Vandeberg was a problem, Salmon realized that within minutes of observing him
He wasn't the loud, obvious kind. But rather the kind you could cut out cleanly and cauterize.
He was the everywhere kind.
His company was massive—too massive. The kind of conglomerate that didn't just touch industries, but wrapped around them neatly with a bow ontop as a present to capitalism.
They were in agriculture, medicine, vehicles, aircraft, spacecraft, urban planning, clean energy, waste solutions, disaster relief, even social infrastructure.
Vandeberg didn't sell products, he sold answers.
If something broke, Vandeberg fixed it.
If something failed, Vandeberg optimized it.
If something didn't exist yet, Vandeberg announced it six months early and delivered in thousands.
Their tech was clean, elegant and ethical on paper. Every solution wrapped in humanitarian language and sleek design. The kind of company that made governments nervous and investors worshipful.
And Vandeberg himself?
A model citizen.
No scandal, or even so much as a negative comment about his public figure.
Salmon followed him through two days that blurred into a parade of curated perfection. Corporate galas with champagne that tasted like liquid gold. Charity events where Vandeberg shook hands with children and smiled like a man who genuinely believed in tomorrow. Fashion shows where he was praised for his elegant yet charming style. Weddings where he was the best man. United Planet assemblies where he spoke about unity and progress and the future of humankind.
He was everywhere and nowhere suspicious.
On the outside, he looked sane; brilliant moderately handsome man standing at the cusp of greatness
That was what made Salmon uneasy.
At precisely 11:46 p.m., Vandeberg left his luxury villa.
Salmon watched from a nearby rooftop, the bright lights of the wealthier part of the district casting their artificial glow across the skyline—yet he remained untouched by it, a quiet silhouette folded into the shadows where the light never quite reached.
80% of my job is just me lurking around like a weirdo.
Vandeberg stepped into a blacked-out SUV already swarming with men in tailored suits. The door shut with a dull, final thud. Almost instantly, three more vehicles fell into formation around it, engines humming in low unison.
They rolled out together—four black cars, fully armed, windows darkly tinted—sliding into the night like a single, coordinated shadow.
Salmon melted into the city's shadows and followed. His ability to travel through space to access certain locations made it easier to transverse and do his job more efficiently.
The sleek districts thinned into industrial veins. Neon lights gave way to sodium lamps. Clean streets cracked into neglected concrete. Eventually, they reached the outskirts of District 9, where warehouses squatted like forgotten beasts.
Vandeberg entered one of them, escorted in by armed men and a thin scientist holding a clipboard who spoke very fast as he scurried to keep up with Vandeberg.
Salmon stepped through the shadows. He scaled the outer wall silently and settled onto the roof, crouching beside a wide pane of reinforced ceiling glass. From there, he had a perfect view.
And what he saw made him still.
At the center of the warehouse stood a machine.
Not the monstrosity splashed across the newspapers weeks ago—the ugly, oversized machine with exposed wiring and clumsy scaffolding.
This one was different, it was smaller and sleeker. Its design was agile, elegant—curved metal, glowing seams, a core that pulsed softly like a restrained heartbeat.
Salmon exhaled slowly.
He showed the public the skeleton, he realized, and hid the muscle. Vandeberg had fed the world a template while keeping the real thing locked away.
Typical.
Through the ceiling glass he could see Vandeberg standing infront of the pod, pacing around as the thin scientist spoke some more.
It appeared as if they were at a disagreement. Vandeberg looked visibly frustrated and the scientist kept inching back as he spoke, probably giving bad news.
Salmon was too far to hear anything. He needed to move closer. He shifted and prepared to leave this spot when suddenly —
"Meow."
Salmon's head snapped to the side.
Perched on a neighboring beam, tail curled neatly around its paws, sat the Black Cat
It's blue eyes glowed in the dark.
Salmon's blood went cold.
"You again," he muttered.
But if the cat was here—
That meant—
Headlights flared below.
A van rolled into the lot, tires screeching to halt as if the driver was in a rush to deliver the cargo.
A few armed men walked up to the car.
Three men exited the van, one had his hand in an arm rest. The other one limped slightly.
Salmon's eyes narrowed.
A few words were exchanged and Vandeberg's men motioned towards the van door.
The three men nodded and the one with the broken hand swung the van door open.
The flood lights from the entrance cast a shadow into the van and Salmon couldn't make out what was in there.
He frowned.
Was it weapons? Ammo? Materials?
His curiosity was answered when the men dragged two figures from the van.
A boy and a girl.
The all too familiar girl was barefoot, and in a hospital gown.
Salmon's mouth twitched. Was she ever not in a hospital?
They shoved her forward—and she snapped.
It happened so suddenly and so fast Salmon's eyebrows shot up in shock.
The girl drove an elbow into one of her kidnappers throat, pivoted, and dropped him hard. The second staggered as she ripped her mask away in the motion— short dark hair flying, violet eyes feral and furious.
Her.
She yelled something and the guy next to her thrashed against one of the armed man holding him down.
Before she could land the next strike, one of her kidnappers behind her slammed the butt of his pistol weapon into her skull.
She slumped to the ground.
The armed men around her looked uneasy as they picked her up and threw a bag over her head.
Salmon let out a low chuckle, equal parts impressed and alarmed.
"She fights," he murmured. "Pretty damn impressive."
The cat's tail flicked once.
Salmon's amusement faded as realization set in. That girl was an anomaly and that machine was a "Time Machine". He still refused to believe it was that, maybe it was marketed to the public as such to garner attention and investments but it wasn't.
That was his job now, to figure out what that machine really was for and to shut it down.
What he did not expect was Vandeberg to kidnap an anomaly.
Salmon stayed on the roof, eyes burning silver-blue in the dark, watching the warehouse swallow them whole as they dragged the mystery girl and the boy in.
So, he thought grimly, that's how this starts.