“They’re out there,” Lieutenant Chen whispered, his trembling hands applying another layer of concealer to his face. “The enemy… they can smell fear.”

Private Williams watched his commanding officer’s increasingly erratic behavior with growing unease. They’d been stationed at this remote mountain outpost for three weeks, and Chen’s obsession with the concealer had only gotten worse.

“Sir, there’s been no enemy activity in this sector for months,” Williams ventured carefully.

Chen’s head snapped around, eyes wild. “That’s what they want you to think! The concealer is the only thing keeping us safe. It masks our human scent. They can’t find us if they can’t smell us.”

The small concrete bunker felt increasingly claustrophobic. Wind howled outside, carrying echoes that sometimes sounded disturbingly like distant screams.

“Lieutenant, maybe we should radio command—”

“No!” Chen hissed, smearing more concealer across his neck. “The radio waves attract them. They’re learning, adapting. Every day they get closer.”

Williams noticed Chen’s hands were stained an unnatural beige from constant application. Empty concealer tubes littered the floor like spent shell casings.

“Who exactly are ’they,’ sir?”

Chen pressed himself against the wall, eyes darting to the narrow window. “I saw one, three days ago. It… it wasn’t human anymore. The way it moved…” His voice cracked. “The concealer is the only thing that works. Here.” He thrust a tube toward Williams. “Put it on. Now.”

Williams took the tube, if only to pacify his superior officer. The makeup felt cold and heavy on his skin.

That night, Williams was jolted awake by scratching sounds from above. Chen was already up, pressing himself into a corner, entire face and neck caked in thick layers of concealer.

“They’re here,” Chen whispered.

The scratching grew louder. Something was definitely moving on the roof. Williams reached for his rifle, but Chen grabbed his arm.

“Bullets don’t work. Only the concealer keeps us safe. Don’t move. Don’t breathe.”

The sounds stopped directly overhead. In the silence that followed, Williams heard a soft pattering, like rain. But when he looked at the window, dark droplets were running up the glass, defying gravity.

Chen began laughing softly. “See? The concealer works. They can’t smell us. They can’t find us.”

Williams felt something wet hit his neck. Looking up, he saw the concrete ceiling dissolving, melting like wax. Through the widening holes, he glimpsed something that made his soul freeze.

Chen was still laughing as the darkness poured in. “The concealer works… the concealer works…”

Three days later, when the relief team arrived, they found the bunker empty. The only traces were dozens of empty concealer tubes and strange burn marks on the walls that seemed to form words when viewed from certain angles.

The official report listed both men as missing in action. But in classified files, there’s a final radio transmission from Private Williams:

“The concealer doesn’t work. It never did. It just marks us… marks us for them.”