When 32-year-old wilderness guide Ethan Cole sent in a DNA test out of boredom during the off-season in Fairbanks, Alaska, he expected nothing more than confirmation of his Scandinavian ancestry. What he got instead sent him running into the frozen wilderness in the dead of night—terrified, confused, and hunted.

It started innocently. The kit arrived in the mail. He spat into the tube, mailed it off, and forgot about it.

Two weeks later, the results came via email. Ethan scanned the report casually… until he reached the ancestry breakdown.

“0% Human. Unknown classification: Tier 7 anomaly. Contact restricted.”

He thought it was a glitch.

But within minutes, he received a second email—not from the DNA company, but from an address ending in “.gov.” The message had no subject. Just one line:

“DO NOT GO TO SLEEP. THEY ARE COMING.”

Ethan laughed it off… until his phone went dark. Then the power in his cabin cut. Then the satellite radio died.

That’s when he saw them—two figures in black suits standing just beyond the treeline, motionless. Watching.

He packed a backpack, grabbed his survival gear, and fled into the snow-covered forest he knew better than his own hand. He hiked 15 miles before stopping to catch his breath—and found fresh footprints circling his last resting spot.

He wasn’t alone.

Local police later found his cabin ransacked, his laptop destroyed, and his generator melted down from the inside. The DNA company claimed no record of his test.

Friends say Ethan hasn’t been seen since. But every few weeks, someone posts blurry photos to Reddit of a lone man wandering through the Alaskan wilderness barefoot—face pale, eyes glowing faintly red.

His last journal entry, discovered in a waterproof bag near Denali, read:

“My blood isn’t mine. They didn’t test my DNA. They activated it.”