The Dark Somnium - The Museum of Humanity’s Final War

Episode Date: March 16, 2022

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I'm not going to tell you much about myself. I won't recount my life story here, if only because it's irrelevant. Suffice to say, I'm an ordinary guy with a well-paid but uninteresting job, a job that allows me to pursue my two passions in life, traveling and history. From a young age, I've always been fascinated with history, and particularly military history, having studied the subject in school and college. As an adult, I continue to devour books while using my downtime to visit museums and former battlefields across the globe.

I've been everywhere from the beaches of Normandy to the jungles of Southeast Asia, and have visited institutions as diverse as the Imperial War Museum in London to the Military Museum of the Chinese People's Revolution in Beijing. Some may call it a morbid fascination with death and destruction, but I have a great admiration and respect for those men and women who fought so hard and often gave their lives for causes they held so dear, and I believe their sacrifices should be remembered. Likewise, I'm a great believer in the old adage, a generation which ignores history has no past and no future. In addition to my travels, I am also a member of several online forums and groups, along with

other military history enthusiasts from various parts of the world. Our aim is not only to engage in lively debate, but also to exchange knowledge and fines. You see, there are many small and obscure military museums dotted across the globe, linked to battles and conflicts which few people are aware of. Often, these small part-time exhibits are run down and of poor quality, but sometimes we'll find hidden gems, telling stories that never made it into the history books. It's fines such as these that we share on the forums for the benefits. of our fellow members. It was through one of these threads that I first heard of the Museum of

Humanity's Final War. This institution has no online presence or listed phone number, and it's not funded by a federal or state grant. What's more, no one in our group knew what the museum's exhibits consisted of. The name itself was a puzzle, suggesting a prediction of a conflict that may happen in the future. We did manage to find a physical address, but this only added to the mystery. I won't reveal the exact location of the mysterious museum, for reasons that will become all too clear. Suffice to say, it's located somewhere in the American Midwest, a site one could fairly describe as the middle of nowhere. Nothing on Google Maps suggested there was a significant building in the vicinity. What's more, there were no battles or

even skirmishes in that area we could find. Nothing during the Civil War or any of the numerous conflicts with the Native American tribes. All we really had to go on was a review by one anonymous poster who described his visit to the museum as a life-changing experience, and he strongly recommended a trip to the institution. The whole thing sounded pretty suspicious, and most of the group members wrote it off as a hoax. However, I was still intrigued by the mystery, and, as luck would have it, I was due to attend a work conference in a city about two hours drive from the location. I had a day to kill before my flight home, so I decided to make the trip.

I realized it might have been a wild goose chase, but reckoned it was worth taking the chance, just in case I would find a hidden gem. Never in my worst nightmares could I have imagined what I would actually encounter. The drive out that morning was uneventful as I exited the city heading west, soon leaving behind the leafy suburbs, before zooming past mile after mile of flat farmland. Following my sat-nav, I left the interstate and found myself driving along a poorly maintained and near-abandoned back road. The farther I got from civilization, the less confident I felt about finding anything of significance

out here in the back of beyond. My heart sank when I reached the location and found nothing but a long abandoned gas station, with rusty old pumps and a vandalized forecourt. Its glass frontage smashed and interior gutted. I felt like such a tool, having driven all this way for nothing. Nevertheless, I decided to get out of my rental car and take a stroll around the decrepit structure. Just on the off chance, I would find something of interest. This is when I saw him, a solitary figure emerging from the crumpling forecourt and walking in my direction,

with a wide yet somehow sinister smile etched across his face. I took a step back as he approached, his hand outstretched. He was an old-looking individual, dressed in a tweed jacket and tight-fitting waistcoat, and sporting a tidy gray beard and smartly framed spectacles. His wide smile looked put on, and there was a glint in his deep blue eyes, which suggested a barely concealed malice. All in all, the man had an unusual appearance, although outwardly he didn't look much different from other eccentric academic types you'd expect to find in offbeat locations.

Nevertheless, there was something off about him, which put me on edge. He didn't appear to pick up on my discomfort, however, as he continued to hold out his hand while speaking to me in a soft but clearly audible voice. "'Good morning, sir. It's my pleasure meet you. I trust your journey here wasn't too taxing.' I didn't want to shake his hand, but felt obligated to do so. His grip was tight and his palm, ice cold.

I didn't quite know what to say, and so I muttered my reply. No, it was fine, thanks. Oh, that's good to hear." The man responded enthusiastically after he eventually released my hand. Well, sir, it's my pleasure to welcome you to the Museum of Humanity's Final War. I'm the curator of this establishment, and it would be my honor to act as your guide for this morning's tour. I was utterly confused by this point.

With a number of questions running through my head, I asked the most obvious. There's no museum here, is there?" The curator sniggered ever so slightly before replying. Well, actually, there is, sir. Although I do understand your confusion. Our institution is in fact located below ground, underneath our feet. We find it's better this way to keep our institution off the map. This explanation only confused me more.

I don't understand. Why wouldn't you want people to know about this place? Don't you want to encourage more visitors? The curator laughed in a dismissive, almost mocking manner. Well, sir, we are not the type of institution that wishes to draw in the masses. We certainly wouldn't want buses full of tourists out here, would we? No, sir, no. We prefer to appeal directly to connoisseurs of conflicts such as yourself, those who are willing

to make the extra effort to seek us out. Okay? I sat uncomfortably. The whole situation raised a lot of red flags. and I was seriously beginning to question my decision to come out here alone. Granted, the curator didn't look like the type who would shoot me in the head so he could steal my car and wallet. Nevertheless, the entire situation was unnerving.

There was no way he could have known I was coming today, so why was the man standing out here waiting for me? It didn't make any sense. He seemed to pick up on my discomfort, however, speaking to me in a more sympathetic tone. I can tell you have your doubts, sir. This is understandable. Our little museum is rather unconventional after all. However, I promise that all your questions will be answered during the tour.

Now, would you care to accompany me to the elevator? What? Now. I said with surprise. Don't I need to buy a ticket? And aren't there any other guests coming? The curator smiled thinly while shaking his head. We don't charge an admission fee, and I prefer to give one on a number.

on one tours. Much more personal, don't you think? Now, shall we? At that, he turned his back on me and started walking towards the gas station forecourt. I had a decision to make in that moment. I could either turn heels and run back to my car, or I could follow this mysterious man and see where he would lead me. I know what I should have done, but I still felt drawn to the mystery. Curiosity can be a dangerous thing, and I let it get the better of me on that day. I followed him past the disused gas pumps and into the smashed up forecourt, almost tripping over the trash and assorted debris. This wasn't like the entrance to any museum I'd ever visited before.

What drew my attention, however, was the elevator door located at the rear end of the decrepit building. It looked like it had been newly installed at considerable expense, stainless steel with a digital floor display and buttons lit up and ready to push. The curator summoned the elevator, and I watched as the doors slid open. After you, sir, the curator said, while gesturing towards the waiting lift. I hesitated for just a second before stepping forward, feeling more than a little uneasy as the curator followed me inside and the door slammed shut.

I don't know how far the elevator descended into the guts of the earth, but it seemed like we were going down for an eternity. the dissent, the curator stood perfectly still, his smile gone as he glared straight at me with deadpan eyes. I felt nervous in that moment, as I feared the curator would lash out with the intention of doing me physical harm. I thought I might need to defend myself, but he never moved a muscle. I felt relief when the elevator finally reached the lower floor and the doors opened with

a ping, but of course I had no idea what lay before me. We exited the lift, and the curator led me down a long, concrete corridor. I realized how exposed I really was down there, as my heart beat faster, and I began to sweat heavily. What is this place? I asked nervously. The curator answered, without turning to face me, A former government installation that we acquired for our purposes.

A government installation. I had images of a former missile silo or fallout shelter. This only added to the mystery and my apprehension. Finally, we reached the end of the corridor and found a security door blocking our path. The curator typed a code into the keypad, opening it and inviting me inside. When I stepped through those doors, I couldn't believe what I saw. A vast subterranean chamber, its ceiling at least 60 feet high and with a length of about two football fields.

The vast bunker was filled with military hardware and weapons. big screens displaying footage and so many exhibits behind Perspex glass. It was a literal treasure trove of military history, making for one of the most impressive museums I'd ever seen. The only thing missing was a gift shop. I was truly astonished by what I saw before me, as I walked forward in a state of awestruck wonder, only for the curator to stop me in my tracks, as he placed an ice-cold hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear.

Please, sir, I must insist that we stick to the official tour. I don't understand. I responded. How did you get all this hardware? All will be revealed, sir. You just need to be patient. Now, shall we begin? I nodded my head and submitted to his wishes.

He led me to the first exhibit, the sign above the cordoned off section reading, The Beginning. The Curator began to speak in an authoritative tone of voice. What is war, if not an act of conquest? And conquest is merely the exploitation of weakness. The time before the final war was one of decay, both moral and physical. Human civilization had reached its nadir during the first half of the 21st century, an inevitable result of corruption, conflict, terrorism, pandemics, greed, and environmental destruction. All this meant the time was ripe for the enemies of human beings of human beings of human beings.

humanity to make their move. The enemies of humanity. This expression puzzled me, but I stayed silent for the time being, hoping to find out more. And of course, we played our role in promoting chaos, using fifth columnist to spread fear and hatred. He motioned me towards a big screen which suddenly burst to life. The screen displayed CCTV footage of an office complex divided into cubicles, with workers sitting and staring at monitors. A second later, a lone gunman armed with an assault rifle burst into the building, firing without mercy at the unarmed workers, hunting them through the complex while reloading, slaughtering at least a dozen people before moving off screen, leaving blood and corpses on the floor

behind him. The next piece of footage showed a man in a heavy coat entering what looked like a place of worship, with parishioners kneeling in prayer along the pews. The man walked halfway up the aisle before he was noticed, suddenly discarding his heavy coat to reveal a bomb strapped to his chest. Before anyone could react, he detonated the device, and the camera feed was replaced by static. I found the footage of these terror attacks overly graphic and distasteful, but made no comment. Beside the video display were various exhibits behind glass, including an AR-15 assault rifle

and a suicide bomber's vest, along with details of numerous other attacks, as well as various schemes to promote political division and manipulate financial markets. When I'd finished reviewing the exhibits and material, the curator led me to the next section of the museum entitled The First Strike. No doubt you've heard of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, conquest, war, famine, and death. Well, horsemen are a bit old-fashioned for this modern age, and so instead, you've heard of the four horsemen. Instead, we recruited four pilots, sleeper agents, trusted and respected after long and illustrious careers, the last people who would be suspected.

When activated, our pilots took control of four flights, simultaneously coordinating two mid-air collisions, killing hundreds and spreading fear and confusion throughout the world. He switched on a video of news footage showing explosions in the sky and debris falling to the earth. I racked my brains, but couldn't recall such a terror attack, although I noted there were similarities to the September 11th atrocity. It's a terrible thing, I said, but we've seen terror attacks like this before. How was this one any worse?

The curator nodded his head, smiling ever so slightly as he answered. What mattered is not the number of casualties, but the people who died. One of the planes carried the Secretary General of the UN, the second, held the wealthy The healthiest tech billionaire in the world. The third transported the head of the Roman Church. And the fourth? That was Air Force One, killing the U.S. President and most of his senior staff. I see, I replied, barely suppressing a smirk.

I reckoned I would have remembered if the President and the Pope had been killed by terrorists on the same day. Obviously this was all fake. But why would anyone go to such efforts? I thought about it for a moment. noting the great cost which must have gone into converting this space and the high production values of the news footage and the videos displayed. I reckoned a big Hollywood studio must be involved, and perhaps all this was to promote a new

blockbuster movie. Maybe they were filming me right now, waiting to see my reaction. This was the only logical explanation I could think of, and so I decided to play along and see what happened. The curator talked me through the rest of the exhibit, which included debris from the down planes and profiles of the victims, and then he moved on to the next area, entitled Shock and Aw. The end of the world begins in a suitably climactic fashion.

The curator continued, with seemingly natural disasters of unprecedented ferocity, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, tsunamis, thousands will die in a few short hours. But this is only the beginning. He motioned me towards a screen, showing footage of devastated city streets, mass floods washing away acres of farmland and lines of thousands of refugees fleeing from disaster areas. Next, the news showed aerial shots of huge and deep sinkholes. Dozens of them spread across fault lines on each and every continent. The newsreaders explained how each hole was hundreds of feet wide and of unknown depth, and all the experts interviewed were baffled

by their sudden appearance. As I watched the footage, the curator whispered in my ear, offering an explanation with just two chilling words, Hell's mouth. The next screen showed what appeared to be satellite footage of one of the sinkholes. I was astonished to see dozens and then hundreds of what I could only describe as balls of fire emerging from the holes in every direction, a wall of flame unlike anything I'd ever witnessed before. A narrator spoke over the footage in a monotone voice, explaining how each fireball was the size

of an automobile and how they appeared to be guided by an unknown power, each with its own specific target. There are a thousand sinkholes across the globe. The curator added, and thousands of fireballs emerged from each one, meaning millions of coordinated strikes upon every nation state on the planet. Four clips followed, and it became clear that the fireballs were virtually unstoppable. In one scene, a surface-to-air missile was fired, but simply passed through the flaming orb, not even diverting it from its course.

The next clip showed a squadron of F-22 Raptors flying in formation, all suddenly being struck in mid-air, blown to smithereens before either their pilots or automated defense system could react. The footage switched to iconic buildings across the world. White House, Pentagon, Westminster, the Kremlin, and the Great Hall of the People, to name but a few. They were all in flames, burning to the ground after multiple strikes. I had to admit that it looked very realistic, even if the destruction of famous landmarks

is something of a disaster movie cliche. Alongside the big screens, there were a number of props on display, including the charred remains of the resolute desk normally found in the Oval Office. Shock and awe offensive was a success, the curator continued, crippling global governments and military commands. The scene is set for the commencement of the ground campaign. He then led me to the next exhibit, simply called invasion. This was the largest section of the museum so far, and what I saw in there really shook me to my very core. A projection on a big screen showed a series of shocking images of carnage and death.

The first showed a massive aircraft carrier on the open sea. The warship appeared to be sailing in calm seas. That was until the water around it began bubbling as if it was boiling. A huge shadow appeared under the surface, the type which could only have been cast by a sea creature of unbelievable size. The Leviathan did not surface, but instead extended its eight enormous tentacles, each being 40 to 50 feet thick. The tentacles tightened their deadly grip around the body of the vast warship, using immense

strength to pull it downwards into the water. I watched an awe-struck war as the aircraft carrier was turned on its side, throwing planes and helpless sailors into the boiling waters below. Next was an aerial shot of a beach, suddenly assaulted by huge serpent-like creatures that emerged from the waves, slithering across the sands towards a waiting line of soldiers and police who attempted to mount a defense to little effect. They fired upon the snakes with rifles and pistols, but the serpents kept on coming.

In a moment, they were on top of the defenders, literally devouring the men by swallowing them whole. With the defenses defeated, the monsters were free to attack the city beyond. The curator had remained silent for several minutes, letting the footage speak for itself, although he did offer a short commentary before the next scene. Our offensive was assisted by local allies, although many of them were not exactly willing participants.

To emphasize the point, I watched a film of an open plaza, which I recognized as being Tiananmen Square in Beijing. A company of Chinese troops had set up a defensive perimeter only to be assaulted by thousands of citizens in a zomified state, screaming bloody murder as they literally threw themselves at the line of heavily armored soldiers. The troops opened fire with every weapon in their arsenal, slaughtering hundreds in a matter of minutes, but the horde kept on coming, with zombies climbing over the corpses of their comrades to reach their objective.

Soon, the horde overwhelmed the soldiers, literally ripping the troops to pieces and soiling the plaza with their blood and guts. It was horrific, but there was worse to come. The next shot showed the helmet cams of soldiers moving through a forested area in the dark, using night vision to survey their surroundings. I heard them speak with one another through their headsets. They all had British accents, making me think they must be UK special forces, most likely from the SAS.

The atmosphere was tense, and it seemed like the troops were expecting an attack or ambush at any moment. Suddenly, there was a rapid burst of movement on the path ahead, as a creature leapt upon the lead soldier before he was able to react, dragging his body into the underbrush. The man's screams were still audible as the commander gave the order to open fire, and the screen was filled with tracer bullets and the chaos of battle. More attacks followed,

with soldiers being sliced to pieces or dragged into the tree line by creatures that moved so quickly they were impossible to take down. And then, the soldiers with the helmet cam looked up, seeing a monster perched on a tree directly above his head. He illuminated the creature with a torch mounted on his gun, revealing what I can only describe as a werewolf. Its teeth and claws razor sharp and its eyes burning a demonic red. The soldier pulled the trigger a split second

after the werewolf leapt from the tree, but it was already too late. The monster tore into him, ripping and shredding his flesh in a violent frenzy. The man screamed before his camera feed cut out. The final scene in the reel was the most shocking. The camera view showed a city street somewhere in the U.S., a city transformed into a war zone. A party of American troops had set up a roadblock and were facing an enemy as yet unseen. The ground shook, indicating that something huge and powerful was making its way down the street. And a moment later, it came into view. A huge demon, easily 50 to 60 feet tall. It had the head of a bull with horns and a snout filled with enormous teeth. and eyes burning as red as the sun, and its mighty legs like those of a goat, complete with

cloven hooves that cracked the tarmac as the monstrosity marched along the suburban street. The soldiers opened fire with assault rifles and a machine gun mounted on top of an armored Humvee, but their bullets had no effect, merely bouncing off the beast's body as if its hide was made of steel. Suddenly a projectile was fired from somewhere off screen, probably a shoulder-mounted missile, or RPG. The projectile struck the demon in its torso, causing the beast to roar aloud in pain and anger. The monster reacted by pulling a weapon from its sheath. A sword made a fire and at least the length of two men. With one mighty sweep, it took out a dozen soldiers

literally cutting them in two, smearing the streets with their guts and internal organs. Men screamed as the demon used his sword to smash through the roof of a humvee before it continued its thumping advance down the blood-strewn streets. A moment later, two demons, both as large and strong as their leader, marched into the shot, finishing off any survivors with their swords or by crushing them underneath their hooves. There were many other scenes of brutal atrocities and monsters stalking the earth, but as hard-hitting as the footage had been, it was nothing compared to the exhibits located in this section of the museum. The footage directed me towards a group of dummy soldiers behind the glass, a dozen troops from different armies.

American, Russian, Chinese, Indian, and others all dressed in their national combat uniforms and with assault rifles pinned to their chests. It was only on closer inspection that I realized it wasn't plastic mannequins dressed up in uniforms, but rather mummified corpses, dead men with discolored skin, their eyes removed and empty socket staring out at me. The bodies were frighteningly realistic and totally grotesque. I looked to the curator for an explanation, but he merely shrugged his shoulders before answering. I would like to say they fought bravely, but the truth is, most of humanity's armies were crushed in a matter of days. I shook my head in disbelief, astonished at the lengths they'd gone to.

Still mesmerized, I wandered through the rest of the exhibits as the curator patiently waited for me to finish. Above my head, hanging from the ceiling, was the fuselage of a F-35 lightning jet. One of its wings had been shot off, but otherwise it was nearly intact. I looked to its smashed up cockpit and noted that the charred remains of the pilot were still inside. Below the aircraft sat a Russian T-14 armada tank, with a huge hole clearly visible through the top of its turret, making it look like a pierced tin can. There were many more vehicles. and weapons on display, state-of-the-art military hardware, which would have cost millions to manufacture and maintain, now reduced to useless pieces of junk.

It was an extraordinary yet horrifying sight to behold, and I began to question the motives of whoever had set this all up. When I finished my review, the curator pointed me to another big screen and offered me further narrative. The surviving remnants of Earth's political and military leaders hold themselves up in their bunkers during the final days. Desperate and out of options, they authorized nuclear strikes against our hell's mouths, hoping they could halt the invasion, but alas, they only succeeded in killing millions of their own people whilst hastening the destruction of the planet.

The screen showed footage of ICBM strikes, of nuclear detonations brighter than the sun, mushroom clouds ascending into the skies and of devastated landscapes, with entire cities reduced to ruins and rubble. A map came up which showed the locations of the nuclear strikes, dotted all across the globe. The results of these coordinated attacks would surely be catastrophic. The Curator allowed me time to take it all in before leading me to the next and penultimate section entitled The Spoils of War. With victory now assured, the time had come from my master to claim what is rightfully his, namely the bodies and soul. souls of the Concord.

He led me through a grotesque display of severed human heads, somehow preserved and mounted upon spikes behind Perspex glass. Their dead eyes still open and staring out at me in an accusatory manner. The decapitated heads belonged to political, military, business, and religious leaders, several of whom I recognized from the news. The resemblance was uncanny, right down to the smallest of details. I walked past the macabre displays, finding the whole experience extremely unnerving. I saw the curator watching me as I proceeded through the grim exhibit.

I noticed he was smiling, apparently taking pleasure in my discomfort and disgust. When I was finished, he directed me towards one final screen, allowing the images to speak for themselves. And the signage above read, A World Transitioned. The video showed clips of devastated and life-finald. lifeless landscapes, the sun blocked out by a thick cloud of radioactive dust. Next came the image of a huge demon standing over a party of defeated prisoners, laughing cruelly as it used its fiery sword to slice the POWs into pieces.

And finally, the horrifying footage of a line of emaciated refugees slowly marching across a dead land, men, women, and children, many showing the signs of advanced radiation poisoning. Their skin badly burnt and bodies covered in cancerous tumors. They were totally defeated. Their heads down as they trudged forward to an unknown destination. Several fell down to the mud, so weak that they couldn't go on, and their fellow refugees made no effort to help the victims, instead continuing with their own grim death march to nowhere.

I felt physically sick after watching these horrific scenes, and it took me a moment to compose myself and come back to reality. Everything I'd seen, all he'd exposed me to, it all seemed so real, but I had to remind myself that it couldn't possibly be. I turned back to the curator who stood silent by my side, meaning to challenge him and expose his sick charade. Well, sir, I began. This is quite the show you've put on today.

Obviously you've gone to some great lengths and expense, but I reckon it's time you told me the truth. What's the real story here? What's your agenda? Honestly, sir, even after all you've seen and heard, you still don't believe? Well, of course I don't. I snorted in disbelief. None of the events you've shown me have happened in the real world. They haven't happened yet. He replied coyly. What you have seen is the future. This is humanity's destiny. Ridiculous? Do you take me for a damn fool?" The curator smiled, and I noted a malicious glint in his eye.

Well, sir, I can see you're the cynical type, but don't worry. We do have a special private exhibit for persons such as yourself, for those who require indisputable proof. If you care to follow me, he led me to the far wall of the bunker where another security door was located. We quickly typed in a code to open the door and reveal a darkened chamber within. With some trepidation, I walked forward into the darkness, noting the stension side, which reminded me of a zoo or kennels.

The darkness was all encompassing and the silence deafening. That was until the curator turned on the lights and all hell broke loose. I was hit by a hellish conflation of sights and sounds so horrifying that I was forced retreat, only to find the security door was shut, trapping me inside with these unspeakable horrors. When I eventually felt brave enough to turn around, I found myself face to face with a literal army of nightmares, monsters barely contained and mad as hell, the same as the ones on film, now locked behind a thick glass screen. It burnt as bright as the sun as it crashed against the walls of its prison, and when I examined

the fiery orb in greater detail, I swore I could see a human face within the flames, a tormented soul trapped within. On the far side of the chamber was a bloodthirsty werewolf trapped in a cage, snarling and growling as it tried to get free, its red eyes burning with hatred as its claws and teeth tore at the metal bars. Beyond the wolf sat a huge water tank containing a green-scaled serpent at least 20 feet long, with fangs as long as steak knives. It frantically circled the tank, splashing murky water against the glass. The last, but certainly not least, was the monster held in chains

and behind reinforced glass at the far end of the chamber. A demon so tall, its horns almost touched the ceiling. The monstrosity was nearly identical to the ones I'd seen in the videos, nearly 60 feet tall with the head of a bull, body of a man and cloven hooves of a goat. The demon roared as it struggled with its chains. Its evil eyes focused upon me as it pulled with all its might. I cowered in the corner, terrified and fearing for my life

as I believed the monsters would break free and tear me to shreds at any moment. But the curator was in control of the creatures, and he was able to calm them with a mere click of his fingers, ending their frenzy and reducing the monsters to a docile state. I shook my head in disbelief, the cold sweat dripping from my forehead as I muttered my next words in a state of shock. It's all real. Yes.

The curator replied firmly. When will it happen? I asked through shaking lips. The curator shrugged. Whenever the conditions are right, it could be a year, it could be five, but rest assured, it will happen soon. I took a deep breath. A million things were racing through my mind in that moment, but there was one fear which

immediately came to mind. You're not going to let me leave this place, are you? I asked nervously, because now I know the truth. On the contrary, sir, the tour is now over and you are free to leave whenever you like. I was confused and suspected a trap, but I know everything. Aren't you afraid I'll tell people what I've seen? "'Tell whoever you want,' he answered with a dismissive shrug. "'No one will believe you.

The museum will not remain in this location, and you'll have no proof of what you saw here. At most, you'll contribute to the existing undercurrent of fear and paranoia, which will only assist in my master's plan. I shook my head in disbelief, feeling faint as the monsters continued to stare me down. "'Surely you don't think you'll get away with this,' I demanded. Oh, I know we will. He answered confidently, the glint in his eye turning into a look of pure evil. Humanity's fate is already set in stone.

The rain of fire is nigh. Now, if you'll be so kind, sir, the museum will soon be closing, and you really should be on your way. The curator was as good as his word, as he escorted me to the waiting elevator and back to my car on the surface. I was allowed to leave unharmed. He was right about another thing, too. Nobody did believe my story. Not my friends, family, the other members of the forum, the cops, or even several priests I spoke with. They all thought I was crazy.

The police did go out to the site, but they found no evidence of any underground chamber or elevator. And the enigmatic curator was nowhere to be seen. I've never found any solid proof to confirm my claims. But, rumors persist online, with anonymous posters speaking of mysterious museums popping up in remote locations. Eastern Siberia, the Australian Outback, and the mountains of Tibet have all been mentioned. But there's never anything definite. So I've come here to share my story, in the sincere hope that someone will believe me.

The things I've seen, the horrors revealed to me, I just can't live with them. I don't believe humanity's fate is inevitable. We must fight back, whether it be by conventional means or with the help of a higher power. We must prepare and ultimately prevail against the forces of evil because the alternative is too awful to contemplate.