I Was Assigned to a Work in Area 51. They Don't Want You to Know This.

Hello and welcome back to another episode by Sleepy Pasta. Before you doze off tonight, don't forget to leave a five star review and a comment where you are watching from. Let's begin. I adjusted the microscopes focus, squinting at the tissue sample I've been examining for hours. Nothing remarkable, just standard cellular structures from a fighter pilot who'd reported hallucinations after testing an experimental aircraft.

The military always sent me their oddities, hoping I'd find something they could weaponize or defend against. My phone buzzed on the metal table beside me. I glanced at the screen. Jace Williamson. My stomach tightened.

Calls from Jace rarely meant anything. Good, Ward. I answered, keeping my voice neutral. I need you at the airfield in 20 minutes. Pack for at least a week.

Jace's voice had that clipped tone he used when something big was happening. What's the situation? Not over the phone. Zoe will fill you in on the drive. The line went dead before I could ask anything else.

Typical Jace. My side removed my lab coat and hung it on the hook by the door. Whatever this was, it was serious enough to pull me from my regular work at Nellis. I grabbed my emergency bag from under my desk. I'd learned years ago to keep essentials packed and headed out.

The Nevada sun hit me when I stepped outside. I squinted, walking across the parking lot toward the airfield, where a black SUV waited, engine running. Zoe Brewer stood beside it, her posture rigid as always. Doctor Ward. She nodded as I approached Agent Brewer.

I tossed my bag into the back seat and climbed in beside her. The air conditioning was blasting, a welcome relief from the heat. As soon as we pulled away from the base, Zoe began her briefing. At 0300 hours this morning, our satellite tracking station detected an object entering Earth's atmosphere over Southern Nevada.

The object crashed in Paranagot Valley approximately 40 minutes later. Meteor. I asked, though I already knew the answer. They wouldn't call me for a rock. The object's trajectory changed multiple times during descent, Zowe said, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

It was under controlled flight until impact. I felt a chill despite the heat. So what are we talking about? Experimental aircraft? Foreign tech?

Zoe's mouth tightened slightly. The recovery team reached the site at O 4:15. They found a craft of unknown origin, and she paused. A survivor. My brain stuttered over that last word.

A survivor? I repeated. Human, That's what you're going to tell us. Zowe turned onto a unmarked Rd. that cut through the desert. We've established a secure facility, designated site ECHO.

Commander Williamson is overseeing the operation. Personally, I looked out at the empty desert stretching in all directions. My mind raced through possibilities, most of them unsettling. The military didn't build black sites for ordinary situations. How much farther?

I asked. 20 minutes. Zoe checked her watch. You'll be briefed when we arrive. Until then, prepare yourself, Doctor Ward.

What you're about to see will change everything you know. The rest of the drive passed in silence. Eventually, a cluster of temporary structures came into view, surrounded by a perimeter fence and guard posts. Military personnel with assault rifles watched our approach. This wasn't just high security, this was containment.

Zoe pulled up to a checkpoint where armed guards inspected our credentials before waving us through. She parked near what looked like the main entrance, a reinforced door set into what appeared to be a natural rock formation. Jace was waiting for us inside, his silver hair gleaming under the harsh lights. His face gave away nothing as he shook my hand.

Jonathan, good to see you. You too, Commander, though I wish you'd give me more details over the phone. Jace almost smiled. No you don't, not for this. He gestured for me to follow him.

We have a secure elevator that will take us to the main facility. How deep does this go? I asked as we stepped into an industrial elevator. 13 floors. Jace said, pressing his palm against a scanner.

The structure was already here. Old mining operation that the government acquired in the 80s. We've made some improvements. The elevator descended rapidly. I counted the seconds, estimating we were dropping at least 100 feet when the doors opened.

We stepped into a corridor that looked nothing like an old mine. Polished floors, reinforced walls and more armed guards. What we have here, Jay said as we walked, is unprecedented. The craft was approximately 9 meters in diameter, composed of materials our preliminary tests can't identify. It was damaged, but largely intact.

And the survivor? I prompted Jay stopped outside a door marked Containment Unit 7. He turned to face me, his expression deadly serious. What you're about to see is classified beyond top secret. Only 12 people on the planet know about this, and you're about to become #13 Are you ready for that responsibility, Jonathan?

I nodded. Yes, Sir. Jay swiped his badge and entered a code. The door slid open to reveal an observation room with a large window looking into a brightly lit chamber. Several technicians monitored equipment, but my eyes went straight to the window.

On the other side, Sitting motionless on an examination table, was a humanoid figure. Its skin was pale, almost translucent, with a slight bluish tint. The proportions were close to human, but subtly wrong Limbs slightly too long, head slightly too large. It wore no clothing, but its body lacked any visible genitalia or distinctive sexual characteristics.

My God, I whispered. It hasn't moved since we brought it in, Jay said. Vital signs are stable but unusual. Body temperature is significantly lower than human norm. We've attempted communication, but it's been unresponsive.

I stepped closer to the glass, studying the being. Its eyes were closed, face relaxed as if in sleep. Despite its alien appearance, there was something almost peaceful about its expression. I want you to examine it, Jace continued. You're the best Zeno biologist we have, and you've worked with unusual biological specimens before.

If anyone can figure out what we're dealing with, it's you. I'll need equipment, samples. You'll have everything you need. Jace interrupted. The containment chamber is set up as a full lab agent.

Brewer will remain a security. I took a deep breath. When do I start now? Jay said, nodding to a technician who pressed a button. A section of the wall slid open, revealing an airlock.

Standard containment protocols. The air in there is filtered and monitored. We don't know what kind of pathogens it might carry. I stepped into the airlock, my heart pounding as the door sealed behind me. A light mist of disinfectant sprayed from the ceiling before the inner door opened.

I stepped into the chamber, the air noticeably cooler than in the observation room. Up close, the being was even more fascinating. Its skin had a subtle pattern, almost like very fine scales that was only visible within a few feet. I moved slowly around the table, not wanting to startle it if it was aware of my presence.

Hello. I said softly. My name is Doctor Jonathan Ward, can you understand me? No response, not even a flicker of movement. I continued my examination, noting details from my report.

The being had no visible hair, no external ears, just small openings where ears would be on a human. Its nose was little more than two small slits, and its mouth was smaller than a human's, with thin lips pressed together. As I circled the table, something caught my eye. A band around the fourth finger of its left hand.

I leaned closer. It looked like a ring, similar to a wedding band, but made of an iridescent material that shifted colors as the light hit it. My chest tightened. The ring triggered a memory I'd been suppressing for years. Sally in her hospital bed, wetting ring loose on her thin finger as cancer took her from me.

She'd insisted on wearing it until the end. I'd held her hand as she slipped away. Without thinking, I reached out toward the being's hand, drawn to the ring by some impulse I couldn't name. The moment my fingers came within inches of touching it, the being's hand jerked away. I stumbled back, startled.

Its eyes remained closed, its body otherwise motionless. But that hand had definitely moved, deliberately avoiding my touch. It moved, I said, knowing the observation room could hear me. It's aware. I spent the rest of that day running non invasive tests, scanning, measuring, observing.

The being remained motionless except when I came too close to that ring. Each time it would move just enough to keep the ring out of my reach, though its eyes never opened. Days passed in a blur of tests and observations. I slept in a small room adjacent to the containment unit, wanting to be close if anything changed.

Zoe maintained her silent vigil, watching from the observation room. Jace visited daily for updates, growing increasingly frustrated with our lack of progress. By the end of the week, I was no closer to understanding our visitor. It maintained its passive state, never moving except to protect the ring. I tried speaking to it in multiple languages, playing music, showing images, all without response.

The dream started on the third night. I saw Sally, as she'd been before the illness, laughing as we hiked through Zion National Park, her Auburn hair catching the sunlight. In the dream, she turned to me and said something I couldn't quite hear. I kept asking her to repeat it, but her voice grew fainter each time.

I woke in the dark, disoriented. The room felt suffocating. I sat up, rubbing my face, trying to shake off the sadness from my dream. I glanced toward the observation window connecting my room to the containment chamber and froze. The being was standing directly on the other side of the glass, its pale face inches from the window.

Its eyes were open for the first time, large dark orbs with no visible pupils fixed intently on me. One hand was pressed against the glass, the ring clearly visible on its finger. It was watching me. You were dreaming about Sally last night. The being's voice was soft and melodic, nothing like I'd expected.

I stared through the glass at the creature, which had returned to sitting on the examination table. It's large, dark eyes fixed on me with unsettling intensity. What did you say? My voice came out barely above a whisper. You were dreaming about Sally, About the lake, the stars you traced together.

My mouth went dry. I hadn't told anyone here about that night at Lake Tahoe. Sally and I had lain on the dock, connecting random stars into our own private constellation. We'd named it the Wanderer as a joke about my tendency to get lost in thought. How could you possibly know that?

I asked, moving closer to the glass. The being tilted its head, an eerily human gesture. I know many things about Sally, about you. Then it spoke again, its voice changing suddenly. Don't forget to look up sometimes, John.

The answers aren't all in your microscope. I grabbed the edge of the desk to steady myself. Those were Sally's exact final words to me before she slipped away. I'd never told anyone. Not my colleagues, not my therapists, no one.

Who are you? I asked, my voice cracking. What are you? The being just watched me, it's expression unreadable on that alien face. I backed out of the room, nearly colliding with Zoe in the hallway.

Doctor Ward, you look like you've seen a ghost. I need to speak with Commander Williamson. I said. And I need a psychiatric evaluation. 2 hours later, I sat across from Doctor Leo Peterson in an office above the containment level.

He was a military psychiatrist with thinning hair and glasses that kept sliding down his nose. So you believe this entity somehow knows personal details about your late wife? He asked, making notes on his tablet. Not just details, her exact words, things only she and I knew. Peterson looked up.

Doctor Ward. You've been working nearly around the clock, with minimal sleep, in a high stress environment, dealing with something completely outside human experience, and you're still processing grief from your wife's death. I know how it sounds, I said. That's why I asked for this evaluation. I need to know if I'm experiencing some kind of breakdown.

He ran through a battery of cognitive tests, memory assessments and psychological evaluations. After nearly two hours, he set his tablet down. Your cognitive function is normal. You're showing expected signs of stress and sleep deprivation, but nothing that would explain hallucinations or delusions. Your grief response is still active, but not pathological.

He leaned forward. From a psychiatric perspective, you're functioning within normal parameters given the circumstances, so I'm not imagining things. I didn't say that. Peterson removed his glasses. The mind can play tricks, especially when we desperately want something to be true.

My recommendation is more rest and some distance from your subject. I nodded, but we both knew I wouldn't be stepping away. That night I dreamed about meeting Sally, Columbia University 10 years ago. I was giving a guest lecture on quantum biology when I noticed her in the third row taking notes. Afterwards, she approached me with questions that showed she understood concepts most of my colleagues struggled with.

The Copenhagen interpretation feels like a cop out, she'd said. Just because we can't observe something doesn't mean it lacks definite properties. I'd laughed. Most physicists would call that heresy. Most physicists are afraid to admit how little we actually know.

She'd replied with a smile that hit me like a physical force. We'd ended up talking for hours in a nearby coffee shop, debating quantum interpretations, until the staff started stacking chairs around us. I woke up, the memory vivid. Then I remembered where I was, the small room next to the observation area at sight.

E530. Too early to start, but I wouldn't fall back asleep. I showered, dressed, and headed to the observation room with a cup of black coffee. The being was already standing at the window, waiting. You met her at Columbia, it said.

Without preamble, she challenged your lecture on quantum biology. You talked at the Bluestone coffee house until closing. She ordered a Chai latte and you had black coffee just like you're drinking now. The cup nearly slipped from my fingers. Stop it.

She wore a blue dress with small white flowers. You told her it matched her eyes. I set the coffee down before I could drop it. How are you doing this? I'm not doing anything, Jonathan.

I'm simply remembering. Over the next three days, the being revealed memories only Sally could have known. It described our honeymoon in Kyoto, how we'd gotten lost looking for a temple and found a restaurant where the chef made U.S. special dishes. It knew about the fox statue Sally bought that sat on my desk at home.

Emma, it said on the third day what the name you chose for your daughter. If Sally had carried to term, you would have named her Emma after Sally's grandmother. I pressed my palms against my eyes. We lost the baby in the second trimester, a year before Sally's cancer diagnosis. We'd never told anyone the name we'd chosen.

What are you? I asked for what felt like the 100th time. The being stood and walked to the glass, placing its hand against the surface. The ring on its finger caught the light. I am not Sally, it said.

But I carry her. At the moment of her death, I absorbed her consciousness. That's impossible for humans. Yes. My species exists partly in what you would call quantum space.

We can collect consciousness at the moment of transition. Why Sally? Why her? Her mind was extraordinary, brilliant, beautiful. I was drawn to her light.

As she faded, it paused. And then I found you. I came here for you, Jonathan. I backed away from the glass. No, this is some kind of trick.

You're reading my mind somehow. You know that's not true, it said softly. I know things even you have forgotten. Like Sally's last words to you. The complete sentence was.

Don't forget to look up sometimes, John. The answers aren't all in your microscope. Some are in the stars. I hadn't remembered that last part until now, but hearing it unlocked the full memory. I sank into the chair, unable to speak.

Commander Williamson called me to his office. He looked tired. I've been reviewing the surveillance footage, he said without preamble. You've been having extended conversations with the subject. Yes, Sir, it's communicating valuable information about your dead wife.

His tone was flat, not questioning. I swallowed. How much have you heard? Enough to be concerned. He stood up from his desk.

You're becoming emotionally compromised, Ward. This thing is manipulating you with information it couldn't possibly know unless it has some form of telepathy or mind reading capability, which is precisely what we should be studying scientifically instead of getting caught up in personal matters. Williamson's voice hardened. I'm arranging a transfer. The subject will be moved to Facility Omega tomorrow for more invasive study.

My stomach dropped. What kind of study? Complete biological analysis. Tissue sampling, eventual dissection. Sir, that's premature.

We've barely begun to understand. That's exactly the problem, Ward. You're not understanding, you're believing. He leaned forward. This is a potential threat to national security, not a reunion with your wife.

I need you to remember that. I know what it isn't, I said quietly. But killing it before we understand what it is would be a monumental mistake. The decision's been made. Transfer happens at O 800 tomorrow.

Williamson sat back down. You're dismissed. Dr. That evening, I entered the observation room for what would likely be my final session with the being. It was already at the window, as if it had been waiting.

They're transferring you tomorrow, I said. To another facility for dissection. It replied. There was no surprise in its voice. You knew I can sense intentions.

Yours are different from the others. I looked away, unable to meet those dark alien eyes. I don't know what you want me to do. Help me, Jonathan. It's voice took on an urgent tone I hadn't heard before.

They will destroy me without understanding what I am, what I carry. Sally. I whispered. Part of her lives in me. Not all, but enough memories, feelings.

It pressed both hands against the glass, the ring glinting. Please, Jonathan, don't let them take her from you again. I stared at the creature that new things only Sally could know wore a ring like the one I'd given her, and spoke with her familiar patterns despite its alien form. I don't know if I can trust you, I said.

I don't know what you really are. Neither do I fully. It tilted its head in that eerily human way. But I know I don't want to die, and I know Sally wouldn't want to disappear again. Please, Jonathan, help me.

I stared at the being through the observation window. It's finger tracing a pattern in the air. Not just any pattern. Our pattern. The five stars that made-up the Wanderer.

The personal constellation Sally and I had created that night at Lake Tahoe. A private moment no one else could possibly know about. My heart pounded in my chest. This was impossible. Yet I watched as its slender finger connected invisible dots in the exact sequence Sally and I had mapped out while lying on that blanket under the stars.

I checked my watch. 217 in the morning. The night shift would be at minimum staffing. If I was going to do this, it had to be now. I walked to the security console and entered my credentials.

The system gave me access to the basic surveillance functions for this level. I'd worked in enough secure facilities to understand their vulnerabilities. Most security systems were designed to keep people out, not in. I navigated through several menus until I found what I needed, the maintenance override. I initiated a diagnostic cycle on the security cameras, which would loop empty corridor footage for approximately 7 minutes.

Not much time, but it would have to be enough. Next, I moved to the containment controls and entered the emergency override code I'd memorized during my initial briefing. The airlocked door to the containment chamber slid open with a soft hiss. The being stood motionless, watching me with those large, dark eyes. We need to go now, I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Follow me and stay quiet. It nodded, a surprisingly human gesture, and move toward me with fluid grace. As it stepped closer, I noticed again how its proportions were just slightly wrong. Limbs too long, head too large, features too symmetrical. In the chamber doorway, it paused and reached toward my face.

I flinched, but held my ground as its cool fingers touched my cheek. Thank you, John, it said, but the voice had changed. It wasn't the melodic tone from before. It was Sally's voice. Perfectly, impossibly, Sally's voice.

I knew you'd help us. The chill ran up my back. We need to move, I said, pulling away from its touch. We stepped into the corridor, which was dimly lit for the night cycle. The elevator would be too risky, too many cameras with too many potential witnesses.

We needed to take the emergency stairs to the vehicle Bay on the ground level. This way, I whispered, leading it toward the stairwell at the end of the hall. We made it up three flights of stairs without incident. My mind raced through contingency plans. I'd take one of the transport vehicles, drive us both far from the facility, and then what?

I had no idea what came next. I was operating purely on instinct, the instinct to protect whatever fragment of Sally might exist in this being. As we reached the 4th floor landing, I carefully opened the door and peered into the corridor. Empty. We stepped through, moving quickly toward the next stairwell that would take us to the ground level.

We turned a corner and I stopped dead. Warren Roberts stood 20 feet away, clipboard in hand, looking up from whatever he was checking. His eyes widened in shock. Doctor Ward, what are you? His hand moved toward his sidearm as his gaze shifted to the being beside me.

Warren, wait. I said, raising my hands. I can explain. This isn't what it looks like. Warren pulled his weapon.

Step away from the subject. Doctor, now. Before I could respond, the being moved. One moment it was beside me, the next it was a blur of motion. I barely tracked its movement as it crossed the distance to Warren in what seemed like a single bound.

Warren fired once, the sound deafening in the confined space, but the shot went wide as the being slammed into him. They crashed against the wall, and I watched in horror as the being's form seemed to change, its limbs elongated, fingers stretching into something like claws, its jaw distended, opening wider than any human mouth could.

Warren screamed, but the sound cut off as the creature tore into his throat with impossible violence. Blood sprayed across the white wall in a fan pattern. Stop, I yelled, my voice breaking. What are you doing? Stop the being turned toward me, blood dripping from its distorted features.

Its eyes had changed too, no longer dark orbs but something wild and alien. It's straightened, Warren's body sliding to the floor in a crumpled heap. Not Sally, it said, it's voice a disturbing mixture of tones now. But Sally is here. Sally wants us to be together, Jonathan.

I backed away, unable to process what I was seeing. This wasn't an escape anymore. This was something else entirely. An alarm blared suddenly. Warren's gunshot must have triggered it.

The being tilted its head, listening, then turned toward the sound of approaching footsteps. Two security officers rounded the corner at the far end of the corridor, weapons drawn. Before they could fire, the being launched itself toward them. I watched and paralyzed horror as it tore into them with the same savage efficiency it had shown with Warren.

Their screams echoed briefly before falling silent. The being stood among the bodies, its form shifting again, becoming more humanoid, but still wrong, still alien. It turned and moved toward a reinforced security door that led to the vehicle Bay. With a single powerful motion, it smashed through the metal as if it were cardboard.

I followed numbly, unable to process what I just witnessed in the vehicle Bay. The being paused and turned back to me. Its form had settled again, almost back to how it had appeared in containment, except for the blood that covered its pale skin. Come with me, Jonathan, it said, extending a hand. We can be together.

Sally wants us to be together. I stared at its outstretched hand, then at the trail of blood and bodies behind us. What are you? I whispered. You're not.

You can't be. I am many things, it said. I carried her to you as promised. Now we must go. I shook my head and took a step back.

No, whatever you are, you're not Sally. Sally wouldn't. She would never. It's expression changed, something like sadness crossing its features. It moved toward me with that unnatural speed and pressed its lips to my cheek in a cold kiss.

We will find each other again, it whispered against my skin. Then it turned and ran toward the open Bay doors, disappearing into the desert night. I stood there, trembling as security forces poured into the vehicle Bay. Moments later, flashlights blinded me. Voices shouted commands I couldn't process.

Rough hands grabbed me, forced me to the ground, secured my wrists with zip ties. Dr. Jonathan Ward, you are under arrest for treason and aiding in the escape of a classified subject. Someone said formally near my ear. I didn't resist as they hauled me to my feet.

My mind was filled with the image of Warren's throat being torn open, of the beings blood covered form asking me to come with it, of Sally's voice coming from something that couldn't possibly be Sally. As they dragged me away and I caught a final glimpse of the open Bay doors in the dark desert.

Beyond wondering what I had just unleashed on the world, I spent three days telling Mildred George everything. Mildred just looked at me with cold calculating eyes. So you're claiming this alien entity contains some portion of your dead wife's consciousness, which is why you betrayed your country and helped it escape? She asked during our final session.

I know how it sounds, I said. It sounds like you're either lying or delusional, Dr. Ward. I couldn't blame her for not believing me. If our positions were reversed, I wouldn't have believed it either.

The military tribunal took less than two hours to find me guilty of treason, conspiracy and accessory to the murder of three American servicemen. They transferred me to a military prison facility somewhere in the desert. They never told me where exactly. My cell was 8 feet by 10 feet with a metal toilet, a narrow cot bolted to the wall, and a small desk with a chair.

The only window was a six inch square of reinforced glass set high in the door. 2 weeks into my imprisonment, I received my first visitor. I was escorted to a small windowless room with a metal table bolted to the floor and two chairs on opposite sides. The guard positioned me in one chair, secured my ankle restraints to a ring on the floor and left.

5 minutes later, the door opened and Teresa Murray walked in. She looked thinner than I remembered, her face drawn with exhaustion. She wore her lab coat over a simple blouse and slacks, her ID badge clipped to her pocket. She sat across from me, placing a tablet on the table between us. Hello, Jonathan, she said.

Teresa, I didn't expect to see you. She glanced at the camera in the corner of the ceiling. This is an official visit. I've been authorized to update you on certain developments. I leaned forward.

What developments? We've recaptured the subject. She tapped her tablet, bringing up an image that made my stomach twist. The being was suspended in some kind of transparent containment unit, surrounded by monitoring equipment. It's being held at Facility Omega.

How did you find it? It didn't go far. Military patrols located it just 20 miles from Side Echo, wandering the desert. Teresa looked up from her tablet. It wasn't trying to hide Jonathan.

Almost as if it wanted to be found. I thought about that. What are they doing to it? What do you think? The most comprehensive analysis possible.

Her clinical tone couldn't quite mask her discomfort. Tissue samples, biological assessment, neural mapping, vivisection. I said flatly. Teresa didn't deny it. The entity is unlike anything we've ever encountered.

Its cellular structure, its neurological patterns, they're extraordinary. There are quantum properties we can't begin to understand. She hesitated. But there's something else. Something I thought you should know.

What? During the neural mapping, we detected unusual patterns. When we ran the comparison algorithms against our database, we found partial matches with human neural signatures. She lowered her voice. Specifically with the brain scans in your wife's medical records.

My hands began to shake. What are you saying? I'm not saying anything definitive. The data is preliminary, but there are similarities that can't be easily explained. She gathered her tablet and stood up.

That's all I'm authorized to tell you. As she reached the door, she turned back. Jonathan, whatever this thing is, whatever it knows about Sally, be careful. Don't let hope cloud your judgement again. That night, I lay on my cot, staring at the ceiling, replaying Teresa's words over and over.

The cell was quiet, except for the faint hum of the ventilation system. I closed my eyes, trying to make sense of everything. Jonathan. I sat up, heart pounding. The voice had been faint, but unmistakable.

Jonathan, I found you. It was Sally's voice, coming through the ventilation duct near the ceiling. Sally. I whispered, moving to stand directly beneath the vent. Not exactly, the voice replied, still using Sally's familiar tones.

But part of her is here with me. I pressed my hands against the wall, feeling the cool concrete against my palms. What do you want to be with you? We'll be together soon, Jonathan, I promise. How?

I asked. I'm locked in here, and your distance doesn't matter to me the way it does to you. Physical barriers are less significant than you think. I felt a chill run through me. The people you killed, they would have killed me.

Dissected me. Destroyed what remains of Sally. You're not Sally, I said firmly. No, but I carry her, and she wants us to be together. I closed my eyes, torn between hope and terror.

The rational part of my mind knew this was manipulation, knew this entity was using my grief against me. But another part, the part that had never stopped missing. Sally couldn't help but respond to her voice. Whatever you're planning, I said, Don't hurt anyone else. The voice was silent for so long I thought it had gone.

Then softly. Sleep now, Jonathan, we'll talk again soon. I returned to my cot, but didn't sleep. I lay awake until dawn, my hand pressed against the cold wall, thinking about what the being it said. Distance doesn't matter.

Physical barriers are less significant than you think. Whatever had returned, whether it was an alien entity or some echo of Sally, it wasn't finished with me. It had formed a connection that transcended physical barriers, and I knew our story was far from over. Despite my confinement and the military's attempts to contain the situation, the bond between us would continue.

I just wasn't sure whether that thought filled me with hope or dread.