The Spectral Agent is my first full-length novel and an experiment. We are independent creators, publishing chapter by chapter as a podcast and text. It’s designed to be heard. We’d love to receive your feedback so we can tell stories better.
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Text copyright © 2025 Jan Herrington
⚠️ Content Warning: Rather chill for once—except for the discussion of murder, paranormal stuff, and freakish experiments.
Last time on TSA
Viktor was assigned tasks to demonstrate his loyalty to the gang. Then he had an unexpected encounter with Ben.
Finn shrugged. “That’s what they say. Creepy little guy. Best stay out of his way.”
The kid then tilted his head, his eyes meeting mine across the distance, locking me in place. He didn’t smile, didn’t frown—just stared, unblinking. I averted my gaze as fast as I could.
There was power in the way he had looked at me—in the way he carried himself. Power I couldn’t ignore.
Viktor acclimates to gang life. He finally gets a chance to talk to Chai about the fateful night in the ditch. With a new guard duty job for the gang, Viktor gets impatient until he discovers a room that he can’t get into. When he finally does, he’ll wish he hadn’t.
Music pairing: Belaya Polosa — Molchat Doma (YouTube, YouTube Music) (them of the Belarusian “cowboy” fame)
Chapter 12
Being in a gang is mundane.
My next tasks were basic—just your average run-of-the-mill jobs as a lookout. I really expected something more severe—more violent.
According to the movies, to get into a gang, you must sacrifice your innocence and commit a compromising crime, such as killing someone. But they never asked for anything like that.
I guess Klaus was my blood sacrifice—only, no one knew about it.
I was glad they acclimated me to the gang quickly, because I didn’t know how much more I could be a part of and still go back to my real job as a cop. When I was finally assigned a security guard posting, the mundaneness of it all changed.
The building wasn’t particularly large for New York. Eight floors with a small break room on each, offices scattered about.
Finn, who I thought was just a driver, showed me around. Apparently, he also did a shift guarding the building. I got the feeling this job was for lackeys.
Finn walked me around the building, explaining the job. “So, this is the route. You go to each floor, walk the outer ring, check for anyone who doesn’t belong.”
“How do I know if they belong?”
“Everyone has a badge, like yours,” he pointed to the badge on my chest that said “Dimitri Karpovich”. He wore a similar one that said “Finn Federman”. I thought that was odd because his sun-kissed skin didn’t fit the name, though the blue eyes did.
“And if they don’t have a badge, then what?”
“You toss them out.”
“Like literally?”
“What else would you do? You don’t have a gun. Anyway, you can’t just go around shooting anyone you don’t recognize.”
“What if the person without a badge has a gun?”
“They’ll give you a stun gun eventually. They just want to make sure you’re not going to electrocute yourself with stupidity first.”
“Great.”
Finn showed me the other floors. I had access to all but the top floor, which wasn’t suspicious—that’s probably where the leadership was. You had to swipe your badge to activate the elevator. If you weren’t allowed on that floor, it wouldn’t go there.
Finn said, “You don’t need to go there, just make sure no one who didn’t belong made it that far.”
The third floor stood out. It was marked as restricted on the stairwell floor plan. I could access it from the stairs and elevator, but I could only go into a small lobby.
I wasn’t sure why the elevator allowed me to the floor, but didn’t let me go past the lobby. To this, Finn just shrugged when I asked.
When I patrolled past it, I noticed the door didn’t look like it belonged. The retina scanner was glaringly out of place among the standard keycard locks in the building.
Oddly, there were no cameras in the third-floor lobby or in the elevator that I could see. But there were cameras on every lobby and hallway everywhere else.
I’d taken to standing near the elevator at times, just to see who might be heading there, but no one went in. At least, no one I could see. This building was obviously another biotech business front. I needed to see what was on that floor.
The opportunity would come in a couple of days. Time was running out—I only had three days left on leave. My gang guard schedule had me on night shift then. Yeah, gangs are apparently that organized.
There was no way to bypass the retina scanner as far as I could see, but maybe Klaus’s eye could. The problem is, I hadn’t seen Chaus in days. To keep up the Klaus-act, he had to do Klaus’s actual job.
I texted Chaus and said we needed to talk that night.
✹✹✹
He arrived at my apartment a few hours later. Paranoid-me made sure to scan my apartment every night for listening devices. We were clear.
“What’s up? I’ve got a busy schedule.” Chaus opened with as soon as the door closed behind him.
Stress had been boiling in me for days. This set me off. “You—you have a busy schedule!? I’m glad you’re having fun playing dress up, but my life is at risk here.”
Chaus glared at me with the same cold expression he had that night when he brandished a lamp at Richard. “Dress—up!? If I didn’t do this for you, you would be dead already. If you had any idea what I’ve been doing for you...”
He must have seen the shock on my face. His arms, resting on his hips, finally relaxed and slid down.
He smirked, and one eyebrow lifted. “Hey man, you’re right, I’m sorry. There’s something about being in this body... I’m just angry all the time.”
I was too busy worrying about myself that I didn’t stop and think about what this was like for Chai. He was alive again, but he wasn’t himself again.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
“I guess—I should.”
“Okay, what are you angry about?”
“I—I’m not angry about anything. I think that was just Klaus’s normal state. It bleeds through.”
“So you’re feeling something from Klaus?”
“Yeah, like it’s me in here, and he’s definitely gone, but there’s this... residue.”
“Gross!”
“Hey man, you’re telling me. I have to live in it.”
“Is that why you’re so good at pretending to be him?”
“That’s part of it. Another part is my failed acting career. I already knew what it was like to slip into someone else’s skin, well you know... figuratively.”
Chaus leaned back against my tiny counter with his arms crossed, looking down. He wore Klaus’s patented funeral director wardrobe. It was odd seeing Klaus, the man I drowned, but talking to Chai.
He looked up. “But it’s not just that. I’m using the same neurons he did. I can sometimes sense his memories, what his brain wants to do.”
“And it wants to be angry?”
“Yeah, like all the fricken’ time man. Bro, you got anything to drink?”
“Coffee.”
“Viktor, I love you man, but it’s after ten—no sane person would be drinking coffee. I don’t want to be awake, I want to knock myself out.”
I reached into a cabinet, subconscious of Chaus watching my short arms stretch to reach a bottle of vodka. I grabbed two cups and set them on my tiny kitchen table, and we sat down.
“Really Viktor, vodka? Isn’t that a bit of a cliché?”
“What, did you expect me to just ignore my heritage? I can drink it myself.”
“No, no—by all means, pass it over.”
I poured us each a shot, and we clinked our glasses. I sipped, and he swallowed his in one gulp.
“Hey man, this is the good stuff, you need to savor it.”
“Oh, well then, pour me another.”
I topped us off and glanced at his face. I couldn’t help but think back to that night with Klaus, fighting for our lives in the rain and the mud. It was hell for me. We hadn’t really had time to talk about it.
Once Chai took over Klaus’s body, he had to be Klaus. It would look really odd if he were bunking in my house. No, he had to go to Klaus’s house, brush Klaus’s teeth, and sleep in Klaus’s bed.
“What did you do that first night?”
He knew exactly what I was talking about, because he replied quickly.
“Well, it was the first time I had felt what it was like to be in control of a body in what felt like a thousand years. I was excited, I wanted to eat something. Man, it’s been so long since I tasted crawfish. I wanted a crawfish po’boy. I needed a crawfish po’boy.
But Klaus’s body was so pumped up on adrenaline from the fight, then the stress of talking to Mei and Joseph, I just didn’t feel like eating. I asked, ‘What would Klaus do?’ Well, he’s the boss, so he’s not going to hang out with these clowns all night. He’s also too old to go clubbing—he’d just go home.
So, I pull out his car keys, press the button till his car blinks, and hop in. Then, I realized I’ve never been to his house. I summon my inner Viktor Levitsky and think like a detective. Surely he’s got his house address in his phone map.
But, I don’t know his phone code. I take a look at his phone: iPhone, Face ID—genius. I’m in. I pull up the map and start the car. He’s got the boss car—sleek, black, reserved—but a hell of an engine under the hood. I peel off and crank up some trop rock—”
“Wait, what? Trop—rock?” I interrupted.
“Viktor, I’m from the Alabama coast. All you ever listened to was that stuff that sounded like Russian cowboys playing just around the corner at the mall—”
“Belarusian post-punk, dark-wave—”
“Whatever—and no one else in New York is playing my kind of music. So I played some damn Jimmy Buffett. Let me tell my story, man.”
“Alright, alright.”
“Anyway, so I’m cruising and finally get to his house. I open the door, throw the keys on that spot he clearly uses for junk, and plunge into his couch. Then it hits me—all that stress evaporated, and so did all my energy. I was starving.
I searched his fridge—just a few packets of ketchup. His cabinets—nothing but dishes. You can tell this man was a bachelor. Back in the pantry, mixed in with his first aid kit and liquor was the only food in the house.”
“What was it?”
“Viktor, man, I had been dead for what felt like ages, and the first food I find: a fucking bag of croutons and some takeout ketchup.”
“Did you eat it?”
“Yes.”
“With the ketchup?”
“Of course.”
“How was it?”
“Delicious.”
We burst out laughing, releasing all the stress of the past week in gushes. We simmered to a few snickers and poured us a couple more glasses of vodka. I stared into mine, not drinking.
“Viktor, what’s going on in there?”
“I killed him. He had a car, a house, a fucking bag of croutons—a life. And I took it.”
“You had to. He was trying to kill you.”
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t make it any better. Did you know he was the first person I killed? Five years as a cop and I never had to shoot anyone.”
“I’ve never killed anyone. I can’t imagine...”
“No? But you were in a gang.”
“You watch too many movies—this isn’t that kind of gang.”
After that, we were both done for the night. I went to my bed, and Chaus crashed on my couch. We’d have to talk about the third floor in the morning.
As I lay in bed, before I drifted off, I realized I never asked what kind of gang it was.
✹✹✹
The building was eerily quiet after ten. Most employees had already gone home, leaving only a small crew of maintenance staff. It was the perfect time to investigate.
“Are we really doing this now?” Chaus groaned as I stepped into the stairwell leading to floor three. I had grabbed him from his job on one of the higher floors with little to no one noticing me. “Because I’ve got to say, your stealth skills leave a lot to be desired.”
“I don’t have time for this,” I grumbled. “Neither of us does. Now, are you going to scan yourself or not?”
Chaus leaned into the scanner. He opened his eyes outrageously wide, more than he probably had to. A soft beep sounded, followed by the door unlocking with a quiet click.
The hallway beyond was sterile and oppressively quiet. The air was colder here, the temperature clearly regulated. LED lights cast a harsh glow on the polished floors. Doors lined the walls, each marked with a simple number.
I made my way cautiously, my footsteps echoing in the silence.
Room 3A held nothing but desks and computer terminals. The screens were active, displaying streams of data I couldn’t immediately decipher. I could think back to them later. For now, I needed to keep moving.
Room 3B stopped me dead in my tracks.
Bright, clinical lights illuminated rows of machines and equipment I didn’t recognize. Everything hummed faintly, as if the building itself was alive. My eyes locked onto a series of glass tanks lining the far wall.
The tanks were dark—thick liquid inside drowning the light. I swallowed instinctively as I approached them, dread pooling in my stomach.
At first, I thought all nine of them were empty. I walked to the middle tank, and a pale blue light inside the tank clicked on.
Staring back at me was the face of a child. I jolted back, my breath hitched, and my insides screamed. “These aren’t just tanks,” I murmured to myself. I regained my composure and took a closer look.
Its eyes were level with mine, but thankfully closed. The child looked to be around five years old, though I don’t have much experience with that. A readout with blue numbers ticked at the top of the machine:
Gestation period: 18,331 hours, 2 minutes, 5 seconds.
The numbers ticked up, 1 second at a time. I did the math—roughly 2 years—that didn’t make any sense, clearly this child was much older than that.
I stepped to the right, one tank at a time. The light clicked on each time I did. Each time, a new horror, a younger child. I reached the last tank.
A vaguely humanoid mass floated inside, its limbs underdeveloped and its skin translucent. It was almost human—but not quite. It looked like it was floating through outer space. The figure in the tank started twitching.
My chest tightened. I looked a the readout.
Gestation period: 438 hours, 16 minutes, 42 seconds.
My thoughts raced, connections forming faster than I could process them. That was only 18 days. “That’s impossible,” I croaked out, my mouth barely able to speak. I didn’t bother calling Chaus over to the corner of the room I was in when I pieced all the clues together.
If the tanks to the right had younger children, the ones to the left must beeee... I wasn’t sure if I wanted to even see. Whatever was going on here, they seemed to be getting better at it, faster at growing people—but what for?
My eyes drifted to the first tank—but it wasn’t the first. There was one more I didn’t notice, because, unlike the others, this one was empty, the viscous liquid drained away. Was its occupant out there, in the world, somewhere?
“Viktor…?”
Chaus’s voice pierced from across the room. “Look at this.”
He walked towards me. I was still frozen in place. He handed me a paper document that sent a chill down my spine.
There were rows of text:
Subject 1 – FAILED
Subject 2 – FAILED
Subject 3 – FAILED
It went on, until “Subject 12 – SUCCESS”. Unlike the others, this one had more details and a name beside it I couldn’t forget:
BENJAMIN
DECANTED 2014
SUCCESSFULLY GROWN
CURRENTLY STABLE
“He’s not a psychic missing kid.” Chaus spoke, voice trembling. “Ben is a fucking experiment.”
Our eyes drifted to the first tank in unison. We walked over, tiptoeing like the children would bust out of their tanks if we woke them. The first tank was empty, but it couldn’t have been Ben’s could it? He was... “decanted” 10 years ago.
I glanced at the readout:
FAILED
So, maybe just another failure after Ben. I wanted to scream, I wanted to run, but I had to know. I looked at Chaus. He read my mind aloud, “We’ve got to look.”
We stepped up to the second tank, the light clicked on.
There he was, sleeping. The same kid I saw at the library. The same blonde hair. But, not quite Ben—maybe a year younger.
I didn’t know what to think. All I knew was that a fire of rage kindled in my chest, slowly growing. I didn’t know how—or if—I was going to be able to control it.
Chaus called out the displayed gestation period, “34,999 hours, 0 minutes, 12 seconds—that’s impossible.”
The kid’s eyes flared open—sharp blue eyes piercing my soul—the same cruel look I saw from Ben.
“We need to move. Now!” I said, louder than intended.
Chaus and I headed to the staircase we came from.
“We’re going to find out what the old man’s up to,” Chaus said in a reassuring tone.
“And we’re going to stop him,” I replied.
Our moment of strength was soon interrupted, our hope soon crushed as I bumped into Finn.
“What do you think you’re doing, rookie?”
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