188. The Earth Must Bleed part 3

"..."

I woke up with a warm, sighing stir.

Fully clothed from the night before.

Under the covers of the hotel room bed.

I opened my black eyes, and winced ever so slightly from the stabbing brightness of sunlight settling against the walls.

I blinked...then sat up halfway. A stretch. A cracking of the neck...and I looked down.

Lying on the covers beside me was the harmonica. A queer bedmate if any, but I honestly didn't remember sleeping so soundly before in all my exhausting days of fighting bad guys in the Titans' City. The night before was like a lovely, liquid rock of slumber. And certainly it factored in that I had spent the previous five days running across country at superhuman speeds.

I exhaled, lay back down under the covers, and...cuddled the harmonica close to my center.

A drunken smile on my drowsy face.

Good morning, Ana...

"..."

I blinked.

I sniffed.

I made a face.

I smell like a dead pig.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

I stripped.

I removed my metal arm.

I limped into the hotel shower.

And...

Steam.

Hot water.

Trickling ambiance.

I leaned against the wall.

Sighing...sighing...sighing...

Shutting my black eyes.

Rivlets of liquid streaming down my scarred cheek and throat and matting my hair against the back of my neck.

I'm over a thousand miles from home…or what used to be 'home'.

I'm stuck in the middle of the desert.

In Las Vegas.

Little to no money.

Blessed with just a harmonica and a hotel room the Messenger donated to me.

I'm wet.

Naked.

And inside a Pyramid.

I took a deep breath.

The steam.

The mist.

The vapors.

I exhaled.

Where am I going with this, Ana?

My black eyes tried in vain to block out the brightness of the dimly-set lamp on the far side of the bathroom.

What kind of damage is being done to Terra's statue as I fumigate here like a prince?

I subconsciously ran a flesh hand down my left arm and cupped my palm over the metal disked stub.

My jaw clenched.

Pompeii……

Jacob Anderson……

A beat.

I shut the water off and breathed a cold breath.

I must go out.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

Dressed in a black jacket, shirt and slacks, I stepped out of the hotel room and onto the interior balcony of the Luxor Pyramid. I locked the door, swiveled around, and fingered both the keys and the harmonica in one hand.

"………."

I slipped them into a back pocket, feeling the press of Myrkblade into my back—concealed in its scabbard beneath my jacket. I stuck my bound, still-slick ponytail down the back of my jacket's neckhole and wandered briskly downstairs.

After stopping by the checkout counter, I drifted into a little gift shop with whatever spare change I had on me. I was blessed with some fruit and other little healthy welcome edibles via the Messenger's room, but I knew that in this land of deceitful heat, I would need to drink as much as possible. So I grabbed a bottle from a miniature freezer along with a granola bar or two and then headed towards the sales counter.

"You ready, sir?" a young lady pleasantly asked.

I nodded. But then I blinked. My shaded eyes scanned the various trinkets hanging along the exterior of the desk. Tiny memorabilia of Egyptian 'flare'. Anubis plushies and 'sand'-globes with little plastic pyramids inside. And then—in the center of it all—an ordinary deck of playing cards.

"……," I smirked.

I grabbed the packet it and tossed it onto the counter along with my other stuff.

The lady smiled and scanned the deck of cards in with everything else. "Good time to practice for the really big games. Huh?"

I nodded mutely and produced a few bills.

I'm here on the biggest gamble of my life yet.

Ding!

She finished the transaction, gave me my change, and handed me a small plastic bag of the stuff. But in doing so, she got a good view of my profile. And her eyes narrowed. A pursing of the lips, and she hummed: "You seem….familiar."

I instantly froze over. My insides turned to ice and I bit my lip.

Crud. I forgot. I'm……famous, arne't I?

"I can't quite put my finger on it….," she stroked a lock of hair back. Staring at my forehead. My scars. My black shades and silent posture. "OH! That's right!" she beamed. "Haven't I seen you at the Ladies Club down past where the Sands used to be?"

"……..," I blinked.

"Man….when me and the girls go out on Saturday night, I swear—you boys are all the rage."

"……," I smiled nervously.

She leaned back. "Er…..y-you don't work….at the Ladies Club….do you?"

I was silent.

She winced. "Uhm….m-my bad. I could have sworn that-h-h-have a good day, sir!" And she shrunk away with a crimson face somewhere to finish inventory.

I wrapped the handle of the plastic bag a few times around my wrist, took a deep breath, and walked out of the hotel with a helpless chuckle.

I'm almost old enough………I suppose.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

Outside.

On the Strip.

Full daylight.

I treaded.

Northward, I strolled along Las Vegas Boulevard starting at the Luxor.

After passing the clustered intersection at Reno Avenue, I strolled past Excalibur, the casino's multi-colored tiers rising in the daylight like some Disney castle reject. Fading images of magician caps and misguided faeries flittered across my mind's eye and I passed on.

I came to the infamous crossing of Las Vegas Boulevard and Tropicana Avenue. It was there that I once again graced upon the psuedo-city skyline of New York New York staring across the heavy lanes of traffic at the MGM Grand and its multi-tiered, glossy grandeur. A walkway stretched over towards the lush Tropicana resort which loomed in the distance.

I crossed the street so that I was on the Eastern Side of Las Vegas Boulevard. And from there….

Northward and northward.

I walked by the Monte Carlo, with a white façade that showed in more ivory than I thought a single City could get away with. It looked cleaner a hotel building than anything I had seen on the East Coast. And that scared me.

Aladdin came and went. A glorious stone mock-up extending outward from a synthetic oasis that mocked the Nevada desert.

I stumbled into Paris. A very pretty, yet altogether fake Paris. Complete with a beautifully fake Arc de Triomphe bordering an array of glittering fountains and pools.

Then came the whammies along the western side. The curved, architectural monstrosity that was the Bellagio, devouring an enormous man-made lake in its 'jaws. The immortal Caesar's Palace with its towering, towering white structures and boastful coliseum. The Mirage and it's fountaining, psuedo-volcano of immensity…followed shortly by the hilariously overdressed Treasure Island that made me feel like drowning just from looking at it.

I gladly looked right at an off-chance and bore witness to the Venetian. A towering leviathan of Italian design with multiple buildings hugging the structure's legs.

It was around the point where I passed the Fashion Show Mall that something ran out of me. I came to a stop on the sidewalk and simply….gazed. I wasn't dying. I still had plenty of water and granola bars left. Only….it suddenly seemed to me that all I was seeing were mere, ivory ghosts of glittering souls that only came out at night. There was so much about this City that was hiding under the glamour and the glitz and the gaiety. Manners of evil and depression under the dry bulbs that awaited the desert Sun to melt beyond the horizon.

I still couldn't find Pompeii. And even if I did—I imagined to myself—what would be the likelihood of my ever doing what I came here for?

This is Las Vegas.

Dagger—much less Triangular—as most likely had his fangs sunk into this city from its very own, dusty infancy.

While people are gambling or photographing their lives away in casinos, Dagger is underground. Slithering out of grasp like a slimy snake. And now Jacob Anderson and a bunch of homicidal low-lifes are grabbing onto the despot's tail and giggling along for the ride.

How can I even begin to rip the Sixth Titan free of the serpentine intestine if I can't even fine the reptile's trail in the dirt?

I hobbled on. Eyes glaring past Circus Circus. Staring up at the looming Stratosphere. Lethargically rounding about the Sahara Speedworld and limping southward in an about-face down past Wet 'N Wild and towards the Convention Center. I was somewhere near the newly-constructed monorail and Desert Inn Rd. when I smelled something. Like an infernal machine's best attempt at making a synthetic, crowd-pleasing mimic of sulfur.

I turned.

I looked.

And there it was.

Brand new. Sparkling. The newest bastard to the infantile landscape.

'The Pompeii Resort and Casino'.

The construction was an even more exotic one than any of the classic spots I'd seen before. The building was multiple stories. Fifteen floors to challenge the Bellagio and the Monte Carlo. There was an amber-gray quality to it all. Like Mediterranean stucco or something. Fake, of course. And the solid architecture of the building 'melted into' a lumpy half-mountain mound of supposed rock and cooled lava. Polyfoam obsidian. Surfaced just right to weather the heat and at the same time froth forth squirming lines of crimson light like hot molten earth bubbling under the surface. Roman architecture lined the front of the lobby, and off to the sides a scale replica of the Pompeii findings served as a three-block shopping center complete with every little franchise store known to post-modern man.

I took a deep breath. A slight chill…and my metal hand clenched.

"…….."

"First thing's first……"

"?" I turned at the voice.

I looked behind me.

There was nobody else on the sidewalk. At least….nobody else on the sidewalk close enough to have whispered in my ear.

But someone did whisper in my ear….

"…….," my black eyes narrowed.

"A hotel room's fine……"

I spun again. Looking around.

Nothing.

"……but we need a base. That is, you need a base."

I could have sworn I sensed something. Like a green wave of lighted tendrils in the corner of my black eyes. They danced off across the street and towards what looked like a grimier part of Town a few blocks away.

"After all, this is your mission. I'm nothing but a tourist to you……"

I briskly followed the fleeting voice. The dance of green. The spirit of silliness leading me down the blocks and into what looked like an abandoned construction site. Shadowed by forsaken steel skeletons stretching three stories up above urban oblivion. And then, there was a crack in fencing and dividers.

The voice hissed gently through it.

"Care to come into my trap?"

I raised a curious eyebrow. A beat. I glanced behind me. I made sure nobody was looking….and then I teleported through the crack and into the sectioned-off site beyond.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

It was a warehouse.

A storage facility.

Something that was not a run-down facsimile of what it most likely never was.

And then and there it looked to me to be a half-dilapidated enclosure with falling ceiling tile, glass frames, and other forms of dust-covered debris. Thin beams of light here and there from the desert sky managed to scatter themselves weakly down and kissing the dark interior. A rack of abandoned tools and workshop materials rested on the shadowed sides. And metals. Lots and lots of metals. Metal….things. Abandoned for some reason or another—I could not tell. Powerless are we to the whims of junk.

I stood in the center of this dark, steel-hidden sanctuary. Alone. Arms folded. Black eyes resting suspiciously beneath resting shades. I knew that this place was most likely condemned. I knew that I could be at risk of any sorts of things falling on my pathetic head at any second.

But when did that stop me?

I twirled around. Searching. Searching. Searching for the voice.

"A nice tourist trap this is, eh?" spoke the voice. No longer a ghostly thing surfing the air. There was a spectral flash of green light in my peripheral obsidian. I turned and saw whom I expected. The Messenger with his soft almond eyes and smiling at me from a dusty corner. "You ought to book a room for your stay here! Oh wait…my bad. You already have one."

"…….," I smirked at him.

"No need to thank me," he gestured while leaning against a tool table. Dust scattered and a thin beam of light filtered down to kiss the green highlights on his head. "Just believe me when I say…..I get somewhat of a generous allowance in the dimension I'm from. A hotel room is nothing." He pointed. "Just don't ask me to buy you any gambling chips."

I blinked.

I wasn't going to ask you to buy me any-

"Birthday party's over," He said. "Now is time to get to work. But…you're way ahead of me on that, aren't you?"

I gave him a sarcastic look.

"You sure as heck aren't walking around to take the fat off those nonexistent thighs of yours, huh?" he paced around, his hands behind his petite back. "If you're looking for someone named Vesuvius, I'm afraid she's not here right now. Want me to leave a message?"

I rolled my black eyes.

"What I'm trying to say, compadre…," he smirked, "…is that as much as every Tom, Dick, and Harry is waiting for you to head on in there and do your stuff…..you've got to take it one step at a time. You need a little reconnaissance. Otherwise, how else are you going to know where the heads are to smash in?"

I nodded numbly. I stared off into the shadows of the shattered warehouse.

Somewhere in that casino……

Is the Herculean Vault.

And Jacob Anderson.

And some sort of……'fighting' arena.

And……

I bit my lip.

More of those………dungeons…most likely.

"It's a good thing I did some of the work for you," the Messenger smiled with a wink. "I'm such a damn nice guy, aren't I?"

I gave him a shocked look. Lips parting…

He stretched out his arm and pointed at his watch. And to my black eyes, it actually looked twice as bulky than ever the mysterious monstrosity was before.

"Extra special….," he slurred. "Extra juice." A smile across his teenage, Asian face. "Extra goodness."

"…….," I nodded.

Uh……okay. Whatever that means.

"It means I managed to have a good, invisible romp through Pompeii-land before the normal restriction of two hours and still get to talk to you."

I blinked.

Oh……

"And I might just want to warn you, Noir….," he strolled towards me. A serious shade fell over his eyes as he nodded his head and uttered: "You aren't the only one."

I raised an eyebrow.

"You're not the only one….trying to get into the Vault…."

I swallowed.

Figures……

Maybe that's what this 'fight' thing is all about.

That homicidal stranger at the Shepherd Plain ranch.

The one with the powers……

What did he want with the vault?

Was he also……after the key? After Terra?

I looked at the Messenger sideways.

There seemed to be a hollowness to his eyes. As if he hadn't told me anything.

And I wondered…..

Are there even MORE people after Terra's statue than I could ever have imagined?

"Pompeii is not a small walk in the park," the Asian teen gestured. "It has multiple tiers going both above…and BELOW ground. It's the Hell moreso than the heaven that you should be concerned with, Noir. I ventured down there as invisibly as I could, and I must say….that's where you must go. No, the Vault isn't down there. The Vault is high up. Near the top of the building. But it's useless to try and get inside. Even for someone as elusive as me. The technology built is especially programmed to fry whatever or whoever solidifies inside the treasure trove of Triangular. To get to the Vault…you must somehow appease Jacob Anderson. And right now, our bastard of a gopher is hiding just where he loves to be. He has a motherload of security though, so it'll take quite a bit of stealthy finangling on your part—as it did for me—to get anywhere near the bottom tiers of the complex. Especially considering that—for all legal intents and purposes—those concealed spots of the Pompeii resort shouldn't exist."

I took a deep breath.

"Do you think you're up for the challenge, Mr. Badass?" he smirked.

I nodded.

He had a solemn face. "Then take it slow and steady. There are many eyes watching. Many more eyes than we can guess. I fear—even—the gaze of Red Aviary himself."

I took a deep breath, weathering the chill. Nodding my head.

He seemed to be lingering on something. A shifty shuffle of his feet.

I leaned my head to the side and half-walked towards him with an inquisitive breath.

"Nothing, Noir….I'm just thinking…..," he began. But didn't finish. He looked suddenly very small and very pensive. And I again was bearing witness to the faltering humanoid who supposedly led the Titans and Commissioner Decker astray on the eve of the disaster he tried all of his best talents to prevent. And it hurt—in a subtly sweet way—to think that the young man who had no doubt was suddenly a shell of what he once believed himself to be…as if he had never believed himself to be anything beforehand. And I wished with all of my powers to right that wrong in his cerebral cortex. Robin had died…and I didn't want the Messenger dying on me too. And already his spirit seemed slipping off the edge of his own shame. When there was nothing to be ashamed of.

I smiled gently and considered touching his shoulder with the only 'voice' I could muster.

But he snapped out of it, put on a realistic-yet-fake smile and said: "Hop to, chop chop, Noir! I'll meet you back here in this very spot sooner than naught." He winked. "Consider it….the 'Boy Cave'."

I blinked.

There was a girl at a gift shop earlier who must be weekly going with her friends to a place called that-

A flash of green light.

The Messenger was gone.

"……."

I took a deep breath. I trailed my black eyes on the metal bric-a-brac around me before swiveling around, shaking the ghosts off, and teleporting once again back into the light.

As I walked to Pompeii…I wondered…

What's it like for a Messenger to not get the message?

I was never……ever mad at him.

Just…from time to time…I might happen to get defeated.

We all do.

But in the end……

I marched towards the gates of the casino.

I clenched my fists.

In the end, there are frozen girls to save.

I momentarily sensed the weight in the harmonica within my back pocket. I mentally reminded myself to thank the Messenger for that later too. And then I strolled into no-angel's-land.