| ← Evidence of Things Not Seen → | |
| Part 1: [2713] || Part 2: [2277] | |
| A man in a black suit walked through an empty hallway. Immaculate. Flushed white walls surrounding clean cut tiled floors. Sterile. The scent was plastic and artificial, a somewhat nauseating smell that hung in the air. Handcuffed to his right wrist was a clasped briefcase, black and embellished with gold trims. In his left hand was a more peculiar sight. A reinforced glass cube surrounded what appeared to be a heavily damaged automaton. The droid appeared completely inactive, sans a single blinking red light. A gauge at the top of cube read zero percent. As he turned the corner, two men in white janitorial outfits shot him a peculiar look. One wheeled a trashcan forward while the other carried a mop and bucket. Their confusion wasn’t surprising, the time a little past 4 in the morning. Each side of the hallway consisted of a set of black sliding doors. A vast majority were locked with heavy deadbolts. The man with the mop walked over to the next down the line before covering his face with a thick mask. He searched around in his pockets for a thick ring of keys, unlocking the deadbolt as the lock fell the ground with a loud clang. Behind the sliding door was another, this one with a peculiar device that appeared to scan the man’s face before unlocking itself. As the briefcase toting individual walked past, a robotic female voice could be heard from within the room repeating a set of unintelligible jargon. The suit wearing man checked his watch before picking up the pace slightly. The hallway stopped at a dead end with a single door, identical to the others but colored bright red. This one was unlocked and was the only one to have a placard next to it. Emblazoned on the metal was the words LABORATORY SEVEN-H. He set the glass cube on the ground, sliding the door open. Once again, a smaller office door equipped with a small, rectangular device was installed above the doorknob. He bent down, allowing the device to scan his auburn eyes. After a moment, the device beeped once and the lock disengaged. He opened the door before pushing it with his shoulder, as he picked up the cube once again. In stark contrast with the dead hallway, the room was large and staffed with no less than four individuals. Three were of the automaton race. Peculiarly enough, two of the three looked functionally identical, baring a red stripe across one’s chest. A litany of devices, complex and esoteric lined the walls. The right side of the room appeared to be a laboratory, separated from the rest of the laboratory by a thick glass wall with one door. The Demvir staff appeared hard at work. In the center of the left half was a large metal conference table. An older gentleman, appearing in his late forties, sat at the head. A set of papers were sprawled across the table. He held a thick, black sharpie in his hands, blotting away sections of the documents in front of him. His hair was short and well kept, but as he ran his hand through his hair, small strands were shed. Streaks of gray mixed in his salt-and-pepper hair. As the briefcase holding man entered the room proper, he nodded to the fully armed guard standing near the entrance. The guard was armed to the teeth carrying a variety of high powered weaponry. While peculiar at any other workplace, for his part, the guard looked somewhat bored. The gray-haired man looked up, his eyes immediately darting to the glass cube with the droid. “Deimos-Eighty B?” asked the old man. “Actually, this is A. B was unrecoverable.” “Give it to the bots then,” the man gestured before looking down at the paper in front of him. He pulled out a red pen from the front breast pocket of his gray suit. He scratched out the B at the top of the page. “Key?” Without looking up from his work, the gentleman pulled a key from the same pocket, sliding it across the table. The man set the briefcase onto the table, grabbing the key and unlocking the handcuffs. He picked up the cube before walking over towards the glass wall. He tapped on the door twice with his knuckle, before pointing at the cube. The closest technician, an automaton most identifiable by their pitch-black chassis and single, bright yellow eye opened the door. She grabbed the cube from the man before leading him over towards a nearby portion of open counter space. The door behind them automatically shut with the sound of a dozen heavy locks sealing. “Stable eh?” she mumbled, her voice heavily filtered. “Your efficiency never fails to surprise me Antigone.” The man smiled, his gold stubble bunching together into a set of deep dimples. “I didn’t want to engage with it any longer than I had to. I had to do a full seal. This reacts weird to oxygen.” The robotic organism tapped on the gauge twice, “Did you install a Kamada-Kalmann Filter?” “A full vacuum seal was needed Ismene.” A buzz of static proceeded the intercom activating, “What about B?”. The gray-haired man on the other side of the room broadcasted. “The reports in the briefcase as well as bagged and tagged recovery materials. Preliminary tests suggest a highly aggressive bonding mechanism. Very sensitive to both temperature and pressure; however. Even a few degrees cooler and efficiency decreases by fifteen percent. That being said, a few degrees in the opposite direction increases activity exponentially, and well… Aridus is not known for its temperate climate,” Antigone stated matter-of-factly. “B was biological?” asked the voice over the intercom. The auburn-eyed man nodded. “Though still effective on mechanical devices, very receptive to biological stimulants.” “That explains your recovery report. Shame about B.” Ismene turned to face Antigone. “How did you manage to secure the materials then?” The agent reached into his front pant pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. “The Angel Maintenance did a good job canvasing this time,” he mentioned as he unfurled the piece of paper. The white paper was covered a few lines of red ink. “They found this at Site One. The details are in clipping at the top of the folder.” The gray-haired man pulled out a file organizer, opening the accordion folder and pulling out a news clipping, The Greensborough Gazette. From the quality of the writing, it was clear that this was a trashy, local newspaper. A vast majority of the content was unnecessary, barring a single circled headline at the top, Local Authorities Raid Ritualistic Cult – Four Confirmed Casualties. “I’ve confirmed that the drone’s recording card is decontaminated, proceeding with extraction.” Ismene prepared to open the top of the cube. Extracting the recording card normally would be an easy task, as the drive eject button just needed to be pressed. However, the nature of the anomaly elevated the risk. For their part; however, none of the gathered personnel appeared worried. By now they were all accustomed to this. “Begin.” Ismene pressed a button on the pressure gauge, a hissing noise echoed as cube began to fill with oxygen. At the start, all appeared to be normal. The droid began to beep as a green light began to flash once more near the droid’s rear propeller. The beeping began to quickly pick up pace. The droid’s black paint appeared to slowly be melting off. A white sheen, the original color of the device, was revealed underneath. The paint began to congeal as it dripped off in thick globules which landed with a splat at the base of the cube. The goo began to bubble, the smell of rotten eggs and burnt hair wafting up. The percent on the gauge began to increase with every passing second. Five percent. The ooze began to grow in size. Multiplying, folding on itself. The mass doubled in a moment, tripled in a second, covering an inch of the base of the cube. Thick drops still fell from the droid, an impossible mass being created. The eject drive remained covered. Ten percent. The mass continued to double, now filling a palm’s worth from the base. An unmistakable humming filled the laboratory. The two other researchers looked up from their work, interested in the goings on nearby. The liquid began to swirl, softening and hardening, texture transforming with each swirl. It appeared as tar, Fifteen percent. Ismene reached for a vial near her. The liquid was clear and unrecognizable. She removed the cork stopper before dropping the entire test tube into the ooze. The glass began to melt immediately on contact, the liquid mixing with the anomaly. The activity stopped for a moment before violently resuming its self-replication. Small white particles appeared, standing out from the ebon pitch. “Should I?” Antigone asked. “Give it ten more.” Twenty percent. The particles began to coalesce, the volume of the tar now filling half of the cube. Still, large globs of black fell off the droid, revealing more and more of the machine below. The back of the device had completely rusted away, decaying into the anomaly. Twenty two percent. The particles continued to fuse into unmistakable figures. Lateral incisor, second molar, third molar, single rooted bicuspid. A full set of teeth, disconnected bloody stumps with revealed nerves mixed within the black pitch. Red and yellow particles began to appear as well, swirling together as the volume continue to increase. Twenty three percent. The red particles fused into rotten flesh. A tongue formed, flapping back and forth as if independently struggling to make words. It was brought into the black tide as the liquid collapsed on itself once more, mixing further. Proteins fused into strands of brown, blond, and white hair, bits of scalp still attached to the roots. Twenty four percent. A fleshy sheen appeared in the liquid. It coalesced into sinewy strands of tanned flesh. A ripped face, stretched to its breaking point, patchy holes appearing throughout its visage. Within an instant, two eyes bubbled up to fill the empty sockets. They were colored a putrid green, bloodshot and darting viciously from side to side. They locked onto Ismene, as the pressure began to build at an alarming rate. Thirty percent. Thirty-five percent. Forty percent. “Antigone!” shouted Ismene. A necrotic hand shot out of the black tar. Ismene jumped back, narrowly avoiding contact with the arm. Two more arms flew out of the ooze, grasping onto the sides of cube as if it was attempting to lift itself out. Antigone began to read the paper, chanting out the words that were scrawled. “I wait. I call out to the gates of an empty throne.” A shiver was sent down his spine. “From nothing to all, the empty vestibule waits for the return of the god with no form. He waits. I wait. He waits. I wait.” The arms continue to grasp the edge, the tar continuing to expand. The mass appeared to slowly lift its way out, the fleshy chunks of a humanoid being continuing to form within the liquid. Antigone raised his voice, repeating the chant once more. “He waits.” The liquid began to shudder, though still resisting the prayer as it continued to attempt to exit the container. “I wait.” The other Demvir evacuated the room, the grizzled man now standing from his desk and watching with equal parts concern and interest. Ismene continued to step back slowly, moments from making a complete break to the door. Beads of sweat formed on Antigone’s forehead. “He waits!” shouted the agent. The tar lifted, contorting itself as the face turns completely to face Antigone. The eyes fixated on him as the hands moved along the edge of the glass with new prey in sight. “I wait!” Antigone took a step back, slamming into the counter behind him as three vials fall and smash on the floor. “He waits!” The liquid continues to shudder, pushed back into the container by an invisible, immense weight. The arms struggled against the force, extending and contracting in a desperate struggle. As Antigone continued to chant the prayer the head retained a fixed glare. The formed particles began to separate dissolving back into the ether that formed it to begin with. The fleshy face formed curled into an unmistakable smile before dissolving back into nothingness. The ooze began to solidify once again, mass shrinking back as the agent repeated the phrase. As if watching a recording on reverse, the globs coalesced together, dripping seemingly upwards onto the droid. The black substance coated the device, violating laws of physics known. Antigone rushed forward, never pausing the chant for a moment. He slammed the top of the cube back on, locking the pressure gauge one more. Twenty percent. Thirteen percent. Two percent. . . . Zero. Antigone breathed out in relief. “Extraction failed. Kamada-Kalmann Filter reestablished.” The veteran outside hunched back down onto into his seat with a sigh of relief. He reached over to the sheet of paper next to him, pulling out a black pen. “Subject Deimos-Eighty- Blood of the Formless God. Status… “Contained.”
A loud knock on the door suddenly woke Urias Medardo. The professor had fallen asleep in his chair. It had been a particularly long night catching up with exam and report grading. Unfortunately, budgetary cuts had left him particularly understaffed, thus transferring most of the burden to him. “A moment please!” the academic exclaimed. He got up from his chair in a rush, almost tripping over the tightly bound scrolls that littered his office. The afternoon glow bathed the entirety of his cramped working area in yellow. It reflected off his blond hair, filtering the office with a warming light. The researcher opened the door only to be greeted by the arrival of three unknown individuals. All three were Demvir, each appearing slightly worse for wear. The two at the back were identical in appearance, a peculiarity for the race to say the least. The one in the front had a black chassis, though it was scarred with deep cuts that bent and burnt the metal. A yellow eye flickered. In her hands was a large syringe filled with a clear liquid. The metal needle ominously reflected the office light. “Agent Antigone, you have been recommissioned.” In a sudden motion she stabbed the needle into Urias’ neck. The professor blacked out as he collapsed the floor. “Welcome back.” |
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