Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep314: Episode 314: Secret projects and Evil Experiments

Episode Date: February 5, 2026

Tonight’s first terrifying tale of the weird and macabre is ‘Project Demigod’ by the wonderfully talented Corpse Child, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: Reddit: u/Corpse_Child/ Reddit: r/DrCreepensVault/comments/vuqcl2/project_demigod/Tonight’s closing tale of horror is the complete ''Project BT560'', an epic original story by Luke Hemingway, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all. https://twitter.com/LukeHemingway11Reddit: user/Pristine-Engine4388/ 

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Secret projects and experiments scare us because they suggest power operating beyond scrutiny or consent. When something is hidden, especially by institutions capable of shaping reality on a large scale, it invites the fear that decisions affecting our lives are being made without moral restraint or accountability. The secrecy itself becomes ominous. If it were harmless, why conceal it? In horror, clandestine experiments and classified initiatives tap into,

a deeper anxiety that knowledge is being withheld, that boundaries are being tested in silence, and that the consequences may already exist outside the walls meant to contain them, as we shall see in tonight's two feature-length stories. Now as ever before we begin, a word of caution, tonight's tales may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. And let's begin. Project Demigod, by Corpse Child. People always used to ask me, What makes you special? Usually it was over the fact that I was given just about anything I wanted.

Life was handed to me on a silver platter, at least in the eyes of most. Yes, I came from money. Yes, I lived in a very nice house in a very nice area. And yes, I was even enrolled in the top tier schools growing up. I even had an account to my name with over $120,000 that I would have immediate access to when I turned 18. So, yes. I guess you could say I was blessed or special. Of course it didn't exactly feel that way.

Money or no money, I wasn't without my own struggles personally. I may have always had more than enough to eat, never have to worry about where I'd lay my head at night, in an alley or overpass somewhere, sure, but, well, don't get me wrong, I never tried to really flaunt my fortune in anyone's face either. I wasn't without problems with my own. the biggest of which being my relationship with my father. Growing up it was just me and him.

I never knew my mother, and dad never even so much as mentioned her in any sort of conversation. Well, a few I can actually remember as having. My father worked as a biological research from chemists for the government at one of their research centres. He'd be gone for most of the day back then and sometimes wouldn't even come home until will into the next afternoon. This didn't bother me too much though.

I'd usually pass the time either painting in the art studio my father had set up in a house in an empty room or in my own room, reading one of the innumerable novels on Celtic, Nordic, Eastern and, many other folk legends and or mythos. Well, that was, of course, my favourite of those two pastimes. I'd be lost for hours imagining myself in those fantastical worlds, either rescuing a princess, slaying a mighty beast, or being granted some magical ability that elevated me beyond that of other people. Oftentimes, being as quiet as it was in the house during the day, my imagination would go so far as to cause me to conjure up some of these creatures

who'd play with me. Of course, at the time, at least I knew they weren't real. But it was better to me than being alone every day. At night too, when I'd lay in my bed, I'd hear them, calling out to me, telling me that they were there. But they'd always be there. Unfortunately, this was also for reasons I couldn't yet understand, a big thing that my father mostly disapproved of.

I found this out when, one morning when I was younger, about 14 or 15 at the time, I came into my room from school to find him there, holding one of my paintings with the look of absolute fear chiseled into his face. What are these? He'd asked, shaking. They're my paintings, Dad, I replied. Confusion and anxiety. anxiety mixing and causing my legs to quiver. His eyes further widened. I watched the olive

complexion drain from his face, leaving him a ghoulish pale. What's wrong with him? Where did you see this? What? Where did you see this? he repeated, snapping at me. Well, hey, they're from the books. What books? I led him to the library and showed him to the library and showed him. The apprehension on his face grew when I showed him these books. Get out, he said coldly. Get out and don't ever let me find you in here again, do you understand? I just stared blankly at him. Get. Well, this time he shouted it. His voice echoed throughout the walls of the library, causing me to run out as fast as I could. I remember how rapidly my heart

kept beating when I left the library and ran down the hall. My mind was racing. My mind was racing, Why was he so worked up over me reading those books? Why was it so wrong for me to be in there? What was so wrong? I remember contemplating this for hours that day, sitting alone on my bed. I eventually came back out when I heard his footsteps stomping down the hall with a purposeful stride. His eyes were stitched open and bloodshot, almost like those of a wild animal. In his hands were a stack of the books from the library.

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

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

reading those books. His head pressed down to the top of mine, and I could hear him mutter through sobs. Oh, this is all my fault, over and over again. What is, I whimpered, wanting much more desperately for an explanation of some kind than an apology. He never answered, though. Instead, he pulled away from me and made his way back into the library. I remained sitting still in front of the open fireplace. In front of me was... only a handful of the stack of books he brought from the library. A part of me wanted to reach out and grab them, scurrying like a mouse back to my bedroom

before Dad came back to burn them too. But I didn't. No, I just sat and watched the ones that had been thrown in, slowly turned to Anne. I fell asleep there that night, and in the morning I was awakened by my father, roughly shaking me awake. I wake up, start pecking your things.

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

I may have been young, but I knew what he meant. He was kicking me out. So I stood, my knee shaking. What's going on, Dad? Why do I have to... Now, he snapped, now making eye contact with me once more. He had that same face he did the previous night. It was empty, yet somehow sympathetic at the same time.

I could see that, whatever the reason was, he didn't want to send me away any more than I wanted to. still leave. I swear I even saw a single tear streak its way down his face. Just, he shuddered, wiping his face with his hand. Just please, Joseph, do as I say, unpack your things. Where am I going? You're going to stay with your grandma Wendy for a while. She'll be by this evening to get you.

He then started back into the hallway towards the library. Wait! I cried, what about school and what about my friends? He stopped and told me, numbly, dismissively, that he'd taken care of that. I wanted to press further, to cry out and to beg him to let me stay, or at the very least tell me why I had to go, but I didn't. Before I didn't have the chance, I heard the door to the library closed, and I was alone in the living.

Everything was quiet, far too quiet, the way you'd expect from a place that was long abandoned. In a way, that's what the situation was, abandonment. No cause or reason was given as to why or how long, just doing away with life as I knew it. I can't really describe what I felt as I stood in the empty living room. I wanted to cry, sure. It was a frightening situation, but no. It wasn't fright I felt.

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

leaving me numb, hollow, just like my father was. And this is how I'd spend the rest of that day, absent-mindedly stuffing everything of mine that I could fit into two suitcases. Around six o'clock that evening, that Grandma Wendy came for me. I remember walking to the front door, taking one last look around the house, still empty, still quiet. My father came out of the library carrying an handful of books that I knew he intended to burn when the doorbell rang. Grandma Wendy greeted us

with a smile. I can only wonder what she thought when she was received with grim expressions from the both of us. I was told to put my things in the car and wait there while they talked for a month. and by that point I was beyond trying to figure out why everybody was trying to be so vague with what was going on so I just did as I was told

I do remember though taking one last look at Dad silently pleading for him to change his mind he just looked back at me with a mournful stare and nodded for me to go on he didn't say anything to me

nor I to him I just turned around then I went to the car for a while I just sat there, lost, afraid, and just confused. No matter how hard I tried not to think about it, I just couldn't help but brood on the simple question of what I'd done to deserve this. What did I do for my father to have to send me away? I thought briefly about the storybooks, the fairy tale collections, though, as that he was so quick to destroy. I thought too of the way he reacted

when he discovered my artwork based off of them. None of it made sense. But I, I, try as hard as I damn well could, could not come up with any logical answer as to why my father was so adamantly against me reading them, against my enjoyment of fantasy. All of this continued to lead me back to that one central question, one that only now, many years later, am I finally getting an answer for? What was I not being told? Part two. Well, as far as it went at the time, it was about 30 minutes later that Grandma Wendy

came back to the car. remember how she gave me a warm smile, sympathetic, silently telling me, it's going to be okay now. And at one last time at the house, my father was stood on the porch, watching as we started away from the house. I mean a few seconds later,

we were on the highway on the four to six-hour drive away to her house, ending the life I'd known for at least 14 years. Well, things changed drastically, from me, of course. I no longer attended the prep school that I'd done back home, instead having a tutor come to homeschool me, something that my father apparently had arranged beforehand. As well as this, given that Grandma Wendy didn't come from money like my father, I had to learn how to make income for myself like everyone else.

I guess what I'm saying is I wasn't special anymore, like how I'd said I was early. Please understand, I'm not here to cry over that. I'm not saying that because of, that little paradigm shift that life became a waking hell or anything like that. I was still able to live happily, even if I had to adjust to a new lifestyle. I grew up just fine, graduated, top of the class even if I wasn't actually there, got a bachelor's degree in English literature,

and now I live in a very nice house of my own. Life went on, and I was still happy. One thing stayed the same, though. Even if I could no longer read those books, I could still see them. The beings, the fairies, the gods and goddesses from them. Even into adulthood, I'd still hear them calling out to me. They'd tell me how they wanted me to join them in their realm. This, among anything else, proved to be my biggest predicament in life.

Well, I guess, given that I'd live so long by that point away from the realm of childlike imagination, having to live normally, I realized that it wasn't exactly natural. I guess you could say that I was hearing the voices of, fairies. I'd been seeing a therapist for it for a while, and it had helped a little. For the most part, with his help, I'd managed to see and hear them less and less. Not completely gone, but not too much to be really problematic. This theory was that it was sort of my mind's way of holding on to a piece of the past. He said that our minds, usually after something shocking or traumatic like that day at the house,

would grab onto something happy as a sort of defence mechanism. In short, because I'd see the fairies when I was younger and had many fond memories of them, I'd see and hear them now as a way of preserving the past. This would ultimately become my way of accepting what I was experiencing. Not only that, but it was also how I'd make peace with what had happened at the house, with what happened between me and my father. Until now, I'd never thought anything more of it. Then, last Tuesday happened.

I got the phone call. After that day I never actually saw my father again. He never called or wrote either. The only word I'd ever received from him was a birthday card in the mail, along with a check for $300, at least until my 21st, where it was a bottle of imported red wine instead. Outside of that, the old man basically didn't exist to me anymore. Hell, I won't lie.

For a while, despite looking more and more just like him whenever I'd look in the mirror, I actually started to forget what he even looked like. Well, I guess, along with my memory of him, my anger towards him also faded into obscurity. It was early last Tuesday when I got the call that changed all of that look. It was from an old colleague of his from the laboratory he'd worked in. My father's body was found hanging from the rafters in the library. He told me he'd been absent for almost a month and a half,

having put in a letter of resignation and had gone to check in with him. When he was found, it was clear he'd been dead at least three days. I left the next afternoon to go back to my old home, having taken off a month from the office on paid leave. I arrived that evening where I was greeted by the colleague and a few of my father's associates, as well as men in black suits. Legal consultants, I figured. Each of them briefly exchanged condolences before leaving.

One of them, the one I'd spoken with on the phone, gave me a folded piece of paper before I left, telling me they found it with the body. Once everyone was gone, it was dead silent again, just like the old times. No creaking, no tittering, no whir of air, nothing. Standing alone once again in the empty living room, the memories came back to me. All the fantastic adventures I used to have, the quests I'd embark on, and with this, they came back as well. I could hear them the soft, cruning voices of what I imagined to be a beautiful goddess.

There's nothing for you here, child. Come, it's time, my child. I shoved this down then. Even if the voices were just a preservation of memory, they weren't welcome in that moment. No. Being there, in that living room, in that empty, silent house,

only brought memories of loneliness, of abandonment. I looked over to the fireplace, a stack of books sitting in front of it. I went over and took a closer look at them. They were a mix of textbooks on biology as well as a few on quantum physics and engineering, a few on philosophy and religion, and the rest were a couple of the mythology and folklore collections I used to read. This prompted me to go into the library, where I then finally took out the people.

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

Because of the way it was written, I couldn't make all of it out. What I could read was Monolith D1473, Project Demi. Under this was the following message, written almost just as illegibly. There is a God, and I only hope I can be forgiven for my sins. The file has everything. It tells of what I and the others did. It's in the black cabinet, second shelf under D category. The time has come that I have to stop hiding and reveal the truth,

to the world and to my son, Joseph. The things I did, I did for him. But now I must pay for me. my wrongdoings. I must have read that message almost a thousand times. Two main emotions hit me at the exact same time, confusion and anxiety. What was this file? Hell, what was this black cabinet? In all the times past that I'd lingered in that room, even as big as it was, I'd never once seen any filing cabinets, black or otherwise. More importantly, what was it that file contained that apparently haunted my father?

so much so that he eventually took his own life. What did it have to do with me? So it was with all these questions infesting my mind that I took to scour in the room, looking for the elusive black cabinet. I tore that entire room apart, top to bottom, tossing books around, and eventually even resorting to toppling some of the shelves over to find it.

It was only after, purely by accident, I had thrown aside one of the large brown encyclope. on the second to laugh bookshelf that remained standing, that I watched an area of the wall at the far end of the room. Ironically, the space that used to be occupied with the fantasy books I used to read well away, slide to the right, revealing a doorway to another room. My eyes grew when I saw this. My heart jackhammered away at my ribcage.

My knees threatened to buckle beneath me as I slowly approached the room. When I crossed the thresholds, blinding from the wall, fluorescent lights blinked to life, revealing a small, cramped office with a large mahogany desk in the centre that had multiple stacks of manila folders, as well as a few miscellaneous documents, some of which were laying discarded on the floor around it. Curiosity was replaced with a drag of excitement as I glanced at the folders, seeing them marked with similar codes to what I'd seen on the note. I knew then that whatever this file was and whatever was in it. It will be found in that office. Behind the desk were two filing cabinets, one white

and the other being the black cabinet I was looking for. I rifled through the second shelf for about 20 seconds through all of the similarly labelled folders until finding the file labeled with the code written on the note. The front of it was marked with a small logo of a long structure or tower with the words Monolith Site D1473, secure a file. Project Demigard, classified Dada, stamped across the front. Immediately I closed the drawer and sat at the desk and opened the file. The first several documents were blueprints and diagrams for these weird contraptions that honestly I'd have no idea how to really describe.

One notable thing about each of them, however, was that they were all labeled as being interdimensional compatible. Some of the diagrams depicted crude. drawings of human-like figures, looking to be primarily female in nature upon closer examination, emerging through what I inferred to be a wormhole or portal or something along those lines. A doorway, in other words, is some world so far unknown to this world, that is, except for my father and the unknown persons that apparently assisted him with this. As well as this, some depicted some sort of chamber or vessel evidently used for containment.

These were noted as being made from solid steel and titanium. A bit more digging through the file and I was met with the first official document. It was an introductory note detailing what Project Demigard was and their hypothesis. Attached is my transcription of this and all of the report entries pertaining to the project. A quick note is that these are all undated or at least not that I could find. having been purposefully redacted, so it's unknown exactly when any of these events occurred, or the exact time span in between entries. Profatory matters and introduction.

My name is Dr. Weston Greer. Today marks the beginning of a new step in both the realms of scientific possibility and the next evolution of human understanding. After almost nine years of research, hard work and tireless dedication, We here at Monolith's ID are ready to begin our most ambitious project yet since first establishing. The first step towards a larger world. Project Demigod Hypothesis

We will bring a being from another realm, An immortal being far elevated in every way from any mortal man into our plane, and having it breed with a human will bear a god into the world. We will give birth to a god. among men method through various machinery see attached diagrams we will open the door between our realm and the realm we refer to simply as the veil we're a subject classified detail we'll then enter and utilising a harness specially designed by our technicians bind and bring back a worthy specimen for breeding for the

breeding process we've selected five male subjects of varying backgrounds ethnic It is body types and religions to see which would constitute the best result in a hybrid spawn of man and God Subject 1 is a Caucasian male 6.2 235 pounds former Marine unmarried Catholic Subject 2 is an Oriental male 5.6, 185 pounds farmer and fisherman wife deceased Buddhist Subject 3 is an African American male 5.9. 250 pounds cook in an Italian restaurant unmarried atheist subject four is a Hispanic male 5-7

two 30 pounds politician divorced Christian and subject five is a Native American male six feet two hundred and fifteen pounds owner of a metaphysical shop unmarried Wicken practicing different forms of shamanism each subject was hand-selected by the team of side D and a willing participants in this experiment having signed a legal contract and term of agreement each have been promised five hundred dollars in remuneration for their participation in this project subjects were also noted to have no immediate families to speak of or next of kin the process of opening the door and accessing the veil will commence at 1200 hours sharp Part 3. Entry 1

The first attempt of opening the veil has ended in failure. Equipment was functional, but miscalculations were made with sending live subjects through. The first subject was unable to breach through before his flesh was inexplicably flashed from his bones. It's unknown at this time what it is that caused his reaction. Associates claim it could have been something with the supernaturally high levels of ultraviolet radiation being emitted from the portal. Adjustments are being made to account for this theory.

We intend to begin another trial at this time tomorrow. Entry two. For our next attempts of opening the veil, we took the liberty of selecting multiple subjects whom I will henceforth be referring to as the retrievers, all individuals who have little to no money and no known ties to community or next of kin to speak of. To gauge the most effective methods,

for being able to survive the procedure, we tried various forms of UV protection for most of them. For example, the first of our retrievers was stripped naked and covered from head to toe in multiple coatings of SPF 5,000. Another was given a radiation suit, one of our strongest tailored. The last was given nothing. The last retriever would act as another sort of control for attempting to breach through a second time. Each of these resulted in failure and loss of life for all three retrievers. Both are protected and unprotected were fried immediately upon contact with the doorway. This has, naturally, led to speculation that either the UV rays are far too strong for any man-made implements to protect against,

or that there is something else entirely that is causing this result. At this time we are unsure exactly how to proceed. funding for the project was already at risk with the expenses in gathering the necessary implements because of this we must tread carefully when proceeding further and do our best to make the next attempts a success entry three another of the researchers of my team dr emil pence a theologist and professor of religion at the university has given a new theory it's his belief that because the realm in which we're attempting to access is largely similar to those spoken of in fiction, or mainly children's fiction, that perhaps success

can be yielded by utilising a child. The primary idea behind this belief is that, because children's minds typically hold on to the possibilities of fantasy and innocence more than the minds of adults, they may stand a better chance at withstanding the forces being emitted from the doorway. Most others are very skeptical to this theory. I myself am not entirely quick to attempt this, either. Though I will admit that a part of me finds itself considering it as the more plausible solution. Of course

with this comes the question of where and how to obtain child volunteers for the project. Never mind the question of ethics of that decision. There would also be major legal obstacles with it as well. As we are, yet again, at a complete loss

of how to proceed, myself and the team are on a five-day furlough, paid leave. Hopefully a short absence from the project will allow for a viable option to present itself when we return. Entry four. After almost a week's leave, we still hadn't come to any viable conclusion. It was during our last conference that the idea of using children as retrievers was brought into question once again. Like last time, most immediately dismissed the idea, primarily due to the far-fetched logic Pence presented with it.

I, on the other hand, was a little more open to discussing the idea. The dilemma presents itself once again. Where would we be able to find children who can volunteer for something as dangerous as this? I, personally, would be against it entirely, but I know of no other solutions at this time. Time is starting to run thin as well with sponsors and with contributors to the project expecting an update in only a few weeks. They're expecting results. I currently, however, only have failure. Entry five.

What I do next I take no pride in. I will state for the record that this decision of mine did not come easily. It came only after many days and nights spent in long and drawn out contemplation. And even then, it would ultimately be the looming fear of the project being discontinued that decided me. What I do, I will also. do without the assistance of many of the others, some of whom have defected on the project because of what I plan to do. My plan is to adopt a handful of the children from a local orphanage to utilize as retrievers. If Pence's theory is correct, and I can only pray with all my heart

that it is, and by utilizing the children's capacity for imagination for their suspension of disbelief, they stand the best chance at being able to reach the veil without themselves being harmed. My God, have mercy on me, and all of us for whatever may happen next. Entry 6. A couple of weeks have now passed with no progress on the project. We had to put everything on hold while attempting to ensure the Department of Social Services would allow the children in our care.

It's not like they'd ever have allowed us to have them if they knew our real intention for them. The children have been living in the loft, off-sighted. from the facility for almost two weeks. Pence and one of the biologists of our team, Dr. Amelia Orne, have acted as the pseudo-parental figures for that time. Yesterday was the finalization of the adoption process, and with that the project may continue.

The first attempt with the children will commence promptly at 2,300 hours tomorrow night. Entry 7. We've now had our first glimpse at success since the project's beginning. Pence's theory seemed to prevail, at least from an effective standpoint. Still not entirely sold on the science

or reasoning behind it. Well, the result was there. Once opened, the modified retriever was able to breach the doorway without being harmed. Now, we wait. We've estimated it taking a minimum of five hours and a maximum of eight to ten

for the retriever to harness the specimen and make his way back through the doorway. It is at this time that I hold my breath and pray that the retriever may emerge with our specimen. Personal note. For hours have elapsed now since sending an hour retriever. During this time I can't stop myself from imagining what that young man is seeing right now in there, in The Vale. I remember how afraid he was when he was met with the opening of the veil. He's still so young. I wonder if he looks at it, any of it at all, in fascination and wonder, as was characterized by Dr. Pence, or in terror, as I'm sure I and so many others would, if faced with such as he is now. More than this, however, I can't try as I would

quell the growing senses of shame for delving to such extremes as this. Such is the pursuit of knowledge, I suppose. Entry 8 Hour 12 was passed and there has been no activity from the veil. No sight nor sound has been reported from either the retriever or anything, anyone else from the other side. Pence believed this is just a minor delay, to use his words. He estimates that this could be due to the retriever's own sense of curiosity. In other words, he believes he's simply exploring the veil.

and this of course is only speculation given that we cannot see the retriever what it does but well it's the most sound conclusion presented thus far dr pence has suggested that we wait a further three hours before attempting anything further personal notes i can't help it i feel as though he's in grave danger pence has advised that i and the others attempt to get some rest but i can't sleep i don't sleep i don't I can't even think of sleeping, not with him still in there alone, faced with wonders that no grown man appears to be able to withstand. I can't close my eyes without seeing the look of a cold, unbridled fear on his innocent face. It's now the haunting query presents itself to me, the bane of all scientific ambitions. Will what we're doing be for the better of our fellow man? and if so how steep a price must be paid to achieve it. At this time I cannot conclusively answer this.

Entry nine. The three hours have passed along with an extra two for added measure. Still nothing from either the doorway or the retriever. This was when the retriever was officially declared dead and this trial another failure. At this time the team and I are discussing what our next move should be. Most collectively agree that utilising the other retriever is a risky venture, not to mention largely unethical. Dr. Pence, however, disagrees, advising to utilize another of them immediately. But this time we are undecided, and we have so little time remaining to yield any results.

Entry 10. Against the judgment of many of the others of the team, as well as my own conscience, we utilized another of our retrievers. This one was a little girl, the only one of the bunch. This adjustment was, of course, done at Dr. Pence's recommendation. It must be mentioned that it would be this time that many more from the research team stepped away from the project for moral and ethical reasons, leaving only a fraction of our original crew left to continue. At 2330 hours last night, we deployed the second retriever through the doorway.

Almost a full 12 to 30 now has passed, with no action. activity from the other side, before she too was declared a loss. Further use of the retrievers is currently being debated. Personal note, I cannot lie my own faith in Project Demigod and its merit has waned significantly since commencement. I can't blame those that have deserted the project. In truth, I felt compelled to do the same when I realized we'd sent yet another sweet, innocent child to their death. I'm honestly not sure how much longer I'll be willing to go on with any of this myself. Dr. Pence is also starting to worry me.

Up to the present, he's not seemed to give any second thoughts about using the children. I'm sure the others feel the same. They see it too, the way in which he all but directly sees them not as children but simply as tools. Well, he is a brilliant man and has built much rapport with the scientific community and with the higher ups of monolith, but I'm finding myself wanting to trust him and his judgment less and less. Part 4. Entry 11. Due to breach of conduct and ethics, Dr. Emile Pence has been withdrawn from any further

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

I was too late to halt the procedure, and the third retriever trial was set in motion, unauthorized. Upon interrogation, Pence explained that he devised a way to ensure the retriever's return, through virtue of a stuffed teddy bear, theorising that carrying the toy while inside would act as an anchor to our world, thus reducing the chances of getting lost inside the veil. Only five hours later, activity was reported from the other side doorway, and after about five minutes of intense energy spikes, the doorway opened, and from it emerged the unauthorized retriever.

along with a live specimen. The trial was a success. All the same, though, I couldn't tolerate a blatant violation such as this. It was unanimously agreed that Dr. Pence cannot be allowed any further involvement with Project Demigod, for the safety and well-being of ourselves and of others. At this time, primarily for our own protection from legal prosecution over this, and for several losses of life, no criminal charges will be pursued against Dr. Pence.

Personal note. This situation has served to only further solidify my anxiety about whether or not our work here is justified by the principles of scientific discovery. On the one hand, it would be, of course, easy to say that Dr. Pence's actions were foolish and wrong, psychotic even. Yet, at the same time,

I can't help but wonder if, like me, he really did only have the best intentions with a larger picture as a whole. What he did was dangerous, not to mention deceitful, but as stated in the report, it worked. We were successfully able to send and bring back a retriever along with a live specimen. This has led me to ask one big and damning question. Would I, in only a short matter of time more, have perhaps done the same? Entry 12 With the success of the retrieval aspect of the project,

we've begun the second phase, the act of mating and breeding with the specimen. Resembling a female, judging by the vaginal genitalia, as well as the appearance of breasts. Her body is slender, with light yellow skin that almost appears to be glowing, possibly emitting some sort of energy or aura from within her body. Specimen will henceforth be referred to as her.

named after the Greek queen of the gods and the earth and mother of the mythical demigod Hercules Well, Herra appears to be mute, being without the appearance of a mouth. It's currently unknown if and or how she's able to communicate. Also unknown at this time is what sort of adverse effects, if any, might be inflicted upon the breeding subjects after intercourse. We're left with only speculation for now.

We began with Subject 3. He finished in about three minutes and was escorted back to his quarters with the other four subjects. We intend to wait another month before making another attempt at breeding. Entry 13 Subject 3 has begun complaining of experiencing extreme migraines, nausea and frightening hallucinations. Subject appears to be suffering insomnia as well, as testified from the other subjects. Subject 3 will be given sleeping medication going forward. Hera has remained docile, almost catatonic, since her interaction with subject 3.

Any attempts at stimulating her have resulted in nothing happening. In another week, we will attempt to breed again using another subject. Entry 14. We utilize Subject 1 for the second breeding session. He was finished in five minutes. Herra reacted in a way perhaps more favourably to subject one than subject three, judging from the way she appeared to submit more freely to him than the other. Of course, that's only a rough inference.

Still so much is unknown about Hera. Her mannerism to her level of perception, and just her overall sense of emotion, made all the more impossible to figure out by her lack of communicative ability. For now we can only guess that she somehow favours, subject one. Subject three, on the other hand, has been getting worse and worse. Despite routine doses of sleep medication, he's still reporting to suffer fits of insomnia and night terrors. Subject three has noted on multiple occasions to see a woman's face in his dreams. He describes

this person as having pale, jaund his skin, long, flowing green, leafy vines for hair and white glowing eyes. He claims it to be tormenting him, chastising him as a person. As well as this, I've personally noticed how withdrawn Subject 3 has become from the others around him, always looking over his shoulder at every little noise and even acting aggressively when approached by others. Considerations now being discussed on the decision to cut Subject 3 from the project. In another month's time, the third breeding trial will commence. entry 50 In the late hours of the night

subjects one and three engaged in a brutal physical altercation The other subjects evidently attempted to break up the two But were unsuccessful In the end subject three was the only one remaining alive Having murdered the rest Subject three then attempted to make a bee-line For the breeding room to Herra An attempt was made by one of the other researchers

Being without a security team due to limited funds to subdue him with a tranquilizer. This resulted in Subject 3, claiming another victim by snapping the man's neck. Subject 3 was finally subdued when he reached Hera once again, stopping and immediately screaming for her to forgive him and to give him peace. This distraction provided an opening for me to come up behind

and subdue him with a tranquilizer of my own. Subject 3 was immediately removed from the sight and steps are being taken to ensure that nothing he has seen or done here is spoken about. At this time, with no living subjects remaining, no viable results and no more available funds for continued experimentation, steps of the discontinuation of Project Demigod are currently in motion. Most of the already skeletal staff have taken leave already from Monolith Site D. Remaining on myself, Dr. Orne, and two of the other physicians

from the project. In two days' time, monolith officials will be coming to remove the equipment and seize all data that was gathered during the duration of Project Demigod. In conclusion, Project Demigod was a failure. Entry 16. This, as well as any possible notes or recording of these events going forward, will be an unofficial record. It was at around 0.1.30 hours this morning that I and Dr. Orne were

awakened by what sounded like whales of pain coming from the breeding room. Upon investigation we found the source of the sounds to be coming from Hera, despite having no mouth to scream from. Her stomach was extended, and she was clutching it as she appeared to writhe in agony. Her wailing became deafening with each passing second, and I and Dr. Orne were unsure of what to do. We decided to open the breeding chamber she was contained in, an attempt to administer. to any medical aid we could in that moment.

We had no surgical supplies and only a limited supply of select drugs, mainly anaesthetic sand or morphine. We weren't sure, given her supernatural nature, what kind of effects the drugs might have on her. But in the end, we took action and administered a small dose of morphine to her. She jerked violently, flailing her arms around wildly, swiping and clawing at the air like she was fending off a predator. before finally relaxing.

A quick check of her vitals confirmed that she was still alive, merely unconscious. Dr. Orne and I are both very curious as to what caused herr so much pain like that. Unfortunately, with the equipment decommissioned and officials arriving

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

Hera had gone into labour. Immediately we fetched a pail of ice and water to keep her hydrated during the delivery process. It was here, however, when another fussed. stranger phenomenon occurred. While we attempted to aid in the delivery process, Dr. Orne began seizing and clutching at both her stomach and her temples. She then began screaming at that she could hear a voice speaking to her, taunting her, similar to the earlier situation before with Subject 3. This was then followed with Hera's body abruptly going motionless, while Dr. Orne began writhing and flailing, shrieking like Herra was. Dr. Orne, I was. Dr. Orne, I was a

underwent this hysteria for almost a full minute before her body seized up, stiffening, with her eyes rolled back into her skull. Her jaw distended, and, in a voice I know not at all how to describe, she said to me, Doctor, you did this. You murdered men and children are now this woman. And to what end? You wish to bear God unto the world, and you will.

You will father a child born from me, the fruit of your perverted ambition, and he will serve only as a reminder of such. You will look upon him not with pride but with grief at what you have done, and the day will come when his memory will be the end of you. A day when this child, your man-eufatcher God, will find out who he truly is. You will hear my call in his heart, and will command power against you and all men like you. the likes no man before has ever fathomed, and will raise you all to ash. Upon her speech's conclusion I heard a sickening crack of bone and squelching sound, followed by something protrude, nearly breaching from Dr. Orne's stomach. This happened again, this time succeeding in breaching her flesh.

What emerged was a tiny, chubby foot, belonging to a newborn infant. It waved frantically at the air. Dr. Orne's convulsing body slowly began to die down until fully relaxing in death. From her stomach the spawn's hand began trying to free itself and the rest of it from Dr. Orne. Orne. Orne, I simply stared on in terror before cautiously approaching the body. Still not yet having developed any muscle strength in its arms, the newborn couldn't free itself the way it evidently wished it. unaware of any other action to take, I took a pair of sutures and the scalpel and performed a very crude emergency C-section, successfully birthing the child as well as sealing the deceased Dr. Orne back up with the sutures.

The newborn screamed and wailed, taking in its very first breath. I looked into the infant's eyes. It had light yellow skin, just as Herra had had. I also appeared to bear other resemblances to Herra, such as his infant's eyes. the eyes and light green hair. The miracle had happened. I, Dr. Weston Greer, bore a godlike creature unto the earth. But the question remains, just to how high a price was my success achieved. I took the child in my arms and heard it from him. Suddenly it fell unconscious, and I watched its skin change complexion from its original yellow to a more natural shade of olive. Its hair too changed to a darky brown.

It looked peaceful, resting in my arms, and yet I felt none of the warmth this feeling should bring. Instead, all I could think of as I watched it sleep were the lives that were senselessly spent simply for the pursuit of scientific expansion. It was with this in mind that I made the decision that I would raise the child myself. Taking the child, I seized this file and ran from the facility where I've presently gone rogue. I've gone through the process of changing my name, as well as finding a new home, somewhere they're likely not to think to look if and when they do come for me and or the files.

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

Something will happen to turn him against me one day when he grows up. What exactly will happen when such a time comes? I know not. Nevertheless, as long as I can help it, Joseph will live a peaceful life with me. Everything that has happened and everything I do now going forward is for him. My life's true work. I stared for what felt like ours at that page.

Then I flipped back and read and re-read through it again. I couldn't believe what I just read. No, I wouldn't believe it. My father, a brilliant and celebrated scientist, accomplished his greatest achievement by murdering others in the name of science, at least two of which were children. and then even more horrifically, I was that achievement,

born and bred out of blood. No, no, no, I didn't want to admit it was true, but deep down, I knew it was. The more I thought back, the more the pieces of a lung, unsolved puzzle began falling into place. I knew now why Dad was almost never around, and I now understood why it petrified him so much

when he found out that I'd been reading those books. I wasn't just his son. I wasn't just his greatest achievement. I was his reminder of the price of pursuing knowledge. Moreover, I now understood myself. Why I was always drawn to the books, those stories, those worlds, the characters. I think that's what he feared most,

that I would learn the truth. That was why he sent me away all those years ago, why he never tried to see me or explain any of this too. me himself and why his life ended the way it is. He feared the truth, and even with the best of intentions, he travelled the long, dark road to him. I write this now because the truth needs its day. After all, it's what I was born for. It's been more than three years since the events of my story that I'm about to tell you. Months and months of therapy, counseling, and even a few incidents in a psychiatric facility have pushed me to this point, the point where I can

finally open up about the horrors that I discovered and endured. I have no doubt that there'll be people out there who don't want this story coming out. I have no idea how long I'll last, but people have to know. He is still out there. Somewhere. I'm going to hit you with a pinch of truth before I begin. The world of investigative journalism is a harsh one. There are no friends, no allies, just colleagues you feel worse for shitting on than others.

It's a dog-eat-dog world, Laura the Jungle. If you're not on top in the game, it's game over. That's why when you're fighting these battles, nothing else seems important to you outside that world. Even things going on right under your nose. Sometimes it does cost you, as it did me. My name's Robin Cooper, an investigative journalist from Mariet. did that job for the better part of seven years. Well, I started off strong, I can't lie.

Covering a local homicide that ended saving two boys from spending the rest of their lives in prison. Well, we'll get to that later. The story was a smash hit. Pay for the house, car, get my wife happy. We even conceived our child celebrating the success of that piece. Things were never quite the same after that, unfortunately. People at work cut me out of work.

stole contacts from my phone just generally made it impossible for me to write about anything juicy before I knew it my life was in the pan I was in debt divorced and struggling to keep my head above water I needed a story something big I was losing out to everyone else and I was becoming the next for the axe at work rival of mine got the scoop on the R. Kelly abuse victims and the other uncovered the Theranos scandal

thought my career was going to take a turn for the better at work one point. After a hacker friend of mine helped me obtain deleted files from the Kremlin, I put together a piece on the Cold War and suspected underground experiments that were being tested on Russian soldiers in preparation for a potential attack on the US, as well as potential interrogation tactics for the POWs, such as the notorious Russian sleep experiments. But it was one of the workplace rivals who got wind of what I was on to, had my laptop, sent the files to his computer, and delivered. everything I had.

Well, in the eyes of my employers, I was back at the bottom of the pile. If I didn't find something juicy soon, the only thing I'd be covering is the drive-thru orders at my nearest McDonald's. I was sat at home, searching the web whilst pulling my hair out, wondering what story would help salvage my career. I honestly considered jumping before I was pushed and emailing in my resignation right there and then. and suddenly I got an email in my inbox.

My eyes lit up when I saw the name. It was my hacker friend, who yes will be remaining nameless for his own safety. He occasionally shared information he'd acquired through questionable channels. I paid him well for such information, and as such he only emailed me when he had something valuable. It's simply a shame that I was stupid enough to leave my laptop at work and have my password as my birthday. Well, not this time. This was my story. I went from home now.

Prevent any leakages and file stealing. I began to get excited as I opened the email. Hey, Robin. I was given a little tip from my guy who got me the inside track on the Cold War dirt I sent you. He's pointed me in the direction of something else that may be of interest to you. During my most recent fishing trip into this other scandal, I managed to accidentally, totally not on purpose, stumble into some archived research files belonging to good old Uncle Sam.

Files I've sent you are from a facility not actually that far from you. It was located in a remote area near Vining's around 10 miles from your town. Interestingly, his name or address isn't officially listed on any map or documents, none that I can find, but I have managed to find a satellite image of where it used to be on Google Earth. The location is actually listed as an old air base, but anyway, I've included a screenshot in the email. It's worth noting a large fire was reported in the same area. Around the time these files were deleted. Maybe nothing, but if you ask me, there is no smoke without fire.

Oh, well. Hope these can help you get back on your feet. Regards, your friend. Redacted. I couldn't help begin to wonder if this was going to be a waste of time. Was this the golden goose I was looking for? There was a single fodder attached to the email named Project BT560. I downloaded it.

God, it was a hefty file. It took around 18 minutes to download everything. At the time it had finished, I brewed a fresh cup of coffee, fetched my notepad and voice recorder, and was ready to get to work. As I began to open tabs on my computer, someone tugged on the bottom of my shirt. I shook from being caught off guard.

and turned to face the person. In my excitement, I completely forgot I was a father for a split second. Daddy, I think there's a monster in the closet, my daughter claimed, a shuddering whimper to her tone. Ah, come on, Kaylee. Been through this before. When Daddy's working, he needs his peace. It'll just be your imagination, I replied, dismissing her concern.

But I saw her. I held my hand up. enough, I demanded. A face dropped instantly, causing me to feel like a real piece of shit. I immediately placed my hands on her shoulders in a comforting way. I'm sorry, honey. I shouldn't have snapped, but I'm really up against it with this work, and if I don't do it, Daddy's boss will be mad with him.

And then he won't give him lots of money, meaning, well, we won't be able to take that trip to Disneyland. How about you be a brave girl? Go get under the covers. get some of my work done, then I'll come check on you. How's that sound? Kaylee didn't look too convinced. But Dad, I really think there's something in my...

I interrupted her. Kaylee, I warned her sternly. She complied, stared at the floor and sulked off back to her room. All the while, she reluctantly climbed the stairs back to her room. I yelled to her. I'll be up soon, honey. I promise. I then got back to work and opened the folder that was now fully downloaded.

I was greeted with an array of more folders with labels. Subject information, donor information, subject post-up journal entries, dispensed medication, procedure information. These were just some of the labels on the folders. I decided to start with the procedure information folder, find out what I was dealing with. I didn't know where to do. to start, they'd paint hundreds of documents with mumbo-jumble, medical stuff,

but frankly, I couldn't make sense of. I shifted through the files until I decided to start with the Procedure Information folder. Now, this folder contained three items, two documents and a video file. The first document, proposal, dated 3rd of April 2013, caught my eye. I clicked on it. my eyes widened as I read the words wherever these people were wanting to perform an experimental brain transplant

in short they would take a subject with a terminal brain defect upload all their memories values and emotions using cyber interface equipment and download them into a new healthy brain and transplant that into the subject's body thus trialing and potentially proving a new life-saving procedure

I had found my golden goose. This was incredible. I mean, imagine being the journalist who covered the next major medical discovery. This would be bigger than penicillin. Louis Theroux would be writing me, fan mail. I sent across a large gratuitous payment for his work. The last two thousand dollars are my savings. Shamefully earmarked for a holiday with my daughter,

agreeing to send him more when this took off. Actually, not if, when. I began to feel the burst of optimism when suddenly I remember that my well, what my friend had said in his email, the fire. I poured up the email again and scroll down to the satellite images. It looked like a dirt road,

roughly a mile and a half, leading into some deep woodland area. The path reaches a clearing roughly around 400 square metres. There's a lot of black ash residue and scorched earth with remnants of burned steel and timber. The images dated May 2019. In the email, there was a link to the fire department's report on this place.

The fire was put out on the 13th of February 2019. The cause was inconclusive. Interesting enough, key points of the report like items recovered and items lost were all redacted. Hmm, I smelled a coverer. The thought dawned on me that this experiment likely took place due to the number of postdoc files included in the email. Judging by the dates, it took place somewhere between 2013 and 2014. Clearly the results didn't go to plan.

Otherwise, we'd hear about this being rolled out to the public. What happened? It was so bad that they'd had to burn everything to the ground. We began to dig in more to the project. The next fodder I went to was the subject's details. appalled his file. The subject's name was one Jason Myers. At the time this was written, Jason Myers was 27 years old.

He lived with his mother and sister in a small townhouse in Cherokee County, Georgia. His father prematurely died of a heart attack at the age of 64 in 2013. According to the file, Jason's mother suffered a mental breakdown, leaving Jason to provide for himself and his one-year-old sister, Jessica. At the time this file was written, Mrs Myers was back living with her children but now it was Jason he wasn't doing too well he was employed at a local grocery store in town

working maximum hours for minimum wage he was a sole breadwinner for his remaining kin and the walls were closing on him in more ways than one see Jason was keeping a terrible secret from his family his medical records show he attended a full body check in 2014 to determine if he'd inherited his father's fatal cardiac defects

and while he found to be clear of that particular burden, it was revealed he suffered from frontotemporal dementia, a rare brain disease that affects one in every 20,000 young males. It's a form of dementia that begins to attack the cells of the brain at a much younger age. There's no known cure for it, and thus it is, sadly, terminal. Most sufferers are dead within two to ten years of their diagnosis, during which type they suffer memory loss and severe confusion,

not to mention the behaviour problems. Aggression, violence, erratic and impulsive decision-making. Then comes the physical complications such as speech problems, loss of bladder control and the breakdown of the central nervous system, vastly affecting the sufferer's motor skills. Poor guy, man. According to the files, Jason was deteriorating badly. By the time these guys got to Jason,

he'd already begun to have short and long-term memory loss. He'd had a number of blackouts and had been fired from his job as an accountant due to making too many mathematical errors. His symptoms weren't too bad at this point, but they unfortunately were just enough to cost him his well-paid job with comprehensive health benefits. So Jason was forced to take a job as a store assistant at a local hardware store. I shumed he refused to tell his employers about his illness,

assuming they wouldn't hire or keep him, and it was sadly obvious he didn't tell his mother either, rightly assuming it wouldn't be news that would aid her newly found mental stability. Jason's file made references to the accident records of tools and trade discount store in Cherokee County. On the 23rd of March 2018, Jason had an incident in which he fell from a 12-foot scissor lift.

The report details, and I quote, Jason had no clue where he was, or that he even worked for TNT. We assumed he had a severe concussion and advised he go to hospital. Ambulance called at 11.32 a.m. I scrolled down the mountains of information these people had on this guy's life, looking for key information from my report. Didn't have to scroll much further before I found the hospital report from his admission that same day.

According to the report, Jason was cleared of any serious injury. A few bruises to his hip, fractured tailbone, nothing major. However, it was here that the standard MRI showed the significant and aggressive progression of his FD. They estimated he had around a year, if he was lucky, which he wasn't. And if he could afford the best treatment, which he couldn't. Well, Jason couldn't even afford his current stay at Union General. The file for the next two or three pages were mainly financial records and background checks. In a nutshell, Jason was screwed.

Six months behind on mortgage payments, bailiffs at the door, and hospital bills of over $5,000. All this, with the living cost of himself, his eight-year-old sister, and his emotionally unstable mother. What came next? No one could blame him. The summary of the file described a meeting between one of the department's representatives and Jason Myers on the 24th of March 2018 as he lay in the hospital. All the aforementioned information about his financial, medical situations were presented to him in an effort to scare him into signing himself over to their care.

They essentially told him he had two choices. One, it was the last six to twelve months of his life, a dithering mess who couldn't remember his own name, and pissed himself at least every five hours, watching his sister grow up on the streets as his mother lost her own mind, as she was burdened with all his inherited debt. Or two, sign himself over to Project. symptom. Once the form was signed, every single deadly and his family had would be settled. Their credit score would be given a boost of 500 points and an untaxed sum of $50,000 would also be paid into a trust fund for Jessica when she turned 21. These terms will be met whether

the outcome of the experiment was successful or not. Seriously, what did the guy have to lose? and then returned to the file which was labelled procedure information and continued reading the two-word documents. The first file was a comprehensive proposal about the aims and goals of the lab with this experiment, followed by an in-depth step-by-step instruction of the procedure that Jason Myers was about to be involved in. I could not but be fascinated by the idea of uploading one's entire mind to a backup server and then downloading it into a fresh new organ. The scientist who was behind this whole experiment, Professor Marvin and Gladbach,

used the same technology principles as Apple's The Cloud, and re-engineered it in order to be able to store memories, opinions, values and emotions. I'll be honest, most of the file was nothing but jargon and hieroglyphics, but nevertheless I got the gist of it. So, in layman's terms, it was essentially like having an iPhone with all your photos, messages, songs, and contacts on. Let's say you break that iPhone,

and it's unfixable. You go to the shop, get a brand-new factory, fresh phone. You take everything from the broken iPhone. Save it all to the cloud. Then transfer those items from said cloud to the new phone, and voila,

you get to go on with your digital life. Now, swap the words phone for brain, and messages, photos, and contacts for memories, thoughts, and emotions. and that's the procedure in a nutshell. Seems simple, right? Wrong.

That 100-word summary of this highly complicated organ transplant cost me over an hour of rubbing my temples in migraine-inducing confusion as I tried to desperately decipher this 15-page essay filled with words and terms even Google had a hard time defining. This was a crazy gig these guys were trying to pull off. But it would honestly be groundbreaking if they did, and I'm guessing by the files and folders about the medicine dispensed after the procedure that it worked. Why is this being covered up?

And close the file and check the next two items. The other document was labelled patient vital statistics and discharge information, but I was more interested in the video file. From the thumbnail, it was clear. This was the procedure. I clicked on it, maximised my screen and hit play. The video took a few seconds to buffer. As I sat back in my chair, anticipating what I was about to see,

I heard a series of quiet noises from above my head. Settle thuds, gentle creaks and so on. It was likely no doubt Kaylee running around her room, doing everything other than getting herself into bed. I swear to God that kid never does what she's told. Oh, Kaylee, I told you to go to bed. I yelled up at the ceiling. Her noise fell to disappear despite my stern warning.

I had a good mind to go upstairs and do the whole angry dad act. But if I'm being perfectly honest, her mother is better at the whole disciplined thing than me anyway. I was always more of a, ah, too busy, so I got to watch some TV, I've left some money for takeout, kind of dad. Right now it wasn't much different either. I was about to watch a video of history in the fucking making. I didn't have time to yell. at Kaylee in vain.

I pulled a pair of headphones from my desk, plugged them into the laptop, and placed the buds into my ears. I relaxed in my chair and aimed my concentration towards the screen. The video depicted a dark yet extremely clean surgical theatre. A mass of chrome and medical gowns

dominated the screen as four surgeons prep for their individual's duties. In the middle of the room had a large computer interface system, two beds and a large select of tools and lights. On the beds lay two white males of similar ages.

I knew from studying his bio for the last two hours that the one on the left was Jason Myers. Even with the top half of his skull missing, I knew it was him. And the one on the right was, therefore, the donor. Something about his face caught my attention for a second. It was hard to tell with his eyebrow shaved and four-ed-ed-upwards missing,

but there was a twinge of my subconscious. telling me I recognize that man. Didn't think too much of it for too long, as one of the scientists began to speak. Professor Gladbach, it's 1100 hours on the 27th of March 2018. I'm here with Dr. Weinstein, major in computer science. Dr. Adams, major in advanced neurosurgery, and Professor Williams, leading expert in organ transplants.

Today we are performing the first human trial of Project BT-560. We've been preparing for this day for almost five years. We have our donor and our recipient. All parties present today have signed NDAs and waivers. We are good to go, gentlemen. The next few minutes were the surgeons prepping their tools and washing their hands. Dr. Weinstein inserted two metal rods into the brain of Jason Myers and then repeated the process with the donor.

He then began to press keys and tweak knobs on the machine. It was hard to see the screen from the POV of the camera, but it seemed like there was some sort of loading bar with a mass of file names and data lines flickering up and down the screen. Currently, Dr. Weinstein is loading all the stored information from the temporal loaves of both patients, respectively. The contents of each upload will be stored in this computer interface system. Contents of the donor's TL will be deleted

and replace with the contents of the patients. Dr. Adams and Professor Williams will then transplant the donor's brain into the patient. I sat there waiting for something to happen, but the minutes were just ticking by while these guys just watched the computer. Geez, with government-grade Wi-Fi, downloading these guys' brains was dragging its freaking feet.

I skipped the video almost three hours before something significant began to happen. Weinstein removed the rods from the two men's respective brains before Adams and Williams began removing the brains themselves from the two men's skulls. I watched in fascination as the two surgeons meticulously went about their profession and successfully removed the two organs. They took the donor's brain and placed it on a train next to Jason Meyer's body. As Williams and Adams began to transplant the organ into Myers' head,

Professor Gladbach began to speak. The next stage is to successfully reattach the donor's brain to the recipient's body. This has to be done in a time-efficient manner. The longer we keep the recipient alive on life support and epinephrine alone, the less effective his organs and central nervous system will be upon arrival. Once this has been completed, we move on to the penultimate stage. Dr. Weinstein will download the stored metadata of Jason Myers' temporal lobe into the new brain. As promised, the brain was reattached in an impressive amount of time.

Once this was done, Weinstein reattached a fresh pair of iron rods into the lower front section of Jason Myers' brand new brain. He then went over to the computer once again and pressed a sequence of keys. Hit the enter button with a hint of apprehension, as his body language screamed, Here goes nothing. Once again, I was sat, staring at the screen, waiting for something to happen. But once again, I was treated to an almost hour of waiting for the computer to translate. for all the stored information from Jason's old defective brain to his new, healthy brain. I didn't skip onto the next stage this time.

I used this period to write notes on what I'd learned so far. I checked my phone and noticed I'd had two missed calls from Kaylee. No doubt begging me for a story or more bullshit about the monster under her bed, in her closet or whatever freaking imagined nightmare she'd conjured up. I'd look at my headphones, I could still hear movements that sounded like footsteps, as well as furniture knocking gently against the wall. I took my phone out and sent her a text, instructing her to go to bed in capital letters.

As soon as I sent the message, the noises stopped. I felt bad for being a little harsh, so I immediately sent another message that let her know I'd be up to check on her as soon as I'd finish my work. The iPhone chat screen indicated she was typing back. I watched three dots appear, then disappear, then appear again.

This went on for around 20 seconds before finally she messaged back. The message read, Okay, take your time. Oh, I rolled my eyes. She could be really brash for a seven-year-old. She would no doubt grow into a very dry, sarcastic teenager with the attitude to boot. I couldn't wait.

I know that many hearing this will no doubt judge my neglect of her fear, but the thing is with Kaylee, She's been very cry-wolf ever since the fatal day her curiosity took her snooping into my office files. No doubt wanted to see what was so important that her daddy forgot to pick her up from school that day. I'd carelessly left photos and newspaper clippings on my desk in easy view. And what she saw and read was enough to scar her for life. You see, those images were from my report on the rape and murder of Timothy Wells. and my report was titled

The Cherokee County Candyman. In short, the Cherokee Candyman, aka Dennis Weaver, was perhaps the most sinister child homicide case in the state of Georgia. The case started with two high school boys and a young child from Canton. In the afternoon of September 13th, 2010,

14-year-old Marcus Davis and 13-year-old Robert Venables finished Cherokee High School for the day and walked around, 15 minutes down the street from the high school that they attended and visited a park that they attended regularly to smoke and drink illegally. This park ran adjacent to a row of houses. With the backyards practically joining on to the park's edge, it was in one of those houses that five-year-old Timothy Wurles lived. On that day, Timmy happened to be playing in his yard by

himself. His mother was in the kitchen, on the phone to a potential employer. She was too busy with her telephone interview to notice that her son had disappeared. CCTV from local stores and businesses near to the park showed Timmy walking east. She was walking in between Davis and Venables, each of them holding one of Timmy's hands as they escorted him away from his home. 30 minutes later, after Vivian Wells finished her call and found her son to be missing, she called the authorities and a search was underway within the next two hours. Well, they never found Timmy, not alive anyway.

Two days later, a bunch of teenagers who understandably wished to remain anonymous were walking along some train lines around three miles from the spot where Timmy was last seen. It was here that they found an horrific sight. The ghastly remains of Timothy Wells lay in two separate pieces on either side of the tracks. Authorities were called by the group who reported it as a child who'd been hit by a train. However, when seasoned detectives arrived on the scene, it was clear they were dealing with a highly sadistic, homicide. After an extensive autopsy on Timmy's remains, it transpired that he'd suffered a heartbreaking fate. Not only had he been severely beaten, but following a violent assault, he'd been tortured, raped, and mutilated. Once the killer had finished with Timmy,

he left his broken body on the tracks for the freight express from Atlanta to Virginia to annihilate his corpse, likely hoping for the police to wrongly assume it was a tragic accident. However, the most disturbing finding of the autopsy was that it was confirmed that the train running over his torso was what killed him. He was alive for all the horrible things that had been done to him. The level of violence was like nothing the people of Cherokee County had ever seen before. Quickly, there was a manhunt for the evil party responsible for this unspeakable act to this innocent young child. The GBI tested the tree branch used to sodomize the victim for fingerprints. as well as the brick repeatedly dropped on Timmy's face.

Even the painting which was emptied into his eyes was tested for DNA. But unfortunately, despite all this, no leads were yielded. The only thing that the police learnt was that this fucker wore gloves. This is when the detectives began to track the movements of Timmy to try and find out where he went and who with. This here the footage of Davis and Venables leading Timmy towards the tracks was uncovered. The two boys were quickly arrested for the murder of Timmy Wells. The lack of DNA evidence meant that the GBI needed a confession.

The boys initially blamed some mysterious stranger who told them that if they gave him a child, he'd give them money for booze and cigarettes. However, with no financial, visual or physical record of this man even existing, their respective lawyers advised them to both turn on the other. Each boy told the story. They both took Timmy to the tracks to play with. but it was the other one who began to play rough and then started to do the horrible things that were done to Timmy. Neither boy, however, could say specifically what was done to Timmy.

In the end, under pressure to ease the growing tension amongst the community, the authorities charged both boys with abduction, sexual act with a child, rape and murder. Both boys were remanded in custody until their trial, which was set for five months' time. However, though neither of these boys would ever see the inside of a courtroom, V.C., it was only three months later that Riley Thompson, age five, would also go missing. His mother was paying at the counter of Local on North, turning her back to her son for a mere matter of seconds. When she looked back, he was gone.

Thankfully this time, the story had a more positive ending. Main Street had a patrolling cop car in the area, who immediately went looking for Riley. Given the memory of what had happened to Timmy Wells, the police kept in mind to look for young abductors, as opposed to the older ones. Within 20 minutes, they'd found Riley. He's being led towards the wooded area

behind Cherokee High School, once again, by two 14-year-old pupils of that very school. They were immediately arrested, and asked where they were going with Riley Thompson. They completely caved, began crying uncontrollably, and they told the police a very familiar story of how they were going to meet an individual,

an individual who had offered the two boys a generous amount of money, if they were able to find a male charge, a photo shoot, aged around five to seven. The boys pleaded their innocence, claiming they were never going to hurt Riley and didn't know the man was dangerous. Police unfortunately had no evidence to dispute this. Instead, the police liaised with the GBI, and more importantly, Riley's mother, who reluctantly agreed to a sting in order to catch the sick bastard who set this whole thing in motion. The police and Mrs. Thompson anxiously watched on from afar,

as the two boys led her son to the woods. They stopped outside an old abandoned church. A hooded figure could be seen peering out of one of the windows before a voice from within shouted out, send the boy in, come back tonight for your money. The two boys walked away and the police moved in. Riley was quickly escorted away and returned to his mother. The police stormed the church and moments later

exited the structure with a man in handcuffs. A man was identified as Dennis Weaver, 41, registered sex offender, history of child abuse, sexual assault and rape of a six-year-old when he was 17. In his possession, police found a witch-doctor mask, gloves, tie-wraps, three knives, a rusty pipe, hammer and nails, and various other nefarious items. The problem was Riley Thompson hadn't been harmed. He was abducted by the two teenage boys, not Weaver. The only thing they could charge him with was breaking his bail conditions

of coming within 200 yards of a child under the age of 10. And given that could actually be classed as entrapment, the DA wouldn't touch the case with a 10-foot pole. Dennis Weaver walked three that day. There wasn't a damn thing anyone could do about it. Oh, except me. That day I read about the Weaver arrest and couldn't help but remember the eerie similarities between the Weaver incident

and the claims made by Davis and Venables before they were charged with the murder of Timmy Wells. I could sense a major school, so I called my sources and got everything I could on the two cases. I went and interviewed Davis and Venables, showing them images of Dennis Weaver. They both confirmed that he was the man who asked them to deliver Timmy Wells. I began to see what I could dig up from that day. I uncovered plenty of CCTV. While that didn't place weather at the scene of Timmy's murder, it was what you described as extremely circumstantial evidence that he was in the area.

I wrote up my findings from my editor, and the report was a smash. Made my career, and for a short while I was top dog. This was one of my first pieces, and it set the bar high since the bosses at work. People got jealous very fast. The report and every piece of evidence I gathered was forwarded on to the solicitors of Davis and Venables. Once the defense was able to name the two boys who abducted Riley Thompson as witnesses, in order to recount their encounter with Dennis Weaver and create strong reasonable doubt, the prosecution decided to drop the murder charges and go for child abduction.

They both pleaded guilty and served six months suspended sentence, given the circumstances. And people were out for Dennis Weaver's blood. They demanded he stand trial for the murder of Timmy Wells and the attempted murder of Riley Thompson. However, much like the Thompson case, there was no DNA or hard evidence linking Weaver to the crime. Davis and Venables walked, but Weaver also remained free. The Canton Major's brother, Frankie Edmonds, was the leader of a local far-right organization, who, if there were any people that they hated any more than immigrants, it was child abusers. the brothers of the white knight

and somewhat cultish name to christen your racist movement if I do say they were continuously protesting outside the courts and the sheriff's office demanding something be done about Weaver their cries fell on deaf ears however there was nothing but speculation and circumstantial evidence tying Weaver

to the murder of Timmy Wells there were huge rumours amongst the town folk that the brothers were planning to take justice into their own hands However, march to the dismay of the locals, the local police intervened and placed Dennis Weaver into protective custody. He was reportedly relocated to a new area and given a new identity for his own safety. The countyman of Cherokee County was my piesta resistance. After the success of other cases such as making a murderer, Netflix approached me to produce a docu-series based on my report.

I could have sold the rights never worked again. However, when the deal was about to be done, Netflix mysteriously pulled out, focused on making a documentary about the Pizza Bomber Heist. I was never given an explanation beyond it not being something of interest anymore. After that, I concentrated on finding the next big story, and if what was sat in front of me right now wasn't a home run, I was finished. But as I brought my attention back to the video, I had very little fear of that being the case. As the video grew to its conclusion, Jason Myers was now having the iron rods removed from his brain matter by Dr Weinstein.

Everyone was rubbing their hands in anticipation. We've now completed all stages of the procedure. The brain transplant has been completed. The contents of Myers' temporal lobe have been transferred into his new organ. Now the only thing left to do is wake him up. We will let the patient heal for 18 hours in his induced coma. So, at 1358 tomorrow, we'll cease the administration of Midazolum and administer a small amount of epinephrine, around 500 micrograms, alongside 30 milligrams of buprenophenophene for the pain. Good work, gentlemen.

Tomorrow, we find out if we've made history. The camera was switched off by Gladbach, then. After around five seconds of a blank black screen, the camera was turned back on. The image was Jason Myers. He was alive, awake, and alert. He was sat upright in his bad speaking with Professor Gladbach. So, Jason, can you tell me what the capital of Spain is? Madrid?

Very good. Now, what's the square root of 36? Six. Excellent. Cognitive functions seem intact. Let's test the means. memory. Can you tell me your first family pet's name? Elsie. She was a bike on Frise. Remarkable. What's your mother's maiden name? You're trying to hack my bank account? It's Peters.

Jenny Peters. Well, this is amazing. Your sense of humor and wit shows no signs of deterioration. Your personal memories are easily recalled with no difficulty. Mr. Myers, I am happy to discharge you from our care, and you'll be allowed to return home. Now, while everything looks good right now, we need to monitor you for six months to determine the true success of the operation. Okay? Sounds good to me, Doc. Okay, you'll be sent home with two three-month supplies of Oxycontin, 80 milligrams sustained release, and 10 milligrams sustained release.

Please only take if you feel you need them, but if that is the case, then take the 80s for the first 12 weeks, maximum one tablet in any 24-hour period. You should have healed fully by this point, but simply stopping the painkillers can be quite uncomfortable. So use the 10 milligram tablets to slowly taper your dosage down over the next 12 weeks or whatever you're comfortable with. Fair enough. Anything else?

And I'll also need you to do an audio journal. Please make a voice recording at least once a week, or after any significant event such as seizures, side effects, blackouts, so on. We want to know everything you can feel, emotionally, mentally and physically. Tell us about your dreams, your thoughts, your emotions, and your reactions to everyday social situations. This is to determine the long-term sustainability of this transplant. Anyway, this does not affect your agreement with us. As promised, we have been in contact with all your debtors and settle every one of your financials.

obligations, car, mortgage, medical, all cleared. And as promised, we've also increased your credit score from minus 376 to 124, meaning you'll be accepted for loans and vehicle finance once again, should be required in the future. Oh, and finally, we promised to deposit $50,000 into a trust fund for Jessica. She'll receive this at the age of 18 when she goes to college. This has also been taken care of. Oh, and one more thing. If you complete, the audio journal as a monthly checkups. In six months, we'll deposit a further payment of $10,000 into your

bank account. How's that sound? Amazing. My professor, I can't thank you guys enough. You've saved my life today. More ways than one. I'll do whatever you need me to. The two men shake hands, and the video

ends. I couldn't help feel a surge of happiness for Jason Myers and his family. These rumored underground government experiments had such a notorious reputation, yet here I was, witnessing the moment a young man's life was completely changed for the better. Jason Myers was terminally ill, broke, was carrying the weight of his family stability on his shoulders. He was essentially Walter White, but instead of cooking meth, he took a chance on the government. God damn, it had paid off. All of a sudden,

a loud, sharp sound came from above my head. It startled me. I took the earphones out of my ears and caught upstairs to Kaylee. Kaylee, what on earth was that? I yelled. I waited for her response, but no sound came back. My phone pinged, alerting me I had a message. It was from Kaylee. It read, Sorry, Dad, it was just plain. I'm done now. Night. I shook my head, texting back the words.

You should have been bad an hour ago. be up soon to check on you. I placed the phone back on my desk and took some notes on what I just learned from this video. I came out of the video. I decided to next document Jason Myers' first month after his operation. I opened up the folder titled Subject Post-op journal entries. I was a little disinheartened when I scrolled down to the bottom of the files and discovered there were only four months' worth of journal entries and check-ins.

I can't imagine Jason turned down another injection of much. needed cash into his bank account for simply making a few recordings. Yeah, something must have happened. As began to examine the individual files, something crept into my mind. Fuck, no way. Couldn't be, could it? My heart began to pound and my palm sweat as a wave of emotion rushed over me, a mixture of deja vu, recollection, and nostalgia.

something deep in my subconscious came to the surface of my mind and presented me with the missing piece of the puzzle. I now realized why I recognized the donor. I now realized why I recognized the donor. I went back to the list of folders and found the one labeled donor information. I opened the file and there was one document of which the title over it blew me out of my chair. Dennis, Weaver. I didn't know what to think. This story just kept being bigger and bigger.

The more I discovered about this whole thing, the more I worried that my life will be in danger if I ever brought this to light. I'd have to be very careful. Lawyer up, receive anonymity, sell the rights to a TV producer and start a fresh somewhere new. I made sure to check all my doors were locked

and the curtains were drawn. I'll call me paranoid, but I really didn't want anyone else spying on what I was. was about to look at. I double-clicked on the file, my computer loaded the information. One of the first few pages of information were things that I already knew about Dennis Weaver from my earlier research into him. His family history, criminal behavior, both committed and suspected, and most importantly, his medical records. Mentally, Weaver was a sadistic rapist and a violent paedophile. However, when it came

to his physical health, he was in good shape. No heart problems, no history of depression or addiction, no tumours on his brain. A perfect candidate for a brain transplant. I read down into the section about how he came to be on the operating table. Jason Myers was brought here by crippling debt and terminal illness. What brought the Candyman here? What I read was nothing that I could have ever imagined. According to the file, the alleged story about Dennis Weaver being given a new idea.

entity and relocated out of state, well, it was a total lie. As I mentioned earlier, the leader of the brothers of the white knight, Frankie Edmonds, was the brother of Canton Major and Georgia Senator-elect Richard Edmonds, a man who was very well

connected. His deep ties to the local government, strong foothold in the financial world, and also influences over organised crime, allegedly. The file told the story that on 20, of January 2011, the brothers paid a couple of teenage boys to approach Weaver. They asked him if he

knew anyone who'd be willing to give them some odd jobs to do for a bit of cash. A Weaver took the bait. He offered them $200 each if they could bring him a small boy, aged between five and seven. Told them he needed a child for a photo shoot. Oh, the brothers knew what that was the code for. They were told to bring the child to an abandoned warehouse just outside the child. They were told to bring the child to an abandoned warehouse just outside the county limits at 5pm. However, when 5pm rolled around, instead of two teenagers and a child turning up at that point, who's ten white supremacist his thugs,

armed with baseball bats and 9mm handguns. What actually happened that day at the warehouse wasn't described in the file, but in short, they murdered Dennis Weaver, and Frankie Edmonds' political powerhouse of a brother covered it up for them. Frankie came to Richard, informing him of the murder. Richard, knowing that the brothers would be the obvious culprits and none of them would have solid alibis.

Eventually, it would be assumed that the brother of the next senator of Georgia called for the torture and murder of a technically innocent man. I imagine his voters wouldn't find that too desirable in their prospective candidate. Richard called his fixer, Robert Munson, a high-class solicitor with direct ties to the special project sector of the government who were sanctioning Project BT-560. And for everyone's mutual benefit, the special project set for the government, Robert Munson and the Edmund brothers, they all conspired to make Weaver disappear. The way they saw it,

the Edmonds get away with murder. No more children die because of Weaver. And Project BT560 gets a donor with no strings attached. Should the procedure fail, that is, it was a win, win, win. It skimmed through the rest of the file, noting that Munson had informed the SPS, where to find Weaver's body.

It cleaned up the scene and transferred some funds to the right accounts. People in the DOJ and the local media in order to forge the idea of Weaver's change of identity when in fact he was in the morgue of the SPS laboratory undergoing an autopsy. I read the post-mortem report which was conducted by the Special Projects Lab. I truly couldn't help but wince.

Those neo-Nazis have really done a number on him. Broken ribs, arms and legs, kneecaps blown off, genitals too. He'd also been sodomized with a rusty pipe. The cause of death was a gunshot wound to the heart. After the horror of what had happened to this man wore off, I remembered who he was, and that he likely deserved every bit of what he got, painful yet poetic justice. Despite the horrendous violence, luckily for the brothers, there was no critical damage inflicted on Weaver's brain. I can only assume they refrained from hitting him in the head

because they wanted to make sure he was conscious for the entirety of what they did to him. Either way, made him a suitable donor for Project BT-560. The summary made by Professor Blabuck on Weaver's medical report read, multiple CAT scans and MRIs have been conducted on Mr. Weaver's brain. We see no signs of medical, physical or psychological defect, and we're confident this organ poses no risk to his intended recipient.

We've also taken into account Mr. Weaver's Peter Villar, sociopathy and his sadism. This, along with his urges in regards to his alleged criminal actions, will all be erased from his frontal and temporal lobe in stage one. I'm happy to sign off on this subject being our official donor. I sat back in my chair, ran my hand through my hair, and tried to compartmentalize this information. Revolutionary brain treatment was a groundbreaking story, in of itself.

However, had a grisly murder, conspiracy and cover-up, and the government using a psychopathic-charged rapist as an organ donor. You've got the biggest story, other than naming Jack the River, and what happened during the Dyatlov Pass incident combined. My hands were shaking. Didn't know what to think. I'd finally found it. This was big, bigger than big.

If I played this right, then I was fricking back. No more welfare checks, no more being the laughing stock at the agency. No more seeing that smug-prick James Bennett's name on all those big scoops. This was too big to just publish. The wrong people found out I had this information. My very life could be in danger. I pulled out my phone and darbed my lawyer's number. It was late, so it went straight to voice me.

Clive, it's Robin Cooper. Listen, sorry to call you so late, but I really need some advice from you. I've got a pretty juicy story in the works, and it could upset a lot of people who may be willing to do whatever it takes to keep that from happening. It could be really helpful to get your guidance on anonymity. Please call me back when you get this. I placed the phone back on the desk and took a minute to smile to myself.

This was special, but I needed to press on. I need to find out what happened to Jason Myers. So then I scrolled down the original folder and found the folder labeled post-operation. There were two folders within. One labelled medical notes, and the other was subject post-up audio journals. I opened up the first folder to be greeted

by a couple of folders detailing the medication dispensed to Jason Myers after his discharge from their care. More interesting, however, were the numerous audio files labelled medical update with the various dates spread roughly two weeks apart over the course of four months before they just

well stop I decided to shelf this folder for the minute and focus on Jason himself I opened the other file and this time in similar fashion was greeted by an array of audio files the date of submission spaced roughly two weeks apart over the course of four months

upon further comparison of the dates it appeared Jason would record his thoughts, feelings, side effects and general mood each fortnight. The following week, Professor Gladbach would submit his opinions upon review of each journal entry by Jason. I pulled all the files into one big playlist, arranging them in chronological order, got my pen and pad ready, and then hit play. I don't really know what I'm supposed to do here, but here goes. My name is Jason Adam Myers.

I was diagnosed with a degenerative and life-threatening brain disease, wherever I consented to an experimental procedure in order to save my life. I'm here today, a cured man, with this whole future ahead of him. I have Professor Gladbach and his team to thank for that. I must admit, despite the pain in and around my skull, I feel great. Hey, maybe it's the painkillers, but over the past ten days, I've suffered little dysfunction in my grip, my movement, and my speech. the first few days, though, it took a few moments for me to think of what I wanted to say,

even times when I called my mom-mother. I must admit, we found it odd. It's not something I tended to do prior to the up. My mom actually commented on how old-fashioned it sounded. However, other than that, I'm healing really well. My cognitive functions are improving every day. My ability to recall some of my distant memories is becoming easier and easier. that my vocab and arithmetic continues to show improvement back to its previous level.

Well, I'll check in again in 14 days. I made a small note on my pad. It was the word mother with a question mile next to him. I wasn't sure why, but it seemed significant to Jason and his mom, so I thought it could be significant to the story. Next up, Professor Gladbach's audio file dated a week later. Hello, my name's Professor Ivan Gladbach. the date is 19th April 2018.

We're conducting the first by-month review of our test subject, Jason Myers. I'll be conducting these over the next six months, monitoring the progress of Jason and his implant. Upon reviewing Jason's inaugural entry, I'm pleased to hear that he's doing well, cognitively, as well as physically. It appears, however, that there must be some sort of adjustment period as the implant synced up with Jason's mind. We as scientists and humans too really I only understand about 25% of the brain Well the liver has physical regeneration abilities

It's possible perhaps that the brain has mental regeneration potential Based on our research Alderna for this project had a very strict upbringing It's extremely likely he would have been forced to call his parents mother and father Was this the organ trying to revert back to its default It'll be interesting to see how this develops in the coming weeks. The next entry came in from Jason, and I must admit I was eager to hear it.

Hi, it's 26th of April 2018. Jason Myers here checking in. Mostly a good week. Pain is now pretty much non-existent, down to about five milligrams of oxy a day. Mental and cognitive functions are now well into swing. I can work out complex mathematical equations. My vocabularies now gotten back to its original standard. Well, the glitches, however, they're getting a little more frequent.

It's all come on my mother on occasions. However, more alarming. Just last week, I found myself in Jessica's room. Jessica's my eight-year-old sister. I don't know why I went in. Just did. Middle of the night. She slept.

Is this normal? I quickly realized where I was and made a swift exit before she woke up. up. What was I doing? Is this confusion normal in transplant subjects? I was beginning to get a bad feeling about where this is going. The date is 4th May 2018. Professor Ivan Gladbach conducting the second review of Jason Myers' audio journal. The positives are shown early on, with Jason easily reducing off his pain medication. Previous owner of the brain had zero mental issues such as depression or addiction. The CT scan patterns of a patient with a drug addiction and depression looks exactly the same.

No such patterns were found on the donor's brain, whereas the organ removed from Jason had a pattern consistent with someone who'd have issues of drug dependencies. However, what is alarming? Is it clearly along with adopting the new brain's ability to resist hard drugs? Is it possible he's also inherited the dones as Pontchon-Four? or how shall I say, young meat? Well, the blackouts of the brain fighting to reset itself to his previous default. The background check on the donor certainly makes what is happening to Mr. Myers quite alarming.

Only time will tell. I paused a playlist and began sifting through all the files that I hadn't read. I entered donor background search into the search bar, but nothing came up. I kept looking and looking until I found a folder named X. I double-clicked it and was greeted with a document and an audio file. The document was titled DWBC, and the audio file was titled 212-19. It didn't take my brain long to realize that DWBC stood for Dennis Weaver background check, and the video file was dated the day of the fire that torched the laboratory.

No doubt the video was Gladbach's summary of the project before he torched the evidence. I added it to the end of the playlist and opened up the background check. What I read Sickened me In short Dennis Weaver came from a very strict childhood His father, a former Marine And mother a teacher

He had a younger sibling named Joey Now from what I gathered Dennis was beaten heavily On a daily basis by his father His mother ignored the abuse And instead criticized Dennis If he used improper vocab

Or addressed them As anything other than mother and father Given he was dyslexic and that was always going to be hard. Well, Joey came along. It was a different story, it would seem. Joey was lavish with love. He was highly intelligent

and wasn't an embarrassment to his family like Dennis was seen to be. He was the golden boy. Not the nicest toys, the hottest meals, and the warmest affection. One night, at the tender age of 15, Dennis eventually snapped. He walked into his little brother's room

in the middle of the night, as he slept soundly. When neither child turned up for school and the mother for work the next day, people were worried. A welfare check was performed. The officers on scene found Dennis' mother and father still asleep, unaware of the horror in the next room. Well, they found Dennis, covered in his brother's blood, sat in the middle of the room, playing with his brother's favourite toys. The police found large traces of Mrs. Weaver's prescription to Mazapam in the father's whiskey, and in the mother's mineral water.

Toxicologists commented they were lucky to wake up again. Most people claimed Dennis tried to kill them, but when asked if this was the case, he replied, No, I wanted them to wake up and see what I'd done. What he'd done was rape, mutilate and murder his little brother, in the worst possible way, and in that order too. They even found Joey's bedpost snapped off and forced inside him. The cop first first.

on the scene was quoted saying the blood-soaked bed sheets were pitched like a tent. Dennis spent his next few years in a psychiatric facility for minors convicted of violent crimes. A record of the abuse from his father and torment of his mother went into consideration when he was 21 he was released into society. His psychiatric reports were included in the document. There were all glowing recommendations that he was cured.

It appears Dennis knew all the right things to say. to people in order to be released. As we knew from his profile, however, he went on to commit a number of further violent crimes against women and children. They knew all this had happened. They're hearing from Jason after just a month, talk about behaviours mimicking the donor right,

before he savagely murdered his own flesh and blood. Yet, they're not appalling the plug. They aren't calling Jason in and addressing the issue. They're just... Just letting things run their call. course, logging the results, like some sick research project. I checked my phone and saw it nearly 1am. I really should go and check on Kaylee, but this was too important. She could wait. She's probably asleep already anyway. So I hit play once again on the playlist. I don't know what's

happened. I need help. I've lost some time, a lot of time, in fact. I did something, something bad. I know it. It was blood and dirt. I've showered, but it won't come off. I keep scrubbing, but all I see is the blood. I have scratches on my neck, and they feel fresh. Too big to be a cat, and I think they're human. I found some underwear in my pocket. It's not mine. They don't even belong to an adult. Are they my sisters? Are they Jessica's? Also I have a light bulb. It's not from my house. I don't know where it came from. Please. I don't know what's going on. Can anyone help me? Please. Please call me. I'm so scared. Something's very, very wrong. What the hell? This had taken a dark turn. Jason was so rattling. Didn't quote the date or introduce himself as he'd done on the other entries.

This wasn't a man updating his doctors on how he was doing. This was someone crying for help. I made a note of the date. The fire was uploaded before the next recording began to play. It's 19th of May, 2018. Professor Gladbach here reviewing the latest journal entry of Jason Myers. I feel it's best to make it known at this stage. We didn't provide Jason with any contact details for us and he was blindfolded during his transport to and from this facility. This is because we anticipated some alarming side effects and we wanted to avoid our subject having a panic attack, blowing up our phone, paying us unauthorized visits, drawing unwanted attention to us. We need to have organic and natural findings to report

to the higher levels of our organization, so we need to let this six months play out no matter what. No contact or response will be given to Jason until this period is over. We need to see how the implant deals with extreme pressure and stress. However, I must say Jason's recent entry is disturbing. Whether he's hallucinating or he's actually committed a violent act, it's hard to say. He says he's blacked out and come too to discover he's got blood and dirt on him. However, he also comments that he washes it off and it's still present and visible. He's in possession of children's underwear, potentially belonging to its sister. I've consulted with our neurologist, Dr. Adams, and our computer scientist, Professor Weinstein.

They believe what is likely happening is that the cells of the organ, are somewhat regenerating. These cells appear to contain what we could almost call a backup drive of the previous host's memories and emotions. They're now overlapping, fighting for the limelight, with the new host's memories and awareness, that is, much like we see a multiple personality disorder. That's what is causing these disturbing images and thoughts.

Jason perhaps is seeing what weaver saw the first time he killed a child. Hmm fascinating stuff What were they seriously going to ignore that What part about this man having violent hallucinations and disturbing thoughts is Fascinating stuff This wasn't some groundbreaking miracle by benevolent pioneers

This was the devil himself playing God This bunch of sociopaths didn't care what happened to Jason Myers They either got confirmation the operation worked With some bugs to work out of course or, alternatively, Jason Myers becomes a violent case of trial and error for these guys, and they accept no accountability for anything that happens to him. Before Jason's next entry, I typed the data I'd written down into Google, adding a few keywords such as murder assault and Cherokee County.

It's honestly alarming how many violent crimes occurred in my local area in any given day. I decided to do a new search to narrow it down. I added child abduction to the keywords. A few examples came up, but after a bit of surfing, one finally resonated with me. The title was, Child's body finally found in Church of Horrors. I clicked the link and read the article. It was dated two days after Jason's last journal entry.

According to the story, on the 12th May 2018, a young girl aged eight was abducted from a bedroom as she slept during the night. The parents weren't even aware that she was missing until the next morning. when they went to wake her up for school. They found a few subtle signs of a struggle, such as disturbed items on her bedside and her covers were thrown on the floor. The parents immediately called the authorities and the search went out for her.

Well, that's horrifying enough. Thinking about David and Karen Matthews waking up one morning, blissfully unaware that their only daughter Sarah had been abducted during the night. She wasn't much younger than Kaylee. I couldn't imagine going through that. But what I read next

sickened me. Two days later, Sarah Matthews was found. Not alive and well, like most people had hoped. Instead, beaten, raped and murdered. On the morning of May 14th at 9.32 a.m., settled back German Shepherd Bear began barking and led his owner Mr. Lucas to an old abandoned steeple church,

situated in a deserts woodland area on the outskirts of Cherokee County. Mr. Lucas entered the beach. building to see what was causing his dog so much distress, and here he was greeted with the gruesome sight of Sarah's mangled and horribly abused corpse. The article went on to mention the horrific injuries inflicted on Sarah both before and after. A few details from the story rung significant. These being when the report mentioned Sarah had flesh, presumably that of her killer, lodged under her fingernails, as well as the fact that her underwear was missing from

the scene. but most significant of all the part that got me and really made me sit up and take notes was when they mentioned the killer took the light bulb from the bedroom of his victim like some sort of trophy they couldn't match the DNA or prints left at the scene to anyone in the police database

and the killer was never caught could this be just extremely coincidental or the more likely scenario did Jason Myers abduct and kill Sarah Matthews. Well, speak of the devil. Jason's next journal entry began to play.

I held my breath. I did something bad. I know this now, because I've seen it in my dreams. Saw a window open as I walked the streets late at night. Something in me. It just made me look inside.

Before I knew it, I was climbing in. Oh, bless her, she barely managed to whimper before I knocked her out. So frail. So easy. only took one good shot. I carried her to the woods and threw her to the dirt. She begs, she cries, but I'm not even listening.

I'm just staring at her, wondering which item of clothing to rip off first, wondering what unspeakable acts to commit on her innocent flesh. I felt like an animal. I've never felt anything like it. The power, the intensity, the savagery. I've been expecting the police to kick down my door every day since it happened, but no, no such thing. Getting away with it just makes it even more of a rush.

I'm beginning to see my sister Jessica in a much different light now. She used to be something I wanted to protect and nurture. But no, not now. I see her in other ways, other things I want to do to her. And the feeling is growing. I see these young girls walking, playing, laughing. I want them to scream and cry and beg me for mercy. I want to feel the power again.

Soon. Very, very soon. Please, while I have a shred of my humanity left, please, stop me. He did it. He actually did it. It's here on this day. Was this why the project was white? Revolutionally brain transplanted.

Possible side effects, rape and murder of innocent children. It doesn't exactly sell well. But I double-checked the playlist. The audio journals continued for another two months. The next audio began to play. It appears we underestimated the brain's capability for mental regeneration. Not only are the cells of his previous host regenerating. They seem to be taking over.

Jason comments he feels like he's losing his control. The violent thoughts and urges are no longer recurring during a blackout. and now taking place during his states of consciousness. This indicates to me that the initial host's personality is beginning to take full control of the organ. This is truly fascinating. The outcome of this procedure hasn't met our desired expectations. The results give us an idea of what bugs to work out for next time. It also provides amazing findings when it comes to potential treatment for degenerative brain diseases such as Alzheimer's and dementia.

I propose we continue with this for another month Log what findings we can Then bring him in and clean this mess up Clean this mess up Hasn't met their desired expectations Who the fuck are these people Jason Myers is once again slowly dying And the worst parts of Dennis Weaver are growing in his place

It sounded like they were going to kill him Once they got what they needed out of him God these people When I studied this I saw them as angels, saving this young man's life and helping out his father after the tragedy that's already been bestowed upon them. But I was wrong. They were pure psychopaths. They threw money at some poor and vulnerable individual who had no other option than to sign his life over to them. Not to mention being in bed with neo-Nazis and conspiring to cover up capital murder.

They had two guinea pigs with no strings attached for their sick and twisted experiment. and now here we are. Frankenstein, he lives. The next tape started to play. Oh, I, Dr. Glapack, still not heard from you. Guess you must be really busy. Well, I've been pretty busy too. I'm sure that'll all become obvious in the coming days.

But now I find myself at somewhat of a loose end. So I think it's time to do something that will finally get your attention. You people all took something from me. Now, I want to take something from all of you. You really shouldn't have given me this body. My hands was shaking. The words and tone of Jason's voice told me this wasn't Jason anymore. The darkness was palpable when he said he'd been pretty busy too.

Was this the incident with Sarah Matthews? Or was this something else? What did he mean by loose end? What was he going to take from them? Then all of a sudden I got a brainwaves. I typed Jason Myers into Google. When the results came up, they nearly fainted from shock. House of Horrors makes detectives vomit.

Brother and son butcher's kin. Now male. The hunt for Jason Myers continues. I read all of the articles and found out that Jason Myers, or should I say Dennis Weaver, had given into his urges regarding his little sister Jessica. After neighbours had noticed the house looked undisturbed for a long period of time, they called the authorities and a welfare check was carried out. On 30th May 2018, Cherokee County sheriffs found the bodies of Jenny and Jessica Myers.

Apparently some of the deputies and homicide detectives began retching uncontrollably upon seeing the gruesome sight. Well, the most harrowing scenes anyone could ever have imagined. Brimstein experts pieced together the events of the two murders and reported that at some point during the night, Jason Myers made his way into his sister's bedroom, of what seemed like no reason at all, viciously assaulted her, and butchered her. Jenny, the mother, tried to intervene, but Jason, armed with a Louisville slugger, hit what the coroner estimated to be around 13 home runs with her head and face. They found blood, hair and shards of teeth still lodged in the wood of the bat.

With his mother now dead Jason had no one to stop him taking his sick time with his defenceless little sister They found Jessica displayed on the bed She'd been mutilated And defiled with other five foreign objects Including her bedpost in her mother's curling iron It's also clear that parts of her flesh

Have been torn off with human teeth In what criminologists called a sadistic frenzy At first law enforcement presumed Jason was a victim who'd been abducted by the perpetrator. However, once the DNA found inside Jessica, was compared to the DNA of the other two victims, it was clear it was Jason who'd committed this awful crime. As I read the story, it clicked for me. I'd heard about this.

Well, this happened no more than 45 minutes from my house. I'd never known the names, though. I simply knew details. And it's crazy how you hear about something, think, oh my God, that's so terrible, and then just get on with your life, not paying it another thought. And now here it is, with all the significance in the world. I sat back in my chair, pinching my nose and rubbing my temples. I didn't even know where to go with this. If I published this, and I was dead, not only covering up Dennis Weaver's murder, but a botched experiment

costing the lives of two young kids and an innocent woman. I didn't take a genius. I didn't take a genius, used to work out that once this happened, the SPS likely had Jason Myers cleaned up, let him take the wrap for it all. No one ever knowing what really happened. Well, they will. I don't know how I'll do it, but I'll make sure people know that Jason Myers is innocent in all this, and Dennis Weaver and the government are to blame. Once I have a safe place for me and Kaylee to go while it all unfolds,

and I'll send all this to my editor via my solicitor. As I sat there, imagining what life was going to be like for me and my daughter after tonight, suddenly caught my eye at the bottom of the article I was reading. I rolled my chair back to my desk and focused on the closing paragraph of the Myers' murder article. DNA comparison was carried out by the authorities and have confirmed that Jason Myers is now considered the prime suspect in the high-profile kidnapping, rape and murder of Sarah Matthews on 12th of May this year. Another interesting piece to this ever-growing puzzle landed this week when authorities confirmed that they also compared Jason My's DNA to the DNA recovered from the scene of a brutal home invasion that occurred this week at the home of the Edmunds family that took the lives of husband and father Frankie, wife and mother Michelle, and the two children Ryan and Beth.

For more, as we follow this on thought and gruesome tale, follow us at AGC.com slash Cherokee News. No way. Could this shit get any worse? Most likely, yes. This was literally the scabbiest story I'd ever looked into. Every time that I scratched the scabby surface, the bloodier and bloodier it gets. I typed in the name Frankie Edmonds and read the article, Cherokee County Major's brother found dead in violent home invasion.

Well, on the night of 2 June 2018, at roughly between 1 and 5 a.m., An unknown assailant broke into the home of Frankie Edmonds and his family as they slept in their beds. The adults were tied up in the master bedroom and made to watch as the assailant raped and murdered the two children in front of them. Mrs. Edmonds was also sexually assaulted before her death. Frankie Edmonds died from a repeated, blunt forced trauma to the head and face. The killer removed the light bulbs from the bedrooms of the victims. It's unknown why, but the article made references to the similarities in regards to the murders of Jenny Mun. Myers, given the same cause of death as Frankie Edmonds and also Sarah Matthews, also had a light bulb removed from her room after the abduction. The article went on to add that police confirm they have a suspect but have yet to make any arrests. That suspect was more than likely Jason Myers. Now, nothing more than a shell for all intents and purposes. Jason Myers was now being controlled by Dennis Weaver. He seemed to be completely aware of what had happened up to and during the experience.

He knew who killed him, he knew who covered it up, and he also knew who carved him open and gave his organs away. And Jesus, this guy was out for blood. It was time to see what Dr. Gladbach's reaction was to this, now that a sadistic rapist was potentially on his trail. The next recording played. I noticed that the dates of the remaining recordings were spread much further apart. It's 1946 on 16th June. 2018, Professor Gladbach updating. It's become evidently clear that we've lost control of our research asset. I've spent the last two weeks desperately trying to contain this situation. They have our

best guys out looking for Mr. Myers as we speak. Well, I'm deeply saddened that this oversight has affected the lives of Sarah Matthews, Jenny, and Jessica Myers, and also the entire Edmund's family. This is my oversight and my oversight alone. I'm going on record saying I should have pulled the plug as soon as the first signs of brain regeneration occurred. I've been trying to contact our legal liaison, Robert Munson, for the past few hours, hoping to have a motion file so we can get a press injunction. These articles are becoming a big problem for us. It's only a matter of time before some keyboard detective on Reddit connects the dots between Jason Myers and Dennis Weaver.

That'll quickly lead to us. This needs to be dealt with. first the press and then Jason in the positive column however now we've learned the potential cell regeneration abilities of the brain

possesses we have a new project to work on we could potentially find the answer to curing brain cancer Alzheimer's dementia I've already begun scouting for potential subjects oh

freaking way was this guy for real how many lives had just been ruined in the matter of weeks because of this madman in his experiments. Does he learn nothing? When I was at this point, I decided that nothing was going to change my mind. I was exposing these guys and everything that they caused.

They needed to be stopped, unequivocally. Judging by the dates of the final recordings, these events occurred just last month. It took nearly three years for them to find their subjects, Jason Myers and Dennis Weaver, and our agency could have this report published in the next 12 months. They'll burn for what they did. I'll make sure of it.

My moment of intense internal fury was interrupted at the next audio recording play. This one was dated the same date as Gladbach's recent entry. Well, he was submitted at 13 minutes past midnight. And it was from Jason. Good evening, Professor. Hope you're well. See, you've still yet to contact me back.

Well, it's a shame because I have plenty of questions for you. you. I'd really like to meet you. I spotted some government-looking types scouting my house yesterday. I also saw them on the news at the Edmund's home. I'm guessing what I'm doing is making you look bad, or making you nervous. Probably both. So I doubt these men are your chauffeurs, ready to bring me straight to you for a cup of tea and a catch-up. I reckon they're most likely tasked with putting a bully to me like the rabbit dog that I am. Am I right, Professor? Anyway, this seems to feel like a game of chess, does it not?

You sending those men from me is like moving your bishop and knights close to my king. You've put me in check, haven't you, Professor? Well, tonight I played my piece. Listen, carefully. Why are you doing this? She did nothing to you. You bastard, you fucking bastard. You son of a bitch, I'll kill you for this.

I'll fucking kill you. Do you hear me? Do you know who I am? the people I know. Oh, I know exactly who you are, Mr. Monson. What is this, Robert? What do you do? What do you do? Oh, I fucking knew. I knew this day would come.

You son of a bitch, this is on you. No, Barbara. You got this all wrong. I don't know this man. Oh, you don't do you. Well, you should. You covered up my murder, after all. What's he talking about, Robert? I honestly don't know.

I never met this guy. Dennis, fucking Weaver. Yeah, now you know, now it's all making sense to you. The reason I look like this is because I'm the kid they put my brain into. After those Nazi assholes tortured and kill me, and you helped cover it up. Well, tonight I even the score. Mommy, what's going on?

Why are you and Daddy on the floor? Oh, my, my, my. My, what do we have here? Robert, I didn't know you were a father. No, no, Susie, run. Get away from her. You sick fuck. I swear to God, I'll kill you if you touch her.

Well, we'll be right back, guys. No, no. The click of the tape recorder indicated that the recording had ended. Checkmate, Professor. Checkmate. My heart clenched. I began scrambling for the keyboards. I typed in Robert Munson into Google and hit search. Once again, I was met with headlines. Horrible, harrowing headlines. I clicked on the top link which read, Cherokee Ripper strikes again in another home invasion bloodbath. I'd heard of these violent home invasions happening nearby, but reading the Cherokee Ripper, that was another hit of deja vu striking me. I'd heard whispers among my fellow journalists wanting to do a piece on this violent killer. Maybe I'd heard the name, but I didn't take it in enough to remember it at the time.

But I didn't realize that all along it was Jason Myers. Dennis Weaver's disappearance. Jason Myers murdering his family, these brutal home invasions, the Cherokee Ripper. All these stories seemed like isolated mysteries. Yet who knew? They were all linked. and who the hell would have guessed that it would end up with all the answers right in front of me. I read the horrific details about what went on in the home of Robert Munson that fateful night.

Where's a snippet from the article? Once again, the assailant bound and gagged the adults for the home before committing the unspeakable and brutal murder of the six-year-old daughter in her own bedroom. Once the assailant had finished with the child, he proceeded to torture both adults in what the cops described as ruthless and sadistic manner, likely to obtain information, probably pincoats for bank accounts, safety deposit boxes and other financial gains. As well as a trail of bodies' blood and carnage, a Cherokee ripper also left a now

all too familiar calling car behind. The main lightball from the child's bedroom being removed from the scene, as was the case with a number of home invasions and child murders in the past four months, including the Edmund's family murder, the Myers' double homicide and the abduction of Sarah Man. Matthews. Police have confirmed DNA evidence, and this choice of souvenir confirms they are looking for the same man. For legal reasons, he cannot be named in this article. I doubted money was on the mind of Dennis Weaver. He wanted Gladbach. I checked the playlist and saw there were only three more files to go. Two more audio recordings and the final video recording. At this point,

nothing could have really shocked me anymore than I'd already been. So, I decided to see where horrible tale went. I hit play. I don't know what to say. When a design project, BT560, I envisaged a revolutionary breakthrough in modern medical science. People will call me a master for the things that I've caused. I'm not.

I'm a scientist. We live by trial and error. Some of the greatest discoveries ever made were total fuck-ups. An assailant, for example. I wanted to change the world in some indirect way I believe I did. It's unfortunate that what has happened this last three months. Well, the discoveries may through this tragedy will help us get it right next time. As for Jason Myers or Dennis Weaver, should I say, well, he needs to be cleaned up.

Thankfully, I anticipated that he'd make Robert Munson talk and gain location to this site. So I've retreated to the safety of my office and my family home. I've left all my operatives at the warehouse, ready to apprehend Myers when he arrives. This should all be over soon. Well, in summary, it's definitely been an experience. A learning one, however. The initial experiment was a failure, but what we learned from that failure could lead to a massive success in the future.

I hope whichever scientist reviews this case file for research in the near future gains the insights and the knowledge he needs to make it a success and not make the same mistakes we did. This is Professor Ivan Gladbach, signing off. I was a little confused. Amongst me thinking how deluded this guy sounded talking about his mistake that got five children murdered, all in the same breath as the mistake that caused a discovery of penicillin, I couldn't help but be puzzled.

I had long assumed that the videophile was some sort of wrap-up summary of the experiment by the doctors involved. But yet, here I was, listening to that. The video must have been something entirely different. curiosity got the better of me and I skipped the final audio file in favour of finding out what the video clip was after checking the upload dates there was no more than a couple of hours between them

I opened up the video in a new window and hit play while the images began to unfold presented me with an image of Professor Gladbach who sat in a chair headphones placed over his ears intently looking at the camera behind him you could see the door to his office over his left shoulder

The door was slightly ajar, showing a glimpse of this guy's huge palace of a house. The mortgage fully paid off with the government blood money, no doubt. He began to speak. This is Professor Ivan Gladbach. I feel it's only right that I do this

now that the Jason Myers situation is almost under control. Science is all about mistakes and learning from them. However, due to the number of deaths that have resulted from my mistake, it's only right that I, Ivan, can you get that? Martha, I'm a little busy, can't you handle it, please?

Honestly. Glad back then reset himself and faced the camera. In the background, I could make out the outline of a female passing down the hallway, likely to answer the door. Okay, I feel like it's only right that I resign. I'm formally stepping down from my position as the head of Applied Sciences. Special Projects Sector 4. I believe it's the right time.

I'm at an age now where my brain isn't as sharp as it was ten years ago. I have a family who I never see, and there isn't much I haven't accomplished in my respective field. This recent stress and bloodshed has been the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. In the background, it was clear to hear a series of firm yet subtle thuds. This went totally unnoticed by Gladbach, who continued with his speech. I want to say a special thanks to Richard Wyatman. who gave me this position 32 years ago, and all the scientists I've had the pleasure of working with over the last three decades.

Oh, whichever professor takes over my position finds these files useful in helping to get the best possible outcome from the next project. In the background now, it was clear to see a dark male figure standing at the end of the hallway, staring down at the slightly ajar office door of Professor Gladbach. He began to slowly make his way towards the office in a menacing fashion. This is Professor Ivan Gladbach, signing off. At this point, Professor Gladbach unplugged the earphones and put them away in his desk. All the while, the figure was now standing just behind him, just watching him. As Gladbach was just about to turn off the video feed,

the figure pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, pressed a button on it and placed it back into the pocket. Professor Gladbach's attention turned to the computer monitor with a disturbed look on his face. move the mouse around and double-click the button. An audio began to play. Hello once again, Professor. I know by now you've lightly listened to the recording of my conversation with Mr. Monson and his wonderful family. I spent a good few hours working him over, asking him for a certain address, which he provided me with.

Now, I know you probably already guessed that and made certain arrangements for your man to wait for me there. But here's where you were going wrong. I didn't ask where the lab was. I asked for the home addresses of you and your esteemed colleagues. Now, Mr. Monson didn't know where you lived, but what do you know? He and Edward Weinstein are golf buddies. A few hours ago, when I paid him a visit, he was quick to give me the location of your humble abode, especially when I took a cockscrew to his beautiful little princess, Ellie.

Professor Gladbach stared wide open at the screen, completely and utterly horrified. You could barely react. after registering the words he just heard. He began scrambling for the cell phone next to his computer, no doubt to call for assistance. But this next sentence stopped him, dead in his tracks. That was just over an hour ago, Professor. So you're wondering, likely, while I'm a little out of breath.

Well, let's just say Martha put up a bit of a fight in the hallway a few minutes ago. Gladbach listened, processed, and soon came to realize the gravity. of what Jason had said. He turned around and came face to face with Jason Myers, who launched up Professor Gladbach and violence ensued.

For the next 57 minutes, I watched Jason Myers brutalized Gladbach. He viciously beat him, tortured him, and violated him all on video. I sat frozen in horror, myself now unable to move

and forced to sit and watch this man's terrible ordeal. Jason Myers was there in a physical sense, but this was all Dennis Weaver. His methods of violently taking apart Gladbach spoke volumes to his creativity when it came to sadism and torture. Gladbach gave Myers the addresses of the remaining scientists, Adams and Williams. He got a glint in his eye when he found out they both had young daughters. The only positive to come out of this video was Gladbach's kids had already grown up and left that house. So thankfully I didn't have to witness what he'd have done to them as well.

Please, please, just do it. Just kill me. Oh, in good time, don't worry. I need a few more things. I need the location of the setup where you did the operation. Bottom drawer, blue file. Please kill me. Request, granted.

Jason Myers brought his knee to his chest before driving his boot down hard on Gladbach's head. A horrible wet thud rang through my speakers. Thankfully, Glatbach was on the floor, out of view, so he didn't have to watch. Myers then pulled his foot back up and slammed it back down. Back up, back down. Back up, back down.

That just about did it. Myers turned his sinister smile to the camera and simply said, Show's over guys. With a spine-tinkling wink for good measure. He shut off the camera and the video ended. I'd always assumed that the government destroyed the lab and deleted the files in an attempt to cover up what he did. I was completely wrong. It was Jason Myers who talked to the lab and deleted the files to cover up who he now was. Once he'd gained revenge on all those who cost him his life and body, he could start a new life

with his new identity with no reference to who he is. Until now though, With this info in my lap, I can make sure all this catches up with that son of a bitch. I quickly googled Dr. Williams and Dr. Adams and once again was greeted with articles detailing violent home invasions resulting in the rape and murders of the victims. The papers were now beginning to dub this serial killer, the light bulb ripper. After once again, authorities found the grim calling card of the killer. A light bulb from the children's bedroom had been taken, with many criminologists speculating he uses the bulbs as souvenirs,

so as to relive the pleasure of his crimes at a later date. I finished typing up my notes and saved my work. In the morning, when I heard back from my lawyer, I'd sent this in and get my advance, use that money to set me and Kaylee up in a safe house until it's written and published and bust this case wide open. I turned off my computer and allowed myself a smile. Not only was I about to bring down one of America's most wanted,

but I was about to send my career into the stratosphere. I checked my phone. Holy shit, it was 4 a.m. I left my office and began walking upstairs in a bit of a tired days. The buzz from the adrenaline and the 43 cups of instant coffee was now wearing off. I decided to actually keep my promise and check in on Kaylee. Make sure she was tucked in, kiss her head, you know, dad stuff. As I came up to her room, something wasn't right.

Her door was closed. Sometimes it's the small details that give off the biggest vibes Kaley, ever since she'd seen those photos on my desk, has been terrified of the dark. She always leaves her door half open to look the light from the hallway into her room. I approached the door, turn the handle, and opened it. I whispered into the room.

Kaylee, Kaley, are you awake? There was no answer. I hit the light switch. Nothing. The power was on in the house, though. I mean, the hallway lamp was on. I took out my iPhone and turned on the torch. I shone the light at Kaylee's bed.

Someone was clearly under the sheets, but again, something was off. The sheets were pitched like a pole was holding it up. I turned the torch a little to the left, noticing the snapped bedpost on the left-hand side of the headboard. Began to tremble. My hands shaking with so much terror as I noticed the puddle of blood collecting around the sides of the bed.

I dropped the phone in a panic. It landed face down on the ground, pointing the torch up in the air. That's when I see it. With the cold air blowing in through the open window, I see it. The empty socket in the ceiling.

Where her light bulb used to be. 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 wrong, 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.