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Hey Light Fixture, You Are Much Too Bright
Swooooooosh goes the fire extinguisher I’m trying my hardest to keep a hold of as I stand in a back alley in the middle of the city, aiming the spray in the direction of the dark mist hovering in a corner. I almost tumble over, not expecting the force of it. The mist disintegrates on contact and I feel a sense of victory. This must be what it’s like for all those people who go to shooting ranges to blow off some stress. Only more fun – way
more fun.
“Okay Miss Trigger Happy, take it easy would you?” Finn shouts at me as he comes running into the alley after me.
He’s dressed in his all-black DOH gear, which I’m finding incredibly sexy right now. I’d taken off at warp speed when I’d spotted the mist slithering down a side street. In an unlikely turn of events, I actually outran Finn when he started chasing after me. I suppose excitement will do that to a person.
Earlier today Finn asked me to join him and Ira with the DOH on their hunt. Pamphrock has divided his men into groups, assigning them different shifts at various times of the day so that the chance of the chaos infecting people is minimised.
I walk silently back out of the alley with Finn. Since it’s daytime we’re getting quite a few curious looks from passers-by. Nobody seems to question us though, perhaps because we’ve got about fifteen young slayers with us and their uniforms are sort of official looking. They’re probably all wondering what the Goth chick is doing hanging out with the army dudes.
Over breakfast I told Finn about Ira breaking his vow of silence. The smile that split his face was priceless, as he stood and clapped Ira around the shoulders.
“Ya big secretive bastard,” he exclaimed.
Only Finn can call someone a bastard and make it sound genuinely friendly.
“It wasn’t a secret, Finn. He just wasn’t ready to speak yet,” I’d said, pointing my fork at him. “You try being a dog for two and a half decades. I’m surprised he doesn’t need extreme therapy after that.”
He laughed and gave Ira a wink. “Petal’s not a morning person. Isn’t that right, cranky knickers?”
I gave him an expression that was half smirk, half scowl and continued eating my breakfast.
Ira has still been relatively quiet though, only making one or two brief comments here and there. Despite this, he’s been great out here today with the mists. At one point we came across two men in the middle of a hardcore brawl. Ira held both of them apart, seemingly without effort, while I put my hands to their chests to expel the mists that had infected them.
I follow Finn to another back alley. Alleys and side streets seem to be the places the mists frequent most during daylight. It’s like they know they’ll be more likely to be seen out on the main thoroughfares. The idea that they have conscious thought is unsettling.
I stumble in fright when I see just how many of them there are back here. It looks as though there’s hundreds of them, slithering along walls, creeping by window boxes. The slayers obliterate them with their extinguishers, and I get a sense that the mists are becoming angry at the attack. The ones that remain conglomerate into an almost solid mass and the combination makes a distorted humming noise.
“Oh God, that’s so fucking creepy,” I say to Finn as we advance just behind the slayers.
“All at once, boys,” Finn shouts the order at them. “On the count of three.”
The slayers nod to one another as Finn counts, “One..two..three,” and then they let loose on the blackness. This time it doesn’t die though. The edges fade but the centre holds strong. I guess it’s true that there’s strength in numbers.
“Shit,” Finn mutters, before ordering loudly. “And again, one, two, three!”
Again they unleash Rita’s concoction on the combined mist and it rises up against the attack. Black and grey swirls within it, as though working to make a shape. I watch as it forms a clear picture. Then the swirling stops. The mists have created a horrific face with deep, dark holes for eyes. The mouth opens and tendrils seep out, lashing at the slayers.
“This isn’t good,” I say.
“Nope,” replies Finn, loping forward and spraying at a tendril that’s reaching out for one of the slayers. But he’s not fast enough. The mist gets into the slayer and he drops his extinguisher. His face contorts, and as I glance back up at the fake face the mist has somehow formed, it’s making the exact same contortions. The mist face’s mouth moves at the same time as the infected slayer’s does.
“Retreat!” the slayer demands. His voice sounds like it’s been computerised, but with the wires going to all the wrong places – if that makes sense. The noise he makes is jagged and robotic, sort of like it’s got a blown fuse.
“The mist is communicating through him,” Finn mutters as he steps back over to me.
“Yeah. It just keeps getting creepier.”
The slayer’s entire body puffs up and his mouth opens wide, his teeth all showing. I can hear his bones cracking as more and more mist fills him – too much for his body to hold. He looks horrific. “REEEEEE-TREEEEAT!!” Again, he gives sound to the demands of the chaos mist.
“I think we should go,” I say to Finn. “He’s not walking away from that and the mist is fucking well pissed off right now.”
Finn’s expression is agonised. I can tell how hard it is for him to accept that his slayer can’t be saved. A moment later he gives a small nod of resolve and calls to his men, “Okay boys, let’s call it a day.”
Only one slayer seems conflicted about the leaving. The others back away slowly from the raging chaos.
