Existentially Challenged, page 15
Adam Hesketh arrived at the Department building clutching a brand-new manila folder bulging with fresh printouts and feeling extremely dynamic. So much so that, when he bought his usual latte from the snack stand in the lobby, he decided to go completely crazy and get a banana as well. This did mean that he had to show his ID to the security guard by holding it in his teeth, but even that couldn’t sour his mood.
After Danvers had promised him a meeting to discuss the possible connection between the vampire case and Modern Miracle, Adam had made a special effort to write up his most compelling arguments. He had even gone through the Modern Miracle forums, taken screenshots of every suspect post, and printed them all out before he had allowed himself to go to bed. But he couldn’t sleep, so he had gotten up again and gone over all the relevant lines with a yellow highlighter pen.
Nevertheless, he was brimming with energy that morning and was quite unable to stop himself from bouncing on his heels as he waited for the lift to reach the Department’s main floor.
As he emerged, he saw the black-clad figure of Victor Casin hanging around the vending machines in the Department’s bright reception area like some kind of gothic Christmas decoration and attempted to suppress his own excitement. He didn’t want to irritate his oldest friend further by rubbing in his new status as a respected top-level investigator. Victor didn’t handle jealousy well. Back at school, he’d swiftly been banned from playing Monopoly in any room without a sprinkler system.
“Well, if it isn’t the superstar of the Hinvestigations Hoffice,” said Victor loudly as Adam attempted to slip by unnoticed. “How’s it going? Just back from meeting the Baker Street Irregulars?”
Adam was about to apologize on reflex, until Victor turned around to reveal the wide, slightly mocking smile that covered his face. There was a color to his pale cheeks that Adam had never seen before, like a pink stain in a snowfield from where a reindeer had been savaged by wolves.
“Victor?” said Adam, abandoning his attempt to speed walk past with an awkward faltering of his step. “Are you all right?”
“Sure!” said his former partner, swaying slightly. “Infused by an evil fire god. Can only masturbate in lead-lined rooms. Usual stuff, really.”
“Why are you so . . . chipper?”
Victor’s smile instantly vanished and his posture tightened up, ending his swaying movement as surely as if his shoulders had been pinned to the floor with wires. “I’m not chipper. I don’t do ‘chipper.’ ”
“You are totally being chipper.”
“Ha—I am not!”
“Then why did you just laugh?”
“I didn’t!”
“You did. You went ‘ha.’ That’s what people say when they laugh.”
Victor glanced furtively left and right but saw no obvious escape route from the conversation. His ears and nose had turned quite red. The savaged reindeer was proving to be quite the gusher. “Not necessarily. People say it when they’re doing karate too.”
Adam cocked his head. Victor was the person he knew best in all the world, and this was the first time he’d ever seen him in this mood. He knew Victor had been feeling alienated lately, but that was, if anything, his default state. The only explanation was that Victor had had some kind of new experience.
“Oh my god,” realized Adam aloud, his eyes beginning to bulge.
“What?”
“Have you got a girlfriend?”
Victor forced himself silent, sucking his lips into his mouth, but it was pointless. An entire reindeer massacre was unfolding across the snow.
“You have! You’ve got a girlfriend!” shouted Adam, the tone of his voice wobbling with a complicated mixture of emotion.
“I haven’t! It’s not like that!”
“But there is an ‘it’!” Adam took a step forward, and Victor had to flatten himself against the vending machine. “There has to be an ‘it’ for ‘it’ to not be like that! Who is she?”
“She’s not a she! Or she might be. I haven’t figured it out. Um.” Victor looked past Adam and suddenly noticed that the Department’s receptionist, who at this time of day would normally have their nose buried in social media, was looking directly at them with their gossip-collecting ears pricked up and primed for action. Victor grabbed Adam by the lapel and steered him a safe distance down the corridor, eventually positioning him between a secluded water fountain and a plant. “All right, yes, I have been . . . seeing someone, but it’s not a girlfriend thing.”
Adam’s eyes and mouth were in a constant state of motion as he tried to decipher this. “But . . . when we were twelve, and you got really angry when I asked if you wanted to practice kissing . . .”
“Or a boyfriend thing! No romance or anything like that happening at all. It’s more like . . . we get together now and again and try to kill each other for a few hours.”
Adam’s jaw dropped. “You’ve got an archnemesis?”
“It’s probably a bit too early to put labels on it,” said Victor, wobbling a hand. He was unable to stop himself breaking out into a stupid grin at the sight of Adam’s face. “But I’m pretty sure there’s a lot of archnemesis potential in this one.”
Adam glanced in every possible direction, jaw still hanging open in disbelief, before returning his gaze to Victor. “We never had an archnemesis when we were partners!”
“So?”
“We spent years waiting for the right archnemesis to come along! We always said, if we ever got an archnemesis, we’d have one together! Now we stop being partners and within, like, three weeks you’ve got an archnemesis?” His lips were quivering.
Victor sighed in irritation. “Oh, come on. Don’t take it so bloody personally. I wasn’t gonna pass this up. They’re possessed by Ifrig, for Christ’s sake. They’re, like, the perfect archnemesis for me. They probably wouldn’t connect with you much.”
“Well, I guess we can’t know, can we?” said Adam, hurt. “Since I haven’t even had a chance to meet them. Where did you meet them anyway?” His eyes widened. “Tell me it’s not that pyrokinetic who was tearing up the docklands . . .”
“No, of course not,” said Victor, his hands drifting nonchalantly into his pockets. “We . . . we met online.”
“There’s nowhere you can get matched with an archnemesis online,” said Adam. “You know I know that. We checked together.”
“It was on a forum. That Modern Miracle forum.”
Adam’s hands tightened around the folder of printouts in his hand with a snap of manila. “You’re on Modern Miracle?!”
“Yeah.” Victor shrugged. “A lot of people are on Modern Miracle.”
“That’s where all the magic extremists hang out!”
“Oh. Yeah. There’s some of that,” said Victor sulkily. “I don’t really pay much attention to that stuff.”
“Oh my god.” Adam perched his coffee cup on the edge of the potted plant and started rifling through his folder. “We are having a meeting right now about their links to actual murder cases. I spent half last night printing out posts from that forum. Is this you?” He brandished a sheet. “ComradeBuggerov on the thread about ‘all-time favorite explosions.’ That’s you, isn’t it? Oh god. I had a feeling . . .”
“No!” Victor batted the paper out of his face. “I don’t post. I just lurk, really. They’ve got a pretty good Mogworld subforum.”
“I can’t believe you,” said Adam, shaking his head. “We stop being partners, and in less than a month you’re meeting archnemeses and getting radicalized . . .”
“I am not getting radicalized!” barked Victor, suddenly angry. “It’s just a bloody message board and I only lurk on it, so I don’t even care that you think it’s a terrorist group. Jesus, I didn’t think you’d be so jealous about this.”
“I am not jealous!” cried Adam.
“Look, it’s no trouble. I’ll talk to my archnemesis. They might have a friend who could be your archnemesis. Then we could all go on a double fight to the death. Happy?”
“I don’t need—” Adam glanced at a nearby clock. “Gah. I need to get to my meeting with Mr. Danvers. And now I have to figure out how to explain that the Department’s own special Pacifications agent is a potential person of interest.”
“Fine! I’ll be a person of interest! Suits me!” shouted Victor after him as Adam hurried down the corridor. “when was the last time a person took an interest in you?!”
New face on the forums! :D
posted by NitaPavani1985 at 11:35 a.m.
Hi, Modern Miracle! I’m a “newbie” as you might say, I just made my account and wanted to post a topic to introduce myself! My name’s Nita Pavani, and I work at DEDA (that’s what we call the Department of Extradimensional Affairs on the inside) (actually I’m the head of public relations at DEDA, but I didn’t want to boast!). I’m really interested in getting to know you all and finding out what more us “muggles” can do to be good allies to the extradimensional community!
Yours,
Dr. Nita Pavani
Edited by NitaPavani1985 at 11:38 a.m.
Edited by NitaPavani1985 at 11:43 a.m.
Edited by NitaPavani1985 at 1:25 p.m.
SpookyBlender replied
get banned
Xyxxy replied
deda is shit
InterstellarFunPirate replied
fuk u
MiracleDadHimself* replied
Hi Nita! This is Miracle Dad. I’d be very interested in having a private conversation about what you can do to help our community. Check your private messages plz.
Crazybob replied
post ur tits
THREE DAYS LATER
25
Nita was backstage at a television studio, leaning against a section of wall between a stack of plastic chairs and a snack table. This was the only place she could find to stand that wasn’t dangerously in the path of the many runners and technicians that were constantly backing and forthing through the place like blood cells lost on their way to the heart.
Nita’s agitation was growing, as there were minutes to go until tonight’s show began, and the producer—the harassed-looking one in the white blouse who was clearly feeling threatened by another powerful woman in the room—kept making eye contact from across the room and tapping her watch meaningfully. Nita checked her phone again and confirmed that Miracle Dad would be there “any minute.” He seemed to be sure of this, as he had texted as much six times over the last half hour.
Finally, mere minutes before airtime, when the studio audience was already settled and the producer had started making urgent phone inquiries as to what television comedians were within five minutes’ drive and reasonably sober that night, Miracle Dad appeared. He was brought to Nita by one of the runners, who dropped him off like an armload of laundry before darting off on their next errand.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Pavani,” said Miracle Dad. He was wearing his usual Modern Miracle T-shirt and had applied something oily to his thinning hair. “Woo! Pretty psyched for this. This is gonna be a big step for the channel, y’know?”
“Yes, well, no thanks were necessary,” said Nita, slightly pointedly. She leaned unsubtly back and forth to look around him, but he seemed to be alone. “Is Megan-El-Yetch here?”
“Oh, just call her Miracle Meg.”
“Thank you, you must let me know if I’m using incorrect terms,” said Nita. There was that slightly pointed tone again. “Is she not here?”
“Nah. School night.”
“Oh.” Nita clasped her hands behind her back, squeezing her fingers a little too hard. “I assumed you would want her to make some kind of demonstration . . .”
“Ah, nah, I thought about that,” said Miracle Dad, keeping one eye on the activities behind him. “Don’t want people to think we’re a one-trick pony, do we?” He turned around, caught Nita’s concerned look, and his tone of voice became serious. “I don’t wanna treat El-Yetch like she’s free healing magic on tap, you know? Gotta show a lady more respect than that.”
“Of course,” said Nita carefully. She was harboring a growing dislike for Miracle Dad in person, and his last statement cemented it. There was nothing specifically objectionable about what he said, just the way he spoke. He talked like everything he said was accompanied by a wink and a smack of the buttocks.
“Need to show her we’re worth her trouble,” he continued. “That we all want the same thing.”
“And what does El-Yetch want?” asked Nita.
His answer was cut off by a call of “Quiet on the set please, everyone!” from the producer, who made sure to catch Nita’s eye as she emphasized the last word. The lights were going down. Nita folded her arms and could only watch as a runner—possibly the same one as before, but it was impossible to tell with these media people—grabbed Miracle Dad’s elbow and gently pulled until he was swallowed by the growing darkness.
A spotlight came on, illuminating the painted backdrop of London’s skyline and the small collection of furniture arranged in front of it: a pink sofa, a tall potted plant, and a porcelain bathtub in a classical Victorian style. The audience was just settling into an interested hush when jazzy music started and they were instructed to applaud by a pair of gesturing technicians.
“Ladies, gentlemen, boys, girls, and miscellaneous,” said a disembodied and altogether too-loud voice. “Please put your hands or closest equivalents together for your host: live from the bathtub, it’s Shgshthx Tonight!”
The applause grew in volume and expanded into cheering as a large glistening, semitransparent blob with a pinkish, slightly terracotta hue slithered onto the set. It had arranged itself into a pleasingly smooth cone shape, on top of which sat a top hat whose brim had gone slightly out of shape from being partially digested.
“Hello, and welcome to the show,” said Shgshthx, after they had decanted themselves into the bathtub and the applause finally died down. Shgshthx’s mastery of human-style talking made them virtually unique among the amorphous fluidics, even if their name didn’t. The cosmetic mouth that appeared just below their hat moved in perfect synchronicity with their words, and they had even outfitted it with a little set of buck teeth for additional cuteness. “It’s that wonderful time of the week when you turn on your TV and listen to a greasy pile of slime in a chair. But then you get bored of Newsnight and switch over to me instead.”
The audience laughed dutifully, but Nita felt herself tensing up. She wasn’t a fan of Shgshthx Tonight. Much as it was good to see fluidics in prominent positions, the whole tone smacked a little too much of fluidixploitation to her. Granted, it was difficult to properly “exploit” a species that happily ate garbage and had no use for money, but people like the producers of this show were certainly giving it a damn good try.
“We’ve got a great show coming up for you tonight,” said Shgshthx, tokenly. “Later on, Shgshthx and the Shgshthxes will be performing their new fart melody, ‘Chirpy Burpy Life,’ but first, let’s bring on our first guest. What do you get if you cross religion with the internet? Well, first you’ll get a comment section you won’t want to touch with a ten-foot barge pole, but you also get Modern Miracle, which styles itself as the fastest-growing new ‘online religion.’ ”
Nita was trying to retain a good view of the recording by bobbing left and right like a frustrated swan trying to get at the bread. Privately, she wondered how long Modern Miracle had been styling itself as that, and to whom.
“Joining us tonight is the high priest of Modern Miracle himself; please welcome Miracle Dad!”
The music went up again as Miracle Dad himself appeared stage left and made for the couch he was being helpfully pointed at. He was in no hurry, jogging along a wide curve that took him close to the cameras and audience, so he could wave with both hands and grin without a hint of embarrassment. He was completely at home in front of cameras. The kind of person who instinctively waves and pulls faces when finding themselves in the background of a live news report.
“So, Miracle Dad,” said Shgshthx, after Miracle Dad had finally settled onto the sofa. “You’re the father of the girl with healing powers who’s the center of your religion?”
“Yep, that’s my Miracle Meg,” said Miracle Dad proudly, clutching his knees and bobbing in his seat. “She’s got one hundred percent real healing powers and you can see them every week on our streaming channel.”
“Nobody said they weren’t real,” said Shgshthx.
“Good! ’Cos they are.” Miracle Dad darted a quick, slightly alarmed look to camera before visibly shaking himself back on track. “Sorry, Shgshthx, a lot of people think we’re scam artists just ’cos there’s never been a magic healer who can use their magic without killing themselves.”
“And what makes Miracle Meg different?”
“Well, she’s in dual consciousness with El-Yetch,” said Miracle Dad promptly. “And El-Yetch didn’t change the way Meg looks ’cos El-Yetch is the one Ancient who’s on our side, you see.”
“Hm,” said Shgshthx, neatly encapsulating in one syllable their personal feelings. The Ancient that had possessed Jessica Weatherby had set out to torture and murder a large number of fluidics, and while Shgshthx themselves hadn’t been among them, most fluidics still hadn’t fully gotten to grips with the whole “individuality” thing. “And your movement actually worships El-Yetch as a god?”
“Yeah!” said Miracle Dad, grinning again. “People think we’re a bit weird ’cos of that, too, but hey, does Jesus ever come down to kiss us better? My arse he does.”
“Jesus kisses your arse?” said Shgshthx, turning his mouth into a cheeky smile.
“Hey, maybe he could!” said Miracle Dad laughingly, over the giggles of the audience. “Christians are the worst. They’re the ones always sending hate mail. Chucking bricks at our house. And you know why they do it?”
