Cracks in The Storm

The Approach

"It's an easy job, I promise. The mission is simple; the only downside is a lack of intel."

"Lack of intel makes a job significantly less easy, Gamma. Do you really have nothing for me? I've already reviewed the Museum's layout, but even that was pretty sketchy, if I'm being honest with you. It looked like it was gleaned from a brochure."

"I hate to tell you this, Anita, but a majority of it was. The Museum is quite secretive, brochures were the best we were given" came Gamma, crackling with radio distortion.

Anita shifted uncomfortably in the transport craft's seat. Maybe Gamma thought it was simple, but she had an odd pit in her stomach. Whether this was because of a lack of intel and reliable map, or something else she couldn't tell. A strange feeling of déjà vu sat on her tongue, making her believe that she'd had this very same pit in her stomach before. She'd never visited the Museum of the Last Two Millenia, the ticket price always being too much for her family to afford. To be frank, she had never been interested. The relics from the past era had never really fascinated her. She found that particular period of time to be depressing, an age full of fear, ignorance, and hatred (not that the current time was all too much better). She just preferred to focus on the present issues rather than the past ones. A bump of air jostled the transport craft, her déjà vu victorious in predicting the next moment. This occurrence did nothing to fill the pit in her stomach.

"1 minute to arrival at the Museum of the Last Two Millenia" a voice murmured over the craft's bay speakers, the autopilot beginning to descend. Anita stood and stretched, moving to secure her only piece of gear besides her suit: her sword. A highly advanced piece of technology, while it could present itself as any manner of blade, she had settled on the Japanese katana. Slightly cliche, she thought, but the style suited her and she had never payed much attention to what others thought about it. It did it's job, so she saw no reason to ever changed it. After stowing it in its sheath on her side, she moved to a porthole window, gazing out into the gray, stormy night. They had flown into the eye wall of the hurricane about 30 minutes ago, and even after flying in it for just as long, she still couldn't see an end.

"Eyes up Anita, you've arrived." Gamma spoke out of her communication piece. "No time limit on this mission, but the faster the better. I can't imagine this storm will clear up anytime soon."

Anita looked down, seeing her destination past the storm. The Museum was imposing, styled after an incredibly ancient mansion only remembered as the Biltmore. However, the Museum was far, far larger than its namesake from ancient history. Inside the building, thousands of artifacts were held and studied, though this was only the beginning of what went on within their walls. While they touted themselves as primarily a museum, the truth was that they doubled as a clandestine research facility for an organization that nobody liked talking about.

As the craft came in for landing, Anita's half-baked suspicion was confirmed. The Museum was the source of the storm. Often, dimensional abnormalities caused vicious atmospheric reactions, this storm being one of those reactions. The sky lit occasionally with an uncomfortably vivid, purple were-lightning. Most lead researchers still couldn't agree on what caused the color of the lightning. Some said it indicated the severity of the damage to nearby reality while others said it was a result of whatever accident, catastrophe, or meddling had caused the dimensional strain. A small population said that it was just random; that pure chance chose the color of the lightning. One way or another, it didn't matter to Anita. It wasn't in her pay grade to speculate. The craft landed gently and lowered its rear boarding ramp. The outdoor elements assailed Anita, causing her to squint in the wind and raise an arm in futile protection. Anita's suit reacted quietly, creating an invisible field, protecting her face from both the gale and the rain. She stepped off the craft's boarding ramp and, gazing up at the gargantuan building, commed into Gamma.

"I don't mean to be dramatic, but this is one of the worst reactionary storms I have ever seen."

"And just how many HAVE you seen?" You could hear the smirk over the comms from Gamma. Anita rolled her eyes.

"Enough to know that this is pretty bad. Don't get snarky with me." Anita bit back. She tasted déjà vu again, an uncomfortable reminder of something she couldn't exactly remember. Shaking off the feeling, she focused on the mission again: seal up potential cracks in our wall of reality and find out what caused them. The rules of engagement were anyone that was inside the museum was hostile and any artifact that attempted communication was just as dangerous, if not more, than the former rule. She didn't want to think about what that implied.

"Gamma, I'm ready to go. Heading into the Museum now."

"Good luck, Anita. Remember the mission and don't forget the ROEs. I'm confident you'll get it done fast. Communication will most likely be spotty, if not completely nonfunctional. See you on the other side."

Anita did final systems checks on her sword and suit. Everything was performing at their peak efficiency levels. Perfect. She'd need it for a job as sketchy as this one in a place like the Museum. The sky lit up with its purple were-lightning. Anita walked to the front of the Museum. The doors, huge, imposing, and normally automatic, stayed shut. Anita reached out and grabbed the emergency handle, pulling and revealing the interior to her. Putting a hand on her sword, an unconscious action that occasionally helped put her at ease, she entered the Museum of the Last Two Millenia.