With a deep breath, Nikolai grabbed his coat and headed out the door. The city was just starting to wake up, the early morning fog beginning to loosen its congesting grip.
As he made his way to the station, Nikolai found himself lost in thought, the weight of the briefcase now a distant worry. Instead, his focus shifted to the new job waiting for him at the East Bay Gazette.
He hoped this fresh start would bring some clarity and perhaps even distract him from the unsettling morning. As he reached the tram station, he noticed a few other commuters, faces as tired and bleary-eyed as his. Nikolai boarded the tram, finding a seat by the window. The rhythmic clatter of the tram on the tracks was somewhat soothing, and he let his mind drift as the cityscape rolled by.
The journey seemed to pass quickly, and before he knew it, the tram had arrived at his stop. Nikolai stepped off and headed towards the East Bay Gazette, the small newspaper shop standing like a beacon of new beginnings.
It was a modest, unassuming building tucked into a quiet corner of the city. Its sign, faded but still elegant, hung above the door. Nikolai pushed the door open and the small bell above it jingled softly, quietly announcing his arrival. Inside, the shop was warm and had a cozy, lived-in feel. Old newspapers and magazines were stacked haphazardly, and the walls were lined with framed articles and photographs from years past. The scent of fresh ink and old paper filled the air.
A man behind the counter looked up. He was middle-aged, balding, and had a solid build that suggested he rarely missed a meal. A small scar ran from his lip up to his cheek, giving him a distinctive, if somewhat stern, appearance.
"Wipe your feet before you enter," he said with a gruff and slightly unwelcoming tone.
Nikolai complied with his request and began to clean off his boots on the mat. The stout man returned to his work, nose buried in a paper.
"Good morning sir, I'm Nikolai, the new hire," he said, trying to keep his tone respectful.The man looked up, nodded, and continued working. Confused, Nikolai looked around, wondering if he had entered the wrong place. Suddenly, a warm voice greeted him, interrupting any contemplations. A woman stood by one of the adjacent doorways.
"Hello! I'm Mira, the assistant editor. Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too," he replied, shaking her hand. "I'm Nikolai."
Her grip was surprisingly firm, vastly contrasting her small stature. She was probably in her late twenties, a dainty pair of glasses resting on her nose bridge. Small freckles dotted her face around the nose and cheek.
Mira gestured for Nikolai to follow as she led him to a small office in the back. Inside was a cluttered desk and an old typewriter, with cobwebs filling every corner. An old bookshelf sat in a corner, barren of any contents.
"This'll be your office," she instructed.
He explored his new workplace further. The room was illuminated by a single lightbulb, flickering on and off occasionally. Its luminescent glow had grown dim with time, trying to shine through a thin layer of dust coated on the glass.
"Personally, I would use a candle or lamp, whatever you'd rather use," Mira said. "It's much more reliable than trusting that the power lines aren't down again."
"Noted."
"Alrighty then, let's get down to business."
"Wait, isn't there an interview or something?" he asked, puzzled.
"No interview needed. The bureau already sent your application to us a few days ago," she explained. "Remember?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I remember now," Nikolai apologized. "Yes, the application I sent to the Bureau of Labor. It had been a little time since I filled it out. A month or so, I believe." He stammered each word out, a little embarrassed.
"No worries," she responded. "I'm fully aware of how slow they work."
He smiled reassuringly, letting out a quiet breath of relief.
"Now, back on topic. Your main job here will be to go out into the field and find stories for us. We rely on our field reporters and informants to bring in the fresh leads, the interesting tidbits, and the important news that our readers care about."
Nikolai nodded, absorbing the information. "Got it. So, what should I start looking for?"
"Anything that catches your eye," Mira said. "We cover local events, community issues, and any breaking news. Use your judgment. If it seems like it might be of interest to our readers, it's worth pursuing. Any questions?"
"Yeah, so... who's the guy sitting outside? Is he the receptionist?"
Mira chuckles a little.
"No, that's Dmitri. He's the branch manager of this place. He's usually busy working, so just report any findings to me."
Mira's expression somewhat sours.
"Make sure you wipe your feet before entering the shop. He's a little crazy when it comes to cleanliness. Any other questions?"
"Yeah, uh, just one. What do you mean by branch manager? Are there more locations of the East Bay Gazette?"
"No, this is the only East Bay Gazette, but we're owned by a larger newspaper, down in Shanghai. We're basically a subsidiary. They do a lot of work in mandated cities like Vladivostok, but that's all I know. You'll have to ask Dmitri about the rest."
Nikolai hesitated at the thought of speaking to the man at the counter.
"I'll pass."
She chuckles at his response.
"Dmitri's not all that bad, he's just really immersed when he works." Mira sifts through a filing cabinet, checking for documents. "Let me know if you need anything," she said. "I'll be here to help you set up."
"Thanks, Mira."
"No problem," she says while handing him a gargantuan stack of papers. "Before you leave," she clicked her tongue. "You have to finish some paperwork first, and study the local contacts. You'll be lost if you just wander out with nothing."
She leaves the room as he sits down, paging through the numerous sheets. Countless hours pass as Nikolai begins to feel frustration and fatigue creeping in. No exciting stories. Page after page of random gossip and irrelevant rumors.
After flipping through the contacts, a certain report caught his eye. Yesterday, rumors spread that the fishermen at the harbor pulled out a dead body. He scratched his head in thought. The city's harbor had always been a place of minor troubles but rarely anything of this magnitude.
Nikolai rushed out of his office, happy to get some movement in again. He waved goodbye to Mira and Dmitri (the latter of which did not take notice, or perhaps did not care to notice) and made his exit.
The morning chill in the air was gone, replaced with an intense fervor to investigate. As he boarded the tram to the docks, the desolation of the city at dawn had disappeared. The morning fog had lifted completely, revealing a busy scene of dock workers loading and unloading goods.
The air was filled with the sharp tang of salt, fuel, and fish. Nikolai approached the dock where a few men were hard at work unloading crates. One of them, a burly man with a weathered face and a thick beard, caught his eye. He seemed to be taking a break, wiping his hands on a rag and sipping from a canteen. He approached him cautiously.
"Excuse me," he said, trying to keep the tone casual. "I'm Nikolai from the East Bay Gazette. I heard there might be some interesting news about something that happened recently."
The dock worker squinted at him, his expression annoyed.
"Depends on what you've heard," he replied gruffly. "What's this about?" Nikolai masks his nervousness with a smile.
"I heard something about a body being fished out of the harbor," he said, hoping to spark his interest. "I'd like to hear more about it."
The dock worker's eyes darkened slightly, and he took a long swig from his canteen before speaking.
"Yeah, that's right. We pulled a dead body out of the water yesterday. Police are all over it, but no one's talking much."
Nikolai's heart skipped a beat. It seemed his first job would be massive.
"Do you know anything about the circumstances? Was there any identification or anything unusual about the body?"
The man nodded, his face grim.
"I still remember the moment we pulled him up. It was a man, probably middle-aged. His eyes were gouged out, and his belly was cut open. There was a noticeable carving on his cheek—it looked like some Asian writing."
He paused, tapping his fingers against his legs lightly.
"That's all we saw before the cops came and took him away."
The man excused himself and returned back to his work.
With the chilling details about the carving still fresh in his mind, Nikolai decided to head back to the office.
The sun was beginning to set as afternoon closed into evening, its rays casting long shadows across the city streets.
When he entered the East Bay Gazette, the familiar warmth and comforting scent of ink and old paper greeted him. Dmitri was still at his desk, working.
"SHOES!" Dmitri roared, making Nikolai jump in shock. He quickly apologized as Dmitri shot him a glare.
Escaping to Mira's room, he relays the information obtained from the dock worker. Her expression tightened, though she quickly masked it with a professional demeanor.
"That's certainly disturbing. Did they mention any other details?"
"Only that the police took the body away before they could get more information," Nikolai replied. "But the symbols stood out. I think it might be important."
"We can start by looking through recent reports or incidents related to such symbols in the local archives. It might give us a clue."
"Thanks for the help, Mira."
"No problem."
She looked out the window, noticing the dense fog rolling in as the sky darkened.
"You can head home, Nikolai. We can continue the investigation tomorrow." He gave her a quick thanks and started heading home.
As Nikolai walked to the station, the rain had started to fall heavily, turning the city streets into glistening streams, lit only by the dim moonlight. The rain pounded against his coat and created a steady drumming noise as he made his way back through the downpour.
The sensation of raindrops cascading down was oddly soothing, but it did little to lessen the weight of the case and the eerie sense that something was terribly wrong. The sky was a dark, oppressive blanket overhead, and the rhythm of the rain seemed to echo the dread that had settled within him.
It was when he rounded a corner by an alley that Nikolai heard a scream. It was guttural and primal, begging out for mercy. The people around him noticed and clamored, some concerned and some curious.
The dense fog had completely settled in now, and the streetlamps remained unilluminated. Nikolai ran towards the sound, drenching his boots and socks in rainwater.
The first thing he noticed was the metallic stench of blood hitting his nostrils. Each step he took escalated his growing anxiety.
One step, two steps, three.
Four steps.
Five.
Six.
His breathing became labored.
Should I just run?
Seven.
The scent of rust completely filled his lungs.
Eight.
Before he could take another step, there it was. A stream of ruby-red flowing towards him, riding the channels of the stone pavement, slithering from the fog like a serpent from its burrow.
A sense of dread seeped into his bones.
Should I keep going?
What if someone got hurt?
I should help them, right?
Another step.
But it wasn't his.
Another step. Someone was walking towards him through the fog.
One step after another, a man appeared, barely in view.
He was clutching his throat, gurgling, drowning in his own blood.
As he drew closer, Nikolai recognized something disgustingly familiar. Where his eyes should've been, two soulless chasms were present.
After taking another step, he collapsed in a heap, his life-giving fluids pooling around him, mixing with the rain, its color metamorphosing from deep crimson to pale carmine. Nikolai rushed towards him in a futile attempt to help, but it was no use. He had already passed away.
As Nikolai examined the body for injuries, he noticed two markings on the back of his neck. They were alien, but at the same time, almost conversant. He became engulfed in trying to decipher what it meant.
A footstep drew him out of his trance.
Out of the fog, the towering man from the pier appeared, like a demon from his nightmares. He was still clad in a trenchcoat, but now also donned a pair of black leather gloves and a wide-brimmed hat.
"Is he done?" The tall man asked, his voice gravelly.
What? Is what done? Who's he?
"What do you mean?" Nikolai responded.
The man looked equally confused for a second, then returned another question.
"Is he taking longer than usual? Does he need help this time?" He chuckled to himself quietly. "No, of course he doesn't, he's the best of us for a reason."
"What are you talking about?!" Nikolai shouted, hoping someone would notice his voice. "Did you kill this man?!"
The man stared into Nikolai's eyes, no, beyond them, as if he was gazing into the soul itself.
"Complete the assignment soon. The boss is waiting."
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two pieces of paper.
"He's lucky we're working at the same spot this time," the man grumbled.
He tossed the pictures towards Nikolai, and he scrambled to catch them before they fell onto the moist street floor.
"Hey, what the hell is this?!" Nikolai demanded, clutching the pieces of paper in his hands. He looked down for a second to observe the pictures.
One was of a graveyard, another was a portrait of a man.
"Hey! What is this supposed to mean?"
Silence.
Nothing but cold silence and wispy tendrils of smog.
The man had melted into the fog, unseen and unheard. Remembering the freshly-dead body, Nikolai leapt to his feet.
This couldn't be happening.
Why is this happening to me?
Should I just run?
No, I didn't do anything wrong, I'm not in trouble.
"Run. Don't let them catch you."
A voice behind me spoke, eerie, quiet, but soothing.
"Who's there?!" he yelled, spinning around to confront this newcomer.
But there was nobody.
Nikolai ran home, panic-stricken, fear biting at his ankles.
By the time he'd reached the lodgings, he was drenched and exhausted. Peeling off the wet coat and shoes, he couldn't shake the unease of what had just transpired. He collapsed onto the bed, trying to reason with the day's events.
The dead man, the pictures, and the mysterious giant. He winced, his head splitting.
It was as if his thoughts only served to further torment him. Picking out the pictures from his coat pocket, he examined them closely. The graveyard picture was still unfamiliar. He'll have to research that further. But the man in the photo...
He furrowed his brow, scrutinizing over every detail. The man in the photo seemed recognizable, but Nikolai couldn't put his finger on who he was exactly. He assumed him to be an officer in the military, as he was decked out in uniform, but it was not the Russian Army attire he was accustomed to seeing.
Setting aside the pictures, he tried jogging his mind about the markings on the back of the dead man's neck. It was definitely characters, some kind of language.
"Damn," Nikolai cursed to himself. "I should've tried copying it onto my notepad." But it was too late for that now.
He glanced at the briefcase, still tucked under the desk.
"I'll visit the police station tomorrow to pick up on any clues," Nikolai thought to himself as he drifted asleep, completely fatigued.
Then the nightmares came once more.