Walking down Broadway in broad hell-light was dangerous, even if everything from Zucotti Park onwards was silent. The streets weren’t clean, but they were empty. The only thing moving was the ragtag squad of three agents and one doctor, who ran from one totaled car to the next, their eyes always scanning in the windows for any CI snipers. Checking for survivors of the ongoing city-wide disaster to evacuate them from the oncoming GOC-sanctioned apocalypse was difficult if everywhere they looked was empty. Scarce days ago, this had been one of the capitals of the world, the Big Apple, a city that never slept. Now, buildings lay devoid of life, darkness pouring out from their windows. But, at the same time, any respite from demons and insurgents who wanted to kill them was welcome.
They arrived to the figure of a charred demon hung upside down from a streetlamp. It had been stabbed by a metal rod shaped like a cross somewhere around where the heart would have been in a human. The sign that read “Wall Street” was completely soaked in black goo pouring from the wound.
“Joder,” said Agent Santiago Arango Nassar.
“Well, this is gnarly,” Nieves commented, examining the blood splatter on the floor. Because of her position as a GOC STRIKE team commander, she had decided to assume the role of leader in the operation.
“Good riddance. That’s one less of these fuckers we have to worry about,” Answered Abbas Laabi, captain of the armed forces of the Horizon Initative.
Frida Haussman, of Prometheus Labs and the last member of the team, remained silent. She was too occupied fiddling with an experimental GOC issued Apportation Pack that rested on the flat side of her bag, which floated autonomously in front of her.
Upon the crossroads, the squad didn't know where to go. Northwards, there were the forces trying to evacuate refugees in and around Central Park. They had carved a bloody path through enemies to come here, and now the way would be closed again by new fresh horrors. Southwards, the sea awaited. If the sky had been twisted into a parody of itself and the Earth had been invaded by demons, they had no idea in what ways could the waters have changed. Perhaps blood, bile or acid now washed the shores of Manhattan. Plus, even though they felt they could face most terrestrial foes, there was no telling what monster could spawn from the depths of an infernal ocean. To the left and the right, the great unknown.
But the answer came from there: a scream pierced the unnatural silence coming from the east.
“Shall we go see what that’s all about?” asked Abbas, smiling as he unsheathed his sword.
"Her name’s engraved in my burning heart; I found no cure or counsel for my pain!" the weapon enunciated as the captain walked into Wall Street.
“Don't go without me! I won't let you steal any more kills!" Shouted Santiago.
The avenue was empty. Newspapers and plastic bags moved eastwards, animated by the hot wind of the underworld. Upon closer inspection, they could see dried bloodstains on the pavement and walls, undoubtedly the last remains of passerbys who had been unwittingly caught outside when the Armageddon was unleashed.
“Nobody here,” whispered the MTF agent, suddenly possessed by the need to be as silent.
"Nobody except the dead," the Horizon Initiative member refuted, pointing at a burnt car with his sword. The blackened shape of a corpse could be made out under the unforgiving red light. "No words can be uttered by those mouths anymore."
“It might have come from the biggest building around,” answered Nieves, pointing at the neo classical facade of the New York Stock Exchange. “And even if it didn’t, we might find some survivors worth telling to fuck off from the city.”
Without waiting to see if the others agreed with the course of action, Abbas ran up the steps, sword in hand. Santiago was close behind, with the last two members of the team walking slowly, as Frida was trying to put away the teleportation device inside her bag, but it was now no longer floating but running around her legs like an excited dog.
“Entrance is clear,” noted the Malleus agent. And it was. The colonnade was abandoned, security having long fled the scene.
Weapon drawn, Santiago was the first to enter into the building proper. All the rooms the team traversed were similarly devoid of life. There were telltale signs of activity here and there. Documents on tables; half-empty mugs, its content slowly evaporating into the atmosphere and phones dangling off their hooks, communicating to a non-existent audience.
"There are no bodies," Nieves pointed out while they were traversing a corollary meeting room. "Everything is abandoned, as if everyone had left in a hurry. But no signs of a massacre."
"There are no signs of struggle anywhere, either. But the remains left behind seem to be at least three days old." Continued Abbas, while he poked with a sword a moldy sandwich. "So whoever was here left proverbially right as the shit was hitting the fan."
"Aww, the old man wanted to see more action. Damn shame," Teased Nassar.
"Youngsters like you should learn to stay silent," answered the captain.
"All this is so unfair! I wasted my life wandering in lands of exile and feeling low!" the sword whispered. Its owner grumbled and stopped using it to probe the rotten food.
"Maybe the stockbrokers are more organized than what we give them credit for," Frida mused, while petting her bag. "They might have formed an orderly line and gone somewhere else."
"Or maybe another team from the evacuation effort got here first and lead them to a safe place." Nieves deduced. She sat down on a chair and swiveled around. When her motion brought her to face the team again, she said: "But we heard a scream out there. So, just to be safe, we should still do a full sweep of the building."
Thus, they moved on to the next room, which was also empty except for a fax machine that had ran out of paper to print.
"I'll be the first to say it: I'm a bit disappointed that there's no foes to vanquish in this whole building." Abbas sighed while reading the sheets the machine had left on the floor. They were unreadable gibberish.
"We'll encounter demons soon. I feel it in my bones," Santiago predicted. Then he cocked his head to the side. "Actually… Do you hear that? There's like a noise. Somewhere."
"That's the fax machine. It's still coughing," Haussman answered, tapping the appliance.
"No, no. It's people. And it's coming from there," the MTF agent replied, pointing at a corridor.
The team, silently walked down the hallway. And slowly, they started to identify the buzzing of conversations and steps coming from behind an ornate door. The Foundation Agent trained his revolver on it while Abbas put his hand on the handle and readied his blade.
"I saw a gazelle today that tormented me, O listeners!" the blade sang.
Nieves put a finger to her lips, demanding silence as she drew her experimental rifle. Then, the Malleus agent kicked the door in.
To the bewilderment of the team, the trading hall of the New York Stock Exchange looked more or less the same as it did in photos taken in normal circumstances. The floor was flush with brokers screaming with joy, crying with despair and chattering amongst themselves; papers strewn all across the ground and smoke pouring out of the cigarettes in everyone’s lips and the mouths of a cohort of demons from Gehenna. They all looked at the screens above that tracked the developments of global trade.
Surprisingly, despite the inherent manic energy of such a location, everything seemed normal. The space-time perversion and subsequent slaughter happening in the city had seemingly left the building unchanged. Except for the presence of demons in the midst of the stock brokers. Bizarrely, they weren't attacking the financiers and seemed content middling about, looking at documents and drinking blood freely available from the water cooler.
"Someone cut my finger, I must be dreaming," muttered Santiago, lowering his gun.
The squad carefully walked into the crowd, which didn't notice their sudden appearance. Nieves approached a man who, plastic cup of coffee in hand and cigarette in mouth, absentmindedly looked upwards.
"Hey you. I'm Commander Arcadio, from the GOC. Can I ask you a couple questions?" she asked, while shaking his shoulder.
"Uh. Yeah. Go ahead," the man answered snubbing his smoke on the table.
"Who are you? And what's going on here?" the soldier inquired.
“Well, my name’s Mike. And I can't tell you about the rest of things, but the Apple stocks I'm trading are going up, so… That's what's going on.”
“And who’s that beside you?” Abbas points at the two demons behind Mike.
“Oh them? That’s Orcus, the Flayer of the Asphodel, He Who Bathes in the Pyrephlegethon, He Who Will Command the Armies of Nyx At The End of Time,” he says, pointing at a humanoid figure without skin and a bloated stomach. “He’s from Tartarus, but don’t hold it against him.” Then, he whispers “This is a little trade secret that I’m telling you because you seem cool, but don’t go spilling it out there: he just bought a big share of Nestlé.”
Frida nods gravely and then points at the other demon, a naked humanoid with pitch black skin marked with red glyphs and wearing a mask with blood constantly pouring out from its eyes and mouth.
“And that one?”
“Oh yeah. That’s Jeremy. He’s just hanging out.” Mike answers and immediately goes back to checking out the stocks for Apple.
“And they don’t attack you?” Abbas asks, sword still pointed at Orcus. Mike just nods without looking at him.
“So the scream from outside was just someone screaming because their stock was tanking?” Asked Santiago.
“Guess so.” Answered Frida, as now none of the traders were paying attention to them.
“GREETINGS. AND WELCOME TO MY DOMAIN.” A booming voice interrupted them. It came from both inside their minds and the figure of a demon, walking towards them from the crowd of stock brokers. The team winced and pointed their weapons at the newcomer. He looked painfully unassuming: humanoid, red horns, red tail and a well-tailored suit.
“And who are you supposed to be?” Nieves screamed in response.
“MY NAME IS H’RASM’KAL. IN NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES I’M A MIDDLE MANAGER CLERK AT MC&D NEW YORK BUT SINCE THE ELEVENTH, I’M THE PRESIDENT OF THE NEW YORK STOCK EXCHANGE MARKET. IT’S A PLEASURE MEETING YOU.” It was difficult to focus on his face, but the squad could agree that his smile was perfectly professional.
“Good, I’m Commander Arcadio, from the UNGOC. My team and I," she points at her companions, “are on a mission to evacuate as many civilians from Manhattan as possible.”
"GOOD. WELL, I'D APPRECIATE IT IF YOUR TEAM AND YOU STOPPED POINTING GUNS, AN ANGRY SWORD AND AN ANGRIER BAG AT ME. IT'S JUST NOT VERY GOOD MANNERS." Slowly, they lowered their weapons. "THANKS. SO, ARE YOU HERE FOR BUSINESS OR FOR WHAT?"
"Well, we are helping out wherever we can and we heard someone scream from outside so we came here to see what was up," answered Abbas, his sword still drawn and pulsating with a furious purple.
"OH, THAT'S NORMAN. HE HAS A POWERFUL VOICE, THAT ONE. I ALWAYS TELL HIM THAT HE SHOULD JOIN A CHOIR. HE SOLD HIS SHARES ON BANK OF AMERICA A BIT TOO SOON AND NOW HE'S SUFFERING," the demon answered. "BUT THAT'S HOW THE FREE MARKET GOES, RIGHT?"
The team was speechless. Finally, Haussman asked:
"So, why is it that outside the demons are killing civilians and here they aren't?"
"OH, THAT WAS ALL MY DOING. SEE, WHEN ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE, THE BOSSMAN LOOKED AT THE DEMONS INVADING THE CITY AND MADE DEMONADE. HE CAME UP TO ME AND SAID, WELL YOU'RE ONE OF THEM. GO SEE WHAT YOU CAN DO," he looked proud of his boss' work ethic. "SO I CAME DOWN FROM ATOP THE WALL AND SAW THAT MY NEXT OF KIN WERE SHREDDING THE MEASLY EXCUSES FOR SECURITY THAT WE HAVE HERE AND HAD TOOK IT UPON MYSELF TO CREATE SOME ORDER."
"How?" Haussman asked, dumbfounded.
"WELL, IT WAS JUST A MATTER OF CREATING A GOOD ENVIRONMENT FOR DIALOGUE. TURNS OUT STOCK BROKERS AND DEMONS HAVE MORE IN COMMON THAN WHAT THEY ORIGINALLY THOUGHT. I THINK IT'S JUST A MATTER OF TIME NOW BEFORE THE BIGGEST BUSINESSES IN DIS START SELLING SHARES IN HERE TOO." now he looked proud of his own work ethic. "IT'S ALL FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE ECONOMY. I AM IN CONTACT WITH THE OLD DARKE AND HE LIKES ALL THE ACHIEVEMENTS I'M GETTING HERE."
"Isn't this somehow against the law? You know, conflict of interests, and all that." Santiago points out.
"WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? CALL THE IRS? WE CONTROL THAT, TOO." He laughs. "YOU SHOULD BE MORE WORRIED ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS OUTSIDE OF THESE WALLS THAN WHAT HAPPENS INSIDE OF THEM. WE ARE FINE HERE. WHEN EVERYTHING BLOWS OVER WE'LL STILL BE STANDING. THE MARKET REGULATES ITSELF, AFTER ALL." And then he winked.
"But you'll still be blown to pieces when Pizzicato destroys the city," Nieves said. "We gotta evacuate you."
"OH, PLEASE DON'T TELL ME THEY WANT TO BLOW THE CITY TO SMITHEREENS. DO YOUR BOSSES NOT KNOW THAT A DESTROYED CITY IS BAD FOR BUSINESS?"
"So is one overrun by bloodthirsty demons" answered Abbas, with his sword still drawn.
"TELL THAT TO THE PEOPLE BEHIND YOU" rebated the demon, pointing at the brokers. "THEY'VE NEVER BEEN RICHER."
"So what will you do? It's not as if this building would survive the blast," Haussman pointed.
"Neither will anything else," Nieves added, gravely.
"I MIGHT TAKE YOUR OFFER AND LEAVE THIS PLACE. I'VE MADE ENOUGH MONEY TO RETIRE ON THE SHORES OF FLORIDA OR THE STYX, WHICHEVER CAUSES MORE SUFFERING UPON ITS DENIZENS." Then he looked around. "AND THE TRADERS CAN DO WHATEVER THEY WANT. IT'S A FREE COUNTRY. I CAN COMMANDEER MC&D'S OWN BOAT. THEY HAVE ONE ON THE HARBOR."
The team left the President of the New York Stock Exchange alone with the preparations and went around talking with the brokers and the peaceful demons. Most responses to the impending doom the GOC was going to bring to the city were mild and uninterested. But slowly, a small cohort of pasty men sweating under their long-sleeved white shirts started following them awaiting the moment they would be extracted.
"So what do we do once we have evacuated all of these people?" Asked Haussman.
"There's still millions of people out there. I say we don't rest until we've found them all." Answered Nieves. "It's just a matter of finding where we are needed next."
As if on cue, Santiago's radio crackled to life. Through the static, a voice could be heard:
"This is Rex Alces. I am hailing all Foundation forces that can receive this message. I request backup in Liberty Island to defend it from demonic incursions." Interference overpowered the broadcast for some seconds, only to return later. It repeated: "This is Rex Alces…"
The ragtag squad looked at each other, determination in their faces. Then, wordlessly, they walked up to H'rasm'kal, who was in the middle of the trading hell rounding up those who wanted to evacuate. Nieves was the one who spoke:
"Hey, can you save us a spot in your boat? There's a place we need to get to."
