Travis allowed the door to close softly behind him, the dull thump echoing ominously in the empty building. It was black, the darkness pure and complete. His flash light beam contrasted so sharply with the darkness around him that he felt like he was wielding a laser beam. Travis had felt uncomfortable driving through the R2 zone, but he felt pure, unrelenting dread inside of the research building. Despite the feeling of doom, he pressed forward. It was too late to turn back now; surviving the trip back wasn't a guarantee, and he couldn't leave without finding what he was looking for.
The building opened up into a large foyer, with two twisting ornate staircases leading up to a second floor. There were elevators on either side of the foyer as well, but they were not operational, and if they were operational, surely unsafe. Travis had memorized the blueprints of this building long ago, and was able to navigate with his little bit of light. He moved towards the door to the main stairway, walking slowly, attempting to make as little sound as possible.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw sunlight pour through a random assortment of the building's windows. He knew it was the middle of the night, and averted his eyes from as much of the light as possible. The first rule of dealing with any RCE was to never, ever look at it. The less you perceived, the safer you were. Faint showtunes began to play, barely audible, starting and stopping abruptly. They would loop, stutter, and play over each other. Travis's stomach knotted with fear, he felt like something ancient and supernatural was taunting him, toying with his sanity.
He carefully opened the door to the stairwell. It was a small, tight set of stairs, used mostly for potential fires or other emergencies. As the heavy door swung open, a ghostly pale face flashed in front of him, it's pale, twisted smile reached its ears, and it's dead, ancient eyes stared right through Travis's mortal coil. Travis yelped and flinched, falling onto his back, the flashlight skittering away. The face retreated and faded away, moving down the stairwell he would have to traverse.
Travis took a few deep breaths, his body trembling involuntarily. He picked up the flashlight, it's beam now shaking, and approached the door once again. He knew if he were to receive a scare like that on the stairs, he would likely fall to his death, so he shut his eyes tightly and grabbed onto the handrail. He made his way down with painstaking slowness, his jaw clenched and tight. The world around him changed sickeningly fast. He felt cold winds and warm sun on his skin, alternating randomly and without reason. Voices, distant and near, chattered at him in languages he did not know. And with every step the intensity of these events increased.
After what felt like a lifetime, he felt the handrail end. He was now four stories underground. He had no choice but to use his eyes again, and raised the flashlight to the door in front of him. It was a heavy, metal entrance that had once been sealed by magnetic lock. To Travis's great relief, the lock was either disabled or non-functional, and he was able to enter the hallway without trouble. The main foyer of the building had appeared relatively intact. It was bare, empty, and dusty with the passage of time, but there was no clutter or signs of distress.
The bottom floor was different. Papers were scattered everywhere, and trash spilled out of open doors. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling were shattered, and glass crunched under his boots like fresh snow. Travis determined that the researchers in this part of the building were likely the last to try to evacuate, and their ultimate fate was probably tragic. Given the kind of work Travis believed they were working on, he wasn't too surprised by the gruesome outcome. Still, he saw no human remains, no blood stains, no signs of violent struggle save the masses of trash and debris.
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Compared to the rest of the building, the basement was quiet and cold like a tomb. He made his way down the hallway, tracing his path through the hallway in his mind. He was terrified to look around, but he would need his vision to find what he had arrived for in the first place, so he squinted and carefully tried to focus his sight on extremely small areas of the ground or wall. He navigated slowly through the labyrinth for what felt like hours; but was likely only a few minutes. His little beam of light dragged across the numbers on the laboratory doors. B456, B457, B458.
Eventually Travis came to a set of large double doors, wide and ornate compared to the simplistic steel rectangles that led into all of the other rooms he had passed by. B459, the laboratory of Dr. Joseph Francis. News media had called him "The Man who Dared to Dream", and it wasn't just a metaphor. He had invented, patented, and used a device that allowed for the artificial enhancement of REM sleep. Travis had read all of his research papers, and the case studies and reports of those who had used his device. As the world began to unravel, the things they had found in this enhanced state defied comprehension, with consequences that blended into waking reality.
To his surprise, this door was also unlocked. Travis had brought a hammer and a battery powered drill to force his way through, but he was glad to not have to worry about all of the set-up and noise it would have caused. He pulled open one of the heavy doors and slipped in sideways, cautiously clicking the door shut behind him. He shined his light around the room, and was taken aback by it's sheer size. From the outside, it looked like one small lab among many, but past the doors, it was a deep and cavernous space.
At the center of this room was a large glass cylinder with three spartan beds lined up inside. Instruments lined the floors, walls, and ceilings of the containment unit, far too technical and complex for him to comprehend. The glass itself was very thick and resistant, unbroken despite being covered in large dents and cracks. Desks with computers formed an outer ring around the room's center, with all of the chairs facing towards the middle.
Travis circled the room, starting from the outside, examining every desk for information or clues. Any important looking notes or bits of papers were stashed in his large backpack without being read; he didn't have the time to search too deeply. Eventually he came upon the largest desk in the room, the desk of Dr. Francis himself. This workspace was the messiest of all, with scattered papers and books strewn haphazardly along its surface. An odd book caught Travis's eye; unlike the scientific papers and manuals he had seen so far, this looked far more rustic. It was a faded maroon, and appeared more like a journal or personal notebook than a product of research.
Spurred by curiosity, he began to turn through the pages with one hand, the bright light saturating the small pages. Travis's stomach jumped into his throat and his hands, already shaking, trembled as he read through the doctor's notes. He took a deep breath and put the notebook into his backpack. As useful and jarring as the information was, it still wasn't what he was looking for. He made his way to the center of the room, examining that massive cylinder of damaged glass. He pulled open the heavy airtight door and strode into it's body.
Each bed had what looked like a motorcycle helmet on it, plugged into power outlets via thick cables. Behind the head of each mattress was complex machinery use for monitoring vital signs and other physiological measures of health. Travis picked up one of the helmets, rolling it over in his hand. Etched into the top was the acronym, R.E.D. The device was smooth, simple, lacking in the overtly complex and confusing machinery that comprised the rest of the laboratory. This wasn't a research tool, this was a product that was intended to be sold to the general public. Travis took all three helmets, and stuffed them into his overflowing pack, barely forcing the zipper shut.
They pushed against his back like rocks, and he staggered under the weight of his tools, supplies, and loot. He had everything he had come for, and more, now he had to make it back home alive.