The Lab at Mile Marker 19
When a cleanup team is sent to a mysterious outbreak site, they uncover a secret far deadlier than any virus—something already prepared to replace humanity.
By the time the news broke, it was already too late. People weren’t dying from the virus—they were disappearing.
I was part of the cleanup crew, assigned to a nameless stretch of desert where the first cluster had been reported. They told us it was a containment mission. They gave us suits, scanners, and strict orders: retrieve any samples, avoid direct exposure, and never enter the structures.
They didn’t tell us there were structures.
Mile Marker 19 was just sand and wind—or it had been. Now, a complex of black, windowless buildings rose from the dunes, humming faintly beneath the blistering sun. No logos. No guards. Just endless corridors that seemed to twist even though the buildings stood still.
We lost Ramirez first. One second he was right behind me; the next, only his earpiece remained, buzzing with static. The scanners went blind. The radios died. The sky turned a shade too dark for midday.
I found the central door unlocked, slightly ajar, as if inviting us in. Against every instinct, I stepped inside.
Rows of capsules lined the walls, each containing a still figure suspended in a strange, viscous fluid. They weren't just infected. They were changing—skin translucent, eyes blackened, mouths stitched shut with thin metallic threads.
At the far end of the room, a monitor flickered to life. One sentence blinked in harsh red text:
"Replication Phase Complete. Awaiting Deployment."
The floor shuddered as something heavy moved beneath it. Somewhere deep inside the complex, doors began unlocking with loud, deliberate clicks.
I ran into the blinding heat of the desert, knowing what was coming couldn't be stopped.
Knowing we were never meant to survive the cure.
I was part of the cleanup crew, assigned to a nameless stretch of desert where the first cluster had been reported. They told us it was a containment mission. They gave us suits, scanners, and strict orders: retrieve any samples, avoid direct exposure, and never enter the structures.
They didn’t tell us there were structures.
Mile Marker 19 was just sand and wind—or it had been. Now, a complex of black, windowless buildings rose from the dunes, humming faintly beneath the blistering sun. No logos. No guards. Just endless corridors that seemed to twist even though the buildings stood still.
We lost Ramirez first. One second he was right behind me; the next, only his earpiece remained, buzzing with static. The scanners went blind. The radios died. The sky turned a shade too dark for midday.
I found the central door unlocked, slightly ajar, as if inviting us in. Against every instinct, I stepped inside.
Rows of capsules lined the walls, each containing a still figure suspended in a strange, viscous fluid. They weren't just infected. They were changing—skin translucent, eyes blackened, mouths stitched shut with thin metallic threads.
At the far end of the room, a monitor flickered to life. One sentence blinked in harsh red text:
"Replication Phase Complete. Awaiting Deployment."
The floor shuddered as something heavy moved beneath it. Somewhere deep inside the complex, doors began unlocking with loud, deliberate clicks.
I ran into the blinding heat of the desert, knowing what was coming couldn't be stopped.
Knowing we were never meant to survive the cure.
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