We Found an Abandoned Oil Rig on the Dark Side of the Moon | Part 1

Idol money lies in your current account picking crumbs out of its belly button wondering, should I eat them? But when you start investing with Monzo, your money's always busy. You turn on regular investments, invests your spare change, and tops up your stocks and shares' isre. It even helps you make sense of risk and return. Monzo, the bank that gets your money moving. You could get back less than you invest. Monzo current account required UK residents 18 plus decent seas apply. Dr. Naseley There's no way they're on the moon just for a meeting about Mars. They could have done that from Earth. Nah, they're here for the dark side Carlson. Everyone knows it. Man, you are one paranoid bastard. Am I wrong? He stares out the windshield thinking. I let him. Carlson and I have been partners in chaos or crime, depending on your viewpoint, since foster care. I know his moods and methods. He's no rocket scientist, but that's fine because on the moon, we got plenty of them. No, what he's got is even better. Instinct. I've learned to ignore it at my own peril. Carlson finally looks away from the landscape and over at me. No, you're not wrong, it feels off. Way off. Exactly. And not at the gun. And that's why bringing this pistol is not the worst idea I've ever had. I don't know about that. He laughs and shakes his head. Then he nods at the windshield. If we want to keep our asses intact, we should get moving. Garner is expecting an update by 0900. Our time or Earth's. Earth's. Folks down there don't give a shit about our time. They just look up into the sky at night and see dollar signs. Or cheese. Some people see cheese. It's a whacked man. Why did anyone think the moon was made of cheese? Who frickin' knows what people think? I pause a moment and study the shadow line. It's only a few yards away and yet it's like a whole other world. I stare at the darkness and to me, it feels like the darkness stares back. A shiver runs up and down my spine despite wearing an exosuit and having the heat cranked up in the ruler. No, seriously, topper. We should get a move on. Right, sorry. I put the roller back in gear and press the accelerator slowly. You accelerate too quickly on the moon and you're liable to launch yourself into space. Normally, closer to moon-based Columbia, that isn't a problem. There are safety redundancies upon safety redundancies in place to make sure no one ends up flying off into the nothing. We're out here. Only meters away from a restricted zone. There's no one here to save us. No, no one even knows we're here. If I launch us off this rock accidentally, then that's all she wrote. We'd float into open space. Our lives cut down to the amount of oxygen in the roller's life support tanks. The roller bumps up and down a little, but overall it's a smooth ride. We're still on one of the established paths that criss-cross the moon's surface. They can't really be called roads, since there's nothing formal about them. They're just roots everyone repeatedly uses. Except for this one. This route leads directly to the dark side of the moon. A place that has been off limits ever since the UN Treaty was signed. Too little is known. Too much is at stake. Rumors. Stories. Here say. Three expedition teams were lost before the fourth finally returned. And no one on that team would say shit about what they found. At least, not publicly. So off limits it's been. Until now. Or soon from now that is. It ain't open yet. Which means we're about to break close to a hundred maritime laws the second we crossed the line. As we roll closer to that shadow line, I sneak a glance at Carlson. What? Nothing. Bullshit to hopper. What's on your mind? I think about my next words, forming them carefully. Partners are not. I wouldn't exactly call as good people. Do I trust Carlson with my life? Yeah. I have to. Do I trust Carlson not to throw me under the bus to save his own ass? You bet. We've been through some stuff together. We're both survivors. And that means we have to do what we have to. And our world is a dangerous one. So caution is always the smart approach. Dobber? Spit it out. Why does Garner care about the dark side? Carlson shrugs. Because he does. Garner doesn't have to give his reasons. He gives us orders. We carry out those orders. You weren't curious. Curious? Of course, man. But if the second most powerful crime boss on Earth wants to set up shop on the side of the moon, they can't be monitored or observed from Earth. Well, you don't need pen and paper to connect those dots, Dobber. No. I get the strategic value. I do. I just don't see why he's going to the expense. He could buy a small country on Earth and be as clandestined as he wants. It's not like governments run things anymore. He's bigger than they are. And corporations like Absalom are bigger than Garner. If the boss thinks making a move for dark side territory is the right frickin strategy, then I trust him to be right. Don't you? Carlson laughs before I can answer. Oh, wait, right. You don't trust anyone. Do you? You paranoid bastard. Shut up with that crap. I'm not paranoid. I'm cautious. I roll my eyes. And it's not like you haven't heard the stories. The rumors about the dark side. Spooky stuff over this way, man. Carlson's about to respond. But we hit the shadow line and both go silent. The rollers, halogens automatically turn on and illuminate the same grey dust and rock that we just left behind. Damn. It's never easier, is it? Going from light to complete dark in the snap of your fingers creeps me out every time. He shakes his head. This feels different, though. How so? I don't know. Different. Maybe because this time we're going all the way in, not just testing NBC's shadow line surveillance. Maybe. Yeah. It's the real deal this time. So keep an eye on the scanners. The last thing we need is for Moon Bay's Columbia security to sneak up on our ass. Until the dark side officially opens up to everyone, this is still a crime worth a decade and lock up if we get caught. I got it. I got it. Relax. I'll relax when we're back in our bunks at NBC. Well then, I alert. I alert from NBC security? Shit, topper. I'm not worried about what NBC security will do to us if we're caught. I'm worried about what Garner will do to us if he finds out we got caught. It's bad enough that he's threatening families now. I snap my head to the side and grimace at Carlson. The roller jerks a bit, and I quickly adjust, getting us back to straight and smooth. What does that mean? What? I thought you heard. Heard what? He's threatening families now? Carlson's size. Garner is so gung-ho on stake and acclaim on the dark side that he has his goons watching the families of everyone who works for him on the moon. He expects loyalty and results, but mostly results. If he doesn't get any, well, then his goons start kicking indoors. How did you not hear about this? There's a pretty obvious reason. We don't have families, man. That's not true. He turns and bats his eyes at me, while holding his hands under his chin in some faux-cute pose. You are my family, topper. I do anything for you. Shut up. I shake my head and frown, then slam my hand on the steering wheel. Fucking Garner. He's a bad dude, I know. But threatening families is stepping over the line. What an asshole. What? You think you could do better? Then Garner? Hell yeah. We both could. Not me. I don't want to be in charge, but I'll stick by your side when you orchestrate the goo. Good luck. He gives me an extremely sarcastic thumbs up. Who knows, man? Maybe one day I will be in charge. Garner started somewhere and so can I. I'll alert the press. And he gives an aw-shock's gesture and points at the perpetual darkness. Oops. Never mind. No comms this side of the moon. Shut up. We're joking like we always do. But there's an unease in the roller. I don't know if Carlson can feel it. But with his instincts, I don't know how he can't. A deep pit of anxiety begins to swirl in my guts. And I have to bite down on my tongue to keep myself from screaming. Not in fear, but in rage. What kind of monster uses a person's family as a bargaining chip? I know Garner is one step up from pond scum, but even for him this feels like too far. So yeah, since it came up, I could do a better job at running things than Garner. Guys like him need to just go the hell away. Fear and violence aren't the only ways to run an organization. Topper! I snap out of my thoughts and yank the wheel to the right, just skimming the edge of a large crater. Where's your head, man? Just thinking. He stares at me. Then laughs. You really think you can run shit? He waves a hand at the intense darkness. Maybe get your head in the game first, or you're going to drive us into a canyon, a crater, or ravine, or whatever. None of which I want to die in. I'm good. Relax. He laughs hard, and I can't help but crack a smile. Good advice. Maybe take it yourself, man. You are wound tighter than the seal on a transport shuttle commode, and I'm tired of trying to unwind you. You unwind me? I'm serious, Topper. You're going to stroke out. I don't respond. No point. Carlson will just keep countering anything I say. And I don't get a chance anyway, as the scanner lights up. Bogie, three clicks out. I stop the roller and power down everything except for life support and the scanners. But so they aren't paying too close attention. Carlson doesn't say a word. He's too busy studying the scanners. I begin to ask him a question, but he holds up a hand, so I stay quiet. We sit for several minutes. Then Carlson sighs and eases back into his seat. They're gone. Who was it? Could you tell? Did they have a transponder? He doesn't answer, which doesn't help my already anxious stomach. Carlson, did you see who it was? He grounds. Yes, it was Absalom. Ha! I point a gloved finger at him. Told you. Yes, you did. But that's not the shitty part. The shitty part is they had their transponder on. I frown, then it hits me. Oh crap. They have official permission to be here. I start the roller back up and nod out at the dark expanse. Then we better move ass. Carlson nods as I slam my foot on the accelerator, throwing all caution to the wind. No time to go slow and be careful anymore. We're in a damn race. They thoughtfully built wardrobe really comes down to pieces that mix well, last, and don't make you feel like you overpaid. And that's exactly why I've been loving quince lately. They make up everyday essentials using premium fabrics and thoughtful design, without the luxury markup. 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It'll be fun. Just think of the core strength you'll build. This is a job for sponsored jobs. This is what happens when you don't sponsor your job on Indeed. So the next time you need someone to get the job done right, get matched with quality candidates with an Indeed sponsored job. Visit indeed.com slash next hire and sponsor your job today. We drive for another 20 minutes before we come around to Low Hill and see a long incline ahead of us. Hold up. This isn't right. Carlson checks the scanners, bringing up the hollow of the topographic map of the dark side. Why are we climbing? Because the ground is getting higher. Ah, ah, funny. Carlson swipes his hand and pulls the hollow out of the scanner screen, giving it a 180 spin. No, seriously. Look at the topo. I take a quick glance, but don't see anything weird. As Carlson continues to stare at me, I slow the roller to a full stop and study what he's pointing at. Then I see it. This should be a depression, not a rise. I look around the landscape, not that I can see much out there. We've barely been driving. How are we so far off course? Carlson points at the coordinates at the bottom of the topo. We aren't. Look. Navigation says we're exactly where we're supposed to be. The coordinates match. Well, obviously something is off. Either navigation has us in the wrong spot, where the topo is incorrect. Obviously. Do we have time to run a diagnostic? No. Let me rephrase that. Can we risk driving further if either our navigation or our scanners are malfunctioning? I sure as hell don't want to get lost on the dark side. He takes a deep breath and narrows his eyes as he studies the topo. I grab my water and let him think. If that instinct of his is telling him something, then I'll just let it. I sip my water and wait. OK, OK, I'm overthinking this. We'll be fine. Keep going. He swipes the hollow back into the screen. What's the worst that can happen? It's not like we can really get lost, right? All we need to do is drive straight. And eventually we'll be back in the light. That's the beauty of being on a sphere. Eventually, you end up right back where you started. In theory, I tap the dash, specifically the fuel cell readings. No light means no solar, Carlson. We don't have enough juice to cross half the moon. Our orders are to survey what we can and find out if there's anything worth claiming for Garner. Not take the scenic route back to NBC. Yeah, scenic. He looks out at the darkness. Then grumbles as he returns his attention to the scanners, flipping through the readings while also glancing at the navigation console. After a moment, he shakes his head in frustration. I don't get it. Everything appears to be working. I say we run diagnostics. No time. We keep going. While I trust Carlson's instincts in the field, when it comes to navigating the politics of a massive crime organization, I wouldn't trust Carlson farther than I could throw him in heavy-ge atmosphere. But if Garner comes for me, Carlson would throw himself in front of that bullet and vice versa. So when he says we should keep going, I know he means it. His ass is on the line just as much as mine. Fine. I get the roller moving once more and up we go. It feels like it takes forever for us to climb the rise. But when we get to the top, all sense of time and place gets turned on its head. The two of us stare out of the windshield as the roller's halogens illuminate an impossible sight. And it truly is an impossible sight. You see that, right? I nod and try to speak. But the words get stuck in my throat. I grab my water and take a sip and take a deep breath. If you are talking about the structure about three clicks out, then yeah, I see it. Good. I thought maybe I was hallucinating. We could be both of us. He shakes his head, then stops and continues staring. We sit silently for a good few seconds. What is it? I snored out of frightened laugh. The hell of I know. But if we want to find out, we need to get closer. It's his turn to snort out of frightened laugh. You want to get closer to that? He jams a finger at the windshield. I'm all for high risk, high reward. But whatever that is, it shouldn't be there, topper. Nothing should be there. There are zero man-made structures on the dark side. Everyone knows that. It's been a long-held fact. So when I look at that thing, I see only high risk with no reward. I nod, and we sit for a few more seconds. There's only one problem with your argument. It's not an argument. It's me saying hell no. He points again. That's trouble. My eyes say so. My brain says so and my guts say so. We either go back or go around or... He was Sumit's man-made. Carlson slowly looks over at me. His eyes wide. Alien? You think it's alien? I'm not saying it is. It looks human-made, but we should get closer to see. If it is alien well, then we just struck gold. And if it's man-made, well, we might get ourselves a nice little finder's fee from NBC security. Garner would kill us if we didn't take this to him first. And tell him what? We don't even know what it is. Carlson keeps studying me, and I let him. Listen, when we left NBC an hour ago, I had no idea what we were looking for. Or what we would find. Honestly, Carlson, this felt like a snipe hunt. A what? Snipe hunt. Looking for something that doesn't exist. It's my turn to point out the windshield. I stab my finger over and over at the structure. But that... That is tangible. That is worth the trip. That is something we can explore and report back on. I pause and can't help but smile. Or not. Or not. Let's have a look. Then we can figure out what we're going to tell Garner. Carlson takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. We both do. Well? I know that tone, topper. You're looking to start something. Me? Never. Yeah, okay, whatever you say. His laughing stops. If Garner finds out we saw this and didn't investigate, he'll slice our nuts off. At the very least. I don't wait for more discussion. I throw the roller into gear and drive us down the other side of the rise. Or try to. Hold on. Stop. He studies the scanners. His eyes wide. There's a drop off right in front of us. Nearly impossible to see because it's like the ground is curling over on itself. He swipes and tosses the image at me. I study it for a few seconds. Looks like we're on the crest of a wave. Carlson takes the hollow back and spins it. Taking in all angles. Crap. You're right. That's weird. I pointed the impossible structure before us. No. That's weird. Find us a route down to it. Carlson does. And we have to drive to the side for a click or so before I can ease the roller down the other side of the rise or wave or whatever. Once down, I aim the roller directly at the unbelievable structure. As we get closer, more details emerge. And I realize that the structure isn't as far away as I thought. It's just that it's massive, probably several stories high. And about half as wide as NBC. What the hell is it? I don't know. But it looks familiar. Carlson leans forward. Like something from school. School? That looks nothing like any school we went to. No. Not the school itself, num-nuts. It's like something we learned in school. Ugh. It's driving me crazy. There's a name for this thing. I let him work it out while I keep on driving. The way is treacherous, even with the strength of the halogens lighting up the landscape. Tiny craters from meteoroid impacts dot the ground. And I have to slowly steer around one while also making sure I don't drive us into another. What should have been a straightforward route quickly becomes a meandering zigzag of lefts and rights, stops and starts. It's like it doesn't want us to get to it. My first reaction is to laugh. But I swallowed the chuckle, stuffing it down deep. He isn't exactly wrong. For every crater I dodge, a half dozen more appear. Soon, we're basically driving sideways more than we are straight on. When we're halfway to the structure, I stop the roller and set the brakes. Carlson doesn't protest or ask what I'm doing. He sees it too. The ground is too treacherous. We'd lose the roller in a crater or ravine or sinkhole before we got another 20 meters. On foot it is. He reaches back behind us, grabbing my helmet first and hands it to me and grabs his. With practice dees, we slide our helmets on, twist them until they click into place, then begin our exosuit diagnostics checklist. He turns around again and grabs each of us a tough lawn carrier back. He plops one in my lap and keeps one for himself. Then we both look down at the gun sitting in its bracket in the center console. Carlson looks away from the pistol, glances out at the structure, and over it may. What do you think? Oh, not such a bad idea to have it now, right? Don't I told you so, me topper? Do we take the gun or not? It doesn't hurt to have it. It's a gun topper, it's designed to hurt. You know what I mean? He smacks his helmet in frustration. A gun on earth, no brainer despite the global ban, but a gun on the moon, hardly a no brainer. Too many variables. A bullet punctures a suit out here, and we can only pray our repair kits can handle the damage. If either of us is wounded, forget about it. The almost complete absence of gravity would result in a blood dome or worse. I give him a funny look, which I doubt he can see with my helmet on. Did you search gunshot wounds in zero G before we left NBC? No. Come on, Carlson. You insisted on bringing it, so yeah, okay. I thought it'd be good to know. Do you feel better now? El No. A shoot of state ignorant. There was really some gross images in that search. I grabbed the pistol's grip and allowed beep echoes in the roller. Grab. I slip off my glove and grab at it again. A chime echoes instead of a beep, and the pistol comes free of its bracket. I stuff it into a zippered pocket on the outside of my kit bag. Then I place my palm on the center console, and a small compartment reveals itself. I grab out two extra magazines and place them in the pocket with the pistol, zipping it up after. Putting my glove back on, I double check the seal, then stand up into a crouch and step over the center console into the roller's back compartment. Carlson follows without comment, and we are both crouched against the rear hatch. I slap a large red button, which purges the air from the roller and opens the hatch. Tapping at a small control panel on my wrist, the rear halogens light up, showing us nothing but thick moon dust and rocky craters for as far as we can see. Exiting the roller, I wait for Carlson to follow. Then pop a small box open and press the red button within, closing the rear hatch behind us. We each switch on our helmet lights, then turn in a full circle, taking in our surroundings and orienting ourselves to being outside the roller and on the moon's surface proper. Then we slap shoulders and start walking around to the front of the roller. Christ has gotten bigger. No, no way. I say that without being 100% sure. He could be right. It does seem bigger now that we're walking towards it, instead of driving back and forth to avoid craters. As we get closer, the structure looms before us. Nothing but sharp angles and long lines. There's a central building to the structure, but it's almost completely lost behind walkways and steel girders. There's no way to tell yet from this distance, but the structure feels old. Ancient old. Not just a decade or so old. It's a platform. Carlson points, then he does a little jump and grabs my arm, spinning me down. To face him. I know what it is. He spins me back around to face the structure. See those columns? They're called pylons or pilings or piles or something like that. Piles? Yeah. This thing isn't supposed to be here. No shit. What I mean is it's supposed to be on Earth in the ocean. It's a deep sea oil drilling rig. I remember seeing pictures in school in history class. Pylrigg? Like as in petroleum? That kind of oil? Yeah. Petroleum. Petroleum hasn't been used in over a century. That doesn't make sense. I think the list of things that don't make sense is going to be a long one topper. Come on. He moves off and I follow. Deep sea oil rig or whatever. It's not like we're going to turn around at this point. It was an impossible structure before. And it's still an impossible structure. We just now know what kind of impossible structure it is. No turning back now. What do you mean? We have to explore every inch of this rig. If we don't, and Garner finds out someone else came along and found something important, where his good is dead. Carlson fiddles with his wrist controls. Be sure and record everything you see. We should probably turn our cameras on now. We don't want to miss anything. We're a couple hundred meters out Carlson. I think we can wait. You can wait. I'm recording us if right. Now. I gave him a thumbs up. Then fiddle with my own wrist controls, turning my four and aft cameras on. Carlson starts talking under his breath, obviously attempting some sort of narration to go with this video. I just keep walking, making sure I'm looking straight at the rig, capturing its size and scope as we get closer and closer. We both stop at the same time. Small gasps echoing back and forth over the comms. Did you see that? Topper? Did you see? I saw it. For a moment, I almost pull out the gun. Although I won't do much good with my gloves on. Still, I wish I was carrying some sort of weapon at the ready. Nothing good can come from whatever we just saw. That was a person right. I pause, then nod. Look like it to me. Carlson shakes his helmet. But it can't have been right. No. No, we can't. And we both know why. Whoever that was wasn't wearing an exosuit. At least, that's what it looked like. It's Dark As Hell, and with only my helmet halogens pointed at the structure, I couldn't quite be sure. So maybe they were wearing a light suit, one meant for quick excursions. The heavy-duty exosuits Carlson and I are wearing. That's what I tell myself, at least. Neither of us gets moving right away. We stand there and watch the rig for more movement. But after a few minutes, Carlson smacks my arm, and we start off again. Nothing else appears as we approach the rig. It stands there. A relic from the past of a planet, it isn't even sitting on anymore. Not that I know if it ever was. But it had to be. All rigs are from Earth, not the moon. Although I suppose this one is an argument against my assumption. Then we reach the first pile. We're gonna have to climb. The skinny steel ladder is bolted to the pile. I follow it up the structure with my eyes, tilting my helmet back until it won't tilt anymore. The topmost part is lost from my view. Although I doubt I'd see it anyway, even with my halogens. It's a long way up there. Carlson echoes my thoughts. Even with almost zero Gs, this is gonna be a bitch. And let's get to it. Carlson starts climbing first. Once he gets up a few feet, I grab the closest rung and pull myself up until my boots confined to purchase. Then hand over hand. Boot over boot, I climb. Just riding at 10 o'clock. I look that way and see the words, infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. Okay, that's not cool. Maybe next time, Garner can drag his fat ass up to the moon and do some of his own creepy ass exploring. Personally, I'd bail on this right here and now. Carlson doesn't say anything as we keep climbing. What? Say it. Are you recording, Topper? Ah, shit. Yeah, I'll pay attention to what I'm saying. Sorry Garner, if you're watching this, just needed to say how damn freaky this rig is. And those words back there don't help. Carlson chuckles. Eat my ass, man. Did you just tell Garner to eat your ass? No, stop trying to get me killed, man. Man, I'm just messing with you. We can always edit the footage and leave out the- My helmet bumps into the bottom of one of his boots. I back down a rung and look up. What? I can't see anything past your ass. Body. What? A body. There's a goddamn body above me. Um, a human body? Yes, a human body. And it's black and the hatch onto the platform. Can you move it? Move the body. You want me to reach up and just do what? Grab it and let it float slowly to the surface? Uh, yeah. That sounds like a good idea. Unless we want the extent of our exploration to end on this ladder. Carlson doesn't say anything. Then a body dressed in jeans, work boots, a thick flannel, and some sort of safety vest goes drifting past me. It's missing both legs and one arm. The head is a shriveled, dried out husk with a single strand of hair, still clinging to its eyeless skull. Carlson is moving again, and a hurry up after him through the hatch, glad to be off the ladder and on something solid. We're on a walkway with a steel mesh floor and a railing that is rusted and broken every few feet. Carlson points to the end of the walkway. Stairs, come on. We're halfway across when I realize I can hear our boots clanging on the metal. Between the extremely low atmosphere and my exosuit helmet, I shouldn't hear anything. I stop walking, and the sound goes away. I start walking again, and it returns. What are you doing? I look up for my boots, and see he stopped, and is waiting for me by the stairs. How do you get so far ahead? Do you hear that? You're what? I walk a few steps, the clanging of my boots as clear as a bell in my ears. That? What? What are you hearing? My boots? I can hear my boots. No, you can't. That'd be impossible. He backs up without looking behind him. Stop her. Move your ass. Now. Why? What's wrong? Then I realize I can still hear boots clanging, except I'm not moving, and the footsteps are staggered and uneven. I turn and look behind me in almost scream as I see three people shuffling in my direction. Not one of them is wearing an exosuit, just the same jeans, boots, and safety vests as the body blocking the hatch, except they each have a different colored flannel under their vests. The lack of exosuits isn't what makes me want to scream. It's the fact that they are nothing more than walking corpses. Dried skin is pulled tight over their skulls, with patches of bone showing through. Their teeth are shattered, broken nubs. One is missing a left arm, another is missing a right arm. The one in the lead, the one closest to me, at least has both his arms. But they are stretched out in front of it, boning fingers formed into claws. Topper! I realize that Carlson has been yelling at me for a while now. I shake off my shock and turn tail to run to the stairs. But Carlson isn't there anymore. Then I hear him shouting over the comms. Topper! Help me man! They've got me! I hurry to the bottom of the stairs and look up. Nothing. I race up the steps and onto another walkway. I spin in a fast circle, hunting for any sign of my partner. Topper! You gotta help me! Where are you? Give me a landmark! I just passed! Static fills the comms. In the second hash! More static. The bridge! The static grows so loud that I have to kill the comms or go deaf. I look left, see only more walkway. I look right, and there's another set of stairs. As fast as my suit will allow me to, I sprint toward the stairs. I glance down and could just make out through the steel mesh the three dead people still shambling their way across the lower walkway. When I look back up, two men are waiting for me right at the bottom of the stairs. And they don't look any healthier than the others. I skid to a stop and hold up my hands. I don't know what the hell is going on, but all I want is my partner back. I mean we'll get the hell out of here. I have no clue what you people are or what you are up to, but that's your business, not mine. Just give me back Carlson, and we won't bother you anymore. The two. What? Corpse's? Zombies? I don't even know what to call them, but they both step aside and make way for me to climb the stairs. Screw you. I'm not going up there. You can bring Carlson down to me, and then we'll leave. No harm, no foul. They stay right where they are, each on one side of the stairs, waiting. Carlson! I work the comms control on my wrist, cycling through every conceivable channel he could be on. Carlson! All I get is static, until a whispering. Like a voice talking from a room away. Filters up through the noise, until it is front and center in my ears. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. Carlson! A scream so loud and so terrifying fills the comms, forcing me to my knees. My hands slap against my helmet, and I have to will myself not to yank it off and get away from the terrible sound. Instead, I punch it my wrist controls over and over, until the comms shut off, and blessed silence fills my helmet once again. Slowly, painfully, I get back to my feet. The dead looking man are still standing there, patiently waiting for me to walk past them and ascend the stairs. I'm going to regret this. I say this to no one, as I take a tentative step forward, then another, and another, until I'm walking to the stairs, past the animated corpses, and up the steps to the next landing. Before me is a large building set in the center of the structure. It's big, at least three stories, with sections jutting out this way in that, and what looks like a haphazard manner, but must have something to do with the rigged specific engineering. Or that's what I hope. Otherwise, this place was built by a crazy person, which isn't a stretch, considering. A door in the side of the building opens, swinging outward until it smacks into the wall, and almost bounces closed. Then it swings back open and stays put. The intention quite clear. Caution better be in there. Cautiously and ready for this ordeal to be over, so I can go back to NBC and face whatever consequences Garner has in store. I hurry to the doorway and look inside. An empty corridor. Well, not exactly empty. The floor is littered with bones, and from what I can see, they aren't all human. Don't get me wrong, plenty are. But plenty are also birds and fish and other creatures I can't identify. I hear a sound from behind me and spin around to see eight people standing there, watching me with their empty eye sockets. They all point as one. Yeah, I'm going. I spin back around to face the corridor. I have to move slowly and carefully in order to not crush the bones. When I'm all the way inside the corridor, the door slams behind me, causing me to jump. My foot lands on a tiny skull, and it pops under my boot. From deep within the rig, a keening whale erupts, rolling along the corridors and internal stairwells until it reaches me. I can almost feel it, like a soft desert wind gusting through a tight ravine. I switch the comms back on to see if Carlson is trying to reach me. Carlson? No answer, and the whale doesn't repeat itself. I turn them back off, just in case there's more ear-shattering static and keep going. When I get to the end of the corridor, I look left, then right. Neither way has a floor covered in bones. Although, to the left, the walls are strained with something dark. And to the right, the ceiling is dripping a thick viscous fluid. I go left. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. The whispers in the comms return, which shouldn't be possible since I have them turned off. Out of habit, I glance down at my wrist controls. The damn comms are back on. What the hell? Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. I keep walking, making sure my helmet is facing straight ahead so I can ignore the dark stains coating the walls. Carlson, and talk to me. Tell me where you are. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the... nightmare. A chill fills me even though my exosuit is set at a toasty 68 degrees. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the... nightmare. Carlson, is that you? Even as the words come out of my mouth, I know it's not Carlson. I've heard every version of that man's voice from puberty and up. And it has never sounded like this. Movement catches my eye and I whip my helmet to the right. One of the stains is moving. I pick up my pace and hurry toward the end of the corridor. When I reach it, I look left and see my way blocked by a collapsed ceiling. To the right is a single door. I guess the choice has been made for me. A handheld scanner would be useful right about now, but I didn't think to bring one. There might be one back in the roller, except that ship is sailed. Ironically, the second the ship is sailed, thought enters my mind. I catch a whiff of sea water. I look at the readings on my wrist controls and see that my life support is at nominal levels and working fine. I have several more hours of oxygen left. With any luck, I'll find Carlson and we'll be long gone out of here before air even becomes an issue. Walking to the door, the whispers in the comms get louder and louder. Infinite is the horror. Forever. Is the nightmare. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. Shut up. Shut up. The door swings open before me. The voice stops. I aim my halogens at the doorway, but all I see is darkness. Even when I turn them to full power, the room beyond is still inky black. Taking one step by pause. Nothing happens. Another step in pause. Still nothing. A third, a fourth, a fifth. And I'm walking through the doorway, standing in a pitch black room, spinning in a circle, looking for Carlson, looking for something. The door slams close, and the darkness becomes complete. My halogens flicker and turn off. I'm smacking at my wrist controls, but even the small display is black. The room is the embodiment of a complete and total lack of light. I wave my gloves in front of my helmet, but I see absolutely nothing. Carlson! Engineers of the horror. Forever is the nightmare. The casual voice comes from behind me. When I spin around, the room is illuminated by a dozen, a hundred, a thousand candles. And I am staring at a man seated in a high-backed chair, a pile of rags at his feet. The pile of rags sturs, and I suddenly recognize Carlson's shaved head and trimmed beard. Carlson! I take a step forward, and dozens of hands grab me, holding me in place. The stench of death permeates through the exterior of my exosuit, and I start to gag. The man in the chair stands up. He's wearing loose-fitting jeans and no shirt. His skin is fish-belly-pale, and his eyes are so sunken that I can barely tell that they are open. On his skin are a hundred different scribbles and sigils and signs. They look to be carved directly into his flesh, and not carefully. The lines are jagged and torn, many seep with pus, while others are bright red scabs, or dark brown wounds. He's not wearing an exosuit, yet seems to be breathing just fine. And unlike the things holding me in place, he doesn't appear dead. Of course, in a hellscape like this, dead may be relative. Who are you? What are you? He holds up a finger, and my questions fall away. Then he points down at the rags that are my partner. Stan! Carlson? Carlson stands, and I get a good look at him. His clothes are shredded, and where I can see skin, there's nothing but bruises. The skin under and around those bruises isn't as pale as the man standing by the chair, but it's pretty damn pale. He is truly a horrible sight to behold. But the worst part is his eyes. They are clouded over as if a film has covered them. Milky white, hiding everything except for the barest outlines of his irises. Would you like to say something, Carlson? Carlson straightens his back and nods, then his mouth opens and he bellows. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. He runs at me and grabs my suit by the shoulders, giving me a hard shake. Infinite is the horror. Forever is the nightmare. That's it. I can't take anymore. I shove Carlson away, break myself free of the grabbing hands, turn, and punch my way through the animated corpse as blocking my way until I reach the door. I yank it open and run as fast as my suit will allow. I turn left. I turn right. I turn right again. I'm completely lost in about to panic when I see a hatch before me. It's poor hole illuminated by a weak light. Weak or not, I'll take it. I'm breathing hard by the time I get to the hatch and shove it open. Then I'm stumbling outside onto a walkway, and I'm about to turn and slam the hatch closed. But stop short and just stare out at the view before me. It's... an ocean. For as far as I can see, there is nothing but ocean. Waves as tall as buildings lift and crash down, creating a cacophony that shakes me in my boots. Above the waves are stars. So many stars that they reflect light brightly off the crashing waves and the endless ocean. I stumble over to the railing and look down. More ocean. Heavy waves crash against the piles, sending white spray flying into the air. Almost to the walkway I stand upon. Infinite is the horror. If forever is the nightmare. The words echo inside my helmet as I collapse to the walkway. My hands still gripping the railing. I stare at the ocean, terrified, confused, frozen in place. Infinite is the horror. If forever is the nightmare. Oh God, what am I stumbled into? What is this madness? Thanks for tuning in. If you enjoyed the story, be sure to follow or subscribe and share the show with a fellow horror fan. I'll see you in the next one.