After checking the rooms and encountering that woman, it really seemed like everyone had left. Like I was stranded.
But that couldn't be true. This facility was massive, with thousands of employees. There was no way I was the only one left.
Still, the silence was unnerving.
I leaned the cane against the door and sank into the chair, my legs trembling beneath me. The room felt wrong—too quiet, too still. The desk was cluttered with papers, but the air smelled stale, like no one had been here in weeks.
And then I found it.
A latch, hidden at the bottom of a drawer. I pressed it, and a mechanical whir filled the room, followed by a sharp click. The bottom of the drawer slid open, revealing a hidden compartment.
Inside was a folder, thick and worn at the edges. I pulled it out and set it on the desk, flipping it open.
The first page was a list of names—people I recognized. Coworkers who had supposedly "moved on" to other levels or facilities. Some had joined the Vanguards. Others had been transferred to a place called Station 9, described as a "leisurely work environment."
But the files didn't say they'd been moved.
They said they'd been experimented on.
I flipped through the pages, my hands trembling. Each file was labeled with a subject number and a status: Failed or Succeeded.
And then there were the descriptions.
Gruesome, detailed accounts of what had been done to them. Procedures. Tests. Outcomes.
My stomach churned as I read, the words blurring together. This wasn't just a conspiracy.
I knew something was going on, but this?
Flipping further, I found a black-and-white, grainy photo. A dog. But not a normal dog. Even in the grainy image, you could tell its skin was red, its fur patchy and mangy. Its jaws hung open, revealing rows of jagged teeth that looked more like shards of glass than bone.
My hand shuddered, the photo slipping from my fingers and landing face-up on the desk.
My heart froze. Before I could even process what I'd just seen, my breath became shallow, my hands shaking uncontrollably.
And then I heard it.
A knock at the door.
This didn't sound like the dog. Could ghosts go through walls? Was it the tall red man?
Slowly, I turned my head to check the door, half-expecting to see something—or someone—peering through the small window. My mind raced, imagining the worst. What if they could see me, even if I couldn't see them?
I needed to be prepared. I grabbed the nearest object—a stapler. Stupid. What could I even do with this? Was it better than nothing?
I crept toward the door, each step echoing like a drumbeat. My heart pounded in my chest, sweat dripping from my palms.
"Gale?"
The voice was familiar. Too familiar. It was Bobby.
But how could I be sure? The red man and the dog didn't seem to use their voices. Could it be a monster mimicking him? Better to be safe than sorry.
"Bobby?" I whispered, my voice trembling and cracking.
"Yeah, that's right, buddy. Hurry and open the door," he whispered back, his voice low and urgent. He sounded like he was looking around, his words shifting slightly as if he was turning his head.
I hesitated, then slowly pulled back the curtain I had closed earlier. Peering through the small window, I saw him—Bobby, his face pale and his eyes wide with fear. He looked like he'd been through hell.
It was him. It had to be.
I told myself I would never do this again as I unlocked the door and yanked it open. Bobby slipped inside, his movements quick and frantic. Together, we pushed the door shut and locked it, the sound of the bolt sliding into place like a sigh of relief.
"What are you still doing here?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. A wave of relief washed over me, my shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours.
Bobby leaned against the door, his chest heaving. "I was looking for you," he said, his voice shaky. "I came from one floor below. Everyone who evacuated went to the lower floors as instructed. But it seems like they didn't tell everyone."
He looked up at me, his eyes filled with something like regret. "I'm sorry, Gale."
I straightened my posture, trying to steady my voice. "Look at this," I said, handing him the folder.
He took it, his hands trembling as he flipped through the pages. His breath grew heavy, sweat beading on his forehead. I could tell his legs wanted to shake, but he was too weak to even do that.
"I can't believe you found this," he muttered, his eyes scanning each page, analyzing and memorizing every detail.
After what felt like an eternity, he looked up, barely realizing he'd been holding his breath the whole time. "Gale," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "once it's safe out there, let's look for some food to bring back to the others, okay?"
He patted my shoulder and smiled weakly, but the fear in his eyes told me everything I needed to know.