CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Object 22" Creepypasta

Episode Date: December 16, 2021

BJECT 16► https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aT_sF...AUTHOR'S STORIES► https://www.reddit.com/user/Darkly_Ga...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►Zach Hewett: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/8e...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-

My footsteps echo around the concrete walls of the underground complex, my place of work. I now politely to a pair of my colleagues coming from the opposite way, and adjust my glasses. To my left is large, long, plexiglass windows built into the wall, and I shoot a quick glance through it. The metalwork placard beside it catches in the watery, blue-green, overhead light. Object 16, it reads, and a grimace. We have soldiers stationed around here now, or trained professionals, or whatever.

Increased trustworthy security. Guys with guns, guys who can keep their mouth shut. Not my jurisdiction, and to be honest, I'm not sure how I feel about their presence here. But so it goes. We had an incident about a month ago, involving our former surface representative, a politician.

He tried to. get his hands on the object and abuse its power for his own means. And he succeeded, actually. I loosen my collar a little as I walk. God knows where the madman is now. The knowledge that he is out there somewhere is a constant source of stress in the back of my, and many of my colleagues' heads. I'm hoping I can convince his eventual permanent replacement

that Object 16 is a suitable candidate for controlled elimination. But I digress. I have other business in the complex tonight. I take a quick look of my planner so as to mentally prepare how much time I should allocate to the task at hand. But the answer is always the same. As much time is needed to get the job done just right. A task worth doing is worth doing precisely after all. An elevator dings to my right, but I put a hand on the nearby rail and take the job.

the stairs instead. I'm only going up one floor after all. The level above is a little busier and the corridors are a little wider. There are more rooms up here, more offices. The level of light is just the same though, that same teal turquoise washing itself over the walls and the glass. I allow a little wave to one of my co-workers as they pass by, but I don't think they see me. I lower my hand. I diverge from my path just for a moment to walk to the edge of the containment facility for

Object 30, and I peer inside. The glass in the containment here is thicker than the rest. It was made differently as the room beyond is filled to the brim with water. A filter bubbles

quietly in the corner. It's tuna low, steady hum. In the very centre of the containment facility, floating steadily, is object 30, and not quite spherical shape about the size of a basketball. It shimmers through shades of pale pink and white. A bizarre thing, as all the objects are, I suppose. And as I watch, the object begins to change its shape.

It stretches and morphs, at first into the form of a human skull, then white pink flesh starts the bubble and billow out from the bone. the face that forms is mine and as soon as I recognise myself in the object it shifts and warps some more back to a featureless orb the colour of the object's material changes to a darker red and it flashes at me

I sigh making a small note in the margin of my planner I speak to the scientists on duty and recommend that they decrease the water's temperature a little then I leave them as they assess their re-rengthen I'm unsettled now, however. That was an atypical display from Object 30. Deviations from the expected always made me deeply uncomfortable. I suppress a shiver.

Object 22's containment lies just ahead. That's the one I'm here to see this evening, the item of my focus. Object 22 is more volatile than most, and was a particularly difficult object to restrain. and contain. I pushed through a set of double doors into a viewing area that wouldn't be out of place in a zoo. Albeit, we have a little more scientific

equipment here, computers and motion crafts and such. To my left is a set of steps that lead down to a wide hall filled with bustling people. I can see them through the glass. To my right is an office relatively small, with only

a couple of rooms and a small collection of scientists inside, deep in thought. I take a few steps forward. Ahead is the plexiglass of 22's containment. Good evening, Reese, warbles the voice of the object

through the glass. From a shadowed and murky pit below me on the opposite side of the glass, a bloom of wet and sticky smoke slowly rises. It hangs in the air directly before me for a moment, then solidifies on the opposite side

of the glass into a gastropotic shape, writhing and shifting, and a series of disturbingly human-like teeth pushed their way through the slug-like oozing mass of the object and form themselves into a crooked grin. Tell me your dreams, Reese. You know I'd bring them to life after all. For you, all for you.

Reality is such a thin membrane these days. I'm sure you'll agree. The teeth do not move in time to the words. The object is repulsive. I've always found it as such. Excuse me, I say out loud, not to the object, but to the scientist in the office to my right. There is no door there, only an arch, so they hear me,

and the closest peers at me from over these glasses. Hey Brian, it might be worth adjusting the volume on the speakers. Object 22 seems particularly keen to engage tonight. Hmm, Brian replies, turning back to his controls. He pushes his glasses up his nose and begrudgingly adjust some settings. You can't quiet me forever, Reese. I'm always here. My voice will...

But 22's voice trails off and he's lost entirely as the speakers are adjusted. The teeth continue to move, but no further sound is heard. It often gets antsy at this time, I say to Brian, good-naturedly. You might want to consider keeping the sound system on silent four. It's my department, Reese, Brian replies with a sigh, not bothering to look up. We've been through this. I have important research to do regarding the object's enticements. Your input has been noted.

I falter. Ah, right. An awkward pause. I notice a small smudge on the metalwork plight. card for object 22. I rub my thumb across it to try to clean it off. Stuff like that always bothers me. Brian shoots me a look.

Don't you have work to be getting on with, Reese? Suddenly embarrassed, I withdraw my hand. I... Yes, of course. It relates to the 22, actually. I've been instructed to compare the volatility levels with one of my own... But Brian has checked out. He's not listening.

So, allow my words to come to. to a close with a soft sigh. Then, to work then, I suppose. I ignore the mouthless teeth of 22's sudden stretch into a bitter snarl, and I head to the left, down the stairs to the hall below. There are officers down here, just the two, I think, near the back by a small canteen.

There's a fire hose to the right, and a water cooler too. Aside from these officers, the rest of the people down here are scientists. comparing notes or engaging in analysis of 22's behaviour. One or two are eating meals. I sit down at a table facing the plaguesast walls of the object's containment and adjust my glasses,

drawing out some papers from my bag along with my laptop. Might as well spend a few minutes getting set up before I properly begin. So, Object 22 recovered almost exactly one year ago from an abandoned African mine. Object 22 takes the form of an enormous slug while stationary, adjusting its molecular structure to a plume of thick, wet smoke as it travels from place to place. Object 22 consists of three distinct colours,

green, black and brown, though it scarcely features all three of these colours at once, instead cycling through them seemingly at random. It possesses the ability to recreate simplistic humanoid features. Teeth are its latest post, though previously we've also seen fingernails and elbow-like joints in illogical places. Object 22 is able to

speak by vibrating the surface of its skin. It is unclear at this stage if 22 possesses sentience or is simply somehow creating the illusion of intelligence. I scratch my chin with my pen and look around. A low-level soldier, a grunt named Kenneth, but a nice enough guy is standing through the glass into the murk of 22's containment.

He has been for a while, actually. I consider calling out to him, but dismiss the idea. That's not something I do, really. I'm sure he's fine. Back to my notes. 22's key features, however, its most anomalous property is its ability to create realistic visions and relate directly to an individual's desires.

It shows them what they want to see. The semi-telechaunetic properties on this object are what draws most of its interest and attention. Unique to every person, these visions. I jump out of my seat at the sound of a sudden shout and the general gentle buzz of the room fall silent. Kenneth swears and looks around wildly. We have to get her out, he exclaims, we have to get her out! My pulse starts to race as the tension in the hall tightens immediately. Stay calm, stay calm, he's having a vision.

Damn it, is there a leak in the glass, perhaps? But others start to panic too. Someone drops a clipboard and points in dismay to the glass. How did she get in there? he shouts. And following his point, I find to my utter surprise that I can see her too. There's a woman behind the glass, trapped in a swirling cloud of fog. I can't hear her, but she's clearly screaming for help. Chaos erupts.

Chairs are knocked over as people rush to various stations. Some are straight for the exit. But that doesn't make sense, I'm in shock. 22 doesn't possess. It can't do that. It can't lift people up with his smoke. What's the next most likely outcome? Is this a shared vision?

Can we all see this? Amelie, Kenneth roars, and he lifts and cocks his weapon in his hand. Jesus, wait! a colleague of mine shouts at the soldier but he pays him no mind firing into the glass with a terrible cacophony I slam my hands to my ears and drop behind the fallen

desk watching as he shoots and kicks until the glass shatters damn alright now we're in real trouble an emergency light flashes in the corner of the hall and a metal grid begins to grind its way across the exit I'm too slow to act

and can only watch as the last desperate escape hippies make it past before the rest of us are locked inside. Hammering on the metal and making angry fumble pleased with their cell phones and radios. Containment breached, locked down in place. Please remain calm. Blares the security voice through the overhead speaker. I don't understand, I mutter to the woman crouched beside me, trying to calm myself and keep my breathing under control.

You saw the girl through the glass? Yes. She nods, face pale. I go on, but that's not behaviour we've ever seen from 22, is it? I cover my ears as another torrent of bullet is fired into the murk of the object's containment. Shatterglass rains down to the concrete as I hear the officers trying to reason with Kenneth, order him even, but the soldier has other ideas. I watch as he races into the containment,

and myself and many other scientists rush to the edge of the glass to see what he's doing. He jumps down from the ledge and stumbles and staggers as he lands in the murky pit below. And there, he gathers up the woman he referred to as, Amalie, in his arms. I'm sorry, she cries, clutching him tightly, sobbing. I'm so sorry, Kenneth, I'm so sorry, I don't know why I said what I said. I love you, I do. Please promise me, you'll never leave me. I promise, the man replies, hugging her close.

I'll never leave you again. I love you, Amelie. I knew you'd come back. It's okay. And then, he stumbles forward as Amelie dissolves into a cloud of putrid black smoke. It sticks like tar to his skin. And before he can really comprehend what was happening, his eyes roll up into his head and he collapses to the ground.

Deep, rumbling laughter is heard from the growling shadows in the corner of 22's containment. Get back, I shout to where everyone. everyone most uncharacteristically, adrenaline surging. Everyone, get back. These are shared visions here. This is a new behavior. Please, everyone continue to think rationally. But my words are falling on largely deaf ears.

They stagger backwards as 22 smoke form drifts and billows to the shattered glass. It materializes on a desk a few feet away, tearing over a colleague of mine. A woman named Rebecca. She stares at the thing in terror. I look over to the officer with ice in my blood, but they're useless. At a time when they should be taking charge and directing the flow and the procedures, they're doing nothing but carrying at the back of the room. One of them is screaming into his radio.

The other simply stands stock still, dumbfounded amidst the clamor. What are you doing, 22? Rebecca asks in a voice, scarcely above a whisper. This is irregular behaviour. You have only scratched the surface of the things I'm capable of, Rebecca. 22 replies. Teeth pushed through the slime of its body and create a vertical mouth with columns of teeth in place of rows. They throb and shift positions as it speaks.

You've always suspected this, haven't you? The arrogance of the men upstairs. They think they understand me. But they don't know. None of them know. You're the only one. whoever thought outside the box. Don't kill me 22, she croaks, frozen in place.

Don't kill me. The object hisses and bubbles. You think so little of me, Rebecca. What do I have to gain from killing you? I have no desire to take your life. If helping you will see my freedom, then why would I keep you from the things you want the most? My abilities go far beyond anything they could ever comprehend.

Object 22 shimmers through a new range of colours, a dazzling orange, a sunrise yellow. I stagger backwards in alarm and shield my eyes as a doorway appears in a cloud of drifting smoke, replacing the broken glass of the containment wall. It flows like water from 22 side, and as a smoke shimmers, the doorway stands tall and proud a glow with light.

A boy's voice comes through from the opposite side, Rebecca, it calls, then louder. Rebecca, oh my God, Bex, are you there? Rebecca slams her hand to her mouth. She stares at the door and locks between 22 and the portal of light. Don't do this 22. Please, just tell me if it's a trick. Just tell me.

She loses her words to sobs. I cannot bring your brother back from the dead. 22 says in her voice that rumbles around the case. chaos of the complex. The security voice drones on overhead, repeating his line over and over. But I can take you to a plane where he was never lost.

Help me get out of here, and I will take you to him. I find my own voice. Rebecca, it's a trick. This is Object 22. But she ignores me. She nods at 22. And wiping her eyes,

she hastens through the portal. The second she does so, it banishes. 22 returns to his familiar colours, green, black, and the waves of light cease at once. There is a thud and I race to the glass to see Rebecca's body at the base of the pit, covered in 22's mucus black tar. This look like body of Object 22 turns to me with a sickening squelch. Rees, it whispers, and I turn away at once. hands slammed to my ears.

No, leave me alone. Not today, 22, damn it. I look out over the panicked masses. It's okay. Remain calm, everyone. And to my amazement, I find that they were actually listening this time. We've dealt with 22 before.

Just grab the smokers from the emergency boxes. Go, go! The smokers are a half-funnel, half-gun. Large and heavy things. But put out, when activated, large amounts of specialised white smoke. It dries very quickly, all that it comes into contact with, and has been shown to be effective at limiting 22 spread.

It has the unfortunate collateral effect of causing severe dehydration amongst humans in the vicinity. But desperate times call for desperate measures. Hurry, I call out, keeping a wide distance from 22 and pointing to the smoker stations. There's one there, and one there, get him out, now. Now, both! I shoot a glance back to the glass.

Kenneth and Rebecca are still down there in the pit. They're still alive. I'm sure of it. As scientists scurry for the smokers, an outspoken colleague of mine leaps up under the table and shakes an angry-fisted object 22. He's worked with the object before on numerous occasions. Don't make this harder than it needs to be 22.

Return to your containment at once. and if I return you guarantee my protection from the others Roger from Object 21 from Object 3 Roger falters Wary

What do you mean 22 laughs bitterly Then its voice shifts To a more panic tone It raises in pitch They're all out Roger You think I'm alone in this They're all out

all of them. I need to escape before they find me. All of them? Roger replies, skeptical. All 22? I know your thoughts on Object 16, Roger, on the one that grants the power of sight. It's in here, you know. It was the first to escape. You could take it for yourself.

Do as the politician did and use its power for all I care. Just help me out. help me get out of here and take whatever you want. Leave this place behind. I know you hated here, Roger. 22 is struck by a blast of the dry smoke and enveloped in white. It shrinks and burst into its cloud-like sticky smoke form and shivers its way around the room,

desperately trying to avoid the blast of the smoker. I'm caught in the smoker's trail and my throat dries at once. I choke and cough and stagger away, blinking rapidly as my eyes dry out and turn. I try to encourage moisture. Damn it. The trail of the smoker's trajectory suddenly alters dramatically.

And through the smoke, I see Roger engaged in the fight with its operative. I'm sorry. He bellows as he knocks the smoker from the scientist's hands, slamming its user to the floor. I know it could all be a trick, but I can't have this opportunity by. Something buzzes right past my face, and I flinch an alarm.

Impossible, I murmur, as Object 16 drones right by through the air. Object 16 takes the form of a large, red-black insect, and it flies around in a wide arc to avoid the fumes. It's mine, Roger bellows, jumping from his position to the floor and racing towards it. He reaches out his hand and swipes at Object 16. first the miss and then on his second attempt his hand connects with the object's body

and it bursts into a cloud of black tar the substance splashes up his hand and arm it sticks to his face and he calls out in dismay realizing all too late that he's been tricked

then before he can catch himself his eyes roll back into his head and he hits the ground like a stone object 22 billows out from the corner of the room of the room and slithers like a creeping, black mist across the tables and chairs. I look with desperation to the commanding officers, but they're still just standing there. Why won't they take command?

With a grimace, I leap out from behind the desk and race the length of the room. I grab up the drop smoker and reignite it, struggling with the weight, but aiming as carefully as I can at the escapee, blasting out hot streams of white smoke in our defense. If the officers refuse to act, then that makes the most important senior person in this room. Myself, I realize, looking all around me as the heat of the weapon blasts back onto my face and dries my gums. I cough and wince as I feel my lips start to crack and split. 22 shrieks and cows up to one of the hall's corners as someone takes control of the second smoker, blasting out streams into the vicinity.

Everyone's watching now. terrified. Rees, one man calls out to me, what did we do? I begin shouting directions left and right, do my best to take control of the situation before I could get any worse, sweat pouring from skin and instantly drying in the fumes of the smoker. Gather by the doors, aim the smoker up higher. You keep raiding through to upstairs, get those emergency doors rescinded, and let's get everyone out of here. Orders fly from my throat as I take command, and a rush of exhilaration. shivers through me. Yes, yes, this is it.

I can do this. I can save them. I can save the day. Hey, I shout to the bewildered officers. Get that fire hose stretched out. Now, and get it over here. With dumbfounded knots, they comply. And I pass a smoke in my hands over to a colleague with a grunt.

I pointed to where he should aim. Shoot out in bursts. Don't overwhelm this half of the room, or we'll all choke to death. keep 22 pinned there. I'm exaggerating about choking to death, I hope, but the less time we spend in the fumes of the smokers, the better. I grabbed the fire hose from the officers and ordered them to anchor it to the nearest solid, then to hold on tight as I pushed through the broken hole of the glass in 22's containment wall,

and with a deep breath begin to clamber my way down, down into the pit. With a grunt I land on the bottom, my feet squelching in the ewes. And there lies 22's victims, Kenneth and Rebecca. I check them as quickly as I can, still riding that adrenaline rush. They're alive and breathing, though Rebecca is bruised and the angle of one of her ankles concerns me. But she'll live. I go to her first, tying the hose around a waist as best I can and hauling her to the enclosure. his edge. Locking up, I call out to the officers as a blast of smoke burst through the gap overhead.

Pull her up, I call as quickly as he can. And for a moment, I fear that they won't be able to hear me above the chaos. But thankfully, pull they do. Right you are, Reese, one of them calls, and up she goes, swaying a little, but up and out of the depth of the pit. I run my hands through my hair. Stay calm. You've got this. You're in control, Reese. Kenneth next. As the fire hose tumbles back down, I grab it up at once, grunting with a strain, but dragging the unconscious Kenneth to the edge, getting the hose supported around him and calling for him to be brought up. I wait, and only after he's away from the immediate danger of 22's lair do I follow up, clambering up the hose with my feet against the concrete, steadily back up, up into the chaos.

The noise becomes instantly louder as I clamber back up into the hell. But 22 remains where I last saw it, stuck in the corner, its plumes of sticky smoke now thinner and lighter. It cannot move. It's trapped. Don't you people realize you're in danger? Let me go. You must let me go. It shrieks, but the smoker operators have a system now.

Two people to each weapon, sharing the weight, aiming carefully. Everyone else is gathered by the doors, and upon my return, they cheer. Rees, Reese, Reese, they chant in a frenzy. And despite everything, a surge of pride flows through me and a grin spread to cross my face. You're a hero, Reese, a woman proclaims, her eyes wide with worship. A hero. She thrust something into my hands. It looks a little like a remote control.

The men upstairs have been in contact. They need someone with your security clearance to confirm it's safe for us to leave. But you did it. Just press the button and they'll open the doors. I look down at the remote as the cheers rise. Down at the button in my hand. Reese, Reese, Reese, they cheer. Just press the button.

button. And my grin falters, then fades. The cheering becomes a backing track, muted almost, as if underwater. Slowly, I turn the remote around in my hand. I consider the situation. Just press the button and they'll open the doors. Just press the button. You're a hero, Reese.

Oh, I said quietly. You're here. aren't you, object 22. Something dark and smoke-like slithers through the back of my head. I close my eyes, forcing myself to calm, taking slow, deep breaths and drowning out the sounds of the cheering, of the blast of the smokers, of the blare of the siren, pushing my personal feelings aside.

Focus, Ries, focus, focus on what is real. And with an exertion of will, I reopened my eyes. I am standing in the office above Object 22's containment. I'm not standing by the doors. There is no cheering crowds, only quiet, background bustling. I look around me. The glass to Object 22's containment wall is in place.

None of it is smashed, and there are no cracks. I can see Kenneth from here, through the walls of the enclosure, down there in the hall where I thought. I was just standing. He isn't passed out. He hasn't even staring through the glass. He's just sat there at one of the tables, eating a small meal and minding his own business.

No one is calling my name and the air is clear. There are no trails of smoke, oily or white or otherwise. I bring a hand up to my lips. They're neither cracked nor dry. And there is no panic. Everything is fine. It's all fine. I look down to the control panel, the one I find myself standing behind.

Someone has activated all the switches required for unlocking Object 22's containment for opening its enclosure and releasing it. The only thing left to do is push the release button. The one my finger is currently hovering over. Just press the button. I steadily move my hand away from the button. and deactivate the switches one by one. Little lights on the panel change back from yellow to green.

Object 22 shows you what you want to see. Don't be a fool, Reese. Don't you want to be the hero? Comes the frustrated voice of 22. I stride back to my original position. Nice try, 22, I murmur bitterly, looking around for a clue as to how it managed to infect. me. My eyes catch again on the smudge and the metalwork placard, the one that denotes the occupant

inside as Object 22. I didn't wipe it all the way, it would seem, and looking carefully at my thumb, I now see the black, tarry strands across the fingertip, and I headed the disinfectant station at once to wash my hands, glancing up the glass wall directly above the placard, then, peering a little closer, I see there is a gap, the tiniest, thinnest slithers of gaps, where the glass connects to the concrete. 22 must have leaked a little of its ooze through the space.

Brian walks past me now, up the stairs from the hall below us. His reading notes from a clipboard, but wrinkles his nose and pushes up his glasses when he sees me. Don't you have work to be getting on with Reese, he asks. I point to the gap at the top of 22's containment. It looks like 22 has eroded a layer of concrete, Brian, I say to him, and he stops, squinting up to the ceiling.

I smile humorlessly at him. Perhaps focus on your own work before worrying about anybody else's, hmm? Brian stares an alarm at the gap and immediately draws his radio from his belt, with fumbling hands, barking orders through the thing, and hurrying back to his office. "'Miserable Dick,' I mutter, "'hopely just loud enough for him to hear "'as I turn and take my leave. "'My work with 22 can wait, I think.

"'If you ever change your mind, Reese, "'you know where to find me,' "'22 whispers in my ear. "'They don't appreciate you, "'but they could. "'I can give you what you want.' "'I don't respond, as I might my own way down the corridor, though my pride hurts just a little.

My heart is still racing, but I do my best to get past it. A colleague nods politely at me, one headed the opposite way, and I nod back, pausing at the doors that would lead me back into the complex. Reese, whispers Object 22, and with a grimace, I push on through, striding swiftly away and leaving the objects behind.