The Lord of Misrule

55 -- Empire

"T-the party is this way!" Ada stammered this and tugged at his hand, murmuring, "That's where everyone is."

"In a minute!" he was before the security room door.

Does she even understand the danger? Even felt mad for a moment. But how could she?

"Why!?" she shouted. "Why can't we just tell them and leave?"

"I'm going to manually set off the fire alarm... We've got to empty the building! Might not take us seriously otherwise..."

"So pull the thing!"

She pointed desperately to the red switch on the wall, and when Godric only glanced at she launched, hooked it, and tore it down. The Switch broke free of its casement, but nothing sounded.

"It's a silent alarm...?" murmured Ada.

"No," said Godric. "No it is not. I... I have to try from the security computer. There's a different way like that."

Godric grabbed the knob and threw it open, turned to Ada and found her staring down the hall at the breakroom, an arm across her chest, fingers digging into the sore, strained muscle of a slender arm.

In front loomed an empty hall and ajar door through which warm light flowed out to touch their feet—accompanying which came a multitude of voices, soft music, and the clink of glassware.

They really had no idea.

Durst thought of the valise then—and that without even a thought he'd been having Ada haul the thing while he was too busy trying not to hyperventilate in that fucking narrow shaft. A spike of guilt stabbed beneath the lungs.

"You can put that down in here, Ada," he said.

The security room was deserted, though the wall of camera feeds still glowed in monochrome—there was no one in sight in any place currently displayed. A click brought the third-floor hall into the center panel, and the Ski Masked Man moved rapidly about—crossing the screen several times—testing one door before jogging to another to shake and rattle a knob that wouldn't give.

Durst switched to The Grand Hall. Figures occupied it—he gasped—but these were party goers. A man and woman whose names he might've remembered in happier times. Had seen them cleaning bits and pieces with a toothbrush before.

Ada followed Godric in and shut the door—she placed the valise by the desk, and then continued to rub the arm by which she'd carried it. Godric looked at this unhappily, and then turned back to the computers. Turned it back to the masked man and dropped down into the chair, and then brought up a window and was about to login into it when Ada's hand clamped onto his shoulder.

"Godric!" her hushed, urgent breath came, "Look!"

Something slid into view on one of the cameras on the East stair—where they'd come from. An ancient, imperious face in crimson alabaster staring at the camera. Light poured onto it from below lending the eyes, nose and crooked frown an aura of evil. The executioner approaching the block—the duty at hand something he does not love—but something he will ensure is done with an iron hand.

It drifted forward and vanished beneath the camera. In the hall there came a groaning of wood as though some great weight leaned against it. Ada spun, but Godric covered his mouth and stared at the cameras.

He typed and listened at the same time and thus made mistakes—went to re-type when the noise paused—and fucked-up the username when the sound resumed. Harsher than before; more a thing of cracking than of straining. When inevitable the popping crash of destroyed wood came, he had the username in correctly and began to hammer the password. Just a few more clicks and the fire alarm would be set and the police would be on there way too.

"Godric!" Ada screamed.

That same moaning of strained wood was at their door now. He turned and rose—pushed the chair away from him and it smashed against the lockers—Ada jumped at this and spun back to the door and gasped when a crack appeared. The wood growled as the crack grew.

Small hands grabbed his arm and tugged him along—he moved with it, still staring at the door, the password half-entered behind him. Durst shook his head and tried to spin and finish, but before a finger could hit any key there came a roaring explosion of wood and the alabaster bust shot through as if it were fired from a cannon. That careening ancient face only stopped when it had met the bank of cameras feeds.

The monochrome world beyond cracked and distorted, crushed lightbulbs sounded as a door met the Ski Masked Man's shoulder before the alabaster bust smashed through and slammed the wall so hard that wood dented and paper tore. Extracted itself with an electric pop as the museum entire flicked into static a moment after a door burst open before the Ski Masked Man. The bust then sat in the air as though assessing the damage it dealt.

But only for a moment—It fell and slammed down through the air onto the computer tower. This gave no resistance at all and folded up beneath it, shattering, as pieces of this and that mysterious component splattered out to the side.

At that exact moment—as Ada flung her arms around Godric in fright and to instinctively tug him away from the wreckage—the lights went out. Not just in there with them, but across the museum too. Godric knew this for there was a sharp cry of surprise from the staff room down the hall—and then a laughter came out of the darkness.

Noise that bubbled and fumed with such limpidity it was seen as much as heard. It seemed to emanate from dozens of places at once. And yet it all came with one voice.

"Sotor II," Godric murmured.

The laughter vanished and from someplace deep beneath their feet there came a wild howling of masked marauders, followed by shots fired into the air.

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1000 words.

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