The small sedan passed through the country side with ease. Farms and empty fields lay stretched out as far as you could see, making the journey seem like a life time. Multiple CD’s later and there was still nothing to see but the bleak landscape. Sam looked into her rear view mirror. She guessed some people liked this kind of landscape, but for her, it was nothing, nothing for miles.

Sam went to change a CD, when the local radio station broadcasted an ad about one of the presidential candidates. Reynold Tehporp, the hot-shot front runner from some small town in the middle of nowhere. Everyone seemed to like him, but Sam had no time for politics. Her job didn’t allow it, not that she cared anyway.

She pulled her phone from the cup holder and tapped on the screen. No messages. She never had messages anymore, not since she started her new job, not even from her family. She never knew her father. He took off before she was born, and her mother and older sister raised Sam. She rarely had time to see anyone these days, and the drives out to the Institute didn’t help either.

“Finally trees,” she said to herself with a short sigh. She pushed the troubling thoughts of her family out of her mind. Soon she would start the climb up the mountain to the Institute. The trees started to sprout around her, slowly getting thicker, until they turned into a forest before her eyes. The road sloped upwards, soon taking her to the top of the mountain. She knew this road well. She had traveled it many times over.

Ahead of her she saw the first car for miles. A large red hippy van drove down towards her. It was a classic from the seventies, and seeing it brought back memories of one her parents had. She knew the guy who drove it, a hippy with shaggy hair and a lack of hygiene, who is surprisingly good at his work. The information he provided the Institute had helped her out many times, and how he procured the knowledge was beyond her. She met him a few times, unlike like the rest of the members of the Institute; they all passed by each other, maybe starting a short conversation here or there, but mostly keeping to themselves.

As the red van passed, she waved. The man in the van saw her and smiled and waved back. Sam noticed a small white thing, slightly bigger than a toothpick, fall from his mouth as he did so. She smiled a little to herself. That was just like him. She looked to her rear view again, watching him putt away in his antique vehicle.

She turned back to the road and saw a sign she had come to know well over the years. “Institute of Science,” She read it to herself to stave off the boredom. The biggest lie she ever heard. It was only there to turn away those few unfortunate souls who got lost out here. The one truth about the sign was the Institute, but it wasn’t about science.

The past four years she had passed this sign often. She had battled monsters, psychics, demons, and all sorts of things people believed to be myths. Her fears were all but conquered now.

The gate soon came into sight. It was attached to a high stone wall with a ring of barbed wire to top it. The Institute probably didn’t need the wall, since most of the inhabitants were armed to the teeth. Not to mention they are some of the most dangerous and well trained people in the world.

She pulled to a stop in front of the gate. A small guard booth sat to her left. She had seen the guard a million times, but could never remember his name. Not even what letter it started with.

The guard came out of his booth holding a small tablet computer in his hand. Sam rolled down her window.

“How’s it going Sam? Looks like you made the trip okay,” The somewhat large man held out the tablet. His belt was under a significant amount of strain.

Sam lifted her hand out of the window and placed it palm down on the tablet. There was a quick buzzing noise and a low beep.

Sam smiled, “Well it would be better if this place wasn’t in the middle of nowhere.”

The guard read over the tablet, “Yeah, I know what you mean there.” The guard touched a few buttons and looked back up to her, “Everything checks out. Go on in.”

Sam rolled up her window as the gates started to open. She waved at the guard and drove off down the small paved road.

On either side of her were thick forests bristling with small trees, blocking most of the view into the rest walled off compound.

She came to a stop at a large parking lot. She pulled up between a large dirty truck and an expensive sports car. Sam popped her trunk open and pulled out a long duffle bag. She slammed her trunk shut and headed towards the large building. She looked around the parking lot. It was more packed than usual. There were even several busses and Humvees, as well as regular cars and trucks.

There were two large troop transports, loaded with the most advanced weaponry the Institute had, parked at the entrance. A large group of men and women, in matching black fatigues, were loading both vehicles full of large crates. She took a few steps towards them when a bulky man blocked her way. His shirt was too tight and his muscles were easily visible beneath it.

“Back off civilian. This is top priority mission prepping. Move along before I make you.” His face was stone cold.

Sam just shrugged and laughed, she started walking back to the building’s entrance, “Fine by me,” she glanced back at the man while walking, “You couldn’t take me if you wanted to.” The man started to flush bright red.

Sam was always amazed at the main building of the Institute. It was more of a fancy millionaire’s mansion instead of a high security facility. Sam walked up to a large dark, wooden door. A plaque that sat off the right of the door read, “The Institute.”

The door suddenly swung open, almost knocking Sam to the ground. A man in a black suit came out. He noticed he hit the girl in front of him. “Sorry about that, I got to be more careful coming out of these doors, might knock someone flat.” The suited man chuckled and held out his hand, “Agent Flaurence.”

Sam took the man’s hand, and he hoisted her to her feet with ease, “Name’s Sam.”

He looked older to Sam than the other agents usually were, but nonetheless, he was in shape and had a strong grip.

Agent Flaurence stood for a second, scratching his head in an attempt to make conversation. His short black hair complimented his dark skin, “Well, I need to be going Sam, nice to meet you.” Agent Flaurence then promptly left Sam at the door and jogged off to the parking lot.

Sam looked back at him for a second, Agent Flaurence, she’d remember his name. It seemed important. She opened the heavy wooden door and wondered why he struck her as someone important.

The lobby was quite small compared to the overall size of the building. On either side of the large door were two large windows, which lit up the lobby with natural light. There was a small sitting area off to the right, opposite of that, a reception desk made of dark wood in the corner. Two long hallways were on each side of the desk.

Behind the reception desk sat a woman with a small ear piece. Sam didn’t notice her doing any actual work; she just seemed to know when and where people were needed. Every time Sam had come in for a contract, she would direct her instantly to where she was supposed to be. It was weird, but convenient.

Several men and women were passing by Sam. She noticed the difference between the two agents of the Institute. The Institute’s own agents, dressed in the black suits she had seen before on Agent Flaurence, called Agents by her and the other Free Agents.

Sam noticed several Free Agents passing as well. They dressed in an unusual variety of clothing from jeans and jackets, to black body suits, to shorts and t-shirts, flip-flops, and even some turbans. The Free Agents had less of a structure form than the Agents, and had more control over how they handled their missions. They also got paid more, but there wasn’t always a contract to be had as a Free Agent, the one of many drawbacks.

Sam passed a lavish sitting area, she glanced to see if anyone was there, and she saw skinny man who sat and fiddled with his fingers. His fingers were wrapped up in some bandages; Sam couldn’t see them all that well. He suddenly stopped fidgeting, turning his head towards Sam, as if he knew she was looking at him.

Sam turned her head quickly, and hoped that he had not seen her staring at him. She dropped her bag at the reception desk and pulled a paper from her jacket. “I’m here to see.”

“Mr. Breaburn,” The receptionist cut her off in mid-sentence. “You’ll find him in the conference room, first floor.” The receptionist just looked Sam in the eyes, expecting her to trot off instantly.

Sam put the papers back into her pocket, and bent down to grab her bag.

“You won’t need it,” The receptionist spoke up again.

Sam raised her head, “What?” She always kept her bag with her, she never knew when she would need it.

The receptionist raised one eyebrow and lowered her head to peer above her glasses, “YOU, won’t need it.” She emphasized the whole sentence as if Sam were a small child.

Sam gave the lady a short scowl, picked up her bag anyway, and walked off to the hallway leading to the conference room. Sam thought the lady was quite rude for a receptionist.

“My thoughts exactly,” the skinny man in the lobby spoke up while looking at Sam from his seat.

She nodded and kept walking. “Freak,” she thought to herself.

As she entered the hallway to the left of the desk, she realized she would pass the tech room. She would have a chance to say hi to an old friend. She passed several doors before she came to the technician’s room, signified by a plaque with Tech Room inscribed on it. She opened the door and peered inside.

There stood a man with his back turned to her. His welding mask shielded his face from the sparks shooting out in front of him. He took a step backwards and lifted his helmet, “Voila! It’s finished.” He kissed his fingertips and then threw them in the air in triumph.

Sam stepped inside. Quietly shutting the door, she took a few more steps inward, making sure she was as stealthy as a fox. She crept right up to the man’s backside, “What do you have for me now, Ed!”

The man jumped in place, almost losing his helmet. He turned holding his hand over his heart, “Sam.” He took couple breaths and settled down. He pulled off his helmet and set it on the table, “How’ve you been?” Eddie pulled off his gloves and wiped his hands on his shirt. He held out his hand for her to shake.

Sam gave a half smile, “What’s with the hand shake?” She took his hand in return to be polite.

Eddie stopped to think his words through before speaking them, “Breaburn wants me to be more…professional.” Eddie shrugged and picked up the device he was welding. “But to answer your question earlier, I do have a little something for you.”

He held out a small handheld box. It was very thin with a small screen on the front, “It’s a prototype, but I can’t think of anyone else who I’d like to field test it.”

Sam took the device and looked it over, “How does it work?” She turned it all around looking for buttons.

Eddie crossed his arms and leaned against his worktable, “It just works, no buttons needed. It has a solar charged battery, so as long as it gets sun, it should work for at least twenty-four hours.” He lifted his head, a large smile crept on his face as he felt pride rush over him from his work, “As any sort of spirit or ghost approaches you, it will beep to alert you. On the flip side it can even help you hunt them down.”

“Impressive Eddie,” She slipped the device into her coat pocket, “Does it have one of your amazing names? Like the ‘Spirit Thing’ or ‘Ghost Hunter 3000’?”

Eddie smiled at the sarcastic remark, “Well interesting enough, it’s called the Targeter Mark II. Something you may be familiar with.”

Sam’s playful attitude faded as she recalled the device that helped save her life four years ago. The night where so many of her friends died, and the night that Mr. Bartlett pulled some strings to get her into the Institute. That night she learned that nothing was myth. It was all very real and waiting for you almost anywhere. Nowhere was truly safe from the things that go bump in the night, well, maybe except for the Institute.

Sam sat a second longer realizing she was zoning off. She forced herself to perk up and smile, “Ed, I’m glad you chose me to test it out. When I get back, I’ll be sure to tell you how it works.”

Eddie nodded at her.

She took a step towards the door, “Thanks for the gear Ed. I’ll keep it safe.” She opened the door to leave, “Mr. Breaburn needs me in the conference room. I don’t know what he would need me for. I haven’t screwed up at all, I hope.”

Eddie’s emotion drained from his face as it went slack. His attitude turned serious, like he was hiding something from her, “It must be something important for him to meet with you in person. Watch your back friend. Since I’m stuck in here I can’t always watch it for you.” He smiled a little while watching Sam leave his room.

Eddie took a deep breath in and let out a long sigh. Mr. Breaburn was acting different lately. Eddie had never trusted the guy.

He looked to the glass case in the corner of the room. A small metal box with a long antenna sat on the top shelf. He kept the machine that helped save the girl’s life four years ago. “Be safe out there girl,” he whispered into the empty room before he grabbed his gloves and helmet. He put them on and began working on his next project.

Sam sat quietly in the conference room. A large grey table was placed in the middle of the room with large grey chairs sitting all around it. A projection screen was attached to the wall on one end of the room with a head chair opposite of it. She tapped a pencil she found on the table and looked up to the clock. She was a few minutes early, but she didn’t expect to be the first and only person here. She also knew that Mr. Breaburn was always spot on time, never a second early or a second late.

Sam heard the door handle turn behind her and she turned in her chair to see who was entering. It was still too early for Mr. Breaburn to arrive.

The fidgety man from the lobby entered the room. His face turned sour when he saw Sam sitting in front of him. He started playing with his fingers again and walked around her, pulling up a chair opposite of her at the table. He sat down and glared at her.

She glared back at him with equal ferocity.

After a few uncomfortable seconds he spoke up, “I’m not a freak you know.”

Sam looked confused, “I never said you were.”

The man leaned back in his chair, “Yes that’s true, but you were thinking it.”

Sam set the pencil on the table and raised an eyebrow, “So who are you? Besides scrawny and weird.” She gave a slight grin at the man.

The man gave a slight grin right back, “Well, for one I know that your name is Sam, Samantha to be precise, and that you joined the Institute four years ago after a most unfortunate incident. Life-changing, if I might say so myself.” He scratched his nose in a cool, collected manner, “I can tell you more if you wish. Your mind is like an open book.” He turned his hand around and looked at his nails, leaning back in his chair. A smug look was plastered all about his face.

Sam leaned back in her chair as well. She scooted her bag closer to herself. “So you’re a silly psychic then? That’s nice to have a power that is as useless as yourself.” She set the trap with a blatant insult.

The psychic’s eyebrows raised at the comment, “Silly? You think reading minds is silly? That’s not the only thing I can do.”

Sam laughed to herself, “Really, so more silly powers? If you’re so psychic then, tell me what’s in this bag here?”

The psychic laughed at the challenge and leaned forward, closing his eyes. His face started to tighten as he focused in on the bag. He let out a small breath of air, and continued to concentrate as hard as he could on Sam’s bag. His bandaged fingers started to tighten into fists. His face looked even more pinched as he tried to see what was held within the bag. Finally after a minute, he stopped. His eyes opened and he focused on Sam.

“I can’t see inside.” Surprised defeat was well held in his voice.

Sam grinned at her easy win. Psychics always thought they were better than everyone else, so she relished the chance at putting one in his place, “We can’t always be the best I suppose.”

Sam got the comment out just barely before the door behind her opened again. Sam looked at the clock, right on time, like always.

A man with short brown hair entered the room. He was clean shaven and his suit was pressed and cleaned with the utmost precision. His face was starting to be assaulted by wrinkles, and it was lit up by his emotionless expression, like always. He walked to the front of the room near the projection screen.

He set his briefcase on the table and straightened his tie, “Good day, Sam.” He nodded in her direction, “I see you have met Red. He’s quite the psychic.”

Sam turned her head to Red, “Yes, we’ve established that already.”

Red scowled a little and turned his head to the man, “So Mr. Breaburn. Why have you called us here? I am busy with some very important research.” His fingers started fidgeting again.

Mr. Breaburn opened his briefcase, “We have an important mission for you. A team effort is required, if you will.”

Sam placed her hand on her chin and nodded, the one and only reason she liked Breaburn was for his direct manner. He never tried to spruce things up with boring details, besides that, he could be a prude. She focused on Mr. Breaburn as he pulled out two folders and slid them to Red and her. She opened hers up, noticing only a few sheets of paper.

“As you see, the mission should be easy enough. It’s that we need it to be quick and quiet, and we need some people we can trust. I need this done by professionals. You two are the best Free Agents we have at the Institute.”

Sam looked over the first sheet. There were only a four names on it, with a small bio under each. Sam’s name was the first. After her was Red’s. The third name surprised her, “Agent Flaurence,” she read aloud to herself.

Mr. Breaburn looked at her, “Yes, an agent of the Institute himself. He is currently loading up his gear. He has already been briefed and is ready to go.”

Sam looked at the last name, “Andrelle Genevieve, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of her.” Under her bio was ‘n/a’. “There’s nothing on her either.”

Red took the chance to speak up, “If you listened he said we could trust everyone on the mission. I don’t think you need to worry.”

Sam ignored the comment and listened to Mr. Braeburn.

“The mission is to pick up a package at the dock, warehouse 13, marked in the city in your file. Should be easy to find, and Andrelle will be waiting for you there. Once acquired, you need to take it the restaurant, ‘The Fall GriGri’. There you will meet a contact of the Institute. You will stay under his care for the night. When you are done you will bring the package back here. Never open it, and never lose it.”

Sam looked over the papers in the file. Nothing seemed to have any details about any of the mission. “This all seems a little vague. Not much detail here.” It bothered her that there was a lack of information. Knowing is half the battle. She let out a slight smile at her own thought.

Red spoke up as well, “I have to agree with Sam, even though she is just a grunt for the Institute.”

Sam rolled her eyes at the comment. “I don’t see why picking up a package is a group job. Four of us with a simple package, it seems like overkill.”

Mr. Breaburn slammed shut his briefcase. Sam could tell he was holding back some anger. “These orders come from the Boss. If you don’t like them, then take it up with him.”

The mysterious ‘Boss’, Sam knew very little about him and every one she asked knew just as little. The Boss pulled all the strings around the Institute, probably the most powerful and mysterious man on Earth, or at least Sam thought so. The Boss used Mr. Breaburn as a liaison between him and all of the Institute’s agents.

“Now if it were up to me,” Sam saw Mr. Breaburn struggling to keep his cool about him in an eerie way, “I would send an Institute hit squad, than a bunch of Free Agents like yourselves, but the Boss wants you specifically. I was able to get an Agent to look after you. Hopefully that will be enough to not screw things up.” Mr. Breaburn composed himself and took a deep breath, “Now I have other important matters to attend to.” Mr. Breaburn picked up his briefcase, gave a slight nod, and left the room. The two remaining occupants turned to each other and stared for a bit. Each one knowing that they didn’t like the other.

Red started to open his mouth to make peace, but Sam beat him to it, “Freak.”

Sam pushed her way through the entrance and out onto the parking lot. The troop transports were gone and a black SUV was backing up towards Sam. The doors opened up behind her and she glanced back to see Red coming out of the Institute, holding nothing but a backpack. The black SUV pulled up next to Sam as the window rolled down and the trunk popped open.

Agent Flaurence was at the wheel looking out his window at Sam, “Throw your bag in the back and let’s get a move on. We can get to the warehouse in about a day if we leave now.” Agent Flaurence put on some sunglasses that completed his façade as a typical agent.

Sam scoffed at the cliché agent getup that Agent Flaurence was wearing and headed to the back of the SUV.

She looked to Red who was walking up to the trunk, “Shotgun,” he called, throwing his bag in the trunk and turned to Sam, “Called it first.”

Sam started chewing the inside of her lip, “You want me to sit in the back? I don’t sit in the back, Red.”

Red gave another smug smile, “Looks like you do this time, Chicky.”

Sam put her long bag into the trunk and stood next to Red. She stared Red in the eyes. She inched in close to his face, breathing slightly. She whispered so he could barely hear, “Well? You know what I think?”

Red gulped and shook his head slightly.

“You can sit in the back,” She pulled back her arm and punched him in the gut.

Red bent over in pain. He coughed a couple of times and spat.

Agent Flaurence looked in his rear view mirror. He saw Sam punch the psychic; he shook his head. “Psychics.” He knew how psychics could be, and they always seemed to get themselves into these types of situations. He saw Sam getting in to the passenger seat next to him.

She shrugged, “He tried calling shotgun.”