Chapter 6: Mischief

Psionic Agent 2nd Grade Sarah Johanson was what one might call a career soldier, which in the 3rd British Empire meant that she didn’t have a choice in the matter. Not a good one, at least. Those who tested positive for significant psionic potential were given two options - enroll in the military or get lobotomized. This harsh stance was necessary because rogue telepaths could cause all sorts of trouble, so the government did everything it could to keep them on a short leash. Should any of the psi-ops dare to desert their post in order to pursue self-serving motives, they would quickly find their brains remotely fried via their implants.

That said, Agent Johanson did not view her station in a negative light. Just the opposite, in fact. It was challenging work that kept her physically and mentally active while offering a myriad of benefits, most notable of which was a fat paycheck. Yes, there was the risk of death in the line of duty, but Sarah found that was a more agreeable alternative than spending each day hooked up to a goddamn VR pod. It also helped that she had a strong rapport with both her peers and superiors, though she did feel some of her colleagues were a bit too gung-ho. Lastly, she got to use her kickass mind powers to fight bad guys, and she couldn’t imagine a more fulfilling way to live than that.

Naturally, no matter how much the psionically gifted woman loved her job, there inevitably were certain aspects of it that she absolutely despised. One of those was monitor duty, which consisted entirely of sitting on her butt in a dark room and staring at a bunch of computer screens for days and weeks on end. Remotely observing the movements of suspect individuals was a vital part of her peacekeeping responsibilities, but it was so thoroughly dull that it made her want to repeatedly and vigorously smash her forehead against her desk. It was therefore entirely understandable why her current assignment would put her in a less than stellar mood.

Which wasn’t to say that she took her active responsibilities lightly. Were these normal circumstances, she might have attempted to pawn the laborious task off on someone else. However, the subject of this particular round of monitor duty was a rather unique one. It was the Class-3 cosmic entity that Agent Johanson and her team had failed to contain several weeks ago. For some inexplicable reason, the creature had adopted human form and seemed to be attempting to integrate itself into mega-city Dave-156. This put Sarah’s team in a rough spot since the subject primarily inhabited one of those ridiculously densely populated hyper-scrapers. A direct confrontation had been estimated to result in tens of thousands of civilian casualties and millions of poundingtons’ worth of property damage.

Those were unacceptable losses as far as Her Immortal Majesty’s Supernatural Eviction Agency was concerned. Though they thoroughly recognized the inherent dangers of allowing a Class-3 to run amok, it was an undeniable fact that it hadn’t proven itself an immediate threat to the populace. At the very least, not one significant enough to warrant that level of collateral damage. As an agent of SEA herself, Sarah Johanson had been thoroughly drilled on the concept of appropriate force, so she understood where her superiors were coming from. At the same time, she had a personal stake in this particular mess since she felt chiefly responsible for allowing the Class-3 to enter her reality, which made her eager to do something.

For the time being, Johanson’s team had been stationed on monitor duty. This allowed the commandos to react instantly should the Class-3 show signs of going ‘full C’thulu,’ in which case the level of ‘appropriate force’ at their disposal would increase drastically. However, the primary goal of their mission was gathering information. They were to observe the subject’s movements and interactions with the goal of discerning its motives, objectives, or intentions. Doing so would allow their superiors and allies to formulate a plan of action uniquely tailored to that specific entity. Theoretically this endeavor would result in expelling the Class-3 with little-to-no collateral damage, but things never worked out that way in practice.

And yet, despite her personal stake in what was clearly a vital assignment, Agent Johanson found herself contemplating whether she should perform percussive maintenance on her skull. Even though she was watching some cosmic entity beyond her comprehension, it really didn’t do much. The entirety of its time was spent hanging around an unremarkable individual called Joe Mulligan, who was assumed to have been enthralled by it in some way. Furthermore, the Class-3 hadn’t exhibited any supernatural activity beyond invoking several minor anomalies that were surprisingly self-contained. It was almost as if the thing was trying to maintain the integrity of its surroundings, which seemed incredibly suspicious to Johanson.

The most worrying part was that there were no signs of what this Magh'rathlak the Observer was trying to achieve. Typically it would have attempted to expand its influence, corrupt the minds of mortals, or twist reality to fit some unfathomable design. However, it hadn’t done any of that. It had instead opted to plug its consciousness into Butterpond-4’s virtual reality servers. No other cosmic entity in the Agency’s records had attempted such a thing, let alone succeeded. It was both unprecedented and potentially catastrophic. The mere thought of a Class-3 having a direct link to the minds of billions of people made Agent Johanson shudder in terror.

And yet it had done absolutely nothing that would warrant a response from Sarah’s team. Both its real and virtual exploits could be summed up as eating junk food it clearly didn’t need and consuming media it most likely did not understand. According to the cyber-police arm of the Agency, its other online activities consisted primarily of looking up seemingly random and inconsequential topics. The only outwardly suspicious thing it had done was to artificially inflate the banking account of its thrall. However, the mere two hundred poundingtons it had given the guy were positive miniscule in the grand scheme of things. Not to mention that they had all been spent within a few hours.

In summary, if one didn’t know any better, they’d think Magh'rathlak the Observer was merely an interdimensional tourist, but Sarah refused to believe such a thing. She understood the tremendous capacity for harm that thing had displayed. It had the ability to turn most of the population into mindless slaves, crash the economy of Butterpond-4 overnight, or maybe even destroy the whole damn planet with a miniature black hole. And what did it choose to do with such terrifying power?

It was sitting in a bloody pub, watching three losers get progressively more shit-faced.

“Ugh. This sucks.”

The ginger-haired green-eyed freckle-faced woman could do little but groan in frustration. She hated this. Having her hands tied when there was a walking calamity right in front of her was somehow both agonizing and mind-numbing. The worst part was that the Agency had almost zero intel on Magh'rathlak the Observer. They hadn’t even heard of it until they’d gotten a tip about that cult doing the summoning. The eggheads back at base were no doubt still poring through the old archives and forbidden texts, but it hadn’t really paid off so far. The only tidbits they had uncovered fit in a single page, which was printed out on the report that Agent Johanson looked at for the third time that day.

“Magh'rathlak the Observer,” she idly read it aloud. “No known aliases. No known ties to religious organizations beyond isolated cults. First recorded encounter dates back to one hundred and fifty years ago. Responsible for seven minor incidents involving enthrallment, disintegration, matter manipulation, and mental corruption. Displayed abilities warrant Class-3 designation. No known incidents of employing Class-1 or Class-2 entities as proxies or subordinates. No known incidents of being employed by Class-4 or Class-5 entities as a proxy or subordinate.”

Details of the incidents mentioned were listed underneath. Some of them were sketchy since they were over a century old, but, on the whole, ‘minor’ was the best way to describe them. They mostly concerned injuries and fatalities caused and sustained by Agency operatives as they dismantled this Cult of the Gazing Star whenever it appeared. None of them had been allowed to develop into moderate instances, which would involve supernatural creatures and phenomena that resulted in significant loss of life. Johanson’s mission should have been like that one as well, but the universe had conspired to turn it into a physical manifestation event, otherwise known within the Agency as a major incident.

“I guess that’s the problem with these obscure buggers,” she sighed heavily. “We underestimated the mission because we thought it was some small-fry… Wait a second…”

If this thing really was such an unknown, then how had the Agency managed to stop its machinations a whole seven times?

“Wha?!”

Sarah suddenly turned her attention back to the monitor, having caught what seemed like suspicious movement out of the corner of her eye. There was none to be seen, however. The security camera footage showed the target to be sitting still at the table while those three morons continued to make drunken asses of themselves. Nothing had changed at a glance, but the psi-op wanted to make sure she didn’t miss anything. She briefly diverted her attention to the neighboring monitor as her hands flew across the holographic keyboard at her fingertips. Within moments she had called up the recording from a few seconds ago while also keeping an eye on the live feed. Neither showed any suspicious movement, and the psionic sensors hadn’t logged any abnormal spikes in paranormal activity.

By all accounts it seemed as though Agent Johanson’s eyes had played a trick on her. However, given the nature of the entity she was observing, she was unwilling to accept such a mundane and irresponsible explanation. This was far from the first time something like this had happened, which only fed into her suspicions. So, she focused her attention entirely on the live feed, and even turned up the volume so she could better understand what was being discussed.

“Nah, man! I’m telling ya, Layla Kim’s got the best tits ever!” Benny insisted in a drunken stupor.

“They’re pretty plump, yeah, but Hailey Hazard’s have the perfect shape,” Cullen argued.

“You’re welcome to your wrong opinion, mate,” Joe weighed in. “Melinda Sparklestar’s are unrivaled.”

Sarah was somewhat outraged when she heard the topic being discussed. Just how ignorant and uncultured could these louts get? Everyone knew that Amara Allington was awarded the Intergalactic Entertainment Association Award for Best Bust in a Major Feature earlier that year, and with good reason. Those knockers were scientifically designed to be universally- Wait, no, that wasn’t important right now. The momentarily distracted soldier shook those inconsequential thoughts away and redoubled her focus.

“You’re only saying that because Mags is here,” Benny accused Joe.

“Hah! As if!” Cullen chortled. “We both know Mags isn’t the sort of girl to be bothered by that kind of stuff.”

“This is correct,” the girl agreed. “This vessel is malleable and more than capable of assuming whatever appearance Joe finds most appealing.”

“Fookin ‘ell, Mags,” the plump shorty swore. “You don’t need to spoil this guy so much.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Benny readily agreed. “I get that you like your gene-mods, but this thick bellend isn't worth ‘em. He’s probably over the moon just by being allowed to hold your hand!”

“Does Benny Vanson speak truly, Joe?” she turned to him.

The man clearly wasn’t paying attention to the conversation at that point in time as he was mustering whatever force of will he had left in order to take another swig of his beer.

“Ah? Sure, yeah, I guess?” he shrugged, then raised the glass to his lips.

The smile on Maggie’s face widened so much it made her eyes narrow, turning her expression into one that was somehow perfectly situated between playful and sadistic. She moved her left hand towards Joe’s and abruptly intertwined her delicate fingers in his bony digits. The unexpected gesture made the man spit out part of his pint in surprise. His friends were thoroughly confused about his behavior, as they were seated on the opposite end of the table and couldn’t see what was going on under it. Agent Johanson had a clear view of the whole thing because of how the security camera was positioned, though she had absolutely no idea what to make of that development.

Then again, the same could be said of everything else that Class-3 had done so far, so she wasn’t too bothered by her ignorance.

“Evening, AJ,” a voice called out to her from behind.

Sarah instantly recognized it as belonging to one of her colleagues. The man in question was the unit’s technical specialist, and was responsible for setting up all the monitoring and tracking software she was using. Appearance-wise he was a well-built black-skinned male in his early thirties. His round face was clean shaven and his head sported a stereotypical military-style buzz-cut. He wore a combat uniform similar to Johanson’s, which had a white, gray, and blue digital camouflage pattern. The name tag on his shoulder and left breast pocket identified him as Staff Sergeant Damian Benett, though he was known by another name among his unit.

“Hey, Sparks,” the psi-ops replied without looking away.

“How’s our eldritch couple faring?” he asked while walking across the dimly lit room.

“They attended a virtual concert and are now in a pub with some of Mulligan’s acquaintances.”

“Huh. That’s new. Any suspicious activity?”

“You mean besides the fact that some unspeakable thing with godlike powers is walking around as if it owns the place?”

“Wow. You must be tired if your sarcasm is that obvious. Here, got you something.”

He handed her one of the two cups he was carrying, both of which were filled with steaming freshly-brewed tea. Sarah accepted it with a word of thanks and immediately took a small sip. The fragrant aroma invaded her nostrils as the refreshing flavor with a hint of honey-squared flooded her tongue. A wave of calm washed over her as she sampled the heavenly beverage, causing her tired eyelids to lower gracefully in appreciation. She really needed that after all almost an entire shift of non-stop surveillance.

The blissful moment was then ruined when her half-closed and unfocused gaze caught yet another glimpse of odd movement on the monitor.

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“There, did you see that?!” she snapped at it.

“See what?!”

Her colleague instantly responded and stared at the security feed alongside her, but, much like before, there was zero evidence of immediately suspicious activity.

“Yeah, I don’t see anything, AJ,” he shrugged. “Recording looks clear, too.”

“Damn it!” the frustrated woman exclaimed. “I swear that keeps happening. It’s like the fourth time in the last hour!”

“What keeps happening?”

“I lose focus for a split second, and then I feel like something zooms across the monitor, but when I check back - nothing!”

“Hmm. Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You’ve been at this for seven hours straight.”

“I am perfectly fine!”

The woman slammed her fist against the desk as she declared this, then immediately realized she was not, in fact, fine.

“You may be right,” she settled down. “Watching that thing is exhausting.”

“And you’re certain there’s no mind-fuckery going on?”

“Psionic readings are well within normal parameters,” she gestured at the relevant screen.

“What about mental corruption? I know you psi-ops are sensitive to that sort of thing, so maybe your subconscious is reacting badly after being subjected to Maggie all day.”

“Maggie?!” she shot him a murderous glare. “Seriously, Sparks?”

“Sorry, the subject,” he half-heartedly corrected himself. “Who cares what we call her, anyway?”

“It. And I do. As does the Class-3. So far we’ve observed several interactions that suggest it places a great deal of importance on names. Using any of them carelessly might tip it off that we’re watching it, and it seems especially attached to that one for some reason.”

“Okay, fair point, but do you really think it can sense us all the way up here? We’re in bloody orbit, AJ. There’s a few thousand kilometers between us and it, and that’s not even counting the half a planet’s worth of rock and magma.”

Sarah had to admit that Sparks had a point. Though Class-3 entities boasted some terrifying abilities, they were quite localized. Their effective range was usually a few hundred meters, maybe a kilometer at most. Even if Magh'rathlak’s title as ‘The Observer’ implied exceptional powers of perception, it just wasn’t feasible that they’d reach far enough to peer into their orbital command center. Not to mention that, now that she’d thought about it, she had unthinkingly read its name aloud just minutes before and absolutely nothing had happened.

“You’re right,” she sighed. “Maybe I am just tired and overthinking things.”

“I hope so as well,” he paused to take a sip of his tea. “A healthy dose of paranoia is required in our line of work, though. I’m going to check on the connection, make sure nothing’s messing with it.”

“Alright, sounds good.”

Sparks took a seat on the desk next to Sarah’s and started working the computer console while she kept a watchful eye on the subject.

“Right, think I’ve found the problem,” the technical officer declared a few minutes later. “Seems there’s a routing issue planet-side and the security feed from the pub is experiencing some occasional lag spikes. That would cause the feed to drop some frames, which was what probably caught your eye.”

“Huh. Shouldn’t that stuff have shown in the recordings?”

“Well, no. The encryption protocol we use doesn’t- Look, that’s just how it works. Trust me on that.”

“Alright, I’ll take your word for it.”

It was a huge load off of her mind to learn that a technical issue was at the root of her problem. The only other reasonable explanation would have been early symptoms of mental corruption, and that was a far more frightening prospect. Psychic wellbeing aside, Agent Johanson’s superior officer would have had her pulled off the case. There was no telling when the Agency would send a replacement psi-op, let alone whether they could fill her shoes. Sarah didn’t like to call attention to it, but both her telepathic and telekinetic abilities were significantly above average. It was why her superiors had assigned her as the solo psi-op to that particular unit instead of having two or three of them. They were a rare and valuable asset, so the Agency had to spread them out as widely as they could.

“So can you fix the feed?”

“Already done,” Sparks boasted.

“Great, thanks. Oh, and write up a full explanation for my report, please. You know how the Major likes nitpicking the details.”

“Hah. That’s putting it mildly. But yeah, I’ll do that right now. I need to set up a few things as well. Won’t be able to take over monitor duty until about…” he paused to squint at one of his screens, “twenty minutes. Think you can keep watch until then?”

“Yeah, no problem. And thanks for the tea, by the way. Fantastic blend, this.”

“Mhm. Only issue is it’s hella pricey. Just one box nearly maxed out our allocated tea budget for the month.”

“Worth it, if you ask me.”

Sarah went back to monitoring the unspeakable creature and the three drunkards while thoroughly enjoying her beverage. Meanwhile Sparks flew into a frenzy typing away at his keyboard. Strictly speaking, both of them would have had a much easier time performing their duties if they used their neural interface. It was the same kind of technology that allowed commoners like Joe to plug into virtual reality, and was a much faster and more efficient means of controlling machinery than manual input. However, given Magh'rathlak’s demonstrated affinity for invading cyberspace, they thought it prudent to avoid connecting their brains into any kind of network unless absolutely necessary.

So, for the time being, Agent Johanson had to endure the clickety-clack of Sparks’ holographic keyboard. She wasn’t sure why he had that sound feature enabled. Probably something about the audible feedback helping him type faster, now that she thought about it. She had hers run silent, however, as she found it distracting, and it was easy to lose focus on monitor duty. Still, with her worries momentarily abated, she allowed herself a brief moment of respite as she enjoyed a long drink of her delicious tea.

And then the pattern repeated itself for the fifth time.

Something odd seemed to flicker on the monitor while her mind was elsewhere. The woman froze with the cup pressed against her lips, her green eyes wide as she stared at the live feed from the pub. In it, she saw ‘Maggie’ slowly and deliberately stand from ‘her’ seat. None of the men at her table reacted to the sudden movement even though one of them seemed to be actively talking to her. Far more disconcerting was how she turned to face the security camera with those bottomless pits she had for eyes staring right into it.

No, that wasn’t it. There was absolutely no doubt in Agent Johanson’s mind that, despite all logic pointing to the contrary, the Class-3 was making eye contact with her through the screen. It then slowly and gracefully raised one of its hands towards its mouth. The index finger stretched out and pressed against those thin, widely smiling lips in a universal gesture of silence, followed by an exaggerated wink. In the very next frame the girl-shaped entity had snapped back to its previous seated position and was making idle conversation with Cullen as if absolutely nothing had happened.

Naturally, none of this showed up in any of the security camera’s recordings.

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