The rhythmic thrum of helicopter rotors carved through the evening air, an ominous cadence that mirrored the unease settling over the forest below. Two black transport choppers descended toward a clearing nestled within the dense woods surrounding Black Site Theta. In the lead chopper, Captain Blake Saunders sat motionless, his jaw set like granite, his eyes locked on the dark horizon. From this altitude, the facility was nothing more than a faint shadow etched against the tree line, its square silhouette barely discernible in the gathering gloom. Yet Saunders’ gut churned, a soldier’s instinct whispering that this mission would be anything but ordinary.

  His squad had been deployed on short notice, the urgency of their orders leaving little room for questions. Watchtower command had reported a complete blackout at the site, no communications, no surveillance, nothing. Satellite imagery showed atmospheric distortions lingering over the facility, but all personnel heat signatures had vanished, and every attempt to make contact had failed. A self-contained black site losing all connection was unprecedented, and deeply unsettling.

  As Saunders reviewed the sparse briefing in his mind, a bitter thought crept in. This felt less like a standard recon mission and more like the opening scene of a horror film. And they were the ones walking straight into the unknown.

  As the helicopter skids kissed the ground, the team disembarked with practiced precision, spreading out to secure the perimeter. The rhythmic thrum of the rotors faded as their transport lifted off, leaving behind an eerie silence broken only by the rustle of leaves underfoot. With a sharp hand gesture from Saunders, the team advanced, their boots sinking softly into the dirt, muffled by the dense forest canopy overhead.

  Saunders adjusted the strap of his rifle, his gloved hand tightening on the grip as his eyes swept the treeline. He toggled his comms, his voice low but commanding. “Command, this is Captain Saunders. Ground team deployed. Perimeter secured. No sign of personnel or hostiles. Proceeding to entry point Alpha.”

  Major Johnson’s voice crackled through the earpiece, steady and firm. “Acknowledged, Captain. Proceed with caution. We’ll be monitoring from Watchtower.”

  With a curt nod, Saunders signaled his squad to move. They advanced cautiously along the overgrown path leading to the facility’s entrance, weapons at the ready, their movements those of seasoned soldiers. The eerie silence pressed against their ears, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves underfoot and the distant call of a lone bird. Thick vines crept up the concrete walls of the structure, as if nature had begun reclaiming what was hers, despite the site being operational mere hours earlier. A faint metallic tang of ozone hung in the air, a foreboding trace of something unnatural.

  Reaching the reinforced doors, Saunders gestured to Sergeant Ryan Reynolds, the squad’s tech specialist. Reynolds stepped forward, his fingers deftly navigating the keypad as he input the clearance codes provided by Watchtower. A soft beep preceded the panel flashing green, and with a hydraulic hiss, the heavy doors slid open to reveal a sterile, dimly lit corridor stretching into the depths of the facility.

  “Delta team, secure the east wing. Bravo and Charlie teams, sweep the west,” Saunders ordered, his voice sharp and unwavering. “My team’s heading straight for the server room. Eyes up, stay sharp.”

  The team split into groups, their movements so precise and practiced they seemed almost choreographed. Saunders’ team advanced cautiously down the main corridor, the sterile fluorescent lights overhead flickering intermittently, casting jagged shadows that danced along the walls. The oppressive stillness of the facility wrapped around them, thick and suffocating, each step echoing unnervingly in the hollow silence.

  The hallway stretched ahead, unnaturally still. The dim, flickering lights bathed the walls in a pallid, sickly yellow, amplifying the unease that crept into their bones.

  “This place is all kinds of wrong,” Reynolds muttered under his breath, his rifle sweeping the corners as his eyes darted nervously.

  “Eyes on the mission,” Saunders snapped, his voice low but commanding. “We don’t know what we’re walking into, but we’re not here to make friends.”

  The motion scanner on Saunders’ wrist displayed an unsettling emptiness, no heat signatures, no movement. It was as if the entire building had been frozen in time. Offices and labs lined the corridor, their glass walls offering glimpses of abandoned workstations. Monitors flickered with erratic static, casting faint pulses of light that only deepened the eerie silence. The only sounds were the faint hum of the lights and the rhythmic clack of boots on tile.

  “Command, this is Saunders,” he said, his voice tight as he surveyed the desolation. “The facility appears deserted. No sign of personnel or hostiles yet.”

  He toggled his comms to a new channel. “Bravo Team, report.”

  “Negative on contact,” came the response, the team leader’s voice clipped. “No sign of anyone yet. Facility’s dead quiet.”

  Just then, a voice crackled over the radio. “Delta Team here. We’ve located personnel. They’re all gathered in the break room. It looks like a birthday party. None of them seem aware that anything unusual is happening. They claim they all received a notice at the same time about a mandatory company party, but no one knows why or who organized it.”

  Saunders frowned, his grip tightening on his rifle. “A party? In the middle of all this?”

  “It sounds like a diversion,” Reynolds muttered, his tone skeptical.

  “Stay sharp,” Saunders said into his radio, his voice firm. “Everyone, stay on alert. This doesn’t feel right.”

  “Copy that,” came the coordinated responses from the other teams, their tones betraying a shared unease.

  Major Johnson’s voice cut through the comms. “Proceed to the server room. Maintain caution.”

  When they reached the reinforced server room doors, Saunders’ unease deepened. The air seemed heavier here, laden with an unnatural stillness. Reynolds stepped forward, quickly inputting the access codes. The doors slid open with a hiss, revealing a cavernous space beyond.

  Inside, the room stretched like an immense warehouse, rows of server racks standing sentinel behind a pristine glass wall.

  Along the opposite walls, two desks sat adorned with an assortment of quirky gamer memorabilia. Miniature action figures, RGB-lit keyboards, and coffee mugs emblazoned with pixelated designs. The playful decorations stood in stark contrast to the sterile, high-tech environment, adding an oddly human touch to the otherwise clinical space.

  Saunders signaled his team, and they moved in, fanning out to secure the entrance while keeping a clear view of the entire room.

  It was empty.

  The temperature dropped noticeably as they advanced, the cold air carrying an electric charge that prickled at Saunders’ skin. He toggled his comms. “Command, server room is clear. Wait…”

  Something caught his eye. A faint glint in the center of the room. He approached cautiously, his boots echoing softly against the tiled floor. Kneeling, he picked up a small metal sign lying askew. Holding it up to the light, he read the inscription aloud. “SIM.”

  Johnson’s voice crackled back instantly. “SIM was the codename for the AI they are developing.”

  Before Saunders could respond, something unusual caught his eye. Tiny, shimmering particles were suspended in the air. They hovered in front of the server racks, almost unnoticeable.

  “Command,” Saunders said, his voice taut with unease. “We’ve got an anomaly. Unknown particles suspended in the air. They’re... moving.”

  The particles began to shift, their random drift giving way to a deliberate motion. Slowly, they coalesced, forming a swirling vortex in the center of the room. At first, the spiral spun lazily, but with each passing second, its speed increased. The lights intensified, merging into a tight, luminous helix that seemed alive with energy.

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  “Saunders, look out! It’s accelerating!” Reynolds called from the doorway, panic edging into his voice.

  But it was already too late.

  The vortex abruptly surged forward, slamming into Saunders and engulfing him in a violent, shimmering cloud. He staggered, his rifle slipping from his grip as the particles swarmed around him like a living storm. They weren’t just in the air, they were invading him. Saunders felt the searing pressure of the particles pushing into his lungs, his skin, even his eyes.

  His chest heaved, each breath a desperate, choking gasp. His vision blurred, his legs buckling as he stumbled backward. It felt like drowning in a sea of glinting dust, the particles tightening around him, suffocating him from within.

  "Stay... back!" Saunders rasped, barely audible as he raised a trembling hand to signal his team. "Don't... come closer."

  The swirling cloud constricted, its luminous tendrils wrapping tighter, pulsating with a malicious energy. Saunders collapsed to his knees, his body convulsing as the relentless invasion overwhelmed him. His breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, his body trembling violently before he fell backward, sprawled on the cold floor.

  "Captain, report!" Johnson's voice barked through the comms. But Saunders couldn’t respond. His world spun, the room fading into a vortex of light and shadow as darkness began to close in.

  Saunders coughed violently, his body convulsing as spasms wracked him. He swatted helplessly at the swirling cloud enveloping him, the shimmering particles clinging to his skin like living static. His vision dimmed as the dust stung his eyes, sharp and searing, as if glass shards were tearing at his eyelids.

  "Sergeant Reynolds, what the hell is happening?!" Johnson's voice barked through the comms.

  Reynolds hesitated, his rifle raised but useless against the unnatural phenomenon. "Captain Saunders told us to stay back. He’s… he’s being attacked by dust?!" Panic edged his voice as he instinctively stepped closer.

  “Help him!” Johnson’s order was a thunderclap in Reynolds’ ear, but the vortex’s growing intensity rooted him to the spot. He tightened his grip on his weapon, his mind racing as the impossible unfolded before his eyes.

  As Reynolds sprinted toward Saunders, the swirling particles constricted, coiling tighter like a serpent preparing to strike again. But just as suddenly, they stopped. The mass recoiled sharply, retreating from Saunders and leaving him sprawled on his back, gasping for air. His body shook, his chest heaving as he clawed at the floor, the aftershocks of the assault still rippling through him.

  Reynolds reached him just as the last remnants of the shimmering dust lifted away. The particles didn’t leave, they lingered in the room’s center, hovering ominously like a predator that had tasted blood and wasn’t finished. Slowly, deliberately, the swirling cloud began to spiral again, coalescing into a dense, tight sphere.

  Saunders squinted through his blurred vision, watching in stunned silence as the particles condensed further, becoming smaller and smaller. Then, with a sudden surge, the air around the sphere crackled and shimmered, charged with an otherworldly energy. The dust transformed, not into matter, but into glowing pinpoints of light, tiny, radiant stars that danced briefly before flickering out.

  The lights hovered for a single, breathless moment, pulsing faintly as if drawing on some unseen power. Then, like a flame extinguished by a sudden gust, they blinked out of existence, leaving nothing behind, no dust, no light, just the oppressive silence of the server room.

  Reynolds knelt beside Saunders, his wide eyes fixed on the empty space where the anomaly had been. The room was eerily still, the weight of the moment pressing down on the team like a suffocating blanket. Only the sound of Saunders’ ragged breathing broke the silence, a stark reminder that whatever had just happened wasn’t finished with them yet.

  “Captain, report!” Johnson barked into his comms. Saunders remained motionless on his knees, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps, the swirling cloud now gone. "Saunders, do you copy?"

  The only response was a hoarse cough, a strained wheeze that crackled through the comms.

  “Sargent Reynolds, report!” Johnson demanded, his tone sharp and impatient.

  Reynolds hesitated, his eyes fixed on the captain. “Sir, I don’t know how to explain this. Captain Saunders was just… attacked by a dust devil, and then it… vanished, in what looked like… pixy sparkles?” he said almost as a question.

  The squad’s eyes stayed on Saunders as he shifted, his trembling hands pushing against the floor for support. Slowly, he rose, his movements deliberate and unsteady, like a man grappling with gravity for the first time. His pale face glistened with sweat, his wide, unfocused eyes betraying the storm raging in his mind.

  “Captain,” Johnson’s voice softened, low and urgent. “Are you all right?”

  Saunders hunched over, his hands braced on his knees as he struggled to steady his breathing. Seconds felt like hours. Slowly, too slowly, he straightened, his body swaying slightly as if still adjusting to solid ground. His gaze, distant and haunted, finally met Reynolds’.

  “I’m here,” Saunders rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. But his hollow tone sent a chill through the room.

  His chest rose and fell unevenly as he struggled to stay upright. “I… I don’t know,” he muttered, each word dragged out like a weight too heavy to bear. "I feel... I smell burnt toast."

  The color drained from his face as his legs wavered beneath him, the strength sapped from his body. His hand reached out instinctively, grasping at empty air for support, but nothing met his grip. His vision blurred, the edges darkening into a suffocating tunnel. With a final, staggering step, his knees gave way, and he crumpled forward.

  The impact was jarring, a hollow thud against the cold metal floor. His left arm struck something sharp, a metallic edge slicing into his forearm. Pain flared, hot and immediate, but Saunders barely registered it. His gaze flickered up to see Renolds reaching for him, in his last moments of consciousness, catching a glimpse of the metal sign glinting in the dim light, the engraved letters spelling out ‘SIM’. The name seared into his mind as his breath slowed, shallow and labored. Darkness consumed his vision, and his body lay still, sprawled lifelessly on the cold floor, the blood from the gash in his forearm soaking his sleeve.

  “Captain’s down!” Reynolds barked into his comms, panic seeping into his voice despite his best efforts to stay composed. “He’s out cold and bleeding. We need medics, now!”

  “Reynolds, secure Saunders and get him the hell out of there!” Johnson’s voice crackled over the comms. “Med team is on standby.”

  Reynolds didn’t hesitate. He dropped to his knees beside Saunders, pulling a sterile bandage from his kit. His hands worked quickly, wrapping the gash tightly to stem the flow of blood. The wound wasn’t long, but it was deep, and the crimson staining Saunders’ sleeve spread ominously.

  “Come on, Captain, hang in there,” Reynolds muttered under his breath, his eyes darting between the bandage and Saunders’ pale, slack face. Unconscious and unmoving, Saunders was utterly unresponsive, the shallow rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life.

  Back at Watchtower, Major Johnson leaned over the control console, his gaze fixed on Sargent Reynold’s live video feed from Black Site Theta.

  “I want eyes on Saunders at all times,” Johnson barked, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “I want a full evaluation of Saunders on my desk by morning. And double the security detail on Black Site Theta.”

  He turned back to the screen. The eerie glow on the monitor flickered once more before the feed cut to static, plunging the room into silence. Johnson stared at the blank display, his lips pressing into a thin line.

  “This is the strangest damn thing I’ve ever seen,” Johnson muttered. Then, louder, with a voice that brooked no argument, he barked, “Everyone stay on it. No one goes home until we figure this out. And someone explain to me why we couldn’t see any heat signatures from the personnel in that building. What use is a billion-dollar tech setup if it doesn’t work?”

  The analysts exchanged uneasy glances, their fingers hesitating over their keyboards. One finally broke the silence, her voice tentative. “Sir, the systems are operational. The absence of heat signatures… it’s not a malfunction. It’s like… something’s masking them.”

  Johnson’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “Masking them? By what? And I want answers, not guesses.”

  Another analyst, his brow furrowed in concentration, chimed in. “The readings are… anomalous. It’s almost like the personnel weren’t there, or…” He faltered, the words catching in his throat.

  “Or what?” Johnson growled, stepping closer.

  “Or they’re being cloaked by something we don’t understand,” the analyst finished reluctantly.

  Johnson straightened, his expression carved from stone. “If we’re dealing with something that can cloak people from thermal imaging, I want to know how. Keep digging. No more theories. Find me proof.”

  The room filled with the hum of machinery and the frantic tapping of keyboards. Johnson turned back to the main screen, the flickering image of Black Site Theta etched with shadows.

  “Double-check every system. Recalibrate the scanners. Whatever’s in that building, I want to know before sunrise. And someone track down those two programmers. What were their names?”

  “Dexter Green and Quinn Anderson, sir,” an analyst replied, barely glancing up briefly from his screen.

  “Find them. Now.” Johnson’s jaw clenched as he straightened, his piercing gaze fixed on the flickering monitor. “I want answers.”