Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S4 Ep150: Episode 150: Pacific Island Horror

Episode Date: December 13, 2023

Today’s phenomenal tale of terror is ‘We Discovered a New Island in the Pacific Ocean: I'd Rather Die than Go Back There,’ a brilliant original story by Masaman14, shared directly with me via my sub-reddit so that I could read it here for you all: https://www.reddit.com/user/Masaman14/

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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. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Perhaps it's the feeling of isolation and unfamiliarity that makes Pacific Islands so scary. They're often remote and isolated, surrounded by vast expanses of ocean. The feeling of being far away from mainland civilization and the unknown aspects of these isolated places can evoke a sense of fear. The unfamiliar flora and fauna, unique cultures and the mystery associated with these distant lands. contribute to a perception of isolation and, for some, an eerie atmosphere, as we will see in tonight's story.

Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tale may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. We discovered a new island in the Pacific Ocean. I'd rather die than go back there. whenever we proceed from the known into the unlove we may hope to understand but we may have to learn at the same time a new meaning of the word understanding i was laying on my back in a calm and serene sea gentle waves lapped against my body and warm sunlight shone upon my face i couldn't be quite sure just how i got here but this place seemed only relaxing in a way at least for the time a distant chirping or perhaps clicking,

filled the void of sound, I let out a gasp and took in my surroundings. The white-yellow light of the sun slowly but surely faded to a muted blue tone as the rest of the sky began to darken, and the water around me started to shift from a crystal-clear aquamarine to a dark, ugly shade of maroon,

radiating out from the sides before engulfing my submerged and helpless body. Indescribable pain shot through me. I knew. I had to wake up. Wake up! My eyes snapped open and I quickly leaned over to grab the television remote to turn off the channel that had apparently been playing all night.

It was the worst nautical catastrophe to strike the Pacific, even the world, since the disaster that hit Tohoku, Japan in March of 2011. Over 13,000 civilians dead in 12 countries, with the most severely affected locations in the state of Hawaii in the insular nations of Papua New Guinea and the Marshall Islands and infrastructure damage as far away as Sydney, Australia. As the United States and several Pacific nations reeled from this inexplicable tragedy, I stretched back in my recliner and halted the daily stream of news

that had been pouring out of my television and into my ears. I had heard but not exactly listened to the variety of pundits assigning blame to various personalities and agencies. The hall tsunami, named after the hall islands where the tsunami first made landfall, had remained plastered on my TV, newspaper and internet homepages, was all anyone ever talked about in the past week, especially in my home of Auckland, New Zealand. The truth was not a single living soul could have predicted just why or how this event could have taken place,

and I was one of the few people on earth was to become privy to this knowledge. I'd always known it might take a while for my masters of science in cellar microbiology to pan out, but it had always been a stark passion of mine ever since my families move out here in the middle of the largest body of water on earth, and although my parents had long ago moved back to the United States, I had decided to stay in the islands and pursue my interest in the fascinating life forms found here, products of millions of years of isolated involution. Upon learning of the small and harmless, flightless avian speech, of the Kiwi that provides the nickname for locals around here, and comparing it to the gargantuan

moabird that towered twice as high as a man and is rumoured to even have hunted human children before his extinction. New Zealand truly had a firm grasp on my attention as a microcosm of evolution for a variety of species across the animal kingdom. Even the natives of this strange and remote island were of great interest. An entirely unique culture nearly wiped out from the history books when exposed to an invading forest. force of warfare and disease. My shoddy fifth-floor one-room apartment wasn't exactly the peak of glamour, which is why I jumped at the opportunity to make something more of my meager existence.

No wife, no kids, no family, very few local friends to speak of. So what did I have to lose when I was contacted on November 13th with the author of a very lucrative, very taciturn job regarding the whole tsunami? I was working in the biology centre at the University of the University of the University of, of Auckland when I was approached with the offer. They were Americans from what I could gather, same as me. Their presence and demeanour demanding a certain aura of respect you and just don't see outside of the military or law enforcement personnel.

I was informed that I wouldn't be fully informed of the exact extent and specifications of the mission until I'd met with them at the American Consulate General down the street and agreed to their conditions. I packed my bags out very nice. So, um, you're telling me the whole tsunami is some kind of supernatural event. I inquired a few minutes into my briefing with the same gruff-looking man who'd met me the other night at the university. Not supernatural, it just appears to be caused by forces outside of the realm of what we consider normal.

What it is exactly, we're not sure, which is part of the reason your team will be investigating the epicenter of this event. He responded in a somewhat short tone. Yes, sir, but with all due respect, and I'm not sure if they informed you of this. I'm a biologist specialised in cellular and microbial life. Marine biology is not my field of expertise. You won't be examining the sea. We already have a separate team that will be dispatched for that in the upcoming days after meeting up with you on the ground. We've discovered a small landmass that surfaced near the epicenter of the tsunami that we've designated UL 1052.

I stared at the Stoic Jarhead incredulously, contemplating whether this was some kind of hoax or not. It's not volcanic in origin, and it doesn't appear to be seismically active. It's an ovoid-shaped island, roughly 3.4 by 1.4 miles across, and around 3.74 square miles inland area, with no significant surrounding lagoon or at all. Fairly flat in shape, but estimated to have a sloping concave topography that rises in. 50, maybe a hundred feet. I attempted to swallow this bizarre information that was just foisted upon my mind.

But we have maps and satellites and GPS. Islands don't just appear on our planet out of nowhere. I was growing noticeably more nervous and sweaty by this point. Well, this one did. He responded in a seemingly collected and unfazed tone that told me he delivered this information to many. before me. You don't think it's from space like an astro-extraterrestrial? Unlily, considering we would have noticed a four-square-mile rock flying into Earth's atmosphere. An asteroid of that size

would be world-ending, to say the least. We know that it surfaced at the precise pinpoint center of the tsunami down to the decimal point. We know that weather, tidal patterns, and ocean currents all remained relatively standard for this time of year before the whole tsunami and the emergence of the island. I was at a loss for words. If what he said was true, it would completely revolutionise our understanding of geology and plate tectonics.

There can be major shifts along fort lines that cause massive changes in elevation along the seafloor, and there are even cases of volcanic islands sprouting up in extremely short time periods. But an island large enough to create such a tsunami simply appearing in the middle of the ocean, was certainly new to me, and I imagine most mainstream biologists as well. Your flight leaves this Friday at 0500 hours. You'll be on a commercial flight out of Auckland to Honolulu, or from there you'll be taking a charter flight to

Wake Island, while your rendezvous with the rest of your team. The Navy will be escorting you and 15 other members to the epicenter, 160 miles southeast of Wake Island, where you'll conduct your select research and exploration that has been assigned to you for two weeks, after which a check of $350,000 will be wired into your bank accounts. I read aloud the NDA he'd handed me at the start of the briefing. The disclosing of any details of set assignment on UL 1052 or dissemination of any classified information gathered before during or after your contract is expired will result in will result in death under the Espionage Act of 1970. and Sedition Act of 1918.

Yep, that's correct. Any rumours of said mission or landmass being circulated online or in the media will be denied by the US Navy and Air Force. No spreading that information will be treated as criminal foreign assets and dealt with accordingly. Hawaii couldn't get to me any sooner. Truth be told, my nine-hour flight seemed to drag on forever as my heart pumped and my legs thumped in unison

the entire duration of the flight. out of a mixture of excitement, fear and anxiety. Although the money was a great bonus, my main motivation was possibly being part of one of the greatest biological and geological discoveries of the 21st century. Couldn't help but stare out the window into the pitch black abyss of the ocean, that surrounded my plane and wondered just what could have emerged from its depths. I was never one to be too terribly afraid of swimming or water, but something about deep oceans, rivers and lakes,

always unnerved me ever since I'd learned about some of the more unsavory prehistoric Leviathans that dwelt where human eyes were never meant to view them. Upon arrival in Honolulu, it didn't take me long to meet with the suits, or rather, for them to meet up with me. Nevertheless, obtaining my bags after landing was still the usual pain in the earth. I guess there are some things even mass government surveillance can't fix. He only had a couple of hours to catch up with our fellow crew members. at Hickham Air Force Base before we took off, but it was honestly more than enough time since there were only four other passengers on our plane, much to my surprise.

Strangely enough, I appeared to be the only American, or at least the only American-born member there, as I learned quite quickly that the first co-workers of mine that I met, Singh and Kikana, was South African, and just so happened to be husband and why. Before you get the wrong idea, Singh began shortly after you was introduced to me, My wife was actually the first to be contracted. It's a good thing that I came highly recommended in the field, or I probably wouldn't have gotten this job. Singh began to ramble on over just how long

and why they'd been working as anthropologists in Hawaii for what seemed like ages, when I decided to introduce myself to the large, and I do mean large man, that was sitting across from us in the aircraft hangar. You must be security, I asked, making eye contact with the hunk of a man. No, he quickly interjected with a slight Eastern European accent, marine biological scientist.

I quickly apologise for my error, introduce myself, and slithered down into my chair in embarrassment at my somewhat prejudicial assumption, that Simeonov appeared to more or less laugh it off, replying, it's not just you little men with glasses that can be smart, you know. The last of my co-workers to arrive at the hangar, Sophia, a pitiful. antique Filipino geologist, was also likely the most pleasant and the only one to introduce herself to me. I found out she was one of the youngest members there, only a couple of years older than myself at 29, and maybe I would have gone for the phone number had they not confiscated our cell phones upon entering the base. It had been quite a long time since I'd had any sort of serious relationship

or interaction with the opposite sex if I was being honest with myself. "'Hey, did you take a look at that Simon guy?' Sophia Riley whispered into my ear when we boarded at the plane. "'He's got to be at least six and a half feet tall, "'and it looks just like Arnold Schwartzman, you know, the actor. "'There's no way he's our marine life expert.' "'I merely gave her a smile and a nod as I took my seat, "'glad to see at least someone had a sense of humour.

"'I was informed that the rest of the crew was already waiting for us "'at the Air Force Base on Wake Island. island, most of whom had already chartered a flight directly from the mainland United States, and hence we were to depart almost as soon as our arrival on one of the most remote islands on the planet. Our remaining crew was just about what I was expecting for an expedition such as this. Including myself, we consisted of two biologists, three anthropologists, four geologists, four military personnel and survival experts, and three miscellaneous experts focused on archaeology paleontology and whatever other fields the US government

deemed might be in any way tangentially relevant to our mission whether we'd all end up being lifelong friends after this astounding and groundbreaking opportunity I wasn't yet sure of but I knew for one I wasn't going to treat this as a vacation well they paid us they paid us handsomely for a reason

whether we were the absolute best or most professional scientists in our field wasn't important After getting to know some of the other passengers on our half-day-long naval escort, it didn't take long for me to realize that nearly all of us on this mission had one thing in common. We had no families, few friends and many more connections back home. I was just a glorified intern when I was contacted by the G-Men. Simanov was unemployed. Sophia had only just finished her master's.

Our more eccentric anthropologist, Alan, was participating, in this strange new trend where millennials live in their vans and travel across the country. Most of the other crew members didn't really seem to have stable jobs from those that I spoke to, and none had children. This would no doubt ensure our utmost concentration and devotion to this reasonably short expedition before the next team would be brought in. I knew that in the Marines this kind of mentality takes months of training to achieve, but hand-picking the loan as an outcast of society, sped that process up,

exponentially. For most other, more integrated members of society, they might hesitate before risking their life to save a member of their crew if they had kids or loved ones back home, that is, if the mission even came to that point. One of the archaeologists, Rick, wouldn't stop talking about how the money he was going to make from this mission, was going to fix his failing marriage with his wife back home. I imagine an added bonuses that very few people would come digging in the case of any disappearances on the mission considering we were forbidden under penalty

of death of informing any outside parties to our whereabouts for the next two weeks. I had no doubt that the only reason Singh had been conscripted in the first place or so that he wouldn't come looking for his wife if anything happened to her, but I certainly wasn't going to tell him that.

It was a slightly unnerving revelation to say the least, but understandable. Nearly everyone crowded around the bow of the ship when someone managed to peek just the smallest speck on the horizon. I hadn't been sure what to think when I first heard of it, but I stared slack-jawed as we grew closer and closer. Discovered the island was not made of basalt or other volcanic stone like I would have expected, but nearly enveloped in a canopy of green.

Grasses, bushes and trees covered this spectacle of nature. And had I not known better, I would have thought we were back in Hawaii. How is there? I muttered to Sophia before trailing off. I don't know, she replied without losing her gaze towards the island, clearly understanding what I was going to ask her. The ship's dinghy was dispatched when we were about 600 yards offshore in cycles of four randomly assigned groupings. I was somewhat disheartened to hear that Sophia would be among the second group of four

to be dropped off at the island, while I was a little bit of four. while I was among the last. I suppose my masculine instincts weren't entirely dead. But the security team, who were the first to be dispatched, assured us that when they established a perimeter set up base camp, it would be just as safe there as it was on the boat. They set off around 1pm that afternoon, seemed like hours before the dinghy returned,

empty of supplies, and ready to pick up the second assigned grouping. I'll see you there, Sophia assured me, that she, Simanov, Rick, and another I hadn't yet made myself acquainted with, clambered into the minuscule vessel and soon set off. It was another thirty minutes before the next set of names were called off, and naturally another thirty before the last shuttle of the day arrived. Alan, Singh, Kekana and I climbed in for what may not have been the most treacherous boat-ride of my life, but it certainly felt like it, with my heart thumping away and my stomach churning at every wave.

I was a bit hesitant to climb ashore for one reason alone. I always hated the feeling of wet sand getting into my shoes. But I sucked it up and stepped onto this virgin soil, untouched by mankind for who knows how long, maybe all of history. Out of all the sights I took in while Wagner, one of the more burly soldiers, escorted us through the jungle, was just how normal most of the flora appeared around us.

Luscious green vegetation, palm trees with ripe coconuts, ferns that were so densely placed it made it almost impossible to see more than a dozen yards in any direction Postcards didn't even look this pristine However during our short 10-minute walks through the jungle I began to notice them The spires Large red rocks jutting out from the surface every so often

From what I could tell they were maybe four feet wide at the basin Roughly 15 feet tall Gradually tapering off once they left the ground colored of rather vibrant hue of orange-red. What are the structures for? I asked while motioning to one of the spies. I don't know, Wagner replied. They were already here before we arrived.

They're spaced apart all over the surface of the island. Do you think they're natural? Man-made, perhaps. Look, kidda, I'm just here to keep you all from drowning or getting poison ivy. I don't have a damn clue what this is. I took mental note that some crew members were certainly appearing to be more reliable than others, and kept pace with my equipment in hand as all four of us that had just arrived on the island, gazed in awe at this alien-looking landscape.

As Al Haik ended, and I set my eyes upon base camp, I was pleasantly surprised with how much progress had been made in the past few hours since the first dinghy was dispatched. I mused over the bizarre situation I found myself in for only a minute or two before joining in conversation. with some of the other researchers. Sophia explained to me that although pillar or spire-like structures made out of rock do indeed exist in nature, it's almost unheard of to see them spaced out so evenly apart, leading us to the only logical conclusion that they had to have been man-made.

As we talked, I kicked round some of the barren soil around my feet, a bad habit I'd acquired while in the field, staring bewilderedly at the others. But who could have built such structures on a sunken island? They asked the rest of the crew with emphasis on the sunken bit, and this far out as well. Kekana suggested that perhaps some great seafaring people had populated the island generations ago,

only to have it sink due to shifting plate tectonics before having re-emerged after the recent whole tsunami, that she was quickly shot down by the geologists who revealed it would have been impossible for an island of this size to disappear without the whole. all plates sinking or the sea levels rising, which would have heavily affected the neighbouring islands as well. It was at this point that I noticed that I was no longer kicking up a cloud of brown dust

and debris, but rather felt my shoes scuff against something solid, perhaps only a few inches below the layer of topside. I looked down and saw Red Stone staring back at me, and reached out to touch it with my hand. It was smooth, hot and somewhat porous, and more or less matched up with the texture found on the spires that littered the island. Sophia and the other geologist looked as puzzled as I was upon

closer inspection of the stone, claiming that they couldn't quite pinpoint exactly what type of rock it was, but that it didn't appear volcanic in origin. I think this answers the question of whether they're man-made or not, Sophia chimed in much to the team's agreement.

But how did they fall? She bent down and scraped at the red rock with a knife, finding it quite easy, to grind into a fine powder. Why don't we try taking one of the pillars down with a sledgehammer? We could analyze the core and determine its properties and mineral components. Rick eagerly interjected it. Whoa, cool it, I stowed out.

For all we know, this could be one of the world's next UNESCO World Heritage Sites or one of the seven wonders of the world. We're not sledging anything. Digging wasn't necessarily out of the question yet, due to the relatively shallow layer of soil covering the bulk of the bulk of the island and the soft porous stone found beneath it but we agreed to split up and scout out first the perimeter of the island starting the next morning and then explore deeper into the heart of the island in the upcoming week we'd landed on the

northwest side of the oval-shaped island which was tilted at a 30-degree axis in respect to the equator splitting into teams of two each of us were to circumnavigate the perimeter of the island and meet back at the premarked entrance to the base camp on the other side of the island before sundown in six hours. I was assigned with that meathead Wagner, another shorter soldier named Perez, along with Simonov, who by now was actually beginning to grow on me, Sophia, much to my delight, Singh, Kekana and Alan. We were the team that was to circle around the coast counterclockwise, which at an average brisk walking speed shouldn't have taken more than a few hours. That night, as I was busy, dream, and I was busy,

dreaming and fantasizing about what kind of wondrous discoveries we would make. I couldn't help but experience a distinct feeling of dread. In my dream, dark raindrops pelted my body from the sky, which had quickly shifted to a gnarly blue color. Slimy, dark tentacles slithered across the ground in every direction, wrapping around every living thing in its path. I recognized that I was dreaming, but the fear was quite palpable as I could feel the sensation of every drop.

of dark liquid hitting my skin and rolling down my arms. Wake up! My eyes creaked open. I was thrilled to discover that I was the first that had roused in the early hours of the morning when the sun was still barely peaking over the horizon, but this excitement quickly dissipated upon the realization that I'd have to wait until the rest of my squad awoke. I could have attempted to go back to sleep,

but what would be the point, considering I'd have to wake up in a few hours anyways? and I highly doubted that I'd be able to calm my nerves enough to get some shut-eye before then anyways. With that amount of time, I could walk across the entire island by myself and be back before anyone noticed. And it was with that thought that I quickly rationalized what I'd do next. If there's anything I hate about tropical climates, it's the humidity, sweltering, boiling, stuffy humidity that makes your skin tacky and unbelievably moist. In the twilight hours when stinging sweat rolled into my eyes and made it nearly impossible to see, I looked back at the miniature flan I had back in Auckland with fondness,

as even the sand, dirt, mud, grime and insects couldn't compare to the... The insects, my thoughts interjected. It wasn't until now, 5.30 a.m., trekking down the beach that I finally noticed the raucous buzzing in the worst of locations. I wondered just why it had taken me so long to notice the little devils, considering the creeping itch and sensation I felt quickly resonating across my forearms and shins, and looked down to discover a plethora of small red bumps littering my skin. The funny thing is, out of all the mysteries I expected to encounter on this strange little aisle, the common mosquito definitely wouldn't have been high on the list,

but I suppose if other terrestrial flora had somehow appeared on the island, and it wouldn't be entirely out of the realm of possible, to assume that terrestrial fauna would as well. This realization made me seriously ponder what other animalia, or possibly extinct animalia, one could find on this long-forgotten rock. I didn't take long to imagine myself getting ripped to shreds by some giant mutated gila monster, or being constricted by a stealthy python,

before being forced down its horrible gaping gullet, before my mind snapped back to reality, and I dismissed these silly assumptions. Was my solitary daybreak hike along the beach an incredibly selfish and possibly foolish action to take? Perhaps the latter? Definitely the former. But just like a child on Christmas Eve, I couldn't help but to gorge some of my more curious instincts before the main event. I picked up a small stick and much like a small child began to swing wildly at passing branches, bushes and leaves, imagining myself as some great explorer of old, slashing through the jungle.

I was so preoccupied with this monotonous juvenile task that I almost didn't notice the discoloured patch of water that petered out from a large rocky outcrop which I was about to pass. I stopped in my path to take a better look. It appeared to be a slightly lighter patch of blue water that seemed most intense near the side of the rocks rather than the open ocean. In the dim light of the morning sun

it made it difficult to distinguish, but it didn't take me too long to realise the discoloration in the water was not caused by a reflection or something inside of it, but rather by a light, and it certainly wasn't coming from the sun, which had actually risen on the opposite side of the island from where I was. I cautiously approached this large stony hill jutting out into the water, amused over what could cause this luminous path, whose greater source still remained obscured by the edges of the rock.

I considered the possibilities of another intrepid explorer from our expedition, who might have left a little earlier than I had, bringing a flashlight with him or perhaps a small vessel that part itself beneath the shade of the rocks and still had its lights on. As soon as I ran at the corner and saw what was in the rocks, I threw down my stick and I ran.

Yes, yes, Alan, you heard what I said. You speak English, don't you? I blurted out a bit more harshly than I would have meant for it to come off. My agitation was a bit unwarranted, considering I was shaking my tent make-awake around two hours before we were scheduled to get up. But after the third time, he groggily slurred out. What? With his eyes half open and mouth hanging at gate.

I was nearly at my wits' end. Alan, I woke up a bit early to see if I could learn a bit about the trail we were scheduled to go on today when I found this huge rock on the edge of the shoreline. And in that rock facing the ocean, it was a cave. So what? He quickly responded before attempting to turn over and lazily swat at me with his hand. A cave with a goddamn blue light pouring out of it. That woke up his curiosity a bit, even if his mind was still halfway in dreamland.

He finally slumped forward and sat up in his sleeping bag before replying. Are you sure it was from the cave? Only one way to find out. By reading their faces, some of the girls are you. crew were personally suspicious of me. Some were curious, but almost all were skeptical of my claims of a glowing phantom cave. I attempted to explain my reasoning further as to why we needed to leave as soon as possible instead of at the scheduled 9am. Look, we don't know if this is some kind of natural process that occurs on this island and how long it's going to last. It could have

dissipated by the time we reached there this afternoon. I'm not skipping breakfast, Semenoff said as he unfolded his arms and picked up one of our pre-packaged MREs. Okay, I'm ready to go now. He corrected himself before, kneeling down and picking up a second package. Kid, you're not thinking straight. Let's all get our heads on, right? Before we start breaking, not only our schedule, but also our protocol. That smug and reasonably calm soldier, Wagner assured me,

as he put his hand on my shoulder a bit too tightly for my liking. You, I proclaimed an about of nerves and excitement. Why haven't you radioed this in yet? You need to inform the higher-ups now. We don't have the proper equipment for a full cave exploration, and we need to get to it sooner rather than later. I for one really want to see this cave, Sophia pitched in. Who else wants to see which ecosystems will develop in an isolated cave

that already lies on an isolated island? Lights in those caves probably means people. Singh quickly added. Are we not the only ones here on this island? "'People?' Alan inquired. "'Ebrow raised. "'My money's on aliens.' "'This guy really was a lot stranger than I previously assumed, I thought,

"'and most of the crew's facial expression mirrored my inner voice. "'Wagma, you need to tell your superiors about this right now.' "'I nearly shouted as I took his hand off my shoulder "'and jutted my scrawny finger at his crest in a burst of confidence I didn't know I had. "'Doesn't matter? If we tell them now, Wagner yelled, eyes ablaze. They've already known about the caves since before you got here. The entire camp fell silent as all eyes fixed upon the stoic, muscle-bound figure.

Look, a few days before you were recruited, we sent a purely exploratory scouting team onto UL 1052, and we encountered the caves directly before leaving. This wasn't part of your briefing because we didn't deem it necessary information. we brought the desired equipment for cave exploration. He seemingly chided, while he's moving around the crowd that had formed around us. And besides, we couldn't contact them even if we wanted to. A few of the more nervous-looking members let out short gas with shock

before Simonov spoke up. What the hell is wrong with your radios? Nothing. The radios were just fine offshore, but for whatever reason, when we're within a mile radius of this place, while our equipment goes haywire. Radios don't pick up any frequencies. Satellize can't transmit it jack, and with most electronics,

it's a complete crapshoot whether they work at all. Composies don't even point to north, for God's sake. Go ahead, try it for yourselves. So you brought us all the way out here knowing we couldn't have any contact with our family, friends or anyone. Singer exclaimed, while glancing at his wife. You knew what you were signing yourselves up for.

nothing was out of the question. That is, assuming you even read the damn paper you put your name on. Or you were just too blinded by the triple-figure payout. Wagner harshly rebuked. Technically, he said, staring around the group, we're all in quarantine right now. Nobody's leaving this island even if we wanted to,

so no need to get antsy and rush the mission. Well, as red-faced and eager as I was, a new Wagner was right. We were to eat breakfast, pack up the designated supplies and then set off for the opposite sides of the island just as we'd intended since yesterday. If Wagner was telling the truth, then the lights in those caves weren't going anywhere, and neither were we for the next 14 days, at least. So you said it's like a glowing blue light shining out of those caves?

Sophia huffed as she struggled to catch up to me and lug with a 30-pound rucksack I'd seen her packing earlier. Yeah, almost like a neon blue, but it was pretty dim. maybe due to being obfuscated from the light of the morning sun. We're like two minutes away. You'll see pretty soon. Pretty brave of you to go running off without everyone, she beamed. Oh, pretty stupid. She tacked on while we trudged through the sand. Look, there's the rock now.

I quickly pointed out as I could feel myself growing just a little bit more anxious, and it wasn't entirely due to approaching an isolated subterranean landscape with completely bizarre properties. I was remiss to see that Wagner had since taken the lead after we left base camp but he probably did know a lot more about survival and exploration than I did and I felt far safer with him and Simonov around and I'm sure Kekaner and Sophia did as well

follow me, it's quite shallow Wagner assured us as he rolled up his pan-legs and began to wade into the water closest to the rock we formed a line hugging the wall of rock as the water began to rise up past my shins knees, waist, and even began to lap up to my chest. And rather humorously, Sophia struggled to keep it beneath her chin. But after some time the seafloor began to rise again as we came up to the mouth of the cave.

Is that the rock that you saw, yeah? Simonov leaned over to ask me, I don't see any lights. They were here. Maybe the sun's just too bright at this time of day. Eventually we all managed to get out of the water. Most of us looking like we'd just taken a bite. bath with our clothes on. We crowded around the entrance to the cave. A circular moor about a dozen fee height and perhaps that same width across. However, unlike earlier, there were no spectacular

lights flashing or shining of any kind, just a dark cave with bland grey slime covering the walls, likely made up of some kind of algae or fungus. So, kid, you're done creaming your pants, Wagner snidly remarked. We'll end by the book, and after we're done with wasting that time, we'll go back the same way we came and circle back around the perimeter of the island as we plan. Well, what are we waiting for? I said as I pulled out my headlamp and strode past him. Let's go. The first thing I noticed inside the cave was the smell, an immediate acrid stench of rotten fish and a hint of something metallic, which seemed to be copper. I, not to mention the dramatic rise in humidity that made the musk of the cave so overpowering

and it felt like it was breathing in the noxious chemicals directly into my mouth with every breath, which I suppose technically was true on a microscopic level. Not the most romantic of locale's, I thought to myself, glancing back at Sophia who had a cloth wrapped over her mouth and nose with her hands. What do you think of these cave walls? I shouted back to Sophia after a good 200 yards of walking. The tunnel was sloped at such an angle that the cave entrance was already completely obscured behind us. with no an ounce with the sun's rays able to reach us in these depths.

The walls? I can't even see the walls or tell what kind of rock is underneath because of this junk coating everything, she replied, lifting the cloth only for the precise amount of time it took to say the words before covering it back out for dear life. Rock, wall, Simonov retorted from behind me. No, I'm pretty sure that this slime is the wall. Simanov stops Sophia in her tracks, asking to see her bag. She reluctantly obliged and he pulled out one of the long metal instruments that she'd managed to stuff in there, used for measuring rocks or something like that. What its real purpose was, I didn't know. Look, he announced, as he plunged the five-foot metal stick into the side of the cave.

We stared awestruck as the instrument sank six inches, then nine, then a foot, then went in all the way up to the point where Simonov's hand was gripping the thin metal rod, at least two and a half feet deep. What an earth is that? Kikana blurted out before Simonov violently ripped the rod out of the wall, releasing an unexpected, even to him, flurry of viscous blue liquid. Simonov seemed more shocked than anyone,

quickly jumping back before his legs and lower body could get plastered with this unknown slime. It seemed exceedingly hot. the steam quickly rose from the glowing puddle at his feet. Into our shock the war began to ever so subtly undulate and quiver around the point of entry. Didn't expect that to happen, did you? Sophia quipped, wrenching the rod from his hand and wiping off the blue slime with the handkerchief she'd previously been pressing against her mouth. Wagner pulled out his own machete, he kept in his sheath buckled around his belt,

and curiously scraped it along the ground before attempting a mimicry of Simonov's stun. finding that the ground appeared to be made of much more solid substance than the gunk on on either side of us hold on I murmured mostly to myself everyone turn off your headlamps what for Wagner retorted just do it I cried out as our headlamps went out one by one it was quickly apparent that this was no ordinary cave as we found ourselves not surrounded by the pitch-black darkness we would have expected First thing I noticed was the glow of the neon blue substance that had spurred it out of the wall and pooled on the floor, quickly dimming in the warm air, but still glowing nonetheless.

Then, dancing all around, it was easy to see that the slime on the walls, the weed assumed was simply some kind of mould or algae earlier, was glowing blue as well. Well, that explains that, I mumbled. Too star-struck to rub it in everyone's face. We all gazed around, but gently pulsating, dimly glowing blue walls in awe, even Wagner. The texture was difficult to describe, a somewhat uneven patchwork of, what looked like giant dark blue arteries,

carrying what I assumed to be the luminous liquid that had nearly coated Simonov earlier, along with lighter blue, fibrous wiring that brushed off in every direction, or coated in some kind of thick, translucent, gelatinous substance. That's audio as aliens, Alan said, staring at the mesmerizing, albeit somewhat unnerving pattern that surrounded us, but this time no one bothered to disagree with him. What's that? Sophia exclaimed,

sticking a finger further out into the cave at a darker spot on the ground. Without saying a word, I swiftly switched my headlamp back on and jog the twenty or so feet down the cave toward the object that appeared to be embedded halfway into the ground, with some hesitation due to the slime layer that coated not only the first, floor but the object as well. I knelt down and wiped away the dark, slimy sheen, revealing a black, round object. What is it? Simonov repeated, coming up from behind me, as I frantically thought to pull it up from its cosy abode. It didn't take long before I'd poured the object

out of the ground, with grime and sweat covered hands, and couldn't believe my eyes. It was a helmet, a rusty military helmet, and on the side was printed only one word in faded letters. Spetsnars. Part two. Spetsnotsnars. Simmnov repeated, patiently explaining to the team. They were Soviet and, later Russian special forces. Think of them like your U.S. Marines.

So what in the name of all that's unholy some calmy, a Spesnaz helmet, doing way out in the ground. glowing tunnel underneath the island that only just appeared on the face of the earth a couple weeks ago Wagner grilled him perhaps a bit too hard considering he seemed just as confused as the rest of us I don't know man who knows if it's even real normally they don't even print words on the side of the helmet like that we've been monitoring this island like a hawk ad nauseum ever since the whole tsunami and we'd know whether some deranged Russians try to sneak past us which means only one thing.

Looks like the Russians were here at some point before us. Hey, I interceded attempting to calm the situation. Let's just keep on moving. Obviously, he doesn't know any more than the rest of us. Is that really important right now? Besides, I see something else up there as well. I told him, pointing up about 20 feet ahead of us. I swept aside my pity for Simonov, who in my eyes,

was an unjust target of scrutiny because of his nationality, and carried on down the tunnel while grasping the Spetsnars helmet a good foot away from my body, not wanting to further contaminate any artefacts found here. But I quickly realised that wouldn't be much of an issue. My head turned towards a floor, as my lamp shone upon an abundance of strange items littering the floor of the cave, which at this point I was questioning whether it was even a cave at all. The helmet here, radio there, body armour, boots, gas masks and more were strewn across the ground in a haphazard fashion. Their condition was congruent with, or more deteriorated than the helmet we'd stumbled across only minutes earlier, and almost appeared to be, well, digested.

For the helmets I saw on the ground, they appeared to be irreparably rusted, while the body armour and uniforms had massive patches missing or severely. eaten away, leaving only fibrous strings gingerly holding the pieces together. Whether it was due to natural degradation or some kind of chemical process seen only in this unearthly cavern, I couldn't tell for sure, because this wasn't exactly my line of expertise. What the hell? I muttered as I sifted through the remains of some god-forsaken mission, consisting of helmets, gloves, vests, pants and jacket. As I coughed out the foul air, of after my brief jog, nearly gagging on its stench this far into the tunnel, I called out to

the rest of the crew to further investigate. Well, winter accessories, Simonov muttered, shuffling through the fatigues. Perhaps they were washed in by the time. It didn't take me long to realize he was right. All of the items of clothing we'd found here, and there were a good amount, seemed to be suited for Arctic training, combat and exploration. and whatever it was those poor Ruskies were doing on this godforsaken rock in the first place. Scanning over the clothing myself, I quickly realized that they were, in fact, of Russian origin.

Almost all of them were eroded or shredded beyond repair. Once Simonov was done rifling through the remains of our doomed predecessors, he placed what he was carrying into my arms and turned back towards the rest of the group. I think we should be leaving now, Simonov advised, wiping the grimeon. advised, wiping the grime from his hands onto his shots. I second that, agreed Perez, who was by now backing up towards the end of the pack. We practically jog back the way we came, eager to escape the lost passage from hell, while I wasn't all too thrilled with having to carry the artifacts that we discovered.

The walls of the pathway seemed to be growing brighter and brighter by the second, bathing our faces in the luminous azure hue, while simultaneously they appear to be vibrating and undulating faster and faster. Couldn't bear to look at them, get my eyes focused on my feet and the bundles of Soviet contraband. Normally I'd be fascinated by the discovery of this mould or algae-like mire that coated the walls, or would be itching to give a further inspection to this as of yet undiscovered life form, if it really was alive at all, but well, something about the coursing blue lines mimicking veins simply did not sit well with me,

and in the moment I prioritised living over curiosity. Fucking run! Wagner shouted, as we nearly broke into a full-on sprint. Sweat was now pouring off my face in buckets, absolutely coating my back, chest arms, and even crotch, mingling with the seawater that had yet to completely dry from our earliest stint through the shallots. I was never one to be a record-setter for the hundred-yard dash, especially uphill with a backpack full of supplies and arms full of garments.

But the adrenaline coursing through my body made me feel light as a feather. I was suddenly jolted to reality as I roughly slammed into something large and unwieldy. Siminoff didn't even look back at me after our collision, but I certainly looked up at him. Why do you stop? I asked, moving around him to get a bit of a bit of a bit of a bit of a bit of a bit of a bit. better look, but no one responded, well, they didn't need to. What stood in front of us was a rounded clump of bright blue goop who seamlessly mowed into the walls around us. The opening of the cave was sealed off so smoothly and so uniformly, it was almost as if it was never even there at all. It took us a few minutes of deliberation before agreeing to continue

into the cavern, hoping against hope that another exit could be discovered on another part of the island, or whatever this place was. Sophia was rather adamant about staying behind alone at the now Walled-off cave entrance, in case it opened back up again, but after some convincing, I managed to get her onto the bandwagon with the rest of us. Our retreading of the path was far more solemn and quiet than the first time around, and by this point I had already discarded what I was holding, figuring our lives for more important than some Soviet relics, and shockingly the walls had ignited to a vibrant neon blue,

rendering our headlamps completely obsolete, which most of us had turned off anyway to conserve battery. I still saw the same strange patterns pulsating across the cavern's interior, and it still gave me the same unnerving feeling when I first saw them. As we trotted along, noticeably more jittery than at any point since we'd landed here, I began to spot them. deep inside the glowing translucent walls of the cavern there were what looked like small black patches strewn haphazardly here and there I pointed them out first to Simonov

and then the rest of the crew not even bothering to speculate as to what they might be as we furthered our descent both deeper into the island and deeper beneath the surface I found out that they were not patches nor were they small as I first ascertained upon my initial glance but rather globules of free floating reddish black objects.

They seemed to be getting closer and closer to the surface the longer we walked. And after walking for what I estimated to be about 500 yards, they were practically bulging out of the walls, creating a strange and unsettling contrast with the rest of the tunnel. Wagner was about to poke at one of the strange dark objects embedded on the right side of the wall with his machete when Sivanov grabbed his arm. Don't even Sivinov.

warned, and Wagner looked at him with a look of understanding on his face, appearing thankful that someone had stopped him from such a reckless act. Whatever it was, messing with the ecosystem in this alien environment was not a very splendid idea, considering that the contraction of our previous entrance may or may not have been related to the acupuncture Siminoff performed on the side of the tunnel. After another 15 minutes of walking or so, the dark pockets began to peter out. But we made what was possibly the most shocking discovery of the day. As the walls of the tunnel began to widen out, and the ceiling started to slope upwards,

we came upon the mouth of what seemed to be an even bigger cavern than the one we were in now. The glowing blue jelly was relegated to the roof, hundreds of feet above us in this massive cabin, raining down light almost like an artificial sky, which stretched as far as we could see. The reason our vision was impeded was due to a plethora of large rocks and stone structures that expanded nearly to the edge of our eyesight, perhaps further.

The ground also seemingly morphed from the smooth, faux-organic material from earlier in the tunnel to dirt and red rock, not unlike that found on the surface. But by far the main star of the show was the number of large stone pillars that lay across this place, some standing upright, others leaning on each other, but most completely flat along the ground or crumbled in, into dust and mixing with the ash and earth at their bases. And I wondered if they could quite possibly be related to the red stone spires we'd discovered on the surface. Without saying a word, I ran to the lip of this new cavern's entrance, I started to half

sprint, half slide down the hill that remained our only obstacle between this new mystery to be unraveled. And as I grew closer, it became very clear that these structures were not at all similar to those found on the surface, as rather than tapering off into points near the top, they appeared more as rounded columns of stone, although I was still too far away to make out for sure. Sophia was quick behind me, and by this point had completely ditched the heavy rucksack at the top of the hill,

although in a cloth she still carried the heavy metal instrument that Simonov had used to function of the cave wall earlier, clearly not feeling entirely comfortable with putting it back in the bag with the rest of her belongings. These pillars, I inquired while gesturing to the abundant stones, what do you think they're made of? Hard to say, dolomite, limestone maybe, she responded, engrossed in the rocks and sediment deposited at the base of one particular column,

which was around four feet wide, and as for how tall it was, I couldn't begin to guess, but it didn't quite reach the ceiling of the cabin. The rest of the team had followed us down the embankment, but their attention was set elsewhere, as I could see Alan picking up some stone fragments from the ground. Hey, Singh, Alan shouted to where he and his wife were inspecting a rough patch of earth. What do you figure of this stone here? You're South African, right? Patten on it looks to be of some kind of African origin to me. I mean, my first guess was alien,

but I guess anything's possible. Well, hold on now. Just because I'm from Africa doesn't mean that I know about all of African anthropology. Singh started while Alan grew closer with his friend. He handed it over, and the three of them began to study what looked to me to simply be a small, concave stone fragment. Actually, began Kekana, grasping in the stone in our hands. It is African. Egyptian is a matter of fact. Or at least it's based on the style of pottery found during the late period of ancient Egyptian history, or perhaps the Ptolemaic dynasty. Egyptian? I suddenly interjected in a voice a bit too high-pitched and squeaky,

than I would have liked. How could ancient Egyptians have made it way out here to the Pacific when, for all we know, this island could have been underwater? What's up with the columns? Are they Egyptian, too? Not Egyptian, Singh Trowloff, sliding his bare hand across the subtly ribbed surface of a nearby pillar. They look to be Greek, actually. Well, at this point, my head was spinning.

How in the world could ancient Egyptian... or Greeks have made it to the bioluminescent cavern of the lost island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, I thought to myself. Alan spoke up and gathered us around for what he proclaimed was an important revelation that he guaranteed would completely blow our minds. Look, he began with more confidence than I'd ever seen him wield. I have a theory, and I want you to take it seriously. He continued with the most stern of expressions, eyebrows furrowed and,

He squinted. It's going to sound a bit outlandish, but is it any more outlandish than the things we've seen since we arrived on this island? Just get it out there, barked Wagner. You see, thousands and thousands of years ago, the Greeks wrote about a place like this. He began. Plato chronicled an entire city on an island that vanished overnight. I believe that this is that island, and we're in that city. So, you're saying we're in?

I started before being interrupted. Atlantis, precisely. I think that if we continue snooping around here, we'll find more and more evidence to support my theory. Everything lines up so far, only I don't believe that the city sunk into the ocean. I think the city sunk into the ground, and then the island went into the ocean.

Really? then how do you explain the Soviet fatigues? Winter fatigues nonetheless. What the hell is Atlantis doing way out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean? Shouldn't it be in the Atlantic Ocean, considering its name? Well, here's what I think. You can take it or leave it. Alan continued while beginning to pace back and forth around the pillars. We all stared at him dutifully. This place, this landmass, clearly didn't just pop into existence the other week.

during our nation's worst tsunami in history. How do you figure it got here? And in pristine condition, too. He looked around the group and locked eyes with me in particular. That's right. He was moved here from somewhere else. I don't think this is a natural island at all. Just look at that tunnel we came out of,

the glowing ceiling above our heads. I think this place is a vessel, a vessel that came from out of this world. Alan concluded, looking somewhat satisfied with his brusque dissertation. The group fell silent before immediately erupting in a squabble of accusations of absurdity on the part of Alan, who stood unfazed by our mockery, completely content with his proud logic. Singh and Kekana hypothesized that perhaps the island was settled by ancient Greek or Roman sailors who got lost on the way to India or elsewhere in Asia.

Sophia was still occupied with studying the structures and rubble that towered over us and said that she couldn't tell how old they were due to unnatural erosion patterns but it could have been anywhere from hundreds to thousands of years old and she assured us it certainly didn't look like a hoax to her start wasting your time with your Discovery Channel bullshit theories Wagner cut us off this place wasn't created by aliens but it does however have rusky fingerprints all of

Wagner ended his sentence abruptly as most of us took sight of something slithering around the pillars around 40 feet away from our circle something that could only be described as alien Wagner and Perez immediately stepped forward guns raised as out from between two faded tan pillars

the thing stepped or more aptly splashed out from the shadows between the duller bright blue light shining from the ceiling and the light from our headbeams we were able to make out the same British black blob we'd encountered cocooned in the gelatinous walls of the tunnel it had a somewhat smooth and rough surface but the best way to describe it would be if ferrofluid was being stretched in all directions simultaneously while attempting to locomote in any given direction as this curious horrid creature began to slink from between the pillars we noticed it left behind a thin, inky black trail in its wake,

and it lets out the most horrid combination of clicking, chirping and scuttling noises, something I found akin to nails and a chalkboard, in which I found quite odd since I couldn't spot a single orifice or organ on the creature, with the exception of slimy black tendrils which shot out and attached to any and all neighbouring objects within a foot radius around it, including the neighbouring pillars and the ground. As it grew nearer and nearer, the creature seemed to change from an amorphous, ever-shifting blob into a more humanoid shape, albeit extremely unshapely and crude, to say the least. It almost looked like what a three-year-old would draw when attempting to portray their family members in the preschool art class,

and it would appear that the subterfuge was failing as parts of its gooey, black outstretched arms began to drip down and plop onto the ground before being reabsorbed by its wobbly. stumbling legs. Unlike in most horror movies, the soldiers that were with us weren't stupid enough to attempt to contact with this dripping, maroon madness, or do something asinine like order it to halt. We all had a common understanding

that this thing was not human and likely did not have the best intentions for us. Wagner took the lead, turning off the safety for his rifle and opening fire on the monstrosity at around ten yards with quite stellar accuracy, before Perez joined in. Their shots were definitely hitting their mark, as black gunk exploded out from behind the creature,

peppering the wall and pillars in its wake. Just at that very moment it lurched forward, moving quickly almost as if it was leaping across the ground in an extremely fluid motion. Surprisingly, it went for Perez first, completely vaulting into the poor man's chest and knocking him and his rifle to the ground as the rest of us scattered, shrieking in terror. The creature stood over the downed man, almost as if it were inspecting him,

before one of the dripping fluid tendrils of God knows what snaked down from its arm and directly interpurs his chest, clearly knocking the wind out of him and rendering him unable to even scream. But something certainly did escape from his mouth just then, a combination of bright crimson blood mixed in with the creature's own disgusting dark fluid with the two mingled before it became clear that

the fluid was the dominant substance being released from Perez's outstretched mouth all the while Wagner released the rest of his clip into its sign I only managed to get a brief look at this while fleeing to the right at the tail end of the remaining crew but Wagner continued to shoot with his AR quickly running out of ammunition and switching to a barretta, putting round after round into where he assumed the creature's head would be.

At this point the creature's head lifted up from its latest victim and pointed its faux arm in Wagner's direction, shooting in a spray of dark tendrils directly into the top right quadrant of the soldier's face, completely flooring him within seconds and sending his barretta flying out of his hand and into our general direction. Well, against my better judgment, I halted why the crew continued on running. As fast as I could, and while the creature was distracted with hovering over its prey, I sprinted towards the carnage, and without skipping a beat, leaned down, picked up the pistol,

and started once more in the opposite direction, unfortunately gaining the creature's attention as I did so. Although I had a lead of a good thirty feet, I knew it could cover ground fast, and in a fit of testosterone-fewy I pumped my legs like an Olympic sprinter but this time it really was a matter of life and death if I wasn't quick enough shockingly at this pace it didn't actually take me too long

to nearly catch up to the rest of the group although still at the back and I turned around and saw to my horror that the creature was now joined by two others all of them moving in that mesmerizing yet horrific manner of sliding and splashing along the ground. As I witnessed the creatures swim through the air towards us in all their twisted glory between the clicks and hisses and wet slaps

of their fluid tendrils along the ground, I heard one speaking what I could only describe at the time as nothing other than an alien language. Pomu, I amoeia, augured out one in a horrific display. Pazas! said another, the ending of what I assumed to be its word morphing into a distorted, ungodly clicking pattern. Although horribly obscured, I could still tell that the sounds of the creatures

were emitting were, without doubt, some kind of language, a fascinating, albeit relevant discovery considering the more pressing matters at hand. This distraction almost cost me my life, as I'd failed to notice the rest of the group splitting off. It was only after a few more seconds of me blindly running forward with my eyes dead set on the abominations that I heard Simeonov cry out. Over here, my friend. I turned and saw that the entirety of the group had diverted and entered a small hole that appeared up in the wall on the right side of this gargantuan cavern.

I started making a beeline up the steep hill that led up to this newly discovered tunnel. I spat and whined and gibbed and cursed the entire time during my ascent up the treacherous terrain, littered with gravel and stones of varying size, knowing that one trip would spell out certain depth. But if I could just regroup with the rest of the crew in the newfound tunnel, perhaps it could lead to some kind of safety. However, I peered up and saw that the entrance to this new tunnel was very quickly beginning to contract from the outside inn, closing in with the material not unlike that we'd stumbled upon at the entrance of the very cave that trapped us in this hell, and hence my brain furiously sent signals down to my legs to drastically pick up the

pace, even if I already felt like they were about to snap at any second. I propelled myself headfirst up and into the contracting opening, that by now was only a few feet in diameter. I almost felt like I'd looked back to see oozing dark maroon tendrils grabbing my leg and dragging me back into the fray, but thankfully I landed on the other side. Frantically scrambling, deeper on my hands and knees, hacking up the stench that was coating my lungs. I looked back and saw that one of the creatures had shoved its head into the opening, which by this time was the size of a basketball. Obaimita!

The creature croaked out in the most horrific of displays. I saw Kekana Singh and Sophia clutching their faces in terror, right before Simanov, wielding the metal rod from earlier, smashed it directly into the head of this abominational. sending a spray of inky gunk flying out of the hole, leaving nothing but black and red residue to slide down the now solid wall of flesh that had closed us in yet another catacomb. I know I shouldn't have signed up for this, man. Alan repeated to himself, pacing back and fall. Why on earth did I ever trust the government in the first place? They probably weren't even playing

on giving me a payout. Now I'm a fucking dead man. Alan, stop panicking and get a hold of yourself. Simanov shouted, grabbing his shoulders and vigorously shaking him back to the moment. Let him stay here and rot with the aliens, Singh stated, strapping up his boots and standing up. We're getting the hell out of here. Mankind was never meant for a place like this. We could still hear the things, the aliens, wildly screeching, hissing and clicking from the other side of our only line of defense.

Hey guys, I stammered out between bouts of wheezing and coffee. I don't know if I'm going completely screwy, but it almost sounded like those creatures were speaking to each other, like they were intelligent. I stammered out. I heard it too. Simanov assured me, you are not crazy. Yeah, Alan chipped in.

Those aliens were probably giddly chatting with each other about and which one of us looked the most tasty. Those were not. Billions, Simonov insisted with a scowl across his face. Simulov leaned against the wall for support, but immediately grimaced in disgust as I could tell that the slimy exterior of the wall was quickly oozing through his shirt and lightly coating his back. Man, I've seen this enough times to know where this is going, Alan whimpered, clearly letting fear

completely take control of his mind at this point. This isn't a movie, I assured him, more to comfort myself than anyone else. We're not going to die, and we will find a way out of him. Those aliens just killed our only protection, but we're fucked, Alan shouted. For Christ's sake, they are not aliens, you buffoon. Simanov blurted out with a raised voice, now noticeably aggravated. Oh yeah, and how can you be so sure? Because that wasn't an alien language they were speaking.

Semenov began as his eyes drifted to the ground. It was Russian. Help me. Please, help me. Simanov translated solemnly, taking in a deep breath and pausing for a second before finishing. Kill me. The dread was now palpable on the face of every surviving crew member,

especially Alan, although Singh and Kakara expressed more of what seemed to be worried. My Russian is not as good as my Ukrainian ever since I left my home country, 20 years ago, but the languages are very similar. I could clearly make out the words after the fourth or fifth time they were spoken, or however it was that those things were able to make those sounds. Well, however incredulous it sounded that those unholy freaks of nature could make a cheap mimicry of a language, an actual human language, I had to believe it since I'd heard it for myself. But those things, I began. not human, there's no way they could be.

Maybe not anymore, but I think this answers our question of what happened to the missing crew, the Soviets, Semenov replied. I nearly hesitated back there when it almost came through the hole after us once I heard it speak. We had begun walking down the tunnel by this point, by looking at Simonov's face, even in the thick, humid air and radiant blue lights that surrounded us,

I could tell that he was completely drained of any color. I'd take a guess. that if I had a mirror that I'd see the same in my own face. Sophia was practically clinging on to us, more so Simanov than myself, but careful not to stray more than a couple of feet away after that horrific display that we'd witnessed. You really think it's them? I inquired. What could possibly turn a man into an animated massive petroleum? Plus we saw them in the walls earlier. I'm sure you noticed that.

they still could be aliens Alan shouted from ahead of us but both of us ignored him seeing the serious psychological toll this experience was having on it I'd noticed a distinct bend in the trail we'd been walking on for the past couple of hours and it almost seemed to circle back around

I'd seriously hope that we weren't just being led in circles or going further into this nightmarish realm Siminoff was still grasping the large metal instrument he'd used to secure our first act of retaliation on the creatures, while I had tucked Wagner's barretta into the front of my waistband, which I have to admit was remarkably uncomfortable, despite what television shows would have you believe. After rounding a particularly sharp bend in the path,

an opening to another cavern was quickly becoming clear. Only this one was definitely not the same one we'd just left, since I'd estimate they were a good 20 or 30 yards deeper underground than when we first started walking. Although smaller, the layout to this cavern was very similar to the former, and similarly, I immediately spotted more stone structures, only these were far more recognizable as actual buildings, and had less damage done than the ones from above. We cautiously poured out from the tunnel, rapidly missing whatever false sense of security had provided for us, and peered around the ruins. I spotted a glimmer in the

dim blue light being emanated from the ceiling and saw, much to my surprise, that it was a machete. I can't believe there's more Greek structures here, Singh stated, somewhat lost in the moment. This has got to be the most fantastic anthropological discovery in the history of the world. Well, I'm not going to lie, discovery isn't really a huge concern of mine right now. I quit back at him, reminding him of our ever-so- precarious situation. And that's when I spotted it. A large figure around 50 feet away in the ruins, wearing those familiar tan and green military fatigues. I dashed over and confirmed my suspicions when I saw a dishevelled Wagner leaning away from us against a large stone wall.

I couldn't believe he was still alive. Wagner! Holy shit! I shouted, astounded by what I was seeing. The figure then turned to face. faces, revealing a scene that can only be described as a living nightmare. Holy shit, man, I repeated. Only the tone and emphasis of my words expressed an entirely different attitude than before. The upper right portion of Wagner's face had bloated to extreme levels you wouldn't expect to see outside of an emergency room.

Big black veins ran up and around the new growth on his head, trailing to the same. down to other parts of his face, neck and Lord knows where else. His eyes had taken on a cloudy sheen, but I could still make out bloodshot Sclera. Only instead of red veins, they were closer to black in colour, matching that found on his face. Dark fluid leaked out of every orifice, leaving troughs of shadowy liquid smeared across his face, hands and uniform, and what parts of his skin I could see that weren't covered in bulging black veins or the oily substance, took on the pallor of a corpse. Jesus, Wagner, what happened to you? Where's Perez?

Perez who? Wagner hoarsely replied before getting his bearings. Oh, a little guy. They grabbed him already, but he's fine. The rest of the group had approached now. Their heads cocked in confusion, only with terrified expressions plastered on their faces as well. clearly overshadowing the puzzle. What? Who? Who took him?

Anyways, has anyone seen my car keys? Wagner drowned on, completely ignoring my questions, seemingly in a daze. Oh, my arm has been killing me, and I really think I gotta see my doctor. He interrupted his own sentence after being wrapped up in a raucous coughing fit, ending by wiping his mouth with his sleeve, leaving a trail of blanking. black ooze smeared across his face. Wagner, we're going to take you to see a doctor, I promise, but first do we have to get off this island.

Island, he rasped in a quizzical manner. Oh, no, no, no, no, no. I came back from the island weeks ago. His face suddenly took on a look of extreme confusion. Why are you guys doing in my house anyways? Well, the man had positively lost his marbles. not knowing whether he was ever going to be okay again. Wagner pushed himself away from the wall and opened his mouth to speak,

but instead of words, a volley of reddish black tar came pouring out of his mouth like he was a freshman who had too many beers at his first house party. It pulled on the ground at his feet, and Wagner lifted up his face to take a look at us, peering down and noticing what I was holding in my hand. I can't speak for the others, but I was certainly at a loss for words. Hey, kid, Wagner started. What are you doing with my machete? At the end of his sentence morphed into a rapid clicking sound

as he attempted to eject the words from his vocal cords. I immediately took a step back in shock. What's up? He let out, as black slime drooled down his lips and added to the shimmering puddle. Taking a cue from the rest of the group, I slowly started backing away with my arms outstretched in a defensive posture. Wagner, stay right there. We're going to come back with some help for you, okay?

Semenov stated in a lie so obvious I wondered why he even bothered in the first place. Hey, don't go. I don't feel very good. It was all he was able to get out right before another jet of the same reddish-black fluid shot out from his mouth in an impressive display of producing. jetile vomiting, which I had to swiftly part my feet away from to keep from getting soaked. Wagner, stop, I ordered, as he slowly stumbled after us in a drunken manner, although I could tell that he wasn't completely incognizant as of yet. You need to stay here. You can't come with us right now.

I don't think it's safe for the rest of the crew. No, you, no, you have to, to, you, have to, Get me out here, please. Wagner wailed as his voice quickly deteriorated into a garble mess of clicks and chirps, almost sounded like a human being attempting to imitate a cicada on a warm summer night. He reached his arms out towards us, and I noticed the oozing black blemishes that littered his skin underneath the sleeves of his arms, and I knew for a fact that I wasn't letting him anywhere near me. I looked over to the group and saw that, without a word,

Sophia had already taken off, and I motioned for the rest to follow her, and once more we began our sprint through this cursed place. I didn't know how long my stamina would last, or how long my body would put up with this before it collapsed under sheer exhaustion, but that was certainly a preferable option to the alternative. Way! Way!

Wagner, or at least the thing that used to be Wagner, screamed at us, running after us in a fury, the black tar dripping from his body like sweat of a star athlete. I dodged and ducked my way through the remnants of this lost civilization, something I'm sure Alan would equate with the urban practice of parkour, and words could not express the absolute terror I felt knowing the infected Wagner was only feet behind me in this subterranean maze of horrors. The very last words he said to us while chasing us through the darkness of the ruins have stayed with me ever since. Don't run away.

Don't run away. Wagner screeched a rather pitiable tongue. The most disturbing aspect of it was that he didn't seem to be angry or violence or aggressive. He only seemed to be absolutely terrified like us. And I imagine in an immeasurable amount of pain and suffering. Don't run away. Don't run away. He was abruptly cut off as I turned around to see him trip over a stone column that lay flat along the ground.

He broke his fall with his forearms, but his face still smacked against the dusty ground, sending a wave of black ooze splattering onto the floor from his face, almost as if someone dropped a carton of milk. As he crashed to a halt in his own muck, I saw that it seemed as if his right arm had actually broken off halfway down, revealing nothing inside but the very same gunk and slime that the creatures we saw earlier were made of who somehow kept the arm attached in one piece despite its mangling. Even though the thread of Wagner seemed to have been dealt with on its own,

we continued running and I knew that I for one was merely seconds away from gagging and expelling the contents of my stomach. I carried on with a combination of fear and disgust and terror and guilt, but I rationalised to myself that there was nothing we could do for Wagner at this point. With any luck, we lucky few could escape these underground depths with our lives and never visit this island again. In fact, I planned on staying away from islands altogether in the future. Maybe moving somewhere nice inland like Montana or Wyoming.

Here, Sophia shouted from the front of the group, pointing at another tunnel entrance in the side of the cavern. It couldn't have been any worse than trying our luck in the Greek city with the half-dead plague man, so I hedged my bets and entered after them. We'll send a retrieval mission for Wagner once we get out of here. I panted out to the group, trying to justify our monstrous actions. Right now our priority should simply be to get out of here and let the world know what we've seen. But it didn't seem like anyone was absorbing my words,

as I saw that once more they'd all come to a halt shortly in this, tunnel. A genie, Ujistia, Simanov let out. The first time I'd heard him speak in his mother tongue. They gathered in the half-circle

facing the wall, huddled around something that seemed to be of great interest, or at least, interesting enough, to briefly forget about the oozy-fired Wagner. I could tell that they were shot by their expressions, but at this point

I assume that nothing could truly terrify me more than anything we'd seen already. But I was wrong. What? What is it? I asked, while coming up from behind him and parting them aside so I could get a better look. I took one look once I was inside the tunnel and nearly dropped the machete. I was still white-knuckling from before.

In the wall was a large black cocoon comprised of that all-too-familiar reddish-black slime, with tendrils and a patchwork of other fibres stretching out in all-dorriac. directions. Although buried under a few feet of the translucent slime that comprise a tunnel walls in these depths, I could still clearly make out what lied in the centre of the hellish mass. The bloated and butchered face of Perez gazed out from the substances embrace. His mouth fixed open in a noiseless scream and glazed over eyes bulging out of their sockets. Bar three. We're going to die down here, aren't we?

Kekana stated, more as a matter of fact than an inquiry, while her husband attempted to comfort her. Die, I thought. Or something far worse than that. Despite being submerged under what I would assume to be an aerobic fluid incapable of being breathed in by human lungs, I could see that Perez's mouth was still ever so subtly moving. up and down, almost too slow to be perceived. I could tell that he was struggling to speak,

and glancing at his hands I saw his fingers twitching slightly in the blue coating. He must have been in an inhuman level of discomfort and suffering. He's still alive, I spoke up and slowly approached his not-so-permanent resting-place. I poured out Wagner's Beretta, and with a shaky hand, pointed it directly at the man's face, which expressed nothing but pure terror and agony. I poured the trigger, sending a bullet flying directly into his skull and out the other side, sending out blood, gore, bits of skull and black goo mingling with the other contents of the wall. I began to turn away after my horrific but necessary decision to put the tortured soul out of his misery

when I caught a second look at the mass out of the corner of my eye. The black clump was now visibly writhing and vibrating, first only slightly, And then more vigorously with black, slimy tentacles of ooze sliding up and over, Perez's still, blindly spasming face, filling in the cavities of his mouth, nostrils, ears, and even eyes. This process continued until anything that could even remotely hint to the fact that what was once inside that wall was a human being was lost, and all that remained was a black mass, not unlike the ones we'd encountered earlier in the initial tunnel. I don't think that a retrieval mission is going to be fruitful at this point. Simanov bluntly stated, and the rest of the crew solemnly agreed. All right, let's keep moving. I exhaled in the dank tunnel, filled with a stench of rotten meat and fish,

with a metallic aftertaste. It almost seemed like the further along the tunnel we walked, the more the temperature raised. It was easily 90 degrees Fahrenheit on the surface directly before we started our exploratory voyage, and I'm not sure if it was just the humidity, but down here it felt easily to be 15 or 20 degrees warmer than that. The air nearly felt like there was a fine mist suspended throughout it due to the extreme humidity, whenever I wiped away sweat from my forehead, especially the region around my eyes,

it seemed like a new layer had formed before my hand even returned to my side. I almost considered removing my shirt or other layers due to how, disgustingly wet and dirty I felt from the inside out, but I didn't want to expose any more of my bare skin to what other horrors may be lurking down here in the dark. After another 20 minutes of travel through this particular tunnel, I checked my watch and found it hard to believe it had only been a few hours since we'd first entered into this abyss, and it felt like a lifetime. If so many horrible things had happened to us in such a short time frame from when we arrived, who knew if we could even have survived an hour more down there?

or possibly even days, since that was when the next queue was scheduled to arrive. The tunnel had an obvious upward slope, unlike the last two we traversed, and I just now noticed that physical toll all of the adrenaline and sprinting had taken on my body in the last couple of hours as I felt my muscles burn with lactic acid, but I knew that resting, even for only a few moments, could be death in this place. I almost sighed in defeat when we came upon an entrance to yet another large cabin. knowing that whatever was in here probably meant nothing more than additional running and terrors yet to be seen.

But I quickly deduced that this was most likely the same main cavity that we'd escape the creatures from, which held the bulk of the ruins we'd seen so far. Those things could still be lurking out here, Sophia said, her nails digging into Simonov's arm. I'd rather face an army of those before I could look at Wagner's distorted face for even one more second, I retorted, and at the time I truly meant it. Wagner's fate, as well as that of Perez, was something which sense shivers up my spine, even in the disgusting hot, wet muck of the tunnels. To lose your life, to die, even to die horrifically was one thing, but the transformation

and total loss of your humanity was not so easily grasped. This was the opposite of brain death, as rather than the body remaining intact or the mind melted away into oblivion the body was hijacked and rendered useless to the host wall the mind was taken along for the ride a helpless passenger in its own body turned prison we were clearly on the opposite side of the massive cavern

however as I didn't recognise any of the terrain around us and most of the ruins this side actually looked to be in much better shape full buildings were visible from where we exited the cave and can't be described as anything other than what you'd see in a textbook describing some of the cities of ancient Greece or the Mediterranean. I asked a South African couple, as our resident anthropologists, what they thought some of these buildings might have been used for. Well, that one there with the arched entryway was like a public bathhouse,

Kikana pointed out as we walked through the ghost town. That one there that's nearly formed pieces was likely a temple used for the worship of the gods. It was as we passed this open-faced structure that I noticed some crude lines etched into the ground in front of this long abandoned temple. On the ground, chiseled into the rocks, one word stared back at us. Thanatos. Even though I didn't know much about ancient Greek culture or history, I was still somewhat competent in phonetically pronouncing different scripts from around the world. I stated inquisitively.

What's that? Well, literally translated, is a Greek noun meaning death. But thanatos is also known as a figure in Greek mythology depicting death. Kikana spoke up. What, like Hades, a second ruler of the underworld? I inquired. That explanation making a lot of sense to me considering where we were. No, not like the other gods, more of an anthropomorphized version of death,

similar to the grim reaper depiction as we see today. It's incorrectly, seemingly pretty eager to get a word in. So what? They were praying to it or something? hoping that death would spare them in this godless corner of earth, amused over to the group. Maybe, Siminoff said, while crouching and running his hands against the rough stone on the ground thousands of years in the making. But maybe, I find it more likely that they were praying for death to take them before something else did.

We had positively no clue on where the hell we were heading or what we were doing in the middle of the subterranean ruins. But needless to say, we were shocked when another haggard figure came stumbling out of the darkness. The bioluminescent ceiling had dimmed to a dull presence some time ago, and we'd since switch back to our headlamps. So the moment my light shone upon the intruder, I immediately pulled out the pistol I had in my waistband and pointed it at the figure before realizing that it was indeed a fellow human, at least for now. Who are you? I shouted, not yet lowering my gun from chest level.

Wait, wait, he shouted back, defensively raising his arms above his head. My name's Rick. I was on your boat. Rick, the archaeologist. Alan spoke up for the first time in a while. What are you doing here? Where's the rest of your group? I'm the last one, Rick frantically murmured, lowering his hands to shield his eyes from the light of six headlamps directed at him on full power.

We need to go now. Whoa, what happened? I probed. We found a cave about ten minutes into our walk across the island. We went into an investigation. but we were attacked by these things, these disgusting fucking creatures. Rick shouted as he came nearer, and I lowered my gun.

We saw the same things, I bellowed, those slimy dark red things that move like a liquid across the ground. So the rest of your team, they're dead. No, he roared, his voice amplified by fear and dread.

They didn't kill them. Those things, somehow for some reason I don't know they picked up the other seven they shoved them into the goddamn walls his voice was now quivering with every syllable

and I noticed the trembling throughout his arms and legs I tried to go back for them but I had no choice they cut off the opening we came out of and when I look back the crew were all coated in that same liquid screaming out to me even while we still shoved into

them right at that second we all heard a sickening, crunching, popping sound and looked to see that a slimy black tendril slipped out of Rick's midsection. We shone our lights behind him to behold a very large creature, nearly ten feet tall, that had penetrated his lower back and exited his stomach

with his arm before pushing him aside and approaching our group. I immediately went for my gun, pointing it towards a thing and pulling the trigger, but nothing happened. I knew the clip wasn't empty, as I'd checked multiple times on our most recent hike, but my unfamiliarity with firearms and the chaos that was playing out made it almost impossible for me to properly assess what the problem was. I turned and looked to see that the mega-creature had traps of fear in one of the corners of the ruins,

and I quickly took off after her, fumbling to grab my machete and place the gun back in my waistband at the same time. "'Sovie!' was all I managed to get out, before shamefully tripping over my own two feet, sending my arms and legs splayed across the ground, and projecting my gun into the air in front of me, careening several yards before sliding across the dusty ground and coming to a hole. By some miracle, the gun had managed to slide all the way to Sophia's feet, and thankfully the girl had the wherewithal to grasp the weapon, who pointed at the thing that slunk ever closer by the second,

although her arms were so badly shaking that I feared the gun might loosen from her grip entirely as she struggled to make eye contact with the abomination. Sophia, I shouted after her. Shoot it, pull the trigger. But the poor woman remained frozen in terror, not able to make a sound or movement of any kind. The thing stomped towards her,

letting out all manner of terrible clicks and hisses and words so garbled I doubt even Simonov could have understood that. I desperately wanted to run over and rescue her like all the brave heroes would do in the movies, but I lamented that there was simply not enough time, and the odds were dangerously stacked against me. Here, Simonov bellowed towards her while waving his arms, desperate to intervene. Sophia, throw me the gun. Sophia glanced quickly towards him, and then fixed her eyes on the creature, which was only a few feet away now.

His filthy dripping vines were already snaking their way across towards her And in that moment I could have sworn that time slowed down in that cave She looked at the gun switched off the safety and her eyes met with mine Sophia placed the barrel of the dark M9a1 Beretta directly to the side of her head And pulled the trigger I stared in horror as bits of bone brain and blood blasted through the air painting the walls behind them in the ground with her viscera, likely the first time in thousands of years that they'd tasted fresh blood.

My jaw hit the floor. I was sick of running by now. The Sophia's corpse slumped to the ground against the wall, with her head missing a fourth of his exterior. I charged the monster. I screamed out in rage and misery while holding up the machete, knowing that most likely my fate would be much worse the young woman who now lay dead in front of me,

but it was my time to face my fears. I raised up the machete, poised for a hit while the creature was still preoccupied with inspecting Sophia's life was corpse, and swung down with all my might on the left side of where I guessed the creature's neck to be. To my shot, the machete almost seemed to cleave cleanly through this portion of the thing, swiftly exiting its body coated in tar,

and striking the stone wall to my left side. Now I had its full attention, and it turns its head up to face me, but undeterred, or possibly in a desperate move of self-preservation, I swung the machete towards its neck again, this time at an angle that aimed to swipe through the entirety of its massive neck while I still had the chance. This time there was certainly a fair amount of resistance when the machete was around halfway through, but I yanked and pushed with all of my might, sending a spray of my body. black and red goop flying towards me, but I was quick to dodge, much to my own surprise. The creature buckled and began to collapse, while its now headless body started to flail wildly, sending chunks of its flesh in all directions near and far, before falling to the ground with a combination of a splash and a thud. As I peered down at the nightmare fuel, after taking a few steps back, I noticed that the black tar was quickly beginning to lose shape and become more

of a liquid than when it was in motion, and it pulled over to the side, revealing a half-dissolved corpse of a man. By now, silence had once more taken over this strange environment, and the rest of our group approached while glancing down, inspecting the body inquisitively, similar of using the metal rod to poke the headless corpse hidden underneath, and Alan wiping off some of the black goo from his face while coming from the side. You killed it! Alan led out in a sigh of relief. his face as flabbergasted as mine was. I inspected the body closer now that Simonoff had flipped it to expose its front.

The body of the man that had once been human was still clearly recognisable as such, but badly distorted and mutated by the contagion. His arms and legs were twisted to outrageously gangly proportions, and although his skin looked pale and dead, large black veins left a spider web pattern across his body, with large patches of skin missing, revealing the tile-like substance's presence throughout the corpse. I went up to approach the roughly decapitated head

when I saw that its features were nearly wiped clean, replaced instead with a clump of flesh that almost looked like the inner organs of the skull had exploded outwards, but I could still make out an upper and lower jaw that were unnervingly still slowly moving back and forth, although no words escaped. Simonov met my gaze and approached the head. immediately plunging the metal into its skull and quickly pulling it out,

which halted the movement of the jaw. He was melding, thank you. Simonov informed me as he stood back and regrouped with the rest of us. Now that's taken care of. I began, starting to somewhat regain my exterior composure. Let's get back to the subject of just what the hell these things are. That, I do not know, Simonov stated to me, before looking at the rest of the group.

But I think I finally figured out what this place is. When we first arrived, Simonov began. Our crew discovered the orange-red color of the surface beneath the soil and foliage, plus the spikes made out of the same material connected to it that littered this place in a perfectly symmetrical pattern. I think we can all agree that they are most likely not man-made. We all looked up at him with puzzled looks on our face. curious as to where he was going with his revelation.

When we came across this cave, I'm sure I was not the only one who noticed the neon blue color of the liquefied jelly in the tunnel surrounding us, or the smell. No kidding, Alan butted in. That stuff could put an elephant down. No, not that smell. The metallic copper-scented odor. It's most likely caused by a chemical compound known as Hemosycinin. That also explains that. the blue color of everything around here.

Okay, I started, not quite sure where he was going with this. Wherever we are now, our coordinates on Earth, it seems unlikely to me the island was always attached to it. I think it's safe to say that ancient Greeks didn't travel the earth only to colonize a sub-aquatic subterranean cavern that they would have had no possibility of knowing about. I think the island moved. You thought my ideas were stupid. but Alan blurted out, clearly not buying Simmonov speech.

How can an island move on its own genius? Because it's not an island, Simonov explained. It's a living creature, and we're inside of it at this very moment. We all are surrounded each other with various facial expressions. Confusion, fear, mourning, dread. So what you're saying is that we're currently in the belly of one gargantuanuanian. a different turtle, Alan mockingly suggested. No, no, it's not a turtle, Simanov corrected him.

Judging by the red carapace, spiny surface like spicules, the elevated temperature, the blue vascular system caused by the presence of hemocybin. I'd take an educated guess that we're actually in a rather ancient form of crustacean. A crab? We're in a giant freaking crab like what I order on my seafood play back home? That's possibly even more asinine. You explain me to believe this garbage. There are tens of thousands of different species of crustaceans.

Some are microscopic, others are monster-sized. I'd imagine that this specimen is tens or, more likely hundreds of thousands of years old, judging by what I've seen. My mind was immediately drawn back to the native species of my adopted home in New Zealand. Two avian specimens. The kiwi, the size of a size of a solid. small dog and the mower the size of a small home. Singh spoke out, if what you're saying is true, this goes against all Darwinian evolution.

How could a species even grow to be so old or large? A few generations would stretch back millions of years. Who said it'd have to have grown this way over a few generations? Plenty of species of both marine and terrestrial life are indeterminate growers and Plenty others are functionally immortal under the right conditions. Theoretically speaking, they don't stop growing, they don't die. The species that mutated under the right conditions might be able to grow indefinitely, especially in the ocean where it wouldn't have to support its full weight like it would on land. That is, as long as it was full of large hollow pockets of air to keep it buoyed.

He concluded, gesturing around at the cavern we were in. Couple that with the phenomenon of deep sea gigantism, and I have a feeling that this is no ordinary crustacean. The wheels began to spin in my head as I looked up to Siminov. He was the team's marine biologist for a reason, after all. If anyone knew what he was talking about when it came to this subject, it was him. The Amilaria Soldipis is a fungal colony in America, several miles wide that has spawned from one single specimen from thousands of years ago. that simply never stopped expanding. Some species of crustaceans, like the spiny lobster,

even have special organs to identify and interact with electromagnetic fields, a kind of sixth sense that... That explains the electrical malfunctions and issues regarding the radio encompasses, I interjected. Yes, that's right. Well, what about the ruins? Singh insisted. Why would an ancient Greek civilization build their city in the center of a

nightmarish mutant crustacean. I don't think that they did. Simanov continued. I think Alan was right about them building it on the surface back when this entire place was in the middle of the Aegean Sea, and possibly quite a bit smaller. Most crustaceans and other animals with an exoskeleton go through a phase called molting.

It's basically when they shed their outer layer in order to grow a new one to better fit them when they increase in size. I think their entire village may have sunk into this creature's body upon one of its moulting sessions all those thousands of years ago. Okay, Alan said, still somewhat incredulously. I'm still not buying that the crab island isn't an alien, but even if it isn't,

what are those slimy creatures that have been making our lives a living hell this past day? And that's when it suddenly clicked for me, my microbiology research finally being put to good use. They're leukocytes, like Clarit. to the doubting man, but my revelation just left the rest of the group more confused than before I'd said it. We have them in our bodies as well. Me and you.

Why blood cells? Normally that produced in the bone marrow, but here I think that they came from the exoskeleton and were distributed throughout the body by the vascular systems we've been walking through. Whenever we entered this unholy place, we triggered its immune system. We're the pathogens here. These life forms, however awful, are just doing what they evolved to do. So it evolved, Alan began, to kill humans. It evolved to take care of any and all foreign bodies invading its system that may be hostile

to its survival, which in this case just happens to be us. But correct me if I'm wrong, Doctor. The last word, Alan put emphasis on having a somewhat snarky tone. blood cells destroy invading pathogens. They don't do whatever it is as these things do to people. It's acting almost like a white blood cell and a virus, I stated, somewhat winging it from here on out. I don't know how, but it appears to take control of the host body to use for reproduction, like what we saw with Perez, or hijacks the nervous system and controls a body like a puppet, using the brain and spinal cord as its makeshift nuclei.

Wow, that's one hell of a white blood cell. Alan muttered as he walked over to the now stagnant pool of dark liquid with the mutilated and mutated corpse looking down in disgust. Sometimes, Simanov stated in a melancholy tone, standing over Sophia's corpse, death really is the better option. He briefly knelt down to place a hand on her shoulder before closing her eyes and grabbing the barretta that was still clutched in her petite lifeless hand. Quite the riveting theories, gentlemen, Kekana half-heartedly congratulated us. But I can't think of a better one right now, but let's get out of here before we end up as the meek core of another of those leukocytes like our friend over there.

Singh was still muttering to himself on how ridiculous it was that they were all located in the organs of a mountain-sized crustacean, while Alan, ever stubborn to the bitter end, still tried to argue that perhaps the crab had come from outer space. Wait, I told her. I have just one more thing to do. I walked over to some of the ruins and followed a trail of blood, gore and black slime over to where Rick's body lay motionless face down.

With my right foot, I lifted up on his shoulder, flipping his body around, revealing that the goo had already coated his face and chest and was radiating out of his nose, eyes, mouth, and the hole in his gut where he was punctured by the tendril. His eyes slowly opened, and he looked up at me. His mouth opening slightly in an attempt to speak between shallow breaths, but all that escaped was that familiar creaking and clicking sound. I could tell, however, that he was continuously mouthing only two words.

My wife. No one deserves this kind of end. I'm sorry, I stated in a melancholy tone. His body began to twitch rapidly as I brought the machete down onto his neck. and after I cleaved through the spinal cord it ceased entirely but his facial muscle still let out uncontrollable spasms

until Simonov brought the rod down into his skull proving that not only did the neck have to be severed but the head had to be destroyed as well to ensure permanent death hey singing initiated to the two of us that guy said his group came from another opening on the other side of the island rights

well with any luck maybe you'd still dare, and maybe these threaks went and bugged off somewhere else. With any luck, I repeated, averting my eyes from the man we'd just bludgeoned and carved to death. We had done it as a favour, a merciful gesture to placated soon to be eternally suffering soul, where the action still sat heavy on my heart, that as well as the horrible choice of fear had made earlier. If only had known the creature's weakness beforehand, Perhaps she would still be alive. But we can't change the past, and we have to keep on pushing forward,

which is exactly what we did in those subterranean depths. We figured we'd stick near the perimeter in order to scout out more openings in the sides that may have led us to an opening to the outside world on the northeast quadrant, since we assume the southwest quadrant's opening might still be closed from earlier. Wandering through the remains of what was perhaps the world's most famous lost civilization was not nearly as riveting as I would have hoped for in more favourable scenarios, although the sights truly made for an awe-inspiring scene that evoked emotions that are hard to put in words. Although what lay to our side appeared to be mostly just a collection of rubble,

caved in buildings and half-destroyed columns, it was quite marvellous to think that at one time this entire city was possibly a central point of Greek culture, bustling with activity on the surface, before its untimely did. demise. But one thing that Plato got wrong was that rather than sinking directly into the ocean, this city sank into the very ground beneath it, before the entire island sank into the ocean. Zimanov, hey, I called out, jogging to keep pace with the Stoic man. So you believe the island was previously the lost city of Atlantis, more or less, correct? I wouldn't exactly call it that, but sure, in theory, maybe,

Simonov replied, keeping a healthy stride at the front of the pack. Maybe one day we'll find out for sure, if we get out of here to tell the tale, that is, and people don't peg us as lunatics who lost their minds after a tragic expedition. I consciously agreed with him that it would definitely be difficult for anyone to swallow,

said information, had they not experienced what we had in this place. Well, what do you figure of our infected Soviet crew? I continued. I get that they might have been sent on a covert mission and forgot about decades ago. But what's with the winter attire? Jackets, parkers, fur gloves? It just doesn't make any sense for the climate around here. Back in Soviet times, he began, clearly having trouble getting the words out. The government did many horrible things to its people and kept many secrets from the public. Quite a bit more than your government's in the West, Amifred. There are reports of strange habits. in the Arctic and Siberian region of Russia where tens of thousands of people would disappear after their forced deportation.

You think this island may have been that far, no? Perhaps, perhaps not. It doesn't seem outside the realm of possibility for Soviets to have sent prisoners here to explore before sending in the special force. I'm guessing that once the Spetsnals had entered one of these holes on either side of the island and experienced the rapid rise in heat and humidity we've seen here, they might have discarded their cold weather garments before going any further. God, if that's true, then these poor souls have been imprisoned in the Lucasites down here for decades. Some horrors, I think, even Soviet government was not entirely prepared to deal with. May I remind you of the number of record-breaking atomic tests the USSR conducted in Arctic territory?

You really think they were trying to rid the earth of this thing? Obviously, that's just my theory. may never know for sure. But where do you think this place even originated from? I questioned, eager to get another perspective on the subject. How could it survive in so many diverse environments and ecosystems? Why don't you ask Alan? Simonov answered.

The guy's always got one half-baked idea at all another. Hey, Alan, I shouted out to him while he trailed behind. Do you think this island is due to radioactive waste released by a mutating harmless species into giant monsters? Or was it the alien's retribution on humanity for our treatment of Mother Nature? We both burst out laughing at that one, while Alan merely grumbled and scuffed his feet along the ground in a fit. After a couple of hours of walking through the lost city without incident, it seemed like spirits among the group had increased significantly, although we all remained cautious. It was for that reason that when we started

spotting more openings into various tunnels, we approached them slowly and weren't so quick to enter as we had been earlier. Some of them seemed promising and others were obvious duds, such as the tunnels that immediately sloped downwards deeper into the beast, or some led to chambers that completely boggled the mind, such as when I spotted a massive room with large expanding diaphragms littering the walls, or another one where blue liquid viciously sloshed back and forth. However, eventually we knew we'd found our mark when we started seeing the clothe and personal effects of our former crew. We approached this hole with the utmost suspicion, Rick's warnings echoing in our heads. And it's somewhat ironic, but when we were greeted

with the fate of our comrades, we were met with a mixed feeling of both relief and dread. Various instruments, devices and packs were strewn about the entrance of this tunnel. But by far the most horrifying aspect was the cadavers that were suspended in the walls a few yards into this one. I looked with disgust and pity in my eyes when I saw the familiar faces of my fellow crew members suspended in the gelatinous substance, as nearly half of them had their eyes peeled open, pupils violently darting around as black-veined snaked across their skin and fluid seeped from their pores. I knew there was almost nothing we could do to help them at this point, but I still felt a pang of guilt.

walking past, especially when one particular member wrenched his body so hard that he actually managed to move one of his suspended arms an inch or two before more tendrils embedded themselves in his body and dragged him deeper into the translucent depths. I couldn't help but look away at that point. This must be Rick's Tunnel, I said as we walked farther in. We'll be out of here in no time. We marched in a line up the tunnel that we thought just might be our saving great. I was filled with nervousness and excitement when I saw the walls begin to light up around us. It certainly made it easier to see, and was arguably quite the strangely most beautiful spectacle, but it might have been a bad omen of things yet to come, just as when we entered.

We trotted along the path silently, which made it much easier to hear the clicking and scuttling from behind us. First quite subtle, something akin to a whisper across the room, or slight breeze in a open field. But pretty soon it became extremely apparent that we were being followed. I heard a patter of footsteps and what sadly like splashes of thick liquid on the ground behind us when we were around 50 yards into the tunnel. But I was unable to view just what was following us due to the gradual but consistent elevation of the tunnel. Despite this I instantly knew what was in store for us if we didn't put pedal to the metal immediately and haul ass out of there. Come on. Everyone, run now, I whisper, shouted at the remaining crew.

We took off at a decent pace, knowing that the creatures that were behind us would give up anything in order to have a taste of our plump red flesh. Although the terrifying aspect is that there was nothing personal regarding this chase. The Lucasites were simply an extension of the immune system of the animal kingdom. They didn't distinguish between who and what they were consuming and assimilating. They had no emotions or personalities or memories. or so I thought. This time I ran, not for my life, but for my death. I sprinted and pushed myself like I never had before,

so that I may one day have a peaceful, normal death, perhaps of cancer or a car accident. Hell, even being murdered was preferable to this twisted fate of living death, being used as a puppet for an advanced single-celled organism that saw you as nothing more than a hollow vessel or means for propagation. No, death didn't scare me, but that truly terrified me. Our passage quickly levelled out to a more flat landscape, but unfortunately I still saw nothing but darkness out in the distance, which is when I realised that we'd been underground for

so long that it was actually past dusk in the outside world, a world that it felt like I hadn't seen or felt or smelled or experienced in a lifetime due to the traumatic events of the past day. We sprinted all the way to the end, when Simonov stopped in his tracks a few dozen yards away from the exit. Semenov, I shouted after him. What are you doing? We can't let those things follow us up to the surface. He shouted back to me. If they chase us up there, we'll be as good as dead.

It's only a matter of time. He pulled out the same metal rod that he'd held when we first entered the cabins, and with both hands this time plunged the instrument into the side of the cabin, which led out a minor rumbling noise and a brief flash of light. He stood around for a few seconds, as if he was waiting for something to occur. But when it was evident that his little stunt was unsuccessful,

he went to pull out his makeshift weapon when he and I both noticed that the cave wall had already completely consumed the rod, which by now was already buried several feet into the gelatinous wall. By then, I could tell that both of us had already noticed the literal wave of Lucasite monstrosities pouring down the relatively narrow hallway, barreling towards at dangerous speeds. Simanov, we have to go now. Simonov reached into his waistband once more, this time pulling out a barretta, aiming it at the wall and emptying all six bullets from the rest of the clip, with round after round exploding through the blue translucent material

and sending chunks of vascular tissue flying in all directions. Once Simanov had exhausted the full extent of the magazine, he threw the pistol to the ground and began to sprint towards the exit, which by now was already beginning to collapse, both through our amazement and horror. By now we could plainly hear the noises being emanated by those things, such as a barrage of glicks, hisses, moans, gargles, and most terribly the voices.

Only this time they weren't in some garbled foreign tongue, but in a language I could easily recognize. Because when I look back, many of the things that are joined in the charge were my former co-workers. Please, come back! One pathetic voice pleaded from out of the blue-tinted darkness. We won't hurt you, said another that I soon recognized as waxen. Don't

Leave me here, please pleaded a pitiful fellow whom I recognised from a brief conversation on the boat. As much as it hurt me, I knew that whatever value as members of the human species these things once possessed,

it was now irrevocably revoked. I motioned for Simanov to pick up the pace, knowing that his window of escape was very quickly collapsing and that the Lucasites were hot on his trail, quickly gaining ground on the large man, who was by no means a terrific sprinter. By the grace of God, Simanov was able to barely squeeze through the quickly contracting hole,

but not before I saw black tendrils shoot out and latch onto the size of the portal. Once Simonov was completely through, I grasped my machete firmly in both hands and blindly plunged it into the small hole that remained where the opening once was, driving the machete into something solid on the other side. mirroring Simonov's action from earlier in the main cave. The machete stuck fast in the head, or whatever it was, of the creature that lay beneath the black ooze, and I was unable to put it out in time before it fell backwards into the tunnel,

taking my machete with it, letting out nothing but shrill, piercing shrieks as it did so. As the fleshy outside walls of the cave began to close, so too did the dim blue light from its interior, as well as the clicking and chattering and moans and screams of anguish from inside, which began to fade away. Locked inside forever, where mankind would hopefully never tread again. Part four.

I was alive. I'd survived. I'd avoided death and the non-death provided by the Lucasites, and being human never felt so good. I took in a long, deep breath of the cool night air, and thought that I might weep after being confined to that nightmarish realm for soul.

long. After taking in lungful, after lungful of the relatively crisp ground-level air, I could finally start to feel clean and pure again, at least on the inside, as my clothes were still coated in tacky blue flesh, sea water, sweat, and even a bit of blood from hacking into Rick's neck earlier in killing him. A mercy kill, I had to remind myself. Although under any other circumstances, dredging ourselves out of a cave, sopping wet in the middle of the night, would be a rather miserable experience. For us, this was a course for celebration, and everyone there was in a rather joyous mood,

with the exception of Alan, who either remained too thunderstruck to make conversation or was far more traumatized by the day's events than I'd thought. I did not feel like I was only in there for a day. It felt like months, maybe even years. It was as if I'd forgotten everything else in the interior of that a cursed creature was all that I was familiar with.

I didn't think I'd ever be able to touch a crab or lobster again in my life, maybe even staying away from seafood altogether. I know our contract doesn't expire for another 12 days. I started while we trudged through the ocean to get back to dry land, but I think it's time for us to go home. I got an affirmative from everyone there, with Singh and Kekana embracing and relief and exhaustion. First, Ziminov stated, let's get back to camp.

see if there's anything there that can help us get the hell out of here. They... Alan initiated, staring at the ground with his shoulders slouched. They knew what this place was. Nobody told us. Now, Alan, calm down. I attempted to reassure him. They sent us here to die, he continued,

more defeated than I've ever seen a man in my life. No, no, no. Actually, they didn't send us here to die. They sent us here as guinea pigs just to see what would happen. Well, you may or may not be right, but right now the people who send us here are the only way for us to get out of here as well. So in the meantime, just keep your mouth shut and stay vigilant.

And once the cavalry comes to take us home, you'll be a third of a million dollars richer, and nobody you know will be the wiser. But I couldn't help be upset. as well. But I knew that, short of whistleblowing and moving my life to a foreign country like Russia or China in the footsteps of Snowden, the truth about what we saw and what we'd experienced in the past two days, along with the history behind it, would likely never make it to the public eye, and the bulk of our crew was lightly killed or left for dead in vain. It was an unthinkable

reality, but one I knew I needed to accept if I wanted to maintain any semblance of a normal life. I tell them the truth in my debriefing, warn them never to come back to this place again, take my cash prize and then retire somewhere in the middle of a desert. As our feet thudded against the wet sand at the bank, I knew that this wouldn't sit right with me any time soon, maybe even for the rest of my life. There were images that simply can't be unseen, implications that just can't be so easily forgotten.

Who knew how long the remaining? Vazva crew will be tormented down in those depths. That damned Soviet expedition seemed like they were cognizant for decades after their initial infection and assimilation. Maybe this was a permanent fate. Dante's tenth level of hell that somehow escaped from the nether realm and made it to our reality. Get a hold of yourself, I reminded my brain.

It's just nature. It's just an animal. There is no good and evil here. Still, the thought of having my own bodily faculties ripped away from me one by one while my mind was slowly eaten away was something I just couldn't shake. How long would my mental fortitude resist before I gave in against the overwhelming pressure of the leukocyte's infection? It's ironic, but the trek through the beach around the forest this time around felt so incredibly alien to me, almost as if I didn't belong there, or that this was an unfamiliar environment after having. having formed a lifetime of scarring memories from a local car only a few hundred feet beneath us.

Passing next to iconic-looking palm trees, a beautiful surf forming in the distant ocean, and the cleanest, clearest, purest water I think I've ever seen in my life. The only thought to describe them that went through my head was deceit. How could such a pristine and luscious environment be harboring such inhuman terrors beneath its surface? Even though we'd already exited that unholy cavern, I could still smell the same stench of blood, rot and copper, not entirely sure whether it was from the clothes on our backs or whether it had just been permanently etched into my brain. Once more, making it back to the familiar side of base camp was an odd sensation, seeing the empty tents, discarded supplies and human waste littering the area. If only the bulk of the team had known yesterday that this was the last. last time they'd ever see it again, the last time they could even see the sun again.

Even I began to miss its clean rays and warmth, completely opposite to the dank, humid musk and foreboding blue light of the tunnels. Sing Kikana. Simanov spoke up after we arrived in the heart of the camp. You two can sleep in your old tent. You set up the other day. The rest of us will clear out some others so we can all have our own place to sleep. "'Hey, I might want my own place to sleep, too,' Kikana replied sarcastically. "'Juching by the stench that's coming off of this man,' she said while playfully pushing Sing aside. "'Yeah, yeah,' sing smirked. "'Why don't you give me a bath, then?'

"'In this place, Tremhorn, buddy.' "'Okay, come on, guys.' I interjected before it could get too graphic. "'Let's just all get some sleep, and tomorrow we can try and formulate a plan to get this carapace. Why not now? Simanov inquired. It's only a few hours past dusk. I didn't really see any reason that we couldn't stay up another hour before hitting the sack, so I obliged. Alan, I called out to him as he continued walking with his back turned to us. Where are you going? But by that point he'd already ducked into one of the open tents,

quickly zipping up the flat behind him. "'Whatever. We'll continue without him. He'd probably just want to bank on an alien spacecraft coming to evacuate us out of here. Yeah, we're probably right to just let him be,' Singh replied. His mind probably snapped after that young woman off to self earlier. Thank God I didn't get to look at that all. Well, I might have a fair. Now, Simanov cut him off.

We know other radios here don't work, so we won't be able to call him. call for help, but perhaps there might be some kind of signal fire we can make in the upcoming days to call for rescue. They'll see the smoke and know that something went wrong. Well, what if they don't care that something went wrong? I rebuffed. What if Alan was right and that was the plan all along? Seeing what kind of horrendous things would happen to us here and then study the aftermath later? Well, could be true. Probably one of the things that guy said that I agree with, but What choice do we have? I believe I heard Wagner say that the Navy vessel is parked only a couple kilometers offshore.

If the fire is big enough, it would be impossible to ignore. Well, we could try building a raft. Might be better to try and get out to them rather than them come to us. Kid, this isn't a TV show. Building a sustainable raft that won't kill us all might take longer than it would to wait for them to come here on their own. Simanov's right, Singh added. It would certainly take longer

to gather and assemble the pieces to a five-man raft than it would just to burn it all. But we have gasoline, fire starters, and even some compound fire logs to get things going. Well, unfortunately,

I lost the machete back in the caves. I lamented. I don't see any spare axes or blades around here, so it looks like we'll just be scavenging for driftwood or extra large sticks and brush. Hmm, that sounds like a pletzer. that. Simanov concluded, Oh, good night, sleep tight,

and don't let the Soviets bite. After crawling into my old tent, with my former tentmate Alan seemingly having chosen a new one at random, I stripped off my clothes for the day, settling in on top of my sleeping bag, and reminiscing for the day's events. It became impossible to close my eyes for a second before experiencing them all over again.

Oh, Wagner's bloated and misshapen head. The face of Perez and the others locked inside their fleshy vessels of the beast. Sophia's beautiful face right before it was shattered to pieces by a nine-millimeter bullet. I guess I'd never really be able to wipe those memories from my brain no matter how hard I tried. I curled up in my tent, arms wrapped around my legs. Even in the dark my eyes were open to their widest. I thought I might never be able to sleep again, but despite my mind's best efforts, the sheer physical toll of the activities throughout the day finally hit me, and I closed my eyes.

Just for a second, there's the smell of fish and copper wafted into my nostril. My eyes shot open with a startling feeling. I was unable to quite make out my surroundings yet, due to my blurry eyes being crusted over during the night, as which frequently happened after a night of restless sleep. But I was able to make out the fact that it was morning, or at least brightening up outside. I felt a marked rise in humidity and wiped the back of my hand over my forehead before shaking it to the side and sending several droplets of sweat flying to the ground. I rubbed my eyes and looked around, still not quite able to tell what time it was, being rather shocked considering it felt like I'd only just gone to sleep.

After some time I sat up and looked at my hands, only to notice a strange blue glow coating them. Not the yellow rays of the sun that I was looking forward to. Could it be I was back in the... Shlosh! Something loud rang out from afar, and I shot to my feet, looking around and finding that I was not standing in my sleeping bag in my cozy tent, but on some dusty stone ground with pillars and rubble as far as I could see. Everything had a strange, muted tone to it.

But I could tell this was definitely in the belly of the beast once more. I looked back down at my bare feet and legs to see that beneath me, chiseled into the rock, was the same massive pattern of lines and shapes that I'd seen in front of the temple. The fuck, I murmured sheepishly. This didn't make any sense to me. I'd escaped the catacus. Was I dreaming?

or was my escape-the-dream? There was definitely a less than lucid atmosphere here. Every footstep sounding like I was underwater, and I was filled with a general sense of unease. My feet dully thudded across the earth, stepping over shards of rocks, pebble and rubble, but it didn't hurt. I didn't feel much of anything, actually.

However, one feeling that definitely floated up to the surface was curiosity when I saw a group of shadowy figures standing in the center of the ruins a dozen yards in front of me. Hello? I sheepishly caught out to the huddle mats. One of the smaller figures nearest to me began to turn around. I slowly began to process what I was seeing. To my extreme bewilderment, Sophia's face met with mine as she awkwardly slouched to the side.

Her head cocked at an angle, almost out of curiosity. She took one step forward, and I was able to register the small gout on her left temple and the massive chunk of flesh missing from the side of her head, exposing pinkish red brain matter covered in a thin black coating. Sophia! They stammered out incredulously. You're alive! With what seemed like incredible fortitude,

Sophia took another step towards me, clearly lacking the basic vestibular senses related to a normal sense of balance in your average human. Why did you do this the creature that I assumed to be Sophia aggressively prone? This is your fault.

Sophia, don't come any closer. It was what I wanted to command out loud, but instead in my panic, all I could verbally muster was Sophia. Sophia? now the rest of the group had become aware of my presence and turned to meet my gaze and I saw faces all too familiar from the past couple of days Wagner and many others from the other team that had entered through the opposite side of the island

even Perez was easy to identify by the clean black bullet hole in his forehead Sophia stared at me intently with a look of disgust and hatred in her eyes What the hell is going on? Thought to myself. Not only her, but the rest of them started their slow, shuffled towards me before Wagner broke out in a sprint, leaving a trail of gunk in his wake. No, please, I whimpered, measuring my options.

I took one final look at Sophia, who by now had put her hands on her knees, hurling a spray of black ink onto the ground and a stream so long I wondered when it would end. creating the same sloshing sound I'd heard from earlier. Wake up! I bolted upright in my tent, feeling an uncomfortable layer of sweat built up on my face

with not a single breeze in sight to cool it off. Good, God, what a nightmare! I rubbed my eyes with my fingers and let out an audible groan. I had absolutely no idea what time it could have been, but I figured I'd try and get some sleep before daybreak anyway. I lay my head back down onto the pillow, close my eyes and attempted to float back into dreamland. Preferably a more agreeable dream this time.

The sound of a stream of liquid splashing against the ground followed by violent retching soon filled my ears. Ah, this was no dream after all, I thought. I jumped up, unsid my tent and prepared to face whatever new obstacle lie out there in the night. "'Allen, Alan, what's happening?' Simonov exclaimed, rushing out of his tent. He was just as startled as I was by the situation,

given that he emerged with nothing but a tank top and board shorts. Alan was hunched over near a large palm tree about 20 feet outside the borders of our camp, alternating between clutching his stomach and head and letting out an audible growl of pain that I heard as soon as I opened my tent flat. They left us here to die. They left us here to die, Alan chanted in a somewhat monitor and rhythmic manner. But as he repeated the phrase,

it became more and more erratic and emotional. I shot Simonoff a glance, and we both briefly went back into our tents in order to grab a couple of handheld flashlights before rushing over to Alan's position. What we saw when we reached him was a ghastly sight to say the least. Alan's eye sockets looked like they'd sunk a good inch and a half into his face

with his eyes themselves being played by bloodshot black veins. As our lights pan down, we noticed a black secretion dripping from his mouth and off his chin. Following the trail of contaminated spittle to its logical destination, a shallow pool of bile at least two feet across lay beneath the man, and more alarmingly, bright red liquoric colour, He pointed up to his forearms on each limb. Alan. Where's Singh?

And Kekana. Who? He asked. Genuinely confound it. Oh, you mean that foreign couple? They're fine. He placed a bit too much emphasis on the last word of his sentence, almost as if he was trying hard to cover up a lie.

Okay. Where are they? I pressed, desperate to get some closure on the matter. Here, he stated as a matter of fact, you can speak with them yourself. He raised his blood-stained hands and, without skipping a beat, reached down behind some shrubbery and picked up Kikana's lifeless corpse by the back of the neck with his left hand, as easily as he would lift a wooden puppet. Seeing her lifeless face and gorse oak chest,

I couldn't help but briefly avert my eyes and feel vomit rising in my throat before regaining my composure and seeing Alan plunge his right hand or whatever it was that used to be his right hand directly into the cadaver's throat black veins bulged on his arm as the darkened necrotic flesh of his arm began to meld into her neck

and I could see fluid clearly being transferred from one body to the other Kekana's eyes shot open almost immediately and she let out the most gruesome, heart-wrenching blood-curdling scream I'd ever had the misfortune of him. Her face twisted and a visage of pure agony, torment and fear, before Alan wrenched his hand out of her neck and threw her body aside. Alan, you sick, fuck, I shouted to the deranged man. Is this the infection taking over? Or were you always a psychotic son of a bitch?

Alan seemed unmoved by my harsh words. In fact, he glanced at me almost quizzically, like he was confused as to why I would even be upset in the first place. They wouldn't leave me alone, he informed us. I was only minding my own business here in the park. They simply wouldn't quit talking and talking. He almost seemed to chuckle at this, as if it was some humorous quip he'd just laid upon us.

I was still too flabbergasted to respond, and merely stared straight at him in fear and disgust. Can you believe they thought that Oklahoma was an island? Alan bellowed out while grasping his stomach, as he let loose a bout of laughter, only a serial killer could accurately reproduce. There's not an island anywhere near here. I don't think I've been on an island in my life, actually.

This was followed by more disgusting chortling and belly clutching, although I suppose the latter action was partially caused by internal pain in that area. Alan, I stated as calmly as I could. Look, man, you're just sick. You're real sick, and you don't know where you are, okay? The infection's just making you see what you want to see. I extended my arms in a placating manner, but Alan seemed to have been taken aback by this gesture.

Oh, geez, he sighed, as I could make out a visual eyebrow. Another crazy. Just mind your own business, okay, buddy. Maybe you aren't used to think you are. Negotiations were failing me, and I could see that the lucasite had already twisted his mind beyond repair. In that moment, I quickly thought on my toes,

formulating an idea that might just placate the delirious man long enough for Simonov and I to make our move. Now, Alan, what I'm going to say is going to sound very strange and I know it's going to be a lot to take in right now, but just trust me that I'm telling you the truth. I hope to God that my attempt would be a fruitful endeavor. We know that you were camping in an Oklahoma State Park in your van, but you're not there anymore. He narrowed his eyes and let out a series of loud wet cops. Something happened to you recently, and you're taken to this place. Oh, you wouldn't remember, or at least I don't expect you to, but I can assure you it did happen. Alan seemed a bit more intrigued, if anything, at this point.

Simanov looked at me worriedly. Alan, you're on an extraterrestrial spacecraft right now. It's formulated to appear like a familiar natural environment on Earth to you, but I promise you are a long, long distance away from home. I prayed that he would believe the farce that I was trying to sell him in the heat. at the moment. He lowered his head briefly before glancing up. So, Alan began, spitting out black saliva at the sudden exhale. You're aliens, and you kidnapped me here? No, no, Alan, we're not the aliens. Ah, you alien scumbags, Alan retorted. I'll never be your guinea pig. You're not

taking me anywhere. Alan's brow furrowed in rage as his arms stretched downwards, exposing another layer of blackened flesh underneath as he took a step forward. Alan, you need to cut it out right now. Simanov stated before he was abruptly cut off by the sound of bones snapping and joints cracking, as Alan's forearms began to distort themselves into monstrous caricatures of their former sounds. Twisting and stretching into roughly hook-shaped appendages, ending in blunt points with the entire thing coated in the dark slime.

His hands and fingers were still visible, but badly deformed and nearly unrecognizable, almost looking more like talons or claws than human hands. Alan grunted and groaned in clear physical pain the entire time. But after his grotesque transformation, he glared at us with anger and satisfaction as the parasite that had taken over his body altered it into a deadly machine. Was he even fighting it at this point?

Simonov, move it, I called out to my last remaining Alan. The Ukrainian muscle man sprang into action at once. Fortunately, just a second before the now corrupted Alan charged at us, wildly swinging his newly mutated arms in a downward swiping motion towards us. From where I was standing I saw Simonov was able to dodge a thrust by Alan's right arm by mere milliseconds. But the barrage of slashes seemed utterly relentless.

I knew I certainly couldn't withstand something like that if it were directed towards me. Simanov picked up a heavy metal case that I recognised as one of the kits used by the archaeologists and chucked it with all his strength towards the infected Alan, smashing into his face and knocking him to the ground, sending a spray of black and red mist flying from his mouth and into the air, floating around for a brief few seconds before settling down and releasing into the surrounding atmosphere.

I cover my mouth just in case, not wanting to be infected with any spores that may potentially be contained in any aerosol spray such as this from an infected host. Simanov and I scrambled back towards the camp, rustling through supplies and empty tents, looking for anything to use as a makeshift weapon. My eyes drifted to a small, fancy-looking claw hammer that was hung up. It was hung up on a hook by a nearby tree, most likely left behind by the archaeology team. It didn't look like a super formidable weapon, only being around six or seven inches long, but it was certainly better than nothing, considering it had a metal end. Siminoff was still ransacking the closest tent out of desperation when I noticed Alan get up by stretching his arms up from the ground and latching onto some low-hanging branches

and shakily returning to his feet. Alan's face was even more of a shocking sight than before. The heavy metal case most likely struck him with the force of a bowling ball, and the left half of it was now completely devoid of skin, showing black sinew and cracked teeth. As he opened his mouth to let out that god-awful clicking sound, I saw a wildly flailing tongue spitting out bits of black flesh and gunk. Unlike before,

Alan's eyes were not bloodshot with black veins, but now completely coated in the dark, oily substance, giving them a disturbing monochromatic appearance. With Simeonov being the closer target, Alan used his arms as momentum to propel himself towards the tent, attempting to sink his claw-like hands into his neck. But right before he could, I let forward, screaming. I sunk the hooked end of the hammer directly into Alan's skull, causing his head, followed by his entire body to jerk to the side and slam into some computer equipment that was set up. Simanov looked at me with a look of momentary thanks before fully exiting the tent and revealing that he come up empty-handed. There's nothing in that, he shouted in the panic.

And let's just try and bash his head in, I replied, clearly not thinking that clearly, quick, while he's still down. And with that, admittedly idiotic premise, I rushed towards the downed Alan, but he was a lot quicker than I'd anticipated, Anne, with the same fluid motions I saw expressed by some of the fully transformed Lucasites from the caverns. He weaved his way along the ground, almost like an insect. Avoiding a stomp I'd just delivered to the ground, where his head was only milliseconds earlier.

Alan's body contorted itself in an extremely unnatural position, making itself upright once more. And I could now clearly see the folly of such a hasty and brash decision to charge as such an unpredictable and inhuman creature. The thing that used to be, Alan, reared back its claw hand, ready to dig in the flesh on my head, neck or chest. God, I hoped it would be quick, I thought, feeling utterly defeated. I raised my hands in front of my face to shield from the attack,

which narrowly missed, merely grazing my sleeve, when I heard Simeonov screaming at the top of his lungs. I looked over my shoulder to see the crazed Ukrainian sprinting full speed with a large rock in his hand, which he brought up and over his head before slamming it down directly into Alan's mutated mole. This time, the sound of a solid object striking Alan's mug was more of a sickening crunch rather than the wet slap of the metal case, and he immediately dropped like his strings were cut.

Simanov straddled his body, pinning his arms down with his knees before slamming down the rock again, this time higher up on his dome, closer to the forehead, releasing more of a popping sound as black, red and pink gore burst out of the skull and painted the ground in a debented display. Simonov slammed the rock down again and again, not ceasing until Alan's head was a 100% vacant from his body, appearing as if it was never even there in the first place.

Then Simeonov stepped off the mutated corpse and walked a few feet before putting his back to a tree and sliding down to meet the jungle floor. Are you all right? I caught out to him, rushing up to meet him. Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. He huffed out, clearly a physical and in my mind. emotional wreck. As I approached, though, I spotted a circular, inch-sized incision in

Simeonov's shoulder, an incision that was already leaking black pus along with its crimson red blood. Your arm, I pointed out to him. Yeah, he got me good, but I should be fine, didn't hit anything major. No, I explained in a melancholy tone. you don't understand Alan only got a little bit of that gooey shit on his face and he'd already completely lost his mind within hours

Simanov's expression immediately dropped his eyes averting away from my face and turning to glance at the infected appendage you're sure he asked in a low voice but I'm sure he already knew the answer I only needed to let out a short nod before Simonov groaned, and strained to lift himself up off the ground and start walking towards my general direction.

Whoa, man, what do you do? I began before cutting myself off and turning as Simonov walked directly past me. He was heading back into the forest, but I couldn't exactly tell where he was going until I saw him crouching the brush, lift up a small body by its arms that I quickly recognized as Kakana. The thick fluid was by now already building up in her system And it almost appeared as if she was weeping black tears As the substance leaked out of her eye sockets Simonov propped her up against a tree

Before turning back and doing a bit of searching Before he found what he was looking for And jogged over and picked up Singh's corpse from the brush as well Putting it next to his deceased wife What are you doing? I asked These bodies they have the same infective as Alan. Simanov panted out, as well as myself. I'm going to get them as far away from here as possible before they turn. Maybe back to the cave we first entered. You don't have to. I do.

It's only a matter of time before they're walking around wanted to make you the newest member of their hive. I'm sure you understand why I have to go with them. By now, black veins were visibly protruding from Simonov's right arm. radiating out from his initial point of infection. You can still get out of here, he softly spoke. Fortify yourself at the camp or make your way to the beach. Well, it wouldn't look very good if anyone saw you dragging dead bodies through a deserted island in the middle of the night.

I joked attempting to lighten the mood, although I wasn't quite sure why considering the situation. I won't be dragging them, kid. He cracked a slight smile, and with both arms, hoisted singer over his uninjured left shoulder, and did the same to kick on her over his right, and stood up on shaky legs. I looked at him in shock. Clearly I had greatly underestimated his physical prowess. It's okay, buddy. I don't feel a thing. He smirked to me, and I wondered how on earth he could be so chipper at a time like this, knowing his fate was all but set in stone at this point.

just make sure they don't send anyone back for us he said turning back for the final time as he strode into the darkness of the forest simonov i shouted after him thank you but by this point he didn't even turn around knowing that he had a mission to accomplish and i knew mine as well to get the hell off this island and tell the world about this place n d a's be damned My entire body felt completely alien at this point. I sat in a chair at base camp staring at my uncontrollably shaking hands, gently massaging each one in an attempt to calm my nerves. My ears perked up as I heard a voice come from within my vicinity. I could tell that it wasn't too far from camp, and I was immediately put into a fight-or-flight response mode once again.

I jerked my head around from side to side before I heard the same muffled voice. this time able to pinpoint its location. I jumped from my chair and bolted across Cam, opening the flap of a nearby vacated tent to see absolutely no one inside, but I did spot a small black device on the ground. It took me a second to recognise it as a handheld radio. But radios don't work on the island, do they? I picked it up, turning up the volume and pressing it to my ear.

Wacker! Wagner, are you? A voice called out from the other side, before being overshadowed by a wave of static. A pause for a second before realizing this might just be my brief window for a ticket to end my torment in this place. I pocketed the radio and ran as fast as I could into the jungle. I emerged from the tree-line minutes later

to find myself staring at the exact same beachfront we'd encountered the other day when we'd first arrived. When I felt that I'd traveled in adequate, quick distance. I put the radio to the side of my head and press the button to send a message. Hello? I received an answer back quite quickly with far less interference this time. Hello, Wagner, watch your status report. We need your deep briefing for UL 1052B. Wagner's not here right now, I replied. Here's my status report. This place. is hell

what who is this how did you get a hold of this radio look you've got to get rid of this island just do what you have to in order to wipe this place off the face of the air make sure no one ever comes back here again

holy helmet what are you talking about exactly what I told you this place I took a deep breath and exhaled before continuing. He's straight-up evil, irredeemable in every way. To other president or general or whoever it is that sent us on this mission to just nuke this hellhole already. Where's Wagner? I heard the voice desperately call out. What about Perez? Can you give the radio to him? Hello? I was too

defeated to make exhaustive arguments and logical points to the man on the radio, and I knew I would resort to a comprehensive rant on the events of the past couple of days anyways. I knew he'd think I was crazy, I would definitely find it suspicious if the only guy answering the radio was convinced that the rest of his crew was dead or mutated and preferred death over an extraction plan. I dropped the radio into the sand and listened as the muffled and frantic voice on the other end was gradually drowned out by a sea of static, before fading out altogether. I was so wary and sapped of energy that all I could do was drop to my knees and fall backwards, letting the back of my head smack against the wet sand with a dull thought. I was done fighting. I took a

quick glance at my watch only to see the hour and minute hand were both spinning around wildly at an extremely atypical speed, making it impossible to tell just what time it was or how much time but elapsed. Must be more of the island's old tricks. As the gentle waves lapped against my feet in an almost soothing motion, I like my eyes drift close, ready to be evacuated or drowned or blown to smithereens by a hydrogen bomb, anything to get away from this island. The palms of my hands sank into the wet sand, and the last thing I felt before drifting off was a bright light shining on my face, which I could still register through my closed eyelids as a pale blue colour. I opened my eyes and took in my surroundings. I was in the caves once more, right back

where I'd been when I drifted off earlier. Dear Lord, not this again, I thought to myself, looking up to the light blue ceiling and around at the dusty brown ruins. Not another dream. well I thought I might as well make the best of this found out why I'm having these recurring waking nightmares maybe I'm not yet at peace with what happened to the rest of the crew and that's when I heard it voices voices in the distance

I picked myself up off the ground and started jogging towards the commotion that was taking place in the vicinity I had to only walk a short distance before I rounded a corner and spotted what all the fuss was about. I saw two large, unfamiliar men, vehemently arguing with each other, bathed in the blue light from the ceiling. With the rest of the group gathered around

attempting to alleviate the situation, or perhaps they were just speculating, but whoever they were, they seemed to be professionals, carrying packs and cases and instruments not unlike the ones that our group had brought. Oh, thank Christ, I thought to me. myself, normal people. But before I had a moment to introduce myself or ask just what they or I

were doing down here, the group of half a dozen individuals took off in the other direction, dodging and weaving their way through the ruins. I started after them immediately, struggling to keep up. Wait, I stammered, the words fumbling out of my mouth. Please, please, come back, help me. After a few minutes of chasing through the ruins, I saw the group of my fellow survivors dash into a nearby tunnel, and I momentarily stopped, thinking I could take the time to get my bearing straight now that I knew where they were headed. I expected to feel winded and exhausted from being locked in a dead sprint for a decently

long amount of time, but I couldn't feel much of anything at all, actually. Wake up. Something wet slid down my arm, and I looked down at my hands to see a small. small drop of ink rolling down my index finger. I rotated my hand over, set my forearms face downwards, and inspected the sight. Jet, black veins ran parallel all a long, pale, dead skin. What the shit? My thoughts were racing. Where was I?

What happened to the team? What happened to me? Why can't I wake up? Fucking wake up. But this time there was no escape. An indescribable surge of energy shot through my body. My feet marched forward violently on their own without any input. I looked in abject and complete terror once I saw my legs being driven by their own devices.

Shambling and stumbling as inky liquid began to seep out from seemingly every pore of my body. Oh no. No. No. No, no, no, this can't be happening. My mind started to panic. I'd escaped. I was waiting for rescue. They were supposed to take me with them out of this place. Oh, what the fuck?

What the fuck? I let out in quick, shallow breaths, not quite enunciating all the syllables in my struggle as my body moved with a will of its own. How long had I been down here? Days. Weeks. Years.

I glanced down at my quickly elongating and malformed limbs as the skin stretched and tall, giving me my first bout of indescribable pain, and revealing underneath rotting blackened flesh, consisting of ligaments, tendons, and muscle, along with that familiar black goop. My face finally lifted itself up on its own. To meet those I had been uncontrollably pursuing, I saw friday. I saw frightened faces, wide eyes and large mouths gaping in horror. And I screamed. Holy shit!

Epilogue. My alarm blared in the darkness. I slowly peeled open my crusty eyelids and struggled to reach the device, slapping my hand around blindly in the darkness before honing in on the sound and finally putting an end to the obnoxious noise. pulling myself up and into a sitting position, I switched on the lamp at my bedside and glanced up at the clock on the wall. 4.30 a.m. My 15 by 15 foot room on the base was a little more than a hovel, but was definitely a luxury compared to the barracks most of my men had to sleep in every night. Truth be told, I didn't much care for the Air Force base here in Guam, but I was more or less stranded here until our assignment on UL 1052 was completed.

But who knows if it would ever be completed after what they saw. I strapped on my boots, buckled my belt and opened the door to the outside world, immediately being met with the bright lights of the hallway shining in my eyes, with the artificial white light of the underground facility not quite matching the natural light produced by the sun. I shielded my eyes for only a second or two, waiting for them to adjust before I strode forward, passing a few other abodes that were similar to mine. Passing some of the soldiers who were stationed on guard duty, they acknowledged my rank before stepping aside

and allowing me further into the cold insulation that I called home for the past two weeks. Stepping through the metal swinging double doors, I geared myself for the first decontamination checkpoint as I was sprayed down by workers in hazmat suits with a fine mist of some chemical compound that even I wasn't fully aware of what was in it. After being confirmed sterile and passing through,

I picked up the standard issue CM6M respirator and strapped it onto my face. I always found it to be a bit stuffy, but it still gave a far higher degree of visibility than other gas masks. It was much easier to apply and discard. Colonel, we're ready for you now. A young man said to me before handing me a clipboard and gesturing for my signature at the bottom of the page. After signing, I carried on through the facility, going through three more. decontamination stations before finally arriving at the large solid metal door that was now only one of two different physical barriers between myself and the asset. Sir, did they inform you of the situation

in full? Lieutenant Forrester inquired, squinting at me through his partially fogged up respirator. Yes, sir, I am well aware, I responded, although to tell the truth I don't think I could ever fully grasp for the information that had been foisted upon me in the last 48 hours. wasn't entirely up-to-date on the condition of the asset. It was two days ago that I was made aware of the full extent of the mission of UL 1052, which was rather shocking considering it was nearly three weeks now since the first team had been dispatched. After two contracted teams of 23 crewmen in total had gone MIA,

16 on the first crew and 7 on the second, a CDC-Hasmat division with an entire military platoon as an escort was ordered to investigate. What they uncovered was one of the more shocking revelations of my career in the armed forces. Let's begin, he informed me, pulling open the door and entering the chamber. I was told of the horrific discoveries the CDC crew had uncovered while in ULT52B, the designated code for the second discovered entrance into the interior of UL 1052. But when taking a look at the asset that sat before us across the one-way glass, I still felt sweat starting to form by my brow

and could tell that my heartbeat had jumped a few beats per minute. The young man, if you could call him that, was slouched down in the chair and nearly unrecognisable as a human being in many aspects. His hands were strikingly elongated and I noticed bone fragments jutting out from the tips of his fingers. His hand and arms had large patches of skin missing or torn apart revealing black striated muscle tissue.

The face of this creature was another sight entirely, as not only were the upper and lower lips completely absent, which, which, judging by the ragged way the flesh was torn, I can only assume was self-inflicted by his own incisors, and yet black pupils wring by dark veins stared at the ground. An extremely dark red, almost black substance was smeared across his body, forming streaks across his skin, stemming from his nose, eyes the size of his mouth. dripping onto the floor in a small but steady stream. His chest huffed up and down as he took in short, ragged breaths, with his laboured breathing greatly agitating the monitoring equipment

and tubing attached to his arms, neck and chest. How did you get him so docile? I asked Lieutenant, still remarkably uncomfortable in its presence. From the stories I'd heard, he'd managed to infect not only four members of the secondary crew that had been sent after them, but also got to three of our hazmat guys before finally being subdued. They told me that his arms seemed almost fluid-like in motion as they weaved and pierced the skin of the men in the hazmat suits, and it was only a matter of hours before they too

started to experience the same symptoms. They didn't think it possible at first that he actually could have been apprehended, but after striking him in their head from behind, they were able to quickly get him in a hermetically sealed chamber. After a week of study by one of the basis neuroscientists, he concluded that the pathogen that had taken hold of this young man's body wasn't a pathogen after all, but rather the process in which the substance was causing cellular decay and binding to different receptors in the nervous system, it was actually more similar to a cell. We've been pumping him full of mechlethorin-based solution as per Dr. Chan's instructions,

Forrester informed me. It's normally used in cancer treatments, but in this case it seems to significantly reduce the rate of assimilation of the remaining human cells and restore some mental faculties of the subject. So, you're using it to cure him? No, no, there is no cure. Substance UL. 1052 B12 can't be fully exhumed from the human body because it bonds with the host on a cellular level and fundamentally alters the DNA of the cellar. We can delay the transformation and even give back some more rudimentary faculties to the infected, but it's only a matter of time before they're lost. I look once more at the poor soul I saw trapped in his own body in front of me.

Without external stimuli, it appeared that he mostly had control over his thoughts and actions. As I saw him glance around the walls and even look at his wrist in an action I assumed to be instinctual from when he had a watch. But this was about to change. Three weeks ago this certainly wasn't what I'd had in mind when I thought of debriefing the crew. I still couldn't believe that this was the same young man I'd recruited from the University in New Zealand. He seemed like such a bright young lad. What a pity, I thought. Watch, the lieutenant spoke as he gestured to the call button on the control panel.

He pressed the small red button, releasing a quick barrage of static before levelling out, but this was immediately followed by a creaking and distorted howl being transmitted back from the interior of the chamber as the young infected man twisted and convulsed involuntarily and attempted to thrash his arms about despite them being shackled to the chair by the wrists with half-inch-wide steel chains i took a step back out of instinct and placed my hand on my sidearm but forrester reassured me he does this every time we start a session just be patient the lieutenant informed me, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. Being in the military, we'd all seen some shit over the years.

I couldn't believe how nonchalant he was over this whole thing, and I think he could read the shock on my face through my mask. Don't worry, we've been interviewing him over the mission for 78 hours straight now without incident. If he could have escaped, I'm pretty sure he would have done it by now. Yes, sir. I acknowledged. But at 78 hours, why is the debriefing period taken so long? Every now and then the crazy bastard starts screaming and trying to break out of his restraints.

He's told us most of what happened to the crew, or at least what he thinks happened, but he's slow going at this race. Half the time he's convinced that he's healthy and begs us to let him out of here before he gets infected. How does he or it speak? Like so. Forrester pointed out, pressing the call button and leaning into the microphone. Subjp. 2709, confirm to ask the status report of your mission. The man, who I was now beginning to see more as a thing,

shuffled in his chair before cocking his head and squeezing his hands, which made a sickening, crunching sound, sounding like a combination of bones shattering and knuckles cracking. What he led out next sent a wave of fear and anxiety coursing throughout my brain and a shiver down my spine. Mission status, imoverran. He let out in a combination of choking wheezes, spaced out by a series of inhuman glicking and chattering noises. His face was twisted in pure agony as I saw he struggled to maintain control of even the smallest facial muscle. and the tears and scratches on his face opened up and were exposed to the air once more

due to the immense strain in this area, sending black and red pus flowing out in some droplets. Don't send me back, please, he pleaded with us, which was the first time I could visually see any kind of genuine human emotion on his face. But it wasn't an emotion of pain, agony or hatred. It was fear. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. From the wounds and deformities seen on this specimen, it was unbelievable that he was still alive,

let alone talking and screaming. You're not going back to this island, Forrester assured him, before cutting the intercom, and this time reaching for his pants and fumbling with his radio through his clumsy, gloved hands. What are you going to do with the subject? I inquired.

knowing full well that it may be above my position on the chain of command to know for sure. We're going to take a tissue sample and send it to the last for further the study, he said before picking up his radio, tuning the frequency and pushing the button to send a message. We're ready to escort subject P2709 to the incinerator and decontaminate the room. I felt a little better knowing that the suffering kid was soon going to be put out of his misery for good, but still couldn't help but feel it. extremely unnerved by the sight in front of me.

Knowing that this could happen to anyone on the globe was remarkably disturbing. Didn't know Commander Robert Wagner all too well, having only met him a handful of times before the mission, but knowing that he was likely wandering around the hundreds of feet underground in that unholy place made me truly pity him and the rest of the team. What do you think happens if these Lucasites ever escaped from containment? I questioned the lieutenant, finally averting my eyes from the abomination in front of us. The infection caused by contact with Lucas Ice doesn't seem to halt or reverse even after being extracted from UL 1052.

Chang informed us that normally white blood cells only survive outside of the body host for a very limited amount of time, but in this case the organism seems more than willing to grow, spread and infect new environments. Why haven't these things escaped containment on UL 1052 before If the subject's assertion is true But it's been around for thousands of years We have no idea how it responds in different ecosystems Or with different species Which is what the tissue sample will be useful

But from what they reported in those caves With what happened to the rest of the crew He trailed off I looked back towards the containment room As I heard the hiss of the airs of the airlock, and saw two of our men in Level A SCBA hazmat suits enter from the side and walk forward before the doors closed automatically behind them. The subject jerked his head up from his restraints and took a glance at the guards who just

arrived. I saw a black line starting to form and protrude on his neck and forearms. Don't worry so. It'll be over soon. I interjected into the mite before disconnecting it once more. wanting to give at least some comfort for the soul that was trapped in the subject's body, as well as possibly keep him calm enough for our men to properly do their jobs without incident. The men approached slowly with trepidation, not wanting to stumble in their stuffy suits or cause panic in the subject, but I could still see that he was visibly trembling, what almost seemed like, weeping.

Dark fluid was starting to seep out of his tear ducts, in the size of his mouth and run down his face, which would have been alarming had I not been assured that the chamber we were sealing him in was 100% airtight. The same technology used by NASA in their spacesuits. Still, I could, he'd worry etched across the guard's faces. They began to pull out the tubes, wiring another monitoring devices from the subject's body, and looked at each other in preparation to give the signal to begin extraction from the chair

and into the mobile chamber. I was staring intently at the subject when I saw him make a quick jerking motion of his head up from the ground and looked directly at me. Even though it was one-way glass, and he simply mouthed two words which, although I wouldn't have been able to hear since we had disabled comms, I still recognised from reading his lips,

at least what was left of them. What he said? I'm sorry, with this strange action, my brow furrowed and I pressed my face as near to the glass as I could with the mask on, struggling to get a better view as I saw that the skin on his arms seemed like they were putrefying and rapidly decaying. In contrast to the pale skin displayed earlier, this part of his body began to darken a grayish

and then nearly blackened tone, all this taking place in the span of one or two seconds. I then saw the subject struggle against his restraints on his arms, even though he knew there was no way he could break through them, but rather than bursting his chains, I was shocked to see that the metal cuffs were actually sliding through the black and red flesh of his wrists, cutting off his hands entirely. Now that his arms were free, the subject immediately turned to face the guard on his left, sending his right stump upwards in a fury directly up and into the double-layered mask of the unsuspecting man, which, although formulated to be chemical, and puncture resistant, didn't seem to have much gift to it at all, before tearing and letting

in the new stream of black fluid and gore, which flew directly into his face, knocking him to the ground. Although only a few seconds had elapsed, and it took my mind even longer to realize what had happened, the lieutenant had already sprung into action, slamming his fist down onto the emergency lockdown button, which sent an even larger array of locks and security measures into place on the outer doors of the chamber, and activated an alarm blaring throughout our level of the facility. The red light flashed across our faces in waves, and although I couldn't hear much of anything through the glass, I could still tell for a fact that the men in there were screaming at the top of their lungs, as I saw the man on the right thrashing wildly at the door with his back turned to the subject,

who had one of his quickly elongating stumps arched up, aimed directly towards his lower torso. Oh, it's a good thing those doors are locked from the outside, or those morons would have been contaminating the entire base. Forrester coldly stated as I, gaze back at him, mouth agape. The surviving guard desperately pounded at the door before turning and directing his attention towards the one-way glass, giving us one last look of hopelessness, betrayal and understanding before a dark tendril punctured his abdomen below his ribcage. sending a sped of blood and blank goo ejecting from his mouth and into the interior of his mask, thankfully blocking his distorted face from our vision.

Sir, I grunted at the lieutenant. The subject. The subject had already managed to wrench himself out of the restraints entirely and was now limping over to the glass, with one of his mutated appendages already pressed against it. He began to pound and thrash and beat against it. the glass with all his might, which from his perspective probably looked like he was beating against his own reflection. The viewing portal that lay between us and the thing was by no means in any

danger of breaking. The glass was over three inches thick, around half that of a pothole on a deep sea submarine, and at a hardness level rivaling that of iron. I felt fairly confident that we were quite safe from harm behind it. We could barely hear the dull thumping coming from the other side of the glass, and the black smudges and streaks that were left across its surface by the subject's flailing arms were starting to obscure our sight. I had no idea how we were going to deal with this mess in front of us, honestly wondering how it could get any worse when two soldiers burst into the interrogation chamber from behind us. Lieutenant, sir, we have a containment breach. You're needed topside immediately. One of the more

Frasl soldier shouted through his mask, clutching his M-16-A-2 rifle. The situation's under control. We have the asset contained. Forrester shouted to the man, grabbing him by the collar, pointing to the enraged beast that was only inches away from gouging our flesh out and infecting us. Yes, sir, but you don't understand, the soldier huffed out. His face as red as a tomato and sweat dripping down his face under his mask. Subject P2709 is not going to escape.

Get a container crew down here and we'll clean up this mess. Negative, sir. The container crew is occupied. The other one. The bigger one, P2705. It got out. He handed us a video monitor that I recognized from viewing the camera feeds on the base. We watched as a large, muscle-bound man with a wild expression,

black eyes, long twisted arms and black veins. running across his body I could do nothing more than turn to the lieutenant in shock, most likely with the same look of bewilderment and fear that he had on his face, and mutter, Sir, we've been breached, in a defeated tone. But Forrester was speechless. His eyes were still locked on the chamber in front of us, where subject P-2709 was still pounding on the glass. but now joined by two other figures.

One of their faces covered up by the spray of black and red gunk on his interior visor. The others face an unrecognisable pomp of flesh after its beating. How had they turned so fast? I thought to myself. They'd describe the mental and physical transformation process, taking minutes to hours on UL 1052. I took hold of the tablet from the lieutenant and grafted in my own shaking hands, flipping through feeds, but I was now unable to locate P2705 or any other base personnel in the now gau-stained underground corridors, that is, until the very end, which was a live surface-level view.

Dozens of shambling figures burst out of the facility and began to stream out onto the base, leaving a dark trail visible behind them on the monitor. A new island was recently discovered in the Pacific Ocean. These stories track what happened next. Chronicle one, Indonesia. This isn't a zombie apocalypse, but I wish that it was. Nine days. Apparently nine days, 11 hours, and 23 minutes is all that it takes to destroy a nation and major world power.

I've been calculating just how long it's been since the first reports had surfaced of them. first arriving on our shores and when they stormed the capital where I live, leaving a path of annihilation and untold suffering in their wake. No, no, these things aren't zombies. They're so much worse than that. Which nation am I referring to, he may be asking? Some call us the emerald of the equator, Newzantara, or the world's greatest archipelago. But I'd just like to tell Americans that we're the Philippines older brother nation. that over two-thirds of the population of America

with certainly no small country but I imagine many of you in the United States have never heard of Indonesia before although we've certainly heard of you in Jakarta where I currently make my abode things seem darker than they've been before while I write this smoke wafs in through the cracks in my window and underneath my door

sweat drips down my nose and cheeks considering the power went out long ago and my hands tremble as I attempt to describe what I imagine to be the worst calamity to strike humanity in thousands of years. Chittering, skittering, chattering, noises echo across the city every single hour of every single day. During the daylight hours, but especially at night when I lay on the floor, wide-eyed and alone, I hear other things too. I hear the moans, the whales, the blood curdling screams, the sounds of fires raging, Cows crashing and alarms blaring. But by far the worst are the voices.

Human voices that come in all manner of tongues and tones. Indonesian, Javanese, Chinese, English. What's universal about these voices is that almost all of them screech and cry and beg for mercy. But the horrible truth is, it's becoming more and more difficult to tell which ones to trust, if any at all. Some sound fresh, others sound barely human at all, anyone. But during some of the worst bouts of muffled shouting, sobbing, choking and vomiting, that I hear through my walls. I put as many physical barriers in front of my entryway as I can.

I curl up in the corner of my filthy, wet, roach-ridden apartment, cover my ears, and wait for it to pass in favour of a more acceptable level of verbal chaos. How did it come to this? I was in the middle of watching a rather goofy Malaysian film called K.L. Zombie. one hot and stuffy December day when I decided to switch the channel, coming upon a breaking news broadcast over a new bout of rioting happening in the eastern part of the country. The indigenous people of Papua have been in conflict

with the central Indonesian government since our country's independence, so this was nothing new to me, and it also wasn't news when I heard that the internet for the province was being cut off. However, the recent developments that were captured by local journalists were quite unusual to say the least. In another part of Papua, I saw as a news crew was gathered around the shore on a particularly crowded day. A young female reporter walked along the beach while bathed in sunlight and pointed to a clump

of what looked like a large, dark mass of something. It was hard to describe, seeing as it almost appeared to be fleshy and lumpy in shape, at nearly ten metres across and three metres high, yet with a smooth, shiny texture. That's when I realized that it wasn't a cloudy day at all, and the ocean wasn't covered in the shade of clouds above. No, the ocean was tainted black. My jaw hit the floor. The entire ocean, all the way up to the horizon as far as I could see on my cheap television, was a very dark, muddled grey, in contrast to the brightly illuminated anchor and the beach around her.

"'Han oil spill, perhaps,' I mused, quickly looking up the key words on my search engine, but I received no relevant results for this area or time. Didn't even think there was oil drilling in this part of Papua. My attention turned back to the TV, and I watch with anticipation, as the anchor walked up to the black mass with a T-shirt tied around her face, I assume for the stench, and, with a gloved hand, motioned around its centre while talking about it. the dangers of pollution. It was only then that I realized that the hulking, bloated and distorted, monstrosity on the television behind the anchor, was a beached whale. What kind of whale could become

so deformed, and what could have done this to it? I can't imagine, but my attention, as well as the attention of the anchor, was quickly drawn back behind her, as the carcass began to undulate, rumble and expand, before its midsection popped like a balloon, sending a spattering of black gunk and bile, as well as a thick red liquid I can only assume to be blood, flying in all directions. Naturally the woman, the crew and the lens of the camera were drenched in the disgusting substance. I saw the cameraman lean down and attempt to wipe off a thin layer coating the only gateway that I had to view this bizarre occurrence. The microphone must have been coated too

Because the sound was extremely muffled But after the lens was somewhat cleansed with a clock I could see the anchor attempted back away From the internal organs and viscera of the whale carcass That just ejected themselves outwards from their natural holding place However, as the young woman was wiping the dark goo away from our eyes And off her face and stepping away from the murky surf I saw a stop for a second before quickly going

glancing back with a look of panic but before i could inspect further i saw nothing but static as the feed was abruptly cut off thankfully with the aid of technology i was able to take my remote and rewind from before the feed was cut and press my face as near as i dared to the tv screen ignoring the two-inch-long roach that was scuttling near the corner of the screen and observed more closely as to why the woman had stopped and I was shocked to see that it almost appeared as if the fluid and gore that had splashed onto the ground at her feet had reached out and latched onto her ankle, keeping her from moving. That's when I noticed that these weren't normal riots and this wasn't going to be a normal December.

As the death toll from the most recent bount of rioting began to rack up into the quadruple digits, I knew that the government and news agencies were lying to us about its true course. It wasn't until I started checking the news online that I found out what was truly going on as I saw videos of the infected. From the city of Jayapura to remote villages in the heart of Papua, it seemed reports of violence, hysteria and disease were breaking out all over the island. And seeing footage of these people made me wonder what could compel human beings to act in such a manner. I witnessed an entire village of Papuan locals go mad. babbling incoherently and tearing at their own flesh as well as that of those in their immediate vicinity. And every time they did, in addition to the red blood that would spill out onto the ground,

that same black fluid would splash on their clothes, hands and feet. This wasn't just a native problem either. As I saw footage, someone had captured from their cell phone of a hospital in Jayapura where the walls looked almost completely black and slick, coated by the oily substance, with lunatics running around in the fray, who, as seen by their black eyes, veins and mouths, were all affected with the same contagion and all screaming. But I could actually understand what they were saying now,

and found to my shock and horror that they were not the ramblings of lunatics losing their minds, but rather cries of pain, pitiful sorrows and sometimes aggressive threats as they jumped on and ravished any and all hospital start. they could see who weren't already infected. Right before the filming spectator was rushed by an infected doctor, the aggressive creature in the white lab coat said something quite strange. The madman clicked and bellowed as he whacked the phone out of the cameraman's hand and onto the ground, cutting the live stream.

Other cases were filmed from helicopters, although not quite as personal or frightening as the handheld footage, it was far more disturbing as you could plainly see the true sky scope of the disaster, as it was clear by this point they'd taken the streets. Thousands of them screeched nonsense and violently destroyed everything in their wake, grabbing men, women and children out of cars, and ripping out their throats or puncturing them with their claw-like hands, only to have those that they'd just dispatch rise up and join them, sometimes within less than a minute. Some of the infected were almost unrecognizable

as human beings, nearly coated head to toe in that, oily black slime, the legs and arms stretched far too long for their bodies and twisted into ungodly positions. I watched all this carnage break out from the comfort and safety of my own home on my laptop screen, for a while at least. Indonesia is an archipelago, you see, a chain of islands strung across thousands of kilometers, hence I thought I had enough time to get things in order before this contagion or whatever it was, could reach my neighbourhood in Jakarta. on the island of Java. However, by this time I could receive no further updates,

as it appeared that the president had signed an executive order completely shutting off commercial internet access in the entire country, supposedly in order to curb misinformation. Even those trusty VPNs couldn't seem to crack the encryption that's keeping the world from knowing about the peril we 260 million souls now find ourselves in. Although, truth be told, I have no way. of knowing if the rest of humanity is faring any better than we are.

This was the turning point that set the entire city into panic mode. The civilians raised stores, looted small shops and stole any and all supplies they could in order to barricade their homes and prepare for the worst, all while local police and soldiers either stood by and watched or often joined in, abandon their posts in order to be with their families and loved ones. Well, like the procrastinator I am. I stayed at home until it was too late. By the time I finally exited my 16th floor apartment,

I was greeted with utter bedlam on the streets below me, and even in my own apartment building, as families dashed back and forth, some of whom were clearly infected, as seen by black veins running at their necks, but had not yet fully lost their minds. I was able to grab a handful of supplies from a local market, a few dozen bananas and plastic bags full of canned goods,

But it was extremely treacherous and riskier journey, as I witnessed dozens of infected shambling in the streets. Several actually attempted to approach me, while others still shouted out to me before growing increasingly frustrated and angry when I ignored them. But thankfully they directed their aggression at other uninfected passes by. Well, it's a goddamn miracle I made it back alive and uninfected. After this, I strictly relegated myself to the inside of my apartment. pushing my mattress, drawers, TV stand, TV and anything else against the only door into my home. But after several days of isolation, curiosity got the better of me. I'd taken up people watching from the safety of my apartment,

looking down at the chaos and destruction taking place below. The sole window located in my apartment faces out from the front of the building. And one evening I looked down in bewilderment and terror, as I saw my neighbour from across the hall, a Dutch expatriate named Yance, stumbling down the street, clearly infected, as seen by the light trail of black ink droplets left behind in his way. He careened and shuffled from side to side, desperately asking fellow infected pedestrians if they could help him, but to no avail. One large infected man he drunkenly bumped into reacted aggressively, shoving him across the street

and onto the ground. setting his head smacking against a nearby male dropbox. The dropbox with solid steel to keep thieves at bay, and hence when he hit it, I could see from my window that a large tear had opened up on the side of his skull, sending a fresh wave of blood and tar dribbling down the side of his face. That's when his head slowly drifted up and his eyes met with mine. I immediately duck my head back into the seclusion of my two-room home.

"'Wait, I found it!' Yence stuttered out ecstatically, as I imagined he began pointing out directly towards my apartment since I was one of the few neighbours he would recognise. I curse myself for my recklessness, and waited with bated breath for the inevitable. It was only a few minutes before I heard the awkward gait of the creature that used to be Yens, making his way to and fro down the hall, and I nearly yelped in shepherds. shock and fear as soon as I heard the same stuttering clicking noise I'd heard him make earlier on the street. He, it, was approaching and fast. I braced myself against my makeshift blockade

as quickly as I could before I felt and heard a series of belligerent knocks in rapid succession on the other side of the flimsy thin wooden door. Knowing that the thing that once was Yenst was only inches away on the other side was profoundly panicking. inducing but I knew I had to stay absolutely quiet neighbor he called out in an almost jovial turn neighbor I think something's wrong I need to go home my eyes began to well up with tears of fear and pity and I gritted my teeth as I saw the doorknob begin to turn and felt a much greater pressure coming from the other side of the door you fucking Idiot, I thought to myself. In my haste to block off the entrance, I completely forgotten to even lock the front door in the first place.

Everything hurt. He let out in a sorrowful plea, but I refused to budge even an inch or exhale the breath I've been holding for a good half-minute now. By another extraordinary miracle, I heard the door on the opposite side of the hall open up, and the mounting pressure against my door immediately ceased, as my aggressor was now drawn elsewhere. My eyes drifted downwards, and I saw a pool of black goo and red blood had seeped through the crack of my door, which I made a quick mental note of to keep away from at all costs. Please help me home.

Yent screamed at my unknown, savior. Please get me home. Whether the person who served as a distraction for my dangerously insane neighbor was infected, or not was not my concern. I couldn't have helped them even if I wanted to. Thankfully, that was the closest call I've had since I barricaded myself here in my home, but I haven't got any more hopeful. It's been weeks or even months now since I lost power. I've all but since stopped thinking about track of the days. I doubt it's even the same year, I think it is. But they're

not zombies. don't make conversation with themselves late at night in the middle of the street, or yell obscene rants at the top of their lungs in the apartment above, or beg for assistance while alone in an alley, only to turn and attack you once you come near, switching from begging for assistance to begging for forgiveness. All this I've witnessed and more, leading me to the conclusion that the minds of these infected people are at least still partially intact, and they still maintain some degree of autonomy over their movements. although the contagion seems to have a greater control over their physical bodies their brains however poisoned are still very much alive and fighting and losing for control

i don't know what this thing is or where it came from but it's changing people they act erratically and sometimes seemingly without purpose but the one thing they have in common is the desire to spread the contagion which is why i imagine There's so much vomiting, bleeding, weeping and even spitting going on with the infected, spreading that disgusting, foul-smelling black sludge onto all surfaces within sight. I cautiously took a glance out of my window earlier, for the first time in weeks. I'm starting to see new things, fascinating, wonderful and terrible things. To inspire wonder is not always for the best, however, as the only emotions the revelations of the outside world could muster in me were complete and utter horror and anxiety of the highest magnitude. The sun no longer shines through the never-ending stream of dark clouds that have enveloped the city.

The clouds are thick and unnaturally dark shade of black, release black rain onto the streets below from time to time, and I can only imagine what would occur if myself or any other healthy human were to be exposed at sea. even the smallest drop. It seems that the contagion which is causing all of this is beginning to mutate, or perhaps this was the evolutionary end of its life cycle the whole time. Fleshy black tissue is now bursting out of the windows and doors of buildings and homes of all shapes and sizes.

I made the mistake the other day of looking at the skyscraper next to my own building. I saw a patchwork network of slimy, revolting, organic appendages branching all across the world. the structure, almost like overgrown vines or plant life. In the centre of this new unnatural mass is the most puzzling, though not the most disturbing alteration. A large, blue-tinted collection of translucent flesh is now visible,

gently pulsating and contracting back and forth. Some nights it even emits a bright neon blue light, bathing my small apartment in its horrific splendour, forcing me to bury my head in my knees in order to avoid this constant reminder of my torment. Some buildings are even connected by strands of stringy black flesh that almost look like ropes of black snots strung together after a sneeze. Without question though, the worst part is the collection of arms, legs, hands and faces that lay embedded in its black flesh.

Their skin fused into the new walls of what were once great skyscrapers. all of them are still alive gasping for air to fill lungs that likely no longer exist yet many are still capable of talking shouting and bawling with black tears flowing down their twisted faces all this happens in complete darkness or worse illuminated by the pale blue light of the new sun that formed in front of my building giving me a shockingly clear view of the pain desperation and regret etched to the thousands of faces of infected that litter the walls. Java is a crowded island, you see. Over 150 million people. A size nearly half that of the US, all crammed onto an island the size of Florida. Imagine a seemingly endless, sprawling city

with countless people to use and consume as biomass for whatever sick and demented endgame this contagion is working towards. Not caring about the mental and physical collateral, it inflicts on its victims. The collective human suffering on this island must by far eclipse that in all of Asia during World War II.

And by the time this is over, I have a feeling at the entire city of Jakarta will be alive with the flesh of human beings and other animals, infected and converted into these dreadful, strange new life-forms that litter the area. All the while, the last remaining unassimilated infected, roam the streets against their will and the assimilated infected scream in agony and confusion

while conjoined with the greater hive. It's now been four days since I ran out of food. And although when I dared to take a peep at the streets, it seems like they'd mostly calmed down and cleared an infected individual since when I'd last lived a few weeks ago, those large, swaying black tendrils that are growing out of the buildings and storm drains are possibly even more horrific. I think, I can say with confidence that this island is the closest place to hell I can think of on the planet. Chronicle 2.

Japan. I woke up gasping for air days after I'd hang myself. Contrary to popular belief, Japan doesn't actually have the highest suicide rate of any country in the world. That distinction actually bounces between various Eastern European countries each year. and even though we are up there, the global perception of a universal suicide culture in my country is greatly exaggerated. I have never been suicidal, or considered self-harm earlier in my life, but about a month or so ago,

I hung a noose from the rafters and wrapped it around my neck, hoping to end my life. I only made things infinitely worse. I live, or rather lived, in a small ocean-side town in Hokkaido, Japan with my parents. Yes, I'm nearing 30, and although my lifestyle is becoming quite common for a growing number of unmarried men here, they have many names for us in Japan.

Parasite single, her before man, social recluse. As can be expected, none of these are quite pleasant and all designed to bring humiliation and shame, which is part of the reason I never leave the house and meet people anymore to begin with. I have few wants or desires that can't be fulfilled from here in my parents' attic anyways, as I have all needs, physical, emotional, sexual, met with relative ease, tricking downstairs every now and then for food when I hunger, playing through computer games when I'm bored, and turning to the internet for gratification when I'm desirous,

rinse and repeat every single day. The only main issue I have is with hygiene, as one could imagine. I shower only once a month, sometimes less, and the pile of rotting food and garbage in the corner that I can't be bothered to clean is beginning to let out a foul odor and attract scuttling insects of all kinds. This may be a shell of a life for some,

but it's all I've known for the past decade, which is why I was nearly shocked beyond words when my mother stumbled in the house one cloudy day in an absolutely atrocious condition. I was stocking up supplies for, the week downstairs when I heard a banging at the kitchen entryways, and although I usually never answered the door under any circumstances, I was quite puzzled when I heard my mother's voice calling out from the other side. Did she lock herself outside? I mused. Naturally, I went to open

the door, but jump back and dropped the bag of chips I was holding in disbelief once the dishevelled woman stepped inside. Her stringy black hair was caked onto the side of her face with dry blood that seemed to originate from a gash on her forehead. And I saw other spots of dry blood near the edges of her mouth and hands as well. However, in contrast to the old blood on her face and arms, a fresh liquid also appeared on her as well, a much thicker, darker liquid

that almost seemed to be streaming out of her tear ducts, her nose, mouth and possibly ears. I couldn't be sure. The dark fluid was also smeared across her clothes and body, the ladder of which was unnaturally. a pale color. Mother, what happened to you? I gasped as she stumbled inside in a stupor.

Father, come quick. Mother merely swayed back and forth and looked at me in confusion. Her head cocked to one side with her mouth, fixed open just a bit, sending a string of black saliva drooping down onto the floor. What are you doing home, son?

She questioned in a slurring, stuttering voice, reaching out to grab my arm. I stepped back without hesitation, call me brash or uncaring, but I didn't want her to touch me in this horrid state. My father stepped into the room at this time, taking in a deep, sudden inhalation

and rushing forward to meet her, placing his hands on either side of her body. Why is our son home? Mother repeated, gesturing to me. He has school today. He can't, to, disple. be leitst again. Father and I exchanged bewildered glances before Father turned back towards her and attempted

to get her to sit at the kitchen table. Riegel, you are not well, father shouted while placing her onto the wooden chair. Stay here, and we will get you help as soon as possible. Father pointed to the home phone hanging on the wall and motioned for me to take it, but I was ahead of him, already moving towards it. Once I pulled the phone out, I dialed him. emergency services but received nothing but a dial tone as a reply. I told my father as much and he seemed quite angry with me,

quickly running over to see for himself, before pulling out his cellular phone and trying again but to no avail. Father then ran back to Mother and picked her up in his arms, struggling to open the front door as I stared on, dumbstruck. What are you doing, you idiot? Get the keys, he barked as he slipped outside and started running towards the car. with my mother coughing and sputtering and spitting in his arms. I rushed to the counter and snatched the family car keys from the rack,

hastily following my parents out the front door and to the car. Mother screeched and howled the entire way to the hospital, as we slowed upon our arrival. I was disheartened to see the large crowd that had gathered around the hospital, blocking our car from pulling up to the front entrance for dozens of meetings. Wait here. My father told me, opening the back seat of the car with Mother in his arms. Well, as soon as he stepped out of the car, I saw Mother's dirty hands reach up for her side and latch onto his throat,

tearing out a large chunk of meat, before she leaned forward and spat black slime into the newly created wound, causing my father to recoil before falling to the ground while screaming and wildly flaming his arms. I bellowed out to them. But in my panic I stepped on the accelerator, slamming into countless people in the crowd before realizing my mistake and switching to reverse. The members of the crowd that had gathered outside the hospital were anything but peaceful, chasing down news reporters and pedestrians before pinning them to the ground and spewing, chunky black sludge directly into their faces, screaming out apologies and expletives to their victims the entire time. One young man with blackened eyes was violently hurled, face-first,

against the windshield of my car, sending a spattering of black spit jettisoned against the glass in front of me. "'Earsall!' the young man's shadowed at me, shaking his fist at me. "'Get out of the car and face me like a man!' Well, the man and many other strange people have begun pursuing my car once I took off. Their eyes clouded over with a black glaze and dark liquid splattered across their faces and bodies. but once I made it to the highway, I was able to easily outpace them and start to make my way back home. Their screams and wails and clicks echoed in my mind the entire drive,

but I soon realized that they weren't only repeating in my head, as I heard them all around town, not even ceasing when I finally made it back to my neighbourhood. I was Sons' parents this time, and the sky seemed much darker than it had before. In my fear and timidity I bolted into my house as soon as the car entered our driveway and scramble as fast as I could to open the entrance to the attic

and pull up the swinging door on the ceiling in a bout of short-sized persilanimity I'd forgotten to bring food water on any form of weapon not that we had a lot of those around here and most importantly I'd forgotten to lock the front door

which became apparent in a couple of hours once I heard the front door slam open and footsteps storming through the house. I remained huddled in the corner of the attic as I heard both mother and father call out for me from underneath in the house. I could hear the groaning and clicking noises between the howls of anger and insults they were thrown out directed towards me such as, Worthers Child, Little Worm or Shameless Loser. Clearly my parents were never particularly proud of me or my accomplishments in life,

but I had never seen them so aggressive. if before, as I heard them viciously tear apart the house looking for me. But it appears in their altered states, it completely slipped their minds to try and pry open the attic door on the ceiling. It took almost half a day for the creatures who'd been my parents once to finally leave the home, and it was another three weeks of isolation in the attic before the hunger was far too unbearable. I'd taken a peek outside of the attic window only a handful of time since then, and I was met with horrific sights. A completely darkened landscape that I almost thought was the night sky, had I not seen tiny rays of sunlight peeking through the unnatural canopy. Human beings that should

have been long dead with throat slashed or faces mutilated, running around and babbling at the top of their lungs. Worst of all, thin black tendrils that snaked up and around the surfaces of most of the buildings in my neighbourhood, sometimes encasing the black-eyed, infected individuals against the walls, while they thrashed about and begged for help. I saw jet black roaches scrambling around in the corner and on the ceiling of the attic, leaving trails of inky goo in their wake. I knew then that I had no choice. No rescue was coming, and my once safe refuge was rapidly becoming contaminated. Now, before you get some inane, romanticized western idea that all Japanese are in possession of a katano or similar samurai sword

in their homes at all times. Weapons of any kind are actually exceptionally rare in most of Japan. Most who actually hold on to these historic artifacts of war would never dream of actually using them in self-defense or self-harm. As unpleasant as it sounded, I knew that hanging was the only logical option in order to end this nightmare I found myself in. Now you have to understand that I detest pain of all kind and am a complete whim when it comes to any kind of uncomfortable experience. So you can imagine my hesitation in following through with this terrible act. But where my options, I saw it is the most efficient and logical way to put an end to

my suffering. I've heard horrific stories of people hanging themselves only to regret their decision and die in an unimaginable amount of agony as they attempted to free themselves from the noose, but to no avail, so I made sure that it would be the fall and snap of my neck that killed me rather than asphyxiation. This was no easy task, as I actually had to stack up all the furniture in the room in order to reach the rafters and securely attach the rope before tying it around my neck and preparing for the plunge.

I cautiously and shakily climbed up the haggard stack of furniture several meters high I'd made underneath my homemade bed sheet noose before affixing the tight cloth rope around my neck. I curse God and my entire civilization before shutting my eyes as tight as I could and jumping from the wooden bee. In the end, at least I would die human were the last thoughts that went through my head

as I fell to the ground and caught fast on the rope around my neck. My world immediately fell into darkness. Have you ever heard of anesthesia awareness? Well, when I was at the dentist as a teenager getting my wisdom teeth removed, the practitioner had not properly administered enough anesthesia to fully numb the procedure or render me unconscious. I was still completely immobile and felt the agonizing pain of drills and other instruments burying into my gums and jaw in order to remove the teeth on all four corners of my mouth. It was an excruciating ordeal that I

thought surely had lasted for hours. But afterwards my parents informed me that I was only knocked out for 20 minutes at the most. Well, my death and resurrection was similar to this experience. The first thing that I felt was a red hot pain in my neck and spine that, quite frankly, was unlike anything I'd ever experienced in my life. But for what seemed like days, I was unable to move a single muscle, not even to open my eyes. The pain was similar to a pinch nerve, only far more widespread and intense, and unlike a pinch nerve, there was absolutely no period of respite as waves of shocking needle-like sensations shot through me. After what seemed like a lifetime, I was finally able to gently flutter

one eye open, followed minutes later by the other, when my surroundings finally came into focus, I saw that I was back in hell once more. I was unable to move anything at this point other than my eyes, and as they darted back and forth across the room, I felt confusion and dread overtake me. How was I still alive? Did my suicide attempt not work? I thought for sure it was foolproof.

I silently hung from the same position that I'd taken my own life in days earlier. Everything was still a bit blurry and sound was greatly muffled. almost like I was under water. And that's when I felt a tickling feeling in the back of my throat, almost like a feather gently brushing against my ear. With all my remaining authority, I commanded the muscles in my throat to obey me,

and with much effort I finally managed a cough, which was quite difficult with the strain of the rope still pressing against my neck. But this was soon followed by another raspy choking cough, the last of which sent a small, black speck. flying out of my mouth and onto the floor my eyes focused on the strange sight before it swiftly shot across the room with disgust I realized what had just exited my body a small black roach about one centimeter in length I couldn't feel much in my extremities and certainly couldn't move anything down there I immediately started to gas for air through

the constriction of the rope coughing and spluttering and sputtering and spitting as much as I I could, but all that I ejected from my body this time was small amounts of black spittle. How did this happen? My mind thought, before I put the pieces together. After I'd hang myself, the small black roach must have crawled across the support beam, down the rope and into my mouth, infecting me with the same parasite that was causing the mutations around town. Unfortunately, because I had a broken neck in the fall, I was completely,

completely powerless to escape or do anything to alleviate my current predicament, which, little did I know, was about to get so much worse. I hung up there in the attic like a pathetic worm on a hook for what must have been weeks, silently taking in the familiar sights of my room and memorising its layout many times over. Sometimes I had dreams or hallucinations that the rope snapped, and I was freed from this prison, and magically regaining feeling in my arms and legs before purging the black fluid from my body and running away to safety. But when I reopened my eyes, there I was,

still swaying back and forth from that damned rope. I gave up screaming long ago. With my crushed windpipe, all that was able to escape from my mouth was a pitiable wheeze and breathless, incoherent stuttering. I had no idea how this parasite works, or how my body had rebooted itself and re-obtain consciousness in the first place. After one particularly fruitless day of attempting to crane my head to the side and thrash my chin about wildly,

I could finally start to regain some sensation in the upper portion of my body, especially the chest area. I felt something else tickling the back of my throat and gagged, but this time whatever was obstructing my aerase was much larger than before. I coughed and coughed with every last bit of strength I had left in me before feeling something slimy, prickly and hairy on the back of my tongue and something else brushing against the roof of my mouth. Without pause I spat and finally managed to expel the object from my mouth which fell to the ground with a thud.

My eyes slowly glanced down at the sight which was haunted me ever since. A black roach, the size of my thumb, with visibly large antennae and six scuttling legs, clambered back up the wall with unmatched speed. Slowly, I came to the horrific realization that the feeling I was gradually beginning to experience in my chest wasn't me regaining sensation, but the tickling of dozens, possibly hundreds of roaches or other insects that had made their way into my chest cavity, squirming and crawling of, around inside of me while I was helpless to intervene. That's when utter panic setting and I started letting out pitiful moans and rocking my head

back and forth in a seemingly futile attempt to break free from the rope. But after hours of this subtle repetitive action, I could finally see that my body was indeed swaying ever so slightly and that my right arm was moving just ahead. It took another day of this unbearable pain in my neck and squirming in my chest. and throat before I discovered that I was able to barely wiggle my right hand side to side. And after another two days, I was able to lift my forearm completely into view in front of my body, and saw small bumps moving just underneath the skin, even though I had no sensation in the limb whatsoever.

It felt a lot like falling asleep or laying on a limb for too long and cutting off blood flow to the nerves, leaving you without feeling but still some degree of motor control, over the stubborn appendage. I actually started feeling subtle pins and needles in my legs before my arms, which is when I discovered that I actually had far more control over my lower half than my upper half. And this realization led me to kicking my legs as much as I could.

But in this state it looked like it was merely gently lifting my feet up and down. Directly after this, I felt a tickling along my thighs, underneath my pants and scampering all the way across the length of my legs. I could barely make out the dull thud of a small insect body hitting the floor. I didn't even want to think where it had come from. And finally, after weeks of torment, I was able to regain some feeling in my right hand and completely lifted up over my head and grasp onto the noose. But it was far too tight for me to undo while my full body weight was pulling it taut.

I was completely hopeless. I thought that I truly never was going to leave this place. My vision slowly started to dim, and I thought surely to add insult to injury, I was going to go blind now as well. But after I blinked, a wave of black tears rolled down my cheeks and onto the floor. This was soon followed by another bout of coughing,

sending two large roaches flying across the room and scurrying into the dark corners. I wasn't going to let these horrid, disgusting insects win, make a nest out of my own body. The next day I put my right arm back over my head and, with a firm grasp on the rope, swung my limp left arm back and forth before swinging it up with all my might, catching the rope in my hand just underneath the right. I pulled and strained like I'd never had before in my life,

and for the first time in weeks felt a slight relief on the constriction around my throat, and the pain in my neck I took in a huge lung full of air. My arms were still too weak, however, and I plummeted back into my standard position, the rope catching on my throat once again, sending another, much worse, electrifying spasm of pain across my neck. The pain was so great this time than I simply closed my eyes in defeat and attempted to drift off to sleep in order to avoid it. Having a dream of another miraculous escape and cure for the contagious dark liquid and roaches inside of me. God, it felt so real I would have believed it actually happened had I not still been swinging by a rope

wrapped around my neck when I open my eyes. When I worked from my pleasant fantasy was met with the familiar landscape of the attic, I was furious. I wanted to inflict pain on anyone and everyone in my vicinity so they could feel only a portion of the torture I was feeling. I wanted to tear off my own skin

and rip the roaches out of my organs. realistically though I knew there was only one way out of this situation I patiently waited two whole days in the darkness of that room silently testing the abilities of my limbs that were slowly returning to me gradually regaining feeling in my lower body and looking in horror as the black insects started to burrow out from beneath the skin of my arms and chest causing a tremendous amount of pain and leading to dark liquid spilling out and coating my hands I felt something tickling in the inside of my ear canal and I gingerly lifted my hand and poked a finger inside hearing a dull squish and feeling something wet slide down the side of my face while it turned out the sounds in this room weren't muffled and there was nothing wrong with my hearing at all

my ear canals were merely blocked by insects who'd laid their eggs there and obstructed the sound right now's the time I thought I placed both hands up above my head, grabbed onto the rope and lifted like my life depended on it. I felt the pressure released from my throat once more, and, centimetre by centimeter, I slowly conquered the rope, putting one hand in front of the other in my slow ascent. The pain in my arms and chest while climbing was indescribable, but I knew that the punishment

for failing was far worse, and hence I pushed on. right before I reached the top my left hand slid down a bit my wet slippery hands grappling with a sheet rope but I soon caught on once more pumping my legs as much as I could and gyrating my body in such a way as to give me enough leverage to clamour on top of the support beam I gasped for air on top of the beam before letting out a horse croaking howl of victory that probably came out no louder than a whisper through my damaged airways I wasn't quite sure if those would ever come back the way the feeling in my body did. I slammed my fist onto the wooden rafter in triumph, which immediately creaked and then gave way, sending me tumbling three or four metres to the ground, landing on my noodle-light legs in an extremely awkward manner. I had a sickening snap and looked down to see white bone jutting out from the black muscular tissue of my leg,

which was accompanied by more searing pain. I'd never broken a bone before, and even in my living dead state, it was more agony than I thought I could handle. I figured I'd surely part out, but before I could, saw a wave of black roach nymphs scattering out of the exposed flesh of my broken leg. They poured out like water in all directions, almost looking like large angry ants crawling out of an antill, the entire time biting my skin before taking off into the darkness. I felt something surging in my throat once more and vomited a continuous stream of black fluid to the side, seeing living and dead roaches of all sides

swinging around in the viscous liquid as well. I pull myself into the corner of my old bedroom and struggle to find my notebook and pen from my drawer. Well, I don't know how legible this note's going to be. But I am transcribing my journey down while I can still do it, in order to warn others not to attempt what I did just so as to spare someone from this same nightmarish ordeal. I was a coward, and this is my recompense. There is no respite for my condition. There never was. One way or another, I was destined to rot in my own body. But maybe I can find a way to finally end this suffering. I think I'm going to crawl or hobble to the outside world now.

Literally anything is better than this tortuous existence in my room turned prison. I don't know where this contagion came from, how it started, or why I seem to have more control over my mind than others. But if anyone, anyone comes across this note, please do not make the same mistakes that I did. And so once again, 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.