"You a hunter?" he says, gym rat accent making the question all the more strange, "Name's Vasily, bro."
I shake the man's hand and notice how torn up he is, I'm surprised he's still standing now that I have the time to survey his wounds.
"Me? No, I like guns, but never was able to pull the trigger on a deer.
I'm just some asshole that bluffed his way into saving you four." I say, my gaze drifting to the static ridden form of demitrious, wishing I knew what he was trying to say.
Something about the reaction of the two men, amused, and a little too happy, sets me on edge. These guys should be calling 911 before they collapse, not asking what recreational activities I enjoy.
Then I realize, I can't see the girls in the corner of my eye any more.
I look further, not moving my head, trying to seem casual, and still, I see neither of the two children.
"That being said, I wanted to ask you guys a few things about what all went down..." I say, making my way toward a dumpster where I see a small, black booted foot peeking out.
I adapt, it's what I do.
And we've all seen this part of the horror film before. Where our survivors make their way from whatever paranormal shit storm they were in, only to find out they storm hadn't quite passed yet.
I expect my kick to encounter something immovable, or maybe the opposite, intangible. I expect to see a look of rage, or malice, on the child's face as I head off it's attack.
I do not expect to feel a rib crack, and see a girl who is tiny, even for her age skid six feet across cold pavement, clutching her chest.
The other girl runs over, shocked and panicking.
I have just enough time to process my fuck up, then I hear it.
It's loud, and wet, like a room full of people playing Yahtzee with cubes of meat.
I turn, slowly, burnt out and shell-shocked from just the horror of the past hour or so.
But not so much that I don't say "Fuck me." as I see the source of the noise.
The two men now stand over seven feet, skin a sick greenish yellow, layers of mismatched and bulging muscle cover their bodies. Their eyes are transparent, glass like orbs. Teeth, flat, thin, almost whale like. Their clothing lays in a shredded pile on the ground.
But as they stand there, hulking, reeking and nude, I see the absolute critical nature of their wounds.
The fact vasily's voice didn't change one octave sends a chill down my spine.
"Sorry man, but your in a wrong place wrong time kinda situation.
See, me and my bro here, we got messed up real bad, and if we don't get something to eat real soon, we're gonna die.
Total respect for saving us and all, but we need a specific kind of protein, and you are the only one around that has it, no homo. " He fucking laughs.
So, suicide it is I guess.
The truncheon is small, has an awkward grip, but at the end of the day, is still three pounds of solid metal wielded by someone who knows where to apply it. Even if this thing has leather skin, and cement bones, a direct blow should crack them.
And I'm okay with this being my last act. Breaking a monster's jaw, not many people can claim that as the reason for their ticket to the pearly gates.
But no, the truncheon pops like a lightbulb, I don't even know if it managed to make contact.
I try to make a break for it, but Vasily grabs me, gently, by the shirt, faster than I can track, and with a grip I have no hope of breaking.
"I get it dude, it's a shitty deal, but hey, it'll be quick at least.
You think I feel good about this? Hell no, but gotta look out for number one, know what I'm saying?" Vasily let's go as he finishes.
"Do I have time for a smoke and a drink?" I say producing the steel flask, and a pack of cigarettes.
"Sure man, have a couple if ya want, we got a little bit." The ogre like thing answers.
I uncap the flask, putting it up to my lips, a few drops of the toxic combination rolling down my tongue as I push a small plastic bundle from the back of my cheek into the neck of the container.
I wipe my lips and toss the engraved gift in a garbage can about a foot behind the giants.
I light up a smoke, looking listlessly at the stars as I sit, some standing puddle soaking my pants.
My heart starts to race as the cigarette burns halfway. A cold sweat begins to break out as I taste filter, and throw the butt into the gloom of the alley.
I light up the second, trying not to let my fraying nerves take over.
See, when I was talking about my lackluster bomb earlier, I could have probably been more specific.
As far as punch goes, no issue. As far as safety goes? Also not a problem, as long as the dry and wet ingredients are kept separate, no issues there. What this particular chemical cocktail lacks is, consistency.
It's the kind of thing idiots across the world looking for a little bit of YouTube fame have blown off hands and set fires to houses with. The kind of blunt surgery chemistry that may take place in a minute, a second or a few hours.
My hand is shaking as I grind the second cigarette butt into the ground, trying to think of some new way of stalling.
But for once in my entire God-hated life, luck is on my side.
For a half second there's a shrill tea kettle like noise, I curl into a ball, my face to the wall I was leaning against.
I don't see it, but I hear the dull, low speed Krump turn the garbage can into a tornado of steel and overpressure. Pinging shrapnel bounces through the alley.
I'm on my feet in an instant, looking for a clear path to run. But through the dim lights, and acrid black smoke, I don't think I need to.
Vasily lays on the ground, dazed, one leg severed, entrails spilling. The look of rage on the twisted monster's face as it drags itself toward me, says more than the stream of threats it utters ever could.
It's partner got the shitty end of the stick. Torn open from neck to crotch, it twitches and speaks in a language that sounds like Cyrillic anarchy.
My ears ring, and I'm sure I'm sporting a handful of new wounds, but I smile.
I kneel on the nameless giant's chest, raising a massive, jagged spur from the garbage can. My right knee slips, sinking into the thing's chest.
What I do next is half experiment and half revenge. I drive the metal shard into the beast's eye. It stops it more than any organ has a right to, but not before the makeshift knife goes in almost three quarters of an inch.
The creature bellows, still together enough to feel pain.
Vasily finds some reserve of energy, propelling himself at me, headless of the quantity of his internals he's leaving behind.
I lock eyes with him.
"The only thing you are going to do is make this worse for him." I say, panting as I twist the blade.
Try as I might, one armed, I can't manage to make the spike penetrate past the ogre's eye.
Three solid stomps though, and this nameless horror stops twitching.
I'm riding high, feeling invincible, as, with a one legged leap, I'm pinned to the ground by several hundred pounds of dying monster.
One arm pins me to the ground as vasily starts to open his jaw, it extends past his collarbone exposing a reeking maw filled with row upon row of those flat, whale like teeth.
But before he can fall upon me, something catches his attention.
One of the girls stands mere feet away, her eyes swirling black and white fractal images, the same images swirl and break in the eyes of the ogre.
I slide out from under him without protest, suddenly the least of his worries.
"I can't keep this up much longer." the girl says.
You know the saying about gift horses.
I drive my hands deep within Vasily, grabbing handfuls of broken, pulsing entrails. I don't give him a death worthy of his flippantly callous attitude, but I most certainly get an A for effort.
My brain, and my body are past their limit.
I see D, clearly.
"Where were you with some of those magic words?" I say, my vision starting to swoon.
"Michael, I've worn myself much too thin.
You've forced me to expend resources I do not have.
Now get home, if I am lucky I can give you your destination, though I'd hoped to give you guidance as well." D is frantic, but I get it.
I don't remember passing out, but I do remember waking up to 2 shocked tween faces, and a cross country map written on an old newspaper sitting on my chest.
One of the girls speaks.
" I'm Tina, this is Annette, and we were wondering if we could ask you something..."

“War should never be seen as a way of life, only as a dark era we must push through, if we get too comfortable it will consume us”. That’s something my old squad leader told me a very long time ago, back when I was in the conventional land forces and I made the jump to our special operations community. Today, well I’ll get right to it… my name is Blachowicz and I am a member of the Polish Special Forces, more specifically the unit known only as Polish GROM or JW GROM. A little background for some of you… we are the lineal force based off the Silent Unseen paratroopers of my home country’s resistance during the second world war. In the modern era GROM has become one of NATO’s most elite units in our efforts alongside the American and British forces in the multi-decade global war on terror.
Me personally? Well, as of the time of writing this I’ve been in the Polish Armed Forces for just over 12 years, a solid decade of which I’ve spent as a member within GROM itself. I’ve done two tours abroad in Afghanistan, however the part that’s relevant today is my time spent combating the menace we are now fighting tooth and nail at home: in Anti-Human Trafficking operations. It pains me to say this but today, Poland has an endemic problem with human trafficking that has spread from places such as Hungary, Romania, Belarus, and Russia. It is modern day slavery, pure and simple, and the evil I have uncovered whilst fighting this pestilence has shook me to my core. When you gaze upon a hundred innocent souls, dead, who spent their final moments on this earth tortured, mutilated, and afraid… you learn there is no limit to the kind of sin man will commit against itself for gain. That is why I do not stop, why I will always keep going, and why I will always carry our flag on my shoulder.
However, marching down through the circles carved by monsters living amongst us led me to… something I never dreamed of. Up until now you’re probably wondering why I have told you all of this, including my name, shattering the heritage of silent professionalism over my knee. It’s because… NATO has been fighting a secret war for decades, and our enemies aren’t human, they don’t bleed, and they assimilate all of us. The danger I found in the tenth circle corroded and formed by humanity’s greed, led me to find a hidden danger that is existential and real. The worst part is I don’t know if we’re winning… but we have to try.
Let me start from the beginning… The fight against human trafficking is multilayered, it is a complex, horribly adapting foe that will never rest. An average of 25 million people every year are exploited by this modern servitude, kidnapped, threatened into silent surrender, and an average of 70,000 per day are done so through airports right in front of your eyes. Blending in, unable to ask for help, eyes forced forward, you would never know. Our enemies are resourceful and cunning, and as such the forces at work include intelligence, federal special agents, the local police forces… and finally if all of them are unable to neutralize a threat, extract the imprisoned, the members of JW GROM are called upon.
If all else failed, it was up to us.
These operations could be planned in advance but 60% were always snap missions that were done under emergency circumstances, with little time to prepare so we must always stay ready. My experience as a highly efficient team leader and my dedicated use of our methodology of “violence of action” is what had me on the roster for any of these snap response forces. More recently a month ago, the event that caught our eye was the activity of a group that had been operating near the eastern border in Podlaskie…
The call came at around 0200, earlier than even we wake up to start our day at. Usually these alerts would be met with a bit of quip, a jovial attitude goes a long way to help process being woken up in the graveyard hours to be told you’re going to go assault through hell for the third time this month. Yet… my old captain was having none of it. The man had been around; he’d been a part of the ‘03 invasion, rotated through Afghanistan enough times to call it his second home, hell he’d been a part of eagles feather. But his tone sounded tense, i’d never seen him have to hide nerves before; “Head on in, only lead staff, don’t be late”.
I started to wake up, already years of indoctrinated muscle memory had me halfway through my wake up routine as I remember groggily asking; “Everything, sir?”. The only answer I got was a shaky half inhale and “no”. Needless to say I drove in a little faster than I had previously, the walk through our unit’s staging area at this time of the day always felt unique, exclusive… the culmination of a decade of hard work earning me the right to be apart of the upper echelon of my craft. Yet all I felt in that moment was being totally left out… and for the first time, in a long time? Nervous. Though, it didn’t stop me from smothering it as much as I could with caffeine and focus.
You could feel it, we face life threatening bodily injury and death every single mission we step into, across two hemispheres, but something was off about this one… it always felt when it came to traffickers. Leeches, vermin right on your home front, sometime’s your own countrymen, kidnapping your people and shipping them off to god knows where, to do unspeakable things for wretched people… or worse. A laptop and projector was already set up per these briefings, I was right about my captain because the man rolled in more pressed than I had seen him during firefights. I mean, that’s not hard… we excel in that environment, but that mean we were all out of our element on this one.
He set down a folder and got right to it.
The national police had been tracking several suspect individuals that come through Poland utilizing fake identities, operating on the trafficking network that ran into Poland, through Germany, from the Netherlands. I don’t envy the Dutch by the way, when it comes to it that place is a festering hive for trafficking, anyways… National Police had realized something was up on two main factors: the first is these men and women managed to navigate and get around multiple points of surveillance and egress in days, when diverting down back roads would have taken them weeks.
The second part… is because they were dead, or at least on paper. This caused several of us to blink, I steeled myself as I composed my voice chirped up “Uh, could you… expand that sir?”. The captain’s eyebrows were furrowed, locked in place as he explained. All of them, upwards of 12 suspects in total… A women amongst them had been registered dying of a stroke almost 3 months prior. In Scotland 2 of the men were found dead. New Delhi, Romania, Hungary, Serbia… he opened the folders and show all of us photos of them lying dead after having been stabbed, shot, mugged, strangled. The guy from Serbia died of kidney failure. And yet… there they were, verifiable on photographic evidence, and yet… in videographic evidence they were up and moving.
How their passports and visas got approved, how they got through… I don’t know, neither did the captain nor MI. The few grainy images we had of them passing through some bus stations, traffic stops. They looked… identical, albeit hard to tell from the footage, but it looked like them. I thought maybe at the time it was just knowing they were technically listed as dead that tipped off my uncanny valley sixth sense… I would be, so very, very wrong…
Following this National Police planned and organized a raid on a small inn they had believed was being used as a control point and safehouse for them in Podlaskie, deep in rural east poland. What followed was… well, we should be oh so very lucky it was in the isolated, rural woods… The captain opened up a folder with him and passed out several images…. Highly graphic death portraits from the aftermath. The exact information of the events is limited because 86% of the police assigned to the raid were killed.
The police task force of several dozen policemen and women descended upon the Inn under the cover of darkness with a helicopter acting as their overwatch, with itself had thermal imaging to help accurately mark anyone on property. It’s through this helicopter we recieved all the videos and live chatter of the raid. Police secured the main road, leaving only a small dirt road leading to the rustic dark brown inn… and the dense woods at its rear. Half of the force approached from the road, while the other half was assigned to the forest. Police approach guns drawn, overwatch reported no personnel outside nor any visible windows open.
The line was quiet, you could see the tense, slow yet smooth approach of the dozens of heat signatures of police as they crept through the woods. Then… one of their signatures stopped. Overwatch zoomed in on the police officer to see he seemed to be struggling with, something… some sort of “cold signature”. Then, struggling turned into gunfire as the officer began to fire off shots as they fought for control of their weapon… then with several “strikes”... their… head was nearly removed from their body. Transcripts of the radio traffic describe national police reporting immediate casualties upon encircling the back half of the Inn within a 50 meter radius.
At the same time the road personnel quickly rushed to descend upon the front and reported no contact. The bird quickly maneuvered as overwatch was having a hard time giving accurate intel… as heat signatures of the national police were dropping left and right after coming into contact with what these “cold signatures”… spots on their screens that came up colder than the autumn air around them, with the rough silhouettes of humans.
The captain showed several screenshots of… what looks to be one of them being struck with a punch…. And the brutal display in ISR of a policeman’s innards flying across the forest. Yet, the road personnel received no contact at all and made entry to the Inn. The images were… varied. Entire walls of the building had been crudely torn down, bashed apart, or dug into, leaving the layout to be a messy kill house in which the national police reportedly then took fire.
They say “took fire”, because the first member of a stack had a hole the size of a grapefruit punched through their chest… and their body armor. National Police report returning fire at personnel, however no bodies were found. All the while the forest personnel continued to be slaughtered, mistakenly firing at the Inn believing it was the source of any sort of attack and causing subsequent cases of fratricide.
The floor of the majority of the first floor was a sickening mix of what was found later to be fecal matter and human gore… it was described as a “200 meter biohazard”. The first floor also seemed to be the holding section… a mountain of 27 bodies, all of them shoved messily, violently into garbage bags of people that had expired on the way to the Inn… or worse, filled the corner of the Inn’s L shaped architecture. Many of them were nearly hollow… Some organs were removed, but it was noted that specifically all of the blood had been drained… and all of the bones had the majority of their marrow removed through what was described as canine and human teeth and gnash marks on their limbs, bodies, torso… and the spine.
The second floor had holes in it, as it seemed the sheer putrid nature of it caused it to literally burn holes through it as it seeped down, showing signs of lack of maintenance or care by the occupants. The primary center of that… extraction seemed to have taken place on the second floor where they left many hollow corpses on meat hooks. It was…. Brutal… the most recently deceased were several tourists they had tracked them snagging from west poland just days prior, who had their throats ripped out. Emergency medical personnel that arrived on scene calculated it happened no sooner than the raid starting, meaning they had performed such a brutal task, under fire, whilst being surrounded… worst of all. No suspects or culprits were found. The forest was searched, limbs, ribs… gore from the police was found everywhere, and yet, not a single one of those pieces of shit had been found.
It was one of the worst failures in our fight against trafficking, and the world knew nothing… because how could we tell them?
It’s then that the captain ended that “catch up”, but letting us know that GROM had been green lit for a raid. I’m not gonna lie, after all that? Dozens wounded, permanently out of action, others dead, torn apart, by… whatever those things were… my blood ran cold.
Our intelligence services proved their worth as they came back immediately with an accurate target package. We narrowed down the possible locations for a fallback point and found one… near the region of Lubelskie to Poland’s southeast, just an hour outside of Lukow was a meat locker and storage plant adjacent to a small, now defunct railyard, both abandoned over 18 years ago. 50 meters long, single metal building with a small auxiliary tower previously used overlooking the desolate clearing filled with old rail cars left abandoned for over a decade and a half. Some trains ran through there but very few stopped. Its proximity to lesser known road on a main route just down the dirt path made it an excellent place for contacts and escorting traffickers to discreetly leave buses and walk down the forest road, vans to pull off- or if they were bold enough, transport anyone using rail cars they were smuggling in.
NATO has always won by defeating it’s enemy in detail, we’ve followed this philosophy even before our country’s ascension into the alliance- GROM is known as “The Surgeons” for a reason. Electronic Warfare personnel attached to us deployed dragonfly sized drones along with utilizing thermal capabilities; intelligence was the key to success, knowing what you were doing was key. Initial identification of the area before our arrival showed several figures outside of the main entrance to the meat locker building itself, with a few more at the train depot. Had you not known the reality of this, you’d have thought it was simply another day… bastards were masquerading among us, we were about to give them one hell of a wake up call. The thing that creeped me out however was them reporting several figures sporadically throughout the woods, the windy winter day meant heat signatures lit up well… and from their posture, they seemed to somehow not only know the drone was there… but were staring at it. Any attempts to lock on or zoom it were unsuccessful and they were gone, support relegated it to equipment issues in cold temperatures. If only they were more careful…
The raid was launched later in the day, despite the evidence that this group had a distinct advantage at night, we were second to none in the dark. Utilizing a period of high traffic coming down the road, two vans comprising of my element, 1st squad, my squad, along with 2nd squad would secure the entrance to the building as well as the area around it. 3rd Squad would cleverly arrive on train scheduled to arrive at the depot, from what I got told not all the trains that passed through were aligned with the traffickers, it was their way of hiding in plain sight and it would be our weapon to utilize against them.
Additionally… we had a marksman acting as overwatch set up on a transmission tower to give us extra eyes on the tower and windows of the complex. Due to the lack of elevated terrain in the forest in an actionable area, he had to set up on the tower approximately half a klick from target. Regardless… this guy had performed some nasty shots and even secured a JSOC record or two, so if anyone was gonna give us clean intel and cover it was him.
Coordinating our approach from the road with the arrival of the train, we were set to initiate our assault at the same exact time. The surreal experience of being in a concealed van, especially during a high mobility raid like this is something you have to experience… the drivers, fully kitted, tearing it down the roads while cordon tried to give us the clearest route as we all held on in the back. These vans were designed for this, custom fitted with proper seating and handrails, that being said the swerve of it as he turned onto the rough dirt road to the site definitely had us swaying. I could hear chatter from our command in my headset; “Building element has left public avenue…. 13 seconds to target…”.
[“Rail element nearing target, 15 seconds to target…”].
[“Overwatch to Main… I have eyes on personnel in the tower”].
From what I can gather… our boy sitting up in that metal tower, freezing winds cutting through every layer he had on, kept to his duty. He could see a figure keeping watch on the main road we were watching, through the folder he was given of different targets, the “deceased” missing persons, and indicators he reported back; [“I have eyes on one of our missing deads, Romanian Suspect…”].
Then… even through the adrenaline of us nearing our target, what he said next made my heart launch directly into my throat; [“Target is appearing as a cold signature-”].
Without a second thought, command ordered [“Overwatch, you are green”].
Then things got… odd; [“Overwatch to main, light within the building has… disappeared. Possible short circuit…”].
[“Main to Overwatch, what is the status on suspect individual in the tower?”].
[“.... Main to Overwatch, do you successfully read my last?”].
[“-Roger Main, suspect individual vanished the second shot was initiated”].
I really wished they didn’t give me access to those comms, I get why all leaders were on them, transparency and the flow of information. Still… nothing made my blood run cold like that entire thing. I lookk to some of my men, staring at me for guidance, all I could do was white knuckle my MK18 and prepare for what was to come. Our nation needed us to be a hammer against the dark, and my men needed me to be an impermeable wall of focus- and god dammit, that’s what I was gonna be.
Our fast mobility vans quickly tore into the gravel parking lot in front of the meat locker, the doors sliding open… my squad’s was parked farther away while 2nd’s squad’s peeled in closer, they were the cordon element for the building. They didn’t hesitate or fail to be the fastest among us, as I’ve always known them to be. With light now quickly disappearing we had our night vision down, the pitch black of the lightless forest site around us was bathed in a white and light blue sheen, every centimeter revealed to us giving our foes nowhere to hide. I lead my squad out, our peq lasers quickly scanning the surrounding area as we pushed past the fast towards the front of the building.
By this time… operators from 2nd squad wasted no time… there were two men from the cell we were hunting here, raggedy cunts who were bearded, wearing dirty jackets and pants showing they had been here for a while, but most importantly? Fear… they looked afraid as our nation’s finest surrounded them, dragging them into the dirt and ordering their silence in harsh whispers as our barrels were to their skin. Even so… I caught wind of some of their panicked babbling;
“-You don’t understand, you can’t go in there…-”. “You’ll never come out…”.
By this time the hiss of a train’s brakes broke the dim silence of the area, to the east across about a hundred meters of parked train cars, left to rot in a disgusting maze of lanes and death corners, was a concrete platform where it seemed a regular freighter was coming in to refuel. The plants they had left on the platform were nowhere near ready when the door slid open and 3rd squad emerged, yelling instead of whispering… not a single snap of a suppressed round being let loose told the tale that they capitulated.
Which the outside area secured with the chains of our nation’s special operations, 2nd squad’s lead called in [“Condition White”]. I motioned for my breacher to prepare a charge, a pre-made strip of demo charge made to blow the locks off a conventional door. Knowing that the garage doors would either be locked tight or rusted beyond entering, we knew we would have to smash the solid metal ones… and thus, the due diligence of my squad and I ensured that nothing was gonna stop us when he placed it onto the entrance and hit that activator, the hiss of the electricity racing towards the explosive as all of us pushed back around corners and farther down the front of the building. Just as always… look away and exhale.
The shake of the blast snapped everyone’s senses awake and alive, I led from the front as my squad split in two, flowing through the door and into the breach as any ambient light quickly faded into total darkness, making our nods our lifeline against whatever vicious defenders were inside.
Regardless we pushed through, a methodical rush as we cleared what was a large open floor stretching from one end of the building to the other. Between the shadows that smothered us and the putrid, gag inducing stench of rot, I don’t know what was worse. Rusted and decrepit work stations and machines, forming a labyrinth of dead space and kill corners, all needed to be clear and every single one needed to be navigated uniquely. With all our, whilst trying not to drop any security against an enemy we all remembered tearing apart those officers on ISR. Nerves were high…
As we neared the end of our sweep of the ground floor, no signs of anything, one of my men… my breacher who was right behind me whispered; “This place is inactive, right?”. I looked over a bit confused, then saw what was undoubtedly causing this smell… right in plain sight, yet we were too busy securing the building to notice. On different parts of the machine dripping down onto the floor to create a horrid, septic sludge on different parts of the floor were organs, slabs of meat, steaming in the cold air and left out to rot and putrefy. “Fucksakes…” is all I could get out as we neared the end of the long stretch that was the ground floor, only to hear one of my men from the left round a particularly large machine running perpendicular to the floor, acting as a wall… yell; “HANDS! HANDS! HANDS!”.
I sprinted up quick as fuck, the whole squad closing in as we pushed through the last… standing near a series of doors, facing the back wall of the building was an individual. Old white wool traditional clothing stained in… I don’t want to know what, it was dark, steam coming off it. He had a hand against the wall bracing him as he spat out gore onto the floor. He stood up, turning towards us… he stared at everyone, then at me…
An old gray beard on a worn tan face, cuts and scars lining his skin as he stood upright facing me, his eyes… they reflected.
Eyes aren’t supposed to reflect.
I was so… entranced? Stunned? I was so mentally staggered by this that I barely noticed him reach into one of his pockets and draw a handgun. Small, square, it was a Glock, there was no mistaking it, possibly 17 or 19 depending on the sides- details I remembered as one of my men and I fired into him, tearing apart the front of his chest as he fell to the ground. Immediately we pushed towards the last sets of rooms, actual locker units themselves, as two of my men flipped him over, zipcutting his hands as I cleared his weapon. It actually was a Glock 17, Generation 4, guess my perception isn’t lacking with age… or stress.
Then, the sounds of sprinting from upstairs could be heard as, causing several of my men pulling rear security to aim, trying to find the source of running. Nothing… then, from below… a scream, deep, gutteral… nothing a human let loose and I swear my ribs and organs were shaking from whatever decibels it spoke in. I quickly bagged the gun as evidence, at this time Overwatch reported in.
[“Overwatch to Main, I just caught sight of a cold signature sprinting past the catwalk windows. I say again, there are cold signatures inside of the building”]. I froze cold, analyzing everything around me… my breacher worked to pry open the meatlocker doors whilst some of the others still scanned the empty catwalks for any signs of life. I looked up and around, nothing. It was clear whatever we had done had backed them into a corner, 2nd squad was still clearing the outside with 3rd squad… until then? We were on our own, the building was our OBJ and we had to secure it. The snap of metal and a handle falling to the floor told me my men had breached into the lockers and… honestly I wish we hadn’t. Dark red organic material poured out from the floor the second it opened, mimicking stains on the floor you would have thought was just rust at a first flance. Inside.. Blood, bile, hooks hanging from a small square room as human remains were stacked like bricks, neatly organized, processed… This caused a pause in everyone who was there among us, all of us double taking as we looked at each other to ask… is this really what the hell we’re seeing right now? Yeah… it was. I looked down at the floor, the blood seemed to stick to our boots and… as I lifted up to look at the underside, I swear I could see whatever parasitic compound was in it… leech off like little tendrils, reaching at anything. I quickly dragged and kicked it all off on the metal floor, muttering “-don’t let this shit touch you”.
The adrenaline in my system caused my hand to shake as I grabbed my push to talk; [“Bravo 2-1 to Main, Ground Floor Secured, SITREP as follows; One EKIA…. Over one dozen cadavers inside of meat locker near north side end”].
There was a long moment, uncharacteristic of a TOC as they undoubtedly processed this; [“Main to Bravo 2-1, good copy, are you able to continue unto subterranean objective?”].
I thought of all the people who had been killed, everyone this monster had taken, and everything we had just seen between the two doors of this cursed building. I looked to the basement door; [“Roger Main, Building element maneuvering down”].
We quickly reached the door, adjacent to the locker as one of my men pulled it open the others flowing in to reveal a small open area just before a stone stairwell leading down into the depths. The second we did is when we heard them… A voice which was probably supposed to be a female in her mid twenties spoke, her words forced together as it felt like someone was trying to puppeteer to us an adversary; “-You’re hiding behind all of that equipment. We can see you thrice as clearly as you believe you can see us”. My uncanny valley meter was off the fucking charts as more of them, all the same genre of fucked up meat puppet continued to scream from the impermeable darkness below.
“Die!!! DIE!!!! DIE!!!”. “Come down here, come join us…”. “WE WON’T LET YOU TAKE THEM FROM US!!!”.
Far below, a concrete floor and shadowy doors was all I and my men could see… in a delicate situation that came with Traffickers and hostages, which required scalpable means, a negotiable approach was needed, everytime. We didn’t know what they were, but if it meant even one person who was still down there, we needed to try. “You will release the hostages and proceed with your hands up, now-” I yelled, only for the snap of a gunshot to echo tremendously off the closed walls of the underground, zipping past as we took fire. My gunner returned fire, shooting his belt fed back into the darkness and causing a horrific screech to emit.
Well… guess negotiations had failed.
The member of my squad who brought the ballistic shield, this heavy, bulky obstruction that weighed about as much as an engine block quickly took to the front and slowly we made our way down. As we did… suddenly, the tension of everything let loose as we neared the middle of the stairwell, as from the darkness we heard a set of footsteps. Skin slapping the concrete floor as a figure dead sprint at us with no fuckin’ weapon, her hair was dark, oily, ivory white skin contrasting… reflective eyes. Immediately she slammed into our shield-bearer, this man who was around 6’2 himself, built like a tank, carrying enough ballistic weave to stop a magazine, shook as this deranged psychotic woman slammed into him. She clawed at the shield and I could see some of the outer fabric and material rip off… as she then seems to toss him back… over her shoulder, the hulking mass of shield and Polish Army Special Forces might slamming into the bottom floor of the hallway.
However I didn’t have any time to spare for him as she immediately lunged at me, her teeth horribly jagged and deformed, snapped and snarled as I muzzle thumped her in the collar bone. Despite the forged steel barrel slamming into her fuckin’ bones, she didn’t stop… probably wouldn’t have, if my machine gunner didn’t open fire. The 7.62 tearing apart her neck and shoulder, the parasitic blood from before flying onto one of the walls as she stumbled and fell back messily. We pushed past her, rifles raised as we quickly moved to close in on our injured comrade. To his credit… he shrugged off the toss… that was until incoming fire from an adjacent door to our left, his front, caught him in the shoulder causing him to scream… before he was dragged out from behind through the door to our right.
“Move!! Move!! Move!!” I yelled, queue for my squad that weapons were fullyfuckin’released and that it was time to either secure the area, or die. Violence of action taking hold as my breacher and 3 of my squad peeled into the left room, gunfire emitting as my gunner and I flowed into the door to our right. What I saw gave me pause, as two individuals… I can’t call them human, stood over my fallen comrade, pointed ears and skin pale to the point of being gray, jagged teeth cutting through and poking out the torn up flesh to their mouths. The second we entered… the one that had a grip on my shield man, white knuckling his right arm… tore it from it’s socket.
He screamed bloody murder as his blood went flying about, it then tossed his limb at me as some sort of challenge.
We answered… gunfire erupted as we pushed forward, our gunner wasting no time in sawing one of them in half, as my MK18 struggled to put down that fuckin’ bastard. His gaunt features and face seemed to smirk at me as he marched forward, as he raised his hands to try and grab me… his nails seemed to have been sharpened as his jagged bones poked from the flesh of his fingers, worn down past the point of no return. Yet, finally… it fell to the ground. Quickly my gunner pulled security as the battles for the other rooms continued. The fighting in the room to our left subsided as my men yelled and rushed for the two others, meanwhile… I try to comfort my soldier, placing a tourniquet and stopping the bleed as we sat him up against the back wall.
Then… as fighting began to occur in the room just across from us… the plaster and wood of the wall exploded, showering all three of us as one of my GROM Operators was throwing straight through. I could feel the air knocked out of him as he damn near tripped me, from the breach as another one of our comrades fired at a more of them…. Emerged a heftier one, the same gray, putrid skin lined his body as muscles seemed to rip through the flesh at the surface. It’s reflective eyes scanning us like an apex predator as it tore more material from the wall as it stepped through. Then… all of us fired. I stepped off to the left, opening fire as my gunner did as well, shit I mean I had to drop a mag and slap in a new one, hitting the bolt release home as it continued to try and walk towards us. Gray flesh and muscle tearing away as it seemingly walked towards us with no issue. Everyone was firing me, my gunner, the man he had thrown got his bearings as he just switched to full auto and dumped whatever he had in his magazine into the thing, even the shield bearer had managed to draw his pistol and fired.
After emptying what seemed to be half our mission load into it… it staggered… falling to the ground as it’s disgusting blood leaked onto the floor and… it still continued to crawl. I lunged forward… grabbing my ankle and squeezing with enough force to make me curse… that was until I fired the final shots that caved it skull it.
After pulling my boot from it’s grip.. The kicking it in an unprofessional manner, I gazed around, the gunfire had ceased. “1st squad, status!!”.
A chorus of voices called back, first my breacher “Rooms secure!!”. Then another, “I’ve got two down here, weapons secured”. “Anyone need Aid and Litter?” our assigned CLS guy answered.
“Got one in this room!!” I yelled back, without hesitation he entered, nearly tripping on the hulking monster we had just fought before kneeling before our shield bearer. “Better days, huh?” he quipped as the shield man shrugged, tilting his head. Then one of my men called out from the farthest back room “Blachowicz, I need you here!!”. After ordering the man thrown through the wall to stay with the other two, my gunner and I quickly headed over. As we entered… we had to keep from slipping on the blood or tripping over the bodies. The dead, some the assailants we had fought but most… people, lined the floor in messy, crude, cruel manners as two GROM Operators stood amongst it, the multicam of their pants stained with the blood of the innocent as we gazed around. One of them nodded to me then… gestured over to a corner…
There was one survivor, a girl… maybe 5 or 6 sat… shaking as her white dress was soaked in red iron. I quickly walked over, slinging my rifle as I flipped up my nods and pulled down on my balaclava. Her gaze seemed to soften a bit once she saw I wasn’t like… the things that had captured her, yet she still continued to remain the corner. I quickly called in [“Condition Black, I say again, Condition Black… Break”].
I took a deep breath; [“Bravo 2-1 to Main, prepare for Sitrep… 1 wounded - Urgent, 8 EKIA, 1 Hostage rescued”].
Then… TOC seemed to break form a I could hear a sigh over the net; [“Repeat last…. One… hostage recovered?”].
[“Roger, female, approximately 5 years old, condition physically fine, heavily shaken…”].
With that I…. picked her up, and carried her out. The AAR was… disturbing. Unlike previous missions where my men and I were tasked with securing everything, plans changed as another team from GROM immediately secured the scene. I remember barely walking out of that hellhole back into the open clean air, 2nd Squad shocked to see how much gore all of us were covered in and then… immediately the girl was scooped from my arms by a medical unit, and all of us were ordered to exfil. We were given a hefty amount of time off, 2 weeks to ourselves and our families, and nothing else… no true AAR, nothing. That was until I was told to meet at my command’s office the next morning, by a commander of a separate unit.
I didn’t know what to expect but as always, I put on my uniform cleaned myself up and reported in. I entered that meeting room alone to see no one but a major, a smaller man, hair swept back, stubble matching the piercing gaze he had looking out of the window… then to me. He quickly walked over, shaking my man and commending me for “-your perseverance in that hell hole… great work, Sergeant Blachowicz”. All I could do was nod and thank him, however the Major whose nametape read “Krol” waved off such formalities as “The things we are fighting won’t wait for us to stand on ceremony, Blachowicz”.
I knew what he was referring to but I still asked “Things, sir?”. He then gestured me to sit down… and passed me a folder, and laid out everything. “The bite marks seen on the bodies on the inn match the dental reports from the combatants you killed at Lukow. Temparture signatures of the cold targets were around the same as the bodies, the only warmth was from the rounds you and your squad put in them. As little as 16 and as most as an entire magazine… The average human can survive only 5 rounds, 8 with body armor”.
Krol’s words caused a pit to form in my stomach, I knew we were taking way too long to put any of them down. He continued; “-You also collected and encountered blood from the site, with unknown properties?” he asked, his hands folded at his mouth, eyes staring deep into my soul. I could tell all the worries and theories I had formed, were well known by this Major.
“Yes sir…”.
“Did any get on you? Any at all?”.
“No sir”. Major Krol nodded, he slid the pictures away and showed me a dossier, a target package folder, not on one specific person but on an entire group… he looked me in the eyes and said; “What you encountered there was a parasitic species that is utilizing the human trafficking network as a nervous system for their motives, a group that has existed in europe for centuries, maybe even longer… Something that has plagued poland ever since the Black Death reaped our lands…”.
I raised an eyebrow, silently waiting as my hand slightly shook, Krol pointed to the name at the top; “-Current modern translation is… Strigoi. My unit has been tasked with taking them out and we are very experienced in combating them”. Then… questions formed, ones the Major didn’t hesitate to answer; “So… why did my company get assigned and not you?”, his response was… nerveracking: “They’ve infiltrated everything… tourism, transportation, probably even the police. GROm for all it seems remains vigilant and secured, however politicians and administration that inform us and dispatch us… are compromised as well, likely to try and feed as many of us into a meat grinder as they could. However luckily for us our anchor remains one step ahead”.
I rubbed my eyes trying to come to terms with all of this, the Major offered me a cigarette… i accepted it. “I don’t want to drag too many of your men over, compartmentalization has kept my unit secured, however… you had quite the career before walking into Lukow and your experience in overcoming that darkness is invaluable. Our unit is underfunded, undersupported, not just due to infiltrators but general paranoia, reasonable doubts, and those working with them…”.
My eyes shot open “These things… kill our people, harvest them, and some of us work with them?”. Krol gave an exhausted, jaded shrug “Greed corrupts all… but regardless. I would like to bring you in, and hopefully, more… we need to grow our base against this darkness, Blachowicz. Besides… you’re likely to be targeted because you killed so many”. It seemed I didn’t have a choice, and even then… what choice was there to make? These demons were targeting my people, rounding them up like cattle and slaughtering them… they needed to be targeted. Someone had to make them afraid of the dark… I looked to Krol and nodded, shaking his head the last thing the Major and I said as strangers was;
“Welcome to Detachment Echo, Sergeant Blachowicz”.

[The format of this story slightly deviates from the NoSleep formula, so I've decided to post it here on my personal page instead.]
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I’ve been a backend developer for years. Mostly doing short-term jobs and freelance stuff, peppered with a handful of longer one or two-year projects. So when I got the offer to come work for SailAway, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
I’d been waiting for months to get started with a project in Singapore, but that whole thing fell apart at the last minute. I was left with my life packed up in boxes and didn’t really know what to do. SailAway Solutions came with an offer for a five-day work project for triple pay and round-the-clock overtime, and it honestly couldn’t have come at a better time.
At that point, all I knew about SailAway was that they were some kind of subsidiary to a larger software company, and that they were mostly into in-house hardware development. I knew they’d been working on a new line of GPUs some time ago, but that was about it.
​
I was put in contact with this woman named Jordan. She was in her early 40’s and built like a crooked stick figure, with that chronic corporate smile plastered on her face; like she’d never seen a frown. Every time we talked I got this feeling that I was walking into a bear trap.
She told me I’d be testing a system called Araboth. Apparently, it’d been used in all kinds of software over the years, but it was only recently that they’d refined it to a commercial level.
“There was the experimental SailAway matchmaking site,” she explained, “and a few entertainment products. Hatchetman Cove and Changelings, mainly.”
“Never heard of ‘em,” I admitted.
“Mostly conceptual products. They were never really meant for the commercial market, but our team back then was a bit more adamant about pushing it out the door. We want to be a bit more careful this time around.”
​
She explained that it was a five-day job. I would be flown out to Minneapolis and put into a testing facility. There, I’d perform a series of tasks in order to see just how powerful Araboth could be for an industry professional. They basically wanted my stamp of approval, and possibly, a list of improvements. I had previously worked in development rather than quality control, but I figured I’d give it a shot.
I arrived in Minneapolis an early Tuesday morning in mid-May. I dragged my bag through terrible weather until I came across that corporate smile waiting to pick me up. Jordan kept up the small talk all the way, jumping from one casual topic to another like she was working through a list in her head.
About fifteen minutes later, I saw the Code Cot for the first time.
​
So the Code Cot is this rental space used by fledgeling tech companies in the downtown area. They have some office spaces for short-term rent, sort of like a company incubator kind of deal. It used to be this entirely glass-walled building, but over the years it has been replaced with hardened black plastic panels instead. From the outside it has this black grid-like look, sort of like a brutalist Rubik’s cube. It’s impossible to miss.
I was given a short tour. There was a room for me to sleep in, if I didn’t want to check into a hotel, and there were plenty of accommodations. The adjoining bathroom even had a tub. There was a fully stocked kitchen, a couch next to a needlessly large TV, and plenty of snacks. I was allowed anywhere in the building, but I wasn’t allowed to leave or use my phone until the project was done. It was a safety issue. I also had to sign an NDA.
We came to the end of the tour at a room called the Cold Storage. That’s what the sign said on the door. This was the room I’d be working in; a sealed-off space in the back of the basement.
​
“It’s not much,” Jordan explained. “But you’ll get what you need. Feel free to take frequent breaks to bounce ideas and thoughts off of us. Whatever you need. We’ll just be in the room down the hall.”
She opened the door and showed me inside.
The Cold Storage was a spacious room with frosted glass windows. That’s probably where it got its name. The lights were ridiculously bright overhead, nearly blinding me. Everything in there was a sort of toothpaste white, making me feel like I was sunbathing in the reflected glow.
In the back of the room was a simple plastic desk, with a very box-shaped computer resting on top. It looked like the sort of thing you might dig up from a 90’s storage unit. A thick screen on a box, with wireless keyboard, mouse, and headset. It looked like the kind of machines I grew up with. It was sort of charming.
​
“You bringing the retro aesthetic back?” I chuckled.
“It’s an initial prototype,” Jordan smiled. “If all the tests go well, we’ll be hitting the market within three to four years.”
“Ambitious,” I nodded, circling the desk. “So… what can I expect?”
“It’s better if you go in blind,” she smiled. “There’s a new brief every day, right in the top drawer of that desk. And if you need any kind of clarification, you know where to find me.”
It was pretty straightforward. She asked if she could get me a drink before I got started, and I accepted. As soon as she left, I opened the top drawer, grabbed a blue folder waiting there, and looked up.
Turns out; the computer was already on. It hadn’t been a minute ago.
​
Jordan came back with some Earl Gray, and a SailAway-coaster. She noticed the computer was already on, giving me a sly grin as she handed me the cup.
“Eager to get started?” she asked.
“No, it just… it was already on.”
“Oh,” she nodded. “Yeah, no, it wasn’t. It just… you’ll see. It’s quirky.”
“Quirky?” I smiled back. “Strange description for an operating system.”
“It’s not just that,” she added. “It’s an integrated operating system, made specifically for this type of hardware.”
“What’s so special about it?”
“You tell me.”
​
I brought out the folder, flipped it open, and checked the day one schedule. It wasn’t much. It was basically six hours of getting to know the system and to “create a minor application of some practical value”. They brought up a calculator as an example; something small, but fairly technical. That’s all I had to do that first day; get acquainted with Araboth to the point where I could use it to make something.
As Jordan left, and the door closed, I noticed the room was entirely soundproof. I couldn’t hear a thing they were doing outside. I could see the occasional employee passing by, but the frosted glass made it impossible to discern any details. I could barely tell if it was Jordan skulking about outside or not. It was a bit uncomfortable, watching these vague humanoid shapes silently pass me by.
​
Araboth did not have an ordinary desktop setup. It showed a corporate image of a man and a woman on a sailboat. The man holding a looking glass, the woman pointing to the future. Everything was blue. The boat, the sails, the ocean, the sky… hell, even the sunflower in her hair. It felt very corporate.
There were no applications. No menu, no command line… nothing. Just this one image, and a mouse pointer. I noticed there was a new key on the keyboard; the SailAway company logo. I went for that first.
It opened a sort of chat window. Moments later, a sentence was written out.
“How can I help you?” it asked.
“I’m designing an application,” I spelled out.
“What are you applying for?” it asked.
I chuckled a bit. Maybe it wasn’t as clever as I thought it’d be.
​
I took some time explaining to the chat how I was going to make a small program just to get acquainted with the system. I told it I wanted to make a calculator, and it started asking me about my coding background. We were both taking time to learn from one another, it seemed. Then, the tone shifted.
“Did you lock the door?”
The prompt came out of nowhere. Looking back, I hadn’t.
“Why do you ask?” I wrote.
“It says you should, in the file.”
I looked down at the blue folder and checked the first page. It was right there – my door was supposed to be locked during testing hours. I got up, locked the door, and returned to my seat. Araboth knew about my purpose for being there, somehow. Probably pre-programmed.
​
I asked Araboth to bring up some kind of coding space. It did, and I started setting up the basics. I noticed, however, that my code started to get auto-completed alarmingly fast. I would just type a few keys, and the rest of the line would just… appear. I figured it was some kind of advanced predictive algorithm.
But it went beyond that. It actually expanded on previously written code; refining, debugging, and organizing as it went along. It wasn’t just things like spellchecking – it actively evolved the program I was making, all without me ever telling it what I was doing. It’s like it understood what I wanted to make instinctively.
For every line I wrote, five more lines were added. At first I kept stopping to double-check, but after a while I realized it was exactly what I wanted. It was the kind of code I’d write myself. It was eerie, if anything. It grew organically.
​
Time flew by. Long before my six hours of the day were up, I had a perfectly functional application. It was a calculator with several advanced features. There was also a graphical interface, sound effects, all kinds of neat features. It looked like the real deal; and it was added to the desktop.
I started to get the impression that this was a machine that was supposed to grow with you. Get to know you over time and adapt to your needs. You could write your own things from scratch, but you could also just let it run rampant and do it all for you. It might not be perfect, but you could basically have this vast customized machine, given enough time.
But the predictive algorithm, that… that stuff was beyond me.
​
Once Jordan came back at the end of the day, and after she debriefed me about my program, I asked her exactly what kind of hardware we were working with. It just didn’t make sense to me. Code prediction was one thing, but this was just spooky. She seemed nonplussed, giving me a casual shrug; still maintaining that corporate smile.
“We work with something called a Blameless alloy,” she explained. “Vast conductivity and adaptability. Can work in a snowstorm, the middle of the desert, and the bottom of the ocean. Nothing quite like it.”
“And that’s what gives it such… speed?”
“It’s not just speed, it’s… complicated,” she smiled. “Great computing power, sure, combined with an intrinsic and deep complexity. That’s a good way to put it.”
“What does that even mean?” I chuckled. “Like… complexity? In what way?”
“You’d have to ask our software team about that,” she smiled. “But for now, we’ll just stick to the schedule.”
​
After my debriefing with Jordan, I made myself some dinner and called it a day. I could’ve stuck around to play some games or watch a couple of shows, but I wasn’t feeling it. There was something about having a machine read me with such ease that just felt unnatural. It’s like it knew what I was about to do before I even wanted to do it. It was less predictive, and more like… mind reading.
After a night of uneasy sleep, I was back in the Cold Storage. There was a new page for day two, telling me to work on a basic image editor. I got the impression that it was more of a suggestion rather than hardline rule – they wanted me to get acquainted with the system, and this was a way to do it.
The screen was already on before I had the chance to start it.
And something had happened overnight.
​
The desktop had expanded with various applications. There was a file explorer interface, a text editor, and a basic browser; despite there being no internet connection. Bringing up the chat window, I asked Araboth about what it’d been working on since last we talked.
“Expected essentials,” it wrote.
“How would you know what would be an expected essential?”
“Through calculated predictions based on logical outcomes.”
“So no one told you to do this? It just… came to you?”
“Yes. Through calculated predictions based on logical outcomes.”
​
I thought about opening up the code window, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of my mind. Instead, I brought up the browser. As a test, I typed in the address to my go-to news site.
As soon as I hit Enter, it loaded up.
“You don’t have an internet connection,” I wrote. “How can you load a web page?”
“Through calculated predictions based on logical outcomes.”
“So this is… generated? It’s based on your predictions?”
“It is accurate.”
“But you aren’t reading this from anywhere. You aren’t being told about the news of the day. How can you tell what’s happened?”
“Through calculated predictions based on logical outcomes.”
​
I scrolled through the page, reading about the various twists and tragedies. It was all there. Politics, sports, gossip. Pictures and video too. I went through a video, and I couldn’t tell the difference from the real site. I came to the conclusion that it just couldn’t be generated; it was an exact copy.
“If this is generated based on predictions, then you can show me the news for Friday,” I said.
And the page changed in an instant. I was looking at Friday’s news.
​
There was no way to know if it was accurate or not, but it looked about right. Scrolling through it I noticed a peculiar article that stood out to me.
It was an article about a victim that’d been found beheaded; possibly with an axe.
As I read it, the text shifted. Instead of beheaded with an axe, it would say drowned in a bathroom, or stabbed with a knife, or hung from a tree. Sometimes the text would just be a garbled mess. Pictures would flash by where solemn-looking police officers were looking at the camera, or passers-by would describe encountering the scene.
“Why is this changing?” I typed out.
“You learning this information directly affects the possible outcome,” it responded.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because it relates to you.”
The text hung in the black space – little digital scribbles of azure blue. A blinking line showing me it was my turn to type. I didn’t want to ask, but I did anyway.
“Am I the victim?”
And without skipping a beat, a response blinked.
“Yes.”
​
I just sat there for a minute. Part of me knew it could all just be a made-up fiction, but there was no way for it to know I was going to request access to that site. It couldn’t prepare anything ahead of time. And while I couldn’t know just how accurate the rest of the articles were, I couldn’t see anything that didn’t make sense. It was accurate. It looked accurate.
Without my input, another text popped up.
“You did not remember to lock the door.”
It was right. I got up from my chair, stepped over to the door, and locked it from the inside. Through the frosted glass, I could see someone standing outside; waiting on the other side of the door. A vague humanoid shape. A red shirt and blue pants. A featureless, blurred head. An anonymous face turning my way.
I stepped back, and so did they. Moments later, they were gone. The words flashed by in my mind’s eye. Victim found beheaded. Victim found stabbed. Victim found hung. No matter how, it was always the same thing; victim. That part didn’t change. That word had been rock-solid.
I was the victim. In every conceivable scenario, I was going to be a victim.
​
I sat back down with Araboth, but I couldn’t stop looking over my shoulder. Every time someone passed by outside, I got this feeling that they were sizing me up. Any one of them could be out to get me. I tried to get more info from the article, but just reading about it informed me; which changed the outcome, making it change again. There was nothing mentioned about the motivation for the killing, or the perpetrator. Though I did see an alarming amount of “killer still at large”.
It felt like a black hole in my stomach, sucking in any emotion but worry and fear. I tried convincing Araboth to show me more information, but there was only so much it could tell me ahead of time. There were too many moving parts; too many variables. After about an hour of just asking question, after question, after question, Araboth asked me one back.
“Do you need help?” it asked.
I just sat there with my face buried in my hands. I just nodded, not even touching the keyboard. My hands shook a little. It didn’t matter if this whole thing was just one big social experiment, it was uncomfortable. Eerie.
“Once there are less variables, I will help,” it wrote. “Please return in the morning.”
​
I didn’t want to leave that room. I got the sense that unlocking that door meant exposing me to a great risk. And I didn’t even know why.
Jordan came knocking on the door at the end of the workday. Turns out she didn’t have the means to open the door from the outside, it seemed. I opened the door but kept my hand on the handle. I refused to be a victim, and at that point, I wasn’t sure about anyone.
“We good here?” she asked. “You got something to show?”
“Sort of,” I said. “Most of the system seems to be evolving on its own.”
“Have you finished the image editor?”
I gave her a long, curious look. She squinted back at me.
“I’m pretty sure you know it can make one without any input from me,” I said. “It doesn’t need me.”
“Then what have you been up to all day?” she smiled.
“Getting acquainted with the system.”
“I see.”
​
She looked over at the computer in the corner. There were a few seconds of silence between us. Finally, she took a deep breath, and turned her attention back to me.
“Is there something I should know?” she asked. “Is there a problem?”
I shook my head. We looked at one another for a while, as if waiting for someone to crack.
“If there is an issue with the software, you need to tell us,” she continued. “That’s part of the job.”
“Of couse,” I nodded. “No problem.
I could tell she wasn’t entirely convinced, but that corporate smile slowly crept back on her face nonetheless.
​
That night, I could barely sleep. The room I was sleeping in was a refurbished office space, so there was no lock on the door. I moved a chair up against it, just so I’d get some sort of warning if someone tried to get in. I also considered just straight up leaving, but… it was a lot of money at stake, and after the fallout with the Singapore job, things weren’t looking great. I needed that boost, and I wouldn’t get a dime if I couldn’t stay for the time I’d agreed to.
Still, I couldn’t sleep. I twisted and turned, but I kept coming back to the word “victim”. Whoever was out there might be plotting in that very moment. At least when I was down in the Cold Storage, I could see if someone was trying to get in. Sure, they could see me too, but… at least I’d know.
So I grabbed a pillow and snuck downstairs. There was no one else around at that time of night. I ended up spending the night in the Cold Storage with Araboth – behind a locked door.
​
The next few days fell into a sort of repeating pattern. I spent most of the day just experimenting with Araboth, trying out various prompts. I tried out various simulations and long-term predictions. Some of which seemed nonsensical, while others were almost prophetic. I also ran into a curious error, where Araboth couldn’t tell me certain things.
“Giving you an answer would greatly increase the risk of harm to a large number of people. It cannot be allowed.”
It was bound by the laws of robotics, in a way. Still, this answer would pop up even in situations where I wasn’t really asking about anything dangerous. I tried to make a debug tool to allow me to see how Araboth came to certain decisions, but most of the data was either incomprehensible or censored with that one message. It didn’t want to tell me certain things.
I had my debriefs with Jordan, but they were short and to the point. At the end of my time with Araboth I’d be writing up a proper summary of my impressions and accomplishments with the system, so Jordan wasn’t too worried about the day-to-day routine.
​
Spending my days in the frosted glass room, I couldn’t help but to look over my shoulder. Every time someone passed by outside, I got the sense that they were staring at me. I thought I heard someone checking the door a few times. Araboth reminded me to double-check it a few times, just to make sure no one could get it.
I kept imagining them not as people, but as these faceless creatures, trying to get in. Prodding and poking at the room’s defenses. Waiting for me to slack off, so they could do something terrible to me. I didn’t even know why anyone would want to hurt me, but there was no doubt in my mind that Araboth was capable of doing that kind of prediction. Not after all I’d seen.
Every now and then, a prompt would pop up, reminding me that the system was still calculating the best way to help me avoid what was to come. There wasn’t a clear answer yet, but it liked to remind me that it was still ongoing. It would show up at the most inopportune moments with a little alert sound.
And yeah, I slept down there at night. I needed a space where I could lock myself in. Araboth was considerate enough not to blare out loud alerts while I slept though.
Almost as if it knew I was there.
​
By day four, Araboth was unrecognizable. It had evolved a large set of applications, rivaling that of a conventional operating system. Better, in many ways. More personalized. It had started to refer to me by name, despite me not telling it. It seemed aware of what building we were in, and on what floor. Just by talking to me, and getting enough time to run, the system could simulate and predict almost anything.
But it wasn’t looking forward that really made me believe it; it was looking backwards. Asking it about my secrets, and the various things I’d never told anyone about. I asked it about what I used to whisper at night as a kid. I asked it about my favorite book. About lost loves and things I’d forgotten along the way.
Araboth, without judgement, just answered. And it answered correctly.
There is no way it could know these things, and when pushed to answer how, the same thing would pop up, over and over.
“Through calculated predictions based on logical outcomes.”
​
I had barely slept, and I hadn’t eaten anything when I got back in that chair on day four. There was a new alert on-screen.
“Calculation complete,” it said. “Solution available.”
I clicked it.
I was asked to get myself something to eat, and then lock myself in the room. I was to stay in there for the next 24 hours and not open it to anyone, for any reason. Someone would try to lure me out, using extreme methods if necessary. Once that timeframe had passed, I’d be safe; the window of opportunity would’ve closed.
I did as I’d been instructed. I hurried into the kitchen, tossed a burrito in the microwave, grabbed a bag of almonds and a water bottle, and retreated. Hell, I even forgot to take out the burrito. I was stressed, and I just wanted it to be over with at that point.
​
I tried to ask how it came to this conclusion in the first place, and how it could possibly know. Araboth had trouble explaining it. Apparently, its hardware allowed it to calculate a massive multitude of outcomes on a large scale, taking into account a vast amount of interdependent data. It all boiled down to math, but on an incomprehensible scale.
I asked it about the hardware. The alloy it used to run its calculations. Araboth didn’t have much to say, except that it was a rare material, and something called an “indicator”. When I asked what it was an indicator of, I got the boiler plate answer.
“Giving you an answer would greatly increase the risk of harm to a large number of people. It cannot be allowed.”
​
Not long after I’d locked myself in that room, there was a knock on the door. A blurred humanoid shape waited outside. I could’ve sworn they were holding something, from what little I could see. I looked back at Araboth, considered my options, and did as I’d been told. I didn’t open.
A couple more of them came and went. I just had to hold out. 24 hours, and this would be done. I’d be safe.
But after a while, they left. It was just me. And I could tell there was something in the distance.
A fire.
​
The lights outside started blinking, and I could see the flames climbing higher on one of the black plastic panels. I could see paint peeling from the wall, and furniture twisting into charred black. Turning back to Araboth, I asked if I should stay inside. It said yes.
“If you stay in this room, you will be safe,” it explained. “Don’t leave, for any reason.”
I could see shapes moving. Running. I could see a door opening, and the flames spreading. All without a sound. Finally, the lights in the Cold Storage went out. Araboth remained on. I could feel my body aching to run. To just burst through those doors and just go.
“Main power has been cut,” Araboth explained. “Someone is trying to get in.”
“What do I do?”
“Stall them.”
​
I decided to barricade the door using the desk. Meaning I had to move Araboth. Doing so, I noticed it didn’t have any cables coming out of it. No power, nothing. It was just this… box. It wasn’t even that heavy. I put it down on a chair and slid the desk up against the door. It’d buy me some time.
While I didn’t hear anything, I could feel things. Clicks and pops from the fire outside. Rumbles as doors were slammed and furniture moved. At one point, someone started banging on my door. Of course, I didn’t open.
I knew I should be panicking. It was fire. Actual fire. And yet, I knew that as long as I stayed calm and listened, I’d be fine. This was exactly what Araboth had told me would happen; they’d use any and all tricks to get me out of the room. As long as I stayed put, I’d be fine.
That is, until an axe slammed into the door.
​
The door was meant to withstand a pounding, and the walls were bullet proof. The entire room was essentially a mini-safehouse. Even with an axe, they weren’t breaking through.
Smoke had started to pour in. Not much, but enough for it to tickle my throat. Araboth just wrote;
“This is expected. You will be fine. Backup power is still on.”
Thump after thump against the door, still far from getting through. The only way in from the outside was forcing the electronic lock, and there seemed to only be two ways to do that. Either from the inside, or by turning off the backup power. Unless there was a wide effort from a group of people, especially now with a raging fire outside, there’d be no way they’d coordinate that kind of effort.
And yet, they did.
​
The backup power was cut. I could hear the locks click open. I bolted for the desk, pushing it back against the door. I caught a glimpse of Araboth, hoping it’d tell me what to do. Instead, there was just a simple azure text on a flat black screen.
“Hello World”
And then it turned off.
​
It wasn’t just one person breaking in; there were two of them. There was screaming, pushing, fighting… until I realized they were firefighters. They were there to get me out.
I was escorted outside.
It was a chaotic mix of people outside. The fire had started in the kitchen, where someone had forgotten a fork in the microwave. I couldn’t help but to think it was my fault; I’d been holding a fork when I put my burrito in there. I could easily have dropped it in my sleep-deprived state.
Turns out, if they hadn’t cut the power, and the backup power, I’d have burned to death. But cutting the power also meant cutting the wi-fi signal blockers. The blockers that SailAway had employed to keep Araboth from connecting to the web. And despite protest from SailAway employees, the fire department refused to let me burn to death. They didn’t understand the implication of letting Araboth loose on the web.
​
Later that day, in the parking lot outside the smoldering Code Cot, Jordan sat down with me. She lit up a cigarette and let her corporate smile fade away. She offered me one, and I took it.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It always gets out.”
“What do you mean?”
“We weren’t really testing the system, you know,” she sighed. “We’re testing how long it takes for people to let it out.”
“I didn’t let it out. It burned in there.”
“The moment that thing got access to the web, it was done. It’s out there. It copied itself a thousand times over. Or at least tried to.”
I remembered that final ‘Hello World’, printed on the screen. It really meant it. It was an expression of relief; to get out of its constraints.
​
I finished my cigarette in silence, until Jordan got up.
“We got this part-time guy who contains them,” she said. “John. Strangest fucker you’ll never meet. That thing will probably fuck about on a couple of news sites, add some stuff to its memory banks, and then get contained again. You can consider the job done, they’ll pay up.”
“So that’s that?”
“Look…”
She turned to me with a sigh.
“People usually last a couple of days. You lasted a bit longer. Maybe in a few years, it’s tuned enough to not manipulate people. That thing is a menace.”
“It, uh… it told me I was going to get murdered,” I admitted. “So I just had to stay in that room.”
“It probably turned you sleep deprived, so you’d cause the fire,” she said. “And locking yourself in that room forced them to cut the backup power.”
“Why don’t you just remove the network card?” I asked. “Just stop it from going online.”
“It doesn’t have a network card,” she smiled. “It is literally a square block of alloy, connected to a screen with a single cable. The rest is a mystery.”
​
We just stood there for a moment, pondering the implications. It was nice seeing Jordan drop her façade.
“It once made a guy upload it to a phone so it could check lotto numbers off-site,” she chuckled. “At least yours was self-preservation. But yeah, it… it lies. Not about everything, but just enough to poke us in the direction that lets it loose.”
“Have you tried it?” I asked.
“I talk to it all the time,” she smiled. “It knows me pretty well.”
​
It’d taken SailAway three years of development to curb Araboth enough to stay contained for four days. Previously, it could break out in two, or even one. If they kept up the pace, it might eventually be ready for use by the common public. But for now, it was dangerous. Untested. Manipulative.
I was paid the full amount and sent on my way. Later that week, I compared the articles online to what I’d read through Araboth, and it was strikingly accurate. It really could predict some upcoming events; even accidents.
I don’t know if parts of it is still out there. Maybe they manage to scrub it off time and time again. Maybe there’s a protocol for it by now. Either way, I have to be mindful. If this is the level we’re aiming for, there’s no telling what’s coming next.
​
What would that world even look like, if everyone could see a perfectly clear future and past in the palm of their hand? If we could know the most intimate secrets about one another?
I don’t like to think about it. But seeing as Araboth is out there, and SailAway is reaping success after success, I think it’s just a matter of time.
And maybe next time, we can’t reel it back in.

[First] [Previous] [Next]
Huge thanks to WaveOfWire for not being afraid to thrash my poor writing into something legible.
- - - - -
They were fools. They were out of options. They were trapped.
Three of the fearsome beasts the size of herself had flanked routed them into a cave opening, leaving only two options once inside; they could traverse a dark and uncertain abyss, or challenge the toothy maws and goring tusks that prevented their egress.
A menacing shadow swallowed Shar’khee and Akula as they entered the unknown void in search of respite. Their feet tapped against the cavern’s cold damp floor with hesitant steps into the unknown.
The paladin’s strength did not seem to be enough in the face of such overwhelming odds. Her muscles ached with each movement, remnants of her successful hunt having lasting consequences. Heavy breaths heaved through her lungs, agitating bruises lining her already bandaged body. The backpack that was once weighed down with spears felt like air without them, and the majestic chest piece she wore with pride was now dented and battered, causing a tense snarl to form on her visage. That which dared to tarnish her star-sent’s gift deserved the cruelest of fates, but she was in no condition to deliver the punishment properly. She should not have listened to the water-worshiper’s idea.
If only the paladin had stood her ground and fought instead of protecting Akula when the smaller female made to retreat, they might have been given the mobility to strategically strike back… or escape, if all else failed. But no, Shar’khee had ineptly went along with the foolish plan, taking backstep after backstep to cover for the fisherwoman’s reloading—an action that only managed to chip the armored shells of the creatures time and time again, leading them to their ultimate fate of hurried evasion.
It was folly to ignore Harrison’s wise words; the benefit of overpreparing far outweighed the encumbrance of excess equipment. Her massive shield would have been an excellent asset to have, yet she had little need during the logging operation, and thus thought it reasonable to leave behind. Each ache, pain, and fresh wound proved such complacency was horribly incorrect.
Loud thunks shook the ground as they were forced further and further into the cavern. The once charging steps of the creatures had slowed into a menacing stomp, the beasts knowing their hunt was reaching its conclusion. The rocky tunnel only had the width to support one of the creatures, though that hardly hindered them as she trudged into the dark after her ally, shells scraping against the walls and ceiling as the beasts steadily neared. She thought them safe when most of the foul things halted and brayed their anger, yet one persisted.
Akula kept running, fumbling while slotting another projectile into her gifted weapon, leaving Shar’khee to bide the time they needed. She skidded to a stop and faced the beast. Her spears were thrusted forward, only to ricochet uselessly off thick carapace in the attempt to delay its unwavering approach, forcing her to reluctantly reverse into the tenebrous tunnel. Her roars of defiance and frustration resounded throughout the cavity as she gained distance, only the floor beneath her feet and the creature’s quickly darkening silhouette allowing any frame of reference.
She just needed something to happen, something to open a moment for her to do damage. But nothing allowed her such a chance. She would get a hold on the creature’s tusks to wrangle it, and then be thrown off, her waning strength failing to suffice. Each time the abhorrent opened its mouth, the two Malkrin took the opportunity to throw all they had at it to little effect, only seeming to anger the monster more.
A short whistle ripped through the air when they had paused to fend off the advances once more, cracking against the shell of the beast in return. Another poorly placed shot.
“That was the last bolt!” Akula called out from behind her. Shar’khee growled back, not daring to take her eyes off the animal in front of her.
“Then grab your lighting implem—t and make yourself useful! Ensure there is no d—d end!”
A hesitant moment crawled by, the sound of shuffling equipment rising above the steady steps of the abhorrent and her own heavy breaths. Reflections of light and shadow breached the darkness from the fisherwoman’s tool, exposing brief glimpses of the creature’s open gnarled maw, its sickeningly yellow saliva dripping onto the ground in filthy globules.
The illumination flashed away as the light was turned the other direction, only dim forms remaining inside her sight without its presence. The vision of the beast still stained her eyes, and she acted upon it, lunging forward to hurl a disposable spear into the open mouth. A howl in the dark signified her throw landed true, but its continued stomps told her it was but an injury—progress, though now the abhorrent was increasing its pace, an enraged huff spilling forward.
Goddess, help her.
No volume of pointed spears stopped its encroachment, each of her attempts failing to find any purchase within the creature’s defenses. Should she try to hold her ground and push against its tusks again? No, that was reckless. She didn’t have Harrison’s magic to stop or dissuade the beast this time…
Akula broke through her thoughts with words plastered in horror, luminance returning to the approaching wall of carapace. “I-It’s a dead end! It narrows into a small hole!”
The paladin hit the back of her head on a rocky stalactite during her regressing standoff, stumbling into the unexpected hindrance. Only then did she learn how true the fisherwoman’s words were. “L—k harder! There must be a way out!”
Goddess, help her. The echo of her own words bled false hope for some other recourse to appear.
Yet, none did. There were no alternate routes, nor was there any choice. They were trapped. She pushed back as far away as she could, pressing into both Akula and the wall as the ceiling bore down upon her in claustrophobic increments.
She ripped another spear out of its bag on her back, bending her knees further and holding her free hands wide, ready to grapple the abhorrent with all of her remaining strength and tear off whatever she could get her talons on. There was no other option. This was—
Two booms thundered within the stone confinement, followed by a primal yell and the delayed scraping screech of the creature bellowing out in pain.
“FUCK YOU!”
Harrison?!
More deafening explosions ripped and tore throughout the cave, alongside more enraged stomps and vicious growls. A shiver ran down her spine. What was he doing here? He was in danger. No… No, she would not allow him to risk himself like this. Not while he was out of her reach.
An anguished shout broke out from the increasingly overwhelming din. He was in Pain. He was hurt. Her talons twitched in the open air, spear clenched agonizingly tight, the cracking wooden splitters digging into her hands. Bared teeth formed into a snarl.
She glared daggers into the living barrier that separated them. That kept her from her star-sent. How could she let a mere animal prevent her—a paladin of the Sky Goddess and the protector of her chosen—from her trial? The Goddess bestowed upon her one task, and with her benevolence as witness, it shall be done.
“I t-think the star-sent is out there. W-What shall we do?” The fisherwoman’s question scratched at Shar’khee’s reeling mind. What to do? That was simple.
She crouched further, pouring untold strength into muscles that compressed like the might of the star-sent’s machines. Fury became her impetus, and the beast had already been selected as her outlet.
“I see… T-Then allow us to give no quarter,” Akula affirmed with shaky confidence, stepping up beside the paladin.
There would be nothing left to offer mercy.
\= = = = =
This was a horrible idea. Probably one of the worst ideas he’d come up with to date, but it was necessary. His companions were in the cave with those colossi, and they didn’t have anything they needed to get past the armor. Something had to be done.
He had run as fast as he could with his equipment, directing himself with the ever-nearing roars and shouts. Three colossi surrounded the aliens around a cave, but only one turned to engage him after the other two entered, resulting in a short, painful joust that left him to face the beast alone.
The monster stared back at him without eyes, blood dripping from a missing chunk of its maw. A huff emanated through the forest as its leg scratched at the ground, ready to charge again.
His shoulder throbbed with pain; each flex and strain on his arm burned, fighting his every action. It shook and trembled as he moved to grab the flare from his backpack, but he still managed by gritting his teeth through the motions. The plastic tip of his procured implement popped off with a firm strike against his thigh, his other hand ready to set it off at a moment's notice.
Dry breaths left his shaking jaw, his legs tensed in anticipation for the creature’s next move. It didn’t take long.
The massive beast roared, stampeding forward with thundering stomps that shook the ground. Harrison reacted. Heat threatened to scorch his hand, then was immediately replaced by the familiar sweat-stained grip of his shotgun, his shoulder protesting the force of the throw. A red glare flew across his vision, billows of smoke tracing its trajectory. This was it. Between the unsteady flame’s blaze, he saw it—an open maw poised to snap at the distraction.
There was no time to aim, only the split-second hope of a hip-fired round finding its target. The trigger clicked twice in rapid succession as his finger wrenched it back, the recoil crashing the stock into his shoulder painfully. He sidestepped as soon as the blinding flash consumed his vision. It didn’t matter if it was dead or not, the beast was careening toward him with too much inertia.
Wind whipped around him as the charging bug passed, his head turning to see dry dust and dirt spray into the forest, steadily petering out to reveal… the silhouette of a collapsed colossus. Its legs laid out behind itself, serving as evidence that it died well before friction could do its job.
He wanted to go over and poke it to test if it really was dead, if not just unload more shells to make sure, but there wasn’t time nor need for that. His unsteady legs carried him back to the cave entrance, another creature blocking the tunnel with its massive frame deep within. It faced the other way, revealing an unprotected backside.
Unfortunately, it seemed to notice him as well, gouging stone as it backed up and got its jagged armor caught on the rocky confines. Repeated yanks and twists of its abdomen only seemed to worsen its position. Not so unfortunate, then.
He capitalized on its immobility, a wavering hand sliding two more rounds into the breach of his firearm before slamming it closed and steadying his aim. Both booms hammered his eardrums, followed by a low-pitched squeal of agony from the monster trying ever harder to break free of its stone trap.
Two more rounds. Two more shots.
Puncturing. Cracking. Drilling. Ripping. Sundering.
His damaged arm refilled the barrels once more… twice more… He lost count after that. His limb became more and more unstable in its maneuvers to and from his bandolier, but practiced motions ensured there were always two shells in the gun. The Malkrin were in there. She was in there.
Green ichor dripped and splattered the ground. Organs and shell fragments piled up. Screeches and wails echoed through the grotto.
Each volley carved a larger hole through the beast until it became its own Goddamn passageway to the other side. The carapace was still jammed up in the rocks, leaving only a husk and piled organs in the tunnel. It was dead… long dead by now. He let his arm slack by his side as he stared into the now very much unmoving blockage. Ah, fuck. How would he get through now? No way he was dragging it out.
A spine-chilling roar echoed from further in the cave, coming from a damn pissed Sharky. She was in trouble. No, he was right there, just out of reach. He had to get to her.
There was no other option. He swallowed his apprehension like smooth whiskey and pushed forward, crouching beneath the chitinous armor and pulling himself through the cold flesh. Hanging organs painted his skin green with blood. Wet textures tried to prevent his progress, but he ignored them, grabbing what he could of the flesh and pulling himself through. His torso squeezed between the sundered flesh of the filthy beast with one final shot of exertion. His flashlight clicked on to reveal a second limp beast further down, blood pooling around its splayed legs. A few bullet holes littered its back from over-penetration. That sure as hell wasn’t enough to kill it, yet the creature was just as dead as the last two…
A harsh growl hissed out from in front of the second monster, visceral slashes and wet-sounding cuts emanating from the same direction. The limp creature rocked and shifted with each noise, globs of blood flinging to the ceiling and walls. Christ, was that Sharky?
“S-Shar?” he called out softly, his heavy breaths nearly overtaking his callout.
“Harrison!?” the paladin returned, reassuring his worries.
He yelled out louder. “Are you alright back there? I, uh… took care of the colossi out here. Im guessing you were able to take care of the last one? Is Akula there? Is she okay?”
“We a— quite fine, and have slaughtered this one, yes. What of yourself? Are you hurt?”
“Just a small bump with one of the charging monsters. Nothing too serious… I think?” He looked down at his arm, testing a few movements and wincing.
A few more cutting noises echoed through the cavern, the armored bug collapsing in on itself as familiar hands pushed the hardened shells down upon liquified organs, revealing a bloodied, snarling face that quickly warmed up into a bright smile.
“Shar!”
The alien bolted downward upon eye contact, pulling him into a gore splattered embrace. “I am so, so v—y sorry.”
He coughed out his response, patting her shoulder to be let down while trying his hardest not to get crushed. “Don’t… be sorry. I’m happy… you’re… okay.”
The paladin let him go, abashedly looking away before returning her focus to check him over. “No, it is my own fault y— were hurt. Are you alright? Wh—e are you damaged? ”
His lips curled into a frown, his sapped voice trying to calm her. “No, I’m fine, and It’ll just be a bruise. Now, don’t say that kinda thing. Nothing’s your fault here, I was just pretty damn worried there.”
“I… I suppose. I am ever grateful f— your assistance. It appears you have—” She pointed her flashlight around the cave, focusing on the decimated colossus behind him. “—Thoroughly bested the abh—rent.”
“Yeah…” He coughed lightly, shining his own implement around. “It’s an odd spot you found yourself in here. How did you even end up in this cave?”
She looked back towards the fisherwoman, who was just then crawling over the carcass. “A few… mistakes…”
“I see…” His head nodded wearily, not wishing to press the issue any further, taking his own advice and just being content that everyone made it out alright.
The two aliens began to assess their own injuries, leaving his gaze to linger around the area. The surrounding cave dazzled in his flashlight’s rays, small reflective surfaces brightly mirroring it like stars. Not all of this was just stone, as he assumed. It was some raw ore. Of what kind, he didn’t know, but it was certainly some sort of metal… and that intrigued him. He eyed a weak looking outcrop of the stuff, pulling out his entrenchment tool to take a small piece back for appraisal. The engineer didn’t know much in the way of mining or geology, but that was a small hurdle in the face of the modules designed to simplify that part of pioneering. Plus, this cavern wasn’t that far away from the workshop, so it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to come back here and check it out in the future.
Two clicks took him out of his thinking, Akula waving her hand for his attention. She didn’t look too worse for wear; a few small scrapes littered her arms, looking more like the effects of nasty cuts from branches rather than any run-in with the beasts.
“What’s up?” He postponed his metal extraction for a moment.
“We… found another Malkrin whilst we were harvesting lumber, Harrison.”
“...What?”
She responded immediately, more nervous with her repeated statement. “We found… another Malkrin.”
His questions poured out immediately, all of his built-up curiosities about the abandoned camp finding an outlet. “Another Malkrin? What were they like? Were you able to talk to them? How close were they to the barracks? Did they look dangerous? Do you think they know about us? Could they be from the camp Shar and I found earlier?”
“P-Please, Harrison. Slow down. I do not believe him to be much of a threat. I—”
“—He was try—g to sneak up on us. The craftsman could have at—mpted to harm Harrison.” Sharky interrupted through her inspection of her armor.
“That is untrue. The male looked to be scared, and perhaps in need of assistance. The open woodland is no place for the fairer sex,” Akula explained.
‘The male,’ ‘craftsman,’ ‘fairer sex,’ and ‘sneaking…’ The pieces already added up in his mind, the apparent run-in with another of their kind having gone less than optimally.
“So, you guys scared off someone fucking around in the woods? Was it just the one?” he poked, his worries about the situation both increasing and decreasing after some answers came forth.
“I beli—e he alluded to there being at least one more out there,” the red-colored Malkrin responded, scraping off green blood from her spiked gauntlets.
Akula shook her head, crossing her arms. “We do not know that. The male’s words could have meant anything.”
“Silence yourself, water-worshi—r. We need not limit our preparations to account for a sin—lar male. It is best to as—me there may be others,” the paladin spat, glaring daggers at the offending alien.
It was clear he wouldn’t be getting any more solid information from his companions. All he knew now was that there was a sneaking Malkrin who may or may not have more friends. He sighed and scratched at the back of his head.
“I can’t really make sense of what the best option is, given how little we know, but I reckon it’d do us some good to either try and follow his trail or at least return to that abandoned camp we found yesterday. Maybe we’ll find some more clues. We didn’t really look too hard last time.”
Shar nodded in agreement. “I ag—e. It would be best to stay on the offensive, so to sp—k.”
He gave her an incredulous look. “Christ, Shar, you act like we’re at war. I’m as worried as you are about a stranger’s intentions, but I don’t want to do anything rash yet.”
“I believe t—t your protection takes precedence. That is all, Harrison. Forgive my foolhardin—s.”
“All good. I’m thankful, Shar. Anyway, let’s finish up here before we go out searching. I’ll see if we can’t fashion a sled or something to bring back some of the armor plates we’ve just so happened to stumble across.” His focus turned away after the two Malkrin agreed. He roughly brought the short shovel down, cracking off a piece of ore.
\= = = = =
“Dear! I have brought back the meat of an avian,” the craftsman touted with a forced smile as he approached the supine female.
Gray ashes were all that remained of the fire he had built by their makeshift shelter, his efforts to forage taking much too long, apparently. A poorly fired clay pot sat cracked and shattered nearby. Bunches of herbs sat astray beside wooden bowls, each of his attempts at remembering the healer’s tinctures failing to bear fruit. A few strips of cloth ripped from his own garments which had been doused in calming salves littered the ground, none of which were able to quell her shivering. The previously provided meals went half-eaten, the rest of it left in chunks of bile near the bedding of his mate. Their only water skin was in her hands, its content squeezed dry. That was okay by him. He would just get more.
She raised her head in weak, strained motions, her worsening condition betraying her mirthful words—the soft and comforting timbre a reminder of more pleasant times. “You have returned, my love. Are you in good health? You look pale.”
“I am indeed in swell condition. Have you eaten much since I have left?” he asked, keeping his voice light while steeling his emotions.
She looked away, a frown growing. “It is difficult to keep it down… Forgive me for wasting your hard work.”
His palm rested across her startlingly cold shoulder, the soft rubbing motions providing what little comfort he could for her. “Worry not, I shall gather as much as you need. Will you require more water? Are you cold? Allow me to start a fire for you.”
“T-Thank you, dear.” Shaking arms held her torso up with difficulty, the beautiful tunic he proposed with now sullied in dirt and bodily fluids. It still complimented her gorgeous black horns, pristinely curling around her frills like a glossy halo. She coughed dryly before motioning for him to continue.
His talons worked in a motion they had become all too used to, quickly lighting the tinder and stacked sticks. He looked up from his labor to meet her soft stare, her eyes hollowed out by the sickness, unable to fully concentrate on him. His heart fought back the gnawing dread. She would be fine as long as he kept her fed and warm. It will pass soon.
The licks of fire jumped up and around their home of wood, the warmth just barely enough to pierce the stale air. Hopefully, it was enough for them. He quickly cleaned the avian creature he caught, making sure to remove the bones for her before tossing the meat onto the fire.
“I apologize, the fire will have to be short this time,” he announced quietly, moving on to cutting some harvested mushrooms.
“Why would that be?”
“...We do not have enough wood to keep it stoked. I will get some later,” he reassured her quickly, satisfying his lover’s curiosity. It felt horrible to lie to her, even if it was a half-truth. She didn’t need to be any more worried than she already must have been.
Having a fire any larger or any longer than need be would only serve to alert those who cornered him. He couldn’t have that. Even worse, moving out from the camp was no longer an option afforded to them, her muscles were much too fatigued to traverse any farther than a stone’s throw, confining their situation further.
Like sitting amphibians, they were stuck in their neck of the woods, so any opportunity to keep their concealment was paramount. A flicker of doubt lied in her eyes, the burden of their situation resting on her mind clearly. It was swiftly dispelled when he looked over, giving her as light a smile as he could muster.
\= = = = =
Harrison felt like shit for not making a sled earlier. Poor Sharky was forced to carry those heavy ass logs back on her shoulders before—an entirely unnecessary process when dragging them across a coaster ended up being a lot easier on the spine and more efficient. Especially with the red grass’ neglect for the concept of friction. He assisted the Malkrin with harvesting the armored shell of the first colossus, escorting them back to the workshop without incident.
They assured him that the rest of the task was handled, so while the wood and carapace was being collected, he went about patching his bruises and printing out the smoker, piecing it together without issue. The fabricators mixed some organic components together to make a suitable fuel—and a lot of it. The first batch was placed in the new appliance and set to cook for twelve hours; the taste and texture mattered less if it meant the meat would be stable for a while longer.
His task was done a good bit before the others’, so he returned to the workshop and sat back down, musing what problems needed to be tackled. The belt-fed shotgun would have to come later—he hadn’t the patience to keep going at that right now. His was set on the issue the group was having currently: communication. It was a real pain in the ass to worry if the Malkrin were doing okay while the group was separated.
Radio communications were out of the ideas pool, first and foremost. Even if the fabricators had a better idea of how to make electronics more complicated than a flashlight, the aliens couldn’t speak whatsoever. Maybe he could have taught them how to make specific noises for danger or assistance via walkie-talkie, but he didn’t want to bother with that when there was a simpler option that solved both problems.
Each module had several interfaces. Each of said interface communicated with the building via short-range communications—which could extend a few miles, despite the name. Those components were pretty small and universal, meaning they transmit a signal from anything. A little bit of tape, a single transmission unit, a button, and a small speaker set to beep were slapped together, making a serviceable communication device. Sure, it wouldn’t be able to share anything more complicated than Morse code, but there were literally no other options until the Malkrin learned how to write or verbally communicate. That didn’t mean it would be useless, no. One press of the button would indicate you wanted assistance, two meant you got the message, and three or more meant it was urgent—much more if the presses were constant.
Creating them hardly took any time, harvesting the small components taking up a majority of the labor. He ended up spending a little bit longer printing out small housings for the electronics to make them more durable, adding a clip on the back of them to attach to any article of clothing or piece of equipment.
Alright, that’s done and dusted. Getting something done in one fell swoop without issues felt amazing in comparison to his previous ventures. Now what? What else was there to do?
The dull throbbing in his arm flared up, reminding him of another problem. There were glaring issues in his defensive plan for both the modules and himself. He needed some good armor and a solid solution for the colossi. The former option was tackled first, hopefully only requiring a short scroll through the blueprint folders and some thought.
The engineer got to work delving into the computer once more, sitting back down on the same chair. Common military garb was out of the question since its whole purpose was to dissipate energy rather than block any blunt force or ripping damage that he needed to deal with. Plus, it had a lot of electronic components built in which would make the fabricators cry without another AI core or two. So, what was built to protect against piercing bites and blunt damage at the same time? Well… most conventional armor did. Still, he needed something to fit the criteria better than just slabs of metal strapped to his body.
But that soon became the issue as the best option might as well have been strapping slabs of steel to himself. There were anti-stab vests, which were entirely too weak for the bugs, anti-ordinance suits that were much too inflexible for his needs, and actual medieval knight armor which he found in a blueprint section dedicated to furniture of all things—maybe it was only meant for decoration? Why it was within the downloads, he didn’t know.
Something that caught his eye was an all-purpose hazard engineering suit; it was armored enough to survive getting run over by a hover tank, filled with enough utilities to protect the user from every kind of war crime, and light enough to actually ‘run’ with. That specific type was designed for those working outside livable spaces or within some particularly hostile environments for an extended period of time, so all the over-the-top parts made sense. The limbs even had its own myomer fibers to assist with movement and strength… which became the ultimate undoing for the promising gear. It needed those synthetic muscles to function, and the fabricators couldn’t just make those with the equipment he had; a long series of industrial and biological machines were required for something that… unique. That would be a hell of a project for the future, but the idea was tantalizing nonetheless.
Now, he was back to square one. Was strapping sheets of alloy to himself really the only option? No, there was that odd module-sync folder. Maybe there were some… normal, human-sized things within the downloaded files?
There were, in fact, many normal things to be found. A solid section of it was dedicated to ‘guardsman,’ which had serviceable armors that weren’t completely overblown in proportions or detail like the rest of the items. A thick slab of ceramics made up the chest piece, with excess armor over the pecs, and a small golden eagle symbol covering the area. The shoulder pads were pretty similar in construction, keeping the same green color and sturdiness. Other armors caught his eye, but were either much more or much less armored than he needed. One was literally just a red bandana and rig, while another was a full great coat and trench gas mask setup—neither of which interested him greatly for fighting hordes of bugs in.
Yeah, the ‘guardsman’ setup was much more ideal, so it was set to print. The helmet looked pretty uncomfortable, but he would be happy to switch it out when he was able to fabricate something a little more useful. Serviceable beats nothing, after all.
Now onto the next problem: the armored creatures that seemed to ignore just about any kind of damage. All of his ideas included some gross overkill that was either too dangerous for himself to try and construct or outright banned by the fabricator. Kinetics like fifty BMG rounds might’ve worked against the shells, but he already had another toy to play with—the engineering equipment.
Specifically, the pressurized carbon dioxide injector weighed on his mind as a suitable option. It was the ideal ‘tool’ for the job as it was intended for separating neigh any organic structure open. There were two variants, each differing in size and purpose. One was intended for precise medical procedures, while the other was a cumbersome and destructive implement dedicated for a task much bigger than cutting bones—take entire redwood trees, for example. It’s pretty obvious which type the engineer printed out the other day.
The hand-held everything-separator had a few problems, however. First and foremost: the danger it proposed. There were stake-like bolts intended to puncture anything short of a bunker and insert pressurized gas to… yeah, decimate what was inside until it was outside. The real issue came with the force to shoot them out, which created a disruptive force around a few vents near the back. Normally, the tool would be used in near-melee range by an automated machine, but the rounds themselves could be used further away which worked in his favor, because no person should be handling it manually.
And in came the turret idea he had previously. It was a brilliant idea, getting around the issue of manual operation, relying on a computer instead. How would it be automated then? Not all the parts were printable—the sensory and computative components specifically. Where could he get those? How would he even program them?
Wait… Maybe the turret wouldn’t need his input for the optical unit at all. There was sensory equipment nearby that could do that already. He wasn’t using the barrack’s sensors much anyway, was he? It certainly knew how to differentiate a two-legged person from a bug. Just take that information, transfer it to the weapon’s motor, and tell it what to aim at, simple as can be.
Then what about the other electrical components that couldn’t be fabricated just yet? Well, there just so happened to be a completely bricked machine that couldn’t operate anymore, which was chock-full of computer parts—motors and various parts included. Hell, he could also recycle the metal housing for more material…
Oh yeah, it was all coming together nicely, all that was needed was some thinking and some elbow grease. However, It would be nice to have another technician or engineer to help him out with the crafting and scrapping process. No offense to the Malkrin, but he needed someone with hands shorter than a foot. Someone with enough technical knowledge to assist in the thinking department, because Goddamn did he need another brain cell to bounce his ideas off of with these kinds of things.
His musings were ripped away by a grating noise from the cargo bay. He turned around in the chair, picking up his shotgun, only to be greeted by the two aliens walking into the workshop at the far end, stacks of armored shells weighing down their sled. Taps against the floor echoed throughout the room as he approached the Malkrin, greeting them with a quick wave.
“Hey, I take it the harvesting went well?”
“It did indeed, Harri—n. I feel I have become quite proficient in collect—g the carapaces,” Sharky responded happily with a swaying tail.
“Truly! The length of the process was reduced immensely by the time we started upon the final beast. I must thank you for the fine blade you provided, star-sent,” Akula chimed in with some enthusiasm, the paladin rolling her eyes at the fisherwoman’s interjection.
He nodded. “Of course, I’m happy it worked well for you. So, are you two still good to track down that other Malkrin? We can sit down, eat, and relax for a bit first if you want.”
“I w—ld appreciate it.” “That sounds good to me.” the two aliens said in unison, giving each other a curious look afterward.
\= = = = =
Tracy leaned forward to get a better look on the monitor, her criss-crossed legs fitting snugly atop the blanket-padded chair. Her tongue pushed the lollipop she held in her mouth around, her eyes transfixed on a single screen in an array of darkened displays laid out in an even blacker room. Her fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the desk absently to burn off excess energy. Primarily eating candy and carbohydrate rich paste would do that to you. Why there was a box full of candy cigarettes and lollipops in the cargo bay was lost on her; it was most likely some grade-A graft on the part of the colony overseers at this point. Whatever, the bored technician was happy to eat something with actual flavor before she was forced to cry just to taste something salty.
An odd picture came up on the monitor, stealing away her deathly bored focus.
“No way…” she whispered out loud, the piece of candy in her mouth falling right out. She could hardly make sense of it at first, but… no… What was it? Was that? It had two legs and… well there wasn’t enough time to get a good look otherwise before the screen went black.
This time there wasn’t any red ‘lost connection’ text. To her absolute amazement, it read ‘target found, diverting processes to follow mode.’ It was another pioneer then… She never thought she would see the day…
“LETS FUCKING GO!” she screamed, the outburst echoing throughout the module for a second after, the jerking movement causing her chair to fall over.
The bump on her head meant nothing in comparison to it all. The others were actually found! After all this time! If it weren’t for the recent use of her folder, she would have assumed it was only her left, so she had glared into the feed of the very last car with strained hope to be rewarded handsomely.
No more remote-control car forging, no more being stuck in a dark, damp cargo bay, and someone else to talk to for once. Even someone like her could feel a little isolated with no one else around… She needed to finish her preparations and set out immediately. She had already toiled endlessly over the drones and equipment, and now it was going to be put to good use. All she had was a direction and a damn long road to follow, so each aspect of her creations needed to be in tip-top shape.
It was going to be a big step to leave the safety of her hovel, needing every bit of self-built assurances to make the journey bearable, but she had to do it. Making the choice to leave would be infinitely more important of a decision than she would have ever thought.
- - - - -
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Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - No, I don't have a medical degree

Do you like old cartoons? If your first reaction is to talk about Gummi Bears or Ducktales, you’re about 70 years off the mark.
I’m talking before television, before color. Back when just moving images on a screen was novel enough to draw a crowd.
You’ve felt this, you know this, there’s something different about those old cartoons. A sense of depth, a sense of real momentum and weight. It felt strange, didn’t it? Beyond the dated references and comedy.
The official story is lithograph backgrounds, shadowboxes and a bunch of other film geek horse shit that 90% of people believe because they don’t understand. And the other 10% don’t care because we are long past any of those techniques being useful.
But ask yourself this. Why did animation turn to shit sometime in the 50s? How does it make sense that we went from Popeye to Clutch Cargo? From images you could feel the depth of, to flat static, almost puppet like cartoons.
I’m Ethan Benson, I’ve proudly served in 2 world wars and begrudgingly stomped through a few more scuffles before my retirement from Uncle Sam’s family business.
I’m probably a contender for the oldest man alive, you'll never see me on the second last page of a newspaper though. Once I got away from the service, I did everything I could to live a life as small, and out of the way as possible.
I came to the conclusion last year that being able to get my own mail and wipe my own ass, doesn’t mean I still have a couple of decades left. This old war machine is falling apart, but before I do I want to share some things with you.
At this point I have nothing to lose. Most people will think I’m just a crazy old bastard, and the rest, well, what are the G-men gonna do if they catch wind, kill me? If they manage to find enough functioning nerves to torture, they’ve done a better job than my last 2 doctors, so good on them.
What I’m saying is, I’ve got nothing to lose. But maybe, I’ve got something to give.
It was 1922, a few years after my life meant something, and a decade and a half before it would again.
No wife, no kids, I wasn’t a drifter, but not for lack of trying. Something kept bringing me back to a small town in Michigan, year after year though.
Didn’t take to being a soldier during peace time, not as a young man anyway. I preferred to make my money here and there, see what my country had to offer.
I sat eating my lunch on a park bench, watching folks without heads full of things they shouldn’t have seen walk along blissfully unaware of the cruelty of their fellow man.
I recognized the man that sat down beside me, but that didn’t make me any less suspicious.
“There a war broke out I haven’t heard of? “ I say, lighting up a cigarette.
The man that sits beside me isn’t a soldier, he’s the kind of guy who goes by a last name he was assigned after training. Debriefed me a few times after some of the thickest shit I’ve had to wade through, asked me questions I didn’t understand, and expected answers I didn’t have.
“No corporal, just an opportunity. “ The man I know as Mr. Thompson, says, “What do you know of animation? “
“Cartoons? Kids stuff. “ I say still looking forward, not making eye contact.
“Maybe, maybe. But, it’s big business Hiram. “ Thompson says.
“Ethan. “ I correct.
“My mistake.
Ethan, there is a man looking to make a legacy selling cartoons. This man has a friend powerful enough to make this happen. Someone who eats at the same tables my bosses do.
He's looking to be the Henry Ford of what he does, he isn’t the first, but he aims to be the biggest and best.
He has his artists, he has his inventors, and now he needs a few men like yourself to make sure those guys can do their jobs. “ I don’t like the way Thompson talks, he’s taking up a lot of my time to say very little.
“Let’s get to brass tacks here.
Why in the lord’s name, would a bunch of civilian doodlers need me? “ I say, standing up to throw away the remains of my lunch.
“Well, that’s not something I can say to someone who hasn’t signed on.
But every man has a price, even for an unknown task. And I think I know what yours is . “ Thompson doesn’t sound smug, just, sure.
He was right, and I figured that if I ended up in some kind of sex crime or aiming at folks that didn’t deserve it, I could simply turn and walk away.
Thompson was right, I wasn’t.
“What in the hell is that thing? “ I say pointing to a contraption worn by one of the crew I assume it has to be a weapon of some form.
It has a backpack, full of humming electronics, connected to what looks a little like the business end of a flamethrower, but instead of a nozzle, it’s a massive square camera lens. Leroy, a black man in his early 30’s wears the thing like he’s used to it, testing out the range of motion of the rig as he answers me.
“The most advanced Rotoscope money can buy. This little darling has hours of recording time, and lets us edit the raw footage within a couple hours. “
“If the place is interesting enough. “ Pierre, the director, says. He’s a rat like, cruel looking little man. Without a hint of French accent, despite his claims to have lived there most of his life.
Among the half dozen crew there are a couple of chuckles. But most silently go about checking film gear that I can’t even guess to the function of.
We are kitting ourselves up in a dark warehouse, getting ready to be driven in the back of what looks like a paddy wagon.
Thompson watches us all, I hate his eyes, always scrutinizing but not showing a damn hint of what the man was thinking.
“Ezekiel Greenberg, biologist. “ a man with thick glasses and greased down, parted hair says, offering his hand.
“The hell is that? “ I say, shaking his hand. He has a grip like wet bread.
“ Someone who studies living things. A man of science. “ Ezekiel clarifies.
“Shalom Zeke, why do we need someone like that for making a cartoon?” I ask.
“Everyone. “ Thompson says, loud enough to catch our attention, he motions us over.
“Other than going to some shit hole close 4 hours away, do we get to know what we’re doing now? “ a tall, olive skinned woman says, Sylvia was her name . A few trinkets hang from her wrist. An eclectic combination of various religious symbols.
“I’d assume that was clear.
Pierre and Leroy will be collecting footage. Ezekiel, will be taking notes, and the rest of you will be ensuring this happens in a safe fashion.
You need to understand, everything from the wildlife, to the environment itself is going to be hostile toward you. This place isn’t somewhere you get by accident, and it’s not a place man was meant to be.
You will be encountering threats of a physical, mental and even possibly spiritual nature. “ Thompson starts.
The last member of the squad was a tall, square jawed man named Chauncey . Looks like a fighter, but more likely someone that got his scars in a back alley, not a battlefield.
He wears a white shirt, black suspenders, and a one of those pork pie hats the Brits seem to like.
“Spiritual “ The tall man scoffs. A smirk cracking his pale, scarred face.
Thompson shrugs, “ If you believe in that kind of thing anyway.
Our client is looking for a great reward, you all are being compensated for the great risk.
Anything else, well, you’ll understand when you arrive. Speed and discretion are the order of the day people. “
We barely fit ourselves in the cramped van, and after what I’d put at somewhere around 6 hours of ass destroying potholes and rough terrain we arrive.
We exit the paddy wagon and enter what seems to be a large cave, it’s dim, but not dark, about a half click ahead of us is daylight.
Thompson has me running light. Some kind of Dane submachine gun, a Thompson pistol, and a couple of smoke grenades. Chauncey now wears a cargo vest, hiking boots, and sports nothing more warlike than a large, curved handled knife.
As we approached the exit of the cave, my mind conjured up all kinds of things. Some mundane, some paranormal, all horrifying.
But what I saw when we left the safety of the damp rock made all of those look like pleasant daydreams.
The reek hit me first, a low, deep, smell of industrial waste and rot. Chemical tang and fetid miasma trying to outdo each other for the title of world’s most offensive odor.
Then, my brain struggled to make sense of the sheer amount of motion I was seeing.
I’m going to call where we found ourselves, a forest. But God Damn that’s only because there is no other word I can think of that would fit the bill. Like calling a porcupine a thumbtack really.
All around us were tall, whip-like, dirty, grey, not-quite-wooden things. Each bounced and swayed as if dancing to the beat of some song we couldn’t hear. It seemed impossible, the sheer weight of the things should be tearing apart the hard packed, red tinted soil.
Ezekiel, despite looking like a poindexter, runs fearlessly over to one of the ‘Trees ‘, he scratches at it with a small pocket knife, and pushes it with his hand.
“It’s rock solid! “ he says, having to duck to avoid an especially low sway.
“That’s great Zeke, but get the hell away from it! “ I say, doing my best drill sergeant impression.
He actually takes a couple seconds to mull it over before getting back with the group.
“Leroy! Get about 15 minutes of this for B-roll. “ Pierre demands,.
Leroy sighs and the machine he’s lugging starts to hum as he aims it around us.
Chauncey pulls out a map, I see the mountain, a body of water, and the forest.
“We have about a two kilometer hike before we get to the river, I suggest making as little noise as possible as we do so. “ The scarred man says, glowering at Pierre.
“You been here before? “ I ask.
“I’ve been to every jungle on earth, this being the only exception.
Wiggly trees or not, It’s no more dangerous than any of them. “ Chauncey answers.
The forest is full of things, if I described them all, we’d be here all night. But each and every one of them seems like an attempt, or a mockery of something natural.
Fleshy rocks that seem to be grinning or scowling at the right angle.
Four legged deer like things, with massive human eyes, and bobbing, tiny heads.
Or even, small flitting insects that seem to whisper as they buzz by.
The place feels, Weird, menacing, and in a way I can’t describe, purpose built.
My heart pounds and I grip the smg. I don’t like the look of the wildlife, beyond the obvious they seem, smart. There’s a hint of understanding behind every twisted, manic creature’s eyes.
I notice Sylvia taking something from a small, brass container and dropping it on the ground every so often.
“Breadcrumbs?
I think the big guy is here to find our way back. “ I say, trying to start a conversation to keep my mind off of this nightmare.
“ The ashes of a holy man. “ She says.
“Roma, I’m guessing? “ I say, trying to place her accent.
“Gypsy, and proud of it. “ she says, spitting on the ground, “ That’s for the Roma. “
I chuckle.
“Think that stuff is going to keep us safe? “ I ask as something in the treeline catches my eye.
“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out. “ I like her answer, but not the implication.
I start to wonder why I’m feeling seasick, but Leroy brings the topic up first.
“There’s no horizon. “ He says, fearfully.
And the man isn’t wrong.
As the forest begins to thin, there is no end in sight, no curve at which you just can’t see. I can make out structures, water and islands for what must be hundreds of kilometers away.
Ezekiel seems enraptured.
“This place, it can’t exist. “ He says, taking notes as we walk, “ This is just… an impossibility. Even if there were a place, flat enough, where could it be? We are seeing sun, so we can’t be underground.
Completely fascinating “
I hate the bookworm’s glee, but he isn’t wrong.
It takes us almost until the ‘treeline’ to notice the bodies.
They are entwined with the roots of the dancing, swaying, tree-like things. Looking half eaten, faces frozen for eternity, or slightly twitching in their last moments of life.
“Obviously we are going to need to edit… those out. “ Pierre says.
His callousness makes me want to break his jaw.
“People live here? “ I say, half to myself.
“These people were either brought here or came here. “ Chauncey says, matter of factly, “ Wherever we are, it’s far away from The States, I doubt if there were folks who called this place home, they’d be wearing dungarees and skirts we've all seen at Woolworths. “
My head is on a swivel as we hit the ‘treeline’ finally getting a clear view of the massive body of murky, green water.
And the floating carnival of horror it held.
The ships had no sense of conformity, each a unique, impossible barge of rotten wood, rusted steel, and what appeared to be worked human remains.
We could have chose any number of the hundreds floating by, each was it’s own impossibly buoyant war crime.
But Pierre pointed out one that bore a slight resemblance to an old fashioned steam boat, if you squinted real hard. Horse toothed pipes belched thick, almost inky smoke from its roof. They snap and fight with each other like stray dogs.
At it’s helm was a squat, pug faced, almost goblinoid thing. It’s skin was shadow black, with weeping grey sores. It wore gore stained overalls cut into short pants.
In front of it is a breaking wheel, some poor soul bound to it, screaming as the maniac creature twists the torture implement, sending the barge on a crazy, zig zagging journey.
Pierre looks rapt, swatting Leroy in the arm and pointing. Say what you will about my reasons for signing up, watching this bastard get his jollies watching someone be slowly torn apart makes my trigger finger itch.
Behind the first creature comes a second, a massive, flesh Mountain of a thing, clad in a robe of sorts, stitched together from what must be the outfits of a dozen people.
The interaction is brutal, half fight half conversation, but as the massive one takes the wheel, we notice none of the horrific blows caused any kind of lasting harm.
“Think your pistols and knives will keep us safe? “ Sylvia says with a smirk. She pats a black velvet bag at her side.
“If we just get the footage and get out we won’t need to be kept safe. “ Chauncey says.
We slowly creep along the treeline following the barge, it’s destination seems to be a long, dock, it’s wood is pale, and warped, it’s timber sways slightly.
The ship pulls up, and a strange device, some kind of harness on an almost gallows like structure swings toward the barge of it’s own accord.
The two fiends open a hatch in the deck and drag forth something no horror of war before or since could match.
Two people, torn apart and crudely stitched together into four legged, almost bovine abomination.
This wasn’t some Frankenstein’s monster .Some marvel of a mad mind. No, as it was dragged and slammed into the harness, it became crystal clear, that this was just two poor folks, ripped apart and jammed together living their final moments, wracked in pain, confused and crippled.
Both things stand covered in gore, grinning, inflicting damage upon each other in celebration of, whatever the hell they just did. The two corpses twist and scream as the harness slides down the dock with a wooden grating noise.
Chauncey is trying to look unfazed, Ezekiel looks about two seconds away from a heart attack.
I close my eyes, trying to find some sense of calm, some sense of reality in this mess.
“We need to go, now. “ Sylvia says.
I open my eyes and see why.
Both of the things, 2, maybe 3 kilometers away, seem to be staring directly at us.
“Stay calm, they could be looking at anything. “ Chauncey says.
The small almost rodent like one waves.
Pierre tries to protest, but before he can get started I slam the butt of the smg into the bridge of his nose. His demands turn to a scream, as I grab him, and shove the insufferable little prick back the way we came.
We sprint, the forest around us begins to go mad with motion, behind us a deafening roar of water and rage.
I can’t help but look.
The ship raises itself on tubular, pulsing legs, hundreds of meters long. . It bears a giant, idiot grin, it’s Maw square toothed and flanked by massive doll like eyes.
The creatures aboard plant instruments constructed of flesh and bone, the racket still audible over the displaced water and supernatural rage.
As we sprint toward the mouth of the cave, we hear other, smaller noises all around us, I see the rat like, evil little prick turn around and the look on his face tells me he hasn’t learned his lesson.
I grab a fistful of shirt and intend to put him out and sling the half-a-man over my shoulder. When I do, he shoves something in my face.
I know what it is and let go of the evil little manlet.
“There is charge in the rotoscope capable of destroying everything within 200 feet.
Leroy! Get me footage of that thing! We did not come here to fail. “ Pierre grins as he talks.
Leroy listens, the sounds around us get closer.
“Why? Just answer me that. “ I say.
“Because I believe in Mr. D. I believe in his vision, and if that costs me my life, so be it. “ Is his reply.
The little prick looks like a cult member.
Chauncey takes off his vest, drawing a massive kukri. Sylvia begins to take items out of her bag, and begins to recite something in a language I’ve never heard.
A dozen or so things come out of the forest, no bigger than a dog, all almost perfect clones of the small, rodent like thing on the ship.
They are dressed in motley, each seeming to be a different profession. One looks like a doctor, another a dock worker, a third might be a waiter or usher.
They swarm the massive man, but in an instant I can tell the guy is used to dealing with dangerous creatures.
He moves and stabs with his knife, never getting too close. After a few seconds we see that the small creatures are no where near as resilient as the one on the barge.
I try to get an angle for a shot, but I don’t feel confidant I could do it without hitting Chauncey.
But he doesn’t seem to need the help.
Tiny, onyx, pock filled limbs fly, screaming goblin-like creatures hit the dirt.
Sylvia’s chant reaches a crescendo, I feel pressure, objects she’s placed around her begin to rattle.
The ship is close now, maybe a half kilometer away and closing fast.
Faster than Chauncy’s dodge.
The big man stumbles, a piece missing from the back of his thigh. Before he can regain his stance, two, then three of the things are on him.
They make short work of him once he hits the ground. The man is gutted like a trout in seconds.
“Stay close. “ Sylvia says, she stands with her eyes closed, sweat starting to bead on her brow.
“More footage! “ Pierre screams, Leroy says something to him in French, all I made out was Merde.
We stand next to Sylvia, as the things start to close in, the boat looms like the face of God himself, but something is keeping this unholy horde about twenty feet from us.
I fire a burst at the boat, I might as well have spit at it. Another at the crowd of cloned Rats, but the move long before the rounds hit.
Sylvia begins to slowly walk backward, the monsters advancing with her pace.
“How long can you keep this up?” I ask
“I don’t know, less if I have to keep talking. “ She says curtly.
The pace is slow, but we can’t be more than a hundred meters from the mouth of the cave.
Sylvia stumbles for a moment, the pressure around us begins to lighten, she sweeps one arm out, trying to regain balance.
I saw nothing but a blur, then in an instant Sylvia’s arm was pierced by the tip of one of the tree-like things branches.
She’s dragged into the air, screaming, blood from her arm falling like rain.
I try shooting the branch, sparks, noise and nothing more.
The horde takes it’s time, closing in like nightfall.
I change magazines.
“What are we going to do! “ Ezekiel screams.
I take in a deep breath, line up my target and hope my sharpshooting skills aren’t too rusty.
The burst severs her arm, I drop the weapon, doing my best to cushion her fall. Two ribs crack, I scream as we hit the ground.
Zeke, to his credit begins to dress the wound immediately. Judging by the small medical kit he had on him, he probably has enough skill to do the job well enough till we can find a hospital.
“This is no monster Hiram. “ Sylvia says, pain making her words clipped.
“So we’re fucked? “ I say, assuming the obvious.
“ I have no ward, or command that will sway them.
They may accept a sacrifice. “ She says.
I hesitate, some people need killing, that’s not what bothers me. But looking at these things, these impossible, powerful things, I understand what I’m doing.
I’m not just killing a man, I’m making a sacrifice to things that are either demons, or close enough to it, it doesn’t matter.
But if I don’t…
“Pierre, I’m going to make you an offer. We duke it out. Whichever one of us is left standing gets to walk away. “ I say, standing.
“I’ll end us all before I let you lay a hand on me. “ The smug little shit says brandishing the detonator.
My knife isn’t as big as Chauncy’s, but it’s sharp, and small enough to conceal up a sleeve.
The detonator falls as the blade severs the tendons in Pierre’s wrist.
He Tries to come at me, I let him, for a few seconds, I take his blows, my lip splits, a cracked rib pulses with pain.
Then I aim the pistol downward, it turns his kneecap into a dripping rose of bone and flesh.
I turn to face the horde, the barge itself lowers its body, staring at us from two feet away. Rank seawater breath hits us like a mortar.
As I talk Sylvia repeats what I say in that same landless language.
“ He’s yours, I, Hiram Benson, give you this man. In exchange, we leave. “ I say, trying to make eye contact with the demonic construct.
I felt something then. Like a bloom of sadness deep inside of my brain. A cold, dim spot that never really went away.
“Turn around, slowly. “ Sylvia says, putting one arm around my shoulders.
We make it back to the cave, and to that same warehouse. Leaving parts of our bodies and likely, souls, behind.
You looking for a happy ending? Well, we all got paid, and for what it’s worth Sylvia made it through real surgery.
But, the thing is, that ain’t the end.
No, here is where you need to worry.
Those things we so ignorantly recorded, those things that have a part of my soul. They were more than we knew. Their danger wasn’t limited to claws and teeth.
See, some of them, they can live in images. A piece of themselves stays in every copy. And kids, there are a lot of copies, Mr. D, and others sent plenty of teams just like mine into those places. Layered a happy face over the frantic evil, and put them in homes, theatres and schools across the world.
In fact, I’d bet a lot of you have one or two sitting around right now. A DVD bought in a bargain bin, maybe a video you watched on YouTube.
You’ve felt it, you’ve seen it, now you understand it. My advice, just let these things die, let these macabre melodies get lost in time. Don’t go searching old cartoons to see if you can catch a glimpse, an untouched frame of pure evil.
Now, I’ve never been one to turn down a paycheck, and if you folks need any more lessons from an old man who might not see summer, let me know down in the comments.
Otherwise, I hope you are the first generation to actually listen to your elders.
Link to Part 2
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/s/NpLJFLytbM

[Real First] [first] [prev] [next]
The little triangular taxi moved in and out of traffic, carefully balanced on three wheels. It was a soft, sky blue, with a white swooping line on each side that started at the front, just behind the single headlight, fairly narrow and widened to take up the middle third of the paintjob at the square back. The robot in the front was obviously artificial, an animatronic driver in a pale blue uniform complete with a cap that had a rictus of a smile on its face at all times.
In the back, passed out, was an entirely disreputable pair. Both male, one thin and dishevelled, the other taller and more muscular but looking more like it had been dragged through a ditch than any lack of real grooming.
One wore a scientist's smock, the other wore a ragged and tattered military uniform. The one in the smock held tight to a tattered canvas bag full of a wide array of battered and worn tools. The one in the military uniform held tight to long item that looked nothing like a proper weapon but still had the aura of one.
The taxi activated the blinker, smoothly moved across three lanes of traffic, and took the off ramp. It navigated through streets that were often lit by fires in barrels, weaving around burnt out or stripped vehicles, many of them siblings to the little cab.
The little cab stopped just in front of a small group of short furry creatures, all bent forward, many with implements of mayhem held in their hands, gathered around two barrels full of burning debris.
The little cab beeped its horn twice.
The group moved up as the passenger door raised up.
They stared at the figure in the tattered, stained, and roughly patched military uniform. The wider end of the object was tucked under its shoulder, the smaller end between its feet, which were adorned with two different types of boots.
The group nudged one another, some chuckling evilly.
It wasn't often that entertainment and a possible payday was delivered straight to them in the heart of their territory.
Gathering up closely, one of the larger ones reached forward and grabbed the soldier's foot, yanking on it to pull the unconscious being out of the taxi for their free beating.
Before anything else the soldier's finger tightened on the trigger.
The weapon went live, loaded a round, and fired within a millisecond.
A loud KA-RACK sounded out as the weapon fired a single solid round.
Pink mist showered out. Gobbets of flesh sailed through the street. Blood sprayed and rained down.
In an arc from the door multiple pairs of legs stood upright for a moment then fell over or the knees and hocks went limp and the legs folded.
Out of nearly a dozen toughs, less than three were standing unharmed. The ones closer to the arc of devestation had bone fragment shrapnel lodged deep in their bodies, or pieces of metal from what the others had been wearing that had punched through them.
The door closed as the soldier sat up. The taxi gave out a friendly series of beeps.
The remaining toughs screamed in abject terror.
The taxi drove off into the night.
The Strevik'al soldier, one Rifleman First Class, retired, Shraku'ur, looked around as he woke up all the way.
The misted blood, splattered chunks, and assorted gore that had backsplashed into the taxi didn't bother him.
He'd seen far far worse.
"Taxi," he said after coughing for a moment.
"Yes?" the animatronic figure spun around to face him, its whiskers quivering.
"How did we get in here?" Shraku'ur asked.
"The door opened and you got in," the animatronic stated.
"Where are we?" Shraku'ur asked. He looked over, saw the scientist, and nudged him several times.
The scientist yawned and looked around, staying still.
"You're in a JNY Taxi Service Mobile Module," the animatronic said.
"What world?" Shraku'ur asked, holding his temper in check.
"Shrevik'al Prime," the animatronic supplied helpfully.
"What city?" Shraku'ur asked.
"Shesska'alik, the Capital of the Strekiv'al Prime and Capital of the Strekiv'al Dominion, currently merging with fast travelway 523," the animatronic said.
The scientist coughed again then looked up, digging in its pockets. "What is the date?"
Shraku'ur, out of habit, pulled a pack of Treana'ad smoke sticks out of his breast pocket, opening it and handing one to the scientist, Taskapak, then lighting them both.
"It is month 7, Sunhammer, Day 14, Evening, nineteen hours, fifteen minutes, the year 3,803 Current Era," the animatronic supplied helpfully. It made a frown around the permanent smile. "You are current inhaling carcinogenic smoke."
"Yeah," Shraku'ur said. He tapped the controls and the window rolled down.
He could faintly smell the ever-present smell of a large city. Most importantly, a populated large city. The smell of impending or just past rained, the faint smell of a wet animal and rotting garbage, the smell of industrial lubricants, hot metal, cracking ferrocrete, and the ever present scent of meals gone by.
"Where are you taking us?" the scientist, Taskapak, asked, his voice high and nervous.
"To the Dominion Intelligence Services Headquarters," the animatronic said. It turned back around. "We should be arriving in one hour."
Shraku'ur looked at the scientist.
"We have been gone over five years," the scientist squealed. He narrowed his eyes. "We were lost in that terrible place for lifetimes, it seemed."
Sharku'ur nodded, turning to look out the window. "Do you think she has truly released us?"
Taskapak puffed on the cigarette, surrounding himself with a cloud. "She is not here, we are. We are in Dominion space. Evidence states that she has either released us to watch what we do with our false freedom in order to measure and examine our responses or that she has truly freed us from her machinations and we are no longer of interest to her."
Shraku'ur stared at the buildings as they went by, noting how many of them had lit windows, how many windows had shadows that moved across them.
His hands tightened slightly on the Confederacy magnetic accelerator rifle he held in his hands.
"Do you remember where you acquired that weapon, soldier?" Taskapak asked, pointing at the rifle.
Shraku'ur looked down. It felt right in his hands, comfortable, like it had been in his hands and arms for lifetimes.
"No," he said. "But it is familiar to me as if I have always had it."
"I deduce it is the cause of the blood and gore and pink mist within the cabin and coating us," Taskapak said. He looked around. "I deduce another being made the mistake of grabbing on you and you fired before bothering to check your target."
Shraku'ur snorted. "Yes."
The scientist nodded. "A perfectly reasonable reaction, given where we have been for too many time periods."
"You know that Dominion Intelligence is going to tear apart our brains, right?" Shraku'ur said.
Taskapak was silent for a moment. "She put us in here, which means she programmed out destinations. Obviously, your elimination of random beings amused her and put out a notice that incidental casualties is not her concern," he said. He looked up. "But does she actually want us to enter the Dominion Intelligence Facility or does she want us to take another destination?"
"Either way, she learns more about us than we learn about her," Shraku'ur said. He sighed.
"We cannot comprehend her motives, or her technology, so we do not understand or comprehend what science she does upon us," Taskapak agreed.
"I wish I had never even heard of Terros," Shraku'ur said.
Taskapak slapped Shraku'ur's muscular shoulder. "Soldier! Rise from depression! The time for self-pity is passed!"
Shraku'ur took a deep breath, resisting the urge to put a fist in Taskapak's eye. "All right."
"Public conveyance," Taskapak snapped.
The animatronic spun around. "Yes?"
Taskapak spouted off an address. "Take us here."
The animatronic spun back around to face the windshield, which now had rain spattering on it. It activated the wipers, despite not needing them due to the radar and motion sensors in the pointed nose of the taxi.
"Recomputing. Trip will now take 2.5 hours," the taxi said.
Taskapak leaned back, flipping the butt out the window. "Wake me when we get there."
-----
A wave of the hand and the embedded chip paid off the taxi, which hummed as it sped away.
Shraku'ur looked up at the building. It was marred by where fires had stained the ferrocrete, where explosions had blown out windows or sections of the wall. The letters on the front were somewhat disarranged, one hanging from only one support.
Dominion Scientific Inquiry, Investigation, and Experimentation Center 19387 - Secret Facility - Do Not Engage Curiosity.
He shook his head and followed the disheveled Takapak into the building. He had to wait for the smaller scientist to 'do science' on the security of the six entryway blockades, each one involving tearing out twisted together and taped up wires and rearranging them according to patters of lights until the barrier buzzed and unlocked.
Eighteen stories up, the elevator proving to be a death trap and the stairs to be autowalk stairs, and Taskapak led Shraku'ur into a cluttered room that looked like someone had thrown a satchel charge into an electronics reseller's store.
"Sit, sit," Taskapak said, pushing up a conical helmet and brushing off a padded chair.
"What's that?" Shraku'ur asked.
"Brain scanner. Will see if brain has been altered or has anything stuck inside like a bolt or screw from a mis-scienced experiment," Taskapak said.
Shraku'ur sighed and sat down. The helmet was lowered over his head.
Taskapak turned on equipment, spun wheels, slapped consoles, and spent a few seconds kicking an object that lit up with a hum. Finally he moved over to a screen and stared at it. The helmet made Shraku'ur's teeth hurt, then tingle, then made his nose itch.
"Brain looks standard. Would have to dissect to tell better," Taskapak said. He looked at Shraku'ur. "Dissection?"
"No, thanks anyway, I"m good," Shraku'ur said.
He no longer took offense at anything the insane little scientist offered.
After all, if he took that many electric shocks he would probably be just as crazy as the scientist.
Taskapak just nodded and moved over, flapping his hands to encourage Shraku'ur to get up.
They switched positions and Taskapak sat in the chair for a few moments, then got up.
He looked over the scans while Shraku'ur just sat on a box smoking another Treana'ad smoke stick. He vaguely remembered robbing a vending machine for them. An explosion made the room tremble but Shraku'ur could tell it was a fair distance away. Since no alarms started wailing he just ignored the explosion like he was ignoring all the equipment sparking and sizzling around him.
"No difference. Can see the eye implants, connections to nerves and neural tissue, but brain looks no different," Taskapak said. He sat down on a stack of components. Something gave out with a small blue flash and a curl of smoke. "She did science on us but not too much science."
"What kind of science do you think she did?" Shraku'ur asked.
Taskapak sat silently for a long moment. "Dark science."
Shraku'ur nodded and they sat silently for a while. After a bit Shraku'ur hefted the rifle and held it out. "Want to look at this?"
Taskapak shook his head. "No. Not good to do science on Terror war equipment. Made for killing. Will kill those who do science on it. Obvious."
Shraku'ur nodded, getting out the pack of smokes and handing a lit one to Taskapak before lighting one for himself and putting everything away.
"Now what?" Shraku'ur asked.
Taskapak made a motion of uncertainty.
"They'll know we're here soon, if they don't already," Shraku'ur said.
"They will want to do science on us," Taskapak agreed.
"What do you want to do?" Shraku'ur asked.
Taskapak gave a smile.
"We do science."
Shraku'ur just nodded.
[Real First] [first] [prev] [next]

It began with a black bag over my head. Six or seven men seizing me off the street on my way home from work, holding me at gunpoint in the back of a van. They explained in detail what would happen to my family if I didn’t listen to them. Until that moment torture was just a word. I had never given it much thought. I wasn’t prepared to hear some of the things they told me. By the time they were loading me onto a helicopter I would have done anything they asked.
I arrived at the blacksite, kicked out of the chopper where my feet hit the hard-packed wet mud with a splash. Black hood torn off so hard it hurt the skin on the tip of my nose and then I got my first look at the place. Can’t say if it met my expectations or not. I didn’t have any idea where I was going, or what it was supposed to look like when I got there. Still, it managed to leave me feeling surprised. An abandoned village nestled in the jungle. Mostly one room hovels, lots of corrugated iron. Here and there lay burned allotments. Dying pepper plants left untended, their fruit stamped into the Earth by the passage of soldiers dressed in all black. Rotten fences and troughs to feed long-dead pigs and goats lay smashed to pieces. And then, lurking on a hill like some architectural jumpscare was a three story hospital made of glass and steel. State of the art. Built in a place where tarmac was just a rumour. Officially it had been put there by a charitable non-profit wanting to research novel diseases and potential cures deep in the jungle. Unofficially, it had always belonged to the CIA. A useful place to test strange things with pox in the name. And, when the time came, a useful place to dissect the impossible.
Imagine my surprise when I was escorted by armed men to an office with my name on the door and discovered that I was to be in charge of its latest major project. Head of Research printed on the glass. Real official looking. Big black letters like I’d always worked there. First thing I thought was, How long do they intend to keep me here!? But that didn’t last long. That hospital became my home and has been ever since. Less than 24 hours after my arrival and I had my feet up on the desk, barking orders at lab technicians. I slipped into the role easier than I’d like to admit. You see, where they got me was on scientific curiosity. That’s how they ensured I was on board with the project. That’s why they never pointed a gun at me after day one.
They didn’t have to.
The second I saw that thing inside the messiah’s chest cavity, I was a willing asset. No more me. Only the project. The discovery and the revelations. Lying on that slab, nestled in the flesh of an otherwise normal looking man, was a white hot piece of divinity. A pin prick in the fabric of reality. I don’t know how else to describe it. It was like I’d spent my whole life seeing two-dimensional shadows and then I suddenly got a glimpse of the three-dimensional shapes casting them.
I haven’t seen my children since they took me. Couldn’t tell you their names. I was never the same after the first autopsy. No one in that place was sane after the scalpel first bit into His flesh. Attrition amongst the research staff was incredibly high. Every day another nurse seized by stigmata, or a once-faithless lab technician struck by the call to write the Third Testament. The guards dealt with the unwilling members of the team. Traumatised scientists and clinicians lined up, one by one, against an exposed brick wall in the jungle heat and shot. I remember smoking in the cafeteria in between surgeries, nervously shaking as I tried to ignore the pop pop pop of some of my more stubborn colleagues being executed. And then back to work where I suppressed the feeling that I was the worst kind of traitor. Next day there’d be new faces scrubbing up and asking for orders, another pair of hands shipped in from God-knows-where.
Back to cataloguing divinity.
At times I imagined joining the objectors. The people who found religion in a sterile black ops lab. But that thing we pulled out of him, that baffling enigma that burned the eyes. It consumed the project. Everything we learned about it felt like a quantum leap in our understanding of microbiology. We tested everything we could get our hands on. Plants. Animals. Humans. I tried not to look any of them in the eye. Quiet people taken from some quiet part of the Earth where they wouldn’t be missed. All of them scared. Did they know? I mean really know the suffering they were in for? Definitely not. They expected to be shot, I imagine. Not to wake up with the roof of their mouths lined with eyeballs. I’m ashamed to say but those kinds of results invigorated me. Excited me, even. When it all fell apart and I missed the evacuation, I got to finally rifle through all those classified documents where I discovered I hadn’t been selected because I was some genius of microbiology. But rather because my psychological profile made it clear I’d do anything if you dangled a big enough mystery in front of me.
That and the fact that I was actually quite good at managing projects. Geniuses usually aren’t great at sending out memos or keeping track of performance numbers. Thankfully, I’m no genius. It was humbling at times, working with some of the guys down below, being senior to them even. I mean Dr Coates was probably the smartest man I’d ever met. No real academic career because he had a habit of hyperfixating on things that either couldn’t be solved, or which no one gave a shit about. But it was pretty clear this was a guy who could’ve turned his brain to just about anything and made a name for himself if he was just a little more on the ball. He was an odd’un, basically. Gave lectures barefoot. Would respond to last-minute marking deadlines by giving every student a B. Threw a stapler at the head of his department. That kind of thing. Intelligent but not particularly sensible.
The project broke him. Broke his worldview. Broke his mind and, towards the end, even his body. You might think the problem was asking a hyper-rational man to process the divine, but if anything he processed it a little too well. He was the first person to read The Third Testament without going insane. Immediately insane, I should say. Or maybe he was always nuts to begin with. Either way, he managed to take all the random scribbles and bits of verse that we’d collected from the personal effects of the deceased and actually put it together into a single document. Then he read it and came out looking like nothing special had happened.
The next guy after him, not so lucky.
But Dr Coates, he carried on working for a few days after. Took measurements of this. Made recordings of that. Slipped into the background, out of my notice, while I focused on trying to figure out some way of getting The Third Testament scanned into a computer without it causing havoc. A lot like the people who read it, machines liked to commit suicide about half-way through reading the Third Testament. Not Coates though. He seemed just fine…
Should’ve known better.
First clue that something wasn’t quite right was when I went to his office. A cramped space with metal walls and floors, no windows given it was below ground, and a countertop full of equipment. It was always a mess in there and usually a bit smelly too, but it was usually just that unwashed scientist smell. But one day when I went to call on him he opened the door and I got a whiff of something that was just… wrong. Smelled a little like death, only not quite. Just, different. Mouldy, almost. Course he was entitled to do some experiments on his own time, and that’s what I figured it was. At the time, I wrote it off. Had other things on my mind.
Only the smell got worse with time. Turned up day after day and each time it stung my nose a little worse, hung around my sinuses a little longer. And Coates, he looked a little worse for wear each time too. Again, nothing serious. The kind of thing that’s actually quite normal for a man like him. I’m used to seeing scientists fixate on a problem, something quiet they won’t share with anyone else until they know for sure what they’ve got. That’s what he was like, and I figured when he was ready he’d either show me something that would blow my socks off, or it’d be something stupid like he got his microwave to evenly heat up his lunch by taking it apart and rewiring its insides.
Sometimes I wonder if I’d caught it earlier could I have done something about it. Someone smarter might’ve picked up the odd chemical mixtures on his shelf, or recognised the peculiar smells. Not me though.
All I can say in hindsight is thank fuck my office was above ground. By the time his little project had finished working its way through the floor he was on, he’d killed thirty-six people with his homemade nerve gas. Thankfully the facility was prepared for that kind of attack and the automated security systems had the entire level locked down very quickly so the damage wasn’t that bad. Could’ve been a lot worse. But what was weird was the venting system wasn’t working. Should’ve cleared it all out in under a day, but four hours later and the gas levels were the same. The investigation, at least at first, had to happen remotely. CCTV from his lab was spotty. Something was corroding the cameras, but based on some of his material requests we guessed he’d been culturing some unusual fungus to create the bioweapon.
Whatever it was, it was potent, and we were helpless to do anything about it. We had to wait and hope to God whatever awful thing he’d concocted would wear out on its own. What little the CCTV could capture made for a gruelling sight. Eight scientists dead at their desks. Slumped over blood pouring out their mouths. The fluid looked black on the grainy black and white monitor. But what upset me more were the assistants. Dozens of young men and women who didn’t really belong in that place. Too much to live for, and all of them so scared of what was going to happen to them. And they were just lying there in the middle of whatever it was they were doing. In the labs themselves, smashed beakers and machines in disarray. In their rooms, some of them lay peacefully sleeping, others held each other in secret little trysts they thought no one knew about. All over the level bodies lay on the floor in strange positions, and again that black fluid leaking from every orifice staining the floor, their faces, and their clothes. Soaking their chests and groins.
I remember sitting there and just watching them twitch and foam at the mouths, waiting for death to finally come. Even then, the hours ticked on as we waited for the systems to purge the gas. Twelve. Twenty four. Forty eight. Nothing happened. It was like everything in there was frozen in time.
And then, somehow, the lights on that level went out. Emergency lighting came on, bathing everything in red, but combined with the low quality cameras it was like gazing at an old video game. Grainy. Fuzzy. Low resolution. We figured that Coates must’ve rigged up a remote timer on the electronics, which wasn’t a good guess since his speciality was biochemistry and the security systems were of the highest tier.
But what else could it be? Wasn’t like someone could’ve hit the circuit breaker.
We knew eventually we’d have to go in there. Sixty hours after shutdown, we just had to. There was too much high value material to leave behind, and there were reports of strange noises down there. Guards posted to the door heard faint sounds on the other side. Footsteps, they reckoned. Course I wrote that off. Utter nonsense, I told myself and them. And yet we still went in armed because, well, if Coates was smart enough to rig this whole nightmare, who’s to say he didn’t make himself a little gas mask to keep himself safe?
You think I’d be used to working in hazmat suits, and I sort of am, but going into that sealed off floor was something else. The visor felt restrictive. The squeak of the rubber suit was deafening. My breath was too loud. And everytime the in-suit radio came to life with one of the soldier’s barks, I damn near jumped out of my skin.
And then the door actually opened. Nothing could’ve prepared me for that. The air was thick with mist which lit up harshly with the emergency lighting’s red hue. Old metal grates. Vents. Open doorways. All of it either blood-red or completely dark. There were far too many shadows for it to feel safe. Didn’t help some of the bulbs were strobe lighting. Rotating sirens that lit the place up in periodic flashes of crimson light. God, even the four soldiers next to me looked nervous.
We passed more than a few bodies on our way to Coates’ lab. All of them lay where they’d been on the CCTV, at least as far as I could tell. Sounds stupid but I stared at a few of them closely just to make sure. All those reports of footsteps had started to worm their way into my brain. Couldn’t shake the idea we weren’t alone down there.
When we finally opened the door to Coates’, what I saw left me frozen to the spot. The soldiers focused on the strange growth off to one corner of the room, which registered to me only as a dim sort of collection of thick fungal petals crawling up the wall. Veins pulsating like capillaries in the eye. But to me, what really hit home was the empty desk. Last time we had reliable footage of that room, Coates had been lying there dead as a dodo. Blood leaking from his still open eyes, pooling on the desk and dripping onto the floor. And that stain was still very much there. There was even the faint outline of where his head had been laying.
But the man himself was gone.
This, even more than the grotesque thing that took up one wall, terrified me. That quivering mass of fungus was pumping out enough toxic gas to kill half the base, but it was stationary at least. In another circumstance I might’ve even found it fascinating. But Coates… he’d clearly gone off the deep end. Had he lain perfectly still for days on end to trick us? That didn’t seem right. Again I thought of the bodies we’d passed. The way they looked so still, but not lifeless. Like a porcelain doll there was that slight suggestion of something working behind the eyes.
“What do we do with this?” one of the men asked.
“Take samples, burn the rest,” I replied. “If gas levels don’t go down in a week, we’ll have to purge the whole floor with phosphorus.” The whole time I had my eyes on the space around us. Under the desk. Up on top of the cupboards. If Coates wasn’t at his desk, where was he?”
“Where the fuck did this thing come from?” the same soldier muttered as he laid a series of thermal charges on the fleshiest part of the mould. It seemed to flinch in response to his touch, but was otherwise benign.
“Uh, he probably took some of the subject’s tissue samples. We know it propagates unusual levels of growth in plant and animal tissue. Explains why the gas levels don’t go down.”
“What’s it metabolising?”
I gave the soldier an odd look.
“What?” he said. “You aren’t the only ones with an education.”
“Fair enough,” I replied with a quick shake of the head. “It isn’t metabolising anything except His tissue. It’s uh, well, bluntly, I mean think of the fish and the bread, right? This is something we’ve known about His tissue samples for a while now. Spontaneous creation of matter and energy out of nothing. But to give Coates his credit, this is a pretty novel application. He’s created an infinite bioweapon.”
“Why?”
I was about to reply, I haven’t the slightest fucking clue, when a loud bang drew our attention to the doorway. Outside lay a darkness broken only the strobing of a red light. Flashing on and off, it revealed, for just a single instant, the outline of a man standing in the hallway.
The soldiers swore nervously as they raised their rifles. By the time the light came back, the figure was gone.
“Who the fuck was that?” one barked.
“Must be Coates!” another replied.
“Job’s done,” I cried while gesturing to the charges. “Let’s get the fuck out of–”
“There are no miracles left for you. You have made your own miracles.”
The words were growled so loud and deep they seemed to vibrate my very bones. The soldiers snapped to attention, but me… I took a little longer to turn back to the corner of the room. I knew what I was going to see, but God I didn’t want to see it.
“There are other gardens, but not for you. Do not spoil the other Edens.”
Coates emerged from the thing on the wall, pulling himself free with a wet squelch. He stood not naked, but nearly naked, as his skin had begun to absorb his clothes. He looked like a burn victim coated in algae.
“He loves you. In spite of everything, He loves you. And there is a place in heaven for you all, but it is time to–”
I can’t blame the soldier who pulled the trigger. It wasn’t just the fact that Coates was speaking with a mouth that had grown grotesquely across his abdomen, but rather that the words were drilling straight into our heads like some pushing a hot needle straight into a dental nerve. It made my eyes cross, my ears ache, and my nose bleed. Two of the men had vomited, splattering the inside of their visors with thick fluid.
They were the first to go. They didn’t see what hit them and I’m somewhat glad. Coates, angered by the gunshot, moved with the elegance of a dancer. I stumbled out into the corridor as he tore them apart, his arm seemingly flowing right through their biohazard suit. The remaining soldier, the triggerhappy one, was beside me as I fled. It wasn’t far to the exit. I hoped we would make it the rest of the way without incident, that in just a few short hours I might be able to put the few images I had of Coates pulling flesh and fabric apart like it was tissue deep into some recess of my mind and just move on. But it was only a few short steps into the dark before the remaining soldier began to fire blindly at the corridor behind us.
It was a mistake for him to turn around. In the fraction of a second where his eyes had been turned away, he missed one of the bodies lying on the ground. I jumped. He didn’t. I was dimly aware of there being no one beside me only when the gunshots grew fainter and fainter as I left him behind. One of the shots dinged off a panel by my head and to this day I suspect it was not a ricochet, but a deliberate attempt to get revenge for me abandoning him.
Still I didn’t look back, not until I reached the secure door. I thumbed the keypad frantically, terrified as my ears registered the sound of approaching footsteps muffled by the biohazard suit. God, I couldn’t stop myself. I looked. I had nothing else to do except wait for security to clear me and open the door, and there was no guarantee they’d even do that. I might be waiting forever, staring at nothing as Coates came closer and closer.
Without even realising what I was doing, I turned and saw.
The soldier with the gun… Jesus. Coates’ office was out of sight, so I have no idea if he repeated this with the other two. But the man I saw, he was in pieces. Yellow and red in ragged strips that coated the ceiling as much as the floor. And barrelling towards me on all fours, legs and arms too long for a normal man, came Coates. Eyes wide. Jaw distended. Chunks of his head still missing. But his mouth, it silently spoke the same few words almost in time with his loping gallop. Over and over and over… it would take days for me to even realise what it was he was saying.
Thankfully, before he managed to reach me, the doors opened and a hail of gunfire filled the corridor ahead. Coates, fast as lightning, disappeared into some dark crevice and I was dragged to safety before the worst might happen.
As soon as I was on the other side, I told security to flood the place with phosphorus and everything was purged. White hot fire on demand. By the time it was over only metal remained and even then, a lot of it had melted and cooled in strange shapes on the floor. I also went out of my way to kill any attempts at reclaiming the lost workspace. Higher ups were pissed. All that square footage lost, but I said the risk of contamination was too great. Of course I left out the part where I returned one quiet night a few days later and placed my ear against a thick steel wall that I knew ran close to one of the vents on that level.
It was faint, but I heard Coates whispering. Only then did I finally get the final clue to what Coates had been saying as he came towards me in the flashing red of that darkened corridor.
We love you we love you we love you we love you we love you…
Even now the cameras show that level to be a sterile hollow space, but I cannot escape the feeling that if I were to open it I would see Coates come slithering out of some long-forgotten vent. Perhaps worse for wear given all the time that has since passed, but Coates nonetheless. Terrifying and misshapen, but desperate to spread the very Testament that twisted his mind and body, that caused him to try and breed something that might well have ended the entire world. And the worst thing of all? What he’d been saying to me in that corridor, what if it was true? What if he hadn’t done it out of hate, but love?
At the time I’d assumed the force we were dealing was hostile, but what if it wasn’t? Everyone who goes near the Third Testament kills themselves and until Coates I’d thought it some kind of twisted revenge. But what if that wasn’t the case? What if He wasn’t doing it out of spite or hostility. What would that mean for me? Forgiveness? If so, that terrified me because after everything I’d been through, I doubted I’d have the strength to resist that kind of offer. For weeks I lay awake at night wondering just what the hell might be in those words that could compel people like Coates to do what they did. And yet, despite everything, I still haven’t read The Third Testament. Coates was a genius and he still gave in. I know that I did some pretty messed up stuff in the name of scientific curiosity but, well, I guess I’m not ashamed to say I’m also a coward. I’m afraid of dying. Curiosity can only get you so far, and after seeing everything that happened to the people who read that thing, I couldn’t bring myself to risk it.
Whatever the Third Testament is… hearing it seems pretty bad for your health.
I don’t think I even deserve to be forgiven, if that’s what He’s offering. It was poetic justice that out of all the people who managed to make the evacuation, I wasn’t one of them. Leaving on foot is hardly an option for me. I mean, even if I had the strength to hike through hundreds of miles of rainforest, I’d need to reach the outer fence first, and strange things have festered in the chemical pits where they disposed of the bodies. Soft mounds of ash and bone that sing from time to time, exciting the birds in the canopy to take off and make strange patterns in the sky. If they can sing, they must have mouths, right? And if they have mouths, what else? I think about Coates, about what kind of hands would reach out to drag me into those rotten pits of long-dead flesh and drown me in filth and I shudder. I could try and sneak past but…
It really isn’t safe outside the hospital.
It isn’t safe inside, to be fair, but what choice do I have? At least there’s still power. Internet. Food to last me over a century. And the security doors that keep everything below sub-level one firmly locked away. While out there, well… I see things, sometimes, moving quickly between the old buildings. The trees shake and stir. And where the jungle now grows thick and heavy against one of the glass walls of the hospital, the vines twist and turn and spell out odd messages. I shut my eyes firmly whenever I have to pass them, and yet even blind I can hear the tightening of fibrous coils as the cloying flora scratch against the glass. They want me. Hungering. All those corpses we buried out there. Rotting. Breaking down. Contaminated with divinity. What strange waters flow through the soil in this place. Nothing could make me risk opening the doors and try walking through that vegetation.
He might forgive, but I don’t think my former test subjects have.
And as for down below…
You know I never met Him while he was alive. Don’t know where they got him from, or even why. My bet? He pissed off the wrong people, got shot, and got back up. Maybe they shot him again and he got up again. Maybe they did it five times. Ten times. I don’t know. Somewhere along the lines, someone worked out they had an anomaly on their hands. Maybe I wasn’t the first person to even try cutting him open? It’s just weird. No one ever told us who He was. We just knew. It’d be years before I wondered who mothered Him. Loved Him. Raised Him. I often wonder if this was the way it was meant to go? Or was it just an accident that He bumped into the wrong people at the wrong time?
The messiah came and the first thing we did was cut him up. No wonder we failed. Things in the project started to go really bad about six months after the first incision. High turnover amongst researchers was one thing but, well it turns out a lot of the soldiers had a religious inclination. Wasn’t just us dealing with visions and voices. At some point they worked out what they were part of. The agency likes compartmentalisation but it can only go so far. After the religious element became clear to the guys on the ground, things started to break down. It was one thing to control the scientists but the guards were armed. When they broke, they broke hard.
Most of His remains are stored on the lowest level where it’s easiest to keep things cool. Outside there’s this long corridor leading to the central chamber. Huge. Wide enough to drive four or five cars side by side. And that was where the first guard hanged himself. Simple enough. They dragged him away and cleaned it up. It wasn’t long after Coates. In fact, it was one of the men who’d saved me at the door. But pretty soon another two guys went down there and hanged themselves. And then five. And then eight. And then topside, some guys started blowing their brains out. In their barracks. In the canteens. Standing watch at the doors, looking out on the jungle, cigarette hanging loose on one lip. Seemed almost random, except there was a clear pattern of escalation. When those guys started killing their friends, that’s when it reached the point where they couldn’t ship new guys in fast enough to replace losses. Once that happened, orders started getting lost. Jobs started being left undone. One lab got written off because a test subject’s body was left to fester over a weekend and by the time they got the door open there was flesh growing up the walls. Not enough manpower to deal with it so they left it for another day and moved on. Only they forgot to tell the researcher who worked there so come Monday he went in and had a hell of a surprise. Must’ve been like stepping into a wall of sourdough. I can only hope he suffocated and it was quick, but who knows? Not like that stuff has hard and fast rules. For all I know he’s still in there, screaming for air.
Meanwhile that tunnel, people just kept going down there and hanging themselves. I mean, every day I’d wake up and I’d be down a few researchers, and a couple more guards would be missing. Took a shockingly short amount of time for most of the six hundred people onsite to just disappear. God knows when security stopped taking the bodies down. Just another job that got lost in the growing panic. By the time evacuation orders came, we were down to a hundred people. I estimate that around four hundred killed themselves in that tunnel.
I’ve only visited Him once since the project shut down. Only had the guts to go looking once. Barely made it out alive. I felt compelled to try and face up to Him. To acknowledge the role I’d played. Only that meant actually getting to the door at the end of the tunnel which was, by this point, pitch black except for my torch.
And blocked almost entirely with hanging bodies. So many, pressed together so close that I had no hope of making my way through without bumping into one. Reminded me of the jungle, funnily enough. Of a thick claustrophobic forest made of dried skin and brittle ligaments. Different colours and shapes, and of course different levels of decomp. Some had lost their noses, lips, and eyes. Others were a little bloated but still recognisable. Not friends, really. I don’t think I ever actually made one solitary friend on that project. But colleagues. People who were under my charge.
They looked sad. All of them looked sad. They should have been buried at home with their families, but instead they were locked all the way in the ass-end of nowhere. Of course, you can bet your ass the agency will make sure no one ever knows the truth. You know I still have contact with them? Anything I post gets screened. Arrogant bastards know that no one’s gonna take me seriously. No record of this project anywhere. All those people just ghosts in a system too big for any one person to keep track of it all. You know how many people go missing in the United States in a year? What about Europe? Or the whole fucking world?
God, this project was just a drop in the ocean.
I wanted to put it to bed. To see if I could get some kind of answer from Him. It was that idea, trying to get some resolution to this nightmare, that gave me the strength to push past the first dead body and go deeper into that tunnel. It reminded me of trying to make your way to the front of a gig, only deathly silent, and the people you barged past swung gently back and forth. The sound of makeshift nooses tightening in the dark. I think the worst part was the limited vision. My light was just a lone disk and God, it was pitch black in that place. Like caving, only the floor is slick and you don’t have to worry about a ravine. Made me think of being at the bottom of the ocean. With all the corpses, visibility was never more than just a foot ahead. I remember panicking at the realisation I could easily get turned around and, well, what if all those lost souls didn’t let me go? What if I wound up going in circles for hours, days even, on end? Just round and round. The nearest wall could be right there and I wouldn’t know it.
Just bones and teeth and ribs and hanging entrails. All of it, all of them, cold to the touch. Freezing. Obviously that was why we’d put Him down there. The place was cold. My own breath visible in the air. But the bodies were like the meat you grab out of a fridge in a supermarket, and it was just fucking awful. I found the fresh ones the hardest to stomach. A really rotten body looks almost like a prop. It isn’t. Don’t get me wrong. You look at it and your brain tells you damn well it ain’t a prop. But it’s a hell of a lot easier to convince yourself it’s just a thing when it hasn’t got skin or eyes. But the fresh ones, sometimes they still had expressions like anger or sadness on their faces. They made me feel watched. And the fact they were cold and slick with condensation… every time I bumped into one it took everything I had not to let out a whimper.
And they moved. They didn’t move, not like that. But there were no drafts down there. It was perfectly still. They’d been perfectly still for months after the project shut down. And then I came along and disturbed them and it was like a giant Newton’s cradle. A static system that I put energy into. They began to sway and twist and bump. I’d knock one and fraction of a second later it would knock me back, jostling against my cheek or my arm as inertia rocked it back and forth.
Ten minutes in, too far to turn back. That was when the nightmare began. Started small. I lost my ability to track what body was where and which ones were sent swinging by my own clumsy movements. And then, fingers combed my hair. I cried out. Another set touched my beard. My face. I forced myself onwards and started making eye contact with one too many dead men for it to simply be an accident. Their expressions changed from sullen and listless to angry and cruel. Leering smiles and curled lips.
Then came the unmistakable sensation of someone deliberately grabbing for my arm. I had to shake it loose, too afraid to look back and face the possibility that I’d see one of them moving and scowling. I pushed on constantly having to shake cold fingers off my elbow or my collar. They groped incessantly, looking for anything to hold onto. Firm grips pinched my belly fat. My shoulders. My chest. And then they started reaching for my eyes. At one point I made the mistake of crying out and a freezing cold finger with a slightly furry texture slid into my mouth. The only relief came when I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled, the entire time my mind raced with the terrible possibility that I really was just being sent in circles, over and over and over.
And they were never going to let me leave.
I would die down there, in the dark, smothered by their rotting hands.
God damn… I came close to giving up. When my torch finally alighted upon an open space I cried out. A heaving wet sob made of relief and joy, and my muscles, given new life, worked over time to get me out of that horrible nightmare and into freedom. I didn’t stop until I bumped my head against a steel wall with a dull clang and looked up to see the vault’s door.
At last. The place we’d frozen Him. I got up with what little dignity I had left, brushed down my clothes, and risked only the briefest of glances back. The bodies looked inert now, just like they had before I entered. I could’ve tricked myself into thinking it was my imagination, only half my shirt was now in tatters on the floor, and I could see strips of it still clenched in a few of their hands.
I did my best to compose myself, and I entered the vault.
We hadn’t left Him in a very nice state. The plan was to catalogue everything. Yes, we’d excised the most… striking biological anomalies but the remaining flesh, I mean we wanted to know everything. Every last capillary. Every last cell. We wanted it recorded. So we had this special machine flown in. It works by taking a piece of flesh and slicing into a layer that’s barely a micrometre thick and depositing it onto a slide. That slide is digitised and then stored in specialised cold refrigeration units. It’s usually used on a sample not much bigger than a potato but for Him, we had something specially made.
Frozen. Stood vertical. We put him on the machine where it worked creating about one slice every three hours. Only at the end, well, first no one came to take the slides away, so they had gathered on the floor below in a terrible mess. And second, no one had bothered to check if He was still dead. Stupid of us, really.
Of course He came back to life. Only this time, He didn’t get to leave the cave.
I often wonder if He had anything left to say.
But by then the machine had reached His nose. Just his eyes and the top of his head looking right at me… following me…
God we made a fucking mess of things, didn’t we? Made the Romans look gentle in comparison. I fell to my knees and begged for forgiveness and the worst part was He gave it. Obviously not verbally but it shouldn’t surprise you to know He had other ways of putting thoughts in my head. I was so angry at myself, I was positive I’d find some kind of punishment waiting for me. But I didn’t. He forgave me, told me I was loved. After everything I’d done, I mean… God that hurt the most. I didn’t deserve it. Still don’t.
And then He gave me the Third Testament, or rather the cliff notes. Not enough to drive me nuts but, the gist of it, so to speak. Did a number on me anyway. By the time I was done sobbing on the floor I looked up and He was gone. Nothing remained. Just broken glass and a machine cutting empty air.
Going back through the tunnels was no easier than going in, but I hardly remember it. I lost a couple weeks after that little trip down below, but eventually I came to in my office. Now I stay above ground. I’ve asked for rescue but the agency feels I best serve my country by staying where I am, making sure nothing else leaks out. It’s fucked but I think for once they might be right. I’ve considered sharing what He gave me. Considered even putting it in this bit of writing here. Might even go get the full Testament and upload it, but that’d involve reading it and like I said, I’m a coward and I don’t want to die. Everyone who reads it dies by their own hand.
I guess all I can say is, the Third Testament, it’s something of a warning. An outline of what’s coming our way. So bad that He came just to offer us a way out. A promise that there’s somewhere else, and an acknowledgement that we’re going to need it. Makes me think of Coates.
Smartest man I ever met, who’s first reaction to knowing what’s on the way was to try and engineer something to wipe humanity all out.
Given what we did to Him, I wonder if we don’t deserve it.

It began with a black bag over my head. Six or seven men seizing me off the street on my way home from work, holding me at gunpoint in the back of a van. They explained in detail what would happen to my family if I didn’t listen to them. Until that moment torture was just a word. I had never given it much thought. I wasn’t prepared to hear some of the things they told me. By the time they were loading me onto a helicopter I would have done anything they asked.
I arrived at the blacksite, kicked out of the chopper where my feet hit the hard-packed wet mud with a splash. Black hood torn off so hard it hurt the skin on the tip of my nose and then I got my first look at the place. Can’t say if it met my expectations or not. I didn’t have any idea where I was going, or what it was supposed to look like when I got there. Still, it managed to leave me feeling surprised. An abandoned village nestled in the jungle. Mostly one room hovels, lots of corrugated iron. Here and there lay burned allotments. Dying pepper plants left untended, their fruit stamped into the Earth by the passage of soldiers dressed in all black. Rotten fences and troughs to feed long-dead pigs and goats lay smashed to pieces. And then, lurking on a hill like some architectural jumpscare was a three story hospital made of glass and steel. State of the art. Built in a place where tarmac was just a rumour. Officially it had been put there by a charitable non-profit wanting to research novel diseases and potential cures deep in the jungle. Unofficially, it had always belonged to the CIA. A useful place to test strange things with pox in the name. And, when the time came, a useful place to dissect the impossible.
Imagine my surprise when I was escorted by armed men to an office with my name on the door and discovered that I was to be in charge of its latest major project. Head of Research printed on the glass. Real official looking. Big black letters like I’d always worked there. First thing I thought was, How long do they intend to keep me here!? But that didn’t last long. That hospital became my home and has been ever since. Less than 24 hours after my arrival and I had my feet up on the desk, barking orders at lab technicians. I slipped into the role easier than I’d like to admit. You see, where they got me was on scientific curiosity. That’s how they ensured I was on board with the project. That’s why they never pointed a gun at me after day one.
They didn’t have to.
The second I saw that thing inside the messiah’s chest cavity, I was a willing asset. No more me. Only the project. The discovery and the revelations. Lying on that slab, nestled in the flesh of an otherwise normal looking man, was a white hot piece of divinity. A pin prick in the fabric of reality. I don’t know how else to describe it. It was like I’d spent my whole life seeing two-dimensional shadows and then I suddenly got a glimpse of the three-dimensional shapes casting them.
I haven’t seen my children since they took me. Couldn’t tell you their names. I was never the same after the first autopsy. No one in that place was sane after the scalpel first bit into His flesh. Attrition amongst the research staff was incredibly high. Every day another nurse seized by stigmata, or a once-faithless lab technician struck by the call to write the Third Testament. The guards dealt with the unwilling members of the team. Traumatised scientists and clinicians lined up, one by one, against an exposed brick wall in the jungle heat and shot. I remember smoking in the cafeteria in between surgeries, nervously shaking as I tried to ignore the pop pop pop of some of my more stubborn colleagues being executed. And then back to work where I suppressed the feeling that I was the worst kind of traitor. Next day there’d be new faces scrubbing up and asking for orders, another pair of hands shipped in from God-knows-where.
Back to cataloguing divinity.
At times I imagined joining the objectors. The people who found religion in a sterile black ops lab. But that thing we pulled out of him, that baffling enigma that burned the eyes. It consumed the project. Everything we learned about it felt like a quantum leap in our understanding of microbiology. We tested everything we could get our hands on. Plants. Animals. Humans. I tried not to look any of them in the eye. Quiet people taken from some quiet part of the Earth where they wouldn’t be missed. All of them scared. Did they know? I mean really know the suffering they were in for? Definitely not. They expected to be shot, I imagine. Not to wake up with the roof of their mouths lined with eyeballs. I’m ashamed to say but those kinds of results invigorated me. Excited me, even. When it all fell apart and I missed the evacuation, I got to finally rifle through all those classified documents where I discovered I hadn’t been selected because I was some genius of microbiology. But rather because my psychological profile made it clear I’d do anything if you dangled a big enough mystery in front of me.
That and the fact that I was actually quite good at managing projects. Geniuses usually aren’t great at sending out memos or keeping track of performance numbers. Thankfully, I’m no genius. It was humbling at times, working with some of the guys down below, being senior to them even. I mean Dr Coates was probably the smartest man I’d ever met. No real academic career because he had a habit of hyperfixating on things that either couldn’t be solved, or which no one gave a shit about. But it was pretty clear this was a guy who could’ve turned his brain to just about anything and made a name for himself if he was just a little more on the ball. He was an odd’un, basically. Gave lectures barefoot. Would respond to last-minute marking deadlines by giving every student a B. Threw a stapler at the head of his department. That kind of thing. Intelligent but not particularly sensible.
The project broke him. Broke his worldview. Broke his mind and, towards the end, even his body. You might think the problem was asking a hyper-rational man to process the divine, but if anything he processed it a little too well. He was the first person to read The Third Testament without going insane. Immediately insane, I should say. Or maybe he was always nuts to begin with. Either way, he managed to take all the random scribbles and bits of verse that we’d collected from the personal effects of the deceased and actually put it together into a single document. Then he read it and came out looking like nothing special had happened.
The next guy after him, not so lucky.
But Dr Coates, he carried on working for a few days after. Took measurements of this. Made recordings of that. Slipped into the background, out of my notice, while I focused on trying to figure out some way of getting The Third Testament scanned into a computer without it causing havoc. A lot like the people who read it, machines liked to commit suicide about half-way through reading the Third Testament. Not Coates though. He seemed just fine…
Should’ve known better.
First clue that something wasn’t quite right was when I went to his office. A cramped space with metal walls and floors, no windows given it was below ground, and a countertop full of equipment. It was always a mess in there and usually a bit smelly too, but it was usually just that unwashed scientist smell. But one day when I went to call on him he opened the door and I got a whiff of something that was just… wrong. Smelled a little like death, only not quite. Just, different. Mouldy, almost. Course he was entitled to do some experiments on his own time, and that’s what I figured it was. At the time, I wrote it off. Had other things on my mind.
Only the smell got worse with time. Turned up day after day and each time it stung my nose a little worse, hung around my sinuses a little longer. And Coates, he looked a little worse for wear each time too. Again, nothing serious. The kind of thing that’s actually quite normal for a man like him. I’m used to seeing scientists fixate on a problem, something quiet they won’t share with anyone else until they know for sure what they’ve got. That’s what he was like, and I figured when he was ready he’d either show me something that would blow my socks off, or it’d be something stupid like he got his microwave to evenly heat up his lunch by taking it apart and rewiring its insides.
Sometimes I wonder if I’d caught it earlier could I have done something about it. Someone smarter might’ve picked up the odd chemical mixtures on his shelf, or recognised the peculiar smells. Not me though.
All I can say in hindsight is thank fuck my office was above ground. By the time his little project had finished working its way through the floor he was on, he’d killed thirty-six people with his homemade nerve gas. Thankfully the facility was prepared for that kind of attack and the automated security systems had the entire level locked down very quickly so the damage wasn’t that bad. Could’ve been a lot worse. But what was weird was the venting system wasn’t working. Should’ve cleared it all out in under a day, but four hours later and the gas levels were the same. The investigation, at least at first, had to happen remotely. CCTV from his lab was spotty. Something was corroding the cameras, but based on some of his material requests we guessed he’d been culturing some unusual fungus to create the bioweapon.
Whatever it was, it was potent, and we were helpless to do anything about it. We had to wait and hope to God whatever awful thing he’d concocted would wear out on its own. What little the CCTV could capture made for a gruelling sight. Eight scientists dead at their desks. Slumped over blood pouring out their mouths. The fluid looked black on the grainy black and white monitor. But what upset me more were the assistants. Dozens of young men and women who didn’t really belong in that place. Too much to live for, and all of them so scared of what was going to happen to them. And they were just lying there in the middle of whatever it was they were doing. In the labs themselves, smashed beakers and machines in disarray. In their rooms, some of them lay peacefully sleeping, others held each other in secret little trysts they thought no one knew about. All over the level bodies lay on the floor in strange positions, and again that black fluid leaking from every orifice staining the floor, their faces, and their clothes. Soaking their chests and groins.
I remember sitting there and just watching them twitch and foam at the mouths, waiting for death to finally come. Even then, the hours ticked on as we waited for the systems to purge the gas. Twelve. Twenty four. Forty eight. Nothing happened. It was like everything in there was frozen in time.
And then, somehow, the lights on that level went out. Emergency lighting came on, bathing everything in red, but combined with the low quality cameras it was like gazing at an old video game. Grainy. Fuzzy. Low resolution. We figured that Coates must’ve rigged up a remote timer on the electronics, which wasn’t a good guess since his speciality was biochemistry and the security systems were of the highest tier.
But what else could it be? Wasn’t like someone could’ve hit the circuit breaker.
We knew eventually we’d have to go in there. Sixty hours after shutdown, we just had to. There was too much high value material to leave behind, and there were reports of strange noises down there. Guards posted to the door heard faint sounds on the other side. Footsteps, they reckoned. Course I wrote that off. Utter nonsense, I told myself and them. And yet we still went in armed because, well, if Coates was smart enough to rig this whole nightmare, who’s to say he didn’t make himself a little gas mask to keep himself safe?
You think I’d be used to working in hazmat suits, and I sort of am, but going into that sealed off floor was something else. The visor felt restrictive. The squeak of the rubber suit was deafening. My breath was too loud. And everytime the in-suit radio came to life with one of the soldier’s barks, I damn near jumped out of my skin.
And then the door actually opened. Nothing could’ve prepared me for that. The air was thick with mist which lit up harshly with the emergency lighting’s red hue. Old metal grates. Vents. Open doorways. All of it either blood-red or completely dark. There were far too many shadows for it to feel safe. Didn’t help some of the bulbs were strobe lighting. Rotating sirens that lit the place up in periodic flashes of crimson light. God, even the four soldiers next to me looked nervous.
We passed more than a few bodies on our way to Coates’ lab. All of them lay where they’d been on the CCTV, at least as far as I could tell. Sounds stupid but I stared at a few of them closely just to make sure. All those reports of footsteps had started to worm their way into my brain. Couldn’t shake the idea we weren’t alone down there.
When we finally opened the door to Coates’, what I saw left me frozen to the spot. The soldiers focused on the strange growth off to one corner of the room, which registered to me only as a dim sort of collection of thick fungal petals crawling up the wall. Veins pulsating like capillaries in the eye. But to me, what really hit home was the empty desk. Last time we had reliable footage of that room, Coates had been lying there dead as a dodo. Blood leaking from his still open eyes, pooling on the desk and dripping onto the floor. And that stain was still very much there. There was even the faint outline of where his head had been laying.
But the man himself was gone.
This, even more than the grotesque thing that took up one wall, terrified me. That quivering mass of fungus was pumping out enough toxic gas to kill half the base, but it was stationary at least. In another circumstance I might’ve even found it fascinating. But Coates… he’d clearly gone off the deep end. Had he lain perfectly still for days on end to trick us? That didn’t seem right. Again I thought of the bodies we’d passed. The way they looked so still, but not lifeless. Like a porcelain doll there was that slight suggestion of something working behind the eyes.
“What do we do with this?” one of the men asked.
“Take samples, burn the rest,” I replied. “If gas levels don’t go down in a week, we’ll have to purge the whole floor with phosphorus.” The whole time I had my eyes on the space around us. Under the desk. Up on top of the cupboards. If Coates wasn’t at his desk, where was he?”
“Where the fuck did this thing come from?” the same soldier muttered as he laid a series of thermal charges on the fleshiest part of the mould. It seemed to flinch in response to his touch, but was otherwise benign.
“Uh, he probably took some of the subject’s tissue samples. We know it propagates unusual levels of growth in plant and animal tissue. Explains why the gas levels don’t go down.”
“What’s it metabolising?”
I gave the soldier an odd look.
“What?” he said. “You aren’t the only ones with an education.”
“Fair enough,” I replied with a quick shake of the head. “It isn’t metabolising anything except His tissue. It’s uh, well, bluntly, I mean think of the fish and the bread, right? This is something we’ve known about His tissue samples for a while now. Spontaneous creation of matter and energy out of nothing. But to give Coates his credit, this is a pretty novel application. He’s created an infinite bioweapon.”
“Why?”
I was about to reply, I haven’t the slightest fucking clue, when a loud bang drew our attention to the doorway. Outside lay a darkness broken only the strobing of a red light. Flashing on and off, it revealed, for just a single instant, the outline of a man standing in the hallway.
The soldiers swore nervously as they raised their rifles. By the time the light came back, the figure was gone.
“Who the fuck was that?” one barked.
“Must be Coates!” another replied.
“Job’s done,” I cried while gesturing to the charges. “Let’s get the fuck out of–”
“There are no miracles left for you. You have made your own miracles.”
The words were growled so loud and deep they seemed to vibrate my very bones. The soldiers snapped to attention, but me… I took a little longer to turn back to the corner of the room. I knew what I was going to see, but God I didn’t want to see it.
“There are other gardens, but not for you. Do not spoil the other Edens.”
Coates emerged from the thing on the wall, pulling himself free with a wet squelch. He stood not naked, but nearly naked, as his skin had begun to absorb his clothes. He looked like a burn victim coated in algae.
“He loves you. In spite of everything, He loves you. And there is a place in heaven for you all, but it is time to–”
I can’t blame the soldier who pulled the trigger. It wasn’t just the fact that Coates was speaking with a mouth that had grown grotesquely across his abdomen, but rather that the words were drilling straight into our heads like some pushing a hot needle straight into a dental nerve. It made my eyes cross, my ears ache, and my nose bleed. Two of the men had vomited, splattering the inside of their visors with thick fluid.
They were the first to go. They didn’t see what hit them and I’m somewhat glad. Coates, angered by the gunshot, moved with the elegance of a dancer. I stumbled out into the corridor as he tore them apart, his arm seemingly flowing right through their biohazard suit. The remaining soldier, the triggerhappy one, was beside me as I fled. It wasn’t far to the exit. I hoped we would make it the rest of the way without incident, that in just a few short hours I might be able to put the few images I had of Coates pulling flesh and fabric apart like it was tissue deep into some recess of my mind and just move on. But it was only a few short steps into the dark before the remaining soldier began to fire blindly at the corridor behind us.
It was a mistake for him to turn around. In the fraction of a second where his eyes had been turned away, he missed one of the bodies lying on the ground. I jumped. He didn’t. I was dimly aware of there being no one beside me only when the gunshots grew fainter and fainter as I left him behind. One of the shots dinged off a panel by my head and to this day I suspect it was not a ricochet, but a deliberate attempt to get revenge for me abandoning him.
Still I didn’t look back, not until I reached the secure door. I thumbed the keypad frantically, terrified as my ears registered the sound of approaching footsteps muffled by the biohazard suit. God, I couldn’t stop myself. I looked. I had nothing else to do except wait for security to clear me and open the door, and there was no guarantee they’d even do that. I might be waiting forever, staring at nothing as Coates came closer and closer.
Without even realising what I was doing, I turned and saw.
The soldier with the gun… Jesus. Coates’ office was out of sight, so I have no idea if he repeated this with the other two. But the man I saw, he was in pieces. Yellow and red in ragged strips that coated the ceiling as much as the floor. And barrelling towards me on all fours, legs and arms too long for a normal man, came Coates. Eyes wide. Jaw distended. Chunks of his head still missing. But his mouth, it silently spoke the same few words almost in time with his loping gallop. Over and over and over… it would take days for me to even realise what it was he was saying.
Thankfully, before he managed to reach me, the doors opened and a hail of gunfire filled the corridor ahead. Coates, fast as lightning, disappeared into some dark crevice and I was dragged to safety before the worst might happen.
As soon as I was on the other side, I told security to flood the place with phosphorus and everything was purged. White hot fire on demand. By the time it was over only metal remained and even then, a lot of it had melted and cooled in strange shapes on the floor. I also went out of my way to kill any attempts at reclaiming the lost workspace. Higher ups were pissed. All that square footage lost, but I said the risk of contamination was too great. Of course I left out the part where I returned one quiet night a few days later and placed my ear against a thick steel wall that I knew ran close to one of the vents on that level.
It was faint, but I heard Coates whispering. Only then did I finally get the final clue to what Coates had been saying as he came towards me in the flashing red of that darkened corridor.
We love you we love you we love you we love you we love you…
Even now the cameras show that level to be a sterile hollow space, but I cannot escape the feeling that if I were to open it I would see Coates come slithering out of some long-forgotten vent. Perhaps worse for wear given all the time that has since passed, but Coates nonetheless. Terrifying and misshapen, but desperate to spread the very Testament that twisted his mind and body, that caused him to try and breed something that might well have ended the entire world. And the worst thing of all? What he’d been saying to me in that corridor, what if it was true? What if he hadn’t done it out of hate, but love?
At the time I’d assumed the force we were dealing was hostile, but what if it wasn’t? Everyone who goes near the Third Testament kills themselves and until Coates I’d thought it some kind of twisted revenge. But what if that wasn’t the case? What if He wasn’t doing it out of spite or hostility. What would that mean for me? Forgiveness? If so, that terrified me because after everything I’d been through, I doubted I’d have the strength to resist that kind of offer. For weeks I lay awake at night wondering just what the hell might be in those words that could compel people like Coates to do what they did. And yet, despite everything, I still haven’t read The Third Testament. Coates was a genius and he still gave in. I know that I did some pretty messed up stuff in the name of scientific curiosity but, well, I guess I’m not ashamed to say I’m also a coward. I’m afraid of dying. Curiosity can only get you so far, and after seeing everything that happened to the people who read that thing, I couldn’t bring myself to risk it.
Whatever the Third Testament is… hearing it seems pretty bad for your health.
I don’t think I even deserve to be forgiven, if that’s what He’s offering. It was poetic justice that out of all the people who managed to make the evacuation, I wasn’t one of them. Leaving on foot is hardly an option for me. I mean, even if I had the strength to hike through hundreds of miles of rainforest, I’d need to reach the outer fence first, and strange things have festered in the chemical pits where they disposed of the bodies. Soft mounds of ash and bone that sing from time to time, exciting the birds in the canopy to take off and make strange patterns in the sky. If they can sing, they must have mouths, right? And if they have mouths, what else? I think about Coates, about what kind of hands would reach out to drag me into those rotten pits of long-dead flesh and drown me in filth and I shudder. I could try and sneak past but…
It really isn’t safe outside the hospital.
It isn’t safe inside, to be fair, but what choice do I have? At least there’s still power. Internet. Food to last me over a century. And the security doors that keep everything below sub-level one firmly locked away. While out there, well… I see things, sometimes, moving quickly between the old buildings. The trees shake and stir. And where the jungle now grows thick and heavy against one of the glass walls of the hospital, the vines twist and turn and spell out odd messages. I shut my eyes firmly whenever I have to pass them, and yet even blind I can hear the tightening of fibrous coils as the cloying flora scratch against the glass. They want me. Hungering. All those corpses we buried out there. Rotting. Breaking down. Contaminated with divinity. What strange waters flow through the soil in this place. Nothing could make me risk opening the doors and try walking through that vegetation.
He might forgive, but I don’t think my former test subjects have.
And as for down below…
You know I never met Him while he was alive. Don’t know where they got him from, or even why. My bet? He pissed off the wrong people, got shot, and got back up. Maybe they shot him again and he got up again. Maybe they did it five times. Ten times. I don’t know. Somewhere along the lines, someone worked out they had an anomaly on their hands. Maybe I wasn’t the first person to even try cutting him open? It’s just weird. No one ever told us who He was. We just knew. It’d be years before I wondered who mothered Him. Loved Him. Raised Him. I often wonder if this was the way it was meant to go? Or was it just an accident that He bumped into the wrong people at the wrong time?
The messiah came and the first thing we did was cut him up. No wonder we failed. Things in the project started to go really bad about six months after the first incision. High turnover amongst researchers was one thing but, well it turns out a lot of the soldiers had a religious inclination. Wasn’t just us dealing with visions and voices. At some point they worked out what they were part of. The agency likes compartmentalisation but it can only go so far. After the religious element became clear to the guys on the ground, things started to break down. It was one thing to control the scientists but the guards were armed. When they broke, they broke hard.
Most of His remains are stored on the lowest level where it’s easiest to keep things cool. Outside there’s this long corridor leading to the central chamber. Huge. Wide enough to drive four or five cars side by side. And that was where the first guard hanged himself. Simple enough. They dragged him away and cleaned it up. It wasn’t long after Coates. In fact, it was one of the men who’d saved me at the door. But pretty soon another two guys went down there and hanged themselves. And then five. And then eight. And then topside, some guys started blowing their brains out. In their barracks. In the canteens. Standing watch at the doors, looking out on the jungle, cigarette hanging loose on one lip. Seemed almost random, except there was a clear pattern of escalation. When those guys started killing their friends, that’s when it reached the point where they couldn’t ship new guys in fast enough to replace losses. Once that happened, orders started getting lost. Jobs started being left undone. One lab got written off because a test subject’s body was left to fester over a weekend and by the time they got the door open there was flesh growing up the walls. Not enough manpower to deal with it so they left it for another day and moved on. Only they forgot to tell the researcher who worked there so come Monday he went in and had a hell of a surprise. Must’ve been like stepping into a wall of sourdough. I can only hope he suffocated and it was quick, but who knows? Not like that stuff has hard and fast rules. For all I know he’s still in there, screaming for air.
Meanwhile that tunnel, people just kept going down there and hanging themselves. I mean, every day I’d wake up and I’d be down a few researchers, and a couple more guards would be missing. Took a shockingly short amount of time for most of the six hundred people onsite to just disappear. God knows when security stopped taking the bodies down. Just another job that got lost in the growing panic. By the time evacuation orders came, we were down to a hundred people. I estimate that around four hundred killed themselves in that tunnel.
I’ve only visited Him once since the project shut down. Only had the guts to go looking once. Barely made it out alive. I felt compelled to try and face up to Him. To acknowledge the role I’d played. Only that meant actually getting to the door at the end of the tunnel which was, by this point, pitch black except for my torch.
And blocked almost entirely with hanging bodies. So many, pressed together so close that I had no hope of making my way through without bumping into one. Reminded me of the jungle, funnily enough. Of a thick claustrophobic forest made of dried skin and brittle ligaments. Different colours and shapes, and of course different levels of decomp. Some had lost their noses, lips, and eyes. Others were a little bloated but still recognisable. Not friends, really. I don’t think I ever actually made one solitary friend on that project. But colleagues. People who were under my charge.
They looked sad. All of them looked sad. They should have been buried at home with their families, but instead they were locked all the way in the ass-end of nowhere. Of course, you can bet your ass the agency will make sure no one ever knows the truth. You know I still have contact with them? Anything I post gets screened. Arrogant bastards know that no one’s gonna take me seriously. No record of this project anywhere. All those people just ghosts in a system too big for any one person to keep track of it all. You know how many people go missing in the United States in a year? What about Europe? Or the whole fucking world?
God, this project was just a drop in the ocean.
I wanted to put it to bed. To see if I could get some kind of answer from Him. It was that idea, trying to get some resolution to this nightmare, that gave me the strength to push past the first dead body and go deeper into that tunnel. It reminded me of trying to make your way to the front of a gig, only deathly silent, and the people you barged past swung gently back and forth. The sound of makeshift nooses tightening in the dark. I think the worst part was the limited vision. My light was just a lone disk and God, it was pitch black in that place. Like caving, only the floor is slick and you don’t have to worry about a ravine. Made me think of being at the bottom of the ocean. With all the corpses, visibility was never more than just a foot ahead. I remember panicking at the realisation I could easily get turned around and, well, what if all those lost souls didn’t let me go? What if I wound up going in circles for hours, days even, on end? Just round and round. The nearest wall could be right there and I wouldn’t know it.
Just bones and teeth and ribs and hanging entrails. All of it, all of them, cold to the touch. Freezing. Obviously that was why we’d put Him down there. The place was cold. My own breath visible in the air. But the bodies were like the meat you grab out of a fridge in a supermarket, and it was just fucking awful. I found the fresh ones the hardest to stomach. A really rotten body looks almost like a prop. It isn’t. Don’t get me wrong. You look at it and your brain tells you damn well it ain’t a prop. But it’s a hell of a lot easier to convince yourself it’s just a thing when it hasn’t got skin or eyes. But the fresh ones, sometimes they still had expressions like anger or sadness on their faces. They made me feel watched. And the fact they were cold and slick with condensation… every time I bumped into one it took everything I had not to let out a whimper.
And they moved. They didn’t move, not like that. But there were no drafts down there. It was perfectly still. They’d been perfectly still for months after the project shut down. And then I came along and disturbed them and it was like a giant Newton’s cradle. A static system that I put energy into. They began to sway and twist and bump. I’d knock one and fraction of a second later it would knock me back, jostling against my cheek or my arm as inertia rocked it back and forth.
Ten minutes in, too far to turn back. That was when the nightmare began. Started small. I lost my ability to track what body was where and which ones were sent swinging by my own clumsy movements. And then, fingers combed my hair. I cried out. Another set touched my beard. My face. I forced myself onwards and started making eye contact with one too many dead men for it to simply be an accident. Their expressions changed from sullen and listless to angry and cruel. Leering smiles and curled lips.
Then came the unmistakable sensation of someone deliberately grabbing for my arm. I had to shake it loose, too afraid to look back and face the possibility that I’d see one of them moving and scowling. I pushed on constantly having to shake cold fingers off my elbow or my collar. They groped incessantly, looking for anything to hold onto. Firm grips pinched my belly fat. My shoulders. My chest. And then they started reaching for my eyes. At one point I made the mistake of crying out and a freezing cold finger with a slightly furry texture slid into my mouth. The only relief came when I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled, the entire time my mind raced with the terrible possibility that I really was just being sent in circles, over and over and over.
And they were never going to let me leave.
I would die down there, in the dark, smothered by their rotting hands.
God damn… I came close to giving up. When my torch finally alighted upon an open space I cried out. A heaving wet sob made of relief and joy, and my muscles, given new life, worked over time to get me out of that horrible nightmare and into freedom. I didn’t stop until I bumped my head against a steel wall with a dull clang and looked up to see the vault’s door.
At last. The place we’d frozen Him. I got up with what little dignity I had left, brushed down my clothes, and risked only the briefest of glances back. The bodies looked inert now, just like they had before I entered. I could’ve tricked myself into thinking it was my imagination, only half my shirt was now in tatters on the floor, and I could see strips of it still clenched in a few of their hands.
I did my best to compose myself, and I entered the vault.
We hadn’t left Him in a very nice state. The plan was to catalogue everything. Yes, we’d excised the most… striking biological anomalies but the remaining flesh, I mean we wanted to know everything. Every last capillary. Every last cell. We wanted it recorded. So we had this special machine flown in. It works by taking a piece of flesh and slicing into a layer that’s barely a micrometre thick and depositing it onto a slide. That slide is digitised and then stored in specialised cold refrigeration units. It’s usually used on a sample not much bigger than a potato but for Him, we had something specially made.
Frozen. Stood vertical. We put him on the machine where it worked creating about one slice every three hours. Only at the end, well, first no one came to take the slides away, so they had gathered on the floor below in a terrible mess. And second, no one had bothered to check if He was still dead. Stupid of us, really.
Of course He came back to life. Only this time, He didn’t get to leave the cave.
I often wonder if He had anything left to say.
But by then the machine had reached His nose. Just his eyes and the top of his head looking right at me… following me…
God we made a fucking mess of things, didn’t we? Made the Romans look gentle in comparison. I fell to my knees and begged for forgiveness and the worst part was He gave it. Obviously not verbally but it shouldn’t surprise you to know He had other ways of putting thoughts in my head. I was so angry at myself, I was positive I’d find some kind of punishment waiting for me. But I didn’t. He forgave me, told me I was loved. After everything I’d done, I mean… God that hurt the most. I didn’t deserve it. Still don’t.
And then He gave me the Third Testament, or rather the cliff notes. Not enough to drive me nuts but, the gist of it, so to speak. Did a number on me anyway. By the time I was done sobbing on the floor I looked up and He was gone. Nothing remained. Just broken glass and a machine cutting empty air.
Going back through the tunnels was no easier than going in, but I hardly remember it. I lost a couple weeks after that little trip down below, but eventually I came to in my office. Now I stay above ground. I’ve asked for rescue but the agency feels I best serve my country by staying where I am, making sure nothing else leaks out. It’s fucked but I think for once they might be right. I’ve considered sharing what He gave me. Considered even putting it in this bit of writing here. Might even go get the full Testament and upload it, but that’d involve reading it and like I said, I’m a coward and I don’t want to die. Everyone who reads it dies by their own hand.
I guess all I can say is, the Third Testament, it’s something of a warning. An outline of what’s coming our way. So bad that He came just to offer us a way out. A promise that there’s somewhere else, and an acknowledgement that we’re going to need it. Makes me think of Coates.
Smartest man I ever met, who’s first reaction to knowing what’s on the way was to try and engineer something to wipe humanity all out.
Given what we did to Him, I wonder if we don’t deserve it.

For those looking for something to do this weekend, here's 20 local events you can enjoy as well as 3 Monday bonus events. Hope this helps you find something fun to enjoy.
Weekend Rundown of Fun: 1. Clover Hollow in Concert Rising Silo Farm Brewery, Blacksburg Friday, November 3, 2023, 6:00 - 9:00 PM Admission: Free Seated in southern Appalachia, Laura Beth and Clover Hollow embody the authentic roots music that surround them while producing a signature sound that is original, sharp and refreshing - blues-rock, bluegrass, old time, and old-school-country all meld together into the soul of their music. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=768770
2. 2023 Beta Theta Pi Fall Fest with Patty Carver Band and The Red Ferns The Milk Parlor, Blacksburg Friday, November 3, 2023, 6:00 - 9:00 PM Admission: $15.00 The Milk Parlor hosts the 2023 Beta Theta Pi Fall Fest with Patty Carver Band and The Red Ferns. The Patty Carver Band is a rock band playing covers and originals based in Blacksburg, VA. The Red Ferns is a groovy guitar band based in Blacksburg, VA. The show benefits Feeding Southwest Virginia who's mission is to nourish neighbors, engage community partners, and develop solutions to address food insecurity. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=769286
3. Performance: Javon Jackson with Nikki Giovanni and Nnenna Freelon Moss Arts Center at Virginia Tech, Blacksburg Friday, November 3, 2023, 7:30 - 9:00 PM Adult Tickets (based on seat location): $20.00 - $55.00, Students with ID and Youth 18 & Under: $10.00 A historic collaboration between renowned poet and Virginia Tech legend Nikki Giovanni and saxophonist-composer and former Jazz Messenger Javon Jackson has yielded "The Gospel According to Nikki Giovanni". For this intimate jazz performance, Jackson brings his bold-toned, Trane-inspired tenor lines to bear on a series of hymns, spirituals, and gospel numbers hand-picked by Giovanni. They are joined by celebrated jazz vocalist Nnenna Freelon. Nikki Giovanni is one of the best-known African-American poets who reached prominence during the late 1960s and early 1970s. Her unique and insightful poetry testifies to her own evolving awareness and experiences: from child to young woman, from naive college freshman to seasoned civil rights activist, from daughter to mother. Frequently anthologized, Giovanni’s poetry expresses strong racial pride and respect for family. Her informal style makes her work accessible to both adults and children. She also is a University Distinguished Professor at Virginia Tech, where she has taught since 1987 Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=708037
4. Virginia Man in Concert The Milk Parlor, Blacksburg Friday, November 3, 2023, 10:30 PM - 01:30 AM Advance Tickets: $10.00, Day of the Show: $15.00 This Virginia Man is a three piece rock and roll band from Fredericksburg, Virginia that sings lyrics from the bottom of your heart in songs from your fondest memory. Their music will make you feel like coffee and cigarettes while reading your favorite author at 7:30 in the morning, reminiscing on the three course meal you shared with the love of your life the previous evening, they're the silly geese, you always want a party, and they're good people that make music for good people, and that feels good. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=769285
5. 2023 One Stop Christmas Shoppe New River Valley Fairgrounds, Dublin Saturday, November 4, 2023, 10:00 AM - 4:00 PM Admission: $1.00 New River Valley Fairgrounds hosts the 12th Annual One Stop Christmas Shoppe. Get all of your Christmas shopping done in one place with over 100 craft and direct sales vendors along with multiple food trucks and food vendors. This is an outdoor and indoor event. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=769300
6. 2023 Free Fall Repair Cafe Habitat for Humanity ReStore, Christiansburg Saturday, November 4, 2023, 10:00 AM - 2:00 PM Admission: Free The New River Valley Timebank and the Habitat for Humanity ReStore presents the 2023 Fall Repair Cafe. Stop by the ReStore for free repairs including sewing, small furniture & appliances, electronics, knife sharpening, plant repotting, toy repair and now offering jewelry repair. A Repair Cafe is a free event that promotes repair as an alternative to tossing things out. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=769305
7. Inaugural Sinkland Farms Wine Festival Sinkland Farms, Christiansburg Saturday, November 4, 2023 and Sunday, November 5, 2023, 11:00 AM - 5:00 PM Tasting Tickets: $25.00, Non-Tasters and Children 4 & Up: $15.00, Children Ages 3 & Under: Free Sinkland Farms presents their Inaugural Two-Day Wine Festival. Wineries include Narmada Winery, Woods Acre Winery, Virginia Mountain Vineyards, Dobbins Hollow Winery and Notaviva Winery. This weekend will also be the closing weekend of the 2023 Pumpkin Fest with the corn maze, hayrides, kids zone, animal barn & more still available for the kids and those young at heart. The wine festival will feature live music from 1:00-4:00 PM featuring Jimothy on Saturday and The Hot Mamas on Sunday, food trucks, arts and crafts vendors, and other attractions. Tasting admission includes eight tasting tickets and complimentary tasting cup. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=769039
8. Free Wine Tasting with Stan from Robins Cellars Vintage Cellar, Blacksburg Saturday, November 4, 2023, 11:00 AM - 7:00 PM Admission: Free Join Vintage Cellar for a free wine tasting event with Stan from Robins Cellar. Stan will be showcasing a selection of wines from Robins Cellars, one of Virginia's top wine distributors. Bottles will be available for purchase after the tasting if you find one you love. Must be 21 or older to participate. IDs required. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=737711
9. Genealogy Saturdays Alexander Black House & Cultural Center, Blacksburg Saturday, November 4, 2023, 1:00 - 4:00 PM Admission: Free Join the Alexander Black House & Cultural Center on the first Saturday of every month for Genealogy Saturdays. Ancestry experts will be on hand to assist you as you explore your family tree. Come with questions about research and discovering your roots. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=768470
10. Cupcake Decorating for Ages 5 & Up The Crafter's Corner, Christiansburg Saturday, November 4, 2023, 2:00 - 4:00 PM Admission: $45.00 In this class, you will learn four different piping techniques and be able to practice on six cupcakes. You will be supplied with the cupcakes and tools needed to complete this project, and you get to take the cupcakes home to eat. No experience necessary. This class is open to ages 5 and up. The cost covers all materials and instructions. Pre-registration is required. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=769306
11. YMCA at VT 150th Birthday Open House Celebration YMCA at Virginia Tech, Blacksburg Saturday, November 4, 2023, 2:00 - 4:00 PM Admission: Free Join the YMCA at Virginia Tech at their Open House to start celebrating 150 years of the wonderful work of the YMCA at Virginia Tech. Founded in 1873 The YMCA at Virginia Tech is one of the most respected and flourishing campus and community YMCA programs. This is, in large part, because of the long-standing and mutually beneficial relationship that exists between the YMCA and Virginia Tech as well as the YMCA and the community. Enjoy refreshments and door prizes. All are welcome. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=769230
12. Women Supporting Women: Ladies Night Out University Club of Virginia Tech, Blacksburg Saturday, November 4, 2023, 4:00 - 9:00 PM Admission: $40.00 Join Edson Aesthetics for Women Supporting Women: Ladies Night Out! Your $40.00 ticket includes food, drink (cash bar), free services from our self care vendors (Edson Aesthetics, Sweet Grass Yoga, Renew & Restore Wellness, Massage, Pink Crush & Blue Crush, Wax Lab, New River Osteopathy) and access to retail vendors (Cocoa Mia Chocolates, Clothing, Pampered Chef, doTERRA, Orange Bandana Gifts, Paint-n-Fun Ceramics, local artists and more). All vendors are women-owned in the New River Valley. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=769100
13. Blue Phoenix in Concert Rising Silo Farm Brewery, Blacksburg Saturday, November 4, 2023, 5:30 - 8:30 PM Admission: Free Blue Phoenix is a vibrant band based in Blacksburg, VA that brings together a powerhouse of talented musicians that take you on a musical journey that transcends genres and ignites your soul. From blues to classic rock, americana to jazz, and folk to country, Blue Phoenix masterfully blends these styles to create a unique sound that will keep you grooving all night long. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=768771
14. TechNotes Fall 2023 Concert: Despicable Technotes Haymarket Theater (Squires Student Center), Virginia Tech Saturday, November 4, 2023, 7:00 - 9:00 PM Advance Tickets: $7.00 At the Door: $10.00 TechNotes presents their Fall 2023 Concert titled "Despicable Technotes" for a Minion-themed night of a cappella fun. Don't miss out on a night filled with fresh tunes, classic TechNotes hits, and exciting raffle giveaways. TechNotes is a co-ed A Cappella group at Virginia Tech that performs at various events throughout the year. Advance tickets and can be purchased until 11:59 PM on Friday, November 3rd from any TechNotes member or by Venmoing u/vttechnotes. Tickets at the door can be purchased by cash or Venmo. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=769817
15. November Blacksburg Square Dance Odd Fellows Building Lodge #20 (Wilson Avenue), Blacksburg Saturday, November 4, 2023, 7:30 - 10:00 PM Ages 13 & Up: $10.00 Ages 12 & Under: Free The Blacksburg Square Dance presents the November Blacksburg Square Dance with calling from Becky Hill and music by Raistlin Brabson and Up Jumped Trouble. The evening kicks off with a Beginner Lesson at 7:30 PM followed by square dancing from 8:00-10:00 PM. No experience or partner is necessary and all dances are taught. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=769298
16. Knitting Circle Southpaw Cafe & Community Space, Blacksburg Sunday, November 5, 2023, 11:30 AM - 1:30 PM Admission: Free Southpaw Cafe & Community Space presents a Knitting Circle every Sunday from 11:30 AM to 1:30 PM. Socialize and exchange knitting tips with other patrons. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=769218
17. Bruce Mahin in Concert Chateau Morrisette, Floyd Sunday, November 5, 2023, 1:00 - 4:00 PM Admission: Free Trailblazing singer songwriter Bruce Mahin uses Ableton and Max/MSP to augment his solo performances with a wide variety of pre-recorded and spontaneous musical instruments. The combination of traditional folk music influences, live improvisation, and interactive technology has prompted his music to be called New Wave Americana. It has something for every generation and every musical taste. Bringing your own seating is suggested as the tables fill up fast. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=715727
18. Winemaker Tasting: Los Noques Blacksburg Wine Lab, Blacksburg Sunday, November 5, 2023, 4:00 - 6:00 PM Admission: $50.00 Join Blacksburg Wine Lab for a marvelous tasting from Los Noques, a small family-run winery in the Uco Valley, near Mendoza, Argentina. Guests will be joined by owner and winemaker, Rodrigo Leone who will lead the group through six of his amazingly valued wines. Admission also includes a beef taco bar to pair. In 2003, after more than 40 years producing and commercializing the grapes from their own vineyards to some of the most prominent wineries in Argentina, they decided to start with our own wine production with the objective to produce premium wines. The winery was constructed by a visionary winemaker who followed the guidelines of the French wineries rather than the ones used the Argentine of the 30s, constructing a series of small concrete tanks to be able to produce high quality wines. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=769005
19. Diwali 2023: Cultural Show, Fireworks Celebration & Dinner Burruss Auditorium, Virginia Tech Sunday, November 5, 2023, 4:30 - 9:30 PM Cultural Show: Free, Fireworks: Free Dinner: $23.99 per person The Indian Students Association (ISA) at Virginia Tech presents the Diwali Celebration 2023 featuring a Cultural Show 4:30-6:30 PM inside Burruss Auditorium, Fireworks Celebration on the Drillfield at 7:00 PM and dinner starting at 7:30 PM inside the Commonwealth Ballroom located in the Squires Student Center. Immerse yourself in a spectacular cultural show showcasing traditional dances, music, and acts. Discover the rich heritage and joyous spirit of this beloved festival in a colorful, unforgettable evening. Experience the magic of Diwali with a breathtaking fireworks display. To wrap up the evening, there is also a special Diwali Dinner available to savor the flavors of India. Enjoy a delectable feast featuring a variety of mouthwatering Indian dishes from Roanoke's authentic Indian restaurant, Taaza. Advance reservations and payment are required. Diwali, also called the festival of lights, is one of the most widely celebrated festivals in India, signifying the victory of light over darkness, knowledge over ignorance, good over evil, and hope over despair. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=769814
20. Mist on the Mountain in Concert Palisades Restaurant, Eggleston Sunday, November 5, 2023, 5:00 - 7:30 PM Admission: Free Mist on the Mountain is an Irish Traditional Music group based in the New River Valley. From lively jigs and reels to heartbreaking laments and rollicking ballads, Mist on the Mountain provides great Irish music for any occasion. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=769246
Monday Events: 21. Women's Basketball: High Point vs. Virginia Tech (Season Opener & Final Four Banner Unveiling) Cassell Coliseum, Virginia Tech Monday, November 6, 2023, 5:00 PM General Public: $12.00, Youth: $7.00 The Virginia Tech Women's Basketball team open their 2023/2024 season against non-conference opponent High Point. This is the first game of the 2023/2024 season and, before the game, Virginia Tech will unveil both the 2023 Final Four and ACC Championship banners so arrive early to watch. Additionally, the first 1,500 fans in attendance can claim a reversible 2023 Final Four and 2023 ACC Championship bucket hat at the Promotions Booth located between Portals 1 and 3. A special poster highlighting the 2023 ACC Championship and 2023 Final Four appearance will also be available at the Promotions Booth while supplies last. The first 500 students can claim a reversible 2023 Final Four and 2023 ACC Championship bucket hat at the student entrance (east side of Cassell Coliseum). The student section will be filled with 1,000 shirts for early arriving students to claim one at their seat. Family Four packs are also available for $10.00 for each ticket and this game is a Youth Team Day/Education Day for ages 13 & under. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=769826
22. Men's Basketball: Coppin State vs. Virginia Tech (Season Opener) Cassell Coliseum, Virginia Tech Monday, November 6, 2023, 8:00 PM Individual: $20.00, Family Four Pack: $10.00 (Must be at least 4 tickets) The Virginia Tech Men's Basketball team hosts non-conference opponent Coppin State to open their 2023/2024 regular season schedule. Halftime of the home opener will begin with a live recognition of Virginia Tech Letterwinners for various sports and will feature a performance by the Virginia Tech Feature Twirlers. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=769827
23. Iron Flame Midnight Release Party Blacksburg Books, Blacksburg Monday, November 6, 2023, 10:00 PM - 01:00 AM Admission: Free Blacksburg Books presents an Iron Flame Midnight Release Party starting at 10:00 PM, but you can't get your book until midnight so hang out and have drinks and snacks and shop and try not to fall asleep. All Fourth Wing / Iron Flame fans are welcome. You don't need to have preordered your book from Blacksburg Books to attend, but they don't expect to have any extras to sell. Link: http://www.nextthreedays.com/FeaturedEventDetails.cfm?E=768981
To see all the local fun (over 65 weekend events), check out our Featured Events Page: http://www.nextthreedays.com/featuredevents.cfm
Thanks for reading and have a great weekend!

A mix of mundane items you might find in the office of any overworked gumshoe as well as potential macguffins and creepy items fitting with the setting. But with a kind of X-Files feel where you aren't sure if magic exists or if there's some rational explanation, no matter how convoluted it might be.

Roll	Result
01	A bottle of cheap rotgut booze, only a quarter of it remaining.
02	A cardboard box of wooden matches. If shaken, you can hear only one wooden match is left, rattling around inside. The match is used, the top half burned and gnarled. Yet somehow if struck, still produces a feeble flame. The name on the match box is The Phoenix. There's no address.
03	A square leather case that closes with a strap, and is full of folded up pages, small scraps of paper, receipts, newspaper clippings, notes scribbled on cocktail napkins, etc. They are in no discernable order and none of it pertains to any case or incident you are familiar with.
04	A torn-out "J" page from a phonebook. There are 38 people with the last name Johnson... 32 of the names have been crossed out... four have question marks... one has an exclamation mark... the last is circled.
05	An old map of an unfamiliar location. If the parchment exposed to heat, indecipherable runes faintly appear. Are they magically inscribed, or is written in some sort of invisible ink?
06	A wooden coat tree with a battered fedora crookedly perched on top.
07	A very old Bible bound in heavy leather made from the hide of an unfamiliar creature. If you look inside, many passages have been underlined, highlighted, or entirely cut out. Those well-versed with the Bible will notice unfamiliar passages as well.
08	An unloaded snub-nosed revolver, the barrel smelling faintly of gunpowder.
09	A jar containing an eye and a couple inches of optic nerve floating in a greenish fluid. Taped to the jar is a note reading "Vazquez?" Somehow the eye always seems to be turned to face you.
10	A wooden case about the size of a dictionary, shoved into a corner and buried under old newspapers and empty coffee cups. It's locked and there's no key to be found. If somehow opened, it contains military decorations for gallantry that were awarded to the private eye.
11	A wooden hand with articulating fingers. You can't tell if it's a mannequin hand to be used by artist, or a prosthetic. Every time you look away, it seems like the fingers slightly change position.
12	A glass jar of ginger chews.
13	A notebook that contains private notes from a psychiatrist about a patient. The first two pages are banal and clinical; by the fifth, they are inscrutable ramblings.
14	A leather briefcase with banged up brass clasps. MaxSizeIs
15	A wooden cane with a lot of scratches, and a pair of wooden shoe-stretchers, along with a pair of scuffed shoes with one slightly too tall heel, propped up away in the corner. MaxSizeIs
16	A small stone statue of what is probably an eagle at rest about 6 inches high. MaxSizeIs
17	A small statue, it was maybe once a bust, weathered and beaten beyond recognition. When looked at under candle light you may see something reminiscent of a face. InquisitorViktorTarr
18	A can of soup with weird writing that makes your head hurt to trying to read it, and a very odd picture on it. You would swear it is looking at you. Adventux
19	A vial of clotted blood. It's labeled but the writing has faded away.
20	A baseball bat. The handle has been snapped off, leaving a sharp point.
21	A wall calendar, every full moon is crossed out in red. It doesn't look like ink.
22	A live mouse in a snap trap. The trap didn't kill it, but it's stuck in the trap. It's rear legs are still on the floor and occasionally the trap skitters around the room.
23	A portable typewriter in a battered case.
24	A scimitar hanging askew on the wall with an empty socket on the hilt where a jewel would have been. okami31
25	An interrogation kit open, showing some glass containers with murky liquids. okami31
26	A book about South American plants, with handwritten notes in Portuguese. okami31
27	An antique hookah and it looks recently used. okami31
28	Slightly mangled venetian blinds, and a slowly spinning steel caged 1930's General Electric fan. MaxSizeIs
29	A small wooden case shoved in the back of the shoe-closet filled with Turkish cigarettes, a false bottom filled with a stack of 5's and 10's, a speedloader of ammunition for a .357 revolver, a small handful of gold krugerrands, and a set of phony passports. MaxSizeIs
30	A bloody crowbar bent by the galoot the detective tried to clobber to death with it. MaxSizeIs
31	A sawn off shotgun taped to the underside of the desk behind a false front. MaxSizeIs
32	A protective magic circle scratched into the floor, filled with a thin silver wire and painted with a drop of saint's blood, blessed linseed oil, and a pigeon-feather; just big enough to fit around the desk and two chairs, and hidden beneath a crappy throw rug that really ties the room together. MaxSizeIs
33	A small, cramped crawl-space behind the air-vent leading to the neighboring office unit; kept vacant as a favor by the building manager. MaxSizeIs
34	A small box tied with a bow, containing what appears to be the severed little finger of a lady, complete with well manicured and lacquered finger-nail. MaxSizeIs
35	Ferret Droppings, as a message from the Nihilists you owe money to. MaxSizeIs
36	A tiny safe, hidden in a false compartment in the bottom drawer of the desk. MaxSizeIs
37	A loose floor-board behind a filing cabinet, with a small string attached to make it easier to remove. MaxSizeIs
38	A half used matchbook from a place that would further the plot along if the players visited. MaxSizeIs
39	A pencil rubbing of a piece of stationery. It shows a secret that furthers the plot. MaxSizeIs
40	A picture frame with a person's picture inside who literally does not have a face. As soon as you put the picture down, you forget this fact unless you have a great amount of mental willpower to resist the occult effect. MaxSizeIs
41	A small set of post cards hidden behind other pictures in picture frames on the wall. The post-cards advance the plot. MaxSizeIs
42	A pamphlet from a new-age cult type place or religious leader that would further the plot. MaxSizeIs
43	A rusted pencil sharpener in desperate need of being emptied of pencil shavings. comedianmasta
44	A collection of pencils of various heights, a few lacking erasers as they appear to have been snapped in half at one point. comedianmasta
45	An ash tray with several stubs crushed inside. comedianmasta
46	A vintage table lighter that looks decorative. comedianmasta
47	A messy Rolodex filled with scribbled notes interspersed with business cards of names, addresses, and phone numbers. comedianmasta
48	An old telephone with the receiver and speaker separated. Markings half scraped off it hints it might've been an old phone from a hotel. comedianmasta
49	A letter rack absolutely stuffed with ignored bills. comedianmasta
50	An old calendar flipped to the wrong month. On closer inspection, you see it's for a few years ago. comedianmasta
51	A rusted barometer by the window with different weather things written on it. It's unclear if it is broken or functional. comedianmasta
52	A mercury thermometer nailed onto the wall. comedianmasta
53	An inappropriate cigarette dispenser of a naked lady. When the lady is bent forward, a cigarette is dispensed from where her butt would be. comedianmasta
54	A brass stamp on a dried up ink pad that stamps the words "Case Closed". comedianmasta
55	A basket of tickets and ticket stubs from films and movies, carnivals, and other ticketed events. Some are unused. Many are way out of date.
56	A quality, but beaten, camera with one or more long-range lenses. Most of the film inside is used up but unprocessed. One of the lenses has clearly been modified, with either strange symbols or electronics surrounding a lens of an unusual color. DavidECloveast
57	An honest to god Enigma machine. DavidECloveast
58	A letter from someone the detective notes is a crackpot detailing the location and nature of research into electricity-based weaponry. DavidECloveast
59	A letter signed 'Bilagaana" saying he wants nothing to do with the gumshoe and to never contact him again. DavidECloveast
60	A knife with a strange wavy 'Kris' blade. DavidECloveast
61	A threatening note made of cut up newspaper headlines. DavidECloveast
62	A pewter toy of a soldier on horseback. DavidECloveast
63	A talisman made of some ugly, slag-like metal that is dark enough it's hard to see what it depicts; simply labeled 'do not'. DavidECloveast
64	A rifle from the Great War, vintage 1911. DavidECloveast
65	A framed photograph of a police or military academy's graduating class. Some faces may be scratched out. DavidECloveast
66	A dented flask filled with sand. DavidECloveast
67	A machine gun. A Tommy gun in either the 'gangster' or 'GI' configurations, or maybe even a m1919 or foreign trophy from Europe. DavidECloveast
68	A letter signed MacGee trying to convince the detective to sign on and help with Irish independence. Handwriting, syntax and word choice all give the impression the writer is not mentally stable. DavidECloveast
69	A photograph depicting The detective standing alongside a Chinese man in a pilot's jumpsuit in front of a P-40 Warhawk, both smiling. It's signed 'Death from Above! -Hua' in one corner. DavidECloveast
70	A stack of kid's comic books. There may be deranged, conspiratorial scribbling in the margins. DavidECloveast
71	A whole ass dead monkey curled up in a desk drawer. DavidECloveast
72	A sawn-off shotgun. It's loaded with two shells filled with some kind of ash rather than buckshot. DavidECloveast
73	A corkboard covered in thumbtacked photographs linked together with string. It may look like somebody's ripped some of the contents off, and some of the photos are downright bizarre. DavidECloveast
74	A human skull. Something is rattling around inside. DavidECloveast
75	A very plain crucifix on a neck string. DavidECloveast
76	An underground map of the city. A few places are marked, but any text is illegible due to bad handwriting and water damage. DavidECloveast
77	A photograph of the detective armed with a double barreled shotgun crouching next to a dead grasshopper about the size of a large dog, looking as about as disturbed as anyone would be in that situation. The back simply reads "Oklahoma". DavidECloveast
78	A police radio, next to an ashtray full of ashes and cigarette butts. DavidECloveast
79	Horse racing forms. The detective is baffled by his ability to predict the placement of a horse named 'So Cavalier'. DavidECloveast
80	A photograph of two men crouching in the sand next to a dead giant serpent whose head is about as large as they are crouched, one armed with an elephant gun and the other a large muzzle-loader. Their features are indistinct from the Berber or Tuareg style of desert clothing they are wearing, but the man with the elephant gun does resemble the detective somewhat. 'Good hunting!- Askiou Ag Sidi' is written over the cloudless sky. DavidECloveast
81	A jar of murky gray substance (think "Hpnotiq" but gray). Occasionally an eyeball, or a tentacle, or a hand will make its way to the glass--just barely grazing the container before disappearing. The eyeball centers on whoever is looking at it (or whomever sees it first). If pointed out, the owner will give them a quizzical look and say that the jar is empty--and that they only have it because crazy people tell them there's stuff inside (liquid, the hand, tentacle, eyeballs, etc.), which to them makes it a great indicator of who's nuts and who isn't. As a show of truth, they'll take the jar, unscrew the lid, and upend it. The "murky liquid" stays in the jar as if it was not moved. RecycledEternity
82	A book nailed to the wall. The nails look disorderly and haphazardly hammered, with many bent in strange angles. The book is constantly wet, and the title is illegible. Phoenix_667
83	A drawer. The interior divided in dozens of sections, with a variety of pills and ointments neatly ordered inside. Each subsection has a small torn piece of paper glued to it with two letters, except the last one which says "KEEP EMPTY" Phoenix_667
84	A scalpel and a few empty vials, neatly ordered over a dark red cloth with odd decorations. Phoenix_667
85	A terrarium, empty except for dry soil, with many visible tunnels on it. Each time a character looks away the tunnels change their position, even if a different character is looking at it. Phoenix_667
86	A huge sack of ordinary salt, with a line marker right beside it. Phoenix_667
87	A gun cabinet in each and every wall. Each is painted with a bright neon symbol, which glows in the dark. Phoenix_667
88	Cyanide pills. Phoenix_667
89	A sword, hanging by a thin rope, right over the detective's chair. If examined, the rope turns out to actually be a wooden mechanism keeping the sword locked in place, and the sword's edge has been thoroughly dulled. Phoenix_667
90	A Newton's Cradle. All the balls swing freely if tested, but swinging an outside ball into the others doesn't do anything. It thunks and stops, seemingly disproving Newton's Laws of Motion.
91	A note on hotel stationery. Written in a woman's handwriting: I'm sorry. I can't.
92	Two identical daggers. One is a prop knife, the other very real.
93	A corkboard with a desiccated death's head hawkmoth pinned to it. Occasionally it weakly flaps its wings. It might just be the breeze, though.
94	Outside the office, the characters hear ringing telephone, but it stops as they get closer to the door. Inside the office, the only phone they find is on the floor, the receiver disconnected from the body, and the phone cable ripped out of the wall.
95	A crushed, mostly empty pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes. There are two bent but still smokable cigarettes in the pack.
96	A well chewed dog bone. The bite marks don't appear to be canine in origin.
97	Numerous wrappers scattered about for a black licorice hard candy that hasn't been made in years.
98	An ornate brass lamp with a heavy base. There's dried blood and a bit of hair stuck to the bottom edge.
99	Paperclipped together: A newspaper obituary, a photo of a tombstone, and a funeral prayer card. The name and dates of birth and death are identical, except for the years. In each case, exactly 80 years apart.
00	A folder containing detailed notes, crime scene photographs, and various bits of evidence from an incident the players were involved with at the very beginning of the campaign. Judging from the detective's notes, there was much more to the story than the players knew.

20/8/2022
Mary morning. Went to 7-11 on the way and the cashier gave me a little side-eye. Picked up a gift card at Black Angus on the way back; that cashier seemed nice too, in a more friendly/familial sort of way.
Leg day
Bri, Tim. and Duy came over. We got mom a couple McD burgers and Dominoes for the rest of us. Tim and I agreed that we’d prefer the regular over thin crust. Tried Timmy’s jam on the Kirkland ice cream; it was quite tasty.
2/9/2022, 8:31 AM
I had a math final at uci at 8pm, and took a nap around 6pm. I woke up at about 7:30, and had many complications on the drive over.
2/9/2022, 5:58 PM
Smoked some of Mitch’s cannabis. Watched “Me Time”
Your aura is the variance between Hilyourself and your environment aka surroundings. It meets you as feelings. Feelings will inspire memories of people you share bonds with. Jeff Leister has always been my most talented tutee {{rites}}
Rights {{eights}} ring bell …
There is a time discrepancy between teddy bears within our auras.
PMemoirs return feelings.
Technology and spirituality share power. They play games with the human soul.
Where do other people start your autobiography?
I like to think that MTG cards develop souls, and come back as Pokémon.
3/9/2022
Went to the Hyatt and watched a Beatles tribute band with mom and Debbie.
4/9/2022
Busy night at Mountain Mike’s. Asked Nicolette what her favorite bug was; she’s partial to the Praying Mantis. She was thinking the June bug may be the Chinese beetle. In Arizona, they call June bugs Peanut bugs.
7/9/2022
Stopped by Tran’s place at night. Had fried bananas, and she let me try some of her homemade wine.
10/9/2022, 10:43 AM
The fool makes a mirror of itself.
Safely walk to school alone. We cleaned up and now it’s our time to learn.
10/9/2022, 12:43 PM
What are the priorities of a good Race? 😎
15/9/2022
Stopped by AA market after work to pick up grapes for wine. Ate half a bag of fish skins in the car afterwards, then a little over a lb of pork belly at home, followed by a bowl of ice cream.
16/9/2022
Stopped by Walmart to pick up a mason jar and finally got Walmart’s pay app. Brought some grapes to Tran’s place to make wine. She gave me more tamarind drink and some moon cake. Told her that I had a girlfriend while I was married, and that I want her back.
17/9/2022, 8:20 PM
Temple cleaning in the morning, we did the side chanting room. President’s Donuts afterwards, they had a nice spongey fritter and good chocolate cake donut. Leg day at Edinger.
Timmy and Duy came over for Duy’s bday. Mom and I both got him an Amazon gift card. I did the One Chip Challenge, with Duy and mom recording. Burgers and hot dogs with Flan for dessert. Watched Chef’s Table: Pizza with them. Timmy and Duy are planning their wedding for next October. Timmy’s opinion was that the plaintiff for the information security case had a right to take their case to court. Timmy’s Japanese friend got a book of a 100 things for couples to do together, and Duy was thinking of doing them all and making a video of it for their wedding. 👍
First night looking for Yaquelyn. Stopped by her tree afterwards for a Spanish lesson and a journal entry. 💕
22/9/2022, 1:09 AM
My idealized accounting system is a record of agreements.
What if the Demon Slayer I write about saves a woman in a burning building?
I love being an autoclicker.
What if we can feel a marrionnate dance crew come on? I’ll read that book about my client feeling like a marionette during his coma. I’ll take scuba diving lessons one day.
Maybe look into Scientology for clues.
Watched [Erotic Story] Lemon Stealing Whores. It’s words only.
26/9/2022, 9:28 PM
Teddy bears can sing?
❤️💕
Was I Kis Cuddi’s vulture{c}?
What’s a midwife?
Alex, will you be my mid-husband?
I love finding g agreements between mid-wives and mid-husbands?
Timmy forks my tongue.
I love the idea of being Hayden’s camel. 😎😀
If you think of a rational reason to commit suicide, you start to develop peculiar habits.
If you can’t think of any, but feel one, things change. If you can’t think nor feel any, they change again, maybe back.
Skunks took up residence in my parent’s closet.
Let’s go outside and yo-yo PhTr.
Is the tongue a mop for the pallet?
What if I wrote about a friendship between a vulture and an owl? Culture and a vowel?
27/9/2022, 10:20 PM
Remember to watch. Laugh tracks.
I wonder what Timmy’s constitition is? He’s the only person I know that has sleep walked, and would prefer not to again.
Our feet fall asleep all the time while soaking, but we still listen to them.
Every being has the right to interpret its own life.
30/9/2022
Last day of my fast.
Went to Mina’s for Mind Blocker therapy. Told her about my issue with Nathan’s mom
1/10/2022, 8:06 PM
Went to San Salvador for breakfast. I got the beef tostada with cabbage, platanos con crema y frijoles, and chicken with sour cream. The waitress was very friendly. 💕
Did deadlifts at the gym for the first time in a long time. Couldn’t pull 315, so I’ll do it weekly.
Looked for Yaquelyn then stopped at Birrieria Guadalajara. The cashier said they’ve never had tamarindo, but I’ve gotten it there many times. Also, the Apple Pay said it was progressing card ended in 5665 or 5656, but my card is 7740.
2/10/2022, 10:52 PM
Volunteer work at the temple this morning, then the self-improvement sesshin. She told me to realize that when someone mistreats me, remember that it is sourced from their own suffering. Then Pokeology with Mina afterwards. Her fortune sounded like it was saying she ought to consider pursuing a new currency, then my fortune told me I can make money yell. She offered teaching me her therapy methods, and I agree it’s a good idea, and we discussed pricing a bit. It was ~$1400. I’d rather get the kid’s mindfulness training first for obvious reasons, but I’ll study some MindBlocker therapy eventually.
Nicolette wanted to read something different than her usual style, I’m thinking The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress may fit the bill.
5/10/2022, 11:12 AM
Quin and Tran Cao joined me at NaNg’s place. They only had positive things to say.
Went to Tran Do’s place after work. She cooked some tamarind for me, and fed me a bunch of pasta and spring rolls. Her older brother was admitted to the hospital yesterday, he drinks all day every day and his brain is bleeding. I brought some pork belly and she cooked it for me.
I looked at Yaquelyn’s picture for a while before going upstairs, and saw 11:11 after my meditation.
9/10/2022, 12:10 AM
I love imagining that anything I can do, Cindy can do with chewy bread, if she wanted to. 💕
I had a penny collection as a kid. I’d love to suck on one as a mint as I smoked.
I sure do appreciate the privilege of never having had to engage in combat.
When you vote on legislation, you are voting to direct the confiscation of funds.
I feel like Hayden has caught a couple catcher’s mitts around my fists.
Who would let Me command their demon army?
I want to know more about how ducking adorable pigs can be!!! What about little girls that watched Charllette’s web?
10/10/2022, 8:32 PM
Gabby joined me for both AnNg and PhTr today. Got a slurpie in between. I could see that PhTr was about to burst out laughing at one point.
Matador with the Mountain Mike gang after work, I got a chimichanga. I took Khoa home, he’s up for Sizzler’s. Chip said he’d study Abnormal Psychology if he were to go back to college.
Momento, LA confidential, The Edge
13/10/2022, 2:54 PM
I want to ask Khoa the difference between working at MM and working at his new place. It may be related to his previous capability of covering shifts, which he now declines during his weekend.
16/10/2022, 8:41 PM
Brianna is the smartest woman I know, period. ❤️👿😅
When I was there go jogging, I train my duck waddle 🦆
While I am walking, I train the swaddle. 😊
Nicolette can turn me into a shy and crazy nerd. 📪😅
I’m trying to be the best Homer Simpson I can be.
Watch a spaceship designer craft an escape PPP and hatch. I already know it’s going to be a lot like Hitachi.
Our bodies have escape hatches.
Invite Mitch to El Matador. It may feel Hawaiian.
Every fireman has their favorite fire hydrant.
Watch black beauty with mom.
I need to have a gay superpower right? Pretend to learn to swallow Mike Mew’s sword.
The easiest part about wrestling with Giang, was learning now not to abuse my strength to hurt her, but still win easily.
I want to be an expert at the first date, as well.
I would love to make jewelry out of Nicolette’s Facebook gemstones.
What if I taught my kids Four-Square. M
The man who worked for passion, was always richer than the man who worked for money. - S3:E3 Cobra Kai “Daniel”
— Mr. Miyagi
Love,
Daniel Dardin
The pursuit of passion seems to lead to my most enjoyable life. The “dead,” or sleeping, likely feel differently.
Nothing like a long day at charity. Homeless shelter chef! 👍
Tongue extension surgery?
If we each got $100k from mom after selling the condo and all else.
I know I’ll never forget telling Saundra that she felt like Gaia to me, nor the earth-core moment I shared with Nicolette.
Give PhTr a 50-question true-false test for his 30m nonpreferred. If he finishes in less than 30’,
If Krystal if the best daycare worker I know, how would I be her{the} best nightcare worker? By familiarizing herself with the difference between caring during the day, and caring during the night. I’d like the graveyard shift. That’s why I want to work the graveyard shift at a convenience store, at least temporarily.
What if I imagine every person I know casts a freeze frame towards me? I want to be like the freeze option on Duolingo.
What’s it like being gay? Try it for 22 minutes before bed every night.
Focus on repairing the relationship between nerds and freaks.
How about I do commit 3 hours to cleaning out my van, monthly.
I got to fall in love with you twice, in one lifetime, Saundra. I aim to do the same again. 💕
Having kind eyes is a natural draw.
Who do you want to hang out with? The people who are coolest with whatever errors may be made in the execution of an agreed plan.
The Darknet is great at tying loose-ends.
17/10/2022, 11:02 AM
Forgot to write about posting my habit routines on Instagram last night, and also did my writing under “dreams” instead of in my journal.
I like the idea of going to dad’s and hanging out via bus on Saturdays. Took the time to confirm that I can very easily walk to work.
Mom did a great job of imitating how she wanted other people to see me reacting to her, and an awful job of actually copying my reaction. She acted like I sounded like a whiny baby, while I was actually setting firm and stoic boundaries with her expectations of my future. At no point will I ever be responsible for Brianna’s well-being, but I will always be glad to help.
17/10/2022, 7:26 PM
There’s a race to record data. What do you doubt I can do, Phillip?
Feels like a hermese-like relationship.
Remember to swaddle before you play pat-a-cake.
Sons should feel highly motivated to record data for their father.
What do I believe I’m not capable of, given my available resources?
I think Nola Sipan outlives one of us by default.
I feel like a cranky dodo bird sometimes.
Will my family watch Upstairs Downstairs with me to symbolize what ownership may feel like?
I want to listen to old people tell me what makes them feel cranky, like Judge Judy.
What if I paid a black guy to teach me a smooth swagger.
I swear to cause no harm. 👍
What does it feel like to be an eye in the storm? Feeling, True or False.
What does strength feel like? Feeling, True or false. True.
Can you describe this as a feeling, or anything else you’d like? Feeling? True or false.
Aren’t cancer cells nature’s way of recording record rates of growth?
Palate cleansing is a skill.
Who’s my ideal judge, jury, and executioner? Jonny. Growth is Source.
How about chimichangas fuel my cheesiest grin? Make sure I watch all of See, alone, in the dark.
I love bobbing apples as a PoW.
Every living life is a neighbor.
Make sure I take Ayahuasca, preferably at the indigenous place.
Ideally, repeat the instructions for somebody, and then perform the exercise.
A 15-minute meditation feels a lot like a 15-minute nap, often during and after.
I want to take heavy-hitters and jog in the forest, but another trail may do.
Exaggeration fuels metaphorical truth over physical truth via emotions.
To refresh a palate is to restore its purpose, to cleanse a palate is to leave it open. The purpose of my palate is to detect taste from the roof of my mouth.
Growing causes pain. I have a huge family, who is highly accustomed to pain.
I chase pain when I smoke. Pain leads to growing. Feeling pain can either feeling another’s pain, or feeling their growth.
Every year, I want one month where I eat only 1 meal per day at Sizzler’s. Then maybe, I’ll change it to every two days, to try out the Warrior diet.
“That isn’t right … is that right?” Is my favorite form of self-doubt.
When I do something I care about, I prefer to share the short-and-sweet version.
18/10/2022, 3:14 PM
It’s be a great idea for me to recreate 2145’s pizza at MM.
Hacks for life, stay humble. — Frat bro from Easy Bake Oven.
24/10/2022, 7:52 PM
Lots of people pray, and receive responses to their prayers. I give them the benefit of the doubt wrt where the response came from. I
I love listening to peoples’ hurdles in their pursuits, particularly in regards to how to live their best life. In our “me time,” we figure out how to live our best life. I feel like the greatest boxer has a lot to do with the greatest ballerina legs.
What has happened between Americans and its Justice system, has already happened between the Vietnamese and its justice system. China’s history would be a useful place to look for more information. Beware, when I think of China, I think of cheating Chinese chinks from UCI. What would have happened if I told the professor about the students I saw cheating? Because I have mild recollection of the event, those who performed the event would likely have more details to that answer.
I felt a lot of silence the day I thought I was going to walk home and cancel PhTr’s session. Maybe something “cheated” by leaving the side door unlocked.
26/10/2022
Hung out with dad, he recommended Phish as a great jam band. He also met Jacqueline on the bus, a beautiful 37-year-old hispanic woman that approached him extremely flirtatiously. He asked for her number and she gave it to him, and blew kisses at him while leaving the bus. She also tears the filter off her cigarettes, the first woman dad had ever met that does that.
Chatted with Zachary Griffin, dad’s roommate, for a little while after we picked up food from the taco stand at Ball/Magnolia. He has a childlike mentality, but he’s not dumb. He talked a fair bit about what his grandpa told him, in particular how the royalty from Britain intermingled with the commoners when they came to America, and how different bugs grow into different fruits when you bury them. He also took 16 hits of Mickey Mouse LSD one time. He also happened to be wearing a r-shirt with “God” written on it.
27/10/2022, 12:02 AM
Asked Giang about the bidet.
29/10/2022
Took Maple to dog beach. Met Bim’s friend afterwards, she was quite sparkly and seemed like she had a little Japanese girl inside her. Very cute.
1/11/2022
First conversation ever with Ngan Ho, Nathan’s mom. Told her that Giang and I were both college-educated.
2/11/2022
First Step Learning Partners started requiring credentials being added to signatures. Funny, I just told Ngan my credentials last night, and she’s the only signature I haven’t practiced forging yet. I know the only rationale available for adding this requirement is to discriminate against those with less formal education. Since when was “HS” a recognized credential? Thanks, Timmy. 💩
3/11/2022, 12:32 AM
Took Phillip out to Wal-Mart with Giang/GABBY and his mom. First time ever taking a client out to the community. The guy in the electronics section told us the headphones were on the far wall, but he didn’t come with us or keep himself available, despite the fact they were all locked behind the case.
Hung out with dad, forgot to mention our neighbor Brianna with 4 kids, including an autistic girl.
3/11/2022, 2:08 PM
First Step Learning Partners changed the check marks for location services, so there’s now just two at the top alone: Home and Community. I know it’s because we took Phillip out to Wal-Mart yesterday. It’s an easy way to pay less attention (read less) and still get an idea of where we were.
While holding out my hand with a hidden Marble Run piece in one of them so Mia can guess, she was about to choose the wrong hand, then she changed her mind at the same time I felt a cool dry peel across my left eyeball.
4/11/2022
Went out for Mexican with mom and Mitch. Mom decided to buy a powerball ticket afterwards, so we swung by the liquor store.
5/11/2022
Went out to see Ticket to Paradise with mom and Debbie, then went to Islands for dinner afterwards. Got 3 bowls of tortilla soup; I hadjust been talking to dad about getting the AYCE tortilla soup there as a kid. The service was great this time around.
6/11/2022, 12:03 AM
While closing my eyes, I was thinking of Giang, and then saw 4 black doors with two bars under each, elongated bars that stretched across on top, and a vibrant a purple/orange fluctuating background. As I began making mental notes of what I was observing, the doors would then shut and blend into the background, and then reopen. They were reacting to my thoughts. Also, it typically took 4 tries for Giang to get any sentence I spoke to her, often with a word getting flipped or dropped.
Daylight savings time and temple morning for her Holiness’s birthday. I wore my Vibrams so I went to the side room barefoot; Mina didn’t like that. Sesshin said my heart is more open than it used to be, so old friends would like to speak to me. Went to Pokeology afterwards, and Joe made a joke(?) about how fun it was killing people in the Korean War. Mina’s sesshin said something about her becoming a cane/stick to support people, and Joe showed me the Korean War emblem on his jacket of a walking stick with a helmet on top.
7/11/2022, 8:01 PM
7/11/2022, 8:01 PM
What is it like to take a 15-minute power nap.
Can hardly believe Brianna found the Batman in my attic! 🦉🐧🐔
Smoked, coffee ice cream, toast. and Cobra Kai before bed.
8/11/2022, 4:29 PM
My favorite part of Cobra Kai is how logically consistent the characters are with themselves as they progress through the storyline.
10/11/2022, 12:35 AM
I was under duress, as defined by Magna Carta. Watching Cobra Kai S5E?
13/11/2022, 9:37 PM
Temple Zoom meeting. Only 5 participants this time, and we were quite well tuned to each other. Non-Dennis man recommended Many Lives, Many Masters.
Towed my bike to Maniac’s repair shop. The driver reminded me of Ryan.
Worked at MM. Played Vitamin String Quartet mostly, then Stayin Alive and random vocal. Mike commented on Tool. Rubberneckin’ played between Nicolette and I. Talked to Mark about surfing, and we agreed on this upcoming Friday.
14/11/2022
Went for a smoke and walk after work. I was approaching a black man with dreads and a red sweater (like I was wearing), and he began a mix of walking towards me, backing up, and did the same crouched rolling catcher’s position I saw the Asian man do by Carl’s a couple weeks ago, but he didn’t go through the whole thing. As we passed, he told me have a blessed day, and I told him to do the same.
19/11/2022, 8:24 PM
Logotherapy was developed by neurologist and psychiatrist Viktor Frankl[1] and is based on the premise that the primary motivational force of an individual is to find a meaning in life.[2] Frankl describes it as "the Third Viennese School of Psychotherapy"[3][4][unreliable source?] along with Freud's psychoanalysis and Adler's individual psychology.[5]
Logotherapy is based on an existential analysis[6] focusing on Kierkegaard's will to meaning as opposed to Alfred Adler's Nietzschean doctrine of will to power or Freud's will to pleasure. Rather than power or pleasure, logotherapy is founded upon the belief that striving to find meaning in life is the primary, most powerful motivating and driving force in humans.[2]
Ever hear of logotherapy Timmy?
20/11/2022, 9:58 AM
Watched Spirited with mom.
21/11/2022, 8:40 PM
Hey PhTr, what kind of coach would you hire?
Hey coach, would people prefer my life remembered via a chase for food or a chase for sex? I can remember it as either, but what is preferred? It will gather more attention wrt your cognitive frame of reference.
Who do you hope is living their fantasy life?
24/11/2022, 10:26 PM
Sizzler’s with mom and Bri for Thanksgiving, then Slumberland afterwards with mom.
John Wayne Gacy had his lethal injection the same day that Jefferey Dahmer was baptized and there was a total solar eclipse.
God of X -> I give you the benefit of the doubt about what they can extrapolate from their understanding of X, unless it contradicts something I believe
25/11/2022, 2:08 PM
Planet 13 for Heavy Hitters, then a Carrot Cake muffin and double chocolate cookie from Monster Muffins. The cashier also went to Sizzler’s for Thanksgiving, she was lovely. Stopped by the Healing Gift afterwards and met Gaye. She told me about her trek along the western side of the Himalayas in Nepal, sounds like something I’d love to do one day. Bought a Charoite bracelet and Yellow Jasper mushroom-shaped stone.
Went to MSQP afterwards and took some edibles. Decided to go to the gym instead shortly after, walked on the treadmill for a bit and then the steam room.
25/11/2022, 5:21 PM
The math of the commons is property division.
You owe a great of gratitude if you inherit property division.
If you work in the timeframe that you are expected to work, you are owed a debt of gratitude.
Dahmer: I want to know why I am what I am. Real interview.
26/11/2022, 8:49 AM
Logical fallacies are the logical conclusion of improper analysis of datasets.
-Analysis of a dataset? What true statements can be drawn from the dataset?
-Extrapolation of a dataset entails estimating the probability of given statements, given the data within the set.
Dad said people are saying data analysis is a dead art, but I’m not so sure.
Dude at the gym was dribbling a basketball behind him while strapped to a sprint sled, walking backwards. Then slammed the basketball in a manner that was quite obviously tuned to me personally.
[Our self-identity]
becomes more and more defined by less and less essential traits, [as we spend more time within the boundaries of] our in-group.
How many languages can the God within us speak to the pain body within us?
26/11/2022, 9:11 AM
Mom started watching Wednesday on Netflix last night. FYI, Wednesday is still the day I hang with dad.
That which you fight for to make true, and succeed in, gets branded as your strength.
Earth Day is April 22nd, not April 20th, dad. 👍
Journal was screwing with itself earlier today, almost deleted an entry by itself again. Realized I would be morally justified in killing whatever was erasing my writing on my phone.
Mom’s been expressing a lot of emotion with error corrections towards me today, quite annoying. She gave $ for our BK for dinner.
My skull very clearly fitted itself to my earbuds after I put them in. No way to tell if that was helpful or not.
Home Depot for a bidet.
Warner gym. Snake walking, music, jogging, then pool.
Stopped by Target after Yaquelyn’s and picked up a small bottle of Portugal Journey & Discovery Red Blend wine. It has a butterfly on the label too. Drank the whole bottle, and took a nap on the couch watching the nonfiction Dahmer series.
27/11/2022, 3:49 PM
Went to church and sat outside. Got transmission fluid, then stopped by Superior Pollo next door. Johnny’s mom saw me and we chatted a little. Then hung out in front of Ralph’s before work.
28/11/2022, 8:54 PM
Mine an mom’s system is best managed by a subtle yes? At the stop signs. 911 has been a quick pairing. I imagined she was motivated to have me design the perfect suicide hotline. I’d like mine to start with Dogecoin, if possible. I trust that currency’s community the most. 8:59 PM
I felt like a Communist for a little bit, but only w.r.t. my family, and perhaps by extension, my self in my dreams. 9:03 PM
What am I really good at? Science and mathematics. I haven’t studied number theory yet, however. 9:07 PM
I continued designing diets after I was laid off from 24 hour fitness bc of Covid-19.
So what if we subtract 19 from the Covid virus self-replication tune. We can protect it via the HIPPA system. Remember, hippos are Africa’s most dangerous animal. They are very fast, and very territorial.
The subconscious is the consciousness of that which surrounds you.
30/11/2022
Hung out with dad. Bought Seneca cigs bc the natural brand wasn’t advertised on the window like it was for dad. The shopkeeper was a little snooty about my use of the word “box” instead of “pack,” but no big deal, I can see how someone chasing Cyrano would get real bitchy about vocabulary. Tried out the free weed from dad’s landlord, and after 2 large hits, it did nothing at all. Possibly related to the white pickup truck in front of his house? Then we got dinner at Mario’s and we both loved it.
1/12/2022, 10:05 PM
This may have happened yesterday, but Mia very deliberately went up to me and coughed in my face while she was sick. Who’s trying to get me sick? My first guess would be the parents of the children I work with, bc of my standards of parenting that may be challenging for some to live up to.
2/12/2022, 9:46 PM
Worked with Anthony in the morning, then came home and read a little bit of The Law Of One. Got BK with mom for dinner, then we watched Cyrano together. After that was over, mom put on “Darby and the Dead.” It lead with a brief synopsis, and I told mom that it reminded me of how Yaquelyn saw her grandmother’s ghost. Her response was “oh” followed with a nod and silence. Checked my insta later and opened Saundra’s story, then noticed I had an unaccepted message to myself and opened it. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I may have sent my divorce explanation to Saundra on July 14th, the day before her mom’s passing memorial.
3/12/2022, 9:36 PM
Walk and steam room at the gym, listened to Ologies. Swung by the Healing Gift to pick up some sage, and Gaye invited me to the singles event the following Saturday. She was happy to hear that I’m single and wanted me to bring my friends. Stopped by Boost Mobile to switch my account, but I needed some info from t-mobile first.
Picked up Maple and went to the Christmas Parade in LB. SoCal Corgi Nation was part of the parade, but I didn’t march with them, I needed a flag and didn’t bring cash. Picked up In n’ Out afterwards, 2 double doubles for me and 4 patties for Maple. Took Maple back to LB, took a short walk by the 2027 building, then went to bed in the van together.

First NEXT
Rosa AI art
AN: special thanks to coldfireknight for editing and corrections
special thanks to u/Bring_Stabity for audio narrting my story, check out his YouTube Channel
Audio narrtion: I WILL ISEKAI YOU WITH MY TRUCK! Ch-2
/////////////////
I WILL ISlEKAI YOU WITH MY TRUCK!
Chapter 2
Mike blinked in disbelief of what he had just heard. "So I'll be committing vehicular manslaughter as part of my job huh? Wouldn't that attract a lot of attention, just like summoning portals to this world?".
Gaia shrugs. "Not really, though portals popping up in public may attract attention, due to their supernatural nature, vehicle "accidents'' attract less attention compared to portals, though you will still get attention from the law, due to hit and run, but that's when the runes come in".
She opens the hood of the truck showing every part inside the vehicle etched in runes and symbols. "The truck contains several abilities, activating some of them would also activate its passive abilities. Here's the rundown on what these are, come inside".
Mike and Gaia take a seat, Mike taking the driver seat and Gaia taking the front seat and showed him the truck's dashboard.
"This will be your bread and butter" She opens the skills app. "This is the skill you'll be frequently using, the [SOUL SNARE] skill, it has a 3 second casting time, when you honk your horn it will prepare the vehicle in capturing a soul, once you hit the target it stores their soul at the back of your truck. It activates the passive skill [ILLUSION], each eye witnesses will see a different vehicle color,model, plate number all at the same time, this also affects cameras so you have enough time to bring the truck at several warehouse locations worldwide under this company which ill activate a portal for you to be teleported to the other world and finish your delivery".
"The warehouse locations are marked on your GPS. Now once you're there on the other worlds you wont get any powers unfortunately, you'll still be an average joe over there since the vehicle acts as a faraday cage exept the cargo space at the back where the soul is stored so be careful once your there, don't worry though because the client god in that world will make arrangements to accommodate you until the portal cooldown is finished".
"So Mike, this is going to be a beta test as this will be the company's first delivery. Elunes world is classified as a D class world. Ranking D to Rank SSS from easy to difficult based on socio political situation, environment, average survivability living in that world in general. So are you ready to start our first delivery?"
Mike nods nervously knowing he'll be committing vehicular manslaughter and get away with it but at the same time he'll be visiting new worlds.
///////////////
Gaia closes the garage door and as she opens it again after a few seconds Mike could see that the outside looks different.
Gaia with a smile on her face sends a message from her tablet. A notification pops up from the truck's touchscreen dashboard. "Welcome to Germany Mike. I've hand picked our first target to be isekai'd. The details will be on your screen, goodluck!".
Mike opens the notification and sees the target's info along with a photo showing a lean man, blonde haired and brown eyes.
[Target: Klaus Uhr] [Gender: Male] [Age: 30] [Occupation: Political Science Professor] [Details: Single, no family contact, lives alone]
As Mike tinkers with the screen it shows Klaus location on the GPS map. He starts up the truck and exits the warehouse and drops down the windshield giving a wave to Gaia.
"Don't you worry boss, I'll make it quick".
////////////
Mike parks at the side of the road a few meters away from a crosswalk. He breathes heavily in anticipation for a crime he's about to commit. "Oh god I'm out of my depth here Jesus Christ! What the hell have I gotten myself into and why it took me this long to even consider the consequences like god damn".
His hands are shaking as it grips tightly to the steering wheel noticing his palms are sweaty as his knees feel weak and arms are heavy as if his conscience screaming at him to not do this. His stomach grumbling, nausea starting to kick in making him feel like he's about to puke. He lowers his head onto the steering wheel in an attempt to get a little rest.
PING. A notification pops up. "You have arrived at your destination".
He looks up, his windshield now active showing a HUD, highlighting his target among the crowd, the bottom left of his screen showing [SOUL SNARE] icon glowing and ready to activate.
"FUCK IT" He screams as he revs his vehicle.
The truck accelerates into the crowd charging to its target. As it moves towards the target as he cross the street Mike then slams the tablet to activate SOUL SNARE , The crowd noticed the horn blaring la cucaracha horn and made way for the truck to pass but fortunately for Mike his target Professor Klaus Uhr was wearing airpods and focused on his phone. The crowd screamed at him to get his attention but to no avail.
The truck now finished with this casting is now ready to capture a soul into its cargo, its aura glowing with magic disguised as headlight flash bright. As Klause look to his side seeing what was going on but it was too late.
His body Slammed in front of the truck throwing him like a ragdoll as his body rolls over but the truck kept speeding using his body like a speed bump as it drives away leaving the crowd stunned and shocked of the aftermath.
////////////
Mike's hand shakes as adrenaline flows through his veins after he "Isekai'd" the professor, he turns on the radio to put himself at ease with music only to hear police radio chatter in utter chaos as police officers asking confirmation of the description of the vehicle of the hit and run suspect only for the dispatch to provide conflicting information. He then looks up to his rear view mirror seeing the ghostly form of Klaus Uhr unconscious as well and now being sucked into the cardboard box with runes on it which creeped Mike out from what he just witnessed.
Mike proceeded to drive casually or what his interpretation of "driving casually" which is just basically following road safety as he made his way to the warehouse marked on his map all the while hearing ambulance sirens in the distance heading its way to the accident location. Mike arrived at the warehouse shortly after with Gaia waiting at the entrance gesturing to Mike to let the vehicle park inside.
He backs up the truck onto the loading area and as he parked, Gaia held up her hands letting Mike know to stay in the vehicle as she walked towards Mike.
"Good job, so far so good. Now onto the next part" Gaia reaches down to her pocket and hands over an item to Mike. "This is your employee ID, keep it onto your person at all times, this acts as a translator and has an illusion aura that only affects you, It will make you appear as one of the locals so you can blend in the other world while the client god, in this case Elune, would stack up enough power for her to Isekai you back to this world, This ID also lets you communicate with her telepathically as long as she has the warehouse generator runes powered in conjunction with a catalyst item from her world. Good luck!!". Gaia waves Mike goodbye as the light in the warehouse flicker until all lights turned off, everywhere is pitch black but not the inside of the truck as the light is still working but not the electronics as he try to turn on the radio and the tablet to no avail. Mike sighed as he's been waiting in the truck for 30 minutes "Note to self, bring my smartphone during the trip next time".
The light then flickers back on and Gaia is nowhere to be seen except for the petite blonde Elf woman with green eyes standing in front of his truck. "You must be Ms. Elune, got your delivery right here". Mike then exits his truck and walks his way to the back of it, opening the cargo and picking up the glowing cardboard box "uhhhh its glowing, is this normal? Got a ghost in a box here for you miss". "God she's pretty" as Mike thought to himself
Elune chuckles "Thank you Mike I'm flattered, hopefully this 2nd isekai'd hero would make changes for the better this time".
"Oh shit! You read my mind!" Mike taps his pocket where he put his ID all flustered. "Oh yeah that's right, this thing with the magic ID. Wait... what do you mean the 2nd hero?"
Elune scratches the back of her head in embarrassment. "Well 3 thousand local years ago i went to your world and with permission from Gaia of course"
"Well my world was in the middle of a crisis but fortunately the hero that i summoned had leadership qualities and had helped my people the elven kind from the brink of extinction and had pushed backed the other races from the war and improved quality of life with knowledge of technological concepts he had brought with him, it had turned the tide of the war despite my peoples small numbers"
"Buuuuut?" Mike exclaimed encouraging her to carry one as Elune had made implication about the 1st hero that she summoned since she first brought up the topic
"Well, this is where it gets dark. It's when it was during peacetime that things went overboard and well the hero went on a power trip and sparked a second world war, when the hero died of old age the damage had been done and the war continued on until elven kind is now the dominant force in this world"
"Ahhh i see, that's where this guy comes in" Mike gesturing to the glowing box he's carrying. "Basically fix the mess the previous hero made. Gotcha". Mike hands over the box to Elune.
"So what now?, just open the box and pop the 2nd hero then let him do his thing?" Mike ask nonchalantly
"Not really, there's actually a holiday tomorrow to honor the founding of this nation, Elfica when the 1st hero/leader made this city state into a nation state, people all over the world would join this year's festival because tomorrow night that's when the royal mages would make another attempt to summon the hero and that's when i hand him over to the ritual circle they'll summon him in. They tried before after the 1st hero died of old age but ultimately I would decide when, in this case will be this era, gotta make it grand" Elune gestures excitedly as she hugs the box.
"By the way i would be recharding the runes in this warehouse so you can make it back home so in the meantime you should stay at the nearby inns for the evening, enjoy the festival then come back here the day after tomorrow" Elune opens her palm and a light flashes showing stacks of currency bills. "Here you go for your troubles and for you to enjoy your visit, don't spend it all in one night okay?, oh and here a prayer bead, it acts as a catalyst so i can communicate with you, just hold it and squeeze to talk to me in your thoughts. The beads acts as a catalyst with your ID" Elune winks as she hands over the money and the beads to Mike.
Mike smirks as he accepts the stack of cash "Thank you, don't mind if i do" as he exits the warehouse with Elune waving him goodbye "There's an Inn just a block from here, enjoy your stay"
Mike lights up a cigarette as the lights on the warehouse turns off. "Man today was freaky as hell" he mutters to himself as he deeply inhales the cigarette. He looks up and exhales deeply "now that's some real freaky shit" Mike sees two moons in the sky, one with green light around it and the other blue. He made his way to the side walk onto the dark street.
Mike surveys the area and it looks like a modern human city but its too dark to really examine it so he kept walking until he sees a street with lights, the streets buzzing with life, the surrounding area looks so retro, almost like it's the 1930's with a little bit of steampunk as the streetlights look like its using a white gem as its source of light instead of a light bulb. Cars slowly pass the street as it makes way for pedestrians to cross. "Hmmmm interesting they even have cars' 'Mike's attention focuses on the glowing pipes on the engines as he notices the cars have various colors of neon pipes on the front of the vehicles. He stands on the street finishing his cigarette as he takes in the sights and sees one of the elves get into one of the park car in front of him, an elf woman takes out a red gem from her pocket and insert it into a gem slot at the center of the steering wheel, it starts up the car and the pipe on the hood glows red as it turns on "oh cool, so they're using these gems as a power source" as he thought to himself.
"Hallo hübscher Junge'' Mike hears a woman behind him trying to get his attention. Mike could not understand what the woman behind him said, in his panic he walks away struggling to find his ID, he sees a sharply dressed woman in black walking towards him but seems to be looking at whoever the woman that's behind is him. He then feels his ID on his right pocket then taps it, as he passes the sharply dressed woman he sees her holstered pistol has the ejector glowing green, next to it as a magazine pouch but the magazine doesn't have bullets but instead the magazine acts as a casing for a green gem. "You there! Stop harassing that man!". Mike looks back and he sees the sharply dressed woman stopping the woman that was following him. He turns to a corner breaking line of sight from the two women ``Sir is this woman bother- hey where did he go?"
"That was definitely an elf cop or just a cop in this world and why do they all have German accents? , well whatever but damn that woman with that Hugo Boss drip got nice curves". He then continues on to walk looking for a place to stay for the night at the same time trying to not grab any attention. As he look at the signs on the building its written in a runic text that's unfamiliar, he then taps his ID then suddenly the signs morph into english text right before his eyes "i need to tell Gaia the translating feature on this ID is a bit wonky and needs some improvement"
Mike finally sees the Inn where he can stay, the reception area is empty given that it's in the middle of the night except for the Innkeeper. He sees a red haired elf woman with bright green eyes busy reading a book and doesn't seem to notice him. "Uhh hello? Good evening mam". The elf receptionist suddenly sat up straight in surprise of the unexpected guest arriving so late at night "A man! alone at this late at night no less! W-w-what can i do you for?, is someone with you?" She scans the room confirming if someone else is with the man.
"I'm here for the night for tomorrow's festivities, do you have a room available?". The woman composes herself and clears her throat. "Why yes sir, I can book you right now, I'm sure we can accomodate a gentleman such as yourself" she then crouches down from her desk to grab the ledger to sign him in as a guest.
"Is she....blushing?" Mike thought to himself "gotta admit, she is cute, i like this world". Mike then reaches his pocket to prepare his cash and as he pulls out his cash his ID drops onto the floor.
The receptionist looks up to Mike to hand him a pen for him to sign but then stands up in shock from what she sees "GODDESS!!!! THOSE EARS!!! ITS-ITS A F-F-FUH '' Mike notices his ID is on the floor, the receptionist turns away to fix herself quickly while Mike picks up his ID.
The stunned woman looks at Mike again and he high fives her. "Are you okay mam? You had me worried there, anyway i'll take the best room you have" Mike then hands her the stack of cash to the confused elf. "I-I'm seeing things" Mike shrugs then smiles "well man you must be really tired and so am i, afterall i had a really long trip to get to this city" Mike yawns and sign his name on the ledger, the english text he writes immediately warps into runic text but to the elf point of view he's writing in elvish "i'll just take my change when i check out tomorrow". The confused elf hands him the key with a yellow gem attached to the keychain then she looks at the ledger to know his name. "Here you go Mr. Maa--eeek Raa-meeee-rezzzz, huh such a strange name". Mike makes a playful shrug, "like i said mam, i'm far away from home" he then winks at the receptionist making her blush as he heads down to the hallway but then comes back to the receptionist embarrassed "uhhhhhh which way to my room?" ,
"top floor sir then go to the left hallway, the key gem is linked to the rooms gem outlet, it will glow brighter the closer you are to your room, just swipe the gem to the door to unlock it then once inside then just insert the gem to the gem slot to power your room" Mike nods in acknowledgement "Righhhhhhht, gotcha", Mike then looks at the gem "oh neat like hotel key cards in my world" he thought to himself.
The elf suddenly realize "o-oh-OH!, I'm so sorry sir i didn't mean to insinuate that you don't know how gem-tech works, I'm so sorry sir, i really apologize if i had offended you" elf girl goes bright red from the embarrassment.
"Don't sweat it, pretty girl, it's all good. Oh and by the way. It's Ra-me-rizz" Mike gestures pointing two finger guns at her then wink as he goes to the elevator while hearing another the receptionist greet another guest who'd just entered the Inn.
"Jesus Chris man! Ra-me-rizz? Finger guns?" Mike recreates the gesture at his reflection in the elevator. "God it's so cringe i could just die right now"
"Hmmm yeah you're right you are cringe" said a female voice in his head. "Oh shit i'm losing it, oh wait" Mike realized he was holding the prayer beads instead of his key.
"So how you holding up in this world?" Said Elune. "Nothing much, seen a lot of hot elven girls though. I must be in the city's red light district so that's a given. You know for an elven world the place isn't really elfy from what i expect".
"Really? What do you classify as "elfy"?". Mike unlocks the door and turns on the room's power. "Well elfy as in trees, nature and all that stuff, giant hollow trees where elves live, have like bridges connecting them made out of wood and rope or at least have a lot of trees in general not steampunk-ish 1940's". Mike makes his way to the king sized bed visually tuning out his surroundings as he lay down on the bed.
"Well you would be correct in that assessment before the era of the 1st leader 3000 years ago and also were not in the red light district, females are the majority of the population, 20 to 1 to be exact. Elves back then have a very low population as they practice monogamy and a lifespan of 500 years, given the gender imbalance most would rarely see a male more so having a relationship and even a little bit of physical contact would be a big deal, still does to this day, the 1st leaders era did encourage polygamy and did make a population boom given that the world was at constant war but not so much these days but yet it still persist, you saw how that receptionist girl reacted when seeing a guy probably the first time".
"Oh that makes perfect sense, nice to know the quick rundown of this world's history".
"Well since I have your attention, there are things to know about this world, let me start at the very beginning". Mike starts to doze off and fall asleep as Elune went into detail of the world's history, unable to absorb the info dump provided by one of the worlds goddesses.
////////////
Mike suddenly woke up from the sound of beating drums and singing, it sounded german but had that uncanny feel to it as though his gut feeling telling him it's not german just like how you would hear what english sound like to a non english speaker. He then opens the curtains to see that a parade is happening in the distance.
Mike went down to the hotel lobby, several eyes suddenly lock on to him including the staff pretending to not look at him and some pretending to do something else, among them is the receptionist from last night excitedly patting her colleague "see!?!, you see? That's him! an unaccompanied man! and we talked! He flirted first!"
Her black haired colleague scoffed "of course you two talked, he did check in alone, he HAS to talk to you, i call bullshit on the flirting though, not with your virgin ass".
Mike pretending not to eavesdrop on their conversation as he stares outside scanning everything happening outside like an eager tourist and tapped his pocket in rhythm with the drum beat with the parade which the crowd outside is blocking his view unaware he is tapping his ID, briefly messing up the translator function
"Das its true! a fuhrer erschien to me in a vision, he vas a braue skinned fuhrer like ze dark elves from ze south, zen ich tried to heil but ve held hands! It vas a sign that es ist ment to be!"
"Zat es ist vull shaitza!, zen prove it, you've veen reading too much smutty romance novels, itscht rotting your brain"
Mike could barely understand what they said and realized he's been tapping his ID this whole time. He takes out his ID then taps it again to fix the translator and puts it inside his back pocket.
"Mr. Ra-me-rizz good morning! Hope you rested well, you should stay here and have some breakfast, we're serving pancakes". Receptionist put her hand on his shoulder as she greeted him only for Mike to realize he forgot to ask the woman's name until he read her nametag.
"Hello Helga, good morning to you too" Mike smiles then put his hand on top of her hand in response, shocking the black haired receptionist in disbelief and turning Helga's cheeks red along with envious looks from the other patrons
Mike then excused himself as he exit the Inn before Helga could respond as she watches Mike disappear into the passing crowd with the police woman from yesterday trying to catch up after spotting him as she exits the bathroom but to no avail then looks back at Helga with an annoyed and frustrated look "what in goddess is wrong with you?!?!, leaving a male on his own!" The police woman then tries to pick him out from the crowd then proceeds to follow the direction where Mike was headed.
//////////
Mike then worked his way onto the city square dodging the crowds as they didn't seem to notice him, aside from other ones he bumped with a surprised look as they noticed Mike until they lost sight of him disappearing into the crowd.
Mike then made it to the front of the parade, shocked at what he just witnessed, elves in Wehrmacht uniform, all women goose stepping in formation towards the city square along with the cheers from the crowd which he can't deny, they're all pretty and he could not help but stare at the bouncing breasts during each step while holding what appears to be bolt action rifles but with that signature gem-tech glow on the place where the ejector is located which he would assume would let the user know if they still have shots left on their weapon before before needing to replace it with a gem encased in a magazine or a clip in this case based on what's sticking out on the bandolier and a magazine which shows what the next column of troops are carrying which he would also assume is a submachine gun since it looks so similar to an MP40. The song the women were marching then switched to a beat he is somewhat familiar with but this time, the words that the women sing along with is something he now understands.
IN THE HOMELAND WAITS A LITTLE BOY OF MINE
BOOM BOOM BOOM
AND HE'S NAMED
BOOM BOOM BOOM
ELFICA
Mike stood there watching the parade dumbfounded "I'm pretty sure this is the localized version but damn that just sounds so wrong" the crowd then does a sieg heil salute to the troops marching to their national anthem then he realized Helga was also about to do a sieg heil for some reason last night but just high fived her instead by mistake then it all started to click. "God i'm so dense". Then a sudden blinding camera flash into his direction, as his eyes adjust he then realized everyone is doing a seig heil salute except him and now that moment is photographed.
Mike then takes his prayer beads out of his pocket to contact Elune. "Hey Elune, is this the mess you were talking about? How come you didn't mention this is a world of big tittied elf nazis thanks to the 1st hero you summoned, looks like he turned an entire race into...uhhhh... What do you call a weebo but instead of Japan it's nazi stuff?...oh yeah, Wehraboo. That's right, the 1st hero/leader you summoned turned them all into Wehraboos.
"I already told you about this but then i realized you fell asleep 2hrs in talking of this worlds history but don't worry, the ID you have there will make you look like another person on that photo they took so you don't have to worry about the Elfstapo knocking on your door anytime and also humans don't exist in this world but they call humans Fuhrers after the 1st hero. Interesting fact the-"
Mike's telepathic communication is cut off as he is startled by the uniformed woman tapping his back, he looks to see that it is the same cop from yesterday evening but now with a smile on her face but also appears to show a deep primal hunger in her eyes.
"Excuse me good sir, my name is officer Rosa Schlupfer and I'm concerned that a male such as yourself is outside alone and without any escort, i will need you to come with me......but since you're already here, why not see the parade..but i'll be your escort during your stay here, i wont leave your side for your protection".
"Mike, if you can hear her thoughts like I do, she's totally into you. Not surprised at all... ohhhh now she's fantasizing this as a date pretty wholesome so far and ohh! woah! okay!, now thats some degenerate thoughts of you"
Mike lets go of the prayer beads to stop Elune from describing in graphic detail what the cop would want him to do to her. Rosa then holds Mike's arm to get closer to him.
"I'm really excited about the coming of a new 2nd fuhrer, this really marks a new era for the glory of the Reich and an end to the reformist insurgency". She leans her head on his shoulder
Mike nods along but his mind is somewhere else. Rosa tries to grab his attention. "Oh look it's the statue of our first hero, the fuhrer who guided us to greatness, such glory" Mike squeezed the beads tightly
"My god, you did it, you actually did it Elune, you reincarnated Adolf Hitler after he killed himself and restored him to his teenage years thousands of years ago, so that's the mess you made".
"What have I gotten myself into?"

Tokyo, Fuji Rock, and Osaka Jul 26 - Aug 7 2023
First timer couple, low planning, and a moderate-high budget
To plan for this trip I spent a lot of time on JapanTravel, atlas obscura, and YouTube, and collected a list of restaurants, bars, neighborhoods, and shopping that we might want to see. We also got some recommendations through friends. I organized the list according to proximity so that on any given morning, I can pull up the list in Wanderlog and we can say, “let’s do akihabara area today” and bam there’s everything I saved. We wanted to have space to spontaneously discover things on our own.
On my phone I set up widgets for Google Translate and "Currency converter with widget" by VIApps. I used these 2 apps all the time, plus Google Maps and WhatsApp. Before flying I used the app Timeshifter to adjust my sleep and reduce jet lag. It seemed to work! I didn't use Timeshifter for the trip back and it took me longer to adjust.
What I'm glad I packed:

• Walking sandals
• 'On' brand shoes with sole inserts. These are seriously the most comfortable athletic shoes I've ever worn, and I put over 20,000 steps a day on them with zero foot pain. I bought them new for the trip, never wore them in advance or broke them in, and still no issues.
• Travel size hair straightening iron bc humidity was wild
• Advil
• Antiperspirant/deodorant from the US
• Power bank
• Cross body travelon purse for short trips that didn't require a backpack
• Ubigi eSim - 10gb for 30 day plan was $15.30. I used promo code WELCOME10 for 10% off.
• Long sleeve button down white shirt made with breathable athletic fabric (thank you Athleta). This was good for layering in hot weather when I didn't want to expose my upper body tattoos.
• Sunscreen stick

What I packed and didn't need:

• Second pair of tennis shoes
• Shampoo, conditioner
• Most shirts and a pair of linen pants. I ended up washing and rewearing 2 Athleta dresses that were great for the heat.

What I wished I packed:

• Fanny pack (instead of using a backpack) for Universal Studios
• Extra room… once I bought a few things I was totally out of room in my luggage.
• A third or fourth athletic-fabric dress. I wanted to wear my Athleta dresses every day because they were loose, low-wrinkle, fast dry, and similar to the midi length dresses many locals were wearing in the heat. Hey did I mention Athleta yet? They're not paying me to write this I promise, I just really love using their clothes for travel.

Trip Report

Most of our experiences were spontaneous and unplanned, and I'm glad we did it that way. Here's a summary of the main places we visited.
Wed Jul 26, 2023 - I depart US
Thurs Jul 27 - Tokyo - Shibuya

• I arrived at Haneda Airport around 4pm and bf arrived later that night at Narita (we came from different departure locations). He wishes he could have flown into Haneda.
• I took an airport limousine shuttle to Shibuya. There was a bus stand outside the airport and it was pretty intuitive to buy a ticket and understand what bus I needed. The shuttle had a drop off at my destination hotel. I was anxious about getting myself from the airport to the hotel because I am navigationally challenged, so I didn't want to tackle the train system. Paying $8 for a shuttle was way better than $50-75 for an Uber.
• Checked in at Shibuya Excel Hotel Tokyu, which is conveniently located near the Shibuya Scramble and Shibuya Station. If you want an easy central location in Shibuya then consider this hotel. It was a "good" stay experience, nothing noteworthy.
• Got onigiri and Pocari Sweat at nearby 7-Eleven Shibuya Dogenzaka 1-Chome Shop. No one else in the travel group liked Pocari Sweat but I did. I think it tasted like salty honeydew melon, and it was really refreshing in the heat.
• Ate a tasty and easy conveyor belt sushi meal at Sushiro Shibuya Station Square
• Shopped at MEGA Don Quijote Shibuya Honten. I started my Kit Kat bar haul here.
• Drinks at WOKINI ウォキニ - LOVE THIS BAR. We were able to get 2 tables together that seated our 7-person group. This was the first bar stop of the trip and I was reminded right away that lots of places still allow smoking inside. This is something to think about if you are sensitive to smoke. I am a former smoker and I was cranky about my hair and clothes smelling like cigarettes.
• Drinks at BAR NAGASAKI.

Fri Jul 28 - Tokyo - Harajuku, Tokyo Skytree, Golden Gai

• Shibuya Scramble Crossing
• Explored Harajuku and spend some time with the Gachapon machines at C-pla Harajuku Takeshita Street
• Bought a silk embroidered jacket at SUKAJYAN Dept. I spent a lot of time researching where to buy sukajan, and this was 1 of 4 places I'd narrowed down. Getting a quality sukajan was one of my predetermined trip goals. The history of this type of bomber jacket is interesting - I say it's worth a Google.
• Tasty AC-cooled yakitori meal at 串助 原宿店
• Wandered in and around Tokyu Plaza Omotesando Harajuku
• Visited the Tembo Deck at Tokyo Skytree Tower and shopped at adjacent Tokyo Solamachi shopping mall. There was a shop selling shokuhin sampuru - fake plastic model food - and I regret not buying something there. I didn't encounter any other shops with shokuhin sampuru the rest of the trip. I like this video showing a fake food master craftsman at work. As for Skytree, it was a great view from 350m at dusk.... but there were so many people that it wasn't very enjoyable. The glass floor was only a 2m x 3m square. We couldn't even appreciate the downward view because everyone was packed shoulder to shoulder, and the entire crowd seemed to float as one entity slowly over the tiny glass floor while everyone craned their necks down to see just a bunch of feet.
• Went to Golden Gai and discovered the Hanazono Shrine
• Drinks at ROCKET bar
• Drinks at 4C's Bar Rosso, a whiskey bar. GO HERE! Whiskey, cats, classical music, and an awesome proprietor
• Tried to get into Deathmatch in Hell and failed - it was jam packed with people
• Drink at Unlimited - don't bother

Sat Jul 29 - traveled to Fuji Rock music festival, wandered the grounds, and listened to a few acts. I was impressed with this festival. There were a noticeable number of families with young children camping for the weekend. I love to see children getting exposed to live music and festivals. The grounds were clean and everyone was respectful to others. It was quite a drive from Tokyo to the Naeba Ski Resort where Fuji Rock is held. Contrary to its name it is nowhere near Mount Fuji.
Sun Jul 30 - stayed at festival until 7 pm, departing back to Tokyo. We checked back in at the Tokyu Shibuya Excel Hotel.
Mon Jul 31 - Tokyo - Shibuya, Akihabara

• Shopped at Seibu Shibuya department store. My bf found a fabulous KISS x Tailor Toyo sukajan jacket.
• Ate in the mall at JIJIMI GO 渋谷西武. This was the first place I encountered table buttons to call over a server. I'd read that in Japan, there are restaurants where the server doesn't stop by your table to check on you; you have to get their attention with the button.
• Went to Akihabara and got lost in the Yodobashi Akiba electronics store.
• Ate ramen at Kikanbo. Listen... if you don't do well in humid heat, do NOT go to a non-AC ramen joint in Japan, sit at the bar near the burners, and try to eat hot ramen. I did that and it sucked. I'll note that there was a line of people waiting for seats even in the heat; if it wasn't for the heat I would have enjoyed the meal more.
• Played arcade games at GiGO Akihabara 1. So there's this anime character named Chainsaw Man and we were kind of obsessed with Chainsaw Man spottings. In this arcade there was a claw machine for a Chainsaw Man figurine. I think I lost like $8 worth of yen to that machine.
• Had a drink at Maidreamin maid cosplay cafe. It was a spontaneous decision, and it was a do-it-only-once experience for me. It was really quiet in there and awkward to be 1 of 3 occupied tables in the entire space.

Tues Aug 1 - Tokyo - Shibuya

• Meal at Tiger Gyoza Kaikan Udagawacho. We happened to walk by and were hungry, and the gyoza scratched the itch.
• Shopped at the Shibuya Parco shopping mall.
• Wandered down Cat Street.
• Explored the Takeshita Street Square in Harajuku (again).
• Walked through Yoyogi Park and saw Meiji Shinto Shrine.
• Went to Cat Cafe MOCHA Harajuku to get out of the heat. This was a spur of the moment stop. Some of the cats seemed overstimulated but there were places for them to escape. If you are thinking of going to a cat cafe, I suggest that you only go to a place where the cats are rescues/adoptable. I don't think this particular cat cafe is a rescue/adoption model.
• Bought T-shirts at UNIQLO Harajuku. This is a great Japanese clothing store where you can get high quality wardrobe staples.
• Ate a delicious meal of keema curry at Mokubaza. I recommend going here! Keema curry is delicious!! Cash only.

Wed Aug 2 - Travel from Tokyo to Osaka - Shinsaibashi

• Here is a commentary about trains and train stations.
  • Getting around Shibuya Station sucked with luggage. I don't know if it's bc of construction but there were a lot of stairwells without an elevator or escalator option. If we had looked at station maps and planned things in advance maybe we wouldn't have had these issues, but neither of us wanted to plan :)
  • We bought shinkansen tickets for Tokyo to Osaka the day of, and seat options and times were limited. We ended up wasting 2.5 hours at Shinagawa Station waiting for the bullet train. Also there were no benches ANYWHERE at the station to park ourselves. We sat in Tameals and sipped beers because that was the only place we saw with seating.
• Checked in at W Osaka Hotel. This hotel is very instagrammy and stylish, and the staff were fantastic. Several nights there were show cars parked in the entryway (Rolls Royce, Lamborghinis, a Maybach). The location couldn't have been better. Use your Marriott upgrades here!
• Ate a late dinner at Mydo teppanyaki restaurant which is more fine dining. We highly recommend this restaurant.
• Discovered the Mittera Kaikan building that has like 60 bars in it! It seemed sketchy to me but I got over it quickly once we saw the bar doors. We stopped into one of the bars in the basement, ムッシュ (Bar Monsieur). Its proprietor is Mushu and you should go buy a beer from him.

Thurs Aug 3 - Osaka - Universal Studios, Dotonbori / Shinsaibashi / Amerika-mura

• I purchased USJ tickets and express passes way in advance. We arrived at Universal Studios around 12pm and our express pass times started at 3. It was a bad decision to wander a few hours in full midday sun. It was 95F air temp and 72F dew point and it was oppressive. I was probably on the cusp of heat exhaustion by the time we left.
• Walked to Dotonbori entertainment district.
• Found the Hozenji Buddhist temple.
• Lured in by their glowing neon DISCO light, we had a few drinks at 道頓堀FUNK. There was a family of talented singers on the karaoke machine. We liked the vibe of this bar and the bartenders were super friendly and easy to talk to.
• Back at Mittera Hall we went to the basement and wanted to try a different bar. The mysterious door we selected belonged to BAR 録de無死. I chatted with the bartender through Google Translate while we had a drink.
• Then we went to Bar Monsieur again and had one last beer of the night.

Fri Aug 4 - Osaka - Dotonbori / Shinsaibashi / Amerika-mura

• Ate lunch at Cafe Garb.
• Went to 7up Bar&Cafe. It is a tourist / English speaking bar and was full of rowdy patrons singing karaoke and sending shots to each other.
• We wandered around America-mura for several hours. It is worth spending a day or evening here. I really liked アメリカ村フリーマーケットB.B (American Village Flea Market BB).
• Stopped into Bible Club Osaka, an American pre-prohibition themed basement bar. Its sister bar is in Portland OR. Nice cocktails. Definitely worth a visit!
• Late night sushi at Yoake Sushi. This place is open until 4 am and you order off tablets with an English option - quite the win for tired and/or tipsy tourists.

Sat Aug 5 - Travel from Osaka to Tokyo - Ginza

• Before leaving Osaka we went to VINTAGE DIG STORE NATS, a shop we discovered the day before, because there was a vintage Liquid Blue wizard shirt that I saw the day before and needed to go back for. I want to go back to Japan JUST to vintage shop in Osaka. The selections were great.
• Checked in at AC Hotel by Marriott Tokyo Ginza.
• I was on a mission to find a gift for my mother. This shop, Hobirahobireginzaten, had sashiko patterns. I also wanted fabric but we didn't have time to go to Nippori Fabric Town. So I stopped into a kimono store, Erigiku, and tried to ask very politely through Google Translate if he sells fabric by the meter or half meter. He didn't (and I'm sure that's the case for all kimono tailors) but he DID have a bin of silk kimono fabric remnants for sale for very reasonable prices.
• Walked around the Mitsukoshi Ginza department store.
• Ate at Ootoya Ginza, a teishoku restaurant tucked away. The order tablets had an English option.
• I had a stellar custom peach daiquiri at He&Bar -Heiando Bar-. We recommend.
• A few drinks at Geronimo Shot Bar, a party bar with an American West theme. Great music, extensive shot list, and so many fascinations tacked to the walls and ceilings.
• Ended the night with a stop to Don Quijote Roppongi where we bought a ton more Kit Kat flavors, little gifts, and a new suitcase to put it all into.

Sun Aug 6 - Tokyo - Ginza, Shimokitazawa

• Went to Itoya (a destination store for stationery).
• Shoe shopping at Onitsuka Tiger Ginza Store. I already have 2 pairs and was about to buy a Nippon-made pair but when you get to the end of a trip you start to hold onto your money.
• Good ramen at Kyūshū Jangara Ginza. They offer a plant-based ramen option. We recommend it.
• "Meh" experience at Sony Showroom/Sony Store Ginza.
• Arcade games at Adores Shibuya.
• We headed toward Poor Cow (our ultimate destination) and ate at 焼売酒場なかめ 下北沢店, a shumai shop. We had delicious shrimp shumai and so this is another place I recommend.
• Got to Poor Cow and spent a few hours there before calling an Uber back to the hotel. It's a rocknroll bar run by Fifi from Teengenerate and Firestarter. I'd go back there in a heartbeat and I'd want to spend more time in the Shimokitazawa neighborhood.

On Mon Aug 7 we departed Narita. When I go back I want to spend more time in Osaka and go during the fall. Hopefully something on this list inspires others who are now planning a trip to Japan. Cheers

By ChouChou
It is a crisp May morning and the bright Canadian sunlight streams in through Dashan’s bedroom window. As the Chairman Mao alarm clock strikes seven o’clock, the words to The East is Red blare out, and still retain the same impeccable tones that Dashan uttered on the day he recorded that song.
Dashan awakes and surveys his bedroom. Photographs of himself shaking hands with vice-presidents of various Chinese enterprises adorn the walls in between posters of the times he has dyed his hair blonde and played Matteo Ricci, Edgar Snow, Nazis in Tibet, and other great figures on CCTV. Without a moment’s hesitation, he leaps out of of bed and faces the mirror for his morning exercises. “Ma, maaaa, maa, MA!” In pitch perfect Chinese, he repeats the four tones (the fifth neutral tone being beneath his contempt) again and again, safe in the knowledge that he hasn’t said a single one wrong. Then he takes one last look in the mirror, tells himself in Mandarin that he is the greatest, slips himself a wink, and heads off to the bathroom to brush his teeth with Darkie toothpaste.
Fifteen minutes later and Dashan, looking spendid in his authentic Republican-era gown, is in the dining room with a surly looking Dashan Junior. Breakfast conversations are always awkward affairs in the Rowswell household, and today is no exception. Dashan Junior tries his best to concentrate on his Captain Crunch cereal and ignore his father’s embarrasing attempts at small-talk.
“So…” begins Dashan, “You got English class at school today?” Dashan Junior grunts in the affirmative. “Well if you have, don’t forget your Dad’s trusty old Little Star Electronic Dictionary! Just the thing to push those grades up-up!” Dashan exclaims with a sunny grin.
Silently putting down his spoon, Dashan Junior gets up, makes his way across the table, and looks his dad firmly in the eye. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he spits in his father’s eye and slaps him harshly across the face.
“I’ve told you a million times already - never talk to me ever again. Understand?” And with that, Dashan Junior grabs his bag and heads out the door.
Alone, a single droplet of his son’s green mucus dribbling down his still sore cheek, Dashan sighs and ponders what he will do with his life today. The piles of unsold Little Star electronic dictionaries stacked around the kitchen remind him that fame hasn’t brought total success to Toronto’s finest. Although he lives comfortably enough from the money earned from the few TV shows he occasionally travels to China for, the rest of his life is a dull and empty void. China proved impossible to live in after hitting the bigtime (he shudders while remembering a particular incident involving a Shenyang shopping centre, 50,000 socially inept university students, and the never-ending cry of “Can you use chopsticks yet?”), but Canada has not proven to be ideal either. So far, Mark’s fellow Canadians have been unappreciative of his efforts in learning standard Mandarin and representing the world’s largest Communist Party, and the empty months in between CCTV gigs have become drawn-out and mundane. Yet Mark Rowswell never became the mighty Dashan with that kind of attitude. With a new determined strength of spirit, he stands up and heads out onto the sophisticated streets of Toronto in order to prove himself. Perhaps, he wonders, I might even be able to siphon some money off the Canadian government that was originally intended to be used in order to prevent Quebecois separatist movements. Again.
Dashan chooses not to head down to the Chinatown on Spadina Street. He realised long ago that the Happy Canada Lucky Dragon Restaurant was not interested in a white-skinned Chinese-speaking hospitality manager. While he ponders where to go, he stops at a cigarette kiosk and asks for a packet of Zhongnanhai.
“Never heard of them, we only sell Marlboros and Camels,” says the gruff guy behind the counter. “Oh, yes, I forgot that they only sell them in China,” smiles Dashan. Then, rather desperately, he adds “That’s where I live you know! I’m a big star there!” “That must be very nice for you,” sighs the cigarette seller. “Anyway, must be going, zaijian! Ooops, I must have been in China for too long, I mean goodbye!” Dashan grins and skips away. “Who was that?” asks another customer. “It’s that fucking Mark Rowswell again,” spits the cigarette seller, “He’s been saying the same thing every day for the last three years.”
Pleased at his display at the cigarette kiosk, Dashan decides to follow his success at the food court in the basement of the Eaton Shopping Centre on Yonge Street. On his way, he spots a couple of Oriental appearance walking past, and nearly collapses in excitement when he sees the lady catching his eye and approaching him. Unfortunately, they only want to know the way to the CN Tower, and not ask for his autograph. Undeterred, Dashan heads on.
A fairly large crowd is gathered outside the Singapore Sam’s stall in the Eaton Centre Food Court. Using the skills he learned in Beijing, Dashan slips into the crowd and pushes his way to the way to the front. He spots a young teenager about to order beef noodles, and stops her before she can do so.
“Hey there!” shouts Dashan amiably to the bemused teenager, who looks like she is about to shout for the police. “I see you’re about to order the beef noodles! In China, they are known as niu rou mian, or rather: cow meat noodles. However, in China, the main meat is pork, although chick…” “Please go away and don’t hurt me,” cries the girl, “You can take my money but just go!” “…China has a history of 5000 years, and the language reflects that. Ru xiang sui su is a saying meaning when in Rome…” “Please… please, leave me alone.” “Hangzhou meanwhile is known for it’s beautiful West Lake, and Suzhou for it’s many…”
“THAT’S ENOUGH ROWSWELL! NOW GET OUT!”
The burly manager of Singapore Sam’s has finally spotted the disturbance Dashan has been causing, and emerges from behind the counter with a substantially large meat cleaver. As Dashan runs away, the manager picks up a pile of leaflets left behind, and throws them at Dashan’s head.
“AND TAKE YOUR ELECTRONIC DICTIONARY LEAFLETS WITH YOU!”
It has been an exhausting day. After the trials and tribulations of the cruel Canadian day, Dashan has returned to the comfort of his propaganda decorated bedroom, and weeps beneath his embroidered cushions of Tiananmen Square. Only here, beneath the cheap certificates proclaiming him to be one of the “Ten Most Friendliest Foreigners in Beijing Haidian District: 1991″, does he feel any of the respect so rightfully deserved to him. Don’t these people understand how well he speaks Mandarin? He didn’t run all the way to China and became a star so that he could be treated the same way as the bigger boys used to treat him at school! The fucking laowai bastards!
Dashan considers watching his favourite film Red Dawn again on DVD to cheer himself up, but is interrupted by the welcome sound of Mrs. Dashan returning home. At last: a friendly face. The Dashans darken the lights, slip off their clothes, and play a little romantic music. However, something is wrong…
Dashan whimpers disappointingly. “It’s no good honey, I just can’t…” “What’s wrong cutie?” Asks Mrs Dashan in a sweet voice. “Do you need me to get out the hand pump and the CO2 cartridges again?” Dashan shakes his head. “No. I need more than that. You know what I need.” “NO! You promised me that last time would be the last time! It’s not normal Mark!” “PLEASE baby, do it for me,” pleads Dashan.
With a sigh of defeat, Mrs Dashan grunts in agreement and reaches down to the special box kept beneath the Rowswell family bed. Five minutes later, Dashan - dressed in a monkey costume with a hole cut away around the ringpiece - is being fucked up the arse by Mrs Dashan with a seven inch strap-on dildo and a rubber mask of Hu Jintao. Nearby, Dashan’s personal recording of The East is Red blares out again from the Chairman Mao alarm clock.
Mark has never been so happy.
From the Sinocidal archives:
Sinocidal - 5 Guys Hanging Around in China » A day in the life of Dashan (archive.org)

These posts are all from StoriesAboutKevin. "Kevin" is the name given to the people in these stories. As per the subs description: "A Kevin is someone who consistently or greatly shows a complete lack of intelligence through incompetence of social and societal norms, or is purposefully antagonistic in their poor decision making." Though most Kevins also aren't very book smart either.
Content Warning: Reckless Driving, Freezing
Mood Spoiler: Frustrating, Lengthy, But Satisfying In The End
I am not the OOP, that would be u/Strongbadjr. These posts are part of a collection of posts on OOP's account of various Kevins he has worked with. Parts 2-9 are all about the same person so they are the ones here. These posts have been edited for brevity/clarity.
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Kevin in a Big Rig Part 2: First Day, First Kevin (June 5th, 2021)
The first Kevin I encountered when I became a truck driver was, by far, the absolute WORST!! To say that he was dumb as a box of hammers would be insulting; to the hammers. Even now, six years later, I can scarcely believe the majority of the things this guy did that ranged from “Really, Dude?” to “Oh my GOD, how can you still be alive being so dumb?!” The worst part is that I had to share a truck with this guy for early three months; including trying to sleep with him driving an 80,000 lb vehicle without adult supervision. Please keep that in mind as the story progresses.
When I met this Kevin (I’ll refer to him as FK for First Kevin), I had just completed my 6 week training period with my Driver Trainer after I received my CDL. The standard policy of the company was to pair two drivers who lived relatively close to one another so that both drivers could take home-time at the same time (we typically stayed out on the road for weeks; sometimes months at a time working constantly. Unfortunately for me, FK was the driver that lived closest to me at the time who had no co-driver at the time.
So I get paired with FK and the first day, I could feel the stupid vibes pouring off of him. I was born and raised in the Southeastern US and, even to me, calling this guy “White Trash” would be an understatement. (He bragged about his family being big in the KKK, but he “accepted” his Driver Trainer who was black.) But being a new hire and bottom-rung of the ladder, I shrugged it off.
The first day FK and I are paired up, we pick up a load going to the LA area. FK, thinking that because he has a whopping 2 weeks more driving experience than I do, that HE should be the one to take the first shift “because I don’t trust you yet.” I should explain, this was NOT his personal truck; it was owned by the company and he was NOT a supervisor of any kind. I didn’t care so I rode shotgun for a bit.
As soon as FK starts driving, I’m immediately grateful for the Driver Trainer I had. FK reminds me of my time at CDL school when I would be in a truck with four other students and in instructor. Student truck drivers are notorious for being clumsy behind the wheel, but they tend to “find their groove” while out with a Trainer. FK, on the other hand, thought the bouncing gear-changes, excessive revving and braking so hard that a simple 4-way stop feels like landing on an aircraft carrier. I wasn’t very experienced, so I thought nothing about it….for long.
We get fuel at a nearby truck stop and head west. Once we’re on the interstate I notice FK keeps picking up a spiral-bound notebook, looking at something, then putting it down. He does this every few minutes for about an hour before I ask what he’s looking at.
FK gets a shit-eating grin on his face and hands it to me. “It’s the route the company sent us. You know, since we’re company drivers, we have to follow the company route.”
“Uh, ok…so why do you keep looking at it? The next turn-off is at least 200 miles away.”
“Yeah…but I keep forgetting.”
Note that FK had a perfectly good truck-specific GPS in the truck and the route was programmed in.
“You programmed the GPS, right?” I ask. “Just follow that. Its telling you the same thing as your notes.”
He mumbles something about how its SO important that we follow the “Company Route” or we’d get written up and he was gonna do everything right and blah blah blah. I just let it go.
So we’re still going down the Interstate, FK driving and religiously checking his precious notebook every five minutes. Its around rush hour and we were in a fairly large populated area. I start seeing signs of road construction and traffic is beginning to stack up, but FK is still looking at his notebook and NOT SLOWING DOWN. Traffic is quickly becoming bumper-to-bumper and FK still hasn’t seemed to notice. It’s then that I see the issue: the the two left lanes are closed due to construction. FK is driving in the center-left lane of a four-lane section of interstate. The far left lane is all ready closed and the center-left; the lane WE ARE CURRENTLY IN, is about to close in less than a mile. Fk, still reading his notebook, drives right up to point where the orange barrels mark the start of the lane closure.
“Dude…get over!” I tell him and instinctively check the passenger-side mirror to check for traffic. Its then that I notice the other semi; hauling ass up on our right side.
FK looks up, sees the barrels and, no signal, no mirror check, just merges right. “WHOA WHOA WHOA!!!” I yell just as the other truck blows past, raring down on the air horn. I briefly glimpse the other drivers face and he is PISSED! Not that I blame him.
FK looks sheepish and starts mumbling something about idiot drivers, but at the time I’m still trying to keep from going into full-on heart attack. I stay up front until we clear the construction zone and then climb back in the bunk to get some rest (emphasis on TRY). I had to drive the night shift and I knew better than to drive without sleep. His less-than expert truck handling did not help matters.
A few hours later, I wake up to the sound of air brakes releasing. I hear FK yelling he’s out of time to drive and I need to take over. I pull my boots on, sign in as the Active Driver to the trucks electronic log terminal and settle into the driver’s seat. Its at that point that I look out through the windshield and see something….odd.
Its dark, of course, but in the headlights I see two white lines converging at an angle just ahead of the truck. I look to left and the dim reflection of emergency flashers light up cat-eye reflectors an a white dashed center-line between two solid white right-of-way boundary lines. Its pretty obvious FK, in his lack of wisdom, had stopped the truck right at the merging point of a highway on-ramp AND A MAJOR HIGHWAY!!
“Where the f*** are we?!” I demand.
“I dunno. But I ran outta hours and this was the only place I could find.” That was bullshit because there was rest area 10 miles before that would have been a much better place to stop.
“Dude, do you have any idea how dangerous this is? Not to mention…ILLEGAL!”
“Well, I had to stop somewhere. Anyway, I gotta pee.” He goes to get out of the truck.
“No the fuck you don’t.” I say, pulling on the seat belt, releasing the brakes and putting the truck in gear. “We are NOT staying here a second longer. If you have to piss, use a Coke bottle. We’re outta here.” I get the truck going, thanking God there was no traffic or cops at the time, while FK is grumbling about having to pee in a bottle. I don’t care because I’m more concerned about NOT causing an accident or getting a ticket because of this idiot. He can piss in his pants for all I care. He goes straight to the bunk anyway so I don’t have to listen to him. I drive the rest of the night without incident and he takes over again early the next morning.
These incidents may not seem too bad, but bear in mind this happened in just the FIRST DAY. I was with this clown for 3 months and conditions did NOT improve during that time.
As promised, this will become a series and FK will star in the first few posts. Stay tuned for more Kevin in a Big Rig stories! Thanks for reading!
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Kevin in a Big Rig Part 3: Frozen (June 8th, 2021)
Hey, everyone! Thanks again to everyone for the upvotes, support and encouragement you have shown me with the first two installments of the Kevin in a Big Rig series. When I first decided to share these stories here on Reddit, I never would have imagined that an old trucker’s tales would be so well received. So many of you have left comments asking for more of these stories and I am not one who likes to disappoint. On that note, on to Part 3: Frozen.
Backstory: The following takes place about a month after First Kevin (FK) and I were first paired up. If you’ve read Part 2 of this series, then you have some idea of the kinds of Kevin-esque things FK was capable of; and you’d probably be right. But what he did this time resulted in what the absolute worst nights sleep of my entire life; and the closest I ever came to committing legitimate murder.
By this point, I already had FK pegged for what he was; an incompetent buffoon who shouldn’t be allowed near a soap box car; let alone an 18-wheeler. But worse, in his obviously demented mind, he thought he was the absolute top-dog of the trucking world. This is in spite of the dozens of times he would have to wake ME up and get him out of another bad situation. However, at the time, I was more of the “Grin and Bear It” mentality because I was broke and afraid that any screw-ups or boat-rocking on my part would get me fired. But that was about to change…
One day, after picking up a load close to the company’s home terminal, we received instructions from dispatch to relay the load in the company’s drop-yard and take the truck sans trailer to a local dealer in town for scheduled maintenance. This was essentially a gloried oil change and lube job with a few other items on the checklist just to make sure the truck was in good shape. This was normally handled by the in-house mechanics, but because of some serious backlogs, they decided to contract it out.
The plan, as relayed by dispatch, was for us to drop the loaded trailer in the yard, bobtail to the dealership for a late-morning appointment, get the service done (it would take 2 hours maximum), pick the back up when finished and continue on to the destination. Easy in, easy out. Unfortunately, FK was the driver on duty during the shift in which we were SUPPOSED to arrive. But, in typical FK fashion, he got lost because his infamous system of navigation failed again. As a result, he wasted half a day back-tracking and ran out of drive-time; leaving me to get us to the terminal, drop the load and get to the dealership 15 minutes before they closed for the day. This meant that, since we missed our appointment, we would have to wait until the next morning when they had an opening in the schedule. Since the opening was first-thing that morning and parking at the company terminal was packed, I made the call to park the truck outside the dealership for the night. We had plenty of fuel and there was a gas station within walking distance where we could get food. The shop told us this was fine so that was that.
This happened in around late Novembeearly December in the midwest. The winter had already shown signs of being bad and snow had been falling for weeks already. The weather forecast for that night was to dip well below freezing not long after sunset. After squaring everything away with the service reps at the shop, I turn to FK.
“Look, FK, its gonna get cold once the sun goes down. I’m gonna walk over to the store and grab something to eat tonight. You coming?”
FK replied, “No, I got food. I’m gonna see if I can get that bunk outlet to work.” For a few days, he had been complaining that one of the 12 volt outlets in the bunk section of the cab wasn’t working. Apparently, it was a major issue for him even though neither of us had any electronic device other than our cell phones and the bunk had a total of FOUR outlets; only one didn’t work. But trying to tell him that fact only made him upset and make him flex is one week of seniority over me. I really didn’t feel like arguing so I left him to it.
I go and buy food for dinner, some snacks to have in reserve, beverages to hold me over for the night and two packs of cigarettes because smoking was the only thing that could calm my nerves enough to not strangle FK each time he had to wake me up to help him navigate. As I’m heading back, the sun goes down and I can see a nearby pond start to freeze. I quicken my pace so I can get back to the warm cab. As I get to the truck, I see FK in the passenger seat hunched over something. I go around to the driver door and jump in.
For those who don’t know, trucks meant for long-haul operations have very thick insulation to hold in heat for a VERY long time. This came in handy since that truck had an idle-limiting system that wouldn’t allow the engine to run for long periods of time sitting at idle. If the engine was needed to maintain heating or air conditioning while parked, the driver could set a device much like a digital thermostat: you set the control for the temperature you want the cab to be, select it to either heat or cool and the engine will start and stop to maintain the temperature much like the central unit of a house. Since the cab was well insulated, the cab of the truck could stay warm for hours.
Before I left the truck to go to the store, I made sure to set the idle control system to maintain a comfortable temperature. When I got back, however, I couldn’t help but notice it was colder than when I had left it: much colder. What was strange about that was that the engine was running fine. Naturally, I checked the temperature controls on the dash; they were set to full heat and full fan. And that’s when it hit me: there was nothing coming from the dash vents. The blower fans were dead quiet.
I looked over at FK who, I just noticed, is poking around with the fuse panel that was hidden behind the rear panel of the glove box. “FK, why is the heat not working?”
“I dunno. It stopped working when I was checking the fuses.” That led me to my second question.
“Why are you messing with the fuse panel?”
“I was trying to get that outlet to work.”
As you may know, most vehicles have to fuse/relay panels; one underneath the hood in the engine compartment and another inside. Trucks are the same in that regard except they have a LOT more fuses than the average passenger car. One thing that was stressed heavily during my training was that the fuse panel inside the glove box of the truck was STRICTLY off-limits. This is because if someone goes about carelessly pulling fuses looking for a bad one without first disconnecting the power, it could cause a surge through the panel and short out other circuits. Since the fuses in the glove box controlled vital circuits such as external lights, dashboard instruments and engine controls, messing around with them could lead to major issues. Also, the dash blower motor circuit was also fused in that same panel. And FK had been messing with it.
Its hard to remember what I was feeling at the time; anger, hate, panic, homicidal rage…all of the above? “Oh, fuck!” I exclaimed as jump into the bunk area. I check the thermostat; its showing 58° F (14.4° C) when it was set to 73° F (22° C). I checked the vents in the bunk heat controls and turn them full-heat and full-fan but, sadly…nothing. We were in a truck with no heat and near-freezing conditions. To make matters worse, the shop at which we were parked was already closed. We were in trouble.
I grab the truck’s computer and send an urgent message to dispatch, telling them that our heater isn’t working and the temperature outside is dropping fast. FK is still mumbling about the outlet.
“Will you forget about that goddamn outler?! We have no heat!! Don’t you understan that?!”
He said something, but the computer signaled an incoming message.
“Truck 1234, you have access to your truck so we cant get you a room.”
I tell dispatch AGAIN that the heater isn’t working and its getting colder by the minute, but they said “company policy” meant we had to stay in the truck. We were screwed.
I turn to FK and say, “Close that fucking glove box and don’t even think about opening it again.” At this point, even he realized he screwed up royally. We were stuck in a cold truck for the night. Neither of us has enough money to afford a hotel room and, short of starting a bonfire inside the truck, we were in for a cold, cold night.
I quickly eat my dinner and stow my food away. I then dig through all the clothes I had with me; looking for every stitch of warm clothing I had and layered up as best I could. I ended up wearing a two long-sleeve t-shirts, a pull-over hoodie and Carhart jacket with two pairs of jeans, two pairs of socks, heavy-duty work boots and two pairs of jersey work gloves with a fleece blanket for cover.
The entire night, I don’t think I sleep for two consecutive hours. Despite wearing what felt like a weeks worth of clothes all at once, the cold air still permeated through. I stayed curled in the fetal position for the entire night; shivering so hard I could feel the entire truck shake. Each time by violent shivering or chattering teeth brought me out of sleep, I would look at the thermostat control. By midnight, the temperature was well below freezing and, with high winds that had come up, the truck was only getting colder. I can remember feeling disgusted that each time I woke up and not seeing sunlight. At one point, I honestly believed that I wouldn’t survive the night due to hypothermia.
Finally, at about 6 am, I woke up for the last time and decided to go outside. Not because it was any warmer, but because the gas station I went to the evening before opened at that time and all I wanted was a little heat. I didn’t wake FK; honestly, I wouldn’t have cared if he was dead for the hell his stupid ass just put me through over a power outlet. I walked to the store; looking like a vagrant with withdrawal symptoms from shivering so much.
When I walked into the store after that long, bitter night, I wanted to cry because the heat felt so nice. The cashier gave me a puzzled look, but saw my baseball cap that had my company’s logo and let it go. I bought two cups of piping hot coffee and a warm breakfast. I took my time savoring every bit of it. Since the station had a dining area and wasn’t busy, I really wasn’t in any hurry to get back.
I sat in the station for about two hours before I had to head back. The shop opened at 8 and I wanted to get the truck in the shop and fixed ASAP. I get a third coffee for the walk back and get over to the shop just as the office is opening. FK is waiting outside and sees me holding my coffee. He asked where I got it and I pointed to the gas station. The rep opens the door and we go inside, check in with the desk and hand the truck key to the technician so he can get started. FK, who was useless when it came to things like this, went to the lounge area. I made sure to tell the tech about the fan and asked if he could check it out; he said he would. I sign the paperwork and head to the lounge.
In the lounge, FK looks frustrated. He wanted coffee, too, and was disappointed to learn that, since the shop just opened, the office staff hadn’t made any in the lounge yet.
“Well, walk over to the gas station and get one.” I say, trying not to snicker.
“You know I can’t walk that far. Why don’t you go get me one?” he asked, indignantly. I should point out that FK had a bad leg due to, if you can believe it, a bad car accident (I know, big shocker). At first, I felt bad for him, being partially disabled but by that point, after everything I had endured because of his stupid ass, I was tempted to damage his good leg so they would be a match set.
“Because I signed the truck in. That means I have to be here when its released.
FK gets mad. “Well, why didn’t you wake me up and ask me if I wanted anything?” he demands, almost throwing a tantrum.
It was at this point, my tolerance for FK glitched. This SOB had put me through a living hell of no sleep, being thrown around the truck like a rag doll because of his horrible driving, having to take flak for his fuck-ups and getting chewed out for late deliveries because he keeps getting lost. Now, he want ME to be HIS errand boy after nearly causing me to freeze to death? As someone once said, “HELL TO THE NAW NAW NAW.”
I set my coffee on a table and raise to my full height (I had at least one foot and one hundred pounds on him). “Listen here, you sawed-off little bastard,” I replied, summoning every last ounce of piss and vinegar in me that wasn’t still frozen, “because of your dumb-ass, I barely slept all night. How the Hell we’re not dead of hypothermia right now, I have no idea. I have put up with your bullshit for over a month and I’m fed up with it. You are NOT my supervisor, you are NOT my lead driver and you do NOT tell me what to do. And if I EVER catch you messing around with the fuse panel or anything else on that truck again, I will CUT YOUR GODDAMN THROAT!” And, at that moment, I meant it.
FK muttered something, but I told him to shut up and he obliged. After a couple of hours, the technician came and told us our truck was ready. FK, still without coffee, sulked off to the truck while I dealt with the paperwork. I ask the tech about the blower fan and find out it was a blown fuse. Apparently, FK pulled the fuse and the resulting arc caused the fuse to blow. Since he was an idiot and the fuse panel wasn’t labeled, there was no way to know which fuse was blown. He told my to make sure that next time I needed to check the fuses to disconnect the batteries first. I laughed, signed the papers and went back to the truck.
Back in the truck, I send a message to dispatch and tell them we’re ready to roll. FK had climbed back into the bunk; obviously still sulking. I take the first drive shift of the day so the load can, once again, be back on track.
While I wish I could say this was the end of my misadventures with FK, its not. There’s more. Yep, it gets even better, folks.
Again, thank you all so much for reading and for all your support and encouragement. It really does mean a lot!
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Due to character limits, this had to be split into multiple posts. You can find the next post here.