Omega 27: Something Inside

Eric's mind was a mess of headaches, physical pain, and other things he was trying to ignore.

That night, he informed the group of Harper's death. Some were on the verge of collapse; some expected it but were still hit hard.

"Patel, I need to discuss something with you," Eric called.

Patel moved to the edge of the mess hall without straying too far from the gathered group.

"Sir?" Patel inquired, his face tired.

Eric exhaled and gathered his thoughts for a moment.

"The main research building. I need to go there," Eric said. He was now the highest-ranking officer and officially the leader of the base, but he didn't have access to the building.

Only Caldwell and Harper did—one disappeared without a trace, and the other was confirmed dead.

Patel's eyes widened for a moment. "But, sir, we don't know the keycode, and the energy—"

Before he could finish, Eric cut him off. "That's exactly it. No energy. The keycode is now meaningless. Either open it manually if there's a way, or just break the door open."

They needed to know exactly what was inside. He didn't mind dying, but he didn't like being toyed with.

Eric was a man who owned his own life. He was not anyone's entertainment, and he refused to be.

The feeling that he was being toyed with… that they were all part of some kind of sick show for whatever existed behind the scenes…

Patel had no way to reject the order. He was also in favor of the approach.

"Yes, sir," he answered resolutely.

He returned to the group, who were now suffering in the cold with the power down, shivering constantly.

Something else remained constant that night.

The whispers.

Not just faint hums in the background—but an overlapping madness of fear, rage, and something else. Something insidious. He couldn't tell what was real anymore. The lines between memory, hallucination, and nightmare had blurred into a suffocating haze.

It was the type of noise usually heard in arena scenes in movies…

A new shift.

Or something old he had failed to notice until now—only now had it grown loud enough to bother him.

The next morning, he started looking around the base as he usually did.

He passed by the group of eight working on demolishing the entrance of the main research building.

No one had died.

For now, at least.

Though he sought answers in the building, he didn't give up investigating on his own. He was now only driven by the will to keep his underlings alive.

It was the kind of responsibility he hated the most but couldn't neglect either, even if he tried.

His legs took him around the base until he settled in the control room.

He sat in the control room, Harper's journal open before him again.

He tried to make sense of the calculations, writings, and cryptic sketches on the pages, one by one.

He couldn't make any sense of them. But… they were the same.

The same lines he saw at the buried site. The same as the artifact.

Though Harper had copied them badly. Like everything else in that book.

Eric finally reached the last page with any writing on it.

He stared at the sentence for a long time.

"It's inside me."

What... or who is it?

The artifact?

He shifted his gaze toward the sealed case they had placed the artifact in.

Slowly, he stood and took a few cautious steps toward the case. Carefully, he cracked it open just enough to check, making sure he wouldn't linger, making sure he wouldn't see that smirk again.

The artifact was still inside.

He closed the case again as fast as he could, making sure he wouldn't take a long look or feel like it was smirking at him again.

He couldn't have his mindset toyed with again.

But he couldn't find the answer either.

What exactly was inside him if not the artifact?

The whispers?

The source?

Eric's hands tightened around the notebook.

He went back to Harper's room and took his journal.

He started reading it all over again slowly… and he couldn't shake off the feeling that Harper knew more than these few vague lines.

No, for sure… Harper must have known more than just these few lines. Considering everything—the age of the base and how long it had been studied—this journal couldn't be everything.

He looked at the lines at the end of the journal.

"Something is waking up beneath the ice," Harper had written.

Eric shut the journal, pulse steady, breath controlled. The others were losing their grip, but he couldn't afford to. Not yet.

Again, he felt the urge to search.

He needed to find Caldwell.

Was she even alive? Was she still flesh and blood like them?

She was the only one who might have answers.

But he didn't give it much thought. He was already having a hard time focusing with the shouts of madness running in his head.

He didn't have much hope regarding the main research building. He was just doing what could be done.

He took the journal this time with him and closed the door shut before leaving.

By nighttime, the demolition process was not over yet. The group was spent and had all gone to sleep, praying they would even be able to rest.

Eric sat alone again in the mess hall, fingers curled around a lukewarm cup of coffee, exhaustion pressing into his skull.

It had become a habit now, something he felt compelled to do every day.

It was his pride. He was telling whoever—Here I am. Alone. Enjoying a drink in your presence.

He felt a presence pass by him.

His head turned.

Then, he saw them.

His dead team members.

Standing at the edge of the room. Watching him.

Martinez. Ramirez. Jenkins. Harper.

Their faces were pale, their bodies twisted in ways bones weren't meant to bend. Their lips moved soundlessly, eyes hollow, mouths open in frozen screams.

The wounds they had when the bodies were discovered were worse—like they'd been through a brutal war.

Eric stared and studied them for a long moment.

Then—

He blinked.

They were gone.