r/DrCreepensVault

For Canadiana: Thank you for the cover art and the spark that kicked, “Project Substrate” into motion. I’m grateful I get to take the vision you handed me and turn it into a full story. — Shadowthread Stories

Ed Malloy froze when the scream came through the vent under his desk. It was sharp and human, cut off fast. The room went still after it faded. He stood, grabbed his radio, and pressed the button.

“Control, this is Lieutenant Malloy. I’ve got something coming from SubLevel C. Confirm activity.”

Static filled the speaker. No voice. He tried again. More static. A faint hiss.

He clipped the radio to his vest and stepped into the hallway. The lights hummed overhead. The air smelled like cold metal and stale coffee. His boots hit the floor in steady beats as he walked. Another scream rose from below, shorter this time, muffled.

He reached the elevator and hit the call button. The doors opened, but the panel for SubLevel C didn’t respond. He pressed it again. Nothing.

“Control, I need access to SubLevel C,” he said into the radio.

Silence.

He exhaled through his nose, left the elevator, and headed for the service stairs. The metal railing felt cold under his hand. The air sharpened as he descended. He tasted disinfectant at the back of his throat.

At the bottom, the door to SubLevel C stood slightly open. That door was never open. A red light blinked above the frame. The lock panel flickered. Malloy pushed the door wider and stepped inside.

The hallway was colder than the floors above. The lights buzzed in a low, steady line. A chemical smell hit next — bitter, with a burnt‑plastic edge. His breath fogged in front of him as he moved forward.

A strobe light flickered at the far end, slow and uneven. Each flash lit a small section while the rest stayed dark. A scrape came from the shadows, something dragging across tile. Malloy stopped, hand near his radio.

“Control, I’ve got movement down here.”

Static answered him.

He took another step.

The strobe flashed. A shape stood at the far end — human‑sized, shoulders hunched, head tilted, arms hanging low. The light cut out. Dark. Another flash. The shape was closer now, its feet pointed inward, its knees bent in a way that looked wrong but still human. Its breathing came fast and sharp.

Dark again.

Malloy stepped back.

The next flash hit. The shape charged. Its feet slapped the floor in rapid beats. Its arms jerked with each step. Its mouth hung open. Its eyes didn’t blink. A chain around its waist snapped tight, yanking it sideways. It slammed against the wall and dropped to its knees. The chain rattled as it strained forward, arms pulled tight behind its back, head jerking once as a low sound came from its throat.

The strobe flickered again. Its skin twitched under the light. Its shoulders rose and fell in fast, uneven breaths. Its fingers curled against the restraints. Malloy held his ground, breath fast, the chain scraping the floor as the figure pulled again.

A door behind him opened.

“Lieutenant.”

Malloy turned.

Captain Haldren stood at the end of the hall with two MPs flanking him. Their rifles hung low. Their eyes stayed on Malloy.

“You weren’t supposed to see this,” Haldren said.

Malloy kept his hands visible. He told him people were screaming down here.

Haldren walked closer, boots clicking softly on the tile. “You’ll sign a nondisclosure and forget what you saw.”

Malloy refused.

Haldren sighed. “Then we’ll use you for something else.”

The MPs moved in. Malloy reached for his radio, but one grabbed his wrist and slammed it against the wall while the other pinned his shoulder. Pain shot up his arm. He tried to twist free, but the grip tightened.

“He’s resisting,” one MP said.

“He won’t for long,” Haldren answered.

A needle pressed into Malloy’s neck. Cold spread under his skin. His vision blurred. The hallway tilted. The lights smeared into long white streaks. The strobe flashed once more and the chained creature was standing again.

Then everything went dark.

Malloy woke to a sharp chemical smell. His eyes opened slow. A bright light flashed above him in short bursts, each strobe lighting the room for a second before dropping it back into dim shadow.

He tried to move. Straps held his wrists, ankles, and chest against a cold table. His breath came in short pulls.

The strobe flashed again. Several figures stood around him — lab coats, masks, gloves. Their faces stayed half‑hidden in the flicker. One adjusted a machine beside the table. Another checked a monitor. A third held a clipboard close to their chest.

Malloy pulled against the straps. The leather dug into his skin. The closest doctor stepped back and said he was awake.

The next flash showed tall metal frames, tubes running into dark bags hanging overhead. Some bags glistened under the light. Others gave off a faint glow that pulsed in slow beats. The light cut out. Malloy’s breathing quickened. The straps creaked under the tension.

The strobe flashed. A doctor leaned over him, their gloves trembling as they reached for a dial near his head. A faint hum rose from the machine. The glowing bag brightened for a second. The light cut out again.

Malloy felt something cold move through the tube near his arm — a slow push, a pressure under his skin. He tried to twist away. The strap across his chest held him down.

The next flash showed the doctors stepping back, whispering to each other. The glowing bag pulsed again. The glistening bags swayed slightly from movement in the room. Malloy swallowed and asked where he was.

No one answered.

The strobe cut out. Dark.

A soft beep came from the machine near his shoulder. Another beep followed, faster. The cold sensation in his arm spread toward his elbow. His fingers twitched against the restraints.

The strobe flashed. A doctor leaned close, their mask brushing his cheek. Their breath smelled like coffee and something bitter.

“Hold still.”

Malloy pulled harder. The strap across his chest tightened. His breath came fast. The strobe cut out.

A hand pressed against his jaw, checking the skin with quick, clinical movements before pulling away. The next flash showed the glowing bag brightening again, the fluid inside shifting as a faint vibration passed through the tube. The machine hummed louder. The doctors watched the monitor. None of them looked at Malloy.

The light cut out. Dark.

Malloy felt the cold reach his shoulder. A heavy pulse moved under his ribs. His breath caught in his throat. He tried to speak, but his voice came out rough.

“What are you doing to me?”

The strobe flashed. The closest doctor stepped back, eyes widening for a moment before looking away. Another typed into a tablet. The machine beeped again, faster. The light cut out.

Malloy’s fingers twitched harder. His jaw pulled once in a sharp, involuntary movement. The strap across his chest creaked.

The strobe flashed.

His forearms shifted under the skin — a ripple, a tightening, muscles pulling in directions they never had before.

The doctors stepped back.

One shouted that he was destabilizing. Another yelled to get back. Malloy tried to speak, but only a rough sound came out. His throat felt thick. His tongue felt heavy. Heat spread across his face. His vision doubled for a moment, then snapped back. Pressure climbed behind his eyes. His jaw pulled forward. His teeth pressed together. He tasted metal.

The strobe flashed again.

The skin around his mouth tightened as something pushed forward beneath it. A twitch. A pull. A new weight forming.

A clipboard hit the floor. Someone screamed the word they’d been using behind closed doors:

“The Freak.”

Malloy’s chest tightened. His ribs felt like they were being pushed outward from the inside. His breath caught hard. His shoulders jerked. His spine pulled in a sharp, involuntary motion. Heat shot down his arms. His fingers spread wide, nails scraping the table.

Machines spiked. Alarms screamed. A doctor shouted to shut it down. Another yelled that it wouldn’t shut down, that it was overriding.

Malloy’s back lifted off the table as the strap across his chest strained. The leather creaked. His shoulder blades pressed hard against the surface as something heavy pushed outward from his upper back. The pressure stopped his breath for a second.

The strobe flashed.

Two shapes rose beneath his skin, long and hard, pressing upward.

The doctors stumbled back. One hit the wall. Another grabbed a counter to steady themselves.

Malloy gasped. The air tasted like chemicals and heat. His vision blurred again. His arms shook violently. The pressure in his back surged. The table vibrated under him. The strap across his chest stretched. The metal brackets groaned.

Someone shouted that the restraints were failing.

His throat tightened. His jaw pulled forward again. The skin around it stretched. Something heavy shifted beneath it. His mouth opened in a rough, involuntary sound — caught between a scream and a word.

The strobe flashed.

Tentacle‑like growths pushed forward from his face, slow at first, then faster, twitching in the air as the doctors backed away until they hit the far wall.

Malloy’s back arched again. The pressure behind his shoulders surged. The two shapes beneath his skin pushed upward. His breath stopped for a moment. His vision went white.

The strap across his chest snapped.

The sound echoed through the room.

Malloy’s body jerked upward. His spine pulled into a new shape. His shoulders widened. The two shapes on his back rose higher — long appendages, heavy, twitching once before lifting fully.

The strobe flashed.

His head shape shifted. The skin tightened across his skull. His jaw extended. His eyes widened. His breath came out in a deep, rough sound that filled the room.

The doctors ran for the door.

Malloy sat up on the table as the remaining restraints tore free. His new limbs hit the air with a heavy thud. The tentacle‑like growths around his mouth twitched in fast, uneven movements. His breath came out hot and loud.

The strobe flashed again.

Malloy was still inside it — fully conscious, fully aware, fully transformed.

He stepped off the table.

The floor shook under the weight of his new limbs.

Malloy stepped off the table. The floor shook under the weight of his new limbs. The tentacles around his mouth twitched in fast, uneven movements. His breath came out hot and loud. The doctors near the door shouted for everyone to move.

Malloy turned toward the sound. His vision sharpened. Every detail in the room hit him at once — the hum of the lights, the chemical smell, the heat from the machines, the cold air rushing through the vents. His senses felt too strong. Too sharp.

A machine beside him beeped in a fast, panicked rhythm. One of his back limbs swung without warning and hit the machine hard. Metal bent. Sparks jumped. The machine toppled and crashed against the floor. A doctor screamed and stumbled backward.

Another machine hummed louder. His back limbs twitched again and hit the second machine, sending a sharp vibration through the floor. Panels fell from the ceiling. A tray of tools clattered across the ground.

“Get away from him!” someone yelled.

Malloy turned toward the voice. His tentacles twitched. Heat rose through his chest. His vision locked onto a nurse near the far wall. Her eyes widened. She froze.

Malloy stared at her. Something inside him shifted. A pressure behind his eyes. A pulse in his skull. The air around him felt thick. Heavy. His tentacles snapped forward in a fast, sharp movement.

The nurse gasped. Her hands flew to her arms. Her breath caught hard as she slapped at her sleeves. Her eyes darted across her skin.

“No… no… get them off! Get them off!”

Her voice cracked. She clawed at her collar and shook her head hard enough to make her hair whip across her face.

“They’re on me. They’re on me. Oh God! Spiders! Spiders!!”

She stumbled sideways and knocked over a cart. Instruments scattered across the floor. She screamed again, louder and rawer, before her knees buckled. She slid down the wall, brushing at her neck, her arms, her face.

A doctor grabbed her shoulders and told her there was nothing on her, but she didn’t hear him. She kept brushing. Kept shaking. Kept screaming.

Malloy turned away, breath rough in his throat as that pressure behind his eyes hit again, harder this time. Something inside him pushed wider — a reach he could feel more than understand.

A doctor by the monitors froze when their eyes met. His hands shook. His face tightened. His breath caught and he slapped a hand to his chest like something had jumped under his ribs.

“I’m burning… I’m burning up! Help me!”

He dropped to his knees, shaking so hard his fingers scraped the floor. He backed into the wall, gasping in fast, broken bursts while another doctor shouted there was no fire.

The man didn’t hear it. He pressed himself against the wall, eyes darting around the room like he expected heat to roll toward him.

Malloy stepped forward, the limbs behind him dragging across the floor, his tentacles twitching as that pulse in his skull hit again, sharp and heavy.

A female doctor near the exit went still. Her eyes lost focus. Her breath caught in her throat and she pressed a hand over her mouth as tears filled her eyes.

“No… no, please… not again…”

Her voice cracked. She shook her head once before her knees gave out. She dropped to the floor and covered her face with both hands.

“Not again… not again… Sam… my sweet dog Sam… I’m so sorry… I wasn’t there…”

Her shoulders shook. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts, like she couldn’t pull enough air in.

Malloy watched her. His own breath slowed into heavy pulls. The pressure behind his eyes eased for a moment.

The alarm hit without warning. A sharp, piercing tone filled the lab as red lights flashed across the ceiling. The far door slammed open. Military Police rushed in fast, boots hitting the floor hard. Rifles came up in one motion, all of them aimed at him.

“Freeze!” one of them shouted.

Malloy turned toward the sound. The limbs behind him lifted. His tentacles twitched. His breath came out hot and loud. The MPs tightened their grip on their weapons.

“Target is The Freak!” one MP yelled. “We need backup now!”

Malloy stared back. The air tasted like metal and dust. His chest rose and fell in slow, heavy pulls.

“Fire!”

The rifles cracked. The sound slammed through the room. His back limbs snapped forward, curling around him in a tight shield. Impacts hit the limbs with sharp metallic snaps. Sparks jumped. The vibration ran through his body.

“Keep firing! He’s not going down!”

Malloy stepped forward with the limbs still raised. Rounds struck and bounced away. The MPs backed up fast. Their boots scraped the floor. One of them tripped over a fallen tray and hit the ground hard.

“Backup! Backup! We need backup now!” another shouted into his radio.

Malloy stared at them. The pressure behind his eyes pushed harder. A pulse thumped through his skull. His breath came in slow, heavy pulls. The air felt thick in his throat. He locked onto the nearest MP.

The man stopped moving. His rifle slipped from his hands and hit the floor. His breath caught. His legs stiffened. His fingers curled tight against his palms. His eyes went wide.

“I can’t… I can’t move…” he forced out.

Malloy stepped past him. His tentacles twitched. His back limbs scraped across the floor with a low drag. Another MP tried to lift his rifle. Their eyes met. The man’s arms dropped. His knees dipped. His breath came in short, uneven bursts. He stared straight ahead, unable to look away.

“He’s freezing them — he’s freezing them in place!” someone yelled from behind a machine.

Malloy moved through the line of MPs. Their bodies stayed locked. Their eyes tracked him, wide and shaking. Their radios crackled with calls no one answered.

He reached the doorway.

The frame was reinforced steel, bolted deep into the concrete. His back limbs lifted high. The metal groaned under the weight. He drove the limbs into the frame. The steel bent. Bolts snapped. Dust shook loose from above. He pulled again. The frame tore free from the wall with a sharp, heavy crack that echoed through the lab.

“Fall back!” someone shouted. “Fall back!”

Malloy stepped through the opening. His limbs twitched once, then swung out. They struck the remaining supports. The ceiling above the doorway cracked. A deep rumble rolled through the floor.

The MPs shouted behind him.

“Move!” “Get out!” “Go, go — ”

The ceiling dropped. Concrete and steel came down in a heavy collapse. Dust blasted through the air. The doorway sealed behind a wall of debris.

The shouts on the other side faded under the weight of it.

Malloy turned toward the stairwell. The steps rose in front of him under dim emergency lights. The alarm echoed through the corridor. He placed one foot on the first step. Then another. His back limbs scraped the wall as he climbed.

The stairwell opened into a long hallway lined with reinforced doors. The lights flickered in uneven bursts. The air tasted like dust and cold metal. His footsteps echoed down the corridor. His back limbs dragged along the wall. His breath stayed slow and heavy.

The double doors at the far end slid open.

Four people stood inside the room. Three in white coats. One in a military uniform.

Captain Haldren.

His posture was stiff. His jaw locked tight. His eyes fixed on Malloy the second he stepped in. The others shifted behind him like they were trying to stay out of the way of something they couldn’t predict.

Haldren didn’t blink. The doors slid shut behind them.

The oldest scientist whispered, “It’s him. The Freak.”

Haldren didn’t look away. “We knew this was coming.”

Malloy didn’t move. His tentacles twitched. The limbs along his back lifted a little. Pressure built behind his eyes. A pulse ran through his skull.

Haldren froze.

His breath caught. His eyes widened. His hands shook at his sides. Malloy felt something open inside his mind — an entry, a pull, a door swinging inward.

Haldren clenched his jaw. His teeth scraped together. His breathing turned sharp and uneven.

“Don’t,” he forced out. “Don’t you — ”

Malloy pushed deeper.

Haldren’s knees dipped. He caught himself on a desk. His fingers dug into the metal. His eyes squeezed shut. A low sound slipped out of him.

Images hit Malloy fast.

A desert facility. A cold storage vault. Rows of sealed chambers. A subject breaking containment. A satellite feed of a creature tearing through a compound. A map covered in red pins. Other sites. Other experiments. Other Freaks. Some stable. Most not. A file stamped with one word: MERGE.

Haldren shook hard. “Get out… get out… get out of my head!”

One of the scientists tried to run. His hand hit the door panel. Nothing happened. Malloy turned toward him. The pressure behind his eyes pulsed again.

The man grabbed his temples. His knees hit the floor. His voice cracked into a sharp, broken sound.

“Stop! Stop! It hurts!”

He tried to crawl. His fingers scraped the floor. His breathing turned fast and panicked. His eyes darted like he was trying to hold onto something slipping out of him.

Malloy stepped closer. His tentacles twitched. His back limbs scraped the floor. The air tasted like metal and fear.

The third scientist backed into a desk. Papers scattered. His voice shook.

“You don’t understand… he wasn’t the only one… there are other facilities… other subjects… we couldn’t control them… we couldn’t — ”

Malloy stared at him. The pulse hit again. The man’s hands flew to his head. His breath broke apart. His voice rose into a raw, desperate sound.

“No! I can’t! I can’t hold it — ”

He slid down the wall. His eyes rolled upward. His fingers curled tight against his palms.

Malloy stepped forward. The pressure in his skull tightened. The air around him vibrated. The lights flickered. Machines along the wall spiked red.

Haldren tried to speak. His voice cracked. “You don’t know what you are. You don’t know what they made you for.”

Malloy looked straight at him.

Haldren’s breath stopped. His eyes widened. His mind opened like something forced apart.

Malloy saw deeper.

A classified briefing. A global threat projection. A line of text: If one stabilizes, the others will follow. A satellite image of a creature moving across a frozen landscape. A containment order labeled SITE 14. A directive: Terminate all unstable subjects. A final note: If The Freak awakens, protocol ends.

Haldren tried to fight it. His jaw clenched. His breath came in sharp bursts. His hands shook uncontrollably.

“Don’t…” he whispered. “Don’t take it…”

His resistance snapped. His body went still. His eyes unfocused. His breath slowed. His mind opened completely. The lights cut out. The room dropped into darkness. Alarms echoed through the hall.

Malloy released them.

All four collapsed against desks and walls. Their eyes were blank. Their breathing shallow. Their hands limp. They blinked slowly, confused, like they’d lost track of where they were.

Haldren looked up at him, dazed.

“Who… who are you?”

Malloy turned toward the door. His back limbs lifted. The panel sparked when he touched it. The doors slid open.

The hallway stretched ahead of him. Gunfire shook the walls in distant bursts. The alarms pulsed in uneven flashes that rattled the vents. The air tasted like cold metal and dust. Malloy moved forward with slow, heavy steps. His back limbs scraped the walls. His breath came out hot in the freezing air.

A voice echoed from ahead.

“Contact! Contact! The Freak is in the north wing!”

Boots thundered. Rifles clacked. Malloy turned toward the sound. His tentacles twitched in fast, uneven movements. Pressure built behind his eyes in a sharp, rising rhythm.

The MPs rounded the corner.

“Open fire!”

Rifles cracked. The sound slammed through the hallway. His back limbs snapped forward, forming a tight shield. Rounds struck the limbs with sharp metallic snaps. Sparks jumped. Each impact vibrated through his body.

“Keep firing! Don’t let him through!”

Malloy stepped forward. His limbs stayed raised. Bullets hit and bounced away. The MPs backed up. Their boots scraped the floor. One stumbled into a wall and dropped his rifle. The pulse in Malloy’s skull surged. The MP froze. His breath caught. His eyes widened. His hands shook. His chest tightened in a hard, involuntary spasm. His knees dipped and he fell behind the others.

“Man down! Man down!”

Another MP tried to flank him. Malloy turned his head. The pulse hit again. The man’s breath caught hard. His rifle slipped from his hands. His legs locked. His voice cracked into a sharp, panicked sound.

“I can’t move — ”

Radios crackled.

“He’s in the main corridor!” “He’s not stopping!” “We need backup now!”

Malloy’s back limbs lifted high. One limb swung outward. It hit an MP square in the chest. The man flew out of view and hit something hard down the hall. His rifle clattered across the floor.

Another limb struck a wall panel. Sparks burst. The lights flickered. The hallway dropped into dim red emergency glow.

Malloy moved faster. His breath deepened. His chest rose and fell in slow, heavy pulls. The cold air burned his throat. His tentacles twitched in fast, uneven movements.

An MP stepped out from a side door with a shotgun.

“Freeze! Freeze right now!”

Malloy stared at him. The pulse hit again. The man’s eyes widened. His breath broke. His hands shook. His voice dropped into a raw whisper.

“Get out of my head — ”

He backed into the doorway and disappeared.

Malloy kept moving.

The hallway opened into a wide loading bay. Snow blew in through a cracked service door. The Alaskan wind cut through the room in sharp bursts. MPs had formed a line behind overturned crates and metal carts.

“Hold the line!” “Don’t let The Freak reach the exit!” “Fire on my mark!”

Malloy stepped into the open.

“Fire!”

Gunfire tore through the bay. Bullets ripped into crates. Sparks jumped from metal carts. His limbs snapped into a shield again. The impacts rang through the room.

He pushed forward.

One limb swung outward. It hit a stack of crates. The crates toppled and crashed down on the MPs’ position. Shouts erupted. Boots scrambled. Radios filled with frantic voices.

“He’s breaking through!” “Fall back!” “Fall — ”

Malloy stared at the nearest MP. The pulse hit harder than before. The man’s breath stopped. His eyes rolled upward. He dropped behind the barricade and didn’t get up.

The others panicked.

“Retreat!” “Get out of the bay!” “Move!”

Malloy walked through the chaos. His limbs tore through carts, crates, and metal supports. The floor shook. Cold wind blasted through the broken door. Snow swirled around him. His breath came out in hot bursts that fogged the air.

He reached the exit.

An MP tried to block him. A limb hit the ground beside the man. The shockwave knocked him off his feet and out of sight.

Malloy stepped into the snow.

The cold hit him hard. The wind roared across the open yard. Floodlights flickered. Sirens wailed from the towers. The Alaskan night stretched out in front of him, dark and empty.

Behind him, MPs shouted from inside the bay.

“He’s outside!” “Seal the doors!” “Don’t let him escape!”

Malloy turned. His back limbs lifted high. He drove them into the loading bay’s support beams. Metal bent. Concrete cracked. Snow and dust blasted into the air. The roof sagged. The walls buckled.

The MPs’ shouts turned frantic.

“Fall back!” “Get out!” “Move! Move!”

The roof collapsed inward. The sound carried across the yard.

Snow and debris filled the bay. The exit sealed behind a wall of twisted metal and concrete. The shouts faded under the weight of the collapse.

Malloy stood in the snow. The wind pushed against him. The cold bit into his skin. His breath came out in slow, heavy pulls. His limbs lowered under their own weight. His tentacles twitched in small, uneven movements.

He turned toward the dark stretch of tundra.

Snow hit the yard in fast bursts. The wind pushed against Malloy hard enough to make his new limbs sway. The cold bit into his skin. His breath fogged in front of him in short, uneven pulls. He moved forward with slow steps, each one sinking into the snow. His limbs dragged behind him, leaving deep grooves.

A spotlight snapped on. Voices shouted from the catwalks. Rifles clacked. Boots slammed against metal. Malloy turned his head. His tentacles twitched in small, frantic movements. The pressure behind his eyes pulsed in a weak, unstable rhythm.

Gunfire erupted. Bullets tore into the snow around him. He raised his back limbs. The first impacts hit hard and sent a vibration through his spine. He staggered. Another volley hit. A sharp crack sounded and one limb sagged. His chest tightened. He tried to lift the limb again, but it dragged through the snow.

Malloy pushed forward. His steps slowed. The cold cut deeper. His breath came in fast, uneven bursts. His tentacles twitched in small spasms he couldn’t stop. A squad rushed him from the left. Orders cut through the wind.

He turned toward them. The pulse in his skull surged. Two MPs froze mid‑stride. Their rifles slipped from their hands. Their breath caught. They dropped behind the others. The pulse cost him. A sharp pain shot through his head. His vision blurred. His knees buckled. He caught himself on one of his remaining limbs. Snow sprayed under the weight.

More gunfire tore through the yard. A bullet struck another limb. The limb jerked and hung low. Malloy’s breath snagged. His chest rose and fell in short, rough pulls. The cold crawled up his arms. His fingers trembled.

He kept moving.

The yard stretched ahead of him — a wide field of snow broken by fences, towers, and floodlights. The wind cut across the open ground. His limbs dragged behind him. His steps grew slower. His breath came out in hot bursts that fogged the air before the wind tore them apart.

A distant alarm echoed across the yard. Another squad formed near the far fence. Their rifles came up. Malloy tried to raise his limbs again. Only one lifted. The others hung low, twitching weakly.

He took another step.

A deep vibration rolled through the snow. Malloy stopped. His breath caught. The vibration came again — heavier this time, like something large moving under the surface.

The MPs shouted.

“What the hell is that?” “Eyes on the ground!” “Something’s moving!”

Malloy stared at the snow ahead of him. The surface shifted. A long crack opened. Snow slid aside as something pushed upward. A dark shape rose from beneath the surface, slow at first, then faster, breaking through with a heavy burst of powder.

A creature pulled itself out of the ground.

It was larger than Malloy. Its limbs were longer. Its back carried thick, jointed appendages that twitched in slow, deliberate movements. Its skin was pale and stretched tight across its frame. Its mouth hung open. No breath fogged the air.

Malloy stared at it. The creature stared back.

A pulse hit Malloy’s skull — not from him. From it.

His vision blurred. His knees dipped. His breath stuttered in his chest. The pressure behind his eyes tightened. The creature stepped closer. Snow crunched under its weight. Its limbs dragged behind it in long arcs

The MPs opened fire.

Rounds struck the creature’s limbs. Sparks jumped. The creature didn’t react. It kept moving toward Malloy, its eyes locked on him. Another pulse hit him. His jaw clenched. His tentacles twitched in sharp, involuntary movements. His remaining limbs shook.

The creature stopped a few feet away.

Malloy felt something push into his mind — not a memory, not a thought, but a presence. Heavy. Cold. Familiar in a way he couldn’t place. His breath came in short, rough pulls. His vision doubled, then snapped back.

The creature leaned closer. Its tentacles twitched once. A low sound came from its throat — not a growl, not a word, just a vibration that hit Malloy’s chest.

Another pulse hit him.

Images flashed behind his eyes.

A frozen landscape. A facility buried under ice. Rows of containment pods. Subjects inside them. Some still. Some moving. A file stamped SITE 14. A directive: MERGE.

Malloy staggered. His limbs shook. The cold crawled up his spine. The creature stepped even closer. Its breath carried no heat. Its eyes didn’t blink.

Malloy felt the pressure behind his eyes rise again — not from fear, not from pain, but from something pushing outward. His tentacles twitched. His limbs lifted a few inches off the snow.

The creature’s limbs lifted in the same motion.

Malloy’s breath caught.

The creature leaned in until its face was inches from his. Its tentacles brushed the air near his cheek. Another pulse hit him — stronger than the others. His vision went white for a second. His chest tightened. His limbs jerked.

The creature stepped back.

Malloy felt something inside him shift — not physically, but deeper. A connection. A pull. A recognition he didn’t understand.

The creature turned toward the fence.

MPs shouted. Rifles cracked. Bullets hit the creature’s limbs and bounced away. The creature didn’t react. It walked toward the fence with slow, heavy steps. Snow shifted under its weight.

Malloy watched it go. His breath came in slow, uneven pulls. His limbs hung low. His tentacles twitched in small, tired movements. The cold pressed against him from all sides.

The creature reached the fence. Its limbs lifted. Metal bent. Bolts snapped. The fence tore open with a sharp, heavy crack. Snow blew through the gap.

The creature stepped through.

Malloy took a step after it. His limbs dragged behind him. His breath fogged the air in short bursts. The cold bit deeper. His vision blurred at the edges.

He reached the torn fence.

The creature waited on the other side, its limbs twitching in slow movements. Snow swirled around it. The wind pushed against both of them.

Malloy stepped through the gap.

The creature turned and walked into the dark stretch of tundra.

Malloy followed.

The wind swallowed the sound of the facility behind them. Floodlights faded. Sirens dimmed. Snow covered their tracks as fast as they made them.

Malloy kept moving.

The creature didn’t look back.

The tundra stretched ahead of them in a wide, empty field of snow. The wind pushed against Malloy hard enough to make his limbs sway. The cold crawled up his arms and into his chest. His breath fogged the air in short bursts. The creature moved in steady steps, its limbs dragging long grooves behind it.

Malloy followed. His own limbs dragged deeper lines. His steps grew slower. The cold pressed against him from all sides. His tentacles twitched in small, tired movements. The pressure behind his eyes pulsed in a weak rhythm that faded and returned without warning.

The creature didn’t look back.

Snow blew across the ground in fast streaks. The wind cut through the open space. Malloy kept moving. His legs shook. His breath came in rough pulls. The cold bit into his skin. His limbs hung low, twitching once in a while like they were trying to lift and couldn’t.

The creature stopped.

Malloy stopped behind it. His breath broke unevenly. His chest tightened. The cold pressed deeper. The creature stood still, its limbs lifted a few inches off the snow. Its tentacles twitched once. A low vibration rolled through the air — not a sound, not a word, just a pressure that hit Malloy’s chest.

Malloy felt something push into his mind again. Not as strong as before. Not as sharp. A faint pull. A faint connection. His vision blurred at the edges. His knees dipped. His breath came in short, uneven pulls.

The creature turned its head slightly, just enough for Malloy to see one of its eyes. The eye didn’t blink. Snow hit its skin and melted in small streaks.

Another pulse hit him.

Images flickered behind his eyes.

A frozen corridor. A row of containment pods. A subject inside one of them. A label: SUBSTRATE‑01. A second label: SUBSTRATE‑02. A third: SUBSTRATE‑03. A final line of text: MERGE PROTOCOL — ACTIVE.

Malloy staggered. His limbs shook. His breath came out in a rough burst. The cold crawled up his spine. The creature turned away again and took another step into the tundra.

Malloy followed.

The facility behind them shrank into a cluster of lights swallowed by snow. Sirens faded. Floodlights dimmed. The wind carried the last traces of gunfire away.

Malloy kept moving.

His limbs dragged behind him. His breath fogged the air in short bursts. The cold pressed deeper. His vision blurred. His steps grew slower.

The creature didn’t slow down.

Malloy took another step. Then another. His limbs twitched once. His breath broke in a short, uneven pull. The cold crawled up his neck. His vision narrowed.

He kept moving.

The creature walked ahead of him, its limbs cutting long lines through the snow.

Malloy followed those lines into the dark stretch of tundra.

The wind swallowed everything behind them.

And the two shapes — one steady, one struggling — moved deeper into the frozen night.

I was never the type to stay at home. Even as a kid I'd go away for days, and that didn't change with age. I blow through money like crazy so camping with barely any gear in the middle of nowhere and cheap holidays to foreign countries were things very dear to me.

Over the years I'd find myself in uncomfortable and dangerous situations, but nothing compares to last week.

Frank, a friend of mine called me one morning, talking about a trip to the Amazon that could end up being free. Aparently a wildlife preservation firm was hosting a paid animal photography contest. The competition was less about the artistry that goes into photography and more about whoever photographs the rarest and biggest animals. As long as either of us did reasonably well, the reward prize would pay off our entire trip, with some to spare.

I'd never refuse that. We scraped together for the cheapest flight to Manaus, I was excited to board, I'd never been in a place like that and neither did Frank. On the flight there, we browsed listings for local tour guides, and secured a middle aged guy who worked construction and was a tour guide on the side.

After landing, I felt the warm yet humid air on my skin, engines rattling and chatter became the constant background noise in Manaus. As soon as we got out and took out the little things we had brought, we went to meet with Paulinho, he talked to us in broken English and seemed amazed at the reason we were there. The midday heat was unbearable, and the hunger crept in too, so we stopped for lunch. Paulinho suggested we drop off our extra gear at his house.

Finally, we set off for our first day of the weeklong competition. The plan was to spend the first night or two at Paulinho's in Manaus before setting off deep into the jungle, sleeping on hammocks and relying on what we could carry to help us make it through the week. This way felt more adventerous, more hardcore. He advised against this, citing vipers, mosquito fever and river currents. After mentioning spirits in the forests and urban legends, Frank looked at me all freaked out, seeming to trust each word he was saying. I was unconvinced. It was more realistic to me that this guy would prefer we just paid him for food and shelter.

Paulinho took us to a small boat near his house on the Amazon. I made sure the cameras were all charged while they loaded the boat. On the river, we were sweating with cameras in hand, while he mentioned that we could get a shot of a Jaguar or a Caiman if we're lucky. That kept us motivated and got us to keep our eyes open. It didn't take long for me to notice that the jungle was bustling with life in all directions, toucans flew in pairs overhead and schools of fish swarmed beneath us.

I managed to snap a few photos. Frank was pointing and yelling at a group of monkeys on the shore nearby, then swearing as they scattered before he got his camera to focus. Paulinho didn't seem at ease, he kept one hand on the motor and smoked with the other, seemed focused at the water and the river banks. I tried to lighten up the mood by asking if he was alright. He said he was fine, just watching out. "People don't always come back home from rides like this, you know?" His tone was way off and It creeped me out even though I was very skeptic of his stories. I asked him what he meant by that. He replied that recently disappearances have been more common than usual, I atributted that to the tourism season. He replied with a scoff. That statement was stuck in my head while he waved his hand around, pointing at the thick brush and the dense jungle, "About a million places something could hide here." I listened intently for the I'll admit, the first time since I've met this man, then asked "Such as what?" He tried to reply but Frank interrupted by yelling "YES! FUCK YES, LOOK AT THAT." He procedeed to show us a photo of a fully grown caiman, bathing in the sun on a tall rock on the shore, for an amateur, Frank sure did nail it this time, and he made sure we know it. The caiman laid on the rock unbothered, like it's on a throne, Paulinho smiled after seeing the photo.

We continued downstream, my eyes were darting from tree trunk to tree trunk, looking for jaguars. I'd gotten my mind off Paulinho's words, feeling uncomfortable to ask again. And instead fantasized about a perfect shot of a mom and cub jaguar. Few bird photos and small talk about wasted football talent later, it was time to turn back. We still had a few hours of daylight, but Paulinho's grim words about getting caught here in the dark made us not want to argue.

Frank was going through the gallery on his camera, visibly satisfied, I was wiping the sweat off my face, picturing a jaguar on the way back, and Paulinho steered the boat around, calmly dragging his cigarette as he'd done a thousand times before. Just then, a sharp sound unlike anything I heard up to that point echoed from the jungle so loud, I visibly flinched. Frank looked up, asking what the fuck that was and Paulinho slowed down for a moment, before shrugging it off as a big bird. Now, I don't know if that explanation was convincing to Frank, but I've heard birds' calls all day and nothing compared to that.

The ride back was quiet, there were less birds and no caimans or monkeys this time, Frank kept bothering Paulinho about it. He settled on the explanation that smaller animals usually scatter when an apex predator is nearby. He advised to keep our eyes open and cameras ready.

Once we got back I took our gear out, while Frank and Paulinho docked the boat. The walk back home was short but felt like a different world compared to the river. I took a shower and collapsed on the bed, exhausted from the flight and the boat ride. After tossing and turning, I fell asleep.

This is the part I feel the most guilty about. The next morning, despite Paulinho's pleads and Frank's on the fence attitude, I insisted we head inside the jungle alone. Paulinho talked about how easy it was for even locals to get lost in the jungle, much less two tourists, how a snake bite in the grass is a death sentence and a million other warnings. Frank was eager to stay, especially after Paulinho offered a discount. But I was sure. We ended up going.

Paulinho wished us luck and told us about a store where we could get more gear and food. We packed up and parted our ways. That very morning we bought hammocks, medicine for insect bites, strongest flashlights available, a pair of machetes and all the food and drinks we could carry.

The transition from city to jungle was something you could feel, shadows loomed over us, making us feel like ants. I thought the humidity inside the city was bad, until I've seen this. Vines crept down all around us and there were flowers and fruits in just about every color you can imagine. A feeling of sticking out and being exposed lingered, but I shrugged it off.

We were squeezing through the thinning footpaths before having to resort to carving our own path with machetes. We would take turns, stopping to listen. Frank took over so I could rest, glancing back, our path was already dissapearing behind us. He hacked our way through the forest, then said wait. I looked down. Pawprints. They were deep and wide, catlike. The prints led us to the right, towards the river. We lowered our voices and made sure to use our machetes only when we had to. Frank saw it first, there it was, our perfect shot. A fully grown jaguar on a little clearing by the river shore. We both snapped photos but were unsatisfied. Most of it's body was hidden by branches and trees. We slowly creeped in closer, and tried to get a better picture. Then it started walking away, not running, not chasing anything, just walking, as if aware it's untouchable.

We followed quietly, ocassionaly snapping pictures, none of which turned out well. It led us through a thinner part of the jungle where we didn't have to hack as much. After what felt like hours of this cat and mouse game where we tried to be as quiet as possible, yet as close as possible, we finally took some good photos, from around 30 meters away, and with most of the beast in shot, Frank urged me to turn back, as we were deep inside the jungle, and niether of us paid close atenttion to the path we took. He was worried we would get lost, but I of course didn't have enough, I wanted to get even closer. Promising we would turn back soon, I kept going.

Then we heard it again, the same shriek, this time it came from the other side of the river. Frank gasped, "Same thing?" The jaguar stopped in it's tracks, then changed direction away from the river, picking it's pace up. Far away as it was, it still echoed loud enough to drown all the sounds of the jungle. My eyes focused on the jaguar again, which was too far for us to track any longer. Just as Frank turned around to leave, there it was again. This time the shriek came from our side of the river, it's impossible to pin point exactly how far away it was, it was even louder this time. My hair stood up, and Frank looked like he saw a ghost. The jaguar didn't hesitate, it turned and ran. Not the way it did before, this time it was a clumsy panicked sprint straight through the brush. It was gone in seconds.

Frank was ready to take off back the way we came from, he grabbed my hand, "We're leaving. Now." I didn't respond. I had to find out what it was, I had to take a picture. But Frank wasn't budging this time. "There's no way you're serious. I'm leaving." After some back and forward arguing, we realized that we're the only sound in the jungle. Even the bugs were silent. The only thing you could hear was the Amazon's waves crashing on the shore. He started walking back the way we came from quickly, and I crouched in some tall grass. Eyes focused in the direction the screech last sounded. Few minutes later, footsteps. More then one. approaching.

I put the camera on the shaky stand and started filming in the direction of the sound. The footsteps stopped, all at once. Animals weren't that coordinated. Then started again, this time, faster then before. Towards our path, towards my hiding spot. I felt hunted. I lied down. Held my breath. I heard them directly infront of me, once stopped, more behind me. Then to the left. Whatever it was was all around me. All movement suddenly stopped. And then the most deafening shriek I've heard all my life. I exhaled reflexively, my body twitched and one of my eardrums ruptured. It made me nauseous. My hand gripped the machete as hard as it could. Then back to silence.

I tensed my body in pain, but wouldn't dare make a sound. Then the camera fell down, or I think it did. The ringing in my ears made it hard to tell. That was followed by clicking noises. The clicking only ramped up. Short pauses and varied pitch. A series of clicks in front. Moment of silence. Then more clicking behind me. Amidst the footsteps, a patch of grass shifted right next to my face. I heard breathing right above me. Closed my eyes. The footsteps gradually got further away. Then gathered right next to me again. Then sprinted towards our footpath. I could breathe again. I lied there unmoving for a long time. Watched the sun move over the sky. Afraid to move. Afraid that the slightest twitch would be replied to with another deafening shriek and footsteps again. The bugs returned and eventually I got up. Still holding the machete I looked around. Nothing. I stared at the camera and debated if I even wanted to know what was there.

I fast forwarded the beggining of the footage, until the built in microphone started picking up sound. It had gotten close. I skipped more. There was a shadow on the grass. It was unclear. It appeared slim. One of it's hands looked like it was holding something. The shadow showed a round hollow object. The footsteps died down. It moved out of view at this point. Then the shriek. I could barely endure hearing it again. Few moments later, movement resumed, the shadow turned back and brought a tail to view. It was thick at the base and got thinner as it went. It didn't look like any other tail I'd ever seen. The camera knocked over, facing the sky. Only the clicking remained for the rest of the recording.

I knew it went through the trail Frank and I made. I heard it go that way. But I had to follow. All the other directions led deeper into the jungle. I could only hope I don't run into it. I was worried about Frank. I walked for hours, struggling to stay on track. Just before nightfall there was something weird. In a few places there were Frank's bootprints. They were deep, then it looked like he slipped. Then I saw more. Right on the trail, a mixture of prints left by his boots and others I can't explain properly. They cut across one another and hid their shape in the dug dirt. His machete was there, contrasting the greenery. I cautiously got close. The same one as mine, undeniably Frank's. He would still need it to get back. My gaze followed the prints. Something dragged from the trail briefly, then nothing. I almost missed his backpack in the jungle, far out, but I could still see it on the grass, abandoned. I wanted to call out his name, afraid that he went in the wrong direction, but I wouldn't dare provoke another screech. Time was running out. There was nowhere else to go. I moved forward, there were no other prints.

I fell to my knees after getting to a point that was way too familiar. A tree trunk I was sure I passed before. It was as if the jungle itself wouldn't let me leave. Night fell, I still had a long way back, and there I was circling around. I buried my face in my hands. I marked the trunk. I tried to get around in the moonlight, cutting my arms and legs on the sharp branches carved on our way here. I took out the flashlight. Just as it clicked, the bugs got quiet. Not fully, but enough to feel wrong.

I put it on the lowest setting. Something shifted. It was just out of the light. I shined in that direction. Nothing, just a tree thick enough to stand out even here. My ruptured eardrum and constant ringing in the other made it hard to tell but I could swear I heard footsteps from the side, walking at the same tempo as mine. When I stop, they stop. I went faster, they caught up. From the other side, another pair. And then, Click. It made me freeze in my tracks. They stopped too, after a delay. Soon there were more footprints. And clicks. Series of clicks rattled from different directions. They didn't overlap. I noticed that stopping wasn't making them quiet down any longer. I didn't look. Didn't shine my flashlight. Just walked ahead.

Something leapt behind a big stone that was right next to the path. I flinched. I heard scraping. The clicking got frantic. My fingers twitched and body got tense again. I couldn't keep going. But I couldn't stop. So I dropped my bag and ran off the trail in the direction it sounded like there were the least of them. The brush was too dense for the flashlight to help. Sounds of leaps towards me cut through the air. My foot caught on a root. I slipped and lost my flashlight and machete. Just as I was scrambling to stay on my feet my whimpering was replied to with a click so close, it left the smell of breath on my face. I turned my head away, trying to run, just for a sharp tail to pierce my ribcage the very next moment. I lay helpless, blood filling my lungs as I locked eyes with something that shouldn't exist, and saw the jungle isn't empty, even when it's silent.