Sergeant James Maloney trod as quietly as his boots would allow him down the fraying carpet runner. Tall bookshelves filled with ancient tomes stool sentinel to either side, stretching beyond sight. Six months he'd been here now, six long fucking scary months. Not that it was all bad, there had been moments. He shuddered slightly, there had been other moments too. At first he'd just been running. In retrospect he felt a bit bad abandoning Mike back there, but he had no way of knowing if that thing had been Mike, or just replaced him somehow. The poor kid had been oozing terror, and that inky fucker didn't seem scared of anything.

No point in worrying about it, he couldn't find his way back there anyway. He'd spent a good month trying. He shrugged it off, swinging his M249 across his back. Almost out of bullets now, not that they worked on the things he'd seen in here most of the time. Well not the really scary ones anyway. Thankfully he'd found a way out of the dammedable shelving long enough to get more food. If you could call the weird stuff he'd been chewing down the last few months food. It was sustaining, but the taste... he gagged slightly just thinking about it. There were doors, thousands of them, leading to other places; other times even it seemed like. The entire place gave him the major fucking creeps.

Some of the places he'd seen made him want to take his eyeballs out and scrub them clean. Others had made him want to do the same to his brain. The less scary ones had still left him feeling he was lucky to be upright and breathing. It was a fucking Library for gods sake, it was supposed to be a place of quiet contemplation and knowledge. But there were things collected here which made his hair curl. Self playing manuscripts were the least of his worries.

He'd seen people here, plenty of them, reading, talking, looking furtive. All kinds, not all of them human either. But they weren't the fucking problem. It was the shit you almost saw from the corner of your eye that was giving him the most trouble. He'd taken to sleeping in the Romance section; it seemed to be the safest. He'd made himself a defensible refuge halfway up the dusty stacks. Not only did the books seem inert; nobody used them. He was sure the Library itself must be sentient. He'd found a novel which had been a big seller a couple of years ago, and out of curiosity had a look. Inside was page after page of pantone swatches in varying tones of grey. He'd actually laughed out loud then, and been shushed by a couple of passing patrons.

Now he was heading towards the 900's, Geography and History, in the vain hope he might find a map of this infernal place. The biggest problem he was having was finding the right set of 900's. He'd been down aisle after fucking aisle, through thousands of books, but none of them seemed to relate to this specific library. In fact sometimes he seemed to be in entirely different libraries. All in all it was really starting to piss him off.

He reached an expanse of white veined marble flooring. Another atrium. There were, well he'd lost count awhile back, but a lot was being polite about it. It was almost like the library was deliberately fucking with him. Nothing he'd read or been told had prepared him for this. Not for the last time he cursed Major Fucking Arnold and his god forsaken orders. Protect the library he'd said. Fuck that. His whole squad bar him, and possibly Mike (if he could be included in his current inky transformation), were dead. And he was trapped. Not one single door he'd found led back to a world he recognised.

The 900's were across the expanse of marble ahead of him. Sighing; he was about to traverse the boot squeaking shiny surface when he saw something. Just a flicker, a shadow, caught from the corner of his eye. Not a-fucking-gain! Stepping back into the protection of the shelves he scanned the spot he thought he'd seen movement. He didn't bother reaching for his gun. No point wasting more bullets on ghosts.

A soft rumbling purr made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. What kind of horror made that kind of noise? He contemplated back tracking and trying again later. The problem with that was he probably wouldn't be able to find this place later. While he could always eventually make it back to what seemed to be the main atrium and from there his temporary refuge. Finding other atriums and their catalogues of books was at best hit and miss. At worst it was a fucking nightmare in which he could never find the same damned place twice.

He resisted the urge to spit on the floor next to his boot. After that run in with the tiny dragon he was pretty damned respectful of library property. He was working on the basis where you got something a couple of inches long there was bound to be a twenty fucking foot monster somewhere around too. And it would be just his luck to piss it off.

He risked a look around the end of the shelf. The shadow had been in the 500's. He wished for a moment he wasn't aware of what classifications were down that aisle. Mathematics and Natural History didn't scare him as much Chronology and Fossils. And other things...  He sucked in a deep breath and stepped softly onto the marble. In all the months he'd been here he'd figured out how to walk almost silently on the blasted alabaster.

He aimed his footsteps across the space, giving the 500's a wide berth. There was simply no way in all hell he was going to go look down there. He'd made that mistake exactly twice. Both times he'd been lucky enough to escape again, but you didn't push your luck. Well not if you enjoyed living anyway. And despite all this, he did. If he was being honest with himself, he was starting to almost enjoy the place. When it wasn't scaring the shit out of him. It was a challenge like he hadn't encountered in years, maybe ever.

He'd made it just over halfway across the slick polished surface when he saw it again. A shadowy flicker, caught in the corner of his vision. He spun, gun in his hands before he'd even thought about it, barrel aimed down the long shelving. Nothing, jumping at ghosts again Jim, need to keep it together. Shaking his head slightly he continued, one quiet step at a time.

His boots hit the frayed red carpet runner. Time to be disappointed again. Stalking down the long gloomy aisles had become second nature now, his eyes barely registering the numbers and shelves he had no interest in. A long glance at the shelving under 999 Extraterrestrial worlds came up empty as usual. And the numbers which should have held history and geography for his known world were all wrong. Sighing heavily he turned to trudge all the way back again. And stopped.

In front of him was a small totally incongruous object. One which hadn't been there when he come past just moments before. The Hell? He was torn between stooping for a closer look, and getting as far away from it as possible. In the end curiosity won. He slid the barrel of his gun inside the small tartan circle, lifting it closer. The delicate silver bell tinkled. All it's fucking missing is the name tag which says 'Tiddles'. He resisted the momentary urge to raise his eyes to the ceiling and yell "Really? A fucking cats' collar?"

The universe replied to his unvoiced sarcasm anyway, a small grey striped tabby appearing at his feet. It was wearing the collar, the silvery tinkle of the bell laughing mockingly at him. He double checked the barrel of his gun, but the collar wasn't extant in two places. It was without a doubt now firmly buckled around the small feline's neck. Well fuck. He stepped carefully around the cat and walked towards the marble floored atrium.

The chiming of the tiny bell assured him the bloody cat was following him. He didn't even like cats. Well, ok, he didn't dislike them as such; he just saw no use for them. And this particular cat had materialised out of thin air, which made it even less appealing. For all he knew it was going to transform into something huge and eat his face off. He stepped out onto the tiled floor and promptly fell flat on his face as the cat weaved between his legs tripping him.

"Fucking bastard animal!" He levered himself back to his feet, aiming a kick at the creature; which passed right through it with no apparent harm.

Crap! Backing away he watched the cat sit and wash a paw with supreme unconcern. He spun and took off, sprinting back the way he had come, heading for his refuge. Anything you could put your boot right through was something he wanted to be as far away from as possible.

The cat was waiting for him when he finally made his way back to the romance shelves. Should have seen that coming. It curled its tail up high in greeting, and rubbed around his ankles, solid enough now he wasn't aiming a boot at it. Stepping around it carefully he stopped short as a thin dark clad man stepped out of the shadows. He was dressed like the cliché of a Ninja, only his eyes visible.

"I see you've found my cat."

"Uh, it found me... actually." His fingers itched to pull his gun free and train it on the man.

"Never-the-less you are in possession of my feline."

"Not voluntarily I assure you!" He wished the bastard would get to the point.

"Kindly hand it back and we can forget any of this ever happened."

He blinked at the man, is he joking, on drugs, or just plain mad?

"The cat's all yours." He took a judicious step backwards away from the furry object of the strange mans attention.

"I require you to pass it to me." The man was starting to sound impatient.

"Sure, fine, whatever."

He lent over and grabbed the cat by the scruff of its neck. Or attempted to anyway, instead his fingers passed through it, setting the bell on its collar chiming ethereally. Growling under his breath he grabbed at the blasted creature several more times with no better luck.

"Think you better get it yourself!" He glared sullenly at the man, feeling like he'd just been made a fool of.

"I don't think that shall be required."

The man's eyes bored into him for a moment. He reached into his dark clothing and pulled a rectangular pasteboard card out, handing it over with a small flourish.  Mr. Johann Dark Mssrs. Marshall and Carter, Procurer’s...

"Procurer’s of what exactly?" He had that bad itchy feeling between his shoulder blades.

"Things found in the library... Knowledge, Information... Speculation. Contact me if you decide you want to get rid of the cat, I'm sure we can come to some kind of arrangement."

Right, because me franticly trying to pick the fucking thing up and hand it over is proof positive I want it around. He nodded and carefully kept his face in neutral as the man walked past him and disappeared into the gloom of shelving beyond. At his feet the cat sat on its haunches and appeared to scrutinise him.

~Thanks, I owe you one.~ The purring laughter echoed through his head.

The cat slowly disappeared from his stunned gaze. Its mouth with its needle sharp teeth, which he could have sworn were twisted into a smirk, fading away last.

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08/28/2013

Journal Entry Number One (and possibly the only)

My name is Sergeant James Maloney. If you are reading this now, I need your help. I was working with a UN peacekeeping force when my squad was sent to guard a Library. They all died, and now I'm stuck here, I've been here so long; I think I might be going crazy. You need to get a message to Major Jacob Arnold from the UN Infantry Battalion. Just print this out and get it to him, please, my life and yours may depend on it.

Attn: Major Arnold:

Objective status: Unknown

Current locstat: In a Library / LOST

Personnel: Deceased / Unknown

Situation Update:

Sir;

I have found a computer; it looks like something from a steampunk gallery. It's all oak panels and brass fittings, but it connects to things, to places, god, I can't even begin to explain it. I stumbled on it by accident; I was looking for the 900's stack again. Got to find a fucking map so I can get the hell out of here, if there is an out of here, maybe I'm lost here forever.

Mike has been haunting me; he's some tall skinny inky bastard now. I think he wants to eat me. I don't blame him, I'd have to taste better than the shit they call food hereabouts. I really want a coffee, fuck I'd sell my very soul for a plate of my mother's home cooking right now. Don't know what the fuck Mike was doing with us in the first place, kid was a desk jockey. I don't even remember seeing him before he got landed in my squad come to think of it...

I think I'm rambling again; this place does that to you. Can't ever find the same fucking place twice, so I guess I'll never know if you get this Sir.

Don't send anyone in to find me. Sir. Don't do it. Don't even consider it. Just tell my family I'm dead. It's better they have closure. This place is nothing like what I was briefed about. There are aliens here, just walking about and reading books! And it connects to places. It's one hell of a security risk, if anyone can ever find a way to our world. I know I can't.

I hear whispers, the books talk to me sometimes. The shit they say would make your toes curl. I think there are secrets here that would make us a fortune, win wars, send us to other galaxies. If I could just figure out how to bring them back home.

Oh shit, he's found me abjhl.vfb vk/;bhajdf/a/df

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Attn Sgt J Maloney.

Transmission received. Sit tight soldier, were coming in to get you.