Side Story 15: The Night Everything Changed (Patreon)

James "Jimmy" Larson

Private James "Jimmy" Larson had enlisted in the military with high hopes and aspirations. Assigned to Area 51, the most secretive and enigmatic base in the world, he had thought his days would be filled with classified missions, advanced technology, and perhaps even the occasional sighting of a UFO. But tonight was different. Tonight would be a night he would never forget.

The base had been bustling with activity lately. Larson had noticed increased security drills and whispered conversations among the higher-ups. The base's usual secrecy seemed to be in overdrive. He had even caught glimpses of white-coated scientists hustling in and out of buildings, their faces tense with urgency.

However, tonight was different. As Larson moved through his patrol, he noticed a significant decrease in personnel. It was as if the base was holding its breath, bracing for an imminent event. A palpable sense of anticipation hung in the air, and Larson couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to unfold.

The desert air was cool and crisp as Larson patrolled the perimeter of Area 51. The night was unusually quiet, except for the occasional sand rustle blown by the gentle wind. Larson adjusted his night-vision goggles, scanning the horizon for any signs of movement. The base had been on high alert recently, though the reasons were above his pay grade.

As he rounded the northern sector, he felt a strange sensation, almost like an electric charge in the air. It was initially subtle, but it grew stronger with each passing minute. He dismissed it as static from his gear, a common enough occurrence in the desert.

As Larson continued his patrol, a fierce sandstorm began to pick up, the air thick with swirling grains of sand. He pulled his scarf up over his nose and mouth, the wind howling and carrying the sand in violent gusts that stung his skin and obscured his vision. The storm was relentless, testing his endurance and resolve.

Hours into the storm, just when Larson thought it would never end, he saw what he could only describe as an electric, colorful light show piercing through the haze of sand. Bright flashes of blue, green, and mostly purple danced in the distance, casting an otherworldly glow on the storm. He became transfixed, momentarily overwhelmed by awe, which overpowered the harsh conditions around him. He even thought he heard the occasional sound of somebody singing, but he dismissed it as his mind playing tricks on him.

Then, without warning, everything went dark. The lights vanished, and the only thing left was the howling of the sandstorm. Larson's radio died. He tapped it, but there was no response. "Great, just what I needed," he muttered, shaking the device in frustration.

Before he could process what was happening, something hit him in the chest. The impact was mild, more surprising than painful. Darkness closed in as he lost consciousness, collapsing into the sand.

When Larson awoke, the sun was already high in the sky. His head throbbed, and his mouth felt dry. He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes, trying to piece together what had happened. Around him, other soldiers were stirring, their expressions mirroring his confusion. A thick layer of sand covered each soldier.

"What the hell happened?" muttered Corporal Jenkins, who was lying a few feet away, rubbing his temples and brushing sand off his face.

Larson stood up unsteadily, his muscles protesting. "I don't know, but it felt like we were all drugged or something. And where did all this sand come from?"

As he looked around, he noticed the base was eerily silent. The usual hum of generators, the distant chatter of personnel, and the beeping of electronic equipment were all absent. It was as if the sandstorm that had enveloped them had silenced the entire base.

Larson's hand instinctively went to his side, reaching for his weapon. His heart skipped a beat when he realized his M4 carbine was missing. Panic surged through him as he frantically scanned the ground around him, hoping it had merely been buried under the sand. But it was nowhere to be found.

"Guys, my M4 is gone!" he shouted, his voice tinged with alarm.

The other soldiers quickly checked their own gear, and a collective murmur of distress spread through the group as more of them discovered their weapons were missing too.

"Mine's gone too," Jenkins said, his voice now filled with anxiety. "What the hell is going on?"

Sergeant Doyle, usually a pillar of composure, looked visibly shaken as he joined the group, his rifle also missing. "This isn't just a sandstorm," he said gravely. "Someone or something did this to us. We need to figure out what happened and find our weapons, fast."

The soldiers exchanged worried glances, the reality of their situation sinking in. They were unarmed, disoriented, and vulnerable in an eerily silent base buried in sand. Larson felt a knot of fear tighten in his stomach as they began to search the area, hoping to uncover some clue about the mysterious events that had left them defenseless.

Larson and a few others made their way to the main building, where they found a scene of utter chaos. Soldiers and scientists were running around frantically, shouting orders and trying to get equipment to work. The computers were dead, radios were silent, and even vehicles refused to start.

"What's going on?" Larson asked Sergeant Rodriguez, who was trying to open a stuck door manually.

Rodriguez looked up, his face a mix of frustration and fear. "Everything's down, Larson. All the electronics are fried. It's like a damn EMP went off."

Larson's mind raced. An EMP? That would explain the blackout and the dead electronics, but who or what could have caused it? And why?

As the day wore on, Larson learned bits and pieces of what had happened the night before. Rumors were flying around the base, each more outlandish than the last. But the most persistent one was that they held an alien captive in one of the underground facilities, and it somehow escaped.

Larson scoffed at the idea. "Aliens? Really? Next, they'll be telling us it was Bigfoot."

But then he overheard a conversation between two scientists that made his blood run cold.

"We need to contain the situation before it gets out," one of them said urgently. "If the public finds out we had an extraterrestrial being here and it escaped, there will be mass panic."

Larson's mind reeled. Extraterrestrial? Could it be true? He had always thought the stories about Area 51 were just myths and conspiracy theories. But now, it seemed there was some truth to them.

Determined to get to the bottom of it, Larson explored the underground facility. He knew it was risky, but he had to know the truth. He found an entrance that someone likely left ajar during the chaos of the previous night.

As he descended into the depths of the base, he felt a growing sense of unease. The facility was completely dark, so he had to use a glow stick to see; the small light casting eerie shadows on the walls. He moved cautiously, aware that he could be trespassing into highly restricted areas.

Eventually, he reached a heavily secured door with a small window. Peering inside, he saw a room filled with strange equipment and signs of a struggle. Scattered tools lay on the floor.

Larson's heart pounded in his chest. This must be where they kept the alien. But how had it escaped? And where was it now?

Returning to the surface, Larson found his direct commander, Second Lieutenant Harper, in a heated discussion with several high-ranking officers. Larson waited for them to finish before approaching.

"Sir, Private Larson reporting," he said, snapping to attention.

Harper looked at him wearily. "What is it, Larson?"

"Sir, I think I found the holding cell where the alien was kept. It looks like there was a struggle. What exactly are we dealing with here?"

Harper sighed and motioned for Larson to follow him. They walked to a more secluded area where they could speak privately.

"Larson, what I'm about to tell you is classified beyond top secret. Understand?"

Larson nodded, his heart racing.

"We were holding a being of extraterrestrial origin. It arrived through a portal in the Nellis Air Force Base. We've been studying it for months. Last night, something triggered a massive release of energy—unlike anything we've seen before. This energy disrupted all our electronics and allowed the alien to escape."

Larson's mind struggled to process the information. "So, you're saying this energy killed all the electronics?"

Harper nodded grimly. "Yes. And we believe the alien may have allies who used this energy to free it. Our priority is to locate the alien and any accomplices before they cause further damage."

They assigned Larson to one of the search teams. Armed with non-electronic equipment—compasses, maps, and manually operated radios—they began combing the desert for any signs of the alien or its rescuers.

The search was arduous and frustrating. The desert was vast, and without electronic aids, tracking was nearly impossible. Days turned into nights, and the tension among the soldiers grew. There were occasional false alarms—coyotes mistaken for aliens, shadows playing tricks on tired eyes—but no concrete leads.

It was as if they had vanished into thin air, leaving only the chaos and mystery behind. The alien and its allies had escaped without a trace, leaving the base in disarray and its personnel grappling with the implications of what had occurred.

Staff Sergeant Jake Hawkins

Staff Sergeant Jake Hawkins had seen his share of strange occurrences during his ten-year career in the Air Force, but nothing could have prepared him for the events that unfolded on the night of March 11, 2031, at Area 51.

Jake had always prided himself on his ability to maintain composure under pressure. His steady nerves and quick thinking earned him a reputation as a reliable soldier who could be counted on when things got dicey. But as he stood guard outside Hangar 18 on that fateful night, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

The first sign of trouble came when the wind picked up unexpectedly. Jake had grown accustomed to the harsh desert conditions of Nevada, but this was different. The air seemed to crackle with an otherworldly energy, and the wind howled with an intensity he had never experienced before.

"Thompson," Jake called out to his fellow guard, "you ever seen anything like this?"

Private First Class Eric Thompson, a fresh-faced recruit barely out of basic training, shook his head. "No, sir. This ain't natural."

As if on cue, the sky darkened, and sand whipped through the air with increasing ferocity. Within minutes, visibility dropped to near zero, and Jake could barely make out Thompson's silhouette just a few feet away.

"We need to get inside!" Jake shouted over the roar of the wind. "This is turning into a full-blown sandstorm!"

They struggled against the howling wind, finally securing themselves inside the hangar. As they caught their breath, Jake's radio crackled to life.

"All personnel, this is Colonel Emerson. We have a Code Red situation. I repeat, Code Red. All security teams report to your designated stations immediately."

Jake and Thompson exchanged worried glances. Code Red meant a potential breach of their most sensitive areas. Without a word, they hurried to their assigned post near the high-security detention area.

The base was in a state of high alert for the next hours. The sandstorm raged outside, but inside, an eerie calm settled over the facility. Jake couldn't shake the feeling that this was the calm before an even bigger storm.

He was right.

Two hours after the sandstorm began, every electronic device on the base suddenly went dead. The lights flickered and died, plunging them into total darkness. Jake reached for his radio to report the situation, but it was dead. A chill ran down his spine as he realized that every piece of electronic equipment he had on him had suddenly stopped working.

"Thompson!" he yelled. "We need to check on the prisoner!"

They fumbled their way through the dark corridors. As they approached the detention area, they heard a commotion. Shouts and the sound of a scuffle echoed through the hallway.

When they reached the cell, Jake lit a lighter, and his blood ran cold. The door was open, and inside, two guards lay unconscious on the floor. The political prisoner they had been holding was gone. Without hesitation, Jake ran out of the detention area and went looking around the base. He felt something hit him, and everything went black.

Jake woke up in the morning with a dry mouth, covered in sand. Sand blanketed the entire base. As he struggled to get his bearings, a voice called, "Hawkins!" Jake turned to see Captain Sarah Martinez, her usually immaculate uniform now disheveled and sand-stained, striding towards him. "Report, Sergeant. What happened here?"

Jake snapped to attention despite his disorientation. "Ma'am, I... I'm not sure. There was a sandstorm, unlike anything I'd ever seen. Then everything went dark, and I lost consciousness. I've just come to, and it seems like all our equipment is down."

Martinez's face was grim. "It's not just our equipment, Sergeant. Nothing on this base is working. No vehicles, no computers, no communications. We're completely cut off."

Jake's hand instinctively went to his side, searching for the reassuring weight of his M4 carbine. His heart sank when he felt nothing but emptiness. "Ma'am, my M4 is gone," he said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

Captain Martinez's expression darkened further. "Check your gear, all of you!" she ordered, turning to the other soldiers who were beginning to stir. A chorus of anxious voices confirmed Jake's worst fears as more soldiers discovered their weapons were missing too.

"Mine's gone too," Private Thompson called out, his voice shaking. "What the hell is going on?"

Martinez clenched her jaw, her eyes scanning the sand-covered base. "This isn't just a sandstorm," she said, echoing Jake's earlier thoughts. "Someone or something did this to us. We need to find our weapons and figure out what happened, fast."

As the gravity of the situation sank in, Jake felt a knot form in his stomach. Area 51 was one of the most secure and technologically advanced military installations in the world. It was almost inconceivable to imagine that it could render powerless overnight.

"What are your orders, ma'am?" Jake asked, falling back on protocol in the face of uncertainty.

"For now, we need to account for all personnel and assess the damage," Martinez replied. "I want you to gather a team and start a sweep of the base. Report anything unusual directly to me."

Jake nodded and set off to carry out his orders. As he moved through the base, the extent of the disruption became clear. Everywhere he looked, soldiers and civilian personnel were trying to cope with the sudden loss of technology. In the mess hall, cooks struggled to prepare meals without functioning appliances. The medical staff frantically tried to treat injuries without electricity and keep sensitive medications cool without refrigeration. And in every office and laboratory, researchers and analysts sat idle, unable to access their data or continue their work.

When Jake arrived at the courtyard, he found it packed with soldiers and civilian staff, all wearing expressions of confusion and concern. Colonel Frank Emerson, the base commander, stood at the center, his face etched with grim determination.

"Listen up, people," Emerson began, his voice carrying across the crowd. "I know you all have questions, and I'll do my best to answer them. At approximately 01:00 hours last night, our base was hit by what we believe to be some electromagnetic pulse. This pulse has rendered all of our electronic equipment inoperable."

A murmur ran through the crowd, but Emerson held up his hand for silence. "We are currently cut off from outside communication and support. Our priority now is to secure the base, account for all personnel, and... sensitive materials, including our missing weapons."

Jake noticed the slight hesitation in the Colonel's voice and felt a chill run down his spine. He thought of the empty containment chamber and wondered just how "sensitive" those materials might be.

Emerson continued, "We have managed to get some short-range radios working, but they're limited. We'll operate on a need-to-know basis until we can establish contact with our superiors and receive further orders. In the meantime, given the circumstances, I expect everyone to carry out their duties to the best of their abilities. Dismissed."

Jake felt a tap on his shoulder as the crowd dispersed. He turned to see Captain Martinez. "Hawkins, I need you to come with me," she said in a low voice. "There's something you need to see."

Jake followed Martinez across the base to a nondescript building he had passed a hundred times but never entered. Inside, they descended a flight of stairs into a dimly lit corridor. At the end was a heavy metal door with a sign that read "Authorized Personnel Only."

Martinez punched a code on the keypad next to the door, then frowned when nothing happened. She sighed and pulled out a key from her pocket. "Guess we're doing this the old-fashioned way," she muttered as she unlocked the door manually.

The room beyond overflowed with filing cabinets and shelves stacked with folders. Martinez walked to one cabinet, unlocked it, and pulled out a thick file. She handed it to Jake. "Read this," she said. "It's time you knew what we're dealing with here."

Jake opened the file and read. His eyes widened as he took in the information. The file contained reports and detailed renderings of strange symbols on a parchment. There were accounts of interrogations with beings not of this Earth, an analysis of materials with properties that defied known science, and plans for integrating this advanced technology into military applications.

"This... this can't be real," Jake stammered, looking up at Martinez.

"It's all real, Sergeant," she replied grimly. "And what's more, the being we had in containment – the one that escaped during last night's incident – it's not just any alien. It's what we call a Traveler."

"A Traveler?" Jake asked, his mind reeling from the revelations.

Martinez nodded. "According to what we've learned, Travelers are beings capable of moving between different dimensions or realities. The one we had captured was our key to unlocking that ability for ourselves. And now it's gone."

Jake felt like the ground was shifting beneath his feet. Everything he thought he knew about the world, his duty, and the very nature of reality was being turned on its head. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked.

"Because we need people we can trust, people who can handle the truth," Martinez replied. "What happened last night wasn't just a freak occurrence or a terrorist attack. It was a rescue mission. Someone, or something, came for our Traveler. And they used technology or abilities far beyond anything we've ever seen to do it."

Jake's mind flashed back to the unnatural sandstorm, the sudden failure of all electronics. "So what do we do now?" he asked.

"Now," Martinez said, her voice stern, "we prepare. Whatever or whoever took our Traveler, they've shown their hand. They know about us, and they have the power to cripple our most secure facility. This isn't over, Sergeant. It's just the beginning."

Jake learned bits and pieces of what had happened in the chaos that followed. They held the Traveler, a being from another world, captive for months. The base's scientists had been studying him, trying to understand his abilities and the technology they gathered from previous prisoners.

But when the power failed, so did the force field that had been suppressing his abilities. Then, during the confusion of the blackout, someone—or something—had breached the base's defenses and extracted the Traveler.

As Jake helped secure the base and assess the damage, he couldn't help but feel that this was just the beginning of something much bigger. The world as he knew it had changed forever, and he was right in the middle of it.

Over the next few days, Jake found himself thrust into a world he never knew existed. As one of the few soldiers who now knew about the true nature of Area 51's research, he received the task of helping to secure what remained of their extraterrestrial data.

The base slowly adapted to its new, powerless state. The base slowly adapted to its new, powerless state as they rigged up generators to provide minimal electricity for essential operations. However, the damage caused by the mysterious pulse was permanent. The computers remained dead, the advanced security systems were reduced to manual locks and guards, and the once-bustling research labs fell silent.

Jake worked tirelessly, helping to catalog and secure the physical files that now represented the total of their alien research. But even as he worked, his mind was elsewhere, grappling with the implications of what he had learned.

One evening, about a week after the incident, Jake sat alone on the roof of one barrack, staring up at the star-filled desert sky. The vastness of space seemed different now, filled with both wonder and threat.

"Hell of a view, isn't it?" a voice said behind him. Jake turned to see Colonel Emerson walking towards him.

"Yes, sir," Jake replied, starting to stand, but Emerson waved him back down and sat beside him.

"At ease, Sergeant. I think we're a bit past formalities at this point, don't you?" Emerson said with a wry smile. "Captain Martinez tells me you've been handling the revelations about our work here remarkably well."

Jake nodded slowly. "I'm still processing it all, sir. It's... a lot to take in."

Emerson chuckled humorlessly. "That it is, son. That it is." He was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "You know, when I first took command of this base, I thought I was prepared for anything. Turns out, 'anything' has a way of surprising you."

"Sir," Jake began hesitantly, "what happens now? I mean, with everything we've lost..."

Emerson turned to look at him, his face illuminated by the moonlight. "We adapt, Sergeant. We learn. And we prepare. Because, make no mistake, this was just the opening move in a game we don't fully understand yet."

He stood up, brushing sand from his uniform. "Get some rest, Hawkins. Tomorrow, we start rebuilding. And this time, we'll be ready for whatever comes next."

In the following days, Jake found himself thrust into debriefings and strategy meetings. The brass was desperate to understand what had happened and how to prevent it from happening again. But as Jake recounted the events of that night repeatedly, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing the bigger picture.

One day, as Jake reviewed the surveillance footage from the holding cell for what felt like the hundredth time, something caught his eye. He leaned in closer, his heart racing.

In the moments before the power failure, the alien had been watching the television in his cell. The television in his cell played a channel that showed old cartoons — Bugs Bunny, Road Runner, and the like. And the alien had been laughing.

It was such a human reaction that it took Jake's breath away. This being from another world, with abilities they could barely comprehend, had found joy in the simple pleasure of Earth's animated entertainment.

Jake rushed to share his discovery with the rest of the team. It might seem small, but it was a crucial puzzle piece. It showed that despite their differences, there was common ground between humans and the Traveler.

Colonel Emerson called Jake into his office one evening. The colonel looked haggard, dark circles under his eyes betraying the sleepless nights he'd endured since the breach.

"Hawkins," Emerson said, his voice gruff with fatigue, "I need you to level with me. What's your take on all this?"

Jake hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "Sir, I think we're looking at this all wrong. We're so focused on how the Traveler escaped that we're not asking why he was here in the first place."

Emerson leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "Go on."

"Well, sir," Jake continued, feeling more confident, "we've been treating the Traveler like a prisoner, a subject to be studied. But what if he's more than that? What if he's a messenger of some kind?"

The colonel was silent for a long moment, his fingers drumming on the desk. Finally, he spoke. "You might be onto something, Hawkins. We've been so caught up in our agenda that we never considered the bigger picture."

He stood up and walked to the window, gazing at the desert night. "I'm putting together a new task force," he said, not turning around. "A team to look at this from a different angle. I want you on it."

Jake felt a mix of excitement and apprehension. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

As he left the colonel's office, Jake's mind was racing. He had always known that Area 51 held secrets, but he never imagined he'd be at the center of potentially world-changing events.

The world had changed on that fateful night in March. And as Jake Hawkins sat under the vast canopy of stars, he knew he had changed with it. The universe was bigger, stranger, and more dangerous than he had ever imagined. But he was a soldier, and soldiers adapt. Whatever came next, he would be ready.