Project VR001

Author's note: Credit to EdgyMcEdgeLord666, ChangelingTale, MonyaAtonia, Goji's Basement, and Channel21 on Reddit and Discord for helping me come up with this concept. They should be credited just as much as I.

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May 13, 1986

Midst Of World War III

My name is that of a war criminal. For now, you can call me Collector 662.

I was forbidden to speak about my profession in any capacity. All of us were. We knew what would happen, that one final action that was supposed to unlock our deep set fears of reprisal. There was no going off-book. We were obedient, and we were silent. If we did what we were told, we were handsomely rewarded. Everything we could ever want. All we had to give in return was our compliance.

So why did I run away?

It’s a long story, one that I’ll try to put into words here. No matter what I say though, it will never describe the full extent of what we did. That part of my life where I did some of the most terrifying, inhumane things a person could possibly do and saw things that would mentally break a mind of stone, is desperately trying to be sealed away forever in the deepest corners of my being. It always breaks free and floats back to the surface, shaking me at the quick of everything that I was. I remember wishing that it would stop, but that was just wishful thinking. It would always be a part of me, whether I liked it or not.

To be frank, I’ve been “wanted” for a couple months now. These people don’t want me silent, imprisoned, or even dead. It’s a whole other reason that I’ll get to. For someone in my position, you can never be too safe. You keep a low profile, stay away from public spaces, use fake names, and change your appearance. Most of all, you don’t stop moving. Staying in one spot for long is a death sentence. I’ve got a place to hold up in. They’ll be here eventually, but I'll be long gone. Better yet, I’ll be someone new.

I’m going to tell you everything I know…how I became involved, what my job entailed, everything we did. I will be blunt. This is 100% unadulterated. It’s the truth and nothing but the truth.

Let’s wind the clocks back to 1967.

I was a young man. Of course, that fact alone perked Uncle Sam’s ears up. I should’ve been in college working towards some sort of overall life achievement. Instead, I was plucked right off the street alongside millions of other unfortunate souls to go die in some bumfuck jungle. Now that I think back, it’s not like it was a surprise anyway. I’m an American man. Going to war is practically a rite of passage.

See, I was at the point in life where a man has grown just enough to feel something for his country, but hasn’t yet grown out of that mindset that it’s a bunch of bullshit. It was rough, with a few close calls here and there. In Vietnam, the culture shock alone was a nightmare to deal with. That combined with the heat, the constant rain, all of the things that the enemy used as a weapon to grind us down mentally. It was a bad time. I remember being pretty low. It’s not like we were getting any love back home. The news coverage and shit we got was nothing short of propaganda. They’d paint us to be the good guys, but we were the bad guys in this war.

Things like that take a toll on you, but not that much to do what we did.

My squad was losing it. We were being torn apart from all sides, and all hope was gone. We went from being a ragtag group of go-getters to a single, desperate mindset; kill or be killed. That was our plan. We were doing whatever we had to do to survive. It didn’t matter who or what they were, we’d fuck them up. We’d burn their homes and villages to the ground. We’d slaughter their families, and we’d make their own lives worse than death if we had to.

I don’t remember exactly how it began, or when it ended. I think the first person I saw die was a woman. A young woman, around 24, 25 maybe. This younger kid shoved a whole Bowie knife down her throat. He pushed it in deep. Slowly, he inched it back out, and the woman was like a river, so much blood flowed out of her mouth. The look on his face was terrifying, man. It was like he was in some strange, dreamlike state. His eyes were blacked out, his pupils huge and dilated to a tee. You know that look you get when you’re high off your mind? It was like that, but with a different sort of madness on his face. We had all seen that look before. It was our own. We were all fucked in the head after so much time.

After that, it was a blur. All I remember is walking through the village, blacking out, then walking some more. I didn’t give too shits. I was angry. I was sad. I had no more use for the world, and there was no way in hell that I’d go back to it. This was it. Death or nothing.

Next thing I knew, I ended up in some field hospital. We caused quite a ruckus that night. Everyone told me I was quite creative with my methods of torture and killing. The whole massacre, I was laughing like a lunatic

I wasn’t sorry though.

Of course, it was no surprise when they yelled and spat at me, threw me around a bit, and slung all sorts of creative insults my way. The doctors, nurses, even they all thought that I was done for. All I did was laugh though. Even as one of my superiors punched me in the face, causing me to fall down to the ground and cough up crimson shit, I was still cackling.

My former squad and I lived out what we thought was the rest of our days in a damp and dirty makeshift prison. None of us talked to one another. We didn’t eat, we didn’t sleep, we didn’t even count the days with little tally marks on the walls. All of us were zombies, moping around in dazed, dreamlike states. Our brains had shut down completely.

It was the first and only time I’d eaten a rat. With a little knife I made from a broken off floor panel, I cut into the thing while it was still alive. Peeling back the skin and muscle, I saw the juicy insides sloshing around. I sank my teeth in and devoured whatever I could. Diseases were the least of my worries. I was already a disease to the world anyway.

With only a day left until our execution, there was a knock at the door. It slowly inched its way open, the first sunlight in ages pouring in. Our clothes were caked with dirt and grime, our hair went down to our shoulders and itched with bugs, and we were skeletons draped in thin skin. We huddled back against the walls as two gentlemen walked in. The first was the general, acting all smug with the cigar nearly falling out of his mouth. The second was a middle-aged man with a black suit and tie, sunglasses, and fedora. He was painfully thin, almost as thin as us. We heard them speak in hushed murmurs to one another. They passed each other all sorts of documents and files.

At one point, the general glared at each of us with a look of utter disdain and hatred, but also like he was running a thought through his mind. He turned back to the other man, saying, “Now are you sure?”

The other man let out a small chuckle, “General, trust me. They’ll be put to good use”.

Breathing a hefty sigh, the general shook his head and promptly left our cell, leaving us alone with this stranger. He stepped closer, and we stepped back. It looked like he was analyzing us, sizing us up, figuring out everything that we were. His smile was sadistic, and his eyes were full of mania. I wanted to punch him in the face so hard that he would be a vegetable for the rest of his life.

“My name is Dr. Alexander Graves,” he began, “I understand you’re responsible for the massacre at Dang Minh. Your execution is to be carried out tomorrow at the crack of dawn,” No one said anything, “I don’t particularly feel like wasting your time, so I’ll be blunt. You’re the absolute worst pieces of shit. You did the worst things you could’ve possibly done, and to what end? You caused death, civilian death, and not only that,” He gazed at my former squad leader who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, and then back to the rest of us, “You should’ve taken those bullets for yourself”.

“We did what we had to.” In hindsight, that was stupid of me to say.

“No,” Alexander shook his head, stifling a laugh, “You did what you wanted to. You chose to make yourself more powerful, killing and mutilating those weaker and defenseless than you. You’re animals, but that doesn’t mean you have to go to waste”.

Our former squad leader interrupted, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“See, my friends and I have a mission, been working on it for as long as I can remember. In Antarctica, a special place is being constructed. Right now, the government is in the dark about its true intentions, thinking that we’re testing products for their wars. No, we’re really trying to expand upon science itself. We’re trying to create weapons for the future. What we want to use though are not just any weapons…they’re weapons of flesh and blood, man-made beasts designed to kill.”

The former squad leader’s face contorted in disgust, “Look, I don’t know what kind of shit you’re talking about, but I know I don’t want to be part of this. You aren’t the government. We don’t owe you shit”.

“Yes, you do,” Alexander said, “Your superiors have already approved it. If you refuse, you’ve basically given them the go-ahead to come and kill you. This isn’t a chance for you to atone for your sins. Frankly, there’s no redemption for you. But if this is who you are, then so be it. Join me, and you can unleash yourselves like never before. This is what you want, right?"

The more he spoke, the more we realized that he might actually have a point. We were assholes, the lowest of the low. We didn’t have anything to lose. For us, this was a real opportunity. None of us knew what Alexander meant, and it seemed like crazy talk, but if we could finally let loose, unleash our darkest desires on…something…or someone…how could we pass that up? This was a chance to be a part of something greater.

We agreed.

May 16

Two unknown vehicles were parked outside my safe house. I felt it necessary to gather my belongings and make my escape. I’m held up in an abandoned factory. It shouldn’t be long until they’re here again. Luckily, I’ve got several escape points. Hopefully it’ll be enough.

I neglected to mention this new war.

A couple years ago, there was a false flag operation in Cuba, intending to paint America like the aggressors. A few things led to another, and low and behold, we’re at war again. Surprise surprise, it’s with Russia. Who else? Both countries have nukes. So far, no one’s used them yet. We're not going to, at least not yet. The world is going to get a rude awakening soon. It’s going to be the end of everything.

Not for the reasons one might think, however.

I soon came to realize that my former squad and I were just a small drop in the endless sea of inhuman wrongness. There were hundreds of us, “recruited” from all over the world. We trained for years to become “collectors”. Who we worked for was multiple choice. I never learned what they truly called themselves, it was some ancient alien language I couldn’t ever hope to understand. For the purposes of what they stood for, we’ll call them Project Venerate Revolutionary, or Project VR001.

They had a mission, you see, one that could take advantage of an ongoing man-made conflict foretold to bring about the death of humanity from generations past. That false flag operation in Cuba? The reason why the world is in shambles, why the world’s two strongest countries are clamoring to be the ones on top, even if the rest of the world is dead and buried?

We did that.

It had a chain reaction that had the exacting effect we craved.

Why? Why would we want all this chaos? Well, Project VR001 was all about bringing the death of humanity, all so new dominant lifeforms can rule. There was some cult-like group at the top that were trying to unleash some ancient prophecy that told them exactly how to do this, a prophecy that they’ve had for centuries. It’s a prophecy in which humanity has to die so that a new dominant life form will arise to take our place, and with that new race of gods, there will be a new golden age, where everything is done the right way, where only those worthy of being in this higher plane will live.

Personally, I wouldn't call what we created...gods...but what do I know?

Before I go on, I will say though that there are things in this world that the common man can never hope to understand, things that have no right to exist. People try to gain some logical high ground that they created in their minds with what they call facts, logic, and common sense. They explain the weird and mysterious away with big words and long drawn-out explanations that make their followers go “ooh” and “ahh”, denying every notion that there’s anything else beyond that because…it’s not realistic enough for their own liking?

Project VR001 would laugh in their faces. For them, plain, boring-old science wouldn’t suffice. They had to go deeper. Those unspeakable rituals they used, tapping into the unknown, looking beyond the veil, bending and breaking the rules of reality to their liking. We blended it all into one noxious mixture. It gave everything we created life like never before, but we weren’t going to stop there. These were some of the most brilliant minds of this world…minds that should’ve never been allowed to think.

To create these things, what we needed was pure organic material…blood, skin, bone, muscle, tissue, guts, nerves…just walking meat of all kinds. I was part of one of many teams who provided that. Project VR001 didn’t want fake, synthetic nonsense. These things were real. We couldn’t just manufacture the required meat ourselves. So they’d get us to “collect” a victim. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that humanity is a resource to be tapped into, and it’s one that goes to waste when it’s not taken advantage of. We had a variety of methods for our job, ranging from the subtle to violent. After abduction and injection of the chemical that made them go nighty-night, they’d be transported to the base in Antarctica.

We didn’t just deal with live humans though. It could be any living creature. You know, you had your rabbits, your foxes, your deer, your dogs, your cats, you name it. I could only imagine people’s faces when their beloved pets were gone. We’d get as many live ones as we could, they’re in better condition anyway. The better the condition, the better the quality of flesh that you get. All of our subjects, human or otherwise, were kept in crates or cages until we had all we needed. Sometimes we had to put humans and animals together…lots of accidents.

You can probably imagine the smell, rancid, stinking, stale. So many people, so many animals, in such a cramped space, I’ve never smelled anything worse in my life. Even I smelled better as a prisoner-of-war. But really, the only thing worse was the noise. It was a dreadful cacophony of suffering between all of our permanent residents. The humans made the most noise, they yelled, they cried, a lot of them pissed and shat themselves, and the children, oh boy the children, they would never shut the fuck up. Usually they were first in line to get some modicum of peace and quiet. The animals were always none-the-wiser to their fates.

And before they knew it, it was time.

To be honest, I never knew the exact process required to create them. It was only for the scientists, bioengineers, and other fucks behind those closed doors to know and for us, the measly collectors and the cattle to the slaughter if anything went haywire, to never find out.

Our only job at that point was to throw them inside and leave, maybe guard the door if some parent tried to be a hero and save their kid. However, we did get to see the end products. Initially, when we were still in the early testing phases, most of our creations were hybrids. Cats with foxes, pigs with wolves, humans with dogs, you get the point. A lot of them died a few minutes into their new lives. If an experiment failed, I and a few others had to go in and retrieve them. Their bodies were a mess, contorted into unnatural shapes and sizes. Their guts had melted together or spilled out in pools of fluids. Their skin would either be stretched, different colors like patchwork ice cream, or gone altogether. Sometimes they just laid there, their bodies still and lifeless. Every now and again, their dead eyes would open up as if to mock us, their keepers, for wasting our time with something so foul and which yielded no results. Yeah, our job was to dispose of them.

Some survived though, and they were used as a basis for moving forward.

With time, we got better and better. The scientists still counted each failure as a victory. Through trial and error, they got better at it. We were able to progress to totally new and original creatures. Some of them, you couldn’t even tell what they originally were anymore. They were imbued with the desire to kill, but they were also impervious to any outside harm, essentially invincible. Rapidly, they would evolve and mutate in any way they needed. Even if you blew them to smithereens, they would still find a way to come back. Let’s just say no human could be in the same room as them without being torn to shreds. Sometimes, we’d watch them fight, which wasn’t a problem since they couldn’t die. You could see the stress building and exploding out of them at all times.

I’m going to describe some of them, not all. They created tens of hundreds of them, and as I write this, there’s more to come. I don’t have all day, so here are some notes on the ones that made an impact on me.

Subject 9: A nine-foot tall bipedal rat; once an ordinary street rat; long snout; floppy diluted tongue; large ears; expanded eyes; muted pink tail; razor sharp teeth and claws; gray fur; skinny and boney; makes high-pitched squeaks, hisses, screams, chattering of the teeth, and howls; horrendous stench, mix of roadkill, raw sewage, and old cheese; extremely feral, will attack absolutely anything; can tunnel underground at astonishing speeds; carries diseases like rabies, typhus, leprosy, bubonic plague, and cholera.

Subject 18: A humanoid; once a little girl named Johanna; tall, about 11 feet; smooth, inky black skin; no scent; has two large flap-like “ears”; long and gangly limbs that can change length at will; various eyes cover its body, unable to blink; hypnotic gaze, puts victims into a trance, form of paralysis; mimics voices and sounds, like a “hush” and are higher pitched than they should be.

Subject 25: A five-foot tall bat-like creature; once a fruit bat caught in India; rather small compared to the others; gray ashy body; two eyes, huge black pupils; short snout; razor sharp fangs; tall ears; two flexible wings, long span; feet with sharp nails, able to hang upside down; makes low-pitched roars and hisses; nocturnal; ambush predator.

Subject 66: A humanoid; once a mentally ill patient named Richard Kneller; exceptionally pale skin; black hair; large black eyes; black lips; wide open mouth with teeth and gums protruding outwards, like a maniacal grin; never stops laughing, ever; extremely strong; when inflicted with damage, it makes an extremely eerie screaming noise, mouth elongates and pupils enlarge; contorts into unnatural positions.

Subject 81: A large canid; almost humanoid; once a guard dog; long snout; big ears; blackened eyes that do not move, always in the middle; sharp jagged teeth; tongue is long and floppy, dripping black substance; long, tail; black fur; loud howling; vicious, will never give up; limb manipulation and reattachment.

Subject 104: A humanoid; once a teenager named Grant Buckner; 9 feet tall; gangly limbs; long torso; a disproportionately narrow skull; a pair of two small eyes; long and twisted claws for fingers; an extremely small mouth; a single claw for a tongue; high metabolism, will eat absolutely anything, even inanimate objects; never stops eating.

Subject 333: An artificial sentient supercomputer housing all of Project VR001’s top secret files and documents; once one of Project VR001’s own Kenneth Waterford; top scientist that betrayed his own; released files, quickly contained, and in an ironic twist of fate, became Project VR001’s guardian against breaches from external parties; the image provided is not all of him; just one of his many vessels.

There were so many more, but you get the picture.

Maybe I’ve had time to correct my mistakes. I’ll tell you this, they were never mistakes to begin with. I knew what I was doing all along.

Does that make me the bad guy? Yes, yes it does.

At the same time though, I felt like something was breaking inside me.

No, it wasn’t as if I was suddenly growing a conscience and morals. It was more like I was a shell. If I didn’t care during Vietnam, I most certainly didn’t care now. The would-be subjects screaming for help, their sad puppy-dog eyes staring back at me. In me, there was nothing. I didn’t even have moments of hesitation.

I wasn’t some underdog who tried to step up to the big mean villains in an act of selfless heroics. I didn’t give a shit about that. By this point, I had lost my mind completely…again. I was angry…at who? I don’t know. Project VR001? My fellow collectors? The creatures? The world? I didn’t shoot up the place, I didn’t kill Alexander or any of the other head honchos up top.

So why did I run away then? The best theory I can come up with is that I was just done, even if I didn't fully realize it. Everything, from Vietnam to Antarctica, just came crashing down on me at once. My brain decided that I needed out, and that's what I did.

I just ran. I had nowhere to go, but it felt so good. The snow had picked up, but I didn’t care. I ran, ran, ran until I couldn’t anymore. What I did do was climb aboard one of the cargo ships that came by every now and again. I just thought, “Fuck it” and I hopped on. Being a collector all this time, I received the necessary training to become practically invisible. That’s what I did. Somehow, no one ever found me. I rode out the huge waves and terrifying storms. When we finally arrived in America, I hopped off. I’ve laid low ever since.

Are you expecting me to be the hero here? Warn the whole world of Project VR001? Expose their activities? Lead a resistance to try and take them down?

Why would I do that? It's pointless.

If I'm not going to try to expose them, then why am I even writing this down? I'll tell you why. This my testimony. Giving it a name makes me feel a little better. Maybe calling it that can justify my actions in some weird way that transcends all logic. Maybe Satan can go a little lighter on the punishments I'm sure to receive in Hell.

There’s literally nothing we can do to stop Project VR001. Don’t even bother trying to kill their creations. You can’t. They’ll mutate, evolve into forms unknown to nature itself. Nukes won’t do anything. In fact, they might just speed up the process. A global catastrophe is coming. It’s not a matter of if, but when. As humans, we like to think we’re invincible, that we can take anything on, but there are things in this world, in this universe, that humble us, make us look tiny, like little insects. We’re nothing. You? Me? We are completely and utterly nothing.

They’re tracking me every which way. In fact, those same two cars from three days ago just parked outside. I’m seeing four collectors get out. I remember them all…46, 880, 232, and 78…and I know exactly what they want to do to me.

All I can say is keep your loved ones close. Hug them tight, tell them how much you love them. Personally, I don’t have anyone to love. I’m pretty much alone in that fact though. Something’s coming, a conflict unlike anything the world has never seen before. No one’s prepared. It seems like the last chapter of humanity is now.

Sometimes, back in Antarctica, when I was walking past all those awful creatures, I’d just stop and stare at them. For some reason, that made me feel a connection to them. No matter how different we were, separated by bullet proof glass and barbed wire, they and I were at least on the same wavelength. Pain is all we know.

I’ve tried committing suicide many times, but I always stop myself. Something’s preventing me. I don't know what, but I wish it would go away and just let me put the bullet in my head.

Death is waiting, but it seems like he’ll have to wait a little longer.

May 30

I’d forgotten what it was like to take another man’s life.

Quickly, I wrapped up what I was writing and attempted to make my escape. 46, 880, 232, and 78…they just couldn’t make it easy for me. I took an alternative route, wishing to put some distance between myself and my pursuers, no matter how many of them there were. The odds of more collectors laying in wait outside to riddle me with bullets was never zero. We exchanged bullets, and I saw one of my strays connect with 78’s skull, dropping him to the ground. I didn’t have time to gloat or celebrate though, instead making my way to one of the backdoors. As soon as I made contact with the handle, I was pulled backwards and slammed onto the ground. A very chaotic scuffle ensued…880 and 232 tried to hold me in place while 46 got the nighty night chemical I talked about before ready.

The madness only ended when I just barely managed to reach my pistol on the floor. I brought it up to 880’s stomach, and let another shot out. The ringing in our ears was just enough for me to break free and squirm out of that manpile. I think I shot again while bursting my way out the door, but I’m not too sure. Quickly, I ran down the block, blending in with the hordes of people on the street. Backing my way into an alley, I took several deep breaths. My sides were hurting.

Making sure I had all my belongings, I rifled through my backpack. I always make sure to leave no trace of my whereabouts anywhere.

You can imagine my reaction when I realized my journal wasn’t in there.

Fuck.

No, there wasn’t particularly valuable information in that thing. And no, I’m not keen on exposing Project VR001. Really, all that was in there is stuff my pursuers already know…but still. It’s my testimony. When I’m in Hell, I could’ve shown it to Satan and tried to prove to him that I’m not as bad as I look.

Sigh…who am I kidding?

I am as bad as I look.

My mind still running over what had just happened, I hid behind a trash can and some cardboard boxes. How could I be so stupid? It probably fell out of my backpack when I was brought to the ground. They have it…and soon…Alexander will have it. What could they possibly do with it?

I don’t know.

I killed someone…it felt good…very, very good, but also weird? Obviously, I’ve killed before. Vietnam, the occasional unruly prisoners we kept, some of the hybrid subjects. When I realized what had happened, the shock just gave way to rage, and that rage made me take action. They weren’t about to kill me, sure. I knew they intended to stun me with a bullet to the leg or foot or whatever, but when someone does something like that to you, you have the right to strike back.

Dammit…I really wish whatever this is would just go away. Fuck the guilt…and fuck the shame.

My last resort has been to hit up any charity shelters in the cities. The people there are kind and nice, always willing to help. The problem is that it doesn’t get me anywhere in my current state. I can’t really hold a job or place of my own. You can really be traced every which way. You’d be surprised. Anyone who does try to help me surely will die. The collectors won’t spare them. Get in their way and you’ll be covered in gaping bullet holes.

I’m going to continue to write in a notebook I found. Well, I say found, I really mean stole…swiped it from a park bench when some woman wasn’t looking.

I need to find another place to hold up in…but does it even matter at this point?

June 7

Things just got a whole lot more complicated. I didn’t even know things could be fucked this bad. Come on life, you want to throw another thing my way?

Her name is Melinda Pierce. I first noticed the bitch following me down the street one night. Everywhere I’d go, she’d hide around the corner and follow me again. It just felt like she was waiting for the right moment to strike. I knew Project VR001 hired her to spy on me, and I knew just how to deal with her.

I went down another alley in some seedy part of town. Of course, Melinda followed, but I’d just disappeared. Her confusion was pretty funny until I saw her lift her shirt up. Emerging from the shadows, I whipped out my pistol and shot her in the foot, causing her to fall down to the ground in pain. Sure enough, a pistol fell out of her hand. Kicking it away, I dragged her out of sight and propped her up against a brick wall. I slowly knelt down to her level.

“Did they send you?” I asked. Melinda didn’t respond. She was still gasping in and out, trying to clumsily fidget with her wound. Grabbing her arm tight and holding it upwards, my voice got deeper, “I asked you a question: did…they…send…you…?”

Wincing with pain, Melinda let out an afflicted “No!”

Obviously, she wouldn’t admit it right away. I brandished my pistol again and aimed it directly at her head, “You know, it’s not nice to lie. I’ll ask you one more time,” I cocked my weapon and got closer to her, “Did Project VR001 send you?”

I saw a few tears beginning to stream down her cheek, “You…you took my parents!”

Confused, my grip on her arm began to lighten up, “What?”

“I know you, you son of a bitch! Five years ago, you and three other men took them away! Where are they? WHERE ARE THEY?” she shrieked at me, her rage reaching a tipping point.

Immediately, I realized what this was. I pushed myself back up off the ground, backing away from her but still having my pistol trained on her. This wasn’t a spy. It was a product of my past coming back to bite me in the ass. That didn’t mean I couldn’t have fun with it though.

“Of course…Jonathan and Nancy Pierce, wasn’t it?”

Still clinging to her leg, she tried to stand up, “YES!”

I could tell I was about to have a crazy bitch on my hands.

“I’ll tell you this. They’re not dead,” I knew what was to come, “Your mommy and daddy are in Antarctica. One’s a big mean nuclear slug creature that likes to squirt toxic goo, and the other is a little baby kitten creature with a tongue longer than the Mississippi River!”

A combination of tears and saliva flooded down Melinda’s face, but she lunged at me all the same. I wasn’t fast enough to get out of the way though. Like two rag dolls, we fell to the ground, our bodies clattering around, her limbs trying to grab at me, get me in some way. One punch was all it took to take her down. She fell atop me, unconscious. I threw her off and stood back up. Taking a deep breath, I picked my pistol up off the ground. I debated killing her, but there it was again, that same weird feeling. Why does the thought of killing someone feel so weird now?

“FUCK!” I yelled, kicking a nearby trash can. Obviously, I couldn’t just leave her there without getting some extra heat.

Just what I fucking needed…

I dragged her away.

June 9

Don’t ask me how, but Melinda and I actually got to talking. You know, for real, without her trying to tear me apart.

Luckily for me, she wasn’t exactly careful with what she carried on her person. Her license stated that her name was Melinda Pierce, was 35 years old, and resided at 1526 East 17th Street, Chicago, Illinois. That wasn’t far from where we were currently located. In short, I managed to pick the lock on a car, put her in the trunk, and drive the whole hour to her apartment. My plan was to just leave her there. I doubted she’d remember our little ordeal, much less take more action against me.

Turns out I’m a shit judge of character.

As soon as I threw Melinda on her couch, she woke up and started yelling, “NO! NO! NO!” She began to fiddle around with the chains of the handcuffs I had restrained her with. It was like I was reliving all those moments in Antarctica, only this time it was different. It felt more…personal. I was the predator, and Melinda was the prey. I was the big mean man-slaying killer, and she was the scared little girl.

I told Melinda to forget my face, if she knows what’s good for her, and went to leave. Of course, I couldn’t. She wouldn’t let up, and said that she wouldn’t stop until I was dead. Something that really caught me off guard, though, was that she thought I was lying when I told her that her parents were inhuman creatures born from science and magic.

I’m really glad that was the thanks I got for being truthful for the first time in almost 20 years.

After a good thirty minutes, I managed to calm her down. I know I’m probably going to regret what I did next, but I told her everything…where I came from, Project VR001, all of it. Most important was, as aforementioned, I was not lying about her parents. They weren’t her parents anymore. A big slug and a little baby kitten thing that somehow had the longest tongue I’d ever seen. I’d forgotten which one was which.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget that look of shock and terror in her eyes when I told her. Obviously, she thought I was bullshitting her at first, but her suspicions quickly subsided. All she could do was whimper.

Melinda finally just laid back on the couch, defeated. Her hysteria subsided, and she’s currently just staring out into space, lost in thought. I told her enough to scare her and question everything around her. The way she just sat there and listened to everything I said to her, I have no doubt she’ll follow me to whatever grave I take.

June 15

Just what am I doing with my life? I don’t even know anymore. I thought by just writing down my testimony and leaving it in the world, everything would finally make sense. I’d be justified in the eyes of Satan. Now that I’ve met Melinda, I don’t know what to think anymore.

Melinda’s been following me, like I knew she would. No matter where I go, she’s there. Even if I went to fucking Cameroon or Belize, I’m sure she’d be right on my tail. She’s been trying to get me to work with her to take down Project VR001. Believe me, I’ve called her every possible synonym for the word “stupid”. What a fucking dumbass. I’ve told her so many times that there’s no point in fighting Project VR001, but she insists that there MUST be a way.

Since I told her all about my background, Melinda’s taken a huge interest in the world of Project VR001, and she’s been trying to gather as much information as she can. She wants revenge, and I can tell she still hates me, but if anyone’s going to help her get her revenge, it’s me. I don’t want to do this. I have to go, she’s going to die. It’s only a matter of time.

Why haven’t I killed her yet? Numerous times, I’ve stood over her as she slept, my pistol aimed at her head. My finger on the trigger never seems to obey me. I want to kill her. I want to rid myself of this extra headache…

June 28

It’s very strange that I haven’t seen any collectors as of late. Too scared?

I really hate to say this…but Melinda might actually be onto something.

We’ve been traveling a lot, mostly for my sake. Why do I find myself going along with this? We’re so fucked. Somehow Melinda’s beginning to establish some kind of insider network, consisting of two victims from two of my collections, Dr. Waterford’s wife, and two of Waterford’s closest scientist friends at the blacksite. They’ll remain nameless. When I met them all, the fury on their faces was a sight to behold. Victim #1 punched me and got all up in my face, Victim #2 won’t even talk to me. Waterford’s two scientist friends stood by as he was transformed into that giant computer thing. I can’t really blame them though.

Anyways, with these new contacts, we’ve acquired some new information. A lot of it I knew already. I just forgot or didn’t care to mention it before. Others I didn’t even know myself, which is scary.

#1: The Gods, Magic, And The Prophecy: This makes me feel incredibly stupid, but that’s how it goes when you lose everything and some loudmouth prophetic comes and tells you how to think. You turn soft and gullible. The prophecy isn’t real. Duh, right? How could I ever believe something so outlandish? We were preached to, saying to believe in that shit no matter what. Alexander and his little gang wrote it themselves. In reality, it’s just sadism and, as one of Waterford’s friends put it, an odd imaginary strain of eugenics that they’d created. I’m not even a religious person. Yes I keep mentioning Satan, but that doesn’t mean I pray every night before bed and go to church on Sundays. Still, they somehow broke through and made me truly believe. While I’m at it, the rituals and magic? All bullshit. Remember, I never knew what was going on beyond those closed doors. We just went along with whatever they told us. They used science, nothing more, and nothing less. I’m such a fucking dumbass.

#2: The South Project: I don’t know how or why I didn’t mention this before, it might've been important. They’re fronting as the South Project, a huge weapons manufacturer. With this new war going on, everyone’s clambering to get their slice. Project VR001 makes top dollars. The armies in Europe and Asia are all using their weapons. It’s all neutral. They don’t work for a specific nation. Just them against the world, quite literally. Alexander has everyone completely fooled.

#3: Names: This one’s a two parter. First, the honchos up top, the “cult” that isn’t actually a cult and faking using magic, have names. Of course they do, but I never learned them. I only knew Alexander. Besides him, there was John Crosley, Charles G. Wakefield, James Sutherland, Richard Schilling, and Phillip K. Gundersen. All of them were scientists with the same savage mindset to watch the world burn, and all of them are delusional. Second, although us collectors and the scientists never gave the subjects names, Alexander and his friends did. From our documents and files, the ones I described before, Subject 9 was called “The Rat”, Subject 18 was called “The Stare”, Subject 25 was called “Fang Face”, Subject 66 was called “Psycho”, Subject 81 was called “Good Dog”, Subject 104 was called “Nibbler”, and Subject 333 was called “GOEWHD” (“Guardian Of Everything We Hold Dear”) or simply “The Guardian”.

#4: Dr. Kenneth Waterford: Speaking of Subject 333, Waterford’s friends told us everything that was contained in his journal. Unfortunately, he didn’t get to finish, so not too much information is in there. What he did say was that it wasn’t Project VR001’s dream to make creatures to benefit humanity, but make creatures that were better than humanity. Everything Alexander preached seemed like fancy talk. Waterford was taken from his family, his teenage son tried to stop the collectors but was unsuccessful. Of course how I and many others were manipulated. How Subject 9 was bombarded with radiation and was in immense pain. None of that surprised me, but I did cringe when I got to his notes about Subject 18. Originally, as I stated before, it was a little girl named Johanna. I remembered everyone I collected. Collectors 15, 400, and I snatched her off the street, right in front of her house. Her parents tried to stop us, but we were forced to shoot them dead. Back in Antarctica, Alexander was with us, watching over our would-be subjects. I was right next to him when he stopped, his eyes gazing over to Johanna. He ordered the cage to be opened, and I and another collector took Johanna out. I knew exactly what he was thinking, especially as he quipped about her “beautiful eyes” and how they could “put anyone into a trance”. We watched him lead her down the row of cages, up the flight of stairs, and into his office. It was obvious, but I tried not to think about it, especially when we had to stand by the door to “guard” it or whatever. I’ll never get those noises out of my head. When the door opened again, Johanna’s eyes were wide, she was shaking violently, her hair was all messy. Now that I think about it, her current appearance makes a whole lot of sense.

That’s all the information we acquired.

No matter how many times I tell Melissa and her friends that trying to expose Project VR001 will be suicide, they won’t listen to me. I don’t want to be involved with this shit…or do I? I’m so conflicted. If I want to die so bad, why don’t I just let the collectors get me? Or jump off a building? Get run over? Die by police? Melissa’s been trying to tell me to let go of my past, that even though I did some shitty things before, I can still atone for it. We can save the world, like we’re superheroes or something.

Sigh…

Maybe she’s right.

But I’m going to need some more convincing. How could we possibly stop Project VR001? No one listens to us. Everyone looks at us like we’re crazy. Even the news thinks we’re nutjobs. What are we? Conspiracy theorists?

Actually, we might have a plan.

September 1

I haven’t written in a long time, but that’s because we’ve been busy.

The idea we have is radical, I admit, but it might be our only hope. It is destroying the blacksite in Antarctica with a specially made bomb, a little one, but with power, obliterating everything and everyone there in a fiery explosion. What about the subject’s mutations? The bomb will contain a bioweapon known as Agent META. We had to do some bad and arduous things to get it. It was clandestinely created by the United States to deal with the Russians in Europe. It might go against the Geneva Convention, but I’m sure it’ll be rigged to say the Russians did it first or it was created out of an act of desperation.

How Agent META works is that it targets the ability to mutate and adapt for survivability. It kills the cells and DNA molecules that allow an organism to undergo genetic changes. In theory, it should be able to kill all the subjects there. Everything about them is based on mutation. They’re always changing and evolving. Take that away and what do you have? Imagine looking through a microscope, all the little cells swimming and dancing around. Now imagine a black mass coming in, absorbing and killing them all, then killing itself when no other cells are present. That’s Agent META.

It's a nasty little thing.

Yes, it’s going to kill the would-be, unmodified subjects…a lot of innocent deaths will be on our hands. This is just a sacrifice that both sides will have to make. It’s either a thousand lives, or billions. Take your pick.

We’re taking all necessary precautions. Transporting the bomb and getting it to where it needs to be will be the difficult part. It might be able to mingle in with the other shipments of bombs and artillery. In fact, when I press the button to detonate it, all the other bombs and artillery might blow up too. We’ll be in there to transport it, so I’ve been training the others on shooting. It shouldn’t get to that point, but you never know.

I still have my doubts about this whole thing. Project VR001 and Alexander are dangerously resourceful, but not only that. They’re sneaky, they’re clever, and worst of all, they’re intelligent. I wasn’t lying when I said these were the smartest minds on this planet. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually HOPE we get the drop on them. I’m tired of living like this. I’m getting too old for it. I don’t think we’re invincible, but I don’t see why this wouldn’t work. Obviously, my thoughts were wrong, and they don’t have magic guarding the place like a sacred ground. This is all science. We’re going to beat science with science.

It’s going to work.

It has to.

November 18

My log ends here.

We’re preparing to leave now. When this is all over with, I’m going to continue to live low. I won’t be writing anymore. I can finally rest. Melissa and I have already come to terms with the fact that we’re never going to see each other again after this. That’s okay, though. Her and I didn’t hug, but we did shake each other's hand. I knew it was going to destroy her mentally to kill her mutated parents, but it’s what she had to do. It was duty, something I was beginning to feel after a long time.

A sense of duty…a sense of pride in what I was doing. Not like the ruthless sadism I’d become accustomed to all my life. It’s something that feels truly good, making me breathe a little easier. Maybe I do have a choice, even if it gets me killed.

I even told her my real name...

Daniel Morse.

I think I just smiled…I’d forgotten what it was like to smile.

It’s time to go.

Goodbye.

-

The entries of head researcher, observer, patriarch, and glorious leader into the dear future: Dr. Alexander Graves:

March 20, 1971

Did I ever dream of the day in which we would be truly united as a world? What a silly question. Of course I did. I mean, don’t we all?

It was never as if my dreams were too far-fetched, unable to be accomplished in a single lifetime. All I wanted was to show that there was a better way, one in which all that was needed was an ideology of unity, a common goal and common truth. My dream was just that, simple, but I also knew it’s very complex. The way I saw it was to be unified in the search for what makes humanity, humanity. It goes beyond the things we can see and the things we can hear.

It goes beyond our own kind.

People like to propagate the notion that the world is a mess and that nothing can be done to save it. Even if something goes slightly awry, it’s the end of the world as we know it. To me, that’s a giant cancer that keeps growing and growing and growing. It needs to be cut off before it consumes everything there is. What’s with all the fearmongering? Why not embrace what we have, and what we will have?

In my conferences with those men, I made sure my words were as smooth as silk. I spoke prettily, but plainly. You’d be surprised at how much you can accomplish with the right amount of balance in the words you utter. Of course, these weren’t simple, honest men. You had your presidents, your prime ministers, your monarchs, your generals, all from the same highly exclusive club.

I fronted as the head of the South Project, which to them, was Earth-shattering. Weapons manufacturing, all the guns, bombs, and artillery you can shake a stick at. We were neutral, non-partisan, just some guys with some money, wanting to get the best bang for our buck. We made sure to keep our mouths shut. We were weapons manufacturers for the good guys and the bad guys, it wouldn’t have mattered, it was all the same. As long as everyone was paying their bills on time and the price was right, we’d be happy to do business.

To make a long story short, they were eager to oblige.

That was two years ago already. Of course, we have our own agenda to play around with.

I call it Project VR001, or Project Venerate Revolutionary. That’s us. The 001 is for our first inquiry into the new way of life.

Am I a liar? Yes I am, but I’m a firm believer of the ends justifying the means. We’re not looking to build guns or bombs or artillery. We’re looking to bring the world together. We want to break down the barriers, smash the walls, and bring the people together into one gigantic melting pot.

When I mean “bringing people together” though, I’m not talking about one big brotherhood of man. I’m talking about the end of this chapter in not just humanity, but the animal kingdom in its entirety. Our goal is to create, through biological manipulation, hybridization, and mutation, a truly new dominant race.

We’re not exactly sure what that’ll be yet, but the process is underway. We should be good to go in a few years.

November 18, 1975

We have our own little operation down here in Antarctica. This is one of the most expensive projects in history. Money has never been an issue though. Our friends in the States, Britain, Germany, Russia, China, Australia, they keep us on our feet. We do supply our fair share of weapon supplying, and no one bats an eye. There is nothing suspicious about it, and after all, Antarctica is the one true neutral place on Earth.

There are a number of people here, those involved with research, development, and security. I’ve even created an elite group within our ranks, and I call them my collectors. They’re all in training, but they’ll serve a very special purpose. I’m quite fond of them. Every collector will be very good at what they do. Outsiders will think they’re just a bunch of lowly goons working for a weapons company.

It almost brings a tear to my eye. What was once a mad idea in the heads of a few is now becoming a reality. The entire world will see Project VR001, the beautiful life we create. For now, we’re focused on smaller things, building our labs, testing our equipment, training, preparing ourselves for what’s to come. I’m very proud of what we’ve accomplished so far.

Of course, there are many obstacles ahead of us, but it’s time to take these obstacles head on. We will all work as a team. There is no room for selfishness. We will always put the good of the project first.

For the foreseeable future, this is where I’ll be staying. With my new family. I’ll be spending the rest of my life right here, in the belly of the Earth. No need to travel…at least until the time is right.

I have to keep writing though, keep everything fresh. I may need to refer to these in the future. They keep me thinking.

June 6, 1978

We’ve been having some difficulties, but it’s nothing to worry about. Rome wasn’t built in a day. I foretold there being some kinks to work out. Certain mutations and transformations are not occurring as we have planned. Some subjects are dying on the spot. We can’t have that.

Our first, the very first, was a convict from Brazil, a criminal, a thief. His name was Francisco Correia. He’s dead now. He just couldn’t take the heat. I’m not exactly sure if it was his own physiology or his soul, if he wasn’t strong enough physically or mentally. I’ll never know.

A few weeks ago, we finally created a beautiful thing…well, we thought we did. We were so proud. He was Subject 1. The most unrealistically realistic creature there could possibly be, a mix between man and dog. His coat was a light gray, his nose a dusky brown, like leather. He had large round eyes, and his teeth were sharp. His legs were long, and he could contort and bend into so many different shapes, it was amazing.

But one night, his new heart gave out. He just keeled over and died, shaking violently, some kind of white liquidy substance pouring out of his snout.

And it keeps happening…and happening…and happening…this isn’t supposed to be unrealistic anymore…

I don’t understand what we’re doing wrong. We’ve been very thorough in our work. I feel like I’m being punished. Where’s that greater power staring me down? Do the gods of the past, the gods of old, the gods of creation and destruction, frown upon my work?

I’ve never believed in the gods, but I’m beginning to have my doubts.

October 18, 1978

I’m sorry.

For the last few months, I’ve been drinking. I’m not talking about the occasional beer here and there. I mean alcoholics anonymous and rehab type drunk. I’ve been going on my own personal, private little spree.

You know, the more I drink, the more I realize what a genius I really am. I can make so many things happen, things that can’t be explained, at least to our own rational mind. I’ve spent so many years searching for that unifying theory, but I keep on failing.

It’s because I’ve never gone about it in the right way. I know what I can accomplish. I just need a little…help.

My friends and I unearthed the prophecy and studied each and every word. This is what it says:

"In ancient times, the Great Ones walked the Earth. From ages of old, we knew them as the Gods, but now we know them as the prophets of old. Now that we have entered into the age of the Great Reawakening, we will see them again, in a world of flesh and metal. Recreate them, empower them. Redefine what it means to be a part of this universe. To those of the Great Ones shall we heed, for they will give us the answers we seek. This is a prophecy to be fulfilled. May it never be taken away. May the prophets of old protect us, and always guide us, back to the path of righteousness".

Amen to that.

You can say we've put our own spin on it, but it was the truth of everything.

I don’t need to convince anyone of anything. I’m just going to show everyone what is truly beautiful. We will all be beautiful together.

June 4, 1980

We did it…

I can feel the change in the air. We’ve broken the boundaries. We’ve surpassed what people thought was possible.

Subject 9 is living and breathing, not dying in a heap on the floor. The collectors brought the rat in from guess where? New York City, of course. Rat-central. It was a runty, emaciated thing, but not for long. You’d be surprised at the rate at which this beautiful creature grows. I’m sure everyone’s pleased with themselves.

It is my first beautiful creature to achieve real immortality. Of course, it’s impossible for it to die. Its mind might say yes, but its body will say no. The body will fix itself in ways unseen by nature, mutate for its survival. It’ll be with us for some time now.

Many others have already received the same treatment. Already, we’re in the hundreds. They’re all manners of shapes and sizes and can do so many wonderful things. Subject 9 carries all sorts of diseases, Subject 18 can put people into a trance, Subject 32 is a walking inferno, Subject 111 can spray pus out of his spores, and get this: Subject 389 loves to crawl into any available orifice and release a viscous pervading liquid that decays the host from the inside out.

One time, I saw a newborn in her cocoon. I saw her writhing around, I saw her screaming and crying, I saw her limbs and wings sprout, her fur and flesh grow, I saw her form, I saw her change. Like a cute butterfly, she was.

Isn’t it great?

I did run into a problem when one of my scientists, Dr. Waterford, tried to seize our files and release them to the public? I couldn’t fathom for the life of me why he would do such a thing. He was good, and I was good to him. One day, he just…broke? Well, what good would executing him have done? I like to take whatever I can get. If he wanted our files so bad, then so be it. He’d BECOME our files.

August 31, 1983

These past few years, a thought has been at the forefront of my mind.

What if there was a catalyst?

See, this is the era we live in. Back in 62, everyone made a hissy fit about a couple of missiles in Cuba. Then it just ended, and people moved on. Everyone said it was going to be the end of the world. The big war in Vietnam’s over. It’s done. But it had that chain reaction. There are all these little conflicts that keep springing up in the area, even spreading into Laos and Cambodia. No one cares about them though. Personally, I haven't seen them in the news.

How could something so small start something so big? Yet something so big start something so small?

I want my own Vietnam, except…bigger.

All our lives, we’ve grown up with the threat of another world war. Everyone remembers hunkering down in their classes being threatened with the thought of some hypothetical belligerent plane dropping a huge bomb on their cute little suburban existences.

But what if that plane really did drop that bomb?

What if humanity did all the work for me? I’m now the largest weapons manufacturer in the world. Everyone would buy weapons from me.

In fact, they already are.

I will say, it was much easier than I thought.

December 30, 1986

Haha, so get this.

So back in March, one of my collectors, Daniel Morse, escaped, right? There weren't any bullets exchanged, no high-speed chase on the open snow-covered desert, nothing. He just vanished without a trace.

There is no such thing as “without a trace”. Everyone always leaves something behind.

Now that I think about it, Morse did seem off here and there. Not rebellious, just…indifferent. He was in a whole other dimension than the rest of his colleagues. One time I saw him just walk up to Subject 77’s cage, place his head against the chain link, and just stare at the creature in there. 77 tried to intimidate him, but Morse just…wasn’t having it.

My collectors are trained well…maybe a little too well. He did cover his tracks. It was exceedingly difficult to pinpoint his location. I was persistent, though. It’s my biggest attribute after all. Some of my collectors went out to find him. Apparently, Morse shot two of them dead and fled the scene.

Alas, nobody’s perfect.

Morse was ambushed, and though he escaped once more, Collectors 46 and 232 brought back something very interesting. It began with:

“My name is that of a war criminal. For now, you can call me Collector 662”.

I knew what this was the second I got to the word “criminal”.

He talked all about how he wanted to die, how there wasn’t a point in “fighting back”, and most importantly, how he wasn’t going to do anything about it. I'm the liar? Wait until you get a load of this.

Morse…DID fight back.

Judging from our surveillance, some woman his age named Melinda Pierce came into his life, she inspired him, they grew closer, they tried to expose me and Project VR001, and they led some unfortunate misguided souls in their mission.

…and they failed…

Their plan was to use a special bomb they constructed to blow up our blacksite. It would be a huge explosion, and contained some strange compound that would supposedly kill all my subjects…permanently?

God, it makes me laugh even now.

I’m not going to beat around the bush. I hate doing that. Their numbers were either gunned down or taken by my beautiful children.

I blew Melinda’s brains out.

And Morse?

Let’s just say I have another child…my 500th. And I’ll make sure to punish it accordingly.

It’s really Melinda’s fault if you think about it.

Anyways, with whatever THAT was out of the way, my friends and I think that it’s time.

Still no nukes…

You have to do everything yourself, huh?

October 1, 1987

THIS IS THE LAST.

Here’s the plan.

I don’t want to just unleash all of my children out into the world all willy-nilly.

Where’s the fun in that?

I have something better…

So, I’ve already arranged for a weapons demonstration to be conducted between the president of the United States and the General Secretary of Russia. Remember, I’m neutral, non-partisan. I’ve been supplying weapons to them since the beginning. They have to play nice, and they probably think that whoever bids higher will get their weapons of the future. But instead…

It’s time…I will ascend with my family.

GOODBYE.

-

Aftermath

On October 15, 1987, the President of the United States and the General Secretary of the Soviet Union, as well as their associates and some top military generals, gathered in Antarctica for the supposed “weapons demonstration”. Seated inside the blacksite, yet still chilled to the bone huddled in their parkas and furred boots, they waited patiently for the reveal of the “weapons of the future”. When Alexander spoke the words…

“And now, I give you…the weapons of the future!”

and the rusted metal doors rose up into the ceiling, and Alexander slipped on a gas mask, everyone's smiles dropped.

Unable to die and equipped to mutate as needed, some of Alexander’s children swam hundreds upon thousands of miles to land, while others flew. Some were even airdropped. Quickly, chaos began to spread. As these alien terrors began to wreak havoc against the world, killing anything in their path in various grotesque ways, humanity quickly began working together for the first time in five years. They turned the war effort against the creatures and attempted multiple methods to fight back…but to no avail.

The subjects continued to mutate over long stretches of time and emit intense amounts of radiation, causing entire areas to be uninhabitable. Though some managed to escape, these survivors began to grow tumors and lumps, get pustules, and even more horrible, get limbs and organs and even entire heads and faces to sprout and grow from unnatural locations. Finally, in an oh-so desperate bid, the first nuclear bomb in decades was dropped on the city of Berlin. This only strengthened the subjects, though it was maddeningly insisted on more being dropped. Effectively, these moves decimated large swathes of land, leaving immense fallout and nuclear winter in their wake.

On June 14, 1989, at approximately 10:02 PM, the last survivor on Earth, Casey M. Berger (16), after being backed into a corner, ripped off his gas mask and ran into the horde of subjects in a fit of mania. He was rapidly mutated in a fraction of a second and was devoured in even less time.

Alexander Graves and his friends remained alive. One by one, they injected themselves with syringes containing a special reactant. With smiles etched across their faces, they began to mutate.

-

Various pieces of information obtained by Doctor Kenneth J. Waterford; contains Waterford’s own statements and opinions on subject matters; do not listen; rogue scientist contained; he did not get to finish his lies; transition conducted into Subject 333; in no particular order:

#1: “Lies About Our Origin Statements”

…Alexander Graves and John Crosley began the year 1962 looking to conduct their own research project in cooperation with their colleagues in the sciences. They dreamed of the possibility of a new, better, purer world through genetic and biological manipulation and re-engineering. It was their goal to produce creatures to benefit humanity and guide them into a new and brighter path. Gathering like-minded individuals, such as James Sutherland, Charles G. Wakefield, Richard Schilling, and Philip K. Gundersen, a small group with big ideas was formed...

KW NOTES:

“IT WAS NOT THEIR DREAM TO MAKE CREATURES TO BENEFIT HUMANITY! THEY WANTED TO MAKE CREATURES THAT WERE BETTER THAN HUMANITY! THEY WANTED TO WEED OUT THE BAD, THE FLUFF! IMPROVE QUALITY! THIS IS EUGENICS WITH A HAPPY LABEL SLAPPED ON IT!”

#2: “Lies About Alexander Graves’ Journal”

“…Did I ever dream of the day in which we would be truly united as a world? What a silly question. Of course I did. I mean, don’t we all? It was never as if my dreams were too far-fetched, unable to be accomplished in a single lifetime. All I wanted was to show that there was a better way, one in which all that was needed was an ideology of unity, a common goal and common truth. My dream was just that, simple, but I also knew it’s very complex. The way I saw it was to be unified in the search for what makes humanity, humanity. It goes beyond the things we can see and the things we can hear. It goes beyond our own kind. People like to propagate the notion that the world is a mess and that nothing can be done to save it. Even if something goes slightly awry, it’s the end of the world as we know it. To me, that’s a giant cancer that keeps growing and growing and growing. It needs to be cut off before it consumes everything there is. What’s with all the fearmongering? Why not embrace what we have, and what we will have?...”

KW NOTES:

“LIES LIES LIES! IT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE! RIDICULOUS EXCUSES! WHAT THE HELL DOES ANY OF THAT EVEN MEAN? IT’S ALL JUST FANCY TALK! CULT LEADERS ALWAYS SPEAK OF UNITY AND BROTHERHOOD! WHAT’S SO DIFFERENT ABOUT THIS? AND NEVER, EVER, IS IT EVEN REMOTELY PALPABLE! THINK THINK THINK!”

#3: “Lies About Alexander Graves’ Journal: Part 2”

“…We have our own little operation down here in Antarctica. This is one of the most expensive projects in history. Money has never been an issue though. Our friends in the States, Britain, Germany, Russia, China, Australia, they keep us on our feet. We do supply our fair share of weapon supplying, and no one bats an eye. There is nothing suspicious about it, and after all, Antarctica is the one true neutral place on Earth. There are a number of people here, those involved with research, development, and security. I’ve even created an elite group within our ranks, and I call them my collectors. They’re all in training, but they’ll serve a very special purpose. I’m quite fond of them. Every collector will be very good at what they do. Outsiders will think they’re just a bunch of lowly goons working for a weapons company…”

KW NOTES:

“THEY STOLE US ALL! NO CHOICES WERE GIVEN! I WAS RIPPED AWAY FROM MY FAMILY! MY SON TRIED TO STOP THEM! I WENT TO ANTARCTICA WITH HIS BLOOD STILL DRIPPING OFF MY FACE! ALL THE COLLECTORS WERE PEOPLE WITH VIOLENT TENDENCIES AND THEY MANIPULATED THEM ALL INTO CHANNELING THEIR NEGATIVE ENERGIES INTO PROJECT VR001! NONE OF THEM COULD THINK FOR THEMSELVES!”

#4: “Lies About The Beautiful Prophecy”

…In ancient times, the Great Ones walked the Earth. From ages of old, we knew them as the Gods, but now we know them as the prophets of old. Now that we have entered into the age of the Great Reawakening, we will see them again, in a world of flesh and metal. Recreate them, empower them. Redefine what it means to be a part of this universe. To those of the Great Ones shall we heed, for they will give us the answers we seek. This is a prophecy to be fulfilled. May it never be taken away. May the prophets of old protect us, and always guide us, back to the path of righteousness…

KW NOTES:

“FUCKING WHAT? THEY WROTE THAT ALL THEMSELVES! IT’S NOT REAL! BULLSHIT! THERE ARE NO GREAT ONES! THERE ARE NO GODS! THERE IS NO GREAT REAWAKENING! ALL GRAVES AND HIS LITTLE POSSE WANT TO DO IS FUCK UP PEOPLE AND ANIMALS SO LIFE IS IMPROVED IN QUALITY! GRAVES TALKED ABOUT THE GODS ALL THE TIME! I ALWAYS PLUGGED MY EARS!”

#5: Lies About Subject 9

…Collected on November 12, 1979, in New York City by Collectors 144, 150, and 210; subject was spotted in an alleyway eating from a garbage bag; minor issues during collection, injection, and transportation; bit Collector 150, tested for rabies, negative results; very timid during his stay, cowering away in fear; unable to adjust to his new circumstances, often tried to escape his cage; scratched and bit various scientists; positive results taken from Subjects 1-8; correct, do not ignore, negative results; new genetic and biological manipulation techniques applied to Subject 9; mutation highly accelerated; grew to nine feet within one month; bipedal creature; large rat; granted nigh immortality and invincibility; considerable pain when mutation occurs; do not correct; first of many; rat abilities considered; horrendous stench; even the most disciplined scientists and collectors cannot bear to remain in the room with it; imbued with various diseases; scientists must wear proper PPE; controlled diet; fond of rotting meat, offal, and decayed fecal matter; will eat its own excrement; will drink its own urine; teeth coated with potent venom considered…

KW NOTES:

“THEY LEAVE OUT SO MUCH! I WORKED ON THAT POOR LITTLE RAT! IT WAS SKINLESS AND FURLESS AT STAGE FOUR! I COULDN’T STAND TO LOOK AT IT! IT WAS JUST THIS MASS OF RAW MEAT AND ORGANS SCAMPERING AROUND ITS CELL! SO WET! NIGH IMMORTALITY AND INVINCIBILITY…LIKE IT WAS ONE OF THOSE FAKE GODS…NO WE USED A DEVICE TO GENERATE A SOURCE OF UNENDING RADIATION ON SUBJECT 9! WE KILLED IT AND BROUGHT IT BACK TO LIFE SO MANY TIMES! WE INFECTED IT WITH SEVERAL DISEASES! ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS GOT THE PLAGUE FROM IT! I CAN’T BLAME THE RAT HOWEVER!”

#6: Lies About Subject 18

KW NOTES:

“I DON’T HAVE THE INFORMATION ON SUBJECT 18! I WISH I DID! GRAVES ORDERED IT TO BE ELIMINATED! HE LIKED JOHANNA! HE LIKED HER A LOT! WE KILLED HER PARENTS! A FEW TIMES I WITNESSED HIM GUIDING HER INTO HIS OFFICE AND…I’M NOT GOING TO DESCRIBE WHAT HAPPENED NEXT! IT MAKES ME VOMIT, ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING I HAVE A DAUGHTER MYSELF! I MISS HER! MAYBE I’LL SEE HER SOON! I ALWAYS WANTED TO KILL GRAVES FOR WHAT HE DID TO HER, BUT I COULDN’T! APPARENTLY, HE LIKED HER EYES! HER DESIGN ISN’T A SURPRISE…!

#7: “Lies About Catalysts”

KW NOTES:

“GRAVES AND HIS LACKEYS ARE PLANNING TO PUT THEIR PLANS INTO ACTION WITH A CATALYST! THEY’RE GONNA DESTROY THE WORLD! GRAVES HAS BEEN PERSONALLY TRAINING COLLECTORS 15, 221, 662, AND 888 TO INITIATE A FALSE FLAG OPERATION IN SOME COUNTRY! THE COUNTRIES BEING NAMED AS CANDIDATES ARE AMERICA, CUBA, GERMANY, AND RUSSIA! PLEASE DON’T LET ANYTHING STUPID COME OUT OF THIS! IT WASN’T THE CIA OR KGB OR WHOEVER THE FUCK THEY’LL TRY TO PUT THE BLAME ON! IT WAS US!”

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TO WHOEVER IS READING THIS! STOP PROJECT VR001! IT’S NOT THE SOUTH PROJECT! THEY AREN’T YOUR FRIEND! THEY-”

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Dr. Kenneth James Waterford was found scribbling these lies in his personal journal, an item scientists and collectors alike are unauthorized to have on their person. He tried to wrap this up as quickly as possible, but it’s reasonable to assume he heard us coming. Waterford is being held as an example of misguidance and will be promptly transformed into what he is attempting to run away from.

Written by SwordOfLands
Originally uploaded on September 28, 2025
Content is available under CC BY-SA