EVERYBODY LOVES A CHASE SCENE
The ghosts of today’s culling will thicken like flies. Here are the dead: crawling out of cellars, slate-faced and flint-eyed, thinking to live. They cannot see what I see.
/*
Foxtrot Sigma-9 Theme
[2022 Wikidot Theme]
By Liryn
*/
/* FONTS */
@import url('https://fonts.bunny.net/css2?family=Montserrat:ital,wght@0,800;1,800&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.bunny.net/css2?family=Lexend:wght@700;800&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.bunny.net/css2?family=JetBrains+Mono:ital,wght@0,400;0,700;1,400;1,700&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.bunny.net/css2?family=Fira+Code:wght@400;700&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.bunny.net/css2?family=Sofia+Sans:ital,wght@0,400;0,700;1,400;1,700&display=swap');
@import url('https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/theme:foxtrot/inter.css');
@import url('https://fonts.bunny.net/css2?family=Figtree:wght@800;900&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.bunny.net/css2?family=IBM+Plex+Sans:ital,wght@0,400;0,500;0,600;0,700;1,400;1,500;1,600;1,700&display=swap');
/* VARIABLES */
:root {
/* VARIABLES > Core */
--header-title: "SCP Foundation";
--header-subtitle: "SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT";
--logo-img: url(https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/theme:foxtrot/fxtrt-scp_logo_lightmode.svg);
--darkmode-logo-img: url(https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/theme:foxtrot/fxtrt-scp_logo_darkmode.svg);
--logo-opacity: 14%;
--head-font: 'Sans Normalcy';
--ui-font: 'IBM Plex Sans';
--mono-font: 'JetBrains Mono', 'Fira Code', monospace;
--page-font: 'Inter', 'verdana';
--base-font-size: 0.9rem;
--page-font-size: 1rem;
/* VARIABLES > Misc */
--header-txt-color: #333333;
--subheader-txt-color: rgb(var(--accent));
--misc-txt-color: #464646;
--link-txt-color: #E6283C;
--link-hover-txt-color: white;
/* VARIABLES > Color Accents */
--accent: var(--acc-default);
--acc-default: 59, 59, 59;
--acc-wyoming: 142, 0, 18;
--acc-canada: var(--acc-default);
--acc-poland: 87, 44, 17;
--acc-slothspit: 27, 60, 133;
--acc-vanguard: 0, 153, 75;
--acc-threshold: 121, 113, 130;
--acc-overwatch: 28, 37, 56;
--acc-spc: 0, 165, 200;
--acc-fishing: 67, 111, 145;
--acc-nightfall: 151, 0, 2;
--acc-hybrasil: 27, 60, 133;
--acc-goc: 39, 84, 149;
--acc-spooky: 252, 112, 40;
/* VARIABLES > BetterFootnotes */
--fnColor: var(--link-txt-color);
--fnLinger: 1s;
}
/* VARIABLES > Info Bar */
.info-container {
--barColour: rgb(var(--accent));
--linkColour: #EDEDED;
}
/* MAIN */
html {
scroll-behavior: smooth;
overflow-x: hidden;
}
body {
font-family: var(--ui-font), sans-serif;
font-size: var(--base-font-size);
color: rgb(51, 51, 51);
background-image: linear-gradient(to bottom, #e0e0e0, #fff 200px);
text-rendering: optimizeLegibility;
overflow-wrap: break-word;
}
div#container-wrap {
background: none;
}
#content-wrap {
margin: 2em auto 0;
}
#page-content {
font-family: var(--page-font), var(--ui-font), sans-serif;
font-size: var(--page-font-size);
font-weight: 440;
}
#page-content strong {
font-weight: 700;
}
tt,
.page-source,
pre,
#edit-page-textarea {
font-family: var(--mono-font);
}
ol li {
margin: 0 0 1em;
}
ul {
margin: 1em 0;
}
li,
p {
line-height: 1.5;
text-underline-offset: 40%;
}
::selection {
background: rgb(var(--accent));
color: #fff;
}
/* Clicky links */
a,
a.newpage,
a:visited,
#side-bar a:visited {
color: var(--link-txt-color);
}
a:hover,
a.newpage:hover,
a:visited:hover,
#side-bar a:visited:hover {
color: var(--link-hover-txt-color);
text-decoration: none;
background-color: var(--link-txt-color);
}
a {
transition-duration: 0.1s;
}
/* patch for sidebar media, collapsibles, ACS, info button and ayers module so link doesn't override */
#page-content .collapsible-block-folded a:hover,
#page-content .collapsible-block-unfolded-link a:hover,
#page-content .rate-box-with-credit-button .fa-info:hover,
#side-bar .side-block.media a:hover,
.danger-diamond a:hover {
background: transparent;
}
.info-container .collapsible-block-folded .collapsible-block-link,
.info-container .collapsible-block-link {
background: var(--linkColour) !important;
}
/* MAIN > Header */
div#header {
background: none;
height: 160px;
}
#header h1 span,
#header h2 span {
font-size: 0;
display: none;
}
#header h1 a::before,
#header h2::before {
color: var(--header-txt-color);
letter-spacing: 1px;
font-family: var(--head-font), sans-serif !important;
font-weight: 900;
text-shadow: none;
}
#header h1 {
margin-top: -0.3rem;
}
#header h1 a {
width: fit-content;
margin: auto;
}
#header h1 a::before {
content: var(--header-title);
font-size: 1.3em;
}
#header h2::before {
content: var(--header-subtitle);
font-family: var(--ui-font) !important;
font-weight: 700;
font-size: 1.4em;
color: var(--misc-txt-color);
line-height: 26px;
margin-top: 0.35rem;
display: block;
text-transform: uppercase;
}
#header h1,
#header h2 {
margin-left: 0;
float: none;
text-align: center;
}
#header h1 span,
#header h2 span {
font-size: 0;
display: none;
}
div#extra-div-1 {
height: 160px;
width: 100%;
top: 7px;
position: absolute;
background: var(--logo-img) 10px 30px no-repeat;
background-size: 130px;
background-repeat: no-repeat;
background-position: 50% 50%;
z-index: -1;
opacity: var(--logo-opacity);
}
/* MAIN > Header > Search Box */
#search-top-box-form>input[type=text] {
display: none;
}
#search-top-box-input,
#search-top-box-input:hover,
#search-top-box-input:focus,
#search-top-box-form input[type=submit],
#search-top-box-form input[type=submit]:hover,
#search-top-box-form input[type=submit]:focus {
border: none;
background: rgb(var(--accent));
box-shadow: none;
border-radius: 5px !important;
color: #efefef;
font-family: var(--ui-font);
font-size: calc(var(--page-font-size) - 10%);
}
#search-top-box input.empty {
color: #999999;
}
#search-top-box {
position: absolute;
top: 47px;
width: unset;
}
/* MAIN > Header > Top Bar */
#top-bar,
#top-bar a {
top: 10rem;
}
#header #top-bar ul {
border-radius: 10px;
border: none;
background: rgb(var(--accent));
padding-left: 15px;
padding-right: 15px;
}
#header #top-bar a {
color: white;
background: rgb(var(--accent));
font-weight: bold;
}
#header #top-bar ul li ul {
padding: 0px;
border-radius: 0px;
}
#top-bar ul li.sfhover a,
#top-bar ul li:hover a {
border-left: solid 1px #FFF;
border-right: solid 1px #FFF;
}
#top-bar ul li ul li a:hover {
color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.83) !important;
line-height: 230%;
text-indent: 3px;
}
#top-bar {
display: flex;
justify-content: center;
right: 0;
}
.mobile-top-bar {
left: unset;
}
/* MAIN > Header > Login Info */
#login-status {
top: 19px;
}
#login-status,
#login-status a {
color: #333333;
}
@media (max-width: 767px) {
#header .printuser {
font-size: 0;
}
}
.printuser a {
margin: 0;
}
.printuser img.small {
width: 18px;
height: 18px;
padding: 1px 4px 0 0;
background-image: none !important;
}
@media (max-width: 767px) {
#header .printuser img.small {
transform: translate(0, 4px);
}
}
#my-account {
display: none;
}
@media (max-width: 767px) {
#account-topbutton {
margin: 0 0 0 5px;
}
}
/* MAIN > Header > Side Bar */
#top-bar .open-menu a {
border-radius: 0px;
border: none;
background: rgb(var(--accent));
color: white;
}
#side-bar {
background: #FFF;
}
@media (min-width: 768px) {
#side-bar {
padding: 0.3em 0.6em 0 0.6em;
width: 18.75em;
transition: left 0.2s ease-in-out;
direction: rtl;
text-align: left;
border-right: none;
}
}
#side-bar .side-block,
#side-bar .side-block.resources,
#side-bar .side-block.media,
#interwiki .side-block {
border: 2px solid rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2);
border-radius: 0px;
box-shadow: none;
margin-bottom: 6px;
direction: ltr;
background: transparent;
}
#side-bar .side-block.resources {
text-align: center;
}
#side-bar .heading {
color: var(--misc-txt-color);
border-bottom: solid 2px #cfcfcf;
font-size: 9pt;
font-family: var(--head-font);
font-weight: 800;
text-transform: uppercase;
}
/* CONTENT */
/* CONTENT > Blockquotes, Custom Divs */
.blockquote,
div.blockquote,
blockquote {
border: solid 2px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.15);
background: #f7f7f7;
}
.jotting {
padding: 1.3em;
margin: 1em 4.5em;
border: dashed 2px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2);
background: #f7f7f7;
}
.notation {
padding: 1em 1.5em;
margin: 1em 3em;
border-left: solid 3px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.35);
border-right: solid 3px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.35);
background: #f7f7f7;
}
.modal {
padding: 1.2em;
margin: 1em 3em;
border: solid 5px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.15);
background: #fbfbfb;
}
.quote {
padding: 0.4em 2em;
margin: 3em auto;
border-left: solid 3px #bbb;
max-width: 500px !important;
}
.paper {
padding: 1.5em;
margin: 2em;
background: #FFF;
box-shadow: 0px 4px 9px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2);
}
.box {
padding: 1px 9px;
border: solid 3px #bbb;
margin: 0.5em 1em;
}
div.note {
font-size: unset;
border: 2px solid #afafaf;
background-color: #fff;
}
.round {
border-radius: 10px;
}
/* CONTENT > Headings, Titles */
#page-title,
.meta-title {
font-family: var(--ui-font), sans-serif;
font-weight: 800;
color: #3b3b3b;
border-bottom: solid 2px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2);
width: fit-content;
margin: 0 auto 1.5rem;
}
#page-title,
.meta-title,
#breadcrumbs,
.pseudocrumbs {
text-align: center;
}
h1,
h2,
h3,
h4,
h5,
h6 {
font-family: var(--head-font), sans-serif;
font-weight: 800;
color: #3b3b3b;
}
h1,
h2 {
font-weight: 800;
}
.footnotes-footer .title {
font-family: var(--head-font), sans-serif;
color: #3b3b3b;
font-weight: 800;
}
/* CONTENT > Rate Module */
#page-content .creditRate {
margin: unset;
font-family: var(--ui-font);
float: unset !important;
}
#page-content .rate-box-with-credit-button {
background-color: #fff;
border: solid 1px #bbb;
box-shadow: none;
border-radius: 0;
}
#page-content .rate-box-with-credit-button .fa-info {
border: none;
color: #333;
}
#page-content .rate-box-with-credit-button .fa-info:hover {
background: #333;
color: #fff;
}
.rate-box-with-credit-button .cancel {
border: solid 1px #fff;
}
.page-rate-widget-box {
box-shadow: none;
border: solid 1px #bbb;
margin: unset;
margin-bottom: 4px;
border-radius: 0;
font-family: var(--ui-font);
}
.page-rate-widget-box .rate-points {
background-color: #fff !important;
color: #333 !important;
border: none !important;
border-radius: 0;
}
.page-rate-widget-box .rateup,
.page-rate-widget-box .ratedown {
background-color: #fff;
border-top: none;
border-bottom: none;
}
.page-rate-widget-box .rateup a,
.page-rate-widget-box .ratedown a {
background: transparent;
color: #333;
}
.page-rate-widget-box .rateup a:hover,
.page-rate-widget-box .ratedown a:hover {
background: #333;
color: #fff;
}
.page-rate-widget-box .cancel {
background: #fff;
border: none;
border-radius: 0;
display: inline-block;
}
.page-rate-widget-box .cancel a {
color: #333;
}
.page-rate-widget-box .cancel a:hover {
background: #333;
color: #fff;
border-radius: 0;
}
#page-content .rate-box-with-credit-button .page-rate-widget-box {
border: none;
}
/* CONTENT > Rate Module > Author Label */
.authorlink-wrapper {
--author-top-adjust: 0;
--author-bottom-adjust: 0;
--author-right-adjust: 0;
font-family: var(--ui-font);
font-size: var(--base-font-size);
}
/* CONTENT > Side Box */
.anchor {
position: sticky;
height: 0;
top: 0;
}
.sidebox {
padding: .14rem;
margin-top: 0;
margin-bottom: 8px;
width: calc((100vw - 870px)/2);
max-height: calc(100vh - 18rem);
position: absolute;
top: 0;
left: 103.5%;
z-index: 5;
overflow: auto;
box-sizing: border-box;
}
@media (max-width: 1290px) {
.sidebox {
display: none;
visibility: hidden;
}
}
/* CONTENT > Image Block */
.scp-image-block .scp-image-caption {
background-color: #f4f4f4;
color: #3b3b3b;
border: solid 2px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1);
margin-top: 8px;
box-sizing: border-box;
border-radius: 4px;
}
.scp-image-block {
border: none;
box-shadow: none;
}
.scp-image-block img {
border: solid 2px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1);
box-sizing: border-box;
}
.imagediv {
float: right;
margin: 15px
}
@media (max-width: 540px) {
.imagediv {
float: unset;
text-align: center;
margin: 1.3rem auto 1.3rem auto;
}
}
@media only screen and (max-width: 600px) {
.scp-image-block.block-right {
float: none;
margin: 10px auto;
}
}
/* CONTENT > Tables Base */
#page-content tr th {
padding: 6px;
border: 2px solid rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2);
}
#page-content tr td {
padding: 12px;
border: 2px solid #bfbfbf;
line-height: 1.4;
}
#page-content .sidebox tr td,
#page-content .sidebox tr th {
padding: 0.35em;
}
/* CONTENT > Tables Customization (Table Coloring System) */
/* CONTENT > Tables Customization (Table Coloring System) > Table Headings, Image Captions */
#page-content .table1 tr th,
#page-content .table1 .scp-image-block .scp-image-caption {
background-color: #E0FFD4;
}
#page-content .table2 tr th,
#page-content .table2 .scp-image-block .scp-image-caption {
background-color: #D8ECF4;
}
#page-content .table3 tr th,
#page-content .table3 .scp-image-block .scp-image-caption {
background-color: #FDF6D7;
}
#page-content .table4 tr th,
#page-content .table4 .scp-image-block .scp-image-caption {
background-color: #FFDFCD;
}
#page-content .table5 tr th,
#page-content .table5 .scp-image-block .scp-image-caption {
background-color: #FFCFCF;
}
#page-content .table6 tr th,
#page-content .table6 .scp-image-block .scp-image-caption {
background-color: rgba(146, 0, 255, 0.2);
}
.tableb .wiki-content-table {
border-collapse: separate;
border-spacing: 2px;
}
/* CONTENT > Tables Customization (Table Coloring System) > Other Colored Divs */
.table1 .blockquote,
.table1 div.blockquote,
.table1 blockquote,
.table1 .jotting,
.table1 .notation,
.table1 .modal,
.table1 .paper,
.blockquote.table1,
div.blockquote.table1,
.jotting.table1,
.notation.table1,
.modal.table1,
.paper.table1 {
background: rgb(224, 255, 212);
}
.table2 .blockquote,
.table2 div.blockquote,
.table2 blockquote,
.table2 .jotting,
.table2 .notation,
.table2 .modal,
.table2 .paper,
.blockquote.table2,
div.blockquote.table2,
.jotting.table2,
.notation.table2,
.modal.table2,
.paper.table2 {
background: rgb(226, 244, 255);
}
.table3 .blockquote,
.table3 div.blockquote,
.table3 blockquote,
.table3 .jotting,
.table3 .notation,
.table3 .modal,
.table3 .paper,
.blockquote.table3,
div.blockquote.table3,
.jotting.table3,
.notation.table3,
.modal.table3,
.paper.table3 {
background: rgb(255, 245, 189);
}
.table4 .blockquote,
.table4 div.blockquote,
.table4 blockquote,
.table4 .jotting,
.table4 .notation,
.table4 .modal,
.table4 .paper,
.blockquote.table4,
div.blockquote.table4,
.jotting.table4,
.notation.table4,
.modal.table4,
.paper.table4 {
background: rgb(255, 223, 205);
}
.table5 .blockquote,
.table5 div.blockquote,
.table5 blockquote,
.table5 .jotting,
.table5 .notation,
.table5 .modal,
.table5 .paper,
.blockquote.table5,
div.blockquote.table5,
.jotting.table5,
.notation.table5,
.modal.table5,
.paper.table5 {
background: rgb(255, 207, 207);
}
.table6 .blockquote,
.table6 div.blockquote,
.table6 blockquote,
.table6 .jotting,
.table6 .notation,
.table6 .modal,
.table6 .paper,
.blockquote.table6,
div.blockquote.table6,
.jotting.table6,
.notation.table6,
.modal.table6,
.paper.table6 {
background: rgb(255, 218, 255);
}
/* CONTENT > Tabs Base */
.yui-navset .yui-nav a,
.yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-nav a {
background-color: inherit;
background-image: inherit
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav a:hover,
.yui-navset .yui-nav a:focus {
background: inherit;
text-decoration: inherit
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected a,
.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected a:focus,
.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected a:hover {
color: inherit;
background: inherit
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav,
.yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-nav {
border-color: inherit
}
.yui-navset li {
line-height: inherit
}
/* CONTENT > Tabs Customization */
.yui-navset .yui-nav,
.yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-nav {
display: flex;
flex-wrap: wrap;
width: calc(100% - .125rem);
margin: 0 auto;
border-color: #333333;
box-shadow: none;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav a,
/* ---- Link Modifier ---- */
.yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-nav a {
color: #333333;
/* ---- Tab Background Colour | [UNSELECTED] ---- */
background-color: #efefef;
border: unset;
box-shadow: none;
box-shadow: none;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav a:hover,
.yui-navset .yui-nav a:focus {
color: #ffffff;
/* ---- Tab Background Colour | [HOVER] ---- */
background-color: #333333;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav li,
/* ---- Listitem Modifier ---- */
.yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-nav li {
position: relative;
display: flex;
flex-grow: 2;
max-width: 100%;
margin: 0;
padding: 0;
color: #ffffff;
background-color: #ffffff;
border-color: transparent;
box-shadow: none;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav li a,
.yui-navset-top .yui-nav li a,
.yui-navset-bottom .yui-nav li a {
display: flex;
align-items: center;
justify-content: center;
width: 100%;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav li em {
border: unset;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav a em,
.yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-nav a em {
padding: .35em .75em;
text-overflow: ellipsis;
overflow: hidden;
white-space: nowrap;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected,
/* ---- Selection Modifier ---- */
.yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-nav .selected {
flex-grow: 2;
margin: 0;
padding: 0;
/* ---- Tab Background Colour | [SELECTED] ---- */
background-color: #333333;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected a,
.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected a em {
border: none;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected a {
width: 100%;
color: #ffffff;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected a:focus,
.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected a:active {
color: #ffffff;
background-color: #333333;
}
.yui-navset .yui-content {
background-color: #ffffff;
box-shadow: none;
}
.yui-navset .yui-content,
.yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-content {
padding: .5em;
border: 1px solid #333;
box-sizing: border-box;
}
/* CONTENT > WORDS NO BROKEY. CROQ HAS SPOKEY. and other things */
span,
a {
word-break: normal !important
}
.avatar-hover {
display: none !important;
}
#main-content .page-tags span {
max-width: 100%;
}
/* CONTENT > Dustjacket Assets */
.fancyhr hr {
border-top: 2vw solid transparent;
background-color: rgba(var(--bright-accent), 0);
height: 0;
box-sizing: border-box;
border-image-source: url('https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/theme:foxtrot/wl_hr.webp');
border-image-repeat: round round;
background: none;
border-image-slice: 80 500 80 500 fill;
border-image-width: 10em 80em 10em 80em;
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padding: 2vw;
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/* CONTENT > Collapsibles */
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font-weight: bold;
color: white;
padding-top: 4px;
padding-bottom: 4px;
padding-left: 7px;
padding-right: 9px;
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/* CONTENT > ACS Adjustments */
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/* CONTENT > Woed Bar Adjustments */
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Tomorrow the sun will rise, inverted aurora, stucco terraces light-dewed in the parted shade. And in the dying night the ghosts of today’s culling will thicken like flies. Here are the dead: crawling out of cellars, slate-faced and flint-eyed, thinking to live. They cannot see what I see.
So today they come, Kalashnikov sweat wicking into their scarves, called up by a man they trust. Come to die.
Here they are, sidling into the undercity, the shadow of Rome. They swarm over the rooves and stare, past the scalding black ribbon stretching away, eyes saccading for a speck to strike. Steel triggers massaged by fingertremors.
While the watchmen man the horizon, the ritualists spill antichrism and murmur, a harvestman’s promise, and around them stone rises; the trap closes.
The Hand have no masters. But for Ono Marat’s promise they watch, and wait.
Her motorcycle streaks forward into the wind. The onward course is tightly caged by two rows of terraced tenements; their gaudy colours wash out in the forever dusk. Around her nascent shades throw up dervishes of ash, which would become teeth and claws if she were inclined to wait. Over her shoulder two ember eyes sway towards her, driven by pounding cylindrical calves. Though the brass chest of JOVE’s creature heaves with exertion, it shows no sign of slowing, even as its hooves tear furrows in the tarmac. The wetly glimmering muzzle gouts a puff of cinder as its eyes meet hers.
Immaculata ignores the hunting sentinel behind and turns her attention to the onrushing road. This time, thank God, she did not emerge in the winding cityheart where her pursuer would have pulped her against a concrete pillar. Instead she is on a venous road, headed for the Arterial and freedom from this wretched place. Shafts of carmine light scatter over the lowlands as she ascends from the Uncapitolline. The road judders beneath her, unevened by asphalt fingers flailing. The city is reluctant to see her go.
In the mirror the statue is falling behind. But, as she makes a hairpin turn, and her tyres catch on the phalanges, it lurches sideward, through a plaster wall. For a few seconds the gears turn in her head and the realisation hits at the same time as the fist, punching through a windowframe, and behind it lurches the minotaur at and above her as she ducks, bronze palm whistling over her head.
Then it is behind her again, and again it plunges into the sidestreets. With no regard for the strictures and structures of the city, it is faster than her as she dawdles on the sinuous path outward. There are a few seconds of respite, and she checks the censer that rattles on its chain against her chest, wind sweeping the fragrant smoke away. Another turns comes, and to be ready she focuses—
And now she’s in an enormous rumbling cruiser that takes up half the road, interior stinking of incense immediately. The blessing of St. Christopher. If she cannot escape the thing, she will batter it down.
The path forward straightens out. The Arterial is a turn away. Behind the dull roar of her engine the city is silent. Balconies blur beside her, indistinct. Has she outrun it?
Then it bursts from a righthand casement and slams into the side of her chassis so that it careens sideward and she wrestles the wheel, bringing it back into place. The whole vehicle tilts to the right because the sentinel is still there, clinging like a child to the door, and it jabs its horns forward in a waterfall of broken glass. The wind roars through the shattering pane as its jaws hinge open to reveal blocks of enamel teeth backlit by ghastly viridescence.
DO NOT KEEP THE DEAD it proclaims, and eyes still frantically on the road as it begins to bend, she throws up a kick into its flaring nostrils, sending a needle of pain into her ankle and moving the statue not at all. She curses as the roof crumples at the edges. One steely hand’s fingers peer through the torn seams. The other grasps the door and wrenches it away in a spray of sparks. It sets one foot into the passenger seat, impressing into the floor as it advances on her. She grabs at her waist for her gun. The car skids right and the back half of the sentinel slams into and through marble pillars. Fragmenting flecks of stone spiderweb the windshield. One splinter bites at her wrist and draws a bead of blood. Then she pulls her weapon from its holster and fires at the minotaur’s reaching hand.
Apotropaic shards of ex-votos — sculpted limbs and hearts, thanks to the Mother of God, put to better use — chip off two fingernails and it howls in agony. The hand flinches as the bark of the gunfire fills her ears and she fires again. Molded features tear away under the flashing light and she lets loose four more times, punching divots in its adonic chest, and it reels back. One hand keeps a hold on the chassis. A groaning low pours into her bones as it screams. But its grip endures like faith and then it steps forward again and she’s beaten.
So as it rushes toward her she throws open the door and throws herself out and throws behind her a salt-soaked grenade.
Before she hits the ground another motorcycle appears beneath her and she brakes as the uncontrolled car rushes onward and bursts in a flare of fire. The wreck drifts, catches on a block of slate, and flips end-over-end in a blazing catherine wheel. As she speeds past it the hunched silhouette of her enemy rises from the twisted steel: too slow. She’s gone, by a hair, past the reaching arm. And now the cramped path gives way to the cyclopean majesty of the Arterial. The minotaur cannot keep up. It’s over.
That’s where I lose track of her. But I’m not worried. She can only head one way. My way.
A truism: the Hand is infiltrated.
They mitigate it with decentralisation and double-blinded cells and dead drops, but in the end they’re a few thousand maniacs and outcasts against all the fury of Heaven. There’s no doubt that of his chosen few, at least one is also the enemy’s. So Ono Marat plans not to plan. The time for careful scheming was yesterday; now he throws everything he has left in this city in the murder-nun’s way. For her to secure the spirit of Solanus would make this the worst of all possible worlds. He’s still not sure what threw off his plans, but what can be lost to brute force can be taken by brute force. And nobody can betray this:
The Arterial is the straight and narrow road in and out of the city. It leads, as the proverbs say, everywhere. In return it demands a trial, and today he provides it.
Out of the fertile ash surrounding the tarmac rise concrete towers arrayed like wheatstalks. They clasp the road in a vaulting ribcage of flickering filament light, ringed in levels so that the road runs through an amphitheatre of urban flesh. Inside are facsimile ruins: terracotta and sprawling brick that deny easy passage. The sketchily demarcated streets boil with newborn shades. The wrath of the city given form.
Intestines of ventilation and languorously-draped electrical wire spill across the towertops. His Hand are speckled among them. They imposed this hideous modernity on the stagnant city with a hastily erected altar and six printed title deeds to obscure ivycovered Detroit lots. When people are familiar with a place, it grows solid and denies change. But this undercity kneels to every sorcerer’s whim.
He feels a sudden twinge of guilt. Around his neck the goetia shivers slightly. Then smoke drifts from the pages and sparks catch, fly, soar. He tears it off the sinewthread and throws it onto the floor, stomping out the silent flame.
“She’s here.”
The unholy text cannot bear her presence. He came prepared, you had better believe it.
A nod to his lieutenant and his warriors are primed. Of course, he isn’t actually here. It’s been barely half an hour since the confrontation by the tomb, and while his contacts rushed to erect this nightmare cauldron he etched a circle into the dirt of the graveyard where he lost the prize, threw up some candles, and ejected his mortal soul from his body. Anyone who wanders through the cemetery will find an unburied carcass.
So he gets to command this firsthand, at a distance. Once they’ve taken the spirit of Solanus, and with the knowledge of how to use it, they’ll smear JOVE’s creature across the plains, and pay Ms. Dark a visit afterward.
The jaws of my trap yawn shut.
Once she hits triple digits she finally has a chance to consult her prisoner. She clutches the censer in her right hand and minutely adjusts the steering with her left. The hunter is gone from the rearview, though she has no doubt it’s still coming.
Listen to me, ghost. What do you know of the world?
His response is a sneer of disdain.
Enough to know your donkey-god will not see you out of this city alive.
(A flash of memory: a baffling pagan superstition, shown to them in the priory. The Christ cut crossways with the head of an ass. How she laughed.)
If I am caught, old man, JOVE will take you and wring the ectoplasm out of you.
Not until they have the Name. Perhaps they will grant me some concessions.
No. They’ll —
She bites off the reply and grinds her teeth. It’s humiliating to be baited by a dead man. How does he know enough to taunt her?
My city is my body, girl. I know when there are worms squirming in it.
Am I so predictable? She muses acidly.
Everything is predictable, eventually. Release me and I will do you a favour.
She lazes back into her seat and looses the window a hair. A gale washes icy over her skull. The goosebumps stand like soldiers. There’s a thread here for her to unravel. This is why the Initiative chose her.
You are quite the wise one, sir. I bow to your sagacity. What should I do?
Don’t mock me. Let me go now and I will grant you a boon.
Ah, that’s it.
Whyever didn’t you grant yourself a boon over the last two thousand years, sir? I’m not exorcist, but it seems to me that would have been of great use.
She smirks.
Just how awake were you?
No response. Just a nervous silence. And she remembers the sight of the astrologer resurrecting him: saints poured over his body. He did not seem a free man.
I will not break easily, he says, but behind the defiance is defeat. This I swear: The city has not heard my command, but neither shall it have yours.
Because, and this she learned from Cicero, Valerius was condemned before death, cast out of the res publica. His words are like mist that drifts silently over mountains, and changes nothing.
She wants to get more out of him — to learn what the Name truly is, for this even the Initiative’s eldermost do not know, only that it is heavy with old dooms. But something is crawling up out of the horizon. A low squat shell of some rough beast, intricate with staccato blocks and corpse interiors. She takes a moment to reclothe herself in the landcruiser, then speeds on and through the entrance, to the challenge she must surpass.
The moment she’s beyond the threshold a reptilian creature with unhinged jaws slams into the windshield, maw agape with ropes of spattering saliva, and she fires another round (this one mere lead) which blows a redhot wound through the windshield and its sooty head. It detonates into a swirling carbonised cloud and through the pall leaps a hideous manlike thing with triple-jointed arms which flails at the glass before hooking two fingers through the bullethole, stomping gleefully on the hood. A manic grin of interlocking needles stitches its jaw shut.
It hasn’t even been thirty seconds. She can only catch a glimpse of the dim adobe constructions in the background, and even as she grabs at the ashen thing (which hisses and deflagrates at her anointed touch), a dozen more like it peek from behind corners. Then as one they sprint for her.
This is unsustainable. She’s burning out; a falling star. She shoulders open the near door and emerges onto salted soil and a closing ring of hungry mouths. Before they get to her she pulls on credit with Heaven, feeling the reproach, and is surrounded by the hermitcrab shell of a BMP. The guns come with ammo she can’t fire, but the steering’s fine so she proceeds over the gentle roll of crunching ashbodies. The episcope shows the bodies lessening in density as she pulps them, and now she can see the mudbrick in the background clearly. It looks positively Assyrian. She has a few minutes to muse tensely on the architecture before something glimmers on one half-fallen roof.
In an instant she throws herself to the back of the vehicle, metal bruising against her vertebrae, and then the front half ruptures in a tortured shriek of shriek. The concussion bursts something in her, and she falls sickened to the floor, on her hands and knees as rolling cookoff peppers her back with spits of heat. Her head roils but she stands staggering and rushes forward, bouncing off an interior wall and through the hole in the tank. Eyes swim but she calls up:
A sweep of absurd desert camouflage (the only colour scheme she can bring to mind), rotund tyres and a Browning machinegun mounted atop a Humvee. She rushes into the turret and more rounds zip past her head as she ducks, swivels, lets loose. A row of craters climb up a roof and one figure falls in a blurry stroke of red, RPG-7 falling with him. Old hands spent. The other rakes the vehicle with fire as she ducks. One finger crams a cube of incorrupt flesh out of a pocket and into her mouth so her vision clears. Her head still pounds something fierce.
She calls up a limp scooter and snaps off the mirror, looking over the lip of the trunk to see her assailant lining up his sights. Then —
He vanishes, pulled below the roofline. Then reappears a moment later, thrown into the street, limbs twisted. Landing with an expression of comical surprise only a few metres away, eyes staring forever into nothing. Two steel hands pull the minotaur over and above the roof, and it lands in a thumping cloud of dust on the ground. A semiautomatic drumbeat punches little chips out of its chest as two more of the inexplicable attackers (here for the Name, certainly, but who?) turn a corner. They try and reverse course but it’s on them in seconds. One hoof punches through the foremost ribcage, and it grabs the other by the arm. She traces an arc through the air and then it brings her down on an outcropping of brick and her back breaks in two places. While the dying woman fishgapes it turns again to her.
Listen to me. hisses Valerius. Now, he’s afraid. Or it crushes both our throats.
She looks around. She made it about half a mile into the ruins. The cupped hands of the skyscourging towers still lie mostly ahead of her. No running now.
In five thousand years you have become familiar with failure. But this is the arrogance of the dead: they think that because they have escaped their judgment once, it is only proper that they should do so always. Then one day they forget, and are yours.
So when the phantasm flees, riding the body of one of its puppets on a fire-breathing serpent, you do not despair. Instead you continue unceasingly to follow it along the great road. It retreats to a point in the distance. Even when it has passed beyond vision, you have the scent. There is no corner of the Earth that could hide it.
Eventually you come to a leering ringwall that blots half the sky. Chattering gunfire echoes from within. There is great war here. But your prey waits, too.
So you descend into the fray.
On the way are many waiting morsels. They exclaim when they see you and some let you pass, faces caked with shame. Most try to stop you. You throw them apart and unwind their organs, as the priests instructed you long ago, but they do not relent. Their expressions harden into stone, and all you can do is smash them.
And here she is: crouching in a derelict beside another wreck. After disposing of a few more irritants you have her. She looks up at you, fearless but sweat-drenched, the leather of her jacket torn to ribbons. Streaks of blood daub her face. You approach with leisure, pawing through the drifts of carrion earth. You never enjoy breaking the dead-possessed, but you will not let this lichthing away.
(Because this is what the dead do: they possess, they take, they cling to what is not theirs. They burn the world for the taste of wine.)
“Mary, Mother of God, Theotokos, guard me and bear me swiftly to my place.” she chants, and raises the mechanism about her neck, swivelling it so it clicks. Sparks pour out and down and spiral upward to make a body. Proud, cruel, gaunt, sallow: a parody of a praetor. You have had the pleasure of entombing more than one. He smiles his small smile, pearldew teeth ruby-shaded, and speaks—
A bolt of lightning strikes from out of a clear sky.
Rema knows only the alien glow of the never-sun sky. Sometimes the byways and facades see limns of solar or lunar light through briefly opened doorways to the overcity. But what it never sees are colourless silent watching stars.
When a pillar of starlight slams down, larimar-flecked azure, the air itself seems to cringe away. Unseeable Vitali patterns etch themselves into the ground. JOVE’s pet necromurderer seizes and falls still, one hand outstretched to break open Ms. Immaculata. The ghost is gone.
“Hey, honey—” says Marat, and then she turns and hipfires three rounds right through him, touching nothing. His smile flickers from a million watts to a mere thousand. The white suit’s a touch grass-stained. But he’s made out fairly well, ceteris paribus.
“Can’t fault a girl for trying!” He laughs.
“You. Who are you?”
“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow theatrically, “You want to know my name? Didn’t seem too concerned with it when you grabbed this here spectre off me. After I went to the trouble of digging him up, too.”
He raises his cane, taking the weight off. Something squirms in the diamond stud atop it. The metaphysics of the soul laugh at material law. Valerius is back where he began.
The sister makes her way to her feet and hops off the truck’s back. Nothing stirs around them. The shades have been banished by this odious light.
“I don’t know—”
She hacks up a few dots of blood and winces.
“These men. I think they gave me a concussion. Saints.”
He feels sick, and then a hot wash of rage which he doesn’t let show on his face.
“I liked them. They were solid fellas. Just trying to do right by me, you know? Someone has to, when all those high chairs are piled on all those bones.”
“They’re yours? The Hand’s?” Her eyes narrow. “Are you trying to moralise at me?”
“Nah. Like I said, can’t fault a girl for trying.” He smiles wanly. “Do wish you could have been a little less accurate, though, miss.”
She shrugs. Her expression is utterly open, and totally defeated.
“The minotaur’s yours, too?”
“Never. Too indelicate. Makes a mess of things; don’t jive with my constitution. I hate going loud.”
She glances around at the expansive ruins and the urban anticupola around it.
“Well,” he laughs, “You got me desperate. Good job. Not many people can say they’ve pissed off old Monodromy Marat and lived.”
He extends a hand and to his surprise she goes for it. To her it should feel as warm as real flesh, but she burns like a furnace to the touch. The pain extracts a quirk of his mouth, at which she chuckles.
“Then it’s… the Coalition’s?”
“The Venture’s. They take great pride in the distinction, ma’am.”
“Saints.” She turns, exposing her back to him, and sighs. Somehow she digs up a cigarette from her jacket and a scuffed lighter with which she lights it, and takes a drag.
“You a smoker?”
“No.” Her voice is raw. “Were you capable of disabling that thing at will?”
“Took me six weeks of prep, and it had to be within an hour’s window, and it’ll wear off in five minutes. But yes.” He waves a hand at her flamboyantly. “Star mastery, lady.”
“Astrologers are a hair above diabolists.” She sits down on another summoned motorbike. Her head falls into her hands. One set of fingers splays carelessly over the exposed cranium. “I’ll stop wasting our time.”
She looks straight up at him. Through him, it feels. “What do you want me to do about any of this?”
He guffaws. “Finally, the right question. Now, Emma — can I call you Emma? — when you took that hombre off of me, I did say I’d want interest. Here’s the deal. You head on over to Ms. Dark’s auction, and you tell the minotaur I’ll be there too. It’ll let you go when it sees me. Alternatively, try and escape from it on your own. As long as I’m out of the splash zone.”
He grins vindictively. “When you show up, just… make a mess. I think he’ll do most of the job, anyway.”
He thumbs over at the statue, which seems to strain against its bindings. Is it just him, or can he hear soft breathing?
Immaculata massages the bridge of her nose with her fingers, then scoffs and straddles the bike.
“Fine. Where?”
“Where else? The Vatican, girlie.” When she shoots him a dirty look he laughs and says, “City of God, City of Man. You know how it is with Popes.”
She shakes her head bitterly. “Was this your game the whole time? I didn’t think the Hand were so careless with the people that trusted them.”
This time he lets the sourness leak into his voice. “We’re not. I’m not. The hunter wasn’t supposed to catch up with you until way, way later. Killed way more of the poor sonsabitches than you.” He shrugs. “Still don’t know what went wrong with the timing.”
Then, abruptly, he vanishes, because what went wrong with the timing grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him out of the astral projection. But Emma can’t see that. Nor can she see (I hope, but I have my suspicions) the spydrone autodestructing three hundred metres up; so carefully made it should count as art.
All she knows is that her life depends on making her way to the Vatican. Her unlikely companion wakes and they go, together, to desecrate in the name of God.
I meet my new pal in the park.
With me I bring my old friend, a nice jacket, some persuasive arguments with novelty calibres, and one especially direct syllogism with armour-penetrating bomblets.
He’s lying insensate on the floor, so I give him some time to settle his affairs, etcetera. Then it’s time so I pick the sod up and shake him until his eyes twitch open blearily. Immediately that oily smile I’ve heard so much about spreads like a sheen across his face as he stands. I punch him in the paunch so he doubles over, and then bring my friend down on his raised arm. The radius and ulna break in two very pleasingly and he wants to scream as he straightens up. Friend comes round in an arc and smashes his jaw. A few teeth thud quietly into the grass beside his fallen hat. No pleasing clatter; terrible.
He falls back. Now his eyes bear the appropriate amount of fear. Brilliant. I put away friend and try out argument #3 through the knee. The wound cauterises instantly under the plasma, but he still yowls.
“Alright, buddy,” I tell him, picking up his cane to fiddle with, “I think we’ve got something real good going here. So just keep mum, and we’ll be golden.”
I pull out the diamond and look through. Inside I think I can almost see the impotent rage of whatever’s stuck within. The rest of the cane I break over my knee and throw away.
“Oh, sorry,” I extend a mocking hand and a wink, “We haven’t met.”
“I’m Anna Chao.”
