CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I’m stationed on the Falkland Islands. There’s a reason these islands are important" Creepypasta

Episode Date: December 20, 2020

I’m stationed on the Falkland Islands with the British Army. There’s a reason these islands are so important.CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Darkly_Gathers: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm...Creepypastas 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►Denis Loebner: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/gJ...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-

We stand, three of us, alone in the wilderness. The wind is wild and roars through the rippling wild grass wastes. Grey-green plains beneath a wet, grim sky. The sounds of waves crashing and frothing against the distant coast are carried on the airs, and the ground rumbles. The low hill that rises from the ground before us starts the shake. Guys, boots mutter to my right, shifting. What's... what's happening?

We don't respond. This will be his first time down below. Boots, I mean. His first time. Seeing the subject. The secret of the aisles. Boots is not what the lad is actually called. It was so named for a moment of madness in his very first week here.

For some inane reason or other, nerves perhaps, or a poor attempt at a joke. He had complimented the boots of a passing officer. Nice boots, he said. And the officer had come to a stop at once, turning. to stare at the young man as if here are an alien from another bloody planet. The boots are standard issue, of course. They're all the exact same. And the name had stuck.

Boots was boots from that moment on. With a rumble and the grinding of old, weird gears unseen, the front face of the hill rotates around. A panel of fake grass slides to the right and out of sight beneath the edge of the hill, revealing inside it in a small, gloomy metal room. Ryland and I step in Ryland is the soldier to my left He's been stationed here for as long as I have

Six months so far He's alright Bit of a dick sometimes But you know he's fine After a second of hesitation Boots follows us in And the door grinds shut behind us We are plunged for a moment

Into complete darkness Then a weak orange bulb Attached to the rails and the upper right flickers weakly to life. There is another low crank from below, and the floor begins to vibrate. Our stomachs lurch as we feel ourselves drop, and the rough earth and stone of our surroundings starts to rise up all around. It's a lift, you see, an elevator, and down we go.

Down, down, under the ground. I'm looking straight ahead at the rushing rock, illuminated faintly in orange, but in the corner of my eye, I can see boots, shift from one foot to the other. I sent him tense up. He starts to feel it, for the first time, the waves of misery that emanate up from below, from the subject, and they only get stronger and stronger as you get closer and closer. I try to remember what it is like for me, and my first time down into the complex. It's all right, mate, I mutter. Just try to remember that it ain't permanent. It passes once you return to the surface. Boots nods, but says nothing. The lift

rattles, and down we go. The dark rock ahead rushes by, and after a while we start to pass other materials too. Steel bars and beams, rusted panels, thick panes of glass that allows fleeting glimpses into old and sterile corridors of scientists and soldiers blurred and anonymous. The The lift begins to slow. The rock and the metal peel back and away like a parting curtain. The view ahead reveals us to be near the roof of an enormous hangar-like cavern, and grants us a vantage point out and below. People shuffle from place to place far beneath like little toys.

This is the centre of the complex, and it is vast. This is where they keep the subject. steps forward. He puts a hand on the rail and peers out over the edge. It's weird having him with us. It's like I'm seeing everything again for the first time through his eyes. Holy crap, he mutters, bewildered. The edge of the hangar are shrouded in darkness and stuffed full of various computers and generators, all interconnected with cables and wires. Scientists pour over the data. They take endless readings. Soldiers march by, all shadowed. But, The very centre of the hangar is brightly illuminated, perpetually held in the glare of a dozen floodlamps, all evilly spaced and pointed down at the complex's centrepiece.

The subject. What is he? Boots asks. It, Raleighlin mutters. The higher-ups insist. They want us calling it an it. But, I don't know, he looked so much like a it, Boots, for goodness sake, it's an it. Boots says no more and returns his gaze out over the scene below.

The subject, even as brightly lit as it is, is still quite far away from our current position, and its features are not easily distinguishable. But I've been up close. I've seen what they're keeping down here. The subject stands slightly taller than your average man. It's about six foot seven or eight inches by my guess. Held in a rough egg shape, the subject's wrists and ankles are bound in heavy chains of a black and unknown metal.

They are pulled taut and connected to the enormous, similarly metal giant circle to which he's held. The subject has the appearance and features of a Caucasian male. It is dark tan skinned and completely hairless, but for two eyebrows of pure white, furrowed above a pair of eyes that are perpetually closed tight shut, sleeping. Its body is adorned with a series of curious and intricate tattoos, some in black, some bizarrely in white. A circle has been drawn across his chest and upper torso. The circle has two great wings that burst from the top,

and two that splay out from beneath them, spreading out across its ribcage. All down its arms are a series of eyes in various shapes and sizes, but all open wide, all staring. These are the only things I recognise. The only things that anyone recognises. No one has yet successfully identified the myriad of ruins and symbols that cover its neck, its shoulder and back.

Behind the subject stands a tall rectangular machine, a mechanical monolith ever grinding, ever humming. It's a generator of sorts, their bottoms into a heavy tripod, and in its grip holds tight a burning shard, large and sharp and jagged at the edges, as if broken from a piece of an even greater hole. The shard is glass-like and white-hot at the centre. Mesmerising patterns of fiery yellow and orange ripple paradoxically like water across its form.

The shard is plunged into the subject's back between two appendages that protrude from its shoulder blades like broken bones of diamond. The shard strikes out through the subject's chest, always rippling in its shades of orange and yellow and white, ever burning flamelessly. All quite necessary for his containment they tell. tell me, for its containment, I should say. It's really difficult to not think of the subject as a he. The lift comes to a stop at the base of the hangar, clanking down against the concrete. The rail unlocks, and we walk on out into the complex. The waves of despair are strong now.

I see boots lift a hand to wipe his eyes, though I choose not to comment. The captain approaches. He's not in charge of the complex, but he could well be the highest ranked officer on duty today. The ones at the top don't like spending much time down here for obvious reasons. Afternoon, lads, the captain grunts. He's a broad-shouldered man, scarred across one cheek. Sir, we reply, more or less as one, standing straight and saluting. About time you guys got down here, and who's this crybaby?

Ryland speaks before Boots has a chance to respond. As Boots, sir. Boots, eh? The captain scratches his chin. Bad luck on the name. He turns to me. And where's that little sidepiece of yours, eh? Lodzford. He makes a show of peering past me into the empty lift.

Would have been nice for the lads at the top to send down a bit of eye candy for a change. She's already down here, sir, I reply. Has been for four days now. You what? Why the hell didn't anyone tell me? Well, where the hell is she? I don't know, sir. I lie.

Hmm. Egrance. Then turns to Ryland. What's a bird like her doing with a waste man like this, hey, Ryland? I bet you'd love to have a go on her, wouldn't you? Ryland, after a beat, and still looking straight head, replies, Not my place to say, sir. The captain chuckles.

Coward. So, where can I find it, then, Lottesford? Think she'll be interested in a go on this. He gestures to his crotch. Unlikely, sir, I reply, clenching my fist by my side. And why is that? She's an engineer, sir. I imagine she's had a feel of attending to broken parts.

Ryland snorts, and to his credit, so does the captain. How long are you down here for Lodzford? Three days, I reply. Make it five. Yes, sir. All right, assholes, get to work. Dismissed. We salute and leave the captain behind.

Yeah, he's a dick. You get used to it. Rylund disappears off to our station. and I direct boots to where he needs to go with a pat on the back. I watch him head through the appropriate door and disappear down the corridor. I shoot a glance over to the subject. I'll be needed at the station with Rylund, but there's no immediate rush, I figure. Time enough for a little detour.

I pushed through the door and ascend the stairs. I walk tall and confident so as to not attract any questions as to my destination and ascend set after set of stairs through the sterile, peeling white corridors. A few floors up I'd find her, more or less where I was expecting to find her. The girl I've been seeing, Taylor. She's working on an enormous piece of weaponry. It's new, wasn't there the last time I was here. It stands at the very head of the corridor and is angled in such a way as the point out and over the waist-high wall,

down to the floodlit centre of the dome complex, aimed directly at the subject. far below. I call out to the lass in greeting. Lotsford, she says in surprise, her teeth shown white in a warm grin. It could well be the first time she smiled in days. It's brutal down here. I don't know why we call each other by her last names, by the way. It's just something we do. She stands and pulls me into a hug. I kiss her on the lips and then on the neck. Get her room, echoes a grouchy voice from the far end of the corridor. She pulls me back a little, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

I wasn't expecting to see you down here. Shift got changed. You know how the army is. And what about you? I thought you were due to return to the service like two days ago. She shrugged. You know how the army is? We share a laugh.

A welcome sound in the gloom of these sterile corridors. So, how long are you down here for then? She asks me. Five days. It was meant to be three, Captain screwed me over. Rarland and boots are down here too. Oh, she muses.

Rarland's here too? How long are the guy's going to be down? Three days, same as I was meant to have. I shrugged, and she put her hands out in and, ah well, what can you do, kind of gesture. I nod to the enormous contraption she's working on. What's this then? She makes a noise of exhaustion.

This bloody thing is why I'm down here. The upper boats don't want us to change shifts with the next lot until we've actually completed the work and at least one of these bad boys. It would be easy if they just let us test them a little more. But, well, they don't. What is it? I ask. It's a weapon, right? What is it fire? Taylor nods. Yeah, security measures for the subject.

Take a look at this. She leads me just around the corner to a pedestalled and plexiglass container. Based on what's held inside, however, I'm assuming that the material is a little more expensive than simple plexiglass. Held precisely and carefully and two narrow metal prongs is a long bullet, made of the same shimmering, firing material as the blade embedded in the subject's chest. The bullet is ringed in two bands of what appeared to be dark and glistening wood. Whoa, I mutter.

Yeah, she replies. No idea of how it was made. or even what it's made of, but I'm presuming as expensive as all hell. Hmm, I murmur in agreement. My ears prick up at the sounds of running feet, and I take a step back and return round the corner into the corridor. One of the scientists that work here, a woman in a white coat, is hurriedly making away towards us. She glances anxiously back over her shoulder, tugging at her sleeves, and I am instantly alert. my mood hardens at once

and I feel all my senses sharpen and reflex Some things not right here Hey I call out Excuse me Is everything okay The scientist stops and attracts to stare at me She stammeres frozen in place As if on the verge of sharing some crucial information

Then we turn as one to stare down the corridor As a ripple of icy winds blows down it Not possible of course There's no wind down here. Nothing produces a sensation like that. And yet, goosebumps ripple across my skin and my blood runs instantly cold.

Eyes wide, I cannot help but stand stock still, staring down the long and gloomy corridor ahead. The overhead lights at the fire end fizzle out and the furthest reaches are plunged into shadow. And the shadows deepen. The entire complex, as it stands, could do with a little maintenance. Peeled paint and chipped glass

Tell a tale of laziness Of idle neglect But looking down the corridor now The sensation is All at once So much more noticeable The disrepair that one Would never even see on a normal patrol

Now reeks a rot Of sickness, of discord and disarray Even though physically the outward appearance Of the walls and the ceiling And the various doors remain largely the same The impression they give now is that they could collapse at any moment,

and behind the scenes, they are only barely held together by the thinnish of strands. I can almost hear the beams and the concrete crack, and a voice reverberates out from the encroaching darkness as the lights start to fail one by one. Where is he? I know he is waiting for us, soldier.

The voice is accompanied by the appearance of an appendage of what I can only describe as thick, void-like black ink. only barely visible through the shadows. It slithers around the far corner into sight and begins to leak and ooze across the floor towards us. It is here where my training kicks in. Before I can even issue the order to my legs, I find them striding to the switch on the nearby wall.

My elbow rises up to smash the glass, and I grab the switch, slamming it down hard into an accompanying wail of a siren, one that screams overhead and blares through the walls. The white coat of the scientist is a little, illuminated in the repetitive, steady beat of a flashing orange light, and I bring my radio up to my mouth, watching as the barriers start to appear. One of them grinds the life behind me, a sheet of metal, steadily grinding out from the ceiling and obscuring the aim of an enormous gun, blocking off the view over the edge and down to the subject and the centre of the complex below.

Another starts to slide out from the wall a few metres ahead, a great grid of solid metal. It shudders as it pushes out from a slot hidden away in the same. the wall and rumbles as it gradually blocks the rest of the corridor from view. I catch a glimpse of a wet and inky black body spilling out around the far corner before the barrier jodders and fixes itself into place. Corridor D12 to HQ, I shout into the receiver. Corridor D12 to HQ, we're facing a level one breach. I can't even believe I'm saying it.

I never thought this could happen. Never in a thousand, thousand years. I may as well be dreaming. my voice, it barely even sounds like my own to my ears, but in the radio I shout as loud and as clear as I can. I repeat, level one breach, we're facing a level one breach. The siren wails, the radio crackles in response, but I don't hear what, if anything, is said.

I dropped the device back to my belt and my gun is in my hands before I can blink. Get behind me, I roared to the scientist, still frozen in place like a deer in the headlights of an approaching car. Now! To her credit, she promptly does so, and my eyes widen in terror, and something slams hard into the centre of the metal barrier from the opposite side, dending it in a way I would have considered impossible. Taylor, to my right.

Lott'sford, she shouts in panic, above the silent scream. My gun! I don't have my gun! I shoot her an incredulous look over my shoulder. You what? Why the hell? I splutter. For goodness sake, woman, what are you? Nothing's ever happened down here, Lottford. You know that, and the officers don't give a damn.

I left it in my quarters. I swear beneath my breath, as another dent appears in the metal barrier. The four or five metres stretch of corridor between it and I has begun to shimmer with illogical and unnatural shadows. Just get her out of here, the civilian. Get her the hell out of here, Taylor. I shout back to her as I maintain my aim in the barrier, retreating step.

by step as I do so. I just about hear their steps against the floor away, and around the corner. A low and terrible voice, one of many whispers shivers through the air beside me. We know he is close. We can feel him. Take us to him, soldier. Stay back, I shout. Identify yourself, at once.

But the only response to receive is a mocking laughter that echoes around the walls. A third dent appears with a bang at the centre of the barrier beside the others, and at last the cavalry arrives. To my left and right the corridor fills with my comrades. Boots is one of them. He crouches down beside me and I crouch in turn, balance low near the ground. Lott'sford, he shouts over the siren. What the hell is going on? What is this?

Stay calm, boots. You've got this. We've got this. What's happening, Lotsford? Is it the Argentinians? I shoot him a look. No, mate, no it isn't. Focus your mind.

Just try to remember the training as best you can. The training we received for instances of the paranormal was scarce, as I'm sure you can imagine. But we did, to be fair, have some. No one took it seriously, of course. Even those who had, at that point, already been down to see the subject for themselves. After all, what was he really? All things considered. Some tall, tattooed bloke with an unsettling aura and a piece of fancy glass shoved through him.

We have our suspicions and theories, but that's all they are, just guesses. The upper boves don't tell us Jack, and the novelty wears off quick. Now, I'm wishing I paid a little closer attention, practice the mind-discipline exercises with greater care. The ground shakes. Too late now. Hopefully, I picked up just enough to get out of this alive. An officer appears to our right. Engineers, he bellows.

Make yourselves known. Two members of the crew that forms the corridor blockade raise their hands, and the officer nodded the weapon that Taylor had been working on. Engage with the weapon and get it active. Hold an aim of the barrier and await my signal to fire. The weapon is understood to be in an uncompleted capacity, sir. The closest of the engineer replies, it may not even work at all, and if it does,

it'll likely be temperamental at best. Get it done. The officer shouts as the barrier starts the crack and split in the centre. Now! They stand to a salute and hasten back through the corridor to the weapon at its head. One detaches a thick pair of iron tongues from the side and heads round the corner for the bullet, whilst the other starts turning a series of gears and levers on the machine's side, panels and inner mechanisms springing out as he does so.

I turned back to the barrier, raising my own weapon in careful aim. A voice of one of my superiors, of all of us. superiors, blairs through the speakers and to the backing track of the siren. Attention, all personnel. Stand ground at your assigned stations. The intrusion must not be allowed to reach the subject. Subject must remain in stasis at all costs. Subject to remain in status as highest priority.

Repeat, subject to remain in stasis as highest priority. A beat of sweat buds and trickles on the side of the officer's face. I don't rate them usually. Officers. useless bloody lizards But credit where credits do He's here with the rest of us He's in the trenches of this accursed

Corridor I carefully push a plug into each of my ears The sound of the siren has muffled somewhat And the barrier splits The metal peels back like paper And all that is visible beyond is a swirling void Soldiers on ground, fire The officer roars

And the hall comes live With a brilliant white light of a long and rippling burst of gunfire. Bullets fly and rain towards the crack in the metal, and the ingy black substance behind it splattered across the floor and up the walls as it tries to bush through. Something that looks awfully like a shadowy hand melts out from the crack and falls to the ground,

splattering into the same liquid as it makes contact. Cease fire, bellows the officer. Cease fire! We do so. It takes a moment for us to realize that, beyond the ringing of her ears, the siren has come to a stop. It still flashes,

casting its orange glove warning across us all, but the noise has ceased with the gunfire. I do not know if this is a good sign, or a bad one. A low hissing takes place. It reverberates through the air. I can feel its frustration. Boots is shaking.

I can see from the corner of my eye. He rubs a hand across his forehead. He's muttering to himself in fear, but I cannot tell what he is saying. Poor lad. He didn't sign up for this, though none of us did, really. I don't know what approaches from behind this barrier. I don't know how it got in or where it came from.

I've never dealt with anything like this. I never thought I would have to, but the thing seems to want to get to the subject. And, as my duty as a soldier, I am tasked with keeping that from happening. Such is the way. Engineers, the officer mutters. glancing behind us to the head of the corridor, are you in position to fire when called upon? As we can be, sir, comes to reply, and the officer nods.

The hissing shivers into a sentence. The words are deep and sharp. They impede our progress. We risk losing his state of easy influence. Scatter them. A search of void black ink burst suddenly through the crack in the barrier. It forms itself into an enormous dark snake, one that winds from left to right, mouth open and fangs sharp as it slithers directly towards us. Damn, someone shouts. It could well have been me. And again, the sound of gunfire fills the corridor from wall to wall.

Flickering shadows of the blast from the barrel are sent dancing through our field of vision, and the snake is torn to pieces. It explodes and splatters, completely coating the broken barrier in a layer of the dark liquid. The gunfire stops with a motion of the officer's hand, and we watch the substance leak and pull in the floor blow. The liquid flickers and melts through a series of collars, like light upon an oil spill, and images begin to flash across the coated barrier as if projected onto a great dark screen. The images are troubling and disturbing, though I struggle to hold onto them in the way one struggles with the memories of dreams. They twist and ripple and shimmer like light upon a dark lake, and the face of a man I do not recognize becomes clear, enormous and blown up to fit the size of the barrier.

We all stare, mesmerized and terrified as the face of the man morphs quickly into the face of another, a boy, and then into a woman, then another. It cycles like this from face to face with a growing, accompanying hissing all around. The face changes from that of an old man into the face of a young woman, and to my right, boots loaves his weapon. I shoot him a glance, and he stares at it, eyes wide and mouth open. Mary? He mutters, and the shadowy image of the face stops changing at once.

It fixes hastily in place, seeming to tighten and join the very walls of the corridor as it does so. Its expression loses its neutrality, and comes live as it. he looks back into Boote's eyes. It speaks. You're my friend, and you let me down. How could you?

Boots shakes violently. No, no, Mary, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. You know what you did to me when I was drunk. I was drunk too. You know I was. I wasn't thinking right, I swear.

Boots shouts, pleading with a shadowed face upon the wall. I could barely stand. You knew I wasn't attracted. to you and you slept with me anyway. I trusted you and you betrayed me. Mary, Boots chokes out, please. You know what you did to me, don't you, James?

No, he shouts, breaking as tears blow his eyes. He raises his gun and fires, the noise, shattering the spell. But he's only able to shoot for a second or so before his gun simply drops from his hands and hits the floor with a clatter. He wretches as his body writhes, his veins bulge and his eyes roll over white, and then black.

Going suddenly limp, Butters rays off the ground and into the air, as if pulled up on invisible strings. Jesus Christ, someone shouts from behind, as Butta's ankles and wrists start to contort. The veins all visible across his body throb violently. They darken, and then, after a moment, they burst. His lifeless corpse smacks to the ground with an outpouring of black liquid. And the officer, it seems, finally takes hold of his senses amidst the horror. Engineers, he bellows. Now! Fire! Fire! Now!

The sound of a piercing whistle tears through the air above our heads, and the briefest flashes of yellow, turned white, suggests that the fiery bullet from the weapon has connected with the inky mass that bulges through the crack of the barrier. There is a mechanical crash from behind. and an angry scream that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, clawing and tearing into our eardrums. I cringe and watch as the ink-like substance starts to crack and harden into pure white, shattering like ice into tiny shards on the ground as it does so.

Fall back, the officer roars. Fall the hell back to your assigned stations. Engineers move to the next weapon. I staggered to my feet and back the hell away, watching as the white spread and hardens and cracks the dark liquid, shattering it across the floor. But already, the void-like ink is regrouping, re-gathering. I see it swirl and spill beyond the crack in the barrier. I watch it make its next attempt to force its way through. All around me, soldiers sprint off down the corridor to the assigned stations. They'll all be close by, presumably, but mine is on the opposite side of the complex.

I'm not even supposed to be here at all. I only came to see Taylor. The officer claps me on the shoulder. Get a move on, soldier. Go, go, go! My heels bump up against the ruined remains of the weapon as he disappears around the corner. The machine only had one shot, I suppose.

I cast a final glance over to the corpse of boots, cold and ruined and alone on the corridor floor. I don't know if the images in the wall told the truth. I don't know if there were a trick, but he didn't deserve it. to die like that. I'm sure of it. James Rhodes was his name. I'm sorry, mate. I mutter as I look down the two corridors available to me. The one to my right is the quickest route back to my station, but the one on the left is where Taylor went with a scientist. My mind flicks from one route to the

other. She doesn't have a weapon, Lodzford. She needs you. No, just get back to your station. She's a trained soldier. She can take care of herself. This is Taylor we're talking about here, and she has no idea what's coming. What if something happens to her? There is no point in this debate. My mind is already made up. I'm going after her, of course. I have to.

So I take the corridor to the left, sprinting down it as fast as I can, round corner after corner, until I am forced into a sudden halt. The way ahead is barred. The barrier has crossed the length of the corridor and is fixed in place. I slam my fist against it. Open up. Hey, let me through. There is no response. I slam again, a little more urgently. Open up, you need to let me through. I've been left behind.

Identify yourself, soldier, comes the voice from beyond. I don't have time for this. I consider turning back and returning down the corridor to take a different path. But when I glance behind me, when I look back, I watch in horror as I a light at the fire and go dark. And there it is. An icy wind, rising and swirling malevolently. The corridor seems to groan length. Shadows ripple and deepen across the walls.

Panic rising, I slam against the barrier. For goodness sake, just let me through. It's Lottford. Ben Lottsford. Military Intelligence, 25, 23, 20. A loud bang from behind makes me jump, and I stutter an alarm, swiveling with my back to the barrier, raising my gun in shaking hands. And then appears the ink, frothing and bubbling like rushing waves as it rounds the corner and spills steadily towards me.

And across its surface walks three shadowy figures, roughly humanoid but featureless. Bodies made of that same, oily, inky black murk. The mere sight of them is akin to being struck in the centre of my chest. The air leaves my lungs in a terrible gulf. gasp as I try to croak out a warning to stay back. But I cannot vocalise. I can only stare. The one to the left is missing a hand, the one to the right is missing an entire arm, and is marked by hard and ice-like white, jagged blades and crystals across its empty socket blow its shoulder and down its side. But the one in centre, the closest, is unharmed.

It cocks his head as it approaches, tilts it towards one of its fellows. This one was with her He can lead us to where she awaits She will create for us the chaos And in the chaos we will reach him It comes to a stop a few metres away And raises a hand towards me Where is the woman soldier

Take us to her I cannot respond I cannot speak I can only fire And fire I do Bursts of bullets firing out into the the abomination before me. The thing hisses, but does not appear particularly daunted.

It barely takes even a single step back. Some of the bullets are absorbed into its form. Some pass through, but any harm they might cause is marginal at best. Enough, it says coldly, striding towards me. The air starts to freeze. And I hear from behind a clank of metal. A hand grabs a hold to my shoulder and I'm hastily drawn back through the barrier as it closes tight shut behind me.

The air is warmer here, and I feel as if I can breathe again. I allow in great gasps as I stumble back between my comrades, armed and awaiting, guns held tight and aimed at the barrier. This is a new squad, I realize, looking around, new but for two. One of these two is a man who'd been positioned a few rows behind me at corridor D-12. He shakes violently, and his face is a ghostly pale. Stark White, and eyes wide, unblinking. The other is the officer. He stands to my immediate left and was the one who dragged me through.

Come on, soldier, he mutters grimly. Get to your damn station. I look around. There is no weapon here. No bullets of fire. There is just corridor. What the hell are you doing? I ask him, bewildered.

You need to pull the hell back. There was no hope against that thing. Not like this. You saw what happened to boom. The officer gets up in my face and shouts over the stirrings and murmurs around us. Remember your rank. That thing must be prevented from reaching the subject. Highest priority order.

Now get to your damn station. I look over the faces of the men and women in the corridor. They have no idea what's coming. I make eye contact with a soldier from my corridor. What are you doing? Don't you realize you need to go? I plead with him. But he does not respond.

I'm not sure if he can. He only stares. Take aim. The officer roars as I hear that terrible, familiar clunk of dending metal. And I take my leave. I'm not staying here. I run from corridor to corridor as fast as I can. Grab the radio at my belt and bellow into it.

D12 personnel to HQ. We need to evacuate. We can't fight this thing. We need to get everybody out now. The device, crackles, but I received no response. For goodness sake, I mutter, trying to think through what Taylor was likely to have done. Did she head back to a quarter as to grab a gun, or did she go straight to a station?

She wouldn't do that, surely, not without a weapon. Though she is an engineer. Maybe she was tasked with the operation of one of the big machines. I tapped my knuckles against my head. What if she tried to get the scientist the safety first? Ah, I grunt with frustration, failing to make a decision on where to go, though, as fate would have it, my decision is made for me. I pass right by them.

A blur of colour at the end of the adjacent corridor in my periphery has me pause and backpedal. At its end, in one of the complex's control rooms, I see Taylor, and I see the scientist. Taylor, I shout in relief, blood pumping, Turning at once and heading down into the corridor, the hall opening up into a domed room with almost every surface covered in screens, granting visuals of many of the corridor's most important junctions and pathways. Taylor turns to look at me. She looks terrified. Ben!

She screams at me. Stay back. Run, please! And everything seems to slow. Time becomes thicker as I feel myself take heavy step after step. step into the room. I notice a great many things at once. I notice that Taylor is suspended impossibly above the ground. She writhes and struggles as if suspended in water. Her arms, I realize, abound in some way or another behind her back. My focus passes from her to the scientist.

She taps away at the keys, looking up into one of the screens overhead. Her eyes are void black. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and the satanic markings that is branded on her forearm has begun to leak. It drips inky void liquid down onto the floor. Lutzford, telecries, her voice low and distorted to my ears. But it is too late. All I can do is watch as the scientist presses the final key and takes a step back. And all across the screens, all the barriers that are visible are instantly summoned back into their respective walls.

I cannot hear them, but I can see them. The soldiers, the officers, panicking, shouting, trying the switches, and in some cases, trying to hold the barriers back with brute force. But it is all for nothing. The barriers, as ordered, fall back, and the terror beyond flows through. Again comes that order, loud and commanding through the speakers. Attention all personnel. Stand ground at your assigned stations. The intruder must not be allowed to reach the suburb.

Subject, subject must remain in stasis at all cost. Subject to remain in status as highest priority. Repeat, subject to remain in stakes. And the voice cuts off. The speakers crackle into a monotone buzz. Then, silence. I have done as you asked, my love. The scientist murmured out loud.

I did it all for you. I've prepared the complex. Gabriel is weak. He can be overcome now. Gabriel? Who is Gabriel? She turns to me, and I grimace in dismay as her eyes swirl with shadows. Her jaw dislocates from its hinges and falls down to her neck with a crack.

As a black, snake-like tongue starts to slither out through the air towards me. I return to my senses and raise my gun. I take instant aim and fire. It takes only a second or two for the woman's legs to collapse from beneath her, and she falls, smacking hard onto the floor. She quivers once, twice, then lay still. Her tongue and eyes melt steadily into a black ooze. Damn.

Taylor loses a mid-air suspension and despite the best efforts, let out a gasp as she trips and stumbles to the floor. What the hell is going on? I manage as I rush over to help her up. Whatever it was that was keeping her arms bound behind her back seems to have dissolved, and she rubs her to wrist. pain. She just

flipped out, Lotsford. She started screaming that she needed to get to the control room and, I don't know, I didn't want to leave her alone. I'm an idiot. I haul her to her feet and I look over the screens across the walls. They show me the void-like abomination spilling around corner after corner

in multiple places at once. Bullets fly, soldiers are lifted and crushed against walls by invisible hands, grasping at their neck as their veins turned black. I cannot hear them through the screams, but screams echo distant and distorted down the corridor to the beat of vast and frequent footfalls. The creature seems to be many and one, all at the same time. Everywhere that the oil-like substance spills and slithers, the void-like creatures stride across. Great, sticky strands of the liquid connect their limbs to the ooze below, snapping and reforming as they walk.

One of the figures lifts a featureless face up towards the nearest camera. And, though the thing is eyeless, I get the sensation that it is staring directly at me, right and my soul. I curse and tear away my gaze. And against my programming, for the first real time, I can't help but think to myself. Why? What is the subject truly worth to the upper buzz that they would so recklessly throw away the lives of their own soldiers like this?

Do they even realise the damage this intruder is capable of? don't they see what it's doing? Come on, Taylor, we're getting the hell out of here. I grab a hand and together we flee through an emergency exit, down and narrow and largely unused corridor. The ceiling shakes overhead as we run, dust and plaster raining down in bursting clouds. What about the others?

She gasps. What about Ryland? He'll still be down there. I begin to doubt myself. Can we really just run away and leave all the others behind? The intruder is trying to get to the subject, and now that the barriers are down, it shouldn't take all that long for it to achieve its goal. And what happens if the intruder makes it to the subject, Lodzford? What then?

I don't know. I have no idea. But, I doubt it'll be any good. Ah, you're right. Damn. Okay, okay, listen. Here's what we're going to do. I stop at a fork in the corridor and grab her by the shoulders.

I'm going to go to the middle, to the centre. I'll try to draw the intruder down too. Get yourself a bloody gun and get in contact with the engineers, okay? We need every single one of the weapons manned and aim down at the complex floor below. Aimed at the subject if they aren't already. I saw what it managed to do to the intruder. It caused some serious damage.

Those machines might be the only things that can stop it. I breathe. Do you understand Taylor? She nods and takes off at once, determinedly sprinting down the corridor. Is this a good idea, Lotsford, splitting up? You only just found her. Time's running short.

He, who fails to make a decision in time, will find that time has made all his decisions for him. I clenched my chore and charged the opposite way, and the hall eventually opens up into a wider corridor. A few levels down from my first encounter with the intruder, and a single level above the complex's ground floor where the subject is kept, bound. and silent. I realize as I tear towards the nearest lift that I can no longer feel the waves of misery to which I'd been accustomed. I suppose I assumed that my panic had simply overridden it, but now I accept it has actually disappeared altogether, gone but replaced with something new. I feel it wash over and threw me in great pulses like the beating of a heart. It is passionate but difficult to describe.

Not anger, nor fear, but it is rich with vibrant warning, with fiery determination. It provides me a powerful, if anxious, energy to keep going. It's coming from the subject. I know it, and I wonder if the others can feel it too.

I crash into the booth of a little elevator as a dark, tentacled mass writhes around the corridor's far corner. Oe, freak! I shout, firing a burst out into it. The bullets tear through one of the appendages and leaves broken streaks in the edge of the ink-splattered wall. My skin chills as I feel the intruder focus its interest on me

and I slam my thumb into the closed doors button again and again. The oil across the floor changes direction, slipping and leaking quietly down the corridor towards me. The figure connected to the appendage slithers around the corner as the tentacle reformed into a shadowy arm. Your girlfriend is dead, by the way, I taunt, referring to the scientist. I'm still slamming the button as hard and as fast as I can. I killed her.

The intruder laughs. She was useful to me, it says, its voice a hiss that snakes through the air and shivers against my eardrums. Another corpse on your conscience, soldier. Images flash across the intruder. intruder's body in the same manner that they appeared across the encoded barrier back on Corridor D12. They show the scientists as a young girl, laughing with her sisters, playing in a large green garden beneath the sparkling summer sky. No, I scream, tearing my eyes away.

Close the damn doors for goodness sake, I ordered the button. Doors closing, the robotic voice of the lift replies, and the two metal doors begin to slide together. Slowly, it seems, far too slowly. The intruder strides towards me. This liquid spills between the doors and onto the floor by my feet. I raise my gun and fire again through the gap, heart pounding, and finally the doors close, and I feel the welcome sensation of the lift descending.

I back myself into a corner, staring down at the oil-like spillage that ripples and bubbles unsettlingly below me. My chest rises and falls as I feel. fill my lungs with deep, ragged breaths. I take the opportunity to reload, though my hands are shaking. What the hell are you? I mutter to the pool of liquid on the floor. Doors opening, chirps the voice, and with a little ding, the doors slide open.

Ground floor. I am hit by a loud and terrifying chorus. Identify yourself, hands in the air, hands in the damn air! From all around, it doesn't. of soldiers, if not more, or were the weapons pointed directly at me, screaming from the shadows. For goodness sake, I shout back at them, squinting under the strain of the torchlight that shines right into my eyes. It's gloomy in the complex, grim and shadowed, everywhere, except for the centre of the wide concrete platform that houses the subject. Ever suspended in his circle of black

metal and run through with the blade of the classy fire. The great floodlamps washed their bright and perpetual light across his form. Beyond him, at the far style of the domed, hangar-like complex, is the open-sided lift that Boots and Ryland and I had descended down earlier this evening. Back when I had assumed that this would be another regular shift. All around is panic and disarray. Soldiers scramble into hastily ordered positions in squads aimed at the stairs, and catch glimpses of their silhouettes in the shadows.

Military Intelligence 25232051 The guns and the lights are lowered Get into position soldier Someone barks at me as I blink and readjusts to the gloom Now Where's the captain? I ask Blinking and returning my hands to my weapon

I need to speak with them at once The soldier jerks his thumb to a section of computers and machines All wide up along the perimeter I nod my head in thanks and hasten over as a rumbling reverberates through the walls. Captain, I shout, Captain. And I catch a glimpse of a scarred cheek turning towards me. There he is.

Lott'sford, he snarls. Where the hell have you been? Get over to that squad over there. We're taking the fight to the intruder. We're going to push it back. No, Captain, we need to draw it down here. We need to get the thing into the complex. Have you lost your mind, Lodzford?

The subject, sir, please. Tell is making the rounds on the upper floors If everything is going to plan Then she's getting the engineers into position around the weapons Bring the intruder down here And have them all fire at once You didn't see what I saw sir The weapons do damage but it's not enough

They all need to be fired at once The captain hesitates I can see the gears turning in his head As the lights of nearby torches Pass fleetingly over his features He grimaces at me And lets out a sigh of frustration but joins his radio up to his mouth.

Peter to HQ, he says, requesting engineers to be distributed to the weapons, two on each over. The radio crackles and splutters meaninglessly in response as he drops the thing back to his belt with a grunt. Useless, bloody thing, he growls. All right, Lodzford, all right, we'll do your plan, but I ain't relying on your useless little sidepiece. Engineers! He roars suddenly in a voice so loud that. that ain't compelled into taking a step back. A hush in the ranks ripple out from our position

as the soldiers stop in their tracks. Identify yourselves at once, the captain bellows. All those with experience of the weapons make yourselves known to me. A smattering of soldiers stepped forward and the captain disperses them, sending them out through various metal doors around the complex and back up to the layers above. More of that hideous, nightmare-like laughter warbles through the air.

It emanates from the shadows that darken and deepen all around And the oil-like liquid starts to spill down the stairs from the darkness The sound of machine gunfire behind me bids me turn And I see the lift light up with the gunfire Back up, the unit commander shouts, back up You better be right about this, Lottesford, the captain grunts beside me To your position, soldiers, now keep the intruder on the stairs Don't let it get any closer to the subject

He turns to me. We keep it at bay, then when I receive the signal that the engineers are in position, we draw it into the centre. Once I can confirm that all weapons of direct sights on the intruder, we fire. I nod, and I take up my position. Lott'sford, shouts a voice nearby. I look over and see its source, Rylund, beckoning me over. Ryleand! I laughed, despite everything. Never thought I'd be so glad to see your ugly mug.

What the hell is this thing, Ladsford? He asks as the intruder descends the stairs as not one but as many, absorbing the rain of bullets that pour into its bodies. I don't know, mate, I don't know. I reply through gritter teeth, though I think about the demonic symbol I saw carved into the scientist's forearm. I glanced behind me to the subject, silent and bathed in the glaring floodlights.

There is something far greater at play here, something that terrifies me on a deep and primal level, and one that hurts my head to even try to comprehend. The intruder's closest body suddenly stops and throws out his hands. Two great and curled black horns burst from the side of its head as it grows and careens forward, and the soldiers on the front row retreat hastily back into the formation with cries of alarm. The horn figure keeps falling and smacks. into the lowermost steps, bursting into a huge, writhing mass of the oil-like substance, spilling and swirling and splashing across the stairs and up against its sides, ebbing and flowing

like the tide. The liquid is splattered across the soldiers, and I watch in horror as they find their hands stuck to their weapons, unable to release their grips. The image of an alien eye flickers in bright and distorted lights across the liquid surface, and it focuses its gaze upon a soldier near the front, at the side. A boy, made entirely a void like ink, rises up from the center of the black pool that leaks like a poison waterfall down the steps. Up he rises, his features flashing across his body as if projected. The soldier that the eyes fixed upon steps forward. She lowers a weapon in a daze. Adrian? She murmurs, weaponed by her sides, but still very much affixed to her hands.

Ryland tries to push through the squadron to grab her by the shoulder, but he finds his feet stuck to the ground. He staggers and falls, crashing to the floor. With effort, I managed to help him up, and we watch in horror as the boy before us. Starts to cry. The sound is piercing and heart-wrenching. You never called me Adrian in school, Samantha. The boy splutters in distress.

Why did you choose to bully me over everyone? What was it about me that you hated so much? I'm so sorry, Adrian, the soldier cries out over the fruitless gunfire. I didn't hate you. I only picked on you because I was weak, and I saw you as an easy target. A stream of dark liquid rises up and forms in a narrow pole just behind the boy. It comes to a stop a couple meters above his head, and it juts out towards us at an angle.

and then a thin black snake emerges and starts to unravel itself from the ewes slithering through the air towards the boy's head. I just wanted to be your friend, Samantha. I just wanted to be seen. I thought you were the coolest person in the world and you made me feel like nothing. Adrian! The soldier screams, trying and failing to reach him, slipping and sticking to the oil. And the snake wraps itself around the boy's neck. He does not fight back

and allows it to jerk him up into the air. His body writhes and his legs kick in automatic reaction as this sick little performance comes to a close. The boy's body stops moving and after a pause the entire apparatus melts once again

into nothing more than black liquid. The soldier is raised up into the air as it does so and thrown against the nearby wall by invisible hands. She chokes and splutters and screams as a eyes go white, then black. Her veins bulge, and from a neck they explode in a thick burst of blood and inky oil. Her corpse is cut loose and cracks as it hits the concrete floor. The intruder reforms

into the dark, horned man, and he approaches. Terrified soldiers part like water to allow him to pass. I pull my feet from the floor and haul Rylan back as I do so. Shooting a glance over my shoulder, I shout out loud. Captain, Captain, are they ready? I look up to the levels above. It's difficult to see in the shadows, but I think I can make out three or four of the weapons primed and pointed down into the complex. Again, comes that terrible laughter.

Yes, marks the intruder. Are they ready? I stare right at it, right into its face. The face of the beast, featureless. swirling shadow. It lifts its gaze to look at the subject as do all of its myriad of terrible bodies, standing on the stairs

and all around. Gabriel, we have found you, at last. It whispers with a hiss. Engineers, comes the sudden roar of the captain. Now, fire now! I brace for the whistling shrieks,

for the explosive blasts of the fiery bullets, for the intruder to screech in pain and panic. But there are no such noises. Silence falls, thick and heavy, as if the complex were blanketed by a layer of freezing snow. For a while, the only sound that is able to breach this torte silence is the steady thumb of the generator that keeps the blade a light in the subject's chest, like a heartbeat, deep and steady. And then there comes to hissing. Movement in the levels above catch my eye and I look up. I look up to see the weapons fall uselessly to pieces one by one.

Mechanical parts rain down from above, clattering noisely against the equipment below, and the heads and shoulders and chests of inky, void-like creatures appear alongside their ruins. They raise in great, tentacle-like arms the bodies of the engineers, lifeless and struck with bloated black veins. No, I murmur in dismay. Taylor. And the figures, or the intruder, as I should say, as I'm convinced that every figure is part of a greater hole, dropped the engineer's corpses over the side, and one by one, their bodies fall through the air. As if in slow motion I follow one of my former comrades down with my eyes,

watching as he crashes into the computers below with a burst of electricity, a flurry of sparks and an outpouring of that same, god-forsaken, black liquid void. and blind terror strikes itself into the souls of every soldier still standing in the complex. Order breaks down completely. Panic and fear takes total hold as lights flash in the darkness all around. I watch as stray bullets punch through the yink of one of the intruder's bodies and straight into another soldier's chest and neck on the opposite side. Ryland, we have to take cover.

We have to get the hell out of here, I shouted him. But Ryland has vanished into the chaos. I cannot see where he has gone. I sprint to a position near the floodlights. The subject stands bound a few metres away, and I crash behind the computers that operate the generator. One by one, however, as the intruder strides closer and closer, raising its many arms,

the lights start to go out. With a bright flash and a shattering of sparks, the enormous eternal light of the floodlamps that surround the subject begin to go dark. Look at you. you, Gabriel, the intruder taunts, What happened to you? You have allowed yourself to become captured. You're weak, and your day of reckoning has finally arrived.

The truth becomes suddenly plain. I don't know why I didn't realize sooner. The intruder does not want the subject to wake up at all. It was never its intention. I think about what the scientist said in the control room. Gabriel is weak He can be overcome now Gabriel

Is that his name The subject Gabriel I look around At the disarray Many of the intruder's bodies Are playing their sickening and torturous games Amidst the soldiers

I watch as my colleagues Are raised up into the air And then struck violently down In all corners of the complex Did he get to Taylor Is she already dead A terrifying but powerful thought occurs to me. I could wake him up.

The subject, I could wake him up right now at this very moment. The mere thought sends shivers of frieces running through me. Would it be a wise move or an incredibly foolish one? I moved my hand to the switch on the computer board, the switch that will power down the generator. It is one of two, but the other is cracked and broken. torn up by rogue gunfire. But it's not just about the intruder, is it Lottford?

The up-abovs, your own commanders. They don't want the subject to wake either, do they? I hesitate. Subject must remain in stasis at all costs. Subject to remain in status as highest priority. For goodness sake, I mutter. I don't know what to do. I cringe as another of the great floodlamps goes dark,

and a little more of the complexes plunged into shadow. And the voice of the captain, not far to my right, calls my name. I turned to stare at him. He staggers towards me from the shade. One of his arms, I notice, is blooded and hanging uselessly at his side. He holds his gun in his good hand, shooting a terrified glance to the intruder as he approaches. I know what you're thinking, Lotzford, he croaks. But don't do it.

You can't. Don't wake it up, please. My hand quivers by the switch. Sir, don't do it, Lodzford, the captain begs. Don't you know what he is? After all this time, haven't you worked it out? He. The things we can accomplish with this creature.

Gabriel, I murmur, as the captain winces, but nods. I, Gabriel. And he is ours. our control, our influence, the power that he wields, the things we could do with that power, for everyone, for mankind. Sir, I reply, my voice hoarse, but the captain interrupts again. He's an angel, Lottford, an angel, as I live and breathe, I swear it, I swear it! And I know in my heart of hearts that he is telling the truth.

But if we awaken him, we lose him forever. For humanity's sake, you cannot do it. You cannot wake him up. I shake my head. I can't deal with this. This is insane. But for goodness' sake, everyone in the complex is going to die. I shout despairingly.

That's a price I'm willing to pay, Lotsford. The captain's eyes are wide and bloodshot. I've never seen him like this. I would gladly give my life for the good of all mankind. Would you not do the same? I hesitate. and in that hesitation the captain raises his gun, and in a swift motion, he aims it at my chest.

He does not get the chance to fire, however, because I fire first. As if in a dream I watch him expel his final gas with air and he crumbles uncerimoniously to the ground, breathing steadily over the floor. I look down at my hands in horror. What have you done? Nottsford, what the hell have you done?

You killed him. You just killed your commanding officer. I'm committed now, as committed as I've ever been. So, there is nothing left for me to do. Nothing left but to turn the switch. There is a shattering of glass, and then there remains only one lone floodlight still active. It is the one that points directly down and onto the subject's form. The shadows he casts are long.

and shimmering. Let this work, I pray to no one in particular. Please, just let this work. With the smallest of clicks, the generator behind the subject starts to power down. It clanks and grinds with a low chuttering. The fiery blade dims and slows its rippling. And the intruder panics. I can feel its panic in the air.

It lowers its arms and looks around. It spots me. and every one of its dozens of dozens of heads swivels to stare at me as one. Energy ripples out from the subject like water, and I stare up at the face of this thing beyond comprehension. The muscles in his neck start to twitch. His brow creases, and he opens his eyes. The subject's eyes are ocean blue,

and ever-swelling pools of green, shining and glittering. The tattoos across his chest and arms and torso are light at once. The intricately drawn eyes all move with the ones that sparkle in his head. He grimaces and bears his teeth as he looks down to the broken blade embedded through his chest and the skin around the wound starts to thrum and shine in brilliant white. He turns his head to look at the shadowy form of the intruder and a fast and near-invisible sphere of energy pulses out from his body.

rippling like a wave through the complex and shutting the walls with great clouds of dust and drawing forth burst of sparks from the computers as it does so. The intruder cow is in fear, snarling in dismay, yet still it taunts. How far the chosen has fallen, embedded with your own blade, held as a perplexity in a mortal prison. We've followed the scent of your shame, Gabriel. Indruder's speech comes as a hiss, one that shivers really, repulsively beneath the skin.

But the subject rings loud and true like a great and ancient bell. His is a voice as cold and commanding as a clear blue winter sky. I do not deal in shame, Legion, only action and consequence. The intruder and all his forms cringe back at the mention of his name. All gunfire within the complex is ceased, and from the shadows the soldiers watch the exchange in silence, transfixed with terrified awe. One of Gabriel's hands begins to glow at the wrist, and with a bellow of anguish,

he shatters the restraint that binds him, and he holds the hand above him, clenching and unclenching his fingers. Legion, perhaps sensing that his opportunity is slipping away, launches one final, desperate attack. He swells up to twice his original height, the horns aside his head, growing and curling around as he does so. He casts out his arms,

and all his many bodies throughout the complex do the same. Enormous black snakes writhe up from the spillage that has soaked the concrete floor and splattered themselves against the walls in a frenzy. Twisted images and pictures flash up across the inky surfaces and, all around us, soldiers find themselves ensnared by oily tentacles or slammed against the walls and hoisted into the air by invisible hands and strings. The beast steps forward and the snakes slither from the substance of his form and up the platform to where the subject is bound.

Gabriel's eyes flashed bright, his muscles tense as he moves his free arm through the air. The spectacle is curious. It is as if he is dragging it through a dense body of water. He raises his head and opens the fingers of his fist and the images all around us begin to change. As it stands, the projected pictures on the walls of the ink show dozens of different scenes at once,

different faces, different places of time. But they all change to show the same sequence now. They become clearer and less dreamlike. The scenes ripple and change to show a drove of pigs, snorting and grunting and squilling in distress as they race towards the edge of a cliff. Their eyes are black. Then the clouds roll in the sky above as one by one the pigs topple over the edge. And down they fall. Down to the frothing and churning waves of the sea below.

I do not understand the meaning behind this vision. nor what it represents, but legion shrieks and recoils as if struck by a terror of blow. He seems to diminish in size as the oil that comprises his body leaks and drips from his arms and sides, and a wind rises in the complex.

With nowhere to go, it circles round and round, round and round, warmer than the intruder's own and more fierce. Many of the soldiers are dropped to the ground, choking and clutching at their necks as they suck in welcome mouthfuls of air. You and us are not so different, Gabriel. It could be another way.

We know the sting of the mortal emotions. We know the pain of abandonment. Gabriel does not respond. He only stares the intruder down, rippling the air around him as the concrete beneath his feet begins to rumble and crack. I know that I need to escape. I need to get the hell out of this place.

But... But I can't take my eyes away. I can't stop watching. Legion hisses as he starts to lose his shape in the winds. Pieces and globules of the murky black are lost from his edges and since spinning around the complex. I command you back to the waist, Legion. You have no further role to play in the great plan. Gabriel says,

Liar! Legion screams in response from all his voices at once. You will regret the choice you've made here today. If you want rid of us Fallen Star, then know this. You'll be adding to your burden of souls of the mortals who fought in your defence. Legion throws out his arms for a final time, and with them come two great and terrible wings of black shadow, bursting from either of his shoulder blades. The intruder explodes from the inside out,

as does every one of his bodies into wet clouds of ink and murk. They splatter malevolently up the walls and across the paths of equipment and carrying soldiers. I grimace as I feel the substance stick to the skin of my neck and my nearest forearm. It bubbles and flows across the concrete, and I watch in horror as it pushes his way into the mouth and noses of many of my comrades. Ryland, to my sudden anguish, is amongst them.

I watch his eyes roll over white, then black. I watch with horror as he shivers and squirms. I watch his veins bulge and darken. sons and daughters the subject says calmly but firmly go now go if you can

some of us can still move I am one of them the ink of the intruder clings hungrily to my boots but I pull myself away and stagger through the shadows towards the lift the open-walled lift they can take us back up to the surface and carrying round a corner

only a few metres away is Taylor Relief floods through me. Taylor, I shout to her. Taylor, it's me, it's Lottesford. She stares at me, but does not respond. She only shakes as a run over to her and haul her up onto her feet. And together we run to the back of the complex into the lift,

which quickly fills up with soldiers. I can't believe it, I mutter into her ear. You're alive, you're okay. I'm sorry, Lott'sford, she whispers. I couldn't do it. I couldn't go round to all the weapons. I only spoke to a couple of engineers. I saw the intruder and I just lost my nerve.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's okay, I reply. It's okay. It would have killed you anyway. I squeeze a tight, but can't help, casting an eye out over the corpses of the engineers, dropped so viciously from the levels above

and now strewn in heaps around the complex's far edges. The mechanisms in the elevator work and grind, and it lets out a groan of discomfort under the strain of all the people it holds, but dutively it begins to rise nonetheless, the complex floor dropping steadily away beneath us as it does so. Gabriel roars as he pulls the burning blade right out of his chest, an enormous sword flickers into sight in his right end as he tears his wrist free from the shackles, and it burns like fire. The gargantuan glass-like blade, but broken. The shard that the angel has pulled from his chest, it would seem, is the final missing piece.

He slides the shard into place, and the sword glows all the brighter, sending great pulses of orange-yellow light out over the complex, bathing the walls in rippling gold. The echo of the intruder tries for one final vision, one final series of flickering images across its form, but Gabriel does not wait to see what they will show to him. Instead, he bursts entirely free from his bindings. The generator behind him is cast by. and away in a shower of parts and gears, and the subject's humanoid form to which we had become accustomed is lost in favour of another. The fiery swords hang in place in the air as Gabriel becomes an enormous wheel of ghost-like wings, all rising and falling and drifting,

rippling with energy as colossal rings of fire and gold rotate independently within and outside each other at their centre, intersecting impossibly with the wings on their cycles. The rings are covered in a number. eyes, eyes which stare out towards everything at once as they spin. The complex shakes all the more violently, and the walls, at various intersections all around, start to crumble in on themselves. Fiery pulses of energy shower down like meteors in sudden explosions of light. Flee for your lives! Comes the final command of the angel below, as our view of the collapsing complex is lost to

the walls of concrete and rock into which we ascend. Do not look back, nor stop anywhere on the plane. Flee the island, lest you be swept away. Do not look back. And he vanishes from sight. We stand together, huddled in terrified quiet, as the rumbles rise up from beneath. The orange lamp in the uppermost corner of the lift flickers weakly,

casting us in its faint glow as the lift climbs upwards through the darkness. Up and up it rises, steadily back to the, surface. And eventually, it jodders to a halt. The face of the hill grinds to the side, and we step out onto the grass, illuminated silver by the stars that shines so brightly in that night sky. Taylor and I are the first to move. We are still deep in our days. That much is clear. We can still feel the ground shaking beneath our feet, but we begin to walk. We begin to walk steadily and quickly, and I can have to hear the others doing the same. We begin the long walks across the plains to the port that

will take us back to the East Island. Here, there is nothing but wilderness. Rylund, Taylor murmurs suddenly, releasing her grip on my hand. Riland! She's overcome by panic, she screams. Where is he? Taylor, I reply, startled awake by her outburst. He, he didn't make it. I'm sorry. I tried to draw her close, but she pushes me away. She pushes me away, and she turns to look back. I stop, dead in my tracks. I tried to say Taylor's name, but no voice escapes my lips. I stare in horror as Taylor is lost, right before my eyes. The entire ordeal lasts no more than ten or so seconds, I'd say, but in the moment, it feels like a hell of a lot more.

As Taylor looks back, I watch as the skin hardens and cracks into white stone. She freezes, struck totally in place as a muscles tighten and a body is metamorphosized into an intricate, powdery chalk white statue. And as quickly as she changes, she is just as swiftly blown away on the wind. From head to toe, she's caught in the gale and scattered across the plains as billowing clouds of moonlit dust. There she was, right next to me, holding my hand. And then, just like that, she was gone.

She is gone. Ashes in the breeze. We continued to walk through the night, us survivors. There was nothing else to do. We walked until we made it to the port and was sailed hastily back to the base. We were questioned, not for particularly long, I should say. It was a brief affair. After a day or two, we were released and sent back home to the UK.

I don't know how they tried to explain it to the families of the deceased. It's all kind of a blur, really. We were sworn to secrecy and all that, so, you know, don't tell anyone I told you. After clearing out the personal possessions of both Taylor and Ryland, it became clear to me that the two were engaged in an intimate relationship behind my back. It really makes you wonder what the point is. the point of everything, of life. The conflicting emotions and feelings are simply torturous.

There's no other way to put it. The affair seems likely to have been going on since the moment the three of us arrived in the Falklands. Why would she bother? Why wouldn't she just end it with me before breaking my heart? Is that why she looked back, Lodzford? Because she couldn't let him go? I don't know. I don't particularly care, I guess.

But I saw Gable. one last time, a few hours before my flight was due to leave. I was standing on the stony beach, looking out to sea at the sunset against the horizon, and he came up alongside me, in his human form, I should add. I couldn't bring myself to look directly at him at first. I felt the energy of his presence, though. It took a great deal of effort to even speak to him at all. Did you need to die, Gabriel?

I asked eventually. Her fate would have been the same, with or without, my warning. I am sorry. I've had a lump rise up in my throat, then reach down to pick up a smooth, flat stone by my feet. I threw out my aim, flicking my wrist ever so slightly as I did so, and the rock skipped across the face of the water, once, twice, thrice, and then vanished beneath the surface with a series of ripples. where will you go now?

I managed to ask, my voice barely more than a whisper. My mission draws to a close. My brother remains trapped beneath the southern ice, but now I have found the final piece of my sword, and long last I can move to save him. The cost has been immense. He let out a long, sad sigh, then stepped forward under the surface of the water.

He began to walk across it, and it rippled gently around the soles of his feet. I looked at the bone-like shards that protruded from his shoulder blades, glittering like diamond, broken but beautiful. There were so many more questions I wanted to ask, but in the moment I simply could not give them voice. Why was I spared when the intruder attempted to take us all down with him? Would the captain have been taken had I not killed him first,

and was I justified in ending his life? Is my suffering a part of the penance? I must pay for my sins? Was I even wise to awaken Gabriel at all? Should Taylor and I have just fled from the complex when we had the chance? It was her who suggested that we stay, Wadsford. And all things considered, at the end of the day, did I deserve to live, really?

Gabriel stopped for a moment. He tilted his head and spoke over his shoulder. My wings were taken from me. For a time, I was angry. It was the first time I had ever felt as such, and in my weakness I became imprisoned. But I am free now, and I trust that one day my wings will be returned. Farewell, child of Adam. And Gabriel strode off over the water.

He walked for a while towards the sunset, then altered his course and began to walk steadily southward. He grew smaller and smaller as he disappeared into the distance. until he was no more than a shining sparkle on the surface of the sea.