"CONTINUITY MEDIUM" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #4190

Summary

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Redwood Bureau – "CONTINUITY MEDIUM" (Phenomenon #4190)

Episode Overview

In this gripping episode, Agent Conroy, voiced by Josh Tomar, leaks the Bureau's classified file on the so-called “Continuity Medium” (Phenomenon #4190). Returning to Eeriecast’s classic horror-thriller form, the episode exposes how an attempt to save a single life with a supernatural organism unravels into brutal transformation and death. Through a first-person field report from paramedic Daniel, listeners are drawn into a harrowing medical call that spirals into chaos, body horror, and ultimate cover-up—all set against the backdrop of the shady, ruthless Redwood Bureau and its ongoing, morally ambiguous operations.

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Key Discussion Points and Insights

Background: The Aftermath of Ridgemont

• Agent Conroy’s motivation: In the opening monologue, Conroy contextualizes the report with haunting references to the Bureau's recent catastrophic containment failure at Ridgemont.
  • "Nine Bureau agents died so that a little over 3,000 people could live... I also know that more than 100,000 people remained inside the perimeter when the Bureau sealed it for good." (02:12)
• He points out how the official story—a fabricated terror attack—buries the truth and manipulates national grief into support for secrecy and violence.
  • "The lie does more than bury the Bureau’s failure. It turns the dead into permission, permission for retaliation, expanded secrecy, mass surveillance, and a more solidified deal with those responsible." (03:30)
• Transition: Conroy warns that not all Bureau disasters begin with headlines—they often start with a single, small mistake in an ordinary house.

The Paramedic’s Report: Entering the Crowley House

• Arrival and Atmosphere ([04:35]–[07:18])
  • Daniel and his partner Mason arrive to a call for an elderly man in distress. The environment is immediately disturbing—neglected property, dilapidated farmhouse, oppressive smells, and pervasive filth.
• Edwin Crowley’s condition ([07:20]–[16:11])
  • Edwin, the elderly patient, is found near-unresponsive, covered in injuries of varying ages—suggesting neglect, possible abuse, or repeated falls.
  • Odd noises from upstairs suggest they’re not alone: "A floorboard creaked above us, slowly enough that it could have been the house settling... Mason glanced toward the stairs. Could be a cat." (10:36)
  • Critical injuries and a grotesquely swollen abdomen raise the stakes. Attempts to move Edwin only exacerbate his pain, culminating in his desperate, chilling plea:
    • "Kill me. Kill me, please." (16:05, Edwin)
• Sudden escalation ([16:02]–[18:17])
  • During transfer, Edwin’s legs grotesquely break, and the house’s atmosphere further deteriorates—creatures moving upstairs, and when they try to leave, they find their ambulance sabotaged:
    • "The battery cable and radiator hose are cut, part of the wiring harness is gone, and all four tires have been slashed." (19:57)

The Attack: Transformation and Pursuit

• Outside threat, then things go wrong inside ([19:57]–[24:00])
  • A humanoid, but seemingly off form, figure stalks them outside. Forced back inside, Mason and Daniel try to care for Edwin, who suddenly undergoes an impossible transformation:
    • "His body started thrashing again, harder than before...something drove outward beneath his skin and lifted his torso from the mattress. A length of rib punched through near the sternum." (24:00)
  • Body horror intensifies: bones break through flesh, ribs become insectile mandibles, and the body becomes hyper-malleable and lethal.
• Desperate retreat ([24:00]–[31:26])
  • As paramedics try to barricade themselves, the transformed Edwin pursues, contorting and hunting them with monstrous violence.
  • The true scope of the horror emerges—a much larger creature smashes into the house from above:
    • "Its upper body burst through the frame and drywall, cutting off the hallway...fully extended, it would have stood well over 10 feet tall." (33:00)
  • The paramedics flee, but Mason is viciously mauled and loses a leg as Edwin attacks with his rib mandibles.

Survival and Capture

• Daniel’s escape ([39:44]–[46:36])
  • Daniel regains consciousness in the basement. Blood loss dooms Mason, who urges Daniel to escape.
  • Daniel narrowly escapes the monsters, squeezes through a basement window, and evades the searching creature outside:
    • "I dropped into the grass for what felt like hours. I moved only when it turned away." (44:40)
  • When Daniel finally reaches the road, he’s picked up—but by Bureau agents, not rescuers:
    • "I raised both hands. 'There's...something back there,' I said. My partner is dead. We need police, military, everybody.' Neither man said a word... they threw me into the back of the vehicle." (46:04)

Bureau Cover-Up and Analysis

• The organism and its origin ([46:36]–[50:03])
  • Agent Conroy details the Bureau’s recovery report. The organism (the “continuity medium”) was a biotechnological experiment designed to repurpose and maintain usefulness in fatally injured agents.
  • The Crowley situation became deadly because the parasite failed to find meaningful injury, so it ran rampant—mutating hosts into lethal, ever-renewing abominations.
  • Evidence suggests the Bureau allowed this to happen, prioritizing data collection over innocent lives:
    • "I also believe that most of what transpired was allowed to happen...an opportunity to gather data cost free." (47:46)
  • Mason’s corpse continued to transform after death; the Bureau burned the house and erased all trace, Daniel is indefinitely detained under “civilian retention.”

Closing Reflections and Larger Themes

• Moral indictment of the Bureau
  • Conroy draws a parallel between “large scale” disasters like Ridgemont and “quiet” ones like the Crowleys, emphasizing institutional callousness and secrecy:
    • "Ridgemont proved what happens when the Bureau loses control on a scale too large to hide. The Crowley house proves the same failure can happen quietly within the sight of your neighborhood and still erase every life it touches. The scale changes. Their problem does not." (50:00, Conroy)

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Notable Quotes & Memorable Moments

• On the Bureau’s priorities ([03:30])

  • "The lie does more than bury the Bureau's failure. It turns the dead into permission, permission for retaliation, expanded secrecy, mass surveillance, and a more solidified deal with those responsible." —Agent Conroy

• First unnatural moment inside the house ([10:36])

  • "A floorboard creaked above us... Mason glanced toward the stairs. Could be a cat." —Daniel

• Body horror crescendo ([24:00])

  • "His body started thrashing again...A length of rib punched through near the sternum...the arm jerked while the hand remained trapped...the forearm rotated until the skin tore open and blood sprayed across the rail." —Daniel

• Confrontation with Edwin’s transformed body ([37:00])

  • "What had been the old man was standing up behind the overturned cot. His head hung against the right side of his body, connected by a long, ruined strip of neck that swung whenever the rest of him moved." —Daniel

• Mason’s fate ([37:00])

  • "Mason didn't have time to see it before the chest closed around his right thigh. The ribs drove through him from both sides. Mason screamed and collapsed against me..." —Daniel

• Conroy’s conclusion ([50:00])

  • "Ridgemont proved what happens when the Bureau loses control on a scale too large to hide. The Crowley house proves the same failure can happen quietly within the sight of your neighborhood and still erase every life it touches. The scale changes. Their problem does not." —Agent Conroy

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Timestamps for Key Segments

• [01:06] – Introduction, Bureau background
• [04:35] – Paramedic Daniel’s narrative begins
• [07:18] – Encounter with Edwin Crowley
• [10:27] – Noises from upstairs, early signs of danger
• [16:00] – "Everything hurts…kill me, please"
• [19:57] – Outside threat, ambulance sabotaged
• [24:00] – Edwin's transformation; body horror sequence
• [31:26] – Mason and Daniel flee through the house
• [39:44] – Aftermath in the basement, Mason's death, Daniel's escape
• [46:36] – Bureau recovery, organism’s origin, cover-up
• [50:00] – Conroy’s final commentary; moral and societal implications

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Episode Tone and Style

Redwood Bureau’s signature style is present throughout—matter-of-fact horror, understated emotional narration, and a running undercurrent of institutional paranoia and moral outrage. The language alternates between clinical field-report and intimate confession, with Conroy’s voice breaking through to indict the Bureau and, by extension, systems that trade lives for secrets.

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For New Listeners

This episode is a harrowing, slow-burn blend of folk horror, body monstrosity, and government conspiracy. With agent Daniel’s first-person experience as the centerpiece, it stands alone as a chilling commentary on the Bureau’s callousness and a terrifying showcase of what happens when the supernatural is harnessed in the name of utility rather than compassion.

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If you missed it, this episode makes clear: in the world of Redwood Bureau, the cost of control—and loss of it—can erase entire families with just as much force as it can destroy a city.

Transcript

[A]

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[A]

Beware the Redwood Bureau.

[B]

A secret organization which captures and researches creatures and objects that defy explanation. Their reckless procedures have led to countless innocent lives lost. I am Agent Conroy. I worked for the Redwood Bureau. But I have escaped them to leak their reports to the unsuspecting public. You have the right to know. When I started releasing these files, I built the system so the truth would not depend on one voice staying alive. That is why Cipher, Sam and many others behind the scenes are working as diligently as I am. We all believe in the same thing. We share the same goals. I was in Ridgemont by the time the perimeter closed. The Bureau had long decided the roads would remain blocked, the witnesses would be contained, and that the rest of the country would eventually hear a story that was nothing more than a lie. We broke through one of their outer checkpoints with two vehicles and a small team. Nine Bureau agents died so that a little over 3,000 people could live. That number should feel like a victory. 3000 men, women and children are alive because we got there. I know that. I also know that more than 100,000 people remained inside the perimeter when the Bureau sealed it for good. A small team can only do so much. And we did everything we could. It wasn't nearly enough. Since then, I've been helping keep the survivors alive and difficult to find. I will not tell you how they are being moved or who is helping us. You all know that the Bureau listens to these reports. Some details expose the truth. Others expose the people surviving and exposing these truths. The official story is already doing exactly what they wanted. Ridgemont is being called the worst terror attack in history. A militant organization has been named. Military assets are moving and politicians who wanted another war have bought themselves an all access pass. Purchased of course, with the lives of tens of thousands of innocent civilians. The lie does more than bury the Bureau's failure. It turns the dead into permission, permission for retaliation, expanded secrecy, mass surveillance, and a more solidified deal with those responsible. The country is grieving an atrocity it has not been allowed to understand. People have asked what came through the gate and whether another city could face the same thing. I'm still working on those answers, but questions that large can make us forget how most Bureau disasters begin. They do not always announce themselves with destroyed cities and invading armies of otherworldly entities. They are not always world ending. Sometimes they start with one family, one house, and one response to someone else's mistakes.

[A]

Nicole came in about halfway through our shift. 78 year old male, severe generalized pain, difficulty breathing, unable to stand. Dispatch said caller stated his son was unable to assist. The line disconnected before we got anything else, and there has been no answer on callback. I keyed the radio. Medic 12 copies. Any LEO available? Negative. County has no units clear. There was nothing in the call that clearly suggested violence. Elderly people fall, become confused, underestimate how sick they are, or wait until a relative had spent an hour trying to get them off the floor before finally agreeing to call for help. The dropped line bothered me, but we were already nearby. We're almost there, I told Mason. We'll make contact and if anything feels wrong, we back out. He gave me a look but said nothing. The GPS led us past the last circle and onto a narrow lane marked by a leaning address sign. The surrounding homes disappeared after the first bend, hidden behind trees and a long stretch of neglected property. The asphalt gave way to gravel, and by the time the residents came into view, the neighborhood might as well have been in another county. The farmhouse was two stories and looked as though maintenance had stopped 20 years ago. The porch sagged toward the yard. Several sections of siding had rotted through, and blue plastic had been taped over one of the upstairs windows. An old pickup sat half sunk beside a shed with weeds growing through the wheel wells. Broken furniture and dead appliances had been pushed toward the tree line, where they were slowly disappearing beneath vines and brush. The sun had already dropped behind the woods, leaving enough gray light to see the property, but not much beyond it. I parked with the back opening to the front steps. Medic 12 on scene, I radioed before we got out. We took the primary response bag, cardiac monitor, and oxygen to the door. Mason knocked hard enough that the frame gave a dry crack and the door shifted inward several inches. Ems? I called through the opening. Did somebody here call for an ambulance? For a few seconds the house remained silent. Then a weak voice answered from somewhere within.

[B]

Here.

[A]

The smell met us as soon as we stepped inside. Human waste, spoiled food, mold, cigarettes, and garbage had settled into the walls so heavily that even breathing through my mouth didn't help. Flies swirled around a plate on the kitchen table. Trash bags, prescription bottles, empty cans, and dirty dishes covered nearly every flat surface, leaving narrow paths through the rooms where someone had pushed the clutter aside. We found the old man in a recliner in the adjoining living room. At first glance, I thought we were too late. He had sunk so far into the chair his shoulders were almost level with the armrests, his eyes closed and his head hanging slightly to one side. His skin was grey beneath a heavy layer of sweat. White hair clung to his forehead, and dried vomit had matted his beard against the front of his shirt. A filthy blanket covered him from the thighs down, while the upholstery beneath him was dark with urine and feces. His arms were covered in bruises, broad abrasions, and skin tears in different stages of healing. Some looked recent, while others had already scabbed over or turned yellow around the edges. I touched his shoulder and raised my voice. Sir, my name is Daniel. I'm a paramedic. This is my partner, Mason. Can you tell me your name? His eyes opened slowly. His mouth moved several times before he managed to produce any sound. Edwin. Edwin what?

[B]

Crowley.

[A]

Do you know where you are, Mr. Crowley? My house. Do you know what day it is? His eyes drifted shut again. Mason moved several cans away from the base of the chair and crouched near his feet. Mr. Crowley, can you tell us what's hurting? Edwin drew in a shallow breath that stopped halfway through everything. Did you fall? There was no response. Did somebody hurt you? His eyes opened sharply. For a moment he looked completely alert, and the fear in his expression was so immediate that I glanced toward the door behind us. Then the focus went out of his face again, and his head sagged against the chair. Something bumped upstairs. Mason and I both looked toward the ceiling. A short scrape followed, then a single dull impact that sounded like someone had knocked into a piece of furniture. Ems? I called toward the staircase. Is anyone else in the house? No one answered. I looked back at Edwin. Is your son here?

[B]

No.

[A]

His eyes remained fixed somewhere past my shoulder.

[B]

No one here.

[A]

A floorboard creaked above us, slowly enough that it could have been the house settling, although the sound carried enough weight to make that difficult to believe. Mason glanced toward the stairs. Could be a cat. There were two pet bowls near the refrigerator, both dry, encrusted with old food. I began the assessment while Mason set up the oxygen. Edwin could only speak two or three words at a time before losing the breath to continue. His respirations were shallow and close to 30aminute. His pulse was fast, weak, and a regular beneath my fingers. The cardiac monitor showed a tracing full of artifact, so I replaced two electrodes and tried again. The pattern remained difficult to interpret, but there was enough electrical activity to tell me his heart was struggling. Any heart problems? I asked. Pacemaker? Blood thinners? He groaned but gave no useful answer. His blood sugar was normal. The automatic pressure cuff errored the first time, then produced a reading of 68. 42. I checked manually and got close enough to the same reading. His skin was cold and clammy everywhere except across the upper abdomen, which felt hot through his shirt. The area was swollen unevenly, with one side tight and raised, while the other seemed to sink beneath the fabric when I placed my hand against it. He folded his arms inward and made a strained sound through his teeth. He had several possibilities working against him. Sepsis, internal bleeding, an abdominal emergency, or some combination of all three. The injuries made the situation harder to read. There were broad scrapes across his shoulders and forearms, bruising along his ribs and hips, dried blood beneath his fingernails, and skin tears around both elbows. None of it looked impossible. It looked like repeated falls, prolonged immobility, rough handling, or severe neglect. Mason met my eyes while he adjusted the oxygen. He had reached the same conclusion. We need the cot, I told him. The house became much quieter once he left. I could hear the hiss of oxygen moving through the cannula, the wet catch in Edwin's breathing, and a slow drip from somewhere inside the wall. Another board creaked overhead, this time closer to the stairwell. Hello? I called. There was no answer. Edwin's eyes shifted toward the ceiling and remained there. Is somebody upstairs? He didn't answer. Mason's bringing the stretcher. We're going to move you once, secure you, and get you to the hospital. His hand closed around my wrist with enough strength to surprise me. It hurts. I know it hurts. We'll be careful. His grip weakened until his fingers slid away. Mason returned with the cot. One wheel struck the wall, sending a light shake through the floor. At the same time, something moved overhead in three or four uneven steps, then stopped. Mason looked up. We're paramedics, I called. This man is having a medical emergency. The upstairs remained silent. Let's move him and leave we lowered the stretcher beside the recliner and cleared enough trash to make a path. Edwin was in no condition to stand or assist us, so we worked the stained quilt farther beneath his hips and lower back to use as a transfer sheet. Mason is going to control your hips and legs, I explained. I'll support your torso. We're only moving you onto the stretcher. Edwin weakly shook his head. No, we have to move you.

[B]

It hurts.

[A]

I understand, but we can't treat what's happening here. Once we get you in the cot, we can secure you, keep the oxygen on, and take you somewhere they can control the pain. He continued shaking his head until exhaustion seemed to take the argument out of him. I slid my arms beneath his shoulders while Mason gathered the quilt under his hips and supported both lower legs across his forearms. On three. One, two. We tightened our grip, preparing to lift him. Edwin's entire body went rigid, and the scream that came out of him was so sudden and forceful that we both froze. We loosened our grip immediately. Can you show me exactly what's hurting you? I asked.

[B]

Everything.

[A]

Tears ran into the gray hair beside his face.

[B]

Kill. Kill me. Kill me, please.

[A]

Mason kept his voice calm, although I could see the tension in his jaw. We're getting you somewhere they can help. We only need to move you once. Edwin continued crying, but after several seconds he stopped resisting. I repositioned beneath his upper body. Mason adjusted his grip beneath the quilt and supported the lower legs again. 1, 2, 3. We lifted. 2 sharp cracks came from beneath the blanket, close enough together that for a second I thought the chair frame had broken. Edwin's feet drooped at sharp, unnatural angles. Mason went pale. Edwin screamed continuously while we completed the transfer. We got him onto the cot, padded and splinted both lower legs as best we could, secured the straps, and began moving. Something crossed the upstairs floor at a run. The impacts traveled from the front of the house toward the rear, heavy enough to shake dust from the ceiling. A crash followed, then the snap of something outside, but most of it disappeared beneath Edwin's screaming. Go, I told Mason. We pushed the stretcher through the door and down the porch steps. Edwin's cries weakened into broken moans by the time we loaded him into the ambulance. Mason climbed in with him while I moved to the cab. I turned the key. Nothing happened. I tried again, but there was no starter, no relay click, not even power to the light gauges. The radio was dead as well. My handheld produced static but no reply, which was not unusual for this area, though it did nothing to improve the situation.

[B]

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[B]

this episode is supported by FX's the Shards, a seductive drama from executive producer Ryan Murphy. Set in 1980s Los Angeles, the series follows a group of glamorous, deeply entangled high school seniors drawn into a life of wealth, beauty, parties and excess. At its center is Brett, whose reality begins to unravel when the arrival of a new student coincides with a series of mysterious murders. FX's the Shards premieres August 5th on FX and Hulu.

[A]

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[B]

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[B]

See terms Signal connection restored.

[A]

I took a flashlight outside and opened the hood. The positive battery cable had been severed. A section of the main wiring harness hung near the firewall, its colored wires pulled apart. One of the radiator hoses was cut, spilling coolant down the frame and into the gravel. Then I noticed the ambulance was sitting low. The tire had been opened along the sidewall. When I walked around the vehicle, I found the other three in the same condition. Someone had done everything they could to disable the ambulance while we were inside the house. Now it had gone nearly dark without the headlights. My flashlight was the only steady light. I heard something shift near the tree line and turned toward it, but the beam caught only tall grass moving around the edge of the shed. I backed toward the ambulance and opened one of the rear doors. Mason looked up. What's wrong? The truck is dead. What do you mean dead? The battery cable and radiator hose are cut, part of the wiring harness is gone, and all four tires have been Slashed. He stared at me, waiting for something in my expression to suggest I was joking. Movement near the trees caught my attention again. I raised my flashlight and saw what looked like a man standing beside the shed. Hey. I called. Stay where you are. The figure began moving toward us. It was too large, although I could not tell whether that came from its height or the way it carried itself. The outline didn't settle into a clear human shape. One side rose higher than the other, then dropped heavily toward the ground while the opposite side pulled forward. It stumbled through two slow movements before lurching several yards at once. Mason leaned toward the doorway. Who is it? I don't know. The figure kept coming. I could not have explained what was wrong with it. Every part of me screamed. There was a danger I simply didn't understand. Get him out. Mason frowned. What? We're going back inside. Daniel, get him out now. Edwin moaned at every jolt while Mason tried to keep the oxygen tubing from tangling around the rail. I kept the flashlight on the yard. As we moved, the shape lowered into the grass and disappeared. Then something tall rose, much closer to the driveway than it had been before. We reached the porch and tried to lift the cod over the first step. One wheel punched through a rotten board and locked in place. Mason pulled from the front while I lifted at the foot, looking over my shoulder whenever I could. The grass moved toward us in a broad line. We tore the wheel free and shoved the stretcher through the doorway. I slammed the door close and forced the deadbolt over, although the wood around the lock had already split. For several seconds there was only silence outside. Mason looked at me. What did you see? I. I don't know. That isn't an answer. It was coming at us, and there was. There's something wrong with it. Edwin began trembling on the stretcher before Mason could respond. It looked like the onset of a seizure. His jaw clenched, his head snapped from side to side, and both arms jerked beneath the restraints. We lowered the rail and rolled him partly onto his side to protect his airway while trying to keep his head from striking the frame. The movement. Movement intensified. Almost immediately. His back arched until his shoulders and heels were the only parts of him touching the mattress. The stretcher jumped sideways across the floor. I braced his upper back and tried to keep his head centered without putting pressure on his neck. Loosen the chest strap. Mason pulled the buckle free. Edwin's shoulders slammed down. His head slipped past my hand and over the lowered edge. I reached for him, but his body bucked again before I could get hold of him. His head drove downward. The crack stopped both of us. His body became completely still. His head hung below the mattress, beard brushing the floor, while the skin beneath his jaw stretched along the ruined line of his neck. Mason's hands hovered over him. Oh, my God. Edwin's eyes snapped open. He dragged in a broken breath through the twisted position of his throat and began screaming. Blood appeared, spreading bright red across the white sheet at his shoulders and hips. His body started thrashing again, harder than before, rolling the stretcher sideways into the wall. Something drove outward beneath his skin and lifted his torso from the mattress. A length of rib punched through near the sternum, then disappeared as the body collapsed and heaved again. Another point broke through several inches lower. His left shoulder folded inward with a rapid series of wet pops. The arm jerked while the hand remained trapped beneath the wrist strap, and the forearm rotated until the skin tore open and blood sprayed across the rail. Mason reached for the buckle. Edwin's abdomen split sideways. Blood and thick strands of tissue struck Mason across the chest and face. He stumbled backward, wiping at his eyes while I tried and failed to understand what I was seeing. Everything. Everything inside Edwin seemed to be pulling in different directions, tightening, tearing and disappearing back into the body while other things forced themselves through the openings. His spine rose beneath the skin in hard, uneven sections. One leg bent beneath the splint until the broken ends pushed through the padding. His chest compressed inward and then spread sideways with a chain of cracks that continued beneath the screaming. Something struck the front door. The impact bowed the wood inward and shook the frame. A second blow split the panel beside the lock and a narrow point punched through, wet and dark at the tip, before jerking back outside. Behind us, one of the stretcher straps snapped. Edwin's torso rolled from the mattress. The movement tore a wide sheet of skin from his back and left it hanging from the metal rail. His right arm was still secured, fingers opening and closing against empty air while muscle and skin pulled away from it in long red bands. The point came through the door again with a thud and a crack. We abandoned the stretcher and dragged the kitchen table against the front door. Mason pulled a cabinet over while cans, dishes, and rotting food crashed around his feet. I helped force it behind the table as another impact shook the wall behind us. Metal shrieked across the floor. Edwin was still screaming as his body cracked and ripped. I turned as the stretcher tipped over onto its side, hiding the screaming body behind it. The pounding at the door continued, and our attention was turned to dragging anything heavy enough to matter to barricade it. I overturned two chairs beneath the table and wedged a sagging bookshelf between the cabinet and the opposite wall. Every impact drove the pile inward another inch behind us. Edwin stopped screaming. The silence registered somewhere at the edge of my attention, but the door bowed inward again before I could turn. I looked for something else, something heavy. Mason had stopped moving. He stood several feet behind me, staring at the overturned stretcher. What the hell are you doing? I asked. He raised one hand and pointed. What had been the old man was standing up behind the overturned cot. His head hung against the right side of his body, connected by a long, ruined strip of neck that swung whenever the rest of him moved. His eyes were open and blinking. His mouth worked constantly, opening and closing without producing a sound. The torso had split from the base of the throat to the abdomen. Each rib had broken outward through the surrounding flesh and paired rows, leaving the center of his chest open and red. The ribs slid in and out across the cavity, crossing one another horizontally like mandibles. His arms had lengthened without growing. The bones had broken in several places and been pulled apart, leaving thick cords of exposed muscle stretched through the gaps. One hand rested against the floor while the other wrapped behind him. Both lower legs had torn open where the fractures occurred. The exposed bones spread beneath each knee into wet three pointed supports holding his body upright while the ruined feet dragged uselessly. For one second none of us moved. Then the ribs spread wide and he came at us. One of the flared bones beneath his leg caught the stretcher, pitching him forward. The open torso struck the rail and snapped, shot around it. Metal bent between the ribs before the thing tore itself loose and continued toward us. Mason and I ran. I hit the corner of the table, stumbled through a heap of cans, and caught myself against a counter slick with grease. Mason followed directly behind me, throwing whatever he could grasp onto the floor, while Edwin crashed after us, falling, dragging himself upright and lunging again. The blows against the front door stopped. A moment later something struck the outside wall. The impact traveled upward in hard, spaced blows, each followed by the scrape of tremendous weight across the siding. Whatever had been outside was climbing toward the second floor.

[B]

Move.

[A]

Mason shouted. The hallway beyond the kitchen had been used for storage until it was almost impassable. Garbage bags, junk filled boxes, a mattress, and broken furniture were packed from wall to wall. I climbed onto the pile and began pulling things down behind me. Mason shoved through the gap and scrambled after me with half a broom handle in one hand, Edwin hit the blockage hard enough to shift the entire pile. His head appeared first between two garbage bags hanging Sideways and blinking at us. The ribs spread behind it. He drove forward, lost one of the supports beneath his body, and collapsed across the middle of the debris. Mason turned and drove the broken handle down with both hands. The wood entered Edwin's back beside the spine and came through the open chest. The ribs clamped around it, trapping the handle, while the creature convulsed and forced a thin, tearing shriek. Mason left the poor excuse of a weapon and we ran upstairs. The first room with a working door was a small bedroom at the front of the house. We forced ourselves inside, closed it, and held the knob until we were certain nothing had followed. Neither of us could speak. Blood from Edwin's body had dried in streaks across Mason's face, with more soaking his sleeves in the front of his uniform. I wiped my own face and found only sweat. Downstairs, the shrieking weakened and stopped. We remained in the dark and listened. A heavy thump sounded above us. Dust drifted from the ceiling. Another impact crossed the roof from left to right, slow enough that we could hear shingles cracking beneath the weight. Mason pointed toward the window. I shook my head. No blue plastic covered most of the opening, but neither of us knew where the thing on the roof was looking. He leaned close enough to whisper, back hole. I nodded and reached for the door. My hip struck something. A glass lamp fell from a crate and shattered against the floor. The sound seemed impossibly loud in the silence. We froze and the movement above us stopped. A low, muffled noise passed through the ceiling, followed by enough pressure to bow the plaster downward between the joists. Then the ceiling collapsed. Wood, insulation, and roofing dropped into the room as something enormous came through, through behind it. I threw myself toward the door while dust swallowed. The bedroom furniture, struck the walls, and a shape tore through the debris. Mason hit me from behind and drove both of us through the doorway. I slammed the door shut, although the frame had already split. We turned toward the rooms at the far end of the upstairs hall. The thing came through the wall ahead of us. Its upper body burst through the frame and drywall, cutting off the hallway. The legs beneath it were almost human in length, but they had thickened until each looked wider than my torso. With bare feet spreading against the floor beneath columns of muscle above the waist. The body narrowed briefly before widening into a massive wedge. It could not straighten inside the house, even hunched. Its back pressed against the ceiling and its shoulders ground into both walls. Fully extended, it would have stood well over 10ft tall. The head remained where a human head should have been, but the skull had widened and flattened across the top Both eyes bulged from blood red sockets. The lips were gone, exposing the teeth in a permanent clenched grimace, while ragged strips of hair hung from the scalp. Its arms projected straight out from the shoulders before turning sharply downward at the elbows. They reached the floor beside its legs. Long sections of flesh drawn tightly over something dark and hard enough to shine beneath the dust. Then it forced itself toward us. The arms struck the wall and floor in alternating blows, pulling its oversized body through a hallway that could barely contain it. Mason and I ran for the stairs, colliding at the landing and nearly going over the rail. Together, we half ran, half fell to the first floor. The door. Mason gasped. We headed for the front room, intending to tear down the barricade and take our chances outside. Above us, the larger creature reached the landing. The floor cracked beneath its weight. It launched itself from the second story. The body passed over us and crashed into the pile blocking the entrance. Both arms punched through the cabinet and table. Its head struck the wall hard enough to go through it, and the rest of it tangled through broken furniture while it tried to turn around. We ran beneath the staircase and into the dark hallway on the opposite side of the house. Edwin rose from the floor directly in front of us. The broom handle still protruded from his back. His ribs opened across the width of the hall. Mason didn't have time to see it before the chest closed around his right thigh. The ribs drove through him from both sides. Mason screamed and collapsed against me while Edwin jerked backward, shaking his torso in short, violent movements as the trapped leg twisted inside it. I grabbed Mason beneath the arms and pulled. The ribs clenched harder. His leg tore away through the thigh. Blood struck the walls and floor in a wide sheet. Mason's scream broke into a choking sound while I dragged him backward. Edwin fell back, the open torso working around the leg while his hanging head continued staring in our direction. I found the first door behind me, pulled it open, and stepped into empty air. The door led directly into a basement stairwell. Mason and I fell together into complete darkness.

[B]

Warning SIGNAL INTERRUPTION detected

[A]

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[B]

Signal connection restored

[A]

I woke up to him calling my name. At first I could not remember where I was. Then I smelt the blood and felt the wet concrete. Mason. He lay several feet away, visible as only a darker shape in a dark room. The puddle between us was wide and thick. I crawled to him. His right leg ended in torn uniform and muscle just below the hip. Blood still pushed from the wound in weakening pulses. No, no, no. There was almost no room above the injury for a proper tourniquet. I pulled off my belt anyway, packed torn fabric into the wound, then searched the floor with my hands for anything until I found a broken piece of shelving, twisting it tight as high as possible above his thigh. Mason cried out once before sagging against the concrete. Stay with me. His face looked gray in the darkness. Daniel, I'm getting you out. You're not carrying me anywhere. Shut the fuck up. He reached toward my chest and missed. I caught his hand. You need to go. I'm not leaving you. You know I'm done. I'm not leaving you here. The blood loss had already happened. His breathing was slowing and his eyes could no longer stay focused on mine. One of the things struck the basement door above us. Mason reached shakily into his pocket and pressed a metal object into my palm, his Zippo slick with blood. Please, he said. Go. Get the fuck out of here. His grip loosened. I continued talking to him after he stopped responding, although I could no longer hear my own words over the pounding upstairs. The basement door shook inside its frame and plaster fell from the stairwell ceiling. My hands trembled so badly that I failed to light the Zippo twice. The flame caught on the third attempt. The basement looked like the rest of the house. Shelves leaned beneath spoiled jars. Wet boxes collapsed around a Rusted furnace and old tools and garbage filled nearly every corner. Along the rear wall, someone had dug a waist high opening through the block foundation. Loose earth covered the floor beneath it. When a narrow passage disappeared into the darkness beyond, I nearly went toward it. Then I saw the window. It sat high on the exterior wall, a narrow opening covered by steel bars. Two bars had been bent outward and the glass was gone, leaving a gap just wide enough for me to force myself through. The door above split. I dragged a wooden workbench beneath the window and climbed through it. Beneath me, the basement door tore loose and came crashing down the stairs. The massive body struck both walls, ripping shelves away as it tried to force its mass through the narrow stairwell. I pushed my shoulders beneath the bars and pulled. The concrete edge caught my uniform. I tore myself free, kicked against the wall, and rolled into the wet grass as the basement filled with breaking wood and metal. I ran as the house erupted behind me. Windows shattered and it struck the walls hard enough to throw pieces of siding into the yard. I crossed the tall grass toward the driveway, fell, regained my footing, and continued toward the trees. I had almost reached them when the upstairs window burst outward. The large creature came through with a window frame wrapped around its shoulders. It struck the yard on all four limbs, rose, and began tearing across the property in wide, violent sweeps. I dropped into the grass for what felt like hours. I moved only when it turned away. I crawled several feet, stopped, and pressed myself flat while it crossed the driveway or circled the ambulance. At one point, it struck the vehicle and rolled it onto its side to expose the undercarriage. Twice it came close enough that I could hear its breathing and the scrape of its arms through the weeds. The second time, it stopped less than 20ft away. I lay with my face in the dirt, fighting the urge to cough while its feet moved through the grass in front of me. Something wet dripped nearby. I remained there long enough for my lungs to begin burning. Then it turned and moved back toward the house. I crawled until the property disappeared behind the trees. Once I reached the gravel lane, I stood and started running. My legs were barely working by the time I reached the paved road. I saw no headlights, no passing cars, and nobody outside. A black SUV came around the bend before I had even made it a mile. It accelerated past me, braked hard, and stopped sideways across the road. Two men stepped out with rifles already shouldered. I raised both hands. There's. There's something back there, I said. My partner is dead. We need police, military, everybody. Neither man said a word. One kept his rifle trained on my Head while the other crossed the distance between us. I tried to explain again, but he drove me against the side of the suv, forced my hands behind my back, and locked a plastic restraint around my wrists. What the hell are you doing? He forced a gag into my mouth. A black hood came down over my head. They threw me into the back of the vehicle, climbed in and accelerated away without saying a word.

[B]

What happened in that house was not the beginning of this. Whatever parasitic organism caused these transformations existed elsewhere before finding its way into Edwin and his son. The Bureau entered the cross Crowley House 37 minutes after Daniel was taken from the road. I have the recovery report. The tunnel in the basement extended 46ft beyond the foundation before reaching an old drainage conduit that passed beneath the property. Inside that passage, the team recovered a transport cylinder with the containment seal broken from the inside. The serial number links to a federal site three miles away. The cylinder was one of several items scheduled for emergency relocation after personnel were diverted to Ridgemont. Its contents were listed under a program called Project Salvage. The Bureau did not classify what was inside as a parasite. Their documents call it a continuity organism, A living medium designed to preserve the usefulness of a critically injured operative by restructuring damaged tissue around whatever functions remained possible. The project notes describe successful responses to blood loss, spinal destruction, traumatic amputation, and extensive skeletal damage. The organism supposedly compensated by restructuring what was available and what was already damaged. It is unclear how much of this organism was engineered or where they found it. In fact, I believe that this was a planned project rather than a relocation of a completed one. I also believe that most of what transpired was allowed to happen either because of negligence or, more likely, an opportunity to gather data cost free. Edwin and his son were not sick, and therein stemmed the problem. With no damage for the organism to focus on, it ran through their bodies unchecked. From the documentation my team uncovered, there seems to be an accompanying injection that keeps the organism in check and prohibits it from taking control. The recovery team contained both organisms through the use of electro weaponry and specialized containment pods. Once again, they arrived too late and too prepared. There was also a third specimen.

[A]

Mason.

[B]

The paramedic had been dead for at least an hour when they reached the basement. The blood loss had stopped his heart, but it had not stopped the organism. New structures were forming through the pelvis and lower spine, and tissue from the severed limb had been pulled back into the body. The report describes continued movement despite the complete absence of cardiac or neurological activity. I have a horrible feeling that these developments will only lead to increased interest in these organisms. The recovery team collapsed the tunnel and burned the house before sunrise. The official records show an electrical fire followed by structural failure. Daniel was processed separately. The Bureau has found no sign of infection. He was dehydrated, concussed and covered in blood. Was not his own. They stabilized him, sedated him and transferred him under a civilian retention order. There is no release date attached to that designation. Daniel survived the Crowley house. He escaped the creatures, crossed the property and reached the road believing the worst was behind him. Instead, he's disappeared into Bureau custody, a place with no witnesses, no legal record and no reason to ever let him leave. Ridgemont proved what happens when the Bureau loses control on a scale too large to hide. The Crowley house proves the same failure can happen quietly within the sight of your neighborhood and still erase every life it touches. The scale changes. Their problem. Does not. Does not.