Chapter 15: Down the Rabbit Hole
The Bradford Diner, founded by a certain Preston Bradford, officially opened in the year 1964 in the city of Boston.
From there, word of the excellent quality of their All-American menu, particularly of their Cheeseburger Platters and Vanilla Blast Sundaes, spread quickly across town, and its reputation grew until it became known as the go-to place for a fast, satisfying meal. The diner's prestigious status as a staple of the neighbourhood was maintained through successive generations, with Preston's ownership of the diner passing down unto his son, Jefferson, and then to his own son, Horace, the current proprietor of the establishment. For over fifty years, the Bradford family has been serving the city of Boston with meal after hearty meal. But the service of the Bradfords extended far beyond the limits of the city.
For unbeknownst to their clientele, the Bradfords served the entire world.
Horace was but a tyke of six when he first met the strange men, the men who dressed sharply and who talked and acted strangely.
The men who all looked the same.
On that day, one of these men approached him, and Horace stood back, clutching to his father's pant leg. The man then removed his funny hat and knelt to the boy's height, revealing his utter baldness.
"What is your name, child?" asked the suited man.
Horace said nothing, too distracted by his interlocutor's appearance.
"Go on," said Daddy. "It's alright."
"...Ho-Horace," said the boy. "My name is Horace."
"Hello, Horace," replied the suited man. "My name is Mister Wright."
There were six of them in all, and they would come to the diner every once in awhile. Sometimes they would come to eat. They would order large meals only to devour them in little time – for a long time, little Horace pictured them with vacuum cleaners hidden in their mouths. And they would then leave, with Mister Wright thanking Daddy for the excellent meal before leaving a wad of cash on the table.
Other times, Daddy would give them a special little key he kept in the cash register, and Mister Wright would lead his friends in the freezer room, and they would disappear for several minutes before coming back out. And once again, Mister Wright would thank Daddy for his services, and the suited men with the briefcases would drive away in their shiny black cars.
"Hey, dad," began a twelve year-old Horace a few hours after Mister Wright and his friends had left. "Where does the freezer room lead to?"
After preparing themselves Vanilla Blast Sundaes, Jefferson Bradford took his son and had him sit by the window, and he told Horace the tale that was passed down to him by his own father, Grandpa Preston.
"You see," began Jefferson, "it all started long ago, before Grandpa Preston even built the diner. One day, a man named Mister Wright visited him at his home –"
"How old was Mister Wright?" asked Horace.
"I don't know. I've known them since I was seven myself, and they haven't aged a day."
"How is that even possible?"
"These men are not ordinary men, son. They're the protectors of this world."
"Whoah! Really?" exclaimed Horace, rapt.
Jefferson nodded.
"When Mister Wright visited Grandpa Preston many years ago, he told him that he already knew he was planning to build a diner one day, and that because of this, he wanted to make him an offer. Grandpa Preston was awfully surprised, and he asked this Mister Wright how he knew that, but Mister Wright said that wasn't important. Mister Wright then asked him if he would meet with Mister Richards, their boss, to do some business with him. So Grandpa Preston accepted, and the next day they picked him up and brought him to meet with Mister Richards.
"They stopped at a building, then went up to a big, empty room. There, Mister Wright introduced him to Mister Richards; but Grandpa Preston was confused, because there was no one there. 'Where is he?' he said. 'He is standing right there,' pointed Mister Wright. But he was pointing at the wall, and Grandpa Preston got mad because he thought they were playing a joke on him.
"He was about to leave the room, but then he heard a great, powerful voice call his name. 'Who are you?' asked Grandpa Preston. 'No need to fear, Preston,' replied the voice in his mind. 'I am Mister Richards.' He felt a sudden presence in the room, then he looked at the wall, and he squinted real hard, and he could have sworn that he saw the faint outline of a tall man standing where no one was standing before. Mister Richards told him that he and his associates worked day and night to keep everyone in the world safe; and Grandpa Preston knew in his heart that Mister Richards was telling the truth. Mister Richards then said that he had chosen Grandpa Preston for a very important task, and that they needed his help to protect the world. And Grandpa accepted, because he was a good person, and he too wanted to help protect all the people on this Earth.
"So when he built the diner, he helped Mister Richards and his friends build a special room in the diner, a room only they could travel to, where they could go and discuss new ways to continue keeping the world as it should be. When the diner was finally finished, Mister Richards came to Grandpa Preston, and told him that from now on, the Bradford family would have to keep the diner safe so that he and his friends could keep on doing their job. And so did Mister Richards leave, but not before giving him a very important key."
Thus did young Horace come to learn of the great responsibility that his father and his father before him had been entrusted with. And when Jefferson Bradford passed the key down to his son at his deathbed, shortly before dying of cancer, Horace readily accepted, ready to carry on the duties his family have upheld for half a century.
In 2008, snow began to fall, the snow of mid-solstice, sprinkling down from the heavens. Horace sighed, noting how the winter always spelled fewer customers, before continuing to wipe the tables. He had been the heir of the Bradford Diner for over thirty years now. But alas, he had no son to whom he could pass on his legacy; he couldn't love again, not after his wife had perished in that terrible fire. He was growing old now, and was starting to worry. It was also getting harder not to succumb to cynicism; the world was dark place nowadays, and he sometimes wondered if Mister Wright and his buddies were actually doing their job.
But when the six of them came in that afternoon, with their stoic faces and straightened postures and eyes that saw everything, he knew that the world was in good hands, and he relinquished the key a little less worried than he was before, knowing that the world would be an even darker place without them. Unlike Horace, however, the protectors of the world did not sense their own apprehensions diminish.
For Mister Richards had summoned them to Council.
The Witnesses of the Crépuscule Division entered the secret door in the freezer room Preston Bradford had helped build many years ago. September closed the door behind them as they descended into the cellar in single file. The Overseer had returned from his sojourn into Potential States two weeks after they had corrected the Irregularity, and had issued a Council Summoning shortly after setting foot back in Für Immer. They had been anticipating such a meeting for some time, as the Overseer ordinarily called them to Council after his expeditions. He would no doubt bring up their recent endeavours in repairing the Irregularity, and each Witness formulated their own ideas about how the meeting would proceed.
They entered the cellar and shifted to the Council Chamber, hanging up their hats and taking their seats at the obsidian roundtable. After the Taffy was activated, December removed the newly-repaired Holo-Conference Module from his briefcase and placed it in the middle of the table. The other agents watched in curiosity as their Arbiter adjusted the large disk-like object, mesmerized by its design, as only September and the Arbiter had seen it before.
Soon enough, the holographic projectors became active. Around the circumference of the module were the light-blue holographic representations of the six Witnesses of the Aube Division, seated in their chairs at the Aube Council Chamber in Sector Beta, with the Crépuscule module acting as their table. The central projector, meanwhile, emitted the insignia of the League, which hovered over the module, a symbol known to them as the Eye of the Universe. It was the symbol found in the corner of their Spec Interface, the covers of their MultiCells, on the walls within Für Immer, and on many objects that belonged to the Witnesses.
It took the form of a circle touching the inner circumference of a larger one at a shared point, representing That Which Is Probable within That Which Is Possible; the point of convergence of these two circumferences symbolized the point of view of the Witnesses. Two smaller circles were symmetrically juxtaposed outside the circumferences of the central circles, in either of the lower quadrants, representing both of the League's Divisions. And directly underneath the central circles were three small vertical lines, which the Overseer said were meant to represent something he called the Third Construct.
The Eye rotated slowly in the skyward beam of blue light, placing the room in an eerie glow once the chamber's lights were put out. December took his seat, their chamber now calibrated to that of their fellow Division. The Overseer then spoke.
"Can everyone hear me?"
The voice that spoke was an artificial one, electronic in tone. It sounded as though many people were speaking simultaneously, though there were hints of the Overseer's true voice in the audio patterns.
"Yes," affirmed the miniaturized projection of January. "We can hear you."
"Ah, splendid," replied the Overseer. "I can see that these modules were a great investment. Now I won't have to send you all pigeons and parchment the next time I need to relay urgent messages."
There was some humour in his voice, but the Witnesses failed detect it.
"How was your expedition, Mercedony?" inquired December.
"It was very productive, actually. I visited seven Potential State. The most intriguing one was a State where the planet is under the subjugation of the Chinese Empire. What I have seen there has given me new ideas, including possible Pulse Pistol upgrades."
The Witnesses all exchanged glances of pleasant surprise. Then the Overseer began to speak in a more serious tone.
"I will tell of the things I have in mind at a later time," he said. "Let us now move on to more important matters. I have reviewed the reports of your activities during my absence. And, as it would seem, an Irregularity formed while I was away."
"...Yes," began January in a hesitant tone. "An Irregularity indeed occurred. It was a result of our lack of discipline..."
All eyes passed momentarily on March.
"...but we were able to correct it, and events are now on their proper course as per the Directive."
"I am not particularly pleased that you allowed our Proxy liaison in the Old World Society to die," reproached the Overseer with moderate annoyance. "It is a very difficult and lengthy process to have one of our Proxies successfully infiltrate and become integrated in an organization of interest, especially those at the heart of the Silent War. Now we will have to rely on external monitoring, and that is a far less thorough method of surveillance."
The Witnesses cast their eyes down as their leader bore his wrath upon them.
"However," continued Mercedony in a lighter tone, "even with this minor setback, I must say that I am impressed. You have managed to form a contingency plan and implement it without my guidance, correcting the Irregularity on all your own. I am proud of all of you, my Witnesses. And especially of you, March; though you may have been at fault, you were able to rectify your mistake and allow the course of things to resume the path mandated by the Directive. Well done."
Their spirits soared; to have the Overseer give them praise was the greatest privilege they could think of. March was the most content of them all, relieved that the Overseer had pardoned him; September was satisfied to hear this as well. However, the questions he had for his superior burned strongly within him. As the meeting went on, in which the Overseer relayed their schedule for the coming weeks, September grew increasingly restless, until he could say silent no longer.
"Mercedony," began September after a brief moment of silence on the Overseer's part.
"Yes, September?"
"I have some... questions I would like to ask you," the Witness said uneasily.
They all turned their attention to September, intrigued by their colleague's sudden query.
"I imagine you have already read in my report for the Beacon assignment, and by extension, my reports on the unidentified individual October and I encountered whose appearance and abilities are similar to our own. Do you know anything about this man or his whereabouts?"
October turned his head to September, then back to the module, also awaiting an answer. But no answer came; there was only silence.
"Surely, you must know something," said September, with a hint of exasperation in his tone.
An even longer silence passed before the Overseer spoke.
"...Yes," he began gravely. "I know who he is."
Their collective eyes flashed, and continued to be widened as the Overseer continued with great reluctance.
"The individual you saw at the Kings Cemetery...he is but one of many. Together... they comprise a group known as the Brotherhood of the Guardians."
The name caused an uneasy tension to fill both Council chambers.
"They are led by a powerful entity who calls himself the Caretaker," said the Overseer. "He is my equal in every way, and he has been my adversary for several thousand years, long before I created the League of the Witnesses."
The Witnesses could not believe their ears. There was someone as powerful as the Overseer in Existence? They could not fathom what this Caretaker was like.
"The Caretaker created the Guardians as a response to the Witnesses," continued the Overseer. "He tried to recreate the Witnesses by fashioning a copy of the Beacon – whose energy of which you were created – but he could not replicate it perfectly. So like you, the Guardians are only partially bound to the Equation. That is why you have been unable to sense their presence thus far, and likewise, they cannot detect us in their own perception. And as for the Caretaker, his impartiality to the Equation is quasi-total, much like myself."
September recalled how the man – the Guardian – at the cemetery was almost invisible to his temporal awareness. It was a most bizarre sensation, as only his fellow Witnesses had appeared in such a way to his eyes up to that point. Mercedony pursued his discourse.
"However, due to the imperfect nature of his device, the Guardians are not quite as impartial to the Equation as you are. So they cannot perform some of abilities you possess, such as your RLTB method of travel. But even so, they nonetheless pose a great threat."
"Why have they not shown themselves before?" asked October, who was the only one of the Witnesses who could manage to speak through their respective disbelief.
"The Guardians have always operated in the shadows," said the Overseer. "And, as far as I can tell, the Caretaker has forbidden his Guardians to interact with the Witnesses directly. Their goals are much different from our own. In fact, their agenda is in direct conflict with ours. For while we seek to prevent the Collision, the Brotherhood... seeks to accelerate it."
"What?" said December in a voice that was louder than he realized. "Why would they seek to do such a thing?"
"The Caretaker believes that what he is doing is for the benefit of both worlds. I have tried to dissuade him from pursuing these goals many times in the past, warning him that he could potentially destroy both worlds in the process, but the Caretaker is stubborn, and would not heed to my counsel. He and his Guardians have been undermining our efforts ever since, aiding in perpetuating the Silent War the humans are waging to accelerate the rate of the Veil's decay, the very thing we are trying to keep under our control and ultimately reverse."
The Overseer gradually destroyed their view of the world with every sentence. They were the League of the Witnesses, unopposed watchmen of realities for ages; yet all this time, a rival organization has been in direct conflict with them, causing them trouble they were not even aware of.
A moment of silence. The Overseer spoke anew, still hesitant.
"Just like you, they are able to observe and control the outcome of an Event, and have been doing so for as long as you have. I also suspect that they are responsible for most, if not all, of the Irregularities that have occurred thus far."
March was immediately enlightened. The force that conflicted with his observation, the dark shape he saw leaping from rooftop to rooftop in the Frankfurt skyline; a Guardian's own perception had interfered with his own and caused him to commit an Irregularity. And the others began to recall other Events they had observed, where an external pressure meddled with the courses of their respective Event, though none of them had lost control like March had. Not to mention the many instances where an insignificant moment spontaneously changed its outcome in nature without the influence of the Witnesses, which they were then forced to correct.
But whereas March was struggling to grasp the fact that the Irregularity was not entirely of his own fault, September's own hopes for retribution were shattered; for he could recall no such interference in the Irregularity he had caused on that night twenty-three years ago, and the realized that the sting of his mistake would remain forevermore.
The Witnesses remained unmoving, processing the great deal of information that had imparted onto them. After a time, September asked the question that occupied the minds of all the Overseer's agents.
The most important question of all.
"You knew all of this, yet you did not tell us," began the Crépuscule agent. "Why would you withhold such important information from us all this time?"
The others joined to September's initiative, voicing their own concerns in monotonous disharmony until the Overseer silenced them with his many voices.
"I had no choice! Your duties demand that you remain as objective and focused as possible so that the Directive may be carried out to its full extent. Now look at you, you are all upset. How are you supposed to perform your duties with such a great burden on your minds, distracting you, keeping you from making objective decisions and causing you to fail? I kept this from you so that we would have a fighting chance against the Caretaker and his Guardians."
Then the Overseer sighed heavily.
"But then again, I always knew that I would not always be able to keep you in the dark forever. Now that the Guardians have begun mobilizing after a period of relative inactivity, you were bound to find out anyway. It would appear that they are now actively attempting to capture the Beacon. September's sighting of a Guardian at the recent Beacon assignment has led me to suspect that the Guardians had hired the North Woods Group to capture the Beacon in the past two Beacon appearances. I do not yet know to what ends the Caretaker wishes to use the Beacon. But whatever his plans may be, the Guardians are now on the move, and they will undoubtedly begin to confront us head on. So prepare yourselves, my Witnesses; the fight for control over the fate of Existence has begun."
September's mind was numb with knowledge. So many answers were given, each spawning tenfold more questions. One of these questions he now asked.
"What of the man called Thomas Moroe?" he inquired.
"I have seen this man also," blurted August, which greatly surprised September. "On the subway train in the city of Philadelphia."
"As have I," said October. "I do not like this man much. He spoke to us about a pact that supposedly exists between us and his associates. He said the less we knew about it, the better things would be. Mercedony, do you know who this man is, or what this pact might be?"
"I know all about the Pact," said the Overseer with irritation in his many voices. "And while I don't know this Moroe, I am well acquainted with those he works with. But he was right when he said that it would be best not to concern yourselves with these matters."
"But Mercedony, we must know –"
"Enough, September," silenced the Overseer. "I already fear that I have said too much for your own goods. Besides, it is a very long story, and we are short on time. We need to concentrate our efforts on what is to come, because things are about to change, and not for the better. But I promise you all that one day, when all of this is over, I will tell you everything, starting from the beginning."
The Witnesses acquiesced, calming down at the prospect of future answers. September thought long on what the Overseer said, and realized that he was right; what the Guardians were planning perturbed him greatly, to the point where he wondered whether it would interfere with his capability to carry out the Directive, the Overseer's meticulously-crafted plan for the restoration of both Sectors. He thought perhaps that he would have been better off not knowing the truth after all. But it was too late; he had been given the answers he sought. The only thing he could do now was to assimilate all of the Overseer words and use that information to his advantage, slim though it may be.
"Fret not, agents," said the Overseer. "We will take things as they come, as we have always done. But they will come swift and hard, so I will need you to remain as steadfast as ever. Together, we will prevent the Collision and preserve both Sectors, and vanquish the Caretaker and his Brotherhood once and for all. For we are the League of the Witnesses, and we shall prevail. This Council meeting is now adjourned. Stay strong, my Witnesses."
The Eye of the Universe disappeared, collapsing into its black spherical projector. December then reached out and shut down the module, and the miniature Aube Division Witnesses seated around its base faded away. The Crépuscule Division then arose from their seats and left the Council Chamber. After November deactivated Taffy, they returned to the cellar, then to the surface, with December handing the key back to Horace on the way out from behind the counter.
"Hey, you guys look awfully grim," noted Horace as they exited behind the counter one by one. "Are you alright?"
But when they didn't answer, a pang of anxiety struck him. He watched them walk towards their black Bentleys before resuming his work. Wiping the last of the tables, he passed a glance out the window; it was snowing harder now, and the weather would probably become more severe over the next few hours. The Bentleys drove away from the lot, their black coats fading in the white haze.
"Oh, Mister Wright," muttered Horace, wiping the final table. "Things are about to get a whole lot worse, aren't they?