Black Site 7

I'm in the wind, I'm sure I'll be dead by tomorrow, but I need to let people know this thing is loose.

I'm an agent with the United States Government, and my station is Black Site 7. I won't tell you my name, it would probably be useless to you, but this was not how I saw my life going. I spent 6 years in Iraq, signed up right after high school. It was nothing like the recruiter told me it would be. I spent eight years in the blistering heat. I hauled my fair share of comrades out of firefights and saw a lot of shit over there that would make ordinary people go crazier than I might be. I've had camel spiders crawl on me while I sleep, watched friends I've known since basic get decapitated through binoculars, burned houses full of insurgents and civilians to rubble, and a lot of other things I don't like to think about. When I was done, they gave me my papers, thanked me for my service, and sent me home.

I know I have no right to complain, many guys didn't make it back, but home was worse.

I'd spent the last six years in an active combat zone, and now I was just supposed to come home and go back to civilian life? I spent three months in the civilian world. Two of those months were spent in a shitty apartment because my parents couldn't handle the night terrors and the jumpy marine that had come back before I knew it wasn't gonna work. Every car horn, every barking dog, every firework rattling in the street had me reaching for my gun and breaking into a cold sweat when I couldn't find it. Before TJ found me, I was considering suicide.

Then one day, he was just at my door with that big shit-eating grin he'd always worn in the desert.

"You look like shit, Haus. Let's get some pancakes; I've got something I want to discuss with you."

TJ was my platoon leader in the SandBox. They called him the Comedian because he was always smiling, always cracking jokes. He was a functional sociopath; I guess most of us were. I always admired his ability to laugh in the face of such fucked up shit. TJ was not his real name, but since he's still in this shit that I've left behind, I figure the best I can do is not remind them that he's why I'm here.

He took me to breakfast, and, in the back of a crowded Denny's, he laid it all out for me.

"You've got it bad, Haus." He said through a mouthful of pancakes, "but that's okay, cause ole uncle TJ has the cure for ya. I've got a new job, familiar work that might interest you. Ever hear of Two Trees?"

I had. Two Trees was a government institute that, on the surface, did a lot of medical research and clinics trial. Underneath, though, they did wet work, and anyone who was involved in covert ops knew about Two Trees. We'd worked with them a few times in Iraq, and their guys were spooky, to say the least.

"You're looking at the new Head of Black Site 7."

I furrowed my brow at him, "Congratulations, should I know what that is?"

"Of course not; it's a closely guarded government secret. Two Tree's is paying me a small fortune to keep it that way too. The problem is, I need someone to curate the site for me. Someone with military training, experience with firearms, and a need for some normalcy. Know anyone like that?"

I knew what he was asking, but I didn't think I was who he was looking for. I hadn't found work in the three months I'd been back, and most of that was because I couldn't settle into anything. I was constantly jumpy, constantly on edge, and that makes it hard to find work. No one wanted you doing security work or minding a gas station when every backfiring car was an enemy combatant. What would happen if I had an episode in a government facility?

I shook my head, "Thanks, but no thanks. I don't think I'm fit for duty the way I am."

"Yeah, I thought you might say that." he said, putting a metal tin in front of me, "Your medical files read like a benchmark for PTSD. Night terrors, irritability, being on edge, those irrational bouts of anger that got you thrown out of your parent's house," he added with a little smirk.

I felt defensive, "How do you know about that?"

"You'd be surprised what my level of clearance will get you. Your therapist's records were about as hard to get as a beer at a gas station. Well, I've got a little present for you, Haus. Welcome to the rest of your life." he said, indicating the silver case.

The case was about as big as an Altoids tin. There were no markings, no filigree or needless ornament, and it had a distinctly surgical look. I slid my hand toward it, but it didn't seem to want to touch it. Every sense I had told me to walk away now, not to touch it and just walk away from this unassuming little case.

I forced my hand to pop it open instead.

Inside was a pair of pale, gray gel caps.

"What are these?"

"These are the answers to your prayers. Two of these a day will make you feel as calm and clear as you did when you were a mere lad of eighteen. No more jumping at every noise, no more reaching for your gun when a dog barks or a car backfire, just peace of mind."

I imagine now that this is what Metastophalies sounded like when he spoke to Faust.

"What's the catch?"

"These pills are only available through the Two Tree's Corporation. Employees who agree to be part of the clinical trial get them free of charge, but they're only available to employees." he said with a little grin, "Take them, take a day to feel the effects, and let me know what you think. Call me tomorrow and give me your answer then. Enjoy a night of freedom, then make your decision."

I took the pills home with me, and after a few hours of staring at them, I took them with some vodka.

The effects were instantaneous. If you've never had PTSD, then it's hard to explain, but it's like having a loose wire that someone fixes, and then you go back to the way you were. My anxiety melted away, my fear dissipated, my unease and dread were gone, and my anger seemed like a distant memory. I was sitting in my shitty apartment, surrounded by the trappings of my depression and my anxiety, and suddenly I felt like I had before I'd boarded a bus in 2003 and headed out to basic training. I was finally comfortable in my own head, and it was like coming back to a safe place after years of running from danger.

After the first good night's sleep I'd had since shipping out, I called TJ and told him I was in.

"One question," I asked, "what's in the pills that make them work so well?"

He was silent for a long minute before saying, "You really don't want to know, Haus. Pack your shit. There will be a truck to move you to West Virginia in the morning."

And that's how I came to work at Black Site 7.

I must have looked like a junkie by the time I pulled up in front of my new home. I didn't have much. The truck had taken all of four boxes into the deep woods as I followed in my old compact. The journey took about sixteen hours, and by the time I got there, I was starting to feel the anxiety creep back in. I became angry at how slow the truck was going, afraid that this whole thing was a trick so they could kill me. By the time I arrived, I had found myself wanting to die, hoping for death so I could return to the quiet that had been in my head before. That was when I saw TJ standing at the gates of what looked like an old military checkpoint. He flashed that knowing smile and handed me another silver case. I dry swallowed the pills without a word and felt the inner peace worming back across my brain.

Then he showed me my new quarters.

It was a little bunk room with a bed, a kitchenette, and lockers for clothes. There was a footlocker for my personal stuff, and I was told to keep the space clean. I would be responsible for the site and its security. TJ showed me a terminal off the bedroom with monitors and camera feeds. The compound had cameras all over the place, but I appeared to be the only person here full time.

"The site is mostly for storage these days, but it's what we get up to here at night that may interest you. That's why you're here. I need someone I can trust to watch this site 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Four times a year, you'll be relieved for a week of R&R somewhere, but other than that, this is your world."

That didn't bother me. I had no problem being alone after three months of people. What I was curious about was what I was doing out here.

"What am I looking for exactly?"

TJ pointed at three buildings on the camera, "A truck comes twice a week, let them through the gate and don't bother them. They will take what they need from the building and won't bother you. Keep nosy people out of there. Lethal force is authorized, and don't ever go in there, or I'll have to show you where Blacksite 8 is." he said with a smile. The smile didn't cross his eyes, "Don't worry about being vigilant, though. If anything bigger than a mouse moves out there, the alarms will let you know about it."

He told me that my food would be delivered once a week, mostly MRE's, and I could order anything I wanted from the terminal in the living quarter. There was a workout yard near the second building, and I could move through the woods if I chose as long as I took my phone with me to get alerts from the console.

"By the way, hand me your phone." he said, and when I did, he put it in his pocket and handed me another one, "That's your new phone. I'll take the keys to your car too and put the money from it in your account. This is your life now, Haus, so don't take this job lightly. If you leave the grounds, we'll know. If you try to update social media or try to tell anyone on the outside about what you've seen here, we'll know. If you want to marry or feel like you need out, arrangements can be made after your first five-year tour. As far as anyone is concerned, you no longer exist. Don't be stupid. Put in your five years, and then we'll reassess your position."

He grinned again and punched me in the arm, "And lighten up; this will be the easiest five years of your life."

And from that point on, I was an employee of Two Trees.

TJ had been right though, the first five years flew by. I lived on the site, spending my days working out or watching TV. I played the latest video games and watched the newest movies. Twice a week, as advertised, a truck rolled up and honked. I would check the cameras, open the gates, and they would do the rest. They would honk when they were ready to leave, and I left them alone. The trucks always had the Two Trees logo on them, and I never heard shit about them. I never tried to get into the warehouses. I had been a soldier long enough to know how to check my curiosity, and the scares were minimal. The food kept coming, the pills that kept me in my right mind kept coming, and it was pretty peaceful, all told.

The alarms, to my knowledge, only went off three times in that first year, and two of those times, it was a deer who had wandered too close. The first time it happened, I had slunk out in a panic, service pistol in hand and boxer shorts flapping. As I rounded the first warehouse, I drew down on a very surprised doe who darted away before I could draw a bead on her. It was kind of a special moment for me. I had never seen a deer up close, and as it ran away, I was glad I hadn't shot it.

The third time the alarms went off, it had been a person.

It was the first person I'd seen in three months.

I had been sitting at the console one night watching the latest Marvel Avengers movie, I think it was Infinity Wars, when the alarm went off. I paused the movie, expecting to see a deer or a rabbit on the monitor. My eyes went wide when I realized it was a person. He had a crowbar, and he was attempting to pry the door open. He must have come out of the woods because if he'd have driven up, I'd have known about him much sooner. It had been three months since I'd seen a person. The last one had been Agent Daughtry, who'd come to relieve me for a week of R&R in September. The idea of seeing a person not connected with Two Tree's made me feel weird. Even when you were on R&R, you went to a company resort or a company place full of company people. This stopped you from getting a little too drunk and talking about all the stuff you did for your country. It was a great idea, but it meant you had nearly no interaction with civilians.

I took my pistol outside and crept up on him in near silence. When my foot came down on an extra crunchy stick, he turned his head and noticed me. He raised the crowbar as if to attack, and rest was instinct. The gun went off without me having even spoken to him, reflex taking over and dropping the threat before it could become a real danger. His left eye popped like an overripe fruit, and he fell down on the hard December ground.

I called TJ, and he and some other men in suits came to access the damage.

"You did just right, Haus. He was a threat to the facility and needed to be put down. Don't think for a minute that this reflects poorly on you."

"What will you do with him?" I asked.

TJ smiled, "Immediate disposal, Hause. Think you've got the stomach to help us?"

I found that I did, and once he was doused in gasoline, we set him ablaze on the edge of the property.

They gave me an extra week of R&R, and when I came back, TJ must have decided that I was worthy of being brought in on certain things.

The alarms went off a week after I came back, and I saw a black car rolling up through the front gate. TJ stepped out and waved at me as it stopped in the concrete roundabout, other men getting out as well. I slid my shoulder holster on and went out to meet him. It was eleven pm, and visits this late were highly irregular.

As I approached the vehicle, two other men in suits were bringing a man with a bag on his head out of the car. He was wearing scrubs, his hands bound behind his back, and I could hear him crying beneath the black hood he wore. I looked between them, waiting for an expansion, and TJ threw an arm around me and walked me towards the spot where we'd burnt the trespasser.

"Haus, I think it's time that we bring you in on the second reason for this Black Site. You see, sometimes Two Trees has assets that need to be eliminated. The Black Sites are often used for these purposes. It's always the responsibility of the site's caretaker to carry out these eliminations, fringe benefits, I suppose you could say."

"Why wasn't I told about this before?" I asked, feeling indignant, "I'm no murderer."

"Oh, well, those combatants in Iraq will be glad to hear that, won't they?" he said, almost snidely.

"That was war, TJ. This is murder."

"Think of this as war too, Haus. These people are the enemy, and they need to be eliminated for the good of public safety. It's part of the job, Haus, a part I know first hand that you're capable of."

They put the man on his knees in the middle of the burnt spot, and he was praying under the hood as we stood around him.

"Put him down, Haus, that's an order," TJ said.

I looked at him, icily, "And if I won't?"

The two men with him drew their guns, and TJ grinned, "Then I'm afraid that these men will have to execute both of you. Come on, Haus, don't throw this away over some nobody. He's no different than the man outside the warehouse."

I wish now that I'd just let them shoot me, but I guess if I had, you'd never know about any of this.

Instead, I drew out my gun and put a bullet in his skull, glowering at TJ as his buddies put their guns away.

"You made the right choice, Haus. Who knows, you might not have to do this more than a dozen more times in the next four years."

I executed an asset a month after that. They were mostly people in scrubs, people in lab coats, doctors, researchers, people who had likely tried to steal from whatever facility they worked at. They were men and women, old men and scared twenty-somethings. I never bothered to learn their names. They were just assets to be eliminated. I became kind of numb to the process. We burned them afterward, gasoline and fire made it like they were never there, and the spot near the edge had a charred look to it after a while.

At the end of five years, TJ came to see me and asked me if I wanted to re-up.

"What happens if I walk away?" I asked. I was eating dinner when he'd come by, and he had sat down to have a plate of fettuccine with me. Given my free time, I had learned to do a good number of things I couldn't before. I became a pretty good cook, learned to play the guitar, read every book on the shelf I had bought to hold them, and there was a chainsaw outback along with some sculptures I had made with it. I couldn't say I hadn't enjoyed my time here, the killings aside, but I was curious to know if they'd actually let me leave.

"You'll be allowed to return to the real world, your bank account fuller and your retirement substantial. Just watch what you say out there. I'd hate to have to bring you back for your replacement to put a bullet in."

I ended up signing up for another five years.

I shouldn't have done that.

I was eight years deep when they brought the girl in the black bag to me.

It was two am, and I started to think about bed when the alarm went off. I saw the town car rolling up, and I looked for TJ. He was not the one who climbed out, however. This guy had his hair slicked back, and his suit was a perfect blue pinstripe. He did not wave at me, and I felt a sense of dread as I grabbed my gun. Somehow, I expected TJ to be under that bag this time.

The man's name was Stine, and he didn't have TJ under the bag. What he did have was a kid with a thick back hood over their head. I couldn't tell at first if it was a boy or girl. They were dressed in baggy clothes, Salvation Army rags that a homeless guy would be embarrassed to wear, and they were crying loudly under their hood. Two familiar men had the kid, and they looked stoic about the whole matter. Stine didn't say anything, just led the procession over to the charred spot and put the kid on their knees.

When he made no move to remove the hood, I did it myself. He winced but didn't stop me. This was my place, my job, and I had garnered a reputation for being a professional, a reputation I was about to ruin. The bag came off, and the little girl's tear-streaked face came into view in the harsh fluorescents. Her hair was cut short, dirty blonde, and her face was covered in bruises. Her nose looked broken, and her lip was split. The blood trickled down her face like red tears, and they mingled with her actual tears as they fell to the damp earth. I sighed, looking at Stine as the gun stayed at the ready.

"What the hell is this?"

Stine looked surprised, "It's an asset. TJ said you handled these for us. Handle the asset."

"This is a fucking kid, barely old enough to wipe her own ass. What could she have possibly done?"

Stines's face was stony, "Yours is not to question, Soldier. Liquidate this asset or be liquidated."

I looked at the kid, her whole face shaking as the tears and blood fell, and thought about watching her head pop like a grape. This wasn't some scared adult, some stoic old man, some praying woman, or some cursing thing with sallow skin. This was a kid. I had killed lots of people, more in my time here than I ever had during the war, but I was still a professional.

And professionals had standards.

"No," I said.

Stine blinked, "What?"

"No, I won't kill a kid. Do it yourself."

The two men drew their guns, and I was transported back to the first time. I was standing there, two days after Christmas, watching TJ grin and tell me the rules. Now I was standing in the woods, the autumn leaves carpeting the ground, feeling sure they would soon drink both my blood and the girls.

"I will give you till the count of three to kill the girl. After that point, you will both be executed. 1,"

Their guns were unwavering, but so was my resolve.

"2,"

I closed my eyes, preparing to die.

"3,"

I heard a sound like wet concrete splitting open. It was followed by a high-pitched scream and a pair of bodies hitting the ground. I opened my eyes and saw Stine running towards the town car, his composure gone. The two men who'd been holding me at gunpoint were bleeding out on the ground from large grizzly neck wounds. As I watched Stine run, a rust-red something snapped out and caught him in the back of the neck, dropping him inches from the Towncar. The red something protruded from the front of his neck, and he grasped futilely at it as he died.

I looked back in the direction the thing had snapped out from and saw that the girl was now a mass of red spikes, segmented like spider legs. Her face had split long ways, forcing her face into a grizzly, sideways maw. The area between the "teeth" glowed a deep red, and I could see the eyes on the girl's face blinking erratically. The two halves of her smile grinning at me, and the effect was a little dizzying. I figured, for the second time that day, that I was going to die, but she scuttled off into the woods instead, walking on her strange spider appendages as she crashed through the trees.

I stood there for a few minutes, not quite sure I believed I wasn't dead, and then I started running too.

I crashed through the woods for hours, running in no particular direction, sure that at any minute, the creature or a helicopter from Two Trees would fall on me and either rip me apart or blow me away. I had blundered off with no wallet, no cell, just my gun and the clothes I'd been wearing. Was the phone how they tracked me? TJ hadn't said as much but...maybe…

When the ground went out from under me, I felt the airdrop out of my lungs.

I fell five feet off a mud ledge and skinned my hand. My knees hurt where I had landed on them, and I realized pretty quickly that I had fallen onto a road. If I thought it might be an illusion, the headlights that pinned me to the ground a moment later left me with little doubt. I was kind of numb to the idea of dying by this point and just lay there waiting to be run down.

Thankfully, the truck stopped, and after a short conversation with the driver, he offered to take me into town.

That's how I came to be here, in this dingy hotel that just happens to have a computer in the lobby. I sold the gun for about five hundred dollars, and I figure I'll disappear as soon as I'm done writing this. They know I'm gone by now, but I don't know if they think I'm dead or if they think I fled. Either way, they'll find me, I'm sure.

I'm more worried about that little girl that's loose in the woods and whatever it is that's living beneath the surface of her skin. If you see a young girl with short, dirty blond hair, do not approach her. I don't know if she killed those men to get away or if she killed them because she wanted to, but she should be considered dangerous if you encounter her in the wild.

And if a man from Two Trees offers you a job, do not become the new curator for Black Site 7.

The job is definitely not all it appears to be.