05 – i – The Eclipse and The Puppet

He adjusted his necktie as he stood in the elevator. The floor indicator lit up slowly. It wasn’t a modern elevator. Even though the building was only ten floors, the elevator took its sweet time. He occupied the time picking off small bits of lint or dust from his suit. Most were probably imaginary specs but the cleanliness felt important.

A single chime accompanied his arrival to the final floor. Picking up the long black case at his feet, he stepped out into the old Gilmore Building’s penthouse.

The walls were stripped bare. Cans of paint, sheets of drywall, nail guns, and all manner of construction equipment had been left strewn around the empty floor. Temporary light fixtures dangled from the high ceilings, currently turned off. There was no furniture or any appliances. It was the perfect picture of an apartment amid renovation.

The Hanged Man stepped through the corridors and up a set of stairs to the second floor of the penthouse. Never once did he feel a need to flick on the lights. The door to the master bedroom was closed and locked. Taking a breath, he put a foot through the closed door and simply stepped through to the other side.

Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the streets below. The Gilmore Building wasn’t the tallest building on the block. Perhaps it had been at one point in history but it was closer to the shortest today. More important than its height was its sightlines. Stepping up to the south window, The Hanged Man looked out onto the night-draped city. Despite the late hour, cars trudged through the streets, room lights in the other buildings flicked on and off, and the distant sound of sirens filled the air.

The Hanged Man set the long case down on the ground. Placing his thumb over a small pad made the case beep once and click open. He pulled out a small telescope and, keeping well back from the window, held the scope up to his eye.

There were a great many parts of his job that The Hanged Man enjoyed. As the primary face of The Eclipse, it was his duty to meet with any new elements of interest that appeared within the city of Chicago. Interesting people came to the city. Some shared long and storied histories, some were interested in creating some history, and some just wanted to lie low. While his duties involved laying down some ground rules and ensuring there would be no large problems, taking some time to get to know newcomers over a drink at a local bar never failed to bring a smile to his face.

Of course, there were those who didn’t play by the rules.

The Hanged Man replaced the narrow scope in the case. He slid open the window before bending down to the case once again. With ginger grace, he hefted up the long rifle, resting it on his lap. He pulled open the bolt and, from a cardboard container inside the case, began inserting cartridges into the internal magazine.

The bullets at the tips of these cartridges weren’t any standard steel-jacketed lumps of lead. They were pure silver. Not the optimal medium for delivering kinetic energy but they were a symbolic one.

With five cartridges inserted into the weapon system, The Hanged Man stood and brought the stock to his shoulder. Reaching out, he looped the long drawstring of the blinds around the end of the barrel, using it to help hold the weight as he waited.

Those who failed to abide by the rules were becoming distressingly common as of late. First The Castle and their enigmatic experimentation. Now The Puppet had come along, following in The Castle’s wake. While The Castle was generally only incidentally troublesome, usually when one of their experiments escaped containment, The Puppet was anything but. The Puppet intended to dominate the city of Chicago, though the reason why was anyone’s guess. Whatever drove them, they expanded aggressively and noisily.

Twelve minutes after taking up his post in the penthouse, The Hanged Man watched through the weapon system’s scope as a rented moving truck pulled into the alley across the way. He reached up to his collar and pressed a small button.

“Suspects spotted,” The Hanged Man said. “Five unknowns arrived right on schedule. They’re unloading boxes into the building.”

“Acknowledged,” The Art said over the earpiece. Her voice sounded like strained guitar strings. “Hazards?”

“Each is armed. Small caliber handguns by the looks of things. A few unknowns exited the building on their arrival, acting as guards and lookouts. The guards are armed with carbines.”

“Understood. No unnaturals?”

“Not that I can…” The Hanged Man trailed off as a woman stepped around the side of the truck. Bloodshot eyes peeked through waist-length bangs. She wore a pure black ankle-length dress but nothing else. Bare feet stepped across the asphalt alleyway as she supervised the unpacking of the truck.

The Hanged Man felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time. His heart thumped in his chest.

“Hanged?”

The Hanged Man drew in a breath and let it out slowly. His breath carried his emotions, leaving him with no fear or anxiety.

“Revision of the previous statement: Suspected Specter-class being, The Stalker, spotted. Wielding a…” He frowned, lowering the scope to The Stalker’s blackened hands. Loose in her grip, she held onto a heavy revolver. “SW Stealth Hunter.”

“Big gun for a little girl. Has she noticed you?”

“Not yet.” According to The Adjustment’s theorizing, The Stalker could somehow sense other unnaturals in the area. “Permission to engage?”

“Ready when you are.”

The Hanged Man slid the bolt on his M24 rifle closed. He drew in another breath and let it back out, this time to steady his aim. He held the exhale as his crosshairs centered over the back of The Stalker’s head.

The Hanged Man moved his finger from the trigger guard onto the trigger. His finger tightened.

At the last moment, he jerked his hand to the left. The gun let out a cracking report, thumping back against his shoulder. On the other end of the scope, a man carrying a cardboard box collapsed. A red spray hit the side of the moving van, painting its white wall.

He drew back the bolt, sending a scrap casing twirling through the air, and slammed it back down. The fresh cartridge only stayed in the chamber for a split second. Another pull of the trigger dropped one of the armed guards.

They tried to take cover. They tried to run and hide. Some sprinted back into the building. Some tried to hide behind the truck. Boxes sat on the street, abandoned in favor of firearms. Yet none of the guards or movers were looking in the right direction.

It wasn’t surprising. Ten stories up at a far distance? He might as well have been invisible. The barrel of his gun didn’t poke out the window. He stood well back, keeping the muzzle flash hidden within the room. The sound wouldn’t give any clues either. His rifle had a silencer to help dampen the thunderous crack but even what sound escaped would bounce and echo off the other buildings, only helping to disguise his spot against the ear.

Three more repetitions, three more bullets down the alley, three more dead guards.

“Did you get her?” The Art asked, strained guitar of her voice already knowing the answer.

“No,” The Hanged Man said, turning the scope back to The Stalker.

Those wide, unblinking, bloodshot eyes stared straight up the far end of the scope. The Stalker raised her arm and The Hanged Man found himself staring straight down the barrel of her revolver.

He saw the flash of the gun. The bullet shouldn’t have come anywhere near him. At the distance they were at, with her firing upwards, the bullet should have dropped to the point where it would hit the building instead.

Like he phased through the door, the bullet phased through his scope and then through him. It hit the ceiling of the room and exploded in an inferno of heat and flame. The force of the explosion knocked The Hanged Man off balance. He almost toppled straight out of the window. His grip on the drawstring that stabilized his gun provided just enough counterbalance for him to steady himself.

When he looked out the window again, The Stalker had moved. She didn’t move like any normal person. Leaving behind a staticky shadow of herself, like someone had tuned her television set poorly, she lurched forward and reappeared closer in the alley. She left behind another fuzzy copy of herself and reappeared on the sidewalk.

One car on the street slammed on its brakes as she stepped off the curb, only to pass harmlessly through another static copy of The Stalker.

She was headed straight for his building.

His very much on fire building. Smoke was already billowing out the window and the loose painter’s paper on the floor had caught fire.

“I seem to have drawn her away,” The Hanged Man said into his suit’s lapel. “If you want to clean up the rest.”

“Are you alright on your own?”

The Hanged Man undid the loop of string around the end of his barrel and knelt, carefully replacing the expended firearm into the case, and then moved through the burning room to collect the five expended cartridge casings.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, stepping back to the case. “I should note, however, that The Stalker fired her revolver at me in a rather unusual manner,” he added with a glance toward the flaming ceiling. “It exploded like it was loaded with napalm.”

“Probably The Warrior’s doing. The Adjustment suspects she is a witch of some sort.”

“Makes sense. I think I’ve overstayed my welcome tonight.”

“Good luck. I’ll see you back home?”

The Hanged Man adjusted his tie and brushed some bit of dust off his shoulders. “I might be late. Depends on how persistent The Stalker is.”

“Judging by her name…”

“Quite.”

Rather than head back through the door, The Hanged Man simply picked up the case and allowed himself to phase through the floor. It was a bit of a drop but he landed squarely on the penthouse’s kitchen counter. He hopped off and, using a rag near the kitchen sink, did his best to remove a small spot of ash that had landed on his breast pocket.

It wasn’t perfect. He might have to burn the whole suit when he got back.

With a sad shake of his head—he liked this suit—he headed back to the elevator. Technically, it was a safety concern to use elevators during a building fire. Realistically, he wasn’t about to walk ten flights of stairs. He would sooner jump out of the window. So, he pressed the down button and waited.

It took a few minutes. The elevator chime dinged twice and the doors slid open.

A revolver barrel pointed directly at his face.

The woman in the elevator turned to a still static image as The Hanged Man felt hard metal press up against the side of his head, just behind his ear. Twitching fingers clamped down on his opposite shoulder. A whispered breath tickled his ear.

“You missed.”

The Hanged Man drew in a breath, drinking in the emotions in her words. The pure rapture almost made him sag. He had to release a small sigh to maintain his composure. Lifting his free hand, The Hanged Man brushed a lock of her black hair away from her face, letting him see the pale skin around her wide, bloodshot eyes.

“Have you been using that lotion I recommended?” The Hanged Man asked. “Your skin looks better.”

“Feels better. Doesn’t crack and bleed,” she whispered. The revolver in her hand pressed up against the back of his head, forcing their faces together. Her lips met his.

She nibbled, just enough to draw a little blood.

The Stalker pulled back, letting the gun drop to her side in a loose grip as she licked the blood from her lips.

“We should find some eyedrops that work next,” The Hanged Man said after licking his lips.

Her mouth quirked into a frown. “It’s these contacts,” she said, moving her hands to rub at her eyes. She ended up knocking herself in the forehead with the revolver—which, he noted, she still had her finger on its trigger.

“Don’t rub,” The Hanged Man said as he took her free hand in his, interlacing their fingers. “Have you thought about glasses?”

“They made me look like a fool.”

The Hanged Man quirked an eyebrow, wondering if that was a joke. She didn’t seem to notice the humor, however, so he simply offered a wan smile. “We can talk about it later. We’ve got all night. The Art is taking care of the rest of your men.”

The Stalker’s face morphed into a rictus snarl. “You brought her?” she raved. Her fingers turned to claws digging into the back of his hand. The pressure stopped abruptly as her face went utterly placid. Flickering to static for an instant, she reappeared a step away. “The Puppet is going to be upset.”

“Then he should have sent more than just you.”

The Stalker stepped back into his personal space, tickling his chin with the barrel of her heavy revolver. “You think I can’t handle you? I can. The Warrior gave me bullets that will work on you.” The revolver’s cylinder clicked and clicked as she rotated it by hand. “I used the wrong one on accident.”

The Hanged Man leaned in closer, putting his nose to her nose. “It isn’t whether or not you can kill me, it’s that I have backup.”

She gripped his tie, pulling him closer for another kiss. Or another bite. Either would have been fine with him.

A loud crackling crash interrupted. Smoke started filling the hallway outside the elevator. Both looked to the door.

“You didn’t have to burn down the place.”

“If we’re going to keep meeting like this, I have to be convincing.”

“Fair enough,” he said, placing his hand against the small of her back as they turned to the elevator. “Your place or mine?”

“I’ve got the chains and whips,” she said, hitting the elevator button with the end of her revolver.

The doors opened instantly and they stepped inside. The Hanged Man tapped the button for the lobby.

The Stalker leaned into him, pressing her breasts to his arm and her head to his shoulder. She traced a pattern on his back with the revolver while he stood content to hold her to his side.

“You know, if you joined The Eclipse, we wouldn’t have to sneak around behind everyone’s backs.”

“With that Art bitch?” she snarled, hair twisting unnaturally. A calm excitement settled over her as her momentary rage faded. “Besides, it’s more thrilling like this, isn’t it?”

“Can’t deny that,” The Hanged Man said. He leaned his head against hers, only to frown.

The floor indicator flicked to three and then illuminated four. It flicked to three then back to four. Three, then four. Again and again. The Gilmore Building’s elevator was slow and old but it wasn’t faulty. Raising an eyebrow, he reached out and pressed the lobby button once again.

Three lit up for a moment, then two, then back to four.

“I don’t suppose The Puppet got someone new who can do something like this?”

“And what is this supposed to be?” She snapped her revolver out, slamming the butt of it against the lobby button hard enough to crack the plastic. “A broken elevator? Electricity manipulation? The Warrior could probably do it but I don’t know why. Not one of yours?” she asked in a sickly sweet tone.

“The Aeon, maybe The Hierophant depending on the day’s mask. No reason for them to do it though.”

“Unless they figured us out,” she said, seething as she started pacing back and forth. “I bet it was that Art bitch. Fucking sell-out. I’ll cut her head off and shove it up her ass.”

The Hanged Man opened his mouth to defend The Art—she was really quite sweet—but thought better of it at the last moment. The last thing he needed was the already volatile Stalker turning that volatility on him in this situation. Instead, he reached out for the open doors button.

Just before he could reach it, the elevator dinged twice and slid open the doors. The indicator still said floor four but neither of them stuck around. They could each get out of the building through other means, if necessary.

But the corridor he stepped into was… strange. Below the penthouse level, which was all one massive suite, the rest of the building was a fairly standard apartment. The elevator opened in the middle of the hallway, which extended to the left and right with a series of doors on either side.

The problem was that this hallway didn’t seem to end one way or the other. The Gilmore Building was not that large. There were only a dozen apartments on either side. Yet it just kept going, stretching on and on and on.

The Stalker noticed something was wrong as well. Her head snapped back and forth as her stance took on a more feral posture. “What the hell is this?”

A creeping sensation tiptoed up The Hanged Man’s spinal column. He didn’t even bother straightening his suit from the abuse The Stalker had inflicted upon it before reaching in and drawing a pistol from his underarm holster. It was a simple autoloader with silver bullets. No enchantments like The Stalker’s revolver.

He pressed his wrist up against his lapel, hitting the button for his earpiece. “This is The Hanged Man. Anyone copy? I’m currently experiencing—”

The Stalker grabbed his arm, jerking him toward her. She raised his hand, aiming his pistol up against the side of her head even as she placed her revolver against his. “What the hell are you doing?”

“We need to get out of here,” The Hanged Man said, voice as calm as possible. He breathed out, letting some of that calm fill the air between them. “This isn’t an ordinary situation.”

“No shit.”

“I’m… I’m going to try something. I’ll be right back.”

“Where—”

The Hanged Man didn’t let her finish. He let himself phase through the floor, right out of The Stalker’s grip.

He fell through the machinery, wiring, and pipes between the floors before passing through the air. Tensing, he landed with his polished shoes hitting the ground firmly.

The Stalker stood in front of him, staring between him and the ceiling. “Since when have you—”

“Never. We’re…” His eyes snapped left and right, frantically seeking any salvation. He wished he had more of that calm to huff. “Fuck. Something powerful is nearby.”

“Powerful. The Warrior?”

The Hanged Man couldn’t help his scoff. “A little witch isn’t enough to break reality.”

“Break reality? You’re making fun of me because I’m newly returned. If you’re fucking with me… Cute ass or no, I’ll—” She pointed her revolver at him again but The Hanged Man just brushed it away.

This was no time to flirt. All the agitation and rage infused in her breaths, mingling in the air wasn’t helping him think.

“We need to get out. No jokes. No humor.” He pressed the button at his lapel again. “Art? Adjustment? Anyone?”

The Stalker glared. Her wide, bloodshot eyes bored into him, searching for deception. When she didn’t find any, her eyes somehow went wider, leaving white all the way around her red irises. A slight shimmer coated her eyes, ethereal and unnatural. She seethed back and forth, fingers twitching worse than usual. Only her trigger finger remained steady.

“Alright,” The Hanged Man said, trying to breathe in something other than fear. “I have a plan. You go that way and I’ll go the opposite. Check every door but do not go inside. I’ve heard of places—”

“Split up? You really are fucking with me. Did you never watch a horror movie when you were alive? Or even after you came back.”

“Then what do you suggest, Stalker,” The Hanged Man snapped, suave calm completely exhausted. “Go on? I’m waiting.”

She stopped abruptly, hair curling up her black dress. With a glare at him, she turned back to the elevator and hit the button.

“What are you doing?”

“The elevator brought us here. The elevator can get us out.”

“That’s…” Was that stupid? He had to admit that there was some logic there.

The elevator dinged twice as the doors opened. Everything inside looked normal. Not like the infinite hallway with its uncountable doors. It had the right amount of buttons and no part of it looked like it stretched off into nowhere.

The Stalker stalked in without a word. When he didn’t move, she snapped her arm out and grabbed hold of his shirt. She gave him a toothy kiss before slamming him back against the wall. Turning her back to him, she hit the button for the ground floor.

The Hanged Man stood tense, too agitated to do anything but watch the floor indicator.

After a short eternity, the light dipped down to three. Then two. The Hanged Man breathed out a sigh, filling the elevator with overwhelming relief as the doors opened to the lobby. There were no apartments on this floor, just amenities—a pool and a laundromat—and the apartment mailboxes up against the wall. Outside the large glass doors opposite the elevator, he could see the street.

The flaming wreckage of a street.

That wasn’t how he had left it.

The Stalker moved forward as well, peering out through the front glass. “What the… Did the Warrior actually show up? She told me…” She trailed off with a glare at The Hanged Man. “She told me she’d be doing something secret.”

“My people wouldn’t have done something so chaotic,” he said, breathing easier now that they were out of that broken piece of reality. “We would have retreated before it got to this point.”

“Ah. That’s another reason I don’t want to join you losers. You’re no fun.”

The Hanged Man didn’t have the strength to argue now. He holstered his pistol and went for the communicator. “This is The Hanged Man, anyone—”

A hiss filled his ear. “Hanged? Where have you been?” The Adjustment barked out. The fact that she was shouting meant something bad was going on. Doubly so given that The Adjustment hadn’t been a part of this operation.

“I… engaged The Stalker,” he said, not meeting the ghostly woman’s glare. “We got trapped in a sliver of broken reality and formed a temporary truce to escape.”

A long stretch of silence followed. The Hanged Man smelled some agitation in the air coming from The Stalker. It was mixed with anger… but also an undercurrent of worry and genuine concern. It was nice to know that she cared.

“Glad you’re okay. Losing you would have been the twig that broke the spider’s web.”

“What—”

“Get back immediately. The Art was injured.”

“Repeat, please? Art was injured?”

A flare of hate leaked into the air the moment The Hanged Man mentioned his cohort’s name, only to twist into a smug satisfaction as he finished the sentence.

“You heard me. Some clockwork angel interrupted our plans.”

“Clockwork angel?” he asked, looking to The Stalker.

She shrugged, breath confirming her confusion. Not one of The Puppet’s minions then. That would be good intel to bring back.

“Just get home before someone else gums up the spinneret. Do you need extraction?”

“No. I’m secure. It’ll be a half hour but I’ll be back.”

“Good. The Adjustment out.”

The Hanged Man lowered his hand from the communicator and let out a long sigh, trying to escape any agitating emotions. “Looks like we’ll have to cut tonight short.”

“No shit. The Puppet was already going to be upset and now our new place is burning down? Fuck.”

“Are you in danger? Because The Eclipse—”

“Fuck your sissy group. The Puppet won’t hurt me,” she said with resounding confidence. Her shoulders slumped. “They’ll all be disappointed though. And I’m not even getting laid to make up for it,” she said with a groan. “Is this what being blue-balled feels like?”

The Hanged Man grabbed her shirt and pulled her in. Messy and abrupt, The Stalker only pushed in harder, jamming her tongue down his throat. They stayed locked together until the red and white flashing lights of approaching firetrucks started shining their light into the bottom floor of the Gilmore Building.

When he finally shoved her off him, she stood aside with a loopy grin peeking out from behind the curtains of her hair. “I love not having to breathe.”

“Down,” he said, committing to an act of willpower to keep himself from jumping at her again. “I’ll call. And I’ll send you a bottle of good eyedrops.”

The Stalker winced, hands moving toward her face as if to rub her eyes before she managed to stop.

“You should try blinking sometimes. Just because we don’t need to—”

“Feels like sandpaper.”

“The eyedrops will help.”

She nodded her head, leaving her head hung as she let out a breath of lost desire.

Before he could say anything else, her form froze, turning to a static image. Turning his head, he saw The Stalker moving down the street with her odd teleport.

The Hanged Man drew in one more breath, focusing on the scent of the shampoo he had given her rather than any emotions. With one last emotion-draining sigh, he straightened his suit, adjusted his tie, and peeled off a long strand of black hair from his shoulder. Looping up the hair, he pocketed it before heading out of the Gilmore Building.