Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S4 Ep148: Episode 148: Mad Scientist Horror Tales

Episode Date: December 1, 2023

We open today’s experiment horror podcast with 'The Erebus Project', a brilliant story by A. Vespertine, shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and read here with the express permission of the author: https://www.reddit.com/user/A_Vespertine/  Tonight’s next terrifying tale of the weird and macabre is 'The Lazarus Project', an original story by Richard Saxon, again shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and read here with the express permission of the author: https://www.reddit.com/user/RichardSaxon/  We round off our little excursion into the world of mad scientists with ‘Project Demigod’ by the wonderfully talented Corpse Child, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: https://www.reddit.com/u/Corpse_Child/ https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/vuqcl2/project_demigod/

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please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. To Dr. Creepin's dungeon. The mad scientists scared us because they represent a deviation from ethical boundaries and a misuse of intelligence, often driven by obsessive and unchecked ambitions. The fear arises from the unpredictable consequences of their experiments, challenging the ethical and moral principles that society holds dear. As we will see in tonight's three tales of terror.

Now, as always, before we begin, a word of caution. Light stories may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. The Airbus Project. The fact that you may have come across while browsing the internet is that blind people don't see blackness or darkness. We see nothing. If you're sighted, you don't see darkness behind you.

You just don't see anything at all. That's what it's like for me. I've been completely blind since birth and vision's always been a very foreign, abstract concept to me. I have never known light or darkness, but that changed when I volunteered to be a test subject for a project named Teribus. I received a phone call last November from someone claiming to work for a private research firm called Noir Laboratories, saying they'd gotten my information from the NHS.

They were looking for subjects with varying degrees of visual impairment to test something they called an luminiferous chamber and wanted to know if I could come in for an in-person assessment. They were willing to pay me fifty pounds just to come in, another thousand pounds for the testing if I qualified. I had my brother helped me research them to make sure it wasn't a scam. We came to the conclusion that it was a small but legitimate operation. It was a little vague exactly what they did, but their primary research projects appeared to be moonshots based on fringe science. That was, admittedly, a bit of a red flag, but it didn't make the prospect of a thousand pounds any less tempting. I figured going in for an

assessment couldn't hurt. My brother took me to the clinic, as I'd never been there before, but since I had no idea how long it would take, I didn't see any point in him hanging around. I surely might be fine on my own, and I'd call him when I was ready. In retrospect, that was a mistake. They were ready for me as soon as I got in. I consented to them viewing my medical records, orally answered a questionnaire, and then pricked my finger for a blood test of some kind, and submitted to an eye exam to confirm I was 100% blind. During the questionnaire, I did hear a very odd sort of mechanical whirring voice. When I asked what it was, they told me it was an old scanner someone was using. At the time, I assumed, well, they meant to

document scanner. After all of that, I was given a one-on-one interview with a woman who introduced herself as Ms. Noir. I stifled a chuckle at one, I assumed to be a very obvious pseudonym, given her company's name and its mysterious nature. But I suppose there are people named Noir, so maybe it was just a happy coincidence. I finished going over all your information and test results, and I think you'd make an excellent test subject for Project Airbus. She said, as I heard the creek of expensive leather upholstery from her sitting down in her office chair. I couldn't help but take note that the guest chair I was in was of much lower quality, which told me a great deal about how Muz Noir viewed her underlings and test subjects. She smelled strongly of Kashmir,

so I presume she was also well-dressed, along with smelling fastidiously and immaculately clean. Her voice was fairly young, mid-to-late-twenties. She spoke in a properly aristocratic King's English accent. I suspected she was a posh little trust fund baby who used her familial wealth to finance this particular start-up of hers. I assume you have some questions before you agree, I heard her say, and realised I'd zoned out while she was still speaking. Well, I'm not really sure what the project even is, I replied, nervously fidgeting with my folded cane. A luminiferous chamber just sounds like a fancy name for a dark room. Hmm. Hmm. Have you ever heard of anechoic chambers, Marissa?

She asked me over the sound of her fingers softly tapping on a touchscreen. They're the most soundproof space is in existence, the quietest places in the world. They're so quiet you can hear your own organs move. Most people find the experience quite unnerving, and can't stand to be in one for more than an hour. Well, electromagnetic anechoic chambers exist as well, and they don't have the same psychological impacts as the acoustic. ones do. Our illuminiferous chamber doesn't just block all light, doesn't just absorb all light,

but is literally a space where light cannot exist. Photons are still created and survive long enough to enable chemical bonds between atoms and molecules, but are obliterated so quickly that if you shone a torch right into someone's eyes, it would never even reach their retina. Abliterated? By what? I ask curiously. Have you ever heard of luminiferous, ether, she asked in reply, taking a sip of what smelled like saffron tea, and never asking me if I'd like some. Um, yeah, I think so. It's a discredited theory about light existing solely as a wave in an otherwise undetectable

medium right. I said, uncertainly. Discredited isn't the term I'd use. Scientific theories are never fully proven or disproven beyond dispute. They're merely adjusted to accommodate new evidence, she said with authoritative. her teacup clanking against the saucer as she put it down. Oh, yeah, of course. I smiled weakly wondering what kind of pseudo-scientific nutter I got myself involved with.

So, you're saying that your Illumipherous chamber works by modifying the luminiferous ether so that can't exist inside of it? That's the gist of it, yes, she answered, a chair creaking again as she leaned back in it. And as a result, it's the darkest place in the universe. Do you know that the human body is luminescent in the infrared spectrum? That means no matter where a person goes, they always have light with them, even if they can't see it.

But just as the sound of an anechoic chamber makes previously inaudible sounds quite noticeable, we found that the absence of any ambient light at all allows for the emergence of some rather novel phenomena that have hitherto gone unobserved. What kind of phenomena? I asked, suddenly concerned. For the sake of the experiment, I'm afraid I'll need you to be going in completely blind, she replied. I waited a beat for her to say, no pun intended, or no offence,

but she said nothing. Well, am I going to be in any sort of danger? I asked. Not physically, no, she assured me. Psychologically, though, it's a bit unclear. All of her other subjects, all cited, found the absolute darkness extremely disquieting and were unable to tolerate it for more than a few moments. You, though, you can't see darkness. You see nothing, and we'd like to know

what effects, if any, are, and we'd like to know what effects, if any, our chamber has on you. And I'm not going to be exposed to any kind of dangerous radiation or chemicals or anything like that. It's just aluminumiferous ether, I asked, hoping I wasn't coming across as too incredulous. Yes, and it's completely harmless, she promised. All you have to do is sit in a dark room for as long as you can, and you'll walk away one thousand pounds richer. I pondered my options for a minute.

It was obviously the quickest, easiest thousand pounds I would have ever made, but what if it was dangerous? There was no such thing as luminiferous either, so Ms. Noir clearly had one or two screws loose. whatever this luminiferous chamber actually did could very well be dangerous but then again it might not be anything at all she did say that there had been other test subjects and unless she was blatantly lying about that then surely one of them would have notified the authorities had they suffered serious harm

or the next of kin would have if they died right then so where do I sign she slid me a waiver in non-disclosure agreement in braille and non-brail version and after reading them I signed and initialed wherever she pointed my hand. I've been told I have a doctor's handwriting, but just making a mark is good enough for legal reasons. Once the legalities were out of the way, she laid me down the hall into Project Erebus' illuminiferous chamber. I was walked straight into it and told to sit down upon a chair

without being provided any description of the device itself. I can echolocate a little bit, though, and I got the impression that the chamber was round, maybe a couple of metres in diameter, with a very hard and smooth shell. Once I was in place, Muznoy slid the door shut, and it sealed with a distinct hiss. That made me a little nervous, since it led me to believe the chamber was airtight, but otherwise I didn't notice any change. I'd assume that it would be a sensory deprivation chamber of some sort,

but I could still hear muffled movement on the other side. The voices were largely indefinitely. distinct, but I did hear Muz Noir give the very clear order to turn off the lights and turn on the dark. The chamber started to hum, a very eerie, unnatural humming that wasn't quite like anything I'd ever heard before. It sent a chill down my spine. And that's when things started getting really weird. Have you ever heard white noise that you didn't notice was there until it stopped? I suddenly felt like something was gone, something that had always been. there but I'd never noticed, like a fish who never knew what water was until they were taken

from it. The perfect darkness that I felt enveloping me was creepy, but not immediately alarming. It was an alien sensation, and I didn't know what to make of it. As it grew stronger, I increasingly got the impression that it was something abominable, something Eldridge, something that wasn't supposed to exist that couldn't exist under the laws of the nature as I understood them. And then I realized why this new sensation seemed so very foreign to me. It was sight. I wasn't just feeling this otherworldly darkness. I was seeing it. I don't understand how, but the first and only thing I ever saw was the primordial darkness inside the illuminiferous chamber. I was horrified and confused, but also curious, so I didn't ask to be let out of the chamber just

yet. I stared into the impenetrable darkness as deeply as I could, and the longer I did so, the longer I got the feeling that something was looking back at me. Now that I could see this darkness, it or something in it could see me. I took a sudden, deep, reflexive gasp, loud enough for my echolocation to let me know that the chamber was no longer seemed only two metres wide anymore. I couldn't sense the walls at all. I think that was because my brain was devoting all available processing power to make sense of this vision of darkness. People like me who've been blind from birth or a young child who really do have more acute non-visual senses because our visual cortexes have rewired themselves to more thoroughly process our remaining

sensory input. Now, I was experiencing the opposite of that. All my other senses go numb as my visual cortex attempted to fulfill its intended purpose. It really was a cruel irony. I could see for the first time, and there wasn't one photon of light to see with. When I most needed my remaining senses at their keenest, they were dulled as the novel darkness demanded so much analysis from my brain. I tried to fight it, tried to listen, tried to echolocate to figure out what was in the darkness with me. Instead, I felt hot, fetid, rancid, breathing on the back of my neck. I screamed and jumped out of the chair, my only thought to bang and scream on the chamber door until they let me out, or I knocked it down myself.

But it wasn't there. It should have been just one or at most two strides in front of me, but it wasn't. The darkness I'd found myself in was somehow far larger than the chamber itself. Terrified beyond all reason, I ran as fast as I could, not knowing what lay ahead but desperate to escape from whatever was behind me.

But I couldn't escape. It wasn't chasing me, for I heard no sign of pursuit, but I couldn't gain any distance on it. No matter how fast I ran or in what direction, I could still hear its ragged breathing right behind me, still smell the odor of death and decay it carried with it. It was in the darkness, a part of the darkness, and I could not escape that darkness. It became harder and harder to breathe as a stench of the thing intensified,

and eventually I dropped to my knees, gagging and retching, at the mercy of whatever was there in the dark with me. I unfolded my cane and started swinging it around me, and at last ditching it. effort to defend myself, but it never made contact with anything solid. Who's there? I demanded, tears of desperation pouring down my cheeks. Maybe in response to me or maybe not. It came closer, close enough that my echolocation was enough to get a vague sense of its dimensions. It was an uneven, oblong shape about the size of a person, suspended vertically about a foot off the ground. It was pockmarked with various orifices that weezed out foul-smelling vapours, the entirety of its form expanding and contracting greatly with each laboured breath.

It shuddered in what seemed like pain with each exhalation, but was otherwise quite lethargic and sluggish. It was right in front of me now, mere inches from my face. I was shaking, trembling, sobbing uncontrollably. what was this thing this bizarre otherworldly alien thing and what did it want did it mean me harm or was it simply investigating an intruder into its territory i just wanted it away from me and since i couldn't flee i decided that my only option was to push it away reticently i slowly raised my hand and placed it upon the entity's body its flesh was soft and moist like kneaded dough and warm like it had been left out to rot in the hot summer sun. It didn't react to my touch, so I pushed my luck harder and gave it a subtle nudge away from me.

It didn't move one inch. Instead, I felt an eyeless human face emerge from the mass, its mouth hanging agape and a skew. I screamed and fell backwards, trying my best to scuttle away, but still unable to put any distance between myself and that thing. and then the face started singing he wasn't screaming exactly but a ghastly unnatural sounding wail that carried with it the slightest hint of harmony

to indicate that it may have been music and then another voice joined the chorus and then another and another it sounded like the creature was forming new faces all over its body every one of them singing their soul shattering him more voices came from behind me and Another one of the creatures emerging from the darkness already with a multitude of faces to join in the choir. At least three more drifted in from the sides, and I was completely surrounded now. Their voices just grew louder and louder. I clasped my hands to my head in a desperate attempt to block it out. They're going to deafen me, I thought.

Oh, please, God, no, I can't be blind and deaf, please, no. Helplessly I laid in the darkness, enduring. the acoustic assault of the strange monstrosities that it accosted me, with no means or hope of escape. Mercifully, seems that the technicians attending to the experiment were neither ignorant of nor apathetic to my plight. In an instant, the singing stopped and the darkness was replaced by the complete absence of sight that I had known all my life. My ears were still ringing from the ghoulish music, so I didn't hear the door open, and I barely heard the lab assistants as they tried to. console me and help me to my feet. What I did hear was the same mechanical whirring I'd heard earlier,

this time accompanied by a bunch of excited jargon that meant nothing to me. They were scanning me and had scanned me earlier, and were perfectly fine with doing it without asking or telling me. It made me wonder if I hadn't just escaped from one den of monsters to another. A little over half an hour, and a quick debriefing later, I was back in Muznoy's office. My hearing was back to normal, but I was badly shaken. I didn't fully understand what I just experienced, and I still don't. I heard Muz Noir walk in and smelled that she had a mug of steaming hot chocolate with her. This time, though, she put it down directly in front of me.

That's from my personal stash. You won't find out in any shop you'll ever set foot in. On the house, she said, a soft hint of sympathy in her voice as she sat in her chair. What the fuck just happened? I demanded. Marissa, I think I owe you an apology, she sighed. I thought that since you were blind, the effect of the chamber would be negligible, even non-existent. It seems it actually affected you more severely than our sighted subjects,

likely because you didn't have the luxury of confusing the darkness you were seeing with something mundane. But how could I see anything? And what the fuck was in there with me? I demanded. The darkness, the pure, true darkness created within the illuminiferous chamber is primordial, so fundamental that any conscious entity can perceive it with or without visual sensory organs. She claimed, dubiously, as for what was in there with you, that's a tad more speculative at this point.

We think that they've made some form of dark matter, a shadow ecosystem, and maybe even civilization composed of a kind of matter that doesn't interact with our own. We're completely invisible to each other, at least under normal circumstances. But when we create a space of true primordial darkness without any photons, that appears to allow for at least a degree of interaction. Our cited subjects, they experience things as well, but not like you. I think it may be because you experienced the darkness in a way that they just didn't. and maybe through some kind of observer effects,

you and those creatures became more real to each other than was ever otherwise possible. I let a word sink in for a minute. Those creatures, those monsters I'd encountered in the chamber, were everywhere. They were everywhere we just couldn't interact with them. I had experienced something that was otherwise impossible in that chamber, encountered the denizens of a shadow earth that I never should have met,

"'Blody, dark matter, aliens. "'And you didn't think that was something I needed to know "'before I agreed to this?' "'I asked bitterly. "'You said all I had to do was sit in a dark room. "'I could have lost my hearing. "'I could have been killed. "'Yes, it seems our initial risk assessment was a bit off.

"'We're willing to compensate you for that financially.' "'She told me as I heard her flip open a checkbook. "'So long as you understand that none of this invalidates your liability waiver or non-disclosure agreement? I scoffed in disgust and reached for the cocoa she'd given me. It was rich and delicious and did calm me down a little. Even if I could somehow find a lawyer who'd take on such an outlandish case or a court that would hear it, what chance would I have in a lawsuit against a firm with the resources to literally bend the laws of physics to their whim? Yep, I understand. I nodded with the dejecture.

side. Ever since then, I've been a blind woman who's afraid of the dark. I sleep with my bedroom light on now and always carry an LED light in my purse, because if I'm in the dark too long, I start to feel that same, warm, fetid breathing on the back of my neck. I think Miss Noir was right about there being some kind of observer effect involved in this. The shadow creatures and I know about each other now, and we can't unknow each other. This anchors us in each other's realities just enough that we no longer need perfect darkness to interact.

Just regular darkness is enough for us to start to faintly perceive one another. Maybe they don't actually mean me any harm. Maybe they're as afraid of me as I am of them. But I don't think so. Maybe it's just because they're so strange, but I can't think of them as anything other than monsters. I suppose that one day, when the lights finally do go out, I'll find out for sure.

The Lazarus Project. I'm an antique dealer. It's the job that pays the bills, but most of the time I come across incredibly boring and often ugly things that I can buy cheap and turn a profit on. Throughout my career I've found a few strange artefacts, and I've made some decent contacts that'll help me discover lost items

for a share of the profit, of course. Sometimes I'll even get called to different countries, which is fine because I quite like to experience new cultures and see what weird things people leave behind there. That being said, recently I've come across a pile of documents that all described something called the Lazarus experiment. While I'm still waiting to find out its authenticity,

I thought I might as well share it with you, fine people. So, below are a few entries that I picked out. I'm not exactly sure what to make of them. November 10th, day zero. I've always been a man of few words, but this past week has been so full of peculiar events, I've finally decided to keep a journal. Even if, never read by anyone, my thoughts will still exist on paper. An oddly comforting thought. Currently I'm being moved to a secret facility. They've told me it's some sort of bunker situated deep underground,

one where I can finally realize my full scientific potential. Seeing as I'm in the back of a covered truck, not being able to see outside, I can only say we've travelled for about 12 hours at this point. It all escalated so suddenly earlier today. when the state decided that I can be of some help to their cause. Unrest has been on the rise lately, all around the country, and everyone knows in their heart that war is inevitable. Honestly, I've never been into politics.

I consider myself to be apolitical, and I believe the rumours were, well, exaggerated. At least I did until last night, when Vandals broke into the university building, where they completely wreaked havoc upon my office, left obscenities on the walls, several slurs and warnings to get out of town. I cannot fathom why they hate me so much. I am a simple physicist with some, well, slightly unconventional ideas. As I entered my office this morning to clean what remained,

I was approached by two men in shiny new military uniforms. At first I was confused as to why they were with the military and not the police. I naturally assumed they were there to question me about the events that had transpired the night before, but they showed no interest in that. I have to say, they were extraordinarily polite young men. The military usually treated people like myself with much less respect. These men, however, treated me as an equal. The order of the two was a man of higher rank in the military. He told me my work was well known to them and that I had a unique opportunity to serve my country, not on the front nor on any battlefield, but in a state-of-the-art laboratory. I couldn't say no to such an offer. I've learned throughout my life that denying

the state is a bad idea. Those who do are oftentimes taken away never to be seen again. Time and discretion was of the essence, meaning I would have to leave with them immediately. I demanded to see my family, but they simply told me to write a letter, and they would ensure that my wife received it. Dearest Leah, I've been requested by the state, due to my research. I wish I could tell you this in person. However, our country is no longer safe. We all know a war is coming. Everyone has to contribute to protect. those we love, even if not on the battlefield. It's a great honour, but I leave you with a heavy heart and a longing in my soul. I will be back soon enough to see our son take his first step.

I think we should name him Adam. Maybe I'll even be there for his birth. I love you always. Yours truly, Elazar. I'll finish my first entry here. The driver says he will arrive shortly. 12, day two. I've been guided throughout the facility today. There are 12 floors all underground, but I will remain confined to the fourth ball. I've never seen such sophisticated equipment, and with it I can finally prove my theories. The director of this facility is a military man, an aged soul like myself, but still as strong as ever. He's been put in charge of monitoring the work happening here. The name will be

the Lazarus experiment. A bit grandiose for my taste, but I will happily follow orders after being given this gift. Another thing, which I found quite odd, was my new, fake name. The director said,

it was for my own safety, as this work should never be linked to any of us. So, from here on out, I will call myself Peter, as long as I remain on the premises. November 17th, day 7. For the past five days, I have attempted to explain the physics behind my project.

During the meetings, I got the feeling that none of them like me very much, well, all except for the director, who managed to convince them all to have faith in me. He said my experiments were essential to our cause. It's quite simple, actually, I told them. I do not wish to alter reality, but rather to create a rift through time itself, and bring people to our time just mere moments before their deaths. By doing this, they will live, but events from the past will not change at all, because they are taken away rather than being killed. Of course, this requires some knowledge about when and where they died, which limits the capabilities of the machine I will build, but nonetheless,

It will change the course of history. In a few days, the director will grant me full control over the fourth floor, with a crew of 17 to help me conduct my research. June 22, Day 955. It's been almost three years since I entered this wretched facility. On the way, we have faced so many setbacks. almost lost faith. The thought of being a, without my family, rendered my mind useless.

I just wanted to see them once. But my superiors refused me that privilege. By now, my son has been born. I've missed his first words and first steps. I just hope he's healthy. I've also overheard some chatter. The director has mentioned another project on, several occasions. It's just been a whisper here and there, but they call it Operation Barbarossa.

No matter. I know the war is raging and many lives have been claimed. Soon my machine prototype will be ready. Maybe then we will end the war and I can finally see my beloved family again. November 3rd, Day 1,089. It worked. It finally worked. My machine, my theories. I was right. Last evening we decided, after months of planning, to finally try out our prototype. On our first attempt, we would not bring back any more than seven subjects, all from the front lines of the battle. Our goal was to monitor their reaction from being brought back from the dead. Every superior, including the director, was present during our first and most important test.

I was honoured to flip the switch, and I smiled excitedly as I did so. A part of me worried that the machine would not be able to handle the vast force we put on it. That alone is unlike anything ever created in our world. The pylon started rotating at an accelerating rate, quickly reaching as much as ten times. thousand rotations per minute. The machine held together gracefully as a bright blue light shot out from its core, illuminating our anticipating faces. We stood in silence for ten minutes, the light increasing in intensity for each passing second. Soon it was too much to look at directly, as if staring at a brilliant blue sun. Suddenly, seven small portals appeared, scattered around

the laboratory. They were dormant for a few minutes, but then, out of nowhere, one man fell from each portal. Their bodies slumped down on the ground, where they lied silently. My crew ran over to check on their vitals. Sure enough, they were all alive, but unconscious. Upon looking at their IDs, we could confirm their identities. All had died in the same battle, although not knowing each other. Now they were by our side, unscathed from the war. It's an achievement that will be remembered for millennia to come. No longer will lives lose their husbands to battle. No longer will children have to grow up without a father. We, I have saved them all. November 10th, Day 1,096. Each man we brought back remained asleep for about a week, but this morning they all awoke almost simultaneously. At first, not a single one uttered a word to us. They remained awake, but completely unresponsive to our inquiries. We prodded them and shook them, but nothing happened until exactly three hours after their awakening. The first man we interviewed spoke,

of his death. He had been shot in the chest, which punctured a lung. Despite his injury, he couldn't bleed out. His blood had frozen on the cold battlefield, leaving him to gasp for air until he finally throws to death. He had died alone, without anyone to comfort him during his last moments on earth. It was impossible. If my machine worked correctly, he would be brought back just before that fatal gunshot, yet he remembered the events surrounding his death. The man knew he should be dead, but didn't appear shocked or at all surprised to be sitting with us without a single scratch. He was calm, but also anodonic, joyless. Tonight, I'll sleep uneasy. This experiment no longer feels like a host, a host,

hopeful attempt at saving lost souls. No, something sinister lurks in the portals of the dead. December 12th, Day 1,128. I'm finally beginning to realize the magnitude of my mistake. It has now been approximately one month since the first subjects awoke. I cannot bring myself to call them human anymore, not after what I've seen them do. They are simply no longer who they used to be

when asked whether they would continue the war efforts. They seemed unafraid and careless about any harm that might occur, even though they'd already experienced the pain of death. They have lost their most basic human instinct to stay alive. They are all done. dead now, all save for a single soldier we have isolated in a padded cell, a place where he is unable to hurt himself. It's our own fault, of course. We failed to monitor them at every hour of the day. Three of the seven subjects hung themselves in their rooms. Two others repeatedly

smashed their heads against the wall until their skulls cracked. And the final subject somehow got hold of a gun. The last one haunts me the moment. most. He had a gun, but he chose not to shoot himself in the head. Instead, he opted to shoot himself in the gut, firing all eight rounds of the pistol. It took him two hours to bleed out, and through it all, he never spoke a word. He just stared at us as we tried to help him, emptiness filling his eyes. Despite this major setmac, the director is still confident in our cause. He claims, well, with modifications, we can fix the machine and bring back healthy subjects to fight in our war.

September 8th, Day 1,763. As time goes on, I've almost forgotten the feeling of something. sunlight warming my skin, or the face of my beautiful wife. She was always too good for me. A monster like myself doesn't deserve any pity or salvation. It's been almost two years since our first batch of people were brought back from their deaths. Since then, I've modified my machine to bring back a much larger scale of soldiers. 23,154. A number I will never allow myself to forget. That is the number of soul as men I have helped bring back.

Men that were immediately sent to one of the two fronts we're currently fighting. I can't imagine the horrors of fearless soldiers fighting without a cause, not longing for love nor freedom. Even in such a large number, it's hopeless. War has no winner. I pleaded repeatedly with the director to shut the project down. I told him the Lazarus experiment was a pointless way of prolonging death, that these men were no longer human. But he was adamant till we continue. And I follow orders, in fear of what will happen to my family if I don't.

June 6th, day 2035 The war is lost Were drunken yells that echoed through the hallways of the facility The director stumbled across the concrete floor Almost shattering his bottle of wine against the wall The other superiors quickly escorted him away Me and my crew were kept in separate rooms While the superiors assessed the situation

After a few hours of waiting in anticipation, God entered my room and announced that the experiment was over. I was relieved to say the least. After more than five years, I would finally be able to go home and see my family. I asked to see the director one last time to say farewell and thank him for the opportunity. I do not look up to him as much these days, but he served his country like I did,

and for that he deserves my respect. The director was sobering up when I met him, still a bit worn out from the alcohol, but clear enough to speak his mind. He told me I was a great scientist that should have gotten much more out of life than I did. He told me he was sorry, but that he had no choice but to send me away.

He even shook my hand before I left. I wouldn't be going home. The superiors told me it was due to the war. They said I would be sent to a camp where my family was waiting for me. The only place that was still safe for people like myself, doesn't really matter where I go, as long as I can see my wife and son. I wonder if he'll even know who I am after all these years.

I wonder what my wife has told him about me. me. I've never heard of the place I'm heading. The guards call it Auschwitz. I hope it's nice. In an attempt to convince the prince to do his duty, he assumes his multi-armed form and he says, Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds. I suppose we all felt that in a way. J. Robert Oppenheimer. Project Demigod. I call it. corpse child. People always used to ask me, what makes you special? Usually it was over the fact that I was given just about anything I wanted. Life was handed to me on a silver platter, at least in the eyes of most. Yes, I came from money. Yes, I lived in a very nice house in a very nice area.

And yes, I was even enrolled in the top tier schools growing up. I even had an account to my name with over $120,000 that I would have immediate access to one night. turned 18, so yes, I guess you could say I was blessed or special. Of course, it didn't exactly feel that way. Money or no money, I wasn't without my own struggles personally. I may have always had more than enough to eat, never have to worry about where I'd lay my head at night in an alley or overpassed somewhere, sure, but, well, don't get me wrong, I never tried to really flaunt my fortune in anyone's face either. I wasn't without problems with my own. The biggest of which being my relationship with my father. Growing up, it was just me and

him. I never knew my mother, and dad never even so much as mentioned her in any sort of conversation. Well, a few I can actually remember as having. My father worked as a biological research from chemist for the government at one of their research centres. He'd be gone for most of the day back then, and sometimes wouldn't even come home until will into the next afternoon. This It didn't bother me too much, though. I'd usually pass the time either painting in the art studio my father had set up in a house in an empty room or in my own room, reading one of the innumerable novels on Celtic, Nordic, Eastern, and many other folk legends and or mythos. Well, that was, of course, my favourite of those two pastimes. I'd be lost for hours, imagining myself in those fantastical worlds, either rescuing a princess, slaying a mighty beast, or being granted some magical ability that elevated me beyond that. of other people. Oftentimes, being as quiet as it was in the house during the day, my imagination

will go so far as to cause me to conjure up some of these creatures who'd play with me. Of course, at the time, at least I knew they weren't real, but it was better to me than being alone every day. At night too, when I'd lay in my bed, I'd hear them, calling out to me, telling me that they were there, but they'd always be there. Unfortunately, this was also for reasons I'd be. I'd have to I couldn't yet understand. A big thing that my father mostly disapproved of. I found this out when, one morning when I was younger, about 14 or 15 at the time, I came into my room from school to find him there,

holding one of my paintings with the look of absolute fear chiseled into his face. What are these? He'd asked, shaking. Then my paintings, Dad, I replied, confusion and anxiety, mixing and causing my legs to quiver. His eyes further widened. I watched the olive complexion drain from his face, leaving him a ghoulish pale.

What's wrong with him? Where did you see this? What? Where did you see this? He repeated, snapping at me. They're from the books. What books? I led him to the library and showed him.

The apprehension on his face grew. when I showed him these books. Get out, he said coldly. Get out and don't ever let me find you in here again. Do you understand? I just stared blankly at him. Get out. This time he shouted it.

His voice echoed throughout the walls of the library, causing me to run out as fast as I could. I remember how rapidly my heart kept beating when I left the library and ran down the hall. My mind was racing. Why was he so worked up over me reading those books? Why was it so wrong for me to be in there? What was so wrong?

I remember contemplating this for hours that day, sitting alone on my bed. I eventually came back out when I heard his footsteps stomping down the hall with a purposeful stride. His eyes were stitched open and bloodshot, almost like those of a wild animal. In his hands were a stack of the books from the library. He went into the list.

living room and set the fireplace before haphazardly throwing them in two at a time. This caused me to run into the living room screaming, Wait, don't, what are you doing? He paid me no attention, continuing to feed the flames like his life was somehow dependent on it. I went over to try and save the rest of the books only to be met with a hard shove from my father. I was sent flat on my rear, him boring into me with a crazed look. I was so caught up in my own state of shock and fear, I couldn't really tell that he, in some fashion, had the same look on his face.

There was something that evidently frightened him about those books, or at least about me reading them. Again, though, that context was all but lost on me. I just sat there, helpless to whatever my father was going to do next. I expected him to wig out and start throwing things around the room, or even to hit me, something. Instead, he just continued staring at me in a state of fright all of his own. Eventually his face broke into tears which in turn caused me to turn on the waterworks myself. He seized me and helped me close, sobbing heavily. I was confused, but more than that, I was afraid.

My head was spinning so quickly that all I could do was hang there in his arms, crying my own eyes out. What was going on? What was Dad so afraid of? Why was he afraid of me reading those books? His head pressed down to the top of my. I could hear him mutter through sobs. Oh, this is all my fault, over and over again. What is? I whimpered, wanting much more desperately for an explanation of some kind than an apology.

He never answered, though. Instead, he pulled away from me and made his way back into the library. I remained sitting still in front of the open fireplace. In front of me was only a handful of the stack of books he brought from the library. A part of me wanted to reach out and grab them, scurrying like a mouse back to my bedroom before Dad came back to burn them too. But I didn't. No, I just sat and watched the ones that had been thrown in, slowly turned to Ash. I fell asleep there that night, and in the morning I was awakened by my father, roughly shaking me awake. I don't wake up, start pecking your things.

He said in a voice that was as hollow as the look on his face when he said it. I was confused. what's going on? I asked, stirring awake. He didn't answer at first, instead moving toward the hallway and rolling two suitcases towards me. He wouldn't look at me. Dad, what's going on? Where are we going? Pack your clothes, all of them. Pack up anything that's yours. My heart rate sped up while at the same time sinking from my chest into my stomach.

I may have been young, but I knew what I knew what. he meant. He was kicking me out. So I stood, my knee shaking. What's going on, Dad? Why do I have to now, he snapped, now making eye contact with me once more. He had that same face he did the previous night. It was empty yet somehow sympathetic at the same time. I could see that whatever the reason was, he didn't want to send me away any more than I wanted to leave. I swear I even saw a single tear streak its way down his face. Just, he shuddered, wiping his face with his hand. Just please, Joseph, do as I say, unpack your things.

Where am I going? You're going to stay with your grandma Wendy for a while. She'll be by this evening to get you. He then started back into the hallway towards the library. Wait, I cried. What about school? What about my friends? He stopped and told me, numbly, dismissively, that he'd taken care of that.

I wanted to press further to cry out and to beg him to let me stay, or at the very least tell me why I had to go, but I didn't. Before I didn't have the chance, I heard the door to the library closed, and I was alone in the living room. Everything was quiet, far too quiet, the way you'd expect from a place that was long abandoned. In a way, that's what the situation was, abandonment. No cause or reason was given as to why or how long, just doing away with life as I knew it. I can't really describe what I felt as I stood in the empty living room. I wanted to cry, sure, it was a frightening situation, but no.

It wasn't fright I felt. I wanted to scream too. I wanted to punch, kick and toss around everything around me that I could pick up and just wreck the place in a fit of confused hysteria. But I didn't do any of that either. I guess the word I'm looking for is that I was numb, so over-clock with confusion that my mind essentially had to reset like a computer, leaving me numb, hollow, just like my father was.

And this is how I'd spend the rest of that day, absent-mindedly stuffing everything of mine that I could fit into two suitcases. Around six o'clock that evening that Grandma Wendy came for me. I remember walking to the front door, taking one last look around the house. Still empty, still quiet. My father came out of the library carrying an armful of books that I knew he intended to burn when the doorbell rang. Grandma Wendy greeted us with a smile. I can only wonder what she thought when she was received with grim expressions from the both of us.

I was told to put my things in the car and wait there while they talked for a month. and by that point I was beyond trying to figure out why everybody was trying to be so vague with what was going on so I just did as I was told I do remember though taking one last look at dad silently pleading for him to change his mind he just looked back at me with a mournful stare and nodded for me to go on didn't say anything to me nor I to him I just turned around then went to the car for a while I just sat there lost afraid and just confused. No matter how hard I tried not to think about it, I just couldn't help but brood on the simple question

of what I'd done to deserve this. What did I do for my father to have to send me away? I thought briefly about the storybooks, the fairy tale collections, though, as that he was so quick to destroy. I thought too of the way he reacted when he discovered my artwork based off of him. None of it made sense. But I try as soon.

hard as I damn well could, could not come up with any logical answer as to why my father was so adamantly against me reading them, against my enjoyment of fantasy. All of this continued to lead me back to that one central question, one that only now, many years later, am I finally getting an answer for? What was I not being told? Part two. As far as it went at the time, it was about 30 minutes later that Grandma Wendy came back to the car.

Remember how she gave me a warm smile, sympathetic, silently telling me, it's going to be okay now. But at one last time at the house, my father was stood on the porch, watching as we started away from the house. A mere few seconds later, we were on the highway on the four to six-hour drive away to her house, ending the life I'd known for at least 14 years. Well, things changed drastically from me, of course.

I mean, I no longer attended the prep school that I'd done back home, instead having a tutor come to homeschool me, something that my father apparently had arranged beforehand. As well as this, given that Grandma Wendy didn't come from money like my father, I had to learn how to make income for myself like everyone else. I guess what I'm saying is I wasn't special anymore, like how I said I was early. Please understand, I'm not here to cry over that. I'm not saying that because of, that little paradigm shift that life became a waking hell or anything like that. I was still able to live happily, even if I had to adjust to a new lifestyle. I grew up just fine, graduated, top of the class even if I wasn't actually there, got a bachelor's degree in English literature, and now I live in a very nice house of my own.

Life went on, and I was still happy. One thing stayed the same, though. Even if I could no longer read those books, I could still see them. the beings the fairies the gods and goddesses from them even into adulthood i'd still hear them calling out to them they'd tell me how they wanted me to join them in their realm this among anything else proved to be my biggest predicament in life well i guess given that i'd live so long by that point away from the realm of childlike imagination having to live normally i realized that it wasn't exactly natural i guess you could say that i was hearing the voices of

fairies. I'd been seeing a therapist for it for a while and it had helped a little. For the most part, with his help, I'd managed to see and hear them less and less. Not completely gone, but not too much to be really problematic. This theory was that it was sort of my mind's way of holding on to a piece of the past. He said that our minds, usually after something shocking or traumatic like that day at the house, would grab onto something happy as a sort of defence mechanism. In short, because I'd see the fairies when I was younger and had many fond memories of them, I'd see and hear them now as a way of preserving the past.

This would ultimately become my way of accepting what I was experiencing. Not only that, but it was also how I'd make peace with what had happened at the house, with what happened between me and my father. Until now, I'd never thought anything more of it. Then, last Tuesday happened. I got the phone call. After that day I never actually saw my father again. He never called or wrote either.

The only word I'd ever received from him was a birthday card in the mail, along with a check for $300, at least until my 21st, where it was a bottle of imported red wine instead. Outside of that, the old man basically didn't exist to me anymore. Hell, I won't lie. For a while, despite looking more and more just like him whenever I'd look in the mirror, I actually started to forget what he even looked like. Well, I guess, along with my memory of him,

my anger towards him also faded into obscurity. It was early last Tuesday when I got the call that changed all of that look. It was from an old colleague of his from the laboratory he'd worked in. My father's body was found hanging from the rafters in the library. He told me he'd been absent for almost a month and a half, having put in a letter of resignation. and had gone to check in with him. When he was found, it was clear he'd been dead at least three days.

I left the next afternoon to go back to my old home, having taken off a month from the office on paid leave. I arrived that evening where I was greeted by the colleague and a few of my father's associates, as well as men in black suits, legal consultants, I figured. Each of them briefly exchanged condolences before leaving. One of them, the one I spoke, with on the phone gave me a folded piece of paper before I left telling me they found it with

the body once everyone was gone it was dead silent again just like the old times no creaking no tittering no whir of air nothing standing alone once again in the empty living room the memories came back to me all the fantastic adventures I used to have the quests I'd embark on and with this they came back as well I could hear them the soft, cruning voices of what I imagined to be a beautiful goddess. There's nothing for you here, child. Come, it's time, my child. I shoved this down, though.

Even if the voices were just a preservation of memory, they weren't welcome in that moment. No. Being there, in that living room, in that empty, silent house, only brought memories of loneliness, of abandonment. I looked over to the fireplace, a stack of books sitting in front of it. I went over and took a closer look at them. There were a mix of textbooks on biology as well as a few on quantum physics and engineering, a few on philosophy and religion, and the rest were a couple of the mythology and folklore collections I'd used to read. This prompted me to go into the library, where I then finally took out the piece of paper.

On folding it, I saw that at the top of it was a paper-class. a photo of him smiling with me cradled in his arms asleep. This actually got to me for a moment, not because it was a heartfelt moment or because it was a happy memory of me and him together, but rather because of the fact that, for most of my life, even early on, he'd never been there. I guess that was another reason why it wasn't hard for me to all but forget about him when he sent me away. Seeing that picture, though, I didn't know how to feel. below the photo was scribbled like he was in a hurry when he'd written it

what looked like to me to be some sort of serial code because of the way it was written i couldn't make all of it out what i could read was monolith d1473 project demi under this was the following message written almost just as illegibly there is a god and I only hope I can be forgiven for my sins. The file has everything.

It tells of what I and the others did. It's in the black cabinet, second shelf under D category. The time has come that I have to stop hiding and reveal the truth, to the world and to my son, Joseph. The things I did, I did for him. But now I must pay for my wrongdoings. I must have read that message almost a thousand times. Two main emotions hit me at the exact same time, confusion and anxiety.

What was this file? Hell, what was this black cabinet? In all the times past that I'd lingered in that room, even as big as it was, I'd never once seen any filing cabinets, black or otherwise. More importantly, what was it that file contained that apparently haunted my father? so much so that he eventually took his own life. What did it have to do with me? So it was with all these questions infesting my mind

that I took to scour in the room, looking for the elusive black cabinets. I tore that entire room apart, top to bottom, tossing books around, and eventually even resorting to toppling some of the shelves over to find it. It was only after, purely by accident, I had thrown aside one of the large brown encyclical, on the second to laugh bookshelf that remained standing, that I watched an area of the wall

at the far end of the room. Ironically, the space that used to be occupied with the fantasy books I used to read while away, slide to the right, revealing a doorway to another room. My eyes grew when I saw this. My heart jackhammered away at my ribcage. My knees threatened to buckle beneath me as I slowly approached the room. When I crossed the thresholds, blind knees. fluorescent lights blinked to life, revealing a small, cramped office with a large mahogany desk in the centre that had multiple stacks of manila folders, as well as a few miscellaneous documents, some of which were laying discarded on the floor around it. Curiosity was replaced with a drag of excitement as I glanced at the folders, seeing them marked with similar codes

to what I'd seen on the note. I knew then that whatever this file was and what was in it. It will be found in that office. Behind the desk were two filing cabinets, one white and the other being the black cabinet I was looking for. I rifle through the second shelf for about 20 seconds through all of the similarly labelled folders until finding the file labeled with the code written on the note. The front of it was marked with a small logo of a long structure or tower with the words Monolith Site D1473, secure a file. Project Demigard, classified Dada, stamped across the front. Immediately I closed the drawer and sat at the desk and opened the fire.

The first several documents were blueprints and diagrams for these weird contraptions that, honestly, I'd have no idea how to really describe. One notable thing about each of them, however, was that they were all labeled as being interdimensional compatible. Some of the diagrams depicted crude drawings of human light figures, looking to be primarily female in nature upon closer examination, emerging through what I inferred to be a wormhole or portal or something along those lines. A doorway, in other words, is some world so far unknown to this world, that is, except for my father and the unknown persons that apparently assisted him with this. As well as this, some depicted some sort of chamber or vessel, evidently used for containment. These were noted as being made from solid steel and titanium.

A bit more digging through the file and I was met with the first official document. It was an introductory note detailing what Project Demigard was and their hypothesis. Attached is my transcription of this and all of the report entries pertaining to the project. A quick note is that these are all undated or at least not that I could find, having been purposefully redacted, so it's unknown exactly when any of these events occurred, or the exact time span in between entries. Prophatory matters and introduction. My name is Dr. Weston Greer. Today marks the beginning of a new step in both the realms of scientific possibility and the next evolution of human understanding.

After almost nine years of research, hard work and tireless dedication, we here at Monolith Society are ready to begin our most ambitious project yet since first establishing. The first step towards a larger world. Project Demigod Hypothesis We will bring a being from another realm, an immortal being far elevated in every way from any mortal man into our plane end. Having it breed with a human

will bear a god into the world. We will give birth to a god among men. Method. Through various machinery, see attached diagrams, we will open the door between our realm and the realm we refer to simply as the veil. We're a subject, classified detail, we'll then enter and,

utilizing a harness specially designed by our technicians, bind and bring back a worthy specimen for breeding. For the breeding process, we've selected five male subjects of varying backgrounds, ethnicities, body types, and religions to see which would constitute the best result in a hybrid spawn of man and god. Subject one is a Caucasian male, 6.2, 235 pounds, former marine, unmarried Catholic. Subject two is an oriental male, 5-6, 185 pounds, farmer and fisherman wife deceased Buddhist

Subject 3 is an African American male 5.9 250 pounds. Cook in an Italian restaurant unmarried atheist. Subject 4 is a Hispanic male, 57, 230 pounds politician divorced Christian and subject 5 is a Native American male

6 feet, 215 pounds owner of a metaphysical shop. Unmarried wicken, practicing different forms of shamanism. Each subject was hand-selected by the team of Sight D and a willing participants in this experiment, having signed a legal contract and term of agreement. Each had been promised $500 in remuneration

for their participation in this project. Subjects were also noted to have no immediate families to speak of or next of kin. The process of opening the door and accessing the veil will commence at 1,200 hours sharp. Part 3. Entry 1 The first attempt of opening the veil has ended in failure.

Equipment was functional, but miscalculations were made with sending live subjects through. The first subject was unable to breach through before his flesh was inexplicably flashed seared from his bones. It's unknown at this time what it is that caused his reaction. A sociist claim it could have been something. with the supernaturally high levels of ultraviolet radiation being emitted from the portal. Adjustments are being made to account for this theory. We intend to begin another trial at this time tomorrow.

Entry two. For our next attempts of opening the veil, we took the liberty of selecting multiple subjects, whom I will henceforth be referring to as the retrievers, all individuals who have little to know money and have known ties to community or next of kin to speak on. To gauge the most effective method for being able to survive the procedure, we tried various forms of UV protection for most of them. For example, the first of our retrievers was stripped naked and covered from head to toe in multiple coatings of SPF 5000. Another was given a radiation seat, one of our strongest tailored.

The last was given nothing. The last retriever would act as another sort of control for attempting to breach through a safety. second time. Each of these resulted in failure and loss of life for all three retrievers. Both the protected and unprotected were fried immediately upon contact with the doorway. This has, naturally, led to speculation that either the UV rays are far too strong for any man-made implements to protect against, or that there is something else entirely that is causing this result. At this time, we are unsure exactly how to proceed. Funding for the project was already at risk with the expenses in gathering the necessary implements.

Because of this we must tread carefully when proceeding further and do our best to make the next attempts a success. Entry three. Another of the researchers of my team, Dr. Emil Pence, a theologist and professor of religion at the university, has given a new theory. It's his belief that because the realm in which we're attempting to access is largely similar to those spoken of in fiction, or mainly children. children's fiction, that perhaps success can be yielded by utilising a child.

The primary idea behind this belief is that, because children's minds typically hold on to the possibilities of fantasy and innocence more than the minds of adults, they may stand a better chance atwithstanding the forces being emitted from the doorway. Most others are very skeptical to this theory. I myself am not entirely quick to attempt this either, though I will admit that a part of me finds itself considering it as the more plausible solution. Of course with this comes the question of where and how to obtain child volunteers for the project. Never mind the question of ethics of that decision. There would also be major legal obstacles with it as well. As we are, yet again, at a complete loss of how to proceed, myself and the team are on a five-day

furlough, paid leave. Hopefully a short absence from the project will allow for a viable option to present itself when we return. Entry four. After almost a week's leave, we still hadn't come to any viable conclusion. It was during our last conference that the idea of using children as retrievers was brought into question once again.

Like last time, most immediately dismissed the idea, primarily due to the far-fetched logic Pence presented with it. I, on the other hand, was a little more open to discussing the idea. The dilemma presents itself once again. Where would we be able to find children who can volunteer for something as dangerous as this? I, personally, would be against it entirely.

But I know of no other solutions at this time. Time is starting to run thin as well with sponsors and with contributors to the project expecting an update in only a few weeks. They're expecting results. I, currently, however, only have failure. Entry 5 What I do next I take no pride in I will stay for the record that this decision of mine did not come easily It came only after many days and nights spent in long and drawn out contemplation

And even then it would ultimately be the looming fear of the project being discontinued That decided me What I do I will also do without the assistance of many of the others Some of whom have defected on the project because of what I plan to do My plan is to adopt a handful of the children from the local orphanage to utilize as retrievers. If Pence's theory is correct, and I can only pray with all my heart that it is, and by utilizing the children's capacity for imagination for their suspension of disbelief, they stand the best chance at being able to reach the veil without themselves being harmed.

My God, have mercy on me, and all of us for whatever may happen next. entry six a couple of weeks have now passed with no progress on the project we had to put everything on hold while attempting to ensure the department of social services would allow the children in our care it's not like they'd ever have allowed us to have them if they knew our real intention for them the children have been living in the loft offside from the facility for almost two weeks pence and one of the biologists of our team dr amelia or

have acted as the pseudo-parental figures for that time. Yesterday was the finalization of the adoption process, and with that the project may continue. The first attempt with the children will commence promptly at 2,300 hours tomorrow night. Entry 7. We've now had our first glimpse at success since the project's beginning. Pence's theory seemed to prevail, at least from an effective standpoint. still not entirely sold on the science or reasoning behind it.

Well, the result was there. Once opened, the modified retriever was able to breach the doorway without being harmed. Now, we wait. We have estimated it taking a minimum of five hours and a maximum of eight to ten for the retriever to harness the specimen and make his way back through the doorway. It is at this time that I hold my brief. breath and pray that the retriever may emerge with our specimen. Personal note. For hours have elapsed now since sending an hour retriever. During this time I can't stop myself from imagining

what that young man is seeing right now and there in the veil. I remember how afraid he was when he was met with the opening of the veil. He's still so young. I wonder if he looks at it, any of it at all, in fascination and wonder, as was characterized. by Dr. Pence, or in terror, as I'm sure I and so many others would, if faced with such as he is now. More than this, however, I can't try as I would quell the growing senses of shame for delving to such extremes as this. Such is the pursuit of knowledge, I suppose. Entry 8 Hour 12 has passed, and there's been no activity from the veil.

no sight nor sound has been reported from either the retriever or anything anyone else from the other side pence believed this is just a minor delay to use his words he estimates that this could be due to the retriever's own sense of curiosity in other words he believes he's simply exploring the veil and this of course is only speculation given that we cannot see the retriever what it does but well It's the most sound conclusion presented thus far. Dr. Pence has suggested that we wait a further three hours before attempting anything further. Personal notes. I can't help it.

I feel as though he's in grave danger. Pence has advised that I and the others attempt to get some rest, but I can't sleep. I can't even think of sleeping. Not with him still in there alone. Faced with wonders that no grown man appears to be. be able to withstand. I can't close my eyes without seeing the look of a cold unbridled fear on his innocent face. It's now the haunting query presents itself to me, the bane of all scientific ambitions. Will what we're doing be for the better of our fellow man, and if so how steep a price must be

paid to achieve it? At this time, I cannot conclusively answer this. Entry 9. The three hours have passed, along with an extra two for added measure. Still nothing from either the doorway or the retriever. This was when the retriever was officially declared dead, and this trial another failure. At this time, the team and I are discussing what our next move should be. Most collectively agree that utilising the other retriever is a risky venture, not to mention largely unethical. Dr Pence, however, disagrees, advising to utilize,

another of them immediately. But this time we are undecided, and we have so little time remaining to yield any results. Entry 10. Against the judgment of many of the others of the team, as well as my own conscience, we utilised another of our retrievers. This one was a little girl, the only one of the bunch.

This adjustment was, of course, done at Dr. Pence's recommendation. It must be mentioned that it would be, at this time, that many more from the research team stepped away from the project for moral and ethical reasons, leaving only a fraction of our original crew left to continue. At 2330 hours last night, we deployed the second retriever through the doorway. Almost a full 12 to 30 now has passed with no activity from the other side, before she too was declared a loss. Further use of the retrievers is currently being debated.

Personal note. I cannot lie my own faith in Project Demigod and its merit has waned significantly since commencement. I can't blame those that have deserted the project. In truth, I felt compelled to do the same when I realized we'd sent yet another sweet, innocent child to their death. I'm honestly not sure how much longer I'll be willing to go on with any of this myself. Dr. Pence is also starting to worry me. up to the present he's not seemed to give any second thoughts about using the children i'm sure the others feel the same they see it too the way in which he all but directly sees them not as children but simply as tools well he is a brilliant man and has built much rapport with the scientific community and with the higher ups of monolith but i'm finding myself wanting to trust him and his judgment less unless part four entry of a 11. Due to breach of conduct and ethics, Dr. Emil Pence has been withdrawn from any further

involvement with the project. On a routine check-up of the remaining retrievers in the loft, one of them notified me that he'd selected another of their number to be taken back to the site. At that time, I'd not been made aware of any decision to continue with another retriever trial. This proved to be the case indeed when asking the others why I'd not been notified, nor had any meeting being called to discuss the matter. They answered that this was because no such decision had yet been made. When I went into the testing room, I found Dr. Pence guiding the retriever into the doorway. I was too late to halt the procedure, and the third retriever trial was set in motion, unauthorized. Upon interrogation, Pence explained that he'd devised

a way to ensure the retriever's return, through virtue of a stuffed teddy bear, theorising that carrying the toy while inside would act as an anchor to our world, thus reducing the chances of getting lost inside the veil. Only five hours later, activity was reported from the other side doorway, and after about five minutes of intense energy spikes, the doorway opened, and from it emerged the unauthorized retriever, along with a live specimen. The trial was a success, all the same though I couldn't tolerate a blatant violation. such as this, was unanimously agreed that Dr. Pence cannot be allowed any further involvement with Project Demigod for the safety and well-being of ourselves and of others.

At this time, primarily for our own protection from legal prosecution over this, and for several losses of life, no criminal charges will be pursued against Dr. Pence. Personal note, ah, this situation has served to only further. to solidify my anxiety about whether or not our work here is justified by the principles of scientific discovery. On the one hand, it would be, of course, easy to say that Dr. Pence's actions were foolish and wrong, psychotic even. Yet, at the same time, I can't help but wonder if, like me, he really did only have the best intentions with the larger picture as a whole. What he did was dangerous, not to mention deceitful, but as stated in the report, it worked.

we were successfully able to send and bring back a retriever along with a live specimen. This has led me to ask one big and damning question. Would I, in only a short matter of time more, have perhaps done the same? Entry 12. With the success of the retrieval aspect of the project, we've begun the second phase, the act of mating and breeding with the specimen. resembling a female judging by the vaginal genitalia, as well as the appearance of breasts. Her body is slender, with a light yellow skin that almost appears to be glowing,

possibly emitting some sort of energy or aura from within her body. Specemen will henceforth be referred to as Hera, named after the Greek queen of the gods and the earth, and mother of the mythical demigod Hercules. Or Hera appears to be mute, being without the appearance of a mouth. It's currently unknown if and or how she's able to communicate. Also unknown at this time is what sort of adverse effects, if any,

might be inflicted upon the breeding subjects after intercourse. We're left with only speculation for now. We began with subject three. He finished in about three minutes and was escorted back to his quarters with the other four subjects. We intend to wait another month. before making another attempt at breeding. Entry 13 Subject 3 has begun complaining of experiencing

extreme migraines, nausea and frightening hallucinations. Subject appears to be suffering insomnia as well, as testified from the other subjects. Subject 3 will be given sleeping medication going forward. Herra has remained docile, almost catatonic, since her interaction with Subject 3. Any attempts at stimulating her have resulted in nothing happening. In another week, we will attempt to breed again using another subject.

Entry 14. We utilize subject one for the second breeding session. He was finished in five minutes. Hera reacted in a way, perhaps more favourably to subject one than subject three, judging from the way she appeared to submit more freely to him than the other. Of course, that's only a rough inference. Still so much is unknown about Hera. Her mannerisms, her level of perception, and just her overall sense of emotion,

made all the more impossible to figure out by her lack of communicative ability. For now we can only guess that she somehow favours subject one. Subject three, on the other hand, has been getting worse and worse. Despite routine doses of sleep medication, he's still reporting to suffer fits of insomnia and night terrans. Subject 3 has noted on multiple occasions to see a woman's face in his dreams. He describes this person as having pale, jaunt his skin, long, flowing green, leafy vines for hair and white glowing eyes. He claims it to be tormenting him, chastising him as a person. As well as this, I've personally noticed how withdrawn Subject 3 has become from the others around him,

always looking over his shoulder at every little noise and even acting aggressively when approaching. by others. Considerations now being discussed on the decision to cut Subject 3 from the project. In another month's time, the third breeding trial will commence. Entry 50. In the late hours of the night, subjects 1 and 3 engaged in a brutal physical altercation. The other subjects evidently attempted to break up the two, but were unsuccessful. In the end, Subject 3 was the only one remaining alive, having murdered the rest.

Subject 3 then attempted to make a bee-line for the breeding room to Herra. An attempt was made by one of the other researchers, being without a security team due to limited funds, to subdue him with a tranquilizer. This resulted in Subject 3, claiming another victim by snapping the man's neck. Subject 3 was finally subdued when he reached Herr once again, stopping and immediately screaming for her to forgive him and to give him peace. This distraction provided an opening for me to come up behind and subdue him with a tranquilizer of my own. Subject 3 was immediately removed from the site, and steps have been taken to ensure that nothing he is seen or done here is spoken about. At this time, with no living subjects remaining, no viable results and no more available funds for continued experimentation, steps of the discontinuation of Project Demigod are currently in motion.

Most of the already skeletal staff have taken leave already from Monolith Site D. Remaining on myself, Dr. Orne, and two of the other physicians from the project. In two days' time, monolith officials will be coming to remove the equipment and seize all data that was gathered during the duration of Project Demigod. In conclusion, Project Demigod was a failure. Entry 16. This, as well as any possible. notes or recording of these events going forward will be an unofficial record.

It was at around 0.1.30 hours this morning that I and Dr. Orne were awakened by what sounded like whales of pain coming from the breeding room. Upon investigation, we found the source of the sounds to be coming from Hera, despite having no mouth to scream from. Her stomach was extended and she was clutching it as she appeared to writhe in agony. Her wailing became deafening with each passing second, and I and Dr. Orne were unsure of what to do. We decided to open the breeding chamber she was contained in, an attempt to administer any medical aid we could in that moment. We had no surgical supplies and only a limited supply of select drugs, mainly anaesthetics and morphine. We weren't sure, given her supernatural nature,

what kind of effects the drugs might have on her. But in the end, we took action and administered a small dose of morphine to her. She jerked violently, flailing her arms around wildly, swiping and clawing at the air like she was fending off a predator before finally relaxing. A quick check of her vitals confirmed that she was still alive, merely unconscious. Dr. Orne and I are both very curious as to what caused hera so much pain like that. Unfortunately, with the equipment decommissioned and officials arriving in a day's time, were unable to pursue the matter any further.

Entry, 70. Official or otherwise, this will be my last report on Project Demagogue. It was this time two days ago now that Hera awoke, crying in pain once again. This time was far more painful, and her stomach had swelled even bigger in size from the last time. When myself and Dr. Orne attempted to investigate, we were met with a shocking discovery.

Herra had gone into labour. Immediately we fetched a pail of ice and water to keep her hydrated during the delivery process. It was here, however, when another far stranger phenomenon occurred. While we attempted to aid in the delivery process, Dr. Orne began seizing and clutching at both her stomach and her temples. She then began screaming at that she could hear a voice speaking to her, taunting her, similar to the earlier situation before with Subject three. This was then followed with Herra's body abruptly going motionless, while Dr. Orne began writhing and flailing, shrieking like Herr was. Dr. Orne underwent this hysteria for almost a full minute before her body seized up, stiffening, with her eyes rolled back into her skull.

Her jaw distended, and, in a voice I know not at all how to describe, she said to me, You, doctor, you did this. You murdered men and children are now this woman. And to what end? You wish to bear God unto the world, and you will. You will father a child born from me, the fruit of your perverted ambition, and he will serve only as a reminder of such.

You will look upon him, not with pride, but with grief at what you have done. And the day will come when his memory will be end of you, a day when this child your manufacture god will find out who he truly is. You will hear my call in his heart and will command power against you and all men like you, the likes no man before has ever fathomed, and will raise you all to ash. Upon her speech's conclusion I heard a sickening crack of bone and squelching sound, followed by something protrude, nearly breaching from Dr. Orne's stomach.

This happened again, this time succeeding in breaching her flesh. What emerged was a tiny, chubby foot belonging to a newborn infant. It waved frantically at the air. Dr. Orne's convulsing body slowly began to die down until fully relaxing in death. From her stomach the spawn's hand began trying to free itself, and the rest of it from Dr. Orne. Or for a moment I simply stared on in terror before cautiously approaching the body. Still not yet having developed any muscle strength in its arms, the newborn couldn't free itself the way it evidently wished to. Unaware of any other action to take, I took a pair of sutures and the scalpel and performed a very crude emergency C-section,

successfully birthing the child as well as sealing the deceased Dr. Orne back up with the sutures. The newborn screamed and wailed, taking in its very first breath. I looked into the infant's eyes. It had light yellow skin, just as Hera had had. It also appeared to bear other resemblances to Hera, such as the eyes and light green hair. The miracle had happened. I, Dr. Weston Greer, bore a godlike creature under the earth. But the question remains.

Just to how high a price was my success. achieved. I took the child in my arms and heard it from a moment. Suddenly it fell unconscious and I watched its skin change complexion from its original yellow to a more natural shade of olive. Its hair too changed to a darky brown. It looked peaceful resting in my arms, and yet I felt none of the warmth this feeling should bring. Instead, all I could think of as I watched it sleep were the lives that were senselessly spent simply for the pursuit of scientific expansion. It was with this in mind that I made the decision

that I would raise the child myself. Taking the child, I seized this file and ran from the facility where I've presently gone rogue. I've gone through the process of changing my name as well as finding a new home, somewhere they're likely not to think to look if and when they do come for me and or the files.

I live now under the name of Gerard Bishop and the child I named after my middle name, Joseph. Admittedly, I fear those dying words. When his memory will be the end of you, a day when this child your manufactured God will find out who he truly is. You will hear my call in his heart and will command power against you and all men like you. I worry that, despite my best efforts, to raise him with love, something will happen to turn him against me one day when he grows up.

What exactly will happen when such a time comes, I know not. Nevertheless, as long as I can help it, Joseph will live a peaceful life with me. Everything that has happened and everything I do now, going forward, is for him. My life's true work. I stared for what felt like hours at that page. Then I flipped back and read and re-read through it again. I couldn't believe what I just read. No, I wouldn't believe it.

My father, a brilliant and celebrated scientist, accomplished his greatest achievement by murdering others in the name of science, at least two of which were children. And then even more horrifically, I was that achievement, born and bred out of blood. Oh, no, I didn't want to work. admit it was true, but deep down, I knew it was. The more I thought back, the more the pieces of a long, unsolved puzzle began falling into place. I knew now why Dad was almost never around,

and I now understood why it petrified him so much when he found out that I've been reading those books. I wasn't just his son, I wasn't just his greatest achievement. I was his reminder of the price of pursuing knowledge. Moreover, I now understood myself, why I was always drawn to the books, those stories, those worlds, the characters, and I think that's what he feared most, that I would learn the truth. And that was why he sent me away all those years ago, why he never tried to see me or explain any of this to me himself, and why his life ended the way it is. He feared the truth, and even with the best of intentions, he travelled the long, dark, road to hell. I write this now because the truth needs its day.

After all, it's what I was born for. 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 favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star 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.