It Sleeps

Note: Image associated is from Ironage.media, specifically their prompt, 'The Chrysalis'

“This is Task Force Rho-IX, requesting clearance to enter the building, over,” Calder Winslow enunciated into his intercom, his combat gas mask muffling his speech. There was a small squelch of static before the reply from Command filtered into the small speakers inside his helmet.

“Copy that IX-01, proceed with the mission. Report any aberrant or otherwise hostile activity. Command out.” the radio garbled. Calder turned to the rest of his team. Nicknamed the “Void Jumpers,” his Task Force all looked at their leader expectantly. Five men, all of whom he’d served alongside for over a decade. They served Calder unwaveringly, and merely awaited their instruction.

“We have the green light from Command. Clear the building swiftly. We don’t know what we are looking for exactly, so be careful. If you see any people, order them to surrender,” he ordered. No one needed to ask if they found anything not human. They knew what to do in that case.

Without another word, they advanced towards the house. It was two stories, and old, yet by all appearances still structurally sound. Shuttered windows peered down at them like eyes from the chipped, faded wooden walls. A dark, cloudy sky and the black woodlands of the Washington countryside served as a backdrop. Everything painted a picture of ominous stillness. Quickly but cautiously, they all lined up at the front door, Calder first up. Raising his rifle, he switched the gun’s flashlight and laser sight on. He gave a nod. Quentin, the third member of the team, tested the door handle, revealing it to be unlocked. He gave a small thumbs up.

Taking a slow, deep breath to steady himself, the leader of Mobile Task Force Rho-IX nodded again. In one fluid motion, Quentin pushed the door inwards, a loud creak accompanying the movement. Without hesitation, all six members entered the decrepit house. Without a single spoken word, they all split off in pairs, going in different directions. Calder was with Ezra, his second-in-command. The two moving as one single, well-oiled mechanism, they swept their portion of the house. The flashlights of their assault rifles illuminated the halls as they walked, their boots creaking on the old wood floor. Their destination was the basement.

In addition to coating everything in sight, dust floated in the air throughout the house. The effect created by this was a hazy film obstructing their lights. Something could easily be lurking in that dusty haze. So far, everything seemed normal. Just an ordinary, deserted house. But Calder knew that could not be the case. About a week ago, the Veil Keepers Initiative had detected a random, large electromagnetic pulse from these exact coordinates. As the job of the VKI was to map out and neutralize any supernatural or aberrant creatures or objects that threatened humanity, they had wasted no time in sending one of their task forces. Such had been their rulebook since ancient times.

The Research District, also known as District Mercury, had procured old blueprints of the house using their myriad investigation tools at their disposal. These blueprints had shown the basement entrance at the end of a hall on the other side of the living room. And sure enough, after passing through the empty living room and down a hall with chipped paint, the door to the basement was located. Like they had done with the front door, Ezra opened it and they entered down the stairs quickly, guns at the ready. Even though he’d been doing this for a while, dealing with entities that would have broken lesser men, Calder still felt his heart rate rise. They had absolutely no idea what was down there. Ready to open fire, they plunged down the stairs…only to find a square room with nothing in it. Only a dirt floor and concrete walls. Calder breathed a small sigh of relief. Nothing visible at least. Lowering his gun, he spoke into the Task Force channel on his radio.

“This is IX-01, basement is clear of hostiles. All report in with findings. Over,” he ordered, shining his light in the darkness. Ezra pulled out a small scanner, designed to detect radiation and electromagnetic energy, by which aberrant entities typically showed signs of activity. After a moment he chimed in over the radio, despite being right next to Calder.

“This is IX-02, no readings detected in basement. Over,” he reported. Calder stood in silence, awaiting the reports of each of his members. Each team of two consisted of two primary roles. The first, which had been Calder, had been to find any immediate danger. The second, which had been Ezra, had been to scan for any “less apparent” signs of danger.

“This is IX-03, bottom floor is clear. Over,” came the voice of Quentin after a moment. Shortly after that Lucas Holloway reported it. “IX-04, no readings detected on bottom floor. Over.”

Calder shot a look at Ezra. Through the heavy glass of the masks, he could see his second had a perplexed expression as well. For a place that emitted a large EMP pulse a week ago, things were surprisingly mundane.

“IX-05,” Isaiah Grant’s voice garbled over the radio, “no hostiles on upper floor. Over,” almost immediately followed by the voice of the force’s researcher, Cyrus Hawthorne. “IX-06, no readings. Over.”

“This is odd,” Calder muttered to his partner, who nodded in acquiescence. “Received and understood. Meet by front entrance for revaluation from Command. Out.” The two began to move up the stairs, less alert now that the place had revealed nothing, yet careful nevertheless. Halfway up the basement stairs, however, the radio turned on again.

“This is IX-06, previously unknown attic door located. Should I investigate?” Calder stopped, thinking. An attic must have been left out of the blueprint plans, or more likely, District Mercury had not told them about it. Thinking that those stupid scientists were going to get them killed someday, he spoke into the radio again.

“Go ahead, but use caution. Take IX-05 with you and report any findings,” he said, before continuing to the main floor with Ezra. Quentin and Lucas were already at the door when Calder approached.

“Apparently there is an attic,” he explained to them. They would have of course already heard about that, but communication was paramount on missions, “Standby.” They waited a full five minutes, but heard nothing. Nothing on the radio, nothing in the house. Dead silence.

“Maybe check on them?” Quentin asked. Being the team’s medic. It was his job to prod Calder into greater diligence when it concerned safety. That’s why he respected him and kept him on the team.

“This is IX-01, IX-06 or IX-05, report,” he said into his radio. A moment of silence, before he got a response.

“This is IX-05,” came the voice of Isaiah, he sounded a bit shaken, “IX-01, you need to see this. We have a situation here.”

Calder immediately went on full alert. Signaling to his men, he raised his gun, moving towards the stairs leading to the second floor. He didn’t need to look to know his men were with him. With efficiency learned from years of experience, they moved upstairs, doing a preliminary clearance of the upstairs hall. At the end of it was a rickety stair descended from the attic trapdoor. Switching the safety of his gun off, he hurried up the stairs. Reaching the top, he swung his gun about, scanning the room. Only his hardened instincts prevented him from stopping dead in his tracks at the top. He moved to the right; gun trained on the object in front of him. The other four assumed similar positions upon reaching the top. Isaiah was off to the left, looking nervous, but Cyrus was up close to it, an EMP scanner in his hand.

“What the hell is that thing?” Ezra exclaimed. Before them, standing about nine feet tall, has a huge, egg-shaped object. It was an orange-red color, with a faint glow to it. Black veins crisscrossed it, and it seemed to almost pulsate, albeit very subtly. Some sort of rudimentary scaffolding was around it, almost seeming like it was meant to contain it, but it was crumbling now. Even more unnaturally, the heavy-looking object was floating about six inches off the ground.

“IX-06 - Cyrus - report immediately,” Calder ordered, his voice harsh. He wasn’t angry, but this could potentially be a life-threatening situation, and his man should have called it in. Cyrus turned, seeming almost surprised that they were there. After a moment, he collected himself, looking back down at his scanner.

“The object seems to be admitting low levels of electromagnetic energy and Alpha particles,” Cyrus began.

“Alpha particles? That’s radiation,” Calder interrupted. “Should we request a hazmat team?” He looked to the medic.

Quentin shook his head. “If the levels are low, there’s no need. Alpha particles only pose a threat from material inhaled or ingested. Since there were no readings downstairs, as long as we keep our masks on up here, we are safe. From the particles at least.”

“Fine. Cyrus, what is this thing. An egg?” Calder demanded, but in a calmer tone, since there didn’t seem to be a serious immediate threat.

“According to the scans, the primary component of the object’s structure is a polysaccharide, namely chitin, with smaller amounts of various proteins and catechol linkages, both terrestrial and non-terrestrial,” Cyrus explained.

“English, please,” Calder sighed.

“Simply put,” the researcher stated, “this is a sort of…cocoon, or a chrysalis would be more accurate. And there’s something dormant inside of there, although I don’t know what.”

“Non-terrestrial, like an alien?” Lucas asked. “Or an extra-dimensional being?”

Cyrus simply shrugged. After a moment of deliberation, Calder spoke to the group. “All right, everyone lower your weapons. Looks like we’ve found our culprit. I’m going to radio Command and find out what they want us to do. In the meantime, everyone stays here, and no one, I repeat, no one is to touch the object.”

“What if, you know, the thing inside breaks out?” Isaiah asked. Calder noticed he looked uncharacteristically nervous.

“Highly unlikely,” Cyrus interjected, “whatever is in there, it sleeps.”

“If it moves, shoot it,” Calder said simply, then descended the attic stairs. Once on the bottom floor, he switched to the Command channel.

“Command, this is Mobile Task Force Rho-IX, requesting instructions. Over.”

“Go ahead, IX-01,” Command came in over the radio.

“Basement, ground, and top floors are clear, however…” suddenly, in the middle of Calder speaking, the radio squelched and whined shrilly before abruptly dying. At first confused, he tried to radio in again, but it wouldn’t work. He switched to another channel. Nothing. Cursing, he switched out the batteries and tried again. Same results. Alarmed, he rushed back into the attic.

“My radio just died, new batteries did nothing,” he said. Everyone chimed in with similar reports.

“Scanners are down too,” Cyrus said, still closer to the object than Calder would have liked, “right before everything went down, there was a strong electromagnetic pulse from the object. That’s likely what caused it. Radiation levels saw minimal change, however.”

“So…it shut off our communications,” Ezra noted, turning to Calder. Through the mask, he could see a look of mild alarm.

The leader thought for a moment, trying to decide what to do. The VKI’s Task Force policy said that they couldn’t leave unless given permission or in an emergency. Although things were definitely not normal, it wasn’t at a level justifying a retreat.

“We’ll have to wait until either our communications come back online or someone is sent to fetch us,” he said at last, facing the group. “In the meantime, I want someone up here with the object constantly. Additionally, I want two men on guard, one at the front door, one at the back. Otherwise, comb the house, see if anything turns up.”

“Like what?” Lucas asked.

“Anything,” Calder said. “For now, I want Cyrus with the object. Continue finding out what you can.  Ezra and Isaiah, guard duty. Decide amongst yourselves who goes where. I’m going to set up an incident command in the master bedroom.”

Without another word, they set about their business. Isaiah taking front door, Ezra taking back. Calder found the master bedroom with ease, having memorized the structure plans of the house. It was plain and unnoteworthy, like most of the place. A dusty, molding bed, some empty shelves, an old desk. Sighing, Calder sat at the desk, cringing as the chair creaked under his weight. He removed the mask, coughing slightly at the dusty air. Peering out the window, he saw nothing but forest wreathed in nocturnal gloom.

He sighed again. Nothing to do but wait. The object in the attic wasn’t the strangest thing he’d ever encountered, but it gave him an unsettling feeling he still couldn’t quite place. But Cyrus was with it, and he trusted his researcher. On a whim, he pulled open the drawer to the desk. An ancient pencil, but nothing else. He idly flicked it across the room. Closing the drawer, he stopped when he detected an odd shifting sound from within it.

Curious, he opened the drawer, shining a small penlight into it. Subtly, almost imperceptibly, part of the bottom had shifted. Calder began to pry it open. This was found to be a frustrating task, as his combat gloves made fine movements difficult. Eventually, he shifted it, revealing a secret compartment. Inside was an old, leatherbound journal. Intrigued, he opened the thick volume. Maybe they could find something within. Perusing the pages, which were cracked and stained with age, he tried the best he could to make out the scrawled, faded writing.

From what he gathered, evidently this was the diary of the house’s owner, a man named Albert Shaw. With interest, he saw that this man had served in the 32^nd Infantry in World War I. The diary consisted of mundane happenings mostly, combat reports, pining for home, and a few rants about a particularly obnoxious commanding officer. But then, he found an entry that caught his eye. Engaged, he read the entry:

September 14^th, 1918. Our push against the Germans is almost at completion. A route is soon to happen, surely. Soon they will be completely forced out of Saint-Mihiel. Nasty battle today. Attacked a German trench line, took it but at heavy cost. Made a curious discovery, a small egg. Unlike any egg I’ve ever seen. It was an orange-red color and it gave off a curious warmth. Found near the body of a Hun machine-gunner. Must have rolled out of his pockets. Will keep it for good luck.

Immediately, Calder knew this was the same object in the attic. It was odd, however, that Shaw described it as small, when in the attic it almost reached the ceiling. This was obviously important. He flipped the page. With frustration, he saw that they didn’t mention the “egg.” It wasn’t until he’d gone through many pages that he finally found another entry mentioning it.

August 28^th, 1918. Fighting in the Somme again. This push, they say, is supposed to end the war. I don’t see how, as we won’t have any men left by the end of it. Day after day, its another attack or counter-attack. Every single night, there’s an artillery barrage or a gas attack. I don’t know how I made it this far. Might get that egg out of the ammo box. I’ll need all the good luck charms I can get.

The next entry was dated around a week later.

September 4^th, 1918. Seems like my charm did its work. Somehow, I survived. Our part is done. Now its up to the French and British to finish off the Kaiser. It is a mad notion, but I know that the egg in my pocket kept me alive. I feel it in my bones. How else on Earth could it be otherwise? An artillery shell landed yards from me, blowing my entire squad to bits. And yet, I survived unscathed. Shaken and scared out of my wits, but alive nevertheless. That night, I dreamed. In it, I was back home, by the fire. I saw the egg in the flames. It spoke to me, but not in words. There was an impression from it that it would care for me. Upon waking, I noticed it was bigger slightly, and red patterns had grown on it. Thank God I discovered such a boon.

Thoroughly invested now, Calder read on, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. He closed the book and called for the person to enter. It was Quentin. “Sir, requesting permission for people to sleep. We’ve been here a while.” Surprised, Calder looked at his watch. 3 AM. They’d arrived at 11:30 PM. He’d been so engrossed in the journal he’d lost track of time. Considerably.

“Permission granted. Have someone else watch the thing in the attic, however. They can sit on the attic stairs and rest if they want,” At that, Quentin departed. Calder was still suspicious of the “egg” as Shaw had called it. And yet, everything he’d read showed it to have beneficial properties, so he figured he’d relax security a bit. Shrugging, he turned back to the diary. Once again, the diary lapsed into mundane events. Shaw was home now, the war over. The man seemed to be having more luck. Coming into money, avoiding accidents, and the like. All attributed to the object. Calder found another entry of note.

March 16^th, 1920. The egg I found in France had turned out to be rotten after all. It has grown. I can no longer keep it on the shelf. It floats in a corner of my room. The thing is almost two feet tall now. Regularly, it speaks to me in dreams. It says I “owe it.” Terrible nightmares are inflicted upon me, it threatening damnation if I do not appease it. This torment I can’t bear. I have no choice but to obey it.

Wasting no time, Calder flipped the page.

March 17^th, 1920. My sin is unforgivable. In order to make my nightmares stop, I obeyed the egg…or more specifically the being inside it. I know that now. This thing cocoons a hellspawn, a Faustian demon. The girl’s body will not be found. Her limbs lay buried under my basement floor, her blood will be consumed by the soil. I hate myself. Such a young girl, butchered by my own hand. But I was compelled by the demon within the egg.

A second entry, dated the same day:

March 17^th, 1920. It is not even midnight. I fell asleep, exhausted from my own mental turmoil. The nightmares returned once more. I now know the trap I have fallen into. There will be no release, only further torture if I do not obey. The egg wants more victims…I think that makes it stronger. God forgive me.

Sweating now, Calder read feverishly. The entries got darker and darker. Albert Shaw committed murder after murder. Hacking his victims, all to appease the “egg.” And each time he recounted a horrible deed, the author always noted how the object grew. Sickened, Calder looked up from the book, feeling a sense of dread. Almost as if on cue, he heard fevered screaming from downstairs. Cursing, he shoved the book in a drawer, picking up his rifle. He rushed downstairs, ready to start shooting.

The entire team was in the living room, huddled around a couch. They moved away as their leader advanced. Cyrus was lying on the couch, panting and wild-eyed. Quentin was bending over him, trying to restrain him.

“What the hell is going on?” Calder shouted, lowering his gun.

“Cyrus was sleeping,” Quentin said, grunting as he tried to calm down the inconsolable researcher. Cyrus’s green eyes were wild, his shaggy brown hair plastered to his face. “And he woke up screaming, evidently nightmares.”

“Give him a sedative,” Calder ordered, feeling a disturbing familiarity about all this. After managing to pin the researcher down effectively, Quentin did so, poking a small needle into the man’s neck. At last, Cyrus fell back on the couch, unconscious. Everyone looked to Calder.

He took a deep breath. “Cyrus’s medical file shows chronic insomnia, how did he fall asleep so fast? You only asked for people to sleep maybe a half-hour ago.”

The medic gave a quizzical look. “Sir…its almost dawn. That was over two and a half hours ago.” Shocked, Calder checked his watch. 6:37 AM. He glanced out the one un-shuttered window. Pink on the horizon. He shook his head, suddenly feeling very disoriented.

“I must have fallen asleep myself,” Calder lied. He needed to figure out what was going on before involving his men. “Carry on, if anything else happens alert me immediately.” Turning on his heel, he went back upstairs, Ezra behind him, claiming it was his shift to watch the object. Calder followed him into the attic, looking at the thing. It seemed completely unchanged. Same dull orange glow, faint pulsation. Nothing new.

“Ezra,” Calder said, gazing at the almost mesmerizing pulsations of the object, “I need to make a confidential request.”

“Sir?” Ezra replied, a quizzical look on his face. Calder cringed inwardly at the reaction. It was rare that Calder only involved one member in things. If he was asking this, Calder knew Ezra guessed something was up.

“Keep an eye on Cyrus, and inform me of anything strange that he does,” Calder said, giving his second a look that read “do not ask further.” Ezra, obviously getting the message, nodding curtly, taking up a guarding position.

 With one last glance at the object, Calder went back to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. At first he thought to immediately return to the diary, but suddenly realized how tired he was. Calder decided to sleep for a bit. Moving to the bed, he ran a hand along it. The left side seemed relatively clean. With a shrug, he figured it was better than nothing. Unbuckling his gear, he stretched out on the bed. It was hard but not the worst he’d ever slept in. In the darkness, feeling sleep creep up on him, his thoughts returned to Cyrus.

He couldn’t shake the uncanny feeling at Cyrus having night terrors after reading about Shaw. It seemed too similar. But, then again, their suits were supposed to protect them from such influence, in addition to experimental drugs they had to take regularly. It didn’t make sense. Still confused as he was earlier, Calder drifted off to sleep.

He awoke to the sound of knocking on his door. Sitting up, he quickly shrugged off sleep. It was an ability he’d learned years ago. On command, upon waking up he could within seconds go from grogginess to complete wakefulness. Glancing out the window, he saw it was morning. His watch revealed the time to be 8:30 AM.

“Enter,” He called out, standing up and buckling his gear. Ezra entered.

“Radios back up?” Calder asked, securing his vest. Ezra shook his head.

“Sir, its Cyrus,” he said. Calder stopped, shooting him a look that said “speak now.”

“He woke up an hour ago,” Ezra explained, “which Quentin said was impossible, due to the sedative. He immediately demanded for me to let him watch the egg. Against my better judgement sir, I let him and went downstairs.” He took a deep breath. “I’m ashamed to say that we let our guard down. We were bored, so we played cards for a while.”

Calder sighed, shaking his head…but then again, he guessed he couldn’t blame him.

“A few minutes ago, it was Quentin’s turn to watch the thing. Only…Cyrus has barricaded the attic door.”

Calder blanked, shocked at the researcher’s act. “Is he still up there with it?” He demanded. His second-in-command nodded.

Cursing, Calder picked up his gun and ran into the hall. All his men were there, looking at him and the attic. The stairs were retracted.

“How can it even be barricaded?’ Calder asked, moving directly under it. “It opens from this side!”

“There is something over it,” Quentin explained, looking stressed. “When we’ve tried to open it, we can feel it wanting to fall on us.”

Calder swore again. “Cyrus?” He called out. No response. “Cyrus!” He shouted, putting on his most authoritative voice. Still nothing.

“Sir,” Isaiah spoke up, “I may have an idea.”

“Good, tell me,” Calder said, still looking up at the attic door, deliberating on a course of action.

“We have a handful of small charges, for forced entry,” Isaih began. Calder nodded slowly, thinking. They had indeed been given some, used to blow the locks off doors. “If we put them all up there, the force should be enough to blow whatever it is barricading the door to the side.”

“What about the door and the ladder?” Ezra asked. “Won’t that impede our means of entry?”

“We can figure it out,” Calder said. “I’m deciding that this is the only time we will enter this attic again. After we secure Cyrus, we are not going up here again. He looked to Isaiah. “Get the charges.”

With a nod, Isaiah ran downstairs, returning moments later with a small case. Opening it, within were half a dozen small explosives. Stepping aside, Calder watched Isaiah place them all on the right edge of the attic trapdoor. The leader nodded in approval. That way the force would knock the barricade to the left, against the wall, not impeding their view of the attic upon entry.

Charges planted, everyone retreated to the stairs. Giving Isaiah a thumbs up, the man detonated the charges. There was a loud boom that shook the upper floor, causing dust and plaster to rain from the ceiling, simultaneously accompanied by a splintering crash.

“Go! Now!” Calder ordered, leading his men to the attic. A hole was blown in the ceiling, unobstructed. Ezra knelt, Calder standing on his shoulders. Slowly, Ezra stood raising Calder up enough to see into the attic. Within a second, he took in the situation. A now-destroyed dresser was crashed against the wall, evidently the barricade. Pieces of ladder and trapdoor lay flung about the room. But most importantly, Cyrus lay on his face, unconscious, before the object.

“Man down! Everyone up!” He ordered, pulling himself into the attic. His men following, Calder advanced, gun aimed at the object. It was larger by easily a foot, and had a stronger glow. Keeping his gun trained on it, he stood guard as Quentin grabbed Cyrus and dragged him towards the trapdoor. After everyone descended, Calder slowly backed away. He thought he could see movement within the thing now. Dropping back down, he followed his men as they moved Cyrus into a bedroom, Quentin tending to him.

“Report,” Calder said after a few minutes.

Quentin shook his head, giving Calder a helpless look. “The sedative kicked back in, that’s all it was. I don’t see signs of anything else, normal or aberrant.”

“Then why the barricade, which he had to have dragged up from the second floor?” Ezra asked.

“He had been complaining before going up of everyone bothering him,” Lucas chimed in. “Maybe the sedative made him loopy?”

“That’s the only explanation I can see,” Quentin said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Calder sighed, shaking his head. This broke the pattern of Shaw’s diary. He didn’t know what was going on anymore, he just knew the freak in the attic was behind it.

“Take him downstairs,” Calder ordered. “No one is to be on the upper floor except to alert me to something.”

“You’re staying up here?” Ezra asked, his voice one of concern.

“Someone needs to guard the object, and I’m not putting you all at further risk. We will stay till evening, and if radios don’t come back on or Command doesn’t pick us up, we’re leaving, regardless of the consequences. Understood?”

Everyone nodded. “Good, now get to it.” Calder stomped back to the master bedroom, closing the door again. He basically flung his helmet aside. He was angry now. Angry that this object was toying with them like this. He needed to get to the bottom of this, no matter what, and only the diary held the possible key. Picking up the diary, he opened it, but a thought struck him before he started reading. Every time he read from the book; time seemed to behave irregularly. He’d swear only thirty minutes went by, when in reality it was much longer. Perhaps the object, or the “dormant entity” within was exerting some sort of influence? He didn’t like the thought, but there was nothing he could really do about it at the moment. He tested the radio once more, but to no avail.

After a moment of deliberation, he figured that if something happened his men would let him know, regardless of time lapse. Turning back to the book, he almost immediately found an entry of significance:

June 9^th, 1922. My being, both my body and my damned soul, cannot continue. The thing in the egg will awaken soon. For all these years, it has slumbered, stretching forth itself into my dreams. I have committed heinous acts in the eyes and Man and God to appease it…but it only wants more. I had an attic installed to contain it. The workers had to be killed, both to placate the being and to hide its existence. Last night, it sent me its worst torment yet. I do not think I can do what it asks of me now, yet I know I must. Perhaps it will finally leave me alone.

Calder turned the page, surprised to find that it was the last entry.

June 11^th, 1922. There is no escape. He sleeps, yet soon he will awaken. His final demand is myself. I go to him. There is nothing I can do.

The book still in his hands, Calder slowly looked up and out the window. The sun was setting, when what felt like minutes before it had been morning. Immediately, he bolted out of his chair. Even if nothing had occurred this whole time, it was impossible that none of his men would have visited him. At the very least, Quentin would have checked on him, or someone would have asked to use the bathroom. Something was very, very wrong. Slipping on his mask, he readied his gun, flipping on flashlight and laser sight. Carefully, every sense on high alert, he exited the room.

Down the hall was the first sign that something bad was happening.   Very strong orange-red flow pulsed from the attic now, spilling into the hall. Resisting the urge to investigate, he moved to the stairs. The safety of his men was top priority. He crept down the stairs. What little light that filtered through the shuttered windows was hazy, giving everything a garish look. Reaching the bottom floor, his heart almost stopped. There was a lake of blood coating the place, soaking the ratty rug. Bullet holes dotted the walls, and shell casing lay about. Slowly, dreading what he would see next, Calder made a loop of the ground floor. He saw blood and drag marks, but no bodies. But he did see where the drag marks led. The basement.

 His mouth dry, Calder mentally steeled himself, moving to where they led. The basement door loomed before him now. It was shut, but blood was smeared all over it and the floor. Knowing what was down there but still not wanting to see, the leader of Task Force Rho-IX did what he needed to do. With a grunt, he kicked the door in, rushing down the stairs, finger on the trigger. His boots hitting the dirt floor, he saw no hostiles…but something worse.

His team lay butchered on the floor, hacked to bits in a frenzy. Biting back vomit, Calder ran back up the stairs, slamming the busted door behind him. Bending over, he panted heavily, his heart racing. They were gone. His brothers-in-arms, the men he had served with for years. Dead.  After this horrible revelation set in, he suddenly made a realization that hadn’t been immediately apparent through the carnage.

Not all of them were dead. Cyrus had not been down there. The realization hit him like a truck, literally knocking him back against the wall. He should have seen it coming. Somehow, through his own negligence or the influence of the object, he’d allowed this to happen when he knew something was awry with Cyrus. Feeling a burning urgency, Calder advanced back to the upper floor, moving cautiously now that he knew there was an armed combatant about. He felt a stab of pain at the thought. Cyrus Hawthorne, designation IX-06, was no longer a member of the “Void Jumpers.” He was now the enemy. An enemy combatant.

Reaching the bottom of the hole in the ceiling, Calder took a moment to prepare himself. The glow of the object was filling the room, he could tell even from this view. Additionally, there was a low humming sound. With abrupt intensity, pulled a chair from a nearby room, standing on it and pulling himself up. He instantly rolled away, coming up on one knee facing the object. It took a monumental effort of will to not blanch in incredulousness. The object was even larger, pushing into the ceiling, its glow making things hard to see. Yet, he could make out enough.

Cyrus was crouched before it, his hands on his head, mumbling and sobbing to himself. Blood stains covered his tactical bodysuit, and his gun lay scattered to the side. Calder felt a moment of pity. This man hadn’t killed the team in malice, but have been driven by fear of torture. Just like Albert.

“Cyrus, I need you to turn and put your hands in the air,” Calder said, pained that he had to do this.

“Calder,” Cyrus sobbed, “I’m sorry…”

“I know,” Calder said, his voice softening, “In understand what happened to you, but I need you to do what I said,”

“I’m sorry…” Cyrus said again, before things exploded. It all happened in less than a second, yet to Calder everything seemed to slow down immeasurably. With trained dexterity, Cyrus whirled around, still crouched. His sidearm was in his hand, and the craze man managed to get off a single shot before Calder retaliated, emptying half a magazine into the researcher.

An instant late, Cyrus lay sprawled on the floor, dead, a pool of dark blood spreading beneath him. Calder staggered back, grasping his chest. Their armor could withstand most calibers, but it wasn’t as effective against the high-powered, armor-piercing rounds they carried. It wasn’t designed to fight other Task Force members.

The bullet had struck near his heart. Calder knew he was done for. A sudden weakness crashed over him, causing his gun to clatter to the floor. Falling to his knees, he looked at the object. At least he’d put Cyrus out of his misery before the hellish thing could cause more harm. Soon, another team would come and shut everything down.

This satisfaction, however was short lived. As his senses dimmed, Calder saw the object pulsate with a stronger intensity now, accompanied by a thrumming sound that grew in volume until it was shaking the building. Already kneeling, Calder fell on his side, wheezing now. Darkness encroaching on his vision, he sensed, rather than heard, a voice in the back of his mind. It didn’t use any words, yet between that and the growing crack in the object, the meaning was clear.

Calder Winslow had provided the last sacrifice needed. The entity, after sleeping in its chrysalis for so long, was now waking up.