"COBAYE: The Unseen War" - Written & Contributed by MILAB Abductee, Olivier

6.3.25

These memories stretch back to the 1980s, in France. They involve illegal military operations whose purpose was to uncover information about mysterious, advanced entities and their technologies. The operations relied on the examination and interrogation of civilians who had themselves been abducted by these beings. The soldiers involved had staggering resources: specialized gases, access to secured Defense Ministry properties, and coordinated teams trained in break-ins, abductions, covert transport, and medical experiments. This is part of my story. And perhaps it’s yours as well.

One night, I wake up to a strange smell in the air - something chemical, an unknown gas. In the darkness of my room, I see a figure standing beside me. Before I can react, they grab me with quick, practiced force. I can’t fight back. There are several of them, dressed in black with masks, dragging me out of the house. Something covers my mouth - a gag, probably. A few meters away, near the edge of the property, a man in uniform - a service dress - holds a briefcase. He leads me to a small military truck parked on the street. They force me into the back, where soldiers sat on benches. All of them speak French. The truck starts moving. During the ride, one of them presses a mask over my face - it’s connected to a small colored canister. I breathe in and black out.

When I come to, I’m in a bright room with strangers. They ask for my shoe size and hand me a pair. Then we walk for what feels like forever through tunnels.

They take me to a tall chamber. Black metal bars cling to the walls. Men in plain khaki uniforms stand nearby. One tells me to stop looking around and warns his colleague I’m observing too much. Another threatens me: ‘If you talk, I’ll kill you.’ Then he adds, ‘I’ll kill you - we’re dealing with the others first.’ I never saw ‘the others,’ but in that moment, I was sure I was dead…

Two others wear brown uniforms and speak a foreign language. They pace around me, talking. Clearly, this was some kind of international operation—collaboration, if not outright complicity.

I’m on the ground, barely seeing faces. But a few meters away, a small group of soldiers huddle over something. I’ve forgotten a lot, but I remember them running medical scans - maybe an MRI, X-rays, or some outdated system. A makeshift radiology booth: four walls, no ceiling. They slide me through a machine shaped like an arch. The first time, I moved. The soldier operating it gets annoyed, restrains me somehow, and makes me go through again.

When it’s over, the return trip begins. A soldier leads me through tunnels. At least one other person follows behind. We pass empty rooms The place keeps changing - one part feels old and natural; the next part looks modern and man-made… The walk feels endless. The soldier opens doors with

badges. At one point, we sprint across a wide, well-lit concrete tunnel with markings on the floor, military vehicles roaring past. There was pressure to avoid being seen by others working in the facility. Finally, we reach an exit - but instead of leaving, we turn right into another narrow tunnel. New people take over, these ones out of uniform. They guide me through an underground passage linking the tunnels to a surface building. We emerge into a normal-looking room. Someone opens a door to the outside.

It’s daytime - early summer morning. I’m barefoot but they order me to run to a van parked just outside. These are the ones who’ll take me home. Inside, I spot a gun on one of them (still no uniforms). It’s strapped to his leg with a blue synthetic harness, the barrel partly exposed. He stares at buildings in the distance - we’re visible from there - and mutters to his partner: ‘They see us.’ So, someone wasn’t supposed to witness this. He yanks me down, out of sight.

Even crouched down, I catch glimpses through the window - two grim, institutional buildings passing slowly outside. Then they mention clearing a checkpoint, probably the exit from the facility. I see fragments of the route before they force that gas on me again. Then - nothing

Another day, similar events unfolded - but this time, their methods were different. The gas they used paralyzed my ribcage. I couldn’t expand my lungs, could barely breathe - just shallow, desperate movements of my stomach. Maybe a dosage error. I was terrified of suffocating. They took me to a truck parked nearby; its interior converted into a mobile lab. Strapped to an exam table, I saw a doctor - agitated, reluctant. Maybe he was forced to be there? At one point, he muttered to his colleague, ‘I don’t want to do this.’

He placed me under some kind of clear bubble, then injected my arm. Slowly, my lungs unlocked. Relief flooded in. ‘You almost died,’ he said, sternly ordering me not to move. Machines passed overhead, likely medical scanners. He studied the results, his face fully visible. Beside him stood another man - too confident, in control.

Later, they moved me to the front of the truck where there was a computer screen. The confident man's eyes locked onto the blank screen. 'What the hell are they doing?' he muttered… A message arrived. He read aloud: a very detailed medical report, organs I recognized buried in jargon. It sounded more like a descriptive analysis than a quantitative results report. He knew the terms - likely a medic himself. Then, they sat me before the screen. Messages appeared; I had to answer. But I couldn’t see - no glasses. One of them read the questions to me:

‘Where do the extraterrestrials come from?’

‘Describe their vehicle.’

Extraterrestrials? I’d never considered the entities I’d encountered might be aliens. I still have no explanation for what those thin humanoid creatures actually were. I called them the grey men, that’s it. The interrogation stalled - they got nothing from me.

Next, they placed me in an open pod at chest height. Inside, I saw thick tubes and small devices mounted on the walls. They sealed it with a transparent plastic curtain. Through it, I watched as they activated a machine. Gas hissed in. The paralysis returned, my ribs locking again. The world narrowed to struggle and fear. Carried out, I remember the truck door opening, the ground sliding beneath me in the dark.

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These are some the fractured pieces I've gathered after several abductions Morning Aftermath:

• A chemical smell hung in the bedroom—sharp, artificial. No visible source. • My vision stayed tinted yellow for hours. Xanthopsia – A vision disorder causing yellow tinted sigh

• That taste: chemical. Never experienced it since.

• A door left open. A window cracked. Nothing stolen

• A neighbor reported a parked truck and suspicious movement overnight. Gendarmerie never came.

• A puncture mark on my arm. No memory of the needle.

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The Night Itself

• Clicking sounds in the dark. Footsteps crushing grass. The gutter rattling—something climbing?

• I woke to a hissing sound—like a giant aerosol can—just before the door burst open. Two gas-masked figures stood there, pumping the room full of their chemical gas • Transport phase: Shoved into a noisy vehicle with silent figures.

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How Military Abductions Mirror Alien Abductions. It’s so easy to confuse them when memories fade

• The sheer absurdity of events—logic defied

• Operational silence: No witnesses, just eerie morning-after traces

• Night operations: Darkness as both shield and weapon

• Violation of space

• No dialogue:

• Seamless extraction: Taken from your own bed

• Paralysis

• Meticulous returns: Dropped back where you "should" be

• Memory fractures: Key moments missing for different reasons

• Unwanted exams: Scans, injections, samples taken - never explained

• Cold pragmatism

• Zero remorse

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My Four Paralyses - A classification I never wanted to need

1. Alien Abduction Paralysis

• Onset: Immediate (2-3 sec after external phenomena begin)

• Scope: Total bodily freeze, except ocular movement (blinking possible) • Consciousness: Fully aware

• Pain: None

• Escape: impossible for me

• Hallmark: pulsating sounds in the first few minutes of their arrival

2. Chemical Gas Paralysis

• Onset: Gradual (30 sec to 2 min post-exposure)

• Scope: Total bodily immobilization. A creeping loss of muscular tonus, with critical thoracic lock

• Consciousness: Aware but chemically subdued

• Pain: full-body sickness unlike anything natural. Terror from suffocation

• Escape: impossible

• Hallmark: Ribcage as a prison - each shallow diaphragmatic breath an effort 3. Facial Hemiparalysis

• Onset: Creeping (days to manifest)

• Scope: Unilateral facial distortion

• Duration: ~2 months

• Pain: None

• Hallmark: one-eyed blinking

4. Sleep Paralysis

• Onset: Abrupt

• Scope: Full-body immobility, eyes can’t open

• Consciousness: Aware with superimposed sensation of a presence

• Escape: Possible via extreme mental effort

• External Signs: Rapid, ragged breathing (observer would note distress) • Hallmark: The mind-body schism

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Questions You Might Be Asking:

• Why would an officer in service dress be present during an illegal abduction operation? In case of police intervention, he needed to be instantly identifiable as military. The briefcase he carried likely held classified documents for such contingencies. • How did they know about my alien abductions? No idea…

• Why let me glimpse parts of the route, making locations identifiable? Negligence? Or deliberate information leakage?

• Does this still happen? No—nothing for decades.

• Who exactly were they? I don’t know. At most, 20 people seemed involved. I refuse to blame the entire military—that’s why I avoid saying “the military” broadly.

• How can I be sure these weren't just hyper-realistic dreams or astral projections? The distinction is confirmed by measurable physical traces I choose not to describe. • What language did the foreign soldiers speak? I caught strange phonetic rhythms— nothing like my tongue—but couldn’t place it.

• What am I selling? Nothing. I’ve no time or interest in writing a book.

• What’s in it for me? With you: piecing together a worldwide puzzle

• Why publish this here? This space is open-minded—free of forced narratives. • How to help? If you have any information that could help piece this together, send what you know to Emma. Every fragment matters.

Written and Contributed by,

Olivier