CLASSIFIED FIELD LOG – AGENT MAUDLIN

October 27th, 1987 | Glen Sighing

Status: Level-3 Lockdown. Federal Authority Enforced.

Glen Sighing. A ghost town built on delusion with psychic mythology dressed up in hippie jargon. It’s been two days since the Lab 3B Incident, and despite the civilian news blackout, I’ve kept a tight seal on the perimeter. Federal lockdown, mine. No leaks. No speculation. No mercy.

The media says Glen Sighing has issued “no official statement.” Of course not. What would they say? That their imaginary psychic veil collapsed under the weight of its own nonsense? “Energy convergence.” That’s the phrase they’re clinging to now. The simplest explanation is localized electromagnetic feedback from a thunderstorm disrupted the grid. That’s it. No cosmic rupture, no mind-rift, no divine awakening. Just lightning and poor infrastructure. Still, every lab coat and nutcase is screaming doomsday. That’s when they call me. When the weird gets weirder. They like to say I came out of nowhere. That I emerged from the fog as some sort of expert. Let me disabuse you of that fantasy.

I started in a basement office in D.C., pencil-pushing for a decomposing legacy called MKSEARCH, the post-mortem child of MKULTRA. Men in suits passed memos about dreams and drugs. I was a glorified transcriptionist. Observer logs, psychic interview summaries, scrubbed identities. I read it all. Every delusion. Every breakdown. Every “miracle.” My boss said I had a “talent for discretion.” I knew how to disappear between the margins. You won’t find my name in any of the files. I built a career by not existing.

That was before Project GREY EYE. That’s when the Mindwalkers noticed me. Not because I bent spoons or channeled spirits, but because I spoke fluent mystic in seven dialects. I could mirror the language of the psychics we interrogated. I knew how to repackage gibberish into doctrine. The higher-ups brought me in as a consultant. I made myself essential. No more desk job. No more footnotes. I became the scalpel they used to cut through the paranormal.

Now, onto Glen Sighing. Founded by Dr. Sabine Leeren, a psychic ideologue with a martyr complex. Brilliant, yes, but erratic. She started this school like it was her church, built over the carcass of the Cardington Nuclear Incident of 1974. It’s a contaminated site and the population was flagged for neurological anomalies. Mindwalkers had teams in the region before she even stepped foot here. We tried to close it off. She pushed in anyway. Sabine’s gone now. Burned out or bled dry, we’ll sort the truth from the guts later.

What matters is her legacy, and that brings me to Talia Serrula. Sabine’s confidante with psychic control over insects. Ridiculous, but real. No family records before 1973. Classic orphan case. Trauma breeds pliability. People like her are easy to mold, easy to mirror. That’s the trick. She’s the only living witness to what happened in Lab 3B. If Sabine left behind anything, Talia knows. She trusts easily. The motherless ones always do. You just have to crack them the right way.