Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
I’m not sure it’s possible to get used to a place like the MRF, especially when my job means staying constantly on guard.
But after my first week, I’m starting to become accustomed to the schedule.
I spend most of my time in the CCTV room, monitoring the cameras, or standing guard at the front gate.
After days without any serious incidents or even any encounters with the subjects, I begin to relax.
Then my first night shift arrives.
“We have staff on premises 24/7, but overnight it’s a skeleton crew,” Barnes warned me the day beforehand.
“However, Director Wright and I are always on call in the case of an emergency. If there’s any reason for alarm, anything you can’t handle, you let me know right away, and I’ll call in backup immediately.
Most overnights are quiet, though. The majority of the subjects sleep through the night.
”“I’ve done night shifts before,” I insisted. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
He only smiled.
When I pull up to the MRF at ten p.m., I’m forced to admit I may have been overconfident. I’m not entirely alone, of course; there’s a guard at the gate, and another at the security check within. But past the front lobby, the hallways sit silent and empty. My footsteps echo through the corridors.
Or…is that another set of footsteps I hear? Not behind me, but ahead somewhere, getting closer. I stop to listen, and my heart begins to pound as the sound of boots on the tile continues. Closer, closer—
A figure rounds the corner, and I nearly jump out of my skin. But it’s only the security guard from the previous shift. An older guy named Vince I’ve seen around once or twice.
He chuckles at the look on my face. “First time, huh?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, heat flaring in my face.
He shoots me a playful salute. “Good luck, kid.”
I roll my eyes and continue onward, knowing that as the door swings shut behind him, I’m truly alone in here.
With the same fluorescent lights overhead and no windows to the outside, I had hoped that I might be able to forget that it’s the middle of the night.
But it’s impossible to ignore the shift in atmosphere.
I feel so isolated. Almost like I’m in a space station or deep underground.
The feeling intensifies when I reach the CCTV room and glance over the cameras.
There are no personnel in the hallway, none in the rooms.
It’s just me and the monsters tonight.
Barnes’s claim about subjects sleeping through the night was a weak excuse.
It doesn’t justify a skeleton crew in a place like this.
From what I’ve seen thus far, I suspect the real truth is that they don’t have enough employees to keep the place staffed around the clock.
The Facility is undermanned, and even the head of security is inexperienced.
There are so many red flags that should send me running, but at this point, I’m too intrigued.
Sighing, I settle into my chair with a steaming mug of coffee and rub my eyes. I’m already tired. There was no time to get used to the schedule change, and my attempts to sleep were restless, uneasy. I tossed and turned and woke sweating from nightmares I couldn’t remember.
I’ll have to hope that the combined powers of caffeine and anxiety will be enough to power me through the night.
With most of my security gigs, the greatest enemy I’d faced on a night shift was boredom; here, I may need to be more wary.
I sip coffee, wincing as I burn my mouth, and glance over the video feeds.
The camera to Room 16 is shut off, as usual.
But Barnes told me to occasionally check in, so I turn it on just to ensure all is well.
X-16 is asleep in bed, entirely normal in appearance with his back turned to the camera.
I study the mop of dark hair and remember the weight of his eyes on me, the odd sense of recognition.
I turn the screen off again, as per protocol, and look over the others.
Nothing appears amiss. Most of the subjects are sleeping.
X-17: The Wolfman is awake and pacing like a caged animal.
The Goblin is out from under the bed for once, revealing its tiny, furry form as it jumps around and scratches at the walls with long claws like it’s looking for a way out.
Nothing seems amiss. Barnes did say it would probably be quiet. So I sit back in my chair, sip my coffee, and settle in for a long night.
At first, I try to watch the cameras constantly, but it makes my eyes burn and threatens to put me straight to sleep.
So I alternate between checking on them and flipping through the binder Barnes gave me.
A lot of the files are redacted, unsurprisingly—I’m a brand-new employee in a place that guards its secrets well.
But the information I do have is still interesting.
I flip through the Wolfman’s file, reading about the slow degradation of his mental faculties over the years as he changed from mostly man to mostly beast. The Siren is interesting, her file holding many years of violent incidents with staff, up until a certain specific researcher seems to have considerably calmed her behavior.
After another scan of the video feeds and another check on X-16, I can’t resist the urge to flip to his section of the binder. I’ve already read it, but I scan the notes again, a furrow forming between my brows.
Protocol for Episodes by Subject X-16:
Shut off video feed immediately. Pull alarm lever. Do not approach, observe, or communicate with the subject. Await further instruction from Director Wright or Security Head Barnes ONLY.
A sticky note attached reads: DO NOT ENTER SUBJECT’S ROOM, OR ADJACENT OBSERVATION ROOM, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. This subject poses a serious threat of mental and bodily harm during an episode.
I suppress a shiver. Again, I wonder how, exactly, someone—or something—could be dangerous to look at. I hope I’ll never have to find out, and yet I’m intrigued. Again and again, my attention is drawn back to that single black screen in the array in front of me.
I click on the computer to bring the feed up again and check in on him. He’s still asleep, and—despite a twist in my stomach like I’m doing something wrong—I let myself watch him for a few seconds. I still can’t fight that sense that I had the first time I laid eyes on him. That he’s familiar.
I only notice the change because I’m already staring. X-16 twitches in his sleep, form shifting beneath the covers. He rolls onto his back, and his lips move as if he’s speaking. I lean forward in my chair, eyes locked on the screen.
Then the feed trembles as if the entire room was shaken by an earthquake. Another blink, and it’s back to normal, except that X-16 is sitting up in bed, his chest heaving.
My heart thumps painfully in my chest. What the hell was that? Remembering the protocol I just read, I immediately shut off the video feed.
I quickly flip through my folder, searching for the document Barnes mentioned earlier.
I find it in X-16’s file: instructions for security personnel during an episode.
The first paragraph includes warning signs for when an episode is beginning.
Flickering lights. Bursts of static on video feed.
Unusual behavior from X-16. Changes to X-16’s appearance.
None of these fit, except for perhaps the vague warning of unusual behavior. But there’s no static, no flickering lights. Now that the screen is shut off, I’m not positive what I actually saw.
I hesitate, finger hovering over the button. Then I turn the feed back on with a decisive jab. I’m braced in my seat, unsure what to expect. But the screen isn’t staticky. The lights are steady. X-16 is sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands.
I don’t see any warning signs of an episode as listed in the file. There’s no immediate threat, as far as I can tell, and thus no reason to call Barnes. But…X-16 does appear to be in distress. And I’m the only one here to check on him.
So I head through the quiet, empty hallways toward his room. During the day it’s sometimes easy to forget how dangerous this place is. But at night, even these thick metal doors feel like flimsy defenses.
A fluorescent light blinks as I pass by, making everything look faintly distorted.
I pause, but the flickering doesn’t continue, so I make my way to Observation Room 16.
My key card opens it, and I find it just as quiet and sterile as I remember.
It feels colder than the rest of the building, making goose bumps rise along my arms, but perhaps that’s just my nerves.
I almost hit the button to open the metal shutters, but I remind myself of the protocol that Barnes followed when he entered the room. After a moment’s hesitation, I hit the intercom button.
“Subject X-16,” I say. “Is everything all right?”
It takes him a moment to respond. “It’s fine.” His voice is soft, so quiet, I have to strain to hear it.
I pause, biting my lip. Maybe that’s enough, and I should walk away, but I’d feel better if I could check on him. “I’m opening the shutters.”
“Wait!”
The speaker crackles with static, and I nearly jump at the sudden volume. I tense, suddenly wary, remembering all of Barnes’s warnings, his talk of the incident that claimed the last head of security.
“Give me a minute,” he says. “To calm down.”
Should I be letting a subject call the shots? Uncertainty wages a war on my nervous system, but I wait regardless, listening to the ragged sound of his breathing through the speaker. Finally, I hear a simple, “Okay.”
When I lower the shutters, X-16 is sitting up in bed, looking toward the window.
Just like last time, all three of his red eyes seem to lock right onto mine, although he shouldn’t be able to see me.
He rakes dark hair back from his eyes. Deep shadows are carved beneath his red gaze, and his hair and clothes are rumpled. “Did something happen?” he asks.
“What?”
“Did I…do something?” His fingers twist in the sheets. “I didn’t mean to.”
I suppress a shiver. “No. Nothing’s wrong. But you looked distressed.”
“Oh.” He lowers his head again, brushing dark hair over his forehead to cover his third eye. “It was just a nightmare. I didn’t mean to trouble you.”
I didn’t expect him to be so…polite. Nor did I expect that what I saw on the camera was something as mundane as a bad dream.
This is a monster who’s killed a lot of people, I remind myself. He killed the last head of security. He could kill me without even touching me.
Still, it’s hard not to empathize. I know a lot about nightmares, too.
But I need to go. His strange side effects could hit me at any moment.
“I’m going back to my post. If you need anything, wave. I’ll check in on you when I can.” I’m about to shut off the intercom when I add, “I’m Willow, by the way. Willow Hawkins.”
“Willow,” he repeats, as if testing the name out. His head tilts. “They don’t usually tell me their names.”
What was I thinking? Of course there’s no reason he needs to know who I am. I’m just a security guard; he’s just a subject. I clear my throat before I hit the button again. “I’m closing the shutters. Good night.”
He blinks, glancing toward the window, though I know he can’t see me. “Good night,” he says.
I shut off the intercom and close the shutters without another word, then head back to the CCTV room, unable to help but notice that he didn’t offer a name for himself.