//------------------------------// // S/M.I.L.E. Please, by The wind king // Story: Group Precipitation // by FanOfMostEverything //------------------------------// Computers hummed and sang, strange technological songs comprised of pure information floating through the air far faster than any melody really had a right to go. Florescent lights buzzed in the tiled ceiling, their harsh light burning away any shadows in misused corners or under overlooked desks. Footsteps echoed and built in such as small space giving the impression that any unseen observer could turn around and find themself observed. It was in all exceedingly busy for a room that last week had been a garage, The Man with a Shadow For a Face thought to himself, as the last glowing embers of a cigarette dangled from his lips. Gnarled and scarred fingers plucked the glowing tube from his lips, before he stubbed it out against the hoof-like fingernails on his other hand. The act didn't even draw a flinch from him, even as the people around him did so, the bustle hiccuping at the sound of embers meeting 'flesh' before everyone turned back to their tasks. The Man watched for a second more, a mixture of pride and worry on his nonexistent features, before he stepped smartly forwards into the bustling activity which parted around him, whether in reverence or fear he didn't rightly know; so many of the agents here were new to the task, a sad necessity given how the world had changed, was changing even still, and would continue to change with the events yet to unfold. This lack of knowledge galled him as he strode the short distance over to a mop of pink and blue hair above a cream face which was twisted in distaste as report after report flitted across her monitor. "Agent Drops." The teenager didn't jump. She didn't shout or squeak or even flinch at the Man's gravelly voice. She merely sighed and twisted her chair as to face him. "Yes, Director?" "What is the progress on the S/M.I.L.E database?" "Oh it's just going great, Director." The woman threw her own thick-nailed hands in the air before pulling a sheet of paper out of one the piles on her desk. "Ever since the 'Don't Believe in Monsters or They'll Get You' vlog hit the Shimmerists' site we've had a vicious upswing in monster sightings, urban legend renewals, alien 'abductions', and and conspiracy theorists going on and on about how the government is running some sort of 'monster preserve on an unmarked unlisted island in the middle of the Harmonic Ocean, the Saddlantic Ocean, and the Bermula Triangle." "And what do you actually have for me?" "Too many hoaxes to name." Agent Drops sighed before passing the sheet to the director. "However we've had agents in all of these cities reporting in the following." "Candyman in Chicolto; Birde and Hare in Marenburgh; Jack the Ripper, Springheel Jack, and the Plague Rat all in Londonk; the Sandpoint Devil in, surprise surprise, Sandpoint; numerous reporting of Black Shuck in the Porkshire Dales, the White Mare worldwide?" The director raised his 'eyes' from the densely packed list. "This paints a very bleak picture, Agent Drops." "And more reports keep on coming in, those are simply the ones that've come in from other agents. There's no telling how many civilians have wandered on something legitimate and not stumbled back out." Another ding of an arriving message rang from the computer's speaker as the overworked teenager swung back to the glowing screen. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I'm too busy at the moment. I'll have a report on your desk by tomorrow morning, Harmony willing." "I'll see what I can do to lighten your load, Agent Drops. In Vigilo Confido" "In Vigilo Confido, sir."