In Plain Sight

Ken sat aboard the train, brain whirring in his head. He hadn't thought this through completely, he was realizing. His forefinger and thumb pinched the bridge of his nose as he dug through his memory, searching for where Irina might have wanted him to go. 

The only logical location was the lab in which Project Aerodramus was carried out. There was a problem with that, though: he could not recall where precisely that was. He seldom went into the lab itself during the project's course, especially considering his job was only to make a simulation with a rigidly defined specification, so he'd let the precise location slip from his memory. 

But what if that isn't even the right location? he thought. He reasoned that the answer must have been among the items she sent him. 

So he drew the three... less sensitive clues from his pocket, holding them all spread like playing cards in his hand, and leaving the gun tucked in his waistband. The ticket was probably no good; it'd served its purpose. He had to assume that that was its sole duty due to her description of it as self-explanatory. But nothing about her was self-explanatory. He pocketed the ticket regardless.

Between the other two clues—the note and the white card—neither seemed particularly significant. But after a moment pondering, his mind and instincts both landed on the plain white card.

It had not been used for anything yet. If it was a keycard, what did it access? How could he know, unlabeled as it was? He held it in one hand, turning it over and adjusting his viewing angle. 

As he inspected it, the train broke free from the tunnel surrounding it for a moment—just long enough for the sun to shine directly on the card. And in that moment, as he held it, he saw out of the corner of his eye that it projected a strange shadow onto his lap. The light passed through the card unevenly, though he couldn't make out the image it painted in the brief moment it had appeared. 

Though the train had reentered the tunnel, his mind raced now. He had to see the image again. See if it was just an anomaly, or perhaps a clue. 

So he drew his smartphone from his pocket, activated its flashlight, and pressed the card to it, directing the image onto the chair next to him. 

The image left in the shadow, much clearer with the direct light from his phone shining around it, was the word "CENTER" with an icon of an M below it. The icon was the one for the Metro—the subway system itself. 

What? he thought, absolutely bewildered at the complete lack of new information this afforded him. He almost laughed out loud at the absurdity. He shook his head and returned the phone and card to his pocket, turning the phone's flashlight off.

"Now approaching: Convention Center," came the cheery voice from the intercom. 

He nearly missed it. He was moments from receding deep into his thoughts. But he was still present enough that the announcement made it through the haze. 

His brow furrowed deeply. "Convention Center..." He glanced up at a nearby transit map, scanning it. If there were other candidates, he could find them before disembarking. 

He saw a number with "Central" in the name. There was even one "centre," in spite of him being in America. But no other station on the map, in the entire city, had the plain word "center" in the name. 

The intercom dinged again, signaling the approach to the convention center's rail station. The train screeched as it began to slow. Ken stood up, snatching his belongings from around him. 

On finally halting, it lurched backward, sending Ken hurtling forward. He stumbled, on the verge of losing his balance, but caught himself thanks to a well-placed handrail by the door. 

He stood up and dusted himself off.

"Are you alright, sir?" asked a feminine voice from behind him. It was light and airy, with the words shaped by the faintest accent. 

"Yes, I'm alright..." He straightened his clothes as the doors opened in front of him, and then turned to flash as smile over his shoulder at them. 

It was the brunette girl from the station. She didn't look much older than May. Her brooding blond companion flanked her, looking down on him. He had to be over two meters in height, and had the build to match it. 

"Thank you," he simply said to the girl. She nodded, smiling back at him. 

He stepped off the train, clutching the straps of his backpack. Spinning around, he searched for some landmark—some hint of some kind that he was on the right track. But nothing around him jogged any memories. 

A pack of people all exited the train after him, including the girl and her companion. But where the crowd went one way, the two of them went the other, walking down toward the end of the platform. 

They must have another train or... something, he thought. He decided that the larger group must be onto something, and walked the other direction. 

But as he walked, following the flock of commuters around bend after bend, his eyes grew narrower and narrower, searching for signs that he was on the right track. After finally emerging into an underground pavilion that served as a hub for different platforms interconnecting different lines, the group fragmented, some heading off into each connection tunnel, and leaving Ken alone in the center, sunlight shining down on him from the top of the staircase ahead. 

He looked around for a clue—some sign that he was on the right track. But all around him, the marble and stone of the pavilion refused to betray any new information. He began to pace around the area, searching for a clue of the way forward. 

People milled about, threading in between each other like unraveling cloth to reach their desired platforms. He watched them as they went, hoping one of them would somehow inspire an idea in his mind. 

But as he paced about aimlessly, nothing came specifically to him. He drew the white card from his pocket, idly turning it over in his hands. It was, as ever, blank on its face. But as he walked into the sunlight, it hit the surface of the card, just as it had on the train. 

The pattern embedded inside it projected itself onto the bare marble beneath his feet. An "M." Did that part have some meaning outside of the word Metro itself? 

He looked around the area. 

There were no M's to be seen in the open area in which he stood. But as he wandered, his eyes moved to the top of the staircase. At its peak was a blue sign, adorned with a white M. 

So he began going up the steps, weaving in-between the miscellaneous commuters, too entrenched in their lives to pay any heed to Irina's message. He thought that, perhaps in their minds, it was not their duty to protect the world; it was not a part of human nature to volunteer when disaster loomed on the horizon, or even as it was close at hand. As long as they kept running from that horizon, averting their gaze, others would arise to beat back that calamity. 

But Ken had something to protect: the lives of his beautiful daughters. 

And so he considered himself no bystander. 

At last, he crested the stairs. And there was the sign. He blinked long and hard, clearing his mind by force. 

Below the sign was a door. 

He might have ignored it on a different day, but something caught his eye. Beside it was a component that thrust both relief and dread into his heart at once: a keycard reader. 

He knew immediately what it meant. 

Striding over, picking his way between the handful of others in his path, he drew the keycard from his pocket and swiped it in front of the reader. For a moment, nothing happened. But eventually, the door clicked, affirming its recognition of the card.

He sighed, somewhat exasperated. Why is it always so convoluted with her? he thought. 

But he shook off the thought and grabbed the door handle, and with a pull, it opened. The hinges ground against each other, groaning at the strain, but he was able to open it just enough that he could fit his body through. 

Ken looked around. No one seemed to even notice him. 

So he slipped inside, closing the door gingerly behind him. He heard it click shut, all the light fading from the room as it did. But perhaps "room" wasn't even the best description.

After turning on his phone's light, he got a better look around: a decrepit corridor, corners thick with cobwebs, the paint and stone of the walls chipping off. Clearly not well-maintained. If it was even maintained at all. 

But far more nerve wracking than the sorry state of the corridor itself was what awaited him at its end a few feet away: a narrow staircase, descending deep into the blackness below. He leaned forward in an effort to shine his flashlight into its depths, but to no avail. 

His instincts raged against his mind, telling him to turn back. And for a moment, he couldn't help but listen, reaching for the steel door. But as his hand reached sightlessly behind him, padding along the door's surface, he found no handle by which to open it. 

A glance behind him revealed a completely flat door. His heart jumped in his chest. 

He turned, giving it a shove. 

Nothing. 

He pressed his shoulder against it, leaning into it with all his strength.

Nothing. 

He cursed Irina's failure to provide any information, clenching his fist at his side. 

However, with nowhere to go but in, his heart pounding in his chest, he moved forward and began descending the steps into the darkness below.