EXIIR1Prt2 Thieves, Thugs, and Thanatoi (Unedited)

Ghastly laughs and cheers echoed across the vast courtyard as bright fireworks burst in the air, showering down sparks and stars over the long reflecting pool. Applause exploded from the gathered guests, as the brass band started to blow out a jazzy tune. Men and women took hands and stepped lightly across the courtyard and started to dance, squealing laughs and boisterous cries escaping from every mouth. Faces hidden by sneering masks, costumes in glaringly gaudy and bright colors, ruffles and tuffs and bells stitched into every seam, the Aerverington Midsummer Masquerade was something that brought together high society and depravity, the anonymity of the mask allowing every man and woman’s inner animal to be free of the day’s restraint.

Laughing the most, dancing the most, celebrating the most was the estate’s own master and host of the ball, the tall and imposing Charles Aerverington stood before his gathered host of celebrants and twirled a long bow. He wore a tight black doublet accompanied by black breeches, stockings, and flat shoes adorned with black roses. His black gloved hands swept back a midnight cape and placed a dark wide brimmed hat upon his head as he smiled behind a black mask stylized with sly brows and a pencil thin moustache.

“My good guests and friends!” Aerverington’s voice boomed across the courtyard with the help of a hidden microphone. “Allow your handsome host Scaramouche to welcome you to the annual Aerverington Midsummer Masquerade! Drink! Dance! Debauche! Haha! I swear on my honor that your acts and actions are all most protected here from peering eyes!”

The cheers rose higher as Aerverington bowed once more before disappearing into the crowd with another flourish of his cape. Amongst the guests a sly smile crossed the face of a dark haired La Signora and the sparkle of another firework flashed in her eyes, her long dress twirled to the lustful laughs around her then she too melted into the masses.

~~~~~~~~~

“Not over my dead body!”

“We must blend in Carter, when in Rome and such things. Even Monkey is getting into the spirit and he gets to be invisible.”

The Monkey screeched with joy as it danced a jig in the bed of Death’s truck. It wore red and yellow motley, stuffing in his stomach and pack giving him a deformed and greedy form, and a long nosed mask making him appear as the cruelest possible caricature of a man. With a temperamental grin, the Monkey starred at Anya through the back window and pointed at her with a wooden spoon he had somehow obtained.

The burning hatred in Anya’s eyes somehow didn’t piecing through the thick lenses of Doctor Zimmerman’s glasses. He wore himself a full black cloak and doublet that mirrored the doctor’s uniforms of the Renaissance and upon stuffed stomach rest a black mask with an annoyed look.

“Now, Carter, we must have finesse after all, we cannot walk in guns ablazing. That nice little imp told us that they have advanced technology, so perhaps it would be best that we didn’t confuse the natives, hm?”

“God damn it Zimmerman I’m not putting on the fucking dress! The Monkey pulls us into this, we stay in a crappy hotel and I don’t know if you had ear plugs in or not last night but I had to deal with a fucking screaming loon and no amount of coffee is going to fix my lost sleep. Now you want me to put on a fucking dress?!”

“Yes, I think it would look rather dashing on you Anya.” The doctor smiled faintly as he lifted up a dress that was all frills, lace, and fanciful embellishment.

Death, who had stuck out of the conversation thus far grinned as well as he stepped on the brake and unlocked the door. “Alright guys and gals, were here. I promise I won’t peek if you want to get changed now.”

“Fuck you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few miles down the road, Myles stood in the dirt with a wrench in one hand and a pocket full of lugnuts. The Imp and the Driver lay on their backs below the carriage, prying the spare wheel out of its storage place.

The other wheel lay in numerous pieces across the road behind them, the rim still spinning around the Pendulum which somehow had fallow forward off the carriage and into the wheel. It took Myles some minutes to explain the problem to the angered Driver and confused Imp.

“Never in my years,” squeaked the imp, “Have I ever seen something break one of these tires. Satan demands that we take very good care of his carriages, the best wrights in Hell keep them up. And somehow within minutes of stepping onto one, you’ve completely ruined a wheel.”

The Imp didn’t sound angry, so much as utterly confounded and perhaps somewhat fearful that he’ll have to be the one to report this. The Driver, on the other hand, groaned with frustration as he slid out from under the carriage. His brutal massive hand pulled a large cigar from his driving cap and stuffed it between his cracked yellow teeth. With a flick of his thumb the cigar lit and he took a long deep pull before blowing acrid smoke through his nose.

“Axel’s smashed.”

Myles spoke before the stunned Imp could get a word in. “W-what is that supposed to mean?”

“That means,” quipped the Imp, “That we must wait for backup.”

“But the others have to already be there, is it fair that they have such a head start?”

“Fair, Contestant Daal? I fear you misconstrue the game, its not about fairness, it's about getting the job done. And, unfortunately for you, you are not getting the job done.”

“So...is there anything stopping me from just walking?”

The Imp snickered elbowed the Driver who offered up an amused grunt. “No, there isn’t anything stopping you Contestant Daal, but I feel your opponents will undoubtedly be finished by the time to reach the party.”

Myles frowned mildly before setting the wrench and the lugnuts beside the carriage and walked back to retrieve the Pendulum. When he returned he gave a polite handshake to both the Imp and the Driver before walking down the road, stumbling but determined.

“Ten keys says he never gets there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Now isn’t that just all berries!”

“That dame is the cat’s pajamas!”

“Boys I think I’ve gone goofy off those gams!”

The woman tittered at all of these catcalls and ruffled her dress to show off her rose-pearl legs. “Now boys,” she spoke with a voice that was all pheromones and chocolate, “I see you are so keen on necking, but I need some orchids and all I see here are a bunch of wet blankets. None of you have enough dough for this deb.”

The masked men gave her the good old bronx cheer, which is to say they blew raspberries at her and grabbed at their preposterous cod-pieces. She had an aura of refined class and a perfume of big bills. These men were too drunk already to appreciate anything beyond her features and her words, if anything, only angered them.

One of the men wearing a hideous half-mask that made his face seemingly possessed with a preternatural lust swaggered closer to attempt to cope a feel before getting his hand slapped hard away by her grey purse.

“Ouch! Look you dumb Dora, nobody says no to Alfonzo Moretti! Y’know what the papers call me? I’m the Chicago Crocodile! I chew up and spit out Janes like you everyday, an’ you want to call me a ‘wet blanket’?”

La Signora spun quickly around and jammed her stiletto heel onto Alfonzo’s foot and put a hand over his mouth, the kidleather of her opera gloves stifling his scream. She leaned in close to his ear, the smell of roses and sandalwood emanating from her, and whispered, “No dear, I haven’t heard of you, but perhaps you, of me. I’m going to let you go on and forgive you this little stunt as you are trying to impress your friends here. But I would suggest,” here she pushed her foot a little harder, “That you run yourself back to a hospital before you get an infection.”

In a single quick motion she pulled her stiletto back and smiled playfully. “Now boys I think I shall make my way to the bar, I do hope you enjoy yourselves.” As she turned and walked away, a trail of blood dripped from her heel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Now Monkey, I know there is lots of new sights, smells and taste, but lets remember we’re here to do a job and you can win a big prize at the end.”

“Oook!”

Anya Carter and Doctor Zimmerman waltzed into the Aerverington Gala with all the grace of a turkey vulture, which is to say they stood out like sore thumbs. Neither really had the training for formal society, with Carter’s stiff movements and muttering curses and Zimmerman’s talking to thin air, it was quickly assumed that these two must either be new money and therefore crazy or some uninvited cousins and therefore both crazy and absolutely taboo to interact with.

This, however, didn’t stop one Alfonzo “Crocodile” Moretti from trying his luck again. “Hey doll! You don’t look like you’re hav’n yourself a good time. How about you become my new girlfriend? You can tell this jerk to stuff it cuz you’re now Crocodile Moretti’s moll.”

Despite now wearing a dress that made her look more ready to curtsy and giggle, Carter still moved far faster than Moretti could react. She crossed the distance between them and pulled his head down level with hers. Hidden by the frills of her dress and the ribbons of his mask, her pistol was shaved up against his neck. “You seem to be a pretty Toothless Crocodile. If you want to play gangster then stay in your league, the Leone family doesn’t put up with shit like you.”

“L-l-leone family? Neva heard of ‘em!”

“Carter, Carter!” Zimmerman put a hand on her shoulder and smiled calmly to both Moretti and Carter. “Hi, please excuse us a moment.” As he pulled her away, Carter’s eye glowed a brilliant blue at Moretti as she scowled, leaving him with jittery legs and wet pants.

“Carter, I think we might have an issue.”

“Yeah we do Doc, that punk needs to be taught a lesson.”

“I’ll let you get back to your mating rituals later Carter, we have more pressing matters! Monkey is missing.”

“....Shit.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dresses were flung up by an invisible presence, waiters carrying champagne found their bottles open and drain themselves, and the buffet found itself tracked by strange and unusual footprints. The howling of a beast either amazingly drunk or utterly inhuman echoed through the gala to the squeals of society ladies and the raucous laughter of the drunk.

Another mysterious figure moved through the crowd, however this one had grace and charm. Haunting around the edges of the party, slipping casually into and out of conversations, always holding a drink but never imbibing. The host himself, Charles Aerverington, was quickly finding this whole gala to be a bore. So many people so caught up with themselves, there wasn’t enough attention on himself.

“Oh of course the Montagu-Stuart-Wortley estate is Jacobethan, one can tell by the tudor arches and the terra-cotta brickwork.”

“Enjoying the wine my friends? I dare say they must be excellent, bottle from my own vineyard, the corks are even from the bark of my very own Quercus suber grove, Cork Oak for those of you less versed in botany.”

“Modern fencing is such a bore, countless parries and thrusts merely to score points. Classical fencing is the only way a gentleman should practice, master the footwork, the twist of the wrist, believing every possible touch could be fatal, to master oneself one may master any opponent.”

Aerverington’s every word was an attempt to draw attention to himself, to show his superiority. He always lasted in a conversation long enough to show himself a master and disappeared before he could be proven a sham. The feeling of superiority only did so much to bolster Aerverington’s mood. He just despised this yearly gala, keeping him busy throughout the night without a chance to go out and really let his animalistic side out.

It was just as Aerverington was thinking that he might just open his UMBRELLA up and rain destruction down upon the guests to alleviate his yawns that he caught eye of a sweeping black dress, rose-pearl skin, and the smell of a woman. A feral smile crossed his face as he took up the trail.

Close upon his shirt-tails, an unseen presence in invisible motley copied his malicious smile and followed on small furry feet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple of miles of jogging really wasn’t anything to Myles whose life was more or less dedicated to walking. His mind was set on reaching this Aerverington estate and doing what had to be done. It wasn’t right for such a terrible little beast as the Monkey to become a reaper. Myles could only imagine the torment that souls would go through upon discovering their psychopomp was a simian with a vile streak. Death might be unfair and the means towards it might be cruel, however there was no reason at all that the passage between this life and the next should be painful.

Myles was feeling pumped and ready, the walk good for his psyche despite the many trips and falls he had taken along the way. However as he rounded the last hill, his eyes took in the vast Aerverington estate, especially the vast iron fences that surrounded it. He gulped with nervous horror as he continued up the road, approaching the main gate from which party goers seemed to be in a flux of coming and going. “Alright Myles,” he breathed quietly to himself, “It’s time to make use of that invisibility.”

Holding the Pendulum vertically before him, Myles shut his eyes and thought invisible thoughts. I am the wind, I am glass, I am clear water. He continued towards the gates, mumbling low over and over again, “I am invisible, I am transparent, I am a blind spot.”

The guards stared at the oafish looking man dressed in white and covered in flour. He was holding some sort of prop pole while strafing and staring at them, speaking nonsense about being invisible. There was two possibilities set here, either the man was a crazed vagrant which meant he would be a great bother to all the snobs whom they’ve had to put up with all night, or he was incredibly rich and eccentric which meant it was best to humor him.

“Did you just feel a chill breeze Basil?”

“Must of been, Cyril, I don’t see anything else.”

Myles smiled with a mild delight as he continued in, thinking perhaps his luck is finally taking a turn. Basil rolled a cigarette and passed it to his comrade Cyril before rolling one for himself.

“These people are getting crazier by the day, aren't they Cyril?”

“As long as they pay me and I get to toss a few of the drunkest of them through these gate, Basil my friend, they can think they’re the Queen of Sweden for all I care.”

As Myles entered the party he was astonished by the number of people. Dancing, laughing, and generally carrying on, there were more people at this gala than Myles had seen a any number of settlements he’d been to. How am I supposed to find just one woman?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carter and Zimmerman were hot on the Monkey’s trail, the frosting footprints a dead giveaway unless someone else at this debauchery had a simian loose.

“You have to pay closer attention to that bloody ape, Doc, I’m in this because I owe you, not it, and I’ll be damned if we’ve been dragged into this just to be thrown out in the first round.”

The good doctor smiled faintly, “Oh, I’m sure he is about somewhere close and I bet he’s already close to finding Miss Gray, he’s a cunning little fellow.”

“He’s also a glutton and a menace.”

Zimmerman shrugged at what he was sure a good natured comment from his long time friend. With a calm nod to himself he looked back towards his partner in crime. “Perhaps we can cover more ground if we split up, I’ll search for Monkey while you use that marksman’s eye of yours to spot out the target hm? We cannot very well get through this with only one or the other eh?”

Anya rolled her eyes and sighed. About ninety-nine percent of the time Doc was a complete hopeless case, however he did at very times remind her that he was fairly astute and probably just about as on top of things as she was.

“Fine,” she muttered, adding below her breath, “At least I don’t have to deal with the smelly one...”

Her false eye glowed blue as she looked through the crowds. The thick press of bodies were too much to see more than a few meters through. After a few minutes of concentration and searching she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “This is going to be such a fucking headache.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Around the side of the Aerverington mansion, La Signora held firm three stories up as she pulled herself onto a window ledge. She reached into her purse and pulled out a tube of mascara, taking a moment to fix her make-up before turning a few small knobs and pressing the container against the window pane. Within moments the glass glowed red before turning to molten slag, giving her room enough to slip a burn-proof glove through to pop the latch and step through.

She laughed quietly to herself, enjoying the adrenaline rush that always comes with a successful break-in. “This prude is so full of himself. I believe this will be my easier caper yet.”

With almost a skip in her step, La Signora moved through the darkened room and pressed her back against the door as she pulled blueprints from her purse and consulted them. “Down the hall and to the left, Charles’ quaint little study where he keeps his quaint little vault. How juicy.”

She stuffed the blueprints back into her seemingly bottomless purse and slid quietly into the hallway. The corridor was dark and cold, the bright lights from the party below barely coming through the windows at either end of the hall. There was a unnatural stillness about the place, however, a feeling as though this place was long undisturbed and it preferred to remain that way.

With a slight smirk, La Signora pulled a can of hairspray from her purse, shook it, and rolled it down the hall as it released a continuous stream of smoke. The hall suddenly glowed a dull green as lines of light pierced the cloud of haze. “Typical men and their lasers.”

La Signora wrapped her purse strings tight and ripped free the outer layers of skirt, leaving only a tight curve hugging black dress. With a few steps back and a calm breath, La Signora ran towards the green lasers and leapt with a series of twirls and ankle gripping spins, avoiding all trips to land with the poise of a Russian gymnast on the other side. Somewhere in the world, an olympic judge felt a sudden need to stand and scream, “TEN POINTS,” and he couldn’t quite understand why.

Rounding the corner in smooth stride, La Signora pulled a small tube marked liquid eye shadow from her purse and gave its cap a few turns. Guards at the far end had already been standing ready when they saw the smoke pour from the corridor and they held their pistols at the ready.

“Don’t move or we will fire!” One of the guards, having the looks of ex-military, trained his sights on La Signora without hesitation.

“Oh, don’t mind me boys, I’m just fixing my make-up.” She smiled flirtatiously as she took slow, hip-waving steps further down.

“I am warning you, one more step and I will fire!”

Laughing smartly, she stepped forward and threw her eye shadow with a feigned trip just as the guard  pulled the trigger.. With spectacular precision, the eye shadow met with the bullet just as it left the gun and the Acetone Peroxide, free of stabilizing restraints, within reacted with swift and devastating effect. There was a momentary smell of bleach before the kinetic energy unleashed an explosive reaction, sending a blaze of fire and melted plastic shrapnel across the guards. They fell to the floor in twisting agony just as La Signora crossed the distance at an agile sprint, giving each a knock-out kick for good measure as she passed.

With ease, she crossed the threshold into a room lit only by the dancing shadows of moonlight, the smell of old books and polished wood seemed almost stereotypical, as though Aerverington had placed this room here just for the purposing of saying he had an English study full of old and rare editions. La Signora’s eyes rolled as she crossed the room to the mahogany desk at its center. “Who is Aerverington kidding? So image obsessed that he comes off as a parody.”

She smiled, however, as she encountered the floor vault tucked under the desk. “Lets just hope that the wealth is the real McCoy.”

A tube of dark lipstick slid open in her hand and she applied a line of it with grace across her lips before drawing a circle pattern around the vault’s locking mechanism. As she waited for the corrosives to eat through, she took a very ordinary file from her purse and evened out a few rough nails.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was, perhaps, one good thing about falling on your face every couple minutes: over time you become very aware of the ground you walk upon. It took only about six trips and a bloody nose for Myles to notice a small trail of seemingly dripped blood. This could be, of course, from any number of possible sources, however the chances of it being a trail to the target were as good as any.

Nose to the ground, as if Myles had the choice, he followed the weaving steps of the blood trail, as though whomever it belonged to might have been either intoxicated or somehow incapacitated. Has this Cecilia Gray already been stabbed? Poisoned? Am I too late?

Myles’ fears became more and more pressing as the trail became fresher, the blood still liquid. His eyes widened with greater and greater concern, however he paid less and less immediate attention to his immediate surroundings.

“Ooof!”

Before he could even realise what was happening, Myles found his face pressed into an unnaturally large cod-piece. He almost yelled out in embarrassment and begged for forgiveness before he realised that he couldn’t risk giving away his “invisible” position.

“What fuck’n minchione hit me in the piece, huh?!”

The Chicago Crocodile stared down with some level of disbelief on top of his anger to see a powdery white sad clown mere inches from his crotch. The shock was just enough that Moretti wasn’t prepared to lay down some serious violence upon the Myles before the priest could attempt to sidestep him, only to land on his already pierced foot.

“Figlio di puttana!”

The words reached Myles’ ears as ‘Son of a whore!’

The sudden exemplative caused Myles to stand and turn, the Pendulum in his hand slapping Moretti in the back of his head with enough force to send Moretti to the ground and the other side of the Pendulum up into Myles’ gut.

Bent double in severe stomach distress, Myles could see the bleeding cut through Moretti’s shoe, and for a moment felt despair. This entire time he had been following the trail of a drunkard?

“Hey, Crocodile! What are you doing? Met up with another broad?”

Moretti’s companions slinked through the crowd from the buffet, laughing and roaringly drunk.

“That knife-heeled whore come back for more?”

That caught Myles’ attention as he caught his breath and backed away. Veering away from the fresh line of blood, Myles soon came across a smaller trail, each spot of red embedded in a scraping line.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A diamond the size of a clenched fist, now there was a find worthy all of the trouble.

There was suddenly the sound of clapping echoing down the corridor that caused La Signora to jump to her feet, the diamond dropping smoothly into her purse.

"I see that no amount of home defense can really stop the famous cat burglar, Miss Cecilia Gray. I did wonder a time how long it would be before you would make me a target."

The deep English voice came out from the darkness felt as though it were right by her ear, the feeble light trickling from the windows barely illuminating the room beyond the vault's now open door.

"I honestly have no idea what you are talking about," Gray said coyly, "I was on my way to the little lady's room and got myself terribly lost." She slipped her hand slowly into her purse and clenched her chloroform perfume.

A tall dark man in a black half-mask stepped out from the shadows, one hand to his chest and the other holding a dark umbrella as a cane. He bowed low and gave her a beastly grin. "Oh, I say, I am quite sure that is the case. We eccentric millionaires are known to put bathrooms inside of vaults that require one to break through windows,  jump lasers, knock out guards, and melt through a solid half-meter of steel to get to. It is a surprise that more of us don't die from bladder infections!"

He approached slowly, spinning his umbrella as he moved. Gray was having none of it, and using one hand to cover her mouth, let loose a long spray of chloroform gas towards her pursuer before bolting back towards the door.

The masked man quickly opened his umbrella and ran through the gas, dispersing it with ease. Gray was on the run, but the masked man was not deterred. "Oh, I do enjoy a good fox hunt. Aerverington always gets his girl."

Unfelt and unseen, the Monkey latched onto Aerverington's shoulder and held on for the ride as the murdering madman ran down through the hall with a twisted grin splayed across his face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The trail was going dry and Myles was sure that he had become totally lost in the crowd. Furthermore he was finding that being invisible, or unremarkable as it were, could be quite a nuisance since it did not mean one was intangible. Stray elbows jabbed into his ribs and dancing bodies pushed him back and forth without stop, Myles was almost motion sick from all the jostling.

Holding his mouth to quell his stomach, Myles tried to push from the crowds only to bowl into a short woman in a patchwork dress. The woman, after catching herself from falling, about-faced and stared with deadly blue intensity at Myles.

"You are not the guy I was waiting for."

The voice coursed through Myles' ears an evoked pure panic. In quick succession Myles prayed to as many of his Gods that he could think of as he met her stare. "T-they say that violence only begets v-violence, so perhaps we can settle this peacefully?"

"Oh sure, we’ll sit down for some tea and a nice chat."

“Really?”

“Not on your life, bitch.”

Carter pulled her pistol from the folds of the dress and took aim towards Myles. Carter didn't put up with obstacles, she just plowed them down. Myles had already scrambled backwards, trying to get through the crowds once again. She was, however, a par excellence marksman and as she fired, Myles felt a sudden heaviness around him, had he been shot? Was this falling feeling his soul coming free from his body? Was this the end?

A series of things happened all the sudden in quick succession.

A quartet of partiers hefted a whopping thirty litre Melchizedek of champagne into the air, ready to parade it into the drunken squirming masses

The bullet left its barrel in a flash of gunpowder.

The Black orb of the Pendulum flared to life.

Myles’ feet gave way.

A scream loosened from the crowd as the reverberations of the shot echoed through the courtyard, sending panicked guests to their knees.

A shattering crash seemed to happen in slow motion.

And all within the span of moments, Myles found himself with his face plowed into the ground, soaked to the core, and smelling of fermented grapes.

"Take my wife, my children, just not my money!"

"I'm too beautiful to die!"

"My wine!"

As other similar screams pierced the night, Myles pushed through on his hands and knees away from his assailant, muttering again and again, “Oh Joseri, oh Gods, oh anybody...”

Zimmerman, who still stood amongst the fearful crowd, stepped casually over heads, glass, and obstacles, slowly slipping a screwdriver from his pocket as he went. “Well now, this gives us an easy opportunity.”

Reaching Myles, Zimmerman casually bent over and tapped the screw driver on Myles’ spectacles. “Oh, you’re that nice fellow from the cafeteria.”  With surprising ease, he grabbed Myles by the collar and lifted him into the air. He smiled a faint but toothy smile and Myles slowly looked up at him. It was there that Myles noticed something he had not all those hours ago, a seed of madness that was quickly blossoming into a full on psychosis.

The staredown lasted perhaps a few seconds before Myles felt a cold object placed against the back of his head. He felt himself tense up, his body quickly going rigid from fear. He had faced things that made these two look like mere children, he had been places that these two could have barely dreamed of, but now, soaked and tired, torned and beaten, he had never felt so frightened.

Barely a day ago he had nearly ended his life by his own hand, nearly a day ago he relished the release of death. But now, now that he had been given the chance, a real chance, to take back his life, to become the Myles that he once was, now that that chance was being pulled violently away from him....

“I fucking hate clowns.”

Carter pulled the hammer of her pistol back and pulled upon the trigger, enjoying the ease of killing such an annoying obstacle. The hammer came down and...

Click

Click

Clickclickclicklick

“What the fuck?!”

In an instant, Myles felt the cold press of death pull from him as he saw the mad doctor look to  Carter’s misfire. Summoning up what little courage he could, Myles tore away his collar and hefted the Pendulum from its prone position beside him up as hard as he could, resulting in a soft thump noise and two embarrassingly feminine squeals of pain.

“I’m really sorry,” was all that Myles’ could get out as he ran with all his might. Carter yelled furiously, hand still covering her ravaged crotch and she attempted to stand and follow. Zimmerman, ever the prepared one, grabbed her ankle from his pained fetal position and slowly stood with her support.

“I can’t...ow...allow you to....ow...let my Monkey die.”

Reaching into his pockets with both hands, Zimmerman produced two pinapple grenades, easily flicking off their pins and tossing them hard in Myles’ direction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What does it take to kill you?!”

Gray felt in her purse for anything else she could throw to slow down her pursuer. Smoke grenades, flash bombs, oil slick, explosive caltrops, nothing seemed to phase him. For every thing she could pull out of her purse, Aerverington pressed something on his umbrella to counter it. Turning it into a huge fan, extending into a blind, spraying away oil like some sort of soapy water gun, flaring into a jet and flying him over obstacles, he was like some sort of vile hellspawn of Mary Poppins and James Bond.

She dived over furniture, kicked through doors, and slide under guards, and yet he was gaining ground on her.

“I’ve caught you now, my little fox!”

Aerveryington was suddenly upon her, so close that she could feel his breath. With martial instinct, Gray spun hard upon one heel and kicked with the other, her sharpened heel tearing a white gash upon Aerverington’s mask, the force eliciting a crunching snap from underneath. She didn’t wait to gloat, and let her momentum bring her back into a run.

The front doors were in sight, Gray could see the lights of the gala pouring around the cracks. Pain wracked her body, fire spread up and down her agonized legs, but the goal was in sight, he would survive, she would live on as the greatest thief ever to have swipe a satchel. However, a ragged black shape was closer upon her, its eyes brilliant green and predatory.

Blood seeped from Aerverington’s black Scaramouche mask, quickly covering his lower face in a red slick. Crimson dripped over ivory, his maddened grin like a massive laceration across his face. He held before him the Umbrella, its increased weight barely noticed by his adrenaline pumped arm.

“I do enjoy a good chase, but I believe it is time to conclude this fox hunt. Cheerio, Ms. Gray!”

Gray shoved open the oaken double doors and continued her stride as Aerverington’s thumb squeezed down upon his umbrella’s trigger, sending its dagger sharp point blasting towards her. In that same instance, the invisible Monkey lept from Aerverington’s with all its primal might and hurtled towards his target.

“Oooooooooooeeeeeeeeeek!”

The brightness of the scene before Gray blinded her as twin explosions rocked the courtyard, screams of terror and agony rippling through the gala like a wave. The shrieking inhuman noise behind her sent her stumbling forward across the entrance stairs, her agile feet only losing their stride and balance for a moment as she tripped over an orbed staff, long enough to allow Aerverington’s deadly projectile to fly over her and into the pinned down crowd below.

She laughed loudly as she continued her forward momentum, quickly taking the stairs in twos, fours, leaping the stairs in long strides as she felt as though she was made of air. However something felt wrong despite her jubilation, something looked wrong. The dark clouds of smoke and rubble seemed to be filtered through a hazy lense, images flashed before her eyes that should could not comprehend. A burnt man in white seemed to fall from the sky to land on the marble steps, a monkey holding a wooden spoon sat splayed and dazed on the staircase below her, shimmering images of countless women passed around and seemingly through her, sounds were dulled and echoes of voices all intermixing reverberated through her very being.

A scream pierced through the dullness, Gray’s head turned to see Aerverington’s bladed projectile lance through the side of a blond woman, her arms and body splayed protectively before a tall spectacled man before she fell in a heap. What madness was all of it? What the hell was going on? Gray only knew that this was a good enough distraction as any to escape.

As she moved to run again, something caught at the edge of her dress and held right. The man in white, his backside blackened by fire, held firm to the hem of her dress. She was about to kick him away when he looked up towards her, face white and spectacles shattered.

“Ms. Gray?”

“That depends upon who is asking.”

“I....I’m sorry, Ms. Gray, I’ve have some terrible news for you.”

Myles stood slowly and grasped Gray’s lithe hands in his large calloused palms, breathing out a small sigh. “I’m going to ask you to do something, Ms. Gray, please for your sake indulge me.”

“Just make it quick, I’ve places to be.”

“Yes, yes I understand, can you please just turn and look back up the stairs.”

Rolling her eyes, Cecilia turned on her heel and looked back up the stairs, half expecting to see Aerverington there ready to descend once more upon her. She did see Aeverington, his bloodied twisted smile still ripped across his face, and he was descending upon her...only she was at the top of the stairs, collapsed, her head twisted in some impossible direction. It was then that she saw more women walk out from the doors behind Aerverington, all a ghastly transparent pale, their eyes staring out into nothing, their bodies all showing some disfiguring would.

Tentatively, she reached for her throat, her hands pausing before touching her skin. She felt a slick sensation, some ichor befouled her hand; she pressed further and felt hard twisted knots, she could feel bones dislocated and torn from her spine. Horror, brief but terrible horror, filled her eyes that quickly turned to rage as she turned upon Myles.

“What kind of joke is this?! Who are you?! What happened?!”

Myles closed his eyes and released her hands, which he used to immediately slap him over the face. There was no shock on his face and he rubbed at the red print upon his cheek, he only nodded and spoke carefully and quietly.

“I know this is hard for you to accept, Ms. Gray, but every life has a path that it walks down. For you, it has been one of constant adventure, illicit deeds, and living as you would want. You took your life in your own hands and you ran with it. But...but we all trip. Sometimes it is only metaphorical, sometimes we can stand back up and take up our path or perhaps walk a new one...but in your case, I mean the trip quite literally.”

“Get to the point dammit! I don’t understand all of this crazy philosophy, I can’t understand why you know who I am or even who you are!”

“Ms. Gray, my name is Myles Daal and I have the duty of escorting you to the afterlife.”

“But....no, no! I just stole from Charles Aerverington! All of the papers will be talking about it! I’m too young!”

She shook violently, at first rage coursing through her making her think of all the ways she’d kill this Friar Tuck looking man, how easy it would be to slice through him with a well placed kick, or to spray his face full of hydrochloric acid. She balled her fists and almost belted him across the jaw, but as her eyes looked to her hand, then through her hand....

“I’m really dead, huh?”

“Yes ma’am, you’ve come to the end of this road.”

“I imagine all of the papers will be talking about this you know? I can imagine the headlines, “Heist of the Century Ends in Sorrow,” “Midsummer Masquerade turns to Malicious Murder,” “Country Mourns for Gray.” Aerverington won’t be able to keep out of the spotlight,” she laughed despite herself, “I can just imagine what this will do for his image...Speaking of whom, why are all those other women standing around him? Who are they?”

Myles shrugged, “ They are all spirits, I can only imagine that they follow their murderer, awaiting release.”

“Hmph, how sickening. Still flaunting about his coattails, its probably what got them killed in the first place. A woman should not let herself be bound by a man. I guess you are here to collect them as well?”

“I...well, I...I really can’t. I’m only here to collect you.”

“Ha, of course. So life is bound by the unfair rules of men, so too is the afterlife.” Her words were direct and cold.

“....nothing is fair, Ms. Gray. All I can really do is to make this as easy as possible. Its...its really out of my hands.”

“You talk as though everything is predestined, as though everything has a certain way it has to go, that everything is determined. You are a weak, sniveling, excuse of a man who is hiding behind a shield of denial. Sure, I’ll accept that life isn’t fair, but if life won’t play by the rules then I won’t either!”

Myles took a step back, unprepared for this outburst, unprepared for the accusation. Denial? No, no, it wasn’t his fault, his life was beyond his control. He had walked the paths the Gods demanded of him and when they chose to change it, it was beyond his grasp. Even now it was only by the choice of a God, a being greater than he that he was moving forward. Denial?

By the time he looked up from his inner conflict, Gray was already running passed him and through the crowd. More to Myles horror was the Monkey who was leaping off his head and towards Gray.

Monkey moved faster than Myles but his small size and tangibility kept him paces behind the ghostly Gray. Myles, hefted the Pendulum and shook it as though he was choking it.

“I swear! Get me to her before that Monkey, and I swear you can do whatever you want to me. Just get me to her.”

There was a momentary silence and a sudden snapping sound. The Pendulum span around in his hand, and well out of his control, to come crunching down in his crotch. The white orb flared to life and in a matter of seconds, Myles was sent flying across the courtyard, tears flying from his eyes from pain, and jowls flapping in the wind.

Through blurred eyes he could see the slowly standing crowd, he could see the tall doctor leaning over the small hitman, his hands shaking as they reached for the blade piercing her chest, he could see the monkey leaping across heads, bashing those that got in his way with his wooden spoon. At the edge of the party he could see Gray, slipping between the bars and passed the guards.

The Pendulum dropped suddenly as they passed the gates, moving close behind Gray.

“Wait! I don’t know what happens if you don’t go!”

“I’d rather be dead than to go with you!”

“....But you are dead!”

Before Gray could come up with a good comeback, the Pendulum came up from behind and caught up side her dress, lifting her up off the ground with flailing legs and screeching protests. Myles’ eyes went wide for a moment then closed them tight and reeled off a series of frantic ‘sorries.’ .

Faster and faster, the Pendulum flew on, down the curving road, billowing dust in great clouds.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Driver sat calmly upon his carriage and puffed upon his cigar. The Imp sat beside him, drinking some black viscous fluid from a hip flask.

“This is taking forever. Are you sure they are coming for us?”

“Mmhm.”

“Do you think Myles ever got to the party?”

“Mmhm.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Hrm.”

The driver pointed down the road towards an oncoming cloud of dust. The Imp squinted slightly as the dust cloud sped towards them. Within moments the cloud was upon them, a trio of sounds blasting in their ears for a brief moment.

“Peeeeeeeeerveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeert!!!!”

“Soooooorrrrrrrry!!!”

“OOOOOOOOOOOOKKKK!”

And with that noise dopple effecting past them, the imp reached into his pocket and started counting out keys to the Driver.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The dust choked Myles’ eyes, the screams of Gray deafened his ears, but a sense tingled in the back of his head. Coming quick upon them, the road ahead of them blurred and shimmered strangely, and suddenly the front end of two fire-breathing Nightmares pierced the veil between worlds, pulling a black carriage like the one that he had come in.

“Oh gods...”

Just as the carriage exited the portal, Myles flew through with a sharp electric crackle.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Some hours later

Satan sat at his desk, toying with a Newton Cradle, imagining each of the balls as Death’s unshaven hick head.

“One of these days I’m going to have you under my thumb. One of these days, there will be no more paperwork signed ‘Apparition Incident Report’ with your stamp all over it. One of these day...”

An Imp pushed open Satan’s ebon doors and nervously cleared his throat. “Um...Lord Satan?”

The red devil grasped one of the metal orbs as it reached its peak and turned to look at the Imp.

“What is it?” His voice was edged with anger, his mood as soured as it could be.

“A-ahem, we’ve h-had and incident with one of the contestants....I-i-it appears, Lord, t-hat...”

“OUT WITH IT!”

“Contestant Myles has captured Soul number Thirteen, however in the process as lammed fourteen of your thoroughbred Nightmares, broke the axels on three of your carriages, and has somehow broken a very large hole between the stables and the hotel kitchens! Um...Sir!”

For the briefest moment the skyline of Nothing went red. Those who were close by claim that an entire floor of Satan’s residence exploded in fire, the windows blasting out before sucking by in an eardrum popping implosion.