13. The Fall of Men

We jogged toward the makeshift base of operations for the Secret Society of Strangers. The exterior of the building was sweat-stained with dark moisture like a nervous fat kid. Whatever lettering crowned the tip of the office had long since fallen, save for two irregularly-spaced capital Os, which stared jealously in the direction of the modern buildings in the newer downtown area that swept northward.

The doors were locked, but someone cracked them open to usher us in. We stood, still mentally smashed from the shock of what we'd witnessed. I didn’t know where to stand or what do to. We had been successful, I assumed, but I didn’t feel like it.

Mainly, I'd learned that the Strangers were serious. There would be murder.

We didn’t catch sight of Escher or Whisper until later in the evening. During the few hours that passed, I had time to come to terms with what had happened in the newsroom; Erika, however, was distant and cold.

We knew Escher entered the building long before we saw him because every Stranger simultaneously began scrambling to get their things in order. They threw down their playing cards, stowed away their bottles, or reassembled the wide array of weapons they had been cleaning.

When he eventually stalked past the loading bays where Erika and I were sitting, he looked like he'd been at war—dressed in camouflage with a black bandana on his head and a black submachine gun bumping against his hip, dangling haphazardly from the strap on his shoulder. He marched past us and into his office, paying notice to no one. A line of Strangers piled up at his door.

For over an hour, the line diminished as men and women stepped into his office to deliver reports before exiting hurriedly with relieved looks on their faces. When at last the queue had cleared, I stood nervously outside his door; Erika was with me but facing the opposite direction, looking as little like she was standing in line as she possibly could.

At last I entered, Erika in tow.

Escher was hunched over a colored map of Banlo Bay, pushing pins into it and making notes. “It’s coming together splendidly,” he announced.

“What is, sir?” I asked.

Before anyone could say anything else, Erika rushed forward and leaned over his desk, until her face was inches from his. “How could you kill those people?”

Escher’s eyes narrowed, suddenly focused on Erika. “We were shooting bullets at each other. These things happen… and how do you know what I’ve been doing today?”

She backed up a few inches, confused.

“She means Mal,” I explained.

“Oh. I didn’t kill those people then, did I?” He shrugged off our confused looks. “Mal can be a bit …excessive. I’m sorry you had to see him work. Since he had to intervene, I take it you were unsuccessful?”

I looked down. Erika fumed, tried to talk but couldn't, then turned and stormed out of office. She tried to slam the door but I was standing in the way, and it only bounced off of the back of my foot. She turned around again, glared at me, and kept walking.

“It played,” I said. “We got it done… like you wanted.”

“Let’s give credit where credit is due,” Escher said. “Mal got it done, just like he always does, without fail. I ask for something to happen, and it happens. You can see why I keep him around—others too. I am building this movement with their help. They are parts of me, what I have found so far. Everyone is a part of me, but some are more important than others. Like Mal—my mind’s representation of the hunter in me. You might be able to be like him, you know. Not a killer like him, but just as effective.”

I didn’t have a response to this; it was just more Escher craziness. I wanted to remind him I never signed up to be a revolutionary.

“Why the blank commercial? What did this do to further your cause?” I asked.

“Public relations,” he said simply. “I felt it, when the video played. My mind is in turmoil, Frightened Boy. Sometimes I just...” he pushed his palms to his eyes. "Sometimes I feel like my mind is at war with itself. And that's those people, those people in Banlo Bay who hate each other and are afraid of each other. And why do they do that? Because of the news, Frightened Boy. That's a big part of it. And when it turned off, even for a minute, it was like... it was like the pain in my head just stopped. I had peace."

I shook my head.

"I have things to do, but in a couple of days, I’m going to give you another chance to prove yourself. You're right, this wasn't a total failure. And you didn't betray me. You aren't dead yet.”

“Can I do it without Mal?” I asked.

He didn’t say anything, only stared. I took my first step out of his office when all hell broke loose.

As it occurred, all I saw was a bright flash and all I heard was an impossibly loud bang. Then my hearing was consumed with a muted hum, like listening to a dial tone under ten feet of water. I clutched my head.

When I could see again, large figures clad in black body armor with black helmets covered by bulletproof faceplates filled almost every empty space in the lobby of the office building. All of them held large assault rifles.

My brain hurt from the flash-bang. I looked around desperately as the contrast in my vision returned, and I spotted Erika being ordered at gunpoint to put her face down on the ground with her hands over her head.

I did the same thing without being asked.

From my place on the floor, I peered through Escher’s office door. He hadn’t moved; there was a stern look on his face, but not one particularly consumed by worry.

“Secure!” a shout came from upstairs and was echoed throughout the building.

A silver-haired man in a business suit walked through the door. He had a pistol holstered at his side and a small headset on, but otherwise looked more like a lawyer than a commando. My first assumption was that these men were a SWAT team, but after being unable to find any badge or other identification on them, I was unsure. I was sure they weren't local, but I wondered if they could be Feds. Seemed impossible. There hadn't been a federal government since the Collapse.

The silver-haired man walked purposefully through the lobby and into Escher’s office, the door to which was secured by two soldiers. No one else had entered.

“M.C. Escher,” the silver-haired man said. "Back at the office, we call you the Prime Culprit."

“The Prime Culprit?” Escher asked. “I like that. The Prime Culprit…” he seemed to be rolling the phrase around in his mouth. “We call you ‘Rush’ around the office.”

“That’s my name,” Rush said, sounding nonplussed. “Where is the Cat lady?”

“She’s out and about,” Escher responded. “Can I ask what the purpose of your visit is?”

Rush pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket alongside a box of matches. “Want one?” he offered Escher.

Escher accepted, and now plumes of smoke rolled out the office door. I looked over at Erika, who looked positively bemused.

“So, how are things at the department?” Escher asked.

“You know the situation,” Rush said. “Unwell.”

“It’s all right. You’re doing the best you can.”

The silver-haired man sighed. “We just don’t have the resources or support we used to.”

“Failing at every turn for a handful of decades will do that to you,” Escher said.

The man tensed up then relaxed, as though remembering there was an audience present. I could see some of the men who captured us shifted their weight restlessly, visibly annoyed at having to hold their pose for so long.

“The task we were given was impossible,” Rush explained. “Like you said, we did the best we—”

Escher cut him off. “I said you did the best you could,” he said. “This is the third time you’ve had me at gunpoint, Rush. You didn’t get it done the other two times. What makes you think this time will work out for you?”

“I don’t even really want to say,” Rush said, rubbing his palm into his the side of his face. “You’re just gonna get all trippy on me anyway. I do this because I have to, Escher, not because I enjoy it. We’ll start killing people if you resist.”

“That would be foolish. Look at that boy there.” To my horror, he pointed at me. “He’s not one of us at all. He's just an innocent office worker—the embodiment of your failure to protect your citizens, an avatar of fear and anxiety.”

I was still wearing my red cap; I certainly did not look very threatening.

“That ‘boy’, that 'innocent office worker' is a wanted terrorist,” Rush said.

Escher shrugged in response.“He’s still a nice guy."

“Thanks,” I murmured, which earned me a rifle barrel to the spine.

“Don’t kill him just yet,” Escher said to no one.

Rush didn’t have time to voice the confused look on his face. Sam’s arm wrapped around his neck and a bulky revolver pressed against his forehead. The nigh-invisible Stranger pulled Rush to the corner of the office as the two nearest soldiers stormed the office.

Bullet holes cracked through the front of Escher’s desk, and the two men fell down at the door. Escher stood up, knocking the table onto its back as he did so, and continued firing the small machine gun I'd seen dangling from his hip earlier. Two more men fell, including the one standing over me.

“Get down to the tunnels!” Escher yelled. Gunfire shattered my perceptions as every thunderous crack distracted me from any action I might make. Strangers around me struggled with their captors—some had guns, but more fought with their bare hands.

It was Erika who tugged at my arm and pulled me toward the stairs leading down to the loading area, down to the tunnels from which we'd arrived.

I looked back to see carnage shaking the very walls of the building. Escher was dragging an unconscious Rush with one hand and firing his gun with the other—Mal ran past us and ripped the helmet off of a soldier with one hand while spearing two fingers on his other hand three knuckles deep into his eye socket. Grundel lay bleeding on the floor; several other Strangers appeared to have been shot. More of Escher's men poured down the stairs from the upper floors of the building.

A gaunt woman with short green hair wielded a thin knife and was practically dancing from man to man, swishing her long, straight blade like a conductor’s wand; she seemed as mad and violent as Mal. Blood streamed from the stiletto point like sparks from a child’s sparkler. In the close quarters of the office building, the invading soldiers were having a hard time aiming their high-caliber rifles in a way that wouldn’t hit one of their own. Escher’s giant hound, as vivid in my memory as during my first horrifying encounter with it, bounded up the steps behind me, nearly knocking me over.

At last, I tore my eyes away from the battle and stumbled down the steps into the relative calm of the loading bay. Erika was in front of me, looking back every few steps to make sure I was following. Escher was close behind, an unconscious Rush in tow.

Sam appeared at the door and opened it for us.

Whisper stood behind it. “Come on, come on! We’re evacuating."

“What about the others?” I asked as I passed through.

“They know the drill. They know where to go. Don’t worry about them,” Sam said. “And if not… well, it’s what they signed up for.”

I shook my head as I followed them down the tunnels. A fat rat guarded the tunnels up ahead, with patches of mangy peach skin pocking its fat, hairy body.

The Black Plague. A tracking collar. Genetically-tuned nano-viruses. There were a hundred reasons I used to fear rats, and now I wondered how many were Little Brother's creation.

I looked over to the leader of this rebel uprising. He loped easily along a few steps ahead of me with Rush over his shoulder like luggage. Occasionally, he looked back and pointed his gun at the tunnels behind him, but only Strangers followed us. The number of them in tow seemed very small in comparison to the hordes in the old office tower.

As I rounded the bend, I saw Escher stopped at a crossroads in the tunnel system. He waved me forward, and I turned and watched as other Strangers reached the crossroads. Escher passed Rush’s body off to one as he waved the others to the right or left.

He directed everyone away from the path he told me to take.

A shot fired down the tunnel behind us. The first armored soldier had rounded the bend.

“Just go!” Escher shouted at me and pointed down the tunnel.

I turned back in time to see Whisper aiming and firing her giant silver revolver at the men who were rounding the corner.

“Fuck this,” Erika panted behind me, catching up. She jogged heavily, with leaden hands and feet. Apparently fear did not give her the same infinite adrenaline that it did me. Either that, or she just wasn’t afraid. “I'm an artist. This isn't my scene,” she panted.

“I think Escher would say the same thing,” I said as I jogged along with her.

A burst of gunfire retorted behind us. Escher and Whisper were following, firing down the tunnel at the policemen.

“Where are the rest of the Strangers?” Erika shrieked.

“I sent them away!” Escher shouted over his continued blasts of gunfire. “It’s just us.”

“Why didn’t you send us away?” I shouted.

“You’re good luck,” Escher replied. “Now come on… we’re going up.”

He ran ahead a dozen yards to a small service ladder. He clambered to the top, stopping occasionally to fire at the soldiers who were coming up behind us. I watched the barrel of his gun nervously, preying it didn't intersect with me.

Escher pushed open the manhole to reveal daylight he pushed it the rest of the way open and climbed through. Erika and I followed, then Whisper.

The shock of the bright light was nearly as great as the realization I was in the middle of a crowded outdoor subway station. We'd interrupted life-at-average in Banlo Bay. Maybe the last place life worked like this in the world. People walking, talking, communing. Fake laughter, cold coffee and gold watches.

And Escher with his big gun, and Whisper with her magic voice, and Erika with her acting life of acting out life. What the fuck did I get myself into?

Escher pulled us out of the way, struck out an arm and shoved us back he crouched over the sewer opening, weapon trained on the black hole. A helmeted head passed through; Escher fired. The head snapped backwards and dropped down the hole again, like a groundhog checking for predators. The helmet must have contained the blood spatter.

The crowd began to panic. Women’s high-pitched screams filled the air like sirens across a Dresden skyline. This wasn't the New World anymore.

Whisper leaned over me, gripped Escher's sleeve and tugged.

Escher turned, angry, half looking at her and half down the scope of his gun. Like I was watching mom and dad fight while he drove us to church.. Whisper grabbed his eyes with hers and led them to the crowd around us, to the terrified civilians. The Red King seemed to reconsider, standing and jogging down an alleyway between ourselves and the city.

I grabbed Erika, pulling her along as I rushed to follow.