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The room was bare concrete, with a one-way mirror set into the wall, facing the interviewee. His name was James Turner, and he had had a terrible day. He sat at the plastic table with his head in his hands, glancing up with eyes red with exhaustion at the sound of the unoiled metal door grinding open. A smartly dressed figure walked in and introduced himself while placing a tape recorder on the table "Mr. Turner, I presume." He sat down, interlinking his hands and leaning forward slightly. "My name is Edward, and I will be conducting this interview today." James looked at him, saying nothing, an unfathomable fatigue permeating his entire being. Edward looked at him, his face giving nothing away. "Let us begin," he said curtly. "Where were you at the time the alarm went off?"

"In the guard room," stated James, "napping because my shift had just ended."

"And what did you do once the alarm sounded?"

"What any guard does when the perimeter is breached: grabbed my gun, joined my squad on the way to the breach, and prayed to whoever was listening that it was just a hound."

"And what was the cause of the alarm?" Edward asked, his face a mask, James paused and laughed at him without humour before answering.

"When we got outside, there was this... this hole in the fence, ripped open like tissue paper." James was beginning to talk faster, stumbling over the words as they poured out of him. "As we rounded the corner of the building, we saw them, twenty or so huge... things. They were humanoid, but their skin was grey, and yellow, and leathery, and some of them carried balloons! Can you fucking believe that?" Edward stayed silent and impassive, waiting for James to continue. "Then they turned towards us, and their faces..." James choked back a sob, "their faces were smooth, like Facelings, but had these awful smiles painted on them in what looked like blood."

"Take your time," said Edward, who still had his eyes fixed on James. He took a deep breath and continued. "They sprinted at us, and just started carving through us like butter; one came at me and grazed me with a swing from its mouth-arm thing before I blew its sorry excuse for a face off. Still bloody hurts," complained James, rubbing his arm and resuming his worn out demeanor. He stared at a spot on the table and said nothing more.

"And then what happened?" pressed Edward, determined to get more out of the weary guard. "I hid," shrugged James, "I hid because I was shit scared; I hid until your lot found me." He resumed staring at the spot on the table, unblinking. Edward stood up and stopped the tape recorder, sensing this was as much information as he was going to glean. He had left the room and was speaking to the two guards behind the one-way mirror when a low, drawn-out moan was heard. The three of the looked into the room and watched as James staggered to his feet, clutched his arm, and doubled over, his face contorted with pain. All three unconsciously drew their pistols as James's wounded arm detached itself from his body and he screamed in pain. Edward calmly reached for his radio and stated into it, "Eliminator squad 5A and medical personnel to interrogation room 5, now," before locking the only door into the room, containing a writhing James Turner. His skin was starting to bubble and flow like candlewax as his face slid onto the floor, still he screamed, refusing to die as his stature grew to six, then seven, then eight feet tall. His bones audibly broke and reformed as he raised himself upright, almost hitting his now gnarled, bald head on the ceiling. The thing that was Jacob Turner a few minutes prior slowly turned to stare directly at Edward and the two guards through the mirror. Edward barely had time to curse before the faceless creature moved explosively fast, shattering the tempered glass and diving through, smashing one of the guards' heads in and stomping on the other's spine. The monster, for that was what he now was, turned to look down the barrel of Edward's pistol, cocking its head imperceptibly, almost in amusement. There was the crash of a door being kicked open, and before man or monster knew what was happening, eliminator squad 5A drilled 60 bullets into the creature's head and center mass, painting its half-dissolved innards all over the wall behind it. Edward paused for a minute before making sure the thing was dead, then leapt into activity. "Robertson, Daniels, good work," he nodded to the closest eliminators, "I want all survivors of the recent outpost attack executed, their bodies burned, and their ashes dumped in an uninhabited level." Daniels, the Eliminator squad lead, paled, "Sir, there are-"

"I don't care what you have to say, Daniels, do it now, unless you want more of these things running around." Edward gestured to the pile of grey and yellow flesh, tinged with red. "Yes sir," nodded Daniels grimly, as he turned around to bark orders at his squad. Edward sighed as thought about how he was going to explain this to his superiors. He would write up a report soon, but first, he needed a drink.

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