SOTT

Chapter One: Dark Waters

He woke up.

Jordan thrust forward in his bed, lungs burning as he gasped for air like a man breaking through the surface of dark waters. Dawn's first light crept through his window blinds, painting thin golden lines across his sweat-soaked sheets. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat a desperate reminder that he was here, alive, awake.

Another one of those dreams.

As reality slowly settled around him like dust motes dancing in the morning light, Jordan's breathing steadied. He gathered his locs back from his face, the long twists damp with sweat as he twisted them into a messy bun. The early morning air felt cool against his skin, a welcome contrast to the lingering heat of his nightmare. The fragments of the dream still clung to the edges of his consciousness, refusing to fully dissipate.

With a weary sigh, he eased back onto his pillow. The ceiling above him gradually came into focus, its familiar cracks and shadows grounding him in the present moment. Through his window, birds had begun their morning chorus, their cheerful songs a jarring counterpoint to the dark images still swirling in his mind.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand—5:45 AM. Jordan groaned, every muscle in his body begging for just five more minutes of rest. The Jacksonville humidity already seeped through the old house's walls, promising another sweltering North Carolina day. Somewhere downstairs, he could hear movement—at least one of his housemates was already up.

He dragged himself to his closet, selecting dark cargo pants and a fitted black t-shirt that would hide whatever the day might throw at him. Stepping over scattered books and various mechanical prototypes littering his floor, he made his way into the hallway. A yawn escaped him as he descended the stairs, drawn by the rich aroma of coffee wafting up from the kitchen. 

John stood at the counter, two mugs in hand and a fresh pot of coffee steaming beside him. As Jordan settled onto a barstool, his eyes fell on the scattered folders and papers, and beyond them, what they'd dubbed "The White Board of Doom." A weary sigh escaped him as John slid a mug his way.

"Kasii came back with some rather—" John paused, taking another sip of coffee, his expression grim. "More disappointing news." He pushed a folder across the island.

Jordan picked up the folder with practiced resignation. "All part of the job," he muttered, lifting the mug to his lips before diving in. The disturbing images within barely fazed him anymore—a fact that should probably worry him more than it did.

"Twelve adults," he noted, flipping through pages. "Seven male, five female, four children." He paused, coffee mug hovering halfway to his mouth. "That's sixteen missing in total. In only two days. And children—that's new."

He lifted one photo closer to his face, studying it with narrowed eyes. John stretched across the counter, tossing another folder his way before settling back with his coffee.

"Not the only thing that's interesting," John said, nodding toward the new folder. "He's getting more... creative."

Jordan opened it, his expression unchanging despite the grotesque imagery within. "Animals?" The curiosity in his voice betrayed his professional detachment.

"Seems he's trying to perfect his 'evolution idea' by combining humans and animals," John explained. "And binding them using metal parts and some sort of magic."

"What kind of magic metal?" Jordan asked, laying one of the folders flat on the counter. "Look here—you can see where the human leg has metal showing as it connects to the gorilla torso."

"Gorillas with human legs?" John's voice carried equal parts confusion and revulsion.

"Deadly combo," Jordan replied with dark humor. "But notice that symbol carved around the joint in the foot?"

"Didn't even see that," John admitted, impressed despite his obvious discomfort. "I don't know how you can look at that with a straight face."

"Part of the job," Jordan said calmly, continuing to leaf through the folders. "Human molding project?" he mumbled, giving the notes a closer read. "Anything else?"

John set down his mug and retrieved a medium-sized box from below the counter. "These seem to be his invention ideas, notes, and probably more. Didn't bother going through it all because I knew you would absolutely—"

Before he could finish, Jordan had already claimed the box, methodically sorting its contents into color-coded piles.

"Neat freak," John mumbled into his coffee.

Jordan's head snapped up. "What was that?"

"Nothing," John replied, poorly hiding his smirk behind his mug.

"Right," Jordan said, returning to his task. "These three red ones detail different types of—" he paused, flipping through pages, "everything, it seems."

"Define 'everything,'" John pressed.

"Everything," Jordan emphasized. "Demons, witches, persons of interest." He set aside one book and picked up another stack. "All seven of these detail inventions."

His hand fell on a final volume, wrapped in weathered black leather. As he brushed away old wrapping paper, his fingers lingered on the cover. "This one's... different," he murmured, examining it closely. "Pure black leather, no clasp or binding. Probably two hundred fifty pages, but heavier than it should be. And it's... warm. Like meat."

Realizing he'd been thinking aloud, Jordan quickly packed everything back into the box, adding selected folders on top. "Kasii and I will review everything later. Aaron wants a 'team meeting,'" he added, his tone making clear exactly what he thought of that idea.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. Bye!" John called out as Jordan headed for the door, box tucked under his arm as he made his way toward his workshop—what John insisted on calling "The Mystery Shack."