You are Wesley Keki, gyaru beguiler and mesugaki master.
"Ohayoooooooooooo gozaimasu!"
Rose, an overcast midmorning Akiba Crossing her backdrop, salutes with the back of her hand as the camera zooms from an extreme longshot to an extreme closeup with whiplash-inducing speed. Her name in English appears on screen at the exact moment her knuckles strike her forehead and it's no coincidence the editors accompany the appearance of her name with the SFX of hyoshigi. Dubiously, the title under her name identifies her as an "English expert."
In Japanese, Rose explains today's game: "Today, I'm going to test people's knowledge of the English language! Here's an example!" Trying to maintain eye contact with the camera, she awkwardly gropes for the easel at her side. The camera pulls back a little to catch her struggle on tape. A brief cut to the panel in the studio shows everyone laughing. At last, though, Rose finds the large cue cards resting on the easel, and takes them in hand. Flipping one over, she reveals a picture of a citrus fruit to the camera, spherical, bumpy, and orange. In English, Rose asks of the viewers: "Can you name this word in English?"
Back to the studio. The panel members glance around at one another. This is a fairly easy word. A few of them mumble "orange...?" with increasing confidence as they find that they all agree -- yes, the English word is orange.
And back again to Rose. "That's right! Tangerine!"
The panel members groan and facepalm.
Rose herself is a member of the panel too and seems perplexed at the negative reaction. "Nani?" She demands politely, almost meekly, several times over.
One of the leading panel members, the gravelly voiced comedian known professionally only by the given name Shouta, who usually shows the most exasperation towards Rose, asks her directly: "Did you select these words?" To which Rose nods and goes "Mm." Which draws a renewed chorus of groaning and oh-no-ing, and a more perplexed, almost pleading series of nanis from Rose, as she turns from side to side and looks questioningly from face to face.
Rose finally looks to her immediate left and asks Makoto: "what's wrong, darling? What did I do?" But even Makoto is unimpressed. She calls Rose an idiot and gives her a playful chop to the noggin, using the same hand she wears her wedding band on.
The main part of the pretaped segment begins, now with a wipe in the bottom left to show the reactions of panel members.
Rose approaches an elderly woman and explains that she's a TV presenter who'd like to test the common person's basic English knowledge. When the woman agrees, Rose shows her a picture of a ball.
"This one?" Rose prompts the woman, in English.
"This one?" The woman asks.
Rose nods.
"Ehh... baseball," the woman says.
"Softball," Rose tells her, apologetic.
The woman shakes her head and walks away, leaving Rose calling "Hey! Come back! That was only one question!"
In the corner-wipe, Makoto is mortified -- Rose is befuddled -- and the rest of the panel is dying.
Rose is with a teenage boy. "This word?" He asks, English thickly accented. "This word... pants."
"Shorts," Rose corrects, indicating the low-cut hem.
Next Rose is with a salaryman. The salaryman clears his throat as he stares at the picture on the cue card and searches his memory. "This word... ahh... ahh... marker."
"Highlighter," Rose tells him. He gives her a look half gobsmacked, half loathing.
Next a young boy, maybe no more than seven or eight, in knee-high socks. Proud at his vocab, he announces: "Goat. Goat. This word? Goat!" To which Rose, hands on knees to speak at his level, sadly responds, "antelope" -- making him begin to cry. The boy's mother says things to Rose the network has to censor.
The segment continues in this vein for several minutes, including a series of words that leave the people on the street totally stumped. The salaryman who guessed marker has no idea what to say when shown a picture of a unicycle; the teenager doesn't even begin to have a guess for zebra; and the little boy, his tears only just beginning to subside, starts to weep anew when he fails to find the word for humidifier -- prompting his mother to scream at Rose, "you will die without burial!"
The segment ends, fittingly, with a woman guessing "doll" at one of the pictures, and Rose telling her "dummy." The shot freezes on Rose's apologetically smiling face. A red-and-yellow arrow pops up with a ding, pointing at the picture of the dummy, and labeled ダミー. A second arrow pops up with another ding, pointing at Rose, and labeled バカ.
It's all in good fun. Back in the studio, the panel's laughter turns to clapping, and Rose repeatedly bows in her chair at the applause. Of course Rose didn't choose any of the words. It was some producer. She's just playing a role -- the dumb foreigner act still sells. So no hard feelings, and warm laughter when Rose asks Makoto to please forgive her. Makoto playfully shuts her eyes and looks away, hands on hips.
The next segment is a news discussion. The panel speculates on what the next era name will be following Hisahito's sudden abdication the previous month. Rose's input is that she doesn't like "Seika" because it sounds too much like psycho; but "Banna" would be nice because it reminds her of both bananas and banners -- two things she adores.
Makoto, flabbergasted, demands: "you love banners? Since when? What kind of banners? Why do you love banners?" -- leaving Rose unable to answer, and yet just as insistent that, "a-durr! I've always loved banners! You know that!" Makoto chops her on the noggin again, prompting Shouta to deadpan "maybe that's the cause of the problem here."
Each of the panel's members brings their own news item for group discussion. An idol in the panel wants to discuss the push to ban non-self-driving vehicles in the country (she favors it, but she's terrified of driving anyway); one of the comedians wants to discuss the surge in counterfeit Yen on the market since it overtook the Euro as the #2 global reserve currency (he pesters the panel to join him in setting up their own counterfeiting operation, and produces a small office printer from under his chair to show that he's got the equipment all taken care of).
It's Shouta who, purposely, dismantles the good mood. These group discussions, like everything else, are predetermined rather than spontaneous. He was supposed to bring up an opinion survey showing that 70% of the Japanese public feels overworked -- that's what everyone on the panel is prepared for next. Instead: "Rose -- is your family doing all right?"
Rose looks around, surprised. "Me?"
"Your politician sister got shot not too long ago -- right? And now this..."
An AP who's in on Shouta's cruel prank cues up some graphic video of Cerise's attempted assassination. This comes followed by an aerial view of the more recent violence at the main campus of Darkbloom Enterprises. "This is the company your family is so closely linked with, right? Privacy Intruders Inc.? It seems a little... on fire."
"I..." Rose has no idea what to say. The rest of the panel is stunned into awkward silence too. Shouta's antagonism towards Rose isn't just for the cameras. He simply doesn't like her, and wants to humiliate her. Everyone here knows it.
Makoto is the first to respond. She stands and takes the office printer from her panel-mate's hands. Chucking it into the side of Shouta's head, knocking him out of his seat, she shouts: "go fuck yourself!" -- in perfectly enunciated English, a phrase she picked up from Arabasuta Soiruoki. Shouta collapses to the floor, curled up, moaning in agony, cursing, and bleeding. The producers are going to have to cut the whole segment out.
---
"Hey. Are you awake?"
Lily's voice on the other end is groggy, but still bitchy. "You making a 8 AM booty call, Wes? I was fucking sleeping. Inconsiderate slut. You want to fuck, call me at a normal hour, like 2 or 3 AM."
Putting Lily on speaker was an unforced error. Amber, exhaling hard, says: "You're fucking Lily now, too? Does your sluttery know no bound?"
You shrug. "Uhh... didn't you know that already?" You tug your hoodie on, swapping the phone between hands. "I was sure you knew that..."
Lily isn't happy to hear Amber's voice. "Echh-- fuckin-- we're not 'fucking', Amber, as in the present tense! We fucked! Past tense! One time! It was a pump and dump!"
Amber grabs the phone, yells straight into the speaker. "Don't you pump and dump my slut sister, you slut!"
Glaring at Amber, you take the phone back from her. "Just come to Shake 'em Up. Come alone. Come armed."
There's a pause. Lily's voice softens. "Shit's going down, huh?"
"Yeah," you agree.
"And what makes you think I want to be any part of the shit presently going down?"
"I got nothing," you admit. "And I won't be mad if you say no. But I could really, really, really... use your help right now."
There's another, longer pause.
"I'm on my way," Lily says.
You pocket your phone and bend down to lace up your shoes.
"You trust that bitch?" Amber says.
You peer up at her from your bent-over position. "More than you, actually."
She sounds hurt. "What the fuck? ...Why?"
"I've only seen one of you reading the Unabomber's manifesto in the past month. Start there."
"Are you saying that the industrial revolution and its consequences haven't been a disaster for the human race?"
You stand straight, stretching. You begin to count off on your fingers, beginning with your thumb: "I'm saying she knows how to fire a gun. Accurately. She's had my back in a life-threatening situation before. We make good teammates. And she's, generally speaking, a rational person."
"Lily."
"Yeah."
"Rational."
"Yes!"
Amber kicks you in the shin. It nearly knocks you down. You kick her back.
Amber stumbles back and hops up and down on one foot, grunting. "Ow-- shit-- fu--" Regaining her balance, rubbing her own shin in pain, she points at you. "If this bitch gets us killed, I am going to beat your ass, Wesley! Not every girl who rubs her pussy on your face is trustworthy, you know!"
"Go cry about it," you tell her. "If you don't like how I do things, you should have gone in alone and let me sleep."
You brush past her and leave your room. Her angry eyes follow you out. "When the fuck did I give you permission to have a spine?" She shouts after you, but you ignore her, and eventually she has to hurry to catch up.
---
The chime above the door at Shake 'em Up announces your entry. Amelia is there to greet you right away. "Amber... Wes! You're up early for a Saturday."
With a ring finger, you rub the boogers of sand from your tear ducts and examine it.
Amelia wipes her hands on her apron -- a sympathetic response? "Summer isn't on the schedule today, if that's who you're after. She's at a football game."
"She's at a handegg game..." Will grumbles, bringing up the rear. He came in a separate car, all the better for the three of you to slip away undetected with him at the wheel.
Amelia smiles at him. "Will -- right?"
Will makes finger guns at her. Amelia doesn't miss a beat before making finger guns back.
"We're just here for breakfast," you tell her.
"Well, it's always nice to have you. Take a seat wherever you like."
You grab a booth in the corner near the back.
"Good thinking on Shake 'em Up," Will says as he settles in beside Amber, across from you. "I'm starting on a new diet, and this place is just perfect."
Your question of "diet?" is lost under the sound of Amber shouting "you're seriously going to eat at a time like this? Are you stupid?" But Will chooses to answer you rather than her: "Yeah. The carb thing wasn't working out. Now I'm on a seafood diet."
You huff. "What -- you see food, and you eat it?"
"What?"
"...What?"
"It's a seafood diet. Like fish and oysters and stuff."
Lily slides into place beside you so quickly and silently that you don't notice until she's responding to Will: "you're dumb enough as it is. You don't need to bioaccumulate mercury as a side hobby."
Amber sneers. "Will might be dumb, but at least he's not a dumb cunt."
Lily stands as if she's ready to leave. You stay her by grabbing her hand and tugging on it limply. She sits.
"You people wanna tell me what I dragged myself out of bed to get shot at about?" She says.
"Instrumentalists are making Darkbloom Enterprises their casa del culto today," Amber tells her. "I want to be there to see what the hell is really going on with these clowns." She waves her pilfered mask to show it off. "Wes and I are on infiltration. Will'll be the wheelman. But we need someone else to keep an eye peeled on the inside periphery... someone who can ring the oh-shit alarm, if needed."
"Why are these cultist freaks meeting at your daddy's company?" Lily asks her.
"That's the trillion dollar question, ain't it?" Amber says.
"Shh--" you hiss as Amelia comes by.
"What'll it be to get you started?" She asks, taking out a notepad.
You wave her off, so does Amber. But Lily wants a deluxe strawberry shake. And Will, glancing up, says: "hey, did you guys change your menu?"
"Not lately," Amelia says. "Do you need help finding anyt--"
"Are you sure? That it's the same. I don't see the fish here."
"We're... we're an ice cream shop," Amelia says.
"Do you have fish?"
"...No."
Will nods. Looks back down at the menu. "Bummer. I thought you had fish..." He looks up again. "Do you have shrimp?"
Amber snatches the menu from him and hands it back to Amelia. "He'll take an iced coffee shake. Extra whipped cream."
"I don't like whipped cream," Will says.
"I do. I'm gonna scoop it off the top."
"Oh, NOW you're all of a sudden like totally in favor of eating while we're here--"
"You still have that cantaloupe shake on special?" Tyrus asks, walking up. All conversation dies.
"Ah -- yes, yes we do..." Amelia says, glancing from him to the rest of you. She only now seems to grasp that something is amiss.
Tyrus winks at her. "I'll take a medium. Thanks."
She scampers off to relay your orders to the kitchen. You and your friends stare madly at the tabletop, mute. Tyrus leans in, slowly settling his weight on on both fists, and says: "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something?"
"Daddy--" Lily begins.
"Don't you daddy me, girl. Scoot your scrawny ass over."
Lily squeezes in tight with you to make room for Tyrus. She's all elbows and bony limbs -- then again, so are you. You jostle with each other, trying to get comfortable, and failing for the close quarters.
"I guess I must just be goddamn crazy," Tyrus says, "but it really feels to me like y'all are planning on going somewhere today. Somewhere y'all ought not to be."
"Did my dad send you?" You ask, pushing Lily's thigh off your leg with a huff. She jabs you in the tit.
"I sent me," he says, patting the breast of his tailored suit. (Snazzy dresser even on a Saturday morning.) "I gotta say -- I'm disappointed in you. Now I expect Amber to start some shit. But I thought a lot better of you, Wesley. You always seemed more... thought-through. You know? But here you go preying on the fact that my little girl's in love with you, all to drag her on some suicide mission--"
Lily blushes deeply. "I-- I'm not-- love? Love? What the-- LOVE? That's, that's... ridiculous..."
Amber snickers.
"I don't want to hear it, Lily, okay?" Tyrus tells her. "You spent long enough crying to Marquis about it, and I had to sit through that. I don't need to sit through the denial phase too. You can work through your conflicted emotions when you're back home in your bedroom again, where you'll be, for the next... oh..." (he peels back his cuff and checks his Rolex) "...12 dozen years."
"He's crazy," Lily tells you in a whispered tone, face only centimeters from your own. "I don't... love you-- I mean..."
"So what's the big plan?" Tyrus says. "Come on. I don't got all day."
There's a palpable silence before Will begins, "uh, I'm the wheelman, and Amber's--" but Amber elbows him in the ribs, eliciting an "oof" and shutting him up.
You lean forward to peer around Lily and demand, "why are these psychos meeting at Darkbloom Enterprises? Tell us that much."
"Not privy," Tyrus says. "I'm on a need to know basis. So are you."
Amelia comes back with your orders. Lily suddenly isn't so interested in her shake anymore, ditto Will and Amber. But Tyrus takes his and thanks Amelia, sipping through the straw. "You should add this to your regular menu. It's the best thing you got."
"Whitney's well aware," Amelia tells him. "She keeps the best items on limited edition so customers are always coming back for the next hot thing. Supply and demand. ...Cantaloupe shakes will be back next year or so, if I had to guess."
"What a goddamn shame. Whitney's too smart for her own good." Tyrus sighs, reclines, and loops his arms over the booth-back. He nods at you all. "Well. Eat up. I'm fixing to get you home before 10. Marquis wants to go to the farmer's mar--"
Suddenly the wall behind you is gone, demolished -- as the front fender of a semi careens through it amid horrific cacophony.
Tyrus is on his feet and drawing a pistol from a holster concealed in his jacket before the rest of the patrons have even found the wherewithal to start shrieking. Then as people go scurrying back and forth in animal panic, Tyrus levels his weapon on the man stepping from the semi's cab. The man is wearing a many-eyed mask -- but his creepy, frail, pale, gangly frame clocks him as Samuel Buridan for sure.
Buridan grabs Tyrus's arm and locks it in place, then punches Tyrus in the nose. Tyrus knees him in the groin, but it doesn't deter him for a moment. He just uses his grip on Tyrus's arm for leverage, to push Tyrus back and propel himself forward -- towards a stunned Amelia.
"You're coming with me," Buridan tells her.
Two of Buridan's companions emerge, stepping over the rubble of wrecked booths and dangling ceiling tiles, appearing from behind a miasma of swirling plaster dust. These men are also masked, and they carry shotguns. Tyrus fires at them. His aim is true. He hits one in the head, killing him instantly. The other he forces back to the cover of the cab's passenger-side door. This gives him time enough to turn and barrel into Burdian, tackling him before Burdian can take Amelia. They roll around on the ground.
"We're going, we're going, we're going," Amber repeats, shooing Will to his feet, and trying to flee. "Come on! Let's go!"
But Lily has other concerns. Shouting "Daddy--!" She pulls her own piece and runs over to where Tyrus and Burdian tussle on the floor. She can't take a safe shot, and seems frozen with indecision.
"Behind you--!" Amelia shouts, and fails to catch Lily's attention. So she runs to Lily and, grabbing her around the shoulders, spins her out of the way of the re-approaching Instrumentalist who's no longer being forced into cover. The report of his shotgun nearly deafens you. But it snaps you out of your daze. You leap from your seat and stomp him in the foot, taking him enough by surprise that Lily can shoot him in the gut. Lily shrieks at what she herself has done as the man falls backward, good as dead, and his shotgun fires one last time into the ceiling above, raining chunks of plaster and fiberglass down on you all like confetti.
Another group of masked thugs enters from the store's main entrance, filing past the rapidly fleeing patrons of Shake 'em Up. They wield rifles and adopt a sort of phalanx formation. Tyrus wrests control of his pistol back from Buridan and shoots him in the chest -- but Buridan is as unfazed as if he'd been sneezed on, and bleeding horribly, he finds his way to his feet.
Amber leaps for him next, latching onto him like a rabid Rhesus, but he punches her in the jaw, knocking her off of him.
He grabs Amelia by the wrist. "Now," he says -- a single, simple command.
Tyrus, bloodied but determined, takes potshots at the newcomers, even as badly outnumbered as he may be. He'll defend his daughter with his life if he has to. But a reinforcement arrives. Gideon Denali shoots through a window, shattering it, and jumps through like a regular goddamn Batman. The Instrumentalists startle. With a carbine of his own, Gideon sprays return fire at the Instrumentalists, downing a couple, and forcing the remaining troupe to retreat. And then, fearless, shoulder to shoulder with Tyrus, he advances on them, and eliminates them one by one.
Buridan meanwhile has Amelia in the front cab of the semi. He tosses her in like a sack of potatoes, and hops into the driver's seat again. As he throws the truck into gear, though, you sneak around the side, climb up onto the little chrome step below the passenger door, and swing it open. You grab Amelia by the arm and haul her back out again just as the semi reverses through the mound of rubble it made.
Buridan slams the brakes so hard they make a pneumatic shriek. Through the dusty windshield, you see him peel back his mask and coldly assess the scene before him: You, Lily, Amber, and Will circling the wagons, guns in hand -- with Gideon and Tyrus bringing up the rear.
Gideon and Buridan lock eyes. They stare at each other for a lingering moment. Tyrus keeps his gun trained on the windshield. But you know that he knows - if Buridan decides to ram the truck into drive and pound the gas pedal, there would be no stopping him from turning you all into pancakes.
Instead, Buridan continues to reverse, and then speeds off.
"Motherfucker!" Tyrus shouts, running through the hole in the wall as if he'll be able to catch him. Buridan is already turning back onto the main road.
"Are you okay, Daddy?" Lily pleads as Tyrus stumbles back into the diner.
He brushes past his daughter, wiping the blood from his lip, and grabs Buridan by the collar. "You set this up, motherfucker?"
"Does it look like I set it up?" Gideon demands, tugging himself free of Tyrus. "Jesus Christ. I just saved your life. I'm not your enemy!"
"Where is he going?" Tyrus asks.
"Whatever scum-filled pond he lives in. Man's a fucking amphibian." Gideon taps his temple with all four fingertips of one hand. "He doesn't think like a normal human being, so don't bother trying to track him like one -- trust me. He'll show up."
"You're coming with me," Tyrus says.
But Gideon steps back, leveling his carbine on Tyrus.
"Put that down, asshole!" Lily shouts, raising her own gun.
"You've got one choice here," Tyrus says. "You can put that gun down and extend your life by at least an hour or two, or you can fire at one of us and get your stupid ass killed when my men coming pulling up in about--"
The roar of engines fills the parking lot outside.
"--In about now," Tyrus says.
Gideon lowers his rifle.
A badly battle-scarred woman approaches. "Take this asshole before the cops show," Tyrus instructs her.
"With pleasure," the woman says, voice thickly accented -- Russian, you guess. She nods at Gideon, who, humiliated, hands her his rifle. She leads him towards the disused side exit.
The half-destroyed diner is filling with faces only barely friendlier than those masked Instrumentalists. But although Tyrus's men may look a little roughshod, they're a properly deputized private security force, all of them -- and they start to set up a secure perimeter around the parking lot even as the whine of police sirens draws close.
Amid the commotion, Amelia disappears behind the service counter and into the kitchen. With Tyrus distracted by his just-arrived husband's fussing and fretting over his bleeding face, you take the chance to sneak back there with her. Of course, Amber follows.
"Where are you going?" You demand. Amelia, halfway to the rear exit, wheels on you.
Her voice quavers. "He's going after Olivia."
"How do you know?"
"I don't," Amelia admits. "I'm -- I'm just guessing. But if he is, and I just.. sit around, letting it happen..." She wipes her face and steadies her voice. "Stay *here*, Wes. Do you understand me? Stay here."
"BRB?" Tyrus says.
Amber startles. Turning, balling her fists, she shouts: "God *damn* it. How the fuck are you everywhere?"
Amelia nods at him. "Yeah. Olivia lives there, too."
"I can send some folks. Police, too, if it'll make you feel safer."
"Do that," Amelia says. "I'll be there waiting."
She hurries for the exit and slips out. You glance at Amber. Amber nods. Then back at Tyrus. Tyrus shakes his head.
Frankly, you're more afraid of facing your parents again than you would be heading into the heart of danger with Amelia.
---
Tyrus defrays tensions with the police when they show up and want to collect witness statements. When challenged over his right to take you all away from the crime scene, he puts his broad palm against a police officer's chest -- pushing him backwards, ballsy as all hell. "No, you listen," Tyrus says. "These girls here are badl--"
"And boy," Will says, peeking around Tyrus's shoulder, holding up an index finger.
Tyrus gives Will an annoyed look. Then continues to the officer: "These girls and one boy are badly shaken after today's events. They deserve to go back home to their families." The cop begins to speak again, but Tyrus, again, cuts him off: "They will provide written statements only after they have had a chance to rest their very weary heads, hear? And if you don't understand the victims' rights coming out of my mouth, which I understand you boys in blue can sometimes struggle with, then you're free to talk to my attorneys, Mr. and Mrs. Saul Mallory." Hands on hips, he turns in a semicircle, surveying the scene. "Now we've done you gentlemen a favor, setting up a secure perimeter and preventing a heap of civilian casualties. Security cam footage will corroborate the facts as I'm laying them out to you -- you following me? -- now I don't want any trouble, so I am asking you to kindly step aside and allow me to take these girls home."
"And boy," Will says.
"And boy," Tyrus says with a flourish, nodding.
---
In the driver's seat of his spacious beamer, Tyrus pauses a moment before pulling out of the parking lot. He sits there with his lips pinched between his thumb and the crook of his index finger, contemplating. Finally, all he can say is: "I don't even know what to say to you."
"Is Mel going to be safe?" You ask.
He turns in his seat. "I have guys on it. But she's not my priority."
"She should be," Amber says. "Buridan wanted her for a reason."
Tyrus's eyeballs swivel in their sockets, glaring now at Amber. "Yeah. And we'll know why, once we beat it out of Gideon."
You wince.
"What?" Tyrus demands.
You can't help thinking about Summer: currently cheering on PAP's football team, totally oblivious of her father's imminent torture at the hands of your father's private security.
And Winter, too... who's... at Bosphorus Rare Books? She works an early shift there on weekends.
>[x] Ask to be allowed to speak to Gideon.
[ ] Find a way to escape, and catch up with Amelia.
[] Find a way to escape, and infiltrate the meeting at Darkbloom Enterprises.
"Lemme think about that," Tyrus says. "No."
He turns his blinker on and drives out onto the main road.
"No, really," you say.
"And the answer is no -- really."
"He trusts me," you say. "I don't know why. But he might actually talk to me if you let him. And if that doesn't work, then fine, do whatever you were already planning to do."
Tyrus rolls his jaw. "Why this so important to you?"
"He's my girlfriend's dad."
"Everybody somebody's dad, or brother, or sister -- or daughter. Gideon made this mess for himself, and you won't fix it just by trying to talk some sense into him. His wife couldn't, his kids couldn't -- you won't either."
"Why not let me try?" You say.
"Because it's a waste of precious time. For starters."
"Doesn't it bother you even a little?" Lily says, seated next to her father up front.
Tyrus glances at her. "I'd say you on thin ice right about now, but you already done broke through it. Don't speak unless spoken to."
Lily ignores him. "Doesn't it bother you that David Darkbloom is so connected to this thing and your boss doesn't even see fit to tell you what's up? I'd be pissed if I were you."
"I'm pissed all right," Tyrus says.
Lily rolls her eyes, rests her cheek on her fist, and stares out the window of the passenger side.
There's a long, depressed silence.
"Ey, Will -- your parents expecting you?" Tyrus asks.
He laughs. "They'd have to know I was gone to be expecting me."
Tyrus nods. "Jeeves -- dial Noelle Keki."
"Mmmyes, sir," the voice from the car's center console says.
N-Mom picks up before the first ring is through. "Tyrus? What's going on? Is Wes okay--"
"She's with me. They all are. I'm taking them home, but the cops wanted their written statements. It'll be about an hour."
"Please hurry," N-Mom says.
"Yeah."
He ends the call. He turns to you. "With the drive time factored in, you'll have about 30 minutes. Best make it count."
---
It's a perfectly nondescript little condo in one of the many nondescript tracts of cookie-cutter condos littering the valley. But inside is totally bare and unfurnished, save a single chair in which Gideon is seated, and a single table upon which you spy an array of frightening devices meant for inflicting pain both physical and psychological.
The Russian woman from before turns and glowers. "Why did you bring Lily to this place?"
"Uhhh?" Lily says. "And who the fuck are you?"
"You-- insolent--" the woman begins, stepping forward. Tyrus puts a hand on her shoulder.
"Time's short," he says. "Wesley has a personal connection to the man, so before we try the waterboarding and the pear of paining and whatnot, let's try some more diplomatic tactics, yeah?"
The woman huffs. "You want to speak with this man, little girl? Fine. I charge Mr. Kang by the minute, so the more time you waste, the bigger my paycheck. Go right ahead."
Gideon isn't bound -- he sits ankle on knee, smoking a cigarette. You approach, coughing for the smoke, waving a hand in front of your face to help dissipate it.
"It's nice you're so concerned, Wes," Gideon says. "But I don't see me getting out of this with all my teeth in my skull. You might want to just leave now."
"Is Buridan going after Olivia?" You ask.
"I don't know. Does Olivia speak 19th century dialects of Siberian Russian?"
"Uhhh."
"He's probably not going for her right away, if at all. Tyrus nicked him good. Collapsed a lung if I had to guess. Most likely he ditched the truck somewhere toot sweet and carjacked some other unlucky motorist. Drove far enough to get out of the police dragnet and now he's patching himself up."
"You think this man is capable of self-mending a collapsed lung?" The woman demands.
"Seen him do it before," Gideon says, shrugging.
"How did you know?" You ask.
"Know what?"
"That he'd come after us at the diner. How'd you know?"
"I didn't. I was following you."
"What?"
"I was following you. I figured you were on your way to the big powwow. Wanted to rendezvous when you got there. Then it went tits up. Such is life."
"Buridan's hiding out somewhere," Tyrus says. "He has a place to lay low. Where?"
Gideon takes a long drag. "If I knew that, he'd be dead. I've checked the usual haunts. If he's been hurt good enough, and he's desperate enough... you might try checking in with his family."
"Talia?" You ask, heart thudding.
Gideon laughs. "I don't think Buridan would ask Talia to hand him an extinguisher if he was on fire. We never talked much about our personal lives, but that blood is bad. If he needs familial succor, he's with his parents -- or maybe his uncle."
"Nelson..." you mutter. "Of course. He's one of David's board members."
But you know Nelson Berenstoin. Even if only in passing. Hard to picture him sheltering a wounded lunatic like Sam Buridan.
Gideon tilts his head and looks you in the eye. "Doubting?" He says. "I've only known Buridan's real identity since Talia outed him to the authorities. He kept that part of himself well hidden from me. So I could be misreading the situation. You probably have a better handle on it than I do."
Gideon glances from face to skeptical face. "I'm fully cooperating here, you know. I'd really prefer it if you don't start dunking my head in pails of cold water just because I don't have every answer."
Tyrus hands him a pen and paper. "Names and addresses. Places you know he's used as hideouts in the past. Known associates. Everything."
"Sure." He moves his cigarette to one side of his mouth by wriggling his lips, balances the paper on his crossed knee, and starts to write.
>Is there anything else you would like to ask Gideon at this time?
"What do you know about this prophecy he's after?" You ask.
"Mm." He pulls his cigarette from his lips and points at you with it. "Instrumentalism is all about the world-as-it-is versus the world-as-it-could-be. They look for what they consider gaps in established history -- places, people, events that appeared or disappeared from the historical record without apparent explanation. Mandela effect shit. Well. They got themselves fixated on this ill-fated expedition in the arctic sea and a bunch of blokes from it that went bughouse. Artifacts from these people are considered kind of like... gnostic texts. There's a lot of energy spent on interpreting, and not a lot of actual, uh, solid answers. What they're gleaning from this prophecy is anyone's guess. I couldn't glean anything from it and I've been turning it over in my head for weeks now. Guessing that's why they want Amelia's help again."
"You sound quite disillusioned for a man who was once so close to this religion's inner workings," the woman says.
"I grew up poor in rural Alaska, Ms. Lebedev. I had no prospects, and no wealth. When my people called on me to be their medicine man, I turned tail and ran. Then the Instrumentalists came by and gave me direction. They showed me a miracle."
"What miracle?" You ask.
"The world-as-it-could-be... the world-as-it-was. They taught me how to remember my past life. I won't bother boring you with the details. You won't care or even believe me. And it's deeply personal stuff. But I know what I've seen is true. Even if the Instrumentalists are mostly insane psychopaths."
"Why are they meeting at Darkbloom Enterprises?" You ask.
Gideon nods. "Right question. Because the event is being sponsored by David Darkbloom. That's why."
"Is he their leader?" Amber demands, taking a step forward.
Gideon chuckles. "No. Absalom Abrams is. David Darkbloom is just a lackey."
Amber exhales, shakes her head, looks away. She seems almost offended at the idea that David Darkbloom isn't the mastermind.
"What's the protocol for this meeting -- any codes or signals or anything like that to get in?" You ask.
"Don the mask to lift the veil."
"What?" You say.
"Don the mask to lift the veil," he repeats. "Purge the belly of the whale... a little nursery rhyme they use as a shibboleth. Other than that, nothing. The mask itself is your ticket inside. They don't give 'em to just anyone."
"You're not going," Tyrus reminds you.
You glance over your shoulder. "Someone should." You look back at Gideon. "Does Amelia have anything else to do with these people? Other than being a convenient translator?"
"They've decided she's important. Bad news for her. She shouldn't have been so willing to sell them their mystic trinkets."
"Uhhh -- hey -- you guys mind if I, like, skedaddle?" Will asks, pointing at the door with his thumb. "I'm getting kinda hungry."
Tyrus gives him a what-the-fuck expression. "Sure, kid. Go."
Will hurries out. "Good luck with not dying to a cult," he says, hugging you and Amber in turn. "See ya Monday. Don't forget to do my math for me, Amb. I'll get you some beer."
"The stupidity of Americans is truly unbounded," the Russian marvels as the door shuts behind Will.
"Stasi, c'mon," Tyrus says.
"You're Stasi," you say, standing. "Aunt Vivian mentioned you. And -- you were with Dad the other day at the bookstore, right?"
She shrugs.
"Small world," Gideon says. "You never know who you're going to run into."
You turn your attention back to him. "Is there anything else we should be worried about? Anything else we should know about the Instrumentalists?"
Now it's Gideon's turn to shrug. "Dunno. Not if you're not important, under their reckoning." His eyes dart around searchingly. "Something tells me you are, though. And you already know, and you're already worried about that."
You don't reply.
"If I were you, I'd get out of town," Gideon offers.
"I ought to take you girls home," Tyrus says. "Go wait in the car. Freddy's outside, so don't think of running off. I'll be out in a minute."
You step outside. As promised, Freddy is standing guard at the condo's front door. All six foot four of him. He gives you all a dour look as you pass.
But as you go to the car, you see Will already sitting in it. He hasn't left for home after all. And when you get in with him -- he holds the keys up for you to see. He must have pick-pocketed them from Tyrus.
"Will -- you stupid genius," Amber says. "I love you!"
This shocks the grin right off his face. He's even more shocked when she hugs him.
"What are you waiting for?" She shouts, pulling back from the hug. "Fuckin' gun it! Before Lily's gay-ass dad comes back!"
>[x] Go to the meeting.
[ ] Stop them.
---
Talia hears it first. Looking up from the papers she's grading, she sees her doorknob jiggling. She grabs the knife she's been keeping by her side at all times these past days.
Buridan makes quick work of the lock -- picks it, and steps inside. His gait is like a zombie's, his shirt completely saturated with blood, and every breath he takes makes him whistle weirdly from the hole in his chest.
He levels his gun on her. His hand is shaking but she knows his aim won't suffer for it. Talia glances from gun to knife. There's a saying about this. She drops the knife.
Buridan sits down on her couch, just as she rises to her feet. Immediately the cushions become stained with what seems like pints and pints of blood.
Talia reaches down, testingly, and runs a couple fingers across the hole in Buridan's chest. She darts her now dripping hand back, and looks at it, shocked.
Talia chews her lip. Considers options. She could run for it. She could grab the knife and plunge it into his chest. She could scream for help.
Buridan waggles his gun in the direction of the coffee table. There's a syringe sitting on it. Talia picks it up. He waggles his gun at the knife on the floor, next. Talia takes this, too, and cuts his shirt off of him. The sound of ripping fabric makes her almost as nauseated as seeing the torn flesh beneath.
The whole time she works, he keeps his gun to her temple, his finger on the trigger: if I go, you do.
She cuts the case off one of her couch pillows. The batting she uses to plug the sucking chest wound he's got; the fabric she uses to cover it. She squirts the liquid out of the syringe of her needle and keeps the plunger depressed. Slightly grunting, Buridan lifts his arm on the side where he's shot, and Talia jabs the needle into him, just above his armpit. She slowly sucks the air pressure from his chest cavity. With his lung reinflating, Buridan gasps and sputters dark red blood from his mouth, which arcs up, and rains back over Talia while she works. The whole time, the gun never leaves her head.
---
Will clambers over and into the driver's seat, triggering the pushbutton ignition at the same time. He puts the car in reverse and peels out of the driveway so fast that he leaves burn marks on the concrete. Amber slaps Will's seatback like bongos, shouting "gogogogo!" -- all hopped up on adrenaline. But Freddy has a pretty good reaction time and thinks quick on his feet. He draws his sidearm and shoots out the BMW's left front tire in the moment of inertia when Will switches from R to D. The whole car lurches violently and sags towards that side. The skittery squeal of the bare rim on the asphalt makes your ears hurt.
The last thing you glimpse as Will races down the sleepy residential street towards one of Palo's main thoroughfares, sparks flying behind you, is Tyrus and Stasi dashing out from the condo, livid and shouting after you.
"WOOOOOOO-OOOOOOO!" Amber wails, exultant.
"Shut up! You shut the fuck up, Amber!" Lily says. She reaches into the back of the car and punches Amber in the shoulder. "Crazy ass!"
"Bitch!" Amber says, kicking Lily's seat.
Lily punches Will in the shoulder, next, too.
"Ow-- hey!" Will grunts, swatting at Lily in the passenger seat, but keeping his eyes on the road.
"Crazy ass!" Lily repeats. "You trying to get us actually killed?"
Will is going at least 20 over the speed limit, swerving in and among cars -- trying to put maximal distance between himself and the doubtlessly pursuing Tyrus.
"Are we gonna make it there on a rim?" You ask, watching the red and orange sparks raining in the car's wake.
"Sure," Will says. "Might fuck the axle, but it'll get us there. No probl--"
The car slams to a halt. Right in the middle of the road. Cars honk and veer to avoid you.
"The fuck?" Amber says, after taking a moment to get over the whiplash.
Will, confused, pumps the gas and fiddles with the gearshift. He tries the ignition. Nothing.
"Anti-theft system," Lily says. "Goddamn it..."
She tries the door. It won't open. You try yours -- same result. You're locked inside.
"God, I am real fucking sick of Tyrus Kang," Amber says. She curls up in her seat, resting on her tailbone, and kicks at her window repeatedly. But there's no way she can take it out.
Will's eyes in the rearview go wild. "Is that your dad, Lily?"
Lily rests an arm on her headrest and twists around to see. You check, too. A black sedan is speeding down the road, maybe a quarter mile away, and gaining fast.
Letting out a groan of sheer frustration, out of ideas, Amber pulls her pistol and puts it against the window on her side.
"WAIT!" Lily yells. She falls forward to grab Amber's wrist and stop her from shooting. "Are you fucking stupid? You won't break the window! They're bulletproof! You'll just blow out our fucking eardrums!"
"Fuck you!" Amber shouts, but Lily has her gun well in hand.
Lily reaches between her knees for the glovebox. It's locked, too. But a glovebox is much easier to jimmy than a car window. Lily takes a multitool from her pocket. She puts the tip of the tool's awl to the glovebox's lock, and the heel of her hand to the multitool's handle. She gives it a swift jab, and breaks the lock. The glovebox pops open. Reaching in, fishing around, she produces a bright orange device of some kind. You're not sure what it is. But when Lily puts it against the window's base and presses a button, the window shatters into a billion pieces.
Lily climbs out of the demolished window, and the rest of you follow.
"What is that thing?" Will marvels, sweeping little pieces of the window's tempered glass off his shirt. "Some kinda window knocker outer?"
"...Yeah," Lily says. "For emergencies. Like your car sinking in a river say."
"Shut up! Run!" Amber commands. But you'll never outrun Tyrus. You need wheels.
You don't run for the sidewalk as your friends do. You slowly and deliberately stride into the path of oncoming traffic.
Facing forward, you end up before the fender a late-model Prius driven by a young man in business casual. He has a scruffy five o'clock shadow and dark bags under his eyes, and after he slams his brakes, he reacts as if he must be hallucinating from a lack of sleep -- gawking at you in a mix of bewilderment and frustration. He lifts his hands from the steering wheel, gesticulating at you.
You walk around the side of the car, up to the door, and knock on his window.
"Wes!" Amber yells. "WES! What are you doing? Come on!"
He rolls down his window. You reach in and open his door from the inside, then pull your gun on him. "Car's mine now. Get out."
"Uh, what?" The man says, not exactly cooperative. The situation is too bizarre for him to comprehend right away. So you help him out. You cock the hammer. This gets him going. He undoes his seatbelt and keeps his hands above his head, saying, "all right, all right, I'm out." He hands you his keys, stepping aside. You get in.
You motion for the others to join you. All three of them do. Slamming the door shut again, you pop a bitch and continue on down the road, just as Tyrus is pulling up with Freddy.
In the rearview, you see them ushering the man you carjacked out of the road. Tyrus is talking to him. You don't know what the hush money payment's going to total for your dad, but you're guessing he'll be pretty fucking upset.
"You play -- WAY too much GTA," Will says.
"Teaches important life skills..." you say.
"CRAZY!" Lily shrieks. She's breathless and bugeyed. "FUCK!"
"You're still in the car with me, aren't you?" You say, calm as calm. It's weird. You shouldn't be calm. But you are. Lily, screaming, plays some shadowboxing with the visor.
There's a brief silence.
"Assuming that we get out of this alive?" Amber says, peering at you from around the seat. "I am going to eat your ass for 12 straight hours tonight."
It starts to drizzle on your way to Darkbloom Enterprises.
"You want me to drive?" Will asks.
"No," you say.
"But I'm the wheelman."
"Will. Shut up."
"Man... this is crap." He slumps back in his seat, petulant.
"You can take the wheel when we get there," you say.
He blows a raspberry.
The car radio is playing a bland melange of adult contemporary at a reasonable volume. You're not aware of this fact on a conscious level -- until the radio starts to blare like an air raid siren. Then an affectless robotic announcer begins to speak.
"This is the California Emergency Broadcast System. The National Weather Service has detected the formation of an ARkStorm in the western Pacific ocean. These extremely powerful storms can cause torrential flooding and landslides, produce extreme winds in excess of 60 miles per hour, and last for several days. Those who live in low-lying areas, on or near beaches, or on hilly terrain, are advised to seek shelter. The storm system is expected to make landfall over the next three to four hours and will affect the following counties: Alameda County. Colusa County. Contra Costa County. Fresno County. ..."
The alert continues to list off basically every county in the state as you turn the volume down.
"When it rains it pours, huh?" Amber says.
"Ugh," Will says. "I hate ARkStorms..."
"Think the Instrumentalists will obey an evacuation order if the governor issues one for Santa Clara County?" You ask.
"Nah," Amber says. "I think they pretty much live for this shit."
"Hope y'all packed floaties, then," Lily mutters.
---
"How do we wanna approach this?" Will asks.
You're parked on the third level of the garage across from the main campus of Darkbloom Analytics. It looks relatively quiet out there. No one is visible on the streets outside or walking around in the quad. That makes sense for a Saturday morning during a severe weather advisory. But it's a little disconcerting, too.
"Tyrus can't be too far behind," you say. "It'll be best if you wait for us somewhere else. Maybe... the parking lots over by the tennis courts behind the main campus. They're out of the way. I'm thinking it'll take him a while to go looking for you there. If he even thinks to check there."
Amber leans forward in her seat, reaches into her butt pocket, and takes out a small walkie. She hands it to him.
Will presses the walkie to his cheek. "Wow. Warm."
Amber purrs in disgust. "I need to stop letting you fuck me up the ass. You're getting too attached."
Will grins at her.
"I'll be wearing mine underneath my shirt. Hold that button and cough into the speaker if you've got trouble and you want to talk to us. Sneeze if we need to get out immediately."
She puts her mask on. It has four bright sapphire eyes along each of the left and right sides, and a final, larger eye in the center of the forehead. Notably, although the mask has divots where a person's eyesockets would be, there are no eyes there at all.
Amber pauses in place as if waiting for something. When no one says anything, at last she asks: "C'mon. Wes -- Lily. Put your masks on too."
"Uh," you say.
"You have got to be shitting me," Amber says.
"Shitting you what?" Lily says. "Shitting you *what*, Amber?"
"You mean you guys didn't grab one back at the diner? You had so many chances!"
"What chances?!"
"THEY WERE ALL WEARING MASKS! REACH DOWN AND PICK ONE UP!" Amber yells.
"I HAD OTHER THINGS ON MY MIND!" Lily yells back.
Amber shakes her head in exasperation. Seeing her normal mannerisms paired with the face she's got on right now is... uncanny, to say the least.
"What now?" Will asks.
[ ] Send Amber in solo. Be a watchout with Lily.
>[x] Try to snag a mask for yourself and accompany Amber inside; have Lily be a watchout.
[ ] Try to snag masks for both you and Lily.
"Okay, but that means we still need at least one mask," Lily says. "Got any other galaxy-brained ideas, Wes?"
The high-pitched whine of turning tires and the flash of headlights alerts you to another car driving up the parking ramp on your level. You all duck -- as if that's going to help you evade detection. But it isn't Tyrus come to apprehend you. It's a cherry red sedan with a woman at the wheel. One you recognize. She parks in a row of spaces on the other side of some concrete barriers.
"I do have another Galaxy-brained idea, actually."
---
Camelia Brantly's flats clack at a tempo somewhere between presto and prestissimo as she all but jogs towards the garage's exit ramp, head bowed. When you step out to block her, she shrieks: "AHH-AAA!!" -- and jumps back, clutching her purse.
"Whoa, hey--" you say, holding out a hand. So twitchy.
Camelia puts a palm to her breast. "Wesley... you scared me."
"Are you going to the meeting?" You ask.
Camelia squints at you. She takes a step back from you.
"It's okay. I'm going, too. See?" You hold up Amber's mask. But Camelia still seems unconvinced. So you try the magic password: "Don the mask to lift the veil," you tell her.
Camelia unzips her purse and produces a mask of her own. This one has only a single lapis eye, in the spot it normally would be on a human face. The other orbit is a blank divot like the ones in the mask you hold.
"Purge the belly of the whale," she says.
Amber comes out from behind a bollard, running like a linebacker, and tackles Camelia to the ground.
"--Amber--!" Camelia shouts, but Amber cuts her off by putting a hand over her mouth.
"Be quiet," she tells Camelia in low tones. She takes the mask from the ground where Camelia dropped it.
Camelia's eyes bulge. She struggles against Amber, but Amber keeps her pinned.
"You're in a cult," Amber tells her, speaking over Camelia's muffled pleas. "I'm sorry you don't see it. But irregardless of that, your fellow cultists have been trying to murder us all day."
"Did you seriously just say--" you begin.
"So I'm taking your mask now. You're going to wait with Will, in that car over there, until the meeting is over. We'll take you home afterwards."
When Amber lifts her hand from Camelia's mouth, the first thing Camelia says is:
"Are you hurt?"
Amber blinks. This question surprises her. She glances down at herself as if to check for injuries. "No?"
"Well what do you mean they tried to kill you?"
Amber punctuates her story with illustrative hand motions. "Drove a truck through the wall of the restaurant I was eating at -- eeeeeeee-aaaaaaarrrrr, crash! Fired guns at me. Ka-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch, boom. Tried to kidnap my pals. Generally caused a ruckus. That sort of thing."
Camelia, still flat on her back under Amber, cocks her head, furrows her brow. "Are you... are you telling me the truth...? Why?"
You look around nervously. You're keenly aware of the fact that you're in the middle of a public parking garage where anyone could roll up at any moment. "Uh, we should probably hurry this up."
Amber jumps to her feet, reaches down, and helps Camelia stand too. She even reaches behind Camelia and brushes the dirt off her backside.
"I don't understand," Camelia says. "Why would the Instrumentalists try to kill you?"
"That's what we're trying to find out. We're going to sneak into that meeting."
"But -- you can't!" Camelia says, taking a step forward. "If they're trying kill you--"
"This isn't a negotiation," Lily says, walking up, gun drawn. "Get in the car."
Camelia doesn't even look at the gun pointed at her. "Amber," she pleads, gulping, voice deepening.
"Sorry, lady. Thanks for the mask." She nods at Lily, who ushers Camelia at gunpoint to the car and gets her to step into the passenger-side seat. You hear Will's voice, muffled by distance: "Hey, Mrs. Brantly. Uh... sorry about this..."
Lily steps back from the door and Will pulls away, setting out for the rendezvous point with Camelia as his hostage. Camelia's head swivels at the car passes you by, her hands pressed flat to the window -- staring forlornly at Amber.
Lily draws up alongside you. "Where do you bints want me?"
"I'll get you past the badge swipe up front," Amber tells her. "Stick with us for now. We'll find a place to split up if and when we have to."
"You want your mask back?" You ask Amber, holding up the one she had originally planned to wear.
"Nah, this one's just as good." She puts Camelia's mask on. She holds her arms out. "So? How do I look?"
The rain is steadily coming down as you walk across the road and slip through the front gates at Darkbloom Enterprises. You're all drippy and shivering when you finally reach the doors and duck inside.
You and Amber keep your masks off as you swipe yourself through the front security check. Lily hurries through the turnstile behind you. But no one's on duty at the front desk, nor do you see anyone in the grand central lobby of the building. That avoids the potential of awkward questions, and makes it easy to squeeze through the gap between the metal detectors and the wall to avoid triggering them with your weapons. (See? Being a bunch of scrawny little girls has its benefits, too.)
Amber flaps her wrists around, shaking the water off of her in fat droplets. They land with splats that echo off the high-flung ceiling. Lily wrings out her hair to similar effect.
You've been here many times before -- it's why you have a badge that can swipe you through -- but you've never seen this place so totally bereft of people. The acoustics of it alone are enough to make you feel ill at ease. The gray droplets piling up on every window floor to ceiling, obscuring all view to the world outside, compound the effect.
"How are the Instrumentalists getting in?" You wonder. "They can't all have badges to scan."
The question hangs in the air. Neither of them have an answer. (Should have asked Camelia.)
With Amber and Lily standing around gawking at the ceiling like a couple of turkeys, you make your way towards the elevators, but you're as aimless as them. Lily, noticing you, and following behind, says: "this is just great. Maybe we should radio back to Will and ask the crazy bitch for directions. Considering as we're not gonna find a sign that helpfully says 'cult meeting in room 101, donuts and coffee available.'"
You point at a black felt letterboard mounted to a chrome stand beside the elevator.
>COUNCIL MEETING: MAIN SERVER ROOM - SB000
>REFRESHMENTS PROVIDED
"Well that's--" Lily begins. She motions at the sign. "That could be anything. You're assuming."
You press the call button. Lily and Amber join you inside the elevator. You press the button labeled SB, the lowest of the basement levels, below UB, B, and LB.
"Into the belly of the beast," Amber says as the doors slide shut behind you.
The sub-sub-sub-basement of Darkbloom Enterprises comprises a T shape, the main elevator getting off at the foot of a short corridor leading to another perpendicular -- along which the doors to the main server facility are found.
There are people milling around down here, dozens of them, making loud conversation. But this congregation is in the other hallway, and no one notices you right away. Good -- because none of you thought to don your masks, and everyone else down here is wearing theirs. You dip into a stairwell immediately adjacent. You and Amber get into your disguises.
"This where we split?" Lily says.
"Hang around in here," Amber says. "Seems like the moonies are all coming in from another elevator. Maybe old Daddy Darkbloom left a different entrance open for them or something."
"Right. So what do you want me to do? What makes me useful here?"
"When these idiots clear out of the halls, get as close to the meeting room as you feel comfortable," Amber says. "Listen in, if you can. But either way, be ready to start shooting when some shit goes down."
"If," you say.
"Huh?" Amber says.
Lily nods. Together, you and Amber exit the stairwell and head into the mass of cultists.
The corridor outside the server room is packed full, with more occasionally arriving from a different elevator. There's the din of many conversations, creating an air of anticipation. There are some buffet tables set up, with glazed donuts and coffee urns. People wander to and fro with nervous energy, some picking at these goodies -- but eating and drinking under a mask is so awkward that only few attempt it.
When you surreptitiously try the push-handle on one of the doors leading to the server room, you find it locked. So no one is getting in until the bigwigs allow it. As you and Amber yourselves begin to nervously flit about, though, you overhear conversations that seem to indicate the bigwiggery of even these lower-level acolytes:
"...so much NIMBYism in this town, it'll be hard to get the permitting squared away..."
"...thought I might send the factory overseas to Senegal, but all the fuckers over there are unionizing too..."
"...blow over before too long. First it was FinishLuna, now this tizzy over the AFP getting a couple local wins down south -- pretty soon - who knows? People these days are easily distracted, we shouldn't be..."
You try to calm your erratic breathing and look like you belong.
"These people know each other," Amber mutters.
You sort of half shrug.
"They know each other," she repeats. "They recognize each other even with the masks." She gives you a lingering look. You understand. If they recognize one another, they won't recognize you. Or worse, they'll recognize your masks -- and know that you're the wrong people to be wearing them.
You're only just turning this frankly frightening thought over in your mind when someone grabs Amber by the wrist, arresting her forward momentum.
"Hey--" she grunts.
You wheel around. The man who grabbed her has quietly pushed her back to the wall. He looms menacingly, still holding her hand, but not making a scene. You get twitchy. Your gun is resting in the enormous front pocket of your hoodie, and you wrap your fingers around it, ready to draw. But the man waylaying Amber speaks:
"What are you doing here," Auburn half whispers.
His mask is one of the least creepy you've seen so far, with two gemstone eyes right where eyes should go. The tribal whorls of red across the off-white background give it the appearance of a Kabuki mask.
"What am I doing here?" Amber hisses back. "What are YOU--" she glances from side to side, jerks her arm out of his grip. "Goddamn it."
"Shake 'em Up is all over the news," he says. "People in masks. Attacking *that* branch of *that* chain in particular. I knew you had to be involved."
"So you're stalking me. How'd you get a mask, huh?"
"I bought it at Party City."
Amber folds her arms, not in the mood for repartee. Auburn glances over his shoulder. No one seems to be listening in, but he's obviously not into divulging his espionage tactics during the mission. "You didn't hurt my mother, did you?" He whispers, glancing back at her. He must recognize Amber's mask.
"She's with Will. She's fine."
He nods. "Stay with me. Keep your head down, don't make a scene. When the meeting's over--"
A horrendous crescendo of out-of-sync alarms begin to sound. People check their pockets, silence their cells, mutter and groan, piss and moan. From the little snippets you catch of what people are saying, you discern that the evacuation order is in effect for Santa Clara County. Some seem unsure of what to do, and a few even start towards the exits. Your heart sinks when you see several of them, seemingly randomly, choose to head in the direction of the hall where Lily is lying low. But within seconds, a man emerges from the server room, tall and wearing a Nehru jacket. His mask is the most ostentatious yet, the entire face of it a single large bloodshot eye with an enormous jewel the size of a grapefruit in the center -- every ruby-red vessel in the cornea terminating in another, smaller, lapis eye.
"The council will meet. We shall expedite our business. Do not leave."
The command not to leave brings the leavers to heel. As people return, the doors to the server room unlock, and everyone files in. You do, too -- inexorably pushed forward by this mass of humanity as if caught in a slipstream.
The room is dimly lit, the overhead lights all off save for the odd emergency light. Most illumination is from the whitish-blue glow of the server towers themselves. This space is not ideal for a large group meeting, and by necessity you find yourselves segregated from row to narrow row: a dozen or so people crammed into each little aisle between each set of towers. It's an isolating and disquieting way to be situated. You all face a small, open space at the opposite end of the room abutting some glass-walled offices where the sysadmins live.
It's here that the high council of Instrumentalists are ready and waiting for you all. They sit at a long conference table. Each wears a mask more ornate than the last: one with a hexagon of eyes ringing a central blood-red garnet; one with over a hundred little eyes arrayed in slightly offset columns like a Mondrian painting; one with four huge eyes spanning from brow to brow and chin to hairline, each one individually made from dozens of smaller eyes like a pointillist composition -- and, squinting, you realize those smaller eyes are also composed of even tinier eyes...
In total, the high council numbers 21 people. You get the sense of hierarchy symbolized by the masks they wear. More eyes means more status -- like the service ribbons on a soldier's coat. Except the entire group seems pretty obviously led by the man sitting at the center of the table, whose mask eschews these Monster Mash designs for something much simpler. His is just a sphere -- a single, large eye, fitted over head and neck, resting atop his shoulders.
This is Absalom Abrams. You're pretty sure. You're guessing.
And, sitting on his knees in front of the council's table, like a thing on exhibit for the gathered crowd, is David Darkbloom. You're not guessing here. You know it's him because he has no mask.
Absalom stands, circles and table, and approaches David. One of the doors into the server room creaks open behind you, though, and a latecomer races in. He pushes through the crowded people in a row adjacent and emerges at the table of elders, approaching Absalom directly. He puts a hand to Absalom's shoulder, leans in, and seems to be whispering. Absalom listens intently and finally nods.
You, Amber, and Auburn share a look.
Absalom bids the man away and speaks to the assembled believers: "We should begin." You know for sure it's him from just his voice. The din of a hundred conversations dies, replaced only be the eerie whir of the servers. Absalom folds his hands before him. "I wanted to honor our brothers and sisters who have elevated their consciousness since last we met, but weather and exigent circumstances are forcing a briefer agenda. Life is funny like that sometimes. Don't be discouraged. Those who are on the middle path are being recognized. We will reconvene as always to give you formal recognition too. Don't waver. Don't want."
Absalom turns and nods at his compatriots at the long table. One among them goes to the wall and inputs a code into a panel there. Even the emergency lights overhead all die. Now the far reaches of the room are pitch black. The council and the table they rest at are almost totally cloaked in shadow. Absalom and David themselves become a little indistinct as well. Pools of dark surround you everywhere. Amber and Auburn are cast weirdly blue in the light of the servers -- everyone is.
Absalom says, "we are being attacked in the press. We are victims of black propaganda: malefactors posing as our brothers and sisters, committing crimes supposedly in our name. Some of us have even been victims of violence ourselves. Our brother recently died in police custody, falsely accused and then silenced by death. He passes on to the next world. Let us honor him with our silence also."
He bows his head. There's a rustle all around of others doing the same. You follow suit.
After an agonizing eternity of quiet, Absalom continues. He pulls from his jacket a book you recognize even in the low light -- the diary Buridan stole from Bosphorus Rare Books.
"See thou do it not?" Absalom says. "For I am thy fellowservant, and of thy brethren the prophets, and of them which keep the sayings of this book: worship God. Seal not the sayings of the prophecy of this book. For the time is at hand."
He sets the book gently down on the table.
"The council has convened. We have found new prophecies. The prophecies are genuine. Rejoice. The time of undoing and remaking is come. Great waves in choppy seas, the singling out of the thread of order from the tapestry. And among such propitious omens, my patron cometh home."
He puts his hand on David's shoulder and squeezes. David closes his eyes.
"If not for you," Absalom says, "then not for us. You blazed the path. Now you walk it as a neophyte. Shall we begin?"
"Yes," David says.
One of the other elders on the council brings Absalom a little jade bowl filled with water and sits down again. Dipping his fingers, Absalom walks in a little circle around David, and flicks David with droplets of water. David flinches each time the droplets hit him.
"You must reckon with the unrighteous man you are," Absalom says, "before you can be allowed to abandon him. The fortune you've amassed on the backs of suffering billions. Bottomless greed and vanity in the depth of your hollow heart. But more than that. A litany of wrongs committed against your fellow-man."
Flick, flick, flick -- little drops of holy water raining down on David's face.
"Tell them what you've done. Your great empire? You took drug money from the mafia to fund your business."
"Yes," David says, bowing his head low.
"Say it."
"I... took drug money to fund my business ventures."
Flick, flick, flick.
"You murdered your wife."
David nods.
"Say it!"
"I murdered my wife."
"You've ordered assassinations to escape the mafia's vengeance. How many people died on your say-so, David?"
"Yes, I ordered assassinations." David's eyes follow Absalom's pacing legs like a hypnotist's pendulum. "Ten, twelve... I would need to count. Please -- just finish anointing me--"
"You've lied about your philanthropy. You played the charitable soul for decades while profiting from sweatshop labor."
"Yes. Yes I did. Now cleanse me--"
Flick, flick, flick. David is twitchy and miserable, breathing heavy. His nostrils flare, his broad chest heaves. Absalom kneels at his side.
"You impregnated a 16 year old girl, David, when you were in your 30s."
David's head swivels and his jaw gapes. He wasn't ready for that one.
"Say it, David."
"I..." David swallows hard and his expression turns from surprise to a stony rage. "I impregnated a young girl."
"Not just a young girl. A 16 year old. At the age of 33."
David nods, his lower lip trembling, and Absalom gathers him into an almost fatherly, consoling hug.
"Tell them."
"I impregnated a 16 year old girl."
"You made her give the child up."
"Yes... yes..." David groans into Absalom's chest. "I made her give our daughter away."
Absalom pulls back from David, takes him by the shoulders, and shakes him. "You let your baby girl grow up in the care of an abusive drunk -- for eighteen years! To save yourself! Lay it all bare!"
"Yes! I gave her away! I gave away my baby girl! I ripped her from her mother! I ruined her childhood! Both -- both of them..."
He slumps forward in the pose of a praying Muslim, face against the cold tile ground. He's trembling. Absalom crawls over him, puts his hands over David's, and says in a half-whisper, "now you're dying of cancer."
David's whole body twitches.
"The cancer ate your soul so many years ago, and now it's eating your body. You want us to save you from the dirty thing you've become. Should we save you? Do you deserve salvation, David?"
"No," David says into the floor.
"Then leave you behind."
Absalom takes the bowl and, standing, he slowly pours it over the crown of David's head. David, the water running in rivulets down his gaunt and graying face, now rises to his knees again. He basks in it like a thirsty man in the desert, throwing his head back, staring ceilingward, letting it wash all over him.
Absalom hands him a one-eyed mask like the one Camelia had. David puts it on. The crowd, as one, chants. A stupid, silly, transfixing, horrifying little nursery rhyme:
Don the mask to lift the veil
Purge the belly of the whale
Unhanded make a middle path
Reckoning of choosing past
Forego peak and forego vale
Don the mask to lift the veil
Don the mask to lift the veil
Don the mask to lift the veil
As they chant that final phrase over and over, Absalom claps a hand over David's forearm and helps David to his feet. David turns in a semicircle, surveying, as if unable to find what he wants. Absalom beckons for him and they embrace like long-lost brothers.
But the mood sours. The chanting dies, and as David tries to pull away from the embrace -- Absalom tugs him closer.
"Were you waiting for someone, David?" Absalom asks. "Were you waiting for one more of us before you made your move?"
David cocks his head.
"He's not coming, David. You'll be no martyr."
David reaches for his coat pocket. Absalom is quicker -- grabs David's wrist and pins it. "No, no," Absalom chides, running a hand up David's face and removing his mask. "It's too late."
Hands grip you from either side, restraining you. Amber is being manhandled, too. You've fallen into a trap. Auburn, grunting, pulls one of Amber's captors off her and punches them in the face -- only for someone else to grab at him and haul him back. Auburn spins and pushes his attacker to one of the servers, punches them repeatedly, shattering their mask into little bloodied bits -- but two men are behind him in an instant, and subdue him.
"Let me go! Let me go!" He shouts, trying to shrug them off, but no use.
Amber kicks and claws at the people holding her, too. One of the Instrumentalists reaches for her and flips her mask back, baring her face.
David's expression slackens. "Amber..." he mutters.
Absalom lets go of him, because his will to fight is gone. David even allows Absalom to reach into his pocket and confiscate the gun he was concealing there. He won't make his kamikaze attempt while Amber is in their clutches.
"Fuckers! We'll kill every last one of you!" Amber shrieks. She rears up, getting her feet entirely off the ground, as one of the Instrumentalists tries to holds her fast about the waist. She kicks a couple of your captors in the nuts. But it's a small, momentary victory at best. They get her back on solid ground.
As for you? You don't even try to fight. It's useless at this point. Someone flips your mask off your head, too.
"Why... why are you here..." David says, looking from you to Amber. "You stupid girls."
As Absalom's little council of lackeys calls the meeting to adjournment, Absalom himself takes you from the server room. He ushers you, Amber, Auburn, and David into an elevator -- along with your captors. Outnumbered, guns confiscated, and with no help on its way, you're left in petrified silence as the elevator ascends. You just hope Lily got out okay.
"What do you intend to do with us?" David demands.
"Not what you intended for me, that's for sure," Absalom promises. "Not violence. I still think a part of you wants to make the world a better place. And I think you will."
"Take that ridiculous mask off," David says. "I won't speak to you a moment longer if you don't."
Absalom takes the mask off. His hair and face are dripping sweat. "That's better," Absalom sighs. He fans himself. "I hope you can forgive the pageantry. I'm trying to drive a point home with folks."
David shakes his head.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Absalom says. "Not you, not your children, no one in your family. I wouldn't have given you my company if I intended to harm you -- would I?"
"Then what do you want?"
"I want to work with you. You and your team are so..." he trails off, looks all around the cramped compartment. "So important. You could end suffering -- forever. You used to want that. Didn't you?"
You step out into the C-suite with him. Absalom and his retinue lead you towards the boardroom. Inside, sitting at the head of the conference table, is Olivia.
"Where's Amelia?" You plead, seized by panic -- stepping forward, before an unfriendly hand forces you to step back.
Olivia shakes her head. "She -- should be on shift at the diner... do you have some reason to suspect she's in trouble?" Olivia looks at Absalom. "You better not have lied to me--!"
"Your girlfriend is fine, Ms. Bosphorus," Absalom says, sitting down in a seat just kittycorner. "This will be the end of our business. We'll be leaving you both alone from now on. Thank you."
"Why are you here?" Amber demands. "Are you working with these freaks?"
"I just want them to leave us alone," Olivia says. "They asked me to interpret that book for them... well... asked is a nice way of putting it..."
You close your eyes and set your jaw. You've heard it already. But, crossing his legs, Absalom asks Olivia to relay the prophecy to David Darkbloom.
Olivia takes a deck of Tarot cards and, shuffling it, she explains: "Mr. Darkbloom -- may I call you David? -- prophecy is a tricky thing. Give the same text to 20 people and you'll get 21 different interpretations... ahem. That said... not to toot my own horn, but -- I do think I have a knack for it. You need the diligence for research... and the empathetic capacity to see through the eyes of a maybe unwilling prophet. Like... say... a schizophrenic Russian fur trapper from the 19th century, who can hardly understand the things he's seen, and whose description comes out all garbled as a result..."
She arranges her deck into a neat little rectangle between her palms. "So, the literal text makes no sense. The fees are hidden inside a wheelbarrow. The wheelbarrow gives a rousing speech. From this, the light of knowledge shall gleam. A flower makes a mistake. The day after the holy day will be a fulcrum -- and an instrument of undoing."
She begins to lay out the cards on the table, face up, one by one.
VII -- a man in a suit of armor, sitting in a litter pulled by sphinxes of opposite black-and-white stripes.
XIX -- a cherubic baby atop a white horse, the baby's smile quite the contrast to the piercing gaze of an anthropomorphic sun.
"Fee hidden in a wheelbarrow," Olivia says. "Renee Carte gave birth to a daughter, who grew up as Whitney Price. Thus Price -- was a hidden Carte..."
XVI -- a man and a woman falling headlong from a burning tower, which even as they jump is being struck with bolts of lightning and engulfed in flame.
"Whitney Price became Whitney Carte, and finally Whitney Soliloquy. The wheelbarrow gives a rousing speech: Carte becomes Soliloquy..."
XIII -- the figure of death mounted on a pale horse, carrying a black banner with a many-petaled flower for its insignia. A gilded king begs him for mercy as a sun glimmers low in the background -- sunrise or sunset is up to whether you're an optimist or pessimist.
"From the union of Carte and Soliloquy... the light of knowledge will gleam. That would be Ophelia Soliloquy... my best guess, anyway."
David's mouth twitches. Olivia continues her little parlor trick.
XI -- an androgynous monarch on their throne, decked in satiny red robes and a golden sash, a sword in their right hand, a balanced set of scales in their left.
X -- a wheel held aloft in heaven by a devil, depicting a compass rose, its cardinal directions spelling out T-A-R-O so that you can read the word tarot over and over in an infinite loop. A sphinx atop leads a procession of chimeras in each corner celebrating the breach of God's domain.
"The flower makes a mistake. Rose Soliloquy births Amber Soliloquy, who, the prophet reckons, will upend the status quo..."
VIII -- a woman in a toga, bedecked with blooming flowers, with a lemniscate for a halo, tames a roaring lion, making it as docile as a housecat.
"The day after the holy day will be a fulcrum and an instrument of undoing. The holy day: noel -- Noelle. Her offspring..."
XX -- a seraph with blazing red flames for hair blows a trumpet in the skies, as men and women in boats that look more like coffins call out to her from the waterlogged Earth.
Olivia herself, for the first time, looks down at the Tarot cards all arrayed in a row. She slides her hand over the top of the deck once more, wrist limp, and lays out a last card.
XXI -- The World. A nude woman, maybe Eve, entwined by an ouroboros, hovering over the Earth, inside a wreath. The card turns up inverted.
"Wesley," Absalom says, catching your attention. "You've been hearing a lot about Instrumentalism lately, haven't you?"
You let the question hang.
"That's a funny word, though, isn't it? It's a word that leaves something implied, a subject with no object. Have you ever wondered what the instrument of Instrumentalism actually is?"
"No," you say.
Absalom nods.
"Well, it's you," he says.
Absalom reaches for his back trouser pocket. You brace for the moment he shoots you. But he isn't pulling a gun. He pulls something altogether weirder. A long thin wire, welded with hotglue to a rice-sized grain.
"This is a nonfunctional prototype," Absalom says. He sets it on the table. "The idea is there. But it needs a great mind... well... several great minds... and the will to make it real. I could have kept this a trade secret, spun my wheels on it for the next fifty years and died, never seeing it through to the end. But I'm giving it to you, David... you and the absolutely spectacular people you have in your company's ranks. Sable and Alex Best... Anna Soliloquy... Nelson Berenstoin... and the next generation of talented minds, too." He indicates you and Amber with one hand. "These girls. And most of all Ophelia. And Noah -- if you'll have him. They'll remake the world into something so much better. So no, David. I won't hurt you. How could I hurt the people who will save the world?"
A somewhat lengthy silence settles, punctuated only by the hard spattering of golfball sized raindrops on the windows. Amber, at last, is the first to speak.
"Fucking Jim Jones ass psycho," she says.
Absalom laughs. "God, I love your attitude. You were born to make waves."
Gunfire rings out in the halls outside the boardroom.
"Really?" Absalom says. He gives David a disappointed frown. "Who is that? Is that Alabaster?"
Muffled, from the other side of the door, a voice calls out: "I just downed your bodyguard! Send 'em out unharmed! You get one warning, motherfucker!"
Absalom furrows his brow. He obviously doesn't recognize Lily's voice.
Absalom's men respond violently to the news that Lily has, apparently, killed one of their own. They draw their weapons and rush for the door.
"Wait!" Absalom cries. "Do not kill her -- she's obviously a friend of Wesley's--!"
Orders on not killing her leave ample room for hurting her. They keep their guns drawn and head into the hall. Five masked men -- more than enough of a match for one little girl.
Absalom massages his eyes, elbow propped on the table. "This is getting so far out of hand. I can hardly keep a lid on my people. It's the same for you too, David, isn't it? It's so frustr--"
Absalom reels as Olivia headbutts him. Flailing, he just barely finds his balance and keeps from tipping over in his chair. Olivia leaps up, gets behind him, and hauls him to his feet. Reaching quickly for his front pocket, she finds his gun and puts it to his head.
"For god's sake--" Absalom pleads.
"Give me a reason not to kill you," Olivia says.
"If I die, there's no one left to tell my people not to massacre you all."
Olivia cocks the gun.
"You're free to go!" Absalom says -- clearly scared. "You're free people!" Gunfire and yelling reach your ears again. His men are shooting at Lily. "I'll call them off! How's that?"
Olivia nods. Absalom, straining, yells: "Stand down! Let them pass!"
The gunfire halts. There's a tense pause.
"You sending them out?" Lily calls.
David steps gingerly forth. He peeks his head into the hall, this way and that -- making sure the coast is clear. He waves for you to follow him. As you, Amber, and Auburn walk out, you see Absalom's men tending to a gasping, scared-looking one of their own, the one Lily shot -- his mask off, his face contorted in agony. Someone is tying a tourniquet to his badly bleeding leg. Another holds him steady. They all stop to stare at you creepily.
Olivia is the last out. She marches out in reverse, gun still trained on Absalom -- who fearlessly walks to the threshold to see you all off.
"Book girl. Duck."
Props to Olivia. She has a better reaction time than you. She rolls out of the way before the rag-stuffed bottle lands. And David is tugging you and Amber into the safety of a nearby office before you've processed the fact that Stasi is here -- that she lobbed a molotov straight at Absalom and his men. You hear the shriek of people on fire. Smell them burning. The raucous firefight follows. Stasi's voice rises above the rest:
"YOU SHOOT AT MY GIRL? YOU FIRE A GUN AT MY GIRL AND THINK YOU GET TO LIVE?"
Lily is in here with you. Her eyes are dinner plates and her face is many shades whiter than normal.
"Who the fuck is that bitch?" Lily stammers.
Tyrus gets on one knee, puts a hand to Lily's face, and looks her over just how he did when he extracted her from that Instrumentalist info center. "She a nice lady."
"FUCK YOU!" Stasi shrieks. "DIE, YOU MAGGOTS! DIE!"
"I like her," Amber says.
Tyrus's eyes dart towards the smoke-filled hallway. "How about we head on out, yeah?"
You and the others pass Gideon on your way through the main lobby. Three dead Instrumentalists lie at his feet. Tyrus, bless him, shields Lily's eyes from the sight -- who grunts and complains about it and tries to shove his hands off her. Gideon nods his way, a nod Tyrus curtly returns.
Auburn, gathering that Gideon is an ally, approaches him. "Uh... hey, listen --"
Gideon lights a smoke. "Listening."
"My mom is part of this... group -- but -- if you're going to war against them--"
"Unless she points a gun at me or mine, she'll be fine. I promise."
"Let's go," Tyrus says, standing at the main exit, pointing towards the downpour outside. "Y'all need to hurry the fuck up on outta here."
Auburn ducks out, using his coat to shield himself from the torrential rain. Amber joins him under it for cover too. Olivia and Lily are next -- less squeamish about getting wet, clearly. You and David are the last two heading towards the door Tyrus holds open.
"Don't thank me or anything!" Gideon calls, pissy, throwing his arms wide, as Tyrus ushers you out. "Just gonna be here during an ARkStorm evacuation, cleaning up all these corpses for you!"
Tyrus lunges for him, grabs him, and pushes him to a wall. Gideon's cigarette falls from his mouth. Tyrus snuffs it out with his boot.
Gideon huffs. "Sorry, buddy. I don't swing that way."
"Your thank-you is your family getting a free ticket to safety. Don't go thinking you a player on the team cause I let you lend a helping a hand." Tyrus steps back from the wall by pushing hard off Gideon's chest. He points at the bodies on the floor. "Get to cleaning up. Stasi gonna need some help. Try to pull any shit and she'll skin you, then shoot you."
Gideon lights another cig. He stands at attention, shirt and coat still rumpled from Tyrus's rough handling, and salutes. "You got it, chief."
You're virtually wading just to cross the street between the front gates and the parking garage. The oily water, ankle deep, sloshes with every step. You're wet down to your core, feeling like a rat dunked in a bathtub, your clothes plastered to your body, your hair plastered to your face, shivering.
"God almighty," David mutters, to himself you think, as he stops in the middle of the road, turns, and gawks at the upper floor of his company. It seem a little... on fire. Stasi gets an A for enthusiasm but an F- for subtlety and minding the collateral damage. That's gonna draw outside attention for sure.
"Think the rain will put it out?" You ask, pft-ing water from your lips between syllables.
"Let's get somewhere dry," David says.
Amber and Auburn's little lovers' cover isn't keeping them any more sheltered than the rest of you -- they have that same miserable wet-rat look. Amber tells you through chattering teeth, "I-- I'll radio back to Will... have him swing around to the parking garage and pick us--"
"AAA-AAA-AAAAAAACHOOOO!"
Tyrus looks strangely at Amber and Auburn. "You two hiding nukes under there or something?"
"Fuck," Amber says. (Good thing Will didn't use that signal while you were incognito.)
"That's a signal from Will," Lily tells her dad.
Amber lifts her shirt, showing off the walkie taped to her tummy. Tyrus snatches it.
"Ow! Dick!" Amber says, her skin turning red from the sudden force of the tape being ripped off her skin.
Finally under the protective cover of the parking garage, you still need to walk partway up the ramp towards the second level to escape the rising water. You take a peek down the other ramp that leads towards the basement levels, and silently pity the hapless suckers who left cars parked down there. The rushing water isn't letting up and already those cars are submerged almost up to their chassis. Even if the owners teleported on over, it'd be too late.
"You in trouble?" Tyrus radios back to Will.
The screech of tires on asphalt is his answer. The car comes careening around the bend and up the ramp. Camelia is behind the wheel. She has a rageful look on her face and she barrels for Tyrus with clearly homicidal intent. Tyrus's first instinct is to shove his daughter bodily out of the way -- then to jump in the opposite direction. Camelia whiffs the attempt at vehicular manslaughter. She nearly rams into the wall, but floors the brakes in time and Tokyo drifts herself through a 180. She's about to gun it for Tyrus again -- and Tyrus is pulling his pistol to shoot her dead -- but Auburn interdicts. He steps forward, throwing his arms up. "Mom! Mom, stop! They're with me!"
Tyrus, gun still at the ready, waits for Camelia's next move. Camelia only kills the ignition as Auburn approaches the driver's side window.
"Did they hurt you?" Camelia says, stepping out, holding his collar, looking him all over.
"No. They tried, though." He can't mask his anger here -- he's resentful of his mother for being in deep with these people, and it shows.
Camelia glances Amber's way. "You too?"
Amber shrugs. "Yepperoni."
Camelia steps towards Tyrus, legs shaky from excess adrenaline. Tyrus is guarded, and doesn't holster his piece. At last he holds out a flattened hand. "That's close enough, lady."
"I know you. You're..." Camelia looks from Tyrus to Lily. "You've been at parent-teacher night before."
"Regrettably," Tyrus says with a nod.
"You helped get these kids out?"
Tyrus nods again.
"Me too!" Olivia says, leaning way off to one side, raising her hand.
Camelia smiles at her. "Thank you... thank you both... or-- all three of you, I guess."
"Miss Brantly, I think you should leave town," David says. "For-- several reasons. And as soon as possible."
Camelia swallows hard. "Are you staying? Are you going to fight against the Instrumentalists?"
Tyrus gives David a worried glance.
"I want to help," Camelia says.
You look through the passenger side window of the car. Will's head popping up like a prairie dog startles you back a step. He grins at you.
"Get out of the car!" Amber shouts.
"Huh?" Will says, voice muffled.
"GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR!"
Will rolls the window down. "Are you gonna hit me?"
"Why the hell would I hit you?"
Will considers this. He opens the door and steps out. Amber hits him.
Will claps his hands over his nose. But he's hurt more in an emotional sense than physically. "Lyind bidge!"
"You had one job! How the fuck did you let Raisin Mommy carjack you?"
Will rubs his nose a couple times like trying to buff out a ding. He checks his palm for blood, and seeing none, seems markedly happier. "Well. We saw the building catch on fire. So Cami asked--"
"Don't call my mother Cami," Auburn says.
"--Cami asked if I was ready to shoot, you know, if things went pear-shaped." Will mimes the shape of a pear in the air. "So I said sure. And she said are you sure you're sure? And I said sure I'm sure I'm sure. And she said well is your gun clean? And I said I think. And she said let me check. And so I handed her my gun. And then she pointed it at me."
"You okay?" You ask.
"Oh, I'm fine. We had a pretty good laugh about." He wags his finger: "I said maaaan, you got me good, you totally got me! And y'know, in her defense, she was totally apocalyptic about it."
"Apoca-- apologetic?" You say.
He points at you. "Yeah. That one."
Amber gives Auburn a withering sneer. "Why didn't you tell me how cool your mom is? And how did she raise such a fucking loser like you?"
"I need to start carrying duct tape," Auburn says. "You get on my goddamn nerves."
The two are in the midst of an incipient slapfight when another vehicle pulls up. You recognize this one, too.
David steps to one of the smoky black back windows as it rolls down. "I'm going to stay in town and settle accounts," he tells Aunt Vivian.
"Mm. You know, father, I couldn't help noticing that... our boardroom seems a little... on fire."
"So I've noticed."
"Will the rain put it out?"
"Time will tell. Where is Alabaster?"
"He's looking for Ophelia."
David's face goes blank with panic.
Helicopter rotors pass overhead. From inside the garage and with visibility as poor as it is anyway, you've no way to tell who.
"Our people?" Vivian asks.
"No... no, not that I know of. Where is Ophie?"
"The school library, presumably. Even I think she spends a simply dreadful amount of time there..."
"Oh my goshness, Viv," Amber says, walking up beside David, nonchalant. "You would not *believe* the day I'm having."
Vivian gives her a brief, dismissive glance.
"Will you contact me when you get to the campsite?" David asks.
"Of course, father. Please contact me as well, should anything else go awry."
David nods. Vivian opens the door on her side.
"Wesley. Amber. Young miss Kang. Get in."
>vote for either, both, or none:
>[x] If we're leaving town, we should offer to take Will.
>[x] If we're leaving town, we should offer to take Auburn.
"Can we take my friends?" You ask Vivian.
Vivian looks from Will to Auburn. "I am not a fan of teenage boys."
"We'll be cool," Will promises her.
"Cool?" Vivian says.
"So cool."
"I'm not going if they aren't going," you threaten.
Vivian sighs. "So be it."
"You'll keep them safe?" Camelia asks.
"Safer than you have, Mrs. Brantly," Vivian tells her, making her wince.
"Where we going?" Lily demands.
"Somewhere pretty fucking far away," Tyrus says, getting into the other car, checking it for interior damage. You figure he's still planning to return it to its original owner... perhaps after first using it to get him to his next destination, wherever it may be. David and Camelia step into the vehicle with him.
The limo's front window lowers. "Better not make Daddy any madder," Marquis warns Lily from the driver's seat. "Just get in."
Lily rolls her eyes -- but gets in all the same. Hard to fight it when both gay dads are trying to force the issue. Will and Auburn follow her.
Olivia seems a bit put-out -- or just confused about what she should do now. She certainly isn't signing on to go fight the good fight with Tyrus, and she hasn't been invited along on whatever zero-notice vacay just got penciled in. So you vouch for her next:
"Olivia comes, too. And Amelia."
You're gonna give Vivian hypertension. She massages the bridge of her nose. "How much room, exactly, do you think there is where we're going?" She says. "And how much leverage, exactly, do you think you have in this matter?"
"Olivia and Amelia come too. Or I'm not getting in the car."
"Aww," Olivia says. "You're so sweet, Wes."
"Tell her that she's being unreasonable and that you'll be making your own evacuation arrangements," Vivian says.
"Ummm." Olivia puts a finger to her lips. "You see, the thing is that I think I'd rather have protection from you billionaires. You know?"
"Jesus fucking Christ," Tyrus says. "Let the lady in, Vivian. And get my girl the fuck away from this place."
Vivian, with a wan wave of her hand, beckons for Olivia to enter. Tyrus, waiting a moment for David and Camelia to buckle up, pulls his own car around, and then away. He and Marquis blow a kiss across the distance separating the two vehicles as they pass.
Having squared away safe passage for some -- not all -- of the people you care about, you get into the limo too.
Amber is the last one in. She takes a look around the roomy interior with its velvet seats arrayed like a sectional sofa, and whistles. "Hope this thing floats, though," she says, clambering over Vivian's lap, turning, and plopping down beside her. Turning in place, she smiles at Vivian. "Hey. Is that server room floodproof? I would *hate* to see an act of god destroy it--"
Amber lets out a choking gasp as a handcuff latches around one of her wrists. Vivian secures the other manacle to her own wrist: the two are chained together now. The expression on Amber's face is somewhere between annoyed and angry. The expression on Vivian's face is somewhere between enraged and murderous.
"What the fuck, Viv?" Amber says.
Vivian slaps her. Not gently. "You stupid, unthinking whore! You rash, insane, reckless, lying little tramp!"
Amber tries to strike Vivian back, but Vivian quickly overpowers her, pushing her back, and down, Amber's head propped against the space where the seat and the sidewall meet, Vivian's knee between her legs, Vivian's hand on her jaw. Amber's nostrils flare in fear. Vivian holds up the handcuff key between them. Amber eyes it for a long moment. Then Vivian opens the car door (making Amber's head loll back hard from the sudden loss of support) -- and tosses the key out, where it clatters across the asphalt, and washes into a very busy storm drain.
"So, what?" Amber says, playing haughty. "Are you gonna stay chained to me forever now?"
"If needs be," Vivian says. "Unless and until I can be sure you aren't going to run off on another death wish, you will not leave my sight again. Any further misadventures you decide to have will be putting me at peril too. Think about that."
"You think I care?" Amber says.
Vivian's upper lip curls.
"I'm s..." Amber begins, but stops herself.
"Whether you care or not," Vivian says, "you had better get accustomed to my presence."
Will giggles. Amber and Vivian both stare daggers at him.
He clears his throat and tries to explain where the funny part is. "I mean, like... how are you two gonna poop?"
Vivian isn't worried. But that offhanded thought brings new waves of dismay to Amber's already dismayed expression.
Water levels across town are getting dangerous in spots, and the limo fords a couple ponds that you question the wisdom of fording. Guess Marquis is an Oregon Trail pro, though. He gets you home.
Out in the drive, under the cover of a veranda, the Moms hug you. They have some suitcases at their feet -- packed pretty heavy, too.
"Are you safe?" N-Mom begs. "Were you hurt?" K-Mom pleads. They pass you between them, squeeze you like they're trying to get the last bit of toothpaste from the tube, and you come close to asphyxiating. They don't betray even a little anger. This, you guess, was too big for anger. They were just worried.
"Where are we going?" You ask them, when they finally allow you to breathe.
Their response comes in perfect unison: "Camping." But K-Mom's version of it is perky, and N-Mom's version of it is distraught.
"Camping," you repeat, much more in line with N-Mom's rendition.
You look down the road. There's a pooling mass of water creeping steadily uphill at the far end of the housing development. "Is the house gonna be okay?" You ask.
"This neighborhood was designed with ARkStorms in mind," N-Mom says. "There's plenty of retaining basins. And tons of dikes all around us. They'll hold up. I trust them, anyway."
"You would," you say.
She frowns. But K-Mom, at least, appreciates the humor.
"Are... you guys mad at me?" You ask after a pause.
"Mad," N-Mom says without a moment's hesitation.
"So goddamn mad," K-Mom agrees.
You wince.
"You'll be punished accordingly," K-Mom says, and pecks you on the cheek. "But later. Right now I think we'd better get while the getting's good."
They wheel the suitcases to the limo and load them into the trunk. You watch for a moment, but your peripheral vision catches someone else approaching. Dad, walking across the street, through the pouring rain. He doesn't look as immediately willing to put his anger on the back burner right now. Ohh man.
"I'll be riding out to the campground with you," Dad says tersely, stepping past, and opening a door. He beckons for you to join him -- in the row of seats between the front compartment and the back where the rest of them are all sitting. "Get in. I want to talk to you."
You sigh, and prepare for the worst.
As Marquis pulls away, Amber scooches forward in her seat. "Where are Mom and Mommy? Where's Ophie?"
"They'll be late," Dad says.
"Where are they--"
"They're coming," Dad sneers, turning around, glaring at Amber. Amber shirks back. Dad settles into his seat again, looking all the madder.
"I saw Gideon there," you tell him. "Tyrus... mentioned his family getting a ticket to safety, too?"
"We're going to Liz's house now," Dad says.
You nod.
There's a long silence.
"Thank you," you say.
He swivels, points at you. "I told you not to get yourself involved in this, Wesley," he says. He never deploys your full name. "All this mayhem? All this crazy shit you did today? Carjacking someone? Do you have any idea--"
"How can't I be involved in it?" You say. "This fu-- this cult thinks I'm their... their messiah, or something."
"It's true!" Olivia says, holding up a finger.
Dad ignores her. "Let me handle this from now on. Do you understand me?"
"No," you say.
Dad glowers at you.
"No," you repeat. "These people are after more than just me. They're after... people I care about. People I love. I'm here, Dad, okay, I'm evacuating like a good girl. But... I can't..." you steady your breathing. Courageous little speeches like this take a lot out of you, and you tend to lose your place midway through.
"I can't," Dad says. "I can't lose you. Just leave it up to me, all right? It'll all work out."
"You always say that!" You cry. You pound the seat beside you. "You know what, Dad? Maybe it works out for you. Maybe you're Mr. Works-Out-Perfect. But stuff doesn't work out like that for the rest of us! And how can you expect me to sit around and do nothing just because you're all, 'hurr, it's gotta work out'? That's crazy! You're crazy!"
Dad rubs his scalp up by his hairline with all four of the fingertips on one hand. He's finally and completely beyond words.
Liz and Summer have full suitcases too, which they struggle to jam into the already jammed back trunk.
"Damn," Will mutters. "Wish I had a chance to pack..."
"You do enough packing," Amber tells him.
Summer yanks the door on your side open and gives you a hug even more constrictive than the Moms gave you. She lifts you partially from your seat. Choking, you try to rasp out some gratitude: "th-thanks b-b-b..."
Summer lets go of you. It's not clear she heard your struggling.
"...Thanks babe..." you huff, rubbing your solar plexus.
"You moron!" She yells. "TELL me next time you go on Death Mission Delta! God!"
"Sorry you're not on the A-Team," Lily snorts. "Too bad. So sad."
Summer balls her fists. "Yeah? At least I'm not on her pump-and-dump list!"
Lily's face puckers. "You -- you fucking slut! Don't get that twisted, you hear? I'm the pump and dumper! Me!"
Marquis raises an eyebrow in the rearview.
"Tell Daddy bout this and I will fucking slay you!" Lily shouts at him. He just laughs.
"Girls, please," Liz says. "Let's calm down. We've got a long trip."
But as the two elder Denali women get in, Amber and Summer take great joy in muttering. "Pump." -- "Dump." in an alternating rhythm.
"Fuck you!" Lily shrieks, kicking at their seats. This, of course, only encourages them.
At Bosphorus Rare Books, Amelia has a tearful reunion with Olivia, hugging and almost falling with her to the ground between the shelves. As Amelia slinks to her knees, hugging Olivia about the waist, Olivia awkwardly pats the top of her head.
"I thought you were... I thought they... I was so..." Amelia tries, so hard, to form a coherent sentence, and ultimately can't.
"I'm sorry I went with them," Olivia tells her. "I did it for us... you understand."
You think after a few minutes of crying at Olivia that Amelia is surely all affectioned out. But she latches onto you next, with equal ferocity. "Wesley! You're okay!"
"Uh huh..." you mutter, blushing looking away. That's no gun in her pocket. Grief arousal response? Is that a thing?
"This is like... boooowwww," Winter says, making an explosion sound and pantomiming twin blasts from the sides of her head. "Did you really get into a gunfight?"
"Um. Sort of?" You say.
"Jeeeesus. Hope you've still only got the three holes."
You blanche.
Winter leans way forward, hands behind her back. "Should I check and make sure?"
You glance back through the storefront towards the waiting limo, where Summer is intently watching through a rolled-down window. You're starting to realize the close quarters of a campground might make some romantic entanglements awkward.
The limo is overfull. Summer is crammed in beside you, holding your hand, leaning against your shoulder -- the others occupy every square inch of seating available at the back.
There are many conversations layered over one another all at once, but so many of them, somehow, seem to return to you -- and so many of these people are so concerned about you, in particular.
Dad thinks about that -- thinks hard, to himself -- and then, finally, looking down at you, he whispers: "Wes... are you... having sex with all these girls?"
"What?" You whisper back. "No? I mean... not *all* of them."
Dad blinks.
You stammer. "I mean -- I mean not yet-- err- what I mean is-- I mean... first of -- first of all-- two of them are my parents-- and-- a-and--"
Dad shakes his head. He seems to all of a sudden have a much different view of you.
Weirdly, it doesn't seem to be negative.
"Okie. Is that everyone?" Marquis says.
"Everyone," Dad confirms.
"Not... quite," you say. "There's one more."
Dad glances at you.
"One more girl," you tell him. "Uhh. Talia Berenstoin. I can give you her address."
"Talia--" Dad says. Okay, this is definitely negative. "Oh my God, Wes. Your teacher? You're doing it with your *teacher*, too?"
"What?" You demand.
"That's so wrong. What kind of teacher would--"
"Oh, please," you hiss back. "Don't even. Don't even."
"You cannot be--"
"I mean, first off, like how even dare you--"
"--old is she? This is literally criminal--"
"--think I don't know what you were doing when *you* were my age--"
"Fine. Fine. Shut up. Okay." Dad closes his eyes, holds up a hand. "But I am going to have such a conversation with her when we get there." He huffs and looks out the window. "Teachers having sex with their own students. What's the world coming to?"
---
Ophie and Noah have been cooped up in the shed attached to the boathouse at the marina all day. No cells, no laptops, no other pesky devices with which their Montague and Capulet parents could conceivably track or contact them. Just Ophie and Noah, alone, in a place that gets very little foot traffic, making the very best of the privacy. They lie among the tools and rope and dusty boxes on the creaky wooden floor, atop a towel, which Ophie, always prepared, thought to bring along. The thing has seen better days.
"Again," Ophie says. She raises her butt and lets it fall against Noah's chest.
"I couldn't possibly."
"Yes you could."
"No. I can't."
"So you will make me force myself on you. I see."
Noah sighs and cranes his head back, to peer, from an upside-down vantage, through the window. "It's been raining for hours."
"Rain is romantic. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Flooding isn't." He struggles to sit up. Ophie tries not to let him. "Come on," he pleads. "We'll have more time tomorrow. I promise."
"You will need to begin a stamina regimen straight away. I will draft up a list of vitamins and supplements, and strength-training exercises. I expect you to adhere to it rigorously."
Noah grips Ophie about the waist and blows a raspberry into her tummy. Ophie giggles -- peals of uncontrolled laughter -- and holds him around his neck. They're only comfortable being this embarrassingly human when they're alone together.
Amid their play tussling, though, Noah gasps in surprise. "Did you feel that?"
"Oh, yes."
"No. I mean -- are you wet?"
Ophie grins at him. Noah, though, spins around and looks at the boards underneath them. A little bit of water laps up through the gaps -- and then drops back down.
"Get dressed," Noah says.
Reluctantly, Ophie pulls herself together. When she kneels to pick up the towel, Noah waves her off. "Leave it."
"I'd better not. You never know when a towel could be useful."
---
Ophie unlashes a rowboat that was moored to the docks at the boathouse. She gives it a nudge and steps aboard. "Noah! Come on!"
Noah stands at the rapidly submerging dock, petrified with indecision.
"Get in the boat!" Ophie pleads. She has to shout to be heard over the force of the rain. "We'll row back to high ground!"
Still Noah doesn't move.
"Noah! Are you trying to drown? Get. In! ... Noah -- please -- I love you!"
This rouses him, finally, and he steps aboard. They each take a pair of oars and steer the board towards the waterlogged town.
"Where should we go?" Noah asks. "After we get to higher ground." But Ophie doesn't respond.
---
In the parking lot Oakfield Apartments, you tell Dad which unit to head up to. He, in turn, tells you to wait here.
"Seriously?" You groan.
"Yes. Seriously." He grips the ledge of the window and frowns down at you through the downpour. "I want to meet this woman one-on-one before I give carte blanche to an improper student-teacher relationship like this."
You exhale hard, shake your head, and roll your eyes. You roll the window up, forcing him to step back, and saving the car from taking on any more water.
You watch as Dad ascends the two flights of stares up to unit 322. Watch him knock, once, twice, thrice. See him wipe water off his dripping face to absolutely no avail, and call out for someone to answer.
Maybe she evacuated already? No one's coming to the door.
But just as it seems like Dad's about to give up -- there's a flash of light, a delayed crackling boom -- and you see Dad stumble backwards, clutching at his chest, bleeding horrifically.
You're on your feet, out of the limo, and racing towards Dad before you actually understand what you've just witnessed. Amber, chained to Aunt Vivian, can do no such thing, and watches helplessly as Vivian holds her down.
As you cross the parking lot, you see Sam Buridan stepping forth from Talia's apartment, a shotgun held at his hip. He's naked from the waist up, and bandaged, and bleeding quite horrifically himself, but he has all his wits. He tests Alabaster with a foot, and finding him unresponsive, steps over him. You know you've got a few of your loved ones behind you, backing you up -- you don't bother to check who all has come out of the limo to help.
From inside the apartment, another form emerges. Talia -- she leaps through the air and tackles Buridan from behind. Together they go tumbling down one of the flights of stairs. Buridan raises his shotgun, but Talia bats it away, rips off his bandage, and punches him in the chest. He coughs a geyser of blood that partly splatters her in the face. No matter. the rain washes it away almost as quickly as it lands.
On the landing above, Dad is alive -- coming to, and trying to crawl towards Buridan. Buridan, pinned under Talia, draws a knife from a hidden sheath in his boot, and slashes her across her tummy and chest, knocking her back. He struggles standing, limps towards the railing -- and flips himself over it. He falls a full story to the Earth, into some bushes.
Marquis races into the bushes, searching for him, gun drawn. "Show yourself, bitch! Come on!"
Amelia and Auburn are two of the ones among the brave who joined you in racing forth from the safety of the limo. They approach Talia.
"Are you okay?" is Amelia's question as she lifts Talia's shirt and looks at her wound -- it gushes, but doesn't seem deep.
"Where did he go? Are there more?" Auburn wants to know.
But Talia, teeth chattering, babbles: "Never scare me. You'll never scare me. Never scare me as much as him. You'll never scare me... as much as him..."
You pass her up, you along with N-Mom and K-Mom, towards the landing where Dad is lying.
He's coughing blood. "Get out of here..." he begs, grimacing at you. "Go already..."
"Oh my god," N-Mom says. She gets Dad on his back. Makes him pull his palm away from his chest. There's a lot of blood, you see wood splinters, but you have no idea how to assess the real severity of the wound.
"Go!" Dad says, struggling, through gritted teeth.
"Alabaster..." N-Mom says, running a hand over his forehead. "Are you..."
He looks back at her. "I'm cold."
You slump with your back against the half-destroyed door of Talia's apartment. For some reason, you focus on the blackly roiling clouds overhead, and all you can manage to think is that a storm this size is like a bridge between Japan and the USA -- that pretty soon, Aunt Rose and Aunt Makoto over in Japan are going to get rained on pretty hard, too.
END OF EPISODE 8.