With a big mug of coffee by his side, David sat in a corner of the diner, idly tapping away at his Macbook as he processed a folder of photos he'd taken of the countryside surrounding the quaint little town. His camera laid next to his mug and underneath that sat a single missing persons poster. A plate stacked with pancakes and bacon sat nearly untouched on the other side of his laptop. The hubbub in the diner was rather quiet, given the time of day, and as he took a swig of his strong, black coffee, he took in the familiar small-town sights and sounds. It was comforting, very homely and warm. Felt like safety, even though he knew he was here for the complete opposite of that.

David had only just reached the town of Duskwick; he'd spent the better part of the day before driving to the town itself and he'd spent the rest of it resting in the town's only motel. Now he was here, having an early brunch while he sorted through his pictures. He'd risen a little earlier and had done a small walkabout around the park, taking photos of the early morning sun and the scenery, which was all very quaint. Except for the slightly upset man who'd ripped off half the remaining missing persons fliers off the notice board in the diner. Some sort of uppity youth wearing that dumb looking Google glass thingy on his face.

He just couldn't resist.

As one of the staff walked out from behind the counter to confront the man, David took up his camera, framed the shot from his chair, and pushed the shutter.

Zzsh-click.

As he set down his camera to review the shot, he noticed one of the lights flickering. Probably was something to do with the place's age, but then he spied the blue dragonfly perched on the rim of the lamp. He raised his camera again, zoomed in as close as he could without moving, and took another picture. David put his camera down to review the shot and grimaced. Overexposed because of the light.

Ugh.

He plugged his camera into his laptop and got to work trying to fix the problem, watching over the top of his Macbook as the drama unfolded in front of him. There was some hubbub going on about a missing child. A small, young girl, whose photo was up on the diner's noticeboard. A small town like that had such a thing in their central diner so residents could see what was going on; events, bake sales and forest treks, stuff like that. Her poster was one of the fliers that uppity young man had torn off and some of the townspeople were getting upset. Several other youths added their voices to the whole thing and frankly the entire affair was getting rather noisy. He finished up with the photo open on his desktop and closed his Macbook for the morning, sick and tired of doing hobby work while there was a sumptuous breakfast waiting for him.

Just as he grabbed his fork and knife and carved himself a chunk of pancakes slathered in maple syrup, something caught his eye. There, standing among the arguing crowd, was a little girl. The bright red rain boots she wore were too big for her feet, as was the sweater and scarf wrapped around her neck. She had a light pink glass in her hands, and he saw that it was because of the strawberry milkshake within. He set down his utensils and grabbed his camera again. With the picture framed just right, he snapped a photograph of the little girl amidst the chaos of the morning rush.

Then the manager recognised the girl. All of a sudden the hubbub of the diner turned into silence, almost as if time itself froze. David couldn't move as he watched the moment frozen in space; the older lady with a hand to her mouth mid-gasp, the young girl whose milkshake slipped from her little hands.

The glass shattered and suddenly everything sprung back into real time. The girl ran into the back of the diner, bumping into one of the tables on the way as she barreled into the ladies bathroom and locked the door behind her. There were shouts to call the police and everything happened so fast he couldn't get his camera up in time to capture anything. But he had noticed the girl drop...something out of her pocket as she bumped into one of the patron's tables. David picked up his fork and stuffed his mouth full of pancakes (delicious, fluffy and still warm) as he stood up and walked over to where she'd dropped the picture. The picture was...strange. An old, worn-looking Polaroid of the same blue dragonfly he'd taken a picture of from his seat. Same angle, same light, same...

"...dragonfly."

Things got out of hand very fast after that. Vines began growing from the closed (and locked) bathroom door that absorbed one of the diner's staff. David helped a few others break into the bathroom, only to find the girl missing and the single toilet stall a portal into a different place. A mirrored version of the same town he'd just been in. The events had been a blur and David hadn't been able to remember most of it after he'd entered the strange mirror realm, but he'd escaped. Alive and intact, with a camera full of photos of a place that wasn't supposed to exist anywhere. It wasn't long after he found his car and made his way back home that the Sunday Group contacted him.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The world was extremely blurry as Daniel groped around for his glasses. Between the sudden wake-up call from the old 1990's clock he'd rebuilt and rewired and the fact that he'd only gone to sleep forty-five minutes ago was enough to have his internal systems screaming at him. Any normal person would be full of piss and vinegar being forced to awaken with such a start. But for Daniel, this means it was another chance to chat more observations. He found his glasses on the floor, and quickly unfolded them, placed them over his face, and then just as quickly removed them. He vigorously wiped the mucus from his eyes, replaced the glasses, and stumbled forward to an old Amiga monitor, hooked up to various open cases with countless wires flowing in and out of them.

He was the Victor Frankenstein of junk, and his monstrosities would help him change the world. He typed in a few lines of DOS, before a graphic interface popped onto the screen, showcasing various numbers. "Let's see," he muttered to himself, his eyes nearly crossing as he scanned the data. The specimen's temperature remained static throughout the tests, it had barely moved and no recordable sounds were coming from the container.

But it did move.

He ran across the concrete floor of the garage that acted as both a laboratory, a bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom and stopped at a small plastic jar. Inside was a thick, viscous liquid, with a hastily scribbled label that read: Skunk Ape Mucus. Just as the name implied, it had been pungent when he'd scrapped the small amount into the jar last week in the Florida Panhandle. He took out a thick marker and drew a solid black line around the bottom rim of the clear plastic container. If it moved now, he'd be able to record where and how far.

He turned quickly, gripping a thin spiral-bound notebook, flipping pages until he found the entry, and began writing frantically, muttering to himself as he scribbled. "Skunk-Ape mucus possibly trying to return to origin body..." Another thought entered his brain, and he quickly dashed over to a plastic table with various pieces of junk on them. He quickly found what he was looking for, and grabbed it. In his hands was a gray, blocky 1989 Nintendo Gameboy handheld gaming system-or, at least, it once was. Now it had various wires coming in and out of it, as well as a thick incandescent light bulb extending from the top of the device.

He turned the device on, and the light bulb began to grow dim. He began walking towards the mucus, and the bulb grew in power, flickering as he scanned over the container with the bulb like a wand. "Fascinating..." he mumbled to himself, turning the device off and gingerly placing it on top of another surface. "Could the mucus contain trace amounts of ectoplasm?" Was the skunk ape even a living cryptid, or was it something otherworldly?

He'd need to get his gear together and borrow some more money to fill up the van. He had a ghostly primate to hunt in the Florida panhandle.