I Was Hired To Guard A Government Facility. This Was Meant To Be Hidden.

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. The vans tires crunched on the gravel as we pulled up to the facility. I glanced at my watch.

5:00 in the morning and already 90°. Welcome to Nevada in August. End of the line, gentlemen, the driver said, cutting the engine. I grabbed my duffel and stepped out into the heat. The air hit me like a wall, dry and scorching.

The facility didn't look like much from the outside, just a concrete bunker with a chain link fence topped with razor wire. No signs, no markings, nothing to tell you what went on inside. Four other guys climbed out behind me. We'd been riding together for three hours, but nobody had said much. Government contracts were like that.

Keep your mouth shut until you know who you're working with. A man in a dark suit stood waiting by the entrance. Mid 50s, thin, with the kind of posture that said it military or government. He had wire rimmed glasses and thinning blonde hair combed neatly to the side. Everything about him looked precise.

Mr. Norton, he said, walking toward me with his hand extended. Everett Guerrero, Facility director. Thank you for coming on such short notice. I shook his hand, firm grip, cold fingers.

These are your colleagues, he said, gesturing to the others. I assume introductions were made during transport. Not really, I said. Guerrero frowned slightly. Well, there will be time for that.

If you'll all follow me, we can begin processing. We followed him to a small security checkpoint. 2 guards with automatic rifles stood at attention. They didn't look like regular military private contractors. Probably before we proceed, Guerrero said, turning to face us.

I need to emphasize the confidential nature of this operation. Everything you see and hear from this point forward is classified at the highest level. Disclosure of any kind will result in severe consequences. Is that understood? We all nodded.

Verbal confirmation, please. Guerrero said. Understood, we said, almost in unison. I caught the eye of one of the other guys, Hispanic, about my height, with the lean look of someone who'd seen combat. He gave me a slight nod.

I nodded back. Something about him seemed familiar, but I couldn't place it. Guerrero LED us through the 1st checkpoint. The guard scanned our IDs and ran them through a database. I'll need all personal electronic devices.

Guerrero said, holding out a plastic bin. I pulled my phone from my pocket and dropped it in. The others did the same. You'll receive these back upon completion of your assignment, Guerrero said. Standard procedure, standard procedure.

But it still made me uneasy. Being completely cut off from the outside world wasn't ideal, but the money they were offering was too good to turn down. My mom's medical bills weren't going to pay themselves, and the VA wasn't exactly rushing to help. One of the guards handed me a security badge with my photo already on it.

They've been expecting us. This will give you access to designated areas only. Guerrero explained. Attempting to enter restricted zones will trigger an immediate security response. We moved through another set of doors into what looked like a medical screening area.

White walls, examination tables and staff in scrubs. We'll need to conduct basic health screenings and decontamination procedures before you can enter the main facility, Guerrero said. The Hispanic guy, his badge said Mejia, caught my eye again and raised an eyebrow slightly. Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. This was overkill for a standard security detail.

The medical staff took our vitals, drew blood samples and had us change into facility issued clothing, black tactical pants and grey T-shirts with the facility logo, a simple triangle inside a circle. After the medical screening, Guerrero LED us to an elevator. He pressed his badge against a scanner, then entered a code on a keypad.

The doors slid open. We'll be descending to sub Level 5, he said as we stepped inside. The facility extends several 100 feet below ground. The elevator moved smoothly downward. I watched the floor numbers on the digital display SL1SL2, SL Three.

How deep did this place go? When the doors opened at SL5, the atmosphere changed immediately. The air felt different, cooler, with a faint metallic smell. The lighting was harsher, and the walls were bare concrete instead of the painted drywall. Upstairs, we walked down a long corridor.

Through glass windows on either side, I could see labs with people in white coats working at computer stations. Some were wearing partial hazmat gear, respirators, and gloves. What exactly are we protecting here? I asked Guerrero. He glanced back at me.

You'll be briefed shortly, Mr. Norton. Patience. We passed more labs, then a series of rooms that look like living quarters. I noticed security cameras at regular intervals along the ceiling.

This way, Guerrero said, leading us into a conference room. Inside, a woman was riding on a whiteboard covered with diagrams and equations. She turned when we entered, mid 40s, black hair pulled back in a tight bun, wire rimmed glasses. She wore a lab coat over a simple black shirt. Doctor Chapman, our security team has arrived, Guerrero announced.

She nodded and set down her marker. Thank you for coming. I'm Jade Chapman, lead researcher. Guerrero gestured to each of us in turn. Terry Mejia, Former Marine Force Recon.

Owen Medina, Army Rangers. Willie Nelson, Navy SEAL. Aiden Norton, Delta Force and Drew Hunter, your team leader, former Special Forces. So that's why Mejia looked familiar. We'd crossed paths in Afghanistan, 2014.

I couldn't remember the specifics, but I recognized the face. Hunter stepped forward. Older guy, probably early 40s, with crew cut Gray blonde hair and the kind of posture that said he'd been giving orders for a long time. Doctor Chapman Hunter said. We're ready for our briefing.

She nodded and picked up a tablet from the table. You've been brought here to provide security for an artifact of extreme scientific importance and potential hazard. What kind of hazard? Mejia asked. That.

That's what we're trying to determine, she replied. The artifact was discovered three months ago during an archaeological expedition in the Arctic. Since its retrieval, we've observed several anomalous properties that we don't yet fully understand. Dangerous properties? I asked.

Doctor Chapman exchanged a glance with Guerrero. There have been incidents. Nothing immediately life threatening, but concerning enough that we've implemented strict protocols. What kind of incidents? Hunter pressed.

Unusual psychological effects in some personnel who've had prolonged exposure, she said carefully. Hallucinations, disorientation. 1 researcher reported hearing voices. Great. We were guarding something that made people crazy.

Your job, Guerrero cut in, is to ensure the artifact remains secure and that all safety protocols are followed. You'll work in rotating shifts two at a time, monitoring the containment area and assisting research staff as needed. How long is this assignment? Nelson asked, first time he'd spoken. He had a slight accent I couldn't place.

Initial contract is for four weeks. Guerrero replied with potential extension based on research progress. 4 weeks underground with a mind altering artifact. The pay made more sense now. If you'll follow me, Doctor Chapman said.

I'll show you the containment area and explain the protocols. We filed out of the conference room and followed her down another corridor. This one had fewer windows and more security checkpoints. At each one, Doctor Chapman had to scan her badge and enter a different code. The deeper we went, the more uneasy I felt.

Something about this place wasn't right. The air pressure seemed to change, making my ears pop, and there was a low hum that I couldn't quite place. Not mechanical, more like the background noise of a crowd just below hearing range. The artifact is kept in a specialized containment chamber, Doctor Chapman explained as we walked.

The chamber is monitored 24/7 and equipped with multiple redundant systems to prevent any breach. Breach of what? Medina asked. Containment, she said simply. We reached a final security checkpoint.

This one had three armed guards and required both Doctor Chapman and Guerrero to scan their badges and provide fingerprint verification. Beyond this point, you are not to touch the artifact under any circumstances, Doctor Chapman said firmly. Observe only and from a minimum distance of three meters. Is that clear? We all nodded.

Verbal confirmation, Gurecio reminded us. Understood, we said. The massive door in front of us slid open with a pneumatic hiss. Inside was a large circular room with a raised platform in the center. The platform was surrounded by various monitoring equipment and workstations where technicians and partial hazmat gear were taking readings.

And on the platform was the artifact. It was a black monolith, maybe 7 feet tall and three feet wide, perfectly rectangular. The surface was so dark it seemed to absorb the light around it. But that wasn't what made me stop in my tracks. It was the way the stone seemed to shift, not physically moving, but somehow changing in a way my eyes couldn't quite process.

Like looking at an optical illusion that kept rearranging itself. What the hell is that? May he have muttered beside me. I didn't answer, couldn't answer. As soon as I'd laid eyes on the thing, a pressure had started building behind my eyes.

Not painful, exactly, but deeply uncomfortable. Wrong. One of the technicians was standing closer to the monolith than the others. He was staring at it intently, his head tilted as if listening to something. Mr.

Cruz? Doctor Chapman called out. Step back from the artifact, please. The technician didn't respond. Instead, he slowly raised his hands to his hazmat helmet and began to unfasten it.

Johnny, what are you doing? Doctor Chapman's voice sharpened. Protocol requires it's speaking to me, the technician said, his voice muffled through the helmet. Can't you hear it? It wants me to come closer.

He pulled off his helmet completely, revealing a young face with curly Auburn hair and wide, unfocused eyes. It knows things. Johnny said, turning to look at us with a strange smile. It knows all of us. I lunged forward as Johnny pulled his helmet off completely.

No time to think, just had to stop him from getting closer to that thing. Stay back. I shouted, grabbing his arms. Johnny twisted against my grip with surprising strength. His eyes were fixed on the monolith like he couldn't even see me.

It's beautiful, he whispered. Can't you hear it calling? I wrestled him backward, away from the platform. My stomach lurched. Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit me.

Out of nowhere. The pressure behind my eyes doubled, like someone was squeezing my skull from the inside. I need help here, I called out, struggling to keep Johnny contained. Drew was already moving toward us, but then everything happened at once. The room erupted into chaos.

Johnny thrashed in my arms, trying to break free, his eyes never leaving the monolith. Let me go, he screamed. It needs me. I managed to get an arm around his chest, pulling him back. We stumbled, and I used the momentum to take him down to the floor, pinning him with my body weight.

Someone get his legs? I grunted. Terry dropped down beside me, grabbing Johnny's ankles as the technician bucked and twisted. What the Hell's wrong with him? Terry asked, straining to hold Johnny's legs.

I don't know. But my words cut off as the pressure in my head spiked. For a second, it felt like something was trying to push into my thoughts, something cold and ancient and not human. It lasted only a moment, but it left me gasping. Aiden, you OK?

Terry's voice sounded distant. I shook my head to clear it. Yeah, just a wretching sound cut me off. I looked up to see Owen doubled over a few feet away. He was trying to vomit inside his helmet, the contents splattering against the inside of his visor.

His knees buckled and he went down hard, collapsing onto the floor with a dull thud. Owen Drew shouted, rushing toward him. A high pitched laugh drew my attention. To the other side of the room. One of the technicians, a woman with black hair pulled back in a ponytail, was laughing uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face.

Her name tag read Ryan Lillian, It's so funny. She gasped between laughs. Don't you see it? It's all so funny. Across from her, another technician, a tall black man with close cropped hair, was backing away from the monolith, his face twisted in terror.

His badge identified him as Walls Zaidan. Get it away. He screamed, pressing himself against the wall. Oh God, get it away from me. Doctor Chapman rushed to a control panel, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

The containment field is fluctuating, we're losing stability. Drew's voice cut through the chaos. Everyone out now, we need to evacuate. I was still pinning Johnny to the floor, but his struggles were weakening. His eyes had rolled back in his head and foam flecked the corners of his mouth.

Terry, help me with him. I said, trying to lift Johnny's now limp body. A scream pierced the air. Doctor Chapman. She'd moved closer to the monolith, and I watched in horror as she reached out and touched its surface.

Her body went rigid, her back arching unnaturally. Dark lines like veins spread up her arm from where her fingers made contact, climbing rapidly toward her shoulder. She screamed again, the sound raw and primal, before collapsing to the ground, body convulsing. Jade Guerrero shouted, starting toward her. Drew grabbed him.

Don't touch her. Don't touch anyone who's had direct contact. Alarm started blaring throughout the facility, red emergency lights flashing in the corridors outside. Aiden, we need to go. Terry tugged at my arm.

Now I look down at Johnny, who had stopped moving entirely. His eyes were open but vacant, staring at nothing. I felt for a pulse. It was there, but weak and erratic. What about him?

I asked. We'll send a medical team back. Drew said, helping Owen to his feet. Owen's face was pale, his helmet spattered with vomit. But we need to get clear first.

I nodded and started to stand when movement caught my eye. Willie had drawn his sidearm and was pointing it at Zadan, who was still pressed against the wall, trembling. Willie, what are you doing? I called out. Put that down.

Willie's face was blank, his eyes unfocused. He's one of them, he said flatly. Can't you see they're inside him? Before anyone could react, Willie fired three shots. The bullets hit Zadan's center mass.

The technician slid down the wall, leaving a smear of red, his eyes wide with shock. Drew didn't hesitate. He drew his weapon and then fired a single shot. Willie dropped a hole in the center of his forehead, his body hitting the floor with a finality that turned my stomach. Jesus Christ, Terry whispered.

The room fell into a stunned silence for a moment, broken only by the wailing alarms and Lillian's continued hysterical laughter. We need to move, Drew said, his voice steady despite what he'd just done now. I left Johnny on the floor and helped Terry with Owen, who could barely stand. Drew grabbed Lillian, who didn't resist but kept laughing as he pulled her toward the door.

What about Chapman and Guerrero? I asked. Looking back at the doctor's still convulsing form. We'll send a containment team, Drew said. But we need to wait, I said, a terrible realization hitting me.

This facility, if whatever's happening spreads, we need to seal it, lock it down completely. Terry nodded grimly. He's right. We can't risk this getting outside. We made it to the main corridor, Owen stumbling between us when Guerrero appeared, blocking our path.

I hadn't even noticed him leave the room. You can't leave. He said, his voice oddly calm with a strange resonance I hadn't heard before. It's awake now. It wants to meet you all.

Drew stepped forward. Director, we need to evacuate and seal the facility. Whatever's happening, what's happening is beautiful. Guerrero interrupted, his eyes were different, the pupils expanded until almost no iris was visible. The stone has been waiting for so long, sleeping, and now it's awake.

Move aside, Sir. Drew ordered, raising his weapon. Don't make me use this. Guerrero smiled, an expression that didn't reach his eyes. You don't understand what you're witnessing.

This is just the beginning. He lunged at Drew with impossible speed for a man in his 50s. Guerrero moved like an Olympic athlete, knocking Drew's gun away and grabbing him by the throat. I dropped Owen's arm and rushed to help, tackling Guerrero from the side. Even with my full weight hitting him, he barely budged.

His strength was unnatural. I grabbed his arm, trying to break his grip on Drew's throat. Terry, I shouted. Help us. Terry joined the struggle, and together we managed to pull Guerrero off.

Drew. The director fought like a wild animal, his face contorted with rage. You can't stop it, he screamed. We found the stone. We woke it up.

It's been waiting for thousands of years. Drew recovered his weapon and slammed the butt of it into Guerrero's temple. The director went limp instantly. Is he dead? Terry asked.

Drew checked his pulse. No, just unconscious guys. Terry said, looking back toward the containment room. The readings on the monitor. The containment field is completely gone.

I turned and stared through the open doorway. The monolith was pulsing now, waves of dark energy rippling across its surface like oil on water. The monoliths pulsing sent waves through the air like invisible ripples in a pond. I could almost feel them hitting my skin. We need to reseal this thing now.

I shouted over the alarms. Terry, help me with Drew. Drew was struggling to stand, his face pale as he coughed from Guerrero's attack. Blood trickled from his nose. I grabbed his right arm while Terry took his left and we started moving toward the exit.

The emergency protocols. I remembered them from the briefing. There was a panel near the door. The emergency containment switch. We need to hit it, I told Terry, nodding toward a red panel on the wall.

What about the others? Terry asked, looking back at the containment room where Johnny and Doctor Chapman still lay. They're already gone, I said. And if we don't seal this place, whatever got them is coming for us next. We dragged Drew to the panel.

His legs were working better now, but he was still dazed. I reached for the panel and flipped open the protective cover. Inside was a large red button labeled Emergency Containment Protocol. I slammed my palm against it. Immediately, reinforced doors began closing throughout the facility.

I heard the heavy thud of metal barriers dropping into place. The corridor lights switched to emergency red, casting everything in a blood colored glow. That should buy us some time. I said. We made it to the inner door, the last barrier between US and the rest of the facility.

As I reach for the control panel, something hit me. Not physically, was inside my head. Whispers. Hundreds of them, thousands, all talking at once in languages I'd never heard. I froze.

The voices brought images with them. Ancient cities made of Blackstone, rising from deserts that had never seen human footprints. Stars arranged in patterns I didn't recognize, emptiness so vast it made me dizzy, and hunger, my hunger, so deep and old it made my stomach clench. Not my hunger. Something else.

Norton, what the hell? Terry's voice seemed distant. I realized I'd stopped moving, my hand frozen inches from the door. Control. The whispers grew louder, more insistent.

They weren't speaking English, but somehow I understood them. Join us, see what we see, know what we know. Don't listen. I managed to say, though I wasn't sure if I was talking to Terry or myself. It's in my head.

I forced my hand forward, fighting against the pressure building behind my eyes, and hit the door control. The inner door began to close, a massive barrier of reinforced steel sliding across the opening. It's trying to get in our heads, I told Terry, my voice strained. Don't listen to it. Don't let it in.

The whispers receded as the door sealed shut with a pneumatic hiss and the mechanical clunk of locks engaging. I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head. Drew was more alert now, standing on his own, though still leaning against the wall. He wiped blood from his nose with the back of his hand.

What the fuck was that? He asked, his voice hoarse. I think that Stone just tried to get in my head. I said, like it did with Johnny and the other. It's some kind of, I don't know, psychic attack.

That's not possible, Drew said, but his voice lacked conviction. You saw what happened in there, Terry said. Johnny, Doctor Chapman, Willie, they all lost their minds in minutes. And Guerrero, I added, He was talking about finding the stone and waking it up. Whatever that thing is, it's not just a rock.

The facility alarms continued blaring. Red emergency lights pulsed along the corridor. In the distance, I heard shouting. We need to get to the security center, Drew said, pushing himself off the wall. He seemed, he seemed steadier now, the soldier and him taking over despite what we just witnessed.

That's where the main controls are. We can lock down the entire facility from there. What about evacuation? Terry asked. I don't think we can risk letting whatever this has reached the surface.

I said. Not until we know what we're dealing with. Drew nodded. Norton's right. Containment first, then we figure out an exit strategy.

We moved down the corridor, Drew walking under his own power now the facility had descended into chaos. Staff members ran past us, some bleeding, others with the same vacant look Johnny had before he lost it completely. A woman in a lab coat was banging her head against the wall over and over, blood streaming down her face.

She didn't stop when we passed. Don't touch anyone, I warned. We don't know how this thing spreads. We turned a corner and found two security guards wrestling on the floor. One had his hands around the other's throat.

Drew moved to intervene, but I held him back. We can't help them, I said. We need to get to the security center. Drew hesitated, then nodded. We skirted around the fighting men and continued down the corridor.

The security center was on sub Level 3, two floors up from where we were. The elevators were locked down in emergency mode, so we headed for the stairs. The stairwell was dark, emergency lights casting just enough illumination to see the steps. We climbed in silence, weapons drawn, alert for any movement. When we reached sub Level 3, Drew pushed open the stairwell door and checked the corridor.

Clear, he said, and we moved out. The security center was just down the hall, behind a reinforced door with a key card reader. Drew swiped his security badge, but the light remained red. Shit, he muttered. They must have changed the access protocols when the alarm triggered.

Move, Terry said, pushing past us. He pulled a small tool from his pocket, a thin metal pick I recognized from our days in the field. Old habits, he explained as he worked on the electronic lock. It took him less than a minute to bypass the system. The light turned green and the door clicked open.

Remind me to report that security flaw, Drew said. If we lived through this, the security center was a large room filled with monitoring stations and control panels. Screens covered one wall, showing feeds from cameras throughout the facility. Several showed static. The cameras in the containment room and surrounding areas were offline.

2 guards lay on the floor, both dead. One had a bullet hole in his chest, the other in his head. Their weapons lay beside them. Looks like they shot each other. Terry said, kneeling to check their pulses.

The stone got to them, I said, like it did to Willie. I moved to the main control terminal. The screen displayed emergency protocols and facility status. Most of sub level 5 was marked in red, indicating containment breach. Sub levels three and four showed yellow partial containment.

We need to stop this thing from spreading, I said. There has to be a way to neutralize it. I scrolled through the emergency options on the screen. Evacuation procedures, lockdown protocols, communication systems. None of it would help against whatever was happening.

Then I saw it. Containment purge protocol. I clicked on it. The screen displayed a warning. Caution.

Containment purge will flood designated areas with gamma radiation fatal to all organic life forms. Authorization level alpha required radiation. Terry read over my shoulder. Will that even work against this thing? I don't know, I admitted.

But radiation disrupts cellular activity. If this thing is affecting people biologically somehow, it might buy us some time. Do it. Drew said he was watching the security feeds, where more staff members were attacking each other or themselves. We're losing this place fast.

I navigated through the authorization screens. It wanted a password. Check the guards, I told Terry. See if either of them has high level access codes. Terry searched the bodies, finding a small notebook in one guard's pocket.

He flipped through it. Got something, looks like access codes but I don't know which level. He handed me the notebook. Several codes were written inside, labeled by clearance level. I found the one marked Alpha and entered it into the system.

The screen changed, displaying a facility schematic with target areas highlighted. I selected sub level 5, focusing on the containment room and surrounding areas. This won't kill whatever that stone thing is, I said, but it might disrupt its influence long enough for us to get out of here. Do it. Drew repeated, his eyes fixed on the monitors where the situation was deteriorating rapidly.

I hit the execute command. The system asked for final confirmation. Initiating containment purge in targeted areas. I read aloud. Radiation shielding will activate in all adjacent zones.

Personnel in target areas will be exposed to lethal radiation levels. Confirm. I looked at Drew and Terry. They both nodded. I hit confirm.

The screen flashed red and a countdown appeared. 5 yachts 4 to 5594-58. We have 5 minutes before the radiation flood. Sub level 5. I said we need to move.

Where to? Terry asked up. Drew said we get to the surface and as far away from this facility as possible. We checked our weapons and headed for the door. The security feeds showed the radiation shielding activating throughout the facility, heavy lead barriers dropping between sections.

Some areas would be cut off completely. We need to move fast, I said. Once those barriers drop, we'll be trapped. We left the security center and headed for the stairs. The corridor was empty now, but I could hear shouting and screaming from other parts of the facility.

We reached the stairwell and started climbing. Sub level 2 was chaos. Staff members ran in all directions. Some were clearly affected, their movements jerky, eyes unfocused. Others were just terrified, trying to escape.

A man in a lab coat charged at us, his face contorted in rage. Drew put him down with a single shot to the leg, non lethal if possible, he ordered, These people might not be in control. We pushed through the crowd, heading for the next stairwell. A woman grabbed Terry's arm, her fingernails digging into his skin.

It's coming, she whispered, her eyes wide. It's so hungry. Terry pulled free and kept moving. We reached the stairs and continued up. Sub Level 1 was where we'd entered the facility.

The decontamination area and medical screening rooms were here. We'd have to pass through them to reach the surface. The area was less crowded, but those we encountered were more dangerous. A security guard fired at us as we entered the main corridor. The bullet hit the wall behind my head.

Drew returned fire, hitting the guard in the shoulder. The man went down but kept trying to aim his weapon. I rushed forward and kicked it from his hand on the surface. The guard said, his eyes clearing briefly. Don't let it reach the surface.

Then his eyes rolled back and he began convulsing. We kept moving. The decontamination chamber doors were sealed, part of the emergency protocols. Terry bypassed the locks like he had at the security center. 2 minutes until radiation purge.

I reminded them as we moved through the chamber. The final barrier was the main entrance, a heavy door that led to the surface compound. It required both key card and biometric access. Drew's security badge worked on the card reader, but the fingerprint scanner was more problematic. It needs Guerrero or someone with alpha clearance, Drew said.

Move, Terry said again, pulling out his tools. This lock was more sophisticated, and Terry's hands were shaking. The countdown in my head reached one minute. Hurry, I urged. I'm trying, Terry snapped.

This is military grade. The lock finally clicked and the door began to open. We squeezed through before it was fully raised and found ourselves in the entry compound. The night air hit my face. Cool.

Compared to the facility's recycled atmosphere, the compound was empty. The guards who had been at the checkpoint were gone. The chain link fence surrounding the facility was our last obstacle. The gate, Drew said, pointing to the main entrance where we'd arrived that morning. It felt like years ago now.

We ran for it, reaching the gate just as a deep rumble came from beneath our feet. The radiation purge had started. The gate was locked with a heavy chain and padlock. Drew aimed his weapon at the lock. Stand back, he ordered, then fired three shots.

The locks shattered, and we pushed the gate open. We ran into the desert night, putting distance between ourselves and the facility. The stars were bright overhead, the air clean and dry. We'd made it about 50 yards when it happened. A pulse of energy erupted from the facility, visible as a ripple in the air, like heat waves off hot asphalt.

It overtook us in seconds, knocking us off our feet. I hit the ground hard, the breath driven from my lungs. The night went silent, even the distant facility alarms cutting out. Then the desert darkness lit up as bright as day when the ground beneath the facility collapsed in on itself. I'd been in this room for three days.

Same 4 walls, same metal table, same uncomfortable chair. The military didn't mess around with comfort in their interrogation rooms. Just blank white walls, fluorescent lights that hummed overhead, and a two way mirror I'd been staring at for hours. My coffee had gone cold again. They kept bringing it, and I kept letting it sit there.

Food came and went, mostly untouched. Sleep came in short bursts when they let me. Different faces, different uniforms, same questions, and nobody believed a word I was saying. Let's go through it again, Mr. Norton.

It's Aidan, I said for the 20th time. And I've already told you everything. The latest questioner, some Air Force captain with a clipboard, just stared at me from the beginning. Please. I'd lost count of how many times I'd repeated the story.

The facility, the artifact, the way it got into people's heads, the evacuation, the collapse. Terry and Drew had been separated from me almost immediately after we were picked up. I had no idea where they were or if they were getting the same treatment. I was halfway through another retelling when the door opened.

A tall man in a pristine dress uniform walked in, his silver Gray hair cut in perfect military regulation. The captain with the clipboard immediately stood. Sir, we were just. That'll be all, Captain. The new arrival said, not even looking at him.

You're dismissed. The captain gathered his things and left without another word. The new guy took his seat across from me, setting down a thick Manila folder on the table between us. His uniform had more ribbons than I could count, and the name tag read Alvarez. Mr.

Norton, He said, his voice deep and measured. I'm Colonel Connor Alvarez, I'll be handling your debriefing from here on out. You mean you'll be the one not believing me now? I said he didn't react to that. Just open the folder and flip through some pages.

I've read all your previous statements. Quite a story. It's not a story, it's what happened. Alvarez looked up at me, his Gray eyes giving away absolutely nothing. Let me explain the situation to you.

3 days ago, there was an accident at a classified research facility in the Nevada desert. A chemical leak occurred, causing severe hallucinations among personnel before a structural failure collapsed the facility. I leaned forward. That's bullshit. There was no chemical leak.

The official investigation has determined otherwise. The official investigation is covering something up that Blackstone was a hallucination. He cut in smoothly, induced by exposure to the chemical agent. I sat back and crossed my arms. Then why do you need me to sign off on anything if you've got it all figured out already?

Alvarez studied me for a moment. You were military once? Delta Force 2 tours in Afghanistan, one in Syria. Honorable discharge in 2019. What's your point?

My point is you understand how these things work. Some information isn't meant for public consumption. I laughed, a short, harsh sound. So this is the part where you tell me I need to forget what I saw for national security? This is the part where I tell you what happened.

Mr. Norton. Alvarez pulled out a document from his folder. The official report states that at approximately 2200 hours on August 17th, a containment system for an experimental chemical compound failed at the research facility where you were employed as a security contractor. Exposure to this compound caused severe hallucinations and paranoid behavior among staff members, leading to the regrettable deaths of several personnel.

During evacuation procedures, a structural failure occurred, resulting in the collapse of the facility. And what about the Blackstone, The one that was talking to people, making them kill each other? There was no stone, Mr. Norton. There was a chemical leak that caused you and others to hallucinate.

I stared at him. You really expect me to believe that? I expect you to understand the official position of the United States government on this matter. He slid the document toward me. This is the account that will be presented to the public, the media, and in all official records.

It's a lie. Alvarez didn't even blink. It's the truth, as far as anyone outside this room is concerned. I shook my head. How many people died in there?

For the first time, something flickered across his face. Not quite emotion, but a momentary crack in the perfect facade. 37 confirmed casualties, he said, including Director Guerrero and Doctor Chapman. The number hit me hard. 37 people.

I thought about Johnny, about Doctor Chapman convulsing on the floor, about the technicians we'd left behind, about Willie and the man he shot. About the people we passed on our way out, the ones already gone, the ones fighting each other. And the facility no longer exists. The site has been filled with concrete and will be monitored indefinitely.

Monitored for what? Chemical leaks? I couldn't keep the sarcasm out of my voice. For structural integrity. Alvarez replied smoothly.

Standard procedure. I leaned forward again. What about the Blackstone? The artifact, what happened to it? As I've already explained, Mr.

Norton, there was no artifact that was a hallucination caused by chemical exposure. Bullshit. We were briefed about it before anything happened. Doctor Chapman told us it was found in the Arctic. It was affecting people before the containment breach.

According to our records, you were hired to provide security for a chemical research facility. Nothing more. Your records are wrong. Our records are official. I stared at him, trying to read anything in his expression.

There was nothing there, just cool professionalism and absolute certainty. Did you recover it? I asked. Is that what this is about? You got it out and now you're covering it up, Mr.

Norton? Because if you did, if that thing is still out there somewhere, you need to destroy it. That thing was it was getting into people's heads. It was controlling them. That was the effect of the chemical exposure.

No, it wasn't. I heard it in my head. It tried to get to me, too. Alvarez studied me for a long moment, then reached into his folder again. He pulled out another document thicker than the first one.

This is a non disclosure agreement, he said, sliding it across to me. It legally binds you to never discuss the events at the facility with anyone not specifically cleared by the Department of Defense. Breaking this agreement would constitute a federal offense punishable by up to 20 years imprisonment. And if I don't sign it?

Then we continue our debriefing sessions until we reach a mutual understanding. I laughed again. So I'm a prisoner. You're a witness to a classified incident being debriefed according to standard protocol. I picked up the document and flipped through it.

Pages of legal language, clauses and subclauses, all designed to shut me up for good. What about Terry and Drew, the others who made it out? They're being handled through similar procedures. Handled. I repeated.

Nice choice of words. Alvarez reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pen, setting it on top of the agreement. Upon signing this document, you will receive compensation for your services and any trauma experienced during the incident, $500,000 will be transferred to your account within 24 hours. That number caught me off guard.

Half, $1,000,000. I thought about my mom in the nursing home, the bills piling up, the way her mind was slipping away a little more each time I visited, the treatments the doctors said might help but insurance wouldn't cover. That's a lot of money for keeping quiet about a chemical leak, I said. It's standard compensation for the level of classified information you've been exposed to.

I picked up the pen but didn't sign yet. The artifact was real. That stone was doing something to people. Alvarez's expression didn't change. The chemical exposure.

Stop, just stop. With that, I tapped the pen against the document. I know what I saw. I know what I heard. That thing was alive, somehow conscious, and it was hungry.

Mr. Norton, it's still out there, isn't it? You recovered it. For just a second, something flickered in Alvarez's eyes. Not confirmation, not denial, just awareness.

Then it was gone. According to all official records and documentation, he said carefully, there was no artifact. There was a chemical research facility that experienced A containment breach and subsequent structural failure. That is the truth, as recognized by the United States government. I looked down at the agreement, then at the pen in my hand, $500,000.

My mom could get the care she needed. I could pay off my debts, start over somewhere new. All I had to do was pretend I hadn't seen what I'd seen, heard what I'd heard. But I knew that stone was real, and whatever it was, wherever it came from, it wasn't done. I still heard the whispers sometimes in the moments before sleep took me, ancient voices speaking in languages that have never existed on earth.

Patient, waiting, hungry. I signed the document. Alvarez took it back without a word, tucked it into his folder, and stood up. You'll be released within the hour. A car will take you wherever you need to go.

He was almost to the door when I spoke again. It's still out there, and we might not get lucky next time. The government car dropped me off at my apartment three days after I signed the papers. I walked in, dropped my duffel bag on the floor, and just stood there for a minute.

The place looked exactly how I'd left it. Dishes in the sink, mail piled on the counter, bed unmade like nothing had happened. But everything had changed. I checked my bank account on my laptop. The money was there, $500,000, just like Alvarez promised.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the number on the screen. It didn't feel real. I called the nursing home first thing. Mom had been there almost two years now, early onset Alzheimer's. Some days she remembered me, some days I was a stranger.

The administrator sounded surprised when I said I wanted to pay off the outstanding balance and upgrade her to a private room. That's quite a substantial amount, Mr. Norton, she said. I know exactly how much it is. I told her I can transfer the funds today.

The next day I drove out to see her. The facility was nice enough, clean, well staffed with gardens and activities, but the shared rooms were cramped and the best treatments weren't covered by insurance. Now I could change that. Mom was having a good day. She recognized me right away.

Aiden, she said, reaching for my hand. You look tired. I sat with her for hours. We talked about Dad, about the garden she used to keep, about nothing important. I didn't tell her where the money came from.

I didn't tell her about the facility, or the stone or the people who died. I just held her hand and promised things would be better now. That night, the nightmare started. I was back in the facility, standing in front of the Blackstone. It pulsed with that same energy, waves rippling across its surface.

But instead of just standing there, I was walking toward it. I couldn't stop myself. The voices filled my head, thousands of them speaking languages that had never existed on Earth. I reached out to touch the stone surface. I woke up gasping, sheets soaked with sweat.

The digital clock read 317. AMI didn't go back to sleep. The dreams came every night after that. Sometimes I was in the facility, sometimes in a place I'd never seen, a vast dark city of impossible architecture under unfamiliar stars. But the stone was always there, and I was always walking toward it.

During the day, I started researching. I'd never been much for conspiracy theories or ancient aliens, but now I spent hours online, reading about mysterious artifacts, unexplained phenomena, anything that might connect to what I'd seen. I looked up archaeological digs in the Arctic, strange discoveries, classified government projects. Most of it was obviously fake, blurry photos and wild speculation.

But sometimes I'd find something that made me pause accounts of people experiencing shared hallucinations, hearing voices, feeling drawn to objects they couldn't explain. I was careful with my searches, using VPNs, public networks, never staying on one site too long. I didn't know if they were monitoring me, but I wasn't taking chances. About a week after I got home, I noticed the car, a black sedan, parked across the street from my apartment.

Two men in suits sitting inside, not doing much to blend in. They were there when I left in the morning and still there when I got back. The next day. I spotted a different car, different men, same position. I was being watched.

I started taking precautions, burying my routine, using back exits, checking for tails, old habits from my Delta days that I never thought I'd need in civilian life. I bought a prepaid phone with cash and kept it hidden in my apartment. After two weeks of this, we couldn't take it anymore. I needed to talk to someone who understood, someone who'd been there.

I used the burner phone to send a text to the number Terry had given me before we were separated. Need to talk? Safe place. Three hours later, he responded with an address and time. A diner 30 miles outside the city.

Tomorrow, 2 PMI took every counter surveillance measure I knew to get there. Bus, taxi, walking the last mile. The diner was one of those places that hadn't changed since the 70s. Vinyl booths, laminated menus, coffee that tasted like it had been sitting there just as long. Terry was already in a booth at the back, facing the door.

He looked different, thinner, with dark circles under his eyes. He'd grown a beard. We didn't shake hands or anything, just nodded at each other. You being followed? He asked after the waitress brought us coffee.

Yeah, you. Every day since they let me go. He stirred sugar into his cup. You having the dreams? I felt something cold run down my spine.

How did you know? Because I'm having them too. The same ones every night. The stone, the voices. He leaned forward.

It's not over, Aiden. What do you think happened? Really happened. Terry glanced around the nearly empty diner before answering. I think they moved it.

The stone. I think they just relocated it to another facility. You think it survived the containment purge? I know it did. He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and slid it across to me.

The screen showed a satellite image of a desert area. That's the facility. 3 days ago. Look at the ground collapse. It's too uniform, too contained.

That wasn't an accident or a structural failure. That was controlled demolition. After they removed what they wanted. I studied the image. He was right.

The collapse pattern was too perfect. Have you heard from Drew? Terry shook his head, tried to reach out. Nothing. Either they've got him isolated or he didn't finish the sentence.

We need more information. I said about the stone, where it came from, what it is. I've been thinking about that. Chapman was the lead researcher, right? She must have records somewhere.

Notes. Something not kept at the facility. You think we can find them? I already did some digging. She had an apartment in Henderson.

Lived alone, no family nearby. Place is probably still untouched. Government types usually take their time with that stuff. They focus on the facility 1st and then work outward. So what are you suggesting we break in?

Terry just looked at me. Unless you've got a better idea. I didn't. We spent the next hour planning. Terry had an address, building layout, basic security details.

We agreed to meet that night at 11. I spent the rest of the day making sure I wasn't followed, circling back, changing vehicles, watching for the men in suits. By the time I reached the rendezvous point, a parking garage two blocks from Chapman's apartment building, I was reasonably confident I was clean. Terry was waiting in a battered pickup truck.

Ready. Yeah. Let's go. The apartment building was mid range, nothing fancy. Security was minimal, a key fob entrance that Terry bypassed with some device he didn't explain, and standard door locks that took him less than a minute to pick.

No cameras in the hallways. We wore baseball caps and kept our faces down. Anyway, Chapman's apartment was on the 3rd floor. It looked untouched. Mail piled up inside the door, plants dying on the window sill.

We searched methodically, wearing gloves, careful not to disturb things more than necessary. Here. Terry called from the bedroom. He'd found a false bottom in a dresser drawer. Inside was a stack of notebooks, the old fashioned kind, leather bound, filled with handwritten notes.

We sat at the kitchen table and started reading. Chapman's handwriting was small and precise. The notebooks were dated going back three years. The early ones were mostly theoretical quantum physics, theoretical archaeology, fringe stuff about ancient civilizations. But the later ones?

Look at this, I said, pointing to an entry from about 8 months ago. First contact with the artifact. Initial team reported auditory hallucinations within 24 hours. Artifact recovered from mining operation in Antarctica. Terry found another notebook.

Here's more coordinates of the discovery site. He showed me the page where Chapman had noted latitude and longitude, along with sketches of what looked like cave systems. We kept reading, finding more details. How the stone had been transported in a specially designed container, how the first research team had experienced symptoms similar to what we'd seen, how Chapman had developed the containment field based on their findings.

Then I found it, a page headed with a single word, harbinger. The artifact appears to be broadcasting, Chapman had written, not just receiving, as we initially thought. It's sending something out, a signal, a message. The team calls it the Harbinger. I don't like the implications of that name, but it fits.

Whatever this is, it's announcing something or preparing for it. Jesus, Terry whispered. I turned the page. The influence is expanding. Containment isn't just failing.

It was never going to work. The field only blocks physical properties. The psychic effect? It's getting stronger, reaching further. We were so absorbed in reading that we almost missed it.

The sound of a car pulling up outside doors opening and closing with that particular solid sound that government vehicles have. Terry moved to the window and peeked through the blinds. Shit. 2 SUVs, 4 men getting out. I grabbed my phone and quickly photographed the pages with the coordinates and the harbinger notes.

Terry collected the notebooks. Back door. I asked. Fire escape through the bedroom window. We moved fast, replacing the notebooks in their hiding spot.

No time to make it look undisturbed. They'd know someone had been here. Terry went through the window first while I erased any obvious signs of our presence. I was halfway out the window when I heard the front door open. I didn't look back, just dropped onto the metal landing of the fire escape and followed Terry down.

We split up at the bottom, heading in opposite directions through the alley. I stuck to shadows, moving quickly but not running. Just another guy out late at night. Three blocks away, I slowed to a normal walk and headed for the bus stop. On the bus ride back, I looked through the photos I'd taken of Chapman's notebooks.

Something she'd written kept coming back to me. The influence is expanding. I thought about the dreams. Terry and I were both having the same dreams every night. I thought about how the stone had affected people in the facility.

Johnny Chapman, Guerrero, the others. Direct contact, but we'd never touched it. We've been exposed, sure, but we'd gotten out. We'd been decontaminated, checked, cleared. And yet the dreams came every night.

The voices, the pull. That's when I realized the Stones influence wasn't contained to that facility. It wasn't even contained to those who had direct contact. It was reaching out, growing stronger, extending its reach. And if Terry and I were experiencing it from miles away weeks later, who else might be under its influence now?

I went off the grid two days after meeting with Terry. Didn't tell anyone, just packed a duffel with clothes and essentials. Left my phone, credit cards, and laptop at home. Withdrew 5000 in cash from three different ATMs and bought a used Honda Civic from a guy on Craigslist. I paid cash, got a bill of sale with minimal information.

Terry did the same thing. We'd agreed to meet at a truck stop outside Reno, both taking different routes to get there. I spotted him sitting in the corner booth of the diner, baseball cap pulled low, nursing a cup of coffee. You clean? I asked as I slid into the booth.

He nodded. Ditched everything electronic. Got new prepaid phones, used a friend's ID to get a motel room last night. He slid one of the phones across the table. Burner.

I've got the other. Only call if absolutely necessary. Good. I pocketed the phone. Any trouble getting away?

Nah, they were watching, but they're sloppy government types, always are. Terry took a sip of his coffee. What's our next move? I pulled out the photos I'd taken of Chapman's notebooks. We need to understand what we're dealing with.

These notes mention other researchers, people Chapman worked with before Nevada. And we need to find Drew, Terry added. He was there, too. He's probably experiencing the same things we are. Finding Drew wasn't easy.

He'd gone completely dark after Nevada. No social media, no listed address, nothing. But Terry had connections, former military buddies who knew people who knew people. After a week of careful inquiries, we got a lead, a cabin in the mountains near Lake Tahoe. We approached at dawn, parking half a mile away and hiking through the woods.

The cabin looked ordinary enough, small, wooden, with a pickup truck parked outside. I motioned for Terry to circle around back while I approached the front. I was 10 feet from the porch when the door opened and Drew stepped out, shotgun in hand. That's far enough, he said, levelling the weapon at my chest.

I raised my hand slowly. Drew, it's me, Aiden. He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes hard. How did you find me? Does it matter?

We need to talk. Terry emerged from the trees behind him. We're all in this together, Drew. Drew's jaw tightened, but he lowered the shotgun. Inside now the cabin was sparse but clean.

A single bed, small kitchenette table with two chairs. What caught my attention were the papers taped to one wall, dozens of them, covered in strange symbols drawn in black ink. You're having the dreams, too? I said, not a question. Drew shut the door, leaning the shotgun against the wall.

Dreams, blackouts. I'll be doing something normal, cooking, chopping wood, and then suddenly it's hours later and I've been drawing these. He gestured at the wall. I don't even remember doing it. I stepped closer to examine the symbols.

Curved lines, interlocking circles, angular shapes that hurt my eyes to look at directly. What do they mean? Terry asked. Drew shook his head. No idea, but they feel important, like I'm supposed to understand them.

I pulled out my phone and showed him the photos of Chapman's notes. We found her research. The stone was broadcasting something, a signal. Drew studied the photos, his expression growing more troubled with each swipe. Then he stopped on one image, his face going pale.

This symbol, I know this one. He pointed to a circular pattern with lines radiating outward. I've drawn it dozens of times. He walked to the wall and pulled down one of his papers, holding it next to my phone. The symbols were identical.

There's more, he said quietly. This symbol, I've seen it before. Nevada, in a classified briefing about a facility in Maine, northern Maine, near the Canadian border. Terry and I exchanged looks. You think they moved it there?

Terry asked. Drew nodded. If I were them, that's where I'd take it. Remote, secure, easy to contain if something goes wrong, more easy to cover up, I added. We left the next morning in separate vehicles.

Drew said he couldn't come with us, said he was compromised, that the blackouts were getting worse. But he gave us detailed directions to the main facility and a name, Clearwater Research Station. Terry and I stuck to back roads, avoiding highways with their cameras and toll booths. We paid cash for everything, gas, food, cheap motels, changed vehicles twice, buying used cars from private sellers.

It took us five days to cross the country. The dreams got worse during the drive. Each night they became more vivid, more real. I saw the stone, the harbinger, in a new containment chamber, larger than the one in Nevada, with more equipment, more personnel, scientists in white hazmat suits, taking readings, making notes, whispering to each other.

And the stone knew I was watching. I could feel it. It knew me. It's calling to us, I told Terry as we drove through Pennsylvania. It knows we're coming.

Terry gripped the steering wheel tighter. I know. I hear it too, every night. What does it want? He shook his head.

Nothing good. We reached Maine on a cold, rainy afternoon, found a small town about 20 miles from the coordinates Drew had given us, and rented a cabin using one of our fake IDs. Spent the next day gathering supplies, binoculars, warmer clothes, hiking gear. That night we made our first Recon trip to the facility, parked about 3 miles away and hiked through dense forest.

The rain had stopped, but the ground was still wet, making our approach silent. The facility was larger than I expected. Multiple buildings surrounded by a 12 foot fence topped with razor wire. Guard towers at each corner. Floodlights illuminating the perimeter.

More security than I'd seen at the Nevada site. We watched from the tree line for hours, observing patrol patterns, shift changes. I counted the personnel entering and leaving the main building. Something's wrong, I whispered to Terry. More people going in than coming out.

He nodded. I noticed that, too. Where are they all going? We returned to our cabin before dawn and slept in shifts. The dreams came again, stronger this time, the stone pulsing with dark energy, the voices, whispering in languages I couldn't understand but somehow new, were ancient.

And beneath it all, a hunger so vast made my stomach clench even after I woke up. We spent the next three days watching the facility, documenting everything. The security patrols were precise, too precise. The guards moved with mechanical efficiency, never varying their routes or timing. They're being influenced, Terry said on our fourth night of observation.

Just like in Nevada, I agreed. But it's different this time, more controlled, like the stone is being more selective. We decided to get closer, split up to approach from different angles. It took the north side, where the forest grew almost to the fence line, moved slowly, staying low, using every bit of training I had to remain undetected.

I found a drainage culvert that ran under the fence, too small for a person, but perfect for observation. Lying flat on my stomach, I could see into the main yard. What I saw chilled me to the bone. Staff members moved around the compound with the same vacant expressions I'd seen on Johnny's face in Nevada.

But they were functional, performing tasks, operating equipment, following orders. Some had dark veins visible on their necks and hands spreading up from beneath their collars. A group of scientists emerged from the main building, escorting a Gurney with a strapped down figure. The person was struggling, screaming soundlessly behind a mask. The scientists didn't react, just continued pushing the Gurney toward a smaller building at the far end of the compound.

I was about to retreat when the main doors opened again. A tall, thin man in a lab coat stepped out, conferring with a security guard. He turned, and the floodlights illuminated his face. Director Guerrero, the man who'd been in the Nevada facility, The man who should be dead. But he looked wrong.

His skin was unnaturally pale, almost translucent in the harsh light. His movements were stiff, mechanical, and when he smiled at something the guard said, it wasn't a human expression at all. I backed away slowly, heart pounding. Had to warn Terry, Had to get back to the cabin. But as I turned, my foot caught on an exposed root.

I stumbled, catching myself against a tree with a soft thud. A flashlight beam cut through the darkness, sweeping the trees. Who's there? A voice called out. I froze, pressing myself against the trunk, hardly daring to breathe.

The beam passed within inches of my position. Probably just an animal, another voice said. Let's check it out anyway. I heard them approaching, boots crunching on fallen leaves. Had to move, had to get away.

I crouched low and began inching backward, keeping the tree between me and the approaching guards 20 yards, 30 the flashlight beams still probing the darkness behind me. I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw Terry's position on the Ridge, his silhouette barely visible. I made it to a small depression in the ground and dropped flat, pulling dead leaves over my body.

The guards passed within 10 feet of me, sweeping their lights across the forest floor. Nothing here, One said eventually. Let's head back. I waited until their footsteps faded before moving again. Met up with Terry at our designated rendezvous point half a mile away.

Did you see? I whispered. He nodded, face grim in the moonlight. Guerrero. But it's not him, not really.

What the hell is happening in there? I don't know. Terry checked his watch. But whatever it is, it's getting worse. The Stones influence is stronger now.

Reaching further. We made it back to the cabin just before dawn. As I collapsed onto my bed, exhaustion finally catching up with me, one thought kept circling in my mind. Director Guerrero was walking around a facility in Maine, but the man I'd seen wasn't human anymore. I couldn't sleep.

I'd been staring at the ceiling of our cabin for hours, listening to Terry's steady breathing from the other bed. The moonlight coming through the thin curtains cast everything in a pale blue glow. My mind kept replaying what we'd seen at the facility, the blank faced workers, the dark veins spreading across their skin, and Guerrero walking around when he should have been buried under tons of concrete in Nevada.

I sat up and rubbed my face. We couldn't just keep watching. Whatever was happening inside that facility was spreading, getting stronger. The stone, the harbinger was doing something to people, changing them, and we were the only ones who knew what was really going on. Terry.

I said, not bothering to whisper. You awake? He rolled over immediately. Haven't slept all night. We need a plan.

We can't just sit here and watch. Terry sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. What are you thinking? We need insurance, I said. If we go in there and don't come back out, someone needs to know what happened, what's still happening.

The government's got this locked down tight. Who's going to believe us? I reached for my jacket hanging on the chair and pulled out a small notebook where I've been writing down names. There's a journalist, Sarah Lyndell. She specializes in government cover ups, military secrets.

She's got a solid reputation, not some conspiracy nut. She's broken legitimate stories before. Terry frowned. You want to call a reporter? That's a direct violation of the NDA.

They'll throw us in prison only if we're around to be caught. I let that sink in. Look, I'm not saying we tell her everything. Just enough. A sanitized version that doesn't mention the stone directly.

Something about experimental technology, psychological effects. We give her coordinates, dates, names. Tell her to publish if she doesn't hear from us in 48 hours. Terry got up and paced the small room. That's insurance, but it's not a plan for getting in there.

And even if we do get in, what exactly are we planning to do? Drew security credentials, I said. He gave us his badge before we left. It might still work, especially if they think he's compromised. But not a threat.

And once we're in, we find the stone. We find out what they're doing with it. Maybe there's a way to contain it properly, or destroy it. I didn't mention my growing fear that Drew might already be compromised, that his credentials might be a trap. Terry stopped pacing and looked at me.

You really think we can destroy that thing after what we saw it do? I don't know. But we have to try something. We spent the morning preparing. I called Sarah Lindell from a pay phone at a gas station 10 miles from our cabin.

She was skeptical at first, but the details I provided, names, dates, the Nevada facility coordinates, got her attention. I'm not publishing anything without verification, she said. I don't expect you to, but if you don't hear from me in 48 hours, start digging the coordinates I gave you from Maine. There's something there you need to see.

And if I do hear from you, then I'll give you the full story exclusive. After the call, Terry and I gathered what supplies we had. A pair of night vision goggles. Terry had picked up basic tools for bypassing security systems, Drew's security badge, and our handguns. Not nearly enough for what we were about to attempt, but it was all we had.

We go tonight, I said as we checked our gear one last time. Midnight. The guard rotation we observed happens at 12:15. That gives us our window. Terry nodded.

If we get separated in there, we won't. I cut them off. I couldn't consider that possibility. We arrived near the facility perimeter at 11:30 PM, parking our car hidden among trees half a mile away. The night was cloudy, no moon, perfect for staying hidden.

We moved through the woods silently, our military training kicking in automatically. At the edge of the tree line, we paused to observe. The facility looked the same as it had during our surveillance, floodlights illuminating the yard, guards patrolling with mechanical precision. Ready, I whispered. Terry checked his watch.

Almost time for the rotation at exactly 1215. We watched the guards move, changing positions with that same unnatural precision we'd observed before. As they moved, we identified our entry point, the drainage culvert I'd found during our Recon. Now, I said, and we moved. The culvert was tight but passable.

We crawled through about 50 yards of concrete pipe before reaching a metal grate. Terry worked quickly with a small set of tools, and the grate came free with minimal noise. We emerged in a maintenance area between two smaller buildings, badge scanner on the door. Terry pointed. Let's see if Drew's credentials still work.

I held my breath as I pressed Drew's badge against the scanner. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a green light flashed and the door unlocked with a soft click. We, we're in. I whispered, pulling the door open just enough for us to slip through.

Inside, the facility looked different from Nevada, wider corridors, more advanced security systems, but there was the same sterile feeling, the same fluorescent lighting that made everything look washed out and unnatural. Where would they keep it? Terry asked, his voice barely audible underground. They'd want it deep contained. I pointed to a sign on the wall showing facility levels.

Sub Level 3 has a high security lab. That's our best bet. We moved through the corridors, ducking into doorways whenever we heard footsteps. The people we glimpsed moved with that same mechanical precision we'd seen outside. Back straight, faces blank, movement sufficient, but somehow wrong.

The elevator required another badge swipe. Again, Drew's credentials worked. As the elevator descended, I felt pressure building behind my eyes, and the whispers started, faint at first, then growing stronger. You hear that? I asked Terry.

His face had gone pale. Yeah, it's louder than before. It knows we're here. The elevator stopped at sub Level 3, and the doors slid open. Immediately we knew something was wrong.

Emergency lights were flashing, but no alarm sounded. The corridor ahead was empty, but there were signs of violence. Smears of blood on the walls, a broken clipboard on the floor, a lab coat crumpled in a doorway. What the hell happened here? Terry whispered.

I drew my gun. Something's changed. The stones influence is spreading faster. We moved cautiously down the corridor, checking rooms as we went. Most were empty, but in one lab we found two scientists, one dead on the floor with a scalpel in his neck, the other sitting in a corner, rocking back and forth, mumbling equations.

He didn't even look up as we passed. The whispers in my head grew louder with each step, forming into words I couldn't quite understand. My vision blurred at the edges, and I had to focus hard to keep moving forward. Aidan. Terry's voice sounded distant.

I think it's this way. He pointed to a set of heavy double doors at the end of the corridor. Above them, a sign read Special Containment Unit. As we approached, I heard sounds from beyond the doors. Voices chanting in unison, a low humming that seemed to vibrate through the floor.

The pressure in my head was almost unbearable. Now. Ready. I asked, my hand on the door. Terry nodded, his jaw clenched tight.

I pushed the doors open, and we stepped into chaos. The room was massive, circular like in Nevada, but three times the size. The center held what should have been a containment platform, but the protective barriers were down, the monitoring equipment pushed aside the black monolith. The Harbinger stood completely exposed. It's surfaced, no longer solid, but rippling like liquid, sending out waves of darkness that seemed to absorb the light around it.

Around the stone, dozens of facility staff stood in concentric circles. Scientists, guards, maintenance workers, all with the same vacant expression, all swaying slightly as they chanted in languages I'd never heard before. And at the center, standing directly before the stone, was Director Guerrero. His back was to us, but I could see the change in him even from behind.

His skin had a grayish tint, and dark veins bulged visibly on his neck and the backs of his hands. As we watched, he raised his arms toward the stone. Boom, we serve. The gathered crowd chanted in English before returning to those unknown languages. What the hell is he doing?

Terry whispered. I didn't have time to answer. Guerrero placed his hands directly on the stone surface, and the effect was immediate. The rippling surface of the monolith seemed to flow onto his hands, up his arms, covering him in a shifting layer of darkness. He didn't scream or struggle.

Instead, he turned slowly to face the crowd, his features melting and reforming, no longer fully human. Jesus Christ, Terry breathed. It's not controlling them, it's changing them. The realization hit me like a physical blow. The stone wasn't just influencing minds, it was transforming bodies, turning people into something else, something that looked human but wasn't.

I grabbed Terry's arm to pull him back to retreat while we still could, but he didn't move. His eyes had gone unfocused and he was taking a step forward, toward the circle, toward the stone. Terry. I hissed, tightening my grip on his arm. Terry, snap out of it.

He blinked, shook his head, but took another step forward. The stones pull was too strong. I yanked him back hard, spun him around to face me. Look at me, look at me, Terry. His eyes focused briefly.

I can hear it, Aidan. It's beautiful. It's calling me home. That's not your home, I said, shaking him. That's not anything human.

For a moment I thought I'd lost him. Then he blinked again, and awareness returned to his eyes. Oh God, he whispered. It was in my head. We need to get out of here, I said, already pulling him toward the door.

We need to. I stopped. What could we do? Run the stones? Influence was already spreading beyond the facility.

Even if we escaped, how long before it reached nearby towns? How long before more people started changing? There was only one option. I turned back, scanning the room until I found what I was looking for. An emergency terminal on the far wall.

Every high security facility had one connected to containment protocols and emergency systems. Cover me. I told Terry and ran for the terminal, keeping to the edges of the room. The crowd was so focused on Guerrero and the Stone that they didn't notice me. I reached the terminal and found what I needed access to the facility's emergency protocols.

I entered Drew's credentials, praying they had high enough clearance. The screen flashed green. Access granted. I scrolled through options until I found it. Self destruct sequence.

My finger hovered over the button. This would kill everyone in the facility, including us, if we couldn't get out in time. But if we did nothing, whatever the stone was creating would spread beyond these walls. I looked back at the circle of people, at Guerrero's half transformed body merging with the stone, at the darkness spreading across the floor toward the gathered crowd.

I pressed the button immediately. Alarms blared. A computerized voice announced. Self destruct sequence initiated. All personnel evacuate immediately.

15 minutes to detonation. The spell broke. The crowd scattered in confusion, some running for exits, others collapsing where they stood. Guerrero remained at the stone, his body now almost completely merged with it. Time to go, I shouted to Terry, running back to him.

We fought our way through the panicking crowd, pushing toward the doors. As we reached the corridor, I glanced back one last time. The stone surface was pulsing faster now, and Guerrero, what remained of Guerrero, had turned to look directly at me. His face was barely recognizable, features shifting and reforming, but his eyes locked on mine with unmistakable hatred.

I slammed the doors shut and ran. I ran through the corridor with Terry's arm slung over my shoulder, half dragging him as his legs kept giving out. His eyes were open but unfocused, like he wasn't really seeing what was in front of him. The facility's emergency lights flashed red, making everything look like it was covered in blood.

15 minutes to self destruct sequence. All personnel evacuate immediately. A computerized voice announced over the speakers. The same message repeated, counting down the minutes we had left. Come on Terry, stay with me.

I said, tightening my grip around his waist. We've got to move faster. He mumbled something I couldn't make out. His head lulled forward, then snapped back up. Whatever the stone had done to him, when he looked at it, it was getting worse.

One minute he'd been fine, the next he'd started walking toward it like he was in a trance if I hadn't grabbed him when I did. 14 minutes to self destruct sequence, the voice announced. We turned a corner and nearly ran straight into a group of facility workers. Their skin had the same grayish tone I'd seen on Guerrero, dark veins spreading across their faces.

They moved with jerky, unnatural motions, heads tilted at odd angles. They spotted us and started moving in our direction. Shit, I muttered, pulling Terry backward. We couldn't go that way. I turned around, looking for another route to the surface.

The elevator wouldn't be safe during an emergency shutdown. We needed stairs. I spotted a door marked EMERGENCY EXIT at the end of a side corridor and headed for it, practically carrying Terry now. His breathing had gone shallow and sweat beaded on his forehead despite the facility's cool air. I pushed through the door into the stairwell and immediately froze.

A man stood there, gun drawn, and pointed directly at us. It took me a second to recognize him. Colonel Alvarez? He lowered his weapon slightly, but kept it ready. Norton, I didn't expect to find you here.

What are you doing here? I asked, still supporting Terry's weight. The same thing as you, I imagine. His eyes moved to Terry. What's wrong with him?

The stone. He looked at it too long. We need to get out of here. I initiated the self destruct sequence. Alvarez's expression hardened.

You did what, 13 minutes to self destruct sequence? The announcement confirmed. We need to move, I said. Help me with him. To my surprise, Alvarez holstered his weapon and moved to Terry's other side, taking some of his weight.

Together we started climbing the stairs. I thought you were part of the cover up. I said between breaths. As we climbed. You made me sign those papers.

I was following orders. Alvarez said, until I realized something wasn't right. My superiors started acting strangely, making decisions that made no sense. I've been investigating independently for weeks. You know about the stone, The Harbinger?

Yes, and I know it's influencing people far beyond this facility, high-ranking government officials included. We reached a landing and paused to adjust our grip on Terry, who had started mumbling again. It's beautiful, he whispered. Can't you hear it singing? I ignored him and looked at Alvarez.

How deep does this go? Deeper than you want to know. The Joint Chiefs are compromised parts of the CIAFBI. It's spreading 12 minutes to self destruct sequence. We continued climbing, the weight of Terry and this new information making each step harder.

Two more flights and we reached a door marked Sub Level 1. We need to go through the main floor to reach the exit. Alvarez said. Be ready, most of the staff is already under its influence. I nodded and shifted Terry's weight on 3123.

Alvarez pushed the door open and we stepped into chaos. Staff members were running in all directions, some trying to evacuate, others moving with that same mechanical precision I'd seen before. A security guard stood in the middle of the corridor, his skin Gray and veined, firing his weapon at fleeing scientists. Alvarez pushed us back into the stairwell just as bullets hit the wall where we've been standing.

There's another way, he said. Service corridor, Follow me. We backtracked down half a flight of stairs to another door I hadn't noticed before. Alvarez swiped a key card and we entered A narrow maintenance passage lined with pipes and electrical conduits. The emergency lights were dimmer here, casting long shadows.

11 minutes to self destruct sequence. We moved as quickly as we could with Terry between us. His condition was worsening. Black veins had started to appear on his neck, creeping upward from beneath his collar. How did you find us?

I asked Alvarez. I've been tracking unusual behavior patterns. When two men matching your descriptions were spotted near the facility, I came to investigate alone. I don't know who I can trust anymore. A sound from up ahead stopped us in our tracks.

Something was moving in the darkness of the corridor. Multiple somethings. 10 minutes to self destruct sequence. Three figures emerged from the shadows. They might have been human once, but now they moved like puppets with their strings being pulled by an unseen hand.

Their skin had turned almost completely black, and their eyes were empty sockets filled with darkness. What the hell? I whispered. Advanced stage. Alvarez said quietly.

The final transformation. The creature spotted us and moved forward with unnatural speed. Put him down, Alvarez ordered, drawing his weapon. We lowered Terry to the floor and both pulled our guns. I aimed at the closest creature and fired twice.

The bullets hit it in the chest, but it barely slowed down. Head shots, Alvarez shouted, demonstrating by putting a bullet between the eyes of the one on the right. It dropped immediately. I adjusted my aim and fired again. This time the creature fell.

Alvarez took down the third one with another clean shot. We need to keep moving. He said, already bending to help lift Terry again. 9 minutes to self destruct sequence. We continued down the corridor.

Stepping over the bodies I noticed they weren't bleeding. The wounds were dry, filled with what looked like black sand. What are they? I asked. I don't know exactly.

The stone changes them, rewrites them at a cellular level. They're not human anymore. We reached the end of the service corridor and found ourselves at another stairwell, this one leading directly to the surface. We started climbing again, Terry's weight seeming to increase with each step. 8 minutes to self destruct sequence.

Almost there. I told Terry, though I wasn't sure he could hear me anymore. His eyes had rolled back in his head showing mostly whites and the black veins had reached his jawline. 2 more flights of stairs and we reached a heavy metal door with an emergency exit sign. Alvarez pushed it open and cool night air rushed in.

We emerged onto the facility grounds near the perimeter fence away from the main entrance. 7 minutes to self destruct sequence The voice was fainter now that we were outside, but still audible through external speakers. Around us, chaos rained, alarms blared and floodlights swept the compound. Staff members ran for the gates while security personnel tried to maintain order.

Some guards had turned on their colleagues, firing into the crowds this way, Alvarez said, leading us toward a section of fence that appeared damaged, with a gap just large enough for us to squeeze through. 6 minutes to self destruct sequence. We dragged Terry across the open ground, keeping low and using the confusion to our advantage.

Most people were too concerned with their own escape to notice us. We reached the fence and pushed Terry through the gap first, then followed. On the other side was dense forest. Alvarez led the way along what seemed to be a game trail. My vehicle is about half a mile from here, he said.

5 minutes to self destruct sequence. The voice was barely audible now, but I could still make it out. We pushed on through the trees, Terry's body growing heavier with each step. His breathing had become ragged and the black veins had spread across his face. How much farther?

I asked, my arms burning from the exertion just ahead. Alvarez replied. We broke through the tree line into a small clearing where a black SUV was parked. Alvarez unlocked it with a key fob and we loaded Terry into the back seat. I climbed in beside him while Alvarez took the driver's seat.

The engine roared to life and Alvarez accelerated down a dirt Rd. away from the facility. Through the rear window I could see the complex, its floodlights still sweeping the grounds. 4 minutes to self destruct sequence. I whispered to myself, no longer able to hear the announcement. Alvarez drove fast, the SUV bouncing over the uneven terrain.

We hit the main road and picked up speed, putting distance between US and what was about to happen. How powerful is the self destruct? I asked enough to level the entire facility and everything within 1/4 mile radius, Alvarez replied, his eyes on the road. It's designed to contain any potential outbreak. We'd gone about 3 miles when the night lit up behind us.

A massive explosion rocked the area, the shockwave hitting the SUV seconds later. Alvarez lost control momentarily as the vehicle swerved, then regained it. He pulled over on the shoulder and we both got out to look back. A column of fire and smoke rose into the night sky. Then came a second explosion, even larger than the first.

The blast knocked us both off our feet. I hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of me. As I lay there gasping for breath, I looked up at the smoke rising from the destroyed facility. It wasn't behaving like normal smoke. It twisted and coiled in the air, forming strange patterns that seemed almost like writing before dissolving into the night sky.

Alvarez got to his feet first and helped me up. We need to keep moving. That explosion will bring every emergency service in the state. I nodded and climbed back into the SUV. Terry hadn't moved.

His skin was pale, the black vein standing out in stark contrast. We need to get him to a hospital, I said. Not a local 1. Alvarez replied, starting the engine again. There's a private medical facility about an hour from here.

I know the Doctor Who runs it. He can be trusted. I watched Terry's chest rise and fall with shallow breaths. Will he make it? I don't know.

I've never seen anyone this far gone recover. We drove in silence for a while, the glow of the burning facility fading behind us. I kept thinking about what I'd seen in that room. The stone, the people gathered around it. Guerrero, or what used to be Guerrero merging with it.

What is it? I finally asked the harbinger. What is it, really? Alvarez's hands tightened on the steering wheel. I don't know for certain, but based on the research I've seen, it's not from Earth.

Alien in a manner of speaking, but not in the way you're thinking. It's old, older than human civilization, and it's been here before. I looked at Terry again, at the black veins spreading across his skin. Is there a way to stop it? I hope so, Alvarez said.

For all our sakes, the private medical facility turned out to be a converted mansion on several acres of land surrounded by trees and a high wall. Alvarez used an intercom at the gate to identify himself and we were admitted immediately. Medical staff in civilian clothes met us at the entrance and whisked to tarry away on a Gurney.

A man in his 60s with silver hair and wire rimmed glasses approached us. Connor, He greeted Alvarez. You said it was urgent. It is. James.

This is Aidan Norton. Aidan. Doctor James Whitaker. He's an old friend and one of the few people I trust completely. Doctor Whitaker nodded to me, then looked in the direction they'd taken.

Terry, your friend's condition is severe. What happened to him? It's complicated, Alvarez said. Is there somewhere we can talk privately? The next few days passed in a blur.

Terry remained unconscious, hooked up to monitors in a private room. The black veins had stopped spreading but hadn't receded. Dr. Whitaker and his team ran every test they could think of but found no physical cause for his condition. Brain activity is present but abnormal, Dr.

Whitaker explained during one of our meetings. It's as if he's trapped in a persistent dream state. Will he wake up? I asked. I don't know.

We're doing everything we can. News reports about the facility explosion described it as an accident at a government research installation. No details about what was being researched there. No mention of survivors or casualties. Just another cover up.

On the 5th day, Alvarez found me sitting by Terry's bedside. We need to talk, he said. I followed him to Doctor Whitaker's office, which he'd been using as a temporary headquarters. Maps and documents were spread across the desk. The artifact wasn't destroyed in the explosion, Alvarez said without preamble.

What? How is that possible? I saw the place go up. Pieces were recovered. Multiple pieces.

They've been secured in different locations. I felt my stomach drop. By who? Various government agencies, some military, some private contractors, The same people who were compromised before. Alvarez nodded grimly.

Some of them, yes. I sank into a chair trying to process this. So splitting it up didn't destroy it? No. And based on what we're seeing?

He hesitated. It may have made things worse. What do you mean? The influence is spreading faster now. Separate pieces, separate vectors of infection.

Reports of unusual behavior are increasing across the country. People hearing voices, acting out of character. Jesus, I whispered, what can we do? Fight back, Find the pieces, contain them properly or destroy them if possible. How?

We're just two people. Not necessarily. Alvarez slid a folder across the desk to me. Remember the journalist you contacted? Sarah Lindell.

I opened the folder to find printouts of articles, research papers, and ancient texts. What is this? She received your message and started digging. She's good at her job. Found connections between the Harbinger and similar artifacts described in ancient texts worldwide.

I flipped through the pages, a sense of dread growing with each one. Descriptions of black stones that drove people mad. Ancient civilizations that collapsed after discovering strange artifacts. Warnings written in dozens of languages across thousands of years. The Harbinger isn't unique.

I said, looking up at Alvarez. It's just the first one we found. Exactly. And if there are more out there, then this is just the beginning. I closed the folder, my mind racing.

We need to find others. People who know the truth, people who can help. Alvarez nodded. That's the plan. Doctor Whittaker has contacts in the scientific community, I still have some military connections I trust, and your journalist friend has already assembled a network of researchers studying these phenomena.

I looked toward the door, thinking of Terry lying unconscious in his room. And Terry? We'll keep him safe, and we'll find a way to help him if we can. I stood up, feeling a sense of purpose replacing the helplessness I'd felt since the facility. When do we start?

We already have. Alvarez handed me another folder. These are the locations where we believe the pieces have been taken. We start with the closest one, a research facility in upstate New York. I took the folder, knowing that whatever normal life I might have had was over.

The fight against the Harbinger, against whatever it represented, was just beginning, and I need it to be ready.