At fourteen minutes and fifty-five seconds, Jill Young arrived at the platform of Sector B12. Unlike the core sectors overflowing with next-gen sci-fi vibes, this Sector B12 still clung to the habits and style of the last century. For instance, the platform's blockade wasn't some sleek, ultra-secure nanomaterial composite door, but a chunky slab of steel straight out of a WWII submarine.
When Jill tried to open the door, she couldn't even find a spot to swipe her bio-chip. She just grabbed the massive iron hatch's winch and cranked it open the old-fashioned way.
The surveillance camera in the corner zoomed in and out, watching Jill breeze through like it was nothing—her suspicion score ticked up a notch. But Jill couldn't be bothered to fake it anymore. Creak, crack, click, the safety interlock bars snapped apart. Boom! The door swung open, revealing a dark, chilly hallway that looked like it hadn't seen sunlight since forever. Her heels clicked sharply on the floor, echoing in the lonely corridor.
This was Sector B12: remote, creepy, and ancient.
Remote, for safety's sake. In the Tiberius Laboratory, the riskier and leakier the experiment, the farther out it got shoved. On her way here in the capsule car, Jill caught at least ten sealed gates out of the corner of her eye. Just imagine—if those super soldiers or slaughterers ever went haywire, all ten gates would slam shut faster than you could say 'evacuation.'
Sector B12 was basically the farthest outpost in the whole experimental lineup.
Creepy, and not just because of the setup—though the setup was definitely creepy.
Jill strolled down the corridor, soaking in the full Sector B12 experience. The walls were painted that sickly, pale blue-green you’d see in a battlefield hospital from last century. Maybe they were saving on electricity, because only the patch of ceiling right above and behind Jill was lit. As she moved, each bulb flicked on, then off. Everywhere else, ghostly green emergency lights flickered like will-o'-the-wisps.
On both sides of the corridor, rows of doors and windows—if they were open, the place might actually look lively, like people used to work here. But now, every last one was sealed shut with crooked, rusty iron bars. The overhead lights sometimes shorted out, sputtering and fizzling like busted old neon tubes, casting a spooky glow over the barricaded doors and windows.
And the creepiness? It wasn't just the decor. There was a lingering haze of supernatural gloom—thick but not suffocating—hanging over all of Sector B12. Gold light flashed in Jill’s eyes; in her supernatural vision, the gloom swirled through the air like drifting ash and smoke, stirring up the whole place.
Jill Young knew plenty of people had died here, and the thoughts swirling around this place were probably as nasty as they come. Sure, hospitals see more deaths, but if the living have enough righteous energy, the gloom just clears out. Only in a place where everyone's cooking up wicked schemes could you get this much supernatural haze on boring old Earth. If this were some fantasy world, you’d have a full-on ghost parade by now.
Once the gloom reaches critical mass, it's nothing but bad news for anyone alive. So even if he didn’t know why, even on pure instinct, that tech geek from earlier wanted nothing to do with Sector B12.
Jill was a whole different story—Master Ruin’s Dark Nether Palm couldn’t touch her, and any stray supernatural draft that got close just went up in smoke. So wherever Jill marched, the air cleared right up. But what about the old priest who’d been living in this haunted zone for ages?
Jill’s ears perked up. She caught the sound of distant, ancient chanting drifting her way.
"Let it be known: this man is counted as childless,"
"He shall never prosper in his days."
Jill instantly knew that was her target. Not that there was anyone else around—Sector B12 was practically empty—but even if it were packed, only one person would be muttering scripture like that. So she picked up the pace, heading straight for the sound.
"For among his descendants, none shall prosper,"
"None shall sit upon David’s throne,"
"Nor govern Judah..."