“And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
you shout and no one seems to hear
and if the band you’re in starts playing different tunes
I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon...”
Pink Floyd . Brain Damage

January Tenth, 2004
Washington D.C.

After thirty minutes of battling the storm, circling overhead the large mass of clouds that just seemed to hover over the airport, Bobby and Lori stood and began down the aisle, close behind the young man that had behind them, and his now awake counterpart, who Bobby noticed to be of Middle Eastern heritage, by skin-tone and hair color, not necessarily features. Her exotic beauty confused and intrigued him. Stepping from the suspension from the plane into the terminal they forced their way through the hoards of people to the baggage claim, and then onto the Hertz rental counter, all the while in close proximity to the man and woman from the seats behind them.

Handing the clerk a falsified drivers license and matching credit card, Bobby palmed the keys from the girl behind the counter, and signed his name; Donald White, to the receipt and insurance form after dropping the keys into the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. Smiling quickly, he turned from the counter and slung the duffel bag over the same shoulder as his laptop and rejoined Lori behind the crowd at the counter. Together, they left the crowded airport and headed over to the Hertz parking lot, glad to see that instead of snow, they were trudging through rain puddles, and in place of the bitter cold of Denver, the slight chill of Virginia.

Popping the trunk of the car with the key-fob remote, the dumped their luggage, but stowed the laptops in the rear foot-wells, before slipping across the front bench seat of the ‘97 Chevrolet Caprice Classic. Rolling down the windows, they moved through the parking lot, their hands flat against the outer panel of the door. At the light leading out, Bobby looked behind them and saw in his rearview the face of the anonymous man from the plane, and his companion in the passenger seat. Shaking his head, he was confused and border-lining on frustrated. ‘Damned queer...’ he thought to himself, punching the gas pedal and moving out onto the on-ramp of the interstate heading north.

Merging out into traffic behind the Caprice, Mikel trailed behind them at an unnoticeable distance, commenting to Sana that the passengers in the car ahead of them had been in front of them on the plane, and the guy had balked at his reference to the Gray Men-esque clouds. She laughed quietly and poured through a book of CD’s he had grabbed from his bag that was now stuffed into the trunk with hers. Deciding on the obscure Two album, ‘Voyeurs’, she slipped it into the face of the in-board CD player and laid back watching as the moon crept down below the horizon, blanketing them in the cold darkness.

“It’s always darkest before dawn, isn’t it?” Mikel asked rhetorically, blowing a steady stream of smoke out the window. “I always thought it was just a saying, but I used to work third shift at a little, out of the way hotel and I actually noticed it a few times. Just before those first sprinkles of sunlight came up, it was always the darkest, even on moonless nights, it seemed to get even darker. Absolutely insane, really.” he stole a glance from the road and noticed that she was already fast asleep. “Must be nice.” he chuckled, dropping the cigarette out the window.

“It is.” she smiled dryly, shifting her body to a more comfortable position. “Now shush, can’t you see I’m sleeping here?”

He smiled back at her, keeping his eyes on the stretch of interstate and the car in front of them. Pressing the gas pedal a bit further, he changed lanes and slipped around the Caprice with ease, glancing down at the clock. They should arrive at the hotel in under an hour, which would make their ETA two in the morning. Lighting another cigarette, he clicked the cruise control on, let his foot off the pedal and slid along the desolate strip of road, changing the CD to Peach’s album, ‘Giving Birth to a Stone’.

Gliding easily into a parking spot directly in front of the office door, Mikel exited the car and popped the trunk, lifting his bag up on top of the roof and slung the laptop over his left shoulder. He left the trunk open for Sana and watched as the Caprice came in next to them, the man from the seat in front of him on the flight in the driver side, and a fairly attractive blonde to his right. Chuckling to himself, he made the obvious connection, popped a cigarette into his mouth and lit it, slipping around the back end of his car, and stuffing his right hand into his pocket, simulating a pistol. Tapping on the window with right hand, he stared at the man still sitting inside with a dramatic stone seriousness on his face. The driver put the window down, and stuck his head out; “Yes?”

“Are you the one known as [subliminalsilence]?” Mikel asked, his voice taut and strong, yet to expose his pocket to really frighten his compatriot.

“Who’s asking?”

“William McCaffey, Secret Service. Open your door, and step out of the car, placing your hands on the roof, son.”

Bobby did as he was told, and noticed what looked to be a pistol in McCaffey’s pocket, a curiousness crossing his mind. ‘If this guy was a Secret Agent Man, then why isn’t the gun visible?’ he asked himself, realizing now what was happening.

“Now, drop your pants, and further assume the position.” Mikel smirked, waiting.

“Fuck you, Star, now lets get in that office, get our rooms, and figure out what the fuck is going on.”

“Damn, you caught my ruse. Dipshit.”

“Yeah, now let’s go. Do you know what your rooms registered under?”

“John F. Kennedy, yours?” he chortled, taking a quick glance over his shoulder as they headed up the sidewalk leading to the office door.

“Marilyn Monroe, I believe. Guess I should have Waters coming in here instead, ‘eh?”

“Indeed, just tell him you’re Joe DiMagio, and that Marilyn’s out in the car.”

“Yeah, that works.”

As they exited, Sana had finally started to wake, and Mikel pondered the instant comradery between him and Silence. Dipping down into the drivers seat, he gave his passenger a ‘good morning’, and tousled her hair with his hand, catching a violent look in his general direction.

“We’re in room 13, so grab your stuff from the trunk, and let’s head on down. ‘Marilyn Monroe’ is in room 31, and we asked the clerk, and he said that ‘Jimmy Hoffa’ is in 44. So, we’re planning on heading down there once we get settled.”

“Okay. Y’ know, I think Locke has some serious issues.” She stated matter-of-factly, opening the door, and hoisting herself out, her hands on top of the car.

Walking down the outer corridor of the log-cabin looking motel, Mikel made a comment about Norman Bates before slipping his key into the lock and turning the knob, he tossed his duffle onto the bed before he had even entered, and let Sana slide passed him with her luggage dragging behind her, and her laptop case over her right shoulder. His eyes looking further down, he was about to say something before Silence looked over his shoulder and said “Ten minutes, our room.” as he and Lori continued down the hall to room 31.

Laying on the bed, focusing on the clock, Mikel watched as the hands ticked along, and around him Sana was unpacking; opening, closing, and reopening drawers, and after seven minutes, she was done, a triumphant look on her face. She laid down on her side next to Mikel and watched him intently, his eyes seeming to rotate with the second hand on the old and yellow clock face.

Stretching his hands up over his head, he arched his back, feeling the vertebrae pop and crack as he yawned, squeezing his eyes tight. “Y’ know, kid... we’re getting set up. But it doesn’t matter, really. Shit happens.”

“You might be right, Star...” she collapsed onto her side, her arm brushing against his side, sending a chill through his body.

“Care to know something else?” he looked at her, his eyes baggy and blood shot, watching her nod silently. “That’s the first time I’ve felt a human’s touch in a year. Without being on the receiving end of a violent act.” Yawning again, he rolled over to the other side of the bed and got up, stretching his arms out and taking the single step towards the door. “It’s time.” he spoke coldly, running his fingers through his hair.

Knocking twice on the door bearing the stainless steal number 31 over the peephole, and waited without a word to each other, for Silence to open it. Eleven seconds (Mikel was counting it in his head), the door creaked open and the two occupants were out the door, locking it behind them. Further down the hall, they found room 44, and Silence knocked, quickly stuffing his hands into the pocket of his ‘Brooklyn’ emblazoned hooded sweatshirt. “Gettin’ damned cold, isn’t it?” he asked to no one and everyone.

“Who is it?” a young girls voice, sounding no older than eighteen, asked.

“Kennedy and Monroe.” Instantly, they heard the chain come undone from the door, and then the deadbolt retract, finally the door opened and they were face to face with the ever elusive Locke. She stood a few inches over five foot, her hair coal black, and was dressed in extra baggy clothes, with a length of chrome chain running from her front belt-loop to her wallet. With a toothy smile, she displayed her incisors, sharp enough to make a vampire drool with envy.

“Come in.” she said, moving to the edge of the door, motioning them in, Mikel bringing up the rear.

“Who the fuck is that?!” he asked, backing away, one foot already back out the door, and the keys to the car in his hand.

“Whoa, hold up. This is [wanderintome], a friend whose dad moved her from the states to Tokyo to take a job. After everyone signed on, I realized that we’d need someone to interpret anything that might not be in standard, or programming, English. She’s cool. I swear on it, a fucking hell of a hack. Hell, Star, if you want, I’ll tell you her name, for fuck’s sake.” Mikel stared at Locke intently, questioningly. Finally he nodded his head, to continue on with the name. He knew that it wasn’t kosher, but he needed something to show their good faith. “Tomomi, okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” he mumbled, stepping back into the room, his eyes locked onto the unknown companion of Locke’s, noticing across her upper arm and shoulder a cleanly inked spider-web tattoo, and her finely contoured Asian features, but the mannerisms and relaxed atmosphere of a Valley Girl surrounding her. “How’d you know which one I was, anyway?”

“No one else is so damned paranoid.” He grunted his acceptance, his head bobbing slightly up and down lazily. “Let’s get down to business.”

As the night progressed, they were talking about how they would be entering the computer systems, what kind of viruses they would be sending, and how the attack would be perpetrated, and how long. Locke told them that the reason they were in Virginia in the first place, was because of the admission into the governments satellites, with closely restricted access; IE, they’d be allowed in, but only to connect, and the satellites would be monitored around the count. They were growing tired, and slowly drifted on the subject, and ended up just shooting the shit, getting useful information from around the United States.

Being the sole smoker, Mikel stepped out the door and leaned against the exterior wall of the motel, feeling the slight rolling of the faux-logs against his back. Lighting the cigarette, he watched the fog-heavy streets as dawn was approaching. In the distance, he saw two circular headlights heading in his direction. The nearer they came, the more distinct the engine was; he had heard it before, but never without the insulation of his house between them. He shook his head ignoring the connection, but kept his eyes glued to the headlights as he sucked the smoke deep into his lungs. The car was coming to the opposite end of the motel, but not turning in, it just passed on and he watched as it came into clear view. It was the same Mercury he had seen outside his house in Nowhere, and inside, watching him with stone faces and wearing gray fedoras, were four men. All looking of eastern European descent, and as close as they were, he could see their cold, black eyes staring at him, into his soul.

The cigarette fell from his fingers and he spun around, bolting into the room, where the five others were glued to the TV, watching the carnage of California sinking into the ocean a few months previous. Tomomi made a comment about losing a lot of friends, and said that she was on the phone with one of them as it happened; the friend was watching the news and said that it wasn’t what everyone had expected - gradual, giving everyone enough time to evacuate, but as though it were pushed into the ocean by the hand of God.

Mikel leaned against the now locked door, his face flushed and sweating, his eyes darting around like he had just snorted a shit load of crystal meth, and his heart pounding in his chest sent the same signals. But no, he was straight, and the Gray Men were here. Still watching. Always watching. Always.