April 1st, 2019 - 08h56 pm
"And of course, it didn't work".
With a wave of his hand, Klaus mimics the trajectory of the bowling ball thrown earlier at Ben, having missed colliding with Five's neatly combed head. To the sound of a strike at young Kenny's birthday party, I lean my elbow on the bar at Super Star Lanes Bowling and let my chin rest on my palm. I've obviously missed a great moment, both comical and regrettable for Klaus.
"Did you succeed in... at home?"
It really saddens me to phrase the question this way, and Klaus shakes his head as Ben nods.
"Once... when Ben saved Diego's ass."
He looks disappointed because he feels he didn't do it consciously, but actually he should just feel the opposite. And I can see that Ben, standing close by, agrees with me, even if I can't hear him. I was at work this afternoon: this time, it's impossible to attribute this achievement to any contribution of mine.
"Klaus, that's great," I say, but he shrugs in frustration.
" I needed it to work tonight... for the others to believe me. Well, a second time, otherwise Diego would now be as flat as a pancake."
He's understandably feeling down tonight. And I'm pleasantly surprised to see that he doesn't even consider drinking a drop from the bottles of alcohol stacked beyond the counter. However, he still clearly struggles to admit his own breakthroughs. He slumps a little in his bar chair while Allison plays her turn at 'our' lane.
"There I go again, looking like a lame duck in need of recognition, desperate to justify my existence".
Ben says something to him that I can't hear without materializing him, but from the look on Klaus's face, I understand that he's just hinted that - as a matter of fact - that's just what he is.
"I'm really hungry," he sighs, as if that were the root of the problem. " I've also got the change from this morning's waffles, but nothing is good here, even the popcorn tastes like old styrofoam".
What's disturbing is that he knows what old styrofoam tastes like. I look at him, then at Ben, wondering if it would be appropriate to take up the demonstration where it failed, and for me to step in and help materialize him. No. Deep down, I don't think we should do that: what Klaus needs is to achieve this on his own, and certainly not yet another feeling of imposture. And anyway, Luther is off to call the Icarus Theatre, to find out whether Viktor's concert is still on.
"Your turn, Klaus", Diego calls, and mechanically, just because it's still our sesame to be able to stay, Klaus leaves us to go and grab his favorite pink ball.
We both watch him walk away towards the lane, and as he once again aims directly into the gutter, I say to Ben as if I too were talking to myself:
"At the moment, he can only do it when the adrenaline's pumping, can't he?"
Ben nods silently. It's always under the influence of one or another emotion that our powers grow, and Klaus's subconscious seems particularly sensitive to situations of emergency and danger. I wonder if his Vietnam experience has anything to do with it. But as Luther strides back towards the group, we turn around, both waiting to see what will be decided. It looks like the concert is still happening, and if so, we'll probably have to tune our violins pretty quickly, no pun intended.
My thoughts? Diego is right when he says "going to the Icarus Theatre is a location, not a plan". But even if Luther doesn't objectively have anything smart to deliver yet, Diego is playing dirty and has absolutely no intention of helping him find a relevant way to operate. He just intends to let Luther flounder and fail, which strikes me as particularly unproductive and dangerous in the present situation. I'm getting tired of this Number One and Number Two bickering, and to tell you the truth, I...
It's a primal reflex, to jolt when you hear the first detonation of a hail of gunshots. What's less elementary is the reaction that follows: whether or not to duck and hide, the response that shows if you've ever had to deal with such situations. It takes less than a second for all the Hargreeves to duck down the high table at the front of our lane and even less for Ben to vanish where he's able to. All around, Kenny's family, the Super Star Lanes employees, the panic-stricken bowlers, all are running in every direction, without really knowing where to go.
My own blood runs cold - at the bar I'm particularly exposed - and I go for the most effective option in my case. Intangible, invisible. And he bullets are so fast that I don't even have the atavistic movement to protect myself. No doubt more than half a dozen would have passed through me by now. Only then do I turn my eyes towards the moving shapes entering with supple, carefully muffled footsteps. Silent as cats, precise as lasers: gunmen in gas masks, assassins, their red eyes glowing with a surreal aura in this dingy old bowling alley.
Why here? Why now? No doubt about it. It's an overblown strike force, designed to stop a handful of honest people from going to Viktor Hargreeves' 'concert'. Stepping back, I hear Klaus joking that they've come to entertain at Kenny's birthday party. I'd almost smile, if Luther hadn't just corrected him, without realizing for a moment that he was joking. But already, Diego throws one of his knives at one of the assailants, who collapses on the bowling alley's soundsystem turntables. Black lights replace the pale neon in an instant, while the first displaced notes of Bay City Rollers' "Saturday Night" blare out. And the rest... is chaos, to the rhythm of the top of 1973's charts.
'S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night!'
Another knife goes flying. And as silly as it might be, I wonder how Diego's going to get his weapons back.
'S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night!'
Machine-gun fire riddles the entire room, amid explosions of popcorn packages and gumball machines. How many of these guys are there? I keep seeing more and more coming.
'S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night!'
Luther fights by swinging bowling balls at the shooters, one after the other. I see more balls fly by, another knife, and an entire birthday cake.
'S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night!'
I climb up on the bar table. After all, I have nothing to fear: they don't even see me and their bullets simply pass right through me.
'Gonna keep on dancing to the rock and roll, on Saturday night, Saturday night.'
The energy expended by the propulsion of their bullets at the barrels of their machine guns is so strong that it takes almost nothing for me to deviate them from their trajectories. Only one at a time. But doing so, I discover that Diego is doing exactly the same at the same time as he's throwing his knives. I realize this at our expense, the moment we're after the same shooter: our two actions contradict each other, and the ball narrowly misses Allison.
'Dancin' to the rhythm, in our heart and soul, on Saturday night, Saturday night.'
By acting on the energy inside its mechanism, I manage to jam the machine gun of another of these absurd pro-apocalypsis human ants. I'm about to do the same to the weapon of a yet another, but I see one of his colleagues, approaching with - in his sights - the side of the table where Klaus and Allison have barricaded themselves.
'I-I-I-I just can't wait, I-I-I-I gotta date'.
*Crack!* In the blink of an eye, I'm behind him, my brain scrolling through my options at lightning speed. I realize that, immaterial as I am, I could easily plunge my fist into his chest and squeeze his damn heart to the point of infarction. That maybe I could block the energy flow of electrical impulse in his brain, and make him collapse right there. My chest tightens at the thought, and I'm afraid of myself. But I don't have time to dither about what a monster I might be. No time at all. He moves forward. Forward, aiming, and even if I were to jam his gun now, he's within punching distance of them.
'At the good ol' rock and roll folk show, I've gotta go, saturday night, saturday night!'
*Poc!* with a dull thud, I've just made my elbow tangible again and - with one blow to the back of his useless gas mask - sent him snoozing for a moment against the high stool. He didn't even see it coming. And no doubt neither he nor his little buddies will ever understand why. I duck down, at the adjacent corner of the table where Klaus is hidden, returning to visibility for a moment to let him know that I'm all right.
'Gonna rock it up, roll it up, do it all, have a ball, saturday night, saturday night!'
Another of Luther's bowling balls flies overhead, while Klaus spells out the implacable strategic constraint that will prevent any attempt to get out of here by the front doors: the gunmen have carefully squared off all access to the exit. And once again, Diego challenges Luther, who seems to know nothing but how to throw cannonballs.
'S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night!'
Allison points down the lanes to the pit deck beyond the pins. Where the automated pinsetter system and access to the technical hallway are nestled. She had - objectively - not yet been of much help. But without even being able to speak, she has just been a greater force of proposition than Luther, who nevertheless voices the idea aloud.
"The lanes!", Luther shouts. "Let's go!"
I think the fog machine has just been activated. Without missing a beat, everyone springs to their feet in the black lights where the colored reflections of the disco ball sparkle. Dashing along the slippery lanes, between the gutters cursed by Klaus, amid the bullets rattling like a metallic hailstorm.
'S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night!'
And we run, we run, Luther in the lead, quickly caught up by Diego. Allison, giving everything she's got despite the exhaustion left over from her recent operation. And Klaus, recklessly looking back to see if I'm visible in his wake.
"Move forward, dumbass!", I shout at him through the music, taking the risk of making my upper half tangible again.
'S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night!'
And he dives, without any apprehension about hurting himself, right into the pins at the end of the lane, scoring the only strike he'll probably ever bowl. At the pit deck, I slide in after him, my ridiculous bowling shoes first, straight into the narrow space leading to the technical hallway. I wonder how Luther got through. And suddenly, the sound of the bullets is somewhat muffled.
'S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night!'
Ben is there, amidst the cables and plumbing of the decaying Super Star Lanes backstage, watching us as if he's been waiting eagerly for us to make our way out. He's spotted the door to the emergency access corridor, through which we're exfiltrating. The music fades into the distance, as the corridor unrolls, until we reach the safety exit leading out of the building, amid the clatter of our footsteps.
'S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night!'
And the evening air bites us, under the high, full moon, as we run, run in our best bowling attire, leaving our own shoes behind, except for Diego.
Notes :
It is indeed in adversity that the powers of this fine (or pathetic?) team emerge and grow, and Rin has just experienced this again, realizing - her back to the wall - what she would be capable of. And I think she's realizing that she's not all that helpless in "combat".
I enjoyed putting this chapter to music, as much as the scene is in the series. I suggest you read this part with the track on your favorite player... This time, I didn't struggle to write an action scene, and I think the soundtrack really helped!
We're now on our way to the Icarus Theatre, where the action will come to a conclusion for this season... With a twinge of sadness at the thought, but also great joy!
Any comment will make my day!