CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "The ███████ Facility" Creepypasta

Episode Date: March 23, 2024

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by CIAHerpes:   / my_family_made_a_deal_to_give_one_child_to...  AUTHOR'S STORIES►   / submitted  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...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep...  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / creepsmcpasta  CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only

I am part of the 110th generation of this facility. For as long as I can remember, I've worked here. Any memories of my time before are non-existent. I believe it's the same for the others who work here. But it's a don't-ask, don't-tell topic. Working here, it's rare that two days are the same. Each day has a plethora of nuances. Some tasks are rather mundane.

Every few weeks I have to feed the tunnel, a borehole that smells faintly like sulphur. The task is to take a bucket of giblets and off-cut bones to the hole to pour in. Sometimes it looks like there's a faint white powder sprinkled on top of the meats, which looks too fine to be salt. I still don't know what it is or what's in the hole, but it's better not to ask questions. I just do my task and move on. However, some tasks aren't as straightforward.

Something we're all assigned to be on the lookout for is to report the location of the husk. While walking around the facility, on the floor, in a room or even a corridor, you'll sometimes see a dried-up human-shaped husk. It looks like what an insect would leave behind after shedding its skin, though there are no openings, dark grey and semi-translucent. Though the position sometimes changes, the face is always walked into a wailing face of anguish, and its limbs are often contorted into an uncomfortable fetal position. It never moves, and after being reported, no one has stuck around to see what happens, but it's never there the next day. After sighting, you have to report it to the

higher-ups and carry on with your shift. Past then, the husk only proves to be a trip hazard. Currently, tripping on the husk has a 100% mortality rate. Personally, I've never seen it happen, but through the grapevine, I've heard of someone that has. They caught sight of a technician who was fumbling with a folder and didn't notice the husk until it was too late. I was told that he fell straight to the ground as soon as his foot hit the object.

At first, it looked like he just caught a nasty fall from the surprise. However, the portion of the leg that nicked the body was missing. Just gone. The trouser hole empty and his shoe was off to the side. The technician immediately started screaming as he grabbed his leg. But not the missing part. He had his hands around where his knee was, wailing in agony. At first they thought it was because of the pain of his leg being inexplicably removed.

But soon his hands clasped together and his otherwise neat-fitting clothes sagged higher and higher. Everyone around realized more of him was disappearing, black dust falling from the empty trouser hole. The rest of his clothes emptied from the bottom up. until the screaming stopped, and a discarded outfit remained. He was called in, and everyone moved on. There's no time to dwell here on the happenings of others. Too much downtime like that can get you written up. Because of such events, it's sometimes better to avoid making friends.

A lot of new people are hauled in, not always at once, but sometimes. Sometimes that's the case depending on the severity of a recent incident. Often the fresh faces are confused, bewildered or straight up manic. It's not easy working here, so it's especially not easy when you're new. There's a lot to adapt to and you must adjust fast. One fresh face was friendly, introduced himself readily to anyone around. This is not the norm. and he was brushed off by many of the more senior staff.

However, I was still relatively new myself. I knew the feeling of wanting familiar faces around me. So, I took the bait. He shook hands. He told me his name, though I didn't tell mine. But otherwise, just engaging with him was the most anyone had given him since he arrived, and he seemed to find comfort in our short, one-sided conversation. From then on, he would hover over me during our downtime,

spending your break rubbing shoulders with whoever is around is normal here. No one is particularly close, so it means you just mildly get along with anyone close by just a vent. However, this guy always seemed to find me when we had breaks that lined up. He was generally very polite, if not, a bit too open, in contrast to what we're used to here.

I hadn't seen him on shift until an incident occurred. He was assigned to the quiet room for a few hours. It's a sterile white room with a small black box atop a metal table. As the name suggests, Being quiet is of the utmost importance. Before going in, you're made a change into a frictionless skin-tight suit to avoid the sound of brushing clothing fabrics.

No electronics are to be taken in if an emergency pings your personal device. Fortunately, you'll notify of outside emergencies via a light that will flash red if an evacuation is needed. It sounds daunting. but you are simply required to ensure everything in the room is in order and observe the box for any irregularities. The new guy does this to the letter. First he went around to check all angles, looking at the front and viewing all sides of the box. Then he simply stood there and observed the box, only moving around occasionally to re-check the other angles. I was stationed outside to ensure his entry and exit were executed correctly.

After a few hours, the yellow light blinked, which meant it was time for him to leave. He slowly made his way to the exit. I quietly opened the door, and just before the door latched, he breathed a sigh of relief. I froze, knowing what he just did. though you have to maintain silence in the room, there is leniency. The blood rushing in your veins, your heart pumping, your lungs taking in air. All of these are not enough to set off the box. However, his sigh just tipped over what was acceptable.

A grumble groaned from inside the box and he looked at me dismayed. He opened his mouth, but before he could, exclaim anything, I clamped my hand over it and pulled him down as quietly as I could. There we just lay as we heard movement from inside. A stretching and twisting could be heard, the clatter of the box hitting the ground. Then suddenly a black tingeol poked its way through the door. I could tell he wanted to scream, but I wasn't letting him so much as breathe, even if it meant he'd suffocate.

The tendril just hung there, tilting around, not looking, but listening. After a tense amount of time, it slowly retreated. I gently got back up, holding a finger over my lips to make sure

he knew to stay quiet. He quietly peeled open the door. I went in softly, slowly picked up the now-benign box, and gently placed. I placed it on the table. I slipped back out and gently closed the door. After that, I let out my own sigh, knowing it was safe to do so, and he followed suit.

Once we were a safe enough distance away, he thanked me profusely. After some hollow assurance, I let him on his way. The day after, he excitedly found me. Apparently, the higher-ups learned of what happened and decided to give him her promotion. I smiled as best I could and congratulated him. I've seen promotions given a number of times, and anyone who's been around long enough knows. It's not good. You get assigned to another area, one which we have never been to and I've never seen again.

No one knows what happens. happens to repurpose staff. Still, we collectively agree it can't be good. As only the incompetent seemed to get these promotions. I never saw him again. And he'll never know. It was me who told the higher-ups what happened. I feel bad for doing so. But not reporting something like that is also grounds for promotion. And they always find out. I've heard of people lying, trying to throw another under the bus, but it never works. They always know. This is one of many reasons to keep a distance from others.

But there is someone everyone is friendly to though. Greg, the Mystic. If you're in the social quarters, you'll often see a homeless-looking man wearing a wizard's robe made from old bedsheets. people often cheer and smile at him because he's one of the few good oddities in the facility he's so unthreatening that he's one of the only oddities that isn't confined which is good because he never took to confinement well it's often good to keep conversation short with Greg though

a greeting a how do you do and a goodbye however the temptation to talk longer is always present. That's because if you talk with Greg long enough, he'll offer to read your future. You can even ask him if he doesn't offer to, though there are rules to what you can and cannot ask. The rule of thumb is to ask inane questions. You don't want to know something you're not supposed to. The one thing guaranteed when he reads your future is that Greg is always wrong. I asked him what was for lunch, and he told me pizza.

I went to the canteen. And what do you know? Tacos. At first, it seems like a laughable idea. To call yourself a mystic, confidently make readings, yet always be wrong. But when I say he's always wrong, I mean he's wrong. percent of the time. One experiment was run in which they had him guessed the out coin of a coin flip for as long

as they could hold his attention. The sweet guy stayed engaged for hours playing, and they managed to get over a thousand flips. Every guess was wrong, every single one, to the degree that it pretty much confirmed it's not just the statistical anomaly. something else is at play here. However, coin flips are harmless. You can't extrapolate relevant information from a coin flip. However, extracting useful information is possible by learning what won't happen.

Will the surgery to implement a cybernetic enhanced limb go successfully? Greg said it'll go smoothly and the patient would be overjoyed at having full control over their new device. The surgery was cancelled and the project was shelved until the sides could be refined. Obviously, this isn't foolproof. You can only extrapolate so much from a negative response since learning what won't happen is one of many outcomes. But he's proven a great asset to the company and a fun addition to work a morale. Greg's status is ongoing, with subtle tests still being administered.

in passing. The position you fill here isn't a set schedule. A lot of the time, they keep you working certain hours to maintain a sense of normalcy, but sometimes you're given a shift on an alternate time frame. Usually I'm a day shift worker, but some nights I'm given duties in the observatory. The floor I'm made to work on must be close to the surface because it revolves. around a high-powered telescope. From this, I'm able to gather that I live and work far below ground, though the specifics are beyond me. This telescope automatically calibrates to a certain spot in the sky and observes only one

object. A planet. Most people have a basic understanding of the planets on our solar system. However, this one never came up in school. From context, I've picked up that it can only be observed when viewed through some alternative wavelength, whether it's infrared, ultraviolet, or something entirely new. My job isn't to know the details, so I'll probably never learn them. But when I'm working here, I'm to assist a technician in the lab to observe this planet.

It seems benign. One would think it is void of life. That doesn't guarantee our safety. One theory posits that life on the planet lives below the surface, so constant observation is mandated in case any signs of servicing are spotted. However, it's hard with the current technology of the lab. I imagine a more powerful version of the telescope is being worked on. Another theory I heard is that the life forms can't be seen by whatever wavelength we've dialed to.

Sure, we can see the planet, but there are planets you can observe with your bare eye. So it wouldn't be wild to think that we need to refine whatever wavelength is being used to intensify the readings of the planet. I'm sure they're working on this too. For now, things seem benign. But I still get an itch of my neck just thinking about if something there is observing us the same way we watch them. Maybe they're having the same troubles as us. I'm hoping that if there is civilization there, that they're friendly. Because if not, whatever we're working on, what would be closer to an arms race than a rush for discovery?

Working in the observatory is one of the few floors where I go up, but most of my shifts involve going down, sometimes far down, and there's a shift I often get that I dread. Clean up on floor B66. This floor was home to an experiment gone awry. Whatever had gotten out is hidden away in a deep crevary. and hasn't been found since. What's worse is that it seems to be able to replicate itself. So the job is to go around and exterminate anything that moves.

They look like round balls of fur. The biggest are about the size of a volleyball. On their own, they aren't too dangerous. Under the fur, they have a leech-like mouth with barbed teeth that latch quickly through skin. You're given a level of protective plating that covers a lot of your body, but there are gaps in the armour and they can easily hit if you're not fast enough. How they get you are the thin tubes in their teeth that rapidly suck out liquids. So if you're hit, you have to rip them off fast, but the barbs latch on deep and you'll

be bleeding a lot, which will only bring more. of them isn't an issue, two or three are manageable, but if left too long, clusters can gather. One upside to this shift is that you get to play with some of the facility's toys. Even though there's power on the floor, most of the lights are out. From cursory glances, it's presumed that these creatures had gnawed through many of the wires, while digging in the walls for an escape. So we're given a light. It's called the Firefly, a frosted glass ball with a circle divot at the bottom.

I can only presume something in the divot is what makes it float, because this companion drone will silently follow you wherever you go. The Firefly emits a light all around in a harsh yellow glow, enough to illuminate most of a corridor you're in, or even an entire room. These fireflies have been around since the 85th generation and haven't been updated since, it's that tried and true. The same can't be said about the weapon. In the past, you are armed with a few firearms.

Because if hits worked well to initially stun, then finish off those little fur balls. But accuracy plays a significant part in your survival. With how small and fast they are, it's not hard to imagine why the task's survival rate would be rocky. So the technicians have been hard at work, and for around the 108th generation, a medium-range arc thrower was introduced. It wears up and quickly shoots the jolt of electricity towards the direction you're facing. Something in the furball seems to be conductive, because you only have to aim in the general direction which is much better than trying to hit one mid-jump with a 9mm. Whatever makes them so malleable to fit through small gaps

also seems to mean their membrane is so thin that they perish after one harsh jolt. And the battery lasts long enough to last even a hectic shift, making the job much more trivial on an easy day. However, not every day is an easy one. It isn't confirmed whether they have a higher intelligence, or it's just coincidence. Still, the furballs have been known to set up some devious situations. A report was made that two furbles were sitting in a hallway, about 30 paces through a doorway.

The worker needed to step through to get in range to hit both at once. It was only after he stepped through that he realized the situation. A furball was lurking above behind the doorframe, and as he focused on the two in the hallway, the lone furball dropped down and went straight into the back of his neck between the joints of his helmet and backplate. The firefly documented this and posed a warning for future shift workers. The person who took the next shift had a nightmare cleaning this up, because they had a lot of lot to feed on. And he reported that there was an entire wall covered with these things. To survive a shift is what's expected. Any less, and more often than not, you don't make it out,

or you get promoted. Something I found is that there doesn't seem to be a ladder to climb within the company. I think it has something to do with my position. I'm not in some lab discovering world-bending technologies. I worked the floor and maintain the status quo, but I did once get the attention of the higher-ups. It didn't happen on a shift, but rather between them. I was travelling through one of the floors to transfer between two elevators, and on my usual route, I noticed the stain in a lesser-used hallway. It was a brownish splash, and my first thought with a technician had spilled a coffee. I figured it would be cleaned and went on to my shift.

When I passed by again, it was still there. Not only that, but it was bigger and darker, now almost the strong shade of black. I reported it and moved on. I was assigned the same task later in the week and had to pass through that same section, expecting the mess to be cleaned up. I was surprised when the hallways were cordoned off

and I was escorted around, taking much longer to start my shift. It only got worse from then on. Each time I passed by, more and more of that floor's block was sectioned off. After a month, no one was there to walk me around. The pale yellow curtains that blocked viewing of the area were all gone. I tried to make my way through my old route, but was blocked off. This time, by a wall, where I first saw the stain. There was now a whole new lab.

Technicians rushed by, seemingly working overtime with so many tasks on their hands. I later learned what happened when I was assigned to assist in that section. The stain grew. At first they tried cleaning it, but it never changed, no matter what substance or abrasive they used. Eventually, it stopped spreading, and when it did, it resembled this silhouette of a man. Day by day, though, it no longer grew outwards, but rather up. Slowly and seemingly inevitably, a person is coming out of it. Right now is being studied

But nothing is known of what will happen When the figure emerges On the plus side I was rewarded for reporting it They gave me an hour With the music box From my experience Most of the things we deal with here

Are hell But not all of them are otherworldly threats to humanity Some are objects of bizarre uses, one of which is the music box. Long-term exposure has been known to have adverse effects. However, in the short term, it has provided ample reward for especially outstanding work in the field. The object itself looks ornate, but otherwise unremarkable compared to the horrors here. It's a dark, stained oak wooden box with grooves edged around to distinguish the edges. The outside is smoothed with a polished varnish, and across the top is a detailed carving of a snake

wrapped in a mother-of-pearl-like effect around an apple with a juicy red resin fill. On the side is a polished brass handle which has used to crank the box. It sits in a rather fittingly decorated room. Wooden bookshelves holding ancient looking books, all filled with blank pages. A deep crimson Chesterfield chair sits next to an artificial fireplace. A wooden globe rests nearby, along with an empty decanter and decorated crystal whiskey glasses. To sit there alone could be rewarding enough for some. However, it's once you start the music box that the magic.

happens. I was given three cranks for my efforts. There is no countermeasure for if you sneak extra cranks in. However, I can only imagine the hell you'd wrought if you overplayed your hand. After all, this is a privilege you don't want to be revoked. It'll be hard to fully convey why the music box is so great. because after three generous cranks I sat back in the comfort of the single chair and blacked out when I awoke my eyes were watery from fresh tears

a bit across on the side of my eyes there was a taste of nostalgia lingering in the air a feeling of overwhelming splendour carried through me for the rest of the week knows what happens when you listen to the music box The few of us who have used it were alone, as mandated by the instructions. We do have our theories, though. One person thought it transcended you to some astral realm, a brief reprieve from the hell we work in,

but only spiritually, because we can't imagine the higher-ups ever letting us physically leave this place. Another person thought it simply evoked every positive emotion you can feel, So much so that you black out, yet keep the dopamine and serotonin from the experience for the next few days. I have my own theory. I wonder if it evokes your memories from before coming here. My memories start in this place, and all the fresh recruits are about the same age. We must have had a life before this, which was taken. Maybe it brings back the memories of family, ordinary life and the peace we used to have, of which we're only allocated a certain time with.

God knows what the higher-ups would do if we ever acknowledge of the outside world, because our drive would no longer be of the efficiency of the facility, but the ability to get out. We're subdued with a mix of fear and complacency. So to have something to fight for, I know of many who would die to try achieving it. But this theory is a bit of a stretch, or maybe even a hope. And it's one I keep to myself. All I know is that the music box is not made in the labs here. A lot of the stuff here is brought in from outside. But that doesn't mean our problems only come externally.

because we also have our own internal issues. I mentioned that this place runs on generations. No one knows what signifies a jump in a generation. It's not annually or any set time period. I know this because I've seen a generation jump after two years and another time after two weeks. However it is determined, it's also how certain things are labelled. I mentioned that I'm part of the 110th generation.

Currently, we're in the 117th. All the people working here are a mix of older and newer generations than me. The same also applies to technology. I mentioned that the fireflies are 85th gen tech and the arc thrower was 108th. These are things we still have stock of and are still being produced to this day. But some tech runs so far back that even the generation number has been lost. With the nature of the facility, archiving isn't the most reliable. On top of that, sometimes entire sectors are lost due to incidents,

so some knowledge and tech are lost entirely. And a vital tech that we're slowly running out of is the sleep tubes. It's estimated that they're from around the 15th to 23rd generation. Their long glass tubes filled with a pale yellowish chemical topped off with a plastic cover. I work with them sometimes and what we do with them is simple. If you go to floor B66, you'll find a huge circular pit. There are no guard railings around the catwalk, so you have to be careful when navigating the lowest. light environment. The pit goes so far down that it's almost pitch black. Though it's not advised,

if you shine a light down there, you can't see to the bottom. However, you can hear it. A rhythmic groan that pulsates at a slow tempo. You might not figure out what it is when you're there, but when you're told what you're doing, it becomes apparent what it is. It's snoring. Whatever is down there is in a deep sleep. The job is to silently carry the tube to the device along the east catwalk. Make sure it's plastic side down and put the tube in. Once secured, you pull the lever.

A clunk will go off and the liquid rapidly depletes downwards. A loud groan will echo around the chamber. stay quiet and eventually the snoring will resume. Take the tube out which will now have a puncture in the plastic and dispose of it. Then you are done. Whatever is down there is currently in a perpetual state of slumber and it's solely because of this chemical. The problem is we're quickly running out. The storage room for them used to be full when I started, but this is one of the five storage rooms, the rest of which are empty. But now we're down to the last quarter of this room stock, which means once these are out,

we're out for good. Right now, technicians are hard at work over this, either trying to replicate them or develop a new system to keep up the perpetual slumber. I don't know of their progress, but to me, it's looking dire. The technicians occasionally take a sample to run tests. I understand the urgency, but each time they take a sleep tube to run tests, that's one less we workers have to use. We're burning the candle at both ends, and it's worrying.

There are a lot of duties that aren't talked about in downtime. Either they've become a mundane part of the job or simply because we want to reprieve from the daunting tasks we are given. But one shift is talked about in hush circles. The final shift. This isn't the official name of the task, but rather a nickname given by the workers. it's been assigned, it's the hot topic of the day, because it might be the last time you ever see that person.

The final shift is performed deep on floor B-100. I'm not sure if that's the deepest level of the facility, but it's the furthest I've personally been on. Often there are many experiment sectors within a single floor, but this is an entire level dedicated to this one task. I entered the longest elevator ride I'd ever been on, and when the doors dinged open, I was met with a whole floor bathed in a green light. The instructions are clear and important.

Familiarize yourself for a few minutes. Once the lights turn red, it begins. The floor was like any other. Sterell cold hallways, viewing windows, into small labs and various storage units. However, each one I opened was empty, barely any marring on the edges. Everything here is almost like a prop,

set up to make the appearance of a normal floor with none of the actual function. I found a few rooms with human-sized storage units and a few torn open ducts that I could fit into and mapped out a clear path through the hall. making mental notes of any dead ends. When the light turned red, I didn't get as much as I'd have liked done, and immediately there was a noise.

Something stalked around a few turns. I was no longer alone. The game of cat and mouse had begun. I softly slid through rooms. I ran when chased. I came dangerously close to death many times. I spent nearly ten minutes in a locker with whatever it was just knocking on various cabinets in the room. It knocked to my locker a few times, but I held in a whimper long enough for it to not look inside.

I was chased through several hallways and while looking behind. I tripped. I saw the culprit, a discarded leg of a previous worker on the final shift. I almost got a good look at the thing, large, humanoid in shape. Its silhouette turned the corner, and it never slowed. Whether it was for hunger or sport, it wanted to get to me as soon as possible. But as it skirted around the corner, the lights changed. I was bathed in a tinge of green, and the thing stopped, turned.

and left. It was unceremonious. No final confrontation with the creature, no grand escape from death, not even a disgruntled gesture of defeat from the thing. It simply wandered away. There isn't much context to go off, but talking to the few other survivors of the final shift that I knew of, we have some ideas. Whatever it is that chases us lives exclusively. on that floor, and it's given about an hour to play each week, sometimes more of it's getting restless, and when it plays, it plays for keeps. With my experience added to our collective information, it strictly sticks to the red-light greenlight set up, but many aren't as lucky. We've lost a lot of people to the final shift,

So being known as someone who's gotten through a shift is a badge of honour. It doesn't get you anything from the higher-ups. After all, to them, I had simply just done my job. But it commands an aura of respect among the workers. It may seem like torture, but after an hour with that thing, I know for a fact none of us could last much longer than that. So in some twisted way, This system makes sense.

This way, it's only dangerous for an hour. If that thing ever got restless and decided to play around the whole facility, all hell would break loose. Though I don't tell this to anyone, I grumble with the rest that it's a torturous system that should be abolished. And this is just one of the many duties we have to do. do. No two days are the same. And for each task or incident I've mentioned, there are hundreds that I haven't. And even then, I haven't seen everything there is to do here. But hey, it's all part of the job.