Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S3 Ep116: Episode 116: Mausoleum Horror Stories

Episode Date: March 9, 2023

We open this evening’s proceedings with ‘The Grand Mausoleum’, an original story by KeyDeeDee, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.. https://www.reddit.com/user/KeyDeeDee/ Our second scary story is ‘There’s Something Between the Gears’, an original work by Whitix; a story shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Whitix We round off with ‘The Treatment of Aaron Nelms’, an original work by Carlos Pandiella; Shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me read it here for you all: https://www.reddit.com/user/Panda_Tech_Support/

Experience a legacy that lasts at Dawn Valley North Lexus. Right now, Lisa, 2025 TX350 premium package from just 898 per month for 28 months at 4.9% plus qualified Lexus loyalty guests. Receive a 1.5% rate reduction for rates as low as 2.4%. See Donvalley Northlexus.com for details. A proud member of Wayne's Auto Group. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Perhaps there are no safe places here or in the next life, as we may see from tonight's three strange, weird and wonderful stories.

Now, as ever before we begin, my dear friends, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. And let's begin. Since its discovery by Ferdinand Magello in 1521, the Philippines has seen its fair share of horrors and tragedies. From the oppressive 300 plus year rule of the Spaniards to the brutal occupation of the Japanese during World War II, the soil of the some 7,000 islands that dot the Philippine archipelago have been soaked in the blood and tears of countless Filipinos who

wanted nothing more than to live peaceful lives. One of the darkest periods in the country's history occur from the early 1970s up to the late 1980s. You see in 1972, then President Ferdinand Marcos formally placed the Philippines under martial law. This period was what many considered to be the lowest point in the country's history. While some revisionists and pro-Marcos faction still contest such a claim to this day, consensus is that this martial law period saw various atrocities committed upon the Filipino people. What made it all worse, I think, is the fact that, unlike the Spanish and Japanese occupations, these atrocities were committed by Filipinos on Filipinos.

The late strongman held an iron grip on the country. Free media was silenced. Propaganda reigned supreme, billions were plundered from the National Treasury and human rights became nothing but an afterthought. Records are at best difficult to come by, but some tallies point to over 3,000 extrajudicial killings, more than 35,000 documented cases of torture,

innumerable enforced disappearances and over 70,000 incarcerations. Now I'm not here to dwell on what the late dictator and his family did or did not do to this country, but a lot of people forget that the politically motivated atrocities were not the only tragedies that befell the country during this time. You see, in 1981, First Lady Imelda Marcos, in a bit to show off the cultural heritage of the Philippines, pushed for the construction of the Manila Film Centre. The centre was meant to host the 1982 Manila International Film Festival. The $25 million endeavour was supposed to not only showcase the cultural treasures of the country,

but, if some are to be believed, also reinforced the classy, intellectual and sophisticated image that the First Lady wanted to project. Construction began in 1981, with such a tight deadline, work had to be done round the clock. Some 4,000 workers toiled for three shifts across 24 hours. Some records show that work intended to be done over the course of a couple of weeks were achieved in a matter of days. While I'll always commend the effort, competence and sheer willpower of the Filipino worker,

disturbing evidence shows that the speed at which they were able to work on the structure could not be completely attributed to their skill and hard work. Many believe that in order to meet the deadline and pocket some of the funding, the planners of the building use substandard materials and methods in the construction. Worse, it was alleged that in order to facilitate faster construction, floors were built even though the underlying concrete had yet to fully dry and take hold. All this culminated on November the 17th, 1981.

At around 3 a.m., the upper scaffolding collapsed and around a high, 170 workers plummeted the floors below. From here, records are scarce, given that the government at the time had a complete strangled hold over the media. As such, it may well have been in their best interest not to divulge the true extent of the losses to life and property. Many have stated that the higher-ups sought to cover up the whole thing. In fact, rescuers, ambulances, and media personnel were only allowed on site some nine

hours after the incident, at which point many of the time. of the victims were already dead, having either been crushed by falling debris, killed by the impact of the fall, or as some witness account state, impaled on the steel bars below. One of the more grisly yet enduring legends regarding the film centre revolve around what was done to those workers who fell from the scaffolding. It's a widespread belief that, in an effort to meet the 1982 deadline, had to save face with the people. The entire accident was covered up, Quite literally, it is said that construction was made to continue on the building. When asked what should be done about the bodies, workers were told to simply build over them.

Many believe that the deceased, and even some survivors, were buried alive in wet cement so that the construction could proceed as scheduled. Whether or not this is true is anyone's guess. Officials involved and maintained that the bodies of the deceased were recovered. and given the proper rights while eyewitnesses and workers insist that no such recoveries were made regardless one thing is for certain there are things still bound within the walls of the centre patrons workers urban explorers and ghost hunters all insist that they experience paranormal activities ranging from seeing shadowy figures to hearing unnatural sounds during their stay in the building

Even the grounds around the centre seem to possess such horror, since taxi drivers passing by have reportedly seen and at times picked up, passengers looking bloodied and distressed, only to find the back seat of their cabs empty upon checking again. So, it's 2016, and I am a few months from finishing my first year in college. One particular class required us to group ourselves and make a documentary about anything in the city of Manila. We were a group of five consisting of myself, Rex, a high school friend of mine who also went to the same college. Tina, a rather shy girl. Modo, a loud upper-classman who was in the same course as Rex, and Kat, a similarly loud and brash girl who, I swear, cursed more than anyone I had ever met. After much deliberation, we decided on making a horror documentary, akin to shows like the most haunted

places on earth starring Linda Blair given that our school was located near a number of historical sites we decided to narrow down our choices to two the chapel in our very own school where hundreds of priests were said to have been beheaded during the japanese occupation and fort a nearby fort built by the spaniards in the walled city of intramuros we eventually decided on the latter since we felt that we get bonus points for going out of our comfort zone as well as the fact that Fort Santiago was a renowned historical site in the country. Now a little backstory might be in order. Fort Santiago was a garrison constructed by the Spaniards

during their occupation of the Philippines. It served as a military installation and a prison. In fact, Fort Santiago once held Jose Rizal, the Philippines national hero, before he was executed in the nearby Luneta Park. During World War II, it served the Japanese a similar function and hundreds of both Filipino and American citizens, combatants and otherwise,

was said to have been imprisoned, tortured and killed within the walls of the fort. Seems perfect for a history-class documentary, no. Well, we thought so. That's why a week later, we all got into cabs and made our way to the walled city of Intramuros to film what we thought would be an A-plus documentary. Intramurus itself is magnificent to say the least,

It's a city within the city. Towering walls of stone separated from the rest of Manila. Stepping inside is like stepping into a time machine. Cobblestone streets as far as the eye can see dance and weave across the city. Similarly made stone houses and buildings dot the sprawling grounds, many of which have been beautifully preserved and now function as museums and tourist spots. Horse-drawn carriage is called Calaisas can be seen everywhere. the hooves of the horses making a distinct sound as they strike the stone streets. Aside from a number of modern establishments, people wearing modern clothes and the occasional car, you wouldn't be blamed for thinking that you'd suddenly been thrust back into the 1800s. Unfortunately, the beauty of the place was only matched by our sheer stupidity.

In our zeal to get this project over with, we forgot one very simple thing. Fort Santiago and much of the places in Intramuros were now technically tourist attractions and as such were bound by certain rules, namely an opening and closing time. The guard at the entrance told us we arrived 15 minutes before closing time, obviously not enough to make a full-blown documentary. We begged with the guard to let us stay past closing but he said his hands were tied. He directed us to the main office and told us that maybe we could strike a deal with the management officials.

Sadly, nothing but a close sight greeted us as we arrived at the main office. Now, technically speaking, this wasn't supposed to be such a big deal. All we had to do was come back the following day. However, we were college students. Lazy, work-laden,

busy and lazy college students. We'd already planned to finish our documentary tonight and none of us wanted to have to make our way back here the following day. or any other day for that matter. We just wanted this over and done with. As our group sat by the sidewalk weighing our options, I couldn't help but a mile away with a walled city looked.

Its cobblestone streets and towering stone buildings radiated a pale orange underneath the setting sun. Post-guard worthy is when I thought as I looked out at the scene before me. My preoccupation with the sight is probably what made me forget all about Kat, who'd apparently separated herself from the group and had just made her way back. Guys, I think I have a plan B, she said, making us all look up. My dad is the, well, he's kind of the caretaker of the Manila Film Centre. It's not as nice as Intramurus, but I think it's an okay substitute.

He said we can film there. He'd even give us a tour of the place. We all looked at each other. Nobody's saying anything for a few moments. suddenly Rex jumped up and clapped his hands that's perfect think about it our project is a horror documentary

people probably weren't executed there like they were here but we all know how fucked up the film set it was when it was getting built plus it's an old abandoned building at night it just screams horror documentary we all realised just how perfect the situation had become I wish you'd given us that option of the StarCat

we could already be halfway through our documentary by now if we'd gone with the film centre from the beginning. I chimed in. We all had a quick laugh and immediately hailed an incoming taxi. The film centre wasn't far from where we were, and we got there in about 20 minutes. The front of the centre is what you'd expect from any big theatre-oriented building. The main entrance is located in the centre of a ramp. You can drive up either side to get to the main doors, or walk up a flight of stairs located in the centre of the ramp.

The building itself is massive, a white concrete structure designed to resemble the Parthenok. I say white because I guess that's what it was intended to be. Given the many years the building has left to rot and fester, you could clearly see dark green, almost black trails of mould and watermarks running every which way across the once pristine white walls. When we got down,

that I could finally ask a question. It should bug me about the place for the longest time. Cat, what does Amazing Show me? Referring to the red and blue letters which spelled Amazing Show above the entrance. Cat laughed and gave what was probably one of the biggest surprises of the night. Some company, I don't know if it's Filipino or not, kind of rents this place. They use it for a show or some production. I don't really know what to call it.

obviously it's called the amazing show and basically it's a huge theatrical drag show she said with a laugh we all looked at her as if she was crazy she continued i'm serious there's like a troop of transvestites who regularly hold shows here you'd be surprised to know that there's actually an audience mostly aging Asian men Japanese Korean Chinese who seem to get a kick out of it also the occasional Filipino so I'm sure are just dirty old men men. She said again, laughing. None of us believed her at first, but after a quick Google search, everything she said was verified. The fact that a group of transvestites were routinely holding musical-level theatrical shows

for the benefit of dirty old men almost took the mystique out of the place, and we all spent a good five minutes outside just laughing at the absurdity of that image. He eventually made it inside, and I must say, I was pleasantly surprised. Far from the decrepit interior I was expecting, the lobby was just what you'd expect from any theatre. The walls were made of wood and obviously meticulously detailed. A number of posters showing old-school films hung from the rafters. One or two ornate sculptures served as additional displays across the lobby. The floor was carpeted with a velvety red cloth.

I was honestly impressed. At the end of the lobby were a couple of men. massive wooden doors. The actual stage and theatre must have been right behind them, together with the transvestites. One thing really bothered me, though. Actually, it was completely unnerving. Well, the lobby itself was magnificent. The floor above was...

I don't know how to describe it, really. So the lobby was basically an atrium, which means that the floors above could see down toward it. And by extension, you could more or less see the upper floors from the lobby. And that was what put me off. The amount of effort put into making the lobby look as grand as it did was clearly not put into any other part of the building. From where we were standing, we could clearly see the point where the place transitioned from the grandiosity of the lobby to the complete and utter, well, all I could think of was decay. The upper floors looked

completely run down. The walls were a dirty whines. Either the paint that once covered them, long since peeled, or they were never painted to begin with. Even from our vantage point, we could see the filth that covered the floors. The ambient light from the lobby cast a weird pale glow on the upper floors, which made it possible to see all the floating dust that was in the air. And the darkness. Clearly there were no functioning lights on those floors, but the darkness was just different.

I'd never seen or felt anything like it. Looking into those dark floors and hallways from the safety of the well-lit lobby made a pitch form in my stomach. It almost looked solid. This wasn't like the darkness of the night. It was an oppressive kind of darkness, like if you'd lock yourself in a box or a closet. There was absolutely no ambient light up there. Just looking at it made me feel like the darkness was swallowing me whole. My thoughts were interrupted by cats.

who led us up the grand staircase that had on either side of the lobby into the mezzanee. We were led down a surprisingly lit hallway and ushered into a big room. This room and the man inside will turn out to be the second biggest surprise of the night, following the whole transvestite musical thing. It was as if we'd entered a 1930s mob den. It was an ornately decorated room, wooden walls, carpeted floors, and the wooded walls. carpeted floors and the wooden table located near the back center of the room. On the walls were various film industry memorabilia,

placed in pristine glass cases. The man at the table stood up and walked towards us. He was dressed in an impeccable white suit and looked like one of those Italian gangster seriotypes. We all stood there, not knowing what to do, until Cat met him halfway and gave him a big hark. Par? these are my blockmates that was cat's dad when she said he was the caretaker i assumed he was something along the lines of a security guard making sure that no trespass has made it inside or that

he made sure the place didn't completely fall apart i was not expecting what looked like a nineteen hundred's mob box the rest of us threw each other confused looks until the man spoke I won't bore you with what he said, although what he said wasn't boring at all. It's just that he spoke a bit too fast and had an accent that I can't place. He basically told us the history of the place, how he came to manage the property and a bit about himself. Apparently, he'd been a singer or something in the past, a producer maybe, something related to music, and that's how he'd found himself in the entertainment business. He pointed us to one of the many LCD screens on the walls

and told us that the band playing in the videos was his old band. In fact, we did recognise him. We recognised Cat as well. Apparently they'd sometimes record songs together. Halfway through his little speech, he offered us a drink, pointing to a mini-bar which was stocked with what was obviously top shelf alcohol. Me being the heavy drinker that I am almost took him up on his offer, Rex, who had known of my drinking habits since high school, gave me a stern look, which basically

said, don't even try. After a bit more chit-chat, Kat's father stood up, clapped his hands, and said it was high time to start the tour. He mentioned that he wanted to get this over with quickly so he wouldn't miss the show. He all gave him a confused look, until he explained that he'd gotten us free entrance into the amazing show that was going on tonight. Our confusion, however, was quickly replaced by shock. Cat's father took out two silver pistols and tucked them each into the holsters he had under his coat. He probably recognized our surprise, but, with a wave of his hand, put it off like it was normal. We have to carry firearms whenever we do our rounds here.

You see, this building is pretty much abandoned, but it's still the government property and it's still being actively managed. You've had problems with people breaking in and stealing shit here. Everything from leftover furniture, scrap metal, copper wires, the film and music props which were left behind, everything gets taken and sold for scraps. That's why we carry these, so that if we ever encounter trespasses, he gave a quick laugh which honestly freaked me out more than the gun.

Another surprise came in the form of him handing cat a pistol as well. Again, he registered out. a shop brushed it off. Cat's been firing these since she was a kid. She even has a license. Don't worry, you're safe with her. He said with a laugh. Cat chuckled as well.

With our minds thoroughly blown and our tour guide armed to the teeth, we made our way out of the office to begin the tool. We made our way out of the mezzanine floor and up the elevators I'd mentioned earlier. When we got to the top, we stopped at that mark. The mark where the light gave way to absolute darkness. I've never been one to cower at the mere lack of light, but even in a group, even with two armed individuals escorting us,

I was completely unnerved by that darkness. I was trying to manage the nod in my throat and the pit in my stomach when Cat's father turned on an abnormally powerful flashlight which cut a sway through the darkness. How straight and defied the beam of light was against the darkness! only you reinforced how deep and how solid the latter actually was. At that point, our camera started rolling, and Rex, our designated host and narrator, began his introduction. Well, I won't bore you with the entire filming sequence since, admittedly, nothing much happened.

Most of it was just clips of dark alleyways and filthy rooms, all the while Rex or Cat's father would narrate or talk about the building's history. Particular things did, however, stand out. I'll try to summarise them thus. We were led into a cavernous room, meanless to say it was dark with only our lights cutting through the darkness. Cat's father led us to one corner of the room and said, Stay quiet for a bit. See if you get anything. We did as we were told and stood in a half circle for a minute or so. Rex asked what this was all about, and Cat's father explained. This is a part of the original top floor which collapsed.

They had it patched up so that the roof could be set in place. This very spot used to be one of the gaping holes where the workers plummeted to their deaths. A few floors below us is where a lot of their bodies ended up, many of which were never recovered since the construction crews were ordered to continue with the work. They basically just poured the cement over the bodies, some of which people say were still twitching up to the point that they disappeared beneath the liquid concrete.

Actually, that's the spot down there, facing the stage. The first few rows in the left hand most side. We all gault at him. Tina seemed to regain her composure first and asked what was probably on all of our minds. So, the actual theatre, where people actually sit for the shows? Kat's father cut her off with a chuckle. Yep.

Actually, the ghost hunters who came here always say that the area is where most of the ghosts can be felt. Audience members even say they see moving shadows in the corner while the shows are ongoing. Only a few feet of concrete actually separated the audience members seated in that area from what we can assume to be tense, if not hundreds, of bodies sealed the way underneath. Rex found this bit of information perfect for our documentary. He had the video directed at the center of the center of the world. our half-circund started to narrate everything Kat's father had said. Well, I wasn't needed for this portion, so I made my way up to meet with our escorts. Something about that room just seemed

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Well, I say garbage because everything was just dusty and strewn about, but upon closer inspection, one might actually see why people would be willing to break into this place to pill for stuff. All across the floor, leaning on the windows, in boxes by the corners, were filled memorabilia. I counted no less than 17 old-school movie posters. These obviously weren't your usual high-resolution, printed posters. These were made at a time when posters had to be done by hand. A lot of classic Filipino film posters were scattered all over the room. I even recognized some of the films they

depicted as being those my parents would often talk about. Aside from that, you had a number of costumes just lying around. There was also an old school projector just sitting there on a table in the far end of the room and still attached to it was a film reel, no doubt one of an old movie as well. It may have all seemed like garbage, but no doubt these items could fetch a decent price if sold to collectors. On the far corner also said a mattress, a decrepit one at that. It was blackish-brown and torn all over. Someone, I don't remember who, jokingly asked if it was being used for naughtier purposes by the groundskeepers. Cat's father, however, explain the history behind the room. This is where the old janitor is.

to live. You see that mattress there? He died right on that mattress. Apparently it's somehow broken his back while on that mattress, and seeing as how this was in the days before cellular phones, he had no way of letting anyone know what had happened to him. Where they found him, he was already in a state of decay, and given how humid this country can get, you can bet that the guys who found him parted ways with their lunch soon thereafter. Actually, if you look closely, you can sort of see the outline his corpse were. He basically melted into the mattress after all. He said that last bit with a little laugh.

We weren't sure if he was kidding or not, but nobody was going to stick their face right up to the mattress to find out. Much of the tour involved pretty much what one could expect from a dilapidated building. Aside from those two key rooms, most of our footage just featured long, dark hallways with narrations being made either by Cat's father or Rex. Our tour soon ended, and we made our way back to the lobby of the theatre. I'm pretty sure I was the only one to let out an audible sigh once we were back underneath

the glow of the chandelier. But the look on everyone else's face, the armed escorts included, betrayed the relief that they also felt. After concluding the documentary, Cat's father escorted us into the actual theatre where the amazing show was about to begin. Surprisingly, the theatre was pretty packed. Given the nature of the building and the type of show it was hosting, I honestly expected us to be the only people there.

I was shot to see that more than half of the seats were filled, mostly by aging men who looked like the kind I'd be very wary of having my daughter around. The show itself was, forgive me for the wording, amazing. This wasn't some drag show you'd expect to see in some seedy dive bar. I've seen actual plays on Broadway and the production value of this show could just as easily match any theatrical show I'd ever seen. The stage was decorated with massive props, resembling the face of a Victorian era street.

The performers were all decked out in ornate sequin costumes, and they all had magnificent singing voices. The choreography of their dances was top-notch as well. In fact, from the distance that we were sitting, one could even consider the performers beautiful or sexy. It was only when they actually made their way closer. Did you realise that, yep, these were guys. And, of course, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that, mind you.

The performance ended, and we all made our way to the exit. We thanked Cat and her father profusely for hosting us, and made our way to the dark street below. Moldo, Tina Rex and I were standing by the sidewalk waiting for a cab to pass, where Rex suggested that we go for a drink or two as a form of park-puck. For those unfamiliar, Pug-Pug is a kind of traditional superstition wherein one who comes from a wake or funeral should first make a stop anywhere before going home. It could be at a bar, a restaurant, convenience store, or even just a gas station.

The idea behind it was that if you didn't make such a stop, the spirit of the deceased you visited would follow you back home. I'm not one to turn down a couple of drinks, but I was pretty exhausted from the day's events. so I declined his offer. Moda tried scaring me by saying that if I didn't do the Pagpag, the ghosts of the film centre would follow me home. Being the aspiring lawyer that I was, I immediately pointed out the floor in his reasoning.

Pag Pag-Pag is done when coming from a wake or funeral, so that the ghost of the deceased doesn't follow you home. We didn't come from a wake or funeral. Plus, whoever died in the centre did so decades ago. I'm pretty sure Pag-Pag no long. replies. We all had a laugh and bid our goodbyes. I let the three of them take the first cab we hailed and after a few minutes I was in a cab of my own, making my way home. I don't remember much of the ride home or what I did when I got back for that matter. All I know is that around 2.20 a.m.

I was jolted from my dreamless sleep by an acrid stench. My first thought was naturally fire. My father's a bit of a nagger and would always nag me about making sure I don't burn down the house. It didn't matter if I was cooking on a stove, plugging in the microwave or even just lighting a cigarette. I'd always be met with a cascade of reminders about not burning the house down. Naturally, being the hard-headed sob that I am, I'd always play off these warnings, but lo and behold, when faced with the prospect of roasting in my own house, those warnings came back to the forefront of my mind. I rushed to the kitchen to see if that's where the smell was coming from.

To my surprise, I was met with nothing. Aside from food that had probably been left out for me, no, nothing was burning in the kitchen. All the appliances were unplugged and the gas was off. I immediately checked my smoking area to see if I've forgotten to stuff out one of my cigarettes. Again, nothing. At this point I was starting to think that it was all in my head. Imagination was running wild after having been woken from my slumber so suddenly.

I decided to have a smoke to calm my nerves. The irony of smoking to calm my nerves after having said nerves sprayed on end by the prospect of dying in a fire is not lost on me, but what are you going to do? I sat down and lit a marlborough red, hoping that the tough yet so familiar taste would bring me back to my senses. An overview of the room I was in should be in order. You see, the room itself was not entirely closed off, which is why it was perfect as a smoking area. It was a relatively big room, not a bedroom type, mind you, but large enough to have a table, two chairs, a rocking chair, a bunch of old antiques and its own restroom.

In fact, the restroom was what we'd normally allow guests to use. Both ends of the room were also relatively open. The front end was simply closed off from the garage by a gate. a mesh sliding door and curtains. Next to the bathroom was a small staircase, maybe four or five steps down, which led to the garden through this basement of the house. Now, I know cigarettes are bad for you.

Here in my country, all cigarette packs come with grotesque, oftentimes exaggerated photos of the effects of smoking. Open source, tumours, and various other reminders of what could before a smoker adorn each and every pack. That being said, I think every smoker will agree, with me that sometimes you just have to light one up. The calm that first hit brings you is something just so surreal. Seven minutes or so each cigarette takes from your life, allegedly, is oftentimes a fair trade for the momentary peace one experiences while huffing and puffing on a cigarette.

At the time, it was no different for me. I sat there looking out into the empty nights, a cold wind gently blowing through the window. Embers dance around my fingers as halos of smoke slowly plumed upwards. I could have stayed in that moment forever, a point in space and time where I had nothing to worry about. No problems, no burdens, not even thoughts, just me at peace in the dead of the night. My serendipity, however, was immediately shattered by a fleeting figure I caught in the corner of my eye. Whipping my head to the rear door, I saw someone or something, It was the dead of night And the lights outside the house were closed

But I could see a figure standing a foot or so away from the rear door You might ask how I could see it in the dark But you have to understand that I don't know how to say this really But not all darkness is the same I'm sure you know how it is walking into a dark room And still being able to see figures There's always ambient light around that makes the darkness

A little less dark Here it was more or less the same him it was dark outside but the moon was providing a bit of help in illuminating the garden outside plus this figure was dark and i mean dark even without the lights on i could see the outline of the figure and it was much darker than the night surrounding it was as if someone had embossed a man-shaped figure in a darker shade than the blackness around it i sat there transfixed i don't know how long i held that that thing's gaze and yes i do mean gaze because even from the inky darkness outside i somehow knew it was looking at me what jolted me from my hypnosis was the ash from my now finished cigarette falling on my lap i winced at the

brief but searing pain in my leg and brushed the ash off my gaze immediately went back to the outside gate but it was gone i rushed out of the room and flipped the side of the side of the side of the room and flipped the switch for the outside lights. I was half expecting the man to still be there, a burglar or something, waiting to break into the house. But the garden was empty. It must have taken me no less than ten seconds to open the lights and get back to my spot, but the figure, or whatever it was, was no longer there. There was no way anyone could have fled from sight in that short of time, given the overall layout of the house, but somehow whatever I'd seen had vanished. Now, completely, completely unnerved. I left that room, making sure to lock both the sliding and the mesh door leading to it, and made my way to my room.

There I lay in bed, covered up to my nose in my thick, weighted blanket. I listened intently for any sound of movement outside. At the time, I thought maybe it could have been someone trying to break in, but, given my uncertainty about what I'd seen, and the certainty of safety given that each door and window in this house is heavily padlocked or deadbolted each night. I refrained from waking up my parents. I thought that only when I was sure it was someone outside would I wake them up. At that point the problem would no longer be mine, but between whoever was outside and the business end of one of my father's many guns. One minute turned to five. Five turned to ten, ten turned to thirty, and I heard no movement outside, no indication that there was a soul up at this ungodly hour.

At some point, I don't know when really, why eyes started to get heavy. I'm sure you've all experienced slipping into the sweet embrace of sleep, that small gap between consciousness and unconsciousness when you know sleep is about to set in. That small transition from the reality of your room to whatever fantasy may lie behind the lids of your eyes. In that moment you're not really thinking,

not really moving, just waiting, waiting for the slumber to take hold. I found myself in that position, that almost drunk and hazy feeling of not really knowing what's going on around you and not really caring because any moment now you'd fall asleep. I could feel it. A second or two more and I'd be asleep. The cool air blowing from the air conditioning unit and the snugness offered by my weighted blanket it all conspired to bring me closer to sleep. But just as I was about to give in to such comforts, a familiar smell wafed up my nostrils,

that horrid, acrid stench that initially woke me up some hours ago. I'd like to say I bolted from my bed, but I couldn't. I don't know if it was sleep paralysis or something, but I just couldn't move. The stench intensified, and I could actually feel some irritation in my nose, something like sand or dust and then i saw it again out of the corner of my eye i could see a figure i couldn't move but this wouldn't be a problem since the figure carefully slowly painfully made its way to the foot of my bed when it was squarely at the foot of the bed i could see it in all its horrific glory it was a man I'd wager maybe 130 to 140 pounds, heavy, standing at maybe five foot seven tall.

He was wearing faded jeans, a loose white shirt and a hard hat or helmet of some kind. His clothes were tattered. His entire body was covered in some kind of dust or soot. His face was grotesque. His eyes were dead, cloudy and milky, but still showing the redness of being. bloodshot. The left side of his face was caved in. You can actually see the fragment of bone which lay sunken in the center of his cheek.

His nose was, well, it was gone, but placed by a disgusting cavern in the center of his face. His lips were parted and revealed black and yellow teeth. What caught my attention the most was his hat or what was left of it. The left side of the hat was almost completely destroyed. and underneath I could see a massive gash in the man's head. It looked like he'd fallen right on his head and it split upon contact. Actually, it looked more like someone had taken a large blade, a machete maybe, and brought it down hard on his head. The gaping wound used a viscous black liquid.

At first I thought it was blood, but having been a martial artist for most of my life, I knew what bloodied wounds looked like, and this couldn't have been that. A lot of people don't realize how sharp and bright blood can be once it first leaves a body. So only when it has time to oxidize does it take on the dark crimson in the movies of all shown us. This liquid was thick, like honey but black as the night sky outside. His chest seat the same dark liquid from a large hole carved out of the left side. The hole itself was jagged with skin, muscle and bone matter jutting outwards. Either someone had actively ripped out a chunk of this man's chest or he was impaled by something from behind.

For an eternity we held each other's gaze. What felt like hours passed before finally the man started to move. He started to move towards me. He climbed on top of the bed and slowly crawled over me. I wanted to move. I wanted to scream. I wanted to do something, anything to get this thing off me. I couldn't. His stench was overwhelming at this point. I'm pretty sure if I could have moved

I would have been throwing up. My eyes watered and my nose was on fire from the assault on my senses. Finally, I came face to face with the man. He was lying right on top of me, his body being supported by his left arm while his right hand was on my shoulder. A heavy, cold, dead hand on my shoulder that felt like all the weight of the world would be burdened upon me. I didn't know if this was sleep paralysis, a nightmare or reality, but I was terrified. In my head I was crying, begging for this to end. My thoughts, however, were silence when the man started talking. I say talking because what came out of his horrendous mouth weren't word so much as garbled sounds.

I strained to understand what he was saying. What was happening? What all this was? When I suddenly felt something caught in my throat. Didn't know what it was at first. It felt like a slight itch. But then, ever so slowly, that itch turned into a searing pain. It was almost as if I'd swallowed a handful of sand

and the rough particles were tearing at my insides. The taste was bitter and chemical, but that was the least of my concerns. My throat was burning, and I was slowly finding it harder to breathe. I was gagging. I tried to scream, I tried to cough, help. I tried throwing up, but I couldn't move. The pain was becoming excruciating. A thick sludge of something was clogging up my throat,

and I was trying to gas for air, but reprieve of a full breath escape me. I was slowly losing consciousness The darkness around my field of vision Slowly started to expand And the last thing I remember seeing Was the man's cold, dead I woke up falling I don't know where

When, why, what My thoughts were a blur All I know is I was falling The night sky above me slowly Being swallowed up by the edges of whatever hole I'd fallen into Before I could get my bed bearings, something slammed into the left side of my face. The pain was instant and excruciating.

I could feel the shattered bones in my cheek move as I continued to fall, and finally I slammed hard into the ground. I tried to move, but I couldn't. The fall had no doubt broken my back, but something else was keeping me in place. I looked down to see a large piece of rebar jutting out from my chest. Bits of my white shirts and what I could only assume to be bits of me were dangling from the edge of that sinister piece of metal. I looked up to see a part of the night sky now, framed by the gaping hole caused by the claps of the top floor we were working on. I saw a bit of the scaffolding jutting out from one of the lower floors, no doubt the same scaffolding that I'd struck with my face on the way down. All around me I could hear chaos, the

sound of debris falling resonated throughout the chasm that had consumed me i could hear people voices familiar voices screaming crying cursing in agony i tried to talk but all i managed to release was a vile mixture of blood and whatever dust i'd swallowed from my tumble i lay there listening to the people around me none of whom i could actually see after a while the noise started to die down at first The cacophony of sounds just seemed to get a bit softer. Over time, however, all the noise ceased. All I could hear was the intermittent sound of rocks slowly crumbling around me. Hours must have passed until I heard more voices,

voices not around me but some distance away. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but I could make out some of the words. No time. Still have a deadline. survivors can't let the media what do we do now cover it up might still be alive pour it over continue they won't know hours more passed before i finally felt something other than the pain radiating around my body at first it just came in drops then trickles now it was raining down all around me a thick clumpy liquid feel on my face I knew from experience just what that was liquid cement in a matter of minutes I was covered in it the cement was

being poured from massive tubes lying in the top portion of the hole the claps had made I tried to scream tried to tell them that someone was alive down here but my meek cries were drowned out by the sound of the cascading cement I screamed and screamed but to no avail. Soon the cement was up to my face. The rest of my body lay submerged in the viscous substance. Already I could feel the weight of the liquid constricting my body. I tried one last desperate scream, but I just gave the liquid the opportunity to enter my mouth.

I choked on a thick substance slowly, making its way down my throat, and the pain was unbearable. my insides burned and I could feel the particular at shredding my insides. Pretty soon I too was almost completely submerged. The cold, viscous substance slowly hardening and welcoming finally into the sweet and welcome embrace of death. I woke up with such a jolt and I managed to fling myself right out of bed. Beads of sweat ran down my face as I gasped for air. I whipped my head around to get a bearing of where I was.

I was in my room. The AC was still blowing and the TV turned on, but with the volume at zero. My nightlight basked me in its yellow glow with security. I lay crumpled on the floor for a good five minutes before I gingerly made my way onto my feet. I looked around and saw no scaffolding, no pipes, no rebar, no gaping hole in the sky, and, most importantly, no dead man. I listened outside. Nothing but a couple of chirps from extra early birds, given how upon checking the time it was only 5am.

How was it only 5 a.m.? Going through whatever I'd gone through had felt like an eternity. I sat at the foot of my bed trying to rationalize my ordeal. Was it all a dream? Foul portance of things to come or did what I just go through actually happen? My mind was racing, a thousand thoughts per second. and only matched by what felt like the thousand beats per minute my heart was pumping. My head was throbbing and I made my way to the bathroom to splash my face with cold water.

When I looked up at the mirror, I was half expecting to see that dead man's milky eyes looking back at me. But all I saw was my reflection. My confused, exasperated reflection. I had no idea what had just happened. And just like any smoker who finds him, half in a bind, I went out to light a cigarette to help clear my thoughts. It was around a quarter past five and the sky was just starting to turn a deep bluish violet hue, signaling the impending rise of the sun. More birds were now chirping, I could even hear some of my

neighbors start to move about their houses. I couldn't wait for the sun to finally rise and wash away the darkness around me and the horrors it had brought with it. I took out another Marlborough red and put it in my mouth. savoring that very first hit just as I lit the end with a match. I was starting to calm down, basking the light embers dancing between my fingers and all two familiar wisps of smoke that rose from the end of the stick. Now, most smokers have a particular sense of smell. You do this long enough when your nose just becomes sensitive to particular kinds of smoke,

if that even makes sense. Basically, you know what cigarette smoke smells like compared to other types of smoke. You can even tell if someone who's just walked into a room has had a cigarette. Well, there I was enjoying the sweet, woody aroma of my cigarette. Mine's starting to clear up, heart starting to calm down, hands starting to steady. I leaned back into my chair to await the rising sun. Somewhere upstairs I heard a door open, most likely my mother getting ready to start the day. I was no longer the only soul awake in the house.

else I felt safe again secure again just as I was about to put out my cigarette the faint hint of an all too familiar scent wafed up my nose that sick acrid burning smell that not only assaulted my senses but made my nose itch with whatever particulates it carried I didn't have time to think to move to act or even to realize what was going on until I felt that familiar cold dead hand on good day prospective evolutionist you're reading this because you believe the human species is on the decline you believe there's only one logical path forward the human species must evolve and you believe there's only one way to accomplish such a feat through technology the industrial evolutionists have heard your call and share your

interest. We spent years researching this issue and believe we found a solution a way forward. If you're interested in learning more, we urge you to follow the directions to this address. Lucas held the flyer between his fingers, skimming it over once again. It contained a bunch of preachy nonsense about the glory of the machines and whatnot. Parts of it didn't make much sense, and the flyer itself looked as if it had been made in Microsoft Word. in five minutes fairly ironic considering it went on and about using technology to its fullest and reaping the benefits of doing so well to put it lightly the industrial evolutionist movement was not what he was expecting when he was told he'd be investigating possible cultist activity he'd

gone undercover before and dealt with over zealous religious people but never a combination of the too. So it was with great uncertainty he agreed to investigate the industrial evolutionists. His boss hadn't told him much, or at least he couldn't remember much, his memory of the assignment's overview was a bit murky, but he was handed the flyer and told it would explain what he needed to know. Well, the flyer had given an overview of the movement's ideals, the proper use of technology, humanity's dependence and continued dependence on machines, and the proposed evolutionary path humanity should take, but a little more.

He still didn't quite know what he was investigating. He used to be on the lookout for possible cult activity, but nothing about the industrial evolutionists screamed cultist. Sure, they seem like a bunch of misguided optimists following an unrealistic idea, but the same could be said, whether true or not, about every religion. Still, the idea of posing as a very religion. an initiative and infiltrating a cult was certainly intriguing. He looked out his car window at the

evolutionist's so-called compound. In reality, the commune's place of meeting equated to little more than a run-down warehouse, right smack in the middle of the city's industrial district. The place looked long abandoned. The windows were boarded up with rotting wood. There were cracks in the concrete running up the walls, chips in dulled red paint and not a single mark identifying the building as the Industrial Evolutionist's meeting area. Well, that raised a few questions right off the back. Will the followers here illegally, and if so, how long? Of course, it wasn't like he could ask the questions without arousing suspicion.

Lucas gazed carefully at the types of people that casually strolled into the warehouse. Men, women, young, old, all shapes and sizes, ducked through the door and out of sight. Most seemed to have at best cautious and at worst paranoid look about them. They shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably and consistently glanced over their shoulders, checking to see if they were being watched, which, in all fairness, they were. Lucas counted around 50 people before he stepped out of his car and into the cool night. The breeze nipped at the back of his neck as he checked the time. 11.50.

Just about time for the meat. to begin. He pulled his coat up, his hat over his face and thrust his hands into his pockets as he began to cross the street. He didn't make it far, however, before he felt someone crash into him from behind. He whirled around instinctively and saw a young woman, her head mostly obscured by a grey hood, smiling up at him in embarrassment. Sorry, she exclaimed quickly. I wasn't paying attention and you just jump. out of your car and I totally didn't see you there. Lucas smiled back calmly, wanting to have a friendly demeanor towards these followers.

It's all right, he said coolly. Hey, I'm actually fairly new here. You part of the industrial evolution movement? I could use some directions and guidance if you could. He motioned to the warehouse, letting his words trail off. Oh, no, I'm not... Well, I am, but I don't... She hurriedly fished a crumpled flyer similar to the one Lucas held out of her pocket.

This is my first meeting, too. I mean, I got this letter about a week ago, and it seemed kind of interesting, and I wanted to learn more, so, well, I came here. This is the right place, right? I mean, I know you just said... Assuming the address on that paper is correct, then, yeah, this is the right place. Right, but... I don't know.

it just kind of seems gross. It's all broke up and ugly. I don't know. I just kind of expected more. Hey, um, if you don't mind me asking, where did you get your letter? You do have one, right, a fly like this? She held up her paper. I got one in the mail like you.

In all honesty, Lucas hadn't thought about it, nor hadn't answered prepared. her seemed to work well enough, though. Oh, you did? Oh, cool. Yeah, weird her, they just know to send you one. Lucas took note of her uneasiness around the subject. Oh, I'm Alyssa, by the way. She stuck out her hand eagerly, changing the subject.

Ian James, Lucas replied, shaking her hand graciously. It's getting pretty chilly out here, Alyssa. We should head inside and hope to. someone else can tell us where to go from that. Smart. She agreed and followed beside him as he crossed the street. They walked in silence as Lucas thought to himself. She's a bit enthusiastic, but it seems harmless.

This is the kind of company the industrial evolutionists are attracting, and there shouldn't be any real issues. They approached the rusted and faded door to the warehouse. Lucas held the door for Alyssa. She smiled and pretended. to curtsy before heading inside. Lucas followed it in, instantly feeling a wave of warm air across his face. He stepped inside, gazing at the 60 or so people around him who chatted among themselves happily about a variety of mundane topics. The room was well lit, attributed to a series

of lights overhead. Yet there was a hazy fog above the crowd, dimming the lights and insulating the heat. It smelled of cold. smoke and another odour that Lucas couldn't quite place. Rows of folding chairs had been set up in front of a wooden platform that acted as a stage of sorts. On top of the platform's had a podium and a large rectangular object with a cloth draped over it. Lucas tried to make out any features of the object, but they were obscured by the cloth. The object was around 30 feet long and 20 feet high. The fog around the room seemed to emanate from beneath the cloth,

"'Ean,' Lucas looked around the room and saw Alyssa sitting down, patting a seat next to her. She'd since removed her hood and let her long brown hair flow down her shoulders. Lucas made his way over to her and sat down, deciding it best to try and blend in instead of immediately asking questions to the other followers in the room. A few of the other people had sat down as well, scattered amongst the room, but most stood around in groups. Lucas listened in to some of the nearby conversations. Who do you think it'll be tonight? I'm going to volunteer, but I doubt Father Mason will select me. I see there are some new people here. It's good to see that the movement has expanded its appeal.

God knows we all need them. Sacrifice. No, it's emerging of one being into another. Sacrifice is too broader term. That last one made Lucas a bit wary. Most casual conversations didn't revolve around the term sacrifice. He wished he knew what led up to that line, but couldn't directly ask without raising suspicion. Something was wrong, but he didn't have any evidence or idea as to what was wrong. He didn't let this concern show on his face, however, instead staring straight ahead, emotionless. After a good while, he turned to Alyssa, who had been humming and uneven tuned to herself, the commotion.

So, he began, catching her attention. Do you know anything about the industrial evolution movement? She scratched the back of her neck and paused before answering. Not much, I mean, I read what the letter said and decided to do some further research over the internet, but, well, that's about it. I get the gist about what the movement's about, but not much more than that. Really, what did you find online? I didn't even think to look anything up.

Truth really, Lucas had done extensive research over the internet, but had been unable to find any mention of the industrial evolutionists. He was surprised and a bit suspicious that Alyssa had dug anything up. Well, as you can probably guess by the name, it's an extension of the Industrial Revolution, or at least the basic idea of the revolution. Like, well, machinery revolutionized and continues to improve. improve the human lifestyle, so...

Wait, no, that's a bad way of putting it. Um, okay, so think of it like this. Machinery is a natural extension of humanity, and thus should be the focus for advancing the human species. It's the next step in evolution. Um, does that make sense? Sure. Good.

Well, that's the core belief behind the movement. There are some... The tone grew uncomfortable. comfortable. Other parts of the movement centering around the worship of some grand machine entity, but I didn't think that was really... Now Lucas was interested. Hang on. What kind of worship? Tell me about this entity. Oh, well, um, a name kept popping up as I read through the articles. So say it is. I don't really know anything else. Who is this?

Soceities. Some kind of God? Demon, maybe. I don't really know. I think demon would be closer than God, but that's probably not the best term to use. Hail, so sautie. The infernal machine. Lucas and Alyssa turned to the voice behind them

and saw an older, grimy man coming towards him. His face was stretched wide in an eager grin. stained with sickly grey patches blotted all over. He placed his hands on Alyssa's and Lucas's chairs, and Lucas could see that they were covered in grey patches as well. Always good to see a few fresh faces. The man continued. I'm Father Mason, by the way.

I lead the industrial evolutionists. I'm quite surprised in your knowledge of us, young lady. Most come to these meetings without any advanced knowledge of the movement. but I can see that you've done your research." Alyssa smiled at him without saying a word. Oh, I'm Ian, by the way. Lucas said, breaking the silence. Father Mason smiled at him and nodded.

Lucas continued. Ian Jameson, this is Alyssa. So can you tell me more about Soceides? I wasn't aware of his part in this movement. Ah, I find your desire. for knowledge quite refreshing, Mr. James. Just sit tight and listen in to the sermon, and all of your questions will be answered.

Lucas smiled and nodded before holding out his hand. All right, well do. I look forward to learning more about this movement. Father Mason shook Lucas' hand. As do I look forward to teaching it. It was nice meeting you two. I hope you stick around for the entire service. With that he walked towards the platform, stopping every now and then to greet and chat with

the other members of the crowd. Once he finally stepped onto the platform, a wave of urgency swept through the crowd, silencing them as they hurried to find seats. There was very little chatter left by the time Father Mason began to speak. Lucas sat intently, listening with great interest. He could certainly see the cult roots beginning to take. form. Good evening, everyone. Father Mason's voice bellowed throughout the warehouse. I'm so glad to see that so many of you are here tonight. There are a few new faces in the ground as well. That really warms my heart.

To see that our little commune is visibly growing, well, it gives an old man hope. But you didn't come here tonight to listen to me, Ramble. You came here because you're concerned for the future of the human species. There were a few cheers from the crowd. Lucas stayed silent and leaned back in his chair. You're here because no one else has the courage to do what we do. You're here because the governments of the world have turned a blind eye to our plight. Your cries for assistance, your pleas for attention, your worries and concerns have fallen

on deaf ears. These other so-called religious movements have turned you away. They've been corrupted by commercialism, idealistic principles and simple human neglect. We are the last hope for humanity. We do what we must because no one else is able. Cheers sounded throughout the warehouse once again, more enthusiastic than the last. Lucas joined in as well, grinning despite it all. These people were obviously crazy.

Taking them down will be no trouble. at all. You are all here for a reason, Father Mason continued, pacing around the wooden platform. You have all been chosen by the great societies to lead humanity in the coming days. None of your appearances here are accidental. Father Mason seemed to glaring on Lucas's direction upon uttering that line. Lucas smirks, finding the irony in that statement to musing. He glanced over at Alyssa. expecting to find her cheering and shouting. Instead, she sat quietly, fidgeting with her hands uneasily. Lucas leaned over and whispered in her ear.

Are you feeling all right? You look a bit on edge. What? Oh, no, I'm just a bit anxious, is all. This is all so much to take in at once. We have the tools to forge our destiny, but yet they go unused. They sit in the corner, collecting dust, only used in the most trivial circumstances.

I say, no more. Not since the Industrial Revolution has technology changed the lives of so many. In these coming days, I intend to drag humanity to glory, whether they are willing or not. I refused to let our species suffer because some people were afraid of progress. Father Mason paused, letting the crowd cheer in agreement. despite having no idea what he was talking about Lucas stood up and cheered Father Mason on he enjoyed playing the part of an eager and empty-minded cultist

So say it is has given us the instruments of our future and the opportunity to put them to work We simply provide the fuel to the fire The manpower necessary to operate such machinery In a way we drive our own species forward Every time we operate the infernal machine. That is why we are here tonight. To advance the human species, we must run the machine. We must run the Societies machine. That is our purpose. We must feed the machine.

We must feed Societies. We must let him complete his task. Amongst the praise for Societies, Father Mason removed the sheet from the object on stage, revealing a large, mechanical contraption it was a large piece of industrial machinery a steel box full of numerous exposed turning gears and cogs dials and gauges line the side next to a series of pistons and pipes leaking steam sparks dance from loose wires and the fog that cover the room emanated from a smoke stack near the top of the machine there was a large turning crank on the side of the machine connected to a large sequence of gears and belts. There appeared to be an input shoot of sorts near one of the ends of the device,

large enough for a person to squeeze the loop. The apparatus emitted a muffled humming sound amidst the clinking sounds of metal smacking upon metal. Lucas sat back in his chair and examined the scene before him. The rest of the crowd was ecstatic, some leaping from their chairs and attempting to approach the machine, to which father Mason shoot them away. The room filled with a thicker haze and the sounds of machinery appeared to grow louder as the crowd's combined voices rose. Alyssa sat back, eyeing the machine on stage curiously. Lucas was a bit concerned about the machine's purpose, but tried his best to hide it. These people were harmless so far, but he worried that he knew the exact purpose of the machinery before him.

Despite this, he resolved not to break his. his cover no matter what happened next if these people really were dangerous and he'd need to play his cards right not what you're expecting her lucas turned to see alissa grinning rightly at him i like you i know you're new to this but i really think you should leave something's going to happen in the next few minutes that you want no party lookas looked at her quizzical afraid at what she was getting at. Nonetheless, he had to stay regardless. Are you kidding?

Just when it's getting interesting. No way, I need to know more. Alyssa hesitated and then shook her head. There are forces of play here beyond you or me. You want no part in their quarrel. Before Lucas could respond, Father Mason began his speech again. And here, he... He is. So say it is, the infernal machine. Who among you, my brothers, is worthy of joining him?

Who among you wishes to feed the machine? To use your body as a driving force in humanity's evolution? Who among you wishes to throw your body upon his gears and into the pits of eternity? Numerous figures in the crowd shot up, raising their hands and begging for the opportunity. Lucas sat still, breaking into a cold sweat as he dreaded what was going to happen. Father Mason gazed around the room, pointing at various followers and shaking his head. After about a minute of this, he held up a hand, urging silence, and continuing his sermon. I appreciate your eagerness, my brothers, but tonight is a special occasion. You see, there is a special guest among us.

so say it has sent us a body there were hush murmurs among the crowd lucas kept his head down and his eyes fixed on the machine trying to avoid suspicion he was confident that he hadn't been detected wasn't possible there was no way they could have detected him right father mason paced around the platform before settling down behind the podium he gazed directly at lucas as he spoke Yes, this person may believe they have infiltrated our inner sanctum, but they are only here because Soseatus wills it. This person has been sent to us to serve not only as fuel to the machine, but as an example, to show that we are not a force to be trifled with, to show that Sosatis holds the power,

to show that we are the future of humanity." Lucas gulped and looked around quickly. searching for the nearest exit there stood around 30 people between him and the door if he made a dash for it in the next few seconds he might have a chance he turned to stand up only to see alissa had risen from her chair as well she moved in his direction brandishing a sizable pistol in her hand thinking quickly lucas leapt at her reaching for the gun before she had a chance to train it on him she yelped in surprise and the two fell to the ground, fighting for the weapon. Alyssa grabbed at the gun and tried to roll away,

but Lucas managed to pin her arm and wrestle the gun away. What the fuck are you doing? Alyssa snarled. You're going to ruin everything. I'm not lighting you crazy bastards anywhere near me. Lucas stood up, pointing the pistol at the nearby followers who had risen to investigate the commotion. He slowly backed his way towards the door

as the crowd moved to clear a path for him. Alyssa leapt up and started bolting towards the door. Lucas pointed the pistol in her direction and she stopped, throwing her hands up instinctively. Oh no, you don't, Lucas shouted. All of you are just going to stay put while I... You idiot! Elisa shouted, moving towards him. I'm not with them.

I'm... Oh, I see Mr. James has already apprehended the suspect. Father Mason's voice gleefully echoed across the walls. Bring her to me. Bring me the follower of luck. Lucas lowered his gunning confusion and stepped away. Alyssa darted to wars infrantly. Shoot me, shoot me, shoot me, please, anything's better than...

She shouted, but Lucas stepped further away, trying to make sense of the situation. The crowd converged on the two, shuffling, past Lucas and towards Alyssa. She fought and kicked them away, but was soon overwhelmed by the sheer mess of people before her. She screamed and yelled obscenities at the men and women around her as they dragged her towards Father Mason. Meanwhile, Lucas received praise and pats on the back

as those around him thanked him for disarming the Luddite. Fucking machinists, Alyssa screeched. You follow a false entity, a box of moving parts. They alert curse all of you, hors. Your machine is nothing more than that. A fucking machine. You achieve nothing but pointless death. You...

Four followers carried Alyssa by her limbs to Father Mason through the crowd, while the others stood to observe the chaos. Once there they bound her arms and legs in rope and tied a piece of cloth around her mouth. She bit down and attempted to scream more curses of them, but Father Mason's voice overpowered her. Ah, it is true. What we have before us is a follower of Ludd, a filthy Luddite, come to disrupt our actions and progress. This regressive serves as a reminder that Soceitius is not without his enemies, those that would impede his purpose. Ludd, brother of Societies and the lesser of the two. This demon, this creature, this negative force, cannot be. bother to confront the infernal machine directly, so he sends his minions to do his work for him.

But they meet the same fate as Ludwood. They throw their lives away in a senseless attempt to turn off the machine. We will not let them. We will keep the gears turning. We will keep so say it satiated. The rest of the industrial evolutionists cheered and called for the machine to be run. Alyssa struggled against her bonds as the followers on stage picked her up and carried her to the input shoot. Lucas stood frozen in shock, trying to comprehend what was happening. This was his fault, wasn't it? If he hadn't, no, there was nothing he could have done. He then remembered the weapon he held in his hand and ran towards the stage. He pointed the pistol at Father Mason and shouted for the followers to release Alyssa.

They paid him no heed and placed Alyssa in the input shoot. as she tried to wriggle free. She looked at Lucas, her eyes wide in fear, and attempted to say something but was unable to. Father Mason moved towards the crank, but Lucas kept the pissed all trained on him. Father Mason stopped and grinned at Lucas. Mr. James, excuse me, Lucas, please put that down.

Wait, don't look so surprised. The machine tells me many things. I know who you are, I know what you're doing here, but more importantly, I know what you're going to do next. You have no part in this. You care not about the war between Sosaitis and Ludd. You care not about our group, nor our rivals. You see a group of cultists, and I use that term loosely, about to sacrifice, and I use that term loosely as well. A young woman to a demon machine of sorts.

You play the part of the third party, the police, the hero. You wish to save her and put the rest of us behind bars. You're nothing, if not noble, Lucas. But what you don't know is how Sosaitis works. Take a look at these. He pointed to the grey patches covering his face. These are signs of strain of wear and tear. They show that Sosatis using.

my body is a vessel for his influence, signs of possession, if you will. Why are you telling me this? Just remove Alyssa from the machine and... Why? Why? Take a look at your hands, Mr. Lucas. I do find it quite beneficial that we shook hands earlier tonight. It's like the signing of a pet. Lucas kept the pistol trained on Father Mason as he poured one of his hands closer to his face. He could see the same disease patches. that covered Father Mason's face now, covered his hand and arm as well. He lowered the gun and checked his other arm,

finding it to be covered in patches as well. He looked at Father Mason helplessly. You, I don't feel right. Indeed, Lucas had felt a nauseating presence to take root within his body. He stumbled and nearly fell before bracing himself against the machine. Alyssa screamed something at him, but it was lost amidst the sudden scraping of metal and turning of gears.

Steam hissed and conveyors rattled inside his skull as Lucas tried to gain his bearings. He reached out, trying to pull himself up and his hands found their way to the crank beside the machine. His vision blurred as smoke, whether real or not, obscured his sight. Turn the crank, Lucas, run the machine. Father Mason's voice was the only thing Lucas could hear. It was so commanding, so imperative, so crucial that Lucas turned the crank. He had to turn the crank. He had to run the machine.

He had to feed so saithy. He had no choice. Lucas began to turn the crank. The machine roared to life, its gears spinning and its cogs grinding against one another. Steam escaped into the open air. Pistons pushed themselves upwards and downwards, and conveyor belts began to roll. There was a muffled screaming coming from inside the machine somewhere, but Lucas ignored it. It was essential that he kept turning the crank.

After a few moments, the machine began to produce a different noise. instead of metal pounding and scraping against metal, he could hear the metal striking a much softer surface and pressing it down with more ease. Something was caught between the cogs as they fought to keep turning. Steam no longer hissed. A new liquid simply dripped from the pipes onto the equipment beneath. A much more revolting smell entered the warehouse, a mix of flesh, coal and whatever bodily fluids have been squeezed from Alyssa, penetrated Lucas's nostrils. He fought off the urge to vomit and focused on turning the crank. The temperature in the entire building increased as the screams of...

The temperature in the entire building increased as the screams of agony slowly died off. The crank became increasingly more difficult to turn, as if Lucas was actively fighting against something in the machine. He powered through, feeling blasts of hot air around him as the sweat fell down his face. Blades spun within the machine, drills bore through flesh and bone, and Lucas hoped Alyssa had expired quickly, unless she felt the machine literally tear her apart. But he could not stop. He knew that no matter what, he had to finish turning the crank.

There was a ding and a whistle went. off. The crank refused to budge and Lucas released it, crumpling to the floor and clasping his head. Lucas could hear a distant cheering in the background, but focused on the pain inside his head. Despite not turning the crank anymore, the sounds of machinery remained and grew louder within his mind. He could all but feel the steam flowing through his veins, the pulleys in his arms turning as he fumbled around on the floor and the teeth of the gears pushing on the inside of his skull a fire roared in his chest as his body consumed cold and fuel he wanted it to stop oh he needed it to stop but god why wouldn't it stop he wasn't a machine he was a person a person a person a person

Stop, Lucas. Father Mason seemed to read his thoughts. He hadn't realized he'd said those things out loud. He mumbled something under his breath that sounded like a vague, yes, but wasn't sure it would be heard over the sounds of the machinery. Step into the machine, Lucas. Father Mason guided him gently. Yes, yes, that was where he needed to go, into the bigger machine.

He was a machine too, right? It made sense to give his parts to the larger machine. It needed to complete its purpose, after all. Fuel, fuel, fuel, it needed fuel. He was fuel, right? He could already feel the machine inside him. The grey spots on his arms were markings, marking him as a machine. He was defective.

He needed to upgrade. He didn't want to be obsolete. He stepped into the chute and waited. Nothing happened. He needed to turn the crank, but he couldn't. A human needed to, and he was no longer human. Easy, Lucas. You'll be with Societies soon enough.

That sounded perfect. Societies would understand him, would shelter him, would cater to his needs. after all he was a machine too and they were perfect for one another i'm impressed lucas father mason said as he took his place beside the crank most people go insane after possession but not you you're a very strong world and you have a place with societies what you don't know Lucas is that this machine isn't so saeaties this is the delivery shoot he's more glorious than you can imagine hail soceities the infernal machine his words were repeated by the other humans in the room but not lucas lucas braced for the embrace of soceities as father mason turned the crank lucas slid down beneath the machine and caught a glimpse of the true entirety of soceity the

The Society's machine stretched on for miles beneath the earth, filled to the brim with moving parts and machinery. Bits of flesh clung to it, and it almost seemed sentient. It breathed between the gears. He could see him between the gears. It talked to him between the gears. But Lucas knew better. It was nothing more than a machine. He couldn't have been alive.

Lucas knew he was important, that he would keep the machine running, ensuring that it fulfilled its purpose, whatever that may be. Before Lucas spent hours being processed through the entirety of the device, he agreed with Father Mason. It was more glorious than he could have imagined. My name is Marcus Taylor. I work, or rather I worked, as a research assistant to Dr. Elizabeth Ford. at the Colton Institute. If you're listening to this, then you either work for the hospital

as I do, or you came across this recording by some other means. Either by chance or on purpose, it doesn't really matter. At least I got it out. If you know Aaron Nelms or have heard of him, please let his family know what I am about to tell you. In fact, if you know any of the patients at the Colton Institute, please, please, get to be able to tell you. them out talk to their families if they have any they should know the danger that these people are in the danger i am in it's half-past nine and the rain outside is coming down hard tonight i wanted to have more time to explain things properly or to really make you believe what i have to say yet with things as they are these scraps of notes are all i can offer the power will be going out again soon

with the storm moving on. Once that happens, I can't really say if I'll be able to get more than this out, so this message will have to do. I've locked myself in one of the empty office rooms. I've pushed some of the furniture by the door as a makeshift barrier. If I'm wrong, then everything should be fine for me by morning. However, I can hear something down the hall that makes me think I'm far from wrong.

I don't exactly know what it is in the hall, now could be just another person yet no one else is supposed to be in this area at night it's true it could just be one of the doctors coming into the office late yet it's not likely in this weather not to mention the sound of movement is off it's like there's only one person out there but it sounds like movement from far too many sets of legs too many footfalls and much too quickly all right I think things are quiet now, for the most part. The rain's hitting pretty hard now. Some places get snow in January, but not here in Louisiana.

We get this cold torrent of rain instead. I never did get accustomed to this state's weather. I only moved here because I thought I could really make a change for the better with the work they were doing here at Colton. I thought I could change the world someday. I was wrong. I worked with a grad team on a project dealing with Alzheimer's prior to this. We thought we'd found promising results that would let us slow down the effects brought about by the disease.

Well, it wasn't a cure, but something that could buy time for someone suffering from it. Here at the Colton Institute, I always advised they were working on something even more profoundly progressive, something even better than a cure to stop the process. There was talk of a method that was able to actually reverse the effects, even in people that were on the final spirals of the illness. Well, that sounded nearly impossible to me at first, but I was definitely interested in the prospect of being involved with such possibly groundbreaking research.

Thus, I pushed and fought for the right contacts and security clearances to make myself available for a chance at the job. The Colton Institute is a privately-run medical research facility that lived off government contract money. Well, eventually I greased the right wheel. and showed enough talent to get a shot at the job which I obviously got God what a mistake that was if I'd known then what I do now I would have probably given up on life itself I've worked here for the past two years and generally enjoyed that time in strides I was able to

learn more in that time than all of my previous academic or professional pursuits It's only in the past few months, however, that I became privy to the more drastic research being conducted under the building. If you don't know anything about Louisiana, then only half of that might seem odd. You see here on the outskirts of New Orleans, where the Colton Institute is located, there are no underground facilities, or rather they are very rare. The soil's too damp and the water table too high to actually make a basement, or anything like it a feasible design.

Yet here at Colton, there's a fully operational research facility underneath the main building. It's not particularly large in reference to the main site, but it has enough to get work done away from the light of prying artists. I made a good name for myself and was also known for keeping my nose clear of problems. This bought me a golden ticket, so to say, with Dr. Ford, who ran the lower facility. I still remember being so proud of myself when she asked me to join her personal research staff. I didn't know what they were working on at the time, but the woman was a rock star in the building, a spectacularly brilliant asset to her field.

I was overjoyed of a chance to learn from her. I did find it a bit odd back then when she stated I had to come back in after hours to tour her lap. It was around seven at night when I came in. Just about everyone had gone home right at five, so it was pretty much empty. Dr. Ford let me in the main lobby and walked me to a room that seemed to be set aside for spare parts and other maintenance needs. Near the back of the room stood a large walk-in storage container that had three locks on the front, one of which was a fingerprint reader. I watched as she provided all the needed security measures asked to clear the door.

I was rather impressed by the whole thing, to be honest. I felt like it was more important simply by just being asked to walk through a door with such fancy mechanics. I was a smiling idiot. As I followed the doctor through the container door, I was at once surprised to see we were heading towards a stairwell and a deep one at last. Again, this is not a common option here in New Orleans at all, where even the dead are entombed above ground. We descended the stairs to her lab, and I was amazed by what she had down there.

On one side of the room was a set of three operating tables along with two very advanced micro-mri machines. Various assortment of surgical tools dotted the area ready to be used. There was also a set of flat-screen monitors set up as a monitoring station as well. From here Dr. Fork could see the entire above-ground facility, as well as out into the parking lot. I never asked about it at the time, but I think there were even cameras set up at some residences as well. Now I'm under the impression they were set up without the knowledge of anyone living in those homes, almost like she was checking up on release projects. Good God her projects.

I told you the Colton Institute was gearing up for advanced medical breakthroughs in Alzheimer's, but that was just the soft cover for everything else. The real work being done here is quite altogether apart from that. You see, the other side of her room downstairs held something else. There were five holding pens or cages, really. At the time there was nothing inside them. I asked right away, more with my eyes than my voice, really. Dr. Ford said they were just temporary arrangements

until other more comfortable methods could be utilised. I wanted to ask more questions about what I was seeing. I spotted something like dry blood in one of the cages. Right there, right then I could have spoken up or gone to someone, yet instead I let it fall back into the naive ideals of dreams to come. In the weeks to come I was asked to work on various aspects of her research. The other members of her staff were welcoming and kind in all regards, and yet somehow they all seemed to be keeping their collective distance from me in some way.

I couldn't pin it down at the time, but there was definitely something there under the surface of it all. Still, I kept on with my work as if nothing was wrong. Initially, I was only going over progress reports of patients that were undergoing special treatment from Dr. Ford's advanced therapy process. From what I was putting together, some of the patients were doing remarkably well. One, in particular, a woman named Kara Holmes, had even seemed to be a prominent case. for possible fall regression. I'd never seen any work being done on these patients up to that point. Then, two weeks ago, we had some sort of accident. Matthew, one of the other members of Ford staff, was badly hurt. From what I was told, he was in a car wreck on the way to work and was injured

quite badly. I'd never met him, but was advised he worked late shifts for Ford. This unexpected accident left her short-handed. As such, Dr. Ford wanted to bring me closer to direct work with the procedure she was conducting that night. She said that this was earlier than she was expecting to bring me to this stage, and I wasn't sure what to expect, but I was more than a little excited to be closer to the action, as it were. As I went down the same set of stairs again, I could feel this rush of pot-fitted air rolling over me. There was a loud set of clicking noises as they got to the bottom. When I walked into that research room, I nearly threw up right away. I was not ready for that sight on the floor. Dr. Ford yelled at me to run over and help one of the other staff

members. He was trying to get a harness of some sort clasped onto his man on the floor. The man, He was a mess. His arms and legs were bent backward into a mockery of the human form. His neck bulged at the base with the violent force, and unlike something was about to burst out of him. His face was a mass of reddish flesh with dark veins showing prominently. His open beard seemed singed and curled in some spots. And the heat, good Lord, the heat. The closer I got to the man The more I could feel the air heat up It was like every bit of the man Was emanating a deep heat from within The staff member with the restraints in hand

John looked at me to help I did what I could But damn if that whole scene didn't have me shaking Eventually you've got the heated contorted man Into one of the holding cages John went to shut the door of the holding cage As he did, one of the odd limbs of the patient shot out with terrible force and grabbed onto his arm. The patient let out a gurgled slug of spit and thick mucus all over John's uniform.

He led out a scream as the patient seemingly crushed his wrist. He pushed with all his weight and slammed the door closed on the man's arm. I was too scared to do anything but watch. John slammed the door over and over on the ugly extremity latched onto him. Finally it let go and slunk back into the confines of the cage, all the while spitting out wet, stinking clots of vile fluid onto the floor. John locked the door with multiple mechanisms to ensure the patient would not get out. Even so, he backed away quickly as to not risk another attack. After seeing this event in how mangled John's arm was, I quickly began to take it.

out the nature of the car accident I was fed earlier. Somehow it seemed much more plausible that this patient was the cause of whatever damage befell Matthew. Minutes later, Dr Ford took me into her upstairs office to talk as John went to patch himself up. She tried her best to calm me down with rational logical explanations for everything. And to her credit, it was working, but only on the surface. She explained to me that the man in confinement.

below was a special case, and they were tasked with trying to help him out of his delusions brought about by various defects in his brain. His odd appearance was due to the unfortunate side effects of previous treatments at another facility. At some level, past her calm, demeanour, and educated poise. I could feel the insulting amount of crap she was shoveling at me. Yet, again, I just sat there and smiled as I ate it up. Everything about that room downstairs, screamed at my conscience. She seemed happy with my perceived obedience and told me that we would do our best to help everyone here. All the while she was talking, all I could think about was that grotesque thing spilling onto the floor below us. I drove home at night trying to understand

what I was supposed to do. What did I actually see down there? It was just a sick old man, I told myself. I tried to keep it together in my head. I had, after all, seen deeply disturbed patients at other facilities before. Nothing like what I'd seen that night, of course. I went to bed that night, staring at the television, trying to tell myself that it was nothing. It was just a sick old man, nothing else. I tried to keep that lie strong.

It worked for a few days, but it wasn't meant to laugh. Dr. Ford had me working more and more in a lower lab after that. Every day I went down those stairs, I felt horrible, each step down closer and closer to that man in the cave. He seemed to have become more and more docile each time, yet that made him even worse somehow. The bulge in his neck had become more of a strange depression under his skin. It glows slightly with a dim yellow light. His arms and legs were still set in their ugly disjointed orientation. and it never got better to look at these faulted things i'd help john take a blood test from the man at times

and had others trying to get him to talk to us he never did say anything aside from those nasty gurgles and then one day he was just gone john told me he'd be moved to somewhere more secure i didn't question it as i was relieved to be apart from that nightmare John didn't seem to care one way or another. Oh, John, something about him didn't sit right with me either. He was a research assistant for Dr. Ford, like me, and yet he looked like he was built for war and ready for it at all times. I don't just mean he worked out a lot.

It was something in his mannerism, a look in his eyes, or the way he moved. If I didn't know better, I'd say the man was hired more for muscle than sighted. This is just speculation on my part that I'm confident that John is current or prior military of some sort. I guess speculation doesn't matter now, though. Not at this point. Two days ago I was asked to evaluate the status of a new patient who was being admitted. Dr Ford said she wanted me to observe the man to see how severe his condition was.

I'd be using a quiz to try and get analytical data to use for my research. Just a bit past noon on Tuesday this gentleman arrived into processing. He was restrained and confined to a room in the upper facility at once. I asked about the restraints and was advised he was being very cooperative, but it was a simple preventative measure. Seemingly the man in question had been experiencing hallucinations that caused him to have violent outbursts. This man's name was air and nouns.

This man is the reason I can know long. take part in the work being done here at the Colton Institute. His treatment is medicine, as the good doctor called it, is what might be moving around in the halls tonight. I went to see Aaron to interview him and gather notes for the trials to come. Dr. Ford had provided me with a set of questions she wanted me to go through with him. I was put off by the idea of talking to him on account of the possible outburst, but he was unable to move past his bed, not to mention that his arms were strapped down. I walked into the room and took a seat at a table. I was only about five feet from the gentleman. He looked at me with tired eyes

and sighed as I sat down. He knew I was there to ask him questions that he must have already answered over and over with many other professionals. Introduced myself and made it clear I wasn't there to judge, only to try and understand what he was going through. It took some time for him to start talking to me. It almost seemed like he was trying to verify if I was real before allowing himself to talk. Eventually he started to answer my questions with increasing comfort. The starting questions were all very basic. What was his name?

Who were his parents? How old was he? I then started to probe deeper into his issues to see what the extent. end of his hallucinations might be. Aaron looked at me with an almost fearful expression, like the concept of talking about them would bring them upon us. And directly asked him what he would see when they came. He looked dead into my eyes and said that they don't come anymore.

He said they'd stop leaving, that they were always here now. Well, this cryptic answer didn't tell me much. but it did piqued my interest as to what was triggering the violence noted in his fight. I wanted to go a bit off the notes and ask him more about his personal life, family, work, ambitions. I was looking for something that could tell me more as to what had caused the episodes in the first place. As I did, John came into the room. He looked a bit rile.

He asked me why I was asking so many personal questions with the subject. I spoke up saying that I was trying to get more information for the doctor, as well as advising John that the subject had a name. John's attitude was almost combative at my response. He told me that I needed to stick to the notes aloud and do as commanded. He used that term, command it. I can't lie, John scared me a bit already, but something in his movements there made me feel like I was in real. danger. I gave a sheepish apology and told him I try to keep it directly on the book from now on. He told me to take a break and head out for lunch. Well, I told him I could continue that I wasn't

even hungry. Yet, as he looked back at me, I could tell it wasn't a suggestion. Gather my things and left the room. As I did, there was a sinking feeling in my gut that something foul was happened. Walking out of the building, another thought hit me. John's arm was bare and exposed in that room. The same arm that the gnarled looking patient below had ripped at just a few nights ago. It was clean. No sign of damage at all. How was that possible, I thought. I remember the blood and rent flesh I'd seen that night. That mess was clear now. There was just no way he could have healed that fast. There'd be scars from that.

I tried to make sense of it by telling myself that he must have used some kind of makeup to cover it, but no, that just didn't seem right either. It was just another in a series of doubts and lies that I was pushing down. Later that day I went to see Dr. Ford about the matter. I spoke up about how John seemed to be rather aggressive and forceful in his approach. She told me that I shouldn't worry about it. Instead, she suggested that I'd be appreciative of his strength, as it comes in handy with some of the more unruly individuals that come here.

She quickly moved the matter to another subject. Dr. Ford advised me that Aaron was scheduled for a screening to be a new test subject for her therapy method. I was told that I needed to prep the lab below with John that night for the process. I wanted to ask more, but she'd already started to leave. She took a call and asked me to leave the office As soon as I stepped out of her office John was there waiting for me

He told me to follow him He went down to the lab Once there you had me do some menial cleaning duties I was wiping off what seemed like freshly dropped fluid spills I asked John what had happened His reply was simply a series of mutterings With that I understood that we wouldn't be talking much at all

I was a bit annoyed to be used as a janitorial service, considering my position, but considering the secrecy of the lab, I understood the why behind it. John didn't help much with the cleaning. He was working on adding a reinforced steel lining to one of the containment cells. I could see what looked like claw marks on parts that he was replacing. I shuddered to think of what else was held in these cells that I wasn't privy to. I was almost done with the final cleaning needs when I found it. I bent down to wipe out some hard-to-reach gunk from underneath the surgical table. The spot had an odd bend to it that made reaching the mess the chore.

I grabbed a screwdriver to help move a panel aside to make it easier. As I did, something fell down onto the floor. At first I thought it was just another bit of gung like the rest. Yet this was a dry, and brittle piece. Must have been there for a while. When I went to collect with my gloved hands, it broke apart. I then found that the brittle outer layer was coating something underneath.

It was a badge, an ID badge for use here at Colton. I inspected the badge and saw it belong to one Matthew L. Anderberry. The ID picture was of a young man with a gleaming smile, maybe in his late twenties. He had reddish hair and a bushy, obern beard within seconds of seeing the badge. The realisation of what I was looking at dawned on, the contorted abomination of a man that I'd seen down in the same lab before. The thing that spat up this viscous fluid. The ugly image that carried the same orban beard. That patient in the cage those few nights ago.

It was Matthew, Dr. Ford's staff member who was hurt in the car accident. I didn't even see John come up to me. He grabbed the badge out of my hand and stuffed it into his back pocket. He looked at me like he was considering if he should do something, say something. Instead, he just told me to go back upstairs and wait for him by Aaron's room. I did as he asked, and nearly as soon as I'd made it outside of the security doors, I sank against a wall and fell apart for a moment. I was nearly certain there was something wrong going on, something foul, and now I knew it.

Matthew certainly looked like he might have been in a car wreck, but was that before or after they decided he needed to be part of Dr. Ford's treatment work. I gathered my mental faculties and made my way to the second floor, where Aaron's room was located. However, before I made it there, I stopped by the bathroom and isolated myself in a store. I opened my browser and did a search for air and nouns. I don't know why I suddenly thought to do so, but something was tugging at my head for it. At first I didn't find anything useful or notable, but then I refined my search with added keywords like missing, admitted or jailed, for example. Then I found an article that opened this atrocity up for me. The article spoke about a project in Africa

where a group of research scientists have been working on a rare plant specimen. This plant seemed to contain properties that would help reverse blindness in humans, or so the local people said. I looked through the article and found one Dr. Nel was credited with establishing a working dialogue with the locals, allowing them to make headway. As I dug deeper, I finally came to a group image of the research scientist on location. It was dated over six months ago.

In that image, to the top right, wearing a casual plaid shirt and jeans, was the very same man I was to see on the second floor. No doubt about it. That was air and nouns. I dug deeper and deeper and eventually came to a missing person's notice posted on two social media sites. Both of them were seemingly posted by Aaron's wife. She stated that he'd been reported missing and that no leads were found. Posts were heartbreaking to read, and I knew I had to do something. Tell someone.

I thought, was it possible that Dr. Ford didn't know the history of this man? Maybe I could just walk up to her and we could work it all out. I was optimistic and stupid. I made my way out of the bathroom and over to Aaron's room. John wasn't there yet. I think he wanted to make me wait for him on purpose, just to assert dominance in some way. Maybe he was just being a jerk.

I could never tell with that man. I went ahead and raced a walk into the room. Aaron was sitting on the bed just as before. He was looking at the wall. with a scowl on his face he didn't even seem to register my approach I was about to say hello when he started to speak wasn't talking to me however he was speaking to the wall Aaron was telling something there that he can't help anymore he said that no matter what he can't let his family get touched by it well I assume the man was having one of

his hallucinations I interjected his conversation by asking, Who are you talking to? He turned to face me and I could see there were tears in his eyes. He said, it did not matter. It wasn't a who, but a what, and that I surely did not want to know. I was bursting inside to ask him about what I'd found

to see if he was indeed the same reacher whose wife is lovingly searching for it. Went to open my mouth, but he put a finger up to silence. It does not matter, he told me. He told me that I was there to get him ready for the poison. He told me that the thing on the walls already told him what was going to happen. I asked what the thing on the walls was.

He just shook his head saying that I wasn't there yet. I wasn't built right to see it. I then asked him about the poison. What he meant by that? He replied that the truth. treatment was more than I could see. He said that Dr. Ford was making sure it pulled all the good parts of her mind away from the bad. It was a caustic venom she was milking from the wall things. I had no idea what he was talking about, and quite honestly he was playing the part of a lunatic

quite well. Aaron looked at me and smiled. He said that the thing she calls John is coming and I should get ready. He told me that Dr. Ford hit it again. again it's in a bad mood just then John came through the door and he did have an angry look about him I pulled back to a corner of the room as he walked in John simply told Aaron to stand up even as he said it he pulled the man from the bed with one arm and man handled him he was checking for something on his back seemingly finding whatever his target was he took a syringe from his pocket and injected Aaron with it Aaron made no sign he was in pain, or that he was even totally there with us. John dropped the man and turned to leave. He threw the syringe on the ground and told me to clean it up.

He had an ugly sneer as he did. Walking out the door he told me to finish up my reports and be back by eight to start the process. I spent the rest of the day with mixed feelings of fear, anger and confusion rolling around my head. As the time came, and made my way down to the underground lab for the last time. John was waiting for me at the entrance. He unlocked the door without saying a word, and we went down together. Making our way down the stairs, I could smell a faint stink in the air, something I wasn't familiar with.

It had hints of feces or strong of bitterness to it. Whatever it was, the scent was building by the moment. Dr. Ford was by some of the same. the monitors below with her scrubs on. I was already wearing a set in preparation as well. John had a pair on too, but he seemed bulky and heavy. I was sure he was wearing something hard underneath. Finally, down there on the surgical table was Aaron himself. He was awake but seemed quite apart from the situation going on around it. He was making small movements with his lips like he was whispering something. I followed his eyes and

he was staring at a far right wall. As I did, just for the faintest of moments, I swore I could see something there. I blinked and looked again. Nothing. I let that moment fall away. It's just me being tired, seeing things in the shadows. Looking back at Aaron,

he was still looking at the wall, yet with his right eye, still in places, and left, rolled around and looked at me. I didn't know what the hell was going on. I asked Dr. Ford as to the man's ocular strangeness. She just laughed and said that I worry too much about the little things. She said that tonight I would be part of the bigger picture. I think I understand what she meant now, but I hope to God I am wrong.

I asked her just what we would be doing to, or rather for, Aaron. She told me to stop using his name as it's not allowed. down here. She said to refer to him as C-213. I was taken aback by her nonchalant tone. She told me to check the restraints and prepare to document the process. I did so and felt horrible right away. These restraints she had on him, they were biting into the flesh of the man. They felt far too tight and when I voiced as much, John told me to shut up. Moments later, the process started. Dr. Ford used no less than 11 syringes

filled with various concoctions to begin with. These were all injected into Aaron's net. He again made no motion as she did so. Dr. Ford started to speak, mostly for the record. She said the patient who suffered from multiple hallucinations and various mental issues would be receiving a level three application of the HG solution. She stated it was a modified formula that would help to further the separation of healthy brain segments from the failing ones.

She added that the growth supplement would be tested in this trial, as well as to verify if the remove sections could be repaired by the body itself. For a moment I was brought back into the young, happy researcher I wanted to be. Once again, I thought to myself about all the good that we could do if she was right about her work. Yes, for just a moment, I let the answer. ideas of everything I'd known up to this point fall aside as my reason for coming surfaced again yet that was not to last for long as I looked at Aaron on the table I remembered the ID card I'd found under the panel I removed Matthew he'd been on this table before at some point he had been given something here my mind reordered at the thought of what happened that night what details

I'd been lighter about. Dr. Ford went to apply some sort of cream to the injection site. It wasn't something I was medically familiar with. And oh Lord, did it stink. It filled the room with the same smell from that night. Almost instantly I felt the air around me rise in temperature. The air imbuckled and strained against the restraints. Even so he made no facial suggestions that he was in any form of pain. Eve, the most part, looked like he checked out mentally from the whole situation. Dr. Ford looked towards me and assured me that we were fine. This is how the solution starts.

Once the treatment begins, the subject expels a massive wave of heat. She advised that it would pass not to worry. I nodded and maintained my documentation on the process while also keeping an eye on the noted biore readings on the monitors. Aaron's heart rate was slow, not dangerously slow, but enough to make me wonder at the details going on inside his body. Dr Ford spoke again, noting that the subject had not shown any signs of discomfort. John just kept walking around the table like a coil cobra, ready to strike into action should anything go off the rails, just as well, because soon it would. Dr. Ford pulled over a set of surgeons' tools on a rolling table.

She inspected them and selected one. She bent over Aaron's left ear and was getting ready to start. She proclaimed that she would now begin the process of the first incision to determine the status of dying portions. She sliced into the heated flesh and a rupture of smells came forth. I was extremely nauseated by this point. I don't have a particularly weak stomach, but this level of intensity was just overbearing. As she continued her cuts, I could see Aaron was saying something. Whispers again at first, but then quite clearly he said,

They want you, too. Walter Ford backed away, her tool gleaming with blood under the lights. What did you say? she replied. Aaron said it again. this time with a stronger tone in his delivery. They want you, too. Dr. Ford made a motion to John to fetch another set of syringes from a nearby cabin.

As he moved away, Aaron tore his left arm free from the restraint. A shower of gore blew out from the now shredded section where his hand and wrist were connected. Still, no sign of pain came across his face. He used the mangled appendage as a tendril of sorts and latched on to the doctor's throats. And his eyes became rolling flashes of neon lights. With a sickening snap, he broke the restraint on his neck and pulled himself up, face-level with Dr. Falls. John was already dashing back to the table, but something seemed to grab hold of him and pull him toward the far-right wall.

Whatever it was seemed to have a hold of his arm. leg and was drawing him farther into the shadows of the wall. My attention came back to the table as Dr. Ford started to scream at me for help. Aaron opened his mouth, allowing thick ropes of blackened saliva to spill out. He told her that she had not delivered as they wanted, and now they wanted her. What that meant I could not even guess at, with a vile contortion of his body, air and through the doctor across the lab. She landed close to where John was struggling with

whatever had a hold on him. I was having a hard time focusing on anything as the light in the lab was dimming and becoming an almost thick layer of electric haze. I heard something akin to a plastic wrapper crinkling, but with an accompanied wetness that spoke of a scene I would rather not see. I let fear take over and dashed to the stairs.

I struggled to get up each step. At one point I think I nearly slipped down. I dared one glance back when I was near the top. I saw him. Aaron. He was sitting down calmly in one of the chairs below. Sounds of obscene violence still blowing out from near the surgery table. He looked at me with a serene smile and gave me a thumbs up.

and then he said Don't run far Even over the mess of the moment I could hear his words clearly Somehow they terrified me more than anything else I'd seen down there I made my way up and ran into the nearest office I could find that was unlocked

I barricaded the door with anything I could find And then I rested against the wall and waited for something to come I waited so long but nothing ever came, not even a noise. At some point I must have passed out. I remember waking up today. I had my clothes covered in a thick mucus. It must have been from the lab, but I didn't even notice it.

My neck had small wounds on it too, something like tiny paper cuts. I checked my pockets from my phone to call the police or anyone for help. and I must have dropped it on the run. I looked around and found a laptop in one of the desks that was in the office. By some grace, it was charged. I was able to log in and connect to the local intranet. Well, if the time's right, then, I'd slept until late the next day. Checking for active logins, no one seemed to be on but me.

The local network doesn't allow me to access outside sites or email anyone beyond the office. So, here I am. Alone in this damn nightmare place. Now, tonight I'm hearing noises out there and I'm not sure if I'll get another night. I've saved this recording to as many places inside the internal network as possible.

So please, if you get this message, do something, anything. As for Aaron Nels, if you see him, be careful. I don't think the people he talks during the walls are just in his head. Well, not anymore. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories, and to you for taking the time to listen.

Now, I'd ask one small favour of you. Wherever you get your podcast wrong, please write a few nice words and leave a fun. lifestyle review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams, and bye-bye.