I’m A Park Ranger At Tower 9. My Partner Just Looked At Me With A Hollow Smile And Said, “it’s Beautiful Beneath The Ground.” I Don’t Think She’s Human Anymore.

I was thrown backward, landing hard on ground that was blessedly, completely, normally solid. When I opened my eyes, Mills was standing over me, checking my vital signs.

*”You did it,”*

He said, and there was something like wonder in his voice.

*”The aperture collapsed completely. Reality stability readings are back to 99%. You actually pulled it off.”*

I tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. Everything hurt. My head felt like someone had taken an ice cream scoop to my brain and removed the parts responsible for making sense of things.

*”The entities?”*

I managed to ask.

*”Gone. Severed from our reality when the aperture closed. They might still exist in their native dimension, but they can’t reach us anymore. Not through that breach, anyway.”*

*”How many more breaches are there?”*

Mills helped me to my feet.

*”That’s classified, but let’s just say your services will likely be needed again. You’ve proven you can survive exposure levels that would kill anyone else. That makes you invaluable to the program.”*

Over the next few weeks, I went through extensive decontamination therapy. The entity that had been in my mind during the mission left traces, fragments of its consciousness embedded in my neural patterns. The medical team said they could remove them, but it would require invasive procedures with significant risks.

I declined. The fragments weren’t harmful; they were just there, like having a stranger’s memories mixed in with my own.

Sometimes I’d be doing something completely mundane and suddenly understand the mathematical principles underlying the action. I saw reality from a perspective no human was supposed to have. It was disorienting, but not unpleasant.

Mitchell and Lawrence both transferred to different assignments. Lawrence’s Stage 1 contamination progressed to Stage 2 before the medical team could stabilize her. She survived but wasn’t fit for fieldwork anymore.

Mitchell simply couldn’t handle the stress after watching me disappear into that aperture not knowing if I’d come back. I couldn’t blame either of them. This job takes a toll that no amount of training can prepare you for.

Denise is still in Facility 7, repeating “Come see,” to anyone who will listen. The medical team says there’s no hope of recovery, but I visit her anyway, once a month. I owe her that much.

She was compromised trying to do the same job I’m doing now. Sometimes I wonder if she’s happier this way, free from fear and doubt and the crushing weight of individual consciousness.

3 months after the northwest sector incident, Mills contacted me about a new breach forming in the Cascade Range. I packed my gear and headed out, knowing that this was my life now.

I’m jumping from one aperture to another, walking through places where reality breaks down, and trying to seal the cracks before they grow too large. I hear the singing sometimes, even when there’s no breach nearby.

The fragments in my mind resonate with others of their kind, letting me sense distortions before they become critical. It makes me valuable to the program, but it also means I’ll never be fully human again. Part of me exists in that space between dimensions, one foot in our reality and one in theirs.

I’ve learned things about the universe that no one else knows. I’ve seen what exists beyond the thin shell we call reality, and I can never unlearn it. I can never go back to believing the world is as simple and stable as it appears.

Code Black was supposed to be the worst-case scenario, the emergency we hoped would never happen. But now I know the truth: Code Black is happening all the time, everywhere. It is contained by people like me who walk through nightmares so everyone else can sleep peacefully in their beds.

Yesterday I learned what a Code Black warning means. Now I live it every single day, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.