11 Jan “My Squad Received a Distress Call From Watchtower-1. What I Saw Haunted Me Ever Since” – Creepypasta
The deepwater horizon was one of the biggest man-made disasters in the world, holding the infamous title for being the largest environmental disaster in the history of the U.S., ever since it’s fatal explosion in the Gulf of Mexico, 41 miles offshore from civilization. What they don’t tell you is that the deepwater horizon, caught in one of the worst disasters the world has seen, wasn’t the only one like many others recorded in the documents and files, known to the press and public. For highly classified and non-disclosure agreements that I’ve signed, I am expected not to be revealing this publicly. Unfortunately for me, I do not have much time left in this world.
Recently, I have been diagnosed with a stage 3 lung cancer from specialists and doctors alike, with the excessive heavy-smoking that I had picked up as a stress-reliever to get away from the memories and nightmares that had been plaguing me ever since that damned search-and-rescue operation to Watchtower 1. Speaking of which, Watchtower 1 wasn’t the original name for the oil rig, as they had changed its name several times to avoid whistleblowers. As such, I, unfortunately, cannot disclose the true identity of the facility to avoid those who poke their noses into the operation that I had longed and yearned to forget. This is purely my recount and a guilt-reliever to get the weighing matters off my chest before I leave this godforsaken world for good.
You see, on November 4th, 2018, I joined the CDC, also known as the “Centers for Disease Control”, with the mindset and pretext that I would be of aid in curing diseases, giving medical attention and relaying medical supplies to those who are living in disease-ridden third world countries. For the first 2 years, that was the case. Paving my way through college and earning my biomedicine degree after the army, naturally, the CDC seemed like a good job offer to take up with it being the apex of healthcare professions after my graduation. When they had accepted my job application, I was thrilled, to say the least. Nonetheless, I would not be working for them as a standard health scientist. During which, I was informed that a field in the CDC was lacking in manpower and workers, demanding that if I were to take up the job offer, I would be part of a Security Task Force Team, specialising in crucial search-and-rescue missions and escort of personnel from the CDC and civilians alike. It wasn’t the kind of work that I had in mind when I joined the CDC, but it was a high paying job for a beginner like me at that time, so I had just thought it seemed like a good job offer, with the encompassing fact that I had been training and serving in the military, so I was pretty well suited for the job.
The third-field assignment that I had received earlier came with skepticism, codenamed “OPERATION HAMMERDOWN”. Alongside with my team of 5 personnel in total, consisting of 4 security officers and me, was supposed to receive a distress call coming from an offshore deepwater oil drilling rig, aka known as Watchtower 1 at [REDACTED] in the Atlantic ocean, approximately 39 miles off the coast of [DATA EXPUNGED], to rescue and secure 2 geneticists and the rest of the rig personnel who were on board the rig at the time of a seemingly aggressive encounter with unresponsive mutilated figures coming onboard the platform from the vessel, that has been seen to have fatal injuries covering the entirety of their bodies, exhibiting rabid and hostile behaviour in terms of jerky and shuffling motions towards the crew. Those who had tried to establish physical contact with the figures have been seen to also exhibit sudden violent and aggressive tendencies within a couple of minutes, and therefore have been quarantined and separated from the rest of the crew onboard. The massive scientific research vessel had coincidentally crashed into the drilling rig during a hurricane-like storm in the sea at 2200 (10pm) hours, and had gotten stuck and lodged into the pillars, as documents and recorded information about the call states. The distress call came in at around 0000 hours (12am) as the connection had abruptly halted from unknown reasons, possibly from the storm itself.
Gearing up my issued equipment and loading a fresh magazine into the M4 carbine, I strapped and tightened the bulky black tinted gas mask around my face as I donned a heavy yellow rubber hazmat suit, with an accompanying tactical vest at the outside, strapping considerable lengths of heavy-duty duct tape around my wrist and legs, and sealing them up to prevent air from entering and escaping. I exited the decontamination chamber drenched in the cleansing tap water and the heavy downpour of the rain, as the roar of the Blackhawk helicopter greeted me as it resonated throughout the slippery landing pad, with occasional thunder that boomed in the distance. The rest of the security team waved to me, all clad in the same yellow protective suits, sitting in their respective seats. Upon boarding the helicopter, the ground crew outside gave the helicopter one last exterior check before giving an “all clear” thumbs-up to the pilot and co-pilot, before shutting the metal door in a quick and swift slam, locking it into place. Torrent of raindrops the size of bullets pelt the top and sides of the helicopter vigorously, sounds of their impact drowned out by the blade of the helicopter as it gradually hovered above the ground before taking off.
Callsigns, background static and garbled voices chattered over the communications radio built into our hazmat suits, as the shaky chopper ride to the oil rig was carried out mostly in silence, apart from the constant droning of the radio and the howl of the helicopter blades. I thought that our weapons would protect us. I thought that this mission was just a simple extraction operation. I was so, fucking wrong.
Rudely stirred from my short power nap by the shrill announcement of the pilot implying our arrival, the helicopter shuddered against the force of the unrelenting downpour of rain. Stealing a glance at the electronic clock hanging on the wall of the helicopter, it read in brightly lit red numbers; “3:23 am”. The exterior window of the helicopter is covered in a thick layer of water, as the world outside the helicopter is shrouded in a vast, thick and black void, with nothing except the mesmerising wave-stricken ocean for as far as the eye could see through the dense curtain of rain.
[[ RADIO ]]
Pilot : “Vulture 2-2, platform coming into view. Feet dry in 20 seconds.”
The surrounding void of darkness engulfing the sea gradually became brighter and brighter, as a massive behemoth of a structure seemingly rising out from the sea, came into view outside the blurry-water splattered window.
[[ RADIO ]]
Pilot : “Uh…we have a non-visual status on personnel in the rig, break.”
The words came over the radio, slow and drawn out as the helicopter circled around the brightly lit drilling rig, with a massive visible black reefer vessel half-sunken and stuck into 2 of the oil platform pillars, causing it to slightly bend and tilt over to an unstable angle. My jaw hung agape as another unsettling image of the rig soon came into view, this time at the landing pad. The offshore helicopter, used to transport personnel from the shore to the rig, is seen sprawled flat on the landing pad, wrecked tail dangling over the edge, and the body of the rest of the helicopter torn to shreds with the chopper’s blade hanging loosely at its sides. Scratches and damage could be seen visibly on the wrecked metal bird laying on the pad, as giant violent waves slam against the concrete pillars of the rig, causing the lights of the infrastructure to flicker each time from the impact.
[[ RADIO ]]
Co-Pilot : “Copy that. Radio check, standby. Switch to secure channel, over.”
The overhead door buzzer sounded, as the interior of the helicopter lit up in a dazzling red light. Two of my squadmates, Cpl. Jackson and Sgt. Volkers, stood from their seats with assault rifles strapped tightly to their vests, as they simultaneously gripped the handles and heaved both of the adjacent doors open with grunts.
Gusts of stormwind and rain whipped around in the interior, as I and the rest of the task force prepared ourselves for insertion.
[[ RADIO ]]
Pilot : “Greenlight, go! go! go!”
Thick black fibre ropes dropped down from the top of both helicopter doors, as Cpl. Jackson and Sgt. Volkers were the first to grab onto the ropes and slide down. I followed suit after them as the rain violently pelted against my fogged up gas mask, obstructing most of my view. Swiftly sliding down the rope as my boots slammed onto the metal platform, I quickly drew the M4 assault rifle and switched the safety off, as I noticed my other 2 teammates who were already in position, assault rifles trained on a rusty metal steel door a couple of feet away.
Sounds of sliding and boots hitting the wet ground can be heard behind me, as the other two squad members, Cpl. Staples and Spc. Maxion rendezvoused with us, assault rifles crackling and clicking into place, as the whole team filed into combat stance, weapons drawn at the ready.
[[ RADIO ]]
Co-pilot : “Whiskey 3, this is Vulture 2-2 at bingo fuel. We’re bugging outta here for refuel and resupply. Godspeed, over.”
The helicopter hovered above us for a second before rising up and circling the rig for another minute, before soon flying back into the distance, the sounds of turning blades quickly disappearing and masked by the incessant pitter-patter of rain and thunder.
The surroundings around me were grimly lit by the overhead lights of the rig as a loud, stressed, groan of the infrastructure echoed throughout its walls and floors. Sarge raised his hands and motioned for us to toggle the flashlights on our guns to operational, as he took the lead and walked towards the metal door, with the rest of the team still vigilant and following after him.
Approaching the worn-down and corroded metal door, we stepped aside and divided ourselves into 2 sections, each on either opposite sides of the door and pressed against the grime-coated wall, awaiting further instructions. Breathing heavily through the fogged-up mask, I could still make out the palpable lingering smell of decay and decades of rusting metal as the platform squeaked noisily under our weight. Sgt. Volkers motioned a countdown with his gloved hand, mouthing the numbers whilst carrying his rifle in his other hand, as we mentally steeled ourselves for a breach into the facility.
[[ RADIO ]]
“On my mark…”
The metal door flew forcefully open on its hinges with a slight dent in its body from sergeant’s leg kick, as we noisily chambered through the doorway, guns and eyes transfixed on the front as everybody piled into the small corridor, dimly lit with a constant flickering of the overhead lights.
The small corridor, basked in a yellowish-green hue by the lighting, led to a metal grated flight of stairs leading downwards, as we cautiously stepped over the debris-strewn flooring; the sounds of constant dripping of rainwater leaking from the metal walls fading into the background as I followed behind Sgt. Volkers, with the rest of the team trailing in a single file after us. Upon descending down the flight of stairs, we were instantly hit in the face with an unmistakable strong, sickly metallic smell of blood, strong and concentrated enough to permeate and filter through our gas masks, causing one of the team members trailing behind us, Spc. Maxion, to bend over and gag, as he uses his assault rifle as leverage to keep him from falling over.
“Jesus Christ…what in the world actually happened here..?”
Spc. Maxion remarked through the radio, the distinctive sounds of his coughing mixed with the fuzz and the white static emitted from through the speakers. Clenching the weapon tight in my hands, I shone the flashlight attached to the barrel of the gun onto an unlit section in the corridor, with the beam of light falling upon a frame of a person dressed in a matching orange reflective-taped jacket and pants, lying against the wall. I momentarily stopped in my tracks as I stared in shock at the scene that lay in front of me, dread gripping tightly at my sides.
“Figure spotted, 11 o’ clock.” I briefly announced, stepping towards the figure, weapon still drawn and aiming down at it with the barrel flashlight. Advancing forward towards the person, I had noticed that the surrounding walls and floors that he is lying in are coated in a sticky, crimson-red liquid, and the sickly smell of blood growing more and more concentrated, the lingering and oppressive feeling of dread growing more and more densely in the pit of my stomach the closer I stepped, the sounds of my boots softly clanking against the floor. The rest of the team stuck behind, guns trained on the body.
“Sir? Are you alright?”
I kneeled down and gripped his shoulders as I gently shook him, the rifle clutched in my other hand. No response. As I slowly tried to lift up his face, I held one gloved hand around his chin for better support as I repeated my question.
“Sir? do you– holy fucking shit.”
I recoiled backwards in disgust and terror, letting go from his chin as he limply slumped back forward, hordes of tiny wriggling maggots and brownish-red liquid dribbling out from his mouth and onto his lap, as they wriggled about vigorously in protest to the beam of light that shone upon them.
“What the actual fuck? What happened to him?”
Cpl. Staples said in disgust through the radio, his expression turning sour, eyes glued upon the dead body lying in the corridor. Sgt. Volkers exchanged glances with Spc. Maxion as he inspected the dead body, leaning in for a better look.
“Poor guy seems to have already died a long time ago. Most likely one of the workers on board the rig.”
He said, bending over and picked up a small identification card that slung loosely around the worker’s neck, examining it.
“Let’s get moving. We’ve got business to attend to.”
After a couple of minutes of making our way to the end of the dimly-lit corridor, we came across another huge metal door, this time with an accompanying faded label, which read, “Cafeteria”. I tried the greasy handle as the huge door remained wedged and locked tight. Suddenly, a shrill, feminine ear-piercing scream and animalistic howls can be heard coming from the other side of the door, as soon as I tried to jiggle the handle for the second time. I flinched by instinct as the whole team jolted, weapons trained on the door. But as soon as the chilling screams and howls resonated throughout the corridor, it had stopped as quickly as it had started.
“Hello? Miss? Please respond, We are here to help you!”
I shouted through the metal, holstering my weapon as I cupped my hands against the door to amplify my voice.
My pleas for a verbal response came empty-handed, as the muffled sounds of shuffling feet and slow metal scraping against the floor could be heard from the other side.
“Shit, we’ve got to help her! She might be injured!”
Cpl. Jackson said beside me, stepping forward as he lifted the barrel of his rifle and aimed in the direction of the metal handle.
4 quick and loud gunshots ring out from the muzzle of his barrel as it illuminated the cramped corridor surroundings around us in dazzling bright yellow flashes, as sparks fly from the handle itself. The heavy metal door swung wide open after 2 consecutive kicks, and we quickly filed into the pitch-black cafeteria through the doorway, breaths panting as the beams of light from our weapons shook around violently in our hurried states. As we fully composed ourselves and calmed down, the entire cafeteria became eerily quiet and silent, apart from the muffled thunder outside and our breathings through the masks, we scanned our flashlights around in the pitch-black room, in search of the source of the screams that came earlier. I was still breathing heavily through my mask, the steam from my breaths quickly blocking and limiting my view from the eyeholes.
The whole room was deathly silent for a full minute, with nobody saying a word with bated breaths. We stood in our positions and used the narrow beam of our flashlights to scan around and illuminate the surroundings, as the light fell over a scene of broken tables, twisted metal chairs and shattered coffee mugs.
Suddenly, quick dozen flashes of motions were caught in the corner of my vision as I jerked around with my flashlight, trying to get a glimpse of whatever was in the same room as us. The beam of my flashlight shone around wildly, as I shone the light from one spot to another, where I had last seen the movements.
“Hello? Is anybody ther–”
Spc. Maxion announced loudly into the room, but before he could finish his sentence, his entire body was abruptly caught by a darting figure lunging onto him from behind, and propelling both of their bodies forward into the darkness, causing him to drop his M4 assault rifle onto the floor and killing the flashlight from the gun.
“Help me! I can’t see! Get it off of me!”
His cries for help screeched in the pitch-black distance, as suddenly, deafening sprays of gunfire erupted from my right, as another one of my fellow teammates, Cpl. Jackson opened fire blindly in the general direction of a sudden figure that had dashed past his beam of light.
“Contact!” He quickly yelled, as Sgt. Volkers and Cpl. Staples started wildly opening fire as well, on several other figures that had quickly run past their lights, causing the entire cafeteria to momentarily light up in a blinding mixture of yellow and white flashes. Time seems to crawl to a halt as I blanked out in the heat of the moment, the gunfire flashes irradiating the attacking figures, as I caught a glimpse at their misshapen, malformed bodies, similar to that of a burn victim, with brownish-red spittle flying out from their jaw that hung at an unnatural angle.
“What are we fighting?!” Cpl. Staples yelled in panic whilst blindly shooting, as his entire body was abruptly grabbed onto and yanked forward into the darkness, his desperate screams for help muffled in the deafening background gunfire.
“Snap out of it! we’ve got to get the hell outta here!” Sgt. Volkers yelled from the left, as he started sprinting back towards the metal door, with Cpl. Jackson hot on his heels, turning around for the last time and firing back into the inhuman screeches and howls of the figures.
There I stood, both feet frozen to the ground in shock and fear from the events that had unfolded right in front of my eyes, as the gruff command from the sergeant snapped me out of my dazed trance. I considered helping my other two teammates for a second, before silently uttering an apology and ran after Jackson and the sergeant, back through the metal doorway.
Howls and angry animalistic screams bounced off the corridor, as the huge metal door vibrated and held under the bashes and attacks that came from the other side. I was on my knees, panting and breathless as I clutched the rifle, my hands trembling in terror. Sgt. Volkers held the door shut along with Cpl. Jackson, as the unrelenting bashing from the other side of the door, kept up with their siege to break in.
The three of us knew what had to be done next was inevitable, as the bashing and thumping of the door started to grow stronger and louder by the second. Sgt. Volkers was the first to break the silence between the three of us as he handed me his dog tag without saying a word.
“Lads, do me a favour, find those geneticists and get the fuck out of this hellhole. I’ll hold those fuckers off. Hurry!”
Cpl. Jackson protested as he tried to change the sergeant’s mind from his sacrifice attempt. The metal door inched forward in a desperate push to break in, as Sgt. Volkers shook his head and slammed it back into place with a loud grunt. He produced 2 handheld fragmentation grenades from his vest, as he clutched one in both hands.
“There’s no time. Either you had wanted those two other deaths earlier to be in vain, or the whole goddamn team. Go now, that’s an order!”
The howls in the background faded and mixed into the howling of the wind, as we passed the previous body lying against the wall in a running sprint and climbed the metal stairs, reaching back onto the topside in mere minutes. Slamming the metal door shut behind us, a distant rumble of explosion resonated and echoed throughout the rig, as the entire platform started to gently shake, seconds after the blast.
Cpl. Jackson yelled furiously through the suit, as he kicked the oxidised metal wall beside us, causing it to slightly dent in from the impact.
“Their fucking deaths could’ve been prevented! We might have come up with something else if it wasn’t for my goddamn idea to breach in!”
“No, no, you did the right thing in trying to save whoever that was behind the door. That was the original mission for the entire team.”
I tried to assure and emphasize with him, as the sudden loud clack of the onboard P.A. system reminded both of us that the mission wasn’t over just yet.
[[ PA SYSTEM ]]
“H-HELLO? IS THIS THE RESCUE TEAM..? WE’RE CURRENTLY HOLED UP AND TRAPPED IN THE CONTROL ROOM! THERE’S A COUPLE OF THOSE…THINGS…TRYING TO BREAK IN!”
Upon hearing the announcement from the system, Cpl. Jackson and I glanced at each other, exchanging subtle nods before taking off jogging towards a metal doorway further down the platform, this time with a directory map nailed to its sides with faded description labels. I briefly scanned over and examined the directory with my gloved fingers, as it unconsciously trailed down and pointed to a small location in the map which has an accompanying label that reads, “Control Room”.
“Over there!” Cpl. Jackson exclaimed, catching my attention as he motioned his fingers to point in the direction of a woman clad in a white lab coat, waving at us from a window situated in a sizable 2nd storey tower.
As we hastily made our way to the giant platform tower, the radio built into both of our suits suddenly burst to life, beeping in a quick and rhythmic manner.
“Whiskey 3, Whiskey 3, this is Vulture 2-2 on maximum fuel. We’ll be on station for evac in eta 10 minutes, out.”
I sighed in sheer relief as Cpl. Jackson grinned from the inside of his mask, as we reached a smashed and warped metal door, leading into the tower.
“I’ll take the lead, watch my six.”
He muttered as we ascended a spiralling grated stairwell, with remnants of bloodstains and tiny pieces of decomposing flesh littering the metal, both floor and walls.
The distinct sounds of banging, blood-curdling screaming and howlings soon came into focus as we neared the top of the stairwell, as I tightened the grip on the handle of the rifle.
As we rounded the corner in the spiralling stairwell wall, we could make out a couple of figures, back turned towards us as they continued their relentless rampage on a metal door, with visible damage and denting on its exterior.
The figures, clad in the same working orange uniforms and construction helmets, are seen aggressively and violently bashing their heads into the body of the door, as one is seen repeatedly running into it with his body at full force, crimson-red blood spilling all over the place and white tips of ribcage bones protruding from his back as he continued with the act as if nothing has happened, whilst screaming and howling frantically.
“Jesus Christ…what the fuck..?”
Cpl. Jackson whispered, as the figures abruptly stopped in their actions and spun around faster than we could react, as their dead, glazed-over eyes stared right into us, dilated pupils twitching randomly. Nobody moved for a split second, and as the “once-human” figures finally registered our presence with them, they started frenziedly and frenziedly dashed towards us at full speed before we could even react to pull the trigger. In a split-second, one of them was closing in on Cpl. Jackson, her upper movements jerky and convulsing. I pulled the trigger without thinking in my shock-filled state, the 5.56mm rounds impacting and tearing through her decomposing shoulders and upper head as she was sent barreling through the air and tumbling past Cpl. Jackson, rolling down the stairs. Cpl. Jackson opened fire on the other figures, as they were stopped in their tracks by the hail of bullets and tumbled to the floor, still spasming and gurgling out blood as they slowly succumbed to their fatal injuries.
Panting and taking a breather, I cautiously stepped over the dead bodies laying on the floor, riddled with bloodied holes as a small pool of blood emerged from under them, as I gave the metal door several loud knocks.
“Open up! We’re with the CDC!”
I called out, lowering my weapon as I motioned for Cpl. Jackson over to me.
Sounds of unlocking could be heard from the other side, as the door slowly inched open, leaving a tiny gap, as an eye peeked out and examined me and Cpl. Jackson before swinging wide open, revealing a dark-haired female scientist dressed in a blood-stained lab coat, her hair ruffled and dishevelled. Behind her sat a rig worker, clad in the same dirty orange uniform and looking quite rather exhausted.
“Thank god you guys had finally arrived! We hunkered down here in the control room when the rig went into lockdown. My other partner went out and made the distress call at the comms room, but he hasn’t returned since.”
Cpl. Jackson shot me a pitiful glance, as we both knew that deep down, he was already dead.
“You’re the working geneticist scientist, right?”
I curiously inquired, as she confirmed the statement by nodding her head.
“The evac helicopter should be here anytime soon to get you guys out, we ha–”
My words were quickly muffled out by a roar of a colossal explosion resounding and bounding off the walls, as the entire control room shook violently, throwing us off our feet. Mugs, keyboards, computer monitors clatter and smashed to the floor around us, as the lights suddenly went out.
The room shakes once more as the facility fire alarms start blaring. The wailing of the shrill alarm echoes all throughout the vicinity, as we laid on the debris-stricken floor, groaning and moaning in pain.
Our radios screamed to life as a familiar voice blared through the speakers, vibrating from the intensity.
[[ RADIO ]]
“Vulture 2-2 is at the station and in position, we have confirmation visuals of flames on the rig. Get yer asses outta here before this place blows us up!”
The scientist groaned as the rig worker stumbled to his feet, holding onto the control panel before he lost balance and fell backwards onto the floor.
He yelped, as he tried to hoist himself back up.
“This damn thing is sinking! Probably from Sarge’s grenades. Anyways, we’ve got to go, now!”
Cpl. Jackson shouted over the wail of the alarm, as he climbed back onto his feet, grabbing his rifle and speaking into the radio.
“Shit! Vulture 2-2! This is whiskey 3! On your feet soldier! We are getting the hell outta’ here!”
He yelled as he gripped my right hand, hoisting me up in an instant, as he dashed through the door. I grabbed my rifle and helped the scientist up to her feet, as the construction worker stood up and followed suit after us through the doorway.
Upon exiting the tower, we were greeted with the sight and smell of what I could only describe as total anarchy. The metal catwalk bridges overhead us slung dangerously to their sides, as huge fiery flames licked every corner as far as I could see through the clouds of smoke. Another smaller explosion resonated beside us from a distance, sending parts and fragments of the catwalk hurtling down onto us from above, as we covered and shielded our heads with our arms and hands. The lingering scent of copper and melted wires penetrated our gas masks and into our noses, as we ran through the thick black smoke, following Cpl. Jackson as he led us to a splitting intersection in the catwalk, a distinct and muffled roar of a helicopter could be heard above the sounds of chaos.
“This way! Go! Go! Keep moving!”
He called out whilst dodging the fires, as the massive derrick crane of the oil rig groaned loudly under stress, tilting inwards and coming crashing down onto the control tower that we had been in earlier, had we not left it earlier, we might’ve been squashed like bugs. The impact of its crash came with the result of the platform tilting even dangerously to one side, as we were once again thrown off our feet, this time thankfully holding onto the catwalk handrail.
“How far is it to the helicopter?!”
The worker shouted in frustration as he ran in front of me, mouth and nose covered with his arm to prevent inhalation.
“We’re almost there! Move! Move!”
Cpl. Jackson shouted angrily, as the whirring of the helicopter rotor blades came into focus. The smoke parted, as I could see the military helicopter in all of its magnificent glory, hovering just over by the edge of the platform, doors slung wide open as the pilot directed the bird closer to the edge, its sides scraping against the paint of the catwalk.
“Get to the chopper!”
The radio screamed as we ran towards the helicopter, with Cpl. Jackson being the first onboard, followed by the geneticist and the worker. I was about to board the helicopter when I was suddenly thrown backwards with the catwalk breaking apart and bending into two, as the massive rig tilted into an angle which I was now meters away from the helicopter, as the pilot desperately tried to hold it together and stabilize.
“Come on! Jump for it!”
Cpl. Jackson shouted over the terrified screams of the scientist, as the helicopter hovered unsteadily, the distance between me and the helicopter increasing by the second. I took a deep breath as I readied myself, and sprinted to the edge of the catwalk before leaping with all of my might. I fell flat on my chest onto the helicopter floor, my gun clattering to the side as I began slipping on the wet surface of the metal and slid backwards to the edge of the helicopter, my whole body dangling from the edge. But as right before I was about to fall off, a firm gloved hand gripped my arms tightly as Cpl. Jackson pulled me back on board.
He said as he hoisted me back up from the edge of the helicopter door, the sounds of the explosions still audible from behind me.
“We’re all on board! Go!”
[[ RADIO ]]
“Copy that. Vulture to base, the asset has been secured. Returning back to base, out.”
The co-pilot announced our departure as the helicopter flew away from the rig, leaving behind the stricken oil rig as it commenced its final explosion in the last few seconds, sending out a blinding bright light and a massive mushroom-shaped cloud of detritus and rubble as it broke away, slowly sinking into the stormy ocean.
It has been 19 years since the dismissal of the offshore disaster as a freak-accident, the government covering up the whole story as just a malfunctioning drilling system going awry onboard. I left the CDC and my whole life back there behind for good, given the NDA slip that has kept my mouth shut and prohibited me from even hinting at the existence of the story.
My contract has already ended 4 days ago, and I had been debating whether to reveal the story or not from there ever since. Some things in the world are just not meant to be discovered, and we should just remain blissfully unaware of the hidden dangers that lurk in our very planet. I just hope in my heart that the poor souls on board the rig during that fateful night rest in peace under the sea, alongside with Sgt. Volkers, Spc. Maxion and Cpl. Staples. That is all that I have for you. And whatever that you do, please, PLEASE don’t go searching for Watchtower 1.