When the world is mine, I will tell them it is your fault.

Security Chief Nevada screams himself awake. He gets up, brushing off his uniform, and looks around at the wasteland that was his Site. Flames litter the hill, as do a few bodies here and there. Looking across the vast hills he sees the former base of operation. Though it's hundreds of feet away, Nevada makes out the damage instantly.
The once white walls are now stained with age, rust and smoke. He observes his surroundings, seeing bodies upon bodies strewn across the hills. The safest place ironically is the accursed Site that lies before him.
Nevada hobbles towards the base, the sun going down.

But how do you make the world fall?

The glow of the moon shines on the once thriving Site as Nevada finally reaches the entrance. He sees the slumped body of George Orson on the guard tower. Nevada used to greet George with a specific whistle to communicate who it was. He lets this whistle out.
George doesn't respond. Nevada looks at the old door which has his old employer's logo emblazoned on the direct center, somehow rusted with time. He looks at the entrance scanner, and into the retinal beam. It beeps acknowledgement, but the doors do not open.
Nevada reminisces having to call Site Director Anya about lockouts. He smiles as he hears the memory of her annoyed yells at staff to get the gates open. He smells the coffee on her breath.
Nevada sadly opens his eyes, and begins to pry the metal doors open, which screech with resistance.

Do you let it succumb to sin? To violence? No. It will be done by an indirect hand.

Nevada pushes the metal security doors open. An alarm on the ceiling wails, lowly and weakly.
“Security Chief Nevada, L3 Clearance, Code 1400512.”
The alarm stops, and a door down the hall slides open, metal scraping metal. It leads him into the security room, where he grabs a weapon out of the locker. He also attempts to open the camera room, but it stubbornly remains shut. His knocks, punches, and kicks do nothing.
Nevada attempts to fire upon the locks that hold the door, to no avail as well. He yells at the door, continually assaulting it between tears and rage.
A hiss, and the doors open. Nevada collapses to his knees.

In the end, there will be nothing left.

The former Security Chief hears talking behind him. It sounds like his coworkers, no- his mother, calling out his name. He turns around for a moment, searching for the source of the noise, but only sees the monotone hallway. The chanting is sourceless, or at least it seems to be.
“Ahm.”
“Ahm.”
Nevada realizes the chant doesn't even exist. He turns back to the room.

No gods.

Nevada enters, searching for footage of the previous night's events. Unfortunately, all of the security logs are corrupted, all except for the last 2 hours. He accesses the remaining footage, wincing as the struggling computer releases a high-pitched whine.

No kings.

The footage takes a second to turn on, only revealing Nevada as a child, crying. The Security Chief reaches out, touching the screen. The person operating the camera speaks softly.
“Now, Nevada, if you really wanted to go to James's house, you shouldn't have been so impatient with your father and I. We know you want to see him again, but we can't do that anymore.”
The young Nevada in the recording stares into the camera. He stops his crying, and whispers to Nevada in the room.
“If only you grew as green as I.”
Nevada panics and slams the stop button. He fearfully presses the folder with the actual footage.

No beasts.

Nevada scours the last 2 hours of film, seeing nothing but still bodies and spreading fires. He slams his fist on the table in despair. A perimeter alarm sounds. Nevada looks around in a mix of fear and hope.
The cameras cut to the outside. The moon and fire provide all the light he needs to see.

There will be only one.

Tears drop from Nevada's face. He silently prays to no one, and has the smallest hope that something will go right.
The screen is obscured by a disgusting green substance, but is transparent enough so that Nevada can see masses of bodies shuffling behind it.
“Ahm!” A voice cries.
His hope goes away. The screen slowly fills with a bright green, before cutting to black.

And you will fear me.

Security Chief Nevada slowly rises out of his chair. He pulls his weapon out, and fires a shot at the screen in front of him. The chants only get louder, and he bolts out the door.
Klaxons blare as Nevada opens the door to the Site. The heavy doors seem to take an eternity to open. Readying his weapon, he ignores the sweat dripping from every pore in his body.
“The Masquerade is Broken, but all curtains can be pulled back.” Advice from his first day.
Nevada hears breathing. It's disturbingly close, but he knows it's coming from behind the door.
“The confusion will bring chaos, but you will avert it.” His own mantra.
A large, sickly, green hand grasps through the door, and begins to pry it open faster. Nevada fires, only for the bullet to immediately arc toward the ceiling. He continues to fire, though each bullet flies in a new direction. The gun clicks, having emptied the final round.
“Never stop the fight.” His father.
The door falls away, and Nevada's vision is filled with seas of Foundation employees, staring at him. He yells in agony, for none of his former colleagues have a face, even though he can hear their chant.
The sickly hand pulls itself from the crowd, morphing into a sickly being. The mass of green blood and tentacles becomes a humanoid creature. It raises an arm forward, extending to reach Nevada. It grasps his shoulder, pulling him within.
The former Security Chief drops his weapon, and willingly walks into the being in front. He enters the chest, its wet embrace welcoming him. He hears the cry once more:
“Ahm!”