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"LUMINOPHAGE" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #9379

Redwood Bureau

Sat Feb 01 2025

A beacon in the dark—calling you closer, consuming you whole.

Summary

Redwood Bureau Podcast Summary
Episode: "LUMINOPHAGE" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #9379
Release Date: February 1, 2025
Host: Eeriecast Network
Host Character: Agent Conroy (Josh Tomar)

Introduction: The Vela Incident and Initial Anomalies

Agent Conroy opens the episode by referencing the mysterious Vela Incident of 1979, where a U.S. satellite detected an unexplained double flash over the South Atlantic. The event, initially believed to be a covert nuclear test or a satellite malfunction, remained unsolved due to the absence of any tangible evidence such as debris or radiation. Conroy states:

“Things like this don't happen just once. I've been gone for a few weeks, shutting down one of the Bureau's schemes...”
[02:14]

He reveals his intent to expose the Redwood Bureau's clandestine activities, aiming to inform the public about the Bureau's unethical pursuit of supernatural entities at the expense of human lives.

The Disappearance in the North American Wilderness

Conroy uncovers a report from the early 1990s detailing the mysterious disappearance of a group in the North American wilderness. Survivors' accounts described an inexplicable light that physically and psychologically altered them. These survivors were deemed "dead but not alive," a phenomenon the Bureau was keen to investigate while suppressing any public knowledge of the incident.

Mission Briefing: Investigating the Vanished Family

The narrative shifts to a covert operation where a team of eight agents, including Conroy, is dispatched to investigate the disappearance of a family in a secluded two-story house. Equipped with an experimental brainwave link for enhanced coordination, the team enters the house, finding it eerily undisturbed:

“An untrained eye would think nothing seemed amiss. All the lights are on, casting a warm glow through the windows...”
[05:38]

Exploration and Discovery in the Basement

While searching the house, the team ventures into the basement, encountering unexplained phenomena such as a perpetually running dryer and a seemingly indestructible locked door. Their investigation leads them to a makeshift Faraday cage surrounding an underground hole with a rope ladder, hinting at the presence of an unknown anomaly.

Encounter with the Anomaly: The Luminophage Unveiled

As the team navigates the labyrinthine underground tunnels, they experience violent disruptions, including blinding lights and deafening roars. A pivotal moment occurs when a team member’s corpse reanimates with grotesque mutations, relentlessly attacking the agents despite being shot:

“What the hell is this?”
[13:05] - Francis Thomas

Despite multiple attempts to neutralize the entity, it persists, forcing the team to retrace their steps amidst a reorganizing and disorienting maze of pipes. The anomaly, referred to as the Luminophage, demonstrates an ability to manipulate its environment and relentlessly pursue the agents.

Descent into Chaos: Team Disintegration

The situation deteriorates rapidly as the Luminophage's power escalates. A sudden explosion destroys part of the house, leading to further casualties and the disappearance of remaining team members. The remaining agents scramble to contain the threat while grappling with mounting losses:

“We've lost two already. Going back is suicide.”
[27:02]

Escape and Final Confrontation

In a desperate bid to escape, Conroy and another agent, Francis, flee the collapsing environment only to be struck by the Luminophage's wrath once more. Their vehicle is obliterated, leaving them as the sole survivors amid the wreckage and the lingering threat of the anomaly. As backup arrives, they secure the area, but the pervasive danger of the Luminophage remains unresolved.

Agent Conroy’s Analysis and Conclusion

In the episode's conclusion, Agent Conroy reflects on the implications of the Luminophage and the Redwood Bureau's role in containing such anomalies:

“Whatever it was, doesn't just destroy the people it touches. It remade them. Burned them out from the inside. And left behind something else.”
[41:12]

Conroy emphasizes the Bureau's failure to contain the anomaly effectively, suggesting that the Luminophage could potentially be weaponized or continue to instigate unexplained phenomena. He warns against leaving such entities in the Bureau's control, advocating for their destruction to prevent further atrocities.

Key Takeaways

Redwood Bureau’s Ethical Dilemma: The Bureau's relentless pursuit of supernatural entities leads to tragic consequences, including the loss of innocent lives and the transformation of survivors into something inhuman.
The Luminophage Phenomenon: An enigmatic and powerful entity capable of manipulating reality, causing disorientation, and reanimating corpses, posing a significant threat beyond conventional containment methods.
Agent Conroy’s Rebellion: As a whistleblower, Conroy seeks to unveil the Bureau's hidden operations, aiming to protect the public from the sinister activities undertaken in the name of research and control.
Ongoing Mystery: The episode underscores the unresolved nature of the anomalies, hinting at future threats and the Bureau's potential misuse of otherworldly powers.

This episode of Redwood Bureau intricately weaves a tale of mystery, horror, and conspiracy, highlighting the dark underbelly of governmental agencies' interactions with the supernatural. Through Agent Conroy's harrowing experiences, listeners are left contemplating the ethical boundaries of scientific exploration and the perilous consequences of tampering with forces beyond human comprehension.

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Transcript

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Agent Conroy (1:25)

Endless onboarding. IT bottlenecks admin requests. But what if things were different? Monday.com is different. No lengthy onboarding, beautiful reports in minutes, custom workflows you can build on your own. Easy to use prompt free AI huh? Turns out you can love a work management platform. Monday.com the first work plat you'll love to use. 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.

Narrator (2:12)

I worked for the Redwood Bureau, but.

Agent Conroy (2:14)

I have escaped them to leak their reports to the unsuspecting public. You have the right to know. In 1979, a U.S. satellite known as Vela 6911 detected something that should not have existed. A double flash of intense light, identical to the signature of a nuclear detonation, bloomed over the South Atlantic in the dead of night. The flash was brief, impossible to track, and completely silent. No missile launches were recorded. No seismic activity followed. It left behind no radiation, no debris, no trace. For decades, intelligence agencies argued over the cause. Some believed it was a covert nuclear test conducted by a nation desperate to keep its advancements hidden. Others thought it was a malfunction, the dying breath of aging Cold War technology, misreading signals from deep space. But there was always one detail that didn't make sense. Something the Bureau never stopped looking into. The light had no point of origin. It did not rise from the ocean, nor descend from the sky. It came from nowhere, shown with impossible brightness, and then simply disappeared. Officially, it was labeled an anomaly, a footnote in history, and eventually forgotten. But I've been doing this long enough to know the truth. Things like this don't happen just once. I've been gone for a few weeks, shutting down one of the Bureau's schemes, and I'll let you know exactly what happened as soon as I wrap it up. But for now, I found this report buried deep in the Bureau's archives. One that reminds me too much of Vela Incident. It happened in the early 1990s, deep in the North American wilderness. A group of people vanished under circumstances that defied logical explanation. The only evidence of what happened came from the few survivors whose accounts were dismissed as mass hysteria. But if you read between the lines, the details are impossible to ignore. They spoke of a light. Not just something they saw, but something they felt. It burned behind their eyes. It crept into their bones. It was inside of them, changing them, warping them into something unrecognizable. Not all of them made it back, and those who did were never the same. The Bureau took an immediate interest in the case, but they weren't the only ones. There were gaps in the records, missing reports, blacked out, transcripts that reeked of interference. Someone, maybe even something, was working just as hard to cover this up. The details don't quite sit right with me, but here's what remains of the case. And if the Bureau's involvement is any indication, this isn't over. Isn't over.

Narrator (5:38)

An idle breeze pushes the treetops aside, their plumes brushing against a starry night sky. The countryside stretches endlessly in every direction, a vast expanse of desolation broken only by the occasional cluster of trees or a distant farmhouse. We approach a lone home, a simple two story house with a basement, three occupants and a cat. No fence surrounds the front yard, just a narrow concrete pathway cutting through the overgrown grass leading to the entrance. Bushes speckle the fields, their shadows dancing in the moonlight while tall grass sways, obscuring the backyard from view. Two SUVs pull to a stop in front of the house, their headlights cutting through the darkness and illuminating several abandoned police cruisers. I step out of one, armed and armored, clad in a gas mask, my steel toed boots crunching against the gravel. Our unit of eight descends upon the home, moving with practiced precision. Unlike most teams, we don't have a leader, but our coordination and precision are largely thanks to an experimental brainwave link. A recent report detailed how the family living here vanished without a trace. When the police arrived, they disappeared too. Our mission is to find them or uncover what happened. We're only called in when something extraordinary is detected. Management doesn't like loose ends, so they send us. Most call us sweepers, though we're much better at killing than we are at cleaning. As we approach the front door, an untrained eye would think nothing seemed amiss. All the lights are on, casting a warm glow through the windows. The screen door is slightly tarnished from years of use, and a cat sits in the window, watching us with unblinking eyes. In this line of work, it pays to be aware of the animals. They sense things we can't. Several of us fan out around the sides of the house while the rest head inside. The interior is undisturbed, furniture in place, the TV still on, playing some late night infomercial. I approach the cat and give it a scratch behind the ears. It's calm, unknown, unnervingly so, purring softly as if nothing was wrong here. We move through the halls, lights on in every room. No signs of struggle. Two agents head upstairs, two sweep the main floor, and I head to the basement with another. The basement is dark, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and old wood. The hum of energy is palpable, like static under our skin, though the source is unclear. We move cautiously down the steps, flashlights cutting through the gloom. Shelves line the walls, cluttered with cleaning supplies, dusty knickknacks, and unused tools. The humming grows louder as we approach a dryer still running. I reach to turn it off, then pause. Why would it be on after all this time? The question gnaws at me as we continue our sweep, stepping carefully, searching for any sign of life. Just as I start to relax, the cat creeps into the room, tail held high. It's still calm, unbothered, as if the basement is just another part of its domain. I glance at my partner, who's tense as he checks the last corner. He looks back at me, and without a word, I convey my intentions. We lower our weapons, scoop up the cat, and head back upstairs. The rest of the team is gathered in the kitchen, their faces tense but focused. Upstairs, another team investigates the second floor. They move through narrow hallways, checking each room. A boy's bedroom, the master bedroom, and an office. One agent jolts, raising his weapon, only to lower it with a sigh. In the boy's room, a fish swims lazily in a bowl, its tiny world undisturbed, its shadow cast a hundred times larger than life. From the light behind it. The room is typical for a kid. A game system with controllers scattered on the floor, a tube TV perched on a rickety desk, notebooks and pencils strewn about. The master bedroom is unremarkable, the bathroom a bit messy, the beds unmade. The office is sparse, with just a computer on a desk and no papers in sight. It's as if the family simply walked away, leaving everything behind. Back in the kitchen, the cat grows tense. It squirms in my arms, its claws digging into my suit, so I set it down gently. It bolts into the living room, and the team reacts instantly, weapons raised, focused on a closed door. We try to open it, but it's locked. One agent kicks it, but it doesn't budge. Then a voice from outside found it. We hurry out back into a sea of swaying tall grass. One of our team stands near a shed. At first glance, it's unremarkable, but the grass around it is short and crispy, appearing scorched. The shed radiates warmth, and we pull out a Geiger counter. But it isn't radioactive. It's just warm. We kick down the door to find a Faraday cage inside, about 7ft tall, surrounding a hole in the ground with a rope ladder leading down. We inspect the cage's exterior. It's solid, though, clearly a makeshift job. A simple lock secures the door, which we unlock crudely and step inside. The disappearances make us wary, but we have a job to do. One by one, we descend the ladder. The situation has become more enigmatic, and we are faced with a choice. Four metal pipes branch off in different directions, all dark and foreboding. With eight of us, we split into pairs. My partner and I wordlessly choose a direction and move forward. Our footsteps echo against the metal walls, the beams from our flashlights illuminating the path ahead. The pipes twist and turn, intersecting at random intervals. It's dizzying, like a labyrinth designed to disorient. We start to wonder if this is why people vanished here, lost in the maze, starving to death. But why was this here? Why would a family come down here? As we press on, we bump into a pair of our team members. They flick their flashlights to signal us, and we meet at an intersection. You guys seen anything? One asks.

Narrator (13:06)

I start to answer, but a blinding light erupts behind me, accompanied by a deafening roar. We're thrown back, disoriented, ears ringing. When the light fades, we're left shaken. What the fuck was that? No one had an answer. We knew we needed to get out, but Retracing our steps was becoming an unreasonable challenge. I was almost sure the labyrinth of pipes was reorganizing, and a gnawing certainty that some kind of dangerous anomaly was down here with us followed my every step. The rest of our team hadn't responded over the radio, leaving us to wander. I couldn't feel them in my connection either, probably due to the metal composition of the tunnels. The air was thick with the scent of moisture and rusty metal. And something else, something I couldn't quite place. We pressed on, following the faint trail of the light. Wherever water had pooled, it had turned to steam, and the walls of the pipes were warm to the touch, almost painfully so. We traced the warmth, moving parallel to its source. But eventually we had to cross over. The trail was leading us deeper, and turning away wasn't an option. At every step, one of us kept watch behind while the rest scanned the dark openings ahead like hawks, flashlights cutting through the consuming darkness. The warmth began to fade. No sign of the ladder. No clue which direction to go. We felt trapped. Even though we could move freely, the tunnels seemed to stretch on forever, twisting and turning in a maddening pattern. Even though we didn't speak it, our focus began shifting to finding a way out. But the mystery of what this place was didn't seem ready to let us go. Then we found our answer. In the middle of the pipe lay a charred corpse. But it wasn't just burned. It was wrong. The flesh was blackened and cracked, peeling away from the bones in jagged strips. The face was unrecognizable. The skin melted and fused into a grotesque mask of agony. The mouth hung open, frozen in a silent scream. The teeth shattered and blackened. The eyes were gone. The sockets, hollow and scorched, burned away from the inside. The only clue to its identity was the rifle, identical to ours. His armor was torn away. The rig melted into his chest, fused with the flesh in a way that made my stomach churn. His hands and forearms were skeletal. The muscle disintegrated. But the bones were wrong, too, twisted and warped, as if they'd been subjected to unbearable heat and pressure. The air around the body was thick with the stench of burning flesh and something sharp and metallic like corroded metal. As we examined the body, a scream echoed through the pipes before it was cut off by a deafening rock roar. The sound was like a banshee's wail, screeching through the tunnels and reverberating in our skulls. But it wasn't just a sound. It was a presence, a wave of pressure that pushed against us, forcing us back. The corpse twitched, its broken limbs jerking unnaturally, and for a moment I thought it was going to move. We froze, hearts pounding as the echoes faded into silence. Then it happened. The body moved, not like a living person, but in slow, jerking motions, as if the muscles were contracting and releasing on their own. The head tilted unnaturally to the side, the hollow sockets staring blindly at us. The jaw creaked open, and a low, guttural groan escaped its throat, a sound of excess air escaping an organic cavity. The fingers of its skeletal hand twitched, scraping against the metal floor with a sound that set my teeth on edge. He wasn't alive, that much was clear, more so, animated, driven by some residual energy, like a muscle spasm, but much more extreme. Francis stepped back, his flashlight trembling in his hand. What the hell is this? He whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum that filled the air. The body's chest rose and fell in shallow, irregular movements, as if it were trying to breathe, but there were no lungs left to fill. The head turned slowly, the hollow sockets tracking our movements, and the jaw worked silently, as if trying to form words. Johnson raised his weapon, his hands shaking. We need to put him down, he said, his voice tight with fear. But before anyone could act, the body lurched forward, its twisted limbs scraping against the floor as it dragged itself towards toward us. The groan grew louder, more desperate, and smoke punctuated the pitiful sound. It wasn't fast, but it was relentless, its movements jerky and unnatural, like a machine running on broken gears. We backed away, our weapons trained on the thing that had moments ago been one of us. How could this happen to him? Francis Thomas asked, his voice cracking. I didn't have an answer. None of us did. I pulled my sidearm and put two rounds into his head. The shots rang out, deafening, but still the corpse crawled forward. Three more shots and still it moved. In the next moment, I felt more than heard the click associated with an empty magazine as the slide locked back. Still, our fallen brother's body crawled forward. I could feel the fear and panic from my team. This was like nothing we'd ever seen. Then a flash of light erupted in the distance, and we sprinted toward it, our boots clanging against the metal floor. As we drew closer, the warmth returned, the air growing heavier, filled with something anomalous. We paused at an intersection, scanning the pipes, flashlights darting back and forth. You there? I shouted, my voice echoing down the tunnels. A few seconds passed before a voice replied, faint and strained. Jordan. Jordan. We followed the sound, moving quickly but cautiously, and found one of our own hands clamped over his ears, eyes wide and unseeing. I helped him steady himself, my hands gripping his shoulders as I tried to get through to him. Grady, answer me, I said, shaking him gently. Can you hear me? It took a moment, but he nodded, blinking slowly, his breathing ragged. I think. I think Jordan's dead, he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper that answered the question of whose corpse was crawling around the tunnels. We need to get out of here. Do you remember the way? To my surprise, he nodded again, his eyes focusing for the first time. Grady led the way, guiding us through the cramped, damp tunnels. We moved quickly, eyes darting for any sign of light, any indication that we were heading in the right direction. The air was now colder, the walls slick with condensation, though I didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Narrator (23:30)

Finally, we spotted a green glow stick on the ground near the ladder, its faint light a beacon in the darkness. Grady pointed frantically and we broke into a run, our footsteps echoing loudly in the confined space. But just as we Reached it. A blinding light appeared, cutting us off. It surged through a nearby tunnel, blinding and deafening us once more, like a roving flashbang. It left us disoriented and vulnerable, our senses overwhelmed. The first to recover grabbed the closest agent to him and made for the ladder. I followed, dragging Grady with me, his weight slowing me down but not stopping me. As we began to climb the ladder, shaking under our weight, a voice shouted from below, cutting through the oppressive hum. I found them. It was one of our teams, his voice strained but triumphant. He emerged from a side tunnel, his flashlight flickering as he waved it frantically. Guys, they're over here. I found the bodies. He yelled, his voice echoing through the pipes. Maybe we could still salvage something from this nightmare and the rest of us could get out of here. But then the light struck. It came out of nowhere, a blinding flash that erupted from the tunnel behind him. The air crackled with energy, and for a split second, everything was silent, as if the world itself had paused. Then the sound hit, a deafening roar that felt like it was tearing through my skull. Benson didn't even have time to scream. In an instant, he was reduced to a twisted pile of blackened, smoking flesh. His flashlight clattered to the ground, its beam flickering weakly before going out. The light didn't disappear this time. It surged forward, filling the tunnel with its blinding glow, the heat radiating from it like a furnace. The walls of the pipe began to heat and glow, the metal groaning under the intense energy. I could feel it coming, the pressure building in my chest, the air growing heavier, harder to breathe. Come on. Someone shouted from above, their voice hardly restraining the panic we all felt. I scrambled up the ladder, my hands slipping on the rungs, my boots scraping against the metal. The light was right behind us, its glow casting grotesque shadows on the walls, its hum growing louder with each passing second. I could feel the heat on my back, searing through my suit, and I knew that if it touched me, I'd end up like the others. The ladder shook violently as we all scrambled up, our movements frantic and uncoordinated. I glanced down once, just once, and regretted it immediately. The light was closer than I thought, its glow filling the tunnel below, the air shimmering with heat. The pipes were melting, the metal dripping like wax, and the ladder was starting to buckle under the strain. Don't stop. I shouted, my voice raw with fear.

Narrator (27:04)

We reached the top of the ladder just as the light surged upward, its glow filling the shaft below. The agents at the top grabbed my arms and hauled me out, their faces pale and slick with sweat. We slammed the Faraday cage door shut just as the light hit, the impact shaking the entire structure. Arcs of energy crackled against the cage, and for a moment I thought it wouldn't hold. But then the light retreated, its glow fading as it disappeared back into the tunnels. We stood there, breathing heavily, our hearts pounding in our chests. The air was thick with the smell of burnt metal and chemicals, and the hum of the light still echoed in my ears. We need to go, someone said, their voice trembling now. We can't leave them there, francis insisted, his voice breaking. If you're going back, you're going alone, I snapped. We've lost two already. Going back is suicide. We need to report this. Francis hesitated, then saluted the tunnel entrance before following us out of the shack, his face a mask of grief and frustration. Back in the house, we tried to regroup. One agent headed to the SUV to retrieve our equipment, a massive satellite radio to contact Command and lock down the area for containment. As the rest of us caught our breath, I noticed the cat. Its tail was puffed out, and it hissed at the locked door we hadn't been able to open. I approached the door, glancing back at the cat. Its eyes were fixed on the bottom of the door, unblinking. Hey, get the kennel, I called. Cats could be useful in our line of work. Their heightened senses often detected threats long before we could, and this one seemed more tuned in than most. Someone brought the kennel, and despite the cat's thrashing, we managed to secure it inside. Once it was safe and packed into the suv, I grabbed a crowbar and started prying at the door. Francis joined me, and together we tore chunks off its edge, cracking it open bit by bit. Meanwhile, the radio was set up in the kitchen. The radio crackled to life and we began transmitting. Have you found the source of the anomaly? Command asked. We found the source, but we don't know what it is and have no means to contain it, Adams replied. Casualties 2. The questions were emotionless. We could all feel the loss, even more so because of our connection. Their callousness sent waves of anger through me that I tried to suppress. We all knew the stakes, how things worked, but sharing thoughts often leads to strong emotions bleeding through an expected but unfortunate side effect. Command confirmed. Additional units, and the radio buzzed with static. I returned to the door, crowbar in hand. Francis and I worked in silence, pulling apart the barricade piece by piece. Whatever was behind it, we needed to know. We finally broke through the door, its remaining pieces falling off the hinges. Behind it was a massive barricade constructed from furniture and debris. We groaned but kept working, prying at the wreckage. Something was off here, and I needed to know what. Over the radio, the bureaucratic questions queued back in. Have you experienced any symptoms of overexposure? Dizziness? Foaming of the mouth? Vomiting? Nausea? My team was growing increasingly frustrated with the questions and procedures. Francis and I continued to wrestle with the barricade. Everything seemed fused together, and it was only coming out in broken pieces. I finally lost my patience, slamming the crowbar into a piece of furniture. I stepped back, exhausted, and one of my teammates patted me on the shoulder. I'll take over. Go outside. Take a break. I hesitated, but knew he was right. I walked out to the front porch. Francis joined me a moment later, asking how I was holding up. Frustrated, I admitted. He chuckled. Yeah, it's been a fucked up day. We all feel it. He trailed off, and I added, at least someone else is going to have to come deal with this shit. Francis nodded. Yeah, hopefully sooner than later. He headed back inside. I lit a cigarette, staring into the kennel in the back of the suv. The cat was pressed against the back, but the empty tin of food suggested it had eaten. I smoked in silence, trying to piece together what had happened. Finally, the radio crackled to life and we were patched through to someone who could actually help. Updated ETA 4 hours. A collective sigh of relief swept through the team and we began to relax a little more inside. Someone broke through the barricade enough to look through. I got a hole started, they called. I was curious but stayed put, needing a moment to decompress. Then the cat began to growl. Its growls turned to snarls, and it swatted at the cage door, hissing. Not happy, huh? I muttered, glancing at the kennel. A sudden yelp echoed from inside the house, followed by a massive boom. The area around me lit up as if the sun had appeared and vanished in an instant. I blinked away dots, obstructing my vision to see the house in ruins, debris scattered everywhere in the sky. A dim but powerful light faded into the distance. I ran back inside to assess the damage. Francis and two others were alive, but Dylan, who had taken over for me, was dead. His body was torn apart by shrapnel, burned and twisted and left in a heap a little ways away from the broken door. The others were nowhere to be found. The room we'd been trying to break into had exploded, obliterating that corner of the house. Outside, the foliage was singed and crispy. I stepped over the body to inspect the room. It was A mostly normal, if not destroyed, bathroom, except for the massive hole in the floor, almost identical to the one in the shack. It plunged downward, and the room was in complete disarray. I backed away, wary of the light. We set the comms equipment back up. Hurriedly. Adams yelled into the microphone, breach. The anomaly is loose. We need backup now. The urgency in his voice cut through the procedure, and we were finally patched through to someone who could act. Everything's gone to shit, he explained. The light just shot through the house. It's in the sky now. Get someone down here. After some back and forth, we secured heavier backup and clearance to leave. Situations like this were hard to hide from the public, so we had to suppress any investigation. We scrambled into our vehicle. The tension felt like an electric energy. As we drove away, relief washed over us. Whatever that thing was, it had immense power. As we drove down the country roads, I stared out the window, watching the sky for any sign of the light. The others did the same, even Francis, who was driving. The radio flickered with interference, playing distorted old country tunes. We were eager to put as much distance between us and that house as possible, speeding down the empty highway. The horizon stretched endlessly before us, a vast expanse of black nothingness, punctuated by the occasional cluster of trees, a grove of bushes, or a lone farmhouse. Minutes ticked by in silence, the only sound the hum of the tires on the road and the occasional crackle of the radio. No one spoke. We were all fried. Physically, mentally, emotionally. The quiet of the drive was shattered when Francis suddenly spoke up. At first his words were muffled, lost in the low rumble of the engine. Before I could turn to ask him what he'd said, his voice cut through sharp and panicked light. He yelped. A split second later, a brilliant flash. Flash erupted on the other side of the car, so bright it was like day had come in an instant. The light had reappeared without warning, slamming into our vehicle with terrifying force. The impact tore through the back seat, ripping the SUV off the road and sending us spinning Glass shattered metal screeched, and the world turned into a blur of flashes and thundering noise. When the chaos settled, only Francis and I were left. Our injuries were from the crash. Bruises, cuts, and a ringing in my ears that wouldn't go away. But the others? I didn't see them. A reddish mist covered the back windshield, a grim reminder of what had happened. The doors were crumpled inward, as if struck by a semi truck. My hearing was shot, and I could feel the panic from Francis that let me know he was in relatively the same condition. We hung there, suspended by our seatbelts, Battered and stunned, trying to process what had just happened, I managed to cut myself free, falling painfully into the crumpled, jagged wreckage. I stumbled out of the suv, my legs shaky, and surveyed the remains of our only escape. The back of the vehicle was obliterated. The seats were reduced to twisted metal and charred fabric. There was still no sign of the others, just that eerie red mist hanging in the air. I couldn't see the light, but its presence lingered, a silent threat that could strike at any moment. We didn't have time to mourn. We didn't even have time to think. The radio crackled to life and a voice came through, calm and authoritative. This is Command. We've detected an accident. Report your status. I grabbed the microphone from within the wreck, my hands trembling. We've been hit. There's only two of us left. We need immediate extraction. There was a pause, then the voice replied, understood. Hold your position. Backup is on route. I glanced at Francis, who nodded grimly. We both knew what that meant. We had no other choice but to sit there among the wreckage of our vehicle and the echoes of our missing teammates and wait. Francis and I huddled together back to back, weapons drawn, scanning the sky for any sign of that malevolent light. Minutes felt like hours, each passing second bringing us closer to the breaking point as the adrenaline slowly turned to exhaustion. We could hear it, a faint hum in the distance, growing louder by the second. A helicopter backup finally arrived. Relief flowed through me like a drug. It was almost over. We might actually survive this one. The chopper now roared overhead, its searchlight painting the area with harsh white light that gave me shivers as I instinctively recoiled. It circled once before coming in for a landing a short distance away. Doors wrenching open and boots crunching on gravel heralded the Bureau's arrival. From somewhere in the back of the wrecked suv, I heard a meow. Surprised, I walked over and found a third living passenger of the wreck. I grabbed the cat's carrier and limped towards the chopper, following Francis, who wasn't walking much steadier. As we were led back into the high tech helicopter, one of the men barked out orders into his radio. Command, this is Bravo Team. We need cleanup at grid 56 Charlie 15, November 4th. Repeat, grid 56 Charlie 15, November 4. As we were ushered into the helicopter, I glanced at Francis and he gave me a grim nod, saying everything without speaking a word. Now we could only hope Command didn't retire us.

Agent Conroy (41:12)

I've seen plenty of strange things during my time with the Bureau, things that shouldn't exist. Things that defy every law of physics and biology. The light. Whatever it was, doesn't just destroy the people it touches. It remade them. Burned them out from the inside. And left behind something else. What happened to the survivors wasn't life. It was something twisted. Something that shouldn't be possible. The Bureau's initial response to the incident was predictable, secure, contain, control. But there was one major problem. How do you contain something that doesn't follow the rules of reality? The reports indicate that most of the first response team sent into the area was kia. The second and much larger team found most of the bodies of the first team, as well as the family and responding officers, dead, and yet still moving. Those bodies still reside within Bureau containment. Still moving, still unknown as to how or why. So the Bureau did what it always does. It buried the event, erased the survivors, fabricated a natural disaster to explain the missing people, and tried to move on. But something tells me they never really closed the book on this one. The timeline is important. Important? This took place in the early 90s, over a decade after the Vela incident. And while the similarities between these two events could be dismissed as coincidence. I don't believe in coincidences. Not when it comes to anomalies like this. The Vela event had no origin point. It appeared in the void, flashed twice, and left nothing behind. Think about it. That light, that entity is still out there. What if it's waiting for the right conditions to return? And worse, what if it already has? What is it truly capable of? There are reports of disappearances in remote areas that fit the pattern. Cases the Bureau has been suspiciously quick to cover up, even for them. Satellite anomalies, unexplained bursts of radiation, Houses left abandoned overnight with no explanation. They all share commonalities with this case, but the most unsettling detail is the survivors. The ones who came back but weren't really human anymore. The witness reports all say the same thing. Something was wrong with them. They were dead, but somehow not. I don't believe this was the intended effect of the anomaly, but that doesn't comfort me. If anything, that makes it worse. What if the Bureau somehow manages to contain this entity? We know, at least to some degree, the Faraday cage had some effect on it, so it isn't inconceivable. What if they managed to harness its energy and use. Use it to create the type of unlife we saw in the wake of this incident? Fallen soldiers and enemies turned back into unfeeling pawns on the front line? The possibilities are nothing short of horrific. There's no record of what happened to the bodies that were taken in. No files, no containment protocols, no experiments. Just silence. That should tell you everything. Thing you need to know the Bureau hoards anomalies. They dissect them, study them, turn them into weapons. But whatever those people had become, the Bureau has kept a concerningly tight lip about. I don't have the answers. I don't know what this thing is, where it came from, or how it does what it does. But I do know one thing. Something like this cannot be left in the Bureau's hands. It must be destroyed. Taxes was feeling so stuck sitting in traffic, squeezing into a parking spot all to squeeze in Getting tax help during your lunch break. NowTaxes is a TurboTax expert who does your taxes for you while you go about your day getting real time notifications about their progress and the most money back guaranteed. Now this is taxes intuit. TurboTax get an expert now on TurboTax.