"I love you too, baby."
Ari's voice cracked slightly before the call disconnected.
For a moment, silence filled the recording room—then came the scratch of a match, followed by a weary exhale.
"That's all we have left," Dr. Igotta's tired voice spoke into the recorder.
"The rest were either outside when the incident began or died during the breach.
The Director ordered us to stay here—keep monitoring both inside and out.
The 001-ized entities are pounding on our front door, and we're locked in with God knows what.
The power's still stable, supplies could last years… so for now, we're fine."
A short pause, a trembling breath.
"Everything's going to be fine," she whispered.
Then the recording clicked off.
At that moment, Dr. Igotta, her partner Ari, and a handful of surviving staff were sealed inside Site-46, cut off from the outside world.
For a brief instant, it sounded like they still had hope.
But that illusion would soon die the moment the next file opened.
The next attachment was a journal entry from Dr. Igotta's own hand.
Only a few short paragraphs—but enough to freeze the entire Marvel world in terror.
"They keep sitting outside… calling our names, begging us to come out."
"Their noise attracts more of their kind. I counted dozens—humans, animals—God knows what else."
"The barking of people, cows, birds, dogs… all rising together like a chorus from hell. It sounds human. That's the worst part."
"As long as they know we're here, they won't leave."
The audience shivered.
Every viewer imagined the nightmare: grotesque masses of flesh and bone, humans twisted with animals, writhing outside the facility and screaming in agony.
Inside the control room at S.H.I.E.L.D., Natasha Romanoff's face paled.
"It's… horrible," she whispered. Even the unflinching Black Widow could barely process what she was seeing.
Nick Fury crossed his arms, voice low.
"Hard to imagine how they've held out this long."
He stopped suddenly, eyes narrowing as new text appeared on the light-screen.
"We convinced a D-Class to go outside, to see if he could lure them away," the log continued.
"He accepted right away. Only asked for a pistol and bullets."
"He went out… one of them grabbed him and tore off his mask. Before they could touch him, he put the gun to his chin and pulled the trigger."
"But even in death, he wasn't free. The thing crawled inside his corpse, forcing its way beneath the mask. It started tearing him apart from the inside."
"He stood again—his body melting, screaming, changing—turning into one of them."
"They don't even let us die."
Fury clenched his jaw. Around him, every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent sat frozen in silence.
Death itself had become impossible. The very idea shook them more than any alien invasion ever could.
The log continued grimly:
"The Director has a plan. There's a hidden escape tunnel in his office. A tram beneath the site can take us to a safe house. From there, maybe to Site-19."
That faint spark of hope barely flickered before the horror resumed.
A new file appeared—a video recording.
When James clicked play, a woman in a torn white lab coat appeared on-screen.
Her face was pale and gaunt, eyes bloodshot, chest stained dark with dried blood.
Her hands trembled as she whispered into the camera, voice thin and broken.
"I… we… the tunnel—"
"It drilled in from the ceiling… dragged them into the sun… stripped off their clothes and then—"
She stopped. Her words dissolved into choked sobs.
Everyone watching could feel it—she wasn't describing an attack by monsters, but by the sunlight itself.
Even Tony Stark, watching from his tower, went pale.
"No way," he muttered. "You're telling me the sunlight… kills them?"
Colonel Rhodes swallowed hard beside him.
"No, Tony. It doesn't just kill them—it turns them into something else."
Before anyone could react, a distorted male voice came through the computer speaker.
"Logan?"
It was Ari's voice—or something pretending to be.
"Where are you? Why can't I get back inside? Are you there?"
The voice was wet, distorted, inhuman, like intestines grinding against metal.
Everyone realized the truth at once. Ari had been consumed—transformed by the solar infection.
Then, over the static, came the sound of a tune—Ari's voice singing softly:
"Hello, sunshine… hello, sunshine…"
The voices multiplied—dozens, then hundreds—until the recording itself drowned in the blinding chorus.
The radio died mercifully, but the silence that followed was worse.
Dr. Igotta's chair scraped across the floor. She vomited off-camera, returned minutes later, and quietly turned off the feed.
The audience sat in stunned silence. Even hardened heroes like Fury and Stark felt pity for this broken woman.
James fast-forwarded through the next few clips.
Each one showed Dr. Igotta deteriorating further—eyes hollow, mind fractured.
She began whispering about "souls" and "retrieving what was taken."
In one scene, she cut her own palm in a ritual circle, trying to call back Ari's spirit.
For a moment, a translucent hand appeared—skeletal, half-burned—reaching from the shadows.
Then the video glitched, cutting to static.
James frowned.
A prompt appeared on-screen:
"You open the drawer and find a pistol. You fiddle with it, wondering where to go next."
He opened the drawer before him.
There, resting in cold silver light, was a pistol identical to the one in the video.
Another line appeared.
"Site-17? 64? You can't be the last survivor… can you?"
Before he could react, the file updated again—displaying a poem.
Each line trembled with longing and madness:
"My love burns brighter than dawn,
My body melts beneath her gaze,
The sun is my lover,
Her kiss, my end."
Then—without any command—the computer began playing a live feed.
The screen showed a blazing scarlet sun rising over a crimson landscape.
Everything beneath it—earth, buildings, sky—seemed to melt.
Then the image shifted.
"[Live feed—one foot behind you.]"
"[A thin, black left hand enters the frame. The ring finger is missing.]"
The live chat exploded with panic.
"Oh my God, look behind him!"
"There's a hand! Behind James!"
Countless viewers screamed as the shadowy hand crept closer on screen.
But James didn't move.
He didn't draw the pistol.
He simply watched, calm and expressionless, as the hand touched his shoulder—
and vanished like mist.
He knew it was an illusion all along.
"[Footsteps… wet, dragging sounds. Screams in the corridor.]"
"[They're coming.]"
A thunderous knock rattled the door in real time.
Still, James remained perfectly still—his gaze unwavering.
"[Faces press against the glass—human and not. Flesh seeps under the doorframe, reforming eyes and fingers.]"
"[The wood creaks… breaks.]"
Crash!
The door burst open.
Everyone watching held their breath—expecting the flood of horrors.
Instead, a man's gentle voice entered the room.
"Dr. James? You here?"
The entire chat froze. Then messages flooded in disbelief.
"Wait… what?!"
"Was that… a security guard?"
Indeed—it was a guard, flashlight in hand, peering curiously inside.
"Sorry, Doc," he said, scratching his head. "Heard some noise in this old archive room. Didn't mean to scare you."
James rose, calmly turning off the computer.
"You said this is abandoned?"
"Yeah," the guard replied. "Couple years ago, they found a body here. Looked melted. Half-gone."
He hesitated.
"Weird thing—the left hand was missing a finger. Ring finger, I think."
James said nothing, his eyes briefly flicking toward the desk.
The guard continued nervously.
"From the traces, seems like somebody lived here for years. Smell was awful. Anyway… we locked the place up after that."
The two men walked out together.
The heavy door swung shut behind them with a soft metallic click.
Inside, the room fell silent again.
The emergency light on the ceiling spun lazily, casting a dim orange glow that pulsed every few seconds—
as though the room itself were breathing.
Then, without warning, the computer screen flickered to life once more.
The power light blinked steadily.
The cursor moved by itself.
A new file appeared:
"Dawn. The Cruel Star of the Solar System."
For a moment, it seemed to wait—breathing, thinking—
before the words slowly appeared line by line across the monitor:
"She rises for all, burns for all, devours all.
Her light is life, her light is death.
When the last shadow falls, the sun will sing."
And as those words faded into static, the faint sound of Ari's voice returned—soft, distant, and endlessly repeating:
"Hello, sunshine…"
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