Transcript
Narrator 1 (0:00)
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Narrator 2 (0:31)
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Emily (1:00)
Let me tell you the God's gonna cut you It's Holy Week in Jerusalem. Crowds welcome Jesus as King. Rebellion is in the air. Jesus operates outside our jurisdiction. Rome will descend on us all. But instead of taking the throne, Jesus turns the tables.
Jack (1:18)
My house shall be called the House of Prayer, but you make it a den of thieves.
Emily (1:23)
The world will never be the same. Now in theaters. The Chosen Last Supper get your tickets now. Welcome to Bunker eight, a Midnight Mystery Podcast production. If you've been enjoying the show, I've got some exciting news for you. Our very own Midnight Midnight Mystery, Discord. It's a perfect place to connect with other fans, share your theories and get exclusive updates on everything happening behind the scenes. As an independent podcast, your support means the world to us. If you love Bunker 8, please take a moment to like, rate and share the show. It's a small gesture that helps us grow and keeps the story alive and over on our Discord. You'll not only get updates on future episodes but but also an inside scoop on a brand new series currently in production. It's an exciting time and we'll love for you to be a part of it. You can find the link to our Discord in the episode description below. Come join the conversation and let's unravel the mysteries together. Before we begin, a quick note. Bunker 8 is a horror and sci fi audio drama that delves into the unsettling themes and intense situations. It may not be suitable for all listeners. Listener discretion is advised. Holy shit. Emily was gone. The gun slipped from her hand and I watched it fall, hitting the platform before vanishing into the well. A gun I could have Used. Used. It could have had something to defend myself with, but now it was gone, swallowed up by whatever the hell was down there. My breathing was all wrong. Too fast, too shallow. My chest felt tight, like I couldn't get enough air no matter how hard I tried. I tried to slow it down. In through the nose, out through the mouth, but my hands wouldn't stop shaking. My heart was pounding so hard it drowned out everything else. The room felt smaller, like the walls were closing in around my legs were weak and everything started to blur at the edges. I clenched my teeth. Get it together, Jack. Focus. Breathe. Just breathe. It's not perfect, but it's enough to stand, enough to move, enough to keep going. Good. Good, Emily. At the end, she looked. She looked calm. Not scared, not desperate, just. She was done. Like she'd made peace with something I couldn't even begin to understand. Her words came back to me. One got out. It's in the back room. The back room. That's where it is. That's where I need to go. But where the hell is the back room? Push myself forward, my boots scuffling the grated floor beneath me. The corridors stretch endlessly in every direction. God damn it. The corridors feel endless. They're cold, dim, and. And they all look the same. The lights overhead flick and buzz, but they're barely hanging on. And that's when I see it. Blood. Thinned trails smeared across the floor like something or someone was dragged. I crouch, leaning closer. The stains are fresh. They lead to a door at the end of the hall. That. The paint's peeling and the hinges look rusted shut. This. This has to be it. The air feels heavy as I approach, like it's pressing down on my chest with every step. A chill runs through me, but I'm not sure if it's the cold metal handle beneath my fingers or something deeper. My pulse picks up, steady, but it's uneasy. Then the smell hits, stale and thick, like the air hasn't moved in years. It clings to my throat, making it harder to breathe. Inside. The lights flicker weakly, barely holding on, and a prickle of unease crawls up my spine. And then I feel it. Like a shift, a presence. And that's when I hear it. Is that chains? I stop, my breath catching in my throat. A cold, creeping unease spreads through me. What the hell is this? It's shackled. Thick iron cuffs locked around its wrist and ankles. Chains stretching from the floor to the ceiling, keeping it in place. It appears as if it's floating. Its hands hang motionless fingers Slightly curled. It's not panicked, not trying to break free. It's just there. Emily didn't just restrain it. She anchored. Looks human at first, but the closer I got, the more grotesque it looks. What the hell are you? Its face twitched. A quick, unnatural jerk. The skin rippled, like something was crawling just beneath the surface, struggling to break free. It wasn't right. None of it was. The way it moved, the way it just stared. It was like the thing was barely holding itself together. Like it wasn't supposed to exist at all. It's eyes, they. They don't stay the same one second. They're brown, then blue, then hazel, then green, shifting back and forth. It's. It's not random. It feels intentional. Like it's trying on different faces, deciding which one works best. Great. Just another thing to add to the weird I've seen. Yeah. This. God damn it. I need to know where the hell I am. Something. Is anything to make sense of this? Bunker three. That's what Emily called it. If. If this really is another bunker, then there has to be some kind of manual, an introduction, guide, anything that explains what I've just walked into. Come on. There has to be something around here. This has to be Emily's room. It's small and cramped. Just a bed and a desk. The air is heavy with the scent off old paper and something sharp like. Like gunpowder or machine oil. And there they are. Her journals. A stack of them, the edges worn. Some pages are smudged with grease or some type of ink. Okay, good. She'd been keeping notes, detailed that they're almost obsessive. If she'd locked that thing up, there had to be a reason. And it had to be in here somewhere. I pull another journal from the desk and flip it open, scanning the pages for anything that makes sense. The handwriting is sharp, hurried, like every word was written in a rush. Notes, sketches, equations. There's even some crossed out, others underlined, so hard the pen nearly tore through the paper. I'm looking for something, anything that tells me how to get back to Bunker eight. Or at the very least, what the hell, Bunker three actually is. Okay. Looks like I found her first entry. I arrived today. The trip here was strange enough. A submarine ride that felt like it lasted forever, descending into the crushing darkness of the ocean. Wait, this bunker is underwater? Of course it is. Because being trapped underground wasn't claustrophobic enough. No one explained why the bunk is so deep underwater. And. And I didn't ask. The silence from the crew made it clear that I wouldn't get Any answers? Even if I tried? I read the brief, monitor the well, ensure nothing escapes. Follow protocol. No questions, no room for mistakes. The place is quiet, but. But not in a way that's comforting. There's this low hum coming from the well. Not something you hear exactly. More like something you feel deep in your chest. It's been hours and nothing has happened. But I can't shake the feeling that it's alive somehow. Like. Like it's watching me, waiting for something. Or maybe I'm just losing it already.