Crypt Quest #1: Rising Darkness

Fragments

The piercing jut of metal spearhead into dirt brought Reese Hunter through a droning, haze-filled trance. The impact of his incursion, against what was probably buried sedimentary rock, jolted his shovel and his mind out of his self-induced coma.

    "Are you listening to me? Where you coming in from, buddy?" The bruising sound of another man's voice cut in like a stone saw.

    Then, Reese came to recall he had recently put himself into a pseudo-work situation, landscaping the front yard of a three-story, three hundred square meter luxury home back in Western civilization. The staircase leading up to the large front doors were halfway completed using intricately styled, red, interlocking stones.

    "Huh? Oh, sorry. I was in the Middle East, tracking and discovering a sacrificial tomb made to honour the Ancient Luwian leader of Troy," Reese replied, snapped back into conversation.

    Cal, a shorter, sandy-haired late-30s, blue-collar worker, stopped his digging for a second, unsuccessfully processing what Reese had just said. "So, like, a goods-purchasing thing? My aunt bought and sold whips for a living until she found out they were being used for non-adventure related exploits."

    "More like property hunting," Reese continued, mending Cal's disconnect. "But my adventure uncovered a strange talisman that may have a connection to a separate find brought back here."

    His co-worker nodded and kept digging. "Oh, the realtor business is wrought with grifters and dirtbags! You'll get estates built on Nazi death camps and Indian burial grounds and told to like it."

    "That's, uh, not totally unappealing," Reese stumbled. "What I'm getting to is that, through my home contacts, I've heard-tell of an ancient stone tablet being studied somewhere in this here-city, that could relate to my find, that the owner of this here-property may or may not know where-is."

    Cal threw his head back. "Ohh yeah, that-there owner runs in those rich circles alright, which is exactly why Jacobson bends over backward for our cash-flushed client, sacrificing our hard work, making us run double shifts!" And then, "Well, we're paying the price here. Not him!"

    "You depleted your gummy bear inventory again, didn't you?"

    The man threw his shovel down in fading frustration. "I dropped them in that stair build, dammit! Do you know how many buses from the bulk store it takes me to get here?"

    "Hey, Reese," another voice crept up from behind. Emma, a slim late-20s woman clasped her hand on Reese's shoulder and then walked around. Her gear belt hung loose over her jeans. "Cal," she greeted.

    Cal continued. "Emma, tell Reese how insane the client is on this job. First the stairs, and now the koi pond. It just keeps a changin'!"

    "Client wants what the client wants," she shrugged it off, letting go of Reese. "Best we can do is work it and hope for a better tomorrow." Emma shrugged. "So, bar tonight, guys?"

    Reese replied, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Have you two not ever challenged a dominating autocrat?"

    "We need jobs, my friend," Emma added. "Real-life circumstances are meant to be navigated with restraint and acuity. We vent to make it sustainable."

    Cal sputtered, "Yeah, we likes it amicable! Nyuk, nyuk."

    Meanwhile, outside their peripheral, Jacobson, an older, mid-50s, taller and weightier man, walked by on a quest to survey the staircase. His movement caught Reese's eye and prompted Reese to drop what he was doing and run over.

- - -

"Sir! I need an advance on my pay," Reese opened, untactfully— evidence of his haste and shared work disposition.