End of tomorrow

Prologue

The boy took long strides, almost running, smiling his thanks at the brunet haired receptionist, pinning his visitor badge on his chest. Frowning, he pushed a lock of mocha brown hair out of his eyes and glanced at the perfectly normal letter in his left hand that his uncle, a mail sorter that worked for the British Intelligence, instructed him to deliver urgently. Lately, this particular place had been receiving a lot of white enveloped letters and he has become familiar to this place.
Reaching the large, white, metal, double door, he knocked timidly and pushed against it. Immediately, he was propelled into a room of pandemonium. Men and women in white coats with a pile of papers were rushing about the room after a man shouting pieces of information. Another group of similar white coated people were sitting at the rows of computers, monitoring their screens and occasionally scribbling on a paper before gluing their eyes back on the screen.
Overseeing this controlled chaos was the man standing at the head of the room. The man posed at an impressive six foot with all built frame; an air of authority commanding respect from anyone he has been in contact with. His long face  was lined with many years of experience in the war and tanned from many years in the sun. The boy instantly recognised him as the addressee of the letter. Dodging the stray white coats, he trekked towards him.
Upon reaching the front of the room, the boy let out a small cough. Feeling uncomfortable and nervous, he thrust his shaking hand with the letter. Instantly, the general's eyes trained on the letter and gingerly took it and his eyes hardened at what was written in the letter.
He excused the young boy who, feeling relieved that he completed his job, sprinted out of the room.
Signalling for two men, he ordered, "I want you to go and bring him out of his room and you, get Agent Davis this instant." The men scattered to follow the order of the general.
Exhaling loudly, he turned towards the voice. "Sir! You've asked for me?"
Approaching him was a man built of pure muscle, an outcome from spending many hours in the Institute's private gym.
Few minutes later, a pale young man, possibly in his late teenage years, strutted in the room. His sky blue eyes, which were covered by long tousled bangs, were becoming more apparent as he moved towards the general.
With a scowl, "What do you want now?"
Throwing a warning glance at the young man, he handed him a letter. "I want you to get as much information on this as possible."
With his scowl deepening, "I couldn't get anything on the other letters that you received. What makes you think it will be any different this time?"
"Because I order you to and that's what I'm here for. Otherwise, the government will have no use for you," the general growled.
The young male huffed and sighed and held up his hands. "OK! OK! I'll see what I can do."
"Good. Get him hooked up to the machines," he barked at the man in the white coat who nodded and lead the young man out of the room who followed at a much slower pace, as if not finding it necessary to rush.
Agent Davis stood next to General Fitzgerald, their heights almost similar." Was that the boy?"
"Yes. We've received another letter with no progress of finding the sender," replied the general. He repeated what was in the letter. "I want you to do whatever you can but find me a link or a clue we can use to track the person down."
"I'll see what I can do general." Saluting, he moved away.
Scanning the room, the general mumbled to himself, "A clue is all we need to find the person or else the Earth is in peril," before his attention was caught by one of his workers.