You never forget the smell of that thing. Terger remembered it from 
a voluntary stint on Keter duty covering for a short-staffed skip after 
a breach. It stinks like... well, like gas and oil and death and rot. 
Imagine a corpse drenched in vaseline. Sort of like that. He wouldn't 
let us take another step until we knew where the anomaly was. It'd 
just pooled in a hollow. We could have walked straight through it on 
our way to the store across from where we were staying. It wasn't 
mimicking anything, though- | suppose in a place of relatively 
frequent food, it must have been easier to be a dark puddle than 
hope someone paranoid would traipse into a dangerous goop to 
save someone else. 


It's getting harder to balance safety with the urge to get to the site. 
We all want to get home. Hanndock isn't allowed to drive, which 
means splitting up daylight between myself and Terger. The other 
sleeps in the car. We all need to be awake when we scout a 
campsite. 


This is the tenth of the records documenting our attempts to return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Night nine. Seventy two rounds still 
remain. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


11 


If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop 
listening. 


Time passes, about ten seconds. Hard breathing is audible, two- 
fold, with a third set of breaths slow and calm. One of the panting 
voices swears under their breath at infrequent intervals. 


Hanndock's got a hairtrigger and he probably just saved Terger's 
life. If | remember the file right, we could have all died easily. It could 
have sat in that corner and at some point, bam. Someone dies, it 
bloats and goes for seconds. But Hanndock was out of sight when it 
started moving and was startled enough when he entered the room 
to just gun it down. 


Who the fuck makes something like- 


Under his breath, Piedmont speaks. ... there is no fear. Fear is the 
mindkiller, and with the mind gone, we're all dead. Anomaly's gone, 
room cleared, Terger's recovering from the aboulia. 


He returns to normal speaking volume. This is the eleventh of the 
records documenting our attempts to return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Night ten. Sixty rounds remain. 
Hanndock gets to clear the next gun shop we find to replace his 


ammo- thing must have been dead after the sixth shot and he just 
kept firing. 


Can't really blame him, that thing was ugly. 
Get there tomorrow. Then we'll see what's going on. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


12 


If the words... 


Quiet panting is audible in the background, and sounds consistent 
with loading rounds into a magazine audible at what seems to be 
some slight distance from the microphone. Background audio 
includes occasional, distant vocalizations that do not match the 
spectrum of sounds produced by the human layrnx. 


... "esoteric containment"... mean nothing to you... fuck off. 


Nearly a minute of silence elapses; the magazine ceases to be 
loaded and can be heard being placed into a gun. A few moments 
later, it is ejected, the bullets removed and loading begins again. 
This repeats throughout the entire recording. At no point are any 
more or less than seven rounds inserted into the magazine. 


... can't even fucking say what we saw or we're term'd if we ever 
make it back. Hanndock's dead. | shouldn't have sent him into that 
fucking gun shop alone. 


The facility is intact. Even powered in some areas. We're too tired to 
look tonight. | don't know how far we ran. We won't be able to get 
back to the car. If what we need isn't down here... 


This is the twelfth of the records documenting our attempts to return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Night eleven... fifteen rounds, two 
sidearms remain. 


Time passes, thirty seconds or so. 


| used to fucking love peppermint. Damn it all to hell. 


13 


If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop 
listening. 


Time passes, about ten seconds. The exhaustion and frustration in 
Piedmont's voice present in the last recording have faded. He 
sounds professional once more, and there are two sets of footsteps 
audible in the background. Background vocalizations are consistent 
with previous recordings. 


The site may be intact, but containment certainly isn't. We've seen 
evidence of anomalies that weren't even stored at this site. | should 
have said that last time. We holed up in one of the observation 
rooms for a pretty dangerous anomaly. It was fortified, physical door 
locks, and nothing around to cause a problem. We slept in shifts. 
We aren't safe; we can hear movement, and other things, from 
distant parts of the site, but we've had training for situations like this. 
Back in the site, that all comes back quick. 


The first room Terger thought we could use wasn't much of a room 
anymore. There's a bathroom a level above, and | guess the 
Foundation didn't discover that particular anomaly prior to all this. 
The roof was blasted out, part of the floor was slagged down into the 
containment chamber below- not all accounted for, though. Guess 
it's not surprising, considering the temperatures involved. Vapor 
doesn't leave a lot behind. 


What's left in the containment chamber below might have been what 
ended things. It matches the containment procedures, and despite 
the overwhelming scent of char, | can still smell the fucking mint. 
Whoever was in here when the room above hit a few thousand 
kelvin sure as hell would have constituted a dead body. 


This is the thirteenth of the records documenting our attempts to 
return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Day twelve. Fifteen rounds still remain. 
We're heading for the archives to see what was kept here. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


14 


If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop 
listening. 


Time passes, about ten seconds. Background vocalizations are 
consistent with previous recordings. There are also faint sounds 
consistent with an individual standing in place shifting their weight 
occasionally. 


Had to move through Euclid containment to reach the archives. We 
don't have much in the way of supplies, though, so we've relocated 
our base of operations. Always thought it was kind of silly, making 
the archives one of the most secure places in the facility. I'm not 
laughing now; this might be safe enough to keep us alive. More 
bodies in a few of the sealed rooms around the Archives- only in 
rooms that respond to security badges. Alive, unresponsive but 
clean, dressed... no obvious cause. Like they're being kept. 
Seriously concerning. Cognitohazard? Maybe. 


We saw someone down one of the hallways. Looked alive, but the 
damnedest thing is that | swear | saw one of them earlier today, but 
it was braindead. Still stunning that they're alive at all. | guess that 
the- 


... right. Can't talk about them. But they don't come down here. | 
think the stuff below scares them. 


| hope to God it's the stuff be/low here that scares them. 


This is the fourteenth of the records documenting our attempts to 
return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Day thirteen. Fifteen rounds remain. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


15 


If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop 


listening. 


Time passes, about ten seconds. There are sounds indicating an 
individual shuffling through some papers, near to the speaker; 
Background vocalizations are consistent with previous recordings. 
Also present are footsteps indicative of an individual pacing around 
the room, likely on watch. 


| do not like what | am seeing. We left the archives just once today, 
to check the canteen for supplies. No problem obtaining some, but 
I'm sure | saw someone watching us. They were gone when we left 
with our supplies, though | have no idea where they went. Had a 
panic attack when | realized there were weakening, decaying spots 
on the walls, but they aren't actively falling apart- it's not him. We'd 
have known if he was here. We'd be fucked if he was here. 


| checked the spot where | remembered the doll- the living body, 

nobody home- that | thought | saw yesterday. Still there. Different 
position, and I'm sure there wasn't dust on the cuffs of his slacks 

before. 


They're moving. Or being moved. Just not when we're here. 


We took a roundabout way back to camp. Don't think we've been 
followed. Guess we'll find out, if whoever | saw has Factory gear. 
Not like walls are going to keep them out. Gonna have to stay 
hidden. 


Still searching for records of what | hope is here. Beans for dinner. 
Yum. Piedmont's tone here suggests overwhelming dissatisfaction 
with the contents of his meal. 


This is the fifteenth of the records documenting our attempts to 
return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Day fourteen. Fifteen rounds remain. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


16 


If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop 
listening. 


Time passes, about ten seconds. Background vocalizations are 
consistent with previous recordings. A second set of respiration 
suggests a sleeping individual. 


More sightings of our companions. Always at a distance, always 
gone when we check later. Always near those decayed patches. 
Pretty confident that's Factory work. Still not sure how the dolls are 
moving. More were out of place. It's never much different, but it is. 
I'm sure of it. Terger's been giving me some weird looks, but he 
trusts me. | Know what I'm talking about. 


Encountered an anomaly when we went to check out an archive 
annex one floor down. | haven't got a clue how the observation 
chamber got relocated into one of the hallways. We detoured 
around, but not before watching a few cycles. Waste of a minute, but 
it was nice to see some human beings for a little, even if they do get 
shot and who knows what happens after the flash. Hope they're 
okay. 


It's weird- | never cared before, but now | really do hope they're 
okay. Wherever they are. 


Guess I'm just more sympathetic now. 


This is the sixteenth of the records documenting our attempts to 
return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Day fifteen. Fifteen rounds remain. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


17 


some damn sleep! There's not a god damn thing wrong with that! 
(subject bangs table with hands, is highly upset and breathing 
heavily) 


Dr. Gears: Sir, | will request that you calm yourself. | am asking 
questions, not accusing. Please return to your seat. 


Mr. Wright: (takes several deep breaths) I'm sorry. Over a couple of 
weeks, everything got fed to that thing. It was just... how things 
were. We were pretty isolated, you know? It's not like we had much 
else. You'd just make a couple trips out to the storehouse and toss 
any metal you happened to find in. Always seemed to be people 
there, just watching it. It tore a hole in the roof after a while. Father 
Pat started getting strange, telling us it wasn't enough. | think the 
noise was getting to him. Said it needed something more 
meaningful... (subject trails off) 


Dr. Gears: ...Mr. Wright? 


Mr. Wright: (is silent for 48 seconds) | came in one night, because | 
heard people shouting from the storehouse. Father Pat was leading 
a prayer to this thing, but it didn't sound like any prayer | knew. 
People were coming up, and he bent over them. They screamed, 
and then he turned to that big mass of metal. I... | thought he was 
giving communion... until | saw the pliers in his hand. 


Dr. Gears: |\'m sorry, pliers? 


Mr. Wright: He was yanking out people's fillings. He was pulling out 
their fucking teeth and feeding them to that thing! (Subject is 
shouting, appearing highly upset) He started screaming about it not 
being enough! That it needed more, but there wasn't any more, 
there was barely any metal left anywhere! Then he pointed at Allen. 
He said he was hiding metal from the great machine. Allen 
screamed that he didn't have anything. Father Pat said he hada 
metal joint in his hip. Everyone got up at once. Oh god, oh god... 
they grabbed him, everyone just grabbed him... he started 
screaming... (Subject is crying and shouting) He kept screaming and 
screaming, and nobody cared... | saw his arm go in, saw all his 
fingers break and pull the rest of the arm in... and | ran. What could | 
do? Jesus, | couldn't stop it, there were too many, and that thing 


If the words "eso... esot-teric containment" mean-n-n-n n-nothing to 
you, S-S-s-stop... stop listening. 

Time passes, about ten seconds. Background vocalizations are 
consistent with previous recordings. Two individuals exhibit rapid 
respiration consistent with a state of panic. 

This i-is completely irrational. | Know it won't act if we d... don't open 
the door. | KNOW it won't and | KNOW for a FACT that if we DO 
open the door, it'll- 


Piedmont's voice cracks, devolves into hyperventilation for a brief 
moment before he can get himself under control. 


But it WON'T. It WILL and we're FUCKED if it doesn't leave. 


| fucking hate cognitohazards. I'd rather run from them upstairs than 
sit here cowering. 


Terger gave me his g-g... gun. To make sure he d... doesn't... 
waste bullets. 


Or himself. 


Fourty-three seconds pass; rapid breathing remains consistent with 
a panic state. 


This is the seventeenth of the records documenting our attempts to 
return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Day sixteen. Fifteen rounds remain. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


18 


If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop 
listening. 


Time passes, about ten seconds. Background vocalizations are 
consistent with previous recordings. 


It's still there. 
Seventeenth record. Day seventeen. Fifteen rounds. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


19 


If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop 
listening. 


Time passes, about ten seconds. Background vocalizations are 
consistent with previous recordings. 


Still there. 
Eighteenth record. Day eighteen. Fifteen rounds. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


20 


Still there. 
Nineteenth day. Nineteenth record. Fifteen bullets. 
| just want to go home. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


21 


Still there. Out of water. 
Twentieth. Fifteen bullets. 
We're going to die. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


22 


Still there. Out of food. 
Twenty first. Fifteen bullets. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


23 


Piedmont begins this recording in a tone suggesting triumph 
bordering on mania; additional voice in the background is laughing 
in frantic relief. 

If the words "esoteric containment" mean nothing to you, stop 
listening, you lucky son of a bitch. 


Time passes, about ten seconds. Background vocalizations are 
consistent with previous recordings. Laughing subsides to a chuckle, 
sounds of firearm maintenance can be heard. 


The fucking dolls. Whatever's moving them, one must have 
threatened line of sight on the bastard! He's gone, and we found 
ourselves to get out of here and get some goddamned water. Had to 


use the restroom faucets to rinse out and refill the bottles- 
someone's locked the canteen doors with a rock.