The basement was filled with sounds of creaking and cracking, with the occasional mumble and swear escaping through the thin wooden door. The strange smell of petrol mixed with the stench of dried blood tinged one’s senses as they descended down the wooden steps. The basement itself was disorganized and dusty, with boxes and tools littered throughout, no single step safe from the danger of nails and bolts.
Inside was an old-fashioned workbench, dirtied by use and neglect. Dozens of scrap metal contraptions lay scattered about, all crudely shaped and of amateur build. In front of the bench sat a single man, hunched over, his gaze focused on some unknown project. His concentration was undeniable, not even noticing as steps descended down the stairs and knocked on the door in a rhythmic, code-like pattern. The man only flinched as a familiar hand struck out, calling for his attention.
“Holy shit, Watson!” Jones gasped in surprise, jolting backwards. “I told you to fucking knock, for the third time. We made a code, remember?”
“Five times. And I’ve knocked; you didn’t notice. For the tenth time.” Watson sighed, staring uncomfortably on the workbench. “So… Uh, you’ve been busy, I can tell? What’re you up to?”
“I’ve been fiddling with this chip.” Jones replied, holding up a small, metal chip, placed firmly between the tongs of a tweezer.
“I see.” Watson said, as he turned his gaze. He squeezed his nose tightly with one hand, pointing at a specific object with the other hand. “Does the dead pidgeon have something to do with that?”
“Which one?” Jones asked. “If you mean the one on the table, yes, you’re right.”
“Don’t tell me that’s what’s in the freezer.” Watson shook his head. “I think I’d rather not know. What is that chip, anyways?”
“Glad you asked.” Jones smiled gleefully. “I’ve figured some shit out. Cut this fat one open this morning, and I’ve found this chip inside. Must be some surveillance tech from the government.”
“Really? I’d never have thought that was possible… But good job, I guess.” Watson said, nodding in approval.
“No problem. Devious little buggers, aren't they? They’ve even labelled this thing as a Philadelphia University Avian Migration Tracking Device.” Jones affirmed proudly. “But they aren’t fooling me.”
“So… What’re you going to do with it?” Watson asked.
“Well, I’ll tape it in some tinfoil and fiddle around with it later.” Jones replied.
“I’ll go get some. You’ve run out here, haven’t you?” Watson stated, turning around to leave.
“Yeah, I have. But wait.” Jones said, holding Watson back. “I’ve gotta talk to you."
“About what?” Watson asked, turning back to face Jones.
“Look, I’m sick and tired of sitting in this dump.” Jones replied, tapping his foot in annoyance. “I’ve gotta ask you some questions about the outside. We have to get started, you know.”
“What questions? You’ve already asked me plenty.” Watson replied, confused by the question. “Besides, get started on what?”
“Breaking the conditioning! That’s the goal here, remember?” Jones scolded, his tapping getting fiercer. “I need to ask you questions on where to get some information.”
“Information? Isn’t what I told you enough?” Watson replied, surprised by Jones’s claim.
“No, not nearly. You know enough, sure, but you don’t know what we need to know.” Jones answered, this time prodding at Watson for emphasis. “We need to know about the enemy, and you don’t know anything about that.”
“I’m sorry, but well… You know, for me, I’m still not sure about… Anything, you know?” Watson mumbled, his eyes staring at the floor. “Hell, I’m not even sure I’m supposed to trust you.”
“That’s good, you’re finally learning to stop being a sheep.” Jones replied, his foot now still. “But getting back to the point, have you at least been doing what I asked you to do?”
“Yes… Well, I’ve tried. I checked through the full list.” Watson replied. “But I haven’t seen any nefarious black cars, no nefarious black helicopters, certainly no nefarious black UFO’s, and not even a single blue-striped golf cart.”
“Well, that’s good, in a way, I guess.” Jones sighed in disappointment. “What about lizardmen?”
“Haven’t seen any. Well- I mean, this may be slightly racist, but maybe the police chief?” Watson replied, scratching his chin.
“Racist? What do you mean?” Jones asked in amusement.
“Well, the police chief happens to look like a lizard. Scaly body, long tongue, everything.” Watson answered. “But well, that’s just how French people look like, right? You can get your tongue chopped off for being intolerant.”
“Jesus Christ. And here I thought you were getting smarter.” Jones facepalmed. “So, guess we’ll have to check the police station sometime. Not exactly smart without some serious preparation. But anywhere else?”
“Uh… Like, where?” Watson asked, fidgeting uncomfortably.
“Anywhere else suspicious, obviously.” Jones sighed. “You know… Like… I dunno, a city hall, finance centres, creepy buildings, local McDonalds… Anything?”
“Well… We used to have a town hall, but it’s gone now. We do have a Taco Bell, though, if that counts.” Watson recounted.
“Nothing, then.” Jones said. “Really nothing else come to mind?”
“There is a house down the street where shady types meet.” Watson answered. “Odd people in weird cloaks gather every friday evening, I’ve heard.”
“Do you hear the deafening sound of My Chemical Romance from that house?” Jones inquired, his arms crossed.
“Oh, yes. How’d you know that?” Watson gasped in surprise.
“That’s just a vampire roleplay group. We had one in our neighbourhood too.” Jones explained.
“I’ve got nothing then.” Watson replied, slumping down. “I mean, I guess there is the factory, but…”
“The factory?” Jones perked up in curiosity.
“I- well, like a third of the town here works at the factory.” Watson answered absentmindedly. “We make medical supplies there. You know, therapeutic chairs, head massagers, acupuncture beds, that kind of stuff.”
“Literally none of that sounds right.” Jones sneered confidently. “Tell me. What do they do, exactly?”
“Well, the chairs are supposed to stimulate the muscles with electric impulses or something. The head massager uses some radio waves for this or that, and the acupuncture beds are just beds full of needles, basically.” Watson stated. “I don’t know what they’re for exactly.”
“Do you also make wooden pyramids and dick cages? How does any of that sound like medical equipment?” Jones snorted.
“Well, it was a bit weird to see a high voltage stamp on those things… They told me it was medical equipment though, so I figured...” Watson explained absentmindedly.
“You’d think it’d be obvious. Ack, whatever, spilled milk.” Jones dismissed. “So, tell me about that place, how is it, security-wise?”
“Well, we’ve got two guards…” Watson recounted. “Technically three. One sits in the camera room, I think.”
“What about camera placement? Guard shifts? Any other security measures like tripwires?” Jones demanded, as he hurriedly began jotting notes down.
“Uh. I don’t pay attention to that stuff, but… There is a camera by the front gate and the loading bay outside. I don’t know any others.” Watson mentioned. “Guards are usually gone by 8 pm, I think, but I wouldn't know where to. I’ve never seen them around town.”
“How do they look like? Are they lizardmen, too?” Jones asked, his eyes still glued to the paper.
“They wear masks. Never thought much of it, really. I mean, most people working for the government do that. Something about anti-harassment and diversity policies.” Watson answered.
“Alright. Can you draw a map?” Jones demanded, as he suddenly stopped scribbling in his notes.
“Sure.” Watson said, as he picked up a blank sheet. Within minutes, he scribbled a very simple outline of a building, approximately the size of six warehouses. He also marked the location on the local town map.
“What’s that corridor, the one with the question mark?” Jones asked, as he pointed on the map.
“It’s… Well, an employees only area. The government shows up to inspect the place once in a while, and besides them and the guards, nobody’s allowed to enter.” Watson replied.
“So that’s our target then. Our first mission!” Jones exclaimed, his voice brimming with confidence.
“Exciting.” Watson answered sarcastically, his voice dripping with doubt.
“You should be.” Jones said, tapping his partner on the back. “But before that, I’ve got a mission for you. Something simple.”
“And that would be…?” Watson asked, his face portraying his uneasiness.
“It’s nothing special, really. I need you to go pick up some stealthy outfits.” Jones answered. “I dunno, some ninja-shit. You know what I mean? Black overalls, a nifty mask, maybe some blades or something for intimidation.”
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“Oh. Sure. Sounds pretty simple.” Watson replied, sighing in relief. “I was worried you’d ask me for something crazy illegal. But something like that? Gladly, I guess.”
“Speaking of illegal…” Jones muttered, grabbing something on his workbench. “I thought you said guns were illegal? Why the hell do you have this?”
Jones held up an impressive piece of craftsmanship- a shiny, polished Colt 1911. The casing was simple, yet elegant, with a custom finish added to the grips of the pistol.
“Give that back!” Watson jumped, grabbing for the gun.
“Why?” Jones asked, jumping backwards in surprise. “Calm down. What’s this all about?”
“That’s- my grandpa’s.” Watson answered, struggling to grab the pistol. “He was a soldier. You know, back during the war- don’t- touch- that…”
“Alright, alright. Jeez. Take it.” Jones relented, throwing the gun back towards Watson. “Can’t find bullets for the damn thing anyways.”
“Thank you.” Watson replied, holding the weapon firmly with both hands.
“Besides, I’ve been fiddling with this.” Jones stated, proudly holding up another, more crude contraption.
“What’s that?” Watson asked, staring at the metal object with curiosity.
“It’s a derringer. Two shots only. I kinda fucked up the boring, so it won’t take bullets, so I just stuffed the ends like a flintlock.” Jones presented. “Made the powder myself with match heads and some lighter fluid.”
“Huh. Does it work?” Watson asked, nodding in acknowledgement.
“Well, I’ve tried with small amounts of power, but hopefully, tonight will be the first field test.” Jones grinned widely.
“Woo.” Watson replied dejectedly.
“I like the enthusiasm.” Jones affirmed. “We’re meeting at around 11 pm, about five hundred meters down the road from the factory. Got it?”
“Got it.” Watson answered.
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The street lamp flickered on and off, a swarm of flies swarming the incandescent light. The warm, cool evening breeze rustled the foliage gently. Amidst the bushes, however, stood something unmoving- a strange object, poking its top just barely outside of cover.
The empty streets stretched on for hundreds of meters, with nothing to be seen but the lights of civilization in the distance. The only sounds present were the chirping of owls and buzzing of insects, stemming mostly from the forest in which a factory was obscured.
In the distance, a figure emerged- humming nervously as it got closer and closer to the forest’s entrance. Its eyes darted about maniacally, the pupils glimmering with a distinct fear. Dressed in casual, common clothes, the figure held two pink-and-black plastic bags.
Suddenly, the ominous figure between the bushes emerged as the coward walked by.
“Jones!” Watson yelped, stumbling backwards. “Oh god! Why’d you do that?”
“Shh!” Jones motioned, motioning silence with his finger. “Be quiet! I was taking precautions. You sure took your damn time to get here.”
“Uh… I arrived five minutes too early, you know?” Watson claimed, as he checked his wristwatch.
“Make it ten next time, then.” Jones replied, as he helped Watson stand back up.
“Thanks.” Watson muttered grumpily. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“No problem.” Jones replied obliviously, as he turned around. “Let’s get going.”
The two began walking down the street, and slowly entered into the forest. There were no lights to be found within, and guided only by the moonlight, the darkness was overbearing. The distant sounds of predators and prey, prancing amidst the trees, certainly did not help the atmosphere. Neither did the ominous building up ahead, the shadow of the factory’s chimneys obscuring the road.
“Jones?” Watson muttered. “I don’t suppose you have a flashlight, do you?”
“I do. But we can’t use it now.” Jones replied, not bothering to even look back.
“Why not?” Watson asked, his voice quivering. “It’s- kind of unsettling, you know? What if there are wolves or something?”
“Well, if there are wolves, I doubt a flashlight will help us survive.” Jones replied snappily. “It’s for concealment. We use the light here, and anyone in a five mile radius knows we’re here.”
“I- I see.” Watson mumbled, unconvinced by the argument.
The two continued in silence down the dark road ahead, only stopping a handful of meters in front of the factory’s looming gates. The metallic fencing had never seemed imposing before, but amidst the shadows, the blockade looked rather creepy.
“We’re near.” Jones said silently. He pointed towards Watson and his two bags. “It’s time to pack those out.”
“These?” Watson asked, fidgeting with the bags.
“You got what I asked you for, right?” Jones questioned, staring into Watson’s eyes.
“Yeah. I think I did a good job, actually.” Watson replied with a hint of confidence.
“Huh, really? Color me surprised.” Jones replied.
“Yeah. They’re exactly what you asked for.” Watson said, as he laid the bags out, beginning to unpack the two slowly. “They’re really ideal. Just perfect for the job- sturdy, black as night, and intimidating, too.”
Jones watched as Watson laid out one of the outfits on the road. The costume was a jet-black, leather one-piece, with cheap metal spikes attached on the shoulders. The center was crowned with a metallic link held in place by a series of leather straps. The mask was a simple construct, with only four holes for the mouth, the nose, and the eyes to peek through. Jones gazed at the suit in horror as realization dawned.
“They cost me a lot, too.” Watson proclaimed, as he unpacked the second. “Got them from that store in the mall- what was it, Hot Topic? I’d never been there, but they were really nice.”
“Watson.” Jones said, his voice strained in disbelief.
“The cashier even called me cute. Gave me his number and this small tub of vaseline. No idea why, since we’re both guys, but-”
“Watson.” Jones repeated, slightly louder than the first time.
“What?” Watson asked, his head turning to meet Jones.
“You do realize what these are, right?” Jones asked.
“No? Well, disguises?” Watson replied, his eyes blinking in surprise.
“Jesus Christ. Watson, these are bondage suits.” Jones explained slowly in frustration.
“What’s a bondage?” Watson asked, his eyes glimmering with the wondrous naivete of a child.
Jones sighed. “I knew I couldn’t trust you with even this.” He stated, as he suddenly fumbled between his boxers and his pants, grabbing a dark-scarf from within. “Knew it was a good idea to pack this thing with. I’m not wearing that thing into a masochist’s dreamland.”
“Uh… My grandma knitted that scarf for me.” Watson said, watching as Jones violated his prized possession and wrapped it around his head.
“Yada yada yada.” Jones dismissed. “You wear that… thing. Leave the other one behind. Hide it in that bush over there.”
Watson grumbled, yet complied obediently, slowly changing into the leathery outfit, finding nothing wrong with it- in fact, the leather felt nice and smooth, and it was nice and comfortable to move inside. Besides, he actually kind of enjoyed the design. It actually made him feel safe and more protected.
“Ready?” Jones asked. After seeing that Watson had nodded, they set off once more.
The pair slowly and carefully approached the perimeter of the factory. The fencing, on close inspection, was certainly well built- but not nearly as well maintained. Much of the iron had begun showing the signs of age, and rust was a common sight. Soon enough, the two discovered a particularly weak spot, where a handful of chains had gotten loose, and managed to wiggle open a hole with a pocket knife and a rock.
“How lucky, but this is where the difficult part comes in…” Jones muttered, staring at the small map that Watson had drafted up earlier. “This window, around the north, you said it was padlocked, right?”
“I think so… Well, I don’t really pay attention usually. But I think it was padlocked, yeah.” Watson replied, nodding in response.
“Not very reassuring, but I’ll take your word for it.” Jones said, rolling up the map. “We’re avoiding the loading bay, since you said there was a camera there. Let’s sneak by the west side.”
The pair then began tip-toeing around the large building. The factory itself was quite impressive in size, but the design left a lot to be desired. It was a big structure of concrete and sheet metal, the shape and form of which Jones would call communist. Minimalist was a more apt description, although in this case that meant more “function over design” rather than “modern”.
The perimeter for the factory was quite a bit larger than the structure itself. Most of this open space was used for storage, with many crates and containers being littered throughout. This made it convenient for sneaking around, as there were many tight-fitting angles for our heroes to crawl through. The duo found their way through like cockroaches, slowly but surely arriving at their destination.
“So you were right. This is padlocked.” Jones said, staring right into a small window.
“I told you so.” Watson beamed proudly.
“But it’s padlocked on the other side.” Jones explained, knocking at the sheet of glass between them and the lock itself.
“Oh.” Watson sighed.
“Well, no matter.” Jones muttered, fumbling in his pockets. “Looks like it’s not shut very tight. Just use this to make a small gap for me…”
Watson grabbed Jones’s pocket knife, and gently shoved the blade in between the window and sill. Applying a good amount of pressure, he lifted the window slightly, and held it open. Jones produced two small wrenches, using both to clamp and break open the padlock, setting the window loose.
“Wow. Where’d you learn to do that?” Watson asked, impressed by the trick.
“The internet.” Jones replied curtly. He lifted the window gently, surveying the insides carefully, then slowly stepping in.
“I’d really like to buy one of those internets.” Watson expressed, as he followed Jones inside.
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Somewhere deep within the factory, a warm, heated room was filled with the artificial pale-blue glow of a dozen monitors. Within this room, three appropriately-dressed guardsmen stood by, tapping through each and every camera carefully, inspecting all which may be out of place. The silhouettes of these voyeurs were all decidedly non-human, with spikes and tails poking through places where they definitely did not belong.
“...so then she says, you had a reptile dysfunction! Ha, get it?” A voice cackled amidst the blue-tinted control centre, hysterically laughing at his own joke.
“Goddamnit, Craig.” Another sighed, clearly frustrated by the first’s antics.
“Seriously, Craig?” A third joined the chorus of disappointment.
“Oh fuck you guys. You assholes never laugh at my jokes.” Craig huffed, flustered by the bad reception.
“Because they’re awful, Craig. You aren’t funny.” The second explained, facepalming himself.
“Screw you, Q’ev’in. Mother told me I was the funniest one of the lot.” Craig exerted, his voice full of venom.
“Your mother likes you. That’s why. Go tell literally any other mother that joke and they’ll have you shot for insubordination.” The third chimed in.
“Well, fuck you too, Al’eex. You Geckos have no taste, I swear.” Craig asserted in response.
“Better than being a Skink. How does it feel like being dumber than those hairless apes?” Q’ev’in retorted in anger.
“Ha-ha. Funny. God, you guys are dickbags, I swear.” Craig complained, then turned away, finding something to occupy himself with.
“Why’re we stuck with Craig on this outpost? I hate that guy.” Al’eex whispered to his comrade-in-arms.
“He was the first one to hatch, so his mother wanted him to have a good job, I heard.” Q’ev’in replied silently in kind. “Lucky bastard. My mother never even bothered with our batch.”
“At least you didn’t turn out to be some spoiled shit like him.” Al’eex responded, his voice raising just a little in anger. “Whatever. At least we’re getting shifted in two months.”
“Gotta endure, man.” Q’ev’in responded, offering his friend a salute.
“Oh, by the way, were you checking the cameras?” Al’eex asked, now speaking normally. “I was just looking at it, and doesn’t the window by C-06 look… Open?”
“Ah, shit. Craig distracted me with his damn jokes. I was supposed to be checking that.” Q’ev’in sighed, as he flipped through the cameras.
“Well, just be careful now. Don’t let that idiot distract you again. I’ve heard horror stories about some of those re-training facilities…” Al’eex claimed, turning his attention to the monitors