HODGEPODGE CHALLENGE | FICTION | URBAN FANTASY
A Hell of an Incident
Part 5 of a Hell of a Bedtime Story — Director Fletcher is furious when she finds her lab in chaos. Surrounded by morons, it takes the boss herself to get the job done.
Frankenstein Foundation for Paranormal Research and Weaponisation, somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle
“Warning to all personnel. Security breach in Sector Alpha-5!”
Director Fletcher dodged into a lab entrance when a group of panicked scientists stormed in her direction. Great. Her workplace had turned into a remake of the game Lemmings. She silently cursed her husband for implanting such nerdy and useless knowledge in her head.
Her colleagues — each of them a genius in their own right — had turned into little more than idiots and savages in the time of crisis. All their pretentious manners and arrogant talk had surrendered to neanderthal instincts.
“Non-essential staff are asked to move to the emergency exits immediately. Please, remain calm!”
Like the lemmings of her husband’s favourite retro game, these people ran blindly into whatever danger was ahead of them. But in contrast to the animals from the game, her co-workers behaved like stone-age primitives, pushing each other out of the way while running from something. She was sure it wasn’t a sabretooth.
In her panic, a tall young woman slammed Prof Angelworth into a stretcher. The tall man toppled over it, and she heard a loud crack when he landed at her feet. His empty, frightened eyes looked up at Director Fletcher. Although she had to hurry, she took the time to gently brush over his eyes so that his eyelids covered his haunting stare. That was all she could do for now. She had to move on. The maw of the beast awaited her.
“Warning to all personnel. Security breach in Sector Alpha-5!”
Dodging her panicked co-workers had cost her valuable time, and she found her path blocked by heavy security doors. To make matters worse, a heavy glass window in the doors revealed the adjacent hallway was filled with thick smoke. The smoke outlets must have failed.
Hastily, she swiped her keycard over the door’s scanner a few times, but it refused to open. The system was already in lockdown stage 3. It would be difficult for her to get out if she survived. Quickly, she typed a lengthy code into the number pad and swiped her card again.
“Welcome, Director Fletcher,” an artificial voice said, “Please, provide an override command.”
“Override. Cartwright. Lambda 4. Unlock. Omega 5. Unlock.”
“Thank you. Override confirmed. Please, enjoy this celebratory day!”
“Celebratory day?” she snapped at the door.
“Finally, I get to use my emergency messages! Have a nice day!”
“Have a nice day my a**!” she cursed as the doors opened with a hiss.
Director Fletcher felt anger boil in her gut because of the machine’s inappropriate friendliness in a crisis. She cursed whoever had played too much Resident Evil before programming that damned door. Once this was over, somebody would get fired for this — or worse.
She coughed violently when the overwhelming smoke surrounded her. Covering her mouth and nose with her sleeve was useless. It took only a few seconds to make her feel dizzy. Steadying herself with one hand against the doorframe, Director Fletcher ripped the pearl necklace from her neck and flung it into the hallway.
As if ordered by a silent command, the pearls exploded into thousands of tiny white bubbly flakes that covered the hallway and absorbed the toxic smoke. Her son Tommy would probably have liked that it “snowed” inside. He was a dreamer like his dad.
Once she entered the hallway, the doors closed with an audible whoosh behind her. Most of her fragile colleagues would panic again at the realisation that the journey could only go forward from here on.
Cold-faced, Director Fletcher checked the fit of her trouser suit and walked through the hallway’s other exit. Somebody messed up her family time, and instead of learning algebra, her son would likely play useless games and fantasise about being a wizard or Jedi. It was time to kick some a**.
Right behind the door, a guard sat leaning against a wall. His limbs contorted in uncomfortably looking positions as if he was frozen in spasmodic pain. His face and exposed skin were partially burned or rotten, giving him the appearance of a Vidiian from Star Trek Voyager. Again, she silently cursed her husband for the useless knowledge.
Director Fletcher resisted the urge to turn away from the guard. There were clues to gather here. She took a deep breath, immediately regretting inhaling through her nose. After retching a few times, she composed herself and looked closely at the guard. Judging by his ID card, the guard had been assigned to Sector Alpha-5.
“What have you been running from?” she asked the dead man, not expecting an answer.
“Let me free!”
She screamed when the man suddenly opened his eyes and grabbed her collar. His grip was firm as a bench vice welded thoroughly to ensure it was never opened. With his teeth exposed like a snarling wolf and bloodshot eyes wide as saucers, the guard was an equally gruesome and pitiful sight.
Quick thinking saved her. She extended her arms, bowed, and let herself fall backwards, sliding out of her jacket. She drew her gun and kicked the Zombie guard. It fell into a sitting position again, and Director Fletcher ran as quickly as possible.
She was getting closer to Sector Alpha-5, and the closer she got, the more zombie guards or scientists waited for her. They all tried to catch her and demanded to be set free. One particularly tall and broad-shouldered zombie waited directly in front of the door to Sector Alpha-5.
Director Fletcher pulled out the ceramic bowl her son had made in school and threw it into the thing’s face. While the zombie was distracted, she slid over the floor and through its legs into the lab. Before the zombie knew what hit it, she hit the button to lock the door.
“Two birds with one stone,” she said, satisfied, “I really wasn’t looking forward to putting that ugly ceramic on my desk.”
Sector Alpha-5 was a mess. Chairs lay toppled on the floor. Some of the staff that had used them before lay dead next to them. Two terminals and a giant banner reading “Happy retirement …” were on fire. The name of the unlucky retiree had burned away.
At least she had found the beast, and it was one ugly creep with a prominent bone ridge protruding from his forehead to its neck. It had elongated limbs ending in sharp claws and equally sharp teeth.
Considering the thing was in a containment field, those weren’t its most dangerous weapons. The beast’s sinister black eyes had a simultaneously menacing and hypnotising stare. She could feel their pull and the promises and threats they sent into her mind to make her give up her soul.
“Seems like you f**ked up someone’s retirement party,” she said, trying to fight it.
“No party without Drath’tar Xozath!” the demon declared, “I’m the life of every party!”
“And … you … owe me … a Gucci jacket!”
“Hahaha!!! Such petty attempts to defy Drath’tar Xozath with sarcasm.”
“W-what … do … you … want?” she managed to say, despite the ugly beast’s constant mental attacks.
“Didn’t you find the gifts and the message I left for you?” the monster roared, “The mighty Drath’tar Xozath wants to be set free!”
“Y-you … shall … AHHH! … pay … for … this.”
The demon laughed at her attempt to defy it and hit the containment field a few times. It looked pleased when it realised the field was slowly breaking down.
“Hahahaha! Who do you think me, mortal? Some naughty child?!”
Drath’tar Xozath was suddenly shut out of Director Fletcher’s mind. Puzzled and afraid, he stumbled back with an audible gulp. As Director Fletcher’s son Tommy could testify, there was no weapon more powerful than his mother’s scolding glare when confronting a naughty boy.
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What is happening here? Easy! It is my response to another Sweet Chaos’ Hodgepodge Challenge №9.
Someone is leaving gifts -> zombie messengers 1 point
Something is celebrated that shouldn't be -> the AI celebrates that it can
use its emergency message. 1 point
Included bubbly flakes that look like snow 1 point
Director Fletcher's scolding glare is a weapon of an unlikely material 1 point
Included decorations -> banner for retirement party 1 point
Drath'tar Xozath is the life of the party 1 point
Drath'tar Xozath is a demon 1 point
The story continues the events of "A Hell of an Investigation" 1 point
Total 8 pointsDid you like this story? Why don’t you read my other fictional tales? You can also support me by subscribing to my email list or joining Medium with my referral link. You can also support me on Ko-fi or Patreon.