Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - [Part 2] I Run a Bar at the Edge of the Arctic—Our Guests Share Secrets That Rewrite History

Episode Date: October 10, 2025

At a lonely bar on the edge of the Arctic, where endless night and whispered secrets rule, a stranger’s arrival unravels a web of lies so dark it threatens to rewrite history itself. Already caught up? You’re missing out on hours of exclusive stories available only on Patreon: ⁠patreon.com/drnosleep⁠ NoSleep Coffee: Go to⁠ ⁠⁠NoSleepCoffee.com⁠⁠⁠ and get 20% off our same-day roasted, horror-themed coffee delivered straight to your door. Just use promo code NOSLEEP20 at checkout for 20% off your first order! Author: Jake Bible Check out the author's latest Kindle Unlimited release: ⁠https://www.amazon.com/Stone-Cold-Bastards-Jake-Bible-ebook/dp/B0FTHHJ3G1⁠ * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 18. Listener discretion is advised.  #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

If you crave more, Patreon is calling. Unlock ad-free episodes, early drops, and over 80 bonus tales too dark for the main feed. Link in the description below. It was a sunny Dallas day on November 22nd, 1963. And Norman Squirrel was enjoying the rays on his face as he walked the city streets, orienting himself to the location. Not that he needed orienting. He'd been in Dallas for a week already.

But squirrels are a cautious lot. They have to be. It's a dangerous world, and squirrels live dangerous lives. Not that squirrel was the last name Norman was born with. No, he was born Norman Shear. He'd grown up in upstate New York to parents who were shopkeepers. Until the shop was lost during the Great Depression, Norman and his parents had to scrape together a living by doing anything they could.

When World War II broke out, it was almost a relief for Norman. Three hot meals and a place to sleep every night. No more itinerant wandering, looking for odd jobs. His belly was full, and all he had to do was not get killed by the crowds, which Norman excelled at. His army instructors saw his potential immediately, and instead of being thrown into the infantry as cannon fodder, he was recruited for army intelligence.

His superiors there understood what kind of animal they had on their hands, and Norman was shipped off for in-country training, with a squad of off-books soldiers. No dog tags, no. uniforms. They dressed like locals and stuck to the shadows. And it was in those shadows that Norman found his true calling, killing folks quietly, or not quietly, depending on the job. Either way, folks were going to die if Norman was around. But as all good things do, the war ended, and Norman was to be shipped back to the States where he could make a new life for himself and

his parents. Maybe open the shop up again. Except when Norman stepped off the plane, He found himself staring at a frozen landscape that definitely wasn't upstate New York. Norman was part of the inaugural class at the facility and spent the first year being conditioned, trained, and injected with a certain serum that may or may not have been stolen from the Nazis. The conditioning was so if he was caught, he wouldn't give up the facility. The training was so that while in the field, he could complete his job, any job, without fail. and the injections were to enhance his natural abilities when it came to stealth and speed and agility. Feeling he was ready, the facility sent Norman into the field.

That field, being Brooklyn, he was to silently, without detection of any kind, kill a local mob boss he was about to make a big move and take over the entire cartel. That would upset the balance in the New York underworld a little too much for the facility's liking. No one notices a squirrel climbing a fire escape. No one notices a squirrel peeking into a bedroom window. No one notices a squirrel leaving out of that same window later, a smear of blood on his cheek. And no one noticed a squirrel walking around the Dallas Book Depository that November Day either.

After two hours of walking, Norman blended into the scenery as people began to show up to line the road, ready to wave and cheer for the arrival of President John F. Kennedy, and his beautiful wife, Jackie. Of course, no one noticed Norman skirt the grassy knoll and ease himself into the little bit of shadow the sun afforded. They also didn't notice when he crouched down and checked the package left for him, a brand-new M-21, which was a highly modified M-14 that had been outfitted into a sniper rifle. The sun rose high in the sky as noon approached.

Norman sat down, looking like the transient he used to be. If anyone glanced at him and his package, they'd see a bum with a bindle. The motorcade came around the corner and with practiced ease, Norman slid the rifle from the package, loaded it with three cartridges, put the rifle to his shoulder, took aim, and fired once, twice, three times. In the chaos, Norman slid the rifle back into the package, picked it up and slipped away. The fact that three transients would be nabbed by the police later, and subsequently released, was a simple coincidence.

The facility couldn't have been happier. You're saying that your grandfather killed JFK? Annie asks, rolling her eyes. Grandpa Norm pulled the trigger, yeah. Oh, but what? It was the facility who really killed Kennedy? Is this working? Billy asks me.

Not if you say it like that. I reply and punch him in the chest. Annie waits for a second, then bursts out laughing. Nice try. Maybe lower the bar a hair before you tell a story like that. Billy shrugs. You may not believe me now, but you will. Thanks, Billy, I say.

You can go back and drink your drink now. Can I get some of that popcorn first? Sure, Billy. Billy scoops popcorn into a paper dish, tosses a couple of pieces into his mouth, then starts shoving it all in until his cheeks almost burst. He refills the paper dish and walks back to his booth. Jamie is glaring over at me and Annie.

I wave. She doesn't. What the hell was that? Annie asks. Let's get you another drink, I say as the last batch of popcorn is finally done. I take her by the elbow and walk her over to the bar. The place is filling up now. More foxes arrive, a couple of coyotes. A murder of crows takes over the middle four booths, each bopping from seat to seat,

perching up on top of the backs, making a racket like crows do. Two-twenty-somethings enter, and I wave. See those two? Best trackers the facility has. Their parents were the best, but their offspring have them beat by a lot. I mean, you take two outstanding bloodhounds and bring them together. What do you expect? This is all an elaborate joke, right?

Annie asks. She rubs her temples. How are you feeling? I've been better, she says while still rubbing. Then she whispers to herself. What am I doing here? This'll help. I set her fresh drink down in front of her.

Trust me, drink up while I order you some food. You need a little energy for what comes later. No, she stands up. She pushes back so fast that her stool topples over, and the noise brings all conversation to a halt. Mmm. Comes from behind me, and I see Gopher peeking out of the kitchen door. Ah, perfect.

Can you get Annie a burger and fries ASAP Gopher? Hmm. He's gone right away. All good here, folks. I hold my arms out. Just a little readjustment. Looks like more than a little. Wasn't she supposed to be here tomorrow?

One of the raccoons, says, before being hushed by the others. Have a seat, Annie. I go around to pick up her stool. She backs away from me quickly. No, this isn't what I thought I was walking into. She looks around as if she fears being attacked at any second. I knew it would be dangerous, exposing an organization like the facility. But this is way past danger.

This is pure fucking insanity. Your fucking insanity is the best kind, the same raccoon says, getting hushed even louder this time by the entire bar. Jeez, sorry. Annie, it's all okay, I promise. Shit, shit, shit. This escalated way too fast. I should have doubled the dose in the first drink. You promise? You promise? I don't know you. Your promise means nothing. She turns and runs from the bar. Everyone watches her go. And as soon as the door closes behind her, All eyes center on me. She'll be back, I say.

It's cold as shit out there, and she's not used to it. Some eyes linger a moment, but most return their attention to what they were doing before the interruption. The place is filled with chatter in seconds. Gophra says when he comes out at the kitchen with Annie's burger. Annie hasn't returned like I thought she would. Set it on the bar. I'll be right back. I hurry out the front door, hoping Annie hasn't wandered off. I find her standing in the parking lot, turning in a slow circle.

Her arms wrapped about her body as she shivers uncontrollably. Annie, come inside! I shout. The wind has picked up, and I can smell fresh snow about to dump. I'll explain it all, I promise. Screw you and your promises! She yells back, her teeth chattering. She turns in one more full circle. Where's my fucking car?

Well, it wasn't your car. It was the facilities. They'd probably sent over a gopher to get it. The cook? No, no, a different gopher. I say, then pause. Although, now that I think of it, it is a little confusing having gopher named gopher

when there are other gophers. That's the confusing part? She shouts at me. You are going to freeze to death unless you come inside, Annie. Don't worry about range rovers or gophers or squirrels. There's a delicious burger with your name on it's sitting on the bar right now. Eat some food, have a couple more drinks,

and it will all become clear. Drinks? I bet you're spiking the drinks with something. That's why I'm feeling weird. Yes, I know you're feeling weird. That's good. It means the drinks are working. What? Wait, are you saying you did spike my drinks?

Of course. It's part of the process. What fucking process? Well, that's something you have to discover on your own. Otherwise, you could get stuck in this persona. This is madness. No, madness is standing out here in sub-zero way. when there's a very warm bar with hot food only steps away.

I'm not going back in there with you! Annie, do you want to go home? Yes, I want to go home. Now! And the only way you can do that is by coming inside and sitting down so you can eat your burger and finish your old-fashioned. I know you don't want to, but you have to trust me on this.

Can you do that? Can you trust me? Aren't you listening? No! I can't fucking trust you! Fair enough. Fair enough. Then stay outside. You'll be dead of hypothermia in maybe 10 to 15 minutes, if that long. I mean, I'm about to fall over and die, and I'm used to this weather. I'm not going in there.

Okay, that's your choice. I smile, nod, then turn and walk back to the bar. It feels like heaven inside. Although, the raccoons seem to be messing with the crows by throwing peanuts at them when they aren't looking. So maybe not exactly heaven. Knock it off! I yell over at the raccoons.

Mm. Gopher drops off four burgers, two fries, and a plate of nachos onto the bar. Thanks. I say, then shout. Burgers, fries, nachos! Picture this. It's late at night. You're scrolling, and suddenly you find exactly what you've been looking for.

You add it to your cart, maybe browse a little more, than head to checkout, only to realize you don't have your wallet. But then you see it, that purple shop pay button. And just like that, you're done in second. That's the power of Shopify. It supports millions of businesses and drives 10% of all e-commerce in the U.S. From major brands like Mattel and Jimshark to entrepreneurs just getting started. With Shopify, everything you need is in one place,

from customizable store templates to built-in AI tools that help write product descriptions and enhance your images. It also makes marketing easy with integrated email and social campaigns. And if you get stuck, Shopify's award-winning customer support is there for you 24. See less cards go abandoned and more sales go With Shopify and their shop pay button Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at Shopify.com slash DNS.

Go to Shopify.com slash DNS. That's Shopify.com slash DNS. The bloodhounds fetch the burgers. A couple of foxes grab the fries And a coyote wanders over for the nachos. I said no hollabendip. He growls. Pick them off.

My eyes move to the front door. I don't want to pick them off. Someone else too. Looks like you got the job. Congratulations. Asshole. The front door opens and an almost frozen Annie stumbles in. Jesus, T. You left her out there!

Billy shouts. He and Jamie get up to help Annie over to the bar, then sit her directly in front of the waiting burger. Nice tendering tender, Jamie says to me, when she and Billy, walk away. Come on, she's a day early. Bullshit excuse tea. I sigh. Jamie isn't wrong. I get you a cup of coffee, I say to Annie. Gofer has a full carafe set up on the back of the bar, and I pour Annie a piping hot mugful. She wraps her fingers around the mug and brings it in close to her chest. I get you a blanket. I hurry back through the kitchen, into my back bedroom, snag a comforter from my bed, and rush back to the bar. When I, I'm a comforter from my bed,

and rush back to the bar. When I wrap it around Annie's shoulders, she breathes deep. I know that smell, she says in a small, shaky voice. Why do I know that smell? The answer will come to you. Sip some coffee, eat some burger, drink your old-fashioned. You're trucking me. I know it. We already established that I am, in fact, drugging you.

Yes, but not the way you think. The drugs aren't why you feel weird. That's you doing that. The drugs are only helping the process. What process? You keep saying there's a process. What is it? That I can't tell you, or it ruins the process.

Oh my God! A few heads turn, but my quick glare sends them looking the other way. Annie's shivering slows, then stops. See, you're already adjusting. I nod at her food. Eat, please. It helps. If you say process one more time, I'll kill you.

you with this swizzle straw from my drink. I swear to God. I believe you, and I wasn't going to say that word. Liar, maybe, I crack a smile. The food does help. It'll settle your nerve some. The drugs in your drink can take a toll. Why are you even drugging me? I can't answer that without saying the P word again, and I can't explain the actual scientific reason anyway. That's above my pay grade. I leave that for the chemists in the facility. out of here. I know you feel that way, but that didn't go so well last time, did it? You almost froze to death out there. A pack of coyotes walks in. I catch the eye of one of them, and she heads to the bar, sitting down one stool away from Annie.

Hey, T, she says. Hey, Annie, she's early. She is, I say. What does that even mean? Annie groans. I was going to ask how it's going, but it doesn't look like it's going well, the woman says. Yeah, she's a little discombobulated. Some tender U.R. T. Then she pats Annie's arm. It's going to be fine. Don't worry.

How do you know my name? Annie asks the coyote. I butt in before she can answer. Annie, this is Elizabeth Coyote, the best con artist in the Western Hemisphere. I'm a bit of a trickster. She gives Annie a wink. Right, Coyote, trickster. I get it.

Annie says, You get it because it's coming back to you? Or you just get it from a mythological standpoint? Elizabeth asks. She looks at me and I shake my head. Okay, not the time for those questions. Right now, what you need is to get some food in your belly. It's all drugged, Annie whines.

Just the drinks, the food is clean. Here, see? Elizabeth takes a huge bite out of Annie's burger. Perfectly safe. Her eyes go wide. Damn, this is good. Is Go for caramelizing the onions again? Yep.

She holds the burger out to Annie. Have a bite, please. Just a little bite. You people are all mad. No arguing that. Elizabeth chuckles. Bits of burger fly from her mouth and splat onto the bar. Sorry, I'm a messy eater.

I can get you a different one, I say to Annie. And you can even go back in the kitchen and watch Gofer make it, so you can see there's no drugs. You say that like it's a comfort. Annie replies and shakes her head. But you've already admitted to spiking my drinks. So fuck you. Glad to see your fighting spirit is fine and dandy.

Elizabeth stands up. Good luck, tea. I'm going to hang with the pack. Give me a shout if you need more help. She snaps her fingers. And how about six burgers, extra fries? Those onions are delicious. On it. Annie stares at the partially eaten burger.

I can get a fresh one. I'll let go for now. I put in the burger orders, fill some pictures of beer, fix a few cocktails, and keep an eye on Annie. I need to change my tactic. I should have played along more and eased her into things. I think Billy's showing up too soon threw me off.

I delivered the burgers that go for sets on the bar, saving Annie's for last. When I come back and set it in front of her, she seems to mouth a little prayer, then digs in. Don't choke, I say. Then back up when her eyes shoot daggers at me, while her mouth chews, choose, choose. Sorry. After she swallows and sets what's left of the burger back onto the plate, I move back closer. So, which paper did you write for? Website, she says.

Online journal. My bad. The name of the journal? The stack. Really? Your bar is called The Den, and your name is tender. I wouldn't judge. Fair. A crow comes up, and I mix a cucumber martini for her.

After she leaves, I pour myself a beer. drinking on the job? Annie asks. Felt appropriate. Everyone else is drinking. Yeah, but are they on the job? Always. She frowns, I smile. So, tell me why the stack sent you up here to investigate the facility. Um... Her frown deepens.

Um, well, I kind of took the initiative and came on my own. Oh? And why is that? I'm not sure. I got an email tip that something was going on up here, and I sort of got in my car and just drove. The frown twists, and I see she's about to panic again. Sounds like a solid plan. I laugh. What exactly did the email say?

I don't. I don't remember. She pulls her phone out, then stops and shoves it back into her pocket. Right. No communications. Nope. I fix a few more drinks and hand them to my guests. What kind of car do you drive?

A Prius, she says immediately. Her eyes go wide. But I drove up in a range rover. You did. And that range rover is gone because you said a gopher from the facility probably picked it up. I did. And Elizabeth called me Annie. She did.

But that's not my whole name, is it? It's not. Then what is my whole name? Why ask me, can't you remember? No. You will. How do you know? Because you always do.

Tammy Bloodhound sits down next to Annie with her back to the bar. Is it getting unjumbled in there yet? She asks Annie, nudging her with her arm. Do we know each other? Annie asks. That answers that, Tammy says, and crosses her arms. Want to hear a story? Everything is a story right now.

Does this one have a happy ending? Oh shit, no. I mean, sort of, I guess. Depends on whose story you think it is. Sounds great. So, my brother and I were supposed to be tracking this serial killer. The guy was murdering witnesses left and right. And not in just one city.

He was killing in Phoenix and Cleveland and Miami and Tulsa, all over the place. But we had an idea of his identity. He wasn't too hard to figure out. He was making appearances all over the country. Appearances? Oh, yeah. He was hopping the country for restaurant openings and book signings and all that kind of stuff. A serial killer was doing all of that?

Do you want to hear the story? Oh, sorry. Yes, please. Annie eats while Tammy talks. There was a famous chef who became a famous author, who became a famous TV personality. Everyone knew him. He was acerbic and witty and knowledgeable and had great connections.

He also had a taste for human meat, especially for down on their luck, just trying to get by waitress human meat. Now, normally, Food service employees are completely expendable in this country. But the level and frequency of this famous personality's kills was beginning to be a problem. He knew certain things about certain people and certain high places of power, because some folks can't shut up around celebrities,

and some folks can't shut up when the wine flows. Add those two together and secrets get told. The facility I've been looking the other way for years, but the famous personality's appetite was growing so large that he was bound to get caught at some point. And what would he do if he was caught? He'd used those secrets he'd been told as leverage to stay out of prison. The facility couldn't let that happen.

Now, the problem was, this famous personality was smart, like really smart. He never procured his victims from any of the restaurants he was visiting or reviewing or shooting as many TV shows in. No, just like in his TV shows, he sought out the dankest, dirtiest, most overlooked eateries. in whatever large city he found himself in. And he only hunted in large cities. Small towns, tight-knit communities, would notice that they're lovely yet troubled.

Lolas and Trixies and Betsy's had gone missing. In large cities, women come and go all the time and no one bats an eye. Did I mention he was smart? Insanely so. One evening, in a massive city that shall not be named, but makes some killer deep dish pizza, the famous personality waved goodbye to the crowd at the auditorium

where he was speaking and selling copies of his latest book, and slipped out the back door unseen. But not unsmelled. His handlers, assistants, managers, and even his girlfriend at the time, didn't know where he went. Oh, that's just Tony. Probably off looking for egg rolls stuffed with turkey and mashed potatoes. You know how Tony gets after a talk.

He's blowing off steam as all. The excuses piled up that night, and everyone went about their business. Did they know? Most of these people weren't stupid either, so some had to know, yet none said a word. So there I was. On behest of the facility while my brother was in a different large city, just in case a different subject turned out to be the killer, which he wasn't. I'm sitting in the back row of the auditorium when the famous personality

finished and walked off the stage. In seconds, I was outside and across the street, watching the alleyway behind the auditorium when I saw a window on the third floor open up. The damn guy had ditched his entourage and gone upstairs, not out the back. I had to smile at his guts as he climbed up to the roof and was lost from sight. But there are only so many ways off a building. I circled the auditorium and found the fire escape on the other side. The famous personality was nowhere to be seen, but I didn't need to see him. I only needed to smell him. His scent went on for three blocks before it was gone into the street. He'd caught a taxi. I held my own, got in, and asked the driver to roll my window down. He complained that it was raining. I slipped him an extra 20 and the window came

down. Where too? he asked. Drive, I said. Yeah, I need a destination. Make a grid. Four blocks, around and around. That's not a destination, gonna cost you. Just fucking drive. He shrugged and drove. After we hit the far side of the grid, with my head hanging out the window, I caught the famous personality scent. He was in a taxi all right. And to taxi, The taxi had passed this very intersection only moments before. Go straight. Be ready to turn when I say, I told the driver. Whatever, he replied. Twenty blocks and a bridge later, I had the driver stop.

Here. I shoved a wad of cash at him. I was never here. Whatever. He drove away before I had even closed the door. It slammed shut. And as I watched the taxi drive off, I made a call to a certain squirrel. The driver will be a problem, I said.

Not for me. the squirrel replied. I had to walk another eight blocks before I found the building. It was nasty, more than just run down, and probably a week away from being condemned. But it was the right place. Not many shitholes like that have the smell of rosemary wafting out of the windows.

I followed my nose around the back of the building and found a door that had a very large man in a black suit standing in front of it. That was a problem. I made the call. He's not alone, I said into the phone. How many are with them? The facility asked.

Two others. A man and a woman. Can you smell who they are? Yes. Paracouple from Europe. Nationality? French. Yes.

So I sat back in the shadows and waited. An hour went by, and I could hear the muffled screams of the victim. Then, I had to fight my urge to vomit when the smell of cooking meat hit my nose. I probably could have saved whoever the woman was. But that wasn't my assignment. I was there to track only. Two hours, three hours, four hours, five hours, the night dragged on. Then, just before dawn, the back door opened, and the European power couple from France stepped out.

The man in the black suit went with them. I made the call. He's alone. I don't know how many squirrels they sent. I never saw them. All I know is that the famous personality was found dead later that day, an apparent suicide. Too bad. I really liked his shows. I have so many issues with that story. Annie says. Want to know the guy's name? Tammy asks, almost jumping in her seat. I don't know, do I?

Anthony Bourdain! What? That's insane. Well, yeah, most serial killers are. Bummed me out when I heard, I say. I had his books. Once he was gone, his network of influence unraveled quickly. Turns out that people who eat other people aren't exactly low. loyal to those who also eat other people.

The facility took advantage of COVID to have those who could become a problem eliminated one by one without any questions asked. That can't be true. Annie looks at me. Then she shakes her head. Not sure why I'd trust you to say any different. It's all true, I say. Like I said, I was bombed. So, is that what the facility does? Trap people down and kill them?

Celebrities, presidents? Sometimes, Tammy says. Sometimes they do other stuff. Like what? Annie asks. Thanks, Tammy, I say, ending story time. You and Trevor need anything? Nah, we're good.

Heading out early tomorrow to track down Jeffrey Epstein. Don't want to be hung over. Epstein? He's dead. He committed suicide in jail. Did he? Are you sure? Yes.

It's been fully documented. It sure was. She gives Annie a wink. See you when I get back. She pushes off the story. then barks at her brother. Trevor, let's go. A hang dog look, settles on his face as he nods

and gets up to follow his sister out the front door. So, you were undercover in some equity firm before you had the bright idea to drive a few thousand miles up into the Arctic? Is that what you said? I asked Annie. Gopher comes out and sets a basket of fries in front of me. Thanks, Gopher.

You can never have too many fries. Mmm. I shove a handful into my mouth and chew slowly, waiting for her to answer. Yes, Annie finally says, eyeing the fries. Hers are gone. It'll change the entire global political landscape for decades. Wow.

Sounds like you really made a difference. I tried to. I really did. But in the end, it turned out that the biggest newspaper in the state was just as crooked. That's the newspaper you worked for, right? What? No. I worked for an online journal.

Hold on. Why did I tell you that before? I didn't work for an online journal. I worked for the Polster Tribune. It's the drugs. They mess with your head. But it sounds like you're coming out of it. I am?

What's your name? Annie. And your last name? It's, um, um, I don't know. You will. Have some fries. She eats, she chews, she thinks. They don't turn into animals.

They just have animal traits built into their DNA because of the serum. Her eyes shoot. wide open. How the fuck did I know that? I told you that you were coming out of it. It takes time. Annie spins around on her stool and points at one of the coyotes. He conned a billionaire out of most of his fortune, sending the markets into a tailspin when the guy started selling off his stock in order to cover the loss. The coyote looks around, then shoots a, what the fuck? Look at Annie. Maybe don't point. I reach across the bar to lower her arm. Her arm shoots back up. That crowed spite on the leader of the U.S. Senate and blackmailed him to change a key vote.

I reach out again and lower her arm. Someone is going to bite that finger off if you don't stop. Oh, sorry. Sorry, everyone. There are some mumbled words, but everyone is pretty much stopped wondering and worrying about Annie, and are just enjoying their evening. When she turns back to me, there's a new light in her eyes. You, she says, but doesn't point at me.

I know you. How? I don't know. You tell me. I... I can't. It's not there. How do I know you? If I told you, that'd be cheating. I kind of need you to get there on your own. The facility is neutral, she states. They don't pick sides. They find what needs to be fixed. And they fix it before a catastrophe can happen. I only smile. Saying anything, even acknowledging that she's right. only slows the process. And I was sent on my assignment because I'm a... Her phone dings.

Everyone turns in their seats and stares at her. Uh, Annie, how did you get a message? I ask. She takes out her phone and reads the message. Well, this has been fun. She gets up, but I gotta go. Her entire being and demeanor have changed. Annie, what's going on?

I ask, more than worried. I press a button under the bar that I've only had to press once before in my time with the facility. That was not a good night. Sorry, Tender. I really hate to do this to you, especially with our romantic history and all, but duty calls. Duty? What duty? What's going on, Annie? Do you remember everything? Do you know who you are? Of course I do, silly. She holds up her phone. I just needed a little nudge from the organization. You know them, right? Kind of like the facility, but definitely not neutral. Gopher! I shout as I keep pressing the button over and over.

Gopher! Everyone in the bar jumps to their feet. Now, I apologize for this, folks. Annie walks toward the front door. But business is business. Annie? Where are you going? What are you talking about?

I yell. I hear clanging from the kitchen, and Gopher yells. Then gunshots ring out, followed by a deathly silence. The bar explodes into action. Most everyone racing for the front door. None know what to do about Annie, so they leave her alone as they try to escape the bar. Half are outside when more gunfire erupts. Screams are cut off instantly.

Then, a deep rumbling shakes the bar, and my ears pop from the pressure of a massive explosion. Annie? You've brought them here? You've brought the organization here to take out the facility? I gasp as the kitchen door opens, and six gunmen surround me. But why? We were bringing you in. We were bringing you home. Home? This isn't my home. And my name isn't Annie. It never was. She says as I feel the cold steel of a pistol pressed to the back of my head.

And you want to know why, Tender? It's simple. Because the only true thing about me is my last name. You know that name, don't you, Tender? Moal, I whisper. Exactly. She nods. I shake my head. The pistol barrel follows right along. This just as impossible, I say. How could you even pull this off? You had to have help. I did, she says with a grin. The voice holding the pistol says,

Thanks for the toast this morning, tender. Really hit the spot. The asshole's breath still smells like peanut butter. Goddamn Wolverines, mumble. The last thing I hear is the click of a trigger.