Site-09 was a prison of shadows.
Jessa woke to the hum of aetheric generators, a sound that clawed at her nerves like a thousand whispering voices. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of rust and something fouler—decay, she thought, like a grave left open. She was an N3 Initiate, new to this hell, and every step felt like a march to her end.
Her boots hit the icy floor with a dull thud. The cold seeped through her soles, a reminder of the Veil's fragility. On the steel table lay her gear: an aetheric pistol, a containment orb, and a uniform stamped with the Foundation's jagged web sigil. Her hands trembled as she strapped on the pistol, her breath shallow.
The briefing room was a steel coffin. Aetheric lamps flickered, casting shadows that danced like specters on the walls. N1 Operative Marcus stood at the front, his scarred face a map of battles fought and barely won. "Town-09A," he rasped, his voice like gravel, "ACE-09A, Unseen Watcher. Echo-Class.It's in the mirrors."
Jessa's heart slammed against her ribs. "What does it do?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Marcus's eyes met hers, cold and unyielding, a gaze that spoke of horrors she couldn't yet fathom. "It shows you what you fear most—what you deserve to see," he said, echoing a line she'd once read in an old Foundation log, "and it never lets you look away."
She swallowed hard, the taste of bile rising in her throat. The Akashic Veil was fraying—30% more anomalies, they said, a whisper she'd overheard in the halls. This was her first mission, and already she felt the weight of oblivion pressing down. She nodded, gripping her orb tighter.
The transport growled through a fog so thick it seemed alive. Town-09A emerged like a ghost—cobblestone streets slick with mist, gaslit lamps flickering as if struggling to breathe. Locals scurried past, their faces pale, clutching black cloths to shroud every mirror they passed. Their whispers carried on the wind, a chilling refrain: "It sees… it knows…"
The clock tower loomed ahead, its spire a jagged scar against the gray sky. Its face was frozen at 3:17, a relic of the first breach, as if time itself had surrendered. Marcus pointed, his voice low. "That's our target. Move."
The stairs creaked underfoot, each step colder than the last. The air grew heavy, pressing against Jessa's chest like a lead weight. At the top, a cracked mirror leaned against the stone wall, its surface streaked with something dark—blood, or something worse. Her reflection stared back, but it wasn't her—too pale, eyes too wide, a twisted mockery.
A flicker in the glass. Something moved behind her, a shadow that wasn't hers. She spun, pistol raised, but the tower was empty. Her breath hitched, fogging in the icy air.
"Marcus," she whispered, her voice trembling like a leaf in a storm. He turned, his own pistol drawn, his scarred face taut with tension. "Where?" he demanded, his tone sharp, a man who'd seen too much to doubt her fear. She pointed, her finger shaking, at the mirror.
A shadow bloomed within the glass, tall and faceless, its edges dripping like molten ink. Frost-fingers clawed out, trailing a chill that burned where it touched the air. A voice rasped from the mirror, low and guttural, a sound that seemed to crawl inside her skull. "See… me…" it hissed, a line straight out of Lovecraft's nightmares, echoing
Jessa's mind fractured. Images flooded her—blood on her hands, faces of those she'd failed, a scream that wouldn't stop. She stumbled back, her knees buckling, the weight of her shame a physical thing. "It knows," she thought, "it knows everything I've done."
"Don't look!" Marcus barked, his voice a lifeline in the dark. He lunged forward, shoving her aside as the frost-fingers reached for her. She fumbled for the containment orb, her fingers slick with sweat, her heart pounding so loud it drowned out the whispers. She pressed the trigger, and a green pulse erupted, a desperate cry against the void
The shadow screeched, its form splintering like shattered glass. Marcus grabbed her arm, steadying her as she fired again. Another pulse, and the shadow dissolved into mist, leaving the mirror dull and lifeless. The air stilled, but the cold lingered, a reminder of what they'd faced.
Jessa gasped, her chest heaving, her vision swimming with afterimages of blood and frost. "Is it… contained?" she stammered, her voice raw. Marcus stared at the mirror, his jaw tight, his eyes haunted by something she couldn't see. "For now," he muttered, his tone heavy with unspoken dread.
A faint hum stirred the air, a mournful note from the Akashic Veil itself. Jessa's skin prickled—she swore she heard a whisper, too faint to catch, but it chilled her to the bone. Marcus turned to her, his scarred face grim. "This is just the beginning, Initiate," he said, his voice a warning from a man who knew the cost of survival.