Episode 4: Poker Night

[oldschool96]

The desert sky above PX-141 churned with malignant energy, a vast, undulating tapestry of coal-black clouds, their edges seething with jagged streaks of pale, electric fury. The lightning’s eerie flickers illuminated the barren wasteland, rendering every boulder and scrubby bush into grotesque, skeletal shapes that loomed and writhed like specters. Rain, an alien intruder in this forsaken stretch of Nevada, fell in irregular, fat drops that exploded against the cracked concrete walkways and corrugated steel roofs of the military base, creating a chaotic symphony of percussion. Each drop glinted for a heartbeat in the flickering light before being swallowed into the parched earth, as though the desert itself sought to devour any hint of moisture.

The base sprawled across the desolation like the decayed carcass of some forgotten beast, its chain-link fences leaning at drunken angles, its watchtowers little more than skeletal sentinels whose purpose had long since eroded. PX-141 was less a symbol of human strength and ingenuity than a cruel joke—an afterthought discarded at the edge of nowhere. Its Quonset huts and prefab barracks crouched low beneath the storm, their rust-pitted surfaces streaked with rivulets of rainwater and grime. The air was alive with a feral wind that snarled and shrieked as it ripped through the base, tugging at loose metal panels that screamed in protest, their cries rising above the steady, ominous hum that seemed to emanate from the very ground.

Inside one of the huts, the heavy, oppressive atmosphere thickened. Smoke from cheap cigarettes coiled like serpents in the dim, yellowish light of a dangling bulb that swayed ever so slightly, casting wavering shadows across the cramped interior. The stale stench of sweat, spilled beer, and old machinery clung to the walls, mingling with the metallic tang of rust and despair. A battered card table served as the room’s grim focal point, its surface scarred by countless games and punctuated by cigarette burns. Around it sat a motley collection of weary souls, their faces carved by the relentless grind of their lives and the weight of unspoken fears.

Sergeant Miguel Torres, his face a weathered map of lines and scars, exhaled a plume of smoke as he leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes scanning the room with a vigilance born of habit. His square jaw was set, his expression perpetually grim, as though etched in stone by decades of hardship and disillusionment. His hands, calloused and scarred, moved with practiced precision as he flicked the ash from his cigarette into a dented can that served as an ashtray.

Across from him, Private Danny Miller shuffled a deck of cards with nervous energy, his fingers betraying the tremor that came with too little sleep and too many whispered rumors. A boyish face marred by dark circles and a faint scar that ran from his temple to his cheek, Miller tried to keep his focus on the cards, his lips pressed into a thin line as if suppressing the gnawing dread that lingered at the edges of his mind.

At the head of the table sat Dr. Eleanor Chambers, her lab coat stained with coffee and chemical residue, her thinning hair pulled back in a tight, unflattering bun. Her sharp, calculating eyes darted toward the door with each gust of wind that rattled the building, betraying a mind perpetually spinning with calculations and contingency plans. A mug of lukewarm coffee trembled in her hand, its contents sloshing over the rim as she lifted it to her lips in a futile attempt to steady herself.

Laughter broke the uneasy silence, sharp and brittle like glass underfoot. The others at the table—an assortment of soldiers and technicians—joined in, their voices strained, their amusement hollow. It was the kind of laughter meant to ward off the encroaching shadows, to fill the void where words of comfort and assurance should have been. They all knew the stories, the whispered warnings of what lingered in the labs at the base’s heart. Shadows that moved when no one was there to cast them. Low, mournful sounds that resonated through the halls long after midnight. Footsteps echoing in empty corridors.

Then it came—a sound that didn’t belong. A low, rhythmic hum, faint yet insistent, that thrummed through the air, vibrating in their chests and stirring something primal and fearful within. Torres froze, his cigarette halfway to his lips, his dark eyes narrowing as he tilted his head to listen.

“Do you hear that?” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of wind and rain.

The others stilled, their strained laughter silenced. For a long moment, there was only the moaning wind and the staccato drumbeat of rain against the roof. Then the hum came again, growing louder, its resonance deep and unsettling, as though the bones of the earth themselves were singing in agony.

“It’s probably just the generators,” Miller offered, his voice cracking as he forced the words out. “They’ve been acting up for weeks.”

Dr. Chambers stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor with a grating shriek. Her hands trembled as she fumbled to button her coat, her eyes darting between her colleagues and the door. “I should check on the lab,” she said, her voice brittle. “Make sure everything’s… functioning as it should.”

She took a step toward the door, and the first sound hit—a deafening crash, like the world itself was being torn in two. It came from nowhere and everywhere at once, shaking the walls, sending the swaying bulb into a frenzy of light and shadow. Before anyone could speak, the lights died completely, plunging the room into suffocating darkness.

Then, one by one, they came. Sounds that defied comprehension, an orchestra of chaos: a wet, organic tearing, a sharp metallic screech, a guttural growl that reverberated through flesh and bone.

A scream—high-pitched, raw, and unending—pierced the darkness, cutting through the storm. Torres grabbed for his sidearm, fumbling in the blackness, but his movements were sluggish, like swimming through molasses. Something unseen brushed past him, cold and damp, leaving a slick trail on his arm.

The bulb flickered back to life, but what it revealed was worse than the dark. Dr. Chambers was slumped against the far wall, her head at an impossible angle, her face frozen in an expression of sheer terror. Miller was on his knees, blood pouring from his eyes, his mouth moving soundlessly as his fingers clawed at the air.

And then the light flickered again, this time revealing nothing. The room was empty, save for Torres. He stood alone, surrounded by overturned chairs and the bloodied remnants of his comrades. Something dripped from the ceiling, slow and deliberate, splattering against the scarred surface of the card table.

The hum returned, louder now, and with it came the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

[oldschool96]

The day that followed their plunge into the void and the strange awakening in the RV had passed like a fevered dream, each moment thick with the tension of unspoken truths. The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting striped patterns on the walls of the cramped bedroom. Alyssa sat cross-legged on the bed, wearing an oversized Guns N’ Roses T-shirt that hung loosely on her frame, its faded logo a burst of red and yellow against the black fabric. She absently toyed with the hem, her gaze distant, lost in thoughts she wasn’t ready to share.

Sartre leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed, the faint shadow of stubble lining his jaw. His voice broke the silence, low and measured, carrying the weight of a question he had turned over in his mind countless times. “Alyssa… back in the basement. That look you gave me… what was that? There’s something different about you."

Alyssa glanced upward at Peter, her eyes had a haunted quality about them that hadn’t been there before.

Look? Which look was he talking about? The one after she confronted the children, saw the world end, got thrown into the cosmos, tried to spare him all of it? Which look?

“I don’t know. I mean I don’t know how to explain it to you.” Alyssa finally spoke up after a long silence. “I saw things. They changed me. I feel different - like somehow.” Alyssa sighed. She really had no idea how to put what she felt or had experienced into a way that would make sense. “I saw Prue - a lot - in the visions. I think I might have gained something - but I also feel like I lost something.” Alyssa knew she was doing terribly at this and, not on purpose, suddenly changed the topic. “In those visions you can get - have you ever seen the world end?” (edited)

“I mean you looked at me wild eyed, like our relationship and bond if I could say that had grown even stronger than it was. Like when you looked at the phone that one night and said “Ohh, that!” he smiled. “But more extreme.” What have you seen, when you last talked to Prue, what did she say to you?”

“I felt it had grown stronger. I could feel it in every part of me.” She hoped that didn’t sound stalkerish, that’s not at all how she meant it. Alyssa thought back to Prue’s words. “She said that I was strong and could fight. She also said that you and I - that we - well it was Prue - so can probably imagine.” Alyssa felt a familiar blush come to her face. “I saw … the cosmos, the infinite but also how the world could be destroyed.” A concerned look crossed her face. “We didn’t stop the end of the world, I don’t think. Not completely. We stopped one way the world might end.” A sudden memory. “I was shown Piper - and her husband Leo. She’s having a hard time and taking it out on him. I think I need to talk with her before we leave NY. Maybe, see her in person.” Alyssa paused. “I also would like to see my father, if that’s, at all, possible.”

Piper Lives in San Francisco. Are you Suggesting that she is in New York? Did you see any other of The Halliwell sisters in your vision? When we first met them they mentioned that their half-sister Paige was here in New York. We could possibly meet Piper and your father at The King’s Gambit Chess Club or The Ebon Catacomb club." He noticed Alyssa’s laptop, she was searching for a permanent residence for the group. An estate. What are you looking for there?" And Prue said that me and you, what Agent Wilson?" Peter then asked something else. “Those talismans, do you still have them? You seem to have picked the last one up by telekinesis. That was the same power that Prue had.” said Sartre.

“I don’t know if she’s in New York. I just feel like I have to talk to her. I want to speak to my father in private, I’m not sure I’ll be able to reach him or where he is, at the moment.” Alyssa responded to his next question. “We need a more permanent base, something larger. I mean its great we all get along but after a while tight quarters can start to seem suffocating, and the team deserves space.” It was apparently Peter’s turn to abruptly change the subject. “Yes, I still have them. My jewelry box on the table there,” pointing out a small black and silver box, “they’re in there.” Alyssa looked up from her computer at the last statement and blinked. “I hadn’t recalled, but now that you mention it. Is it possible? Nah,” shaking her head. But then obviously the hacker lost herself in thought for a moment. “But what if…” She spotted a water cup, the kind with a lid and straw on a side table, actually next to the jewelry box. Alyssa focused on the cup, it was empty, she already knew that. The hacker attempted willing the cup to her, after all what’s the worst that could happen?

Satre watched the cup. To see what would happen. "You do have Piper’s number in your phone Alyssa. I would recommend meeting with your father at the chess club. It’s more private there. "

“As for Prue; what exactly was that 90s bad girl telling you Alyssa?” Sartre could not help but smile.

“Yes, I have her number. And I suppose, if I can get a hold of my father I can ask him to meet me there.” Alyssa sighed at his next question, but slightly smiled. “Do you really need details? She basically said I should be more adventurous in bed.” Alyssa paused. “I need to concentrate for a minute.” She got quiet and tried to focus again on the cup. Alyssa was really just guessing that’s how telekinesis would work, if she actually had acquired that ability.

The cup began to shake ever so slightly, it rose, hovered above the table for a moment and then…

The insulated tall cup, black with purple flowers on it, flew slowly towards Alyssa and Peter. The hacker’s eyes became wide and in her excitement, she lost her concentration and the cup dropped on to the floor. The room however was small enough that it landed near the hacker’s feet.

She smiled, a real smile that hadn’t been seen in days. “Tell me you saw that?” Asking the man beside her.

“Ohh, I saw it, my hacker. I love you Alyssa. May we talk in the chip?” Sartre asked.

“Sure, I guess. And I love you, too.” Alyssa responded.

“I feel the love in every part of you as well Alyssa.” Peter proclaimed, then added, "Something worries me. With us this close, even closer for some reason it could open avenues eventually, but what if we wind up like Piper and Leo?

“Piper is struggling because she’s lost Prue twice now and Leo was supposed to be their guardian angel. He wasn’t supposed to let that happen, according to her.” Turning to face him and taking both of his hands gently in hers. “I won’t ever do that to you. I don’t expect you to fix everything for me or make something impossible happen. I only ask that you’re there by my side though - well everything - and you have been. We are not Piper and Leo, actually I think we’re not like them at all.”

“How are we different?” He asked as Guns and Roses’ 17-year-old album began to play began to guide her to the bed. “I hope that doesn’t bother you too much and that you weren’t hoping for “Use your Illusion One and Two.” my Alyssa.” He smiled.

“Nothing from Guns and Roses ever bothers me but their best album is and always will be Appetite for Destruction.” Alyssa commented.

“I’m thinking of going out later. I’ll remember that.”

Alyssa nodded, the two made plans and Alyssa got showered and dressed. For a change, and because of where they were headed put on a black skirt, that wasn’t exactly mini on her but would have been on most people and a short sleeved button up shirt, purple. She wore her black boots and leather jacket and headed down the ladder that functioned as stairs.

Peter was still getting ready but Sung was awake.
Sung woke up near the table. His mind was still foggy from what had happened, and flashes of the events returned to him. Was that a dream, he thought as his mind cleared up and his focus returned. He looked over to his sword and its sheath. Both looked tarnished from fire or heat of some kind. He had never seen his family sword in that condition before. Reaching for the sword, his shoulder was sore. Pulling back his arm, it ached. He sighed, looking at the fridge.

He could hear Alyssa and Sartre talking but was not sure about what. His headache was growing, his lips dry. He stood slowly and walked over to the frig and, opening it, got a bottle of water out. Drinking almost everything, he returned to the table and sat down.

After getting dressed Sartre joined Alyssa and Sung.

Earlier before Alyssa woke up, Agent Powers and Ekaterina woke up early for their workout. After a five mile jog they picked up some gourmet coffee and breakfast for the others as they ran back to the RV. They were a bit tired from the last mission but could not relax unless they kept to their routine exercise. So after Sartre woke up and joined the group Agent Powers knocked on the RV and came in with Ekaterina breakfast. They set the bags on the table and said “Good Morning” before sipping their hot coffee and nibbling on a breakfast sandwich.

Alyssa got showered and dressed. For a change, and because pf where they were headed put on a black skirt, that wasn’t exactly mini on her but would have been on most people and a short sleeved button up shirt, purple. She wore her black boots and leather jacket and headed down the ladder that functioned as stairs.

Peter was still getting ready but Sung was awake. The man looked ragged from the night before but who could blame him. Alyssa descended upon the arrival of Max and Ekaterina and breakfast.

“Oh, breakfast. I’m starving. Thanks, you two.” That last part for the newly arrived couple. “So… umm…how is everyone doing?” There were still things that lingered under the surface of the hacker but she didn’t want to discuss them. As for her new power - that would come later as well.

Ekaterina elegantly smiled as she replied, “Excellent after a good workout. I am grateful to Mr. Powers for being my workout partner, especially since Dahlia was called away.” Agent Powers gave Ekaterina a smolder then nodded as he replied, “My pleasure Princess. So do we have a mission or a plan yet? I was not sure how to plan my time till it was decided.”

“Nope, nothing yet.” Alyssa grabbed a coffee and an egg sandwich on a hard roll, something she missed in other parts of the county. It was a NY thing. “We need to find a base. I was looking at some places in Williamsburg, VA. It’s only slightly south of the middle of the east coast and there’s places that would accommodate us in between missions. Here…” She pulled out her phone and sent them pictures and details about the places she had been looking at. “Feel free to look those over or go virtual estate hunting. Let me know what you think or if you have other suggestions. There’s no rush. Peter and I are going to be going out for a few hours.”

Sung’s phone went off with a couple of dings as the information entered his phone. “Alyssa, I hope you are doing well this morning. He Saw Powers and Ekaterina.” He still was not sure about this whole princess thing. Why would anyone let their princess do anything like this type of work? Powers and Ekaterina are making breakfast. That was one nice thing about this team. People can cook orders and take them out all the time. Takeout can get old quickly, and you can not always find a good restaurant.

Sung greeted everyone, walking to a cabinet where he kept some supplies. He opened the cabinet, pulled out a few items, and took his sword. He sat in a chair to the side and started to wipe down the sword and sheath, cleaning them both, and He watched and listened to the others. "A new home for the team. That sounds intriguing, " commented Sung, wiping his blade carefully in a ritualistic way.

“Yes, I’m alright. Thanks.” It’s difficult with Alyssa to tell if she was or just saying that. “I hope you are as well.” That kind of led to the next thing. “Prue gave me something last night. I have a feeling none of you could see her but she was there in the visions I got. Anyway, I wanted to show you all what I got.”

After coming down stairs, Sartre smiled. “What do you want to show us Alyssa?” asked Sartre.

Agent Powers raised an eyebrow at Alyssa as he gave her a smolder. He then paused before he said, “So you are talking to ghosts? Is that why you were acting weird at that last mission? I was kind of worried you were having some kind of seizure.” Ekaterina elegantly smiled and replied, “Perhaps her gifts are evolving.” Agent Powers shrugged and nodded.

“Ekaterina is correct. They are. I should tell you all something. When I got my bee it didn’t give me all my powers so I’m still getting them. It’s also why all I could do until now is break things down or put them together.” Alyssa explained, that was enough info without giving that her bee had been messed up. “The knife gives me visions and connects me to Prue. So, yes I guess you could say I can talk to a ghost, in a sense.” She paused. “Anyway, I apparently got a new ability last night and it was the same one Prue had. See that notebook on that table.” Pointing to a blue spiral notebook on a table in the room but one would have to walk to it to get it. “Now, I’ll need quiet, because I’m still learning how to do this, but watch that notebook.”

Alyssa waited for everyone to be ready, concentrated on the notebook. The notebook started to shake, and rose off the table then floated towards Alyssa, this time she managed to put out her hands and catch it before it could fall to the ground.

Agent Powers raised and eyebrow at Alyssa as he gave her a smolder. He then smirked as he replied, “Telekinesis huh? I can see that being very useful as you get better using it.” Ekaterina elegantly replied, “Indeed. Are you able to control your link to the supernatural at your will or is at their’s?”

“I seem to have no control over what the knife shows me or when, except that have to be holding it and invoke it’s power. So,when I use it to fight something I get visions. That’s what was going on last night and why I was hesitant to keep using it. The visions weren’t pleasant.” Alyssa explained.

Agent Powers had a serious look on his face as he asked, “I remember you looking like you were in pain when holding that knife. Are you sure it’s not doing any damage to your body? It would be pointless to use a power that destroys you in the end.” Ekaterina elegantly chimed in as she asked, “Should he have you checked out just in case?”

“I really don’t know. I don’t feel injured but I’m sure Peter and I can stop by the Illuminati offices and I can get checked out there.” Alyssa responded.

Sung gave a humm… “The knife could be a focus for the supernatural or Anima. My sword is kind of the same way. It works on a different principle.” replied Sung. “You could take it outside, focus on it, and try to push or have your Anima flow through it. and we’ll what happens.” He suggested. “I could be wrong too, but I bet I am close to how that works,” said Sung, still working on his sword.

Alyssa nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. A controlled environment would be best to experiment with it.” It would have to wait until later though.

Sung nodded and looks at his sword. “I can help you when you are ready. How much I do not know yet.” replied Sung now starting to work on his sheath.

What didn’t he know? Well, just about her Bee and that was classified - because he was a Dragon she couldn’t tell him without permission. “I’ll get back to you on that. If I think of anything I’ve not told you.”

Sung thought for a moment, “It is not what I know about you, Specifically. It is how Anima flows. It is different with everyone. You will find that not everyone uses their Anima the same way.” Sung explained further.

Alyssa nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. A controlled environment would be best to experiment with it.” It would have to wait until later though.

Alyssa nodded. “I see. That makes sense. Well, it will have to be figured out later.” She finished her egg sandwich and drank the last of her coffee. Then turned to Peter, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes I’m ready. Should we had to the club first? What does everyone think of what Prue gave Alyssa?” In the chip; when do you plan on calling your father Alyssa?"

Back into the chip, Alyssa responded. “Later.” Outloud. “Yes, the club sounds good.”

“Is everyone astounded by Alyssa’s new gift?” asked Sartre.

“It is a bit unusual. We must see if Alyssa thinks it is a gift or a curse,” comments Sung. “what do you think so far Alyssa?” asked Sung as he wiped off his sheath with a soft cloth. He looks up at her as she answers.

Agent Powers gave Sartre a smolder then replied, “I don’t know. I am concerned by how much pain she was in. I can see it being both a curse and a gift.” Ekaterina elegantly replied, “We will learn more after she gets looked at by her medical team.” Agent Powers nodded as he ate his large breakfast sandwich and sipped his coffee.

“On top of everything else, you should get more training from someone in close-quarters combat. You do not have to get it from me, but someone would be a good idea.” suggested Sung.

Agent Powers gave Sung a smolder then replied, “Well if you want to do that, I can teach her or have my father send a trainer since he is very concerned about her safety.”

So, Alyssa does not feel like we are talking about her, like she is not there. Sung addressed her. “Alyssa, it is up to you. I did not say I would not train you; I was just giving you my opinions. It would not take me long to teach you the basics, and maybe you can teach me about computers,” Sung said in a serious tone.

Alyssa would jump at the chance to teach anyone about computers. Plus she was grateful they wanted to go out of their way to train her. “How about this Sung you know a great deal about the more metaphysical stuff so why don’t you train me with using the knife and the telekinesis. Max you have said, repeatedly, I need to eat better and I should really work out more. You can help me with that, though I don’t think I can stand a life with no junk food. At least I can limit it more. And I probably can’t work out everyday the way you and Ekaterina do but I could find someone I do enjoy and do that. I have a feeling I’ll need to be stronger to deal with what’s coming.” Alyssa turned back to Sung. “I would have taught you about computers for nothing in return, but yes that’s definitely a fair trade. I will teach anyone about computers, if they want.”

Alyssa went back to Sung’s first question. A curse or blessing? “Whether my new gifts are a curse or blessing, well, the telekinesis, I’m leaning more towards blessing. As for the visions - I have yet to be shown anything good - except that Prue seems to be watching out for me, in her own way. But the knife is powerful and able to fight things regular weapons aren’t. So, really I’m still undecided if the knife is a curse or blessing.”

"I see. OK, well, when you are ready, let me know, " Sung replied, and then he grinned. “You know if You and Sartre want to be alone you don’t have to make excuses,” Sung said with some sarcasm in his voice. Saying that knowing they were going somewhere.

Ekaterina elegantly replied, “Perhaps when Alyssa is serious about this, we can write down a work out schedule between us all to make it easier and smoother to complete.” Agent Powers nodded as he replied, “Sounds good. I’ll need to plan out her dietary needs along with her cheat days”

Alyssa nodded to Sung. “I will, it will be soon. Hopefully we can get a base. That’ll make all of this easier.” She bit her lip but chuckled at Sung’s other comment. “Well, I have never seen most of the Illuminati clubs …so…”

Max and Ekaterina weren’t really addressing her, or it didn’t come across that way. Alyssa piped on with,“That sounds good.”

Then she added, “Thanks everyone. I do appreciate all of this.”

Agent Powers then gave Alyssa a smolder as he asked, “The Illuminati have clubs? Since when? I didn’t know about this. Are we allowed to go or do we need approval?” Ekaterina looked at Agent Powers and held in a smirk at his childlike ignorance. She replied, “I believe each group has similar places but they tend to be exclusive.”

“Max, you could get into some of them. Here,” Alyssa sent info about the different clubs. “If your interested in any of those let me know, but it just has to be Peter, you and I. Ekaterina and Sung and anyone who isn’t Illuminati can’t go to them or be told their location or much about them.”

Agent Powers rubbed his chin as he pondered a bit then replied, “Maybe they are not important since my father never mentioned them.” Ekaterina elegantly replied, “Well the clubs tend to involve politics so that might be why he kept you away from them.” Agent Powers nodded, then gave Ekaterina a smolder as he replied, “Makes sense. I really don’t get politics. I guess my father does all that stuff for me.”

With a hand gesture, Sung dismissed the information. “Everyone has there secrets. I am part of enough clubs currently. I don’t need to go to that one. Ekaterina, if you want to go to a nice club let me know. I would be honored to escort you,” comments Sung.

Alyssa nodded, and stood up. She threw out any garbage she had from breakfast. It had been takeout so there weren’t any dishes. She then said, “We’ll see you all later.” Nodding to Peter, so they could go.

“I’m sensing Guns N Roses in your future Alyssa.” said Sartre.

The Cipher Lounge:

A hidden area accessible only to Illuminati operatives, this private space is a sanctuary for strategizing and unwinding. Plush black leather couches are arranged in semi-circles, and the air is perfumed with a faint metallic scent. Onyx coffee tables contain built-in holographic projectors, allowing operatives to review dossiers or schematics while sipping rare wines and liquors.

The Cipher Lounge glowed with a subdued, almost ethereal ambiance, the dim, blue-tinted light refracted through the polished edges of onyx tables and reflected faintly on the sleek leather of the crescent-shaped couches. The scent of something faintly metallic, like a distant memory of blood and ozone, lingered in the air, melding with the soft tang of aged spirits and the faint whisper of old wood polished to a mirror finish.

Alyssa Wilson and Peter Sartre sat close, their silhouettes merging in the ambient glow of the room’s holographic displays, which flickered like spectral sentinels above the tables. Her hand rested lightly in his, fingers entwined like the tendrils of ivy clinging to the weathered stones of a forgotten temple. The faint tremor of her thumb tracing small circles on his palm belied her calm exterior, a fleeting ripple across the still waters of her otherwise guarded demeanor.

From the concealed speakers woven seamlessly into the walls, the brooding strains of Chinese Democracy spilled out, each note crawling into the room’s deep shadows and settling there like an uninvited ghost. The guitars roared with a restrained fury, the vocals a distant wail of defiance, each chord weaving a tapestry of tension and melancholy that matched the charged stillness between the pair.

Peter’s eyes, sharp yet softened by an unspoken fatigue, flicked briefly to her face, searching its contours as if seeking some hidden truth there. Alyssa, her posture outwardly relaxed but with a barely perceptible tautness at the corners of her mouth, kept her gaze fixed forward. The holographic projector before them cycled silently, displaying layers of maps, schematics, and dossiers, but its relentless churn went unnoticed.

The weight of the music pressed upon them like an unspoken confession, its crescendos and lulls echoing their shared burdens. Alyssa’s other hand rested on her thigh, her fingertips twitching faintly in rhythm with the drumbeats, a subtle tether to the moment that grounded her amidst the maelstrom of thought behind her steady expression.

Peter’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly around hers, a silent reassurance passed through their entwined fingers, fragile yet steadfast. In that fleeting gesture, the cacophony of fractured harmonies and burning guitars seemed to quiet, if only for an instant, leaving them wrapped in the thick, tangible silence of understanding that neither dared break.

Remembering what she said earlier he switched the album to Appetite for Destruction. “Welcome to the Jungle” began to play. As Slash’s riffs began he waited for her to make her move.

“You didn’t tell me how we were different from Piper and Leo.” Sartre said.

“I did, actually. I don’t expect the impossible from you. I think Piper thinks Leo can move mountains. Prue wasn’t meant to stay, she knew that. I doubt even a guardian angel could have kept on this plane.” Alyssa paused. “We just aren’t them so how could we be like them. Besides, we protect each other - it’s not one sided nor do I want it to be.”

“Your father, you should meet him at The Chess Club.” said Sartre,

He shut the music and holograms off." I am more interested in what you have to say to the Halliwell Chef." I brought you here to listen in Private. Lumies Only. Call Piper…" I’ve been an agent for thirteen years Alyssa."

Alyssa kissed him, smiled, and nodded. “Alright,” She pulled out her cell and called Piper.

Piper must have seen it was Alyssa calling because she picked up, and greeted the hacker with a hello followed by the hacker’s name.

“Hi,” Alyssa said to the Halliwell sister. “I… um… I wanted to see how you were.”

When Piper Halliwell’s voice finally came through, it wasn’t the calm, collected tone Alyssa expected—it was raw and on edge.

“Hello? Alyssa?” Piper’s voice cracked, trembling with barely contained emotion.

“Hi,” Alyssa started cautiously, gripping her phone tightly. “I… um… I wanted to see how you were.”

For a moment, there was silence on the line. Then it hit—Piper’s voice exploded through the receiver, a mix of anguish and fury that sent a shiver down Alyssa’s spine.

“How am I?!” Piper’s words were like a hurricane, each syllable lashing out with unfiltered pain. “You’re calling me now? NOW?! Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?! Do you have any clue what it feels like to lose your sister—not once, but twice? to get her back, only to lose her again?!”

Peter raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t interrupt. (edited)
Piper’s voice broke, and Alyssa could hear her pacing. “Do you know what it’s like to wake up every day and pretend it’s okay? To hold it together for your kids while your heart is being ripped out?!” Piper’s voice caught, and there was a sharp intake of breath as if she were trying to stop herself from completely unraveling. “And Leo—oh, Leo—he doesn’t get it either. He tries, but he doesn’t understand! No one does!”

“What do you want, Alyssa?!” Piper interrupted, her tone teetering between anger and despair. “Why are you calling me? Why now, of all times?! Do you have some Illuminati secret you just have to share with me? Or is this another cryptic ‘favor’ you need?”

If Alyssa’s mother had prepared her for one thing, it would be to take it when someone used her as a verbal punching bag. Plus she had a feeling it was Piper’s grief mostly talking.

The hacker couldn’t respond about losing a sister. But Piper had been the one to call first, granted it had been weeks ago. Still, Alyssa had listened and offered an ear if the woman needed it. Piper hadn’t taken her up on that offer.

"No… I don’t want…actually I do want something. I want you to listen. I can’t say what happened last night but I saw Prue, in a vision, well several of them. She showed me a lot but part of that was you and Leo, and that you might need someone to talk to. Someone who isn’t the husband that you want to blame. Or the sister you’re not talking to.

Prue must have shown me you/i] for a reason. Don’t you think?"

"Alyssa, I’m barely holding it together! I’m drowning in this… this endless cycle of losing the people I love! And don’t you dare act like you’re here to help me—because this is all because of you! Because of the Illuminati, the Dragon, the Templars… all of you!”

She was now screaming "If it hadn’t been for you—and your damn secret societies—Prue would never have been brought back in the first place! She died in 2001! She died! Shax killed her, and as horrible as that was, at least it ended! But no, you people couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” “You had to send your people—your Inspector John Legrasse, or whatever he calls himself—to San Francisco! You tore her out of the peace she’d finally found in the afterlife!” Piper’s voice wavered, a haunting mix of rage and agony. “And for what? So she could come back, suffer all over again, and then leave us again? Do you have any idea what that did to me? To my family?!”

“Maybe Prue should never have been brought back at all!” Piper’s voice cracked, and the raw pain in her words was almost unbearable. “That maybe it would’ve been better if Shax had just… if we had just accepted it, mourned her, and moved on! But no. You people had to meddle, and now we’re here! Stuck in this hell where nothing makes sense, where I can’t even breathe without feeling like I’m drowning in the past! If, you did see her in a vision and you’re not lying to me. All three of us knew what you Illuminati types were up to back in the 90s…” how exactly could you help me?" Leo is bleeding. I just slapped him across the face. He left, I’m seriously thinking about a divorce."

Alyssa somehow remained calm. "[i]I didn’t bring Prue back. And I was shown what’s it done to you and Leo, but I couldn’t know what it did to the rest." How could she. Her family wasn’t like the sisters. “Listen, weeks ago you called me. You talked to me. Weeks ago I wasn’t the enemy. Now, apparently that’s changed. I don’t know what to tell you. I was simply offering an ear without judgment. If you want I could go for some hard truths but you wouldn’t like what I had to say, and I doubt you’re ready to hear them.” Alyssa tried to filter what she was saying but she wasn’t great at such things. “Even if you slam the phone in my ear. Even if you don’t call me for years. I have no beef with you and I’m always around if you want to talk. But I won’t be calling again.”

Why the hell did Prue show her all of that if there was nothing she could do to help Piper? Maybe, Prue should go to Piper herself. If she could.

The hacker said one more thing before hanging up. “I don’t know if you should divorce Leo but maybe really look at whether your blame is fired at the correct people. Goodbye, Piper I hope you eventually find closure.” With that Alyssa ended the call. She just couldn’t take being blamed for what happened with Prue.

Posted by : Cindy

[oldschool96]

“She’s blaming you Alyssa.” Sartre said.
The tension in the room was a tangible thing, coiled and ready to snap. Sartre leaned back slightly, his gaze steady but unreadable as he watched Alyssa. The silence stretched, daring one of them to break it.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and deliberate. “You’re going to keep sitting there, stewing in whatever this is, or are you going to do something about it?”

He expected a cutting retort, perhaps a deflection. What he didn’t expect was the way Alyssa moved—swift and unrelenting, her intensity catching him completely off guard.

In a heartbeat, she closed the gap between them, her movements sharp and full of purpose. Before he could react, she straddled him, her knees pressing into the cushions on either side of his thighs. The force of her action pushed him back slightly, his breath hitching as she planted herself firmly in his lap.

His lips parted, a flicker of surprise breaking through his composed exterior. For a moment, he simply stared at her, trying to reconcile the storm of determination in her eyes with the boldness of her actions.
“You don’t hold back, do you?” he muttered, his voice rough, edged with something between amusement and surrender.

Alyssa didn’t answer, her silence louder than words. Her hands gripped his shoulders, grounding herself as her movements left no room for misinterpretation. Sartre’s hands rose instinctively, sliding along her sides before settling on her buttocks. His fingers tightened, his touch firm and possessive as he adjusted to the sheer force of her presence.

Her breath came in sharp bursts, her focus unwavering as her hand brushed against the Blade of Prudence and Remembrance at her side. The cool steel was a stark contrast to the heat of the moment, its weight a steadying anchor as she refused to yield an inch of control.

Sartre exhaled deeply, his composure fraying as he let her lead. His grip tightened slightly, a silent acknowledgment of the dynamic she had set. The tension between them hung heavy, the air thick with unspoken intensity.
the echoes of her boldness and his stunned acceptance lingered, leaving behind a charged stillness that neither dared to break.

Later…

In the aftermath of the couple’s closeness. Alyssa sat on Peter’s lap, cuddled into him.

Alyssa’s phone buzzed: I shouldn’t have done that, I know you have a connection with Prue. I don’t want to upset her. Blessed Be. Piper.

Alyssa for reasons unknown gripped the knife in her hand, she apparently had kept it grasped even after removing her jacket.

Darkness enveloped the room, Alyssa stood alone - no not alone. The dark creature which haunted her was there, the hacker could feel it.

Then it suddenly formed into a shape of sorts, familiar - black tentacles reaching out, trying to engulf her.

Alyssa held the knife - knowing what she had always deep in her core suspected - the final fight between her and it - she would have to defeat it - herself.

The knife suddenly dropped to the ground and Alyssa was back in the room, breathless as if she had run a marathon. After a few moments the woman caught her breath, but said nothing. “Can’t this damn knife ever show me anything good?” The question was rhetorical. The knife lingered between a welcomed gift and something Alyssa wished she had never received.

Just then, Alyssa slipped into a dream. She saw the tentacles but something or someone was holding them back. Pulling them back away from her. It could only be one person.
"Dimples. We need to talk, Dimples. This is between me and you, not even him . Alyssa could feel Prue pointing towards Sartre.

“This doesn’t go on any of your illuminati propaganda news websites either. Just me and you Dimples. Fair enough? Granted, you’re a freshman agent, but you are officially a Lumie Chick. Call my sister back when you get a chance. If anyone’s going to be mean to her, it’s going to be me. I’m kind of in the mood for a fight.”

Alyssa nodded. “I understand. I’ll call her back but not today.” She couldn’t handle any more Piper today.

“I’m not done Dimples,” said Prudence.

“Ok,” Alyssa commented and waited for Piper to continue.

Prue took a slow, deliberate step forward, her eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Let’s get one thing straight, Dimples. I know you and Sartre love each other. That’s real. I can see it. But don’t think for a second that means I’m going to take it easy on you.”

Alyssa actually breathed a laugh and then sighed. “First, I’m kinda getting used to most things, people or in your case otherworldly beings not taking it easy on me. Secondly, I would expect nothing less from Prue Halliwell.”

Prue’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, the tension between them became almost palpable. She stepped closer, her fists tightening as though she were seriously considering swinging at Alyssa. The corner of her mouth twitched into a humorless smile. “But don’t think that just because I’m dead, I won’t fight you. I could still knock you out if I wanted to.”
It was as if Prudence was sizing the hacker up. “Twenty-four years, Alyssa. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve felt anyone if you don’t start showing some real passion…”

“Passion? How much more of that do you want to see? I mean how much more can there be?” Alyssa stood steadfast. “What? Do you want to live vicariously through me? Is that why you gave me that knife? Because, to be honest, that’s creepy. I mean really creepy. I’m not your living proxy. Is that why you wanted Peter and I together so you could feel…passion?” Alyssa felt a little sick to her stomach at the thought of Prue watching everything they did, of feeling what she felt. It was nauseating and sick. Dead or not, Prue being there in those private moments was a violation. “I thought you gave me that knife to help… was I wrong?” Alyssa was so aggravated at the moment, she could barely get the words out.
“But don’t think that just because I’m dead, I can’t take your place. Spirit or not, there are ways I could make Sartre come with me if I wanted to. Don’t tempt me, Alyssa.” She leaned in slightly, her smirk hardening into something razor-sharp. “You might be his now, but don’t get comfortable. A spirit and witch with my looks and my charm? I’d give you a run for your money—and you know it.”

My sister Piper might be hitting 51, about to get a divorce, might have packed on a few pounds, but she’s still got that Halliwell charm. If you don’t step up, she’ll make you look like yesterday’s news. And trust me, she’s more than willing to show you how it’s done." Prue’s words were a direct hit, meant to ignite a fire under Alyssa.

“And speaking of pax, you’re using condoms, aren’t you? Rookie mistake. Keep the bond alive long enough, and you won’t even want them. You’ll have a reason, have you though about that in your future?”

Prue was definitely angry. She was pushing buttons and she knew it. “Now, picture this - you, Sartre, and that little dragon chick, Eun Ji, all tangled up. That would be the kind of show that’d make the Illuminati’s secret archives blush.That’s a pay-per-view I’d shell out 70 pax for, not that worthless Federal Reserve crap .” Her laughter was dark, filled with a mix of mockery and dark promise.

She then produced a glowing, golden honeycomb square. “Take this, and your bond with Sartre might just get even stronger , but with this, who knows? But remember, Dimples, I saw you with him in that lounge, you on top, the dimples on your ass clearly visible. You two love each other, but don’t think I won’t keep an eye on that.” Her gaze was intense, almost threatening, as if she might take a swing at Alyssa next. “If you can keep Sartre by your side, there will come a day when you won’t want to use them anymore, for reasons you can figure out, have you thought about that yet, Matt Wilson has long before you met Peter.”

"If Peter can be so easily swayed to stray then I am completely wrong about him. I think he would know it’s you and not me. He is a profiler, after all. " Alyssa paused. “It’s none of your business if we’re using condoms. And no - I can’t think of the future until I know that there will be one. I’m not exactly looking towards having children, as I suppose that’s what you’re getting at.”

In a sudden move, Prue flicked her finger, and Alyssa’s hair fell loose, cascading around her face. “Let’s see how you handle being undone, Dimples.” Her voice was a whisper now, almost a caress, yet still laced with challenge.

Then, as if to soften the blow, or perhaps to twist the knife further, Prue shed her jacket, revealing that old Guns N’ Roses shirt. Chinese Democracy tour 2001. "I was there, you know, at that concert. Axl the only original member onstage, rocking my world. It was like a prelude to my own end. " There was a raw edge to her voice, a mix of defiance and sadness.

The tension in the air shifted slightly as Prue shrugged off her black jacket, revealing a faded Guns N’ Roses T-shirt from their 2001 Chinese Democracy tour. “This,” she said, brushing her hands over the fabric, “was from the last concert I ever saw before I died. Buckethead was on guitar—guy was a freak, but man, could he shred. A few weeks later, Shax got me. So, yeah, Dimples, I guess I’ve got a soft spot for nostalgia.”

Prue Halliwell stood across from Alyssa Wilson in the dimly lit, timeless space of the mind—a place neither real nor unreal, suspended between waking and dream. Her form shimmered faintly, as though the afterlife couldn’t quite decide if it wanted to let her stay or pull her back to its own inscrutable folds.

“I’ve made my choice, Alyssa,” Prue began, her voice a soft cadence of warmth and melancholy. “After this, I’m going to try and relax. Spend some time just… being. Maybe that sounds silly coming from a spirit, but we need peace too.”

She chuckled lightly, her smile both wistful and genuine. “I thought I’d catch up on some old favorites. Ever watch Beverly Hills, 90210? Brenda Walsh She was so fiery, so determined. The kind of character who made you want to root for her, even when she stumbled. It’s strange, watching something that’s both frozen in time and yet tied to a person who lived, suffered, and… left.” Prue waited.

Alyssa didn’t know what to say to that. Part of her felt for Prue but the woman was so annoying at the same time. “That is more than understandable.” The hacker’s voice had softened for a moment. “No, I’ve never seen that show.” Alyssa wasn’t really the nighttime soap type. “But it sounds like a good character.”

The levity in her tone faded like a distant echo, replaced by a gravity that seemed to draw the very air taut between them. “Alyssa,” she said, her spectral hand hovering just shy of reaching out. “You and I share something rare. A bond that defies boundaries—life and death, the mundane and the secret. I care about you deeply, and I want you to understand something important before you wake up.”

Alyssa listened without saying anything, just waiting on Prue’s next comment.

Her voice grew deeper, layered with the echo of something ancient and knowing. “Humanity is a fragile miracle, Alyssa. We’re made of stardust—carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, the remnants of stars long dead. But do you know what’s sobering? Even stars have limits. No element can be fused beyond iron. It’s the tipping point, the cosmic line where creation stops and collapse begins. And us? We’re nothing more than tiny, precarious collections of these elements.”

Her eyes, shimmering like galaxies in the void, met Alyssa’s unwaveringly. “The human body… it’s breathtakingly complex, yet so fragile. One day, everything works as it should, and the next—a single mutation, a rogue cell, a spark of chaos—and it all begins to break down. , the woman who brought Brenda to life, she fought against it. Cancer. The uncontrolled loss of cellular harmony. It’s a reminder that the cosmos doesn’t play favorites. It creates and destroys with the same unfeeling hand.”

Prue’s voice broke, and the weight of her grief hung between them like a storm cloud. A crystalline tear slid down her cheek, shimmering with the light of a thousand unseen stars. “Alyssa, I need you to understand… At any moment, you could get a phone call, a diagnosis. It could happen to anyone. To you. To anyone you love. Maybe that’s the ultimate proof of the cosmos’ power—not its beauty, but it’s indifference.”

She wiped at her tears, though they kept falling. Her voice softened, trembling with a mix of fear and love. “But even in the face of that, Alyssa, there’s something stronger. Us. Our connection. This bond we share—it’s unbreakable. It will only grow as time moves forward, no matter what happens. You’re not alone in this vast, uncaring universe.”

It was a repeated message, that she wasn’t alone but one Alyssa seemed to need to hear again. It might be the first time Prue had said it to her but others had demonstrated the same with their words and actions. Alyssa, however, was still getting used to what that felt like.

A tear ran down the hacker’s cheek. “Thank you for that.”

Prue straightened, her gaze turning distant as though she were listening to something far away, something Alyssa couldn’t hear. “And maybe the end times are coming, in both the world you know and the one you’re only beginning to understand. But if they are, then we’ll face them together, in whatever way we can. We’ll talk again, Alyssa Wilson.” said Prue.

Her form began to shimmer and blur, the edges of her presence dissolving into the soft, gray nothingness around them. “Remember, Alyssa. I’m here. Always.”

And then, the world collapsed into light.

Alyssa awoke abruptly, her chest heaving as though she’d been underwater too long. The faint residue of Prue’s voice lingered in her ears like a fading melody. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, but tears pricked her eyes, unbidden and unstoppable.

She stared at the ceiling, the enormity of Prue’s words heavy on her chest. Somewhere, in the quiet recesses of her heart, she felt it—a connection, a warmth that refused to fade, a bond that seemed to hum with the promise of both hope and despair.

Sartre noticed something that was not there: a jacket on a chair in the corner of the room. “Alyssa, whose jacket is this?” A search of the content revealed 70 gold pax inside the pockets.

As Alyssa stirred from her dream, the provocative echoes of Prue’s taunts and promises clung to her like a second skin, a reminder of the complex dance they were all part of in this shadowy world.

Alyssa wiped her eyes, and in a quiet voice said. “It’s Prue’s.” She was now torn between wearing that jacket or her beloved leather one that her father had given to her. “I suppose it’s now mine.” Like the knife.

“I love you more than anything Alyssa… Perhaps you should take them both. Again I love you my Alyssa. Can you kiss me? I can step out while you schedule a meeting with your father.” Peter said.

“Oh, I’m not leaving either jacket behind, it’s just a decision on which one to wear.” How did he know what she was thinking? It was probably obvious. A faint smile crossed her face and she did get up, go to him and kiss him.

Posted by : Cindy

[oldschool96]

A soft, mechanical hum interrupted her thoughts. Alyssa turned to see a drone gliding into the room, its whirring blades casting flickering shadows on the walls. It carried a small, neatly wrapped box. The inscription on its surface was unmistakable: Rank 13 – Alyssa Wilson.

Sartre leaned back on the couch, his sharp eyes catching the shift in her expression. “Looks like you’ve climbed the ranks faster than most,” he said with a faint smirk. “You’ll need a new uniform. They’ve made sure it’s just for you.”

She hesitated before opening the box, her fingers brushing the smooth fabric of the uniform within. Its insignia gleamed, a stark contrast to the subtle hues of her usual attire. “Rank 13,” Sartre murmured, his voice low, reverent. “It took me a year to reach this level. You? Barely months.”

The inscription on its surface—Rank 13 – Alyssa Wilson—seemed to pulse with a quiet authority, as though the very title she had earned was etched into the air itself.

Sartre’s eyes narrowed slightly, his sharp gaze taking in the moment with an air of quiet appraisal. “Looks like you’ve climbed the ranks faster than most,” he said, his smirk barely touching his lips. “You’ll need a new uniform. They’ve made sure it’s just for you.”

Alyssa hesitated, fingers tracing the smooth surface of the box before lifting the lid. The fabric inside was unlike anything she’d worn before. The uniform was tailored with precision, the material rich and fluid—a deep obsidian black that shimmered with subtle undertones of silver and midnight blue, catching the light in a way that made it seem almost alive.

The insignia gleamed at the chest—a stylized, intricate design of an eagle’s wings, its feathers composed of overlapping geometric patterns. In the center was a sharp, angular symbol, a mark of power and authority she hadn’t quite imagined would ever belong to her. It was bold, striking, and perfectly suited to her.

The sleeves of the uniform were sleek and form-fitting, extending to her wrists with a soft, almost liquid grace. The neckline was high but elegant, tailored to accentuate her posture, with small, hidden clasps that added to the air of refinement. A set of dark, polished boots with metallic accents completed the ensemble, practical yet striking.

Alyssa tinged with a mixture of awe and amusement as she ran her fingers along the fabric,

Rank 13,” Sartre murmured again, his voice taking on a reverent quality. “It took me a year to reach this level. You? Barely months.”

The weight of the uniform settled on her shoulders, a tangible reminder of how far she had come, and the kind of power now quietly flowing through her veins. With every detail, it felt like an extension of herself, something that might have been designed specifically for this moment.

The room hummed with an eerie quiet as both Alyssa and Sartre began to don their new uniforms, the air charged with a palpable shift in their shared purpose. The pristine black fabric clung to their forms, its sleek lines a sharp contrast to the usual combat-ready attire they had worn before. The Rank 13 insignia on their shoulders gleamed with undeniable authority, marking them now as something more than what they had been—agents of a higher level, bearers of secrets that only a select few could comprehend.

Alyssa adjusted the fit of her jacket, fingers running over the smooth patch on her shoulder. The weight of the insignia was no longer a mere symbol; it was a badge of power, of responsibility, of whatever came next. Sartre, ever the enigma, finished his own adjustments with a few swift tugs, then straightened to look at her. His gaze was sharp, his usually guarded expression softened with a rare hint of something more—anticipation, perhaps, or a quiet urgency.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to know for 13 years,” he began, his voice steady but carrying a weight that made Alyssa’s focus sharpen instantly. “Something I’ve been waiting on. I was promised it by the Pyramidion.”

Alyssa glanced at him, her curiosity piqued, but Sartre didn’t allow her a moment to speak. He continued, his words clipped but filled with a quiet intensity that betrayed the depth of his thoughts.

“You and I are going to The Labyrinth to see Kiersten Geary,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “You’re the only one who can match witts with her. Prue probably could, too, but this? This is something for you to handle, Alyssa.”

Her pulse quickened, the name of the Labyrinth conjuring a thousand uneasy memories. It was a place of shifting corridors and mind-bending secrets, where reality itself seemed to twist. Kiersten Geary was no stranger to the Labyrinth’s intricacies, and her involvement in whatever secret had been buried there was no coincidence.

“We’re going to find out what Vault Data Access Authorization is,” Sartre finished, his eyes dark with the promise of revelations.

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, as Alyssa considered the enormity of the task ahead. She felt the pull of it, the weight of the responsibility, but also the undeniable draw of the unknown. Vault Data Access Authorization was a mystery she hadn’t even known she needed to solve until now, but she couldn’t ignore the urgency in Sartre’s voice. There were pieces to be found—pieces that could change everything.

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to quiet.

The walls of the Labyrinth seemed to close in as they descended further into its maze-like corridors. The deeper they went, the more the air thickened, charged with the hum of secrets and hidden knowledge. Finally, they arrived at an office—unassuming on the surface, yet everything about it screamed of power and control. It was Kiersten Geary’s domain, the place where the pieces of the Puzzle box were manipulated, twisted, and ultimately understood.

Kiersten was seated behind her desk when they entered, her gaze already fixed on them with that all-knowing smirk. The way she looked at them—like a chess player sizing up her next move—was both unsettling and maddening. The tension between Sartre and her was palpable, a silent battle of wills that had been simmering for years.

Sartre stepped forward, his tone cutting through the stillness like a blade. “Enough games, Geary. You’ve had 13 years. I’ve earned this—earned Vault Data Access Authorization. It’s time for you to finally tell me what the hell it is.”

Kiersten leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming lightly on the desk, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. She didn’t seem fazed by the directness of Sartre’s demand. Instead, she almost appeared amused, as if his frustration was just another form of entertainment for her.

“Oh, darling,” she drawled, her voice smooth and dripping with sarcasm, “you’ve been so patient, haven’t you? Waiting all these years like a good little soldier. I almost hate to break it to you, but just because you earned it doesn’t mean I’m in any rush to hand over the keys to the vault. This is about timing, not some petty sense of entitlement.”

Her eyes flicked toward Alyssa, a glint of something unreadable behind them. “But of course, you wouldn’t understand that, would you, Alyssa? After all, timing isn’t exactly your strong suit. Or maybe you just don’t have the patience for it.”

Alyssa’s jaw tightened, but Sartre silenced her with a quick glance, his attention still fully on Geary. Sartre’s patience, however strained, was far from gone.

“Cut the crap, Geary. What is Vault Data Access Authorization? What’s behind the door it opens? I’ve waited long enough. So have we.”

Kiersten’s smile didn’t waver. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes gleaming with that infuriating knowingness. “Oh, Sartre, you’re so cute when you think you’re in control. But you’re not. You have no idea what you’re really asking for, and I’m sure as hell not handing you the answer without a little more coaxing.”

She stood then, her movements precise and graceful, as if she were a predator circling her prey. “But you will get the answer. Eventually. Just not today. This isn’t something you can rush, and honestly, you wouldn’t want to. What’s behind the Vault? I’m sure you’ll find out, in time, but that’s the fun part, isn’t it? The not knowing. The chase.”

Sartre’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Geary didn’t seem threatened in the least. She waved a hand dismissively, clearly enjoying the effect her words were having.

“Let me know when you’ve got the patience for more,” she added, her voice dripping with the same sweet sarcasm that always made her words so infuriating. “You’ll get your answers. Eventually.”

Sartre said “Alyssa, you take over.”

Alyssa looked at Geary. She hadn’t ever met the woman before, not in person. “You know I could likely just spend a lot of time figuring what’s there myself. You might as well tell us. Or we could just keep annoying you about it - over and over and over and… you get the picture.” Alyssa actually sat down and said. “We don’t have anywhere to be. And I can be very patient. How about you?”

Strong arming but with a completely different tactic.

The scene unfolded in Kiersten Geary’s office, a sanctum buried deep within the labyrinthine corridors of the Illuminati headquarters beneath New York City. The air was heavy with an electric hum, the faint resonance of unseen machinery. Dim blue light seeped through glass panels etched with cryptic, angular symbols that seemed to writhe and shift when viewed too long. The room smelled faintly of ozone and ancient paper, a paradox of the old and the cutting-edge. Kiersten herself lounged behind her desk, her form silhouetted against a wall of glowing monitors that pulsed like watchful eyes. Her lips curled in a smirk, a predator’s grin of amusement and calculation. Across from her stood Alyssa Wilson and Peter Sartre, their bodies taut with determination. They had spent years—an eternity—climbing the perilous ladder of the Illuminati, enduring soul-wrenching missions and existential horrors. Now they stood at what they hoped was the threshold of the answers they had been promised.

“Vault data access authorization,” Alyssa began, her voice cutting through the ambient hum like a knife. It was steady, but underpinned with a raw edge of frustration. “We’re not leaving until you tell us something, Kiersten.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Kiersten drawled, her tone syrupy with condescension and veiled mockery. She leaned back, the smooth leather of her chair creaking faintly. “You think just because you’ve hit the shiny number thirteen, I’m going to spill the beans? This isn’t the DMV, and illuminated agents don’t get participation trophies.”

The smirk on her face deepened, her eyes gleaming like a cat toying with a cornered mouse. Peter, ever the profiler, stepped forward, his presence a calculated force. His gaze bore into Kiersten’s, dissecting every micro-expression.

“You’re deflecting,” he said, his tone measured, each word deliberate. “Which means there’s something to deflect from. We’ve done everything the Illuminati has asked. Every insane, world-ending, mind-shattering task. We’ve earned this.”

For the first time, a flicker of something unreadable crossed Kiersten’s face. It was gone in an instant, replaced by her usual mask of bemused disdain.

“Earned it?” she repeated, leaning forward now, her elbows resting on the sleek, polished desk. “Sure. But have you considered that maybe, just maybe, it’s above your clearance level?” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper before she abruptly sat back with a theatrical flourish. “Oh wait, no, that’s not it. You’re right at the door. But here’s the kicker—are you ready for what’s inside? What if it’s not what you expect? What if it’s better? Or worse?”

Alyssa’s frustration boiled over. She took a step forward, her green eyes blazing with a fire that seemed to illuminate the dim office. “Enough games, Geary,” she snapped. “Peter waited thirteen years. Whatever’s in that vault, it’s not just for us. It’s for everyone who’s kept the Illuminati’s secrets and fought their battles. They deserve to know.” “And Miss Geary, I’m sure you figured this out by now but wherever I go, Alyssa goes with me.”

For a long moment, Kiersten said nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive, as if the very air in the room was holding its breath. Then, with a sigh that was equal parts exasperation and reluctant respect, she stood, smoothing the fabric of her tailored suit.

“Fine,” she said, her voice softer but no less sharp. “You want the big reveal? The grand prize? Follow me.”

The tension in the room cracked like a whip as Kiersten strode toward a hidden panel in the wall. Her heels clicked against the polished floor with a sharp, rhythmic precision, the sound echoing ominously. With a wave of her hand, the panel slid open to reveal an elevator bathed in pulsating blue light. Alyssa and Peter exchanged a glance—a moment of unspoken understanding—before stepping in behind her. The doors closed with a hiss, sealing them inside the glowing chamber.

The descent was slow, the silence oppressive save for the low hum of the elevator. Alyssa’s mind raced with possibilities, each more outlandish than the last. Peter stood beside her, his expression unreadable, though the slight tension in his jaw betrayed his own anticipation. Kiersten’s voice broke the quiet, smooth and cutting as ever.

“The Labyrinth isn’t on any map,” she began, her tone almost reverent. “Not even in our archives. It’s where the true Illuminati secrets are kept—the ones too dangerous to share, too valuable to destroy. Your vault data access authorization? It’s not just a key. It’s an initiation.”

The elevator shuddered to a halt with a low chime. The doors slid open, and the three of them stepped out into a cavernous chamber that seemed to stretch infinitely in all directions. The air was thick with an almost tangible energy, a hum that resonated in their very bones. Towering servers lined the walls, their surfaces shimmering like liquid mercury. Crystalline structures jutted from the floor and ceiling, pulsating with a strange, golden light that seemed alive. In the center of the room stood a pedestal, sleek and obsidian, its surface unnervingly smooth and featureless save for a faint, pulsating glow at its center.

Kiersten gestured toward the pedestal with a flourish. “Behold, the Vault of Knowing,” she said, her voice almost drowned out by the hum of the room. “Your authorization grants you access to everything. Every secret, every conspiracy, every truth we’ve hoarded since the Illuminati’s inception. Think of it as the ultimate forbidden library. But there’s a catch.”

Peter’s gaze didn’t waver. “What kind of catch?” he asked, his voice steady but low.

Kiersten’s smirk returned, though it lacked its usual edge. “Once you access it, there’s no going back. You’ll know things, but you’ll also be responsible for them. The knowledge will change you. It has to. That’s why most agents never make it here.”

Alyssa stepped forward, the faint glow of the pedestal reflecting in her wide, determined eyes. Her fingers brushed the surface, and the glow intensified, spreading outward in intricate, fractal patterns. The room seemed to shift, the crystalline walls refracting light into a dazzling kaleidoscope as data streams surged around them like living currents. The pedestal’s glow enveloped her, and suddenly, one of the shimmering screens nearby pulsed, casting the room in a golden light.

“Congratulations,” Kiersten murmured, stepping back to let the agents observe. “Here’s your first morsel of forbidden fruit."

On the screen, a detailed case file unfolded, its title stark and chilling: The Disappearance of Amelia Earhart. Accompanying it were grainy photographs, maps with cryptic markings, and documents sealed with crests from long-dissolved government entities. The file detailed her final flight—but then diverged, hinting at shadowy figures, secret experiments, and unexplored locations deep in the Pacific. Coordinates blinked on the screen, leading to a remote island shrouded in perpetual storms.

Kiersten’s voice was low, her tone almost gleeful. “We don’t solve these mysteries for you, darlings. That’s your job. But I will say this—what you’ll find out there will be dangerous, world-shaking, and absolutely worth every second of your time. Oh, and if you survive, there’s a higher rank waiting for you. Maybe.”

Alyssa and Peter exchanged a glance, the weight of the challenge settling over them. This wasn’t just a mission; it was a crucible, a test of everything they had become. As the coordinates burned into their minds, the thrill of the unknown began to overshadow the fear. They were ready to dive into history’s shadows, to uncover truths that had eluded even the brightest minds.

“We’ll take it,” Alyssa said firmly, her voice steady.

Posted by : Cindy

[oldschool96]

A few hours later, the group returned from their shopping trip, their bags filled with supplies. Lunch had been eaten, final preparations had been made, and now it was time to leave New York.
They took off, heading south. Interstate 95 was an endless sea of brake lights, forcing them to inch their way forward. By the time they stopped for dinner, exhaustion had begun to creep in. When they finally arrived at their destination in Williamsburg, Virginia, it was just past 9 PM.
The estate was an imposing sight in the moonlight. A grand white mansion stood behind a tall stone fence, its iron gate silently opening as they approached. The driveway stretched long and winding, leading up to a sprawling garage. Beyond that, the property unfurled into a vast expanse of land, dark and quiet under the night sky. Inside, the house was a masterpiece of luxury—seven bedrooms, each with its own full bath, a gourmet kitchen, an indoor pool and whirlpool, a fully stocked exercise room, and countless other amenities.
As they stepped inside, Alyssa turned to face the group. “So, what does everyone think?”
Sung smirked. “It’s a bit small, but I think it’ll do.” He cast a playful glance around the space. “Nice choice, Alyssa. I like what you’ve done here.”
Sartre nodded in approval. “Plenty of room. Let’s go check out your new toys and workstation, Alyssa. I assume you picked up some new electronics for our bedroom? And you’re turning twenty-six this year. When’s your birthday?”
Alyssa gave a small smile. " My birthday is June 14th.“I’m glad everyone likes it. If we need anything changed, let me know. We can do pretty much whatever we want with the place.” She turned her attention to Max. “You’ll probably appreciate this—there’s an induction oven in the kitchen and some fancy coffee machine. Anyway, let’s take tonight to settle in and get acquainted with the house. It’s fully secured. Relax. I want this to feel like home.”
Turning to Peter, she said, “Let’s go unpack. I’ll set up the electronics tomorrow.”
Sung wandered through the house, his fingers lightly grazing the walls as he moved. Occasionally, he’d pause at a window, peering out into the darkened landscape before continuing his silent inspection. Eventually, he found his room, already set up for him. He stood at the window for a long moment, satisfied with what he saw. Then, without a word, he grabbed his sword and a small bag, stepping outside.
Under the moon’s glow, Sung moved methodically, checking the perimeter. At various points, he paused, subtly placing something at different spots around the property. His work was meticulous, deliberate.
Later that evening, as he was finishing up, a car pulled into the driveway. Intrigued, he returned to the house through the back door, stowed his gear away, and changed before heading downstairs to the living room.
Upstairs, Alyssa and Peter settled into their room, while Agent Powers and Ekaterina made their way to theirs.
Ekaterina, enjoying being spoiled, watched as Agent Powers carried all the bags. When they reached her room, she shut the door behind them and flashed a knowing smile. “You should stay here,” she suggested, her voice smooth and persuasive.
At first, Max hesitated, but Ekaterina had a way of making her desires irresistible. With a small chuckle and a sigh, he relented. Together, they unpacked only what they needed, leaving the rest untouched—missions would call them away soon enough. They placed a few orders for personal necessities, ensuring that long-term supplies would be delivered to the estate in the coming days.
Once finished, they headed to the kitchen.
Agent Powers took charge, quickly assembling a spread—vegetable fried rice, teriyaki chicken, shrimp, and beef, letting each team member mix their own dish to their taste. The air filled with the rich aroma of sizzling meats and fragrant spices. Ekaterina, normally reserved, found herself enjoying the moment. Cooking with Max reminded her of simpler times, ones she had once shared with Dahlia.
Alyssa entered the kitchen, inhaling deeply. “That smells amazing,” she said, leaning against the counter. “By the way, my father’s coming. He should be here soon.”
Before they could respond, the intercom buzzed. The guard announced her father’s arrival.
Alyssa turned to leave. “Let me know when it’s ready, thanks.”
She reached the front door just as the bell rang. Opening it, she found Matthew Wilson standing there. He looked exhausted, the weight of unseen burdens etched into his face, but otherwise intact.
“Nice place,” he said, stepping inside.
“Thanks,” she replied.
An awkward silence stretched between them. Time had changed her, and in many ways, they were now strangers.
“Let’s talk in the sun room,” Alyssa suggested, leading him through the house. The sun room was bright even in the dim evening light, its walls of windows allowing the glow of the outdoor lamps to filter in. A gas fireplace sat to one side, and with a simple turn of a dial, flames flickered to life, casting warmth into the space. She closed the door behind them and gestured for him to sit.
“So…” she began, exhaling slowly.
Matt studied his daughter. “I talked to your mother. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
Alyssa’s expression hardened. “Which mother? The one who disowned me or the one I’ve never met? Oh, wait—you mean Francis. The woman who is no longer my mother. That one.”
She barely paused before continuing, her voice edged with years of unresolved pain. “And of course you weren’t around. You never are. I joined the Illuminati, and I still couldn’t reach you. For months. You knew what had happened, and you never called, never texted—nothing.”
Matt sat in silence, letting the weight of her words settle between them.
“I was on a mission,” he finally said. “I couldn’t contact you. But you’re right—I should have found a way.”
Alyssa wasn’t ready to accept his apology. Not yet. “So, is it true? Was I adopted? Or half-adopted? Did you have an affair?”
Matt’s voice was steady. “Yes. I did. And Francis agreed to adopt you.”
Alyssa scoffed. “Maybe we should just call her Francis from now on. What about my biological mother?”
“Her name is Sarah. She’s a scientist with the Illuminati. I haven’t spoken to her in years, but she’s still alive. She’s kept tabs on you.”
Alyssa’s stomach twisted. “Where is she?”
“Florida.”
“And what’s she like?”
“Brilliant. Dedicated to her work. Introverted.”
Alyssa nodded slowly. “Did she ever want me?”
“It wasn’t that simple,” Matt admitted. “The life of an agent—it’s not exactly the best environment for raising a child.”
Alyssa sighed. “I get that. But you—where were you? Do you have any idea how it felt growing up thinking you didn’t want me?”
Matt shook his head. “No. But I made sure you were protected. I made sure the Illuminati knew about you, even before you joined. It was the only way I knew how to take care of you. It hasn’t turned out all bad, has it?”
He raised his brows slightly, waiting for her answer.

Posted by : Cindy

[oldschool96]

Alyssa sat across from her father, her fingers idly tracing patterns along the rim of her glass. There was a tension between them—not of hostility, but of years lost to silence and secrets. And yet, in this moment, it was just the two of them, trying to find something resembling normalcy in the world they inhabited.

“No, I can’t say it has been all bad—but it has been harrowing at times. I mean, the team is great. And Peter—well—I love him, and he loves me, and I doubt I would have ever found someone out in the mundane world that would have understood me,” Alyssa admitted, her voice carrying the weight of past struggles and hard-won trust.

Her father, Matt Wilson, gave a hint of a smile, his usually sharp eyes softening. “I put in place, even before you joined the Illuminati, ways to make you safer when you did.”

Alyssa’s gaze sharpened. “Like Max?” she asked bluntly.

Matt’s expression remained unreadable, but there was no hesitation in his voice. “Yes. I knew when you were ready to join a team, he would be around the right age to be put in to protect you. So, I might have made an arrangement or two—several years ago.”

Alyssa exhaled, shaking her head slightly. “Well, thanks for that. He’s very good at his job.” She hesitated, then continued. “You know, Peter has mentioned several times that he wonders what you think of us being together.”

Matt met her gaze steadily. “Well, tell Peter I approve, but it’s not up to me. I have not earned the right to make judgments on your life or who you date.”

His honesty was unexpected, though not unwelcome. Before Alyssa could respond, he added, “I wish I could say that I will be able to talk to you more often, but I can’t. I’m leaving tomorrow morning on another assignment and do not know when I’ll be back in the country. That’s why I wanted to see you tonight—to speak with you.”

Alyssa nodded, understanding even as she hated it. “I get it. I am glad you stopped by.” A simple statement, but one that held a depth of emotion. It was, in her own way, forgiveness.

Matt smiled at that, a quiet, unspoken relief passing between them. “Sure, I’d like that,” he said when she invited him to stay for dinner.

She turned off the fireplace and led him into the kitchen. The room was alive with movement, the rich scent of spices and simmering food filling the air. Max Powers stood at the stove, his massive frame adorned with a “Kiss The Cook” apron, the wok in his hands expertly tossing the sizzling contents. Ekaterina moved with practiced elegance, arranging plates and setting out cups of green tea.

“Max, Ekaterina, do you both remember my father?” Alyssa introduced.

“Hi, and before anyone asks, please call me Matt,” he said.

Agent Powers put his pan down and turned the fire to low, giving Matt a smoldering glance before nodding. “Matt? Good to see you’re still alive. And just in time for dinner.”

Ekaterina smiled politely. “A pleasure, Matt. I look forward to working with Alyssa in the future.”

Matt returned the smile. “Well, it smells good. Thanks for including me.” His gaze shifted to Ekaterina. “My pleasure as well. Alyssa said the team is working well together.”

Alyssa nodded, a small but genuine smile playing on her lips.

Peter Sartre entered then, a ginger ale in hand, his sharp gaze settling on Matt. He extended his hand. “Wilson, you definitely have left Alyssa in good hands. She is extraordinary and beyond talented. She began working with the Illuminati at the age of eighteen. This would’ve been some time after the Tokyo attack, in the night that some of us swallowed a bee… I wonder what would’ve happened if I had stayed up later.”

There was a knowing look in his eyes as he continued, “You have been sort of quiet toward Alyssa. May I ask if you’ve been working on any missions lately? Or would that be something only Kiersten Geary would know about?”

Matt grasped Peter’s hand firmly, his posture relaxed but assessing. “I’ve been on assignment, but I’m not at liberty to discuss much else.”

Alyssa, meanwhile, glanced down at her phone. The Crows and Ravens were both vying for her allegiance again—something she had neither the time nor patience to deal with at the moment. She sighed and looked up. “We’ve discussed it. It’s OK.” She met her father’s gaze, then turned to the others. “We’re alright.”

Agent Powers turned, his apron comically at odds with his usual intimidating presence. “Food’s ready. Time to eat.”

Ekaterina picked up a set of hot plates. “Time to relocate to the dining room.”

As they settled in, Peter asked, “What was your favorite moment with Alyssa, Mr. Wilson?”

“Please, call me Matt,” he corrected, a familiar preference mirrored in his daughter. “I wish I had more times to choose from, but the day she was born and her sixteenth birthday—one of the few birthdays I’ve gotten to spend with her so far.”

Alyssa led him to the table, gesturing for him to sit beside her. “Anything special happen on her sixteenth birthday, Matt?” Peter inquired.

Matt smiled at the memory. “We just got a chance to spend time together. Went to a little Italian place for dinner, took in a Broadway show… pretty much, I took cues from Alyssa and what she wanted to do.”

Alyssa eyed the food appreciatively. “That looks as good as it smells. Did anyone let Sung know dinner was ready?”

As if on cue, Sung entered, bowing slightly. “Sorry, I am late. I was getting ready,” he said. “Mr. Wilson, it is good to see you. I hope your day has been good.”

Matt greeted him with a nod. “Please, call me Matt. My day has been good. I hope yours has as well.”

Peter leaned forward slightly. “What brought you to Williamsburg, Matt?”

“I had a meeting in Virginia Beach, but I was given information that Alyssa was in Williamsburg, and I wanted to see her before I left the country again.”

“May I ask what your meeting was about?” Peter pressed.

Matt’s expression darkened slightly. “I’m not at liberty to say. But from what I hear, all of you are aware—there are big things coming. My next assignment has to do with that.”

Alyssa blinked, surprised. “You knew what had happened with the team?”

“Not details, but we’re all involved in something big currently.”

Sung took a contemplative sip of tea. “Intriguing.”

Peter wasn’t finished. “What does your next assignment have to do with us?”

Matt exhaled. “It’s all connected, isn’t it? The whole stopping-the-end-of-the-world thing.” He arched a brow. “You seem to be reading more into what I said than what was meant.”

Sung smirked. “You all can see this is taken very seriously. How often, even in history, do organizations work together? Seldom, if ever. Do you think there’s just one team working on an end-of-the-world scenario?” He took another sip. “Matt is correct in his thinking, I will guess.”
The last time we met, you died…"

Peter Sartre’s voice was measured, yet the weight of his words hung in the air like an unfinished symphony. The dim lighting in the small, secure meeting room did little to dispel the shadow that had settled over the table.

Matt Wilson nodded, his expression unreadable. “I did, but didn’t. It’s hard to truly kill one who’s swallowed a Bee.”

Alyssa Wilson, ever the pragmatist, sipped her tea and studied her father. His answer was an enigma wrapped in a contradiction, a statement that resolved nothing. “That’s nondescript.”

Matt’s gaze met his daughter’s. “I had to make a choice. I chose to come back—to be returned—to you.”

Alyssa had no idea what to say to that. The weight of it pressed down on her, but words failed her. Sartre, always the investigator, pushed forward. “Did you see anything while you were there?”

Matt’s expression darkened. “Yes, but it might be best to discuss it another time. At least, not at dinner.” He exhaled and shifted the conversation. “I had another reason for my visit. It was given to me after I called you, Alyssa. The Illuminati—or more like Kiersten Geary—moves fast sometimes.”

Sartre smirked. “I can assure you that Alyssa Wilson moves faster, Matt. What was your reason for visiting us?”

Matt leaned back, considering his words. “I was supposed to tell you about your next assignment. I was briefed on what happened—well, a little anyway. I was told any additional information would be sent to you. I thought they might have sent something already?”

Alyssa shook her head. “I didn’t receive anything.”

“Neither did I,” Sartre confirmed. “What exactly is our mission, Matt?” His eyes flicked toward Alyssa, gauging her reaction.

Agent Max Powers chuckled as he swallowed his food. “Well, I doubt our missions will change much. They’re usually killing the enemy, a rescue while killing the enemy, destroying the enemy base and the enemy, killing the enemy and stopping their attempt at sabotage. I doubt it will be anything new.”

Ekaterina, poised as always, smirked at Max’s blunt assessment while delicately eating her meal.

Matt and Alyssa both chuckled. “True,” Matt admitted. “I suppose we all get the same type of assignments then. But this one is different. You’re headed to Nevada. The desert. PX-141—a military base, kind of forgotten by the higher-ups. The accommodations aren’t the best. They left it with a scientist and a skeleton crew, but it was still used for research. And now? Everyone is half crazy. I’m sending a list of names regarding the missing to Alyssa’s phone.”

Alyssa’s phone buzzed. “Got it. Forwarding it to all of you now.” Her fingers danced across the screen, sharing the grim roster with the team.

Matt nodded. “I’ve had assignments in the desert before. I can guess at least some of you have as well. It’s relentless, unforgiving, and a beacon for odd occurrences—aliens, otherworldly encounters.”

Sartre leaned forward slightly. “Alyssa, show your father your new power. He may want to know where you got it from.”

Alyssa hesitated. “Maybe we should finish discussing the assignment first.”

Matt’s gaze sharpened. “Go ahead and show me. It’ll give everyone time to think of questions.”

Alyssa exhaled, focusing on the salt shaker resting on the table. With a mere thought, it lifted into the air, floating effortlessly toward her waiting hand before settling into her palm.

Matt observed the feat with quiet intrigue. “That’s a pretty useful ability. Where did you get it from?”

“Prue Halliwell. It’s a long story, but we’re connected.”

Matt didn’t flinch at the name. Not out of recognition, but because he had seen odder things. “Like a spirit guardian?”

“Yeah, like that,” Alyssa said. “We can talk about it later.”

“Alright.” Matt nodded, then glanced at the group. “Did anyone have any questions about the assignment? I’ll try to answer what I can.”

Sung took a slow bite of food, contemplating. “It is funny how chaos flows through the darkness despite what you cannot see. But what chaos walks in the dark will be the next question.”

Matt considered the words. “True. I am certain all of you can answer that.”

Sung, ever cryptic, continued, “The ancient chaos walks in time from a time of old and will flow over the land, devouring a spark of light. That is all I was told.”

Sartre sighed. “So we’re going to the middle of nowhere in Nevada?”

Ekaterina elegantly smiled. “We should order some strong sunscreen.”

Agent Powers nodded. “Noted. I’ll add it to the supply list.”

Alyssa glanced at Max. “I’ll probably need SPF 100 or something.” Her tone was half-joking, but her fair complexion betrayed the real concern.

Ekaterina’s smirk deepened. “Don’t worry, Alyssa. I’ll help him choose an excellent brand. It’s important for us women to protect our delicate skin.”

“Thanks,” Alyssa said, shaking her head slightly.

Sartre turned his gaze back to Matt. “Anything we need to know about this base?”

Agent Powers wiped his hands and pulled out his phone. “Any recommendations for special weapons or tech? I can text my father.”

Matt exhaled. “I don’t know much more about the base than what I’ve already said. As for tech—focus on detecting sound from a distance. Not sure what you’ll run into, so I can’t advise on weapons. Maybe focus on ones that can help against aliens.”

Powers typed out a quick message. “I’m sure my father will send us something useful. If you need anything else, let me know, and I’ll forward it.”

Sung raised an eyebrow. “Aliens? I hope they have their visas or green cards ready. This is a little out of my expertise.”

Matt smirked. “It’s out of most agents’ expertise. But I’ve known very few who go to the desert without encountering something extraterrestrial—even if it’s just a whisper on the wind.”

Sung shrugged. “Chaos is always moving and shifting.”

Ekaterina elegantly added, “Life is much like hurricanes. It is up to us how to deal with them.”

Sartre tapped his fingers against the table. “Matt, when do you suggest we leave? I’m sure you want to spend more time with Alyssa.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning. You should leave as soon as possible. No later than a few days.”

Sartre, in a private chip message, asked Alyssa, May we hold hands? He didn’t want her to feel awkward in front of her father. Alyssa took his hand without hesitation.

Sartre glanced at Matt, gauging his reaction. “Your daughter is amazing, Matt.”

Matt’s response was immediate. “At that, Peter, we are both in agreement.”

Alyssa let out a quiet, “Thank you,” but added with a smirk, “You are, however, both going to embarrass me.”

Matt chuckled. “Just be prepared. The desert is unforgiving. And if it is extraterrestrial… well, just hope you never meet the ones you can’t kill.”

Posted by : Cindy

[oldschool96]

The room hummed with a low, almost imperceptible tension, the kind that grew in the spaces between conversations. It clung to the air, pressing down, heavy and almost oppressive, yet moments of lightness flickered through, like embers in the dark. The clinking of spoons against dessert plates, the faint murmur of coffee being poured—these sounds were momentary distractions from the weight of what hovered just beneath the surface of the words spoken.

Sartre’s voice broke the stillness, his tone half-curious, half-aimed at sparking some hidden truth. “It actually reminds me of that old Carl Sagan show. You ever watch that, Mat?”

“Cosmos? Yes, I watched it years ago,” came Matt’s reply, a glimmer of nostalgia in his eyes. He glanced over at Alyssa. “Have you seen that?”

“Not the Sagan one but I did see the newer one with Neil deGrasse Tyson.” Alyssa’s voice was steady, but something in her gaze flickered.

Matt turned his attention back to Peter. “How about you, Peter? Have you seen one or both versions of Cosmos?”

“I saw both versions,” Sartre mused, sipping his lemonade, his eyes narrowing slightly as he continued, “I preferred Carl Sagan’s much more. He had a much better presentation style, went into deeper depths about how the public willingly accepts control. If they only thought critically, we wouldn’t be able to control them as easily. He was wrong about the Demon Haunted World, though, Matt.” He shrugged, his voice lowering. “The second version on Fox with Neil deGrasse Tyson in 2014 was good, especially the part about Bruno. He had to have been a member of the Illuminati.”

There was a subtle, almost imperceptible change in the air, a shift as Peter made his usual pointed remarks. It wasn’t intentional, but every time he made an observation that Matt should have already known or understood, the atmosphere seemed to tighten. Alyssa felt it too—like a tugging at the edges of her nerves. The tension swelled quietly between them, a presence in the room.

Matt gave a small, practiced nod, “Yes, Hypatia probably was. Who knows, I would guess many, many volumes. If the factions were smart, they would have split the many volumes among themselves.” His words were a thread, pulling the conversation along, but they barely eased the palpable discomfort.

Alyssa, quietly sipping her tea, cast her eyes downward, attempting to hide her discomfort. Peter, oblivious to the effect his words had on the group, responded lightly, “I’m not doing anything, Silly. Just complementing you. I can stop.”

It wasn’t enough to quell the tension. She looked at him, her voice soft but firm, “Yes, please. I appreciate it but it’s making me feel weird.”

Matt gave a short, understanding nod, before turning his gaze to Peter. “It’s fine, Peter,” he said. “Let’s not drag this out.”

“That all sounds good. Could go for some chocolate,” Alyssa added quietly, the suggestion drifting between them like a fragile bridge, an attempt to restore normalcy. She glanced over at Ekaterina and Max. “Thanks.”

Sartre’s face softened slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he continued to dissect his thoughts on history and the Illuminati, unaware of the subtle currents passing through the room. “I really liked how Carl Sagan had his segment on Hypatia of Alexandria. Hypatia had to have been an early member of the Illuminati as well. I wonder how many volumes from the library of Alexandria we have stored somewhere.”

Matt was quiet for a moment, contemplating the question before he spoke. “There are,” he agreed with Ekaterina, who had just added her own insight on the subject. “Beyond the spirits of the dead, many entities which appear in Native American folklore are real, sometimes they’ve been slightly modified to meet a narrative, but mostly it’s accurate. Ever heard of The Nimerigar?”

Sartre’s response was immediate. “I never have.”

Alyssa’s voice broke the silence then, her words a careful unraveling of a mystery, “The Nimerigar are from the Shoshone people. They’re a race of little people found in the Rockies. According to Shoshone tales, they were aggressive, shooting poisoned arrows from tiny bows. Their name, Nimerigar, translates to ‘people eaters.’”

She paused, gathering her thoughts. “They were believed to kill their own if they became too ill to contribute. In 1932, a mummy was found in a cave in Wyoming, and at first, it was thought to be a hoax. But they quickly realized it wasn’t. The mummy was a full-grown adult, though later tests revealed it was an encephalitic infant.”

Her gaze turned to her father, the quiet weight of her question hanging in the air. “You’re saying they still exist?”

Matt didn’t hesitate. “Yes. We had to fight some off during the investigation.”

The statement lingered in the air like a fading echo. The room felt momentarily colder, the shadows stretching just a little longer.

As the conversation shifted, a sudden ping from a phone broke the tension. A message. Alyssa’s fingers flew over her phone, the words that followed sending ripples through the room. Peter, always the one to act on the slightest impulse, retreated upstairs, leaving a message behind, his words as warm as they were unsettling: “I love you, too.”

Alyssa turned to her father, the quiet hum of the message still vibrating in her chest. “Do you want to see more of the house?” she asked, her voice steady now, though there was something unspoken in the way her words hung in the air.

Her father smiled, that familiar, almost soft expression she had come to recognize over the years. “Yes, I would like that.”

As they stood, moving toward the door, Matt nodded his thanks to the others, acknowledging their hospitality with a genuine warmth. “Thank you, Ekaterina, Max. Dinner and dessert were excellent, and I don’t get home-cooked meals often.”

He paused for a moment, turning to Sung. “Thank you for the hospitality.”

Alyssa followed him out, the door clicking softly behind them, the faintest hum of conversation trailing in their wake. The house was quiet now.

Posted by : Cindy