It was a wave of pulsating pain that woke Smithson Grey in the early hours of the morning. The metal frame of his bed shuddered as he jolted upright, clutching his forehead in his right hand, whilst balancing his body against the sudden onset of dizziness with his left. His breathing sharp, Smithson swung his arm towards his mobile phone, accidentally knocking over a lamp and empty glass in the process, which shattered upon impact with the floor. The shining screen blasted light into the room, making his eyes squint. 5:15AM. His alarm hadn’t gone off.
Shit…
With enough effort, Smithson brought himself to his feet, just managing to guide himself away from the shattered glass scattered around his bed. The pain became more intense, reverberating around his skull, ringing out as if a bell was being rung inside his mind. With heavy footsteps, Smithson stumbled towards the bathroom, with help from the flashlight built into his phone. Each creak of the wooden floorboards sent a stabbing sensation into his ears.
Not good…Cabinet….In the cabinet…
His whole body crashed into the bathroom door, swinging it open and cracking the chequered tiles to the side of it. Both hands landed atop the sink, as Smithson caught a glance of himself in the mirror. His pupils had dilated, threatening to take over the whites of his eyes, and fine streaks of blood trickled from each ear, running down his pale cheeks, and dripping onto the grey tiled floor. Gripping the side of the mirrored cabinet door, Smithson flung it open, revealing the contents inside to be a singular pill bottle, with “Take every day at 5:00AM” scribbled upon it.With no hesitation, Smithson snatched the bottle, retrieving a singular pill from its contents, and popping it into his mouth, gulping down water from the sink, spilling some across the floor. With a few seconds to catch his breath, Smithson felt the pain subside, and upon closing the cabinet door, watched as his pupils began to slowly return to normal. A sigh of relief exited his lungs, as he began to chuckle, before collapsing to the ground.
“Jesus…”
***
It had turned 5:30AM when Smithson finished tidying from the event. With the glass swept up and blood washed from his face, he spent no time delaying his morning, making himself a cup of black coffee before heading to a small wooden desk tucked at the bottom of his double bed. Flicking on his computer and monitor, Smithson dove straight into his usual work routine. Checking emails, looking through any updates on the Bureau Database (updates he could access with his security clearance that is), and a new addition, finishing reports. He had been unlucky in being the last EX agent to be chosen for any new operations, and so was stuck with finalising the information for Operation Gunfire, the last operation he had been a part of:
* The handgun, a design similar to a government issued Colt 45. handgun, possesses no visible anomalous properties, until fired, where it unloads ammunition at a speed of Mach 10, with no physical recoil. The ammunition itself isn’t anomalous, and it is still unknown how the bullet stays intact when fired.
* The sound of the weapon is also greatly reduced, with tests concluding that it matches the Db of a regular silenced handgun-
Bing.
Smithson yawned as he peered over to his phone screen, making eye contact with a notification for a new meeting schedule. Scheduled for right now. Smithson shrugged this off. Accidental meeting schedules happen quite often with the Bureau, and to have one this early was pretty much unheard of-
Ring ring. Ring ring.
His monitor lit up with a call notification, the contact being redacted.
The schedule was real. And it was with a member of the Bureau.
This was important.
Click.
“Good morning EX-138…Jesus you look like shit.”
The voice that greeted him had been altered, and reminded him of Jigsaw, an amalgamation of pitch correction and static, something that he had gotten used to in this line of work. Of course, there was no video feed, but all calls with Bureau Members required the contacts to show themselves for the entire duration, thus Smithson appeared in his untucked white buttoned shirt and pale face, which had yet to gain its colour back.
“Yeah. Rough morning” he replied, taking a sip of his now lukewarm coffee. “What you got for me?”
“Straight to logistics I see. Very well” the bureau member replied, sighing as they did so. “We have got another operation for you 138-”
“No,” Smithson suddenly snapped back, “I’ve got too many reports in the backlog anyways, go put another EX on it.”
“Why so sour 138?” The Bureau Member asked, a hint of sarcasm in their voice, “you haven’t even heard what it entails-”.
“I don’t need to. Like I said, I’m busy”. Smithson faced his webcam, making sure the Bureau Member fully understood him this time.
“You misunderstand your place 138”, The Bureau Member chuckled, “you have no say in this, besides, this anomaly may…interest you”.
Smithson sighed, putting down his now empty coffee cup.
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“Be quick”.
Smithson’s monitor lit up with information.
“At 0400 hours this morning, a house suddenly materialised on the outskirts of Soho, London, on a recently opened construction site.”
Smithson opened his desk draw, retrieving a small notepad and pen and making note of the coordinates on his screen. He waited for more information to be given, but silence permeated.
“...and?”
“That's it”
Smithson let out a bellowed laugh. “That's it?! You’ve got to be shitting me, you want me to do recon don’t you? I’m an explorer agent, as in I explore AFTER the recon?”
“We are…low on available staff at the moment” The Bureau Member mentions.
Smithson sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I’m guessing you want me to go ASAP?”
“That would be appreciated, yes”.
“Fine, you guys owe me for this though, I want that goddamn pay rise!” Smithson states, getting to his feet and grabbing a beige coloured coat from a coat hanger fixed to his front door.
“Excellent! I’ll let Director Jessica know you’ll be providing recon”
“Wait, Jess?” Smithson spun around suddenly.
“Is that a problem 138?”
“No shit! We haven’t spoken properly since the divorce” Smithson said, his hand moving erratically with his words.
“Well I hope your love life won’t impede the mission. This is bigger than you 138-”
“Yeah yeah, safety of the UK and the world” Smitshon twisted his hand in a dismissing fashion, as he stored his notepad and pen in its pockets, before retrieving and examining a pack of Marlboro Red cigarettes.
“Any updates on James?”
“EX-067? Nothing, apologies 138”.
Smitshon sighed.
“I’m off, I’ll give my notes to Jess when I’m done, you'll see them in the database soon enough”.
With that final statement, Smithson ended the call, and before heading out, made sure to grab the pill bottle from the bathroom cabinet, and make sure his alarm was on for the following morning. He lit a cigarette before setting off.
I’ll find you James.
***
It was a house of magnificent design. At least at its conception. A two-storied abode, with differing curvature and edges. Walking from one side, you would see the extrusion of walls, with three rectangular windows in a line, before the walls retreated, laying the way for two large glass doors onto a beautifully designed balcony. If you turned the corner, however, you would see the walls curve, becoming cylindrical, as if Tolkien took over construction for the last half of the house. The roof was tiled with premium slate, and edgings were lined with what seemed at first glance painted wood, but on closer inspection, was indeed pristine white marble. The house was built with the utmost care, be that out of love, or out of its price.
However, this was at its conception.
Smithson stood at the maw that now dug into the wooden panelling of the eastern wall. The wood had become rotten. The marble cracked and withered. Glass lay just in front of him, smashed and scattered across the flooring. This wasn’t atypical, housing was abandoned quite regularly in Soho. Those who move here either become perturbed by the nightlife and less fortunate, the prostitutes and homeless, or are indeed, murdered, the house closed as a crime scene and then abandoned.
This normally happened in a span of 6-8 weeks. Enough rain to batter the wood, structure degradation to crack the marble, and vagabonds to smash the glass. A clear-cut explanation.
But this house hadn’t suffered that long.
In fact, according to what he was told earlier this morning, it just appeared.
Not only do houses of this design rarely get built anymore, but houses don’t just ‘“appear and decay” within a few hours. It made no sense. Then again, that was Smithson’s job, to make the nonsense make sense.
He sighs, taking a cigarette from his blazer pocket, and with a flick of his zip lighter, lit it, a large drag of smoke leaving his mouth as he exhaled. He pocketed his lighter, and from his other retrieved a small notepad and pen:
October 2nd, 2018
House is dilapidated. No signs of man-made damage, apart from a large hole in the eastern first-floor wall. Broken in from the outside. The scattering of wood chips across the floor stretches about two to three metres across the inside floor. The impact force was strong, though not explosive. A lack of burn marks around the edges of the wall. Could be multiple persons inside, or considering the peculiar nature of the building, a singular entity….
Smithson jolts as his cigarette burns his upper lip, causing him to spit it onto the ground. He was jumpy. Usually, he was assigned to much more horrific cases. Cult sacrifices, mass murder, creatures with anatomy that he still can’t comprehend. It was horrific but straightforward. Explainable, if challenging to do so.
But this. This was different. It was familiar, a setting that was clawing in the back of his mind since the day that operation ended. Maybe it was coincidence, but in this line of work, coincidence was rarely the biggest factor, and knowing the Bureau, it was most likely the reason he had been assigned to the operation.
For now, this is all he could do. He takes out his phone, a bureau-mandated Samsung S5, and checks the time. 11:45 AM. Twenty minutes before it all begins. First, the site will be yellow taped and designated under some mandated disaster from the handbook. Radiation leak, infestation. Probably infestation for this case, choosing the latter would be fool-hardy, providing less chance of civilian casualty, but an increased risk of suspicion.
Then, info death. Nothing makes it outside of the designated operation site. All calls are scrambled, emails encrypted, and blockades set up for any media or press that cover the story. This coincided with the Techies, who made sure that each system was running to specific Bureau standard, as well as gathering data of every ‘wave’ known to man, before sending off the most valuable information to the LabRats situated within the Bureau. Smithson didn’t know much of the LabRats, in fact he had only been to the Bureau once during his training, and again after that operation. He preferred not to think about it.
Of course, bits didn’t make a lot of sense to him, but it wasn’t in Smithsons position to say anything. He was just the final step. EX-138. An Explorer Agent. Trained specifically in dealing with the anomalous. This is all he knew.
Finally, a Director of the operation. He had heard through that phone call earlier who this would be, and for what he had already put together himself, it was fitting that it would be her.
The first cars pulled up.
Time for the yellow tape.
Then info death and Techies
Then him, and the Director.
Jess…
With a sigh and one last glance at the strange building, Smithson made his way to the vehicles. With his back turned to the structure, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
He had felt this sensation enough times to know what it meant.
Something wasn’t right here.
Ripping some paper from his notepad, he wrote down a single word, folded it up, and slipped it into his pocket, before making his way to the new arrivals.