At least that's what | figure's gotta be there. Terger tried to force the 
door open, but the way he stumbled back so far, looking startled, | 
didn't let him try more than once more. Said it was hard to reverse, 
and he winced hard when he kicked it again. Got him away from the 
door. There's a patch of discolored paint next to the door; pretty sure 
we can thank the dolls for this. Still, we HAVE food, and it could 
have been worse- they could have locked OUR door. 


This is the- what, twenty second?- 
Affirmation is audible. 
-twenty second of the records documenting our attempts to return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Day twenty two. Fifteen rounds 
remain. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


24 


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


Time passes, about ten seconds. Background vocalizations are 
consistent with previous recordings. Additional audio suggests a 
second individual engaged in the act of eating. 

The annex has been compromised. Contagious typoes- 


Secondary individual disputes the definition. 


- it might as WELL be typoes, Terger, for all the good a badly-written 
self-insert fantasy does us. A dozen file cabinets and three PCs 
ruined. We checked ourselves for any materials that could bring the 


infection back, left them there. I'm glad | left my coat upstairs today- 
might have infected our recordings. We haven't lost much, but we'll 
have to go deeper tomorrow. We've exhausted the options on this 
floor and one below, and there's another canteen three floors down. 
We'll locate a safe room before restocking. 


This is the twenty third of the records documenting our attempts to 
return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Day twenty three. Fifteen rounds 
remain. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


25 


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


Time passes, about ten seconds. Background vocalizations are 
consistent with previous recordings, though fainter. Additional audio 
suggests the recording occurs while Piedmont and Terger are in 
transit on foot. 


Annex two floors down from base one was empty, except for a 
single sheet of... | think it was leather, middle of the room. | didn't let 
Terger get close, not if that's what | think it is. | think annex is a bad 
term for a room that's something like a hundred feet on a side, this 
place could almost be its own archive. Could have been, anyway. 
There was one file cabinet left, crammed back in a corner, but | think 
he woulda been pushing awful close to the edge of the jump radius. 
We can't afford to pick that thing up on anything we're relying on. 
We'll just keep looking. One more floor to- 


A third set of footsteps becomes rapidly audible. Faint, growing 
static is heard overwhelming the audio. A previously unheard voice 
calls for someone to ‘get out of the way.' 


Shit, TERGER! We've g 


Audio dissolves into uselessness for six minutes, twenty eight 
seconds; fluctuations suggests an attempt to record strong, nearby 
sounds. Recording ends. 


25 Cont. 


Recording resumes. 


-nk you, doctor. Had no idea about the battery leaking. | owe you my 
thanks. Stay safe. 


Christ. Just wanted to get that leaky battery out before it ruined this 
device. Would have lost our records. 


That's terrifying. | don't even know why, they aren't at all necessary 
to our survival, but recording these keeps me feel... grounded. 


Sane, | suppose. Though now | feel guilty for not taking better care 
of my recorder, so there's that theory out the window. 


Anyway. This is the twenty fourth of the records documenting our 
attempts to return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Day twenty four. Fifteen rounds 
remain. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


26 


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


Time passes, about ten seconds. 


| want to say that the stairwell we approached was flooded, but 
that's not quite right. Maybe it was, at one point. The corridors one 
floor down are steel-walled, chambered to seal in an emergency. 
The one by the stairwell was filled with what looked like basalt. Tons 
and tons of solid, smooth basalt. Tested it with a dead monitor; 
broke the rock, left a splash, frozen in stone. No way we get through 
there. 


Another stairwell at the north end of this block. We'll try tomorrow. 


This is the twenty fifth of the records documenting our attempts to 
return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Day twenty five. Fifteen rounds 
remain. 


Secondary individual remarks; volume is insufficient to make out 
dialogue. 


Yeah. I'm tired, too. We'll try to take a break when we make it to the 
canteen. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


27 


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


Time passes, about ten seconds. Soft breathing nearby; pitch 
suggests female physiology. Distant, rhythmic footsteps in a stilted 
pattern. 


And so are we three. Terger insists we bring her along. I'm not so 
sure, but she's only dangerous if we hurt her. So... we won't. I'd be 
more comfortable without a tagalong, but as long as we're not here 
more than a month and she doesn't get torn up any... Terger 
handed over his shoes so she wouldn't step on glass or rubble. | 


considered suggesting we ask her if she's willing to let us harvest a 
little venom, but Terger's so keen to have company of SOME kind 
that's not trying to kill us... not worth it. 


Made good progress, at least. We're two floors down. Next floor 
should have the canteen. 


This is the twenty sixth of the records documenting our attempts to 
return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Day twenty six. Fourteen rounds 
remain- just nerves. Glad | missed. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


28 


Strain is evident in the voice of the speaker. 


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


Time passes, about ten seconds. 
| am alone. 
Another twelve seconds pass in silence. 


A door opened where there had been none before. Terger brought 
up the gun, finger off the trigger, standard procedure. 


| guess she never saw the movies. The curse didn't send him flying. 
She just... turned him off and left. The woman stayed by his body. | 
took the gun and left. 

| couldn't have taken her out of here anyway. 


This is the twenty seventh of the records documenting our attempts 
to return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off alone. Day twenty seven. Fourteen 
rounds remain. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


29 


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


Time passes, about ten seconds. 


New base camp. Good place to store supplies- it's extremely 
defensible. True, it's loud, but anything drawn by the noise is already 
going to be affected. 


Just need to remember to watch my footing. There'll be a lot of 
blood if | have to play anything. 


This is the twenty eighth of the records documenting our attempts to 
return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Day twenty eight. Fourteen rounds 
remain. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


30 


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


Time passes, about ten seconds, in which indistinct and apparently 
amicable discourse occurs in the background between two male 
subjects, including the speaker. 


It's almost amusing, the things of which you can be reminded. If I'd 
been asked to brief someone else on how to handle this fellow 
here... I'd have said "don't shoot first. Or at all." 


| completely forgot he was backing up our database. It's a new one, 
but it should work. One-Seven-Eight-Oh. | just need it, an office... 
and some patience. 


This is the twenty ninth of the records documenting our attempts to 
return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Day twenty nine. Fourteen rounds 
remain. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


XXX 


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


Time passes, about ten seconds. 


It felt harder to keep going when it was just me. Having Terger 
around meant | had someone to watch out for. Meant | had to watch 
my mouth, too- not like he's cleared for all this- but it was motivating. 
Now... just me. 


But that's enough. I'm... almost done. 1780 wasn't too hard to get. It 
was hard to get to, sure- though some things were just a little... 
comical. The manhole, for instance. In the middle of a secure 
facility... 


The strangest thing was the IV. Someone had hooked it up to... 
something. Wires and batteries and plugs. So much power, and it all 
seemed to do nothing. Maybe it's responsible for all this. | can't tell, 
really. | haven't got the luxury to sit here and try to unravel all that. It 
doesn't matter- I've got to get back. I've been too lucky by half; the 


was screaming and screaming and Allen was screaming and Father 
Pat... (Subject falls to the floor, sobbing and shouting) 


Dr. Gears: This interview is concluded. Thank you Mr. Wright. 
Security, please see Mr. Wright out. 


<End Log> 
Closing Statement: Mr. Wright attempted suicide shortly after 


interview. Subject is currently being held on suicide watch and for 
observation. 


Cop keeping the Salesman company, the rats- both sorts, the smart 
ones and the sharp ones, the candy and the fish- Christ, | hate 
compulsives. 


Terger never really thought to ask why | knew so much about all 
these things. It's not like the database is an open book. You read 
what you're assigned to, nothing more. Usually. Some assignments 
require more indepth familiarity. 


EC-3 doesn't stand for esoteric containment- but | couldn't very well 
tell them that. Easier for all of us if they were just working with some 
researcher. They expect us to know everything, anyway- far easier 
than explaining. 


I've rigged the nameplate at an angle. When | slam this door, it'll 
break static friction and allow it to slide out of the holder. This 
room... it's a crapshoot, but it's better than all this. 


There wasn't a pop or rush of air or anything. It's like it's always 
been connected to the room on the other side. | opened it, so... | 
just need to step through, slam the door. | can feel the bit of metal in 
my hand, gravid with all the pregnancy of possibility. | Know what's 
on the other side of this door. Time and space relative to a single 
room that is anything but singular, soread out and away like... 
forever. 


This is the thirtieth of the records documenting my hopefully 
successful attempt to return. 


Doctor Piedmont, signing off. Day forty two. Fourteen rounds 
remain. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 

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

Time passes, about ten seconds. 


I'm still waiting. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


The recording resumes an uncertain amount of time later. There are 
several days of silent recording of nothing besides the turning of 
pages, the sounds of two guns- one sidearm and a larger firearm- 
being disassembled, cleaned and reassembled, and pacing 
footsteps. After 207 hours, Piedmont speaks. His voice reflects 
strain, consistent with prolonged solitary confinement. 


Nothing runs out here. | haven't run out of time. Or energy. Or gun 
oil. or battery 


A tiny pause, and the note of tension increases in the tone of 
Piedmont's voice. 


Except reading material. I'm out of that, save for the letter. And I'm 
not going to be reading that. I've read the excerpt. I'm not scared. 
But it's not the way back. 


| can ignore one sheet of paper for as long as | have to. 


Speech stops and activity lapses into the aforementioned patterns of 
behavior. These continue. Despite the limitations of the amount of 
information that can be stored on the digital recording device, 
recording continues as above, without pause, during which time 
audio analysis of the recording shows four vocalized patterns 
matching Piedmont's readings of the text of Oxford’s Unabridged 
English Dictionary and three variants of Time Life’s Great Ages of 
Man: A History of the World’s Cultures, repeating a collective total of 
923 times with slight but detectable increase in vocal tremors as 
time goes on. At 4763 hours and 27 minutes, the door opens, a 
single pair of footsteps enter the room approaching the recorder and 
recording ends. 


A second voice cuts into the middle of a sentence, apparently 
intructing Piedmont to "go aheaa" with something. Piedmont speaks, 
notably more stable but significantly more guarded in tone. 


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


Time passes, about ten seconds, then the second voice speaks, 
prompting Piedmont to continue. 


I'm sitting at a table across from a man I've never met but I've read 
about. He's told me that we'll meet, later and in a less... tense 
situation. And he's stated he can get me back when | need to go. 


Emphasis on when. There's only so many exit points into our world, 
so many active instances, and the only one that's not going to result 
in classification as 1780-2 is... 


Jesus. Is that what this whole mess was for? Three people dead ina 
world that never knew them, and all to get me to one when. Not 
even ME, but someone who knows what | know. 


A short pause. 

How do you know what EC actually stands for? 
The second voice speaks shortly. 

... of course | did. 


Goddammit. Every attendant researcher and all of the D-Class have 
already been killed or incapacitated by the time the instance 
becomes active? This is accurate? 


| don't want to do this, Xyank. Tachyon Control Circuit or not, I'm 
seriously tempted to just take one of the other doors. Containment 
or not- do you know what that procedure entails? 


A longer pause. Silence on both sides. Then, a heavy sigh. 
... NO. You wouldn't. Or you'd do it yourself. That's why I'm here. 


Another, considerably longer pause, then the sound of a chair 
moving, someone standing. 


Alright. I'll do it. It's not like | don't already know what's involved. 


Just. 
Never thought I'd have to participate. 


A series of footsteps, then another in tandem, move away from the 
recorder. Distantly, Piedmont speaks. 


When you're ready. 


The door clicks, and immediately the far-off sound of screaming and 
the nearer sounds of panicked voices fill the room. 


See you later, X. You'll have to explain that Tachyon Control Circuit 
deal some other time. The long way. I'm done with vanishings. 


Footsteps proceed away from the recorder, and Piedmont's raised 
voice covers the sounds of chaos. 


No time to panic, people, we've all just been requisitioned by order 
of the Ethics Committee. I've already been briefed on Procedure 
110-Montauk forward and backwards and we've still got time to do 
this if you shut up and do as you're told. You'll all get amnestics and 
commendations as soon as we're done but we get one ch- 


The door clicks shut and the sounds die instantly. Footsteps, slow 
and almost ponderous in the wake of Piedmont's departure, 
approach the recorder. A heavy sigh is heard before the second 
voice speaks. 


| hate saying this, but you can't give him the amnestic. Deny him this 
experience and he isn't going to be half-ready for what comes down 
the line. He needs this edge. And he needs this trauma. 


We need him a little broken. So don't fix him. 
Or we'll just have to do it again. 


Background noise continues for nearly two seconds before 
recording ends. 


Indigo Eyes