"You really shouldn't be doing this now," I found myself whispering, the words barely escaping my lips as I trudged forward, each step a testament to my determination—or perhaps my folly. The dull throb in my head had blossomed into a relentless pounding, a rhythmic reminder of the whiskey's potency and the emotional weight of the evening's memorial. Yet, against the better judgment that the whiskey had dulled, I found myself on the precipice of infiltrating Killerton Enterprises, armed with nothing but an access card whose acquisition tread dangerously close to the line of legality.
The risk was palpable, a shadow that stretched long and ominous before me. Yet, it was the words of Clivilius, enigmatic and haunting, that propelled me forward. Death is but a mere process, and when we learn to master that process, we will master death itself. These words, though cryptic, resonated with a frequency that vibrated through my very core. They hinted at knowledge, at secrets that Killerton Enterprises might be harbouring—secrets that could unravel the mysteries we faced or perhaps entangle us further.
As I moved, the world around me seemed both vivid and distant. "Your coffee, sir," I overheard a young waitress chirp, her voice cutting through the fog of my thoughts. The sound of her voice, the clink of porcelain on wood, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee—it all beckoned with a siren's call, promising a brief respite from the storm that raged within me.
For a moment, I found myself rooted to the spot, caught between the urgency of my mission and the simple, human yearning for comfort. The allure of caffeine, of a moment's pause to gather my thoughts and steel my resolve, was a temptation that tugged at the edges of my resolve.
My eyes, bleary from the night's indulgences and the weight of the task ahead, lingered on the open coffee shop. The scene before me, so ordinary and yet so inviting, became a tableau of what I was momentarily forsaking—a chance to breathe, to recalibrate before diving into the unknown depths of Killerton Enterprises.
The cool breeze that caressed my face was a gentle reprieve, a natural contrast to the warm flush that the whiskey had painted across my cheeks. It was a moment of clarity, a whisper from the universe inviting me to contemplate the path I was about to take. The decision to move forward, to delve into the heart of Killerton Enterprises in search of answers, was mine to make. Yet, in that brief interlude, the world seemed to hold its breath, offering me a chance to reconsider, to weigh the cost of the knowledge I sought against the toll it might exact.
The path I chose, or perhaps the one that chose me, demanded sacrifices that cut deep into the fabric of my very existence. Telling my family about Clivilius or the Guardians was a line I could never cross, a forbidden revelation that could unravel the fragile balance I desperately clung to. And so, with a heart heavy with unspoken truths, I began the painful process of distancing myself from those I held dearest. After the death of my parents—a loss that tore through me like a storm—I reached out one last time, through letters that bore the weight of finality, before I receded into the shadows of their lives.
My youngest sister, her heart shattered by my sudden absence, respected my last request with a solemnity that only deepened my guilt. No missing person report was filed; she became the keeper of my secret, ensuring that my disappearance remained a mystery. Her dedication to my wish, even as it broke her, was a testament to our bond, one that I severed with a silent apology whispered to the stars. Over time, her efforts to find me waned until they ceased altogether, a reluctant acceptance of my vanishing act.
In my quest to become a ghost among men, I eradicated every trace of my existence in the tangible world. Bank accounts closed, digital footprints erased—I became an enigma, a shadow flitting through the bustling crowds, unseen and untraceable. This anonymity was my armour, a necessary shield against forces that would exploit any tether to my old life.
But survival in the shadows came at a cost, a relentless yearning for a connection I had sacrificed at the altar of duty. The thought of bringing my parents to Clivilius, to share with them the secret of my double life, was a temptation I battled with every fibre of my being. Yet, Jeremiah's warnings echoed in my mind, a chilling reminder of the consequences of such actions. The Guardians lived on the knife's edge, and to tip the balance by introducing those closest to us to our hidden world was to invite police scrutiny and potential catastrophe.
Jeremiah's stark declaration that our fate was sealed, that compliance to Clivilius was not a choice but a mandate, chilled me to the core. The entity we served, through whispered commands and veiled threats, wielded control with a cruelty that knew no bounds. Those who dared defy it faced not just their own destruction but the unimaginable suffering of those they loved. Clivilius's reach was far and merciless, a dark puppeteer pulling at the strings of our lives with sadistic pleasure.
In the company of Jeremiah and the few Guardians who shared my burden, we pondered the enigma of Clivilius, its origins shrouded in mystery, its motives unfathomable. Our existence was a constant battle, not just against the external threats that menaced our settlements, but against the existential dread that gnawed at our spirits. The question of who or what Clivilius was remained unanswered, lost in the cacophony of our daily struggles to keep death at bay for those under our protection.
The cycle of guardianship was a cruel loop, one that offered no reprieve, no moment of clarity or understanding. We were bound to it, not by chains forged of steel, but by the invisible bonds of duty and fear. And so, we continued, our questions unanswered, our doubts unvoiced, each day a testament to our silent, unending vigil. This was our reality, a world suspended between the shadows and the light, where survival was not a choice but a destiny we all bore.
The blaring horn of a passing car snapped me out of my daze, a harsh reminder that I was indeed not in some distant land governed by the rules of the Guardians and Clivilius, but rather in the bustling heart of San Francisco. I stumbled backward, narrowly avoiding a collision that would have been a disastrous end to my already tumultuous day. "Bloody Americans," I muttered under my breath, a knee-jerk reaction to the adrenaline coursing through me. It was easier to cast blame than to admit my own carelessness had almost led me into the path of an oncoming vehicle. I couldn't help but smirk at my own feigned annoyance with the American way of driving, a brief moment of levity in the midst of my spiralling thoughts.
As I stepped safely onto the sidewalk, the green glow of the crossing signal ushering me forward, I couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider—not just in this country but in this world. The sight of the unassuming office building that housed Killerton Enterprises did little to ground me. Instead, my gaze drifted, catching a glimpse of a quarrelling couple in the distance. Their heated exchange, though muffled by the sounds of the city, was a stark reminder of the everyday human conflicts that continued unabated, oblivious to the hidden wars fought in the shadows.
The Guardian huntings—a phrase that sent a chill down my spine each time it crossed my mind—had once seemed a clear-cut narrative of us versus them, with Killerton Enterprises cast as the villain in a tale as old as time. Rumours had painted them as the architects of our demise, orchestrating the huntings with a cold efficiency that left little room for doubt about their intentions. Jeremiah's teachings had echoed this sentiment, framing the conflict in stark terms: Killerton's leaders believed that eliminating the Guardians would spell the end of Clivilius, severing the cycle of Portals and the transport of souls that fed its insatiable hunger.
The warning Jeremiah had imparted—that falling into the hands of Killerton Enterprises would mean certain death—had been etched into my mind, a constant beacon of caution in my interactions with the outside world. Yet, the truth, as I had come to learn, was far more complex. Killerton Enterprises, for all its outward appearance as a modest construction firm, harboured secrets within its walls. Branches of the organisation operated in the shadows, not as hunters but as protectors, tracking Guardians not to harm but to help.
This revelation had been a paradigm shift, challenging everything I thought I knew about the battle we were fighting. The notion that within the heart of what we believed to be our enemy lay allies working to safeguard our kind was both bewildering and heartening. As I stood there, on the streets of San Francisco, the stark façade of Killerton Enterprises looming before me, I couldn't help but feel the weight of the decisions that lay ahead.
The duality of my mission—to uncover the truths hidden within Killerton while navigating the treacherous waters of trust and betrayal—felt more daunting than ever. Yet, there was a glimmer of hope, a possibility that within this building, allies awaited, ready to join forces in the unseen war against Clivilius. The challenge was discerning friend from foe, truth from deception, in a world where appearances could be deceiving, and allies could be found in the most unexpected of places.
Crossing the small courtyard towards Killerton Enterprises, my pace quickened involuntarily, each step echoing my mounting apprehension. A lump formed in my throat, a tangible manifestation of the nervous energy coursing through me. As I neared the large glass doors, they swung open automatically, ushering me into the modest foyer beyond—a stark contrast to the grandeur I had imagined would house such a secretive operation.
Inside, I was immediately struck by the normalcy of the scene before me. The few occupants, clad in smart casual attire, went about their business with a sense of purpose that seemed at odds with the tumultuous thoughts racing through my mind. Construction workers, their rugged gear a testament to their trade, cast brief glances in my direction. Their scrutiny, however fleeting, amplified my self-consciousness. I must look dishevelled, I thought to myself, an outsider not just in mission but in appearance as well.
Compelled to maintain a semblance of normalcy, I kept my gaze forward, doing my best to blend into the environment. Yet, the inevitable happened. My path crossed with the piercing stare of the woman stationed behind the main reception counter—a beacon for guests and visitors, and now, an obstacle in my clandestine entry. Offering her a nod, I attempted to project a confidence I was far from feeling, continuing my march towards the secure door that promised entry to the heart of Killerton's secrets.
Reaching the door, I tried to exude calm as I retrieved the access card from my trouser pocket. Pressing the card against the validator, my heart sank as a red light flashed in denial of my entry. A cough escaped me, an awkward attempt to mask my surprise and growing panic. Did anybody notice? The question haunted me as I cast a casual glance over my shoulder, hoping my failed attempt had gone unseen.
With a feigned air of indifference, I tried the card again, only to be met with the same rebuffing red light. The situation was quickly unravelling, each failed attempt a blow to my composure. On the third try, as the card was rejected once more, the reality of my predicament settled in—a mixture of frustration and fear gripping me. My mind raced with potential explanations and contingencies, but in that moment, all I could do was to walk away casually, my palms now slick with sweat, which I tried to discreetly wipe on my thigh.
A firm grip on my shoulder spun me around, bringing me face to face with the source of the stern directive. "Excuse me, Sir. I'm going to need you to come with me."
Shit! My mind recoiled in panic, thoughts racing as I weighed my options. The instinct to flee battled with the realisation that any resistance could escalate the situation. "Of course, Sir," I managed to say, my voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside me. Cooperation seemed the only viable path forward, though it led into the unknown.
To my surprise, and perhaps relief, the security guard didn't drag me away or call for backup. Instead, he swiped an access card, the one tool I had failed to wield successfully, against the reader. The door responded with a welcoming flash of green light, swinging open to grant us passage. The guard motioned for me to enter first, a silent command I had no choice but to obey.
As we traversed the corridor, my mind was awhirl with questions and doubts. It can't be this easy to get inside, can it? I pondered, the simplicity of our entry doing nothing to ease my growing sense of unease. The deeper we ventured into the building, the more I felt like a mouse willingly walking into a trap, yet curiosity propelled me forward.
Unable to contain the questions bubbling up, I finally broke the silence. "Who are you?" My voice echoed slightly in the sterile corridor, the words hanging between us, unanswered. The guard's continued silence was a heavy shroud that offered no clues, only deepening the mystery of the moment.
We reached the end of the corridor, where the guard pressed the elevator's down button without a word. The arrival chime of the elevator broke the silence, its doors sliding open to reveal the next stage of our journey. "Step inside," he instructed, his voice devoid of any indication of what awaited us.
With a resigned sense of inevitability, I complied, stepping into the elevator's confined space. The guard followed, swiping his card once more. The doors sealed us in together, the finality of the act not lost on me. As the elevator began its descent below ground level, no buttons pressed to indicate our destination, a tangible anxiety settled over me. The silent descent was punctuated only by the hum of the elevator and the loud beat of my own heart.
Surely, nothing good could come from this? The thought was a whisper in my mind, a reflection of the fear and anticipation that coursed through me. The unspoken threat of descending into the unknown, guided by a silent sentinel whose intentions remained obscured, was a stark reminder of the precarious nature of my situation. Yet, despite the apprehension, a part of me was driven by the need to uncover the truth
"Step out," the guard's command was firm, his hand pressing into my shoulder blade with a force that left no room for misunderstanding. The subtle threat underlying his touch was clear—resistance would only complicate matters. Despite the whirlwind of thoughts and apprehensions swirling within me, I acquiesced, stepping out of the elevator into yet another sterile, impersonal part of Killerton Enterprises. The brightly lit corridors, devoid of any sign of life, stretched before us, leading us deeper into the bowels of the building.
As we navigated through the maze of empty corridors, each turn and doorway seemed indistinguishable from the last, adding to the growing sense of disorientation. The silence was oppressive, the only sound being the muffled echo of our footsteps against the polished floor. My mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of my current predicament and what awaited me at the end of this seemingly endless journey.
Finally, we arrived at a door marked "Briefing Room." The label, dull and unassuming, belied the surge of anxiety that coursed through me. What sort of briefing could possibly require such secrecy and security? The scenarios that played out in my mind ranged from interrogation to indoctrination, each more unsettling than the last.
Compelled by a mixture of curiosity and a desire to get this over with, I stepped into the room, my senses heightened to every detail of my surroundings. The room was austere, furnished with only the essentials—a small, rectangular desk and a few chairs. The starkness of the decor did little to ease the tension that knotted my stomach.
"Thank you, Percival," came a voice from the centre of the room, breaking the silence. The man seated at the desk rose to his feet, his demeanour calm and collected. His use of the guard's name, "Percival," momentarily caught me off guard. The formal acknowledgment and the swift, wordless exit of Percival, who closed the door with a definitive click, left me alone with the stranger.
The transition from the guarded escort of Percival to the solitude of the briefing room was jarring. The finality of the door's sharp click resonated within me. Here I was, standing in the heart of Killerton Enterprises, about to engage in a conversation whose content and consequences were entirely unknown to me.
"Cody Jennings," the man pronounced my name with a gravity that sent a shiver down my spine. His gaze, unwavering and penetrating, seemed to bore into the very essence of my being. How could he possibly know who I am? The question thundered silently in my mind, my pulse quickening in response. My fingers, acting of their own accord, fumbled for the Portal Key hidden in my pocket—a lifeline to another world, and possibly my only means of escape from this increasingly precarious situation.
As if sensing my inner turmoil, the man took several deliberate steps towards me. Each footfall seemed to echo in the sparse room, amplifying the sense of intimidation that his presence commanded. "My name is Eddie Hobson," he introduced himself, his hand extended towards me in a gesture of peace—or perhaps a calculated move to disarm me. "I'm the Chief Security Officer here at Killerton Enterprises." The title resonated in my head with a menacing ring. Chief Security Officer. The implications were clear: I was in the presence of someone with significant power and authority within the organisation, someone who could easily become my adversary.
"Please," Eddie insisted, his voice carrying a note of command masked as courtesy. He gestured towards the lone chair opposite his at the table, a silent order for me to take a seat and engage in this unexpected confrontation.
With a mind racing through scenarios of entrapment and betrayal, I weighed my options. The Portal Key, now a tangible reminder of the dual life I led, felt heavy in my pocket. Its presence was a comfort, a reminder of the world I was fighting to protect, but also a beacon of hope should things take a turn for the worse.
Reluctantly, I acquiesced to his request, pulling out the chair with a cautious deliberation. I chose to sit, yet positioned myself strategically, ensuring the desk remained between us—a physical barrier that offered a semblance of security in the face of unknown intentions. My decision to sit was not a submission but a tactical move, allowing me to keep Eddie and any potential threats within my line of sight.
Eddie positioned himself with a calculated casualness that belied the tension crackling in the air between us. The room, with its stark furnishings and the oppressive weight of silence, felt like a chessboard on which an intricate game was being played, with me as one of the pawns.
He leaned forward, the movement causing the dark straps of his braces to stretch taut against his chest, a demonstration of the control he wielded in this space. "Your stolen access card has been deactivated," he announced, a statement delivered with a blandness that contrasted sharply with the turmoil churning inside me. His hand, palm upturned, waited expectantly. Resigned to the futility of keeping the card, I handed it over, feeling a strange sense of surrender with the action.
The silence that reclaimed the room was stifling, a tangible force that seemed to compress the very air around us. Impatience gnawed at me, a growing restlessness that demanded answers. "What am I doing here?" The question erupted from me, a plea for some semblance of understanding.
Eddie's scoff, loud and mocking, was a jarring note in the quietude. "That's a very good question. What are you doing here?" His words, echoing my own, were a verbal mirror, throwing my question back at me with a challenge woven through the syllables. The frustration at his tactic, turning my demand for clarity into a rhetorical boomerang, simmered within me. I bit the inside of my cheek, a physical counter to the rising tide of irritation, reminding myself that silence might be my safest harbour in the uncertain waters of this interrogation.
As silence reclaimed its dominion over the room, my gaze wandered, taking in the sparse details of our surroundings. The simplicity of the setting—the lone table and two chairs—was not unexpected. Notably absent were cameras, an omission that sent a chill whispering down my spine. The realisation that there were no electronic eyes to witness this encounter, no silent guardians to record the proceedings, was both a relief and a source of acute anxiety. The thought, Nobody will hear you scream, hung in my mind like a spectre, a grim reminder of my vulnerability in this secluded space.
This awareness of isolation, of being cut off from any potential aid or witness, sharpened my senses, heightening my awareness of Eddie's every move and expression. The stakes of our silent standoff were clear, and the rules of engagement, though unspoken, were being drawn in this very room. My decision to withhold speech, to cloak myself in silence, was not just a defensive tactic but a choice to observe, to wait for the moment when the balance of power might shift, however slightly, in my favour.
"Has Belkeep gained any new Guardians recently?" Eddie's abrupt shift to questioning about Belkeep and its Guardians caught me off guard. His demeanour, previously cloaked in a veneer of professional detachment, now bore the marks of genuine concern—or was it suspicion? The sudden realisation of the earpiece, a detail I had embarrassingly overlooked until now, suggested a deeper level of communication and surveillance than I had initially assumed. This wasn't just a casual inquiry; it was a calculated probe for information, one that hinted at the complexity and reach of Killerton Enterprises' interest in Guardians.
"I know you've been tracking Guardians," I found myself saying, a statement that tread a fine line between accusation and acknowledgment. My admission was deliberate, a strategic play to acknowledge their surveillance without offering any concrete information that Eddie sought.
Eddie's reaction, a mix of curiosity and caution, was telling. His subsequent question, "What else do you know about us?" was an invitation—or perhaps a challenge—to reveal the extent of my knowledge. "Not a lot," I admitted, truthfully. My understanding of Killerton's operations and their interest in Guardians was fragmented at best, a puzzle whose pieces I was still struggling to assemble.
The conversation took an abrupt turn with Eddie's attention momentarily diverted by a voice only he could hear. The tension in the room thickened, a tangible presence that seemed to squeeze the air from my lungs, leaving me with a growing sense of unease.
Eddie's next question, delivered with a shadow of intensity crossing his face, was unexpected. "You've heard of Luke Smith?" The casualness of my response, "Hasn't everyone?" was a defence mechanism, an attempt to mask the sudden spike in my anxiety. Luke's name, a beacon in the tumultuous sea of Guardian affairs, was now a point of convergence between my world and Eddie's inquiries.
“You've crossed paths with him?"
I paused momentarily considering my response. What if Jeremiah is right about Killerton? the question nagged obnoxiously at my mind. "No," I said, suddenly unsure I could trust the motives of Killerton Enterprises.
The interrogation intensified, Eddie's demand for information about Luke Smith marking a turning point in our interaction. His fist slamming against the table was a physical manifestation of the frustration—or perhaps desperation—that underpinned his questions. The sound echoed in the room, a turbulent reminder of the stakes involved.
"Don't lie to me, Cody!" Eddie's command, underscored by the ringing left in my ears from his outburst, was a jarring call to reality. The intensity of his gaze, the authoritative stance as he rose to his full height, left no room for ambiguity. This was not a mere exchange of information; it was a critical juncture in the intricate dance of power and secrecy that defined the world of Guardians and those who sought to control or protect them.
"Tell me," he pressed, his tone laced with anger and an urgency that suggested the importance of Luke's whereabouts transcended mere curiosity. "Where's Luke?"
The abrupt descent into darkness was a disorienting shock, the sudden loss of power enveloping the room in an impenetrable cloak of blackness. The only sound breaking the silence was the grating scrape of Eddie's chair against the floor, a noise that seemed to amplify in the darkness, sending a fresh wave of chills cascading down my spine.
Instinctively, I saw my chance. With the room plunged into uncertainty, I reached for the one thing that offered a sliver of hope—the Portal Key. My fingers, slick with a mix of sweat and adrenaline, fumbled to activate it, desperately sliding across the button in the pitch black. "What the fuck!?" The words slipped out in a hiss, a mixture of frustration and disbelief, as my attempts to summon the portal met with failure.
Then, as if to mock my failed escape attempt, an emergency light flickered to life, its dim glow struggling against the overwhelming darkness. The light, feeble as it was, cast long shadows across the room, creating an eerie tableau that did little to reassure me.
With options dwindling, my next instinct was to flee through the conventional means—the door. My body coiled like a spring, I launched myself towards the only exit, only to find my path obstructed. The door flung open with a force that spoke of urgency from the other side, revealing a figure silhouetted against the dim light from the hallway.
Amber Styles! The name registered in my mind with a jolt of familiarity, a mix of relief and confusion flooding through me. Amber's unexpected presence in this critical juncture was a paradox, her familiar silhouette a beacon in the darkness, yet her arrival raised a multitude of questions. How did she find me here? What was her role in this convoluted web that Killerton Enterprises seemed to be entangled in?
The room, now partially illuminated by the weak emergency light, felt like a stage where the next act of an unfathomable drama was about to unfold. Amber's arrival had shifted the dynamics of the situation, introducing a new variable into the equation of my encounter with Eddie Hobson. As I stood there, momentarily frozen by the turn of events, I was acutely aware of the criticality of the coming moments. They held the potential to either unravel the mysteries surrounding Killerton Enterprises and their interest in Guardians or plunge me deeper into the labyrinth of intrigue and danger.
"We need to get Cody to a secure location," Eddie's voice, firm and resolute, broke through the tension, his grip on my arm an anchor in the swirling chaos. The urgency in his tone was unmistakable, yet it was met with immediate resistance.
"There's no time," Amber countered, her voice laced with an urgency that matched, if not surpassed, Eddie's. Her words, a stark reminder of the immediate danger posed by the power outage, hinted at layers of complexity within Killerton Enterprises that I had yet to fully comprehend. "We have more important things to deal with right now. A power outage is a major security threat. They'll become suspicious of us if you don't respond according to protocol." Her insistence on adherence to a seemingly mundane protocol in the midst of our crisis underscored the precariousness of our situation.
Eddie nodded silently, a concession to Amber's argument. The release of his grip felt like a temporary reprieve, a momentary pause in the relentless push and pull of allegiances and motives that surrounded me. His brief, inaudible exchange with Amber, a whisper of words lost in the shadows, was a mystery that added to the growing list of questions that tormented me.
Amber's fleeting glance, the frustration evident in her expression, was a silent acknowledgment of the complexity of our predicament. "Fine," she huffed, her voice a mix of resignation and determination. The grimace on her face, barely discernible in the dim emergency lighting, spoke volumes of the internal conflict she faced.
Driven by instinct, my fingers sought the familiar comfort of the Portal Key, sliding across the activation button in another futile gesture of hope. Eddie's disappearance into the darkness, a silent spectre retreating into the unknown, left me feeling more isolated than ever.
"That won't work here," Amber's words, cutting through the silence, brought a jarring halt to my escape attempts. "Killerton Enterprises has developed Portal blocking technology," Amber continued, looking directly into my eyes.
The revelation was a shock that sent ripples of disbelief through me. My mind raced, trying to reconcile this new piece of information with my existing knowledge of portal technology. The implications were staggering—trapped within the walls of an organisation that not only knew of our existence but had effectively neutralised our means of escape.
"Follow me," Amber's directive was not a suggestion but a command, her tone brooking no argument. "Stay close and you may just get out of here alive." The seriousness of her statement, the promise of survival tinged with an underlying threat, propelled me forward. My body moved almost of its own accord, following her into the darkened corridor, each step a leap of faith in the unknown.
The distant sound of alarms, a wailing symphony that punctuated the eerie silence, was a constant reminder of the escalating situation. The realisation that I was now relying on Amber, a figure from my distant past, shrouded in mystery and contradictions, to lead me to safety was both comforting and terrifying.
What the hell is going on!? The question echoed in my mind, a tumultuous storm of confusion and fear. The useless Portal Key, once a symbol of hope and freedom, now felt like a heavy weight in my hand, a token of my vulnerability in the face of an adversary that seemed to be perpetually one step ahead.
