A small car, its right-side bumper slightly bent, trudged along with a loud rumble. Its orange paint mingled with patches of rust. Thick grey smoke trailed its path.
Inside, the man drove one-handed, the other hand feeling the wind from the open window.
His hand, tattooed with a four-branched symbol, proved his elite status in an extremely selective organization. His gaze skimmed the horizon, appearing distant.
After twenty minutes on a dirt road, the car halted in front of a small water tower nestled in the shadow of pines. The building stood roughly three stories high, its mushroom shape topped with a thick cap of around six feet and adorned with a few ventilation grills.
A small metal door was the only access point, and a humming could be heard from within.
The man stared at the building from his car for a few seconds before deciding to step out. It took several attempts to close the car door, which demanded a specific ritual to lock. Just like people, objects too seemed to gain character with time, and this car seemed to belong to another era.
The man was a step away from his car when he rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips. He lit it with a lighter retrieved from another pocket. He took a few drags, then approached the metal door of the water tower.
He paused right before it, his face reflecting distortedly on the grey metal surface. His gaze then shifted to a nearby tree—a pine swaying gently in the wind. There, against the trunk and perched some 16 feet off the ground, was a small camera. Suddenly, a metallic noise sounded from behind the door. The man grasped the handle and swung the door open, a cool breeze caressing his face.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
Inside, a blue-hued halogen lamp illuminated a complex network of pipes. Near the piping, a small stone staircase led downward.
The man embarked on his descent, cigarette still smoldering. The tunnel stretched about eight feet high and marginally over three feet wide. The uniformly carved walls were intermittently lit by bulbs, spaced about every six feet apart. Their faint white glow scarcely penetrated the tunnel's shadows, leaving portions cloaked in darkness. All that could be discerned was the man's silhouette and the warm amber glow at the tip of his cigarette.
His footsteps echoed against the tunnel walls, providing a rhythmic counterpoint to the tunnel's steady, metallic breaths.
After about fifteen minutes, he came upon another door. This one was painted red and appeared as sturdy as the water tower's door. He reached for the handle, turned it, and stepped inside. There He was met with a small room, its space dominated by a large metallic door directly ahead.
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Two surveillance cameras flanked the imposing door. He waited about ten seconds without moving. Growing impatient, he gestured at one of the cameras. "It's me, open up!" he said, his tone irked.
Suddenly, a clicking sound filled the room, and the heavy metal door opened. With his hands in his pockets and a fast pace, the man walked in.
Now, he was in a much wider corridor than the one he had come through. This corridor led to other hallways and doors on all sides. Grey walls and rectangle ceiling lamps decorated this space. People were moving around, talking and working, all dressed in white lab coats. Suddenly, a door to his left opened, and a tall man in a military uniform appeared. He saluted, with two fingers bent and three extended.
"Welcome, Selim... um... I mean Captain. You're early," the soldier said, toggling between familiarity and formality with his interlocutor.
"I visit every month at the same time. Why are you acting surprised?" Selim responded, his tone cold.
"Mmh… Anyway, follow me," the soldier said, not bothering to explain further.
The pair started down the corridor. Selim's gaze attentively took in every door, every branching hallway, every individual they passed. Though familiar with the surroundings, he was silently captivated by the innate orderliness of it all.
They came to a stop in front of a green door after a few minutes. Selim turned to the soldier before they entered the room. "The lab seems busy today. Something going on?" His question caused the soldier to stiffen, hesitating with his hand on the unopened door.
"Mmmh… Yes. We have a visitor from HQ today; it's causing some... tension," he admitted in a hushed voice.
"A man from HQ? Someone significant?" Selim's eyebrows knitted together, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Ah, who can tell… HQ folks always carry an air of importance," the soldier responded as he opened the door. "Mr. Farn will join you shortly," he added quickly, his swift actions suggesting the conversation was over.
Selim didn't press for more information; he thanked the soldier with a slight nod of his head and entered the room.
The door closed behind him.
He was now in a richly decorated office; the smell of varnish intermingled with a hint of tobacco hit his nostrils. Everything in this room was made of wood. A bookshelf covered the back wall, two chairs were placed in front of the desk. Selim sat down in one of them.
While waiting for his host, his gaze wandered around the room.
Everything was neatly arranged; the books were organized by size on the shelf; the walls were barely visible, the space was shared between the large bookshelf and numerous paintings and maps.
The desk held only a lamp and a blue folder lying next to it.
The folder's plastic blue color contrasted sharply with the old-world style of the room.
It was impossible for Selim to take his eyes off this object, which strongly piqued his curiosity.
What information could it contain? Could it have something to do with the man from HQ? Unable to contain his curiosity, Selim leaned forward and quickly flipped open the folder to expose the first page to the light.