20 Jun Emergency Broadcast 101

“EMERGENCY BROADCAST 101: DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AREA.”

That’s all the TV would play, the same message on repeat.

“EMERGENCY BROADCAST 101” was titled at the top, and “DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AREA” was printed small but clearly visible at the bottom.

There was no explanation. No prior warnings. It just happened.

I live in a small town. The next city is miles away. The broadcast said not to leave the area, but people were already rushing off in their cars. Some even left their families behind in a panic. That confused me. Everyone I knew here would never act like that.

Something bad was happening.

It’s one in the morning. I should mention the moon isn’t out tonight, probably hidden behind the clouds. I decided not to follow the crowd and stayed home instead.

Not even twenty minutes later, it seemed I’d made the right decision.

My buddy was one of the people who left. He sent me a video on Snapchat of him getting pulled over. But it wasn’t the police. It was the military.

In the last five seconds of the video, he stops his car. Then an armored truck pulls up behind him, and armed guards rush out with big guns, screaming at him to get out. The video ends quickly.

He hasn’t responded to any of my texts.

Whatever is going on, it’s more serious than any of us thought. The military is taking extreme measures to make sure no one leaves.

I’d like to describe the fear I’m experiencing, but I don’t even want to think about it. The situation is already beyond terrifying.

I only woke up a little while ago, and everything is already falling apart.

As I scroll online, trying to find more information, a knock at the door interrupts me. It’s my neighbor. He speaks softly through the door.

“Hey, Alex, could you let me in, please?”

Instinctively, I was about to open the door and let him in, but I stopped. The tone in his voice was off. He was too calm.

Why was he so calm? Why was there no urgency, no context? Why did he want in? Why come to my house? Why leave his own just to come here?

Wait. That’s not right.

I remember seeing him leave earlier, alone, without his family. He shouldn’t be here.

Who is that at the door?

I backed away. Something was wrong.

He started speaking again, but this time I couldn’t understand a single word. It wasn’t his voice anymore. It was sharp whispering.

But the whispers didn’t say anything. They weren’t words. Just a noise.

It sounded like someone trying to call a cat over.

I backed away from the door and hid. I tried to call 911, but the call wouldn’t go through. I tried again, and it rang.

Someone picked up.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

For a moment, I felt a sense of relief. I explained everything in a panic.

“Please help me. I don’t know what’s going on. The military is here. My neighbor isn’t acting right. I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay, okay, slow down,” she said. “Explain one thing at a time, please.”

I told her everything, the best I could. When I finished, she went silent for a second.

Then she spoke.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to stay calm. Where are you in your house?”

I told her I was hiding in the kitchen, crouched behind the table, away from the windows, with the lights off.

“Okay, units are on the way. Stay put.”

Hearing that brought a wave of relief.

“Thank you so much,” I said, feeling a little safer.

“You’re welcome, Alex,” she replied. “Please stay on the pho—”

I hung up.

My stomach dropped.

I didn’t tell her my name.

I realized in horror I hadn’t been talking to a real 911 dispatcher.

Looking back, it was a stupid move. Why would the police even help if the military were already here? Her lack of questions and calmness should have been a warning. I know 911 dispatchers are supposed to remain calm, but there wasn’t a hint of worry or concern in her tone. It was almost robotic in a weird way.

I might have just gotten myself killed. If whatever is out there didn’t already know where I was before, it knows now.

I have to get out of here. It’s not safe.

* * * * * *

I texted my other friend to see if he was still in the area.

He replied two minutes later.

“Thank God,” I thought. He’s still in the area. I asked if I could call.

One minute later, my phone rang. As I packed up my stuff, I answered.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asked.

“I know as much as you do,” I replied.

“Whatever is happening, we can’t stay.” His tone shifted, more worried now.

“Dude, the military is fucking everywhere. If whatever is out there doesn’t kill us, the military will. I’ve seen enough movies to know that if they’re keeping people contained, they’ll kill you without question if you try to leave.”

He’s right.

“I’ll be over soon. Just be careful and go grab your gun,” I told him.

“Okay. Be safe, alright?”

I paused for a moment.

“Hey… what’s my birthday?”

“Seriously, dude? You really think I’m one of those things?” he replied.

“You’re seventeen. You don’t own a gun. Your parents are Democrats, and they’re anti-gun,” I said.

It went silent for a minute. Then he spoke.

“Have you ever heard someone cry and scream, beg for the pain to stop as you dig deep into the side of their torso with your claws and teeth?”

I froze.

“Of course not,” he continued. “But I’m sure I can paint you a picture. Or give you a visible representation. You can’t run. Just lie down and give in, Alex.”

The call ended, and a sudden, sickening realization hit me.

I can trust no one.

That’s three times now I’ve been interacting with someone—or something—pretending to be someone else. Whatever this thing is, it can mimic people almost perfectly.

My house is big. Too big for one person to live in. I enjoy having large spaces all to myself. That means plenty of places for me to hide… but also plenty of places for something else to hide.

I finally understood just how dangerous the situation really was.

I grabbed my gun—a SIG P365—and began clearing the house, locking every possible entrance as I went.

Every room was empty, every window and door secured. That made me feel a bit safer, though I realized if I needed to escape quickly, I might have boxed myself in.

All the blinds were closed so nothing could see inside. Every light was off. The house was dead silent.

With my phone in hand, I tried to make sense of what was happening.

Then I heard it.

A vehicle pulled up outside on the main road. It was armored.

I didn’t know whether to feel scared or relieved, but either way, I prepared myself.

Two soldiers jumped out and immediately began firing their weapons at something. I couldn’t see what they were shooting at, but it didn’t matter.

Because whatever was behind them was probably no different than what they were firing at in front of them.

The driver shouted to warn them, but it was too late.

The thing behind them grabbed the first soldier and lifted him off the ground. Its jaw unhinged.

The second soldier turned, ready to fire, but he never got the chance.

In the blink of an eye, the creature lunged at him. These things didn’t just move fast—they moved so fast it looked like they were teleporting.

The first soldier screamed, thrashing in its grasp, but it was no use.

The creature pulled him toward its gaping jaw and ripped his head off. Its teeth were razor-sharp.

It started tearing the body apart like it was made of soft clay.

The second soldier’s fate was worse. At least the first guy died instantly when his head was ripped off; the other soldier wasn’t so lucky.

The creature forced his mouth open and jammed its fingers inside, applying pressure until his jaw broke off completely.

It wasn’t clean.

The jaw tore from the flesh, leaving a mangled mess of blood and shredded muscle on the ground.

Then the thing threw the soldier’s body to the floor.

Somehow, he was still alive—barely.

It dragged him into the darkness, his torn throat letting out weak attempts at a scream. But I imagine you can’t scream well when your jaw is gone.

I should mention that the man in the vehicle disappeared.

No, I mean he literally vanished. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it.

I assume the creatures got him, too.

The whole thing lasted maybe a minute. I barely got a good look at the creatures.

All I can tell you is they were tall. Probably around nine feet, but that’s just an estimate.

All that remained was the military vehicle and blood scattered across the road.

Have you ever been trapped in a dream? A nightmare you’re aware of but can’t wake up from?

You start to feel an inevitable dread, like you’ll never escape—like you’ll live the rest of your life in constant fear, forever trapped in that nightmare.

That fear is exactly what I felt.

I didn’t see a way out.

But the vehicle was still running. Maybe I could escape. Maybe the military wouldn’t see me as just a civilian.

Wait. This might actually work.

When my dad passed away, I kept his military uniform. If I could just blend in, maybe I could slip past them.

I quietly tiptoed upstairs and opened the closet.

The uniform fit surprisingly well. It didn’t look like what those soldiers were wearing—they had tactical gear, heavy vests, and probably newer models—but I looked closely enough.

Close enough might be all I needed.

I couldn’t sit here and wait to die.

It was either die in the house or probably die trying to escape.

I loaded my gun and got ready to leave.

That’s when I heard tapping.

From the kitchen window.

I froze. My blood turned cold.

“It won’t be so bad. Just open the window. It won’t hurt,” a voice said.

It wasn’t just unsettling. It was wrong. Distorted. Too calm.

I had no idea what it meant by that, but I ignored it.

“I know you’re in there. I can feel your heartbeat. Your fear.”

It spoke again. Same voice. Same disturbing calmness.

“Okay, how about this? Just open the blinds. You don’t even have to fully open them. Just enough to see outside. Then I’ll leave you alone. Promise.”

That tone made my stomach twist.

Against every ounce of sense I had, I made a very stupid choice.

I crept toward the kitchen, crouched down, and cracked the blinds.

What I saw made me stumble back and nearly vomit.

It was one of the soldiers. Probably the driver.

His head, torso, and jaw were still intact, but barely. That confirmed it was the driver.

His eyes had been gouged out, thick streams of blood running from the sockets. A portion of the top of his head was gone, as if he’d taken a shotgun blast to the skull.

But his torso was the worst part.

He had no arms. No legs. Just the upper body.

And the limbs weren’t torn off. They were removed. Carefully, but violently. Jagged bones jutted out from the stumps like broken sticks, as if the removal had been deliberate.

Then I saw the creature’s hand. It held the body by the head with long, sharp claws.

I couldn’t see much besides its arm, reaching down from the shadows. Its legs were hidden in the dark.

It made the body dance, like a puppet. The limbs flopped around, lifeless, as the creature manipulated the soldier’s corpse in a grotesque mockery of movement.

Was this just to torment me? Was it a message?

I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to.

I slammed the blinds shut and dropped to the floor, gagging.

Then I puked. Violently.

I had to get out, and quickly. But I couldn’t just yet. I had to wait, hoping it would leave.

I remembered something. It mentioned it could feel my heartbeat. My fear.

I started doing breathing exercises to calm my heartbeat down. Surprisingly, it worked. I was calm—well, as calm as a person could be in such a fucked-up situation.

I decided it was time to leave. I grabbed my things and left through the side door of my house, not the front.

The front door was too loud and too predictable as an exit.

As I stepped outside, trying to be as quiet as possible, I quickly remembered to silence my phone, just in case.

When I pulled it out, I saw something in the trees behind my house.

One of them wasn’t a tree.

It was that thing.

I didn’t wait. I ran to the vehicle, praying it hadn’t seen me.

I jumped inside and floored it.

I was out of the main part of town in five minutes, flying down the road at ninety miles per hour.

The radio was on, filled with frantic, panicked voices.

I couldn’t make out much, but one thing stood out:

Every engagement with these creatures had ended in death.

Then something else came through.

A voice mentioned a survival book, one issued to each soldier. A guide with everything they knew about these things.

As I gripped the wheel, I glanced over at the passenger seat.

There it was. A worn, olive-colored manual stamped with the words:
“AUTHORIZED USE ONLY: SURVIVAL GUIDE – MIMICS.”

I had a decision to make. I would either keep driving, uninformed, and risk running into another one of them, or stop and read, hoping to learn something that could keep me alive.

I was sure I had drawn attention already.

I decided to keep driving until I was far enough away.

They were fast, but I didn’t know if they were this fast.

Eventually, they’d have to stop and rest. Unlike them, I had a vehicle, and the gas tank was full.

There were a lot of weird controls inside, but I could handle the basics, or so I thought.

After ten more minutes of driving, I passed another armored vehicle.

They didn’t stop me.

That was a good sign.

Finally, I pulled over.

The outside was pitch black.

I could see nothing except what the headlights lit up.

I grabbed the survival guide from the passenger seat.

And I began to read.

The first few pages were full of legal jargon, clearly written by the government.

Most of it talked about how the public was not to read the contents of this book under any circumstances. If someone did manage to get a copy, the official response was to play it off as a “roleplay prop” made to “generate spooky thrills.”

Then came a disturbing section about what to do if the civilian didn’t believe the lie.

It explained how to eliminate them quietly, without being caught.

After more red tape and bureaucratic filler, I finally reached something useful:

* * * * * *

THREAT LEVEL: WORLD ENDING
CREATURE CLASSIFICATION: MIMIC

SECTION 1 – SURVIVAL
Origins: Unknown.
To identify a mimic, use LORHA:

Listen:

Listen to how the person speaks. If the tone is off or lacks human emotion, you are likely speaking to a mimic.

Pay attention to both large and subtle details in what they say. If anything contradicts the known life of the person they are imitating, or they mention information they shouldn’t know, assume you are dealing with a mimic.

Observe:

Watch for unnatural features. Signs include:

• Red eyes
• Uncanny or asymmetrical facial structure
• Elongated limbs
• No fingernails
• No breathing
• No genitalia
• Missing toes
• Hairless arms and legs

Run:

If possible, run. Mimics are extremely fast, but fleeing is safer than hiding or fighting.

Use zigzag movement. This has worked against newer mimics in the past.

Be warned: older mimics are not easily fooled.

Hide:

Only hide if escape is impossible.

Newer mimics are more common and easier to evade.

However, mimics are designed to seek.

They can hear heartbeats, breathing, and even the subtle clicking of your eyes when you blink.

Newer mimics may overlook you if you remain still and quiet.

Older mimics will find you.

Escape the area if possible.

Attack:

Engage only as a last resort.

New mimics may be harmed, but bullets are largely ineffective.

Older mimics cannot be harmed with standard weapons.

If you are out of options, take your issued pill and lie down.

If you believe the mimic will reach you before the pill works, load your weapon and shoot yourself.

If anybody is near you, shoot them, then yourself if you can in time.
You will be sparing them—and yourself—a worse fate.

SECTION 2 – INFORMATION

NEWER MIMICS:

• Height: 7 to 11 feet (can alter size at will).
• Mimicking behavior is sloppy and easily detectable.
• Tend to taunt and frighten victims before attacking.
• Less violent and less effective at deception.
• Do not yet understand how to kill effectively.
• Cannot interfere with signals like phones, radios, or televisions.

Note: Fire appears to be effective against newer mimics, though they can regenerate.

Do not attempt to kill them. Use any injury as an opportunity to escape.

OLDER MIMICS:

• Height: 9 to 15 feet (capable of changing size at will).
• Mimicking is flawless.
• Nearly impossible to distinguish from actual humans.
• They do not taunt.
• They torture.

Testing has shown that older mimics experience brain activity similar to humans on drugs when inflicting pain.

They enjoy it.

Older mimics are extremely violent and develop natural knowledge of human anatomy.

They instinctively understand how to inflict maximum pain without killing.

They can interfere with any signal.

Recent incidents confirm interference with aircraft systems and long-range transmissions.

There is currently no known method to harm older mimics.

Regeneration ability is unknown, as no damage has yet been inflicted.

If confronted with an older mimic, use LORHA. Pray it works.

If capture is imminent, shoot yourself. Your pill will not act quickly enough.

Note: Descriptions of both newer and older mimics in their true forms are classified and will remain confidential until further notice.

* * * * * *

Everything else in the book was redacted.

I guess the clearance level wasn’t high enough, not even for the soldiers who were supposed to use this thing.

I don’t get it. Did they not read the damn guide? It told them not to attack.

They ignored it and opened fire anyway.

They could have just driven off. Unless… unless they were blocked in.

I mean, the book made it clear that these things—these mimics—are extremely durable.

Even then, though, they fought like they were trying to kill the thing.

I tried not to dig too deep into it.

I was getting ready to drive off when I noticed something. Something bad.

My tires were flat.

“No fucking way,” I whispered to myself.

Someone—or something—had slashed them.

I didn’t dare step outside.

I turned the vehicle off and prayed.

My prayer didn’t last long.

The driver’s door was torn off.

A massive hand reached in, trying to grab me.

I fired my gun before it could.

The only thought I had in that split second was how impossibly huge its hand was.

The mimic screeched.

It was so loud my eardrums burst.

Blood poured from both ears.

My balance vanished, and I wasn’t even standing. I couldn’t sit up straight or anything, just squirm in intense pain. I couldn’t even process what was happening.

But one thing came back to me in the moment: Fire was effective.

If it was a newer mimic, I might be able to escape. Or hurt it enough that it would leave, even though the book said otherwise. Regardless, I had no choice.

I had no chance of running. I could barely sit upright.

Then I saw it. The soldiers had been prepared after all.

In the back of the vehicle was a container of oil and a box of matches.

I reached for them through the pain. My ears were screaming. My vision spun.

Just as I grabbed both, something yanked me from the vehicle.

My arm snapped on impact.

I screamed.

I don’t cry often, but I broke down right then and there.

The box of matches stayed clutched in my good hand, somehow.

The oil had spilled out, pooling around the mimic’s feet.

For the first time, I saw its face. It had long, needle-like teeth. A mouth so wide its skin—if it even was skin—looked torn around the edges. Its eye sockets were stretched open, but the eyes were barely there, just two tiny white dots.

I couldn’t see much else. The thing blended into the darkness.

The headlights were off.

I couldn’t be sure the oil had even reached its legs. That was a guess, a desperate one.

It threw me down again, and I hit the ground with my broken arm. The pain was beyond anything I’ve ever felt.

I wanted to lie there and just give up. But I didn’t.

I clenched a match between my teeth and struck it against the box.

The mimic lifted me high by the legs.

It was going to kill me, or worse, torture me.

Through blurred vision, I clenched the match between my teeth and attempted to light it. After a bit of trial and error, I managed to strike it. It lit, and I dropped it.

I had no idea if it would have any effect. My gun was still in the vehicle, far out of reach.

By some miracle—some fucking miracle—the flame touched the oil. It had spilled onto the ground when I dropped it after all.

And it ignited.

The mimic dropped me.

I hit the ground headfirst, and everything went black.

* * * * * *

I woke up in a hospital.

The doctor told me I had been in a bad car crash.

I tried explaining what had really happened. I told him everything—about the mimics, the military, the survival book, the fire, the blood, the voice at the window.

He looked at me with confusion and told me my brain had suffered severe trauma. According to him, what I had experienced was most likely a hallucination caused by my injuries.

But I knew what I saw. I knew what I felt.

I looked for my phone. Thankfully, it was on the table next to my bed.

My head throbbed, and my arm ached, but I reached for it anyway.

I tried texting my friend, but got no reply. It was as if he didn’t exist.

I checked my call log to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind.

There was nothing. No record of any calls. No 911. No messages. No recent activity at all.

I checked my blocked contacts. Checked my deleted folder. Still nothing.

I was starting to think I really had gone crazy.

But I knew better. This wasn’t just a dream. It couldn’t be.

My suspicions were confirmed when the doctor told me I had a visitor claiming to be a loved one.

An older man walked in and greeted me with a smile, like we’d known each other for years.

He politely asked the doctor to give us some privacy. The moment we were alone, his expression changed.

“You saw things,” he said. “You experienced things you were never supposed to. Your old life in that town is gone. Everyone you once knew and interacted with is gone, and it’s highly likely they’re dead.

“You will be relocated to a new town. Your belongings have been retrieved. Do not worry. You are not to speak of this to anyone. You are lucky to be alive, and extremely lucky we decided to keep you alive when we found you.

“Thanks to you, we discovered a new weakness in the mimics. A simple gunshot to the hand. That was all it took. You successfully killed one.

“We know you read the book. Yes, fire is effective. The oil-and-match trick was smart. But the gunshot to the hand is what did it.

“We have never been able to study a mimic corpse. They are far too durable. But the one you killed gave us something. There is an artery located in the direct center of the palm that appears to be vital to their organ functions.

“Because you discovered this, we are going to let you live.”

He stared directly into my eyes.

“But if we find out that you told anyone about this situation, you will be killed, as will the person you told.

“You are to sign this contract.”

He handed me a pen and a document.

“I hope to never meet you again. Thank you for your time. Oh, and do not bother attempting to contact your friends. You will not be able to. Let’s just leave it at that.”

I signed the contract without saying a word. I mean, what else could I say?

But something was still gnawing at me.

The friend I had called… every time I saw him, his eyes were red. His face always looked just a little off. And now that I think about it, his arms and legs never had any hair. Not once.

He had been my friend since I moved into that town five years ago.

How long had I been talking to a mimic?

I don’t think it matters anymore.

They will probably kill me once they find out I wrote this, but the public needs to know.

Remember to follow LORHA. And if you see one, aim for the center of the palm. That is your only chance.

My new town is quiet. Too quiet. People are not as social here.

I hate it, but my job pays better. And strangely enough, I feel like I’ve made better friends, despite how little anyone talks.

I always watch for the signs. I’m careful. Red eyes can be excused. Everyone gets those once in a while. That’s what I keep telling myself.

But lately, I’ve noticed something. One of my new friends never takes off their shoes. Their arms are unusually long. They always wear long sleeves, even in the heat. I have never seen their skin from the elbows down or the knees down.

Their eyes are always red. Their arms and legs are completely hairless. They wear sunglasses indoors, and sometimes their voice slips. It’s subtle, like something deep inside is pressing against the surface.

I try to ignore it, telling myself I’m just traumatized, that I’m still healing.

But there’s something else.

A patch on their backpack. I recognized it instantly.

It was military. Olive green, tattered at the edges. The exact patch my dad had sewn onto his old uniform.

The same uniform I wore when I escaped.

There’s no way anyone else should have that.

No way.

I don’t know how they got it. I never got that uniform back. I never thought to ask. Now I wish I had.

I don’t know how much longer I’ll live.

If you are reading this, keep a copy. If it gets taken down, you might not get another chance. It may be the only thing that saves your life.

Remember LORHA. Trust your instincts. And if you ever get close enough to see its hand, aim for the center of the palm, and pray you’re fast enough.