Janitor Incident #E197

“J-2, report in. This is Diadem. Have you arrived at the operation site yet?”
The crackling voice rang out over the din of heavy rain as a dark figure trudged through the jungle’s thick black muck. A black tactical helmet turned in response to its owner’s codename being spoken as he maneuvered around the thick roots of the tall canopy trees. A muffled voice responded to the query.
“10-75 (heavy weather}. Storm grounded the Heli. Forced to travel the remaining 3 klicks on foot.”
“10-4. Understood. Proceed and begin clean-up ASAP.”
“10-4. Moving out.”

J-2—Janitor Two. That was the codename the company had assigned him once they busted him out of Attica. One of the higher-ups had liked J-2’s style in handling the Californian Revolution in 2037, specifically how he managed to hold Hollywood Boulevard for two hours using a homemade flamethrower against two companies of trained militia. Of course, accidentally burning the former movie capital of the world down to its foundations does have some consequences—he was tried and convicted for the extensive, “unjustifiable” damage he caused.
A year passed, and one day as J-2 sat in his cell, an Echo representative approached and made him an offer—they would fake his death and erase him from the public record so he could be free, so long as he served Echo as an agent. Since the alternative was rotting behind bars for the rest of his life, J-2 accepted.
Echo wasn’t the worst clandestine paramilitary company you could work for. Sure, they had gotten him out of a bad place…but for J-2, the job could certainly be demanding. Echo worked their employees hard, held them to high standards of professionalism and discretion, and rarely cared about them so long as they could get the job done. That wasn’t a problem. J-2 could be stoic and professional when he needed to be, he got better at making his handiwork look like unfortunate accidents, and he liked his job. He just wanted an uninterrupted vacation for once in his life.
After the last clean-up disaster over in the Philippines erasing an underground animal trafficking ring from the face of the earth, which J-2 had handled with his usual caliber of skill and professionalism, he and his usual squad mates had earned their yearly paid vacation window. They split and went their separate ways, and J-2 had been looking forward to a well-earned respite sightseeing on the northern isle of New Zealand. Unfortunately, Echo was contracted to cover up a situation out in the middle of the Pacific, and J-2 was their closest operative.
He knew from experience his protests would fall on deaf ears. He resigned himself to the task, suited up in his tactical Nomex gear, and waited for his transport and briefing at the nearest airfield.
A hangar off the beaten path in the jungles of the Whakatane District had been secured for the operation, though it would have been nice if they had cleared at least some of the cobwebs. Regardless, he headed upstairs to the hangar office.
His operator, Diadem, had finished setting up her equipment by the time J-2 arrived. She probably arrived hours earlier, as there wasn’t a single cobweb in sight. That, and she had so many screens and keyboards it was like a start-up tech company followed her everywhere she went. At least Echo spared no expense for their equipment. She wore her typical orange jumpsuit under her Echo insignia jacket and featureless white mask that failed to hide her wavy white bob haircut. She was glued to her computers as usual and didn’t even acknowledge J-2 when he entered the room.
J-2 set down his pack of equipment and knocked on the door frame. “Echo agent surprise inspection, you aren’t covering everything up. That white tumbleweed sticking out of your head is an identifiable feature, and that’s going to cost you your job.” J-2 snarked.
“Molon Labe,” she replied, sending a pronounced middle finger in J-2’s general direction. “Let them come and take it then. There’s no better operator in the whole Communications Division than me,” she turned to glare at J-2. “Besides, Echo prefers results over discipline anyway. Otherwise, they wouldn’t let you get away with dodging your psych evaluations. Are you scared of your psychiatrist?
Typical Diadem. When she wasn’t on the job, her attitude and ego shone through her disguise brighter than the morning sun. It made sense that the brass decided her codename would be something as dramatic as “Diadem.”
“Ha-ha, you’ve made your point.” J-2 raised his arms in mock defeat. “I just wish you’d take my advice and take a vacation already; you damn workaholic. Actually, scratch that. Maybe I’d get a competent operator – you know, one that does their research on the site before the op begins. I bet Central would love to hear about that.
“That was one time, J-2, and that Vietnamese snake pen wasn’t so bad! Your armor kept you perfectly safe. Besides, I wouldn’t have to if you got better results. Ones that didn’t involve an explosion of burnt snake carcasses all over Navatos.” Diadem shook her head.
Ah, the joys of their faux-aggressive, attitude-heavy, pre-operation camaraderie. J-2 knew he was safe, but Diadem was so OCD that her missing this one detail drove her nuts. Diadem didn’t really care how J-2 got his assignments done either. She just gave everyone an equal amount of sass and stuck closer to the ones that put up with it like he did. It was a shame that they couldn’t exchange pleasantries like these during missions, but Echo always listened in on their employees during excursions, so they did their best to remain professional when they were out in the field.
J-2 sighed. “So...what are we dealing with today?”
“The client’s been frugal with what they’ve given us. All they’ve said is they are an anonymous representative of a big corporation that has a hidden research facility on the island of Anatahan that specializes in genetically modified plant species. Hardier, bigger crops and lasting, pretty flowers.” Diadem shook her head. “I’m pretty sure it’s a front. They wouldn’t need to be hidden or in the middle of the Pacific Ocean if it was legal.”
“Not our job, Diadem. We don’t take care of problems; we just clean up the aftermath.” J-2 leaned against the wall opposite from her. “Besides, I don’t think I need to remind you that your vigilante days are over.”
“Yeah, I know.” She crossed her legs and shifted to the side, supporting her masked head with her right arm on the desk. “Figures the Ex-convict wouldn’t give a damn…”
“I heard that, girl scout.”
“Anyway, about fourteen hours ago the client lost contact with the facility. Aside from the client’s own transmissions, there is no indication that any signals are being sent or received from the island. The client is convinced this isn’t just some equipment malfunction, as the last transmission they received recorded brief bursts of gunfire. They believe that the facility has been taken by armed agents from a hostile competitor, since the on-site guard hasn’t reported in. So, you are going to take care of the situation. As you know, typhoon Valerie is projected to make its way through the region tonight. The client believes that the intruders will try to make their way out under the cover of the storm to avoid detection by the law and further conflict.”
“During a typhoon that big? That’s suicide.”
“It’s a stretch to be sure. Shallow surface scans don’t return any signs of vehicles at the site, but the client seems confident in their assumption. Either way, I won’t be able to stay in contact with you while the storm is overhead, so.…” She pointed to a metal tube sitting on the side of the crowded desk. “Don’t forget to look over the map of the facility. I won’t be able to help you navigate this time.”
Diadem finally turned to face J-2. “In short, your mission is to remove all traces of the invaders so the site can be reclaimed by our client’s operatives. A full clean-up crew will be dispatched when the storm passes.”
“Multiple armed hostiles, probable criminal activity, possible remnants to deal with on the island perimeter, destroy any remaining hostiles .” J-2 summarized.
Okay, this sounded like J-2’s usual job – dispose of the bodies, burn the evidence, remove any signs of a struggle, and in the most extreme cases, remove all evidence of human presence. “I don’t see why you couldn’t wait for some other J-class to… Hold on.” J-2 hesitated.
J-2 started walking towards Diadem’s cluttered desk. He forcefully planted his Nomex gloves onto the silver and grey boxes that separated him from Diadem, rattling their internal components and knocking the map container to the floor. “Diadem, did I hear you say that I was going to take care of the situation? As in, it hasn’t already been dealt with?”
“Hey, easy on the equipment!” Diadem jumped from her seat to caress the machines J-2 had thoughtlessly assaulted. “My babies are very sensitive.”
J-2 lifted his hands and returned them, clenched, to his side. “Diadem. Echo sends H Squads to deal with armed conflict. I am a single J-class agent. I serve as cleanup duty AFTER the situation has been resolved.”
Diadem shrugged, dusting off the spots where J-2 had planted his hands. “There are too many eyes, physical and mechanical, watching the path of that storm. A squad would draw too much attention to the island. The client insisted that SOMEONE go there and scope out the situation as soon as possible. Besides, Echo Central seemed confident you were the right man for the job.”
“Central is as reliable as a broken clock. You hear about how they got a whole company of I-class agents compromised back in Yucatan?”
“Relax. The media covered it up as a chemical plant failure – no one knows we were there. They made an example of the O-class who thought trying to double-cross the client mid-op while doing business with Los Zetas was a good idea last week. That was a rare mistake.”
There was a solid fourteen seconds of silence after those words escaped from behind Diadem’s plain white mask. “…Did you just take Central’s side for once?”
“Hey, not everything they do makes our jobs harder, J-2. Besides, the site has already been cleared by the client’s on-duty guard. You’ll have to deal with maybe one or two stragglers at most.”
“Then lead with that bit of information next time.” Well, that was a relief. It had been a while since J-2 was last in armed conflict, and despite his gear being mostly bulletproof, he didn’t like his odds. One or two enemy combatants shouldn’t be a problem, though. “…Fine. Back to the mission. What’s the rest of the intel say?
Diadem could have been mistaken for a mannequin given how still she was. “…I just gave it to you.”
“There’s nothing else?” A hint of J-2’s irritation managed to escape his helmet. “That was almost nothing! I’ve heard of X-class jobs with more detail than that. Is Central having me go in blind??”
“The client stressed their need for our secrecy, speed, and anonymity – they don’t want anything leading back to them, and they are prepared to provide a very substantial payment of 5 million dollars to Echo to get the job done and keep us quiet about it. They’ll be watching with me to observe your performance.”
Wait. So the client is paying five million dollars for one man to scout out a ‘mostly’ abandoned facility that likely contains an unspecified number of hostiles, with possibly no connection to Echo for backup if the situation gets out of hand?
“I don’t like the sound of this job, Diadem.” The sound of helicopter blades grew outside. His transport had arrived.
“You’re a tough boy,” Diadem said as she reached over and patted the side of his helmet. “Besides, I’ll right be there with you as long as I can. I bet if you hurry, you might even get to the operation site before the storm catches you!”
J-2 sighed as reached down and picked up the metal map container and shoved it in his front suit pocket. “You take care, you wretched techno-gremlin.” he said as he walked out the office door, grabbing his equipment pack.
“You too, you braindead redshirt. Try not to burn yourself.”
“Ha, Ha. Very funny, taunting the ‘deranged pyromaniac’ like that.”
Every time with this. J-2 quietly fumed. It was just one time! It's not like California didn’t have wildfires anyway.
Diadem chuckled as she turned back to gaze at her screens. “Oh, hold on.”
“Yes, Diadem?” J-2 called from the stairway.
“The client just sent additional instructions. Leave no traces of the facility by any means necessary J-2.”
“Roger that, moving out.”


As you can guess, J-2 did not arrive before the storm hit the island. The towering trees above him shielded him from most of the rain, but the thick muck that covered the forest floor slowed his progress. Winding over and around the sprawling giant roots and thick vines on the jungle floor, J-2 came to a chasm. J-2 knelt to peer into the darkness, squinting as a flash of lightning revealed a large pool of water at its bottom, dancing to the beats of its heaven-sent brethren. The wind howled, bouncing off the chasm’s walls. J-2 was puzzled. The site was supposed to be here, so where….
The sound of wrenching wood caught J-2’s attention. As he turned, a falling tree struck his helmet, chipped a part of his visor, and knocked him down into the chasm. A crackling wave of static accompanied J-2’s submersion as his head spun like the bubbles of air escaping his helmet. Thunder clashes filled his ears as he surfaced right when the falling tree struck the water beside him. J-2 swam into a shallow region of the pool away from the tree, examining his new surroundings as he wiped the moisture off his visor. Embedded in the chasm wall just above the pool of water, a cylindrical structure with white and orange steel doors sat up a flight of dull metallic stairs. This must be the facility.
“J-2 your suit sensors went offline. Requesting status.”
Figures that the sensors would short out. Echo made their gear tough, but for some reason, they never could make it waterproof. Grabbing onto a rusty handrail, J-2 pulled himself out of the pool. “10-23. (Arrived at the scene.) Unexpected gravitation occurred. No injuries.”
“10-4. Proceed… caution… investigation. Entry code is 3…82.” The earpiece chirped over the growing, hissing waves of static.
“Diadem, you’re breaking up.”
“Storm…interfer…code…391682…copy?”
Figures the storm would interfere just when J-2 reached the operation site. He had been told to expect it, but a man can hope sometimes. Besides, it seemed this was just what his luck was going to be like today.
“Roger, Diadem. Beginning Infiltration.”
J-2 approached the steel doors and entered the code into the keypad on its side. They opened with a grinding screech, revealing a dark, steel corridor. J-2 reached up to his helmet to test the night vision function of his visor, and with the click of a button behind his ear, a bright shade of green adorned his perspective. J-2 sighed in relief—at least that was still working properly, despite the recent head trauma and unexpected dive. Shifting the weight of his pack, he unholstered the pistol at his side and began to walk into the darkness.


It was a full minute’s march before J-2 found the security checkpoint. The remains of a thick steel door divided a rectangular room covered in bodies. A blackened hole had been blown through the steel barrier, and bullet holes riddled the walls. Most of the corpses were the exploded remnants of soldiers who wore tan combat vests over army camo, while the remaining bodies on the other side of the door were dressed in black hazmat suits. Ominous. J-2 thought. Aside from the grisly sight, J-2 couldn’t even begin to count the number of assignments he’d been on where a hostile disguised themselves as a dead body or a non-combatant and gotten the jump on him. Given what little intel he had, there was no way the enemy could know he was coming. Better safe than sorry, though.
After quickly checking every individual in the room, he confirmed they were all full of holes and fully dead. Intruders must be paramilitary, J-2 concluded. This must have been where the intruders breached and fought the onsite security… He paused. If the intruders brought explosives, why was the main door still intact? Also, the door had been breached from the inside, and there were no signs of a struggle up to this point. Maybe a double agent tried to let them in, and security caught them in the act, J-2 mused as he looked back towards the entrance.
J-2 shrugged and marched onward past the carnage. There might still be hostiles deeper in, can’t give them a chance to escape.
As he walked through the dark halls, the metered clicking of J-2’s boots were broken by an occasional crunch. Despite being unlit, the floors had been overrun with brittle, thorny dried-out mangrove roots covered in brown fern leaves and black mushrooms. It was like a dead forest, except horizontal. Odd, J-2 thought. Did one of the client’s new products get loose during the breach and die before it could reach sunlight?
His curiosity was silenced by the sound of snapping roots and shuffling from around the hall corner. J-2 jumped against the wall, unholstered his pistol, and leveled it towards the approaching crackle of dry plant matter.
Through his green-tinted visor, J-2 watched as a shambling figure in a tattered hazmat suit rounded the corner. The opaque face shield was cracked open and stained with blood. Belabored breaths and a thick, dark mist escaped through the jagged hole in the mask. The figure stumbled over the uneven floor and thunked against the wall, yelping in pain.
“Hello? Is anybody there? I need some help….” A shaky feminine voice croaked into the darkness.
Is this a survivor? Or was this a disguised intruder?
“Please… I just need some RM43 from the herbicide lab… on level B,” she heaved, cradling her head as her body slid down against the wall.
Huh. J-2 paused and squinted at the black-colored suit wearer. Blood-soaked suit, slash marks across the body, a bullet hole in the right shoulder. I didn’t see any blades or slashes on the bodies back in the checkpoint, so she’s probably not hostile. She isn’t making sense, so she must be suffering from shock. No point in hiding anymore.
J-2 lowered his pistol and grabbed the flashlight on his tool belt. A flick of its switch made J-2’s view a brighter shade of green. It didn’t help him, but she would know he was here now. “Hold it right there. I’m with the reinforcements from the parent company. I’m here to help.”
The woman didn’t even at flinch the sudden light or J-2’s voice. She just continued to slump, her legs breaking the brittle roots beneath her as she kept sinking down.
“Oh, who am I kidding? It’s close to my brain at this point…”
J-2 sighed and shook his head. Great. She isn’t making sense, and given her sorry state, she must be suffering from shock. May as well try to get some better intel out of her.
“I need an update on the situation here. Do you have any information regarding possible remaining hostiles?”
The woman let out a weak cackle. “Are you stupid? Nobody is surviving…. I just wanted to keep going a while longer…watch it play out.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Augh…No…” She winced, reaching for what was left of her suit’s face shield. “But I guess you want to play the fool… like you don’t know, invad-”
The woman screamed and grabbed at the jagged mess obscuring her face. Her fingers cut and bled from scrabbling at the edges of her headwear. She suddenly fell to the ground gurgling; she had ripped away the face shield and cradled it in her hands. Staring J-2 in the face was what was left of her. A tangle of thorny, blood-soaked vines burst out of her eyes and wrapped around the woman’s head like a vice as blood trickled out of her nose and mouth.
J-2 stared at the twitching corpse in silence. He pinched the bridge of his nose, or at least the mask, and shook his head. He had heard the horror stories from other J units. Little to no intel on the operation site. The exorbitant silence fee. The ‘no traces’ order. The unusual organic activity. How could he not have seen it sooner?
J-2 was contracted to clean up the aftermath of a bioweapon. Of course THIS is what I have to deal with on my vacation, J-2 fumed as he turned and began walking away from the dead woman. Or he would have if something hadn’t grabbed onto his foot.
He turned back to see the vines from the woman’s head holding onto him, swaying from side to side as thorns started sprouting out of it and dug into his boot. A wet clicking noise escaped the dead woman’s mouth as the arms jerkily began to push her body off the ground. “…Egh. What the hell is this?” Whoops. It seemed something had finally compromised J-2’s steely outer professionalism. While he was most definitely concerned about the writhing weeds wrecking his footwear, he was more concerned about the pay deduction he’d receive when Echo listened to his recorded performance recording. Or worse.
With a flick of his hand and a few twitches of his trigger finger later, the aggressive houseplant let go of him, its vines folding back in on itself before it and the cadaver went limp.
Probably not the last I’ll see of this. I need to be cautious—J-2 would have finished that thought if it hadn’t been interrupted by the crackling of breaking roots and a cacophony of clicking sounds coming from behind him.
…Shit.


The filing cabinets J-2 had shoved over were holding the door for now, but J-2 needed to think fast if he didn’t want to be mauled to death by walking plant pots. Turning to examine his temporary refuge, he scanned the rows of disorganized shelves that filled the small room. A single, massive industrial steel vat sat against the opposite wall and the remnants of dried roots that littered the floor clutched to it in vain, almost like they were trying to get inside. Taking out the metal map container, he popped the lid and threw the map onto the floor, scanning its markings to retrace his footsteps.
Let’s see, I came down this hall here, and I met the body-hijacking plants here. So that means I’m in… Storage Room C…that’s a long way from the exit. Bullets hardly slowed them down, and I’m low on ammunition…. How am I going to get out of this?
A sharp crackle pierced J-2’s thoughts and brought him back to the moment.
“J-2 … status update.”
Diadem? J-2 reached for his earpiece to reply.
“Situation has escalated. The operation site is undergoing a bioweapons incident. Pinned down by numerous hostiles. Unable to proceed. “
“10-4. Requesting H Squad...Be advised…Beaufort scale 7 winds…immediate backup unavailable….” Her voice chirped as it rose and fell through waves of static.
Not what J-2 wanted to hear. The cabinet holding the door screeched as it budged from the force of the clicking horde. J-2 was running out of time. He needed to get out of here or else those handsy weeds would get him. He wanted to let his sailor’s tongue loose, but even if his neck was on the line, he had to stay professional. He didn’t want Echo to think he might be better off in a cell, with all the criminal charges he had on his head.
He began to pace between the shelves, searching for something that might help him survive.
Wait a minute. J-2 backed up, taking a moment to reexamine one of the labels on the giant vat.
Ammonium Nitrate: 3 Tons
Moving around to the side of the vat, J-2 found a hatch. Opening the hatch revealed a space full of hundreds upon hundreds of bead-like white orbs. He scooped up some of the contents into the map container for a better look. Yep, this really is Ammonium Nitrate. They must have been using this for fertilizer. J-2 had to deal with enough bombs and IEDs in the past to know the substance well.
J-2 closed the hatch and walked back towards the filing cabinet, an idea burning in his head. There’s enough of the stuff in there to level the whole compound! What was it Diadem said? Leave no traces of the facility by any means necessary, right? Maybe I can still do my job after all.
He quickly knelt and took off his pack, undoing the latches and rummaging through his tools.
Alkaline canisters for disposing of bodies, blood remover fluid, camera footage scrambler…my favorite tool…can’t use that. So much kindling on the floors I’ll cook with those exotic gardening projects—Ah, here it is.
J-2 pulled the rectangular object out and set it against the colossal cylinder. Good ol’ reliable C-4. He walked back towards the door and glanced back at the map on the floor, tracing his escape route with his eyes, trying to remember how long it took him to get to Storage Room C.
Bar any interruptions from the resident spiky huggers, I can make it out in three minutes… better make it five, just to be safe.
The thudding sounds of the weed-hijacked bodies slamming against the door presented a problem. J-2 didn’t have enough ammo to carve a path through the horde, and nothing else in his equipment pack could quickly deal with the clicking mass in his way.
“Augh.” A frustrated grunt escaped J-2’s helmet as he shook his head. None of this mattered unless he could get out of this room.
Just then a limp body finally smashed through the door’s small window, its arm clawing around while thorny tendrils in its head reached out for him. In his panic, he jumped back, knocking the map container to the floor and spilling its contents. The window was too tight for the husk to fit through it, so it was stuck there mindlessly groping at him. For a full six seconds, when it abruptly planted its vine-covered head on the cabinet. The vines wriggled about, dancing over the spilled orbs that were still on top of the makeshift blockade.
J-2 crept around the writhing mass, grabbing the now half-full map container. Huh. They like this stuff. I guess they’re still plants, after all. J-2 mused. Actually, that might work!

Alright. The timer and my watch are synced. Time to go.
5:00.
4:59.
4:58.
J-2 turned away from the timer, and, with a huck of his arm, the metallic canister flew out the space above the stuck husk, through the broken door window, and onto the ground several yards away outside. The mass of bodies outside the door continued to beat on the door for a few seconds before they suddenly turned and scrambled towards the silvery cylinder, eager for a taste of the Nitrogen-rich particles.
The filing cabinet ground against the floor as J-2 pulled it out of the way.
4:36.
4:34.
4:33.
The door busts open from J-2’s kick, the husk outside still stuck in its nutrient-induced trance. The other husks didn’t even acknowledge J-2 as he ran past them.
The crunch of J-2's footsteps echoed throughout the halls as he ran. Up the stairs, through the left hall, take a right at the tipped forklift…
3:24.
3:23.
3:22.
Right at the checkpoint, he stopped. He could hear clicking sounds again.
Shit. No chance I’m getting paid if any of the mad science projects get out…
J-2 couldn’t help but snicker at the idea. Like I’d let that happen.
Wait. He thought glancing back at the ground. The dry roots stop here.
2:47.
2:46.
2:45.
Reaching behind him, he grabbed a heavy, silver, rifle-like object that looked like a bulky vacuum cleaner attachment and heaved it in front of himself, aiming at the empty corridor. He checked to make sure the hose was properly attached to his pack. Confident he was ready, J-2 waited for his approaching targets to come into view.
The husks rounded the corner and were charging a dozen feet away from J-2 when he flicked the switch on. Gas began flowing out from the nozzle. No one would have been able to see the smile that was stretching across J-2’s face behind his black helmet, but he wished he could have gotten a picture of it. He was finally going to use his favorite tool. His little treasure. The reason he had been wanted for six different counts of arson before he joined Echo.
The flamethrower roared to life, spilling napalm across the floor. Dancing pillars of fire barred the approaching husks, growing as they devoured the bodies that littered the room. If he wasn’t on the job, J-2 wouldn’t have bothered to stifle the mad cackling that resounded in his mind at watching such a glorious blazing scene.
1:20.
1:19.
1:18.
Yes. YES. BURN. Fry, you stupid plants! Become ash and return to the hell that spawned you- Aw. I’m out of fuel.
He glanced at his watch as the flamethrower started to sputter. J-2 looked at his watch.
1:00.
0:59.
0:58.
Shit. He had gotten caught up in the moment again.
Holstering his flamethrower, J-2 turned and bolted for the entrance.
J-2 staggered to a halt, almost slamming into the entrance door. SHIT. The door had closed behind him when he came in. How the hell is the door still functional after all that happened here?? What was the door code again?
“Diadem. Immediate egress from the facility is required. Requesting door code again.”
“J-2… Operation not complete… Only leave once-“
“Situation critical. Facility destruction imminent. Requesting door code.”
0:25.
0:24.
0:23.
“10-9 (repeat). J-2, what do you me—“
“THE DOOR CODE, DIADEM!” J-2 roared, slamming his fist into the door, the only barrier between him and a non-crispy existence where he wouldn’t end up as a piece of black burnt human jerky.
“…10-4. The code is 3-9-1-6-8-2.”
J-2’s fingers had never moved faster, punching in the final number right as Diadem relayed it to him.
The door groaned as it slowly opened. Dreadful anticipation made each second heavier than the last. It stopped, barely halfway open.
0:07.
0:06.
0:05.
Ditching his equipment pack, J-2 squeezed through the narrow opening and ran onto the metal walkway, diving headfirst into the pool of water below.
0:00.


“Local instruments have alerted me of an explosion on the island. Possible volcanic activity. What is your status, J-2?” Diadem’s voice probed through the fog in J-2’s ears.
… Oof. Oh, my head…
“J-2. Respond.”
… I’m definitely checking myself for Tinnitus after pulling that stunt.
“J-2?”
J-2 clasped the side of his head, leaning half upright against the chasm wall in the shallow end of the pool. “Reporting in. Operation successful. Site and associated survivors eradicated.”
Phew. J-2 thought, watching smoke from the burning hole in the cliff billow out into the sky. That was close. In the future, I need to lay off on the napalm… my pyromania almost had me stuck in the blast radius... Maybe I should take a visit to my shrink.
“Excellent. Operation complete. Exfiltrate the site immediately. Housekeeping squad Yesod will arrive in an hour.” Diadem chimed.
“Roger that, Diadem.” J-2 replied. I’m beat. I had better get the medal of honor for this.
“J-2, your performance, despite the circumstances, has been recognized by both the client and the higher-ups. Expect an extended vacation after debriefing.”
“10-4. Moving out.”
… That’ll do.