Chapter 2, Echoes
"Bravo, what's your status?" Mister O called out into his radio with a stressed voice. It was just Mister O and one other team member in a dark abandoned building at a desolate ghost-town village. "Reaper, you picking up anything?" Mister O asked his fellow team member.
"Negative, Chief," he responded, "It's been radio silence since both Alpha and Bravo entered the kitchen area."
"Okay, follow me and cover my six," Mister O instructed.
Following behind, Reaper covered their rear as they moved slowly towards the kitchen. Mister O's heart rate felt as though the rhythm had increased in velocity. Each beat felt as if it would burst through his chest against his tactical vest. Finger tips became cold under his gloves as fear began to embrace him. His breath was long, but shaky with each inhale followed by a quick and forced exhale.
Approaching the door leading into the kitchen area both Reaper and Mister O stacked up against the door. Grabbing the door knob with one hand, Mister O takes lead with his other hand holding his gun towards the door.
One tap, he felt Reaper signaling him on the shoulder. Second tap, streaks of cold sweat ran down his face. Third tap, he twisted the door knob and pushed the door open. Both of them rushed into the darkness, complete black, muffled gunshots ringing in his ears until he opened his eyes.
Mister O woke up from a dream of the past during a rare moment of rest. He found himself in a dark abandoned mansion. The only visible light was the flickering candle in an old lantern on a table in front of him. Whispers echoed the halls and even at times the sight of apparitions glided through the room.
He finally stood up from the couch he slept in, stretching his body as a his spine popped one vertebrae after another. He then walked over to the nearest mirror and began fixing his striped necktie. Through his reflection in the mirror, the image of a ghostly woman appeared behind him. Her face looked distressed as if she was pleading to him, yet no sound came from her.
Mister O continued to fix his clothing and straighten himself out. Un-fazed by the apparition, he began fixing his hair as he saw the ghost in the mirror scream into his ear. He was dressed in a dark grey suit, his white dress shirt under his coat was worn sharply with a holstered pistol on his hip. Unlike the ghost in a shabby nightgown next to him as he finished he turned around and found no apparitions behind him as he continued to the couch he had original slept in.
He then returned to the couch to tend to his briefcase which had been laying next to it. The wooden floor creaked with each step, more whispers echoed through the walls, drawers and cabinets rattled near where he walked. It was obvious the afterlife was trying to gain his attention even though he seemed to not care.
"You know, you're the only person I know that can sleep in a haunted mansion," a raspy Italian voice called out from the shadows, "and I've been alive a long time, old friend."
"It's only a Class A haunting, there's no threat here, " Mister O responded with grin. "Besides, only you would schedule a meeting at a place like this. But, speak of living a long life, one would think someone as old as you would learn the meaning of punctuality."
The man approached from the shadows with a friendly smile. Unlike Mister O, he was dressed more casually, with slacks and a polo shirt. Dark hair with bits of gray , his features were evident he had an Italian background. He was very friendly and greeted Mister O with a hug and kiss on each cheeks, though Mister O wasn't fond of affection even as comrades, he still respected the man's culture.
"The Council of Venice had barely dispatched me on short notice, my friend. And you are correct, I prefer to meet under this kind of environment," he said.
Mister O responded, "Do you still go by George Olivieri?"
"Of course, at least in your lifetime I will go by this name. It is better than Saint Longinus, that is not even my real name," George responded with a laugh.
Mister O simply nodded with his normal grin, "Strange how one event can make you a legend in generations to come."
"Yes, old friend, " George continued, "but being a legend is not always as glorious as it sounds in folklore. I have loved many women in my life, each I swore were the love of my life only to outgrow each one and watch them wither away while I remain here."
"So is that why you're still searching for the spear, hoping it can reunite you with your loves in the afterlife?" Mister O asked.
"No," George laughed, "No, not at all. Italianas are very fiery and very jealous women. If they're not all fighting each other in the afterlife, perhaps they're all scheming to curse me should I arrive."
Mister O smirked at his response, "I wouldn't know, I've never dated an Italian girl before. So, how are things with the Council?"
"It's good, old friend," George replied. "They are providing me the resources I need to locate the spear, but in return I must help them, or in this case I'm helping your organization with the knowledge I've acquired over the many years."
Mister O reached into his coat and retrieved a cigar, he did all the necessary requirements to properly toast it as he finally began smoking it. The aroma was a bold scent, very complimenting to the mansion. He took one puff out of it and then exhaled, "So, old man, why? Tell me, why do you always insist on meeting at places like this?"
"Come," George responded, "Let us walk and sanctify this place while we talk. Of course these poor souls are trapped. They deserve to have their peace, believe that I understand how it feels to not be able to pass into the afterlife," he explains as the two begin walking together. Little to their knowledge, a malicious being hidden in the shadows began the emerge behind them.
As the dark night's sky shrouded Cloverton University, the building of the attack just days prior now had the UK's Ministry of Justice's strict supervision. Police and guards surrounded the building as investigations had been underway since then. A dark van with strange plates arrived and pulled into the police barricade.
"No access allowed," the police officer guarding the perimeter ordered.
The driver side window rolled down, behind the wheel was a man in a gray suit with a maroon colored necktie and sunglasses on, "You will be receiving a phone call shortly and you will be granting us access," the man demanded.
The police officer appeared agitated, "This is my last warning, din, turn this bloody vehicle," right then he was interrupted as his phone rang, "Yes?" he answered bewilderedly. At the same time, his superiors on his radio were ordering him to allow access to the van, "Ah, yes! This way," he directed them.
The van continued down the road until they reached the building entrance. As they arrived, all the police personnel were departing the building. One older man in civilian clothing had greeted the van, "Greetings, I'm Inspector Bartish. You must be with the Ministry of Defense?" he asked.
Several people dismounted from the van, most were in the gray suits with maroon neckties. Two in particular were dressed differently, "No, we're from a different lot," a blond woman responded as she dismounted. Her hair blew freely in the air, she had a look of confidence with her facial expression. Light freckles, ice blue eyes, and ruby red lips. She was tall and athletically built, "Rumah Zarenidy," she introduced herself.
"Oh," the inspector responded. He didn't know what to make of her, nor her colleagues. She was dressed rather fashionably. Dark pants with pistols holstered on each leg, a dark leather jacket with red seams. Her clothing fit just right to compliment the curves of her athletic body.
"And this one is my partner," she introduced, "Ulf, say hi to the nice policeman, yeah?"
He simply gave the inspector a hard pat on the shoulder with a straight face. Ulf was larger and well built, a man of a few words, but with a Norse accent. He had a dark reddish brown beard, his clothing was a bit retro. Slacks with a black turtleneck shirt underneath a vintage brown leather jacket, his head was shaved on the sides with a pony tail tied on the top. The side of his face had dark red war paint, one streak vertically above the left eye and splitting into two streaks below the eye. He was armed with a shotgun that was slung over one shoulder. The others in the suits began grabbing various bags and boxes filled with equipment and followed Rumah and Ulf as the inspector led them into the building.
Bullet casings were scattered, many of the interior were black and scorched with burns, "I don't know what to make of this? If someone had a flamethrower, they did real good by not leaving any trace of the accelerant behind," the inspector explained, "Of course, we're not going to release that we've been hit by a terrorist attack, instead the press is reporting a gas leak caused an explosion."
They made their way up the stairwell and found the interior to be even more damaged than the hallways . As they continued towards Penny's office studio, near the elevators the inspector continued explaining their findings, "Here we found some sort of bomb that was strapped to our survivor's chest."
"A survivor?" Rumah asked.
"Ah, yes. His name is Randolf Davis," Inspector Bartish explained, "He was part of the team that was targeted for abduction and claimed another party had disarmed the bomb. But he panicked and ran away before he could find out who this other party was."
"Where can we find him?" Rumah asked.
The inspector took a moment to recollect his thoughts, "Oh, yes, he's being treated at Lady Ives Mercy Hospital in London. Oh, here we are, according to Mr. Davis, the insurgents were only interested in this room."
"Very well," Rumah responded as she and her colleagues entered the studio, "But, I'll need you to wait outside," and then she shut the door leaving the inspector out.
"Very good," Ulf taunted, "I see the diplomacy you've been trying to preach is working well."
Rumah snickered at him, "Time is of the essence and a lady must do what she must, yeah?"
Everyone was quick to break out the bags and equipment. Two of them pulled out thuribles, metal balls suspended by chain and lit the incense inside. Another person had a pitcher of oil and began pouring it in a circle around the room with everyone inside the circle.
As all the men in gray suits were armed with a single pistol, they began passing swords to one another from one of the boxes. Ulf who was armed with a shotgun wielded dual axes from the box, Rumah a flanged mace.
The thuribles began to smoke, the bearers began walking in a big circle opposite side of each other. The oil was then lit and a white flame ignited. The two thurible bearers began chanting in Latin as they continued to walk in a circle.
"Come on!" Ulf said in a challenging tone, "Show your ugly face!"
