[POV – Baines | Inside the Building]
Behind the thick glass of the lobby doors, Baines saw him right away.
Michael stood beneath the security light, hands in his coat pockets, a duffel bag slung casually over his shoulder. His posture hadn't changed in the years since Baines had last seen him—relaxed but sharp, the kind of stillness that suggested control, not calm.
Baines pressed a button on the intercom. The familiar click sounded through the speaker.
"I'm coming down," he said.
The door buzzed open with a dull metallic groan, and Baines disappeared into the stairwell, his polished shoes echoing against concrete.
[POV – Michael | Lobby]
The doors parted, and Michael looked up.
Baines stepped out of the stairwell, not in uniform, but in a fitted button-up shirt with sleeves rolled to the forearms. Slacks, not tactical gear. His hair had gotten shorter since Michael had last seen him, and gray had begun creeping in along the temples.
The man extended a hand.
"Been a while," Baines said.
Michael took the handshake with a steady grip. "Yeah. Feels like yesterday."
They exchanged no further pleasantries, just a quiet nod before walking side by side across the marble floor of the lobby. It was all glass and steel and cold efficiency—every step echoed beneath the high ceiling. Cameras in the corners tracked them. Security behind smoked glass kept their eyes forward, but Michael knew they were watching him.
"So," Baines said after a beat, shooting a glance his way, "have you really thought about this?"
Michael nodded once. "I'm sure."
Baines didn't press further.
He just walked.
[Flashback – 1.5 Years Earlier | Baines's Garage]
The air smelled of oil and dust. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting long shadows over the cement floor.
Michael sat on an old tool chest, back to the wall. Baines stood by the workbench, arms folded, his jacket half-zipped from a late-night drive.
"I'm telling you," Baines said, motioning with a wrench, "you'd be good at it."
Michael scoffed, leaning his head back. "Not interested."
"Sure you're not. But one day, you might be."
Michael raised a brow. "Why?"
"Because you know how to read people," Baines said. "Because you listen. Because you're calm under pressure. You don't flinch easy. That kind of thing matters out there."
Michael had said nothing.
Baines had grinned. "If you ever change your mind… you know how to reach me."
[Present – Inside the Facility]
The elevator chimed softly as the doors slid open. Polished metal walls. No music.
Michael followed Baines down a corridor lined with reinforced glass and dull metal paneling. The place smelled faintly of antiseptic and machine oil. Doors were marked with letter codes and electronic locks.
"Welcome to the quiet side of the world," Baines muttered.
They passed a hallway that curved sharply to the left. Through a narrow window, Michael caught sight of a training room—three figures in black gear sparring at breakneck speed. The impacts echoed faintly even through the thick glass.
"So," Michael said, eyes scanning, "you're a vice president now?"
Baines laughed. It was short and dry. "Yeah. Which basically means I'm too busy to enjoy anything and in charge of things I don't get to fix."
"Sounds fun," Michael replied flatly.
"Don't let the title fool you," Baines said, waving his hand. "It just means more meetings and worse coffee."
They reached a wider corridor. A glass-paneled room stretched beyond, filled with monitors, server stacks, and quiet technicians staring at endless data streams. At the far end, a large emblem hung from the wall—DARKOM. Block letters. Military font. No nonsense.
"DARKOM," Michael repeated. "That's the name?"
"Defense and Reconnaissance Command," Baines said. "Private. Not government. But we work with them. A lot of contracts. Global security operations. Paranormal containment. And yes…"
He paused.
"Demon hunting."
Michael stopped walking.
He looked at Baines, slowly. Not confused. Just focused.
"You're serious?"
Baines nodded. "Deadly."
Michael's jaw flexed slightly. "And all this time…"
"I didn't tell you because you weren't ready," Baines said. "Hell, maybe you still aren't. But you came here. So here we are."
Michael let out a breath and turned to the glass again.
Inside, one of the training officers fired a non-lethal round at a moving target shaped like a demon. The impact knocked it flat. The others reloaded without missing a beat.
"I want in," Michael said.
"You sure?" Baines asked. "This isn't boot camp. It's not college. You don't go home at five."
Michael nodded. "I'm not interested in going home."
Silence followed.
Baines looked at him a moment longer, then tapped the access panel beside a door marked with a black triangle.
"Then welcome to the job," he said. "Let's see if you're still good at staying alive."