The Streetcleaner Shelter had proved useful, and the Invisible Teleporting Clocktower, which sounded like a money-laundering scheme by the City Council, turned out to be real. The Waterfront Complex is built on the edge of an ocean that will someday exist.
Carlos was out of his lab the moment his brain had parsed the syllable "Strex-"
By the time Cecil had read the corporation's full name over the air, the scientist was past Big Rico's and down the street, running for the radio station that no longer belonged to Night Vale. The broadcaster was exiting the small (or small-seeming) building with a nervous glance back over his shoulder at someone in the front lobby. Carlos waved to him frantically from behind a Saturn Astra, and Cecil met his eyes and blinked slowly enough for Carlos to realize it was a signal. He crouched out of sight behind the compact vehicle as his boyfriend strolled casually away from the station and any observers therein.
Passing the car, Cecil winked an eye in confirmation that Carlos had read his intentions, and mouthed the words "Dark Owl Records." He had thrown a large purple hoodie, too large for his frame, over his tunic, and some of its folds bulged oddly as he walked on. The words "Night Vale Scorpions" were emblazoned across the back.
Carlos counted the word "steamboat" thirty times before he allowed himself to peer around the car's fender towards the radio station. Not only was no one visible at the door, it no longer had a door. A large yellow banner, hanging from the front overhang of the facade, read "STREX" in block letters above a radiant smiley-face that had no eyes, not even dots.
In one of the more dimly-lit aisles towards the back of Dark Owl Records the two men drifted towards each other as if by gravitational pull; but Carlos fixed his eyes on a bin marked "E - Everly Brothers - Evisceration, Sounds of." He whispered:
"Cecil. Are you all right?"
"For now, my Carlos." A pause: "Carlos - they told me to come in tomorrow for Re-Education. I've never been Re-Educated by someone who wasn't either Station Management or the Sheriff's Secret Police. I don't know if Strex will be better or worse. I rather fear they will be worse." He pretended to thumb through a bin of Tammy Wynette albums, but there was a barely-perceptible tremor in his right hand.
"You can't let them. Cecil - they're the owners of the other station."
The sky above the Dark Owl Records, above the whole town of Night Vale, was bright and empty of clouds. It was empty of everything but the yellow sun and the yellow helicopters.
The barely-perceptible tremor became a perceptible tremor.
"Listen -" Carlos clenched his jaw, teeth aching at the memory of Kevin's creepily-sweet intonations. "After the Sandstorm, I got a second radio with a recording feature, and spent some time trying to find the Desert Bluffs signal - I had to set up a dish, but I managed to record a few episodes of Kevin's show for later study. But I when I checked them to see if I'd picked anything up, I got a commercial break full of Strexcorps slogans. Oh Cecil, I think they run that whole town."
Cecil let out a low growl, startling his boyfriend, before whispering:
"Sorry, that wasn't me." He unzipped the hoodie a couple of inches and Carlos saw Koshchek's glaring yellow eyes peering out. "I couldn't leave him and the kittens at their mercy. So when they showed me out I got Intern Chad's hoodie that was still hanging on the coat rack, and said I had to use the men's room first. Oh sweet Carlos, what are we going to do? I could protest to the City Council - I mean, even if all they do in response is to call me in for Re-Education, at least the new station management won't be able to, because I can't be in two places at once. It's impossible to be in an even number of-."
A shadow fell across the pair, but it was only Buddy Holly; his eyes were sombre behind his iconic glasses.
"They are getting closer," he said, gesturing towards the front of the shop with a John Lee Hooker record. "You have five minutes, I'd bet. En lo que el hacha va y viene, el palo descansa." In a louder voice, he twanged "Yep, I convinced the store to put things back the way they were. If you go to the very back, there's even a bin of Mongolian Throat-Singing, next to the fire exit."
Behind Buddy Holly, Cecil could see that two people wearing suits and yellow ties had entered and seemed to be arguing with the cashier. He nodded in understanding.
"Saludos," whispered the rock'n'roll legend, as our heroes ducked out the back of the record shop.
Back at the radio station, mysterious figures worked with buckets and paint rollers. Figures clad in bright yellow T-shirts.
"Ok, but his Spanish has a really weird accent," Cecil was saying.
"I think it was Puerto Rican Spa - "
"Hi there!" The blandly casual greeting was delivered in a blandly casual tone that somehow affected the brain like the sound of a million small creatures being tortured.
Carlos had never actually seen Kevin in person, and he always wondered if the resemblance was really as strong as Cecil had described to him.
It was.
More so than he could have imagined. Every hair, every freckle was identical. Only the voice was different. No - somehow everything was different. If every line of Cecil's face and body had significance - and it did - on Kevin it meant the opposite.
"I know what you're thinking," Kevin smiled. "No, really, I know what you're thinking, Cecil. But really, you should view this as an opportunity. After all, you're a team player, even if you don't realize it. We've crunched the numbers, and your communication, motivational and inspirational skills have led Night Vale to a 98% citizen retention ratio since the old Station Mangement put you on the air. The last thing Strexcorps wants to do is to fix what isn't broken."
Carlos felt Cecil's fingers closed on his wrist. He glanced at his boyfriend's face, which had taken on an expression of alert concentration. Carlos would almost have feared Kevin was winning Cecil over, but for that grip on his wrist.
"You're a flexible kind of guy who can help them get out of a pickle. With the internal and external contacts you bring to the role, and partnered with me, we can meet our objective together, in camaraderie -"
Cecil sprang abruptly to one side, pulling Carlos into a stumbling dash towards the corner. He pulled on what looked like empty air and a door opened through which the two of them fell into welcoming shadow.
A brief, incomplete list of things which are dispensable: No Bake Lime Mousse Torte Recipes. Cat-Eye Glasses. Cat's Eye Marbles. Striped things. Antlers.
Carlos felt a cold linoleum floor beneath him; he sat up, cautiously, and groping around, quickly found Cecil beside him.
"Are you alright?" they asked each other, speaking as one. They laughed nervously.
"Where are we?" Carlos rummaged through the pockets of his lab coat for a flashlight.
"The clock tower. I think we should be safe here - it just teleported, so it should take Strexcorps a while to locate it."
"Wait, how did -?"
"I heard the ticking. I am not one to boast, but for someone who works in a radio booth I have a pretty keen sense of hearing. And of course, it had the distinctive smell of a thing that's about to teleport."
Filing that detail away to ask about later, Carlos shone the flashlight beam around the clock tower's interior. They were in a stairwell that led both up and down. Pulling himself up by the railing, Cecil began slowly descending the steps, Carlos following him...