Lieutenant Arkham: Elves and Bullets

by Alessio Lanterna

  I have to move, otherwise some stinking worm will mistake me for a corpse and enjoy the fruits of my labours. I’ve killed a load of people to get my hands on this, and nothing, and no one, least of all Mrs Anybody and the corpulent office worker is going to take it away from me. I lift my head and wipe the fragments of glass off my face with my hand. A fuckwit went through a red light. A fucking bastard didn’t follow the fucking rules. I get the briefcase. Put Cohl’s gun, wrapped up like a condom, in my pocket and get out of the car. Slowly. I approach the puke-coloured car that ran into me without any warning. However, the driver isn’t there. He wasn’t wearing a seat belt, further proof that he’s a fuckwit. In fact, I find him hanging off my bonnet, whimpering.

  “You went through a red light and drove right into me.”

  His wheezing is incomprehensible.

  “You went through a fucking red light and ran into me.”

  “He… hel…”

  I lift his head up by his hair, which is hanging off my fucking bonnet on the tarmac, dripping blood. Bet he isn’t insured.

  “Are you insured?”

  Sometimes you try hard to be polite just to run into a wall of indifference. He gurgles and dribbles blood right onto my shirt. I don’t remember taking it out but the Altra is already in my hand. Lucky coincidence. I shoot him in the temple, spraying his useless brains all over the tarmac.

  I light a cigarette. The wispy plume of smoke coming out of the engines provides irrefutable proof that both vehicles are out of action. The dog track, however, is only five blocks away, a half-hour walk, tops. Hop to it.

  It’s interesting how people manage to follow the most basic rules of survival even when they’re caught up in the euphoria of looting. One of these is undoubtedly “don’t get in the way of a blood-covered man carrying a briefcase and a gun”. It is also proof of the inconsistency of certain liberal theories, which sustain that the concept of private property is ingrained in man. Man wants stuff, this is clear to everyone, but only fear is innate.

  I put the Altra back in its intra-dimensional holster and quicken my step.

  A horde of gremlins is frantically pillaging a discount clothing store, sale after sale, the stuff is so cheap it’s practically free. The creatures emerge so loaded up they look like a spontaneous migration of self-loathing clothes. If only they were worth a bullet.

  I arrive at the entrance to the dog track. It didn’t take me long at all, or perhaps I don’t remember what happened along the way. Who gives a shit. There are two gorillas at the door with submachine guns slung over their shoulders, I don’t recognise either of them. Tonight is not the night for discretion. They take up arms when they spot me approaching and, given my general appearance, I don’t blame them.

  “U’t closed. Pu’ss off.”

  I go a couple of steps closer, I can’t understand a word. This cretin’s way of speaking is even worse than average. He sticks his gun in my face. I smile, arrogantly. Stalemate.

  “Arkham. I need to see your boss.”

  The pig is uneasy.

  “No see Khan, now.”

  “I see Khan, now.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Tell him…”

  “Go or I shoot!”

  “You can tell that lardball Ugube that I’ve got his fucking money. It’s now or never.”

  They look at each other doubtfully.

  “Call your boss, fuckwit. Call him. It’s a massive amount of money. Ugube will gouge your eyes out if he loses his money simply because you’re too stupid to call him. Call him. Do yourself a favour.”

  I’m as calm and collected as the surface of a frozen lake. If ten thousand elves popped out from around the corner and begged to suck me off, I wouldn’t bat an eyelid. This has quite an effect on the feeble minds of this pair of guard pigs. The one in front of me keeps his submachine gun aimed right at my nose, as though it could spit fire at any moment, while his friend starts burping his revolting native language into his mobile phone. A drop of stinking sweat drips down his orange forehead. What is this crazy human up to? Why isn’t he at all scared of the elementary equation rifle plus ogre equals dead?

  “If you only knew how many people I’ve buried tonight alone, people who are far superior to you… never mind, I bet you can’t count any higher than the fingers on your hand, anyway.”

  “Khan says take hùm up,” intervenes the comrade. The other one visibly relaxes and hesitantly lowers his weapon. I spit a combination of blood and saliva onto his boots, but he doesn’t react. I do it unhurriedly, methodically filling my mouth with spit, let him watch me in amazement, he’s certain that I won’t actually do it in the end, that I won’t dare. But I do. And how. I’m invincible now, because Khan wants to see me.

  What fun.

  We go upstairs to his office. I savour the steps, staggering every now and then. One way or another I will never go up these steps again. It all ends here, you bastard.

  They open the door and go in with me. Ugube is in his usual position, glued to the only part of this foul world able to support the two hundred kilos of shit he is composed of. The revolting stench of his disgusting secretions fills the room, like the tomb of a pharaoh gone wrong. His armpits are sweaty, his tits are sweaty, his belly is sweaty and, I’d rather not check, but I met his arse is moist. He’s watching the news on one of the numerous screens next to him. He is incredulous. All the inhabitants on the planet are incredulous, except for me. Then he turns towards me.

  “Lieutenant…” He looks me up and down, appreciating the shift in style. From casual to bloodbath. “ … Arkham.”

  “Good evening, Ugube.” I smile, hoping I am unnerving. After all, according to his plans I was already supposed to be worm food by now. I lift up the briefcase, his pupils dilate when he sees it. The two gorillas are in position either side of him. How stupid, he’s left the entrance unguarded. Where are all your men, you flabby bastard? All over town checking your investments, aren’t they? Not forgetting those I sent to early retirement. It’s just us here now.

  “Your money.”

  “All of it?” He’s sceptical.

  “There’s a little extra in there too. Lest someone says I never pay my debts.” I toss the briefcase onto the desk and it slides until it comes to a halt against those deformed fatty breasts belonging to the ogre. He looks at me diffidently. I don’t say a word.

  He opens it up. Looks inside. Raises his eyebrows.

  “Do I have to count it?”

  “I’d count it anyway.”

  So he counts it, and the thugs can’t help taking a peek at all that cash. Dickheads, they’re so predictable. I squeeze my eyelids, two words and a Hu gesture, the palm of my hand facing the three ogres. I can feel the energy brimming up inside me. A blinding flash of light explodes in the room. When I open my eyes, the two henchmen look worried, and vainly try to point their weapons in my direction, spraying bullets at random.

  The Altra faithfully jumps into my hand and won’t allow anyone to escape. It dispenses death in silence. Two monitors stop working when the bullets go right through the bodies of the swines, the office wall becomes a collage of cartilage and guts. A post-modern work of fucking art. A shrink could have asked me: ‘What do you see in this pattern?’

  Two dead ogres.

  And one waiting to be liquidated. I approach him, slowly.

  “Arkham…” He puts his hands up.

  “What is it, you fat bastard?” Pity is thin on the ground. Tonight there’s even less than usual.

  I perch on the desk and rest the gun on his flat nose, while with one foot I keep him pressed against his chair. I press down with my weapon to hurt him, he tilts his head back slightly. Every repulsive ounce of lard in his body is vibrating with terror. Sweat is running down him as though he were in the rain, but the smell is worse than that oily filth you find on the lower edges.

  “Have you any idea how long I’ve been dreaming about this moment? Have you?”

  He swallows.<
br />
  “I am… protected. You’ll never get out alive…”

  Fantastic. Almost perfect.

  “No you’re not. A lot of things have changed tonight. The old rules don’t count anymore, people go through red lights and the elves are no longer immortal.” I nod at the news programme, which is naturally broadcasting non-stop live footage from Nectropis. The camera is stuck on the scene of devastation they are calling ‘ground zero’. That’s what they call craters caused by a nuclear bomb, but that wasn’t caused by a nuclear bomb. That was caused by me. I am death, destroyer of worlds. This thought sends a bolt of excitement between my legs.

  “What? How do you…”

  Then understanding arrives. A jerk of disbelief, a repugnant live comedy show. I move the Altra underneath his wobbly chin and push harder, forcing him to look at me while I lean over him.

  “It was… you?!”

  Splat.

  The omnipresent fan diverted the spurts according to its own aesthetic taste, anxious to participate in the demise of its cruel, disgusting master. I turn it off, finally relieving its suffering. I close the briefcase again, hoping the banknotes aren’t too stained. When the briefcase snaps shut, all the adrenaline slides away, underneath my trousers and onto the floor. As though I were pissing myself. I’m tired. I’m so tired. I have a feel of my crotch just to make sure that I didn’t actually piss myself, but it’s hard to tell due to all the leftovers of Cohl, disintegrated in the explosion. I hope there are still some taxis around, but I suspect they won’t be working tonight.

  The briefcase and I go down the steps. I’m crying. I’m not sure if they are tears of joy or desperation.

  I’m finally free.

  I’m finally fucking free.

  Still tomorrow

  Home sweet home.

  I sub-let it from a large family of invertebrates, some of whom like it to be permanently festooned with dusty cobwebs. Luckily I don’t come here much. Turn the key in the lock all four times and throw the keys into the bowl by the door. I strip off right there in the hall, dropping my foul clothes on the floor. I wouldn’t be able to say which is dirtier, the clothes or the floor.

  I pad over to the fridge in my underpants, my legs are stiff and achy after two flights of stairs and a wearying trek. Inside the fridge there are various archaeological remains, some pieces of a pizza I can’t remember ordering, and a couple of cans of beer, still trapped inside the plastic. I grab both of them and abandon myself in the arms of the armchair. I turn on the TV. On every single channel there’s a shaken reporter emotionally describing recent events, while images of the disaster flash across the screen.

  “… estimate of the victims is not possible as yet, but it is certainly in the thousands. The capital of the Western Federation…”

  Channel surfing.

  “… day for the history of Saros. Manifestations of solidarity and condemnation from all nations of the world…”

  “… once again, for those of you who have just tuned in: just before one o’ clock this morning, a catastrophic explosion, the origins of which are as yet unknown, completed destroyed the Lovl’Atheron spire, causing serious collateral damage …”

  For the most part, the footage has come from a couple of tourists intent on immortalising the night-time panorama. When the first explosion takes place, they scream with shock in the background. Shock and fear.

  “… far nobody has claimed responsibility. The primes suspects are Eburn fundamentalists from the central states…”

  Finally I stop to watch the city’s non-stop news channel, NRT, the most up-to-date channel for local news. The clock on the screen says five o’ clock.

  “… consequences for the markets. The Ecatomb stock exchange, where trading had already started when tragedy struck, saw shares drop by eight points in just a few minutes before the authorities closed trading. Analysts predict serious damage to all the main markets, but experts claim this is merely the beginning. As yet, the long-term consequences are unknown, and the shadow of a new economic crisis is hovering…”

  Even the Lichs who, in theory, are the ones who should benefit from a federal debacle federal, are talking about economic repercussions of the event. And they are quick to declare their solidarity, the bastards, in the meantime I bet they’re rubbing their bones together in glee. After all, they certainly don’t want to be singled out as the instigators. They might be the superpower of tomorrow, but right now an alliance between the Federation and the states of the southern continent would crush them to nothing.

  “In exclusive for NRT, an interview with Sahlfani Lovl’Atheron, Ambassadress for the Republic of Grennuble, who immediately returned after the disaster took place. Ambassadress, thank you for allowing us an interview in such a difficult time. On behalf of all the citizens of Nectropis and the world, we would like to express our deep sense of sorrow and grief.”

  The dust-plastered face of the elf is marked by coursing tears. Her hand holding the earpiece is visibly shaking. The background is a swarming mass of frenetic activity in the makeshift emergency area, hurriedly organised by the Cross. Injured people, soldiers, stretchers, doctors. Screams. Weeping. Blood.

  “I don’t… don’t… it is an unimaginable tragedy. There … are no words to describe…”

  She sobs. Sympathetic but ruthlessly professional the anchorman presses her.

  “We have heard that you have assumed transitional control of the dynasty.”

  “Yes,” she nods while blowing her nose, “in that I am the… eldest. The search for survivors continues with utmost determination. Digging for survivors is taking place all over, with mechanical diggers as well as with people’s bare hands, desperation is driving the rescue workers. All the best enchanters are working together to control the escaped elementals, and… but… I’m sorry…”

  The dignitary breaks down in floods of tears, she motions to the cameraman to stop filming.

  “Again, our heartfelt condolences. This is a sad day for all sentient beings. We have just received an important update.” BREAKING NEWS is running at the bottom of the screen. “Preliminary investigation carried out on the magical substratum has shown that the explosive used was of magical origin, though its precise nature has not yet been ascertained. Professor, this confirms your fears.”

  Nectropis Radio Television had hastily put together a panel of experts to comment on the event.

  “Sadly, it was a foregone conclusion, considering the sheer power of the explosion. The most important consequence for the investigation process is that it will probably be impossible to use magic, due to the violent imbalance within the magical field surrounding ground zero. In other words, it’s the same problem soothsayers have when they attempt to probe events which took place during the Apocalypse.”

  A retired general joins in, demanding a firm reaction against the terrorists responsible for the massacre, branding them as “worse than animals” thus giving rise to a confused slagging match.

  Bitch mother, you’d think that after having caused such a tragedy, you would ask yourself some existential questions, rejoice or despair, something of meaning. Not sit in an armchair and drink beer. Not that I’m empty, cold or indifferent. I have carried out a memorable massacre, perhaps I have... no, I have definitely changed the course of history, and I did this right after I killed my best friend in cold blood, my only friend, in fact. And I didn’t do it for a cause or anything, an ideal or for profit, no. I only did it to save my arse, and that’s all.

  Bastard father, what kind of revolting piece of shit would do such a thing?

  I fucking would.

  I’ve done it.

  “Another update: the entire sector between ringroads 180 and 270 has just been declared to be at the risk of collapse, the army has commenced mass evacuation of the most unstable areas. Access is limited to emergency vehicles only. The authorities advise residents in the other areas to remain in their homes. Following a heartfelt appeal to keep calm and behave in an orderly
fashion, Mayor Romerios’s staff have announced that the Mayor will shortly hold a press conference, during which he will discuss the potential change from state of emergency to martial law in the entire city.”

  Maybe this is a sign. Maybe a god is trying to tell me that I’ve overdone it, that I have to rationally think about my misdeeds. That now it is time to put a stop to this life of conspiracies and murder. I’ve still got the Nexus tickets Gilder bought. I could be in Tallia in just a few hours. With all this chaos, nobody would notice for a few weeks. By then I’ll simply be one of the many missing people.

  I pack a small sports bag with essential items: fake ID, money, a couple of cartridges, cursing that I left the contents of the hidden compartment in the car boot behind. I put on the cleanest clothes I can find and leave this rat hole forever. I decide not to use the portals, and opt for the train instead, a livestock carriage, full of petrified passengers, in which I have to fight to find room next to the window.

  The overloaded train bumps and rattles on the tracks which lead to the south, along the internal sea coast separating the two continents. I bide my time behind a pair of sunglasses, oblivious to the crowd, the smells and general din. I bide my time and look outside, absorbed like a child, waiting for the curtain to open.

  Then it happens.

  The blanket of darkness covering the city is lifted off, as though blown away by a sea breeze, dawn triumphs, making me gasp with wonder, flooding the distraught faces of the other passengers with liquid gold. Now everybody is smiling, even those who have lost everything and miraculously survived, I too am smiling, one of the greatest murderers in history. For it doesn’t matter what we have left behind us: broken bricks or broken spirits littering the streets of Nectropis, today the sun has risen on our lives, for the first time since time immemorial, warm, loving light is embracing us, it forgives us, it even consoles us, like a mother.