Interloper

Ken half stepped and half dove behind the shelves to his right, crouching down in the deep shadows they afforded him.

His mind raced. The hulking figure he'd seen did not match the image of any scientist he knew, and given the suspicious setting he found himself in, he wasn't taking any chances. He skulked around to the corner of the shelf, finding it separated slightly from the wall—just enough that he could slip through if he stood up.

He thanked whatever higher power there was that he couldn't find the light switch: that may have just been the difference between him getting away unnoticed and being forced to meet these people face to face.

As he slipped past another shelf, now finding himself halfway to the far wall, he heard a loud bang from the outer room. The sound of a desk or cabinet being turned over, just as in the other doctor's office.

Wait...

The light in the back of Dr. Burnwick's office...

His eyes shot wide, and he once again thanked the cosmos for his timing. Had he been moments later, or moments earlier, he might've met these people even sooner.

The clattering and banging of objects thrown and broken startled him every time. Papers rustled in the air as they tore the room apart. It became clear to Ken then: they were searching for something. He felt the folder inside his jacket. It must be that.

He clutched it tight to his body and pressed himself past another shelf.

But as he tried to push through, subconsciously holding tight to the folder, the shelf groaned at the strain. Loudly.

"Stop that, you brute! Put that down!" a voice shouted. It was modulated in some way— compressed to change its tone. Fitting for a burglar. A monstrous bang resounded from the next room, shaking the walls.

And just as he squeezed free from the shelf and dropped to a crouch, a face emerged from the corner. Or what should have been a face.

A mask, if you could call it that, covered it instead. It had no visible eyeholes, or convexities of any kind to accommodate their features. The design on it twisted and curved, creating a strange optical illusion of sickening movement as they looked around. A tight bodysuit stretched over them, padded in a few places: wrists, elbows, knees, and shins. Their body, visibly feminine in form, was slim, but even in the uncertain light it was plain to see: they were toned to ruthless perfection—a body sculpted for agility and strength.

They moved into the room airily, glancing around the darkness. "I heard something in here, Ren. But your... methods of choice," they said, disdain clear even through the modulation, "blocked the sound."

"Sorry, Bee." The male figure sauntered in with far less grace. They also wore the same variety of twisting mask. Contrary to their partner, though, they opted for street clothes: a tight-fitting tee shirt and athletic pants. His arms were covered in crossing scars. Ken shuddered.

The girl, Bee, floated farther into the room, and the man lumbered in close behind her.

His heart pounded in his chest, in his ears, and even his fingertips as he pressed himself as tightly as he could to the wall. He was sure they'd hear the thumping, but as the girl glanced around, her gaze seemed to pass right over him.

Between Ken and the far wall were just 2 more shelves. But with the two intruders in the room he'd have to be all the more careful. The door through which they entered was the only way out. It swung toward him, so he'd have to get around it to escape.

He waited. Until right as they would pass him.

Now.

Pushing off one foot, he slid past the shelf. It groaned as well. Shit. He remained standing, worried the movement would show them exactly where he was.

Both their heads snapped toward the sound.

Shit.

He held his breath.

But let it out slowly as both of them returned to surveying the back of the room.

Ken breathed a silent sigh of relief. He continued on, dropping to a low crouch as he shuffled to the next shelf.

He had to escape.

And as he had approached the door, a plan had slowly crystallized in his mind.

The door opening toward him made it difficult for him to justify pushing past the last shelf, so in spite of him being slightly closer to the intruders, he moved toward the open corridor between the sets of shelves. He could see the door now: it had a keyhole on this side as well.

The two thieves had reached the back of the room now.

The larger one spoke. "Bee, why don't we just get out of here?"

"And lose all the information we could gain?" They shook their head and muttered something Ken didn’t register, clocking the larger man on the head as they said it.

Ken was nearing the door now. He drew the key from his pocket.

A large instrument on the shelves briefly blocked his view of them, but he continued anyway.

And as he rounded the corner, he found himself face to face with the smaller one.

He yelped, having seen them at the back of the room mere moments before. How had they moved so quickly?

"Interloper." They stood still before him, head cocked. “Why have you come here?”

Her presence was at once silent and overwhelming. He was silent at first, his eyes darting around his surroundings.

“I do not want to hurt you.”

Without thought, his hand moving inspired by pure instinct, he gathered himself and drew the pistol from his waistband, clicking off the safety and taking aim at them. “Yeah, right.”

"Doctor. You and I both know you’re not the type." In spite of the bravado, they still raised their hands and took a step back.

"Who are you?" he asked. "How do you know my name?" He thanked himself for studying up on the weapon the night prior as he aimed down the sight at them.

His mind showed him images of his daughters. The tentative uncertainty he'd felt while coming here was all but gone as he thought of them. He had to protect them.

This was all to protect them.

"The answer will not satisfy you," they responded simply.

"I don't care." He walked toward them a step. "Back up."

They did as he asked.

"Remove your masks."

This time, neither of them complied. They simply stood there.

He removed a hand from the pistol, eyes still trained on them, and grabbed the door.

Their gazes were trained on him, it seemed. But the masks made it hard to tell. He remained staring at them, too.

But finally, with a deep breath, he slunk out, slamming the door behind him and locking it.

He fled as fast as he could—assuming the door was locked—sliding on the dusty stone floor as he whirled around the corner and sprinted back up the corridor as fast as his legs would go.