The flickering fluorescent lights cast long, skeletal shadows across Joel's face as he wrestled with the keyboard. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the eerie silence that had descended upon the lab. The only sound was the low hum of the cooling systems, a constant, unsettling reminder of the technological behemoth that surrounded him.

  Joel stared at the glimmering screen as his eyes fluttered over the text, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. The interface was clunky and rudimentary, a garish green-on-black display that seemed more ancient than functional. His heart was still racing from the fight, but now a different kind of urgency prickled at him. Why do I even think I can stop this? I’m not a hacker, not some damn genius. I’m just a mechanic. A guy who fixes busted pipes and rigs, not... whatever this is.

  The lockdown timer blinked in the corner of the screen:

  00:00:10

  Panic tightened his chest like a vice. This can’t be how it ends. Not here. Not like this. His mind scrambled for a solution, but the blinking numbers mocked him, faster than his thoughts could keep up.

  00:00:09

  “Come on,” Joel muttered, his voice cracking. His hammer hung heavily at his side, and he ran a hand through his damp, sweat-slicked hair. As the countdown ticked, his mind raced through every option, every desperate idea. Then something clicked—a faint, stubborn memory resurfacing.

  Old Rick, a grizzled veteran of the rigs, used to have a habit. Anytime he forgot a passcode, he'd laugh and say, “A man's secrets are never far from his fingers.” Joel’s gaze snapped to the keyboard. His gut screamed at him to move. Without thinking, he flipped it over. The sticky note came into view like a beacon in the dark. His hand shot forward, punching in the numbers with furious determination.

  A six-digit code was scrawled across it in shaky handwriting: 1984F911

  Joel didn't hesitate. The timer blinked:

  00:00:04

  “No,” he whispered, jaw clenching as desperation surged through him like a tidal wave. Not today. I’ve survived storms, void monsters, and everything this hellhole has thrown at me. I’ll make it. I always do.

  Joel’s breath hitched as the timer blinked:

  00:00:03

  His fingers slammed against the keys, punching in the code:

  1

  9

  8

  4

  F

  9

  1

  1

  ENTER

  Two seconds? What the hell am I even doing? He stared at the screen, the jagged edges of the interface blurring as his eyes stung with sweat. His hand hovered over the keys, trembling. Memories surged unbidden, sharp and cruel: the rig back home, the laughter of his crew. His stomach churned. What if I never see them again?

  The screen froze for a fraction of a second before a new prompt flashed:

  LOCKDOWN PAUSED. TIME REMAINING: 00:00:02.

  As the screen froze and the lockdown paused at 00:00:02, Joel exhaled a shaky breath, his mind racing. Two seconds... Two damn seconds. That’s all I had left. That’s all I ever seem to have seen them again.

  Joel let out a shaky breath and leaned on the console, the reality of what had just happened crashing down on him. He'd bought himself time—barely. But for what? The screen's glow reflected in his wide eyes as he scanned the new options.

  Behind him, the stillness of the lab seemed to grow heavier. The acrid scent of the red fluid still lingered, mixing with the metallic tang of blood and burnt circuits. Joel swallowed hard and stared at the screen, his relief quickly morphing into dread. The lockdown was paused, but he had no idea what kind of nightmare he'd just interrupted.

  He noticed a new icon appear on the screen: a stylized eye, pulsating with an eerie inner light. Below it, is a single word: 'Surveillance.' A shiver ran down his spine. The system was watching. It was always watching. And now, he had unwittingly given it a reason to pay closer attention to him.

  Joel's gaze darted around the room, searching for any hidden cameras, or any signs of unseen observers. He imagined eyes watching him from the shadows, unseen sensors picking up every movement, every sound. The feeling of being watched, of being hunted, intensified. He had escaped the immediate threat of the lockdown, but he had also stepped deeper into the unknown, into a world where the lines between reality and nightmare were blurring dangerously.

  The green glow of the screen illuminated his face, a pale mask of fear and apprehension. He continued to navigate through a labyrinthine network of folders, each click sending a jolt of anxiety through his veins. The names themselves were chilling: "Extraplanar Subjects," "System Divergence Experimentation," and "Entity Containment Logs." Each one whispered of secrets, of horrors best left undisturbed.

  A wave of nausea washed over him as he selected the first folder. Inside, a grim catalogue of human tragedy unfolded. Hundreds of files, each bearing a name and a chilling tag: "Missing" or "Presumed Dead." He randomly selected a file, his fingers trembling as he opened the dossier.

  A photograph of a young woman stared back at him, her smile frozen in time, a haunting reminder of a life abruptly extinguished. Beneath it, is a stark summary of her existence: "Clara D. Winters, Age 27, Reality Earth-472. System Merged: 20-1-78. Status: Missing during dungeon dive. Presumed Dead."

  Joel's stomach churned. Clara Winters. Just a name, a statistic, a ghost in the machine. But behind that name, a life. Dreams, hopes, and loved ones left behind. He clicked another file. This time, it was a middle-aged man, his eyes weary but kind in the photograph. "Jordan P. Reyes, Age 42, Reality BQ-119. Status: Missing during world stabilization. Presumed Dead."

  These weren't just entries in a database; they were people. Lives stolen, futures obliterated. The weight of their absence pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. He retreated from the folder, the urge to escape overwhelming. But a morbid curiosity, a desperate need to understand, compelled him to delve deeper. A file labelled "Log_Notes_DrCarr_FINAL" stood out, its name a stark contrast to the clinical neutrality of the others.

  With a trembling hand, he opened the file. A video began to play, the timestamp indicating it was recorded mere days before a lockdown event. Dr. Carr, her face gaunt and drawn, her eyes hollow with exhaustion, appeared on the screen.

  "This is Dr. Carr," the recording began, her voice a weary whisper. "For the record, the disappearance of dungeon divers and system anomalies is no accident. It's a collection effort."

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Joel leaned forward, his breath catching in his throat.

  "When systems merge," Dr. Carr continued, her voice trembling, "entities from other realities become unstable. Dungeon divers who fail to return... they are prime candidates for study. They are... repurposed. Collected, if you will, to serve as subjects for extraplanar stability experiments."

  The doctor paused, her hand reaching up to massage her temples. "We had no choice. Without these experiments, Earth—our Earth—would have collapsed under the strain of its merging system. But the price..." She trailed off, her voice breaking, the weight of the unspoken horrors evident in her anguished expression.

  Joel stared at the screen, bile rising in his throat. These people weren't lost; they were stolen. Kidnapped from their lives, ripped from their realities, and subjected to unimaginable experiments. The weight of this revelation pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. Yet, with a chilling curiosity, he continued to dive deep, a desperate need to understand, compelled him to click back into the folders, his fingers trembling as he did so. His hands shook as he scrolled past countless names and dossiers until another subfolder caught his attention: "Carr_Logs."

  Inside were several files labelled sequentially. Most were corrupted, but three remained intact. Heart pounding, Joel opened the first.

  Log 1: "Discovery"

  Dr. Carr appeared on the screen again, a stark contrast to the gaunt, exhausted figure Joel had seen earlier. This Carr was younger, and vibrant, with a chillingly intense gaze that sent shivers down Joel's spine. Her lab coat was pristine, her hair meticulously styled, a stark contrast to the dishevelled appearance of the woman in the final log.

  "This is Dr. Carr, Lead Researcher, Project Divergence. Entry One." She leaned forward, the camera capturing the unsettling intensity in her gaze. A predatory smile touched her lips as if sharing a deeply unsettling secret. "We've done it. We've finally confirmed where dungeon divers go when they vanish. Their systems—our systems—are more than game mechanics. They're bridges. Portals. When someone disappears, they aren't lost; they're merged. Integrated with the void energy that fuels this entire structure."

  She gestured off-camera, likely to some unseen data or machinery. The camera lingered on her hands, long and slender, twitching with an almost unnatural energy. "This changes everything. The void isn't just chaos—it's potential. Imagine a soldier who can draw directly from the void. A weapon in human form. Limitless energy. This could redefine war, survival, even reality itself."

  Her voice, initially enthusiastic, took on a chillingly obsessive edge. "We can harness this power, bend it to our will. Imagine the possibilities. Imagine..."

  The video ended abruptly, the screen fading to black. Joel’s mind reeling. Dr. Carr spoke as if this was a breakthrough, a triumph of human ingenuity. But Joel could feel the undertone of something darker, a crack in the veneer of enthusiasm that hinted at a chilling obsession, a descent into madness. He could almost hear the screams of the people trapped within the void, their consciousnesses twisted and broken by the relentless pursuit of power.

  Log 2: "Progress and Sacrifice"

  The second log began, but the Dr. Carr on screen was not the same woman Joel had just seen. Her hair was dishevelled, streaked with gray, and deep, haunted shadows marred her face. Her eyes, once filled with manic excitement, were now hollow and vacant, bloodshot and rimmed with a disturbing red.

  "Log Two. Subject integration trials have... progressed." Her voice cracked, and she coughed, a dry, hacking sound that echoed through the silence of the control room. "We've successfully fused void-touched energy with physical matter. Animals. Weapons. Machines. Even people."

  She gestured towards a blurred image in the background, likely a surgical theatre. "The procedures... they're... intricate. Delicate. We're not just injecting them with energy. We're... re-engineering them. Rewiring their very essence."

  The vibrant fluorescent lights of the operating theatre cast long, sinister shadows across the stainless steel table. Dr. Carr, her face pale and drawn, hovered over the subject, a young man strapped to the table, his eyes wide with a silent, desperate plea. His skin was clammy with sweat, his breathing shallow and ragged.

  Carr, her hands trembling slightly, picked up a delicate instrument, its chrome surface gleaming menacingly under the harsh light. It wasn't a scalpel, but a device that hummed with a low, unsettling energy. With a practiced, almost surgical precision, she pressed the device against the man's exposed chest.

  A jolt, like static electricity, surged through the room. The man screamed, a sound that was both animalistic and mechanical, a terrifying blend of flesh and machine. Blood erupted from the incision, splattering the sterile white tiles. Carr, unfazed, continued, her movements swift and deliberate.

  She reached for a tray laden with gleaming metal components – gears, springs, tiny, intricate mechanisms that seemed to pulse with an inner light. One by one, she inserted them into the gaping wound, the man's screams growing louder, more desperate, until they were finally cut off by a violent spasm.

  Carr wiped the blood from her brow, her eyes gleaming with a strange, inhuman light. The man on the table twitched, his body convulsing violently. Then, just as suddenly, he stilled. His eyes, once filled with terror, were now vacant, staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

  The machine, now partially integrated into the man's chest, throbbed with a low, rhythmic hum. Carr stepped back, surveying her handiwork with a chilling satisfaction. The experiment, she knew, was a success. But at what cost?

  Dr. Carr shuddered, her hand clutching her chest. "The surgeries... they're... not always successful. There are... complications. Unforeseen side effects."

  She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on some unseen horror, the camera capturing a horrifying glimpse of a metallic device, glistening ominously in the dim light. "The void... it resists. It fights back. It corrupts. And sometimes... sometimes it consumes."

  The screen flickered violently, the image of Dr. Carr contorting and twisting into grotesque shapes before dissolving into a sea of static. Joel stood back from the computer, his throat dry, a cold dread creeping into his bones. The chilling implication hung heavy in the air: the "progress" they had achieved came at an unimaginable cost, a cost measured in shattered minds, lost souls, and the horrific consequences of tampering with forces beyond human comprehension.

  The final log began to play. Joel’s hand hovered over the keyboard, ready to stop it, but the image on the screen froze him in place.

  Log 3: "The Void Has Won"

  Dr. Carr was unrecognizable. Her once neat bun hung in loose, matted strands, streaked with sweat and something darker, something that looked suspiciously like blood. Her lab coat was torn and smeared with ash, and her bloodshot eyes twitched, darting nervously toward the shadows behind her. Her eyes, once filled with manic excitement, were now hollow and vacant, filled with a primal terror that made Joel's blood run cold.

  The lab was a ruin. Scorch marks clawed up the walls like blackened veins, and pieces of shattered machinery sparked faintly in the background. Something dark and viscous dripped from the ceiling, pooling on the floor in glistening puddles that pulsed as if alive.

  She gripped the edge of the desk with skeletal hands, her knuckles white. When she spoke, her voice was a rasping whisper, barely louder than the hum of the ruined equipment.

  “Log Three,” she began, each word trembling under the weight of exhaustion. “This... this will likely be my last entry… for a while.”

  Carr’s gaze locked on the camera, and Joel felt as if she were staring directly at him.

  “If you’re watching this...” She paused, her breath hitching. “The void has won.”

  The words settled like a weight on Joel’s chest, a suffocating pressure that made it hard to breathe.

  Carr exhaled shakily, her cracked lips trembling as she struggled to speak. “We thought... we thought we could control it. Harness it. Make it work for us. But the void is not a tool. It’s not a resource. It’s... consuming. It’s erasing everything in its path.”

  A faint noise filtered through the speakers—a wet, slithering sound, as if something massive and formless was moving just out of view. Joel felt a wave of dizziness as if the very foundations of reality were shifting beneath him. He tried to scream, to warn someone, but the sound died in his throat, choked off by the rising panic.

  Carr snapped her head back to the camera, her face now pale and slick with sweat, contorted in a grotesque mask of fear. Her voice dropped to a panicked whisper.

  “The void wants us, you see. It doesn’t care about balance or progress. It only knows hunger. We opened the door, and now it won’t close. It can’t close.”

  A loud crash echoed in the background, and Carr flinched, her eyes darting wildly. Her breathing grew shallow, frantic.

  “If you’re watching this...” Her voice cracked as she leaned closer to the camera, her face filling the screen. Her eyes were wide with terror, pupils dilated to inky black voids. “Run.”

  Behind her, something moved. It wasn't just a shape; it was an absence, a void within the void, a place where reality itself seemed to unravel. It coiled out of the shadows, blacker than darkness, and yet it shimmered with faint, sickly iridescence. Tendrils stretched toward her, their edges dissolving into the air like smoke.

  Carr didn’t scream. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out as the tendrils wrapped around her, pulling her backward into the darkness. The camera shook violently, static crackling across the screen as the video distorted.

  The last image Joel saw was Carr’s hand clawing at the desk, her nails dragging deep gouges into the metal before she was wrenched out of view. The screen flickered, the sound cutting out entirely. Then, two words appeared in jagged red text:

  LOG ENDED.

  Joel stared at the blank screen, his pulse thundering in his ears. The silence that followed was deafening, punctuated only by the rhythmic thumping of his own terrified heart. He glanced at the doorway, the metal shimmering with an unnatural sheen, as if the void itself was seeping through.

  Joel stood frozen, his pulse pounding in his ears. The silence of the lab and the vats felt suffocating now. The implications of what he’d just witnessed churned in his mind. Clearly, Carr or her team continued to experiment based on the number of containers. Carr’s logs weren’t just a record of experiments—they were a warning.

  And whatever had happened to Carr and her team, Joel had the sinking feeling it wasn’t over.