Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I Was the World's Highest-Paid Janitor. I Wouldn't Recommend This Job | Scary Stories

Episode Date: July 31, 2023

I need a raise... Story from DrunkenSwordsman Make sure to check out more of their work at u/DrunkenSwordsman         Original Post: I was the world's highest-paid janitor. I wouldn't recommend this job : r/nosleep            Original YouTube link: I Was the World's Highest-Paid Janitor. I Wouldn't Recommend This Job For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Sound Effects: Freesound Zapsplat  Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new scary stories, new true stories, and new creepypasta stories every day!

What do you picture when someone says secret government facility? You probably imagine soldiers guarding top secret projects or mass scientists dissecting aliens. I don't blame you. That's what movies and games have told you to think about. But tell me this, how many scientists or soldiers, after a day of hard work, will pick up a mop and bucket and go clean up the toilets and the corridors? I'd wager there aren't many. That's where I come in.

The world's highest paid janitor. My name is Robert. Rob, for short, I spent 20 years of my life working at a regular Army base before some higher up noticed I could keep my mouth shut and got me transferred to wherever the hell all this happened. Before I was given the job, I signed enough non-disclosure agreements to bury myself under. Even then, they transported me to wherever the hell I was to work in a windowless truck to make sure I can never find the damn place.

To hell with all the secrecy. My employers messed up big time, and I almost got paid the price for their failure. People have to know what happened. So here goes. It was supposed to be a quiet day. I was doing my work as usual, mopping floors in a computer room on one of the upper levels of the facility. The compound extends deep below the ground, and the lower you go, the more protocol and secrecy there is. In the outer levels, however, life is almost normal.

We're even allowed to fraternize a bit. So I was casually chatting with one of the computer scientists, a young man in his early 30s I knew as Peter. I was asking about how he ended up working here. At university, they called me a programming prodigy. Peter told me. It got into my head, and I started doing some shady stuff with those skills. Eventually I got busted, and the powers that B gave me.

me a choice. Either I'd work for them, or I'd go to a maximum security prison. He smiled. You can probably guess which one I chose. Ever regret that choice? I grinned. Oh, all the time. He laughed. After all, this place is essentially a prison, except I have to work all day. We both laughed. What are you working on anyway? I asked. I knew I wouldn't get a meaningful answer. Firstly, because it was struck. strictly forbidden for anyone to talk about their work. Secondly, because no one at this level actually knew what they were working on. No one was allowed to see the big picture.

They just received tasks, finished them, and sent the finished work down to the lower levels. Peter smirked. Hell if I know, Rob, I just programmed stuff and send it down into the pit. Right now I'm finishing up a program to simulate radiation spread, but it'd be a whole lot easier if I knew what the hell its purpose even was. We both laughed again. Humor was the best way to cope with the reality of our work here. What about you? Peter asked. Any top secret projects you're working on? Without warning, the lights in the room suddenly flickered and went dark for a second,

before buzzing back to life. I looked around in confusion. In the years I'd been working here, the power had never failed. Not once. Remembers were shouting in frustration, hitting their desks and cursing about all the work they'd lost. Peter looked at me, a worried expression on his face. What just happened, Rob? he asked. I don't know, I answered. Maybe we should. I was cut off and winced as the facility announcement system turned on with a screech. A voice echoed through the room, firm, yet with an undertone of barely contained panic.

All employees evacuate immediately. This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill. Proceed to evacuation stations and... The feed went silent, then whined back to life. The speaker was speeding up, his veneer of calm slipping as panic took control. He was practically shouting now. Don't use the computers. Don't use the terminals.

Don't... Suddenly, the voice went silent. The lights in the room turned off again. It took several seconds for them to blink back to life. The workers were looking around, confused and scared. Peter looked over at me, worry written in the lines of his face. What's going on, Rob? I don't know, I answered.

We should probably get moving, though. Evacuation stations for this level are in the canteen. We moved to exit the room with the other researchers, but had only gone a few steps towards the door, when the announcement system word to life a third final time. A robotic voice, bland and featureless, echoed through the room. Containment Protocol 3-Alpha 7, engaging in 30 seconds. There was a second of silence.

Then panic began to spread. Scientists and programmers jostled, trying to reach the door, not knowing what was happening, but desperately wanting to escape it. Peter was calmer, but only just. What's happening, Rob? He asked, panic-threatening to overwhelm him. What's protocol 3-alpha-7? I wasn't sure, but I had a suspicion. Every air duct on this level contained a thick metal pipe, ending in a blocky dispersal unit over each vent. Three Alpha-7 meant gas. I grabbed Peter by the shoulder. Come on, run. This way. We tore out of the room and down the corridor. My mind raced as

I tried to think of anything I could do to save us. Where could we be safe? The air ducts were everywhere. Every room had one. Every room. Get to the service elevators, I said. Quick. We sprinted down the corridor towards the elevators. How much time did we have? Twenty seconds? Ten? Less. It was only The only blind luck that saved us. When we arrived, we found one of the elevators waiting in our level. We jumped inside, breathing heavily as the twin doors slammed closed. I quickly took off my janitor's overalls and shirt, stuffing them into the small line where the two metal plates of the door connected.

What the hell is happening? Panered Peter. No idea, I answered. I think the rooms will be flooded with some kind of nerve agent. What? Why? Why would anyone do that? I was about to answer, but outside the door, I heard a sound that made my blood run cold. The hiss of escaping gas. We waited, barely daring to breathe. Cries and screams came through the door, muffled but unmistakable. They went dead quickly, and silence fell on the facility.

We trembled in our sanctuary. Peter began hyperventilating, on the edge of a panic attack. What the hell? What the hell? What the... I grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing my own fear down. Listen to me, Peter. I don't know what's happening, but we can't stay here. Those doors and my clothes won't hold gas out for long. Peter's breathing slowed down, and I silently thank the heavens.

I'd been on the verge of breaking as well, and we would need to remain calm if we were to survive whatever was going on. If the containment protocols activated, Peter began. That must mean the entrance to the facility is locked down. We can't escape that way. How the hell do we get out then?" I asked. We're on floor three right now, said Peter. I once did some work on floor six, three levels down.

There's a control room there with computer access to pretty much the whole facility. Maybe I can use it to lift the lockdown. I paused for a second, considering our options. I had no idea what containment protocols had been enacted on floor six. There were no gas pipes and the air ducts there, so it couldn't be gas. You're right. Let's go. I pressed the button for floor six, but the elevator remained in place.

I cursed. The lockdown must have disabled him, said Peter. Looks like we're stuck here. All those years programming and hacking, and I can't even get a bloody elevator to work. A flash of inspiration hit me. We don't have to get it to run. I began tentatively. We just need to get into the shank.

need to get into the shaft. Then we can use the elevator ropes to climb down to floor six. Peter looked at me, puzzled. In place of an answer, I reached up, sliding aside a ceiling panel and revealing an entrance hatch. My friend whistled quietly. Looks like I chose the wrong profession, Rob. Janitors seemed to be beating programmers today. With Peter helping me up, I managed to open the hatch, revealing a long shaft illuminated by a fitful red light. Climbing out of the elevator, I pulled my friend up after me. The elevator shaft was wide, having to accommodate three separate cabins. Thick steel ropes led down past us, disappearing into the dark below.

Is this a bad time to admit, I don't really like heights? I said. Peter laughed, though it was a hollow, mirthless sound. Better than staying here, he answered. Carefully, he climbed over the side of the shaft and grabbed hold of the thick rope dangling next to our lift. I followed, trying not to look down or think of the fathomless fall over which I was now suspended. I hadn't been lying when I told Peter I didn't like heights.

We began descending. Soon my muscles were burning with the effort of hanging on. Once, I glanced below, and I felt my heart speed up. The red-lit shaft stretched down, its end out of sight. I quickly looked up again. After what felt like an eternity, we reached the entrance to floor six. A narrow ledge used for maintenance ran around the circumference of the shaft, and we carefully edged our way along it.

Backs to the wall. The floors to floor six were shut, and I began warming my fingers. in between them, trying to pry them open. Next to me, Peter peered down and whispered, Rob, do you see that too? Despite my fear, I looked down. There wasn't much light to see by, but as I peered downwards, I could see something moving far below.

A chill ran down my back. I couldn't make out details, only rough impressions. A glint of steel. The click-clack of long, spindly legs, a glow of red eyes. The rope next to us suddenly swayed as something grabbed hold of it and began climbing up. Shit, I whispered through clenched teeth. Desperately, I turned back to the doors. Hurry, Rob, whispered Peter. Panic had crept into his voice.

It's coming. Finally, the door cracked open and a sliver of light pierced the shaft. There was no time to open it fully. I forced myself through the gap, Peter behind me. With fumbling fingers, I forced the doors back together, just as something long, thin, and gray reached up from the shaft below. We fell to the floor, exhausted. Through the shut door, we heard something scraping on the door.

door we'd only just closed. After a few seconds, it was replaced by a clicking sound, which moved further up the shaft. Slowly, it went silent. What the hell was that? I whispered. Peter looked at me, with wide eyes. I don't know, man. Who the hell knows what they're keeping down on the lower levels? It's not just programmers here, biologists, doctors. There's not a discipline of science which isn't here. I contemplated his words in silence for a few seconds. We need to move. Before that, thing comes back. I said finally, getting up. Lead the way, Peter. We set off down the winding corridors of floor six. We crept on through the dark corridors. The only source of illumination were red emergency lights, mounted on the walls,

every ten meters. Deep pools of shadow lay between them. There were bodies on the ground everywhere. Some had died from gunshots, but most were covered in strange boils and skin lesions. These, we passed by with pieces of cloth held over our faces, scarcely breathing. Whispered Peter, What could possibly do this? I shrugged my shoulders. I don't know. There's no gaspipes. and events on this level. I would have seen them while doing maintenance. Who knows what other containment measures were used here? Whoever, or whatever did this, let's hope they're gone now," muttered Peter. I couldn't help but agree.

Slinking silently down the corridors, we passed through several security checkpoints. They were all unmanned. Whatever soldiers had held them long gone. We'd been creeping through the corridors for about ten minutes when Peter froze in front of me. I caught up, whispering over his shoulder. What is it? What's wrong? He turned his head and held a finger up to his mouth. The message was clear. Be quiet. I waited, and soon I heard what had made Peter stop. From up ahead, I could hear a strange tapping, clattering, like the tread of many thin, spindly feet. And it was getting closer. My heart began hammering. Shit, shit, shit. We looked around desperately, looking for anywhere to hide. With a rush of desperate hope,

I spotted a metal grill, half a meter by half a meter, set in the wall a few feet behind us. Some great impact had dented it, almost knocking it out of its casing. The air duct, I said to Peter. With fumbling fingers, I began prying the grill off. It came loose with a metallic clang, and we clambered inside. Once Peter had entered, I quickly replaced the grill cover, crawling on my hands and knees, and backed away from it. Several terrified minutes passed by in silence, and then movement. Through the gaps between the bars, I could see something passed by our hiding spot, Silhouetted by the crimson of the emergency lights, something tall, gaunt, and long. I caught a glimpse of many shining eyes, almost spider-like, neon-red.

It passed by us with a metallic clack of limbs and disappeared further down the corridor. We lay quietly for a while, barely daring to breathe. Finally, Peter broke the silence. I think it's gone." These vents go all around this level of the facility, I answered. Maybe we can use them to reach the control room, better than going out out of the corridor with that, that thing out there. Peter nodded.

You're right. Can you navigate these ducks? I think so. At the very least, I can get us closer without risking using the corridors. A sound behind us made both of us start and turn around in panic. In the gloom, we could see a vague human outline, hunched and curled up, lying in the vent before us. Who, who are you?

Wimpered the figure. Crawling closer, we could see it was a man, probably in his late 50s. A broken pair of glasses hung off his nose. We could ask the same of you, said Peter. I'm Samuels. Dr. Jordan Samuels, Level 8 biocomputation, said the man. He was obviously in shock, listing his clearance level, as if this were a security checkpoint. I'm Peter Wolfe, level three programming, answered my friend. This is Rob. He's, well, this is Rob. I crawled closer to Samuels. Do you know what's going on, doctor? I asked, What caused the lockdown? How do we get out? Samuel shivered. Our, our project,

Chimira. Today, it was supposed to be a test run. Just a test run. It shouldn't have remembered the past lives. It shouldn't have. He trailed off, sobbing as panic and shock overcame him. I looked over at Peter. He shrugged hopelessly. Let's start. with the basics doctor. I said, What is Project Chimera? Is that what's chasing us? Samuels looked up at me through red-rimmed eyes. There was a suspicion and a growing horror lurking behind his gaze. Chasing you? What's chasing you? We don't know, I said. We've barely seen it. It's like some sort of insect. It's...

Samuels cut me off before I could finish. Oh, no, oh no, no. What is it? But the doctor was beyond reason. The thing from cell 17, the failed prototype, the bladed horror, the... He didn't get any further. In the dark behind him, a cluster of neon red eyes. suddenly ignited. The long spindly appendages grasped out from the shadows. They were thin,

many jointed, and each ended in a narrow blade. They curled around the doctor's torso and tore him backwards. He disappeared, cursing and screaming into the darkened vents. Peter swore, and I cried out involuntarily. We clamored backwards and abject, terror, struggling and colliding with each other in our confused flight. My back hit against the vent we'd entered through, and it gave way. We tumbled out onto the corridor. For a while, horror overcame us. We just ran, knowing not where we were going and hoping that wherever it was, it would take

us far away from those bladed legs and red eyes. Finally, reason returned to us. We halted at a crossroad of corridors, the floor covered in the massacred remains of a security team. They'd been mutilated by something, their bodies covered in long slashes. We paned and gasped, slowly regaining our composure. The facility was silent around us, and for now, it seemed we were safe. Did you see what got him?

I asked. Peter shook his head. No. You? No. Just blades and eyes. What did Samuel say? The thing from cell 17?

I don't like the... Peter trailed off, frowning and looking down at the dead soldiers. These guards, their HUDs are still active. HUDs? I asked. How do I explain? Think a sort of. sort of overlay projected on their faceplates. It tells them where the other members of their

team are, what their objective is, things like that. I nodded, not really understanding, but in no situation to learn. What good is that to us? I asked. Perhaps they had some information about what triggered the lockdown, or maybe they have a complete map of the facility. Peter said. Give me a second here, Rob. Maybe we could finally get our hands on some information. He knelt down by a dead soldier, prying off the man's helmet and putting it over his head. While he tinkered with the helmet, I knelt down and picked up one of the guns on the ground. After a while of searching, I found another, and two almost full magazines. After a few minutes, Peter took the helmet off.

Any luck? I asked. Yeah. The helmet was damaged, but I managed to do some magic and find out. out what they were doing before this happened to him. He gestured down at the massacre around us. It looks like they were tasked with destroying this floor's control room to prevent anyone from lifting the lockdown.

It seems they were successful. I froze. Does that mean? Peter looked at me sadly. I'm sorry, Rob. It looks like we're still locked up here. I cursed. And we stood in silence.

silence for a while. I don't suppose you've got some good news as well, I said finally. I do, although it's not all good. There's another control room with a similar level of clearance. What's the bad news then? Peter shivered. It's in a part of the facility called the prison wing. Down on level 14. It's the second lowest level of the facility. We'll have to find a way down there somehow. We stood in silence for a while, contemplating our options. Finally, I raised one of the guns, grip towards Peter. Do you know how to shoot this? I asked. Peter took the weapon clumsily. Not really. I played some video games, if that helps. Let's hope it does, I said, clutching my own gun in sweating hands.

What's the plan? Peter asked. We push on. We'll find a way down to floor 14 and lift the lockdown from there. And then we get out. What if we run into that thing or something worse? I racked my gun with a bravado I didn't feel. We'll worry about that if it happens. We crept on through the darkness. Every sound and every shadow was filled with the threat of death and it took all my courage

to carry on. After some time, I stopped raising a hand to halt Peter. Do you hear that too? From further down the corridor, I could hear a quiet wheezing. Like a person with fluid in their lungs. Every now and then, it was punctuated by a quiet groan of pain. What is it, Rob? whispered my friend. Sounds like someone's in trouble. I guess we should check it out." Peter looked at me incredulously. You really think that's a good idea?

Maybe it's a trap? I don't want to put my neck out if it isn't necessary. I glanced sideways at him. We should check it out. I repeated firmly. If someone needs our help, we can't just leave them here. I pushed on Peter following, and slowly the wheezing got closer until at last, I was We could see its source. My breath caught in my throat. Suspended on the wall in front of us,

his shoulders impaled by long metal spars was Dr. Samuels. Approaching him, I could see he was far beyond our help. His entire body was covered in long, thin, shallow cuts, his clothes shredded and soaked with blood. His eyes had been gouged out. Dr. Dr. Samuels, I said, the words catching in my throat. The man pinned to the wall coughed, spattering me with blood. Project Chimera. Peter pushed up next to him. What's Chimera? What is it? Samuels coughed again.

The chimera, we'd finally cracked it, how to merge living matter with a machine. He weased again his head drooping. It, it remembers not much only the pain and rage of the biological matter. I looked up at Peter and then the doctor spoke again. You have to stop it. Please. It wants to kill us all. How? How do we stop it? Fail safe, Samuel said. On the bottom level, flash drive, connected to the chassis, the rest will work by itself. His head drooped and a last breath went through his lips. I straightened up.

Peter cursed, kicking the wall next to the dead doctor. Shit. Shit. I tell you what we do next, Rob. We get out. We find a way out of this facility and we get out. What about Chimera? You heard him.

We have to stop it. I don't give a shit, Rob. He said, The government can clear up their own damn failures. I'm not spending a minute more, not one damn minute in this place than I absolutely have to. Hell, we don't even know what chimera is. It might be even worse than whatever the hell is chasing us down here. I need you, Peter. I answered, shocked at my friend's sudden anger and callousness.

And you need me. I know this place inside out, but I won't get far without your skill with technology. We can fix this. Together. Peter held up a hand to stop me before I could continue. Don't, Rob. Just don't. I'm leaving.

You can either come with me or you can end up like him. He gestured at the suspended corpse of Samuels. And then Peter turned, muttering a curse, and disappeared into the dark. I was left alone in the blackness of Level 6. I forced my racing mind to slow down, before I could even think of escape. I had to get to the bottom floor, floor 15, and shut down Chimera. But what even was it?

Samuels hadn't given us a lot of information, only cryptic remarks about combining biology and machinery. How could I fight something like that, when I didn't even know what it was? I guess the only way to find out is to go find it. My mind raced as I searched for any possible way I could reach the bottom level. The lifts weren't working, and I dared not risk climbing down the shaft again. The ropes which held the elevators were much too thick to climb down any meaningful distance. Even the journey down to floor six had been in crucial incredibly dangerous. And even if I didn't plummet to my death, I might run into the thing from cell 17. The air circulation system. That was it. The bottom floors of the facility needed

to keep a constant flow of clean air moving down to them. Every week, I was tasked with cleaning the filters on the massive machinery that kept the air moving. I'd never been inside the circulation system itself, having only leaned in far enough to run. replace the filters, but maybe, just maybe, I could use the pipes and shoots to climb deeper into the facility. I set out through the shadowy corridors, heading for the maintenance room, under normal circumstances. It would have only taken me a short time to reach it, but now, in the darkness, everything was different. I had to remain silent. The path I was taking would lead me past the deactivated elevators, and I slowed down as I neared them.

As I approached, something by one of the elevator doors caught my eye. I stopped, peering in the dim light. Every instinct I had screamed at me to keep moving, to get away from the doors. With an effort, I pushed the panic down and cautiously approached. They'd been forced open slightly and jammed between them was a length of black metal spiked on both ends. A rope was tied to it and led downwards into the shaft. I gave it an experimental tug. It was slack. Finally, I realized what its purpose was. A grappling hook, and a rope leading downward. Someone had used the shafts to repel down into the lower levels.

There are other people. The thought filled me with a sudden hope. If there were other survivors, Perhaps they could help me. Maybe they knew what chimera was and how to stop it. First, I had to reach them though. Tentatively, I grabbed hold of the rope, making as little sound as I could. I vaulted into the shaft and keeping my legs straight and against the wall began lowering myself downward. This was a gamble, and I knew it. If the thing from Cell 17 came back, there was nowhere for me for me to run. But I felt I had little choice. The ventilation system was a gamble as well, and I don't even know if I would have fit through it. Even though this rope was much more fit to climb down, my arms began burning. The shaft was silent, and every step I made down the

walls seemed to echo and reverberate. Every moment I expected to hear the click-clack of long, spindly feet or catch a glimpse of burning neon eyes. As I clamored past the elevator door to level nine, something heavy impacted against it. I started, almost letting go of the rope and shock. The sound came again and again. It was a wet, organic sound, not metallic. It was slow, So steady, but I could feel the metal of the door quiver beneath each impact. A low, groaning sound came through the door. Help me. Who are you?

I whispered through the door. What's happening? The words came again. Help me. They sounded strange, human, yet with an undertone I couldn't quite place. What's happening? I repeated, a chill running down my back. Help me, came the answer.

And then I finally realized what was so wrong about the voice. Every time it had spoken, it was not only the words that remained the same. The phrasing, the inflection, were identical. It was like talking to a recording. The impact came again. And with an effort of will, I forced to. myself to continue climbing down. Whatever was outside that door, I had no wish to meet it. I descended deeper and deeper. My muscles burned, every movement, torture, every change

of grip, painful. And as I moved downward, I passed the doors to floor 14, the prison wing. They were wide open, torn and crushed, from some terrible force that had almost ripped them out of the wall, clamoring past, I peered inside, and I was met with a sight of absolute carnage. The ground was strewn with mutilated bodies. All of them covered in cuts. The walls had not been spared the slaughter. They were covered in bodies, hanging suspended by lengths of metal, by spikes torn from the walls themselves, by ropes of wire and cabling.

I shuddered, forcing myself to keep moving. Whatever had happened from cell 17, it had gone through the prison wing like a hot knife through paper. Finally, just when I thought my arms could take no more, I reached the entrance to floor 15. It too had been opened, but not by brute force. The doors had been slid aside, making a crack through wide enough for me to slip inside. I was met with a familiar corridor. I'd been allowed access to most of floor 15 while carrying out my janitorial duties. Only a few rooms had been off limits, and somehow I knew that whatever I was searching for, it would be waiting in one of those unknown areas.

Creeping on. I passed through corridors that were surprisingly empty. Only a few bodies littered the ground. had died of gunshots. Suddenly, a voice rang out. Stay where you are. Hands above your head. I froze. The voice had come from behind me, from a pool of darkness on the wall. I raised my hands slowly. Movement. Shadows detached itself from the wall and became the outlines of men. In seconds, I was surrounded by five figures. As they approached, I could make out details. They were dressed in black military clothing with tactical vest on. They brandished long, silenced rifles. I felt a hand

on my back and was forced down to my knees. The barrel of a gun pressed into my head, and my own pistol was taken from my hands. One of the soldiers approached silently. The others made way for him. He squatted down in front of me. His face was pale, deep pools of shadow in his eyes, and matted black hair fell in a waterfall around it. Everything about him, his stance, the ease of his movement, radiated self-assured lethality. Who are you? I stammered. My name is Conrad, but that is not important. He answered. He spoke with an almost casual air.

You will tell me what happened in this facility and provide all information you can about the status of Project Chimera. There. There was a lockdown. Then the power went out and all the containment protocols activated. Almost everyone is dead. I. Something escaped captivity on the prison wing, some kind of machine.

turned his head to a member of his team. Thorn, let command know their intel was correct. The second it was switched on, Cimera took over, killed everything it could with the tools at its disposal. The soldier nodded. Conrad turned back to Face Me. And... Project Cimera.

What do you know about that? Not much, I admitted. Only what I was told by Dr. Samuels, something about merging living means. matter with machines. Conrad looked me dead in the eye when I mentioned the doctor. Where is Dr. Samuels now? He asked. Is he somewhere close?

No. He was killed by whatever escaped the prison wing. I said. Conrad turned to his team and swore, Shit! Secondary objective is no longer viable. Let command know, Thorne. Thorn whispered into a small radio attached to his vest, then went quiet as his earpiece

hummed into life and crackled quietly. New orders, he said finally. Secondary objective is to secure Samuel's body before we exfiltrate. They want to use his brain when they rebuild Chimera. Conrad grinned, a flash of white in the darkness. How fitting. It's almost poetic. He turned back to me.

Do you know how to reach Camara? I shook my head. Conrad stood up. Thank you for your cooperation. That'll be all. He lifted up his rifle and aimed directly at my head. Realizing what he was about to do, I raised my hands trying desperately, hopelessly, to ward off the gunshot I knew was about to come.

come. Help me. The voice came from behind Conrad, and a chill ran down my spine as I recognized it instantly. The voice from the elevator shaft. Conrad and his team turned, guns coming up, and aiming into the darkness. The outlines of several people were stumbling down the corridor towards us. The soldiers aimed at them, taking up. taking up positions at the sides of the passageway. For the time being, I was forgotten. Halt, said Conrad, gun-trained on the leading figure. Hands behind your head and get down on the ground. Help me, said the figure. Then the one behind it repeated the call. Help me. The voices were identical. Conrad's second in command, Thorn, was talking into

the radio. Command, you have our visual feed, please advise. There was a second of silence. The figures approached with their stumbling gate, now only ten feet away from us. Thorne raised his hand. It's the failed subjects from Malik. Open fire! Havik erupted. The corridor lit up as the team began firing, and in the flashes of light, I saw the figures lean forward. and begin running. Behind them, more and more appeared streaming down the corridor. Five, ten, twenty of them. Conrad's team were well trained. They fired steadily, methodically, every shot a kill, but there were just too few of them. One of the things reached them and hurled itself at Thorn. They crashed to the ground, and in the flash of light as Thorn fired desperately,

I saw the thing's face. It was human, but its mouth was darkened by twitching black tendrils that crawled out of inside the thing's throat. As I watched, it leaned forward, the black tendrils latching onto Thorn's face, crawling inside his mouth, his nostrils, his ears. He tried to scream, but could only gargle. And then I ran. I fled. And crying and weeping, cursing the government myself and the whole damn world. Conrad's team didn't try to stop me. They had other problems.

I ran as far as I could, taking the winding corridors at random, until at last I stopped at a high steel blast door. And finally, I collapsed onto the ground. The sound of fighting had gone silent. And slowly my racing heart began to slow. Looking up, I saw something that filled me with dread. On the blast door painted in black was a large mythological beast. It had the body of a lion, but the head of a goat, in what looked like the tail of a serpent. I got up.

To the side of the door was a small keycard. reader and approaching it. I could see it shining faintly. It still had power. I went to investigate it. But before I could get closer, a sound from the dark behind me made me start. A clicking sound. The sound of steel legs on the floor getting closer. My blood ran cold. I looked around, but the walls were featureless. No air ducts, no vents. Nothing. Nowhere to hide. In the darkness of the corridor, a cluster of neon-red eyes ignited. They were all-encompassing, hypnotizing, the promise of death and release. I stared at them, unable to tear my gaze away. It's all over. No more pain. No more fear. And then, from the darkness surrounding

the eyes. A single long limb extended, steel-gray, bladed, and many jointed. Slowly, gently, it stroked down the side of my face as I stood, paralyzed and helpless. Then another, and another, slowly reaching out towards me. And from the dark behind it, a voice suddenly called out, a familiar voice. Peter's voice. Let go of him, you son of a bitch. With a screech of metal and a scraping of blades, the thing in front of me twisted around. In the center of the corridor, lit by its red eyes, stood Peter. Before the thing from Cell 17 could move, he brought up his gun at almost point-blank range. He fired. The gun shot. deafening in the confined space. The thing reared back, half seen in the blackness, and one

of its many eyes went dark. Like some terrible insect, it scuttled forward, blades hissing through the air as it bore down on my friend. Peter fired off two more shots, one going wide, the other scraping off a sharpened limb and ricocheting into the wall. The two collided. Peter fell to the ground, dropping on all fours as he desperately evaded a blow that would have cut him in half. Over here, I said, desperate to take the thing's attention. Come and get me. The thing world, its red hateful eyes fixed on me.

It jumped, seeking to pin me to the door leading to Chimera. Desperately, I threw myself to the side and felt it sore above me and hit the door. I scrambled to my feet, but the thing was too fast. Before I could escape, it was on me, sharpened limbs, stabbing and slashing. I screamed and fell as one pierced my thigh. I could hear Peter yelling, firing blindly at the thing until his clip ran empty. The thing grabbed me, lifting me up and dangling me in front of its eyes. All I could see was crimson. Without warning, a whole salvo of bullets impacted against its side. It dropped me, twisting to face this new attacker. A black-clad figure was running towards us, rifle-blazing in his hand. I caught a glimpse of a pale face,

framed by black hair. Conrad. The thing from Cell 17 may have been a mindless killer, but it recognized a threat when it saw one. With a rush of steel, it turned away from us, charging at Conrad. The two crashed into each other, the thing lifting him up into the air on its limbs as he fired straight down into its eyes. Peter, I said, open the door. Peter rushed over to the console.

I tried to get up and follow, but cursed and collapsed. as my lacerated leg gave way. Using the wall, I propped myself up, stumbling painfully to my friend. From behind, I could hear gunfire and the screech of metal. The fight had moved further down the corridor into the darkness. And then slowly, the great blast doors to Chimera began shifting, revealing a wide corridor leading further into darkness. We went through it. Shut the door before they follow us, I said. Peter ran over to the console on our side, smashing keys and cursing. The massive door began closing, with a groan of metal, and finally slammed shut.

We lay on the ground, panting and exhausted. The sounds of fighting were cut off by the thick steel. And after several minutes, I heard Peter shift to a city. position. You hurt? He asked. My legs cut, I said through gritted teeth. Who was that soldier? Did someone else survive the containment procedures? He asked. No. His name is Conrad. I think the government sent him. He's here to destroy Chimera and to make sure no word of this disaster ever reaches the light of day. Well, hopefully those two will take care of each other. We sat in silence for a while.

Why'd you come back? I asked, finally. You said you were going to find a way out. I did, replied Peter. His voice was almost a whisper, but I could detect a hint of regret behind his words. Conrad must have lifted parts of the lockdown to get inside. the main entrance is open. I was standing by it, Rob, and then I began thinking, I've always made bad decisions, selfish decisions. I always used my skills to get ahead, you know, even at the expense of others. And when I got caught, I used them to avoid going to prison. I guess. I just finally decided it was time for me to use these skills for someone else. For everyone else.

He went silent. I crawled through the darkness where he lay, and I put a hand on his shoulder. You're a good man, Peter. I'm glad you came back. He chuckled to himself. Here I am. Getting sentimental, wasting time. We got to keep going.

We're close. He stood up and helped me get upright. My legs burned, and I leaned on him for support. We set out through the darkness. The corridor was straight, lit in places by red emergency lights. It ended with another blast door, this time with a simple switch in place of a console. We halted in front of it, dreading what waited on the other side, but knowing there was no turning back.

After a few seconds, Peter turned to face me. You ready for this? No. He smiled. Me neither. Time to see what all the fuss is about. He hit the switch. The massive blast doors groaned and shifted. My eyes widened as I saw what lay beyond. We stood at the entrance of a massive room, several stories high and tens of meters across. There There were cables, pipes, and chains along its walls. Everywhere we looked, there were hazard symbols. Along the walls and ceiling of the room were long rails carrying, articulated, grappling

arms. As we watched, they moved autonomously, descending down to a mass of steel that lay beneath them. The center of the room was dominated by a titanic machine. Dozens of displays and computer banks glinted and blinked at us with multicolored light. Long coils of cables and wires wound from the central structure, stretching across the room to massive glass containers that stood all around the circumference of the room. I approached one. Then gasped and wretched when I saw what lay inside.

Suspended an amniotic fluid. Red and raw floated a mass of unmistakably human flesh. A brain, gray and shrivelled, was connected to the remains of a spinal column and a mass of bloated organs somehow kept functioning by a plethora of twisted machinery. Behind me, Peter cursed under his breath. Shit, so this is Chimera? my stomach finally stopped convulsing. I turned to my friend. What do we do now? I asked. Samuel said there's a fail-safe drive somewhere here. All we

have to do is find it and connect it. We'd better start. He looked out under the mass of computers and machinery surrounding us. Looking. He finished lamely. We approached the central mass of computers tentatively. The screens were scrolling with. with data too fast for me to read. Even if I could, I doubt I would understand what I was seeing. As we near the center of Kymira, I noticed that between the banks of machinery, there was a small gap. It led inward, like a passage through a forest of steel, with a foliage of cables and pipes overhead. Maybe this leads somewhere, I said, pointing down the aisle.

It's a start at least. Peter pointed upward. Several of the grabbing arms were extended from the ceiling, plunging somewhere into the tangled mass of engineering before us. Bending low to pass underneath the roof of wiring, we passed into the aisle. All around us was the hum of machinery. The passageway was narrow, forcing us to go in a line, Peter in front of me. Suddenly, he stopped. Caught by surprise, I knocked into his back. My leg was still flaring with pain. Oh, shit, he whispered. Peering over his shoulder, I cursed and almost threw up again. In front of us, in the middle of a small area cleared of machinery. A man was suspended by

the many arms of chimera. He was wrapped in wire, his arms bound and bleeding. His legs immobilized. of metal held his head in place, in his mouth wide open. The tatters of a lab coat were his only clothes. He was breathing. We rushed forward, but the man just groaned. Stay back. We stopped. Who are you? I said, horrified. What's been done to you? Why? The man turned his bloodshot eyes toward me. Guy Mira, I created it, my child, my failure, my shame, and because of that, it blames me. What did you do? asked Peter, those bodies connected to it, prisoners, the scientist said. From death row, instead of execution, we used them, their bodies, to build this. Why?

I asked, disgusted. The power of the human brain combined with machinery, the possibilities were endless. But Chimera remembered, not much, but another. The very notion of being alive and what was taken from them. It's too much to handle. All it feels is pain, and it blames us. It blames me. So it will take its revenge.

What revenge? I said. This facility. The horrors held. within. It's not the only one. Not by far. Kimera will release all of them, all of them. It just needs time to reach out and gain entry." Peter took a step closer. Tell us how to stop it. In my robes, the man groaned.

The failsafe. Plug it in on the main panel that will kill. Kill it. Be quick. The second you touch me, it'll know you're here, and it will come for you." Peter took a deep breath. His muscles tensed. His eyes closed for a second in concentration. In one quick move, he dashed forward, reached into the doctor's robes, and leapt back.

Grasped in his hand was a small black flash drive. The second he touched the hanging body, the room exploded with noise. A siren began blasting. It was so loud, my vision blurred. A dazzling display of lights illuminated everywhere, red and yellow and blue. And above us, the many arms of chimera activated, plunging downwards, aimed directly at Peter. The arms holding the scientist, tensed, flexed. and ripped away. I turned and fled just in time to be spared the view of his quartering.

We ran through the jumbled corridor of computers and dashed out into the open. Far above us, a massive array of speakers' word to life. Human, machine, live, dead. And we ran around the vast mechanism, searching desperately for the right panes. A massive steel claw came falling down at me, grasping desperately. I dodged to the side, and it impacted against a screen shattering it to pieces. Here, yelled Peter from ahead of me. In front of him, I could see a towering bank of processors. On their side was emblazoned the mythological logo of Chimira, and below it a single word

Kill Switch. As I watched, Peter leapt toward the panel, the fail safe in hand. He never reached it. A multi-jointed arm came down, slamming him into the ground. It grasped blindly, lifting him by the leg and dangling him upside down in the air. Rob! he yelled and dropped the flash drive. I left my leg flaring in agony, and I caught it in my sweaty hands. Above me, more limbs were grasping at Peter, at his arms, his legs. He was seconds away from the same fate that had befallen Chimera's creator. Pain revenge. I staggered forward, collapsing onto the main panel. My fingers fumbled over the fail-safe console, searching for the connection point. Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?

Here, my fingers had found a small dent almost invisible. Rob, came a desperate, pained scream from above. I slotted the failsafe in. Havoc erupted. The many amniotic tanks exploded one by one. With each sickly concussive thump, the screens filling the room went dark. A scream tore through the room, forced to the room. me to my knees with its concussive force.

Alive human. Above me, Chimira's limbs spasmed and went limp. Peter fell, plunging through the air and hitting the deck with a sick crack. He screamed in pain, clutching what looked like a broken leg. With an ear-splitting bang, the remaining screens in place. Loaded, the whirring machinery, stilled. The room around us was silent. I crawled over to my stricken friend.

Did we do it? He asked, dazed. Yes, it's over. Not quiet. Came a sneering voice from behind me. I whirled around. A pale face, black hair. Conrad stood before us.

His tactical vest was shredded. A dark wet stain spread on his chest, and he had one hand curled up at his side. A single shard of a blade limb embedded in it. In the other, he held a pistol, aimed at my head. You survived, I said through gritted teeth. Conrad smiled. Barely. But then I am hard to kill.

kill. So what was that thing? The fight of a lifetime. You should be more grateful, you know. It would have finished you both off, if not for me. Since you're going to kill us anyway, I'd say it doesn't count for much, said Peter from the floor. Aren't you a clever man? Conrad smiled. Thanks for finishing off Kaimera for me, though. Don't know if I would have been able to, alone and in this state. He swayed suddenly, a spasm of pain crossing his face. His gun wavered. What about your team? I said, I had to keep him talking. A desperate hope was forming in my mind. Conrad laughed. They're worse off than dead. God damn failed government experiments. They're the only thing I really didn't want to meet on this mission. And then another flash of pain

crossed his face, and I leapt forward. Before his aim could come back up, I slammed into him, knocking us both over. The gun went careening away. Conrad rolled over on top of me. His one-arm piston. He smashed into my face, and I felt blood in my mouth. I lashed out, trying to knock him off of me. Even cut up, bleeding to death and tired. He was just too fast. He crossed my blow going wide and broke my wrist. I yelled. My vision swam as unconsciousness threatened to overwhelm me. Conrad raised his arm, prepared to beat me to death. Suddenly, he lurched to his side. Through the pain and weakness, I saw Peter had crawled forward and kicked him enough to dislodge him from me. Conrad screamed curses and crawled on all fours, grabbing my.

friend's throat and squeezing it. A glint of reflected light caught my eye, rousing me from my stupor, the blade in Conrad's arm. I crawled forward. Peter was gasping for air. Conrad was laughing. I reached forward, tore the blade out, and rammed it into the back of Conrad's head. He spasmed, convulsed and fell to the floor. I collapsed next to Peter, utterly exhausted. I don't know how long I lay there until the agony slowly receded. I may have fallen unconscious. For a while, my whole world was only blackness and pain.

And then finally, the universe returned into focus. Slowly, I propped myself up. You are right? I asked. He looked over at me, his expression incredulous. Then he began to laugh. I joined as the absurdity of it all hit me. Yeah, Rob, never better.

He answered at last, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. Help me up. It's time we got out of here. Slowly, painfully, we stood up, relying on each other to stay upright. Before us was the corridor to Project Chimera, and beyond that, a long and arduous climb upward, and beyond that still, freedom.