15 – Moonlit Encounter

Erika shooed out the last of Varn’s regular customers, locking the front doors for the night in the process. The idea that an arcade could have customers, let alone regulars, still shocked her every time she offered to watch the place. They weren’t many, but they existed.

Alone for the evening, Erika did a little light cleaning. Rick did not pay her enough to get her working hard, no matter what kind of friendship they had. He had a rare prior engagement tonight, and nobody else was available, so Erika was alright with managing the place on her own.

As long as it didn’t become a regular thing.

“So,” Erika said, wiping down the prize counter where she spilled a bit of popcorn. The buttery grease got everywhere. “Have you learned to play nice?”

Her phone, set on the counter in speaker mode, crackled as The Fixer sighed. “You make it sound as if I have no self control.”

“I certainly would put it like that if I had to.”

“Erika…”

“Anna is bringing Delilah to Varn’s tomorrow. You show up and don’t act like you want to throw her in an active wine press, and I’ll believe you can come with us.”

“A wine… what?”

“It’s a machine that crushes people,” Erika said, spritzing a bit of window cleaner on the popcorn machine. “And grapes, I guess.”

“I know what a… Erika. I’m not going to kill Delilah.”

“What about The Daughter?”

The rag squeaked against the glass, filling the moment of silence.

“That’s about what I thought.”

“It’s more complicated than—”

“No. It’s simple. The Eclipse is on board, especially after last weekend. The Warrior called me up earlier, said our new gear is almost ready. So this is happening soon. If you’re going to compromise it because you’re some weird, inflexible machine from outer space…” Erika trailed off, stopping her cleaning and her words before she could say something she would regret.

It was Leah’s fault. If it was just The Fixer, she wouldn’t have a problem telling them to go to Hell, but add in her mother to the equation and things grew more complicated—emotionally.

At the same time, Leah’s involvement at all would put her in danger. More danger than she already was in, thanks to The Fixer.

That was the crux of the issue. The more The Fixer got involved, the more Leah got involved.

“If you can’t deal with Delilah, maybe you should just get out of the city,” Erika said, realizing the moment the words were out of her mouth that her tone was harsher than she intended. She held her breath, waiting a moment for a protest, admonishment, or even just a disappointed sigh from Leah. When the line remained silent, she bit her cheek and carried on. “Just take Carter and leave Chicago. Get away from the Terminator. You can hunt down some other aspect of The Mummy—apparently they’re infinite,” she said with a glower at nothing, hoping that The Daughter had been hyperbolic when she said that.

She waited a few moments longer, expecting some response. Still, the silence dragged on.

“Fixer?” she said, tossing the rag aside as she turned to her phone. “Mom? Are you—”

The moment her fingers neared her phone, it flung off the countertop, skidding further into the arcade. Erika jolted, fully alert in an instant, eyes scanning for threats when all the lights in the arcade shut off with a heavy, electrical thunk.

Erika tensed, ripping a baseball bat and flashlight from her armory. A faint green light washed over the darkened arcade cabinets, stemming from the emergency exit sign over the back door. Erika slowly, cautiously moved around the counter, keeping her back to the wall as she swept her flashlight back and forth.

A shadow stretched over the wall as she angled the light to the prize counter she just left. Sucking in a sharp breath, Erika swung without hesitation.

The glass counter shattered, but she hit her target. A stuffed Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man exploded. Bits of fluff wafted through the air, drifting lazily back and forth as the glass clattered to the ground.

“Fuck!” Erika ground her teeth, swinging her light back to the rest of the arcade to make sure nothing sneaked up on her while she was jumping at a toy. “If Rick forgot to pay his power bill, I’m going to fucking kill him.”

She edged, slowly and carefully, toward the back door. Erika didn’t know if outdoors were better than indoors when something fucky was going on, but the city would have light, even at midnight.

Feeling her way along the wall, checking the ceiling with every other swipe of her flashlight, Erika made her way around the arcade and to the back door. The door was normally a mere ten steps from the counter, but it felt like it took ten minutes to reach.

Erika kicked her foot against it, using the cinder block wall as cover just in case something was on the other side with weapons. The door popped open, latch broken, letting in cool night air. She waited, listening, and heard nothing alarming.

Chancing a look around the doorway, Erika first saw other lights working.

The second thing she saw was a translucent, ethereal figure standing near her car, thin-skinned finger pointing up and toward the elevated tracks running over the alleyway. The moment Erika’s eyes flicked to the ghostly woman, she vanished like she had been a trick of the light.

Erika glared for a second. She didn’t know why that ghost was haunting her or helping her, and right now, she didn’t care. She turned her gaze to the tracks.

Jack, the nude woman, sat perched on the edge like she had been ready to pounce on Erika the moment she stepped out. Her leering smile twisted to surprised confusion as Erika met her gaze, then quickly shifted to frustration.

For a moment, Erika thought she was going to pounce anyway, angry at having been caught in her ambush, but a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder.

“Hello there, friend,” The Monk called down, stepping up alongside Jack. His large form blocked out most of the light behind him, leaving him barely visible, more of a silhouette than visible. Even without decent lighting, she could see the damage on his body. Scars wrapped around his arms and legs, disrupting his tattoos, and it didn’t look like one leg healed quite as well as it should have.

The Doctor had been sloppy when putting him back together.

Jack strained against his grip, but his arm remained rock solid despite his injuries.

Erika said nothing. She wanted to check the alley and the rooftops, every shadow in the parking lot and especially the skies—she didn’t dare break eye contact. The Monk could move. She had beaten him last time, barely, but he hadn’t had Jack with him. Together, in the open, with Erika alone…

“Come now, I fear we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” The Monk said with a kindly smile.

Erika narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out his angle. Was he here for a chat? Or was this a distraction? “Why not come down here in range of my bat and I’ll take that foot off ya,” Erika said, testing more than taunting.

“Another time, perhaps,” he said in good nature. “I can see you’re riled up, and don’t want to agitate you further.”

His voice pissed Erika off. Even back when he ambushed them and nearly killed the rest of The Hunters, even when threatening to finish them off, he spoke all cordially and friendly-like.

Who did he think he was fooling?

“We haven’t come today to fight,” he carried on, jovial.

“Oh yeah?” Erika stepped out, scanning the parking lot for a split second, just to ensure that no cultists were waiting against the wall to bash in her head. The coast was clear, and neither of the two hopped off the elevated tracks in the short time Erika had broken her line of sight. She did not relax, but she did wonder if they were telling the truth about not fighting. “Your little ambush got ruined so you’re giving up? Afraid I’ll send you back to The Doctor in pieces this time?”

The Monk chuckled and stepped forward, removing his hand from Jack’s shoulder in the process. She looked at him, cocking her head like a dog wondering if it was playtime, but even without him looking back at her, she slumped down in disappointment. He simply sat down right on the edge of the track platform, sandaled feet dangling over the edge.

“Have you ever considered your purpose?” he said, leaning forward, dark, shadowed eyes boring down at her. “Why you exist?”

Erika stared, blinking slowly. “What.”

He chuckled, leaning back once more to stare up at the sky. “Not interested in the thought-problems of philosophy?” He let out a short, disappointed sigh. “That does not surprise me. Mortals rarely enjoy delving into the theories of their own existence, for the terminus of such thoughts tends toward morbidity.”

“Are… are you sure we can’t fight?” Erika asked, wondering if she could throw her bat hard enough to hit him.

“I was once much the same,” he carried on, talking to himself, as if Erika wasn’t even present, “fearing for the future, fretting over my purpose. But it doesn’t have to be this way! When I encountered the One Chained Beneath, revelation struck. The idea of mortality—”

“Did you seriously come here to fucking proselytize?” Erika snapped, breaking into his diatribe. “Oh, come join our fucking cult. We’ve got tattoos and masks and only sometimes ask our members to slit their own throats. Give me a break.”

“Yes… That is a great example,” he said, undisturbed by her interruption. “Those who killed themselves to draw you into the Realm of the Gods… do you believe they have perished? That their existence has come to an end?”

Erika pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes.

“You did until I asked, didn’t you?” He spoke with a knowing smile.

“Fuck you.”

He chuckled a deep, rumbling laugh that seemed to grate on Jack, judging by the way she twitched away from him. “They still yet live. They will continue to do so, free from the overwhelming burden of mortality.”

“So, you think you can buy me out with promises of immortality? Except you aren’t actually immortal. Or, at least, the masked cultists aren’t. When I broke those statues and those masks, they sure seemed to think they were going to permanently die.”

“True,” The Monk said with a solemn nod. “It is tragic, but they know they worked towards a greater purpose. I’ve no doubt that none would have any regrets.”

“I’m sure that’s easy for you to say, Mister Fancy Tats,” Erika scoffed. “Who decides who gets the immortal ink and who gets the flimsy masks? Oh, we’re all immortal, but some of us are more immortal than others. Yeah, you want to talk philosophy? I’ve read Animal Farm, bitch.”

“Animal… farm?” He looked genuinely confused, then shrugged it off. “It is true that there is a discrepancy. Power comes at a cost. Perhaps now that the Carrion Lord is freed, more power can be consumed, but reality has an upper limit of what it can handle, and we dare not surpass it now.”

Erika raised an eyebrow, registering that comment in the back of her mind; it almost sounded like he might be just as frightened of the Terminator as The Fixer was. Now that she thought about it, Jack had run away when the guardian came after The Fixer, rather than carry on attacking with that thing as a distraction.

Her fingers twitched. She had drawn the Terminator’s attention before, breaking reality to the point where it noticed. She could do it again. The question was whether it would run them off, focus on the break… or go for her. Erika clenched her fist, firming her grip.

The situation wasn’t desperate enough, not yet.

“So what’s the deal,” Erika asked, settling her fingers back down. After everything she had learned about the guardian, the situation wasn’t desperate enough to risk it coming after her. “You’re offering to, what, tattoo me? I like a good tattoo—can’t say yours are appealing, but eh… And what about my friends? You think I’m selfish enough to go under the needle while they just get shitty masks? Get the fuck outta here. You’re not convincing anyone.”

“It isn’t a question of masks versus tattoos as you seem to believe. When all is said and done, all will be one and the same within The One Chained Below. There will be no distinction.” He paused, arms spread as if he just said something unfathomably profound. It took a moment, but he slowly realized that his proclamation hadn’t landed on Erika as well as he might have expected.

She cocked a hip and raised an eyebrow.

“That is an inevitability, whether you assist or not,” he said, slowly bringing his arms down. “All The One’s aspects work toward its freedom. You, The Daughter, and any others serve as mere accelerators; any hindrance you accomplish is transient and meaningless. But!” The Monk held out a finger, pointing at Erika. “Your existence is one we have been watching for, for your existence proves that The One’s broken chains need not be the final goal, but a mere stepping stone toward the greater finality: The end of reality’s tyranny.”

Once again, he spoke with grandeur, his deep voice projecting to the point where Erika could feel it in her chest like hard bass at a concert.

“Wow,” she said, watching with wide eyes as he held his outward reaching pose. He looked rapturous, so blissful and intense that Erika couldn’t help but want to… break every hope he ever had. “You seem like the kind of guy who gets real high huffing your own farts,” she said, flipping him off with the lowest, most immature taunt she could come up with. “Even if you had shown up spouting nonsense before nearly killing my friends and trussing my mother up on hooks, I still would have told you to sit and spin,” she said, using her baseball bat like a giant middle finger for her other hand.

The Monk’s face went blank. All his excitement turned to stone, although it didn’t progress quite to the point of anger. It was more like he resigned himself to the fact that his words were falling on deaf ears.

Erika tensed as he stood, gripping her bat properly, but he simply brushed off his robes and turned away.

The woman did not. She leaned forward, muscles in her legs coiling as she gripped the edge of the raised platform. “Вⷡrͬeͤaͣᴋⷦiͥng ᴛⷮiͥmͫeͤ…”

“Jackal,” The Monk said, tone harsh.

She stopped instantly, legs primed for her leap but frozen like time itself didn’t want anything to do with her.

“We are leaving,” he said, dusting off the backside of his robes. “We’ll give The Breaker time to think things over, time to discuss things with her allies. I knew well that she wouldn’t accept tonight.” He stopped, half-turning back to Erika. “As a gesture of goodwill, you and yours will find yourselves under no threat from us at this place, but I urge you to consider carefully. You prove our future is possible,” he said slowly, carefully, but turned an unusually sharp eye on Erika as he carried on. “But proofs are useless if they cannot be repeated. We have waited a long time… and we can wait a long time yet.”

Speech made, he turned away and started walking along the tracks, vanishing out of sight over the roof of Varn’s. Jack—Jackal—remained where she was, utterly frozen except for a faint rustle in her short, blue-white hair from the wind. Just as Erika tensed up, ready to fling her bat, the woman’s nude flesh started fading out, leaving the dark bands of her tattoos behind. Ring by ring, the tattoos spiraled out of existence, until there was nothing left.

Erika remained where she was, tense and ready.

She waited.

Nothing came. No ambush, no birds swooping down. She stood alone in the quiet parking lot and the dead lights of the arcade behind her.

The Monk actually meant it. At least until he changed his mind.

Feeling her way along the wall toward the office—where she knew a breaker panel was—her tense muscles slowly relaxing now that the danger had passed.

Erika almost touched the breaker panel, but her flashlight sweeping across made her pause.

Black tar-like ooze dripped out from the metal cover, staining the wall. Swiping a pen from the desk, she dragged it through the goop, bringing it closer just to be sure it was what she thought it was.

Ectoplasm.

“Rick is going to be pissed,” she called out, not sure if the ghost could hear her, or if it could understand.