It was an ordinary day in my small, sparsely furnished room. The place looked more like a cell than staff quarters, but I comforted myself with the thought that I was getting paid to sit here… The walls were gray, bare, with small cracks and water stains in places. The lighting was harsh, almost hospital-like, always flickering slightly — as if even the bulbs didn’t want to work here.

The room had only a few pieces of essential furniture and equipment: a narrow bed with a thin mattress, a steel toilet without a seat, and a small sink. I used the latter to get ready for the day, splashing my face with ice-cold water. The cold felt like Death’s own grip — as if even the water in the Foundation was part of some experiment.

I had barely finished washing up when another Foundation worker approached the door from the other side. He held a higher position than me, as did most people working here. Through a small hatch in the door, he slid in a tray with food without saying a single word. He didn’t even look at me — as if we were just numbers, vanishing statistics in someone’s spreadsheet.

I looked at the plate. Well, I hadn’t expected anything better than a cold, overcooked egg with some bacon, but there was no point complaining. The food was tolerable. Mechanical. Like everything here. After eating, the door to my quarters opened with a quiet hiss. I knew what that meant — time for the briefing. At least that’s what they called it.

The briefing was a weekly event. All Class D personnel were herded into an auditorium by scientists and guards. An old concrete room, with a low ceiling and a few harsh lights hanging from rusty chains. We were arranged in two lines, like soldiers before a battle. I stood in the back row — as always. I didn’t like to draw attention.

One of the scientists, a thin man in a white lab coat with a face devoid of emotion, walked in front of us holding a tablet. He counted us slowly, as if we were lab inventory.

— As you probably know — he began in a cold tone — in a few days, you’ll be sent home. But some of you will stay with the Foundation a bit longer.

At that moment, everyone went silent. That was what we feared the most. No one wanted to “stay longer.”

— Those in the front row: you're being transferred to Site-12. The rest of you may return home.

Relief. We barely showed it, but it swept through the group like a breath of fresh air. (At least that’s something — I thought. — Just three more days. Three days and I’m out. I’ve had enough of this place.)

— As per Foundation protocol — the scientist continued — you will receive your compensation for good behavior, and your knowledge of anomalous objects will be erased using amnestics. That’s all for today. You’ll receive answers to any questions in three days.

Some whispered among themselves. I remained silent. I preferred not to ask questions no one wanted to answer. But then…

The alarm went off.

Red lights flared on the walls, and the metallic wail of sirens pierced through the building. My heart froze. This wasn’t a drill. This was the alarm — a signal of a containment breach.

I saw a large group of guards running toward Sector Five. We all knew that place was off-limits to Class D. Even some scientists avoided it. Rumors circulated about the “objects” stored there. The kind that couldn’t be contained. The kind that… thought.

The guards disappeared through the sector doors. Moments later, we heard screams. Gunshots. One after another. Then… silence.

We were evacuated back to our rooms. The doors slammed shut with a metallic thud. I was alone in my cell. I could feel cold sweat running down my back. From beyond the walls came distant sounds: screams, pleas, sometimes laughter — mad and inhuman. Was it one of the workers? Or… something else?

An hour passed. Maybe two. Eventually, everything went quiet. At least for now.

Nothing else happened for the rest of the day. But I knew something had changed.
Something had gotten out.
And there was no going back.