Outside Context Problem
Sunday, October 16th, 2022
Serensk Airfield
11:50 AM
Aside from the running lights on the deck of the Frontier, the only light that broke through the darkness were a set of floodlights, shining a few kilometers away. They surrounded a dilapidated aircraft hangar, now surrounded by a mess of equipment and personnel.
The area was a bustle of activity, with a small army of technicians and mercenaries attending to their duties. Most of them worked silently, as their tasks were well-rehearsed. Those who did speak each commanded their own sort of authority, directing the others in manners that ranged from uncertain and meek to outright dictatorial.
Outside of the hangar, an older man in outmoded, soviet-era cold weather gear led a pair of younger scientists as they attended to dozens of obelisk-like structures surrounding the airfield. Small lights on the side of the pylons flickered from red, to green, and eventually to a dull blue as the small team methodically activated the fence-like array. All of the other personnel seemed to give the devices a wide berth.
Several large, unmarked steel crates were slowly dragged on dollies towards a cargo helicopter, where a group of heavily-armed men awaited them, sharing cigarettes and periodically breaking their silence with an ill-timed joke. A dour-looking woman in a down jacket glared at them as she walked past, kneeling beside the smallest of the crates. She produced a small tablet and stylus from her jacket pocket, appearing to run some kind of diagnostic before ordering the men to load it onto the helicopter, carefully.
Just outside the massive hangar doors, a bearded man wearing a headset and a plate carrier divided his attention between a nearby helicopter and the lights of the horizon, speaking into his radio in the cant of an experienced soldier.
Furthest from all of them, a young woman finished a call on a satellite phone, ending the conversation as soon as she knew her directions were being followed. Immediately afterwards, she replaced the phone in her hand with a hip flask, and took a steady drink.
Inside the hangar, technicians in Janus-Hayes jumpsuits set about affixing small devices to dozens of clinical-looking steel chairs, all arranged in rows in front of a projector screen. An alarmingly cheerful, bland man in a lab coat followed them, activating each of the bracelet-like devices and inserting small vials into each one.
One of the technicians dragged a large extension cord over to a gap between the chairs, plugging it into a waiting cart with a laptop and a small digital projector. Starting up suddenly, the bright blue light from the device caused a man standing in front of the screen to wince and step aside.
For a moment, the technician froze in place, fear clearly visible in his eyes even as the rest of his face was hidden behind a mask.
“S-sorry. Sorry, sir!”
The man shrugged, and held out a gloved hand in deference.
“No, lad. My fault, no need to apologize. Lost in thought. Carry on.”
He briskly walked away from the screen, in front of which he’d been pacing. Ruminating on whether he ought to have written down what he wanted to say, to carefully choose every word to maximize the impact of his demonstration.
In a way, it wasn’t all that different from any other lecture. Mostly a kind of storytelling. Lead with the basics, have a little fun, and hope that the students remembered to read the material provided afterwards. Try not to dwell on the fact that most of them wouldn’t bother until the pressure was on.
In this case, he supposed at least that last part would be quite different.
Eventually he’d decided against making too much of it, as he knew well enough what he wanted to say. The information was simple, and the presentation itself carried enough weight without embellishment or egotistical theatricality on his part.
As he neared the exit to the hangar, Dr. Leander intercepted him.
“Dr. Sycamore!” Leander motioned to the small tablet he held in his hands. The excitement beaming from the man’s face seemed decidedly out of place, and Sycamore felt his skin crawl slightly. That always seemed to happen when he spoke to Dr. Leander.
“Yes?”
“I have good news! This truly is remarkable. I’ve never worked with this sort of apparatus before, I was expecting it would take longer to -”
“Dr. Leander.”
“Oh. My apologies, doctor. We’re all set, in about half the time we budgeted. When you want them awake, they’re awake. When you want them out, they’re out. Wonderful devices. We can activate them remotely, if you’ll just look here-”
Sycamore cut him off again, already resuming his path to the outside of the hangar.
“Cutting-edge, I’m sure - one of the benefits of partnering with Janus-Hayes. I trust you’ll perform excellently, Doctor.”
Stepping outside of the hangar, Sycamore waited as the rest of the team leaders made their way to him, accompanied by several assistants and technicians. Brilliant and skilled, they nevertheless were a difficult group to manage. The kind of people one found for this work couldn’t be anything else, he supposed.
Dr. Leander was following close behind, a bounce in his step. The man seemed to be suppressing a grin. He enjoyed this work too much. Sycamore was one of the few who knew why.
The other was Hilda Hatfield, who had taken her place next to him. Officially, she was Dr. Leander’s assistant. Unofficially, she was his handler and something of an insurance policy. She was brilliant, and implacable, which made her perfect for both of her job descriptions.
Dr. Finch, the broken idealist, had a ruthless streak. She wasn’t technically a subordinate, though she’d made only a few gestures to assert the authority Janus-Hayes had given her over Survival of the Fittest. Her own project was enough of a burden.
Dr. Komarin, the nihilist, kept his mind on the work. Opportunity drove him, more than anything else.
The inseparable pair of engineers, Jan Falk and Anna Corvi, both professed sincere belief in the Project’s goals. It made a lot of sense, given the sordid work they were used to. Of all of the team leads, they required the least supervision.
Dr. Garuta was quietly egomaniacal, but stable. She wasn’t dangerous as long as she was kept busy, and there was plenty to do here. Her assistant followed dutifully, only beginning to show signs of wear in keeping up with his supervisor’s breakneck work ethic.
Sycamore just barely noticed the slight twitch as the leader of the tactical team, Gardner, almost stood to attention in his presence. The habit must’ve been hard to kill. During the previous small-scale test, he’d proven himself to be a capable leader. A cold hearted bastard at times, as well, but at least he had an excuse: the company needed him to be one. Sycamore had seen enough of the man to know it didn’t run all the way to the core of him.
The mercenary corralled the group into a semicircle, and spoke up first.
“Y’all good to go? I think we owe the boss a sitrep.”
Sycamore nodded, and Gardner continued.
“My guys cleared the island today, the site’s secure. The boys in the Frontier are ready to go, as soon as you signal the captain. You make the call now, we’ll have ‘em all here by 0300.”
“Soon. What else?”
Komarin spoke up next, motioning towards the spires surrounding the hangar. “The system is armed! Fully operational, when err - tovarisch komandir here hits the switch.” His gold tooth glinted in the floodlights, as he smiled enthusiastically.
Sycamore nodded, regarding the devices with a mixture of satisfaction and awe. He responded in a mote of Russian, signaling his approval. “Khorosho. Anything else to report?”
Falk and Corvi shared a glance, before shaking their heads. “No problem with the drones, chief.” “They’re up and running. Gardner’s team already put a few to good use.”
Garuta tapped her foot nervously, barely meeting Sycamore’s gaze as she cut in. “Some of us took the initiative. We’re all ready, Iain.”
Sycamore shot her a glib smirk. “Fantastic. Once we’ve offloaded the cargo, I want all of you who aren’t involved in the debriefing to head to your bunks, and get some rest. Those of you on the Frontier can head out with the first return skiff. Garuta, I know you’re staying here with Gardner’s team, but that goes for you too - if you remember how to sleep.”
Stepping away from the group, he looked out towards the lights on the horizon. Dozens of people slept aboard that ship, unaware. Many were probably still awake, in anticipation of a day that would never come. Others, in the cargo hold, waited for the signal to spring into action.
The scale of the project weighed on him. Things were about to happen on this island that no one else had ever documented so closely. It had to be perfect. This couldn’t be for nothing.
Sycamore turned back to the small group, speaking to them as much as he did to himself.
“You all need to have clear heads for tomorrow. This test will be challenging, and there’s no doubt going to be some unexpected developments. If there’s anything you need to get off your chests about what we’re about to do, now is the time.”
The team remained silent.
“Good. Assistant Director Finch and I have something to discuss. If you don’t need to be here, make your way to the docks. We’ll be underway soon.”
The loose collection of mercenaries, scientists, and technicians broke ranks and hurried to their stations. Some returned to the hangar, others boarded small utility vehicles bound for the docks.
The Assistant Director of Survival of the Fittest walked to the edge of the tarmac, her gaze fixed on the lights slowly growing brighter on the horizon. Dr. Sycamore followed, producing a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lighting it, taking care to stand downwind of her.
As they lingered in silence, Sycamore thought to offer her the cigarette; it was only when he turned to face her that he noticed the flask she’d produced from her own jacket.
“Erin.”
“Iain.”
“Is that…?”
“Gin.”
“I see.”
Another pause.
Iain took a drag of the cigarette, and motioned back towards a small garage adjacent to the hangar.
“So I take it you’ve prepared the demonstration?”
Erin snorted at the euphemism, and nodded. “I reminded those goons on the Frontier to offload the faculty first. I spent the day going over it with my guys. They’re not happy, but as ready as you can be for something like this. It’ll happen as soon as we’ve got them off the ship. You’ll have your footage.”
Turning back to face Erin again, Iain feigned incredulity.
“Excellent. So you’re sulking and drinking heavily, because…?”
“I’m just following your suggestion. Clearing my head. Managing whatever’s left of my conscience.”
She seemed to want to savor the uncomfortable sensation of hard liquor burning its way down her throat.
“It’s in my hands, you know. What happens to them. That’s not easy, not for me at least.”
“Even Peter Harrison?”
“Yeah.”
“You know why I - why we are doing all of this. I’m not sure I understand what makes one element of this worse than the others. In this case, it’s an effective way to show the Participants that-”
Erin cut him off, cold fury in her eyes. “Your idea! Not mine. I just have to make it happen. Spare me the lecture. Christ, it would be more humane if you just fucking shot them!”
“Erin-”
“Fuck off. I’ll call you when it’s done.”
Dr. Sycamore sighed as Dr. Finch stormed away.
After stamping out his cigarette, he produced a satellite phone from the pocket of his coat and dialed the captain of the NRV Frontier.
Monday, October 17th, 2022
NRV Frontier
12:10AM
The loudspeakers all across the ship blared out a warning tone. At the beginning of the trip, each of the tones had been demonstrated to the students as part of the routine safety drill. This one indicated an issue with the ship’s reactor, and the unnerving dual tone sent a chill through the air and crew members scrambling.
The captain’s voice eventually interrupted the alarm. His normally chipper tone was unsteady, and his voice wavered as he spoke.
“Attention everyone. This is a Code Gray. I repeat, Code Gray. Please make your way to your assigned stations. This is not a drill. The coolant system is experiencing a malfunction and we believe there may be a radiation hazard. All technicians, be advised that reactor trip is currently not operational due to a uh… mechanical failure. We are currently unable to SCRAM the reactor. Yeah. So get a move on.”
Clearing his throat, the captain seemed to regain some of his composure. The sound of pages turning was briefly caught on the microphone, as he read off the instructions for a radiation emergency.
“All visitors are to confine themselves to their berths until further notice. Iodine tablets are available in each of your rooms, in a yellow container next to your first aid kits. You are advised to take one with the bottled water provided as we have not been able to assess shipwide exposure at this time. Please remain in your berths and await further instructions. Crew will be sweeping the decks to ensure that all visitors have made their way to their quarters.”
A sigh. Pages crumpled. The weakness in his voice returned.
“Janus-Hayes has been informed of our condition. The Research Station is preparing a skiff, and we will be disembarking passengers in small groups as soon as they get here. We’re not far from the island, so I don’t expect that will take long. I know this is a difficult situation - the best thing we can do is stay calm and follow the procedures. We’ve - we’ve all planned for this kind of thing before. Stand by for further information.”
A gloved hand clasped the captain’s shoulder. As if to reassure him. “Nice speech. We’ll take it from here.”
The alarm kept blaring for a few minutes. Then, in imitation of a power failure, the ship cut its propulsion. Lights went out on every deck, save those with the Janus-Hayes skeleton crew still working. Scant emergency lighting cast deep shadows on the steel bulkheads, adding to the confusion. From the sealed cargo hold, over a dozen men clad in tactical gear and night vision goggles swept the ship in teams. Those caught outside of their rooms were led forcibly back to them, with little explanation. Resistance was immediately met with batons, zip-ties, and sedatives. Those who had followed instructions and taken the iodine pills found themselves in a stupor, falling unconscious in a matter of minutes.
A skiff arrived on the Frontier, carrying Dr. Leander and his small team. Methodically, they went to each cabin and verified the identities of the Participants. RFID tags were implanted, names were checked off of a list, and sedation was ensured. It took just as much time as he’d planned for, a fact he was sure to note as he radioed his success back to Dr. Sycamore.
The first phase of the operation was a success. Before long, the ship accelerated once more and made for Severniy Norin.
Serensk Airfield
3:22 AM
“Quiet. Quiet please. ”
They awoke one-by-one, within minutes of one another. The sedative was made in a Janus-Hayes lab, and tailored for each of them. Some shouted, others cried. Many writhed with alarm at the devices attached to their wrists, the dull pain of the tiny needles in their arms becoming rapidly apparent. Most remained silent. The armed men and restraints implied that was the soundest course of action.
“Who the fuck are you?! What are we doing here?!”
The few that refused to be silent rankled Sycamore, who sighed and hung his head for a moment. Instead of granting them a spoken response, he merely motioned to Gardner, who was standing behind the group. Sedatives were an option, but a point had to be made.
He waited for the brief but savage beating to subside, as Gardner and his associate set about tying a cloth gag around the offender’s mouth. After catching his breath, the mercenary offered a bloody thumbs-up.
Sycamore cleared his throat.
“Good morning.”
I don’t like repeating myself, and I’m not taking questions. If you don’t want another set of unpleasant surprises when you wake up next, I suggest you listen carefully. I’m sure you’re all wondering what’s going on right now. Why is it you’ve woken up here, instead of in your bunks on the Frontier?
Well, I’ll start by addressing the most emphatically stated concern. Who the fuck am I?
My name is Dr. Iain Sycamore. I’m a scientist, in another life probably just another stuffy academic.
I study systemic collapse. Both personal and societal. Our planet is hurtling towards several catastrophes of our own making, and we barely understand how. Until some years ago, I’d been struggling with restrictions on my studies, pointless frivolities that frankly, put the survival of our species at risk. I found it difficult to sit and watch from an ivory tower. A colleague of mine, who was gifted in the field of statistical analysis, developed a theory of human behavioral patterns that suggested dire consequences for our future, should we fail to understand its known unknowns. Unfortunately, we chose divergent paths. My colleague preferred to leave those questions unanswered. His path led to the grave.
Mine led here. To seek truth, instead of comfort in ignorance. To survival.
Thankfully, my partners at Janus-Hayes share my vision for the future, and see the value in this work. It is for that reason you are all here, today.
You have all been selected as Participants in an experiment I named Survival of the Fittest. The premise is simple:
This island is a post-apocalyptic shell of its former self. A ruin. Each of you will be issued supplies, including provisions and a weapon. You have two weeks to survive this island, and each other. At the conclusion of the test, one participant will be granted a pass to return home. Only one.”
He tapped the small remote in his hand, and the projector flickered to life. A slideshow began to play. Fake social media feeds and doctored images of each of the Participants flashed across the screen. There were dozens of posts, indistinguishable from those that any of them would have made. Photos using the same filters and camera angles they preferred flashed across the screen, all of them featuring events on the island that never took place. Many of the posts discussed fictitious activities they participated in, with varied sentiments regarding the poor quality of the internet access on Severniy Norin.
“Now as far as the rest of the world will know, you made it here without incident. Your two weeks came and went peacefully. Janus-Hayes has spent a small fortune developing algorithms for this specific purpose, which they were more than happy to make available to us.”
Another click of the remote, and a video of the Frontier’s Captain began to play. Darren Decker was interviewing him regarding the reactor malfunction. Casually, the Captain described that it had been an issue with the monitoring system, and not the reactor itself, but it took hours to resolve. His warm demeanour was nothing like the frightened tone they had all heard earlier. He was just happy that everyone was safe, and that the crew had performed their tasks flawlessly. They joked about how he should have probably passed it off as a drill. Nevertheless, they would stay docked on the Island until the issue could be resolved. Darren cracked some jokes and thanked him for his time.
A small cargo plane appeared on the screen, next. Sycamore continued.
“The Frontier suffered a minor malfunction, and by regulation couldn’t continue with passengers aboard. So Janus-Hayes chartered this plane to come pick you up instead. Tragically, it will never make it back home, crashing off the Pacific coast.”
The next frame featured dozens of body bags, arranged inside of what looked to be an industrial freezer.
“What’s left of these remains will match your DNA, which has already been sampled for this reason. We’ve spent some time curating this cover story, as you can see. Nevertheless, the survivor will be expected to corroborate it, as the lone living casualty of this terrible accident. And yes, they will be compensated handsomely for their discretion.”
Sycamore paused on that last note, scanning the crowd. Even amidst looks of terror and confusion, he had to assume that would entice at least a few of them. If freedom from mortal danger wasn’t enough, freedom from capitalism might work.
As he moved on to the next slide, Sycamore gritted his teeth. Even to them, it was difficult to be so open with his failures. Even here. So much was at stake.
Two figures in matching gray jumpsuits and thin metal collars ran across a clearing. One of them was carrying what looked to be a baseball bat, and chased the other. A misstep led the first to tumble to the ground. Their adversary immediately set about beating the other with the bat, before a series of small impacts caused them to drop limply to the ground. Smoke rose from the space between the two as the figure on the ground clutched a revolver in both hands.
“Our previous test group were prisoners, people whose nations didn’t mind if they quietly disappeared. I didn’t tell them as much as I’m telling you now. Only that they had two weeks to survive in this place to earn their freedom. To ensure their cooperation, we used explosive collars. It went about as well as one could expect.”
Another video clip emerged, of the same person standing alone amidst a pair of dead bodies. One was mangled beyond recognition, the other looked to have been shot in the face. The survivor of this melee raised their pistol, and fired at a nearby camera, their lips spelling out a string of curses one could only guess from the silent footage.
Before they could take another shot, a small explosion obliterated the survivor’s head, and they crumpled atop the other corpses. Sycamore shrugged, and tapped the remote. The screen went blank once more.
“Lesson learned, I suppose. Instead-”
He strode over to a table adjacent to the screen, and picked up a small device. A kevlar band met at both sides of a small rectangular screen, with a set of buttons on each side and a tiny dial. The housing harkened back to an older era of tablet computers, although as the tiny screen brightly lit up, it became clear how robust the device really was.
“-each of you will each be issued one of these.”
Sycamore held it up in front of them all, pacing across the front rows so that they all could see it.
“This is your personal data assistant. With it, we will deliver weather reports, critical information and monitor your vital signs. It also contains your map, and the manual for your issued weapon. Each day you will receive an update as to the fate of your peers, written by yours truly. For those of you who have issues with visual processing - or if you just want to hear my charming voice - you may also listen to a recording of the announcements each day.”
Setting the device gently on the table nearby, he tried to imagine how they would see it. As a shackle, no doubt. If they were smart, it could be seen as a key.
“I understand you may be feeling a certain level of resentment at your present predicament, and may consider disposing of the PDA. I can’t blame you, although I would advise you to leave it on. If you attempt to remove the device, it will shut down permanently. You’ll lose out on any valuable information we choose to share. In this place, you will find no comfort or shelter in ignorance. Only death.”
Across the hangar, Sycamore noted that Finch had returned. Quietly, she made her way between the rows of Participants and towards the small laptop connected to the Projector. She paid no mind to Sycamore, focusing intently on her task at hand. From the front pocket of her jacket, she produced a small USB stick and slotted it into the computer. He saw her hands tremble as she worked.
Sycamore cleared his throat again, holding up two fingers as he continued.
“I have two final notes before Dr. Leander here puts you all back to sleep. First - you may notice a building on the island is still manned. This is our monitoring station. The pylons that surround it are a defensive measure. If you cross them, you will die. There are marksmen stationed on the roof as well. If you attempt to interfere with the Monitoring Station in any other way, you will be shot. This is your only warning.”
Finch looked up from the laptop, locking eyes with Sycamore. It was the first time she’d looked at him in hours.
“Ready when you are.”
“Thank you, Dr. Finch.”
He stepped aside from the projection screen, and motioned for a nearby technician to kill the overhead lighting. It was important that they caught every detail.
“Secondly, you won’t be alone out there.
There is mister Gardner and his team in the Monitoring Station, but I’m not referring to them.
You see, the Survival of the Fittest Project isn’t the only experiment we’re running on this island.
There are others.”
The footage was crisp, the high resolution capturing every detail. The audio was also captured exceptionally well, and cut in as a heated argument had begun to erupt between Professors Harrison and Donato.
Peter Harrison was pacing back and forth, ranting as he attempted in vain to work out the predicament he had found himself in. Carla Donato sat nearby on a large wooden crate, watching him with frustration clearly evident on her face. The two of them were in the middle of a large storeroom, its large shelving units pressed against corrugated steel walls. The lighting was surprisingly functional given the ramshackle state of the room. At one side, a large sliding steel door seemed to have been sealed shut against the floor with a set of hefty locks. The only other entrance was a set of doors at the opposite end of the room, which Peter Harrison occasionally shoved in frustration.
Halfway up the shelves, Professor Coleman peeked at the windows above the units, hoping to catch a glimpse of the outside. He seemed to be doing everything he could to ignore the argument that was taking place below.
Harrison pointed a finger at Donato, frantically gesticulating as he carried on.
“You think this isn’t connected? You think that everything just happens in a vacuum, then? Not. Bloody. Likely.”
“All I’m saying that I don’t think men with guns showed up because you’ve been complaining about being canceled, Peter.”
“Because of course, my profile has nothing to do with this. Christ, and you call me ignorant.”
Carla slipped off of the crate, and held out pleading hands towards Peter.
“Is it so hard to believe that everything isn’t about you? It’s a nuclear powered ship, don’t you think maybe there’s something else going on here? It could be a hijacking, terrorism, a state actor - we can’t be sure! And for heaven’s sake, can you just drop this right-wing facade for just a second while we-”
Peter cut in, brushing aside her suggestions as he ranted on.
“Oh please. I’m not right wing, I never said I was right wing. Hell, I publicly declared myself a liberal more than a few times. A classical liberal, at least. It’s just that I’m the only one with the guts to speak up about this postmodern-”
The sound of a crowbar banging loudly against steel interrupted him, causing both of the arguing Professors to turn and look towards their colleague. Mark had retrieved a crowbar from inside one of the wooden crates, and was banging it against what looked to be dilapidated aviation equipment.
“Please! Shut the fuck up.”
Peter began to respond, but Mark bashed the crowbar against the nearby steel shelving and cut him off.
“Peter. Carla. Being stuck on the ship with both of you was bad enough before we were kidnapped in the middle of the night. Could you both put that shit to bed for a second?”
He pointed with the crowbar to the windows at the top of the storehouse.
“I think if we can get up there, maybe there’s a way out. It’s not that high up.”
Carla looked up at the windows, wringing her hands nervously.
“Out? And go where?”
Mark shook his head, and stepped closer to the other two, lowering his voice.
“Look, I don’t want to find out what happens if we stick around.”
“Mark, I agree but - I’m not sure breaking out is going to get us any answers, either. We don’t even know what’s going on here.”
Peter had begun pacing again, stopping as he noticed the camera above. The sight of it only seemed to enrage him.
“No, no! We have to find out. Now, someone has to be in charge. They have to want something, I mean - I mean, we’re still alive, aren’t we? There’s supposed to be a whole Janus-Hayes installation on this island, for Christ’s sake. Look! Someone is watching us up there. Someone’s watching us. Right now. I’d like to know who.”
Grabbing a wrench from the same crate that Mark had acquired the crowbar, Peter rapped it loudly against the set of locked doors.
“You people have no right to keep us here like this! Tell us what you want!”
As if to answer him, a loud bang erupted from the opposite end of the room. The three of them scrambled, with Peter bracing himself against the door. After a few tense moments, the three of them stood back up again.
Mark pointed at the large sliding door on the opposite end of the room. The locks holding it in place had blown apart, and small wisps of smoke emerged from where they were once fastened.
“Explosive bolts. That door, it’s-”
The old mechanism above the door creaked to life, slowly lifting the heavy steel up and folding it away. The camera recording the scene zoomed out, only slightly. The room it led to was small, and unlit. In the darkness, one could only barely make out the shape within.
Carla held a hand back towards Mark and Peter, as she stood closest to the door. She froze, her knees bending slightly as she attempted to steady herself.
“Don’t move.”
“What is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?!”
“Shh.”
The white fur of the creature triggered an immediate panic response in the three faculty members. Panic gave way to looks of confusion and horror as they realized they hadn’t actually recognized what was in front of them.
While it had the off-white fur of a polar bear covering its body, and seemed roughly approximate in size, that was where the comparisons ended. It lay flat on the floor of the small storage room, its first pair of limbs out in front of it. At their tips were large paws tipped with what appeared to be black claws. Neither of its two forelimbs had an even number of digits. A second set of limbs were folded behind the first, followed by a larger third set behind those.
As it stirred, a large pair of eyes opened on what must have been its head. They were wide at first, narrowing into slits as it focused its attention on the well-lit room in front of it. Two more sets of solid black eyes opened as well, beside and behind what must have been the main set. Beginning to raise itself off of the ground, a screeching sound accompanied the slow dragging of its tail across the steel floor. Almost a meter in length, it was tipped with a sword-like point and had curled around the length of the creature’s body. Running along its dorsal ridge, a set of pale translucent spines briefly bristled as it awoke.
Through narrow, slit-like nostrils the creature sniffed the air. Emerging from the storeroom, its size became rapidly apparent. An errant pass of its tail knocked over a filing cabinet, sending it sprawling across the room. It stopped just shy of the three of them. A low, docile coo emerged from the creature’s throat as it lowered its head, staring intently at Professor Donato.
None of them could break eye contact. Peter gripped the wrench in his hands tightly. Mark slowly backed towards the shelves, the crowbar still in hand. Carla stood in place, breathing slowly and deliberately. In a past life, she had stood in a similar place opposite a mountain lion. This wasn’t comparable.
It was nothing like she’d ever seen before. This was new. Natural curiosity wasn’t something anyone wanted to suppress. For Carla, it was second nature. It had gotten her this far. It felt better than fear, at least.
She smiled through tears, nearly kneeling on the ground as she tried her best to present anything other than a threat. Slowly, she held out her hand, as she had for many wild animals in the past.
“Hi there.”
It reached out. She could feel its breath as it sniffed her hand. It smelled like peat and rot. It looked up from her hand, and met her eyes. It cocked its head. Through the thick fur, she could see its mouth for the first time. Wide, and with a few uneven teeth sticking out over its top lip. It was the last thing she would ever see.
In a flash of movement, the creature lunged forward and grabbed Carla’s arm in its teeth. Shaking violently, it lifted Carla from the floor and threw her across the storeroom, ripping the arm from its socket. She scarcely had time to scream before her head impacted the concrete floor.
Mark immediately scrambled up the shelving units above, with pieces of scrap metal and debris cascading down as he attempted to escape. For a moment, Peter froze and reached out to where Carla once stood, failing to register her demise at first. His face turned pale as he listened to the sound of bone snapping, the creature breaking her severed arm in its teeth.
He watched, rooted in place. Blood dripped down the side of its mouth, as it seemed to taste the flesh for the first time. Not just hungry. Curious.
“Peter!” Mark shouted from above. Breaking out of his trance, Peter gripped the wrench tightly in his hands and fled from the locked doors. The creature noticed him scrambling, and spat out a mess of gore onto the ground in front of it as he inadvertently drew its attention. Turning back towards the creature, Peter noticed it had lowered itself to the ground, curling its tail behind itself. Pausing just in time, Peter scurried backwards as it propelled itself through the air towards him, leaping into the shelving unit that he had nearly climbed onto. The metal and wood caved in as the six-legged beast impacted it, nearly knocking Mark off of the adjacent unit.
The man had spent much of the last year bemoaning the weakness and degradation of the society he lived in. Most of his talks were ridden with metaphorical dragons, challenges one ought to seek out and overcome if they were to be of any use to the rest of the world. Rarely did one encounter such a literal example. Peter knew he was too close to get away. He was close enough to fight back. Gripping the wrench in both hands, he aimed a blow squarely at the creature’s head, just as it was trying to get back up.
It was only when it impacted the creature, and he felt the solid mass of the wrench simply stop, that Peter Harrison knew this was a dragon he would not be the one to slay. The creature’s unearthly scream briefly overcame the rest of the audio in the footage, as it rolled back onto its feet and immediately pounced on him. Though he tried in vain to escape, the creature violently tore at him with two of its limbs, using another pair to hold him in place. Its curved claws ripped apart his flesh, throwing pieces of viscera in every direction. It concluded its assault only when he had stopped moving, and took one final swipe at the remains of his face in what almost appeared to be spite.
A box full of nails fell loudly to the floor as Mark continued to try to make his way up the shelf. Loose palettes made crawling up treacherous, and he had to watch his step when there wasn’t something trying to kill him. Looking back down towards the floor, he saw the creature look up from what was left of Peter Harrison, its white fur now soaked in blood. The sound of the clattering nails had now drawn its attention. Whatever it was, it wasn’t merely satisfied to deal with an immediate threat. Its wide eyes narrowed in his direction.
“What the hell are you!?”
A strange series of coos emanated from the creature’s throat in response, as it ambled towards him. The shelving unit buckled as the creature grabbed onto the lower rungs, slowly beginning to climb. Given its size, it didn’t have far to go. Mark looked up at the window. It was almost an arm’s length away, if that. Too small for the creature to fit through, but large enough for him.
He’d kept the crowbar in hand, hanging onto the crook at first in case he needed it to pry the window open. At this point, he knew there wasn’t time. As soon as he was close, he would dive through it. Whatever else was on the other side, however far the drop might’ve been, it wasn’t here, with this thing.
The shelves rocked again. There was enough blood in the air, he could taste the smell. Readjusting his grip on the crowbar, he looked down at the creature. It eyed him greedily, slowly climbing upwards.
“Oh, you like what you see? Here, catch!”
Swinging the crowbar down, Mark let it go as it careened towards the creature’s face. The metal bar made a solid impact with its eye, and it immediately let go of the shelves, falling backwards towards the floor. As fast as he could manage, Mark climbed the last rung of the unit and grabbed onto the windowsill. Wrapping his fist in the cloth of his hoodie’s sleeve, he punched at the glass. It didn’t give. He punched again. Nothing. Mark switched to his elbow, and continued hitting the pane.
The creature hadn’t continued up the shelves. It paced back towards the center of the room, not letting Mark out of view. Continuing to focus on its prey, the creature’s tail swished back and forth, like an excited cat. The translucent quills on its tail and back rose slightly. The pace of its breathing quickened, easily audible on the video.
A crack formed in the corner of the glass, finally. Mark glanced back for a moment, noticing the creature’s odd behavior. He wouldn’t stay to find out what would happen next. He’d solve this problem, and another, and another, and however many it took to survive. There was no other option. Looking down to the source of the crack in the pane, he saw a small latch he hadn’t noticed at first.
“God damn it.”
Mark had only just begun to reach towards it when he heard a new sound from behind him. The creature’s tail whipped forward, and several of the translucent spines shot out from its body and through the air. Though he put his hands up to shield himself, one of the spines simply punched through his arm. Others embedded themselves in his chest, and his legs. Pain seared through his body and he lost his balance, falling back down towards the floor. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and drove several of the spines deeper into his body. Where he’d felt pain at first, a conspicuous numbness was setting into his limbs. He couldn’t move.
The camera zoomed in on him. The creature crept closer, watching as its prey seized up. Mark could only look back in horror as it opened its mouth, its wide maw revealing a dozen small, lamprey-like tongues. Unlike his colleagues, Mark remained silent as the creature’s appendages grabbed hold of his head and pulled it into its mouth. In seconds, its jaw snapped shut, decapitating him instantly.
Once it seemed sure that there were no other signs of life in its immediate surroundings, the creature curled up beside the bodies and seemed to fall dormant. After a few moments, a thick cloud of fog crept into the room, and it slowly closed its eyes. Men in hazardous materials suits and gas masks then emerged from the locked door, immediately injecting a tranquilizer into the creature’s hide. Several others followed, carrying body bags.
As they began to clean up the mess and move the creature away, the footage ended.
The lights came back on. The hangar was completely silent. Sycamore made an effort to temper his own reaction, though it was no doubt evident on his face. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen the creature, though it was the first time he’d witnessed what one of them could do to a human being. The paranoia of his assistant director seemed far more reasonable than he’d given her credit for.
Regaining his composure, he scanned the faces before him. Finch had already left. Gardner looked uncharacteristically uneasy, as did the rest of his team. This was their introduction to the Prototypes, as well. All of them were waiting for an explanation.
Sycamore took a careful, deep breath, searching for the right words. There was only so much he could say.
“What you just saw was a creature we call Chimera. It has the same directive that I just issued to all of you - survive - although no one had to tell it that. To it, adaptation is more than just instinct.”
Finch’s discovery. The other apocalyptic revelation. For Janus-Hayes, another opportunity.
“Two other autonomous Prototypes will also be joining you on the island. Vermiculus, and the Revenants.”
Garuta and Leander had both opted to remain for this part of the debriefing. No doubt, they had finally wanted to see for themselves what Finch was hiding in Silo D, and what had been the source of all of their recent advancements. Sycamore found their efforts contemptible, but it was beyond his control to directly remove them from the Project. He feigned approval, as best as he could.
“They both have their own unique survival strategies, as I’m sure you’ll discover. You have one day before they are released. Each following day we will release more information on them, including their last reported locations, on your PDAs.
If you can destroy them, you’ll improve your chances at survival - and that of your competitors.
It will be up to you to decide what to do with that information. I’m looking forward to watching it all unfold.”
Nodding towards Dr. Leander, he watched as the man entered a series of commands on a small tablet. Each of the devices on the Participants’ arms let out a small hiss, as they were sedated once more. As soon as the last student fell unconscious, Leander’s medical team sprang into action again. Sycamore didn’t wait to watch them collect the Participants. His part in this phase of the operation had concluded, and there was a skiff waiting to take him to the Frontier.
In the morning, the work would begin again.