Seventh Entry

May 18th, 2027

Things have gotten worse. An air of sheer animosity now skulks among the team, as no signs of Zhang have been uncovered. Small groups have formed, two to three people each, as we all watch behind our shoulders. We all wonder who’s gonna be next, after all.

I wish to claim I took no part in that, but me and Riikka have been together most of the time. I sleep on the small couch while she takes my bed, even thought I wish something more.

One positive regarding this entire situation has been the lack of dreams. Ever since the poor nurse went missing, only the time cleaving abyss awaited me every night. Part of me has a churning stomach for feeling good about this, but for the most part if feels like I can properly breath for the first time in ages.

Still, pieces of me can’t help but feel anxious. Once, as a teenager, Uncle Sebastian took me fishing on the open sea. His boat had been his pride and joy for many a decade and he never lost any chance to show it off. I remember how at some point, everything felt wrong, as if the world itself held its breath, hoping to go unnoticed by some predator. Uncle looked to the sky and then hurried to turn the boat around, claiming a storm would be coming, for the calm preceding it had arrived.

Said storm almost destroyed the family home, uprooted trees and caused untold damage.

Right now, I feel like that sometimes. Like the ancient sands around me are trying to go unnoticed, retracting themselves as much as possible. Like an animal that does not want to be seen. Of course, it sounds ridiculous when I say it, but I can’t help but feel this way.

Maybe a few more restful nights would help solve this for me.

May 20th, 2027

Something happened today, of the most urgent kind. I was circling around the fucking rock monument, trying to somehow conjure a way to reveal its secrets, when I heard someone calling.

I had Riikka close by, for none of us have been moving alone on the past few days. I thought she had done it, but the voice didn’t belong to a woman. In fact, it had the tones of a child. Subtle and fleeting, for a moment, I hoped it had been a trick of the mind, yet I knew who had spoken. And when it repeated itself, dread flowed through my veins, freezing the flesh in place.

“Hello, Malik.” [22]

Riikka must have noticed something. Asked if I was alright. I wish I could just laugh it off, place the blame on the tension bubbling among the crew. Instead, I made some poor excuse about a headache, needing to go back earlier. She did not question. She also didn’t enjoy the time spent at the city.

She is sitting on the bed, checking reference materials. The idea of confessing everything, including about Maria and Richard crossed my mind. The notion has been drowned in a very swift manner each time. With my fragile psyche at the moment, I couldn’t bear her eyes showing the same emotions Maria did so many years ago.

I am not to believe in superstitious nonsense, but some of myself prays tomorrow things get better. [23]

May 21st, 2027

The voice continued to torment me. Even now, on the supposed safety of the station, far away from the accursed monstrosity, my heart beats too fast for comfort. I tried to ignore the callings, rationalize it, yet nothing worked.

Riikka has told me to seek Doctor Nawaz for help, even though I told her multiple times I was fine! The poor woman has been overloaded with all that’s been going on and I would hate myself to add to her pains. No, this is just old wounds opening once again, much to my distaste.

I tried listening to loud music, even if it is against safety protocols. Anything to drown the constant chattering from somewhere beyond the edge of vision. The voice drowns the headphones instead.

I looked all over the place, under every accursed piece of rock, wishing nothing more than a chance to bring it all down, finish whatever work the precursors started. But the voice always sounded too far, yet close enough to raise the hairs at the back of my neck. At some point I screamed my lungs out against the planet itself, my microphone turned off so none could hear.

I’m tired. So very tired. I have made no progress, I require heavy meds to sleep and now I must despair even at the waking hours. I am not the only one suffering, that’s true, but that brings me little joy, if any at all.

May 22nd, 2027

Carmello got sick. Found collapsed by his work station, he had been rushed to Doctor Ngwenya for medical aid. The poor medic had been overloaded ever since Zhang disappeared, heavy bags under his eyes and hair a fair bit fairer than before we embarked into this voyage.

Despite Doctor Ngwenya finding now probable cause for whatever happened to him, everyone suspected on the cause, once his bare chest got exposed. His skin had lost most of its luster and color, showing the veins spreading underneath the skin. With each beating of his hearts, a wan, malevolent gleam followed, its sick radiance in a tone that I could not describe in words.

As the team’s biology expert, he’s been studying the strange dark substance oozing from the cracks within the sculpted pieces of the city. We assumed he had taken every precaution on dealing with the alien material, but now I can’t help but wonder if an accident had occurred, one he did not convey to no other. [24]

For now, he has been contained in quarantine, for fear of contaminating everyone else. Everything that came remotely close to the man has been deep cleaned as well, in the hopes it doesn’t spread to others. And the lab has been sealed off, so no one else could come close to the liquid.

Nakamura accused no one in particular of sabotage, poisoning Carmello just like they made Zhang disappear. A heated debate followed, with another physical altercation ending in minor cuts and bruises, with Nakamura breaking a tooth. The paranoia has grown even stronger, with most of us now walking around with some improvised weapon, such as a wrench in my case.

The calm is about to break. And I dread when the storm hits. [25]

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[22] Another classic sign of the subtle manipulation all under the influence of the Monolith undergo, the longer they remain close to it. I hope the Psionics Chapter has implementing countermeasures against it, or any contact could mean our doom.

[23] It is curious how those lacking a strong belief on the supernatural often come up with excuses whenever they demonstrate such behaviors. This has been repeated in all species that came into contact with the Wardens’ remains, which could be a way the ancient artifacts “call” towards other species. It could also explain why our own kind hasn’t encountered one ourselves. This shall require further studies.

[24] Without further biopsies, it is unclear whether these are symptoms related to the Tar or a physical reaction to the constant exposure of the Monolith. Once again, I lament the missed opportunity of finding no living human to perform further testings.

[25] It shouldn’t take long before everything “spirals out of control”, as these primitive beings often said. Once again, the same patterns, the same actions following in the same order. The Ixlyth are nothing if not methodical.

Everything in this document has been fully translated from their original language into High Zatoreny.