Transition Prologue

Prologue - Countdown

The beginnings and endings of all human undertakings are untidy.

-- John Galsworthy



The hard pouring rain made it difficult for James to effectively perform his duties as the night-shift security guard of the local museum. Armed with a flashlight, he walked through the hallways of the structure while shining beams on the darkness that lay before him.

It was like a night in the jungle. Security cameras stood silently on hidden pedestals near the ceiling like watchful owls, the buzz of the red laser beams akin to a swarm of bees lay a protective barrier around important artifacts. James felt like he's some kind of an adventurer, his flashlight and baton became his armaments.

Of course this is his scenario every night for five months.  Keeping guard of the things that apparently cost more than what he makes, and might make, in his whole life.

His fellow security guards, two to be precise, kept watchful eyes in front of the monitors that are connected to the security cameras. James knew better, those pricks aren't really watching the monitors. Its either they're watching football or pay-per-view porn on the computer.

And James has to make sure that he's doing his job well, for tomorrow is a big day. A big archaeological exhibit will be conducted in this museum. An exhibit of artifacts that were dug out of a desert not far from the city. James saw the news on TV, about the recent surge of archaeological finds since last month. It seems that these artifacts will put a spotlight on this small city, and finally gain some recognition from the world.

Suddenly his walkie-talkie crackled, "Hey James, get your ass over here!"

James grabbed the black device from its holster, "What is it now this time?"

"Just come over here!"

James sighed. He lazily marched back towards the security booth as he toyed with his flashlight's beam.


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The lone black truck carefully drove on the dirt road in an effort to avoid slipping out of control. Ben knew the risk of driving recklessly in such an unforgiving weather, and he really must be careful in handling the wheel for the volatile contents of the truck meant more than his life itself.

Eyes fixed on the road, a cigarette between his lips, hands on the wheel, Ben silently cursed the gods for such a weather in an important night. The dirt road became his only choice if he needs to get to his location as fast as possible, the main roads are all jammed with severe traffic. The news reporter on the radio of his truck reported the very slow progression of vehicles on all main roads in the city. With a disturbingly flamboyant voice, the reporter also added that the rain won't be stopping anytime soon.

"Great," Ben said, followed by a long sentence of every foul word he learned throughout his childhood.

Suddenly his truck ground to a halt. Try as he might, Ben failed to make his vehicle move again. He kicked the door open and jumped to the dirt, the rain immediately soaked his fat 40-year old physique. He crouched and saw that the front tires are jammed in a mound of dirt, he'll have to shovel the path clear with his bare hands.

"This is just great!" Ben moved fistfuls of wet dirt with his huge hands. The moment he threw the last patch of moist earth, Ben sighed in relief.

A sharp jolt of pain shot through his right shoulder. Ben clasped it firmly with his left hand, not minding the thick brown stain that now smear his white shirt. He felt some kind of warm liquid on his left hand, his fingers crawled around that part and felt what seems to be a small hole.

"Goddamnit!" Ben realized that his right shoulder has been wounded. He must've hit something inside his truck.

His venture towards his truck was cut short after another sharp jolt of pain tore through his left shoulder. He screamed in pain and terror as the darkness around him, save for the truck's headlights, made it hard to determine who or what the hell is doing this to him.

He felt something hard brush along his spine. He turned to look and saw a boot as it kicked his back, sending Ben towards the ground with his face firmly planted on the wet earth. He turned and saw the silhouette of a huge man with a laser beam that made its way towards Ben's forehead.

"Oh shi---" The loud blast stopped Ben from finishing his foul last words. Permanently.

The man made his way towards the back of the truck and lifted the door open. Inside lay dozens of wooden crates with the word FRAGILE stamped on their sides in red. The man entered and scanned the boxes individually. A moment later he touched his right ear then spoke, "I found it."

A few seconds later came a reply in the form of a deep male voice, "Perfect. Eradicate."

The man picked up a small black sphere from his pocket and dropped it into one of the boxes. He left the truck and vanished into the darkness, not looking back at the bright orange column of fire that engulfed the truck.


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"Firefighters immediately rushed to the scene in motorbikes as they were unable to traverse the traffic that literally clogged the city streets."

The news video finished playing for the second time. James stared at the computer screen in shock as his two colleagues, Mark and Ricky, nodded in unison. A truck containing the artifacts that were supposed to be loaded tonight into the museum became the victim of an unexplained explosion.

"How convenient. The truck blows up at the eve of the exhibit itself. Guess we won't be working that hard tonight eh James?" Mark said, apparently not concerned with such a shocking turn of events.

"Jesus, Mark, that explosion will tear a hole in our payroll as well!" Ricky jabbed his partner's arm.

James sighed as he moved towards the coffee machine. He knew that he shouldn't be worrying about the truck's destruction too much, as he and his security pals won't be able to do anything about it anyway. The incident occurred hours away from the museum, and besides there are other trucks arriving as well, each of them on different routes.

"It's just one truck, we got four more coming," Mark said.

The warm coffee poured on James' Styrofoam cup. His head rested on the wall next to the machine, his mind enumerated all possibilities that lead to the explosion. He firmly believes it to be the handiwork of thieves, or those environmentalists who aren't delighted at the archaeological digs in various areas near the city. But that one was too much, since those environmentalists only resorted to rallies and not terrorist attacks.

If thieves, on the other hand, why would they blow up the truck? They could've just sniped the driver and took off with the vehicle and all of its contents.

Suddenly the lights on the security booth turned off, engulfing the place in complete darkness. Ricky kicked the counter in anger while Mark stood and turned on his flashlight. James calmly grabbed his cup and proceeded to take a sip, confident that the darkness is just power interruption thanks to the awful weather.

A loud crash reverberated all across the hallways, prompting the trio to unholster their pistols simultaneously. Mark volunteered to check the source of the sound while Ricky accompanied him but on a different direction.

"Hey James, why don't you go downstairs and check on the generator?" Ricky said before leaving.

James left his coffee on the table and turned on his flashlight. He moved to the hallway with nothing but the faint beam that acted like his guardian angel as he marched through the void. The hand carrying his flashlight slowly trembled, his right hand clutched the handgun tightly.

He made his way to the basement of the museum, behind a rusty metal door that groaned noisily as he pushed it open. James pointed his beam towards the opposite end of the small basement where a yellow generator lay on the floor. He bit on his flashlight then he pulled the ignition of the generator several times before it roared to life. A few seconds later all the lights on the museum came back on.

James went out of the basement and walked back to the security booth. He grabbed his coffee cup and stood in front of the camera monitors. He was about to take a sip when the images on the camera suddenly registered a revolting sight into his brain.

The coffee spilled onto his lap but his mind blocked the pain. James saw the dead bodies of Mark and Ricky as they lay on a pool of blood, positioned carefully in front of the cameras as if the killer wanted him to see the bodies. James grabbed his pistol and rushed to the location. He saw the bodies of his pals on the floor, both of them with gunshot wounds to the forehead.

James spun and shot three rounds on the hallway after hearing footsteps, but his attack was useless. Suddenly he spun to the opposite direction and fired two more shots after hearing footsteps there. Again the bullets hit nothing but concrete walls. James tried to focus as he hears the footsteps echo in all directions. His mind tried to calculate if the attacker had an accomplice or two.

A single shot to his head ended his calculation in a painful manner.


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The salty taste of water crawled into his lips, the chill of the air accompanying the heavy rain covered his body like a blanket immersed in ice. His muscles groaned as he lay on the dirt, his fingers clutched the earth while his knees screamed in pain.

Slowly his eyes opened, he saw nothing but darkness and heavy rain.

Jaden gritted his teeth as his hands painfully made their way towards his back. He tried to look for wounds, for any sort of damage on his body, but to no avail fortunately.
He rested his hands again in front of him. His eyes slowly crawled downward and saw what little that remained on his tattered shirt, his pants fortunately intact. Barely intact. Jaden tried to remember the last things that transpired before waking up here, but try as he might, he couldn't produce even a single image in his mind.

But he knew that he had to get out of here before the rain wears his body further.

Wherever the hell he was...