16: Now, Where Were We?
Jack finds himself lying on the cold floor of the library, disoriented and groggy. The memories of his encounter with the mysterious voice flood back to him, leaving him with a surreal sense of unease.
Slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position, Jack clicks his revolver open and checks his chamber. Upon realizing it is empty, he quickly pulls out a spare mag from his belt, silently wishing he had gotten more. The gun clicks satisfyingly. Strapping the gun to its holster, Jack slowly scans his surroundings. The library appears unchanged, its shelves filled with books and the silence broken only by his ragged breathing. Despite the lingering confusion of what transpired during his unconsciousness, Jack feels anew, as if heavy stones were lifted from his shoulders. With the promise he made echoing in his mind, he knows there is still much to do. Gathering his strength, Jack rises to his feet. As long as he stays true to his principles and holds onto hope, he will find a way forward.
With that resolve firm in his heart, Jack takes one deep breath. He begins walking further into the library while clutching his holster, ensuring he can reach his gun at a moment's notice.
Walking across the empty hall, Jack senses a strange odor lingering in the air. It is heavy and foul-smelling. Its acrid scent makes his nose wrinkle in discomfort.
Did this smoke make me lose consciousness? He immediately holds his nose. It's possible, Jack muses to himself. Perhaps the odor is a special type of sleeping gas. He scans around for some type of discharge pipe or venting system that may have distributed the gas.
Upon checking the edges of the floor, he finds it—a system of pipes. Upon closer inspection, it seems that these pipes ascend all the way to the ceiling, covering it in holes, as if to ensure no inch of the room is missing a spot. It also seems, Jack's eyes track the direction of the pipes' source, that they are all leading downward.
Taking a quick breath to steady himself, he searches for a way to cover the harmful pipes to ensure no more gas leaks through. After hustling about, Jack comes back with a towering stack of books, wood glue bottles, and rolls of tape. He starts to rip those books, tearing off their hardcovers and feeling an overwhelming guilt for vandalizing public property. It's a necessary sacrifice, Jack assures himself. After acquiring all the hardcovers he could find, Jack begins climbing up the pipe. Carefully walking across the ceiling's scaffolding, he silently thanks the library's builders for putting them there. Had they not placed the scaffolding, Jack would have had to find a suitable ladder to reach the 20-foot ceiling. The last time he checked, library ladders only reached up to 14 feet. Jack sighs in relief as he starts taping and gluing the hardcovers to the pipe holes, one by one.
Proud of his handiwork, Jack proceeds onward. He reaches for his flashlight, hitting it a few times until it blinks and starts working. Waving the light in every direction, Jack comes across a metal door with a sign on top, labeled "Maintenance Room." He opens the door with a creak, and inside it lies a staircase going down. Besides his flashlight, the only light source present is the red siren bulb, still flashing soundlessly. Jack hesitates for a moment, his gaze fixed on the darkness below. The last time Jack was encircled by darkness, he had his eyes cut and mouth torn off; he is not too enthusiastic about experiencing that again so soon. However, Jack cannot ignore the potential dangers lurking beneath the stairwell.
Jack gasps in some air and begins to descend the staircase, his footsteps echoing off the overgrown concrete walls. He curiously runs his hand across the fungi and moss that call these walls home. This library was supposed to be new, wasn't it? How come there are plants everywhere? Has this basement been here for a long time? Jack's questions are met with no conclusive answers. Perhaps moss just springs out anywhere it wants. Jack rubs his hand against the walls, feeling its rough concrete surface riddled with holes and cracks, confirming his suspicion of the basement's age. Wiping the dust off his hands, Jack scans his surroundings for any signs of danger. So far, the ancient space is eerily quiet, the air tinted with an aroma of plant and decay.
Jack presses on, his flashlight blinking in the crimson gleam. The stairs stretch on and on, and Jack begins to pick up speed. He cannot waste a single second; innocent people may have passed out due to the gas just like him. As he descends further and further into the depths below, Jack's footsteps echo off the walls with a resounding "thunk, thunk, thunk..." Someone must have heard his footsteps.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Jack stops as something comes into his vision. A figure in the darkness. No, two figures. Jack swiftly hides behind some crates, and carefully peers out. His loud heartbeat overlaps his breathing, so Jack tries his best to breathe slower, and quieter. Since he cannot make out their faces in the distance, Jack figures the chances of these people being innocent or dangerous are roughly equal.
His eyes dart around, searching for any potential escape routes or hiding spots should the need arise. The crates provide some cover for now, but he cannot stay hidden forever.
Putting his flashlight away and clutching his gun tightly, Jack formulates a plan of action. He figures that confronting the suspicious individuals head-on may not be the wisest course of action, especially if they are hostile. Instead, he opts to wait and observe their movements, biding his time until the moment presents itself.
The figures appear to be talking. Jack holds his hand to one ear as he keenly listens to the conversation.
"... the smoke taken care of the intruder?" One figure asks.
"Yes."
"Good, go up there to retrieve the body. We need it."
Jack widens his eyes in shock. Are they trafficking humans or harvesting organs down here, using library patrons? Jack's veins start twitching as his eyes burn red hot. These scums don't deserve to live, Jack grits his teeth. He grips the revolver, his knuckles turning white.
Remaining hidden behind the crates, Jack continues observing their movements, gathering as much information as he can before approaching the criminals. Keeping his revolver at the ready, Jack prepares for approach. But just as he is about to move, the figure that was tasked to retrieve the body dashes past Jack's hiding spot with unnerving speed. Jack instantly turns to stone, and watches as the figure ascends the staircase in one leap. How is that possible? Jack baffles. A normal human cannot do that, Jack tries to process. Unless they're... inhuman.
Clutching the gun's trigger, Jack waits until the other figure is out of sight before cautiously emerging from his hiding spot. Jack figures that confronting this monstrous individual is dangerous, and he should probably call for backups. However, letting them retrieve the body without gathering intel is quite a wasted opportunity. Especially when he is supposed to be the body.
Jack catches up after the figure, keeping to the shadows and moving as silently as he can.
***
Observing the figure from behind a pillar, Jack can sense the figure's clear confusion even from a distance. The fading moonlight casts eerie shades across the lone hallway. It smells like something's burning, Jack breathes in the air. Smells like burned electrical cords. Jack turns to see mangled wires, crackling with sparks.
Keeping his presence hidden, Jack remains motionless, his breath held as he watches and listens to what the figure will do next. The realization that there are no bodies to retrieve may force the figure to start looking around. Their encounter is inevitable.
The figure is still standing in one place, pondering the strange turn of events. Jack decides to approach them. Though confronting the figure directly may be risky, he cannot let this opportunity slip away.
Jack steps out from behind the pillar and aims at the figure.
“You have the right to remain silent.”
Jack’s words echo in the moonlight. The hallway falls silent as if they obey the command. The figure turns to face him, their features veiled in ethereal light.
"You have the right to remain silent," Jack repeats, his voice firm despite the nerves that gnaw at his insides. Every bit of this is risky, but there is no backing down now.
For a moment, the figure replies in silence. Their expression is blank as they meet Jack's determined glare. Then, in a slow and dragged movement, they raise their hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" Jack demands, his grip on the trigger steady as he awaits a response.
Clouds make way for the moon to dominate the sky. Its ethereal glow illuminates the hallway. Shadows flicker wildly across the concrete walls. In its soft light, Jack's eyes are drawn to a glint of metal.
Moonlight dances across the figure’s hand, all the way to a crescent-shaped tool. The blade of a sickle. A custom sickle.
Its curved blade gleams in the pale light with an ominous sheen. Jack's breath catches in his throat as he gulps. Gun still trained on the figure, Jack tries to understand what he sees. The sickle's presence raises more questions than answers.
There is no longer time to think. Act, Jack.
Crackle.