Revelations.

With a loud clang and a solid clunk the lift shudders to a stop, the three men stumble and totter in their spots on the unsteady floor. With several more pops and the cessation of grinding gears and twanging wire the lift settles to the ground floor.

Before them another long corridor extends into the darkness, and as far as they can ascertain they’ve dropped more than a mile below the surface of their fair city.

Despite the fact that it did at one point become intolerably cold as they dropped the air here is quite humid and hot to breath while the walls are thick with moisture that drips in long rivulets onto the floor of the cave, a square space below the lift cage even appears to hold a indistinguishable depth of steaming water.

With gentle hands Tom slides the lift door aside, it clatters and groans into place, the intrepid explorer steps out of the apparatus and into the tunnel, closely followed by his companions.

Along the walls lamps light the way and every hundred feet or so the tunnel turns or twists as if to avoid some unseen barrier, the men follow it having determined that no other option presented itself in the moments wait.

After an innumerable time the three come to a final turn, a dull light filters around the bend, white and quite different from the hissing yellow lamplight. As they turn the corner they each shudder to a stop at the sight of sun light, or what appears to be such.

Ahead of the group a large cavern opens before them, the whole thing framed within a steel doorframe that rests open. Glowing phosphoresces clings to every natural surface, causing the room to shimmer in sun like brilliance while below row upon row of wooden hangers, huts, tents and the odd vehicle stand in silent solitude; not a soul moves in the whole cavern, though their absence doesn’t hide their prescience some hours before.

Several stairs lead into the cavern and down onto the plane like floor, the men scamper down the pathway; half hiding half in awe, every step perhaps marked by unseen watchers, their every sense hoping beyond hope that they’re not seen.

“What the hell is this place Tom?” Henry asks in astonishment.

“It’s a god-damn staging area ol’ boy, this is where the war starts.”

“I think it’s begun!” Albert adds with quiet dignity.

With a questioning look Albert looks at the man, “Well there’s clearly no-one here now is there? Where do you suppose they’re off to?”

“Up to no good I’ve no doubt!” Tom adds. “Now lets take a look around and see if we cant get some weapons and find out where this lot have gotten off to.” With that he springs forth and makes for the first hanger.

The door of the large structure hangs half open, as if the former occupants either; were in too much of a hurry to close it, or, weren’t planning on returning. Pulling gently on the barn door Tom swings it open a touch more in an effort to shed some light inside, before him the floor sits bare, aside from several tables and overturned chairs, a small automobile stands exhausted against on of the walls, three of its tires flat from overuse.

Walking in his feet echo causing smotes of dust to cascade from the rafters, instinctively he approaches the single table, his friends follow closely behind; Albert almost hugging the mans back, a touch of anxiety tickling his nerve fibers.

“Its bare Tom, not a note or slip of paper to show, not a clue.” Albert utters in frustration, a deep resounding puff of air gusts from his mouth to finish the sentence.

“Not quite Albert, look here.” He says while sliding the table to the side, the heavy broad legs scratching on the polished stone floor.

Helping each other the three manage to move the table away and clear the space, Tom steps back, almost as if standing on his toes, “Look here.” He says while pointing at the clear space. “Do you see that mark?”

The other two, move from side to side, each attempting to get the best light on the spot.

The four table legs are clearly represented with soft smooth patches where they’ve stood, eight scratches radiate from the imagined periphery of the table, these indicate where chairs were regularly dragged and slid back and forth. However to the side, right where Tom’s eyes are focused another mark becomes apparent. At first looking like the natural stone of the floor, but soon enough it becomes evident that something wet rested there.

“What do you suppose it is Tom?” Henry asks as he bends to get a better look at the shadow.

“In my experience there’s only one thing that leaves a mark like that.”

“IT’S BLOOD!” A voice suddenly blasts from the doorway, the three men spin on their heels, the sound of their boots drowned by a menacing laugh.

Silhouetted in the doorframe, the figure, a perfect man shape of blackness, cranes it head back in laughter, the man’s whole body quaking with joyous spirit.

“What the devil are you laughing at?” Henry blurts out at the top of his voice.

“And further more,” Tom adds, “Who are you?”

“Well lets start with the first little question shall we; I’m laughing at the devils work, your frustrations and questions, and how the obviousness of the situation is lost on the three of you, the very thing you seek is the answer to both those questions, that is what I laugh at!”

Stepping forwards the man starts to resolve in the dim light. “And I laugh at the fact that I am in fact that very answer.” With one final step Gestalt resolves in the dim light, his pale face revealed to his three companions.

⚅⚀thoughts