Date: 1:00 AM, April 1, 2025

  Location: En Route to Joint Base Lewis-McChord, Washington

  The highway stretched south like a lifeline, I-5’s lanes eerily empty as Sarah pushed her Honda past eighty. Rain lashed the windshield, and the hum—those cursed bells—followed her, fainter now but still gnawing at her nerves. The sky flickered with those jagged shapes, bio-ships slicing through the clouds, their descent slow but relentless. Her phone sat silent on the seat, Colonel Rodriguez’s call still ringing in her ears: “Things are about to get worse.”

  She’d tried Jake again—no answer. Pioneer Square felt like a world away, swallowed by the chanting mobs and those four-eyed freaks. Guilt clawed at her, but Rodriguez’s voice had carried weight, a grim certainty she couldn’t ignore. If the military was spooked, this wasn’t just a cult gone wild. It was bigger. Biblical, almost.

  A sign flashed by—JBLM 20 miles. Her headlights caught a wrecked semi jackknifed across the median, its trailer split open, spilling crates. No driver, just dark streaks on the pavement. Blood? She swerved, stomach lurching. The radio crackled back to life, the Patriarch’s voice gone, replaced by a looping emergency tone. Then a robotic message: “This is an alert from the Washington State Emergency Management Division. Shelter in place. Avoid urban areas. Await further instructions.”

  “Too late for that,” she muttered, glancing at the sky. The shapes were lower now, glowing faintly—reds, greens, like bioluminescent deep-sea horrors. She fumbled for her recorder, clicking it on despite the dying battery. “1:00 AM, heading to JBLM. Broadcast’s stopped, but something’s coming. Ships—alien, maybe. Jake’s still out there. I don’t know what I’m walking into.”

  The road dipped, and Joint Base Lewis-McChord loomed ahead—floodlights piercing the dark, Humvees rolling through the gates. She slowed at a checkpoint, a soldier in fatigues waving her down, rifle slung across his chest. His face was pale, eyes darting to the sky.

  “ID,” he barked. She handed over her press pass, hands shaky. “Sarah Thompson, Seattle Pulse. Colonel Rodriguez called me.”

  He scanned it, nodding curtly. “Follow the convoy. Admin building, straight ahead. Move fast.” He stepped back, already shouting at another vehicle—a pickup packed with wide-eyed civilians.

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  Sarah drove on, the base a hive of chaos. Helicopters thumped overhead, their searchlights cutting through the rain. Troops hauled crates—ammo, she guessed—while officers yelled orders over the roar of engines. She parked near a squat concrete building, its windows glowing. A man in a crisp uniform stepped out—forties, buzzcut, eyes like steel. Rodriguez.

  “Thompson,” he said, voice clipped. “Inside. Now.”

  She followed, clutching her recorder as they entered a command room. Maps lined the walls, red markers clustering over Seattle, Tacoma, Portland. Screens flickered with grainy footage—riots, hybrids clawing through barricades, those worm symbols everywhere. A radar display pulsed, tracking the objects in the sky, labeled “Unknown Contacts”.

  Rodriguez pointed at a chair. “Sit. Talk. What’d you see at the shelter?”

  She sat, words tumbling out. “Pioneer Square. Hope’s Beacon. Trapdoor to a basement—jars with body parts, maps, a photo of my brother Jake with some robed guy. They called him ‘the Patriarch.’ Said the ‘Broodmind’ was awake, something about a hybrid needing ‘the Kiss.’ Then they chased me out.”

  He didn’t flinch, just nodded. “Matches what we’re hearing. Cult’s been under our nose—years, maybe. Infiltrated civvies, even some of our own.” He tapped a screen showing a soldier with four eyes, saluting a robed figure. “That broadcast? It’s their signal. And those—” He jerked a thumb at the radar. “—aren’t ours.”

  Sarah swallowed. “Aliens?”

  “Call it what you want. They’re not human, and they’re not friendly. Radar’s clocking them at thirty miles up, dropping fast. Satellites are down—comms are a mess. We’ve got reports of these ‘hybrids’ hitting bases, power stations. Seattle’s gone dark.”

  “My brother—”

  “If he’s with them, he’s either a pawn or a believer. Either way, he’s not your priority now.” Rodriguez’s tone softened, just a fraction. “You’re here because you’ve seen it up close. We need that. Command’s scrambling—half our units won’t respond. We’re losing ground.”

  A rumble shook the room, dust sifting from the ceiling. Alarms blared. Rodriguez grabbed a radio. “Sitrep, now!”

  “Sir,” crackled a voice, “perimeter breach, east gate. They’re—God, they’re fast. Claws, eyes—too many—” Static swallowed the rest.

  Rodriguez cursed, turning to Sarah. “Stay here. Write what you know. If we go down, someone’s gotta tell it straight.” He strode out, barking orders.

  Sarah stared at the screens. A live feed from the gate showed hybrids—dozens, scuttling like spiders, tearing into soldiers. Beyond them, the sky burned as a bio-ship broke the clouds, its tendrils coiling toward the earth.

  She clicked her recorder on, voice trembling. “JBLM, 1:10 AM. They’re here.”