The Facility

Before I get too deep with my debrief, I send apologies to all our victims families. Please understand that this was a very secretive covert operation. Going into this op, my only options on refusal was to be turned into an informant against my organization for non cooperation. That being imminent death, or option two, death by dismemberment. Needless to say I choose to be a mole for the good of humanity. A Decent payoff, but more importantly a clean slate with a new identity and plastic surgery, among some other enhancements, as well as remain alive. As for the enhancements, they are not of concern at the moment, or at least for the debrief.

This contract was very easy to recruit for, because of the payoff and the job itself. I was always able to meet the numbers needed, and never failed a deadline. Like a good book keeper I ensured that all the names were in ledgers with their donations, payouts and skillsets. Everything was documented, copied, recorded and on point with footnotes, afterthoughts and recommendations. When I introduced the ledger to my employer, the debrief was as solid as the concrete that made up the facility. This facility itself was located on a small island off the pacific coast with little to no inhabitation. There was and old weather worn shanty used by mariners back in the early years to ride out upcoming storms safely on land so their ships could remain anchored. This was the safest way as to avoid collision with the shoreline when storms were approaching. Years passed and just beyond the shanty was a cold war missile silo. That’s the facility I’m referring to.

Once inside the cozy tucked away silo, there were several levels and detours as well as several hidden rooms. My only areas of access was limited to few rooms. One room was where donations were collected, sorted and tagged for distribution. The donation room was the busiest room besides the lunchroom. The only other room was my dormitory. Being my access was only for those three rooms, I had luxuries of food, liquor, cigars, vhs tapes and cassette tapes. No television, radio or internet privileges for me while here at the Facility. Mobile phones were secured before entry also, and that meant no communication inside the facility, or any that I knew of because of my low-level access. Then again I didn’t care very much at all due to the fact the money was so easy.

What I really did find truly odd was there was no one around. For the amount of recruits I set up the facility with, maybe 10 other workers were visible. I was very discrete with my socializing as not to trigger any concerns about me. There was one fellow I had connected with, and he was Russian ex military or so he said. He told me about his job and responsibilities which left me wondering why he was so liberal with information. So now I needed to play him in such a way that he believes me as a recruiter and a low level worker. I will say that was probably my best sell of bull shit ever. Sergey showed no physical cues or twitches or tells from him at all to ascertain my fabricated lie. Apparently he even volunteered up information that the top level bosses thought highly of me for such big recruit numbers. The doctors and scientists I recruited were the best in their fields and accepted my offer with no negotiations. Dr. Blackmon a microbiologist, several nurses that worked with Operating room surgeons, a host of barflies across Texas and Washington, a good number of call girls, and lastly a biohazard team. Each recruiter was required to hire a specific demographic of individuals. I will certainly tip my hat to the recruiter that hired the chef. The food was always the best. Sergey the Russian was coded for a job over the internal audio. Always referred to as head of security he did his job best he knows how. I think he was coded 72, which means in facility lingo a runner is loose, or breach of security. At least that was what I learned when we were engaged in small talk about our jobs at the facility.

After handing in my documents and recruit lists, my job was wrapping up for this trip. Now recalling a past conversation in the lunch room over a Tomahawk steak dinner with Sergey, I learned about transportation tunnels to the mainland from the facility. Unfortunately my access didn’t allow me to explore them let alone identify where they were located, however his explanation was such that visitors and mostly all staff enter this way. I could just imagine the massive engineering of this tunnels, and the cost, it must have been phenomenal. The mere undertaking of an enormous underwater navigation of boring tunnels was just too much to fully comprehend. Yet it was just amazing to know this happened.

The donor room was a clean environment, much like a large hotel kitchen. Stainless steel counters, shallow soaking tubs of stainless steel with two drains, an overhead hose and collection canisters of stainless steel. I always wondered why these tubs were so immense. Then after Sergey explained how they were used it all made perfect sense. Actually everything made perfect sense now, even the hookers and barflies. The hookers were here for entertainment purposes. By entertainment I referring to sex, sex and more sex. Sometimes the workers needed to de-stress themselves and elevate their moods. The barflies were more of an ear to sound off on in the lunch room. Everybody complains and what better way to complain to a drunk that couldn’t remember.

The intake of civilians in this facility was no picnic for them. The picnic was for the entire staff in the lunchroom. The civilians, and a good majority were almost instantly sedated upon arrival so that their resistance could not happen and compliance was the only option. Most of the civilians were put in hospital gowns and secured to a hospital gurney and moved to the events room. In the events room Sergey stated there was always a constant flow of blood letting, screening, body harvesting, pregnancies, bio testing, prostate milking, breast milking, etc. This facility was far more superior than any other body farm I was told. Actually more like a human harvesting farm, with even DNA collections, placentas and hybrid DNA graphing leading to cloning and mechanical adaptation of biomechanical human testing. Now this is only what I learned from Sergey.

There are some very bad folks in this world and a good percentage are on this peaceful island with no one knowing any better. As I made way to my boat passing by the shanty I picked up a faint who who, and turned towards the attic opening in this shanty to make out a misplaced barn owl calling out. Reflecting on my day as the boat undocked and I headed back home, I realized that barn owls are not a species of this area and specifically this island. Yet I didn’t want to dwell on this and moved onto my next recruitment opportunities.

The boat soon docked and all the usual lookouts were in play and even the small brigade of mercenaries. Every thing was smooth and flowing perfectly for all involved. My job on the way home was to keep track of anything peculiar or out of place, and make a note of it. I picked up local paper and checked out the headlines and read ”Ex Military Specialist” Washed Ashore. Missing for eight years and presumed dead Sergey Vladimir washed up on the shore with execution style bullet wounds in the back of his head. He was in the Russian Special Forces as a Global liaison officer. Quickly and stealthily I set the paper down and worked on my breathing. I certainly did not want any emotions or knee jerk reactions to happen. Yet then it happened, I started to feel groggy, smelled antiseptic and had a feeling of restraint. Realizing that I was drugged and in a lucid state of mind, I had picked up a familiar voice in this cold room that I was in. Sergey, brought me familiarity through sounds of his voice. My vision still blurry and my right eye was aching like a bitch. Coming out of the sedative it was even more apparent I am dealing with a situation. A patch on my right eye kept me blind for now. As the chatter grew louder, and more defined, the conversation became clearer. What I did manage to pick up was my name a few times and clearance levels as well as new assignments.

In recovery Dr. X came by my bedside and asked about my pain levels, to which I replied not so bad right now considering I experienced some sort of operational trauma. Dr. X explained the implant in my eye is for retinal scanning to the rest of the facility levels. He also made it clear that there is charge also implanted around my eye in my sinuses, like a tripwire in case I am compromised and my eye is being taken for intruder access. Well, as angry as I was I had no ground to push back on or demand anything. The facility owns me now. As fucked as I was, this was the safest place for me. Maybe my handler had a plan for stunts like this. Just then, my handler walked by and said, “I’m glad you survived the implants, welcome to the Facility”.

My fate was sealed for me. Then a thought from childhood came to me, or rather a quote my father used to say to me.

“Learn to Facilitate your priorities, and not let your priorities be the Facility”.

And that phrase left me thinking, was it possible that he knew this place?

Matthew M

January 6th/2021 11:50p