The police took statements from myself and
Sammy, and left the hotel room, not promising anything. It looked
like a routine burglary gone wrong, or so they said. It was somewhat
bizarre, how they could call a man pinned six feet up a wall with a
knife through his chest 'routine', but I suppose this city has
seen a lot worse, in its' day. Sammy was pale, and I'm guessing
he was in shock. I doubt I looked much better.
"That was sick
and wrong." He moaned, curled up on his bed. "How could they just
shrug it off like that?"
I made a remark, echoing my thoughts
about how the bizarre was normal in Paragon City, and Sammy said
nothing. He just…lay there. Not saying anything. Just breathing.
Despite all that had happened, the mere thought that Sammy was silent
was scarier than anything else that could have happened. I got up,
and turned on the coffee percolator. Sammy and I had made a tacit
agreement that, money aside, the mini-bar was off limits.
"How
can you be so calm?" Sammy shot at me, his sudden foray into
speaking startling me. "And why didn't you tell the police…"
He
trailed off. I knew what he was going to say, however, and asked the
question myself.
Why didn't I tell the police about
the men in robes?
---
We stood there, gaping at
Franks' body. Impaled by a large knife…a sword, really…it hung
there, against the wall, sagging against gravity. His eyes were
frozen in place, and I thought I caught a hint of fear in them.
It
was Sammy, unsurprisingly, who spoke first.
"Let's get the fuck out of here, man." And he turned, as if daring me to
convince him to stay. Hell, no.
We turned to run, when something
stopped us. Many somethings, actually. In the silence we had found
ourselves in, we never noticed the dozen or so robed men surround us,
in a semi-circle. We were trapped between them, and Frank's body.
In the darkness, I could barely make out the robes' shapes and
colours – but I could tell they were two different colours, albeit
both dark. The man in the centre of the formation took a step
forward.
"You are not welcome here." He spoke in a clipped,
precise accent. "You two have no place in the plans we have
made."
"Yeah?" Sammy was practically screaming. "Well,
fuck you, man. You gonna kill us both, too? Fucking come on,
then!"
The robed man took another step forward, and
stood on the fringe of a light fixture, so that it barely cast its'
glow on his black and red robe. It did, however, pick out a large
emblem on his chest. An open flame, shining in red and yellow.
The
emblem of The Truth of The Flame! I realised.
"Wait!" I
shouted, as the man pulled out a large knife, identical to the one
that had killed poor Frank. He paused, and waited for me to
speak.
"We….we…" I stumbled. Really, what could I say that
would prevent Sammy and I from dying in scant minutes?
"We seek
the Truth of The Flame." I blurted out. Really? What was I
thinking?
What truth would that be? My little internal
Sammy mocked me. The truth of how to get turned into a goddamned
Shish Kebab?
My words, unintended as they were, seemed to have
an effect on the men. They all froze in place, and the central man,
the man who I guessed (correctly, as it turns out) was their leader,
turned his full attention to me.
"And what would you know of The
Truth of The Flame?"
Oh, bugger.
"We seek
it's…cleansing."
"Cleansing?" The man seemed vaguely
amused.
"Cleansing?" Sammy squeaked at me.
"Fire burns,"
I continued, hoping against sheer hope that my words weren't
sentencing myself and Sammy to death. "It burns, and it purifies.
We wish to be purified by the Truth."
Silence. Then, very
slowly, the man put his knife back in its' sheath. "So you have
searched, so you have found." He turned to the others. "Brothers
and sisters, two men have pleaded to discover the Truth. What say
you?"
Sammy turned to me, and tilted his head. I shrugged, as
subtly as I could. Before the others in the semi-circle could say
anything, however, a flashing light caught my eye, seconds before a
small robot, which I later learned was a Police Drone, burst in
through a window, siren wailing.
Sammy, as succinct as ever,
summed up what he believed was the best course of action.
"CHEESE IT!"
Poor Sammy got all of three feet before the Police Drone blasted him with a stun ray, knocking him into unconsciousness.
When I looked back from watching Sammy crumple to the floor, the robed men had all vanished.
---
"I don't know,"
I said, as a reply to Sammy's question. "But I'm sure the
police will find out about them anyway, from reviewing the Drone's
memory. And when they do, they'll catch them."
"Good."
Sammy said, rolling onto his back. "My head hurts, I'm gonna try
and sleep."
"Okay, mate." I nodded. I need to go clear my
head. I'll be back in a bit." Pouring a cup of black coffee into
a paper cup, I silently made my way out of the suite.
---
I had gotten as far as Atlas Park…and really, it gives an amazing view of dawn, with the oranges and reds slowly making their way over the dome of City Hall, and over the giant globe held by the statue of Atlas. As I sat there, on a park bench enjoying the view, and watching the occasional Superhero make their way into City Hall, or talk with Ms Liberty (doesn't she have a home to go to?) I realised that I was no longer alone.
The man next to me wore a grey
silk suit, a black shirt, and a grey tie. It seems to go well with
his hair, which was, believe it or not, grey. His glasses were
slipping down past his nose, and had to constantly be pushed
up.
"Good morning, Mr Tucker."
I wasn't in the mood for
any games. In the space of under 12 hours, I had discovered a
Superhero cult, gotten a man killed, was nearly killed by the same
cult, and now I was being harassed by a man who didn't understand
anything that wasn't monochromatic? No thank you.
"Piss off."
I grunted.
"Now, why would I want to do that?" The man's
clipped voice sounded familiar, but in the post-coffee, high stress
buzz I found myself in, I couldn't place it.
"My name, Mr
Tucker, is Jenson Infern. I am the curator of the Paragon City
Museum, and I have wanted a face to face conversation with you for
some time, now."
"Look, Mr Infern," I sighed. "I'm
really not in the mood for all this bull."
"Of course, Mr
Tucker." Infern stood slowly, and brushed his hands against his
trousers. "Go back to your Foundation. You've done some good work
there."
Infern started to move away, and I sighed and shook my
head. Where-ever you go, there's always someone wanting to take
your money. Especially when you're a multi-billionaire…
Wait.
"Mr
Infern…" I called after the man. He turned, with a half-smile on
his face.
"Yes, Mr Tucker?"
"How did you…I mean…only
two people in the world, apart from me, know I own The Tucker
Foundation. And only one of them knows I'm here."
"Ahh."
Infern smiled. "You wish to know how I know your secret?"
I
nodded dumbly. However, whatever reply I was expecting…Sammy
boasting about it in the club, or Mike Anson sending a private
investigator after me, it certainly wasn't the one I got.
"There's
an old phrase, Mr Tucker, which you may find interesting. 'The
Truth shall set you free'."
The Truth.
They knew my
name. They knew what I looked like, and they knew who I was. Seeing
my somewhat stunned expression, Mr Infern, beckoned me to follow him
towards a large town car. "Do you still seek The Truth, Mr Tucker?
Or, as you so colourfully put it, do you wish to be 'purified'?"
I
didn't even hesitate. "I do."
"Then follow me."