CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 3+ Hours of CHILLING Experiment Horror Stories to dissect your last two brain cells

Episode Date: February 3, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "The ███████ Experiment" Creepypasta►16:13 "The Harbinger Experiment" Creepypasta►1:01:03 "The Farnsworth Experiments" Creepypasta►1:39:29 "The Phantom Vibration Experiments" Creepypasta►2:00:53 "The Heaven Project" Creepypasta►2:29:34 "The Russian Sleep Experiment" Creepypasta►2:44:57 "The Russian Sleep Experiment 2" Creepypasta►3:10:19 "The Human Detachment Project" CreepypastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Jakub Bazyluk: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/68...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

I'm from Amsterdam, why? I've been forgotten how a tooprake. Doy! Toh? Tov? 16 times per day from out Brussels and in 2-hour. Now, from 19 euros, in place of 25. Book you tickets on NMBS International.com.

I'm just to have Amsterdam, for the maidses. They're 2 o'clocker. Doy. Toad, with Eurocity direct, though? 16 times per day from out Brussels and in 2-hour. Now, from 19 euros in place of 5.com. Book you tickets on NMBS International.com. All current technology announced is actually old tech.

When something gets discovered, it's often experimented on, exhausted and drained by government's militaries long before it reaches the public. This isn't some conspiracy, it's fact. I know this because I'm one of the people tasked with development on things that are beyond what's currently public. My team and I was sent to a small country in Africa. It was not on any public map. This made things easy to deny and made hiding the less ethical projects much easier.

It was decided long ago to never give the country a true identity. Its name changes every few years. So if two generations of workers decided to become whistleblowers, it would sound like they were talking about two companies. completely different things. Much harder for the tinfoil to piece things together. Some of the team jokingly nicknamed the place, Maconda, a current reference, and again would be harder for conspiracists to take seriously. One of the top priorities we had

was never letting the outside world get a whiff that we had an entire population secretly used for experimentation. Their whole existence was a lie, completely separated from the real world, observed carefully by the many outside forces that worked there under a shared agreement. A plus side was that they lived a life of luxury. They were the first to get all the beneficial technology we worked on. Tech that you're probably looking forward to seeing a decade from now, just handily available in their shops. I'm pretty sure they haven't had to touch a steering wheel in years, their streets looking like a

less exaggerated interpretation of a sci-fi movie set in the future. Though this balance was sometimes superseded by the less than beneficial ideas in the works. It's pretty much universal opinion to be opposed to the idea of human experimentation. But realistically, there are many examples where testing on a small sample group of people could have prevented disaster. A perfect example of this was the rushed use of Agent Orange, a nerve agent used as a weapon. However, the long-term effects were not tested, and the repercussions of its use is still prevalent in the areas it was used. There are some examples that you'll never know about too. Did you know we found what was essentially a cure for cancer?

It worked great for the first decade. However, after that, something came back. It wasn't cancer. It was worse. And it was contagious. Can you imagine if that was rushed to shelves upon discovery? We calculated a fifth of the population would have remained, namely, nomad tribes far away from civilization.

The experiment I helped lead had an ambitious goal. The idea conceived was the genetically enhanced individuals for the benefit of society. The perfect genetics we found for imbuing the volunteer was that of an ants. With an ant's bolstered strength, enhanced constitution, and abnormal stamina, they would be the perfect workers. Manual labour injury and fatality rates would drop to nearly zero, plus the added healing factor would make the few injuries negligible. It wouldn't just be for work either. Their quality of life would improve drastically as well. Extended life, the energy to enjoy life, a massive reduction.

in genetic diseases like dementia and such. You'd just be yourself, but better. No matter what, the procedure would always physically change their appearance somewhat. The hybrids would develop small points behind the skin on their forehead, their bodies trying to replicate antennas. Their back and upper torso would swell, their frame accommodating their extra functions and strength. They also grew smaller bumps.

around their ribs, their bodies attempting to grow additional limbs. The biggest indicator of a hybrid is their which would tint slightly with a dark purple hue. There were a number of positive benefits that we never fully calculated for. The hybrids no longer needed to breathe entirely with their mouth. The subjects started taking on the property of partially breathing through their skin. something which greatly helped the deep cave miners, the precious rocks they dug up being crucial to funding the offsets of our research. Our rocketing profits was an indicator at the continued success of the program. Minus the unwanted extras, for the most part it was a success.

However, it didn't take long to find a few bugs in the program. Something we didn't initially account for was the aggression. This, caused a few caved in schools at a bar and a warpath that was only stopped by some heavy firepower. This wasn't an isolated incident. Despite the many setbacks, we were proud that, underneath it all, our subjects retained their humanity and memories. Our goal was to upgrade the human race, and it looked like it was becoming realised as a success in our eyes. With each praise of success that spread across the city, the more volunteers we received. We had it to the point where we were performing the procedure on a large test group every day, confident in the safety of it all.

These volunteers naturally joined our workforce and turned into a small union of hard workers. They didn't mind the labour, as in their enhanced state, what was once a grueling grind was now a brisk task. Imagine getting the wage of a dangerous job, like working on an oil rig, when it just felt like you were flipping burgers and McDonald's. The hybrids were laughing down their sleeves to the bank. A small team of hybrids could outperform a legion of an army of ordinary human workers. I was proud. During my stay, I made friends with a local. I snuck him some contraband communication equipment that could only receive and send calls to a device only I owned. Basically, a glorified walkie-talkie. If I were to give a civilian in that country any sort of outside communication, they'd have my head. And that's not a figure of speech. I knew I wouldn't be kept in that city forever, and would be called back home to work more in land.

If I was called away, everything here would then fall into confidential territory, and I'd never know how things fared when I'm gone. So I set this up as a way to secretly keep up with my baby project, which I cared so deeply about. Sadly, that time came sooner than I thought. One of the hybrid workers was hanging out in a small town on the outskirts of the closed-off country, which sometimes hosted some of the surrounding tribes that didn't adhere to any of the societies. They thought they were free. However, they were really just another harbour demographic for experimentation.

Like before, a barb rule broke out. It was normal for them to fight out the differences, a local belief that, their guard favoured more. But, as you can imagine, was different. Our worker got into an altercation with

one of the tribe's daughters. In private, he ended up ripping off her jaw and beat her death with it. It wasn't hard to figure out the connotation of what happened and the obvious ramifications of his actions. The tribe

declared war on our city. We knew it was political, and more a gesture that would warrant diplomacy, but the higher-ups prioritised us over them and ordered an immediate evacuation of most scientists and important figures. They told us our work here was done anyway. The only positive takeaway was that the experiment was marked as a massive success. A few months at home And suddenly, And suddenly, Bragised with contact. They personally told me, they

wanted me to head the task of making the product commercially viable. Despite the long time of silence, they were now practically trying to rush it out of the door. Their goal was that they wanted it to be open for anyone

who volunteered. It seemed like an easy thing to sell too. Want to never be tired? Want to always be in shape without having to sleep away at a gym? Want to be the safest you can possibly be in your own skin? The marketing team was having a feel day at how easy this was going to be to sell. I was obviously excited. My hard work. Years of study. Years of working within this organization from the bottom up. Years of working hard to get them to trust me. Years of my dedicated to wanting to help humanity

was finally going to pay off. People dreamed that humans' next steps were in the stars, but I was going to show everyone it was within us the whole time. Work was hard. I helped tweak the formula for mass production. I even secretly cranked down the potency somewhat to hopefully alleviate any type of enhanced aggression. We were already on the testing

when I started feeling nostalgic about my first run in Africa. Upon contact, rather than the warm welcome I expected, I was instead met with a frantic rambling. He sounded like he was still moving and was trying his best as quiet as possible but he managed to get enough out to explain it turns out after we left they carried on testing effects

I never accounted for the hive mind behind my back another smaller team was siphoning information from my research to recreate the same process but with a queen ant When the tribes declared a war

It gave them the excuse To try out a crueler intention of my work What's worse was that It was a resounding success All at once Anyone with a modification stood to attention And moved as one to converge Imagine the perfect soldiers

All as one All enhanced beyond human limitations all following the omniscient command of a single leader. the tyrannical implications was disgusting. It didn't end there. After they wiped out the tribe at a disturbingly sinister pace, they then were set upon the city. Slowly, the team of workers,

now scarily efficient killers, quickly made their way through the streets. They were upon the walls, climbing through the windows of the only, unbeknownst civilians, only few got away, but they have nowhere to go. The whole country surrounded with many kill conditions to always keep them out of contact with the outside world. What remained was a city of ants.

It wasn't hard to piece together what happened, why ants were chosen, why they somehow developed extra features I never accounted for, like antennaeigh and thicker, nearer. a bulletproof skin. The objective the whole time was to make the most effective soldiers. Or worse. The perfect subservient population. I still showed up to work, now secretly armed with this knowledge. I kept my head down. And suddenly, there was an announcement that there was no tested negative side effects and the product was almost ready to be sent out. This announcement, announcement was done by the whole team, the one who built up the city, up the city.

However, he appeared different. His skin was far darker. He could have tried to make the excuse it was the African sun, but that would never explain the dark purple hue it carried. He was more hunched, a feature which was overshadowed by his severely inflated upper torso. I'd seen the procedure done hundreds of times. I never saw inflammation that big. The only thing I could liken it to was like comparing the larger thorax of a queen ant to

a regular worker ant. I knew that despite secretly tweaking the formula to lower aggression, it would mean nothing if they were simply controlled. From here on out, I can only do my part by hindering the development process. I've secretly sabotaged parts of the process, setting things back weeks or sometimes months at a time. But more and more researchers are brought in, each learning everything from the files, and each slowly getting good enough to replace me.

worse, realize what I've been doing. past then, it's only a matter of time before the product is announced. If it is, do not volunteer, fight it. The world we live in is full of things we don't understand. Being the curious humans that we are, we naturally try and seek these things out. Doing so has led to remarkable discovery. and inventions that we never could have imagined a hundred years ago. We have defeated diseases, built to the sky itself, and even created machines that could take

us beyond the clouds and into the stars. If our ancestors could see us and what we have created, I'm sure many of them would see us as gods. Our innate curiosity and lust for knowledge has not always led us to greatness. however, true evil and darkness have also been uncovered in humanity's of knowledge. And in the end, I fear this evil will be our doom. I do not say this from the standpoint of a great philosopher who has sat and simply ponded

things either. No, I say this because I have seen it, experienced it. I was a part of it. The event I am about to relate to you is true in its entirety. This, I swear. I feel certain that this will fall on deaf ears as many of you will believe this to be just another spooky story meant to give you cheap thrills. But I promise you that this is neither my intent nor my purpose.

The purpose of this story is to simply warn you of what lurks beyond the veil of what we can see and understand. to show you what awaits us in the darkness, even if I myself don't understand it. What I'm about to tell you has happened, and I feel certain it will happen again. In 1971, a not so well-known scientist began preparations for an extremely secretive project Known simply as the harbinger experiment. I would like to keep the identity of the scientist a secret for personal reasons, so throughout this recounting I will refer to him as Zimmerman.

Zimmerman's background is unclear at best beyond 1971. All that is known about him before that time is that he had grown up somewhere in Maryland with a strange fascination of the occult and supernatural. later made him an outcaste his fellow scientists due to how upon the metaphysical and still is at the time. Zimmerman's opinions

concerning the other-worldly were not the sole cause of him being an outcast though. It was his methods that made him widely unaccepted among his peers. Zimmerman was well known during his time for

being ruthless and cold beyond measure. He never cared about the means. All that mattered to him was results, and if he predicted the results to be valuable enough, anything would be worth obtaining them. It was this insatiable and brutal lust for the truth that made him feared among those that knew of him, and the few that knew of him, and did not fear him, believed in him, and followed him and his work very close. The word harbinger itself has such a mystery, intimidating taste to it. Maybe it's the way it rolls off our tongues, or maybe it's simply due to its association with the project,

but the word always seems to carry a certain amount of doom with it, which would make sense. The word itself means to warn or forebode. I can't imagine Simmerman's reason for giving the experiment this title, but in retrospect, it fits perfectly. Zimmerman came to a select view, me being one of them. He told us he was working on something big and that he needed people who could keep confidentiality and not spread idle gossip of his work.

While he did not fully trust some of us, he did know that we were professionals and that for some reason or another, we were all indiagnation. need of employment. I had worked at the local clinic, but I was caught stealing medication and was promptly fired. This left a very dark mark on my resume, so work was hard to find. I was also a native to Alaska and lived near where the experiment would take place, so I guess you could say I was a convenient choice. As you can imagine, I jumped at the opportunity. It was hard not to when I saw the payout.

15 of us were hired in total. Some were colleagues of his that had been working with him for a while. Some were maintenance workers and a few were hired as private security. I was the only medical professional to be hired. It is still a wonder to me how he even attained the funds necessary for the experiment. I would not be wholly surprised if his financing was not entirely legal. But legal or not, I needed the money. He was paying. Looking back, it's a decision

I have come to regret. After Zimmerman obtained his money, he used it to buy a relatively large plot of land deep in the frozen wilderness of Alaska. And upon that piece of land, Zimonin built a concrete structure, not dissimilar to a bunker in fact. The sole difference being that its goal, was to keep any potential damage contained within the structure, rather than keeping it as he put it. Most of the structure dug underneath the earth which had the effect of making the

underground complex seemed so much smaller than it really was from the outside, as would be expected. There was only one way of entering and leaving the underground structure, and it was via a ladder that led from a small, unassuming, which I will refer to from now on as the entrance for convenience, to the network below. After everyone had gone to bed at night, the hatch that contained the ladder would be sealed off with a very large and thick metal lid. Zimmerman was very strict about this. Located not too far away from the entrance building was a series of wooden

cabins that would serve as the staff, hired. Compared to the entrance building, on the surface, the underground system was massive. At the center of the complex was the control room. This is where the facilities' electronics and such were linked to. This included security cameras, lights, and door controls. Consoles, monitors, and computers lined the walls of this large central chamber.

This is also where the ladder connected to The underground complex Connected to the control room One that led to a smaller room That served as the infirmary Another led to a break room And the last door led into the hallways

The hallways Are where the complex began to feel extremely eerie They were for some reason laid out in an extremely confusing scheme that led in circles, these hallways made up a vast majority of the complex, and it would be very easy to get lost in the maze if you were unfamiliar with the complex. But if you knew where you were going,

you would find yourself standing before one of three, eight-by-eight-eight-foot rooms before long. Each room had a camera hugged up to one of the corners of the room and all three of those cameras were connected to a corresponding monitor in the control cameras were also scattered throughout the hallways so that whoever was watching their corresponding monitor could see anywhere they wanted to when they wanted to. Thick metal doors stood at the entrance to each of the three eight by eight foot rooms and in order to open them you would have to enter a four-digit code into a panel located near the door.

I remember when I remember how badly, how badly, I have always been claustrophobic, and those hallways were so very narrow. The noise, or more accurately, the lack of noise, was also a tremendous source of fear for me in those bleak, narrow hallways. It was always so unnaturally silent, as if the entire world had stopped moving. It really made you were trapped down there. I only rarely ventured into those hallways for I was the only medical professional in the facility and I had virtually no reason to go into them. In the beginning, I found it so peculiar that Zimmerman would ask for a medical professional like me on a project like this. But by the time it was all over, I understood why.

The official purpose of the was the test, the test of extended isolation on the human this is what was listed on the reports being sent out at least, but unbeknownst to all those who were not participating in the project excluding the subjects, the true purpose was much darker.

Like I said before, Zimmerman had always had an obsession with the occult. and supernatural. He sought to prove himself to those who did not believe in him. He wanted physical that the supernatural was real phenomenon, and he wanted to be the first one to attain said proof. The true purpose of the Harbinger experiment was to find proof of the metaphysical, a world we could not see. The thought of doing this was naturally a tad bit daunting and even scary. but it was Zimmerman's method of doing so that was truly terrifying. Zimmerman believed that he would be able to open a portal between worlds momentarily,

allowing three random entities to cross over to our world, and each one of these beings would be trapped within one of the three rooms. Zimmerman had the theory that any entity would try and latch onto the nearest living thing that had the capacity for it. for it. He wanted to trap a technique, to trap a physical form by allowing it to enter a living being injected with the compound mixture of Zimmerman's creation. In theory, this compound would keep the entity from simply leaving whatever it was attached to. The only way that it would be able to leave a host who had been injected with a compound was through death. According to Zimmerman, the host would have to be something living.

with a will strong enough to survive the possession. and there is only one known species that possesses the amount of will required for this. Humans. Zimmerman had also done something to ensure that the entities would only enter the three rooms and there would only be one entity in each room though I cannot say I know what exactly he did.

In fact, I know next to nothing when it comes to houses. to how Zimmerman managed to do what he did. He liked to keep his methodology a secret to most of his trusted colleagues, most likely due to his paranoia that someone would steal his ideas and take credit for the success of said ideas. If I had known that this was the true purpose before I signed up, I may have reconsidered. But Zimmerman decided not to tell us until we were all gathered at his fortress. Even if any of us wanted to leave, I doubt we would have been allowed to do so. The security team Zimmerman had hired was loyal to him, and the payout?

It is not likely that Zimmerman had given them the order to not allow anyone to leave. There were three different subjects included in the experiment. All were native to Alaska, and each one was lured into the project under the belief that They would be participating in a harmless study on the effect of isolation on the human mind, as I mentioned before. Which is why none of the subjects objected when they realised that they would be confined to one of the three rooms that I had mentioned earlier. The first subject was a young man. He was apparently out of work and desperately needed the money that had been offered for participating in the study. The second was a woman.

By looking at her, I could tell she was an... addict of some sort. The third and final subject was an older man, a drifter if I had to guess. One thing that they all had in common was that none of them had any family or friends left. In short, no one would miss them, which is why they were chosen for the project. I'm sorry, I wish I could supply more information about the subjects, but all of this has been drawn from memory and I was given little information on the three to begin with. the experiment did not officially begin until 1987, 16 years after its original announcement. I was eager to begin so I packed up and headed out to the complex as soon as I could.

I arrived at the compound a week before the subjects had even signed up and a whole month before the project even began. I was not the first to arrive by any means. When I got there, Zimmerman and his colleagues and the security team had already arrived. I suppose he could say I was among the people Zimmerman did not trust to arrive first. Everyone had arrived about a week before the experiment began. There was a noticeable rift between those who were there simply for the money, like me, and those who were followers of Zimmerman.

On October 15, 1987, all the preparations were in place. The subjects had been sealed in their rooms. The cameras, lights and speakers were fully operational and all the staff members had settled in. The time had come for the experiment to officially begin. Zimmerman asked everyone to report to the control room around 9pm to witness the beginning of the experiment. He proved that he proved that he was not just a madman.

He wanted us all to see the fruits of his labour. When everyone had finally gathered in the large control room, Zimmerman turned to us and simply said, observe. He then turned back to us, leaned into the microphone that would project his voice through the three rooms, and then he began chanting. in a strange language that I feel certain, but Zimmerman could understand. We all observed the three large monitors in the wall,

silently waiting for something to happen. The subjects all stood in their room, dumbstruck by Zimmerman's chanting, staring at the monitors with confused expressions in their faces. After about five minutes, I felt something awful. I cannot explain what exactly it was, but a horrible feeling of dreads over me, riddling me with fear. It was then that the ground actually began to shake, subtly, and the lights began to flicker.

Zimmerman continued chanting into the microphone as if nothing was off or wrong while the subjects began dashing around their rooms, screaming for help. Then, suddenly, the ground stopped shaking. shaking, and the monitor's image turned static. The air began to become very heavy, as we all stared at the monitors, waiting for them to regain their image and show us what was happening or had happened in those three rooms. For a while, all was silent, but then there was screaming. The screams of a woman going through unbearable pain and terror began to echo through the The similar screams of men began to coincide with the woman's terrified screams, and together they mixed into an awful symphony of pain and fear that beat mercilessly into our ears.

Those of us who were here for the money began to give each other scared looks, while those loyal to Zimmerman seemed completely unfazed. We wanted to leave and never come back to this awful place. but we all knew deep down that Zimmerman would never allow it to happen. We were here for the long haul and there was no escape. It was 10.13pm when the screaming finally stopped. The monitor said yet to reveal to us what had occurred in those three rooms. As soon as the screaming ended, Zimmerman stood and dismissed us all for the night, adding that we were all forbidden to come back into the car.

compound until 10am tomorrow morning. Not like any of us wanted to. We all solemnly made our way out of the compound and towards the cabins and settled in for the night. I feel it is safe to say that not all of us slept well that night, and I was not one of them. The following morning, all of the staff had arrived at the entrance building. We all stood inside in an exchanged tired or nervous looks as we waited for Zimmerman to arrive and opened the hatch that concealed the ladder. I could see palpable fear in the eyes of some of us, while others did not seem to have been even remotely affected by what happened last night. Zimmerman showed up five minutes after ten, apologizing for his tidiness as he came through

the door of the entrance building. He opened the hatch and, without any hesitation, began descending the ladder downwards into the black abyss. He almost seemed enthusiastic. I was the first to follow behind Zimmerman's dark descent into the facility. It seemed that the farther I climbed down, the more the darkness closed in on me, as if it was trying to swallow me whole. And as I climbed deeper, I couldn't help but feel that this place was different somehow. While before was only the unsettling, and rooms, now there was something else. Something made the eeriness feel so real and personified.

I felt like a horrible and gruesome scene awaited us down there. But I continued climbing downward, despite my fear and my hesitation. This was no longer just a spooky bunker. It was a darkness and malevolence in the air. A true evil now lived here. And I could feel it. We all could. I finally felt my foot touched the ground and let out a silent sigh of relief to be on solid ground.

Almost as if on cue, the light bulbs came alive, dousing the room there warm and welcoming light. Zimmerman must have turned the power on, I thought. I allowed myself to take a couple seconds to examine. examine the control room. It was exactly as we had left it last night, for which I gave a silent and thankful prayer. It was almost as if nothing unusual had ever happened. I shook myself from my thoughts as I remember the static-filled monitors from the night before. I let my eyes slowly make their way towards the monitors and the wall, anticipating the grim

and fearful scenes that would be on them. my attention was first grabbed by monitor one and three, which was still pure static, and would have been a small relief. But then the motionless image on monitor two caught my eye. Room 2 was entirely still, and everything seemed entirely untouched. I couldn't help but gasp as I noticed the only thing that was different.

was different. The woman lay in the center of the small, an expression of fear, terror, as she was frozen into a gaunt face as she lay silent and lifeless on her back. Zimmerman's expression turned angry when he saw this. He ordered that the second monitor be turned off, and it was. We didn't ask why. It's not like any of us wanted to see the dreadful seen any longer. He also ordered that if the images of monitors one and three did not return within the next two hours, the security team would be sent to investigate the rooms. The security team nodded at hearing this. They made it seem as if they had no fear, but I could see it in their eyes. The subtle, loud tick-tuck of the clock was the only sound that echoed through

the control room while I stared at the monitors. An hour and fifty had gone. by. The static was still all that occupied monitor one and three. All of the other staff members were working except me. This was due to the fact that the project had been completely injury-free thus far, so I essentially had nothing to do but wait for someone to hurt themselves. Zimmerman, a couple of his colleagues and I were the only ones that occupied the room. They quietly chatted amongst each other on the other, while I spent my time reading and pondering the situation I currently in. I had clearly made a mistake coming here. The corpse lying in room two was evidence enough of this, and God only knew what awaited us in rooms one and three. My thoughts were soon interrupted

as Monitor 3's image returned. The clear image now displayed on screen made everyone one's eyes noticeably widen. What was displayed on the monitor was horrifying. A humanoid stood in the center of the room, staring directly at the camera, unmoving. It was wearing the jumpsuit that subjects three had been issued, but this clearly was not the same man that had entered the room. What caught my attention first was it's eyes. They were solid black and twice the size of normal human eyes. They seemed so, so endless, so cold. Its head had also grown with his eyes in just symmetrical and unsettling manner.

The being had also shed all of the hair it once had, and even from the monitor, I could see how unnaturally smooth and clear its skin was. skin was. It had also seemingly grown in height and stature, which could be seen in the fact that the jumpsuit was now obviously far too small for its wearer. Its limbs had grown especially long, its arms hung almost as low as the creature's knees. What we were looking at was in no way the same man we had sent inside. Fear. Fear. Fear was all I continued the stare, as I continued the thing in the room, and my fear seemed to by those around me, which made me feel kind of good.

It may sound awful, but it was a bit satisfying to see that Zimmerman and his colleagues could feel fear too. But at the same time, it was worrying because this showed that this was not part of Zimmerman's plan. had gone wrong. We all stared at the monitor, despite our fear. It was almost as if we were in a trance. My already present fear began to grow and spread rapidly through my body, as I became lost in the creature's eyes, trapped in its terrifying, hypnotic gaze. After what felt like forever, I managed to break eye-a creature and divert my attention from the monitor.

when I did so, I felt my fear levels drop considerably. After a short while, Zimmerman ordered his security team to make the way to the subject's door, just as he said he would do. The subject's team left without question, armed only with batons and pistols. I focused my attention on watching the hallways towards the one's room via the cameras. Even through the not so high-quality cameras, it wasn't hard to tell that these men were afraid of what awaited them. Their heads were downcast as they walked.

They did not possess the same confidence within them that they did when this project began. They looked like scared boys being sent off to a terrible war. Eventually, they made it to the door. We had perfect vision of them, and the door via the hallway camera. One of them said something through one of their walkie-talkers and made a motion towards the camera. In response, one of Zimmerman's colleagues buzzed open the door. The men already had their pistols out by the time the button was pushed.

Slowly, the door began to open. We all watched eagerly, as the men began to approach. the door, guns aimed inside. Suddenly, and without warning, there was a loud shriek. And as something bounded out of the room at the men, the monitor turned into static. Immediately, we could hear screaming, echoing down the hallways, followed shortly after by the distant sound of gunshots. We could do nothing but wait. After a couple minutes, the screaming and gunshots stopped. We all waited and prayed, hoping that whatever bounded at them from the room would not be the one to return to the control room. After a couple more minutes, three of the men came back, carrying with them the corpse of the fourth. He had a massive

cut covering his chest, and his face was shredded. You couldn't even tell who he was anymore, or even that he was human. I was used to gore, being a doctor and I felt somewhat unfazed by the mass of shredded flesh and blooded meat they carried with them, but many of the others went pale and vomited. The security team all wore emotionless expressions and eyes filled with terror. One of the men finally looked up at us. He stared at us for a while with those wide eyes of his. It's dead. He finally managed to mutter in a shaken and scared voice. A couple hours went by. The dead man's name was Frank. He was buried outside in the cold, Alaskan ground. Two of the men were unharmed, physically at least. The third was alive, but only barely.

His body was covered in bloody slashes and one of his eyes had been gouged out. I'm a man. to stabilize him, but only just. The other two men vaguely explained what happened. Apparently, subject one leaped out at Frank after the door had opened, only it wasn't really subject one anymore. According to them, it had a hideously contorted face and long, sharp claws. They claimed to have shot it over a dozen times before it fell dead, and then They emptied another dozen bullets into it just to be sure it was really dead. Only once it was dead did they come back. After attending to the wounded man, I went to investigate the monitors.

As afraid as I was of seeing what those monitors may have held, I needed to see. Subject 3 was the only one left now, and I needed to see it and make sure the creature was still in its room. It seemed to be more like a jail cell than an ordinary room, which is probably a good thing. The camera's displaying subject 1's room and the hallway outside it displayed a static-filled screen. No one was sent to repair them or investigate. We just had to hope that Subject 1 was well and truly dead. Monitor 3's image was exactly the same as I'd left it.

Subject 3 was still staring directly into the camera at us. He was still in the exact same position and if it were not for the small in the corner of the room I would think that I was looking at a still image. In a way I felt relief in seeing this relief that he was still in his room and not escaped while no one was looking. After everything quieted down I noticed something especially unusual. there was a strange sound emanating from somewhere. at first it was barely noticeable. the only reason I heard it was because of how extremely quiet it was in the infirmary.

But as time went by, it slowly began to increase in volume. After about an hour, it was loud enough that everyone else could hear it too. And, its volume had increased so much, it was. it was a song. One of the staff members identified as Living in the Sunlight by Tiny Tim. Apparently, his father loved the song and listened to it frequently. The song seemed to be on a loop and kept replaying itself. Although we were able to identify the noise, we remained.

remained unable to identify its source. We knew that it wasn't coming from the speakers because we had turned them off. It seemed to be emanating from the walls themselves. More time ticked by as we all began to become increasingly agitated by the song. I spent most of my time in the infirmary, attending to Francoor in the control room. Fear hung in the air and the presence of unlawful. Unmistakable darkness was no doubt its source. Subject 3 still had not moved. He had kept his unblinking gaze fixed on the camera the entire time.

It always felt like he was staring directly at me, no matter where I was in the room. I think this effect was also felt by others due to the fact that they seemed to move around the room a lot for seemingly no reason. a few hours, the song was so loud that people almost had to shout in order to communicate. We had been trying to find its source so that we could turn the song off, but it was to no avail. The source was completely unidentifiable. This added a level of extreme irritation to our already very present fear. It was around 8.30 that the ground itself began to shake once again, just as it had done

the previous night. Panic began to spread among my fellow employees and me as the shaking in intensity. During this, I had the sudden, instinctual feeling to look over at subject three's monitor. It was gone. Almost as if on cue, the power went out. Thankfully, the song did as well. Ever since the security team came back, panic had been slowly building up among the the staff and Zimmerman was powerless to stop it. when those lights went out the calm projections that everyone had been trying to maintain left us and the fear in all our hearts took over. The emergency backup lights kicked on shortly after the power went out, which I gave

a silent, thankful prayer for. The lights were dim but they still allowed me to see a lot. Total panic seeds thus, as many of my fellow- began screaming and rushing to the ladder in an attempt but too many were trying to use it at once and no one was able to get very far on the ladder without someone else pulling them to the floor and taking their place. Zuman was shouting for everyone to calm down but his dominating and intimidating personality had no effect here

and his demands fell upon death ears. It was total chaos. It was it long until people actually started hurting each other in the desperate attempts to get up that ladder and out of this place. I could only stand against the wall and wait for my opportunity to escape up the ladder. All the screams were soon silenced as the familiar hum of that unsettling song began to rise in volume again, only much quicker this time. And this time, it was clear that the noise was coming directly from the maze-like corridors. People stopped fighting and shouting as, all our attention shifted to the door that led into the hallways.

The song quickly got louder than it had ever been before, which forced many of us to cover our ears with our hands in an attempt to silence the noise. Then, suddenly, the song just completely stopped. Silence. We all that was all stared at the thick, for what was coming. It felt like ages had gone by, but in reality, it was probably only seconds

before the silence was broken. The door suddenly and violently burst open and the music started again, louder than it had ever been before. been before. The suddenness and the volume of us caused many of us to recoil by falling to the ground and grabbing our ears in an attempt to block out the noise. I glanced up for just a second and in the doorway stood a tall, smooth-skinned figure with long limbs and eyes so dark

and malevolent that you could clearly see them in the dim lighting. After I got my bearings, I looked upwards at the creature once again just in time to see the thing pick up and rip Zimmerman in half in one fluid motion, dousing the room and everyone in it with his blood, intestines and organs. I was no stranger to gore, but the sight of that was too much for me to bear. I hunched over immediately after seeing this and vomited all over the cold cement floor. That ladder, I thought to my only hope of survival, I thought to myself, as I forced myself to a standing position. And as my eyes rose along with the rest of me, I could see the thing ripping and tearing through the people as they scattered in an attempt to escape it. It was distracted, and as awful as it sounds, this was my only chance to get up that ladder.

I forced my legs I forced my trying to block out the terrified screams of my and the unbearably loud I could hear gunshots coinciding with the screams and terrible sounds of flesh

being ripped apart somewhere in the mess of noise I reached my hand towards and felt a wave of relief wash over me as my fingers come in contact with the hard metal rung of the ladder I gripped them and began to climb upwards as quickly as I could,

my disorientated state, all the while, praying that the monster would not see me and pull me off the ladder and back into the slaughter. It felt like, at any moment, I would feel one of its smooth hands wrap around my ankle and pull me to my death. But I eventually made it to the top. There was no question in my mind that I had to be able to be able to. had to close the hatch and seal that thing down there, even if it meant certain death for my colleagues. I could not allow that thing to escape.

I gripped the thick metal lid and began to push with all my might in an attempt to seal the underground complex off. Despite how dense and sturdy it was, the lid was surprisingly easy to move and did not take very much effort to push it over the hatch, even in my weakened state. In seconds The hatch was completely By the dense metal lid I collapsed my side

To vomit some more As exhaustion took over me And As I lay there I realized something Aside from my laboured breaths The only thing I could hear Was the faint echo of

That song from down below I felt as though I would lose more of my sanity if I continue to lay there and listen to that song. So, I once again forced myself to my feet and began to make my way to the wooden lodge I had stayed in the previous night. It was where I had left my baggage and

also where I'd left the keys to my truck. Of the 15 staff members that took part in that forsaken experiment, I am the only one who survived. I have never returned to it. the awful place where I do not intend to. the project was very secretive and Zimmerman was the only one who knew all the details of it. And as far as I know, no one is aware of my involvement aside from me.

In fact, I am probably the only one who knows what the Harbinger experiment truly was, let alone what actually happened. By now you are probably wondering why I have told all of you about something none of you should be aware of. Maybe you're expecting me to give you a speech about not messing with things you don't understand or something along those lines. I hope not, for I have no speech to give or lesson to impart. I began hearing a noise earlier today.

Almost immediately, I recognised the noise as a very haunting and familiar song. I didn't even try to trace it to a very. its source. it would be pointless. as the day progressed, the song has increased in volume. It's loud enough now that I can very clearly make out the lyrics. I am completely unable to escape Tiny Tim's voice.

It has followed me everywhere I've gone. Subject 3 is coming for me. And I know my time left in this world is extremely limited now. I guess you could say that I just wanted to tell the tale of the hyper-you experiment before it was lost forever. I hope that you will take some lesson from what I have recounted to you, but I think we both know you won't. Let's be honest, you don't believe a word of what I've just told you. And I don't blame you. I wouldn't believe myself if I were you.

To you, this is nothing more than something to get your cheap thrills from. You were probably mindlessly surfing the internet when you clicked a link, you found yourself here, wherever here may be, reading this story. And to be honest, I don't care if you believe me or not. Even if you do, it probably won't stop you from trying to uncover the truth of a darkness that few of us have ever seen. It certainly never stopped Zimmerman. If you want a lesson, look at what happened to him.

when he went seeking the truth. I pray that none of you ever discover this truth. I pray that ever have to see the evil I have seen. I hope you all get to live in ignorance of what lies

beyond the veil of what we can understand. It's here now. I can feel its black eyes burning into me just as I could all those years ago. I am as much to blame as

Zimmerman is for the monstrosity that is now free to roam the world. Even if I was not the one to create it, I'm sorry. Please, forgive me. Why? I'm forgetten how a tourpriced. Doi! Toy!

With Eurocity direct, though? 16 times per day from out Brussels and in 2-hour. Now, from 19 euros in place of 25. Book your tickets on NMBS International.com. I'm just to Amsterdam, eh? For the maidses. Doyrester. Toe.

Toesite it direct, though? 16 times per day from out Brussels and in 2 hour. Now, from 19 euros in place of 25. Book your tickets on NMBSInternational.com. You may have heard of the Farnsworth experiments. My dad was one of the scientists involved. He rarely talked about it. And when he did, he always said the rumors were overplayed.

The team tried and failed. Nothing more to it. He seemed to get annoyed at it. when I kept it up, he eventually told me a brief account of what happened. It was in the mid-80s and he was living in Albany, New York, pursuing his PhD. This was a year or two after I was born. He began work on a government-funded research project. The experiments were to be done under absolute secrecy.

The goal was the test a 15-year-year-old hypothesis that previous to this point seemed untestable. If it were true, then time travel was possible. They spent nearly a year working on the project known only by its codename Farnsworth. They tried and tried, but found nothing. Then the project ended. There were no deaths or death. disappearances, though no strange events around the region, the reason the government denied the project's existence was purely embarrassment over funding something that, in hindsight,

seemed so ridiculous. It felt good to know the truth. Whenever I heard someone retelling the story, I wished I could tell the real version, but I promised Dad that I wouldn't, for the sake of his career. For the next few years, I didn't really think about it. It was one little story, sitting in the back of my mind. I went after college, lived life, and never gave it a second thought. A few months after I graduated, I drove up to Boston for Thanksgiving of 06.

Dad still lived in the same house that we lived in since I was maybe 10. this year was smaller than years before. It was just me, my older, Kate. It was a normal Thanksgiving meal. Peas were in short supply, but I never much liked them anyway. Looking around the table, I felt deja vu. We all sat in our usual chairs, clustered around the part of the table not covered in papers and screens filled with incomprehensible equations. It's nice to be back. Just so when the meal was drawn to a close, there was a knock on the front door.

I went to go open it. It was a man, maybe 60 years old. He looked very worn out. His grayish hair was a mess. He was unshaven. My dad came over and said, Bill, what are you doing here? The man walked in and shut up.

the door behind him. Dad looked over to us and said, this is Bill Benson, an old colleague of mine. Bill looked at me and Kate, then back at my dad. John, is there somewhere we can talk privately? In my office, are you okay? I don't know. They walked away quickly. Kate and I waited for them to come back, very curious about what was going on. She seemed to remember him, barely, from back in Albany. She must have been around four or five at the time. We kept looking down the hall to Dad's office. The door remained shut.

No words possible to make out. After what felt like half an hour, Kate said, I have an idea. She led me upstairs to her old bedroom, situated right above Dad's Office. She motioned to be quiet, and pointed to a venting the corner of the room. from it, we could hear the muffled conversation. They were speaking in jargon.

I heard a lot about oscillations. After maybe two or three minutes, I heard Bill Benson shout, You can't hide! You have to face the truth. My dad replied, I've ever heard him. I don't know why you went back.

I got up on the floor quickly, hitting my head on a a loud thud. I heard the conversation stop. As me and Kate walked as quietly out of the room as we could, we heard footsteps downstairs. As we descended the old wooden flight of stairs, Dad walked into view. How much did you hear? asked. I replied, we were there for maybe five minutes. He told us to sit down at the table. We went back to the dining table, Bill Benson sat too, taking some old notes off the seat of his chair and putting

them on top of the clustered side of the table. Dad took a deep breath and started to speak. Kate I have some things. I have some things. He seemed to be very shaken up but he was pushing through it to the best of his ability. You know how I've said I worked on the fans with experiments when you were both really little when I told you we failed?

That was a lie. It worked better than anyone could have expected. There was a problem. A big problem. And now, we don't talk about it. we think about it as little as we never go back. That's why we moved away from Albany. Now Bill's problem is, he went back.

He shouldn't have. We can't get ourselves back involved. He looked at me and my sister. For your own good, don't try any detective work. Live like I live. like nothing ever happened. Those of us who ignore the past are fine. Now, we are going to eat dessert like nothing happened. And we're going to forget. Okay? I nodded, though my head was filling with questions. Bill looked over at Dad and said,

I can't just leave it like this. I tried for years. We have to find the ones they took. Emily might be out there. Don't you want to find her? Dad said, my wife is dead. she died in a car accident. Bill started to speak, but dad cut him off. If you want to stay for dessert, stay. But if you try dredge things up that are meant to be forgotten, then you're not welcome in my home.

I'd never seen Dad act like this before. Bill looked at him and said, I'm sorry John. He got up and walked through the adjoining living. room and out the light snow. dad took a deep breath and didn't speak for maybe a minute. Then he spoke. I'm sorry you had to see that. There's nothing to worry about.

I'll get out the pumpkin pie. We ate the pie in silence. A few weeks later, after I gotten over the shock of that night, I did some research on Bill Benson. At first I couldn't find anything referencing him from within the past 10 years. I found an old web page for a university that listed a William C Benson as a professor. The photo was definitely him. I ran the photo of him through face recognition and found two matches.

The first was old. In it there were five people, some in lab coats. Benson was on the left, looking much younger. his hair was neat. He was wearing street clothes, also neat. On the right were two women I didn't recognize. They were the oldest of the group. In the middle were my parents, dad, who looked nearly the same as after all those years,

and mom, who I only remember from pictures. Above them was a banner saying, Happy New Year. year 85. The photo was taken a few months after I was born. I saved it, then opened the second match. This picture of Benson must have been more recent. He looked like he had on Thanksgiving, but older. His hair was greyer and longer. The photo had been taken in the dark with a flash, making the background hard to make out. The thing that struck me most about that picture was a look of absolute terror on his face.

I closed the photo quickly. I saved it too. I then noticed that they came from the same source. It was a blog with the two photos as the only posts. There were no dates posted on the posts. Whoever made the blog must have disabled them from showing. As the weeks and months went by, I tried to forget all that had happened. Whenever I found myself filled with an equal mix of fear and curiosity. I got a job in Tampa, I was in and out of two relationships.

Kate was living in New Jersey, working on her residency at a big hospital. We never spoke about it. I assumed she was trying to forget too. Dad never said anything about it. He was completely normal. I took up photography as a hobby and was becoming pretty good. Four years, four years after I met Benson, the family got back together for Thanksgiving. I flew up from Florida to participate.

This time there were more people. My aunt and uncle, a cousin and Kate's fiance all showed up. It felt strange entering that old house. The memories flooded back to me. I was the last to arrive. The large dining room table was cleared of the clutter that had filled much of it in the past. I realised hours later than I thought, as Thanksgiving dinner was nearly underway. I sat on the last untaken chair, the same chair Bill Benson had sat on.

Any anxiety I felt began to fade A few minutes It was nice I was with family Dad was chatting about the goings on at MIT His research Who was getting tenure The usual things

I occasionally thought I heard some nervousness in his voice But it was too subtle to really tell We ate pumpkin pie The next day, I returned to Florida. I felt relieved. to step back into the warm, Florida air. Two months later, I got a call from Kate.

Dad? Had disappeared. He hadn't been coming to work. He wasn't at his house. His car was in his driveway. There was a search for him. I flew out immediately. They combed the area, they scoured databases, but even with his name,

face, thumbprint and retina, they found nothing. After a month, they stopped looking. He was presumed dead. I wanted to tell the police everything I knew, but they wouldn't believe me. Calling the fans with experiments into it would be like blaming his disappearance on a UFO or the Bermuda Triangle. I did tell them about Bill Benson. I said that if he was alive,

anyone knew where he was, Benson would. I told them he was a professor at a local college around 15 years ago, but I didn't remember which one. They quickly found it. Bridgewater State University. He taught physics and maths there for 10 years before resigning. It was clear he was clear he was.

He hadn't had any professorships after that. He'd completely dropped off everyone's radar. The one piece of information they could find about him was an apartment he had rented five years ago. It was in Albany, New York. They couldn't get other information. To them, Bill Benson was a dead end. I knew dad was alive. He must have decided to go back, just like Bill. I had to find my dad and try to pull him out of whatever he was putting himself into. On February 16th, I decided to find Benson myself. In early morning, I packed up my luggage and chicked out of my Boston Hotel. I scraped the ice off my windshield of my my rental car and set off towards Albany. I didn't tell anyone, going. The drive was a little under three hours. When I got there, I checked into another hotel, used a fake name. I don't know why I did it. It just felt like the right thing to do.

Later, I made my way to his old apartment, bringing my camera with me. After a short drive, I found the building. I parked and walked my way, I made my way, and walked in. Can I help you? said the woman behind the desk. Yes, can I ask you about a few questions about someone who used to live here? Is it about William Benson? She replied. Yes, it is. I told the police everything. I don't know where he went when he went. he moved out. Are you a detective? No, John Bowen's son, she nodded and said. You could talk to his old next-door neighbours.

He lived in apartment 108. The people in one of seven still live there. I hope they find your father. I thanked her and left. After a quick look around, I realised 100s were in the basement. I walked down a short flight of stairs and into a long long long, hallway. 107 was easy to find. I knocked on the door. The residents were a couple in their early 30s. A man and woman named Kimberly and Al. I talked to them for a few minutes. They saw Benson as a bit of a nut.

They barely talked to him besides greetings in the hallway. As I was about to leave, Kimberly And She ran to remember something She came out And came out a minute With a small Aped, cut cardboard box

He told us if anyone trustworthy came looking for him To give them this She said I thanked them both And returned to my car ripping through the taped key In it

was a ridiculously old-looking cell phone a photograph and a few pieces of paper. I looked at the photograph first. I knew that photo. It was the New Year's Day photo. The exact same photo I'd seen on the internet four years previously. Memories came flooding back. I thought of the day Bill Benson came to Thanksgiving dinner and what he had said. I took a deep breath. I looked at the paper. I looked at the paper. sheets, sheet, of random notes and equations. I then flipped open the cell phone, I opened the list of contacts. Only one was listed.

It was a cell phone number under the name Call. I did it. It rang once, twice, three times. Then... I heard a voice, who is this, said the phone. Robert Bowen, I replied. Good, meet me in half an hour at the Washington Park, I'll be by the fountain. The call cut off.

I knew it was Bill Benson. I remember his voice clearly. I put the contents of the box in my camera bag and made my way by foot to the park. After a bit of walking I saw a fountain The distance Snow lightly fell As I got closer

I realized It was off presumably for the winter I brushed the snow off a bench And sat down waiting After about ten minutes I saw someone walking towards me Out of the storm

It was him Bill Benson sat down. He looked older than when I last saw him. His hair was completely grey. It looked like he hadn't cut it for a while. He finally said. Someone came. Have you seen my dad?

I asked. He replied. No, but I'm trying to find him though. What happened to him? Where is he? Bill took a long pause and said, I don't want you to get involved. I'm sorry I brought you into this,

and I'm sorry I brought your John back into it. It was the only one of us who made a clean break. What happened with the Farnsworth experiments? What is it that everybody has been trying to hide from me for my entire life? It's for your own good that I don't tell you. Do you have the photograph from the box? I pulled the picture out. Bill looked at it and put it.

pointed to the woman on the far right. disappeared, disappeared. I'm trying to find these people. Not send more off. And with that, he left. Running away without another word. I snapped a picture of him as he disappeared over a hill.

I looked to the ground and saw his footprints in the snow. I started following them before they were filled. them before they were filled in. It felt like I'd been following those footprints for an hour, but they just kept going, faint, but not quite filled in. I finally stopped to catch my breath. I was thinking Bill Benson must be keeping in great shape. He, in his 60s, was easily outpacing me a 26-year-old. Then, a more unnerving thought came to mind. Washington Park was less than half a square mile large, but I had been going straight for what must have been well over a mile.

I wasn't going in circles, was I? I also hadn't seen the road in a long time. I began to look around. I was in the middle of a snowy wilderness. I was just in a city. How could I be here? The snow was starting pretty light. I pulled out

my cell phone. No reception. Bill's cell phone. No reception. I looked at the footprints. They were almost gone but not quite. I kept going for maybe 20 more minutes until I found where they were going to.

They stopped. at an old building made of sheet metal. It looked to be two stories. It had one window, that building gave me the creeps. I pulled out my camera and snapped a picture of it. I walked the perimeter, but saw no other ways in. My head hurt like crazy. It was dark, night. What the hell just happened?

Night. I was lying in the snow. I tried to think back. The last thing I could remember was the strange building. I took out my phone and looked at the time. 2.28 a.m. I used the glow of my phone as a flashlight, illuminating only a few feet in front of me. The only thought in my head was getting a light.

getting the hell out of here. I didn't know how to get back. I was shivering. I touched my head, feeling a sharp pain. I shined the phone light on my hand and saw blood. I decided just to start walking. I couldn't stay in one place. Every time I stopped, I felt like I was being watched. Eventually, I saw a light in the distance. I felt a tremendous feeling of relief. It was civilisation. As I grew closer, the light grew brighter. Only one light. It certainly wasn't downtown Albany. Maybe it was a farmhouse, somewhere warm and safe. I began to run, cell phone outstretched. I felt a singing feeling as the source of the light grew more apparent.

It was the sheet metal building. The light was coming from the one window. Then, it turned off. The only light coming from my cell phone. The woods were completely still. I was frozen in place, but I didn't want to make a sound. The one door began to open, and I heard a familiar voice. It was Bill.

Robert? Is that you? said Bill, I felt relieved. I felt relieved. Get in I walked in and followed Bill. It was warm the room was large and devoid of any furnishings. There were two flights of stairs, one going up and one going down. What is this place? I asked.

This was our home base back in the 80s. Is this where the experiments happened? Yes, said Bill. Our lap was downstairs. Everything has been broken for a long time though. How did I get here from the middle of the city? I asked. It would take me days to explain. Just think of it as a result of the experiments. Somebody knocked me out? How do you know we're not

in danger? I'm sure it was a tree branch. This place is been calm for years. I was beginning. I was beginning to settle down slightly. I'm going to get a coffee, Bill said. You want some coffee? Yeah, sure, I said. He walked to a flight of stairs that led up. After a minute or two, I walked over to those stairs. I could see Bill boiling water and a wood-burning stove. I walked over to the other staircase. I shine my phone light down the stairs, revealing an old, wooden staircase. I flicked a light switch, causing the room to fill with light. It was a laboratory, with many devices I didn't know the purpose of.

I nervously walked through it, and the other side of the lab was another door. I tried it. It opened without resistance. I flicked another lab, very similar to the first, but a little bigger. I noticed a banner on the far wall. It was old and faded, but I can make out what it said. Happy New Year 85. I noticed on one table was an old notebook. I picked it up and opened it. It was lab notes. I began to read. A lot of it But one section was relatively clear.

It was a series of journal entries by one of the scientists. I don't have the notes, but I'll try my best to summarize what I read. Early entries are calm and optimistic. Lots of technical stuff. They ate pizza one night. Then there are the next few entries. More spaces out. They're mostly talking about an issue with the oscillators. The tone is wearier.

Then there's a three-month gap. The next entry was the last. And I remember it clearly, word for word. It said, we're being watched. I know it. I hate that hole. I didn't know. what exactly it meant, but all my nerve seemed to leave. I wanted to go back upstairs, but first, I would take some pictures of the journal. It would only take a second. I took the camera out of my

camera bag and turned it on. On the screen were flashing words, out of memory. How was strange. To fill my memory card up, you would need a ridiculous number of photos. It was barely seven percent full when I'd last looked. When did I last use the camera? Before I blacked out. I heard fate footsteps from far away. I've got coffee, shouted Bill. Be there in a minute, I shouted back.

My mind was focused now on this new peculiar problem. I began to scroll through my photos. each picture had a number, and it was taken, and its size on the screen around it. There was the picture of Bill's old apartment building, there was Bill running over the hill, there was the metal building. There it was a game, and a game. How many pictures of it did I take? I must not have blacked out.

I lost a portion of my memory. I kept clicking I must have been I must have been taking them in the pictures I walked back into the woods there were ten or twenty of the snow and trees

then one of a man Bill he looked mad I couldn't remember any of this I'm guessing he was mad that I followed him he calmed down the next few pictures we then showed

up back at the metal building. I had no idea why we went back. Bill opened the door and we went in. Coffee's getting cold. I'm almost done with something. The next few pictures were of the ground floor of the metal building, but it was filled with furniture. All of it looked like it had been falling apart for a long time. Where did it all go? I felt a chill go up my spine. The next photos were of the first lab. I must have been trying to document every machine. Finally, I got to a photo of where Bill reached for the door to the second lab. The room I'm in now.

I must have gone through the same routine, photographing everything. There was the banner. There were the lab notes. Then, one photo showed up that confused me. It was of another door. One, I didn't see anywhere in the room. The file size in this photo was 15. Are you coming?

Don't stay down there too long. The file sizes were expanding with each image. The next was a look at the door from farther away. Then one of Bill opening the door, obviously straining himself. The screen of my camera labeled this. photo as the fourth from the last. Three more. I pushed the button to see the next. It was Bill. He looked terrified. And then it hit me. This was the same photo I saw online four years ago. The background was too dark to make out what was in the third room. Whatever it was was horrible. I could see it in his

eyes. I'll just bring the coffee to you, Bill shouted, calmly from two rooms away. How could he be so calm after what he saw? How could he say everything was safe? My fingers shook, but I managed to move on

to the next picture. It was a hole going deep, deep down. The instant, the light from the photo hit my eyes. I felt a horrible feeling. I knew something was out there watching me.

I felt watched from every angle. I quickly pushed the button. I couldn't stand looking at that picture for another second. The camera started loading the last picture what flashed onto the screen, shocked me more than anything in my life. Bill's dead body, lying next to the hole. He was covered He was covered from head to toe in scratches and wounds

A pull the blood had formed around him dripping down into the hole The same expression from the previous photo Locked on his pale Dead face I almost threw up I pulled the batteries out of the camera I felt too weak to move

Then another thought came to mind If Bill Benson was dead Who was it I had been talking to the last Who was it who was it From the second lab I felt the watching return

There was nowhere I could hide I heard the footsteps grew louder Bill Whatever thing was impersonating him was standing in the doorway I could see through the disguise The form I once saw

As Bill was composed of grey wisps and tendrils, somehow forming one creature. Now, I could see what was watching me. More and more of them became clear. They moved in on me from all directions. They formed themselves into millions of arms, each grabbing me. I struggled with all of my might, but I was helpless. They felt cold and horrible. Then, they started to pull me I managed to get I managed to get one glimpse of where they were an open door

they were pulling me towards that hole I struggled as they dragged me through the small doorway past Bill's body closer and closer then they stopped I don't know how long I was held there All I passed out I woke up

I woke up I was alive I still felt watched but I was alive Today I'm back to living my life the best that I can They spared me

I don't know why Now I'm under a sort of house arrest If you will I'm somewhere where I can't make trouble. I've been here three years now. It's now 2016. I have a job, they're always there, watching me, every day. I haven't told anyone. I don't know why they do different things to different people. Some they watch, some they kill, and to some

they do much worse. I've now concluded that the farms with experiment sought to find a means of time travel by drilling through another reality. But nobody considered what inhabitants it might have. I'll end with a brief statement to the people who are in my old life. My name is Robert Lawrence Bowen. I was born in 1984. I'm 29 years old. Dad, if you're listening to this, take your own advice.

Don't come after me. That goes for everyone back in Florida. By the time any of you will read this, I'll be dead. Don't try to save me. Don't try to change the past. They won't let you. The fans with experiments,

have had many victims. Don't let yourself become one. We've probably all experienced it. The mysterious phantom buzz. After reaching into our pockets to see who messaged or texted us, the screen shows no activity. Then we unlock our phones and confirm what we already knew. No one contacted us, and yet we definitely felt the familiar pulsation of a phone notification against our thigh.

Some might chuck it up to the very quirky nature of electronic devices. Others may think the phantom vibrations are just due to the overactive imagination of the digital generation. Have you ever wondered what causes it? A research group in the south of England conducted a series of experiments to see if they could figure out what was behind the phenomenon. They examined the many properties of electromagnetic waves, Bluetooth interference and even the off-hand possibility of sunspot activity being the cause. Nothing scientifically obvious could be linked to the familiar, disquieting sensation.

They even considered the possibility of it being psychological based, but came up empty-handed. It was deemed to be too widespread to be an imaginary affliction shared by so many. With the volunteers sitting around waiting for it to occur, it tended to render all the research data void. trying to force these unpredictable was no way to conduct a valid peer-based study. The subjects were encouraged to be completely honest and objective.

They were only to report incidents of real phantom buzz experiences, reinforcing that maxim would hopefully cut down drastically on the number of false positives. In the specific testing world, there are always a number of volunteers who are so anxious to help, that they overreport things, all to have more personal impact on the study. The researchers wanted to ensure there were no rewards or incentives to offer false testimony. Participants received the same stipend whether they reported 15 incidents or none. After running down a long list of potential causes,

the researchers began to entertain, highly unorthodox ideas. They recorded the appropriate time and location of each event for cross-examination. Researchers scoured the internet for possible connections, but made little headway until a fledgling researcher stumbled upon a very curious coincidence. On a number of the phantom buzz incidents, there was corresponding data in a very unlikely place. Official reports showed the time of death for a number of individuals inside the city limits to be within two minutes of the buzz phenomenon.

The young researcher didn't know what to do with the information. Sure you wanted to be taken seriously by her superiors, but they had encouraged everyone. want to share all anomalies, no matter how coincidental. At the morning meeting, she elected to approach the subject with levity. Before anyone recommends that I join the psychic hotline, I just want to point out that what I'm about to say is purely in the spirit of full disclosure. I've noticed that a significant number of the phantom buzz events roughly correspond with death records a number of her peers.

a cheeky pun. It was a very clever way introducing questionable and highly unscientific ideas to the meeting. Before the crowd could turn on her, she quickly added. I'm not saying Grandma is trying to text our volunteers one last time. I'm only reporting a significant number of time crossovers to the events.

I'll let our esteemed members decide what to do, if anything with the data. Several of the esteem scientists laughed at the preposterous idea. The younger researcher instantly regretted divulging the psychic connection, but one of the lead researchers and the team stood up for her. People, people, we ask for our team members to bring us everything. Everything. That's what Miss Thorn has done. When all of the obvious things fail to line up, You look at what is left. That's the scientific way. There could be a logical explanation

for these unusual tie-ins she has uncovered. Let's try to keep an open mind, shall we? Astrid was very grateful for the authoritative reprieve. She wasn't looking forward to being teased mercilessly by her peers. A mid-level researcher on the team came to a desk to collect the data. What might have otherwise been tossed in the rubbish bin was actually treated with some level of consideration. It was refreshing,

what the next-level researchers found was a bit more disconcerting. By expanding search parameters to include deaths from nearby towns and cities, the number of linkable events skyrocketed. The scientific purists among the team were deeply offended that anyone in their field would try to draw a connection

between those seemingly disparate things. they dismissed the aligned events as pure coincidence. After all, people died all the time. It didn't take much to fuse the two unrelated things if you tried hard enough. Another more open-minded group within the team found the potential connection compelling. They didn't believe in a supernatural aspect,

but suspected they could be a logical explanation. Over time, they were able to tie a large majority of the events with nearby deaths. It was enough to know what it might mean. One of the volunteers reported a new fandom buzz on their iPhone, and the team sprang into action. It was the first such incident after the controversial new theory had been put forth. Two hours passed before the next official medical report was filed. It placed the time of death at the exact same minute as the most recent phantom buzz incident. Tongs started wagging as each new report seemed to reinforce the disturbing connection more.

Meanwhile, the hardcore doubters on the staff grew increasingly irate. The whole research team was becoming completely polarized. as the study continued. a cellular network expert was brought in to shine some light on the bizarre proceedings. Data collected from area mobile service providers did show compelling evidence of an unknown energy source disrupting their network coverage. Tower data showed an immediate, unexplained pulse after each of the official death reports. The phantom pulses were overlooked by the service providers because they did not damage any equipment.

and were not associated with known mobile transmissions. after the network specialists were brought up to speed, they were able to trace the vector of the unknown signals. They confirmed that in all tested cases, they originated from the nearest tower to the deceased and then went directly to the volunteer's mobile phone. It was a huge scientific milestone. A quantifiable proof

of a possible of an individual the odd sensation that manifested itself through their electronic phones. The sensation itself was real. Unknown signals really did buzz individuals for unknown reasons.

Proving there was a direct link between the pulses and the death of a nearby human being was going to be a far more difficult task. even the most outspoken critics of the idea began to backpedal slightly as each new revelation was brought to light. With it proven empirically that unknown signals were emitting from cell towers and travelling to the cell phones in question, it was hard to deny.

Even the most atheistic members of the science community accepted that some form of energy was contained within the human body. It made sense that whatever that, it left the body, it left the final moment of death. These skeptics adjusted their focus from denial of the possibility to theories of why the phantom buzz occurred at all. They weren't ready to entertain superstitious notions that the dead was trying to communicate with a living through radio frequencies. They pursued a running theory that human life force is inanimate.

and is accidentally captured by the cellular bandwaves, that they were willing to accept as possible, but even that was a bit of a stretch to them. The study itself had already been an unprecedented success. They had proven that the phantom buzz, experienced by tens of millions of people worldwide, isn't imaginary. It is a real psychological reaction to an unknown pulse of energy pinging their phones. As exciting as it opened up a whole, it opened up a world's what was the source, were the road signals, were the deliberate messages sent by the newly dead, or was it just a coincidental, involuntary aspect of the dying process? Documented deaths near the towers at the same moment the signals were sent was compelling,

but no proof of deliberate act of communication. Were these mysterious bursts of the life-revelling the dead? Or was it just a coincidence, The greater question was whether it was a deliberate attempt by the dead to communicate through the use of modern electronics. Many believed the phenomenon was just random energy being magnetically drawn to the nearby cellular technology. It would be a monumental task to prove or disprove either theory. Are there any biological or family links between those who have died and the recipients,

the phantom signals? One member of the team inquired. No one had been able to connect any of the deceased to the living. Even if there were a handful of familial connections between the two ends of the transmission, it seemed highly unlikely that they would all be. If not, it casts significant doubt and why the recent departed would wish to communicate with a total stranger. What else do we know about these phantom signals? One of the lead researchers wanted to know.

No matter how insignificant it might seem, it could prove helpful in our investigation. A young man named Nathan Tolly spoke up near the back of the room. Our disgruntled ghosts preferred to use older CDMA technology it would appear, he offered. There was a brief, uncomfortable pause in the conference room, followed by a chorus of nervous snickers. The lead researcher raised an eyebrow and asked him for clarification. Between the GSM and the CDMA cellular phone networks, we've documented almost twice as many phantom signals sent to owners of CDMA-based cellular phones. I don't know what that means specifically, but the ratio is significant in my opinion. If one was slightly more frequent than the other, it would be irrelevant.

But a two-to-one ratio is noteworthy, depending on whom. you ask, CDMA is older, arguably a more limited technology. The leader of the meeting thanked Nate for his astute observation and made a mental note to look into the technological differences. Then he addressed the audience again. Has anyone prepared a chart of known personal details about the recently deceased? We need to compare gender, the type of phone network contacted and so forth. For all we know, CDMA signals may always correspond with recently deceased gender.

whereas the g-sm signals may always connect with the ladies who have passed. Maybe it's gender-specific, or a preferential wavelength associated with unique radio frequency factors. I don't know what the answer is to this mystery. I'm not sure we will ever find out the full truth, but I hope we can uncover more of the stunning details. Nate spoke up again. Since we've reached the point where we accept that the phantom signals originate from self-revellinger, originate from cell towers? Perhaps we should expand our scope of experts. They have no natural origin that we can trace, correct. We've been working under the uncomfortable assumption that somehow

it is an unknown link to the recently deceased. I realize that is anathema to science, but we aren't far from admitting that hypothesis. Why not bring a paranormal expert to offer another viewpoint? A large group of the team gasped in unison. Parasychology was the academic equivalent of consulting a purists. It still wasn't a very respected branch of research in most scientific circles. The murmur of the crowd increased in volume until the meeting leader tapped a pencil on the table. I would be the last person here to entertain an audience of clairvoyance or soothsayers normally, but this project has taken us into uncharted territory. The best researchers go where the research takes them, no matter what. Perhaps Mr. Mr.

Mr. to suggest that we consider a different approach. We've taken this project about as far as it can go with traditional methods. I'll speak with some experts at the university to see if they can recommend a suitable addition to our diverse team. I expect that everyone here will treat them with the utmost respect. The following Monday morning, a respected paranormal investigator was introduced to the research team. Her welcome was cordial, understandably stiff. The majority of the research scientists

have already had some preconceived notions about her chosen field and were not going to be easily swayed. Shea expected the cold shoulder and did what she could to reassure them she wasn't going to bring in voodoo dolls and astrological charts. Eventually, Astrid, Nate and a few of the members of the staff warm to her. Shea over the team's research progress with enthusiasm. It was every day that a traditional scientific study uncovered evidence

of credible, paranormal activity. She was secretly excited to be involved with such groundbreaking research. With hard work and determination, She hoped to win over the skeptics and play a significant part in the pioneering

experiments. On the first day of her inclusion, Shea was present as the volunteers awaited one of the mysterious signals. In typical fashion, the act of waiting for something seemed to have the agonizing effect of prolonging its arrival. Hours passed as the team and volunteers waited for another phantom buzz. As a gifted psychic medium, she was expected to run over and feel any phone that went off for possible lingering traces of the unknown sender. Her sceptics scoffed at the idea of their being valid feedback, but she quickly silenced them. The first incident occurred after almost seven hours of inactivity.

She held the volunteer's cell phone in a palm and focused after he reported the unexplained sensation. Shea was a little nervous, as the room full of doubting science geeks observed her psychic skills for the first time. The sender of the transmission to this mobile phone was named Helen McTavish. She passed away a few moments ago after a long illness. I sense that she is lost and unsure of what to do. Frankly, she's terrified. 30 mouths dropped open in simultaneous shock. Her description was so vivid and specific.

It wasn't even close to the vague generalities that they expected from an avowed, medium. Normally, the paranormal readings given in these circumstances were about as specific as a newspaper horoscope. Instead, shared off at details that were easily verifiable or refutable. It was a refreshing level of opacity in a field, ordinarily known for its mystique. Two hours later, the morgue report came in and verified. everything she had claimed about the deceased. Everyone present knew that she had no way of knowing those facts about the victim in advance. If that didn't make a believer out of the hardcore skeptics,

then her similar accuracy with the next couple of incidents certainly did. She had a natural gift that was impossible to deny. Over the next couple days, she predicted the discovery of several more departed individuals from the phantom signals. While scientists were engaged in the difficult task of theorising how the dead were able to tap into the cellular bandwidth, psychologists on the team were troubled with the question of why. The leader of the morning meeting discussed the latest progress and theories. There was a call for inputs from the team members. Nate raised his hand.

This isn't primary school, Mr. Just speak your mind. Nate chebishly lowered his hand and spoke. We've spent so much time proving the link between the recently departed and these phantom signals that we seem to have neglected a more important question. That being, why are these restless souls contacting strangers? Do they want to unburden their sins like a last confession? Wouldn't they rather communicate with their loved ones?

unless it's like an unmanned telephone switchboard, where there is no choice with whom they are connected. It doesn't make any sense why they have been reaching out to total strangers. Also, this phenomenon has never resulted in any two-way contact. I think we need to focus more on those areas of thought. Very valid points, Nate. Perhaps Ms. Grafton can offer more insight on these pertinent questions. She is our very gifted, after all. Shea, she was greatly startled.

She was a very much of being put on the spot. It was a sensitive area she had been trying to avoid. But the moment had finally arrived. There was no longer any more putting off the chilling truth. Your earlier observation about the strangeness of their transmissions always coming to total strangers? strangers is a very valid one. She began in earnest. They aren't hoping to communicate of us. They're trying, unsuccessfully so far, to find a way to trade places with a living.

It's only a matter of time. I awoke in a dark room on a cold, hard floor. It's difficult to tell how long But the creaks in my bones Tell me that It has been a while My mind feels empty Blank, desolate I quickly glance around

Surveying my surroundings From what I can tell I am in a windowless room Which would explain the darkness I push myself up slowly to rise to my feet At first I stumble a bit But I luckily catch myself Have I been kidnapped? I wonder

The room appears to be completely empty No chairs or bindings Or anything one would expect to see when they've been kidnapped I feel slightly relieved and begin to shuffle over to the walls of the room. It is fairly small. About the size of a bedroom, through the darkness,

I can make out the shape of a door. I fumble for the handle blindly and finally feel my fingers close around it. I flinch a bit at the handle's icy coldness, but nonetheless attempt to turn it. Nothing. The damn thing won't budge. Pain suddenly shoots through my skull like a bullet. I remember the headlights, the car crash, the fear, and most of all, the pain. I clutch my head and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that the white-hot pain will subside.

I stumble away from the door and land flat on my rear. after a few seconds, it finally fades away, and the horrifying realisation begins to dawn on me. Am I dead? I wonder out loud, as if to answer my question, a door swings open and blinding light filters into the room. I shield my still sensitive eyes from the glaring light. Two men step in One is tall And has a shock A shock of dark

And deep blue eyes The other is shorter And has shaggy brown hair And quick green eyes That dart around They are both wearing suits And have what appears to be Wings Pr protruding from their backs

They're each grinning widely at me Revealing their pearly White teeth Welcome to heaven, Jason Gray, the tall one says in a voice, smooth as silk. Heaven? I ask.

The angels nod, their grins still present. I lose myself in thought. How did I get to heaven? I wasn't a particularly bad person when I was alive, but I wasn't religious either. Why am I ask? confusion, clearly written on my features. Because everyone goes to heaven, hell is just a lie to push you in the right direction. Ultimately, everyone ends up here, the tall one explained calmly.

It seemed as if he had to explain this to a lot of people. We're here to take you on a tour of heaven, the shorter ones said. The shorter one says, bouncing up and down in excitement. A tour? I ask, standing up once again. Follow us, the tall one says, striding out of the room. I notice as they turn their backs that the wings are stitched on. The suchers appear to be sloppy and rushed, as if the patient was moving around a lot

during the procedure. What kind of place is this? A bright, white light floods my vision as I exit the room. I quickly turn around and see that the door I had just come through was gone. Vanished as if it had never existed in the first place. The short one giggles a bit at my bewilderment and motions for me to follow. Turning my gaze forward, I can see a factory of sorts. There are other angels,

pushing carts of lumpy objects everywhere. It is difficult to tell what the objects are. I see a quite pretty female worker push a cart nearby me. Her hair is the shade of an autumn afternoon and her eyes are like the sunshine. shining through a glass of whiskey. I flash her a quick smile, and she turns around to smile back. Oh God, her face. Half of her face appeared to have been burned off. Her teeth and gums are clearly showing. Pearly white bone with glistening pink flesh encasing them. It appears to be the only part of a tortured face that is.

isn't mad. I quickly avert my eyes from the grisly sight, choking back vomit. My guides take no notice of my repulsion. Or if they did, they didn't show it nor care. What exactly is this place? I managed to choke out. Heaven. They both reply in unsettling unison.

I shake my head. No, it's supposed to be all pearly white gates, right? my guides, as if they're the parents of the sky is blue. All will be explained soon, Jason, the tall one said. Their ever-present smiles are beginning to unnerve me even more. I would answer them if I wasn't so occupied with choking. down my own stomach acids. I continue following them, because that's the only thing I can think of doing right now. The more I look, the more the shapeless objects in the cuts are beginning

to look human-shaped. No, it can't be. But then again, it wouldn't be surprising at all in the midst of this chaos. A million questions raced through my mind. but my lips couldn't form the words to voice them. My terrifying guides led me through seemingly endless hallways that twist and turn like an impossible labyrinth. I search for any landmarks that would give me a clue as to where I am in the event that I would need to flee, but they all appear to be the same colourless halls with exactly seven doors. I absently wonder how the angels find their way around here. The two angels suddenly stop in front of a door.

There is nothing special about the door. It looks like the exact same as all the others. The short one grasps the handle and holds the door open for me. Peering inside, I can see what appears to be a surgery table. complete with a tray a surgeon my eyes drifted my eyes drifted to a pair of

that are hanging on the from a hook putting two and two together I quickly jerked back no no no no no no no no I sputter backing away as quick as humanly possible until my back hits the wall

backing out isn't an option the tall one says. He grasps my arm firmly and begins to pull me forward. My feet dig as best as they can into the slippery floor in an attempt to stop myself. His friend is waiting by the door patiently. It appears as if they have had to deal with this many times before as well. As much as I try to fight my way out of the tall angel's crushing grip, I still find myself inside of the room. The short thing I know, helping the other ease my into the surgery table. I thrash wildly against the leather straps but to no avail.

Let me go, I screech. Please calm down. All will be explained now, Jason. The tall one states a somewhat hollow tone Go to hell I yell through gritted teeth I'm afraid I cannot do that

We have already explained that There is no hell The tall one says calmly His nimble fingers Carefully select a scalpel Oh can I do it this time The shorter one squeals The tall one rolls his eyes at him

and reluctantly hands in the scalpel. Try not to mess up like the last time, he warns. Last time? I wonder. My eyes going wide with terror. The shorter one giggles like a child and begins approaching with the blade. He props the surgery table up and opens up a slot that gives him access to my back.

They really did plan for this. You see, you have been fortunate enough, to be selected for the esteemed job, the tall one explains. I can feel the shorter one begin to slice away my shirt. But why me? I'm not even religious. I don't even believe in any of this crap, I protest. The shorter one begins making precise incisions near my

shoulder blades. I flinch at the pain and grip my teeth to prevent a cry from escaping my lips. And that is exactly why you've been selected for this role, because you never devoted yourself to God during your time on earth. You must do so here. The scalpel bites deeper into my soft skin so I can feel small rivers of hot blood, beginning to trickle down my back. those who are religious in their have no need to devote themselves. As such, they finally get to fully become one with God

as they wished in heaven. The tall one continues, in the corner of my vision, I can see the shorter one, taking the wings off the wall and bringing them over to me. He carefully picks it up. and begins positioning it by one of the incisions.

However, I barely took notice of this because I was too busy mulling over what the tall angel had meant by fully become one. I was interrupted from my thoughts by the feeling of a syringe being inserted into the side of my neck. It's better if you're asleep

for this part of the procedure. the tall angel explained. Before I could retort, black spots obscured my vision, and the whole world seemed to tilt before me. It was only a matter of seconds, before I was plunged into complete and utter darkness, freed from pain. I am driving my car along a road that seems to have a sharp turn every few minutes. It's night time I'm driving away from my girlfriend's after we had a particularly argument

I just found out she was cheating with some cocky asshole I was planning to never return to her house my phone buzzed in the seat next to me its screen lighting up to alert me that I have a text no doubt it's her

are you still mad at me she wrote What do you think, mentally? mentally, still keeping my hands the steering wheel. I'm really sorry, the text read. Oh, so now she was using correct grammar. She must be feeling really bad now. More and more texts began to pour in,

lighting up my phone screen. I did my best to keep my eyes on the road, but the texts kept beckoning to me. I succumbed and grabbed my phone with one hand to text to back something nasty. However, this happened just as I was approaching a turn. My eyes widened in shock and terror as my car plummeted off the edge. I clearly felt the dread and anticipation sitting in my stomach like acid before the world went black.

I awoke with a start, my chest heaving and sticky with a sweat. As the horror of my nightmare began to wear off, I became acutely aware of two heavy objects on my back. It felt as if my spine was going to collapse from just the sheer weight of them. A crane my neck to see what the objects were, only to be met with a grisly, sight of two stark, protruding from my back. Oh, you're finally awake, the all too familiar of the tall angel said, I did a good job, right? The shorter one inquired eagerly. His question was responded with a sigh and a resigned, yes, how long was I out? My voice sounded hoarse and foreign,

as if it hadn't been used in quite some time. time is irrelevant, the taller one said. He walked over to the chair I was currently strapped into and carefully undid the bindings. We're going to show you your job now. Follow us. I rose from the chair, winting at the searing pain in my back this brought me.

I could feel it. as such as such as much, sending a trickle of warm liquid down my exposed spine. With heavy feet and shaky legs, I followed my guides, unsure of what else to do. They led me down the colourless halls that I still couldn't navigate. My mind felt numb, probably for the pain blooming from the area around the wings. I could do nothing, but follow them blindly, like a dumb sheep. It was difficult to tell how long we walked before we reached a metal door, so very different from the others.

Time seemed to be nonexistent here. The fact that every hallway looked the same and seemed to never end did nothing to help. Without any flare, the tall angel opened the metal doors and held it open for me. Despite this polite gesture, I didn't walk in. I didn't want to walk in, for in front of me was a slaughterhouse. Angels dressed in blooded aprons, toiled over hacking off human limbs with bone sores. Artificial grins were stretched across their perfect faces. Some of them even hummed as they worked,

flecks of crimson staining their pearly white teeth. Some of them turned their heads to stare at me and gave me a wave. I tried to back up, but found myself bumping into the chest of the shorter angel. He gripped my shoulders so tightly, It seemed as if he wanted to break my skin. Go on, he sang before me shoving me roughly inside. Before I could make a run for it in the opposite direction, the metal doors slammed shut behind me, sealing my fate.

I wanted to scream, cry and crumple to the floor on a spot all at once, but my body remained frozen. It was like I was watching everything happen rather than actually being in the moment. the tall angel, holding out a pristine apron to me. This is for you, he stated calmly. Knowing what wearing that apron meant I would have to do, I shook my head quickly and felt tears rising in my eyes. "'No, please,' I choked out, uselessly. He shoved the apron into my arms and put one on of his own.

It was significantly dirtier than mine, bits of viscera clinging to it. "'Come on, we can't dilly-dally. We were on a very tight schedule.' "'A tight schedule?' I wanted to ask. Before I could voice my question, the doors on the opposite end of the room fell open. Everything went silent and still as a hunched figure shuffled into the room with the aid of a crane. He was an old man with wrinkles riddling his face by countless rivers. The only sign of hair and his body was a long, greying beard that nearly dragged on the floor. floor, complimenting his bloodshot eyes,

that moved slowly around the room. Although I was far away from him, I could smell the pungent stench of decay emanating directly from him. His eyes finally met mine, causing me to freeze. I felt trapped by those all-knowing eyes of him. him, which seemed to pierce my very soul. they were entrancing. I found myself unable to look or move away as he started hobbling over to me.

Jason, he rasped in a voice that sounded as if it hadn't been used in decades. I nodded. That being the only thing I was physically capable of doing. welcome. He flashed me a smile, revealing his rows of yellow and crooked teeth. Quite a few of them were missing. From this close proximity, I could clearly tell his breath was positively rancid. A terrifying thought shot through my mind. Was he? Yes. I am God, he stated. plainly, answering the question that had been running through my mind. this, as you've probably learned, he laughed.

He laughed as he gestured to the macabre display around him. It sounded more like a wheeze than an actual sound of amusement. You're surprised, are you not? I nodded once more. He waved his knolled, as if, He waltzantly, as if dismissing my confusion. Most are, which is why I shall explain, he looked away from me, and started pacing back and forth.

As soon as his eyes left mine, I felt as if an enormous burden had been lifted from my shoulders. "'Tell me, "'why do you think, "'why do you think, "'reated humans?' "'speech had returned to me, "'and so I put it to use. "'I'm not sure,'

"'I answered, lamely, "'feeling relieved to hear the sound of my own voice. "'My mind raced to remember "'what little I had been taught in Sunday school, "'but only fragments came back. "'Ah, "'you wanted them, "'you wanted them,

"'and then, "'theirder the garden or something?' "'He chuckled once more, "'I'll be it darkly. "'Not quite, not quite. "'That's humans' interpretations of it. "'Think larger, Jason. "'Think beyond what you have been fed. "'I struggle to understand

"'what he was getting at, "'but found that, I was unable to do what he requested. I, I can't, I replied my voice, of course you can't, he replied almost immediately. Your minds have been engineered to work a certain way and you can't change that by sheer willpower. He sighed, not in a particular. This may help. Why to raise pigs?

I was a bit taken back by this and furrowed my brow. To... ...eat? He smiled and nodded at the ground. Yes, exactly. You raised them only to slaughter them in the end. Although you may give them pet pee-ne. Give them pet names and grow attached.

The end result is always the same. My blood ran cold as I slowly started to piece it all together. His analogy could only lead to one chilling explanation that I didn't want to acknowledge. Yet it was so plausible that it was almost impossible to ignore. the slaughterhouse, the overall atmosphere, we, we, I choked out, precisely, came his reply. Although my eyes were dry, I couldn't help but feel a sob rise in my throat. Why? I asked. Why would you do this to us? People love you. People dedicate their entire lives to you. Wars have been fought in your name. How could you just...

How could you just betray us like this? He raised a steel, grey eyebrow at me. Betrayal? Is that how you view it? He asked. I didn't respond. I created you. I gave you everything that you possibly ever needed. Is it so wrong to want something in return? I weakly raised my head to look at him, still pacing, only now somewhat angrily. I thought you loved us, I said quietly, my voice barely a whisper. He turned his head to look at me and gave me an almost patronizing smile.

Oh no, I don't love you. humanity, nor do I loathe you. You see, you are nothing more than mere with that statement. He picked up a spare saw off a nearby table and shoved it into my shaking shaking hands. Now, work, he turned down his heel and started lumbering towards the exit. Halfway through, he paused and turned back to look at me. Do me a favour, I gulped and opened my mouth to protest, but found that I had no free will of my own anymore. Blinking tears from my eyes, I forced a smile onto my face and set to work along my

with the other angels. Cossacks who could sleep in the other's just passengers on a horse. What a old man who can ride can do to beat Hitler? Russian city after the other was overrun by the invaders. By summer of 1942, new posters were appearing in the streets of Moscow. Posters that greeted and welcomed their allies. A lies whose help was already arriving in Russian forces. Russian researchers kept 5 people awake for 15 days,

using an experimental gas-based stimulant. They were kept in a sealed environment to carefully monitor their oxygen intake, so the gas didn't kill them, since it was toxic in high concentrations. This was before closed-circuit cameras, so they only had microphones and 5 inch-thick glass porthole-size windows into the chamber to monitor them. chamber to monitor them. The chamber was stocked with books, to sleep on, but no bedding, running water and toilet, and enough dried food to last all five for over a month. The test subjects were political prisoners,

deemed enemies of the state during World War II. Everything was fine for the first five days. The subjects hardly complained having been promised falsely that they would be freed if they submitted to the test and did not sleep. for 30 days. Their conversations and activities were monitored and it was noted that they to talk about increasingly traumatic incidents in their past and the general tone of their conversations took on a darker aspect after the four-day mark. After five days, they started to complain about the circumstances and events that led them to where they were and started to demonstrate severe paranoia. They stopped talking to each other and

began alternately whispering to the microphones and one-way mirror port-oddly. They all seemed to think they could win the trust of the experimenters by turning over their comrades, the other subjects in captivity with them. At first the researchers suspected this was an effect of the gas itself. After nine days, the first of them started screaming. He ran the length of the chamber repeatedly, yelling at the top of his lungs for three hours straight. He continued, but was only able to scream. The researchers that he had physically torn his vocal cords. The most surprising thing about his

behaviour is how the other captives reacted to it, or rather didn't react to it. They continued whispering to the microphones until the second of the captives started to scream. The two non-screaming captives took the book to apart, smearing page after page with their own feces and paced them calmly on the glass portals. The screaming promptly stopped. So did the whispering to the microphones. After three more days passed, the researchers checked the microphones hourly to make sure they were working, since they thought it impossible that no sound could be coming with five people inside. The oxygen consumption of the chamber indicated that all five must

still be alive. In fact, it was the amount of oxygen that would consume at a very high-level of strenuous exercise. On the morning of the 14th day, the researchers did something they said they would not do to get a reaction from the captives. They used the intercom inside the chamber, hoping to provoke any response from the captives they were afraid were either dead or vegetables. They announced, we are opening the chamber to test the microphones, step away from the door and lie flat on the floor, or you will be shut. Compliance will earn one of you through immediate freedom.

To their surprise, they heard a single phrase in a calm voice respond, We no longer want to be freed. Debate broke out among the researchers and the military forces funding the research. Unable to provoke any more response using the intercom, it was finally decided to open the chamber at midnight night on the 15th day. The chamber was flushed off the stimulant gas and filled with fresh air and immediately voices from the microphones began to object. Three different voices began begging as if pleading for the life of loved ones to turn the gas back on. The chamber was opened and soldiers sent in to retrieve the

test subjects. They began to scream louder than ever and so did the soldiers when they saw what was inside. Four, of the five subjects were still alive, although no one could rightly call the state that any of them in life. The food rations past day five had not been so much as touched. There were chunks of meats from the dead test subjects' thighs and chest stuffed into the drains in the center of the chamber, blocking the drain and allowing four inches of water to accumulate on the floor. Precisely how much of the water on the floor was actually blood was never determined. All four surviving test subjects also had large portions of muscles torn away from their bodies. The destruction of flesh and exposed bone on their fingertips indicated that the wounds were inflicted by hand, not with teeth as researchers initially thought.

Closer examination of the position and angle of the wounds indicated that most of it, if not all of them, were self-inflicted. The abominable organs of all four test subjects had been removed, while the heart, and the diaphragm remained in place. The skin and most of the muscle attached to the ribs had been ripped off, exposing the lungs through the rib cage. All the blood vessels and organs remained intact, but they had been taken out and laid on the floor, fanning out around the eviscerated but still living bodies of the subjects. The digestive tracks of all four could be seen to be

Digesting food It quickly became apparent that what they were digesting was their own flesh that they had ripped off and eaten over the course of the days Most of the soldiers were Russian special operatives at the facility but many refused to return to the chamber to remove the test subjects They continued to scream to be left in the chamber and alternately begged and demanded that the gas be turned back on, lest they fall asleep. To everyone's surprise, the test subjects put up a fierce fight in the process of being removed from the chamber. One of the Russian soldiers died from having his throat ripped out.

Another was gravely injured by having his testicles ripped off and an artery in his legs severed by one of the subject's teeth. Another five of the soldiers lost their lives if you count ones that committed suicide. in the weeks following the struggle. in the struggle, of the spleen ruptured, and he bled out almost immediately. The medical researchers attempted to sedating,

but this proved impossible. He was injected with more than 10 times the human dose of a morphine derivative and still fought like a cornered animal, breaking the ribs and arms of one of the doctors, when the heart was seen to beat for a full, two minutes after he had bled out to the point where, There was more air in his vascular system than blood.

Even after it stopped, he continued to scream and flail for another three minutes, struggling to attack anyone in reach and repeating the word more, over and over, weaker and weaker, until he fell silent. The surviving three test subjects were heavily restrained and moved to a medical facility. the two with intact vocal cords, continuously begging for the gas, demanding to be kept awake. The most injured of the three was taken to the only surgical operating room that the facility had. In the process of preparing the subject to have his organs placed back within his body, it was found that he was effectively immune to the sedative they had been given him to prepare him for the surgery.

He fought furiously against his restraints when the anesthetic gas was brought out to put him under. He managed to tear most of a four-inch-thick, leather strap on one wrist, even through the weight of a 200-pound soldier holding that wrist as well. It took only a little more anesthetic than normal to put him under, and the instant his eyelids fluttered and closed, his heart stopped. In the autopsy of the test subject that died on the operating table, it was found that his blood had tripled the normal level of oxygen. His muscles,

were badly torn, and he had broken in the struggle to not be subdued. most of them were from the force his own muscles had exerted on them. The second survivor had been the first other group of five to start screaming.

His vocal cords destroyed. He was unable to beg or object to surgery, and he only reacted by shaking his head violently in disapproval when the anesthetic gas was brought near him. He shook his head, yes. Instead, when someone suggested, reluctantly, that they tried the surgery without an aesthetic and did not react for the entire six-hour procedure of replacing his abdominal organs and attempting to cover them with what remained of his skin.

The surgeon proceeding stated repeatedly that it should be medically impossible for the patient to still be alive. One terrified nurse assisting the surgery stated that she had seen the patient's mouth curl into a smile. several times. Whenever his eyes met hers, when the surgery ended, the subject looked at the surgeon and began to wheeze loudly, attempting to talk while struggling. Assuming this must be something of drastic importance, the surgeon had a pen and paper fetched so the patient could write his message. It was simple. Keep cutting. The other two test subjects were given the same surgery, both without anesthetic as well, although, although, a paralytic for the duration of the operation. the surgeon found it impossible to perform the operation while the patients laughed continuously.

Once paralyzed, the subjects could only follow the attending researchers with their eyes. The paralytic cleared their system in an abnormally short period of time and they were soon trying to escape their bounds. The moment they could speak, they were again asking for the stimulant gas. The researchers tried to have injured themselves, why they had ripped out their own guts and why they wanted to be given the gas again. Only one response was given. I must remain awake. All three subjects' restraints were reinforced and they were placed back into the chamber, awaiting determination as to what should be done with them. The researchers facing the wrath of their military benefactors for having failed the stated goals of their

the stated goals of their projects, considered euthanizing the surviving subjects. The commanding officer, instead saw potential and wanted to see what would happen if they were put back on the gas. The researchers strongly objected, but were overruled.

In preparation for being sealed in the chamber again, the subjects were connected to an EEG monitor and had their restraints padded for long-term confinement. To everyone's surprise, all of the chamber three stopped struggling the moment it was let slip that they were going back on the gas. It was obvious that at this point all three were putting up a great struggle to stay awake. One of the subjects that could speak was humming loudly and continuously. The mute subject was straining his legs against the leather bonds with all his might.

First left, then right, then left again, for something to focus on. The remaining subject was holding his head, his pillow, having being the first to be wired at the EEG, most of the researchers were monitoring his brain waves in surprise. They were normal, most of the time, but sometimes flatlined inexplicably. It looked as if he were repeatedly suffering brain death

before returning to normal, as they focused on paper, scrolling out of the brainwave monitor, Only one nurse saw his eyes slip shut. At the same moment his head hit the pillow. His brainwaves immediately changed the that of deep sleep, then flatlined, for the last time, as his heart simultaneously stopped. The only remaining subject that could speak

started screaming to be sealed in now. His brainwaves showed the same flatlines as one who had just died from falling asleep. The commander gave the order to seal the chamber seal the chamber with both the researchers, as well as three researchers. One of the named three immediately drew his gun and shot the commander, point blank between the eyes,

then turned the gun on the mute subject and blew his brains out as well. He pointed his gun at the remaining subject, still restrained to a bed as the remaining members of the medical and research team fled the room. I won't be locked in here with these things, not with you. He screamed, he screamed,

to the table. What are you? I must know. The subject smiled. Have you forgotten so easily? The subject asked. We are you. We are the madness that lurks within you all, begging to be free at every moment in your deepest animal mind.

We are what you hide from in your beds. every night. We are what you sedate into silence and paralysis when you go to the nocturnal haven where we cannot dread. The researcher paused, then aimed at the subject's heart and fired. The EEG flatlined as a subject weakly choked out. So, nearly free. When I was young, my parents tried, my parents, they always saw the negativity that and ignore the potential it had. Of course, they couldn't keep this up forever.

Eventually it became more and more accessible, and they finally caved in and we got a family computer. The computer itself wasn't anything spectacular, but what it held was truly the new, man-made one-made one. man-made wonder that grew each day. When I got home from school, I would go online and read whatever articles I could find, peer into people's lives through personal written blogs, and play the assortment of games that people made. I couldn't explore everything as my parents had put a filter on the computer. I was young at the time, only 12 years old. But honestly, I had no

interest in that sort of stuff they were trying to protect me from. A few years down the line, I started finding interesting stories. I can never tell if they often never had an author credited. They would also be shared around so much that you can never find an original source. This gave these tales more mystery. A lot of them were laughable, unrealistic killers and impractical monsters. However, one story caught my attention and stuck with me and stuck with me and a lot of them were laughable. ever since reading it.

It was called the Russian sleep experiment. It was about Russian researchers an experiment on some captured prisoners of war. They falsely promised their freedom if they sat in a chamber with a gas that would suppress their want and need for sleep. Eventually they mentally deteriorated and the scientists found them as a husk of their human selves.

They were mutilated, guts hanging out of their body, Yet, they were still alive. Not only this, they showed extraordinary strength. They only wanted one thing to be put back on the gas. It ends with one of the generals ordering some scientists to put them back in the test chamber, and for the scientists to go in and manually observe the monstrosities. This triggers a reaction from one of the scientists, who grabs the general's gun, shoots him,

him and aims it towards the last surviving patient. The creature explains that he is what lies dormant in each of us, a hidden demon we suppress with our natural need for sleep. This was a condensed version of the story anyway. I definitely recommend checking it out. When I read this story, I was in shock. Was this real? Who wrote it?

Is it possible? These questions and my mind, and stuck with me for a few years of my life. I mean, I've seen a lot of leaked experiment documents from the two world wars, bats with bombs, dogs with two heads. This wasn't the most absurd scientific idea I've seen pitched from those times. Over time, things were pushed back. Although my love for psychology and interesting behavioural experiments still held my interest. I focused on the old controversial ones like Zimbardo's prison experiment where Zimbardo organized some students to incarcerate other

students and hold them prisoner. Eventually things led to an authoritarian control and it resulted in the mock police to use actual brutality and psychological torture to maintain control. Another one I just love is the Milgram experiment. Some paid volunteers, labelled as the teacher, we're given control of an electric shock device. They had to ask an assortment of questions to the learner, but were also warned of the learner's heart condition. If wrong, the teacher administered an electric shock and moved on to the next question. Each time, the voltage was increased by 15.

After a number of shocks, the learner would eventually be put in so much pain that they would would start banging on the wall. He would complain about his heart condition. But the scientist would simply prompt the teacher to continue. Eventually, after being told they wouldn't be held responsible, the teacher would administer the killing blow and go well above what the subject could handle. What I love about this one is that you think it's the learner who is being tested, but they're actually an actor.

No one really died in that experiment. The experiment was set up to test people's obedience, and this test shattered expectations. Most psychologists proposed that most people would stop before going above the lethal 450 volts, but even though they were all uncomfortable, showing signs of stress, even offering to not be paid and leave the experiment, 65% of participants went over the limit. This was an amazing display of raw human nature. There were even some controversial parallels drawn between the atrocities caused in the holocaust and how humans fall into demand of authority. These cases and more displayed and concluded a lot of dark motives behind our polite human exteriors.

However, these cases and more are also the reason why psychology ethics standards were set up. Nowadays, you can't do anything remotely as intensive as the experiments back in the good old day. days. Principles and guidelines are now so restricting that you can barely test anything ambitious about the human mind and will. And I hate it. I pitched my ideas and hypothesis for many tests that I felt could further our understanding of ourselves at our most rourest levels. But legalities and ethics were a barrier I couldn't overcome. I wanted to be the guy who set up these labyrinths of will and see the people who set up these labyrinths of will, and see if we were capable of functioning as our primitive selves once were. I worked hard at my degree,

which I saw as my ticket to this level of power. But all I held was a glorified piece of paper that let me listen to people's feelings. There was no way I could get funding from any official government body, so I would have to do the next best thing. Fund it myself. However, I was sitting on a mountain of student debt. I was already one step behind. It was a good thing I was qualified by listening to people's feelings. It wasn't easy at first, starting off as a junior, then working my way up to a private counsellor. But I did it, and now I was making bank with minimal input.

After a while, I had saved enough for a good first-off experiment, something that had influenced me. and piqued my curiosity into this world of experiments. the Russian sleep experiment. The idea was simple. Just stop someone from sleeping for a long period of time. The body has many deterrence for sleep. Caffeine, fear, adrenaline, pain.

I took to the drawing boards and planned out a schedule. The next task was the room. Luckily I lived in a detached house and the spacing between my house was relatively far away. First, I saved up for a basement extension on the house. After that was complete, the soundproof the walls were the best padding I could find. The best part about doing this now is that

I could amend the issue the researchers had in the original experiment. They had to monitor the subjects through a small portal window, whereas I could keep track of everything in crisp HD at a relative to a relative to a small portal window, whereas I could keep track of everything, crisp hd at a relatively low price. The icing on the cake was the reinforced door to keep the subject from escaping. Once everything was set, I needed a test subject. Of course, no one would willingly volunteer for this, and I couldn't go down any official route,

so I had to improvise. Luckily, I found the perfect person. for a couple of weeks, I had been counseling a guy named Josh Kent. He'd complain about voices in his head and strange urges that he was scared of. However, from what I could tell, he never had anything wrong with him. He simply needed someone to talk to.

And having these problems meant he had a reason to see someone. Me. He had recently lived through his mom. and his wife and he had no kids and he had. due to the tragedy, he had. He would come to me with various issues he thought he had. Honestly though, it would just turn into idle chat because, in reality, he just wanted someone to talk to. Nice guy really.

He would pay for this expensive chinwag with the hefty inheritance money he'd received. With no close ties, he would be with the close ties, he would be a very much-time. He was the perfect person to use. He was disposable to society, so in a sense, I was almost doing the world of favour. I didn't have to wait long before he scheduled another appointment, no doubt to talk about how lonely it was, and how life has changed for him. We engaged in our usual manner, and while he was relaxed, I slipped behind him and squeeze the contents of a syringe I concealed behind my wrist.

into his neck. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, and I easily managed to sneak him so unnoticed. He was peaceful when I dressed him in the clean, white garbs. This was probably going to be the last sleep he was ever going to have, I thought to myself. I changed his arms and legs to stop him escaping. Since the gas used in the original experiment was never named, I had to use what I knew would work. ranges. An occasional dose of adrenaline and a constant consumption and his water and a good job, I could do a good job, keeping him awake. And for the times he would really force himself to sleep, his restraints were wired as shocking

with a hefty jolt by remote. After setting up, I waited for him to wake. Eventually he came to, and I pressed the button linked to an intercom. Welcome, I'm sure you're confused You're here You're here for a reason You always spoke of these You're always spoke of these voices

And urges that you are scared of Well I'm about to perform A great experiment to fix those problems Don't be frightened Everything is happening for a reason Trust me All while I was saying this I saw his face contort into that of fear

Then regret A million thoughts must have been running through his head. Thoughts that I will never know. After he had eased up I explained what was going to happen. I talked about how I was going to treat his condition through a new experiment by resetting the brain. I told him to achieve this. I had to prevent him from sleeping for 30 days. Reaching day 30 was never my main goal. My first goal was to beat the days past in the original experiment, 12 days. I never told him, I would have been stupidly

so. It would only have caused panic. This way, he would be more cooperative. A day passed while I was observing him on the monitors and he was a bit weary. However, he was stable and awake through the small and regular doses of caffeine. I would occasionally see him try and sleep, be unable to. The times he would almost be able to, I would remind him to stay awake the intercom. And when he would be less cooperative, I would send a small, harmless jolt through the restraints. Afterwards, he'd scream obscenities at me, but I'd remind him it's for his own good, and he'd be less hysterical. Me, however, I was feeling the effects bad. Something something so simple, so flawed in the experiment overlooked. I had to constantly monitor him,

yet I also needed to sleep. Halfway through the second day, I risked it. I laid my head down on my desk and set an alarm for six hours. That would be an ample amount of sleep. When I woke, my eyes were still heavy, but I was rested enough for another shift of watching Josh. However, when I looked at the screen, I saw he was motionless. My eyes widened when I realized why. He was sleeping. I ran to the room and shook him violently, releasing my frustrations both of Josh and myself. Come on, Josh, you have to stay awake for this to work, I yelled.

It's too hard. can't we try something else?" replied, wearily. I jabbed his arm while he was saying this with a small shot of adrenaline, then gave a speech about how this is for the best, and how this will help him for the rest of his life. He took what I said in stride, but I could tell he was losing faith. I wasn't going to let his weak will affect the magnitude of what I was going to accomplish, To investigate what lies deep, is something is something too valuable to squander because one is not willing to cooperate.

As I walked away, I thought about how this experiment could fail because of the simple flaw in the plan. That I had to be awake to monitor him. I cursed myself as I sat down, lamenting on the lack of professionalism that comes with this kind of underground research. I had no extra staff, no special monitoring equipment, no scientists to help with chemicals. But I was adamant to do this. Besides, I was too far in. There was no way I could go back now, and it would be a momental task to set this up again. It had to be now.

My new goal was the simply observed Josh for the longest period of time I could to see signs that could prove my hypothesis. I sat in front of the computer screen, reset the clock, and monitored Josh for the rest of the day. 24 hours later, and my eyes were heavy. I stared at the glowing image of Josh, it was probably feeling the same way. I saw him starting to nod,

so I sipped some caffeine and instructed him to stay awake through the intercom. Minutes passed, and I knew he was starting to ignore me over his desire to sleep. I got up and slowly headed to the cell to see him dipping his head to a comfortable position. I raised my arm and pushed the needles straight into his neck and forced the adrenaline into his body. His eyes shot open from the shock, and soon he was jittering from the reaction to the chemical. I exhaled in approval and slowly. I was slowly headed back to my seat. However, I wasn't very well myself.

I looked over at my supply of adrenaline and wondered how long it'd be until I had to use that of myself. I poured myself some coffee and carried on watching. 46 hours had passed. I leaned back in my chair and took in the fact that we were almost at the day to Mark. Something that has probably has probably been done by many students trying to crunch our finals, or workers trying to meet deadlines. However, I felt we were getting closer to the end. 57 hours in, and it felt like an uphill battle against being dragged into the depths of the land of Nard.

Josh, obviously much less motivated than me to stay awake, was worse off. Since the two-day mark I had already given him Two half-dosis of adrenaline And even had to use someone myself Caffeine was starting to become close to ineffective With how deprived we both were from sleep I also started hallucinating

Small things at first Small shapes moving off to the side of my vision Sounds that shouldn't have been there My head was dropping to the weight I felt in my head before I'd be jolted awake. While battling the urge to sleep, my ears rang with a burning screech coming from the cell. I looked at the screen to see Josh, wailing his lungs out and tugging against his restraints. I don't want to be here anymore. Get me out of here! He yelled. His will was hanging by a thread. It wouldn't be left.

long before he would start to revolt against my needs. I couldn't let that happen though. It was too much at stake. Many, grueling hours later, we were both at a stalemate. The timer was indicating that 62 hours had passed. The effects of fatigue were chipping away at us both. Josh had particularly lost a lot of energy from his constant crying and babbling, sprinkled between his begging to be set free. His wrists were raw from the tugging that came from his protest of being held his will. My state wasn't much better. I was fatigued beyond belief. However, one thing kept me going. While observing Josh, I would occasionally glance over to my copy of the Russian sleep experiment. And the more Josh's mentality deteriorated, the more it started to align with what was documented before me.

I wondered why it wasn't affected me, but maybe I had a particularly strong aversion to the effects, as I was fully aware of them, and had the willpower to muscle through the whole ordeal. So, with this in mind, the more extreme things became, the more I realised that the more I realised, I had to keep going. hour 91. time was moving slow. To keep up with making Josh not sleep, I had to start matching adrenaline doses with Josh,

which I had to up the frequency of. This mixed in with the caffeine pills and other stimulants. My chest was feeling tight and my mind was floating on clouds. Luckily, I only had one focus, and that was keeping Josh awake. Along with these many drugs, I had to resort to the shocking device that was wired to Josh's restraints more often. I don't know if it was because it was starting to become necessary, or my ability to

carry myself to his cell on a regular basis was almost non-existent. But it was working. As for Josh himself, he would dip in and out of sporadic behaviour, usually happening when he was either shocked, or I came in with some chemicals. This was throwing me through loops as his tossing around and yelling was close to what was described in the original experiment, but it was mostly spurred on by my presence. The only way to verify this was the carry-on. And so I did.

The timer rolled over 144 hours. I scribbled something haphazily down about how six days had passed, but it wasn't very comprehensive. Josh was awake, but in a near unconscious state. His head was dipped, mouth dribbling, and occasionally babbling nonsense. He would respond to messages, but I couldn't understand it.

any of it. Both her arms and necks share the same resemblance of red dots. I didn't know how fatal the amount of adrenaline we took was, but I was sure the human body could take a lot. I mean, it is naturally found in the body. Josh's head dipped, and eyes drooped shut. I slowly stood up and shuffled over to the remains of the adrenaline supply. The weight of doubt, dragging. and my heels. More time had passed. I stared at the clock. The seconds roll over to zeros again. The minutes roll over to more zeros. And the hours show the next benchmark. One hundred and ninety two hours. Eight days. I look over at Josh. His face is dry through the loss of tears and saliva. The fight in his eyes were gone. The only thing,

from pronouncing him dead, was the small movement from his chest that implied breathing. Almost like routine, his eyes started to drop. It was time for another shot. I dragged my way to his form. I dropped down to my knees and looked at him. Nothing about him screams anything animalistic. Did something go wrong?

Maybe it was the chemical they used in the original experiment. Maybe he slipped in a lapse of concentration. The doubt of the validity of this tail was weighing heavy on my mind. But I could neither confirm nor deny it still, due to the increasing amount of errors in my personal study. I jabbed the needle where my arm lands and pushed the liquid into his bloodstream. A few seconds and he was reacting. He started twitching, after that, his head dipped and stopped moving.

I looked closely and see he lost the small chest motion that implied breath. It wasn't hard to piece together that he was now dead. I possessed the resources to resuscitate him, but I had neither the energy. nor the motivation to do so. as I lie down, with the events of the eight days only one thing prevailed in my mind as my eyes closed with a lot of relief.

I really hope I wake up. My father worked for a human research company in the 70s and 80s before some organizations such as the IRB Institutional Review Board for the protection of human subjects and research and the Belmont report could catch on. He retired and went on to live a nice,

with my mother, his wife of 30 years. After she died, his own health began to deteriorate and he willed his estate and possessions to me upon his passing. This ticked off my two other siblings, but that's mostly irrelevant

because I intend to sell the house, property, and most of the money and divide the money. I guess that's why. I'm the money, I'm the responsible my father. Noah Foster was an amazing man and a very caring father to all of us. I don't think I ever once questioned his love for all of us. He never talked about what he used to do, only that he did help mankind in general, and he was glad, the retirement check. The retirement check, was hefty, and he never needed to look for another source of income. His savings is enormous, and if we are careful, we probably won't have to work again if we don't want to. But that's not

why I'm here. See, I didn't enlist the help of my bitter siblings in the cleaning and cataloguing of my parents' possessions, or rather my new possessions. So, when I found the box, I was alone. My father kept all his work-related things in the basement, which was always locked. One of those things willed to me was a key ring with three keys. The brass key unlocked the basement door, and the silver key unlocked a large floor-to-ceiling safe in the basement. That's where I'm I found the boxes. Inside the safe were boxes of various dates, mostly faded, even by the point where it and its contents are little more than dust and decay. Some of the boxes I haven't opened yet. I'm honestly afraid of what I'll find. Their labels are obscure,

and after reading what I found in the first box, I don't know if I'll dig. any deeper. Let me share with you what I've discovered. The box itself is cardboard and heavy. It's bound in thick tape and I wasn't worried the bottom would fall out as it had some sort of hard plastic wrapped around the base. It looked very commercial. The lid had a faded yellow tape with black bold letters and the words, sensitive documents, tampering with a seal without Authorisation is a criminal act. marker on top were the words, human detachment project. I cut the seal.

These boxes were easily 30 plus years old and they legally belonged to me. The contents from the top to bottom were as such. Four folders filled with scientific notes and some photographs of a family, not mine. a metallic box 4 inches wide and 5 inches tall that I am so far unable to open. A relatively new-looking voice recorder. This one was most odd, as it seems far more advanced than anything in this box should be. And last, at the very bottom, a record inside of a sleeve, no title or label. Now I am going to relay everything notable I've read and heard.

Maybe, what my father was working on. Most of these names have been redacted. I'm guessing so, I don't know if these are his notes or someone else's. The notes. July 3rd, 1973, redacted, compiling the incentive for the Human Detachment Project. In three years, CERN will publicly announce the completion of their superproton syncretaceans The project was truly finished four days ago. And testing has already begun.

After the subsequent lack of Apollo 13, the subsequent lack of information yielded from Apollo 14, the administration has given the green light to the Daphne program, which will bypass the exploration portion and move straight to redacted on the moon surface. These works double as isolation research and the test of space on the human psyche. Next note. Henry Tashvel has published his notes on the minimal group paradigm, developing the basis idea for the Human Detachment Project.

Next. Redacted has been discovered in the Kola-Suba-deep borehole. All proof of redacted has been removed and thus has confirmed that humans-slash-human-like can survive isolated for an unknown amount of time. time, as redacted, oblivious to existence of the cavern. This concludes the incentive for the human detachment project. That page was the first inside the top folder. The rest of the notes were newspaper clippings and typed slash handwritten notes about those events

as well as other notable things around that time. Each one touching on this human detachment project. The second folder contained a picture of four. There were no names on the photograph, but the next page had information. September 28, 1973. Most of the name had been redacted except Stur. I believe this folder, or at least these notes were written or compiled by my father, Noah Foster. Compiling notes for the human detachment subjects.

George Polk, No history of mental illness Or Underlying Health Issues Mary Polk 36, female No history of mental illness prone to migraines William Polk

12 No history of mental illness Or underlying health issues Deborah Polk 5, female Underdeveloped mental capacity due to age Ineligible for testing Removed

Subject family offered the sum of $50,000 upon completion of the trials Subject's family agreed in the understanding that Deborah Polk be put under the care of outside family The next item is a missing person poster dated October 10th, 1973 Deborah Polk age 5

missing from grandmother's care since late September The rest of the folder contained detailed medical records of each member of Deborah. The third folder is dated December 1974. The first page is handwritten and worn to the point where I can't read it. I skimmed a few pages, but most of the notes seem smudge or blurred. Towards the end of the folder, I can read parts of it. It appears to be a woman's handwriting. Phase 3 began early this morning.

After keeping the subject family separated for six days of the week and together one, we then separated them into two weeks alone and one day together. Phase 3 consists of one month in isolation, followed by one hour of forced community time. This will continue until the final phase in six months. The remainder of the notes are observations of the three subjects. Inside the last folder are things I would have never believed people could do to another person. I almost don't want to share this in the event that it could harm my father's reputation,

but I fully believe my father was not involved in the actual testing. I'm hoping to God, the partial redacting on the previous folder, was his part in the initial screening only. The first page of the folder is a printed email. July 5, Charles Lynn, compiling summary of the Human Detachment Project. The project officially ended two days ago after it was forgotten for several months slash years longer than it should have continued. The initial grant was for one year of human isolation in singular are people's only. The use of children, the use of were never approved. The following are excerpts from the various sources

inside the Human Detachment Project. It has been deemed as success by some, and a massive failure by others. My supervisor, redacted, believes that this information can help thousands, although I personally failed to see how it could benefit anyone as the methods were little more than torture and the The executors of the project have since been reprimanded. I will be taking a copy of my report to the head office in hopes of finding Deborah Polk. Next note.

After extreme isolation, followed by increasingly limited community time, the father has attempted to kill Subject's son on five separate occasions, each one with more extreme violent outbursts. Subject's mother attempted to lobotomize herself on two different ways. which resulted in the now, constant restraint of her hands. Subject's mental health saw the fastest decline as he began to develop extreme split personality disorder. Next note. Subject's family was introduced to a looped recording of prayers spoken in Latin after the urging of Dr. Gettings. I believe this was more of a personal experiment than a necessary addition. Next note.

Subject's son now begun speaking fluently in Latin even words on the looped recording that has been played for 17 weeks straight Subject's mother

was found dead in a room her hands remained bound but bruising in a crushed windpipe were the cause of death Subject's father claims to have killed her because quote

She begged me to Neither subject had seen each other in over three months. Subject father, themed impossible. Subject's was found in the community room. His room was still locked, and, as there are no doors or windows, it is unclear how he escaped. He was found standing in front of Subject mother's now empty room, whispering to her in Latin,

holding a small metallic box. Origin unknown. Subject's father was released into a sealed room with two interviewers for final before release. Upon being told he would be released, Subject's father took his own life with a pen of an interviewer. His last words were, Don't make me leave. You can't make me leave. Subject's son remains in isolation.

It is unclear for how long. recorded shows clear psychosis and mental breakdown. I will be sending copies of this to various heads. The cruelty and forced isolation of these people is far beyond criminal neglect. The remaining papers are the medic reports and death certificates of George and Mary Polk. The dates are redacted. The last thing in the box is the voice recorder. I had to pick up some batteries before I could listen to it. It went, It went. Interviewer. Do you know where you are? Son. I am at, redacted.

This is a long redaction. I think he said the actual address. Also, his voice is quite deep for a youth. Interviewer. And, and why do you think that's where you are? Son, I just know. If we can determine that you are healthy, we would like to release you. I don't want to leave. Why not? I am not one of them outside.

I am inside. We are going to release you. We need to see how you react around others. I don't want to leave. The audio breaks up a few times here before it cuts off. That's everything I know about the Human Detachment Project. I don't know what's inside the small box, and I have a pretty good idea about what's on the record. I'm afraid to dig deeper.

I have a few more boxes with various titles, such as the Snake Skin Experiment, Operation Stop Watch, and a few others. One box in particular makes me nervous. It's double taped and has the words, failed experiments on the top. I have one key left on the key ring, and I don't know if it goes to something else inside of one of these boxes or not. But I feel he left it to me for a reason. I really don't want to go through more of these boxes, but there are just so many. And why would he have these? Why wouldn't they be somewhere more secure than his basement all this time?