《The Specialist Logs》 Prologue Prologue | Athena Hailway The observation deck is quieter than normal. Nobody¡¯s clacking at their keyboards or scrolling quickly on their mouses to find their target. No, everyone¡¯s just staring at their screens. I¡¯m no different, because I, like the other girls here, have been told to. Today is special. Today we don¡¯t have to observe our boring target¡¯s every-day lives. Today we examine a real criminal. Today we interrogate him and find out why he did what he did. What did he do? I think to myself; I shake off the thought before my mind ever comes to an answer. ¡°Athena,¡± my instructor says, ¡°press your probe key, and see if his skin reacts. I have a hunch he¡¯s not human.¡± I find the space bar on my keyboard and press it quickly. Clack. The criminal shivers in reaction to the violent shock. I see his skin flickering different shades with some grotesque lumps that started appearing, obvious signs that this criminal is not human. ¡±Well,¡± The girl beside me begins, ¡°He¡¯s a shifter alright, how could you tell, Mrs. Saspur?¡± The rest of the observation deck begins erupting with noise, asking the same question. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. ¡°His movements were,¡± She pauses, ¡°questionable at best. These aliens have no idea what it¡¯s like to move like a human, and that¡¯s why we don¡¯t leave them space in the colonies, especially not the Center¡± Suddenly, a small ringing noise came from my computer, as if it was drawing me to it. My computer showed a different image than everyone else¡¯s. There¡¯s a second man on my computer, in a suit and tie. Then it dawns on me, the man has a gun. I nudge the girl to my right, ¡°Are you seeing this?¡± and she replies cluelessly. Maybe it¡¯s a sign. I watch the man in the suit. His steps seem so calm and premeditated, everything about him seems precise. Somehow, he¡¯s so sharp that the alien doesn¡¯t recognize the danger behind it. My hand hovers over the probe key, but I hesitate, something nagging at me in the back of my mind. The criminal¡¯s movements grow erratic, his skin flickering between shades. The atmosphere feels charged, like the calm before a storm. Then¡­ Crack! The alien falls onto the ground in the enclosed area, which I¡¯m still trying to figure out how the other man got in to. My thoughts race when, in the blink of an eye, the man vanishes in a flash of light. Suddenly, all the other girl¡¯s computers cut to pitch darkness, then cut to the real footage, the footage I¡¯ve been staring at since it came up. The silence in the observation deck is deafening now, as everyone else looks at the same thing I see: the corpse. I don¡¯t know what I saw, and I can''t unsee it. There¡¯s more going on here, I can feel it. Chapter 1 Chapter 1 | Jason Allen So, Jenny,¡± I ask my twin sister, ¡°what¡¯s the plan for the opener?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll kick things off with Whirlwind,¡± she says. ¡°Then I¡¯ll talk a bit more.¡± ¡°You always do the talking,¡± Kage, our guitarist and my best friend, complains. ¡°When do we get to be the stars of the show?¡± I chuckle while tuning my snare drum, tapping along the edge to make sure the sound is even. Jenny laughs at his comment, and Paige, our bassist, shakes her head with a grin. After finishing tuning our instruments and a bit of warming up, the crowd had seemingly flooded in, snapping pictures and starting chants, leaving us ready to start. ¡°Hello, Seven!¡± The crowd erupts with yelling, applause, and whistling. Jenny continues, ¡°It¡¯s great to see you all here! We¡¯re ready to have a great show for you guys here at The Drop! The deepest place in the World, and the only place in Seven with power past the curfew!¡± The crowd yells louder this time, they¡¯re chomping at our feet for some music. Yet, out of the blue to the audience but all the more familiar to us, Jenny slows down before we start playing, ¡°But, real quick y¡¯all, can we have a moment to recognize the brave members of our community who are going out of these walls to fight the aliens that put us in here!¡± The crowd roars with passion and pride for the Colonies, then Jenny continues, ¡°And can we take a moment to sympathize with the families that lost their children, parents, siblings, and spouses to these threats out there.¡± The crowd quickly dies down, their volume going down to a whisper, I notice Jenny¡¯s hand pointing at me, slightly higher, indicating it¡¯s almost time. I hit my sticks together after Jenny drops her hand, counting off with a ¡°One, two, three, four!¡± * * * What feels like an eternity later, we finally take our intermission. We''ve played half our set, and now we need a break. Kage and I make a bet: whoever gets to the third floor and grabs nachos first wins. I, of course, know a shortcut. As I¡¯m running up the backstage stairs, I hear footsteps above me. That doesn¡¯t make sense. No shot Kage knows this shortcut! But as I reach the third floor, I spot someone else entirely. There¡¯s a guy in a suit, leaning casually against the railing. He looks to be in his early to mid-twenties, just a year or two older than me. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. He notices me and smirks. ¡°Jason Allen.¡± His voice is calm, deliberate. ¡°You got a minute?¡± I slow my steps. It¡¯s not normal for random fans to know my full name, but maybe it¡¯s out there somewhere. Tag Club isn¡¯t a nobody band. Still, something about the way he says it makes me uneasy. ¡°I¡¯ve got a minute if you¡¯re walking to the nacho stand with me.¡± He checks his watch, then nods, falling in step beside me. As we head through the door, I catch a strange glint on his right hand. A silver ring, its surface faintly glowing blue in my peripheral vision, but when I look directly at it, the glow is gone. ¡°Jason, have you ever felt like you¡¯re missing something?¡± The question confuses me. ¡°Missing what? Money? Fame? A better drum kit?¡± ¡°Think bigger,¡± he says. ¡°You spend your days playing music and hanging out with your friends. That¡¯s nice, but don¡¯t you ever feel like there should be more?¡± I scoff. ¡°I like simple.¡± ¡°What you call simple, I call incomplete.¡± That one sticks. It feels less like he¡¯s trying to convince me and more like he¡¯s saying something I¡¯ve thought before but never admitted. ¡°Jason, what if I offered you a job?¡± I stop walking. ¡°Who are you? And why are you offering me a job?¡± He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring identical to his. ¡°Hold onto this for me.¡± He keeps walking ahead like this is no big deal. ¡°You still didn¡¯t answer me.¡± He glances back. ¡°Holden Brown.¡± He gestures toward the ring in my hand. ¡°And I think you¡¯ll want that sooner than you realize.¡± He gets further ahead, and I¡¯m just standing there, he turns back, ¡°We¡¯ve got nachos to get, no?¡± I quickly catch up to him, ¡°Holden, I became a drummer to be free from jobs. Why would I want to take a job from some dude I met in a stairwell?¡± ¡°This job is unlike anything you think I¡¯m offering.¡± ¡°Judging by your suit it¡¯s exactly what I think you¡¯re offering.¡± ¡°Jason,¡± he places his hand on my shoulder, ¡°I need you to take this job. So many things are resting on your shoulders and you don¡¯t even know it.¡± I flip the ring around in my hands, I don¡¯t feel like I should put it on yet. ¡°Why is it up to me if I¡¯m still just the drummer for my band?¡± ¡°That ring I gave you,¡± Holden continues. ¡°When you finally give in and put it on, slide the middle section down. That¡¯s how you¡¯ll get your answer.¡± ¡°And what, you can¡¯t just tell me now?¡± He scans the hallway. ¡°Too many ears.¡± I let out a short laugh. ¡°What are you, some kind of spy?¡± ¡°I¡¯m an agent to an Agency only known by it¡¯s Agents,¡± he says, his riddle makes me think for a bit, ¡°And I hope you will be soon.¡± His face is dead serious. Then, he leans in slightly and lowers his voice. ¡°I¡¯m a bounty hunter.¡± The words are so absurd I can¡¯t help but snort. ¡°A bounty hunter? In the colonies?¡± I shake my head. ¡°Sure. Whatever you say, man.¡± Holden doesn¡¯t argue. He just reaches out his hand for a shake. ¡°I¡¯ll be seeing you. Hopefully sooner rather than later.¡± I shake it, still skeptical, and watch him disappear down the hall. The ring feels heavier in my hand now. I flip it between my fingers, debating. He¡¯s messing with me. He has to be. I shake it off and head toward the nacho stand, stuffing the ring into my pocket. When I finally spot Kage, he¡¯s already standing there with two plates of nachos. ¡°Dude,¡± he says, handing me one, ¡°what took you so long?¡± I take a bite, glancing back at the hallway I just came from. ¡°You have no idea.¡± Chapter 2 Chapter 2 | Dakota Williamson ¡°Oh, Kota, you look great!¡± Mams pinches my cheek, grinning ear to ear. I try not to wince, but she¡¯s got a strong grip for someone her age. My grandpa chuckles from his chair, watching with a knowing smile. ¡°I told you he¡¯d clean up nice,¡± Pops says, arms crossed over his chest. ¡°Kid¡¯s a Williamson, after all.¡± Mams finally releases me, straightening the collar of my jacket. Today¡¯s the day. The induction ceremony for the 4th Colony¡¯s new military recruits is right around the corner. I glance at the mirror behind her and barely recognize myself in the ceremonial uniform. It¡¯s crisp, the deep green fabric tailored to fit just right. The gold accents gleam under the living room lights. It looks just like my dad¡¯s old uniforms. ¡°Thanks, Mams,¡± I say with a smile, trying not to let my nerves show. I point to a framed photograph on the counter, the one from my dad¡¯s induction day. He¡¯s standing tall in his uniform, grinning in the same way I am now. ¡°I know where I get it from.¡± A familiar pang settles in my chest. My father should be here for this. But he¡¯s not. After my dad disappeared, I made it my mission to join the military and find out what happened to him. Maybe it¡¯s foolish since no one¡¯s been able to track him down for over a decade. But I have to try. My grandparents have never questioned me on it, never tried to steer me in a different direction. They¡¯ve been my biggest supporters from the moment I announced my plans. Pops sighs, rubbing his graying beard. ¡°Your father was one of the best soldiers this colony¡¯s ever had. Just like my old man, just like me.¡± He pats my shoulder. ¡°And I have no doubt you¡¯ll carry on that legacy.¡± ¡°Your parents would be so proud, Kota.¡± Mams steps forward and pulls me into a hug, holding on tight. ¡°And we are too.¡± I hug her back, feeling the warmth of her embrace. I know they mean it. * * * The aqua-rail station is packed with recruits and their families, all waiting for the train to the Center Colony. The air is filled with chatter, nervous excitement, and the occasional clatter of luggage being wheeled across the platform. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. My grandpa has his phone out, scrolling through old photos with a fond expression. Every few minutes, he shoves the screen in my direction. ¡°Look at this one,¡± he says, showing me a blurry shot of him and his buddies on their own induction day. Their uniforms were a darker shade of green back then- forest green instead of the Dartmouth hue mine and my father¡¯s had been. ¡°Back in my day, the ceremony was a little less flashy. Less speeches, more action. But it¡¯s good to see some traditions still stick.¡± Mams shakes her head. ¡°You say that like you weren¡¯t standing at attention, shaking in your boots.¡± Pops scoffs. ¡°I was composed.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure you were.¡± The announcement chime echoes through the station, signaling the rail¡¯s approach. ¡°We¡¯ve got a moment before the rail gets here. Let¡¯s take a picture!¡± Pops says, already opening his camera app. ¡°It won¡¯t be your induction day forever.¡± I nod, standing between them as we pose for the shot. Mams beams with pride, her grip firm on my arm. Pops gives a confident smile. I try to match their enthusiasm, but my mind is already on the ceremony ahead. The rail glides into the station with a low hum, water cascading off the sleek metal exterior. Steam hisses as the doors slide open, revealing rows of cushioned seats inside. We step in, finding a spot near the window. The aquarails were one of the first inventions they taught us about in school. The colonies are separated by reinforced walls and towering pillars, designed to keep the ocean at bay. When the colonies were first built, those same structures became the foundation for a high-speed transportation system. Water pressure fuels the rail system, pushing the cars along the overhead tracks like veins through the city. The Center Colony is the hub¡ªevery train passes through it before continuing to its next destination. Luckily for us, that¡¯s exactly where we need to go. The ride is smooth, the faint vibrations of the rail humming beneath my feet. Through the window, I catch glimpses of the ocean beyond the colony walls, shimmering under the afternoon sun. The sight always reminds me of my dad. Twelve years. That¡¯s how long he¡¯s been gone. The official reports say he disappeared in action, but no one ever found a body. No traces, no solid leads. Just¡­ gone. I clench my fists, determination settling in my gut. I won¡¯t let his story end like that. Twenty minutes later, the rail slows as we approach the Center Colony. The skyline is different here. Taller buildings, flashing billboards, and I sense a bit of authority woven into its architecture. The heart of the colonies. The place where decisions are made, where futures are shaped. And where mine is about to begin. Chapter 3 Chapter 3 | Athena Hailway Two hours. It¡¯s been two hours since I saw that man kill that alien. Two hours, and I still don¡¯t have any answers. Two hours, and I haven¡¯t had the guts to tell anyone else what I saw. The streets of the Center Colony are quiet in the dark evening, illuminated by the soft white glow of overhead streetlights. The city is always pristine, too pristine. It¡¯s like someone is constantly sweeping away the messes left by the rich before anyone can see them. The only sound I hear is the steady rhythm of my footsteps against the pavement, a faint echo bouncing off the towering government buildings that line the streets. My thoughts churn like the waves outside the walls. There should have been more of a reaction, shouldn¡¯t there? A dead alien in the middle of the Observation Chamber, and yet, by the time I was sent home, it had already faded into the background like any other piece of classified intel. Just another note in the system. Observed. Logged. Forgotten. Exactly as we were taught. I reach my front door, its dark wood worn smooth from years of use. The familiar creak of the hinges feels louder in the still night. Before I can take another step inside, a blur of fur barrels into my legs. ¡°Ollie,¡± I mutter with a smile, rubbing my dog¡¯s head as he wags his tail excitedly. At least someone is happy to see me. I maneuver carefully around stacks of my father¡¯s books, scattered haphazardly across the entryway in uneven piles. They weren¡¯t here a week ago¡ªhe must have moved them from his office. I glance at a few titles. Ballistics and Modern Warfare. The Ethics of Defense. Thick, dense technical manuals filled with knowledge I don¡¯t quite understand. I know my dad designs weapons. I know he works for the government. What I don¡¯t know is where those weapons end up. The military supposedly operates outside the walls, protecting the colonies from unseen dangers, but I¡¯ve never seen proof of that. No public deployments. No major conflicts. No enemy reports. Maybe the other half of the population needs them on Mars. I¡¯ve always told myself it¡¯s better not to ask. Better to accept that some things are above me. But after today, I don¡¯t think I can ignore it anymore. As I walk past my dad¡¯s office, I catch a glimpse of him hunched over his desk, papers and blueprints scattered across the surface. The dim desk lamp casts long shadows across his face, highlighting the deep creases in his brow. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°Hey, Dad,¡± I say, leaning against the doorway. He doesn¡¯t look up. Instead, he lifts a single finger¡ªhis usual ¡®one second, I¡¯m busy¡¯ gesture. I cross my arms, exhaling sharply. It¡¯s exactly what I expected. It¡¯s what happens every day. After a moment, he finally looks at me. ¡°How was your day, Athena?¡± His voice is practically monotone, like is emotions are detached from his mouth. My dad has always spoken like a man who values efficiency above all else. Conversations with him feel more like data collection than actual dialogue. ¡°It was fine, but¡­¡± I hesitate. Would he even care? ¡°The criminal we were observing today-¡± He cuts me off. ¡°Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. How did the investigation go? Was he an alien?¡± I clench my jaw and exhale slowly, willing myself to stay calm. I hate when people interrupt me. ¡°Yeah, he was an alien. But that¡¯s not the point. He was killed.¡± Dad sits up straighter. ¡°Killed? Are you alright?¡± ¡°Dad, I¡¯m fine. But someone got into the Observation Chamber and killed him.¡± ¡°Why isn¡¯t this on the news?¡± He¡¯s already pulling out his phone, scrolling through headlines without waiting for an answer. After a few seconds, he sets it down, shaking his head. ¡°That¡¯s bizarre.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not on the news because, to my knowledge, I¡¯m the only one who saw it.¡± His expression hardens. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Everyone else¡¯s screens¡­ froze. It was like the killer wanted everyone to miss it. Except me.¡± A long silence stretches between us. My dad¡¯s face is unreadable, but I can feel the gears turning in his head. ¡°So, you just¡­ watched him kill the alien?¡± His voice is edged with something I can¡¯t quite place. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say or do anything?¡± I open my mouth, but no words come out. Why didn¡¯t I? It¡¯s what I¡¯ve been trained for. It¡¯s what I should have done. It¡¯s the right move. But I didn¡¯t. And now, the only person I¡¯ve told is my father. ¡°I think¡­¡± My voice falters. ¡°I think I was afraid.¡± His expression darkens. ¡°Athena, fear isn¡¯t an option in a military setting.¡± His tone strikes a nerve. I narrow my eyes. ¡°Is that what you tell yourself?¡± My voice is colder than I mean it to be, but I don¡¯t stop. ¡°You sit behind a desk all day making bombs, and you have the nerve to tell me not to be afraid when I see something that I¡¯ve been told ¡®can¡¯t happen,¡¯ happen? Right in front of me?¡± His lips press into a thin line. ¡°Athena, you have no idea how much of this I do for you.¡± ¡°And those bombs?¡± I press. ¡°Do you ever stop to think about where they go? Who they¡¯re used on?¡± He exhales sharply, but there¡¯s something different in his expression now. A flicker of something. Is it regret? Or guilt? ¡°Yes,¡± he says finally. ¡°I think about it all the time. And yes, I¡¯m scared to see how they¡¯re used. I¡¯m scared all the time. But I tell myself that I can¡¯t be.¡± ¡°Well, I was. I was afraid.¡± For a brief moment, he looks at me. He really looks at me. Then he stands up and grabs his coat. ¡°I have to meet some people for dinner,¡± he says, already walking past me. ¡°I won¡¯t be home until late.¡± He doesn¡¯t wait for a response. Doesn¡¯t try to smooth things over. Just keeps walking. ¡°I¡¯ll see you in the morning.¡± I don¡¯t give him the satisfaction of replying. I just turn and walk into my room, dropping my schoolwork onto my desk. My mind is already drifting away from the alien, from the man who killed him, from the silence of the Observation Chamber. I hope that feeling stays. Chapter 4 Chapter 4 | Jason Allen It¡¯s eating me up inside. As I walk home tonight, my thoughts are consumed by that ring. What is it? Why did he give it to me? It feels heavier than it should, like it''s carrying some kind of weight beyond its physical form. I keep turning it over between my fingers, searching for any clue, any hidden mechanism. I¡¯ve worked up the courage to put it on, but nothing has happened. No spark, no shift, no change. Just cold metal against my skin. I keep staring at the middle section, running my thumb over it. Holden said to slide it down, but a knot of uncertainty tightens in my chest. What if it broadcasts my location? What if it records my every move, my every word? What if it¡¯s some kind of trick, something I won¡¯t be able to undo? But despite my fears, something stronger drives me forward¡ªcuriosity. The need to know. The feeling that my life is static, stuck, and that this might be my only way out of the cycle I¡¯ve been trapped in. I¡¯m going to use the ring. I have to. My sister and the rest of the band are out partying tonight after their show, but I couldn¡¯t bring myself to join them. Not with this clawing at the back of my mind. Every step I take down these dimly lit streets feels urgent, my heartbeat rising to match my pace. The streetlights flicker above me, casting long shadows. Every so often, I catch a faint blue glimmer from the ring out of the corner of my eye, like a pulse of light trying to escape from within. But every time I raise my hand to look, it vanishes, retreating into the depths of the metal like it¡¯s waiting for me to decide. By the time I reach my house, my nerves are buzzing. I open the door as quietly as I can, careful not to wake my parents, and slip upstairs. My hands are shaking as I reach my room. I shut the door behind me and lean against it for a moment, inhaling deeply. This is it. I hold my hand up, examining the ring one last time. The middle section is subtly darker, etched with a pattern that doesn¡¯t match the rest. My thumb hovers over it. Just one movement, and I¡¯ll have my answer. But I hesitate. My breathing is uneven. This is what I wanted, isn¡¯t it? I¡¯ve been waiting for this moment, but suddenly, I feel like I¡¯m standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure if there¡¯s solid ground on the other side. But I can¡¯t stay here forever. I have to see it through. My life isn¡¯t what I want it to be, right? So, why not take the risk? Slowly, I press my thumb against the middle section and slide it down. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. Click. Nothing happens. I frown, my pulse still racing. Did I do it wrong? I hold it down, waiting for something, anything. But the room remains the same. My breath leaves me in a shaky sigh. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it¡¯s just a normal ring, some elaborate joke Holden played on me. Disappointment washes over me. I release my thumb, and the middle section snaps back into place. Click. A blinding white light engulfs everything. I stumble back, arms raised, but there¡¯s nothing to shield myself from. My room is gone. The walls, the furniture, the floor¡ªall of it swallowed by an endless expanse of pure white. My breath catches. The air feels weightless, unreal. The only thing that remains is me¡ªand the ring, still wrapped around my finger. Where am I? What just happened? A sudden grip on my arm jolts me. I whip my head around, heart hammering, and see Holden standing beside me. His face splits into a grin as the white void around us shatters like glass, revealing something far more impossible. A massive building materializes in an instant, like it was always there, just waiting for me to see it. People move all around us, climbing grand staircases, stepping into sleek elevators, and talking in hushed yet urgent voices. Some are dressed in suits, others in variations with bowties or vests. I quickly notice a pattern: most suits are plain, some have white pocket squares, but Holden¡¯s stands out with a striking blue one tucked neatly in his breast pocket. And then I notice the weapons. Guns, swords, enormous hammers strapped across backs. Spears, bows, axes, rifles. Every deadly instrument I can think of is carried openly, as if they belong here. As if this place was built for them. ¡°That was fast!¡± Holden exclaims with his grip still firm on my arm. ¡°Didn¡¯t expect you until at least Tuesday!¡± Laughter ripples through the group around him. I barely process it, my mind still scrambling to catch up. My mouth is dry as I force out the only question that matters. ¡°Where am I?¡± The laughter dies. Holden clears his throat and straightens up, his smirk lingering. ¡°Jason, welcome to the Agency.¡± I blink. ¡°The Agency?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± ¡°What is this place?¡± ¡°I told you, didn¡¯t I?¡± He gestures broadly, motioning to the bustling scene before me. ¡°I¡¯m a bounty hunter. And this,¡± his smile grows, ¡°is my bounty hunting agency.¡± I take a step back. ¡°Where are we?¡± Holden folds his arms, his expression turning more serious. ¡°The Agency exists outside of space and time. So, technically, we are just... in the Agency.¡± I stare at him, my thoughts running in circles. ¡°So, this place... doesn¡¯t exist?¡± He shakes his head. ¡°Quite the opposite, Jason. It exists everywhere, every-when, and it holds everything you will need as a bounty hunter.¡± The words make my skin crawl. I shake my head. ¡°Hold on. Bounty hunter? When did I agree to be a bounty hunter?¡± Holden smirks, turning to walk. ¡°You agree later. You aren¡¯t there yet, Jason.¡± My stomach twists. ¡°This place, if it even exists, is made to hunt who exactly?¡± Holden keeps walking, motioning for me to follow. ¡°Come with me, and I¡¯ll answer your questions.¡± I don¡¯t move at first. My mind is screaming at me to turn back, to find a way out of this madness. But then I look at the people around me, at the sheer impossibility of this place. And despite everything, I find my feet moving forward. Answers are what I came for, and answers are what I¡¯m going to get.