Neither Beckett nor Rita had ever witnessed such an infestation before. Every eye was on them. Not a trace of amity to be found. Everyone on the ship was their enemy.
Rita's arm clutched Tobin's as the three of them trailed behind Janus across the vessel's immense deck. Four walls towered high above them, bathing the deck in shadow. Fifty or sixty prisoners in all directions. Some parked at the tables, some observed from the balconies lining the walls. Beckett felt that now was the wrong time to be the center of the known universe.
Especially once three familiar faces came into view. Or rather, one of their shoes met his head.
"Ow! Fuckin' hell!" he said, wiping his forehead, and his hand came back red.
"Beck Donnelly!" shouted one prisoner, a black man with a Sakari accent. "You've ruined everything in my life, Lochtishman!"
"Sarki?" said Beckett, suddenly astonished. "Of course you're here. No Mundiman would let a coal like you run a business for so long."
"Coal!" Sarki repeated. "Say that again, Beck Donnelly, you are dead man!"
"No, his head is mine!" said another man, one with another tale of travel like Beckett and Sarki. "You hear me, Donnelly? When I'm done with you, not even your loved ones will recognize what's left."
"You, too, Shinoda?" said Beckett. "Well, I hate to spoil your fun, but I've got no loved ones back home. Now that I know you and Sarki are here, I've got everything I need right here on this ship."
"How do you know all of these people?" Tobin said. "For God's sake, Beck, please tell me that's all."
"That is not all, Father Guthrie," said a man with sandy-blond hair and a posh Mundi accent. "It's too bad you've gone down the path where you'll learn everything he's done."
Tobin gasped. "Malcolm? What are you doing here?"
"Try as I may, Father, I just can't take no for an answer. Poor Wendy learned the hard way."
"Dear God, what have you done with your wife?"
"She's not where she wants to be, but where she deserves to be. I suppose the same can be said for myself."
"What, did she say your full name aloud?" said Beckett, and he grinned at his daughter. "Rita, darling, it is the silliest thing you'll ever hear."
Malcolm's devilish grin vanished instantly. His eyes filled with urgency. "Donnelly, don't you fucking saying it!"
"Oh, heavens, I wouldn't think of it. Forgive me...Malcolm Balcom."
A sneer like the Devil's crossed Beckett's face. Malcolm, on the other hand, burned red as he clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked.
"Now, coal-boy, now!" he said, and a Sakari man leapt from his seat, axe in hand.
"Mahdi, no!" said Sarki, but before the prisoner could lob the axe, two deafening booms bounced off the walls. Everyone flinched but Beckett, who watched the man named Mahdi vanish in two sequential blasts of red mist. What remained of his torso and legs toppled to the floor, spilling out everything remaining inside.
Beckett followed the scent of smoke back to a musket that had replaced Janus' left arm. He watched it reconstruct into its standard form, and he took a step back as her lone eye flashed red.
"Passengers of Vessel 13!" her voice boomed. "These three are high priority passengers, tasked with a mission that will conclude upon their arrival at Morrigan Island. Any one of them is found dead, maimed, or reported missing, I will cull this ship until all that remains is silence. Am I understood?"
No reply but a wave of nodding heads. Sarki's eyes rested on his friend's remains. Shinoda knew he'd hear Janus' yells in his nightmares. And Malcolm worked up the courage to sneer back at Beckett.
Janus walked away, and the high priority passengers followed.
***
First evening on Vessel 13. Beckett, Rita, and Janus hovered before the window, peering over the deck from their cabin. One of the perks of being high priority on a prison vessel was having the only view of the sea, an endless black void beneath a starry sky. Though Rita couldn't help but glare at the automaton positioned beside her.
"How long will this journey last?" said Beckett without looking away from the stars.
"The estimated arrival time is four days," said Janus.
"A lot can happen in four days. Only took one for my cousin to kill enough people to fill his entire church."
Beckett looked back at the room. There were three beds, and Tobin lay asleep on the one nearest the window. His arms and legs twitched, and his lips continued to move. Indevitatus, they said.
"How many people have you killed, Mr. Donnelly?" said Janus, and Beckett looked back.
"I don't really want to discuss that in front of the girl," he said.
"I bet I've killed the same," said Rita. "Or I've killed them worse."
Beckett rolled his eyes. "You've only killed one."
"Do you want to know why?" she asked. "He was like your Malcolm Balcom friend. Couldn't take no for an answer. I don't think any man in Novus Mundi can."
Beckett paused, imagining the mess he would've made of the man who'd approached his daughter. "He didn't hurt you, did he?" he said.
"No. He just kept insisting. I had to insist a little more permanently."
Rita retrieved her golden knife and gestured a throat slicing open, sticking her tongue out while pretending to choke.
"Please be careful with that, darling," said Beckett. "And don't make light of murder. It's supposed to be a vile dilemma, not an easy reflex."
"What was it when you did it?"
Beckett said nothing. He studied his cousin's fidgeting body, somehow more active when put to rest. He looked as if he were caught in a fight, though it couldn't be said who was winning.
"Hey," said Rita. "What the fuck was it like when you did it?"
"Watch it," said Beckett, and Janus stepped closer.
"Your father slit the throat of a man named Allen Olmstead," she said. "They were both inebriated at an alehouse called The Alluring Goddess, and the murder led to further investigation of the place's management. Which lead to the arrest of the proprietor at the time." Janus' head panned toward Beckett with a whir. "A thirty-eight-year-old immigrant from Saukar named Sarki Oluwusi."
"Bingo," nodded Beckett. "And Shinoda?"
"Much like you, Takahiro Shinoda was investigated due to prior connections to Mr. Oluwusi. His charges include possession and distribution of narcotics, as well as the murder of a known distributor."
"Odd. When the three of us roamed the streets, Shinoda was the first to try to go clean. And Malcolm Balcom?"
Rita snickered.
"It'd be easier to list the atrocities he hasn't committed yet," said Janus. "He didn't say anything about you before your arrival."
"Oh, but the others did?" Beckett said, and he nudged Rita with his elbow. "Your father's got so many friends, it's hard to keep track of 'em all."
"You should keep track, Mr. Donnelly," said Janus. "I've been on vessel oversight duty thirty-seven times. Proxies are a crook's favorite target, especially when they're young. And female."
"You're female," said Rita. "They can't take you down. Right?"
As the lens on Janus' head shifted in Rita's direction, Janus said, "I can kill everyone on this ship before sunrise if it were necessary."
Rita smirked. "So can I."
"Rita," Beckett growled, but he froze upon hearing Tobin mutter something new. His voice was shrill and raspy, as if he'd screamed non-stop before that moment.
Soon, all three of them watched him, listened to the new words repeat every five seconds beneath Tobin's breath.
"What is he saying?" asked Rita.
With a raised brow, Beckett said, "The Man in the Sun will watch everything burn."
***
It was the first morning that Beckett and Rita awoke to the walls and floor of Vessel 13's most prestigious cabin. Were the boat not automated, they could've been the captains of that garbage barge. But Beckett put those fantasies to rest the day the idea of crime first came to mind. The night he'd slept with a whore whose background was so much like his own.
Salma Torrente. Rita's mother. Born in Priesa, died somewhere no one will ever know. Though she didn't leave much behind. Just two loveless creatures resembling human beings.
"Mornin', darling," said Beckett as he sat up in his bed. When he looked around, he saw that the cabin was empty. Not even Tobin remained on his bed.
"Shit," he said as he leapt from the mattress toward the window.
The ocean was still a flat, onyx-colored void that refused to leave Beckett's sight no matter where he turned, but the sky was a lighter shade of silver, promising rain. Below Beckett, the prisoners crowded the deck. All eyes aimed at something to his left, something out of sight.
Beckett took his golden knife and left the cabin.
Through the shifting corridors lined with steaming pipes, Beckett passed by individual cells, some vacant, some occupied. Of those occupants, some wanted him dead. Some wanted to repurpose his flesh. Others lay asleep, presumably wanting no trouble to come between them and the islands.
As he neared the deck, a commotion of voices grew clearer. Once he'd stepped foot into the clearing, he joined the crowd, nudged through them, one hand hovering by his pocket, ready to unleash his blade should the time come. He saw Janus on the other side of the wall of people.
"Hey!" he said. "Hey, puppet! Where the hell's my family?"
Beckett forced through one more layer of prisoners and found Rita and Tobin planted before a table, each one working on a plate of food. Janus stood behind them, fists curled as she scanned the environment in front of them.
She trained on Beckett, still as a statue. "Good morning, Mr. Donnelly," she said.
"Why didn't you wake me?" said Beckett.
"Your daughter and Mr. Guthrie awoke before you did and wanted to eat. They tried to wake you, but you wouldn't budge. I decided to bring them down myself."
"You don't think it would've been safer to bring them their food rather than expose 'em to the rest of these cunts?"
"Don't worry, Beckett, we haven't tried a thing," said Malcolm from the front of the crowd. "We just wanted to make their acquaintance! Ask them how the food is. Possibly try a sample ourselves one way or another."
Beckett watched Tobin slouch. He'd only taken two bites of his food, a formless lump of brown goop. Rita's meal was more appealing: scrambled eggs and two slices of ham.
"How's the breakfast, darling?" said Beckett. Rita paused, shrugged, and kept eating. "Tobe?" he added.
"I've no appetite to speak of," Tobin replied.
"I can finish it for you, Father Guthrie," said Malcolm. "Would that absolve me of all my sins? I've got plenty on my list, and it just keeps growing."
A round of laughter. Beckett ignored it and sat beside Rita.
"Oh, and Father Guthrie," said Malcolm, "how can you be sure you're praying to the right god? Ever wondered if the god you've been praying to was just another all-powerful arsehole wearing your man's face like a mask?"
More laughter, albeit softer. Beckett flashed the crook an unimpressed glare. Tobin attempted another bite of the goop before him.
"That'd actually be quite intriguing to see," said Malcolm. "Every deity ever created, dropped into a vessel like this, forced to fight to the death to see who really deserves our blind loyalty. And the winner can answer our prayers however bloody way he pleases."
"Or she," said Rita. "There are goddesses, too."
"What did you say, dear?"
"Hey, sorry to interrupt you, Malcolm Balcom," said Beckett. "Really sorry to interrupt your ramblin', brain-numbin' drivel of a thought that's popped into that hollow cavern where a brain should be. But I do feel that I should remind you that if you refer to my daughter as 'dear' again, well..."
Beckett jammed his blade into the table with a thud. Tobin flinched.
"Beck," he said, "stop."
"You better listen to the preacher man, Beckett," said Malcolm, no longer amused. "Or maybe don't. Listen to me and my 'rambling, brain-numbing drivel' as you say. From one man who loves violence to another, I'll just say that one day, when you least expect it, you'll get more than you can handle." Malcolm glared at Rita. "And that goes for the rest of you."
Tobin sighed, tearing apart the goop with his fork.
"What the fuck are you all standing around for, anyway?" said Beckett.
"The Machina demanded it," said Shinoda from the far-right edge of Beckett's view.
Beckett turned to Janus. "Why?" he said.
"So they don't try anything," Janus replied.
"You really think you can keep an eye on every prisoner at once?"
"Mr. Donnelly, before you arrived minutes ago, every other prisoner aboard this ship was here on the deck."
Beckett yanked his knife off the table. "That's a fuckin' lie!" he said. "I saw people in their cells when I came down here."
"Me, too," said Rita, and Janus glanced at her before looking back at Beckett.
"Congratulations, you've both passed the test," said Janus. "As of right now, eighteen of the sixty-five prisoners aboard this vessel are still present in their cells."
"And what the fuck was the point of that?" said Beckett.
"Awareness of your surroundings, Mr. Donnelly. I know every inch of every vessel I've ever been assigned to. I'm connected to audio, radar, and the ship's power supply. I know where the ship is, how fast it's going, who's in it, and what must become of it." Janus leaned closer. "How aware are you?"
"If you're aware," said Beckett, "you should know by now that Tobin is cursed and completely innocent."
A round of "Oooh's" and "Aaah's" made way through the crowd of prisoners before dissipating into condescending laughter.
"That's his excuse? A curse?" said Malcolm. "That's your excuse, Father? For what, getting handsy with a choir boy?"
"Of course, that is where your mind goes, you degenerate Mundiman," said Sarki, nudging through several other prisoners. "Obviously, Beck Donnelly has fucked him over. That is what he is best at!"
"Tobin is far more innocent than you'll ever be, coal-boy," said Beckett, and Tobin groaned. Rita lay a hand on her uncle's shoulder, watching in amusement as Sarki devolved into shouting expletives in his mother tongue.
"I know very little of curses, Mr. Donnelly," said Janus. "I cannot detect them the way I can detect illness and wounds. Can you show me some way in which this curse manifests? I would love to learn more."
"No," said Shinoda. "Never underestimate a curse. If you can live a life knowing nothing about curses, Machina, I suggest you resume that existence."
"It's a fucking robot, you chong," said Malcolm. "It's got no life to live. Just a length of service followed by an expiration date."
Shinoda turned to Malcolm. "Call me a chong again, Balcom, and the last thing you will ever lay eyes on will be the surface of the sea drifting further and further away from you as you descend."
Beckett glared ahead at the prisoners before him, then looked at Rita. They shared the same idea, but only Rita felt the excitement. Her devilish smirk signaled Beckett to pivot back toward Janus.
"Machina," said Beckett, "my cousin apologizes in advance for the mess."
"Beck," urged Tobin, "if you're about to do what I think—"
"If you plan on using this curse's manifestations as a way to escape," said Janus, "you will all lose your high priority passenger status immediately. And there won't be a single soul on this ship who reaches the Deus Islands."
Rita tilted her head. "What if I never had a soul in the first place?"
"Then perhaps I will have company."
Rita smiled. Beckett rolled his eyes and took another glance at the crowd of degenerates before them. He felt like a circus freak trapped in a cage. His own cousin was now a magic trick, his daughter the alluring assistant to the ringmaster. So much desire, so much corruption.
At least we will finally have the ship to ourselves, he thought, and he grabbed Tobin, though his cousin put up a fight this time. He held Beckett's arms in place as he clawed for the blindfold.
"No! I will not be your weapon again!" said Tobin.
"This isn't to hurt you, Tobe!" said Beckett as he moved his hands closer, feeling as though he were wading through stones to reach the blindfold.
Raucous laughter broke out amongst their audience. Rita watched Shinoda move away, understanding the suffering that would ensue. Sarki watched, his eyes sympathetic to Tobin's plight, even if he believed the real cause of his suffering was Beckett. Malcolm cackled and cheered with others equal to him in intelligence and depravity.
"Beckett, let go!" said Tobin. "What if I hurt Rita?"
"You won't!" said Beckett. "You're a vessel! Now, take the blindfold off!"
Rita did it. Swiped it clean off Tobin's face. Beckett clamped his eyes shut and twisted away from his cousin just in time. Tobin's pleas cut short, and he faced the crowd.
Every pair of eyes glinted with yellow light. Then the light disappeared. Only one prisoner's eyes retained that golden glow, a pale man with a shaved head chuckling beside Malcolm, long after his mate had stopped.
"What in God's name?" said Malcolm. "What's wrong with your eyes, Curtis?"
"What?" said Curtis, and the man vanished out of sight. The prisoners jumped back.
In a blast of air, Curtis returned inches before the table where Tobin sat, though the passenger in his body caused him to rise.
"You're one of humanity's simpler contributors, aren't you?" it said with Tobin's voice. "You want one thing and one thing only. I can see it in your eyes as you can see it in mine."
Curtis struggled to speak. Veins encircled his throat, and he choked violently.
"Gold," said Tobin's passenger. "You dream of it. You've killed and raped for it! But the wait is over, you poor bastard. It is yours now."
Tobin handed him his golden blade.
"Dear God," whispered Curtis, "it's beautiful."
"Incredible," said the entity haunting Tobin, "your love of gold is overflowing. It radiates from you. In fact, it's...it's coursing through your veins, resonating in your bones! Look!"
Curtis studied his arms. Tears trailed down his cheeks, a warped smile resisting indescribable pain stretched across his face. He gripped the blade in his hands like a butcher ready to cut apart.
"It seems you've been blessed. Your prayers, answered! But alas, no blessing is eternal without sacrifice. The longer you crave your dreams, the less you will do to make them your reality. So dream no longer, you pathetic creature. Seek. Cut out. Dig!"
The prisoners roared with confusion and shock as Curtis dragged the blade from his wrist to the crease of his elbow. He screamed as blood caressed his arm, splashing the floor. He stumbled back, and Beckett and Rita saw that he'd carved down to the bone. Though they'd never know that Curtis saw no blood nor bone. In his eyes, gold coins poured from the new laceration, clattering against the steel of the deck, rolling out of sight.
"Would you look at that," said Tobin's invader. "Your love for gold does not need to be expressed in words. Look at your teeth! Two rows of gems and jewels, all to yourself, Curtis!"
Curtis dropped to his knees, screaming and groaning. His face paled, and his eyelids drooped. He saw his reflection in his own blood. What no one else saw were the diamonds lining the gum of his mouth, sparkling like the sun.
"Quickly, Curtis, before the others take it!"
Beckett knew there were few sights in the world that could rattle his bones, prompt him to turn away. The sight of Curtis peeling off his own lips, plucking half the teeth off his lower jaw, burned a new place in his brain. Curtis' mouth widened like the gaping maw of a reptile. The skin of his cheeks and his bottom row of teeth dribbled to the floor by the time he'd grown too weak to keep cutting.
"Does that seem enough, Curtis?" said Tobin's haunt. "So many gold coins, so many small diamonds. You're the most valuable thing your bloodline has ever produced! But that can change instantly. Perhaps you should dig for more."
"Should we tell it to stop?" said Rita, and Beckett shushed her, stiff and wide-eyed.
"Yes, I believe you can keep digging, Curtis. Unlike the other dolls before us, you have what humanity likes to call...guts..."
Curtis panted, his breath harsh and drowned by his own blood. The floor beneath him, everything below his upper lip, bathed in bright red. The golden light in his eyes flickered like faulty bulbs, and without the light, Curtis already looked dead.
He floated the blade just below his left rib, nudged the tip into his torso.
"We'll meet again soon," rasped Tobin's haunt, and Curtis wedged the knife into his gut and yanked it across his belly as the crowd screamed. His final breath departed like air from a squeezed sponge, and his head smacked against the floor, the hem of his intestines peeking through the wound.
"Remember this," said Tobin's haunt to the horrified crowd. "You were made for no reason but to entertain, and you have failed at that. Not because you've grown weak, but because I've grown strong. And for that, you shall burn, and the world you once knew will be remade."
"Are you what they call the Man in the Sun?" said Janus. Beckett glared at the Machina with a reddened face, his expression that of a man who could no longer escape what he had coming.
Though he'd nearly pissed himself once Tobin's body shifted in Janus' direction.
"That is one thing," said the body.
"Is there another?" asked Janus. "Forgive my curiosity. That is how I was programmed."
"You will know me far better soon. We're almost there. And when you've arrived, a great thing will happen to this world as it has happened to my own."
"What happened to your world?"
The body held Tobin's arms in the air. It directed his eyes to the sun above them, and the sky turned red.
"I happened," it said, and a booming laugh made way from Tobin's mouth. The boat shook, and Beckett and Rita heard waves crash against the ship's exterior.
"What is your purpose, O Man in the Sun?" said Janus.
"To happen again!" bellowed the Man. "And again! And again! FOREVER! Until I am all this world will ever know."
The blood-colored sky vanished, replaced by the gray clouds above. Tobin's body tumbled to the floor before the table. His blindfold returned to its place before his eyes, and Rita pondered how it'd made its way back without her.
"Beckett!" cried Tobin. "What have you done?"
"I've done nothing, Tobe!" he replied. "Do you think I'm doing this because I enjoy seeing your curse manifest?"
"Yes! You told me before we left Novus Mundi that I'm farther from God than I thought I was. So that's what this is all about. You trying to break me for being a holy man!"
"That is not the case, Tobin Guthrie," said Janus. "Mr. Donnelly wished to satisfy my curiosity, and that is what he has done."
"A 'thank you' would be nice," Beckett muttered.
Janus turned to Beckett. "I appreciate you only leaving one mess to clean."
Beckett and Rita jumped as a plate collided with Janus' head. Looking back, Malcolm, Sarki, and a handful of other prisoners stood defensively, arming themselves with lunch trays and shanks.
"This is beyond a curse," said Sarki. "The preacher man is a vessel for a demon or a forsaken god. We need to get rid of him!"
"You'll pay for what you've done to Curtis, Father Guthrie," said Malcolm, no more of his sadistic amusement in his voice. "Fuck the Deus Islands. But given the choice between having my brain scrambled there or here on this ship, I'd choose there any day."
Beckett watched Shinoda return as other prisoners took their leave. "Don't dream big," he told Malcolm. "With a curse like that, we'll be lucky to survive until midnight. It must be disposed of."
"You won't lay a finger on him," said Beckett.
"Of course not. We kill Father Guthrie, and the haunt will no longer have an obstacle. It will have the vessel all to itself, and it can stay here as long as it wants until it gets exactly what it wants."
"What does this thing want?" Tobin said. "What is it?"
"We call it the Man in the Sun," said Beckett. "And as far as we know, it just wants to kill us all."
"Watch us burn," said Rita.
Janus' lens adjusted. "If I may ask, Mr. Guthrie," she said, "where do you go when this Man in the Sun takes over?"
"Where do I go?" Tobin repeated. "Nowhere. It's like fallin' into a deep, dreamless slumber. But sometimes I hear things and..."
"And what?" said Rita.
"I believe I've met this thing that's taking over. Though it didn't like to call itself the Man in the Sun, even though it repeated those words in Lochtish constantly."
"What did it call itself?" said Janus.
Tobin took a deep breath. "Indevitatus."
***
The second evening aboard Vessel 13. There were less whispers bouncing off its walls. Waves rushed against the concrete and steel on the other side. Beckett listened closely, ear pressed against the cabin window.
"There's no one on the deck," he said. "For once, I don't feel like a prisoner."
"You won't feel like one much longer," said Janus. "While I have employed aggressive tactics to keep the passengers in line, I must admit that the Harlow Phoenix Institution is not a place of suffering or retribution."
Beckett raised a brow. "I heard Malcolm Balcom say earlier that they scramble your brains there. What does he mean by that? Pharmaceuticals? Lobotomies? Perhaps just readin' the bloody signs is enough to reduce his brain to soup."
"You know very well that he cannot be trusted, Mr. Donnelly. I suggest you heed the word of Mr. Guthrie instead."
Beckett glanced at his cousin, splayed out in bed as if prepped for dissection. "Excellent point," he said, and he asked Tobin, "What's it like on the Deus Islands? And what do they do to reduce every cunt who goes there to a husk of his former self?"
Tobin sighed. "Before I was cursed," he said, "it was...it was far from the worst place in the world. In fact, it was quite lovely in some places. Beaches of black sand. Fields of the softest grass I'd ever stepped foot on. Never a day without a cool breeze caressing your face like the hands of an angel."
"And the institution?"
"Admittedly I...I can't recall much beyond leading services in the chapel."
"How did you come in contact with Indevitatus?" said Janus.
Tobin sighed again. "I wish I could remember, lads."
"Perhaps a late night's rest will jog something clear," said Janus, and she blocked the window, her eyes flashing different colors. "I will ensure that no harm comes upon you tonight. Believe me, many of the prisoners here may attempt to enact their ideal solution."
"And by 'ideal solution,'" said Rita, "you mean kill us. Correct?"
"A high likelihood."
"Well, if I feared every cunt who wanted me dead, I'd never sleep," said Beckett, and with a yawn, he climbed into bed. "If everything goes to hell, leave me to rest and wake me when it's over."
"Cheers to that," Tobin muttered. "Goodnight, Rita. Sweet dreams."
"Night," she said, and she stared up at Janus, smiling.
"Miss Donnelly," she said, "I couldn't help but notice that this journey has you more intrigued than frightened. Why is that?"
Rita shrugged. "Maybe because you're here? You're interesting."
"Yes, many humans need a moment to take in the technological marvel that is the Machina."
"No, you're just interesting. You're not some smelly crook like the others here. And I think you have a pleasant voice." Rita leaned forward. "I can find a way to be less excited. Can the Mundimen see us through your eyes?"
"Not in real time. They will review footage upon my return to the mainland, however, so long as my optics and storage are not damaged."
"Then I'm sure they'll enjoy this as much as I will."
Rita took a quick glance at her elder relatives to ensure they were fast asleep. She then lowered her trousers and, without looking away from Janus' eye, reached a hand into her drawers.
"I won't be loud," she whispered, but a bright red light flashed out of Janus' lens, followed by a flicker of gold, before a black screen filled it entirely.
"That is not allowed, Miss Donnelly," said Janus.
"Why not?" Rita whispered. "This is a boat full of prisoners. I'm sure you've seen a hundred bare arses and knobs. Thought you'd want a change of scenery."
"I'm doing this for your sake."
A slim pipe protruded out of each of Janus' palms. She raised her hands to the air as Rita slid her trousers back on.
"What's that?" she asked, and the pipes exhumed green mist. Rita leapt into her bed, shielding her mouth with her shirt.
"I'm doing this for your sake," said Janus. "When I return, there will be blood on my hands. Do not be afraid."
Rita's eyelids felt heavy. The room stretched, or she shrunk. The mattress consumed her, and she fell away.
"Do not be afraid. This is for your sake."
***
Tobin's screams woke Rita the next morning. Her head felt like a jug of water, weighted and sloshy. She swayed, tried to find a place to focus on.
Her vision cleared seconds later, and across the window splayed a headless corpse. To the right, she watched Janus hold Tobin down as he thrashed around in his bed despite the blindfold remaining where it should. Janus spun her head toward Rita, the lens in her eye emanating blue.
"Miss Donnelly," she said, "I have failed you."
Rita said nothing. She resumed her scanning of the room, and the bad news came to her immediately.
Upon the third bed in the room lay Beckett Donnelly, the sheets beneath him drenched in crimson. A deep incision traversed across his throat, and a golden dagger rested in his left eye socket.
Rita didn't scream.
"Your father was murdered in his sleep," said Janus. "I've subdued one of his killers. But there is another."