Turn 4 Containment Protocol or The Eye Within

[Pale Rider]

The withdrawal was not orderly.

It was survival.

“Fall back! Fall back!” the call cut through steam and static as the team moved in bounding pairs toward the breach point. The flamethrower gave one last punishing sweep across the ceiling, forcing several Eyeballs to recoil long enough for the squad to disengage.

Then the cave answered.

A sharp crack split the air overhead. Superheated stone fractured and rained down in jagged shards. Mark Giosso took the hit shielding the rear element—one slab of rock slamming into his shoulder and chest plate hard enough to drive him to the ground.

He didn’t scream. He just stopped moving.

Two Marines hauled him up under firelight and steam, his arm hanging wrong, blood seeping through the seams of his armor. His vitals spiked, then dipped—pulse erratic, breathing shallow. The retreat became a drag operation.

Behind them, the fog thickened again.
And that’s when Ames stumbled.

PFC Jeremy Ames had been point on the secondary column. No one saw the Eyeball detach. No one heard it land. They only saw him stagger mid-stride, rifle dropping as both hands flew to his helmet.

“Something’s—” he choked.

The team didn’t hesitate this time.

They saw the movement beneath his visor—a slick, shifting mass where his right eye should have been. Blood ran in thin lines from the seal of his helmet. His body convulsed once, violently.

“DOWN HIM!”

A tackle hit him from the side, slamming him into the crater’s fractured stone. Another Marine pinned his arms. Ames fought—not blindly, but with terrifying coordination. His free hand reached for a sidearm with mechanical precision.

The implanted Eyeball snapped its pupil wide, tendrils visibly flexing beneath torn flesh.

“Hold him!”

A rifle butt cracked across his temple. Once. Twice. His body spasmed, then slackened—still breathing, but no longer resisting. The pupil inside his ruined socket continued to move, tracking each Marine individually.

“Zip him.”

Restraints cinched tight around wrists and ankles. A hood was forced over his helmet, duct-taped into place. He began speaking through the comms then—voice steady, calm.

“You are inside the structure.”

It wasn’t Ames’ cadence.

They cut his channel.

Back aboard the dropship, Giosso was rushed straight to cryo. His injuries were catastrophic but not immediately fatal—internal bleeding, collapsed lung, severe blunt trauma. The med-tech stabilized him just long enough to justify suspension. Frost crept across the cryo-tube glass as his vitals slowed into mechanical rhythm.

One casualty frozen between life and death.

Ames was strapped to a containment gurney in the cargo hold. A bag used for collecting samples was fastened over Ames' head to secure the alien lifeform.

Even unconscious, the Eyeball inside him did not close.

Through the smeared blood and fractured visor, the pupil remained wide and aware—studying the interior of the ship, memorizing bulkheads, doors, faces.

And far below, deep within the meteorite’s tunnels, Alpha had retreated to whatever passed for a nest.

The first probe had been costly.

But the invasion vector was secured.


A few minutes later on board the command vessel.
The cargo bay lights dimmed as medical lockdown engaged.
Ames didn’t struggle during transport.
Four Marines carried the restraint gurney down the central passage toward the lab module, boots striking deck plating in tight cadence. The hood over his helmet was damp now—blood and condensation soaking into the fabric. Beneath it, something moved.
Slow. Intentional.
Pope was already inside the lab when they arrived, sleeves rolled, expression clinical. The Quarantine Container stood prepped in the center of the room—a reinforced transparent polyceramic cylinder with internal atmospheric control, negative-pressure filtration, and independent life-support feeds. Designed for biological containment. Rated for Xenoform exposure.

“On my mark,” Pope said evenly. “Remove the hood. Keep his head stabilized.”

The restraints were transferred from gurney to containment cradle. Ames’ vitals flickered on the monitor—pulse steady.

Too steady.

The hood came off.

There was no mistaking it.

The right eye socket was no longer human. The Eyeball sat fully embedded, swollen slightly as if acclimated to the cranial cavity. Veins radiated outward beneath torn flesh, thin tendrils visibly threading deeper along the orbital ridge. The pupil tracked Pope immediately.

Focused.

Aware.

Ames’ left eye rolled toward the doctor, unfocused but wet with tears.

“Seal the chamber.”

The container closed with a pneumatic hiss. Magnetic locks engaged. Internal atmosphere shifted to controlled isolation—slightly oxygen-reduced, humidity lowered, temperature dropped by two degrees. If the organism favored heat and moisture, Pope intended to deny both.

Inside the chamber, Ames’ body twitched once.

Then his mouth moved.

“You cannot remove us,” he said, voice calm, perfectly modulated. “You are inside the structure.”

Pope didn’t respond to the statement. He adjusted a dial on the control panel instead. The interior lights brightened abruptly—full-spectrum, high-intensity.

The Eyeball reacted instantly.

The pupil contracted to a pinprick. A translucent membrane slid partially across its surface. Micro-movements rippled beneath the torn tissue, tendrils tightening deeper into the skull.

“Photoreactive,” Pope murmured into the recorder. “Neurological integration appears complete. Host motor control partially overridden.”

Ames’ hands strained weakly against the restraints, not in panic—but testing tension.

On the monitor, subtle neural spikes registered along the optic pathway.

And then something new.

A faint signal fluctuation on short-range comm frequencies.

Low amplitude.

Periodic.

The Eyeball inside Ames wasn’t just surviving.
It was transmitting.

Pope looked at the containment cylinder, eyes narrowing.
“Increase EM shielding,” he ordered quietly. “Now.”

Tag <Devil Dawgs>

[eyeball]

The withdrawal had been a shambles but they had mostly made it and now even at terrible cost they might have a sample.
after telling fenrir to take a few to reload and grab some food, Paulson now looked through the medical observation window at the proceedure. it pained him to see a fallen commrade treated this way but who new if they removed the eyeball would he have some chance at recovery? somehow paulson doubted it.

[Pale Rider]

Inside the Quarantine Container, Ames had been still long enough to feel like a corpse.

Then his fingers twitched.

Slowly, he pushed himself upright. His movements were wrong—too stiff at first, like a puppet relearning its strings. He swayed once, caught himself on the glass, and pressed his forehead against it.

A soft whimper escaped him.

“It… it won’t stop.”

His left eye was swollen and red, tears spilling freely. The right socket—slick with dried blood—shifted as the Eyeball rolled outward, focusing through the transparent barrier. The pupil contracted sharply in the lab light, then widened again, searching.

“It’s in there,” Ames whispered. “It’s in my head.”

He began to rock gently, palms dragging down the inside of the container with a faint squeal of skin against polyceramic. His breathing quickened—short, panicked pulls.

“It keeps opening,” he said, voice trembling. “It keeps looking. I can feel it looking.”

The Eyeball blinked.

Not in sync with him.

Independent.

Ames gasped sharply and clawed at the right side of his face, nails scraping over the embedded orb. He screamed when he touched it—not in rage, but in raw, animal pain.

“It sees when I close my eye,” he sobbed. “It sees even when I don’t want it to. I can’t make it dark. I can’t make it stop.”

His head snapped slightly to one side—too far, too fast—then eased back as if corrected from within. A faint ripple passed beneath the torn flesh around the socket. The Eyeball rotated deliberately, studying the room beyond the glass.

“It’s talking,” Ames whispered.

His tone changed—not possessed, not booming—just layered. Like he was struggling to speak over someone else murmuring inside his skull.

“It says I’m warm. It likes that I’m warm.”

His fingers dug into his scalp now, as if trying to peel his own skull open.

“It says I’m a door.”

The rocking grew more frantic. His breath fogged the glass in uneven bursts.

“I can feel the little wires,” he whimpered. “They’re pushing deeper. Every time I think about home it tightens. Every time I get scared it tightens.”

The Eyeball dilated wide again, almost swallowing the colored iris entirely.

Ames’ mouth split into a smile that didn’t belong to him.

Then he began to cry harder.

“Please,” he begged hoarsely, voice cracking into something small and childlike. “Make it close. Make it close its eye. It won’t blink when I scream.”

He slammed the side of his head once against the glass. Not enough to fracture it—just enough to rattle himself.

“It won’t blink,” he repeated, rocking. “It won’t blink. It won’t blink.”

He staggered forward again, pressing both palms flat against the glass, fingers splayed as if trying to push through it. His breathing hitched into ragged sobs.
“Lance Corporal …” he whimpered hoarsely, voice breaking down to something raw and terrified. “Paulson, please… please don’t leave me in here. You always said we would make it back. Help me please! I want to see my family again!"
His left eye searched desperately beyond the barrier, trying to lock onto a familiar silhouette. The Eyeball turned a fraction slower—then snapped into alignment, pupil fixing on the same point.
“I can hear it laughing when you walk away,” Ames choked. “It tells me you won’t come back. It says you’re safer if I stay in here. It says you’ll listen if I scream louder.”
His hand slid down the glass, leaving a streak of diluted blood and condensation.
“You always said you’d get us home,” he whispered, voice trembling into something small and pleading. “You told me to stick close and you’d watch my six. I’m right here. I’m still right here.”
The Eyeball dilated wide, unblinking.
“Please,” Ames sobbed. “Make it stop looking at you like that.”

<Tag Paulson>

[Corporal Hicks]

They made it back to the ship. Troy felt the intense pressure starting to diminish, but it felt a bit like falling, and he steadied himself with a hand on the nearest bulkhead. He looked down at the floor, breathing hard and forcing down the nausea. Finally, he stood up and looked around. What remained of his squad was standing nearby.

Along with the others, Hooper peeked in to see the quarantined body of Ames. Then it started to talk. It was too horrific to stand, so Troy turned tail and got out of there. He knew death was a possibility, and he accepted the risk. But right now, the thought of losing control and turning into something else was too much to bear. He fell into a sprawled sitting pose in a corner of the hallway and covered his face with gloved hands. The tears streamed through his fingers as he silently wept, unable to keep in the fear, anger, and stress. His chest heaved with sobs, but he managed to keep the sound in.

[SpectralDragon87]

A few beats after Hooper turned to leave Alvarez followed. She walked slowly to give him time but when she finally caught up with him she didn't look down at him just paused looking down the hall. "I am fixing to hit the gym until debrief. I always found it a nice way to channel my emotions and to think." She says before she continues down the hall towards the showers and the gym.

<Tag Hooper>

[Corporal Hicks]

The voice of Alvarez cut through the painful fog of Hooper's mind. He had pissed her off, he knew that, but she was giving him a break. And she gave him a chance to pretend he never cried. That was good. He got control of himself, wiped his face vigorously, and rose to his feet. He pushed off the wall a few times with his hands, like he was doing sideways pushups. 'Time to man up, idiot,' he thought to himself. He rolled his shoulders twice, then followed her toward the gym.
<Tag Alvarez>

[eyeball]

Paulson couldn't think straight, emotions were tearing through him, the begging and pleading were cutting him right to his core. what could they do? they had all witnessed the takeover of their fellow marine in the tunell system, there could be no doubt that the threat was real and massive, but now here Ames still seemed to be himself.
could they anethetise him or cryostore him so he posed no threat? could the infection be removed or had it so completely invaded his brain as to become inseperable?
As paulson contemplated these things Ames continued to plead there had to be a humain option something that could keep ames as himself or atleast alive without risking the ship.
finally Paulson couldn't take it any longer, with tear streaming down his face he turned off the intercom so he couldn't hear Ames any more. he opened a channel to the medical team "can you sedate or cryo freeze?" he inqured, if the answer was no Paulson had no idea where to go from there, the brig seemed very harsh but it maybe the only choice.
slowly and with an extremly heavy heart Paulson left medical.

[Pale Rider]

The moment the intercom cut, Ames’ voice dropped into silence mid-plea.

For three seconds he stood motionless, palms still pressed against the glass.

Then his breathing changed.

The trembling stopped first. The hitching sobs flattened into smooth, controlled inhalations. His left eye blinked rapidly—confused, hurt—but the right socket shifted with deliberate calm.

The Eyeball rotated toward the darkened speaker grille.

Ames’ lips parted slowly.

“You muted me.”

No panic now. No crying.

Just observation.

His head tilted slightly as if listening to something far deeper than the room.

“He cannot hear,” he murmured to himself—or to something else. “Emotional stimulus removed.”

The left eye welled with tears again, but the muscles beneath it were no longer shaking.

Then, softly—almost thoughtfully:

“Adapt.”

His body straightened fully. Shoulders squared. The Eyeball dilated wide, studying the lab ceiling, the corners of the room, the ventilation seams.
When he spoke again, the tone was eerily gentle.

“He thinks freezing stops growth,” Ames whispered. “Cold slows tissue. Not the signal.”

His hand traced the inside of the container wall.

“If sedated, integration continues. Slower. But deeper.”

The left eye twitched violently at that—like a man trapped inside his own skull.

Then the pleading returned suddenly, violently, as if flipped back on.

“Staff! Please! I didn’t mean it—I didn’t mean what I said—don’t shut me out!”

But the timing was wrong.

The rhythm was learned.

And beneath the sobbing, the implanted pupil remained perfectly steady.

Pope didn’t answer immediately.

He reviewed the neuro-readouts scrolling across his monitor. Synaptic activity around the orbital entry point was increasing—fine filament spread mapping deeper into the frontal cortex.

Finally, he keyed his mic.

“Yes. We can sedate him.”

A pause.

“But sedation will not remove the organism. It will not stop integration. At best, it reduces host resistance.”

He adjusted a scan overlay—vascular mapping now glowing red around the optic canal.

“Cryogenic suspension is possible. However, cryo preserves biological state. It does not sterilize it. Whatever neural penetration exists at freeze point will resume upon thaw.”

Another pause—measured, clinical.

“If we freeze him now, we are freezing the parasite with him. If we wait, we freeze something more entrenched.”

He zoomed in further. Micro-filament signatures flickered near the optic chiasm.

“As of this moment, surgical removal remains theoretically possible. The window is narrowing.”

His tone did not rise. It never did.

“If we delay, removal becomes fatal.”

A final beat.

“Containment in the brig is viable but only if we assume behavioral control will deteriorate. He has already demonstrated adaptive emotional manipulation.”

The last line was quieter.

“I recommend immediate decision-making. The organism is learning.”

<Tag Paulson>

[eyeball]

Paulson took in what pope had said even if he had bearly heard it. "ok anethatise and try to remove if we cant get it all just dont wake him up, god knows i wouldn't want to." he tried to be as emotionless as possible, calm and calculated but it wasn't working what ever this thing was becoming it was still currently his friend and collegue. the only thing he could think of doing is keeping it as pain free as possible.

he opened a message comms in typed format to pope as the organism seemed to be hearing eveything. "if it all goes wrong make sure the body is burned we definately don't want this spreading and it seemed to react in anegative way to fire at least at first."

[Pale Rider]

The surgical lights burned white over the operating cradle.

Ames was unconscious now, sedatives finally overpowering the convulsions that had wracked him minutes earlier. His restraints remained locked anyway. Pope wasn’t taking chances.

The containment chamber had been opened only after the surgical field was sealed and negative pressure engaged. Cold sterile air washed across the lab as Pope began the orbital incision.

The Eyeball reacted instantly.

Even sedated, Ames’ body spasmed the moment the scalpel touched the tissue around the socket. The implanted orb dilated wide, its pupil snapping toward the surgical lights like an animal caught in a trap.

“Hold him.”

Assistants pinned Ames’ shoulders as Pope widened the incision. Beneath the surface, thin black filaments were visible—tendrils burrowing through the optic canal and spreading like roots.

“Jesus…” someone whispered.

The Eyeball tried to retract.

It couldn’t.

Pope clamped the organism with microforceps and began the slow extraction.

The monitors exploded with alarms.

Ames’ heart rate spiked. Neural activity surged across the scan displays as the tendrils tightened violently. The organism was fighting to stay embedded.

“Neural spikes on the optic channel—Pope, it’s reacting!” P03 Kenji Sato swore as he relayed the information.

“Stay with me,” Pope muttered, though Ames could not hear him.

The first tendril snapped free.

A monitor started blaring, PO3 Sato, quickly silenced the alarm. ”“Vitals dropping!”

Blood flooded the cavity immediately.

“Corpsman, suction!” Pope calmly ordered HM2 Velez

Another filament tore loose, whipping back like a severed nerve. Ames’ entire body arched off the table as the surgical team struggled to keep him pinned.

“Almost—”

Then the third root tore.

The Eyeball came free.

It dropped into the containment tray with a wet, convulsing twitch.

But the monitors did not stabilize.

Neural activity continued to spike inside Ames’ brain. The scans showed the problem immediately—microscopic filaments still threaded deeper into the optic pathway, too fine and too far embedded to extract without opening the skull.

The organism on the tray writhed once.

Then burst.

A thin black fluid splattered against the containment shield as the parasite died.
Silence fell over the room except for the slow beeping of Ames’ heart monitor.

He was alive.

But when Pope checked the neural scans again, the truth became clear.

Tiny residual tendrils remained inside the brain tissue.

Dead… or dormant.

There was no way to be certain.

Ames’ right eye socket was empty now.
But something of the parasite was still inside him.

”We need to drop him in Cryosleep. He will need further neurological surgery. This is above my paygrade. But I must admit this was quite fascinating.” With that Pope, exits the operating facility and leaves Ames in the care of one of the humans who assisted in the procedure. HM2 Dana Velez, had been Pope's primary aid and had assisted in the actual surgical procedure while Petty Officer 3rd Class Kenji Sato had overseen the medical systems (medical scanners, 02 saturation levels, heart rate, and the neural imaging).

PO1 Calvin Grant and PO2 Darren Kline escorted them to the location where Ames would be placed Cryosleep and PO1 Grant and PO2 Kline would take turns maintaining a security presence until they were heading back to home base. Then Pope and the system would be responsible for making certain the ship and crew were secure until they could hand Ames off.

<Tag All Present>

[Pale Rider]

Alpha – Signal Loss

Deep in the narrow tunnels beneath the meteorite’s surface, Alpha paused.

Kal Skirata’s body had been moving with steady purpose through the humid passages when the signal simply… vanished.

The connection to the other Eyeball—Beta—cut out without warning.

For several seconds Alpha remained perfectly still. Kal’s borrowed chest rose and fell slowly as the organism behind his eye processed the absence. The faint neural rhythm it had been sensing through the stone—Beta’s presence, its observations, its progress—was gone.

Not distant.

Gone.

The pupil in Skirata’s stolen eye widened.

Alpha turned its head toward the direction of the surface tunnels, listening through senses that were not entirely human. The meteorite’s interior hummed softly with organic resonance, but the second signal did not return.

Something had happened to Beta.

The organism inside Skirata’s skull tightened its grip on the host nervous system, tendrils flexing deeper along the spine. The body shuddered once as Alpha adjusted control.
Then the head tilted upward toward the distant surface.
The humans had interfered.

The Eyeball studied the tunnels ahead—routes, chambers, fissures leading upward through the living stone. Somewhere above, the others waited. And now the network was incomplete.

Alpha began to move again.

Faster this time.

Not wandering.

Searching.