#Not even the time line police would be able to contain that mustache

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Hi I am curious if you could write your own what if story for moon knight show or comics....what would you write?

I do enjoy a good What If in the comics. (Some of my favorite comics are a nice What If line for Batman and Superman comics).

For Moon Knight? I mean there are so many options.

What if Marc never stopped being a Mercenary? How would that affect Jake and Steven's outlook on the life?

I feel like there are always explorations on What if Marc didn't do things and What if Marc did things and Moon Knight did things, but they never remember to include Jake and Steven in the equation, which is actually very important.

There was a one shot annual I think a year or so back? It had What if Marlene had become Moon Knight, and that was interesting.

A darker take is what if Moon Knight was a bad guy? And i'm not talking about one of those "Moon Knight kills the Marvel Universe" comics, though, sometimes those are fascinating if not a bit over the top. I'm more leaning towards what if he had not saved Marlene from Bushman? What if he turned into a vicious villain? I could easily see him going toe to toe with Captain America.

People over look the fact that Marc knows how to FIGHT and he's actually very smart when it comes to combat tactics and planning things out.

Or, what if Marc had not been the front leading alter? What if Steven had run the life from childhood? Or even Jake?

What if they didn't know or accept that they had DID and never came together as a system? What if they fought one another constantly because they never learned how to handle their trauma?

Going back to OG Moenich comics, what if they had not resolved themselves after Marc's mental breakdown?

We'd be looking at a very different Moon Knight.

What if Moon Knight had gone the way of Frank Castle? They've had this discussion many times in the comics. Frank and Marc are friends, but they often get into arguments about how one goes too far and the other not far enough. So what if Moon Knight had never gotten over his overly violent impulses and service of Khonshu? What if he became an extreme vigilante like the Punisher? What if he served Khonshu to the point of fanaticalism on a level that perhaps even Badr could accept?

The possibilities are endless.

I'd even go to a possibility that I think the comics are keen to avoid. What if his daughter became the next Moon Knight? We know the title Moon Knight continues into the future thanks to Spiderman 2099. And sure, it could be random, but what if there are the Khonshu Moon Knight followers and what if there are the bloodlines of Marc? (I have a lot of thoughts and feelings on the state of how they handled him having a kid with Marlene.)

That's all comics. What about MCU?

What if Jake had met Steven first? What if Marc knew about Jake? What if Layla had said yes to Khonshu? What if Jake met Layla and she knew about him but couldn't tell Marc and Steven?

And the biggest what if across the comics and MCU:

WHAT IF THEY LET JAKE GROW HIS MUSTACHE?!

[winter-soldier-vibes]

May I request a stucky x reader one, please? I had this funny idea of Bucky and Steve (and maybe platonic Sam) getting in trouble and being arrested. They're allowed one phone call but they're to scared to call the reader to bail them out

LOVE THIS IDEA!!! I wasn’t sure what to make them do to get arrested because they’re so by the book, but I found a funny way. Hope you like it!!!

What do you meme?

Stucky (romantic) x reader x sam (platonic)

Word count: 1576

Warnings: getting pulled over/arrested, angst (ish), quickly resolved

-------------------------

“How the hell did this even happen?” Steve asked his partner Bucky and his friend Sam. The three of them sat in a holding tank at the New York Police department in Redhouse New York. the smallest town in New York. They had been passing through on their way back to the Tower, but they had gotten pulled over and arrested. 

“It was Sam’s idea,” Bucky groaned.

“Well you guys didn’t have to go along with it!” Sam claimed.

1 hour earlier

The three of them had been laughing on their way home from a guys night out. You, being Steve and Bucky’s girlfriend, always let them do their thing with Sam every once in a while.  Sam was driving, sitting next to Bucky and Steve was in the back.

“What did you say it was called again?” Bucky asked Sam, 

“I don’t know, it’s this new thing apparently that all the kids are into. I think they said it was called a meme or something.”

Bucky laughed. “What the hell is that even supposed to mean?”

Sam said “Dude, I have no idea. Like I said, younger people are obsessed with it. Now I know what you guys felt like to wake up in this world.”

Steve, from the back, said “Are you calling us old?”

“Maybe. You are from like 1940, don’t shoot the messenger.” he laughed and glanced over at Bucky. “Dude, look it up if you’re so interested.”

Bucky, pulling out his phone, searched it on google, and started chuckling. Steve, now interested, said “Let me see.”

10 memes and many laughs later, Sam said “I wonder if any were made about us.”

“Oh God…” Steve said. Bucky searched it, and was instantly roaring with laughter. 

Both of the guys wanting to see what was so funny, were fighting over who got to see next. They didn’t realize, but the car had started to swerve a little. Nothing crazy, but enough for an observing cop to pull out and put on his lights.

Sam’s eyes snapped up to the rearview mirror. “Shit,” he said, pulling over.

Bucky put his phone away and looked straight ahead, hiding his metal arm as best as he could. If that wasn’t a warning sign to the cop then nothing would be. Sam rolled down the window to see a cop approaching. He was an older officer, and had a white mustache. (Yes this is supposed to mimic a Stan Lee cameo)

“What are you guys thinking, driving so recklessly at this time of night? Where are you even going this late?” the officer asked.

The 3 guys looked around at each other nervously. How do you tell a police officer that you were a group of guys in their 30’s (or looked to be in their 30’s) that you were laughing at memes? He probably didn’t know what they were either. 

Not coming up with an answer, the officer said. “Step out of the car. All of you.”

The three of them obliged, not really having much of a choice. Luckily for Bucky, he had been wearing a jacket and pulled on a pair of gloves to hide his hand before the officer could see it. The officer stood, looking at them all standing sheepishly. He grunted and decided, “Come on, you’re coming with me.”

The three of them widened eyes, looking at each other, panicking. Steve spoke up, “No disrespect sir, but do you know who we are?” he tried.

“Does it look like I give a damn about who you are? Plus if I did know, that’s probably not a good sign. Turn around.” He then proceeded to put handcuffs on all of them, and brought them back to the station.

-

“What are we supposed to do now? y/n is going to be worried sick!” Steve said. Almost immediately he and Bucky’s eyes widened. “Y/n…”

The three of you had been together for a few months now. The three of you loved each other very much, and had the best relationship. But you would kill the super soldiers if you found out about this whole ordeal.

Sam raised his eyebrows at the two of them. “You do realize one of us is going to have to call her, right?” Sam was good friends with you too, and was embarrassed by the whole situation. Again, how do you tell someone that you got pulled over for looking at memes of yourself?

The three of them looked back and forth at each other. No one wanted to make the call. “Alright,” Steve said, holding out his hands. “Look, we all get one phone call, and one of us has to call Y/n. Who’s it going to be?”

Silence ensued for the next few moments. You could hear a pin drop.

Steve let out a sigh and rubbed his face, annoyed at the whole situation. Why did he even agree to it in the first place? “Fine, I’ll call her,” he said.

Meanwhile, you were back at the tower, worried as to where the guys were. It was nearing 2 am, and they had never been out past midnight before. You were worried sick, what if something happened to them? What if they were ambushed? What if HYDRA -

Suddenly your phone rang. It was an unknown number. Hesitating, you answered it. “Who is this?”

“Y/n? It’s me, Steve,” he said on the other line. You let out a breath of relief. “Where the hell are you guys? It’s like, 2 am! Why are you calling me from this number? What happened?”

Steve sighed on the other side of the line, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s a long story sweetheart. Everyone’s fine, we just got pulled over -”

“PULLED OVER? Why?!” you practically yelled, any sleepiness instantly gone from your body.

“Sam was driving and we were swerving because we got distracted. The one police officer in this town pulled us over and arrested us -”

“You got ARRESTED?” you exclaimed. “What the hell got you so distracted that you were arrested?” You asked.

You heard him sigh again. “We were looking at something on Bucky’s phone. I think Sam said it was a meme or something.” he said, tail between his legs

“You guys? Looking at memes?” you asked incredulously. You were feeling two things right now: on the one hand, you were livid for them being so reckless. On the other, you were never going to let them live this down.

You decided to show the first one. “What were you guys thinking?”

“Look, I know you’re upset right now, and you can be as angry as you want with us when we get back, but right now, please, can you come bail us out? I know it’s super late, I’m  so sorry.”

You rubbed a tired hand over your face. “Yeah, sure. Where are you guys?”

He gave you the address. “We owe you big, sweetheart.”

You replied coldly. “Yeah, I know.”

-

You bailed them out and were in the driver’s seat, not trusting any of the others. It was now just after 3 in the morning, and everyone in the car was silent. You were trying to keep your cool since you were driving, and the guys were all embarrassed by the whole thing and didn’t want to tip you off. 

“How could you guys be so reckless?” you asked. There was no response. “You know you could have gotten yourselves killed? Can’t bail you out of that now can I?”

Bucky shifted in his seat next to you. “Doll, we’re sorry -”

“Sorry doesn’t mean anything if you’re dead!” you snapped back at him. After a few minutes more of silence, you took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry guys. It’s just - I was worried sick. I didn’t know what to think. I even thought you guys got ambushed by HYDRA or something” You laughed to yourself. “Meanwhile you guys were looking at memes?”

You heard nervous laughter around you. Softening up a bit, you asked “We’re they at least any good?”

The three of them exchanged eye contact, surprised at your question and that you were actually moving on from being angry so quickly. Sam spoke up. “Uh - yeah, yeah they were,” he said with a laugh. Bucky laughed too and said, “You know, there was this one about Stark -”

You interrupted him “I want to know, I swear I do, but not until we get home, okay? I want to be able to laugh properly.”

The three of them laughed around you and you smiled in the rearview at Steve and sideways at Bucky. “I love you guys.”

“We love you too doll,” Bucky said, putting his hand on your thigh.

Sam cleared his throat behind you. “You know I’m still here too y/n.”

You looked at him. “Oh yeah. Love you too Sam!” You glanced at Bucky and Steve and winked. “As a friend of course.” 

Sam laughed at the three of you. “Okay, save it for your room back at the tower. Try to contain yourselves for the next 10 minutes.” That got a laugh out of all of you. 

“Yes sir, Falcon.” you responded, glancing back at him. And you knew in that moment that everything would work itself out.

[gotham-ruaidh]

Truth to Triumph

Previously…

Chapter 19: Intermission

October 15, 1904

“A Madcap Princess” ran on Broadway to rave reviews in the summer and autumn of 1904.

Fully electric hansom cabs such as these debuted on New York City streets in the late 1800s.

--

“I’m sure you’re sick of hearing this, Jamie – but my God! What an impact you’ve made.”

 Jamie blushed as Aidan McCallum, third-in-command in the New York City Police Department, pumped his arm in a strong handshake.

 “It’s the least I could do, Chief – you know how greatly those victims suffered. How much they’re still suffering.”

 Chief McCallum sniffed, his thick, walrus-like mustache shifting amid the deep-set lines of his face. “Oh, I know about that all to well. My wife, Amy – she’s volunteered for almost every charity initiative to support the orphans.”

 A soft touch on his shoulder – Jamie turned to smile at Claire, who had returned from the bar with two glasses of Champagne.

 “Chief McCallum – may I introduce my fiancée, Dr. Claire Beauchamp?”

 The chief bowed, resplendent in his navy blue dress uniform.

 “A pleasure. May I assume you’re the Dr. Claire my wife keeps hearing about, from her work with the Slocum victims?”

 “The pleasure is all mine, Chief. And you may. I’m fortunate to have treated a fair number of them – I work at the quarantine hospital on North Brother Island.”

 “Where the ship wrecked. My God,” the chief gasped. “That must have been a sight to see.”

 “Nothing short of hell on Earth, to be honest.” Jamie carefully sipped his Champagne, watching his fellow theatergoers mill around the lobby.

 The chief shook his head. “Anyway – those articles you’ve been publishing in the World? Those bastards at the Knickerbocker Steamship Company have blood on their hands. You’ve single-handedly proven that.”

 Jamie shrugged. “I’ve had help. But I’m grateful I’ve been given the platform. Mr. Pulitzer says that he got a call from President Roosevelt himself this morning. He’s eager to get the Department of Justice involved.”

 “One of the more meteoric political rises in recent years,” Claire remarked, as Jamie’s arm tightened around her waist and settled on her hip. “New York City Police Commissioner for not quite two years. Then Assistant Secretary of the Navy for just over one year. Then Vice President for just six months, until poor President McKinley was assassinated – and now, he’s President of the United States!”

 “You missed his two-year stint as Governor of this great state,” Chief McCallum interjected. “But you’re right, Dr. Beauchamp – Teddy has certainly gone places, these past few years. But he’s never forgotten his roots, here in New York. I hear at the Department that he’s been regularly checking in with my boss. Wants to make sure we keep an extra eye out in the neighborhoods where the Slocum victims now live.” He sighed. “It’s my job to keep people safe – and I can’t understand the thought process of those criminals at that company. Playing with people’s lives.”

 Four notes in a quiet chime. The group looked up to see a young woman strolling through the lobby, hitting the xylophone – clearly the intermission was over.

 Claire smiled at the Chief. “We better be getting back to our seats, Chief. So lovely to meet you – I’d love to meet Amy someday.”

 The Chief touched the brim of his cap. “I’m sure she’d love to meet you too, Doc. And Jamie – well done. My department backs you up, one hundred percent.”

 Jamie nodded his thanks, and Claire steered him back towards their seats.

 “That’s the fourth man who’s buttonholed you tonight,” she remarked as they approached their row.

 “All positive, thank God. Their praise is worth every ounce of effort we put into it.”

 They sat back down, watching the heavy curtain draped across the stage.

 “Do you like the show, Claire? I know we got the tickets at fire sale prices, since it’s closing in less than a week – ”

 Gently she settled her free hand on his knee. “I love it. I love how ridiculous it is – it’s so nice to spend an entire evening laughing. Don’t you agree?”

 He did. So much that during the entire second act of A Madcap Princess – a hilarious mélange of screwball comedy and musical theater, set at King Henry VIII’s court – he watched her smiling face, rather than the farce unfolding on stage, and knew he was the happiest man on earth.

 --

 “I know you told me earlier, but – what happens now?”

 Jamie slung his arm through Claire’s as they exited the theater at Broadway and West Thirty-Eighth Street. “It’s all up to the lawyers now. Railroad Randall’s lawyers, and Silas Hawkins’ lawyers, and Mr. Jerome, the District Attorney.”

 “He’s made a name for himself as an anti-corruption crusader, from what I recall.”

 “Yes, he has. He knows this is the case of a lifetime. Mr. Pulitzer says the criminal charges – criminal negligence – are certain, with the documentation Mary provided.” He stopped on the corner and raised his hand for a cab.

 “I’m so glad Joe was able to help her out. Some time with his sister in Bergen County will do a world of good.”

 An electric hansom pulled up – and Jamie and Claire eased into the open cab, Claire pulling her shawl around her shoulders against the October evening chill.

 “Third and Twenty-Second, please.”

 “All right, pal. You and your lady just hold on tight – this goes faster than the horses!”

 Claire had just enough time to grip the side of the cab before they sped off, wind whipping her face, clutching Jamie’s hand tight.

 They didn’t speak during the journey back – they didn’t need to.

 Jamie knew his work with the Slocum was nearly done – all that remained was to cover the charges that would be filed, and then the trial, should Randall and Hawkins be foolish enough to not broker a plea.

 As for Claire – she still treated Slocum victims as patients, and she still diligently made house calls both in what little remained of Kleindeutschland as well as uptown in Yorkville. That would always continue – but already there were new patients. New lives to heal; new stories to tell.

 Somehow they both knew that this very strange chapter in their lives was ending.

 And yet, another chapter was beginning. For five days hence, on her birthday, they would be married – not by a justice of the peace in the brownstone’s parlor, as she had originally planned, but in a small private ceremony at the Church of the Epiphany, just one avenue over from the Beauchamp family home. She had grown up attending Mass at the church, and Father Kenneth had been so kind and understanding when he had baptized Henry in a closed-door ceremony just days after his birth – no questions asked.

 So Father Kenneth would marry them; her parents, and Henry, and Joe and Gail Abernathy, and Mrs. Crook and Lizzie, and Nanny Fitz would all be in attendance. Mr. Pulitzer had declined the invitation, saying that he’d be busy on a Thursday afternoon, and had sent the happy couple a check for one thousand dollars and a voucher for three nights at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, all expenses paid.

 They would remain at the brownstone at least until the springtime. Settle in to their new lives together. Above all, make sure Henry became acclimated to the new arrangement.

 Though truth be told, Henry had been the most excited when the three of them had visited Jamie’s dusty rooms on Stanton Street, the day before. For Henry took the lead in helping Jamie pack his boxes and move his furniture downstairs and into the apartment of his very grateful Irish neighbors. He had played with the five children until Claire announced it was time to go, sadly saying goodbye but happy to carry a small bag containing Jamie’s books.

 Henry deserved a sibling. Jamie, thankfully, shared her enthusiasm in this regard.

 New beginnings all around. It was all Claire could think of as the hansom driver careened down Broadway, dodging horse-drawn carts and weaving between tram lines and steering clear of the handful of other automobiles on the road. The wind blowing in her face reminded her of the summer she and her parents had spent on the beach when she was a girl, and she had insisted on riding the Whip and Steeplechase over and over again.

 She and Jamie had to take Henry there, come springtime. Perhaps there would be another child on the way by then…

 “Ah! Great work.”

 Jamie jumped out of the cab and onto the pavement in front of the Beauchamp family brownstone. He helped Claire up, and together they fished for cash and coins to pay the three dollar fare.

 “Thanks ever so much!” Claire waved as the driver doffed his cap and silently whizzed down East Twenty-Second Street, toward Second Avenue.

 “That was fun!”

 Jamie gathered Claire close, and kissed her smile.

 “Come on. Let’s kiss our son goodnight.”

[ganymedesclock]

What does Eggman /WANT/, exactly? Like, in general? He definitely seems egotistical, since everything has to be "Egg[something]", and he's often building armies of robots. But what's his endgame? World domination (like in a Lawful Evil or Neutral Evil sense)? How come so many of his plans involve awakening planet-shattering forces of darkness? I've seen him help defeat the very creatures /he/ summoned, so he seems to have a conscience. What are your thoughts, Clockie?

So a big fat disclaimer here that Sonic’s worldbuilding is like... a terrifying kudzu of largely self-contained branches that don’t add up so this and any exercise in Sonic worldbuilding involves taking a pastiche of what you like, and nowhere is this more obvious than with Eggman.

The chronologically oldest concept of Eggman basically set up the conflict of the series as nature vs. technology, with Eggman representing the latter extreme. You can see this in a lot of early continuities, especially Sonic SatAM, which depicted “Robotnik” as cybernetic himself and someone who consistently hated all animal life, and thus wanted to capture it all and force it, at gunpoint if need be, into his “Roboticizer” to turn it into mindless mechanical slaves.

Suffice to say, though, the Roboticizer’s never been gameverse canon, and my personal favorite version of Eggman is rooted in his backstory as mentioned in Sonic Adventure 2.

In Adventure 2, we discover that Eggman is merely the presumably latest scion of a long line of geniuses, and was personally deeply inspired by his grandfather, Gerald Robotnik. Professor Gerald was hailed as possibly the greatest mind of an age, and considering the similarity in his and Eggman’s signature mustaches, it’s entirely possible even as an adult Eggman styled himself in his grandfather’s image.

Gerald was the lead researcher on the ARK, and the mastermind behind Project Shadow. He was searching for a cure for his granddaughter, Maria’s, illness, but largely optimistic about the way that his research would benefit everyone living on Earth. (It is never made clear Eggman’s relationship to Maria, if they were cousins or siblings, but considering Maria lived with Gerald on the ARK, and Eggman implies he admired Gerald from afar, whatever their relation, they were likely not very close, especially as Maria was personally close to Shadow and Eggman didn’t recognize him by name or looks.)

However, ARK was shut down due to suspicion regarding the project and Gerald’s covert dealings with the tyrannical, conquering alien Black Doom. As a result, there was a raid made on the ARK to seize the results of Project Shadow and take Gerald prisoner. This raid was horrifically botched and turned into a massacre, during which Maria and Shadow fled, trying to get to an escape pod, but Maria chose to seal and launch Shadow’s pod first, defying the orders of a pursuing soldier to do so, and was fatally shot. This utterly destroyed Gerald’s faith in humanity and sent him down a very dark path, eventually putting a “ghost protocol” into the ARK that would cause it to crash into the Earth and kill everyone, manipulating both Shadow and Shadow’s prototype, the Biolizard, to do so. This protocol, and Shadow, remained dormant for fifty years until the latter was awakened by Eggman.

During Last Story’s final cutscenes, Eggman reveals that he was inspired to become a scientist by his admiration for Gerald, and was seemingly equally embittered by the botched massacre, though he’s shocked and outraged by Gerald’s ghost protocol. This is not remotely the first or only time Eggman has been shown to be deeply offended by the notion of destroying the entire world and he’s been shown to be either snide towards or make significant countermeasures to entities such as Perfect Chaos, Solaris, Eggman Nega, or Black Doom, who are purely interested in destruction for destruction’s sake.

Eggman has also made many allusions that he seeks to build a city that he sees as a utopia, and, when he’s actually able to achieve his dream in Sonic Unleashed, it’s worth noting that Eggmanland looks overwhelmingly like an amusement park rather than a sinister police state like his SatAM self does. Eggman’s amusement park in Colors also is very bright, colorful, lively, and seemingly genuinely designed to entertain, to the point of recording and making a bunch of PA announcements that don’t make sense while the park isn’t even open yet and he, Sonic, Tails, the wisps, and his cadre of robots are the only people there.

So here’s my take on Eggman’s objectives:

He’s deeply embittered with the government and assumes they can’t be trusted for anything because of the ARK massacre and GUN’s following capture and execution of Gerald. Given this was fifty years ago, Eggman could have been a child at the time, which would make this even more traumatic.

Eggman’s also just plain bossy. He’s a genius, he’s charismatic when he wants to be, and he’s also a pretty good strategist, as he’s the one who primarily coordinates everyone’s joint efforts during Last Story (he instructs everyone during their respective missions with the exception of his own, when he takes input from Tails), the problem is, he is keenly aware of this and it has gone straight to his head with like no stops.

So naturally Eggman’s response to any kind of beef with authority is that everything could do so much better with him in charge and the nature of his projects betrays both his glaring ego and, buried in the supervillainous ham, a genuine desire to make something that will make people happy.

It’s also worth noting on many occasions Eggman is shown to have a surprising amount of respect for Sonic considering how much he gripes and calls him a pest or a rat- the extent depends on continuity. In Adventure 2, he’s comfortable potentially dispatching Sonic, but, gives a moment of solemn introspection in Sonic’s honor, and in Sonic X, when Sonic appears to be gone and never coming back Eggman unsubtly launches full petty theatrics in mourning. 

In general, though, the impression that comes across is that Eggman can respect a lot of the things Sonic stands for- which, combined with how many times they’ve worked together or Eggman has appeared to set Sonic up as a countermeasure if his habit for wantonly harnessing ancient gods gets out of hand, would suggest they’re on at least as honorable terms as old school superhero nemeses.

And likewise, we see our heroes throw Eggman a bone now and then- such as when Chip (who’s not familiar with Eggman) suggests they need to quickly save someone Eggman has held hostage because he’s hungry, and Tails immediately reassures Chip that Eggman must be feeding him... and sure enough once they find the guy, he’s unharmed and unfazed enough to be basically complaining about the room service because the specific kind of sandwich he requested doesn’t live up to his standards.

In short, I’ve personally read Eggman and Sonic’s rivalry as an Order vs. Chaos divide, with Sonic representing chaos, and Eggman representing order. So that’s Eggman’s ultimate goal- not harm, not destruction, not even his ego, as much as he thinks there’s a better order the world could conform to, and who better to know what the world needs than a certified Robotnik genius? He had a keen personal lesson in the problems of the existing systems, after all.

I think Sonic and Eggman both want a better world. Their disagreement is how to get there- Eggman thinks everyone should shut up and listen to him because he knows what’s going to help and also, well, you can’t make a utopia without cracking a few eggs, or kidnapping a bunch of small animals and using those adorable little buggers as robot batteries.

This read is... well, it’s frustrating to commit to any read of Eggman as an ethical person because again Sonic worldbuidling is all over the board so there’s the constant ghost of smug pundits past, present, and future looming over my shoulder going “remember when he tried to nuke a populated city though” and my only rebuttal is “any attempt at building a consistent character for Eggman is going to involve firmly telling some piece of canon to fuck off so this is my hill to die on.”

[veryangryhedgehog]

“The Part Where Shit Hits the Fan,” An Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

The crowd outside the gates of St. Adelaide’s was enormous. They clamored to get closer, and muttered amongst themselves. The police tried desperately to maintain order, but this crowd consisted of parents forcefully separated from their children. Nothing was going to contain this crowd.

By the time Cindy, Niko, Lila, and Servus had walked up the hill, the crowd was already so big that they couldn’t even see the gate. Marcell and Aurum had stayed behind to monitor them, and Cowell had fucked off to who-knew-where, but Tommy had insisted on coming, even if he wouldn’t be able to get inside. He stood directly behind Cindy and the others, watching for trouble.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, clutching her shoulder.

“I’m pretty sure that you’re more scared than I am,” she chuckled. “It will be okay. Whatever happens happens.”

He shook his head. “If you had any perspective you would be scared. So I have to be terrified for both of us.”

“I might not be scared, but I am worried about Mike,” she frowned. “I don’t think he’s dead. I’m pretty sure we would both feel it if that was the case, but something is very strange about this whole situation.”

Tommy nodded, once “I agree.”

Just then, there was movement towards the front of the crowd. People were backing up as the gate slowly opened. Cindy strained, but she was too short to see anything.

“Here, get on my shoulders,” Tommy instructed.

“Can you carry me?” Cindy asked, incredulous.

He raised a single eyebrow. “I’ve carried more than you before.”

Cindy wondered just what he meant by that as, with a little strain, he managed to lift her over the crowd, and as soon as she got her bearings, Cindy gasped.

“What’s going on up there?” Niko turned to her.

“It’s…” Cindy almost couldn’t describe it. “There’s… six kids, the one with the crazy-colored hair seems to be the leader, but… one of them has some kind of remote control. There’s… I guess drones. They’ve… they’ve got guns.”

“Where the hell did they get those from?” Lila cursed, gripping her sword tighter.

“They’re pointing them at… oh god, the students are hostages.” Cindy gasped. All of the others, even Servus, stared up at her in rapt attention. “Okay, it looks like they’re keeping their word, the students are stepping forward. No, wait.”

Just then a loud voice rang over the hillside, scratchy from what sounded like a megaphone. “People of Ede Valley,” the voice was young, female. “We of St. Adelaide’s have come to parlay with you.

The volume of the crowd increased by another notch. There was nothing on the news about that.

“Who will speak for you?” The girl with the multi-colored hair asked. That must have been Jilli Nakajima, the one the news maintained was responsible for this whole mess.

There was hesitation for a moment. “What’s happening…” Niko reminded as Cindy had fallen silent.

“Oh, sorry,” she blinked. “Um… the police chief’s stepping forward.”

He was a large man with an even larger mustache. “I will,” he offered gruffly.

“We mean your children, and you, no harm. And we will give them back to you. All we want is to live here in peace. So our demands are as follows: No adults will attempt to enter St. Adelaide’s or contact us in any way, no other action will be taken against us, and a supply of food and other necessities will be provided for us once a week.”

Only silence met her for a moment as the police chief considered. “I’ll make sure it happens. Now give us the students.”

“Half of them will go now,” she said, “and the other half will follow after our first supply.”

The crowd’s voices rose, half in rage and half in relief, as a group of the students stepped through the gates and into their parents’ arms, while the other half were held back, the drones flying in front of the gate, the massive machine guns glittering menacingly.

“What about my daughter?” A woman towards the front asked. “I don’t even see her!” she seemed near panicked.

“If she’s not here,” Jilli replied, “then she has elected to remain at this school and is under our protection.”

The noise from the crowd was deafening. They clamored forward as the gates began to close.

“It’s time,” Niko nodded, cupping a hand around his mouth, the same hand upon which Cindy had drawn a sigil made from honey and lemon seeds. “What about Mike Miller?”

The crowd quieted as his voice boomed over the hill, amplified even more than Jilli’s had been.

Cindy watched Jilli turn in her direction, vague recognition on her face. She knew Mike. She knew something.

“Who are you?” she asked. “Step forward.”

Tommy let Cindy down and the crowd parted to let the five of them through. Now that they were closer, Cindy could see the other kids around Jilli more clearly. There were three boys: the one with the remote control, tall and broad-shouldered but extremely awkward; a goth kid with pale skin and a long coat; and a guy with inexplicably mussed, white hair. Between them were two more girls, a small, dark-haired girl with glasses and a blonde girl with a slightly absent look on her face.

“My name is Cindy Miller, and this is Tommy. Mike is our brother.”

The white-haired boy’s eyes widened. “You’re Mike’s sister?”

“Yes!” she said. “Do you know him?”

The boy opened his mouth, but Jilli shot him a look. “Later, Doug.” He closed it again. The other kids looked around nervously, all except the blonde girl, who seemed to be staring at Niko.

“And who are the others with you?” Jilli asked.

Cindy hesitated for a second. “These are our friends: Servus, Lila, and Niko.”

The blonde girl’s eyes widened. “Niko?” she asked. “Nikolai Borozov?”

He tilted his head in recognition. “Sonia?”

“You know her?” Cindy blinked.

“She’s my cousin.”

“The truth about Mike is—” Jilli hesitated, looking at the crowd behind them. “You’d better come in.”

All five began to step forward, but Jilli held up her hand.

“Wait,” she pointed at Tommy. “Not you.”

“What?” Tommy asked. “Why?” Even though he already knew the answer.

“Because you’re clearly an adult,” Jilli said simply. “If we let one adult in, then we risk destroying the peace we’ve created. The rest of you are under eighteen, right?”

They nodded hastily.

“But he’s my brother!”

“I’ve never heard him mention you,” Jilli shrugged. “Sorry.”

Tommy slumped, but of course she was right. Mike had been not much older than a baby when he’d run away. There was no way he’d remember him other than what Cindy or their mother had mentioned in passing. He stepped back as the others hurried through the gate, which nearly closed on them.

“Cindy!” he called. “Be careful!”

She waved. “I will.”

Beyond the gate, the grounds of St. Adelaide’s were pure white from snow, and the buildings seemed to loom out of the fog like old monuments. Cindy shuddered. An air of gloom and paranoia seemed to hang over this place, like it was holding its breath, just waiting.

Niko talked quietly with Sonia near the back, while Cindy followed the others, Servus trailing behind her. She knew that Aurum was no doubt watching her through him, and that Lucius was right next to her. That made her feel a little better.

She had to admit now that she was walking directly behind Jilli Nakajima, she’d expected her to be taller. Not that she was short by any means, she stood a little taller than Cindy herself, though her hair could have made up for that discrepancy. But she seemed so commanding, so larger than life that it was a little disconcerting to not be looking up at her.

After a minute, they came to a large, looming building with the word “Bloch” on a plaque besides the door, and Jilli and the others entered. Niko glanced over to Cindy. She nodded, and they followed them inside.

“We’ll go to the cafeteria,” Jilli said, looking around nervously.

Cindy wondered what all the secrecy was about.

The other girl that Cindy didn’t know approached Jilli. “You’ve got this pretty much in hand, right?”

Immediately, Cindy developed a bad taste in her mouth. There was something about this girl that made her skin crawl. She seemed a little too happy for this situation.

After Jilli nodded, the girl skulked off in another direction. “I’ll be heading back to the library then. Pleasure to meet you all.”

Cindy and the others continued onto the cafeteria. But Servus stopped walking suddenly. No one seemed to notice.

~~ o ~~

Less than a mile away, Marcell and Aurum sat in the library, the atmosphere tense, quiet. Aurum spoke in a clipped, melodic manner, informing Marcell of everything that was happening. “They’re going to the cafeteria now. Wait, one of them’s splitting off, to go to the library.”

“And Cind—”

“For the fifth time, yes Lucius, Cindy is perfectly fine.” There was another moment of silence. But then Aurum suddenly froze, and straightened. Her hand shot out and gripped Marcell’s arm. “Lucius—” Her voice came out strained.

“Wha—?”

“It’s here,” she said simply.

Marcell leaned forward. “Where? What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” she shook her head. “But I can feel it. Servus, follow the girl with the glasses.”

“One of the students?” Marcell asked. “How do you know she has anything to do with this?”

“A hunch…”

Her voice echoed, and she was still. The only movement was Marcell’s leg bouncing with impatience. Until Aurum opened her mouth again.

“I don’t think she’s going to the library.”

“Well, where is she going?”

“She’s in an office, turning off the lightswit—oh my. There’s… an elevator, behind the bookcase. It’s down there, wherever she’s going, Lucius, I know it!”

“Follow her!”

“You heard him, Servus. Take the next elevator after her.”

More waiting, more silence. This time a good few minutes passed before Aurum spoke again. “What is this?”

“I won’t know until you tell me,” Marcell was at the edge of his seat.

“It’s… this is… there’s been suffering here.”

“What?”

“Cells. All in a line down here. On both sides of the hallway. Most of them look empty. There’s… blood in some. A lot of blood.”

“Where’s the girl?”

“I don’t know—wait. She just left a cell. I think it’s bigger than the others, at the end of the hallway. She didn’t even bother locking the door. How odd. Servus, have a look ins—no.”

For a minute, all she did was shake her head back and forth.

“Aurum?” Marcell asked finally.

“I’ve found him,” she replied.

“Who?”

“The younger Miller. But he’s… oh no… I—”

“Aurum…”

“He’s… broken. So, so broken, Lucius. And empty. What has she done to this child? He’s… he’s staring at me. Oh god there’s… there’s nothing there I—wait. He’s looking past Servus, over his shoulder…”

She nearly screamed.

“What’s going on?” Marcell stood. “Aurum?”

Aurum fell out of her chair onto the floor, shaking.  

….

“It’s here.”

~~ o ~~

The cafeteria of St. Adelaide’s was rather looming, to say the least. Metal girders stretched above their heads, and all of the many tables seemed angled towards the stage on the far end of the room.

Lila looked twitchy and nervous in such a large space, and Cindy and Niko couldn’t help feeling the same. They’d been led into the belly of the beast now. If things went south, escape would prove difficult, maybe even deadly.

“Alright, we’re here,” Niko began.

“So where’s Mike?” Cindy added.

Jilli and the white-haired boy glanced at each other. “Mike is…”

“Mike is missing,” he finished for her.

“Doug!” she hissed. “You don’t know who could be watching.”

“Well, clearly whoever took him knows he’s missing,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like it’s a big fucking secret.”

“Yes, but we don’t want her to know we’re…” she leaned in, “worried.”

Niko raised an eyebrow. “Her?” he asked.

All of the students looked uneasy, but Jilli nearly jumped at the word. “The Director,” she whispered. “She used to run the school, before we took it over. That’s when Mike went missing, the night we took back control. She got him, I know it. We never found her, you know. Her office was empty. She’s still around here somewhere, watching us. Anyone could be working for her.”

Cindy, Niko, and Lila glanced at each other. Jilli seemed to be a little…

“Jilli…” Doug frowned, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“She’s the one who took Mike, I’m sure of it. Well, it’s the only thing that makes sense, right? I was talking to Abby about this, and clearly if Mike isn’t with you and he isn’t with us, then he’s probably still somewhere in the school.”

Everyone was looking at her, and leaning away. She didn’t seem to notice.  

Niko turned to Sonia. “Is she… okay?”

“I don’t know,” she shook her head. “Ever since she had a session with the Director, she’s been becoming more, um…”

“Unstable?” came a voice from behind them, which turned out belonged to the tall boy with the strange eyes. “Paranoid?”

“I maybe wouldn’t say that, Gil,” she cringed.

“It is, however, the truth.”

Meanwhile, Cindy was getting antsy. “Alright,” she said to Jilli. “If you think he’s somewhere in the school, then why don’t we all go look for him? A fresh set of eyes might be just what you need—”

“No!” Jilli said, a little too quickly. “That’s not a good idea.”

Doug shook his head. “Why not, Jil? She’s right, you know.”

“Because, Doug, we don’t want anyone else to go missing. Abby said—”

“Oh, you and Abigail!” He threw up his hands. “You should really stop talking to her, you know. I think she’s starting to fuck with your head.”

“You only say that because you don’t like her! You’ve never liked her!”

“And you can’t see why that might be? How she’s manipulating you?”

“How do I know you’re not manipulating me?”

Cindy, Niko, and Lila were beginning to back away. What kind of situation had they gotten themselves into? But just then, behind them, the doors to the cafeteria burst victoriously open, and Abigail rushed through, followed by a group of curious students. Behind her, she drug Servus in by the hair. He almost seemed a little dazed.

Cindy and Niko stared at each other in horror. Why had neither of them watched Servus? How had he even gone off on his own? Aurum?

“Guess what, Jilli?” Abigail grinned broadly. “It looks like your hunch was right. I found this one snooping around the Director’s office.”

“Spies,” Jilli’s face twisted in anger. “You’re here to take out freedom, aren’t you?”

“What?” Niko frowned. “Why the hell would we wanna do that?”

But already a muttering mob of students were beginning to form around them. These were not the scared, cowed students waiting by the gate. There were the ones that stayed.

“Alright everyone!” Jilli called to the crowd. “What do you think we should do with the spies?” The two drones that had been humming quietly in the background buzzed over their heads.

“Wait!” someone said, and a second later Sonia pushed her way through the crowd. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why would Niko, or Cindy, come to hurt their own families?”

“Sonia…” Gil asked quietly. “What are you doing?” But was ignored.

“Well…” Jilli said, grasping for an answer. “Maybe they’re… not actually who they say they are!”

Sonia looked up at her in disbelief. She almost seemed to have some sort of halo around her in that moment, and she paused, as if listening to something. “That is most ridiculous excuse!” she said finally. “I know what my own cousin looks like, and do not tell me you cannot see resemblance between Cindy and Mike. And boy from outside, for that matter.”

“That’s…” Jilli blinked, the other students following suit.

But then Abigail cut in. “How do we know you’re not working with them? You could say whatever you like but you could just be lying.”

“Of course!” Jilli’s eyes widened. “A man on the inside. An agent of the Director disguised as one of us. Watching me, reporting back to Her. It makes perfect sense!”

“What?” Sonia exclaimed in disbelief. “Jilli, you can hear yourself, da?”

“Jilli, what are you doing?” Doug asked. Yet even as he put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at him, they could see that there would be no consoling her. She was now shaking violently, and pulled away from him. “A-anyone could be working for her!”

“Now hold on a second, we’re jumping to an awful lot of conclusions here.” Niko held up his hands. “Why don’t we all just calm down and talk this—”

“Don’t tell me to be calm!” Jilli shrieked. “You’re just trying to confuse me!” She looked around at all of them, trying to find a face she could trust. Finally, her gaze fell on Abigail. “Abby, do something!”

The next few seconds happened so suddenly that there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. Abigail simply snapped her fingers. “Gil,” she commanded, pointing at the group in the middle, and then, when he hesitated: “Remember our deal. Disable him.”

Lila made to step between them, and Sonia cried out: “Gil, wait!” But before anyone could do anything, Gil seemed to flashstep directly in front of Niko, and put his palm directly against his right eye.

Niko screamed.

He doubled over, clutching his eye. They couldn’t stay here. If they did, they were going to be killed. Or worse. Niko might have been able to plan, but Cindy could react.

Taking care to avoid singeing any of the students, she cast a blast of fire into the air. The students scattered at the sight, and one of the drones that had gotten caught in the flame sparked and fell.

“Run!” Cindy yelled.

With a flash, Lila’s katana was out. “Grab Niko,” she told Sonia, “I’ll cover you.”

The girl did what she was told, hoisting one of Niko’s arms over her shoulders.

“Victor!” Abigail shouted, and with a loud click the air suddenly became filled with buzzing machines of all sorts.

Holding her hands out to threaten another blast, Cindy led the five of them out of the cafeteria. Behind them was the vicious scrape of metal on metal as Lila slashed at the various machines intent on killing them.

They hesitated very briefly in the hallway as it split down three paths . Cindy turned to Sonia, still supporting a groaning Niko. “Is there any way out of here that doesn’t involve us scaling an electric fence?”

“Ahhh…”

“Soon, please.”

“Oh! But is very stinky.”

Lila grunted as a saw blade barely missed her shoulder. “We’re not picky.”

“It’s garbage! This way!” She shot down the hall, nearly dragging Niko behind her, who this whole time had been cursing profusely under his breath. Cindy, Servus, and Lila followed behind.

Every few yards Cindy sent another gout of flame behind them, to prevent the machine army from getting too close. But she knew the amulet, even though made of much better material than the last one, wouldn’t last much longer. The stone was growing hot against her collar.

“Nearly there!” Sonia called, only to turn a corner and be cut off by a converted kitchen mixer, several sharp blades spinning where the mixer part should be with a deafening whirr.

Jumping forward, Lila found the place where the blades had been hastily soldered on and sliced. They flew clean off the base, rendering the contraption useless. They pushed past it, and to a large set of metal doors, barred shut by a metal chain.

Cindy stepped forward, placing her hand against the padlock in the center. She focused all the remaining power from the amulet on the metal and a moment later, the heat melted the metal just enough to disengage the lock. Violently, she kicked the chain away and shoved the doors open.

The five stumbled inside, and slammed the doors shut behind them.

“Servus, hold the door,” Cindy commanded, while Sonia and Lila laid Niko out on a metal table. For a minute, Servus did nothing, just stood there and blinked, almost confused. What was wrong with him? “Servus!” she shouted again, and the automaton blinked and seemed to shake himself before running over to the doors and holding them closed.

The room smelled like rotting food, but they couldn’t be picky. “Garbage shute is there,” Sonia pointed to a small hatch in the wall just barely big enough for a person.

But Lila shook her head. “We won’t get very far with Niko like this.”

He had begun writhing now, nearly off the table, clawing desperately at his eye. The pain seemed to be getting worse.

“Niko…” Lila mumbled, brushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “Let me see.” He allowed her to move his hand away, and the three girls gasped. His eye itself was pulsing, bulging out of its socket. Blood poured out of the open veins, dying the whole eye bright red.

“That guy’s gotta have magic of some kind.” Cindy shook her head. “This shouldn’t be possible.”

“I don’t understand why Gil would do this, or how.” Sonia grimaced, her own eyes wet with tears. “It makes no sense.”

“You heard the crazy owl-eye bitch,” Cindy replied immediately. “Clearly she’s got something he wants badly enough to do her dirty work.”

The door rattled then, Servus’ mechanical arms straining. Lila took a deep breath and jumped up on the table, holding Niko in place between her legs. “None of that matters. Cindy, is there any likely cure for this?”

“I don’t even know what it is, let alone a cure.”

Nodding grimly, Lila gripped her katana. Niko glanced up at her, and something silent passed between them. “Do it, Lila,” he coughed out. “Do it or leave me.”

“Wait!” Sonia’s eyes widened. “What are you—?”

But she broke off as, without hesitation, Lila raised the katana above Niko’s head and brought it down directly on his eye with a horrifying squelch. He screamed, and the sound itself nearly caused the sword to slip from Lila’s hand. But she steadied herself and pulled it out again, taking what remained of his eye with it.

“Fuck!” Niko shouted. “Fuuuuccckkk!”

Yet after a second he quieted. The pain seemed to have left with the eye. He gasped and lie back again on the table, face soaked with sweat and blood.

There would be no moment of calm, however, for just then, the door burst off its hinges and an army of cold, shining metal descended upon them with a tremendous buzz.

“Down the chute!” Cindy shouted over the cacophony. She and Sonia grabbed Niko, who was still far too shaky to walk on his own.

Sonia disappeared into the darkness, followed by Servus close behind. But before Cindy could shove Niko down after them, the machines were upon them. Swarming, cutting, Cindy couldn’t see what was in front of her face. And with the remaining power of the amulet gone, she was next to useless. They would never get out like this.

Until with a great sweeping motion Lila momentarily cleared a path with her sword towards them. She screamed, destroying machine limbs and carapaces in a hail of sparks. But there were still too many. They could see where they were trying to go and made to block the entrance. But Lila couldn’t see too well, blood from the gash on her forehead began to trickle into her eyes.

And it was with a sinking feeling, as she saw Cindy attempt to swat the machines away, Niko under one arm, that she realized that there was no way all of them were going to make it out alive. At this rate, none of them were. But if she could draw them away rom the chute, if only for just a moment, then, maybe…

Niko cried out as a saw blade cut through the front of his shirt. “No!” Lila screamed, diving forward. Even if they did somehow get past them, the machines would no doubt just follow them down. “Get him out of here!” she shouted to Cindy over the hum of the machines. “I’ll buy you some time.”

“Lila, no!” Niko’s eye widened.

“Please.”

Cindy hesitated, then nodded solemnly.

Lila ran her hand along Niko’s cheek. “Goodbye young mas—no. Goodbye, Niko.”

“Lila! No, don’t go! Please!”

She turned away. If she looked at him a moment longer it would all be over.

“Lila!!!!!!”

Her sword flashed in the rays of the machines’ blinking lights. Without a word, she jumped into the heart of the swarm, slashing and twisting. The world shrunk to just her and her blade. She needed to last as long as she could. For Niko.

She bit her lip as she mistepped and a drill screwed into her arm. Back and forth, keep moving, keep going. But all the while they were hitting back. Face, arms, legs, the ground ran red. She coughed, and her mouth tasted of iron. Just a little longer, almost there.

She screamed into the mass, a violent, last war cry. And then, finally, she let the swarm consume her.

[linssikeittomies]

The Place Between Here An There - Chapter 2: Ship Of Fools

Masterpost     AO3

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8   Chapter 9  Chapter 9(cont’d)

Ugh, Alfred is so hard to write! His POVs are all Thing happens, thing happens, thing happens, he has a thought, thing happens… Ivan’s POV is more like Thing happens, he has a thought about the thing, that reminds him of past thing, thing happens… And Alfred has too many non-plot-important friends, but leaving them out feels even more wrong because he’s a people person first and foremost. He does get more thinkey later, but at this point of the story he doesn’t really worry about anything so he doesn’t have too many thoughts floating around his brain. His parts feel like such filler orz Try and bear with me orz I got so sick of looking at this mess and not being able to write it the way I wanted to so I decided to screw it and let it be, filler-y and bad and all.

–

“Morning, sunshine!” a happy voice greeted Ivan right as he stirred. The grating cheeriness revealed the identity of the perpetrator before Ivan even opened his eyes. The act only confirmed that the annoying idiot was grinning from ear to ear. Seeing that his bedmate was somewhat awake encouraged the American to rise up on his elbows to peer down with an excited look. So he was near-sighted, since he hadn’t put on his glasses.

“Dobroye utro”, Ivan muttered, not sure if he was glad to see Alfred or not. The novelty of being treated like a normal human being was fading quickly now that he wasn’t allowed to wake up at his own pace. “Are you really a cop?” Alfred queried with badly contained glee, leaning in closer with his morning breath. With a grimace Ivan turned his head slightly, and Alfred seemed to get the hint. “Yes, a detective.” “Man, that’s so cool! I applied to the academy a few years back, but I had speeding tickets, and the air force didn’t want me for some reason so I’m still-“ Probably a store clerk. Maybe a cleaner. Likely living on his parents’ money. “- a fireman and it’s great ‘cause I’m saving lives and all, but man, cops! I love cops!” Yeah, right. This infuriating loser seemed barely literate. Pro wrestling would suit him much better: prancing around in embarrassing clothes yelling cringey lines, and no one would notice if he got brain damage. Claiming he actually did important work was the most bold-faced lie Ivan had heard in his life. “But how in the hell did you get in? Did you kill all the other applicants?” “How rude. I was never linked to those cases.” Alfred pretended to be struck dumb, and clutched his pearls like a scandalized granny. “I was hoping you’d claim to be the paragon of justice, but you just ran with it! How am I supposed to make fun of you with that attitude?” he laughed as he sat up, dragging the covers up with him and then letting them fall off his shoulders. The move revealed his toned chest and subtle six-pack again. Ivan contemplated taking a spied look between his legs, but decided against it. His senses were returning slowly, but the insecurity had already creeped in almost full swing. He pretended to be cold and wrapped the covers more tightly around him. “It’s not an attitude. It’s the truth.” Alfred laughed and told Ivan to dress his ugly ass, he was making pancakes. Ivan was not one to say no to a free meal, and the company only left something to desire.

Even if waking up next to someone was a questionable joy, having someone to eat breakfast with was undoubtedly pleasant. Much time had passed since the last time Ivan had a discussion at the table. They used to be common in the old days, and the siblings especially had been practically glued together, but then the thing happened and everything went to hell. Their family dynamics never got back to normal, even after 19 years of stability and moving halfway across the globe. It had no longer felt natural – one was missing and one became an outsider. It was almost more distracting to have his sisters in the same table than eating alone. But with Alfred there was no history so he couldn’t be reminded of anything, and as a result he found himself genuinely enjoying the moment. “Well, ya just don’t look the part, yannow? Think Magnum PI! Ya need a square jaw and a cool baritone voice and a great mustache.” “So what kind of cop do I look like?” “Hmmmm…” Alfred hummed and held an exaggeratedly long pause, took a bite off his pancakes, chewed and then shrugged. “I dunno, the kind who negs decent people and takes advantage of drunk guys?” Ivan shrugged nonchalantly.  “Guilty as charged”, he agreed. He doubted Alfred had actually been all that drunk by the time they left the restaurant, and the stumble had been a conspiracy to make Ivan take him home. He still had trouble imagining Katyushka scheming like this, because she had always been the most honest and straightforward of the family. Her saintly nature must have come from a distant ancestor. “So are you gonna go and brag to all your friends about how you finally scored with a conscious person?” “I hesitate to call someone with your level of brain activity conscious.” “But you will brag to all your friends?” “I don’t have friends”, Ivan’s mouth said with brutal honesty before his brain could shut it up. His breath got stuck in his throat as he waited for inevitable pitying look. It always happened. He could be as terrifying as he wanted, the second anyone learned about his sorry excuse of a social life they suddenly saw him a charity case, defective, helpless… Nothing could be further from the truth, but nothing would convince the hypocrites  that Ivan didn’t need anyone, people were only in the way, and he didn’t care for backstabbing gold diggers or emotional leeches. Jones was a person, Ivan had no use for him. God spared him just this once. Alfred, oblivious to anything but a jackhammer to the skull, missed his slip completely and continued with the friendly hostility. “Small wonder, with your personality.” Ivan was well aware of his flaws, but could do nothing to change them. His path had formed in front him on its own on that day and there were no side roads. He wasn’t like Jones, who had a say in what happened to him. He had no business commenting on what he knew nothing about, but spoken like a true American, he felt the need to police everyone else and just flap his mouth hole to make noise for the sake of it. And he had such a grating voice, too. Ivan wanted to get out of this apartment yesterday. “More coffee?” “Yes, please.” Watching Jones stuff his face with pancakes made Ivan wonder what he even found appealing about the glutton at this point. He was a slob with terrible table manners who loved putting people down. That answered the question of why he hadn’t gotten laid in ages, at least. He should get drunk more often, it seemed to better his odds. “Do you have the day off?” Ivan asked. He almost regretted it, since Jones didn’t bother swallowing his half-eaten pancakes, choosing instead to spit soggy crumbs all over the table. Ivan quickly lifted his coffee off it. Jones failed to take the hint, as expected. “Yeah, but my cousin’s coming over. I’ll have to kick you out by noon.” Ivan hadn’t been planning to stay after breakfast. He hadn’t planned to stay the night. Having to leave in a few hours was no problem for him. And even if he had been free to stay as long as he wanted, which was not a single minute by the way, he was a busy man. He had things to do. Plans to review. He wouldn’t stay even if Jones begged to blow him. “I’ll be gone before that.” Jones smirked coyly, for reasons unknown to Ivan. “Do you wear the uniform?” Ah, he was one who loved a man in uniform. Ivan could hardly blame him, he himself couldn’t resist a suit with a tie. Wonderful toys they were, so versatile, never failed to make him want to pull. He’d like to put one on Jones, for so many reasons. “Only for special occasions.” Ivan would have liked to have a newspaper at the table. The absence of one didn’t exactly surprise Ivan, Jones didn’t strike him as the type to read, even magazines. It was excusable – in his line of work it wasn’t important to know what had went on during the night. For Ivan, it was both a necessary evil and a questionable joy. Not knowing the latest updates when he walked into the office was considered bad work morale, and that’s where news apps really came in handy. A newspaper, after all, first had to go into print, and then be delivered. While all that happened, ten new things had unfolded. It was still nice to have a physical page in his hands, feel the crinkle. They were easily stored. Ivan had a whole bookcase dedicated to newspaper and magazine clippings: cold cases, cases he’d worked on, PD bashings, survival stories, true crime articles… Lately he had taken to throwing out some of the older things to make room for all the Baton killer related articles. 7 confirmed victims, 5 suspected, and that was only after a year and half of activity. Despite what you heard in popular media, it was actually quite rare for a serial killer to have more than 4 victims per year. Reporters liked to play up the numbers, speculating at least a dozen victims, but even more than that they liked blaming the police department for not catching the raving lunatic. Their words, not his – from the evidence and bodies it was clear as day the Baton killer was not crazy. Yes, he never bothered hiding the bodies well, but there was never any evidence left. Every body was cleaned thoroughly after the act to dispose of any DNA evidence, there was never a glimpse of him in security footage, no one ever reported seeing someone who didn’t belong… It takes meticulous planning and a clear mind to do something that carefully. The police weren’t even completely sure they were dealing with a male killer – the only reason to suspect that was that among the victims were two large men who had last been seen in gay bars, and an unopened condom left on the body of one female who had been reported to be fiercely faithful to her clean husband. Ivan didn’t like not knowing things. He got anxious when he couldn’t be sure. It should have been common courtesy to have one paper at the table. “A suit, then?” Ivan shook his head. He preferred wearing his everyday clothes to work, because they made him look just a bit less intimidating. A suit was a double-edged sword: on one hand, it tended to make people more nervous and slip up, but on the other, it isolated him further. Normal human interactions were few and far between for Ivan, so he cherished every single one. This was why he liked dealing with the the deaf: they couldn’t tell the disparity between his voice and stature, so they assumed he was just a normal, large man. In this Alfred resembled them. The bad thing about Jones was that he was insufferable. Ivan had a hunch Jones would be difficult with the authorities, just for the sake of being difficult. “Betcha you’d look hot in one”, Alfred said, winking. Ivan didn’t agree. He didn’t think he looked hot in most clothes. He still muttered a thank you because he wasn’t on the mood to argue.

~¨:.:¨~

Jeez, this guy was just too cute! No adult man should be allowed to have such an adorable face! The way he shyly blushed and averted his eyes to the side combined with his huge stature did something incredibly pleasant to Al. It was getting the best of two worlds. He tended to go for the big, tough guys, but enjoyed the odd twink every now and then, and here he had two for the price of one! Moving to the big city really was the best damn decision he had made in his life. Rural Kentucky just didn’t have these types. “Unlike you, no doubt”, Ivan answered weakly, and Al grinned again. He couldn’t explain why he liked exchanging insults so much. He did it all the time with Arthur, too, but the Brit always got pissed too quickly. Mattie’s game was too strong, so Al no longer did it with him. But now he had a new playmate! One that liked the game just as much! He hadn’t had this much fun since last night, and with any luck he might be able to convince the Russian babe for round two of that, as well! Maybe one day he could bring the insult game to bed? “Yeah, but I look good naked”, Al shot back. Ivan rolled his eyes and sipped his coffee again. “You get cross-eyed when you take off your glasses.” “Do not! Take that back, fatso!” With a teasing smile Ivan raised his gun again. “And you smell terrible. Have you showered in the last three days?” “Didn’t bother you last night.” “I had a momentary lapse of standards. The culture must be damaging my brain.” Aaahhh, that accent! That was paradise, right there! Ivan really had everything: looks, personality, huge body, huge dick… He should marry the guy before he wriggled away. The way to a man’s heart goes through his stomach, right? “Sure you don’t want pancakes?” Alfred confirmed. He was almost offended Ivan had refused them the first time. While his weren’t as divine as Mattie’s, they could still make a man moan in pleasure. Pancakes were the one food he never made from instant mix or in a microwave. “I am sure.” Al pouted and poured some more syrup on his stack. Fine, be that way!Vodka had probably ruined his tastebuds anyway, so he couldn’t appreciate the pancakes if he wanted to. Ivan gulped down the last of his coffee and got up. “Leaving already?” “I have work. Thank you for the coffee.” Work on Sunday? What kind of breakthrough had they had in whatever case Ivan was working on? Detectives usually only worked weekdays 9 to 5. “No prob. See ya ‘round!” Ivan scoffed as he put on his coat. He was wearing three layers, and it wasn’t even that cold yet. Guess he was just always cold, if he needed two sweaters even indoors. “No one would want to see you again. You are a headache on feet.” Al laughed. A lot of people commented on his loud voice, usually telling him to turn it down a notch. He just didn’t have an indoor voice and he got excited so easily. “And my ears are ringing from listening to you squeaking”, he joked back. He wondered why Ivan decided to use such a weird voice. Obviously he had a much deeper natural pitch, but it hadn’t come out much even last night. He sounded like a prepubescent boy. It added to his cute image, but couldn’t have been easy to produce. Maybe it was an effect of growing up with two high-pitched sisters? “Are you the youngest?” “The youngest what?” Ivan asked, voice muffled from the pale pink scarf. Another cute quirk, didn’t fit his towering height and wide shoulders at all. “Sibling. Katie’s the oldest, right?” “Yes. Katyusha is four years older and Natasha is five years younger.” “Really? You and Natalie look the same age. Do you look young or does she look old?” “It could be a little bit of both.” Ivan had his hand on the knob, but hesitated. Al tilted his head questioningly, and Ivan reached a decision. He dug out a pen from his pocket, but couldn’t find paper, so he wrote his number on the wall instead. “Call me if you want to go drinking sometime.” “After you ruin my fucking wall?! In your dreams!” Ivan gave an infuriating little smirk and closed the door after him. Damn that Russki and his adorable ways. How long should Al wait before he called?  The same day would be needy and a little creepy, but he didn’t want to wait two days! Agh, this was just like that one time in Montana! Or, Christ, Tex! He couldn’t handle another bi-curious cutie deciding he wanted to stick to women! The guy was just too much fun, Al really liked just hanging out with him, not that he minded the afterhours, either… After wolfing down his seventh pancake Al did his morning pushups and jog. Artie had been right in that age would eventually catch up with him and he’d need to work harder to stay in shape. With his steady diet of junk food it was really a miracle he was so fit. Musta been good genes. Pissed Artie off to no end. Speaking of, he should clean up the place. Neither of them was looking forward to Mister Cleanliness nagging about Al’s housekeeping skills. It didn’t really even matter, no one in the history in the world had died of a few shirts on the floor, or a few weeks’ dust, or a messy closet, and penicillin had been discovered in dirty dishes. And so what if there was some food gone bad in the fridge, they were in closed containers, the bugs weren’t about to strongarm open the lids. Ehh, Artie was still three hours away, he had time. He could play some Mortal Kombat first. He needed to practice Kenshi’s fatalities anyway. And while he was on the sofa anyway, he might as well try out that GTA swing glitch! Oldie but goodie.

Knock knock. “Who’s there?” Just kidding, Al already knew it was Artie. His British cousin was the only person in the world who knocked when there was a perfectly good doorbell. “It’s me.” “Me who?” “Arthur, you bloody twat! Open up!” Sigh, ol’ Artie never played along. All he laughed at was that Monty Python show. Poor guy, he’d die an early death thanks to never laughing. Al threw the controller on the couch and got up to get the door. Yikes, those eyebrows were still a shock every time. “I swear you grow like twenty new hairs every time I see you!” Al commented, earning an irritated sigh from his cousin. After 17 years he didn’t need to ask what Al meant by that. “And you accumulate more and trash in your place. Three copies of Die Hard 2?” Artie whined looking at the living room table. Well, at least he wasn’t bitching about the dirty coffee cups and plates on the kitchen table. He should be a maid, he was so great at whining about pointless stuff. After setting his luggage in a corner, Artie made a show of placing the Xbox controller on the coffee table and making himself at home on the couch, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “Never again!” he announced. “This baby screamed the whole flight and my neighbour spilled his orange juice all over my trousers.” Seeing Al eyeing his perfectly dry pants, he explained. “I changed in the airport toilet.” “Wanna throw them in the washing machine?” “Go ahead.” Artie’s suitcases were works of art. He knew just the way to tightroll everything and exactly how much of any given thing was needed, then filled every square inch so perfectly it looked like a Tetris high score. Speaking of Tetris! “Hey, Artie! Guess who scored with a cop last night?” “Alfred, please! I don’t want to hear about your sex life!” “But he was so great! So tall and cool and burly and cute! And I got his number!” Artie gave him a confused look from under his arm. “Burly and cute? That’s a combination you don’t hear often.” “I know! But it was awesome! God, I wish I had a photo to show you, he was just perfect! He’s a detective!” Artie lifted his feet off the couch to let Al plop down next to him. “He acted all cool and aloof and then blushed when I said he’d look hot in a suit! It was adorable!” Al knew he was gushing like a teenage girl about her latest celebrity crush but he couldn’t help it! This was the single greatest thing that had happened to him since… since he first got laid, basically! “And he’s a cop! I’ve never seen a cop like him! He wrote his number on the wall”, Al helpfully pointed at the number scratched on the wall paper. The wince on Artie’s face was great. “You two seem like you would get along swell”, he muttered. “I know! He’s not at all uptight like you are!” “It’s called being a functioning adult! You git!” “A functioning adult would have brought me Cadbury creme eggs!” “The last time I did you thought I was flirting with you!” Oh right, it had been the day before Valentine’s and Artie had been blushing for some reason.

They cleaned up the place together. Artie tried to cook “as a reward”, which would have been about as much of a reward as a death penalty. Al insisted he wouldn’t make a guest cook, so they went out for dinner, even though Artie hardly counted as a guest. He was rarely over, thanks to the ocean between them, but the guy was as much family as Mattie. Every time he stayed at Al’s place it was like a roommate coming home. Artie didn’t buy the excuse, as he never did, and claimed Al needed a good English dinner in him just once and would never go back, as he always did. This was routine for them. Everything about Artie was familiar. He had gone through a few phases in his teens and early twenties, but ever since becoming a premature grandpa the only thing that changed were his clothes. He was as stagnant as Mattie. “You gonna go see Mattie after dropping by our folks?” “I don’t have time”, Artie said. “I only have three days left and I couldn’t get a ticket. I’ll see him on Christmas.” It was something of a tradition for the whole extended family to gather at Mattie’s place on Christmas, since he was one of the few who didn’t switch apartments every year. Not everyone could make it at the same time, some stayed for a few days before Christmas and some dropped in to say hi on Christmas Day. Al always stayed in the guest room, but the sheer number of relatives forced the large majority to stay in hotels. Artie got a mattress on the floor the years his pervert husband stayed home. They had learned from the first time. “Francis is still working out his schedule so I’m not sure if he can make it.” “Good! He’s already got a hubby, he shouldn’t hit on Mattie!” Francis was an okay guy most of the time, but you better not let your guard down or you’d find his hands down your pants. How Artie hadn’t dumped his cheating ass was something Al would never understand. If he ever started going steady, he wouldn’t forgive a single stray ogle. Luckily Ivan didn’t seem like the type to cheat, since it had taken him so long to even realize Al had been hitting on him from the first sentence he had said to him. It didn’t look like the guy had much of a sex drive. “And he better stay the hell away from my date, too!” “Your date? Weren’t you single just a few hours ago?” “I’m talking about that cop!” Artie made a face, but Al couldn’t figure out what he had said wrong this time. “Al, you only met the guy yesterday, and now you’re bringing him to Canada for Christmas?” “No! I mean, I could, I think we really clicked and I’m of course awesome so he totally wouldn’t say no.” Another face, more concerned than exasperated this time. “Oh come on Artie, be a little more happy for me wontcha?” “I am, it’s just that – you’ve been hurt before, because you get so into it far too early.” Right, Tex. But this was different from Tex! Ivan was completely comfortable being with men! He wouldn’t pull the same “incompatible” stunt he had! Ivan and Al went so well together, they liked the same things, they understood each other, and talking was so easy between them. Talking with Tex had sometimes been like pulling teeth. “I’ll be fine! I’m a grown man! And it’s just for fun – I just meant I wouldn’t object to getting serious if he wants to.” “Well – good luck”, Artie muttered. “Thanks!”

The next morning Al woke up to a horrible smell drifting from the kitchen. Not the worst Artie had ever caused, but it still made his eyes water. The sentiment was nice, but Artie just didn’t get that his breakfast would be put to better use in torture chambers. They did the usual song and dance – Artie claiming his cooking was great and Al just didn’t understand the fine undertones of British cuisine, and Al dumping his portion in the garbage and frying a healthy dose of bacon. Then they went sightseeing, since this was Artie’s first time in this city – the last time he had been living in Waynesburg. He’d leave tomorrow while Al was at work, so they had to make the day nice, since they would next see each other on Christmas. Granted, they talked daily but it still felt important to part on friendly terms. The one time they hadn’t, Artie had cut all contact with Al for 5 years. It didn’t matter that it had been over a decade ago, that before and after they were thick as thieves. So the next morning Al let his cousin make breakfast, bravely swallowed one bite and washed it down with half a gallon of Coke, and finished with three sunny side ups. Artie insisted his “baked beans”, that is, a sad, dry heap of something bumpy, and black pudding were delicious and nutritious. That might have been the case with store-bought “pudding” that had no business being called pudding, if the ingredient’s weren’t so god damn gross to begin with. “It’s an acquired taste, that’s for sure”, Al muttered in response. How Artie was capable of swallowing his own hellish productions was a mystery for the ages. He was married to a master chef and still lived in a delusional world where his own cooking wouldn’t be censored in daytime TV. Al left the Brit to shovel his indescribable “consumables” alone, and 15 minutes later arrived at the station. “Morning, guys!” “Morning”, greeted a chorus. A slow night, then, if so many were at the station. José made space for Al at the table and they went over the incidents of the last shift. A couple car crashes, two kitchen fires, one false alarm. Such a big city and so few incidents, that couldn’t last. Today would have to be busy. Stu dug out the playing cards after the last shift went home. They were starting the second round of poker when duty called the first time – a false alarm from an old folks’ home, something had spilled on the stove and triggered the alarm. One of the nurses made eyes at Stu, who never wasted a chance to flirt with a pretty face. “Way to keep it professional, Stu”, Jack sighed back in the truck. Jack was a forty-year old virgin. Word on the street was he’d never had a single girlfriend, or boyfriend, and that was why he was so frustrated. He spent most of his free time exercising and fishing. “I just made her day”, Stu argued proudly. He never went beyond flirting, as far as Al knew – the man worshiped his wife. His phone memory was 90% pictures of her. That reminded Al - should he have called Ivan yesterday? Al knew he wouldn’t mind being contacted the next morning, but Artie did keep telling him he was the most socially clueless bloke in the world, so maybe he shouldn’t trust his own judgment? Why hadn’t he asked Artie yesterday? The old man might not have been in the game for a decade, but he had to still have some memories from his single days! “Hey Jack, suppose you gave your number to a girl. Wouldja think she was desperate if she called you the next day?” Jack sighed exasperatedly, like he always did when Al asked him for relationship advice. “I don’t know. I never know anything you ask! Think whatever you think.” “I just wanna make sure! ‘Cause I don’t wanna drive away a good guy by being creepy.” “You’ll drive him away by being obnoxious”, Jack snapped. “Can we please concentrate on work instead of your sex life?” “I’d rather not think about all the dick my coworker is sucking, either”, Stu commented from behind the wheel. Had it been anyone else, Al would have punched them. Stu was chill, he just had a crass sense of humor and no brain-to-mouth filter. “Honestly though, wait until next evening but not longer. You’ll want to seem interested.” Shit, so was it already too late?! A day and a half had already passed! And the station was still ten minutes away! Had he already screwed up his chance? Jeez, stay cool, man! Ivan was totally into him, if anything he’d be overjoyed Al had remembered him! Yeah, that sounded much better. Al could salvage this. Right when they got to the station he’d call. Riiiiight… nnnnnnnnnoooooooooow! “I need to make a call!” he yelled and sprinted for the relative peace of the locker room.

~¨:.:¨~

Ivan was in no mood for solicitors right now. Staring at files and security footage for hours on end was soul-sucking work enough without some young hopeful desperately begging him to buy just this one amazing supplement that comes free with this subscription of these seven home improvement magazines only for 19.99 per month! Ivan never had problems hanging up on them immediately but that didn’t take away the reminder of outside life. For now, the only place that was supposed to exist was this sleazy alley with dismal lighting where one frame in a week’s worth might or might not reveal that Richard Boyarin had walked by it at some point during his vacation. Incredibly important work. Ivan frowned at the screen. It was a number he didn’t have saved on his phone. That was no news, he had a total of eight numbers in there. Two were his sisters’, one his boss’, one his partner’s, one for the station front desk, three for delivery food. He suddenly had the irrationally hopeful thought that it might be Alfred. Absurd as the notion was, it was tempting. And Toris clearly wanted him to silence the ringing, so why not try his luck? Anything would be better than trying to distinguish the black pixels from the other, slightly less black pixels. Fully prepared to be disappointed, Ivan answered as harshly as he could. “Alyo?” ”Hey Vanya, it’s Alfred!” Thoroughly shocked, but altogether pleased, Ivan felt an unexpectedly honest smile forming on his face, and casually insulted Alfred’s pronunciation. “Oh screw you, I did fine. You free tomorrow night?” Alfred’s nasal voice asked, completely carefree and smiling widely. Typical American, but at least Alfred’s smile wasn’t deceitful. He smiled because he was happy, not because he needed a good tip to pay his bills. Ivan was free, and had the feeling he would even make himself free if he hadn’t been. But the idiot didn’t need to know that, his ego was bloated enough already. “Hmm…” Pausing as if to check his calendar, Ivan lifted a finger to his lips at the nervously disapproving Toris. There was never any evidence in the Baton killer’s cases anyway. Of course not a single hair, spit drop or footprint had been found in this one either, which was the whole reason they had been forced to turn to these good as useless security tapes. The only thing ever found were the bodies, and that they had already analyzed to Hell and back, and of course it had revealed nothing new. Why pour over the same old evidence, hour after countless hour without any breaks? There would be a new victim, perhaps soon, even, there had been a long break between the last two. Then they could actually work. “Yes, I have a few hours after seven.” It wouldn’t do to look too eager. Ivan Braginski did not chase after men. “Great! Wanna go out? Rocker’s has a party celebrating the owner’s daughter’s birthday so they’ll have free booze! See you there at eight!” It better not be punch. “I suppose. What’s the address?” “It’s right next to orthodox church, you’ll find it!” If he found the church. Ivan rarely paid attention to places of worship, and then only to avoid them. Well, he would just Google the place later. Couldn’t be too many Orthodox churches in a city like this. He wondered if Alfred suggested the place because he thought Ivan had an inclination towards the Eastern church. “And hey, you never showed me your badge”, Alfred whined. An adult man, so fixated on badges, how cute. “You didn’t ask.” “Well show it to me tomorrow! You’ll love it”, Alfred said, wiggling his eyebrows so hard they almost rode the electronic waves to Ivan’s desk. He truly did like cops. Alfred was delightfully childish in a way that was funny for a few hours, but no one could take for more than a day at a time. One could only imagine how he had been as an actual child. Ten times as bad, or exactly the same? Maybe some boys never did grow up, as they say. “Only If you promise to stop whining.” “I promise nothing! Come onnnn, I’ll show ya my hose…” Again the eyebrows wiggled and Ivan almost snickered. Such a strange person. How old was he? He had looked a bit younger than Ivan, so maybe thirty or late twenties? A good age, young enough to enjoy fun but not young enough go overboard, old enough to understand life but not old enough to be weary of it. “Well in that case. Will you show me how it works?” “Oh, I’ll show you all right, and let you try…” This time Ivan did snort. “Tone down the eyebrows and I might take up your offer”, he chuckled, making Toris tilt his head in confusion. It couldn’t be that odd to hear Ivan laugh, could it? Surely he had done it in his partner’s presence before. “Eyebrows?” Alfred asked and the eyebrows stopped wiggling. He must have done it instinctively so he didn’t even pick up on it. Ivan wouldn’t be surprised – Alfred hardly seemed the perceptive type. The only things he could think about were probably sex, cheetos and beer. “You want me to pluck ‘em? They’re kinda thin already…” “Nevermind. Just make sure to impress me and you’ll get something good in return”, Ivan smirked, whirling around on his office chair. “Ivan –“ Toris attempted, but a quick hushing from Ivan silenced him and made him go back to studying the badly pixellated security footage. “Oh, do you have company?” “Just my partner. We’re going through some evidence.” Thank you, Toris. Live a little, nerd. “Jeez, you should have said you were at work. Tell me all about it later! Seven at Rocker’s! Bye!” “Bye.” With a heavy sigh Ivan put his phone back in his pocket. Security footage was easily the most mind-numbing part of police work, even worse than paper work, and in homicide investigation it contrasted so badly with the actual interesting part it felt ten times more tedious than in any other department. “Toris, you wouldn’t mind getting me a coffee?” Toris silently nodded and scurried off. The diminutive Lithuanian was an interesting mix of courage and nerves: on the job he wouldn’t flinch even when a gun was pointed at him, but whenever he was alone with his partner, he became a fidgety mess. Brilliant man, great at his job, but very meek. He had joined the force three years before Ivan, and was also that same three years older. They had been partnered seven months ago, after Ivan’s then-partner had been crippled on duty when they had been chasing a suspect. Tragic story, really. She would have survived the car crash with minor injuries, had a freak malfunction not made her gun fire inside the car and lodge the bullet in her spine. One of the finest of the force, she had been. Dedicated, smart.

--

You might have noticed that Ivan goes back and forth with Alfred and Jones – that’s on purpose. He uses Jones whenever he wants to maintain some distance, and Alfred when he forgets to despise all of humanity. Oh Ivan, you’re not nearly as misanthropic as you tell yourself!

Dobroye utro(Дoбрoе утрo): Good morning Alyo( Алё): Hello

Chapter name comes from Ship of Fools by World party. I should probably mention that the song lyrics have nothing to do with the chapter contents, I choose them purely by title. Also the symbolism mostly only makes sense to me:D Don’t mind if you don’t get what I’m going for.

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

The Escape Room by Megan Goldin

What are you willing to do to succeed? Is money everything? Who would you step on or perhaps even kill to come out on top? And, what about revenge? What would it take to make you seek it?

Such a well-crafted book this book proved to be! It begins with the nightwatchman hearing something then moves on from there to move in alternating chapters that tell of the four in the elevator and of a woman named Sarah Hall. It took a few chapters to figure out what part Sarah had in the lives of the other four but as the story unfolded her part and that of another member of the team, Lucy, became abundantly clear.

What I liked about this book:

* It drew me in little by little

* I was invested in the outcome

* I was given insight into the corporate finance world

* It made me think about values

* It was intriguing

* I just liked it – and am thankful that I cannot see myself as a character in this book

What I did not like:

* Most of the characters

* What happened to the innocent (there were a few)

* Probably exactly what I was meant not to like

I am not sure about the ending. I saw it coming...eventually...but knowing it was coming still left me unsettled and wondered how those that may have survived would carry on in the future.

Did I like this book? Yes

Would I read more by this author? Yes

Thank you to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press for the ARC – This is my honest review.

5 Stars

SYNOPSIS

In Megan Goldin's unforgettable debut, The Escape Room, four young Wall Street rising stars discover the price of ambition when an escape room challenge turns into a lethal game of revenge. Welcome to the escape room. Your goal is simple. Get out alive.

In the lucrative world of finance, Vincent, Jules, Sylvie, and Sam are at the top of their game. They’ve mastered the art of the deal and celebrate their success in style—but a life of extreme luxury always comes at a cost.

Invited to participate in an escape room as a team-building exercise, the ferociously competitive co-workers crowd into the elevator of a high rise building, eager to prove themselves. But when the lights go off and the doors stay shut, it quickly becomes clear that this is no ordinary competition: they’re caught in a dangerous game of survival.

Trapped in the dark, the colleagues must put aside their bitter rivalries and work together to solve cryptic clues to break free. But as the game begins to reveal the team’s darkest secrets, they realize there’s a price to be paid for the terrible deeds they committed in their ruthless climb up the corporate ladder. As tempers fray, and the clues turn deadly, they must solve one final chilling puzzle: which one of them will kill in order to survive?

EXCERPT

PROLOGUE

It was Miguel who called 911 at 4:07 a.m. on an icy Sunday morning. The young security guard spoke in an unsteady voice, fear disguised by cocky nonchalance.

Miguel had been an aspiring bodybuilder until he injured his back lifting boxes in a warehouse job and had to take night- shift work guarding a luxury office tower in the final stages of construction. He had a muscular physique, dark hair, and a cleft in his chin.

He was conducting a cursory inspection when a scream rang out. At first, he didn’t hear a thing. Hip- hop music blasted through the oversize headphones he wore as he swept his flashlight across the dark recesses of the lobby.

The beam flicked across the classical faces of reproduction Greek busts cast in metal and inset into niches in the walls. They evoked an eerie otherworldliness, which gave the place the aura of a mausoleum.

Miguel paused his music to search for a fresh play list of songs. It was then that he heard the tail end of a muffled scream.

The sound was so unexpected that he instinctively froze. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard strange noises at night, whether it was the screech of tomcats brawling or the whine of construction cranes buffeted by wind. Silence followed. Miguel chided himself for his childish reaction.

He pressed PLAY to listen to a new song and was immediately assaulted by the explosive beat of a tune doing the rounds at the dance clubs where he hung out with friends.

Still, something in the screech he’d heard a moment before rattled him enough for him to be extra diligent.

He bent down to check the lock of the revolving lobby door. It was bolted shut. He swept the flashlight across a pair of still escalators and then, above his head, across the glass- walled mezzanine floor that overlooked the lobby.

He checked behind the long reception desk of blond oak slats and noticed that a black chair was at an odd angle, as if someone had left in a hurry.

A stepladder was propped against a wall where the lobby café was being set up alongside a water fountain that was not yet functional. Plastic- wrapped café tables and chairs were piled up alongside it.

In the far corner, he shone his flashlight in the direction of an elaborate model of the building complex shown to prospective tenants by Realtors rushing to achieve occupancy targets in time for the building’s opening the following month.

The model detailed an ambitious master plan to turn an abandoned ware house district that had been a magnet for homeless people and addicts into a high- end financial and shopping precinct. The first tower was almost finished. A second was halfway through construction.

When Miguel turned around to face the elevator lobby, he was struck by something so incongruent that he pushed his headphones off his head and onto his shoulders.

The backlit green fluorescent light of an elevator switch flickered in the dark. It suggested that an elevator was in use. That was impossible, because he was the only person there.

In the sobriety of the silent echo that followed, he convinced himself once again that his vague sense of unease was the hallucination of a fatigued mind. There was nobody in the elevator for the simple reason that the only people on- site on weekends were the security guards. Two per shift. Except to night, Miguel was the only one on duty.

When Stu had been a no- show for his shift, Miguel figured he’d manage alone. The construction site was fenced off with towering barbed- wire fences and a heavy- duty electric gate. Nobody came in or out until the shift ended.

In the four months he’d worked there, the only intruders he’d encountered were feral cats and rats scampering across construction equipment in the middle of the night. Nothing ever happened during the night shift.

That was what he liked about the job. He was able to study and sleep and still get paid. Sometimes he’d sleep for a couple of hours on the soft leather lobby sofa, which he found preferable to the lumpy stretcher in the portable office where the guards took turns resting between patrols. The CCTV cameras hadn’t been hooked up yet, so he could still get away with it.

From the main access road, the complex looked completed. It had a driveway entry lined with young maples in planter boxes. The lobby had been fitted out and furnished to impress prospective tenants who came to view office space.

The second tower, facing the East River, looked unmistakably like a construction site. It was wrapped with scaffolding. Shipping containers storing building materials were arranged like colorful Lego blocks in a muddy field alongside idle bulldozers and a crane.

Miguel removed keys from his belt to open the side entrance to let himself out, when he heard a loud crack. It whipped through the lobby with an intensity that made his ears ring.

Two more cracks followed. They were unmistakably the sound of gunshots. He hit the ground and called 911. He was terrified the shooter was making his way to the lobby but cocky enough to cover his fear with bravado when he spoke.

“Something bad’s going down here.” He gave the 911 dispatcher the address. “You should get cops over here.”

Miguel figured from the skepticism in the dispatcher’s cool voice that his call was being given priority right below the doughnut run.

His heart thumped like a drum as he waited for the cops to arrive. You chicken shit, he berated himself as he took cover behind a sofa. He exhaled into his shirt to muffle the sound of his rapid breathing. He was afraid he would give away his position to the shooter.

A wave of relief washed over him when the lobby finally lit up with a hazy blue strobe as a police car pulled in at the taxi stand. Miguel went outside to meet the cops.

“What’s going on?” An older cop with a thick gut hanging over his belted pants emerged from the front passenger seat.

“Beats me,” said Miguel. “I heard a scream. Inside the building. Then I heard what I’m pretty sure were gunshots.”

“How many shots?” A younger cop came around the car to meet him, snapping a wad of gum in his mouth.

“Two, maybe three shots. Then nothing.”

“Is anyone else around?” The older cop’s expression was hidden under a thick gray mustache.

“They clear out the site on Friday night. No construction workers. No nobody. Except me. I’m the night guard.”

“Then what makes you think there’s a shooter?”

“I heard a loud crack. Sure sounded like a gunshot. Then two more. Came from somewhere up in the tower.”

“Maybe construction equipment fell? That possible?”

A faint thread of red suffused Miguel’s face as he contemplated the possibility that he’d panicked over nothing. They moved into the lobby to check things out, but he was feeling less confident than when he’d called 911. “I’m pretty sure they—” He stopped speaking as they all heard the unmistakable sound of a descending elevator.

“I thought you said there was nobody here,” said the older cop.

“There isn’t.”

“Could have fooled me,” said the second cop. They moved through to the elevator lobby. A light above the elevator doors was flashing to indicate an elevator’s imminent arrival. “Someone’s here.”

“The building opens for business in a few weeks,” said Miguel. “Nobody’s supposed to be here.”

The cops drew their guns from their holsters and stood in front of the elevator doors in a shooting stance— slightly crouched, legs apart. One of the cops gestured furiously for Miguel to move out of the way. Miguel stepped back. He hovered near an abstract metal sculpture set into the wall at the dead end of the elevator lobby.

A bell chimed. The elevator heaved as it arrived.

The doors parted with a slow hiss. Miguel swallowed hard as the gap widened. He strained to see what was going on. The cops were blocking his line of sight and he was at too sharp an angle to see much.

“Police,” shouted both cops in unison. “Put your weapon down.”

Miguel instinctively pressed himself against the wall. He flinched as the first round of bullets was fired. There were too many shots to count. His ears rang so badly, it took him a moment to realize the police had stopped firing. They’d lowered their weapons and were shouting something. He didn’t know what. He couldn’t hear a thing over the ringing in his ears.

Miguel saw the younger cop talk into his radio. The cop’s mouth opened and closed. Miguel couldn’t make out the words. Gradually, his hearing returned and he heard the tail end of a stream of NYPD jargon.

He couldn’t understand most of what was said. Something about “nonresponsive” and needing “a bus,” which he assumed meant an ambulance. Miguel watched a trickle of blood run along the marble floor until it formed a puddle. He edged closer. He glimpsed blood splatter on the wall of the elevator. He took one more step. Finally, he could see inside the elevator. He immediately regretted it. He’d never seen so much blood in all his life.

ONE

THE ELEVATOR

Thirty-four Hours Earlier

Vincent was the last to arrive. His dark overcoat flared behind him as he strode through the lobby. The other three were standing in an informal huddle by a leather sofa. They didn’t notice Vincent come in. They were on their phones, with their backs to the entrance, preoccupied with emails and silent contemplation as to why they had been called to a last-minute meeting on a Friday night at an out-of-the-way office building in the South Bronx.

Vincent observed them from a distance as he walked across the lobby toward them. Over the years, the four of them had spent more time together than apart. Vincent knew them almost better than he knew himself. He knew their secrets, and their lies. There were times when he could honestly say that he’d never despised anyone more than these three people. He suspected they all shared the sentiment. Yet they needed one another. Their fates had been joined together long before.

Sylvie’s face bore its usual expression, a few degrees short of a resting-bitch face. With her cover-girl looks and dark blond hair pinned in a topknot that drew attention to her green eyes, Sylvie looked like the catwalk model that she’d been when she was a teenager. She was irritated by being called to an unscheduled meeting when she had to pack for Paris, but she didn’t let it show on her face. She studiously kept a faint upward tilt to her lips. It was a practice drummed into her over many years working in a male-dominated profession. Men could snarl or look angry with impunity; women had to smile serenely regardless of the provocation.

To her right stood Sam, wearing a charcoal suit with a white shirt and a black tie. His stubble matched the dark blond of his closely cropped hair. His jaw twitched from the knot of anxiety in his guts. He’d felt stabbing pains ever since his wife, Kim, telephoned during the drive over. She was furious that he wouldn’t make the flight to Antigua because he was attending an unscheduled meeting. She hated the fact that his work always took precedence over her and the girls.

Jules stood slightly away from the other two, sucking on a peppermint candy to disguise the alcohol on his breath. He wore a suave burgundy-and-navy silk tie that made his Gypsy eyes burn with intensity. His dark hair was brushed back in the style of a fifties movie star. He usually drank vodka because it was odorless and didn’t make his face flush, but now his cheeks were ruddy in a tell-tale sign he’d been drinking. The minibar in his chauffeured car was out of vodka, so he’d had to make do with whiskey on the ride over. The empty bottles were still rattling around in his briefcase.

As they waited for their meeting, they all had the same paranoid notion that they’d been brought to a satellite office to be retrenched. Their careers would be assassinated silently, away from the watercooler gossips at the head office.

It was how they would have done it if the positions were reversed. A Friday-evening meeting at an out-of-the-way office, concluding with a retrenchment package and a nondisclosure agreement signed and sealed.

The firm was considering unprecedented layoffs, and they were acutely aware they had red targets on their backs. They said none of this to one another. They kept their eyes downcast as they worked on their phones, unaware they were the only ones in the lobby. Just as they hadn’t paid much mind to the cranes and construction fencing on their way in.

Sam checked his bank account while he waited. The negative balance made him queasy. He’d wiped out all the cash in his account that morning paying Kim’s credit-card bill. If he lost his job, then the floodgates would open. He could survive two to three months without work; after that, he’d have to sell assets. That alone would destroy him financially. He was leveraged to the hilt. Some of his assets were worth less now than when he’d bought them.

The last time Sam had received a credit-card bill that huge, he’d immediately lowered Kim’s credit limit. Kim found out when her payment for an eleven-thousand-dollar Hermès handbag was rejected at the Madison Avenue store in front of her friends. She was mortified. They had a huge blowup that night, and he reluctantly restored her credit limit. Now he paid all her bills without a word of complaint. Even if it meant taking out bridging loans. Even if it meant constantly feeling on the verge of a heart attack.

Sam knew that Kim spent money as much for attention as out of boredom. She complained that Sam was never around to help with the twins. He’d had to point out that they’d hired a maid to give her all the help she needed. Three maids, to be truthful. Three within the space of two years. The third had walked out in tears a week ago due to Kim’s erratic temper.

Kim was never satisfied with anything. If Sam gave Kim a platinum necklace, she wanted it in gold. If he took her to London, she wanted Paris. If he bought her a BMW, she wanted a Porsche.

Satisfying her unceasing demands was doable when his job prospects were good, but the firm had lost a major account, and since Christmas word had spread of an impending restructure. Everyone knew that was a euphemism for layoffs.

Sam never doubted that Kim would leave him if he couldn’t support her lifestyle anymore. She’d demand full custody of the girls and she’d raise them to hate him. Kim forgave most of his transgressions, she could even live with his infidelities, but she never forgave failure.

It was Sam who first heard the footsteps sounding through the vast lobby. The long, hurried strides of a man running late to a meeting. Sam swung around as their boss arrived. Vincent’s square jaw was tight and his broad shoulders were tense as he joined them without saying a word.

“You almost didn’t make it,” observed Sylvie.

“The traffic was terrible.” Vincent ran his hand over his overcoat pocket in the habit of a man who had recently stopped smoking. Instead of cigarettes, he took out a pair of glasses, which he put on to examine the message on his phone. “Are you all aware of the purpose of this meeting?”

“The email invite from HR wasn’t exactly brimming with information,” said Sam. “You said in your text message it was compulsory for us to attend. That it took precedence over everything else. Well, we’re all here. So maybe now you can enlighten us, Vincent. What’s so important that I had to delay my trip to Antigua?”

“Who here has done an escape-room challenge before?” Vincent asked.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sam said. “I abandoned my wife on her dream vacation to participate in a team-building activity! This is bullshit, Vincent. It’s goddamn bullshit and you know it.”

“It will take an hour,” said Vincent calmly. “Next Friday is bonus day. I’m sure that we all agree that it’s smart to be on our best behavior before bonus day, especially in the current climate.”

“Let’s do it,” said Sylvie, sighing. Her flight to Paris was at midnight. She still had plenty of time to get home and pack. Vincent led them to a brightly lit elevator with its doors wide open. Inside were mirrored walls and an alabaster marble floor.

They stepped inside. The steel doors shut behind them before they could turn around.

TWO

SARA HALL

It’s remarkable what a Windsor knot divulges about a man. Richie’s Italian silk tie was a brash shade of red, with thin gold stripes running on a diagonal. It was the tie of a man whose arrogance was dwarfed only by his ego.

In truth, I didn’t need to look at his tie to know that Richie was a douche. The dead giveaway was that when I entered the interview room, a nervous smile on my pink matte painted lips, he didn’t bother to greet me. Or even to stand up from the leather chair where he sat and surveyed me as I entered the room.

While I categorized Richie as a first-class creep the moment I set eyes on him, I was acutely aware that I needed to impress him if I was to have any chance of getting the job. I introduced myself and reached out confidently to shake his hand. He shook my hand with a grip that was tighter than necessary—a reminder, perhaps, that he could crush my career aspirations as easily as he could break the bones in my delicate hand.

He introduced himself as Richard Worthington. The third, if you don’t mind. He had a two-hundred-dollar haircut, a custom shave, and hands that were softer than butter. He was in his late twenties, around five years older than I was.

When we were done shaking hands, Richie leaned back in his chair and surveyed me with a touch of amusement as I settled into my seat across the table.

“You can take off your jacket and relax,” he said. “We try to keep interviews informal here.”

I took off my jacket and left it folded over the back of the chair next to me as I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. Did he see a struggling business-school graduate with a newly minted MBA that didn’t appear to be worth the paper it was written on? Or was he perceptive enough to see an intelligent, accomplished young woman? Glossy brown hair cut to a professional shoulder length, serious gray eyes, wearing a brand-new designer suit she couldn’t afford and borrowed Louboutin shoes that were a half size too small and pinched her toes.

I took a deep breath and tried to project the poise and confidence necessary to show him that I was the best candidate. Finally I had a chance at getting my dream job on Wall Street. I would do everything that I could humanly do not to screw it up.

Richie wore a dark gray suit with a fitted white shirt. His cuff links were Hermès, arranged so that the H insignia was clearly visible. On his wrist was an Audemars Piguet watch, a thirty-grand piece that told everyone who cared that he was the very model of a Wall Street player.

Richie left me on the edge of my seat, waiting awkwardly, as he read over my résumé. Paper rustled as he scanned the neatly formatted sheets that summed up my life in two pages. I had the impression that he was looking at it for the first time. When he was done, he examined me over the top of the pages with the lascivious expression of a john sizing up girls at a Nevada whorehouse.

THREE THE ELEVATOR

All the lights in the elevator turned off at once. It happened the moment the doors shut. One moment they were in a brightly lit elevator; the next they were in pitch- darkness. They were as good as blind, save for the weak fluorescent glow from a small display above the steel doors showing the floor number.

Jules stumbled toward the elevator control panel. He pressed the button to open the doors. The darkness was suffocating him. He had to get out. The elevator shot up before anything happened. The jolt was unexpected. Jules lost his footing and fell against the wall with a thud.

As the elevator accelerated upward, they assumed the lights would be restored at any moment. In every other respect, the elevator was working fine. It was ascending smoothly. The green display above the door was showing the changing floor numbers. There was no reason why it should be dark.

Without realizing it, they shifted toward one another, drawn together by a primordial fear of the dark and the unknown dangers that lurked within it. Jules fumbled for his phone and turned on the flashlight setting so that he could see what he was doing. He frantically pressed the buttons for upcoming floors. They didn’t appear to respond to the insistent pressure of his thumb. “It’s probably an express,” explained Sylvie. “I saw a sign in the lobby that said something about the elevator running express until the seventieth floor.”

Jules pressed the button for the seventieth floor. And the seventy-first. And, for good measure, the seventy- second, as well. The buttons immediately lit up one after the other, each button backlit in green. Jules silently counted the remaining floors. All he could think about was getting out.

He loosened his tie to alleviate the tightness in his chest. He’d never considered himself claustrophobic, but he’d had an issue with confined spaces ever since he was a child. He once left summer camp early, in hysterics after being accidentally locked in a toilet stall for a few minutes. His mother told the camp leader that his overreaction was due to a childhood trauma that left him somewhat claustrophobic and nervous in the dark.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ll be taking the stairs on the way down,” Sam joked with fake nonchalance. “I’m not getting back into this hunk of junk again.”

“Maybe the firm is locking us up in here until we resign voluntarily,” Jules said drily. “It’ll save Stanhope a shitload of money.” He swallowed hard. The elevator was approaching the fortieth floor. They were halfway there. He had to hold it together for another thirty floors.

“It would be a mistake if the firm retrenched any of us,” said Vincent. “I told the executive team as much when we met earlier this week.” What Vincent didn’t mention was that several of the leadership team had avoided looking at him during that meeting. That was when he knew the writing was on the wall. “Why get rid of us? We’ve always made the firm plenty of money,” Sylvie said.

“Until lately,” Vincent said pointedly.

They’d failed to secure two major deals in a row. Those deals had both gone to a key competitor, who had inexplicably undercut them each time. It made them wonder whether their competitor had inside knowledge of their bids. The team’s revenue was lower than it had been in years. For the first time ever, their jobs were vulnerable.

“Are we getting fired, Vincent?” Jules asked as the elevator continued rising. “Is that why we were summoned here? They must have told you something.”

“I got the same generic meeting invite that you all received,” Vincent responded. “It was only as I arrived that I received a text with instructions to bring you all up to the eightieth floor for an escape room challenge. The results of which, it said, would be used for ‘internal consultations about future staff planning.’ Make of that what you will.”

“Sounds like they want to see how we perform tonight before deciding what to do with us,” said Sylvie. “I’ve never done an escape room. What exactly are we supposed to do?”

“It’s straightforward,” said Sam. “You’re locked in a room and have to solve a series of clues to get out.”

“And on that basis they’re going to decide which of us to fire?” Jules asked Vincent in the dark.

“I doubt it,” Vincent said. “The firm doesn’t work that way.”

“Vincent’s right,” said Jules cynically. “Let’s take a more optimistic tack. Maybe they’re using our escape room performance to determine who to promote to Eric Miles’s job.” Eric had resigned before Christmas under something of a cloud. They’d heard rumors the firm was going to promote someone to the job internally. Such promotions were highly sought after. At a time when their jobs were in jeopardy, it offered one of them a potential career lifeline.

The green display above the door flashed the number 67. They had three more floors to go until the elevator finished the express part of the ride. The elevator slowed down and came to a stop on the seventieth floor. Jules exhaled in relief. He stepped forward in anticipation of the doors opening. They remained shut.

He pressed the open button on the control panel. Nothing happened. He pressed it again, holding it down for several seconds. The doors still didn’t budge. He pressed the button three times in quick succession. Nothing. Finally, in desperation, he pressed the red emergency button. There was no response.

“It’s not working,” he said.

They looked up at the panel above the door that displayed the floor numbers. It had an E on its screen. Error.

A small television monitor above the control panel turned on. At first, they didn’t think much of it. They expected to see cable news or a stock market update, the type of thing usually broadcast on elevator monitors.

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the brightness of the white television screen. After another moment, a message appeared in large black letters.

WELCOME TO THE ESCAPE ROOM. YOUR GOAL IS SIMPLE. GET OUT ALIVE.

From The Escape Room. Copyright © 2019 by Megan Goldin and reprinted with permission from St. Martin’s Press.

Buy-book link:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250219671

AUTHOR BIO

MEGAN GOLDIN worked as a correspondent for Reuters and other media outlets where she covered war, peace, international terrorism and financial meltdowns in the Middle East and Asia. She is now based in Melbourne, Australia where she raises three sons and is a foster mum to Labrador puppies learning to be guide dogs. THE ESCAPE ROOM is her debut novel.

The Escape Room Blog Tour Q&A

1. How did you become inspired to write The Escape Room?

There were a number of inspirations that led to me writing The Escape Room. First of all, I’d had my third baby and, for the first time since my working life began, I'd taken a year or so out of the workforce to be with him. When I started looking to go back to work, I interviewed for a job for which I should have been a serious candidate as my experience closely matched the job description and I'd done something similar before for a similar company. Instead, the interviewer ate snack food throughout the interview with, let's just say, very bad table manners. He crunched particularly loudly every time that I spoke. I drew on this experience when I wrote about the job interview from hell that Sara Hall went through in The Escape Room. It made me feel powerless. I told friends about what happened and they shared with me their own horror stories in the workplace. It made me want to explore sexism in the workplace in my next novel. It also inspired the idea of a revenge theme. I liked the idea of someone who is beaten down by the system making a comeback.

Around that time I was also stuck in an elevator. I’d gone shopping with my kids. I had a cart full of food. The elevator stopped and the lights went off. It took a couple of minutes until we were able to get out but it was a dark, cold, and frightening couple of minutes in that elevator. I’d been thinking about a setting for this thriller revenge story that I had in mind. It struck me that the elevator was a perfect setting. I was fired up by the challenge of setting a novel in an elevator. It also served my purpose well. I wanted to put my characters in a pressure-cooker atmosphere where animosity would build as they learned each other’s secrets. An elevator was perfect.

2. What was your research process like when writing about the financial industry in the U.S?

When I research my books, I apply journalism skills acquired over the years. That means immersing myself in whatever information I can get ahold of. I read books, newspaper articles, elevator manuals, and even journal studies on human psychology. I also followed forums for investment bankers and others working in the financial industry and some of their social media feeds. I spoke with people who worked in the world of finance and also drew on material that I’d collected in the past. For example, there were big name investment banks in my previous office building and I’d often overhear bankers and brokers chatting in the elevator about their personal lives and work, or in my condominium building where many of them lived. I tend to write and research at the same time as I don’t plan my novels other than the story arc. As the story evolves on the pages while I write, I’ll stop writing for a few hours and branch out to research whatever might be relevant for the novel. In the case of The Escape Room, that included issues such as ‘game theory’ and things as mundane as technical manuals about elevator safety mechanisms and issues related to guns and ballistics. The research is one of the fun parts of writing a novel. I get to learn new things and it breaks up the intensity of writing. 

3. Are there any authors that you most look up to?

There is an endless list of authors, from crime and thriller writers, to literary fiction, classics, and non-fiction. Now that I am writing myself, I tend to analyze other books as I read. I look at plot, structure, character, voice, and various other writing techniques. Even as a journalist, I always saw writing as a constant process of learning and refining. I think it’s a lifelong endeavor. Among my favorites is John le Carre. I consider his novels master classes in suspense writing and I often reread them. Yuval Noah Harari's series, starting with Sapiens, was another inspiration behind The Escape Room, as I’d been reading it and watching Yarari's lectures on Youtube. It made me look at office culture through a prism of evolutionary biology. Offices are a modern-day human habit and the backbiting office politics is really a case of survival of the fittest.

4. If The Escape Room was to become a movie, which actor or actress would you like to play some of the roles?

Well, a close friend just suggested Bradley Cooper for Vincent! Or perhaps Colin Farrell, Ryan Gosling or Jesse Eisenberg for Sam and Jules. As for actresses, maybe Jennifer Lawrence for Sylvie, or Anne Hathaway or Margot Robbie for Sara Hall. Lucy could be Emily Blunt. 

5. Do you have any upcoming projects you’re working on?

I am working on my next book. It's also a thriller and it addresses contemporary themes but it's quite different from The Escape Room. I'm a little hesitant about how much to divulge at this point until it's done.

6. Anything else you’d like to add?

I'm extremely touched by all the support and feedback that I've been getting from so many bloggers and reviewers who are passionate about The Escape Room and who love the characters. Thank you all so much.