Bruce Finger stood before the floor-to-ceiling window of his office, sipping lukewarm coffee. The mid-thirties architect cut a sharp figure with his short, dark brown hair and intense hazel eyes. A faint smile played on his lips as he surveyed the bustling city of St. Louis below and around him. From here, the famed Gateway Arch, standing 630 ft tall and equally as wide at its base, was a familiar sight. A glistening ribbon of light at the edge of the slow-moving Mississippi River. He was lucky to have an office with such a spectacular view.
His carefully arranged workspace stood as a testament to both his meticulous attention to detail and his boundless creativity. A large, old-school drafting table dominated one corner, covered in blueprints, sketches, and a haphazard pile of worn-down pencils and rulers. Each design bore evidence of Bruce’s relentless pursuit of perfection – erased lines, scribbled notes, and countless revisions as he fought to capture his visions on paper. The office walls were adorned with architectural awards, accolades, and framed photographs of completed projects. Bruce cared little for such things, preferring the simple thank yous of his clients. Yet, they whispered stories of dedication and passion, a life spent transforming dreams into steel and glass, and both his boss and his secretary insisted on displaying them.
Bruce turned away from the window and strode purposefully toward his desk, his mind already racing ahead to the day’s challenges. A powerful computer with a pair of large curved monitors awaited him. As his eyes passed over an array of material samples meticulously laid out for him by his assistant, he absently ran a finger across the desk’s glass surface, feeling its cool smoothness. The familiar sensation grounded him, a reminder of the countless hours spent poring over every minute aspect of his designs.
He settling into his burgundy-red leather swivel chair and tapped the keyboard, bringing his computer to life. He began reviewing the latest updates to his current project, a sleek high-rise condominium complex that would soon grace the St. Louis skyline.
As he immersed himself in the intricacies of structural load calculations and zoning regulations, a nagging thought tugged at the back of his mind. It was a cynical whisper, a voice that questioned the significance of it all. The voice reminded him of the fleeting nature of human achievement and the transient beauty of his creations. But Bruce pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the satisfaction of a job well done and the pride he took in every design he created or reimagined. Each brick and beam mattered.
“Perfection is an illusion,” he reminded himself as he leaned back into his chair, rubbing at the knot forming between his shoulder blades. “But I’ll chase it till the day I die,” he chuckled as he pulled up his latest design changes on the screen.
A knock on the door snapped Bruce out of his reverie, and he swiveled back to face the entrance. An impeccably dressed couple stepped into his office, their eyes scanning the room with an air of expectation. Bruce recognized them as the Johnsons, clients who had sought his expertise for the renovation of their historic downtown St. Louis mansion, a rambling three-story affair. The pair taught at nearby Washington University, both in the field of medicine.
“Mr. Finger,” the husband began, extending a firm handshake. “We’re excited to see what you have in store for us today.”
“Please, call me Bruce,” he replied, gesturing for them to sit. As they settled into the plush chairs opposite his desk, Bruce’s mind raced yet again through possible design solutions, each one tailored to the unique challenges of their project. He knew that their home of thirty years held a special place in their hearts. He was determined to preserve its historic charm while accommodating their modern needs.
“Let’s start by discussing your vision for the space,” Bruce suggested, opening up a digital blueprint on his computer. “What are some of the key elements you’d like to maintain, and where do you see room for improvement?”
As the Johnsons shared their thoughts, Bruce listened intently, his eyes alight with curiosity. He asked probing questions, seeking to understand not only their preferences but also the underlying motivations behind them. It was a delicate dance, balancing the desires of his clients with the practical constraints of architecture that clients were more often than not unaware of beforehand. Bruce took pride in his ability to navigate these complexities with grace and precision. And to explain such things to new clients.
“Based on what you’ve told me,” Bruce mused, sketching out a rough concept on his tablet, “I think we can achieve a balance between preserving the original character of the home and providing the modern amenities you’re looking for. By incorporating sustainable materials and smart technology, we can create an efficient, elegant space that respects both the past, the present, and even the future.”
“I like that, Bruce,” Mrs. Johnson beamed, lacing her fingers. “We can’t wait to see the final design. I’m hoping we’ll see plenty of grandchildren running around the house so I hope you remember to keep them in mind in your design.”
“Count on it,” Bruce replied, a genuine smile gracing his lips.
“Speaking of which, when can we see something?” asked Mr. Johnson, coming to his feet.
“I’ll have the preliminary plans ready for your review next week.”
As the Johnsons exited his office, exchanging pleasantries and expressing their confidence in Bruce’s abilities, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction. Helping clients realize their dreams was what made his job worthwhile, despite the occasional whispers of doubt and insecurity that echoed within him.
“Hey, Finger!” called out a voice from across the open-plan workspace. “You finished charming the clients?”
Bruce rolled his eyes, suppressing a grin as he turned to face his colleague and boss, Sarah Hill. Besides being president of Hill and Associates, Sarah was a talented architect in her own right. Together, they formed a dynamic duo that tackled some of the firm’s most challenging projects. Their banter was a welcome reprieve from the high-stakes world of architectural design. Bruce knew his work would suffer without her candid insights.
“I charm everybody. You know that, Sarah,” Bruce said. He tossed a crumpled ball of graph paper in her direction. “Besides, nobody could hope to be more charming than you.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, my friend,” she said, returning his smirk as she caught the projectile effortlessly and flipped it back at him. “Now, let’s get back to work. We’ve got a current deadline to meet, remember?”
“Of course,” Bruce agreed, his focus shifting back to the task at hand.
Sometime later, Bruce’s phone buzzed, jolting him from the trance-like state he’d fallen into while working on the latest blueprints. He glanced at the screen, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he read the text from his younger brother, Jack. Despite the six-year gap, he and Jack had always been close. Jack knew better than to call him at work because Sarah hated personal calls coming in, plus, he might be interrupting a meeting with an important client. And there were always meetings with important clients.
Call me soon as u can
Bruce sighed and set the phone on the corner of his desk. With Jack, there was no later, everything was now. But Jack could wait. He had a deadline.
Yet, glancing at his phone, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. With the demands of his job and the whirlwind of life in general, it had become all too easy to let days or even weeks slip by without truly connecting with those who mattered most, like his brother and the rest of his family. He resolved to do something about that.
“Who was that, Bruce?” Sarah asked, poking her head in, a cup of coffee in each hand. “Here.” She set one on his desktop. “New girlfriend?”
“Too soon,” Bruce shot back. “I’m still recovering from the old one. That was my brother. We’re long overdue for a chat.”
“Ah, the elusive Jack,” she said, nodding sagely. “I’ve heard the stories but I’ve yet to meet the man himself.”
“Trust me, he’s one of a kind.” Bruce replied. “And I mean that in the best way.”
“Sounds a lot like his big brother.” Sarah teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Alright, enough chitchat.” Sarah playfully swatted at his arm. “Get caffeined up and get cracking.”
“Right,” Bruce agreed, redirecting his thoughts to his work. But even as he immersed himself in the intricate dance of lines and angles, he couldn’t help but think about Jack’s text. What was so urgent this time? One of his kids lose a tooth? His wife, Carla, pregnant again? That would really be something. And, not for the first time, he wished he had children of his own. Of course, he’d have to find a wife first, a soulmate.
As the sun settled over the western horizon, the office emptied. Rather than stay and burn the midnight oil alone in the tall building, Bruce drove back to his house to finish up. He prepared a quick light meal of a burger and canned green beans, to be washed down with a can of light beer. He carried his plate into his home office. He ate and drank mindlessly, his focus on the computer and the design taking its final shape on the screen.
Bruce’s phone buzzed with a new text message from Jack: U there? Call me.
Bruce sighed and slipped the device back into his pocket. He had to focus on the job. Two hours later, he stepped back from his work and grinned. It really was a beautiful thing. Sure, it was no Taj Mahal but what was? Besides, the Taj Mahal had already been done, the product of another dreamer’s imagination. One of these days he’d get his chance to build something majestic, something magical.
Until then? Shopping centers and office complexes, the occasional historic remodel. That was his day-to-day existence. Not great art, not even great architecture, if he did say so himself. But it did pay the bills, so he had no real complaints. Besides, he was rather happy with how well this one, the new Doheney Office Center, had turned out. If all went well with permitting, the contractor would break ground in less than six months. By then, he’d be well into the Johnsons’ home remodel.
Bruce picked up his can and toasted himself with the last warm swig of beer. Another would have been great but he had an important meeting with Doheney tomorrow for review and, hopefully, final approval.
Bruce took a last look at his architectural model on the screen and turned out the office light. He carried his empty dish and beer can to the kitchen and set them both in the sink. He’d deal with them in the morning. As he turned out the kitchen light, his phone rang.
“Now what?” he mumbled to himself. He frowned and pulled the phone from his pocket. Then he frowned bigger, feeling guilty that he hadn’t called him back earlier. “Hello, Jack,” he said to his brother. “Sorry, I―”
“About time!” Jack blurted.
“I know, I know. I should’ve called you but I had a last minute design to finish and you know what Sarah’s like.” Bruce ran his free hand through his hair. “What’s up? Why are you calling so late? Can’t this hold till tomorrow?” It was nearly midnight, not crazy late, but late for Jack who was at his work five days a week at eight in the morning, and for himself.
“Forget the excuses, I’m just glad you’re there. Now, listen to me. I know you’re going to think it’s crazy, or I’m crazy but—”
“Jack, slow down already. What’s wrong? Is Carla okay? Something happen to the kids?”
“No. No, it’s nothing like that.”
“So what’s going on that’s so important then?”
Bruce heard his brother take a deep breath on the other end of the connection.
“Aliens,” Jack said.
“Aliens? We talking illegal border crossing stuff?”
“No, I’m talking aliens as in crossing the Earth’s border, if you know what I mean.”
“Huh? Jack,” Bruce said sternly, “it’s late and I’m exhausted. I don’t have any freaking idea what you mean.”
“I mean aliens as in extraterrestrials. Browns to be precise. Reptilians, if you prefer.”
“Browns? Reptilians? Jack, come on…have you been drinking? Where’s Carla?”
“The Browns, Bruce. You remember the Browns. Some people call them Reptilians because that’s what they resemble, big walking reptiles.” Jack talked a mile a minute and Bruce barely absorbed a snatch here and there. “They’ve really done it this time.”
“Done what?” Bruce found himself asking.
“They’ve infiltrated the Earth! They’re taking over our government. The world’s governments!”
Bruce’s heart sank. This was what his brother had been texting him about all afternoon? Little green men? Or in this case, little brown men?
This was not the first time his kid brother had ranted about aliens and government conspiracies. Bruce had always dismissed it all as fancy at best, paranoia and delusion at worst, but a small part of him couldn’t help but wonder. Was the idea of alien life forms visiting Earth really such a daft one?
“Jack, listen to me. If aliens were here, don’t you think the government would know?” Bruce said, trying to keep his voice calm.
“I’m telling you, they’re in on it. Half of them probably are Reptilians themselves.”
“Jack, get some rest. We both need it. And give my love to Carla and the kids. I’m hanging up now.”
“No, Bruce! I need you to believe me. Seriously,” Jack said urgently. “You’re the only one I can trust. Please?”
Bruce sighed. He knew he had to play along for Jack’s sake. “Okay, Jack. Tell me more. What is it you want from me? I’m an architect, not an alien hunter.”
“I need you to meet me tomorrow. At the Arch. I’ll show you evidence,” Jack said. “Irrefutable proof that they’re here. And I’m going to need your help to stop them.”
“Them?”
“I told you, the Reptilians!”
“Uh-huh.” Bruce hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to get caught up in Jack’s crazy delusions and conspiracy theories. But there was no ignoring the desperation in his brother’s voice. “Alright, Jack. I’m going to have to shuffle some meetings around, and Sarah’s going to have my ass, but I’ll meet you at the Arch tomorrow. But promise me that you’ll keep a clear head until then,” Bruce said, hoping to calm his brother down. “And get some sleep, for god’s sake.”
If anything, Jack’s voice grew more frantic as he rambled on. “I can’t keep a clear head, Bruce. They’re everywhere. They could be watching me. Watching us! Listening in on us!” he exclaimed. “I’d better go! Tomorrow, nine sharp!” Jack abruptly hung up.
Bruce sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He’d go to the Arch tomorrow and see what Jack had to show him. Until then, he needed some shut eye, but lying there in bed he couldn’t shake off Jack’s words. What was more unsettling? The fact that aliens were here? Or the fact that his brother believed they were here?
The next morning, Bruce arrived at the Gateway Arch at the appointed time. He’d left his car on a side street. The sky was clear and the sun was up, casting a warm golden glow over the Gateway Arch and its surroundings. He scanned the lawn for any sign of Jack but there was no one around except for a few joggers and tourists snapping photos. As he waited, he couldn’t help but feel foolish for indulging his brother’s delusions. He had half a mind to turn around and head straight to his office but something kept him rooted to the spot. The Arch loomed over him, its metallic curves pulling him in.
Suddenly, Bruce heard a rustling behind him. He turned around to see Jack hurrying towards him, his face frantic and his eyes darting around nervously. “Bruce, I’m so glad you came!” he said, panting heavily.
“Sure, now what’s going on, Jack?” Bruce looked at his watch. “I don’t have a lot of time. Where’s this evidence you were talking about?” Bruce asked, his voice tinged with impatience. His brother’s eyes were red and his clothes wrinkled. His cheeks were unshaven. “You don’t look like you’ve slept five minutes.”
Jack waved off his brother’s concern. “It’s here. You have to see it.” He grabbed Bruce’s arm and led him towards the building at the base of the Gateway Arch. “And when you do, believe me, you’ll be glad you did.”
As they reached the entrance, Jack took a careful look around, then pulled out a small metallic object from his pocket and held it up to the sunlight. “First, take a look at this. I found it inside the Arch. Further proof.”
“How’s that?”
“Don’t you get it? The Reptilians left this behind,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “One of them must’ve dropped it by mistake.”
Bruce took the object from Jack’s hand and examined it closely. It was small, no bigger than a half-dollar coin. But this didn’t look or feel like nickel and copper. This coin was unusually light and seemed to be made of a metal or alloy that he had never seen before. The surface of the metal was etched with strange symbols that Bruce couldn’t begin to decipher. “What is this, Jack? What does it mean?” Bruce asked, his curiosity piqued in spite of himself, as he flipped the coin over and over in his hand.
“It means they’re here, Bruce. They’ve been here for a long time. Watching us, controlling us. And now they’re ready to take over,” Jack said, his eyes wild with fear.
Bruce looked at the thing skeptically. “Where did you say you got this?”
“Up there. Inside.” Jack gazed upward.
“In the Arch?”
“Yeah, and that’s not all. I’m sure I’ve discovered the guidance system to their beacon.”
“Their…beacon?” Bruce studied his brother’s eyes. Was he high on drugs? This was crazy.
“Some sort of controls. The main controls could be elsewhere. I believe the Arch itself is the main beacon though. The whole thing!” He waved his arms around. “That’s how they know how to target Earth from outer space.”
“Right…”
“I know you don’t believe me,” Jack said quickly. He grabbed his brother’s hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
Jack flashed his ID at a security guard at the building entrance and led Bruce to an elevator for use of employees and contractors. They rode to the top of the Arch. “There’s this alien machinery hidden in one of the mechanical rooms. I’m sure I was never meant to see it. Nobody is…unless you’re one of them. I stumbled into the room by accident.”
“Sounds unbelievable,” Bruce said, and unbelievable was definitely the word.
“Yeah, I could hardly believe it myself the first time I laid eyes on it,” he said as the elevator carried them hundreds of feet in the air. “Wait till you see it.”
Bruce felt a shiver run down his spine. He had always dismissed Jack’s conspiracy theories as harmless delusions, but this was going too far.
The elevator came to a stop. Jack led him up a hot, steep steel stairway. It was windowless and surprising noisy inside. Jack stopped outside a steel door and Bruce followed Jack’s lead and stepped inside.
“Mechanical room,” Jack announced. “It’s here.” The room was small and poorly lit, the hum of machinery filling the air. He pointed. “Found that little thing I showed you on the ground here.”
There, in the corner of the room, sat a shimmering small machine. Bruce had never seen anything like it before. “What is this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I told you. Alien tech. They use this to help them travel back and forth between their world and ours,” Jack said, his voice filled with awe.
Bruce took a step closer, his eyes locked on the black machine bolted to the floor. A four-inch in diameter metal conduit led from the device to the wall, where it then disappeared. He could feel its power, its energy, swirling around him, filling him with a sense of dread and excitement. He shook himself. No, it couldn’t be. Just some silly machine that controlled some part of the Arch’s many moving parts, like the tram ride to the top that all the tourists rode.
“All we have to do is destroy it, Bruce. Destroy the portal and we can stop them,” Jack said, his voice filled with conviction.
“You mean destroy the Arch? That’s madness! We’re not terrorists! I build things. I don’t destroy them. That’d be sacrilege! Criminal!” His brother wanted him to help blow up a masterpiece?! That went against everything he stood for as an architect and a man.
“Okay, defuse it then,” Jack said.
Bruce was relieved to see his brother back down. He wasn’t completely crazy then. “How did you find this? What were you doing here in the first place?”
“My firm was hired by the city to conduct a structural review.” Jack shrugged. “Routine stuff. Comes up a couple times a year. We got the contract with the feds this year.” The Arch was part of the Gateway Arch National Park. Jack tapped the black metal box and it shimmered stronger as if in response. “But there’s nothing routine about this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep, this is alien technology.”
The more Bruce studied it, the more it looked like a very ordinary black metal box the size of a small home HVAC unit. “Looks normal to me, Jack. What makes you think it’s more?”
Jack took a deep breath before responding. “It’s the energy it gives off, Bruce. I can feel it. Can’t you?” He thrust out his hands like he was warming them over a fire. “I’m telling you, it’s not of this world,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve got instruments in my van. I’ll test it. Prove it to you. Prove it to everyone.”
Bruce studied his brother with a mix of concern and skepticism. He had always indulged Jack’s delusions but this was getting out of hand. He had to put a stop to it before it was too late. And he needed to get to the office. Clients were waiting and Sarah would be fuming by now. He’d stop and pick her up a mocha latte on the way. “Jack, we need to get out of here. This is crazy. We could probably both get in trouble for even being here. You might lose your job. You wouldn’t want that, would you? Think of your wife and kids. They’re counting on you.”
“But Bruce—”
“There’s no such thing as aliens or portals or any of that stuff,” Bruce said, his voice firm. He laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Pull yourself together, Jack. Forget all this. I beg you. Forget about aliens.”
Jack’s face fell. “But Bruce, this is a portal. This entire arch. The Reptilians built it or directed humans to build it under the guise of it being a simple memorial. But it’s not. It’s more than that, much more. I’ve been studying. I was up all night, searching the web. I know what I’m talking about! This beacon, or portal, whatever you want to call it, was built under the direction of the Reptilians. And they mean to enslave us, Bruce. Enslave us. Or use our souls for their own purposes after our deaths! You, me, everyone.” Jack was practically crying now. “All this is real, Bruce, I swear it.”
Bruce shook his head. “No, Jack. I’m sorry. It’s not real. You’re just seeing what you want to see. We need to leave this place now before someone catches us,” he said. He grabbed Jack’s arm and pulled him towards the elevator. “Let’s go.”
Jack’s face was crestfallen as they rode the elevator down. Bruce tried to comfort him, but he could see that his brother was shattered. Seeing the machine, whatever it was, had only made matters worse, convinced Jack more than ever that the aliens were real and that they posed a grave danger to humanity. But Bruce wasn’t convinced. Far from it. He had always been a skeptic, and he couldn’t let his brother’s delusions cloud his judgment. He was a realist, with his feet planted firmly on the ground.
As they stepped out of the Gateway Arch, the sun stood high in the sky, and the temperature had risen considerably. Jack was silent, lost in his thoughts and his fears. Bruce tried to break the tension with a joke, but it fell flat. They walked back to Jack’s company van in silence, each lost in his own troubled thoughts.
It wasn’t until they reached the van, parked in a nearby church lot, that Jack spoke again. “Bruce, you have to believe me. This is real. The Reptilians are here, and they’re out to destroy us. We have to do something before it’s too late.”
“We’ll talk more later. Hey, how about dinner tonight? We’ll barbecue. You, me, Carla, and the kids. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Jack’s eyes were glued to the Arch.
Bruce sighed and patted his brother on the back. “Goodbye, Jack.”
Those were the last words he would ever say to his brother. But at least he’d said goodbye.