Member-only story
Code Red
Siren at 2:37 pm, slicing through heavy silence of underground facility, exactly 2:37 pm. Ethan woke up and said, heart against her ribs. “Code Red” blinked on every monitor in the control room — a warning reserved only for the most serious of dangers.
He stumbled in his uniform, intensifying every movement with Adrenaline. Under the corridor, the red light pulsed like a heartbeat. His mind ran. Protocol Manuel stated that “code red” meant one of the two things: a terrible violation or something worse.
Reaching the central room, he froze. Glass container unit- One inch thick, is believed to have shattered from inside. Cold Mist leaked in the room, moving around her shoe.
“Unit 9 has survived,” a voice cracks through his earpiece. “Don’t attach.”
Ethan’s mouth became dry. Unit 9 was not a machine or prisoner. This was something that he made — something that he never understood completely.
He turned behind him rapidly to the sound of a soft, wet reshuffle. The fog became thick. His flashlight beam went away, catch a glimpse of something wrong: the organs that bend in the wrong way, the eyes reflect not one but countless pinprick.
“Ethan,” it whispered. His name. It was spoken in one voice, who copied his mother, his brother, his lover — all immediately.
