Facility X - Free 1st Chapter

Read the first chapter of my debut novel, Facility X, HERE!

Chapter One: The Facility

I didn’t want to come here. Not really.

I hadn’t seen my father in a year. Maybe longer. Now, he wanted me here. No explanation, no warm invitation; just an email with coordinates, a time, and a single request: Come quietly.

If this had been anyone else, any other invitation, I would’ve ignored it. Deleted the email. Blocked the sender.

But part of me, some buried, traitorous part, wanted to see him. Not just see him, but understand him. The man who vanished into his work, who locked his world behind steel doors and silence.

I wanted to know what he was hiding. I think I always have.

The road to my father’s compound was a little more than a forgotten stretch of earth, half-swallowed by weeds and time. Trees crowded the edges, their skeletal branches casting jagged shadows across my windshield. The air was still. Not just quiet. It was sterile, as though nature itself had recoiled from this place.

I braked at the perimeter fence. The security gate loomed ahead, a hulking slab of reinforced metal, flanked by electrified fencing that ran the length of the property. High-mounted cameras swiveled in mechanical precision, tracking my approach like blinking eyes. The sensors were still active. That was a good sign. Or a bad one.

 My tires crunched over dry leaves and rocks, and when I reached the intercom, I leaned out to press the call button.

The intercom box was dented, the speaker grille caked with dust. I pressed the call button. A burst of static. Then, my father’s voice; hollow, distorted. “Janie? You’re early.”

I glanced at the clock on my car’s radio. 5:55 pm. “It’s five minutes ‘til. That’s hardly early.”

“Six o’clock sharp,” he corrected. “As per the email.” A pause, then an exhale. “Never mind. Come in.”

The gate groaned open, its hinges stiff from what I presumed was neglect or harsh Ohio winters. I drove forward, the dirt path jarring my suspension. Overgrown branches scraped the sides of my car, leaving behind fine, ghostly scratches. Ahead, the structure emerged from the darkness. Not a home, because it was never a home. It was a windowless, box-like facility, with its pale exterior reflecting the car’s headlights like a carcass stripped clean. Surveillance cameras dotted every corner, their unblinking red lights forming an artificial constellation against the steel and concrete. The air around the building was heavier, charged with the same static tension as the electrified fence.

I tried to imagine what it would have been like to grow up in a place like this. No neighbors. No parks. No sense of freedom. Just walls, gates, and endless surveillance. Aunt Alice might have been strict, but she gave me enough space to breathe. The house was always warm and bright. She always had the windows open and her country music playing quietly from her radio. Growing up here, with my father’s unexplained paranoia hanging in the air like smoke; I’d have been a different person. Stranger than I already am. But, the feeling of not belonging would’ve stayed the same.

I parked beside a cluster of unfamiliar vehicles. More confirmation of what I already suspected: my father was not living here alone.

The entrance door hissed open. My father stood on the threshold, framed by the harsh fluorescent glow inside. His wire-rimmed glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, and his once-thick hair was now streaked with gray. The beard he had worn my entire life was gone, leaving his face gaunt, the skin too loose on his frame. He had aged. More than that…he had withered.

It was jarring to see him without the beard I’d known all my life. Without it, his features looked younger and more vulnerable. He was almost like a man I’d never met. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he called out, his voice strained. He gave a small wave, bracing himself against the doorframe.

I waved back, though my hand felt heavy. Something about him looked off. Not just the beard he’d shaved, but the way his skin hung too loosely on his bones. He was thinner than he’d been a year ago, his arms swimming in his sleeves. My father was becoming an old man, I’d assumed.

I stepped out of the car, the night air pressing heavy against my skin. “You look different.”

A faint smirk, then a cough. “So do you.” 

I forced a smile as I slammed my car door shut. The cold night air settled around me, heavier than it should have been. I didn’t know what my father wanted, but I knew that once I stepped through his door, I wouldn’t leave unchanged.

“Janie, I’m so glad you came.” He pulled me into an awkward hug, and I held my breath, managing to hug him back. His body felt fragile against mine; thinner than I remembered, bones more prominent beneath the fabric of his coat. When he pulled away, he turned aside, stifling a cough that sounded deep and dry.

“My apologies,” he said once he caught his breath, but his voice carried a rasp that hadn't been there before.

“I’m curious to know what Professor Tom Holcomb wants from me,” I said as I followed him inside. “I was surprised you invited me.”

“Doctor, not professor!” he corrected with a strained grin. The door sealed behind us with an automated hiss. Electronic locks engaged. Overhead lights flickered to life, casting the space in an unforgiving white glare. The entryway was clinical, with an empty desk, an unused couch, a plastic plant shoved in the corner like an afterthought. The walls buzzed with the faint hum of concealed wiring. I imagined the room belonged to a doctor’s office or a dentist’s waiting room.

“This way,” he said, leading me through a corridor lined with numbered doors. There were no windows. No identifying signs. Only keypads, blinking with unreadable sequences.

At the end of the hallway, we stepped into an elevator, and my father pressed the button for the fifth floor. “The top floor is our living space. Several rooms, shared bathrooms, and a central kitchen and living room area.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” I asked, watching my own distorted reflection in the elevator walls.

“My colleagues. Researchers. Most started as assistants, but they’ve since been promoted. We haven’t had a newcomer in two years.”

The doors peeled open and I followed him into a living area that felt strangely frozen in time. It appeared as if it had been left mid-use and forgotten. A sectional couch sprawled across the room, angled toward a massive 75-inch television. The screen was layered with a fine coat of dust with no fingerprints in sight.

Behind the couch, several circular tables covering the space, easily large enough to seat a couple dozen people. It felt more like a cafeteria. Scattered plates, napkins, and utensils lay abandoned on the surfaces, remnants of some gathering that seemed to have ended abruptly. The subtle disarray confirmed my father’s words; others had lived here, though they were nowhere to be found. The only other person was a middle-aged woman cleaning dishes in the sink, her back turned to us. I waited for her to glance back at me so I could greet her, but she never did.

At the far end of the room, past the tables, the kitchen stood dimly lit, its countertops cluttered with mismatched coffee mugs and used plates. A sink full of dishes hinted at either carelessness or people too busy, or even too exhausted, to clean up after themselves. The woman turned to put a dish in the cupboard and I spotted something on her shirt. Her uniform bore a name tag: Barb, Janitorial Services. She didn’t take any notice of us. The lingering smell of stale bread and cold coffee clung faintly to the air. Whatever hunger I had in my stomach subsided quickly.

My father led me through another door into a hallway lined with more closed doors. “This side is usually for the men, but I’ll have you stay in the room next to mine.”

I stopped walking. “I’m not staying here.”

He tilted his head. “I mentioned you should bring an overnight bag.”

“I must’ve missed that part.”

He swatted the air with his hand. “I’m always getting ahead of myself, anyway. Follow.” He walked back toward me, a sudden limp in his step that I must not have noticed before. “Let me show you what we’re doing first. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

Curiosity kept me moving.

I followed him back to the elevator, and this time, we descended to the third floor. The elevator opened up to a giant lab, layered with computers and machines I couldn’t name if my life depended on it. Technology had been advancing so quickly that I could hardly keep up with anything. Everything was so foreign to me. Inside, with their noses pressed to screens, were four persons in lab coats. They each glanced toward us, but quickly turned back to their work without the courtesy of a nod or greeting. I couldn’t catch what their tags said, but I assumed they were researchers and scientists like my father. At the very back of the lab was an oversized desk layered with perfectly centered piles of paper, files, and a mug full of pens. It was pristine and organized; just as I’d always known him to be. 

He hurried to fix up the stack of papers, although there didn’t appear to be anything wrong with them. “I didn’t have time to organize all of this yet. Excuse the mess.” He pointed at a chair in front of the desk. “Have a seat!”

I sat, the cushion crackling under my body. I guessed that it was barely used at all since it was in such pristine shape, belonging visually perfect alongside his desk space. “You’ve never told me what you do here,” I said.

“Here, as in the lab?” he asked, giving up on organizing and plopping down into his swivel chair. It creaked as he sat back in it. “Yes, well, that’s classified. Mostly, anyway.”

“Classified by the government?”

A smirk. “Classified!”

I sighed and leaned forward. “Then why am I here?”

He intertwined his fingers and tapped his knuckles against his chin. “Well, to put it lightly…” He paused, thinking. “There’s no other way to put it, Janie, so I’m thinking I’ll just come right out and say it.”

He paused, breathing.

“I’m dying.”

The words landed like a dropped scalpel; sharp, clinical, irreversibly final.

It echoed, but it didn’t hit me quite right. I didn’t feel the sharp, cinematic grief I was supposed to. No gasp. No internal shattering. Just a dull pressure behind my ribs, like something had shifted out of place.

Was I supposed to cry? Get angry? I didn’t even know this version of him; this man with hollow cheeks and graying hair who hid secrets.

And yet, somewhere beneath the numbness, there was a flicker. Not love; not exactly. But something older than anger. Something raw and unfinished.

I should feel something.

But I didn’t know how to mourn a father I never really had.

I blinked. “Dying of what?”

“A pathogen. Or a parasite. We’re not sure yet.”

“You don’t know?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “We’ve run scans. Tests. Something inside me is… changing. Rapidly.” A pause. “There’s no cure. Not yet”

I took a deep breath, processing what he’d told me. He had spoken so nonchalantly, as if he was telling me he’d forgotten to brush his teeth or didn’t eat dinner. “Is it a disease? Like, cancer?”

 “It’s something like that. It’s new, whatever it is. My colleagues are trying their hardest to understand what is wrong with me, but I’m the most qualified one here and even I’m stumped.” He chuckled slightly, his gaze drifting as if in deep thought. “We’ve run CAT scans, PET scans, ultrasounds…you name it. Something inside of me is different, but I haven’t determined what it is, yet, nor its place of origin. Though, I do have plenty of theories.”

I looked back toward the front of the room, and found it now barren of other lifeforms. The other scientists must have left the room, but I hadn’t heard them depart. I stared at him. “And you brought me here because—?”

He leaned forward, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite place. “Because you’re the only person I trust to understand what’s coming next.”

The overhead lights flickered. The hum of electricity deepened, vibrating in my chest. Somewhere beyond these walls, something moved.

“What the hell are you talking about, Tom?” I asked.

He flinched when I spoke his first name. To his face, I always called him Dad. But I never called him that outside of our visits. I felt it was a good time to get honest with him, since that’s all I wanted from him. “It’s confidential. It’s supposed to be, anyway, but ever since Alice died I’ve been requesting access for you to visit me here. You’ll be inheriting all of this once I’m gone, and I’m not exactly sure how much time I have left. It’s not just my health at stake, Janie. There are things here…” He hesitated. “There are things you need to understand if you’re ever going to survive this place when I’m gone.”

I flickered my eyes to him. "Survive this place? What are you talking about?"

He leaned back in his chair, the heavily weighted cloak of his exhaustion settling over him. His eyes locked onto mine. “This facility isn’t just a research lab. We study organisms that defy everything we thought we knew about biology. Some things are intelligent. Others… predatory.”

"What things?" I pressed, my fingers digging into the chair’s armrests. 

His gaze darkened, distant yet focused. "The ones we study here, Janie, they’re not all contained as securely as they should be."

My breath came faster. I felt my heart hammering so loudly it drowned out the hum of the machines. My thoughts were spiraling. "Are you saying something escaped? Like an animal?"

He didn’t answer right away, but his silence spoke volumes.

"Escape is impending," he finally said. "What we do here is to prevent future harm from these kinds of creatures. It's about protecting the people who live here. Including you."

The air felt charged, like the moments before a storm.

I leaned forward. "Why tell me this now?"

“Because you're the only person I trust,” he said again, his voice softer but no less urgent. “I know that I’ve kept so much of this a secret from you. I know I haven’t been in your life. But, I don’t know how much time I have left. And when I'm gone, I want you to take over. I want you to take care of things here, and keep my research going. You need to understand what you're walking into.”

He paused again. Thinking.

“Because you’re the only person I trust to understand what’s already here.”

The hum of the facility deepened, and for the first time, I realized: it wasn’t just the machinery I was hearing.

Something was listening.