Tag: bmcr

  • Fort Wichmann

    Fort Wichmann

    Mission

    In 1918, the USS Cyclops vanished during a voyage from Brazil to Baltimore. After a scheduled stop in Barbados, the vessel was never seen or heard from again.

    Officially, the ship was lost at sea.

    Unofficially, its mission was far more deliberate.

    The USS Cyclops had been tasked with establishing a covert United States military installation at 25° North latitude, 71° West longitude—deep within what would later be known as the Bermuda Triangle.

    At the time, a massive island had risen at those coordinates, likely the result of tectonic activity beneath the Atlantic Plate. How long it had existed before surfacing, or whether it had been observed by other nations, remains unknown. What mattered to U.S. military planners was speed. The island could not be allowed to fall into foreign hands.

    The decision was made: the United States would claim it first.

    All personnel connected to what would later be known as Fort Wichmann assembled in Rio de Janeiro in early February of 1918. The USS Cyclops departed port on February 16. No confirmed transmissions were ever received after that date.

    Captain Worley

    Captain George Worley was born Johan Frederick Wichmann on December 11, 1862, in Sandstedt, Hanover, Germany. He arrived in the United States in 1878 after jumping ship in San Francisco.

    In 1898, he changed his name to George Worley and established himself along San Francisco’s Barbary Coast, where he owned and operated a saloon. There, he developed close ties with sailors, smugglers, and merchants operating at the edges of legality.

    Eventually, Worley returned to the sea.

    He served as master of several merchant vessels and earned a reputation for moving illicit cargo—opium among it—quietly and efficiently. His experience, discretion, and willingness to accept jobs others refused brought him to the attention of the United States Navy.

    When the opportunity arose to command a mission requiring absolute secrecy and moral flexibility, Worley was approached.

    He was never intended to be more than transportation.

    Upon arrival at the island, Captain Worley was executed by Colonel Alistair Vane, the mission’s true commanding officer, who had been embedded among the crew from the outset. The killing was swift, deliberate, and uncontested.

    The island—and later the fort—would bear Wichmann’s name.

    The Crew

    The final complement of the USS Cyclops was deliberately unconventional.

    It included fringe scientists from across the world, many suspected—or known—to have participated in unethical research. Tradesmen were recruited for their skills and their disposability: men in debt, social outcasts, or individuals unlikely to be missed.

    Convicts were selected not for their danger, but for their compliance—offered reduced sentences in exchange for service. Alongside them were military personnel of mixed distinction: some honorable, others disgraced, many motivated by promises of redemption, freedom, or blind patriotism.

    Not all respected Colonel Vane’s authority.

    Enough feared it.

    A small cadre of loyal soldiers ensured discipline, order, and silence during the island’s earliest days.

    These were the people chosen to build Fort Wichmann.

    They were considered replaceable.

    The Facility

    The island itself was vast—far larger than initial surveys suggested—and continued to grow as the military reshaped it. Excavation, dredging, and controlled detonations expanded its usable landmass, reinforcing the belief that the island was not entirely stable.

    Ships arrived at the facility with regularity. Few ever departed.

    Those that did were required to falsify their logs to obscure the island’s location. Officially, many were still part of the ongoing search for the lost USS Cyclops. Other disappearances in the region helped give rise to the legend of the Bermuda Triangle.

    Navy vessels delivered supplies, construction materials, test subjects, and specialized equipment necessary for research and development. Over time, Fort Wichmann expanded into a sprawling black site, quietly siphoning funds through Pentagon channels to ensure its survival beyond official oversight.

    The base housed six top-secret scientific laboratories and a vast military training complex. Research focused on biological weapons, human augmentation, temporal physics, paranormal phenomena, and the anomalous behavior of the surrounding region.

    Strange occurrences were common.

    Hostile non-human entities—commonly referred to in early reports as goblins—inhabited the island’s interior. These man-eating creatures caused persistent casualties and required constant containment operations, shaping both the facility’s defenses and its training doctrine.

    Fort Wichmann Today

    Fort Wichmann remains operational.

    Personnel are rotated through extended deployments under strict non-disclosure agreements. Survivors return to the world carrying pieces of the truth they are never permitted to speak aloud.

    The base now functions as a training and testing ground for elite special forces units and experimental programs. The BMCR initiative, launched in 2004, has completed its first operational iteration. A second class is currently in training.

    As it has since its inception, Fort Wichmann exists at the intersection of science and warfare—striving to remain the pinnacle of both, no matter the cost.

  • Hush part 2

    Thomas lowered his binoculars.

    “Tom!” said Alec, his business partner, “You need to stop obsessing over this girl! We need to get back on track. Sam Walton, himself, wants to talk to you and you only. You made quite the impression on him and if you don’t show up, we may lose our contract.”

    Thomas stared at him. He saw his lips moving, but he couldn’t focus on him right now, he had to watch for Bev to leave the flower shop, where she worked, and then tail her to her next stop…

    Alec shook him. “Tom! Please! I know you don’t care anymore, but please do this for me! We’ve been working on this product for 10 years. It took us 2 years to get any shop to stock our it. This is a chance to be in a growing chain of stores. Walmart has 24 stores! We can make this happen, but I need you to forget her.”

    ‘Forget her…’ Thomas heard that. He stood up and violently ripped Alec’s hand off of him.

    “I love Bev!”

    He wanted to break Alec’s nose. He needed Bev in his life. He wasn’t going to lose to some strange jerk, pretending to be her boyfriend and he wasn’t going to let his business partner get in the way either.

    “If you touch me again, I’ll cut off your hands,” said Thomas.

    Alec fell backwards. “I’m done, Tom. We’re done. You’re not a part of Romo any more. Don’t contact me again.”

    Thomas sat back down on the bench and raised the binoculars back to his eyes. There she was. She just stepped out. This was his chance to get to the bottom of this.

    He stepped up and moved in a crouched walk, his eyes never blinking staring straight ahead at his target. He stayed 20 feet away from her on the opposite sidewalk. She seemed to be heading home.

    He straightened up. People were staring at him. He couldn’t draw any more attention to himself. He had to be stealth. When he got there, he was going to confront Bev and figure out why they weren’t together.

    He was there! Thomas ducked behind a mail box. He peaked over top of it to the stranger standing next to his car staring right at him. Bev reached out to him and he acknowledged her, nodding his head upward. She turned around and saw him too.

    This was not how he wanted things to work out.

    Here he comes. The stranger is walking towards Thomas, his fists clenched. Thomas stood up erect, to his fullest height. He was ready to fight to the death if he had to.

    “What are you doing here?”

    “I have to talk to Bev,” said Thomas, bringing his fists up.

    “She doesn’t want to talk to you. You’re scaring her. If I catch you following her again, I’ll call the cops. This is your last warning.”

    He stood there blocking Thomas’s view. He couldn’t see her! He tried to peer around the man.

    He stepped so close Thomas could smell his laundry detergent.

    “Leave! Right now.”

    Thomas shook. His mind furiously cycling on how to get rid of this brute. He punched him in the chest and turned around and ran. He ran back to the park bench.

    He doubled over, wheezing, fury rising, what was he going to do?

    “Watt kin I do fo you?”

    Thomas let out a yelp and tumbled backwards onto his bottom. A peculiar man sat on the bench. He sounded otherworldly and his garb equally so: he wore a black blazer, studded with spikes on the collar, a black fedora with a leather strap wrapped around with three strands of stone, bone and feathers hanging from it, and a leather strap around his neck, dangling a metal and bone, engraved with weird symbols.

    Worse of all his face. Painted on was a skull that covered his whole face. His lips whitened, as well as his gleaming teeth. He smiled as he tipped his hat towards Thomas.

    Thomas looked around, they were alone. It was eerly odd; the park was never this empty. He seemed to be gathering his wits for the first time in weeks. What was he doing there? What was this man doing there?

    “Watt kin I do fo you?” He continued to smile, more like baring his teeth. Thomas stood up slowly. He didn’t want to take his eyes off this man for fear of being bitten or something worse.

    “I’m not looking for any trouble,” he said.

    “I don bring trouble, my child. I bring opportunity.”

    “I… I don’t want what you have.”

    There was something wrong with this man. He stood up and extended his hand. Thomas did not take it.

    “I kin give you anyting you desire,” he said, “Fo da right price.”

    Thomas hesitated. “What price would I have to pay to have her?”

  • St. Michael Mainstreet

    It was a icy, rainy day, when Father Abraham ducked into Jose’s Quick Trims for a haircut. He shook his black felt hat outside before entering. A little bell dinged as he crossed the threshold and set his hat on a coat rack next to service desk.

    The lady behind the counter smiled. Father smiled back as he pulled his arms out of his coat and hung it on the rack as well.

    “Good evening, Marsha,” he said, “I’m looking to get a trim. How long is the wait?”

    “We have a couple of appointments, but they seem to be running behind,” she said. “My best guess is probably ten minutes at least.”

    “That’s wonderful. I’ll take a seat.”

    Father sat down in a chair across the window. He loved watching the rain smack the pavement outside, the cars bursting through it, the puddles spray and the nervous passersby ducking and jumping the waves of water from under their umbrellas.

    He didn’t want them to get splashed; he just remembered what it was like as a child playing in those streets on days like this. He frolicked in the puddles, but most people didn’t seem to enjoy it as much as he.

    It wasn’t long however until his joy was broken. A message deep inside him awoke a curious horror. He stood up suddenly, face ashen as he focused on the apartment building across the way. There was a deep disturbance inside, something dark and horrible was happening within and he was under the notion that an innocent was involved.

    He hurried to the rack and retrieved his coat and hat. Marsha frowned at his urgency to leave.

    “Sorry, my dear,” he said, mustering a smile, “I just remembered something very important. I will be back tomorrow.”

    He turned and walked out, back into the torrent. Gripping his coat collar, he crossed the street quickly, adhering to the laws as best as possible, however, it wasn’t man’s law he was afraid of at the moment.

    The doorway to the building was made of metal and glass, and next to the door an electric fob prevented non-tenants from entering. Father said a quick prayer, tightly grasping his beads and he heard a click. The door unlock. He whispered a thank you to the sky and ventured onward.

    Inside was dark. The only light was a flickering bulb in the entry way, and more as the hall turned. To his left and right were darkened halls, only illuminated by a single source. The silence was overwhelming, as if there were a tiger in the shadows ready to jump. Father held close his cross, as well as stroked the bottle of holy water he had in his right pocket.

    “Holy Spirit, guide me to where I must go, and bless me with the discernment to act accordingly…”

    He turned to the left. The darkness thickened and that familiar feeling of being stalked kept his wits about him. As he turned the corner, he could hear a growling deep in his gut. He was getting closer. The hall felt stuffy, foggy, and repellent. His mind reached out and touched the innocence; it was close. He only needed to make a few more steps and he would be there.

    Number 6… He touched the door of number 6 and immediately felt the malevolence inside. Again he whispered a prayer and the door unlocked. Without warning, Father Abraham opened the door wide open to find an old woman standing over a cauldron. Surrounding her were cages and cages of animals. It was incredibly loud and he wondered why he couldn’t hear them from outside.

    The smell, as well, was deafening. Urine and feces everywhere. The floor covered in straw, of all things, sandwiching the excrement with the carpet. She seemed not to notice him, until he stepped forward and she suddenly slashed out a cleaver that was in her hand.

    “Who are you!” she hissed. Glaucoma settled in her eyes, deep lines exaggerated her sagging cheeks, her nose red and swollen. She was short, perhaps 4’3″ with gnarly gray hair and whiskers.

    She stepped closer with her cleaver. Father Abraham stood his ground, not out of bravery but because there was some creature breathing down his neck. He felt the wispiness of whiskers behind him, and a guttural growl that sounded almost feline.

    “What are you doing here?”

    Father Abraham swallowed. “I know what you are doing. You have a child in here. I’ve come to take it.”

    “You can’t take him! I found him! He’s mine!”

    “He is not yours. I have under great authority to take him away from you. Either you give him to me of your own free will, or a greater force will intervene.”

    She swiped at him with the knife. He flinched. “Look at you!” she said, cracking a smile, “You’re scareder than a chicken who wandered into a fox den. You’re in luck. No foxes here. Only Mul!”

    Behind him, another sensation, like a large cat tongue raking across the back of his head.

    “Do you think your god can stand up to Mul?”

    With that blasphemy the darkened room and hallway erupted with light and Father Abraham felt the presence of Mul disappear with an angry shriek.

    She as well began to convulse from the light. Dropping her blade, she clasped her ears and closed her eyes, wailing and collapsing to her knees. The sound was awful and mixed with the horrid scent of the apartment, Father Abraham, too, nearly faltered in the brightness.

    Then her heard a baby crying in the next room. He walked past the witch into the kitchen, where he found the baby on the cutting board. She must have been just about to cut him up.

    Not wanting to linger, he scooped up the baby and fled the premises and back to the St. Bartholomew’s Cathedral.

    The parents were never found. Father Abraham reared the child as his own, but this is not the end of that child’s story…

  • ShapeShifter

    You shift so effortlessly

    from human to reptilian.

    When I first met you,

    my heart pounded.

    Your figure rocked so gently,

    like a model, you walked,

    smoothly through the room,

    taking blood and swabbing cheeks.

    I’ll admit your touch was calming…

     

    But then you shifted back to what you are…

    Your brown skin, scaled up like emeralds.

    Your nails curled like claws.

    Your pupils slit like cat’s.

    You tongue…

     

    I’d be lying if I said I hated it,

    But knowing you as something else,

    changing like you did,

    set me on edge…

    Made me fearful for my life.

     

    Reality failed me, and my mind couldn’t recover…

    And now you’re gone… I’ll never have you back.

  • Hush part 1

    Thomas Pipkin felt like he was walking on air. The balls of his feet effortlessly pushed him towards the love of his life. Her house was just a block away, and with a dozen roses in hand, he was about to take her out and share his big news.

    He just made the best sale of his life. Romo Cola was going to be sold at Wal-Mart! It had taken many months of negotiations, but Romo Cola would be raking in lots of money, meaning he’d be raking in lots of money. They’d be set for life!

    He laughed. He couldn’t contain his joy, but as he neared the driveway of her home, he noticed an unusual car. He’d never seen this vehicle before. Perhaps her father had traded his old one…

    He rounded the driveway and stepped up to the door, but just as he was about to knock a gentleman opened the door that Thomas had never seen before. He was holding his love’s hand… and smiling!

    Thomas clenched his fist and struck the man in the face, sending him back inside.

    “Thomas!” shouted the woman, “What are you doing here! This is my house and you are not welcome if you’re going to behave like that!”

    “Who is he, Bev?” said Thomas. “Why is he here?”

    “He’s my boyfriend, Thomas. We’ve been together for a month now.”

    Thomas’s face went from red to white instantly. “I… Thought, you liked me?”

    “Thomas, we had one date, and I wasn’t interested. Why do you think I was always unavailable?”

    She backed away towards her boyfriend. He was rubbing his jaw. Thomas hoped he broke something. The man put his hand down and glared at Thomas. “Please leave. We are going out.”

    Thomas’s knees buckled; he caught himself and absentmindedly stepped aside. He didn’t even notice when the stranger took hold of jacket and guided him to the end of the driveway before taking Bev’s hand and guided her to his car.

    Thomas watched, like it wasn’t even happening, like he was watching a moving picture, the love of his life just drifted away, the licence plate growing and smaller and smaller…

    His knees gave way; he couldn’t catch himself this time. He collapsed on his knees. His hand instinctively reached for the mail box inches away from him. He walked her up that driveway. She smiled at him and said she had a wonderful time… What did he do wrong?

    He had to prove to her that he was worthy. Then she would love him. He pulled himself up and trudged back home.