Project Violet

“Violet,” I mutter to myself as I walk through the woods. Violet; a person, dimension, thing, creature? I do not know, but the letter with that word had led me here to the abandoned military base south of town.

Leaves crunched beneath my feet, my breath smoking away from me, my hands shoved into the pockets of my parka. I shiver as I break through the trees and behold the base. A ten foot tall razor wire fence runs around the complex, which comprises several buildings, guard towers, and abandoned vehicles.

I came from the south as instructed by the note and found a tear in the fence. I kneel, gathering my senses, my heart hammering, but for what reason I can’t pinpoint. Pressing my hands against the tear, I pull it apart and slip through, falling, my knees soaking into mud. I stand, the grass rising to my thighs. Beyond me lies a thin area of grass and then a slab of concrete leading to the largest building, which sits at the center of the base. I was coming from the back, and on this side sits a large garage door into the building where I imagine military vehicles rest.

I crouch and move cautiously across the grass and onto concrete. I feel exposed and worry that somebody is watching me, but I see no cameras and there is no reason for anybody to be out here unless they enjoy exploring abandoned facilities, which I do not. Coming to the garage, I find a keypad, but it is dead. I’m not surprised, actually expect this. The base hasn’t been used in decades and yet the note… well… it says there is a way in, via a keypad inside a guard tower across the base from where I entered.

I walk around the main building and weave my way between a slew of abandoned jeeps and hummers painted reddish brown with rust, lying low with popped tires and windows cracked or shattered. I wonder if the windows were smashed by natural causes or a group of teenagers snuck in and had the time of their lives.

Out of the parking area, I walk across to the opposite guard tower, the one that supposedly still holds power. I glance to the east, a pair of lush hills rising like the humps of a camel. I frown, the memories rising deep within me, of the reason I was here.

Up in those hills was where my life changed forever, and for the worse. I remember that day, that horrid day. I was hiking with my daughter, Emilia, enjoying a bright, sunny day. We hiked up the hill, reaching the top and taking in the view. A beautiful, pristine day, one that I knew I would remember forever. She was fifteen and had opened up to me more than she had in the last few years. It felt good, like a weight lifted from my chest. Emilia trusted me and wanted my advice on life. I was beaming with love for her and for our renewed relationship.

Then I stepped off the path to piss. Maybe a minute or two I was behind a tree. When I returned to the path, she was gone. Vanished. I searched the entire trail, my voice hoarse from crying out her name. I called the authorities, and they searched the entire two hills, but there was nothing. It was as if she went poof into mid-air. Her life taken. Mine crushed to pieces.

Two days ago, I received this letter in the mail. No return address, no name. Just a piece of paper in an envelope detailing how to get into this base, and that is where I would find the answers about my daughter. Signed Violet. I don’t know if this is some sort of cruel joke. Probably. But I’m grasping for anything to give me closure, and this is the faintest thread I've had in years.

The guard tower looms before me, a black rectangle towering above the fence. As I near the door, I see it and gasp. A tiny red dot sitting at the top of a keypad. I stop. My mind grasps for a reason. How? But my feet move me forward because I need to know what happened to Emilia. I check the note. 3854. My finger shakes as I type in those numbers.

The light blinks green, and I hear a hiss; watch the door slide open. It’s dark in there and I stupidly didn’t bring a flashlight. I breathe in deeply to steel my nerves. I walk in, the door closes, and I am plunged into darkness. I start to panic, think I’m going to be locked in here forever, that some sicko has fooled me. But after a long moment, a soft glow emanates at my feet and my waist.

There is a staircase in front of me, ascending and descending, the lights guiding whichever way I choose. I descend because, somehow, I feel it in my bones that this is the right way to go. For several minutes I walk in silence, my steps pattering against the metal stairs. I have been walking too long it seems,this base much deeper than I expected. I reached the bottom, my eyes meeting darkness, fearing I might have to navigate my way in the dark. As I step forward with my hand along the right wall, lights appear above.

I am in a hallway, much like ‌a hospital. I shiver, but not only because of the cold. I stroll to the other end, where a door awaits me, wondering about the lights and their timing. Motion sensors, maybe? But there is a lag, almost as if someone is watching me, guiding my way. I shove that thought deep down, can’t afford to let fear take control. I reach the door at the end, see another keypad, but this one is dead. I turn the handle, and the door swings wide open.

The lights are already on in this room, and for a minute, I forget where I am. I’m standing in a waiting room; leather couches, warm red carpet, lamps with square shades, a mahogany coffee table. Not a hint of dust to be found.

“Where am I?” I mutter to myself.

How can this be untouched? Have I wandered into a still-occupied space? But this couldn’t be. The base is abandoned… or at least by the government.

I wander through, taking in the inviting atmosphere. A reception desk lies across the room, a glass barrier in front, like at a bank. As I approach the glass, I half expect a person to pop up and ask me what I’m here for, but there is no one. Why would there be?

The only option is to continue through the door adjacent to the desk. There is no handle, so I press it with my palms, and it opens slowly. Another hallway, just like the last one .

A thought flutters across my mind. Is this real? I let the thought disappear because that is nonsense. I place my hand against the wall. I’m not dreaming. This is real. I came down here searching for answers concerning my daughter’s disappearance. I pull the letter from my pocket, read it again. It tells me to follow the doors until I can’t. I assume that one of these rooms will be a dead end and then I’ll find what I’m looking for, but how far do I have to go?

I walk this hall, doors lining each side. I try every single one, but they’re all locked except for the one at the end. More and more I have the sensation of being led by an unknown watcher. I grab the handle and pull; the door opens into another room.

An office. Well-lit by ceiling lights. No door on the other end. Could this be the last room where I’ll find answers? A large desk sits in the middle, bookshelves line the sides, filled to the brim with books. I peruse the titles; most are scientific, varying in subject. All enormous books. I walk to the desk. A lamp highlights a folder sitting in the center. The folder is tan, in pristine condition, and quite thick with papers protruding ‌from the right side.

This must be meant for me. I sit in the high-backed leather chair, scoot it forward, and slowly open the folder.

In big, bold letters on the top page: Project Violet

There are lots of pages, so I skim, looking for anything pertaining to my daughter. This project, I gather, was a series of tests run on humans. A serum was to be administered to six subjects on a weekly basis. The names and dates are blacked out, along with other info.

A growl rises from me. How is this supposed to give me closure if I can’t see if my daughter is mentioned in this? As I slog through the pages, my heart beats quicker, the hair on my arms standing up. Reading between the black lines, I gather that some subjects died. ‌All except one perished. Could this be my daughter? Was Emilia kidnapped and experimented on? Given a serum to make her body more resistant to harsh elements?

I slam the file shut, rage boiling inside. “Just tell me what happened to my daughter,” I scream into the room, hoping whoever has left this for me will respond instead of playing games.

I hear the scrape of wood against metal and spin around. The far wall is sliding open, a curved, descending tunnel waiting for me. I glance around the room, brows furrowed, trying to find the camera where I’m being watched and heard.

“Fine,” I shout and enter the tunnel. I don’t have another choice. I’ve come too far to go back now, if I’m even allowed to do that. The tunnel descends at a gradual pace for several minutes as I walk in silence, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts. What would I find down here? My daughter or more information regarding her fate. I don’t know which would be better. Nobody could survive down here this long. I don’t want to think about what that means.

I come to what looks like a wall at the end of the tunnel, but it slides open. I step through, and for a moment it is dark. The lights flash on and I gasp, hand coming to my mouth. I close my eyes and bend over. I dry heave for a minute as I fight back the black spots in my vision. There's blood everywhere, body parts strewn about and… my mind has betrayed me.

Instead of my nostrils filling with a stench of rot, I smell the sharp scent of iron and an acrid smell I can’t quite identify. The floor is blood, but it is not red, it’s pink… violet. Body parts are strewn about. So many of them, a small army. They don’t look quite organic.

The room before me is a giant square. There are windowed cells on every wall, like a prison. All of them lie open. In the center is a rectangle that reminds me of a fish tank. A figure stands in the center, partly hidden by the violet fluid that has splattered across what I now see is another cell.

I step across the floor, slipping in the liquid. I bend to observe a severed head, drawn to the eyes. They’re violet. Unnatural, unsettling. I press one finger against an eye. It’s smooth, hard, not a real eye.

These are robots or androids. Very human-looking and all identical. All look like an older version of my daughter.

I amble to the center cell, my heart beating out of my chest. Could this figure be my daughter? After all these years, am I finally going to see her, hug her, and speak to her? I reach my destination, place my hands on the thick glass.

“Emilia?” I cry out.

I wipe the grimy liquid away. A young woman stands before me, places her palms in my palms, eyes boring into mine. I look for green, but I’m met with a dark violet.

But it is her. Her brown hair hangs to her waist; her short nose presses against the glass. I find the dark strip, a birthmark, on her neck. It is her.

“Emilia!” I scream, hoping she can hear me.

Her face is neutral, lips flat. She stands on her tip-toes to reach my height. Her head cocks to the side.

“What have they done to you?” I stammer, tears raining down my face. I’m so happy to see her. “I will get you out of here,” I promise.

She tilts her head farther, eyes examining my body from head to toe.

“How do I get you out of here?” I ask. I check the perimeter of the cell. It’s four solid walls of glass.

Emilia spins her body to follow my path around. It’s unnerving, but if she has been here so long she’s most likely traumatized and will need years of counseling to return to normal. I will need counseling as well.

“How do I get her out?” I scream at whoever guided me here. There is no response.

I glance up into the cell, notice a wire hanging from the top, but it’s too high for her or I to reach.

I scan the area, frustrated that my daughter is right in front of me and I can’t get her out. Something catches my eye. Across the way is a room with a window. Through the window sit several computers… and they’re on, code running across their screens.

I stride to the room, hoping beyond hope the door opens. It does. I come to stand in front of the computers. Seven total. I’m drawn to one with a single row of green text across a black screen.

open all observation barracks y/n _

The underscore flashes at me. My finger hovers over the Y. If I press this, then I will get to hold my daughter again. My body buzzes with anticipation and the opportunity to have my Emilia back.

I bring my finger down onto the Y and press Enter.

The screen flashes big letters across the screen:

observation barracks to unlock in: 1:00

Time counts down from one minute. I can’t contain my excitement. I’ll soon be reunited with the most important person in my life.

As I turn, I see what looks like a giant version of the tubes I’ve seen at the banks, the ones you stick money in. It’s the size of a coffin. Tubes cover its surface and run up into the ceiling. So many tubes; different sizes, different colors.

A figure lies inside.

I step closer, cup my hands over my eyes to see through the glass. I gasp so hard that I choke. I compose myself and look again, hoping I’m wrong.

I gaze upon my daughter. She is as the day that she was taken from me.

A loud hissing ensues from the room beyond. I turn and stare through the doorway.

Glowing violet eyes stare back.