← Redwood Bureau
Redwood Bureau
"STORM SHELTER" _ Case File #191
01:08:33
In the depths of an isolated shelter, a terrible secret waits, one that no amount of concrete or steel can truly contain.
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- [00:01]
Adrian
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- [00:32]
Eric
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- [02:24]
Agent Conroy
Beware the Redwood Bureau. A secret organization which captures and researches.
- [02:30]
Adrian
Creatures and objects that defy explanation.
- [02:33]
Agent Conroy
Their reckless procedures have led to countless innocent lives lost.
- [02:38]
Adrian
I am Agent Conroy.
- [02:40]
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 no Long before the Bureau's darker projects came to light, they constructed facilities disguised as many different things, as seems to be their usual practice. These places were often created with labyrinthine designs and systems so complex that most Bureau agents themselves usually had little idea what was locked away within. On the surface, these buildings are presented as factories, shopping centers, hospitals, and in this case, an emergency storm shelter. A safe haven for civilians fleeing disaster. But behind those fortified doors, they were testing grounds. Sites for experiments so insidious that many who entered never returned. Officially, these structures behind the facade don't exist. There's no record, no documentation. Just buried mentions and classified reports. The Bureau hides them in plain sight. As we know, the Doldrums have become one of the Bureau's most infamous failures. A supposed indestructible containment facility designed to keep the most dangerous entities and phenomenon contained, while also creating the tools and weapons to fight against them. But what they actually achieved was something more negligent. The reports we've uncovered from the Doldrums highlight just how catastrophic and dangerous their priorities and protocols are. A still unfolding testament to the Bureau's disregard for what it leaves in its wake. And from what I'm beginning to learn, the Doldrums is not an isolated incident, just perhaps one of the largest. These sites are nodes in a network scattered across the country and possibly beyond. I've come across dozens of references. Hints towards other shelters with names as innocuous as the Doldrums. Places meant to seem benign and in some cases, purposefully drawing in the unwary. When it comes to the Redwood Bureau, nothing is ever what it first appears to be. Recently, I found traces of one of these facilities that the Bureau failed to decommission. It's likely holding something. Some leftover equipment. Remnants of a program that should have been shut down, but was left festering. The Bureau moves quickly to secure these places when they come to light. Sending containment teams to erase any evidence. I'm not the only one who's looking. But I've been tracing this lead for weeks. And if my source is correct, this one may contain research too dangerous to leave untouched. I'm getting close. And when I find it, I'll make sure there's nothing left for the Bureau to recover. Nothing left. Nothing left.
- [05:46]
Facility Guide
Hello, and welcome to our state of the art storm shelter facility. We're proud to provide this safe haven for emergencies and severe weather events, ensuring that all of you have a secure place to weather the storms ahead. Each room in the facility is reinforced with advanced structural materials. Designed to withstand even the most extreme conditions. As we move through the main corridor, you'll notice the personal bunkers. Each one has a cot, emergency lighting and secure locks. Standard safety measures for any effective shelter in the event of an extended stay. We have emergency rations and water supplies housed in the central storeroom, accessible to all occupants. Now, behind these secure metal doors, well, those are restricted. These areas are for maintenance and operational support. Some of our more essential systems are located here, keeping everything functional should we lose external power. No need to worry, of course. Our generator systems are robust, and even if the power lines go down, these will keep us warm, lit and breathing comfortably. As we continue, you might feel a slight vibration from the equipment. This is entirely it simply means the systems are performing as intended, regulating airflow and keeping the lights on. Alright, that concludes our public tour. Rest assured, this facility has been tested rigorously to meet all safety standards in the unlikely event of an evacuation. There are clear instructions in every room.
- [07:28]
Narrator
The rain had been relentless for days, a solid wall of water pounding down like it intended to wash the entire town away. I'd driven through plenty of coastal storms, but this one was different. Stronger, heavier. It just didn't seem to let up, and the flood waters were already beginning to surge across the roads. The weather alerts had suggested people stay indoors, but I'd been trying to make it back home from a trip when the worst of it hit. My plan to power through backfired. The water was rising fast, spreading over the road and covering it in a churning blanket of mud and debris. The tires lost their grip and I could feel the car slowly slipping and bobbing as it was being lifted right off the road. My pulse quickened as the water climbed higher, lapping up nearly against the windows. I slammed on the gas to try and accelerate, though, only to feel the engine sputter, giving in to the flood as water likely filled my intake. The headlights flickered and died. This was it. I was stuck. I looked around, squinting through the sheets of rain that blurred everything there. Off to the side, barely visible through the gray mist, I saw it. A squat metal structure tucked away beneath the trees. It was one of those coastal shelters built to withstand even the worst storms. Or at least that's what the news had said about these bunkers when they started popping up. Government funded storm shelters scattered along the flood prone areas of the coast for emergency use. It looked uninviting, half buried in the mud, its surface rusted in patches from its time in the rain and salt air. Still, what choice was there? Backpacks slung over my shoulder. I forced the car door open against the pull of the floodwater, the freezing water in instantly soaking through my clothes and body as I waded through to the bunker. When I reached the entrance, I could make out a faded yellow sign slapped across the heavy metal hatch, reading FOR EMERGENCY Use only. I gripped the handle and pulled. The interior was dim, a narrow entry hall leading further into darkness. As the hatch clanged shut behind me, the sound reverberated in the metal walls, a final, hollow echo that left an odd ringing in my ears. I hesitated, half expecting someone to appear and greet me, but the silence pressed down, thick and absolute. I moved further inside, peering down the narrow hall. A faint hum resonated through the metal walls, an almost rhythmic vibration that I assumed came from some kind of generator. It was strangely soothing, a low, steady thrum that promised a brief reprieve from the howling storm outside. Yet something in the air felt stale, metallic, and a faint smell lingered, like antiseptic mixed with earth. I continued down the hall, my footsteps muffled on the worn concrete floor. The place was in good shape, surprisingly clean, though the lighting was dim and flickering, casting long shadows that seemed to creep along the walls. As I passed, my initial relief at finding shelter began to settle into something else, something more like unease at the empty, liminal space I'd assumed would have staff and other residents. The main room of the bunker was unexpectedly furnished, a touch more hospitable than I had anticipated. To my left, a cloth armchair sat beside a small bookshelf, its shelves lined with worn paperbacks, each one alphabetized, as if someone had taken great care with their arrangement. A single half burned candle sat on the table beside the armchair, its wax pooled around the base, hardened in thin, pale streaks. Across the room, a small kitchenette gleamed with polished metal, stocked with cans and prepackaged meals. Everything appeared untouched, but I couldn't help noticing a fine layer of dust on the countertop, undisturbed, as though no one had been here in quite some time. The sense of stillness weighed on me as I wandered further inside. On the small coffee table was a notebook, worn and bound in leather. I picked it up, thumbing through the pages. They were filled with neat, precise handwriting, each entry listing names, meals, hours of sleep. Whoever had been here before had kept careful track of their routine. But toward the end the entries became less structured, scattered with hastily scribbled notes, unusual, illegible two nights in a row, lights flickering again, illegible from below, growing louder. I set the notebook down, feeling a vague prickle of anxiety as I looked around. The longer I was here, the more I was certain there was something unsettling about the place. Maybe it was the stale air, or the way the silence seemed to stretch and bend sound, But I told myself I was just tired, rattled from the storm and the panic of getting stranded. After all, it was just a shelter, a place to weather the storm until morning, and it was certainly better than the hurricane. Outside, I moved toward a narrow staircase at the far side of the room, its metal railing cold beneath my hand. My footsteps echoed as I descended, the sound swallowed up in the dark corridor below. The hum grew louder with each step, a deep, pulsing vibration that seemed to resonate through the walls, almost like a heartbeat. At the bottom of the stairs, a faint light seeped from beneath a closed door, casting a pale, sterile glow into the hallway. I hesitated, hand hovering over the doorknob, wondering if I should even be down here. Maybe it was just an equipment room or storage for the bunker's emergency supplies, but curiosity drew me forward, pressing in insistent. My fingers tightened around the doorknob, and I pushed the door open. Inside, I found what looked like an observation room. A single chair sat in front of an array of screens, each one flickering with static. The light from the monitors cast an eerie bluish glow across the room, leaving the edges of the space in darkness. The screens blinked in and out, gray and black lines scrolling across them as if they were trying to pick up a signal but couldn't quite lock onto anything. I hesitated before stepping in, half expecting an alarm to blare or a voice to demand what I was doing here, but there was only silence, the static crackling softly, almost hypnotic in the stillness. I moved closer, leaning over the console to examine it more closely. Buttons and switches covered its surface, each labeled in what seemed like another language, letters rearranged into an unrecognizable form but still hauntingly familiar. Something pulled at the back of my mind, a feeling that I was intruding. I looked over my shoulder as if I'd see someone standing there, but the room remained empty. I turned back to the console, wondering what any of it meant. My fingers brushed against a cluster of buttons, but I pulled my hand back, hesitant to touch anything I didn't understand. Then something on the far left screen flickered, a faint outline. I leaned in, squinting as the image resolved for just a second before dissolving back into static. It almost looked like a room with shadows moving across it, but I couldn't make out anything distinct. My heart started to beat faster, and I swallowed, taking a step back I had this sudden, irrational feeling that whoever was on the screen could somehow see me. I took a deep breath, steadying myself. It's just a storm shelter, I reminded myself. This was probably a monitoring station for keeping track of the facility, maybe even an old CCTV setup. But the screens didn't show any security feeds, just static and shadow. Probably connection issues because of the storm, I thought to myself. Across the room, another door led further into the shelter. The steady hum I'd heard earlier pulsed a little louder from the other side, a low, resonant thrum that seemed to vibrate through my bones. I moved toward it, my fingers grazing the cold metal of the door handle. I wasn't sure why, but I felt an urge to open it, as if something on the other side was calling me. I pressed my ear to the door, listening. At first there was nothing but the hum, and then a faint, muffled sound. A click, followed by a soft, almost imperceptible rustling, like fabric brushing against concrete. I held my breath, straining to hear, but the sound vanished as quickly as it had come. My hand tightened on the door handle, and with a deep breath, I pulled it open. The air that hit me was colder than the rest of the shelter, carrying with it a faint metallic tang, like rust in something else I couldn't place. The walls were lined with pipes that snaked across them, twisting and disappearing into the ceiling and floor, some dripping with condensation that left dark stains on the concrete below. The hallway stretched forward into darkness, the lights dim and flickering, casting strange, shifting shadows across the walls. I took a few steps inside, feeling the dampness in the air settle against my skin. The hum was louder here, resonating through the pipes, a pulsing vibration that I could feel in my chest. At the end of the corridor, I saw a door marked with a faded yellow sign, Authorized Personnel Only. The letters were scratched and worn, barely legible. I swallowed hard, glancing back at the way I'd come. Part of me wanted to turn back, to leave this strange corridor and return to the relative safety of the main room. But another part of me, a part I couldn't quite understand, felt compelled to keep going. I moved toward the door, each step echoing through the empty hall. When I reached the door, I hesitated, my hand hovering over the handle. The cold metal sent a shiver up my arm as I touched it, and for a moment I could have sworn I felt something on the other side, like a vibration of a movement. With a deep breath, I turned the handle and stepped inside. This room was darker than the rest, with only a single faint light hanging from the ceiling. It swung slightly, casting shifting shadows across the space, which was larger than I'd expected. Rows of metal tables filled the room, each covered in a thin layer of dust. Some held glass beakers and vials, their contents long since evaporated or crystallized, while others held strange pieces of equipment, wires, circuits, and fragments of metal that looked like they'd been scavenged from old machines. I took a step forward, my boots crunching on broken glass scattered across the floor. The sound echoed around me, loud in the otherwise silent room. I felt a strange urge to remain as quiet as possible, as if any noise might wake something slumbering in the dark corners. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I noticed a large observation window on the far wall. It looked into another room, one I couldn't quite make out through the layer of grime and dust on the glass. Faint outlines hinted at machinery inside, with pipes and metal beams stretching up to the ceiling, partially obscured by shadow. Curiosity won out over caution. I moved toward the window, brushing away the dust with my sleeve to get a better look. My breath caught in my throat. The room beyond was even larger than the one I stood in, its ceiling disappearing into darkness. In the center was a massive metal cylinder, a hulking shape covered in wires and tubes, its surface pockmarked and scarred. It looked like some kind of generator, though I'd never seen one like it before. Around the base of the cylinder, a strange liquid pooled, dark and viscous, its surface reflecting the faint light like oil on water. The hum I'd been hearing much denser here, resonating through the walls, the floor, and into my bones. I felt it in my teeth, a vibration that seemed to move my very thoughts. And then, faintly, I heard it. A whisper, barely audible, like someone murmuring just out of earshot. I froze, straining to listen. My heart pounded, and I took a step back, glancing around the room, half expecting someone to appear out of the shadows and arrest me for trespassing. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. It's just a storm shelter, I reminded myself. Just an unused facility. Odd, maybe, but for all I know, they all look like this beyond the authorized personnel doors. Must be that big cylinder is a generator causing a strange hum? Or perhaps an air filtration system could make sense, given the size of this place. I moved back toward the door, glancing one last time at the room beyond the glass. Stepping back into the hallway, I let the door click shut behind me, sealing off the room and its strange machines. The hum receded slightly muffled by the thick walls, though I could still feel it thrumming through the floor beneath my feet. I took a moment to steady myself, exhaling slowly as I tried to regain my composure. The unsettling noise was more tolerable out here. I tried to remind myself that any storm shelter might be outfitted with strange equipment, especially one as isolated and barely used as this one. As I walked down the dim corridor, something small caught my eye on the wall above, a metal hatch in the floor I hadn't noticed before. A pair of levers, aged and slightly corroded, were tucked in beside it. One was red, the other yellow. Faintly inscribed words above each lever were just readable in the low light. Lock on the red one and release on the yellow. My fingers hovered over them, curiosity tugging at me to test them, though I wasn't exactly sure what they controlled. Before I could overthink it, a low, dull thump echoed from somewhere below the hatch, startling me back a step. The sound was muted but insistent, as though something far below had stirred and was slowly shifting. I strained my ears, waiting for the silence to settle again, but the thumping continued. Another, then another, the sounds too irregular to be mechanical and much too alive to ignore. A shiver ran through me and my hand moved instinctively to the lever marked lock. I pulled it, feeling the mechanism click into place, the hatch's edge visibly tightening as the latch engaged. Whatever purpose this shelter had, it seemed to be something more than riding out storms. I told myself it was just an old piece of equipment, something settling in its hinges. But then the faint thump from below turned into a scraping noise. It was subtle, barely audible over the faint hum in the walls, but it was there, a slow dragging sound, as if something were being moved or moving itself along the floor below. My heart picked up, the hair on the back of my neck prickling as I listened. Each scrape seemed to press up against the silence, crawling up from the depths of the shelter through the concrete until it felt like it was right under my feet. I took a few steps back from the hatch, resisting the urge to flee. This place was designed for safety, to withstand storms, to protect from the worst weather. But the more time I spent here, the less it felt like a haven. Renew your health and wellness purpose this year with the Reset on Alo Moves, a curated weekly program of Pilates strength and step goals to kickstart your fitness journey.
- [24:52]
Agent Conroy
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- [24:54]
Narrator
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Agent Conroy
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- [25:14]
Ryan Reynolds
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- [25:38]
Narrator
Payment equivalent to $15 per month New customers on first three month plan only taxes and fees extra speed slower above 40 gigabytes.
- [25:43]
Ryan Reynolds
Details 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 just $15 a month. Give it a try@mintmobile.com Switch $45 upfront.
- [26:08]
Narrator
Payment equivalent to $15 per month New.
- [26:10]
Adrian
Customers on first three month plan only.
- [26:11]
Narrator
Taxes and fees Extra Speed slower above 40 GB.
- [26:13]
Agent Conroy
Details Signal connection restored.
- [26:17]
Narrator
I backed down the corridor toward the nearest junction, the dim light creating new fears in the corner of my vision as I tried to keep an eye on both ends. Every few seconds the quiet was broken by that slow, rhythmic scraping. I took a deep breath, but even that seemed loud in the stifling silence. The scraping stopped suddenly and I felt a strange relief until the metallic hiss of the hatch's handle ran rattled against the frame. I froze, pressing myself against the wall, my body instinctively flattening as the handle shook again, a quiet but deliberate test from the other side. It went still and the silence resumed. I stayed rooted, staring at the hatch, tension coiling through me. The silence stretched thin, every crack, creak and groan in the walls sharpening my senses to a painful edge. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was aware of me, that my presence had stirred whatever was hidden within these walls. Forcing myself to move, I stepped further away from the hatch, careful to avoid making any noise. The last thing I wanted was to attract attention. The corridor stretched on, the dim lighting flickering slightly as I moved further down. As I rounded a corner, the hallway opened up into a larger room, a control room. Or at least that's what it looked like at first glance. Rows of dusty metal consoles lined the walls, their screens dead, a layer of grime on the buttons indicating no one had touched them in years. A few scattered papers littered the floor, damp and curling at the edges from what I assumed was water damage. The air in here was more humid, filled with a stale, moldy scent. On one of the consoles there was a lever similar to the ones by the hatch, this time labeled with a simple, ominous override. I had no idea what it controlled, but something about it unsettled me. It looked out of place, like it had been added long after the original purpose of this shelter had been forgotten. A deep, resonant thud echoed from somewhere behind me, jolting me out of my thoughts. I turned, my heart pounding. The sound was unmistakably closer than before, like something massive bumping into a door. I took a few careful steps back, my eyes darting to the nearest exit. Just as I reached the threshold of the door leading to the next corridor, a faint shuffling noise started up again. It was slow, deliberate, as if something or someone was tracing the path I'd taken. The thought of anything down here besides me was unsettling enough, but the voice in the back of my mind told me I was being hunted. It made up all kinds of scenarios about murderous drug addicts or serial kill. Regardless of how nonsensical these thoughts probably were, I didn't want to stick around and find out what was making the noise. Moving quickly, I pressed forward into the adjoining corridor. The lighting here was even worse, the bulbs buzzing faintly as if they were barely clinging to life. A cold draft slipped through the narrow hallway, cutting through the stagnant air and sending a shiver down my spine. Each step I took echoed the sound, swallowed by the darkness ahead until I came to a dead end. A single door, painted red and almost out of place among the gray, lifeless surroundings, stood at the end of the corridor. There was a small yellow sign beside it that read CAUTION RESTRICTED access. Below it, in faint letters, nearly worn away, were the words EMERGENCY USE on Only my eyes fell to the floor beneath the door. A dark, viscous liquid seeped out from underneath, pooling around the door frame in an irregular pattern. The metallic tinge was stronger here, sharp and almost acidic, stinging my nostrils. Against my better judgment, I reached out and touched the door's handle, but pulled back as soon as my fingers brushed the cold metal. The handle was wet, coated in the same liquid that pooled on the floor. I wiped my hand on my jeans, my skin Crawling as if I'd touched something alive. But the scraping sound was growing continuously louder, a relentless echo drifting down the hall, filling the space with a gnawing sense of urgency. It was getting closer. I didn't have the luxury of indecision. With a final deep breath, I gripped the handle firmly and pushed the door open, stepping inside. The room beyond was massive, much larger than anything I'd seen so far, and certainly more so than I'd expect to find in a storm shelter. At its center was another, albeit larger, metal cylinder, cables and pipes snaking around it like veins. The cylinder pulsed faintly, a dim red light flickering within it, casting an eerie glow across the room. Pools of the dark liquid were scattered around, shimmering in the low light like oil, thick and iridescent. The door clicked shut behind me, the echo bouncing around the cavernous space. I took a few hesitant steps forward, my eyes drawn to the strange markings on the walls. They looked like scratches, but they were too deliberate, too precise, forming an intricate web that stretched across the concrete like a twisted map. There were deep gouges along the floor as well, leading toward the center of the room where the cylinder sat. A thud echoed from the far side of the room, and I froze. Shadows flickered along the walls, and for a split second, I thought I saw movement, a brief, distorted figure outlined in the dim red light before it vanished back into the shadows. Every instinct screamed at me to turn back, but the hallway behind me was no longer an option. I didn't want to be trapped with whatever was moving out there. Steeling myself, I edged toward the metal cylinder, keeping low and moving as quietly as possible. Then the hissing started. It was faint at first, a barely audible whisper, but it grew louder, filling the room with a steady, rhythmic pulse. I felt the ground tremble beneath me, the vibrations growing stronger with each second. Whatever was powering this place, it was coming to life. I scanned the room for an exit, for anything that might give me a way out. That's when I noticed another door on the far side of the room, its outline barely visible in the red haze. I took a step forward, but stopped short as the hissing intensified and a figure emerged from the darkness, twisted and malformed. It lurched forward, its limbs elongated and skeletal, its face hidden in shadow. It moved with a disturbing, unnatural grace, gliding across the floor toward me. My pulse spiked as I stumbled backward, my foot slipping in the dark liquid that covered the floor. The thing paused, cocking its head as if studying me before letting out a guttural sound that reverberated through the room. I backed up until my shoulders hit the cold metal of the cylinder, my breath coming in shallow gasps. My heart hammered against my rib cage as I pressed myself against the cylinder. The low hum of the machine behind me reverberated through my bones, now pulsing in sync with the hissing sound that was filling the room. The figure's shadow twisted grotesquely on the wall, elongating and shrinking with each subtle shift. It stood just a few yards away, unmoving, like it was savoring the anticipation. Inhaling in every fearful breath I took, I forced myself to look at it, hoping that somehow facing it would reveal this situation to be nothing more than a dream or hallucination. But the sight only intensified my dread. The creature's skin was stretched tight over its skeletal frame, a sickly pale sheen that looked almost translucent in the red light of the pulsing cylinder, as if it would tear if it moved too quickly. Jagged bones jutted from its elbows and knees, puncturing through its paper thin flesh, leaving small dark stains that slowly leaked down its limbs like black tears. Its face was a nightmare all its own. Sunken, hollow eyes stared unblinkingly from deep sockets, glistening with a faint, unnatural sheen. The eyes seemed too big for its skull, bulging out slightly, darting and twitching as if scanning every inch of the room at all times. A thin layer of skin stretched over its mouth, forcing its lips into a distorted smile. I could see the faint outline of teeth behind the translucent flesh, jagged and uneven, shifting beneath the skin, struggling to break free. It tilted its head, and I heard a wet, cracking sound, like sinew snapping and reattaching as it moved. A thin line of drool dribbled from the corner of its partly sealed mouth, oozing down its chin and dripping onto the floor with a soft splatter that echoed in the silence. The creature's breathing was shallow and rapid, each exhale range rattling with a wheeze, filling the air with a sickly sweet stench that clung to the back of my throat. And then it moved. With a disjointed, almost mechanical motion, it took a step forward, its limbs jerking like a marionette controlled by a sadistic puppet master. Its arms dangled limply at its sides, fingers twitching, the nails jagged and yellow, clicking softly against each other. As it moved closer, I noticed small patches of skin peeling from its body, revealing raw red muscle underneath, glistening and pulsing in time with the hum. I tried to back up further, but the cylinder behind me offered no escape. Panic surged as I pressed my hands against the cold metal, desperate to push myself through it, anything to get away from this thing that was now only feet away. The creature extended one of its arms, its fingers splaying wide, and I saw them stretch. Impossibly long joints bending and cracking as its hand reached toward me. Its nails scraped against the metal, leaving thin scratches in their wake. I could hear its breathing intensify, a guttural rasp that grew louder, filling my ears until it was all I could hear. With every ounce of strength I had left, I forced myself to turn and run, slipping under its arm and skidding across the slick floor floor toward the exit. The creature let out a guttural, high pitched screech, the sound drumming off the walls and mixing with the thrum of the shelter. I didn't dare look back, my focus solely on reaching the door before it reached me. But just as I was about to reach the exit, I felt a vice like grip close around my ankle, yanking me backward with enough force to send me sprawling onto the floor. Pain shot through my leg as I struggled to kick free, the creature's bony fingers digging into my flesh with an unnatural strength. I twisted onto my back, looking up to see it looming over me, its face mere inches from mine. Up close, I could see every horrifying detail. The sunken eyes, the translucent skin, the jagged, uneven teeth cutting into its sealed lips, twitching and quivering as if they were gnashing at an anticipated meal. It opened its mouth with a sickening rip, the skin tearing away to reveal several rows of sharp, jagged teeth, each one covered in a thick layer of dark, viscous fluid. A putrid stench rolled over me and I gagged, bile rising in my throat. Summoning a surge of adrenaline, I lashed out, kicking my free foot against his chest. The creature staggered back, momentarily loosening its grip. I scrambled to my feet, my leg throbbing with pain as I stumbled toward the exit. My hands fumbled for the handle, slick with sweat and blood as I wrenched it open and threw myself through the doorway. I slammed the door shut behind me, hearing the creature's enraged screech on the other side as it pounded against the metal. My heart pounded as I stumbled back, clutching my leg and gasping for breath.
- [39:06]
Facility Guide
Now that we're done with the introductory spiel, let's proceed to the more pertinent details of the facility.
- [39:12]
Adrian
All right, now that we're past the general briefing, let's get into the real purpose of this place, the main function of this facility. Because beyond the innocuous facade we present is to carry out studies that push and often transcend normal boundaries. These massive cylinders are the backbone of it all. It's called a Singularity Stabilization Array, or ssa. Each one essentially allows us to finely tune elements of this area's singularity, capable of potentially manipulating conditions that, as of yet, we're only scratching the surface of. Each SSA is linked to a control suite. That's where our finest minds monitor and regulate the experiment. Behind that glass, you'll see Dr. Marianne Stryker, one of our lead researchers. She's currently calibrating the SSA for our next experiment. The exact nature of these experiments is classified. Suffice to say, they concern phenomena that that exist on the fringes of our understanding. Walking a little forward, you'll reach the monitoring zone lined with desks filled with screens and terminals. Here we process raw data from the SSAs, picking out patterns and breakthroughs from vast combinations of numbers. Don't mistake this for pattern prediction. What we are doing here is probing the fabric of reality itself. Itself. Now, I want to draw your attention to one more structure located at the heart of this facility. We call it the Nexus. This contains our largest and most powerful ssa. The energy levels in there could theoretically manipulate the very essence of time and space within its area of influence, Provided we can control it accurately enough. The silo like structures surrounding the Nexus are safety measures in place to contain any unexpected temporal or spatial anomalies. All of them feed into a dissipation field generator or a dfg. If something goes awry, our DFG will kick in to neutralize excess energy. You can see a small percentage of power surge leakages, the blue sparks spontaneously manifesting around us at intervals. These are harmless. But make no mistake, without the presence of our DFGs, these would have catastrophic consequences. Please take a moment to appreciate the complex interplay between cutting edge technology and theoretical physics underpinning everything you've just seen today. We recognize that while its full potential may not be immediately clear, this bunker is much more than a simple storm shelter. It's a gateway to technologies beyond our imagination. This facility embodies mankind's ceaseless drive for knowledge and survival, taking daring strides toward an ever uncertain future. Through rigorous work. We're doing no less than paving the way for new paradigms of understanding our universe. Now, let's proceed to the final part of our tour. The Personal Protective Equipment hangar. Please remember to suit up before taking part in any of our experimental protocols. Safety, after all, is paramount. Amidst all our endeavors. Of course, there are always risks. We've implemented every precaution. But when you're dealing with variables at this scale, nothing is certain. Any oversight could lead to complications. And yet every shift, every pulse of that control dial is another step toward knowledge. In the end, that's why we're here. To gather what can't be gathered anywhere else. Warning. Signal interruption detected.
- [43:06]
Narrator
Hey there. Darkness prevails here. Founder of ericast, my little network of scary shows. I appreciate you listening to our scary content, but did you know you can support us? Get ad free feeds of your favorite shows, get a 20% discount code to the Eeriecast store, and unlock access to members only audiobooks all at the same time. Just go to eeriecast.com/& become a member today. It's cheap and really helps us out. That's eeriecast.com/plus. Thank you.
- [43:42]
Adrian
Signal connection restored. Research log entry facility SSA 009 Dr. Raymond Calder. Progress is moving smoothly and the containment systems are holding up. The SSAs are performing beyond expectations, allowing for increasingly precise control over internal variables without compromising external safety. We've just begun the next phase of experiments focused on what the Bureau terms singularity. Cause and effect. Essentially, we're introducing inanimate objects as well as different living subjects to controlled exposure to the singularity's energy. The most notable results from our latest test are as 104. A simple wristwatch showed an immediate change in temporal coherence. It now oscillates between dimensions of time at a rate that seems to fluctuate depending upon its proximity to any SSA. Test Subject 133 A Germany's rabbit initially displayed symptoms of extreme discomfort and nausea. After 24 hours, it inexplicably reverted back to a juvenile state. Further investigation is needed. Test subject alpha. Dr. Palmer volunteered himself as a savvy act of bravo. His exposure revealed an odd anomaly. His heartbeat fell into sync with the rhythm of the SSA's energy flux, and he reported feeling in tune with the passages of time around him. Subsequent medical testing has not yet revealed any adverse effects. However, progress without hitches would be progress untested. We're seeing some intermittent faults in one of our DFT GS. Possible bouncing where the system doesn't fully absorb an energy spike, but instead refracts it back into the space time stream. We're still examining the cause and potential impact. Tomorrow we begin a new series of experiments aimed at exploring the effects on cognitive functions in living subjects. The Bureau is eager to see these results themselves. If successful, the this could profoundly change our understanding and interaction with the universe itself. But as I said earlier, there are always risks involved. Some are inevitable casualties on the raw path toward knowledge. However, What I can assure you is that commitments to safety and ethical conduct remain unshaken, even in the face of such extraordinary scientific endeavors. Log update. The system has been stable overall, but a few irregularities have begun cropping up, subtle enough to avoid immediate concern, yet strange enough to document. Yesterday, SSA2's field settings adjusted on their own. It was quick and subsided shortly after the DFG kicked in, as it should, and our systems flagged it and we manually recalibrated. But nothing in the diagnostics indicates why it occurred. If this field is capable of expanding rapidly and suddenly, I believe it could potentially overwhelm our DFGs or possibly even disrupt their process. At this point, the unknowns are much more numerous than the knowns. That's what makes this work equally exciting and terrifying. Regarding our latest experiments, there have been some truly remarkable developments. Reach into your mind and try to think of a dream you had recently. Often we can't recall them, but imagine if you could. Test subject 214, a tabby cat, started reacting to stimuli that were not physically present after exposure, as if it was interacting with objects or entities in a separate dimension, unseen to our eyes. Intriguingly, its behavior patterns began to match those recorded in its dream states. Subject Beta, Lorraine S. One of our bureau provided volunteers. A similar pattern occurred upon reversion from the SSA field. She could distinctly recall every dream she'd ever had since childhood. She's now being monitored round the clock to observe any lasting or delayed effects. I've put a new team together, focused on understanding this new dimension of consciousness that has been revealed. It's as if we've rubbed off the frost from a window, revealing an existence operating parallel to our own reality. However, it's not all smooth sailing. We witnessed an energy spike last night stronger than anything we've seen before. And the DFG almost didn't kick in in time. A few more seconds and it might have been catastrophic. What's more concerning is that it seemed to coincide with Lorraine's dreamwalking. We're still trying to figure out whether this is purely incidental or a foreboding indication of larger repercussions of individual exposure effects on the system as a whole. Tomorrow's experiments are geared towards solving this conundrum. The risks associated have amplified, yet we remain undeterred. We must tread carefully on this delicate path between ambition and responsibility. In this dance with the unknown, we're making impossible strides. But we must also be vigilant about any missteps. After all, we aren't merely dealing with serendipitous wonders, we are playing with forces possibly capable of fracturing reality. For now, it's back to studying the data, scrutinizing each point, every anomaly, meticulously searching for defections in our patterned world. Our quest for knowledge dictates we press on, regardless of what dark uncertainties loom ahead. As we enter week six of phase three trials, the Bureau's directives over the last two weeks have marked a significant shift in our approach. The SSA's activation cycles are now running back to back, with barely any intervals for recalibration. Initial protocols limited us to controlled exposure times, but recent mandates have pushed for continuous operation with staggered trial groups exposed in sequence. The rationale, as explained to me, is to maximize data yield per activation. But I can't help noting the strain this puts on both personnel and systems. A marked change lies in our subject influx. Not long ago, we conducted trials on a volunteer, someone who understood the implications of working within Bureau run parameters. Now, however, we are seeing a wider variety of subjects, seemingly from varied backgrounds, ages and states of health. These participants are, shall we say, not of the typical demographic. They arrive with little preamble and fewer records, each one filed under Bureau authorization codes that lack the usual documentation. I've long since learned to avoid prying into Bureau decisions. Still, I can't ignore that our new recruits display behaviors and reactions unlike any previous participants. Some arrive visibly disoriented, and others seem almost unaware of the nature of their participation. While no direct explanations are offered, their compliance is ensured by personnel with security clearances far above mine. The SSA's performance under the increased load is, I must admit, impressive. However, with the recent operational push, I'm noticing minor anomalies that we'd previously managed to avoid. Yesterday, SSA3 produced a few field spike that destabilized one of the smaller containment chambers, creating a surge that we had to dissipate manually. Even more concerning, one of the new participants, subject Capa, experienced a loss of temporal perception during exposure, a phenomenon usually associated with much longer term trials. Subject Kappa was in distress for several hours post exposure. His condition was described as a kind of fever fugue state. His awareness seemingly splintered across several timelines. Capa's neural responses read like overlapping frequencies, each out of phase with the other. The team attempted to stabilize his condition by reducing subsequent exposure, but the lingering effects hint at something much deeper. An instability that may result from pushing the SSA's capacities beyond their intended limits. Limits. Yet the Bureau insists on increasing the throughput. Essential they Say, to advancing the project timeline. My own apprehensions aside, the results do show progress, albeit in fits and starts. Test Subject Lambda, a middle aged woman showing signs of chronic illness, exhibited a delayed response to the ssa. But once her system adapted, her cognitive recall underwent a noticeable enhancement. For a time, she could recount memories as far back as infancy, recalling minute details that defy human memory capacity. Yet her physical health has since declined, an aspect no one seems eager to address. I flagged these irregularities in my report, noting the SSA's recent calibration fault and the increased physical toll on subjects. Bureau command assures me that DFG backups are operational, but as anomalies increase, our trust in these systems grows thin. There's an unspoken awareness here among the staff that we're treading a razor's edge, working with systems that may have been carefully designed, but not for the pace they're now forced to endure. The facility feels heavier lately, if that's possible. Not just from the continuous hum of the SSA fields, but from the sheer presence of bodies moving in and out. A convoy arrived last night, offloading equipment and crates marked with Bureau insignia, along with a handful of new participants. They were quickly processed and sent to isolation for preliminary tests, each assigned ID numbers without names. Strange that. We used to handle files and briefings before any test, ensuring subjects were prepped and ready. Now it's all coded designations and the silent urgency of redacted protocols. Today, I witnessed one of the new team members hastily conducting a test on subject PI, a young man who seemed barely aware of his surroundings. PI's exposure was set to minimal levels, yet after just one cycle, he displayed extreme anxiety, pressing himself against the walls as if trying to escape some unseen threat. When questioned, he only muttered about fractures and being split. He eventually lapsed into silence, his eyes unfocused, his vitals remaining disturbingly erratic. It was only a small consolation when he returned to baseline some hours later. The equipment strain, too, has become evident. The SSA fields have been running at such high intensities that they've started to interfere with facility infrastructure. At least two corridors have been blocked off due to unanticipated energy surges that overloaded local circuits, creating hazardous zones we've had to mark off. Each incident feels like a ticking clock, counting down to some critical failure. But each time I raise concerns, I am reminded of the progress imperative and instructed to continue. In addition to the disturbances, I've noticed our new containment setups. Mobile units stationed outside some of the high exposure rooms are equipped with Restraints and emergency sedation. It's as if they're bracing for something to go wrong, though no one's been clear about what exactly that is. I can only assume it has to do with recent abnormalities and exposure responses. Even seasoned researchers are wary of the heightened security. No one feels quite sure who's monitoring whom these days. To date, the only instruction is to gather data raw and uninterrupted, regardless of individual outcome. Those of us in charge of data analysis have been asked to isolate responses that indicate extended cognitive and perceptual effects, especially where subjects report sensations of disassociation or temporal distortion. It's as if the Bureau has narrowed its focus, seeking only the most extreme, potentially destabilizing effects. One of the senior analysts privately confided that she suspects these incidents are no longer unforeseen side effects, but expected thresholds. As if the higher ups are tracking the edge cases for some larger purpose. Our containment specialists seem almost braced for impact, as though they're waiting for the inevitable escalation. This place has grown claustrophobic. Every corridor, every observation room feels like it's pressing in. I catch glimpses of knowing looks between my colleagues, silent exchanges that need no words. We're still professionals, all too aware of our roles. But the ever present urgency shadows each experiment, each line of code input. There's little I can say to the team to ease their concerns. We've long since learned to keep questions to ourselves, to focus on the work and let the Bureau handle the rest. But somewhere in the back of my mind, the doubts persist. How many more cycles can we endure before this facility and its occupants succumb to the relentless weight of discovery? The incident last night has all but sealed our fate. SSA 3 experienced what's been deemed a catastrophic resonance shift. The energy field spiked uncontrollably, spreading a pulse that cascaded through every SSA in the facility, triggering feedback loops that the DFGs couldn't contain. I was in the control room when it happened. One moment the readings were within tolerances, and the next, every alarm blared in unison. The lights flickered as power rerouted itself in a desperate attempt to stabilize SSA1 and SSA2. Both emitted violent energy expulsions, sending waves through the corridors. Doors locked, systems froze, and a tremor that felt like a heartbeat ran through the entire bunker. Test subjects still within exposure chambers began exhibiting changes no one anticipated. Those under long term exposure began to warp and twist. I couldn't be sure if this was just a visual effect or something physical. Drawn out by the SSA's singularity exposure. But when one of them somehow broke containment, I knew we'd lost control. The emergency lockdown was enacted, but with systems failing, containment doors buckled and a few of us barely escaped into the upper levels. I gave the remaining staff simple, Secure and extract. The Bureau's emergency response teams can deal with this however they choose. We closed the entrances and exits, left the equipment running on failsafe, and evacuated. I can't say what, if anything, the Bureau will do about the remaining subjects. It.
- [60:34]
Narrator
No. No, please.
- [60:42]
Agent Conroy
Hey, you're all right. I'm not one of them.
- [60:46]
Adrian
Who.
- [60:46]
Narrator
Who are you?
- [60:48]
Agent Conroy
I'm the one who's gonna get you out of this mess. Follow me. Stay close and keep quiet. Wait in here. Don't make a sound. I'll be back when it's done. Then we'll get you out of here.
- [61:15]
Narrator
Done with what? There are monsters out there.
- [61:18]
Agent Conroy
Not for long.
- [61:20]
Narrator
What the hell is going on?
- [61:22]
Agent Conroy
The less you know, the better, trust me. Sorry, I don't offer containment options. I've uncovered a lot of unsettling things in my time, and sadly, what I found in that facility is on par with the Bureau's usual research. Tracking down this particular shelter was no easy feat. The Bureau's redactions, decoy files, and dead ends are as labyrinthian as their structures. I'd come across vague mentions of facilities marked as storm shelters, isolated outposts dotting various remote areas. But this one had a unique footprint. Its rough location matched several disappearances, strange radio interference, and several other instances of strange phenomena that could easily be overlooked if reported individually. Inside, I found someone holding onto life by the skin of his teeth. He wasn't one of the Bureau's unfortunate test subjects, but an unsuspecting bystander just looking for refuge. He had no idea what kind of shelter he'd entered, and the ordeal had left him shaken to his core. He's safe now, somewhere far from the Bureau's reach. Though breaking silence will undoubtedly put his life back into the crosshairs, that's a decision he can only make for himself. The facility itself was something out of a night nightmare. This wasn't a place designed to withstand storms. It was built to withstand something far more anomalous. And the entities roaming its halls, well, they were the byproducts of the Bureau's attempts to push the limits of the natural order, of meddling with forces not understood. These creatures, twisted and fragmented, weren't born from nature or mere accident. They were created by the very technology humming away in that building. The singularity stabilization arrays. I eliminated what I found, but the SSA devices themselves, the source of all that terror, were still active, maintaining a quiet pulse beneath the cracked floors. Their purpose isn't exactly clear, not even from the research logs I set salvaged. Manipulating time, space, and reality itself. That much is obvious. But as to why. The Bureau's obsession with control goes deep, but the lengths they go are something else entirely. They must be searching for something specific. It's the only thing that makes sense. As disturbing as this case is, it's just one facility of many. The Bureau's network stretches across continents, embedded in places most people wouldn't give a second glance. Each of these facilities serves a purpose, but they're not just storm shelters or scientific labs. They're nodes in a larger connected web, each contributing to something the Bureau is working tirelessly to achieve. And if the glimpses I've caught are any indication, it's an ambition that will come at a cost none of us are prepared to pay. Pay? I've had the facility wired with explosives and welded shut at every exit point. When I know it's safe to do so, I will destroy it. I will destroy it.