Chapter Text
APRIL 1999
GDA UNDERGROUND OPERATIONS CENTER– MONITORING ROOM – AFTERNOON
“Any updates?” Cecil said through a tired exhalation.
“We’ve compiled twenty-three separate incidents,” Donald said steadily. “Seven countries. All victims presented symptoms of acute psychosis and were treated for vicious physical injuries, self-inflicted. What started as a huge drug scare was then confirmed to be linked to this entity,” he paused, lowering his voice. “Whenever this thing shows up, people just…break.”
“Elaborate.”
“I—well… It would be better if I showed you, sir.”
Donald nudged the agent in front of them, who nodded, quickly tapping his keyboard as he scrolled through rows of encrypted data. A window expanded fully on the screen, and a video loaded with an image that tightened the director’s nerves.
“This was from last month…” Donald muttered.
Cecil chewed the inside of his cheek, watching the scene of a dark, towering figure walking down a dimly lit alley somewhere in New York. It was nighttime, and the entity moved with a graceful yet spectral flow, taking slow, deliberate steps, each accentuated by the tap of a cane. A hood obscured its face, making its features difficult to discern.
As the camera moved, three armed thugs came into frame, angrily spitting threats and insults while pointing their weapons at the looming threat.
What started as a simple, tense standoff, escalated into a fully blown shootout. Gunfire blasted, illuminating the alleyway, only for the entity to remain unfazed. It stopped momentarily before charging at one of the men and disappearing into thin air with him upon coming into contact with one another.
No more than a few seconds later, the man reappeared, tumbling a few feet away.
The man screeched and crumpled to his knees, holding his head as he desperately tugged at his hair, tearing it out in clumps. At the same time, his two companions helplessly watched him smash his skull against the floor—again and again—with such force that he nearly split it open before collapsing unconscious over a pool of his own blood.
Before either of the other two thugs could check on their partner, the entity quickly crossed in front of them, grabbed them by the neck, disappeared, and reappeared right there. This sent the other two thugs into the same state of hysterical frenzy.
One clawed at his own face and eyes, injuring himself to such an extent that his fingers were drenched in crimson, finally curling up into a tight ball, sobbing and mumbling incoherently.
Meanwhile, the other flailed uncontrollably, as if trying to free itself from something unseen. For a moment, the man stopped dead in his tracks showing a brief moment of lucidity, before sprinting straight into oncoming traffic.
Cecil flinched and turned his head away, bringing a hand over his mouth.
“Christ…” he said under his breath.
The figure stepped back into frame and stood over the aftermath with an imposing, victorious stance. It poked at the eyeless man with his cane, tilting its head with evident morbid amusement. It swiveled to gaze directly at the concealed camera, its eyes hollow pits with bright red rings that burned into the lens before dissipating, leaving only the unconscious men visible. The video was interrupted by static followed by a black screen with three minutes remaining. The rest of the recording ended with corrupted data.
“This is as much as we could recover from the footage,” the agent said gruffly.
“Could it be supernatural?” Cecil said.
“We’re not sure, sir,” Donald adjusted his shades. “It could be alien for all we know.”
“It must sense that we’re watching it,” Cecil said. “Should we be worried?”
“That’s another thing, sir,” Donald added, gesturing at the agent, who tapped the keyboard and displayed several scanned newspaper clippings from news all around the world. “There is a pattern in the way it behaves. The victims were all involved in some form of criminal activity prior to their eventual encounter with the entity.”
Cecil hummed. “What did these men do exactly?”
“Armed robbery,” Donald pointed at a series of pictures from an article. “A woman was shot and injured after one of the men panicked. The woman lived miraculously. Witnesses claim to have seen a hooded figure lurking near the crime scene before disappearing into the night. Some say it could be Death itself.”
“This isn’t some Grim Reaper, I’ll tell you that,” Cecil scoffed.
He scratched his chin, leaning closer to the screen as he scanned the headlines and skimmed through the articles.
Mexico City — A well-known thug had to be strapped to his hospital bed after attempting to bite off his own fingers in a fit of confused hysteria.
Thailand — A corrupt officer with a history of harassment tore his vocal cords from hours of non-stop wailing, uttering inarticulate prayers and preaching about repentance.
Saudi Arabia — A white-collar criminal was found lying on a mound of gravel at a construction site in a near-catatonic state—a bold, proud man reduced to a whimpering mess just hours after closing a dubious deal with a client.
Cecil exhaled sharply through his nose.
“So we’ve got a psionic entity from God-knows-where, playing vigilante on a global scale.”
“The pattern’s clear,” Donald replied, “but it doesn’t appear to be precise, sir.”
Cecil’s eyes narrowed. “Precise how?”
“The entity was lastly detected in a relatively safe neighborhood in L.A.,” Donald said. “A fight broke out between a maintenance worker and a tenant outside a building not too long ago. You can guess how that ended for them sometime later.”
“A brutal sentence for a petty scuffle on the street…”
Cecil put his hands on his hips, tapping his foot on the ground. He paused, standing quietly with pursed lips.
“Well, if it's going to try doing our job for us, we should find it.”
Donald snapped his head around with eyebrows rising just above his glasses.
“What?”
“Hell, might as well get it on payroll. Maybe we even slap a GDA badge on it."
Donald exchanged glances with the other agent, his expression shifted with disconcert as he searched for a hint of irony in Cecil’s face, disappointed to know that the director was being entirely serious.
"With all due respect, sir… How can we know if it’s got humanity’s best interest at heart?" he asked sternly. “Its actions aren’t proof enough that it could be a potential subject we could rely on.”
“One way to find out,” Cecil grumbled.
“We have yet to understand how often it manifests. That thing could be virtually anywhere.”
“Have a little faith, Donald. We've found stranger things before.”
Cecil turned heel away from the monitors.
“Put together a small team. I want them to be alert and ready to arrive on the scene and catch it next time this thing shows up. If it shows up,” he said over his shoulder before striding toward the corridor.
With that, Donald was left alone with the agent, who watched with equal bafflement as the doors closed behind Cecil.
“And I thought Radcliffe had a few loose screws,” the agent scoffed, shaking his head, shutting down his computer to clock out for the day.