Untitled Part 2 by Kolbe Cathcart

I spent perhaps a full week after my story left off in a state of unrivaled obsession.    Every day I would read some small bit on my way to work, and in that cosy little cubicle I'd read a bit more, shifting the workload as well as I could to allow me more time.  Only several days in and I was familiar with the tales of Inspector Legrasse (1908) , the studies of H.A. Wilcox, a dreamer examined by a professor Webb (1925) and a slew of other works solely compiled for their relevance to this case, but without a real sense of cohesion in their dates.   One of the most identifiable stories to me was of a man who had come face to face with the very same cultic group I did, though on the East Coast as opposed to where I was on the West.  I think I related to this tale so well because the character (having never been given a name, nor even referenced to one in his account, which remained authorless) had seen exactly what I'd seen, monsters from beneath the waters.  By now I had come to grips with this occurrence and was working closely with a government agency that left itself nameless ( though I suspected it to be some subset of the FBI) so we could study, and hopefully, eliminate the cult.   Some things I could still not fully understand, but that was why I had been given this collection of materials dealing with the abomination of a religion.  I know that they didn't need me for muscle, being the government and all, whilst likewise I knew that there were probably far better minds working on this project than my own.  And still I wondered why it was I was still here, until eventually I became sufficiently distracted from whatever studying I was doing.  Near my seventh day with these files I had finished a pretty good portion of them and had committed to memory a vast majority of what I had read, and even those that weren't committed I still had a vague recollection of.  I began to mentally catalog the adventures through these tales of terror and I guess some time after I had lost track of time I heard a rasping of knuckles on the door.  Usually this would have been a harmless enough occurrence, and not too late in the day for it to be something terribly urgent or in fact weird, however it still made my hair stand on end on the nape of my neck and brought me immediately back to my senses.  Once more I heard the knuckles on that hard wood and the seeming "BOOM BOOM BOOM" echoing from the door.   I made my way to investigate at the peephole on the center of the door.  I did my best not to reveal my presence by sounds of movement to whomever was outside of my door, waiting.  Of course in the back of my mind I knew that I was in no real danger, being secluded in my suburban neighborhood under what I'm assuming was a decent amount of surveillance had its advantages, assuming the stereotypes of government were to be believed.  I looked through the peephole and saw a familiar man in a familiar suit.  I had seen this man and his suit several times since the week following my meeting with the Cult and himself the next day, where he gave me a copy of The Angell Files.   "Smith" officially, and "Hoover" unofficially, was an interesting man.  He seemed to have no sense of humor but would laugh, didn't seem to find anything particularly interesting but was always attentive, and perhaps the most unsettling thing was that he never seemed surprised.  Even when I told about my dreams or if I had gotten through some bit of reading supernaturally fast he never gave any real indication that my performance was in the slightest unexpected.  He began to speak.   "We're moving you for a while, a car will be outside of your house in three hours.  Pack some clothes and whatever essentials you need and simply get in the back.  Don't be late."  He held a calm and deep, almost authoritative if he put some effort into it, voice.  And of course he was being business like as he could in the situation.   "Can I at least ask where I'm going?"  I already knew the answer but I thought trying couldn't really hurt any chances I had.   "You'll know in 3 hours" was the only response.  Almost immediately afterward he showed himself out of the house, carefully closing the door.  Immediately I began to pack and did my best to take care of whatever business I could for at least two weeks time.  Three hours later I found myself in a small car with barely enough room in the back for a suitcase and myself, who then began a long car journey.   Nearly an hour later I had arrived in the deep city next to a line of familiar warehouses that I guessed was very close to where our new base of operations would be.  I looked around to see the outside of the warehouse complex being enveloped by a mystical sort of fog like a magic spell, and in turning around I saw the closest office building being bordered by the exact same type of fog and a dark premonition came to mind about the fate of the day.  The scene in my mind was a showdown between the forces of those two buildings, the forces of Order versus the forces of Disorder, good versus evil, light versus darkness.  Two equally determined sides staring each other down just waiting for tempers to flare into open conflict.  The driver took us down into a parking garage under the office building.   Several minutes later I was shown to a room that had been hastily converted from a normal office space into a basic bedroom cubicle.  I looked around and saw that there was an odd looking plastic construct that seemed to resemble a removable sink, next to a lame grey cot and an equally lame dresser that looked like it was made of plastic.  I began to unpack some of my clothes and toiletries when a man just walked in.   "Mission tonight, eat something and try to get some sleep.  Someone will come to wake you up a half hour early and then escort you to your station."  Promptly the man left, as if he hadn't felt like answering any questions I might put to him.  Taking his little advices I snacked on what little conveniences there were in the room and lay down on the grey little cot to rest a while, thinking to myself "Mission? sounds kind of dangerous..." and floated off into an uneventful slumber.