The Signal From Room 119

It started with static.

Martin Reeves, 58, had been working as a night janitor at Pinewood Research Facility for over a decade. Nothing ever happened here after dark. No secret labs. No conspiracies. Just dust, floors, and coffee-stained keyboards.But on a cold Wednesday night in October, something in Room 119 started humming.

He’d never cleaned 119 before. It was always locked. But tonight, the door was wide open—and light spilled out like liquid silver onto the corridor floor.Inside, monitors blinked. Antennas spun slowly. And a voice crackled from the radio:

“If you’re hearing this… they’ve already found you.” Martin froze. The voice wasn’t human. Not entirely. There was something fractured about it, like a broken CD trying to speak English.He should’ve walked away. Should’ve called security. But curiosity is a dangerous thing.

The computer beside the radio was logged in. Lines of code ran across the screen:

Decrypting coordinates... SIGNAL INTERFERENCE DETECTED... MESSAGE INCOMPLETE... Beneath that, a message flashed in red: RECEIVE OR BE RECEIVED.”Martin pressed a key.The room trembled.Suddenly, everything outside Room 119 disappeared. The facility. The city. The world.He was somewhere else.

Endless white stretched in every direction. In the distance, towers of static shimmered like glass. Shadows moved between them, blinking in and out of existence. The voice returned, clearer now. “This is Earth’s last recorded transmission. Room 119 was never a room—it was a beacon. The frequency has chosen you.” Martin wasn’t just a janitor anymore. He was a receiver.

Hours passed. Or days. Time meant nothing here.Each message he decoded from the signal gave him visions—wars in space, collapsing stars, a parallel Earth already lost to the same interference now reaching his world.But there was hope.

A final transmission. One code left to send. A firewall.If Martin could upload it before the signal spread, he might seal the breach between realities.

But the creatures were getting closer. Entities made of memory and noise. They had faces—familiar ones. His wife. His mother. His younger self.They whispered one thing:“Stay. We forgive you.”He nearly believed them.But then he saw Earth again—his Earth. And he hit SEND.

The facility returned. Room 119 was gone. Just a concrete wall now. The night shift resumed as if nothing happened. But Martin knew better. Somewhere out there, between the signals and the static, the watchers were still listening. And he had become the voice.