[The Bureau - one of the many Guardian lairs]
"You are late," the automated voice system called out.
Mark rolled his eyes but didn't respond.
The wind whipped at his coat as he hovered in mid air, surveying the half ruined skyline below him…The city looked like a stitched wound…half healed, half bleeding.
Mark angled downward.
The tarmac outside the Bureau's perimeter gates looked as deserted as ever. But only his Guardian eyes could pick up the shimmering checkpoint that was more like an invisible wall of energy.
No one could pass without clearance. Not even someone like him.
"ID," the same automated voice ordered again.
Mark stepped forward, tossing a card into the scanner slot. It hissed, then sucked the card in. The gates flared for a moment in light blue pulses, scanning his biometrics.
A series of tiny, silent drones buzzed overhead, cross checking thermal signatures and airborne contaminants. One zipped to his eye level and blinked red. "Concealed weapon…left boot."
"I am aware," Mark said dryly.
"Registered?"
"You know it is."
Another pause. Then a click.
The gate slid open soundlessly.
Mark strode in.
The Bureau complex stretched over several acres. It looked more like a fortress of polished black stone and mirrored panels. Surveillance turrets gleamed from every corner, and the corridors inside were a mix of sterile white and harsh blue lighting.
Everything smelled of ozone and antiseptic…too clean, too lifeless.
He passed guards in charcoal uniforms, none of whom dared meet his eyes. The Bureau didn't run only on fear, but respect. Mark knew the difference…and knew he commanded both.
He stepped onto the circular lift that descended to the lower floors, swiping his wrist against the panel. The lift spiraled downward with a soft hum, smooth as breath.
"Level, Sub Basement Seven. Restricted Access," the voice echoed as the lift stopped.
Mark stepped out.
The air was quite chilling down there. The walls weren't metal or concrete, but old stones…reinforced by etched runes.
Those runes even pulsed faintly with containment spells. The kind of place built not just to hold secret meetings or for safety purposes, but to keep monsters in.
He walked down a long corridor.At the end of it was a door with a single light above it, pulsing red.
" Appointment confirmed" , the screen read.
Mark pushed the door open.
It hissed shut behind him.
And who would he see sitting there already? Oh, my my… it was… Ryker.
Sitting like he owned the place…one leg slung over the other, arms resting leisurely along the back of the chair.
The stupid,idiotic smirk painted on his face like he had been born with it.
"Oh, Mark," he drawled. "You are here as well?"
His voice.
That smirk.
Mark didn't think. He just moved.
The punch landed square on Ryker's jaw with a satisfying crack.His head snapped sideways.
Ryker spat blood. Wiped it with the back of his hand. "Right…forgot you love throwing punches before a 'hello', " he muttered, getting to his feet. "We are going to skip the small talk then."
Then he swung.
Ryker's fist met Mark's face.
Mark stumbled back half a step, blinking the stars from his eyes.
They stared at each other, fists raised, heaving… like they were just warming up for a wrestling match!
Neither moved.One could feel the tension in the air.
Mark's eyes glinted with rage. Ryker's jaw was already beginning to swell, but the bastard looked amused more than anything.
Just then… CLANK.
Luckily…or unluckily…the heavy door behind them creaked open.
Boots echoed in a synchronized rhythm…against the stone floor.
"Seriously?" a dry voice called out, cutting through the charged atmosphere like a whip. "You two couldn't wait five minutes to start a brawl?"
Jules stepped in first, his short silver hair tucked neatly behind his ears, his violet grey eyes sweeping the scene with mild irritation.
Behind him trailed Xane…tall, expressionless, always dressed like he just stepped out of a damn funeral…and Brendon, who looked halfway between worried and amused.
"Well, this escalated quickly," Brendon muttered, his hand still resting casually on the hilt of his blade. "You didn't even let us take our seats before the show started."
" Don't blame me. He started it," Mark snapped, jerking his index finger at Ryker.
Ryker raised his hands innocently. "I was just sitting here. Mark has anger issues.That is public knowledge"
"You are still smirking,you sly little…," Mark growled.
"I smirk all the time. You gonna punch me every time I do that?"
" Don't tempt me."
Jules didn't flinch as he moved between them, arms folded tightly. "Alright, enough.We have got bigger things to worry about than your fragile egos.What are you, babies? There are vampires flying around, raiding our homes in broad daylight…and here you two are hell bent on strangling each other? Our finest,Guardians? Let's just resign and hand the cities over to the night crawler…shall we? "
He glared at them both.
"Sit down,Mark. Ryker, wipe your face. And for the love of God, stop antagonizing each other like you are still noobs in training."
Ryker hesitated.
"Love of God, huh! You know that's funny!" Mark's nostrils flared. But eventually, he pulled out a chair and sat down, though still scowling.
Ryker muttered something under his breath but obeyed, pulling a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiping the corner of his mouth. Blood smeared red against white linen. He sat back down lazily, like this was just another Tuesday.
Xane and Brendon took their seats as well.
The room slowly filled with an uneasy quiet. The walls hummed faintly. The runes glowed in rhythm with something unseen…like a heart beat pulsing through the stones.
And then…Click.
A low mechanical noise stirred from above, followed by a series of static pulses.
The lights dimmed just slightly.
Then a voice spoke.
A deep, weathered male voice…calm, unhurried…and unmistakably authoritative.
"Guardians," the voice spoke through the ceiling speaker, "Welcome."
Everyone stilled.
The tension didn't disappear, but it shifted. Hardened…Became alert.
"We have bad news.Some really bad ones…"