Danica hall thrall

Hi everyone! I'm currently looking for any feedback on the first chapter of my short novel, which has just reached the second draft stage. It's about the main character being forced into eliminating the heads of an island conquered by vampires. The title is referencing a blood moon which remains present only on the island, always draping it in darkness and making it perfect for its inhabitants. I see it as a gothic Suicide Squad with less characters.
Thanks!
The chateau remarked itself as the jewel of the street.
The building rose above its accompanying homes, two stories larger than its nearest neighbours. A grand display of the original owner’s wealth, it now belonged to the vampires, like the rest of Prache. Looking down the street, Hitchforth recognised it from afar, his target for tonight’s mission. He watched stylish vampires enter through the front gate, greeted by ushers at the entrance, checking their invitations. Checking the inner pocket of his greatcoat, he searched for the invitation given to him, satisfied it was there. Hitchforth looked to his left and saw the rookie’s for tonight’s mission checking for his invitation. The rookie searched throughout his body, appearing to have lost the card, but found it before Hitchforth could scold him, offering it to his Educator.
The rookies they gave him rarely survived his missions. Sometimes he thought they were sent as a punishment, a test to see if they could survive. In his old age he had seen countless rookies, forgetting countless names and faces. This one beside him seemed nervous, adjusting his collar, wiping the sweat from his brow, avoiding eye contact with Hitchforth. This one might as well have been sentenced to an execution. What was his name? Anton? Arthur? It wouldn’t matter in the end, but the rookie’s nervousness could jeopardise the mission entirely.
“Tell me,” he said, seriousness in his tone. “Are you afraid of me or the vampires?”
The rookie fidgeted with his fingers before responding, wiping his brow from the new sweat that dripped. “B-b-both, sir.”
“Breathe. Fill your lungs and empty them. Like this.” Hitchforth demonstrated for the rookie, taking extra care to show the slow speed of the action.
The rookie did as instructed, inhaling and exhaling deeply.
“It helps?” Hitchforth asked.
“Yes sir,” the words spoken with more clarity and calmness.
“Good, let’s go into the lion’s den then.”

They approached the front entrance, lining up to be ushered in. Carmilla’s festivity had attracted the richest of Prache’s vampires, adorned in foreign jewels and extravagant clothing. The rookie almost slipped on an exceptionally long dress, caught by the cuff by Hitchforth. Looking behind him, he saw the fury in their red eyes, that Humanity’s Hope had been invited. Reaching the usher, Hitchforth handed his and the rookie’s invitations, inspecting the vampire’s face. The slightest twinge of shock showed on his face, but was quickly concealed with a stern, professional demeanour. He waved them both in, shooting a questioning glance as they passed by.
The building appeared larger inside than it was outside, if possible. The minimal red torches fitted on sconces and the amount of vampires fitted into the building helped accentuate its size. A sea of suits and dresses spread throughout its floor, different colours and materials shining in the ambient light. Imported marble made up the floor, dark and white tiles patterned intricately. Large windows draped by exotic curtains furnished the walls throughout the building, paintings spread in between the spaces. Hitchforth could just make out the paintings as portraits, the closest to him being a group of five vampires.
What surprised Hitchforth the most was the sounds that filled his ears. Music played by a orchestra filled the building with the sounds of strings, woodwinds, percussion and brass sections. Pushing past the crowd that had congregated near the front entrance, Hitchforth saw dancing. Vampires dancing in line with their partners to the music, alternating between partners, spinning with arms outstretched.
Behind the dance floor a grand staircase rose from the floor, providing access to the two other stories of the building. It was there that Hitchforth saw the target for tonight’s mission come down the stairs, stopping high enough to be seen, but low enough to be heard. Immediately the orchestra ceased its playing, the dancers also ceasing their dancing. The congregation around the entrance strode to the dance floor, taking Hitchforth and the rookie with them, waiting for her words.
She was tall and deathly beautiful, more civilised and confident than the others. She wore a dark crimson dress, accenting her red eyes and slender face. Her moonlight coloured hair draped straight down past her shoulders, shining despite the lack of light. Her red lips parted into a savage smile, displaying the pointed canines she shared with every member of her race. Hitchforth noticed she looked directly at him, her eyes sizing him as a lion would to its prey. Carmilla Sanguine had arrived.
She spoke to the guests, keeping her eyes on Hitchforth. “Welcome all, to the festivities of tonight. I hold today’s ball as a celebration of our independence as a species, our freedom from humanity.” The guests cheered at the words, delighted at the words. “And please give our warm Prache hospitality to our sanctioned guests of Humanity’s Hope, who have joined us.”
The vampires did not cheer at those words, hushing and hissing silently as they turned to see Hitchforth and the rookie. It was easy to find them, both wearing their issued dark green greatcoats. Hitchforth had refused formal attire for the event for himself and his rookie, knowing they would stand out regardless.
“Enjoy your time tonight and as always, long live our king.”
“Long live our king,” the crowd shouted out in unison, mirroring Carmilla’s words.
Carmilla stepped down the stairs, her guests returning to conversation and dancing. She mingled with her guests, leaving Hitchforth and the rookie alone.
“Sir, what now?” the rookie asked.
“She will come to us, she can’t help herself,” Hitchforth said whilst looking over her watching her conversations. From a distance he could still see the power she held, the fear in the faces of the vampires she held conversations with. From what he had been told, the heads of Prache kept to themselves mostly, only communicating when necessary. The mission would not be hindered by reinforcements, or so he had been told.
Carmilla made her way over to where Hitchforth and the rookie stood, flanked by two bodyguards in suits. She looked over the rookie, smiling and looking into his eyes. Hitchforth saw the rookie smile back, his nervousness gone. Already her mind games had begun.
“Hello, Carmilla,” he said, breaking her eye contact with the rookie.
“Greetings, Educator Hitchforth. And who might this be here?”
“My rookie. You know my name?” Carmilla had come closer to the rookie, stroking his cheek with her hand as Hitchforth spoke. Hitchforth saw the sharp nails on her hand, softly grazing the rookie’s skin.
“Isn’t fresh blood the best? We don’t get a lot of humans here, I’m sure you know.” Carmilla moved her hand away, turning and answering the Educator. “Of course, who doesn’t know the only Lycan Educator in Humanity’s Hope? I’m sure everyone here has smelt it already.”
“Fair enough. Can we talk in a more…,” Hitchforth looked around, noticing most of the guests were paying attention to their conversation. “Private place?”
“Of course, Educator. Allow me to lead the way,” she said, taking hold of the rookie’s hand and walking ahead. Hitchforth stared at him from behind to let go yet he continued, unable to escape her trance. Playing along, he followed Carmilla up the stairs, leaving behind the vampires to dance and socialise below.

Carmilla lead Hitchforth and the rookie up the stairs to the second floor, passing through multiple hallways and doors to reach their destination. The building’s halls and rooms seemed to continue endlessly, doors leading to more doors and longer hallways. They walked down a long staircase, perhaps made for the servants of the building. They walked through a large hallway containing Carmilla’s thralls, lined up against the wall, saluting as she passed. Eventually they reached a cold room with a large table in the centre with a fireplace emitting red flames. Red ash was a new invention created since the vampires had conquered Prache, a harmless light source for their needs. They had invested heavily into the island as their home and Hitchforth knew they would not give it up easily. Looking above the mantle place, Hitchforth noticed the familiar painting from the ballroom.
All the five vampires matched the descriptions he was told, to the point he could recognise them all. At the forefront sat Harrow Sanguine, the self-appointed king of Prache. He looked younger than the rest of his family, his ashen skin painted flawlessly. His fierce eyes stared back into Hitchforth, instilling fear from even his heart. To his right stood his wife, Rose Sanguine, who bore a strong resemblance to Carmilla, matching hair and all. To the king’s left stood Varney Sanguine, wearing his familiar grey suit and matching brown flat cap. Standing next to Varney was Father Nostra, the religious leader of Prache, wearing his black cassock. Finally, standing next to her mother was Carmilla Sanguine, identical to her real life presence.
“Where are we?” Hitchforth asked.
“A meeting room under the chateau. We won’t be disturbed here.”
“And your guests? They won’t be afraid you’ve gone missing?”
Carmilla laughed. “Those fools will be too blood drunk in the morning to remember their past few days. Our meeting will be fine.” She ordered her guards out of the room, instructing them to stay outside, just in case. “The guards will be waiting outside,” she said, warning in her tone.
“What do you want?”
“When my father sanctioned a member of Humanity’s Hope to visit the island, I was surprised they chose you.”
Hitchforth shrugged. “I’m expendable.”
“Yes, they do see you in that way, and that may be so. But I see more.”
Hitchforth furrowed his eyebrows. “Like what?”
“I see opportunity. I see power. I see a new path.”
“Care to explain?”
“You are the only Educator that is not human. On Prache we can give you freedom, like we have achieved.”
Hitchforth thought over what Carmilla said, processing her words. She had to have been desperate to separate him from any prying eyes, eager to keep her plans secret. The only choice was to continue.
“I see. They say a hand that lends help is matched by a hand that waits repayment. What is the repayment you seek from me?”
Carmilla smiled more than she had before, looking more unnatural than she ever had before. Her smile outstretched to the corners of her face and Hitchforth thought he saw her eyes darken lustfully. Not lust for blood, but lust for power. “The crown. With my connections and Humanity’s Hope, we can topple my father’s regime. He is outdated, out of touch with the population’s desires and needs. I can give it to them.”
Hitchforth scoffed at the words. “And you believe Humanity’s Hope is willing to partner with a vampire?”
“They partnered with you didn’t they? I see no difference.”
“I have no partnership. Something much worse.”
“It doesn’t matter. My father is eager to enact revenge for the prosecution vampires have felt for millennia. I am willing to move on.”
Hitchforth looked to the rookie, who had remained silent throughout the conversation. He sweated through his coat, leaving visible stains. The trance Carmilla had put him through had broken, putting her attention to Hitchforth. He could feel the slight strings pulling him in the direction she wanted, appealing to his emotions and desires. He considered over her terms, it made sense to accept the deal. Why would he protect his captors? His mind travelled elsewhere, to a farmhouse and her tending to her flower garden. He thought of her smile, and the little one that accompanied her.
“Do we have a deal? You have no choice either way, Educator,” Carmilla said, snapping Hitchforth back to reality.
He looked to his rookie, signalling under the table to warn him. Hitchforth saw him nod subtly, trying not to give away the motion.
“No,” Hitchforth said, raising the table above his head, smashing it into Carmilla’s body, sending her flying.

I think this is a feature that needs to be in a future WoW expansion. There are so many characters and entities that could be considered a Patron or a Mentor for our characters. This may not even really change much about the way we play (maybe grant an ability), but giving us some attachment or connection to a favourite lore characteentity could be really fun.
This could function similarly to that of a class hall, giving characters access to world quests or storylines related to our patron, rewards/cosmetics/spell skins to differentiate your character, and have a good way to show lore for some somewhat more obscure characters.
By this point there is certainly enough patrons for every class/spec we can imagine.
Death knights could have Mograne, Bolvar Fordragon, Bwansamdi
Druids could have Cenarius, Ursoc, Merithra, the big frog Loa even.
Priests could have A'dal, Xe'ra, Elune, C'thun, Locus Walker
Shamans could have Thrall, therasane, Ebyssian
Warriors could have Saurfang, Grom, Odin
Hunters could have Rexxar, Nesingwary, Elune even?
Etc etc
Etc etc

Story These Stories Will Tie Into
I really hope you know what your getting into, reading this. Never thought I’d be the kind who kept a journal but I’ve finally been convinced so here we are. Oh, and I just hope this ends up in your hands at some point Baelen, you’d be surprised how much you don’t know about me. and, if for some reason you’re reading this and you don’t know who that is just wait, we’ll get there eventually.
But where to begin? Introductions I suppose, some people have called me the devil and while I hardly deserve it I can see why. I’m not the devil if your wondering, I might’ve met him…her…it? Whatever I met I’d certainly call it the devil, dresses in red, absolutely sinister aura about them, and constantly looking to make a deal you just cant refuse. Seems to fit the bill if you ask me.
Enough about that though, I’m supposed to be writing about me. I may not be the devil but I am a vampire and an old one at that. People always balk at that word, vampire. If I had to guess I’d blame the movies and books that have been written about us over the years. I’ll admit theres some truth to them but they like to romanticize things. Take sunlight for example, sure its not pleasant but its not going to kill me any faster than it’s going to kill a ginger. But the sunlight does have adverse effects on the more supernatural things a vampire such as myself can do. I’d guess thats where the myth that sunlight will burn us started but its far from the truth.
The other side to romanticizing vampires is that these days some people want to be us. There was one book in particular I blame for that, I’m sure you can guess which one. I promise the process isn’t that pleasant though, most of the time a person would just end up a thrall to the bloodlust that will surely overtake them. Sometimes they just die outright or remain dormant for days, even weeks at a time before suddenly snapping. Sometimes the process works and they get over the initial bloodlust, then you end up with a true vampire such as myself but thats not exactly a common occurrence.
I shouldn’t go on about the ins and outs of vampirism though, it’s a journal not a book on our physiology. But what do people write in journals, a story perhaps? Well how about the story of how I ended up the way I am now, that should keep any of those Chimera zealots that stumble across this entertained. It all started around 1350 and yes, that would make me over 600 years old. Greatly extended lifespans are one of there perks of my condition.
The bubonic plague had torn through most of Europe giving honest and self proclaimed doctors alike a now essential place in the world. I was a young man in Paris at the time, working for one Doctor Henry Conrad delivering his “cures” to the people. While I can’t speak for the legitimacy of the treatments he offered they gave people some hope in a dark time at the very least. I also happened to have a rebellious streak so when that very same doctor ordered me to steal from yet another doctor, I jumped at the chance. It wasn’t the first time I’d done less than legal things for Conrad, I loved the thrill of it back then. This Doctor Archer I was to steal from had apparently developed his own bootlegged cure to the plague. Naturally, the good Doctor Conrad wanted it for himself and the duty of retrieving his notes and “cure” fell to me, Jacob.
I’ve never had any use of a last name, never knew my parents and grew up an urchin on the streets so I always simply went by Jacob. Now doctors held a very high place in society at the time and the field of medicine was finally really coming into its own. It wasn’t uncommon to have guards stationed at the homes of well known doctors, even more locally known ones like Archer. So I found it strange when I arrived at the address Conrad had given me and found it utterly bereft of any sort of guard. Even the house I’d arrived at seemed dilapidated and misused, as if no one had lived there in a very long time. In hindsight I don’t think anyone had “lived” there in a long time after all.
As I crept through the fallen beams that had once been a doorframe I thought back to the street I’d traveled down. Hadn’t it been just a little more lively when I’d walked the street before? The plague had taken its toll on the city so it wasn’t all posh shoppes (I do so loathe that word these days) like it has become in modern times. Still, there was usually more life to be seen on the street than a stray rodent picking through piles of trash and other unmentionables in search of an easy meal. I shook these thoughts from me head as I walked deeper into the corpse of a building. All around me were the creaks and groans of wood that could splinter and collapse at any moment but none of that concerned me. I was still at that age where I felt invincible, like nothing could ever possibly hurt me.
If nothing else I was reasonably certain the dilapidated house was a former residence of Doctor Archer. Medical equipment was scattered around the house and there were several books that contained hastily scribbled notes. These notes did contain worrying phrases such as, “The answer lies in the blood”, “The patients lie still but healthy”, and “My results are inconclusive, I shall test the improved mixture on myself for further study”. I truly did believe that Conrad had given me a less than recent address or perhaps received bad information altogether. That all changed when I heard banging coming from somewhere near my feet.
“Help Us! PLEASE! IT’S BOILING INSIDE”
Screamed several disjointed muffled voices as the banging grew louder. My heart climbed its way into my throat as I threw rubble and notes alike all over the floor in a frantic search for the source of the noise. Just as suddenly as it began it was cut off by a metallic clang and the sound of metal scraping on metal. The sudden silence was almost louder than the screams that had preceded it. I dropped to my knees, surprise quickly turning to gut wrenching fear. There came one final bang from the floor and this time I saw its source, a small trap door hidden under bits of the ruined doorframe. The door was bound shut with a latch but had a gap just wide enough to let me see a hand lash out, reaching for some means of escape. The hand was brutalized and was missing its thumb. The wound looked like it had been caused by something physically tearing the thumb from the rest of the hand. But just as quickly as it had appeared it was dragged back into the darkness of whatever lay past that trap door. This was enough to shatter the childish notion that nothing here could hurt me. Something had attacked the owner of that hand. Surely they’d do the same to me if I investigated any further. I turned and ran, ran all the way back to Conrad and informed him of the situation.
“Not possible, That address was given by one of the mans own patients. He couldn’t have moved that quickly and the building couldn’t have deteriorated that fast.”
Was his judgmental response.
“You must’ve gone to the wrong house, go back out and find me this cure he’s so convinced he’s found!”
“But I’m sure it was the house! I followed your directions to the letter!”
“Bah! I’ll go with you then! It’s becoming more and more evident to me you cant be trusted with the smallest task!”
Conrad yelled in reply, throwing his books to the ground and rushing to grab his mask to accompany me back to that miserable house.
While I had worked for Conrad for the better part of a year at that point I had no love for the man. He was harsh and didn’t truly care about me or his patients. The whole practice was simply a means to generate whatever profit he could, if people were helped as a result it was simply a coincidence. He often had outbursts like this and he constantly belittled me for each mistake I made. Most days I was convinced he only kept me around because it would take more effort than he was willing to spare to find a replacement. I had nothing better waiting for me anywhere in the world so I was forced to endure the abuse. I thought about simply walking out in the moment but ultimately I decided to accompany Conrad back to the address he’d been given.
The beak of Conrad’s mask cut a path through the rabble and rats as we made our way back out to the decrepit house. He was angry, I could tell from his stiff deliberate strides and judging by the expressions of the people we passed, so could they. But when we finally arrived back at the collapsed doorframe that was once an entrance to Doctor Archer’s home that anger turned to confusion.
“But this must be it?!”
Conrad raged as he tore around the house in disbelief. I’d never seen him so distraught over anything before. Though I imagine losing his chance to get his hands on some miracle cure for the plague had something to do with it. Unfortunately for us both Conrad stumbled on the trapdoor as he rampaged around the small space that was once a room. He fell to the ground with a heavy thud but clambered back to his feet right away. Before a word could pass my lips he was lifting the latch and opening that horrible trapdoor the banging had come from earlier.
“Well, what’re you waiting for?! Go down there and find his cure!”
“I don’t know what it looks like! Please sir, Please…”
But thats all I got out before Conrad shoved me through the hatch with not so much as a “good luck”. Whatever room I’d fallen into was dark, only lit by a dim lantern lying just in front of where I’d fallen. I picked up the lantern as I got back to my feet, steadying myself with the wall. When my hand made contact with the wall I felt something warm, wet, and mildly sticky. The coppery scent I got as I drew my hand to my nose confirmed what I’d feared, it was blood.
The trail of blood lead down the wall to the cold floor and continued down the hall as it faded into the darkness. I was terrified but I had no option other than to move forward following the dark red path stained into the stone floor. The blood trail smeared over the walls and ceiling, apparently whoever this trail belonged to had been flung all over the hallway. Soon enough I found the unfortunate owner of all this blood. The corpse was bloated around the neck and pus still seeped out of several sores near the armpits. All these were signs of the plague but I doubted thats what caused the man’s death. One hand was missing, torn off by the looks of it. The stump was a ruined mess of bone, tendons, and gristle. The man’s other hand was clutching a knife that was embedded in his neck. Multiple wounds on his throat suggested he’d been stabbed at least eight times.
I stepped over the corpse and looked around the brutal scene, searching for anything that might tell me what exactly happened here. There wasn’t much in the room, just a table and a few chairs in various states of disrepair. I was about to move on when my eyes fell upon a blood soaked notebook. The blood had ruined much of what was written there but I could still make out some of it.
“… Man arrived today seeking treatment…. Drank the pus from my patient’s bloated boils… showed no signs of infection of any sort, claims… blood is the answer… mixed a solution with a sample of his blood, decided to test on patients… I have made a grave mistake the city will pay for m…”
The notebook abruptly cut off, words lost to bloodstained pages. It seemed to me that this cure was no cure at all but instead its own kind of plague. I walked deeper into the hidden catacombs beneath doctor Archer’s home. Each room featured a new monstrosity for me to behold. But I began to see injuries on several of the corpses that appeared to be the same, two puncture wounds to the neck that were surrounded by black veins. They didn’t seem to be cause by a knife or any sort of man made object. If anything it almost seemed like they were caused by fangs.
The further into these catacombs I moved the less I wanted to be here but I couldn’t turn around. Conrad wouldn’t allow me to leave without something to show for it so I pressed on. Eventually I reached a curve in the tunnels, I could see a dim light emanating from just beyond. I heard a voice as well, cracking but full of a mad joy. The voice carried with it an undeniable air of insanity.
“Cut, cut, cut the pretties all goes in the pot! Below you’ve come and below you’ll stay, below you all will rot!”
Sang the insane voice from just around the corner. Each pause in the song accompanied by a sickeningly wet squelching sound. I steeled myself before taking a step forward, then one more, and another. Before I knew it I had rounded the corner into a image that was conjured straight from the depths of hell.
A man I could only assume was Doctor Archer stood in the center of the room stirring a pot and wearing a filthy blood stained coat. He still wore his beaked mask as well but it was torn open on one side and I could just make out the flash of a sinister smile underneath. The pot was full of the mangled missing limbs from the various corpses I came across on my way here. Around the room hung more limbs still in various states of decomposition. But none of that held a candle to the twitching… thing laying on a table behind Archer.
I couldn’t call it human, not anymore, it had been mutilated beyond recognition. One of its arms had been removed at some point and it appeared to be slowly growing back from the bone out. It’s skull was nearly concave yet it still croaked out in pain. But above all that I could clearly see its sharp fangs poking out like bits of smashed eggshell. Fangs like that surely could’ve cause the wounds I’d seen on my way here but not in that state.
I was still frozen in the firelight from Archer’s cooking fire as he stopped his stirring and looked toward me.
“D.. doc… doctor?”
I stuttered out, nearly shaking with fear.
“The doctor yes! I was him, I AM HIM! The blood, the blood is the cure! Bite and scream and chase and splat!”
He cackled out in glee as he addressed me.
“The strong man came, came and showed me the cure!”
Archer laughed as he lifted a gore caked spoon from out of the pot and pointed to the brutalized figure on the table. I tried to piece everything he was saying together but the fear and the palpable tension his madness brought over the room made it difficult to think. When Archer suddenly lunged forward all I could do was cower and squeak as two razor sharp fangs revealed themselves from under his mask and plunged into the soft flesh of my neck.
I feel I should explain what exactly had happened to the unfortunate Doctor Archer before I continue with my story. I’m sure you could probably guess the man was afflicted with some kind of vampirism and you’d be correct, but its how he was infected that’s important. I was turned from his bite but a bite is not the only way vampirism is conferred. Any bodily fluids from a vampire could cause infection but saliva and blood are especially effective. Hence why most cases of one contracting vampirism come from bites where saliva mixes with the victims blood. This “strong man” laying on the table was none other than the visitor Archer had received earlier. That man had seemed immune to the plague because he too was a vampire. I don’t know why or how Archer got his hands on blood from this vampire but it was a mistake to use it in half baked “cures” for the plague.
Of course it worked… at first. In a few days the people he’d given vampire blood to either died or turned. He couldn’t tell the symptoms of a recently turned and bloodthirsty vampire from signs of the late stages of the plague and simply assumed his “cure” was a failure. At that point he’d already used his “cure” on himself as well but when he began to turn free from all supervision or restraints all hell broke lose. Despite my many years as a vampire I’m still not entirely certain how the specifics of our condition work. I do know that the longer we go without blood the more vicious and predatory we become as our own blood seems to boil. Drinking the blood of others helps calm the fire in our veins and so the cycle continues. But if a vampire were to drink the blood of another vampire the opposite occurs. The offending vampire’s blood boils stronger and stronger until they go feral with pain, or so I’m told I’ve never experienced it for myself. This I believe is what befell doctor Archer and what lead to the grizzly situation I found myself in that night. Now where were we?
The last thing I heard was Doctor Archer’s crazed growling as he tore at my throat but just before the light faded from my eyes I felt him withdraw and dart away, something had startled him. I felt sure these were my final moments as I embraced the icy darkness and allowed myself to fade away. Death never took me though, Instead I awoke to a scene of incredible violence. Doctor Archer was splayed out in-front of me, bound to a makeshift wooden cross. His guts hung out and his entrails spilled onto the floor in front of me. The man strapped to the table looked much better now, arm having regrown in its socket and while his skull was clearly damaged it looked nowhere near as bad as before. He sat In front of Archer holding a torch in one hand and a cleaver in the other.
Turning, I looked away from the two and passed my gaze over the rest of the room until my eyes fell upon the masked body of Conrad. He must’ve followed after me at some point, maybe thats what drew Archer away after he attacked me. Suddenly I felt an intense burning in my veins and a single desire clouded my mind. I don’t know why but I lurched towards the flayed body of Archer in front of me with speed I never knew I possessed. A lightning fast hand grabbed me before I even got close.
“NO! What do you think made him the way he is now child! If you must sate your hunger do so there.”
I heard the man say as the cleaver and torch clattered to the floor. The newly awoken bestial part of me understood what he meant. He must’ve sensed it too as he released me, allowing me to stalk towards Conrad’s crumpled form.
As I stalked forward the man picked up the torch and began setting fire to whatever he could in the room. I ignored him, instead I made my final approach toward my prey and pounced. The look in Conrad’s eyes, I’ll never forget it. The man wasn’t dead, not yet and he didn’t make a noise as I sunk my teeth into his neck a drained him of his life blood. Though he didn’t scream his eyes shown a mix of terror, shock, and bewilderment at seeing me in such a state. As the boiling in my veins subsided and my mind cleared the man approached me again, grabbing me by the collar of my now blood soaked shirt. He didn’t say a word to me as he carried me out of the room and placed me just outside the door before dropping the lit torch at his feet and closing himself inside.
As feeling came back to me I realized what I’d done, what I’d become. I ran through the halls till I found my way back to the trap door. All the while I expected to hear the screams of the burning men in the room now far behind me but all I was met with was indifferent silence. I crept back out into the night, into the crumbling house of the late Doctor Archer. I stayed there for a while, just thinking and waiting for the light of day to burn my curse away. Imagine my surprise when I found out that was all just a myth. As the sunlight washed over me I didn’t feel burning, at least not a burning like before. The burning I felt was more like a bad sunburn, unpleasant but not lethal. I found myself crying but I didn’t understand why at the moment.
Looking back I think a part of me understood the gravity of what had just happened even if my younger mind only knew life was about to change. I wandered the city for a few days trying to understand the changes occurring within me. It took maybe a month to get back to some semblance of normal and by then I looked like a plague victim myself. My skin had quickly gone deathly white from my newfound distain for sunlight, much more quickly than I would’ve guessed. I also have many gaps in my memory from that time. All I can recall between those gaps is the aftermath, waking up covered in blood an immediately beginning the search for new clothes. I did eventually get control of myself and haven’t experienced blackouts like that since Paris but I’m still not too fond of remembering those old days.
So that’s it, the story of how the vampire writing this journal came to be. I must admit its nice to have a record of these things. The longer I live the harder it is to grasp at the wisps of memory from so long ago. Perhaps I should tell the story behind what would eventually become Chimera here. Maybe it’ll give those agents or paper pushers something to think about when they end up having to read this, I’m sure this journal will find its way into their hands eventually. Not tonight though, I think one story is enough for now so farewell, may we meet again.

Story These Stories Will Tie Into
I really hope you know what your getting into, reading this. Never thought I’d be the kind who kept a journal but I’ve finally been convinced so here we are. Oh, and I just hope this ends up in your hands at some point Baelen, you’d be surprised how much you don’t know about me. and, if for some reason you’re reading this and you don’t know who that is just wait, we’ll get there eventually.
But where to begin? Introductions I suppose, some people have called me the devil and while I hardly deserve it I can see why. I’m not the devil if your wondering, I might’ve met him…her…it? Whatever I met I’d certainly call it the devil, dresses in red, absolutely sinister aura about them, and constantly looking to make a deal you just cant refuse. Seems to fit the bill if you ask me.
Enough about that though, I’m supposed to be writing about me. I may not be the devil but I am a vampire and an old one at that. People always balk at that word, vampire. If I had to guess I’d blame the movies and books that have been written about us over the years. I’ll admit theres some truth to them but they like to romanticize things. Take sunlight for example, sure its not pleasant but its not going to kill me any faster than it’s going to kill a ginger. But the sunlight does have adverse effects on the more supernatural things a vampire such as myself can do. I’d guess thats where the myth that sunlight will burn us started but its far from the truth.
The other side to romanticizing vampires is that these days some people want to be us. There was one book in particular I blame for that, I’m sure you can guess which one. I promise the process isn’t that pleasant though, most of the time a person would just end up a thrall to the bloodlust that will surely overtake them. Sometimes they just die outright or remain dormant for days, even weeks at a time before suddenly snapping. Sometimes the process works and they get over the initial bloodlust, then you end up with a true vampire such as myself but thats not exactly a common occurrence.
I shouldn’t go on about the ins and outs of vampirism though, it’s a journal not a book on our physiology. But what do people write in journals, a story perhaps? Well how about the story of how I ended up the way I am now, that should keep any of those Chimera zealots that stumble across this entertained. It all started around 1350 and yes, that would make me over 600 years old. Greatly extended lifespans are one of there perks of my condition.
The bubonic plague had torn through most of Europe giving honest and self proclaimed doctors alike a now essential place in the world. I was a young man in Paris at the time, working for one Doctor Henry Conrad delivering his “cures” to the people. While I can’t speak for the legitimacy of the treatments he offered they gave people some hope in a dark time at the very least. I also happened to have a rebellious streak so when that very same doctor ordered me to steal from yet another doctor, I jumped at the chance. It wasn’t the first time I’d done less than legal things for Conrad, I loved the thrill of it back then. This Doctor Archer I was to steal from had apparently developed his own bootlegged cure to the plague. Naturally, the good Doctor Conrad wanted it for himself and the duty of retrieving his notes and “cure” fell to me, Jacob.
I’ve never had any use of a last name, never knew my parents and grew up an urchin on the streets so I always simply went by Jacob. Now doctors held a very high place in society at the time and the field of medicine was finally really coming into its own. It wasn’t uncommon to have guards stationed at the homes of well known doctors, even more locally known ones like Archer. So I found it strange when I arrived at the address Conrad had given me and found it utterly bereft of any sort of guard. Even the house I’d arrived at seemed dilapidated and misused, as if no one had lived there in a very long time. In hindsight I don’t think anyone had “lived” there in a long time after all.
As I crept through the fallen beams that had once been a doorframe I thought back to the street I’d traveled down. Hadn’t it been just a little more lively when I’d walked the street before? The plague had taken its toll on the city so it wasn’t all posh shoppes (I do so loathe that word these days) like it has become in modern times. Still, there was usually more life to be seen on the street than a stray rodent picking through piles of trash and other unmentionables in search of an easy meal. I shook these thoughts from me head as I walked deeper into the corpse of a building. All around me were the creaks and groans of wood that could splinter and collapse at any moment but none of that concerned me. I was still at that age where I felt invincible, like nothing could ever possibly hurt me.
If nothing else I was reasonably certain the dilapidated house was a former residence of Doctor Archer. Medical equipment was scattered around the house and there were several books that contained hastily scribbled notes. These notes did contain worrying phrases such as, “The answer lies in the blood”, “The patients lie still but healthy”, and “My results are inconclusive, I shall test the improved mixture on myself for further study”. I truly did believe that Conrad had given me a less than recent address or perhaps received bad information altogether. That all changed when I heard banging coming from somewhere near my feet.
“Help Us! PLEASE! IT’S BOILING INSIDE”
Screamed several disjointed muffled voices as the banging grew louder. My heart climbed its way into my throat as I threw rubble and notes alike all over the floor in a frantic search for the source of the noise. Just as suddenly as it began it was cut off by a metallic clang and the sound of metal scraping on metal. The sudden silence was almost louder than the screams that had preceded it. I dropped to my knees, surprise quickly turning to gut wrenching fear. There came one final bang from the floor and this time I saw its source, a small trap door hidden under bits of the ruined doorframe. The door was bound shut with a latch but had a gap just wide enough to let me see a hand lash out, reaching for some means of escape. The hand was brutalized and was missing its thumb. The wound looked like it had been caused by something physically tearing the thumb from the rest of the hand. But just as quickly as it had appeared it was dragged back into the darkness of whatever lay past that trap door. This was enough to shatter the childish notion that nothing here could hurt me. Something had attacked the owner of that hand. Surely they’d do the same to me if I investigated any further. I turned and ran, ran all the way back to Conrad and informed him of the situation.
“Not possible, That address was given by one of the mans own patients. He couldn’t have moved that quickly and the building couldn’t have deteriorated that fast.”
Was his judgmental response.
“You must’ve gone to the wrong house, go back out and find me this cure he’s so convinced he’s found!”
“But I’m sure it was the house! I followed your directions to the letter!”
“Bah! I’ll go with you then! It’s becoming more and more evident to me you cant be trusted with the smallest task!”
Conrad yelled in reply, throwing his books to the ground and rushing to grab his mask to accompany me back to that miserable house.
While I had worked for Conrad for the better part of a year at that point I had no love for the man. He was harsh and didn’t truly care about me or his patients. The whole practice was simply a means to generate whatever profit he could, if people were helped as a result it was simply a coincidence. He often had outbursts like this and he constantly belittled me for each mistake I made. Most days I was convinced he only kept me around because it would take more effort than he was willing to spare to find a replacement. I had nothing better waiting for me anywhere in the world so I was forced to endure the abuse. I thought about simply walking out in the moment but ultimately I decided to accompany Conrad back to the address he’d been given.
The beak of Conrad’s mask cut a path through the rabble and rats as we made our way back out to the decrepit house. He was angry, I could tell from his stiff deliberate strides and judging by the expressions of the people we passed, so could they. But when we finally arrived back at the collapsed doorframe that was once an entrance to Doctor Archer’s home that anger turned to confusion.
“But this must be it?!”
Conrad raged as he tore around the house in disbelief. I’d never seen him so distraught over anything before. Though I imagine losing his chance to get his hands on some miracle cure for the plague had something to do with it. Unfortunately for us both Conrad stumbled on the trapdoor as he rampaged around the small space that was once a room. He fell to the ground with a heavy thud but clambered back to his feet right away. Before a word could pass my lips he was lifting the latch and opening that horrible trapdoor the banging had come from earlier.
“Well, what’re you waiting for?! Go down there and find his cure!”
“I don’t know what it looks like! Please sir, Please…”
But thats all I got out before Conrad shoved me through the hatch with not so much as a “good luck”. Whatever room I’d fallen into was dark, only lit by a dim lantern lying just in front of where I’d fallen. I picked up the lantern as I got back to my feet, steadying myself with the wall. When my hand made contact with the wall I felt something warm, wet, and mildly sticky. The coppery scent I got as I drew my hand to my nose confirmed what I’d feared, it was blood.
The trail of blood lead down the wall to the cold floor and continued down the hall as it faded into the darkness. I was terrified but I had no option other than to move forward following the dark red path stained into the stone floor. The blood trail smeared over the walls and ceiling, apparently whoever this trail belonged to had been flung all over the hallway. Soon enough I found the unfortunate owner of all this blood. The corpse was bloated around the neck and pus still seeped out of several sores near the armpits. All these were signs of the plague but I doubted thats what caused the man’s death. One hand was missing, torn off by the looks of it. The stump was a ruined mess of bone, tendons, and gristle. The man’s other hand was clutching a knife that was embedded in his neck. Multiple wounds on his throat suggested he’d been stabbed at least eight times.
I stepped over the corpse and looked around the brutal scene, searching for anything that might tell me what exactly happened here. There wasn’t much in the room, just a table and a few chairs in various states of disrepair. I was about to move on when my eyes fell upon a blood soaked notebook. The blood had ruined much of what was written there but I could still make out some of it.
“… Man arrived today seeking treatment…. Drank the pus from my patient’s bloated boils… showed no signs of infection of any sort, claims… blood is the answer… mixed a solution with a sample of his blood, decided to test on patients… I have made a grave mistake the city will pay for m…”
The notebook abruptly cut off, words lost to bloodstained pages. It seemed to me that this cure was no cure at all but instead its own kind of plague. I walked deeper into the hidden catacombs beneath doctor Archer’s home. Each room featured a new monstrosity for me to behold. But I began to see injuries on several of the corpses that appeared to be the same, two puncture wounds to the neck that were surrounded by black veins. They didn’t seem to be cause by a knife or any sort of man made object. If anything it almost seemed like they were caused by fangs.
The further into these catacombs I moved the less I wanted to be here but I couldn’t turn around. Conrad wouldn’t allow me to leave without something to show for it so I pressed on. Eventually I reached a curve in the tunnels, I could see a dim light emanating from just beyond. I heard a voice as well, cracking but full of a mad joy. The voice carried with it an undeniable air of insanity.
“Cut, cut, cut the pretties all goes in the pot! Below you’ve come and below you’ll stay, below you all will rot!”
Sang the insane voice from just around the corner. Each pause in the song accompanied by a sickeningly wet squelching sound. I steeled myself before taking a step forward, then one more, and another. Before I knew it I had rounded the corner into a image that was conjured straight from the depths of hell.
A man I could only assume was Doctor Archer stood in the center of the room stirring a pot and wearing a filthy blood stained coat. He still wore his beaked mask as well but it was torn open on one side and I could just make out the flash of a sinister smile underneath. The pot was full of the mangled missing limbs from the various corpses I came across on my way here. Around the room hung more limbs still in various states of decomposition. But none of that held a candle to the twitching… thing laying on a table behind Archer.
I couldn’t call it human, not anymore, it had been mutilated beyond recognition. One of its arms had been removed at some point and it appeared to be slowly growing back from the bone out. It’s skull was nearly concave yet it still croaked out in pain. But above all that I could clearly see its sharp fangs poking out like bits of smashed eggshell. Fangs like that surely could’ve cause the wounds I’d seen on my way here but not in that state.
I was still frozen in the firelight from Archer’s cooking fire as he stopped his stirring and looked toward me.
“D.. doc… doctor?”
I stuttered out, nearly shaking with fear.
“The doctor yes! I was him, I AM HIM! The blood, the blood is the cure! Bite and scream and chase and splat!”
He cackled out in glee as he addressed me.
“The strong man came, came and showed me the cure!”
Archer laughed as he lifted a gore caked spoon from out of the pot and pointed to the brutalized figure on the table. I tried to piece everything he was saying together but the fear and the palpable tension his madness brought over the room made it difficult to think. When Archer suddenly lunged forward all I could do was cower and squeak as two razor sharp fangs revealed themselves from under his mask and plunged into the soft flesh of my neck.
I feel I should explain what exactly had happened to the unfortunate Doctor Archer before I continue with my story. I’m sure you could probably guess the man was afflicted with some kind of vampirism and you’d be correct, but its how he was infected that’s important. I was turned from his bite but a bite is not the only way vampirism is conferred. Any bodily fluids from a vampire could cause infection but saliva and blood are especially effective. Hence why most cases of one contracting vampirism come from bites where saliva mixes with the victims blood. This “strong man” laying on the table was none other than the visitor Archer had received earlier. That man had seemed immune to the plague because he too was a vampire. I don’t know why or how Archer got his hands on blood from this vampire but it was a mistake to use it in half baked “cures” for the plague.
Of course it worked… at first. In a few days the people he’d given vampire blood to either died or turned. He couldn’t tell the symptoms of a recently turned and bloodthirsty vampire from signs of the late stages of the plague and simply assumed his “cure” was a failure. At that point he’d already used his “cure” on himself as well but when he began to turn free from all supervision or restraints all hell broke lose. Despite my many years as a vampire I’m still not entirely certain how the specifics of our condition work. I do know that the longer we go without blood the more vicious and predatory we become as our own blood seems to boil. Drinking the blood of others helps calm the fire in our veins and so the cycle continues. But if a vampire were to drink the blood of another vampire the opposite occurs. The offending vampire’s blood boils stronger and stronger until they go feral with pain, or so I’m told I’ve never experienced it for myself. This I believe is what befell doctor Archer and what lead to the grizzly situation I found myself in that night. Now where were we?
The last thing I heard was Doctor Archer’s crazed growling as he tore at my throat but just before the light faded from my eyes I felt him withdraw and dart away, something had startled him. I felt sure these were my final moments as I embraced the icy darkness and allowed myself to fade away. Death never took me though, Instead I awoke to a scene of incredible violence. Doctor Archer was splayed out in-front of me, bound to a makeshift wooden cross. His guts hung out and his entrails spilled onto the floor in front of me. The man strapped to the table looked much better now, arm having regrown in its socket and while his skull was clearly damaged it looked nowhere near as bad as before. He sat In front of Archer holding a torch in one hand and a cleaver in the other.
Turning, I looked away from the two and passed my gaze over the rest of the room until my eyes fell upon the masked body of Conrad. He must’ve followed after me at some point, maybe thats what drew Archer away after he attacked me. Suddenly I felt an intense burning in my veins and a single desire clouded my mind. I don’t know why but I lurched towards the flayed body of Archer in front of me with speed I never knew I possessed. A lightning fast hand grabbed me before I even got close.
“NO! What do you think made him the way he is now child! If you must sate your hunger do so there.”
I heard the man say as the cleaver and torch clattered to the floor. The newly awoken bestial part of me understood what he meant. He must’ve sensed it too as he released me, allowing me to stalk towards Conrad’s crumpled form.
As I stalked forward the man picked up the torch and began setting fire to whatever he could in the room. I ignored him, instead I made my final approach toward my prey and pounced. The look in Conrad’s eyes, I’ll never forget it. The man wasn’t dead, not yet and he didn’t make a noise as I sunk my teeth into his neck a drained him of his life blood. Though he didn’t scream his eyes shown a mix of terror, shock, and bewilderment at seeing me in such a state. As the boiling in my veins subsided and my mind cleared the man approached me again, grabbing me by the collar of my now blood soaked shirt. He didn’t say a word to me as he carried me out of the room and placed me just outside the door before dropping the lit torch at his feet and closing himself inside.
As feeling came back to me I realized what I’d done, what I’d become. I ran through the halls till I found my way back to the trap door. All the while I expected to hear the screams of the burning men in the room now far behind me but all I was met with was indifferent silence. I crept back out into the night, into the crumbling house of the late Doctor Archer. I stayed there for a while, just thinking and waiting for the light of day to burn my curse away. Imagine my surprise when I found out that was all just a myth. As the sunlight washed over me I didn’t feel burning, at least not a burning like before. The burning I felt was more like a bad sunburn, unpleasant but not lethal. I found myself crying but I didn’t understand why at the moment.
Looking back I think a part of me understood the gravity of what had just happened even if my younger mind only knew life was about to change. I wandered the city for a few days trying to understand the changes occurring within me. It took maybe a month to get back to some semblance of normal and by then I looked like a plague victim myself. My skin had quickly gone deathly white from my newfound distain for sunlight, much more quickly than I would’ve guessed. I also have many gaps in my memory from that time. All I can recall between those gaps is the aftermath, waking up covered in blood an immediately beginning the search for new clothes. I did eventually get control of myself and haven’t experienced blackouts like that since Paris but I’m still not too fond of remembering those old days.
So that’s it, the story of how the vampire writing this journal came to be. I must admit its nice to have a record of these things. The longer I live the harder it is to grasp at the wisps of memory from so long ago. Perhaps I should tell the story behind what would eventually become Chimera here. Maybe it’ll give those agents or paper pushers something to think about when they end up having to read this, I’m sure this journal will find its way into their hands eventually. Not tonight though, I think one story is enough for now so farewell, may we meet again.

Link to the story these stories will have ties to
I really hope you know what your getting into, reading this. Never thought I’d be the kind who kept a journal but I’ve finally been convinced so here we are. Oh, and I just hope this ends up in your hands at some point Baelen, you’d be surprised how much you don’t know about me. and, if for some reason you’re reading this and you don’t know who that is just wait, we’ll get there eventually.
But where to begin? Introductions I suppose, some people have called me the devil and while I hardly deserve it I can see why. I’m not the devil if your wondering, I might’ve met him…her…it? Whatever I met I’d certainly call it the devil, dresses in red, absolutely sinister aura about them, and constantly looking to make a deal you just cant refuse. Seems to fit the bill if you ask me.
Enough about that though, I’m supposed to be writing about me. I may not be the devil but I am a vampire and an old one at that. People always balk at that word, vampire. If I had to guess I’d blame the movies and books that have been written about us over the years. I’ll admit theres some truth to them but they like to romanticize things. Take sunlight for example, sure its not pleasant but its not going to kill me any faster than it’s going to kill a ginger. But the sunlight does have adverse effects on the more supernatural things a vampire such as myself can do. I’d guess thats where the myth that sunlight will burn us started but its far from the truth.
The other side to romanticizing vampires is that these days some people want to be us. There was one book in particular I blame for that, I’m sure you can guess which one. I promise the process isn’t that pleasant though, most of the time a person would just end up a thrall to the bloodlust that will surely overtake them. Sometimes they just die outright or remain dormant for days, even weeks at a time before suddenly snapping. Sometimes the process works and they get over the initial bloodlust, then you end up with a true vampire such as myself but thats not exactly a common occurrence.
I shouldn’t go on about the ins and outs of vampirism though, it’s a journal not a book on our physiology. But what do people write in journals, a story perhaps? Well how about the story of how I ended up the way I am now, that should keep any of those Chimera zealots that stumble across this entertained. It all started around 1350 and yes, that would make me over 600 years old. Greatly extended lifespans are one of there perks of my condition.
The bubonic plague had torn through most of Europe giving honest and self proclaimed doctors alike a now essential place in the world. I was a young man in Paris at the time, working for one Doctor Henry Conrad delivering his “cures” to the people. While I can’t speak for the legitimacy of the treatments he offered they gave people some hope in a dark time at the very least. I also happened to have a rebellious streak so when that very same doctor ordered me to steal from yet another doctor, I jumped at the chance. It wasn’t the first time I’d done less than legal things for Conrad, I loved the thrill of it back then. This Doctor Archer I was to steal from had apparently developed his own bootlegged cure to the plague. Naturally, the good Doctor Conrad wanted it for himself and the duty of retrieving his notes and “cure” fell to me, Jacob.
I’ve never had any use of a last name, never knew my parents and grew up an urchin on the streets so I always simply went by Jacob. Now doctors held a very high place in society at the time and the field of medicine was finally really coming into its own. It wasn’t uncommon to have guards stationed at the homes of well known doctors, even more locally known ones like Archer. So I found it strange when I arrived at the address Conrad had given me and found it utterly bereft of any sort of guard. Even the house I’d arrived at seemed dilapidated and misused, as if no one had lived there in a very long time. In hindsight I don’t think anyone had “lived” there in a long time after all.
As I crept through the fallen beams that had once been a doorframe I thought back to the street I’d traveled down. Hadn’t it been just a little more lively when I’d walked the street before? The plague had taken its toll on the city so it wasn’t all posh shoppes (I do so loathe that word these days) like it has become in modern times. Still, there was usually more life to be seen on the street than a stray rodent picking through piles of trash and other unmentionables in search of an easy meal. I shook these thoughts from me head as I walked deeper into the corpse of a building. All around me were the creaks and groans of wood that could splinter and collapse at any moment but none of that concerned me. I was still at that age where I felt invincible, like nothing could ever possibly hurt me.
If nothing else I was reasonably certain the dilapidated house was a former residence of Doctor Archer. Medical equipment was scattered around the house and there were several books that contained hastily scribbled notes. These notes did contain worrying phrases such as, “The answer lies in the blood”, “The patients lie still but healthy”, and “My results are inconclusive, I shall test the improved mixture on myself for further study”. I truly did believe that Conrad had given me a less than recent address or perhaps received bad information altogether. That all changed when I heard banging coming from somewhere near my feet.
“Help Us! PLEASE! IT’S BOILING INSIDE”
Screamed several disjointed muffled voices as the banging grew louder. My heart climbed its way into my throat as I threw rubble and notes alike all over the floor in a frantic search for the source of the noise. Just as suddenly as it began it was cut off by a metallic clang and the sound of metal scraping on metal. The sudden silence was almost louder than the screams that had preceded it. I dropped to my knees, surprise quickly turning to gut wrenching fear. There came one final bang from the floor and this time I saw its source, a small trap door hidden under bits of the ruined doorframe. The door was bound shut with a latch but had a gap just wide enough to let me see a hand lash out, reaching for some means of escape. The hand was brutalized and was missing its thumb. The wound looked like it had been caused by something physically tearing the thumb from the rest of the hand. But just as quickly as it had appeared it was dragged back into the darkness of whatever lay past that trap door. This was enough to shatter the childish notion that nothing here could hurt me. Something had attacked the owner of that hand. Surely they’d do the same to me if I investigated any further. I turned and ran, ran all the way back to Conrad and informed him of the situation.
“Not possible, That address was given by one of the mans own patients. He couldn’t have moved that quickly and the building couldn’t have deteriorated that fast.”
Was his judgmental response.
“You must’ve gone to the wrong house, go back out and find me this cure he’s so convinced he’s found!”
“But I’m sure it was the house! I followed your directions to the letter!”
“Bah! I’ll go with you then! It’s becoming more and more evident to me you cant be trusted with the smallest task!”
Conrad yelled in reply, throwing his books to the ground and rushing to grab his mask to accompany me back to that miserable house.
While I had worked for Conrad for the better part of a year at that point I had no love for the man. He was harsh and didn’t truly care about me or his patients. The whole practice was simply a means to generate whatever profit he could, if people were helped as a result it was simply a coincidence. He often had outbursts like this and he constantly belittled me for each mistake I made. Most days I was convinced he only kept me around because it would take more effort than he was willing to spare to find a replacement. I had nothing better waiting for me anywhere in the world so I was forced to endure the abuse. I thought about simply walking out in the moment but ultimately I decided to accompany Conrad back to the address he’d been given.
The beak of Conrad’s mask cut a path through the rabble and rats as we made our way back out to the decrepit house. He was angry, I could tell from his stiff deliberate strides and judging by the expressions of the people we passed, so could they. But when we finally arrived back at the collapsed doorframe that was once an entrance to Doctor Archer’s home that anger turned to confusion.
“But this must be it?!”
Conrad raged as he tore around the house in disbelief. I’d never seen him so distraught over anything before. Though I imagine losing his chance to get his hands on some miracle cure for the plague had something to do with it. Unfortunately for us both Conrad stumbled on the trapdoor as he rampaged around the small space that was once a room. He fell to the ground with a heavy thud but clambered back to his feet right away. Before a word could pass my lips he was lifting the latch and opening that horrible trapdoor the banging had come from earlier.
“Well, what’re you waiting for?! Go down there and find his cure!”
“I don’t know what it looks like! Please sir, Please…”
But thats all I got out before Conrad shoved me through the hatch with not so much as a “good luck”. Whatever room I’d fallen into was dark, only lit by a dim lantern lying just in front of where I’d fallen. I picked up the lantern as I got back to my feet, steadying myself with the wall. When my hand made contact with the wall I felt something warm, wet, and mildly sticky. The coppery scent I got as I drew my hand to my nose confirmed what I’d feared, it was blood.
The trail of blood lead down the wall to the cold floor and continued down the hall as it faded into the darkness. I was terrified but I had no option other than to move forward following the dark red path stained into the stone floor. The blood trail smeared over the walls and ceiling, apparently whoever this trail belonged to had been flung all over the hallway. Soon enough I found the unfortunate owner of all this blood. The corpse was bloated around the neck and pus still seeped out of several sores near the armpits. All these were signs of the plague but I doubted thats what caused the man’s death. One hand was missing, torn off by the looks of it. The stump was a ruined mess of bone, tendons, and gristle. The man’s other hand was clutching a knife that was embedded in his neck. Multiple wounds on his throat suggested he’d been stabbed at least eight times.
I stepped over the corpse and looked around the brutal scene, searching for anything that might tell me what exactly happened here. There wasn’t much in the room, just a table and a few chairs in various states of disrepair. I was about to move on when my eyes fell upon a blood soaked notebook. The blood had ruined much of what was written there but I could still make out some of it.
“… Man arrived today seeking treatment…. Drank the pus from my patient’s bloated boils… showed no signs of infection of any sort, claims… blood is the answer… mixed a solution with a sample of his blood, decided to test on patients… I have made a grave mistake the city will pay for m…”
The notebook abruptly cut off, words lost to bloodstained pages. It seemed to me that this cure was no cure at all but instead its own kind of plague. I walked deeper into the hidden catacombs beneath doctor Archer’s home. Each room featured a new monstrosity for me to behold. But I began to see injuries on several of the corpses that appeared to be the same, two puncture wounds to the neck that were surrounded by black veins. They didn’t seem to be cause by a knife or any sort of man made object. If anything it almost seemed like they were caused by fangs.
The further into these catacombs I moved the less I wanted to be here but I couldn’t turn around. Conrad wouldn’t allow me to leave without something to show for it so I pressed on. Eventually I reached a curve in the tunnels, I could see a dim light emanating from just beyond. I heard a voice as well, cracking but full of a mad joy. The voice carried with it an undeniable air of insanity.
“Cut, cut, cut the pretties all goes in the pot! Below you’ve come and below you’ll stay, below you all will rot!”
Sang the insane voice from just around the corner. Each pause in the song accompanied by a sickeningly wet squelching sound. I steeled myself before taking a step forward, then one more, and another. Before I knew it I had rounded the corner into a image that was conjured straight from the depths of hell.
A man I could only assume was Doctor Archer stood in the center of the room stirring a pot and wearing a filthy blood stained coat. He still wore his beaked mask as well but it was torn open on one side and I could just make out the flash of a sinister smile underneath. The pot was full of the mangled missing limbs from the various corpses I came across on my way here. Around the room hung more limbs still in various states of decomposition. But none of that held a candle to the twitching… thing laying on a table behind Archer.
I couldn’t call it human, not anymore, it had been mutilated beyond recognition. One of its arms had been removed at some point and it appeared to be slowly growing back from the bone out. It’s skull was nearly concave yet it still croaked out in pain. But above all that I could clearly see its sharp fangs poking out like bits of smashed eggshell. Fangs like that surely could’ve cause the wounds I’d seen on my way here but not in that state.
I was still frozen in the firelight from Archer’s cooking fire as he stopped his stirring and looked toward me.
“D.. doc… doctor?”
I stuttered out, nearly shaking with fear.
“The doctor yes! I was him, I AM HIM! The blood, the blood is the cure! Bite and scream and chase and splat!”
He cackled out in glee as he addressed me.
“The strong man came, came and showed me the cure!”
Archer laughed as he lifted a gore caked spoon from out of the pot and pointed to the brutalized figure on the table. I tried to piece everything he was saying together but the fear and the palpable tension his madness brought over the room made it difficult to think. When Archer suddenly lunged forward all I could do was cower and squeak as two razor sharp fangs revealed themselves from under his mask and plunged into the soft flesh of my neck.
I feel I should explain what exactly had happened to the unfortunate Doctor Archer before I continue with my story. I’m sure you could probably guess the man was afflicted with some kind of vampirism and you’d be correct, but its how he was infected that’s important. I was turned from his bite but a bite is not the only way vampirism is conferred. Any bodily fluids from a vampire could cause infection but saliva and blood are especially effective. Hence why most cases of one contracting vampirism come from bites where saliva mixes with the victims blood. This “strong man” laying on the table was none other than the visitor Archer had received earlier. That man had seemed immune to the plague because he too was a vampire. I don’t know why or how Archer got his hands on blood from this vampire but it was a mistake to use it in half baked “cures” for the plague.
Of course it worked… at first. In a few days the people he’d given vampire blood to either died or turned. He couldn’t tell the symptoms of a recently turned and bloodthirsty vampire from signs of the late stages of the plague and simply assumed his “cure” was a failure. At that point he’d already used his “cure” on himself as well but when he began to turn free from all supervision or restraints all hell broke lose. Despite my many years as a vampire I’m still not entirely certain how the specifics of our condition work. I do know that the longer we go without blood the more vicious and predatory we become as our own blood seems to boil. Drinking the blood of others helps calm the fire in our veins and so the cycle continues. But if a vampire were to drink the blood of another vampire the opposite occurs. The offending vampire’s blood boils stronger and stronger until they go feral with pain, or so I’m told I’ve never experienced it for myself. This I believe is what befell doctor Archer and what lead to the grizzly situation I found myself in that night. Now where were we?
The last thing I heard was Doctor Archer’s crazed growling as he tore at my throat but just before the light faded from my eyes I felt him withdraw and dart away, something had startled him. I felt sure these were my final moments as I embraced the icy darkness and allowed myself to fade away. Death never took me though, Instead I awoke to a scene of incredible violence. Doctor Archer was splayed out in-front of me, bound to a makeshift wooden cross. His guts hung out and his entrails spilled onto the floor in front of me. The man strapped to the table looked much better now, arm having regrown in its socket and while his skull was clearly damaged it looked nowhere near as bad as before. He sat In front of Archer holding a torch in one hand and a cleaver in the other.
Turning, I looked away from the two and passed my gaze over the rest of the room until my eyes fell upon the masked body of Conrad. He must’ve followed after me at some point, maybe thats what drew Archer away after he attacked me. Suddenly I felt an intense burning in my veins and a single desire clouded my mind. I don’t know why but I lurched towards the flayed body of Archer in front of me with speed I never knew I possessed. A lightning fast hand grabbed me before I even got close.
“NO! What do you think made him the way he is now child! If you must sate your hunger do so there.”
I heard the man say as the cleaver and torch clattered to the floor. The newly awoken bestial part of me understood what he meant. He must’ve sensed it too as he released me, allowing me to stalk towards Conrad’s crumpled form.
As I stalked forward the man picked up the torch and began setting fire to whatever he could in the room. I ignored him, instead I made my final approach toward my prey and pounced. The look in Conrad’s eyes, I’ll never forget it. The man wasn’t dead, not yet and he didn’t make a noise as I sunk my teeth into his neck a drained him of his life blood. Though he didn’t scream his eyes shown a mix of terror, shock, and bewilderment at seeing me in such a state. As the boiling in my veins subsided and my mind cleared the man approached me again, grabbing me by the collar of my now blood soaked shirt. He didn’t say a word to me as he carried me out of the room and placed me just outside the door before dropping the lit torch at his feet and closing himself inside.
As feeling came back to me I realized what I’d done, what I’d become. I ran through the halls till I found my way back to the trap door. All the while I expected to hear the screams of the burning men in the room now far behind me but all I was met with was indifferent silence. I crept back out into the night, into the crumbling house of the late Doctor Archer. I stayed there for a while, just thinking and waiting for the light of day to burn my curse away. Imagine my surprise when I found out that was all just a myth. As the sunlight washed over me I didn’t feel burning, at least not a burning like before. The burning I felt was more like a bad sunburn, unpleasant but not lethal. I found myself crying but I didn’t understand why at the moment.
Looking back I think a part of me understood the gravity of what had just happened even if my younger mind only knew life was about to change. I wandered the city for a few days trying to understand the changes occurring within me. It took maybe a month to get back to some semblance of normal and by then I looked like a plague victim myself. My skin had quickly gone deathly white from my newfound distain for sunlight, much more quickly than I would’ve guessed. I also have many gaps in my memory from that time. All I can recall between those gaps is the aftermath, waking up covered in blood an immediately beginning the search for new clothes. I did eventually get control of myself and haven’t experienced blackouts like that since Paris but I’m still not too fond of remembering those old days.
So that’s it, the story of how the vampire writing this journal came to be. I must admit its nice to have a record of these things. The longer I live the harder it is to grasp at the wisps of memory from so long ago. Perhaps I should tell the story behind what would eventually become Chimera here. Maybe it’ll give those agents or paper pushers something to think about when they end up having to read this, I’m sure this journal will find its way into their hands eventually. Not tonight though, I think one story is enough for now so farewell, may we meet again.

“Wake the fuck up, man.”
Haruki Fujita slipped out of a hallucination. The hallucination was mindless. It featured a name moments before something killed him, extraterrestrial and horrible from head to toe. Slimy and predatory. The most of it cybernetic. He was dying, with blood gushing out of his neck, but that wasn’t what killed him, at least not immediately, because his intestines were pulled out of his stomach, and that was what killed him.
He watched the blue solar panel wing curve outward from the steel hull of the International Space Station, and he frowned bitterly. From the sensation of death, Haruki Fujita had a sickening gut feeling.
“Stefan Bossi!” he cried out, alarmed.
The name lingered in his mind. He remembered it from his hallucination. He idly watched one of his gloves floating across the room and stopped in front of his computer screen. No reason was known to him why he remembered that name; he remembered nothing more. There was a brief rush—he had time to think about programming languages and decoding radio frequencies, though none of the government organizations he hacked into proved extraterrestrial in origin, but Haruki was convinced by the bizarre nature of the sounds. He didn’t really care about the scientists at SETI, many doctors, and the best professors in the world who regarded them as a hoax. And those who didn’t view the evolution of Earth from an intergalactic perspective that was terraformed over billions of years by otherworldly entities.
“Stefan Bossi!” he said again, grabbing the floating glove with his cold hand and looked at it, trying to decide the significance of the name from his hallucination. Instantly he felt his fingers were freezing from the cold. As Haruki watched the storage bay where he was hiding, his fingers slipped into the glove and strapped the Velcro. “Stefan Bossi! Stefan Bossi!” It seemed to be all he could remember.
Even trapped in the confusing vise of the illusion, Haruki felt an intense fear—this was what an extraterrestrial predator looked like while it slaughtered him. It was a look that filled him with horror.
Another radio frequency echoed from his computer, this one echoing like the mating call of a dolphin, and that excited him. With another “Stefan Bossi!” he stared out of the window and watched the sun disappear behind the Earth, he lost focus; and although it was only an hour after bedtime—another exciting six hours while everyone was deep asleep—the red glow of the computer screen had so hindered his thoughts that he was distracted while staring. And he slipped back into that mindless hallucination.
When Haruki managed to wake up, he realized it was hours later, in the bosom of the night. He glimpsed over the UPS batteries and saw a loose terminal that looked like a collection of fireflies floating in the antigravity of space.
After a while, he hovered upright and spoke.
“Stefan Bossi!”
Incredibly, he did not know why.
Haruki swallowed and looked at the wall, thinking: I’m going to die.
For a moment his mind seemed to separate from his physical body—it was not fear, or angst; it was terror. He was reminded by the physical sense of nausea as he swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth, and it occurred to him that he had just experienced a completely new level of fear.

The first argument about faith in the Fujita household—the first one Haruki got a hiding for, at least—happened on an Easter weekend in April. It was a big argument; even the greatest spanking couldn’t change his mind. Only his stepbrother shared his sentiment; Nic Chagall was in the bathroom brushing his teeth and listening to his sulking. This was fortunate because, in those days, there was no way to get ungrounded by a Japanese father.
The circumstances that, slipping out of a deep trance at night onboard the ISS, Haruki had spoken aloud a name that he had no memory of. And it hardly aroused enough curiosity to investigate the phenomenon.
Weird he thought, and got a little shiver; as if to confirm the opinion that the vision was indeed supernatural, he slipped into a trancelike daze. He realized with blank, distant eyes that for the first time the hallucination was no longer mindless.
Now he was walking onboard an abandoned spaceship pondering why the microgravity did not affect his arms and legs; he became aware that he was being watched from the shadows of the spaceship.
Haruki looked around quickly and saw a strange light with a red glow. He would have closed his eyes, but it fascinated him, and now it felt as if he had no idea where to go or why he was there; he did not know. Everything seemed so natural and real, as is the case with hallucinations. The revelation of being onboard an alien ship stopped bothering him, and the questions faded.
He screamed very loudly—the light must have done something to him because he could not remember being able to hear himself, and his lips didn’t twitch.
Soon, he came to a parting of ways; he saw a staircase leading to the lower deck, which had the appearance, in fact, of having long been abandoned. He sensed it led to something evil, yet he went down without hesitation, urged by some unstoppable force. He swallowed and descended the staircase, now convinced that the spaceship was haunted by invisible existences that he could not picture in his mind.
“What?” From behind the giant steel columns on his lefthand side, he heard broken and incoherent echoes of a radio frequency that he somewhat recognized. It sounded to him like fragmentary utterances of an evil conspiracy against his body and mind.
He swallowed again, holding onto the handrailing to steady himself. Haruki pointed at something lurking in the darkness, now believing it was watching him—an apparition so utterly intergalactic that he felt a pause in his breathing and a chill in his bones.
But for a long time, nothing came. He wanted to know why the haunted spaceship through which he journeyed was lit with a red glimmer having no point of origin. It appeared as if the mysterious light didn’t cast a shadow, and he thought about its neon color. Everything seemed a little brighter now, and he stood rooted with that cold feeling squeezing his lungs that reminded him of the alien presence.
A shallow pool in a bent depression met his eyes with a sloppy mess. He tumbled forward and plunged with his gloves into it and then looked at the thick slime of juices and placenta on his fingers with a different kind of horror.
Slime, he then observed, was around him everywhere. The walls towering grimly on either side revealed it in blots and splashes on the big, rusted panels. Bundles of sloppy racks that stretched over the walkways were hoarded with conductor cables and splattered as with placenta—glowing red. Robbing the place of its significance covered in heaps of crimson, slime dangling like slurry with its coagulations.
Sweat ran down his forehead and burned his eyes. He tasted a mixture of salt and minerals in his mouth. The shivering would not stop. Fear was like the ultimate curse. He thought: There is a point where the physical symptom of fear becomes unbearable: I have passed that point already.
It felt as if everything was in compensation for some crime that he could not remember. He believed he was a person of integrity; if he had murdered someone he would have remembered it, and a little introspection would have revealed the person he had supposedly harmed. The discovery of the menaces and mysteries of his surroundings was an added horror, tracing his steps backward in his mind.
And just how vainly could he reproduce the moment of his wrongdoing, here standing knee-deep in the slime? But suddenly the memories flashed tumultuously into his brain, picture after picture, only causing confusion and obscurity, and in no picture could he catch a glimpse of what he had done wrong.
But just because it hadn’t been remembered didn’t mean it didn’t happen. This failure to conceive only heightened his terror; he felt like a failure who had lost something in the dark without knowing what.
He grabbed his knees, shuddering,
(think of a way to kill yourself, think of a way to make it stop)
and sank his gloves into his spacesuit as hard as he could. He looked down, weak and flimsy knees rattling like a dog, tongue stuck into his cheek, and his posture heavily slanted with baleful character. It felt as if everything in sight conspired against his peace; from overhead and all around came the audible and startling echoes: the growl of a creature so obviously from outer space—that he could take it no more, and with a great effort to break the curse that bound his arms and legs to procrastination, he shouted from the depths of his lungs.
“Reveal yourself!”
His voice echoed with a hollow clang, it went stuttering and stammering, but of course he could not know what evils might lurk on the ship. He would only assume that, because his voice broke and echoed into an infinite multitude of unfamiliar sounds, the ship must have been large enough to have traveled from another galaxy or dimension.
I will not go down without a fight. There may be frequencies that are malignant and haunting this accursed ship. I shall decipher them and blot them down. The monster shall forget about my wrongs, the suffering that I endure—I, a worthless astronaut, a medic, and a computer programmer!
Haruki removed a flashbeam from his spacesuit; it felt warm when he switched it on. He pointed the beam at the wall and heard intimidating radio frequencies echoing against the steel.
Why, yes, I shall take off my glove—dip it into a heap of slime and write against the wall.
He had hardly touched the surface of the steel with his finger when a wild, evil reverberation of growling broke out at a considerable distance behind him, and growing ever louder, seemed approaching ever nearer. It was a soulless, heartless, and unpleasant growl, like that of a predator terrorizing its prey. It was a growl which culminated in an unearthly roar close at hand, then died away by slow gradations. Maybe the accursed being that uttered it had retreated over the shimmer back to the dimension where it had come from. But maybe this was not the case—it might still be nearby and ready to attack at any moment. Fuck knows he spent a long time waiting for something to happen.
You should be moving, Fujita.
Maybe walking, maybe running. Either way it was better than just standing there and doing nothing.
A strange sensation began to take possession of his body and his mind. He could not have said which, if any, of his senses were affected; he experienced it as a hunch—an unconscious mental awareness of some extraterrestrial presence—some alien malevolence different in kind from the visible existences that glitched around him, and superior to humans in power. He knew that it had uttered that hideous growl. And now it felt as if it was approaching him; from what direction he had no idea—dared not speculate.
Haruki closed his eyes and stared at the back of his eyelids. All his former fears had combined or amalgamated into a gigantic terror that now held him in thrall. Apart from that, he had but one mission: to convert the frequency stuck in his head into code, echoing the haunted spaceship, before the extraterrestrial monster blessed him with eternal silence. And now he lifted his slimy finger, idly thinking of computer codes such as Java, C++, and R . . .
Should I write it down?
Should I write at all?
A soft, freaky sound escaped his throat. The face of the astronaut was sickly terrified, the pale face now augmented with a plan of action.
His body started to move rapidly, finger oozing slime without renewal, arm waving in the thin air like a graffiti artist. Two minutes later, at the last part of the script, his arm fell to his side, glove to the air. He was powerless and could not move or cry out; he found himself staring at a wall of illegibly written script, the code representative of the ultimate frequency haunting this spaceship. At that moment Haruki almost believed it: that he was earmarked for death.
He had never been so scared in his life.
The symbols were glowing against the reddened wall written at an angle, the slime, and the acrid smell of the place. He clamped his teeth against each other and tried to focus his mind on what he had written; the code was all he could think of.

Haruki Fujita heard footsteps in the hall. He grabbed a blanket from the bottom of his bed and used it to cover his stepbrother, who was bundled up and lying naked with his knees pulled up to his chest, shivering.
Their father came out of the dark to switch off their light. His wife followed, passed the room with a bottle of wine, and headed down the hall. Haruki lay silent for a moment, not moving, he was aware that something important and significant was being celebrated of which they were not informed. The door of their room closed softly against the clip as his father pulled it. Then came the sound of shouting.
“You’ve bought another Porsche,” his mother said.
“The hospital pays for it, you know,” Chin Fujita replied.
Haruki heard her footsteps march up and down the room before she went to the bathroom and opened the water to wash her hands.
“You are wasting our time on Haruki.”
“No, honey, he will become a doctor someday.”
“What about my boy?”
“He’s not interested, but I think he will pass his exam next week and become a medic like Haruki. I can tell from his aptitude tests, and his EQI is off the charts.”
“Another Porsche, I can’t believe it?”
“I know. You weren’t supposed to find out. It was a surprise. I got the GT3-RS for you; that explains the black.”
Haruki could have cared less about his father wasting his money on that bitch of stepmother. Not giving a fuck was good, but—
“What did I do to deserve another black beauty? No really—is it mine?”
The sound of broken glass woke Nicklaus up. Now looking at the swimming pool in his room, he said, “They’re fighting again . . . Haruki. It’s going to be a long night if they cannot sort out their shit.”
“Are you awake?”
Nic raised his head, which was tucked under the blanket, and kissed Haruki on the forehead.
“You should tell him about your talent.”
“I have absolutely no talent.”
“But you are good at computer programming. I can see the character of Mister Anderon from the movie in you.”
That was when Haruki grew excited. “I would like to make my hero proud.”
“You have lived in the Matrix for your entire life—by which you have become a prodigy and a part-time hacker.”
Maybe even a carbon copy.
“That is nice of you, Nicky. I’m glad you are proud of me since he is on the point of giving up, calling me the family disgrace, and long since dubbed me a worthless gamer. That bitch thinks I am a black sheep and says that I have a psychological imbalance, whatever that means. She said that I have missed my vocation to become a doctor.”
“But you are smart, like your dad. I like it that you are a devoted cybernetic criminal.”
“A hacker sounds better—”
And another glass broke in the room next to them. Their father opened the balcony door, probably to smoke a cigarette. When Haruki looked up this time, he saw joy and excitement on his stepbrother’s face. He was only two years younger, after all. Nic gave him a playful smile, then went back under the blanket where he could finish what he had started.
“Nicky, for God’s sake—stop it and try to focus—”
Yet it had always bothered Haruki that they were stepbrothers. Although Nic was a devoted fan of the great Keanu Reeves so generally and justly admired for his hair. Nic had always taken care to conceal his weakness from all eyes but those who shared his passion. And their common profession as medics was an added bond between them.
Maybe Nic will understand if I tell him the truth. He cannot come with me to New York.
He toyed for a moment with a lock of Nic’s hair which had escaped from its pins, and said, with an effort of calmness in his voice:
“Would you be okay with me leaving for a few months to look for a job, Nicky?”
It was clearly needful for Nic to put his arm across his eyes without making an instant reply. Evidently he would mind; and the tears sprang into his large brown eyes as corroborative testimony.
“Ah, my brother,” he replied, looking up at his face with tenderness, “I knew this was coming. Did I not lie awake half of the afternoon weeping because, during the other half, Keanu Reeves had come to me in a dream.”
It was the great actor, Haruki Fujita would know if his stepbrother was lying, which he wasn’t.
“Neo?” he whispered. His lips were beginning to shiver again, but in the dim light of the swimming pool Nic barely noticed.
“Yes, and standing next to the computer screen—young, too, and handsome as in the first movie—pointed to your picture on the wall? I could not see your face when I looked since you were uploaded into the Matrix, such as at the end of the flick. You can smile at this, but you and I, dear, know that such things are no joke.”
Haruki’s life would be in trouble not because he was uploaded into the program but because his face was missing (and so he believed it to be an actual dream); why the hero would point to his picture on the wall baffled his mind.
“And I saw within the glowing code the wound of a blade on your throat, Haruki—forgive me, but we do not hide things from each other. Perhaps you have another interpretation. Perhaps it does not mean that you will go away. Or maybe you will take me with you?”
“I think it foreshadowed a simpler, surely less tragic, meaning like a visit to the great robot city in Zion. But please don’t try to stop me from leaving.”
“Are there not enough medics in New York?” Nic Chagall continued before his stepbrother could stop him— “Trinity discovered the truth with a broken heart? Look—my chest is ripped open; and I am almost sure that I will die in your absence.”
No—not like this.
Too sad.
Might break them apart.
The throbbing in his chest was more persistent; the next moment Haruki held out his hands but he was afraid that Nic would reject his request for affection. His hands lingered. There was a brief interval of silence. It sounded like their parents were making out again. It was warming up according to their breathing, but if his suspicions were correct, they would go on for the rest of the night. Nic refused to take his hands.
How long before his cold hands revealed the pain in his heart and his emotional scars manifesting in the form of tears, the hacker was unable to cry. How long before they would see each other again?
Three months? A year?
That would be the length of his pain, Haruki thought, and his lips began to shudder. By the time his lips stopped shaking, and it was not until a considerable time later that he realized he would have to leave his brother behind.
“I suppose I’ll have to go.”
Watching Nic, he felt the warmth of his affection for him that his blank expression denied. The weight pressed heavily on his shoulders as he watched his stepbrother cope with it in his own kind of way.

While job hunting in downtown Brooklyn after three months, Haruki was taking cover under a bridge one thunderstorm night, waiting for his weed to be delivered. The storm was well underway now, and no longer raining but pouring. He believed he understood the economic difficulties brought on by the COVID-19 pandemic—since he hadn’t found a job yet—but as the homeless people kept multiplying (he could see more and more people each week), he began to gain a different perspective in terms of earning an honest paycheck.
To his right, through the maze of squatters and bonfires toward the parking lot, he saw a black Lincoln Continental. Haruki noticed a driver with white hair holding the steering wheel like a woman (shit, he thought, she looked exactly like the driver from The Matrix) with her long nails and black leather jacket.
“What the hell?” he asked, sounding smoked as usual.
The car first drove around and then pulled right up to him. He thought of asking the driver if she had also ordered some weed—her eyes were looking mighty red—and decided he didn’t want to have that conversation now. He turned his attention toward the backseat where another woman with a crying baby had been watching him. At first he thought she looked familiar. Then he looked again and saw she was actually a transvestite, rocking the baby in his arms.
“You need to come with us,” the transvestite said. “We heard you are looking for a job?”
“We don’t have much time, Elon,” the driver added.
He thought of Nic back home and imagined he would make his stepbrother proud when breaking the news. He resisted the urge to question the man about the job . . . or even ask them who they were. His clever plan to look for a job in the big city was pretty screwed up and turned out to be a great mistake.
The crying increased, louder.
“We are subcontracting for NASA,” Elon said. He showed his badge to prove it.
“Really?”
“Come.”
“Now?”
“You know we are the real deal, right?”
“Shit, no. I didn’t expect it to happen like this.” Failing to hide the doubt on his face. Or the glimmering sweat on his forehead. Maybe from the weed or the rain. Maybe both.
“Your father said you’re the best medic in the field, but legislation makes it impossible with your qualifications. Your father has pulled some strings for you to work through us. The danger pay is good. Since you’ll be working in space.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“No, really.”
“Space?”
“You will be working on the International Space Station for three months on and three months off, both of you.”
Haruki didn’t hear it. Till it registered. “Both?”
“Both of the Fujita boys will be going to space!”
Haruki brightened. NASA also recruited his stepbrother to join the crew, and two weeks later, the two brothers were reunited in the microgravity of space.
Though happy to be together, Haruki was no less proud in spirit that he had been onboard the ISS for weeks that felt like an eternity. He gladly enjoyed the company of his stepbrother, and it was while living onboard the ISS, awaiting news and orders from ground control, that he had slipped into a trance.

The hallucination came back to Haruki Fujita, haunting enough, as he stood on board the spaceship with his back against the reddened wall, hands at his side. He had to lift his head upward slightly to confront his enemy. Well . . . actually, he had to lift his head more than slightly. The thing was large. So large that he couldn’t even see the extraterrestrial beast. In case you didn’t notice the predator reminds me of Nicky, but ten times more horrible! A monster that stirred no love nor longing in my heart, but strangely its presence evoked pleasant memories of my happy childhood—with all kinds of sentiment. The tender emotions were swallowed up in fear.
Haruki tried to run away, but his boots were saturated with slime. He was unable to pull his legs out of the mess. His arms drifted uselessly in the air; of his eyes only he remained in control, and these he dared not remove from the glowing ember of his enemy.
He stared at it.
Was it cybernetic?
Shit, it looked like it was.
Anyway, it seemed biological and that most dreadful of all existences—a robot with predatory limbs! In its blank stare, he noticed neither love, pity, nor artificial intelligence—nothing to which he could address an appeal for mercy.
An appeal won’t be a lie, he thought.
The sight of it evoked no happy memories. If he could have reached it he would have grabbed it. If he could have reached it he would have tried to stick his finger into its glowing eye. But his inaction only made the situation more terrifying with the red glow on his forehead.
For a time, which seemed so long that the Earth grew bleak with crime and murder, and the haunted ship, having miscalculated its destination in this monstrous height of its terrors, faded out of his consciousness with all its sights and sounds, the predator invaded his space, regarding him with the brutal malevolence of a cybernetic monster.
Quivering with panic, Haruki lifted his head so he could peer into its mouth, double-edged razor blades, rows and rows of them like a predator with a mouthful of fangs chipped but otherwise deadly.
“I see.”
It sat down. The ship rocked a little. Haruki guessed that the beast might weigh as much as thirty tons. It had come from a universe where there were different alloys, shapeshifting metal . . . also advanced composites were used in its construction, some organic materials like flesh and exoskeleton, the biological part of the organism was infected with a wicked cancer.
The monster roared at him, promising annihilation.
He moved back. The monster came forward. That made Haruki very uncomfortable.
“Shit!” Haruki didn’t take any pleasure in the way this was going if not for the brutal nature of his enemy; as solid as a piece of machinery and ferocious, it transformed itself grinning with its one eye missing, about to deliver him to the universe and convert him into stardust.
The thing’s mouth grew sly, confronting him to admit a dirty, dirty secret. Its grin became a smile. Strangely, the venom oozed out of its tongue. This is what it looks like, he thought, if a species faces its ultimate extinction even worse than those robots from the movie. This is what it looks like just before the end of humanity.
“No . . .”
The beast thrust its limbs forward and sprang upon him with outrageous ferocity! The act released Haruki’s physical energy without affecting his willpower to fight back. And his pain was blocked out by an overdose of hydrofluoric acid at the same time something leeched onto his brainstem, his flimsy body and dangling arms powered with a blind, inanimate mind of their own, became weak and puny.
“Not like this . . . I can’t die like this . . . and what about . . . wait!”
For an instant he seemed to see this supernatural contest between an infected robot and a dying human only as a spectator—such fantasies of hallucinations.
He looked at the wall crying like a girl, leaving the predator and its claws to finish him off. Then he regained his willpower almost as if by a leap forward into his body, and the visionary now had an accurate will as alert and fierce as that of the predator.
“Leame dafuckalone!”
He tried to fight back. The hacker’s return. But how can a human compete with a creature of extraterrestrial origins? He supposed a boy who was being killed by an alien monster might feel something like pain as he lay regarding his gushing main artery with a cold surprise. The programmer’s skill is the programmer’s weakness.
“No!” His neck bled like a slaughtered animal. His worthless hands were clasped at his sides.
Despite his struggles—despite his strength and willpower, which seemed wasted in the void of space, he felt the sharp claws thrust into his throat and brain, many times. Falling backward to the sheet metal, he saw through his cracked visor the grey and dusty surface of the Moon within an arm’s reach of his own, and then everything was black. The sounds of the unearthly radio frequencies in the distance—the dolphin’s cry, a sharp, far growl declaring the end, and Hariki Fujita imagined he was dead.

The International Space Station is that kind of place that when you are there, you must take it all in, but after Peggy grabbed Jameson by the arm and ordered him to come with her, there was no time to take it all in. The airlock closed behind them, and Peggy knew they were getting close.
“How far is it?” Jamason asked, as they hovered along, their feet stirring particles of dust in the microgravity beneath their soles.
Peggy looked at him, suspiciously, recalling that he had agreed to go with her without informing ground control of their whereabouts.
“Only a few feet further,” Peggy answered. She led the way toward the old storage bay with its battery banks and electrical inverters, accumulating backup electricity in case of an emergency.
“What is going on,” he said as they hovered through the west hanger where corrosion and dilapidation gradually increased and passed through the narrow arch into the dark, freezing aerospace shadows.
“You know Haruki Fujita?” she said, feeding her companion’s curiosity with as little information as possible. The name was disturbing, and Peggy felt her neck spasm a little.
“The Jap who plays with his stepbrother’s hair? I know him; he ruined a month of my work after the botanicals died from his intrusion. There is an HR complaint lodged against him for interfering with my plants, but ground control refuses to believe it. You will believe me when—”
“I believe you, okay. Because he has been hacking into the servers for a long time. He works at night in the dilapidated capsule.”
“The asshole! So that’s where the acidic atmosphere that killed my plants came from.”
“You might have imagined that NASA’s security checks would have picked up a cybernetic criminal who could hack their instrumentation.”
“The very last person I would have suspected.”
“Yesterday afternoon I was issued a job card to check the battery terminals. To my surprise I found something else in there, I found ‘a computer of him’ in there.”
“So you caught him red-handed?”
“Damn it! He frightened me. Something growled from behind me—it literally gave me goosebumps. I’m lucky that I wasn’t there ten minutes earlier. Oh shit, he was dying, and I thought the blood floating in space was proof enough that I wouldn’t be able to save him.”
Hovering in the cramped hanger shoulder to shoulder, Peggy glanced at him. The boy’s eyes were so dark they seemed black, only by her flashbeam did they turn indigo blue. She noticed her death-grip on the torch, her gloves couldn’t release their hold even consciously.
“I need to show you the body so that we can devise a plan of action,” the engineer explained. “I thought it was safe for us to check out the corpse during the day.”
“Are you sure the Jap is dead?” said the biologist. “The light in there may have obscured your visibility and conclusion. If he was unconscious he might still be alive.”
“Well, he seemed very dead to me.” She glanced sideways at the boy, and felt a flare of disappointment. She knew deep down in her being that Haruki was gone, one of the first dead bodies she ever encountered. She had to admit that such a bloody, gruesome, and unsettling scene she had never seen in all her years as a first aider or electrical engineer.
“Alright,” Jameson said; “we will go and look at him,” and he added, in the words of a caring person, “we should keep this between us—I mean, if young Nic Chagall ever finds out about his stepbrother it would kill him. By the way, I heard the other day that ‘Nic’ was not his real name.”
“What is?”
“I cannot remember. I had lost interest in the introvert, and it did not grab hold in my memory—something like Nicklaus. The medic who enrolled in the space program joined his stepbrother after he was abandoned. But Haruki, on the other hand, had joined in search of extraterrestrial technology. Can you believe that there are people who still believe in aliens nowadays? Clearly you are not a believer.”
“Obviously.”
“But wandering about your faith, what do you believe in then? Your boyfriend mentioned what the name was called and said it was scientific in nature.”
“We don’t have a name yet.” Peggy was reluctant to argue without facts about something so important as that. Bossi bases his beliefs on the Principia Mathematica. Isaac Newton was the founder of a philosophy that was only recently made public. A few fragments of his work provide scientific evidence based on experimentation. But anyhow, here is the storage bay.”
She looked at him sharply to see if he was prepared. His face, however, was wearing an expression of frozen panic. His lips and nostrils were rimmed with deep purple, and there were shadows in his dark eyes, like the shapes of a reptile streaking into two hard lines.
“Lemme show you where I found the body,” she said, “this is the place.”
As the two astronauts made their way through the blood of hovering crimson, they suddenly stopped and lifted their flashbeams to the height of the wall, uttered a low note of surprise, and stood motionless, their eyes fixed upon something weird. As far as Peggy could see the wall was covered with inscriptions, though she did not yet understand what she was looking at. A moment later she moved cautiously forward, aiming for the inverters.
Behind the inverter of an enormous height hovered the spacesuit of another astronaut. Standing silent beside it, Peggy noted such particulars that immediately took her attention—the suit was empty, the body missing, the clothing still inside; whatever most probably and strangely happened to this astronaut must have been unearthly.
The suit floated upon its back, the nametag—Nic Chagall. One arm was twisted in circles, the other stretched, but the latter was ripped off brutally, with the missing piece stuck to the helmet. The other arm was severely bent. The whole attitude of the suit was that of desperate but weak resistance to something.
Nearby drifted the disemboweled stepbrother with his naked finger stretched out, stained and blotched, and the floor had been scribbled with blood into symbols all over the corroded floorplate; next to his suit was unmistakable the footprint of an alien entity.
A glance at the empty spacesuit’s missing glove and boots made the nature of the struggle even more mysterious. While the suit and helmet were clean, the arms and legs were red—almost black. The oxygen hose stuck against an inverter, and the suit was twisted and turned backward, opposite any natural posture.
From behind Haruki’s cracked helmet his eyes had popped, bloody and gruesome. The throat showed horrible penetrations; not mere fingermarks, but lacerations and stab wounds inflicted by animal claws that must have buried themselves in his bleeding flesh, maintaining their terrible grip long after death. His throat, chin, and face were soggy; the material saturated; drops of blood had gathered like condensate inside his visor, bloodstained hair and cheeks.
All this the two astronauts observed without speaking—almost frozen. Then Jameson said:
“Poor Haruki! He got what he deserved.”
Peggy was vigilantly inspecting the storage bay. Her flashbeam was held in both hands and at full brightness, and her gloves were clenched around the handle.
“The work of a murderer,” she said, without removing her eyes from the surrounding inverters. “It was done by Nic—Chagall.”
Something half-hidden by the cable racks behind the inverters caught Peggy’s attention. It was the wall. She looked at it while lifting her flashbeam. It contained the code of computer and upon the entire wall the name “Stefan Bossi.” Written in blood over and over again—scribbled as if in haste barely legible—were the following lines, which Peggy read silently while her companion started scanning the dark confines of the enclosure and hearing a commotion from inside the bloody spiderwebs dangling from the wall.

public class Main {
public static void main(String[] args) {
String originalName = “Stefan Bossi”;
System.out.println(“Original name: “ + originalName);

// Reversing the name
String reversedName = new StringBuilder(originalName).reverse().toString();
System.out.println(“Reversed name: “ + reversedName);

// Converting to uppercase
String upperCaseName = originalName.toUpperCase();
System.out.println(“Uppercase name: “ + upperCaseName);

// Swapping first name with last name
int spaceIndex = originalName.indexOf(‘ ‘);
String firstName

“Bossi Stefan—”
Peggy stopped reading; there was no more to read. The code broke off in the middle of a line.
“What a flawless Java script,” she said, since she was somewhat of a programmer herself. With extraordinary patience she stood looking at the wall.
“Who’s Java?” Jameson asked rather confused.
“Computer code, a script that was written to play around with two words—a very jolly script indeed. Coded in first generation; I know the language. The script repeated my boyfriend’s name, but it must have been by mistake.”
“Your boyfriend?” Jameson said. “Let us go back; we must share this information with ground control.”
Peggy said nothing but nodded in compliance. Staring at the inverter behind the empty spacesuit of the missing astronaut with the oxygen hose entangled, she saw that the absent glove was stuck (or rather glued) to the vertical surface by some slimy substance drooling from the melted plastic. She took her torch to illuminate it into view. It was an oozing mess, and painted on the panel were the hardly decipherable words, “Peggy Lance.”
“Peggy Lance!” exclaimed Jameson, with sudden animation. “Why, that is your name—not Stefan Bossi. And—curse your soul! How it all comes together—the murderer’s name is Peggy Lance!”
“There is something weird going on here,” Peggy said. “I deny anything of the kind.”
There came to them from inside the wall—seemingly from a great distance—the sound of a growl, a high-pitched, frequency, cybernetic echo, which had no more joy than that of a predator prowling at its prey; a growl that originated from far away, closer and closer, distinct, more explicit but brutal, until it faded away outside the audible distance of their hearing; a growl so unnatural, so extraterrestrial, so morbid, that it filled those freaked out astronauts with a sense of dread unspeakable! They did not move their torches nor think of them; the menace of that horrible sound was the kind not to be disturbed by light. As it had originated out of solid metal, to die away grimly; from a culminating frequency that had seemed almost in their head, it retreated into the distance until its soft echoes, cybernetic and mechanical to the last frequency, faded into silence at an immeasurable distance.

“Wake the fuck up, man.”
Haruki Fujita slipped out of a hallucination. The hallucination was mindless. It featured a name moments before something killed him, extraterrestrial and horrible from head to toe. Slimy and predatory. The most of it cybernetic. He was dying, with blood gushing out of his neck, but that wasn’t what killed him, at least not immediately, because his intestines were pulled out of his stomach, and that was what killed him.
He watched the blue solar panel wing curve outward from the steel hull of the International Space Station, and he frowned bitterly. From the sensation of death, Haruki Fujita had a sickening gut feeling.
“Stefan Bossi!” he cried out, alarmed.
The name lingered in his mind. He remembered it from his hallucination. He idly watched one of his gloves floating across the room and stopped in front of his computer screen. No reason was known to him why he remembered that name; he remembered nothing more. There was a brief rush—he had time to think about programming languages and decoding radio frequencies, though none of the government organizations he hacked into proved extraterrestrial in origin, but Haruki was convinced by the bizarre nature of the sounds. He didn’t really care about the scientists at SETI, many doctors, and the best professors in the world who regarded them as a hoax. And those who didn’t view the evolution of Earth from an intergalactic perspective that was terraformed over billions of years by otherworldly entities.
“Stefan Bossi!” he said again, grabbing the floating glove with his cold hand and looked at it, trying to decide the significance of the name from his hallucination. Instantly he felt his fingers were freezing from the cold. As Haruki watched the storage bay where he was hiding, his fingers slipped into the glove and strapped the Velcro. “Stefan Bossi! Stefan Bossi!” It seemed to be all he could remember.
Even trapped in the confusing vise of the illusion, Haruki felt an intense fear—this was what an extraterrestrial predator looked like while it slaughtered him. It was a look that filled him with horror.
Another radio frequency echoed from his computer, this one echoing like the mating call of a dolphin, and that excited him. With another “Stefan Bossi!” he stared out of the window and watched the sun disappear behind the Earth, he lost focus; and although it was only an hour after bedtime—another exciting six hours while everyone was deep asleep—the red glow of the computer screen had so hindered his thoughts that he was distracted while staring. And he slipped back into that mindless hallucination.
When Haruki managed to wake up, he realized it was hours later, in the bosom of the night. He glimpsed over the UPS batteries and saw a loose terminal that looked like a collection of fireflies floating in the antigravity of space.
After a while, he hovered upright and spoke.
“Stefan Bossi!”
Incredibly, he did not know why.
Haruki swallowed and looked at the wall, thinking: I’m going to die.
For a moment his mind seemed to separate from his physical body—it was not fear, or angst; it was terror. He was reminded by the physical sense of nausea as he swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth, and it occurred to him that he had just experienced a completely new level of fear.

The first argument about faith in the Fujita household—the first one Haruki got a hiding for, at least—happened on an Easter weekend in April. It was a big argument; even the greatest spanking couldn’t change his mind. Only his stepbrother shared his sentiment; Nic Chagall was in the bathroom brushing his teeth and listening to his sulking. This was fortunate because, in those days, there was no way to get ungrounded by a Japanese father.
The circumstances that, slipping out of a deep trance at night onboard the ISS, Haruki had spoken aloud a name that he had no memory of. And it hardly aroused enough curiosity to investigate the phenomenon.
Weird he thought, and got a little shiver; as if to confirm the opinion that the vision was indeed supernatural, he slipped into a trancelike daze. He realized with blank, distant eyes that for the first time the hallucination was no longer mindless.
Now he was walking onboard an abandoned spaceship pondering why the microgravity did not affect his arms and legs; he became aware that he was being watched from the shadows of the spaceship.
Haruki looked around quickly and saw a strange light with a red glow. He would have closed his eyes, but it fascinated him, and now it felt as if he had no idea where to go or why he was there; he did not know. Everything seemed so natural and real, as is the case with hallucinations. The revelation of being onboard an alien ship stopped bothering him, and the questions faded.
He screamed very loudly—the light must have done something to him because he could not remember being able to hear himself, and his lips didn’t twitch.
Soon, he came to a parting of ways; he saw a staircase leading to the lower deck, which had the appearance, in fact, of having long been abandoned. He sensed it led to something evil, yet he went down without hesitation, urged by some unstoppable force. He swallowed and descended the staircase, now convinced that the spaceship was haunted by invisible existences that he could not picture in his mind.
“What?” From behind the giant steel columns on his lefthand side, he heard broken and incoherent echoes of a radio frequency that he somewhat recognized. It sounded to him like fragmentary utterances of an evil conspiracy against his body and mind.
He swallowed again, holding onto the handrailing to steady himself. Haruki pointed at something lurking in the darkness, now believing it was watching him—an apparition so utterly intergalactic that he felt a pause in his breathing and a chill in his bones.
But for a long time, nothing came. He wanted to know why the haunted spaceship through which he journeyed was lit with a red glimmer having no point of origin. It appeared as if the mysterious light didn’t cast a shadow, and he thought about its neon color. Everything seemed a little brighter now, and he stood rooted with that cold feeling squeezing his lungs that reminded him of the alien presence.
A shallow pool in a bent depression met his eyes with a sloppy mess. He tumbled forward and plunged with his gloves into it and then looked at the thick slime of juices and placenta on his fingers with a different kind of horror.
Slime, he then observed, was around him everywhere. The walls towering grimly on either side revealed it in blots and splashes on the big, rusted panels. Bundles of sloppy racks that stretched over the walkways were hoarded with conductor cables and splattered as with placenta—glowing red. Robbing the place of its significance covered in heaps of crimson, slime dangling like slurry with its coagulations.
Sweat ran down his forehead and burned his eyes. He tasted a mixture of salt and minerals in his mouth. The shivering would not stop. Fear was like the ultimate curse. He thought: There is a point where the physical symptom of fear becomes unbearable: I have passed that point already.
It felt as if everything was in compensation for some crime that he could not remember. He believed he was a person of integrity; if he had murdered someone he would have remembered it, and a little introspection would have revealed the person he had supposedly harmed. The discovery of the menaces and mysteries of his surroundings was an added horror, tracing his steps backward in his mind.
And just how vainly could he reproduce the moment of his wrongdoing, here standing knee-deep in the slime? But suddenly the memories flashed tumultuously into his brain, picture after picture, only causing confusion and obscurity, and in no picture could he catch a glimpse of what he had done wrong.
But just because it hadn’t been remembered didn’t mean it didn’t happen. This failure to conceive only heightened his terror; he felt like a failure who had lost something in the dark without knowing what.
He grabbed his knees, shuddering,
(think of a way to kill yourself, think of a way to make it stop)
and sank his gloves into his spacesuit as hard as he could. He looked down, weak and flimsy knees rattling like a dog, tongue stuck into his cheek, and his posture heavily slanted with baleful character. It felt as if everything in sight conspired against his peace; from overhead and all around came the audible and startling echoes: the growl of a creature so obviously from outer space—that he could take it no more, and with a great effort to break the curse that bound his arms and legs to procrastination, he shouted from the depths of his lungs.
“Reveal yourself!”
His voice echoed with a hollow clang, it went stuttering and stammering, but of course he could not know what evils might lurk on the ship. He would only assume that, because his voice broke and echoed into an infinite multitude of unfamiliar sounds, the ship must have been large enough to have traveled from another galaxy or dimension.
I will not go down without a fight. There may be frequencies that are malignant and haunting this accursed ship. I shall decipher them and blot them down. The monster shall forget about my wrongs, the suffering that I endure—I, a worthless astronaut, a medic, and a computer programmer!
Haruki removed a flashbeam from his spacesuit; it felt warm when he switched it on. He pointed the beam at the wall and heard intimidating radio frequencies echoing against the steel.
Why, yes, I shall take off my glove—dip it into a heap of slime and write against the wall.
He had hardly touched the surface of the steel with his finger when a wild, evil reverberation of growling broke out at a considerable distance behind him, and growing ever louder, seemed approaching ever nearer. It was a soulless, heartless, and unpleasant growl, like that of a predator terrorizing its prey. It was a growl which culminated in an unearthly roar close at hand, then died away by slow gradations. Maybe the accursed being that uttered it had retreated over the shimmer back to the dimension where it had come from. But maybe this was not the case—it might still be nearby and ready to attack at any moment. Fuck knows he spent a long time waiting for something to happen.
You should be moving, Fujita.
Maybe walking, maybe running. Either way it was better than just standing there and doing nothing.
A strange sensation began to take possession of his body and his mind. He could not have said which, if any, of his senses were affected; he experienced it as a hunch—an unconscious mental awareness of some extraterrestrial presence—some alien malevolence different in kind from the visible existences that glitched around him, and superior to humans in power. He knew that it had uttered that hideous growl. And now it felt as if it was approaching him; from what direction he had no idea—dared not speculate.
Haruki closed his eyes and stared at the back of his eyelids. All his former fears had combined or amalgamated into a gigantic terror that now held him in thrall. Apart from that, he had but one mission: to convert the frequency stuck in his head into code, echoing the haunted spaceship, before the extraterrestrial monster blessed him with eternal silence. And now he lifted his slimy finger, idly thinking of computer codes such as Java, C++, and R . . .
Should I write it down?
Should I write at all?
A soft, freaky sound escaped his throat. The face of the astronaut was sickly terrified, the pale face now augmented with a plan of action.
His body started to move rapidly, finger oozing slime without renewal, arm waving in the thin air like a graffiti artist. Two minutes later, at the last part of the script, his arm fell to his side, glove to the air. He was powerless and could not move or cry out; he found himself staring at a wall of illegibly written script, the code representative of the ultimate frequency haunting this spaceship. At that moment Haruki almost believed it: that he was earmarked for death.
He had never been so scared in his life.
The symbols were glowing against the reddened wall written at an angle, the slime, and the acrid smell of the place. He clamped his teeth against each other and tried to focus his mind on what he had written; the code was all he could think of.

Haruki Fujita heard footsteps in the hall. He grabbed a blanket from the bottom of his bed and used it to cover his stepbrother, who was bundled up and lying naked with his knees pulled up to his chest, shivering.
Their father came out of the dark to switch off their light. His wife followed, passed the room with a bottle of wine, and headed down the hall. Haruki lay silent for a moment, not moving, he was aware that something important and significant was being celebrated of which they were not informed. The door of their room closed softly against the clip as his father pulled it. Then came the sound of shouting.
“You’ve bought another Porsche,” his mother said.
“The hospital pays for it, you know,” Chin Fujita replied.
Haruki heard her footsteps march up and down the room before she went to the bathroom and opened the water to wash her hands.
“You are wasting our time on Haruki.”
“No, honey, he will become a doctor someday.”
“What about my boy?”
“He’s not interested, but I think he will pass his exam next week and become a medic like Haruki. I can tell from his aptitude tests, and his EQI is off the charts.”
“Another Porsche, I can’t believe it?”
“I know. You weren’t supposed to find out. It was a surprise. I got the GT3-RS for you; that explains the black.”
Haruki could have cared less about his father wasting his money on that bitch of stepmother. Not giving a fuck was good, but—
“What did I do to deserve another black beauty? No really—is it mine?”
The sound of broken glass woke Nicklaus up. Now looking at the swimming pool in his room, he said, “They’re fighting again . . . Haruki. It’s going to be a long night if they cannot sort out their shit.”
“Are you awake?”
Nic raised his head, which was tucked under the blanket, and kissed Haruki on the forehead.
“You should tell him about your talent.”
“I have absolutely no talent.”
“But you are good at computer programming. I can see the character of Mister Anderon from the movie in you.”
That was when Haruki grew excited. “I would like to make my hero proud.”
“You have lived in the Matrix for your entire life—by which you have become a prodigy and a part-time hacker.”
Maybe even a carbon copy.
“That is nice of you, Nicky. I’m glad you are proud of me since he is on the point of giving up, calling me the family disgrace, and long since dubbed me a worthless gamer. That bitch thinks I am a black sheep and says that I have a psychological imbalance, whatever that means. She said that I have missed my vocation to become a doctor.”
“But you are smart, like your dad. I like it that you are a devoted cybernetic criminal.”
“A hacker sounds better—”
And another glass broke in the room next to them. Their father opened the balcony door, probably to smoke a cigarette. When Haruki looked up this time, he saw joy and excitement on his stepbrother’s face. He was only two years younger, after all. Nic gave him a playful smile, then went back under the blanket where he could finish what he had started.
“Nicky, for God’s sake—stop it and try to focus—”
Yet it had always bothered Haruki that they were stepbrothers. Although Nic was a devoted fan of the great Keanu Reeves so generally and justly admired for his hair. Nic had always taken care to conceal his weakness from all eyes but those who shared his passion. And their common profession as medics was an added bond between them.
Maybe Nic will understand if I tell him the truth. He cannot come with me to New York.
He toyed for a moment with a lock of Nic’s hair which had escaped from its pins, and said, with an effort of calmness in his voice:
“Would you be okay with me leaving for a few months to look for a job, Nicky?”
It was clearly needful for Nic to put his arm across his eyes without making an instant reply. Evidently he would mind; and the tears sprang into his large brown eyes as corroborative testimony.
“Ah, my brother,” he replied, looking up at his face with tenderness, “I knew this was coming. Did I not lie awake half of the afternoon weeping because, during the other half, Keanu Reeves had come to me in a dream.”
It was the great actor, Haruki Fujita would know if his stepbrother was lying, which he wasn’t.
“Neo?” he whispered. His lips were beginning to shiver again, but in the dim light of the swimming pool Nic barely noticed.
“Yes, and standing next to the computer screen—young, too, and handsome as in the first movie—pointed to your picture on the wall? I could not see your face when I looked since you were uploaded into the Matrix, such as at the end of the flick. You can smile at this, but you and I, dear, know that such things are no joke.”
Haruki’s life would be in trouble not because he was uploaded into the program but because his face was missing (and so he believed it to be an actual dream); why the hero would point to his picture on the wall baffled his mind.
“And I saw within the glowing code the wound of a blade on your throat, Haruki—forgive me, but we do not hide things from each other. Perhaps you have another interpretation. Perhaps it does not mean that you will go away. Or maybe you will take me with you?”
“I think it foreshadowed a simpler, surely less tragic, meaning like a visit to the great robot city in Zion. But please don’t try to stop me from leaving.”
“Are there not enough medics in New York?” Nic Chagall continued before his stepbrother could stop him— “Trinity discovered the truth with a broken heart? Look—my chest is ripped open; and I am almost sure that I will die in your absence.”
No—not like this.
Too sad.
Might break them apart.
The throbbing in his chest was more persistent; the next moment Haruki held out his hands but he was afraid that Nic would reject his request for affection. His hands lingered. There was a brief interval of silence. It sounded like their parents were making out again. It was warming up according to their breathing, but if his suspicions were correct, they would go on for the rest of the night. Nic refused to take his hands.
How long before his cold hands revealed the pain in his heart and his emotional scars manifesting in the form of tears, the hacker was unable to cry. How long before they would see each other again?
Three months? A year?
That would be the length of his pain, Haruki thought, and his lips began to shudder. By the time his lips stopped shaking, and it was not until a considerable time later that he realized he would have to leave his brother behind.
“I suppose I’ll have to go.”
Watching Nic, he felt the warmth of his affection for him that his blank expression denied. The weight pressed heavily on his shoulders as he watched his stepbrother cope with it in his own kind of way.

While job hunting in downtown Brooklyn after three months, Haruki was taking cover under a bridge one thunderstorm night, waiting for his weed to be delivered. The storm was well underway now, and no longer raining but pouring. He believed he understood the economic difficulties brought on by the COVID-19 pandemic—since he hadn’t found a job yet—but as the homeless people kept multiplying (he could see more and more people each week), he began to gain a different perspective in terms of earning an honest paycheck.
To his right, through the maze of squatters and bonfires toward the parking lot, he saw a black Lincoln Continental. Haruki noticed a driver with white hair holding the steering wheel like a woman (shit, he thought, she looked exactly like the driver from The Matrix) with her long nails and black leather jacket.
“What the hell?” he asked, sounding smoked as usual.
The car first drove around and then pulled right up to him. He thought of asking the driver if she had also ordered some weed—her eyes were looking mighty red—and decided he didn’t want to have that conversation now. He turned his attention toward the backseat where another woman with a crying baby had been watching him. At first he thought she looked familiar. Then he looked again and saw she was actually a transvestite, rocking the baby in his arms.
“You need to come with us,” the transvestite said. “We heard you are looking for a job?”
“We don’t have much time, Elon,” the driver added.
He thought of Nic back home and imagined he would make his stepbrother proud when breaking the news. He resisted the urge to question the man about the job . . . or even ask them who they were. His clever plan to look for a job in the big city was pretty screwed up and turned out to be a great mistake.
The crying increased, louder.
“We are subcontracting for NASA,” Elon said. He showed his badge to prove it.
“Really?”
“Come.”
“Now?”
“You know we are the real deal, right?”
“Shit, no. I didn’t expect it to happen like this.” Failing to hide the doubt on his face. Or the glimmering sweat on his forehead. Maybe from the weed or the rain. Maybe both.
“Your father said you’re the best medic in the field, but legislation makes it impossible with your qualifications. Your father has pulled some strings for you to work through us. The danger pay is good. Since you’ll be working in space.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“No, really.”
“Space?”
“You will be working on the International Space Station for three months on and three months off, both of you.”
Haruki didn’t hear it. Till it registered. “Both?”
“Both of the Fujita boys will be going to space!”
Haruki brightened. NASA also recruited his stepbrother to join the crew, and two weeks later, the two brothers were reunited in the microgravity of space.
Though happy to be together, Haruki was no less proud in spirit that he had been onboard the ISS for weeks that felt like an eternity. He gladly enjoyed the company of his stepbrother, and it was while living onboard the ISS, awaiting news and orders from ground control, that he had slipped into a trance.

The hallucination came back to Haruki Fujita, haunting enough, as he stood on board the spaceship with his back against the reddened wall, hands at his side. He had to lift his head upward slightly to confront his enemy. Well . . . actually, he had to lift his head more than slightly. The thing was large. So large that he couldn’t even see the extraterrestrial beast. In case you didn’t notice the predator reminds me of Nicky, but ten times more horrible! A monster that stirred no love nor longing in my heart, but strangely its presence evoked pleasant memories of my happy childhood—with all kinds of sentiment. The tender emotions were swallowed up in fear.
Haruki tried to run away, but his boots were saturated with slime. He was unable to pull his legs out of the mess. His arms drifted uselessly in the air; of his eyes only he remained in control, and these he dared not remove from the glowing ember of his enemy.
He stared at it.
Was it cybernetic?
Shit, it looked like it was.
Anyway, it seemed biological and that most dreadful of all existences—a robot with predatory limbs! In its blank stare, he noticed neither love, pity, nor artificial intelligence—nothing to which he could address an appeal for mercy.
An appeal won’t be a lie, he thought.
The sight of it evoked no happy memories. If he could have reached it he would have grabbed it. If he could have reached it he would have tried to stick his finger into its glowing eye. But his inaction only made the situation more terrifying with the red glow on his forehead.
For a time, which seemed so long that the Earth grew bleak with crime and murder, and the haunted ship, having miscalculated its destination in this monstrous height of its terrors, faded out of his consciousness with all its sights and sounds, the predator invaded his space, regarding him with the brutal malevolence of a cybernetic monster.
Quivering with panic, Haruki lifted his head so he could peer into its mouth, double-edged razor blades, rows and rows of them like a predator with a mouthful of fangs chipped but otherwise deadly.
“I see.”
It sat down. The ship rocked a little. Haruki guessed that the beast might weigh as much as thirty tons. It had come from a universe where there were different alloys, shapeshifting metal . . . also advanced composites were used in its construction, some organic materials like flesh and exoskeleton, the biological part of the organism was infected with a wicked cancer.
The monster roared at him, promising annihilation.
He moved back. The monster came forward. That made Haruki very uncomfortable.
“Shit!” Haruki didn’t take any pleasure in the way this was going if not for the brutal nature of his enemy; as solid as a piece of machinery and ferocious, it transformed itself grinning with its one eye missing, about to deliver him to the universe and convert him into stardust.
The thing’s mouth grew sly, confronting him to admit a dirty, dirty secret. Its grin became a smile. Strangely, the venom oozed out of its tongue. This is what it looks like, he thought, if a species faces its ultimate extinction even worse than those robots from the movie. This is what it looks like just before the end of humanity.
“No . . .”
The beast thrust its limbs forward and sprang upon him with outrageous ferocity! The act released Haruki’s physical energy without affecting his willpower to fight back. And his pain was blocked out by an overdose of hydrofluoric acid at the same time something leeched onto his brainstem, his flimsy body and dangling arms powered with a blind, inanimate mind of their own, became weak and puny.
“Not like this . . . I can’t die like this . . . and what about . . . wait!”
For an instant he seemed to see this supernatural contest between an infected robot and a dying human only as a spectator—such fantasies of hallucinations.
He looked at the wall crying like a girl, leaving the predator and its claws to finish him off. Then he regained his willpower almost as if by a leap forward into his body, and the visionary now had an accurate will as alert and fierce as that of the predator.
“Leame dafuckalone!”
He tried to fight back. The hacker’s return. But how can a human compete with a creature of extraterrestrial origins? He supposed a boy who was being killed by an alien monster might feel something like pain as he lay regarding his gushing main artery with a cold surprise. The programmer’s skill is the programmer’s weakness.
“No!” His neck bled like a slaughtered animal. His worthless hands were clasped at his sides.
Despite his struggles—despite his strength and willpower, which seemed wasted in the void of space, he felt the sharp claws thrust into his throat and brain, many times. Falling backward to the sheet metal, he saw through his cracked visor the grey and dusty surface of the Moon within an arm’s reach of his own, and then everything was black. The sounds of the unearthly radio frequencies in the distance—the dolphin’s cry, a sharp, far growl declaring the end, and Hariki Fujita imagined he was dead.

The International Space Station is that kind of place that when you are there, you must take it all in, but after Peggy grabbed Jameson by the arm and ordered him to come with her, there was no time to take it all in. The airlock closed behind them, and Peggy knew they were getting close.
“How far is it?” Jamason asked, as they hovered along, their feet stirring particles of dust in the microgravity beneath their soles.
Peggy looked at him, suspiciously, recalling that he had agreed to go with her without informing ground control of their whereabouts.
“Only a few feet further,” Peggy answered. She led the way toward the old storage bay with its battery banks and electrical inverters, accumulating backup electricity in case of an emergency.
“What is going on,” he said as they hovered through the west hanger where corrosion and dilapidation gradually increased and passed through the narrow arch into the dark, freezing aerospace shadows.
“You know Haruki Fujita?” she said, feeding her companion’s curiosity with as little information as possible. The name was disturbing, and Peggy felt her neck spasm a little.
“The Jap who plays with his stepbrother’s hair? I know him; he ruined a month of my work after the botanicals died from his intrusion. There is an HR complaint lodged against him for interfering with my plants, but ground control refuses to believe it. You will believe me when—”
“I believe you, okay. Because he has been hacking into the servers for a long time. He works at night in the dilapidated capsule.”
“The asshole! So that’s where the acidic atmosphere that killed my plants came from.”
“You might have imagined that NASA’s security checks would have picked up a cybernetic criminal who could hack their instrumentation.”
“The very last person I would have suspected.”
“Yesterday afternoon I was issued a job card to check the battery terminals. To my surprise I found something else in there, I found ‘a computer of him’ in there.”
“So you caught him red-handed?”
“Damn it! He frightened me. Something growled from behind me—it literally gave me goosebumps. I’m lucky that I wasn’t there ten minutes earlier. Oh shit, he was dying, and I thought the blood floating in space was proof enough that I wouldn’t be able to save him.”
Hovering in the cramped hanger shoulder to shoulder, Peggy glanced at him. The boy’s eyes were so dark they seemed black, only by her flashbeam did they turn indigo blue. She noticed her death-grip on the torch, her gloves couldn’t release their hold even consciously.
“I need to show you the body so that we can devise a plan of action,” the engineer explained. “I thought it was safe for us to check out the corpse during the day.”
“Are you sure the Jap is dead?” said the biologist. “The light in there may have obscured your visibility and conclusion. If he was unconscious he might still be alive.”
“Well, he seemed very dead to me.” She glanced sideways at the boy, and felt a flare of disappointment. She knew deep down in her being that Haruki was gone, one of the first dead bodies she ever encountered. She had to admit that such a bloody, gruesome, and unsettling scene she had never seen in all her years as a first aider or electrical engineer.
“Alright,” Jameson said; “we will go and look at him,” and he added, in the words of a caring person, “we should keep this between us—I mean, if young Nic Chagall ever finds out about his stepbrother it would kill him. By the way, I heard the other day that ‘Nic’ was not his real name.”
“What is?”
“I cannot remember. I had lost interest in the introvert, and it did not grab hold in my memory—something like Nicklaus. The medic who enrolled in the space program joined his stepbrother after he was abandoned. But Haruki, on the other hand, had joined in search of extraterrestrial technology. Can you believe that there are people who still believe in aliens nowadays? Clearly you are not a believer.”
“Obviously.”
“But wandering about your faith, what do you believe in then? Your boyfriend mentioned what the name was called and said it was scientific in nature.”
“We don’t have a name yet.” Peggy was reluctant to argue without facts about something so important as that. Bossi bases his beliefs on the Principia Mathematica. Isaac Newton was the founder of a philosophy that was only recently made public. A few fragments of his work provide scientific evidence based on experimentation. But anyhow, here is the storage bay.”
She looked at him sharply to see if he was prepared. His face, however, was wearing an expression of frozen panic. His lips and nostrils were rimmed with deep purple, and there were shadows in his dark eyes, like the shapes of a reptile streaking into two hard lines.
“Lemme show you where I found the body,” she said, “this is the place.”
As the two astronauts made their way through the blood of hovering crimson, they suddenly stopped and lifted their flashbeams to the height of the wall, uttered a low note of surprise, and stood motionless, their eyes fixed upon something weird. As far as Peggy could see the wall was covered with inscriptions, though she did not yet understand what she was looking at. A moment later she moved cautiously forward, aiming for the inverters.
Behind the inverter of an enormous height hovered the spacesuit of another astronaut. Standing silent beside it, Peggy noted such particulars that immediately took her attention—the suit was empty, the body missing, the clothing still inside; whatever most probably and strangely happened to this astronaut must have been unearthly.
The suit floated upon its back, the nametag—Nic Chagall. One arm was twisted in circles, the other stretched, but the latter was ripped off brutally, with the missing piece stuck to the helmet. The other arm was severely bent. The whole attitude of the suit was that of desperate but weak resistance to something.
Nearby drifted the disemboweled stepbrother with his naked finger stretched out, stained and blotched, and the floor had been scribbled with blood into symbols all over the corroded floorplate; next to his suit was unmistakable the footprint of an alien entity.
A glance at the empty spacesuit’s missing glove and boots made the nature of the struggle even more mysterious. While the suit and helmet were clean, the arms and legs were red—almost black. The oxygen hose stuck against an inverter, and the suit was twisted and turned backward, opposite any natural posture.
From behind Haruki’s cracked helmet his eyes had popped, bloody and gruesome. The throat showed horrible penetrations; not mere fingermarks, but lacerations and stab wounds inflicted by animal claws that must have buried themselves in his bleeding flesh, maintaining their terrible grip long after death. His throat, chin, and face were soggy; the material saturated; drops of blood had gathered like condensate inside his visor, bloodstained hair and cheeks.
All this the two astronauts observed without speaking—almost frozen. Then Jameson said:
“Poor Haruki! He got what he deserved.”
Peggy was vigilantly inspecting the storage bay. Her flashbeam was held in both hands and at full brightness, and her gloves were clenched around the handle.
“The work of a murderer,” she said, without removing her eyes from the surrounding inverters. “It was done by Nic—Chagall.”
Something half-hidden by the cable racks behind the inverters caught Peggy’s attention. It was the wall. She looked at it while lifting her flashbeam. It contained the code of computer and upon the entire wall the name “Stefan Bossi.” Written in blood over and over again—scribbled as if in haste barely legible—were the following lines, which Peggy read silently while her companion started scanning the dark confines of the enclosure and hearing a commotion from inside the bloody spiderwebs dangling from the wall.

public class Main {
public static void main(String[] args) {
String originalName = “Stefan Bossi”;
System.out.println(“Original name: “ + originalName);

// Reversing the name
String reversedName = new StringBuilder(originalName).reverse().toString();
System.out.println(“Reversed name: “ + reversedName);

// Converting to uppercase
String upperCaseName = originalName.toUpperCase();
System.out.println(“Uppercase name: “ + upperCaseName);

// Swapping first name with last name
int spaceIndex = originalName.indexOf(‘ ‘);
String firstName

“Bossi Stefan—”
Peggy stopped reading; there was no more to read. The code broke off in the middle of a line.
“What a flawless Java script,” she said, since she was somewhat of a programmer herself. With extraordinary patience she stood looking at the wall.
“Who’s Java?” Jameson asked rather confused.
“Computer code, a script that was written to play around with two words—a very jolly script indeed. Coded in first generation; I know the language. The script repeated my boyfriend’s name, but it must have been by mistake.”
“Your boyfriend?” Jameson said. “Let us go back; we must share this information with ground control.”
Peggy said nothing but nodded in compliance. Staring at the inverter behind the empty spacesuit of the missing astronaut with the oxygen hose entangled, she saw that the absent glove was stuck (or rather glued) to the vertical surface by some slimy substance drooling from the melted plastic. She took her torch to illuminate it into view. It was an oozing mess, and painted on the panel were the hardly decipherable words, “Peggy Lance.”
“Peggy Lance!” exclaimed Jameson, with sudden animation. “Why, that is your name—not Stefan Bossi. And—curse your soul! How it all comes together—the murderer’s name is Peggy Lance!”
“There is something weird going on here,” Peggy said. “I deny anything of the kind.”
There came to them from inside the wall—seemingly from a great distance—the sound of a growl, a high-pitched, frequency, cybernetic echo, which had no more joy than that of a predator prowling at its prey; a growl that originated from far away, closer and closer, distinct, more explicit but brutal, until it faded away outside the audible distance of their hearing; a growl so unnatural, so extraterrestrial, so morbid, that it filled those freaked out astronauts with a sense of dread unspeakable! They did not move their torches nor think of them; the menace of that horrible sound was the kind not to be disturbed by light. As it had originated out of solid metal, to die away grimly; from a culminating frequency that had seemed almost in their head, it retreated into the distance until its soft echoes, cybernetic and mechanical to the last frequency, faded into silence at an immeasurable distance.

This is part 2 of my list for Virginia's post Furman execution roster. As mentioned in part 1's opening paragraph, character count limitations forced me into splitting my Virginia's execution roster into two separate posts. For the link to part 1, please click here.
59. Kevin Cardwell (1991-1998, lethal injection): Cardwell intercepted Anthony Brown, a 15 year old drug carrier, while he was at a bus stop. He lured Brown into his apartment and searched his belongings for any drugs. Brown was then dragged into the woods, shot to death, and stripped of the cocaine strapped to his legs.
60. Mark Sheppard (~1980s-1999, lethal injection): Sheppard and his accomplice Andre Graham were invited by their dealers, 40 year old Richard and 35 year old Rebecca Rosenbluth, over to their home to buy cocaine. However, an argument broke out during the transaction, and Sheppard shot the couple to death. The pair then drove away from the scene with the couple's car and a few undisclosed stolen items. Sheppard had a long history of violence that dated back to when he was 9 years old.
61. Tony Fry (1994-1999, lethal injection): Fry and his partner shot Leeland Jacobs, a 42 year old car salesman, while robbing his Ford Dealership. The pair tied Jacobs to a car they stole while he was still alive, and dragged him to death.
62. George Quesinberry Jr. (1989-1999, lethal injection): Quesinberry shot 63 year old Thomas Haynes while breaking into his office with an accomplice. When Haynes survived the initial shooting, Quesinberry hit him in the head with the gun and fractured his skull. The pair stole a total of $200 in the robbery.
63. David Fisher (~1970s(?)-1999, lethal injection): Fisher was paid $7,000 by an associate to kill 18 year old David Wilkey in retaliation for abandoning a murder scheme. Originally, Wilkey was part of a conspiracy to seduce and marry a young woman in order to kill her for an insurance policy, but backed out when he genuinely fell in love with the would be victim. He was tricked into going on a hunting trip with Fisher and shot to death by him. Fisher had 25 previous criminal convictions and was involved with organized crime. He was in the witness protection program at the time of Wilkey’s murder.
64. Carl Chichester (1991-1999, lethal injection): During a holdup of a Little Caesars, Chichester shot and killed the manager, 30 year old Timothy Rigney, for refusing to open the cash register. He and his two accomplices ran off with a total of $110.
65. Arthur Jenkins III (1991-1999, lethal injection): Jenkins and his teenage brother shot and killed their uncle, 72 year old Floyd, and their uncle's friend, 69 year old Lee Brinklow. They then stole their wallets and sacked Floyd's home for any money and valuables.
66. Eric Payne (~1980s-1999, lethal injection): Payne broke into the residences of two women, 61 year old Ruth Parham and 57 year old Sally Fazio, and raped them. Both women were beaten to death with a hammer, and he took money from their drawers and pocket books. He had a history of drug possessions and exposing himself to women.
67. Ronald Yeatts (1989-1999, lethal injection): Yeatts and an accomplice invaded 70 year old Ruby Dodson's home and stabbed her to death. The pair grabbed her purse during the burglary and divided up the money they found in it.
68. Tommy Strickler (1989-1999, lethal injection): Strickler and his partner kidnapped 19 year old Leann Whitlock from a mall and crushed her head with a 70 pound boulder. Whitlock's car and credit cards were stolen during the attack.
69. Marlon Williams (~1980s(?)-1999, lethal injection): Williams was paid $4,000 to murder 44 year old Helen Bedsole by his dealer, who was also her estranged husband. The couple were in the midst of a bitter divorce at the time, and the dealer wanted to both collect a life insurance policy and prevent Helen from dividing up their assets. He suck into the couple’s home, and shot and killed Helen in the kitchen. Williams had an extensive criminal history, which included cutting the throat of his ex girlfriend’s grandmother, 71 year old Virgina Parker, during a bungled attempt on her life.
70. Everett Mueller (1990-1999, lethal injection): 10 year old Charity Powers was dropped off at a skating ring by her mother. She was supposed to be picked up by her mother's friend, but they didn't show up due to failing asleep in their home. While Powers was waiting outside the ring in vain for her ride, she was abducted by Mueller. He raped the girl, slashed her throat, and dumped the body in a nearby forest.
71. Jason Joseph (1992-1999, lethal injection): While robbing a Subway with an accomplice, Joseph shot and killed one of the clerks, 22 year old Jeffrey Anderson.
72. Thomas Royal Jr. (~1991-1999, lethal injection): Royal and 3 other gang members fatally shot a police officer, 29 year old Kenneth Wallace, while he was sitting in his patrol car. Wallace was killed as part of the gang's campaign to target law enforcement agents. Royal and his fellow gang members were also suspected in the shooting of James Smith Jr. (age unknown), a Vietnam veteran, outside his trailer, but the charges were dropped from the lack of sufficient evidence.
73. Andre Graham (~1993-1999, lethal injection): Graham assisted the above mentioned Mark Sheppard in the Rosenbluth murders. He also shot and killed a waitress, 20 year old Sheryl Stack, and injured a 23 year old man while robbing a restaurant on his own, and is suspected in a total of 10 murders.
74. Douglas Thomas (1990-2000, lethal injection): The parents of Thomas' 14 year old girlfriend, 33 year old James and 33 year Kathy Wiseman, barred her from seeing him. In a bid to continue their relationship, Thomas and his girlfriend shot them to death in their home.
75. Steve Roach (1993-2000, lethal injection): Roach shot and killed 70 year old Mary Hughes on her doorstep and stole her credit card. He was caught on tape trying to use Hughes' stolen cards to pull money out of an ATM machine in North Carolina.
76. Lonnie Weeks Jr. (1993-2000, lethal injection): Weeks was pulled over by a state trooper, 50 year old Jose Cavazos, for speeding while driving a stolen car. In the confrontation that followed, he shot Cavazos dead after climbing out of the car, and fled the scene. He was captured hiding in a nearby motel after an hour long manhunt.
77. Michael Clagett (1994-2000, electric chair): Clagett's girlfriend was fired from her job as a hotel waitress by the management, and the couple decided to retaliate by robing the establishment. They shot and killed the owner Lam Van Son, a 41 year old Vietnamese refugee, a waitress, 31 year old Karen Rounds, two other employees, 31 year old Karen Rounds and 32 year old Wendell Parish Jr., and a customer Abdelaziz Gren, a 34 year old Moroccan immigrant, and took $400 in cash from the register. Van Son’s 3 year old son was sleeping in the backroom during the attack, but the couple left him unharmed.
78. Russel Burket (1993-2000, lethal injection): Burket snuck into the home of 30 year old Katherine Tafelski while her Navy SEALs husband was deployed overseas, and sexually assaulted her. Katherine and her 5 year old daughter Ashley were both beaten to death with a "rusty" crowbar.
79. Derek Barnabei (1993-2000, lethal injection): Barnabei seduced a fellow Old Dominion University student, 17 year old Sarah Wisnosky, into a relationship with him and kidnapped her. She was raped, partially strangled, beaten to death with a hammer, and dumped into a river near campus grounds. Due to him being of Italian ancestry, his death sentence and execution sparked outrage in Italy.
80. Bobby Ramdass (1992-2000, lethal injection): Ramdass was condemned for the shooting death of Mohammed Kayani, a 34 year old Pakistani immigrant working as a clerk, during a convenience store robbery. He also shot dead 19 year old Darrell Ferguson in an alley and wounded a cab driver in other robberies.
81. Christopher Goins (1994-2000, lethal injection): Goins broke into the home of his 14 year old girlfriend (who was 7 months pregnant with his child). He shot and killed her parents, 35 year old James and 29 year old Daphne Jones, and her siblings, 9 year old Nicole and 4 year old David. The girlfriend and her youngest sibling, 21 month old Kenya, were also shot in the attack. Both of them survived, but the unborn child was lost in the shooting.
82. Thomas Akers (1998-2001, lethal injection): Akers and his accomplice were driving with their friend, 24 year old Wesley Smith. When they pulled over on a road to urinate, they pounced on Smith. In the attack, he was strangled with a belt and beaten to death with a baseball bat. They pair then grabbed $200 from his wallet and dumped his body in a creek. While on death row, Akers demanded his execution and made threats against the judge who sentenced him if it wasn't carried out.
83. Christopher Beck (1995-2001, lethal injection): Out of anger for being fired, Beck invaded the house of his former employer, 52 year old William Miller. He waited for him and his two roommates, 54 year old Florence Marks and 34 year old David Kaplan, to return home and shot and stabbed them all to death. Marks was also raped in the attack. Although Beck claimed that he "only" staged a sexual assault on her, a medical examination confirmed that she was abused in that manner. Beck stole several guns, bicycles, and money in the robbery.
84. James Patterson (1987-2002, lethal injection): Patterson held his friend's mother, 56 year old Joyce Aldridge, in her home at knifepoint. Enraged that she only had a few coins in her purse, he raped Aldridge, stabbed her 3 times, and left her to die. When Aldridge managed to crawl to a phone to call her son for help, Patterson returned and stabbed her 14 more times. Although Aldridge's murder was left unsolved for years, Patterson was later imprisoned for raping an 18 year old girl, and DNA found at the murder was traced to his samples filed in the inmate database in 2000.
85. Daniel Zirkle (1999-2002, lethal injection): Zirkle's girlfriend broke off their relationship due to his violent behavior and filed protective orders against him. He was arrested for violating them and sentenced to a few months in jail. After his release, Zirkle went to his ex girlfriend's home without her permission to visit their daughter, 4 year old Christina. However, the ex girlfriend's other daughter, 14 year old Jessica Shifflett, blocked him from coming inside. He stabbed her to death and kidnapped Christina. He then drove Christina to the George Washington National Forest, slit her throat, and stabbed himself in a failed suicide attempt.
86. Walter Mickens Jr. (~1974-2002, lethal injection): Mickens ambushed and sodomized 17 year old Timothy Hall, and stabbed him 143 times. He stripped the boy of nearly all of his clothing, and left him to die in an abandoned apartment. A long time sexual predator and career criminal, Mickens had several robbery and sodomy convictions dating back to the 70s. One of his previous incidents involved breaking into an elementary school, and coercing a teacher of her purse by threatening the life of a 7 year old student. He also had a conviction for sexually assaulting a cellmate.
87. Aimal Kasi (1993-2002, lethal injection): In his efforts to fight against American foreign policy regarding Islamic nations, Kasi attacked the Langley CIA headquarters with a Type 56 assault rifle. He shot dead 2 CIA employees, 66 year old Lansing Bennett and 28 year old Frank Darling, and wounded 3 others. Kasi then fled to Afghanistan, but was lured into his native Pakistan to be captured in a joint FBI-CIA led operation, and extradited back to the United States to face trial.
88. Earl Bramblett (~1970s(?)-2003, electric chair): Bramblett had molested 11 year old Winter Hodges and feared that her parents, 41 year old William and 37 year old Teresa, were planning on reporting him to the police. In an attempt to prevent that from happening, he attacked the family in their home. Teresa was strangled, while William, Winter, and another daughter, 3 year old Anah, were shot dead. Bramblett then set the house on fire to destroy any evidence of the murders. He had several abuse allegations and was also suspected in the 1977 disappearances of two 14 year old girls, Tammy Akers and Angela Rader, that worked for him, but was never charged for any of them.
89. Bobby Swisher (1997-2003, lethal injection): Swisher abducted 22 year old Dawn Snyder from her flower shop at knife point and raped her. He slashed Snyder's throat and dumped her into a nearby river. Despite managing to swim back to shore, Snyder succumbed to her injuries on the river bank.
90. Brian Cherrix (1994-2004, lethal injection): Cherrix ambushed 23 year old Tessa Van Hart while she was trying to deliver a pizza. He sodomized and shot Van Hart twice in the head, and left the body in her car. The crime was left unsolved until Cherrix was arrested for shooting and wounded his brother two years later. In an attempt to secure leniency, Cherrix disclosed some details of Van Hart's murder, but tried pinning it on a deceased cousin. He only confessed when investigators learned that the cousin couldn't have possibly done it.
91. Dennis Orbe (1998-2004, lethal injection): Orbe fatally shot Richard Burnett, a 39 year old clerk, while robbing a grocery store, and seized $90 from the register.
92. Mark Bailey (1998-2004, lethal injection): Bailey shot and killed his wife, 22 year old Katherine, and their 2 year old son, Nathan, while they were laying in bed. He claimed to investigators that the murders were done out of anger for Katherine's alleged infidelity.
93. James Hudson (2002-2004, lethal injection): In a feud over a driveway, Hudson broke into the home of the Cole family (consisting of brothers, 64 year old Thomas and 56 year old Walter, and Thomas' wife, 64 year old Patsy) to confront them with a shotgun. He shot all three of the Coles dead and drove away from the scene. Hudson was captured after nearly a day long manhunt.
94. James Reid (1996-2004, lethal injection): Reid stabbed 87 year old Annie Lester 22 times with a pair of scissors, beat her with a can of milk, and strangled her with the cord of a heating pad. He left the body in her bedroom and fled her house. Although the evidence for his guilt was overwhelming (which included the blood on his clothes matched Lester's DNA, several of his fingerprints were discovered on the murder weapons, samples of his saliva were found on a cigarette butt in her house, and his handwriting was identical to the writing of a death threat sent to Lester), Reid's death sentence and execution was contested on the grounds of him allegedly having brain damage from a car accident, seizures, and alcoholism. The motivations behind Lester's murder remain unknown, but prosecutors suspected that it might have been part of a bungled robbery or rape attempt.
95. Dexter Vinson (1997-2006, lethal injection): Vinson attacked his ex girlfriend, 25 year old Angela Felton, near her home. Felton tried to escape by driving away, but he rammed her car with his, and forced her inside it. She was then dragged into a vacant house, raped, beaten, and stabbed in the face, neck, arms, buttocks, stomach, and vagina. The body was left in the house as Vinson fled the scene.
96. Brandon Hedrick (1997-2006, electric chair): Hendrick kidnapped a sex worker, 23 year old Lisa Crider, while he was cruising for prostitutes. Initially, Crider and Hendrick had engaged in paid consensual relations, but the situation turned violent when he robbed her of $50 at gunpoint. She was then raped, shot in the face, and dumped into a river.
97. Michael Lenz (~1990s-2006, lethal injection): While serving 29 years for a burglary and weapons possession conviction, Lenz stabbed a fellow inmate, 41 year old Brent Parker, to death. Both were part of a Nordic Neopaganism sect, and the killing was committed over Parker allegedly not expressing enough devotion to their deities. Parker was serving a life sentence for killing a friend during a drunken rage at the time of his own murder.
98. John Schmitt (1999-2006, lethal injection): During a holdup of a bank, Schmitt shot and killed the guard, 39 year old Shelton Dunning, and took $35,000 from the vaults.
99. Kevin Green (1998-2008, lethal injection): Green and his teenage nephew stormed a convenience store, and forced the owners, 68 year old Lawrence Vaughan and his wife, 53 year old Patricia, to hand over $9,000 in cash. They then shot the couple, killing Patricia and wounding Lawrence.
100. Robert Yarbrough (1997-2008, lethal injection): Yarbrough and his accomplice tied up 77 year old Cyril Hamby while robbing his grocery store. They subjected Hamby to beatings and nearly decapitated him with a pocket knife. The pair then stole beer, wine, cigarettes, and an undisclosed amount of money.
101. Kent Jackson (2000-2008, lethal injection): Jackson and an accomplice attacked 79 year old Beulah Kaiser in her apartment, and raped her. She was stabbed several times in the neck, beaten, and her cane was shoved down her throat after she was anally penetrated with it. A cigarette butt found at the crime scene was traced to the pair.
102. Christopher Emmett (2001-2008, lethal injection): Emmett was staying at a motel room with a coworker, 43 year old John Langley, while they were working on an out of town roofing job. The pair played cards until Langley went to bed. As he slept, Emmett bludgeoned him to death with a lamp, and stole $100 from his wallet. He used the stolen money to buy crack cocaine.
103. Edward Bell (~1990s-2008, lethal injection): While running away from officers trying to arrest him for a parole violation, Bell shot and killed one of his pursers, 32 year old Sergeant Ricky Timbrook. Bell had a long criminal record, which included several felony and misdemeanor convictions of assault, burglary, carrying conceal weapons, and was found to have stolen a car during the investigations of Timbrook's murder.
104. John Muhammad (~1999-2008, lethal injection): The so called “D.C. Sniper”, Muhammad shot and killed 17 random people between the ages of 21-76 with the help of a teenage accomplice in mostly sniper attacks. The killings took place in the national capital, hence the epithet, and across several states. Due to his affiliation with the Nation of Islam and the accomplice’s accounts of planning terrorist attacks and training camps, Muhammad’s murder spree are often considered to be acts of Islamic extremism in the media. However, experts believe that his real intentions was to kill his estranged wife using the sniper attacks as a mask. Muhammad had a long history of domestic violence, and had abducted his children from his estranged wife on numerous occasions. His accomplice had also accused him of sexual abuse a few years after his execution.
105. Larry Elliott (2001-2008, electric chair): Elliott, a former military counterintelligence agent, was in an online "sugar daddy" relationship with a much younger woman. At the woman's request, Elliott sent her over $450,000, which she used to pay for a home, credit card, car, breast enhancement surgery, and enrolling her children in a private school. The woman was also involved with a bitter custody dispute with her children's father, 30 year old Robert Finch. In an attempt to win the woman's devotion, Elliott shot and killed Finch in his home, and beat Finch's girlfriend, 25 year old Dana Thrall, to death with the butt of his gun.
106. Paul Powell (1999-2010, electric chair): Angry that his friend, 16 year old Stacie Reed, was in an interracial relationship, Powell made an attempt to rape her in her home. When she fought back, Powell stabbed her to death. He also tied up Stacie's 14 year old sister to be raped, stabbed, and strangled, and left the girl to die in the family's basement. The sister managed to survive with the timely arrival of their stepfather, who called the police and the paramedics to the scene. On the mistaken belief that the death penalty was off the table, Powell sent letters flaunting the lewd details of the murder to taunt the prosecutors, judge, and the victims’ family.
107. Darick Walker (~1996-2010, lethal injection): In 1996, Walker walked up to the door of 36 year old Stanley Beale, and angrily accused him of showing up at his home despite the fact that they were complete strangers. He then shot Beale dead in front of his children and girlfriend, and ran away from the scene. A year later, Walker forced himself into an apartment, and shot 34 year old Clarence Threat seven times while he was laying in bed with his girlfriend. Walker had a history of violence and frequently stole from his friends and family. In one reported incident, he kicked the stomach of a pregnant woman in an act of rage.
108. Teresa Lewis (2002-2010, lethal injection): Lewis conspired with two men that she had a sexual relationship with to kill her husband, 51 year old Julian, and her stepson, 25 year old Charles. Charles was about to be deployed to participate in the then upcoming invasion of Iraq, which gave him a $250,000 life insurance policy that Lewis wanted to collect from both him and his father. She let her accomplices inside their trailer, and shot Julian and Charles while they were sleeping. Charles was killed immediately, while Julian, who witnessed Lewis pay the attackers, survived long enough to notify the responders of his wife's involvement.
109. Jerry Jackson (2001-2011, lethal injection): Jackson broke into the apartment of 88 year old Ruth Phillips, and woke her up while he was rummaging through her room. Despite Phillips' pleas for her life, Jackson raped her and suffocated her to death with a pillow. He stole her car and a total of $60 in the break in, and spent the stolen money on marijuana.
110. Robert Gleason (2007+(?)-2013, electric chair): In 2007, Gleason shot and killed 54 year old Michael Jamerson, in order to prevent him from testifying about his drug trafficking activities, and was given a life sentence for the murder. While incarcerated, he tied up and strangled his cellmate, 63 year old Harvey Watson (who serving a life sentence for a mass shooting). Prison officials then transferred him to a high security prison to await trial for Watson’s murder, but he managed to strangle another inmate, 26 year old Aaron Cooper (who was serving 34 years for robbery), to death with the wire that separated their cages. Gleason demanded the death penalty, which was given to him by the courts. He also claimed that he committed several other killings before Jamerson, but his additional confessions currently remain unverifiable.
111. Alfredo Prieto (~1984-2015, lethal injection): Prieto was both a serial killer of young women and a member of the Pomona Northside street gang. His sexual crimes involved the abductions, rapes, and shooting deaths of at least 4 females, 24 year old Tina Jefferson, 22 year old Rachael Raver, 19 year old Stacey Siegrist, and 15 year old Yvette Woodruff. Raver and Siegrist’s partners, 22 year old Warren Fulton III and 21 year old Anthony Gianuzzi, were also murdered during their kidnappings. The other known victims, 27 year old Manuel Sermeno, and couple, 71 year old Lula and 65 year old Herbert Farley, were shot dead during robberies. In the home invasion that killed Woodruff, Prieto and his fellow gang members also abducted her 17 year old friend and the friend’s 33 year old mother. The mother and daughter pair were gang-raped, shot and stabbed together, but they managed to escape with their lives. Prieto was sentenced to death in both California and Virginia, but stayed in California’s San Quentin until his death warrant was signed in Virginia. He had also shot and injured 3 gang members over his suspicions of them sleeping with his wife, but was lightly sentenced due to the victims' gang affiliations.
112. Ricky Gray (~2005-2017, lethal injection): Gray and his similarly aged nephew murdered at least 9 people, which composed of a lone woman, 35 year old Treva Gray, and two entire families, the Harveys (consisting of parents, 49 year old Bryan and 39 year old Kathryn, and their daughters, 9 year old Stella and 4 year old Ruby), and the Baskerville-Tuckers (consisting of 21 year old Ashley, her 46 year old mother Mary, and Mary’s 55 year old husband Percyell) in a week long burglary spree. Almost all of the victims were tied up and gagged in their homes, and beaten to death with hammers or had their throats slit. Before she was killed by them with her parents, victim Ashley Baskerville had assisted Gray and his nephew in several of their robberies. The pair stole any items and valuables they could carry, and were reported to have taken money, computers, television sets, wedding rings, and even cookies. They were also linked to several non fatal assaults, one of which involved a 26 year old man being beaten into a coma.
113. William Morva (~2005-2017, lethal injection): Morva, a son of Hungarian immigrants, and an accomplice were arrested while trying rob a grocery store at gunpoint. While awaiting trial, he badly sprained his ankle and wrist in prison, and was transferred to the Montgomery Regional Hospital for treatment. He overpowered a deputy guarding him with a metal toilet-paper container, stole his gun, fatally shot Derrick McFarland, a 25 year old hospital security guard, and escaped. Morva then fled to Virginia Tech’s campus, and shot and killed 40 year old Eric Sutphin, one of the police officers chasing him.

I’m trapped. I can hear that thing lumbering through the hallway. My God, what the hell is it?The soft scratching of my pencil sounds deafening in the quiet of this tiny closet. I’m almost certainly gonna die in this place. I just hope someone can find this, maybe it will do some good. Or maybe it already doesn’t matter. I’m not sure how long I have until that wheezing thing finds me. Oh Jesus, or that grey stuff might ooze under the door and dissolve me. Oh my God! What it did to Benny, Sammy, Jonesy and Donald! To all of them! Even if I don’t survive, the world needs to be warned!

Long story short, I was a cop but I got shot in the head. The doctors said I was lucky, that it went straight through without hitting anything vital. However, I still needed three steel plates to hold my skull together. Also ended up with permanent tremors in my right hand and a nasty scar just under my eye. So, it’s no surprise that my cop career didn’t thrive. Just a year later I was a “retired” 45-year-old cop, living off scraps. After a few months, I started to get desperate for work. One evening while out with my friend, Graham, he mentioned something about some private research institute in the Mojave Desert. “What, are they still blowing A-bombs out there?” I scoffed, eyebrows arched with bemused incredulity. Graham stared down at his beer, “Not sure what the hell they do. But they pay super well, so who cares,” he took a long sip of beer, foam clinging to his lips, “I think it would be a good fit for you”.

Turns out this facility, and it really is known as the “Facility”, was located in the middle of nowhere. When I looked it up I couldn’t find any information at all. Later that week I called the number that Graham had scrawled down for me on a beer stained napkin. My right hand wasn’t good with delicate tasks so when I dialed the number I had to use my left hand. The phone rang twice before a metallic voice answered and said to hold for an operator. After a few seconds of muted elevator music, I spoke to a soft voiced woman who told me my skill set was perfect for their current vacancy: a security management position. Her voice was soothing, “Your credentials are excellent. If you like I can fax some forms and a draft contract over, and we can pay for you to fly on up to see us in person. I’m certain you’ll get offered the job.”

She was right. One flight and several NDAs later, I was employed again! By the time I started my new job I realized I had no idea what research went on down here. During the interviews my duties as a security manager had been discussed but any mention of their actual research interests had been carefully omitted. On my first day I asked others about the nature of the Facility’s research, but no one had any interest. “Just stick to your contract. No point in rockin’ the boat,” my new boss, Sammy, said to me curtly. I’ve not discussed it since.

The part of the Facility which I managed was section B.15. This area was located several hundred feet below the sun scorched surface of the Mojave Desert. It comprised many green corridors peppered with tall wide doors made from dark, stainless steel. The rooms inside were large and sterile. Of course, whether or not we wanted to know the nature of the research, after patrolling some of the research labs for weeks, it wasn’t hard to figure out that the scientists were mostly archeologists. Or maybe paleontologists. I often found different objects lying around in various states of cleanliness. Some looked like ancient amphoras, or large stone bird baths or even fossilized remains. Others were less identifiable: a melted lump of some glimmering metal or large chunks of a glass-like material. I found this all extremely curious because, as far as I knew, the Mojave Desert didn’t have much in the way of ancient architecture. At least of any ancient civilization that I know.

As the months went by I started to get friendly with the other guards, most of them ex-cops too, and we played cards and drank Irish coffee in the evenings. My two main colleagues consisted of a jovial, short man with orange hair named Jonesy and a much older much grumpier and much balder man, Donald. They were good men and we had a lot of laughs together. My stomach twists when I think about where they are now. Though I grew fonder of my fellow guards, I found myself developing a severe dislike for the researchers. Most of them were mean and arrogant. The only scientist my security buddies liked was a scrawny guy named Benny. Our favorite thing about Benny was that he never talked about his work.

It was earlier, at 1400h, when all the scientists were running from their rooms. They must have received some message a few minutes before and we watched them from the surveillance monitors as they got all excited, their lab coats flapping and flowing as they made for the stairs. Soon after this, the large red landline phone near my desk began to ring. Expecting the call, I picked up the receiver before the first ring finished, “Hey boss, what’s all the excitement about?” Sammy’s voice was uncharacteristically anxious, “The diggers have found a friggin’ huge object out here! The biggest thing they’ve ever dug up. They want to bring it to B.15 so I need you to organize the logistics and security”. My brow furrowed, “I guess it’s too big for the main entrance? Maybe we could bring it in via the big doors of the auxiliary hangar?” she grunted with agreement, “Yea, we’ll have to improvise a bit but should be manageable. I’ll get some of the boys from B.10 and B.14 to help you out.” I nodded, “Thanks, see you soon”

Donald, Jonesy, some interns and I had coffee in the office and called the guards at the hangar doors to arrange clearance. About an hour later we met the guards from B.10. and B.14, together we climbed the many stairs to the hangar and waited for the cargo to arrive. The massive metal hangar doors had been opened, which was rare. What was more irregular was that nearly every staff member from sections B.09 to B.18 were all gathered together in a silent knot of people. Despite the silence the air sizzled with anticipation, as well as the searing heat. I stood transfixed from curiosity, waiting in the shade of the doorway as the relentless sun beat down outside. I squinted. In the distance I saw a black speck grow larger against the bright blue sky. Slowly it took the form of a helicopter with an enormous rectangular shaped mass dangling below it.

Within less than a minute the helicopter made its cacophonous approach toward the hangar and gently lowered the object onto a wide wooden scaffold. I barked orders and signed forms as the guards rushed about. The air was blaring with the sound of helicopter blades and sand rocketed into my face, forcing me to splutter. “Alright, let’s get this thing processed!” I yelled over the sound of the helicopter as its engines powered down. My colleagues and I wiped dirt from our faces. Sammy emerged swiftly from the chopper and shook my hand. Her hair was in its characteristic librarian-bun but her eyes were glassy. Had she been drinking? We quickly reviewed the paper work she gave me and then she made her way back downstairs to her office in section B.1. She was keen to get away for some reason.

As my colleagues cleared away most of the staff and the excitement died down I was finally able to take a moment to inspect the object. It had been lowered onto a wooden scaffold fitted with wheels and had been pushed slowly into the center of the hangar. The few aircraft in this hangar were all currently under repairs, leaving plenty of space for the object.

The object was a wall. It was rectangular and about twenty-five feet long, ten feet thick and twelve feet high. The wall first appeared made from boring grey stone. I even remember thinking, “It’s not even that big”. However, when I looked closer it was, alive. I barely noticed the helicopter take off and leave as I saw the wall’s surface bubble. The hangar doors began to close as the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. A bead of sweat ran down my cheek and I thought I heard something. It sounded like someone far away calling my name. I felt a strange pressure around my head. A sudden invasive thought dug into my mind: throw yourself into the wall. I shuddered and held myself back despite the sudden strong desire. I heard the faint voice of Benny and crashed back to reality. My eyes snapped open and I found my nose an inch away from the wall. It radiated cold like an open freezer and it smelled like rotten clay. The surface of the wall simmered ever so slightly. It reminded me of the fizz of some grey effervescent medicine. I paled as I took a large step backward, “I.. uh, what is this?” I turned to face Benny who stood with another scientist. He glanced at her briefly before he approached the wall, “Honestly, we have no idea”.

I got Donald and Jonesy to help Benny transport the wall down to room 278B via the service elevator. Donald grumbled, “Guh, this thing smells like something my dog puked up”. Meanwhile Jonesy stared with eyes as large as saucers, “It looks so cool!” Once downstairs, I told Donald and Jonesy to take some forms to the admin department and I returned alone to my office to get some more coffee and file away the rest of the paperwork. I tried to put the strangeness of the wall out of my mind, but it had truly unnerved me. I felt so tired. As I sat at my desk facing the surveillance monitors I was unable to fight the force fusing my eyelids together.

I’ve been hungover a lot, but when I woke up at my desk I’d never felt quite so singularlyawful. My clothes were soaked with sweat and my whole body felt exhausted. My arms felt like molasses. My forehead throbbed and I was bruised. I also felt a weird pressure squeezing my head from all sides. I sat back in my seat and rubbed my eyes.

Then I froze.

A hand was lying motionless on the floor just behind the table at the center of the room. I leapt to my feet and rushed forward. I gasped from horror as I saw Donald lying there, his chest sliced to ribbons. Gallons of dark scarlet stained his blue uniform. His eyes stared up empty and terrified. Pallid and shaking I ran to my landline to call for backup immediately. As the receiver met my ear my stomach dropped into my feet.

The line was dead.

I was so confused. We had lots of fail safes to ensure communication remained enabled, but the line was dead and there was no sign of any response. I rushed back to the monitors. The cameras were all operating normally. I started to breathe heavily. I couldn’t see anyone. The corridors were green and bare. I looked at the clock. It was 1817h. I had slept for about two hours. But where was everyone? Where were the janitors? My heart was hammering in my chest and my head was throbbing. My eyes narrowed with a sudden thought. Where was that wall?

I searched for the wall and found it was back in the hangar! It sat upon the bare ground right by the massive doors. However, the doors were sealed. The wall itself looked different. It was absolutely enormous! Just over two times longer and taller and wider. Just then, I realized that the titanium blast doors had been sealed as well. My heart rate doubled as I noticed large dents, scorch marks and scratches all over the doors. The hangar floor was covered in blood. My God, I even saw a rocket-launcher lying blackened and fractured near the doors. What the hell had happened?

I spun my head to look at the security panel on the wall to my left. My heart, already racing, felt like it leapt out of my mouth. My eyes grew wide as I realized Donald must have activated a quarantine procedure. This meant that the entire Facility would be sealed airtight. The only way to open any doors now was from the outside. My God! Why had he done this? Where was everyone? Did I really sleep through all this? Where was Jonesy? I looked back at Donald, my heart still racing from seeing his dead eyes stare into mine. I sighed sadly and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was now 1831h. I returned to the monitors and began to rewind the security footage.

Surveying the screens, I watched my past-self enter the security office at around 1600h. By 1610h I had passed-out on my chair, drool dangling from my mouth. “Ok, so let’s see where the wall was at that time. Should be room 278B.” I thought to myself aloud as I clicked on the button that displayed the footage of room 278B and the surrounding corridors. The screens were black as the footage loaded and I was about to hit the play button but hesitated. Did I really want to see this? I closed my eyes and took a few slow breaths. I have to know. I hit play.

The camera was located opposite the door giving a full view of the room. At first everything was normal. It was 1623h when they were unstrapping the wall. A loud popping sound was heard and the researchers spun around. The lights in the room dimmed and flickered. Suddenly something long and slimy exploded from the flesh of the wall. It wrapped around Benny and pulled him in. He screamed in terror as he vanished, his cries immediately silenced.

Without realizing it I was instantly on my feet, shaking my head in pure denial. My heart burst. What the hell was that? What the hell? What the hell? My head was full of static. I felt tears in my eyes as I watched guards and researchers rush into the room. The wall shimmered, it’s simmering surface began to boil and bubble and it grew a few inches higher. I saw it reshape itself so that intricately carved figures appeared on the wall’s edge. I leant in closer and gasped. One of those figures looked just like Benny, his mouth stretched into a permanent scream. The guards and researchers were horrified by what they saw. Suddenly, without warning, their body postures relaxed, their eyes grew glassy, and their arms fell slack at their sides. Those within the room moved as if sleepwalking. Some stayed still while others left the room. Brow furrowed from confusion and fear, my eyes swiveled to the footage of the corridors outside. The guards and researchers that had just exited 278B immediately began attacking and grappling those around them. I yelped as a vacant-eyed guard lazily shot another man in the leg. The thrall then dragged the wounded guard into room 278B. The mad guard held the wounded guard’s leg fast as he casually walked into the grey wall, pulling the struggling man in behind him. During this altercation I noticed Donald, he was hiding behind the corner of the corridor at the far end and was firing his gun at the thralls. He didn’t manage to hit anyone though. He then ran over to help a stray research intern to her feet and then they both ran down the corridor and out of view.

I could still hear the pleas for mercy as those who fell victim to the thralls were dragged into that horrifying wall. With every person it swallowed, the wall wriggled and grew. More ghastly decorations began to bloom on its surface, all of them made from the bones or likenesses of those absorbed. The bigger it got the stronger its psychic influence became until it reached everyone in the Facility. I looked on in horror as one by one, all janitors, researchers, guards, diggers, admin staff, everyone stopped what they were doing, mid conversation, their eyes emptying. The janitors dropped their mops and buckets. Researchers dropped precious materials and equipment without care, letting them smash to pieces. In unison, with vacant expressions, they moved toward room 278B. Among the horde of thralls, I saw Sammy and Jonesy, and so many others I knew. A guy who’d held the door for me once, a researcher who always slurped her coffee at lunch. Hundreds of people! What filled me with an unnamable dread was that I knew what was gonna happen. I knew what was coming. I tried to shout at the monitors, “Stop! Wait!” I grabbed the monitors and shook them with frustration.

A terror began to fill my stomach, deep and cold and aching. Suddenly I noticed Donald reappear on the screen. He was trying to hold back the intern he’d helped earlier, but it was useless. I saw Donald stare with incredulity as he sat defeated on the ground. Everyone else around him stumbled dreamily toward their doom. But Donald refused to give up. I saw him run from corridor to corridor, trying desperately to stop them. He threw chairs and tables in their way but they simply pushed them aside or jumped over them. I saw him run toward this office. I saw him enter, saw myself slumped on my chair still completely unconscious. I saw Donald try to shake me awake, he slapped me a few times and was yelling in frustration. He gave up with me eventually and ran over to activate the quarantine lockdown. I saw him tear down the hall back toward room 278B, pistol in hand.

As soon as Donald got close to 278B a long pale tendril burst through the door directly into his chest. The tentacle had a hooked end and it slashed him. I saw blood spurt out of him, saw him stumble and fall to the ground. However, he still managed to get a hold of his gun and fired multiple shots at the tendril. It writhed and flailed. Donald took this opportunity to climb to his feet. He grimaced and clasped his chest as crimson leaked to the floor. He moved back down the corridor. Eventually he got back to the office. He locked the door and, still fumbling with his keys, attempted to open the ammunitions cupboard. Before he could find the right key, he cursed and then collapsed. I cried out in frustration. That whole time I was completely useless!

My mind felt like static again for a few seconds. I couldn’t work out what my next move should be. A thought hit me hard. Why had Donald and I not been psychically affected by the wall? Everyone had been enslaved. Why not Donald? And me? My eyebrows shot up into my receding hairline with sudden realization. “Shit, the steel plates in my head!” And Donald had a steel plate in his skull too because of a rock-climbing accident he had in his 20s. When I got close to the wall, had it sensed my resistance? Had it tried to incapacitate me? If so, it meant the thing possesses sentience.

While I pondered this, I noticed some thralls re-strap the wall in room 278B. They transported it to the elevator and back up to the hangar. Once there, the thralls moved the wall off the scaffold onto the floor and began to beat heavily on the large metal doors with bare fists. Some even shot at the doors with their handguns. The ricochets killed a few of them but not one single person even noticed. Some of the guards even used a rocket launcher! I yelled with shock as they fired at deadly close range, lazily blowing themselves up, leaving the doors scorched. After this proved futile, the thralls all grew rigid. Next, they all formed a line in front of the wall and one shambling step after another, all the remaining employees were - assimilated. Even the dead and wounded were not spared. Those still alive carried the corpses of their fellow thralls into the wall.

It was 1735h when the last employee disappeared forever into the grey horror, and the wall expanded to its current size. Without warning, a large mass of twisted limbs emerged from the wall. I gasped from horror. Its silhouette was about seven feet tall and thin and stretched. It had too many legs and it didn’t appear to have a head. This thing lumbered over to the doors and began to strike them with a strength and ferocity found only in a starving polar bear. I could tell that the doors were taking strain, and they began to bend, but even then, they did not yield. After just over half an hour of smashing the door, the creature stopped and slowly shambled toward the stairs. My heart froze. It was coming here! Or was it here already? I sat still for a moment and tried not to lose my mind completely. I swear I could hear Woody the woodpecker laughing somewhere in the distance. I needed to keep it together. I took a long deep breath and tried to think of a way out.

Summarizing the details of my predicament, I realized I was trapped alone inside the Facility with an otherworldly force. Also, even if I found a way out, I’d potentially be letting an evil into the world that could destroy all life. My eyes grew even wider and I grabbed at my hair, “But my God, if this thing gets out. If it gets into the minds of other people. If it gets larger and larger. Could it swallow the world?” I was talking aloud now; the sound of my voice gave a new clarity to my situation that made me shudder. I turned back to the monitor. It seems I was all caught up. I stared blankly into the screen while I watched my past-self wake and wince from pain. I switched the monitor off and saw my reflection in the blackness of the screen. I was pale and my eyes were sunken and unblinking. “What do I do now?” I turned in my chair to look at Donald’s body. “Poor Donald, he didn’t deserve this”, I muttered softly. My eyes moved from his body up to the ammunition’s cupboard just above. “Wait, was he trying to get into the cupboard earlier?”, I gasped with realization. “Holy crap, he was trying to get the bomb! Me and Donald were gonna use a left-over bomb from the excavation site to blow some random shit up!”

I stood up quickly and walked up to the cupboard. I opened the cupboard with little effort and found the twenty pounds of plastic explosive inside. It had already been set up with a sixty second timer and a remote detonator. I sat at the table with the explosive, a vague plan forming in my broken mind. “Maybe if I somehow get this wall-thing to eat this bomb then...”

Before I could formulate my thoughts fully, the lights flickered, and the entire Facility was plunged into darkness unceremoniously. My nerves burned with fear. What had happened? Had that thing knocked the power out somehow? The next few seconds that past were the longest I’d ever experienced. Eventually dim green light bloomed to life and the reserve power kicked in. Then I heard slow, shuffling footsteps in the corridor just outside the office. I froze once again, my insides turning to mush. My mind raced. Had I remembered to lock the door? My stomach leapt into my feet as I heard the shuffling get louder and louder. I heard hoarse, wheezing breaths, as if the thing struggled to breathe. I jumped from fright but remained absolutely silent as whatever the thing was banged on the door with a deafening blow.

BANG!

The door shook and bent slightly.

BANG!

Silence.

BANG!

My heart was hammering in my ears and I sat deathly still. I could hear that thing breathing louder. After a few moments I heard it shuffle away. My entire body was shaking as relief washed over me. I turned to look at the screens. Dare I turn them on and check what it was? After a few seconds I turned to the monitors and switched them on. I waited in nervous anticipation as they flickered to life showing me that all the corridors between me and the wall were currently empty. I didn’t bother checking the corridor I suspected the shambling thingwas in. I didn’t want to see it unless I needed to. I’d had just about all the stress and terror I could take and by this stage I felt weirdly calm. It must be shock. A thin sigh escaped me as I stood. The fear in my blood began to feed a furnace of anger in my heart. I thought about all those who I had lost. I felt my expression turn to granite, “It’s time to kill this thing.”

I opened the door slowly, my fully loaded gun in my good hand. Spare ammo along with the explosive and a sawed-off shotgun was stashed in my backpack, and the remote detonator was tied to my belt. I held a heavy-duty flashlight in my shaky right hand. I moved cautiously through the dark green corridors. I’d never thought of how creepy this place could be until this moment. Gooseflesh crept up my arms and neck as I continued. All I could hear were my soft footfalls and shallow anxious breaths. I cleared the corridors one by one until I made it to the stairs. I walked up the stairs carefully. I took one step. Then another. Slowly, I climbed. After many minutes, I was near the hangar. Then I heard the soft sound of crying.

Someone was crying. No. Many people were crying.

I stopped dead in my tracks. My entire body shook from the adrenaline surging through me. Once my head peeked over the top of the landing, I froze. The wall loomed gigantic before me. Its edges were now framed intricately with the skeletons of hundreds of people, all twisted and screaming in agony; tortured souls bound together. I could hear them all. They were all screaming. Screaming for me to join them. I felt that pressure squeeze against my skull tighter and tighter. I shook my head in defiance. “No! You bastard! NO! I will not join you!” All at once the moans and wails stopped. I suddenly found myself at the top of the stairs without knowing when I’d finished climbing them. “But you will” came the sound of hundreds of twisted voices fused into one. “We are them. We are all. We can be all. We will be all. All and all and more than all.”
A deafening blast came from the wall and slithering, tangled human limbs emerged. It had four legs and several arms. It looked like the bodies of eight or more people shuffled and glued into an otherworldly horror. Its multiple mouths screamed a high pitched roar that was pure torment, and its sharp pointed teeth gnashed and chomped. I only had a second to dodge. I leapt to the side and fired multiple shots at the thing’s center of mass. Its horrifying body of fused torsos wriggled and bled black ichor. It screamed with pain and jumped at me, grabbing my leg. It tossed me into the air and I slammed into the floor a few feet away. As I hit the ground I yelled in pain and heard something metallic smash. Before I could catch my breath, it was upon me again. From the ground I fired several shots at it. This made it jump away and scuttle down the stairs. I noticed immediately that the remote detonator had been smashed beyond repair. With the creature momentarily out of sight, I kneeled and took off my backpack as fast as I could. “Only one way then”, I said quietly as I pulled out the bomb and started the timer manually. I also got the shotgun out. I needed to do this now or never.
As the final shell clicked into place I heard a roar coming from the stairs. The thing was back. Before I could react, it leapt at me and knocked me to the ground. The bomb flew from my grasp. It bared down on me, grabbing at my throat ready to tear me apart. My reflexes saved me and I managed to use my shotgun to hold the thing at bay, but it was way too strong. Desperate, I kicked it hard in the chest and it let go. I used this moment to grab the bomb that lay behind me; only 37 seconds to go! Terrified and crazed, sweat pouring down my face, my mind in pieces, I rammed the bomb into one of the creature’s mouths and kicked it back again as hard as I could. I heard it yelp like a wounded dog and it lost its footing. It fell sideways and in that second, I took my shotgun and fired at it in the chest. The force of the close-range blast sent me flying. At the same time the creature was hurled back into the wall where it was enveloped quickly.
My head was fuzzy. I was dizzy and the wind had been knocked out of me. Was the bomb going to work? I felt something warm and wet drip into my ear and touched the side of my head. My fingertips came away soaked in blood. My head was spinning. With a foggy mind I grabbed my bag, collecting my weapons and flashlight. As I stood up I heard a low rumbling sound. The ground beneath my feet shook and for a moment I was confused. Then I looked up at the wall. Its surface was boiling like I’d never seen before. It was shaking and growing. I turned to run when suddenly there was a massive blast, and the entire wall exploded into hundreds of grey chunks. These rained down all around the hangar, smashing several aircrafts. The blast knocked me off my feet.
When I awoke I could see early morning light through the tiny cracks in the blast door. Where the wall had once been now stood a small blackened crater. I coughed and lifted my head to inspect the wall pieces and found that they – my mouth opened. They were melting. I watched in dumbfounded horror as the pieces began to merge, just like that scene from Terminator 2. It was rebuilding itself.
As I stood to run I heard a groan. My blood became ice.

I turned slowly in terror to find the shambling, wheezing monstrosity behind me. Like the creature I’d shot, this one seemed made from bits and pieces of human limbs knitted together randomly. This one had six legs which came out of its mouth, its head positioned within its torso where the bellybutton should be, and it wheezed in pain. I almost puked from fright but my feet were already carrying me away. I sprinted down the corridors, ignoring all the pain and fear and exhaustion and anger and frustration inside me. Without thinking, I leapt into the first janitor’s closet I found and locked the door. After catching my breath, I found this notepad and pencil, and have been writing this report in the sterile glow of my flashlight. Hopefully, I have left some useful information for anyone who may find this.

Now I lie in wait. What is that thing? If it can survive a bomb like that, what hope do we have? It’s no wall at all. It’s a membrane. An interface. Somewhere very different is pressing up against us. It has torn a small hole, and was now prying it open further.

So here I wait, hoping to be saved, but even as I write this I can hear that thing walking past the door. With a soft click I turn off my flashlight. I try not to breathe. I can hear the snuffling, it’s right outside!

Shit! Shit! I hear keys. The door is unlocking! How? How?

Oh God! The doorknob is turning...

I’m trapped. I can hear that thing lumbering through the hallway. My God, what the hell is it?The soft scratching of my pencil sounds deafening in the quiet of this tiny closet. I’m almost certainly gonna die in this place. I just hope someone can find this, maybe it will do some good. Or maybe it already doesn’t matter. I’m not sure how long I have until that wheezing thing finds me. Oh Jesus, or that grey stuff might ooze under the door and dissolve me. Oh my God! What it did to Benny, Sammy, Jonesy and Donald! To all of them! Even if I don’t survive, the world needs to be warned!

Long story short, I was a cop but I got shot in the head. The doctors said I was lucky, that it went straight through without hitting anything vital. However, I still needed three steel plates to hold my skull together. Also ended up with permanent tremors in my right hand and a nasty scar just under my eye. So, it’s no surprise that my cop career didn’t thrive. Just a year later I was a “retired” 45-year-old cop, living off scraps. After a few months, I started to get desperate for work. One evening while out with my friend, Graham, he mentioned something about some private research institute in the Mojave Desert. “What, are they still blowing A-bombs out there?” I scoffed, eyebrows arched with bemused incredulity. Graham stared down at his beer, “Not sure what the hell they do. But they pay super well, so who cares,” he took a long sip of beer, foam clinging to his lips, “I think it would be a good fit for you”.

Turns out this facility, and it really is known as the “Facility”, was located in the middle of nowhere. When I looked it up I couldn’t find any information at all. Later that week I called the number that Graham had scrawled down for me on a beer stained napkin. My right hand wasn’t good with delicate tasks so when I dialed the number I had to use my left hand. The phone rang twice before a metallic voice answered and said to hold for an operator. After a few seconds of muted elevator music, I spoke to a soft voiced woman who told me my skill set was perfect for their current vacancy: a security management position. Her voice was soothing, “Your credentials are excellent. If you like I can fax some forms and a draft contract over, and we can pay for you to fly on up to see us in person. I’m certain you’ll get offered the job.”

She was right. One flight and several NDAs later, I was employed again! By the time I started my new job I realized I had no idea what research went on down here. During the interviews my duties as a security manager had been discussed but any mention of their actual research interests had been carefully omitted. On my first day I asked others about the nature of the Facility’s research, but no one had any interest. “Just stick to your contract. No point in rockin’ the boat,” my new boss, Sammy, said to me curtly. I’ve not discussed it since.

The part of the Facility which I managed was section B.15. This area was located several hundred feet below the sun scorched surface of the Mojave Desert. It comprised many green corridors peppered with tall wide doors made from dark, stainless steel. The rooms inside were large and sterile. Of course, whether or not we wanted to know the nature of the research, after patrolling some of the research labs for weeks, it wasn’t hard to figure out that the scientists were mostly archeologists. Or maybe paleontologists. I often found different objects lying around in various states of cleanliness. Some looked like ancient amphoras, or large stone bird baths or even fossilized remains. Others were less identifiable: a melted lump of some glimmering metal or large chunks of a glass-like material. I found this all extremely curious because, as far as I knew, the Mojave Desert didn’t have much in the way of ancient architecture. At least of any ancient civilization that I know.

As the months went by I started to get friendly with the other guards, most of them ex-cops too, and we played cards and drank Irish coffee in the evenings. My two main colleagues consisted of a jovial, short man with orange hair named Jonesy and a much older much grumpier and much balder man, Donald. They were good men and we had a lot of laughs together. My stomach twists when I think about where they are now. Though I grew fonder of my fellow guards, I found myself developing a severe dislike for the researchers. Most of them were mean and arrogant. The only scientist my security buddies liked was a scrawny guy named Benny. Our favorite thing about Benny was that he never talked about his work.

It was earlier, at 1400h, when all the scientists were running from their rooms. They must have received some message a few minutes before and we watched them from the surveillance monitors as they got all excited, their lab coats flapping and flowing as they made for the stairs. Soon after this, the large red landline phone near my desk began to ring. Expecting the call, I picked up the receiver before the first ring finished, “Hey boss, what’s all the excitement about?” Sammy’s voice was uncharacteristically anxious, “The diggers have found a friggin’ huge object out here! The biggest thing they’ve ever dug up. They want to bring it to B.15 so I need you to organize the logistics and security”. My brow furrowed, “I guess it’s too big for the main entrance? Maybe we could bring it in via the big doors of the auxiliary hangar?” she grunted with agreement, “Yea, we’ll have to improvise a bit but should be manageable. I’ll get some of the boys from B.10 and B.14 to help you out.” I nodded, “Thanks, see you soon”

Donald, Jonesy, some interns and I had coffee in the office and called the guards at the hangar doors to arrange clearance. About an hour later we met the guards from B.10. and B.14, together we climbed the many stairs to the hangar and waited for the cargo to arrive. The massive metal hangar doors had been opened, which was rare. What was more irregular was that nearly every staff member from sections B.09 to B.18 were all gathered together in a silent knot of people. Despite the silence the air sizzled with anticipation, as well as the searing heat. I stood transfixed from curiosity, waiting in the shade of the doorway as the relentless sun beat down outside. I squinted. In the distance I saw a black speck grow larger against the bright blue sky. Slowly it took the form of a helicopter with an enormous rectangular shaped mass dangling below it.

Within less than a minute the helicopter made its cacophonous approach toward the hangar and gently lowered the object onto a wide wooden scaffold. I barked orders and signed forms as the guards rushed about. The air was blaring with the sound of helicopter blades and sand rocketed into my face, forcing me to splutter. “Alright, let’s get this thing processed!” I yelled over the sound of the helicopter as its engines powered down. My colleagues and I wiped dirt from our faces. Sammy emerged swiftly from the chopper and shook my hand. Her hair was in its characteristic librarian-bun but her eyes were glassy. Had she been drinking? We quickly reviewed the paper work she gave me and then she made her way back downstairs to her office in section B.1. She was keen to get away for some reason.

As my colleagues cleared away most of the staff and the excitement died down I was finally able to take a moment to inspect the object. It had been lowered onto a wooden scaffold fitted with wheels and had been pushed slowly into the center of the hangar. The few aircraft in this hangar were all currently under repairs, leaving plenty of space for the object.

The object was a wall. It was rectangular and about twenty-five feet long, ten feet thick and twelve feet high. The wall first appeared made from boring grey stone. I even remember thinking, “It’s not even that big”. However, when I looked closer it was, alive. I barely noticed the helicopter take off and leave as I saw the wall’s surface bubble. The hangar doors began to close as the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. A bead of sweat ran down my cheek and I thought I heard something. It sounded like someone far away calling my name. I felt a strange pressure around my head. A sudden invasive thought dug into my mind: throw yourself into the wall. I shuddered and held myself back despite the sudden strong desire. I heard the faint voice of Benny and crashed back to reality. My eyes snapped open and I found my nose an inch away from the wall. It radiated cold like an open freezer and it smelled like rotten clay. The surface of the wall simmered ever so slightly. It reminded me of the fizz of some grey effervescent medicine. I paled as I took a large step backward, “I.. uh, what is this?” I turned to face Benny who stood with another scientist. He glanced at her briefly before he approached the wall, “Honestly, we have no idea”.

I got Donald and Jonesy to help Benny transport the wall down to room 278B via the service elevator. Donald grumbled, “Guh, this thing smells like something my dog puked up”. Meanwhile Jonesy stared with eyes as large as saucers, “It looks so cool!” Once downstairs, I told Donald and Jonesy to take some forms to the admin department and I returned alone to my office to get some more coffee and file away the rest of the paperwork. I tried to put the strangeness of the wall out of my mind, but it had truly unnerved me. I felt so tired. As I sat at my desk facing the surveillance monitors I was unable to fight the force fusing my eyelids together.

I’ve been hungover a lot, but when I woke up at my desk I’d never felt quite so singularlyawful. My clothes were soaked with sweat and my whole body felt exhausted. My arms felt like molasses. My forehead throbbed and I was bruised. I also felt a weird pressure squeezing my head from all sides. I sat back in my seat and rubbed my eyes.

Then I froze.

A hand was lying motionless on the floor just behind the table at the center of the room. I leapt to my feet and rushed forward. I gasped from horror as I saw Donald lying there, his chest sliced to ribbons. Gallons of dark scarlet stained his blue uniform. His eyes stared up empty and terrified. Pallid and shaking I ran to my landline to call for backup immediately. As the receiver met my ear my stomach dropped into my feet.

The line was dead.

I was so confused. We had lots of fail safes to ensure communication remained enabled, but the line was dead and there was no sign of any response. I rushed back to the monitors. The cameras were all operating normally. I started to breathe heavily. I couldn’t see anyone. The corridors were green and bare. I looked at the clock. It was 1817h. I had slept for about two hours. But where was everyone? Where were the janitors? My heart was hammering in my chest and my head was throbbing. My eyes narrowed with a sudden thought. Where was that wall?

I searched for the wall and found it was back in the hangar! It sat upon the bare ground right by the massive doors. However, the doors were sealed. The wall itself looked different. It was absolutely enormous! Just over two times longer and taller and wider. Just then, I realized that the titanium blast doors had been sealed as well. My heart rate doubled as I noticed large dents, scorch marks and scratches all over the doors. The hangar floor was covered in blood. My God, I even saw a rocket-launcher lying blackened and fractured near the doors. What the hell had happened?

I spun my head to look at the security panel on the wall to my left. My heart, already racing, felt like it leapt out of my mouth. My eyes grew wide as I realized Donald must have activated a quarantine procedure. This meant that the entire Facility would be sealed airtight. The only way to open any doors now was from the outside. My God! Why had he done this? Where was everyone? Did I really sleep through all this? Where was Jonesy? I looked back at Donald, my heart still racing from seeing his dead eyes stare into mine. I sighed sadly and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was now 1831h. I returned to the monitors and began to rewind the security footage.

Surveying the screens, I watched my past-self enter the security office at around 1600h. By 1610h I had passed-out on my chair, drool dangling from my mouth. “Ok, so let’s see where the wall was at that time. Should be room 278B.” I thought to myself aloud as I clicked on the button that displayed the footage of room 278B and the surrounding corridors. The screens were black as the footage loaded and I was about to hit the play button but hesitated. Did I really want to see this? I closed my eyes and took a few slow breaths. I have to know. I hit play.

The camera was located opposite the door giving a full view of the room. At first everything was normal. It was 1623h when they were unstrapping the wall. A loud popping sound was heard and the researchers spun around. The lights in the room dimmed and flickered. Suddenly something long and slimy exploded from the flesh of the wall. It wrapped around Benny and pulled him in. He screamed in terror as he vanished, his cries immediately silenced.

Without realizing it I was instantly on my feet, shaking my head in pure denial. My heart burst. What the hell was that? What the hell? What the hell? My head was full of static. I felt tears in my eyes as I watched guards and researchers rush into the room. The wall shimmered, it’s simmering surface began to boil and bubble and it grew a few inches higher. I saw it reshape itself so that intricately carved figures appeared on the wall’s edge. I leant in closer and gasped. One of those figures looked just like Benny, his mouth stretched into a permanent scream. The guards and researchers were horrified by what they saw. Suddenly, without warning, their body postures relaxed, their eyes grew glassy, and their arms fell slack at their sides. Those within the room moved as if sleepwalking. Some stayed still while others left the room. Brow furrowed from confusion and fear, my eyes swiveled to the footage of the corridors outside. The guards and researchers that had just exited 278B immediately began attacking and grappling those around them. I yelped as a vacant-eyed guard lazily shot another man in the leg. The thrall then dragged the wounded guard into room 278B. The mad guard held the wounded guard’s leg fast as he casually walked into the grey wall, pulling the struggling man in behind him. During this altercation I noticed Donald, he was hiding behind the corner of the corridor at the far end and was firing his gun at the thralls. He didn’t manage to hit anyone though. He then ran over to help a stray research intern to her feet and then they both ran down the corridor and out of view.

I could still hear the pleas for mercy as those who fell victim to the thralls were dragged into that horrifying wall. With every person it swallowed, the wall wriggled and grew. More ghastly decorations began to bloom on its surface, all of them made from the bones or likenesses of those absorbed. The bigger it got the stronger its psychic influence became until it reached everyone in the Facility. I looked on in horror as one by one, all janitors, researchers, guards, diggers, admin staff, everyone stopped what they were doing, mid conversation, their eyes emptying. The janitors dropped their mops and buckets. Researchers dropped precious materials and equipment without care, letting them smash to pieces. In unison, with vacant expressions, they moved toward room 278B. Among the horde of thralls, I saw Sammy and Jonesy, and so many others I knew. A guy who’d held the door for me once, a researcher who always slurped her coffee at lunch. Hundreds of people! What filled me with an unnamable dread was that I knew what was gonna happen. I knew what was coming. I tried to shout at the monitors, “Stop! Wait!” I grabbed the monitors and shook them with frustration.

A terror began to fill my stomach, deep and cold and aching. Suddenly I noticed Donald reappear on the screen. He was trying to hold back the intern he’d helped earlier, but it was useless. I saw Donald stare with incredulity as he sat defeated on the ground. Everyone else around him stumbled dreamily toward their doom. But Donald refused to give up. I saw him run from corridor to corridor, trying desperately to stop them. He threw chairs and tables in their way but they simply pushed them aside or jumped over them. I saw him run toward this office. I saw him enter, saw myself slumped on my chair still completely unconscious. I saw Donald try to shake me awake, he slapped me a few times and was yelling in frustration. He gave up with me eventually and ran over to activate the quarantine lockdown. I saw him tear down the hall back toward room 278B, pistol in hand.

As soon as Donald got close to 278B a long pale tendril burst through the door directly into his chest. The tentacle had a hooked end and it slashed him. I saw blood spurt out of him, saw him stumble and fall to the ground. However, he still managed to get a hold of his gun and fired multiple shots at the tendril. It writhed and flailed. Donald took this opportunity to climb to his feet. He grimaced and clasped his chest as crimson leaked to the floor. He moved back down the corridor. Eventually he got back to the office. He locked the door and, still fumbling with his keys, attempted to open the ammunitions cupboard. Before he could find the right key, he cursed and then collapsed. I cried out in frustration. That whole time I was completely useless!

My mind felt like static again for a few seconds. I couldn’t work out what my next move should be. A thought hit me hard. Why had Donald and I not been psychically affected by the wall? Everyone had been enslaved. Why not Donald? And me? My eyebrows shot up into my receding hairline with sudden realization. “Shit, the steel plates in my head!” And Donald had a steel plate in his skull too because of a rock-climbing accident he had in his 20s. When I got close to the wall, had it sensed my resistance? Had it tried to incapacitate me? If so, it meant the thing possesses sentience.

While I pondered this, I noticed some thralls re-strap the wall in room 278B. They transported it to the elevator and back up to the hangar. Once there, the thralls moved the wall off the scaffold onto the floor and began to beat heavily on the large metal doors with bare fists. Some even shot at the doors with their handguns. The ricochets killed a few of them but not one single person even noticed. Some of the guards even used a rocket launcher! I yelled with shock as they fired at deadly close range, lazily blowing themselves up, leaving the doors scorched. After this proved futile, the thralls all grew rigid. Next, they all formed a line in front of the wall and one shambling step after another, all the remaining employees were - assimilated. Even the dead and wounded were not spared. Those still alive carried the corpses of their fellow thralls into the wall.

It was 1735h when the last employee disappeared forever into the grey horror, and the wall expanded to its current size. Without warning, a large mass of twisted limbs emerged from the wall. I gasped from horror. Its silhouette was about seven feet tall and thin and stretched. It had too many legs and it didn’t appear to have a head. This thing lumbered over to the doors and began to strike them with a strength and ferocity found only in a starving polar bear. I could tell that the doors were taking strain, and they began to bend, but even then, they did not yield. After just over half an hour of smashing the door, the creature stopped and slowly shambled toward the stairs. My heart froze. It was coming here! Or was it here already? I sat still for a moment and tried not to lose my mind completely. I swear I could hear Woody the woodpecker laughing somewhere in the distance. I needed to keep it together. I took a long deep breath and tried to think of a way out.

Summarizing the details of my predicament, I realized I was trapped alone inside the Facility with an otherworldly force. Also, even if I found a way out, I’d potentially be letting an evil into the world that could destroy all life. My eyes grew even wider and I grabbed at my hair, “But my God, if this thing gets out. If it gets into the minds of other people. If it gets larger and larger. Could it swallow the world?” I was talking aloud now; the sound of my voice gave a new clarity to my situation that made me shudder. I turned back to the monitor. It seems I was all caught up. I stared blankly into the screen while I watched my past-self wake and wince from pain. I switched the monitor off and saw my reflection in the blackness of the screen. I was pale and my eyes were sunken and unblinking. “What do I do now?” I turned in my chair to look at Donald’s body. “Poor Donald, he didn’t deserve this”, I muttered softly. My eyes moved from his body up to the ammunition’s cupboard just above. “Wait, was he trying to get into the cupboard earlier?”, I gasped with realization. “Holy crap, he was trying to get the bomb! Me and Donald were gonna use a left-over bomb from the excavation site to blow some random shit up!”

I stood up quickly and walked up to the cupboard. I opened the cupboard with little effort and found the twenty pounds of plastic explosive inside. It had already been set up with a sixty second timer and a remote detonator. I sat at the table with the explosive, a vague plan forming in my broken mind. “Maybe if I somehow get this wall-thing to eat this bomb then...”

Before I could formulate my thoughts fully, the lights flickered, and the entire Facility was plunged into darkness unceremoniously. My nerves burned with fear. What had happened? Had that thing knocked the power out somehow? The next few seconds that past were the longest I’d ever experienced. Eventually dim green light bloomed to life and the reserve power kicked in. Then I heard slow, shuffling footsteps in the corridor just outside the office. I froze once again, my insides turning to mush. My mind raced. Had I remembered to lock the door? My stomach leapt into my feet as I heard the shuffling get louder and louder. I heard hoarse, wheezing breaths, as if the thing struggled to breathe. I jumped from fright but remained absolutely silent as whatever the thing was banged on the door with a deafening blow.

BANG!

The door shook and bent slightly.

BANG!

Silence.

BANG!

My heart was hammering in my ears and I sat deathly still. I could hear that thing breathing louder. After a few moments I heard it shuffle away. My entire body was shaking as relief washed over me. I turned to look at the screens. Dare I turn them on and check what it was? After a few seconds I turned to the monitors and switched them on. I waited in nervous anticipation as they flickered to life showing me that all the corridors between me and the wall were currently empty. I didn’t bother checking the corridor I suspected the shambling thingwas in. I didn’t want to see it unless I needed to. I’d had just about all the stress and terror I could take and by this stage I felt weirdly calm. It must be shock. A thin sigh escaped me as I stood. The fear in my blood began to feed a furnace of anger in my heart. I thought about all those who I had lost. I felt my expression turn to granite, “It’s time to kill this thing.”

I opened the door slowly, my fully loaded gun in my good hand. Spare ammo along with the explosive and a sawed-off shotgun was stashed in my backpack, and the remote detonator was tied to my belt. I held a heavy-duty flashlight in my shaky right hand. I moved cautiously through the dark green corridors. I’d never thought of how creepy this place could be until this moment. Gooseflesh crept up my arms and neck as I continued. All I could hear were my soft footfalls and shallow anxious breaths. I cleared the corridors one by one until I made it to the stairs. I walked up the stairs carefully. I took one step. Then another. Slowly, I climbed. After many minutes, I was near the hangar. Then I heard the soft sound of crying.

Someone was crying. No. Many people were crying.

I stopped dead in my tracks. My entire body shook from the adrenaline surging through me. Once my head peeked over the top of the landing, I froze. The wall loomed gigantic before me. Its edges were now framed intricately with the skeletons of hundreds of people, all twisted and screaming in agony; tortured souls bound together. I could hear them all. They were all screaming. Screaming for me to join them. I felt that pressure squeeze against my skull tighter and tighter. I shook my head in defiance. “No! You bastard! NO! I will not join you!” All at once the moans and wails stopped. I suddenly found myself at the top of the stairs without knowing when I’d finished climbing them. “But you will” came the sound of hundreds of twisted voices fused into one. “We are them. We are all. We can be all. We will be all. All and all and more than all.”
A deafening blast came from the wall and slithering, tangled human limbs emerged. It had four legs and several arms. It looked like the bodies of eight or more people shuffled and glued into an otherworldly horror. Its multiple mouths screamed a high pitched roar that was pure torment, and its sharp pointed teeth gnashed and chomped. I only had a second to dodge. I leapt to the side and fired multiple shots at the thing’s center of mass. Its horrifying body of fused torsos wriggled and bled black ichor. It screamed with pain and jumped at me, grabbing my leg. It tossed me into the air and I slammed into the floor a few feet away. As I hit the ground I yelled in pain and heard something metallic smash. Before I could catch my breath, it was upon me again. From the ground I fired several shots at it. This made it jump away and scuttle down the stairs. I noticed immediately that the remote detonator had been smashed beyond repair. With the creature momentarily out of sight, I kneeled and took off my backpack as fast as I could. “Only one way then”, I said quietly as I pulled out the bomb and started the timer manually. I also got the shotgun out. I needed to do this now or never.
As the final shell clicked into place I heard a roar coming from the stairs. The thing was back. Before I could react, it leapt at me and knocked me to the ground. The bomb flew from my grasp. It bared down on me, grabbing at my throat ready to tear me apart. My reflexes saved me and I managed to use my shotgun to hold the thing at bay, but it was way too strong. Desperate, I kicked it hard in the chest and it let go. I used this moment to grab the bomb that lay behind me; only 37 seconds to go! Terrified and crazed, sweat pouring down my face, my mind in pieces, I rammed the bomb into one of the creature’s mouths and kicked it back again as hard as I could. I heard it yelp like a wounded dog and it lost its footing. It fell sideways and in that second, I took my shotgun and fired at it in the chest. The force of the close-range blast sent me flying. At the same time the creature was hurled back into the wall where it was enveloped quickly.
My head was fuzzy. I was dizzy and the wind had been knocked out of me. Was the bomb going to work? I felt something warm and wet drip into my ear and touched the side of my head. My fingertips came away soaked in blood. My head was spinning. With a foggy mind I grabbed my bag, collecting my weapons and flashlight. As I stood up I heard a low rumbling sound. The ground beneath my feet shook and for a moment I was confused. Then I looked up at the wall. Its surface was boiling like I’d never seen before. It was shaking and growing. I turned to run when suddenly there was a massive blast, and the entire wall exploded into hundreds of grey chunks. These rained down all around the hangar, smashing several aircrafts. The blast knocked me off my feet.
When I awoke I could see early morning light through the tiny cracks in the blast door. Where the wall had once been now stood a small blackened crater. I coughed and lifted my head to inspect the wall pieces and found that they – my mouth opened. They were melting. I watched in dumbfounded horror as the pieces began to merge, just like that scene from Terminator 2. It was rebuilding itself.
As I stood to run I heard a groan. My blood became ice.

I turned slowly in terror to find the shambling, wheezing monstrosity behind me. Like the creature I’d shot, this one seemed made from bits and pieces of human limbs knitted together randomly. This one had six legs which came out of its mouth, its head positioned within its torso where the bellybutton should be, and it wheezed in pain. I almost puked from fright but my feet were already carrying me away. I sprinted down the corridors, ignoring all the pain and fear and exhaustion and anger and frustration inside me. Without thinking, I leapt into the first janitor’s closet I found and locked the door. After catching my breath, I found this notepad and pencil, and have been writing this report in the sterile glow of my flashlight. Hopefully, I have left some useful information for anyone who may find this.

Now I lie in wait. What is that thing? If it can survive a bomb like that, what hope do we have? It’s no wall at all. It’s a membrane. An interface. Somewhere very different is pressing up against us. It has torn a small hole, and was now prying it open further.

So here I wait, hoping to be saved, but even as I write this I can hear that thing walking past the door. With a soft click I turn off my flashlight. I try not to breathe. I can hear the snuffling, it’s right outside!

Shit! Shit! I hear keys. The door is unlocking! How? How?

Oh God! The doorknob is turning...

As the title says, this random post is about how to get an army of followers (3 and onwards can be done in any order)

1. Get a normal follower, Lydia for example
   
2. Get a pet follower, Meeko the dog for example
   
3. Complete the DB questline and spare Cicero. Then use a glitch where you dismiss Lydia and quickly rehire her and while she's talking hire the DB initiates that you can get as companions at the end of the questline. Repeat this with the other DB initiate and Cicero.
   
4. Go to Morthal and start the quest Laid To Rest by going up to the destroyed house and asking a guard about it. Progress through the quest until you have to go to the cave to kill a vampire named Movarth. A man named Thonnir will say he will accompany you into the cave. Say yes and do not go into the cave and walk off. Thonnir should follow you everywhere.
   
5. Start the thieves guild questline and progress it until the quest Speaking With Silence. Go to Snow Veil Sanctum and talk to Mercer Frey who is outside. He will unlock the door. Go inside and immediately exit. Mercer should start following you everywhere just like Thonnir.
   
6. Start the Dawnguard questline and progress it until you release Serana from where she is locked up. Do not take her to Castle Volkihar. She should follow you everywhere.
   
7. Progress through main quest until you have to take Delphine and Esbern to Sky Haven Temple. Say "Let's travel together" when asked by Delphine and go to Karthspire. Kill the forsworn and dragon there but do not go into the cave. Esbern and Delphine should follow you everywhere.
   
8. Get a bucket and go to the cave Ravenscar Hollow west of Solitude. There will be an unnamed bandit in a cage. Free him but do not kill the hagravens outside the cage. Use the bucket to clip through the wall and leave the cave. If you do not, when trying to leave, the bandit will attack you.
   
9. Talk to Danica Pure Spring in Whiterun, progress through the quest until when a man named Maurice Jondrelle approaches you and asks you if you're going to Eldergleam Sanctuary. Accept his help and do not go to Eldergleam Sanctuary. Maurice should follow you everywhere. Be warned that Maurice can die.
   
10. Go to Markarth and go up the steps and enter the Temple Of Dibella. Pick the lock at the door at the very back and go down the stairs. Agree to go find their lost sybil. Go to Karthwasten and speak to Enmon and accept his help to go find Fjotra. Go to Broken Tower Redoubt and find Fjotra in a cave and she will follow you alongside Enmon. Do not go to the Temple Of Dibella yet you can still go to Markarth.
    
11. Go to Arkngthamz or however it's spelt. It is near Markarth and just up the road from the orc stronghold nearby. Proceed through the dungeon until you get to the puzzle where you have to use your bow. Jump off into the water and just leave the dungeon. Katria the ghost should follow you if you accepted her help. This doesn't always work though.
    
12. Go to Whiterun and find Fralia Grey Mane and overhear her arguement with Olfrid and Idolaf Battle Born. Once they leave, talk to Fralia and start the quest Missing In Action. Proceed to the quest and choose to attack Northwatch Keep with Avulstein. Go through the keep and rescue Thorald. Leave and as soon as the game loads, open the map and fast travel away. Avulstein, Geirlund, Vidrald and Thorald should appear with you. Thorald, Geirlund and Vidrald can die however and if Thorald dies, the quest will fail and Avulstein and the other two will leave. If Vidrald or Geirlund dies, nothing happens, they just die.
    
13. When you reach level 10, go to Falkreath and a gate guard should ask you if you have seen any dogs. Your dialogue choices don't matter. Then go speak to Lod the blacksmith and he will give you some meat to go find a dog. You don't actually need the meat. Go up the road from the main entrance and find Barbas. Speak to him and follow him to Haemar's Shame. Go through the dungeon and talk to Clavicus Vile. When finished talking to Clavicus, Barbas will follow you everywhere.
    
14. Join the Stormcloaks Rebellion and progress through the Civil War questline until you have to attack Fort Neugrad. Kill all the imperials outside and talk to Ralof. He should start following you.
    
15. Get the illusion spell pacify and then go to Largashbur, an orc stronghold near Riften. Progress through the quest until you have to meet Yamarz outside Fallowstone Cave. Escort him through the cave until you get to Giant's Grove. Tell him you will fight the giant and kill the giant. Go back to Yamarz and he will attack you. Use the pacify spell on him to make him friendly. He should start following you. Get somewhere where he isn't and while the spell is on him. Quicksave and then quickload. The game should make him permanently friendly and he will follow you until you give the hammer to Atub. If you do, he dies on the spot. Yamarz can die but you don't have to worry about him since he has 1290 health.
    
16. Go to Markarth again and enter the hall of the dead, stay around and Eola will show herself. Talk to her and go to and clear out Reachcliff Cavern with her. She will tell you to go bring Brother Verulus to her. Talk to Verulus and make him follow you. Do not go to Reachcliff Cavern.
    
17. Lastly, buy the soul trap spell and kill something. Repeatedly use the soul trap spell to get your conjuration to 100. Take the Twin Souls perk. Then go to the College Of Winterhold and talk to Phinis Gestor. Ask him if there is anything else to learn about conjuration magic. He will give you a quest to summon an unbound Dremora. Make sure Barbas is not with you or he will attack it and since they are both invincible they will fight forever. Complete the quest and buy the spell Dead Thrall from Phinis. Find an NPC that is below level 40 and is human and use the spell on them. They will reanimate and will permanently follow you until they die. They will not turn into ashes and can be reanimated again. If you have the Twin Souls perk, you can have two NPCs following you instead of one.
    

That is how you get an army of followers in Skyrim. I hope this helps you. Enjoy your new army of companions.

Well I had always loved Charlotte's channel and never dreamed about posting here. But I (at the time 24 F) attended my Cousins wedding lets call her Danica. Danica is a few years older then me I'm not sure by how much and are directly related our mothers being sisters.
Here's some history/context before the drama. My dad was in the military and was deployed a lot throughout my childhood so I spent a lot of time at my grandparents house in the middle of the woods.
Danica seemed to be frustrated every time I was there. Whenever I was going something with grandma she'd ask to go ride horses (they had 4 horses at the time) Grandma said I could show a horse, meaning a horse competition. Then Danica asked to show it so I could no longer show the sand horse not sure why.
So with the horse's and middle of nowhere ranch feel she grew up in Danica ended up being a redneck wanna be. Dressing in plaf and cowboy boots going to amature car races where she later met her soon to be husband.
Let's call him Patrick. Patrick worked for Danica's father Uncle Bob #2 (Danica ans my mother have a brother named Bob)
So Danica brings her Dave Matthew's band look alike boyfriend to the holidays. Where hw, just like het father, proceds to go out of his way to not talk to me or be in the same room. To the point when Danica mocks my switch and games I was playing he remarked to her I must not have a lot of friends
Flash forward to 2021 So more content Danicas parents got married on September 10th and our shared grandparents got married on the 12th of September. So what did she choose? Well thr 8th makes since to the pattern right? Well Danica is a attention seeker. So she gets married on September 11th. Yes we are america so she knew full well what day that was and even more crazy wad it was the 20th anniversary of said event.
Guess who's family was affected by September 11th? Ours. Our grandmother's sister was a vet (like animals) and tended to the police dogs and other animals on ground zero. While my father was a military veteran. So he had to not attend certain engagements with his former comrads. My father's arm was twisted by my mother to attend saying it was the only wedding on her side of the family. And possibly the last family wedding we would attend.
My dad has a neice whos married ans has two young kids, and a nephew who's not married. As for me? I'm the oldist of three so she pretty much said she had no hope in her kids getting married.
So the wedding is a 3 day event us haveing to arrive the 10th her parents anniversary meaning they can't do anything since they had to do wedding things. Till the 12th our grandparents haveing to do the same.
The wedding is held at a Waterpark. Not one of the ones you'd think. It's a overnight resort with woods themeing in a city that's 2 hours away for most people. It's a rather popular tourist destination in our state so there was plenty of stuff to do around there but due to the events no one could really go out and explore.
I arrive at around 2 am since I worked the day of the 10th. I had worked at a diffrent Waterpark of the city at the time so it was only a hour drive for me. I get into my room and my dad is already stressed. He suffers from ptsd so he can't handle big things well.
Figuring out what's wrong, I learn my angel of a mother has taken a lot of duties away from her sister and started buying decorations and putting things up. My mother did photography in her youth and still does it as a hobby. (She has a bridzilla story from those days) so she was asked to take photos. This is also the time that I learn that my invite to the wedding was, a bribe. Our grandmother had threatened to cut the funding of the wedding by around 1,000 and my mom not shoot the wedding if I didn't make the cut to her rather large wedding.
Now day of the wedding arrives. My mom finds out Danica hired a photographer as our grandmother chimed in MORE money after I got a invite. (I had never gotten a offical invite either)
Danica and Patrick had a theme to there wedding as most. So the two colors where blaze orange, like hunting gear and traffic Cone orange. As it was Danicas favorite color and Jean blue, like pants as it was Patrick's favorite color.
The guests had a dress code. Cowboy boots blue jeans ans western style tops. Cowboy hats where encouraged.
Getting downstairs to the venue I find my Grandma complaining about Bob #1 not being at the wedding to his son Xander. Bob #1 never sees Xander as he lives with his mother on a diffrent coast of the country after his father was stripped of his rights after a DUI. Or at least I was told.
Turns out Bob #1 didn't come becuse of his wife Rose didn't let him. They offered to pay for him and his new young son Buckley to come. Bob #1 said if they wernt paying for Rose's and her mother's ticket he wasn't comming. So he didn't come.
Buckley was about 4 and that also was the amount of times my grandparents saw him. I had never met him and neither did 99% of the family ad Bob #1 doesn't like to visit. Even though he has 3 collage degrees his parents paid for.
The set pieces on the table where vases filled with orange clear and black orbiz. Obviously fake flowers sit in the vase. Theres blaze orange cups at each table with Patrick's race car number on it.
The best part wad the guest book. To the lift when you entered the hall was a table woth gifts for certain members of the family and all children of the family. The only child on our shared side of the family was Buckley who was not there.
The guest book itself? Well it's a car door. Not just any car door it's pulled from one of Patrick's wrecked race cars. It was cleaned and had no dents in if with a black sharpie to sign. However their was massive black letters and even bigger numbers on the door where the sharpie didn't show up. By the time I got to the guest book there was no room to sign.
Wedding comes and Patrick walks out in a cowboy hat, blue jeans, a stained white dress shirt and cowboy boots. His best men walk out wearing the same. The only difference was he had on a black vest.
Danica and the brides maids where late getting to the wedding. Why? We'll my friend it was becuse the horse Danica was ment to ride in on hated her and didn't want her on them. She swapped horses with a brides maid and off they go. They don't arrive on the horses and we could barely even see them arrive.
Now I use to listen to country music. So I know your Toby Keith (r.i.p) Brad Paisley, and Trace Adkins. So none of them where the country twang song that rung out while Danica walked down the Isle but it was a country song for sure.
She was dressed in a very pretty wedding dress with dome cool leave hair peices. So honestly I felt like I was looking at a beauty and the beast tattoo in real life. Beast in weird lettering and beauty in cursive.
Wedding mostly goes fine aside from our Grandfather who was officiating accidently calling Patrick dick.
We all get up and head into the venue to sit and wait for food and drinks.
A little more about the enigma in my family that is me. I'm autistic so like my father I don't like places like weddings. So I had a ear bud in playing vaporwave music and my sketch book. Drawing keeps me calm and not panic and freak out. So imagen the A24 horror I feel when a elderly family member try to RIP my sketchbook out of my hands.
I, a autistic, lesbian, who loves anime and horror draws some things that could kill a victoran child. So it could evaporate a elderly country type person for sure. I really didn't have anything like that in this sketch book. It was a new sketch book but I was practicing drawing kissing so I had a lot of dudes and chick's kissing on one page. So in a panic I tear it out and stash it in my bag. Earning a yelling lecture from my saint of a mother.
Food is served and guess what? I can't eat any of it. Me and my grandma can't have gluten. I can deal with it better then her. I don't eat beef or pork so the ribs are out of the question and the chicken is slathered in gravey. I have gravy and it has flower in it. So I take a plate full of peas and eat up. They didn't have a cake but a dessert table where I grabbed the dryist cookie in the world.
More time passes and well nothing else happens aside from Xander just hanging out with me and my siblings the rest of the week as he really has no connections to that side of the family and he and my brother are close in age. Danica being the oldist of the grandkids followed by me.
So wedding is over, I tell my friends of the mess of a wedding that was. Well in a discord call with my friends I Go to Danicas Facebook and show them pictures of the wedding.
Your classic, a monster truck jumping over them as they kiss. Danica riding a horse. Patrick dipping her as a monster truck drives past kicking up dirt. The classics.
Well as we laughed and looked I'm struck by a emotional monster truck. I see a family photo that was taken at that fateful September 11th. Me at the sorta middle of the photo there's me. Photo shopped to be fatter and my boobs smaller. Even my friends commented. It wasn't even a good photo shop warping the fence behind me.
Now this year Danica will celebrate her 3 year anniversary of that wedding. The only one I have ever gone to in my adult life. Her husband and father still have never spoken a word to me. And our grandparents replaced all photos of me and my siblings with photos of Danicas wedding.
Moral of the story? I am very thankful to my dad for not letting any of us end up like thar.

I’m trapped. I can hear that thing lumbering through the hallway. My God, what the hell is it? I’m trying my best to keep quiet but I can’t help but whimper. The soft scratching of my pencil on this notepad sounds deafening in the quiet of this tiny closet. I’m almost certainly gonna die in this place. I just hope someone can find this, maybe it will do some good. Or maybe it already doesn’t matter. I’m not sure how long I have until that wheezing thing finds me. Oh God, or that grey stuff might ooze under the door and dissolve me. Oh my God! What it did to Benny, Bill, Jonesy and Donald! To all of them! Even if I don’t survive, the world needs to be warned!
Long story short, I was a cop but I got shot in the head. The doctors said I was lucky, that it went straight through without hitting anything vital. However, I still needed three steel plates to hold my fragmented skull together. Also ended up with permanent tremors in my right hand from brain damage. So it’s no surprise that my cop career didn’t thrive. Just a year later I was a “retired” 45-year-old cop, living on scraps. After a few months, I started to get desperate for work. One evening at my pub, my friend, Graham, mentioned an acquaintance who was looking for employees for some private research institute in the Mojave Desert. “What, are they still blowing A-bombs out there?” I scoffed, eyebrows arched with bemused incredulity. Graham stared down at his beer, “Not sure what the hell they do. But they pay super well, so who cares,” he took a long sip of beer, foam clinging to his lips, “I think it would be a good fit for you”.
Turns out this facility, and it really is known as the “Facility”, was located in the middle of nowhere. When I looked it up online I couldn’t find any information. Later that week I called the number that Graham had scrawled down for me on a beer stained napkin. My right hand was useless to me if I wanted it to do anything that required fine motor function, so when I dialed the number on my phone I had to use my left hand. The phone rang twice before a metallic feminine voice answered and said to hold for an operator. After a few seconds of muted elevator music, I spoke to a soft voiced man who told me my skill set was perfect for their current vacancy: a security management position. He said if I filled out some forms they would pay for me to fly on out for an interview in person.
One month and several NDAs later, I was employed again! By the time I started my new job I realized I had no idea what research went on down here. During the interviews my duties as a security manager had been discussed but any mention of their actual research interests had been carefully avoided, redacted or omitted. The security staff were also told to avoid fraternizing with anyone not from their own department, including security personnel from other sections of the Facility. On my first day I asked others about the nature of the Facility’s research, but no one had any interest. “Just stick to your contract. No point in rocking the boat,” my new boss, Bill, said to me curtly. So since then I’ve not discussed it with anyone else.
If only I had, maybe I would have seen this coming. The section of the Facility which I managed was section B.15. This area, like most of the core Facility, was located several hundred feet below the sun scorched surface of the Mojave Desert and comprised many green painted corridors peppered with tall, wide doors made from dark, stainless steel. The rooms inside were large and sterile. Artefacts were cleaned and studied in these rooms after they were brought from the excavation sites (sites E.1 through E.27). Of course, whether we wanted to know the nature of the research or not, eventually, after patrolling some of the research labs for weeks, it wasn’t difficult to figure out that the scientists were mostly archeologists or paleontologists. I would often find objects of different sizes and shapes lying around in various states of cleanliness. Some looked like ancient amphoras, or large stone bird baths. Others were less identifiable: a chipped statue, a melted lump of some unidentifiable metal or large chunks of a glass-like material. I found this all extremely curious because, as far as I knew, the Mojave Desert didn’t have much in the way of ancient architecture. At least of any ancient civilization that I know.
As the months went by I started to get friendly with the other guards, most of them ex-cops too, and we started playing cards and drinking Irish coffee in the evenings. My two main colleagues consisted of a jovial, short man with orange hair named Jonesy and a much older much grumpier and much balder man, Donald. They were good men and we had a lot of laughs together. My stomach twists when I think about where they are now. Though I grew fonder of my fellow guards, I found myself developing a severe dislike for the white coated researchers. Most of them were pernicious and arrogant. The only scientist my security buddies and me could stand was a scrawny man named Benny. Our favorite thing about Benny was that he never talked about his work.
It was earlier today, at around 1400h, when all the scientists were running from their rooms. They must have received some message a few minutes before and we watched them from the surveillance monitors as they got all excited and leapt up. Their lab coats flapped and flowed around as they jumped to their feet and made for the main exit. Soon after this the large red landline phone near my video surveillance desk began to ring. Expecting the call, I picked up the receiver before the first ring finished, “Hey boss, what’s all the excitement about?” Bill’s voice was uncharacteristically hesitant “The diggers have found a friggin’ huge object out here! The biggest thing they’ve ever dug up, it’s really irregular. They want to bring it to B.15 and I need you to organize the logistics and security”. My brow furrowed, “I guess it’s too big for the main entrance? Maybe we could bring it in via the big doors of the auxiliary hangar?” Bill grunted with agreement, “Yea, we’ll have to improvise a bit but should be manageable. I have no idea what it is… well you’ll see for yourself. I’ll get some of the boys from B.14 to help you out. And just, well…” He paused for a moment, “just be careful.” I grunted, my eyebrow arched from surprise; why was he so afraid? “Um thanks, appreciate it, see you guys soon”.
Donald, Jonesy and I had coffee in the office and called the guards at the hangar doors to arrange clearance. About an hour later we were at the platform near the doors waiting for the cargo to arrive. The massive metal hangar doors had been opened, which was rare. What was more irregular was that nearly every staff member from sections B.11 to B.18 were all gathered together in a silent knot of people. Despite the silence the air sizzled with anticipation, as well as the searing heat. I stood transfixed from curiosity at the massive doorway, waiting in the shade of the hangar as the relentless sun beat down outside. In the distance I saw a black speck grow larger against the bright blue sky. Slowly it took the form of a helicopter which was carrying a large rectangular shaped mass below it.
Within less than a minute the helicopter made its cacophonous approach toward the hangar and gently lowered the object onto an enormous wooden scaffold. I barked orders and signed forms as the guards rushed about, making sure the other personnel stayed a safe distance away. The air was blaring with the sound of the helicopter blades and sand rocketed into my face, forcing me to splutter. “Alright, let’s get this thing processed!” I yelled over the sound of the helicopter as its engines powered down, my colleagues and I wiped dirt from our faces. Bill emerged swiftly from the chopper and shook my hand. We quickly reviewed the paper work he gave me and then he made his way back downstairs to his office in section B.1. He was keen to get away for some reason.
“Alright, it’s officially in my care now. Show’s over. Get the non-essential personnel out of here immediately and secure the object. I want to get Benny up here to analyze it ASAP.” As my colleagues cleared away most of the staff and the excitement died down I was finally able to take a moment to inspect the object. It had been lowered onto the wooden scaffold fitted with wheels just outside the hangar and had been pushed slowly into the center. The few aircraft in this hangar were all currently under repairs and were non-operational, therefore there was plenty of space. As soon as I saw the sheer size of the object, I knew it would be difficult to transport, but not impossible. The object was a wall. Or a large fragment of a wall.
It was about twenty feet long, eight feet thick and ten feet high. At first the wall appeared made from some sort of boring grey stone. However, when I looked closer the wall was… alive. The wall’s surface bubbled slightly. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I stepped closer. When I was only a few inches away from it I felt cold. A bead of sweat ran down my cheek and I thought I heard something. It sounded like someone far away calling my name.
I felt a strange pressure around my head. A sudden invasive thought wormed to life: throw yourself into the wall. I shuddered and held myself back despite the sudden strong desire. I heard the faint voice of Benny and crashed back to reality. My eyes snapped open and I found my nose an inch away from the wall. It radiated cold like an open freezer and it smelled like rotting clay. The surface of the wall simmered ever so slightly. It reminded me of the fizz of some grey effervescent medicine. I paled as I took a large step backward, “I.. uh, what is this?” I turned to face Benny who stood with another scientist. He glanced at her briefly before he approached the wall to apply more straps. He was careful to avoid touching the wall with his bare skin. “Honestly, we have no idea”.
I got Donald and Jonesy to help Benny transport the wall down to room 278B via the service elevator. Donald grumbled about how badly the wall smelled and Jonesy had eyes as large as saucers when he saw it up close, “It looks so unreal!” Once downstairs I returned to my office to get some more coffee and file away the paperwork. I tried to put the strangeness of the wall out of my mind, but it had truly unnerved me. I felt so tired, my forehead drenched with cold sweat. I had been working extra shifts lately, but I had never been hit by such exhaustion so rapidly. As I sat at my desk facing the surveillance monitors I was unable to fight the sleep forcing my eyes shut.
I’ve had many hangovers in my life, most of them unpleasant, but when I woke up at my desk I’d never felt quite so singularly awful. My clothes were soaked with sweat and my whole body felt exhausted. My arms felt like molasses as I attempted to move. My forehead throbbed and I felt bruised. I also felt a pressure squeezing my head from all sides. It was quite peculiar. I sat back in my seat and rubbed my eyes.
Then I froze.
A hand was lying motionless on the floor just behind the table in the center of the office. I leapt to my feet and rushed forward. I gasped from horror as I saw Donald lying on the floor, his chest sliced to ribbons. Gallons of crimson red stained his blue uniform and his eyes stared up empty and terrified. Pallid and shaking I went to my office landline to call for backup immediately. As the receiver met my ear my stomach dropped into my feet.
The line was dead.
The sole means of communication within the core Facility is done through landlines. The landlines are monitored at all times and any interruption results in an immediate response from security. We had many protocols and fail safes to ensure communication remained enabled, but the line was dead and there was no sign of any response. In fact, how long had I been asleep? What was happening? I rushed back to the monitors. I hadn’t noticed it before but I couldn’t see anyone. The cameras were all operating normally but not a single person could be seen. The corridors were just as green and bare as most late evenings. I looked at the clock, it was only 1817h. I had slept for about two and a half hours. Where were the janitors? My heart was hammering in my chest and I couldn’t catch my breath. Meanwhile my head was throbbing and my eyes were burning. Suddenly I heard an indistinct whisper. Gooseflesh bloomed all over my back and arms.
I’d heard this voice before.
I’d heard this voice from the wall.
I turned to the monitors and searched for the wall. It had been brought back to the surface; the hangar! It sat upon the bare ground right by the massive doors. However, the doors were all sealed. The wall itself looked different. It was enormous! Almost three times longer and taller and wider. Just then, I realized that the titanium blast doors had been sealed as well. My heart rate doubled as I noticed large dents, scorch marks and scratches all over the doors. Someone had tried to break them down. The hangar floor was covered in blood and ash as well as abandoned weapons. My God, I even saw a rocket-launcher lying blackened and fractured near the doors. What the hell had happened?
I spun my head to look at the security control panel on the wall to my left. My heart, already blaring, felt like it leapt out of my mouth. My eyes grew wide as I realized someone, probably Donald, had activated a quarantine procedure. This meant that the entire Facility would be sealed airtight. The only way to open any doors now was from the outside. My God! Why had he done this? Where was everyone? Did he try to wake me? Did I really sleep through all this? I looked back at Donald, my heart still hammering from seeing his dead eyes stare into mine. I sighed sadly and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was currently 1831h. I returned to the monitors and began to rewind the security footage.
Surveying the screens, I watched my past-self enter the security office at around 1600h. By 1610h I had passed-out on my chair, drool dangling from my mouth. “Ok, so let’s see where the wall was at that time. Should be room 278B.” I thought to myself aloud as I clicked on the button that would display the footage from that room as well as the surrounding corridors. The screen was black as the footage loaded and I was about to hit the play button but hesitated. Did I really want to see this? I closed my eyes and took a few slow breaths. I can’t figure my way out of here if I don’t know what’s going on. I have to know. I hit play.
The camera was located opposite the door giving a full view of the room. At first everything seemed normal. Benny and some other scientists had transported the wall into room 278B. It was 1623h when they were taking the straps off the wall. A loud popping sound was heard and the researchers spun around. The lights in the room dimmed and flickered. Suddenly something long and slimy exploded from the wall, curled around Benny, and pulled him in. He screamed in terror as he vanished, his cries immediately silenced. My jaw dropped open and a small yell escaped me.
Without realizing it, I was instantly on my feet, shaking my head in pure denial. My heart burst. What the hell was that? What the hell? What the hell? My head was full of static. I felt tears in my eyes as I watched guards and researchers rush into the room. The wall shimmered, it’s simmering surface began to boil and bubble and it grew three feet higher. I saw it reshape itself so that intricately carved figures appeared on the wall’s edge. I leant in closer and gasped. One of those figures looked just like Benny, his mouth stretched open wide into a permanent scream. I didn’t want to continue watching, but I had to. The guards and researchers were horrified by what they saw before them. Suddenly, without warning, their body postures relaxed, their eyes grew glassy, and their arms fell slack at their sides. Those within the room moved as if sleepwalking. Some stayed still while others left the room. Brow furrowed from confusion and fear, my eyes swiveled to the footage of the corridor outside. The guards and researchers that had just exited 278B immediately began attacking and grappling those around them. I yelped as a vacant-eyed guard lazily shot another man in the leg. The thrall then dragged the wounded guard into room 278B. The mad guard held the wounded guard’s leg fast as he casually walked into the grey wall, pulling the struggling man in behind him. During this altercation I noticed Donald for the first time, he was hiding behind the corner of the corridor at the far end and was firing his gun at the madmen. He didn’t manage to hit anyone though. He then ran over to help a stray researcher to their feet and then they both ran down the corridor and out of view.
I can still hear the cries of pain and pleas for mercy as those who fell victim to the thralls were each dragged into that horrifying wall. With every person it swallowed, the wall wriggled and grew and grew. More and more ghastly decorations began to bloom on its surface, all of them made from the bones or likenesses of those who had been absorbed. The bigger it got the stronger its psychic influence became until it seemed to reach nearly everyone in the Facility, turning them into thralls. I looked on in horror as one by one, all janitors, researchers, guards, diggers, admin staff, everyone gradually stopped what they were doing, mid conversation, their eyes emptying. The janitors dropped their mops and buckets. Researchers dropped precious materials and equipment without care, letting them smash to pieces. In unison they all slowly, with vacant expressions, moved toward room 278B. Among the horde of thralls, I saw Bill and Jonesy, and so many others I knew by face. A guy who’d held the door for me once, a researcher who always slurped her coffee at lunch. Hundreds of people! What filled me with an unnamable dread was that I knew what was gonna happen. I knew what was coming. I tried to shout at the monitors, “Stop! Wait!” I grabbed the monitors and shook them with frustration.
A terror began to fill my stomach, deep and cold and aching. Suddenly I noticed Donald reappear on the screen. He was trying to hold back the researcher he’d helped earlier, but it was useless. I saw Donald, chest heaving from effort, stare with incredulity as he sat defeated on the ground. Everyone else around him stumbled dreamily toward their doom. But Donald refused to give up. I saw him run from corridor to corridor, trying desperately to stop them. He threw chairs and tables in their way but they simply pushed them aside or jumped over them. I saw him run toward this office. I saw him enter, saw myself slumped on my chair still completely unconscious. I saw Donald try to shake me awake, he slapped me a few times and was yelling in frustration. He gave up with me eventually and ran over to activate the quarantine lockdown. I saw him tear down the hall back toward room 278B, pistol in hand.
My best guess was that he saw what was happening in room 278B and decided he was gonna stop it. However, as soon as he got close to the door a long pale tendril burst through the door directly into Donald’s chest. The tentacle had a hooked end and it slashed at him. I saw blood spurt out of him, saw him stumble and fall from the ground in fright. However, he still managed to get a hold of his gun and fired multiple shots at the tendril. It writhed and flailed. Donald took the opportunity to climb to his feet. He grimaced and clasped his chest as crimson leaked to the floor. He moved back down the corridor, much more slowly than before. Eventually he got back to the office. He locked the door and then collapsed. I cried out in frustration. That whole time I was completely useless!
My mind felt like static again for a few seconds. I couldn’t work out what my next move should be. A thought hit me hard, one I should really have thought of before. Why had Donald and I not been psychically affected by the wall? Everyone had been enslaved, everyone had been forced to walk into that wall. Why not Donald? And me? I knew it must be connected to my horrendous sleepiness. My eyes grew wide with sudden realization. “Shit, the steel plates in my head!” Donald had a single steel plate in his skull because of a rock-climbing accident he had in his 20s. When I got close to the wall, had it sensed my resistance? Had it tried to incapacitate me? If so, it means this thing possesses sentience.
While I pondered this, I noticed some thralls re-strap the wall in room 278B. They transported it to the elevator and back up to the hangar. Once there, the thralls moved the wall off the scaffold onto the floor and began to beat heavily on the large metal doors with bare fists. Some even shot at the doors with their handguns. The ricochets killed a few of them but not one single person seemed to even notice. Some of the guards even used a rocket launcher! I yelled with shock as they fired at deadly close range, lazily blowing themselves up, leaving the doors scorched. After this proved futile, the thralls all grew suddenly rigid. Next, they all formed a line in front of the wall and one shambling step after another, all the remaining employees were - assimilated. Even the dead and wounded were not spared. Those still alive carried the corpses of their fellow thralls into the wall.
It was 1705h when the last employee disappeared forever into the grey horror, and the wall expanded to its current size. Without warning, a large writhing mass of twisted limbs emerged from the wall. I gasped from horror. I couldn’t tell exactly what it was because the lighting in the hangar wasn’t good enough, but it definitely wasn’t human. Its silhouette was about seven feet tall and thin and stretched. It had too many legs and it didn’t seem to have a head. This thing lumbered over to the doors and began to strike them with a strength and ferocity one would only find in a starving polar bear. I could tell that the doors were taking strain, and they began to bend, but even then, they would not yield. After about half an hour of smashing the door, the creature stopped and slowly shambled toward the stairs. My heart froze. It was coming here! Or was it here already?
My eyes swiveled back to the main monitor and I was surprised to see Donald still alive. He was scratched and bleeding badly as he shakily pushed himself from the floor. He then looked up at the ammunitions cupboard and began to search through his keys. I saw him curse. He couldn’t find the key with his trembling, bloodied fingers. In the next instant his eyes bulged and he heaved as if vomiting. His body doubled over and long grey tendrils oozed from his mouth and wriggled furiously. He grabbed his throat and fell forward onto the floor. Frozen in horror I watched as his body squirmed and he wriggled as if his intestines were filled with snakes. I continued to watch absolutely transfixed as three long grey tendrils emerged again from between Donald’s lips. Slowly they wriggled free of his mouth. They were about half a foot long, dull grey and thin like spaghetti.
I watched as they slithered toward my unconscious form on the monitor. I bit my lip and stood up. Slowly my brain put two and two together. Bile rose in my throat. I yelled at myself to wake up and see the worms. Just then my stomach dropped and I could feel an itchiness in my belly. I could feel the wriggling itch of a thousand grey eels in my gut. Or was I imagining it?
My stomach writhed and I was about to puke when I saw myself awake and stretch in my chair. The worms somehow realized I was awake and they moved out of view towards the –before I could watch the screen any longer, I heard a hiss and something slimy and long wrapped itself around my throat so tight I couldn’t breathe. I gasped with surprise and strained my neck to look at the monitor that showed the room in real time. I saw from the camera behind my head that something thin and grey had wrapped itself around my throat. I saw two more of those things coming at me from behind as well. They were about to come wriggling up my chair when I grimaced with anger and grabbed my gun from its holster. The thing around my neck was hissing and making awful clicking and guttural noises. Its small worm head had a mouth that bit and it latched onto my neck to suck my blood. I pulled at the leach and pressed my gun up against it. I pulled the trigger. With an earsplitting bang and a sound like a water balloon popping the leach was reduced to sticky goo. I pulled the remnants of the leach off my neck and spun around just in time to shoot and kill the others. I grinned with a mad-joy and yelled with relief. Immediately, a wave of nausea and exhaustion hit me and I fell back onto my chair. “What the hell was that? What the hell do I do now?” I sat still for a moment and tried not to lose my mind completely. I swear I could hear Woody the woodpecker laughing somewhere in the distance. I needed to keep it together. I took a long deep breath and tried to think of a way out.
Summarizing the details of my predicament, I realized I was trapped alone inside the Facility with an otherworldly force. Also, even if I found a way out, I’d potentially be letting an evil into the world that could destroy all life. At once an old thought returned to me, one I’d often experienced as a cop. “If I need to sacrifice myself to save others, I will do so without complaint.” A wry smile spread over my face. “Once a cop, always a cop.” My smile vanished as a I continued to think. “But my God, if this thing gets out. If it gets into the minds of other people. If it gets larger and larger. Could it swallow the world? The solar system? What other monstrosities would it unleash?” I was talking aloud now; the sound of my voice gave a new reality to my situation that made me shudder. I turned back to the monitor. It seems I was all caught up with what had happened. I stared blankly into the screen while I watched my past-self continue to wake and wince from pain. I switched the monitor off and saw my reflection in the blackness of the screen. I was pale and my eyes were wide and unblinking. “What do I do now?” I turned in my chair to look at Donald’s body. Were all those worms gone? Could some still be hiding? And what should be done with his body? Probably best to have it burned. “Poor Donald, he didn’t deserve this”, I muttered softly as I examined his corpse, making sure there were no unexplained twitches beneath his skin. My eyes moved from his body up to the ammunition’s cupboard just above. “Wait, why was he trying to get into the cupboard earlier? We don’t have much…”, my eyes grew large with realization. “Holy crap, he was trying to get the bomb! Me and Donald were gonna use a left-over bomb from the excavation site to blow some random shit up!”
I sighed sadly and heavily. We never got around to it. I stood up quickly and walked up to the cupboard. I pulled out my keys and quickly found the key I’d need. I opened the cupboard with little effort and found the ten kilos of plastic explosive inside. It had already been set up with a sixty second timer and a remote detonator by a colleague. I sat at the table with the explosive, a vague plan forming in my broken mind. “Maybe if I somehow get this wall-thing to eat this bomb then...”
Before I could formulate my thoughts fully, the lights flickered, and the entire Facility was plunged into darkness unceremoniously. My nerves were burning with fear. What had happened? Had that thing knocked the power out somehow? The next few seconds that past were some of the longest I’d ever experienced. However, dim green light bloomed to life and the reserve power kicked in. Then I heard slow, shuffling footsteps in the corridor just outside the office. I froze once again, my insides turning to mush. My mind raced. Had I remembered to lock the door? My stomach leapt into my feet as I heard the shuffling get louder and louder. I heard hoarse, wheezing breaths, as if the thing struggled to breathe. I jumped from fright but remained absolutely silent as whatever the thing was banged on the door with a deafening blow.
BANG! The door shook and bent slightly.
BANG! Silence for a moment.
BANG! BANG! Again silence. My heart was hammering in my ears and I sat deathly still. I could hear that thing breathing louder. After a few moments I heard it shuffle away. My entire body was shaking as relief washed over me. Whatever the thing was, it had walked away and I could no longer hear it. I turned to look at the monitors. Dare I turn them on and check what it was? After a few seconds of consideration, holding my breath, I turned to the monitors and switched them on. I waited in nervous anticipation as the screens flickered to life showing me that all the corridors between me and the wall were currently empty. I didn’t bother checking the corridor I suspected the shambling thing was in. I didn’t want to see it unless I needed to. I’d had just about all the stress and terror I could take and by this stage I felt weirdly calm. It must be shock. A thin sigh escaped me as I stood. The fear in my blood began to feed a furnace of anger in my heart. I thought about all those who I had lost. I felt my expression turn to granite, “It’s time to kill this thing.”
I opened the door slowly, my fully loaded gun in my good hand. Spare ammo along with the explosive and a shotgun was stashed in my backpack, and the remote detonator was tied to my belt. I held a heavy-duty flashlight in my shaky right hand. I moved cautiously through the dark green corridors. I’d never thought of how creepy this place could be until this moment. Gooseflesh crept up my arms and neck as I continued. All I could hear were my soft footfalls and shallow anxious breaths. I cleared the corridors one by one until I made it to the stairs that would lead me to the thing that looks like a wall. I walked up the stairs slowly, my ears honing in on any sound. That’s when I heard it. I heard the soft sound of crying.
Someone was crying. I stopped dead in my tracks. My entire body shook from the adrenaline surging through me. I took one step. Then another. Slowly, I climbed. Once my head could peek over the top, I froze. Jonesy was squatting on his knees, naked. He was between the wall and me, with his back facing me. The terrifying thing loomed enormous before us. It was now framed intricately with the skeletons of hundreds of people, all twisted and screaming in agony. Writhing, tortured souls fused together. Then came the sound of crying and moaning from the wall. I could hear them all. They were all screaming. Screaming for me to help them. To join them. I felt that pressure squeeze against my skull tighter and tighter. I shook my head in defiance. “No! You bastard! NO! I will not join you! You’re not Jonesy!” All at once the moans and wails stopped. I suddenly found myself at the top of the stairs without knowing when I’d finished climbing them. “But we are Jonesy” came a voice that was not human. It was a voice made from all those it had swallowed up. It was as though something had made a distorted copy of the voices of all those people and then just used them all at once to speak. It didn’t understand the concept of individuality. All of a sudden, the wall rippled and grey tendrils squirmed from the flesh of the wall, curling around Jonesy as they teased his face and slowly pulled him in. As he disappeared there was a horrendous sucking, squelching noise. “We are Jonesy. We are all. We can be all. We will be all. All and all and more than all.” The voice was chanting this over and over. Louder and louder.
A deafening blast came from the wall and a slithering, writhing mass of tangled human limbs emerged. It had four legs and several arms. It looked like the bodies of eight or more people shuffled and glued into an otherworldly horror. Its multiple mouths screamed a high pitch squeal that was more horrifying than the screams of the damned, and its sharp pointed teeth gnashed and chomped. I only had a second to dodge this monster. I leapt to the side and fired multiple shots at the thing’s center of mass. Its horrifying body of fused torsos wriggled and bled black ichor. It screamed with pain and jumped at me, grabbing my leg. It tossed me into the air and I almost lost my gun as I slammed into the floor a few feet away. Before I could catch my breath, it was upon me again. From the ground I fired several shots at it. This made it jump away and scuttle down the stairs. With it momentarily out of sight, I quickly got to my feet and kept my eyes on the stairs.
After a second, I decided to kneel and take off my backpack as fast as I could. I pulled out the bomb and started the timer. I also decided to get the shotgun out and get it loaded. I needed to do this now or never. As the final shell clicked into place I heard a roar coming from the stairs. The thing was back. Before I could react, it leapt at me and knocked me to the ground. The bomb flew from my grasp. It bared down on me, grabbing at my throat ready to tear me apart. My reflexes saved me though and I managed to use my shotgun to hold the thing at bay, but it was too strong. Desperate, I kicked it hard in the chest and it let go. I used this moment to grab the bomb that lay behind me; only 37 seconds to go! Terrified and crazed, sweat pouring down my face, my mind in pieces, I rammed the bomb into the creature’s mouth and kicked it back again as hard as I could. I heard it yelp like a wounded dog and it lost its footing. It fell sideways and in that second, I took my shotgun and fired at it in the chest. The force of the close-range blast sent me flying. At the same time the creature was hurled back into the wall where it was enveloped quickly.
My head was fuzzy. I was dizzy and the wind had been knocked out of me. Was the bomb going to work? I felt something warm and wet drip into my ear and touched the side of my head. My fingertips came away soaked in blood. My head was spinning. With a foggy mind I grabbed my bag, collecting my weapons and flashlight. As I stood up I heard a low rumbling sound. The ground beneath my feet shook and for a moment I was confused. Then I looked up at the wall. Its surface was roiling and boiling like I’d never seen before. It was shaking and growing. I turned to run when suddenly there was a massive blast from inside it, and the entire wall exploded into hundreds of small grey chunks. These chunks rained down all around the hangar, smashing several aircraft. The blast knocked me off my feet and this time I definitely passed out because when I awoke I could see daylight through the tiny cracks in the blast door. Where the wall had once been now stood a small blackened crater. I turned around to inspect the wall pieces and found that they – my eyes grew wide and my mouth opened. They were melting. As I approached a fragment of wall, a horrible twisted hand shot out at me. I yelled and jumped away. It was still alive! I watched in dumbfounded horror as the pieces continued to melt and began to merge, just like that scene from Terminator 2.
It was rebuilding itself. Then I heard a groan. My blood became ice. I turned slowly in terror to find the shambling, wheezing monstrosity behind me. Like the creature I'd shot, this one seemed made from bits and pieces of human limbs knitted together randomly. This one had legs which came out its mouth, its head positioned within its torso where the bellybutton should be, and it wheezed in pain. I almost puked from fright but my legs were already carrying me away. I sprinted down the corridors, ignoring all the pain and fear and exhaustion and anger and frustration I had inside me. Without thinking, I leapt into the first janitor's closet I found and locked the door with a dull clunking sound. After catching my breath, I found this notepad and pencil, and have been writing this report in the sterile glow of my flashlight. Hopefully, I have left some useful information for anyone who may find this.
Now I lie in wait for that thing. Now I lie in wait for that grey ooze. What is that thing? Is it truly indestructible? If it can survive a bomb like that, what hope do we have? It’s no wall at all. It’s a membrane. An interface. Somewhere very different is pressing up against us. It has torn a small hole, and was now prying it open further. I should blow up this whole damn place! I should burn it! But would it matter? Or would it just be buried, to be rediscovered? I think even if I survive this, nothing can help us. So here I wait, hoping to be saved, but even as I write this I can hear that thing walking past the door. With a soft click I turn off my flashlight. I try not to breathe. I can hear the snuffling, it’s right outside! I can smell its ugly breath.
Oh God! I hear the jingling of keys. The door is unlocking! How? How?
Oh God! The doorknob is turning...

I’m trapped. I can hear that thing lumbering through the hallway. My God, what the hell is it? I’m trying my best to keep quiet but I can’t help but whimper. The soft scratching of my pencil on this notepad sounds deafening in the quiet of this tiny closet. I’m almost certainly gonna die in this place. I just hope someone can find this, maybe it will do some good. Or maybe it already doesn’t matter. I’m not sure how long I have until that wheezing thing finds me. Oh God, or that grey stuff might ooze under the door and dissolve me. Oh my God! What it did to Benny, Bill, Jonesy and Donald! To all of them! Even if I don’t survive, the world needs to be warned!
Long story short, I was a cop but I got shot in the head. The doctors said I was lucky, that it went straight through without hitting anything vital. However, I still needed three steel plates to hold my fragmented skull together. Also ended up with permanent tremors in my right hand from brain damage. So it’s no surprise that my cop career didn’t thrive. Just a year later I was a “retired” 45-year-old cop, living on scraps. After a few months, I started to get desperate for work. One evening at my pub, my friend, Graham, mentioned an acquaintance who was looking for employees for some private research institute in the Mojave Desert. “What, are they still blowing A-bombs out there?” I scoffed, eyebrows arched with bemused incredulity. Graham stared down at his beer, “Not sure what the hell they do. But they pay super well, so who cares,” he took a long sip of beer, foam clinging to his lips, “I think it would be a good fit for you”.
Turns out this facility, and it really is known as the “Facility”, was located in the middle of nowhere. When I looked it up online I couldn’t find any information. Later that week I called the number that Graham had scrawled down for me on a beer stained napkin. My right hand was useless to me if I wanted it to do anything that required fine motor function, so when I dialed the number on my phone I had to use my left hand. The phone rang twice before a metallic feminine voice answered and said to hold for an operator. After a few seconds of muted elevator music, I spoke to a soft voiced man who told me my skill set was perfect for their current vacancy: a security management position. He said if I filled out some forms they would pay for me to fly on out for an interview in person.
One month and several NDAs later, I was employed again! By the time I started my new job I realized I had no idea what research went on down here. During the interviews my duties as a security manager had been discussed but any mention of their actual research interests had been carefully avoided, redacted or omitted. The security staff were also told to avoid fraternizing with anyone not from their own department, including security personnel from other sections of the Facility. On my first day I asked others about the nature of the Facility’s research, but no one had any interest. “Just stick to your contract. No point in rocking the boat,” my new boss, Bill, said to me curtly. So since then I’ve not discussed it with anyone else.
If only I had, maybe I would have seen this coming. The section of the Facility which I managed was section B.15. This area, like most of the core Facility, was located several hundred feet below the sun scorched surface of the Mojave Desert and comprised many green painted corridors peppered with tall, wide doors made from dark, stainless steel. The rooms inside were large and sterile. Artefacts were cleaned and studied in these rooms after they were brought from the excavation sites (sites E.1 through E.27). Of course, whether we wanted to know the nature of the research or not, eventually, after patrolling some of the research labs for weeks, it wasn’t difficult to figure out that the scientists were mostly archeologists or paleontologists. I would often find objects of different sizes and shapes lying around in various states of cleanliness. Some looked like ancient amphoras, or large stone bird baths. Others were less identifiable: a chipped statue, a melted lump of some unidentifiable metal or large chunks of a glass-like material. I found this all extremely curious because, as far as I knew, the Mojave Desert didn’t have much in the way of ancient architecture. At least of any ancient civilization that I know.
As the months went by I started to get friendly with the other guards, most of them ex-cops too, and we started playing cards and drinking Irish coffee in the evenings. My two main colleagues consisted of a jovial, short man with orange hair named Jonesy and a much older much grumpier and much balder man, Donald. They were good men and we had a lot of laughs together. My stomach twists when I think about where they are now. Though I grew fonder of my fellow guards, I found myself developing a severe dislike for the white coated researchers. Most of them were pernicious and arrogant. The only scientist my security buddies and me could stand was a scrawny man named Benny. Our favorite thing about Benny was that he never talked about his work.
It was earlier today, at around 1400h, when all the scientists were running from their rooms. They must have received some message a few minutes before and we watched them from the surveillance monitors as they got all excited and leapt up. Their lab coats flapped and flowed around as they jumped to their feet and made for the main exit. Soon after this the large red landline phone near my video surveillance desk began to ring. Expecting the call, I picked up the receiver before the first ring finished, “Hey boss, what’s all the excitement about?” Bill’s voice was uncharacteristically hesitant “The diggers have found a friggin’ huge object out here! The biggest thing they’ve ever dug up, it’s really irregular. They want to bring it to B.15 and I need you to organize the logistics and security”. My brow furrowed, “I guess it’s too big for the main entrance? Maybe we could bring it in via the big doors of the auxiliary hangar?” Bill grunted with agreement, “Yea, we’ll have to improvise a bit but should be manageable. I have no idea what it is… well you’ll see for yourself. I’ll get some of the boys from B.14 to help you out. And just, well…” He paused for a moment, “just be careful.” I grunted, my eyebrow arched from surprise; why was he so afraid? “Um thanks, appreciate it, see you guys soon”.
Donald, Jonesy and I had coffee in the office and called the guards at the hangar doors to arrange clearance. About an hour later we were at the platform near the doors waiting for the cargo to arrive. The massive metal hangar doors had been opened, which was rare. What was more irregular was that nearly every staff member from sections B.11 to B.18 were all gathered together in a silent knot of people. Despite the silence the air sizzled with anticipation, as well as the searing heat. I stood transfixed from curiosity at the massive doorway, waiting in the shade of the hangar as the relentless sun beat down outside. In the distance I saw a black speck grow larger against the bright blue sky. Slowly it took the form of a helicopter which was carrying a large rectangular shaped mass below it.
Within less than a minute the helicopter made its cacophonous approach toward the hangar and gently lowered the object onto an enormous wooden scaffold. I barked orders and signed forms as the guards rushed about, making sure the other personnel stayed a safe distance away. The air was blaring with the sound of the helicopter blades and sand rocketed into my face, forcing me to splutter. “Alright, let’s get this thing processed!” I yelled over the sound of the helicopter as its engines powered down, my colleagues and I wiped dirt from our faces. Bill emerged swiftly from the chopper and shook my hand. We quickly reviewed the paper work he gave me and then he made his way back downstairs to his office in section B.1. He was keen to get away for some reason.
“Alright, it’s officially in my care now. Show’s over. Get the non-essential personnel out of here immediately and secure the object. I want to get Benny up here to analyze it ASAP.” As my colleagues cleared away most of the staff and the excitement died down I was finally able to take a moment to inspect the object. It had been lowered onto the wooden scaffold fitted with wheels just outside the hangar and had been pushed slowly into the center. The few aircraft in this hangar were all currently under repairs and were non-operational, therefore there was plenty of space. As soon as I saw the sheer size of the object, I knew it would be difficult to transport, but not impossible. The object was a wall. Or a large fragment of a wall.
It was about twenty feet long, eight feet thick and ten feet high. At first the wall appeared made from some sort of boring grey stone. However, when I looked closer the wall was… alive. The wall’s surface bubbled slightly. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I stepped closer. When I was only a few inches away from it I felt cold. A bead of sweat ran down my cheek and I thought I heard something. It sounded like someone far away calling my name.
I felt a strange pressure around my head. A sudden invasive thought wormed to life: throw yourself into the wall. I shuddered and held myself back despite the sudden strong desire. I heard the faint voice of Benny and crashed back to reality. My eyes snapped open and I found my nose an inch away from the wall. It radiated cold like an open freezer and it smelled like rotting clay. The surface of the wall simmered ever so slightly. It reminded me of the fizz of some grey effervescent medicine. I paled as I took a large step backward, “I.. uh, what is this?” I turned to face Benny who stood with another scientist. He glanced at her briefly before he approached the wall to apply more straps. He was careful to avoid touching the wall with his bare skin. “Honestly, we have no idea”.
I got Donald and Jonesy to help Benny transport the wall down to room 278B via the service elevator. Donald grumbled about how badly the wall smelled and Jonesy had eyes as large as saucers when he saw it up close, “It looks so unreal!” Once downstairs I returned to my office to get some more coffee and file away the paperwork. I tried to put the strangeness of the wall out of my mind, but it had truly unnerved me. I felt so tired, my forehead drenched with cold sweat. I had been working extra shifts lately, but I had never been hit by such exhaustion so rapidly. As I sat at my desk facing the surveillance monitors I was unable to fight the sleep forcing my eyes shut.
I’ve had many hangovers in my life, most of them unpleasant, but when I woke up at my desk I’d never felt quite so singularly awful. My clothes were soaked with sweat and my whole body felt exhausted. My arms felt like molasses as I attempted to move. My forehead throbbed and I felt bruised. I also felt a pressure squeezing my head from all sides. It was quite peculiar. I sat back in my seat and rubbed my eyes.
Then I froze.
A hand was lying motionless on the floor just behind the table in the center of the office. I leapt to my feet and rushed forward. I gasped from horror as I saw Donald lying on the floor, his chest sliced to ribbons. Gallons of crimson red stained his blue uniform and his eyes stared up empty and terrified. Pallid and shaking I went to my office landline to call for backup immediately. As the receiver met my ear my stomach dropped into my feet.
The line was dead.
The sole means of communication within the core Facility is done through landlines. The landlines are monitored at all times and any interruption results in an immediate response from security. We had many protocols and fail safes to ensure communication remained enabled, but the line was dead and there was no sign of any response. In fact, how long had I been asleep? What was happening? I rushed back to the monitors. I hadn’t noticed it before but I couldn’t see anyone. The cameras were all operating normally but not a single person could be seen. The corridors were just as green and bare as most late evenings. I looked at the clock, it was only 1817h. I had slept for about two and a half hours. Where were the janitors? My heart was hammering in my chest and I couldn’t catch my breath. Meanwhile my head was throbbing and my eyes were burning. Suddenly I heard an indistinct whisper. Gooseflesh bloomed all over my back and arms.
I’d heard this voice before.
I’d heard this voice from the wall.
I turned to the monitors and searched for the wall. It had been brought back to the surface; the hangar! It sat upon the bare ground right by the massive doors. However, the doors were all sealed. The wall itself looked different. It was enormous! Almost three times longer and taller and wider. Just then, I realized that the titanium blast doors had been sealed as well. My heart rate doubled as I noticed large dents, scorch marks and scratches all over the doors. Someone had tried to break them down. The hangar floor was covered in blood and ash as well as abandoned weapons. My God, I even saw a rocket-launcher lying blackened and fractured near the doors. What the hell had happened?
I spun my head to look at the security control panel on the wall to my left. My heart, already blaring, felt like it leapt out of my mouth. My eyes grew wide as I realized someone, probably Donald, had activated a quarantine procedure. This meant that the entire Facility would be sealed airtight. The only way to open any doors now was from the outside. My God! Why had he done this? Where was everyone? Did he try to wake me? Did I really sleep through all this? I looked back at Donald, my heart still hammering from seeing his dead eyes stare into mine. I sighed sadly and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was currently 1831h. I returned to the monitors and began to rewind the security footage.
Surveying the screens, I watched my past-self enter the security office at around 1600h. By 1610h I had passed-out on my chair, drool dangling from my mouth. “Ok, so let’s see where the wall was at that time. Should be room 278B.” I thought to myself aloud as I clicked on the button that would display the footage from that room as well as the surrounding corridors. The screen was black as the footage loaded and I was about to hit the play button but hesitated. Did I really want to see this? I closed my eyes and took a few slow breaths. I can’t figure my way out of here if I don’t know what’s going on. I have to know. I hit play.
The camera was located opposite the door giving a full view of the room. At first everything seemed normal. Benny and some other scientists had transported the wall into room 278B. It was 1623h when they were taking the straps off the wall. A loud popping sound was heard and the researchers spun around. The lights in the room dimmed and flickered. Suddenly something long and slimy exploded from the wall, curled around Benny, and pulled him in. He screamed in terror as he vanished, his cries immediately silenced. My jaw dropped open and a small yell escaped me.
Without realizing it, I was instantly on my feet, shaking my head in pure denial. My heart burst. What the hell was that? What the hell? What the hell? My head was full of static. I felt tears in my eyes as I watched guards and researchers rush into the room. The wall shimmered, it’s simmering surface began to boil and bubble and it grew three feet higher. I saw it reshape itself so that intricately carved figures appeared on the wall’s edge. I leant in closer and gasped. One of those figures looked just like Benny, his mouth stretched open wide into a permanent scream. I didn’t want to continue watching, but I had to. The guards and researchers were horrified by what they saw before them. Suddenly, without warning, their body postures relaxed, their eyes grew glassy, and their arms fell slack at their sides. Those within the room moved as if sleepwalking. Some stayed still while others left the room. Brow furrowed from confusion and fear, my eyes swiveled to the footage of the corridor outside. The guards and researchers that had just exited 278B immediately began attacking and grappling those around them. I yelped as a vacant-eyed guard lazily shot another man in the leg. The thrall then dragged the wounded guard into room 278B. The mad guard held the wounded guard’s leg fast as he casually walked into the grey wall, pulling the struggling man in behind him. During this altercation I noticed Donald for the first time, he was hiding behind the corner of the corridor at the far end and was firing his gun at the madmen. He didn’t manage to hit anyone though. He then ran over to help a stray researcher to their feet and then they both ran down the corridor and out of view.
I can still hear the cries of pain and pleas for mercy as those who fell victim to the thralls were each dragged into that horrifying wall. With every person it swallowed, the wall wriggled and grew and grew. More and more ghastly decorations began to bloom on its surface, all of them made from the bones or likenesses of those who had been absorbed. The bigger it got the stronger its psychic influence became until it seemed to reach nearly everyone in the Facility, turning them into thralls. I looked on in horror as one by one, all janitors, researchers, guards, diggers, admin staff, everyone gradually stopped what they were doing, mid conversation, their eyes emptying. The janitors dropped their mops and buckets. Researchers dropped precious materials and equipment without care, letting them smash to pieces. In unison they all slowly, with vacant expressions, moved toward room 278B. Among the horde of thralls, I saw Bill and Jonesy, and so many others I knew by face. A guy who’d held the door for me once, a researcher who always slurped her coffee at lunch. Hundreds of people! What filled me with an unnamable dread was that I knew what was gonna happen. I knew what was coming. I tried to shout at the monitors, “Stop! Wait!” I grabbed the monitors and shook them with frustration.
A terror began to fill my stomach, deep and cold and aching. Suddenly I noticed Donald reappear on the screen. He was trying to hold back the researcher he’d helped earlier, but it was useless. I saw Donald, chest heaving from effort, stare with incredulity as he sat defeated on the ground. Everyone else around him stumbled dreamily toward their doom. But Donald refused to give up. I saw him run from corridor to corridor, trying desperately to stop them. He threw chairs and tables in their way but they simply pushed them aside or jumped over them. I saw him run toward this office. I saw him enter, saw myself slumped on my chair still completely unconscious. I saw Donald try to shake me awake, he slapped me a few times and was yelling in frustration. He gave up with me eventually and ran over to activate the quarantine lockdown. I saw him tear down the hall back toward room 278B, pistol in hand.
My best guess was that he saw what was happening in room 278B and decided he was gonna stop it. However, as soon as he got close to the door a long pale tendril burst through the door directly into Donald’s chest. The tentacle had a hooked end and it slashed at him. I saw blood spurt out of him, saw him stumble and fall from the ground in fright. However, he still managed to get a hold of his gun and fired multiple shots at the tendril. It writhed and flailed. Donald took the opportunity to climb to his feet. He grimaced and clasped his chest as crimson leaked to the floor. He moved back down the corridor, much more slowly than before. Eventually he got back to the office. He locked the door and then collapsed. I cried out in frustration. That whole time I was completely useless!
My mind felt like static again for a few seconds. I couldn’t work out what my next move should be. A thought hit me hard, one I should really have thought of before. Why had Donald and I not been psychically affected by the wall? Everyone had been enslaved, everyone had been forced to walk into that wall. Why not Donald? And me? I knew it must be connected to my horrendous sleepiness. My eyes grew wide with sudden realization. “Shit, the steel plates in my head!” Donald had a single steel plate in his skull because of a rock-climbing accident he had in his 20s. When I got close to the wall, had it sensed my resistance? Had it tried to incapacitate me? If so, it means this thing possesses sentience.
While I pondered this, I noticed some thralls re-strap the wall in room 278B. They transported it to the elevator and back up to the hangar. Once there, the thralls moved the wall off the scaffold onto the floor and began to beat heavily on the large metal doors with bare fists. Some even shot at the doors with their handguns. The ricochets killed a few of them but not one single person seemed to even notice. Some of the guards even used a rocket launcher! I yelled with shock as they fired at deadly close range, lazily blowing themselves up, leaving the doors scorched. After this proved futile, the thralls all grew suddenly rigid. Next, they all formed a line in front of the wall and one shambling step after another, all the remaining employees were - assimilated. Even the dead and wounded were not spared. Those still alive carried the corpses of their fellow thralls into the wall.
It was 1705h when the last employee disappeared forever into the grey horror, and the wall expanded to its current size. Without warning, a large writhing mass of twisted limbs emerged from the wall. I gasped from horror. I couldn’t tell exactly what it was because the lighting in the hangar wasn’t good enough, but it definitely wasn’t human. Its silhouette was about seven feet tall and thin and stretched. It had too many legs and it didn’t seem to have a head. This thing lumbered over to the doors and began to strike them with a strength and ferocity one would only find in a starving polar bear. I could tell that the doors were taking strain, and they began to bend, but even then, they would not yield. After about half an hour of smashing the door, the creature stopped and slowly shambled toward the stairs. My heart froze. It was coming here! Or was it here already?
My eyes swiveled back to the main monitor and I was surprised to see Donald still alive. He was scratched and bleeding badly as he shakily pushed himself from the floor. He then looked up at the ammunitions cupboard and began to search through his keys. I saw him curse. He couldn’t find the key with his trembling, bloodied fingers. In the next instant his eyes bulged and he heaved as if vomiting. His body doubled over and long grey tendrils oozed from his mouth and wriggled furiously. He grabbed his throat and fell forward onto the floor. Frozen in horror I watched as his body squirmed and he wriggled as if his intestines were filled with snakes. I continued to watch absolutely transfixed as three long grey tendrils emerged again from between Donald’s lips. Slowly they wriggled free of his mouth. They were about half a foot long, dull grey and thin like spaghetti.
I watched as they slithered toward my unconscious form on the monitor. I bit my lip and stood up. Slowly my brain put two and two together. Bile rose in my throat. I yelled at myself to wake up and see the worms. Just then my stomach dropped and I could feel an itchiness in my belly. I could feel the wriggling itch of a thousand grey eels in my gut. Or was I imagining it?
My stomach writhed and I was about to puke when I saw myself awake and stretch in my chair. The worms somehow realized I was awake and they moved out of view towards the –before I could watch the screen any longer, I heard a hiss and something slimy and long wrapped itself around my throat so tight I couldn’t breathe. I gasped with surprise and strained my neck to look at the monitor that showed the room in real time. I saw from the camera behind my head that something thin and grey had wrapped itself around my throat. I saw two more of those things coming at me from behind as well. They were about to come wriggling up my chair when I grimaced with anger and grabbed my gun from its holster. The thing around my neck was hissing and making awful clicking and guttural noises. Its small worm head had a mouth that bit and it latched onto my neck to suck my blood. I pulled at the leach and pressed my gun up against it. I pulled the trigger. With an earsplitting bang and a sound like a water balloon popping the leach was reduced to sticky goo. I pulled the remnants of the leach off my neck and spun around just in time to shoot and kill the others. I grinned with a mad-joy and yelled with relief. Immediately, a wave of nausea and exhaustion hit me and I fell back onto my chair. “What the hell was that? What the hell do I do now?” I sat still for a moment and tried not to lose my mind completely. I swear I could hear Woody the woodpecker laughing somewhere in the distance. I needed to keep it together. I took a long deep breath and tried to think of a way out.
Summarizing the details of my predicament, I realized I was trapped alone inside the Facility with an otherworldly force. Also, even if I found a way out, I’d potentially be letting an evil into the world that could destroy all life. At once an old thought returned to me, one I’d often experienced as a cop. “If I need to sacrifice myself to save others, I will do so without complaint.” A wry smile spread over my face. “Once a cop, always a cop.” My smile vanished as a I continued to think. “But my God, if this thing gets out. If it gets into the minds of other people. If it gets larger and larger. Could it swallow the world? The solar system? What other monstrosities would it unleash?” I was talking aloud now; the sound of my voice gave a new reality to my situation that made me shudder. I turned back to the monitor. It seems I was all caught up with what had happened. I stared blankly into the screen while I watched my past-self continue to wake and wince from pain. I switched the monitor off and saw my reflection in the blackness of the screen. I was pale and my eyes were wide and unblinking. “What do I do now?” I turned in my chair to look at Donald’s body. Were all those worms gone? Could some still be hiding? And what should be done with his body? Probably best to have it burned. “Poor Donald, he didn’t deserve this”, I muttered softly as I examined his corpse, making sure there were no unexplained twitches beneath his skin. My eyes moved from his body up to the ammunition’s cupboard just above. “Wait, why was he trying to get into the cupboard earlier? We don’t have much…”, my eyes grew large with realization. “Holy crap, he was trying to get the bomb! Me and Donald were gonna use a left-over bomb from the excavation site to blow some random shit up!”
I sighed sadly and heavily. We never got around to it. I stood up quickly and walked up to the cupboard. I pulled out my keys and quickly found the key I’d need. I opened the cupboard with little effort and found the ten kilos of plastic explosive inside. It had already been set up with a sixty second timer and a remote detonator by a colleague. I sat at the table with the explosive, a vague plan forming in my broken mind. “Maybe if I somehow get this wall-thing to eat this bomb then...”
Before I could formulate my thoughts fully, the lights flickered, and the entire Facility was plunged into darkness unceremoniously. My nerves were burning with fear. What had happened? Had that thing knocked the power out somehow? The next few seconds that past were some of the longest I’d ever experienced. However, dim green light bloomed to life and the reserve power kicked in. Then I heard slow, shuffling footsteps in the corridor just outside the office. I froze once again, my insides turning to mush. My mind raced. Had I remembered to lock the door? My stomach leapt into my feet as I heard the shuffling get louder and louder. I heard hoarse, wheezing breaths, as if the thing struggled to breathe. I jumped from fright but remained absolutely silent as whatever the thing was banged on the door with a deafening blow.
BANG! The door shook and bent slightly.
BANG! Silence for a moment.
BANG! BANG! Again silence. My heart was hammering in my ears and I sat deathly still. I could hear that thing breathing louder. After a few moments I heard it shuffle away. My entire body was shaking as relief washed over me. Whatever the thing was, it had walked away and I could no longer hear it. I turned to look at the monitors. Dare I turn them on and check what it was? After a few seconds of consideration, holding my breath, I turned to the monitors and switched them on. I waited in nervous anticipation as the screens flickered to life showing me that all the corridors between me and the wall were currently empty. I didn’t bother checking the corridor I suspected the shambling thing was in. I didn’t want to see it unless I needed to. I’d had just about all the stress and terror I could take and by this stage I felt weirdly calm. It must be shock. A thin sigh escaped me as I stood. The fear in my blood began to feed a furnace of anger in my heart. I thought about all those who I had lost. I felt my expression turn to granite, “It’s time to kill this thing.”
I opened the door slowly, my fully loaded gun in my good hand. Spare ammo along with the explosive and a shotgun was stashed in my backpack, and the remote detonator was tied to my belt. I held a heavy-duty flashlight in my shaky right hand. I moved cautiously through the dark green corridors. I’d never thought of how creepy this place could be until this moment. Gooseflesh crept up my arms and neck as I continued. All I could hear were my soft footfalls and shallow anxious breaths. I cleared the corridors one by one until I made it to the stairs that would lead me to the thing that looks like a wall. I walked up the stairs slowly, my ears honing in on any sound. That’s when I heard it. I heard the soft sound of crying.
Someone was crying. I stopped dead in my tracks. My entire body shook from the adrenaline surging through me. I took one step. Then another. Slowly, I climbed. Once my head could peek over the top, I froze. Jonesy was squatting on his knees, naked. He was between the wall and me, with his back facing me. The terrifying thing loomed enormous before us. It was now framed intricately with the skeletons of hundreds of people, all twisted and screaming in agony. Writhing, tortured souls fused together. Then came the sound of crying and moaning from the wall. I could hear them all. They were all screaming. Screaming for me to help them. To join them. I felt that pressure squeeze against my skull tighter and tighter. I shook my head in defiance. “No! You bastard! NO! I will not join you! You’re not Jonesy!” All at once the moans and wails stopped. I suddenly found myself at the top of the stairs without knowing when I’d finished climbing them. “But we are Jonesy” came a voice that was not human. It was a voice made from all those it had swallowed up. It was as though something had made a distorted copy of the voices of all those people and then just used them all at once to speak. It didn’t understand the concept of individuality. All of a sudden, the wall rippled and grey tendrils squirmed from the flesh of the wall, curling around Jonesy as they teased his face and slowly pulled him in. As he disappeared there was a horrendous sucking, squelching noise. “We are Jonesy. We are all. We can be all. We will be all. All and all and more than all.” The voice was chanting this over and over. Louder and louder.
A deafening blast came from the wall and a slithering, writhing mass of tangled human limbs emerged. It had four legs and several arms. It looked like the bodies of eight or more people shuffled and glued into an otherworldly horror. Its multiple mouths screamed a high pitch squeal that was more horrifying than the screams of the damned, and its sharp pointed teeth gnashed and chomped. I only had a second to dodge this monster. I leapt to the side and fired multiple shots at the thing’s center of mass. Its horrifying body of fused torsos wriggled and bled black ichor. It screamed with pain and jumped at me, grabbing my leg. It tossed me into the air and I almost lost my gun as I slammed into the floor a few feet away. Before I could catch my breath, it was upon me again. From the ground I fired several shots at it. This made it jump away and scuttle down the stairs. With it momentarily out of sight, I quickly got to my feet and kept my eyes on the stairs.
After a second, I decided to kneel and take off my backpack as fast as I could. I pulled out the bomb and started the timer. I also decided to get the shotgun out and get it loaded. I needed to do this now or never. As the final shell clicked into place I heard a roar coming from the stairs. The thing was back. Before I could react, it leapt at me and knocked me to the ground. The bomb flew from my grasp. It bared down on me, grabbing at my throat ready to tear me apart. My reflexes saved me though and I managed to use my shotgun to hold the thing at bay, but it was too strong. Desperate, I kicked it hard in the chest and it let go. I used this moment to grab the bomb that lay behind me; only 37 seconds to go! Terrified and crazed, sweat pouring down my face, my mind in pieces, I rammed the bomb into the creature’s mouth and kicked it back again as hard as I could. I heard it yelp like a wounded dog and it lost its footing. It fell sideways and in that second, I took my shotgun and fired at it in the chest. The force of the close-range blast sent me flying. At the same time the creature was hurled back into the wall where it was enveloped quickly.
My head was fuzzy. I was dizzy and the wind had been knocked out of me. Was the bomb going to work? I felt something warm and wet drip into my ear and touched the side of my head. My fingertips came away soaked in blood. My head was spinning. With a foggy mind I grabbed my bag, collecting my weapons and flashlight. As I stood up I heard a low rumbling sound. The ground beneath my feet shook and for a moment I was confused. Then I looked up at the wall. Its surface was roiling and boiling like I’d never seen before. It was shaking and growing. I turned to run when suddenly there was a massive blast from inside it, and the entire wall exploded into hundreds of small grey chunks. These chunks rained down all around the hangar, smashing several aircraft. The blast knocked me off my feet and this time I definitely passed out because when I awoke I could see daylight through the tiny cracks in the blast door. Where the wall had once been now stood a small blackened crater. I turned around to inspect the wall pieces and found that they – my eyes grew wide and my mouth opened. They were melting. As I approached a fragment of wall, a horrible twisted hand shot out at me. I yelled and jumped away. It was still alive! I watched in dumbfounded horror as the pieces continued to melt and began to merge, just like that scene from Terminator 2.
It was rebuilding itself. Then I heard a groan. My blood became ice. I turned slowly in terror to find the shambling, wheezing monstrosity behind me. Like the creature I'd shot, this one seemed made from bits and pieces of human limbs knitted together randomly. This one had legs which came out its mouth, its head positioned within its torso where the bellybutton should be, and it wheezed in pain. I almost puked from fright but my legs were already carrying me away. I sprinted down the corridors, ignoring all the pain and fear and exhaustion and anger and frustration I had inside me. Without thinking, I leapt into the first janitor's closet I found and locked the door with a dull clunking sound. After catching my breath, I found this notepad and pencil, and have been writing this report in the sterile glow of my flashlight. Hopefully, I have left some useful information for anyone who may find this.
Now I lie in wait for that thing. Now I lie in wait for that grey ooze. What is that thing? Is it truly indestructible? If it can survive a bomb like that, what hope do we have? It’s no wall at all. It’s a membrane. An interface. Somewhere very different is pressing up against us. It has torn a small hole, and was now prying it open further. I should blow up this whole damn place! I should burn it! But would it matter? Or would it just be buried, to be rediscovered? I think even if I survive this, nothing can help us. So here I wait, hoping to be saved, but even as I write this I can hear that thing walking past the door. With a soft click I turn off my flashlight. I try not to breathe. I can hear the snuffling, it’s right outside! I can smell its ugly breath.
Oh God! I hear the jingling of keys. The door is unlocking! How? How?
Oh God! The doorknob is turning...

I’m trapped. I can hear that thing lumbering through the hallway. My God, what the hell is it? I’m trying my best to keep quiet but I can’t help but whimper. The soft scratching of my pencil on this notepad sounds deafening in the quiet of this tiny closet. I’m almost certainly gonna die in this place. I just hope someone can find this, maybe it will do some good. Or maybe it already doesn’t matter. I’m not sure how long I have until that wheezing thing finds me. Oh God, or that grey stuff might ooze under the door and dissolve me. Oh my God! What it did to Benny, Bill, Jonesy and Donald! To all of them! Even if I don’t survive, the world needs to be warned!
Long story short, I was a cop but I got shot in the head. The doctors said I was lucky, that it went straight through without hitting anything vital. However, I still needed three steel plates to hold my fragmented skull together. Also ended up with permanent tremors in my right hand from brain damage. So it’s no surprise that my cop career didn’t thrive. Just a year later I was a “retired” 45-year-old cop, living on scraps. After a few months, I started to get desperate for work. One evening at my pub, my friend, Graham, mentioned an acquaintance who was looking for employees for some private research institute in the Mojave Desert. “What, are they still blowing A-bombs out there?” I scoffed, eyebrows arched with bemused incredulity. Graham stared down at his beer, “Not sure what the hell they do. But they pay super well, so who cares,” he took a long sip of beer, foam clinging to his lips, “I think it would be a good fit for you”.
Turns out this facility, and it really is known as the “Facility”, was located in the middle of nowhere. When I looked it up online I couldn’t find any information. Later that week I called the number that Graham had scrawled down for me on a beer stained napkin. My right hand was useless to me if I wanted it to do anything that required fine motor function, so when I dialed the number on my phone I had to use my left hand. The phone rang twice before a metallic feminine voice answered and said to hold for an operator. After a few seconds of muted elevator music, I spoke to a soft voiced man who told me my skill set was perfect for their current vacancy: a security management position. He said if I filled out some forms they would pay for me to fly on out for an interview in person.
One month and several NDAs later, I was employed again! By the time I started my new job I realized I had no idea what research went on down here. During the interviews my duties as a security manager had been discussed but any mention of their actual research interests had been carefully avoided, redacted or omitted. The security staff were also told to avoid fraternizing with anyone not from their own department, including security personnel from other sections of the Facility. On my first day I asked others about the nature of the Facility’s research, but no one had any interest. “Just stick to your contract. No point in rocking the boat,” my new boss, Bill, said to me curtly. So since then I’ve not discussed it with anyone else.
If only I had, maybe I would have seen this coming. The section of the Facility which I managed was section B.15. This area, like most of the core Facility, was located several hundred feet below the sun scorched surface of the Mojave Desert and comprised many green painted corridors peppered with tall, wide doors made from dark, stainless steel. The rooms inside were large and sterile. Artefacts were cleaned and studied in these rooms after they were brought from the excavation sites (sites E.1 through E.27). Of course, whether we wanted to know the nature of the research or not, eventually, after patrolling some of the research labs for weeks, it wasn’t difficult to figure out that the scientists were mostly archeologists or paleontologists. I would often find objects of different sizes and shapes lying around in various states of cleanliness. Some looked like ancient amphoras, or large stone bird baths. Others were less identifiable: a chipped statue, a melted lump of some unidentifiable metal or large chunks of a glass-like material. I found this all extremely curious because, as far as I knew, the Mojave Desert didn’t have much in the way of ancient architecture. At least of any ancient civilization that I know.
As the months went by I started to get friendly with the other guards, most of them ex-cops too, and we started playing cards and drinking Irish coffee in the evenings. My two main colleagues consisted of a jovial, short man with orange hair named Jonesy and a much older much grumpier and much balder man, Donald. They were good men and we had a lot of laughs together. My stomach twists when I think about where they are now. Though I grew fonder of my fellow guards, I found myself developing a severe dislike for the white coated researchers. Most of them were pernicious and arrogant. The only scientist my security buddies and me could stand was a scrawny man named Benny. Our favorite thing about Benny was that he never talked about his work.
It was earlier today, at around 1400h, when all the scientists were running from their rooms. They must have received some message a few minutes before and we watched them from the surveillance monitors as they got all excited and leapt up. Their lab coats flapped and flowed around as they jumped to their feet and made for the main exit. Soon after this the large red landline phone near my video surveillance desk began to ring. Expecting the call, I picked up the receiver before the first ring finished, “Hey boss, what’s all the excitement about?” Bill’s voice was uncharacteristically hesitant “The diggers have found a friggin’ huge object out here! The biggest thing they’ve ever dug up, it’s really irregular. They want to bring it to B.15 and I need you to organize the logistics and security”. My brow furrowed, “I guess it’s too big for the main entrance? Maybe we could bring it in via the big doors of the auxiliary hangar?” Bill grunted with agreement, “Yea, we’ll have to improvise a bit but should be manageable. I have no idea what it is… well you’ll see for yourself. I’ll get some of the boys from B.14 to help you out. And just, well…” He paused for a moment, “just be careful.” I grunted, my eyebrow arched from surprise; why was he so afraid? “Um thanks, appreciate it, see you guys soon”.
Donald, Jonesy and I had coffee in the office and called the guards at the hangar doors to arrange clearance. About an hour later we were at the platform near the doors waiting for the cargo to arrive. The massive metal hangar doors had been opened, which was rare. What was more irregular was that nearly every staff member from sections B.11 to B.18 were all gathered together in a silent knot of people. Despite the silence the air sizzled with anticipation, as well as the searing heat. I stood transfixed from curiosity at the massive doorway, waiting in the shade of the hangar as the relentless sun beat down outside. In the distance I saw a black speck grow larger against the bright blue sky. Slowly it took the form of a helicopter which was carrying a large rectangular shaped mass below it.
Within less than a minute the helicopter made its cacophonous approach toward the hangar and gently lowered the object onto an enormous wooden scaffold. I barked orders and signed forms as the guards rushed about, making sure the other personnel stayed a safe distance away. The air was blaring with the sound of the helicopter blades and sand rocketed into my face, forcing me to splutter. “Alright, let’s get this thing processed!” I yelled over the sound of the helicopter as its engines powered down, my colleagues and I wiped dirt from our faces. Bill emerged swiftly from the chopper and shook my hand. We quickly reviewed the paper work he gave me and then he made his way back downstairs to his office in section B.1. He was keen to get away for some reason.
“Alright, it’s officially in my care now. Show’s over. Get the non-essential personnel out of here immediately and secure the object. I want to get Benny up here to analyze it ASAP.” As my colleagues cleared away most of the staff and the excitement died down I was finally able to take a moment to inspect the object. It had been lowered onto the wooden scaffold fitted with wheels just outside the hangar and had been pushed slowly into the center. The few aircraft in this hangar were all currently under repairs and were non-operational, therefore there was plenty of space. As soon as I saw the sheer size of the object, I knew it would be difficult to transport, but not impossible. The object was a wall. Or a large fragment of a wall.
It was about twenty feet long, eight feet thick and ten feet high. At first the wall appeared made from some sort of boring grey stone. However, when I looked closer the wall was… alive. The wall’s surface bubbled slightly. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I stepped closer. When I was only a few inches away from it I felt cold. A bead of sweat ran down my cheek and I thought I heard something. It sounded like someone far away calling my name.
I felt a strange pressure around my head. A sudden invasive thought wormed to life: throw yourself into the wall. I shuddered and held myself back despite the sudden strong desire. I heard the faint voice of Benny and crashed back to reality. My eyes snapped open and I found my nose an inch away from the wall. It radiated cold like an open freezer and it smelled like rotting clay. The surface of the wall simmered ever so slightly. It reminded me of the fizz of some grey effervescent medicine. I paled as I took a large step backward, “I.. uh, what is this?” I turned to face Benny who stood with another scientist. He glanced at her briefly before he approached the wall to apply more straps. He was careful to avoid touching the wall with his bare skin. “Honestly, we have no idea”.
I got Donald and Jonesy to help Benny transport the wall down to room 278B via the service elevator. Donald grumbled about how badly the wall smelled and Jonesy had eyes as large as saucers when he saw it up close, “It looks so unreal!” Once downstairs I returned to my office to get some more coffee and file away the paperwork. I tried to put the strangeness of the wall out of my mind, but it had truly unnerved me. I felt so tired, my forehead drenched with cold sweat. I had been working extra shifts lately, but I had never been hit by such exhaustion so rapidly. As I sat at my desk facing the surveillance monitors I was unable to fight the sleep forcing my eyes shut.
I’ve had many hangovers in my life, most of them unpleasant, but when I woke up at my desk I’d never felt quite so singularly awful. My clothes were soaked with sweat and my whole body felt exhausted. My arms felt like molasses as I attempted to move. My forehead throbbed and I felt bruised. I also felt a pressure squeezing my head from all sides. It was quite peculiar. I sat back in my seat and rubbed my eyes.
Then I froze.
A hand was lying motionless on the floor just behind the table in the center of the office. I leapt to my feet and rushed forward. I gasped from horror as I saw Donald lying on the floor, his chest sliced to ribbons. Gallons of crimson red stained his blue uniform and his eyes stared up empty and terrified. Pallid and shaking I went to my office landline to call for backup immediately. As the receiver met my ear my stomach dropped into my feet.
The line was dead.
The sole means of communication within the core Facility is done through landlines. The landlines are monitored at all times and any interruption results in an immediate response from security. We had many protocols and fail safes to ensure communication remained enabled, but the line was dead and there was no sign of any response. In fact, how long had I been asleep? What was happening? I rushed back to the monitors. I hadn’t noticed it before but I couldn’t see anyone. The cameras were all operating normally but not a single person could be seen. The corridors were just as green and bare as most late evenings. I looked at the clock, it was only 1817h. I had slept for about two and a half hours. Where were the janitors? My heart was hammering in my chest and I couldn’t catch my breath. Meanwhile my head was throbbing and my eyes were burning. Suddenly I heard an indistinct whisper. Gooseflesh bloomed all over my back and arms.
I’d heard this voice before.
I’d heard this voice from the wall.
I turned to the monitors and searched for the wall. It had been brought back to the surface; the hangar! It sat upon the bare ground right by the massive doors. However, the doors were all sealed. The wall itself looked different. It was enormous! Almost three times longer and taller and wider. Just then, I realized that the titanium blast doors had been sealed as well. My heart rate doubled as I noticed large dents, scorch marks and scratches all over the doors. Someone had tried to break them down. The hangar floor was covered in blood and ash as well as abandoned weapons. My God, I even saw a rocket-launcher lying blackened and fractured near the doors. What the hell had happened?
I spun my head to look at the security control panel on the wall to my left. My heart, already blaring, felt like it leapt out of my mouth. My eyes grew wide as I realized someone, probably Donald, had activated a quarantine procedure. This meant that the entire Facility would be sealed airtight. The only way to open any doors now was from the outside. My God! Why had he done this? Where was everyone? Did he try to wake me? Did I really sleep through all this? I looked back at Donald, my heart still hammering from seeing his dead eyes stare into mine. I sighed sadly and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was currently 1831h. I returned to the monitors and began to rewind the security footage.
Surveying the screens, I watched my past-self enter the security office at around 1600h. By 1610h I had passed-out on my chair, drool dangling from my mouth. “Ok, so let’s see where the wall was at that time. Should be room 278B.” I thought to myself aloud as I clicked on the button that would display the footage from that room as well as the surrounding corridors. The screen was black as the footage loaded and I was about to hit the play button but hesitated. Did I really want to see this? I closed my eyes and took a few slow breaths. I can’t figure my way out of here if I don’t know what’s going on. I have to know. I hit play.
The camera was located opposite the door giving a full view of the room. At first everything seemed normal. Benny and some other scientists had transported the wall into room 278B. It was 1623h when they were taking the straps off the wall. A loud popping sound was heard and the researchers spun around. The lights in the room dimmed and flickered. Suddenly something long and slimy exploded from the wall, curled around Benny, and pulled him in. He screamed in terror as he vanished, his cries immediately silenced. My jaw dropped open and a small yell escaped me.
Without realizing it, I was instantly on my feet, shaking my head in pure denial. My heart burst. What the hell was that? What the hell? What the hell? My head was full of static. I felt tears in my eyes as I watched guards and researchers rush into the room. The wall shimmered, it’s simmering surface began to boil and bubble and it grew three feet higher. I saw it reshape itself so that intricately carved figures appeared on the wall’s edge. I leant in closer and gasped. One of those figures looked just like Benny, his mouth stretched open wide into a permanent scream. I didn’t want to continue watching, but I had to. The guards and researchers were horrified by what they saw before them. Suddenly, without warning, their body postures relaxed, their eyes grew glassy, and their arms fell slack at their sides. Those within the room moved as if sleepwalking. Some stayed still while others left the room. Brow furrowed from confusion and fear, my eyes swiveled to the footage of the corridor outside. The guards and researchers that had just exited 278B immediately began attacking and grappling those around them. I yelped as a vacant-eyed guard lazily shot another man in the leg. The thrall then dragged the wounded guard into room 278B. The mad guard held the wounded guard’s leg fast as he casually walked into the grey wall, pulling the struggling man in behind him. During this altercation I noticed Donald for the first time, he was hiding behind the corner of the corridor at the far end and was firing his gun at the madmen. He didn’t manage to hit anyone though. He then ran over to help a stray researcher to their feet and then they both ran down the corridor and out of view.
I can still hear the cries of pain and pleas for mercy as those who fell victim to the thralls were each dragged into that horrifying wall. With every person it swallowed, the wall wriggled and grew and grew. More and more ghastly decorations began to bloom on its surface, all of them made from the bones or likenesses of those who had been absorbed. The bigger it got the stronger its psychic influence became until it seemed to reach nearly everyone in the Facility, turning them into thralls. I looked on in horror as one by one, all janitors, researchers, guards, diggers, admin staff, everyone gradually stopped what they were doing, mid conversation, their eyes emptying. The janitors dropped their mops and buckets. Researchers dropped precious materials and equipment without care, letting them smash to pieces. In unison they all slowly, with vacant expressions, moved toward room 278B. Among the horde of thralls, I saw Bill and Jonesy, and so many others I knew by face. A guy who’d held the door for me once, a researcher who always slurped her coffee at lunch. Hundreds of people! What filled me with an unnamable dread was that I knew what was gonna happen. I knew what was coming. I tried to shout at the monitors, “Stop! Wait!” I grabbed the monitors and shook them with frustration.
A terror began to fill my stomach, deep and cold and aching. Suddenly I noticed Donald reappear on the screen. He was trying to hold back the researcher he’d helped earlier, but it was useless. I saw Donald, chest heaving from effort, stare with incredulity as he sat defeated on the ground. Everyone else around him stumbled dreamily toward their doom. But Donald refused to give up. I saw him run from corridor to corridor, trying desperately to stop them. He threw chairs and tables in their way but they simply pushed them aside or jumped over them. I saw him run toward this office. I saw him enter, saw myself slumped on my chair still completely unconscious. I saw Donald try to shake me awake, he slapped me a few times and was yelling in frustration. He gave up with me eventually and ran over to activate the quarantine lockdown. I saw him tear down the hall back toward room 278B, pistol in hand.
My best guess was that he saw what was happening in room 278B and decided he was gonna stop it. However, as soon as he got close to the door a long pale tendril burst through the door directly into Donald’s chest. The tentacle had a hooked end and it slashed at him. I saw blood spurt out of him, saw him stumble and fall from the ground in fright. However, he still managed to get a hold of his gun and fired multiple shots at the tendril. It writhed and flailed. Donald took the opportunity to climb to his feet. He grimaced and clasped his chest as crimson leaked to the floor. He moved back down the corridor, much more slowly than before. Eventually he got back to the office. He locked the door and then collapsed. I cried out in frustration. That whole time I was completely useless!
My mind felt like static again for a few seconds. I couldn’t work out what my next move should be. A thought hit me hard, one I should really have thought of before. Why had Donald and I not been psychically affected by the wall? Everyone had been enslaved, everyone had been forced to walk into that wall. Why not Donald? And me? I knew it must be connected to my horrendous sleepiness. My eyes grew wide with sudden realization. “Shit, the steel plates in my head!” Donald had a single steel plate in his skull because of a rock-climbing accident he had in his 20s. When I got close to the wall, had it sensed my resistance? Had it tried to incapacitate me? If so, it means this thing possesses sentience.
While I pondered this, I noticed some thralls re-strap the wall in room 278B. They transported it to the elevator and back up to the hangar. Once there, the thralls moved the wall off the scaffold onto the floor and began to beat heavily on the large metal doors with bare fists. Some even shot at the doors with their handguns. The ricochets killed a few of them but not one single person seemed to even notice. Some of the guards even used a rocket launcher! I yelled with shock as they fired at deadly close range, lazily blowing themselves up, leaving the doors scorched. After this proved futile, the thralls all grew suddenly rigid. Next, they all formed a line in front of the wall and one shambling step after another, all the remaining employees were - assimilated. Even the dead and wounded were not spared. Those still alive carried the corpses of their fellow thralls into the wall.
It was 1705h when the last employee disappeared forever into the grey horror, and the wall expanded to its current size. Without warning, a large writhing mass of twisted limbs emerged from the wall. I gasped from horror. I couldn’t tell exactly what it was because the lighting in the hangar wasn’t good enough, but it definitely wasn’t human. Its silhouette was about seven feet tall and thin and stretched. It had too many legs and it didn’t seem to have a head. This thing lumbered over to the doors and began to strike them with a strength and ferocity one would only find in a starving polar bear. I could tell that the doors were taking strain, and they began to bend, but even then, they would not yield. After about half an hour of smashing the door, the creature stopped and slowly shambled toward the stairs. My heart froze. It was coming here! Or was it here already?
My eyes swiveled back to the main monitor and I was surprised to see Donald still alive. He was scratched and bleeding badly as he shakily pushed himself from the floor. He then looked up at the ammunitions cupboard and began to search through his keys. I saw him curse. He couldn’t find the key with his trembling, bloodied fingers. In the next instant his eyes bulged and he heaved as if vomiting. His body doubled over and long grey tendrils oozed from his mouth and wriggled furiously. He grabbed his throat and fell forward onto the floor. Frozen in horror I watched as his body squirmed and he wriggled as if his intestines were filled with snakes. I continued to watch absolutely transfixed as three long grey tendrils emerged again from between Donald’s lips. Slowly they wriggled free of his mouth. They were about half a foot long, dull grey and thin like spaghetti.
I watched as they slithered toward my unconscious form on the monitor. I bit my lip and stood up. Slowly my brain put two and two together. Bile rose in my throat. I yelled at myself to wake up and see the worms. Just then my stomach dropped and I could feel an itchiness in my belly. I could feel the wriggling itch of a thousand grey eels in my gut. Or was I imagining it?
My stomach writhed and I was about to puke when I saw myself awake and stretch in my chair. The worms somehow realized I was awake and they moved out of view towards the –before I could watch the screen any longer, I heard a hiss and something slimy and long wrapped itself around my throat so tight I couldn’t breathe. I gasped with surprise and strained my neck to look at the monitor that showed the room in real time. I saw from the camera behind my head that something thin and grey had wrapped itself around my throat. I saw two more of those things coming at me from behind as well. They were about to come wriggling up my chair when I grimaced with anger and grabbed my gun from its holster. The thing around my neck was hissing and making awful clicking and guttural noises. Its small worm head had a mouth that bit and it latched onto my neck to suck my blood. I pulled at the leach and pressed my gun up against it. I pulled the trigger. With an earsplitting bang and a sound like a water balloon popping the leach was reduced to sticky goo. I pulled the remnants of the leach off my neck and spun around just in time to shoot and kill the others. I grinned with a mad-joy and yelled with relief. Immediately, a wave of nausea and exhaustion hit me and I fell back onto my chair. “What the hell was that? What the hell do I do now?” I sat still for a moment and tried not to lose my mind completely. I swear I could hear Woody the woodpecker laughing somewhere in the distance. I needed to keep it together. I took a long deep breath and tried to think of a way out.
Summarizing the details of my predicament, I realized I was trapped alone inside the Facility with an otherworldly force. Also, even if I found a way out, I’d potentially be letting an evil into the world that could destroy all life. At once an old thought returned to me, one I’d often experienced as a cop. “If I need to sacrifice myself to save others, I will do so without complaint.” A wry smile spread over my face. “Once a cop, always a cop.” My smile vanished as a I continued to think. “But my God, if this thing gets out. If it gets into the minds of other people. If it gets larger and larger. Could it swallow the world? The solar system? What other monstrosities would it unleash?” I was talking aloud now; the sound of my voice gave a new reality to my situation that made me shudder. I turned back to the monitor. It seems I was all caught up with what had happened. I stared blankly into the screen while I watched my past-self continue to wake and wince from pain. I switched the monitor off and saw my reflection in the blackness of the screen. I was pale and my eyes were wide and unblinking. “What do I do now?” I turned in my chair to look at Donald’s body. Were all those worms gone? Could some still be hiding? And what should be done with his body? Probably best to have it burned. “Poor Donald, he didn’t deserve this”, I muttered softly as I examined his corpse, making sure there were no unexplained twitches beneath his skin. My eyes moved from his body up to the ammunition’s cupboard just above. “Wait, why was he trying to get into the cupboard earlier? We don’t have much…”, my eyes grew large with realization. “Holy crap, he was trying to get the bomb! Me and Donald were gonna use a left-over bomb from the excavation site to blow some random shit up!”
I sighed sadly and heavily. We never got around to it. I stood up quickly and walked up to the cupboard. I pulled out my keys and quickly found the key I’d need. I opened the cupboard with little effort and found the ten kilos of plastic explosive inside. It had already been set up with a sixty second timer and a remote detonator by a colleague. I sat at the table with the explosive, a vague plan forming in my broken mind. “Maybe if I somehow get this wall-thing to eat this bomb then...”
Before I could formulate my thoughts fully, the lights flickered, and the entire Facility was plunged into darkness unceremoniously. My nerves were burning with fear. What had happened? Had that thing knocked the power out somehow? The next few seconds that past were some of the longest I’d ever experienced. However, dim green light bloomed to life and the reserve power kicked in. Then I heard slow, shuffling footsteps in the corridor just outside the office. I froze once again, my insides turning to mush. My mind raced. Had I remembered to lock the door? My stomach leapt into my feet as I heard the shuffling get louder and louder. I heard hoarse, wheezing breaths, as if the thing struggled to breathe. I jumped from fright but remained absolutely silent as whatever the thing was banged on the door with a deafening blow.
BANG! The door shook and bent slightly.
BANG! Silence for a moment.
BANG! BANG! Again silence. My heart was hammering in my ears and I sat deathly still. I could hear that thing breathing louder. After a few moments I heard it shuffle away. My entire body was shaking as relief washed over me. Whatever the thing was, it had walked away and I could no longer hear it. I turned to look at the monitors. Dare I turn them on and check what it was? After a few seconds of consideration, holding my breath, I turned to the monitors and switched them on. I waited in nervous anticipation as the screens flickered to life showing me that all the corridors between me and the wall were currently empty. I didn’t bother checking the corridor I suspected the shambling thing was in. I didn’t want to see it unless I needed to. I’d had just about all the stress and terror I could take and by this stage I felt weirdly calm. It must be shock. A thin sigh escaped me as I stood. The fear in my blood began to feed a furnace of anger in my heart. I thought about all those who I had lost. I felt my expression turn to granite, “It’s time to kill this thing.”
I opened the door slowly, my fully loaded gun in my good hand. Spare ammo along with the explosive and a shotgun was stashed in my backpack, and the remote detonator was tied to my belt. I held a heavy-duty flashlight in my shaky right hand. I moved cautiously through the dark green corridors. I’d never thought of how creepy this place could be until this moment. Gooseflesh crept up my arms and neck as I continued. All I could hear were my soft footfalls and shallow anxious breaths. I cleared the corridors one by one until I made it to the stairs that would lead me to the thing that looks like a wall. I walked up the stairs slowly, my ears honing in on any sound. That’s when I heard it. I heard the soft sound of crying.
Someone was crying. I stopped dead in my tracks. My entire body shook from the adrenaline surging through me. I took one step. Then another. Slowly, I climbed. Once my head could peek over the top, I froze. Jonesy was squatting on his knees, naked. He was between the wall and me, with his back facing me. The terrifying thing loomed enormous before us. It was now framed intricately with the skeletons of hundreds of people, all twisted and screaming in agony. Writhing, tortured souls fused together. Then came the sound of crying and moaning from the wall. I could hear them all. They were all screaming. Screaming for me to help them. To join them. I felt that pressure squeeze against my skull tighter and tighter. I shook my head in defiance. “No! You bastard! NO! I will not join you! You’re not Jonesy!” All at once the moans and wails stopped. I suddenly found myself at the top of the stairs without knowing when I’d finished climbing them. “But we are Jonesy” came a voice that was not human. It was a voice made from all those it had swallowed up. It was as though something had made a distorted copy of the voices of all those people and then just used them all at once to speak. It didn’t understand the concept of individuality. All of a sudden, the wall rippled and grey tendrils squirmed from the flesh of the wall, curling around Jonesy as they teased his face and slowly pulled him in. As he disappeared there was a horrendous sucking, squelching noise. “We are Jonesy. We are all. We can be all. We will be all. All and all and more than all.” The voice was chanting this over and over. Louder and louder.
A deafening blast came from the wall and a slithering, writhing mass of tangled human limbs emerged. It had four legs and several arms. It looked like the bodies of eight or more people shuffled and glued into an otherworldly horror. Its multiple mouths screamed a high pitch squeal that was more horrifying than the screams of the damned, and its sharp pointed teeth gnashed and chomped. I only had a second to dodge this monster. I leapt to the side and fired multiple shots at the thing’s center of mass. Its horrifying body of fused torsos wriggled and bled black ichor. It screamed with pain and jumped at me, grabbing my leg. It tossed me into the air and I almost lost my gun as I slammed into the floor a few feet away. Before I could catch my breath, it was upon me again. From the ground I fired several shots at it. This made it jump away and scuttle down the stairs. With it momentarily out of sight, I quickly got to my feet and kept my eyes on the stairs.
After a second, I decided to kneel and take off my backpack as fast as I could. I pulled out the bomb and started the timer. I also decided to get the shotgun out and get it loaded. I needed to do this now or never. As the final shell clicked into place I heard a roar coming from the stairs. The thing was back. Before I could react, it leapt at me and knocked me to the ground. The bomb flew from my grasp. It bared down on me, grabbing at my throat ready to tear me apart. My reflexes saved me though and I managed to use my shotgun to hold the thing at bay, but it was too strong. Desperate, I kicked it hard in the chest and it let go. I used this moment to grab the bomb that lay behind me; only 37 seconds to go! Terrified and crazed, sweat pouring down my face, my mind in pieces, I rammed the bomb into the creature’s mouth and kicked it back again as hard as I could. I heard it yelp like a wounded dog and it lost its footing. It fell sideways and in that second, I took my shotgun and fired at it in the chest. The force of the close-range blast sent me flying. At the same time the creature was hurled back into the wall where it was enveloped quickly.
My head was fuzzy. I was dizzy and the wind had been knocked out of me. Was the bomb going to work? I felt something warm and wet drip into my ear and touched the side of my head. My fingertips came away soaked in blood. My head was spinning. With a foggy mind I grabbed my bag, collecting my weapons and flashlight. As I stood up I heard a low rumbling sound. The ground beneath my feet shook and for a moment I was confused. Then I looked up at the wall. Its surface was roiling and boiling like I’d never seen before. It was shaking and growing. I turned to run when suddenly there was a massive blast from inside it, and the entire wall exploded into hundreds of small grey chunks. These chunks rained down all around the hangar, smashing several aircraft. The blast knocked me off my feet and this time I definitely passed out because when I awoke I could see daylight through the tiny cracks in the blast door. Where the wall had once been now stood a small blackened crater. I turned around to inspect the wall pieces and found that they – my eyes grew wide and my mouth opened. They were melting. As I approached a fragment of wall, a horrible twisted hand shot out at me. I yelled and jumped away. It was still alive! I watched in dumbfounded horror as the pieces continued to melt and began to merge, just like that scene from Terminator 2.
It was rebuilding itself. Then I heard a groan. My blood became ice. I turned slowly in terror to find the shambling, wheezing monstrosity behind me. Like the creature I'd shot, this one seemed made from bits and pieces of human limbs knitted together randomly. This one had legs which came out its mouth, its head positioned within its torso where the bellybutton should be, and it wheezed in pain. I almost puked from fright but my legs were already carrying me away. I sprinted down the corridors, ignoring all the pain and fear and exhaustion and anger and frustration I had inside me. Without thinking, I leapt into the first janitor's closet I found and locked the door with a dull clunking sound. After catching my breath, I found this notepad and pencil, and have been writing this report in the sterile glow of my flashlight. Hopefully, I have left some useful information for anyone who may find this.
Now I lie in wait for that thing. Now I lie in wait for that grey ooze. What is that thing? Is it truly indestructible? If it can survive a bomb like that, what hope do we have? It’s no wall at all. It’s a membrane. An interface. Somewhere very different is pressing up against us. It has torn a small hole, and was now prying it open further. I should blow up this whole damn place! I should burn it! But would it matter? Or would it just be buried, to be rediscovered? I think even if I survive this, nothing can help us. So here I wait, hoping to be saved, but even as I write this I can hear that thing walking past the door. With a soft click I turn off my flashlight. I try not to breathe. I can hear the snuffling, it’s right outside! I can smell its ugly breath.
Oh God! I hear the jingling of keys. The door is unlocking! How? How?
Oh God! The doorknob is turning...

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I’m trapped. I can hear that thing lumbering through the hallway. My God, what the hell is it?The soft scratching of my pencil sounds deafening in the quiet of this tiny closet. I’m almost certainly gonna die in this place. I just hope someone can find this, maybe it will do some good. Or maybe it already doesn’t matter. I’m not sure how long I have until that wheezing thing finds me. Oh Jesus, or that grey stuff might ooze under the door and dissolve me. Oh my God! What it did to Benny, Sammy, Jonesy and Donald! To all of them! Even if I don’t survive, the world needs to be warned!
Long story short, I was a cop but I got shot in the head. The doctors said I was lucky, that it went straight through without hitting anything vital. However, I still needed three steel plates to hold my skull together. Also ended up with permanent tremors in my right hand and a nasty scar just under my eye. So, it’s no surprise that my cop career didn’t thrive. Just a year later I was a “retired” 45-year-old cop, living off scraps. After a few months, I started to get desperate for work. One evening while out with my friend, Graham, he mentioned something about some private research institute in the Mojave Desert. “What, are they still blowing A-bombs out there?” I scoffed, eyebrows arched with bemused incredulity. Graham stared down at his beer, “Not sure what the hell they do. But they pay super well, so who cares,” he took a long sip of beer, foam clinging to his lips, “I think it would be a good fit for you”.
Turns out this facility, and it really is known as the “Facility”, was located in the middle of nowhere. When I looked it up I couldn’t find any information at all. Later that week I called the number that Graham had scrawled down for me on a beer stained napkin. My right hand wasn’t good with delicate tasks so when I dialed the number I had to use my left hand. The phone rang twice before a metallic voice answered and said to hold for an operator. After a few seconds of muted elevator music, I spoke to a soft voiced woman who told me my skill set was perfect for their current vacancy: a security management position. Her voice was soothing, “Your credentials are excellent. If you like I can fax some forms and a draft contract over, and we can pay for you to fly on up to see us in person. I’m certain you’ll get offered the job.”
She was right. One flight and several NDAs later, I was employed again! By the time I started my new job I realized I had no idea what research went on down here. During the interviews my duties as a security manager had been discussed but any mention of their actual research interests had been carefully omitted. On my first day I asked others about the nature of the Facility’s research, but no one had any interest. “Just stick to your contract. No point in rockin’ the boat,” my new boss, Sammy, said to me curtly. I’ve not discussed it since.
The part of the Facility which I managed was section B.15. This area was located several hundred feet below the sun scorched surface of the Mojave Desert. It comprised many green corridors peppered with tall wide doors made from dark, stainless steel. The rooms inside were large and sterile. Of course, whether or not we wanted to know the nature of the research, after patrolling some of the research labs for weeks, it wasn’t hard to figure out that the scientists were mostly archeologists. Or maybe paleontologists. I often found different objects lying around in various states of cleanliness. Some looked like ancient amphoras, or large stone bird baths or even fossilized remains. Others were less identifiable: a melted lump of some glimmering metal or large chunks of a glass-like material. I found this all extremely curious because, as far as I knew, the Mojave Desert didn’t have much in the way of ancient architecture. At least of any ancient civilization that I know.
As the months went by I started to get friendly with the other guards, most of them ex-cops too, and we played cards and drank Irish coffee in the evenings. My two main colleagues consisted of a jovial, short man with orange hair named Jonesy and a much older much grumpier and much balder man, Donald. They were good men and we had a lot of laughs together. My stomach twists when I think about where they are now. Though I grew fonder of my fellow guards, I found myself developing a severe dislike for the researchers. Most of them were mean and arrogant. The only scientist my security buddies liked was a scrawny guy named Benny. Our favorite thing about Benny was that he never talked about his work.
It was earlier, at 1400h, when all the scientists were running from their rooms. They must have received some message a few minutes before and we watched them from the surveillance monitors as they got all excited, their lab coats flapping and flowing as they made for the stairs. Soon after this, the large red landline phone near my desk began to ring. Expecting the call, I picked up the receiver before the first ring finished, “Hey boss, what’s all the excitement about?” Sammy’s voice was uncharacteristically anxious, “The diggers have found a friggin’ huge object out here! The biggest thing they’ve ever dug up. They want to bring it to B.15 so I need you to organize the logistics and security”. My brow furrowed, “I guess it’s too big for the main entrance? Maybe we could bring it in via the big doors of the auxiliary hangar?” she grunted with agreement, “Yea, we’ll have to improvise a bit but should be manageable. I’ll get some of the boys from B.10 and B.14 to help you out.” I nodded, “Thanks, see you soon”
Donald, Jonesy, some interns and I had coffee in the office and called the guards at the hangar doors to arrange clearance. About an hour later we met the guards from B.10. and B.14, together we climbed the many stairs to the hangar and waited for the cargo to arrive. The massive metal hangar doors had been opened, which was rare. What was more irregular was that nearly every staff member from sections B.09 to B.18 were all gathered together in a silent knot of people. Despite the silence the air sizzled with anticipation, as well as the searing heat. I stood transfixed from curiosity, waiting in the shade of the doorway as the relentless sun beat down outside. I squinted. In the distance I saw a black speck grow larger against the bright blue sky. Slowly it took the form of a helicopter with an enormous rectangular shaped mass dangling below it.
Within less than a minute the helicopter made its cacophonous approach toward the hangar and gently lowered the object onto a wide wooden scaffold. I barked orders and signed forms as the guards rushed about. The air was blaring with the sound of helicopter blades and sand rocketed into my face, forcing me to splutter. “Alright, let’s get this thing processed!” I yelled over the sound of the helicopter as its engines powered down. My colleagues and I wiped dirt from our faces. Sammy emerged swiftly from the chopper and shook my hand. Her hair was in its characteristic librarian-bun but her eyes were glassy. Had she been drinking? We quickly reviewed the paper work she gave me and then she made her way back downstairs to her office in section B.1. She was keen to get away for some reason.
As my colleagues cleared away most of the staff and the excitement died down I was finally able to take a moment to inspect the object. It had been lowered onto a wooden scaffold fitted with wheels and had been pushed slowly into the center of the hangar. The few aircraft in this hangar were all currently under repairs, leaving plenty of space for the object.
The object was a wall. It was rectangular and about twenty-five feet long, ten feet thick and twelve feet high. The wall first appeared made from boring grey stone. I even remember thinking, “It’s not even that big”. However, when I looked closer it was, alive. I barely noticed the helicopter take off and leave as I saw the wall’s surface bubble. The hangar doors began to close as the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. A bead of sweat ran down my cheek and I thought I heard something. It sounded like someone far away calling my name. I felt a strange pressure around my head. A sudden invasive thought dug into my mind: throw yourself into the wall. I shuddered and held myself back despite the sudden strong desire. I heard the faint voice of Benny and crashed back to reality. My eyes snapped open and I found my nose an inch away from the wall. It radiated cold like an open freezer and it smelled like rotten clay. The surface of the wall simmered ever so slightly. It reminded me of the fizz of some grey effervescent medicine. I paled as I took a large step backward, “I.. uh, what is this?” I turned to face Benny who stood with another scientist. He glanced at her briefly before he approached the wall, “Honestly, we have no idea”.
I got Donald and Jonesy to help Benny transport the wall down to room 278B via the service elevator. Donald grumbled, “Guh, this thing smells like something my dog puked up”. Meanwhile Jonesy stared with eyes as large as saucers, “It looks so cool!” Once downstairs, I told Donald and Jonesy to take some forms to the admin department and I returned alone to my office to get some more coffee and file away the rest of the paperwork. I tried to put the strangeness of the wall out of my mind, but it had truly unnerved me. I felt so tired. As I sat at my desk facing the surveillance monitors I was unable to fight the force fusing my eyelids together.
I’ve been hungover a lot, but when I woke up at my desk I’d never felt quite so singularlyawful. My clothes were soaked with sweat and my whole body felt exhausted. My arms felt like molasses. My forehead throbbed and I was bruised. I also felt a weird pressure squeezing my head from all sides. I sat back in my seat and rubbed my eyes.
Then I froze.
A hand was lying motionless on the floor just behind the table at the center of the room. I leapt to my feet and rushed forward. I gasped from horror as I saw Donald lying there, his chest sliced to ribbons. Gallons of dark scarlet stained his blue uniform. His eyes stared up empty and terrified. Pallid and shaking I ran to my landline to call for backup immediately. As the receiver met my ear my stomach dropped into my feet.
The line was dead.
I was so confused. We had lots of fail safes to ensure communication remained enabled, but the line was dead and there was no sign of any response. I rushed back to the monitors. The cameras were all operating normally. I started to breathe heavily. I couldn’t see anyone. The corridors were green and bare. I looked at the clock. It was 1817h. I had slept for about two hours. But where was everyone? Where were the janitors? My heart was hammering in my chest and my head was throbbing. My eyes narrowed with a sudden thought. Where was that wall?
I searched for the wall and found it was back in the hangar! It sat upon the bare ground right by the massive doors. However, the doors were sealed. The wall itself looked different. It was absolutely enormous! Just over two times longer and taller and wider. Just then, I realized that the titanium blast doors had been sealed as well. My heart rate doubled as I noticed large dents, scorch marks and scratches all over the doors. The hangar floor was covered in blood. My God, I even saw a rocket-launcher lying blackened and fractured near the doors. What the hell had happened?
I spun my head to look at the security panel on the wall to my left. My heart, already racing, felt like it leapt out of my mouth. My eyes grew wide as I realized Donald must have activated a quarantine procedure. This meant that the entire Facility would be sealed airtight. The only way to open any doors now was from the outside. My God! Why had he done this? Where was everyone? Did I really sleep through all this? Where was Jonesy? I looked back at Donald, my heart still racing from seeing his dead eyes stare into mine. I sighed sadly and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was now 1831h. I returned to the monitors and began to rewind the security footage.
Surveying the screens, I watched my past-self enter the security office at around 1600h. By 1610h I had passed-out on my chair, drool dangling from my mouth. “Ok, so let’s see where the wall was at that time. Should be room 278B.” I thought to myself aloud as I clicked on the button that displayed the footage of room 278B and the surrounding corridors. The screens were black as the footage loaded and I was about to hit the play button but hesitated. Did I really want to see this? I closed my eyes and took a few slow breaths. I have to know. I hit play.
The camera was located opposite the door giving a full view of the room. At first everything was normal. It was 1623h when they were unstrapping the wall. A loud popping sound was heard and the researchers spun around. The lights in the room dimmed and flickered. Suddenly something long and slimy exploded from the flesh of the wall. It wrapped around Benny and pulled him in. He screamed in terror as he vanished, his cries immediately silenced.
Without realizing it I was instantly on my feet, shaking my head in pure denial. My heart burst. What the hell was that? What the hell? What the hell? My head was full of static. I felt tears in my eyes as I watched guards and researchers rush into the room. The wall shimmered, it’s simmering surface began to boil and bubble and it grew a few inches higher. I saw it reshape itself so that intricately carved figures appeared on the wall’s edge. I leant in closer and gasped. One of those figures looked just like Benny, his mouth stretched into a permanent scream. The guards and researchers were horrified by what they saw. Suddenly, without warning, their body postures relaxed, their eyes grew glassy, and their arms fell slack at their sides. Those within the room moved as if sleepwalking. Some stayed still while others left the room. Brow furrowed from confusion and fear, my eyes swiveled to the footage of the corridors outside. The guards and researchers that had just exited 278B immediately began attacking and grappling those around them. I yelped as a vacant-eyed guard lazily shot another man in the leg. The thrall then dragged the wounded guard into room 278B. The mad guard held the wounded guard’s leg fast as he casually walked into the grey wall, pulling the struggling man in behind him. During this altercation I noticed Donald, he was hiding behind the corner of the corridor at the far end and was firing his gun at the thralls. He didn’t manage to hit anyone though. He then ran over to help a stray research intern to her feet and then they both ran down the corridor and out of view.
I could still hear the pleas for mercy as those who fell victim to the thralls were dragged into that horrifying wall. With every person it swallowed, the wall wriggled and grew. More ghastly decorations began to bloom on its surface, all of them made from the bones or likenesses of those absorbed. The bigger it got the stronger its psychic influence became until it reached everyone in the Facility. I looked on in horror as one by one, all janitors, researchers, guards, diggers, admin staff, everyone stopped what they were doing, mid conversation, their eyes emptying. The janitors dropped their mops and buckets. Researchers dropped precious materials and equipment without care, letting them smash to pieces. In unison, with vacant expressions, they moved toward room 278B. Among the horde of thralls, I saw Sammy and Jonesy, and so many others I knew. A guy who’d held the door for me once, a researcher who always slurped her coffee at lunch. Hundreds of people! What filled me with an unnamable dread was that I knew what was gonna happen. I knew what was coming. I tried to shout at the monitors, “Stop! Wait!” I grabbed the monitors and shook them with frustration.
A terror began to fill my stomach, deep and cold and aching. Suddenly I noticed Donald reappear on the screen. He was trying to hold back the intern he’d helped earlier, but it was useless. I saw Donald stare with incredulity as he sat defeated on the ground. Everyone else around him stumbled dreamily toward their doom. But Donald refused to give up. I saw him run from corridor to corridor, trying desperately to stop them. He threw chairs and tables in their way but they simply pushed them aside or jumped over them. I saw him run toward this office. I saw him enter, saw myself slumped on my chair still completely unconscious. I saw Donald try to shake me awake, he slapped me a few times and was yelling in frustration. He gave up with me eventually and ran over to activate the quarantine lockdown. I saw him tear down the hall back toward room 278B, pistol in hand.
As soon as Donald got close to 278B a long pale tendril burst through the door directly into his chest. The tentacle had a hooked end and it slashed him. I saw blood spurt out of him, saw him stumble and fall to the ground. However, he still managed to get a hold of his gun and fired multiple shots at the tendril. It writhed and flailed. Donald took this opportunity to climb to his feet. He grimaced and clasped his chest as crimson leaked to the floor. He moved back down the corridor. Eventually he got back to the office. He locked the door and, still fumbling with his keys, attempted to open the ammunitions cupboard. Before he could find the right key, he cursed and then collapsed. I cried out in frustration. That whole time I was completely useless!
My mind felt like static again for a few seconds. I couldn’t work out what my next move should be. A thought hit me hard. Why had Donald and I not been psychically affected by the wall? Everyone had been enslaved. Why not Donald? And me? My eyebrows shot up into my receding hairline with sudden realization. “Shit, the steel plates in my head!” And Donald had a steel plate in his skull too because of a rock-climbing accident he had in his 20s. When I got close to the wall, had it sensed my resistance? Had it tried to incapacitate me? If so, it meant the thing possesses sentience.
While I pondered this, I noticed some thralls re-strap the wall in room 278B. They transported it to the elevator and back up to the hangar. Once there, the thralls moved the wall off the scaffold onto the floor and began to beat heavily on the large metal doors with bare fists. Some even shot at the doors with their handguns. The ricochets killed a few of them but not one single person even noticed. Some of the guards even used a rocket launcher! I yelled with shock as they fired at deadly close range, lazily blowing themselves up, leaving the doors scorched. After this proved futile, the thralls all grew rigid. Next, they all formed a line in front of the wall and one shambling step after another, all the remaining employees were - assimilated. Even the dead and wounded were not spared. Those still alive carried the corpses of their fellow thralls into the wall.
It was 1735h when the last employee disappeared forever into the grey horror, and the wall expanded to its current size. Without warning, a large mass of twisted limbs emerged from the wall. I gasped from horror. Its silhouette was about seven feet tall and thin and stretched. It had too many legs and it didn’t appear to have a head. This thing lumbered over to the doors and began to strike them with a strength and ferocity found only in a starving polar bear. I could tell that the doors were taking strain, and they began to bend, but even then, they did not yield. After just over half an hour of smashing the door, the creature stopped and slowly shambled toward the stairs. My heart froze. It was coming here! Or was it here already? I sat still for a moment and tried not to lose my mind completely. I swear I could hear Woody the woodpecker laughing somewhere in the distance. I needed to keep it together. I took a long deep breath and tried to think of a way out.
Summarizing the details of my predicament, I realized I was trapped alone inside the Facility with an otherworldly force. Also, even if I found a way out, I’d potentially be letting an evil into the world that could destroy all life. My eyes grew even wider and I grabbed at my hair, “But my God, if this thing gets out. If it gets into the minds of other people. If it gets larger and larger. Could it swallow the world?” I was talking aloud now; the sound of my voice gave a new clarity to my situation that made me shudder. I turned back to the monitor. It seems I was all caught up. I stared blankly into the screen while I watched my past-self wake and wince from pain. I switched the monitor off and saw my reflection in the blackness of the screen. I was pale and my eyes were sunken and unblinking. “What do I do now?” I turned in my chair to look at Donald’s body. “Poor Donald, he didn’t deserve this”, I muttered softly. My eyes moved from his body up to the ammunition’s cupboard just above. “Wait, was he trying to get into the cupboard earlier?”, I gasped with realization. “Holy crap, he was trying to get the bomb! Me and Donald were gonna use a left-over bomb from the excavation site to blow some random shit up!”
I stood up quickly and walked up to the cupboard. I opened the cupboard with little effort and found the twenty pounds of plastic explosive inside. It had already been set up with a sixty second timer and a remote detonator. I sat at the table with the explosive, a vague plan forming in my broken mind. “Maybe if I somehow get this wall-thing to eat this bomb then...”
Before I could formulate my thoughts fully, the lights flickered, and the entire Facility was plunged into darkness unceremoniously. My nerves burned with fear. What had happened? Had that thing knocked the power out somehow? The next few seconds that past were the longest I’d ever experienced. Eventually dim green light bloomed to life and the reserve power kicked in. Then I heard slow, shuffling footsteps in the corridor just outside the office. I froze once again, my insides turning to mush. My mind raced. Had I remembered to lock the door? My stomach leapt into my feet as I heard the shuffling get louder and louder. I heard hoarse, wheezing breaths, as if the thing struggled to breathe. I jumped from fright but remained absolutely silent as whatever the thing was banged on the door with a deafening blow.
BANG!
The door shook and bent slightly.
BANG!
Silence.
BANG!
My heart was hammering in my ears and I sat deathly still. I could hear that thing breathing louder. After a few moments I heard it shuffle away. My entire body was shaking as relief washed over me. I turned to look at the screens. Dare I turn them on and check what it was? After a few seconds I turned to the monitors and switched them on. I waited in nervous anticipation as they flickered to life showing me that all the corridors between me and the wall were currently empty. I didn’t bother checking the corridor I suspected the shambling thingwas in. I didn’t want to see it unless I needed to. I’d had just about all the stress and terror I could take and by this stage I felt weirdly calm. It must be shock. A thin sigh escaped me as I stood. The fear in my blood began to feed a furnace of anger in my heart. I thought about all those who I had lost. I felt my expression turn to granite, “It’s time to kill this thing.”
I opened the door slowly, my fully loaded gun in my good hand. Spare ammo along with the explosive and a sawed-off shotgun was stashed in my backpack, and the remote detonator was tied to my belt. I held a heavy-duty flashlight in my shaky right hand. I moved cautiously through the dark green corridors. I’d never thought of how creepy this place could be until this moment. Gooseflesh crept up my arms and neck as I continued. All I could hear were my soft footfalls and shallow anxious breaths. I cleared the corridors one by one until I made it to the stairs. I walked up the stairs carefully. I took one step. Then another. Slowly, I climbed. After many minutes, I was near the hangar. Then I heard the soft sound of crying.
Someone was crying. No. Many people were crying.
I stopped dead in my tracks. My entire body shook from the adrenaline surging through me. Once my head peeked over the top of the landing, I froze. The wall loomed gigantic before me. Its edges were now framed intricately with the skeletons of hundreds of people, all twisted and screaming in agony; tortured souls bound together. I could hear them all. They were all screaming. Screaming for me to join them. I felt that pressure squeeze against my skull tighter and tighter. I shook my head in defiance. “No! You bastard! NO! I will not join you!” All at once the moans and wails stopped. I suddenly found myself at the top of the stairs without knowing when I’d finished climbing them. “But you will” came the sound of hundreds of twisted voices fused into one. “We are them. We are all. We can be all. We will be all. All and all and more than all.”
A deafening blast came from the wall and slithering, tangled human limbs emerged. It had four legs and several arms. It looked like the bodies of eight or more people shuffled and glued into an otherworldly horror. Its multiple mouths screamed a high pitched roar that was pure torment, and its sharp pointed teeth gnashed and chomped. I only had a second to dodge. I leapt to the side and fired multiple shots at the thing’s center of mass. Its horrifying body of fused torsos wriggled and bled black ichor. It screamed with pain and jumped at me, grabbing my leg. It tossed me into the air and I slammed into the floor a few feet away. As I hit the ground I yelled in pain and heard something metallic smash. Before I could catch my breath, it was upon me again. From the ground I fired several shots at it. This made it jump away and scuttle down the stairs. I noticed immediately that the remote detonator had been smashed beyond repair. With the creature momentarily out of sight, I kneeled and took off my backpack as fast as I could. “Only one way then”, I said quietly as I pulled out the bomb and started the timer manually. I also got the shotgun out. I needed to do this now or never.
As the final shell clicked into place I heard a roar coming from the stairs. The thing was back. Before I could react, it leapt at me and knocked me to the ground. The bomb flew from my grasp. It bared down on me, grabbing at my throat ready to tear me apart. My reflexes saved me and I managed to use my shotgun to hold the thing at bay, but it was way too strong. Desperate, I kicked it hard in the chest and it let go. I used this moment to grab the bomb that lay behind me; only 37 seconds to go! Terrified and crazed, sweat pouring down my face, my mind in pieces, I rammed the bomb into one of the creature’s mouths and kicked it back again as hard as I could. I heard it yelp like a wounded dog and it lost its footing. It fell sideways and in that second, I took my shotgun and fired at it in the chest. The force of the close-range blast sent me flying. At the same time the creature was hurled back into the wall where it was enveloped quickly.
My head was fuzzy. I was dizzy and the wind had been knocked out of me. Was the bomb going to work? I felt something warm and wet drip into my ear and touched the side of my head. My fingertips came away soaked in blood. My head was spinning. With a foggy mind I grabbed my bag, collecting my weapons and flashlight. As I stood up I heard a low rumbling sound. The ground beneath my feet shook and for a moment I was confused. Then I looked up at the wall. Its surface was boiling like I’d never seen before. It was shaking and growing. I turned to run when suddenly there was a massive blast, and the entire wall exploded into hundreds of grey chunks. These rained down all around the hangar, smashing several aircrafts. The blast knocked me off my feet.
When I awoke I could see early morning light through the tiny cracks in the blast door. Where the wall had once been now stood a small blackened crater. I coughed and lifted my head to inspect the wall pieces and found that they – my mouth opened. They were melting. I watched in dumbfounded horror as the pieces began to merge, just like that scene from Terminator 2. It was rebuilding itself.
As I stood to run I heard a groan. My blood became ice.
I turned slowly in terror to find the shambling, wheezing monstrosity behind me. Like the creature I’d shot, this one seemed made from bits and pieces of human limbs knitted together randomly. This one had six legs which came out of its mouth, its head positioned within its torso where the bellybutton should be, and it wheezed in pain. I almost puked from fright but my feet were already carrying me away. I sprinted down the corridors, ignoring all the pain and fear and exhaustion and anger and frustration inside me. Without thinking, I leapt into the first janitor’s closet I found and locked the door. After catching my breath, I found this notepad and pencil, and have been writing this report in the sterile glow of my flashlight. Hopefully, I have left some useful information for anyone who may find this.
Now I lie in wait. What is that thing? If it can survive a bomb like that, what hope do we have? It’s no wall at all. It’s a membrane. An interface. Somewhere very different is pressing up against us. It has torn a small hole, and was now prying it open further.
So here I wait, hoping to be saved, but even as I write this I can hear that thing walking past the door. With a soft click I turn off my flashlight. I try not to breathe. I can hear the snuffling, it’s right outside!
Shit! Shit! I hear keys. The door is unlocking! How? How?
Oh God! The doorknob is turning...

In twilight's hue, shadows dance and play, A dreadful truth, I shall now convey. Heed this warning, lest you falter and stray, For the hand that feeds, may also slay.
In darkest night, when mortal senses sleep, The fed and feeder creep, with stealthy step. Tendrils of trust, entwine like serpent's coil, As the fed's mind unravels, like a spider's web.
In halls of madness, thoughts unwind like a noose, The fed's soul binds to the feeder's dark allure. A pact of dependency, sealed with a blood-kiss cold, As the feeder's power corrodes the fed's will, leaving it old.
In labyrinths of mind, terrors breed and multiply, The fed's free will slowly devoured, like a moth in a spider's eye. A sacrifice to the feeder's dark design, As the fed's autonomy fades like a declining vine.
In realms of dream, horrors reign supreme, The fed's psyche writhes in pain, like a soul in a furnace. A chorus of whispers echoes through the night, As the feeder's grasp tightens, with a malevolent might.
Beware, dear mortal, the hand that feeds your soul, Lest you become a thrall, to its dark, malevolent control. For in the shadows, where the fed and feeder meet, A terrible fate awaits your descent into madness and despair, a dark, eternal seat.
In twilight's hue, the shadows dance and play, A dreadful truth, that beckons thee to stay. Heed this warning, lest thou falter and stray, For the hand that feeds, may also slay.

And so the tale unfolds, with ham and cheese, White bread, a start, a gentle breeze. Mum and Dad, with smiles so bright, Send you off to school, a shining light.
Zip lock bag in hand, the sun ablaze, Lunchtime tag, a carefree maze. Life's secrets hidden, yet to be known, Too nimble, too quick, they let you roam.
But then the bell, reality's keen call, High school's embrace, a different thrall. Mates by your side, a bond so true, Puberty's dance, a change you knew.
Eighteen years pass, a time of growth, Yet questions linger, a thirst for both. What lies ahead? A path unknown, Uncharted waters, where dreams are sown.
First car acquired, mates gathered near, Real life's embrace, a feeling clear. But fate's a fickle mistress, a twist of the hand, A speeding fine, a lesson unplanned.
Week for free, to labor and pay, A debt to society, a price to sway. Yet points accepted, jail's dark embrace, Curiosity's lure, a dangerous chase.
Years roll by, the line a tempting dare, A path that flips, a life no longer fair. Life's fine balance shattered, dreams astray, A journey lost, where hope once lay.
So heed this tale, a cautionary rhyme, Life's path is fraught with pitfalls, it's not all prime. Choose wisely, tread carefully, my friend, Lest you stumble and your journey end.
In halls once filled with love, now tears abound, As family's home moves on, emotions unbound. Memories flood, a bittersweet refrain, Of ham and cheese, a comfort lost to gain.
Kneeling low, I weep in bitter pain, My world distorted, my future an empty plain. The bag, once small, now looms large in sight, A siren's call, a pathway to the night.
One becomes two, two becomes three, Before I know it, 'Hey mate, you free?' A dealer's voice, a whisper in the void, As life's facade crumbles, my soul destroyed
At six A.M., a phone call to a friend, But darkness flows, where drugs have made their end. Green zip-lock bags, a de toadly powder's hold, Charisma up, my spirit now sold.
In bed I lie, sleep's grasp I cannot find, Depression's grip, a suffocating bind. A week's toll weighs, my body racked with pain, Yet still I chase the high, the elusive gain.
Countless souls have fallen in this trap, A harmless lap, a fatal slip, a nap. 'You should be dead,' the doctor's grim decree, 18 grams consumed, a deadly spree.
Tears flow like rivers, endless and deep, For family lost, for dreams I cannot keep. In this abyss, I'm lost and all alone, Addiction's victim, my spirit overthrown.
My shadow's form, so grim, so weak, The life I yearn for, distant and bleak. I crave for change, yet my path is rough, Tears in my dog's eyes, a heart filled with enough.
Each day he wakes to see his father's fight, Not knowing if the next will bring him light. A zip-lock bag, a haunting tale of woe, From lunch to ruin, a path I've come to know
.

And so the tale unfolds, with ham and cheese, White bread, a start, a gentle breeze. Mum and Dad, with smiles so bright, Send you off to school, a shining light.
Zip lock bag in hand, the sun ablaze, Lunchtime tag, a carefree maze. Life's secrets hidden, yet to be known, Too nimble, too quick, they let you roam.
But then the bell, reality's keen call, High school's embrace, a different thrall. Mates by your side, a bond so true, Puberty's dance, a change you knew.
Eighteen years pass, a time of growth, Yet questions linger, a thirst for both. What lies ahead? A path unknown, Uncharted waters, where dreams are sown.
First car acquired, mates gathered near, Real life's embrace, a feeling clear. But fate's a fickle mistress, a twist of the hand, A speeding fine, a lesson unplanned.
Week for free, to labor and pay, A debt to society, a price to sway. Yet points accepted, jail's dark embrace, Curiosity's lure, a dangerous chase.
Years roll by, the line a tempting dare, A path that flips, a life no longer fair. Life's fine balance shattered, dreams astray, A journey lost, where hope once lay.
So heed this tale, a cautionary rhyme, Life's path is fraught with pitfalls, it's not all prime. Choose wisely, tread carefully, my friend, Lest you stumble and your journey end.
In halls once filled with love, now tears abound, As family's home moves on, emotions unbound. Memories flood, a bittersweet refrain, Of ham and cheese, a comfort lost to gain.
Kneeling low, I weep in bitter pain, My world distorted, my future an empty plain. The bag, once small, now looms large in sight, A siren's call, a pathway to the night.
One becomes two, two becomes three, Before I know it, 'Hey mate, you free?' A dealer's voice, a whisper in the void, As life's facade crumbles, my soul destroyed
At six A.M., a phone call to a friend, But darkness flows, where drugs have made their end. Green zip-lock bags, a de toadly powder's hold, Charisma up, my spirit now sold.
In bed I lie, sleep's grasp I cannot find, Depression's grip, a suffocating bind. A week's toll weighs, my body racked with pain, Yet still I chase the high, the elusive gain.
Countless souls have fallen in this trap, A harmless lap, a fatal slip, a nap. 'You should be dead,' the doctor's grim decree, Obsessed & consumed, a deadly spree.
Tears flow like rivers, endless and deep, For family lost, for dreams I cannot keep. In this abyss, I'm lost and all alone, Addiction's victim, my spirit overthrown.
My shadow's form, so grim, so weak, The life I yearn for, distant and bleak. I crave for change, yet my path is rough, Tears in my dog's eyes, a heart filled with enough.
Each day he wakes to see his father's fight, Not knowing if the next will bring him light. A zip-lock bag, a haunting tale of woe, From lunch to ruin, a path I've come to know

• The path forward is super positive, just a poem I've been working on this last year... No need for concern :)

.

It seems like some parts of the intro scenario leading into the expansion were left in the files for the alpha, which is likely the reason the servers were taken down as soon as they went up. Some dataminers on a private discord managed to harvest what appears to be some quest text, dialogue from in game cinematic and a stay and while and listen type sequence.
**HEAVY SPOILERS FOR THE WAR WITHIN AHEAD IF ANY OF THIS IS REAL, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED**

*You hear a familiar voice in your mind*

Archmage Khadgar: Champion! Or is it ? Ehm… Hero? Whatever it is you want us to call you these days. Exalted lord of the cosmos! I hereby invite you to the largest celebration since the opening of the dark portal. Take my portal to Dalaran and meet me in the Violet Citadel. Oh, and dress fancy.

Ah, . Welcome back to Dalaran!

Presumably quest progress text

It is not quite as glamorous as the Karazhan ballroom, but I am sure we will make do.

Llikewise, presumably quest completion text

This seems to be the initializing quest itself. Now there might be some dialogue with other present lore figures as well since it’s heavily implied that many are present from the following segment, but if that’s the case it seems to not be implemented yet.

This following part reads as if it is the dialogue in the chatbox during an in-game cinematic.

Archmage Khadgar: Welcome friends, lovers, and heroes of Azeroth! As my years catch up to my appearance, I am growing ever more nostalgic. At the dawn of an unprecedented era of peace and calm I wish to celebrate our efforts in brining us to this point. Raise your glasses and let the festive spirit of my old master flow through you!

Magni Bronzebeard: Hear hear!

> Magni Bronzebeard whispers to you: Champion! Come over here.

Magni Bronzebeard: This arcwine has no punch in it. Here, try this brew instead. I warn ye tho’, it packs a punch ha ha! I gave some to the old mage as well, to loosen him up a bit.

System Message: As you chug the flagon you notice a distinct elemental taste. A strange feeling flows through you, not too unlike the radiation from the Heart of Azeroth.

Archmage Khadgar: Alleria! Turalyon! Welcome old friends. Anduin, love the beard, finally decided to man up and leave the brooding behind have you?

System Message: You sense a dizzyness creeping upon you as the lights dim around you.
Jaina Proudmoore: Khadgar, how dare you!

Thrall: Anduin, let’s leave.

Magni Bronzebeard: Moira, have I ever told ye… Ay I’m sorry lass do you know that?

Moira Thaurissan: Not again father. Dagran is here.

Magni Bronzebeard: The boy has dark iron blood in him, don’t he? Come here ya little basterd, have some brew… Hic!

System Message: Once again, the lights go out around you.

Magni Bronzebeard: Champion! Sh..CHAMPION! Wake up!

Archmage Khadgar: It seems like it’s just you, me and Magni now, oh venerated lord of the universe!

Magni Bronzebeard: Aye… If only Brann weren’t gone on his latest exploring mission. That dwarf knows how to handle a stout!

Archmage Khadgar: That’s it! A final quest to end all quests! To Brann!

System Message: You manage to walk three steps before passing out once again.

Magni Bronzebeard: CHAMPION! He’s lost it! We need to sh..stop Khadgar before he crashes the whole darn city!

Archmage Khadgar: Buckle up, buckaroo’s!

It seems to end here but there is a little bit of dialogue by Magni that seems to paint the picture of what happens next.

Magni Bronzebeard: Ah shite, ah shite. Champion help me clear this rubble. Nay… This can’t be. The fool went and died on me ahh shite. Khadgar, you were truly a shit wizard. I can no longer hear her champion, do you understand what I'm saying? I can no longer hear Azeroth! Oh, forgive me my friend. This was all my fault.

So I guess this confirms Khadgars fate at the very least. I don’t know how I feel about it all but it’s something I guess?

When the Norse began settling in Orkney and Shetland, they brought with them them their traditions and concepts of the Saami.
But it has also been suggested that a number of "finnar" also made the trip across the North Sea and settled in the Northern Isles, possibly even arriving prior to the main Viking invasions of the late 8th and 9th centuries.
It has been suggested by Orcadian scholars, in the past, that the traditions surrounding the Norway Finns were brought to Orkney by “Finnar” slaves or thralls. This, however, seems to go against certain Old Norse texts which often place Saami in positions of influence, even marrying into prominent Norse families and dynasties. In many cases having a Saami ancestor was a prized part of family trees, something that remained in Orkney until the 19th century.
Healing and prophecy, control over the weather and the ability to shapeshift are all magical abilities attributed to the Finfolk and selkie-folk of Orkney and Shetland folklore thus the legend of fnnfolk could have come from misremembered accounts brought by Norwegian colonists. Orkney was under Norwegian and Danish control for centuries until 1472.
Between 1693 and 1701 three books were published in Edinburgh and London that have been cited as evidence of sightings of Inuit people fishing in boats off the coasts of Orkney. These three texts have by-and-large been taken at face value, with scholars, antiquarians and folklorists seeking to determine how the Inuit could have got to Orkney, not whether the texts in question bear the weight of this interpretation. The texts seem to indicate an unheimlich form of reverse colonization, a mysterious encounter with the primitive which has proved to be both compelling and distracting for subsequent commentators. These texts also contain the first printed mention of the term “Finnmen” .
Finnmen from Orkney were used by folklorists like Samuel Hibbert and Jessie Saxby to construct supernatural mythologies for Orkney and Shetland and how, by 1881, the anthropologist and linguist Karl Blind had conflated early-modern accounts of mer-folk, seal people, sea trows and Finns to create a very modern mythology. The Finnmen legends thus constitute a distinctive mythos in the Northern Isles down to the present day, with explanations of who or what Finnmen were hovering between the mystical and the mundane.
Finn-men, also known as, Muckle men, Fion and Fin Finn, were Inuit sighted around the Northern Isles of Scotland, Finn-men were said to have been spotted off Westray in Orkney where inuits from Davis Straits may have settled during the Little Ice Age when seas around Greenland became solid and impossible to hunt.
In Dundee during the late 1800s, Inuits were put on show in public halls after being brought to Scotland on ships returning from whaling expeditions.
Norman Rogers, author of Searching for the Finmen, wrote in a 2014 article that he believes the Aberdeen Inuit who came ashore in Aberdeen “probably escaped” from a homebound whaler.
He added: “I think the solution to the riddle of the Finmen in Orkney lies elsewhere.”
The Orkney Finnar are the Finno-Ugric speaking indigenous of Northern Scandinavia rather than the inhabitants of Finland. Orcadians, also known as Orkneymen, are an ethnic group native to the Orkney Islands, who speak an Orcadian dialect of the Scots language, a West Germanic language, and share a common history, culture and ancestry.
The dialect spoken in Orkney was apart of Insular Scots language with many words base on the Orkney Norn and other lexical items used throughout Scotland. However, Norn is thought to have become extinct in 1850, after the death of Walter Sutherland, the language's last known speaker.
Orkney was a home to Inuit settlement.
Additional History: It is believed that Orkney has been inhabited for at least 5,500 years. The first inhabitants were Neolithic tribes who originally came from the Iberian peninsula.
The Bronze age inhabitants were 'Beaker People", named after the peculiar clay pottery left in their burial chambers. The Ring of Brodgar is a Neolithic henge and stone circle in Orkney. The ring of stones stands on a small isthmus between the Loch of Stennes and Harray. Originally there were 60 stones.