Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep368: Episode 368: Silence Of The Lambs vs The Russian Sleep Experiment

Episode Date: September 10, 2026

Tonight’s terrifying 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/

Welcome to Dr. Creepin's dungeon. Experiments in serial killers make for terrifying stories because they combine two very different kinds of fear. The cold calculated pursuit of knowledge and the unpredictable cruelty of a human being who has lost all sense of morality. Experiments can go horribly wrong, unleashing consequences that nobody anticipated. While a serial killer represents something much more disturbingly real, the possibility that an ordinary person could hide a monstrous. of secret. Put the two together, and you have a nightmare in which science, obsession, and murder become

impossible to separate, as we shall see in tonight's feature-length story. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tale may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. But that sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. Project B2-560 by Luke Hemingway. 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, counselling and even a few stints 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 Marietta. 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. I was something big. I was losing out to everyone else, and I was becoming the next for the axe at work. A rival of mine got the scoop on the R. Kelly abuse victims, and the other uncovered the Theranos scandal. I thought my career was going to take a turn for the better at 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 onto, hat my laptop, sent the files to his computer, and deleted everything I had. Well, in the eyes of my employers, I was back at the bottom of the pile, and 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. 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 work from home now to 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 a 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. The 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, its name or address isn't officially listed on any map or documents, none that I can find. But I'm a little bit. But I

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 airbase, 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's no smoke without fire. L.O.L. 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 folder 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. I've been through this before. When Daddy's working, he needs his peace.

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. Dispense medication. Procedure information. These were just some of the labels on the follow. I decided to start with the Procedure Information Folder, find out what I was dealing with. I didn't know where to start. They didn't 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, 2000. In 2013 caught my eye, but clicked on it. My eyes widened as I read the words. Wherever these people were, wanted 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 of 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 pulled 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 meters. 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.

I smelled a cover-up. The thought dawned on me that this experiment liked. 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. But what happened? It was so bad that, well, they'd had to burn everything to the ground.

I 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 assumed 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?

Foo, 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 and, 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 were 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 do the guy have to lose? I 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 of this experiment, followed by an in-depth step-by-step instruction of the procedure that Jason Myers was about to be involved in. I couldn't help 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 fire 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, maximise 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, subtle 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 discipline thing than me anyway. I was always more of a, I'm too busy, so I've 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 prepped for their individual's duties. In the middle of the rooms had a large computer interface system,

Two beds and a large selection 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's hard to tell with his eyebrow shaved and four-ed-upwards missing, but there was a twinge of my subconscious telling me I recognized that man. I 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 for 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 Meyer's 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 Meyer's brand new brain. He then went over to the computer once again and pressed a sequence of keys. He 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 transfer all the stored information from Jason's old defective brain to his new healthy brain well 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 took out my headphones and 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 the 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 13, 2010, 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 Wells 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, to call 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 its 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 a 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. It was here the footage of Davies 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, via 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 for 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.

The 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 stick, 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 to night 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. The 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, and 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 scoop, 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 him to deliver Timmy Wells. I banned to see what I could dig up from that day. I'd 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 to the bosses at work.

and 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 defence 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 organisation, who, if there were any people that they hated any more than immigrants, it was child abusers. The brothers of the white knight, a 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 full 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 townfolk 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 pieste 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 Midazelam and administer a small amount of epinephrine, around 500 micrograms, alongside 30 milligrams of buprenorphine for the pain. Good work, gentlemen. Tomorrow, we find out if we've made history. The camera was switched off by Gladbach, 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 bed 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 memory. Can you tell me your first family pet's name? Elsie. She was a bike on Frise. Hmm, 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. and 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 financial 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 it be required in the future. 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, one more thing.

If you complete the audio journals and monthly checkups, in six months, we'll deposit a further payment of $10,000 into your bank accounts. How's that so? Amazing. My professor, I can't thank you guys enough. You've saved my life today. I'm always 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 rumoured 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, and was carrying the weight of his family's 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 playing. I'm done now. Goodnight. 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, 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 palms 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 recognised the donor. I now realized why I recognised the donor. I went back to the list of folders and found the one labelled donor information. I opened the file, and there was one document of which the list of the folders.

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 called me paranoid, but I really didn't want anyone else spying on what I was about to look at. I double-clicked on the file, and 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 behaviour, both committed and suspected, and most importantly, his medical records. But mentally, Weaver was a sadistic rapist in the case. 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, imagine. According to the file, the alleged story about Dennis Weaver being given a new identity 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 a brother of Canton Major and Georgia's 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 organized crime. allegedly. The file told the story that

on 21st 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 county limits at 5pm. However, when 5pm rolled around, instead of two teenagers and the child turning up at that point, whose 10 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 BT560. And for everyone's mutual benefit, the special project sector of 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. I 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-Morten 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 had 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 paedophilia, 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 charred rapist as an organ donor. You've got the biggest story, other than naming Jack the Ribber, 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 I'm bigger than big If I played this right Than I was freaking 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 But 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 dialed 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 place 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. Um, hello, I don't really know what I'm supposed to do with. here, but here goes. My name is Jason Adam Myers. Recently, I was diagnosed with a degenerative and life-threatening brain disease. Wherever, I can send it 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, oh, I'm not. Over the past 10 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. Well, 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 Gluckbock's audio file dated a week later. My name is Professor Ivan Gladbach. The date is 19th April, 2018. I'm 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, only understand about 25% of the brain. 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 mathematics. Equations. My vocabulary is now gotten back to its original standard. Well, the glitches, however, they're getting a little more frequent. So 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. I 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. 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 donor as Pontchon-Four? how, how shall I say, young meat?

Well, the blackouts of the brain fighting to reset itself to its previous default. The background check on the donor certainly makes what is happening to Mr. Myers quite alarming. Well, only time will tell. I paused a playlist and began sifting through all the files that I hadn't read. I entered don't a background search into the search bar, but nothing came up. I kept looking and looking until I found a fold and 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. 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 torch 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 vocabre. 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, 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 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. They 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. Oh, 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 pulling the plug they aren't calling Jason in and addressing the issue they're just just letting things run their course logging the results like some sick research project I checked my phone and saw it was 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.

don't even belong to an adult. Are they my sisters? Are they Jessica's? I also 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 rattled.

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 training. 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. You 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 his sister.

I've consorted 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 distinctions. 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 James. 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 her 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 let 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 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 note, 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, I only took one good shot. I carried her to the woods and threw her to the dirt. She begged, 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 why? 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.

They're 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 be. 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 it. 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 experiments. Now, here we are. Frankenstein, he lives. The next tape started to play. Oh, hi, 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, and now I'm going 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, I nearly fainted from shock. House of horrors makes detectives vomit. Brother and son butcher's kin. Now me. 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. It's one of the most harrowing scenes anyone could ever have imagined. The crimson 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'd simply knew details. And it's crazy how you hear about something,

think, oh my God, that's so terrifying. 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 to work out that once,

this happened, the SPS likely had Jason Myers cleaned up and let him take the rap 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 Myr'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. The more, as we follow this on thought and gruesome tale, follow us at AGC.com slash Cherokee News. No way.

Oh, 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 lightballs 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 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 experiment. 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 16 June 2018, Professor Gladbach updating. It's become evidently clear that we've lost control of our research asset. I've been the last two weeks desperately trying to contain this situation.

We 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 Edmunds 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. Has he learned 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'd 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 by the next audio recording playing. 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.

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 have? 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? about Robert? I honestly don't know. I never met this guy. Dennis, fucking Weaver. Oh 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 help covered 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. 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 cut, I'll kill you if you touch her. Well, we'll be right back, guys. No, no, no, no. The click of the tape recorder indicated that the recording had ended.

it. Checkmate, Professor. Jack mate. My heart clenched. I began scrambling for the keyboards. I typed him 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 bloodbats. 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, his 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. There'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 pincoals 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 light bulb 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 Matthews. The 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 this horrible tale went, and I hit play. I don't know what to say. When I designed 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 assilling, 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 made through this tragedy will help us get it right next time.

As for Jason Myers or Dennis Weaver, should I say, 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. Oh, 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 a mistake that caused a discovery of penicillin, I couldn't help but be puzzled. I had long assumed that the video file 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. Well, the images began to unfold, presented me with an image of Professor Gladbach. He 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. Gladbach then reset himself and faced him.

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 project sector four. I believe it's the right time. I'm at an age now where my brain isn't as sharp as it was 10 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 It's 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 special thanks to Richard Weidman 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 and 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 adjar off his 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. Munson 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, the 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 cogscrew to his beautiful little princess, Ellie. Professor Gladbach stared wide open at the screen, completely and utterly horrified. He 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, Gladbach was on the floor, had a view, so he didn't have to watch. Myers then poured 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 assume 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. The 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 read 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. Check 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. Perhaps 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. Kaylee, 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. Kaley, Keeley, 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 Cayley'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. It 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. 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, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favour of you, wherever you. 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.