As Above So Below

Prologue

Our story begins on Friday, March 14, 2025. It was a partly cloudy day in Glasgow, the temperature was 16℃ with windchill, and a man with a briefcase could be seen on Buchanan Street running for his life.

He was average in every other way; slight build, his shirt and tie askew from the exertion of running full-speed along six city blocks, his glasses fogging up ever so slightly. The briefcase in his hand was scuffed brown leather, caught in that unpleasant stage between "brand new" and "old enough to be charming". It had a combination lock near the handle that the man had set to 666 for a laugh, though he remembered regrettably that he hadn't had time to show it to his colleagues.

Our man turned sharply to the right when he reached the chippy outside the station, hoping against hope that he could make it onto a train before everything went to pot. If I can just get up to the North, he thought. Maybe Stepps or Springburn. I just need to get uphill and out of the city. I'll figure things out later. His briefcase was under one arm as he walked through the station's automatic doors, desperately trying to get his railcard out of his wallet while looking at the departure boards. He didn't care about getting on the wrong train for his ticket right now, but he had to get out of here.

As soon as he boarded the train, he rushed to get a table seat in the back and sat down with a loud exhale. Other than a few looks his direction, everyone else minded their business. After all, every city has its oddballs. Once the train began departing the station, he lifted the briefcase carefully onto the table in front of him and laid it down along one of its flat sides. He turned the combination wheels to the correct numbers and pushed down the metallic button. With a sharp click, the briefcase unlatched and separated slightly, allowing the man to lift the lid all the way open.

Inside this briefcase, which he got from his boss just minutes ago, was not the dossier of papers he would normally expect. No folders, charts, or spreadsheets at all. There was quite simply a large metal key sewn into the lining of the briefcase with a few strands of thread. Next to the key was a post-it note, with coordinates scrawled onto it. A quick search on his phone showed the location was for somewhere north of Glasgow, up in the Campsie Fells mountains. He scowled at this; it was pretty difficult to even get up there nowadays. There's the castle hotel behind the mountains, and it's easy enough to get to Campsie Glen at the base. But he was definitely not dressed for mountain climbing. What was even up there that would be of any use?! He sighed in frustration, closing the briefcase and glancing at his watch. Not much time left now.

Exactly 10 minutes later he was standing on a side road off Springburn Park, about 3 miles away and 300 feet higher than where he ran from in the city center. The railing by the side of the road had beautiful views of Glasgow in the distance, and even the hills beyond. You could see nearly every building below, gleaming in the sunlight. And standing there, leaning against the railing to catch his breath, our man got a front-row seat as the 200-foot tidal wave rode up the Clyde and broke over the city.