INTERLUDE 1.A. (Patreon)

Took a while, but at long last I'm glad we're here! Still juggling a balance of writing between RfR and V, but today's flow was rather nice, and I'm excited to get another two chapters over the next day or so!

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The wheels of the jeep edge off of the side of the road onto gravel and dirt, kicking some of it up island making it plink off of some of the nearby trees and an old mail-post, missing its top half.

Sam steps out of the truck with a sigh, turning off the ignition and letting it die. It’s a thirty-five minute drive- not the worst thing in the world, but enough, considering the state of its seating, to make his ass sore to the nth degree. Frankly, he’s pretty sure the truck is older than he is, and he can feel every bump of the suspension and touch of the metal under the ragged cushioning.

He takes out the GPS one more time, double-checking the coordinates. It took a few hours to get the system to finally spit out the actual location of the site of the original alarm. “ Site-Aleph-17” isn’t actually all that useful if you don’t know what those words even mean, and the system, for all its screaming, was not actually that good at communicating. It’s half-analog, half-digital, neither half particularly pleased with the other, neither of them very eager to perform a series of very old, very strangely coded functions. He had to memorize half the damn red binder to figure out how to navigate the menus and command prompts, and it took another hour after that just to get a directory and a breakdown thereof of what is where. By the time he found a map with coordinates, he was already late.

Not officially, but “this needs to be done thirty minutes ago” doesn’t really imply that he had an extra hour or two to figure out where the fuck anything is. Thank fuck for lazy sheriff’s and quiet roads- he had to break damn near every speed limit to get here, and frankly, four wheel drive is the only reason he didn’t end up wrapped around a tree.

And now, the coordinates say he is about five-to-ten minutes, walking distance, away from this supposed site. A site which he didn’t know existed until a few hours ago.

The sun’s already set, so he clicks on a flashlight, shining it into the woods.

There’s a small town, close to a twenty-minute drive, close to here, one of those sort of nowhere places that isn’t bad but used to be more, but other than that, there’s nothing for miles around. Farmland, abandoned properties and small homes spread out across backstreets and hills. Right here, pointing in the direction he’s been told to go, there’s nothing but a shitty jeep, a federal employee coming to terms with being vastly underprepared for his job, and the woods, a patch of dirt and worn-down gravel leading deeper into it.

Sam checks his sidearm, making sure it’s still at his side. He checks the GPS. He checks his flashlight, just to waste a little more time.

And then he takes a deep breath and goes out into the dark.

The trail is straightforward, pushing straight into the trees in a line from the road, and for a while, there’s nothing but the sound of crunching dirt underfoot and the movement of life between the foliage. The hooting of owls, chirping of late-night birds, the occasional chitter and skitter of mice underfoot. Nothing that could be a real threat, nothing to indicate danger, but… 

Well, Sam keeps his flashlight on a swivel, checking on every sound that startles him as he walks. In his defence, his nerves are fucking shot today- the nightmare of that alarm and the overwhelming adrenaline that’s defined his day since then has not put him in a very well-controlled mindset.

The wood is deep and dark, and he is lost in more ways than one.

In his hand, the GPS glows, pointing him forward, and he obeys, one step after another.

Eventually, inevitably, the path ends- and he catches sight of the house.

Of the possible reasons for there to be a trail here, this was always the most likely, but still, to see it now is to see something that feels impossible. The style is familiar (Sam grew up in a pretty similar style of house, truth be told), but it feels almost alien, like a beached corpse, made amorphous by the shadows that cloak it. Its windows, boarded up thoroughly, remind him of vents on the shell of some kind of crustacean, vast and sharp if one touches it wrong, and even from here, he can smell mold and mildew, coming from the house in waves as if following some massive, breathy exhale.

He gulps. Takes a long, deep breath.

And turns to the side, walking away from the home-turned-grave.

Thank fuck he doesn’t have to go in there.

The notes in the binder were very clear: site Aleph-17 is not to be breached by personnel without a quarantine suit, and not without proper authorization. It also outlined his real job here- the sensors.

It takes a little while to finally find the fucking things- even with the GPS pointing him to within a five-foot radius of them, time has taken its toll. He’s not sure when the last time that someone checked in on them was, but he feels pretty confident in saying that it wasn’t anytime in the last few months- the one that he picks out first is covered in dirt, partially fallen over and obscured. 

Each sensor is something like a foot tall, camouflaged carefully to look something like a bush, the fake leaves feeling real to the touch but carrying a weird scent to them, like chemicals or plastic. Pushing aside the fake leaves (and the real ones that have grown in and intertwined), he finds what he’s looking for- a small pillar at the center, completely covered in cameras as old as he is, facing in a 360-degree cone around itself.

The light on its side is blinking, as if waiting for an input.

He takes a deep breath- and reaches into his back pocket for the recorder.

It’s… a very weird device. Not like something he’s seen before, not even in films- it bears some resemblance to an old walkman, but with a space for a CD and an old tape-cartridge, and with a small screen on the back side of it. The machine has all the hallmarks of a military device- it looks simultaneously advanced (for its time) and cheaply made, as if it could survive getting shot by a gun but fidgeting with it might knock something loose enough to make it worthless. And, worst of all, it has what could best be described as the absolute worst series of wires he’s ever had to deal with.

With a sigh, he unclips the little box on the side, carefully unwinding all six (or seven, or eight; some of them are identical) plugs and connectors, enough to make any USB or AV port setup cry. And somehow, they’re always tangled, even though he wound them back up very fucking carefully when he found it, all a mess. Made for a little diversion on the drive over, mostly. 

It takes him a few minutes (doesn’t work from the angle it’s supposed to work from, so he ended up convinced it was a different plug-in, only to double back a second time and try it upside-down, then right-side up again, and somehow this time it worked), but eventually, he manages to connect things properly. The CD in the device begins to whir quietly, matched by a strange ticking noise from the tape recorder portion, and the screen flickers to life, buzzing sadly and a bit like a fly as it spins up.

The screen both brightens and darkens, that artificial blackness of lit LEDs, and words written in a loud, violent red flicker over the screen.

WARNING: PERIMETER BREACH

THREAT DETECTED

PRESENCE OF PRIMARY THREATS DETERMINED.

He frowns. There are a few buttons on the screen- none of them have any markings or words on them, but since most of them don’t seem to do anything, it doesn’t take too long to find the right ones. The screen goes black again, lighting back up with new text scrolling across it right after.

THREAT STATE: MOBILE, ANIMALIA

THREAT CLASSIFICATION: UNKNOWN. TIAMAT-CLASS POSSIBILITY: >0%. 

V00D- ERROR. RESPONSE METRIC NOT MET. 

SCALE: EPSILON+

…Ok. That… mostly lines up with what he saw back at base, the data that woke up the call from the Phone.  That data, however, was immediate, alarmed, certain- this seems to say moreso that there’s a non-zero chance of something being an issue, and that, either way, something’s certainly gone wrong here.

He sighs. Not as much information as he wanted, but that’s the life of a government employee, isn’t it? You do what you can with the orders you’re given, and if they don’t make sense, you shut up and nod along anyway. Now he just has to get his phone, pull up the call-

“Damn if that ain’t the weirdest ipod I’ve ever seen.”

Sam is many things. A bit lazy, sure. Confused, most certainly. 

But some traumas really stick with you, no matter what other characteristics you may possess, and trauma-responses can get ingrained real quick. Basic training kicks in, months of abuse and a desperate desire to please moving his hand before his conscious mind has registered anything more than surprise, and his holster pulls against his gun, the sound of leather and metal flashing to life as his hand rests against the trigger and points his weapon at the person behind him.

Who is pointing a gun right back.

“Easy, slugger,” she says, her voice low. “Let’s all stay calm now. Nice and easy.”

She’s well-dressed, sensible flats serving as the foundation of a put together appearance of a professional. A charcoal-grey suit, white shirt and black tie make up the rest of the look, her jacket hanging open from the professional shooter’s stance she’s taken up and letting him see the side-holster she wears, its standard-issue Glock pistol now in her hands. 

“Drop the weapon. Do it now.”

“Not gonna to do that, slugger. But if you let me, I’m going to reach into my jacket, okay? I’m reaching for my credentials. Ok?”

Sam does his best to quiet his breathing, keeping it from going out of control. He holds his hand firm, fighting against the tremble that anxiety and adrenaline bring. “I- that’s-”special agent

“Hey, we’ve already got guns on each other. Right? Me taking my hand off my weapon isn’t going to make this more lethal. I’m just reaching for my badge, alright soldier boy?”

Fuck. Still shaky. His breathing feels wrong, panicked. “...ok. Ok. Tell me- tell me your name and rank. Now.”

She smiles, a lopsided grin that has more teeth than lip in it. “Alright, soldier boy. Special Agent Renee Fayez. Here on special assignment.” 

Her hand comes back up, a pocket in the inside of her jacket just a bit lighter now without the wallet in it. A bright metallic badge, winged at the top, stands upright within it, glinting in the light of flashlights. At the top, three letters- CIA.

He lets out a sigh, a sense of massive pressure leaving his chest and letting him breathe. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Ok.”

His gun goes down, hers a second later, that same shit-eating grin still on it. 

“I showed you mine, soldier boy. Your turn. What do I call you, then?”

“Provisional Special Agent Sam Wittiker, ma’am. Sorry about that. I just-”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I snuck up on you, and you had the good sense to have good reflexes. Good instincts, frankly. Didn’t mean to startle you there, though I am… just a bit surprised that you didn’t hear me coming. These shoes were not made for forest treks.”

“I… yeah. Yeah, I guess not. I was just… busy. I’m sorry, why are you here?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Same reason as you, I assume. My boss told me something fucked was going on around here, sent me over to figure shit out, so here I am. Also mentioned there was an agent on-site who could probably use some help. New hire by the name of ‘Wittiker”. Lucky me, hmm?”

“I… I’m definitely not unhappy to be getting backup, ma’am. I just-”

“Oh no, no need for all that ‘ma’am’ shit. Just Renee. I’m not going to demote you just cause you didn’t call me some stuffy bullshit, and I don’t love the moniker. Besides, not like there’s anywhere lower to demote you to. Shocked that there’s still someone left in this shithole county.”

“It… wasn’t my ideal posting, no.”

“Mhmm, I can believe that. And now we have to deal with all this shit too, huh?”

She waves a hand, vaguely indicating the space between them, the plants around them, the house behind her and, of course, the device in his hands.

“Haven’t seen one of those in a hot fucking minute. Still as much of a hassle to deal with?”

“It’s like using the weird cousin of a VCR, a walkman and a calculator. Ma’am.”

“Renee. And yeah- they do that. What’s it say?”

He looks down at the device in his hands… back up to her…

The voice on the Phone mentioned that they might send someone, didn’t they? And here’s someone. Someone with a badge, and authority, and who seems very confident.

(And very attractive, he thinks.)

Yeah. This is way over his pay grade. 

He sighs, handing her the device- the wires reaching out quite a long way back to the bush and its hidden sensor.

She looks over at it, frowning. She’s… surprisingly emotive, her every expression carrying a lot. Her eyebrows crease, her lip curls, her chin sort of wiggles and her nose scrunches, all as her eyes dart over the words, clicking through a bunch of different buttons much faster than he managed to.

“Ok. Alarmist, but definitely something worth checking out. Old sensors like these, they throw out a “Tiamat” designation practically every other alarm; above-0% chance probably just means it’s an Echidna class, that or a weirder B. The scale rating’s the important part, though- see here? Epsilon+. Just above the weakest type.”

She smiles again, wide and expressive and bright. “Perfect for you, newbie! Looks like we’ve got a hunt on. Shouldn’t be too much trouble, and perfect for cutting your teeth on.”