A couple of hours later, Soren got out of the prison, following Director Hunt and his companion through the gates of the Russian gulag.

  Shit… he was not lying to me after all.

  Despite having a Russian winter coat to protect him, the boy trembled from the extreme cold. Still feeling hurt, he limped all over to the helicopter, which they all boarded.

  Hours before, the heat between both individuals had already cooled off, once they both got exposed to certain truths.

  “This picture…” he contemplated while inspecting a photograph with his numb fingers.

  “The kid with the black shirt is your uncle. As for the one with a coat, you can already imagine”

  “Who are the other two? and who is that girl?”

  “They are other friends of us, but you don’t have to mind that for now”

  In the meantime, a couple of soldiers from the infirmary wing were trying to heal the boy the best they could. That was the least Director Hunt could do for his friend’s nephew before bringing him back to the civilized world.

  Back to the helicopter, Soren had to sit right in front of the asian woman with the skimo coat.

  “Boy, this one right here is the commission’s subdirectoress, Fujimi Nasaki” the director introduced.

  Soren extended her hand to the woman, only to find a bit of indifference from her part. Indeed, she remained silent for the rest of the ride.

  “There’s something I still don’t understand… What does the KGB have to do with all of this?”

  “My last job before being appointed as director of the anti-demon commission was director of the KGB. By protocol, and also as a favor to me, the agency still performs vigilance on my old lines of contact. I hoped that, one day, I could hear Sullivan’s voice from this cellphone” he said while exposing the old flipphone he held inside of his trenchcoat.

  “Again?” Soren questioned, also contemplating the upwards view of the cold Siberian landscapes.

  “For you, your uncle has been missing only seven years, but for the rest of the world, the strongest demon hunter has been missing for around the time you have been alive. Nobody knew anything about him, until this moment. Now we know he had become the owner of a corn farm in Kansas…”

  Soren couldn’t help but feel down for the mention of the times he used to live with his uncle back in the farm.

  “Anyways, I can assume you know your fair share about demons. Your reaction to my ‘bodyguard’ contract was somewhat measured. It also seems like you don’t shy away from playing with Sullivan’s guns.”

  “Hunting demons is all I know how to do”

  “Hence the scars in your body. Despite being young, you have a certain amount of experience. Yet, you have still managed to suffer financially and whatnot. Tell me boy, would you like to work from the commission from now onwards?”

  “Director?” Subdirectress Nasaki questioned before being halted with just one gesture from the man, who promptly awaited the boy’s answer.

  “I don't like the idea of working for someone else, much less to someone I barely know”

  “I knew you would say something like that. Still, working for the commission would be better than all the bullshit you have had to do until now. Even if it’s not an easy job, you will have better remuneration. Besides, you would be working side by side with the government.”

  “How’s that last thing any good?” he questioned with skepticism.

  “For once in your life you could stop evading the authorities and living in the shades.”

  Director Hunt’s proposal resonated with some of Soren’s deepest concerns. Still, it would have been foolish to trust such a man plainly.

  “What if I say no regardless?”

  “Then you are free to go back your own way. The United States government would still be on the look for you, ghost”

  Soren immediately raised an eyebrow.

  “We investigated everything about you, or more like everything that there isn’t. In all of America there is no registry of any Soren O’Connors being born. There are also no school records, no social security, no driver’s license, not even fake documents… Honestly, I can understand the reason why Sullivan hid you in a life of secrecy. Your uncle was a person of many enemies, hence he had no option but to go low profile”

  This man, Adam Hunt, everything he is saying is very true. Even if I go back to the States I would have to go back to evading the cops all over again… risking my life in petty jobs… Besides, I no longer have Marty’s support.

  “Gun laws in Europe are very strict. Even if I decide to work for you, you would have to promise that they won’t take away any of the things that are in the van”

  “I can’t promise that the government won’t treat it like something illegal, but, I can make them look to the other side”

  Cunning… still should be enough.

  “And how much pay are we talking about?”

  “I would rather talk about it once we are back in the headquarters. We would need to deduce your healthcare plans, retirement, and other taxes”

  Even if I don’t trust this guy much, if I get them to help me maybe I will have more chances to know what happened to uncle Sullivan.

  With a newly acquired direction and disposition, Soren agreed to follow both leaders back to the central headquarters, located in the city of Barcelona, Spain.

  *

  The central headquarters of the Demon Hunting Commission were part of a towering high-rise building located right in the heart of the city.

  Countless workers in formal attire passed in and out through the security checkpoints in the lobby. Naturally, the two heads of the organization didn’t need to identify themselves, granting them a free pass inside.

  The interior was decorated with black marble walls and pale flooring. Light from the outside bent through the windows, scattering into beams that illuminated the building like a palace. The overall design followed a dark color palette, maintaining a delicate balance between minimalism and elegance.

  The security guards greeted them on the way in—an address echoed by every other employee as they walked through the main lobby. The group only came to a stop right at the front desk of the whole organization, where the director leant forwards to greet a figure that hid behind the tall counter.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Waller,” said the Slavic man to the receptionist, who only met his gaze for half a second and responded with a slight nod.

  Soren found the gesture rude, but it was not like he actually cared.

  “Besides being the Commission’s receptionist, Mrs. Waller is also my personal assistant,” the man explained to Soren. “Any concerns or requests you have for me can be directed to her as well.”

  “Sure…” Soren replied, uncertain.

  Soon, the group moved toward a section of the lobby filled with elevators. After waiting a few minutes, they secured a ride for themselves and the director pressed the number 76 on the control panel.

  “The Commission’s departments are divided and arranged by floors. The one we’re heading to now is the administrative sector. That’s where both my office and the subdirectress’ are located.”

  When the metallic doors opened, Soren was greeted by what looked like a bureaucratic nightmare pulled straight out of the early 2000s. Workers darted between cubicles, answering phone calls and typing furiously—an endless ocean of administrative chaos stretching as far as the eye could see.

  “You’ll have time to meet some of these people later. Let’s keep moving.”

  With nothing to add, Soren followed the two leaders down a long hallway. Eventually, they stopped in front of two enormous black wooden doors.

  “I’ll leave you both here. See you at the meeting, Director,” the woman said, pushing the doors open to reveal a grandiose office—lavish and magnificent.

  Adam Hunt, expressionless as always, gave a slight nod. “Now, follow me to my office.”

  Wait. That wasn’t his office?

  A few rooms down—past the coffee machine—they stopped once more right in front of what looked like a storage closet.

  “Here. Go in.”

  “Huh?”

  Indeed, the office of the Director of the European Anti-Demon Commission was, quite literally, a repurposed closet. The tiny, pitch-black room contained only a small wooden desk surrounded by towering stacks of metal filing cabinets. A single flickering attic-style lightbulb dangled loosely over the desk, barely illuminating the space. The air reeked of stale smoke, irritating Soren’s nose.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  He sat down in front of the desk, trying to cover his face with his sleeve.

  “Alright, here you go,” said the director, shoving a stack of papers across the desk.

  “What’s all this?”

  “The one on top is your employment contract. Everything underneath is a collection of surveys and forms you'll need to fill out to complete your onboarding.”

  “Do I really have to sign all of it?”

  “Yes,” the man replied bluntly.

  Shit.

  “When you’re done, hand everything over to Mrs. Waller. That’s all.”

  Just like that, Soren left the so-called “office” with a mountain of paperwork in his arms. He searched the sea of cubicles for an empty spot where he could start reading through it all.

  “If I’d known it was going to be this much of a hassle, I would’ve just kept trampling around instead.”

  Resigned, he started inspecting the labor contract on top.

  “Salary: €10,000 monthly + benefits + retirement + life insurance + medical coverage included.”

  Isn’t this… a bit much? How big is this agency’s budget?

  Then he reached the fine print, written in font size eight: “Potential risks: death by mutilation, death by exsanguination, death by [REDACTED], death by [REDACTED]... sudden death… spontaneous combustion…” The list was easily the longest section of the entire contract. “...The Commission will provide all appropriate compensations and death benefits to the family or designated benefactors of the deceased.”

  That’s how Soren spent the rest of the day—filling out form after form, until his pen finally ran out of ink.

  Back at reception, he dropped the stack of paperwork in front of Mrs. Waller.

  “So… the Director also said—”

  “Basement Level 2. Keys are on top of the front-right tire,” she cut in, never looking up from her screen. “Have a nice day, Mr. O'Connors.”

  “Yeah…”

  What the hell. How did she know? Am I that easy to read?

  He got back into the elevator and headed down to the second basement. After weaving past rows of government and staff vehicles, a smile finally broke across his face. His uncle’s old van was right there, fully repaired, with new tires and windows.

  Opening the back doors, he found all his tools and provisions intact. Nothing had gone missing.

  Then, climbing into the driver’s seat, he spotted two familiar items on the dashboard: the red notebook that had started it all—and a copy of the old photo Adam Hunt had shown him before.

  *

  In the conference room, Soren leaned further back in the office chair, sinking so low it was barely visible over the table.

  Across from him sat Director Adam Hunt, Subdirectress Fujimi Nasaki, and another unfamiliar man. The newcomer had messy brown hair, an untrimmed beard, and wore dark sunglasses indoors—a look that clashed with his otherwise formal suit and tie. His posture and expression were relaxed, almost careless.

  “Then, you are Sullivan's nephew. Hearing it on the phone was a hard pill to swallow, but now it makes sense” he asserted. “Your voices do sound very similar.”

  “They don’t. Just the attitude,” Adam replied with his usual dry tone.

  The stranger bursted into laughter. “Well, if you say so!”

  Soren sank even deeper into his seat, awkward and out of place. “Sorry, but... what am I doing here, exactly?”

  “That man in front of you is a member of the European Parliament,” Director Hunt pointed. “He’s also a friend of mine, and your uncle’s. You saw him in that picture.”

  Soren tried to recall the details, but the man interjected before he could focus.

  “Pleased to meet you, Soren. Name’s Targus Cunningham,” he said with a smile.

  Man, these people are big fish... How come uncle never mentioned them?

  “Now,” The Director said, placing both hands on the table, “presentations aside, the reason for why you are here is because we want to know more about what happened on November 22nd, 2012. I know you said your memory’s foggy, but it's important to get your account for our records.”

  Soren could feel the weight of the room shift toward him. Everyone knew the significance of that date. That was when the Demon of Oblivion descended, erasing thousands of lives and a portion of Washington D.C. from history.

  “Like I said, that was the last day I saw Uncle Sullivan. I remember the farm, the TV, the storm...”

  “Storm?” Targus raised an eyebrow.

  Soren noticed the tension rise in both the bearded man and subdirectress Nasaki.

  “Usually, the descent of powerful demons is announced by considerable meteorological interference. On the other hand it would have been very unlikely for a normal storm to make your uncle go missing again” the head of the organization explained.

  “So... you think a demon attacked the farm?”

  “We know a powerful demon was roaming Earth that day. Moreover, your memory loss could be trauma-induced as much as it could be interference from the Demon of Oblivion.”

  “But how can you believe me easily now?” Soren asked. “Werent you the one to say that one could never be too sure?”

  “Indeed” He replied to the boy, lighting a cigarette. “But I’ve been doing this long enough to know when someone’s telling the truth.”

  “There seems to be a problem however” Nasaki cut in. “There’s no record of a second demon descent on that day. Besides, it was reported that the Demon of Oblivion retreated after confronting the U.S. military.”

  “Thus why we believed all this time that Sullivan was involved, yet that is no longer the case. We know he was several hundred kilometers away” The director contested with his own reasoning.

  “Maybe the demon of Oblivion moved into the other location” Targus thought, scratching his beard.

  “And you may be right. A second descent still seems reasonable for the timeline, but unreasonable for having gone unnoticed at the same time. On the other hand, we know there are plenty of reasons for why Oblivion would have chased after Sullivan.”

  Silence fell into the thoughtful room. Soon, Director Hunt redirected the focus back to the boy. “Now, when do your memories start again?”

  “I woke up in the driver’s seat of my uncle’s van. It was parked on a rural road in Kentucky– three days after the incident. I was alone by then…”

  “That’s 48 hours more of memory loss than D.C. survivors,” Nasaki observed.

  “Did you ever go back to the farm?” the man with the cigarette questioned.

  Soren looked down and shook his head. “I called an acquaintance from town—Father Montgomery. He said the town was trashed by the storm. Including our farm.”

  “And he didn’t mention demons? Memory loss?” Adam Hunt insisted.

  “No... I don’t think so.”

  Once again, they found themselves in a situation where the evidence contradicted their theories.

  “So, what does the ex-KGB director say about this?” Targus asked with a smirk.

  “We don’t know if the other part was telling the truth for sure. If he didn’t, then such an event would not have gone unnoticed by the government. For all I know, they could be trying to cover up the whole situation.”

  Soren frowned, confused. It had never occurred to him that father Montgomery, a close acquaintance of his uncle and the man in charge of his early education, would have lied about the subject.

  “Then again, we still lack enough evidence to assert anything,” Adam continued. “The best we can do is send a couple of first-division hunters to investigate once they’re free from their current assignments.”

  “Why not send Maria?” Targus suggested.

  “Thats not an option right now,” Adam said, tasting the burn once more.

  “But why not go now?” Soren pressed.

  “Even if we were to send them right now, we would still be 7 years behind on the truth; aside from possibly raising the attention of the very ones we suspect about. Besides, there are also other important matters that require our attention”

  Targus nodded in agreement.

  “Instead, If we manage to reverse your memory loss,” Adam said, “we might uncover the whole truth. Hence why I expect Soren to work with us for a while” he concluded explaining the other two.

  The meeting wrapped shortly after. Targus rose, extending a hand and his walking cane.

  “If you ever need anything, just call me,” he said, patting Soren’s shoulder twice before leaving.

  The boy watched him go, wary.

  If he had raised such an offer back then…

  As he stood to leave, Director Hunt called out again. “There’s something else: your official EAC assignment is ready.”

  Demon hunters, administrators, maintenance staff—the Commission had many roles. However, Soren expected to join the main force of the agency.

  “You’re being assigned as a Fifth Division hunter. Moreover, your first field job is going to happen tomorrow.”

  The abruptness took him by surprise, but Soren was still ready for all kinds of action.

  “Although, what do you mean by ‘field job’ exactly?”

  “You’ll observe a subjugation task. Get used to how our teams operate.”

  “So... sit around and watch? I can fight demons just fine,” Soren said.

  “Not with your current injuries. We’ll do something about them, but it’ll take some days. Any other objections?”

  Soren coughed, then nodded. “Fine.”

  Then, for the first time in a while, Subdirectress Nasaki spoke up.

  “Director, even if he is Sullivan’s nephew, he’s still young. Untrained. He should at least spend weeks in preparation before—”

  “Subdirectress, the decision to make Soren part of this operation was mine. Are you perhaps suggesting that I am wrong in the way that I lead my own organization?”

  His questioning was cold and reprehensive. Even Soren, who felt underestimated by her statements, flinched at the sudden shift in attitudes.

  “No sir. I am just concerned about the unpredictable variables that could arise.”

  “In that case, you should lead tomorrow’s operation yourself. That should get rid of any possible concern on anyone’s behalf”

  Nasaki bowed her head in silent acceptance.

  Great… Now I'm gonna have a babysitter.

  By nightfall, Soren left the Commission building and drove through Barcelona’s winding streets. Eventually, he reached a modest apartment on the city’s outskirts. He knocked on the door next to the one he was renting. An elderly woman answered.

  “Hi, we talked on the phone earlier,” Soren said.

  “Ah, you must be the tenant.”

  He handed over the last of his savings from his gig on Saint Louis. She accepted the cash with a chuckle and handed him a key.

  “Enjoy your stay.”

  The apartment was empty, but at least the utilities worked.

  It’s not much... but now I have somewhere to stay permanently. Would you be proud of this, Uncle?

  Despite having the keys, Soren still decided to sleep in the van until he had enough money to afford a bed.

  Tiredness eventually subdued him.

  Tomorrow is another day…