Weekend in Leviathan

After several hours of driving, Philé Stein and I had arrived in the City of Leviathan. Our purpose was to see and hear a band called Sigur Ros. The drive was largely uneventful, I blacked out on occasions, from a lack of sleep. The steady rhythm of a well-tuned car will do that. Unless I’m the one who’s driving, then I’m alert for any danger, real or invisible.

The lodgings were known as the Albert Park, in a suburb that consisted of buildings that looked like visibly ancient. Stacked together in long rows, each place was an iteration of the last. Except with minor differences that made them idiosyncratic. Some had bars on the windows, and others did not. One had a metal door. Another, security cameras. One place had the bright-red workings of a fire suppression system, the tangled pipes taking decent space of the front landing. There was the garbage that was cleaned out during a threat of eviction, but never collected by sanitation. The Cherry-Red Piaggio scooter parked just off the street. Boxes of recyclables labelled in different languages. The curtains, made from old patterned sheets. The plastic sheet hanging over the electric meter in case of rain. The abandoned bed clothes, an entire set of pillows, sheets and duvet left to rot in the mid-winter cold. The signs. “Attention Pizza Delivery Drivers and Post Contractors. Please do not leave any parcels for HOOSAUD at the front door. They will be picked up at the rear gate.” Then there was a mobile number. “This building is under extensive repairs and builders will be present during business hours.”

Philé and I still had some time to kill between now and the restaurant, so we decided to go to the Quay. I have only visited Leviathan a handful of times in my life. I like to think of this as a good thing, because while right now I can stare at the tall dominating skyscrapers and towers like a slack-jawed tourist, I know that I would become to hate this place if I lived here. I knew this from my last holiday back in the Old Town and I spent a couple of nights at a friend’s in nearby Boom City. The traffic was a nightmare, and the humidity, even in the middle of autumn, was choking.

We had lunch in the Quay, at a bar called the Orient, which served pretty descent grub. We spent the afternoon wandering to other nearby joints, the Argyle with a massive bathroom that looked taken out of the Matrix and a DJ Booth, set in glass that was suspended by cables above us. (Not in the bathroom though, in the main bar area.) The entire Argyle was built inside what appeared to be a colonial era brick building that I’m sure was either used to house convicts or sheep. Not sure.

We then went to the Lowenbrau (or did the Argyle come last?), a photo of the Pope holding the house beer still adorned the windows of the entrance. It had only been a week since World Youth Day, and Papal-fever remained in a few Caths. Inside it looked subterranean, like it was straight out of a Tolkien novel. Long wooden tables, warm amber lighting, and the strains of appropriate ethnic music played in the background. Large porcelain steins filled an ornate cabinet, though I’m sure they were not for sale.

Then came the Lord Nelson, a stately English bar eponymously named after a famous Admiral. Philé knew they brewed their own beer, but I didn’t have any. Behind us a Hen’s Night, or at least one third of a Hen’s Night was under way. Soon two members of the party walked over to us and asked a few questions. The challenge of each team for the Bridal shower was a scavenger hunt of sorts and they asked us two questions. One had to do with a pickup line. Philé, ever the gentleman, suggested his: “When you approach the young lady, ask her if she would enjoy returning to your domicile and partake in a pizza and a fuck. When the young lass would react shocked and mortified, simply and naïvely ask, ‘What? You don’t like pizza?’” The second question related to the sexiest Antipodean women we could think of, and why. Philé named a famous pole vaulter (get name later), notably because “she was hot and could handle poles” I named Sara Murdoch. Only because she seemed the most level-headed blonde around. (Though on reflection I should have mentioned the girl from Killing Heidi. She was cute)

With that the Hen’s Night partiers were gone and soon so were we. I felt a headache coming on. We eventually returned to the Hotel and I passed out on my bed. A short while later, I woke, realising I was about twenty minutes late for the restaurant. Philé had already called twice on my phone. Then there was a knock on my door. It was Philé and we sped out of the hotel. I was still weirded by the passing out. Everything was hazy, with the sense of dread more intense. We walked to the restaurant. All I could do was to try to keep up with my partner in crime. But, boy, did he move fast. Homes and closed stores whirred by. We passed one called Mao and More, having giant red lanterns. Further we walked. By scornful warped faces of the lost sitting outside the bar, watching the world leave them. By young couples headed out for a night on the town. Another shop, its only name I can guess as the “Smiling Sparrow” judging by the picture on the sign. It was some kind of boutique, featuring red lamps and dresses. The restaurant was still further. Philé drove on, he liked this restaurant and soon I knew why.

The Red Lantern is Vietnamese restaurant, built in and through an old home. It’s not very big and it’s almost surreal they way that they have managed to fit so much into something so small. All of the staff were aware of the schedule we were keeping and the fact that we were twenty minutes late, only caused tensions. However, the staff of the Red Lantern were very accommodating. In a record time they brought out our orders, roughly fifteen minutes. It was like they stepped into the kitchen, the chef’s already preordaining what we had ordered, had it cooked and prepared. All the waiter had to do was to bring it to our table. I chose a Roast Duck dish with Asian greens and plum sauce, while Philé ordered Angus Black Sirloin Beef with red rice. Each was perfect. The Duck was tender and moist, while the skin was crisp. I’ve known duck to be fatty. Cooked incorrectly, it is partly untenable and chewy. But this duck you could eat every tiny morsel. The fat was rendered away into the meat the dish so that you’d barely notice it. The Beef was delicious, cooked roughly medium, so it kept most of it natural flavour. The red rice was seasoned with something I could not place. By the end of the meal my haze had cleared, I could perceive fully once again.

Soon enough, we had to go. The concert was awaiting us. Philé was almost at his flying pace again, but with a full stomach he decided to walk a little more casually. Once again he knew where he was going and I was lost. Along the way, we joined others headed to the concert. The Pavilion loomed in the night horizon. It was a mass of building, silver and steel in colour. Security let us through without incident and we joined the throng. I think we all wanted the same thing at the same point: to see a particular Icelandic group play. Philé moved among the main floor and joined an already assembling crowd in front of the stage. After a short while, three men descending into the stage, taking up a laptop, guitar and keyboard and a set of drums. They began to hammer at the drums, press and pound keys, and spasm and contort at the instruments. This trio were Pivot. And they were an excellent opening act of fast complex rhythms, tonal ambience, crying howls, cuts, clips and bips, and rolling guitar. Personally, they were awesome, and provided enough energy to the crowd to prepare themselves for the spectacle that was and still is Sigur Ros. Imagine a full drum kit, a xylophone, three keyboards, at least eight guitars of various tunings and curves, a marching band drum, confetti poppers (extra-extra large size), several cello bows (all of which would be destroyed by the end of the evening), a marching band quartet complete with their own brass, a piccolo and one small wooden organ. All of this combined, with six giant lighted balls and the co-ordinated stage lights, provided a live show, the kind I have not seen in some time. It’s a little hard to classify Sigur Ros’ music. They are ethereal and emotionally powerful, stark and beautiful like their Iceland, of verdant green valleys and dark, imposing volcanic structures. I cannot say I am as big a fan as my friend Philé, but I do enjoy the tracks that have feature more beating of the drums. Needlessly to say their powerful concert blew me away. Philé, you can stop preaching to the converted.

After the concert, I purchased a Pivot album, and then Philé and I returned to the night. Soon afterwards we found ourselves in the Cleveland Bar taking in long island ice teas discussing our plans for the next day.

Morning came, and my belly made disturbing, restless noises. I called Philé who was on the other end of the hotel to check if he was still awake. He was and we packed the car and headed to our next destination the East Ocean Restaurant for a Yum Cha brunch. Deep in the heart of Leviathan’s China Town district, this grand restaurant is at the end of a tall staircase of red carpet. You arrive to a sign that states that none of the staff will seat you, despite your booking, until the whole of your party has arrived. We just enter the dining area and see tanks filled with massive sea creatures. Crabs as big as my torso and Abalone as big as my head. We pick a table behind four older men. Right now the whole restaurant is practically empty. The trick with Yum Cha involves several things. Traditionally, according to Philé, yum cha is to “drink tea” particularly on a Sunday. Today it’s associated with eating small servings of rich dim sums, along with drinking tea and in our case Tsingtaos, a Chinese beer. Throughout the restaurant, girls with carts manoeuvre their way around the main dining area. Some of the carts are fitted with gas bottles and elements so food prep can be performed practically in front of you. Each cart has different food. Steamed dim sums filled with prawn, crab, chives, garlic, and sharks fin. Pork buns, fried rice noodles with a peanut and hoi sin sauce, chickens feet, spring rolls, scallops, oysters, deep fried calamari, custard tarts, chicken pies, thousand year eggs crisps and the list goes on. We wait for a cart trundle by and then if we see something we like, we bogart it, the girl stamps our menu, over what we have taken and then she on her way, while we scarf down the food and then like predator fish, wait and hide in the reef for another girl with a cart to cross our open maws. In the meantime you can watch the chaos of the entire establishment unfold. We arrived at 10, as I said earlier, and the restaurant was practically empty, however, every 15 minutes, you would look around and find more tables that were occupied. The more patrons the more carts travel their various circuits and the more chaos there is. As there is no set plan, there are numerous traffic jams and cart-related clusterfucks added only to the entire nature and air of the restaurant.

Leaving the restaurant satisfied, past the tanks of gargantuan sea creatures and the line of potential patrons that extends all the way down the massive stair case. We walk by the stern and hungry faces with cheesy grins.

After wandering around some more in the markets and streets of the China Town, we return to the hotel, and then hit the road, back to the Glowing Octopus and out of here and into the sunset.

Read more...

The River Lethe

The tunnels are still filled with black and ichorous water that churns constantly. Using the torch strapped to the shotgun for light, I move through the maze of tunnels trying to find the marks I painted on the wall to help me find my way out of this place. Was it left or right? The last time I was down here, I was being chased by – something – and I only by chance managed to find an escape route. I can’t afford to stop either. Considering the amount of force used to take down the Doctor, I can only imagine what is happening on the surface.

I feel a progrom is underway. I choose left. That feeling in the back of my head tells me something isn’t right. I slow my movements, trying to match the sound of the sloshing waters. I can hear a hissing sound. I turn the corner and find a teenager. He wearing a hooded jumper, spraying paint on the wall, over the orientation mark I made earlier. I immediately recognise that the bag he is carrying belongs to me. He stops spraying, and is still for a second, almost contemplative and then he turns.

His eyes have been removed. There are scars as if his hands have clawed them out. He glares at me with empty sockets. Then suddenly he throws the spray can and snarls. His hands direct towards the water and a wave of darkness rises up in front of me. The wave hits me hard causing me to stagger and fall back. The teen readies another wave. I ready myself for the blow, but instead it suddenly dissipates. The empty-eyed teenager is just as surprised as me. “Shit,” he says before running down the tunnel. I scramble back to my feet and chase him down the tunnel. Despite the fact that I am bigger than him, I find it hard to match his speed in this water. I notice that he doesn’t seem to be running. His movements are fluid, like he’s skating.

Completely focused on my quarry, I fail to pay attention to my surroundings. Something hits my legs while I’m running at full speed. I fly through the air and land in ankle deep sludge. The teen disappears into the darkness. I turn to see what had tripped me. A large man steps into the available light. He isn’t tall, but heavy with muscle. He looks kind of square. As he approaches me, I notice the empty sockets and familiar scars of the teenager I was chasing. I scramble to my feet and level the shotgun at him. He moves in fast, very fast. I barely dodge a right-hook that he throws. I feel it graze my chin. It would have shattered my jaw. I try to counter, using the butt of the shotgun, but his left hand comes up catching it inches away from his face. He’s strong, his arm pushes me back, causing me to stumble. He throws a gesture with his hands and some unseen force throws me against the tunnel wall like a toy. I’m out of my league. I grab at my shotgun, get to my feet and run down the tunnel. As I make a corner, the light of my torch picks up the shapes of more people down here, a dozen maybe more.

“Shit,” I utter as I turn to run. But I don’t get very far, before they are on top of me. Grabbing at my arms and legs, they pull me down into the water, pinning me there. I look at all of their faces. None of them have eyes, only empty, unblinking sockets stare back at me. The large square man has caught up. He approaches slowly towards me, something glints in his hand.

“Let’s make this quick,” he says in a flat voice. The glint of the blade inches slowly towards my neck. Regardless how much I protest, or struggle, the blade is inexorable. As the point of the knife touches my skin, I hear another voice

“Wait!”

All of the eyeless people look down the tunnel where the protest came from. A middle-aged man approaches the group holding me. His voice calmer, “Come on. Let him go. Are you blind? Can’t you see he’s not one of them.”

The people release me. The large man picks me up to my feet. “What the hell is going on here?”

The old man smirks, “My name is Emmersen, I lead the people down here.”
The group of eyeless people part as he leads me down the tunnel. Despite being completely blinded each of these people seemed to know their way around in the tunnels. The group followed us quietly while Emmersen continued to talk. “This city has undergone a radical change. I never thought a city could be a creature. Not until the Echo. That was a terrible day, you see. We thought we could bring order, bring control, bring peace.”

He paused and looked at me for a moment with empty sockets, “Imagine a city where there was no crime. No murder, no theft, no torment. That everyone had empathy for his or her fellow citizen. That was the dream.”

“Now you’ve seen that nightmare unfold up there. But now things are much more complex. Than any of us originally expected. Aurelius didn’t seem affected all. Infact, he thrived. Niebling died beating his head against a wall. And Dean. She was an engineer, she was working on something else… I don’t know what happened to her…

“What are you talking about?” I had to ask, before I lost him

Emmersen’s tone dropped. “They were my friends. We were trying to build a better future. The Echo broke containment. It made us all mad. Insane. And some. Better. Faster. And Stronger.”

He then pointed to where his eyes had once been. “I did this to myself in the first fifteen minutes of the containment breach. Niebling was already dead. And despite what I had done, I could still see Aurelius and his smile, but he could see into me…”

That brought back the last of what I saw of the Doctor taken down by at least a dozen armed men. I wondered if he survived and shuddered for thinking if he did.

“You should fear him,” Emmersen said at me as if looking directly into my eyes, and then suddenly he turned away, “Look. We are here. Welcome to Hades.”
But there was nothing in front of me, just a vast dark void. As the other men fearlessly step into it, I stare at disbelief at Emmersen. “You don’t expect me to walk in there. I can barely see in here.”

Emmersen smiled, “Yes! I forgot. Here.” He reaches up with both hands and lightly touches my temples. Then suddenly everything changes, the darkness is burnt away as everything around me glows with a strange, electric phosphorous. I can see every ripple in the thick oil-water that flows beneath me. I see every inch of the tunnel covered in paint, strange sigils and markings that look organic and old. I looked at a smiling Emmersen, who now possess spectral eyes that burnt with a glowing blue flame. I turn and gaze upon their Hades. The massive underground structure was remodelled as a base of operations and home to possibly hundreds. The painted sigils touched everything. The entire place glowed with an ethereal beauty.

“Colour in Darkness,” Emmersen whispered behind me, as if living in my experience.

“I can hear something, like – my mother – singing to me”

“Yes,” Emmersen replies sounding less and less mad, “That is the sound of the city. The Sound of Minerva.”

I listen for a moment attempting to take in the impossible tune.

“Come on,” he said as he moved by me, “We don’t have much time. And you have a mission.”

“Mission?”

He moves down towards the shantytown as the others begin to gather around him. Emmersen climbs on top of one of the makeshift structures. With this luminescent sight, each of their eyes are aflame, staring up at their leader. Each of them are dressed in clothes that they seemed to have found. They have lived in desperation fighting an invisible battle that I had not seen before. As Emmersen prepared to speak, weapons are passed around. Handguns, rifles, shotguns, some weapons I recognise as of the former police.

“Our time has come,” Emmersen suddenly bellows, his voice echoing in the cavernous chamber. All of the burning eyes were upon him. “Our judgement has come. The Enemy has begun to move, against the people of this city. Against this city itself. They will not stop until there are no survivors. Only our enemy will remain. We must prevent this at all costs. Take your positions now. Fight well!”

As the people began to disband, Emmersen climbed down from the shanty and he approaches me. “Now it is time for your task, come with me.” Emmersen, a few others and myself walk down a tunnel away from the shanty town, which now lays deserted.

I need – we need you do something very important for us. There is a place we cannot go. It is the Incinerator. It is this place you must destroy and we will give you the means. If you do this you will save more than the city”

There was an undeniable truth in his voice. “Why can’t you do it?” I ask, “You seem to have the men.”

His words became bitter. “It is because we have been – touched – after a fashion. We cannot go to that place with out turning, without falling to the machine.”

I felt a shared memory among Emmersen’s men. Something they attempted some time ago…I felt sick from it.

He reached into his coat and produced an item in wrappings and a handgun. “This will be your weapons. You will know what to do when you reach the Incinerator. It will all become clear. Now take off your jacket.

“I’m sorry?”

“The enemy has seen you and will recognise you from the way you dressed.” Emmersen pointed to one of his aides, “You give him your coat.”

We swapped coats. The teen I saw earlier gave the aide my backpack and shotgun and he took them up with both hands.

“Go,” Emmersen said to his aide, “Delay them as much as you can.” The aide ran off down the tunnel to his destiny.

We continued down the tunnel until we entered a convergence of storm water system with canals. In front of us was a small landing and a tiny boat tied next to it.

“This is where we must leave you. This canal was once the great Minerva, all you need to do is follow it and it will take you directly to the Incinerator.” Emmersen said as the darkness grew in the tunnel. My luminescent vision began to leave me. The fire in their eyes dimmed, returning to empty sockets. The vibrant wall returned to a dull grey. Emmersen and his people moved back into the tunnel that we came, disappearing.

I hopped in the boat, started the engine and journeyed down the Canal.

Read more...

My Dreams

I feel that this is a good time to tell you about my dreams. I don’t know why this is a good time so I’m just going to put that out there and let you ponder it.

I have very simple dreams. Now these aren’t dreams about world peace, or reducing global warming. I’ll leave that to politicians in desperate need for a vote and pop stars who could literally buy slaves. My dreams are selfish. They only serve me.

I want to one day live in a huge apartment tower, right at the top. At nights, I would lean at the balcony rail and watch the world below go about its business. Occasionally, you might stare up at me, puzzled while I scream out, “Behold My Glorious Naked Form!”

I want to one day produce porn. This would be extremely cool, because I could gain the oxymoronic label of “virgin pornographer”. Yeah. This brings me to my next dream…

…to do it. With a woman. A pretty one with a good head and was born a girl. None of this, “but I’m a woman now.” Crap. No. I don’t care how much it cost you and how good it looks. I won’t hit that. You’ll have to pay me. If I happen to fulfil this dream before the above one, it would be no problem for me not being able to take that label, because it would be Mission Accomplished.

One day to meet my secret heroes as an equal (of sorts).

To build an extensive library of books, but I’ll be honest here, I probably will never read most of them. I only ever bought books for their pictures so it may be largely erotic photography. Still an extensive library of erotic photography is impressive.

I would like a job where I would give an idea to a room full of anxious people. After delivering my proposal, there would be a stunned silence and one would finally pipe up, saying, “That is…fucked up.” Then they would go do it, after writing my pay cheque.

I would like a crazy Vegas-style wedding. If I could afford it, I would rent a giant pink neon crucifix and hire an Elvis impersonator as the minister, either Black or Asian. And flowers - lots and lots of flowers. A classic Casio electric piano stuck on Organ setting. It would be pretty non-formal affair as you can imagine.

My funeral would be an awesome affair. It would involve a float shaped like a Viking long boat, a rock concert and my remains being destroyed by a mixture of half-explosives and half-fireworks. And the wake would have to be a barbeque of some description. Maybe open-fire spit roast.

Read more...

Bastille Day

Have a Bitching Bastille Day, you Frogs

That is all.

Read more...

The Good Doctor - Part 2

The door that connected this room to the hall outside, sealed as the security system recovered from the lightning strike. I hit the door but it wouldn’t budge.

“Wait,” Doctor Aurelius said in a warning tone, “There are some guards coming.”

We both moved to positions where we could find some cover, but the room was fairly Spartan. On the other side I could hear the security key card swipe make an accepting beep. Two guards burst in through the door, they seemed to immediately notice the cell door open.

“He’s escaped,” one of them said in a dull monotone. Suddenly, from his hiding spot, Doctor Aurelius lunged at one guard like a wild animal. Taking advantage of the surprise, I attempt to club the other guard in the back of the head with the shotgun. But he knows I was behind him and spins, grabbing me and throwing me across the room. I hit the wall hard and land on the floor. I only just open my eyes to see the guard heading straight for me hissing. The shotgun snaps back into my hand, and in an instant I squeeze the trigger. The shotgun roars, it’s payload slamming into the guard and spraying out his back. He lands with a heavy thud. I pump the empty shell out of the gun and pick myself off the floor. I walk over to Doctor Aurelius, who has finished dispatching the other guard. He is covered in the guards black blood, holding a baton.

“Good, I see you’ve finished the other one,” He says, “lets get out of here.”

We leave the room and head down the hall. The other patients are oddly quiet. “I need to know about the virus,” I say as a follow the Doctor, he moves fast, “I need to know how to stop it.”

“That’s going to be hard,” he replied, “The virus has not only mutated, but it’s also brought about other side-effects.”

“Side-effect?” We turned a corner and continued down another hall. There were two more guards there in white nurse uniforms. They were charging us. I prepare myself, but the Doctor waves his hand dismissively, “Don’t trouble yourself. These are mine.”

Doctor Aurelius threw himself at the first guard’s neck. Choking the guard fell to the ground. The second guard was upon him, swinging his baton hard, but the Doctor shifted to the side and dodged by inches. The Doctor simply grabbed and twisted his arm, held it for a moment, as if testing his strength and then snapped it. The baton released from the guards hand and fell, but seemed to drop straight into the Doctor’s free hand, like a strange magnetism. Even though his back was turned to me I could tell he was smiling as he buried the baton in the guard’s face, breaking it open. Blood splattered everywhere. Doctor Aurelius turned to me and pointed to the fallen guards with his dripping baton. “These are one of the side-effects I mentioned.”

“What do you mean?”

The Doctor turned and started moving to the hall, “Come on, do you want to get of this place? We don’t have time to chat.”

I hurried to catch up with him. “What do you mean?” I asked again, but the Doctor looked at me as if I was a petulant child.

“It had to do with weapons,” He said as a grimace spreads across his face, “Real Twenty-First Century weapons.”

We reached an intersection. The Doctor paused and looked around. “I now have a question for you. How did you get in here?”

“I came in through the sewers…” He turned and looked at me, his eyes burned. “You didn’t make a deal with them, did you? With the men that live down there?”

“No. I didn’t see anything down there,” I lied, as he stared into me. The Doctor looked at me oddly, as if he couldn’t see something, his eyes swayed as if he was trying to read a passage again and again. He gave up after a short moment, “Come on.”

Soon we were nearing the front entrance. St Anthony’s was an old hospital, built by monks who were the first to settle here. This used to be their residence. This part of the hospital is part of the original structure mostly made from sandstone with large vaulted ceilings. Here a chessboard pattern makes up the floor and there’s the occasional stained glass window. I remember that one of the Van Schaafes was a patient here. The Doctor headed towards the main front entrance. I wondered why there weren’t more guards.

The sound of the alarm suddenly stopped and the Doctor paused in front of the massive doors that were between him and freedom. “Oh Damn.”

The doors burst open and the sound of the explosion rushed into the hospital, followed by debris and clouds of smoke.

I can barely hear the words of the Doctor, but I know they are “Run!” I pick myself off the ground and chase after the Doctor. We turn back down the hall that we came through. I look back and men dressed in total black, their faces buried in skull-like gasmasks. I fire a round from the shotgun, but it only seems to stun one of them. And they are still baring down upon us. I turn to find the Doctor at the end of the hall, urging me to move faster. I pick up speed to make it through the door. The Doctor slams the door. The bolts on the door slide into place on as if under their own power.

I looked at the Doctor, “How did you do that?”

The Doctor began moving down the corridor, “I was exposed to the first generation of the virus, it expanded my horizons. And if you survive this crucible, it will expand yours as well.” He looked at me and smiled sinisterly. The man was difficult to read, like walking white noise, I wasn’t sure if he was insane or enlightened.

“Now we need to find a way out of here. Our friends on the outside have us surrounded,” The Doctor continued.

“The sewers,” I said. I knew the Doctor wanted to avoid this, but I was right. The sewers are maze-like, and the authorities would not have completely found the passage yet. There would be a chance of escape.

Doctor Aurelius looked at me sourly. There was something in that place that seemed to spook him.

“Look it’s our only way out at this point,” I said. Down the corridor behind us there was an explosion. The authorities tire of their obstacle and now we could hear them charging.

“Come on,” I say as we rush down the halls and corridors towards the entrance to the sewers. However, even at our speed, every step we take they seem to take two. We twist and turn through the complex , returning to the manhole grate that I entered through. As we enter the room, the door slams, and there is there sound of metal warping and bending, jamming the door shut.

I lift up the grate, ready to go down. I look up at Doctor Aurelius. There is a look of hesitation on his face. There is something down in those sewers. I almost encountered it, but the Doctor knows what it is…

There is a heavy sound at the door. Our hunters have caught up with us. They are battering the door, hammering so loud the room echoes like a bell. With every hit the door gives a little more.

“Come on,” I say, “we need to stop this.”

“No, you go ahead” the Doctor replies, his all-knowing smile returns across his face, “Be seeing you.”

At that moment, the door bursts open and several masked men spill into the room. They move in an insect-like fashion, stilted, yet quick. The Doctor is quicker, his fist flying straight into the mask of one of the pursuers. The blow causes the mask to curve inwards, turning the goggles into splintered glass. His second blow lands just a quick, knocking another aside. More still come. As I drop into the manhole, the last I see the Doctor one last time as he is tackled by several assailants. I land in the dark water with a heavy splash. Picking up my shotgun, I run as fast as I can into the black tunnels.

Read more...