Dane looked around in panic. He thought he had more time. Did he want to make a grab for the snow globe grenade? He looked around to see how things were going down. He noticed the workers at the very old control panels made of Brass flipping levers and knobs. That part was so familiar; make the workers robots or put them in brightly colored jumpsuits, and it'd be like any other mad scientist plan. But Dane didn't know the exact play yet. This was a magic situation. It had something to do with the hotel - but what? He couldn't stop it if he didn't know what he needed to stop.
"What are they doing?" said Jameson, watching the workers flip levers. "It's archaic. Like some old timey invention."
Abby was rummaging around in Dane's satchel; she had gone through it a few times, but Dane seemed to always find the right thing by retreading that old ground. Or maybe it just helped him think. "I believe these days it's called steampunk," she said. As she looked through the satchel, she came upon the robot jammer device. It was currently turned off. She stared at it for a long moment. She remembered how the robot panthers had technically given enough distraction for Dane and her to escape their deaths in unmarked graves, even if the panthers were deadly in their own way. "Why not?" she said to herself, then she switched the jammer on. It began broadcasting a signal.
"I don't think there's much steam or punk about this," said Jameson. "Now they're chanting."
Abby looked up for a moment and saw that there were indeed workers chanting. At five desks in roughly a circle around the throne, the five workers had stood and were now intoning something in almost musical voices. It was nothing Abby could understand, but each of the chanters were deathly serious about what they were doing. At the one desk she could see, the display behind the worker seemed to be flashing with a large variety of geometric patterns and symbols.
Her fingers fell upon what she needed. "Got it!" she said as she pulled out The Goggles. She put them over her eyes and began to fiddle with the knobs.
"Are you now doing that, uh... steam... punk thing?" asked Jameson.
Abby shrugged off his question. It didn't take much tuning to see the initial effects, but they became more clear. In the sepia-colored version of the room, she saw each worker and desk glow. Lines of force surged between them, each worker connected to two others. These lines surrounded the throne...and Dane. As the chanting continued, the lines grew brighter. Then the walls of the room also began to grow brighter. In moments everything was too bright for Abby and she had to take off The Goggles. Even without them, she could feel a charge in the room.
Then the room started rumbling. There was a groan in the walls and the floors. Now even the security guards looked around uneasily. They knew something was happening, and if they had been briefed on what, this still far exceeded their expectations.
Dane was still not sure exactly what was going on, but he at least had Carmichael to boast about it.
"Ah, the Summoning is almost complete!" said the old man with relish.
"Summoning?" said Dane, noticing that based on the positions of the five chanting workers, he stood basically in the center of a pentagram with Carmichael. "You're summoning a..."
"Demon, yes," said Carmichael. "Oh, I will not bore you with the howling syllables of its true name, Mr. Monday. But a mind such as yours recognizes demon, yes?"
"Yes, but are you mad? Where's the summoning circle? You can't just summon a demon with no place to put it!"
"And that's where you lack vision, Mr. Monday," said Carmichael. "Don't you understand? The entire hotel is the vessel for the demon!"
Demon
"You really are mad!" said Dane. "You can't summon a demon into a building!"
Carmichael smiled slyly. "Oh, but you can. This is not just any building. This building is almost entirely made out of Avalon Brass and Yage wood, two very magically reactive substances. And it sits upon the center of a labyrinth of tunnels running under the city channeling the energies of Mother Avalon up into this building. Not only is the demon possessing the building, but this building is the means by which I will destroy New Avalon!"
"But... a building?" said Dane incredulously.
There was a tremor and the room shook. All who were standing stumbled. Dane caught his footing while Carmichael gloated from his throne.
"I am the Architect of Avalon's destruction!" said Carmichael. "It shall take the shape of my choosing!"
Carmichael reached over to the box on the table next to him. He grabbed the ornate wood box and delicately opened it. The interior was covered in red velvet. Within the velvet sat a single object which Carmichael deftly removed. Made entirely of Avalon Brass, it was a thin mask, somewhat like a thespian's. With two hands he reverently placed it upon his face. Carmichael's eyes were completely covered, while the mask ended in an inverted V under his nose, his chin jutting from underneath.
The old man's mouth twisted into a blissful smile.
Outside the hotel, it was chaos. As the ritual inside had progressed, the building had already begun to glow faintly and anywhere Avalon Brass was exposed, it began to glow brightly. Then came the tremors. While localized to the hotel and its plaza, it could be felt by anyone in the area.
First was confusion, then screaming. Many of the gawkers surrounding the police barriers fled, with only a few brave souls and the doomsayers remaining to watch the events unfold. Police and government agents were instantly on guard and on their comms - this was in advance of the five o'clock deadline. They had ops planned for thirty minutes before the deadline and on the deadline itself, but none expected the show to start early. Terrorists usually liked to savor anticipation and the uncertainty created by delays, not go off early.
As the police and government agents frantically exchanged sitreps and readied their men for an unfolding event they still did not yet understand, they were the first to see a change in the building. They weren't even sure what they were seeing at first. The glowing building seemed to shift. Windows no longer seemed to be fixed in place. SWAT snipers had to pull their eyes off their scopes and blink for a moment, their brows furrowed in confusion. Walls and windows seemed to be stretching, twisting, almost mutating as they watched. The wood, Brass, and façade of the building seemed to now be made of a sticky jelly which was now shifting as the building rearranged itself.
It was perhaps the news crews with their direct feed into the Channel 5 News chopper that had the best view of the situation. Jack Steadman, faithful news reporter, part time weatherman, and habitual chopper passenger relayed the situation to the Channel 5 news anchor in the studio, Tug Johnson.
"People of New Avalon," said Tug Johnson, "if you're just turning in, there has been an... interesting development in the Terminus Hotel terrorist situation. Over one hour in advance of the deadline, there have been some... changes to the building. Shortly before this occurred, there had been tremors in the general area. Then... how did you describe it, Jack?"
"The building began to glow," came the staticky voice, "Not at all like they were using lights. It was almost like it was luminous or under a black light. Shortly after that, the building began to change... and stretch..."
"When you say stretch and change, can you give our audience a better idea of what you mean by that?" said Tug.
"The audience is seeing the same footage we are," said Jack's voice. "That is not a trick of the video. What you are seeing is a building that seems to be melting. Except..."
"Except what, Jack?"
"Except when you normally see things melt, they tend to melt... well... downwards, y'know? This is like something is pulling the building upwards. You're seeing what we're seeing. It's - look at that!"
"What is it, Jack?" said Tug with some urgency.
"There's a five second delay on the footage, so you should be getting it now. I'm at a momentary loss for words."
All at once, the building mutations shifted into overdrive. In one second it was still a badly stretched building, in another second it was a glowing mass, now lacking in mos
t building traits. The mass then quickly shifted into something almost...
"Humanoid..." said Jack.
"What was that, Jack?"
"I'm not sure what else to say, but it's starting to look like a person. A fifty story high person, but it's definitely looking like a person!"
At first only with Jack's insightful suggestion would a causal viewer think the hotel vaguely looked like a collection of arms, legs, and something like a head. But then just a few seconds later, it became much clearer than this was a humanoid. But the proportions were strange - the arms were a little too long, the feet were strangely hooved like a horse, and the fingers were elongated.
"That's not a person," said Tug with a growing apprehension.
The head was approximately man-like, the face slowly twisting into a cruel mouth and sharp features. But that was not what brought Tug to that judgment. No, from the top of the head the building-stuff was spiraling into two sharp horns, like that of an elk. Then the rest of the face filled in. The cruel mouth was filled with sharp teeth. In place of eyes was a long horizontal slit. The home viewers didn't realize it, but that slit was the large windows of the control room.
The transformation was nearly complete, the building-stuff hardening. What stood in the place of the building was a fifty story mass of hardened Yage wood, the dark brown contours showing off demonic muscle. All through the form were threaded veins of Avalon Brass almost like electronic circuitry. Pulses of green light streaked along these Brass passageways up and down its form.
But there was one final part of the transformation. From the back of the creature sprouted branches of pure Avalon Brass. Fanning out behind the demon building to the left and right, it occurred first to only some viewers what these were. These were the bone-like protrusions of bat wings, forged out of sharp Avalon Brass. Any doubt of their identity by other viewers was lost when a green fiery energy spread between the bones of the wings, giving them a hellish substance.
Now the building pulled its legs out of the pit that once contained the basement levels of the hotel. The Terminus demon threw its head back and roared.
"Heaven help us," said Tug, all other words lost.
The Channel 5 news broadcast was seen by most of the city. Those that did not see it either watched it on the less-liked Channel 8 news, saw it on the internet, or were too busy fleeing the city to catch the video feed of what impending doom awaited those who had chosen to stay.
In his loft in Old Avalon, Alastair examined the demon with interest on his old television set. He immediately began sketching it and writing down details. He wanted to figure out how Carmichael did it. And second, he wanted to learn which demon the old man used. Theoretically, that would be an impossible task. Demons could change their shape and appear in any form they pleased, often doing so to rattle mortal men. But demons typically had a flaw: arrogance. Demons tended to like certain forms. And even if they had no favorite form, they liked certain aspects which they would include in new forms - particular horns, a certain visage, a color, or even a specific nose. For them it was something familiar and also a taunt - they were daring those they met to guess their true identity, making an obvious hint that their observers would be too stupid to get.
But Alastair wasn't stupid. He sketched the form and paid particular attention to the horns. Then he opened his books. He would be too late to help Dane today. But Alastair would know.
In an underground bunker surrounded by whirring machinery, half finished robots, and a bank of monitors, a bearded scientist sat in his own throne. He slumped in his massive chair, his fingers clasped in front of his face, brooding over this news footage. He ground his teeth, just watching the insult that the news aired. On a smaller monitor to the side was the confirmation that a familiar signal was coming from the same animated hotel.
"I will accept no competition, no camaraderie, no copycats, no pretenders," growled Honnenheim. "I will not stand for someone destroying the city... my city which I have yet to conquer! I will not stand for such a cheap fake!"
In anger, his hand swept across his desk, clearing all objects. His crappy keyboard, his budget mouse, and his #1 Mad Scientist mug clattered to the floor. The mug received a chip on its handle that Honnenheim would regret later. But right now he was angry, practically seething with rage. He had been thwarted much in the past 48 hours. But this was a slight that would not, could not stand.
Honnenheim clicked the button for his command comm. "All units prepare for battle. Engineering units, prepare the Omega-6. Short launch countdown."
From the speakers echoed a chorus of his own voice distorted by robotic voice boxes. "As you command, my lord!"
He sat back in his chair, back to brooding. There would be a reckoning that none would forget.
"Okay, report, what is your status?" called out Gustav to the rest of the control room.
"New form is stable, balance within acceptable parameters, structural integrity holding," said one of the workers at the desks.
"Air conditioning and life support systems working and still intact after transformation," said another.
"Cameras are intact," said a third. "We have 360 viewable area."
"Unnecessary!" said Carmichael, his voice carrying a breathy air of exhilaration from under his sightless mask. "It's amazing! I can see all around the hotel! Every inch of the hotel's skin provides me vision! I can see all those fools running from my magnificence!"
WHO DARES TO SUMMON ME? came a booming voice from all directions. Its accent was unreadable. The workers, the security guards, and even Kripp looked around nervously.
"I dare, demon!" said Carmichael. "Give up your foolish arrogance! You know you are trapped!"
There was a pause. I DON'T UNDERSTAND... WHAT IS THIS?
"The perfect trap!" said Carmichael with relish. "Your kind has never experienced such a snare, nor any other creation of my genius! You are mine and you have been shaped to my will!"
FOOL! YOU DARE TO MESS WITH ME? I AM AN ARCHDUKE OF - the voice let off into an anguished scream.
"As my will can shape your trap, so I can also shape you - into forms of great pain, if I choose," said Carmichael. "Do you understand your situation now? Do you know your place now?"
There was simply silence.
"I will take your silence as compliance," said Carmichael with a smile.
"I don't know which one of you is the more diabolical entity," said Dane.
Carmichael's smile did not falter. "One does not work with demons with any other attitude. Only fools bargain with demons. Men demand."
"I'm inclined to think a fool is anyone who attempts to work with a demon and expect to come out with the better end of the deal," said Dane. He had seen the failures more than a few times and he had a few talks with Alastair on the subject, sometimes with quite a clash of viewpoints.
"Small men don't take risks," said Carmichael. "So I understand why you might have that viewpoint. It's the difference between why I sit in this throne and you stand by as just a witness."
"I think the fact that you still feel you need a witness to talk to and gloat about things to is rather telling to me," said Dane.
"Yes, yes, you think I am arrogant, megalomaniacal and you shall stop me," said Carmichael with a blind wave of his hand. "I heard the speech from Victor Sargosso already. But he could only delay me, not stop me. I don't expect you to do better than him. You are clearly a lesser man."
"If I recall, there is a long history of supposedly great men taken down by lesser men," said Dane. "For example, Sargosso delayed you for nearly a century. And I believe your own history gives some other prime examples of lesser men besting you. In fact, aren't your own failures due to 'lesser men' the very things that made you want to destroy the city?"
Carmichael's lips curled into a sneer. "I would be careful, Mr. Monday. Know your own place. You remain here and alive at my pleasure. Once you cease to entertain me, I will have you removed."
"Yeah, yeah," said Dane, "I -"
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His words were cut off by the shrill ring of a phone. The whole room paused as they looked for the source of the ring. Dane froze up because he recognized it as his ringtone. With a frozen smile, he said, "Excuse me," and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He answered it and turned ninety-degrees to his left in mock-privacy. "Hello?"
"Dane! How are you doing? It's Wong."
"Umm, hey," said Dane.
"So far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, but if you haven't turned on your television in a while, there's really something you need to see. The wife says it just screams Dane Monday."
"No, I have it under control, Wong. I'm currently inside it."
"Oh really? What's the inside like?"
Dane looked around the control room again. "It's actually quite roomy and nice. Almost opulent."
"Ha ha, that's funny! Especially since when you're done there it will probably be on fire. Oh, before I go, are you coming to poker tonight?"
"Uh, no," said Dane, looking at Gustav and the workers who were all glaring at him. "I think I'm going to be a little busy."
"That's too bad. I hope I won't have to cancel the whole thing. Everyone else gets so wary; it's like they've never seen cities destroyed before. I guess I have the age advantage. Good luck!" Wong hung up.
"Sorry," said Dane to the villainous occupants of the control room as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.
"Now if there are no further distractions, Mr. Monday," said Carmichael, "We have a city to destroy."
Colette returned to the control room and confirmed to Gustav and his team that the core hotel integrity was intact. Despite the great transformation of the building, certain essential inner parts remained unchanged as part of the plan. Elevators still worked, stairs were unblocked, the electrical grid was stable, and the personnel on other floors were safe and able to do their jobs. Gustav listened with interest, but Carmichael merely shrugged it all off, knowing he had designed the hotel and the demonic form personally. Then Colette took her place standing on the other side of Carmichael's throne from Dane.
Manic Monday: (Dane Monday 1) Page 21
