No one looked up.
But I could tell every one of them was supernatural.
They must the pub’s guards.’
A few were watching the door without making it obvious.
They weren’t slouches either.
I could feel the pressure rolling off some of them like static on a dry day.
They were trying to act natural.
But their identity as supernatural was visible to my veteran eye.
I walked to the bar and took a seat.
The bartender came over.
He was tall, muscular, and bald, with a braided beard and silver piercings on one ear.
His eyes locked onto my mask.
He didn’t ask why I was wearing it.
He just gave me a nod.
"What’ll you have?" he asked.
I leaned in slightly and said the password, "Zagreus has escaped once again."
He blinked once, then sighed and scratched his beard.
"Kid," he said, eyeing me again, "next time you come here, try not to look more suspicious than a vampire at a blood bank. It’ll make your job easier."
I didn’t reply.
’Damn you, you think I want to come in a get up like this?’
’I still can’t create fake faces, so I had to make do with this.’
He shook his head and muttered something in Greek, then beckoned me to follow.
I got off the stool and walked behind him through a narrow door next to the bar.
We entered a hallway that looked like a regular staff passage.
He reached the end, pressed three buttons on a wall panel, and part of the wall creaked open with a faint metallic hiss.
"Go on," he said, stepping aside.
I nodded and walked through.
There was a staircase leading down.
Cold air rose up from below, dry and sharp like it had been filtered a hundred times.
I could smell old dust, metal, and faint traces of incense.
As I descended, the wall behind me closed automatically, sealing off the upper pub completely.
The stairs led into a massive chamber.
Massive columns rose like silent sentries into shadowed heights above.
Orange torchlight flickered across the walls, dancing shadows that stretched impossibly tall.
Ahead were two towering doors, carved with arcane sigils.
Men in dark uniforms and armor flanked them like living statues.
They eyed me carefully.
The first guard stepped forward. "Name?"
"Alan Veritus." I spoke clearly.
"We will confirm your identity with a blood sample."
"Okay"
The second guard held a syringe.
The needle withdrew a small vial of blood from my arm.
My shadow-tinged arms drew no alarm.
It was normal. These were veteran supernaturals. They wouldn’t be surprised by my shadowy arms.
The reason I wore these clothes were to go into society.
Quite a few Anomalies hide between normal people, and hunting them would need the supernatural to do the same.
However, I couldn’t go between normal people in my shadowy-appearance.
"Identity confirmed."
The guards stepped aside after checking the blood through a machine.
Beyond the doors lay a vast, vaulted hall.
It was a naturally carved cavern that has been modified.
One side was lined with low tables brimming with food.
The other held barrels of drink.
In the middle was a dark, placid pond, its surface rippling in torchlight.
Far in the back, I could see a corridor leading to different rooms.
The atmosphere shifted between casual comfort and solemn ceremony.
Staff moved gently between the tables, eyes flicking past me without registering suspicion.
I followed one to a bulletin board at the far end of the hall where other applicants had gathered.
"So these are the missions."
Dozens of laminated sheets listed missions, each described like an urban legend or a half-forgotten family story.
The receptionist sitting below the bulletin board spoke,
"Sir, I will give you a swift introduction about the test.
"The missions from test are chosen from the pool of the missions submitted to the Underworld.
"These are the low-threat test missions that were selected.
"However, you must know these missions have been not verified to be caused by anomalies.
"If the cause turns out mundane, you’ll need to pick another mission. The test is only passed if a true anomaly is confirmed."
She continued.
"As for your team, they are waiting in the rooms in the back. You will be sent to a different room depending on the mission you chose.
"Once the room has eight people, you can leave to take the mission."
I nodded, and studied the list:
...
Mission A – London, England
Case: Objects spontaneously shatter in a children’s playroom.
Goal: Identify the cause and confirm anomaly within three weeks.
Mission B – Vancouver, Canada
Report: Strange lights hovering near riverbank. Farmers claim livestock sick.
Goal: Observe pattern; confirm anomaly if magical flux detected.
Mission C – Zurich, Switzerland
Incident: Shadow-like presence seen at night outside apartment complex.
Goal: Validate presence and secure any material evidence.
Mission D – Street 51, Sheffield, England
Report: Local disappearances on Street 51.
Goal: Investigate disappearances; determine anomaly presence.
Mission E – Durban, South Africa
Logs: Flickering lights under sand dunes; occasional tremors.
Goal: Confirm instability and collect samples if anomaly confirmed.
...
Surprisingly, there were no high-risk missions.
’All the tough missions were probably taken earlier since people wanted to pass the test, and it was not confirmed which mission had anomaly in it.’
Since the underworld just choose the weakest looking missions for this test, most of them were quite easy.
I examined each description carefully, looking for hints in tone or wording that might betray hidden anomalies.
Then I froze.
Mission D: Street 51, Sheffield, England.
’Street 51?’
It was the street where the Anomaly named [Area 51] had first manifested.
The same anomaly that would, nine years from now, trigger the First Disaster in Europe and nearly wipe out half the continent.
My family—House Daelthorn—would kill themselves to defeat it.
"Sir?" said the guide. "Do you have a question?"
"When did the disappearances started in Mission D?"
She checked her notes.
"Three months ago."
Three months.
The anomaly should still be weak, like a seed just beginning to sprout, easier to contain or destroy.