← Redwood Bureau
Redwood Bureau
"SOMNUM SLEEP EXPERIMENTS" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #9452
01:08:50
A revolutionary sleep study promises to change sleep as we know it. But some doors should never be opened, and some can never be closed.
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- [00:01]
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- [01:53]
Narrator
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.
- [02:06]
Dr. Fredericks
I am Agent Conroy. I worked for the Redwood Bureau, but.
- [02:10]
Narrator
I have escaped them to leak their.
- [02:12]
Dr. Fredericks
Reports to the unsuspecting public. You have the right to know.
- [02:31]
Narrator
There are countless solutions for sleeplessness on the market today. Pills, patches, soothing sounds, herbal teas, and even LED masks that promise to trick your mind into a restful state. But sleep remains elusive for millions. It's that one natural act we're supposed to be able to rely on. And yet, for some, it slips away when we need it most, leaving us staring at the ceiling, counting the hours left until the alarm shatters the silence. Sleeplessness is more than just a personal inconvenience. It's an epidemic. The human body is an intricate machine, one that requires maintenance and fuel. And without sleep, even the most well oiled systems break down. The longer you go without it, the more everything starts to unravel. Your thoughts become scattered, your perception blurs, your sense of self fades into something alien. We try so hard to tame it, to fix it, to find that one solution that finally brings relief. And we place our trust in anything that might promise us rest. We trust because we're desperate. And then, every so often, there comes a breakthrough. A promise of a true final solution. A drug so effective, so revolutionary that it could erase insomnia, eliminate fatigue, and offer you the one thing that none of those embellished ads could truly give. Control. But as always, these promises come at a cost. A cost hidden beneath sterile lab coats, smiling clinical trial recruiters, and waivers signed without a second glance. Because the pursuit of something extraordinary often requires sacrifice. And sometimes that sacrifice is much greater than one can anticipate. Sleep is a natural boundary, one designed to protect us. To drop our guard, to sink into unconsciousness is to leave ourselves vulnerable, trusting that the safety of sleep is always there. But what if it isn't? What if that boundary is far thinner than we've ever realized?
- [04:56]
Ryan
It's funny how desperation could make even the strangest things seem like a viable option. I was lying on my worn out couch, staring at the cracked ceiling, my phone screen dimming in my hand. It was another sleepless night, the kind where my thoughts were like a loop I couldn't escape. Bills piling up, rent overdue, friends long moved on with their lives, and my family halfway across the country, more distant in their calls than their physical miles from me. I was tired of being tired. Tired of feeling like I was just drifting along, sinking deeper every day. That's when I saw it. It was a Craigslist ad sandwiched between listings for a barely used couch I was sure had bedbugs and free to a good home, Kittens. The headline was Participants needed for Clinical Sleep Study. No bright colors, no exclamation marks, just that plain, straightforward title. My thumb hovered over the link, and with no reason to think too much about it, I clicked. Must have no history of neurological disorders. Full expenses covered for the duration of the trial and $3,000 compensation upon completion. The words seemed to jump off the screen. I could barely remember the last time I had $3,000 all at once. The rest of the ad was dry. No flowery language nor flashy graphics. That's what made it feel real. That's what made me believe in that moment of exhaustion and dread, that maybe this was a way out, or at least a way to get back on track. I filled out the questionnaire right then and there. It started how I imagined most clinical forums might age, height, weight. Do you smoke? Drink? But as I worked my way down, the questions got more specific. How often do you feel lonely? Do you sometimes find it difficult to separate dreams from reality? I paused at that one, my finger hovering over the screen. It was an odd question, but my desire for that money, the thought of catching up on rent, maybe even eating something other than instant noodles, pushed me forward. I ticked the box and kept going. By the time I hit submit, my eyes burned and the first light of dawn was starting to creep through my blinds. I set the phone down, rolled over, and my mind finally let me fall asleep. Three days later, the email arrived. Congratulations. You've been selected for the next stage of the Somnom sleep study. My heart gave a hopeful jump. The email included a zoom link, a date and time, and a reminder to have a valid ID ready. It all seemed straightforward when the day came. I sat at my rickety kitchen table, laptop facing me as I sat in front of the cleanest wall. I wore the nicest shirt I could find, the camera showing a version of me that still looked as tired as I felt. The zoom call blinked to life, revealing a woman with neatly styled hair in a crisp blazer. She introduced herself as Dr. Elise, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. Her questions started off much like the questionnaire health history, medications. Then they drifted into more odd personal territory. Would you say you often feel restless? She asked, her eyes locked on mine through the screen. I nodded, gave some mumbled answer. Her gaze didn't waver, as if she was peeling back layers of me with every question. How well do you handle feelings of hopelessness? That one caught me off guard. I hesitated, the silence stretching into an uncomfortable lull. I I manage, I finally said, feeling like my answer wasn't good enough. Dr. Elise made a note, her face giving nothing away. She ended the call by saying they'd be in touch soon. The screen went black and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. There was something clinical about her that made me feel exposed, like I wasn't being interviewed but dissected. Another week passed before I got the acceptance email. Congratulations, it read again, as if this opportunity was some kind of prize. I focused on the positives, on the money, on the thought that maybe this would help me sleep better. For the first time in as long as I could remember. The email told me what to pack, that I'd need to be prepared to stay for up to four weeks. I spent the next day gathering my things, a few changes of clothes, a toothbrush, my phone charger. My duffel bag was light, barely enough for a long weekend, let alone a month. It struck me then how little I really had, how little I mattered to the world. There was no one to check in on me, no one to say goodbye to. The bus ride was long, weaving through neighborhoods that became increasingly less familiar. Suburban houses turned into rows of warehouses, then industrial buildings. The address in the email led me to a squat gray structure at the edge of an industrial park. It wasn't what I expected. No sign, no logo. It looked like the kind of place people ignored as they drove by on their way to work. I stepped off the bus, the roar of its engine fading as it pulled away, leaving me standing there alone as I approached the building, flat and nondescript, with a tinted door at the front. I walked toward the entrance and took a deep breath, my footsteps echoing against the concrete. I approached the door, and it unlocked with a mechanical click as I stepped inside. The lobby was a jarring contrast to the cold industrial exterior. The walls were painted in shades of yellow and orange, bright and almost aggressively cheerful. Posters of smiling cartoon suns hung above low cushioned benches with slogans like A BETTER REST for a BETTER YOU and WAKE UP TO YOUR BEST self. The decorations looked more like they belonged in a daycare than a research facility. My eyes were drawn to the receptionist, a young woman sitting behind a large curved desk that seemed out of proportion for the size of the room. Her smile was wide, plastic, her teeth too white and perfect. She looked up as I approached, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that felt forced.
- [13:52]
Receptionist
Hi, you must be Ryan, she chirped.
- [13:56]
Ryan
Standing up as if she had been waiting for me all day. Her voice had that fake sweetness, like a barista at a chain coffee shop.
- [14:07]
Receptionist
Welcome to the Somnom Sleep Study. We're so happy you're here.
- [14:12]
Ryan
I forced a smile and nodded, shifting my duffel bag on my shoulder. Uh, thanks. I hope I'm not late. She waved her hand dismissively.
- [14:26]
Receptionist
Not at all, not at all. You're right on time.
- [14:29]
Ryan
She gestured toward a stack of papers on the counter.
- [14:32]
Receptionist
Before we get you all set up, I just need you to sign these waivers. Standard procedure. Nothing too complicated.
- [14:40]
Ryan
The stack was thick, the pages covered in dents, tiny print. I tried to skim through the first page, but the receptionist leaned over slightly, her fingers tapping near the bottom.
- [14:54]
Receptionist
Don't worry too much about the details.
- [14:57]
Ryan
She said, her smile widening.
- [15:00]
Receptionist
It's just the usual medical consent liability stuff. Just a formality.
- [15:06]
Ryan
I needed this. I needed the money, needed the stability it could offer. It didn't really matter what it said. If I'm being honest, I'd have to sign it regardless. Leaving without the money wasn't an option. I signed my name on each page, her finger guiding me to where my signature was needed, one after another, until my signatures blurred into a meaningless scrawl. When I was done, she gathered the papers, quickly tucking them away into a folder behind the desk.
- [15:47]
Receptionist
Great. You're all set. Let's get you to your room.
- [15:52]
Ryan
She stepped around the desk, her demeanor shifting ever so slightly, more businesslike now, her smile fading into something I couldn't quite place. She led me through a set of double doors that opened with a soft hiss. As soon as we passed through, the entire atmosphere changed. Gone were the bright colors and cheery posters. The hallway beyond was stark white, the lights overhead harsh, reflecting off the tile floor. The air was colder here, reinforcing the sterility of it all. I couldn't hear anything beyond the hum of the ventilation and my own footsteps muffled against the floor. The receptionist's pace quickened, her heels clicking sharply against the tiles as she led me down a series of winding corridors. I tried to keep track of where we were going, but each turn looked the same. White walls, white floors, fluorescent lights. After the third or fourth turn, I gave up on trying to map the layout. Finally, she stopped in front of a door that looked no different from any of the others. She swiped a keycard and the door unlocked with a beep. Here we are, she said, her chirpiness back in place as she pushed the door open. I stepped inside, my eyes adjusting to the dimmer light. The room was small, just big enough for a narrow bed, a metal table, and a chair. There was a small sink in the corner, next to a door that I assumed led to a cramped bathroom. Everything was gray, sterile, stripped of anything resembling a personal touch. The receptionist handed me a plastic bag filled with toiletries.
- [18:05]
Receptionist
This will be your room for the duration of the study, she said. Dinner is at six in the common area, just down the hall to the left. Someone will come by shortly to give you your orientation.
- [18:18]
Ryan
Yeah, thanks, I muttered, setting my duffel bag down on the floor. She nodded, stepping back into the hallway. The door closed behind her with a heavy thud, the sound echoing in the empty room. I let out a breath and dropped onto the bed, the mattress stiff under me, the plastic bag crinkling in my hand. The room smelled faintly of disinfectant. I stared at the door, half expecting it to open again, for someone to come in with a forced smile and tell me about all the wonderful things they were doing in this cold, white maze. But no one came. Instead, I was left alone, the hum of the ventilation my only companion. I looked around, my eyes tracing the seams where the walls met the ceiling. The room felt tight, like it was closing in on me, the weight of my decision settling in my chest. I was here now. There was no backing out. A knock on the door broke the silence, and I jumped, my heart skipping a beat. I stood up, my hands smoothing the front of my shirt as I opened the door. A man in a white coat stood in the doorway, a clipboard in his hand. He was tall, his face lined with age, his eyes sharp and assessing. Mr. Orion, welcome, he said, his voice low and formal.
- [20:04]
Dr. Fredericks
I'm Dr. Fredericks. I'll be overseeing your participation in the Somnom study. We'll be starting your orientation now.
- [20:14]
Ryan
He stepped into the room without waiting for an invitation, his eyes flicking around as if taking inventory. Please have a seat, he said, nodding toward the chair by the table. I sat down, the metal eggs scraping against the tile as I adjusted it. Dr. Fredericks glanced at his clipboard, his expression unreadable.
- [20:42]
Dr. Fredericks
We'll be administering your first dose of Somnam tonight, he said. It's a mild sedative designed to enhance REM sleep and reduce disruptions. We'll be monitoring you closely throughout the night.
- [20:58]
Ryan
He looked up, his eyes meeting mine, the corner of his mouth pulling into something that might have been meant as a smile.
- [21:06]
Dr. Fredericks
You're in good hands, Mr. Ryan. We've had excellent results so far.
- [21:14]
Ryan
Something about his tone made my skin prickle, but I forced myself to nod. Okay, I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Dr. Fredericks gave a curt nod, tapping his pen against a clipboard.
- [21:32]
Dr. Fredericks
Dinner is at six. Afterward we'll begin. Please try to relax until then.
- [21:39]
Ryan
With that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him. I exhaled slowly, my fingers gripping the edge of the table. Relax. Yeah, sure. I looked around the room again, the walls feeling even closer now. I had the sudden urge to leave, to get up and walk out the door, but I knew it wasn't that simple. I had signed all the papers. I had come all this way, and besides, it was just a sleep study. I made my way to the common room, the clock on the wall ticking slowly towards six. Dinner was being set up by a staff member in scrubs, a tall man with an impassive face who wheeled in trays of pre plated meals. Everything about this place felt meticulously controlled. There was no choice for dinner, no options, just a bland looking dish on a tray handed to each of us as if we were children in a Catholic school cafeteria. The other participants filed in behind me, some looked wary, others too tired to show any expression at all. I took a seat at one of the long tables, nodding politely to the person across from me, a woman about my age, dark circles under her eyes, her hair pulled back loosely. She smiled faintly but didn't say anything. I stared down at my tray, pushing the food around with my fork. The room was filled with a strange silence, the kind where you could almost hear people thinking. When I finally worked up the nerve to say something, to ask the woman how long she had been here, a staff member called out that it was time to take our pills. He held up a small tray of plastic cups, half filled with a single white tablet and the other half with an ounce or two of water. One by one we shuffled up to him, took a cup, and swallowed our dose of Somnam. I watched the woman take her pill. Her eyes glazed over for just a moment and I wondered if I looked the same that night. After the first dose, the dreams began. They weren't nightmares exactly, more like intensely vivid scenes that felt real. Hyper real. I found myself walking through the halls of the facility, each step echoing faintly, the lights overhead flickering. As I moved, I could feel the chill of the floor beneath my bare feet, the smell of bleach clinging to my nostrils. I turned a corner and there was a full length mirror placed in the middle of the hallway. Without reason, I stopped and looked at my reflection. It looked like me, but when I moved my arm, the reflection lagged a fraction of a second too slow. My heart began to pound, a sense of wrongness settling in my chest. Then I woke up drenched in sweat, my eyes snapping open to the dim gray of my room. I sat up, trying to catch my breath, trying to shake the lingering feeling of that delayed reflection. As I laid back down, I reminded myself this was just a sleep study, just a dream.
- [25:49]
Dr. Fredericks
Warning Signal Interruption detected.
- [25:54]
Receptionist
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- [26:27]
Narrator
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- [27:00]
Dr. Fredericks
Signal connection restored.
- [27:04]
Ryan
The next morning, I shuffled into the common area for breakfast. I recognized most of the same faces from last night. The woman from dinner was there too, but she looked more tired than yesterday, as if the night had drained something out of her. I wanted to ask her if she had the same dream as me, but I couldn't find the words. Instead, I sat in silence, picking at my breakfast, a bowl of oatmeal that was more paste than anything else. The room was quiet, clanking of spoons against bowls, echoing in the stillness. A man sat down next to me, someone I hadn't seen before. His eyes were bloodshot, his hand trembling as he held his spoon. He stared at his food, not eating, not even acknowledging my presence. When he finally spoke, it was more to himself than anyone else. They said it's just the first week, he muttered, his voice cracking, that it gets better. After that I looked at him, my stomach twisting. I didn't know what to say. Instead, I nodded, as if agreeing with what he said. The days began to blur together. The routine was simple meals at 9, 12, and 6 doses of somnam handed out on the dot. Every participant watched carefully by the staff as we swallowed them down. By the third day, the bruises started to appear, small dark spots on my arms and legs, like I had been swinging my limbs around during my sleep and hitting things. I mentioned it to one of the nurses during a checkup, showing her the marks. She glanced at them, her expression flat, uninterested.
- [29:19]
Receptionist
Some patients experience minor bruising, she said.
- [29:23]
Ryan
Her voice clinical, dismissive.
- [29:26]
Receptionist
It's a common side effect. Nothing to be concerned about.
- [29:30]
Ryan
And before I could pose any further questions, she was gone. That night I woke up standing in the hallway. I didn't know how I got there. One moment I was asleep in my bed. And the next. I was staring at the bare white walls of the corridor, my feet cold against a tile. My head felt foggy, my thoughts slow, as if I was still half dreaming. I turned and there was a nurse standing a few feet away, her expression blank. You're sleepwalking, she said, her voice calm, almost soothing.
- [30:17]
Receptionist
Come on, let's get you back to bed.
- [30:20]
Ryan
She took my arm, her grip firm but gentle, and led me back to my room. I climbed into bed, my body heavy, my eyes barely staying open. Just a side effect, she repeated, tucking the blanket around me, her smile thin.
- [30:40]
Receptionist
Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about.
- [30:44]
Ryan
I wanted to ask her how she found me, how long I had been wandering, but the words wouldn't come. My eyes closed and I slipped back into sleep, the room fading into darkness. The following day I felt it, the heaviness, the fatigue that seemed to seep into my bones. My arms ached, my legs felt weak. I tried to convince myself that this was just the Somnom's adjustment period, but I felt like something was wrong with me. At lunch, I noticed the first woman I met at dinner was gone. No one mentioned her. No one seemed to notice. I asked one of the staff, a man in scrubs, where she was, and he just smiled, his eyes cold.
- [31:46]
Narrator
She's moved on to the next stage.
- [31:49]
Ryan
He said, as if that explained anything I didn't understand. The words felt ominous. It seemed a strange way to phrase things. I looked around the common room, at the empty stairs, the slack faces, and a chill ran down my spine. Something was wrong here. The night after my seventh dose of Somnam, I woke up somewhere I'd never seen. The air was colder, the smell sharper, like acid and burning chemicals, like something wrong. I was standing in front of a door that was slightly ajar, a faint blue light spilling out into the hallway. My head was pounding, my vision blurry, but there was something about that light that made me step forward, my hand reaching out to push the door open wider. Inside, the room was lined with machines, hulking mechanical things that hummed and clicked, tubes running from them to a series of beds. People lay on those beds, their bodies frail and thin, but their bones seemed to jut off at sharp angles, their eyes closed, the tubes snaked to their arms, their legs leading up to bags filled with thick, dark liquid that pulsed with each beat of their hearts. My stomach turned, bile rising in my throat. I took a step back, my hand trembling as I covered my mouth, trying to keep from making a sound. One of the bodies moved, or maybe Something inside of it moved Suddenly. I felt a hand on my shoulder and spun around, my eyes wide. It was a nurse, her face impassive. You shouldn't be here, she said, her voice devoid of emotion.
- [34:15]
Receptionist
Let's get you back to your room.
- [34:17]
Ryan
Her grip tightened on my arm, and I couldn't speak. I found myself just pulled along. She led me away, back through the winding hallways, back to the door of my room. She opened it, pushed me inside, her gaze never wavering.
- [34:38]
Receptionist
This is just a side effect of the somnom. You're dreaming even now. Go back to sleep, and when you wake up, everything will be fine soon.
- [34:52]
Ryan
Despite my best efforts, exhaustion pulled me back into a restless sleep filled with dreams of machines and tortured test subjects. I awoke to the sound of a soft knock at my door. My eyes were gritty, my body heavy, as I pushed myself up, blinking at the gray wall. The knock came again, more insistent, and I stumbled to my feet, opening the door to find Dr. Fredericks and the nurse from last night. Mr. Ryan, Dr. Fredericks said, his voice dripping with a kind of rehearsed warmth.
- [35:42]
Dr. Fredericks
We need to do a quick medical evaluation. Just routine.
- [35:48]
Ryan
I nodded, though something in me wanted to argue. The last thing I wanted was more tests, more of their poking and prodding. But I could see the way Dr. Frederick's eyes watched me, the way the nurse stood just behind him, as if prepared for me to resist. What if it wasn't a dream? I had to play along, at least until I knew what was going on here. Okay, I said, my voice barely above a whisper. They led me through the hallway, the nurse's hand on my shoulder, guiding me down corridors I no longer bothered trying to remember. Finally we reached a room, a small blank space with a single chair in the middle. A table lined with instruments pushed against the far wall. Please have a seat, Dr. Fredericks said, gesturing toward the chair. I hesitated, then slowly sat down. The chair was cold beneath me. The nurse moved to stand by the door, her gaze fixed on me, unblinking. Dr. Fredericks picked up a penlight, leaning in close, his eyes scanning my face.
- [37:16]
Dr. Fredericks
Now, Mr. Ryan, he said, his voice.
- [37:21]
Ryan
Low, almost a whisper.
- [37:23]
Dr. Fredericks
I understand you've been experiencing some vivid dreams, perhaps some confusion. Can you tell me about that?
- [37:35]
Ryan
I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. Memories of the sleepwalking, the strange blue light, the skeletal figures hooked to machines, flashed across my mind. But as I opened my mouth to form a lie, the words tangled, caught in my throat. Dr. Fredericks watched me, his eyes narrowing, his smile fading just slightly. Take your Time, he said, his tone now fixed. Clinical.
- [38:11]
Dr. Fredericks
These things are often difficult to process, especially in your current state.
- [38:17]
Ryan
My current state? I repeated, my voice cracking. I could feel my hands shaking in my lap, and I clenched them together, trying to keep myself steady. I saw something in one of the rooms. People. They were attached to machines. The words just spilled out of me. I didn't want them to know that I knew, but I couldn't stop myself. It was like I was watching someone else tell the doctor everything I knew. Dr. Frederick's smile returned, thin, as if he had been expecting this. He glanced at the nurse, who nodded, her expression never changing. He looked back at me, his pen light clicking off.
- [39:11]
Dr. Fredericks
Mr. Ryan, I'm afraid what you experienced was nothing more than a dream. A known and completely expected side effect of this omnim.
- [39:22]
Ryan
He spoke with a kind of finality, as if that settled everything, as if my fear, my confusion, was just an error in my mind, a mistake easily dismissed. I shook my head, my voice rising. No. It was real. I saw them. They were there. Dr. Frederick sighed, stepping back, his hands clasping behind his back.
- [39:56]
Dr. Fredericks
Mr. Ryan, the mind is a very fragile and mysterious thing. It's not unusual to experience dreams so vivid. They feel like hallucinations, confusion, and even paranoia.
- [40:11]
Ryan
He leaned in again, his voice dropping, his eyes locking onto mine.
- [40:18]
Dr. Fredericks
But I assure you, nothing like that is happening here.
- [40:23]
Ryan
The nurse stepped forward, her expression unchanged, her eyes cold.
- [40:28]
Receptionist
We're here to help you, Mr. Ryan.
- [40:31]
Ryan
She said, her voice soft, soothing.
- [40:35]
Receptionist
You are safe here. All we ask is that you trust us.
- [40:42]
Ryan
Trust. The word echoed in my mind, bouncing around, meaningless. I nodded, though my chest felt tight, my stomach churning. They were lying to me. They had to be lying to me. Good, Dr. Frederick said, his smile widening, a flash of teeth.
- [41:09]
Dr. Fredericks
I think we're making real progress here, Mr. Ryan. Let's continue with the treatment. Soon your body will be accustomed to the dosage, and you'll be in for the best sleep of your life.
- [41:22]
Ryan
He turned and disappeared down the white hall as the nurse led me back to my room. Days begin to blend, the strict schedule tightening around me like a vice. Wake up. Breakfast, Nothing. Lunch, nothing. Dinner. Pill. Sleepwalking. Nightmares. It was as if I was on a loop, every moment predetermined, my actions, not my own. I tried talking to the other participants, tried to see if they felt the same, but they wouldn't meet my eyes, wouldn't speak. The Somnam trials were a labyrinth of sleep and wakefulness, the lines blurred beyond recognition. The world I'd known slipped away from me. Gradually, almost imperceptibly replaced by a dreamscape of altered perception. Antiseptic smell drifted in the sterile air of the facility. The aroma of bland meals punctuated the routine. Night after night, I found myself sinking into a dream so vivid, so terrifying, that it felt more real than reality itself. A presence pervaded my nocturnal wanderings. A shadowy figure at the periphery of my vision. Its form was shapes and colors I couldn't comprehend. It seemed to form and reform and never exist as just one thing. Yet I could feel its gaze on me always. I could feel its hunger. Insatiable. Every time I saw it, I seemed to lose fragments of my identity, fragments of what made me me. They left me as they merged into unpredictable patterns across my dreamscape. Memories intimate and personal. They melded with the horrors of my night terrors before they eventually became nothing more than a feeling of loss. Waking provided no respite. The lingering feeling of violation shrouded my wakeful hours. My reflection seemed alien to me, as if looking at a poorly sketched version of myself. The sense of dissolution was so tangible, it felt like I had been scraped hollow. My attempts to voice these experiences and my requests to leave met only empty reassurances from Dr. Fredericks and the nurses. Their smiles felt soulless, paired with their starched white coats and orderly mannerisms. Reality and dreams swirled into each other like hues on an artist's palette until I could hardly separate one from the other. Days turned into weeks, and each morning was worse than the last. I was sleepwalking through life while living in a nightmare. The reoccurring entity in my dreams had become more tangible than the lab coats and somnum doses. The thing that was taking from me was becoming solid, its form becoming more substantial with each passing night. The facility, the white walls, the meal times were beginning to feel like figments of my imagination. An abyss was opening wide beneath me, threatening to swallow me whole into an eternal dream. A dream that was not my own.
- [45:35]
Narrator
Warning signal.
- [45:36]
Dr. Fredericks
Interruption detected. Signal connection restored.
- [45:45]
Ryan
The facility was never really silent. Not truly. The hum of the ventilation system, the soft hiss of air, the felt too cold. Was a constant reminder of the machinery they had somewhere in those halls. Tonight, though, the sound seemed louder, a low reverberation that vibrated through my skull, drowning out my thoughts. The door to my room opened without warning. A nurse I'd never seen stood there, his silhouette sharp against the glaring light of the hallway. He didn't say a word, just motioned for me to follow. His face expressionless. My heart sank but the pains in every nerve begged me not to make him drag me barefoot. I followed him down the hallway, my feet cold against the tiles, the walls stretching endlessly in both directions. He didn't look back at me, didn't even seem to care if I was following as I tried to keep up with his brisk pace, my steps slow and shaky at best. Everything hurt, and soon the cold floor felt like fire on my feet. He led me through unfamiliar hallways, past rooms I had never seen, doors padlocked from the outside, lights that flickered overhead. And then we stopped. The door in front of us was different. It was heavy, made of metal, with a small reinforced window. The nurse swiped his keycard, and the lock disengaged with a heavy clunk. He pulled the door open, the air inside rushing out and a cold, acrid whoosh that made my skin prickle. He gestured for me to go in. I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest, every instinct screaming at me to run, but I knew I couldn't even if I wanted to. I stepped inside, my breath catching as the door closed behind me, the lock engaging with a finality that echoed through the small space. The room was dimly lit, the floor tiled, the walls lined with metal counters and shelves. And there, in the center of the room, were the beds, the same ones I had seen before, the ones with the skeletal figures attached to tubes and machines. Only this time they weren't lying still. How I remembered they were awake. My stomach twisted violently as I looked at them, their eyes wide, their mouths moving, no sound coming out. The tubes attached to their arms pulsed with a dark, sluggish liquid pumping into them something almost familiar to me. It was like it had been taken straight out of my nightmares. I took a step back, my hand going to my mouth, bile rising in my throat. The figures on the beds were hardly recognizable as human, their bodies emaciated, skin stretched taut over bones that were either malforming or seemed to have been broken, their eyes so sunken they were receding into their skulls. Their bodies were in such bad shape I couldn't even identify their sex, and as I watched, one of them turned their head, eyes locking onto mine. In a moment of clarity, the lips mouthed two words. Help me. My vision swam, my head spinning. I wanted to move, to do something, but my body wouldn't respond, my feet rooted to the floor. I could only stare, my heart pounding as the realization sank in. These people, these things. We were being experimented on. They had been kept here, kept in this state for God knows how long, their bodies broken, their minds shattered I turned, my eyes searching for the door, my hands trembling, but there was no handle, no way to open it from the inside. A voice crackled to life, echoing through the room from a hidden space speaker. Dr. Frederick's voice, calm, measured, as if this was all routine. Mr. Ryan, he said, his tone almost.
- [51:49]
Dr. Fredericks
Soothing, you're witnessing the final stage of the Somnam trial. These individuals represent the future of sleep, a perfected state between wakefulness and slumber.
- [52:04]
Ryan
I shook my head, my back pressing against the cold metal of the door, my breath coming in ragged gasps. You're. You're insane, I managed to choke out. Dr. Fredericks continued, undeterred.
- [52:25]
Dr. Fredericks
The Sodom allows us to push the boundaries of the human mind, to explore the liminal space between consciousness and oblivion. These individuals have reached that space, Mr. Ryan. They exist in a state of perpetual liminality, their bodies sustained, their minds open. They are the key to unlocking something greater, something that lies just beyond the veil of sleep.
- [53:02]
Ryan
I looked back at the figures on the beds, their eyes hollow, the tubes pulsing with that dark liquid, and I felt something break inside me, a deep, primal terror, a realization that I was going to end up like them, strapped to a bed, my body wasting away, my mind trapped in an endless loop of terror and nothingness, my consciousness suspended in that dark, endless place I now knew was between consciousness and something else. No. No, I whispered, my voice cracking, my vision blurring with tears. Please, you. You can't do this. There was a pause, and then Dr. Frederick's voice again, softer now, almost pitying.
- [54:11]
Dr. Fredericks
I'm afraid the choice is no longer yours, Mr. Ryan. You signed the forms. You agreed to the terms. And now you will help us take the next step.
- [54:25]
Ryan
I sank to the floor, my back against the door, my body trembling, my heart pounding. I could hear the soft hum of the machines, the rhythmic pulse of the liquid, the shallow breaths of the figures on the beds. And then the overhead fluorescent bulbs flickered, casting long shadows across the room. The figures on the beds twitched, their bodies jerking, their mouths opening in silent screams. I could feel it, the presence, the thing I knew all too well. It seemed stronger here, like it could come into the real world at any moment. A low hum filled the room, the machines clicking, the liquid in the tubes pulsing faster. The figures convulsed, their eyes rolling back, their bodies arching. I wanted to look away, to close my eyes, but I couldn't. The walls seemed to shift, the shadows lengthening, twisting, and I felt it, a pressure in my head, a tugging, as if something was trying to pull me apart. To split my mind from my body, to drag me into that dark, endless space. I fought it, my hands pressing against my temples, my teeth clenched. But the pressure only grew stronger, the hum louder, the figures in the beds writhing, their skin splitting, the liquid spilling out, dark, thick, spreading across the floor. Suddenly, the door behind me opened and I fell backward, my body hitting the cold tile of the hallway, the nurse's face looming over me, his expression blank. He grabbed my arm, dragging me away. I tried to fight him, tried to pull away, but my body was weak, my vision blurring, the hallway spinning around me. He pulled me down the corridor, the walls still wavering, the overhead lights flickering, the hum of the machines echoing in my ears. He pulled me into another room, Small, empty, a single bed in the center, straps hanging from the sides. He lifted me as if I weighed nothing, and put me on the bed, his hands moving with practiced ease, the straps tightening around my wrists, my ankles, my chest. I struggled, my heart pounding, but it was no use. He stepped back, his face expressionless, his eyes devoid of sympathy. The door opened and Dr. Fredericks walked in. He held a syringe in his hand, the liquid inside dark, almost black and swirling. He stepped closer, leaning over me, his eyes locking onto mine.
- [58:17]
Dr. Fredericks
Lucky you, Mr. Ryan. It seems to like you, he said.
- [58:23]
Ryan
His voice soft, almost gentle.
- [58:28]
Dr. Fredericks
You're going to help it raise, reach our side.
- [58:32]
Ryan
He pushed the needle into my arm, the liquid burning as it entered my veins, my body convulsing, my vision fading. I could feel it, the pull, the presence, the darkness closing in, swallowing me whole. And as I slipped away, the last thing I heard was Dr. Frederick's voice. Calm, soothing, as if this was all perfectly natural.
- [59:12]
Dr. Fredericks
Sleep now, Mr. Ryan. Sleep and let us see what lies beyond.
- [59:40]
Narrator
It's clear now that Dr. Fredericks was more than just an ambitious researcher. He was a man who let curiosity lead him to the edge of a precipice and then willingly stepped over it. Somnam teased freedom from the need to sleep, but instead it invited something else into our reality, something they do not understand. The between one lurks in the realm of subconscious, so far unable to bridge the void. But now, thanks to Fredericks, it knows we're here. Dr. Frederick's initial vision was one of liberation. A vision that on the surface, seemed to promise humanity a new dawn. Imagine the productivity, the accomplishments, the life one could lead if we simply removed sleep from the equation. Eight hours of wakefulness added to every single day. Extra years reclaimed, extra time to become the people we long to be. To many, the Dream was irresistible. And to participate in the Somnam trial, it was presented as an opportunity to become part of something revolutionary. To simply get the best sleep of their lives and get paid while doing it. But dreams have a way of twisting into nightmares. And Dr. Fredricks underestimated the true cost of meddling with a realm beyond consciousness. Sleep isn't just a biological necessity. It's a gate, a threshold that keeps us separate from something beyond. Somnum blurred that threshold, leaving the participants in a state between states, caught in a liminal space where the boundaries of reality became porous. The Between One emerged from that space. And as Fredrix and his team pushed further, the thing that lurks in the void began searching for a way through. The Redwood Bureau has now taken control of the Somnam project, and the implications of what they have uncovered are still unfolding. Dr. Frederick's theories about perpetual liminality, about creating a state of in between, have led to a discovery that could reshape human understanding of consciousness. Or shatter it entirely. For now, Somnom is now deep in a Bureau facility, along with all the participants and machinery. The Between One seems to have followed. Fredericks may have been reckless, but even he understood one undeniable knowledge is power. And power can be an intoxicating lure. It may have started as a goal to eliminate sleep, but it turned into a dream to command the very boundary between worlds. The problem with stepping too close to the edge is you risk falling over. And with the Bureau involved, the fall is much higher. The Bureau's containment protocols seem to be holding for now. But the Between One is there, somewhere, just beyond sight. Watching. Learning. Adapting. And it has learned enough to know what and where we are. The Redwood Bureau continues the Somnam experiments, continuing to erode the boundaries the experiment has already breached. What comes next and how far the Bureau will take this remains uncertain. But this isn't over. It never truly is. Because once the thing that lies beyond the veil of sleep has glimpsed the other side, it won't forget. And sometimes, when you're lying in bed, drifting between wakefulness and dreams, you might just feel it. Something you once dismissed as a stray thought. But the Between One is there. Watching. Waiting for its opportunity. When you take something as natural, as fundamental as sleep, and try to reshape it, you have to accept that you might not be the only one with a vested interest in the outcome. And maybe, just maybe, the reason we sleep isn't to rest, but to keep that other world from crossing through to us. Somnum was designed to be a revolution, but it has become something else. A conduit. A crack in a door that cannot be so easily closed. Sleep well. If you can. Just hope that we can stop the Bureau before one of these times. When you drift off, something else comes back with you. Freed by the reckless ambition of an unchecked organization. Organization.
- [64:14]
Dr. Fredericks
Hey, I'm Ryan Reynolds. Recently I asked Mint Mobile's legal team if big wireless companies are allowed to raise prices due to inflation. They said yes. And then when I asked if raising prices technically violates those onerous two year contracts, they said what the are you talking about? You insane Hollywood. So to recap, we're cutting the price of mint unlimited from $30 a month to to just $15 a month. Give it a try@mintmobile.com Switch $45 up.
- [64:40]
Receptionist
Front payment equivalent to $15 per month New customers on first three month plan only taxes and fees extra Speed slower above 40GB details.