"THE CLOT" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #9007

Summary

Redwood Bureau Episode Summary: "THE CLOT" (Phenomenon #9007)

Release Date: December 7, 2024
Host/Author: Eeriecast Network
Title: "THE CLOT" - Redwood Bureau Phenomenon #9007

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Introduction

In the gripping episode "THE CLOT" of the Redwood Bureau series, hosted by the Eeriecast Network, listeners are plunged into a chilling narrative that unveils the dark operations of the clandestine Redwood Bureau. Through the voice of Agent Conroy, a former operative turned whistleblower, the episode exposes the Bureau's sinister methods in handling supernatural entities and the harrowing consequences of their actions.

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The Incident: A Family's Tragedy

The episode opens with Agent Conroy (voiced by Josh Tomar) issuing a dire warning:

"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." ([01:53])

Conroy introduces a harrowing case involving a suburban family—Mark, Sarah, Jess, and their son Tommy. The narrative delves into the family's deteriorating situation, marked by mysterious ailments and growing tensions.

Sarah's Observation:

"The ache in my arm had grown worse, spreading down into my hand, the veins black and pulsing..." ([20:35])

As Mark's condition worsens, it becomes evident that something unnatural is unfolding within the family, hinting at an insidious infection or entity taking control.

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The Transformation of Agent Conroy

Amidst the family's turmoil, Agent Conroy's own experience becomes a focal point. He begins to exhibit disturbing physical symptoms—painful scratches that darken and spread, accompanied by excruciating aches that suggest a parasitic influence. His struggle to maintain normalcy for his family's sake only exacerbates the situation, leading to terrifying transformations that blur the line between human and something far more sinister.

Agent Conroy's Desperation:

"I couldn't handle it. I wrapped a towel around my arm, drying it off before pulling on a long sleeve shirt to cover the mark. I didn't want Sarah to see it." ([20:35])

The episode meticulously details Conroy's descent as the infection takes hold, portraying his internal battle against an overwhelming force that threatens to consume him entirely.

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Redwood Bureau's Response and Cover-Up

Parallel to Conroy's personal ordeal, the episode reveals the Redwood Bureau's methodical and ruthless handling of such incidents. Through a leaked report narrated by Agent Hawk, listeners gain insight into the Bureau's protocol for containing and eliminating affected individuals and their families.

Agent Hawk's Report:

"The containment was successful, but the unknown whereabouts of Tommy remains a significant issue..." ([55:13])

The Bureau's swift intervention transforms the tragic family situation into a fabricated cover story—a house fire—ensuring that the truth remains buried. However, the missing child, Tommy, poses a lingering threat as he potentially carries the infection, referred to ominously as "the clot."

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The Ongoing Threat: "The Clot"

Concluding the episode, Agent Conroy emphasizes the persistent danger posed by the clot, an entity that continues to exist beyond the Bureau's control. The narrative warns of its potential to infiltrate and corrupt other families, underscoring the Bureau's failure to fully contain the horror they sought to eliminate.

Concluding Warning:

"The clot doesn't just take over bodies, it takes over families. And it could be closer than you think." ([56:39])

The episode ends with a call to vigilance, urging listeners to remain aware of subtle signs of the clot's influence and to question the Bureau's actions relentlessly.

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Notable Quotes

• Agent Conroy:

  "I couldn't afford for Sarah to find out. As I drove... I couldn't let her see. Not the scratch, not the guilt." ([11:21])

• Narrator:

  "Trust can be fragile. It doesn't take much for something to slip in and take hold, changing everything before you even realize what's happening." ([02:31])

• Agent Hawk:

  "We breached through the back. Security was non existent... The smell was something we all noticed right away. A mix of rot and something else." ([49:42])

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Themes and Insights

"The Clot" delves deep into themes of trust, vulnerability, and the corrupting influence of power. It presents a bleak portrayal of institutional malfeasance, where the pursuit of knowledge and control over the supernatural leads to the obliteration of innocent lives. The episode also explores the psychological terror of losing one's humanity and the desperate measures taken to conceal horrifying truths.

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Conclusion

Redwood Bureau's "THE CLOT" serves as a compelling and disturbing exploration of the lengths to which an organization might go to conceal supernatural threats. Through Agent Conroy's tragic story and the Bureau's cold efficiency, the episode paints a grim picture of unchecked power and the enduring threat of the unknown. Listeners are left with a sense of unease, reflecting on the fragile fabric of trust within families and the lurking dangers that may exploit it.

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Stay tuned for more unsettling revelations in the Redwood Bureau series, and remember to stay vigilant.

Transcript

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[Agent Conroy]

Beware the Redwood Bureau. A secret organization which captures and researches creatures and objects that defy explanation. Their reckless procedures have led to countless innocent lives lost. I am Agent Conroy. I work for the Redwood Bureau. But I have escaped them to leak their reports to the unsuspecting public. You have the right to know.

[Narrator]

They say family is where our greatest strength lies. Where we find love, support, trust. Everything that makes life bearable. It's where we're meant to feel the safest. Surrounded by the people who know us best and who do anything to protect us. But what if that sense of safety could be turned against you? An event that has been chalked up to another house fire. Another tragic loss thanks to the Redwood Bureau. They were there cleaning up the mess, making sure nothing was left behind for anyone else. To find. But what exactly were they covering up this time? A rogue experiment gone wrong? An anomaly that slipped through their grasp? Or something much worse. Something unknown in both scale and origin. I've uncovered details of this case. A story that involves more than just a tragic accident. A quiet suburban home, A family trying to live their lives. And something dark that took root, spreading through trust, through love, and through every touch until nothing was left of them but a grotesque imitation of what they once were. And the worst part? It all started with just a small, seemingly innocuous mistake. In nature, we see examples of parasites that exploit their hosts in ways that seem unimaginable. The parasitic wasp, for instance, injects its eggs into a caterpillar, and those eggs hatch, feeding on the host from the inside out. Or the cordyceps fungus, which takes control of an insect's body, driving it to climb to a high point before releasing spores to spread the infection even further. These examples show that even in the most trusted of relationships between the host and its own body, something can burrow in, take control, and change everything. Family can have a similar effect. It's meant to be the ultimate sanctuary. But it's also where we're most vulnerable. We let our guard down. We trust blindly. And that's what makes it so dangerous when something dark finds its way in, when it turns what should be safe into something threatening. There are cases that never make the news stories that vanish before anyone can ask questions. Families who vanish overnight. Tragedies written off as accidents. But sometimes, just sometimes, there's more to it. A darker thread that winds through the story. Something that doesn't fit. That's where the Redwood Bureau comes in. Not to save people, but to make sure that whatever horror has taken root is contained. Scrubbed away, Hidden. And sometimes that means more than just silencing witnesses. Think about the ones closest to you. The people you do anything for. And remember. Trust can be fragile. It doesn't take much for something to slip in and take hold, changing everything before you even realize what's happening.

[Agent Hawk]

Time is O. 900 hours. Post containment. Debriefing for subject Thrombus Parasitis. Subjects Mark and Sarah. Agent Hawk, I will activate the memory synthesis. If you would please review this with me before our debriefing so we can line up the details as best as possible.

[System]

Sure. System online. Memory extraction protocol engaged.

[Narrator]

Organic samples identified. Homo sapien, adult male.

[System]

Homo sapiens, adult female. Commencing memory synthesis.

[Sarah]

Memory synthesis complete.

[System]

Playback beginning.

[Agent Conroy]

My fingers shook slightly as I buttoned my shirt. Each click of plastic against fabric. A reminder of my mistake. The room smelled of something floral. Cheap incense, maybe. I looked into the mirror hanging over the sink, my eyes catching my own reflection, and saw the guilt etched into my features. My stomach churned. I'd sworn to myself I wouldn't do this again, and yet here I was, buttoning up in the changing room of a massage parlor. I felt a dull, throbbing ache of shame just beneath my ribs. My hands fumbled as I tucked my shirt into my jeans, the fabric catching on my belt. It felt like a bad dream, this whole place with its pink and yellow walls, dim lights, the lingering floral scent. I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of it. I needed to leave. I needed to pretend this never happened. As I reached for my jacket, I noticed it, a thin red scratch on my forearm just below the elbow. I didn't remember that being there before. I blinked, rubbing my thumb across the mark. It was small, maybe an inch long, but there was something about it that made my stomach twist. The skin around it looked inflamed and puffy. Damn it, I muttered under my breath, wincing at the sting as I probed it. Maybe. I scraped myself against something sharp in the changing room. The place was dingy, poorly maintained furniture, the edge of the massage table worn and splintered. It wasn't hard to imagine I caught myself without noticing. I shook my head again, dismissing the thought. I just needed to get out of here. I slipped my jacket on, covering the scratch, and took a deep breath as I opened the door and stepped out into the narrow hallway. The soft hum of music drifted from the front of the parlor, muffled behind walls that were painted in peeling pastel colors. I kept my eyes down as I walked, hoping to avoid anyone who might recognize me. As I passed the small reception area, I caught sight of an old man leaning against the wall by the exit, staring at me. The man's eyes were dark, hollow, and they didn't leave me. As I approached, a chill crawled up my spine, the fine hairs on my neck standing up. I looked away quickly, pretending to adjust my sleeve, my heart picking up pace. I pushed the door open, the bell above it chiming softly, and stepped outside into the night air. The cold hit me instantly, a welcome shock against my flushed skin. I walked to my car parked around the corner, my breath coming in visible puffs. The street was mostly empty, the glow of the street lights casting long, solitary shadows. I fished my keys out of my pocket, my hands still trembling slightly. I tried to take a steadying breath, but my thoughts were spiraling. Get it together, I muttered to myself. Unlocking the car door, I slid inside, the leather seat creaking beneath me. I stared at my reflection in the rearview mirror for a moment before starting the engine. I'd been stupid, I knew that. But what was done was done. I just needed to move past it. I couldn't afford for Sarah to find out. As I drove, the dull ache in my arm grew sharper. I flexed my fingers, trying to shake off the strange sensation creeping up my arm, a sort of pulsing heat that made the muscles in my forearm twitch. I ignored it, focusing on the road, on the familiar turns that would take me home. By the time I reached the driveway, the ache had settled into a persistent throb, but I forced it out of my mind. I couldn't let anything show. I stepped out of the car, shutting the door softly behind me, and walked towards the front door of the house. I paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before I turned the knob and stepped inside. The house was warm, the faint smell of dinner lingering in the air. I could hear the TV on in the living room, some cartoon playing, and the sound of Sarah in the kitchen, pots clinking, water running. I swallowed, shrugging off my jacket and hanging it on the hook near the door. I forced a smile onto my face as I walked into the kitchen, the light bright compared to the dim hall. Hey. I called out, trying to sound casual. Sarah turned, her hair pulled back, a dish towel in her hand. She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

[Sarah]

Hey, you're late, she said, her voice.

[Agent Conroy]

Carefully, not accusing, not outright, but careful. Yeah, sorry, I muttered, leaning against the counter. Got caught up with work. I rubbed my arm absentmindedly, the scratch itching now, the skin hot beneath my touch. I winced slightly, catching myself, and quickly dropped my hand to my side. I couldn't let her see. Not the scratch, not the guilt. She nodded, turning back to the stove.

[Sarah]

Dinner will be ready soon, she said.

[Agent Conroy]

Her voice softer now.

[Sarah]

You should go say hi to the kids.

[Agent Conroy]

I nodded, forcing my legs to move, each step feeling heavier than the last. As I walked towards the living room, the itching in my arm grew more insistent, almost unbearable, and I clenched my jaw. I had to keep it together. I had to pretend everything was fine. No one could know where I'd been, what I'd done. No one could know about the scratch. But as I reached the doorway to the living room, watching Jess and Tommy sprawled on the floor, laughing at the cartoon, a strange chill settled over me. Yeah, just.

[Sarah]

I was standing in the kitchen, half listening to the sizzling of the pan while keeping an eye on Jess and Tommy through the doorway. They were sprawled out in the living room, giggling at some cartoon on the tv. Jess was imitating one of those character voices, making Tommy laugh until he was holding his stomach. I couldn't help but smile. Seeing them like that always made everything seem a little bit better, even when I was feeling the stress of everything weighing down on me. That day had been exhausting. Like most of them, between managing work from home, keeping up with the laundry that never seemed to end, and making sure the kids did their schoolwork, I felt like I was constantly running on fumes. And then there was Mark. Lately he had been different. Distant. Maybe it wasn't anything I could put my finger on exactly, just a gut feeling. Something I could sense. The door opened and I heard Mark's footsteps, the familiar sound of him shrugging off his jacket and hanging it up. I tried to ignore the way my heart sank a little. I wanted to be relieved he was home, but there was a part of me that was also tired. Tired of wondering what kind of mood he'd be in, tired of trying to read between the lines. I buried myself with the stove, flipping the chicken and pretending I didn't hear the soft sigh he let out as he entered the kitchen.

[Agent Conroy]

Hey.

[Sarah]

He called out, his voice flat, but he forced a smile. When I turned to look at him, it didn't reach his eyes. Hey, I said back, trying to match his smile. You're late. I tried to keep my tone light, casual, but I could see his shoulders tense just a little, the way his gaze shifted away from mine. Yeah, sorry, he muttered, leaning against the counter, his hand going to his arm.

[Agent Conroy]

Got caught up with work.

[Sarah]

I nodded, turning back to the stove. I wanted to ask what work he got caught up with. I wanted to know why he always seemed so on edge lately. But I also didn't want to push. I'd tried before and it always ended the same. Mark would get defensive and I'd end up feeling like I was prying, like I was the problem. So instead I just said, dinner will be ready soon. You should go say hi to the kids. Mark hesitated for a moment. I could feel his eyes on me. Then he nodded, pushing himself away from the counter and heading towards the living room. I heard Jess and Tommy shout in excitement when they saw him, their voices overlapping as they called out, daddy. I smiled, stirring the vegetables, listening to their laughter. It made everything else seem smaller, like maybe things were okay. After a few minutes, Mark came back into the kitchen. He moved stiffly, like he was sore and I noticed the way he kept his arm close to his side. You okay? I asked, trying to keep my tone casual, not wanting to seem like I was pushing him.

[Agent Conroy]

I'm fine.

[Sarah]

He gave me another one of those tight smiles and I nodded, pretending to accept it, but I couldn't help the way my eyes lingered on his arm, the way he kept rubbing it, his fingers digging into his sleeve like he was trying to soothe an itch. Alright, I said, my voice soft. Dinner's almost done. Can you set the table? He nodded, moving towards the cabinet, and I turned back to the stove, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach. I wanted to trust him, I wanted to believe that everything was okay. But something was wrong between us and I didn't know how to fix it. Later that night, after the kids had gone to bed, I was sitting on the couch, my eyes on the tv, but my mind's somewhere else. Mark had disappeared into the garage after dinner, saying he needed to take care of something. He'd been spending more and more time out there lately. I didn't know what he was doing, probably working on some project, something to keep himself busy, but it bothered me the way he seemed to always find an excuse to be away from us, from me. I sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders. The TV cast flickering shadows across the room and I could hear the faint sound of Mark moving around in the garage. I closed my eyes, trying to push away the thoughts that kept creeping in, the doubts, the questions. I just wanted things to go back to normal. I wanted Mark to be present, to be here with us. Not just physically, but really here. I opened my eyes when I heard the door to the garage creak open. Mark stepped into the living room, his face partially obscured by the dim light. He looked exhausted, his shoulders slumped, dark circles under his eyes. He gave me a tired smile, one that looked more like a grimace, and I patted the spot next to me on the couch. You okay? I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Mark nodded, but he didn't move to sit down.

[Agent Conroy]

Yeah, just gonna head to bed, he.

[Sarah]

Said, his voice rough. He turned and started towards the hallway without waiting for a response, his movements stiff, almost mechanical. I watched him go, my heart sinking. I wanted to get up, to follow him, to make him talk to me, but I stayed where I was, the weight of everything pressing down on me. I didn't know how to reach him. I didn't know if he even wanted me to. The next morning I was in the kitchen making breakfast when Tommy wandered in, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He climbed up into one of the chairs at the table, resting his chin on his hands. Mommy, is Daddy okay? He asked, his voice small. I paused, my hand hovering over the frying pan, my chest tightening. Why do you ask, sweetheart? I said, trying to keep my voice light even though I could feel my stomach twisting. Tommy shrugged, his eyes downcast. He just. He looks like he's sick and he's always gone. I swallowed, turning back to the stove, trying to blink away the tears that were forming. Daddy's just tired, honey, I said, forcing a smile as I looked back at him. He's got a lot on his mind. But he loves you, okay? He loves all of us. Tommy nodded, just staring at the table, his small face scrunched up in thought. I turned back to the stove, the knot in my stomach tightening even more. I wanted to believe what I was saying. I wanted to believe that Mark was just tired, that everything was going to be okay. But deep down I knew that something was wrong. I just didn't know what to do about it.

[Agent Conroy]

I woke up with a throbbing pain in my arm. It felt like someone was squeezing my forearm, the pressure pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I groaned, blinking against the early morning light filtering in through the curtains. My head felt foggy, and as I pushed myself up in bed, I realized how heavy my limbs felt, like my muscles were weighted down. Sarah was already up. I could hear her moving around in the kitchen, her voice soft as she spoke to Tommy. I let out a breath, my jaw tightening as I looked down at my arm. The scratch from the other night had changed. It wasn't just red anymore. The skin around it had darkened, the veins standing out in sharp contrast like a spiderweb of black spreading beneath the surface. I tried to flex my fingers, but my hand felt stiff, the muscles cramping slightly as I forced them into motion.

[System]

What the hell?

[Agent Conroy]

I muttered, my voice still hoarse. I rubbed my other hand over the skin, wincing at the heat radiating from the scratch. It felt like I was burning from the inside. I needed to get up. I needed to wash it, put something on it, anything to stop this weird creeping ache in my arm. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, forcing myself to stand. My knees felt weak, my head swimming as I made my way to the bathroom. I glanced at myself in the mirror, and for a second I almost didn't recognize the face staring back at me. My skin was pale, my eyes bloodshot, dark circles smeared beneath them. I looked sick. I felt sick. I turned on the tap, the water coming out cold, and I stuck my arm under it, letting the icy stream rush over the scratch. The cold helped a little, the throbbing lessened and I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I'd been stupid. This was probably an infection. It looked bad. I probably just needed some rest, some antibiotics. I couldn't handle it. I wrapped a towel around my arm, drying it off before pulling on a long sleeve shirt to cover the mark. I didn't want Sarah to see it. She'd ask questions and I didn't have any answers. Not any that would make sense. I pushed open the bathroom door, the smell of coffee drifting through the hallway, and I forced myself to walk towards the kitchen, my legs still heavy, my arm aching beneath the fabric of my shirt. Sarah turned when I stepped into the kitchen, her eyes searching for just a moment before she smiled at me, her expression careful.

[Sarah]

Morning. You want some coffee?

[Agent Conroy]

She asked, nodding towards the mug on the counter. I tried to smile back, but it felt forced, my lips pulling tight across my teeth. Yeah, thanks, I muttered, reaching for the mug. My fingers were stiff, almost numb, and I had to focus just to curl them around the handle. Sarah was watching me, her eyes narrowing slightly, and I looked away, taking a sip of coffee. It was hot, almost scalding, but I barely felt it. The warmth in my mouth was nothing compared to the heat radiating from my arm.

[Sarah]

You sure you're okay?

[Agent Conroy]

She asked, her voice soft. I swallowed, nodding, trying to force another smile. Yeah. Just didn't sleep well, I said. It wasn't a lie. I hadn't slept well at all. The night had been a blur of strange, disjointed dreams. Dreams of dark rooms, of something crawling beneath my skin, of shadows moving at the edge of my vision. I'd woken up drenched in sweat, my heart pounding, the ache in my arm unbearable. Sarah nodded, but I could see the worry in her eyes. She didn't say anything else, just turned back to the stove, flipping the pancakes she was making for the kids. I watched her for a moment, my vision blurring slightly, and then I turned away, taking my coffee with me and heading towards the garage. I needed space, I needed to think. The garage was cold, the concrete floor sending a chill up through my feet as I walked in. I set the coffee mug down on the workbench, flexing my fingers again, trying to get some feeling back into them. I had to figure out what was happening to me, the scratch, the infection. It was spreading. The cut looked darker, the skin around it turning an ugly mottled color, and it wasn't just my arm anymore. I felt like something was deep inside, twisting around in my stomach, pulling at my muscles. I looked down at my hand, the skin pale, the veins stark against it. I clenched my jaw, my breath catching in my throat. This seemed to be progressing fast. I reached for a rag, wrapping it around my arm, squeezing it tight against the throbbing veins. The pressure helped a little. It made it easier to think, easier to focus. I had to keep it together. I had to pretend everything was fine for Sarah, for the kids. They couldn't see me like this. The garage door creaked open and I jumped, my heart skipping a beat as I turned. Jess was standing in the doorway, her eyes wide, her stuffed bunny clutched in her arms. She looked at me, her gaze flicking to my arm, then back to my face.

[Sarah]

Daddy, are you okay?

[Agent Conroy]

She asked, her voice small, hesitant. I forced a smile, dropping the rag and turning towards her, holding out my other arm. I'm fine, sweetheart, I said, my voice sounding hollow even to me. Just working on something. What's up? Jess stepped into the garage, her eyes still on my arm, and I could see the worry etched across her small face. She was too smart for her own good. She could tell something was wrong even if she didn't understand what Mommy says.

[Narrator]

Breakfast is ready, she said, her eyes.

[Agent Conroy]

Flicking to the rag on the workbench, then back to me.

[Narrator]

You're not sick, are you?

[Agent Conroy]

I shook my head, reaching out and ruffling her hair. No, I don't think I'm sick. Just tired. Tell Mommy I'll be right in, okay? Jess nodded, but she didn't look convinced. She turned and walked back towards the house, her bunny dangling from her hand. I watched her go, my chest tightening. I had to figure this out before it got any worse.

[Sarah]

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[Agent Conroy]

I appreciate you listening to our scary content, but did you know you can support us?

[Sarah]

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[Agent Conroy]

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[Sarah]

It's cheap and really helps us out.

[Agent Conroy]

That's eericast.com/thank you. Signal connection restored that night I couldn't sleep. The pain in my arm had gotten worse, the throbbing spreading up to my shoulder, down into my fingers. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my skin slick with sweat, the room too hot, too still. I could hear Sarah breathing beside me, her breaths slow and even, and I envied her. I envied how peaceful she looked, how unaware she was of what was happening to me. I pushed myself up, the bed creaking beneath me, and made my way to the bathroom. The light was harsh, too bright. I squinted against it, my eyes adjusting slowly. I looked down at my arm and my stomach turned. The black lines were reaching up past my elbow, curling around my bicep. The skin was stretched tight, swollen, the heat radiating from it unbearable. I turned on the sink, splashing water onto my face, trying to clear my head. My reflections stared back at me, hollow eyed, my face pale, my lips cracked. I looked like a stranger that looked like something else, something that wasn't entirely me. I clenched my jaw, my hand gripping the edge of the sink. A noise from the hallway made me freeze. I turned, my heart pounding, and saw Tommy standing in the doorway, his eyes wide, his small face pale. He looked at me, his eyes flicking to my arm, and I saw the fear in them. Daddy, he whispered, his voice trembling.

[Sarah]

What's wrong with your arm?

[Agent Conroy]

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to explain this, how to make it okay. I just stared at him, my chest tightening, the fear in his eyes cutting through me like a knife. I wanted to tell him it was fine, that I was fine, but the words wouldn't come because I knew deep down that it wasn't fine. None of this was fine. I took a step towards him and he flinched, his eyes widening, and my heart shattered. I stopped, my hand dropping to my side, and I forced a smile, even though it felt like my face was breaking. It's okay, buddy, I said, my voice barely a whisper. Go back to bed. I'll be okay.

[Sarah]

The days that followed felt like a never ending disaster unfolding in slow motion. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong and it wasn't just my mind playing tricks on me. Mark's exhaustion didn't fully explain his behavior. There was something else going on. He had become distant and withdrawn, his eyes sunken with dark circles as if he hadn't slept in days. And perhaps he didn't. Every time I tried to talk to him, he would brush me off. He said he was fine, that it was just work stress or that he hadn't been feeling well. But there was something about the way he said it, the way he refused to meet my eyes, that made me feel like he was hiding something, like he was scared of something. And then there was the way he kept rubbing his arm. I catch him at random moments, his fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt sleeve, his face pinched with pain. I'd ask him about it and he'd just shake his head, mumbling something about a muscle strain. But I knew it was more than that. I could see it in the way he moved, in the way he cradled his arms. Sometimes his whole body tensed like he was trying to hold something in. One night I found him in the kitchen, hunched over the sink. His back was to me, and at first I thought he was just getting a drink of water. But as I got closer, I saw the bottle of cooking oil on the counter. The cap was off and Mark was leaning over it, his face close, his breathing heavy. Mark, I said. He flinched, his whole body jerking as he straightened up, turning to face me. His eyes were wide, almost panicked. He wiped his mouth quickly with the back of his hand. His gaze flickered to the oil on the counter, then back to me. I'm fine, he muttered, his voice thick. He stepped away from the counter, his movements stiff, almost jerky.

[Agent Conroy]

I was just cleaning up. I couldn't stand the way Sarah looked at me, the worry, the fear, Like I was something fragile, something broken. She wouldn't understand. She couldn't understand what was happening to me. Hell, I didn't even understand it myself. The ache in my arm had grown worse, spreading down into my hand, the veins black and pulsing. It felt like something was moving beneath my skin, crawling Twisting. At night, the pain got so bad that I could barely breathe. I'd wake up drenched in sweat, my heart pounding. The sheets tangled around me. And then there were the cravings, the hunger that gnawed at me, deep and insistent. A hunger that food couldn't satisfy. That's what had happened in the kitchen. I'd looked in the fridge, every cupboard in the pantry for something, anything that might make the hunger go away. When I saw the clear bottle of yellow liquid. I don't know, I just couldn't resist. As the oil slid down my throat, it soothed my pained body. It was delicious. The pain had eased, the crawling beneath my skin slowing. But then Sarah walked in and I felt the shame wash over me, hot and heavy, my stomach churning. I could see the fear in her eyes, the way she looked at me, like I was a stranger. I hated it. That night I locked myself in the bathroom, my arm throbbing, the veins dark and swollen. I pulled up my sleeve, staring at the skin, at the way it seemed to move, to pulse with each beat of my heart. The veins were spreading up my arm, across my shoulder, dark lines creeping towards my chest. I pressed my fingers against them, trying to push them back, but it only made the pain worse. A sharp, searing ache that shot through my entire body. I looked in the mirror, my reflection, pale and hollow eyed. I barely recognized myself. My skin was stretched tight across my cheekbones, my eyes bloodshot, the dark circles beneath them deep and bruised. I looked sick. I looked like someone else. I turned on the faucet, splashing water onto my face, trying to steady my breathing. I didn't know how much longer I could keep pretending. The hunger was growing, the pain was growing and I was losing myself to it. Bit by bit. I could feel it taking over, something dark and twisted, and I was terrified that soon it would.

[Sarah]

I returned home with a sense of urgency clinging to me, something almost animalistic, driving me. I hadn't known what else to do after my friend Renea wasn't home, failed to pick up the phone again. I had left three messages, each one more desperate than the last. My words trembling, verging on hysteria. But there had been no answer. And now all I had left was the rising dread inside me. It had become unbearable, the feeling that something was terribly wrong, that Mark was slipping further and further into something bad. I didn't know what the was. Drugs or something worse. The house was dark when I pulled into the driveway. There were no lights on, nothing to indicate the usual liveliness of our home. It was as if the house Itself was harboring a dark secret. My heart pounded, the fear gripping me so tightly I felt almost paralyzed. I tried. I tried to convince myself that everything was fine, that Mark was just sleeping, but I couldn't shake the gnawing sense of anxiety, the certainty that something had gone terribly wrong. I stepped out of the car, my hands shaking as I fumbled with the keys, finally managing to unlock the door. It swung open with a soft creak. I stepped inside, the darkness pressing in around me. I turned on the hallway light, my heart pounding in my ears, and I called out, my voice echoing in the silence. Mark? Are you here? Nothing. Not even the faintest sound of movement. I swallowed, stepping further into the house, my shoes tapping against the wooden floor. I reached the living room, my eyes scanning the darkness. And then I saw it. The overturned furniture, the chaos. The coffee table was on its side, the lamp shattered on the floor. And there was something else, Something dark smeared across the carpet leading towards the stairs. My heart lurched and I felt the bile rise in my throat. I stepped closer, my stomach churning. It was dark, almost black, smeared in thick streaks as if something had been dragged. I took a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I moved towards the stairs, my eyes following the trail of blood. It led upwards, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway above. Jess? Tommy? I called out, my voice cracking. My feet felt like lead as I climbed the stairs. He chose each step heavy, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts. The silence was suffocating me. Not a sound. My kids were never this quiet. They must be sleeping. They had to be sleeping. I reached the top of the stairs, my eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering in from the hallway window. The door to Jess's room was ajar, a sliver of darkness visible through the crack. My heart pounded, my stomach twisting with dread. I could hear something now, a soft, wet noise, like something being dragged across the floor. It set a shiver down my spine, my entire body tensing. I held in a deep breath, my legs trembling, and took a step towards the hallway. But before I could reach Jess room, something caught my eye. A sliver of light reflecting from the master bedroom. Mine and Mark's bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and I could see a small shape standing in the doorway, just visible in the narrow gap. It was Jess. She was peeking out, her face partially hidden, her eyes wide and blank, staring straight at me. My heart skipped a beat. Jess? I whispered, having to force my voice out. She didn't respond, just stood there, her face expressionless, her eyes almost empty. There was something so wrong about the way she was standing, so still, so quiet, it made my skin crawl, every instinct screaming at me that something was horribly wrong. Mommy, she said then, her voice soft, almost mechanical. Can you come here? A chill ran down my spine, my entire body reacting in a way I'd never felt before. There was something off about her voice, something that made my stomach twist, that made my heart pound even harder. I took a step towards her, my legs feeling like they were made of lead. Jess? What's wrong, sweetheart? I asked, my voice trembling. She didn't answer. She just stared at me, her head tilting slightly, her eyes wide, unblinking. And then she turned, disappearing back into the darkness of the master bedroom, the door creaking softly as it closed behind her. I hesitated, every nerve in my body screaming at me to run, to get out of the house, but I couldn't leave her. I had to make sure she was okay. I forced myself forward and pushed the door open wider. The room was dark, the only light coming from the hallway behind, behind me, casting long, eerie shadows across the walls. My heart pounded in my ears and I took another step forward, squinting into the darkness, trying to see where Jess had gone. And then I saw him. Mark. He was in the corner of the room, slumped against the wall, his head hanging limply. His eyes were open. They were blank, unfocused, his mouth slightly open, a thin line of drool trailing down his chin. I let out a choked sob, my hands covering my mouth, tears blurring my vision. Mark, I whispered, taking a step towards him. He didn't move. He didn't even blink. His skin was pale, almost gray. And there was something else, something protruding from his chest, a mass of flesh, round and bulbous, slick with some kind of thick, dark fluid. It was pulsing like it was alive, the veins running through it dark and swollen. I gagged, my stomach twisting violently, and I took a step back, my eyes widening in horror. There were tendrils, thin, fleshy tendrils spreading out from his sides, crawling across the floor, probing absently at their surroundings. My eyes followed them, and my heart stopped. Jess. She was standing by the door, her small face blank, her eyes vacant, the same as Mark's. The tendrils were going into her, burrowed into the back of her neck and her spine, her movements jerky, unnatural. She took a step towards me, her head tilting to the side, her mouth opening, and a voice came out, a voice that wasn't completely hers. It was distorted and wrong. Mommy, she said, her voice trembling, a grotesque mimicry of my daughter's voice. Can I have a Hug. I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat, and I stumbled back, my back hitting the door frame. The tendrils twitched, the mass in Mark's chest pulsing faster, and Jess took another step towards me, her limbs moving in a strange palm puppet like way, her eyes empty, her mouth twisting into a horrible slack smile. Please, Mommy, she said again, her voice breaking, the words slurred as if she was struggling to form them. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe. My entire body was frozen, the terror holding me in place as Jess reached out, her small hand brushing against my arm, her fingers cold, her skin clammy. I looked at her, my vision blurring with tears, and I saw the tendrils burrowed into her flesh, the way they pulsed, spreading beneath her skin, ticking around. Jess, I whispered, my voice breaking. I reached out, my hand trembling, and then I stopped, my fingers hovering just above her. I couldn't do it. I couldn't touch her. I couldn't. She moved closer, her head tilting again, her eyes locking onto mine. Mommy, it hurts, she whispered, her voice breaking, and I felt something inside me shatter. The sound of her voice, the pain in it, the fear, it was too much. I let out a sigh, my knees buckling, and I sank to the floor, my hands covering my face, the tears streaming down my cheeks. I'm sorry, I whispered, my voice barely audible. I'm so, so sorry. The tendrils twisted and Jess moved closer, her arms wrapping around me, her small body pressing against mine. I could feel the cold, slimy tendrils against my skin, the way they pulsed, the way they burrowed into me, and I screamed again, the hot, sharp pain, the sound muffled against her shoulder. I tried to push her away, my hands trembling, but she was unnaturally strong, her grip tightening, pushing my head onto her shoulder and holding me firm. It's okay, Mommy, she whispered, her voice soft, almost soothing. It will be all over soon. And as the pain burnt in, everything went black.

[System]

Memory playback complete.

[Narrator]

Data analysis engaged.

[System]

Cataloging information process complete. System powering down.

[Agent Hawk]

Let's begin with the report. Agent Hawk, can you walk me through the operations starting from your arrival at the target residence?

[System]

We moved in at approximately, oh, 200 hours, utilizing standard blackout protocols. Intel pinpointed a two story suburban residence just on the outskirts of the main city zone. The house was in darkness when we arrived, one of those neighborhoods where nothing stands out. Makes you think of picket fences and PTA meetings, not what we were about to find inside. We circled around. No lights, no noise. Textbook. We breached through the back. Security was non existent A basic latch on the sliding kitchen door. No need for any of the heavier equipment. We moved through the ground floor, kitchen, living room. Nothing significant, although the overturned furniture and the smeared blood trail leading up the stairs gave us a hint as to the entity's location. The smell was something we all noticed right away. A mix of rot and something else. Something like blood, but metallic in a different way. The kind of way that makes you aware you're in the presence of something wrong.

[Agent Hawk]

And there were no biologics downstairs?

[System]

Affirmative. The four of us made our way up quietly, staggered formation, two in front, two watching our six. I took point. Infrared picked up the faint heat signature behind the door. We already knew what we were likely walking into. The door to the master bedroom was slightly open. We could see the girl. She was peeking out, just her face visible in the sliver of the door. She was whispering for help, calling us inside. Soft as a breeze. We knew better. I could see through my infrared the cord connecting her to a bigger mass in the corner. We didn't respond to the girl, only moved forward slowly and at the ready. She retreated into the dark room, but I could see her clear as day, standing off to the side. I gave the signal to Grant, and he deployed one of the new flashbangs R and D gave us.

[Agent Hawk]

Ah, yes, the PDG9. How would you describe the effect?

[System]

Immediate. Grant activated the device, threw it through the crack, and I pulled the door shut. Even the sliver of light that came out from under the door was harsh enough to cause a burn on the small area of my skin exposed between my gloves and jacket. All three of them screeched, completely inhuman. Whatever noise that was, though I think the wife and kid were just an extension of that thing by then. We entered the room, and Mark, or whatever he is now, was slumped against the wall, a mass growing out of him like something out of a nightmare. Dark tendrils spread out from his sides. A few of them were dug into the wife and kid, others just flopping around like a fish out of water. The two puppets were starting to get up now. The look on their faces and almost exact mirrors of marks. Like he or it was having trouble operating them independently. We didn't wait to see what it could do. Using our suppressed sidearms, Grant and I each triple tapped them in unison. The thing let out some kind of a moan, like it was dying. After that, though, it clearly wasn't on my order, Grant fired the conducted energy device. The thing seized and started thrashing. Before locking up, we kept a steady stream of Juice pumping to it while I pulled out the RDBs. 3.

[Agent Hawk]

Remind me which piece of equipment that is.

[System]

The rapid deployment bio saw.

[Agent Hawk]

Ah yes. A foldable tool, battery operated. Like an offspring of an acetylene torch and a chainsaw. I didn't realize they'd come up with a version 3.

[System]

Yeah, new fuel source. I don't know what the hell it runs off of, but it's like a pocket knife version of a lightsaber. I used that to quickly detach the tendrils from the entity. Rather be on the safe side after seeing how it used them on his family. Richards moved in with the carbon fiber containment bag. He winched it over the thing's head, sliding it down the body while the rest of us kept watching. Activating the motor. The bag sealed itself. Pretty easy containment, all things considered. The tendrils were flopping around. Still. I'm not sure if it was just muscular reflexes or if they trying to reattach to whatever they could find. We bagged up the rest of the bodies and parts and took them all out. Straight into the containment van. We dropped in the cadavers. Close matches for Mark, Sarah, Jess and Tommy. Exact matches. After the tech guys got done doctoring the records, we turned on the wall heaters, put the curtains on the heating coil. Simple enough to make it look like an accidental fire, all in about eight minutes.

[Agent Hawk]

And the missing boy? Tommy. Any leads or tips?

[System]

Still unaccounted for. We did a sweep of the perimeter, but there was nothing. But the signs are there. He's a carrier kid shows up on any camera, our systems will alert us. It's only a matter of time before he surfaces. And when he does, we'll be ready.

[Agent Hawk]

I'm sure you will. Thank you for your time, Agent Hawk. I'll let you know if there's anything else.

[Agent Conroy]

Foreign.

[Agent Hawk]

Notes. The containment was successful, but the unknown whereabouts of Tommy remains a significant issue. Agent Hawk's team executed their tasks efficiently, though physical evaluation of the agents is advised following exposure to the entity. More worrying is the fact that we have still come up empty on the exact origin of this incident. I'm recommending further resource allotment to uncover the root cause of thrombus parasitis. End of report.

[Narrator]

Almost as soon as it happened, the Redwood Bureau moved in. Taking swift and calculated action, they extracted what remained of Mark, his family, and left behind nothing but a pile of ash. And a tragic cover story for those close enough to know, it was just another family consumed in a house fire. A heartbreaking accident that took the Lives of a man, his wife and their two children. No one questioned it. The Bureau made sure of that. They covered their tracks as they always do, ensuring that the truth would never make it out from within the walls of their facility. But we know better, don't we? We know there was more to it. We know that the Bureau didn't just stumble upon this event. They were watching, waiting, ready to clean up the mess when the time was right. They waited to know what this entity was capable of. Waited to see how it spread through the very connections that make us human. And now, because of their reckless procedures, a piece of it is out there spreading. Now, Tommy, Mark's son, wasn't there when the Bureau made their move. There were no traces, no signs of a struggle. Just the absence of one child. They might have covered the rest of the incident up, but they can't erase an active entity, and that means one thing. He's out there somewhere, carrying whatever infected his family. The clot is still alive, still growing, and the Redwood Bureau knows it. What they're planning to do about it, well, that remains to be seen. They've ramped up their surveillance, scouring hospitals and local emergency lines for any mention of unusual symptoms, any hint of the infection. They're looking for Tommy. But let's be real here. The Bureau has zero intent on saving him. They want to contain him, control him, and only if necessary, neutralize him. At this stage, neither us nor the Bureau have a clue to this phenomenon's origins. I wish I could tell you that my team is ready to step in, that we're on Tommy's trail, looking to help him, if possible, before the Bureau finds him. But the truth is, we're stretched thin. Resources are scarce, and the Bureau's shadow looms large over everything we do. We're doing what we can, keeping our ears to the ground, watching for any signs of the clot's spread. But it's not easy and it's not enough. The Bureau has the upper hand and near limitless resources. This isn't over, not by a long shot. The clot is still out there, waiting for its next opportunity. And the Redwood Bureau is waiting, too. Waiting for their chance to take it all, to control it, to use it. But we'll be watching them. We'll be ready to tell the truth, no matter how hard they try to bury it. So to those of you listening, stay vigilant. Watch for the signs, the sudden changes, the strange behaviors, the feeling that something's not quite right. Because the clot doesn't just take over bodies, it takes over families. And it could be closer than you think. Until next time, stay safe and keep questioning everything.