The unused storeroom had been hastily converted into a makeshift debriefing room on a small military base, thirty miles west of Charleston. The room, painted in varying shades of military grey, was worn down by time and neglect. Dampness seeped in from outside, causing the paint to peel and crack, while a patch of mold climbed stubbornly up the far wall, adding a musty scent to the air. The decay was pervasive, palpable in every breath Jim took.
A single sodium bulb hung from the ceiling, its yellow glow flickering erratically as it illuminated the room in a dim, hazy orange. The bulb cast long shadows over the metal door, which stood out as an even darker grey than the rest of the room. No windows—why would there be? It was, after all, a storeroom, never meant for meetings. A water cooler sat beside the door, the kind you’d find in a public library or office, with a large plastic jug perched atop it, capable of dispensing either hot or chilled water.
A collapsible table had been erected in the center of the room, with two cold, solid metal chairs placed on either side. On the table, a neat stack of folders lay, papers organized by size and color. Every single file bore the same unmistakable stamp on its cover: Classified.
Jim collapsed into one of the chairs, letting out a long, weary sigh. His head throbbed with an intensity he hadn’t felt in years, as though a blacksmith were hammering away inside his skull, shaping molten iron with each strike. The stabbing pain worsened with every passing moment. He had already taken a cocktail of ibuprofen, paracetamol, and codeine, popping them like candy over the past few hours. Even the prescription painkillers handed to him by a young lieutenant on his arrival had barely dulled the relentless pounding in his head.
"Great," Jim muttered under his breath, pushing his palm against his temple, as if trying to physically suppress the pain. It felt like trying to cover a deep wound—an instinctive act of futility. The pressure only offered momentary relief, and it wasn’t enough. The source of the agony was inside his skull, unreachable by any external force.
With a frustrated grunt, Jim leaned back, shutting his eyes for a brief moment, hoping the pain might fade on its own. But there was no such luck. The debrief with General Benson was still looming, and he had to endure this a little longer. The only thing that kept him going was the promise of a trip to the infirmary afterward, where he hoped to get his hands on something strong enough to knock him out cold.
Seconds dragged into minutes, and the minutes felt like hours. Benson should know I’m back on base by now, Jim thought, glancing at the clock on the wall. The General would want a full report—immediately, knowing him. But Jim didn’t feel ready for anything. His mind was clouded, and he was fairly certain that if it weren’t for the debrief, he’d already be begging someone in the medical wing to put him under.
"C’mon, get it together. Mind over body," he muttered to himself, attempting to muster the mental fortitude to push through the pain. This wasn’t like him—Jim prided himself on endurance. But this headache was something else, something almost...unnatural.
“Fuck it,” Jim growled, standing abruptly from the chair and moving toward the water cooler, hoping a cold drink might bring some relief.
But before he made it halfway, a blinding surge of pain exploded in his skull. It felt as though someone had taken a sledgehammer and cracked it down the middle. His vision blurred, and the world around him seemed to twist violently. Jim dropped to his knees, his hands shooting out instinctively to brace himself before he hit the floor face-first.
He remained frozen in that position, breathing heavily, waiting for the pain to subside. But instead of fading slowly, the headache vanished completely, almost as suddenly as it had struck. No residual throb, no dull ache—nothing. It was as though the pain had never been there to begin with.
Jim blinked in confusion, steadying himself as he stood. “What the hell...?” he whispered, testing his balance and shaking his head gently. Did those damn pills finally kick in? Whatever it was, he was relieved, even if the abruptness felt unnatural.
“Gotta get more of those beauties,” Jim muttered to himself, making a mental note to track down the lieutenant who’d passed him the meds as he walked back to the table, feeling a strange sense of unease in the sudden quiet of his mind.
“What was that, Major?” General Benson’s voice cut through the room, emphasizing Jim’s rank with a sharp edge. He had only caught the tail end of Jim’s muttering.
“Nothing, sir. Just thinking aloud,” Jim replied, snapping to attention and giving a quick salute. The General, a tall, thickset man with a noticeable gut, stood in the doorway. It was clear he hadn’t seen real combat for years; even standing there seemed to wind him. He wore a faded camouflage uniform and a base cap, likely more for comfort than any operational necessity. The cap helped obscure the General's receding white hair, while his clean-shaven face made him look about ten years younger than his true age. The only clear sign of his rank was the silver stars pinned to his shoulders. To an uninformed observer, he might have passed for a senior recruit—albeit one in his twilight years.
“At ease, soldier. Drop the formality for now. How bad is it? Hang on a sec…” General Benson barked before stepping outside to give strict orders to the two guards stationed by the door. “No interruptions, no matter what,” he instructed before closing the door firmly behind him. The room seemed to shrink as he moved toward the makeshift table, the chair creaking under his considerable bulk as he squeezed himself into it. Jim half-wondered if it would survive the ordeal.
“So, Major, what’s the damage? What the hell are we dealing with here?” Benson continued, leaning slightly forward as if to pull the conversation closer.
“Sir, I’m afraid the situation is bigger than we initially thought,” Jim began, taking his seat opposite the General. "We’ve—"
“What?” Benson cut in, his voice rising in disbelief. “What could possibly be bigger than losing an entire goddamn planet? We’re not talking about losing keys behind the couch, Major. It’s a planet. Do you have any idea of the scale of this? We’re talking about a crisis that makes any global conflict seem like a playground squabble. The logistics to pull something like this off are beyond anything humanity has ever even dreamed of. We’re decades—hell, centuries—from comprehending a feat like that.”
Jim knew the situation had outpaced the General’s ability to grasp it. Benson excelled on the battlefield—his military record was a list of commendations and flawless victories. But this wasn’t a battlefield; this was a web of intelligence, subterfuge, and global-scale mystery. The type of crisis Jim had spent two decades navigating as an intelligence operative. From dismantling foreign corruption to infiltrating terrorist cells on U.S. soil, Jim had handled it all—and made invaluable connections along the way. This was not something easily reduced to military logic.
“Yes, sir,” Jim continued, undeterred by the interruption. “Venus disappearing is just one part of what’s happening. I began my investigation with that as a reference point, but it's clear there’s more at play. Venus went into superior solar conjunction on October 20th, making it impossible to view from Earth due to the glare of our sun. It should’ve been obscured for several weeks, reappearing once it cleared the sun’s brightness. That was three months ago, sir, and Venus hasn’t been seen since. The last confirmed observation of the planet was at 1100 hours on the 20th. That gives us a reliable timestamp for when this began. And, frankly, no one has a working theory for its disappearance.”
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“Yes, yes, Major,” Benson grumbled, irritation creeping into his tone. “I’m fully briefed on the Venus situation. Every lab, every think tank, and every damned armchair scientist with an Internet connection is on this. Trust me—no one's sleeping until we have answers. Hell, I bet there isn’t a science fiction nerd alive who isn’t trying to solve this. I’m not interested in that. What I want to know—what your mission was—is whether anything else happened. Is there something else we need to worry about? More importantly, are we under attack? Is there a threat here?”
“As far as I can tell, sir, no,” Jim responded, raising an eyebrow. “If someone had the power to erase an entire planet, they’d have no trouble wiping us out as well. If this were an attack, why not simply remove Earth? Venus is comparable in size. No, sir, I don’t think this is an act of war. However, there are other anomalous events tied to the same time frame—things that happened around what we’re calling ‘V-Day.’”
“V-Day?” The General sat up straighter, his interest piqued. "Go on."
“Right,” Jim continued, his focus shifting as he dug into the data. “I began analyzing reports from police departments across the country, focusing on the days surrounding October 27th—about a week after Venus went stealth. There’s been a significant spike in missing persons reports during that period.”
“How many?” Benson leaned in, his tone sharpening.
“Rough estimates, sir—about 1,500 disappearances in the U.S. alone,” Jim said, sliding a file from the pile in front of him across the table. “We’ve compiled a list of names. No clear patterns so far. We’ve got children, adults, men, women, students, doctors, waitresses—people from all walks of life. No shared history, no common motivations to disappear. No one took any belongings, no credit card activity, no sightings. It’s like they dropped off the face of the Earth.”
Benson flipped through the file, skimming the names as his expression hardened into something more serious.
After a pause, Jim broke the silence. “Sir, I think this needs deeper investigation. We need to determine if there’s a link between these disappearances and Venus going dark. So far, this hasn’t reached the media, but it won’t be long before people connect the dots.”
"Yes, definitely, Major. This is far too much of a coincidence to be random. I'll have Captain Jones look into it right away," the General said, putting the file down on the table and tapping his fingers against its cover. Jim’s hands clenched into fists just beneath the table, his knuckles whitening. At the mention of Jones, a simmering anger flared inside him, barely contained. There had been a time when Jones had been like a brother to him, his closest ally. But betrayal had a way of corroding trust. Finding your best friend in bed with your wife could have that effect.
Jim had unleashed his rage that day, beating Jones nearly unconscious. The divorce that followed had been swift, but Jim had kept the real reason under wraps, not wanting a scandal to stain his career—or Jones's, for that matter. Rumors had still circulated, likely contributing to Jones being passed over for promotion a few times. The man was scum, and the mention of his name was enough to make Jim’s skin crawl. His thoughts raced, adrenaline kicking in as he wrestled with his temper.
"Sir, if I may," Jim began, steadying his voice. "Might I suggest Lieutenant Harrington for this? While she’s not as experienced as Captain Jones, she has an uncanny knack for spotting patterns that others miss. She’d be well-suited to this kind of investigation."
It wasn’t entirely a lie. Harrington was talented—just not more so than Jones. But Jim had no desire to work alongside Jones again. He had spent years steering his career on a separate path, avoiding any crossover with that man. There was no way Jim was letting Jones get involved in this investigation, and he suspected Jones felt the same about him.
The General nodded, seemingly satisfied. He scribbled Harrington’s name on the front of the file. Whether he bought Jim’s reasoning or recognized the tension in his voice at the mention of Jones, it didn’t matter. Jim had dodged the bullet, for now at least.
"Anything else, Major?" the General prompted, clearly eager to move forward.
Jim exhaled, feeling the relief wash over him. "Yes, sir. There’s something else. We’ve had reports of people appearing—seemingly out of nowhere. So far, it's been mostly children. These kids have approached adults, claiming that they’re their parents, though the adults have no idea who these children are. We’ve documented about 20 cases so far. The kids are currently being held at a secure facility outside Washington, D.C. Some of the alleged parents are demanding DNA tests. I’ve held off on that, waiting for further instructions. But it’s only a matter of time before this goes public."
The General blinked, momentarily taken aback. "What the hell is going on here?" he muttered under his breath before returning to his usual bark. "Anything else, Major?"
Jim hesitated only a moment before continuing. "There have been a few sightings of strange creatures, sir. We’ve managed to capture one, catalogued and classified it. I know it might not seem directly related, but given the scale of everything else, I thought it was worth looking into. We also have some anomalies with distant astronomical bodies—clusters of stars disappearing, others out of place. Dr. Paul Brettell is currently investigating these changes, though the data is still speculative."
"Brettell?" the General perked up. "I know that name—Dr. Peter Brettell, right?"
"Not him, sir. His son, Paul. Dr. Peter Brettell is still institutionalized at Fairfax Mental Hospital," Jim replied.
"Ah, yes. The old man went mad in the seventies, didn’t he? Brilliant physicist—then he started raving about how the world was wrong and that everyone was brainwashed. Shame, really."
Jim nodded but pressed forward. "Sir, it was Dr. Paul Brettell who approached me during the Venus investigation. He brought me some data on these astronomical anomalies. Funny thing is, he seemed to know I was looking into something—almost as if he was expecting me. He even came to my apartment, unannounced, with this information."
"Go on, Major," the General said, narrowing his eyes, clearly sensing there was more to this story.
Jim leaned forward. "He mentioned these anomalies had happened before. He was jittery, like he was running out of time. He showed me a device—something like a small orb, roughly the size of a football. It looked intricate, technical. When he switched it on, it emitted a low hum, but nothing happened. That’s when Brettell started losing it, shouting that I’d ‘see it in time,’ that everything was connected. He went on and on, almost babbling. I had to promise I’d meet him at his office the next day just to get him to leave."
The General grunted. "Sounds like his father, all right. Why even entertain this nonsense?"
"At first, I was inclined to dismiss him, sir," Jim admitted. "But I had Sergeant Davidson, our NASA liaison, take a look at the data Brettell provided. To my surprise, Davidson confirmed it. Stars have indeed moved—or vanished entirely. Something’s out there, sir. I’ve instructed Davidson to keep this under wraps for now."
The General's demeanor shifted. "So, the man knows something after all." He stood, pacing now, energized by the gravity of the situation. "Have Sergeant Grains bring him in. I want a direct conversation with this Dr. Brettell—no more cloak and dagger."
Jim nodded. "Yes, sir. I’ll have Grains handle it immediately. Beyond that, there are a few other leads that could be related. Everything’s in these reports, but it’ll take time to sift through it all."
The General stopped pacing and faced Jim. "You’re going to head this investigation, Major. I’m setting up a task force to get ahead of this. I need you on point—don’t screw this up."
"Understood, sir," Jim said, snapping to attention and saluting. "I won’t let you down."
"Good. Dismissed," the General barked.
Jim left the makeshift debriefing room, his mind still swirling with the scope of the situation. As he walked down the sterile, grey corridors, the headache that had been pounding earlier started to return, but now wasn’t the time to focus on that. He needed rest before tackling tomorrow’s challenges, but rest would have to wait. Too much was at stake.