It took time for me to jump through the hoops of red tape and bureaucracy. After too much coffee (and nearly as much swearing) I finished the paperwork for my most recent field op and finally got to walk onto what we wryly referred to as The Floor. It’s such a mundane moniker for our cavernous, concrete laboratory. The lab is filled, wall-to-wall, with science-fiction-affirming, toppest-of-the-line equipment. We have a job-of-work to do, and our benefactors took our work seriously. All of us did. It takes the newest operative one field mission to understand the gravity of our work.
The facility was proudly home to the Sentinel Project. It’s a privately-funded organization that invests its time (and considerable resources) into researching, discovering, and safeguarding the world as we know it against the real-life things that go bump in the night. When things go bump, we bump back. Only, we bump harder.
It was after years of obsessive solo research (and one disastrously-planned amateur “field mission”) that led to me being discovered and indoctrinated into the Project. My research focused entirely on what we just caught. It took a lot of years, literally a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, to get to where I am today: most effective field operative. That’s why my nickname is Hunter. I can’t help but smirk in self-satisfaction whenever I think about it.
It’s quite late so The Floor is mostly empty except for a smattering of Lab Coats running diagnostics, or analyses. This suited me fine; I’m not one for the chit-chat.
One of the Coats was Klem (God his name gets me everytime). He was one of those stereotypical, eccentric, outside-the-box-thinking types. He always looked a little dishevelled; was always a tiny bit distracted; had a penchant for the dramatic; and was enthusiastic about his work. All the operatives respected Klem; his ideas and designs always panned out. He was also my favourite Lab Coat to talk to as he kept the chatter to a minimum.
I began striding over to Klem when the tank at the back of the lab caught my attention. It also made me catch my breath, and stopped me dead in my tracks.
There it was. The creature that held my obsession for so long, in plain view. It stood calmly, almost placidly, within the cylindrical containment tank. It studied me intently, never blinking. It stepped forward and ever-so-slowly raised its hands, pressing them against the reinforced glass. It looked as if it were….pining. It…smiled at me. Hungrily. I had never considered it could smile before I heard its laughter. I felt that tingle at the base of my spine.
With an effort I’d be embarrassed to admit I broke my gaze and strode towards Klem.
“Mornin’, Klem (it was 3AM). Have we managed to find anything significant?”
Klem’s face lit up and split into a wide grin as he spun towards me. I knew right then that he had indeed found something significant.
“Oh, Hunter, you chad, you’ve really outdone yourself this time! This…creature…is the whole package!” He practically quivered with excitement in his rough London accent. “Here, this is the preliminary report that I just put the final touches to. Tell me what you think!”
He bowed out theatrically as I took his place at the computer with anticipation. Klem’s reports were always great reading material; his flair for the dramatic seeps into every facet of his life.
I began:
Preliminary Report (part 2)
Subject #416A Homo Annihilus
I turned inquisitively: “Homo Annihilus?”
He pointed enthusiastically. “Just keep reading!”
Like most multicellular organisms it requires oxygen, sleep, and food etc. In this regard, the subject is an entity of simple biology. The subject is anthropomorphic in appearance, with long spindly limbs that have an emaciated quality. The sheer brute strength of the subject is exceeding expectations. [Refer to Containment Restructure proposal]
Subject’s skin is grey-white and corpse-like, though with a slight bluish tint as if asphyxiated. It pulls tightly across its bones. Subject’s skin has proven to be unexpectedly resilient and is capable of deflecting cutting, slashing, or piercing attempts made through most mundane means.
Subject has shrivelled, fleshy remnants vaguely reminiscent of ears, and its nose is a gaping chasm in the centre of its face, as if it had rotted away. Subject’s senses of hearing and smell, however, are decidedly on- or over-par with a wolve’s. [Table 4.6]
Subject’s eyes are of a yellowed jaundiced hue, bloodshot, and set deep within cavernous sockets. When in the light the pupils are miniscule. When it lurks in shadow you can see predatory malice radiating from them as pinpricks of light. Subject can see in near-perfect darkness. [Table 4.7]
One of the subject’s worst characteristics (in my opinion), is its mouth: the subject’s teeth are eerily human, but are broken, uneven, sharp, and bloodstained. They are surrounded by lips that are almost non-existent. Subject has been observed to chew the insides of its mouth when in fervour, contributing to its liplessness. The teeth have the potential to break off completely, and will grow back like fingernails. They are not bone; we’re thinking something akin to chitin. [More Data Required]
The saliva: viscous off-yellow mucus with swirls of pink from traces of blood and viscera caught and leaking out from between the terrible teeth. The tongue is uncomfortably long (approx. 8 inches) and is reminiscent of a leech. Subject will lick its wounds when injured. Its saliva contains an enzyme that is hypothesised to aid in healing.
Subject is considered to be a near-perfect predator. However what it typically does to feed itself cannot be considered “hunting”.
Subject doesn’t need to track or stalk what it consumes. The subject is too sophisticated; the animals, too simple. If the subject wants to eat, it eats, and the forest will be as its pantry. Subject catches what it needs almost lazily. Subject derives nourishment from what it consumes but never appears to feel any sense of satisfaction or contentment. It is simply filling its belly.
Straightforward. Mechanical. Fueling the machine.
Don’t be misled; the subject is indeed a hunter. An incredible hunter.
What it wants to prey on, what, we believe, it NEEDS to prey on, is something a little more sophisticated than the animals in the pantry. It prefers to prey on human beings; though, not for the sake of nourishment.
It seems the subject is driven by instinct; instinct that charges its nervous system and ignites a fire within its pallid, emaciated chest. It isn’t the desire to feed. It isn’t an urge to stalk, kill, and eat.
It is an urge to erase. It is an urge to exterminate. An urge to systematically sabotage, defile, and violate the world of man. An urge alarmingly akin to hatred.
“Simple biology,” I chuckled. “Right…”
The report continued:
Subject will do everything in its power to isolate individuals in order to enact its methods, I.e. separate the weakest from the herd (classic predatory method). This is where the common thread of preying on children can be observed; innocence and naivety are decidedly easier to prey upon. [See Legends and Stories, Table 4.8]
“Wow. Dark…” I said, eyeing Klem with a raised eyebrow.
He nodded enthusiastically and just pointed at the screen:
Subject appears to understand the significant facets of humanity: the family unit, soundness of mind, strength of body, safety in light, community, the solace we find in weaponry, and the warmth and comforts of shelter. [Previously hypothesised from past behavioural observations. See Subject #416A, Patterns and Behaviours: Pre-Field Preparation] The subject will apparently avoid large groups of humans, choosing to flee and disappear over a direct assault. [More Data Required]
Somewhere along the line the subject learned that wearing down its prey psychologically is the most effective method of getting what it needs. Subject will observe and reconnoitre its intended victim and use what it finds to undermine their sense of security. It will do so with great prejudice.
Subject’s prerogative is reducing an individual to the point of incapacitating fear. It employs shadow, subtlety, and patience. Subject employs scare tactics, psychological ploys, and manipulation to dig deeper and deeper under the skin of its chosen victims. [See Incident Report #4, attached] Only then will it move in for the kill.
“Incident Report #4? Is that when…”
“Oh! Oh…Yea. Poor Ricky. Nice enough bloke. Had potential!”
Yea, the potential of becoming monster fodder, I thought wryly. The kid had too much heart for this line of work.
I continued reading:
A hundred small interactions. Death by a thousand cuts. Like picking threads from a frayed sweater one by one, the subject will poke away until the chosen prey is relegated to a pile of base material quivering on the floor, bereft of any hope of survival. Subject understands hunger, anger, fear, self-preservation…and hatred. Hatred to its core.
The most significant finding from the subject is that, although like a parrot it can imitate and emulate sounds, [See Field Report; Hunter, #74] the subject is non-verbal. Its language skills are confined to guttural growls, roars, and whines. On some level, though, it seems to be able to understand us.
The brain scans reveal a never-before-identified type of brain wave pattern that fluctuates in what we first thought to be a highly unpredictable manner. At some point the wave itself appeared to completely reverse. Introducing heavy electromagnetic interference to the subject caused it a great deal of mental distress. [Experiment #17C]
After more testing it’s theorized that the subject may employ some form of empathy and/or mild telepathy. We’ll henceforth refer to it as Dark Empathy.
The fluctuations in the brain wave often respond and correlate to communications directed at, or held nearby, the subject. Subject responds appropriately to dialogues held within earshot and seems to watch everything that goes on around it with a sharp eye and a keen interest. Subject always watches whomever is speaking at the time. Always.
We believe that the subject employs Dark Empathy to understand the world around it. Mannerisms and brain wave scans reinforce this theory.
We hypothesise the subject is able to “pick up” on the intent and emotional stimuli that motivate the words we choose to speak. The only time this correlation deviates is when the wave has seemingly “reversed”. We have yet to endeavour exactly what the significance of this phenomenon entails. [Awaiting further data. Hypothesis pending]
It lives to watch us die. It lives to snuff out mankind. This is why we henceforth request classification of the subject to be hereby known as Homo Annihilus.
Colloquially, the Anti-Human.
I whistled between my teeth as I sat back. “Homo Annihilus…” I mused.
The Anti-Human. Not even close to a misrepresentative moniker. The last few Lab Coats, Klem aside, finally decided to call it a night. The silence on The Floor was oppressive. “Hey so…what’s this about the brain wave? It might be able to speak using its mind?”
“I kno-ooow!” Klem gushed. “Isn’t that fascinating?! To think! We always just assumed it was a scary-looking animal! A killing machine that bred myths like mushrooms in a forest. Turns out, it’s incredibly intelligent as well! Funny how things turn out, innit?”
I ignored the rhetorical. Something about the report was bothering me. I felt that tiny tingle at the base of my spine, telling me that I really, really, should be more afraid. I tried to listen to what it was saying.
Wait! Listening…
“Klem…!” My voice was more tremulous than I cared to admit. “The Anti-Human is responsive and understands what we say, right?”
“Indeed! That’s the pervasive theory.”
‘So, it “listens” to us, so-to-speak…”
“Spot on! Pretty wild, huh? Though…if you don’t mind my asking, what’s the point of this line of inquiry?
I felt that tiny tingle move its way into my stomach. It became a fist.
“If the usual brain wave pattern is when it’s taking something in…”
I couldn’t finish the thought. Klem had no compunctions.
“…then the reverse pattern is when it’s sending something out.” His voice held a strange mix of dread and excitement.
“Klem. How long has it been since you first noticed the wave?”
“Four days…”
Shit.
Four days. Plus two before they discovered the wave. Plus the time it spent in transport while it was conscious. It had almost a week to communicate with…something.
“I think we fucked up, Klem.”
He was about to respond when the lights flickered. The facility had its own power grid, with reinforced cabling, and a failsafe: a giga-battery that could power the whole facility for up to a week in the event of a worst-case scenario. Anything that happened in the outside world stood no chance of impacting our power supply.
The outside world…
The fist in my stomach clenched tighter.
“Klem…they’re inside the building!!”
Horrified realisation crossed Klem’s face as the lights cut out.
*KR-SHASH!!!*
The sound of the reinforced glass of the containment tank EXPLODING outward triggered my training. In an instant I had my firearm out and, though it was dark, was already trying to move towards the closest Comm-link. They were independently powered by an internal battery that ensured communication could hold up at all times but Man-Oh-Man I knew it was a slim chance that I’d make it there in time to send out the S.O.S. The emergency lights flicked on. I couldn’t help but look back.
The Anti-Human shook like a dog to remove shards of glass sprinkling its back. It took its time standing. Seeing its face I knew that it decided to dispense with the subtleties this time around.
With a piercing screech it leapt ten feet straight towards Klem. I screamed, hoping he’d move, or duck, or something, dammit! But Klem barely had time to raise a cry before he became intimately acquainted with the mouth he found so unsettling.
In the moments the Anti-Human needed to shred Klem’s carotid, I spun and sprinted towards the Comm like Captain fuckin’ America. Move it you goddamn piece of shit! Move!! My drill sergeant’s voice. Refusing to look back all I could hear was its growl rising as it likely prepared itself for another merciless assault. I made it to the link! I slammed my hand on the big red S.O.S as I deigned to turn around.
The Anti-Human’s growl crescendoed into an infuriated roar but as it leapt at me the second perk of the Comm-link kicked in: the separately-wired shared-network of the Code Red security system. And it was loud.
At the start of its leap the Anti-Human’s face was twisted with rage and murder. At its apex the alarm kicked in, and it abandoned the rage by shrieking and covering its ears. Right! I realised. It had super-sensitive hearing!! Red lights flashing and the alarms braying and my eardrums almost rupturing from being so close to the source but I was able to dodge far enough out of the way that the creature slammed into the wall behind me instead of yours truly.
Wasting no time I pressed my thumb to the scanner on the side of the Comm-link and immediately snatched the baton out of the newly-revealed compartment. Turning, I levelled It towards the Homo Annihilus writhing on the ground.
Klem, I prayed. Let’s hope this fucking works. I fired it.
The top-third of the baton rocketed forward and embedded itself in the creature’s leg. Without hesitation I triggered 80,000 Volts moving at 6 Amps to pour through the bastard’s body. The creature convulsed and started smoking in seconds.
Good ol’ Klem. Hasn’t failed me yet, I thought with a pang of sorrow. I kept the trigger pulled. I wasn’t fucking around anymore. I kept it pulled until small flames began licking at what I now hoped was a corpse; only then was I satisfied. I hated this fucking thing.
Panting, I turned back to the Comm-link and began engaging in communication.
“Hunter X, pinging The Floor. Containment breach, but the threat has been neutralised. Repeat, containment breach on The Floor but the threat has been neutralised, does anyone copy?!”
A minute of ominous silence.
“Hunter X to all stations, does anyo-“
“Hunter!” That sounded like Dave! He was on perimeter guard this rotation. “Hunter, goddamnit, we’ve been engaged at the perimeter! Repeat! We’ve bee- JESUS FUCKING CHRI-!”
…ominous silence.
They’re engaged at the perimeter. And the power needed to be sabotaged from the inside.
“Oh no… oh, God no…” The fist in my stomach became a ball of ice.
This wasn’t a subtle psychological ploy. This wasn’t a hunt. This was a coordinated manoeuvre articulated through Dark Empathy. They were attacking us.