Entry 1 March 19, 20 Okay, so I'm not sure how legal it is to journal about this, but I'm on site at, um, I guess we can call it Central Lab 47b. If you think I'm referencing the other place, you're surprisingly mistaken. A lifetimes worth of warp to be here has finally paid off, and I didn't even know this place existed until three months ago. So I guess the previous five years of prep should have given me an idea that something like this would exist.
Still, I don't think 50 years could have prepared me for what I'm helping to support. It's funny, so many times I've questioned if my sacrifices were worth it to be in a place like this. Deep down, the answer has always been a resounding no. I was driven forward more by my desire to see what was on the other side, but now, it's almost laughable that that was ever a question in my mind. Either way, my team seems competent enough.
Morrison, our Laboratories leading director, has been involved with projects like this for the past three decades, and hey, if a guy could keep operations like this running with Stone Age tech, then who am I to question his methods? On top of that, he's a great guy to work around. It's always helpful when a good director is the type of guy you'd have a beer with. Despite the work, the lab is a pleasant place.
People freely crack jokes, talk about family on the outside, and reference memes from our not-so-allowed servers that connect us to the outside. I can't wait to see everything this place hasn't stalled for us. I'm sure we'll accomplish great things. Entry 2 July 14th Happy Fourth! To who? Who cares? It goes without saying in this line of work, federal holidays mean all of Jack and shit here. The project takes precedent over all manner of holidays, leaves of absence or worker's rights.
Try suing the federal government over a top-secret project because you didn't get enough minutes for your lunch break. Anyway, coincidentally, Morrison is a big fourth of July guy. He assured us that writing our asses for the past three months was only so that we could get one day off and have an authentic American barbecue. How nice. So I'd argue sleep deprivation isn't worth under seasoned burgers and overcooked ribs, just my opinion. Still, it was fun.
Plus, it gave me time to come back to my journal and get to know some of my co-workers while I was trying to figure out what exactly is going on here. Despite my top-secret clearance, I'm still not privy to everything behind the scenes. As far as I know, no one is. I maintain operational and research needs, but I'm only really aware of the needs, not all that they support. That's where the rumor mill comes in. While here, I became close friends with managing senior engineer Abed.
Seeing as Abed is involved with the research, after a couple of beers and a very manly conversation about how much he misses his wife, I'd pop the question. Just what are you doing here? Which my surprise, he wasn't exactly sure either. But more than that, supposedly, the group of cells he's looking at are entirely unique to any previous studied genome, including within federal databases.
As I understand it, the main goal is to keep them alive with the side project of understanding what stimuli can harm the cells and how they respond. Seriously, just what are we looking at? Entry 3. October 20th. My manager just died. I don't think anyone was going to tell us. Morrison tried to sell the team on her leaving the facility due to a personal matter, but it sounded like crap from the beginning.
More so when I heard a couple of the higher-ups specifically mentioned her death and passing while working on one of my later nights. I guess classifying information doesn't hold up to human error. My coworker Mia has two theories on why, either it's to keep us productive by preventing us from getting distracted by the news of her death, or it's because death isn't an uncommon thing here. I'm taking a shot of whiskey on it being the former.
Still, it feels wrong to continue our work as if nothing happened. I didn't always get along with Wendy, but I think her death at least deserves to be acknowledged. Everyone deserves a moment of silence. This brings into question other reassignments or leaves of absence. If I die, will the same thing happen to me? Entry 4. February 13th. Hey, they're making me a manager. Going to be a short post, as I apparently have a party to attend.
Abed and Mia found it fit to put together something to celebrate my promotion. Somehow they got high-quality peppermint snobs into the facility. I'm excited, but simultaneously, I can't shake the ghost of Wendy from my mind. Parts of me feel guilty for taking her position. Another part of me tells me this is what my entire life has been leading up to. I guess we'll see. Entry 5. March 18th. Quick post. Things have been going great.
Abed somehow smuggled cigars from movie night with Mia and some of our co-workers. I guess that guy has some crazy connections. Something to look into. I kid. Probably. I'm not a smoker, but when in Rome. So why does this room have a pool table? I didn't even know that was an option. Gotta thank the taxpayers for that one. I can envision myself here with these people for a really long time. Might even leave with some lifelong friends. Entry 6. April 19th. If they're finally letting me see it.
I was informed yesterday that they're allowing me to see the specimen, on which all of this has been based. I suppose I am pressed whoever is above us in my two months of management. All support is running as smoothly as ever in my short stint. Or maybe this had always been the plan for me? Regardless, it almost feels like a dream. However, per the standard unnecessary cryptic government practices, I'm not allowed to know when I can see it.
Or apparently, do anything that shows an unusual level of anticipation. Whatever that means. All update later. Entry 7. May 28th. I don't fully know how to describe what I'm feeling right now. I can't fully remember if I was driven to a different location or walked somewhere within Central Lab 47b. All I can remember is being injected with something, having a bag placed over my head and then coming into consciousness in a lab.
At the center of a hodgepodge of wiring, tubes, and screens was a large tank. Within it was what looked like a pale amorphous blob. The closest thing I could compare it to was an octopus with large, buggy eyes. Where a normal cephalopod would have a beak, a sizable gelatinous sack was present. From which two snail-like stalks would occasionally expand and contract, at the end of each tentacle were flexible digits that tirelessly explored their transparent prison.
Intermittently it flashed brilliant colors, and electronic cadence would sometimes follow, and an iridescent skin flap with tiny intricate patterns would extend from its grainyum. I imagined it was as if it were showing off extra neurons, almost like a display of its intelligence. Notably, a significant amount of gray slime seemed to have accumulated at the bottom of its tank. It didn't look like a lifeless mucus, but more like a fungi or slime mold.
It would spit these rigid structures from its stalks that would quickly find their way to the tank's edges before disintegrating and settling at the bottom. Supposedly these would build up and routinely need cleaning, but they were fascinating nonetheless. As I sat there, observing, Morrison was beside me. Given his position, I assumed he'd seen this thing countless times, and even still, he appeared spellbound by the specimen. It was almost as if he was in a trance, and how could I blame him?
Before we were observing was fascinating, something entirely new for our species. Before I knew it, I was rushed out and debriefed on the situation. It was found in the depths of our ocean, so they say, apparently scientists using an unmanned drone caught another one of its kind, giving birth to the creature we have here. Or rather, it gave birth to a lot of eggs, and this is one of the few that survived.
The parent was caught later on, after various forms of genetic analysis on top of other tests, the original research team discovered that it contained a very miniscule genetic relation to any known animal on Earth. And even then, it would suggest a very basic shared genetic connection that possibly predates even Luca. That's when the federal government stepped in. Still, all this effort over the identification of an animal?
I wish I was naive enough to believe there wasn't much more to what they found. Entry 8, June 29. There's a weird vibe in the lab lately. What was once a place of passion at folks who were all too happy to have a conversation has turned surprisingly cold. I don't really get it. We're all stuck here together. I saluted from the rest of the world, leaning on each other was the only thing keeping us sane. And now, people kind of keep their heads down. It's throwing me off.
Also there's a strange smell now. I don't know if anyone has picked up on it yet, but I catch whiffs of it occasionally. I'm going to do my best to stay in my room when I don't have to be in the office. Maybe the cleaning crew has been slacking on clearing out the vents. Entry 9, July 5. We didn't get a 4th at July party this year, though it feels like we've all been working harder now than ever. Anderson actually yelled at a guy today. I didn't know that he had that in him.
He always been so even keeled. I've seen some guys mess up pretty bad in the past, and his first reaction has always been, it's okay how can we do better next time. I feel bad. I mean, it really tore into the poor bastard. Thankfully, Abed and Mia seem to be okay from all of this. Abed's been busier as research needs have ramped up, but I was able to talk to Mia alone for a bit.
She brought up similar concerns in addition to the fact that supposedly the lab is looking to divert funds, resources, and personnel from other wings into research. According to Mia, due to unforeseen circumstances regarding crucial people in other non-essential departments, the lab no longer sees fit to waste resources maintaining them. Janitorial services have majorly reduced. Our human resources department is gone.
The enrichment services are gone, our accounting department has been reduced, and all research on how these cells can apply to modern medicine has been scrapped. All this, among other things, what the hell is happening? The smell is getting worse, by the way. Entry 10, August 21st. I didn't know who to ask about leaving, so I discussed it with someone on Moore's team. I didn't want to go to him directly. He's been scary lately.
What they told me was that because of the contract I signed and because of things I had seen, I absolutely had to stay the remainder of my agreed upon term. Be fully debriefed by an HR representative, which no longer exists, have multiple meetings with multiple councils, and unnamed people to discuss my findings, and wait for an accounting executive, which no longer exists, to perform an audit to ensure I wasn't lying about my use of government property or finances.
I'm also subject to a personal investigation of an unspecified period. Alternatively, I could attempt to breach my contract and be thrown in federal prison. Effectively, I was screwed. I figured I'd vent with Arbed over a bottle of whiskey, but he's been on responsive to my messages. I haven't seen him around the lab. I decided to see what Mia was doing when I came across a disturbing site. What looked like some sort of mold was staining the lab walls.
Not overly so, but enough to where it was hard to walk by without noticing patches of it, most notably around the vents. I mentioned this to a few janitorial staff members and he told me it was normal. Apparently, it had shown up relatively recently. When they looked into it, they found it wasn't mold. They're still doing tests on it now. Possibly staining from damaged pipes. Either way, he promised to look into it, but I don't have much faith there.
When I finally reached Mia's room, she told me she was feeling sick and couldn't talk. Come to think of it, I've been feeling pretty under the weather also. I'm starting to get hot flashes completing this entry, so I guess I'll end it here. I'll take the excuse to watch horror movies and pass out for 12 hours. Entry 11, November 2. Morrison got into a fight.
Per usual, he was berating a researcher over his findings regarding cell cultivation and the ideal temperature to maintain one of the eggs we had in storage. Apparently, the results weren't good enough. Mind you, we don't know anything about this animal. We're starting from scratch here and performing miracles to keep this thing and its siblings alive, much less routinely finding the absolute best conditions for it. To make a story short, Morrison actually ended up trying to strangle this man.
For an older guy, he's surprisingly strong. It took five men to pry Morrison off, but the guy he attacked had to go to the onsite and firmery. Afterward, everyone kept on like everything was normal. I had to get that out of the way before returning to my last update, so I got really sick, like bed bound for a solid month. I'm just now getting back to work in the lab. I've had to run everything from my computer. Painful as it was for me, being sick isn't the interesting bit.
That's what was coming out of my body. At first, I was expelling near the mill, throw up, greenish, brown, icky stuff. You get my drift. But in the third week, it was grayish black. Not only that, but in the unfortunate event I couldn't make it to the bathroom, I'd often see what looked like tiny maggots crawling from the bile and escaping into who knows where. Mia had a similar experience when I talked to her about it. The funny thing is, I can't remember anyone else getting sick like this.
Maybe they had and didn't talk about it? I don't know. Luckily, my absence wasn't missed. People kind of just filled the gap without much thought, and when I came back, it was a seamless fit. I wish the rest of the government ran this smoothly. Entry 12, December 25th. The mold on the walls has grown significantly, and large patches of this stuff have overtaken much of the lab. In any other circumstances, we'd get put on quarantine, but people keep working as if nothing is happening.
I don't know if this bit is in my head, but it also feels like people's skin is starting to reflect the color of the pulsating moldy walls. Morrison especially looks gray and puffy. He is also sweating a lot, tons of late. They all are. Despite this, productivity has never been better. No one talks about anything other than the project. Everyone comes early, stays late, and only eats what's needed to keep them functional. Though everyone else still keeps gaining weight somehow.
We've made massive breakthroughs in cell cultivation, and have hatched some eggs we had in cryo. Apparently, the new specimens look different than the one I saw. Not sure how. One of my coworkers came up to me today to ask the status of some reports. First smell was unbearable, the skin on the fatty tissue that had accumulated on what was once a slender neck was peeling badly. The yellowing of his eyes had reached the point where they were nearly amber.
The thick veins on his hands righed as if something was using them to move around his body. And he was just one case. Everyone has taken on as somewhat mutated version of what they once were. I keep my distance from all of them. I still can't get a hold of a bet, though I thought I heard someone mention his name with the word spawn. Mia is the only person here that seems normal, who knows for how long.
Entry 13, March 9. I've been plotting with me on how we can escape, and things are so deeply wrong here. The goal was to understand this thing, sequence its DNA, and determine if it has any benefits to humans. Now they're talking about producing more. They want more eggs and more tanks. Morrison is trying to see if other labs would be willing to host multiple specimens. He's even been so bold as to suggest that they can go to an aquarium or two or pass it off as a new species of octopus.
Why would we do any of that? The worst part is no one here has any objection. Everyone is unified on the goal of the project, which, to my very knowledge, has shifted dramatically since my first day here. Mia wanted to see if we could save any of this and go public. No good. All the data is heavily encrypted and would auto-dele on any attempt to copy it to another device.
We looked into various methods of saving information, but still, I don't need to tell you that the government has serious security protocols that the general public isn't aware of, and it may not be for another decade. As you would expect, no phones or cameras are allowed within miles of this place. The only thing I have is my logs, which I've opted to transcribe into a notebook and reassemble later.
Because of our respected statuses within the lab, we have access to specific databases, and it was in one of those we found that Abed was dead. His body was found in his room. Slimey's spores had taken root in his brain matter, grown through his skull, attached themselves to the wall, and crawled up the vents. The accompanying pictures were gruesome. What's worse, he wasn't the only one. So many of our co-workers have met a similar fate.
And the bastards here, they are tracking everything, thoroughly documenting the growths, measuring the stocks, taking samples, and trying to grow them in a lab. Worst of all, we may have found evidence to suggest that this all ties back to the creature we found. But why weren't Mia and I affected like the others? Or maybe a better question is, how many others are out there? In 314, April 13th. The good news is we've managed to track down other survivors from other parts of the lab.
All of them describe getting sick, just as Mia and I had. The bad news is there too far from where Mia and I are to safely meet consistently. The others have seemed to lost all sense of individuality. It's almost like they move as one. Sometimes they don't even need to use words to delegate or accept tasks. Any actions not in support of project goals are met with aggression. The only time I feel safe is in the confines of my room.
My candle stash also helps me forget the wafting aroma from the walls and desks. Anyway, from our efforts we are down to a team of 5. Mia, myself, the cell biology, Dr. Lave Shen, lead engineering specialist Sarah McCarthy and security officer Cameron Reeves. We were able to establish an encrypted group chat, though on government servers nothing you really do is safe, so we didn't have the benefit of saving messages from more than a couple of hours at a time.
That being said, we were still able to come up with a plan. From our collective knowledge, we learned that more sin than other directors were attempting to contact another lab to give them one of our hatch specimens. They'd be taking a convoy out at some point with a team of engineers and scientists who would train the lab on best practices along with a debrief of our findings. This would likely be our best time to move.
Not only would the lab have fewer personnel to stop us, but our co-workers' uniform thinking would probably mean they'd be too focused on ensuring this transport goes smoothly than worrying about a few people slipping out. Unfortunately, Cameron didn't have the authority to get us in and out of whatever door we wanted. However, as lead engineer, Sarah was privileged to request access to certain lab areas for maintenance checks.
Furthermore, director Shen had authority to approve such a request and could ask that Reeves be upgraded with a necessary clearance to most areas, including the exit. So, the plan was simple. We'd wait until the convoy was planning to leave. Ronde vune near the front and walk out the door. Easy, except for the 60-mile track from the lab to civilization, with armed security watching everyone who exits. That's where we'd have to get creative.
Technically, due to our contract, no one is allowed to leave the area unless given special permission approved by multiple parties. We would never be given that approval. Luckily, directors are given their own track vehicles to travel between different buildings. And maybe we could convince an external security that we're escorting Shen for a debrief. If we're lucky, they should only scan Shen and Cameron's ID cards for approval.
From there, we drive until we're out of shooting range, ditch the car, and hike back to civilization. After days of brainstorming, I'm disappointed this is what we came up with. After days of brainstorming, I'm disappointed this is what we came up with. We'll fine tune as time goes by. Doctors to not getting our brains eaten by spores. Entry 15 May 1st. Everything became very real today. Shen was able to get a date for the convoy. It's closer than expected.
In light of this, we decided to do our homework early. We tried to get Reeves the approvals he needed first. Meanwhile, Sarah would do her best to slow down the security system around the exit. She'd work with Reeves to time a mandatory system update and reset our escape. Me and I would direct staff towards complex and meaningless tasks. The goal ultimately was to keep everyone so preoccupied with busy work that they didn't notice us working behind the scenes.
Or unwittingly supporting some of the other plans we had in place. I've also been working extra to specifically slow down security resources needs and ensure that intensive project deadlines coincide with when we plan to escape. I don't know how on earth Cameron got access to these, but when I found an unmarked box at my door, I didn't know whether or not to open it.
Only when he sent a message to the group saying, three shots, emergencies only, did the pit and my stomach grow from a seed to a redwood. Inside was a small foldable gun about the size of a credit card. Three rounds of ammunition were stored into a tiny compartment on the weapon. Even staring at it now, I'm getting chills. Entry 16 June 3rd. Combining our time now, we're putting some finishing touches on our plan and waiting. Good thing too.
The mold has wholly overtaken the lab and attached to our electronics. It almost feels like it's breathing. Even if I'm immune to whatever this stuff is now, it surely can't be good to live with every day. I saw Morrison for the first time in a while. His eyes were gelatinous sacks with parasites pulsating in the fluid. At first I assumed the parasites completely blinded him, but from how he was watching us all, I felt that couldn't be further from the truth.
Every time one of us would move from our desk, one of his bulbous eyes would track us until something more interesting caught his attention. Save, for example, another fight breaking out in the lab. Fights were common now. Whenever someone was deemed to be slacking or actively detrimental to the good of the project, people would take it upon themselves to rectify the situation physically. It's not uncommon for this retribution to go too far.
I'm not sure where the bodies of those killed by the angry mobs go, but I have a hunch. But here's the thing, approval to be here is a long and archivist process. You would assume that every person, even if they are slacking a bit, is too important to lose. Oddly enough, that hasn't been the case. I've seen people literally have their limbs torn off in a fit of mob rage, only for someone completely new, or on occasion, the same person sitting in that same chair no more than 24 hours later.
This is going to sound crazy, but are they somehow fixing the people they've killed? Are they birthing them? I'm starting to wish we had more than an escape plan. This whole place needs to go up in flames. Entry 17, July 14. It's hard to describe the feeling of isolation I have here. My days are spent planning, pretending to support something I've grown to hate, and attempting to keep any semblance of the mold that has turned my co-workers into an autonomous hive mind out of my room.
Every day I look at the gun Cameron found for us, and I wonder if the only true freedom is sitting on my desk. I imagine others feel the same. How could they not? That being said, I'm no coward. Even if I were, I'm too prideful to let others on the outside turn my body into a puppet for the mold. But still, is this something I'll ever be free of? I haven't left this place in two years. I've been effectively cut off from the outside world. I don't know how things have changed.
Maybe there's some other societal parasite that's even worse than what's here. Have people grown to hate each other more? Is disease rampant? Will I appreciate the shifts in culture? There's so much that change is so fast that I feel I'll go from one isolated world to another. So the one out there has far jerk chicken and whiskey, so I guess it couldn't be too bad. I never thought I'd reach the point where far jerk chicken and whiskey are three-fourths of why I choose to stay alive.
Funny how life gets boiled down to the simplest things in the most dire moments, huh? But I mean it. I really do. Plus, I can always go crazy after my stomach is full. It might be a while before the next update, the date is rapidly approaching. I won't be able to write anything during all of this. I'm going to use the remaining time to prepare. If you don't see another update then...
Yeah, to whoever's hearing this, me, my future wife and kids, but whoever, regardless of what happens, know that I tried. Okay? I really did. Entry 18. September. It's been a while, over a year now. I'm going to be honest. A large part of me didn't want to come back to this. The whole ordeal felt and still feels like a nightmare. Or maybe a severe case of psychosis. Either way, I find myself feeling incredibly guilty for ignoring what happened.
And it's not like I can share government secrets with my therapist, so here I am. I suppose I'll start with the day of a convoy leaving. How much planning and preparation had gone into that day? As expected, the focus of the entire lab was moving the specimen to another location. Morrison and some other directors were part of the move. Shen and the remaining leadership would hang back and run operations in their absence. This was good for us.
As planned, Sara was able to get the exit door's maintenance request approved. Thanks to the damage she had done in the previous months, Shen had gotten Reeves the proper approvals to escort her to the exit. In real time, it would have seemed suspicious for Sara to fix the doors herself.
But as managers of our respective teams, all it took was a slightly heated conversation about how I needed her team back at the cell rejuvenation bay and that she could handle the simple task of the doors by herself. In order, backed by director Shen in person. Mia had a more difficult time moving around. Still, when I came around and informed everyone that I'd need about an hour of her time to discuss meeting operation goals, we were all there.
There was a slight hiccup when one of the replaced employees wouldn't leave. These guys were usually obsessed with working, so I wasn't sure why he needed to hang around and watch us. The answers came when he walked over. His face was all too familiar. Abed, or some twisted version of him, I think he knew what we were up to and he easily could have ratted us out. Part of me wanted to reach out and tell him to come with us to safety.
My anger and hatred for this place wouldn't allow me to leave someone that I'd grown so close to. How could I? Cameron however had different plans. He rushed Abed's clone, clasped his mouth around his hand and brought the credit card size gun to his temple. I couldn't hear too much, but I can make out the undeniable words of a very strong threat. I wanted so badly to rip Cameron off of Abed and punch his teeth and for attacking my friend. For a moment, I even took a step forward.
Luckily, my rational mind kicked in when I caught those amber eyes and realized my friend was gone. This was only an abominable imitation of the man I knew. After the scuffle, the two got up. The Abed clone looked at Mia and me and promptly left. Hopefully by the time he'd informed the others, if he informed the others, we'd be long gone.
In all honesty, outside of that, things went pretty smoothly with the security system out and the ever-present maggot-filled eyes of the other directors not on us at all times. The lab being relatively empty for the first time allowed us to get the doors open and slip out into the entrance hall without being noticed. This when we got outside, God, I'm still not past what we saw. It's a big reason why I never wanted to come back to this. There wasn't security outside.
In fact, I bet security hadn't been outside in months. It was a nest, an enormous moldy nest had wholly overtaken the entrance hall. Thousands of those octopus things in various stages of life were embedded in the nest with countless eggs, as we carefully walked by, almost in unison, they extended that sickening iridescent skin flap on their heads. It was blinding. The final door to the outside was nearly molded over, only a tiny crawlspace was available to us.
I remember we all just stared, not entirely sure what to do. Breaking the silence, I asked Shen where the car was. All he could do was return a blank expression. Mia tried the same while grabbing him by the shoulders. His only response was a faint. I created this. Cameron started shaking violently, saying no, no, no, as he sank to the ground. Immediately, a long tentacle grabbed him by the ankle and he screamed. I spun towards him, but there was nothing I could do.
A myriad of those creatures covered him in seconds. I panicked. I grabbed Mia and shouted for everyone to leave and rushed her towards the door. Sarah took a second, but was close behind us. I quickly looked back and saw Shen still refusing to move. I shouted again, but once more, it fell on death years. Ultimately, it'd be the last I'd ever see of him. I dove headfirst toward the opening.
Tiny tentacles curiously latched onto me, dread deeper than anything I had experienced before permeated my body, clawing at the hard ground in front of me until the tips of my fingers bled. I finally popped out on the other side with a primal scream. Behind me followed the distant sound of two rounds going off and Mia crawling out of the dirt. Sarah followed her with her arms extended. The things had gotten hold of her and they wanted her badly.
Mia and I each grabbed an arm and pulled them with so much force I was worried we'd end up dislocating her shoulders. But that was nothing compared to becoming food for an army of hell spawns. With a final heave, we pulled her out of the tiny space. With her came one of the cephalopods that began squirming violently in the dirt. In a rage, Sarah ran over and stomped on the thing repeatedly until it was nothing but an unrecognizable stain on the ground, screaming all the way.
She broke down after realizing the thing was dead. We got her to her feet and took one final look at what had become of our prison over the last two years. The outside had decayed much faster than a building of its kind should. And to meet and we'd see the octopus creatures poke out and into the sunlight only to recoil when the heat touched their skin. The last thing we'd heard before leaving for good was the undeniable sound of a gunshot. Climbing the gates was tedious but relatively easy.
Our most significant challenge to date was the vast barren wasteland we had to traverse. Without Chairman's car there wasn't an easy answer outside the obvious. We had to keep walking until we hit the highway. Slowly on my way out I grabbed a compass and some first aid and researched the nearest highway. I'll spare the details of what was a monotonous hike until we hit something.
After a mind numbing track and waiting by the road we eventually got picked up by some passerby and were dropped off at a town about 40 minutes off the road. We had done it. With any luck the federal government would consider us dead and we wouldn't have to answer for breaching our contracts. I don't feel comfortable explaining what happened to me or Sarah. Their stories aren't mine to tell. But I do still keep up with both of them. As you'd expect I had to essentially start my life over.
New identity, new location, new friends. Lying on my resume and keeping up those lies during interviews was challenging. But I'm in a decent spot now, financially. The nightmares have been brutal though. And the very real possibility that my health is forever impacted by being around that thing scares me to this day. The doctors say they can't find anything wrong with me, but I've been getting sick more frequently. And I swear I can feel something tiny tickle the back of my throat and my sleep.
Maybe I'm delusional. It's also tough not knowing what became of all that. Did they ever make it to the other labs? Are aquariums planning on debuting a new species of octopus? It bothers me. I wish I had the answers. Maybe someone listening to this is just waiting to come forward. I know I'm not the first to experience something like this. As I sit here with a half empty bowl of fah and jerk chicken on the side, I've decided to go public. Well, somewhat.
I'll absolutely be using a new alias or a proxy account to post all of this. But these experiences need to be shared. I've done enough damage to contribute to hell on earth. Let's see if we can do some good by giving people a heads up on what's happening, right? The truth is going to come out sooner or later. Sorry, I've been rambling for a bit now. And honestly, there's another shot of whiskey calling my name. This will likely be my last entry for a long time. And that's a good thing. Cheers.
And thank you for being here with me. Thank you.