Speaker 1: I live under the greatest horror known to man, the
Homeowner's Association. The scrutiny of the Esotoic rules is benign
only to them. You may hear tales of h oa's
that are sticklers to strict laws, but let me tell
you that mine is far worse. I once saw them
site an old lady for undesirable decorations in a house.
There were napkins that were blown around a porch after
a barbecue. Driving through the streets, the neighborhood almost looks
like a movie set. Within minutes of being expressed, all
sense of personality is crushed. Still, I moved here at
a much better price than if I lived in the city.
I've more space too. For the cost of my house,
I would be living in a small studio apartment that
I wouldn't even own. So I put up with the
h o A simply by almost never being at home.
The only downside for me is the commute. I have
to travel far to get to work, and even further
if I want to do anything recreationally. But it's not
too bad knowing that I've never caused any reason to
be cited. Until one day I was sitting in my
little cubicle at work when I got an email. At
first I thought it might have been spam. It was
a citation from the HOA that I was being written
up about something. I thought this couldn't be the case,
since my home looked pretty much the same as when
I first moved in, But I opened it anyway just
in case I disbelief faded. It must have been real
because it had all my details that I used when
I signed for the house. Through some hoity toity nonsense
speak that they were obviously using to try some more
professional than they actually were. It was a warning about
a fine i'd get if I didn't clean my yard.
This couldn't be the case, I thought to myself. But
sure as day, there was an attached picture of a
heap of mess on my lawn. It didn't look like
a trash can had fallen over. The pile was of
large pieces of junk, containing a mixture of broken furniture
and discarded housing materials. Furious, I quickly opened my doorbell
camera feed and checked through the day. Sure enough, there
it was a dusty looking pickup truck that pulled over,
quickly launched the stuff off the back, and then sped off. Now,
you'd think this would suffice that I had good reason
that it wasn't me, and that I was a victim
of what looked like a random dumping. However, nothing I
said absolved me of any wrongdoing. I would be fined
if the site wasn't cleared by ten p m that evening. Begrudgingly,
I got on with work and sped back, hoping I
had enough time to clear it up by the set deadline.
When I bowled up to my drive, I was daunted
by the task that lay ahead of me. The mount
of rubble looked smaller on the wide angle lens of
my doorbell camera. In person, however, there was a heaping
mountain of splintery, rusty, nail riddled junk. I went to
my shed, put on the thickest work gloves I could find,
and prayed to the hepatitis gods. Then I wouldn't get
a visit from them. Fortunately, I had a small trailer
attached to the back of my car. I'd used it
to move from the city all the way to this
neighborhood in one trip, knowing that the cost of renting
a van would have been astronomical for how little stuff
I owned. I loaded piece after piece, narrowly avoiding cuts
and splinters with each item hurled into the trailer. It
was getting close to the deadline when I was nearly finished.
Aside from a few small pieces skewed around, the last
large item remained a door inset into the lawn soil
from how much weight had been on top of it.
It was old looking, but not decayed, more so in
the sense of its build and lock. It had inset
grooves that reminded me of a museum piece. Even the
smell of damp soil brought out that aroma you only
get from an antique shop that only stocks from the
freshly deceased. The doorknob was a marred brass that had
long lost this metallic luster. I tried to pry the
edges of my fingers for the perch, but couldn't get
between the wood and soil. Goodness knows how, but it
was perfectly flushed with the ground, almost like it was
painted there. I grabbed a thin piece of scrap from
the trailer to try prying it from the ground at
least enough of me to get my hand under, But
my luck being the way it was, the piece of
scrap snapped almost instantly. I stood there for a few minutes,
trying to figure out what to do. I lived alone
and far away from friends, so I had no one
to call for a helping hand. I was put off
the idea of asking a neighbor, knowing that the h
away could be any one of them, and I had
no intentions of interacting with them. So I did what
any man would do in this situation. I tried whatever
I could think of as soon as it popped into
my head. I kicked down on a corner to see
if the other side would rise up an inch. Nothing.
I looked a rope around the door knob and pulled
to the side, hoping it would slide out. Nothing. I
even tried to see if the previous house owner had
left any old tools in the shed. Nothing. The only
bit of movement I got was the door knob I dear,
which gave a slight, barely noticeable rise when I pulled.
So I focused on that angle and tried more ideas.
If pulling to the side didn't help, maybe using it
as a handle wood. So I tied a rope around
it and heaved upwards. The door rattled with each pull,
almost like some one trying to check a locked door,
but the bevel of the knob made it to my
terrible tying skills were made apparent. The rope slipped off
every time I felt I had a good purchase on it.
This left me with my final option to try it
by hand. My grip was far from that of a
rock climber, so I didn't feel confident in this, but
it was worth a shot. I squatted down, gripped it
with both hands, and heaved as hard as I could.
That minute lift gave but nothing more than that whatever
this was made from must have been the heaviest wood
known to man. No wonder the people ditching it didn't
want to take it to the dump. Knowing that I'd
somehow have to heave this into a skip was just
as daunting as handling it. In the moment, with a
heavy huff, I gave it one last hard pull. As
I adjusted my grip, the door knob did what it
was designed to do and twisted as I pulled, And
as it did, I heard a familiar click. Suddenly my
ass was wet on the lawn as the door flung open.
In hindsight, the thing was the weight of a normal
door that I'd forced open with all the might I
could muster. This door, haphazardly left crooked on my lawn,
opened and a gust of musty air seeped from underneath.
And when I stood up, I saw why the wind whistled,
and the edges of the nowt upright door, which somehow
opened into a tunnel, perfectly lined up to the angle
the door had been left. I was no longer amused
by the incident. However, the swirl of emotions never settled,
so I still can't quite place how I truly felt
about the situation. The door sat nearly upright, just tilted
far enough that it didn't immediately snap closed. But that
angle was the furthest it sat. I tried pushing down
on it to somehow snap it off its hinges, to
try to get rid of it, knowing the new hole
in my garden was going to have to be a
future issue, but to no avail. I dared not look
into the hole for a while. I was daunted by
the prospect of the job. Had it breached any important
pipes or wires, Was it a straight drop which would
be a danger to the neighborhood, kids. What could even
have made such a hole in such a short time.
I hadn't seen anything that could have caused it. On
the video from the doorbell camera, all I saw were
the workers dumping the junk in my yard. This hole
was a whole new development and something the HOA would
ever feel day with. When I finally peered in, something
struck me as odd. On top of the oddity of
the whole situation was the angle in which the hole went.
It was steep, but sloped just enough to be able
to walk down, and my cellphone's flashlight didn't tickle the
depths it boasted. Even sticking my arm as far as
I could didn't reveal where the hole ended. Though this
was me lying on the edge so I couldn't reach far.
I didn't dare walk down without a plan, so that
was the next step I took to figure the whole
situation out. I grabbed a helmet I had stashed for
the bike. I never used a flashlight. I had both
the power ever went out and a stick from the
junk pile in case I needed to poke something. I
was obviously inexperienced, but I didn't let this stop me
from trying to scope out what I was dealing with.
The door, when opened never lay flat, standing nearly vertical,
just past ninety degrees, but it held open untouched. So
I slowly made my way in, using my dim flashlight
to penetrate the thick darkness below. I made sure I
was always in sight of the exit. However, the further
I went in, the deeper it went. I took a
few more cautious steps before I realized that the tunnel
did not end, but rather it split in different directions.
Whenever this hole was it seemed to lead into a
system of underground channels that ran much further than I
planned to go, so I had to rethink my plan.
I made my way back out and put on my
thinking cap. From what I saw, it was just hollowed
out dirt. But my new fear was the direction one
of the tunnels went. It turned towards my house, making
me worry about the structural integrity. If this ran under
the foundations, I would be in a world of trouble
if the unsupported hollows fell through. I decided on one
last foray into the darkness, this time it equipped with
something to help me find my way back. I tied
a couple rows of garden twine around a heavy piece
of junk. I placed back of my yard and I
unwound it. As I went back in, I had one
hand slowly unraveling the twine while the other held the flashlight.
I had the stick under my arm for the time being.
Going down again, a strange thought crossed into my head,
one that whispered before, but feeling it the second time
was too patterned to notice. The slope had rhythmic bumps,
interludes of rounded edges that were too perfectly aligned to
be natural, near smooth in the middle, but very apparent
when looking at the concave sides. It was almost like
there were once earth and stairs that had been worn
down through use. I didn't want to dwell on that
too much, knowing this hole wasn't here for my entire
time living here, so to see something so used was
too much to bear. The whistling of the wind outside
faded the further I went in, mixing in with some
faint chatter. Maybe some passerbys were just as confused as
me about an open door on a lawn, And soon
I was at the cross roads I found before. I
peeked left and right, but knew the left turn would
lead under my house, the section I was most worried
about in my head for a while about just turning back,
maybe calling a professional, though a professional what I did
not know, someone else to take a look, but I
mainly just wanted to make sure that my house would
at least make it through the night. This decision was
soon taken from me. The wind, there was only a
whine before gave a loud howl. It was a strong
gust between the many small whispers it had been doing
until then. But the gust must have lined up perfectly
with the door. Its slam shut with an earth and
thud rather than a wooden bang you'd expect from a
door slam. The line was taught now. The twine held
in place by the closed door, so I followed it
back up to try to get it loose and try again,
maybe next time, upping the door open for security. But
as I gave the door a push, it didn't budge.
Silly me was pushing with the muscle memory strength used
to open a regular door, but this was horizontal, so
I realized I needed to add some heft to pry
it open, so I tried again with more gusto nothing.
I forewed at this, trying again harder nothing. Worried, I
perched the leg higher in the slope and shoved nothing.
I crouched damn near into a ball, twisted the handle
and jumped with the door, flushing my back nothing. It
didn't even give a rattle, even on my strongest attempt.
It was well and truly stuck. Now I bashed repeatedly,
hoping that the voices outside could hear me, but all
that remained was silent. Pressing my ear against the door
didn't even yield the wines of the wind outside. Eventually
the silence was broken, but not from the outside. It
was subtle at first, but unmistakable. There was a scuttling
sound in the dirt. Deeper into the tunnels. The banging
seemed to have stirred something dwelling in the darkness. This
left me with the ultimatum of my life, stay and
keep trying the door, Knowing I was far into a
dead end, or go further in to find an alternative exit,
to at the very least have a chance to move
away from whatever was waking in the tunnels. I gave
a final silent eve, putting my entire body into a
hard squat, making sure the doorknob was turned, but to
no avail. I was stuck with option B. I knew
the twine I brought was finite, but I still opted
to use it as much as possible. I made my
way to the crossroads and made the left I originally
settled on when I first went in. My hope was
that if this was a system centered around my house,
there might have been another exit in my house, though
the thought of that was something I didn't want to
dwell on too much in the moment. I carefully carried
myself forward, trying to stay composed between more scuttling sounds
or dirt sprinkling from the low ceiling. My senses were
on edge, and they only got more heightened with each
step deeper. I kept my light downward, like the headlights
of a car. I didn't want the bloom to bleed
too far forward in case something surprised me. Up ahead,
I kept my presence as small as possible, minimal sounds,
slow breathing, and slow steps. But a sound trickled into
my ears, making my hair stand on end. Something so
distinguished and recognizable that I couldn't logic it away as
dirt or paranoia, a huff of a deep breath into
the tunnel behind me. This was only exasperated when, on
top of that, I felt the slightest tug on the twine.
It must have stepped on a bit of slack in
the darkness. The relief I felt from having looked into
the correct direction was overwritten by the feeling that it
was stalking me from behind. No matter how far removed,
it seemed to still be there, matching my pace, as
if watching me like prey. This was coupled with an
intrusive thought that this was only making me move deeper
and deeper into the tunnels, further away from the only
exit I knew of. I was so preoccupied with this
that my face made a soft thud with the wall
in front of me, and this was the tipping point
for whatever was following me, like the pop of a
starting gun at a race. Whatever stalked now hunted. I
heard its skitters rapidly pound the ground as it sprinted
towards me. My fear of a dead end was short lived,
as I saw it was another split. I dropped the
twine and grabbed the stick from under my arm. Knowing
the twine wouldn't last to run and I needed my
arms free to run as fast as possible. Having turned
left before, I chose to go right this time and
sprinted away, hoping I was at least matching its pace
to keep distance. With the light now pointed forward, I
could see the next cross road. I chose left and
kept running, still hearing the scratching sprint behind me. Another turn,
another cross road, more turns. It wouldn't let up, and
as I reached another fork, I heard a new set
of scratching that started heading in my direction. Another one
joined the fray. This forced my choice to the direction
opposite to the sound. I ended up making so many
turns and splits that I was well and truly lost.
There was no way to backtrack my direction or choices,
with how preoccupied I was turn after turn, randomly choosing
whenever a choice presented itself. I reached another split, for
this time something was in front of me. With flickers
of my flashlight swings from my sprint, I didn't get
a good look at the thing, but what I did
take in was sharp claws with concaves, like they were
made for tunneling, but doubled as extremely dangerous weapons. I
didn't have time to stop, so I lurched my arm
into a swing and lashed out of the thing with
my stick. It barely gave any resistance before shattering. Without
a doubt, it did no damage, but it stundid enough
for me to slip by. I discarded what remained of
the stick and headed away from the thing, knowing that
the others were also catching up. I dipped around, bends
and turns as best as possible, but I knew my
endurance was reaching its limit, and these things showed no
signs of slowing down. This was their domain and they
held all the advantages here. As I ran, I caught
glenn of the walls. Occasionally there were mars of marks
in a symmetrical pattern, obscenely long gashes left by their
tunneling claws. Some were set deep, more than lethal if
they were to hit me, showing me the consequences of
being caught, I took a turn fast and my foot
caught on something. I flopped face down into the dirt,
my helmet saving me from a broken nose. If slowing
down was a danger, this was a death sentence. I
pulled my leg up to check the damage, trying to
be conscious of every second spent. But as I looked down,
I saw what I had tripped on. A body. It
wasn't human. It was one of them. It's more hung agape,
life long since gone from its eyes. Signs of decay
had set in all over the thing, that made me
rule out death of natural causes. With the puncture wounds
littered all over the body. Whatever did it went deep,
but some that must have ricocheted stuck out. Thin metal
needles protruded from some of the wounds. I was distracted.
I realized I'd been staring too long, enamored by the
sight before me. At the pace that I heard them,
they should have been on top of me any second. However,
they weren't. I could still hear them, but they slowed,
then stopped. There were a few confused potters before as
quickly as they came, I could hear them slowly scatter away.
I didn't have time to ponder and what caused this.
As I heard more steps coming towards me, but these
were much heavier, powerful thuds that I could almost feel
while still on the floor. In the direction I was headed,
I saw a new figure larger, more humanoid, and slowly
lumbering my way. Its eyes reflected a faint green, and
he was holding something in both hands, but I couldn't
see what. I tried to stand back up, but I couldn't.
My leg twisted under me, and I could tell the
heat I felt was my leg swelling. Even if I
had made it up, I did not know which direction
to run. There was doom in either direction. I slumped
back down, choosing to die in the comfort of the
floor than the pain of running, and as the lumbering
behemoth walked up to me, it stopped short. I looked
back up, feeling that it was the last thing I
would see, but was stunned, trying to process what was
in front of me. Beneath all the metal and technology
that stood there was a man. I could see parts
of his lower face, and I recognized the gloved hand
of a human. The top half of his face was
covered with a helmet that seemed to have lenses where
his eyes should have been, most likely a peripheral to
let him see in the dark. He was decked out
in something I'd only imagine from a sci fi movie.
I saw what he held in his hand, some sort
of gun, but one I didn't recognize from my limited
knowledge of current era weaponry. Looking at him, just stood there,
not saying or doing anything. I think he was as
stunned as I was. Eventually it was him who broke
the silence. Who are you? He muttered, his mind probably
settled on it in the jumble of thoughts we were
both in. I started to introduce myself, but I think
the reality of the situation kicked in, so he interrupted
me before I began, and told me to follow him.
So I did, and he only led me to more questions.
Where he took me was a stark contrast to the
dark hells I just came from. I was in a
makeshift room carved into what looked like a scientific facility.
People worked on intricate machines, chemicals, and computers. A few
men standing around were in the same exo skeleton suits
as the man who brought me here. To avoid collapse,
thick metal beams acted as pillars to the installed metal ceiling.
The metal panels lined the walls, which looked structural as well.
Each time some one glanced at me, they would do
a double take, the second time, wearing a shocked expression.
Followed by quickly getting back to whatever task they had
on hand. I don't know who'd win if there was
a competition for more questions. I sensed no hostility, though
a step up from the horrors I'd been pulled from.
Soon I was brought to another man wearing another exo suit,
but marred with more damage and a collection of symbols
which I could only assume marked his higher rank. Eh, captain,
I got a weird one found the sky on patrol.
He looked at me inquisitively, a pause hanging in the
air before he plainly demanded speak tell me everything, A
simple request. I had no reason to hold anything back,
so I caught him up with everything that had happened.
He was amused that this started with me just trying
to sort out a fickle hoa situation, but he had
no reason to doubt anything I said. After more thought,
he finally uttered a call to take him to the room. Wait,
what's going on? How do I get back? This is
all I managed, the mutter as my arm was grabbed
and pulled away. I blurted out more questions, but they
were ignored. I tried asking my now prison guard, but
he stayed silent under the watchful eye of the captain.
When he let go, I was in a room with
a few others. This crowd did not look like they
stumbled in here like I had. They were dressed like
some of the people working the equipman in the main room.
Stay here, we'll figure out what to do, he said
in an assuring tone, though there was only so much
assurance I could have in this situation. He closed the
door and I heard it latch shot. In a futile attempt,
I tested it and it was indeed locked. Questions still
swirling around my head. It wasn't long before I was
the one to broach conversation. What is going on? What
is this place? A pause of silence followed as they
gathered their thoughts for one of them spoke up, giving
me their best attempt at enlightenment. So you really don't
know what this place is. You weren't sent here from
the higher ups, one man said. Before I could answer,
another captive deduced the answer. Look at him, he's not
in uniform, He's just some guy. This doesn't make sense.
I started to get frustrated. I was in some place
beyond imagination, with horrors above my comprehension. Yet I was
treated as the anomaly here, so I snapped at them, Look,
I just stumbled in here. I have no idea what's
going on. I've been lost, god chased, nearly damn well killed.
Just tell me something anything, I I don't know what
to do. I child off at the end my outburst,
quickly losing gusto, knowing that they were as captive as me.
Another pause before the first man spoke of my name
is doctor Jamieson, and you've somehow wondered into base ivory
of the He was cut off by a hushed too
much before he continued, Look, you've somehow stumbled into an experiment.
We found a way here through a door, a sort
of dimensional anomaly. We scientists were stationed here to make
grand discoveries. You've seen our personal guard, the men in
the tech fits. They were assigned to protect us while
we carved out an outpost to work in. However, as
he took a moment, the others faces dropped the signal
of bad news. Our door just stopped working, or at
least somehow jam shot. We don't know if it was
intentional from the higher ups. They've been known to experiment
on the experimenters. But since this happened, we've not been
allowed to work on an exit strategy. The tech fit
marks have us working on our experiments regardless of circumstance,
following the commands of those who sent us here, and
they refuse to deviate despite the circumstance. This room is
where they put people who tried to do otherwise. At
this more silence fell. But I had a lingering thought
itching in the back of my brain. So what does
this mean for me? He just looked back at me
one more time and said, I don't know. This ended
the conversation as we all had things to think about. Eventually,
a call was made from outside that it was time
to sleep, so we settled into the bunks. I awoke
ton't yelling at what sounded like the pinging of metal.
At this, I bolted up and looked around. It seemed
I was the only one perturbed by this, but my
motions seemed to have stirred Doctor jameson awake. What's going on?
I asked, Probably the males. One must have gotten close
the males, I asked back, Yeah, you said you were chased,
so I'm guessing you saw them or at the very
least heard them blind mammillion tunnelers. We discovered them after
losing contact from the higher ups, so we were never
given a name for them, so we just called them males.
In my head, I scoffed at the mundane name, but
chose not to let it out to keep conversation flowing.
So what are they? We don't know. It's one of
our tasks down here, examine local species. He spoke of
this like a job rather than a fight for survival,
but his causual nature did give some slight assurance. Having
ran out of questions, he took my silence as the
end and rolled back over to sleep, knowing there was
nothing more to do. I did the same. When I
woke next, there was a metallic bang. The door rattled
from the other side, and an authoritative voice yelled for
us to wake up. With the lack of urgency the
others had, I assume this was just a routine wake
up call. We stretched the sleep away and opened the door.
A guard stood there and glanced at the room and
stepped aside. I frowed my brow in surprise, thinking that
if we were to escape, he had left more than
an opening. But I was even more surprised when I
saw the others meander out of their own accord. What's
going on? Are we being let go? I asked Doctor
Jamieson as he walked by. It's breakfast, we're being let
out to eat, he replied. I load my voice to
a hush, but this is the perfect time to escape. No,
it's just one guy. I glanced over to him. He
doesn't even have a weapon. This gave Doctor Jamison a
chuckle and go where we're safer here then out there,
and they know this. At this he joined the line
filing out and I followed in suit. We ended up
in a sort of makeshift mess room. Tables and basic
kitchen appliances. Stacked high were large boxes, and each person
in turn put their hand in and pulled out a
random metallic bag. Damn Curry, I hate this one, one muttered,
and he took it over to a kettle and started
preparing it. Everyone pulled something out, and I was last,
reaching in to find a bag labeled LAMB. I looked
at it confused, and doctor Janie and peaked at what
I had. Wow, Lucky, that's the best one. I'll trade you,
he muttered. Do you not get to choose what you get,
I asked back. I mean, yeah, you could, but the
randomness of what you eat is damn near the only
entertainment you can get down here. I'm pretty sure hitting
the lamb jackpot is what gets some people saying down here.
I looked down at my bag of food, knowing he
probably needed this more than me, so I agreed to
the trade without seeing what he had. His bag was
labeled Cowboy Casserole. I followed the instructions in the bag
and prepared it as best as possible. It wasn't a
spectacular taste, but it wasn't bad either. These were probably
standard issue m or ees they'd brought with them when
they set this place up, damn near unperishable food for
long expeditions. When Doctor Jameson opened it lamb bag, I
expected a divine aroma compared to what I was putting
up with, But no, it was just as mundane as mine.
I think they must have created a placebo of a
lamb hype. Maybe someone initially started the rumor, knowing it
would add some excitement to someone's day and have others
looking forward to something, Thinking that it was a pragmatic ideal.
I kept my thoughts to myself and ate as much
as possible. When we were done, we were lined up.
The soldier walked back and forth a few times, glaring
at us occasionally before speaking up. As you know, delinquency
and insubordination is not tolerated. You have been designated to
the room indefinitely for your actions. However, this is your
daily chance to come out, return to work, and do
not cause trouble for the others with your plans. Silence fell,
and a few dropped their heads into feet and stepped
out the room. After a while longer, he spoke once more,
in a defeated tone. Okay, then everyone else follow me
back to the room. The remaining people shoveled back. Myself concluded,
knowing I'd be stuck back in that room for a while,
I paid more attention to my surroundings, trying to get
as much information as possible. I noticed much more now
that adrenaline wasn't altering my focus. I saw things that
were working on sampling the dirt, picking apart the bodies
of the moles, and tinkering with pieces of the armor,
the guards where and other technologies. I got some glances back,
presumably from people who hadn't seen me the first time around,
But one scientist in particular had a startling gaze. He
looked like something in his head clicked into place, maybe
an epiphany on something he was working on. Yet his
expression never shifted back to his work. It was solely
focused on me. When we returned to the room, we
were simply told to await further instruction. The conversation in
the room was dry. Either they were socially inept or
purposely closed me out, and I couldn't figure out which.
The closest to answers I had was doctor Jamieson, but
the way he was cut off showed they didn't trust
me with the information. If I could get him alone,
I was sure I could get him to spill more details,
but it was impossible with this room situation. Suddenly there
was a scuffling sound from outside and people were shouting.
I couldn't distinguish what was said through the thick door,
but it sounded heated. The door banged then quickly opened.
The scientist that was pressed up against it falling in
his face, scrunched up in anger, and expletives were thrown
at the guard who ignored him as he locked the door. However,
the second the door clicked, his facade dropped, his expression
lightened up, and he set to a sly grin. When
I got a good look at him, I recognized him
as the man glaring at me when I walked back
to the room. Hi, he opened with. However, it wasn't
a universal greeting to the people in the room. It
was directed solely at me. Oh ah, hi, I mused back.
Not deterred by my hesitation, he went on a lot
more open than the people I'd been stuck with so far.
My name is doctor Kirkland. You're obviously not from around here,
so how did you get here? He asked. I went
on to explain my situation, though I wasn't happy with
a lack of reciprocation. Each time I did this, his
face displayed his feelings on each bit of information he
extracted from my tail, not hiding his thoughts on my predicament.
After some deliberation, he broke his silence. Look, I want
to get out of here, need to get out of here,
and I want your help. I just wore a shocked
expression at this. He continued, gesturing to the people around
him to listen. In, who are now leaning in to
pay attention. We are safe here. We have use. You don't,
he pointed at me, Your safety is not guaranteed. He
almost sounded like a salesman giving his best pitch to
sell his idea. But I also couldn't refute his logic,
especially with how little I knew. Before I could even respond,
the roused crowd started to pipe in, sure, we have use,
but to compromise the facility with escapers grounds for termination.
They would not let that fly. One chimed in. Harms
of agreeance resounded from the audience. Even if we did
get out, where will we go? These aunds some pushovers
like the FBI or CIA. Another person interjected, I was
surprised that he spoke so lightly of what I was
led to believe were the best. This must be deeper
than I could possibly imagine. This is a room for
the smartest people in this dimension that he called the shots,
but wear the brains behind everything. You don't think we
could manage something easy like this. I know for a
fact some of you have achieved feats that make this
lug child's play. At this, he shot some specific glances
to certain people which they looked back with growing confidence,
which again I had no context to what he was
talking about. Remember, we don't just work here, We made
this place. You didn't think I would think ahead. At
this Doctor Kirkland pulled out a pale blue device with
a mismatched asymmetrical pattern on the end, almost like the
teeth of a skeleton key. If his speech hadn't fully
convinced everyone, this revelation certainly did. In turn, everyone who
thought themselves of use chipped in with info or services
they could provide. I know the code for the equipment room.
There's a set rotation the guards follow. I made the schedule.
The north side tunnels the least guarded. We'll have our
best shot there. Excitement grew in the room, and I
started falling for it. It seemed individually no one had
any look towards escape, but together they were the dukes
or pieces that fell perfectly into place. Once the plan
was set, all we had to do was wait for
the perfect time. One man had his ear to the door,
the room silent for him to make the call for action.
Doctor Kirklin stood by with his strange key, ready to
move on the signal. After many agonizing moments, the man
up front raised his hand and everyone snapped into place.
Though these people were only the scientists, I could tell
they had some form of military training. No words were uttered,
only silent hand motions directed the squad on how to move.
Even the way they walked minimize sound a lot. Compared
to them, I sounded like a lumbering giant, and even
though I was trying my best to mimic their posture,
we slipped around corners, the front man moving with confidence,
knowing we were moving through blind spots. We reached the
turn and he double checked if it was clear. He
made a motion with his hand and another man turned
the corner. When I moved round to follow the rest
of them, he quickly entered a combination on a number
pad and opened a thick metal door. Inside was something
that looked like something from the future, equipment that I
hadn't the faintest idea did what, But it seemed I
didn't need to, because each scientist went straight for what
they needed. Some grabbed goggles that had a green hue
on the lens to grab the large rifles I saw
the guards carrying, and others grabbed things I hadn't seen
before since I was apparently not given a crash course
on how this tech worked. I was simply left with
my helmet and flashlight, much to the degrading looks from
the others. If bets were placed on who would die first,
all of them would have bet on me. We left
the room as silently as possible in a single file.
I followed the point lead around more turns. We passed
by rooms that looked like they were used for storage
or an office, but other rooms were so beyond what
I understood that I had no idea what they did
in them. As we reached a straight tunnel that transitioned
from metal to dirt, a sure sign of an exit,
we heard yells from behind. Now I couldn't fully understand
what they said, but I picked up on the distinct
word escaped. They knew we were gone and would soon
be behind us, and now the chase was on. We stopped,
just shy of the darkness. Some I just their goggles
to see in the dark, others pulling out strange looking
devices that lit up the tunnel in front of them.
Doctor Kirklin turned to me and adrenaline fueled grin beaming
at me. Okay, where is the entrance? He came in
from He asked, what, Oh, I don't know. I was
lost when they found me, I replied. His face dropped.
Wait did you hinge this entire plan on that? Doctor
Jameson blurted. A look of confidence reappeared on Doctor Kirklin's face,
though this one looked more forced. Don't worry, have he
got in It means we can get out, he roused.
We all made our way deeper footsteps picking up behind us.
I didn't have the heart to tell him that my
dord jammed just like theirs. It wasn't long until all
hell broke loose. I was held up in a dark
cubby with Doctor Kirkland running so fast that some of
us got split up on the first fork, and the
scuttling forced more of us to separate the ones carrying
the rifles. When kneaded at the front, but lagged behind
due to the weight, and when I saw on fire,
it sent the scientists near horizontal from the kick back
after only a few shots. What shots landed on the
mole well and truly killed it for the loss of
control sent a few shots into innocent bystanders. The wounds
left behind were near perfect holes straight through the wall behind,
having the remnants of metal spikes a caseless rail gun
shot that could be used for long excursions. I was
told during some down time I had lost track of
doctor Jamieson, but the footsteps followed by shots and screams
told me that the guard's leniency had been spent. It
was either stay in work or die, and we had
all chosen the latter. Doctor Kirkland and myself were holed
up in a cubby just big enough to fit us
a blind spot if someone ran past. We stayed quiet
when we heard a scuttling and felt a breeze of
moles rushing towards the commotion. I have to get out.
I have to get out. I have to get out,
Doctor Kirkland kept muttering to himself. Despite the chaos and
all the lives lost, he was driven to get out,
him not saying us or we had me rethinking his
pragmatic coaxing of the group. Were we just fodder to
help him escape? There were noises still, but far off,
so I had to find out. Talk to me. You
had a plan to get here. What do we do now?
I whispered. This seemed to break him out of his stupor.
And he sat there for a while in silence, thinking
I need to get out. We need to get out,
wait until they've passed, and we moved forward. It was
such a vague plan, no thought beyond what I could
have come up with myself. What sickened me was the
lack of initiative to help the others. We just sat
there hearing their cries for help. They were secondary to
his own escape, myself included most likely. So I pried
and what I was more curious about in that moment,
why do you need to get out so badly? I
asked bluntly. At this he took another pause, contemplating a response.
I have a family. I missed them. We were sent
here on the promise of returning. We were to set
up the facility, then cycling scientists to work here. I
was one of the first in I need to get out.
I need to see them. He was fixated on this.
He must have thought this humanized his actions, but the
screaming and dying in the distance made it all the
more selfish. Who knew how many families were losing someone
here just for him to try to see his All
I knew was that he grabbed one of those insanely
put together weapons, so sticking with him was still my
best shot. The screaming and fighting were dying down, requieted
down ourselves as our surroundings did, and as we did,
heavy and deliberate footsteps approached, no doubt one of the guards.
They were creeping with caution, on the lookout for hiding
scientists and violent moles. A barely audible whisper trickled into
my ear. If he sees us, point your flashlight in
his eyes, I will do the rest. My mind boggled
with responses. Was he planning on us taking the guard
down together or using me as bait? I no longer
had faith in his motives. However, the footsteps were drawn nearer,
and each step taken was taking away time to reply.
I hadn't decided on what to do, so I let
myself move in the moment. The steps clung to a
stop before us, and a pause lingered in the air.
The crackle of static rang out, and he spoke into
his radio. I've got one ear ready to engage. Click.
We were compromised, so now was the time to strike.
I heard doctor Kirkland yell out and out of reflex,
I flicked my light on and swung it around, looking
to get in in his visor, but as soon as
I found his head, we both stopped. He wasn't looking
at us, but was looking further down the hallway. However,
our outburst made him turn to face us, to which
he flinched from being blinded by my light. I guess
Doctor Kirkland was right. Whatever they used the scene, the
dark seemed to flash bang his vision with a direct
light sauce. A screech followed straight after, but it wasn't
from the guard, it wasn't even human. A sprinting thud
crashed from where he was looking at and as I turned,
a mole dove straight at us. Doctor Kirkland fired a
few stray shots, and one pierced straight into his abdomen,
But like before, the shots also sent Doctor Kirkland falling back,
and this left him no time to get out of
the way. With the mole's momentum, it landed claws first
into both Doctor Kirkland and the guard, who never stood chance,
were blinded. The guard fell from his hit, and the
mole dug its nails wildly at both of them, goring
them into a mess. Each swipe slowed down until it
stopped still perched between them, and slunk onto the floor.
Turning my light towards it more, I saw it had
bled out from the wound doctor Kirkland had inflicted, and
silence remained. I froze, now flying so low. If doctor
Kirkland had a hollow plan that he was loosely following,
I was now left entirely alone a ship in open
water with no wind. The guards radio crackled a deep voice,
repeatedly asking for an update, but who knows if they
knew the exact turns he made to find him, or
what was left of him. At least, however, one tiny
piece of information was the basis for my steps forward.
The direction we heard the guard come from was my right,
which told me that was the direction of the facility.
So I turned left and started walking. I opted not
to take the weapon. I had seen it get someone
killed more than it saved. The tunnels rewarded agility over
brute force, but this didn't ease my mind, and the
challenges that faced me time passing was mental agony. I'd
been wondering the tunnels for what must have been hours,
sometimes running from the skittering chase of a mall. Other times,
lurking in cutaway channels from the guards. Through the distant
chatter I would occasionally hear on their radios. They were
looking for only one or two more scientists, but it
was still kill on sight. If they would so easily
disp bows of people a million times more useful than me,
I would be squashed like an ant on site. They
wouldn't even think twice. The distance I'd create from the
guards did not provide safety. Each step away from them
was also a step away from the safety that they
used to provide. I was past the protection of their capture,
however long there would have lasted. Gunfire broke me out
of my thoughts. Nearby war cries rang out, and footsteps
of all types were bouncing around. The lighter skitters, though,
were headed towards me, scared half in my direction. I
turned on my light, knowing that stealth was no longer
an option, and ran away from the noises as fast
as I could with my still swollen ankle. The gunfire
rang out every so often, screeches of beasts and men intertwined.
It was an even fight, skirmishes that happened sporadically between
the mole's retreats and attacks hit and run tactics. Each
battle created more distance between them and me, but they
would catch up between fights, Whether intentional or not, each
turn I made they would follow. It was impossible for
me to tell if the moles thought my footsteps was
one of theirs back up, leading the guards into a
trap where if they knew the guards were hunting me,
setting up a distraction for them to ambush. I dodged
around turns, making each choice as randomly as possible, but
all the parties were still on my tail. Another skirmish
broke out, and it only sounded a few turns away.
I was too slow with my hobbling run. It wasn't
long until they were on the same corridor as me,
so I looked for somewhere to hide, hoping they'd pass by.
Fear came over me. No, this plan had its flaws.
Images lingering in my head that they'd find me curled up,
or that I was caught in some sort of crossfire.
My light lit up a turn that deviated from the
tun where I was in, but the dirt sloped. Something
insect caught my light color standing out from the dull
brown and gray of the ground, thin and linear. It
was my twine I had somehow made my way back.
I rushed up the slope, my legs burning from my
monumental journey so far. As soon as I reached the top,
I grabbed a handle and paused with a silent prayer.
With a make or break war cry, I twisted and
shouldered the door as hard as I could, expecting resistance. Instead,
it flung open with ease, sending me reeling out. I
rolled on the ground from the momentum and quickly scrambled
to my feet. I slammed the door shut, silencing the
battle beneath, and grabbed the heaviest thing nearby, dragging it
on top. I had to catch my breath. Lost from
both exhaustion and adrenaline, I slumped onto my back, the
weight of everything keeping me grounded. I was still for
the first time in so long, and I was relishing it.
The sun was dull, which I estimated to be the
late afternoon to early evening. Turning my head gently, I
saw where I was Scrapped cars and discarded belongings scattered
around a crane in the distance that was used to
whole mess around into a nearby compactor. It was a dump.
My peace was short lived. I felt a multitude of shakes,
but not from the door. My phone buzzed repeatedly in
my pocket. I had almost forgotten about it since losing signal.
All stuck down there, the battery had the slimm miest
of red lines left. Still there was enough to see
the notifications now rolling in, the signal returning, opening the
floodgates of everything I'd missed. Messages and missed calls from
work rolled in, ranging from asking to where I was,
to anger about skipping a shift, to concern about my whereabouts.
Their concern warned me a little. I had messages blasted
from family asking where I was, a range of jokes
at first about overdoing it on a late night out,
to genuine fear of my well being, and finally a
single email. It was from the h OA, telling me
that I had not removed the mess in time, so
they hid some contractors to clear it up, the bill
of which would be added to my fine.