← Redwood Bureau
Redwood Bureau
"HIDERS" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #0225_2
01:06:24
Do not approach roadkill or animal corpses. Something in the United States is eating people.
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- [00:00]
Narrator
Dear old work platform. It's not you, it's us. Actually, it is you. Endless onboarding, constant IT bottlenecks. We've had enough. We need a platform that just gets us. And to be honest, we've met someone new. They're called Monday.com and it was love at first onboarding. Their beautiful dashboards, their customizable workflows got us floating on a digital cloud. 9 so no hard feelings, but we're moving on. Monday.com the first work platform you'll love to use.
- [00:32]
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- [01:57]
Agent Conroy
Beware the Redwood Bureau. 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. The first file I ever leaked from the Redwood Bureau was about something simple. A single family living an ordinary life in an ordinary house who had no idea they were about to open their home to something horrific. They had no reason to suspect anything was wrong until it was far too late. That was how I introduced the world to hiders. At the time, I thought exposing them would be enough. As far as I could tell, the Bureau had been keeping their existence buried for years, quietly covering up one incident after another, ensuring the public never learned about what could be waiting inside the dead. These things are hunters. Instinct driven, opportunistic and relentless. And worse than that, they were something the Bureau didn't just contain. They actively placed them within populations. When I leaked that first case, I was naive enough to believe it would be enough. I thought the truth would force them to stop, that someone, somewhere would intervene. But the Bureau doesn't stop. It adapts. The containment reports changed. Their protocols evolved. And over time, the incidents have become much more covered up and controlled. The Bureau, through its constant blunders, has become much more efficient. For a while, it seemed like their research had reached its conclusion. But I knew better. The Bureau never destroys anything unless it has to. If the reports stopped, it wasn't because they had wiped out the Hiders. It was because they were working on better ways to control them. Recently, I started piecing things together. Tracking anomalies and Bureau activity, searching for signs of something bigger. That's when I found this. A case file so deeply buried that even I almost missed it. A town that simply ceased to exist, with no news reports, no disaster coverage, and no official explanations. The only record of what happened that night comes from a handful of scattered police transmissions and emergency calls. Remnants of something that was never meant to leave the Bureau's archives. This wasn't a random outbreak. It wasn't an accident. And if I'm right, it's only the beginning. The first time I leaked a file about Hiders, I thought I was exposing a secret. Now I'm starting to think I was just revealing the first step in something much, much worse. Much worse.
- [05:25]
Narrator
Log entry 1. If you had told me prior to being assigned this project that the Redwood Bureau would be running a roadkill delivery service, I would have laughed you out of the building. But here I am reviewing a report that details how some suburban schmuck in California actually ordered a deer carcass off an app some cook here designed. And it worked better than anyone expected. Roadside deliveries. They call it a test model meant to push targeted ads to a very specific demographic, geographic position. Careless. And just gullible enough to think ordering fresh roadkill to your door is a good idea. The algorithm was designed to sniff out this very specific subset. A psychological profile buried in data mining and search patterns. I still can't believe it actually reached anyone, let alone convince people to actually use it. But the numbers don't lie. One AD, one delivery, 54 casualties. Efficient. If nothing else, the research data must have been adequate, because here we are. I scroll through the casualty reports while sipping my cup of stale coffee. We can apparently contain and control impossible entities, but making a decent cup of coffee is out of the question. At some point, these people are kind of asking for it. I mean, unleashing an almost unkillable apex predator because some guy wanted to impress his wife with locally sourced venison. You can't make this stuff up. It's the kind of thing you'd read on some conspiracy forum and laugh off as too ridiculous to be true. And yet here I am in an underground facility filing reports on how number 0225 tore through a Californian suburb like it was a buffet line. Log entry 2 got called into a briefing with Director Alvorson today. That's always a treat. If the man has a sense of humor. He. He keeps it buried deeper than our most classified containment chamber. The briefing room was as uninviting as possible, and a table that felt more like an operating slab than a meeting space. Halvorson slid a file across the table like he was offering me one of the cursed RELICs from floor three.
- [07:59]
Agent Conroy
We're expanding project Infiltrator, he said, his.
- [08:03]
Narrator
Voice as dry as the desert outside.
- [08:06]
Agent Conroy
I want you to officially begin implementing Phase Two.
- [08:11]
Narrator
I opened the file. A small town in Canada, population barely scratching 2000. Quaint place. Looked like the kind of town where everyone knows everyone and no one locks their doors. Perfect for a field test. What's the objective? I asked, because apparently I still haven't learned to keep my mouth shut. Halvorson's gaze could freeze lava.
- [08:37]
Agent Conroy
Your clearance doesn't require that information, Delaney.
- [08:41]
Narrator
Right, of course. I'm just the guy who organizes shit and pushes the buttons. Who cares if I know what the buttons do? As I closed the file, Halvorson added.
- [08:53]
Agent Conroy
Handling protocols are not a recommendation. I want everything outlined in the file followed to the letter.
- [09:01]
Narrator
Of course, sir. Then he strode out of the room, leaving me alone with the file full of questions and no answers. Log entry 3. Unlike the last test, there's no app this time. Too many variables. Too much digital noise. This new system is more subtle. We're taking over a local wildlife management service. On paper, at least, we'll continue operating with routine carcass removals. No opt in required. No suspicious app downloads. Just a friendly government service doing its part to keep the streets clean. Simple, clean, efficient. But really, what we're doing is closer to seeding the area with hiders. The logistics are a nightmare, though. Coordinating shipments across borders without raising red flags requires layers of bureaucracy that even I can't fully wrap my head around. Every delivery has to be meticulously planned down to the minute. One mistake and well after that meeting, I have a feeling it's gonna be My ass. But there's more at play. I noticed discrepancies in the delivery manifests. Extra shipments that weren't accounted for in the initial plan. When I flagged it, the system autocorrected the data like it never happened. I brought it up to my supervisor, but Halvorsen wouldn't hear of it. I keep thinking about how it all started in California. Just a small test. Now we're scaling up 54. Won't even be the tip of the iceberg. How far will this thing go? Log entry 4. Received an urgent memo today. Redacted to hell and back, but one line slipped through. Variation number 0225B exhibits autonomous dispersal capabilities. Host compatibility diversified. Host compatibility diversified. I read that line about a dozen times, each word sinking in like a stone in my gut. The whole point of Hiders was that they needed a corpse to hide in. That was their limitation. Their one weakness. Whatever this means, it could change everything. I tried to request clarification and additional access to files, but my request was immediately denied. I guess that's my answer. The memo also heavily redacted mentions of other ongoing tests. I don't think this is about just one town. It's bigger. Much bigger. Final report submitted. Project Infiltrator is officially underway. I'm sitting in my office, staring at the map of that Canadian town. Little pins mark the delivery points. It looks like a game board. Like all those people are just pawns waiting to be taken out by the Bureau's queen. I still have no idea why we're doing this, but something tells me I won't want to find out. The thing is, I can't shake this feeling. Like we're playing with fire and there's no extinguisher in sight. Hope I'm wrong.
- [12:41]
Nate
The sun was just beginning to rise, casting long golden fingers through the towering pines and birches of the Canadian wilderness. The crisp morning air bit gently at my cheeks, filling my lungs with that clean, stimulating scent you only get in places untouched by concrete and car exhaust. It was the kind of morning that made you forget the rest of the world existed. Like we were the only two people left on Earth. Dad moved ahead of me on the trail, his boots crunching softly against the frost hardened ground. I could see his breath puffing out in steady clouds, mingling with the faint mist that clung to the forest floor. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, the old leather strap worn smooth from years of trips just like this. I'd always admired how effortlessly he moved through the woods like he belonged there in a way I was still trying to emulate. Keep your steps light, Nate, he said without turning around. His voice was low, just loud enough to carry over the soft rustle of the trees.
- [13:47]
Narrator
You don't want to spook anything before we even get close.
- [13:51]
Nate
Got it, I whispered back, adjusting my grip on the old hunting rifle he'd let me use for the trip. It felt heavy and awkward in my hands, but I wasn't about to admit that that was our first big hunting trip together, just me and him, and I wasn't going to screw it up. We'd set out from camp about an hour before dawn, leaving the warmth of our little canvas tent behind to chase the promise of fresh tracks in the morning frost. The forest around us was alive with the subtle sounds of flourishing wildlife, the distant call of a loon from the nearby lake, the soft flutter of wings as a chickadee darted from branch to branch. Every so often we'd pause, listening for the tell tale snap of a twig or the rustle of leaves that would betray the presence of a deer. Dad stopped suddenly, raising a hand to signal me to do the same. I froze, my heart thudding in my chest as I scanned the trees ahead. For a moment there was nothing but the quiet hush of the forest. And then I saw what he saw. A set of tracks in the soft earth just off the trail. Fresh and sharp. Deer. Looks like we're in luck, dad murmured, crouching down to get a better look. I followed his lead, trying to mirror the easy confidence in his movements. The tracks were deep, the edges crisp and defined. How can you tell how fresh they are? I asked, genuinely curious. He gave me a small smile, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
- [15:27]
Narrator
See how the edges haven't started to crumble yet and there's no frost settled inside the print. That means it came through here not long ago.
- [15:35]
Nate
I nodded, trying to commit the details to memory. It was little things like that, the stuff you couldn't always pick up from books or YouTube videos, that made me realize how much I still had to learn from him. We followed the tracks deeper into the woods, moving slow and steady. The forest seemed to open up around us, the trees thinning enough to let the sunlight filter through in soft, dappled patches. The air was cool against my skin, but the steady movement kept me warm. There was something almost magical about being out here. The quiet companionship, the sense of purpose, the way the world felt bigger and more alive. As we walked, dad started telling me stories from when he was my age, back when he used to come up to these woods with his own father, he told me about the time they got caught in a sudden downpour and had to huddle under a makeshift shelter for hours, laughing. About how they'd forgotten to seal their matches in something watertight. And then about the time a moose stumbled across their blind, so close they could hear its breathing and had to stand perfectly still until it eventually wandered off. I listened, soaking in every word. It wasn't just about the hunt. It was about being out here, sharing something that felt ancient and important. I could see it in the way Dad's eyes lit up when he talked, the way his voice softened when he mentioned his dad. This trip wasn't just about bagging a deer for him. It was about passing something down to me, keeping a tradition and memory alive. We kept moving, the tracks leading us deeper into the wilderness. The forest felt like it stretched into infinity, an endless sea of green and gold. Every so often, we'd catch a glimpse of something moving through the trees. A flash of fur, the flick of a tail. We'd only seen small wildlife so far, but with each sign of life, the anticipation only built. Then, as we rounded a bend in the trail, we noticed something strange. The forest had gone quiet and still. The usual sounds of birdsong and rustling creatures in the underbrush were replaced by an unnatural stillness. Dad paused, his brow furrowing as he scanned the trees. Stay close, he said, his voice low and tense. I nodded, my grip instinctively tightening on the rifle. We pressed on, but the sense of unease seemed to linger. It wasn't just the persisting silence. It was the feeling that something was watching us, just out of sight. I tried to shake it off, telling myself it was just my imagination, but the hairs on the back of my neck wouldn't go down. As we continued, we stumbled upon another set of tracks. But these weren't like the ones we'd been following. They were deeper, heavier, and spaced too far apart for a deer. Dad crouched down, his eyes narrowing as he studied them. What is it? I asked, my voice hardly breaking through the silence. He didn't answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight.
- [18:45]
Narrator
I don't know.
- [18:46]
Nate
That was the first time I felt real fear. I'd never heard my dad say he didn't know. He always knew. But despite that, we didn't turn back. We continued deeper into the heart of the wilderness. We set up camp by a small clearing not far from where the strange tracks had ended. The sun was dipping towards the tree line, casting long shadows across the forest floor. The air grew cooler, but the campfire we built kept us warm, its flickering light painting our faces in hues of orange and shadow. Dad handed me a tin cup filled with a small amount of liquid from his flask. I took a sip, wincing as it burned all the way down. He gave me a knowing smirk.
- [19:32]
Narrator
Takes some getting used to, he said.
- [19:34]
Nate
With a chuckle, poking at the fire with his stick.
- [19:37]
Narrator
But it'll warm you up faster than anything else.
- [19:40]
Nate
I nodded as the warmth worked its way down through my stomach, a comforting contrast to the chills settling in around us. We sat in silence for a while, listening to the fire crackle and the distant sounds of the forest settling in for the night.
- [19:55]
Narrator
You did good out there today, dad.
- [19:57]
Nate
Said after a while, his voice breaking the quiet.
- [20:01]
Narrator
You're learning fast.
- [20:02]
Nate
Thanks, I replied, feeling a swell of pride in my chest. Coming from him, that meant more than he probably realized. He leaned back against a log, staring up at the stars beginning to twinkle in the darkening sky.
- [20:17]
Narrator
Your grandpa used to bring me out here when I was about your age. He taught me everything I know about hunting, about respecting the land. It's not just about the kill, you know. It's about understanding the world around you, becoming a part of it.
- [20:31]
Nate
I listened, letting his words sink in. There was a weight to them, a sense of history that made me feel connected to something bigger than myself. This wasn't just a trip. It was a rite of passage, a thread in the fabric of our family's story. As the night darkened, we shared a few more stories, laughing about old family tales and the mishaps of past trips. Dad's laugh was deep and hearty, the kind that made you feel like everything was right with the world. It was easy to forget the strange tracks we'd seen earlier, to let the warmth of the fire and the comfort of his presence chase away the lingering unease. Somewhere in the distance, a strange, guttural sound echoed through the trees. It wasn't the call of any animal I'd ever heard, too distorted and unnatural. Dad's laughter died in his throat, his eyes narrowing as he stared into the darkness. What was that? I whispered, my heart pounding in my chest. He shook his head slowly.
- [21:35]
Narrator
We'll keep the fire going tonight.
- [21:38]
Nate
We sat in silence after that, the earlier lightheartedness replaced by a heavy, unspoken tension. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig set my nerves on edge. The forest felt hostile, like it was harboring something dangerous. Dad stayed up long after I'd crawled into my sleeping bag, his silhouette outlined by the low firelight. I watched him from the corner of my eye, his rifle resting across his knees, his gaze fixed on the shadows just beyond the fire's glow. I drifted off to sleep eventually, but it was a light, restless sleep, haunted by dreams of dark shapes moving through the trees and eyes that glowed in the night.
- [22:23]
Agent Conroy
Warning Signal Interruption Detected.
- [22:28]
Nate
Daredevil Is Born Again on Disney why did you stop being a vigilante? The line was crossed.
- [22:35]
Police Officer
Sometimes peace needs to be broken. Chaos must reign.
- [22:40]
Nate
On March 4th, the nine episode event begins.
- [22:44]
Police Officer
I was raised to believe in grace.
- [22:46]
Nate
But I was also raised to believe in retribution. Marvel Television's Daredevil born again. Don't miss the two episode premiere March 4th only on Disney plus hey there.
- [22:58]
Shopify Advertiser
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- [23:33]
Agent Conroy
Signal connection restored.
- [23:35]
Nate
When I woke, the fire was little more than embers, and dad was still there, his face drawn and tired as if he hadn't slept at all. We packed up in silence the next morning, the weight of the night hanging heavy between us. The morning sun filtered weakly through the dense canopy as we followed the trail deeper into the forest. The tracks from the day before were still fresh, but they were growing stranger, erratic, as if whatever we were tracking had been in a struggle. The ground was torn in places, the earth gouged with deep, uneven furrows that made no sense. Looks like a fight, dad murmured, kneeling to examine the disturbed soil. His fingers traced the edge of one of the deeper grooves. His brow furrowed in confusion, but I.
- [24:24]
Narrator
Don'T know what kind.
- [24:25]
Nate
I swallowed hard, my eyes darting around the silent woods. The usual morning chorus of birds was absent again, leaving only the sound of our breathing and the soft crunch of our boots against the forest floor. The further we went, the more tension seemed to fill my shoulders and arms. We pushed forward until the tracks led us to a small clearing. And that's when we saw it. A deer lying motionless in the grass. It looked like it had died recently, its legs splayed at odd angles, but as we stepped closer, the details became clearer and far more disturbing. The deer's eyes were wide open, glassy and unblinking but its mouth was stretched into a grotesque, silent snarl. Its torso was bloated, distended in a way that didn't make sense for something recently deceased. The wound on its side was jagged flesh peeled back like it had been torn open by an extreme amount of force. Dad raised his rifle instinctively, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the perimeter of the clearing. Stay behind me, he whispered, his voice tight with something I'd never heard before. I nodded, clutching my rifle even though my hands were trembling, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the deer's bloated form. The longer I stared, the more certain I became that something was wrong, not just with the deer, but with the entire situation. Then the deer's body jerked. It was subtle at first, a slight twitch of one leg, followed by a faint shudder rippling through its distended belly. But it grew more violent with each passing second. Soon the deer's limbs were flailing in unnatural, spasmodic jerks. The bloated skin on its abdomen began to split, dark blood oozing from the fresh tears as something pushed its way out. Back up. Hissed dad, stepping in front of me as he raised his rifle higher. But I was frozen, rooted to the spot by a mixture of horror and disbelief. With a sickening, wet crack, the deer's ribcage burst open. What emerged wasn't like anything I'd ever seen. It was all sinew and muscle, glistening with blood and other fluids. Its body was a patchwork of raw, quivering flesh stretched tight over thin limbs that ended up in razor sharp talons. Its head, if you could call it that, was a grotesque amalgamation of exposed bone and tissue, with eyes that gleamed like wet marbles. Devoid of any life or reason. It moved with an unnatural grace, unfolding itself from the ruined carcass like it had been lying in wait. Its mouth opened in a soundless scream, rows of needle like teeth glinting in the weak sunlight. Dad fired. The shot echoed through the clearing, a sharp crack that should have sent the thing sprawling, but it didn't. The bullet hit its mark. I saw it, but the creature barely flinched. It turned those empty, gleaming eyes toward us, and in that moment, I felt something cold and primal settle in my chest. Run. Dad shouted, grabbing my arm and yanking me backward. But I couldn't move. I could only watch as the creature lunged forward, its limbs stretching farther than they should, closing the distance between us in seconds. Dad fired it in. I heard the impact, a wet, fleshy thud. But it didn't stop. It hardly slowed down.
- [28:01]
Narrator
Nate, run.
- [28:03]
Nate
Something in his voice finally broke through my paralysis. I turned and bolted, my heart pounding in my chest, the sound of my own ragged breathing filling my ears. Behind me, I heard Dad's rifle crack again, followed by a noise that would haunt me for the rest of my life. A wet, tearing sound, and then silence. I didn't look back. The forest swallowed me whole as I ran, the trees blurring into streaks of green and brown. My legs burned. My lungs screamed for air, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. That thing's eyes, those gleaming, lifeless orbs, were burned into my mind. It was death. And my dad. I don't know how long I ran before my legs finally gave out. I collapsed against the base of a massive pine, gasping for breath, my heart pounding like it was going to break through my chest, that imagery bringing back the memory of that thing tearing out of the deer. Dad, I whispered, my voice hoarse and broken. I strained my ears, hoping, praying to hear his voice cutting through the woods. But there was nothing. Just the oppressive silence, heavy and consuming. I forced myself to stand, every muscle in my body protesting. I had to find him. I had to believe he was still out there, looking for me. The forest, once so alive and magical, felt like a place of death. The sunlight barely pierced the thick canopy above, casting everything in a dim greenish hue. And it was getting lower. I followed what I thought was a trail, but the woods all looked the same now. Endless, unchanging, indifferent to my situation. Hours seemed to pass, though I couldn't tell for sure. My throat was raw from shouting, my voice growing weaker with each unanswered call. I was lost, utterly and completely. The realization settled over me like a weight pressing down on my chest until I could barely breathe. I sank to the ground, my back pressed against the rough bark of a tree. My hands trembled as I clutched the rifle. I thought about Dad's stories, about the lessons he'd taught me. None of them had prepared me for this, for the sheer, suffocating fear of being alone in the face of something I couldn't understand. My mind replayed the last moments I'd seen him. The sound of his voice, the look in his eyes as he told me to run. I wiped at my face, surprised to find tears there. I wanted to believe he was still out there, but the forest had swallowed him whole, just like it had swallowed me. The day dragged on, the darkness creeping in as evening took hold of the sky. The shadows grew until they consumed every natural hue of green and brown. Every sound the crack of a twig, the rustle of Leaves sent my heart racing. I flinched at every movement, every noise I didn't make. As the last light of day bled from the sky, I found a small overhang of rocks and huddled beneath it. The cold seeped into my bones and I shivered, pulling my jacket tighter around me. The rifle lay across my lap, but I wasn't sure it would do me any good. Whatever that thing was, it hardly seemed to notice when dad shot it. I stared into the growing darkness, my mind racing with thoughts of what might be lurking just beyond my sight. The forest felt like it was closing in on me, like I was surrounded by death on all sides. I listened, straining to hear anything that might tell me I wasn't alone. But there was nothing. Just the silence and the growing certainty that my dad wasn't looking for me. That he wouldn't be. I pulled my knees to my chest, trying to stay warm, trying to keep the fear at bay. But as the darkness deepened and the temperature dropped, I couldn't control the panic taking hold. The night stretched on, endless and suffocating. I was exhausted like I'd never been before. The cold gnawed at my skin, but it was the fear that kept my body trembling. I must have drifted in and out of a restless sleep, my mind teetering on the edge of fatigue and terror. When I finally opened my eyes again, the moon offered little light, casting the world in faint, silvery outlines. Then a sound, faint but unmistakable, cutting through the stillness like a blade. The soft crunch of footsteps on frost hardened leaves. My heart leapt into my throat. For a moment, a fleeting, fragile moment, hope surged through me. Dad? My voice was a whisper, hoarse and trembling. No answer. The footsteps grew louder, closer, slow and uneven. Something was wrong. I could feel it in the marrow of my bones. My hands fumbled for my phone, the weak light of its flashlight cutting shallow window through the dark. The world beyond that small circle of light felt infinite and hostile. I scrambled to my feet, clutching the rifle with fumbling hands. I held my breath as the footsteps drew nearer, each crunch of leaves like a hammer against my skull. And then he appeared in the beam of my flashlight. It was dad. But even in the weak glow, I could see something was horribly, monstrously wrong. His face was pale, bloodless. His eyes were wide and unblinking. But there was something else, a glimmer of agony buried deep within. His mouth hung slack, and from it issued a wet, gurgling noise that turned my stomach. Dad. I choked out, my voice cracking as the cold air clawed its way down my throat. He didn't respond. His body Twitched, spasmed, like a puppet pulled by clumsy, invisible strings. His head. His head jerked to the side in a violent, unnatural motion, and his legs dragged forward in uneven, staggering steps. I lifted the phone higher, trying to look him over for injuries. His jacket was torn wide open down the back and through the jagged flaps of fabric, I saw something glistening. My hand trembled as I tried to focus. Then, beneath his skin, something moved. Thick, sinewy cords of flesh writhed and pulsed, threading through his muscles, yanking at his limbs. The skin along his spine bulged and twisted, stretched grotesquely, as if something inside was trying to rip free. His mouth moved again, and this time a single mangled word escaped. The sound was hardly speech. It was a wet, broken gurgle, like his vocal cords had been shredded and were hanging on by a thread. But it was his voice. I knew it was his voice. I felt the bile rising, burning my throat as I staggered backward, the phone's light shaking wildly. The horror of it all clawed at my mind, the realization that he was still in there, fighting in that mangled, occupied body. He. It lurched forward, arms twitching, sharp claws tearing out of his loose, broken hands. The cords beneath his skin tugged violently, forcing his limbs into nightmarish jerking motions punctuated by ripping and cracking sounds. His face twisted in agony, lips peeling back to reveal teeth stained red. I raised the rifle, my hands trembling so hard I could barely keep it steady. Dad, I whispered, tears streaming down my face. Please don't. Don't make me do this. But he kept coming. I squeezed the trigger. The gunshot shattered the silence, echoing through the endless expanse of trees. His body jerked violently, but he didn't fall. The thing inside him let out a guttural, pulsing groan, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the ground beneath my feet. His legs buckled, but those sinewy tendrils held him upright, dragging him forward without mercy. I fired again and again, the shots tearing through flesh and bone, but it didn't stop the thing inside of him. His body convulsed with each impact. I could see his eyes losing focus. His mouth opened wider, impossibly wide. The skin, skin on his cheeks began to tear. I could see something deep red rising from his throat. I turned and ran, my flashlight dancing wildly as the trees blurred past. My legs screamed in pain for me to stop and rest, but adrenaline pushed me far beyond my limits. I could still hear his voice, twisted and broken, echoing in my mind. I ran until my legs physically gave out, collapsing into the cold, hard earth. My body ached. My mind frayed at the edges. But I couldn't stop. Not yet. I knew it was still out there, still coming for me. I forced myself back up, stumbling forward, though every step felt heavier than the last. I dragged myself forward, collapsing into one tree and then the next. It wasn't long after that I heard it. Not footsteps, but more like a wet, dragging sound, like something slick and heavy being pulled through the underbrush. I turned, shining my light into the trees, the dim beam trembling as much as my hands while I swept it around me. A recognizable shape stopped me as I panned back to the face, peering through the bushes, my heart freezing. And then Jackham, as my dad's form stepped out into the open. His body was barely recognizable now. The flesh hung in tatters from his frame, his head lulled to the side, jaw slack and lifeless, eyes loose and glassy, reflecting the light like twin moons in the darkness. The sinewy cords inside him had grown, splitting through his skin, weaving in and out of his body like serpents. One of his arms bent backward at an impossible angle, bone jutting through the skin, jagged and broken. But his legs still moved, dragging him forward even as the rest of his body sagged and flopped like dead weight. The thing inside him was wearing his dead body, yanking at its limbs with crude jerking motions, pulling his ruined flesh through the forest. I staggered backward, knowing my legs physically weren't capable of running any longer, even though my mind screamed at me to do so. The way his body moved, the way it twitched and lurched toward me, was worse than anything I could have ever imagined. I raised the rifle, my hand shaking so hard I could barely keep it steady. Dad? I whispered, my voice breaking as tears blurred my vision. But the face staring back at me wasn't his anymore. It was a mask stretched over something mindless and hungry. I squeezed the trigger. The gunshot shattered the knight. His body jerked violently to the side, stumbling but righting itself in the next step. I fired again and again, emptying my magazine before a resounding click of an empty chamber echoed through my ears, somehow louder than any gunshot. The shots did nothing. My dad's body was already dead. The thing inside him didn't need him alive, and it wouldn't die. Dropping the useless rifle, I turned and tried to run. My muscles cramped and twisted, sending me sprawling onto the snow in pain that was far overshadowed by fear. I felt the sharp sting of something slicing into my ankle, followed by the sickening sensation of pulling. I screamed, twisting to see one of those sinewy cords wrapped tight around my leg, the other end protruding from the raw mass peeking out of the hole in my dad's chest. His face, lifeless and slack, hung over me as the cord dragged me closer. I clawed at the ground, trying to pull myself forward, free, but the cord only tightened, biting into my flesh, cutting into me. My screams echoed through the forest. There was no one around to hear them as I was pulled into the cold, wet embrace of my father's corpse. I saw his dead eyes staring into mine as if welcoming me into the afterlife. Then I felt the searing agony as that thing burrowed into me, hollowing me out from the inside, just like it had done to him.
- [41:21]
Agent Conroy
Signal connection restored.
- [41:27]
Police Officer
The night was too damn quiet. I leaned back in my patrol car, letting the creak of the old vinyl seat fill the stillness as I sipped for from my thermos. The coffee inside was lukewarm and tasted like burnt mud. The station had run out of creamer days ago, and apparently no one cared enough to grab more. The dim green glow from the dash clock read 2:13am that dead stretch of night when even the drunks had passed out. Out here on the highway just outside of town, it was always quiet. But tonight not a single car had passed by. No raccoons or possums crossing the road, just the hum of the engine and the occasional check in on the radio. Maybe if I was lucky, I'd spot some teenager trying to outrun curfew or a stray deer wandering too close to the road. But tonight felt like even the wildlife had packed it in. I rolled down the window, letting the cool air slap me awake, the kind of chill that felt good on your skin until you realized it was creeping deeper, trying to settle into your bones. I was just tired. Too many night shifts on the same empty highways. Then the radio crackled.
- [42:51]
Dispatch Operator
Unit 14, we've got a code 4:15.
- [42:55]
Police Officer
Go ahead, dispatch. There was a beat of static, then her voice came through again, tight and unsure.
- [43:03]
Dispatch Operator
Callers at 142 Maple Lane. Woman says her husband and son went on a hunting trip. The son just came back, but she says it's not her son.
- [43:16]
Police Officer
I sat up straighter, my hand tightening around the mic. Say that again.
- [43:22]
Dispatch Operator
She's locked herself in an upstairs bedroom. Claims whatever it is, it's in the house.
- [43:29]
Police Officer
Silence followed. There was no joke or dry remark to let me know it wasn't a real call and I could get back to my empty road. I sighed, shaking my head. Probably a spooked housewife in an empty house. Or maybe the kid came back hopped up on something. Scared the hell out of her. I'd Seen it before, family calls where the fear was bigger than the reality. Still, everything tonight just felt off. Unit 14 en route. I holstered the mic back onto the cradle, flipped on my lights, and pulled onto the highway. The red and blue flashes lit up the trees as I sped toward town, painting the world in pulses of color. As the tires hummed against the asphalt, I thought about the call. I'd show up, calm the lady down. The kid was probably messing around downstairs. They'd both look embarrassed, and I'd get back to doing nothing. But then the radio crackled again, interrupting my thoughts.
- [44:37]
Dispatch Operator
Unit seven, I've got something out on Lakeview Road. Might be an animal attack, but it's. I'm not sure. Really strange call.
- [44:49]
Police Officer
I frowned as Peters responded. An animal attack, he said. What kind? There was a pause before Mary responded.
- [45:00]
Dispatch Operator
I I'm not sure. The caller was panicked, and I lost connection before I could get more information.
- [45:08]
Police Officer
I kept one hand on the wheel, the other near the mic, waiting for dispatch to update either of the calls. There were only a handful of us on patrol tonight. Myself, Peters, unit 7, Craig, unit 5, and maybe Porter, unit 12, but I couldn't remember if this was the weekend he'd scheduled off or the next. Another call coming in.
- [45:36]
Dispatch Operator
Unit 5, respond to report at 301-brookside. Caller states a man is standing in their backyard and won't leave. No forced entry. Subject is approximately 5 foot 10, dark jeans, black parka is non responsive.
- [45:53]
Police Officer
I frowned. Another call loitering at this hour.
- [45:58]
Dispatch Operator
Unit 14, update on that. 4:15.
- [46:02]
Police Officer
Mary's voice came through, distress evident in her tone.
- [46:08]
Dispatch Operator
Caller is still locked in a room upstairs. Apparently the son is now trying to enter the room, actively slamming against the door.
- [46:16]
Police Officer
I exhaled sharply. 104 dispatch. Any possibility for backup? I asked.
- [46:23]
Dispatch Operator
Minus 14 all units are on calls. I'm trying to bring in day shift, but it will take a while.
- [46:30]
Police Officer
I took the turn onto Maple Lane, keeping my high beams on as I scanned the dimly lit street. This part of town was quiet, made up of older homes with big dark yards and porches deep enough to disappear into. My headlights swept over a pair of trash cans knocked onto their sides, their contents scattered across the curb. The radio crackled again.
- [46:57]
Nate
UN7 requesting backup. Lakeview Road.
- [46:59]
Police Officer
We have a burst of static.
- [47:02]
Nate
Not an animal.
- [47:04]
Police Officer
Not fuck. Send someone. The transmission cut off. My fingers tightened around the wheel. Dispatch, confirm last Transmission from Unit 7? I asked. A beat of silence, then, -14 we've lost contact. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
- [47:25]
Agent Conroy
Unit 5 to Dispatch. I'm en route to Unit 7 now.
- [47:29]
Dispatch Operator
Copy that, Unit 5. I've called the chief in. I'll have backup en route momentarily.
- [47:34]
Police Officer
I was two blocks from the house now, number 142. I spotted the driveway just ahead, porch light flickering like it had seen better days. The front door was open just slightly, too dark inside to see much. I left the light bar flashing, casting red and blue pulses across the front yard. My boots crunched over the snow and the driveway gravel as I stepped out, adjusting my belt and resting my hand on my sidearm. Something about the stillness of the street made my skin crawl. I turned toward the house, about to call out when I saw a man standing just inside the street lamp's glow a few houses down, barefoot, dressed in jeans and a flannel, arms hanging loose at his sides. I lifted my flashlight, shining it toward him. He didn't move, didn't react, didn't even flinch as the beam hit his face. His head was tilted slightly, his body slack. A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the biting cold. Then a thud pulled my attention behind me. I spun toward my patrol car, reaching for my weapon. A woman had slammed her hands against the passenger side window, eyes wide. She was sobbing, her mouth moving rapidly.
- [49:04]
Nate
Not my son, she gasped. He came home, but it's not him.
- [49:09]
Police Officer
This woman was the caller. It looked like she jumped out of the window, still in her pajamas, with no coat. The radio cut through the tense moment, causing me to jump at the sudden interruption.
- [49:21]
Dispatch Operator
Our units.
- [49:22]
Police Officer
Mary's voice cracked, frantic now.
- [49:26]
Dispatch Operator
Multiple reports coming in, people breaking into homes.
- [49:30]
Police Officer
Then all the lights in the neighborhood flickered before going out, plunging everything into darkness, illuminated only by my flashing red and blues. And then the screaming began. It wasn't a single scream. It sounded like it was coming from everywhere at once, a a raw, animalistic chorus of terror that tore through the streets. I turned my flashlight toward the woman at my car, but she was already running down the street toward another home, banging on the door, pleading she never made it inside. Something rushed from the shadows and slammed into her, taking her off her feet with a crack so loud it echoed. I saw the flash of her body whipping backward against the pavement, the unnatural way she folded when she hit the ground. I took a step toward her. Then I saw what had hit her. It was a person, but barely. Its body was hollow, torn from the inside out, flesh distended and hanging in tatters. Its ribs flared outward, its arms hung limp until they didn't. They moved suddenly in jerking, violent spasms. Then it collapsed onto her. I heard bones Cracking and flesh tearing. I reached for my gun, pulled and fired. The shot rang out, a flash of light in the dark. The bullet ripped through the thing's shoulder, but it didn't react. It just continued tearing the woman apart. I shot it repeatedly, but it didn't even seem to notice I was there. When the woman stopped struggling and went limp, the thing got up and started slamming into the door of the house it was in front of. I turned around and saw shadows in motion. People running, tripping, screaming. But it was already too late. More of them had come. Not just one. They were everywhere. A window shattered somewhere down the street. An engine roared to life before being cut short by the sickening crunch of metal folding in on itself. Gunfire was echoing through the night now, sporadic, but all over. I turned, my breath coming short and fast as movement caught the edge of my vision. A figure stumbled into the glow of my flashlight. A man in pajamas, barefoot and wild eyed, dragging a child behind him, clutching the boy's wrist with a grip so tight the kid's feet barely touched the ground. He looked at me, mouth moving, but no words came out, just raw, breathless panic before he turned away, vanishing between two houses. Something else moved in the opposite direction. Something on all fours. I barely had time to register what I was seeing before it was gone, disappearing into the dark as fast as it had come. But it ran right past. A woman thrashing on her front lawn. A man on top of her, convulsing, splitting apart as something peeled him open from the inside. Her hands clawed at his chest, trying to hold him together. A moment later, she stopped, screaming as his opened chest cavity enveloped her head. I stepped back, heart hammering. Gunshots. More screaming. A squad car came screeching down the street, lights and sirens only adding to the chaos as he slammed into one of the houses. What the fuck is happening? Before I could even run over to assist him, several shapes landed on the hood of the car, smashing into the windshield before one of them ripped him from the car. His screams were punctuated by a wet tearing as his body went through the too small, jagged hole. I ran. I didn't know where I was going. I just knew I had to move, that if I stood there a second longer, I was going to be next. The ground blurred beneath my feet. I vaulted over a fence, nearly lost my footing when I landed in someone's backyard and stumbled toward the alley between two houses. My breath was coming in ragged gasps, the radio crackling at my hip. Voices screaming for help, for backup, for anything, but no one was listening anymore. They were all dying. I turned onto the main road and saw the full extent of the carnage. People running, tripping over each other, disappearing into doorways, only to be dragged back out. Cars were abandoned in the middle of the street, some still running, others crashed into poles or storefronts. Something wet and pulpy was smeared across the windshield of one of them, the driver's door hanging open. Fires burned. A gun fired far too close to me, deafening, and I turned just in time to see another officer, Porter, maybe, ripped clean off his feet, vanishing into the dark before the gun could fire a second time. I stumbled backward, colliding with the side of a truck, and for the first time I let it sink in. There was no saving this. The town was gone. I felt something wrap around my ankle, pulling tight like a snake coiling for the kill. I hit the pavement hard, my head bouncing off the concrete street, my vision flashing white. My flashlight tumbled from my grasp, rolling a few feet ahead of me, the beam landing on what had grabbed me. A body? No, not a body. It was moving. Its face was slack, eyes bulging, mouth gaping wide in a frozen scream. Its ribs were opening, something inside pulling them apart. Reaching outward. I kicked at it and scrambled backward, but a hand grabbed my arm, then another. Then I felt a sharp burn on my side, cutting, tearing, digging. It bored into me. The radio crackled one last time. Mary's voice ripped through the static.
- [56:28]
Dispatch Operator
Oh, units. Oh units, Return to the station. They're. They're breaking through the windows. There's.
- [56:45]
Agent Conroy
This small Canadian town no longer exists. If you search for it now, you'll find nothing. And regretfully, I can't even give you the name it once had. Searching that name might just put you on the Bureau's watch list. A list I don't want any one of you on the surrounding areas have already been rezoned, and any remaining records, property listings, census data, satellite imagery have all been rewritten or completely erased. The first official Bureau report report on this incident wasn't a containment log. It was an evaluation, a cold, clinical breakdown of events that read more like a progress report than an emergency response. There were no mentions of cleanup efforts or survivor extractions. Instead, the files were littered with phrases like dispersal, model, efficacy, and escalation. Threshold met the the Bureau didn't just let this happen. They made it happen. This was an experiment. The Bureau has spent years studying the Hiders, testing their behaviors, tracking how they spread. They understand how they operate, how they move, how they hunt. And now these tests have become much bigger. From what I've gathered The Hiders were reintroduced into the town under specific conditions. Conditions designed to replicate a natural outbreak while allowing the Bureau to monitor its progression in real time. The town was isolated, its emergency response times carefully calculated to ensure maximum exposure before any outside intervention could take place. Local law enforcement had no idea what was coming their way. The people who lived there never stood a chance. And if the Bureau was willing to sacrifice an entire town, the why doesn't matter anymore. What they learn from it and what they're going to do with that information is the issue. Now, this was just one location, one test site. I don't know how many others there have been. How many other people or towns have vanished under similarly fabricated disasters. What I do know is that this case file didn't read like the Bureau was winding down its research. If anything, it suggested the opposite. They've moved past containment. They're preparing for something else. After all these reports, I still don't know what their ultimate goal is. But I can tell you what it's not. It's not protection. It's not public safety. And it sure as hell isn't about stopping Hiders before they become a larger threat. Buried in the back of this report, hidden behind layers of redactions, was something as concerning as the incident itself. Transport logs, half scrubbed, incomplete, detailing a mass transfer of live specimens. The routes were censored, but what little I could extract showed multiple hiders being relocated using an undisclosed form of US Transportation. I don't know where they were being sent. I don't know why. But I do know this. If the Bureau was moving that many Hiders at once, they are doing it for deployment. If you live in a town that suddenly stops appearing on maps, if people start disappearing and no one in charge seems to have a real answer, if your local news is suddenly flooded with contradictory reports about some vague, unexplained tragedy, you need to leave. You need to get out before they seal off the roads and bury you along with the truth. Because if the Bureau decides your town is the next testing ground, neither your government nor police will be coming to save you. And when it's over, when the screen have stopped and the streets have been washed clean, they'll erase whatever's left, fold up their reports, and move on to the next thing, the next experiment, the next massacre. Unless we find a way to stop them first. Stop them first.
- [61:08]
Nate
Damn it.
- [61:09]
Police Officer
Pick up.
- [61:10]
Nate
Pick up. Facility command, state your identification and clearance.
- [61:18]
Police Officer
Six, transport convoy.
- [61:20]
Narrator
Something's happened.
- [61:22]
Nate
Clarify, Unit six, what is your situation?
- [61:25]
Narrator
Contain the breach.
- [61:27]
Police Officer
I repeat, contain the breach on the train.
- [61:29]
Agent Conroy
One of them. One of them got looted in Ben.
- [61:34]
Nate
Unit 6, what is your status?
- [61:37]
Police Officer
You can't.
- [61:38]
Narrator
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