This is the end, kind of, it's where it stops at least. If you're new here and you'd like to jump back to Chapter 1 just click... here.
If you've somehow stumbled upon this and are wondering while the whole story just stopped, well, that's complicated. The short answer is that life got in the way, as it is wont to do.
I am currently in the process of revising and, in some cases, completely rewriting the whole of everything written so far (I'm really quite embarrassed at how some of those came out, ugh). Chapters will be appearing as they are completed. Rewritten chapters will appear with a special marker next to the chapter heading. I've got a lot going on lately so I can't really set any kind of time table for when new stuff will appear, though I am working on that too.
- Jamie Cleaveland
Chapter 24 - The Legend of The Sleeper
Nolan woke at seven o'clock to a gun metal sky seeping rain down on the city. The warmth of the previous day had been replaced by a damp chill that no amount of hot coffee seemed able to dispel. In spite of this Nolan felt good. The previous days had felt mostly like orientation and training, now he was about to get down to business; it felt right. For the first time since awakening from his coma things were finally moving forward for him and that sense of interminable stagnation was gone.
As Nolan navigated the nondescript slab of black metal he'd chosen the evening before through the morning traffic he tried to mentally prepare himself for whatever the day might have in store for him. His newly acquired sidearm rested in its holster, pleasantly snug against his ribs. This too felt right. He'd never really been a gun person, had never even fired on in fact, but having the weapon there made him feel more at ease with his situation, as if it enabled him to exercise a greater measure of control over the chaos around him. He knew it was a false security but it put him at ease just the same. As to whether or not he'd actually be able to pull the trigger when the time came, he had no idea.
The entrance to the underground garage was cleverly hidden behind a crumbling cinder block wall at the rear of the building. Entering required not only threading the car through a space inches bigger than its width but also executing an immediate hard right towards a solid brick wall. The block wall and the turn rendered the sharp incline of the ramp leading down to the garage invisible until the vehicle was already descending. Motion sensor lights winked on and off as the car moved past them leaving everything in front and behind in darkness. As he arrived at the garage more sensor activated lights came alive bathing it in subdued fluorescence. Nolan parked and got out, tossing the keys back into the glove box where he'd found them.
Basil was leaning against the wall by the door, where he must have been standing, motionless, long enough for the lights to turn off again after he'd entered. As Nolan approached he could see Basil was drinking an Irish coffee that smelled like it had a little more Irish in it than coffee.
“Right on time,” said Basil, taking a sip of his beverage, “good for you.”
“None for me? Some partner you are.”
“I was not aware that such things were to your liking. Duly noted for future reference. Everyone else is already here, except for Constance. If I know her she'll be late.”
“She tends to be late?”
Basil pushed open the door for Nolan and followed him down the hall to the elevator. “No she's actually quite punctual. This is how she does things, it's her way of letting everyone know that she's only prepared to be as cooperative as she has to be. Given her situation it's understandable that she wants to exercise her freedom whenever she can.”
“Is that what you two were talking about yesterday? You mind if I ask what exactly her 'situation' is, or should I take that up with her?”
“I wouldn't advise it, she's pretty touchy about the subject, doesn't talk about it much. I'm not privy to all the sordid details but I do know that she's bound in service to a group of beings known collectively as 'The Masters', which is a title I'm sure they bestowed upon themselves. We refer to them as demons, since they're the origin of the whole demon mythology, but like everything else they're really just another bunch of extra-dimensionals, albeit some pretty powerful ones.”
“'Bound in service', that sounds ominous.”
“Like I said, don't know the specifics, but the gist is she does what they say whether she likes it or not.”
“So she's a slave.”
“If you like. She chooses to view it as a job, which is her prerogative I guess.”
The elevator stopped and Basil led Nolan down the hall towards the meeting. Outside Nolan could see the packed dirt and broken asphalt of the grounds surrounding the building.
“I can't help noticing that this building seems to look different inside than it does from the outside.”
“It's all illusions. The original building, which is what you still see from the outside, was partially demolished and this one was built on top of it. Only the bottom floor is the same as it was, kept that way just in case someone decides to come snooping, unlikely as that may be. Come to think of it I don't even know what this place actually looks like from the outside.”
Basil and Nolan turned the corner and saw Constance leaning against the hallway wall.
She favored the two of them with a smile. “Morning boys.”
“Look who decided to show up on time,” said Basil. “How honored we should feel.”
“I thought we'd agreed to at least try and work together civilly. Are you incapable of not being an ass for five minutes? I certainly hope he doesn't treat you this way.”
“Not so I can tell. Must be something special only you can bring out in him.”
Basil gave her a snide smile while Nolan pursed his lips, trying to hide his own.
“And apparently he's rubbing off on you. Wonderful.”
At this Isaac poked his considerable head through the doorway and beckoned them to enter. “Gang's all here then? I believe our boss is of a mind to get started.”
“Onward then,” said Basil, pushing his way past everyone into the room.
“Ladies first,” said Nolan.
Constance leaned in close to Nolan as she entered the room. “By the way, heard you found Bill just fine yesterday, good job. I don't know how you managed it but it's nice to see someone get the better of Basil for change.”
Nolan started to ask what she might be referring to but Constance moved quickly past him into the room and commenced finding her seat.
The conference room turned out to be little more than a small room with a bunch of chairs and a projection screen hanging on one wall. A digital projector sat on a cart at the front of the room. On the shelf beneath it was a open laptop tethered to the projector by a black cord. Nolan crossed the room and dropped into the remaining empty chair next to Basil. Mr. Sound stood at the front of the room, watching them all get situated.
“Appears we're all here so I suppose we ought to get started. Bill would you be so kind as to get the lights?”
Bill flipped the switch and the windowless room went completely dark for a moment. A bright square of white light beamed out of the projector at the screen. Mr. Sound produced a small device from his coat pocket, pointed it at the projector, and pressed one of the buttons. The screen filled with a series of charts and images that meant almost nothing to Nolan. In one corner he saw what he took for a highly magnified closeup of a misshapen cell. Next to that there were a series of charts with spiky lines labeled with terms he didn't recognize.
“I had our boys in the lab working all night on the samples we brought in,” said Mr. Sound, “and this is the final analysis. I believe Bill would do better at explaining the finer points. Bill?”
“Right. I'll dispense with the boring details and just give you all the breakdown. What you're looking at is a record of something fairly new to us, I don't think we've seen anything quite like this, which is interesting considering where it comes from. The molecular compounds and residual energy leave little doubt that it originates from the same dimension of Nyarlathotep, Dimension Theta, which confirms our suspicions regarding the origin of the creature that attacked Nolan. This thing is almost certainly the progenitor. Our autopsy of that EDH shows canine DNA as well, so we're dealing with something that's capable of mutating terrestrial lifeforms.”
“The analysis of the cellular structure shows it's extremely unstable, meaning it has very little defined structure. Our best guess is that the creature is virtually formless and possibly capable of controlling its shape at will, to a limited degree. There's no residual ambient energy within the sample so it likely survived the trip to our dimension relatively unharmed, which means we're dealing with something very strong. This thing is bad news guys, a high level entity like we haven't seen in a long time."
“Do we have any idea where it is?” asked Basil.
“I'm afraid not. There have been no further reports of any more hybrids and all our leads have turned cold. Until this thing shows its face again, assuming it even has one, we're just going to have to wait.”
“Unless we can track down Gang,” replied Basil.
“Regarding Gang's suspected involvement,” interrupted Mr. Sound. “While I am not one hundred percent convinced that this is definitely his work I do believe there is sufficient evidence to support that theory, and I think it behooves us to move forward assuming the worst, meaning that it is him. Given the evidence regarding this creature, and the report Basil has given regarding Constance' encounter with the suspect, we should also assume that whoever is responsible must have come into contact with this organism. There's no telling what effect direct contact with a human could have, especially if that human were already dangerously powerful. Did you have anything further to add Bill?”
“There was one other thing. We pulled some samples from the triple homicide in the suburbs earlier this week and I compared them to the samples from the point of entry; they're slightly different. It's difficult to explain exactly, it's almost like there's something missing. The genetic make up isn't changed so much as... lessened.”
“What exactly does that mean?” asked Nolan, in a vain attempt to try and contribute something to the proceedings.
“It's only speculation but I think, at some point, something from the creature that came through was lost or removed. If the person responsible did come in contact with the creature it may have passed something to that person, a part of itself, which is a behavior I've never seen before.”
“Well I guess we'll just add that to the ever growing list of things-we've-never-seen-before,” said Constance.
The room fell silent for a moment. Nolan had the sense that he was not alone in feeling out of his depth at the moment. No one really seemed to have a solid grasp of what was happening or why, though he thought he was probably the only one that was accustomed to such feelings.
“Moving along,” said Mr. Sound. “Since the likelihood of Gang's involvement is so high I feel it's pertinent that we discuss exactly what it is he's attempting to do. Those of you with personal experience dealing with him are aware of his past but for the benefit of those less experienced we should review.”
“Gang's main focus has always been, simply put, bringing about the end of humanity. Over time he became obsessed with the myth surrounding an extremely powerful creature that was believed to be resting, sleeping, somewhere on this planet. For years he has sought the key to finding and awakening this creature. This is a threat that needs to be taken very seriously, and I am aware that some of you do not feel the same, but we cannot risk underestimating what could happen if Gang were to succeed.”
“Excuse me,” said Nolan. “This all sounds kind of a familiar. Are we talking about...?”
Mr. Sound gave Nolan an odd look that he couldn't read. “C'thulhu, yes, or least that's what those who believe in the legend choose to call it.”
“You can't be serious,” said Nolan.
“My thoughts exactly,” said Basil. “Gang is a lunatic and the fact that he believes in that nonsense is all the evidence needed to prove it. There's no proof that Lovecraft's writings regarding the C'thulhu mythos have any basis in fact.”
“I'm going to have to agree with Basil on this one sir,” said Bill. “So much of what Lovecraft wrote was pure fiction. We don't even know if he knew that any of the things he wrote about were real. It's true that some of his writing's are reminiscent of things that actually exist but really, C'thulhu? I think that's pushing the limits of reason, even for us.”
Mr. Sound listened to all of this quietly but with a disturbingly grave expression. “If you're both finished I will continue. Considering the circumstances I feel it is time I shared some information with you. I want you all to understand that what I'm about to tell you is absolutely confidential. Under no circumstances should this information be revealed to anyone outside this room, including any other members of this organization.”
Mr. Sound pushed a button on his remote. The image on the screen changed to an illustration that Nolan could not immediately decipher.
“This is a cross of section of The Mariana Trench in the Pacific ocean, which, as some of you may know, is the deepest ocean trench in the world.”
Mr. Sound switched the image again. In that image the deepest section of the trench was highlighted.
“The area highlighted here is Challenger Deep, believed by the oceanographic community to be the deepest point of the trench. They are wrong.”
Mr. Sound switched the image a third time, to an image where a different section of the trench was highlighted, along with a section of the area beneath the ocean floor.
“This is the actual deepest part of the trench. What you see highlighted here is something which lies buried there beneath unknown millennia of debris and ocean sediment. It occupies an area of the ocean floor approximately twenty miles wide, one hundred miles long, and reaches a depth of nearly seventeen thousand fathoms below the perceived floor. This is the resting place of the creature known as C'thulhu.”
“We discovered it upon exploring the area where Isaac and his crew were attacked. It is the site of an extraordinary number of missing vessels. The waters in this area are infested with hybrid creatures created from the lost crews of those vessels. The power of the being resting there is so immense that, even while unconscious, it exudes energy potent enough to mutate complex organisms into nearly unrecognizable forms.”
“That's what attacked my ship ten years ago? Those... squid things used to be human?”
“I'm afraid so. Apparently they remain there to guard C'thulhu's resting place and will attack any vessel that passes too close. Since discovering this we've managed to quietly quarantine the area for 'private scientific research" and have it classified as a no-sail zone.”
“And exactly how long have you been sitting on this?” asked Basil.
“Six years.”
“Unbelievable,” said Basil, his voice rising in anger. “And you never thought that maybe we might need to know about this? All those years dealing with Gang and others like him, thinking they were all just a bunch of cultist nut bags, when you knew that what they were after was real? You discovered the location of the single most powerful creature on the planet and you just decided that none of us needed to know!?”
Mr. Sound pinned Basil with a hard stare and Nolan imagined he felt a chill slide through the room. Or at least he thought he imagined it.
“Do I need to remind you who you work for Mr. Dollory? I am not obliged to explain myself, or what information I do or do not choose to share with you, in any way.”
Basil didn't respond but he met Mr. Sound's stare and did not look away. The two men stayed like that for several minutes, silently staring each other down. It was Isaac who finally broke the silence.
“So let me see if I'm following all of this. C'thulhu is real and Gang is intent on finding it and waking it up. And exactly how close are we thinking he is to doing that?”
“It's difficult to say right now. The area is under constant observation and as yet there has been nothing out of the ordinary. To the best of my knowledge – which is fairly thorough – at present we are the only ones who are aware of the creature's exact location. As for how close Gang may be to finding and/or awakening it we have no way of knowing. Which means we need to be as efficient as possible in tracking him down.”
“Well that's great,” said Constance, “except we still have no idea where to even start looking.”
“Actually, that's not entirely true,” said Basil. He reached inside of his coat and pulled out a small, metal box. Two small, green lights pulsed familiarly at Nolan out of one side. “I had a visitor this morning. Looks like our friend Garrity came through for us. I'll have to hook this little guy up to a console to get all the details but I'm willing to bet, at the very least, it will give us a place to start looking.”
“Good then. You, Constance, and Nolan get on that, get back to me as soon as you have something. Isaac and Bill, I want you two to start testing our countermeasures on those samples, I don't want any surprises. Make sure that when we find Gang and his 'pet' we can put them both down for good. Dismissed.”
Everyone stood and bustled their way out of the room. Basil, clearly eager to be out of Mr. Sound's presence as quickly as possible, was the first out the door. Nolan and Constance followed at a distance, both having guessed that he wasn't in the mood for talking.
“So,” said Nolan, “what exactly did you mean by 'getting the better of Basil'?”
“Oh nothing, just that he told me what he tried to do to you yesterday and it was nice to see was of his stupid jokes fall flat.”
“I'm not following you. What did he try to do?”
“You know, giving you the wrong directions and everything. I'm sure he thought it would be...”
A deep rumble passed through the floor beneath their feet. Up ahead Basil stopped walking and looked back at them. Another rumble came, this one much stronger, followed by the screech of rending metal from somewhere far below. The lights flickered.
“What the hell was that!?” Constance called down the hall to Basil.
Then all the lights went out.
As Nolan navigated the nondescript slab of black metal he'd chosen the evening before through the morning traffic he tried to mentally prepare himself for whatever the day might have in store for him. His newly acquired sidearm rested in its holster, pleasantly snug against his ribs. This too felt right. He'd never really been a gun person, had never even fired on in fact, but having the weapon there made him feel more at ease with his situation, as if it enabled him to exercise a greater measure of control over the chaos around him. He knew it was a false security but it put him at ease just the same. As to whether or not he'd actually be able to pull the trigger when the time came, he had no idea.
The entrance to the underground garage was cleverly hidden behind a crumbling cinder block wall at the rear of the building. Entering required not only threading the car through a space inches bigger than its width but also executing an immediate hard right towards a solid brick wall. The block wall and the turn rendered the sharp incline of the ramp leading down to the garage invisible until the vehicle was already descending. Motion sensor lights winked on and off as the car moved past them leaving everything in front and behind in darkness. As he arrived at the garage more sensor activated lights came alive bathing it in subdued fluorescence. Nolan parked and got out, tossing the keys back into the glove box where he'd found them.
Basil was leaning against the wall by the door, where he must have been standing, motionless, long enough for the lights to turn off again after he'd entered. As Nolan approached he could see Basil was drinking an Irish coffee that smelled like it had a little more Irish in it than coffee.
“Right on time,” said Basil, taking a sip of his beverage, “good for you.”
“None for me? Some partner you are.”
“I was not aware that such things were to your liking. Duly noted for future reference. Everyone else is already here, except for Constance. If I know her she'll be late.”
“She tends to be late?”
Basil pushed open the door for Nolan and followed him down the hall to the elevator. “No she's actually quite punctual. This is how she does things, it's her way of letting everyone know that she's only prepared to be as cooperative as she has to be. Given her situation it's understandable that she wants to exercise her freedom whenever she can.”
“Is that what you two were talking about yesterday? You mind if I ask what exactly her 'situation' is, or should I take that up with her?”
“I wouldn't advise it, she's pretty touchy about the subject, doesn't talk about it much. I'm not privy to all the sordid details but I do know that she's bound in service to a group of beings known collectively as 'The Masters', which is a title I'm sure they bestowed upon themselves. We refer to them as demons, since they're the origin of the whole demon mythology, but like everything else they're really just another bunch of extra-dimensionals, albeit some pretty powerful ones.”
“'Bound in service', that sounds ominous.”
“Like I said, don't know the specifics, but the gist is she does what they say whether she likes it or not.”
“So she's a slave.”
“If you like. She chooses to view it as a job, which is her prerogative I guess.”
The elevator stopped and Basil led Nolan down the hall towards the meeting. Outside Nolan could see the packed dirt and broken asphalt of the grounds surrounding the building.
“I can't help noticing that this building seems to look different inside than it does from the outside.”
“It's all illusions. The original building, which is what you still see from the outside, was partially demolished and this one was built on top of it. Only the bottom floor is the same as it was, kept that way just in case someone decides to come snooping, unlikely as that may be. Come to think of it I don't even know what this place actually looks like from the outside.”
Basil and Nolan turned the corner and saw Constance leaning against the hallway wall.
She favored the two of them with a smile. “Morning boys.”
“Look who decided to show up on time,” said Basil. “How honored we should feel.”
“I thought we'd agreed to at least try and work together civilly. Are you incapable of not being an ass for five minutes? I certainly hope he doesn't treat you this way.”
“Not so I can tell. Must be something special only you can bring out in him.”
Basil gave her a snide smile while Nolan pursed his lips, trying to hide his own.
“And apparently he's rubbing off on you. Wonderful.”
At this Isaac poked his considerable head through the doorway and beckoned them to enter. “Gang's all here then? I believe our boss is of a mind to get started.”
“Onward then,” said Basil, pushing his way past everyone into the room.
“Ladies first,” said Nolan.
Constance leaned in close to Nolan as she entered the room. “By the way, heard you found Bill just fine yesterday, good job. I don't know how you managed it but it's nice to see someone get the better of Basil for change.”
Nolan started to ask what she might be referring to but Constance moved quickly past him into the room and commenced finding her seat.
The conference room turned out to be little more than a small room with a bunch of chairs and a projection screen hanging on one wall. A digital projector sat on a cart at the front of the room. On the shelf beneath it was a open laptop tethered to the projector by a black cord. Nolan crossed the room and dropped into the remaining empty chair next to Basil. Mr. Sound stood at the front of the room, watching them all get situated.
“Appears we're all here so I suppose we ought to get started. Bill would you be so kind as to get the lights?”
Bill flipped the switch and the windowless room went completely dark for a moment. A bright square of white light beamed out of the projector at the screen. Mr. Sound produced a small device from his coat pocket, pointed it at the projector, and pressed one of the buttons. The screen filled with a series of charts and images that meant almost nothing to Nolan. In one corner he saw what he took for a highly magnified closeup of a misshapen cell. Next to that there were a series of charts with spiky lines labeled with terms he didn't recognize.
“I had our boys in the lab working all night on the samples we brought in,” said Mr. Sound, “and this is the final analysis. I believe Bill would do better at explaining the finer points. Bill?”
“Right. I'll dispense with the boring details and just give you all the breakdown. What you're looking at is a record of something fairly new to us, I don't think we've seen anything quite like this, which is interesting considering where it comes from. The molecular compounds and residual energy leave little doubt that it originates from the same dimension of Nyarlathotep, Dimension Theta, which confirms our suspicions regarding the origin of the creature that attacked Nolan. This thing is almost certainly the progenitor. Our autopsy of that EDH shows canine DNA as well, so we're dealing with something that's capable of mutating terrestrial lifeforms.”
“The analysis of the cellular structure shows it's extremely unstable, meaning it has very little defined structure. Our best guess is that the creature is virtually formless and possibly capable of controlling its shape at will, to a limited degree. There's no residual ambient energy within the sample so it likely survived the trip to our dimension relatively unharmed, which means we're dealing with something very strong. This thing is bad news guys, a high level entity like we haven't seen in a long time."
“Do we have any idea where it is?” asked Basil.
“I'm afraid not. There have been no further reports of any more hybrids and all our leads have turned cold. Until this thing shows its face again, assuming it even has one, we're just going to have to wait.”
“Unless we can track down Gang,” replied Basil.
“Regarding Gang's suspected involvement,” interrupted Mr. Sound. “While I am not one hundred percent convinced that this is definitely his work I do believe there is sufficient evidence to support that theory, and I think it behooves us to move forward assuming the worst, meaning that it is him. Given the evidence regarding this creature, and the report Basil has given regarding Constance' encounter with the suspect, we should also assume that whoever is responsible must have come into contact with this organism. There's no telling what effect direct contact with a human could have, especially if that human were already dangerously powerful. Did you have anything further to add Bill?”
“There was one other thing. We pulled some samples from the triple homicide in the suburbs earlier this week and I compared them to the samples from the point of entry; they're slightly different. It's difficult to explain exactly, it's almost like there's something missing. The genetic make up isn't changed so much as... lessened.”
“What exactly does that mean?” asked Nolan, in a vain attempt to try and contribute something to the proceedings.
“It's only speculation but I think, at some point, something from the creature that came through was lost or removed. If the person responsible did come in contact with the creature it may have passed something to that person, a part of itself, which is a behavior I've never seen before.”
“Well I guess we'll just add that to the ever growing list of things-we've-never-seen-before,” said Constance.
The room fell silent for a moment. Nolan had the sense that he was not alone in feeling out of his depth at the moment. No one really seemed to have a solid grasp of what was happening or why, though he thought he was probably the only one that was accustomed to such feelings.
“Moving along,” said Mr. Sound. “Since the likelihood of Gang's involvement is so high I feel it's pertinent that we discuss exactly what it is he's attempting to do. Those of you with personal experience dealing with him are aware of his past but for the benefit of those less experienced we should review.”
“Gang's main focus has always been, simply put, bringing about the end of humanity. Over time he became obsessed with the myth surrounding an extremely powerful creature that was believed to be resting, sleeping, somewhere on this planet. For years he has sought the key to finding and awakening this creature. This is a threat that needs to be taken very seriously, and I am aware that some of you do not feel the same, but we cannot risk underestimating what could happen if Gang were to succeed.”
“Excuse me,” said Nolan. “This all sounds kind of a familiar. Are we talking about...?”
Mr. Sound gave Nolan an odd look that he couldn't read. “C'thulhu, yes, or least that's what those who believe in the legend choose to call it.”
“You can't be serious,” said Nolan.
“My thoughts exactly,” said Basil. “Gang is a lunatic and the fact that he believes in that nonsense is all the evidence needed to prove it. There's no proof that Lovecraft's writings regarding the C'thulhu mythos have any basis in fact.”
“I'm going to have to agree with Basil on this one sir,” said Bill. “So much of what Lovecraft wrote was pure fiction. We don't even know if he knew that any of the things he wrote about were real. It's true that some of his writing's are reminiscent of things that actually exist but really, C'thulhu? I think that's pushing the limits of reason, even for us.”
Mr. Sound listened to all of this quietly but with a disturbingly grave expression. “If you're both finished I will continue. Considering the circumstances I feel it is time I shared some information with you. I want you all to understand that what I'm about to tell you is absolutely confidential. Under no circumstances should this information be revealed to anyone outside this room, including any other members of this organization.”
Mr. Sound pushed a button on his remote. The image on the screen changed to an illustration that Nolan could not immediately decipher.
“This is a cross of section of The Mariana Trench in the Pacific ocean, which, as some of you may know, is the deepest ocean trench in the world.”
Mr. Sound switched the image again. In that image the deepest section of the trench was highlighted.
“The area highlighted here is Challenger Deep, believed by the oceanographic community to be the deepest point of the trench. They are wrong.”
Mr. Sound switched the image a third time, to an image where a different section of the trench was highlighted, along with a section of the area beneath the ocean floor.
“This is the actual deepest part of the trench. What you see highlighted here is something which lies buried there beneath unknown millennia of debris and ocean sediment. It occupies an area of the ocean floor approximately twenty miles wide, one hundred miles long, and reaches a depth of nearly seventeen thousand fathoms below the perceived floor. This is the resting place of the creature known as C'thulhu.”
“We discovered it upon exploring the area where Isaac and his crew were attacked. It is the site of an extraordinary number of missing vessels. The waters in this area are infested with hybrid creatures created from the lost crews of those vessels. The power of the being resting there is so immense that, even while unconscious, it exudes energy potent enough to mutate complex organisms into nearly unrecognizable forms.”
“That's what attacked my ship ten years ago? Those... squid things used to be human?”
“I'm afraid so. Apparently they remain there to guard C'thulhu's resting place and will attack any vessel that passes too close. Since discovering this we've managed to quietly quarantine the area for 'private scientific research" and have it classified as a no-sail zone.”
“And exactly how long have you been sitting on this?” asked Basil.
“Six years.”
“Unbelievable,” said Basil, his voice rising in anger. “And you never thought that maybe we might need to know about this? All those years dealing with Gang and others like him, thinking they were all just a bunch of cultist nut bags, when you knew that what they were after was real? You discovered the location of the single most powerful creature on the planet and you just decided that none of us needed to know!?”
Mr. Sound pinned Basil with a hard stare and Nolan imagined he felt a chill slide through the room. Or at least he thought he imagined it.
“Do I need to remind you who you work for Mr. Dollory? I am not obliged to explain myself, or what information I do or do not choose to share with you, in any way.”
Basil didn't respond but he met Mr. Sound's stare and did not look away. The two men stayed like that for several minutes, silently staring each other down. It was Isaac who finally broke the silence.
“So let me see if I'm following all of this. C'thulhu is real and Gang is intent on finding it and waking it up. And exactly how close are we thinking he is to doing that?”
“It's difficult to say right now. The area is under constant observation and as yet there has been nothing out of the ordinary. To the best of my knowledge – which is fairly thorough – at present we are the only ones who are aware of the creature's exact location. As for how close Gang may be to finding and/or awakening it we have no way of knowing. Which means we need to be as efficient as possible in tracking him down.”
“Well that's great,” said Constance, “except we still have no idea where to even start looking.”
“Actually, that's not entirely true,” said Basil. He reached inside of his coat and pulled out a small, metal box. Two small, green lights pulsed familiarly at Nolan out of one side. “I had a visitor this morning. Looks like our friend Garrity came through for us. I'll have to hook this little guy up to a console to get all the details but I'm willing to bet, at the very least, it will give us a place to start looking.”
“Good then. You, Constance, and Nolan get on that, get back to me as soon as you have something. Isaac and Bill, I want you two to start testing our countermeasures on those samples, I don't want any surprises. Make sure that when we find Gang and his 'pet' we can put them both down for good. Dismissed.”
Everyone stood and bustled their way out of the room. Basil, clearly eager to be out of Mr. Sound's presence as quickly as possible, was the first out the door. Nolan and Constance followed at a distance, both having guessed that he wasn't in the mood for talking.
“So,” said Nolan, “what exactly did you mean by 'getting the better of Basil'?”
“Oh nothing, just that he told me what he tried to do to you yesterday and it was nice to see was of his stupid jokes fall flat.”
“I'm not following you. What did he try to do?”
“You know, giving you the wrong directions and everything. I'm sure he thought it would be...”
A deep rumble passed through the floor beneath their feet. Up ahead Basil stopped walking and looked back at them. Another rumble came, this one much stronger, followed by the screech of rending metal from somewhere far below. The lights flickered.
“What the hell was that!?” Constance called down the hall to Basil.
Then all the lights went out.
Chapter 23 - Calm Like A Bladed Edge
Carphax perched, bird-like, on a crossbeam in the warehouse and waited, listening. Actual birds, pigeons mostly but a few sparrows as well, rustled and cooed from the shadows. The night creatures were restless. Bats hanging from the ceiling high up in the peak of the roof. Rats scurrying about in the trash below. Even the spiders were ill at ease; Carphax could see a few of their webs shimmering in the faint moonlight, the designs ever so slightly askew and strange, as if the spiders had been driven to madness by their fear. The night creatures shivered in the shadows, but not for him. There was a man, or at least something that wore the shell of a man, standing outside the door at the far end of the warehouse. The door was shut and Carphax had been as silent as he could possibly be (which was very silent indeed) yet the man had still noticed him. For an assassin, particularly one who followed The Way of The Shadow, to be detected so easily was unacceptable. He should have felt ashamed. Instead he found he was merely intrigued.
Carphax shifted his weight and tumbled gracefully from the beam, twisting in the air, and landed in a crouch on the floor below, soft and silent as falling dust. He crossed the room in an instant, scarcely stirring the air around him or the detritus beneath his feet, and stood before the closed door. The man who was not a man knew he was there. Finally accepting that his stealth had become pointless, a first for him, Carphax opened the door and stepped out into night.
The man who was not a man stood beneath the beam of a shaded lamp on a narrow bolt of metal that jutted out form the side of the warehouse like a stray hair. He floated inside a hooded sweatshirt that was too big for his slight frame, the hood hiding his face in deep shadows. It was probably maroon or burgundy but it looked reddish brown, like old blood, in the lamplight. Carphax stepped into the light and looked at his would be employer. His senses fed him as much information as they could about him but much of it was conflicting. He looked like man; medium height, a little thin. He sounded like a man; his heart beat slow and steady, he breathed, with a bit of a rattle, as though he were recovering from a cold. His scent was strange in Carphax's nose, a rank and unfamiliar ordor, that for some reason reminded him of the ocean. Then there was the other thing, the other sense. This one told him this creature was not a man, perhaps he had once been, but no more.
“I have come as requested,” Carphax said, the faintest hint of the middle east hiding in his carefully neutral accent. “Your message spoke of a proposal.”
The message had come, as most messages did, on a slip of paper under his door. Carphax knew it was not this one who had left it, his scent would have lingered if he had.
“Indeed I do, ‘yeqtel sh’ebh’”, the not-man said.
Five years before Carphax had left the order of assassins. They had tried to stop him, to kill him for his arrogance, for no one was allowed to simply walk away from the brotherhood. A dozen of his brothers had died by his hand. He hadn't wept for them, they were fools. He had seen in their eyes that they had known they could not kill him and they were going to die. Still they had come, as they had been ordered, and thrown their lives away. They had branded him, “يقتل شعبه”, “kills his own people”. It was meant to be a mark of shame and dishonor, labeling him both heretic and traitor, but Carphax had worn it with pride. For him it simply meant that he had no equal. For five years they had hunted him relentlessly, seeking to erase their shame, and for five years he had killed all who came. “Yeqtel sh'ebh” – The Killer of Killers. No one outside the order, even if they knew that name, had ever dared address him by it. It should have earned this stranger a quick death. Instead Carphax smiled and waited to hear what he would say next.
“I am Gang. Proposal? Yes, one that I think you will find most appealing. I want you to be my protector, walk by my side and bring death for me, as I do my work.”
“You want a bodyguard? I'm afraid not. You waste my time.”
Gang stood closer now, close enough that Carphax could feel the heat spilling out from beneath his hood. He had not seen him move, had not heard him move, had not even felt him move. Carphax smiled again and waited.
“What time do you think you have, killer? The ticking of the world will wind its way down. Come with me and you could wrap your black fingers around its heart for the final beat. I'm of a mind makes the world change. Is that not what you want, what you have always wanted? Isn't that why you left them?”
It was true. He had outgrown his brothers. His life with them becoming tedious and boring. Killing old, fat men for other old, fat men. He had been trained to be an engine of death, a living blade waiting the dark, not a tool for the endless games of pointless people. He had gone into the world seeking something more, an end to the monotony, some way to feel alive again.
Gang pulled back his hood. Thin black veins crawled across his bald scalp like cracks. His neck was wrapped in a tight web of quivering tentacles that grew out from the line of his jaw and disappeared into his shirt. His eyes burned behind the dark lenses of his glasses like embers and Carphax could feel them pushing into him, peeling away the layers of his mind. He pushed back, as he'd learned to do, but it was useless. This one was not like the others he'd encountered.
“No feary tingles? This face holds no surprises? Is it true what they say: that The Killer of Killers has acquired a taste for strange blood? Hunting monsters and magicians? I think they say true. Better sport I suppose but such a waste of what you are.”
“What are you?” whispered Carphax.
Gang looked up at the sky and spoke low into the night. “Something else. Chitter chatter in the void. Dark claws on the starlight. Signals from secret constellations. A riddle within a riddle within a riddle.”
Gang's face began to change. His skin flexed as though something else lived beneath its surface, a thing that only pretended at being a face. A wave of twitching movement rippled through the tentacles around his neck and Carphax watched it roll down beneath the fabric of his shirt, straining against it for a moment before quieting again.
“I offer you revelations and salvations. This world of chirping insects is done. In my new world you will be a god of pain and mercy, risen up to break the sky and drag it down on them.”
Carphax listened as Gang continued to speak, the words losing meaning and yet gaining more. The words carried something else with them, a tape hiss current that slid into Carphax's ears like cold wind, seeding themselves in his mind and growing beyond the simple confines of language. He understood and he knew his answer. Was it his own or was it one the thing before him had put there? Did it matter?
“I am yours.”
“And we are theirs.”
Carphax turned away and looked out across the long expanse of concrete that led away from the warehouse and out to the harbor. Far off, hidden in a shadowy pool of broken lights, there was something lurking.
“You know we are being watched.”
“Oh yes, but you needn't worry about her. She's expected, a very important lady, come as you have seeking her way.”
Dimes sat in her car watching the two men talking in front of the warehouse. They were little more than shapes at that distance but she didn't care for the look of them just the same. The taller of the two turned suddenly and looked directly at her. It seemed impossible that he could be seeing her, in the dark and so far away, but she knew he was. She wanted to leave and felt that she still could. There was time. She could start the car and drive off. Stop all this before it ever started. Instead she opened the door and climbed out into the night. When she looked back the two men were gone. A wave of fear rolled through her body and she pushed it away. Too late for that now. She'd made her choice.
“I'm so glad you came,” said Gang. “I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't.”
He was sitting on top her car, legs crossed, looking up at the sky with an expression of childlike wonder. His head turned back and forth as though he were watching something gliding about unseen above them.
“If only you could see the stars I see. Old stars that shone on this place long before we blighted things crawled out of the muck. Perhaps you'll learn to see them too... in time.”
Gang looked down at her, filament eyes swimming in the dark under his hood. “Lady of words, keeper of names, come to me for help. And I will. As will you me.”
Dimes looked to her left as a brief ghost of movement caught her eye. The other man was there, though she was certain he hadn't been a second before, leaning against the front of her car. He was dressed all in black, his clothes light and loose fitting, with a heavier jacket that hung on him like a molted skin. He looked at her steadily, reading her every motion, with dark eyes. He smiled a mirthless grin at her, white teeth materializing in his dark face. The expression – combined with his sharp, masculine features and scalp plastered black hair – made his head looked skeletal.
“Dimes, this is Carphax. He kills things,” said Gang from beside her. She hadn't heard him move at all. “Don't worry, he's not here to hurt you, quite the opposite really. Of course you already know who I am.”
Dimes turned her head, opening her mouth to speak, and her voice vanished. Gang's hood was down now and looking into his face made her want to scream. Gang slid an arm over her shoulder and pressed a clammy finger to her lips. A calm washed over her from nowhere and she relaxed against him.
“There, there. No need for fears. We're all friends here. Look, you've even brought me a present.”
Dimes lifted her hand and found she was holding her map, though she didn't remember picking it up. She handed it to Gang and he smiled a warm, cheshire grin at her. He carefully shook the map opened and examined it intently.
“Such a thing of wonder you are, Dimes. A rare gem in this dull world. Together we will do great things, great and terrible things. You and I will stand in the cold light of our new dawn and sing the chorus of a world's end.”
“And you will help me?” She'd tried to sound strong, possibly even demanding, but her strength was gone, replaced with the weakness of a wounded animal, whimpering to be healed.
“Indeed I will, my sweet word girl. Fret you not.” Gang pulled in closer to her, conspirating in her ear so close she feel the unnatural heat of his breath reddening its folds. “We shall give a name to that which quakes in your teeming brain, little sister, and through its naming call it forth to be tamed.”
And somewhere in the back of her mind Dimes could hear a faint titter, like the laugh of a lunatic child.
Carphax shifted his weight and tumbled gracefully from the beam, twisting in the air, and landed in a crouch on the floor below, soft and silent as falling dust. He crossed the room in an instant, scarcely stirring the air around him or the detritus beneath his feet, and stood before the closed door. The man who was not a man knew he was there. Finally accepting that his stealth had become pointless, a first for him, Carphax opened the door and stepped out into night.
The man who was not a man stood beneath the beam of a shaded lamp on a narrow bolt of metal that jutted out form the side of the warehouse like a stray hair. He floated inside a hooded sweatshirt that was too big for his slight frame, the hood hiding his face in deep shadows. It was probably maroon or burgundy but it looked reddish brown, like old blood, in the lamplight. Carphax stepped into the light and looked at his would be employer. His senses fed him as much information as they could about him but much of it was conflicting. He looked like man; medium height, a little thin. He sounded like a man; his heart beat slow and steady, he breathed, with a bit of a rattle, as though he were recovering from a cold. His scent was strange in Carphax's nose, a rank and unfamiliar ordor, that for some reason reminded him of the ocean. Then there was the other thing, the other sense. This one told him this creature was not a man, perhaps he had once been, but no more.
“I have come as requested,” Carphax said, the faintest hint of the middle east hiding in his carefully neutral accent. “Your message spoke of a proposal.”
The message had come, as most messages did, on a slip of paper under his door. Carphax knew it was not this one who had left it, his scent would have lingered if he had.
“Indeed I do, ‘yeqtel sh’ebh’”, the not-man said.
Five years before Carphax had left the order of assassins. They had tried to stop him, to kill him for his arrogance, for no one was allowed to simply walk away from the brotherhood. A dozen of his brothers had died by his hand. He hadn't wept for them, they were fools. He had seen in their eyes that they had known they could not kill him and they were going to die. Still they had come, as they had been ordered, and thrown their lives away. They had branded him, “يقتل شعبه”, “kills his own people”. It was meant to be a mark of shame and dishonor, labeling him both heretic and traitor, but Carphax had worn it with pride. For him it simply meant that he had no equal. For five years they had hunted him relentlessly, seeking to erase their shame, and for five years he had killed all who came. “Yeqtel sh'ebh” – The Killer of Killers. No one outside the order, even if they knew that name, had ever dared address him by it. It should have earned this stranger a quick death. Instead Carphax smiled and waited to hear what he would say next.
“I am Gang. Proposal? Yes, one that I think you will find most appealing. I want you to be my protector, walk by my side and bring death for me, as I do my work.”
“You want a bodyguard? I'm afraid not. You waste my time.”
Gang stood closer now, close enough that Carphax could feel the heat spilling out from beneath his hood. He had not seen him move, had not heard him move, had not even felt him move. Carphax smiled again and waited.
“What time do you think you have, killer? The ticking of the world will wind its way down. Come with me and you could wrap your black fingers around its heart for the final beat. I'm of a mind makes the world change. Is that not what you want, what you have always wanted? Isn't that why you left them?”
It was true. He had outgrown his brothers. His life with them becoming tedious and boring. Killing old, fat men for other old, fat men. He had been trained to be an engine of death, a living blade waiting the dark, not a tool for the endless games of pointless people. He had gone into the world seeking something more, an end to the monotony, some way to feel alive again.
Gang pulled back his hood. Thin black veins crawled across his bald scalp like cracks. His neck was wrapped in a tight web of quivering tentacles that grew out from the line of his jaw and disappeared into his shirt. His eyes burned behind the dark lenses of his glasses like embers and Carphax could feel them pushing into him, peeling away the layers of his mind. He pushed back, as he'd learned to do, but it was useless. This one was not like the others he'd encountered.
“No feary tingles? This face holds no surprises? Is it true what they say: that The Killer of Killers has acquired a taste for strange blood? Hunting monsters and magicians? I think they say true. Better sport I suppose but such a waste of what you are.”
“What are you?” whispered Carphax.
Gang looked up at the sky and spoke low into the night. “Something else. Chitter chatter in the void. Dark claws on the starlight. Signals from secret constellations. A riddle within a riddle within a riddle.”
Gang's face began to change. His skin flexed as though something else lived beneath its surface, a thing that only pretended at being a face. A wave of twitching movement rippled through the tentacles around his neck and Carphax watched it roll down beneath the fabric of his shirt, straining against it for a moment before quieting again.
“I offer you revelations and salvations. This world of chirping insects is done. In my new world you will be a god of pain and mercy, risen up to break the sky and drag it down on them.”
Carphax listened as Gang continued to speak, the words losing meaning and yet gaining more. The words carried something else with them, a tape hiss current that slid into Carphax's ears like cold wind, seeding themselves in his mind and growing beyond the simple confines of language. He understood and he knew his answer. Was it his own or was it one the thing before him had put there? Did it matter?
“I am yours.”
“And we are theirs.”
Carphax turned away and looked out across the long expanse of concrete that led away from the warehouse and out to the harbor. Far off, hidden in a shadowy pool of broken lights, there was something lurking.
“You know we are being watched.”
“Oh yes, but you needn't worry about her. She's expected, a very important lady, come as you have seeking her way.”
Dimes sat in her car watching the two men talking in front of the warehouse. They were little more than shapes at that distance but she didn't care for the look of them just the same. The taller of the two turned suddenly and looked directly at her. It seemed impossible that he could be seeing her, in the dark and so far away, but she knew he was. She wanted to leave and felt that she still could. There was time. She could start the car and drive off. Stop all this before it ever started. Instead she opened the door and climbed out into the night. When she looked back the two men were gone. A wave of fear rolled through her body and she pushed it away. Too late for that now. She'd made her choice.
“I'm so glad you came,” said Gang. “I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't.”
He was sitting on top her car, legs crossed, looking up at the sky with an expression of childlike wonder. His head turned back and forth as though he were watching something gliding about unseen above them.
“If only you could see the stars I see. Old stars that shone on this place long before we blighted things crawled out of the muck. Perhaps you'll learn to see them too... in time.”
Gang looked down at her, filament eyes swimming in the dark under his hood. “Lady of words, keeper of names, come to me for help. And I will. As will you me.”
Dimes looked to her left as a brief ghost of movement caught her eye. The other man was there, though she was certain he hadn't been a second before, leaning against the front of her car. He was dressed all in black, his clothes light and loose fitting, with a heavier jacket that hung on him like a molted skin. He looked at her steadily, reading her every motion, with dark eyes. He smiled a mirthless grin at her, white teeth materializing in his dark face. The expression – combined with his sharp, masculine features and scalp plastered black hair – made his head looked skeletal.
“Dimes, this is Carphax. He kills things,” said Gang from beside her. She hadn't heard him move at all. “Don't worry, he's not here to hurt you, quite the opposite really. Of course you already know who I am.”
Dimes turned her head, opening her mouth to speak, and her voice vanished. Gang's hood was down now and looking into his face made her want to scream. Gang slid an arm over her shoulder and pressed a clammy finger to her lips. A calm washed over her from nowhere and she relaxed against him.
“There, there. No need for fears. We're all friends here. Look, you've even brought me a present.”
Dimes lifted her hand and found she was holding her map, though she didn't remember picking it up. She handed it to Gang and he smiled a warm, cheshire grin at her. He carefully shook the map opened and examined it intently.
“Such a thing of wonder you are, Dimes. A rare gem in this dull world. Together we will do great things, great and terrible things. You and I will stand in the cold light of our new dawn and sing the chorus of a world's end.”
“And you will help me?” She'd tried to sound strong, possibly even demanding, but her strength was gone, replaced with the weakness of a wounded animal, whimpering to be healed.
“Indeed I will, my sweet word girl. Fret you not.” Gang pulled in closer to her, conspirating in her ear so close she feel the unnatural heat of his breath reddening its folds. “We shall give a name to that which quakes in your teeming brain, little sister, and through its naming call it forth to be tamed.”
And somewhere in the back of her mind Dimes could hear a faint titter, like the laugh of a lunatic child.
Chapter 22 - Tools of The Trade
Nolan watched Constance walking in front of him, in particular the way she wasn't observing her surroundings, which gave him the impression that it wasn't her first visit. They were back in the dilapidated building Nolan had come through on his first day. Instead of going to the elevator Basil led them down a minor maze of dim, dirty hallways that didn't appear to have seen human feet in a very long time. At the end of the last hall he stopped at a door so rusted and corroded Nolan wondered at how it stayed in one piece. Basil stood in front of the door for a few seconds and it slid open noisily.
After ascending several flights of stairs they emerged into a familiar looking wood paneled hallway, very similar to the one Isaac had led Nolan down to his first meeting with Mr. Sound. Basil stopped in front of a pair of sliding wooden doors with narrow glass windows. Through the windows Nolan saw a confused jumble of crisscrossing black bars.
“Okay,” Basil turned to Nolan and jerked a thumb at Constance. “I'm going to take this one to see Sound. You should head down to Bill and see what he's managed to find out, if anything, and I'll join you as soon as I'm done being badgered and reprimanded. Take that elevator all the way to the bottom, take a left down the hall, then a right, another right, left at the third hallway down, and it's the second door on the left.”
“All right,” Nolan said, already mentally preparing for the eventuality of getting lost. He turned to Constance. “Nice to have met you.”
“Likewise, and you are...?” she replied with a wry smile.
Only then did Nolan realize that he hadn't bothered to introduce himself. Irredeemably embarrassed, Nolan stuck out his hand to be shook. “An idiot apparently. Nolan Savitch.”
Constance took his hand and shook it. “Constance,” she said and gave with a curious look. “Nolan... have we met? Your name sounds familiar.”
Nolan tried not to grimace at the question. It was one he hated having to answer, innocent as it always was. “It's possible. If it was more than a couple years ago I'd have no memory of it. Amnesia.”
“Amnesia? I always thought that sort of thing was reserved for bad television.”
“Apparently not.”
Basil placed his hand on Constance' shoulder and tried to steer her away down the hall. “Yes, yes. 'What's your life story? Here's my life story', I'm afraid we need to be moving along. Everyone will have all the time in the world to get acquainted soon enough. Right now I'd like to get my pride swallowing castigation over with.”
Constance shrugged off his hand like it was a particularly disgusting lump of guano. “Drama queen. Later then, Nolan.”
She favored him with same smile she'd given him in the alley and walked off down the hall.
“Don't get lost,” said Basil, with a much less pleasant smile, and he followed after her.
As he watched him hurry to catch up with her Nolan was again struck by the distinct impression that Basil wasn't nearly as put out by having Constance around as he pretended to be. He didn't want her around, which was understandable, but at the same time it was probably somewhat comforting, that feeling of familiarity that came from being in the presence of a known quantity, as unpleasant as that quantity might be. It was the nice part about having memories. And the terrible part about not having them.
Nolan slid the wooden doors apart and stepped into the elevator. He'd heard of cage elevators before but he'd never been inside one. Being able to see the concrete walls of the elevator shaft through the metal frame was a little disconcerting. Just inside the door there was a brass panel with a single black, plastic button set into its face. Nolan slid the wooden doors closed and hauled the gate into place behind it by its polished chrome handle. The black metal frame accordioned smoothly on well oiled joints and clicked into place. Nolan pressed the button and there was brief mechanical whir as some unseen motor spun to life. The elevator began its slow descent, thankfully much smoother and silent than Nolan had expected.
The slow ride down gave him a little time to think and Nolan quickly found that he, unsurprisingly, had more questions than answers. All sorts of names and references had been tossed around in his presence that day and it had left him feeling like he was watching some sort of complex operation from behind a very dirty window. He could not shake the feeling that there was something else going on beneath it all, a secret that was deliberately being kept from him. He had quashed his initial impulse to address it to anyone directly in favor of a more reserved approach. If he were being deceived then it was better that no one knew he was catching on just yet. Everyone was less apt to be on guard if they thought he was behind the curve rather than in front of it and thus more likely to inadvertently betray their true intentions. There was also the possibility that it was all just paranoia and he didn't want to come off looking like an idiot by groundlessly pointing fingers. So he'd wait, and watch, and see what developed.
After five exceedingly boring minutes Nolan got out of the elevator and immediately understood the story behind Basil's parting smile. The hall he stood in was gray and nearly featureless. Doors of a slightly darker gray lined both sides of the hall at irregular intervals. The corridor he was in stretched on almost interminably in either direction, with other corridors coming off of it seemingly at random. There wasn't a single piece of signage anywhere, not even for the exit. To Nolan it looked decidedly maze-like, which he decided was probably the point. He was reminded of a term he'd once read in a book on functional architecture: passive structural security. As he understood it the basic idea was to design a layout so complex and deliberately counterintuitive that it was virtually impossible for anyone unfamiliar with the layout to navigate it without a map, and even then they were still more than likely to get lost. Nolan made a mental note to give Basil a swift kick in the balls the next time he saw him and turned left down the hall.
A few minutes later, feeling absolutely certain that he'd deviated from Basil's given directions several times, Nolan pushed open an unmarked door and found himself, to his amazement, staring at the back of Bill Tin. Bill was hunched over at the far side of a large, brightly lit room filled with computers and other complex mechanisms that Nolan couldn't begin to name. He had the sleeves of his white, button up shirt rolled all the way up to his biceps. His thinning hair was damp and glistened with sweat. He was muttering angrily under his break and tinkering intently with something on the counter in front of him.
“Hello?” said Nolan.
Bill turned sharply and dropped something on the floor. “Shit! Sorry, just in the middle of making a few calibrations. Welcome back Nolan, I'll be with you in just a sec.”
Nolan walked over to where Bill was working and stepped up to the counter. His eyes widened when he saw what it was Bill was working on. The thing that Nolan had taken for metal bracelet when they'd first met was lying in two halves on the counter and looked to be more of a cuff than a bracelet. The inside of the cuff was lined with tiny wires and sharp, pin like connectors. The pins were tinged with red at their tips. Bill was bent over his right arm, which was laid out on the counter, jabbing something the looked like a television remote with a screwdriver stuck onto the end of it into a thick web of cables and small hydraulics emerging from the flesh of his wrist.
“There,” Bill said finally,” that ought to do it.”
Bill lifted his arm and twiddled the fingers of his metal hand in the air before his face. The digits flexed smoothly on steel hinges, controlled by hydraulic pistons that ran through the insides of the knuckles. The palm and the back of the hand were comprised of a series of interlocking plates that met and separated as the it moved. Through the gaps in the plates Nolan could see a faint blueish light that pulsed rhythmically. Wires and tubes snaked from inside the hand and disappeared beneath skin of his wrist. Bill picked up the metal cuff and clamped it over his wrist with a wince.
“It's something isn't it?” said Bill with a grin. “Made it myself when I lost my hand. And in case you're wondering, I assure you the irony of someone with my name having a metal hand is not lost on me.”
Nolan laughed. “It honestly hadn't occurred to me.”
“It would have eventually, I'm sure.” Bill cast a glance over Nolan's shoulder. “No Basil?”
“He'll be along I think. He had some business to conduct with Mr. Sound.”
“Just as well then, you and I have some matters to discuss ourselves. Come on over here.”
Bill led Nolan over to the left side of the room. The counter there was covered with piles of unidentifiable parts and components. Bill cleared a space on the counter by shoving several of the piles off to one side and opened the top drawer beneath it. From the drawer he removed two items and set them on the counter. The first was a thin black rectangle with metal pins emerging from all four edges. The second was clearly some kind of firearm, though it was unlike any Nolan had ever encountered. The barrel was a metal cylinder with thickly insulated wires that snaked around it, occasionally disappearing into holes along either side. It was bolted onto a grip that was completely covered in texturized rubber, as was the trigger mechanism. The phrase that immediately sprang to his mind was “steampunk raygun”.
Bill picked up the black rectangle and held out his other hand. “Let me see your phone for a second.”
“You're not going to spit on it are you?”
Bill laughed. “So Basil remembered to put a protection spell on it then? No, no spitting, just a little upgrade.”
Nolan handed his phone over to Bill, who flipped it over and pressed the black square of plastic against the back. The tips of the metal pins curled inward, piercing the hard plastic backing of the phone, and disappeared into its innards. The square of plastic settled down against the back of the phone until it was flush with surface and almost invisible.
“There,” said Bill, handing Nolan's phone back to him. “Now you're hooked into our network. Any information in our database, that you have security clearance for, can be accessed from that phone. You can also communicate directly with the main office or any other agent in the field. Take a look.”
Nolan unlocked the phone and brought up the home screen. At the bottom of the screen, beneath the other icons, was a symbol identical to the one on the card Mr. Sound had given him, a black square with a white circle in the center and a black dot in the center of that. He tentatively tapped the icon. The screen went blank for few seconds and then a list of menu options appeared:
Communications
Database
Voice Memo
Photo Record
Video Record
Beneath the menu there was a large, bright red circle.
“Communications will take you to the directory where you can contact anyone on the network. Database gets you into the database, obviously. Field Reporting will allow you to record audio, photos, or videos and upload them directly your personal database on our server.”
“What's the red button for?”
“Panic Button. If you're in trouble just press that and your phone will send out a distress signal along with your current location.”
“No logins or passwords?” asked Nolan.
“No need. In addition to linking you to our network that device on the back acts as a biometric sensor, keyed to you alone. No one else will be able to access our system through that phone. The icon won't even show up if anyone else is holding it.”
Nolan put the phone to sleep and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. “That's convenient.”
The door at the back of the room opened suddenly and both men looked up to see Isaac filling the doorway. He wore the expression of a man who has suddenly found himself in a situation he was not entirely prepared for.
“Ah,” he said, giving Nolan a confused smile, “there you are! I, uh, Basil called down saying he was worried you might have gotten lost. But here you are, right where you ought to be.”
“Yep, though to be honest I'm as surprised as anyone by that.”
“Well I'll let him know you found your way. Carry on gentlemen.” Isaac ducked quickly back out of the room.
“Moving right along,” Bill picked up the strange firearm and held it up to the light, “we have this guy. The Mark II Ambient Energy Projectile Pistol, standard issue firearm for all field agents.”
“Why do I have the feeling that you're about to dump a whole bunch of science on me?”
“Probably because I am.”
“Wonderful,” said Nolan, trying not roll his eyes.
“Don't worry, you'll like this. It's secret science,” Bill's eyes grew almost comically wide and he twirled the finger of his free hand through the air like a magician about to perform his greatest trick.
Bill flipped a switch on the side of the barrel with his thumb and a metal tube slid out of the back of the gun. The tube was slotted along the sides and Nolan could see a row of small, shiny cylinders lined up end to end inside it. Bill pushed on the end of the tube and a single cylinder popped out into his waiting hand. He handed it to Nolan who turned it over experimentally in his palm. It was actually two cylinders, one being seated snugly into the slightly larger opening of the other. Etched into the side were symbols similar to the one's he had seen on Basil's knife. It also felt like it was vibrating very slightly.
“That's the bullet and this is the clip, which holds twenty rounds.”
“It doesn't look much like a bullet.”
“Which I will now endeavor to explain,” Bill intoned with a scholarly solemnity that was only slightly ruined by his overly excited grin.
“Inside that cylinder is a glass pellet containing a very unique type of energy. I take it Mr. Sound explained the basics of multi-dimensional theory to you?”
“If by that you mean he told me that there are other dimensions then yes.”
“Good enough. Now, in between every dimensions there is a void that is inhabited by something we call Ambient Inter-Dimensional Energy. Very dangerous stuff. Highly volatile, difficult to control, and, in large enough quantities, completely lethal to any living thing, even big nasties like Nyarlathotep out there.”
Nolan looked down at the innocent looking cylinder in his hand and fought back the urge to fling it across the room. Bill saw the look on his face and smiled at him reassuringly.
“Don't worry, the energy in there is safely contained in a glass pellet. Besides, it wouldn't do much to you in its present state anyway. The problem with A.I.E., at least from a practical standpoint, is that it isn't much use on its own. It tends to just dissipate when it isn't contained and you'd have to be completely immersed for it to do any real damage to you. But something very interesting happens when you run an electrical current through it; the A.I.E. follows the flow of current wherever it goes. Incidentally, that's how the Tesla Cannons work. That pink stuff you see flying out of the business end is A.I.D.E riding the flow of the current produced by the gun.”
“The Mark II's bullets work on the same principle, after a fashion. Once the bullet enters the chamber it's given an electrical charge. Then, when the bullet is fired and contacts the target surface, the cylinder compresses, breaking the pellet, and...”
“The A.I.E. follows the electrical current as it transfers into the target.”
“Gold star for the new guy. Precisely. Because of the size of the bullet the energy in a single round isn't lethal to anything bigger than house cat but it will put a grown man out for a couple hours. So long as it's not someone like Isaac, who could probably shrug off one of these without even blinking.”
“Do they fire like regular bullets? I don't see a primer or anything.”
“Nope, no gunpowder. The bullets are fired using an electromagnetic propulsion system in the barrel.”
“Like a rail gun.”
“Is that sciency talk I hear escaping your lips?”
“I pick up the occasional piece of useful knowledge from time to time.”
Nolan handed the “bullet” back to Bill, watched him load it back into the clip, and return the clip to its place in the back of the gun.
“Well, yes it is like a rail gun, sort of. The principle is the same but the power supply in the gun isn't sufficient to propel the bullet at a very high velocity. Effective range is only about 50 meters, anything more than that and there isn't enough force to break the pellet. That's actually one of the nice things about this weapon as opposed to a regular gun; there's a lot less chance of collateral damage, so you don't have to worry quite so much about where your rounds are going.”
“Speaking of which, exactly how careful do I need to be? You said the energy was lethal in a large enough amount. What happens if I hit the same target with multiple rounds?”
“You mean could you kill someone with this weapon? In theory yes, but you'd have to hit them several times in very rapid succession, and your shots would have to hit close to some kind of vital spot, like a heart or brain. I designed this as more of a defensive weapon, something to keep an agent in the field safe should they run into trouble. When we want to kill things we send in the big guns.”
“You designed this?”
“Yessir. That is my contribution to the Tin family legacy of creating new and interesting ways to kick the crap out of bad things.”
“Any particular reason you waited until now to give this to me? I've been running around 'in the field' all day. Sure Basil was there and all, but still...”
“Because Mr. Sound doesn't like giving new agents weapons and such until he's sure they aren't going to rabbit on us,” said Basil from the doorway. He was alone and looking even less positive about life than he had before.
“You thought I was going to run off on you?”
“There's really no way to be sure how someone will react to the job until you put them out there. Since you made it through the day without completely losing your mind I'd say we're in good shape.”
Bill handed Nolan the gun. Nolan hefted it in his hand as he sighted it at the far side of the room. It was heavier and more solid feeling than he had expected.
“Gah,” Basil drew his face in a mask of disgust, “will you put that thing away?”
“Hard to believe you have such a problem with guns.”
“Anyone who doesn't, in my opinion, has a screw loose somewhere. I understand their purpose and I accept their necessity in our work but I don't have to like it.”
“Hold on a sec,” said Bill. “I've got a shoulder holster for that around here somewhere... ah, here we are.”
Bill opened the bottom drawer under the counter and pulled out a contraption of black straps and buckles with a tooled leather holster dangling from it. Nolan took off his jacket and, after a few minutes acquainting himself with it, managed to get it situated with little need for adjustment. He slipped the pistol into it's holster and looked down at himself.
“I feel like Buck Rogers.”
“I was going to say Rick Deckard.”
“Which I will happily take as a compliment.”
“So you should.”
Bill waved Nolan and Basil over to one of the computer consoles. “I like banter as much as the next guy, but seeing as how I'd like to get out of here sometime tonight, what do you say we get down to business fellas?”
“Actually you can save all that for tomorrow,” said Basil.
“What's tomorrow?” said Bill.
“Mr. Sound has already reviewed the initial lab results and, taking into account the report I just gave him, has decided to pull us all in for a strategy meeting in the morning, 9:00 sharp.”
“Just as well. Lab work isn't telling us much right now that we haven't already figured out.”
“I figured as much. Nolan? Since you are sans vehicle at the moment Mr. Sound said you can go ahead and grab a car from the garage, take whatever one turns you on, keys are in the glove box.”
Basil turned back to the door and started walking. “Head on home boys, get some rest, 'cause tomorrow promises to be yet another exciting day in Crazy Town.”
After ascending several flights of stairs they emerged into a familiar looking wood paneled hallway, very similar to the one Isaac had led Nolan down to his first meeting with Mr. Sound. Basil stopped in front of a pair of sliding wooden doors with narrow glass windows. Through the windows Nolan saw a confused jumble of crisscrossing black bars.
“Okay,” Basil turned to Nolan and jerked a thumb at Constance. “I'm going to take this one to see Sound. You should head down to Bill and see what he's managed to find out, if anything, and I'll join you as soon as I'm done being badgered and reprimanded. Take that elevator all the way to the bottom, take a left down the hall, then a right, another right, left at the third hallway down, and it's the second door on the left.”
“All right,” Nolan said, already mentally preparing for the eventuality of getting lost. He turned to Constance. “Nice to have met you.”
“Likewise, and you are...?” she replied with a wry smile.
Only then did Nolan realize that he hadn't bothered to introduce himself. Irredeemably embarrassed, Nolan stuck out his hand to be shook. “An idiot apparently. Nolan Savitch.”
Constance took his hand and shook it. “Constance,” she said and gave with a curious look. “Nolan... have we met? Your name sounds familiar.”
Nolan tried not to grimace at the question. It was one he hated having to answer, innocent as it always was. “It's possible. If it was more than a couple years ago I'd have no memory of it. Amnesia.”
“Amnesia? I always thought that sort of thing was reserved for bad television.”
“Apparently not.”
Basil placed his hand on Constance' shoulder and tried to steer her away down the hall. “Yes, yes. 'What's your life story? Here's my life story', I'm afraid we need to be moving along. Everyone will have all the time in the world to get acquainted soon enough. Right now I'd like to get my pride swallowing castigation over with.”
Constance shrugged off his hand like it was a particularly disgusting lump of guano. “Drama queen. Later then, Nolan.”
She favored him with same smile she'd given him in the alley and walked off down the hall.
“Don't get lost,” said Basil, with a much less pleasant smile, and he followed after her.
As he watched him hurry to catch up with her Nolan was again struck by the distinct impression that Basil wasn't nearly as put out by having Constance around as he pretended to be. He didn't want her around, which was understandable, but at the same time it was probably somewhat comforting, that feeling of familiarity that came from being in the presence of a known quantity, as unpleasant as that quantity might be. It was the nice part about having memories. And the terrible part about not having them.
Nolan slid the wooden doors apart and stepped into the elevator. He'd heard of cage elevators before but he'd never been inside one. Being able to see the concrete walls of the elevator shaft through the metal frame was a little disconcerting. Just inside the door there was a brass panel with a single black, plastic button set into its face. Nolan slid the wooden doors closed and hauled the gate into place behind it by its polished chrome handle. The black metal frame accordioned smoothly on well oiled joints and clicked into place. Nolan pressed the button and there was brief mechanical whir as some unseen motor spun to life. The elevator began its slow descent, thankfully much smoother and silent than Nolan had expected.
The slow ride down gave him a little time to think and Nolan quickly found that he, unsurprisingly, had more questions than answers. All sorts of names and references had been tossed around in his presence that day and it had left him feeling like he was watching some sort of complex operation from behind a very dirty window. He could not shake the feeling that there was something else going on beneath it all, a secret that was deliberately being kept from him. He had quashed his initial impulse to address it to anyone directly in favor of a more reserved approach. If he were being deceived then it was better that no one knew he was catching on just yet. Everyone was less apt to be on guard if they thought he was behind the curve rather than in front of it and thus more likely to inadvertently betray their true intentions. There was also the possibility that it was all just paranoia and he didn't want to come off looking like an idiot by groundlessly pointing fingers. So he'd wait, and watch, and see what developed.
After five exceedingly boring minutes Nolan got out of the elevator and immediately understood the story behind Basil's parting smile. The hall he stood in was gray and nearly featureless. Doors of a slightly darker gray lined both sides of the hall at irregular intervals. The corridor he was in stretched on almost interminably in either direction, with other corridors coming off of it seemingly at random. There wasn't a single piece of signage anywhere, not even for the exit. To Nolan it looked decidedly maze-like, which he decided was probably the point. He was reminded of a term he'd once read in a book on functional architecture: passive structural security. As he understood it the basic idea was to design a layout so complex and deliberately counterintuitive that it was virtually impossible for anyone unfamiliar with the layout to navigate it without a map, and even then they were still more than likely to get lost. Nolan made a mental note to give Basil a swift kick in the balls the next time he saw him and turned left down the hall.
A few minutes later, feeling absolutely certain that he'd deviated from Basil's given directions several times, Nolan pushed open an unmarked door and found himself, to his amazement, staring at the back of Bill Tin. Bill was hunched over at the far side of a large, brightly lit room filled with computers and other complex mechanisms that Nolan couldn't begin to name. He had the sleeves of his white, button up shirt rolled all the way up to his biceps. His thinning hair was damp and glistened with sweat. He was muttering angrily under his break and tinkering intently with something on the counter in front of him.
“Hello?” said Nolan.
Bill turned sharply and dropped something on the floor. “Shit! Sorry, just in the middle of making a few calibrations. Welcome back Nolan, I'll be with you in just a sec.”
Nolan walked over to where Bill was working and stepped up to the counter. His eyes widened when he saw what it was Bill was working on. The thing that Nolan had taken for metal bracelet when they'd first met was lying in two halves on the counter and looked to be more of a cuff than a bracelet. The inside of the cuff was lined with tiny wires and sharp, pin like connectors. The pins were tinged with red at their tips. Bill was bent over his right arm, which was laid out on the counter, jabbing something the looked like a television remote with a screwdriver stuck onto the end of it into a thick web of cables and small hydraulics emerging from the flesh of his wrist.
“There,” Bill said finally,” that ought to do it.”
Bill lifted his arm and twiddled the fingers of his metal hand in the air before his face. The digits flexed smoothly on steel hinges, controlled by hydraulic pistons that ran through the insides of the knuckles. The palm and the back of the hand were comprised of a series of interlocking plates that met and separated as the it moved. Through the gaps in the plates Nolan could see a faint blueish light that pulsed rhythmically. Wires and tubes snaked from inside the hand and disappeared beneath skin of his wrist. Bill picked up the metal cuff and clamped it over his wrist with a wince.
“It's something isn't it?” said Bill with a grin. “Made it myself when I lost my hand. And in case you're wondering, I assure you the irony of someone with my name having a metal hand is not lost on me.”
Nolan laughed. “It honestly hadn't occurred to me.”
“It would have eventually, I'm sure.” Bill cast a glance over Nolan's shoulder. “No Basil?”
“He'll be along I think. He had some business to conduct with Mr. Sound.”
“Just as well then, you and I have some matters to discuss ourselves. Come on over here.”
Bill led Nolan over to the left side of the room. The counter there was covered with piles of unidentifiable parts and components. Bill cleared a space on the counter by shoving several of the piles off to one side and opened the top drawer beneath it. From the drawer he removed two items and set them on the counter. The first was a thin black rectangle with metal pins emerging from all four edges. The second was clearly some kind of firearm, though it was unlike any Nolan had ever encountered. The barrel was a metal cylinder with thickly insulated wires that snaked around it, occasionally disappearing into holes along either side. It was bolted onto a grip that was completely covered in texturized rubber, as was the trigger mechanism. The phrase that immediately sprang to his mind was “steampunk raygun”.
Bill picked up the black rectangle and held out his other hand. “Let me see your phone for a second.”
“You're not going to spit on it are you?”
Bill laughed. “So Basil remembered to put a protection spell on it then? No, no spitting, just a little upgrade.”
Nolan handed his phone over to Bill, who flipped it over and pressed the black square of plastic against the back. The tips of the metal pins curled inward, piercing the hard plastic backing of the phone, and disappeared into its innards. The square of plastic settled down against the back of the phone until it was flush with surface and almost invisible.
“There,” said Bill, handing Nolan's phone back to him. “Now you're hooked into our network. Any information in our database, that you have security clearance for, can be accessed from that phone. You can also communicate directly with the main office or any other agent in the field. Take a look.”
Nolan unlocked the phone and brought up the home screen. At the bottom of the screen, beneath the other icons, was a symbol identical to the one on the card Mr. Sound had given him, a black square with a white circle in the center and a black dot in the center of that. He tentatively tapped the icon. The screen went blank for few seconds and then a list of menu options appeared:
Communications
Database
Voice Memo
Photo Record
Video Record
Beneath the menu there was a large, bright red circle.
“Communications will take you to the directory where you can contact anyone on the network. Database gets you into the database, obviously. Field Reporting will allow you to record audio, photos, or videos and upload them directly your personal database on our server.”
“What's the red button for?”
“Panic Button. If you're in trouble just press that and your phone will send out a distress signal along with your current location.”
“No logins or passwords?” asked Nolan.
“No need. In addition to linking you to our network that device on the back acts as a biometric sensor, keyed to you alone. No one else will be able to access our system through that phone. The icon won't even show up if anyone else is holding it.”
Nolan put the phone to sleep and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. “That's convenient.”
The door at the back of the room opened suddenly and both men looked up to see Isaac filling the doorway. He wore the expression of a man who has suddenly found himself in a situation he was not entirely prepared for.
“Ah,” he said, giving Nolan a confused smile, “there you are! I, uh, Basil called down saying he was worried you might have gotten lost. But here you are, right where you ought to be.”
“Yep, though to be honest I'm as surprised as anyone by that.”
“Well I'll let him know you found your way. Carry on gentlemen.” Isaac ducked quickly back out of the room.
“Moving right along,” Bill picked up the strange firearm and held it up to the light, “we have this guy. The Mark II Ambient Energy Projectile Pistol, standard issue firearm for all field agents.”
“Why do I have the feeling that you're about to dump a whole bunch of science on me?”
“Probably because I am.”
“Wonderful,” said Nolan, trying not roll his eyes.
“Don't worry, you'll like this. It's secret science,” Bill's eyes grew almost comically wide and he twirled the finger of his free hand through the air like a magician about to perform his greatest trick.
Bill flipped a switch on the side of the barrel with his thumb and a metal tube slid out of the back of the gun. The tube was slotted along the sides and Nolan could see a row of small, shiny cylinders lined up end to end inside it. Bill pushed on the end of the tube and a single cylinder popped out into his waiting hand. He handed it to Nolan who turned it over experimentally in his palm. It was actually two cylinders, one being seated snugly into the slightly larger opening of the other. Etched into the side were symbols similar to the one's he had seen on Basil's knife. It also felt like it was vibrating very slightly.
“That's the bullet and this is the clip, which holds twenty rounds.”
“It doesn't look much like a bullet.”
“Which I will now endeavor to explain,” Bill intoned with a scholarly solemnity that was only slightly ruined by his overly excited grin.
“Inside that cylinder is a glass pellet containing a very unique type of energy. I take it Mr. Sound explained the basics of multi-dimensional theory to you?”
“If by that you mean he told me that there are other dimensions then yes.”
“Good enough. Now, in between every dimensions there is a void that is inhabited by something we call Ambient Inter-Dimensional Energy. Very dangerous stuff. Highly volatile, difficult to control, and, in large enough quantities, completely lethal to any living thing, even big nasties like Nyarlathotep out there.”
Nolan looked down at the innocent looking cylinder in his hand and fought back the urge to fling it across the room. Bill saw the look on his face and smiled at him reassuringly.
“Don't worry, the energy in there is safely contained in a glass pellet. Besides, it wouldn't do much to you in its present state anyway. The problem with A.I.E., at least from a practical standpoint, is that it isn't much use on its own. It tends to just dissipate when it isn't contained and you'd have to be completely immersed for it to do any real damage to you. But something very interesting happens when you run an electrical current through it; the A.I.E. follows the flow of current wherever it goes. Incidentally, that's how the Tesla Cannons work. That pink stuff you see flying out of the business end is A.I.D.E riding the flow of the current produced by the gun.”
“The Mark II's bullets work on the same principle, after a fashion. Once the bullet enters the chamber it's given an electrical charge. Then, when the bullet is fired and contacts the target surface, the cylinder compresses, breaking the pellet, and...”
“The A.I.E. follows the electrical current as it transfers into the target.”
“Gold star for the new guy. Precisely. Because of the size of the bullet the energy in a single round isn't lethal to anything bigger than house cat but it will put a grown man out for a couple hours. So long as it's not someone like Isaac, who could probably shrug off one of these without even blinking.”
“Do they fire like regular bullets? I don't see a primer or anything.”
“Nope, no gunpowder. The bullets are fired using an electromagnetic propulsion system in the barrel.”
“Like a rail gun.”
“Is that sciency talk I hear escaping your lips?”
“I pick up the occasional piece of useful knowledge from time to time.”
Nolan handed the “bullet” back to Bill, watched him load it back into the clip, and return the clip to its place in the back of the gun.
“Well, yes it is like a rail gun, sort of. The principle is the same but the power supply in the gun isn't sufficient to propel the bullet at a very high velocity. Effective range is only about 50 meters, anything more than that and there isn't enough force to break the pellet. That's actually one of the nice things about this weapon as opposed to a regular gun; there's a lot less chance of collateral damage, so you don't have to worry quite so much about where your rounds are going.”
“Speaking of which, exactly how careful do I need to be? You said the energy was lethal in a large enough amount. What happens if I hit the same target with multiple rounds?”
“You mean could you kill someone with this weapon? In theory yes, but you'd have to hit them several times in very rapid succession, and your shots would have to hit close to some kind of vital spot, like a heart or brain. I designed this as more of a defensive weapon, something to keep an agent in the field safe should they run into trouble. When we want to kill things we send in the big guns.”
“You designed this?”
“Yessir. That is my contribution to the Tin family legacy of creating new and interesting ways to kick the crap out of bad things.”
“Any particular reason you waited until now to give this to me? I've been running around 'in the field' all day. Sure Basil was there and all, but still...”
“Because Mr. Sound doesn't like giving new agents weapons and such until he's sure they aren't going to rabbit on us,” said Basil from the doorway. He was alone and looking even less positive about life than he had before.
“You thought I was going to run off on you?”
“There's really no way to be sure how someone will react to the job until you put them out there. Since you made it through the day without completely losing your mind I'd say we're in good shape.”
Bill handed Nolan the gun. Nolan hefted it in his hand as he sighted it at the far side of the room. It was heavier and more solid feeling than he had expected.
“Gah,” Basil drew his face in a mask of disgust, “will you put that thing away?”
“Hard to believe you have such a problem with guns.”
“Anyone who doesn't, in my opinion, has a screw loose somewhere. I understand their purpose and I accept their necessity in our work but I don't have to like it.”
“Hold on a sec,” said Bill. “I've got a shoulder holster for that around here somewhere... ah, here we are.”
Bill opened the bottom drawer under the counter and pulled out a contraption of black straps and buckles with a tooled leather holster dangling from it. Nolan took off his jacket and, after a few minutes acquainting himself with it, managed to get it situated with little need for adjustment. He slipped the pistol into it's holster and looked down at himself.
“I feel like Buck Rogers.”
“I was going to say Rick Deckard.”
“Which I will happily take as a compliment.”
“So you should.”
Bill waved Nolan and Basil over to one of the computer consoles. “I like banter as much as the next guy, but seeing as how I'd like to get out of here sometime tonight, what do you say we get down to business fellas?”
“Actually you can save all that for tomorrow,” said Basil.
“What's tomorrow?” said Bill.
“Mr. Sound has already reviewed the initial lab results and, taking into account the report I just gave him, has decided to pull us all in for a strategy meeting in the morning, 9:00 sharp.”
“Just as well. Lab work isn't telling us much right now that we haven't already figured out.”
“I figured as much. Nolan? Since you are sans vehicle at the moment Mr. Sound said you can go ahead and grab a car from the garage, take whatever one turns you on, keys are in the glove box.”
Basil turned back to the door and started walking. “Head on home boys, get some rest, 'cause tomorrow promises to be yet another exciting day in Crazy Town.”
Chapter 21 - I Dreamt of Glass Dolls Shattered
Dimes was in her car. The street she'd parked on was mostly empty, no pedestrians, and only the occasional vehicle passing through on its way to somewhere else. That was good. She didn't like being out very much anymore, especially where there were people. People had started make her feel nervous and exposed as her grip on reality continued to loosen, certain kinds of people in particular. But she had needed to come out, there was work to be done. Now there she was, Dimes Kibuya, out in the open, sitting in her two door hunk of Japanese plastic, eating her dinner: General Tso's Chicken, from the hygienically questionable Chinese restaurant across the street. If she tried really hard she could almost pretend that it was a normal evening on a normal day in a normal life, like the one she'd been living before everything had gone sideways, that wonderfully boring life where she was sane and generally happy and wasn't afraid to go outside.
On the seat next to her, underneath the bag that her surprisingly edible meal had come in, was the map. Or maybe The Map. It was like no map she had ever seen before, perhaps like no map that had ever existed in the history of maps. It was composed entirely of names. Every inch of it. They crowded each other, pressing so close that they barely retained legibility. The names varied in size and shape, some snaking along in sharp curves or turning in on themselves in spirals, other formed carefully angled boxes containing still other names. They were written in pencil and ink, in every color she'd been able to find in her home. Each was written in the same painfully perfect hand so that each was perfectly readable despite the calligraphic chaos it languished in. After three solid hours of writing she had burned through every writing utensil in her house and was finally forced to venture forth in search of more. The fruits of that search now rested in a plastic bag in the passenger's foot well.
Once out in the world, her strange writing trance temporarily broken, she felt the gnawing ache of hunger settle into her stomach. Exiting the office supply store she'd seen a hanging sign further up the block that read “The Smiling Dragon, Authentic Chinese Cuisine” and the sharp, rich smell of that cuisine sent a rolling cramp through her belly that made it clear further delays would not be tolerated. “Authentic” turned out to be a bit of an exaggeration, as it so often was, but it was food and it turned out to be surprisingly good. Now, still hungrily shoveling food into her mouth, but with the sharp edge of her hunger slightly blunted, her eyes began to find their way back to her map.
It was Inlet City, she was sure of that much, though it bore no resemblance to any actual map of the city Dimes had ever seen, even taking into account that it was composed only of words. She had no doubt that anyone else would have found it impossible to decipher but to her eyes everything was perfectly clear, the general layout of the city seeming to rise up out of the mass of letters like an optical illusion. There were a few locations she recognized, their names small and black over their corresponding cartographical location, but most she couldn't place. The unfamiliar names felt old, like ancient words from dead languages. She couldn't read them but she felt a sense of what they represented; hazy, half formed concepts, like a word that has no literal translation in one's native tongue, or one meant to represent a complex belief with no cultural parallel to the reader. And mixed in with all the others were tiny names, each in red ink, written so small that they would be easily missed if not for their color. They faced every direction so that one would have to turn the map to read them. She had known from the moment the first one was written that they were people. What people and why they were assigned those particular locations was still a mystery but that was definitely what they were.
Dimes carefully eased another chopstick full of food to her lips, her aching fingers trembling slightly, as her eyes crawled over the sea of names to the same point they kept drifting back to, the first name she had written. It sat near the upper left corner, close to the harbor and the nearby warehouse district, etched in hard, red lines into the paper, almost glaring at her. “Gang”. The owner of that name wasn't there now, though how she knew that was as much a mystery as the map itself, but she felt confident that said individual would be soon, and that she would know when the time came. The name seemed to grow larger, as if her eyes were zooming in like camera lens, as she stared at it. Fear and exhilaration struggled for dominance over her emotions. She had no idea what she was going to find when she went there. She had asked for help and could only assume that help was what awaited her. And if it wasn't? What else was she to do? Time was growing short. Things were continuing to happen inside her head and control was becoming harder to maintain. Worst of all it seemed to be accelerating exponentially. The worse it became the faster it worsened. It was bad enough when she was alone in her apartment. Out here she had to grapple with the paranoia as well, because out here there were people, and people seemed to make it worse. Especially... she pushed the thought away, afraid of the road such contemplations would inevitably lead her down, and concentrated on her dinner. She lifted another pinch of food, a limp clump of broccoli dripping thick strings of brownish read sauce, raised it to her mouth, and froze.
The devil himself could not have conjured a more perfect temptation. She was crossing the street less than half a block away, appearing there as if summoned up from nothing by the power of Dimes' errant thoughts, the very thing she had dreaded encountering from the moment she'd stepped out her door. She could not have been more than 8 years old, probably younger. Her long, red hair was drawn back in a pair of tightly braided pigtails that bounced leisurely as she walked. She wore a pale yellow cotton sundress and white sneakers with pink roses stitched on the sides. She was smiling, carefree, and as perfectly innocent as any human in the world could ever hope to be, or at least that's how Dimes saw her. The piece of broccoli slipped from her chopsticks and splashed into the pool of congealing sauce beneath it, throwing tiny drops of sauce onto the front of Dimes' white tank top. The chopsticks followed shortly thereafter, sending more brownish red drops flying onto her shirt, leaving stains she'd never be able to wash out. Miraculously she somehow managed to lay the plastic container with her forgotten meal on the passenger seat, narrowly avoiding, through no effort on her part, spilling more of the sauce on her nearly completed map.
As the feeling of madness encroached on her mind so to did the urges like the one she was feeling. She liked women, had liked them since she was a teenager, but these feelings were something new. At first it had been little things, brief flashes, stray thoughts, easily dismissed. Now such girls held a fascination for her the she was no longer capable of denying. The things that her fevered mind conjured about them, things she would never have imagined herself capable of thinking, were simultaneously appalling and arousing, even those which were not inherently sexual. She wanted to touch them, to taste them, to feel them against her, to bask in the heat of their pristine flesh, and these were the most tame by comparison. Beneath those lurked far more terrible desires. She wanted to cut and tear, to peel and bleed, to spoil their perfect beauty with agonizing slowness. It was not, in her mind, evil or vindictive. There was no malice in her desire. She just wanted to bathe in the destruction of their innocence. It disgusted her even as the thoughts spun unbidden through her mind and, worst of all, that disgust seemed to make the thoughts even more enticing, as if her own debasement were part of the thrill.
A voice, the same voice every time, spoke to her, sounding disturbingly as if it were whispering into her ear. You could do it. She would come with you. You can be so charming when you want to be. Imagine the way her skin would feel beneath your fingers. Imagine the smell of her sweat, drenched with fear as she realizes what is happening to her, her eyes wide and pleading. Imagine her blood on your tongue. Imagine...
Dimes watched the girl cross the street with predatory eyes. Her fingers drumming unconsciously on her thigh, tapping out a Morse code of barely restrained longing. Her nipple swelled and ached. She felt heat and an all too pleasant dampness blossom between her legs. The thing in her head came alive like a rabid animal and she felt her left hand slip slowly towards the driver's side door. There was a moment, an absolutely unbearable moment when she thought it was finally over, that all sense and reason had left her, as she felt her fingers curl around the cool metal of the door's handle and tighten.
If you open that door it's all over, the barely audible voice of reason inside her mind said in a calm, hostage negotiator's whisper. You won't be able to stop it. No one will be able to help you. Once you cross that line there will be no coming back. You will be gone.
Slowly her fingers relaxed and slipped off the handle. Her eyelids felt pinned back, clamped open, but she managed to close them. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel painfully as she forced herself not to look until she was absolutely certain the girl had passed. Her jaw popped loudly as she pressed her teeth together until she felt sure they would shatter. After several minutes Dimes carefully opened her blurry eyes. For a moment she was certain she would see the girl coming towards her, sparkling green eyes (of course they would be green) meeting hers and banishing her tenuous self control. Tears of relief spilled down Dimes' cheeks as she looked out on the empty sidewalk.
Dimes sat for several minutes taking slow, steady breathes to calm herself. She looked over at her partially finished dinner and felt her stomach roll sickly. Apparently that meal was destined for the garbage. It was going to be some time before she was hungry again. She was about to pop the plastic top back on the container and shove it into it's bag but stopped. She fished around in the bottom of the paper bag and pulled out a fortune cookie sealed a clear plastic wrapper.
She'd received her first fortune cookie from her father. He'd come home one night after a dinner with some co-workers and handed it to her with a smile. When she asked what it was he knelt down and carefully explained the concept and history behind the fortune cookie to his fascinated daughter. When she asked why he'd given his fortune cookie to her he just shrugged and said he was sure the fortune inside it was not meant for him. The fortune inside had read: “Heeding the wisdom of an elder will bring you good fortune.” From that day on she had never failed to open any fortune cookie she was given.
Dimes removed the fortune cookie from the wrapper and cracked it open. The narrow paper strip unfurled as she pulled the two halves apart and tossed them back into the paper bag. Holding the paper between her fingers she read the words and a chill rippled through her body.
“Your charm has inspired a secret admirer.”
She turned the paper over. On the back, across the top, the paper exclaimed “Learn Chinese!” and beneath that, in tiny read letters, it said: “来, lái - 'Come'”.
On the seat next to her, underneath the bag that her surprisingly edible meal had come in, was the map. Or maybe The Map. It was like no map she had ever seen before, perhaps like no map that had ever existed in the history of maps. It was composed entirely of names. Every inch of it. They crowded each other, pressing so close that they barely retained legibility. The names varied in size and shape, some snaking along in sharp curves or turning in on themselves in spirals, other formed carefully angled boxes containing still other names. They were written in pencil and ink, in every color she'd been able to find in her home. Each was written in the same painfully perfect hand so that each was perfectly readable despite the calligraphic chaos it languished in. After three solid hours of writing she had burned through every writing utensil in her house and was finally forced to venture forth in search of more. The fruits of that search now rested in a plastic bag in the passenger's foot well.
Once out in the world, her strange writing trance temporarily broken, she felt the gnawing ache of hunger settle into her stomach. Exiting the office supply store she'd seen a hanging sign further up the block that read “The Smiling Dragon, Authentic Chinese Cuisine” and the sharp, rich smell of that cuisine sent a rolling cramp through her belly that made it clear further delays would not be tolerated. “Authentic” turned out to be a bit of an exaggeration, as it so often was, but it was food and it turned out to be surprisingly good. Now, still hungrily shoveling food into her mouth, but with the sharp edge of her hunger slightly blunted, her eyes began to find their way back to her map.
It was Inlet City, she was sure of that much, though it bore no resemblance to any actual map of the city Dimes had ever seen, even taking into account that it was composed only of words. She had no doubt that anyone else would have found it impossible to decipher but to her eyes everything was perfectly clear, the general layout of the city seeming to rise up out of the mass of letters like an optical illusion. There were a few locations she recognized, their names small and black over their corresponding cartographical location, but most she couldn't place. The unfamiliar names felt old, like ancient words from dead languages. She couldn't read them but she felt a sense of what they represented; hazy, half formed concepts, like a word that has no literal translation in one's native tongue, or one meant to represent a complex belief with no cultural parallel to the reader. And mixed in with all the others were tiny names, each in red ink, written so small that they would be easily missed if not for their color. They faced every direction so that one would have to turn the map to read them. She had known from the moment the first one was written that they were people. What people and why they were assigned those particular locations was still a mystery but that was definitely what they were.
Dimes carefully eased another chopstick full of food to her lips, her aching fingers trembling slightly, as her eyes crawled over the sea of names to the same point they kept drifting back to, the first name she had written. It sat near the upper left corner, close to the harbor and the nearby warehouse district, etched in hard, red lines into the paper, almost glaring at her. “Gang”. The owner of that name wasn't there now, though how she knew that was as much a mystery as the map itself, but she felt confident that said individual would be soon, and that she would know when the time came. The name seemed to grow larger, as if her eyes were zooming in like camera lens, as she stared at it. Fear and exhilaration struggled for dominance over her emotions. She had no idea what she was going to find when she went there. She had asked for help and could only assume that help was what awaited her. And if it wasn't? What else was she to do? Time was growing short. Things were continuing to happen inside her head and control was becoming harder to maintain. Worst of all it seemed to be accelerating exponentially. The worse it became the faster it worsened. It was bad enough when she was alone in her apartment. Out here she had to grapple with the paranoia as well, because out here there were people, and people seemed to make it worse. Especially... she pushed the thought away, afraid of the road such contemplations would inevitably lead her down, and concentrated on her dinner. She lifted another pinch of food, a limp clump of broccoli dripping thick strings of brownish read sauce, raised it to her mouth, and froze.
The devil himself could not have conjured a more perfect temptation. She was crossing the street less than half a block away, appearing there as if summoned up from nothing by the power of Dimes' errant thoughts, the very thing she had dreaded encountering from the moment she'd stepped out her door. She could not have been more than 8 years old, probably younger. Her long, red hair was drawn back in a pair of tightly braided pigtails that bounced leisurely as she walked. She wore a pale yellow cotton sundress and white sneakers with pink roses stitched on the sides. She was smiling, carefree, and as perfectly innocent as any human in the world could ever hope to be, or at least that's how Dimes saw her. The piece of broccoli slipped from her chopsticks and splashed into the pool of congealing sauce beneath it, throwing tiny drops of sauce onto the front of Dimes' white tank top. The chopsticks followed shortly thereafter, sending more brownish red drops flying onto her shirt, leaving stains she'd never be able to wash out. Miraculously she somehow managed to lay the plastic container with her forgotten meal on the passenger seat, narrowly avoiding, through no effort on her part, spilling more of the sauce on her nearly completed map.
As the feeling of madness encroached on her mind so to did the urges like the one she was feeling. She liked women, had liked them since she was a teenager, but these feelings were something new. At first it had been little things, brief flashes, stray thoughts, easily dismissed. Now such girls held a fascination for her the she was no longer capable of denying. The things that her fevered mind conjured about them, things she would never have imagined herself capable of thinking, were simultaneously appalling and arousing, even those which were not inherently sexual. She wanted to touch them, to taste them, to feel them against her, to bask in the heat of their pristine flesh, and these were the most tame by comparison. Beneath those lurked far more terrible desires. She wanted to cut and tear, to peel and bleed, to spoil their perfect beauty with agonizing slowness. It was not, in her mind, evil or vindictive. There was no malice in her desire. She just wanted to bathe in the destruction of their innocence. It disgusted her even as the thoughts spun unbidden through her mind and, worst of all, that disgust seemed to make the thoughts even more enticing, as if her own debasement were part of the thrill.
A voice, the same voice every time, spoke to her, sounding disturbingly as if it were whispering into her ear. You could do it. She would come with you. You can be so charming when you want to be. Imagine the way her skin would feel beneath your fingers. Imagine the smell of her sweat, drenched with fear as she realizes what is happening to her, her eyes wide and pleading. Imagine her blood on your tongue. Imagine...
Dimes watched the girl cross the street with predatory eyes. Her fingers drumming unconsciously on her thigh, tapping out a Morse code of barely restrained longing. Her nipple swelled and ached. She felt heat and an all too pleasant dampness blossom between her legs. The thing in her head came alive like a rabid animal and she felt her left hand slip slowly towards the driver's side door. There was a moment, an absolutely unbearable moment when she thought it was finally over, that all sense and reason had left her, as she felt her fingers curl around the cool metal of the door's handle and tighten.
If you open that door it's all over, the barely audible voice of reason inside her mind said in a calm, hostage negotiator's whisper. You won't be able to stop it. No one will be able to help you. Once you cross that line there will be no coming back. You will be gone.
Slowly her fingers relaxed and slipped off the handle. Her eyelids felt pinned back, clamped open, but she managed to close them. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel painfully as she forced herself not to look until she was absolutely certain the girl had passed. Her jaw popped loudly as she pressed her teeth together until she felt sure they would shatter. After several minutes Dimes carefully opened her blurry eyes. For a moment she was certain she would see the girl coming towards her, sparkling green eyes (of course they would be green) meeting hers and banishing her tenuous self control. Tears of relief spilled down Dimes' cheeks as she looked out on the empty sidewalk.
Dimes sat for several minutes taking slow, steady breathes to calm herself. She looked over at her partially finished dinner and felt her stomach roll sickly. Apparently that meal was destined for the garbage. It was going to be some time before she was hungry again. She was about to pop the plastic top back on the container and shove it into it's bag but stopped. She fished around in the bottom of the paper bag and pulled out a fortune cookie sealed a clear plastic wrapper.
She'd received her first fortune cookie from her father. He'd come home one night after a dinner with some co-workers and handed it to her with a smile. When she asked what it was he knelt down and carefully explained the concept and history behind the fortune cookie to his fascinated daughter. When she asked why he'd given his fortune cookie to her he just shrugged and said he was sure the fortune inside it was not meant for him. The fortune inside had read: “Heeding the wisdom of an elder will bring you good fortune.” From that day on she had never failed to open any fortune cookie she was given.
Dimes removed the fortune cookie from the wrapper and cracked it open. The narrow paper strip unfurled as she pulled the two halves apart and tossed them back into the paper bag. Holding the paper between her fingers she read the words and a chill rippled through her body.
“Your charm has inspired a secret admirer.”
She turned the paper over. On the back, across the top, the paper exclaimed “Learn Chinese!” and beneath that, in tiny read letters, it said: “来, lái - 'Come'”.
Chapter 20 - The Detective, The Slave, and The Neophyte
The woman standing at the end of the alley, for Nolan could tell quite clearly by her silhouette that she was female, made no move to approach them and remained silent after her initial statement. He had the impression that she was smiling at them, though he wasn't sure why since he couldn't see her face. Basil remained still, staring straight ahead, positively vibrating with tension.
Constance looked into Basil's eyes as he stared her down and what she saw there made her immediately question the wisdom of her current course of action. His face was impassive, except for a slight twitch in his jaw, most likely because he was grinding his teeth, but his irises vibrated in a continuous, liquid dance that reminded her of a wildly fluctuating oscilloscope wave. The last time she'd seen them do that had been the last time they'd seen each other. She had hoped enough time had passed that he might be at least slightly more tolerant of her presence. It was a hope that grew fainter by the second. Too late now, she thought. I'm here so I'll just have to give it my best shot.
Basil had never been one to enjoy tight or revealing clothing on women. It all seemed far too obvious and pathetic. For him it was much more attractive to see a woman dressed in clothes that hardly revealed anything, clothes that only hinted at what they might be covering. So it didn't surprise him at all to see that Constance had adopted exactly that sort of look. Well fitting jeans, not too tight, but tight enough to show off her legs and the curve of her hips, along with a simple gray t-shirt that fell loosely over the vaguely suggested swell of her breasts. She was trying to get to him, to put him off his guard, which could only mean that she wanted something. It wasn't hard to figure out what that something might be.
“Who's that?” asked Nolan.
“Trouble,” replied Basil.
Constance walked slowly down the alley and, as she drew closer, Nolan couldn't help noticing how pretty she was, beautiful even. Her eyes, a dark brown that was almost black, were especially difficult to ignore. “Hello Basil,” she said through smiling lips.
“Constance Theone.” Basil replied, his strange accent drawing out the vowels, making her name sound like “Coonstaance Theeoone”. Constance' smile faltered. She hated hearing her full name spoken aloud and he knew it. That name had been given to her by her masters. It bound her to them, replacing her given name, so much so that she could no longer remember it. Basil was one of the few people in the world who knew her full name and speaking it that way, particularly in front of someone else, a stranger no less, was about as a cruel a thing as he could have done. Her eyes darted to Nolan for a moment, noting that he didn't appear to understand what had just happened. New guy, she thought.
“That's not very nice.”
“Cry me a river.”
Nolan watched the two of them, trying to figure out the situation. Ex, he thought. Has to be. It was written all over their tones of voice, full of unspoken whatevers, and their postures, chock full of multiple kinds of tension. She was an “ex” and it was pretty clear that their parting had not been pleasant. If he'd had to guess Nolan would have said, based on Basil's obvious anger, that she had probably done the leaving.
Despite his anger at seeing her Basil felt oddly calm. True a small part of him wanted to send her flying back the way she'd come (not that he ever would have, angry or not) but it wasn't the sort of overwhelming agitation that he would have expected. He even sort of regretted using her name the way he had... a little.
“How'd you find me?” said Basil.
“Isaac said you were in charge of this case and I figured your next move would be information gathering. Wasn't hard to guess who you'd go calling on, given the circumstances. I was hoping to pick up your trail from here but I didn't figure I'd catch up with you so soon. I must have just missed you at the scene.”
A smile flitted briefly across Constance' lips like the trailing edge of an amusing thought. Nolan wasn't sure if Basil had noticed it but he certainly had. Mostly because he couldn't seem to stop watching her lips whenever she was speaking.
“And what do you know about the 'circumstances' of all this?”
“That it's bad. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't. The Masters don't get involved with things in this world unless it could potentially affect them. And given the energy that guy was giving off...”
“Wait a minute,” Basil interrupted. “What guy?”
Constance' smile returned. “That's right, I'm pretty sure I saw you're guy leaving that apartment building earlier today, just before Isaac and his boys arrived.”
Basil hands curled into painfully tight fists. “He was there the whole time.”
“He must have been hiding from you. Friend of yours?”
“It's Gang.”
Constance' smile vanished. “There's no way the person I saw was Gang. I was too far away to get a good look at him but I know what I felt. He never had that kind of power. Besides, I seem to recall hearing that he died.”
Nolan struggled to keep up with conversation. As usual no one was bothering to clue him in on any of the things he wouldn't have already known about. It was extremely frustrating. It was also, apparently, something he was going to have to get used to. The worst part was that he didn't have anything to contribute, or even do, except stand there trying not to stare at the beautiful woman in front of him who wouldn't stop being so beautiful.
“Trust me, it's him. We're still not sure exactly what he's planning but, like you said, it can't be good, and I think it's safe to say his usual end game hasn't changed.”
“Basil, you didn't see him. If that really was Gang then this is way beyond anything he's attempted before.”
“I know.”
The three of them stood in silence. Basil staring at the ground, waiting for what he knew was coming next. Constance eyeing Basil cautiously, preparing for the fight she was certainly about to get into with him. Nolan looking from one to the other, wondering if anyone was going to bother explaining anything to him any time soon.
“I can help,” Constance said quietly.
“No.”
“You know I can. You said it yourself, he was right there and you didn't even know it. If I'd been with you I could have...”
“No.”
Constance gave Basil her best bewildered look, complete with exaggerated eye roll. He'd hated it when they were together and he hated it even more now. “You are such a goddam baby.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your really going to let your personal feelings stop you from accepting my help?”
“No, I'm going to let the fact that I don't want you getting in my way while I'm trying to work stop me from accepting your help.”
“Go to hell. Don't you dare stand there and pretend like I'm not capable, because you know I am. You've got a job to do. I've got a job to do. And it's the same damn job. So stop acting like pouty teenager.”
“The only thing you're capable of is...!” pissing me off were the words Basil was going to say when he suddenly felt Nolan's hand on his shoulder.
“I know I don't have the slightest idea what's going on here but if things are as bad as you both seem to think they are then maybe we need all the help we can get. Can it really hurt to let her help?” Nolan wasn't sure why he was saying it, for all he knew Basil was right and she really would just get in the way, but she didn't strike him as a “get in the way” kind of woman. The look on Basil's face told him he was probably right. The idea that the motives behind his suggestion were anything less than professional genuinely never occurred to him.
“Looks like you finally found a partner with some brains in his head,” said Constance, giving Nolan a smile that made him feel several different kinds of uncomfortable.
Basil waved his hands at the both of them in exasperation. “Fuck it! Fine. Just get in the damn car.”
Constance turned with what Nolan suspected was a deliberately snotty flip of her hair and walked towards the car. As Nolan started to follow suit Basil turned quickly and jabbed his finger hard into Nolan's chest, making him wince. “Do yourself a favor, do not let her get to you.”
Nolan was about to ask what he meant exactly but Basil tromped off down the alley before he had a chance.
Constance was already in the car and Basil was standing in front of the driver's side, watching Nolan across the roof as he caught up. It was hard for him to tell for sure but Nolan had the distinct impression that Basil wasn't nearly as mad about his intervention as he should have been. He was still having trouble reading his partners expressions, such as they were, but he thought he could see the faintest hint of gratitude in Basil's eyes.
“Might as well head back,” said Basil. “Hopefully Bill's team has finished up by now and they'll have some more for us to go on. Besides, I'm going to have to convince Mr. Sound to let little-miss-pain-in-the-ass come on board. So, y'know, 'fun'.”
In the back Constance waved an enthusiastic middle finger at Basil through her window.
Constance looked into Basil's eyes as he stared her down and what she saw there made her immediately question the wisdom of her current course of action. His face was impassive, except for a slight twitch in his jaw, most likely because he was grinding his teeth, but his irises vibrated in a continuous, liquid dance that reminded her of a wildly fluctuating oscilloscope wave. The last time she'd seen them do that had been the last time they'd seen each other. She had hoped enough time had passed that he might be at least slightly more tolerant of her presence. It was a hope that grew fainter by the second. Too late now, she thought. I'm here so I'll just have to give it my best shot.
Basil had never been one to enjoy tight or revealing clothing on women. It all seemed far too obvious and pathetic. For him it was much more attractive to see a woman dressed in clothes that hardly revealed anything, clothes that only hinted at what they might be covering. So it didn't surprise him at all to see that Constance had adopted exactly that sort of look. Well fitting jeans, not too tight, but tight enough to show off her legs and the curve of her hips, along with a simple gray t-shirt that fell loosely over the vaguely suggested swell of her breasts. She was trying to get to him, to put him off his guard, which could only mean that she wanted something. It wasn't hard to figure out what that something might be.
“Who's that?” asked Nolan.
“Trouble,” replied Basil.
Constance walked slowly down the alley and, as she drew closer, Nolan couldn't help noticing how pretty she was, beautiful even. Her eyes, a dark brown that was almost black, were especially difficult to ignore. “Hello Basil,” she said through smiling lips.
“Constance Theone.” Basil replied, his strange accent drawing out the vowels, making her name sound like “Coonstaance Theeoone”. Constance' smile faltered. She hated hearing her full name spoken aloud and he knew it. That name had been given to her by her masters. It bound her to them, replacing her given name, so much so that she could no longer remember it. Basil was one of the few people in the world who knew her full name and speaking it that way, particularly in front of someone else, a stranger no less, was about as a cruel a thing as he could have done. Her eyes darted to Nolan for a moment, noting that he didn't appear to understand what had just happened. New guy, she thought.
“That's not very nice.”
“Cry me a river.”
Nolan watched the two of them, trying to figure out the situation. Ex, he thought. Has to be. It was written all over their tones of voice, full of unspoken whatevers, and their postures, chock full of multiple kinds of tension. She was an “ex” and it was pretty clear that their parting had not been pleasant. If he'd had to guess Nolan would have said, based on Basil's obvious anger, that she had probably done the leaving.
Despite his anger at seeing her Basil felt oddly calm. True a small part of him wanted to send her flying back the way she'd come (not that he ever would have, angry or not) but it wasn't the sort of overwhelming agitation that he would have expected. He even sort of regretted using her name the way he had... a little.
“How'd you find me?” said Basil.
“Isaac said you were in charge of this case and I figured your next move would be information gathering. Wasn't hard to guess who you'd go calling on, given the circumstances. I was hoping to pick up your trail from here but I didn't figure I'd catch up with you so soon. I must have just missed you at the scene.”
A smile flitted briefly across Constance' lips like the trailing edge of an amusing thought. Nolan wasn't sure if Basil had noticed it but he certainly had. Mostly because he couldn't seem to stop watching her lips whenever she was speaking.
“And what do you know about the 'circumstances' of all this?”
“That it's bad. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't. The Masters don't get involved with things in this world unless it could potentially affect them. And given the energy that guy was giving off...”
“Wait a minute,” Basil interrupted. “What guy?”
Constance' smile returned. “That's right, I'm pretty sure I saw you're guy leaving that apartment building earlier today, just before Isaac and his boys arrived.”
Basil hands curled into painfully tight fists. “He was there the whole time.”
“He must have been hiding from you. Friend of yours?”
“It's Gang.”
Constance' smile vanished. “There's no way the person I saw was Gang. I was too far away to get a good look at him but I know what I felt. He never had that kind of power. Besides, I seem to recall hearing that he died.”
Nolan struggled to keep up with conversation. As usual no one was bothering to clue him in on any of the things he wouldn't have already known about. It was extremely frustrating. It was also, apparently, something he was going to have to get used to. The worst part was that he didn't have anything to contribute, or even do, except stand there trying not to stare at the beautiful woman in front of him who wouldn't stop being so beautiful.
“Trust me, it's him. We're still not sure exactly what he's planning but, like you said, it can't be good, and I think it's safe to say his usual end game hasn't changed.”
“Basil, you didn't see him. If that really was Gang then this is way beyond anything he's attempted before.”
“I know.”
The three of them stood in silence. Basil staring at the ground, waiting for what he knew was coming next. Constance eyeing Basil cautiously, preparing for the fight she was certainly about to get into with him. Nolan looking from one to the other, wondering if anyone was going to bother explaining anything to him any time soon.
“I can help,” Constance said quietly.
“No.”
“You know I can. You said it yourself, he was right there and you didn't even know it. If I'd been with you I could have...”
“No.”
Constance gave Basil her best bewildered look, complete with exaggerated eye roll. He'd hated it when they were together and he hated it even more now. “You are such a goddam baby.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your really going to let your personal feelings stop you from accepting my help?”
“No, I'm going to let the fact that I don't want you getting in my way while I'm trying to work stop me from accepting your help.”
“Go to hell. Don't you dare stand there and pretend like I'm not capable, because you know I am. You've got a job to do. I've got a job to do. And it's the same damn job. So stop acting like pouty teenager.”
“The only thing you're capable of is...!” pissing me off were the words Basil was going to say when he suddenly felt Nolan's hand on his shoulder.
“I know I don't have the slightest idea what's going on here but if things are as bad as you both seem to think they are then maybe we need all the help we can get. Can it really hurt to let her help?” Nolan wasn't sure why he was saying it, for all he knew Basil was right and she really would just get in the way, but she didn't strike him as a “get in the way” kind of woman. The look on Basil's face told him he was probably right. The idea that the motives behind his suggestion were anything less than professional genuinely never occurred to him.
“Looks like you finally found a partner with some brains in his head,” said Constance, giving Nolan a smile that made him feel several different kinds of uncomfortable.
Basil waved his hands at the both of them in exasperation. “Fuck it! Fine. Just get in the damn car.”
Constance turned with what Nolan suspected was a deliberately snotty flip of her hair and walked towards the car. As Nolan started to follow suit Basil turned quickly and jabbed his finger hard into Nolan's chest, making him wince. “Do yourself a favor, do not let her get to you.”
Nolan was about to ask what he meant exactly but Basil tromped off down the alley before he had a chance.
Constance was already in the car and Basil was standing in front of the driver's side, watching Nolan across the roof as he caught up. It was hard for him to tell for sure but Nolan had the distinct impression that Basil wasn't nearly as mad about his intervention as he should have been. He was still having trouble reading his partners expressions, such as they were, but he thought he could see the faintest hint of gratitude in Basil's eyes.
“Might as well head back,” said Basil. “Hopefully Bill's team has finished up by now and they'll have some more for us to go on. Besides, I'm going to have to convince Mr. Sound to let little-miss-pain-in-the-ass come on board. So, y'know, 'fun'.”
In the back Constance waved an enthusiastic middle finger at Basil through her window.
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