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The date is Jan. 27, 1982. If you are listening to this recording, then in all likelihood I am dead. Or worse.
I found this tape recorder stowed in the sleeping quarters of a pilot who was stationed here at Outpost #31, a pilot named "R.J. MacCready." I have played the tape back and front, but I discovered little of use; most of the tape is blank or full hushed whispers so quiet that I can't make out the words.
There is only one section of the tape that I could decipher, near the beginning. The speaker, who I assume to be MacCready, states that they have discovered the existence of the creature, and ends his report with this phrase:
"Nobody... nobody trusts anybody now, and we're all very tired... there's nothing more I can do .... just wait ..."
I feel somewhat uneasy that by making this recording, as I am in all likelihood erasing a man's final words. Of course, I cannot be sure that MacCready is dead — we haven't accounted for the bodies of all the scientists yet — but the bloodied handprint that rests in the centre of the wall above MacCready's bed tells me that it is unlikely we will find him alive.
At least, I hope not.
Although it's probably pointless, I feel I need to make a record of some kind so that ... if someday our own kind or something else return to this outpost, they will know that ... that we did our best to stop it. That we tried.
Over a month ago, I was assigned to command a special investigation into Outpost #31, an Antarctic research station commissioned by United States National Science Foundation. Days before, a transmission had been received from the outpost stating that the scientists stationed there had discovered something strange in the ice, though the report did not specify what. Further attempts to contact the station failed.
As I read the file on Outpost #13 and the records of the men assigned to me, I noticed that, although I recognized some names, I had never served or worked with any of them.
When I questioned the selection of personnel, the officer who was briefing me stated somewhat hesitantly tha "special operatives" had been assigned to the mission whose identity was top-secret. In fact, none of the soliders selected for this assignment had any previous knowledge of any other, and had been hand-picked for that reason.
I strenously objected bringing operatives on a mission whose purpose I was kept unaware, but my protests were ignored. By digging, however, I was able to glean the name of this group: the "Psi-Nine."
Of course, we had plenty of time on the trip to get to know each other. It took weeks to reach Outpost #31, first by boat and then by air. And as we moved forward, the days grew shorter and shorter until the sun disappeared altogether. It grew so cold, dropping to nearly
Upon arriving at the outpost, we conducted an immediate search of the facility. The place was in chaos; many of the rooms had been seemingly torn apart, and the radios had all been smashed, along with a small helicopter.
There was one survivor, if you could call it that: a white sled dog, who we found curled up in the corner of the kennels, half-dead from thirst and lack of food. Knowing what I do now, I wish to God I had put a bullet in the beast's head.
Our information indicated there were at least a dozen scientists at the outpost. At least eight of them we found in an open courtyard, their bodies dumped into a crude firepit and burned beyond recognition. Some were seemingly human, but there were others ... Although their bodies were badly damaged, the remains were twisted and mishappen, and some had extraneous limbs and body parts that we couldn't even identify ...
We found others in the basement of the facility, where the boiler was located. These were normal corpses, however, although they were beginning to decompose despite the extreme cold. They had seemingly been killed by wounds to their chests and throats; one man had massive gaping holes in his torso that looked to the marks of giant fangs.
We also found a homemade explosive in the basement, and we surmised that the men who had been killed were trying to set off the bomb before they died.
I could feel the men on edge immediately. I would have ordered an immediate withdrawal, but coming into the outpost, we had just barely beat a fierce blizzard. The wind picked up, and temperatures dropped to 40 below zero. We had no choice except to dig ourselves in at what was left of the facility.
For two nights, we had free rein of Outpost #31. During our down time, we investigated further, and were able to make a valuable find: notes made by a researcher named Blair on an invasive virus-like entity capable of perfectly mimicing other biological organisms. The notes were not conclusive on this fact, but they indicated the entity had been found hibernating in the ice.
On the third night, we came face-to-face with the Thing.
I was in the break room along when I heard a long scream coming from the kennels. I leapt up and raced down the corridor to find a young solider that the others had dubbed "KerfuffleMach2" crouched along the floor. His face was pale, his eyes were wide open and sweat poured down his face.
I asked him what was wrong, and he recovered enough to point a trembling finger at the door to the kennels.
"I don't know what the hell's in there, Captain," he whispered, "but it's weird and pissed off, whatever it is."
Several others had shown up by then — Kay, "pankake", JMK, Ramebriz and others — and they crowded around me as I pushed open the door.
One of the men under my command was a young technician named Frederick Oliver Emping who the others had dubbed "Face." He was lying on the floor, writhing in pain and yet unable to cry out, as a mass of rubbery tentacles was thrust into his mouth and down his throat.
Hovering over him was the sled dog, its paws planted firmly on his chest. But it had undergone a monstrous transformation. Its sides and back had literally split open, revealing the thing's organs thundering in its body, and from those gaping wounds emerged seemingly dozens of thin tentacles that were piercing his lungs, his stomach, his wrists ... everywhere.
As we watched, we saw the Thing changing, morphing somehow. As Face's convulsions slowed, it seemed to grow larger and larger, and its head began to shift into a more humanlike appearance.
When we gained our wits, we opened fire on the Thing. It let out a piercing, inhuman wail as the bullets slammed into it, but it did not budge from its position atop Face's chest.
What happened next was a blur. I had emptied my clip into the dog but it had barely flinched. I retreated from the door and saw Eksar Lindisfar moving towards the door, hauling a flamethrower. I recall shouting "MOVE!" as Lindisfar moved to the door, and a second later, flame was spurting out in front of me into the kennels, engulfing Face and the Thing alike. It struggled and writhed for some time, but finally the dog collapsed into a burning heap. It did not move again.
Patting Eksar on the back for his quick thinking, I went to examine the bodies. Face was dead, of course; there was nothing we could do for him. He had been choked and pierced in nearly two dozen places.
As we examined the smoldering corpse of the dog, young Lindisfar pointed at the body and said fearfully, "Captain ... this Thing ... it's almost starting to look like Face."
I saw that he was correct. Most of the dog's feature had disappeared except for a long jawline, and what remained looked lik a mixture of Face's features and the animal's, frozen in the midst of transforming.
"I would say you're correct," I said. "It looks like ... like it would have looked just like him ... if we had given it more time."
Finally I realized the implications of what we were facing, and what had happened at Outpost #31.
I called a meeting in the main break room, letting it be known that anyone skipping would be considered a threat.
I updated those who weren't there of the situation. I let them know that we were potentially dealing with a lifeform they had never seen before and who could mimic anyone.
And then finally I asked: who came into contact with this dog over the past few days?
Everyone whispered to each other, but remained silent. Finally, it was KerfuffleMach2 who spoke up.
"Well, sir," he said, "we all have."