Episode 2: The Five People You Meet in Hell

[stevereno]

Sartre walked with Alyssa in the night air around the perimeter of the house. “See anything?” he asked.

Alyssa glanced around, listened, around again. “No, nothing.” Except maybe the hoot of an owl and a few crickets that hadn’t gotten the message that summer was drawing to a close. "Do you see anything?”

“I don’t see anything, except a hacker that is prettier than what they call a romanceable NPC in those video games.” He smiled.

“Thank you,” Alyssa smiled at him. She knew it was a compliment, but as someone who, surprisingly rarely played video games, it came out as kind of an awkward one.

Alyssa looked up, the sky was clear. The moon and stars hung overhead and they were far enough away from the lights of any city to be able to see the sky clearly. There was a slight chill in the air but Alyssa, had on her leather jacket and wasn’t feeling it. "It’s a nice night. Should we sit in the Gazebo, awhile?”

“Sure the gazebo will be nice. There’s something going on in your head Agent Wilson,” he said. "What is it?”

The hacker didn’t respond, instead she led him to the gazebo and sat down on the pale blue porch swing suspended from the white rafters.

The gazebo was white, and the furniture white with pale blue accents, except the swing which was pale blue with white accents. It all worked well together.

Alyssa padded the seat next to her, beckoning the man to sit next to her. “You know, I always wanted a swing like this. I used to pass houses with this kind of swing, in middle class families, and I would picture what their lives must be like.” She shook her head slightly. “Silly, I know.”

Not exactly avoiding the question, but not really answering it.

He sat next to her. "Tell me more.”

“What else is there to tell? I was a kid who thought I’d be better off not being wealthy.” Alyssa got really quiet as if she had said too much. "Sorry, that makes sound incredibly ungrateful for what I did have. That’s not how I mean it.”

“You wanted to play with other kids, but did not necessarily know how? Alyssa am I the only friend you ever have had?” He reached to take her hand.

“That was only part of it. I thought those kids had great parents or maybe not great but at least parents that wanted them.” Alyssa responded. "But yes, you’re probably my first friend. I think of Max as a friend but I don’t think he thinks the same. Choi, he seems
like a friend, or on the way to being one.”

"Did you feel like your father wanted you?” Peter inquired.

“Not back then. He was never around, and I didn’t know why. It didn’t make me think he wanted me.” Alyssa explained.

"How do you feel about him now?” Peter then added. “Of course, I want and love you Alyssa.”

“I know he couldn’t help it, and now he’s not around to try to protect me. The thing is, it’s not protecting me. Him being around me or not seems to make no difference with the darkness. But I’ve not been able to speak to him since we were in San Francisco. And he hasn’t reached out to me. So, it’s difficult to not let the same thoughts,that maybe that was just an excuse to not be around me, creep into mind.” Alyssa paused. "I love him, I saw in him that he loves me. I’m just not sure he has any real idea of how to be a father.”

"You know I love you, don’t you?”

Alyssa formed a gentle smile on her face and let her hand reach his chin, lightly touching it. “I know, and I love you too.” Her world was a lot less lonely with him in it, but she was still new to navigating this kind of relationship. "I still feel like I know so little about you, and your past. What was or is your family like?”

"They were all right, I mainly spent a lot of time on my own. Reading. Hanging out on fanfiction forums on the dial-up internet. All that practice helped me with my criminology research and writing that was required for my behavioral sciences degree. Seattle was always rainy so we always stayed inside a lot. The coffee is decent though. I was mainly a loner. I liked it that way.” Peter replied

“So, I guess that’s partly why we get along.” Alyssa said, though her mind was contemplating what it must have been like growing up with dial-up. "Did you have friends?”

"A few. we would watch wrestling and they would help me with math.”

“Did you have any siblings?” Alyssa realized he hadn’t mentioned any.

"It was just me and my books.” Peter responded. “Should we head inside? I have a desire to talk to you more but to play with your hair at the same time.” he said.

“Yes,” Alyssa agreed and walked inside with him.

Peter still had his eyes closed after they finished what the phone had explained. Opening his eyes, he was wondering if she was still as blushing red as he had ever seen her. He playfully shoved her off and jokingly mocked her response to Prue. “We don’t need relationship advice from you!” he said, enjoying the view.

“We get to slay a vampire tomorrow.” Peter said, then changed topics. “If you could dream about anything tonight Alyssa, what would it be?” he asked. “You have no idea how much I like hanging out with you. Though others haven’t been here for you. I am.”

Alyssa heard what sounded like a medicine cabinet shutting in the bathroom.

“Alyssa, we’ve been in here a while, if someone is in there they must’ve came in when we were on the swing in the gazebo.” He handed her his pistol. “I’m with you Alyssa And that will be one lucky vampire to get such a visual before his final death. Though you haven’t visited the holographic training room at the labyrinth, this will be a good test for you. Go get them Agent Wilson. "

He had not once heard anything from the bathroom adjoining the bedroom. Then again, he had been busy.

Alyssa laughed, as she playfully fell off of him and onto the mattress. Before she could respond to any of his questions, the noise could be heard in the bathroom. She hadn’t heard anything before either but had also been rather distracted. “Me? Oh, no …I’m not fighting whatever that is alone, or well,” looking down at herself, “like this.” She quickly threw on her clothes, then took the gun. She put herself in ready and then slowly pushed the bathroom door open.

As Alyssa opened the bathroom door, she heard silence and saw nothing but darkness. Peter had his weapon readied.

Alyssa reached for the lightswitch on the wall, she moved quickly, hoping to get a glimpse of whatever was in the bathroom.

The bathroom was empty. It was clearly certain that no one had been in there. Though there had been a sound coming from the medicine cabinet.

“You want to open it?” he asked cautiously.

“Might as well,” Alyssa said, then swallowed. Not as sure as she sounded. She quickly went to the cabinet, opened it and just as quickly stepped back.

As she stepped back, she realized that somehow Prue Halliwell’s knife was placed in the medicine cabin.

“Oooh that!" Sartre said, as he couldn’t help himself as he looked at the hacker. “Are you sure you did not bring that in earlier Alyssa? You could not have had it on you anytime in the past hour? I’ve never seen the secret world this crazy in twelve years." he said.

“No, I didn’t have it on me.” Alyssa responded, shaking her head. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t have put it in the medicine cabinet.” The hacker looked up, and then said. “All right, Prue. I’ll start carrying it on me.” That seemed like the message anyway. “You know you’re kind of in your face for a guardian…angel?” No, that didn’t seem right. “Guardian witch.” Yeah, that seemed more like it.

She turned to Peter, "I supposed I can add Prue as a friend.”

"She seemed to be looking out for your best interests when you met her.” Peter stated. “I will always be your friend Alyssa.” He then asked. “Are you sure that she is the one who put that in there? I mean it certainly seemed like you were taking her relationship advice. ‘Oooh that!’” He teased her again. “When you saw the phone it seemed as if you weren’t embarrassed but excited. You are still blushing some. Let’s go back to bed, you can answer those questions I had before we go to sleep.” He slid her hastily put on night clothes off leaving them both in the state they were before. “Careful with that dagger. Something tells me it’s not just a regular knife. Are you scared of the knife?” he asked.

“I’m 90% sure it was her, maybe more. Unless the knife put itself in there, but that’s doubtful. No it’s likely not a normal knife, but I’m not scared of it. I just don’t know what it’s capable of.” Alyssa didn’t want to find out, by accident. That wasn’t fear, just caution. The hacker brought the knife with her, and put it on the top of the dresser before going back to bed.

“Easy, before you fall asleep. If you could dream about anything tonight Alyssa, what would it be?” he asked.

“Something nice.” Alyssa responded. "Maybe spending time alone with you, with no world ending crisis looming just overhead.”

He moved to kiss her. "Get some sleep and have nice dreams Alyssa.”

She returned the kiss, "Good night.”

Posted by : Cindy

[vrock]

Alyssa had risen pretty much with the sun, early that morning. She had run a check of the systems in her van, before going inside to get breakfast.

After which she managed to secure an outside area to practice with the stake, a little, just in case. More so, though to test out the knife. While she could certainly feel power running through it, and it seemed to do more damage than an average knife, on her non-living, makeshift wooden target. Alyssa quickly got the feeling the real test of what the knife was capable of would be when she was in the midst of combat. The hacker really didn’t like that but there wasn’t much to do about it.

Then came lunch, then a shower and getting ready. She made sure there was enough room for everyone in the van, as using only one getaway vehicle was best.

Then she came back into the living room with a box of electronic items, and drank a Coke as she awaited for the others to gather in the living room before heading out.

Sartre awoke, showered, got dressed, and joined the hacker in the living room. He simply grabbed a soda and was not hungry. “Good afternoon my hacker.” In the chip; “Before I got up this morning I could’ve sworn I heard you outside, you sounded a little bit like when we went upstairs last night." He smiled. “Were you practicing martial arts?"

“Not martial arts. I was practicing with the stake, just in case. Then I tested out the knife. I was trying to see what it could do.” Alyssa responded, back into the chip.

“Do you think it will take a lot of time for you to get proficient with it? Are you planning on using it today? It looks like a regular knife, but do you feel anything different when you hold it or use it? Are you going in with us to get Louis Pasteur, Alyssa?” asked Sartre. “Oh I remember, you wanted to survey in the van.” he said.

“I did the van before the practice.” Alyssa answered his last question first. “I don’t think it’s an ordinary knife, at all, I can definitely feel power in it. I tried to tap into some of it, and it definitely did more damage than a normal knife would. And, no, I’ve already said I’m not going in with you, I’ll be waiting in a van. Keeping an eye on the proceedings, hopefully. So, I can jump in, if needed.” She pointed to the box full of electronic gear. “That’s what this stuff is for.”

“It will be good to keep in contact with you Alyssa, Are the others almost ready to go?”

Alyssa shrugged, “Not sure. We have time though. I’m guessing they’ll be here soon.”

“Did you dream last night?” asked Sartre.

“Don’t remember, actually.” Alyssa responded. “I guess then, if I did, it wasn’t anything bad.” A nice change of pace.

“I’m glad you have not had any bad dreams lately.” Peter commented. “After we finish with this mission, we can petition the Council of Venice to allow us to become an official team. This will grant us access to special items that can be purchased with either Pax gold or street cash. These can include weapons, different types of bases as well as staff that we can hire. However; we must be very careful when purchasing these things.” “I’m sure you would like a different base than just this rental.” Again; we will have to clear it with Yukko at the Council of Venice."

“That would be a good idea. I was actually contemplating buying this place, but having different bases would be better.” Alyssa responded. “And the more stuff to help the team the better.”

“We’re currently in what’s listed as a ‘private residence,’ and I don’t think we would want to waste all our pax on just a base right now. These things can be purchased in cash as well but that leaves a paper trail…" Peter said, then added. “I’ll send a list to your phone.” He then asked; “Don’t you have an estate Alyssa? It wouldn’t cost anything.”

“No, my parents have an estate. I don’t own it.” Alyssa explained. “At this point, it’s really my mom’s house, and she’d never give it to me.”

“Looking over that menu, what do you think we should invest in after we slay The Vampire?” Peter asked.

“I think that’s a team decision and one that requires more thought.” Alyssa responded.

“Why would your mom never give you her house?” Sartre thought back to what he saw in Alyssa’s mind.

“Because, it’s her house, as she’s told me, repeatedly. If it’s even willed to me, it’s because of my father. She lives there, and she doesn’t like me. I’m surprised she lets me stay there at all.” Alyssa’s tone wasn’t upset, more, it was the way things were.

“She shouldn’t make it that way Alyssa.” He reached to take her hand.

She accepted his hand. “Thanks for that. I doubt anything will change her mind about me. I suspect, at some point, she’ll cut me out of her life or I’ll get fed up enough to cut her out of mine completely.” It wasn’t that much of a push as her relationship with her mother was barely hanging on by a thread, at this point.

“Know that I’m here for you, no matter what Alyssa." he said.

She gave him a small smile, “I know but thanks for that.”

“Will you be wearing your hoodie and shades when you do surveillance?” Peter changed the subject.

I usually don’t wear my shades when doing that… My hoodie, I’ll wear, if I feel like it. It might be too warm for it." Alyssa responded.

“Either way, you look like a cool hacker.”

Alyssa smiled at him. “Can you help sort out the stuff in this box?” Pointing to the box of electronic equipment

“Absolutely.” As he sorted he heard Alyssa’s phone ring.

On Alyssa’s phone; it begins ringing. Alyssa sees the name “Piper Halliwell Wyatt.” “Alyssa… Prue…………” Piper’s voice broke ever so slightly, though she tried to cover it, a shaky exhale quickly masking the slip. "I just… I needed to talk to you myself. She’s… she’s gone. She’s really gone this time, back to the afterlife. And I thought… I thought you’d want to hear it from me.” After waiting, Piper kept going, her words spilling out in waves she could barely hold back.

“I know you and Prue were close. She mentioned it, you know? In the little time we had together again. Said you had this strange connection, like the two of you just got each other in a way that’s hard to explain. She respected you… trusted you. That’s rare for Prue,” Piper added, her voice softening, a small, broken smile evident in her tone

Alyssa was surprised, she hadn’t expected a call and given she already knew that Prue was gone wasn’t sure what to say. "Umm…yes… I’m sorry for your loss and…thank you for calling and letting me know. " They were apparently closer than Alyssa had suspected. “I felt close to her as well,” then it spilled out. “But I knew… she, Prue, came to me. Her spirit did and told me.”

“What else did she tell you?” asked Piper.

“Just that she was gone. That it might be awhile before we talk to each other again.” Alyssa paused. “I think she’s looking out for me.”

She paused, and Alyssa heard her take a shaky breath. Piper’s words came slower, as if she was fighting through the weight of each one. “It’s… it’s just me and my husband Leo now. I’m trying to rebuild this life. For the kids. For him. Leo, he’s… he’s the only constant that makes sense. I hold onto him, onto them, because if I don’t…” Her voice faded, leaving only silence before she continued with a fragile steadiness.

Alyssa was really bad at this kind of stuff, and worse she didn’t know Piper all that well. However she was wondering what happened with Phoebe, but it felt like she shouldn’t ask. There was a silence before Alyssa quietly said, “I know we’re not friends but …you can contact me, if you need to.” The hacker just knew, first hand, that depression, the feeling of being lonely even in a crowded room, can run deep and cut into the soul. Yes, Alyssa had her own things to deal with but it felt very wrong to not offer that proverbial hand.

“And Phoebe… it’s over. Whatever was left of that bond between us died the day Prue left the first time, and I can’t—no, I won’t—put myself through that again. We’re done. I know she and Prue had unresolved things, issues that lingered like ghosts. And somehow, it’s as if all the pain and anger they had… it’s come between me and Phoebe. It’s just… it’s better this way, I think. Maybe it’s how it was always meant to be.”

Alyssa could hear the fatigue in Piper’s voice, the sorrow beneath her forced calm, her deep breaths between sentences an attempt to steady herself.
NEW
[12:07 PM]
“I keep thinking about Paige… she’s still out there somewhere. New York, somewhere close to where you are, maybe near your headquarters.” Piper’s voice grew softer, laced with worry. “She’s… she’s headstrong, impulsive, and that city is like a siren call for trouble. I’m scared for her, Alyssa. I’m scared for all of us.”

For a moment, Piper’s voice grew distant, as if she were talking more to herself than to Alyssa. “I’m terrified for this world. It feels like… like something big is coming, something I can’t shake. Like there’s some storm gathering in the distance, and no matter what we do, it’s going to break over all of us.” Another pause. “And we’ll see you again. Your team. I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but… I can feel it. Prue wants us to stick together.” Her voice softened, a slight tremor betraying her efforts to stay composed. “Thanks for listening, Alyssa. Just… thank you.” With that, Piper ended the call, leaving Alyssa alone with the echo of grief.

“Who was that Alyssa? How long should it take for the others to get here?” asked Sartre.

Alyssa was quiet for a moment, “It was Piper.” She said nothing else about the call, for the minute. “I’d guess they’d be here soon.” Her voice had grown quiet, her mind still contemplating on Piper’s call.

“What did she say?” asked Sartre.

Alyssa shook her head, and pulled some items out of the box, as she sorted. “At first she wanted to let me know about Prue being gone. She talked about Prue and mentioned the bond between her and me.” The hacker paused again. “She sounded so … upset - lost. Said she only has Leo and the kids now, and that she goes on for them. Piper went on to talk about how she just knew we’d see each other again.” Alyssa had separated the earplugs and such out from the visual equipment and was now piecing things together. The woman knew the equipment well enough to not really think about it. “Piper knows something big is coming, world changing. She said she could feel it. You know, I wanted to tell her, she was probably right and what was going on but, obviously, that would kind of break the whole secrecy thing. I just think it would be good if she were working with us.”

“We’ll see her again, I’m not sure she’s ready to be recruited into the secret societies yet. I remember back at their shop, she and Phoebe mentioned another Halliwell was in New York? That’s close to The Labyrinth, our headquarters.”

"Yes, Paige. Piper mentioned her as well, and that she was in New York. " Alyssa replied. “Piper knew that it was close to our headquarters, but I’m not sure how she knew that.”

“Perhaps Paige told her.”

“Well, then who told Paige?” It’s not much of a secret if others know where it is, and Alyssa knew she didn’t say anything. “I suppose it doesn’t matter at this point.”

“I’ve never spoken to Paige. Perhaps it was Geary. Paige would be a prime candidate for Team Blue membership.” Peter explained.

This arrives on Alyssa’s phone "From: Kiersten Geary
To: Alyssa Wilson
Subject: Cute that you think you’re ready for this

Text:

Hey, Rookie Hacktress. Heard you’re still figuring out the difference between a hard line and a hard truth, but don’t worry, we all start somewhere. Just not all of us get a Charmed One possibly lurking around in our backyard. Yeah, you heard right. Paige Halliwell, witchy prodigy, and the kind of cosmic fallout we generally try to keep on a different continent, might be sniffing around NYC. Why? Oh, the usual Illuminati cocktail—mystery, mayhem, and a twist of the supernatural.

Now, don’t go glamorizing her visit. She’s not here for brunch at the Waldorf, capiche? I don’t want you running off thinking you’re Buffy just because you got a security badge. If you get a whiff of Halliwell’s “magic in the big city,” you’ll need more than your keyboard-wizarding to keep your skin intact. So keep your eyes open, your mouth shut, and your ego in check.

P.S. Don’t break anything important. We’ve got a reputation to uphold. Ciao Ciao. K.G.

Alyssa shook her head, and could help but laugh slightly at the message on her phone. “Well, apparently Kiersten Geary cares or at least doesn’t want me dead, maybe she’s worried about all the equipment I have.” That last part was more of a joke than anything. She showed the text to Peter.

“That’s Geary alright. Have you ever met her?”

“No, I’ve not had the…pleasure.” If that was the right word, but it was the best word Alyssa had. “I’ve only communicated with her through text.”

“Lucky you.” While we wait on the others, I haven’t made out with you today Alyssa." he smirked. “It’s fun just talking to you.”

Alyssa put down the equipment and moved closer to Peter, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Will that do, for now?” The hacker grinned.

“For now…” he said. “If we are in need of backup. I have someone we can call.” said Sartre.

Posted by : Cindy

[vrock]

Agent Powers and Ekaterina woke up before sunrise and decided to go for an early morning run and workout. For Agent Powers it was a light workout but for Princess Ekaterina it was a normal workout for her. While running with Agent Powers, she checked in with her bugs and rodent minions to see who was around the property. Since it looked clear from intruders Ekaterina felt relieved as she ran with Agent Powers. They ran around the property a few times and did some stretching between breaks. Ekaterina was amazed by how flexible Agent Powers was, even though she knew he was a young man under that fake muscled body. Once they were done they shared some yogurt with fruit in it along with some herbal tea. Agent Powers of course also had a pot of coffee and some additional fruits since he had a big appetite. Then they took a shower to freshen up and made their way to the living room to see Alyssa and Sartre chatting. Agent Powers said, “Sup.” as he entered and Ekaterina elegantly smiled as she said, “Good afternoon.”

“Hey, are you two about ready to head out, to kill a vamp or two?” Alyssa asked.

Agent Powers nodded yes as he leaned over to pick up a large black duffle bag. He replied, “I am now.” Ekaterina elegantly smiled as she nodded and replied, “Of course. Mr. Powers has been nice enough to provide me with phosphorus rounds for my shotgun. I am sure they will burn the vampire in question.”

Alyssa nodded, and pointed towards the equipment sorted on the table. “This equipment will allow me to hear and see what is going on while I’m in the van. I’d prefer all of you wear one but, if you don’t all want to, then at least one of you should. If you get into trouble this is what will tell me.”

Agent Powers nodded as he gave Alyssa a smolder. Then he replied, “Cool. It will help us with communication if we run into a trap.” Ekaterina elegantly smiled as she replied, “Thank you Alyssa. Do you often run into traps Mr. Powers?” Agent Powers gave Ekaterina a smolder and then nodded as he replied, “More often than not. Bad guys tend to be paranoid and use traps a lot. Not that they work on me but its still a hassle.”

“Alright then, I’ll head to the van. It’ll take me just a few minutes to get them connected to the tech in the van.” Alyssa said. “Feel free to come out when you’re ready. Oh, and can one of you grab me some Cokes and water, and snacks?” Well she wasn’t sure how long things would take.

Agent Powers gave Alyssa a smolder at her request for more junk food. Then he nodded as he set his bag down and headed to the kitchen to pack a cooler of drinks and snacks. He added some healthier choices in the cooler hoping Alyssa would make better choices in her diet, but he knew it was a lot to ask. Ekaterina elegantly smiled as he was packing the cooler. She was entertained by how dedicated he was at everything he did regardless if he agreed with it or not. In the beginning she wondered if he had any feelings for Alyssa but noticed he was able to separate work from personal time and didn’t think about Alyssa while he was with Ekaterina. Once he was done they made their way to the van with their snacks and gear.
Sartre headed to the van.

Thick, gray clouds rolled across the sky, casting a heavy shroud over the rotting bones of Gary, Indiana. The desolation was palpable, a silent dirge as Sartre and Wilson moved through the forgotten streets. The skeletal remains of storefronts loomed around them like gravestones, weathered by years of abandonment and neglect. Weeds pushed through the cracked concrete, indifferent to the desolate urban decay, the only living things left to bear witness to a city’s slow collapse.

Ahead, the shadowed shape of an old theater cut through the haze, its once-grand façade now sagging, barely holding onto a semblance of its former glory. The theater was a crumbling relic of an era when dreams flickered to life in black and white—a mausoleum now, it’s only visitors were the rats and stray animals that had claimed it as their own. A faint, flickering light glinted off the marquee, though its letters were missing or half-fallen, leaving an eerie, broken message that hinted at long-forgotten titles.

Sartre, Ekatarina and Max halted in front of the building. Alyssa stayed in the van conducting surveillance taking in the bleak scene. A rusty chain hung from the handle of the entrance, rattling faintly in the wind. The faint odor of rot drifted out from within, a sour smell that prickled at their senses.

“She said she’d meet us here.” Sartre’s voice broke through the silence, her words barely more than a whisper. Her tone was laced with skepticism as she eyed the theater with a blend of caution and distaste. The Illuminati agent was used to dark places, but something about this location felt… wrong. This wasn’t just a decayed building; it was a tomb, sealed off from the world, hiding secrets beneath layers of grime and dust. “She’ll be here,” Peter Sartre replied, his voice low. He pulled his coat tighter against the chill, his eyes scanning the building’s crumbling exterior. He’d met Ammie before, enough times to know she didn’t pick places like this without reason. Whatever they were dealing with tonight, Ammie knew the risks—and the depths of what they might be facing. “She’s the best there is when it comes to… things most of us wouldn’t dare touch.”

As if summoned by their words, a shadow detached itself from the darkness near the marquee. It was her—Amaryllis Wicker. Ammie moved out from behind one of the theater’s peeling pillars, her silhouette illuminated briefly by the fading daylight. She wore a leather jacket that seemed almost stitched from shadows, charms clinking softly around her neck as she stepped forward. Her eyes were dark, unreadable, their depth hinting at worlds that no one else in that abandoned street could fathom.

Sartre greeted her with a silent nod, and she returned it, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. She turned to Max, her expression shifting to a blend of intrigue and wariness as she took in the Illuminati agent’s scrutinizing gaze.

"Well, you’ve got your hands full today. Skorzeny isn’t your average bloodsucker.” said Wicker.
Kolchak finally joined them, stepping out of the shadows with his notebook in hand. “You’re the one who contacted me about Skorzeny, right?” he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and trepidation.

Ammie looked at him, a faint grin playing across her lips. “I heard you’ve got a taste for stories that don’t make sense. Stick with us today, Kolchak, and you’ll get more than you bargained for.”

She turned back to the theater, gesturing toward the door. “Shall we?”

“Amaryllis Wicker,” she said, her voice low and rich with a dark warmth. “Most people call me Ammie.”

Alyssa had thanked Max for the snacks, and gotten everyone wired with the bugs before taking off.

After arriving she let everyone out, and then got in the back of the van. The hacker had parked around the corner, close enough to get to the theater quickly if there was trouble, but not so close to draw suspicion. However, it became clear quickly that her text about the bomb threat wasn’t necessary as the place seemed abandoned.

Alyssa listed in, and watched through technical eyes everything that was happening. When Peter mentioned some woman was supposed to be there, she had no idea who he was talking about. He hadn’t mentioned anything about someone else being there. Ammie Wicker, Alyssa hadn’t met her, but knew the woman’s reputation - it was no surprise then she had been called in. have a feeling Skorzeny won’t know what hit him. Alyssa thought.

Posted by : Cindy

[vrock]

The group moved as one, stepping forward into the decrepit old building. Inside, the lobby was a decayed ruin, dust and mold covering every surface. The faded remains of posters clung to the walls, their colors drained to sickly shades. A heavy layer of grime coated the ticket counter, and the smell of rot intensified as they moved deeper into the darkness.

Ammie led the way, her footsteps silent, as if she floated rather than walked. They moved through the lobby and into the main theater hall, where rows of empty seats stretched into the shadows. The seats were broken and torn, stuffing spilling out like viscera. The projector booth above loomed like a watchtower, its glass eye shattered and blind.

Kolchak’s flashlight beam cut through the gloom, casting flickering shadows that danced across the walls. A distant, rhythmic sound echoed through the space, like the faint heartbeat of something immense and ancient lurking beneath them. Sartre’s hand instinctively moved to the weapon holstered at his side.

Ammie stopped in the center of the theater, turning to face them. “Skorzeny was once a brilliant scientist, but he’s become… twisted. He’s not just a vampire anymore. He’s a Ventrue who’s been experimenting with blood magic for centuries. Whatever he was before, he’s something different now. He’s opened himself to powers older than any of us—and those powers are hungry.”

Kolchak’s skin prickled, the feeling of wrongness settling deeper into his bones. “You mean… demonic powers?”

Ammie nodded. “Yes. And today, we’re going to make sure he never uses those powers again.”

Agent Powers gave “Amaryllis Wicker,” aka Ammie, a smolder as he stared at her in silence as she was doing her cloak and dagger thing coming out of the shadows. The large black duffle bag was slung over his shoulder as his muscles were bulging from his tight shirt. Of course all his clothing was made of his slime body but that was not known to the public. Meanwhile Princess Ekaterina was elegantly smiling by his side as her bug/rodent minions were already surrounding the building and slowly making their way into the building to spy for her. She politely greeted Ammie and quietly listened to her.

Her words hung in the silence, punctuated by a sudden, scraping sound from the back of the theater. They turned, flashlights snapping in the direction of the noise. A shape moved in the darkness, a shadow slinking along the far wall. It stopped, its red eyes gleaming in the dim light, piercing and malevolent.

Janos Skorzeny.

He emerged from the shadows, his presence filling the room with an oppressive weight. He wore a long, dark coat that looked more like an extension of the shadows themselves, and his face was twisted in a cruel smile. His eyes burned with a crimson light, his elongated fangs glistening as he stepped forward.

“Ah,” he purred, his voice dripping with condescension. “I see Lodin has sent his loyal dogs after me. And a little witch as well. How charming.”

Ammie stepped forward, her expression hardening. “Skorzeny, you’ve meddled with forces beyond your control. You’re a danger to the Camarilla, to the Masquerade, to everyone. It’s time for you to answer for your crimes.”

Skorzeny laughed, a sound that echoed through the empty theater like nails scraping down a chalkboard. “Do you think I fear death? I have seen things that would break your feeble minds. I have become death. I am the darkness.”

As he spoke, the shadows around him seemed to writhe and twist, as if responding to his will. Tendrils of darkness snaked along the floor, stretching toward them. Sartre drew his weapon, aiming at the vampire, but Ammie raised a hand, her fingers moving in complex gestures as she began to chant under her breath.

Agent Powers reached behind his back and pulled out his 12 gauge holy golden shotgun filled with phosphorus slug rounds and aimed it at Janos Skorzeny. At the same time Ekaterina reached behind Agent Power’s back and pulled out her black mini pump 12 gauge shotgun filled with phosphorus slug rounds and aimed it at Janos Skorzeny. Then they both prepared to shoot Skorzen when he was in range.

A thunderous shotgun blast tore through the quiet, ripping into him with a force that felt like a battering ram of pure fire and fury. Janos had no time to react, no time even to draw breath before the first burst of iron and flame hit him dead center in the chest. For an instant, he was thrown back, as though gravity itself had betrayed him, sending his body hurtling backward in a violent arc.

A wet, terrible feeling spread through his torso as the pellets shredded the delicate tissues beneath his skin. His finely tailored coat was obliterated in places, threads whipping out in jagged tufts as blood sprayed, dark and viscous, staining the leather with gory black spatters. The burn of the iron filled him with a searing pain, something he hadn’t tasted in lifetimes. Tendons twisted, muscles flayed, and his lungs felt as though they were filled with molten lead. Smoke rose from the torn edges of his shirt, mingling with the cold, damp air, thick and acrid with the scent of burnt flesh.

He staggered, fangs bared in a snarl of agony, and looked down. Shards of silver buckshot were lodged deep in his chest, glittering like sickly jewels embedded in the ruined skin. Blood seeped from the wound—slowly, far more slowly than any human would. His Vitae—the ancient blood in his veins—was working overtime, knitting together the tattered edges of his chest, but the metal fought against him, stinging with a persistent, maddening fire.
He hissed, his hand clawing at his chest as he struggled to remain upright, staggering back a step, then two, the steely power of his Ventrue will barely keep him from crumbling. Rage began to smolder behind his eyes, fighting against the weakness writhing through his limbs. His lips curled back in a feral snarl, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His hands shook, claws scratching against his chest, desperately attempting to pull out the twisted metal shards that seemed to sink deeper into his flesh with each heartbeat.

Pain clung to him, refusing to let him forget his mortality, or his own dark purpose. He was weakened, damaged—but not defeated.

Alyssa absentmindedly dug into the small bag of sour cream and onion chips, watching the deadly chess game play out before her eyes. They seemed to have it under control but Skorzeny absorbed the impact, clearly affected but still going. He was going to be hard to kill, that should have not been a surprise, but the hacker would have felt better if it had kept the centuries old vampire down longer.

The hacker used Ekaterina’s equipment to look around a little more, before returning it to its original position of what Ekaterina was seeing. It was subtle movements and Ekaterina shouldn’t have noticed.

Agent Powers and Ekaterina began firing repeatedly at Skorzen hoping to fill him with holes as the phosphorus rounds made him burn as the oxygen reacted with it.

Janos Skorzeny stood at the center of the desolation, his black suit ripped and clinging to his lean frame. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the inhuman vitality of a Ventrue vampire barely masking the toll of repeated injuries. His left arm hung uselessly at his side, his face twisted into a mask of contempt and pain. The fresh blood on his chest from the last shotgun blast still glistened, soaking into the fine fabric and leaving black stains where it seeped into his skin.

The echo of heavy boots signaled his hunters closing in. From behind a shattered concession stand, Max stepped into the light. His shotgun gleamed, freshly reloaded, its barrel aimed squarely at Skorzeny. Max was young, his face smudged with sweat and dirt, but his hands were steady. The others—Kolchak and Ammie—followed a few steps behind, their presence anchoring the oppressive weight in the room.

Skorzeny’s lips curled into a sneer, baring his fangs. “Do you really believe this will end with me?” His voice was cold and sharp, cutting through the musty air like a blade. “You hunt shadows while the true darkness gathers. Blind, stupid cattle.”

Max pulled the trigger without hesitation. The shotgun roared, a deafening clap that reverberated through the cavernous lobby. Skorzeny staggered back as buckshot tore into his chest, shredding fabric and flesh alike. He crashed into the cracked marble pillar behind him, leaving a smear of black vitae as he slid to the floor.

“You’re running out of lives, Skorzeny,” Kolchak said, stepping closer, his sidearm trained on the vampire. “We’ve played this game long enough.”

Janos let out a wheezing laugh, dark and guttural, blood bubbling on his lips. “Oh, you have no idea what game you’re playing, Kolchak,” he rasped. His voice grew stronger, each word laced with venom and disdain. “The Red Star is coming. You think I’m the monster you should fear? You’re children playing at war while the heavens prepare to drown you in fire.”

Ammie advanced, the wooden stake in her hand glowing faintly in the dim light, a trick of the anima that coursed through her reforged body. Her gaze was unwavering, but a flicker of unease crossed her features at Skorzeny’s words. “Keep talking,” she said, her tone sharp. “It won’t save you.”

Skorzeny’s laugh turned into a low snarl. “You think your time is infinite? In three years—three short, pitiful years—the Red Star will blaze across the skies, and everything you know will crumble. Mueller’s mad ramblings? All true. The Mirzaba isn’t a comet—it’s a prison key, a beacon to the ones who lie beyond the veil. Your wars in Ukraine, the blood spilled over Jerusalem—they are cracks in the dam. The Dreaming Ones will awaken, and they will drag your world into an abyss you cannot comprehend.”

His eyes flicked upward, as if seeing something none of them could. “Even now, the heavens warn you,” he whispered, his voice soft but chilling. “But you don’t listen. You never listen.”
Ammie closed the distance in an instant. With a fierce, precise thrust, she drove the stake into his chest. Followed by a chant and a red energy blast. Skorzeny gasped, his body convulsing as black veins spread from the wound. His face twisted in fury, his eyes blazing one final time before his form collapsed into ash.

The silence that followed was oppressive. No one spoke. The faint creak of the broken chandelier above seemed almost deafening in the stillness.

Ammie spoke, her hands trembling slightly now that the adrenaline had begun to fade. “What the hell did he mean?” she asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “The Red Star, the Dreaming One’s— Do they both have something to do with each other? Even my occultist brother, never mentioned the vampires and the Red Star.” said Ammie
Kolchak holstered his weapon, his face grim. “We’d better hope it’s not,” he muttered. “But we’ve got to prepare like it is.”

The group filed out of the ruined theater, their footsteps echoing like a funeral march. Outside, the derelict city of Gary sprawled before them, a labyrinth of crumbling buildings and empty streets bathed in the deep crimson glow of early evening. The sky was painted in violet hues of orange and red, but it was the moon that commanded their attention—a great blood moon, looming low and impossibly large on the horizon. Its crimson light bled into the landscape, casting long, sharp shadows that seemed to writhe with a life of their own.

The group walked in silence beneath that ominous orb, the weight of Skorzeny’s warnings pressing down on them like a physical force. The air was thick and humid, carrying the scent of rust and rot, and the distant wail of a train horn sounded more like a dirge.

The blood moon hung above them like an unblinking eye, its baleful glow seeming to whisper of secrets better left unknown. The streets of Gary, already abandoned, felt like the ruins of a world yet to end, an eerie precursor to the doom Skorzeny had foretold.
Ammie glanced upward, her anima-forged body instinctively tensing at the sight. “It’s just a moon,” she said, as much to herself as anyone else.
Kolchak’s expression was unreadable as he adjusted his hat against the glow. “Yeah,” he said softly. “But not just any moon.”

The blood moon glared down as they disappeared into the night, its light stretching their shadows to grotesque lengths. Somewhere far away, the wind howled, a mournful sound that carried with it the weight of the vampire’s prophecy. The Red Star, the end of the world—it all felt too close, too real. And in the silence, the blood moon seemed to watch, waiting, patient and implacable, for what was to come.

Sartre got back into the van and hugged Alyssa.

“Max and Ammie got him, Alyssa.” said Sartre.

Alyssa nodded, “I saw,” was all she said. The quiet hanging overhead. The hacker had heard every word, and was starting to think that the dark, the evil, black thing that followed her around. The thing that seemed to want to latch to her, and not let go. What if that thing had something to do with what’s coming? Maybe, that’s why it wanted her - to use the hacker in some nefarious means to that particular end. She said none of that. Instead, “Good job, getting him.” Her tone was soft, and as if a sudden uncertainty had taken over.

The hacker threw out her, now empty, chip bag. Downed the very last drop of her Coke, and put the can in the bin she had for recycling, though recycling cans almost seemed pointless, if the world was ending soon. Then the equipment was shut down, and she climbed into the driver’s seat as they waited for the others.

“How are you Alyssa?” asked Sartre.

“I’m alright.” Alyssa stated, maybe not convincingly. “I wasn’t there in person, so, maybe I should be asking the rest of you that question.” In a poor attempt to lighten the mood, if just a little.

“I’m alright as well.” What snack do you have there?" he asked.

Agent Powers reloaded his shotgun as he listened to Sartre and Alyssa. Then he helped reload Ekaterina’s shotgun. Then Ekaterina asked Agent Powers, “Any idea what that dying vampire was going on about?” Agent Powers nodded as he collected the empty shells and put them on the back duffle bag. Then he replied, “If its like last time with the three witches a portal opened up and something evil tried to come through.” Ekaterina asked, “That was when we first met, correct?” Agent Powers gave Ekaterina a smolder and then nodded as he replied, “Yeah. Something tried to possess Alyssa and get her into the portal. I was not letting that happen so I kept her in place as he rained bullets and old man Sung’s magic sword attacks. We closed that portal, but I would not be surprised if they tried that trick again using that vampire.” Ekaterina nodded as she saw how serious Agent Powers was about doing his bodyguard job protecting Alyssa. She asked, “Weren’t you scared, even a little?” Agent Powers gave Ekaterina another smolder and then smirked as he replied, “Nothing scares me princess. My father trained me to be fearless. He likes to use the Spartan warriors and samurai as examples for making me the best combat Agent. If I am weak I can’t save myself or anyone else, so I never neglect my training.” Ekaterina gave him a smirk and looked at Alyssa as she said, “I find it ironic that you are being protected like a princess in those old fairy tales and I am working alongside your knight over here.” Ekaterina was hoping to get a smirk out of Alyssa.

Alyssa raised a brow, and smiled slightly. “It is ironic, isn’t it?” Alyssa then asked, “Max, you know I appreciate your protection but did your father ever say why I was supposed to be protected?”

Agent Powers gave Alyssa a smolder then shook his head no. He replied, “Nope. My father has a lot of secrets and never shares the whole mission with me. I asked him about that in the past and he told me I am not ready for the “big picture” yet. But I know they met once in the past when I was younger. I didn’t make the connection till I met your father in that cave since I didn’t know his name, but I am sure they know each other.” Agent Powers finished prepping his guns and putting them into his black bag.

Alyssa seemed surprised, which wasn’t an easy feat. Did her father request it? Did he try to help her? But he had vanished for five years before Max or anyone was sent to protect her. Alyssa had some theories, but it couldn’t have been her father’s request, directly. Still, the idea that the man played any part in protecting her was surprising but, kind of nice, in a way. “If everyone’s ready, let’s head home - or well temporary home.”

Agent Powers smirked as he replied, “Sounds good. I wonder if the others are back yet. We get a lot of side missions while on a big mission.” Ekaterina smirked as she replied, “I noticed that as well. I am curious as to what HQ is thinking by over working us? Perhaps there is a method to their madness?” Agent Powers shrugged as he replied, “If their is, I don’t see them sharing that with us anytime soon.”

Posted by : Cindy

[vrock]

In the dead of night, Beckett moved quietly through the narrow, ancient alleyways of Prague. The air was thick with mist and the faint, metallic scent of blood—something that he, as a Gangrel vampire and scholar of the Kindred, could sense more acutely than any mortal. Tonight, however, he was not hunting. Instead, he was following a lead about the elusive “Veil Scrolls,” an artifact rumored to hold secrets about Gehenna—the fabled end times for the Kindred.

The whisper of its existence had come from a trusted source in Vienna, who claimed the Scrolls lay hidden in the Church of St. Vitus. This was no ordinary document but a piece of forbidden knowledge said to contain veiled references to an event that transcended the fate of vampires alone, intertwining with mysteries whispered among the world’s most secretive and ancient orders. The scrolls supposedly warned of a convergence that would bring about not just Gehenna but something larger, darker, a force that would unravel more than just the Kindred’s existence.

He entered the church, its grand Gothic architecture looming above him like the bones of a slumbering beast. Stained glass saints watched him, their eyes frozen in silent judgment. In this silence, only his footsteps echoed, a reminder of his solitude in this perilous journey. Beckett made his way toward the apse, where the tomb of a forgotten bishop lay covered in dust and time. The Latin inscription carved into the stone pulsed faintly, as if aware of his presence.

Beckett’s hand traced the faded inscription, reciting the words softly. He had heard whispers that this tomb held more than just bones, that it guarded an entrance to something ancient and hidden. He muttered an invocation in Coptic, one he had learned in the dusty libraries of Cairo, and pressed his hand against the stone. A hidden latch clicked, revealing a narrow stairwell descending into darkness.

With a deep breath, he stepped into the gloom, the smell of damp earth and incense filling his nostrils. His footsteps were cautious as he descended into an undercroft, each echo seeming to stretch out longer than the last. At the bottom, a single flickering candle illuminated a small chamber, casting twisted shadows along the walls. In the center of the room lay an altar, draped with a black velvet cloth. Atop it rested a heavy, ancient tome bound in leather that looked as though it had aged alongside the stones around it.

The cover bore a sigil unlike any he had seen before—a complex, interwoven design of stars and serpentine figures, etched with symbols from ancient alphabets. For a moment, he hesitated. Beckett had seen and read enough to know that some books were not meant to be opened, and this one seemed to hum with an aura of malevolent expectation. But his curiosity overruled his caution, and he slowly lifted the cover.

The pages inside were brittle, filled with a language that flickered in and out of coherence. As he struggled to focus, the words seemed to settle, solidifying into phrases he could decipher. They spoke of a veil—a barrier that separated the mortal world from realms not meant to be touched. It wasn’t just a wall between the living and the dead; it was a thin film stretched across layers of reality, each more dangerous than the last. This veil, the text warned, was weakening, and with it came the danger of breaching boundaries that had kept horrors at bay since the dawn of time.

Beckett’s pulse quickened. The Scrolls contained prophecies not only about the return of the Antediluvians and the end of the Kindred but of a catastrophe that would engulf all existence. The tome spoke of beings from beyond the veil—corrupting, shapeless entities that would seep into this reality like poison if the veil were ever to fully rupture. These horrors, called “The Filth” in the text, were described as living nightmares that would devour everything, spreading an infection that could twist worlds into unrecognizable monstrosities.

As Beckett turned the pages, he came upon an illustration—a series of dark, writhing figures with too many eyes, mouths, and limbs. They were something worse than the Kindred, something so ancient that their forms seemed to break the very rules of perception. These were beings who existed beyond mortality, beyond time, waiting for the veil to fall and their prison to shatter.

He froze as a low whisper sounded in his mind, as though the images themselves were speaking to him. The voice wasn’t clear, but he could feel it resonating with the very essence of his undead nature. These creatures—they were waiting. And the prophecy seemed to suggest that the impending Gehenna was but a small piece of a much greater puzzle, a fractal of doom that spiraled infinitely outward.

The chamber grew colder, and Beckett felt an unsettling presence settle over him. He turned, scanning the shadows, but he was alone. Or so he thought.

Then, from somewhere in the darkness, a voice drifted. It was faint, like wind brushing through an open window, carrying with it the weight of centuries. “Why do you seek what cannot be saved?”

Beckett took a step back, instinctively gripping the tome tighter. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. But he received no answer. The air grew heavier, pressing down on him as though the walls themselves were drawing closer, thickening with a sense of impending collapse.

The voice came again, this time softer, almost mournful. “The veil is thin… Gehenna is only the beginning. To know is to call. To seek is to summon.”

The words rang in his ears, vibrating with an intensity that made his vision blur. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but the voice persisted, now echoing within his mind, leaving no space for coherent thought.

“There is no salvation in the Scrolls.”

He realized, with a growing dread, that whatever intelligence had left these writings had foreseen this moment. The Scrolls were not a guide to prevent the apocalypse—they were a catalyst, a lure to draw the curious and the desperate closer to the end. The knowledge itself was a poison, designed to weaken those who sought it. Each new revelation tugged at the fabric of reality, allowing the Filth, these ravenous beings, to inch closer.

Beckett closed the tome, his hands trembling. The prophecy was clearer now, an unavoidable riddle that warned against knowing too much, against prying at the seams of the universe. He had learned that Gehenna was not merely the end for the Kindred but part of a larger end—a sequence of events that would unravel the veils between worlds, letting in forces that would devour everything.

The silence pressed down on him, thick with the unspeakable. Beckett forced himself to turn away from the altar, the weight of the knowledge he had gained settling over him like a shroud. He climbed back up the stairs, his mind racing with fragments of terrible insight. The Veil Scrolls had told him that he was not the only one facing annihilation. The end times for Kindred and mortal alike were woven together, a single, intertwined fate.

As he stepped back into the dim light of the church, he couldn’t shake the sense that something was watching, something that had crossed the veil to witness his discovery. And he knew then that no matter how far he traveled or how deeply he tried to bury this knowledge, it would haunt him, an invisible scar that pulsed with the presence of things waiting just beyond the edge of reality.

[vrock]

The blood moon bathed the barren streets in a scarlet glow as Carl Kolchak sat in his hotel room. His shadow stretched long and jagged across the cracked pavement, merging with the darkness around him. The night was unnaturally quiet, the kind of silence that felt alive, pressing against his ears and chest. He pulled out a sleek recording device—modern, compact, with a glassy, obsidian finish that reflected the crimson light above. A faint tremor passed through his hand as he held it up, pressing the record button.

He took a deep breath, the sound of it amplified in the stillness.

“This is Carl Kolchak, recording at—” He glanced at his watch. “—19:45 hours, just outside of Gary, Indiana. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep this up, but if you’re listening to this… well, it means I haven’t stopped trying.”

His voice was steady but carried a raw edge, as if something inside him was fraying with every word.

“After I left town, I began posting notices on every corner of the internet, in every dark nook and cranny I could find. All in relation to my wife, Gail.” His tone faltered slightly, the name heavy on his tongue. “She disappeared years ago. Some say Crouch End in England is where she vanished. I’ve gone over the accounts, the details. People go missing there in ways that don’t make sense, in ways no one can explain.”

“But that’s not the only place. Ealdwic, nestled somewhere in the shadows of London, feels eerily similar. I’ve spoken to people, read the reports. Ealdwic isn’t on most maps, and those who’ve gone there often… don’t come back. What kind of forces could make entire people, entire places, vanish? It feels like the two are connected, somehow. Like two sides of the same warped coin, both touched by things we were never meant to understand.”

“And then there’s Skorzeny. After we staked him, after we watched him turn to ash, it wasn’t over. Not really. His victims? All of them—cremated. Not by accident, and not by grieving families. This wasn’t normal protocol. It felt deliberate. I’d bet my life some shadowy society, or a black-budget government agency, swept in to clean up the mess. Why? Because they know something we don’t. Something they don’t want us to find out.”

His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper.

“I haven’t slept a full night since this began, and I doubt I ever will again. And now, you might not either. Because no matter how safe you think you are, there’s one fact you can’t bury under red tape and bureaucracy: Skorzeny’s death didn’t bring closure. It brought questions. And those questions will eat at you, like they do me, every time you tell yourself, ‘It couldn’t happen here.’”

Kolchak stopped the recording, staring at the device for a moment before slipping it back into his jacket.

A dim bulb buzzed faintly, casting a weak yellow glow over the peeling wallpaper and cracked linoleum floor. Kolchak sat at an old wooden desk, the edges nicked and worn, and opened his laptop. The glow of the screen illuminated his tired face as he navigated to a site buried deep in the digital labyrinth.

The blood moon loomed high as Kolchak worked, its eerie light casting the derelict city in shades of crimson and shadow. In the night sky, it hung like an omen, watching as humanity unknowingly edged closer to the precipice of its end.

Kolchak entered his credentials, his fingers moving quickly but deliberately over the keys.

Once inside, he opened a new thread and began typing up his report, detailing Skorzeny’s final words, the blood moon, and the Red Star. A small notification pinged in the corner of his screen—a private message from a user with the handle Watcher13.

Watcher13: “Kolchak. You’ve seen it too. We need to talk. There’s more you don’t know.”

Kolchak’s fingers hesitated above the keyboard, his pulse quickening. He typed back a curt reply.

Kolchak: “Tell me everything.”

The blood moon outside seemed to press closer against the window, its crimson light bleeding into the room. As the screen refreshed, a final unsettling realization crossed his mind. The conversations, the reports, the mysteries—they were all feeding into a web of connections that spiraled far beyond anything he had imagined.

The laptop screen glowed starkly against the gloom.

The site’s header: Anon X .com.