A gigantic facility built on a lost meadow in East Wyoming.
But "lost" is the keyword to keep in mind here, as this characteristic of the place is the very reason why the C.I.A. decided to build one of their most invaluable infrastructures here. And that most invaluable infrastructure we're talking about, "the Complex", is a jewel naught ought to approach, for the American government has, at the time of our story, made sure that no one could attempt to get close to the building's periphery unless the one in question has been specifically authorized to do so.
The Complex is so acutely watched over by local military forces that even birds who fly over this gigantic, imposing metal silo, are met only with certain death, at the hands of bullet wounds and other artillery.
It is on a sunny day that Ray Brankerfeld arrives. He, as the second in command of the C.I.A., is allowed to enter the Complex in all and any circumstances.
So reaching the gate which marks the first threshold to pass in order to make it to the entrance of the facility itself, he gets out of his car and orders his men, with a handsign, to do the same.
Three more vehicles follow suit and out of them jump many guards. After a short moment arrives a forth vehicle. It's the biggest by far, a truck more than a car. And in the back of the engine, there stands a great platinum box.
The object is swiftly deported out of the automobile and through the gate, following in the wake of Ray Brankerfeld and his soldiers' footsteps.
It takes them half an hour to reach the Complex itself. Marching through putrid swamps and plains of neglegcted grass, they pass by and through two more gates, each more heavily guarded and imposing than the last. And when they finally reach the true entrance to the Complex, Brankerfeld, leading the march, stops abruptly in his tracks and stands silent for long minutes on end.
The armed guards behind him, and those inside the iron fortress in front of him, knowing who he is and what he has the power to inflict upon them if they decided it'd be a good idea to comment on his unprofessional conduct, dare not to make a sound.
He breathes a deep breath.
And then he sighs.
He imagines birds chirping in his vicinity. It's always like that when he reaches this place. This lonely, pathetic place. Breankerfeld mourns the rigor with which the C.I.A. leads its field operations, that being with an iron fist, a straightness of action that leaves no room for pleasure or simple joys. He wishes then, for but a short moment, that he'd see a squirrel running along the spine of a pine tree or some other flora. But he knows even he can't change the fact that no life is allowed here other than that of men whose hearts are colder than the steel comprising the outer shell of the Complex's structure.
He knocks on the door. As silently as the arms of death, the gates open before him. He knows what awaits inside.
That man. That crazy fucking man. That mad piece of human trash. Michael. Ah...
Brankerfeld's on edge. In a bad way yes, but in a good way too. Seeing Fall has always been quite an event, and the military commander sure hopes that it will be the case this time as well.
However.
He needs to wait a bit before looking out for Michael Fall. That big silver box. It needs to be transported somewhere safe.
Brankerfeld thinks - he's noticed himself thinking a lot recently - about the content of the box. And out of the confines of his mind, he hears the voice of Igor, echoing loudly inside his head.
Whatever you do, do not meddle with the cadaver... - he'd said to the soldiers cloaked in black in a foreboding tone. You realize not all that is at stake.
The commander, bold and reckless as he liked to think he was, hadn't thought much of Akensen's words back then. But now that it's been over for more than a week already, that he's seen the carcass in its full majesty, that he's looked at the great golden ring upon which have been marked words from a language so alien it absolutely has to be something through which intellectually superior entities communicate with each other, well... He's seriously reconsidering the whalehunter's words.
How could Ania Akensen have disappeared like that? Maybe she'd gone out in a hurry and lost herself in the snowstorm. Her body would've been buried under tons of snow in the midst of the storm, and that was the reason why she'd not been found by her father.
Or at least, that's what Ray tells himself.
As for the cause of her leaving the tiny wooden house atop the hill, well, that could simply be because she'd suddenly had enough of her isolated life, and in an unforeseen turn of events, let her mind be taken prisoner by an emergent wave of negative emotions which'd made her reconsider her whole existence.
Brankerfeld knows such an explanation is the most rational excuse he'll ever have not to consider the possibility of there being demonic forces at play in this incident, and so he stucks to it.
But that heart, that gigantic disgusting organ, still pulsating amidst the cold, still pumping out blood when the body that has once depended upon it has long ceased to function... It's a revelation.
Brankerfeld lets out a laugh. One of frenzy. He'll never see life in the same way again. He knows someone who won't be phased in the slightest by this item though. Mentally ill as that other man is, he'll probably welcome this repulsive mass of vibrating black flesh with open arms, and cherish it, and study it as much as he'll be allowed to. And more than that even. Fall has never given a fuck about rules anyway.
Ray shivers.
He hates that man.
Michael, you loathsome dirtbag, he thinks.
Alas, a guard signals to the commander that the heart has been successfully placed in containment. A tank of regenerative azure-colored acid that will preserve the organic structure from degradation during its stay in the Complex, a seemingly useless preventive measure since it seems as though the thing can stand its ground against frost from the coldest parts of Greenland with relative ease; yet one is never too cautious. Especially the C.I.A.
Brankerfeld calls his men to him, and together with a squad of four armed guards, he descends the stairs which lead to the quarters of the Complex's headmaster.
The one and only.
Michael Fall.
