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

[oldschool96]

What was your first Illuminati case Matt?" Sartre asked.

"Oh, let me see. " Matt thought for a moment. “That would have been around '95. I was part of the team sent to investigate the Flight 965 crash. There were some people missing and the crash didn’t exactly happen the way it was reported.
“What exactly happened with that flight?” Sartre asked with curiosity as he sipped a lemonade.

“The details are classified but I can say the mountains are excellent hiding spots for certain entities.” Matt explained to Peter.

" Things in the mountains? What do you mean by that? Would you be referring to that Miskatonic University expedition in the 1930s to Antarctica? I was also thinking, have you ever seen or heard of anything about the lost expedition of Roald Amundsen?" Sartre asked Matt.

"Wrong part of the world. The plane crashed in the Rockies. “Norwegian explorer during what was known as the Golden Age of Antarctic Exploration. Died due to a plane malfunction, well that’s the official story. No, I’ve never been assigned that case or that part of the world so I don’t know more about it than anyone else.”

“What entities can hide in the rockies?” asked Sartre

Ekaterina elegantly smiled and replied, “I imagine many life forms can live around and in the Rockies provided they have proper food, water and survival skills. If they can camouflage it would increase their chances.”

Three team members received this message: Illuminati Secure Intranet - Council of Venice Relay From: Moon Eun-Ji (Dragon ) To Sung (Dragon) To: Peter Sartre (Illuminati), Alyssa Wilson (Illuminati) Subject: Status Update – Not Dead Yet
Hey,
Before you both send a retrieval squad or a hit team, know that I am alive and whole. I left because I saw something you didn’t, something that was meant to stay unseen. If you think I abandoned you, then you don’t know me at all.
The Dragon is watching, as it always does. But I’m watching too. The Dreaming Ones are stirring, and the threads are fraying faster than anyone realizes. Whatever game we were playing in Gary, it wasn’t the real one. The real one is still unfolding, and I intend to be three moves ahead.
If you need me, you’ll find me when the time is right. If you come looking too soon, you might not like what you find.
Take care of yourselves.
-E

Alyssa turned to her father, “Do you want to see more of the house?” Then to Ekaterina and Max, “Thanks both you, dinner and dessert were excellent, as usual.”
Matt nodded to his daughter, “Yes, I would like that.” He then also turned to Ekaterina and Max and said, “Thank you both for dinner and dessert, my daughter is right it was excellent and I do not get home cooking very much.” Then to Sung. “And thank you Sung for the hospitality.” Then he and Alyssa left the room to start the tour.

Alyssa pulled the rv with the trailer into their reserved spot at the campground. She yawned slightly, it had been a long drive, around 40 hours including stops to changes drivers and whatever else people needed. “Well, let’s get the power and stuff hooked up.” The hacker stated as she arose from the driver’s seat.
It was about midnight, fortunately, there wasn’t anyone really near them or on the campground in general. The dessert in the middle of winter is apparently not a popular vacation spot, and she wondered was there ever really a tourist season for the southwest dry sandy heat, well except Vegas.
The woman hopped out of the van and started unlocking the compartments to the hookups. As she did this she thought back on the visit with her father. It had gone well, better that she had anticipated. They had spoken some more, after dinner. She had asked him if he still saw the darkness and he had said no. So, it apparently was just after the hacker now, - a sarcastic “Great” had been her response, trying to not make him too worried but it was easy to tell in her father’s eyes he was. Before he left he had also given her a way, that Alyssa could contact her birth mother if she chose, the hacker was still unsure about that.

She started to pull out the wires and other things for the hookups and waited for the other’s to come out and help.

Dressed in dark clothing, Sung stepped out in his usual style. His shoulder harness and sword sheath could be seen as the wind blew his long jacket. He looked over the area carefully, examining every shadow. His cold stare and express less facial expression. He looked cold without emotion as he stretched. The drive was long, and tetanus, maybe it was time to get a plane after all. He bent his head to the side, cracked his neck, and then stretched his legs around the large RV.

Posted by : Cindy

[oldschool96]

Sartre left the RV and made his way to Alyssa. “What does my hacker need help with?” he asked Alyssa.

“Hooking up the water and powerlines,” Alyssa responded.

Sung finished his stretch and walked to Alyssa and Sartre. “Tech master what can I do to help you out?” asked Sung looking at all the cables and equipment.

Sartre bent down and began working with the plug ins.

Alyssa turned to Sung, “Can you make sure the RV looks level on sides?” It was an easy fix if it didn’t and it was a pretty flat area but just to be sure.

Sung smiled. “I can handle that, but not very techy, though.” He returned to the RV and looked at the level readouts on the panel. It was almost good. He extended the different hydraulic lift legs, leveling the RV so that all the readouts were level.
He walked back out and looked at the lift legs of the RV, inspecting each one. He locked each one in place and walked and watched Alyssa and Sartre. The wiring and cables were almost hooked up.

“Not techy, but important.” Alyssa returned the smile. The hookups didn’t take long, and Alyssa stood back up. “OK, we’re ready. Let’s do a test of the wi-fi and cell signal here. I think the satellite we have might be stronger but it would be good to know options. Can you both let me know how many bars you have and then connect to the wi-fi, I’ll give you the password when you’re ready.”

Sartre checked his cell phone. He had a full four bars. "“My cell phone is working all right. Speaking of communications, several days ago Alyssa, you mentioned that Carl Kolchak used that AnonxWebsite where you were receiving those emails from. How did you know that he used that website? Can you visit it? Do you think he was the one sending you the message is under the screenname “a friend”? Or do you think that if someone else?” Sartre asked.

"I could check the website, when I have time to do so. It’ll probably take me a little to get into it depending on security measures. “I don’t know if he’s the “friend” and I don’t want to guess I did plan on trying to find out, but once again there hasn’t been much time for it. I get a feeling though it might be someone else, I don’t see why Kolchak wouldn’t just let me know it was him sending it, being the messages were heavily encrypted.”

Agent Powers and Ekaterina had fallen asleep in the back and took a bit of time to wake up. As Sung made the adjustments to the leveling, the jolt shook them awake. After getting up and stretching they fixed themselves up and Agent Powers and Ekaterina made their way out of the RV and noticed they were to late to offer their help. Ekaterina elegantly said, “Our apologies for sleeping in. We were a bit worn out from filing reports on out phones. Can we help with anything?” Agent Powers nodded and gave Alyssa a smolder.

“Are the bars good on your phones?” Alyssa asked. She checked her phone and it was fine, so everyone’s should be. "I think we have everything set up, looking up at the satellite dish on top of the roof. “I told the others it’s likely our satellite dish will be better than the service here, but I’ll send everyone the password to campground wi-fi, if you need it.” Alyssa sent the password.

Agent Powers and Ekaterina looked at their phones and shrugged before she elegantly replied, “We both have hybrid satellite phones so we can get service in a lot of dead places, however I appreciate the wi-fi.” Agent Powers asked, “Should I make some coffee and snacks or a meal?”

“Yes, but can you both go and check that electricity and water is working on all the areas of the RV. Just let me know if it’s good or not. Let the water run for about a minute in the kitchen sink, it should be fine to use then.” Better safe Alyssa thought.

Agent Powers gave Alyssa a smolder and then replied, “No problem. I have some water test strips for that.” Ekaterina elegantly smiled and replied, “I’ll check the electrical switches then.”

“Great, thanks.” Alyssa tried to think if anything else needed to be done. She was kind of tired but wanted to make sure they were set and had some idea what they would be doing in the morning.

Agent Powers and Ekaterina went inside the RV to test the water and electricity.

It wouldn’t take long for Ekaterina and Max to realize both were fine. Then Alyssa said to Sung and Peter. “One of you help me run the sewer line and then we should be set.”

He helped with the rest of the hookups. “It’s good to have our base away from their base. That way we can run our own communications, my guess is they will have their own problems with interference. We can also retreat here if we need to, my guess is this won’t be a very easy mission.” said Sartre.

“I was thinking the same.” Alyssa said. It was quite cold out and she rubbed her arms over her coat sleeves. “We’re all hooked up, let’s go inside.”

Sartre followed Alyssa inside the RV.

Agent Powers and Ekaterina were busy making soup and sandwiches for the meal as well as freshly squeezed fruit juice smoothies. Powers used his muscles to squeeze all the fruit juice into a strainer before making the smoothies. Since time and space was limited he made the best with simple resources while maintaining the healthy meal.

Alyssa found a place to sit, in the RV but out of the way. She waited for everyone to be seated and ready before they started planning.

Satre sat by Alyssa and waited.

“What are your plans?” Sartre said in the chip.

“Eat, sleep, start fresh in a few hours but I want to talk to team about everything first.” Alyssa responded into the chip.

“I meant what are your ideas for the team Alyssa?” he said in the chip. He smirked.

“I’m not sure. It would be easier to make plans if we knew what we were walking into.” Alyssa responded into the chip, not adding and if she wasn’t so tired because it probably didn’t need to be added.

After finishing the food and drinks Agent Powers and Ekaterina set the table and then sat down as they told the others that the food was ready.

Alyssa went over and sat down at the table and waited on Peter and Sung. Once they were seated, she ate some food before speaking. “We all need some sleep before we go over there to investigate as we don’t know what we are walking into, but we should settled on a plan - or the resemblance of one - tonght.”

Ekaterina elegantly smiled and said, “Well I could use some insects and small rodents to scout the area before we go in?” Agent Powers gave Ekaterina a smolder then looked at Alyssa before he said, “While you’re at why not add a small camera to the rats for some visual scans?” Ekaterina elegantly smiled as she looked at Agent Powers and replied, “What a lovely idea. Do you have camers like that Alyssa?”

“Yes, I have cameras small enough for that. They are in my van currently.” Along with most of Alyssa’s equipment. “That is a good idea. We can stay in the van tomorrow to we know more.” Alyssa paused to drink some of the smoothie. “Any other suggestions?”

Agent Powers then asked, “Well I would suggest using drones but they might tip off anyone trying to avoid us. However if we get any new intel I can text my father for weapons and gear suited for the mission.”

“That’s good.” Alyssa responded. “We should come prepared though so bring anything you can think of. I’ll probably need help moving some stuff out of my van, once I get it off the trailer.” A yawn escaped her. “Sorry, it was a long drive.”

Agent Powers then said, “Yeah Ekaterina and I are planning to go for a run and work out after we clean up. Would you be interested in a workout program? Some Yoga or aerobics would help with you health and stress.”

“Yeah, that would be good, thanks. Though I should start after I get some sleep.” Alyssa commented. Unlike Max and Ekaterina, Alyssa hadn’t been able to sleep for the last several hours as she had been driving.

Agent Powers nodded and then said, “Cool, but if you are not sleeping well I have some Chamomile herbal tea in that cabinet over there. You can heat it up in a microwave and sip it till you are relaxed enough to sleep.”

“Alyssa, you need rest, would you prefer to sleep alone?” asked Sartre.

“Thanks Max but it was more that I was driving for all those hours. I’ll be fine.” The hacker then turned to Peter, “No, I’d prefer you being in the bed with me. I sleep better with you there.”

“Alyssa though you are tired, I would get at least one camera hooked up. I can go grab it for you, then we can go to bed. Those at the base are more likely to move around at night.” said Sartre.

Alyssa found a place to sit, in the RV but out of the way. She waited for everyone to be seated and ready before they started planning.

Satre sat by Alyssa and waited.

“What are your plans?” Sartre said in the chip.

“Eat, sleep, start fresh in a few hours but I want to talk to team about everything first.” Alyssa responded into the chip.

“I meant what are your ideas for the team Alyssa?” he said in the chip. He smirked.

“I’m not sure. It would be easier to make plans if we knew what we were walking into.” Alyssa responded into the chip, not adding and if she wasn’t so tired because it probably didn’t need to be added.

After finishing the food and drinks Agent Powers and Ekaterina set the table and then sat down as they told the others that the food was ready.

Alyssa went over and sat down at the table and waited on Peter and Sung. Once they were seated, she ate some food before speaking. “We all need some sleep before we go over there to investigate as we don’t know what we are walking into, but we should settled on a plan - or the resemblance of one - tonght.”

Ekaterina elegantly smiled and said, “Well I could use some insects and small rodents to scout the area before we go in?” Agent Powers gave Ekaterina a smolder then looked at Alyssa before he said, “While you’re at why not add a small camera to the rats for some visual scans?” Ekaterina elegantly smiled as she looked at Agent Powers and replied, “What a lovely idea. Do you have camers like that Alyssa?”

“Yes, I have cameras small enough for that. They are in my van currently.” Along with most of Alyssa’s equipment. “That is a good idea. We can stay in the van tomorrow to we know more.” Alyssa paused to drink some of the smoothie. “Any other suggestions?”

Agent Powers then asked, “Well I would suggest using drones but they might tip off anyone trying to avoid us. However if we get any new intel I can text my father for weapons and gear suited for the mission.”

“That’s good.” Alyssa responded. “We should come prepared though so bring anything you can think of. I’ll probably need help moving some stuff out of my van, once I get it off the trailer.” A yawn escaped her. “Sorry, it was a long drive.”

Agent Powers then said, “Yeah Ekaterina and I are planning to go for a run and work out after we clean up. Would you be interested in a workout program? Some Yoga or aerobics would help with you health and stress.”

“Yeah, that would be good, thanks. Though I should start after I get some sleep.” Alyssa commented. Unlike Max and Ekaterina, Alyssa hadn’t been able to sleep for the last several hours as she had been driving.

Agent Powers nodded and then said, “Cool, but if you are not sleeping well I have some Chamomile herbal tea in that cabinet over there. You can heat it up in a microwave and sip it till you are relaxed enough to sleep.”

“Alyssa, you need rest, would you prefer to sleep alone?” asked Sartre.

“Thanks Max but it was more that I was driving for all those hours. I’ll be fine.” The hacker then turned to Peter, “No, I’d prefer you being in the bed with me. I sleep better with you there.”

“Alyssa though you are tired, I would get at least one camera hooked up. I can go grab it for you, then we can go to bed. Those at the base are more likely to move around at night.” said Sartre.

“Sure.” Alyssa responded. “Ekaterina can you send out a few rats tonight from here or do you need to be closer?”

Ekaterina elegantly smiled and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them and elegantly replied, “All done. I will check in on them as I work out later on.” Agent Powers said, “I’ll also scout around as we run.”

“Can you get two here, so we can attach a few cameras?” Alyssa asked, as the cameras were no good without the rats.

Ekaterina walked to the door and two rather large rats were waiting for her. She then made a gesture and the rats came in the RV and approached Alyssa as the laid on their stomachs in obedience. Ekaterina then elegantly said, “Will this do Alyssa?”

“Yes, thanks.” Alyssa smiled. “They’re kinda cute.” Then to Peter. “Everything I need is the small white box in the van. It’s on top of the grey ones in the left corner. If you can get that I can quickly do this.”

Sung, seeing what was on the table, exploded in a rant. “F**cking RATs! I will kill them!” shouted Sung as he moved across the RV quickly. He moved with precision and speed, drawing at his Wakizashi. The blade flashed as he lunged for the rats. but fell short of them and cut through the table next to them.

“Sung, stop.” Alyssa without thinking used her telekinesis to move the chair in front of the man. “Max, take Sung outside.”
Sung hates rats - noted.
Once Peter was back with the crate, Alyssa outfitted the rats with tiny cameras. Then used her phone to turn on the cameras. “Alright, they’re ready.”

Agent Powers sighed as he escorted Sung out of the RV. He said, “Relax Sung. They belong to the Princess and Alyssa is adding cameras to them to scout for us. They will be gone after she adds the cameras to them.”

Sung backed up at Alyssa’s actions. He was about to counter and finish the job when he heard Alyssa’s voice and claimed that the rats were hers. He turned abruptly to walk out with Powers right behind him as he stepped out of the RV. “Why does it have to be Rats? Dam rats. Why not birds,” grumbled Sung, pacing. He looked at Powers. “You know those things are lucky I normally never miss.” commented Sung.

The rats were released and Alyssa said to the two men outside, “They’re gone. Come back inside if you want.” By now it was about 2 AM. “And with that I’m going to bed. We’ll figure out our plans later based on what the rats show. Anyway, good night.” Alyssa pulled down the metal ladder and climbed into the room above the seating area. She left it down for Peter to follow her.

Sartre followed the chestnut haired hacker up to her bunk. “I’m always happy just be able to spend time with you Alyssa.” he said as the camera she had hooked up surveilled the base throughout the night.

Agent Powers and Ekaterina then left the trailer for a run around the area followed by some yoga. Once they were done working out they planed to take a quick shower and get some sleep.

Sung pulled a chair out from the RV’s side storage, set it up, and laid back, watching the stars and listening to the night. He held the sword in his arms, thinking on the day.

Sung stood to his feet, moved some dissidents away, and started moving through some sword techniques and meditations.

Alyssa got into some pj’s and crawled into bed, she fell asleep soon after.

Posted by : Cindy

[oldschool96]

Later that morning

Alyssa awoke at 6 AM, being it was January it was still dark out. However, the hacker’s internal clock wouldn’t let her sleep any longer.

She quietly got ready, not wanting to wake anyone. Kissed Peter gently on the cheek and made her way down the ladder. Fortunately the kitchen area was accessible and she started some coffee. Then checked her phone as it brewed.

Then the RV door opened and Agent Powers and Ekaterina entered as they were chuckling to each other. The saw Alyssa making coffee and greeted her. Ekaterina elegantly said, “Good morning Alyssa.” Agent Powers gave her a smolder and said, “Morning Alyssa. I’ll get breakfast ready after I wash up.”

“Morning.” Alyssa greeted both of them, as she wondered if they slept. “No rush.”

The coffee finished and Alyssa she got some, she sipped her coffee while looking at the surveillance footage from the rats. “What is that?” The question spilled out if her mouth about whatever the hacker had seen on the footage.
Alyssa’s cameras showed several people standing around what looked like a silvery object in the middle of the desert right outside of the base.

Ekaterina felt a message in her head and then turned to Alyssa to see what was on the screen. Ekaterina said, “What in the world? Sorry Alyssa I just got the message from my rats. Is that a UFO?” Agent Powers looked at the screen and gave a smolder as he said, “I do not recognize that ship and I have destroyed a lot of ships in my time.” The Agent Powers pulled out his phone and took a few pictures and sent them to his father for intel. Then he replied, “We need the others to see this too. I sent pics to my father. Maybe he might know something.”

“It is definitely not like anything I’ve seen before.” Alyssa said. “Hopefully Peter and Sung will be up soon.” She didn’t know what to make of what she was looking at, but her father had mentioned aliens.

Agent Powers and Ekaterina then left to wash up before making breakfast.

Sung stepped back into the RV, where he had seeped outside for the night, preparing himself for the next mission. He found that, more often than not, he spends time alone, which is what he is used to.

He has not worked with a team much, if at all. His regular operation is to investigate, and when he gets the information, they usually send in a different team if Sung does not deal with it himself. He was tempted to take a look around last night, but after being told he was part of a team now, he decided against it. Not that he trusted Rats anyway.

This team was young by his standards and very talented and skilled. Work was light for Sung, and he felt more like a chaperone than anything.

He looked at the others as he came in. “Anything new from the Rats?” he asked with some disgust in his tone. "And I hope you all got a good rest. I have a feeling we will need it, " commented Sung, getting a cup of coffee.

“Yes,” Alyssa answered Sung, after sipping more coffee and focusing on the video once again.

Once Sung had gotten his coffee, Alyssa showed him the video from the rats of the people standing around the silvery object right outside the base. “What do you make of that?”

“I would say it’s not a drone or military aircraft I have ever seen,” commented Sung. He looked over the video a few times. I wish I could see the ship closer and the metal in a better light. Something is off about the outside of it. The impact into the ground, you know, no burn marks, and the frame is intact. That makes no sense. It is half-buried." said Sung, taping on the table as he spoke.

OK, he watched the footage the best he could. “Hai, Now look how the dirt is scattered. You can see it goes far out from the impact. Something that hit that hard should be destroyed. The reflection off the rocks they were glassed. That was a lot of energy to make that happen,” Sung commented further.

“Well, we can make the ship our first stop as it’s outside the actual base. We should have some sort of plan through in case things go badly.” Alyssa said.

Sartre joined the others after waiting a little while and resting a little extra on the top bar before showering. He noticed everyone looking at the screen at what appeared to be a UFO that was captured on the previous night’s surveillance camera.

He nodded to the rest of the team before playfully beginning to play with Alyssa’s hair.

“I would suggest we try going to the front gate in talking to them, I’m sure they already know some conspiratorial organization is going to investigate this. What do you all think?”

After washing up Agent Powers and Ekaterina began making breakfast tacos for the team as well as coffee, tea and juice. Agent Powers cooked the potatoes and eggs together and put them in the tortillas. He set the cheese aside since some might be picky.

Alyssa noticed the breakfast tacos and said, “I think I saw some salsa in one of the cabinets.”

Then to Peter, “That is probably better than lurking outside a military base.”

Agent Powers opened up a cabinet and pulled out a few jars of salsas and hot sauces of varying spice levels since he didn’t know what the team’s preferences were. He then said, “Pick your poison Alyssa.”

“Thanks,” She went with medium and a little hot sauce. Put some cheese on her tacos and the sauce on top and started eating.

Ekaterina then began making her tacos as well and added some hot sauce with a bit of hot salsa as well. She elegantly said, “Oh nice. I like the hot stuff.” Agent Powers nodded as he made a few tacos with the spicy sauces and included “Da Bomb” hot sauce, which he added a few drops of it. It was a the kind of sauce that could ruin a normal person’s tongue and stomach in seconds. Then he and Ekaterina fixed their coffees.

Sartre grabbed some tacos.

When it was his turn, Sung, making his breakfast tacos, asked, "If we are to meet someone, do we have a point of contact on-site? " He added some hot salsa as well and took a seat to eat.

Sartre said, “When would you all suggest that we went and knocked on the door basically?”

Ekaterina elegantly cocked her head to the side after Sartre spoke then asked, “I know this might seem on the side of a cruel caution but wouldn’t it be better to have one of the rats try to enter the ship first. I know it sounds cruel to the rat, but it is not the first time I have had to sacrifice my minions on an operation. One rat can monitor the other rat and see what happens. This way we will learn of any securiity measure the shop has before we become it target.” Agent Powers gave Ekaterina a smolder then a smile as he replied, “I agree that its safer for the team especially Alyssa that way. If I was alone I would throw caution to the wind but I have to consider the rest of the team now.”

After taking a bite of this breakfast taco, Sung smiled. “Yea let the rat do it I am good with that,” he commented, sipping his coffee. “I guess we dont have a point of conteact then?” said Sung looking at everyone.

“The rat is a good idea.” Alyssa chimed in though kind of hoped the little critter didn’t get killed. “I wasn’t given a contact. Let me look while the rat is doing its thing.”

"So we are going blind and unannounced. I am allergic to bullets. You guys should know that, " commented Sung Sting, drinking his coffee. “Who is in charge of the site, the US government?” Sung asked no one particularly.

“Using one of the mice to act as reconnaissance will work. Alyssa can look at the camera someone attaches on top of its head. When do you all want to send it in? said Sartre.”

Ekaterina elegantly replied, “Well we can do it in the daytime or the night time. Either way the risk is high but the second rat will record everything from a safe distance to give us more data.”

“Yes, the US government is in charge of the site but it seems as if it’s almost an outpost - pretty much abandoned by the government.”

As for the rats, “I’m going to suggest we send them in this morning, and later tonight if we feel we need to. I just don’t know if we want to spend an entire day just waiting on that information if we wait for tonight.”

“I do agree. We can hope that they are not well equipped and do not have a lot of surveillance equipment. like thermal detectors.” suggested Sung thinking. “can you get the things to look at poles in the area?” asked Sung.

The grainy feed from the rat’s tiny surveillance camera flickered to life on the team’s makeshift monitor, a patchwork of shadows and muted colors dancing across the screen. At first, it was almost disappointingly ordinary—exactly what you’d expect from the belly of a military base humming with routine. Dingy concrete corridors stretched out under harsh fluorescent lights, their buzz faintly audible through the rat’s sensitive mic. Metal lockers lined one wall, some dented as if someone had taken a lazy swing with a crowbar. A discarded clipboard lay on the floor, its papers scattered like fallen leaves, detailing mundane inventories: MREs, ammo crates, fuel canisters. The rat scurried forward, its claws clicking softly against the cold floor, and the team leaned closer, eyes straining for something—anything—that would explain the unease.
But then the camera tilted, catching the edge of a wall that didn’t look right. Long, jagged scratches raked across the concrete, deep and uneven, like something had clawed its way through in a frenzy. Not a knife, not a tool—nothing human could gouge stone like that. The marks glistened faintly, slick with a residue that shimmered green under the flickering lights, too viscous to be water, too alien to be oil. The base team’s tech specialist, hunched over the controls, muttered strangely about industrial accidents, maybe a busted hydraulic line. But the explanation hung limp in the air; no machine they knew left trails like that.
The rat pressed on, its lens panning across a corner where the shadows thickened. A singe mark blackened the floor, a perfect circle of charred concrete radiating faint wisps of smoke, as if a blowtorch had kissed it for a split second too long. Nearby, a metal chair lay crumpled, its legs twisted inward like a crushed soda can. A high ranking officer walked in squinted, whispering about a grenade, a misfired explosive—but the edges of the burn were too clean, too precise, and the chair’s ruin felt personal, deliberate, like something had squeezed it in fury.
A faint hum pulsed through the audio feed now, low and rhythmic, syncing with the rat’s quickening heartbeat. The camera jerked as the rodent darted beneath a table, revealing a pair of boots—military issue, scuffed but still laced tight. The soldier they belonged to stood rigid, facing a wall, his back to the rat. His rifle hung limp at his side, barrel scraping the floor with a soft, grating whine. The camera lingered, capturing the slow rise and fall of his shoulders—too slow, too mechanical, like a wind-up toy winding down. Then, a sound: a wet, guttural gurgle, not quite human, bubbling from his throat as his head tilted at an impossible angle, nearly brushing his own spine.
The feed jolted as the rat skittered away, weaving through a tangle of overturned crates. Splinters of wood and shards of glass littered the ground, glinting in the dim light. A half-melted radio sparked feebly, its plastic casing warped into grotesque curls, as if it had been dipped in acid.
“Poles?” Sartre asked.
“You want to send the rat back outside?” asked Sartre.

“No, I have an idea how to get close,” said Sung, getting up and walking to his bunk area. He went into his things, pulled a book out, looked through it, closed it, and stepped outside, pulling out his phone. He was outside for about five minutes. Walking back in, Sung looked at everyone. “I got us some IDs for the site. I should have them shortly. Alyssa, can you make them up if I give you the inforation?” asked Sung, looking at her.

Agent Powers was recording the monitor screen live and sending it to his father. He was taught to send real time data to his father for quicker supply results. Ekaterina was focused on controlling her rat as it was in the base in clear and present danger.

Alyssa nodded to Sung’s request. “I can do that. I’ll need to get my van out of the trailer first though and will probably need help for that.”

“OK we can do that,” replied Sung. "You got the keys handy? he asked. “I will pull it out for you,” he told Alyssa.

“Of course,” Alyssa pulled out her keys. “Oh, if you want but I didn’t mean I needed help with that. I can drive it out. I just meant I need the trailer doors opened, the ramp pulled down and someone to help direct me out - or more make sure no one drives behind me.” She didn’t really let anyone drive her van but had come to trust Sung enough to allow it.

“OK, I will go prep the van so that you can drive it out when you are ready.” replied Sung, standing and making his way to the door of the RV.

"Thanks Sung. " Alyssa stood, she grabbed her jacket and headed out behind Sung.

Sartre watched as Alyssa drove.

After helping Alyssa get her van out, he sent her the information. The IDs said they were a government forensics team researching the camp to evaluate the safety or threat in the area, with supporting paperwork with Sung being a lead investigator.
“I have an ID, so I do not need one. this ID is in most systems, so I should have no problem with the personnel there,” said Sung looking at Alyssa and Sartre.

As soon as the van was out and parked again, the hacker went to the back of it and started up the equipment.

“OK,” Alyssa nodded at Sung’s comment. And went to work on ID’S for the rest of the team. It took all of about 15 minutes in total, but they finished quickly for what she was doing. She then turned to Peter and Sung, if he was still there. “Alright all done.” She kept one for herself, handed one to Peter. “Let’s take these other two to Max and Ekaterina.”

Sung waited for Alyssa while she worked. It was not like he had anything else to do. He watched with interest as she worked, checking as she went. Sung looked at the ID badges and shook his head. “There is a problem,” said Sung, inspecting the ID badges. “they look to good,” he says with a sly smile.

Alyssa smiled at Sung, “Thank you.” She started to shut down the equipment, before going back into the RV.

Once her van was locked up, she went back into RV. Alyssa handed Max and Ekaterina their IDs. “Here, these should work to get us on base.”

Sung had followed her back into the RV after the badges were handed out. “OK, we are a forensics team and also an inspection team to check on the base, its operations, and the safety of the staff and the base is what are orders say with cleence to see anything. Sartre, and I have normal ID’s FBI for him and Investagator for me. That gives us broad access to the Base. We don’t have to be pushy. Just ask if you see something they are ordered to answer. We are there at the request of the Department of Defence and the Senate Committee on Intelligence. That will give us some authority, I hope. So carrying tools is ok to a point. most of your guns will have to be canceled in bags, tools, boxes, briefcases, etc,” explained Sung to the others.

The desert highway stretched endlessly, its cracked asphalt shimmering under the watchful glare of the floodlights that crowned the perimeter of PX-141. The road had seen little traffic in recent years—this was not a place where people came and went freely. The towering security fence loomed in the distance, crowned with coiled razor wire that caught the dim glow of emergency beacons pulsing in slow, methodical flashes of red. The entrance checkpoint was deserted. The booth’s fluorescent light flickered uncertainly, painting the guard post in sickly shades of green and white, but no sentry stood watch. The gate, usually locked down with military precision, hung slightly ajar.

Beyond the fence, the base lay in eerie silence. It was as though something had swallowed the usual sounds of military life—the distant roar of jet engines, the rhythmic cadence of marching boots, the radio chatter of patrols. Only the wind remained, sweeping across the tarmac with a restless whisper, tugging at loose tarps and rattling the doors of Quonset huts. A storm churned at the horizon, casting jagged veins of lightning across the ink-black sky, illuminating the base in brief, hellish flashes. The air smelled of ozone, damp earth, and something else—something faint but undeniable. A metallic tang, a hint of rot, like blood left to dry in the desert heat.
A lone figure stood just beyond the checkpoint, her posture rigid, her gaze fixed on the newcomers with a mix of relief and wariness. Major Sarah “Steel” Harding was a woman who did not rattle easily, but tonight, her carefully controlled composure was fraying at the edges. Deep lines of exhaustion and suspicion were etched into her face, and her uniform, always crisp and immaculate, bore the signs of a night gone terribly wrong. She held herself with the air of someone who had been forced to take command of a situation far beyond the scope of her training. Her hand hovered near the sidearm at her hip, a barely perceptible twitch betraying her unease.
“You’re late,” she said, her voice clipped, sharp. “I hope you came prepared.”

Behind her, the main compound stretched out in uneasy stillness. Figures moved in the distance, silhouettes darting between buildings, barely visible under the flickering lights. Soldiers who should have been on strict patrol routes instead clustered in tense knots, their rifles clutched tightly, fingers resting a little too close to their triggers. Every set of eyes flicked toward the investigators as they arrived, some filled with desperate hope, others clouded with something closer to fear.

From the shadows of the nearest Quonset hut, a tall, wiry man stepped forward, his lab coat flaring briefly in the wind. Dr. Lucas Finch had the look of a man who had not slept in days. His salt-and-pepper hair stood at wild angles, his eyes bloodshot, darting frantically as if expecting something to emerge from the darkness at any moment. He clutched a weathered notebook to his chest, his fingers white-knuckled around the leather cover. He did not greet the newcomers immediately, instead glancing toward the main lab complex, his breath coming fast and shallow.

“You don’t understand,” he muttered, voice just above a whisper. “It’s already awake. It’s watching. It knows.”
A heavy footstep echoed across the tarmac, and Sergeant Felix “Mack” McDaniel strode toward the group. He was built like a man who had spent a lifetime preparing for trouble, but there was a weight in his gaze now, something haunted lurking behind his usual confidence. He adjusted the strap of his rifle, scanning the investigators before shaking his head.

“This place ain’t right,” he said, voice low and measured. “Something’s moving through the base, something that don’t belong. People ain’t actin’ like themselves. We’ve already lost good men tonight. More’ll go before this is over.”

A nervous shuffle drew attention to the youngest of the assembled personnel. Private Andrea Cole stood near the security station, arms crossed tightly over her chest as if trying to hold herself together. Her usually chatty demeanor was absent, replaced with wide-eyed apprehension. Her uniform was wrinkled, her fingers twitching near the small PDA clipped to her belt. She met the investigators’ gaze briefly before looking away, chewing on her lower lip.
“I’ve seen the footage,” she said, voice hushed. “I saw it change. I saw two of the same person standing in the mess hall at the same time. But when I checked the cameras again… the footage was gone. Just static.”

The last to approach was Captain Emilio Ortiz. He did not speak immediately, simply studying the newcomers with an analytical precision that felt colder than the night air. His face was unreadable, but there was something in the way he carried himself, the way his hand stayed near his concealed sidearm, that spoke of a man who was already preparing for the worst. When he finally did speak, his words carried the weight of something far more dire than mere military secrecy.

“I’ve seen things like this before,” he said. “I know the signs. We’re compromised. Every moment we stand here, it’s getting worse. And if we don’t move quickly—if we don’t figure out what the hell is happening here—there won’t be anyone left to save.”

A silence settled over the group, thick with unspoken fears. In the distance, somewhere deep within the base, a metallic clang echoed—distant yet deliberate. A sound that did not belong to the wind or the storm. A sound of something shifting, waiting, watching.

And then, from the far end of the compound, barely audible beneath the restless howl of the wind, came the low, resonant hum.

“I see. Well, then, is this base under dearest and compromised? I am just verifying the situation,” says Sung with some authority in his tone. I guess you do not need our orders then. Pull everyone back and do a tactical withdrawal. And what is loose? We were not briefed on what was loose." explained Sung with some urgency in his voice.

Alyssa didn’t say anything, she didn’t think she could pull off the air of authority that Sung did. Not with military personnel on a base. She was too young for that and looked even younger than her 25 years. Not a kid but not old enough to be in charge - she figured anyone outside the team would assume.

Agent Powers was in full smolder mode as he looked around to gauge the level of fear and threat from the people around in case they turned on them. In his mind he thinking of the best way to killing any possible threat they might encounter. He was clearly not there to play the hero or make friends. Oddly enough the idea of friendship was still a new thing for him. He was very close to Ekaterina since she charmed him and seduced him but he was still able to focus on his work. As for the others he felt a level of trust with them and he of course took guarding Alyssa seriously since it was his main mission, but he found himself opening up more to her lately. He was not sure how to process these feelings so he planned to take it slow and focus on work instead.

Ortiz said, “Those people in there aren’t who they are.”

" Captain, what you think or do not think about us does not matter. What matters is that we were called in, and I have orders to be here," started Sung, eyeing the man. “They call us when things go very wrong. Things are definitely wrong.” Sung still has some authority in his tone. “As soon as somebody explains what is happening, The sooner I and the team can fix it and leave,” said Sung, his facial expression cold and one of a man with experience in dealing with death.

“You ever read the declassified notes from Lake’s expedition? The real ones, I mean. Not that redacted garbage they hand out in the archives, but the ones that never made it to the public. They buried them deeper than the ice those poor bastards hacked through in ‘31. Kept them locked up with all the other things that don’t fit cleanly into history. But it happened. That massacre happened. Those things weren’t just bones in the rock. They weren’t dead.”

Ortiz let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head.
“See, I read those notes. Not just Dyer’s ravings, but the real field reports. It wasn’t just fossils they found. The last transmissions from the Starkweather-Moore follow-up mission in ‘35—before they went dark—mentioned structures too smooth, too precise to be natural. ‘Not made for human feet,’ one of them said. Then silence. But that’s just history repeating itself, isn’t it? You think this place is special? Unique? Nah. We’re standing on an old, cold stage, performing the same act that got better men than us killed.”

You think Amundsen just disappeared? The great Roald Amundsen, lost in the ice, never found? That’s the official story. You ever wonder why the rescue mission for Nobile was such a big show, but no one ever launched a real search for Amundsen? Because they already knew. You don’t lose an airship. You erase it. And whatever he found out there, whatever he saw, they didn’t want it getting back to the world. But pieces did. Scraps. A page here, a transmission there. Fragments of a horror show. He wasn’t looking for survivors. He was chasing something into the ice. And something… was leading him deeper. Where do you think he was going? Where do you think all roads lead down here?"
Ortiz exhaled sharply, then lowered his voice.

“They keep shipping things in. Artifacts. Black-budget cargo that doesn’t show up on any manifest. I’ve seen the crates, unmarked except for glyphs I wish I didn’t recognize. Symbols that shouldn’t be here—shouldn’t be anywhere—except in old, yellowed sketches of mountains that scrape too high and tunnels that go too deep. It’s like we’re inviting something back. Like we’re rolling out the red carpet and waiting for the knock at the door.”

He stopped, finally meeting their gaze, his expression unreadable.

“Maybe you think I’m crazy. Maybe you’re right. But tell me—if I was wrong, would the ice be shifting the way it has? Would the winds be carrying whispers at night? Would men who should be whole come back… wrong?”

A pause. A shudder. Then, a grim chuckle.

“We should have left well enough alone. But we never do, do we?”

Posted by : Cindy

[oldschool96]

Alyssa listened to Ortiz’s words. Never leave well enough alone - that could be the motto of all of the factions, couldn’t it.

Still she said nothing, even though the hacker was literally almost literally biting her tongue to accomplish that feat.

“If we had left well enough, we both would not have been here. The governments like to do their things out of sight, Captain. Artifacts get taken and then someone wants it back is the probelm or awakened something they should not have? We do not need mass pannic,” replied Sung. “Hunting in the shadows is what I do, the things that frighten people in the dark.” That phrase would tell the captain that Sung also operates in the Black or shadows out of sight.

"Alyssa, what can you get for us on this project, redacted or not or both? " Sung politely requested. Sung was mad at himself for not thinking of the earlier or for not requesting the information.

“I’ll have to go back to the van but I can certainly look.” Alyssa waited a moment to see if anyone was coming with her before heading back to her van.

Sartre went with the hacker.

At the van Alyssa started up her equipment and began typing away. The information she received was encrypted but it didn’t take long to figure it out.

“Well, the base recently received a shipment of unknown origin - an artifact or so it says. It was put in maximum security. Oritz signed for it. Why do I think Oritz might know more than he’s saying. Let me dig deeper, this might take awhile.” Alyssa said. “Can you grab me a Coke out of the refrigerator? I need the caffeine.”

Sartre grabbed Alyssa her cola. Specifically choosing Coca-Cola as requested.

“I wonder as members of the Illuminati if we can have access to New Coke?” he said. “Alyssa, may I play with your hair while you hack?”

“As long as you don’t distract me.” Alyssa wasn’t sure if Peter would be able to play with her hair for long, that being the case. She thanked him for the Coke, opened it and took a sip before going back to work.

Sung waited at the gate while Alyssa and Sartre got the information. He looked at the captain. “Let me put this nicely: I don’t need your guy’s permission. I am doing this out of courtesy,” Sung said with a smile. “If you don’t want to help find whatever got you spooked, we will deal with it. Dr. Lucas Finch” was trying to get his attention. Reading his name on the badge was not hard to see.

"OK, doctor. What have you woken up to? I am sure my team will find out soon anyway. Said Sung, walking in through the gate. Pushing his paperwork to one of them. “Which way is the problem? You can point it out,” said Sung with confidence.

Sartre lightened up, watching Alyssa’s screen.

Sung mumbled some words. He stared past the personnel before him, looking at the buildings and grounds. He closed his eyes and took a long breath. "I see you have tried with some barriers to keep the aberration of a type or something alien. And now you guys woke it up, " Sung explained, his face without emotion and unreadable.

“If you had told me before, we would not be wasting time here. The longer that thing is roaming, the more danger everyone is in. I still suggest that you haven’t pulled your men back. I dont think your guns will help in this matter,” said Sung, now walking forward to stand in the middle of the people there.

"Now, are any of you compromised? " Sung asked, looking at each of them. You do not have to tell me; I will know soon enough, " he explained, waiting to see if any tried to attack him. He checked each one of them.

Finch said, “woken up from? We don’t sleep. They do. They’re waiting out there.” He pointed to the desert "And up there. " He pointed to the sky

Back in the van…

Alyssa seemed to be in her own world, typing away starring at screens - yes plural. Typing some more. Looking frustrated then confused. Then some more typing. The occasional - “damn” or “crap” uttered.

It took probably an hour, maybe slightly longer - she wasn’t keeping track. Before she said, in a frustrated tone. “Damn, redactions. Well, I have something.” Almost, as if she suddenly remembered Peter was in the van with her.

Rather than saying what it was, that she had found the hacker forwarded it to all the team members. Under heavy security protocols so no one else not even other secret world agents could tell what was in the message, just the team members would actually know what was sent.

Message encrypted:
From: Alyssa

DEPARTMENT OF INTERIOR - UNITED STATES GEOLOGICAL SURVEY
CONFIDENTIAL - EYES ONLY
PROJECT ARCHIVE: P-1930-MU
FILE REFERENCE: CASE #A-77-1930-ANT
DATE: [REDACTED]
SUBJECT: Dyer Antarctic Expedition Report - Miskatonic University
BACKGROUND:
In [REDACTED], an expedition under the direction of Professor William Dyer, sponsored by Miskatonic University, departed for the Antarctic under the guise of a standard geological survey. The true nature of the mission, as later deduced, involved anomalous findings at coordinates [REDACTED] and an effort to recover specimens classified as non-terrestrial in origin.
SUMMARY OF EVENTS:
Upon reaching the plateau region of [REDACTED], a sub-expedition led by Professor Lake discovered an unprecedented mountain range, exceeding 35,000 feet, with anomalous geophysical properties. Subsequent aerial reconnaissance and ground investigations uncovered fossilized life forms exhibiting anatomical structures inconsistent with any known phylum.
Excavation efforts led to the recovery of several fully preserved biological entities, referred to hereafter as SPECIMEN ALPHA, possessing both radial symmetry and signs of advanced bio-engineering. Standard decontamination and biological analysis procedures were bypassed due to excitement over the discovery.
Contact with Lake’s team was lost after a transmission referencing “awakening” biological material. Recovery personnel, including Dyer, discovered remains of the expedition members subjected to extensive mutilation and evisceration, indicative of non-human predation. Specimen Alpha showed signs of reactivation, exhibiting limited autonomous function before total cessation.
Dyer and graduate assistant Danforth pursued an unidentified entity into an underground tunnel system beneath the primary excavation site, where they encountered structural formations indicative of an advanced pre-human civilization. The engravings, later determined to be a form of non-human linguistic record-keeping, contained references to [REDACTED] INTERDIMENSIONAL PHENOMENA, and the presence of a higher predatory life form designated " [REDACTED]
Danforth’s recorded testimony indicates exposure to a phenomenon classified as Cognitive Contamination, resulting in prolonged psychosis and his subsequent institutionalization at [REDACTED]. His verbal recollections reference “a city older than the human mind,” “invisible geometries,” and “something beyond the mountains.” His final recorded statement before permanent silence: [REDACTED]
POST-EVENT ACTIONS:
All surviving members were detained under immediate quarantine upon return. Professor Dyer’s official report was heavily censored before its submission to federal authorities. A public disinformation campaign, branding the mission’s findings as “inconclusive” and discouraging further Antarctic expeditions, was initiated.
The site was classified as ZONE-77-A PROHIBITED TERRITORY, with aerial and satellite monitoring implemented under the joint jurisdiction of the United States and international partners. Further study into anomalous biological samples was transferred to [REDACTED] under PROJECT ARKHAM.
RECOMMENDATIONS:
Maintain existing quarantine protocols.
Ongoing surveillance of known excavation sites and classified airspace.
Expansion of EXOBIOLOGICAL RESPONSE TEAMS in case of future activity.
Psychological evaluations and suppression of unauthorized testimonies related to the event.
Immediate suppression of any public or private Antarctic research expeditions attempting access to Zone-77-A.
END REPORT
ARCHIVE STATUS: CLASSIFIED
ACCESS RESTRICTED – VIOLATORS SUBJECT TO FEDERAL PENALTIES

Posted by : Cindy

[oldschool96]

Meanwhile, Sung just glanced back at everyone in front of him. “Hmm…” is all he said, and he was silent for a monument. "Lucky all of you are not compromised. I was not in a killing mood, " commented Sung, looking at them all. There was a beep in his earpiece. The encrypted data came to his phone. He glanced over it. "Oh well, all you need to do is keep the perimeter secure. My team and I will deal with the rest. I can see we do not have to hide anymore said Sung as he reached down to a bag and pulled out his sword and sheath, sliding it into his sash.

He turned, shouting loud enough for Alyssa and Sartre to hear. “Get your real equipment. We have an aberration of a type or something alien to hunt down,” said Sung, not suggesting but not ordering either. Sung started to walk forward, stopping to look at Finch. " You tell me it is out of the compound?" asked Sung, not looking happy at all.

Alyssa had started to shut down the equipment in the van, when she heard Sung. The hacker turned to Peter. “Guess my father might have been right - to warn us about the possibility of aliens. Well, I suppose I should take this.” She unlocked a drawer and pulled out a pistol; it was black with a pearl colored handle. Somewhere between feminine and kick ass and seemed to fit Alyssa perfectly. “I have my knife on me.” She kept it with almost always now. “Are you ready?” She asked Peter.

"Always ready. " Sartre said as he followed the hacker outside. He met with the rest of the group and the staff of the base as they made their way into the hallways would seem to be closing in. The floors were tiled with linoleum and the overhead lights were flickering.

Pvt. Anna Cole said, "Whatever happened, happened last week. No one has been the same since. The majority of it took place in the mess hall. I would approach that area with extreme caution. "

The hum of fluorescent lights above you wavers, falters—a mechanical gasp strangled mid-breath. A heartbeat of darkness swallows the corridor before the bulbs flicker back to life in a sickly, sputtering staccato, their feeble glow casting elongated shadows that stretch and recoil like startled things.

Beyond the reinforced windows, the desert night looms, vast and indifferent, its presence pressing against the glass like an unseen observer. The sodium-vapor lamps that line the perimeter fence blink erratically, plunging patches of the razor-wire enclosure into impenetrable voids. Somewhere in the distance, a security siren wails once, abruptly cut short as if smothered.

Inside, monitors flicker with static-drenched images—half-formed specters of data, a glimpse of something shifting just beyond perception before the screens go black, their lifeless reflections staring back at you from the glass. A radio crackles to life, spitting out a garbled transmission in tones not quite human, then cuts out with an almost deliberate finality.

Metal groans in the ceiling above, an unnatural creak where there should be silence. The air, once dry and sterile, carries the faint scent of ozone, an electric tang that prickles the skin and raises the fine hairs on your arms. The ventilation system stirs, but the rhythmic whoosh of recycled air is interrupted by something else—a whisper, a breath, just at the edge of hearing.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the power stabilizes. The lights hold. The screens reset.
“This is the control and observation room.” said Ortiz who had seemed to have taken a leading role among the base staff.

“Could Agent Wilson look at these controls?” asked Sartre

Agent Wilson was ahead of Sartre. Alyssa had started towards the controls on instinct. Upon hearing Peter’s words, the hacker didn’t bother pausing - she supposed Ortiz could try to stop her but would he, if he really wanted their help?

Ortiz said, "take a look at the security camera of the storage room. There were boxes there, these boxes contained artifacts that had strange writings on them. I had visited the storage room several times before what happened last week. Ortiz pointed something out to Alyssa.

“There’s someone in the storage room right now.”

The figure was grainy.

“Hmmm… how are you holding the or were holding the aberration in place?” I asked Mr. Sung if they had the right facilities to do so.

Alyssa looked over the controls and tried to make the image come in clearer without messing anything up.

Mr. Sung took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He took a few more breaths, and his concentration remained focused. Some sweat rolled down his face, and he looked to be straining. His hand was on his sword, but it was still sheathed. His eyes opened, and he looked a little shaken. “I should not do that again,” he comments, looking at everyone.

“Let me explain. It is a Massive Aberration that can sense anything a good distens. It does not miss details and even has some form of short telepathy. It knows no fear and can not be resend with. It can drain light, from what I understand; I do not know if it uses the energy from it. It can move lightning fast in the dark using the shadows, making it hard to see. It uses the dark as an attack and turns you into an aberration if it consumes and kills you. What I think happened was someone got too close to the aberration. They got turned into one,” explained Mr Sung. He walked closer to the window. “It knows we are here, I bet. I have only hunted one aberration ever and it almost killed the team.” He informed the people there.

Alyssa was still starring at the screen, she knew Sung had ways to contain the thing. “What do you need us to do?” Even not looking at him, the question was obviously directed at Sung.

Agent Powers gave everyone a smolder as he was assessing the situation. He was planning on destroying any threat he saw. Granted some of the threats were of some concern he still pondered his options. Ekaterina was using her insects at this point to spy on the area for any threats or concerns since they were to small to be seen by most of the people around.

“Alyssa, can you make that picture clearer?” asked Sartre.

As Alyssa made the image clear, it became known that there was someone in the storage room going through different boxes.

Sartre said,

“Hang on a minute here Sung, you can use magical workings and wards when we know exactly what this thing is. I would suggest that we first take a look at whoever is in the supply room.” What does everyone else think?" he asked.

“I know it is an Aberration, I can sense it. And I sense another one in a different location,” explained Mr. Sung. “With some prepping, I could probably make it to the supply room independently, as long as it is not a big Aberration. I would probably only last a minute or two against it,” Mr. Sung informed them with some confidence in his tone. “Dragons Rath can protect me to a point or allow me to fight it,” He suggested, placing his hand on the hilt of the sword. “I would draw it now, but I have a feeling the Aberrations would detect it and get more aggressive,” he said, looking at the screens.

Ekaterina pondered for a bit and looked at Agent Powers and then at Sung. Agent Powers gave her a smolder and asked, “Something on your mind Princess?” Ekaterina then asked, “Mr. Sung do you have any talismans or sutras? If so we can attach them to rocks and Agent Powers here can throw a series of fast balls at the enemy.”

“What exactly do you mean by aberration Sung? I’m thinking whatever this is a something natural and not necessarily supernatural.” said Sartre. “What do you suggest we do Alyssa?” he continued.

“Will the wards hurt anyone who isn’t supernatural?” Alyssa asked, not knowing much about them. “I wouldn’t want to fight anything without knowing for certain what it was.”

Agent Powers gave Alyssa a smolder and then replied, “To my knowledge those charms only affect their main target, however if I throw them attached to a rock I am sure the rock will maim or kill them.”

“Well, then throwing up the wards would be a good idea.” Alyssa responded. “If these things can take the form of people we don’t know really that is not an aberration. I would rather air on the side of caution.”

Thinking momentarily, Mr. Sung looked at the Princess. “To answer your question, no, not in the way that you are asking. My sword is unique, and I am trained in such a way that I do not need things like talismans or sutras,” answered Mr. Sung.

"As for throwing something, Mr. Powers, I could put a wards on something, and Mr. Powers could throw it as it. but that is a one time use. " He answered to Powers.

“Sartre, I use my skills to detect the aberration. And they are primarily supernatural. I had never heard of one of them not being supernatural. I would not have detected it if it was not supernatural. I have some protection against it, but it only lasts about 10 minutes. I can give that protection to someone else,” explained Mr. Sung, letting the group know.

“We need to have more than one if us go in after us. Perhaps all of us. Who would be the most likely to fight it head on?” Alyssa asked.

“We’ll see if your sword can provide protection. who wants to leave the way to the storage room? Who wants to lead the way.” to the storage room? Sartre asked.

“Let me clarify. The sword itself does not provide protection like a shield or something but allows me to protect in more of a physical way and, tied in with my ability, allows me to defend myself. Against things like supernatural monsters, where some things can not be affected by standard weapons, Dragon’s Wrath does affect the supernatural or other enatees,” clarified Mr. Sung.

He was unsure how to explain the sword or his abilities to the others. How do you describe magic? He wondered if the others knew, but the people at the back probably did not.

“let me just say a standard gun can not hurt a ghost. Dragon’s Wrath can and will harm or damage a ghost if not destroy it.” Mr. Sung used it as an example.

“My opinion is to make a plan and then we go in. We stand a better chance as a group.” Alyssa commented.

“What’s the plan?” asked Sartre.

“Lets let the hacker plan. She’s the most logical.” he continued.

“We should plan together. I don’t have combat experience.” Alyssa responded.

“Alyssa, maybe you can stay here with one guard at the controls to help us control doors and the building and watch the cameras, which will give us information on what is happening,” suggested Mr. Sung. I can take the others with me if we do have to combat the aberration. I feel we fall back as soon as possible," Mr. Sung added, thinking about whether they could stay alive and escape this in peace.

“That sounds like a good plan, to me.” Alyssa responded. Really, she felt out of her depth here and was glad to have Sung taking command.

Ekaterina elegantly looked at Agent Powers and then at Alyssa before she said, “I would like to stay with Alyssa for back up. I can use my bugs to monitor you all from here. Will that ease your mind Agent Powers?” Agent Powers gave Ekaterina a smolder then a nod as he replied, “Yeah thanks. I can fight at full strength that way.”

“So, is it settled?” asked Sung, turning to the base personnel. "Anyone else would like to come along? offered Mr. Sung looking them over.

Agent Powers nodded as he replied, “I’ll help crush the threat. Hopefully we don’t destroy the base.”

Alyssa nodded, “Fine with me.” She wondered what Peter would chose to do, given the circumstances. He could stay with her and Ekaterina; though there wasn’t really a need for that, or go fight with Sung and Max.

“We can follow Sung and Alyssa’s plan.” said Sartre.
A heavy silence smothered the air as they party stepped into the storage room, their breath hitching in their throats. The walls, once pristine and rigid with military sterility, now bore the weary scars of time—peeling paint curled like the edges of burnt parchment, rust wept from corroded vents, and overhead, the flickering fluorescent tubes cast a sickly pallor over the ruinous scene. The air smelled of stagnant oil, decayed paper, and something subtler, a whisper of ancient dust that had no business lingering in this world.

Row upon row of steel shelves loomed like sentinels, their frames bending under the weight of forgotten knowledge. Stacked upon them, crates of varying sizes, stamped with strange, spidery glyphs—hieroglyphs that seemed to shift and undulate when observed too closely, their meaning slithering just beyond comprehension. The markings hummed with a malign intent, exuding a presence that clawed at the mind, demanding to be understood while simultaneously recoiling from any attempt to decipher them.

And there, amidst the decay and suffocating gloom, a lone figure hunched over an open crate, his gloved fingers trembling as they sifted through crumbling files and yellowed maps. The soldier’s uniform, tattered and stained, bore no insignia, as if time itself had eroded his identity. His shoulders heaved with shallow, ragged breaths, and his lips—cracked and dry—moved incessantly, forming words that dripped with the weight of a truth too heavy to bear.
“They were here first… always here… Not dead, not dreaming, no—waiting.” His voice rasped like sandpaper against steel, choked with desperation, but his eyes remained fixed upon the pages, his fingers tracing inked illustrations of spindly, multi-winged things with disturbingly organic geometry. The sketches, stark against the brittle paper, radiated an uncanny vitality, as though they were watching, listening.

“Tekeli-li… tekeli-li…” The words came in a whisper, his breath hitching on the syllables. His head jerked suddenly, as though unseen fingers had plucked his thoughts like taut strings. “It was never just them. No, no… something else… something new, something wrong. The Mi-Go meddled, they shouldn’t have, they knew they shouldn’t have. You can’t mix what isn’t meant to mix. Not with them.”

A shudder wracked his frame, and his hands clutched at a dog-eared photograph. The black-and-white image, frayed at the edges, depicted something almost recognizable—almost. A humanoid silhouette, sallow-skinned and elongated, its oversized cranium misshapen, as though it had been molded from clay by unsteady hands. Its obsidian eyes, too large, too reflective, peered through the paper with an unnatural hunger. But the real horror lay in the places where its form buckled and writhed—patches of soft, fungoid flesh ruptured from beneath its skin, frilled tendrils curling like ivy over its warped frame.
“They took it,” the soldier muttered, gripping the edges of the photograph until they crumpled. “They altered it. Thought they could use it. But you don’t bargain with the fungi of Yuggoth. You don’t. You don’t.” His breath hitched. His fingers twitched. His gaze lifted—at last—toward the unseen visitors who had intruded upon his revelations.

For the first time, his expression betrayed something beyond fractured horror.

Hope.

Or something close to it.

“They’re still here,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the failing lights. “Watching. Waiting. They know I know.”

“What do you think he means Sung?” asked Sartre.

“Got a good picture?” Sartre asked Alyssa in the chip.

Alyssa had just gotten some images and the video would be able to be viewed later. “Yes, I think so.” She returned into the chip.

Answering Sartre, “I am guessing he is talking about the aberration maybe. It could be an idem, too.” There was a breath of air from Mr. Sung. as he focused on the man in front of him.

Mr. Sung stepped forward but signaled the others to stay where they were. “I see, Sir. So they have been here the whole time?” asked Mr. Sung, talking to the man in front of him but ready to defend himself if needed. “Can we talk about it? Can you show me?” continued Mr. Sung, his voice calm and soothing, trying to gain the man’s trust.

The soldier’s breath hitched as the silence stretched, his grip tightening around the warped photograph as if it were the last tether to his sanity. His eyes, sunken into shadowed hollows, darted between the unseen figures before him, his lips trembling as if waging war with his own words.
“They called me—” His voice fractured, the syllables splitting like dead wood beneath an unseen weight. “—Joe Vale. Once.” The name left his lips as though it were something foreign, something borrowed from a man long since devoured by whatever horrors had taken root in his mind. He exhaled, shuddering. “I was sent where the maps ended. A place where the world’s spine breaks and all sense of reason shatters with it.”
His gloved fingers flexed over the pages of the crumbling files, tracing lines of text that had faded into brittle whispers of ink. His gaze flickered, distant, as though watching something beyond the reach of the present.
“They don’t create, no,” he murmured, his voice weighted with a terrible reverence. “They alter. They take what is—what was—and twist it, coax it, stretch it beyond its purpose until it breaks free from itself. Not dead, not alive. Something else.”
His fingers traced one of the illustrations—a thing with too many wings, too many eyes, its contours writhing even on the unmoving page. “It’s their way. Not for cruelty, not for war. For understanding. A different kind of hunger, a knowing hunger. To behold something is not enough. They must reshape it, pull it apart, stitch it anew.”
The fluorescent lights above crackled, their sickly pallor casting grotesque shadows over his ruined features. He exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching as though resisting the pull of unseen threads. “The first ones—they left their ruins behind, left echoes where their voices should be. But these? The ones who came after? They saw those echoes and whispered back.” His voice lowered, hushed with a terrible intimacy. “And the whispers answered.”
A dry, humorless chuckle escaped his lips, brittle as dead leaves. “That’s how it always begins. A mistake, a curiosity, a question that should never be asked. A hand extended where none should reach. The mind isn’t made to understand what isn’t meant to be known. It breaks. Bends. And if it bends too far—” His voice cracked, his fingers curling into fists. “—it doesn’t snap. It twists.”
His breath quickened, his pulse a visible tremor beneath his throat. “You’ve seen them, haven’t you? Their gifts? Their work?” His gaze locked onto his unseen audience, a flicker of hope—or perhaps madness—glinting in his fevered stare. “That’s why you’re here. Not by chance. Not by mistake. You think you’re seeking knowledge, but knowledge is seeking you.”
A long pause stretched between his words, the air thick with the weight of things best left unsaid. Slowly, his trembling fingers loosened their grip, the tattered photograph slipping from his grasp, drifting to the cold, dust-laden floor. His lips parted, his breath shallow. “It’s not about what they took,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a shudder. “It’s about what they left behind.”

Mr. Sung thinks about what the man said. He looks back at the others. “I could probably heal his mind and body, " he comments, looking back at the guy. This will be draining on me.” He says a few words, almost sounding like singing to them. The words pierce the room and everyone there. The sound wave of healing energy washes over the man as Mr. Sung moves forward at blinding speed, touching the man’s shoulder.

The silence held, thick and cloying, as if the very air had grown sentient and conspired to listen. Vale’s breath, ragged and uneven, rasped through the stale, fluorescent-lit room, his sunken eyes darting to the investigators as though measuring their worth against the weight of his revelation. His fingers, skeletal beneath the grime of forgotten battlefields, traced trembling patterns across the photograph at his feet, its edges curling as if recoiling from the truth it bore.

“The Mi-Go…” His voice cracked, a splinter of sound swallowed by the ever-pressing quiet. “They took one.” His fingers spasmed, his throat working against some unseen horror. “Not a man. Not one of us. Something else—something not meant for their hands.” His breath shuddered out, a rattling thing, brittle with exhaustion. “You’ve seen them, haven’t you? The grays. The things the government denies with one hand while dissecting with the other.”

He let the words hang, let them fester in the silence like an untreated wound. His eyes, dark hollows carved into a face that had seen too much, flicked to each of them in turn, searching for comprehension, for understanding—or perhaps for signs of something else.

“They flensed it,” he murmured, voice hushed with a reverence that had nothing to do with awe. “Stripped it down past flesh, past bone, past thought. Until it was just—material.” His fingers twitched, the memory of something unseen pressing against his skin like a phantom pain. “And then they rebuilt it. Stretched it. Twisted it. The mind… The mind wasn’t meant to be that. To be untethered. To be unstuck.”
His gaze snapped up, fevered, urgent. The fluorescent lights above flickered, casting grotesque, shifting shadows along the walls, as if something unseen had begun to listen.

“It watches. It learns. It bends.” His breath hitched, his hands trembling, curling as though to hold onto something solid before it, too, slipped through his fingers. “What they made isn’t just a thing. It’s possibility. Thought given hunger. Identity unmoored.” His voice cracked, something fragile and knowing threading through it. “It doesn’t just take form. It becomes it. Peels it away, wears it like a shroud, until nothing remains but the shape it chooses to be.”

A pause. A breath. The buzzing hum of the overhead lights vibrated against the silence, distorted, distant, as if reality itself had begun to fray.

“The soldiers,” Vale whispered, his voice barely more than a shudder. “The ones you met. The ones who led you here.”

The walls seemed closer now, the room smaller, the shadows pooling like oil beneath the flickering glow.

“They could be it. It could be them.”

A dry, humorless chuckle, cracking like dead leaves beneath a boot heel. His eyes, wide, unblinking, caught the dim light and held it.

“And if it is…” His lips parted in something that might have once been a smile, something broken, something knowing.

“…you’re already too late.”

“Mi-Go exists?” said Mr. Sung, realizing something was wrong, really wrong. Sung snatched the photo from the floor with a swift and deliberate move. Briefly surrounded by silvery mist, Mr. Sung was back with the group, almost appearing with them. “Someone talk to Alyssa research Mi-Go. Now quickly, everyone, we fall back now!” There was urgency in Mr. Sung’s voice as he placed his hand on his sword. He closed his eyes using true sight, looking for anything supernatural or invisible. He could see anything out to 120 feet. He was ready to defend the group if he had to.

“Alyssa, can you look up Mi-Go?” Sartre asked in the chip.

“Mi-Go? Lovecraft. Aliens. If I remember right they look like large insects but are really fungi in nature. In, at least one story, they take people’s brains to Jupiter by putting them glass jars and these jars allow the brains to be able to see, hear and think. I’ll have to look up more about them but my suggestion is to get out of there, we need a better plan before confronting them.” Alyssa responded. She turned to Ekaterina, “What do you know about H.P. Lovecraft?” She then said out loud but quietly, “It couldn’t have been an alien like ET - nope - just had to be some Lovecraftian nightmare fuel.”

Posted by : Cindy

[oldschool96]

Sartre said to the other two “you think it would be a good idea if we headed back to the RV?”

“Or the control room at a minimum.” Suggested Sung. He knew there was nothing more they could do here. He felt sorry for the man but did not have the heart to end his life either. Not right now he did little more to go on before that.

Sartre said, “Lets head for the control room.” He waited for Sung to follow.

Mr. Sung followed Sartre. “Right behind you,” commented Mr. Sung. He reaches out to detect any threat that might be there, ready to draw his sword at any moment.

Returning to the control room, Sartre said “What do you think we should do Alyssa?”

“I think we need to come up with a better plan and come back. I would prefer no one’s brain in a jar.” Alyssa commented.

Sartre took the hacker by the hand and walked with the others back to the RV.

Mr. Sung looked a little angry at the base staff. “How long have you guys been compromised?” he asked in a commanding but polite tone. You should pull everyone back, barricade one building, and defend from there. This is the last time I will ask that," Mr. Sung said, walking towards the door. “If you all die or end up like the guy down there” he paused at that thought. “Well, you can’t blame our team and I will have to kill them too,” warned Mr. Sung as he walked out.

“Alyssa, do you have any ideas?” Sartre said as they stepped into the RV.

“No, this is far beyond my expertise.” Alyssa had to wonder if everyone had forgotten she wasn’t a combat person. “Mr. Sung, do you have any suggestions?”

Sartre waited on Sung.

Sung walked into the RV, turned a lock, and pulled out a try. He took another sword out, which looked similar in design. Waiting for the others, he staked a seat and placed his swords in his lap. “I do Hope we will not confront anything like the Mi-Go. I used powerful healing arts on the guy and did nothing for him. He was changed. So are we dealing with something similar, do you think?” Sung asked. He thoughtfully looked at the team.

Alyssa sat down. “It does seem that way.” She sighed. “So how do we confront it without being changed like that or worse.” Actually, what would be worse? Death actually seemed like a better option.

“How did that movie put it, Nuke it from orbit.” Joked Mr. Sung. “I will maybe help the man later to that end.” Mr. Sung commented. “I have an obligation to extricate this threat. Hmm… Could the Aberrations be the Mi-Go? Could they have been killed in such a way to have this occur?” thought Mr Sung. The question was not directed at any one person, but still spoken out loud. “I might have to confront the Aberration and hope it is one and the same, not two different threats.” added Mr. Sung, sitting back in the chair.

“Should we explore the base further, should we head back to town and perhaps ask around town? What do you think the best course of action would be Alyssa?” asked Sartre.

Alyssa felt like rolling her eyes, didn’t she already say she wasn’t the expert here. She didn’t want to make these decisions. “I am not sure that anyone in town would know anything or we might just get people telling us UFO stories. Then again they’re might be some truth there. I don’t know. I do know we shouldn’t go back to the base without a better plan than Sung going in by himself.”

Mr. Sung sat listening to the others, waiting for everyone to give their ideas. He did not think the town would have much to offer on face value. However, rumors can even have some truth or start from information. They could begin with reports about missing persons or new articles and see if there is a pattern. But that would call into question law enforcement. If there was a pattern, I am sure they would have already questioned that by now.

Thinking, he looked at the hot water pot on the stove and thought about tea. He closed his eyes. “The town is 30 miles away, typical for a place like this, secure sight. But what would you expect to find in the small town? We would be outsiders, and people would probably not talk to us much,” Mr. Sung asked.

“What are the chances that whatever has been on the base could have made it to the nearest town?” asked Sartre.

“Would we know of it did? I mean before it was too late.” Alyssa responded. “I do suppose we could go into town. Maybe, pretend to be those people that chase UFO stories?”

“That would work, maybe some of the townspeople have seen something related to the crash, there could’ve been other crafter that crashed in the surrounding areas. We can try a local diner. Is everyone okay with that?” asked Sartre.

Sung was good with whatever the group decided. He was not the leader, but sometimes it felt like the leadership fell on him. Chaos was at his door, and the Dragons did not use the roll leaders in the same sense as others.

“Maybe good biscuits and gravy. If we find a mom-and-pop diner, there could be a chance we could see some clues, but I am sure they have a sheriff’s department of some sort or state police that visit the town. We might get some information from records,” Mr. Sung suggested.

“I think we’re in the wrong part of the country for good biscuits and gravy. I’m good with it as well.” Alyssa replied.

Mr. Sung looked disappointed. “I forgot we are in Arizona. I knew there was a reason I did not like this state.” Mr. Sung Joked.

“Will the sheriff’s department even talk to us?” Alyssa wondered. “I mean I could make us some credentials so they might be more willing to.”

“Should we start at the sheriff’s department or the diner?” asked Sartre.

“I vote for the diner.” Alyssa said

The diner squatted low against the Nevada desert, a defiant splash of neon and chrome in a world of rust and dust. Its sign, a flickering relic from another decade, buzzed intermittently against the vast, indifferent sky, proclaiming: “Maggie’s Stop ‘n’ Eat.” The soft hum of electricity fought against the silence of the desert, where the wind whispered through skeletal sagebrush and rattled against warped aluminum siding.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old grease and scorched coffee, a tangible relic of a thousand weary travelers who had come before. The fluorescents overhead sputtered, casting elongated shadows that twisted unnaturally across cracked vinyl booths and scuffed linoleum. A jukebox in the corner, its buttons long worn smooth, displayed selections no one had bothered to update in decades, though it remained eerily silent, as if the music itself had learned not to intrude upon the hush.
A handful of patrons occupied the booths, their voices hushed, their words slithering between bites of stale toast and half-hearted forkfuls of eggs. A trucker with sun-leathered skin traced the rim of his coffee cup absently, his gaze flicking toward the smudged window, watching something unseen beyond the sodium glare of the parking lot lamps. A woman in a faded denim jacket stirred her soup with slow, deliberate circles, her lips pressed thin, as if tasting something other than broth. Beside her, a man whose face was mostly shadow exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

“—saw it go down past the ridge,” one voice murmured, barely more than a breath.

“Could’ve been… but they always say that, don’t they?” came the hushed response, a hint of something unspoken stretching between syllables.

The scrape of a knife against ceramic punctuated the lull, and the conversation sank back into the rhythm of clinking silverware and the low drone of the ventilation fan.

Behind the counter, the cook stood half-bathed in the kitchen’s dim light, his stained apron hanging loose over a body hunched with the weariness of routine. A single egg sizzled in a pool of oil, its edges curling, its fate a slow, inevitable burn. He never looked up, never acknowledged the way the murmurs died whenever the door groaned open, never questioned why every pair of eyes held the same unspoken knowing.

The desert pressed in beyond the walls, endless, empty, and waiting.

Alyssa glanced around, clearly this was a seat yourself kind of place. A place with food that could clog your arteries just by looking at it and, most likely, the best pie anywhere. Alyssa actually Iiked places like this, they were what they claimed to be with no pretenses. “We should get a booth.” The hacker commented.

Posted by : Cindy

[oldschool96]

Sartre followed the others to a booth in the back of the diner.

In a whisper Sartre asked, “the locals seem to be asking about another crash, should we talk to them?”

Mr. Sung looked like he was questioning that idea. “We could say we are the Federal Aviation Administration. A team was sent out to look into a crash. Who wants to play investagator?” asked Mr. Sung.

“I think Peter should or maybe Ekaterina.” Alyssa turned to Peter. “Peter, you just have that government’s investigator vibe going on. Ekaterina you could probably charm one of them into talking. I’m not sure though if they’ll talk to someone from the government, and we don’t have credentials for that, but it’s worth a try.”

The egg cracked open with an unsettling wet pop, spilling its contents onto the hot griddle. A viscous, pearlescent fluid oozed forth, sluggish and wrong, resisting the heat rather than sizzling. The cook, a man whose face had been worn into anonymity by decades of grease and cigarette smoke, frowned, his spatula hesitating. The griddle’s surface, slick with a patina of old oil, should have sent the egg white bubbling, crisping at the edges. Instead, the thing pulsed.

A low, glutinous sound, somewhere between a breath and a sigh, slithered forth from the curling mass. The yolk, rather than settling into its usual round brilliance, stretched impossibly thin, elongating into fibrous strands of crimson and gold. The gelatinous form shuddered, a ripple running through it like something waking, something remembering.

Then, with a sudden and sickening shlorp, the mass inverted upon itself, birthing a writhing, segmented protrusion—a limb, twitching and flexing in grotesque mimicry of a newborn testing its strength. Translucent veins pulsed beneath its gelatinous surface, tracing unnatural patterns, runes that no human tongue could pronounce. The edges of the creature bled color, the whites of the egg shifting into bruised purples and oily greens, flesh knitting together into something neither solid nor liquid.
The cook took an instinctive step back, his grip on the spatula tightening. The thing quivered, and then it screamed—not a sound made for human ears, but a layered, chittering cacophony that burrowed into the skull, vibrating bone and marrow alike. The patrons froze mid-motion, forks hanging in the air, coffee cups trembling against saucers. The jukebox flickered, its silent buttons now alight with an eerie phosphorescence, though no song played.

From the writhing mound on the griddle, thin, hooked appendages tore free, clicking against metal, scrabbling for purchase. The smell of burning meat was joined by something else—a deep, cloying rot, the scent of grave dirt left too long in the sun. The thing twisted, a shifting mess of sinew and chitin, its form refusing to settle, refusing to be known. It bore no eyes, yet it saw; it had no mouth, yet the very air thrummed with its hunger.

The cook’s breath hitched. The heat from the griddle should have blackened it, should have reduced it to char and grease. Instead, the thing thrived, growing, splitting, becoming.

And then it moved.

Outside, the wind had died. The stars, normally indifferent in their cold brilliance, seemed closer somehow, watching with something between amusement and hunger. The desert held its breath.

Something else had arrived.

Alyssa had been watching, everything and everyone around her, as she did at times. She saw the reaction by the cook and the wait staff and the patrons. “I don’t think we need to ask.” The hacker said, as a lump formed in her throat and her hand went instantly to her knife.

It let out a horrific screech that pierced Alyssa’s ears.

She was just grabbing it as a reflex, she’d have to get closer to the alien to really use it as there are people in the way.

The screech echoed across the walls with a resounding thud, Alyssa’s vision began to blur, she thought she began to see shadows climbing up on the walls before slowly returning to her normal vision.
“Alyssa, you’re the team leader, what you suggest we do?” asked Sartre as he removed his glock.

Alyssa covered her ears with her hands and she jerked her head as if watching the walls. She gripped the knife tighter, not hearing anything except the screech and not hearing Satre at all.

Her vision started to return, the screeching stopped for a moment. “Did anyone else hear that - or see that?” If she hadn’t already experienced such odd things, in her life, the hacker might have thought she was losing her mind. “We need to get the others in here to safety, if we can. Or we just need to fight it.” That might have not been the best plan, but it was the best she could come up with.

“Which should we try first?” Sartre yelled over the noise.

The screeching made Mr. Sung shake his head. He placed his fingers in his ears and wiggled them a bit. “What the hell, what that?” asked Sung as he stood to his feet. He watched the others in the diner for their reactions.

He moved discreetly, mumbling some words. He would use a Detection spell to look for things like Aberration, Celestial, Elemental, Fey, Fiend, or Undead. He was used to hunting stuff of this sort, but was not sure if it was one of those classifications. He did not bring his sword with him, which would have stuck out. But he was a weapon; even his body could be used to strike.

Alyssa watched Sung and sighed. “I think we’re fighting.” She turned to Max. “I might have to fight.” Because, he was her bodyguard thought he should know.

“Alyssa, do you want to fight first or see if we can get the civilian’s out of here?” asked Sartre.
Sung could only sense something literally bleak and alien. It felt as if something had been here long before humans had ever walked the earth and had come from the stars. Its power was immense and its danger could be felt. It leapt up into the ceiling, it’s tendrils and tentacles attaching to the ceiling with a gelatin sound.

Mr. Sung closed his eyes briefly, and then they stared open. Whatever it is, it is on the ceiling. Its power is immense," warned Mr. Sung, looking at the ceiling.

“I think we need to fight, but first,” she stood up on her seat and said as loud as the hacker could image. “Everyone duck or get out, if you can.”

The patrons would duck under the tables.

Posted by : Cindy

[oldschool96]

“Mr Sung, How do you suggest we handle this thing?” asked Sartre.

Sung looked agile as he jumped onto and then off both in the air. His clothing flapping in the breeze made by this movement. He burst with a fury of strikes, hitting the creature on the ceiling.

When his second strike hit, it looked like it hit a vital area. A flash of light seemed to tear into the black creature, doing an incredible amount of damage. He landed on his feet with a small slide to a stop.

Alyssa had practiced with her new powers enough to attack. She used her telekinetic powers in an attempt to crush the alien.

Tendrils sizzled through the fluorescent air, lashing tables, turning the Formica furniture into weeping pulp. Its voice—a screech like stars being torn from the firmament—crashed against their minds.

Sung moved. His blades shimmered—not steel, but stories—etched with arcane glyphs and promises made in blood. He whispered a Word of Binding through clenched teeth, his eyes glowing like dying suns.

A tendril shot toward him—missed. He slashed down, severing flesh that screamed like a choirboy set alight.

Alyssa stepped forward, her boots crunching over broken dishes and scattered salt. The air twisted around her like a vortex, heavy with invisible hands. She raised one palm toward the thing, shaking with both fear and power:

And then it happened—Telekinetic Crush.

The Unborn Choir writhed, its form collapsing in on itself like a dying star. Alyssa’s mind clashed with its alien will She felt it claw at her synapses, whispering things that burned—but she won.

Its screams became concave—imploding. The walls rattled. Light strobed purple. Glass shattered inward, a thousand tiny screams following each shard.

The horror crushed, pulp sizzling into the floorboards. Black ichor pooled like a shadow that refused to die.
Then movement—from under the tables.

Diner patrons, dazed but alive, crawled out as if from beneath a nightmare. One by one, they looked around—dull, glassy-eyed, then strangely animated. Their conversations didn’t align with the room, the hour, or the year.

A waitress, mascara running like ink in a rainstorm, said dreamily:
Y’know, the Mayan calendar and all… December 21st, 2012. Gonna be a big day.”

A man in a trucker cap whispered urgently to no one in particular:

“They said the sun’s gonna turn black. That’s what the man on the AM radio said. EMPs, or maybe… maybe the stars just fall down.”

" Those zombies are makin’ a mess of that north barricade." said a patron, this caught Sartre’s ear. He had heard that said thirteen years ago.

“Where exactly did you hear that line”
“Oh you know, New England, the fog disappeared over Kingsmouth, or maybe it’s still there. Who knows what’s going to happen on December twenty first of this year. I visited there but I don’t remember much of what I did there.”

“You saying you don’t remember anything?” asked Sartre.

"That seems to happen a lot. The long night is here. " said the patron.
Sartre said, “If they don’t remember anything, I guess we can leave. Should we go back to the base or go back to the RV?”

“Go back to the RV,” Alyssa replied without hesitation.

Sung looked around and shook his head, not saying a word. He then swept debris out of the way with his foot as he returned to the RV.

“After what we just saw, what do you both suggest?” asked Sartre. “Any idea what could have caused the memory loss?”

Alyssa climbed into the van, to drive them back to the RV. “I suggest that they might need more help if we need to fight more of those things.” As for the memory loss. “I don’t think we know enough about that to even make an educated guess.”

“Where can we find the help?” asked Sartre.

“Maybe, we can see how many soldiers are left, in fighting condition, at the base. I think if their briefed they’ll do better fighting the aliens.” Alyssa responded.

Sitting in the back of the van, Mr. Sung thought about what was being said. “This is all new to me. I was always told we’re to do things in Secret. Now we tossed a diner in front of customers and are asking outside our organization for help fighting. where do we draw the line?” asked Mr. Sung, looking at everyone in the van. “We need to see what is happening first,” Suggested Mr, putting his sword across his legs.

“Well, I doubt it’ll be much of a secret to the soldiers why we’re there. We just lucked out the the others at the diner don’t remember anything. But really we couldn’t do nothing.” Alyssa said, as she continued to drive the van. “I agree we need to see what’s happening.”

“How can we see what’s happening before we head back Alyssa?” asked Sartre.
(Turn: anyone who wants it.

“We’re almost at the RV. Why don’t we all discuss it when we get back there.” Alyssa responded.

Sartre stepped into the RV. The Nevada air was brisk.

“How should we deal with the alien at the base?” asked Sartre.

A tremor ripples under the RV.

Then—BOOM.

A thunderous explosion tears through the base behind them, lighting up the sky in a blinding orange bloom. Windows shatter, shockwaves rock the RV, and seconds later, a second, sharper detonation pulses through the air—then a third, deeper and more final. The base erupts in flames.

Within seconds, fire pours from the barracks and the lab sector. Security towers topple. A faint, inhuman screech—not quite electronic, not quite biological—echoes once before being silenced in a brutal collapse of sound and steel.

A shape stumbles from the smoke.

Not military.

Tactical. Controlled.

It’s a woman—tall, wiry, face half-lit by firelight and half-shadowed by the past. Two more figures flank her, but keep to the background. Their movements are military, but they don’t wear insignia. They scan the area without speaking. One drops a backpack at the base of a nearby power transformer and begins priming a charge.

The woman approaches the RV.

She doesn’t knock.

She opens the door like it belongs to her and steps inside.

Ash streaks her face, and the flickering fire outside paints her in hellish oranges and reds. Her team waits outside—one by the door, the other somewhere unseen. The air inside is suddenly too small, too quiet.

She surveys the team

Every look she gives is like being weighed against a scale . And maybe it’s better not to know what she’s measuring.

Her eyes linger on each of them —not with suspicion, but with something colder: calculation. She’s not looking for lies.

She’s looking for weakness.

Her hand rests loosely on her sidearm—not threatening, just prepared. The kind of readiness that comes from knowing how many times things have gone wrong. How fast it happens.

Sung stood to his feet, his sword sheathed in his left hand in defense, wondering if that woman could sense anything. First, his sword was an artifact. Second, Sung was not taken lightly. He eyed the lady, looking her over. “Identify yourself,” he demanded, his tone calm and confident.

Sung was close enough that if she tried anything, he could strike with his sword before she could do anything likely.

“You’re asking questions. Watch that around me. And sorry about your windows." She looked to Alyssa before bringing her gaze back to Sung “Cass Quinn and I’m guessing you have no idea what the real Delta Green is. Sure, maybe they told you about ‘The Program.’ Bureaucrats in suits thinking they can catalog and control the unknown like it’s just another line item in a budget. That’s not what Delta Green used to be.”

“I was told you work outside the authority of the government. Investigate otherworldly problems. I suppose we all do.” Alyssa glanced at the windows and in her Alyssa way quite bluntly stated. “You are going to pay for those windows - right?”

"They’ll be covered by our black budgets . Back in my day, we did this job because we knew there wasn’t any other way. We were ghosts—unseen, unthanked. We erased lives, covered up horrors, lost everything. We didn’t have protocols or oversight. We had loyalty and blood. We did what had to be done, not because we wanted to, but because we were the last wall between humanity and the horrors that skulk in the dark.

Then 9/11 happened, and suddenly Delta Green had a suit and a paycheck. They started calling it The Program. Now they’ve got rules and red tape, and they think they can keep this country safe. They think they can handle creatures like the one you just met. But I’ve been out there—I’ve seen what happens when a government tries to handle this. I’ve watched friends eaten from the inside out, minds crushed like paper cups, souls burned in rituals that would kill a god. You think your little secret societies can protect people from that? No. They can barely protect themselves."
We’re the Outlaws—the real Delta Green. We’re what’s left of the ones who knew that the only answer to this horror is to fight it, tooth and nail, in the shadows, without rules and without mercy. And if that means burning every scrap of evidence here—including you—then that’s what we’ll do.

So take this as your introduction to the real Delta Green. And remember, this isn’t a crusade. There are no heroes here. There’s only what you’re willing to do to keep humanity from peering into the dark and seeing what stares back.”
Cass watches the fire for a few seconds more, the base behind her now a silhouette of ash and flame.

“So then you can only hide stuff by killing those who are just in proximate to the - thing? Seems like there could be a better way but I suppose it’s done now.” Alyssa had grabbed a hold of her knife when the explosion happened and hadn’t let go of it despite her bravado on the outside. “So, what now? I suppose you have something for us to do?”

“I know who I’m talking to.”

She looks at each of them with surgical precision—seeing through titles, through masks.

“Templars. Illuminati. Dragon. The old guard, the hidden empire, and the chaos with teeth. And what do they call you… script kiddies? ”

“Ok,” Alyssa shrugged, so this Green woman knew who they were -so? “That didn’t answer my question.” The woman had gotten on Alyssa’s nerves and the hacker wasn’t exactly being polite after the windows in the van got busted.

There’s a flicker of something like amusement behind her eyes, but it’s cold and fleeting.

“You’ve each got your cabals and your causes. London’s still bleeding shadows. New York still buries black-budget monsters beneath Wall Street. And Seoul’s… well, you’ve never played by the rules anyway.”

She steps back toward the table and drops a blackened field satchel with the Delta Green sigil melted into it.

“I’m not here to convert you. I’m not here to challenge your factions. I’m here because whatever landed out there tonight didn’t give a damn about your missions, your philosophies, or your power struggles. It was a Mi-Go-Gray hybrid—and that’s not theory. That’s history.”

Her gaze tightens.

“I’ve seen the filth bleed through Tokyo. I’ve seen people turn inside out in Kingsmouth and get back up again like they never stopped screaming. I was in a Vermont blacksite when the bees showed up. And I’ve read the original translation of the Buzzing’s scripture—before your handlers burned the translator’s body and declared it an accident.”

“So no—I’m not asking to join you. I’m telling you. I’m embedded now. Call it Delta Green, call it the Outlaws, call it whatever myth makes you sleep at night. But you’ve seen what’s coming. The factions can’t hold it back on their own.”

“You don’t have to like me. You don’t have to trust me. But the moment that thing hit the earth, our worlds bled into each other. Now we fight together… or we burn apart.”

She opens the door, the night wind howling in.

“Next time it won’t be a base in the middle of nowhere. Next time, it’s Agartha. Or a subway tunnel under Manhattan. Or one of your own people. So you better figure out what side of the fire you want to be on.”

A final glance over her shoulder.

“I’m with you now. Like it or not.”

Sung grins and relaxes. " Yeah, yeah, I have heard this pitch before. Every group has one and is trying to save the world." replied Sung with some sarcasm.

"You, like the Sentinels, we have been around for as long as the other organization. Yes, we fall under the Dragons, but like the wind, we come and go, " explained Sung. “Tell me why I should trust you with anyone from this team, O great Delta Green team,” Sung said the last part with sarcasm. Not looking too convinced. “So the bag you dropped if we so no you blow us up?” He asked.

"“No bombs in there.” said Quinn
"Next time something strange happens you can expect me to join you to investigate. We will pay the for the broken windows out of the black budget That budget is even harder to find than the one that the federal government uses. Watch yourselves or you will end up like my former team… "

Quinn left the group to ponder what they had heard. The smoke continued to billow outside as the fire raged.

Once Quinn left, Alyssa sighed. “They’re still paying for the windows.” She got up, walked to the front put her hands on the front window and within a few moments it was fixed, then she did that for each of the other windows. “The outside of the van and the engine needs to be checked out, who wants to come with me?”

“I will.” said Sartre

The fire had burned low behind them. Where once the military base stood—proud, secure, filled with secrets—it was now little more than twisted steel, scorched earth, and the thick scent of burnt circuitry drifting on the midnight breeze.

Ash still floated through the air like dark snow. The desert sky stretched above, swollen with stars that watched without warmth.

The RV sat still beneath it all, pockmarked with soot, its frame scorched at the edges where the blast had licked it like a flame testing paper. Its engine hissed softly, pulsing with irregular life, as if unsure whether it wanted to start again—or remember.

The soft click of tools, the muted clank of metal being reshaped, rewired, willed into functionality.
They had fixed it.
And then—just as the engine gave a quiet, reluctant hum—the desert wind shifted.

It was subtle at first. A shift in temperature. A ripple across the sand.

And then it came again.

Faint.

Carried across miles of broken land and scorched silence.

“Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!”

Posted by : Cindy