When Containment fails...

Normal Tuesday morning, that’s what Steven thought to himself as he filled his coffee mug at the breakroom coffee machine. Per his custom, he topped off the final 1/4th of his cup with hot chocolate, thereby making the bitter stimulant masquerading as a beverage consumable. He turned to make his way to his office.

When he turned around, Rick was standing with his own empty mug. “Morning Stevie!” Rick said with the energy of lion stalking its prey, and the smile to match.

Steven internally sighed, doing it externally required too much energy. “Morning Rick.” Steven said lazily, his eyes giving Rick a cursory glance for any new information. But Steven’s eyes found only the same broad shoulders, five O’ clock shadow, and beginning of a beer gut that never seemed to grow or shrink, that they always saw when looking at the walking douchebag trope that was Rick. In his other hand, Rick held a folder marked ‘Intake incident 157-CF-307,’ Steven was sure Rick was about to talk to him about it.

“Say, Stevie, we got like ten new cases coming into the facility today. And intake is still buried under last week’s paperwork after that incident with CF-three-O’-seven’s intake processing. You think you could maybe take a few of these cases off my hands pal?”

Steven kneaded his brow, then fixed his glasses, the sigh escaping this time. “Rick, you know that’s against regulation, and I have my own work to do. Can’t do it.” Steven said making eye contact with Rick.

Steven then turned and took a step, but Rick promptly shuffled in front of him, blocking his path. “Okay okay okay let me level with you Stevie, I got some friends from out of town coming in this afternoon and I haven’t seen em’ in over a year. But this casefile is gonna keep me here way past quittin’ time. Will ya help me out?”

Steven knew the odds that Rick was telling the truth were slim, furthermore, he didn’t like Rick. Not many people at the facility did. Rick was constantly slacking off, pawning off his work on other people, and just generally making a nuisance of himself.

Just never enough of a nuisance to actually get fired. That was the problem with high security clearance, strict N.D.A. type jobs. It’s so hard to get people into the position that are qualified, once they got in, they were basically a lifer, and they all knew it.

“I got my own work Rick. Can’t do it. Now can you move? You’re blocking the door.” Steven repeated blandly.

A look of frustrated irritation briefly crept onto Rick’s face, but he quickly quashed it, “Sure thing Stevie.”

Steven began walking past Rick, “My name is Steven,” he said, tapping his nametag.

Steven was halfway sure he heard Rick grumble something under his breath when he turned into the hallway, but he couldn’t be paid to care what it was. The hallways were, as per usual, sparsely populated as Steven made his way to his office. He passed Jenny from R&D, Greg from records, and in a rare sighting, he even passed Mortimer from the acquisitions team. Steven politely nodded and said morning to all of them in a lazy drawl as he slowly marched to his office door. The grey concrete of the underground hallways enjoyed no benefit of warmth or emotion from the bright florescent lighting, nor did Steven’s black door with the words ‘containment analysis and protocol’ in all caps white lettering. Steven pulled his encrypted I.D. badge from his pocket, held it to the scanner, and the door locks released with a heavy click. He pushed inside, letting the doors powered hinges swing it back shut, so the door could re-lock, sealing him inside and away from distractions and Ricks.

The motion activated lights sprang to life as he stepped in, one of the bulbs flickered a few times before it decided to live another day. “Maintenance boys still sitting on my ticket I see.” Steven said as he shook his head in mild irritation. He knew the light really wasn’t a big deal. The flickering just annoyed him. Sometimes it would flicker throughout the day and give him a headache, one of the reasons he needed coffee.

Setting his personal feelings and irritations aside, he crossed the square concrete room, furnished only with filing cabinets, a storage locker, and the various technology he used for his job, to sit down at his desk and get to work. Setting his beverage down, he tapped the power button on his computer, and brought both hands to his keyboard to type in his password when the prompt arrived. The monitor flickered to life as the PC began connecting to it. All the initializing code of the proprietary software that the facilities computers used, ran across the screen like some kind of matrix rip-off. Steven monitored the codes and readouts as this was part of his job. Everything seemed normal.

Until the screen went black, and the words “reset your password” began flashing on the screen in plain white text.

“What the...” Steven mumbled upon first seeing this.

As per protocol, he immediately reached for the hardline phone to the right of his monitor to report the abnormality. He dialed 1, and almost immediately, a woman’s voice, answered, “Tech support how may I help you?” in a cartoonish Indian accent.

“Debra, you know that’s not funny, and against protocol,” Steven said.

A loud sigh could be heard from the other end of the line, “okay, finnnne, Mr. stick-in-the-mud Steven, you’ve reached I.T. but before you tell me anything, let me guess; you booted up and it asked you to reset your password?”

Steven’s brow furrowed, “Yes, how’d you know that?”

“You’re instance number SL-fifteen, there’s something going through the system.” She said casually as she began typing, the loud clacks like machine gun fire. Steven had no clue how she typed so fast.

“Wait, fifteen instances on this sublevel alone? You ki...”

“Yes, Steven I already kicked the problem up the chain. I know how to do my job. Okay, scan your badge into the computer’s credent-pad,” Debra said.

Steven did.

“Okay enter a new password and it should let you in.” She said.

Steven used a variation of his old password which acted as his secondary password, and the system accepted it and let him in. “okay I’m in, what’s going on?” Steven asked.

“Well like I said something is going through the system, we’ve done sweep after sweep but nothing is coming up. No virus, no bugged code, honestly it’s got everyone here in I.T. scratching their heads, or pulling out hair in Ben’s case.”

Steven got a sinking feeling, “I see, do me a favor and call me back if you find anything.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” she said.

“Thanks Debra,” Steven said and began hanging up the phone.

“No problem stic-” the voice cut off before she could finish.

In a rare instance of forgoing his routine protocols for the beginning of his shift, Steven, instead of pulling up his assignment docket and task ledger to begin working on whatever he had been assigned for the day. He instead began pulling up the containment metrics and video feeds of every single contained case within the facility. In total, the facility housed just over one thousand cases. He could review a cases surveillance feed and metrics in just under a minute. He did not have time to check them all, that would take all day. So, from memory, he began reviewing the case files most likely to breach containment, or able to affect the facility in anyway.

An ache taking firm root in his gut, Steven pulled them in order of biggest threat to smallest. The first hour brought up video feed of some of the most dangerous creatures, objects, and people humanity has ever known. For the first ten cases he reviewed, he had to call site security and the researcher in charge of that case file to get a one-time clearance code to access the video feed and containment metrics. All of them were safely contained in their cells. Except for CF-49, which was in a testing room with researchers.

After those ten, the pace increased significantly as the rest did not require additional clearance to look in on.

CF-111, the three headed dog the size of a horse was inside its cell, happily chewing its tenth pound of tranquilizer laced pork for the day.

CF-124 was inside its cell, surrounded by the swirling cloud of black mist, seemingly engrossed in a game of chess it was playing with one of the researchers on the other side of the glass.

CF-459 was, as usual, slamming itself into the reinforced steel walls of its completely sealed cell. Its long hairy tentacles, propelled its chitinous dome shaped body against the wall to no avail. Steven stared for just an extra moment, wondering how many more years it was going to take for that thing to finally die of starvation...or anything for that matter.

As if it was able to hear him think about it, and maybe it could, the creature briefly ceased and turned what was assumed to be its face, marked by raised patterns in the chitin, towards the camera.

Slightly unnerved, Steven clicked off 459’s feed.

On and on and on Steven went, doggedly pursuing his hunch. But with each passing case file, he grew more and more assured that he had just gotten riled up for nothing. The tension drained from his shoulders even as he sipped his chocolate coffee concoction. Three hours later, he’d finally reviewed his entire list of immediate threats from memory. He spent the next twenty minutes simply scrolling a list of the facilities case files, in order to double check his memory, make sure he hadn’t missed one. Sure enough, he had accurately remembered each of the threats capable of potential escape or interference with the facility. He leaned back in his chair, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Getting paranoid in your old age Steve’O, wish retirement was a bit closer...” He rubbed his eyes briefly, as if that would help with the screen strain, then sat back up to get to work.

Opening his case docket and ledger programs, he input his credentials. The programs booted up, at the top of his work list, tagged for emergency review; CF-307.

Steven’s eyes shot wide as the image of the manila folder in Rick’s hairy hand flashed before his mind’s eye. He quickly opened the dossier attached to the work ticket.

---CF-307

-Human in origin, [identity redacted]

-Case File worthy traits emerged after abduction by [redacted] while on vacation in [redacted]

-Case File traits include, but should not be assumed to be limited to:

*Enhanced physiology

*Enhanced cognition

*Armored plating over/replacing the skin

*Electro-Magnetic spectrum interaction

-CF-307 demonstrates symptoms of paranoid-schizophrenia exacerbated by PTSD

-CF-307 estimated threat level: HIGH.

---

“Oh shit... shit shit shit,” Steven mumbled to himself as he switched program windows and began pulling up 307’s video feed and containment metrics readout.

The video feed popped up, and on screen could be seen a humanoid figure, resembling an athletic teenage girl, locked in a humanoid type CF containment cell. CF-307 was kneeling on the ground holding its head, its black hair spilling between its fingers like strands of the night sky. CF-307 was covered in kite shaped scales, which were swirling with dark purples, blacks, and blues, as if the scales were glass set atop colored, flowing liquids. CF-307 was wearing a tattered short black skirt, and a forest green tank top. The sight was visually hypnotizing, but Steven’s training did its job, and he was able to quickly tear his eyes away, and began going over the metrics. Vitals were normal, but neural signatures were running high, all other biometrics were within the set parameters. Containment-cells functions were all showing nominal function.

Steven was just about to begin writing the ticket up for immediate review by security for the neural activity, when motion on the video feed caught the corner of his eye. He looked back, and the CF was staring up at the camera, a moment after Steven looked, it smiled, raised its hand, and began waving with its fingers, almost like a child.

Suddenly; the screen went black, and the words “reset your password” began flashing on the screen in plain white text.

“Fuck...” Steven said as he reached for the phone. He dialed for I.T. it took four rings to answer.

“Hello this is Tec-” Debra began.

“Damnit Debra not now, we have a code red, CF-307 is the source of the bug! You hear me? You have to” Steven noticed the sound on the line died, “Debra?” No answer.

Steven mumbled ‘shit’ to himself over and over as he first pushed down the receiver, then hit numbers on the dial pad. The line was completely dead. “No no no!” he mumbled as he scanned his I.D. badge to the pad for his computer, and input his emergency access code, the code that was supposed to override anything and restore his access to the system.

“reset your password”

“Fuck!” He slammed his fist on his desk.

As if on cue, suddenly, the facility alarm began blaring, Steven broke out in a sweat as the loud whirring of the alarm, coupled with the red and white spin of the beacon lights in the ceiling, sent him into full on fight or flight. He’d broken protocol, he spent over three hours reviewing Case Files that were safely contained, while the source of a site wide computer glitch was infiltrating the system.

People were going to die, and it was Steven’s fault.

He stood from his chair and immediately rushed to the storage locker next to the door, he scanned his thumb and the locker opened, revealing the emergency equipment.

First, he put on his face covering gas mask, then stepped into the hazmat suit, zipped it up, and secured the hood. Next, the body armor. And finally, he pulled out the QFG-Plasma rifle, scanned his thumb, powered it on, and flipped off the safety.

His heart pounding in his chest, he stepped up to the door. He knew he couldn’t wait another minute. Protocol was clear, if you could not evacuate immediately with the alarm, you were supposed to shelter in place and wait for the site containment specialists to come for you. But this was all Steven’s fault. He had to do something. Even if it was suicide.

He crossed himself, promised God that if he made it through this, he really was going to start going back to church this time, and hip checked the impact bar on the door.

Remembering his training, his rifle dropped on the hallway the moment he entered, he quickly about-faced, and saw both directions were clear. He began a fast jog towards the stairwell that led down. Down to sublevel 5; containment. Being on sublevel one meant he had a ways to go, but the elevator was a last resort in the event of containment breaches. Too much risk of them becoming stuck.

The hallways were clear. Most choose to shelter in place when this happens. The data says it’s the best option.

Suddenly, the lights began to flicker, and laughter could be heard in the distance, CF-849 had escaped its cell.

Beads of sweat formed on his brow as the tension grew. Steven would have been reflecting on the fact he should have been staying consistent with his workouts, if he wasn’t laser focused on his goal by fear. In the distance shouting began, likely the first signs of CF’s being engaged by security and the re-containment teams. The screams began shortly after. ‘What the hell am I doing’ the thought broke through Steven’s adrenaline, but he did not give the thought an answer. He was too deep into this now. The only path, was forward.

Steven reached Sublevel 5, the door had been ripped off its hinges, the sight once again making him second guess his decision to attempt re-containment. But he had the training, and this was his fault. He had to try.

After his brief pause, he took off again and rushed through the door. The hallway led right and left, and both sides were filled with gore. He turned left and picked up his pace, there was no telling whether or not CF-307 was still there, but if it was he had to stop it, before it unleashed every CF in the facility in its bid to escape.

The next junction in the hallway came up, and he turned right towards the cells. Slipping in some blood, and other unsolicited goo, he slid into the far wall of the hallway. When he gathered himself a moment later and looked up, CF-307 was standing there in the hall, taking equipment off of a dead containment officer.

Steven froze with terror. His eyes franticly scanned the scene, he realized there were several of the armed containment and re-containment personnel laying dead or dying down the length of the hall. His jaw began to clatter, his hands began to sweat, and he was pretty sure he’d pissed himself.

Then CF-307 finished rummaging the fallen soldier, and stood, looking at Steven. “I just want to leave,” The CF said.

“C-C-C...” Steven chattered, trying to say the words.

CF-307 Stepped forward, and Steven panicked. He scrambled into a kneeling firing position, and pulled the trigger. CF-307 had time while he was getting into position to jump to the side, a volleyball sized chunk of ceiling disintegrated a few hundred yards down the hall. CF-307 scooped up a riot shield, hiding behind it. “CF-307, drop the shield and surrender!” Steven yelled, the adrenaline overcoming the panic.

CF-307 stood with the shield. “My name is Cera,” CF-307 said, then underhand tossed an object, which clattered next to Steven. He glanced at it, and realized he was looking at a CF class stun grenade.

Steven woke up in a haze, as his consciousness gathered, he realized he was drugged to the gills, and when he finally managed to get his eyes open and clear enough to see, he realized with relief he was in an infirmary. Nurses and doctors went about their business, but Steven couldn’t hear them walk, or talk. In fact, he noticed he couldn’t hear anything at all. This caused him some mild distress, but the effects of the drugs were such that his would be panic attack was more of a subdued whimper. None the less, a nurse noticed him, and alerted a doctor. Within a minute of her waving someone over, a doctor arrived, a middle-aged woman with crow’s feet and grey eyes, and they began checking his vitals and his charts. Steven calmed significantly knowing he was being attended too.

After about three minutes, the doctor left. The nurse remained, she began cleaning his ears with a bulb syringe and wax extraction tool. When the doctor returned, she was holding a black plastic case, and Steven realized, he was getting hearing aides installed.

The doctor put them in and turned them on, there was a static pop, and sound returned to Steven, though it was a bit fuzzy.

“These are temporary, now that your awake, you’re going to be debriefed, then you go in for surgery for permanent installs.” The doctor said as she continued to adjust the hearing aids, moving Steven’s head side to side with her hand.

“What happened, how did I get here?” Steven asked the obvious question, honestly surprised he was even alive.

“I can’t say too much but, the gist is that Site five-fifty-seven experienced a catastrophic containment breach, it was locked down for twenty-four hours, while the big guns were mobilized, then they stormed in and re-established containment. Multiple personnel casualties. Multiple CF expungements. They found you unconscious in a pool of blood and other unidentified substances. They designated you contaminated and E-vacced you here, to mobile infirm and de-contam.”

“And where is, mobile infirm currently?”

The doctor looked like she was about to answer, when a man in an all black suit, carrying a briefcase stepped up to the foot of the bed. “That’s currently classified,” the man said.

The doctor and nurse stood aside, “Do you need us to move him to a private room?” The nurse asked.

“Hold please,” the man said. He placed his briefcase on the foot of the bed, opened it and checked a clipboard. “No, thank you ladies, dismissed,” the women nodded and moved on, to other patients. The man then made eye contact with Steven, as he moved to sit down at the bedside table, with accompanying metal folding chair.

He set his briefcase down on the small table, then reviewed some documents for a few seconds before setting them back down in the case, and picking up his clipboard and a pen.

“Mr. Undule, may I call you Steven? Mr. Undule.”

Steven cleared his throat, “Yes, yes that’s fine.”

“Thank you,” the man made a note on his clipboard, then looked back to Steven, “Please tell me everything that happened, after you reset your password, Steven.”