Anomaly

In the very next instant, the elevator’s interior plunged into complete silence—thick and heavy enough that even the sound of breathing became noticeable. Emily stood perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the metallic doors in front of her, as if waiting quietly might somehow ease the strange unease beginning to stir inside her.
If she were being completely honest with herself, Victor’s words had planted a nagging doubt in the back of her mind. It wasn’t just the serious tone in which he had said it... There was also the more troubling factor: his intuition.
Victor had this sort of sixth sense—an almost unnatural awareness of the things happening around him, as though his mind could pick up on invisible signals that everyone else missed. And the problem was... most of the time, he was right.
Ignoring that felt like pretending not to hear a distant siren growing louder and closer with each passing second. No matter how hard she tried to rationalize it, the weight of that feeling settled over her like an unwelcome shadow, making each second spent staring at those closed doors even more suffocating.
Emily mulled over the matter for a brief moment, weighing the possibilities, but soon pushed the concerns out of her mind. At least for now, this wasn’t her responsibility.
There were other tasks to handle, more immediate priorities that demanded her attention. External threats were someone else’s problem. The moment the elevator doors opened with a soft chime, she lifted her gaze with resolve toward Victor and Rupert.
Her expression was serious, her voice steady and leaving no room for doubt: “Double the security. I want to be informed immediately of anything... even the slightest hint of something suspicious”
Victor and Rupert exchanged a quick glance—a silent look of understanding—before nodding in agreement with Emily’s orders. Without another word, both turned and moved off in opposite directions down the hallway, as if each already knew exactly what needed to be done.
Emily watched them go for a few seconds, tracking their silhouettes as they disappeared into the distance, until a long, weary sigh escaped her lips—something that didn’t go unnoticed by Laura, who remained at her side, watching every nuance of her expression.
“Boss... do you really think something’s going to happen?” Laura asked, her voice low, almost a whisper, her eyes flickering with doubt and growing confusion.
Hearing the question, Emily turned her gaze toward the busy hallway ahead, where people moved and talked in the semi-crowded space. A storm of thoughts swirled in her mind like dark clouds ready to burst. She wasn’t entirely convinced that anything would happen—there was a quiet skepticism keeping her from fully believing in any imminent sabotage.
After all... what would be the reason? What would anyone gain from disrupting the exhibition? Aside from the obvious possibility of personal interests or selfish motives, Emily couldn’t see any concrete purpose. Even that theory felt flimsy at best—what kind of benefit could someone possibly get from sabotaging a simple exhibition?.
Her fingers rose gently to her chin as her eyes drifted into a distant, thoughtful stare. A pensive expression softened her features, betraying the restlessness she was trying to hide.
After a brief pause, she finally answered Laura’s question, her voice carrying a subtle, honest tone: “Honestly... I’m not sure. Ideally, everything would go smoothly, no surprises... but I just can’t shake that nagging ‘what if?’”
With that, Emily turned her attention back to the bustling crowd in the hallway. Despite the tightness in her chest, calling off the exhibition wasn’t an option—not now, not after so much effort.
Deep down, she knew all she could do was take a deep breath and cling to hope, praying that everything would unfold without further complications, while the distant noise of voices and footsteps swirled around her like a silent storm.
The man took a deep breath, feeling the hot, heavy air that made the horizon blur and ripple under the scorching sun. His eyes stayed locked on that thin line in the distance, as if searching for an answer beyond the heat waves. The tips of his fingers trembled slightly, betraying the tension he was struggling to contain.
The phone, wedged tightly between his shoulder and ear, seemed to grow heavier with every passing second, as though the conversation itself carried an invisible burden. On the other end, the voice was surprisingly calm—gentle, almost soothing—a disturbing contrast to the turmoil brewing inside him.
“Have you taken it?” asked the voice, steady and almost glacial, every word measured and deliberate, stripped of any trace of emotion.
The man closed his eyes for a brief second, feeling his back press against the cold, rough metal of the warehouse wall. The distant sound of muffled voices—like a team gathering nearby—reached him as little more than an indistinct hum, irrelevant compared to the storm building inside him.
The bitter taste still burned in his throat, sharp and corrosive, like the pill he’d swallowed was made of rusted iron, leaving a lingering metallic aftertaste that refused to go away.
“...Yeah. Just a little while ago” he replied, his voice hoarse and shaky, as if each word took effort: “I... I don’t feel anything yet”
“You won’t feel anything” the other said, with a calmness that felt almost rehearsed, like a line spoken too many times before. The voice remained steady, almost cold, but there was something unsettling about that certainty: “This isn’t the kind of thing that affects you. Just... the environment”
The man squeezed his eyes shut, as if the gesture could somehow smother the guilt already taking root deep inside his chest. His breath faltered for a moment, and he swallowed hard, feeling the lump growing in his throat.
Finally, his words came out hesitant, almost a whisper, heavy with unexpected anguish: “You know... I’m not sure I want to go through with this anymore”
After the man's words, a thick silence fell on the other side, heavy with an almost tangible wait. But as quickly as the silence formed, it was broken—shattered by a voice that cut through with sharp precision: “You’ve already taken it” it said, the softness in the voice contrasting with the cutting tone that remained steady, like a blade hidden beneath a cloak.
“Now all you have to do is walk to the door and go in with them”
There was a cold calmness in the phrase, almost mechanical, as if everything were part of an inevitable ritual: “No one’s going to get hurt. It’s just a scare. A little incident to set some things straight”
The man slowly turned his face away, fixing his empty gaze on the rough concrete floor. Memories flooded his mind with an almost painful force: the day he lost his family — a raw and silent pain.
The news hit suddenly, like an unexpected blow, leaving him frozen, unable even to shed a tear in the face of the brutal shock. He swallowed hard, feeling a wave of nausea rise from his chest to his throat, and took a deep breath, struggling to keep control as anguish threatened to take over.
“I... lost them because of those things...” he murmured, his voice almost a broken whisper, more to himself than to anyone listening. His eyes drifted into the distance, heavy with silent pain: “I want to teach them a lesson, I feel this burning anger inside... but at the same time, I don’t want anyone else to suffer like I did”
The man on the other end stayed silent for a moment, not answering right away. He just listened, as if each word were a piece of a puzzle he already knew by heart. His eyes seemed to analyze beyond what was said, catching invisible intentions.
Finally, the voice came low, filled with an almost conspiratorial certainty, like sharing a confidential secret: “That’s why you’re here”
The tone dropped even lower, almost a whisper, a cue for something few would dare admit: “Because sometimes... you need to give things a little push for the gears to really start turning”
The man ran his hand over his face, feeling the rough skin and the built-up fatigue pressing on his temples. A deep tiredness that weighed down his bones, as if every passing minute drained a bit more of his strength. Soon, they would go in — and then, everything would begin.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen in there...” His voice faltered, almost a whisper full of apprehension: “What if... what if something goes wrong? I’m not really sure what those things are capable of...” His eyes widened, reflecting a silent fear that seemed to freeze the air around him.
“You don’t need to worry about failure” the other replied, keeping the calm demeanor that always accompanied him. His voice was firm but steady, almost like he was conveying unshakable certainty: “I promise everything will go as planned. Just go in with them. Trust the process”
The man gripped the phone so tightly it seemed like he wanted to crush not only the device but also the voice coming from the other end, as if he could silence it forever. For a moment, he felt a nearly visceral urge to throw everything to the floor, run away, and disappear into the void. But he stayed still, frozen.
His body was caught between the desperate impulse to escape and the crushing weight of the losses he already carried. On the other end, Graham Vickers’ voice — a name he never dared to say aloud — came again, low and soft, like a whisper to the ear of a condemned man about to fall into the abyss.
“It’s all under control”
The call dropped suddenly. The man remained there, leaning against the cold wall of the warehouse, tasting the bitter metallic flavor of the decision he had already made — an irrevocable choice that seemed to weigh on every fiber of his being.
The air around was thick, heavy with silent tension, as if the very environment waited for the outcome. His last thoughts before joining the crowd were simple, almost resigned, like the calm before the storm.
“Mom, Dad... Nelly... would this... really be something you’d approve of?” The man’s voice trembled, filled with bitter doubt and an invisible weight that seemed to crush his chest.
But there was no answer. Not a word, not a sigh. The three people he had called — those whose memories still haunted his mind — remained silent — after all, they no longer belonged to this world.
Upstairs, my perception began picking up several presences. They weren’t exactly readings in the traditional sense... it was more like a sixth sense, a sharp intuition, as if every movement up there somehow vibrated deep inside my mind.
Slowly, I realized a large number of people had arrived at the facility. I didn’t need much to figure out what it was about... probably the so-called “Visitors” Emily had been mentioning in recent conversations.
But to be honest, it still didn’t bring me any peace. The reason? Actually, it’s pretty simple... or maybe not. Behind me, Nyara kept whispering, in her always low, drawn-out voice, that the “Children” — her peculiar way of referring to chaos itself — were getting more and more restless.
According to her, it was like they were in some sort of dark celebration, jumping and shouting, invisible to the eyes, but perfectly perceptible to those who, like me, had already learned to feel their presence. Maybe it was because of my perception... I’m not sure. But one thing seems clear: when chaos decides to party, it’s rarely for a good reason.
In the end... what else could I do but wait for things to just happen? Technically speaking, we have three Virtues inside the facility. Whatever might show up... I guess we’d handle it.
With this somewhat forced thought to calm myself, I let out a light sigh and shrugged, as if worry was something distant and irrelevant. I turned my attention back to my ice cream, resuming the tasting as if that little cold pleasure could distract me from the uncomfortable weight of that uncertainty.