Episode 6 - The Vrill Conspiracy - Strange Tales of the Unexplained

Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Strange tale.

Speaker 2 (00:02):
Tales of the early ex flame voices call the non
remain through the vel with fierce take hold. Secrets lie
in the darkened.

Speaker 1 (00:18):
Corn So listen close, Let the story unfold, the strange
and eerie, the brave and bold. Each week of tale

(00:40):
to ignite your mind. Strange tales of the unexplained. You'll find.

Speaker 3 (00:47):
The basement hummed with its usual symphony of failing electronics.
Three monitors casting their sick blue glow across Ethan's face,
while the overhead fluorescent stuttered. Every seventeen seconds he'd counted.
The energy drink pyramid beside his keyboard had grown another
level since midnight, aluminum soldiers standing guard over his descent

(01:09):
into digital madness. Jesus, Ethan, when's the last time you slept?
Nadia's voice crackled through his head, set tinny and distant,
despite being only three miles away in her apartment. You
sound like death warmed over. Sleep is for people who
aren't about to crack this whole thing wide open. Ethan's

(01:32):
fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up another shadow for him.
One of those places where u ur l's changed every
six hours and usernames meant nothing. His eyes burned, but
he couldn't stop now, not when he'd finally found it.
Listen to this posted forty three minutes ago by some
one calling themselves deep Throat twenty twenty four, real original.

(01:56):
The blood doesn't lie. They're changing from the inside out.
Started with transfusions at private clinics. Now it's spreading through
the DONA networks. Check the Senate medical disclosure forms if
you don't believe me. H A. L. E. Hale, as
in Senator Marcus Hale Nadia's typing echoed through the connection

(02:19):
the guy who just announced his Presidential Exploratory Committee the
very same Ethan pulled up another tab, cross referencing with
his conspiracy board, the physical one covering the basement's north wall,
red string connecting printed screen shots and newspaper clippings in
a pattern only he could decipher. Remember six months ago

(02:42):
when he had that minor cardiac event, hospitalized for three days,
came out looking twenty years younger. Every One noticed that
CNN ran a whole segment on his new workout routine,
right because a sixty year old man suddenly develops the
physique of a CrossFit instructor Through green smoothies and yoga.

(03:06):
Ethan's chair squeaked as he leaned back, the sound sharp
in the enclosed space. The basement air tasted stale, recycled
through the same cheap fan for weeks. But here's where
it gets interesting. I've been tracking these forum posts right,
different users, different sites, but there's a pattern. They all

(03:27):
mention the same symptoms in these political figures. Enhanced strength,
light sensitivity, dietary changes, dietary changes. They're not eating solid
food anymore, Nadia. These forum posts, they keep getting deleted
within hours, sometimes minutes, But I've been screen capping everything.

(03:51):
His fingers drummed against the desk, a nervous rhythm that
matched the fluorescence flicker. Look, I'm sending you the archive now.
Thread from two weeks ago mentions a staffer who saw
Hale drinking something from a medical bag in his office.
Another one talks about temperature anomalies. These people are running cold,
like ten degrees below normal body temp. Ethan. Nadia's voice

(04:17):
carried that careful tone she used when she thought he
was spiraling. This sounds like like vampire conspiracy bullshit, I know,
but Nadia, I found something else. He minimized the forum window,
pulling up an encrypted folder he'd been working on for
the past hour. Someone leaked a partial medical report. It's

(04:40):
heavily redacted, but the patient ID matches Hale's insurance records.
Don't ask how I know that? Look at the blood work.
The document filled his center monitor, black bars, obscuring most
of the text, but the lab results were partially visible.
Numbers that didn't make sense, hemoglobin levels that should have

(05:02):
killed a normal person, white cell counts that defied medical explanation.
Holy shit, Nadia breathed, Is this real? Downloaded it from
a medical whistleblower site that went dark twenty minutes later.
The whole domain just vanished, like it never existed. Ethan's

(05:23):
reflection caught in the black space between windows, hollow eyes,
three days, stubble, the look of someone who'd crossed from
determination into obsession. This is it, Nadia. This is the
proof that something is happening to these people. They're not
human anymore, or at least not entirely. We need to

(05:45):
be careful with this. Her keyboard clattered faster now, probably
backing up everything to multiple drives. If this is real,
if even half of what you're suggesting is true, then
we're talking about the biggest story in human history. Parasitic infection,

(06:06):
alien virus, actual vamporism. I don't know what it is yet,
but they're changing, and they're in positions of power. The
forum page refreshed automatically, and Ethan's blood chilled. The thread
was gone, not deleted with a removal notice, just gone,

(06:27):
like it had never existed. He refreshed again. Nothing, it's
happening again, he muttered, fingers flying to grab cached versions.
They're scrubbing it in real time. Someone's watching these forums
killing anything that mentions. A soft ping interrupted him. Private

(06:50):
message notification blinking orange in the corner of his screen,
username watching you, watch us. Don't click that, Nadia warned,
but Ethan was already opening it. Three words filled the
message window, Stop digging, Ethan. The basement suddenly felt smaller,

(07:14):
the walls pressing in with their collage of paranoia. Every
shadow cast by the monitors seemed to hide watching eyes.
The hum of electronics took on a predatory quality, like
something breathing in the walls. How do they know my name?
His voice came out steadier than he felt. This is

(07:35):
an anonymous account. Seven proxies Military grade VPN. Ethan shut
it down right now. We need to.

Speaker 1 (07:45):
No.

Speaker 3 (07:46):
The word came out, sharp, decisive, something crystallized in that moment,
sitting in his bunker, surrounded by the evidence of his obsession. No,
this is exactly what they want. They want us scared,
They want us to stop looking. But I've got the
receipts now, the medical files, the forum screenshots, all of it.

(08:08):
They just threatened you by name. This isn't a game anymore.
It never was. Ethan pulled up his streaming software, checking
the settings. His channel had been growing, fifteen thousand subscribers
who came for conspiracy theories and stayed for his manic energy.
In surprising charisma, I'm going live tonight midnight. I'll lay

(08:30):
it all out, every piece of evidence. That's suicide. If
these people are what you think they are, if they
have the power to scrub the Internet in real time,
what do you think they'll do to you. Ethan's hand
hovered over the mouse cursor, blinking over the schedule stream button.

(08:51):
The fluorescent light stuttered again, throwing his shadow in duplicate
across the cluttered desk. Empty cans rattled as the fan
kicked in higher gear, trying to combat the heat from
three computers running over time. The air smelled like burnt
circuits and desperation. They're already watching, he said quietly. Might

(09:14):
as well give them something worth seeing. He clicked the button.
Stream scheduled exposed the VRILL infection in Washington, irrefutable proof,
Senator Hale and others set for midnight Eastern. You're really
doing this. It wasn't a question. Document everything on your end,

(09:39):
multiple back ups, dead man's switches, the works. Ethan started
organizing his evidence folders, preparing his presentation. If something happens
to me, if the stream cuts out, you dump everything
to wiki leaks, every alternative news sight anywhere. That will
another ping, same username, new message. This time it wasn't words.

(10:08):
It was a photo Ethan's apartment building, taken from across
the street. His basement window, the small one at ground level,
circled in red. They know where I live, he said,
surprising himself with how calm he sounded. They're watching me
right now. Get out, Get out of there, right now.

(10:31):
But Ethan was already standing, moving to the window. Through
the grimy glass and security bars, the street looked normal,
parked cars, street lights, the usual urban midnight emptiness, except
there a shadow that didn't match the others. Too deliberate,
too Still, no, he said, returning to his desk. Running

(10:57):
means they win. Besides, where would I go? If they
can find me here, they can find me anywhere. This
is insane. You're going to get yourself killed over YouTube views.
It's not about views. Ethan pulled up the medical report again,
staring at those impossible numbers. It's about the truth. Something

(11:21):
is happening to our leaders, Nadia, something that changes them
on a fundamental level. And if I'm right, if this
rill thing is real, then we're already living in a nightmare.
We just don't know it yet. The chat window blinked again,
watching you watch us, was typing whatever you think you know?

(11:45):
The message appeared letter by letter. You're not prepared for
what comes next. The Gala Capitol Building tomorrow night. Come
see for yourself if you dare. Then the account disappeared,
deleted or blocked. Ethan couldn't tell which. The Capital Gala,

(12:07):
Nadia said slowly, that's the fundraiser. Every major politician in
the city will be there, including Senator Hale Ethan's mind raced,
possibilities and dangers swirling together. They're inviting me? Why would
they It's a trap? Obviously it's a trap, or it's

(12:29):
a challenge. They think I won't show. He pulled up
the Galas press information black tie invitation only security tighter
than the White House. But what if I did? What
if I got in there with a camera, caught them
in the act, caught them doing what being politicians at

(12:51):
a fancy party. No, Ethan minimized everything except the medical report,
focusing on one particularular notation he'd almost missed. Look at
this patient exhibits photosensitive retinal anomaly. Recommendation avoid direct flash photography.

(13:12):
You think their eyes will show something on camera. I
think that's why they're inviting me. They want to see
if I'm stupid enough to try. A smile crept across
his face, the kind that made Nadia worry. Good thing,
I'm exactly that stupid Ethan. Please, But he was already

(13:35):
pulling up his press credentials, the ones from his brief
stint as a tech blogger before everything went sideways. They
were three years out of date, but with some creative
photoshop work, his screen flickered suddenly all three monitors going
dark for a heartbeat before returning. In that moment of darkness,

(13:57):
Ethan could have sworn he saw a face reflect did
in the black screen, not his own. When the displays stabilized,
a new message waited in his inbox. No sender address,
no subject line, just five words, stop before they notice you.

(14:17):
The basement felt alive with invisible watchers, every shadow a
potential threat, every electronic hum of possible tap. But Ethan
Cole Truth Secret eighty seven had gone too far to stop. Now.
His fingers moved across the keyboard, updating his stream title

(14:37):
Live from the Capital Gala. You won't believe what I found.
The fluorescent light gave one last stutter and died, leaving
him in the cold glow of his monitors. In that
electronic twilight, surrounded by his maps of connection and conspiracy,
Ethan made his choice. Tomorrow night, he would walk into

(15:01):
their world. Tonight he had evidence to prepare. The marble

(15:25):
floor gleamed beneath his feet, polished to a mirror finish
that caught the light from three massive chandeliers overhead, Ethan
Cole adjusted the press badge clipped to his jacket, a forgery.
Nadia had crafted with impressive attention to detail, and lifted
his champagne flute to his lips without drinking. The bubbles

(15:46):
tickled his nose, but he couldn't risk dulling his senses,
not tonight. Through the earpiece hidden beneath his hair, Nadia's
voice crackled softly, feeds looking good. Whatever camera you're using,
it's picking up everything. Ethan touched his collar, feeling the

(16:07):
pinhole lens embedded in his lapel pin Around him, Washington's
elite mingled in their natural habitat, a world of Armani
suits and Versace gowns, where million dollar deals were sealed
with hand shakes between SIPs of dom perignon. The Capital
Gala Hall stretched before him, its vaulted ceilings adorned with

(16:30):
Renaissance style frescoes that depicted scenes of American triumph. But
beneath the gilded surface, something felt wrong. The warmth from
the chandeliers couldn't quite chase away the chill that had
settled into his bones since he'd walked through security. There,

(16:50):
he murmured, barely moving his lips. Ten o'clock. Senator Hale
Marcus Hale stood near the grand staircase, surrounded by a
cluster of admirers. Even from across the room, Ethan could
see why people were drawn to him. The Senator moved
with a vitality that seemed impossible for a man of sixty,

(17:12):
his gestures fluid, his laughter rich and commanding. When he
turned his head, the light caught something in his eyes,
just for a moment, a flicker of something that shouldn't
be there. Did you see that, Ethan whispered, See what?
The feed glitched for a second. Nadia's typing echoed through

(17:35):
the earpiece. Wait, I'm rewinding, Holy shit, Ethan his eyes,
I know. Ethan began weaving through the crowd, keeping his
movements casual, touristic. A waiter passed with a tray of
cannopes that smelled of truffle oil and something metallic. Underneath.

(17:56):
Ethan's stomach turned. I need to get close, sir. The
crowd thickened as he approached the senator's circle. Perfume and
cologne mingled into a cloying cloud that made his eyes water.
A woman in emerald silk brushed past him, her skin
so pale it seemed translucent under the lights. She paused,

(18:19):
looking back at him with an expression he couldn't quite read,
before disappearing into the throng. Ethan, your heart rates spiking,
Nadia warned, Stay calm, You're just a journalist covering a gala.
He forced his breathing to slow, focusing on the Senator.

(18:41):
Hale was telling a story about a recent trip to
Eastern Europe, his audience hanging on every word. But Ethan
noticed the details others missed how Hale's hand never quite
touched his champagne glass, how his smile never reached those strange,
gleaming eyes. And that's when I realized Hale was saying,

(19:03):
his voice carrying that practiced politician's cadence, that true power
isn't about what you take, It's about what you're willing
to transform into. The words sent ice through Ethan's veins.
He raised his phone, pretending to check messages while actually
switching to video mode. Through the screen, he zoomed in

(19:26):
on Hale's face. The senator turned and, for one perfect moment,
looked directly at Ethan's camera. The eyes that stared back
weren't human. They gleamed with an inner light, like hot
coals buried under ash. The pupils were wrong, too vertical,

(19:47):
too narrow. Then Hale blinked and they were normal again.
But Ethan had it, he had the proof. Jesus Christ,
naughty A breathed in his ear I'm saving everything to
three different drives. This is this is real. A hand

(20:11):
landed on Ethan's shoulder. He nearly dropped his phone, spinning
to find a security guard in an ear piece, regarding
him with professional suspicion. Sir, I'll need to see your
press credentials again. Of course, Ethan fumbled for his badge,
hyper aware of every movement. The guard studied it, then

(20:34):
looked at Ethan's face, comparing it to something on his tablet.
Around them, the party continued its elegant dance. Laughter tinkled
like breaking glass. The chandeliers cast shadows that seemed to
move independently of their sources, and through it all Ethan
felt eyes on him, not just the guards, others watching waiting.

(21:00):
You're with the Independent Tribune, the guard asked, freelance. Ethan replied,
surprised by how steady his voice sounded, covering the charity
auction for their society pages. The guard's finger hovered over
his tablet. In that moment of suspension, Ethan noticed movement

(21:21):
in his peripheral vision. Three more security personnel were converging
on his position, moving through the crowd with practiced efficiency.
There seems to be a problem with your verification, the
guard said, must be a database error. I can call
my editor. That won't be necessary. The voice came from

(21:44):
behind him. Senator Hale stood there, champagne flute in hand,
that political smile perfectly in place. This young man interviewed
me last month for a piece on infrastructure spending. Isn't
that right, mister call Ethan managed Ethan coal. Of course.

(22:05):
Hale's eyes held his for a moment too long. Up close,
Ethan could smell something wrong about him, something organic and
rotting beneath expensive cologne. Mister Cole was quite thorough in
his questions, very perceptive. The god hesitated, then stepped back.

(22:26):
My apologies, Senator, No apology needed. We can never be
too careful these days. Hale turned that unsettling gaze back
to Ethan. Walk with me, mister Cole, I believe the
auction is about to begin. It wasn't a request. Ethan
fell into step beside the Senator, aware of how the

(22:48):
crowd parted for them. How conversations died as they passed.
The marble floor reflected their images like a dark mirror,
you know, Hale said conversationally. There's something to be said
for traditional journalism, boots on the ground, eyes on the subject.

(23:09):
He paused by a window overlooking the city lights. But
sometimes journalists see things they shouldn't, things that could be misinterpreted.
I just report what I observe, Senator, do you Hale's
reflection in the window was wrong somehow, the proportion's off,

(23:32):
the shadow too deep, because observation without context is just
conspiracy theory, and we both know how dangerous those can be.
In his ear, Nadia whispered urgently, Ethan, get out. Something's
wrong with the feed. It's like something's trying to trace.

(23:54):
The ear piece went dead. Hale smiled, and for just
a moment, Ethan saw something move behind his teeth, something
that shouldn't be there. Technology is so unreliable, isn't it.
But don't worry. Your broadcast is still running. We wouldn't

(24:14):
want your viewers to miss anything important. The threat was
silk wrapped but unmistakable. Around them. Ethan became aware of
how many guests had stopped their conversations. How many faces
had turned their way? The woman in emerald silk stood
by the staircase watching a congressman he recognized from the

(24:37):
news had the same strange gleam in his eyes. They
were everywhere I should go, Ethan said, early deadline, of course,
But mister cole Hale leaned in close enough that Ethan
could feel the cold radiating from his skin. Be very careful,

(24:59):
what story as you choose to tell. Some truths are
better left buried. Ethan backed away, then turned and walked,
not ran, walked toward the exit. Every instinct screamed at
him to bolt, but he forced himself to maintain the
facade behind him. He heard Hale's laughter, rich and dark

(25:21):
as aged wine. The security guards at the door didn't
stop him, but their eyes tracked his movement. The night
air hit him like a slap. When he finally made
it outside, his hands shook as he pulled out his phone,
checking the recording. Still there, still saved three blocks away

(25:43):
in an alley that reeked of garbage and rain. Ethan
finally stopped and played back the footage. Frame by frame.
He watched Senator Hale's transformation, the inhuman eyes, the thing
behind his teeth. It was all there, undeniable. His phone
buzzed with a notification the live stream chat was exploding.

(26:06):
Hundreds of comments flooded in, but one stood out, highlighted
by Nadia's moderator status. They're everywhere. Another buzz, a private
message from an unknown number. Check your studio now. Ethan ran, then,
his footsteps echoing off wet pavement. Behind him, the capital,

(26:29):
Galah Hall blazed with light, a beacon of power and corruption.
But he had what he came for, the proof, the
truth that writhed beneath Washington's polished surface. As he reached
his car, fumbling for the keys with numb fingers, he
caught a glimpse of movement in the rear view mirror,

(26:50):
Shadows that shouldn't be there, Shapes that didn't match the architecture.
They knew who he was, now, where he lived, what
he was trying to do. The engine roared to life,
and Ethan peeled out into traffic, his mind already racing
ahead to the studio, to Nadia, to the analysis that

(27:12):
would blow this whole thing wide open. The footage played
on repeat in his mind. Those gleaming inhuman eyes that
confirmed everything he'd suspected. His phone continued buzzing with notifications,
the live stream viewer count climbing into the thousands, But

(27:32):
underneath the excitement, beneath the vindication, a cold certainty settled
into his bones. This was just the beginning, and back
in his basement, surrounded by his charts and theories, the
real work would begin. The fluorescent bulb overhead gave another

(28:12):
dying flicker, casting Ethan's face in alternating waves of harsh
white and shadow. His fingers flew across the keyboard, the
clatter mixing with the perpetual hum of cooling fans that
kept his wall of monitors from overheating. The basement felt
smaller tonight, the red string connecting newspaper clippings and printed

(28:34):
screenshots seeming to pulse in his peripheral vision like exposed veins.
Frame two forty seven. Ethan muttered, leaning so close to
the center monitor that his breath fogged the screen. Right there,
you see it. Nadia shifted her weight in the folding

(28:54):
chair beside him, the metal groaning under the movement. She'd
been here three hours already, empty energy drink cans forming
a defensive perimeter around her laptop. The Galla footage played
for what had to be the fortieth time. Shaky hand
held the kind of video that would normally get laughed
out of any serious forum. But this frame, Holy shit,

(29:20):
she whispered. His eyes. Senator Marcus Hale's face filled the screen,
frozen mid conversation with some pharmaceutical executive. The champagne flute
in his hand caught the chandelier light perfectly, but his eyes,
his eyes were wrong, not just the usual politician's dead stare,

(29:42):
but something else, a metallic sheen, like oil on water
that shouldn't have been possible with the camera's resolution. Watch this.
Ethan's fingers danced across hot keys, isolating the iris, enhancing sharpening.
The basement's buzzing lights seemed to drone louder as the

(30:02):
image clarified. I ran it through three different programs. No artifacts,
no compression errors. This is real. The enhanced image revealed
what looked like a secondary membrane, translucent and rippling, sliding
across Hale's eye for exactly four frames before disappearing. Nadia's

(30:25):
laptop chirped. Another notification from the forums threads blowing up,
she said, scrolling rapidly. User black Box seventy seven says
he caught similar footage at a fundraiser in Denver. Midnight.
Watcher has three separate incidents from DC. Her fingers paused, wait,

(30:47):
where'd it go? What do you mean the thread? It's
She refreshed the page error four O four, it's gone.
The whole discussion just deleted. Ethan spun in his squeaky
office chair to face his secondary monitor, pulling up cached

(31:08):
versions of the forum. They're moving fast tonight. That's the
third thread in two hours. His fingers flew across the keyboard, screenshots,
capturing everything before it could vanish. Someone really doesn't want
this getting out. The router in the corner gave an
unusual click, its lights flickering from green to amber. Ethan's

(31:31):
live stream overlay stuttered, the viewer count jumping erratically eight
forty seven, twelve O three, five eighty two numbers That
made no sense. That's not right, Nadia said, her voice tight.
She pulled up the network. Diagnostics on her laptop were
getting hammered. Massive traffic spike. But it's not viewers, it's

(31:58):
the main monitor went black, then the second. The third
held for a moment longer before succumbing to the same
digital death. Only Nadia's laptop screen remained, casting them both
in pale blue light. Distributed denial of service, she said,
fingers flying across her keyboard, but targeted surgical. They're not

(32:21):
trying to take us completely off line. Just the monitors
blazed back to life, but the footage was gone. Every file,
every screen shot, every cased forum post deleted, except for
one folder, sitting alone on the desk top like a
taunt back up final. Ethan clicked it with trembling fingers.

(32:46):
The Senator's transformed eye filled the screen again, that impossible membrane,
frozen in perfect clarity. They missed one, he breathed, or
they wanted us to keep it. A soft ping from
Nadia's laptop a new message in the forum's private system
from a username neither of them recognized. Watching you watch,

(33:13):
don't open it, Ethan said, But Nadia had already clicked
three words stop digging. Please, please, Ethan laughed, the sound
sharp and bitter in the basement's recycled air. Since when
do they say please? Since they started getting scared, Nadia

(33:35):
said quietly. She was tracking the messages metadata, her expression
growing increasingly concerned. Ethan. This originated from inside the Senate's
IP range. Someone on the inside sent this. The fluorescent
light gave another flicker, longer, this time in the darkness.

(33:56):
Between pulses, Ethan could swear he saw the red strings
on his conspiracy wall moving, reorganizing themselves into new patterns.
When the light steadied, everything was exactly as before. Almost
one pushpin had fallen to the floor, the tiny sound
of its impact somehow louder than it should have been.

(34:19):
We go live tonight, Ethan said, his jaw set midnight stream,
full exposure. Ethan, that's insane. If they're already inside our systems,
then we've got nothing left to lose. He pulled up
his streaming software, fingers moving with practiced efficiency. Besides, I've

(34:40):
got back ups. They don't know about physical drives off network.
Old school paranoia pays off. Nadia watched him work, her
expression caught between admiration and concern. You know they'll come
after you, not just digitally. That four post a red

(35:01):
eye hunter. He went dark three days after posting similar footage.
No one's heard from him since. Good thing. I'm not him.
Ethan's chair squeaked as he leaned back, studying his wall
of connections. Look at this pattern, Nadia. Every disappeared whistleblower,

(35:21):
every scrubbed video, every deleted thread. They all happened during
standard business hours, nine to five operations. But midnight shift change,
Nadia finished, understanding dawning on her face. Skeleton crew less oversight. Exactly,

(35:44):
we hit them when they're weakest, he gestured at the
enhanced eye footage still dominating his screen. This is bigger
than just hail the medical reports you pulled yesterday, the
blood anomaly patterns. It's systematic, organized, and if other people
are seeing it too. Another ping, this time from Ethan's

(36:07):
streaming platform, a subscriber notification, but the username made them
both freeze. Hale office official, No way, Nadia whispered, that
can't be real. Ethan clicked the profile verified check mark.
Official Senate account joined his channel thirty seconds ago. The

(36:32):
basement suddenly felt colder, the humming of electronics taking on
a more ominous tone. The red strings on the wall
seemed to converge on a single point. A newspaper photo
of Senator Hale at last year's State of the Union,
his eyes catching the camera flash in a way that
now seemed decidedly unnatural. They're watching us, watch them, Ethan said, slowly, Fine,

(36:57):
let them watch this. He began setting up the live stream,
adjusting cameras, testing audio levels. The normalcy of the routine
was almost comforting against the growing weight of unseen eyes.
Nadia worked beside him, reenforcing their digital defenses, setting up
mirror streams on back up platforms. Ethan, she said, suddenly,

(37:24):
her laptop screen reflecting in her widened eyes, look at
the viewer list for tonight's scheduled stream. He leaned over.
The pre show waiting room already had three hundred viewersqueued up,
but the user names truth Seeker terminated, deleted, user ziuzo
o one accounts suspended, forty seven dead accounts, purged profiles,

(37:49):
digital ghosts, somehow maintaining a presence. That's impossible, he said,
unless some one's resurrecting them. Making a statement, Nadia's fingers
trembled slightly as she typed Ethan, I think we're not
the only ones planning something for midnight. The router clicked again.

(38:12):
This time, all the lights went red for exactly three
seconds before returning to normal. In those three seconds, every
screen in the basement displayed the same image Senator Hale's
transformed eye, but now it was looking directly at them,
the membrane fully extended, revealing something underneath that wasn't quite human.

(38:35):
When the screens returned to normal, a new file had
appeared on Ethan's desktop, Watch your Window, dem p. Four.
Neither of them moved to open it. They didn't need to,
because in the sudden silence that followed, with even the
electronic hum seeming to hold its breath, they both heard it.

(38:57):
A soft tap against the basement window, the one that
should have been completely underground, covered by years of soil
and neglect. Tap tap tap. Ethan's stream overlay showed five
minutes until midnight, five minutes until he would expose everything

(39:18):
to whoever or whatever was listening. Ethan Nadia's voice was
barely above a whisper, her eyes fixed on her laptop screen,
where the live stream chat had begun populating with messages
from accounts that shouldn't exist. The last message from a

(39:38):
user named simply Watching, made Ethan's blood run cold. Ethan,
check your window. The wind hit Ethan's face like a

(40:08):
cold slap as he pushed through the rooftop access door,
his laptop bag bouncing against his hip. The city stretched
out below, a maze of neon veins pulsing through concrete
arteries fifteen stories down. Up here, the HVAC units hummed
their mechanical mantras, punctuated by the distant wail of sirens

(40:31):
that never seemed to stop anymore. Are you in position?
Nadia's voice crackled through his earpiece. Tinney and concerned, almost,
Ethan moved toward the roof's edge, where a low concrete
barrier offered minimal protection from the drop. His sneakers scraped

(40:52):
against the gravel surface. Give me thirty seconds to set up.
The laptop came out first, then the portable ring light
that would make him visible to his viewers despite the darkness.
His hands moved with practiced efficiency, muscle memory from hundreds
of streams, though none quite like this. The convoy footage

(41:15):
from earlier still burned in his mind. Those black SUV's
moving through restricted zones like sharks through dark water. Ethan,
I'm seeing weird traffic on our server. Someone's probing our
defenses again. Let them probe, He adjusted, the camera angle,

(41:35):
capturing both himself and the city scape behind him. The
neon signs below painted his face in shifting reds and blues.
Were live in sixty seconds. A gust of wind nearly
knocked over his ring light. He steadied it, feeling the
exposed metal cold against his palm. The city's symphony rose

(41:56):
up to meet him, car horns, distant music, the amens,
a present drone of air conditioners fighting the night heat.
Somewhere out there, in climate controlled boardrooms and private clubs,
the infected elite were making decisions that would shape tomorrow's headlines.
Going live now, the red recording light blinked on. Ethan's

(42:22):
practiced streaming persona slipped into place like a mask. Truth seekers,
We're coming to you live from downtown Skyline because they've
made it impossible to broadcast from anywhere else. His voice
carried that perfect blend of urgency and control that kept
viewers glued to their screens. What you're about to see.

(42:46):
A shadow moved in his peripheral vision. Just a flicker
near the access door is proof that the convoy movements
we've been tracking aren't isolated incidents. He kept talking, but
his eyes darted left nothing there now, just the door
slightly ajar creaking in the wind. Had he left it open?

(43:09):
Ethan Nadia's voice tightened. Your viewer count is spiking three thousand,
four Jesus five thousand already. The comments rolled in faster
than he could read them. He caught fragments. They're watching
you and check behind you. And this is real, folks.

(43:34):
Look at this. He turned the laptop screen toward the camera,
showing the footage he'd captured earlier from this very rooftop
black SUV's government plates moving through quarantine zones without stopping
for checkpoints. Count them seven vehicles, all with tinted windows
so dark they violate city ordinances. The wind picked up again,

(43:57):
carrying the acrid smell of exhaust and something else, something
organic and wrong, like meat left too long in the sun.
Now watch this part carefully. He zoomed in on the
lead vehicle. See that figure in the back seat, the
way the light catches their eyes. For just a second,

(44:20):
the stream flickered, Static crawled across the screen like digital insects.
What the Ethan's fingers flew across the keyboard. The connection
held barely. We're being hit with a dedias attack. Nadia said,
I'm re routing through our back up servers. The shadow

(44:41):
moved again. This time Ethan was certain some one else
was on the roof. Keep streaming, he muttered, adjusting the
camera to capture a wider angle. His hands trembled slightly
as he continued. They don't want you to see this.
They're literally trying to shut us down as I speak.

(45:03):
Six thousand viewers now seven. The chat exploded with warnings, support, skepticism.
Someone donated fifty dollars with the message get to safety now.
I'm going to show you something else. Ethan pulled up
another file, his fingers less steady. Now, medical transports to

(45:27):
private facilities, all in the last forty eight hours, all
carrying high level officials who supposedly had exhaustion or minor
medical procedures. But look at the timing. The laptop screen
went black. No, no, no, He hammered at the keys.

(45:47):
The screen flickered back to life, but the stream was frozen.
His own face stared back at him, mouth open, mid word,
captured in that liminal moment between revelation and silence, Ethan,
I've lost your feed, Ethan. The HVAC unit seemed louder now,

(46:09):
their rhythm like massive mechanical lungs, or maybe that was
his own breathing too fast, too shallow. Movement again definite.
This time a figure stepped out from behind one of
the air conditioning units, maybe twenty feet away, just standing

(46:29):
there watching streams back up. Nadia announced, but we've lost
two thousand viewers. Whatever hit us, it was surgical. Ethan
forced himself to look at the camera, not at the figure.
We're back truth seekers. Technical difficulties, but they can't stop
the signal. His voice cracked slightly on the last word.

(46:55):
The figure took a step closer. Now Ethan could make
out detail, a dark suit, expensive shoes that somehow made
no sound on the gravel. The face remained in shadow.
I'm going to continue with the evidence. Ethan's mouth was
desert dry. These convoy roots all converge on three locations,

(47:18):
private medical facilities that don't appear on any city planning documents.
Another step closer, the figure's head tilted slightly, as if
listening to something Ethan couldn't hear. The infrastructure is already
in place. Ethan continued, his words, coming faster. Now they've
been planning this for months, maybe years. The vrial infiltration

(47:42):
isn't random, it's systematic, targeted, designed to the stream cut
out again. This time the laptop screen showed only static. Ethan,
get out of there. Nadia's voice pitched high with pass
I'm seeing security cameras going dark all around your building.

(48:05):
It's like someone's creating a blind spot. The figure was
ten feet away, now, close enough that Ethan could see
the unnatural sheen to their eyes even in the darkness,
close enough to hear them breathing or not breathing, the
absence of breath where breath should be. Ethan's hand found

(48:27):
the laptop muscle memory, guiding him to the back up
streaming protocol. The screen blazed back to life. Eight thousand
viewers now, the chat scrolling too fast to read. This
is what they don't want you to see, he said,
turning the camera toward the approaching figure. This is what

(48:49):
happens when you get too close to the truth. The
figure stopped for a moment. They stood frozen in the
camera's unforgiving eye. Then, fast as thought, they moved not
toward Ethan but past him, melting back into the shadows
near the roof's edge. Did you see that? Ethan spun

(49:13):
the camera, trying to track the movement. Did you fucking
see that, Ethan? There's another one southwest corner. He pivoted,
another shadow, another suggestion of movement. The wind carried whispers now,
or maybe that was just the blood rushing in his ears.

(49:36):
There surrounding me. He kept the camera rolling, kept his
voice steady, despite the tremor in his hands. Whatever happens next,
you're witnessing it live. This is the proof. This is
A hand fell on his shoulder, cold even through his jacket.

(49:57):
Ethan spun, camera swinging wildly. The live stream captured a
blur of motion, darkness, the city light spinning like a kaleidoscope,
then stability again as he backed against the concrete barrier,
laptop clutched against his chest. You shouldn't be here. The

(50:17):
voice was soft, cultured, with an undertone that made Ethan's
skin crawl. The figure from before stood just out of frame.
Their presence felt more than seen. Neither should you, Ethan managed.
The stream held steady now nine thousand viewers ten. The

(50:38):
chat had gone silent, as if the entire audience was
holding its breath. This broadcast ends now. The voice said,
the truth doesn't end. Ethan adjusted the camera angle, catching
just the edge of an expensive suit, a pale hand.

(50:59):
It just finds new ways to surface. The figure leaned closer,
still staying just out of clear view. You have no
idea what you're really exposing, the danger you're creating for
who you them, Ethan gestured at the city below, or

(51:21):
for the people who deserve to know what's happening to
their leaders, their institutions. A long pause, the wind howled
between them, carrying the scent of rain that hadn't fallen
yet for every one, The figure said. Finally, then they
were gone, moving with that impossible speed, leaving only the

(51:44):
sensation of cold and wrongness in their wake. Ethan stood
alone on the rooftop camera, still rolling, heart hammering against
his ribs. The city sprawled below, unchanged and unaware. I'm
coming back down, he told the camera, told Nadia, told

(52:04):
the eleven thousand viewers now watching. We have work to do.
The network is bigger than we thought. The infiltration runs deeper,
but we have the footage. Now, we have proof. He
began packing up his equipment with shaking hands. As he
turned toward the access door. The camera caught one last image,

(52:25):
a silhouette in a window of the building across the street, watching,
then another and another. The whispered voice carried on the wind,
so soft the stream barely caught it. You shouldn't be here,
but Ethan was already moving toward the door, toward the

(52:45):
basement command center, where thicker walls and encrypted connections might
offer some protection. The live stream continued, capturing his descent
into darkness, the echo of his footsteps in the stairwell
mixing with Nadia's urgent voice in his ear. Ethan, I've
got the convoy footage backed up to seven different servers,

(53:08):
but there's something else. The timestamps match with Senate voting
records every single time they line up with The camera
feed stuttered once more before stabilizing. Ethan's face illuminated by
the laptop screen as he reached the stairwell. Keep analyzing,
he said, We're going to expose every last connection. Behind him,

(53:32):
barely visible in the laptop's glow, another shadow shifted in
the doorway. The monitors flickered in sequence, three rapid pulses,

(53:58):
then darkness, then light again. Ethan's fingers hovered over the
keyboard trembling slightly as another deletion notification popped up in
the corner of his screen. Forum Post eight eight four
seven removed, Forum Post eight eight forty eight removed. The
basement's fluorescent tubes hummed their familiar drone, But tonight it

(54:22):
felt like the walls themselves were buzzing with tension. Got it,
Nadia whispered, her voice, cutting through the electronic symphony of
cooling fans and hard drive clicks. She'd been hunched over
her laptop for three hours straight, working through layers of
encryption that would have made most hackers give up. After
ten minutes, a strand of dark hair fell across her

(54:45):
face as she leaned closer to the screen. Jesus Christ Ethan,
these files? What Ethan spun in his squeaky office chair,
nearly knocking over a tower of energy drink can The
aluminum clattered against concrete, the sound sharp in the confined space.

(55:07):
Red string criss crossed the wall behind him, connecting printouts
and photographs in a pattern that only made sense to him.
Senator Hale's Gala appearance, the convoy roots, time stamps of
deleted forum posts, medical records, classified ones, Nadia's fingers flew

(55:27):
across her keyboard, pulling up document after document. The blue
light from her screen cast shadows under her eyes, making
her look older than her thirty four years. That follower
who sent these cryptic truth ninety nine or whatever, they
weren't messing around. This is from Walter Reid, from the CDC,

(55:49):
From places that don't officially exist. Ethan rolled closer his chair,
protesting with each rotation. The basement air felt thicker, southerly,
laden with the smell of old pizza boxes and electronic heat.
Show me. The first file opened a blood analysis report

(56:11):
dated three weeks ago. Patient name redacted, but the physician's
notes were intact. Hemoglobin structure altered at molecular level, parasitic
organisms present in sample, behavior consistent with previously theoretical VRILL
taxonomy VRILL. Ethan breathed the word like a prayer. They

(56:33):
actually wrote it down. They documented it. Keep reading. Nadia
scrolled down her jaw tight. The next section showed microscopic
images blood cells that looked wrong, twisted with dark tendrils
extending from their surfaces. Look at the metadata on these photos.

(56:55):
Ethan squinted at the time stamp and location data medical
office two days before Hale's energy bill speech, the one
where he seemed so different. Yeah. Nadia pulled up a
second file, this one showing brain scans. The hippocampus glowed
with unnatural activity, synaptic patterns that resembled infection more than thought.

(57:21):
Seventeen subjects documented here, all high level government officials, all
showing the same alterations. The radio in the corner crackled
with static, picking up fragments of late night talk shows.
Through the interference. Ethan barely noticed his world had narrowed
to these documents, to the proof he'd been chasing for months.

(57:44):
He grabbed his phone started recording his screen. Don't, Nadia warned,
not yet, There's more. She opened a folder labeled progression Stages.
Inside were videos, each one time stamp and clinically labeled.
Ethan clicked the first one. A man in a hospital

(58:05):
gown sat in a sterile white room, his face pixelated,
but his body language unmistakable, the same predatory stillness he'd
seen in Senator Hale at the gala. The man's eyes,
even through the digital blur, held that distinctive gleam. Stage one,
a voice said off camera. In the video, subject shows

(58:28):
increased strength, enhanced sensory perception, and marked personality changes. Empathy
markers have decreased by seventy percent. The video cut to
another angle. The subject's mouth opened, and for a fraction
of a second, Ethan saw them fangs, elongated canines that

(58:50):
caught the harsh medical lighting. Holy shit, Ethan whispered. His
hand shook as he screenshot everything. His external drives whirring
as they say, save copies upon copies, This is it,
this is everything. Ethan Nadia's voice had an edge. Now,
look at the forum. He minimized the medical files, pulled

(59:15):
up their monitoring dashboard. The conspiracy forum they'd been tracking,
usually a chaotic stream of theories and arguments, was hemorrhaging
posts in real time. Entire threads, vanishing users being banned,
years of discussion erased in seconds. They're purging everything, Nadia said,

(59:38):
Every mention of VRILL, every reference to the medical leaks,
every the notification sound made them both jump. Ethan's YouTube
creator studio had sent an alert. He clicked it with
growing dread Your channel Truth Secret eighty seven has been

(59:58):
temporarily suspended for violating community guidelines reason spreading harmful misinformation.
Duration indefinite, pending review.

Speaker 1 (01:00:12):
No.

Speaker 3 (01:00:13):
Ethan slammed his fist on the desk. The monitors shook,
and somewhere in the maze of cables, something disconnected and
reconnected with an electronic hiccup. No, no, no, I have
eight hundred thousand subscribers. They can't just they just did.
Nadia was already checking their backups, their mirror sights, their

(01:00:35):
alternative platforms, one by one, access denied accounts, suspended content removed.
The basement felt smaller. Suddenly, the walls, with their conspiracy
maps pressing in the fluorescent light above them, flickered once twice,
casting moving shadows that made the red string look like

(01:00:59):
blood vessels. Ethan stood up, pacing the narrow pathway between
equipment stacks. They're scared, he said, his voice gaining strength.
They wouldn't be doing this if we weren't close, if
these files weren't real, or they're just very thorough, Naddia countered,

(01:01:20):
but she was already working on solutions, her fingers dancing
across keyboards. I can set up proxy channels, use VPNs
to create new accounts, but Ethan, they'll find those too.
We need to be smarter, then we go old school.
Ethan grabbed a USB drive from his drawer started copying

(01:01:41):
the medical files, physical distribution dead drops. Mail these to
every independent journalist who still has a spine. That'll take time,
and meanwhile, your audience, we'll think I've been silenced, which
I have. Ethan's laugh was bitter, but that might work

(01:02:03):
in our favor. Martyrdom cells right. Nadia looked at him,
really looked at him for the first time in hours.
In the harsh basement lighting, she could see the obsession
eating at him, the way his eyes darted to every shadow,
every flicker. Ethan, maybe we should take a break, regroup,

(01:02:26):
figure out. No, his voice was sharp. We push forward
to night, set up the alternative channels, use every Burner
account we have, and encrypt everything military grade. If they
want to play digital warfare, we'll give them guerrilla tactics.

(01:02:46):
The radiostatic intensified, and through it they heard fragments of
news Senator Hale's new health care initiative, unprecedented co operation
between parties, a new era of efficiency. Ethan turned it
off with savage satisfaction. They're accelerating whatever this infection is.

(01:03:07):
They're spreading it through the power structure, and we're the
only ones who can prove it. Nadia nodded slowly, her
loyalty winning over her caution. Okay, but we do this smart.
No more live streams from exposed locations, no more predictable patterns.
We become ghosts, ghosts with evidence. Ethan agreed. He looked

(01:03:33):
at the medical files still glowing on the screen. Brain
scans of infected officials, blood samples that defied biology, video
proof of transformation. They can delete our channels, but they
can't delete what we've already seen, what we know. A
soft pain drew their attention. Nadia's security software had detected

(01:03:57):
something an attempted breach, sophisticated but not quite sophisticated enough.
She traced it quickly, her expression growing grim. Ethan, she
said quietly. Someone's trying to get into our network right now.
He moved to her screen watched the attack in real time,

(01:04:19):
probing attempts at their firewall, someone searching for weaknesses. The
attempts were coming from multiple IP addresses, coordinated professional Can
you stop them already, am but Ethan Nadia's fingers paused
over the keyboard. A message had appeared in their secured

(01:04:41):
chat channel one that should have been impossible to access.
The text was simple, just four words that made the
basement's recycled air feel suddenly arctic. They're closer than you think.
Ethan looked at the basement's small window near the ceiling,
the one they'd covered with aluminum foil months ago for privacy.

(01:05:05):
Was that a shadow moving outside or just paranoia finally
taking its toll? The message blinked on the screen, cursor
flashing after it like a heartbeat, waiting, watching, and somewhere
above them, barely audible over the hum of electronics and
the buzz of dying fluorescent tubes, came the unmistakable sound

(01:05:30):
of footsteps. The monitor's blue glow painted Ethan's face in

(01:05:51):
shifting patterns as his fingers flew across the keyboard. The
familiar clatter echoing through the basement like rain on tin
three energy drink cans, formed a precarious pyramid beside his mousepad,
and the squeaky office chair groaned as he leaned forward,
adjusting the webcam for the fourth time in as many minutes.

(01:06:13):
VPN's acting screwy again. Nadia muttered from her corner, surrounded
by a fortress of secondary monitors. The fluorescent bulb above
her station flickered. It had been doing that for weeks,
creating a strobe effect that made the red string conspiracy
maps on the walls seem to pulse with life. Singapore

(01:06:36):
servers down routing through Romania, now Romania. Ethan's voice carried
that particular blend of exhaustion and manic energy that came
from seventy two hours without proper sleep. Last time we
used Romania, the latency killed half the stream quality. You

(01:06:58):
want quality or want anonymous. Nadia's fingers never stopped moving,
because after last week's suspension, we can't have both the
basement air hung thick with the smell of old pizza
boxes and that peculiar electronic warmth that came from too
many machines running in too small a space. The cheap

(01:07:19):
fans whirred their endless white noise, punctuated by the occasional
pop from the radiator pipes overhead. Ethan had taped blackout
curtains over the small windows near the ceiling, but thin
lines of afternoon light still leaked through, creating bars across
the concrete floor. Going live in thirty seconds, Ethan announced

(01:07:41):
pulling up his streaming software. The interface showed zero viewers.
He disabled all notifications, all alerts, no donation sounds, no
subscriber bells, just him, the camera and whoever found their
way to the unlisted link he'd scattered across three dis
diferent forums under seven different user names. Firewalls up. Nadia confirmed,

(01:08:07):
but Ethan, if they're actively hunting. They suspended my main channel.
Nine hundred thousand subscribers gone. His jaw tightened. They think
they've won, they think I'll crawl away, And twenty seconds
Ethan straightened his posture, ran a hand through his greasy hair.

(01:08:28):
The basement suddenly felt smaller, the walls, with their chaotic
tapestry of printouts and photographs, pressing closer. Senator Hale's face
stared back from a dozen different angles, those campaign poster
smiles that never quite reached his eyes. Ten seconds, the

(01:08:50):
streaming software's countdown ticked towards zero. Ethan's thumb hovered over
the spacebar. And we're live, he said, quietly, watching the
viewer count tick up from zero to one, then three,
then twelve. No intro music, no flashy graphics, just his
tired face and the cluttered reality. Of his command center

(01:09:15):
for those who found this stream. Ethan began his voice,
finding that conversational cadence he'd perfected over three years of
content creation. You know why we're here. You've seen what
they don't want you to see. The Gala footage, the
eye transformation, the medical records that supposedly don't exist. Forty

(01:09:41):
seven viewers now, the chat remained eerily quiet. He'd disabled
it for the first five minutes to prevent immediate spam attacks. Tonight,
I have something new, something that explains the pattern we've
been tracking, He minimized his camera feed, pulling up a

(01:10:02):
document on screen. This came through encryptied channels two hours ago,
internal communications from Senator Hale's office, dated three days before
his sudden, remarkable recovery from stage four lymphoma. The document
filled the screen, certain sections highlighted in yellow. Nadia shot

(01:10:24):
him a warning glance from her station. They'd agreed to
save this for later in the stream, to build up
to it, but Ethan's instincts, honed by years of reading
audience engagement, told him to strike now while the iron
was hot. Read line seventeen, he said, zooming in quote

(01:10:46):
the candidate has agreed to all terms. Transfusion scheduled for
midnight private wing. Doctor Vrill's team will handle logistics. End quote.
The viewer count jumped to ninety three. That's when the
first flicker happened, Not the usual fluorescent stutter from Nadia's

(01:11:07):
broken bulb, but something in the stream itself, a horizontal
line of distortion that rolled from bottom to top of
the frame like old VHS tracking errors. You seeing this,
Nadia whispered, though the mic wouldn't pick her up from
across the room. Ethan nodded slightly, continuing his presentation. Now,

(01:11:31):
doctor Vril doesn't exist in any medical database, believe me,
We've checked, but that name appears in classified documents. Going
back to the distortion intensified. The document on screen began
to pixelate, words, becoming unreadable blocks of corrupted data. The
viewer count froze at one hundred twelve. What the hell,

(01:11:56):
Ethan minimized. The document pulled up his streaming so software's
diagnostic panel. Download speed normal, upload speed normal. But something
was interfering with the actual video encode, introducing artifacts that
shouldn't exist, Ethan. Nadia's voice carried a new urgency. Someone's

(01:12:18):
in the chat someone who shouldn't be able to He
enabled the chat window. Amid the expected mix of supporter
messages and skeptical challenges, one username stood out in bold
red text, A moderator badge that shouldn't exist on this unlisted,
unmonetized stream, Sophie in nineteen sixty seven. You're closer than

(01:12:45):
you think, Ethan, but you're looking at the wrong timeline.
Who is that? Ethan muttered. Clicking on the profile, it
led nowhere, a null page that shouldn't be possible on
the platform, Sophie, nineteen sixty seven. Hale isn't the first

(01:13:07):
check the Blackwood Initiative nineteen sixty seven. The real doctor
Vril died in nineteen forty five. The stream's distortion worsened
Ethan's face, fragmenting into digital chunks before reassembling. The basement's
familiar hum seemed to intensify the fans, spinning faster, though

(01:13:28):
the temperature hadn't changed. Blackwood Initiative. Ethan repeated, fingers already
flying across his second keyboard, pulling up search engines, databases,
archived forums. Nadia, you getting this already on it? Her
monitor cast frantic shadows as windows opened and closed in

(01:13:49):
rapid succession. Holy shit, Ethan, there's something here classified Project
nineteen sixty seven biological warfare research. But it's all redacted.
Did accept Sophie, nineteen sixty seven, Building seven, sub basement.
The Senator's father was patient zero. The viewer count suddenly

(01:14:14):
spiked two hundred, three hundred, climbing fast, two fast. The
chat exploded with activity, but through the chaos, Sophie's messages
appeared in that impossible red text Sophie, nineteen sixty seven.
They know you're streaming, they're tracing the VPN now Romania

(01:14:35):
server compromised in three two. The screen went white, not
black like a power failure, not frozen like a system crash,
pure brilliant white that made Ethan shield his eyes. The monitors,
all of them, even Nattia's independent systems, displayed the same

(01:14:59):
blinding emptynes. Then gradually, static began to creep in from
the edges, gray black snow that formed patterns, almost like shapes,
almost like faces, before dissolving back into chaos. Cut the stream,
Nadia shouted, but Ethan was already hammering the emergency shut

(01:15:22):
down combination. Nothing responded. The streaming software showed him as
still live. The viewer count now displaying an impossible string
of numbers that scrolled off the screen through the static.
Text began to appear, not in the chat window, but
burned directly into the video feed. You have seen too much,

(01:15:46):
but not enough. The basement cannot protect you. The walls
have ears, the walls have eyes, Ethan. We need to
physically disconnect, Nadia said, already yanking Ethernet cables, but the
stream continued. The static continued even as she pulled plug

(01:16:07):
after plug. Sophie ch nineteen six seven. Check your phone now.
Ethan's phone, face down on the desk, buzzed once he
flipped it over to find a single image message from
an unknown number, a photograph of his basement, taken from above,

(01:16:28):
from an angle that would require the camera to be
inside the ceiling. In the photo, he could see himself
and Nadia, captured perhaps thirty seconds ago, their faces lit
by the monitor's glow. The static on the screens began
to coalesce into something more structured, a face ancient and wrong,

(01:16:49):
with too many angles where there should be curves. It
opened what might have been a mouth, and though no
sound came through the speaker's. Ethan felt words in his bones.
The channel is broken. You are broken, but you may
yet serve a purpose. Every screen went dark simultaneously. The

(01:17:11):
basement plunged into blackness, save for the faint bars of
sunlight through the curtain gaps. In that darkness, the only
sound was their breathing and the continued whir of fans
cooling dead machines. Then Nattia's back up laptop, the one
not connected to any network, the one she used for

(01:17:32):
offline analysis, flickered to life on its own. A single
line of text appeared on its screen, they are inside
your walls. The fluorescent bulb above Nattia's station finally gave
out completely, its death rattle, a sharp pop that made
them both jump. In the darkness that followed, they could

(01:17:56):
hear something else, something that had maybe always been there,
hidden beneath the electronic hum and fan noise, breathing that
wasn't theirs, scratching between the dry wall. Ethan stared at
the blank monitors, his reflection fractured across their dead surfaces.

(01:18:17):
His hands still rested on the keyboard, muscle memory, positioning
them for commands that no longer mattered. The stream was dead.
The channel was dead, but the message, Sophie's message, the
initiative patient zero, that was very much alive. We need

(01:18:38):
to leave, Nadia whispered.

Speaker 1 (01:18:41):
No.

Speaker 3 (01:18:42):
Ethan's voice was steady, harder than before. We need to
tear open these walls from somewhere between the joists and insulation.
Something whispered back. The flickering monitor cast Ethan's face in

(01:19:12):
harsh blue white relief as his fingers trembled over the mouse.
The footage was there, right there, frozen on frame twelve
forty seven of the GALA recording, Senator Marcus Hale, caught
in profile near the service corridor, his polished facade cracking
like old paint under heat. Holy shit, Ethan whispered, leaning

(01:19:36):
closer until his nose nearly touched the screen. The basement's
perpetual buzz of fluorescent tubes seemed to crescendo, matching the
electricity racing through his veins. Nadia, you seeing this, I'm
seeing pixels, she said from across the cluttered command center,
her own monitor reflecting off her glasses. Three empty energy

(01:20:01):
drink cans formed a metallic fence around her keyboard. Your
hands were shaking worse than Michael J. Fox at that gala.
The compression artifacts alone. No no, look at the timestamp
eleven forty seven twenty three. Ethan dragged the scrubber back
three seconds, then forward again, frame by frame, watch his jaw.

(01:20:27):
The recording played in stuttering slow motion. Senator Hale stood
speaking to someone just out of frame, his silver hair
catching the overhead track lighting of the service hallway. Then
it happened, a ripple beneath his skin, as if something
writhed under the surface of his cheek. His mouth opened

(01:20:47):
wider than anatomy should allow, and for exactly four frames,
Ethan could see them. Canines extended like surgical needles, gleaming.
Wet chair squeaked as she rolled closer, the wheels catching
on cables snaking across the concrete floor. The conspiracy maps

(01:21:08):
on the walls seemed to close in around them, red
string connecting photographs and printouts in a web of paranoia
that suddenly felt prescient rather than pathological. Jesus Christ. She
breathed her usual skepticism, evaporating, that's not. That can't be

(01:21:28):
digital artifacting it's not. Ethan's voice cracked with vindication and
terror in equal measure. Look at frame twelve fifty one
the Senator's eyes. In the previous frames, they'd been their
usual watery blue, the practiced warmth of a career politician.

(01:21:50):
But here, caught in the gap between two fluorescent fixtures,
they blazed crimson, not a camera flash reflection, not red
eye from poor exposure. The irises themselves glowed like embers,
and the pupils had contracted to vertical slits. The basement's
recycled air felt suddenly thick, carrying the smell of old

(01:22:13):
pizza boxes and electronic dust. Ethan's conspiracy board loomed behind them.
Months of investigation, forum threads, leaked documents, all pointing to
this moment. The pushpins holding up the senator's official portrait
seemed to vibrate in the peripheral darkness. We need to

(01:22:34):
cross reference this, Nadia said, her fingers already flying across
her keyboard. The tactile click of mechanical switches filled the
space between their breathing. Those medical anomalies from the leaked files,
the blood work showing impossible white cell counts already on it.

(01:22:56):
Ethan pulled up a second window. The encrypted files they'd
rest received from their anonymous source. Charts and graphs in
clinical blue and white, patient names redacted, but dates intact.
Look at the timeline. Every spike in these readings corresponds
to up the phone rang, not Ethan's cell, which sat

(01:23:17):
silent beside his mousepad, the landline, the one he disconnected
three months ago when the paranoia got bad, the one
that wasn't even plugged into the wall. They both froze,
staring at the beige plastic receiver as it trilled its
impossible electronic scream once, twice, three times. Don't, Nadia whispered,

(01:23:45):
but Ethan was already reaching for it, his hand moving
as if pulled by invisible strings. The receiver fell cold
against his ear, colder than the basement's perpetual chill. For
a moment, only silence, then breathing, wet, labored breathing that
seemed to come from lungs too large for a human chest.

(01:24:07):
Ethan coal. The voice was cultured, aristocratic, with an undertone
that made his skin crawl, Not quite Senator Hale's public
speaking voice, but close, as if something was wearing his
vocal chords like an ill fitting suit. You've been very busy.
Who is this Ethan's question came out steadier than he felt.

(01:24:33):
Nadia had her phone out recording, though her hands shook.
You have such limited vision, even with all your cameras.
A wet sound, like some one licking their lips with
a tongue too long for their mouth. You see the
surface the theater. You don't understand what you're truly documenting.

(01:24:55):
I understand enough. I know what you are. What you've
become a laugh if it could be called that, more
like glass grinding against stone, become Oh, mister Cole, We've
always been here. You're simply the first to look closely
enough to notice the seams. The people deserve to know.

(01:25:22):
The people deserve exactly what they receive, safety order, the
illusion of choice. The breathing grew heavier, and Ethan could
swear he heard something else in the background, multiple voices,
or perhaps one voice speaking from multiple throats, your little
YouTube channel. You're desperate scramble for relevance. You think you're

(01:25:45):
exposing truth. You're a child with a magnifying glass about
to learn what happens when you focus sunlight on the
wrong aunt hill. The line went dead, not with a
click or dial tone, but with absolute silence, as if
the phone had never existed at all. Ethan set the

(01:26:05):
receiver down with trembling fingers. The basement felt smaller somehow,
The walls pressing in despite not having moved, The red
strings on his conspiracy board cast shadows that seemed to
writhe in the fluorescent flicker. We need to fortify, he said,
his voice barely above a whisper. Now, Nadia was already moving,

(01:26:31):
pulling out the emergency supplies they'd stockpiled, not for this exactly,
but for something steel brackets for the door, battery back
ups for the equipment, the signal jammers they'd bought off
shadowy forums. The squeak of her chair mixed with the
rustle of packaging, punctuated by the metallic clink of hardware.

(01:26:52):
The live stream, she said as she worked. We go
live to night, full disclosure, everything we have. Ethan nodded,
his fingers, already dancing across the keyboard, setting up the
streaming software, checking the back up servers, making sure the
redundant connections were solid. The footage of Senator Hale's transformation

(01:27:15):
played on loop on one monitor. Fangs eyes, that impossible
distortion of flesh. They'll come for us, He said, not
a question, but a statement of fact. Let them. Nadia's
voice had hardened the fear, crystallizing into something sharper. We'll

(01:27:36):
be broadcasting when they do. The basement's perpetual hum seemed
to intensify, the fluorescent tubes buzzing like angry wasps. Ethan's
fingers flew across the keyboard, uploading back ups to dead
drops across the Internet, seating torrents that couldn't be stopped
once started. The chair's familiar squeak provided a rhythm to

(01:27:59):
his work, a metronome counting down to something inevitable on
the monitor, Senator Hale's eyes blazed red again and again,
four frames of truth in an ocean of carefully maintained lies. Outside.
Beyond the concrete walls and narrow window wells, Ethan could

(01:28:21):
hear the suburban night, distant dogs barking, the hum of
air conditioners, the ordinary sounds of an oblivious world. He
glanced at the streaming software. Three hours until his scheduled broadcast,
three hours to prepare for war. The chat window was

(01:28:42):
already filling with messages from his regular viewers, the true
believers who followed him down every rabbit hole. But as
he watched, new usernames appeared, accounts with no history, no
profile pictures, all typing variations of the same message, stop cease,
you've been warned, then, cutting through the digital noise, a

(01:29:07):
single message that made his blood freeze. Truth in shadows,
they're already moving. Check your window. Ethan's head snapped toward
the narrow basement window, nothing but darkness and the faint
reflection of the room's harsh light. But as he stared,

(01:29:29):
something shifted in that darkness, a shape that shouldn't be there,
too tall, too Still. The power flickered, just for a second,
but long enough for every monitor to reset, for the
familiar hum to stutter and catch. When the light steadied,

(01:29:49):
the shape outside was gone, but the chat had exploded,
hundreds of messages flooding in his viewers in panic, Ethan,
get out, they're coming. Oh got the stream, And then,
as suddenly as it had started, silence, Every message deleted,

(01:30:12):
every user disconnected, the chat window empty except for a
single line of text, appearing character by character, as if
typed by invisible hands. The show must go on. The
fluorescent tubes above flickered again, casting dancing shadows across the

(01:30:32):
conspiracy maps. In the corner of his vision, Ethan saw
Nadia securing the last of the door brackets, her face pale,
but determined. The basement had become their bunker, their last stand,
their broadcast booth for the end of the world as
they knew it. The footage played on frame twelve forty seven,

(01:30:53):
Senator Hale's inhuman transformation, frozen in digital amber, proof evidence
a truth that powerful forces would kill to keep buried.
Ethan's fingers hovered over the go live button. Not yet,
not until they were ready, not until the defenses were

(01:31:15):
complete and the back ups were secured. But soon the
power flickered once more, longer this time, and in that
moment of darkness, Ethan could swear he heard it footsteps
above them, too many to count, moving with purpose toward
the basement door. The fluorescent light above stuttered twice, throwing

(01:31:56):
Ethan's shadow into a jerky dance across the conspiracy maps.
He dragged the heavy filing cabinet across the basement floor,
its metal legs shrieking against concrete, and wedged it against
the door. The barricade wouldn't stop any one determined, but
it might buy them seconds in this game, seconds were

(01:32:16):
currency left corner, Nadia said, not looking up from her
laptop screen. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up
their security camera feeds one by one. Push it flush,
or they'll use the gap. Ethan's sneakers squeaked as he

(01:32:37):
threw his weight behind the cabinet. The smell of old
paper and energy drinks had been replaced by something sharper,
fierce sweat, and that metallic taste that comes when adrenaline
floods your system. Above them, through the thin basement ceiling,
footsteps moved in deliberate patterns, not random, not casual hunting.

(01:33:01):
How many Ethan whispered, though whispering seemed pointless. If they
had people upstairs, they already knew exactly where their targets
were hiding. Three on thermal. Nadia's voice stayed steady, but
her knuckles were white against the laptop's edge.

Speaker 1 (01:33:19):
No.

Speaker 3 (01:33:20):
Wait, four, someone just came through the back. The squeaky
office chair groaned as Ethan dropped into it. Pulling up
his archived footage on the main monitor, his hands shook
slightly as he scrolled through time stamps. First sighting first,
real proof. There had to be something in those frames,

(01:33:41):
some detail he'd missed, that would tell him how to
fight these things. They're not trying to get in, Nadia
said slowly, and that was somehow worse than if she'd screamed.
They're just waiting. Then, they want uscared. Ethan's voice cracked slightly.

(01:34:03):
He cleared his throat, tried again. They want us to
make mistakes. The footage played on triple speed, Senator Hale's
face blurring past in frame after frame, normal, normal, normal, There,
Ethan stabbed the pause button. The Senator's eyes caught mid

(01:34:24):
blink showed something else beneath the human's surface, not just
the red gleam he'd captured before, but a structure, a
pattern in the iris that looked almost crystalline. Ethan Nadia's
laptop made a soft chirping sound. Someone's trying to breach
our network. Military grade intrusion software. Let them try. Everything

(01:34:50):
important is air gapped. But even as he said it,
Ethan felt the walls closing in the basement had always
felt safe, a bunker against the world's madness. Now it
felt like a tomb. Radio Static hissed from the police
scanner in the corner, then resolved into voices units stand by,

(01:35:11):
Do not approach until given signal, Repeat, do not. The
transmission cut to white noise. Ethan replayed the footage again
and again. Each loop revealed another detail, the way Hale's
assistant flinched when the senator touched his shoulder, the woman

(01:35:31):
in pearls who turned her face away when Hale smiled.
They knew others at that Gala knew exactly what he was.
Got another layer of encryption. Nadia muttered, they're good, but shit,
what the live stream from earlier? They're pulling viewer data,

(01:35:52):
IP addresses, user names everything. Ethan's stomach dropped. Can you
already routing through proxies? But Ethan, if they get those names,
she didn't need to finish. Everyone who'd watched him expose
the truth would become targets. Upstairs, something heavy dragged across

(01:36:14):
the floor. The ceiling dust drifted down like snow, catching
in the stuttering fluorescent light. Ethan's hand moved unconsciously to
the baseball bat leaning against his desk aluminum. He'd wrapped
the handle in duct tape for better grip, though he
had no idea if conventional weapons would even work. Play

(01:36:37):
it again, Nadia said, suddenly, what the footage, the first sighting?
You keep going back to it like you're looking for
something specific. She was right. Ethan pulled up the file,
the one that started everything, his shaky phone camera catching
movement in the senator's office window after hours, a silhouette

(01:37:00):
that moved wrong, too fluid, too fast. But this time,
knowing what he knew, now, he saw it differently. The
figure wasn't alone, Jesus, he breathed. Look at the reflection
in the window. Across the street. Nadia rolled her chair

(01:37:22):
over her shoulder, brushing his in the glass. Barely visible,
three more shapes stood perfectly still watching. They'd been watching
him even then, from the very beginning. They let you
film them, Nadia said. They wanted you to find them.

(01:37:43):
The realization hit like ice water. This wasn't a hunt.
It was a trap, and he'd been building it around
himself for weeks. A soft scratching came from behind the
water heater. Both their heads snapped toward the sound. Just
pipes settling, had to be, but Ethan stood anyway, bat

(01:38:05):
in hand, and crept toward the corner. The scratching came again,
deliberate and rhythmic. Ethan Nadia's voice was barely a breath.
Don't He pulled the water heater away from the wall.
Nothing there but pipes, and no, there was something, A

(01:38:27):
small black device, no bigger than a button, attached to
the wall with what looked like putty. A tiny red
light blinked steadily. Microphone, Nadia identified immediately, broadcast quality that's
been there for days, weeks. Ethan felt his skin crawl.

(01:38:51):
Every word, every plan, every moment they thought they were safe,
all of it captured, transmitted, check everywhere, every corner. They
moved through the basement like archaeologists, examining each surface behind
the conspiracy boards, another device under the desk, A third

(01:39:14):
tucked into the air vent, a fourth. The basement wasn't
a bunker, it was a stage, and they'd been performing
without knowing it. We have to go, Nadia said, now.

Speaker 1 (01:39:28):
No.

Speaker 3 (01:39:29):
Ethan surprised himself with the firmness in his voice. That's
what they want, drive us into the open, So what
we just sit here? Ethan looked at the devices they'd
pulled from the walls. Professional work, but not invisible. They'd
wanted him to find these eventually another move in whatever

(01:39:50):
game they were playing. But every game had rules, and
rules could be broken. He grabbed the emergency kit from
under his head desk, not the one with food and water,
but the one he'd assembled after his first death threat,
road flares, smoke bombs from that sketchy military surplus store,

(01:40:12):
a frequency jammer he'd bought off the dark Web. What
are you doing changing the game? He pulled out his
phone started another live stream. The viewer count climbed immediately, dozens,
then hundreds. Word had spread. If they want to watch,

(01:40:32):
let's give them something worth seeing. Upstairs, the footsteps stopped.
The sudden silence was worse than the movement had been.
Nadia's laptop beaped urgently ethan Thermal signatures are moving, all
of them. They're converging on the basement door. He activated

(01:40:54):
the frequency jammer. Every screen in the room flickered and died,
except his phone in its faraday pouch. Until now the
overhead light guttered worse, throwing everything into a strobing nightmare.
Whatever happens, he told his audience, You're about to see proof,

(01:41:14):
real undeniable proof. He positioned the phone to capture the door,
then began building his defense. Road flares, ducked taped to
the desk, legs, smoke bombs balanced on the filing cabinet,
not much, but maybe enough to buy time to ensure
the footage survived even if he didn't. The doorknob rattled.

(01:41:40):
Nadia moved beside him, holding a can of spray paint
like it was a weapon. You know, this is insane, right,
been insane since the beginning. He gave her a wild
grin that felt more like a grimace. At least now
we're insane with proof. The door sh shook harder, the

(01:42:01):
filing cabinet scraped back an inch. Another shake, another inch.
They were toying with them, could probably smash through whenever
they wanted, but they were waiting for something. Then Ethan
heard it, not through the door or the walls, but
seemingly from inside his own skull, a whisper that wasn't

(01:42:22):
quite voice, wasn't quite thought. You cannot hide. The words
slithered through his mind like ice, and he understood with
horrible clarity that the microphones hadn't been for surveillance. They'd
been for calibration, learning their voices, learning how to get
inside the basement door. Exploded inward with a sound like thunder,

(01:42:48):
the filing cabinet flying across the room as if it
weighed nothing. In the doorway, back lit by harsh light,
stood a figure that might have once been human. Its
eyes gleamed that same crystalline red he'd seen in the
senator's footage, but here, up close, he could see the
truth of it. Not infection, not disease transformation. The figure smiled,

(01:43:16):
and its voice came from everywhere and nowhere. You cannot
hide from what you've already let in Behind it, more
shadows gathered, and Ethan's finger moved to the first roade
Flare's ignition cord, ready to light up the darkness with
the only thing he had left, fire, smoke, and the

(01:43:37):
desperate hope that someone somewhere was still watching. The fluorescent

(01:44:03):
tubes overhead sputtered once twice, then steadied into their familiar hum.
Ethan Cole's fingers flew across the keyboard, each keystroke a
staccato counterpoint to the basement's electric drone. The live stream
counter in the corner of his monitor climbed past twelve
hundred viewers, more than he'd ever pulled on a Tuesday night.

(01:44:25):
But then again, he'd never promised to reveal proof of
vampiric infiltration in real time. Before Chat's going insane, Nadia's
voice crackled through his earpiece from her apartment across town.
Half of them think you're about to get swatted. The
other half are placing bets on whether Senator Hale himself

(01:44:45):
shows up. Let them watch. Ethan adjusted the webcam angle
to capture both his face and the wall behind him,
the one plastered with red string connecting newspaper clippings, printouts
of me medical reports, and grainy screenshots from the Galla footage.
His breath misted slightly in the basement's perpetual chill. Everything's

(01:45:09):
backed up to three different cloud servers right four actually
added another one twenty minutes ago when I saw the
viewer count spike a pause, Then softer Ethan that crash
we heard earlier was probably just the neighbor's cat. But
even as he said it, Ethan's eyes flicked to the

(01:45:32):
reinforced door at the top of the basement stairs. The
dead bolt he'd installed last week gleamed dully in the
monitor's blue glow. The trip wire attached to the airhorn,
one of his more paranoid additions, remained taut across the
third step. On screen, The chat scrolled faster than human

(01:45:54):
eyes could track. He caught fragments They're watching you right
now and check behind you, bro, and this is it,
this is actually it, all right, truthseekers. Ethan leaned into
the microphone, his voice dropping into the conspiratorial register his
audience loved for those just joining were about to review

(01:46:16):
the enhanced footage from Senator Hale's transformation, frame by frame,
No filters, no edits just the basement door exploded inward,
not crashed, not slammed, exploded, the dead bolt tearing through
the wooden frame like tissue paper. The airhorn shrieked as

(01:46:36):
the trip wire snapped, but the sound was swallowed by
the thunder of boots on stairs. Ethan's hand shot to
the emergency broadcast button, ensuring everything would stream no matter
what happened next. Ethan Nadia's voice spiked with panic. Your
viewer count just jumped to eight thousand, No, twelve, Jesus,

(01:46:59):
it's climbing like. The figure reached the bottom of the
stairs and stopped just outside the circle of light cast
by Ethan's monitors male, probably, though the black tactical gear
made it hard to tell. No insignia, no badge, just
matt black from boots to the balaklava, covering everything but pale,

(01:47:19):
unblinking eyes. You need to stop. The voice was flat
processed through some kind of modulator that stripped away any
identifying characteristics. Turn off the stream, delete the files, walk away.
Ethan's throat clicked as he swallowed, but he kept his

(01:47:40):
hands visible on the desk, aware that thousands were watching.
Can't do that. People deserve to know what's happening to
their elected officials. The people. The figure took one step forward,
boots grinding against the concrete floor. Don't deserve anything except survival.

(01:48:00):
You're threatening that survival with your amateur detective games amateur.
Despite the terror crawling up his spine, Ethan felt his
trademark defiance flare. Tell that to the twelve thousand people
watching you write now. Tell them Senator Hale's eyes don't
glow red. Tell them the medical report showing non human

(01:48:23):
DNA markers are fake. The chat had become a wall
of capital letters and exclamation points. Some one had started
spamming phone emojis, calling the copse, presumably as if the
cops weren't already compromised. The intruder's head tilted slightly, and
Ethan caught something in those pale eyes, a flicker of red,

(01:48:46):
just for a moment, like a cat's eyes catching headlight glare.
They're not ready for the truth, the figure said, humanity
needs to be prepared gradually, through the proper channels, through
infected senators and compromised media outlets.

Speaker 1 (01:49:07):
You mean.

Speaker 3 (01:49:08):
Ethan's hand inched toward the desk drawer, where he'd stashed
a canister of bare spray. Another paranoid addition that suddenly
seemed prescient. How many of you are there? How many
people in positions of power are already turned turned? The
figure made a sound that might have been a laugh.
Such dramatic language we prefer evolved another step forward. The

(01:49:35):
vrill don't destroy their hosts, mister Cole. They improve them, stronger, faster,
freed from the weaknesses that hold your species back my species.
Ethan's fingers found the drawer handle. Nice slip there, really
selling the whole still human angle. Nadia's voice buzzed in

(01:49:59):
his ear. Ethan, I'm screen recording everything. The chats going nuclear.
Some one says they've identified the intruder's boot pattern as
military issue discontinued three years ago. The figure moved faster
than anything human should move, crossing the six feet between

(01:50:20):
them in a blink. But Ethan was already rolling backward
in his squeaky office chair, yanking the bare spray free
and firing a concentrated stream directly into those pale eyes.
The scream that erupted wasn't entirely human, too high, with
an undertone like grinding metal. The figure stumbled back, clawing

(01:50:43):
at the balaklava, tearing it away to reveal a face
that was almost normal except for the veins pulsing black
beneath translucent skin, and eyes that now blazed solid Crimson.
Fifteen thousand viewers. Nadia whisperd holy shit, Ethan. Everyone seeing this,

(01:51:05):
Ethan kicked off from the desk, sending his chair careening
toward the stairs. While maintaining the spray. His free hand
grabbed the emergency floodlight he'd rigged to the ceiling another
paranoid prep and yanked the cord. Blazing white light flooded
the basement, and the thing that had been human recoiled
with another inhuman shriek u V bulbs. Ethan panted, scrambling

(01:51:31):
to his feet. Read about it in the old forms.
The rial parasites can't handle concentrated u V. The creature,
he couldn't think of it as a person any more,
was backing toward the stairs, skin beginning to blister where
the light touched it directly, But even wounded, it moved
with predatory grace, circling toward the breaker box mounted on

(01:51:54):
the far wall. You think you've won something here. Its
voice had lost the modulator's flat affect, revealing something ancient
and contemptuous underneath. You've exposed nothing except your own location.
They know where you are now, all of them. Ethan

(01:52:16):
grabbed the second canister of bear spray from behind his
monitor array. Good, let them come, let everyone see what
they really are. The thing lunged for the breaker box,
but Ethan was ready. He'd rig that too, a simple
battery back up that would keep the UV floods running

(01:52:36):
even if the main power cut. The creature's hand closed
on the switches just as Ethan fired both canisters, simultaneously,
creating a caustic cloud that sent its stumbling backward up
the stairs twenty two thousand viewers. Nadia reported, her voice
tight with adrenaline, the chat saying someone's leaked this to

(01:52:59):
major news out Let's Ethan, you did it, you actually.
The creature paused at the top of the stairs, silhouetted
in the doorway it had destroyed. When it spoke again,
its voice carried despite the distance and the chemical fog.
This is only the beginning, mister Cole. You've just declared

(01:53:21):
war on an enemy. You can't begin to comprehend, enjoy
your moment of victory. It will be brief. Then it
was gone, leaving only the splintered door frame and the
acrid smell of bare spray mixing with something else, something
organic and wrong, like meat left too long in the sun.

(01:53:46):
Ethan stood in his basement, breathing hard. Both canisters still raised,
the UV lights hummed overhead. His monitors showed the chat
scrolling so fast it was just a blur of text,
the viewer count climbing past thirty thousand. In his ear piece,
Nadia was saying something about downloads and back ups and

(01:54:07):
news vans already dispatching to his address. But all Ethan
could focus on was the doorway, that gaping wound in
his sanctuaries, defenses, and the darkness beyond it. Because the
thing had been right about one thing, they knew where
he was now. A new message popped up in his

(01:54:28):
private chat, from an account with no history, no profile,
just a string of numbers for a name. This is
only the beginning. Outside, in the suburban night, a dog
began to howl, then another, and another. The live stream

(01:54:51):
continued to run, the counter climbing toward fifty thousand. As
Ethan Cole stood in his violated bunker and wondered if
he'd just saved the world or or doomed it. The

(01:55:19):
basement had gone quiet, that particular kind of quiet that
follows violence. Like the world itself needed a moment to
remember how to breathe. Dawn crept through the single narrow
window near the ceiling, painting weak gray lines across the
conspiracy boards that covered every wall, red string connecting photographs, printouts,

(01:55:42):
time stamps. The whole mess looked different, now, less like
the fever dream of a paranoid YouTuber and more like
evidence that might actually matter. Ethan Cole sat hunched in
his squeaky office chair, still wearing the same black hoodie
from two twelve hours ago, now torn at the shoulder

(01:56:02):
where the intruder had grabbed him. His hands trembled slightly
as he clicked through the flood of comments pouring in
beneath his live stream replay, thirty seven thousand views in
the first hour. Still climbing Jesus, Nadia muttered from her
perch on the folding chair beside him. She'd pulled her

(01:56:24):
knees up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, making
herself small, a defensive posture she'd adopted somewhere around three
a m. And hadn't broken since. Look at this one,
obviously staged. Nobody's that stupid to keep streaming during a
break in keep reading, Ethan said, his voice hoarse. He

(01:56:46):
reached for another energy drink from the pyramid of cans
on his desk, thought better of it. His heart was
already racing without the caffeine. Nadia scrolled down with one finger,
careful to touch the cracked part of the monitor, where
something a fist, maybe the intruders, maybe Ethan's in the chaos,

(01:57:07):
had spider webbed the glass during the confrontation. Holy shit,
did you see his eyes? At forty seven twenty three,
frame by frame that that's not human. And this one.
My cousin works security at the Capitol, says they've been
bringing in medical equipment at night, weird stuff, refrigerated trucks.

(01:57:30):
That's new. Ethan leaned forward, squinting at the time stamp.
The fluorescent bulb above them flickered, throwing shadows that danced
across the walls before settling again. He made a note
in the spiral notebook that had somehow survived the night intact,
unlike most of his equipment. Medical equipment could mean, could

(01:57:55):
mean they're treating people, Nadia interrupted, regular people, regular medical stuff.
Not everything is After what we saw, After what came
through that door, Ethan spun his chair to face her,
and the squeak it made seem too loud in the stillness.
You saw it, Nadia, you were recording from the back

(01:58:18):
up camera. Tell me that thing moved like a normal person.
She didn't answer. Immediately outside, a dog barked somewhere in
the suburban neighborhood above them. The sound muffled through concrete
and earth, normal morning sounds, coffee makers, car doors, the world,

(01:58:38):
pretending nothing had changed. The debates splitting three ways, she said,
finally returning to the screen. Group one thinks we faked it.
Group two thinks it's real, but not VRILL, maybe mk Ultra,
maybe something pharmaceutical. Group three, she paused, biting her lower lip.

(01:59:00):
Group three is organizing. They're sharing locations, sightings, making lists
of politicians who've had sudden health improvements. Good, let them organize.
The more eyes on this, the more targets. Nadia cut
him off. Ethan, we need to talk about what happens next,

(01:59:21):
really talk about it. He was already shaking his head.
But she pressed on that message that came through right
before the stream cut, the one that said this was
only the beginning. That wasn't a bot. That wasn't some
random troll. I know, do you? Because you're sitting here

(01:59:43):
like we won something like exposing this to forty thousand
people means we're safe now. But all we did was
paint a bigger target on the notification. Sound from Ethan's
phone cut through her words. Not the usual ping of
a YouTube comment or a Twitter MA. This was different
the encrypted messaging app he'd installed months ago, the one

(02:00:05):
that required three different authentication steps just to open the
one that had been silent since the anonymous warnings started.
He picked up the phone with steady hands, steadier than
they'd been all morning. The message was short, no username,
no avatar, just white text on black. You've proven more

(02:00:29):
resilient than expected. This is unfortunate. The Senator was merely
a glimpse. If you continue, what comes next won't knock,
it won't announce itself. You'll simply cease, and no live
stream will capture it. This is not a threat. It's
a kindness. Take the gift of ignorance while it's still offered.

(02:00:52):
Nadia read it over his shoulder, her breath warm against
his ear. When she spoke, her voice had dropped to
barely above a whisper. Ethan, Please, we got the footage
out there, people saw. Maybe that's enough. Maybe we take
a week lay low, let other people run with, run

(02:01:14):
with what. He set the phone down carefully, like it
might explode. Forty seconds of shaky footage, some weird eyes.
That's not enough to change anything. It's just enough to
make us look crazy, crazy but alive. That's not living, Nadia,

(02:01:35):
that's just existing, hiding. He turned back to the monitors,
pulling up the folder where he'd been compiling everything, medical reports,
galla footage, the convoy, recordings from the rooftop. We have
more than anyone else has managed to gather. We're close
to something real, something that matters, something that'll get us killed.

(02:01:59):
Maybe he opened a new document, began typing. But what's
the alternative, Pretend we didn't see what we saw. Let them,
whatever they are, keep spreading through the government, through the
whole system. Nadia stood abruptly, the folding chair scraping against
the concrete floor. She paced to the far wall, stopping

(02:02:23):
in front of the largest conspiracy board. In the center
was the first photograph Ethan had ever posted about this.
Months ago, Senator Hale at a press conference that barely
visible gleam in his eyes that had started everything. You
know what bothers me most, she said, not turning around.

(02:02:44):
It's not the danger, it's not even the fact that
vampires or parasites or whatever the hell might actually be real.
It's that you're enjoying this. I'm not you are. She
turned to face him, and in the weak morning light,
he could see she hadn't slept at all. Dark circles,

(02:03:08):
bloodshot eyes, hands that wouldn't stop fidgeting with the hem
of her shirt. This is what you wanted to matter,
to be the guy who was right when every one
said you were wrong, And now you've got it and
you can't let go. The accusation hung between them like
another presence. In the room upstairs, footsteps crossed the floor,

(02:03:32):
his landlord, probably starting his day oblivious to what had
transpired in the basement below, the normal world carrying on
while theirs had fundamentally shifted. You're right, Ethan said, finally.
Part of me is satisfied, vindicated. But that doesn't make

(02:03:53):
this less real or less important. It makes you reckless.
It makes me motivated. There's a difference. Before he could answer,
something changed in the room's atmosphere. Subtle. At first, the
background hum of the computer seemed to quiet, like someone

(02:04:15):
had thrown a blanket over the sound. Then the morning
light from the window dimmed, as if a cloud had
passed over the sun. But the shadow that fell across
the floor wasn't moving. It was still waiting. Nadia noticed
it too. Her hand moved instinctively to the baseball bat
they'd kept near the door since last night. Ethan, he

(02:04:41):
was already moving to the window staying low out of
direct sight. The aluminum frame was old, painted over multiple times,
and it had always rattled in strong wind, but there
was no wind this morning. The air outside was still,
yet the window rattled any way, soft, deliberate, like someone

(02:05:03):
testing its strength. Ethan's laptop screen flickered, the live stream
replay stuttered, froze, then dissolved into static. One by one.
The monitors followed suit, static spreading like an infection across
every screen, and in that white noise almost buried, but

(02:05:26):
definitely there a sound like breathing, like something very old.
Remembering how lungs were supposed to work, we need to,
Nadia started, but her voice cut out as the overhead
fluorescent finally gave up its struggle, plunging them into a
darkness broken only by the static glow of dying screens.

(02:05:49):
The window rattled again, harder this time, and in the
basement that had been his bunker, his sanctuary, his command
center for truth, than Cole stood very still and wondered
if ignorance might have been the better choice. After all,
the static grew louder, then all at once, silence, complete

(02:06:13):
and absolute. Even the dog outside had stopped barking. Even
the footsteps upstairs, had stilled in that silence, pressed against
the window like a promise or a threat. A shadow waited, patient,
permanent and watching

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Episode 6 - The Vrill Conspiracy

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.css-14f5ked{margin:0;word-break:break-word;display:-webkit-box;-webkit-box-orient:vertical;box-orient:vertical;-webkit-line-clamp:2;overflow:hidden;}Episode 6 - The Vrill Conspiracy