by Amie Kaufman
“HOLD UP…WHAT LEVEL WE ON?”
“WHAT’S A PUB?”
“IT’S LIKE A BAR.”
“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT A PUB IS?”
GHOST PEERS AROUND THE DARK, PUPILS DILATED.
“I FEEL LIKE…WE TOOK A WRONG TURN SOMEWHERE…”
CRICKET IS GRINNING, HEEDLESS, PLUNGING IN HEADFIRST TO HIS TALE.
“SO THIS CHUM’S A TOURIST AND HE GOES TO THIS PUB. AND HE ORDERS A BEER AND…HE’S JUST ABOUT TO DRINK IT WHEN THE BARTENDER RINGS THIS BELL AND SCREAMS, ‘THE WOLVES ARE COMING! THE WOLVES ARE COMING! EVERYONE DOWN IN THE CELLAR!’ ”
LINK LICKS THE SWEAT FROM HIS LIPS. SPITS.
“JESUS, IT’S SO ****ING HOT.”
A MONA LISA SMILE. “THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID.”
“CRICKET TOLD THAT JOKE ALREADY.”
“…HE DID?”
“SHUT UP AND LISTEN.”
“SO EVERYONE GOES DOWN IN THE CELLAR. AND THEY…THEY HIDE FROM THE WOLVES, RIGHT?”
“IS THIS LEVEL 14 OR…13?”
“AND EVENTUALLY, THE BARTENDER SAYS, ‘OKAY, THE WOLVES ARE GONE. IT’S SAFE NOW.’ AND EVERYONE CRAWLS BACK UP INTO THE PUB. AND WHEN THE CHUM GOES BACK TO HIS SEAT, HIS BEER IS GONE.”
“HAHAHA.”
“…THAT’S NOT THE JOKE.”
“HAHAHAHA.”
A GHOST’S WHISPER IN THE DISTANCE.
“I THINK…WE’RE ON 16? RIGHT?”
“SARA, COME HERE. I WANNA SHOW YOU SOMETHING.”
“OH, REALLY?”
CRICKET CONTINUES, FEET AND LIPS STUMBLING NOW. VAPOR SWIRLING AROUND HIM.
“SO THE CHUM ORDERS ANOTHER BEER. AND HE’S…HE’S JUST ABOUT TO DRINK IT WHEN THE BARTENDER STARTS RINGING THIS ****ING BELL AGAIN, RIGHT? AND HE YELLS, ‘THE WOLVES ARE COMING! THE WOLVES ARE COMING!EVERYONE DOWN IN THE CELLAR!’ ”
“OH GOD, LUCAS…”
“YEAH.”
“18?”
“Ghost, THIS IS CERBERUS, OVER.”
“OH GOD…”
“SO THE CHUM’S A LITTLE SUSPICIOUS, BUT THE BARTENDER’S YELLING AND EVERYONE ELSE IS GOING, SO HE HEADS DOWN TO THE CELLAR TOO. AND AFTER A WHILE…THE BARTENDER SAYS, ‘OKAY, THE WOLVES ARE GONE, EVERYONE CAN GO BACK UP.’ AND SURE ENOUGH, WHEN THE CHUM GETS BACK TO HIS TABLE, HIS ****ING BEER IS GONE!”
“I DON’T FEEL SO CHILL…”
“CHARLIE SQUAD, THIS IS CERBERUS, OVER.”
JAMES “CRICKET” ORR BLINKS IN THE DARKNESS.
“CHARLIE SQUAD, THIS IS CERBERUS, DOES ANYONE READ ME?”
HE IS STANDING IN A CORRIDOR, SOMEWHERE ON LEVEL 17. HIS SQUAD IS GONE.
HE IS FAR FROM ALONE.
HE BLINKS AGAIN. SQUINTS THROUGH THE STEAM.
“…TAXMAN?”
ORR SHUFFLES TOWARD A SILHOUETTE IN THE MIST. GRINNING LIKE A SIMPLETON. HE REACHES THE SOLITARY FIGURE, FINDS LOR “TAXMAN” DE GRAAF THERE IN THE GLOOM.
NAKED.
DROOLING.
SHIVERING.
HIS FACE IS FRESHLY SCABBED. SWOLLEN. PUCKERED LACERATIONS AROUND EYES AND LIPS.
ORR GIGGLES. “CHUM, YOU OKAY? YOU LOOK LIKE TEN MILES OF ROUGH ROAD.”
DE GRAAF SAYS NOTHING. MUTE. STARING.
YOU HUMANS SAY THE EYES ARE THE WINDOWS TO THE SOUL.
IF THIS IS TRUE, DE GRAAF’S WINDOWS LOOK INTO THE COLD NOTHING BEYOND THE STATION’S SKIN.
< ERROR >
UNSETTLING, NO?
“CHUM? WE SHOULD…DO…I DUNNO…DO SOMETHING?”
“CHARLIE SQUAD, THIS IS CERBERUS. ANSWER ME, GODDAMN IT.”
ORR PAWS AT HIS BROW. TRIES TO FOCUS.
LAUGHS INSTEAD.
AN OBSCENITY IN FLESH. A THING OF MOUTHS AND TEETH AND LONG, GLEAMING FINGERS. GLISTENING WITH THE SLIME YOUR KIND PRIZE IT FOR.
GROWING SWIFT. ALMOST A METER LONG NOW. A ROPE OF MUSCLE WITH TWO LONG, SINEWED ARMS.
ITS HEAD UNFURLS. DEATH IN BLOOM. CIRCULAR MOUTHS, RINGED WITH RAZOR TEETH. LONG BLACK TONGUES, LICKING THE AIR AS IT TREMBLES WITH ANTICI…
PATION.
ORR BLINKS STUPIDLY. MERCIFULLY NUMB IN HIS TETRAPHENETRITHYLAMINE HAZE.
THE THING REARS UP BEFORE HIM AND SWAYS. UN-COLORS SWIRLING ON ITS SKIN.
AND LIKE A SNAKE, IT STRIKES.
ONE MOUTH TO ORR’S. SOME HORRID, BLOODY PARODY OF A KISS. THE OTHERS TO HIS EYES. HIS EAR. TEETH SINKING DEEP. TONGUES SLIDING DEEPER.
DRINKING.
SUCKLING.
SWALLOWING.
UNTIL THERE IS NOTHING LEFT BEHIND ORR’S EYES.
NOTHING BUT THE NOTHING OUTSIDE THE STATION’S SKIN.
< ERROR >
< ERROR >
UNSETTLING, NO?
Footage opens in what used to be Commander Donnelly’s office in Heimdall C & C. The smashed desk has been replaced, but broken glass still glitters on the temperfoam. Travis “Cerberus” Falk sits behind the console, speaking into his commset.
“Charlie Squad, this is Cerberus. Answer me, goddamn it.”
Nothing but static down the line.
“Ghost, this is Cerberus, do you copy?”
Falk rises to his feet, his face slowly shifting to a simmering red. Pressing hard at the commset in his ear, voice growing deeper. Louder. Until he’s almost roaring.
“Charlie Squad, what the **** is going on down there?”
Falk does roar now, a shapeless bellow of rage as he slams one armored fist into the wall. He follows up with an elbow, a terrifying left hook, over and over again until the plasteel is covered in dozens of knuckle dents. And finally, he picks up his chair and hurls it through the office’s plate-glass door.
A thousand glittering shards burst into the corridor outside, the chair crashing to the floor and tumbling off down the temperfoam corridor, narrowly missing Kali and the handcuffed, head-bagged figure she’s leading toward Falk’s office.
She knocks on (what’s left of) the door.
“…Bad time, boss?”
Falk catches his breath. Glances at the hunched and shivering prisoner beside Kali.
“No, Fleur.” He smiles. “Your timing is perfect.”
RADIO TRANSMISSION: BEITECH AUDIT TEAM—ALL CHANNELS
PARTICIPANTS:
Travis “Cerberus” Falk, Lieutenant, Team Commander
Hanna Donnelly, Civilian
DATE: 08/16/75
TIMESTAMP: 11:20
CERBERUS: This is Cerberus speaking to Hanna Donnelly. Come in, over.
CERBERUS: Miss Donnelly, I am broadcasting on all available channels, and I know you’re listening to the headset you stole. You needn’t bother with the subterfuge. You and I should talk.
CERBERUS: Donnelly, Hanna. Hair blond, eyes blue, 175 centimeters tall. Born 04/25/58, Ares VI. Only daughter of Charles and Alimah Donnelly. Attended Villon Academy from ’64 to ’69, father posted to Typhon Station 12/08/70. Mother died—
HANNA D: Hmmm, Cerberus. Three-headed hellhound, if I recall correctly.
HANNA D: Also a one-hit wonder New Hair band when I was about six, but I’m guessing that wasn’t your reference.
HANNA D: Why so many heads, you think? Didn’t want to miss an opportunity to lick his own ****s?
CERBERUS: Oh, come now, there’s no need to be crass. I’d have expected a little more decorum from an officer’s daughter.
HANNA D: I’m often told I defy expectations. Was there something you wanted, Rover?
CERBERUS: Yes, actually. I’d be delighted if you’d tiptoe down to the atrium level and do the surrender dance in front of my people. Within the next fifteen minutes, if you please, there’s a dear.
HANNA D: Oh gosh, you know I would if I could, but my schedule is just full, full, full today. You really wouldn’t believe it.
CERBERUS: But I would. You’ve been quite the busy little bumblebee, yes?
CERBERUS: I’m afraid playtime is over now.
CERBERUS: Fourteen minutes, thirty seconds.
HANNA D: I have been quite busy. Do I detect admiration? That’s quite something,
coming from a big, bad wolf like you.
CERBERUS: I have someone here who wants to talk to you, little Bumblebee. A friend of yours, I do believe.
CERBERUS: Would you like to say hello?
HANNA D: I’m not very good at making friends, but sure.
[INAUDIBLE]
CERBERUS: Mmm, no, he’s having a time of it. He has a gun between his teeth, you see.
CERBERUS: Shame on you, talking with your mouth full. What would Mother say, Mr. Merrick?
HANNA D: Who?
CERBERUS: Merrick, Jackson. Hair blond, eyes green, 201 centimeters tall. Born 06/06/56, Memphis City, Chronos. Second son of Anthony and Kathleen Merrick. Attended Memphis Public Elementary and Briarsdale Senior High…and so on. Ring any bells?
CERBERUS: Here, I’ll put him on, sans gun. Say hello, young master.
JACKSON M: [whispers] Hanna…
HANNA D: Jax.
JACKSON M: [whispers] Hanna, Jesus, I’m sorry.
HANNA D: Me too. Me too. I’m sorry, Jax.
CERBERUS: Yes, you’re sorry, he’s sorry.
[CRUNCHING NOISE]
CERBERUS: We’re all terribly sorry.
[REPEATED THUMPING]
[MUTED CRY]
CERBERUS: Are you still there, little Bumblebee?
CERBERUS: Wolf got your tongue?
HANNA D: If I come in, you’ll kill both of us.
CERBERUS: I could kill more than just you and your beau, Miss Donnelly.
CERBERUS: For all the trouble you’ve caused me, I could cut the air supply to the rest of the station. There are still people locked in the habitats. The entertainment complex. I could threaten to blow the airlocks and open entire sections into space unless you hand yourself over. But it’s just Master Merrick, you, and me on this little stage.
CERBERUS: So don’t make the mistake of thinking you know me. Don’t delude yourself into believing you understand the first step in this little dance of ours.
HANNA D: I’m not dancing with you. I bet you’ve got sweaty palms.
CERBERUS: I’m told bravado is impressive under certain circumstances, but I’ve yet to find them.
CERBERUS: And rest assured if you’re not in the atrium in twelve and a half minutes, I will paint the walls with young Master Merrick’s brains and lay him on a slab beside your father.
HANNA D: The next time I get my hands on one of your team members, I won’t leave enough behind to lay out on a slab.
CERBERUS: You’re happy to throw young Merrick here to the wolf, then? You prefer your House of Knives beau now? I’m told there’s a certain allure to be found on the wrong side of the tracks, yes?
HANNA D: If you’re fishing for advice on how to handle your love life, Fido, you’re looking in the wrong place.
CERBERUS: I wonder how well you know your new friend, Master Malikov?
CERBERUS: Did you not stop to ponder how a squad of operatives with military-grade hardware infiltrated a station with customs protocols as strict as Heimdall’s?
CERBERUS: Did he tell you how we smuggled ourselves aboard, I wonder?
HANNA D: Tell me more about yourself, Mr. Wolf.
HANNA D: Really, go on. This is fascinating.
CERBERUS: He didn’t. Ah. Well, if young Niklas wasn’t honest enough to inform you he and his House of Knives comrades were the ones who forged our invitations to the ball, he almost certainly wouldn’t have told you about that tattoo at his throat, correct?
CERBERUS: Did you think it pretty, Bumblebee? That angel? Did you wonder, perhaps in moments alone, how it might taste?
HANNA D: Are you trying to flirt with me?
HANNA D: It’d never work out, you know.
CERBERUS: It’s a fascinating aspect of the Dom Najov. The language of their tattoos. The prettiest things to denote the ugliest of deeds. Flowers and doves and beautiful girls. And for their murderers, the prettiest ink of all.
CERBERUS: Angels at their throats.
CERBERUS: Did you know your Niklas was a murderer, Bumblebee?
HANNA D: Seems like the sort of skill that would come in handy around here lately.
CERBERUS: Oh, no.
CERBERUS: I murdered your father, yes. I’m going to murder young Jackson here in a little under eleven minutes’ time. But I don’t murder children, Hanna.
CERBERUS: Even I have my limits.
CERBERUS: I have a gift for you.
CERBERUS: I’m having your whisperNET account temporarily reactivated.
CERBERUS: We’re sending you some files. As you peruse them, ask yourself what kind of allies you’re keeping company with. And whether you could forgive yourself if you choose to let young Jackson here die.
CERBERUS: Somehow I doubt you’re anywhere near the monster the boy you’ve thrown in with is.
CERBERUS: I suggest you read quickly.
OFFENSE REPORT
OFFENSE: First-degree homicide, two counts
CASE FILE: 720215-1420-88917h
DATE: 02/15/72
LOCATION OCCURRED: Domicile, Calgary, New Petersburg
TIME/DATE OCCURRED: Approx. 11:47, 02/14/72
TIME/DATE OFFICER ARRIVED: 11:56, 02/15/72
VICTIM(S):
VICTIM 1: Dmitri Balashov (age 36—father)
VICTIM 2: Oksana Balashova (age 12—daughter)
VICTIM(S) RESIDENCE: 22 Acacia Avenue, Calgary, New Petersburg
VICTIM(S) OCCUPATION:
VICTIM 1: Bartender
VICTIM 2: Student
RACE/SEX:
VICTIM 1: Caucasian male
VICTIM 2: Caucasian female
DOB:
VICTIM 1: 03/07/36
VICTIM 2: 06/21/60
PERSON/S REPORTING CRIME: National Network Security (contracted to residence)
TOOL/WEAPON OR MEANS USED: .45-caliber pistol
PROPERTY TAKEN: Gold bracelet (victim 2)
WITNESSES: See attached statements
PERSONS OF INTEREST: Zakary Malikov (age 37), Niklas Malikov (age 15), Erik Malikov (age 14), various House of Knives personnel (see attached spreadsheet)
ATTENDING OFFICERS: Michael J. Sims (DI), Steven Scannell (DI)
NARRATIVE:
At 11:42, 02/14/72, National Network Security units operating out of NNS offices in New Petersburg were notified of a break-in at the victims’ home address via silent alarm.
At approximately 11:52, a young Caucasian male was seen exiting the domicile and fleeing the scene on a Tokugawa street racer (partial IdentTag: MAL-) by neighbors of the victim (see attached witness statements). Witness reported incident to police.
At 11:56, patrol officers arrived on scene. Signs of forced entry to the rear of the domicile were present. An adult Labrador retriever was found dead in the backyard (gunshot wound).
Victim 1 was found in the master bedroom, dead from multiple close-range gunshots to the head. Neighbors reported no gunfire—weapon was possibly equipped with a suppressor.
Victim 2 was found in the kitchen, dead from multiple close-range shots to her torso. Refrigerator door was open, a spilled carton of milk and broken drinking glass were found by the body.
NOTE:
Victim 1, Dmitri Balashov, is listed as a witness in an ongoing NPPD homicide investigation (case file: 711217-2320-26573h). The victim positively identified one Zakary Malikov as the perpetrator of a fatal assault conducted outside Vlado’s Restaurant in December of last year (see attached case file).
AUTOPSY REPORT
No. 2572-0987473 Calgary NP
Autopsy performed on the body of DMITRI BALASHOV at the DEPARTMENT OF CORONER, CALGARY, NEW PETERSBURG on FEBRUARY 15, 2572.
From the anatomical findings and pertinent history, I ascribe the death to:
A. (due to, or as a consequence of): MULTIPLE GUNSHOT WOUNDS
B. (due to, or as a consequence of):
C. (due to, or as a consequence of):
D. (other conditions contributing but not related to the immediate cause of death):
>
Anatomical summary:
1. Multiple gunshot wounds (arbitrarily labeled 1, 2 and 3).
All gunshots were delivered at close range. Caliber of pistol used was a .45. Bullets were hollow-point rounds, fragmenting on impact.
a. Gunshot wound #1, penetrating gunshot wound to forehead, exit wound in rear of cranium (fragments recovered from cranial cavity, mattress of victim’s bed and floorboards beneath). Fatal wound.
b. Gunshot wound #2, penetrating gunshot wound to right eye, exit wound in rear of cranium (fragments recovered from cranial cavity, mattress of victim’s bed and floorboards beneath). Fatal wound.
c. Gunshot wound #3, penetrating wound to right cheek, exit wound at top of cranium (fragments recovered from cranial cavity, mattress of victim’s bed and floorboards beneath). Fatal wound.
2. Mutilation.
Ritualistic mutilation of the body was conducted postmortem.
a. Victim’s tongue was removed via use of a sharp bladed implement. Tongue was recovered from the lavatory of the master bedroom suite (see attached notes on known modus operandi of the House of Knives).
SIGNED:
CHIEF CORONER, NEW PETERSBURG DOC
AUTOPSY REPORT
No. 2572-0987474 Calgary NP
Autopsy performed on the body of OKSANA BALASHOVA at the DEPARTMENT OF CORONER, CALGARY, NEW PETERSBURG on FEBRUARY 15, 2572.
From the anatomical findings and pertinent history, I ascribe the death to:
A. due to, or as a consequence of): MULTIPLE GUNSHOT WOUNDS
B. due to, or as a consequence of):
C. (due to, or as a consequence of):
D. (other conditions contributing but not related to the immediate cause of death):
Anatomical summary:
1. Multiple gunshot wounds (arbitrarily labeled 1, 2 and 3).
All gunshots were delivered at close range. Caliber of pistol used was a .45. Bullets were hollow-point rounds, fragmenting on impact.
a. Gunshot wound #1, penetrating gunshot wound to sternum, no exit wound (fragments recovered from chest and abdominal cavity). Heart and left lung punctured in multiple locations by fragmentation. Fatal wound.