Mayday: A Kaiju Thriller

Chapter Three

It was raining sideways by the time I parked outside Psi Division. It was the tail end of the monsoon season, but it looked like we hadn’t seen the last of the bad weather yet. I braced myself, then opened the door and climbed out of the car. The wind tried to take my hat almost immediately. I pushed it down hard on my head and jogged across the empty car park to the glass double doors that were the only entry into the compound.

Psi Division was the beating heart that made Volkov Entertainment the only organisation in the world capable of controlling the Maydays. Unlike the rest of Volkov’s staff, the Psi folks didn’t hold apartments on the West Island. They lived, worked, and played all within the confines of the Psi Division compound near the centre of the East Island, not far from Yllia’s pit. Most of the time they never travelled further than the Mayday pits. Food, entertainment, everything they needed was brought to them. But there was one freedom they had over the rest of us. When the Maydays were shipped out to do battle in a ruined city somewhere in China or Vietnam or India, the handlers went with them and observed the battle first-hand. No, not observed it. Controlled it.

I’d only been to a single melee since I took on the job—I’d wrangled it out of Volkov as a condition of my joining the staff. One of the aerial film crews had taken me up in their chopper, and I’d watched as the huge, lumbering Nasir fended off attack after attack from Yllia and Grotesque on the outskirts of Jakarta. Even from so high up, the helicopter had shuddered with every thundering crack of Nasir’s fist. Braver Volkov film crews had been in the city, filming the battle from the stumps of skyscrapers that’d had their tops ripped off a decade before. And most insane of all were the Maydays’ handlers, following the battle through the streets in Humvees armoured to resist RPG blasts. The Psi crews may be a weird bunch, but they had balls, I’d give them that.

The doors to the Psi Division compound were locked, as usual. I ducked under the shelter of the entrance building’s overhang and held my thumb on the buzzer for a few moments. I let go, and when the intercom didn’t come to life immediately, I jammed the button down for another ten seconds. There’s only one way to get anything as an investigator, and that’s to be as annoying as possible until they can’t ignore you anymore.

The intercom crackled. “Yes, all right, what is it?”

I showed my teeth to the black-shielded camera perched above the intercom. “Jay Escobar.” I pointed my ID at the lens. “Head Investigator. Open the door, will you? I only just put on dry socks.”

The door stayed shut. “What do you want?”

“I want to come in, wasn’t that obvious? I need to talk to Priya Dasari.”

“Miss Dasari is indisposed. Please come back later.” The intercom went silent.

I checked my watch. It wasn’t even ten in the morning yet. Much too early to deal with this sort of bullshit. It was a good thing I was in such a jovial mood. I leaned against the buzzer again. After two minutes, the voice came back.

“Mr Escobar—”

“Ah, there you are,” I said, releasing the button. “I was beginning to think I was going to have to drive my car through these doors. I’m sure you’ve received Professor Volkov’s memo asking you to cooperate with my investigation into the death of the Mayday Yllia. So I’m a little confused about why I don’t hear this door opening.”

“Mr Escobar, please. The Psi Division is isolated for a reason. Our handlers are all highly sensitive individuals, and right now several of them are suffering from some kind of psychic backlash as a result of the Mayday’s death. I’m sure what you have come about is very important, but I must insist that you return another time. I suspect that by tomorrow, Miss Dasari will be more inclined to speak to you.”