by Oliver Tuson
Millerchip was listening to the madness, trying to keep up. “How, did he end up with all these monstrosities?”
“Prometheus was just the start of his thinking. That gave him the idea. But he said to me the real weapons have already be designed. The real weapons of mass destruction already exist in the books of civilisations histories.”
She drank again from the bottle. “He told me of about the ancient myth of the Manticore. He said it was a legendary creature, similar to the Egyptian Sphinx, but consisted of the head of a human, body of a lion, and tail of a venous scorpion that could shoot poison. It had rows of teeth which it devoured all its prey with.” She stopped and looked at Millerchip, remembering how obsessed the professor was when he told her the story long ago.
“But the most terrifying part of the story was that the Manticore devoured its victims leaving no trace. It would eat the bones and lick up the blood. People just disappeared into thin air. And that's what set him off down this path. To all this.” She shook her head remembering the conversation.
“Mankind’s myths had already done the work. Created the weapons they needed already. Or at least in theory. And evolution had created some of the best killing machines. Much like the Greek monsters were a blend of animals, Morgan decided that was the way forward. Blending the DNA of various deadly animals and creating his own weapons. His own myths. His own blend of death.” She let out a long deep sigh. “That's when things really changed. The researchers were reallocated new programmes and new staff were recruited. More… specialised staff… with the necessary skills to bolster the scientists. That's when Morgan hired a genetics professor. Ahmed then had…”
Millerchip interrupted her. “Doctor Mohamed Ahmed?”
“Yes? You know his name?”
“We picked him up in Baghdad. Only we were told he was a nuclear weapons expert. He was the one who gave us this location.”
“He caused this,” she spat with disgust. “That mad man, along with Morgan, they created these creatures from all of nature's best bits. Using various mutagens and growth hormones, they could stabilise and overcome nature’s ability to stop such cross breeding and madness. They changed the laws of evolution. Making their own rules as they went.”
Millerchip thought of the stalkers’ chameleon like camouflage and the shell of the guardians. Things suddenly becoming clearer. More logical. As if somehow all this madness actually made sense.
“At least that is what the two did until even Ahmed realised the madness he was doing. Going against God and the laws of evolution. He wanted to leave. He tested the waters with the professor but he knew deep down he would be hunted down and killed for his silence.” She stopped and finished the water in the bottle. Looking searchingly at the empty container as she recalled the events.
“So, he unleashed one of those Scorpios creatures as a distraction. Changed the sedative level so the creature became fully aware. Fully awake. Not the docile manner it should have been in its cage down there. And it did just what it was supposed to do. What he created it to do. It tunnelled up and destroyed the power generators. With the power and security systems down, his escape from the facility was well covered with the chaos. But the power going out also affected a few of the other security systems. A number of the stalkers escaped, killing everyone in their path.”
She looked down again and started to weep at the terrifying memories of that day. How she had watched people die and ran for her life. Cut off and hiding in an office, praying the monsters wouldn’t find her.
It was starting to make sense to Millerchip now. They had been given Ahmed’s location on purpose. To silence him. He was trying to leave the city, leave the country. The helicopter crash was all planned. TF64 found and captured the doctor then he is conveniently killed in the crash, along with the teams. And the secret of this place dies with them all. Only they didn’t die. And instead he was killed from the Green Zone by a well-trained sniper who had time to prepare. He made a mental note to add that person to his list of revenge for his men.
“Who owns this place? Whose facility is this.?” His question got a laugh through her tears.
“Officially? Officially it's a private company. A company with no ties to any governments or military forces. That company is also owned by many other companies, adding to the web of deceit and silence. But ultimately, I think you know which country is backing them. Think about it. You want to create weapons of destruction, breaching all laws and codes of science and ethics. You don’t do it in your own backyard.”
Millerchip nodded as he accepted her story. “You do it in a faraway place. Where if it goes wrong, you can deny everything, destroy everything and walk away. Unless word gets out. Word of weapons of mass destruction in a country far away. Then you need to step in. Invade and destroy them.”
They stood in silence for a moment. The weight of the conversation’s meaning bearing down. Sarah let out a sigh. As if a burden had been lifted by telling someone the truth at last.
“Thank you, Sarah. If we get you out of here, will you tell the world about this place? About what they have done here?”
She chuckled through her final tears, as if laughing at a joke that only she knew about. “I would. I would tell the whole fucking world and see those responsible burned for this! But it’s no good. We can't escape. Not with those things roaming around.”
“We have taken care of those guardians out there. One of my men managed to shut them down, or kill them, I think. But more importantly, we found a storage elevator at the far end of this facility. It looks like it leads up to the real world, out of this hell.”
She didn’t reply as she listened to his words, but instead her gaze was drawn past him. To the cameras and the monitors behind him. Millerchip continued. “Another team are searching that area now for it and check it’s secure and works. When they have confirmed it. I can open all the doors for us and put the lifts to manual and we can run through to them and get out of here. You will get out Sarah.”
She blanked him as she continued to stare at the monitor and raised an arm to point at it. Her voice was suddenly very fearful. “You can't go in there…”
Millerchip turned and looked at the monitor that stole her attention. The lab with the decapitated head was on display. Somehow the eyes were looking straight at them.
She began to scream in pure terror as the memories came back to her. “Get them out of there! Get them out!”
The shear panic and terror in her voice was enough to convince Millerchip to leap over to the radio controls and shout over the radio net. “Bravo! Get out! Get out now!”
19
Labyrinth
19:40, 15th August 2003
Storage Area, Hades Facility, Northern Iraq
Clarke had moved on from the mutilated remains of the animals, deeper into the storage area. The rest of bravo had fanned out too, silently creeping through the giant room towards the far side. Investigating the crates and containers as they went. Clarke had just finished examining a container’s manifest, trying to gain an insight to where the containers might have been shipped from when Millerchip’s warning crashed over his radio ear piece. He stuffed the manifest into his pocket and instantly looked around, turning on the spot whilst staring over his weapon's sights that he aimed out towards the unknown. Nothing moved.
He clicked his radio and went to speak but the sound of gunfire echoed around the storage area. The mass of shipping containers and crates that were scattered about created a maze-like environment. The loud sounds bouncing and echoing around the many metallic surfaces hiding the source. He couldn’t tell where the gunfire had erupted from, but instantly ran towards the last known position of his closest team member whilst sensing the worst.
He scrabbled past crates and sprinted around another container, moving fast as the gunfire continued to echo about. As he broke past the container Clarke froze dead in his tracks. A huge mass of leathery muscle rose up from thick back legs. A body with a back of th
ick short horns erupting from it. Long, out of proportion arms, came out of its shoulders with razor like claws that still held the body of a mutilated goat in its grip, its blood dripping down onto the floor as it hung from the beast’s taloned grip. It’s head suddenly dropped down to avoid the gunfire that one of Clark’s team was firing from somewhere close by, hidden from Clarke’s view by containers.
As it dropped its head and turned, it looked directly at Clarke with bright red, glowing eyes that narrowed as they saw him stood there. Two huge horns protruded from the monster's head, reminding Clarke vaguely of a minotaur. No, more like demons from paintings of hell. With terror building inside of him, he raised his Browning and sent rounds shooting towards it.
The creature spun on its clawed feet and darted behind a container with lightning speed. As it disappeared from sight, Clarke just caught a glimpse of its upper back where, amongst the spikes, small tubes erupted out.
Clarke could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His adrenaline now in full force. He went to shout out to his team but the creature leapt up from behind the container it had darted around. It landed with a heavy thud on its roof. Bending the container in the middle under its weight. With a roar that shock Clarkes senses, it threw its long arms up and out, as if celebrating a victory it had yet to win.
Clarke was already aiming at the demon as thick black smoke sprayed out from the tubes across its shoulders and back. Like a volcano spewing out its contents from deep down. The black smoke was everywhere in a few heartbeats as Clarke fired the reaming bullets from his magazine until the slide caught rear signalling it was empty. The creature jumped back down from the container, disappearing into the blackness that was washing around them.
Clarke was instantly reloading, pulling another magazine out from his assault vest and ramming it into the housing before sending the slide forward again. He aimed back towards the container that was now only a faint shadow in the thick black smoke.
Only it wasn’t smoke. Clarke could see it clearer now as it washed around him, cutting off his vision and making feel confined and restricted. And he could taste it. It was a type of thick, jet black ink. Only it was almost floating down around him as if gravity didn’t exist. Floating around like a splash of dye in water and swirling around him.
He coughed and spluttered as the ink went in his mouth. The vile taste making him spit onto the floor trying to get it out of his mouth. From somewhere ahead he could just hear the roar of the demon echoing around the maze of containers. He looked towards the noise but could only see a few meters around him, the area slipping into blackness.
Panic pulled at him as he stubbled backwards. Unable to see in the dense smoke like ink, he fell over a cage, landing in a bloody mess of slain animals. It roared again. Closer. He scrambled up and aimed towards the sound and fired off three rounds. They sparked off a container somewhere ahead. The flashes illuminating in the dark like lightening in a storm cloud.
“Fuck!” He clicked his radio. “Bravo team sitrep!” He stood in silence staring helplessly into the black abyss around him. Nothing came back over the radio. Silence, until more gunfire shattered it. Closer. Much closer. He darted towards it. Jumping over boxes as best he could as they suddenly appeared from the ink. Running as fast as he could with his pistol raised and his other hand out in front to guide him in the darkness. A container wall suddenly appeared from the ink. His raised hand greeting it and guiding him around the side of it. He kept running and ran straight into Hawkins who appeared from the ink suddenly, knocking Clarke onto his back with a thud.
Only Hawkins was hovering in the thick black smoke. Kicking and trying to break free from the clawed hand that dug into his skull. Blood was running down his terrified face, down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. From the corner of his eye, the young solider just made out Clarke lying flat on his back staring up at him in horror.
“Clarke! Boss! Help me! Please…” his words were cut short as the demon punched its other claw through Hawkins’ chest. Tearing through his heart, lungs and spine. His body went limb and just hung there. But his gaze kept contact with Clarke. Wide eyes that pleaded for help. Until the demon tore his head from his body with a deafening roar.
Clarke screamed with desperate rage as the monster threw the remains over the top of him. Hawkins’ blood raining over him as it passed until it disappeared into the abyss of the inky smoke behind him. Clarke rubbed the young man’s blood off his face with shock at the sudden death of his comrade.
He fired off a burst of bullets at the creature, but it had already vanished into the ink. A patch still swirling in the air from the direction it went. Off to hunt the team down one by one from the claustrophobic black mist.
Clarke scrambled to his feet trying to push the thought of the death out of his mind. In a rage of revenge, and for the safety of Sanchez and Jasper, he sprinted through the ink towards the last position of the creature. Darting through the swirling ink as fast as he could chasing the beast down.
Only he was falling after a few steps, tripping over something laying on the ground. Clarke hit the floor hard. Planting face first and sliding a small distance. “Shit!” He rolled over to look at the cause of his fall.
Jasper’s expressionless face was staring back at him. His lifeless body surrounded in a pool of blood that was radiating out from his fatal head injury. A gunshot wound. Self-inflicted from the blood covered pistol in his dead hand. Clarkes heart sank. They had come so far. Survived so much. So close to escaping this nightmare. He fought back the storm of emotions that were building up within him and slowly got to his feet still looking at the body of his friend and comrade. The demon let out a victorious roar from somewhere distant. It’s sound cutting through the remaining mist. Clarke looked around and watched as the ink was finally starting to clear.
“Sanchez!” He shouted from the depths of his chest, as loud as he could. Not caring if the creature honed in on him anymore. Just wanting to see his friend alive.
“Boss! Where are you!” The scotsman's voice was close by, somewhere near in the labyrinth of shipping containers. Clarke sprinted towards the reply. Darting around the storage boxes and containers. The ink had almost all cleared. He could see again. A small surge of hope started to fill him. Maybe he would get to his friend before the demon did.
Clarke screamed in rage as the creature, as if reading his mind released another cloud of the thick black ink from somewhere close by. Clarkes world was suddenly thrown into darkness again. He stopped in the claustrophobic mist. Breathing heavily as he stared about once more into the thick abyss unsure of which way to turn.
He felt close to despair. The failure to keep the team alive crushing him down. His emotions and nerves having been tested nonstop since they arrived in this nightmare. The ink suddenly shivered in front of him as the shape of a man stumbled forward towards him. The ink gave way, swirling around as Sanchez emerged from the darkness clutching his stomach. The glint of wet shining intestines flashing from between his bloody fingers.
“Clarke…” He almost whispered as he dropped to his knees before him. The bravo leader went to catch his friend as he rolled down onto his back.
“No! No!” he screamed in blind rage as Sanchez's’ last breaths were evaporating from his body. His eyes looking directly at Clarke’s.
“You couldn’t save us boss…” Sanchez used his final drop of life to state it. As Clarke watched the life disappear from his eyes, he wasn’t sure if Sanchez was easing his friends mind, or blaming him for not saving all the bravos.
“No! No! No!” Clarke’s scream cut through the facility. All of his emotions finally exploding from him. He had failed. This time he knew it. He saw it. He felt it. His team were dead. He was cursed. Clarke just stared at Sanchez’s body before him. Representing all his failures.
From the distance, through the deathly mist, the demon roared again. Almost mocking Clarke as he knelt on the cold floor still holding his friend’s body.
Clarke
gently laid his comrade onto the floor as his emotions overwhelmed him. Tears building behind his eyes. He picked up his pistol from the floor. Torn between fighting to the death with the hellish demon or ending his pain here and now. He couldn’t decide as he fought back the emotions building up in his body and mind. He gripped his pistol tighter and took a deep breath. Looking at the weapon that he gripped heavily in his hands. He had nothing to live for now. He failed. Failed to keep his men alive again. He was cursed. And better off dead, he thought as he took a final look at the mist around him.
Suddenly the ink shimmered again to his side. A man stumbling through it towards Clarke. He recognised him instantly and scrambled backwards in horror and fear. Scuttling back until a wall greeted his back, stopping his retreat from the man before him.
“No, it can't be! You are dead!” Clarke shouted at the man still stumbling forward. The solider still had the wounds inflicted from the terrorist attack back in London. The bullet wounds to his chest still leaking semi-congealed blood as Pike stumbled forward. His body was half rotten, as if a part of him had died all that time ago, but some of him still lived on, haunting Clarke for his failure. The result was a horrifying image of living and dead flesh combined. One eye had rotted away. The other was still as blue as it was when Clarke had tried CPR to save him on that cold stormy afternoon in London.
“Stay back!” Clarkes mind was racing. Trying to figure out the answer to an impossible question. The walking corpse kept coming, stumbling over Sanchez’s body until it fell onto Clarke who was pinned by the wall. Pike’s hands were tearing at Clarkes throat. Half rotten teeth chomping towards his head as if trying to satisfy a great hunger for revenge.