Agent Fox Mulder smelled the presence of his interlocutor long before he heard, or saw, anything. It was cigarette smoke. Marlboro Reds. The odor was almost literally burned into his mind over years of…
“Don’t come any closer, Agent Mulder.”
The voice came from the utter dark beyond the pillars near the service door. Fox stood in the middle of the aisle, bathed in the sickly, fluorescent lights flickering and barely buzzing overhead. Water dripped and plipped into a slowly spreading puddle near his feet. Floors below them and away in the distance, the sound of tires creaking over slick concrete chirped as the city outside barely began to wake.