Brink by Mikel Parry
Chapter 22 - Mannequin torsos

CH – MANNEQUIN TORSOS

“You’ve got to get up!”

Thomas felt the world swirling about him in a hazy, incessant fog. He struggled to reclaim himself from the profound depths he had pushed himself into. It was so fragmented. It had all happened so fast. He felt the normal nausea that accompanied his jaunts through time. But it was being overshadowed by the uncontrollable pain that buzzed in his head. He felt completely exhausted.

“Get up, Thomas! Jo, go get help!”

The words reached Thomas’s ringing ears. They seeped like molasses into his train of thought. Where was he? When was he?

“No, I’m alright, I can get up,” he said, struggling to grapple with his shaking body.

He saw Banks standing over him with a very concerned look on his face. He remained there, examining Thomas thoroughly.

“Get him a glass of water!”

Thomas’ eyes rolled to one side where he saw the perfectly white floor glaring back at him. He was beginning to loathe its presence, as it was a cruel reminder of where he was. He gazed up, watching Banks snatch a tiny, plastic cup from Jo’s shaky hands. He held it out to Thomas carefully. It took some grunting for Thomas to heave himself up into a seated position on the floor. He grabbed the cup out of Banks’s hands and began sipping on it gingerly.

“It’s such a small cup. You think you guys could afford some bigger ones.”

Banks’s eyes glossed with a mixture of relief and frustration.

“What happened to you? You glimpsed, and then came crashing back like a bat out of hell. Jo practically fainted on the spot.”

Jo’s face peeked into view. He was biting his lip nervously. His glasses shifted towards the end of the runway that was his nose. They dangled loosely.

“I swear I’m never standing in this room with you guys again. Every time I do—”

“Relax, Jo. Nobody got hurt. No need to press the issue.”

Jo looked upset. It was obvious he was tired of being told what to do and how to do it. He was the genius, after all.

“I’m not pressing anything. All I know is this guy brought in the storm of the century on the brink! I also saw two, that’s dos rifts! Meaning, he changed something! That is a big fat no-no!”

Banks was poised to reprimand Jo, but then looked curiously back at Thomas, who stood up slowly.

“What’s he talking about? You changed something? We went over this before. You aren’t supposed to change anything.”

Thomas waved a hand in the air as he crumpled up the empty glass and tossed it behind him nonchalantly.

“It was an accident. Besides, it was stupid. It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter? Doesn’t matter? You can’t go creating rifts in the very fabric of time, realigning the future in the most butterfly-effect kind of way! The unforeseen consequences could be disastrous! An assassinated leader, an event that shouldn’t of happened, happens! You’re a reckless freak!”

Both men looked at Jo, who was gasping for breath once his rambling ceased.

“Could you just shut up? It obviously didn’t work that well, because you’re still here!” said Thomas.

Banks put on a tiny sliver of a smile that he quickly shook away, doing his best to remain professional. Instead, he gave Thomas a very stern look.

“What was it? We need to know.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. He looked down at his hand, which still carried the slender cut.

“A damn lawn gnome. One of those dainty, stupid lawn ornaments that people seem to like. I tripped on it and it fell over. It also pretty much broke my ankle, thank you very much.”

Jo began to speak but was shushed by a finger.

“Okay, let’s hope you’re right. You’d be the only one that would know anyways, seeing that I and Jo were stuck back here. Let’s forget that and cut to the chase. What did you replace?”

Thomas blinked his eyes slowly. The pain was just beginning to diminish. His brain felt like a sloppy pile of dough.

“I know where to start. He changed a reference point.”

“A reference point?” asked Banks, looking decidedly underwhelmed.

“A line on a map—a location—whatever you want to call it. The guy had the layout of this entire city. Some sort of planner or construction guy probably, I don’t know. All I know is one of the lines changed. I saw it. But I’m not entirely sure what it means.”

“Could you repeat that? It kind of sounded like you were a little off!”

Thomas ignored Banks who had shed his professionalism for the time being.

“I mean, I know where it is, but . . .” Thomas stared at Jo, who immediately leapt out of his sight.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles . . .

“Planes, trains, and automobiles—that’s got to be it.”

Banks shook his head.

“What are you talking about?”

“Can you get me a map of the city?”

Banks snapped his fingers at Jo, who quickly fetched a slender tablet device. His fingers danced over the screen before he shoved it into Thomas’ hands.

“There, what do you have?”

Thomas’ eyes rattled back and forth as he swooped in and out on the massive city sprawl. Then, in pure elation, he spotted the exact location he had burned in his memory. Without warning, he headed for the door.

“Where are you going? We agreed no more solo trips!”

Thomas paused. He was so caught up in the chase, he’d forgotten the obvious—the target—the events cascading into the present from the past, with a dreadful purpose.

“Where are the other agents?”

Banks cringed at the mention of the word agents.

“You mean us and the one other? That’s what we’re down to.”

Thomas felt sick to his stomach. They were dropping like flies. After his last experience in the pit of blood, he no longer felt the security net of protection he once had.

“Where is he? The last one besides us?”

“I don’t know. I’d have to make some calls.”

“Do it, now! We need to get there! He’s in a lot of danger.”

Banks pulled out his phone and began dialing.

“Is that psycho coming here?” questioned Jo, looking frantic.

Thomas shrugged.

“He doesn’t have to. He, or whoever it is, can get into anywhere. For all we know, he’s already here.”

Jo looked as pale as a ghost. As was routine, he retreated back to his blinking room of lights and shut the door.

What a closet freak.

“He’s at a safe house located on the east side of town. He’s being watched as we speak.”

Thomas swallowed a burning pool of acid that had pooled in his throat from the anxiety. He tried to think calmly and clearly. How would he do it? How could he do it?

“Let’s get to him.”

“And then what? We’ve got to have a plan or something. I haven’t forgotten what happened last time we went all wild-west.”

“It doesn’t matter. The longer we wait the worse it becomes. I suggest we forgo the pointless arguing and just get moving.”

Banks looked exhausted but agreed. He was slightly reluctant. It didn’t take long for them to exit the building. They’d left in a blur of motion, leaving a few dumbfounded agents behind. Something else was troubling Thomas. Where was Roslin? For having Thomas on such a tight leash, the man was surprisingly off the radar. It wasn’t like him to just disappear, leaving his precious program in the hands of those he deemed less worthy. Who knew what the man was hiding?

“You’re sure he’s there?” probed Thomas, looking at Banks, who was weaving the car through the busy, street.

“Positive. He’s been there since the last incident.”

Thomas’ guts shifted to one side as Banks screeched around a street corner. A few muffled cries of anger rattled through the windows from some onlookers.

“Why is he doing this? Why destroy an organization created to protect? We’ve only been doing our jobs!” declared Banks, letting his foot press down even harder on the gas pedal.

Thomas gulped as the sudden forward motion forced him to sharply suck in a mouthful of air.

“It’s not about us. He’s after all of it. I don’t understand his motives or why he’s doing it, and frankly, I don’t care. All I know is these murders are painting a picture we just aren’t seeing. Roslin’s brother being gone, numerous casualties, explosions, fire, wrecks; the killer’s been rattled. It’s only going to get worse.”

Banks looked disturbed by the comment. His fingers clenched the wheel of the car tightly. He glanced down at the needle measuring his RPM’s and saw it deep in the red. His frustration and anger was almost palpable. Suddenly, the car began to decelerate. It caught Thomas off guard, as he had been securely fixed in thought.

“What the hell is this? You’ve got to be kidding me!” stammered Banks slamming his hands into the steering wheel.

Ahead of the car was a scene of absolute chaos. A fire truck blocked the road, with a large crowd amassing at its perimeter. All stared at what appeared to be an overturned semi-truck. A few flickering fires could be seen around its edges dancing playfully. The truck’s contents had spewed out onto the street like litter. Shattered glass and debris joined the array of random objects, further complicating the deciphering of the collage of clutter.

“This is unreal! What are we supposed to do now?”

“How far away are we?”

Banks pulled out his phone and fumbled around.

“Less than a quarter of a mile—just a short jog from here—in that building.” Thomas swung the car door open and sprinted down the sidewalk. He couldn’t be stopped now. A man’s life could very well be at stake. His life might be at stake. Nothing was sure anymore. Anyone could be on the verge of an untimely demise. The only thing to do was to keep moving. It was always harder to hit a moving target; even harder if the target behaved erratically. If he couldn’t outwit the murderous chess game wizard, he would out stupid him. Continue behaving stupidly, doing reckless things to press his own advantage? The mere idea of it was madness. From behind him, he heard Banks slam the door in anger.

“I thought we agreed no more running off!”

Thomas ignored his plea. He kept moving. Once he arrived at the outskirts of the accident scene, he was stopped by a wall of bustling bodies. He leapt up into the air to get a better view. He needed to get closer. Pushing people aside, he began forcing his way through. A few people felt his urgency was insulting and lashed out at him verbally as he pressed his way through.

Just shut up and let me do my job, people!

At the front of the crowds he could finally see it all perfectly. All around the overturned semi were mannequin torsos strewn about. A few had been ignited on fire, some were already smoldering into ash. The truck itself had been vacated when the emergency response team had snatched the barely living driver from the clutches of disaster. Gasps of terror could be heard throughout the swaying crowd. Had he been too late? He looked across the street, past the barrier of legal enforcement, and saw an antique store. He recoiled at what he saw—a garden gnome—one that eerily resembled the piece of lawn decor he had hammered with his body. For a moment he felt a shrill sensation of fear tingle through him. But his logical brain stomped it into oblivion.

That’s impossible. You’re being a complete idiot. They made millions of those things.

Looking past the disaster area, he eyed the building that Banks had pointed to. It, like all of the organization’s buildings, was completely innocuous; just another old, run-down, ragged piece of construction. But, as always, it was what was on the inside that counted. He looked back again at the crash scene. Was it truly coincidental? Or was it a part of the pot he kept stirring, trying to replace the right action to bring the real threat out of hiding. He didn’t have the luxury of time.

“What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just jet off like that, leaving me stuck in traffic!”

Thomas turned to look at Banks, who was practically jumping out of his shoes in anger.

“Look, I don’t have time to apologize. We have to move. This thing works fast. We waste any time, any time at all, we lose. Simple.”

“So what the hell did you want me to do? Leave a car in the middle of the street that shouldn’t exist? Does that sound like a good idea?”

Thomas couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There they had a man’s life at stake and Banks was rambling on about the car.

“You take care of the car! I’ll meet you inside!”

“You don’t tell me what to do!”

Thomas clenched one of his fists tightly. At times, he wanted to smack Banks across the face, wiping his undeserving sense of authority away.

“Fine, but let’s get going!”

“This is on you if anything goes wrong. This isn’t how we do things!”

“Isn’t it always on me?”

Both men stewed in a silent rage. Their game of pride had reached a stalemate. Neither was going to back down. But they needed to keep it together, at least for now. Thomas led the way, plowing through more onlookers as they circumvented the accident towards their destination. All the faces they passed were logged away along, with as many details as Thomas’ mind could capture. Everyone, at this point, was guilty until proven innocent. Everyone. Was any of it connected?

“It’s right there around the corner, in the alley.”

The pair passed a donut shop and a decrepit looking laundromat before coming to a screeching halt in front of an unremarkable door leading into a tall, skinny building.

“What is it with you people and alleyway doors? Can’t you get something better?”

Banks shot Thomas an extreme look of annoyance.

“You got a better way to hide things in the middle of everything, that’s financially sound? I’d love to hear it.”

Banks glanced at the door and produced a badge that glinted with reflected light. He held it up in the air. With a loud crank and a snap, the door slowly opened. A few men with guns watched them closely. One of the men ran a scanner over each of their faces before stepping aside. Thomas and Banks stepped inside, just as the thick metal door slammed shut behind them. Large bars slid across it, making it a literal wall of metal.

This is more like it.

Thomas looked at Banks, who pointed.

“Up this way. He should be in one of those rooms. We’ll replace out which one.”

They approached a desk where more suited men were standing. Banks flashed his credentials again before spelling out his demands.

“I called ahead. Where is he?”

A woman behind the desk looked both of them over carefully. Her eyes closed into slivers of suspicion as she checked them out before answering.

“He’s on the second floor.”

Banks nodded then immediately moved away from the desk. Thomas followed closely, doing his best to dodge the incredulous looks he was getting. Continuing up the stairs, they arrived at yet another level of secrecy.

What is it with these people?

But in truth, each one of the agents, staff, bystanders, and even Roslin himself, at this point, were possible suspects. They had been gutted open from the inside out. No one was innocent anymore.

“He’s just up around the corner.”

Thomas lifted his eyes rapidly to see even more black suited men standing guard outside another impervious door. One of the men stepped out to stop them. Banks looked flustered by all the dramatic distrust he felt he was receiving. This was his organization; or so he once thought. Things were definitely changing.

“Seriously, how many times do we have to flash a badge around here?” said Banks, showing his credentials again.

The man reluctantly stepped to the side to let Banks and Thomas enter through the door. It closed behind them with a cavernous whoosh of air. Inside, was a large room filled with every living accommodation imaginable; a windowless prison in the most opulent sense. In the center of the room sat the agent. His eyes looked glazed, almost as if he was looking right through them.

“Agent DeMarques?”

The man looked up slowly. He looked worn and ragged; his complexion pale; his demeanor, one of defeat.

“What do you want, Banks?”

The clear tone of his voice reflected his obvious state of hopeless.

“You know why we’re here. Things are getting worse. Outside it’s anarchy. And they’ve got you set up in the suite? How long were you going to hide in here?”

Agent DeMarques got off the couch he had been slouching on, his postures firmly aggressive.

“Just can it, Banks! I’ve watched my last two partners on this program die! No funeral, no records, just gone. So I’m done playing the part of bait. He’d get me just like he’s going to get you! We’re losing this!”

Thomas glanced at Banks, who wore a look of understanding.

But who’s he, who is this killer really?

“Fine, let’s drop it. What can you tell me?”

DeMarques shook his head. He began pacing around the room.

“Nothing, I’ve got nothing. We’ve been tracking, glimpsing, just like you. But the occurrences have increased, the disruptions, greater. It’s a joke. We don’t have the man power for this; we never did. And still no one has found the leak. But we’re all that’s left, aren’t we? I mean, damn, this is it. If it’s not me or you, then who?”

Banks’s eyes were filled with sympathy. The remarks were impacting him greatly.

“I don’t know either. This whole thing is just one big cluster. We’ve never been this disorganized. Roslin is on a rampage back at home. The whole program is in jeopardy.”

“Forget the program! We’re all in jeopardy. Don’t you get who you sound like right now? You’re a clone of him; Roslin. Screw him and this program! We’re supposed to be watchers, protectors, not street warriors running for our lives!”

Thomas watched as at the mere mention of Roslin’s name, Banks’s demeanor shifted to one of resolute anger.

“Look—I don’t see eye-to-eye with Roslin either. But we have rules and systems for a reason. They keep us all in check. Without them, it’s pure anarchy.”

“But anarchy is the name of the game now, isn’t it?” interjected Thomas.

Both Banks and DeMarques paused their ongoing argument to stare at the strange oddity that was Thomas. Feeling his head begin to swelter from the pressure beneath his hat, he removed it for a moment, letting it dangle from just two fingers.

“Well, isn’t it? Look at us? We’re being herded like cattle to the slaughter. Each time we do what’s expected. We follow the rules, the stupid processes, and for what? To end up crammed in some safe house like a dog stuck in his kennel. The anarchy is calculated. It creates the logical end result that we don’t see, and then we die. In each case, we die. That’s all that matters to him; one game piece at a time until the board is clear.”

“Forgive me if I’m not impressed, but tell me something we don’t know,” responded DeMarques, crossing his arms defiantly.

“I know that instead of having one agent in one place, we now have three. That seems as good a time as any to whack us.”

Banks and DeMarques caught each other’s eyes. They appeared to be looking to each other for some unspoken affirmation that what Thomas suggested was pure lunacy. They were safe here.

“Look, buddy—I know you’re Roslin’s new toy—for now. But this place is one of our secure safe houses. Nobody’s getting in here,” continued DeMarques.

Just then, a deafening thunder rumbled from somewhere outside. It seemed to reach beneath the building, vibrating its very foundation.

“What was that?” yelled Banks.

Without thought, Thomas burst free from the room. In the hallway, a few men were struggling to get back up to their feet, the shock wave having knocked them to the ground. Then he heard the horrific screams. Outside, the amassed crowd was falling into madness. In a few gigantic bounds fueled by adrenaline, Thomas found a window and looked outside. The street below had cracked from the immense pressure that had swelled from somewhere underground. People were scattering like roaches under a spotlight, each trying desperately to distance themselves. The crack extended past the fallen semi to directly under the building itself.

Thomas ran as fast as his legs could carry him down the stairs, leaving Banks and DeMarques behind. He reached the bottom floor, shoving his way past the armed, black-suited sentries heading towards the door. Sternly, they put a halt to his progress. A strong arm blocked him from the exit.

“Nobody goes in or out until we know what happened!” barked the man blocking his path.

Thomas wanted to rip his head off. But it wasn’t over. In the street they heard the blaring horn of another out of control semi. It came blazing down one of the side streets, heading directly towards the safe house. People jumped out of its way as fast as they could, leaving a floor of bodies in its wake. The driver jumped free from the car moments before it collided with the building.

Thomas barely had time to react. It came so fast it seemed surreal. The incredible force blasted its way through one of the nearby walls, propelling him through the air like a rag doll. He watched helplessly as one of the agents was torn to shreds by the catapulted debris. Tiny pieces of shrapnel raked his exposed flesh, leaving little crimson pools blossoming on his flesh. Then, with a mind-numbing thud, he hit the ground. His ears were ringing like church bells. Everything seemed to be passing by frame by excruciating frame. The pain-filled screams, the waves of fire, and the scattered debris was a horror movie. The once impenetrable safe house sat ravaged and wide open.

He tried to put his legs underneath him. Was he paralyzed, injured, dying? He needed to know, so he needed to move. It felt like he was made of rubber. Each time he tried to upright and balance himself, he would collapse back to the ground out of breath. He saw a stream of blood and sweat mix together and drip on the floor. Taking in one last, gasping, gulp of air, he let out a tortuous bellow of agony. He could feel his wounds begging him to give up, lie down, and wait to die. But he knew better.

“Thomas! Thomas! Are you alright?”

He turned to see Banks running toward him at top speed. His eyes looked wild and scared. Once at Thomas’ side, he helped him to brace himself up.

“I’m fine, just seriously rattled.”

A small explosion erupted next to them, where the semi had come to a rest on its side. The sounds of sirens echoing in the distance were closing in fast.

“We need to get out of here. Where’s DeMarques?”

Banks gestured with his head.

“He’s upstairs. I’ve got to make some calls, this is bad!”

Thomas cringed in pain. His body felt like the wreck that had nearly engulfed him. The semis, the explosion, the correlations between events, the lines connecting the dots; this had just been a distraction; a distraction that had successfully left one Agent DeMarques alone in the middle of absolute destruction. Scampering up the stairs, still feeling woozy and disjointed, he arrived at the room’s door. A few of the armed men remained.

“Where is he? Where is Agent DeMarques?”

Both men abruptly looked behind them before one responded.

“He’s inside. Nobody’s come in or out. We’ll be evacuating soon.”

Thomas shoved the man aside and entered the room. Aside from a few jostled items, it appeared to be stable. But there was only one problem—no Agent DeMarques.

“Where is he? He’s gone!”

The men outside the door burst into the room, guns drawn. They looked completely befuddled. How could something be missing from a safe room?

This isn’t happening.

Grabbing his head, Thomas let his frustration out. This was pure madness. This finely crafted attack had ripped the world he knew apart. Where could DeMarques be? He had to be close. He’d just been here. Leaving the other agents, he ransacked the room for clues. That’s when he saw it—the bathroom—the only room that firmly dictated the need for privacy. He punched through the door, crunching shattered glass beneath his feet. Looking inside, a sudden sense of terror surged through him. A gaping hole had been blasted open just beneath where the bathtub had been. Broken water lines spewed water into the air like a kid’s water park gone mad.

This can’t be happening . . .

The hole was adequate to fit a man through; or perhaps, to force one through. He looked behind, not wanting to be followed. He was tired of being stalled by slower mentalities. But at the same time, a gruesome death could be awaiting him in the dark. Still no sign of Banks. Undoubtedly, he was busy calling in the clean-up crew. Roslin wasn’t going to be happy, wherever he was. Guilt prickled at Thomas’ mind like a tiny cactus. But he still couldn’t peg it on anyone. He needed more. Taking one last look behind him, he plunged down the hole, gripping the slippery pipes with all his might.

Streams of water rushed down his face, blurring his vision. He was in a wall space; a wall space that had been carefully sought out to gain access to a multitude of safe rooms. Like the filthy rat that he was, the murderer had gained access using the chaos as his malfeasant distraction. He had timed it perfectly. How long had he been waiting in the walls for his beautifully crafted work to eviscerate the world within them? Had he been listening to everything they said?

I’m going to kill you.

A darkness swept into Thomas’ heart that grew in intensity as he struggled on. He hated this man. He hated what he was doing and how he was doing it. But more than anything, he hated that he was losing. He was supposed to be the freak. He was supposed to win. The repugnant smell of sewage suddenly hit his nostrils as he went deeper. Just where the pipes led? He had no idea. The air was thick now. It was getting so dark that even his own hands disappeared in front of him. His progress was painstakingly slow, but with a squishy splash he suddenly hit the bottom.

His arms were screaming under the exhaustion, his body threatening to soon follow. The intensity would not cease. He could feel his own mortality beginning to fade, taking over his consciousness, unsure of how much more it could take. Then he heard it; a muffled cry from someone hidden in the darkness. Blinking his eyes rapidly, he tried to adjust them to the low light. It wasn’t much, but he was able to see a tiny speck of light. Like a firefly, it moved about rapidly, swooping this way and that. Had Thomas finally found him?

“Stop! You have no idea what you’re doing!”

Thomas’s scream echoed off the cement walls. The light ahead paused for just a moment before quickening. The muffled cries of someone being dragged further intensified. Forgetting his own pain, Thomas sloshed through the water. Sewage tunnels, drainage tunnels, and an array of other shafts poked through the walls. He was pushing his way through the dark underbelly of the city. Thomas pulled his phone from his pocket. He began waving it around in the air like a torch. The miniscule amount of light helped guide him through the foul world he was traversing.

He was panting like a dog. His sides ached from the exertion. But he was closing in on whoever it was that had orchestrated this nightmare. The pain was becoming more and more unbearable. He needed to catch the madman before he succumbed.

“What do you want? What are you gaining?”

The bobbing light was growing larger. It appeared to be a tiny flashlight, being held by a black glove. Thomas strained his eyes to try and see who he was following. But the dark shadows skewed the image beyond recognition. What was clear is that they were pulling a body through the tunnel. It sloshed in the filthy water as they moved.

“Why don’t you at least have the courage to face me? You’re a coward, hiding in the shadows!”

The light stopped. It was not far now. Pushing past his own limits, Thomas got within a stone’s throw of the mad lunatic he had been pursuing for so long. He finally saw him. The same lifeless, dark mask he had seen in the pit. His eyes receded into its depths. This was the monster who would forever darken his thoughts. At the man’s feet sat the incapacitated DeMarques. He appeared to have been medicated, legs battered. His eyes were rolled back in his head. His chest gradually rose then collapsed; he was still alive.

“Leave him. He doesn’t need to die! You can stop this!”

The man put away the flashlight and pulled out a slender, silver revolver. He pressed it carefully into DeMarques’ temple. The groggy, faded look in DeMarques’ eyes still registered a tinge of horror.

“Don’t do it. He’s done nothing to you. I won’t let you do this!”

Thomas reached inside his coat and pulled out his gun. He hoisted it into view, carefully aiming it directly between the eyes of evil incarnate.

“I’ll kill you if I have to!”

Silence. Whoever the man was, he was holding steadfast to his unwillingness to be heard. A moment passed. All that could be heard was their breathing. The tension in the room was suffocating. Thomas’ finger twitched over the trigger of his gun. Sweat was pouring into his eyes with a painful sting. Neither man moved. What was going to happen? Did he truly have it in him to take a life?

Please, just put the gun down!

Thomas took one brave step forward. The man’s arm tensed, plunging the revolver even deeper into the exposed temple of DeMarques. Thomas stopped mid step. He wasn’t willing to risk it. But if he didn’t, he’d lose what he so desperately wanted; to catch that lunatic. If he didn’t, the hell would continue and more people would die. What was one agent’s life when stacked against the potential future loss of life? Was his one life worth that much?

“Last warning! Put the gun down or I shoot!”

The darkness of the tunnel was creeping into Thomas’ soul. Death’s icy clutches were reaching for him, ready to show him the way. His finger pressed slightly in on the trigger. The hammer of his gun jerked back slightly. At the edge of insanity, just as his finger was ready to pull, a horrendous crash of thunder roared through the tunnel. An out-of-control subway train surged through a thick slab of concrete wall spewing shards of debris. It jettisoned out into the tunnel, screeching wildly beneath the unimaginable force. Sparks spewed from the sides of the locomotive as it continued crashing down another tunnel towards its demise, cutting a perfect path between Thomas and the dark evil he was pursuing. The shock wave threw Thomas to the ground. He felt his body seize up. Pain washed over him, threatening to steal his consciousness. Trying desperately to get back up, he watched as the tail end of the train passed, thundering forward down the old track. The man was gone. Left behind was the lifeless body Agent DeMarques. His sluggish look had been replaced by a wide-eyed, last glimpse of life mask, compliments of a bullet to the head.

Tears filled Thomas’ eyes. He threw his head back and let out a deafening scream of anguish. As his head dropped back down in exhaustion, his eyes caught a tiny, flimsy, piece of evidence uneventfully left by its owner. A card, just as before—three triangles linked in the center—the symbolic creed of a secretive world locked away beneath deception and lies. The world around him began to fade into darkness. His fate was left to the depths of an abandoned tunnel, brimming with nothingness. He had failed.