《The House》 The Prologue 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: 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. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°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. Chapter I RE: Soho house operation Director, Many thanks for picking up this operation on such short notice. The members of The Bureau and I have taken into account the¡­suddenness of the anomaly¡¯s appearance, and upon return, a meeting will be set up to discuss a raise in your pay. Take it as a thank you for your quick co-operation, and swift erection of a temporary base around the property. Thankfully, as you are aware, we had an abundance of Techies and other staff members at our disposal. However, we are aware of EX-138¡¯s station in the operation. You and EX-138 have a, let''s say difficult but efficient work ethic, despite your past. Remember, you are the director. Don¡¯t let an EX get under your skin. Besides, he¡¯s the only one we have available at this given time. Those behind info death have pushed forward the false claims of an irradiated site. Though an infestation would have been less time-consuming, it has caused the evacuation of civilians in a five-mile radius. Any accidents, well, it will be much easier to cover up. Don¡¯t worry about that though, it''s below your pay grade. Keep the staff happy, and report any findings in the BDoA (Bureau Database of Abnormalities). Jessica sighed, as she found herself doing with all emails from the Bureau. She placed her elbow upon her temporary desk and leant on her propped up hand. They were right, this was impromptu, extremely so. If she was in any other form of employment, she would¡¯ve flat out refused. But of course, this wasn¡¯t an ordinary line of work. No excuses, no matter the commitment. If you¡¯re called up, you¡¯re called up. Birthdays, funerals, weddings, none of it mattered when the anomalous is concerned. It was less of a job, and more like prisoner labour with paid holidays. She knew this of course, even when they held her employment meeting. It was nothing new, it was just like the MI5, just with a few extra steps, and the percent chance of death increased tenfold. But again, paid holidays were nice. Her sigh however wasn¡¯t aimed at the Bureau¡¯s nonchalant take on the operation, or their baseless promises of a raise (of which had been promised more times than she could count). No, it was his includement. EX-138. Her thought pattern was suddenly broken by the swift appearance of a gruff, tall man. A beige coat covered a buttoned white shirt, clearly unironed, with fitted Bureau mandated black trousers. On his side sat a leather gun holster, a deep brown colour, which had been brought out by some kind of polish. The fact that the man spent more time caring for his holster and didn¡¯t spend the five minutes to iron his shirt puzzled her. This holster would usually house a modified Colt .45, specifically crafted for all staff members and directors. However, the gun occupying the holster was in fact an old school Smith and Wesson revolver, its barrel shortened. From that alone she knew who it was , if the cheap scent of aftershave didn''t give it away as soon as he entered. Behind him however followed a much shorter man, in his early 20s. His once fixed and smartened hair now rustled with stress, with beads of sweat falling from his forehead onto his black buttoned shirt. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. ¡°Apologies, Director. I tried stopping him but he¡¯s an EX and-¡± ¡°It''s ok, Davis, you may leave¡±. Jessica cuts through the intern¡¯s words, who in turn nods, and turns to leave, closing the temporary flimsy wooden door behind him. Both Smithson and herself stood facing each other. A long winded few seconds passed before either got the courage to speak. ¡°Well, you uh-¡± ¡°Look like shit?¡± Smithson interjected. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ve been told that aplenty on my way here¡± Jess gave a wry smile and chuckle. Another long pause grew. ¡°You um, you have a rough night then or?¡± ¡°You could say that. Alarm didn¡¯t go off. Turns out ¡®take at 5:00AM¡¯ doesn''t exactly give any leeway.¡± Jess watched as Smithson smiled, his eyes only briefly making contact with hers, before darting around the room for another point of focus. ¡°You keeping yourself well-¡± ¡°Look Jess, could we please skip the small talk? It''s as cliche as it is unbearable.¡± Smithson blurted out, taken aback by his own words as soon as he uttered them. Jess in turn was shocked, and both began to blush slightly from embarrassment. ¡°Shit, sorry Jess I-¡± ¡°It''s fine, Smithson,¡± Jess replied, a hint of agitation in her voice that Smithson picked up on immediately, ¡°just tell me what you¡¯ve come in here for and go.¡± Smithson struggled for a short minute, trying to find some words to heal the situation, but finally managed to get rid of the tension within himself. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out his notepad, and extended it towards Jess. ¡°I did a small amount of recon around the house early this morning. I was told to report the findings to you so they can be catalogued in the database.¡± Jess takes the notebook, flipping through a few pages before sitting down at her desk and transferring them onto a document. Silence permeated throughout the room, with it only being broken by the mutterings of staff through the walls and the quiet buzz of the makeshift office lights. After a few antagonising minutes, the silence was completely broken by a robotic voice: ¡°Information has been catalogued and saved. Thank you. With the Bureau, comes safety.¡± Jess gently closes her laptop, and once again stands up, walking towards Smithson and handing back his notebook. He in turn nods, grabbing it and storing it in his coat pocket. With a last attempt, Smithson opens his mouth to try and form some sort of apology, but nothing comes out, instead he smiles, and turns to leave, making no attempt to say goodbye as he shuts the door behind him. Upon the door closing, Jess lets out a held in breath, exhaling long and hard. She opens her desk, retrieving a worn purple stress ball, of which she began to squeeze, causing it to wrinkle and deflate, before puffing back up again. The brief moment is cut short however, as with a knock on her door, Davis hurriedly enters the room. ¡°What is it Davis?¡± Jess asks, the stress ball once again flattening in her grip. ¡°Sorry to disturb you again ma¡¯am but uh,¡± Davis rustles in his pockets, retrieving a small folded up piece of paper, clearly torn from Smithson¡¯s notebook, ¡°the uh, the EX agent left me with this, told me to give it to you.¡± He places it on her desk, before smiling and quickly exiting the room, trying not to cause Jess any more impromptu stress. Jess released her grip on the stress ball, placing it back into her draw, before reaching for the paper, and unfolding it. Her grip on the paper becomes strained, with crinkles appearing upon the piece¡¯s surface as she scans the writing. Songbird She rustles in the draw once again. From it, Jess retrieves a small Clipper lighter, and ignites the paper, watching it burn. When nothing but ashes remained, she swept them onto the floor. Her hand reached under her glasses, and she rubbed the top of her nose, relaxing her eyes. She was tired. Stressed. But she couldn¡¯t stop, as whatever this house was, it just became interesting. And it was connected to her and Smithson somehow. And now James. She stands, as her phone lets off a quick buzz. After a quick decryption, it read: The briefing has been finalised and is available in your emails. Please provide all staff with the document, as well as a meeting to discuss its contents. The operation will henceforth be known as Operation Caged Bird. Jess chuckles, grabbing her blazer from her chair, and moves towards the door, having one final thought coming to mind. So that''s why we¡¯re here? BDoA [OPERATION SONGBIRD] BDoA [OPERATION SONGBIRD] -AFTER OPERATION - INTERVIEWS - EX-138 - INTERVIEW 001 THE FOLLOWING IS THE ONLY RECORDED INTERVIEW WITH EXPLORER AGENT 138 AFTER THE EVENTS OF OPERATION SONGBIRD, FOLLOWING THE DISAPPEARANCE OF EX-067. DIRECTOR JESSICA [REDACTED] REMAINED IN CRITICAL CONDITION AT THE TIME. Interview begins. EX-138 is escorted into the room and is asked to sit down, of which he complies. He is agitated. Bruises and dry blood cover parts of his visible body. [REDACTED] enters the observation room above EX-138. [REDACTED] taps the mic, and begins the interview. [REDACTED] - Ok, the time is 12:47AM, April 13th 2016. Interviewee is one EX-138. Can the interviewee please state that they can hear my voice? EX-138 remains silent. [REDACTED] - *sigh* Well I¡¯m sure the system is operational. Now, EX-138, about five hours ago, yourself and Director Jessica [REDACTED] were extracted from anomalous grounds of Operation Songbird. Can you confirm this? You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. EX-138 remains silent. [REDACTED] - At the beginning, you were also accompanied by EX-067, who, at this moment in time, is-¡± EX-138 - James. His name was James. EX-138¡¯s head remains lowered, staring at the metal table. [REDACTED] - Ok, James is still MIA at this current time. Before your retrieval, when was the last time you communicated with James? EX-138 shifts in his seat, his leg begins to tap violently. EX-138 - Those¡­kids. They sang to him. They sang and he followed, busted down half of the entire eastern wall. One punch. One fucking punch. Jess tried to stop him. He just, he- [THIS DATA HAS BEEN REDACTED FROM THE RECORD] EX-138 Continued - ¡­Jess. Where is Jess? [REDACTED] - The Director is safe, and is undergoing emergency surgery as we speak. I understand your concern given your¡­history with The Director, but please rest assured that she is being given the best of care. Now to continu- EX-138 begins to laugh, before sobbing quietly. EX-138 - ¡­You told us there was nothing. A casual recon mission. But you knew. You fucking knew, and used us as hamsters for your new anomolous cage! [REDACTED] - Please calm down EX-138. EX-138 stands up, and slams his hands on the metallic table. EX-138 - And now what? You try to pin it on me? With your prodding and questions. To hell with that! Me and Jess know what we saw. Cover it up like the cowards you are but James¡¯s blood is on your goddamn hands [REDACTED], not mine! [REDACTED] - How did you kno¡­Terminate the interview. Guards, detain him. Now! Guards enter the interview room and sedate EX-138. End of interview. Chapter II Two days had passed since the operation had begun. Through the scans and data, graphs and readings, Smithson sat outside on a stained metal chair, facing towards the anomalous property. Apart from leaving for meals, sleep, and the occasional bathroom break, he hardly left this spot,staying till the sun set, and awaking with the sunrise to take his medication. His eyes were stained a darkened gray where winkles gave the appearance of bags. Indents where his thumb flicked his clipper lighter on and off had begun to show. The only thing that remained unwavering was the hard stare against the house, and the cogs in his mind. Three years. It had been three years since Kent. Since Operation Songbird. Since James. And why here? And how? The house in Kent was destroyed, splinters of wood and other materials taken to the labs back in the Bureau. He oversaw the collection teams, he saw the rubble. But it was here. But, different. Rotten. Broken. And that hole in the eastern wall... "A moment captured in time isn''t it?" Smithison glances up at Jess, who was dressed in a long sleeved dress shirt and black trousers, with an unbuttoned blazer. He was still at a lost for words after their last conversation, but managed to utter out a simpe response. "Yeah." "Here." Jess nudges a coffee cup into Smithson''s hands, which he takes "Thanks." He states, smiling and nodding before taking a sip. The two kept their gaze locked on the house. "It''s useless to ponder questions in this line of work, you know?" Jess flicks a black lighter and lights a cigarette. "Leave the theoretics to those in the lab." Smithson chuckles at Jess''s thought process, which in turn causes her to turn and look down at him. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. "Whats so funny?" She queried. Smithson sighed deeply, before turning to look up at her, managing to maintin some form of eye contact. "I''ve seen a lot of weird shit Jess. Seen people mutate in front of my eyes. Bones break and splinter into another structure. Firearms that fire bullets at Mach 10. Even a self replicating chip shop. A fucking chip shop. I questioned it all at first, got headaches from my grasp on reality being shattered right before my eyes. Soon I just stopped." He turns back to the house, and takes another sip of coffee, swallowing hard before continuing. "But that questioning, it came from curiosity, and it peaked a long time ago. But this, this isn''t curiosity Jess. It''s fear. What we saw that day, what happened to James, what he tunred into...what he did to you." Smithson trailed off, his head tilting down as he stared at the ground. His train of thought was stopped by Jess''s hand gently laying on his shoulder. "I''m fine, Smithson. You don''t need to worry about me". He could feel the metal plating of her hand against his clothing. The two stay in this position, before Jess removed her hand giving a wry "sorry" before throwing her finished cigarette onto the ground. A buzz from her phone alerts the both of them to the commencement of the first reconnaissance inside the structure in a few hours, with Jess giving the briefing in a few minutes. She sighs. She felt the same way, and maybe Smithson could sense that. There were...gaps in their memory. James turned, did what he did, and they blacked out. Then suddenly, a week had passed, and Smithson is on clean-up and she is promoted to Senior Director, the whole operation covered in levels of security clearance, and she can only access the interviews. Not to mention her and Smithson''s relationship fell to shit straight after, like he had...changed since that incident, not surprising after losing a best friend, but his mannerisms, speech, it all...shifted, only slightly, but just enough for her to notice. "Come on," Smithson stands up and taps Jess on the shoulder, nodding his head towards the entrance of the makeshift briefing room, "its nearly time." Jess nods and follows. Her hairs stand up on her neck however, as she quickly turns to face the house. Nothing but the building show in her vision. Turning back, she saw Smithson doing the same, before making brief eye contact, and moving forward into the briefing room. OPERATION CAGED BIRD BRIEFING BDoA DATABASE [Operation Caged Bird] - N/A - BRIEFING (recently updated) - WRITTEN REPORT THE FOLLOWING IS A WRITTEN REPORT WHICH WAS SHOWN DURING DIRECTOR JESSICA¡¯S BRIEFING BEFORE THE COMMENCEMENT OF OPERATION CAGED BIRD. THE OPERATION IS ONGOING. The following is a briefing, of which contains known information and possible operation tactics, concerning Operation Caged Bird. This briefing was provided to Director Jessica [REDACTED] with intent to inform basic staff, lab rats, techies and any EX Agents on the premises of this upcoming operation. With the Bureau, comes safety Basic Information [NOTE: ANY SLANDER TOWARDS THE BUREAU MEMBERS WILL BE MET BY THE REDACTION OF THE STATEMENT FROM RECORD, NO MATTER IF ANY IMPORTANT INFORMATION IS ATTACHED.] A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Anomalous Object Operation Tactics Conclusion The Members of The Bureau wish both Director Jessica [REDACTED] and EX-138 well on their mission to The House, and commend their bravery to tackle the anomaly that they have previously faced before, as well as willingness to face their once fellow EX agent, and neutralize them and the children for the safety of their fellow staff members, the United Kingdom, and the world. *End of briefing* Chapter III In an enclosed, cubicle-like accommodation, Smithson sat at a fold out metal table, of which he had made use of as a desk. The tapping of his pen against the metallic surface rang out through the quiet space. He had made a habit out of tapping and twitching when deep in thought, an action which he detested, but put up with over the years. It was a reflex, a reaction to when he delved too deep in information and memories, such as now. In front of him lay the briefing which Jess had read out to the staff, including him. He had stood in the doorway, nodding and listening as each point was crossed, with breaks in sentences for Jess to confer with the crowd of Techies and miscellaneous employees, in case they had any questions. No one did. But he did. He kept these questions to himself. They served no purpose to ask in front of the crowd. Jess would understand them of course. The probability that she was inside one of these metallic cabins mulling over the same information was practically one hundred percent. But the reason why for both of them deviated slightly, but both started in the same place. Smithson swiftly moved the briefing to the side, grabbing his laptop from the other side of the desk. After a few moments of booting up, encrypting, and searching, Smithson lay his eyes upon the BDoA file for Operation Songbird. Upon looking, a small but present pain crept up and nestled within the base of his forehead, causing him to wince slightly, reaching his hand to his face and rubbing gently. Within him was a small amount of hesitation, a mental block in the form of doubt. He began to question his actions. What exactly was he searching for here? He had made a vow to himself to never touch this document, but why? And why now does he have a small hint of curiosity to pursue past this block? A deep sigh, followed by a quick clench of his hands, led him to the post operation interview. He listened to the log. Then he did it again. And again. The small pain in his forehead had quickly spread to cover his entire head, as if a jackhammer had begun to dig a crater into his skull. He listened again. Every subtle cadence, each fidget, the outrage. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Then it hit him. It had been redacted from the log, but the relevance of what must have been said can¡¯t be understated. He knew who was interviewing him. He knew a member of the Bureau. This couldn¡¯t be. A mathematical impossibility. The members are covered in layers of encryption, lies and deceit. It''s known among EX agents that each member had been an EX beforehand, but no amount of digging into the database will uncover any amount of information regarding this. They knew the company, in and out, and also knew how to evade detection. But Smithson found out. So why can¡¯t he remember? Smithson jolts in pure agony as he collapses from his chair onto the flooring. The pain grew into a splitting sensation, and he could taste blood entering his mouth from his now running nose. Shit shit shit, the time. His arms now heavy, he swung them onto the desk, and scurried for his phone. He grabbed it tightly, and lifted the glowing screen to his eyes. 3:32AM. What? Another wave of pain, unbearable to withstand. Smithson grasped onto his phone tightly, the screen itself beginning to show cracks. His hands shaking, he used his strength to open up his contacts, and called on-staff emergency services. ¡°Its Smithson..I, fuck, not good¡­need help.¡± His phone fell out of his hands as he began to seize up. This was beyond pain. Clenching his eyes closed, he was approached by sudden on-set hallucinations. A choir. An outstretched arm. A strange man in a black suit. A lab. And James, his mouth moving. Wake up, my little songbird. Smithson passed out. Chapter IV ¡°...ulse is at 110BPM. He¡¯s alive.¡± Smithson¡¯s mouth was dry. That''s the only observation he could make. That and the voice of what he deduced to be a man. Late 30s. Smoker, he had a rasp to his speech. That and that his mouth was dry. Two separate observations, only linked by the fact that he was on the floor, groggily waking up from passing out. ¡°The time..¡± Smithson¡¯s voice cracked, his throat devoid of any moisture to help his words sound pleasant. ¡°EX 138, can you hear me?¡± The man asked, before putting up four fingers before Smithson¡¯s eyes. ¡°How many fingers am I holding up?¡±. Smithson glared at the fingers. Four. Four fingers, dry mouth, late 30s smoker. It was the emergency response team he had called. ¡°Four.¡± He replied, slowly sitting upright, stretching his neck and rubbing his head, where it seems the pain he had felt had subsided. ¡°And again, the time?¡±. ¡°5:12AM 138.¡± The ER responded. With some strength regained, Smithson pointed to the draw of his desk. ¡°My pills, they¡¯re in there, and some water please.¡± The ER spent no time delaying, and quickly shot to his feet, making his way to the draw. Another ER respondent, an early 20s woman, knelt down where the previous ER had been. ¡°Director Jessica should be here any minute EX-138.¡± ¡°You told her?¡± He asks. Another worry to add to her shoulders Smithson thought. The last thing this operation needed was more stress. ¡°It''s regulation, I¡¯m afraid.¡± The woman shrugs and gives a wry smile, before being passed the pills Smithson asked for, as well as a glass of water. ¡°Here you go.¡± Dry mouth. Late 30s smoker. Early 20s woman. And now Jess. Downing the pills and water, Smithson repeated this. A grounding technique, something he learnt in MI5 when things got way too much. It was easy to forget that agents were human. He was lucky that he and Jess were assigned together, or else he would¡¯ve gone insane. He chuckles. ¡°The dynamic duo¡±. Just as he mutters this, Jess arrives at the doorway. Shirt untucked, her tie haphazardly knotted around her neck. Her heavy breathing filled the room. ¡°Report, now.¡± It had been a while since Smithson saw Jess so serious, an emotion which, although plastered on her face throughout every interaction, wasn¡¯t put into practice regularly. That face was more of a defence mechanism, something to show authority to hide the fact that, just like everyone else, she had no idea what was going on at the start of each operation. This was among many other reasons, but they were more personal, and Smithson brushed them off. They¡¯re not that duo anymore, it wasn¡¯t his place to pry. ¡°He¡¯s been passed out for around two hours ma¡¯am. Blood coming from the nose. Pupils dilated.¡± The ER stated to Jess (the male ER, that rasp was insistent). Jess nods. ¡°Ok everyone, I need to talk to 138, alone. Leave¡±. In a unison ¡°yes ma¡¯am¡±, the ER packed up, and upon wishing Smithson a fast recovery, left the metallic cabin, closing the door behind them. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Jess I-¡± Smithson starts, hesitating before finding the right words to wrap into a believable lie, ¡°I just forgot to take my meds in time, that''s all, I¡¯m fine, really¡±. Jess remained silent, walking past Smithson and analysing the desk in front of her. The flashing amber light of the laptop¡¯s power button illuminated the keyboard slightly, to which she leant down and pressed the power button, upon which, the screen illuminating, revealed what Smithson had been looking at previously. ¡°Oh that, I was just, doing some extra resear-¡± ¡°You promised you would never view this¡± Jess states, monotone. ¡°You promised yourself.¡± She turns, facing Smithson, who was sitting on the ground, ¡°what changed?¡±. The tension in the air became palpable, as Smithson looked back at Jess¡¯s face. Serious. Actually serious. ¡°It stated in the briefing that it was important to the operation, so I-¡± ¡°Bullshit¡±, Jess snapped. Emotional, and serious. ¡°Bullshit Smithson, you promised on James¡¯s goddamn life you wouldn¡¯t touch this.¡± Smithson stands up. ¡°And? In case you¡¯ve forgotten, that house is the house Jess. If James is in there by any chance, I need to know everything, if that means breaking a promise which, by the way, I made to myself, then I don¡¯t see the issue.¡± ¡°You arrogant prick!¡± Jess moves with pace, and shoves Smithson towards the door, tears forming in her eyes. Smithson was confused. What was the issue here? It wasn¡¯t true, sure, but even if it was, did it really justify this anger? Just before he retaliated, Smithson saw his pen in Jess¡¯s hand, and realised that, somehow, Jess had thrusted a piece of paper into his hand: The cameras. They¡¯re listening. Move outside Smithson looked up at Jess. Then around the room, and the corners, where two CCTV cameras sat, blinking red. How? How did he not notice them before? ¡°Fuck. You.¡± Smithson uttered, his fake anger propelling towards Jess, before grabbing the handle, swinging the door open, and storming outside. *** ¡°You didn¡¯t have to lie, you know?¡± Jess lights a cigarette, and offers one to Smithson, who accepts. ¡°5:15AM, like clockwork. You think I¡¯d believe that shit you cooked up?¡± Smithson chuckled slightly, but his face went blank as soon as he did. He''s tired, very tired. ¡°Just didn¡¯t want you to stress, that''s all.¡± A few moments of silence. ¡°What happened Smithson?¡± Smithson once again hesitated, which had now become a problem. But it felt more like an unwanted reflex, a compulsion, like wanting to place your hand on a stove, something you don¡¯t want to do, but your body forces you too. ¡°I listened to the log. It¡¯s wrong.¡± Jess¡¯s face twitches in confusion. ¡°Wrong? What do you mean?¡± ¡°I knew a member¡¯s name. I don¡¯t know any of their names. But I did, I said it. I said something I don¡¯t know.¡± Smithson took a deep drag of his cigarette, sighing it back out into the cold October air. ¡°After that?¡± ¡°Pain.¡± Smithson utters. ¡°Unbearable pain. And¡­visions.¡± Jess turns towards him. ¡°Shit Smithson, visions? Fuck. How? The base should be in-line with baseline reality, the veritas readers should¡¯ve gone off! This could be a breach of safety!¡± ¡°James was there.¡± ¡°...what?¡± ¡°A choir. An outstretched hand. A lab. A man in a black suit. And James¡±. Smithson tilts his head slightly, letting out another breath of smoke. ¡°He was speaking. I didn¡¯t pick it all up, but I made out one sentence. Wake up, my little songbird.¡± Jess was panicked. She didn¡¯t show it, but Smithson could feel it, as if her aura suddenly shifted. ¡°Smithson, you could be at serious risk. I can request your termination from the operation if nee-¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to bed¡±. Smithson abruptly put out his cigarette, and headed back into the cabin. He turns towards Jess before closing the door. ¡°And I¡¯m getting to the bottom of this, and I need your help to do so.¡± The door shuts. Jess sighs, a small smile creeps up on her face. Not joyous, but sad, panicked, but relieved. ¡°Of course you do.¡± She blows out smoke, looking up at the clear autumn sky, the moon glowing pure white above. ¡°The dynamic duo.¡± She chuckles, puts out her cigarette, and walks off. Chapter V October 5th. Five days since his initial reconnaissance. And cold, bitterly so. Smithson¡¯s hands shake as he fits them into some Bureau mandated gloves. They had a leather exterior, with the interior housing a soft white fluff which instantly warmed up his hands. Even so, Smithson¡¯s hands remain shaking. He reaches down to his belt line and tightens the holster on his side, which now housed a spare storage space, which a Veritas Reader sat in. He takes it out, and switches it on, the 90s like green radar appearing on screen, with a numerical indicator on the bottom. 5V. Expected. Some techies set up some Veritas Stabilisers around the vicinity of the house, which helps bring the distortion down. But like all anomalies, it never hits zero, not at first anyways. He sighs, switches it off, and stores it back on his side. Then he stands. Waiting. Tapping his hands against his side, and looking. The house looked back, as if the windows blinked and the open maw in the wall where he stood was an open mouth. He felt like Jonah, about to be swallowed whole by the whale. Since when was he so¡­philosophical? He thinks back to that night. The visions. The pain. Something within it all bothered him the most though. Weakness. A sudden vulnerability, out of his control. As if he was playing a video game, and the controller disconnected during a boss fight. A childish metaphor, he thought. It was that weakness that brought about the events of Songbird. What happened to James, to Jess. All of a sudden, through this flood of emotion, he realised that, after all these years, he had only started to think critically of all these events recently. They were somehow caged in his mind, and something triggered the door to be unlocked. No, he thought, the door has been fully blown from the hinges. Not that it matters now, he thought. Right now, he stood before what could be the answer. The answer to it all. Jess had woken him this morning. After last night''s events, he imagined it would be some sort of notification of termination. He was a risk after all. Not even the meds could keep the episodes away anymore, one sudden seizure and that''s it. Vulnerability. Weakness. He wasn¡¯t an asset anymore. He was a liability. Jess however, thought different: Smithson, Below you¡¯ll see an updated briefing document. These changes are now permanent, and have been sent around to all staff employed on this operation. That was it, a simple message. Below, an encrypted link for the new briefing. Upon scanning it, Smithson chuckled, setting his phone down, taking his pills, and arriving where he is now. Waiting. ¡°Hey.¡± Behind him, walking at a quickened pace towards the maw in the wall, was Jess. She had donned her old EX uniform, a military-like vestment, with matching camouflage trousers, fitted with an obscene amount of pockets. On her side was a fitted holster, with a mandated colt .45, and Veritas reader. She looked tired, as did he, with her hair tied in a messy ponytail, and tinted glasses, which she placed upon her nose after arriving. ¡°Hey.¡± Smithson replied. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The two stood for a few minutes, taking in the scene before them, both being either too nervous to speak, or letting the environment speak for them. Smithson breaks the silence. ¡°Took me up on my offer then?¡± He queries, putting on a faint smile. ¡°You made quite the compelling argument.¡± Jess replies. They both share a small laugh, before returning to silence. ¡°Are you sure this is a good idea? Just us two?¡± Smithson turns his head to face Jess, who stays staring stoically into the house. ¡°I mean, maybe just one more person in case I, you know.¡± ¡°They put us here. You surely have figured that out?¡± Jess mentions, to which Smithson nodded ¡°I mean they didn¡¯t make it not obvious, yeah.¡± ¡°So,¡± Jess continues, ¡°we¡¯re just giving the members the entertainment they wanted.¡± Jess doesn¡¯t move her gaze from the house. Fixated on the opening. She rubs her right arm. ¡°I still feel it, you know?¡± She states, ¡°it was¡­effortless, like pulling a Christmas cracker. He just¡­pulled.¡± ¡°I know.¡± Smithson replies, ¡°but that wasn¡¯t James. Mentally anyway.¡± ¡°And if it was?¡± Jess¡¯s voice quivers slightly, ¡°I know what these fucking things are capable of doing to the mind but, but what if he just, accepted it? Fully mentally sound.¡± Smithson pondered this question, but shook his head. ¡°No, not James. He was always too goddamn humble to accept any sort of¡­well, anything.¡± Jess smiles. ¡°Yeah, true.¡± Silence. ¡°Did you ever forget?¡± Smithson asks. ¡°Like, one day you just woke up, ate, wrote documents and then realised that it''s already 8:00PM and you haven¡¯t thought about it all?¡± Jess shakes her head. ¡°You don¡¯t forget something like that. Not fully.¡± Silence. ¡°I did.¡± Smithson said, laughing out of the pure insanity of it all. ¡°I forgot. I forgot about James, about how he ripped your fucking arm off. How he almost killed me, How I lost my best friend to a group of singing children in some dingy fucking basement in the middle of Kent.¡± Smithson continues, his ranting becoming more expressive, ¡°and then suddenly, the same goddamn house appears, years later, and it all comes back. All of it. Not like some sort of traumatic memory that''s buried, but as if, in my sleep, they were injected into me, and I woke up with it all in my head. How do you forget that? How do you forget about the one moment where your own weakness fucke-¡± Smithson stops at the sight of Jess¡¯s face, wrinkles of worry sprouting upon her face. He clears his throat. ¡°Sorry. This is all just¡­¡± He trails off. ¡°Insane.¡± Jess finishes. Moments pass. ¡°We will get our answers, Smithson.¡± She encourages. ¡°We both will.¡± Smithson smiles, about to reply, before a sharp static hits both of their ears. This is comms checking in. Green light, I repeat green light. Good luck agent, director. Both reply with a stern copy, Smithson equipping his revolver, and Jess grabbing both the Colt .45 and Veritas Reader, flicking it on, and clicking the safety off. This was it. ¡°You really think James is still in there?¡± Jess queried. Smithson didn¡¯t know if she meant in the literal sense, or mentally. He smiled, cocking his revolver and taking the first step. ¡°The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, or a Hell of Heaven.¡± Chapter VI Compared to the outside, the innards of the house hadn''t faced the sort of decay its foundations had. Upon stepping through the maw which had opened up the eastern wall, both Smithson and Jess were faced with an environment they had onced tackled, but in a much organised fashion. The broken wall belonged to the dining area of the house, of which, during Operation Songbird, was completely devastated, covered in growths of black mould. These infected clumps gathered in groups around the corners of the room, where settlers of their civilization had dotted up and round the surrounding walls, tearing through the wallpaper. Now however, the dining room had a cleansing shine to it. Furniture once infested with termites showed no holes or scratching, instead, having been lined with some sort of oil, gave spotlight to every grain in its structure. The cracked floorboards were restored to a beautiful dark brown shade, and the wallpaper had been dipped in saturation, with beautiful red rose petals dotting the patterning. Jess walks a few more steps, before a light crunch from beneath her causes her to stop and look down. Lifting her shoe, she notices a now broken piece of the destroyed wall, rotted. She takes a deep sigh, rubbing her arm before walking beside Smithson. She notices his expression. Deep. Lost in thought. No, she thought, memories, but not like her. She had mastered the waves that these memories created, creating nothing but ripples. But for Smithson, this sudden flood of information he had once lost, had begun to crash over him. He never enjoyed admitting when he felt vulnerable, so he just stood, a stoic like expression, trying to swim against the sudden current. Jess began to reach her hand out to him. "Give me the Veritas reading Jess." Her hand halted halfway from his shoulder, hovering in the air. She slowly pulled her hand away, flicking on the Veritas reader she held in the other. "We''ve shot up to 12V." She states. Smithson pinches at the bridge of his nose. Jess notices his hand, clenching and shaking, before slowly releasing whatever energy it held. "To be expected, I mean look at this place. Pretty much brand new." This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. Saying this, Smithson treads over towards the dining table. Though the floorboards looked brand new, each step gave the impression of an imminent collapse, as if the house was waiting, a predator, stalking its prey before opening up and engulfing them both. The thought which occupied the front of Smithson''s mind however, was the lone plate and cutlery idly waiting at the far end of the table. "You two ok in there?" A sharp shot of static pierced the ears of Smithson. It rang out through his skull, and reverberated off the walls of the house. He stumbles, grabbing at his face, and placing his other hand upon the wooden table for stability. In that moment, the tip of his middle finger gently pressed against the metallic fork, producing a sudden shock through his system, bringing him to his knees. He winces through gritted teeth, clenching his eyes shut. *** A man sits at the end of the table. Thin. His muscles protrude through his skin, which is pale white. His hands hold the knife and fork beside the plate, which has the remains of food upon it. His fingernails are grotesquely long, yellowed and cracked, and his hair is thinning. On his face is a bird-like mask. In front of him, stands a taller man. Unlike the others, he is stocky and well built. Upon him is a camo long sleeved shirt, overtop a thick vestment of kevlar. An embroidered logo sits on the right sleeve, a darkened, bold ''B'', entrapped within two squares, slightly overlapping. This was the Bureau logo. This was James. He looks out towards the campsite, his face relaxed, periodically wrinkling as he places a lit cigarette in his mouth, pursing his lips and blowing the smoke out. "And they can''t see us here?" James turns towards the masked man, who looks up, shakes his head, and looks back down at his plate. James sighs, muttering "not much of a talker are you" to himself, before turning back towards the campsite, not focusing on any particular area, but just staring at the site as a whole. He remembers the site during his last operation. The bustle of staff, the bundles of multi-coloured wires lining the site. And his quarters, right by Smithson and Jess. The Dynamic Duo. Back then anyways. He would feel guilty about their marriage if he was truly at fault. Jess probably believes that his disappearance led to their sudden split. Smithson...He doesn''t know what Smithson thinks. His brain must be frying under the sudden surge of memories. A sudden choir begins to sing from the basement. The masked man stands, placing his knife and fork gently back down by the sides of the plate, and gestures towards the basement door. James pauses, sighs out a cloud of smoke, and throws the cigarette bud under the table. "And this will show me to him? No bullshit?" The masked man nods. From the other side of the table, another mask lay awaiting James. He reaches for it, placing it gently upon his head. "Time for my little songbird to wake up." ***