Sector 39, Pegu Range, Myanmar :
The lean tall bearded man drove his Pontiac through the forest, as his tyres struggled to get a grip. The digital speedometer showed 3 kms to go, and the compass showed a very straight way forward. As were his intentions. The research facility buried deep in the deciduous forests of human confusion had done something trivial. That of giving out a AM signal that could be picked up by any simple radio within 500 kilometre range.
Governments hide. Didn’t they trust the people who had imparted them with unprecedented power? Power to decide what to show and what to hide. Like a magician. A sloppy one at that. The lean tall man shifted to the 4th gear, something that people had to do more often, and not just when pushed to the brink. He turned right.And faced the fences. Electrical fences which had to be fused with an Electro Magnetic Pulse blast. The Uranium 232 loaded radioactive blast gun, smuggled from the shores of China, would easily do the trick. Hopefully. A reason and a slowly moving neutron was all that was required.
Moments passed and the wires turned lull. The lean man placed back his EMP and fused it off. Purpose solved. He climbed them and entered the research facility, with a soft thud. His actions in the facility would be published worldwide and probably get him a Pulitzer prize. Long awaited, much deserved, rarely considered. He walked tentatively on the grass. Land-mines were speckled on the map he had hacked out of the database. Curiosity curiously was a curse. And he was a sinner for that.
Steps validly counted and practically measured. His ordeal wasn’t that long. The facility was unknown, and therefore sparsely guarded. He found himself in the facility at nine, almost perfectly fine. First floor housed security hub, and the second floor was never interesting. The lean man grinned to himself. If it was not the first what did it eventually matter. But then as life was, the research chambers were on the third floor. Aliens were third of the priorities, after obviously men and god.
The existence of a third kind, was always debatable. Articles written, fables and folklore woven, from time immemorial. Some things never got old. Conspiracy theories were one of them. The lean tall man had found something that could debunk it.. The question was whether he wanted to.
He got to the third floor, and starting counting the incubators, and wondered at the occupants. He had to see for himself. He approached every one of the incubators, and turned off the air supply. Nothing survived in vacuum. Neither humans, nor their theories. The otherworldly creatures were not supposed to live. Fear was a deterrent. Something men could do without. And he, one by one , ensured that by plugging out 24 glass incubators, of their 365 air tanks supplementing their growth. Humanity didn’t need any answers. It needed curiosity. Questions rather. 23 alien creatures got killed, suffocation was after all an intergalactic suffering.
He approached the last glass chamber, and that was when everything changed. He saw a human inside of it. A proper well grown human. A human who stood there staring back at him. Curiously. The tall lean man, could see his acclaim fade away. How could he explain this. Aliens suddenly made more sense here than a human in this place. The lean man looked at the control panel before the incubator. No air control, no vacuum distiller, only a single green button. The reason of his arrival, made his choice easier. And he pressed open. No one stepped in and therefore no one stepped out. He stepped inside eventually, courage of course was the most human thing to do. As soon as he stepped in, his subject disappeared, and instead non reflective glass appeared. The incubator completely locked itself down.
An alien which couldn’t recognize itself was always a good story. Therefore, They had to trap him. AM signal did the trick. Sloppiness aside. 23 lifeless beings were just the collateral. Humans were after all curiously intolerant…
Sector 39, Pegu Range, Myanmar :