Part One

It was just a normal day in his house, working from home. He’d abandoned his office computer months ago, when he had learned how to remotely connect to it from his own house. He hadn’t had to leave the house for work ever since, and he was earning a nice fat pay check as well.

Looking around, he realised that it was dawn. He had somehow worked through the whole of the night. Right now, he had finished all his work he had planned to do today, and was now actually a day ahead, hours ahead of all the other lazy employees. He was surprised that they even bothered to drag their large bulks to the office itself. He supposed that they just didn’t know how to work from home. He congratulated himself for what must have been the thousandth time on his choice.

He turned back to his monitor and blinked, rubbing his eyes and looking at the computer screen. He was on an online forum, one that was marked for general purposes. Basically, that meant that anything went. There were topics from animal care to places to hit someone to kill them. He had never frequented that part of the board.

Reading over the latest post in the Coffee Bar – a general-purpose thread within the general-purpose forum- he was surprised to see poetry on the page. The post entry read:

This is really important. I may sound like I am trolling or lying here, but it’s the real truth. I promise it’s real. Now, you’ve been my forum friends for years now, I need you to listen closely.

I was online the other day when I read a news article, about people dying randomly. There seems to be no connection between the deaths except one thing that the authorities have missed.

Haven’t you noticed how so many people have stopped posting on this board?

Yes, that’s what I am saying. The deaths are, connected somehow. The only reason it made it into a news article was because of the way they all had died. They were all found the same way - there seemed to be massive burns all over their bodies. I only realised it was them when commenters posted their respects to the bloggers and forum frequenters.

What’s also strange is that in the last two months, I’ve received Private Messages from all the deceased people. They were all interested with what turned out to be a certain poem. They each messaged me a part of it, hoping that I could uncover its secrets. I put it together and I’ll post it here for you. I don’t know what it means, but it got twenty people killed.

My forum friends: help me.

-Jason-

“The chip of crystal shines so bright

Outshining even heaven’s light

This time the crystal comes with thee

Three tolls of the bell, I bid you wait with me.”

He stared at the poem, and read the message above it for the third time. So his friend was worried about some conspiracy? Just because a lot of people were dying the same way … maybe it was some kind of new cancer. Yes, that had to be it.

There was a knock at his door. He straightened up and with a groan levered himself into a standing position. He shuffled over to the door, his gait slow. An observer might have thought he were fifty, rather than the much younger age of thirty that he really was.

He reached for the door handle and tugged on it, pulling open the door. On the doorstep stood a cloaked figure, its face hidden by a long hood.

“Who – who are you?” He stuttered, suddenly feeling very frightened. He took a step further back, into the comforting warmth of his house, but his eyes did not leave the figure.

The stranger did not reply, but drew back his hood. He only had time to catch a glimpse of silver grey before there was a flash of red light and he was burning.

                        *****

Detective Inspector Rebecca Hunt looked longingly at her sofa. She would not have a chance to use it for another three hours, so she sighed and turned away from it. It would not do to fall asleep now, while she was working. It had been a long day, and if she sat down on that deliciously inviting sofa she would not stand up again for many hours. She settled for the ancient wooden chair, without a cushion, praising herself on her self restraint.

She was one of the many detectives assigned to the case dubbed ‘The Blaze Case’. It was an absurd but grimly real. The murders – for what else could they be? – had no pattern, and it seemed, there was no obvious motive behind them. None of the people had been connected; none had even known each other. There was no rhyme or reason between what she had begun to think of as the attacks. Rebecca privately believed it to be the work of some insane psychopath, acting out his own private little play at the expense of the murder victims and the police.

She thought she heard a sound at the window and turned to look out. It was raining as usual, and she could hear some lightning too. There was a rumble of thunder and then the world lit up for an instant. Something caught her eye. There, in the window was a face. The lightning flash stopped, but then flashed again just a second later. There was no face at the window, or anything else except the slender trees swaying in the gale-force winds.

She was working too long hours, and her tired mind was playing tricks on her. Going senile, she told herself sarcastically. At the age of thirty three, you’re working too hard. Better get some money in the pot for that old ladies’ retreat – or better still, the mental institution.

She rose from her hard wooden seat and pulled on her warm jacket. She would take a walk and let the cool refreshing air clear her head.

She still could not entirely get rid of the lingering thought that something had been watching her.

Outside, it was not exactly what she would call refreshing. As she had noticed before, it was raining, and there was a little smattering of lightning and thunder mixed into the stew pot of weather. It was hardly a nice day to pick for a walk. At least there’s no chance of any other poor people burning in this weather, she reflected bitterly to herself.

She walked slowly along the street, her spirits as low as the dark green moss that grew on the side of the road. Evidently the cleaner here had given up. There was grime on the walls of houses, and graffiti on buildings, showing no signs of being removed. In fact, she fancied the defiling text was still wet from the spray paint, as if it had been painted only a few minutes ago. She shook herself. It was raining. Nobody in their right mind would even be out here now.

She turned down an alley and saw that she had been mistaken. A small shape huddled in a corner, a man, with a stub of a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and a dirty brown coat wrapped around him. He started when she looked at him. She realised she must have almost appeared from nowhere, walking from the shadows to this corner. She spoke to the seemingly homeless man.

“What are you doing out here in all this rain? It’s pouring down, and you’ll catch a cold out here.” She spoke sharply, with authority. The man was not fazed. He slowly looked her up and down, looking at her wet, tired state. He grinned, revealing several missing teeth and other yellowed ones. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse but still clear enough to hear.

“You tired, miss? Need a bit of … energy? Some R and R? I’ve got just the thing for your type.”

He leered at her. Looking down, Rebecca realised her jacket was messy and dirty. She looked tired, dirty, dishevelled, almost like the man himself. Her voice was not as firm as before, nor was she as clearly in charge.

“I don’t know what you mean. Please leave me alone, sir. I do not take kindly to folk like you having ideas that would not befit a proper lady.”

His grin grew wider as he reached into his coat and pulled out a long thin package. Opening the brown paper bag, he showed her a long brown tube and started to speak in his curious hoarse voice.

“Finest cannabis this side of England. You have the money, darling?”

Repulsed, Rebecca took a shaky step back. This was not what she had imagined. Taking a deep breath, she slipped her hand into her jacket and then simultaneously pulled something out and slammed the man against the wall, not hard enough to injure him, but hard enough to show him that if she wanted to or needed to she could.

“Detective Inspector Rebecca Hunt,” She growled at the man, whose eyes were now wide with fright and shock. “I’m the law around here, even if this place has gone to the dogs. There will be no drug addicts on my turf!”

She dropped him, let him crumple to the floor and allowed him to catch his breath for a moment and then launched into a tirade.

“Do you know what that drug does to you? It can give you paranoia! For the rest of your life, you’ll be looking around corners, because you’re sure your neighbour is out to get you! Do you want that? Do you?” Seeing that this tactic was not working, she changed abruptly.

“Possession of cannabis is illegal. It’s a class B, so you can get fourteen years for supplying, and an unlimited fine. I doubt you have enough money to pay for what I’d charge you.”

She had him cornered now, metaphorically as well as literally.

“I’ll do whatever you want!” He was cringing, in retreat. “I’ll tell you anything, just let me off this one time! I’ll… I’ll even tell you of the Metaldroid Project.”

“The Metaldroid Project?” She frowned. “What nonsense is this?”

The man reassured her. “Let me speak, and I will tell you all.” He was only too happy to begin.

“It started in Britain, in 2001…”