The Demon Collector

by Erik Lynd

  Eris sat at the desk near his bed, feet up, phone in hand, earbuds in. Probably watching a video. Despite the fact they were in a concrete lined lair, under the zoo, watching over him while he traveled to another world, it all seemed rather normal.

  Hellcat was curled up on the bed. In fact, she took up most of the bed and covered his feet. She was so dark, she looked like a shadow covering the lower half of the bed. He reached down to scratch her behind the ear. She stretched her head out in appreciation, and made the quiet rumbling noise he had come to think of as purring.

  Eris was the first to notice he had returned. She smiled at him and pulled out her earbuds. "Welcome back," she said. "That was quick. Did you get any advice on how to find someone to teach you?"

  He could tell by her body language that it was Eris he was speaking with, not Dark Eris. For some reason her smile almost took his mind away from the remaining aches and pains he carried over from his first training session. He was still sore, but it was residual and he could already feel his body soothing the rest of it away. He was not sure what the implications were that his body could feel the pain that only his spirit had experienced.

  "You could say that," Christopher said and sat on the edge of the bed. "The Librarian's idea is to have me learn from the greatest warriors that have ever lived."

  "Sounds impressive," she said and by her shifting tone he thought she had switched to Dark Eris. "How's he going to pull that off?"

  "He already did," Christopher said and then proceeded to tell her about the few hours he had training with Musashi or the ghost of Musashi, or whatever it was exactly. Of course, he left out the part about how badly he did and how badly he was beaten.

  "So, hours passed for you while you were training, but only thirty or so minutes passed by here while we waited? How'd he pull-off that little trick?" Dark Eris asked. Christopher noticed Hamlin had turned away from the computers and was listening in.

  "I don't think the Librarian did anything. It has to do with how I access the information in the Book. Being human, apparently, I can't take the direct route; I have to learn it the old fashioned way. Somehow it slows down my perception so I have the time to absorb it."

  "Well did you learn anything?" Hamlin asked.

  "Yes, well no, I mean probably not. It was only my first day."

  "So, you plan on doing this again? How often?"

  "I guess I'll try to go every day," Christopher said and then shuddered when he thought of the pain he was in for. "But it won't be easy."

  "It never is, it's a good idea though. You need all the help you can get,” Hamlin said.

  "Yeah, if the help doesn't kill me," Christopher said.

  Christopher stood up and stretched, the pain had faded at this point but the stretching still felt good. Hamlin had turned back to the computer and was scrolling through news articles. Hamlin wasn't much of a computer guy, so Christopher was surprised to see him pecking at the keyboard and looking intently at the screen. Christopher glanced at Dark Eris while nodding toward Hamlin. She just shrugged and pulled a beer out of the fridge.

  Christopher was suddenly aware of how thirsty he was and went to join her.

  "What are you up to?" Christopher asked Hamlin as he popped open the bottle.

  "Hmm?" Hamlin said distractedly, and then he pulled himself away from the screen. "Have you ever heard of the Days of Chaos?"

  "Yeah, I think I heard something about that. Something about some hackers or anarchists or something. Some big event they have planned?"

  "Sort of. NYPD got a threat assessment alert about it. It was fairly vague. They think it’s mostly a hoax, some internet urban legend, but it's widespread enough that some small fringe group might get wound up. No real terrorist threat or anything like that. Just small time," Hamlin said.

  "But you're not convinced?" Christopher asked.

  "I just don't know. That's why I'm here, this rig is a better set up than my work laptop. And the programs your predecessor created are so useful. It makes searching the web much easier; it can almost anticipate what I need to know.

  "But yeah, I'm not completely convinced. Seems too well organized. It's not just one day, it's a series of days of worldwide chaos, whatever that means. Only the first day is posted. No cities are really named except this first one, Mexico City. Just vague threats of violence and mayhem."

  "Days of Chaos seems more of an anarchist theme than a terrorist one. Maybe a major hack?"

  "Well according to the internet, it won’t be computer systems or at least not just computers. There is a lot of talk about bloodshed and killing the 'jail keepers of society'. The people behind it have a manifesto, it’s online too. Seems to be the usual stuff about the government conspiracies— they're tracking everything, the government is behind everything bad that has ever happened."

  "That does sound like anarchist or terrorist shit. We hate the American government and all that stuff," Dark Eris said.

  "That's just it. It isn't just the U.S. This movement is against all government, any sort of control," Hamlin said. "But it’s really just a website and a lot of posts on forums, no real evidence that they are actually going to do anything."

  Christopher had finished his beer, grabbed another, and sat down in the other chair at the computer station. "Are you thinking there’s any connection with, you know, my job? Or this Alliance thing? Is that why you’re here talking about it?"

  Weeks ago, they had found a few documents at a dark soul's house referring to some sort of group that calls itself The Alliance. Christopher was afraid some dark souls had banded together. It was hard enough to hunt them down and face them one-on-one. If they were working together, they would become an even bigger threat.

  "No, nothing about this Alliance thing. I checked all the databases I could get access too, nothing. Whoever or whatever they are, they're invisible. And no, I don't have proof of any connection between the Days of Chaos and your... hunting activities, but..."

  "But?" Christopher asked.

  "But I just have this feeling in my gut that it’s something bigger than just a handful of crazies talking big on the internet."

  "And you trust your gut?"

  Hamlin turned from the screen and looked Christopher in the eyes. "I always trust my gut. But it’s more than that. Here, look at one of the websites."

  Hamlin clicked on a link and a page appeared. It was a fairly simple page. The standard stylized picture of Guy Fawkes at the top and a long-winded post below. But at the top, above the picture was a line of symbols. They had a vaguely occult look to them, no pentagrams or other stereotypical symbols, but definitely archaic looking.

  "The language of the Angels," Eris said from behind them. As Christopher looked at her she shifted to Dark Eris, "Or demons, depending on how you look at it."

  "What? That's real? They have a language?" Christopher asked.

  "Well, it's the original language; I don't know if it was actually created by angels or demons. Despite being a demon, I'm not that old. It is from before my time. From the time before mortals. Call it whatever you want, but the point is it was the first language."

  "Is it common? I've heard of all the new-agey stuff with it, but I don't think that is authentic," said Hamlin.

  Dark Eris frowned. Christopher knew she did not like talking about her past and her time in Hell in particular. "Like I said, things are cloudy about my past, especially what Hell was like. But from what I can remember you can barely even find it in Hell, not that writing is all that common there anyway. I can't even remember it, just enough to recognize the symbols."

  "Can you translate this page maybe?" Hamlin asked.

  Now her face screwed up in anger. "I don't know, not off the top of my head. All I can tell you is it isn't good. Something big, bad, and ancient. I’m getting a headache."

  And with that she was gone. Her eyes changed and Eris was once again staring at them. "What?" she asked, a confused smile on her face. "You're looking at me like I just tol
d you the end of the world is approaching. Oh, did she say something bad?"

  Once again Christopher wondered how a demon and a human could live together in one mind. Sometimes they seemed to know what happened when the other was in control, other times they seem completely clueless.

  "Not exactly the end of the world. At least, hopefully not." Christopher got her up to speed quickly on the ancient writing.

  "Well then I'm trusting my gut more and more. If this is some ancient, mystical writing then there is a good chance it does have something to do with you and your work. I mean you working for Hell and all," said Hamlin.

  "I don't work for Hell, at least not directly."

  "Well you sure as hell don't work for the other guy," Hamlin said.

  "So, what if this is somehow connected to me? What should I do?" Christopher asked.

  "Still working on that part," Hamlin said.

  "Where and when is the first Day of Chaos supposed to happen?" Eris asked.

  "It all starts in Mexico in three days."

  "Mexico? Perfect. We need a vacation."

  "So, you're suggesting we go to Mexico and just hang out to see what happens?" Christopher asked.

  "Yeah. Why not? I mean if something happens and a dark soul is involved you will be there; if not, then worst case is we spend a few days relaxing in the sun, drinking margaritas. I really don't see a downside. I don't know if you guys noticed, but it’s freezing out there. A few days in the sun would be good for us. Especially you, Mr. Pasty-face detective."

  "Everybody is pale in New York in the winter," Hamlin said.

  "Exactly. All the more reason to go."

  "Fuck it, I'm in," Christopher said. "If this is nothing, like most people think, then worst-case we have some sun and fun. If this is somehow related to my new job, then I need to be there anyways. I might as well have a little fun and relax. It's not like I have anything else to do."

  "That's right, you can bring the Book with you and train every day," Hamlin said.

  Christopher groaned. "Thanks for reminding me. So much for a relaxing couple of days."

  "So, we're really going to Mexico? Awesome! When?" Eris asked.

  Christopher shrugged. "I suppose anytime we want. I'm pretty sure there’s a lair in Mexico City, so the cube room can take us there."

  Now it was Hamlin's turn to groan. "Why can't we just take a plane? Also, I'm not even sure I can get the time off."

  "You have to get over your fear of traveling through the cube room. I've tried it over a dozen times now with no problems. And don't you have so much time off saved up they’re threatening to take away your vacation if you don't actually start using it?"

  "Maybe, but there’s a lot of work to do. We’re still guessing about these Days of Chaos. I need to be here where I can keep an eye on things."

  "The action starts in Mexico, that's where shit is going down. It’s the best place to 'keep an eye on things'. No matter what happens down there we can make it back to New York instantly."

  "I just don't think it’s a good idea to approach this as a vacation," Hamlin said.

  "So, it's settled. We go, pack, and meet back here in a couple of hours so we can head out on our," Christopher paused and nodded to Hamlin, "working vacation."

  7

  Juan looked up and rubbed his eyes. Despite the two large screens, the lines of code were small and starting to blur together. But he couldn't stop, no that would be no good—though he couldn't remember why—and then he was thinking about the code again, that wandering train of thought cut off. His hands flew over the keyboard, bending the systems, the networks to his will. The will of an eighteen-year-old kid. He wanted to laugh; how silly they would look when he and his team brought it all down.

  Ten minutes later he was once again distracted. Sweat dripped past his glasses and down his nose. The drop ran across his lip and his focus was interrupted. He was hungry. This time he didn't just look up, he stood up and stepped away from the computer. It was hard pulling away from the PC: like a heroin addict stepping away from his stash. He must be doing so something right. He had never felt this pull before. He loved the hack, but it was never quite this compelling.

  He looked around the room, trying to shake off this feeling. The room had two other hackers, set up like he was with a PC—top of the line for all of them apparently—a desk, and a comfy chair. He hadn't been aware they were in the room. He was so into the hack that he never even registered them. Christ, he had been focused. It seemed unnatural, that kind of focus.

  The room had no windows, just cold cinder block walls. And despite the AC vents in the ceiling circulating air, the room stank. It smelled like old sweat and Funyuns. He looked at the others sitting in their chairs, staring intently at their own screens. They had not stirred when he moved; they didn’t talk, at least not verbally. They were in constant contact via messaging at their PCs, but they never said an actual word to each other.

  Their clothes were dirty, hair greasy and uncombed. They must have been in this little room for a long time. He couldn't remember how long. He looked down at himself. He was wearing jeans and a T shirt and he could smell that they hadn't been washed in a while. How long had they been down here?

  The other end of the room was a glass wall with a door and beyond that an even larger room full of servers, blinking various colored lights and humming along. He knew that these systems were the most powerful in the world. In that, the man had not lied.

  He remembered the man. The man with the pitch-black glasses that looked as though they would suck up all the light when he entered a room. His slicked-back hair and expensive suit. And he remembered the words the man had told him. At least he thought he did.

  They were one and the same, the man had said. They loved his fight against the injustice that declared itself justice, against all the corrupt governments and corporations that destroyed the world and the humans that populated it.

  He could hack, they had said. He would have access to unlimited resources, the best equipment. He would be given the opportunity to do that which he craved the most.

  Tear it down. Tear it all down.

  Destroy the world of the overlord politicians. Take everything away and remake it all in their image. They loved him, they wanted him on their side in the coming battle.

  He popped his neck and stretched. Everything after that was hazy. They had come here he thought—though he didn't remember it—to this safe place. He didn't remember where here was, still in Mexico? Or was it South America?

  Something was not right. He needed to pee or gets some air or something. His mind was fuzzy; all he could clearly feel was that he needed a break.

  There was a door at the rear of the room, opposite the glass wall. He cautiously opened it and peered out. Behind him, the others didn't look up from their screens. The room beyond the door was a small combination living room and kitchen.

  The living room part had a couch, some chairs, and a stack of dusty looking magazines on the coffee table. A couple of reading lamps. The kitchen portion had all the basics including a fridge and stove top. The furniture, the cupboards, the linoleum all looked old and dirty.

  He remembered it vaguely, this is where they prepared their simple meals. The table in the kitchen was also unused. Usually they just grabbed their food and went back to their computers. But he didn't remember it being this drab. There were two doors against one wall. He knew that one led to his room, really a bunkhouse he shared with the others he now recalled. The other door was to a bathroom they also shared.

  There were no windows, just cold concrete walls and one final door. No, not a door, an elevator. This was where they lived for... he was not sure, but he thought it had been a long time.

  There was a man in the room and Juan was slightly startled that it had taken him this long to notice. He wore khaki clothes with a black bulletproof vest. A ball cap on his head said 'Security' across the front. A patch on his shoulder said the same thing. A belt containing t
he usual assortment of security tools, including a holstered pistol was at his waist. Next to him an assault rifle lay against the wall.

  He had been playing with his phone, but lowered it when Juan entered. The security guard nodded slowly, watching him.

  Was the guard always in the room? He couldn't remember.

  He nodded back and then went to use the bathroom. When he returned to the room the guard’s eyes followed him intently. He was suddenly thirsty. There was bottled water in the fridge, he grabbed one and took a long drink, then glanced at the elevator.

  "I," Juan started and then paused to clear his throat. His voice was raw and rough, unused. Again, he thought to himself, how long had he been here? "I need some air."

  The security guard glanced at the elevator and then back at his phone. He typed briefly and then looked back at Juan. They stared at each other for almost a minute. Juan was trying to think of what else to say, but words were hard, they slid off his tongue before having a chance to form.

  The guard’s phone beeped. He looked down briefly and then nodded at him.

  Juan pressed the elevator call button and waited. It moaned and creaked to life with a metallic screech like he had woken a giant bird. Then it was gone and the elevator ground to a halt. When the doors opened Juan expected to see a rusted-out cage, but it wasn't that bad, just a dingy metal box. He didn't remember it being so bad when he came down. Those memories were a blur. He felt it was a good sign that he remembered anything at all.

  There were only two floor buttons in the elevator, the floor he was on and up. He pressed the button, the doors shut and the elevator ground its way up towards the surface. At least he thought it was the surface, that seemed right.

  The doors opened to reveal a wooden structure—rickety at best, a wooden shack. The elevator itself was a metal box inside this wooden one. Light pierced through the gaps between the boards that made up the doorway and walls. It hurt his eyes and it was hot, sauna hot, like this wasn't even a shack, but an oven to cook hackers who stood there too long.