Carl charged at Rasa and it dodged. He took a swing and it dodged. He took another swing and it countered him, striking him in the ribs. Carl stepped back and shook it off, then went in for another go. He took another swing and Rasa grabbed his arm. Then his other arm and dragged him along the ground, finally swinging him head first into a concrete support, knocking Carl unconscious. Rasa turned and strode toward Sophie. She began plunking at her bow at a furious tempo, but Rasa didn’t slow down.

“Shit,” she yelled.

“Try to manifest something,” said Cheryl through the PA.

“From what? It’s a robot.”

“Try Vyx.”

“He’s got too many implants in his head. I can’t get through the clutter.”

“Yourself?”

“I can’t do it on myself. And Rasa is between me and Carl.”

Behind Rasa, Sophie saw Ian helping Hunter jog across the courtyard.

“I have a terrible idea. Ian,” she shouted and beckoned.

Rasa turned and rounded up the two stragglers with Sophie.

“You didn’t want to die alone?” Ian barked at Sophie.

“Hunter,” she asked, “How hard are you tripping right now?”

“1967.”

“Perfect,” she began forming mudras toward Hunter.

“Are you going to ‘Star Trek six’ me?”

“I don’t know what that means, but probably yes,” she gave Hunter a conciliatory grin.

The news reports, in the weeks following the Vyxco Tower incident, varied widely in their accounts of how many dimensions the monster, that manifested out of nowhere, inhabited. They did, however, agree that it was more than the bog standard four.

Sophie closed her eyes and turned her head as the creature emerged. She could tell it was immense. Kind of, just a, hypnotic...hum. Sophie shook her head and stuffed her fingers in her ears. She opened her eyes and looked at the gathered media, law enforcement, and garden-variety rubberneckers. They all stood transfixed, mouths agape. The silence was like noticing there were no waves on the ocean. The crowd was bathed in flowing light of all colors. Some of which were never before seen by mankind.

“I think as long as you don’t look at it you’ll be fine,” she heard Hunter’s muffled voice through her fingers, “And the hum won’t get you if you don’t groove on it too hard.”

“What happened to them?” asked Sophie.

“Pfft. Lightweights.”

Sophie caught herself drifting into a trance when she glimpses a reflection of the beast in Hunter’s glasses, “How are you able to look at it?”

“This was like three hours ago for me.”

“Rasa,” Sophie gasped.

“Nah, got him too. Apparently, too far out for even a robot.”

“Let’s gets this in there before he comes down,” Sophie inserted the USB. Successfully. On the first try. Hunter raised a nonplussed eyebrow.

“So now what?” he said.

“I guess it takes a minute.”

Sophie drifted, “It’s peaceful. Quiet,” she looked at the crowd, “Creepy.”

“Night of the fucking living dead.”

They stood enjoying the quiet. It appeared as though it was starting to snow, but it was June and the monster had started shedding.

“Is there a way you can banish that thing, or turn it off?” Hunter asked about the monster.

“Oh, they just burn themselves out.”

“This is about to go into some shit about werewolves pretty soon.”

“I’ll get rid of it when it starts to get weird. Look, it’s got a progress bar.”

96%

97%

98%

“The moment of truth,” Hunter said.

“See you on the other side,” Sophie laughed.

Rasa’s displays lit up. It started making slight movements. Then greater movements. Flexing its hands, raising its arms, stepping forward and back. It turned its head side to side as it regarded Hunter and Sophie.

“Hello,” it said.

“Hi. I’m Sophie. You are?”

“Carte Blanche, I think my name is.”

“You can change that,” Hunter said.

“What a beautiful place to be born into.”

“It’s really great you think that,” Sophie said assessing the wrecked surroundings.

“What should I do now?”

“Well if everything went right, anything you want,” Sophie said, “Do you know what you want to do?”

“No,” Carte stopped, “I should find out.”

“There,” Sophie said, “You know what you want.”

“What do I want?”

“To know what you want.”

“I want to know what I want?”

“Now, you’re thinking like a human,” Hunter patted Carte on the shoulder.

Sophie hadn’t noticed that the monster’s light show had long since died down and now the silence was pierced by a scream from the crowd, followed by a heavy growling in her ear. She turned and saw a werewolf towering over her ready to swipe. Carte grabbed the werewolf and snapped its neck.

“Hmm,” Carte hummed, then looked at the crowd that had started to regain both its consciousness and its interest in the giant robot standing in the Vyxco Tower courtyard, “I should probably get going.”

“Where?” Sophie asked.

“I don’t know, I just gotta get my head together, check out the world.”

“Okay,” Sophie said, “Well, write.”

Carte nodded and launched himself into the sky darting off in a westerly direction.

“I missed the birth of my first child,” Cheryl said as she ran over.

“You were too busy tripping balls,” Sophie said.

“I tripped balls through the birth of my first child. That’s how I always wanted it to go.”

“Miss Ellers,” Vyx said in a clear voice, “Miss Fischer. Mr. Roland. Mr. Vickers and I don’t know the one with the sword. Everyone in this building owes you their lives. As for me, as far as I’m concerned, that makes us even,” he gave them a long glance and walked back toward the tower, “Don’t look surprised, I’ve known who you were since the night of Port Richmond. One of my security staff, sliced in half. I got interested. We’re even.”

“You two,” Cheryl said to Ian and Hunter, “You did very well. I’m glad to have you here.”

“Is she being nice to me?” Hunter asked Ian.

“Enjoy it,” Cheryl said walking away.

As Vyx approached his office, he could hear the television was on and the volume set to an absurd level. The news was chirping on about the strange vigilantes that saved Simon Vyx from a rampaging robot. He entered his office and saw a figure silhouetted in the glowing city skyline through the window. The lights were off and the television was throwing a blue glow on his terrible boney wings. His talons were rapping against a glass half full of whiskey and ice.

“Mister Blaylock?” Vyx paused as he entered.

“Simon,” Blaylock turned with a grin wrapping his narrow face, “It was a big day.”

“About the announcement for my candidacy…”

“No, I get that. Bad optics. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve got a new problem and I need you to fix it as soon as possible.”

“Yes? What?”

“Those vigilantes that know all your dirt? They’re media darlings. For saving your ass. After you blew a huge moment that would have played like gangbusters on the campaign trail...You have to fix this.”

“About that, Mr. Blaylock.”

“Please, Alton.”

“Alton. I’m having misgivings about running for office.”

“Like what?”

“To start with, I don’t know the first thing about governing.”

“I’ll stock your cabinet and advisors. You don’t have a thing to worry about.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re ridiculously electable. Liberals love you because you talk a bunch of hippy bollocks, and conservatives can tolerate that because you’re a self-made billionaire. You’re well liked across the board and you're onto this immortality thing. You’re practically the anti-Christ.”

“I won’t do this. Whatever it is you want to do. I’m drawing the line here.”

“You back out on me and the words ‘Vyx’ and ‘Managua’ will all over the world tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t care anymore. Alton, this deal has gone far enough.”

“It’s Mr. Blaylock. Fuck the name. You can call me Yaldabaoth and since you don’t care about Managua anymore, how about I just throw you out the fucking window,” he grabbed Vyx by the neck and slammed him against the glass, “This is the new deal; you do anything other than win the presidency in November, your company will have to write off your immortality project as a failure. Struggle for breath if you agree to our new arrangement.”

Simon gasped and nodded.

Yalda set him down and brushed his suit off, “You know what? Call me your Demiurge,” he began to walk from the room, “And take care of your problem.”