"Come on, everyone. It's going to be a long walk."
The following file was discovered as a text document titled "cahorumtalos.txt" on the personal device of Doctor Nasiba Oqilov, Professor of Quantum Paraphysics at Columbia University, discovered during a routine search by campus security shortly following the Manhattan Dimensional Collapse Terror Attack. For ease of reading, it has been translated from its original Tajik.
Abstract
Historically, teleportation has been a long-winded and costly process. Materials to create teleportation circles are costly, commonly used in other ritual practices, and tend to be incredibly easy to wash away with a hose or water gun. Remote, personal teleportation is a much more cost-effective measure, but the ability to only bring what you can carry, and the effort required to perfect the talent make it an unlikely choice for many. With a rise in interest from businesses worldwide in switching to faster, anomalous means of transportation of goods, many are also seeking a less expensive alternative.
Fig. 1.1. A prototype design, photographed outside of my home.
I propose, as such, a small piece of paratechnology to serve as a replacement, or alternative, to these more traditional methods. The Warper Rod (think of a better name before submitting this to the office) is a set of eight rods, externally composed of telekill alloy, and containing a small thaumaturgic conduit within a "bulb" at one end. When two sets of four of these rods are placed in a loosely square (or rhombus) formation, they can functionally serve as a replacement for the traditional collection of sigils and ink upon a surface, and allow for the contents of the space within one to be immediately transferred to the other, and vice versa.
Over the past year, I have developed two sets of working prototypes, one of which has been partially damaged during testing efforts by an associate (who will remain unnamed for concerns of their privacy), and am willing to produce a third set if requested to do so. Currently, with assistance in financing by another anonymous party, the production of an individual set is currently projected as being around ~~24,220 Rubles~~ 10,000 US Dollars. While I do believe that more readily available rune transcription equipment would reduce the material cost (and the time and effort put into their creation) greatly.
The following document was recovered from a text file on an unknown civilian's personal laptop on 19/09/2001, labelled as "idkdiaryentry1.txt." The device was discovered in Low Memorial Library. Forensic analysis has discovered the fingerprints and minor traces of DNA of one Kuroki Goro on its keyboard. An investigation into Kuroki has been launched, and the UIU is operating in tandem with the Singapore Police Force to locate him.1
Well, guess this is my diary now. Probably a better thing to bring to a UN-operated refugee camp than the laptop I use to do the numbers for my drug smuggling career, but sometimes you just have to panic. A lot. At least this one hasn't gone out yet, nobody can see this but me.
I don't think Manhattan's long for this world. As if two planes flying into the World Trade Center and them not collapsing wasn't enough, now a solid 60% of my life's work and the people I care about are localized entirely within Hell. Hell, demons and all. I'd know, one tried to eat my fuckin' face two-odd days ago. Shame, really. Probably the least appetizing part of my body. Maybe they'd take my heart instead, get rid of this damn heartburn…
Anyway, one evacuation order after another, and I ended up in Columbia. Never thought I'd be back here outside of business after I'd dropped out back in '96, but life's full of surprises. Most of the others are here, or down in Central Park. No real word from that lot, but everyone up here's assuming the worst. I can't blame them. They've called in the National Guard and the Pentagram. Which is… overkill, at the best of times. So if that's been deemed necessary, we must be absolutely fucked.
Thankfully, as ever, Boss has a plan.
Our contact was on-campus when the attacks happened, finishing off the set he owed us for delivery sometime in the near future. We know for a fact that the rods in Detroit are still in place. Rico said so, at the very least. So, today, I'm going to get the rods. We set them up, and we begin to evacuate the college grounds. There must be, like, a hundred thousand people here. Boss said that even if we just charge a dollar to get out, we'd be turning a noticeable profit and the Gawkers couldn't say a word about it. Hardly extortion at that price, and it's for a noble cause. Well, obviously, friends and family of members of the Spirit get priority and a bit of leniency in regards to the payment and queue, but a little nepotism isn't going to hurt anyone.
I'm going to pick up the rods soon. Ideally, this goes well. If it doesn't, you're probably reading this in fifty years' time when someone finds the wreckage of my hard drive in the hell-wastes of the Eastern Seaboard. You could probably make a good bit of money off this old laptop, if you can get all the pirated music out of the files. It'll be harder than you think.
The following footage was recovered from the body cameras of members of Provisional Task Force Zeta-0726 ("Damn Thieves"), shortly after the Battle of Columbia University on September 13th, 2001. Primary camera angle taken from Commander Nieves Rosa Arcadio.
PTF Zeta-0726 arrived in Columbia University at approximately 6pm local time, with the intention of retrieving several pieces of experimental paratechnology from one Doctor Nasiba Oqilov.
The group walk through the halls of the recently-completed Niederl College of Applied Parascience, helllight from the world outside illuminating parts of the floor and painting the hallway a faint crimson. Arcadio walks at the back of the group. In front of her, Nassar nurses his right arm, the hand noticeably missing, and curses in Spanish as the stump at his wrist occasionally thumps and extends slightly. Haussmann walks by his side, both hands on her pistol. Her bag continuously opens and closes its zipper at a high speed, making a sound somewhat similar to growling. Laabi leads the group through the building, his hand at the hilt of his nimcha constantly. Every few moments, he glances over his shoulder, as if to check if his team is still there. They pass by several rooms, ignoring them.
Laabi: So… this certainly is an excursion.
Nassar: Hold on, let me guess. [He holds up the stump of his hand in a motion to pause, much to Haussmann's visible disgust.] You want to get one of these rod things so you can jury-rig it to that thing? [He points, again with the stump, to Arcadio, presumably toward the Apportation Pack mounted on her back. Laabi turns his head slowly, staring at Nassar out of the corner of his eye.]
Haussmann: Yes. [She gingerly raises a hand, and places it on Nassar's forearm, slowly pushing it back down to his side.] If I'm remembering the details of her submission correctly, these rods should be able to be attached to the Everhart Resonator without either exploding or causing noticeable inference. From there, they should be tap into the Elan-Vital reserves of the device, and… [She makes a circling motion with her index finger.] Let us make bigger apportation circles.
Arcadio: We're also here to do civilian evacuations to Liberty Island. Columbia's been over capacity since this shitshow started, and I think we saw how bad that'll be for it if this carries on much longer firsthand.
Laabi: Inshallah. It's like Dhaka down there. Although, I will say, there were marginally less horrific abominations in Bangladesh.
Nassar: I- Bangladesh. Is there a country south of Russia you haven't been to?
Laabi: Most of Southeast Asia, Georgia, Armenia… Bahrain doesn't count, since it doesn't exist. Plenty. Are you looking for holiday recommendations?
Arcadio: Back on focus, Laabi.
Laabi: [He turns his head back, looking to the side.] If you- Oh, I think this is the room.
The group gather around the door. The glass above the handle appears to be have covered by a large piece of cardboard, and a small plaque on the door reads: "THAUMATURGIC MECHANICS LECTURE AND DEMONSTRATION HALL."
Haussmann: The dean said this is her panic room. Usually where she gives lectures, too.
Nassar: Is she allowed to cover the window? Don't get me wrong, privacy is good, but there's bound to be blind spots in here. It seems suspicious.
Laabi: A small bit. Still, if she really needs the privacy, the door will be locked.
Haussmann places a hand on the door handle.
Haussmann: Suppose there's only one way to find out.
Haussmann pulled the door handle down, and pushed the door away from her. It swings open, and the group quickly enter the room. Inside, a number of desks lay strewn about the room, evidently displaced by a rush to leave the room. At one of these desks, about twenty meters away from the door, a pair of woman stand, a large duffel bag sitting on the table between them. One is Doctor Oqilov, a woman with dark hair, somewhere in her fifties. Across from her is a much younger man, somewhere in his twenties.2 Both stare at the newly arrived group of heavily armed individuals.
Kuroki: You fuckin' ratted me out?
Oqilov: I-
Before she can finish, Kuroki grabs the bag from the table, and runs toward the room's window. He grabs a chair and hurls it at the glass, which shatters from the impact. He goes to jump, and Haussmann and Laabi run to intercept him. He jumps, and runs down the street, followed by the pair. Nassar moves to follow them, but Arcadio stops him.
Arcadio: Not right now, nubby. [She glances at Oqilov.] We've got someone of our own to deal with right here.
The following footage was recovered from Temporary Agent Frida Haussmann's body camera, following on from the previous footage. Due to the camera's status as part of Haussmann's exoneural network of objects, the majority of audio has been trimmed from this footage, to account for actual speech within.
Haussmann and Laabi climb a fire escape on the Niederl College, shortly behind Kuroki. The criminal stares down at the pair, as he reaches what appears to be the top of the building.
Kuroki: Fuck off!
Haussmann: We're not police! We're not going to arrest you!
Kuroki: [He ducks away, his speech harder to hear as he moves.] Oh, yeah, the person running after me in full GOC Kevlar definitely isn't with the cops!
Laabi: [He turns his head slightly as he climbs the ladder.] And not the guy in military fatigues?
Haussmann: Abbas, with all due respect, you look utterly ridiculous.3
Laabi mutters something under his breath in Darija, and extends a hand down to drag Haussmann up. The two emerge onto the roof, just in time to see Kuroki jump to the roof of the Undergraduate Admissions building, across Amsterdam Avenue. A faint trail of distorted space in the air behind him suggests the use of thaumaturgy.
Laabi: Quite the runner.
Haussmann: You think we can catch him, at this rate? I could send my quill to try and draw an immobility sigil on his back, but…
Laabi: Could always go on foot.
Haussmann: [She glances at him with a mixture of confusion and irritation.] Ha ha, very funny. Even if I put flight seals on both of us, he'd be halfway to the Hudson before we caught up with him.
Laabi: No, seriously, I think I can catch up. Used to be one of the best track runners in my secondary school, kept it up through college. Hell, I taught P.E. for a year before joining the Initiative. Plus, I have a few… talents.
Haussmann: Uh, alright. You can-
Laabi: [He cracks his knuckles, and assumes a ready position.] Your camera can fly, right? Send it after me. We're probably going to need this on record.
Haussmann's camera begins to levitate, and moves toward Laabi, taking an angle where both he and Haussmann are in view. He smiles at the camera, and pats the top of the camera. He takes a deep breath, and a faint purple light forms a halo around his body. He holds for a moment, before taking off in a sprint. The camera linger on Haussmann, a look of surprise on her face, before following after him, matching his pace. He reaches the edge of the building and launches himself off, and lands on a window sill on the second floor.
He lowers himself to a ledge just below the sill, using it as a point to kick off from the ground. He scrambles up the wall, before kicking himself off the wall and grab onto the lip of the roof, pulling himself up swiftly. He rolls onto the roof, before getting to his feet and quickly drawing a pistol and aiming at Kuroki, who has reached the far end of the building and seems to be looking for a location to land without kicking a civilian in the head.
Laabi: Hey, ready for a water break yet, or could you go for another lap?
Kuroki turns around, holding the bag in one hand, and holding a pistol of his own in the other.
Kuroki: Eat .357 Magnum, fuck-o!
Both men pull the trigger. Laabi's bullet seems to barely miss Kuroki's shoulder by a few centimeters, while the paracriminal's gun seems to have jammed.
Kuroki: You have got to be FUCKING kidding me. [He pulls the trigger twice more, to similar results.]
Laabi quickly approaches. With a grunt, Kuroki discards the pistol and bag, and aims a punch at Laabi. He knocks the fist aside, and attempts to sweep the younger man's legs out from underneath him. Kuroki grabs a hold of Laabi's leg, before bringing his own legs out from under him. Laabi hits the ground with a grunt, dropping his gun. Kuroki scrambles to retrieve it, grabbing it and pointing it at Laabi with one hand, his other hand clutched over his heart, a slightly pained expression on his face.
Kuroki: Try anything, and I'll paint the inside of that stupid helmet with your brains.
Laabi: It's not stupid, actually, it just clashes with my style. You know. [He gestures to his otherwise grey camouflage outfit.] Not exactly urban warfare, is it?
Kuroki: I don't give a shit. Where's your partner?
Laabi: Look, man, I am NOT-
Kuroki: There you go. "Man." Nobody says that anymore! It's dude!
Laabi: What planet are you living on that NOBODY says that? La hawla wala quwata illa billah, you're so paranoid! Project Malleus members aren't even able to arrest you, we're an N-G-O!
Kuroki: …You can't?
Laabi: [He shrugs.] Not without explicit permission from a local body. Otherwise it's basically just taking a hostage. Miss Haussmann up there, she's a Promethian. Science type, like your friend back there. Not with the police either. Can we just talk it out, like normal people?
Kuroki's head shoots up, and the camera pans to follow. Haussmann hovers a short distance above the roof, held aloft by her gear bag. A sigil glows bright blue on the back of her hand. She waves with one hand, before using it to aim a finger gun at Kuroki. She mimes firing, and Kuroki freezes. Another sigil, a deep red, burns on his chest. From behind him, Haussmann's quill floats into view, quickly returning to her hand as she descends to stand beside Laabi, as he scrambles to his feet.
Haussmann: Did you plan on being put on your ass with a gun pointed at you, or was that improvised?
Laabi: If you fly by the seat of your pants, you can get anywhere. It just won't be comfortable.
Haussmann: [She rolls her eyes.] Guess Abbas International Airport only serves flights to and from an early grave. Now, let's see what we're working with here…
As Abbas goes to retrieve the firearms and bag, Haussmann approaches the paralysed Kuroki. The majority of his body is rigid, completely unmoving, save for his eyes. He glared at her with a mixture of anger and fear.
Haussmann: Don't worry, it's not permanent. It is, however, capable of self-defence, so don't try anything with psionics to break it. Assuming you don't want this citizen's arrest to end with you suddenly developing scoliosis.
Kuroki manages to whimper through his frozen lips.
Arcadio has removed her body cam, and placed it on the corner of a desk within the lecture hall. She sits, partially out of frame, with her arms crossed on the table. Oqilov sits across from her, scratching at the back of her hand, a nervous expression on her face. Nassar seems to have regrown the majority of his missing hand, with the exception of his index, middle and ring fingers above the beginning of the nail. He stares at the three digits as they slowly regain mass, pistol in his undamaged hand.
Arcadio: And this has been going on for… how long, did you say it was?
Oqilov: Nine months, maybe a year? They contacted me not long before the second year of the course was due to start. The usual things you would expect of gangsters. I do as they ask, they pull a few strings to make sure the university does not cut funding and repurpose this building for… liberal arts, or something of the sort. "Make them offer they can't refuse," as they say in the movies.
Arcadio: Wouldn't it be a net loss for them to cut the anomalous courses off of the curriculum? Especially considering how recently 7/12 was. People are flocking to these sorts of things in Europe.
Oqilov: You would be surprised how few people have a genuine interest in these fields here, or have this strange mistrust for the once-Veiled world. A few of my students compared it to how some people view degrees in the arts. No real world applications, apparently. Of course, I know better. Fifteen years in the GRU-P will show you that the human mind is more than capable of developing deranged new ways to bend reality to their will for their own gain, but…
Nassar: [He nods.] ICSUT Staten Island also eats up most of the students with anomalous interests since the Persephone Event.4 Eighty-seven years in the business, even if most people didn't know it existed during that time, looks better than two years of minimal enrollment.
A noise from outside the broken window attracts the group's attention. Nassar levels his pistol at the opening, as Haussmann floats down from above. She holds the stolen bag above her head, and waves to her squadmates.
Haussmann: Just us, don't worry.
Laabi quickly enters view, standing beside her, a paralysed Kuroki being carried over his shoulders.
Laabi: Lend me a hand here, man's heavier than he looks.
Nassar lowers his firearm, and grabs Kuroki's feet as Laabi begins to pass him through the window. They lean him up against the wall of the room, his eyes seething with anger.
Haussmann: I'm going to partially undo the sigil. Expect a sudden increase in volume in three, two, one…
Haussmann's quill emerges from her pocket, and hovers in front of the sigil on Kuroki's chest. With a simple flick, it erases part of the sign, and the man regains the ability to move his head. He gasps, before coughing for a few moments and glaring angrily at Laabi.
Kuroki: Sneaky little prick.
Laabi: [He crosses his arms, smiling.] You say sneaky, I say tactically minded. You may want to get your eyes checked, she wasn't exactly stealthy.
Haussmann: Your Honors, I present this man to the impromptu court of Zeta-0726.
Kuroki: If this is a court, I want a lawyer.
Arcadio: We're a bit short on those right now, so you'll be representing yourself here. [She leans in, examining Kuroki's face.] Of course, it's largely a court of no consequence. I've already explained to Doctor Oqilov here why we need what you stole. Although, knowing why you want them would be a nice little bonus to this trip.
Kuroki: What's it to you, lady?
Haussmann: You're trying to steal technology designed for teleportation in the middle of a dimensional collapse in the middle of one of the biggest cities on Earth. Either you really need money for after this, or you're planning something.
Kuroki: So what if I am?
Arcadio: Well, breaking UNGOC declared parathreat perimeters, depending on a few factors, can get you thirty years to life in prison. Obstructing the process of justice also tends to land you a longer sentence.
Nassar: We can also just leave you here.
A panicked expression crosses Kuroki's face. Laabi elbows Nassar in the ribs.
Laabi: We're not doing that.
Nassar: We aren't. But we coul- [He is cut off as Laabi elbows him again, with slightly more force.] ¡Puta madre!
Haussmann: Look, we should probably just-
Kuroki: My boss asked me to get them.
Oqilov: Mister Perkins?
The group collectively turns to look at Oqilov.
Arcadio: Could we get a first name to go with that?
Kuroki: [He sighs.] Rudy Perkins. Sixty-something years old, looks like a lamp learned how to wear skin, sounds like he smokes a pack of cigarettes for lunch every day. You've probably seen him on the news. He's kinda the anomalous Al Capone.
Haussmann: The new anomalous Al Capone. I've seen this guy before. Made big news in Norway last year back after he offered to marry the queen during a visit. Everyone knows he's the main man behind paranarcotics in the city, but the police can't make anything stick, and he's got enough money to make sure it keeps sliding off. UIU's Sub-Public Enemy #1, at least in New England.
Kuroki: Demonarcotics. We sell demonarcotics.
Arcadio: They're the same thing. It's just a subcategory. Now, sigue.
Kuroki: So, look. Perkins is… he's a scumbag. I'm willing to admit it. Sells to kids, jumps to violence over the tiniest infractions, would probably suck off Satan if he promised him a five year supply guarantee. Action movie villain stuff. But, as far as I can tell, he's doing the first selfless thing in his life. We've been… dealing with Doctor Oqilov-
Oqilov: 'Extorting' would be more apt.
Kuroki: We give you shit in return, it's fair trade. Regardless, it's been a while, and we've already managed to get one collection of these set up in Detroit. Now, that bag… [He points with his chin at the bag, Haussmann's hand hovering just around the strap.] Eight more rods. Only needed four, but backups never hurt.
Arcadio: Perdon, but could I make an educated guess?
Kuroki: Be my guest.
Arcadio: Mister Perkins wants to make a second circle here, and use it to run some sort of paid escape route.
Kuroki: Yatta. Hundred bucks, and you're halfway across the country and out of this shitshow. Could easily make a couple thousand, by his estimate. More, if he had thought of it earlier.
Nassar: I smell mierda, and a lot of it.
Laabi: I agree. Tell me, mister…
Kuroki: Kuroki. Just Kuroki.
Laabi: Lovely. So, mister Kuroki, has Perkins been acting off lately? Since the eleventh, that is.
Kuroki: I mean, he seems a lot more… out of it. Stressed out, I guess. Can't blame him. If I did have to say something weird, he was complaining about heartburn yesterday morning, and lo and behold, everyone in the gang that I speak to during the day starts developing it. [He winces.] Just flares up every once in a while, but it's kind of a dull ache.
Haussmann: Not a regular occurrence for you? No history of cardiovascular disease?
Kuroki: Father died of a heart attack, but he was always on the heavier side, never really made an effort to lose the weight. So, no. Not genetically.
Haussmann frowns.
Nassar: I think further investigation might be in order.
Arcadio: Definitely. Mister Kuroki, where could we find your boss? We want to talk with him.
Kuroki: Last I checked, Butler Library. There's this big open floor below the building, I think it was gonna be a new floor. He should be down there, waiting for me.
The five other people stare at Kuroki. He frowns.]
Kuroki: If I was going to lead you into a trap, believe me, I would've ran ANYWHERE other than that roof.
Laabi: [Nodding.] I'd believe it.
Arcadio: As much as I'd like not to trust this man, I think this might be a lead worth substantiating. It'll certainly make the UIU's job easier, after this is all over. All in favour?
All But Kuroki: Ay.
As the group moves to leave, a look of panic crosses Kuroki's face.
Kuroki: You guys aren'y-
Haussmann's quill flies back to his, and scratches away the remaining parts of the sigil. He collapses against the wall, trying to readjust to his ability to move.
Arcadio: You're coming with us. Me and Laabi will chaperone you. [She nods to Haussmann, Nassar and Oqilov, who all leave.] If I, at any point, get the feeling you're not be completely open with us about something concerning our safety, I will not hesitate to take away your ability to walk with half a clip to each knee.
Kuroki nods, and joins Arcadio and Laabi as they move to leave.
Kuroki: Oh, yeah, one more thing. If you guys do end up reporting this whole… affair to the police, could you maybe leave my name out of your accounts?
Arcadio: No. Now get walking.
She grabs the camera as they pass, and goes to affix it to her body armor again.
The following footage was recovered from Agent Santiago Nassar's body camera, shortly after he, Temporary Agent Haussmann and Doctor Nasiba Oqilov had split from the remainder of PTF Zeta-0726 after arriving in Butler Library.
The group stand at the south end of the Lawrence A. Wien Reference Room, looking up at the windows. Haussmann appears irritated, while Oqilov looks as if she hasn't slept in several days. Just out of frame, Nassar appears to be performing tricks with his pistol, the lights which normally glow while it is loaded completely blank.
Haussmann: Under. Under. There's not a stairwell in here that goes down, outside of the one to the basement that the others took. That rat's after lying to us, isn't he?
Oqilov: He might have. But, at the same time, he is still with your two companions. You can always ask them to push him for the truth further if you want.
Haussmann: Let's give it another ten minutes. We can regroup with them then, see what Kuroki has to say about things.
Nassar sighs, and Oqilov runs her hand along the wall, pressing hard against any ridges or bumps she seems to find.
Haussmann: What're you doing?
Oqilov: Looking for some sort of secret entrance. A panel in the wall, or some sort of hidden mechanism I can activate from here. I know this school has tunnels beneath it, so I refuse to believe that it does not also have a plethora of hidden rooms, such as the one we are searching for now.
Haussmann: Those were built when this place was owned by an asylum. I doubt they've actively updated them since the Manhattan Project was the latest in American military science.
Oqilov: I worked for the GRU-P throughout the 1980s, and the Tajik Paranormal Guard Association until al-Qaeda nearly blew my legs off with a rocket half a decade ago. I spent a decade working in tunnels originally built by the Shaybanids that were being expanded and added to monthly. I doubt they stopped doing things with them simply because they're old.
Nassar: Do you want a hand with it, or..?
Oqilov: If you could look at the tables behind us. There may be a switch or something akin to one on the underside, or in a lamp.
Nassar begins to turn to do as she asks, with Haussmann seemingly doing the same, with a rather annoyed expression.
About a minute passes, with Haussmann and Nassar checking over several tables, before a click is heard from under the one Haussmann is currently under. The camera turns to reveal a nearby bookcase sliding away, revealing what looks to be a stairway leading downward. She emerges from under the table, stares at the new opening, and groans.
Nassar: Not a fan of being proven wrong, Frida?
Haussmann: No, but secret stairways are so cliché. Why is never elevators? Or teleportation traps? Those would be so much cooler!
Oqilov: Because it would be much harder to keep an elevator a secret, would it not?
Haussmann rolls her eyes, and goes to radio in to the other members of the team.
Nassar: Should we scout it out? I don't think the commander would approve, but… Well, if there's a line of gunmen down there, I think I'd be best suited to find out.
Oqilov: I mean… Do you think you could fight an entire gang, if there are actually people down there?
Nassar: I've fought more and worse. If there is, you two can just cover the way we came while I just clear them out. No shooting to kill, obviously. I'm not a monster, they're only drug dealers.
Haussmann: Smugglers. Dealers and smugglers are two very different things. But… I suppose it couldn't hurt. If they don't find anything in the basement, they can always come and find us through this one.
Nassar: Radio in, tell them. I'll head down. Stay behind me.
Nassar enters the passage. It leads downward, the walls of the narrow staircase made of grey concrete and interspersed with the occasional fluorescent light. Nassar does not speak, nor do his teammates, and the sound on the recording is a mixture of their footsteps and Nassar's bated breath.
They arrive close to the end of the stairs, a large open doorframe at its base. Nassar pauses.
Nassar: [Whispering.] Hold your positions here. If I come back through that door, run like hell back the way we came.
The faint sounds of whispered confirmation come from behind Nassar, and he jumps the remaining steps, through the doorframe and into the room below. The footage reveals a large, mostly bare room, likely intended to be the beginning of an entire floor. The walls are made of exposed red brick. lit by work lights along the concrete floor. Further down the room, a large grey pillar emerges from the floor, reaching into the ceiling. Stacks of wooden crates lay scattered around the room.
About halfway between the pillar and Nassar, a man5 in his sixties lays slumped against the wall, one hand resting on his midriff as if he'd been shot. A circle of candles stands in the room in front of him, and a series of runes and sigils drawn in white ink link the flickering sticks. The man quickly rises to his feet, one hand evidently hidden inside his sleeve, before yelling in a strong Scottish accent.
Perkins: Who the fuck are you? Where's that son of a bitch Kuroki?
Nassar: [He lowers his gun slightly, still keeping it pointed in Perkins' general direction.] He's not far behind us. If you have a gun, I want it on the ground before I count to five.
Perkins: Haven't got one!
Nassar: Let me see that hand, then!
Perkins hesitates, before pulling the sleeve down, revealing his hand. In the dim light, it appears almost skeletal, a thin layer of blue skin stretched over distended fingers. It seems to extend up his arm, and faint patches of blue skin can be seem poking out from under the collar of his suit.
Nassar: ¡Dios mio, no puede ser!
Perkins: Look, you've got t-
???: That's quite enough, Henry.
One of the candles' light flickers. A shadow passes over Perkins' face, which quickly forms into a hand. Behind the shadow, his mouth appears to be missing. A form fades into view, a human-like figure with turquoise skin, wearing an unbuttoned white shirt and khaki trousers. A pair of ram-like horns emerge from its temples, and it rests its head on one of Perkins' shoulders, a hand clasped over his mouth. It removes itself, and walks to stand in front of him, adjusting its shirt as it flaps to one side.
???: [Slowly buttoning up its shirt.] You'll have to excuse my getup, I wasn't expecting to have visitors. Well, except for Goro, but that's business. [It cocks its head.] Are your friends waiting in the doorway for a reason? Vampires, maybe? Just shy? Please, be my guest, come on in.
The demon snaps his finger. The sound of shifting earth is heard, and the camera shifts to show Haussmann and Oqilov collapsing in a heap just behind Nassar, the stairs having become a ramp under their feet.
???: Now that we're all here, I'd like to introduce myself. [He extends a hand, as if to be shaken, despite being too far from anyone to have it be taken.] I am Malphoshae, Lead Officer of Exports at the Undervegas Board of Trade and Commerce.6 That is neither my real name, nor an official title, but names have power and the position looks good on contract. It's a pleasure.
Nassar: Pleasure's all mine. Call me Fulano de Tal. My job's not important.
Malphoshae: I'll take your word for it. So, what brings you down here? You're with Goro, I imagine.
Nassar: Who?
Malphoshae: [It sighs.] Goro. Goro Kuroki. Japanese guy, maybe ten years younger than you.
Nassar: Oh, Kuroki. He's with us, more so.
Oqilov: He got caught with the rods.
Malphoshae: [It clasps its hand together.] Oh, so he can't even do that much right for me. Useless little man. I'm on a tight schedule, I think I'll need to have a bit of a talk with him when he gets back…
Perkins: Mal, for fuck's sake, leave him be. You made the deal with me. Don't let him suffer for it.
Malphoshae: Oh, my apologies, Henry. After you spend a decade crushing up the workers I send your way and selling their remains to rats on the street, after a decade of ignoring every warning I gave you about the dangers of proximity to these substances, after me telling you to NEVER step foot in hell in person, after stopping you and all your little goons from turning into hellspawn because you just couldn't stop selling your demon drugs, you want me to forgive and forget when he fucks up the ONE thing I ask of him? [It extends a hand toward Perkins, who doubles over in pain, clutching at his chest.] I don't ask for much, Henry. I rarely ask for anything at all, outside of my fair share. Now, the one time I'm able to get out of Undervegas, and quite literally my only shot at getting out of that shithole for good without Mammon noticing, it gets fucked up because your little errand boy can't take an order right? And you have the gall to give me backchat over it. Let's see…
It turns its hand, the palm now facing upwards, and Perkins groans in pain. The blue skin around his collar, previously barely visible, shoots up to cover much of the left side of his face. His teeth seem to grow, becoming longer and more pointed, and his eye seems to darken, as if it were rotting. The groan becomes more guttural as it reaches its end, the blue skin now covering his throat in its entirety.
Malphoshae: Now, since we all seem to know who's in charge here, I'd like to ask you all to kindly go find Goro, and bring him here. As possible as possible, or… now. Now works.
Haussmann walks into frame, arms crossed. She turns to face someone behind her, presumably Oqilov, and mouths the word 'Stay back.'
Haussmann: He'll be here of his own volition soon. But, considering our job here, I don't think you'll be alive to see him.
Nassar: A demon who physically can't leave hell, sells his inferiors to be made into drugs, and turns his distributors into demons themselves because he didn't let them read the small print on said drugs.
Malphoshae: [It grins, and begins to roll up the sleeves of its shirt.] Very well, then. I'll gladly fight a pair of mortals. It's such a boring lifestyle, working exports in Undervegas. You never get to get your hands dirty…
Haussmann pulls a combat knife from her bag, and Nassar jabs the barrel of his pistol into his wrist, as a ball of white flames appears in Malphoshae's hand.
The following footage was recovered from Commander Nieves Rosa Arcadio's body camera, shortly after she, Temporary Agent Laabi and Kuroki Goro had split from the remainder of PTF Zeta-0726 after arriving in Butler Library.
The group are at the furthest part of the library's basement from the stairs, and Kuroki is feeling the wall, seemingly trying to locate a specific point. Laabi leans against a nearby door, polishing his nimcha.
Arcadio: Any sign of it, Kuroki?
Kuroki: Not just yet, but I swear it's… somewhere about here.
Laabi: Secret buttons… Always a pain. I prefer mine big, red and the source of a very loud klaxon when pressed.
Kuroki: Didn't know you had access to America's nuclear codes. [His hand stops, seemingly having located the spot, a slightly loose brick in the wall. He presses down on it, hard, and a circular section of the floor behind them rumbles and sinks slightly.] Gotcha. All aboard!
The group quickly gathers around the point.
Arcadio: Secret elevator?
Kuroki: Secret elevator. I love them, but they're a little cliché. Everywhere in Japan, can't go a city block in Yamagata without finding one leading to some Heian era ritual chamber.
Laabi: …Extremely specific example.
Kuroki: Look, my parents found some… weird new hobbies since they moved back in '99. I'd rather not talk about it.
The floor shifts downward, and as a gap between the elevator and the floor-turned-roof forms, the sound of gunshots and heavy thumping. As the gap grows, the room seen in Nassar's footage comes into view, the pillar now seemingly to be the elevator. At the far end of the room, Malphoshae and Nassar are engaged in close range combat, the former throwing discs of flame at the agent, who responds with largely ineffective fire from his necromantic pistol. Haussmann's bag bounds around after Malphoshae, ramming into its ankles at full force in an attempt to knock it off balance. Closer to the elevator, Perkins writhes in pain against the wall. Across from him, Haussmann kneels beside a burnt Oqilov, helping her apply Aloe Vera to a minor burn wound on her shoulder. She looks up at the elevator, her eyes lighting up as she notices its passengers, and she nods to them.
Laabi: Who's-
Kuroki: Business associate. [His brow furrows.] But I didn't think he could leave Undervegas.
Nassar seems to notice the elevator as well, and takes his attention away from Malphoshae for a brief moment. The fire in its hands dissipating, it pulls out a large syringe filled with a deep maroon substance and stabs it into Nassar's bicep. He cries in pain, and Arcadio raises her rifle and opens fire on Malphoshae before it can attack him further. It disappears into the dark behind it for a moment with a laugh. Nassar clutches his arm, and watches in horror as the visible flesh of the arm begins to warp and change shape.
Nassar: Gah!
Laabi: What did he just- Oh.
Kuroki: He fucking got your friend, that's going to spread quickly if you don't- Agh!
Kuroki grabs his wrist, his hand beginning to undergo a similar transformation. He leans against Arcadio, swearing in pain.
Laabi: Khara! Frida, quill!
Haussmann nods, and extends a hand toward her bag. The quill shoots out and into her hand, before she throws it to Laabi. He quickly uses it to write the Shahada above the affected area, which seems to stop the transformation as it reaches halfway up his forearm.
Arcadio: Easy there, mister.
Kuroki pants, a pained smile crossing his face as he manages to give a thumbs up. Laabi returns the smile, before quickly unsheathing his nimcha, a purple light coating his body.
Nimcha: Glory of our holy land, tomorrow at dawn, you’ll purify yourself when you hear the first call for prayer.
Laabi: Keep yourself alive, Kuroki.
Laabi turns and jumps, landing on the nearest wall and running along it at a near-horizontal angle. As he nears Nassar, he kicks off towards him, and cuts the agent's arm off mid-air, directly at the shoulder. The wound sissles in the open air, and Nassar yells in a mixture of anger and pain.
Nassar: Bastard! That has to grow back now!
Laabi: Would you rather turn into some fucking monster, or go armless for a few minutes?
The two glare at each other, before their attention is drawn to a clapping sound. Malphoshae emerges from a nearby patch of darkness, grinning widely.
Malphoshae: Hmm. You're quite the swordsman. Showy, true, but precise.
Laabi: Pride is a sin, unless it leads to arrogance. I may not be the best, but I'm fucking good at what I do.
Nassar: How about we give this fucker another demonstration?
Laabi: [He smiles, and licks his lips.] Oh, I'm never opposed to a quick runback.
Laabi raises his nimcha, while Nassar stabs himself in the neck with his gun.7 Malphoshae throws a hand out, a sword of fire erupting into existence in its palm, and levels it at the two men.
Malphoshae: Well then, let's da- [A bang echoes around the chamber, and a small spurt of black blood emerges from the side of its head. It brings a hand to the wound, and looks toward its source. The camera pans slightly to reveal Haussmann, now holding her own firearm and pointing it at the demon.]
Haussmann: Spatial awareness should always be your first concern when monologuing.
Malphoshae growls, a ball of flame appearing in its free hand. It raises it, and a plume of fire shoots forth toward Haussmann. She dodges the majority of the blast, but raises a hand to her cheek, the skin beneath her fingers a scalded red. With its attention diverted, Laabi rapidly approaches and slashes at its side, leaving a tear through its shirt and skin at its side.
More rips form as Nassar begins to unload his clip into the demon, who takes a haphazard swing at Laabi with the flame-sword, which he avoids by running onto the wall. He kicks off it again, aiming to sever its arm as he did with Nassar's, but it ducks, sending him flying into a nearby stack of crates. Malphoshae extends a hand, pointing toward Perkins, and mouths something. He cries in pain again, the blue skin rushing to overtake the remainder of his body. He stops, letting his head fall limp, before raising it again, his eyes glowing with a faint red light. He begins to stand.
Kuroki: Shoot it!
Arcadio: Isn't that your boss?
Kuroki: Yeah! He's also a monster, and a massive piece of shit!
Arcadio: One less ass in the world never hurt, I suppose!
Both Arcadio and Kuroki draw sidearms, as the thing that used to be Perkins lunges at them. Six bullets pass directly through his skull, and he falls to the ground with a quickly fading wail, a stray arm slamming into Kuroki's knee and causing him to lose his footing. In the background, Nassar delivers a kick to the side of Malphoshae's head, before jamming his gun into its gut and unloading the remainder of his ammunition into it. Haussmann provides supporting fire, and the demon is quickly covered in bullet holes. Nassar backs away as the demon reels, and Laabi mounts the wall once more, kicking off and slicing clean through its thighs. It screeches in pain as its limbs fall away from under it, and it uses its hands to scramble toward the wall, pressing its back against it as it stares up at the group surrounding it. Kuroki rises, gripping his arm in pain, and crouches down in front of the legless Malphoshae.
Kuroki: I'm going to be making a few changes to the contract my superior apparently signed with you. [As Malphoshae opens its mouth to respond, he raises the gun he took from Arcadio and presses it against its temple.] And you won't be getting any input. Either way, it's a lose-lose for you. Got it?
Malphoshae nods, closing its mouth.]
Kuroki: Good. [He turns to look to Laabi.] Mister Abbas, if you could come over here for a second. Might need a Holier-Than-I perspective on this.
Abbas: It'd be my pleasure.
Kuroki: [He returns his attempt to Malphoshae and the gun, as Laabi comes to stand behind him.] Now, let's get the bare minimum out of the way. No withdrawal from the transformation protection. If I see anyone else on the news and their body doesn't look perfectly human, there isn't a square inch of hell where you'll be able to stay hidden from me. Understood?
Malphoshae nods. Kuroki retracts the pistol, but Laabi keeps his nimcha drawn, the purple light from its blade illuminating the demon's bloodied face.
Kuroki: Number two. The second we drag you above ground, we're gonna hand you over to the GOC. No honor among thieves, or whatever. Also, two hundred thousand dollars in cash, whenever possible. Fuck with your friends before you hand yourself over.
Laabi: Extorting him while you're at it? Low move. Low.
Both Kuroki and Malphoshae stare at Laabi, who raises a hand and shrugs.
Laabi: Don't mind me, then.
Kuroki: So, do we have a deal?
Malphoshae nods.
Kuroki: Use your words. You were fairly chatty a moment ago.
Malphoshae: W-We do.
Laabi: If I may, Kuroki?
Kuroki: Hmm?
Laabi crouches down, and retrieves something from one of the pouches around his belt. He holds up what appears to be a small zip lock bag of dust. He hands it to Kuroki, who stares at the bag in confusion.
Laabi: Dust from the streets of Antakya. Antioch, if you're a Hellenist buff. From right outside the city center, where the first version of the Tribunal was formed. Ever since a dust storm kicked up right as the signatories of the formation stepped outside, we've used dust from the city as part of promise-making, and as a deterrent from breaking it, especially with… less than holy entities. [He nods to Malphoshae.] Sprinkle it in his mouth. If he breaks your new terms, it'll save you the hard work of tracking him down afterwards.
Kuroki hesitantly opens the bag, takes a pinch of the dust, and throws it in Malphoshae's face. They cough as they inhale it.
Laabi: Normally, something that holy should kill a demon in a matter of seconds. But, given the location, it'll only release Akiva on the required scale if this bastard breaks your agreement. I think. I've never spoken with enough sentient demons to ever get close to a pact.
The two stand, looking down at the demon as it stares back up at them. Haussmann and Nassar approach from behind them, the latter's arm in the early stages of regeneration.
Nassar: You two done?
Kuroki and Laabi nod. Haussmann and Nassar exchange a glance, before Nassar swiftly kicks Malphoshae in the groin. He steps back, and allows Haussmann to do the same.
Nassar: That's for the shit with my arm, ¡hijo de puta!
Haussmann: And my bag, asshole!
Laabi looks at the two, shrugs and slams his heel into Malphoshae's groin, who groans loudly.
Laabi: For the hell of it!
Kuroki follows suite, and the group collectively looks toward Arcadio expectantly. She sighs, moving toward them.
Arcadio: We're bringing him above ground after this. But a quick one couldn't hurt, at least for me…
09/13/2001
09:17 PM
Columbia University
It hadn't taken long for the cleanup crew to arrive and slap cuffs on Malphoshae. For a skeleton crew recovering from the brunt of the largest demon attack the eastern United States had seen since 1813, they seemed to more than enough containment technology at hand to make sure he wasn't getting anywhere, much less out of the city.
Regardless, he was in the Butler Library in cuffs, and the squad was just outside the door, taking a break while Frida tried to figure out an angle for attaching the rods somewhere on the pack that wouldn't send the Everhart Resonator into meltdown when it turned on. Nieves sat beside Santiago, who gripped his water flask in his only remaining hand as he waited for his other arm and legs to regrow. Oqilov was talking to some of the soldiers who'd come to investigate the rumbling beneath the campus, likely explaining the situation. A short distance away from the rest, Abbas and Kuroki sat, silently staring out at the mass of people on the college grounds.
After a minute or two, Abbas sighed, and looked over to the younger man. "So… How's the arm?"
Kuroki raised the mutated appendage, its new layer of green scales and brown claws reflecting the red helllight faintly, and flipped Abbas off. He snorted. "No, seriously. It doesn't feel like it's going to start transforming any further?"
"No," Kuroki dragged his gaze away from the crowds, his face slowly regaining some of its color. "And I don't think it will, since we've put that bastard into a lose-lose situation." He paused for a moment, and took a heavy breath. "Thanks, by the way. For… everything, down there. You and everyone else. I'd probably be dead, or like Perkins if I'd gone without you."
"No problem, man." Abbas smiled. "Just doing my job. We all are. But, I need to ask you something. Drop the crime stuff, from now on."
"Oh, absolutely," Kuroki nodded intently. "Not going back to the demonarcotics industry, ever. Probably have a bounty on my head in Undervegas, if they allow it down there. Gonna need to find a new job, too…"
"Probably going to be hard," Abbas scratched at his chin, his nails crackling against stubble. "Especially if the paracriminal thing is put on your record."
"You think the Horizon Initiative hires ex-Shinto atheists? Could be a consultant." Kuroki mustered a grin, lightly elbowing Abbas, who snorted. "Probably not, but if you ever end up converting to an eligible religion, feel free to email the Tribunal and mention me by name. I'm an excellent reference."
"Y'know, actually, that gives me an idea," Kuroki's normal hand went to his chin. "You know anywhere with a good demonology course? Preferably not in America, or anywhere I'm likely to be found by the American authorities?"
"The Singapore Academy For The Arcane does a pretty solid course for Theurgy and Exorcism. About three years, I think. They also don't legally exist, or physically exist, so it's a good spot to lay low for a few years. Tell the dean 'Keluli' sent you." Kuroki blinked at him, before shaking his head. "I'll… I'll book a flight. Got a few thousand laying around somewhere. I'll sort things out from there." He trailed off, before looking back at Abbas. "Also, shouldn't it be haram to, like, help a criminal, or something?"
"Don't worry. I won't snitch. Just promise me that you'll do it." Abbas snorted. "Technically, yes. But I think Allah would understand if you promised to do better. Especially if you made good on it for me."
Kuroki nodded, and paused for a second. "I'll go get a degree, and come back a changed man…" He seemed to struggle with finding a word. "…Wall add."
"I believe the word you're looking for is Wallah." Abbas patted him on the shoulder. "And it's meant to go at the start of the statement. But, A for effort." He glanced over his shoulder. The two soldiers who'd been talking to Oqilov were now beelining towards them, their eyes trained on Kuroki. "I'll leave you be. These guys probably want you alone." He raised a hand, extending it to the other man. "Fee amaan Allah, Kuroki." Kuroki raised his normal hand, and shook Abbas' own. "Safe travels, sir."
Abbas rose, nodding his greetings to the soldiers, and walked back to the rest of the group as Oqilov waved and scarpered off. Frida hummed quietly as she held both her hands above the rods, which she'd drilled into the top of the pack. Santiago had dropped his flask, and was now holding it between his feet, as Nieves suppressed a laugh. Frida looked up from her tinkering, and nodded to Abbas. "All good?"
"Never better," He said, standing over the pack. "Found a good spot for those, I see?"
"Best we can do without interrupting some vital function and turning this thing into a back-mounted magic nuke when I get it up and running…" Frida removed her hands, and withdrew slightly as she looked at the rods. They hummed slightly, but nothing seemed to be particularly out of place. "Víola," She said, spreading her arms. "Got them in, Commander."
"Nice work, Doctor." Nieves turned slightly, facing toward Frida. "Do you think you can get it up and running soon?"
"Maybe with a few more hours of work." Frida shrugged. "It's a bit of a mess from a lot of different standpoints. You can really tell it's experimental. I'll take a crack at it whenever we need a break, probably the best way of coming at this."
"Speaking of," Santiago said, setting his flask to one side as his palms began to reform. "What's next for us? The north side of the island's fairly well fortified, so I doubt we're of much use up here."
"There's a command center down in Liberty Island, if memory serves." Nieves rose to her feet. "We'll work our way down towards it along the Hudson. Through the Westside, Hell's Kitchen and Greenwich. There's a ferry terminal down there somewhere, it's bound to have at least one functional vehicle."
"And then what?" Santiago jumped to his feet, wobbling slightly. "See what they have to say?"
"What else?" Nieves began to pick up the apportation pack, and took a deep breath as she slung it onto her back.
"Come on, everyone. It's going to be a long walk."
