[Record, Experiment #0342]
Date: September 14, 1980
The tests conducted with #0342 continue to show promising results. Notable progress has been observed in the analyzed parameters, with consistent responses to the applied stimuli. The stability of the **** has been maintained, although residual fluctuations in the environment have been detected and are under strict monitoring.
It is recommended to proceed with the tests, implementing gradual adjustments to the protocols to maximize the results while maintaining strict control of the variables.
*Any irregularities must be reported immediately for detailed evaluation.
Note: Intensify the analysis of the byproducts generated.
********
It was a spring morning in 2001, and the small town of Stowe, Ohio, was waking up under a light blue sky, with birdsong blending into the distant hum of a tractor. With just over ten thousand inhabitants, Stowe exuded the peaceful charm of small-town America: wooden houses with porches, a main street with the popular Sam's Bar, where the smell of pancakes and coffee lingered in the air, and a central square where the white gazebo gleamed under the sun.
Fwoosh!
Speeding by, Ethan Carter, a 15-year-old boy with messy blond hair and a worn backpack slung over his shoulders, furiously pedaled his black bicycle through the streets.
The wind hit his face, drying his eyes, but that hardly mattered. Ethan was late — again. "Shitty morning, shitty day," he muttered to himself, cursing the alarm clock that didn't go off and the toast that burned in the kitchen, costing him precious minutes.
His worn-out All-Star sneakers squeaked against the pedals as he swerved around a puddle and quickly waved to Mrs. Hargrove, who was sweeping the sidewalk in front of her flower shop. "Good morning!" he shouted in a hurry, without stopping.
Stowe High School was about two kilometers from his house, and Ethan knew that if he didn't make it before the second bell, he'd face another detention thanks to Mr. Pritchard, the vice principal who seemed to have a personal grudge against him.
Turning right, where a group of younger kids were playing with a baseball on the sidewalk, Ethan spotted the red brick school building. "I made it!-"
BEEEEEP!
The bell rang.
"I didn't make it." Ethan wiped the sweat from his forehead and pedaled dejectedly to the bike rack. With a quick motion, he got off the bike and threw the chain around the frame, but the lock stubbornly jammed.
Normally, this wouldn't even be necessary, but after someone stole his last bike, Ethan no longer left his precious ride unsecured. "Come on, you piece of junk," he muttered, forcing it until he heard the click.
The backpack slipped off his shoulder, and he yanked it back up with a grunt, already running toward the school's double doors. The main hallway was deserted, the echo of his sneakers against the floor the only sound.
'Maybe I can slip by unnoticed.' Ethan turned the corner on the first floor, following the row of blue lockers toward Mr. Whitaker's history classroom at the end of the hall. 'Yeah, I can make it,' he thought as he spotted the classroom's slightly open door.
"CARTER!"
Ethan froze, his left sneaker squeaking on the floor. 'Nope, not gonna make it.' Slowly, he turned his head, and there stood Mr. Pritchard, arms crossed and wearing the smirk of someone who just caught a fat fish.
The vice principal was a short, heavyset man with thin-rimmed glasses and a tie that always seemed poorly tied. His eyes gleamed with a mix of triumph and disdain. "Late again, Carter?" Pritchard asked, stepping forward. "I hope you've got a good reason this time."
Ethan swallowed hard, his mind scrambling for excuses. 'Broken alarm? Dog ate my homework? Aliens abducted me?' Nothing sounded good enough. "I… I had a problem with my bike, sir," he tried, vaguely gesturing toward the bike rack.
Pritchard raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "A problem with your bike, huh? Funny, because back in my day—"
'20 B.C.,' Ethan thought.
"—when that happened. I. Would. Run!" He pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket, scribbling something with a pen. "Detention. Today, after school. Room 103. And don't even think about skipping, Carter, or you'll be scrubbing the gym floor with a toothbrush."
Ethan opened his mouth to protest, but Pritchard's glare silenced him. He simply nodded, shoulders slumping. "Yes, sir."
"Now get to class before I change my mind and have you cleaning the bathrooms too."
Ethan turned and dragged his feet toward the history classroom, the adrenaline from his sprint now replaced by a mix of anger and resignation. 'Lousy luck.' He walked in, drawing everyone's attention while Mr. Whitaker didn't even lift his eyes from the board.
'What's so funny, idiots?' He made his way to the back, hearing a few muffled laughs. Reaching an empty desk, Ethan flopped onto the chair and dropped his backpack to the floor, already wishing the day would just be over.
********
Inside a blue Buick, Lily Thompson, a 15-year-old with glossy black hair tied in a flawless ponytail, tapped her foot against the floor mat, arms crossed and face red with frustration. Her meticulously organized backpack, complete with color-coded dividers, rested on her lap as she shot daggers at her older sister, Rachel Thompson, who drove calmly, in no rush.
"You had to stop for that stupid coffee, Rachel!" Lily snapped. "I'm going to be late! My perfect no-tardiness record is going down the drain because of your caffeine addiction!" She pointed at the Styrofoam cup in the console, emblazoned with the Sam's Bar logo.
Rachel, sporting a backward baseball cap and a lazy grin, shrugged, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of a staticky '90s pop song blaring from the radio. "Chill, Lil. It's just one tardy."
"It's not just a tardy!" Lily shot back, leaning forward. "It's my future! Colleges look at this stuff, you know? Harvard doesn't accept people who show up late!"
"You sound like an old lady," Rachel said, rolling her eyes as she sipped her coffee.
"You don't get it. I have a system. A plan. And you're ruining it!" Lily huffed, staring out the window. 'Why did I let her drive me? Idiot, idiot, idiot.'
The car had barely stopped in front of Stowe High School when Lily flung the door open and leapt out. "Thanks for nothing, Rachel!" she yelled, already sprinting across the lawn toward the main entrance.
"Bye, drama queen!" Rachel called after her.
Lily huffed again and stormed into the school, heading for her math classroom. 'If I slip in fast, maybe Mrs. Collins won't notice—'
"Miss Thompson!"
A deep, familiar voice stopped her mid-step. Lily closed her eyes for a second, her stomach sinking. 'Crap.' She turned with a forced smile, facing Vice Principal Pritchard.
"Running late, are we?" he said, pulling a small notebook from his blazer. "That's a first for you."
Lily swallowed hard, adjusting her backpack. "Mr. Vice Principal, I'm so sorry, please! It was an accident. My sister… the car… I swear it's not my fault!" Her voice came out more panicked than she intended. "I've never been late before, you know that!"
Pritchard scribbled something in his notebook. "Rules are rules, Miss Thompson. Detention, today, after school. Room 103."
"Detention?!" Lily's eyes widened. She'd expected a warning at most! "S-sir, this will ruin my record! Colleges will see this, and my future—" She stopped, seeing the vice principal's stone-cold expression.
"Your future will survive this mistake. Maybe it'll teach you that being a model student doesn't grant you any privileges. Now, go to class before I add another day."
Lily opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her shoulders dropped, and she nodded, defeated. Turning around, she walked toward the math classroom, the weight of detention crushing her pride.
********
A few hours later, the lunch bell rang through the school halls. Classroom doors swung open and students poured out quickly, like birds escaping a cage.
Ethan stepped out of history class with his backpack slung over one shoulder, thinking about how he was going to tell his dad about the detention. The hallway was crowded with teenagers laughing, slamming locker doors, and gossiping about who fought with whom or who got caught cheating on the algebra test.
The air smelled like a mix of cheap deodorant, strong perfume, and the faint mustiness that seemed baked into the school walls.
Ethan walked over to his locker, number 247. He spun the combination lock, mumbling the numbers — "15, 32, 7" — and pulled the door open with a creak. Inside was a mess of crooked books, crumpled papers, and a half-deflated basketball he still insisted on carrying around. 'I need to throw this thing out...'
"Hey, Ethan! Survived Whitaker?" a cheerful voice asked. Ethan turned his head and saw Liam Brooks, one of his friends, leaning against the locker next to him. Liam was skinny, with long hair that always fell into his eyes and a Nirvana t-shirt that seemed permanently glued to his body.
"Just barely," Ethan grumbled, tossing his history book into the locker. "The guy spent forty minutes talking about the Industrial Revolution. Oh, and Pritchard gave me another detention."
"Dude, Pritchard really hates you — no, he hates everyone." Liam chuckled, shaking his head. "What was it this time? Alarm clock again?"
"Alarm clock. Toaster. Lock. Take your pick." Ethan shut the locker.
"Well, at least you won't be the only one from our grade," Liam said, following Ethan as he started walking toward the cafeteria.
"Hm?"
"You haven't heard? Thompson was late."
"Thompson? You mean Lily Thompson, the annoying one?"
"Is there any other?"
"Pfff. I gotta see this."
********
After three minutes of walking, the two arrived at the cafeteria, packed with students.
Ethan grabbed a tray and got in line to get lunch. "Looks like they're cutting costs on food again," he grumbled, eyeing the unappetizing options: limp pizza, an unidentifiable stew, and something that looked like breaded chicken—but no one was betting on it.
The line moved forward, and Ethan, with little choice, took a slice of pizza. Liam, right behind him, sighed and went for the stew. "This looks like something my dog threw up."
"Then why the hell did you pick… that?" Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Dude, you're the only one who can eat this crappy pizza every day."
"Better than food poisoning," Ethan shot back.
They passed through the register, where Mrs. Jenkins, the perpetually grumpy cafeteria worker, took their lunch payment with a grunt. Ethan and Liam then headed to a table in the corner of the cafeteria, where two others were already sitting: Violet Graves, a girl with shoulder-length blonde hair, purple-dyed tips, and a nose piercing that defied school rules, and Jackson Sinclair, a quiet guy with thick-rimmed glasses who always carried a sketchbook.
"Hey, idiots," Violet said as soon as she saw them.
Ethan sat next to her, dropping his tray on the table. "Hello to you too, sunshine."
Jackson looked up from his sketchbook, where he was drawing something that looked like a dragon. "You were late again, Ethan."
"Seriously?" Ethan took a bite of the pizza "Even you lost your manners?"
"Since when are you polite?" Violet asked sarcastically.
"She got you there," Liam laughed before mustering the courage to taste the stew.
Ethan rolled his eyes, pointing his pizza at the two. "Screw you both."
"You're not even a little worried?" Jackson pressed, focused on Ethan. "They might end up flunking you."
Ethan shrugged. "Relax, Jack. It's all part of the plan."
Violet, losing interest in the "boring" conversation between the two, turned to Liam. "What does that abomination taste like?"
"Ugh. I think I swallowed a hair," Liam muttered, staring at the bowl in disgust.
"Ha! Must be the cook's beard," Violet exclaimed, making all three of them grimace. "What?"
"Gross." "I lost my appetite." "Rude." Ethan, Liam, and Jackson said in unison.
"Tsk, stop being such wimps," Violet shot back, crossing her arms.
********
The four kept chatting, with Violet, Ethan, and Liam leading most of the conversation while Jackson chimed in with occasional remarks. After finishing their meals—or at least trying to—they left the cafeteria and went to the courtyard, where they settled at a concrete table under the shade of a tree.
"Wanna hang out after my detention?" Ethan asked, stretching his legs.
"Where to?" Liam asked, frowning.
"I don't know, anywhere," Ethan replied with a bored sigh.
"We could go to the plaza near the lake," Jackson suggested.
"Nah, let's play at Bob's," Violet proposed, excited about the idea of playing a shooting game at Bob's LAN Center.
Liam shook his head. "I don't have any money."
"I'll pay for you—" Jackson barely finished speaking before Liam threw an arm over his shoulder.
"Oh, Jack. You're my favorite friend."
Ethan rested his head in his hands, laughing as he watched Jackson try to wriggle free from Liam. "So it's settled."
********
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Emergency lights flashed frantically, bathing the sterile white walls of the corridor in red. The deafening alarm filled the air, mixing with the sound of desperate screams and the frantic pounding of shoes against the floor.
Scientists in white lab coats ran in panic, crashing into each other, papers and clipboards scattering to the floor in a chaotic mess of fear.
"Faster, for God's sake!" one scientist shouted, his face pale, sweat pouring down his forehead as he tried to keep up with his colleagues.
"What the hell happened?" a woman asked.
"Someone activated the portal!" an older man shouted, his glasses askew and sliding down his nose as he stumbled forward. "And something came through!"
"Something? What do you mean something?!" she cried out, eyes wide.
"I don't know, damn it! Just run!" he yelled, pushing her ahead.
The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, automatic doors groaning as they opened and closed. Suddenly, a scream—sharp and guttural—echoed from behind them, so powerful it drowned out the alarm. It wasn't human. Nothing human could make a sound so visceral and so wrong.
Instinctively, a few scientists turned around — and instantly regretted it. At the end of the hallway, under the flickering red light, a colossal shadow loomed, tall enough to brush the ceiling.
"R-RUN—" someone tried to scream, but the words barely left their mouth before the horror began.
SCHRRRAAASHH!!!
With each flash of the red lights, a body fell. Flash — the head of a scientist, eyes still wide in shock, rolled across the floor. Flash — two arms flew against the wall, leaving a trail of blood. Flash — a woman collapsed, her torso torn in half. With every blink, the thing attacked ferociously, more bodies crumpling to the ground, dismembered, guts spilling across the floor.
Within seconds, the hallway fell silent — except for the continuous alarm.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!