Open Mic Night Pt. 2: An Evening at Club Apocalypse.

 

Late Summer, 1999

It's 6 o'clock in the afternoon on a saturday, and even at 4:30, there were people lined up at the door to Club Apocalypse. Young people in leather BDSM-style gear and men in suits smoking on the sidewalk, neither group intermingling, likely the two variants of patron at Club Apocalypse. Agents Imogen, Irena, and Isaac stand near the top of the stairs descending from street level to the entrance to the club, Imogen concealed under a heavy disguise. 

Eventually the line shuffles down and they're confronted by the Club security, who recognize them and let them in. They sit at the bar and drink, one is passed a note telling them to come to the door to the Green Bar once the band starts their set. On saturdays, the house band for Club Apocalypse plays - Charnel Dreams. They don't see any Men in Black - Adolph Lepus and his two NRO DELTA goons are nowhere to be seen, nor are the strange grey-skinned Men in Black that accosted the agents the last time they came here. A man, big, muscular, good-looking, comes to the bar. He is a blonde with strong features, in combat boots and a leather trenchcoat. He drinks beer and says little. The agents see some men they peg as yuppies passing a bottle of tequila aroud, challenging each other to chug as much as they can. "You're going to fucking need it, man!", one says to another. 

From the dancefloor, applause and wolf whistles, the sound of a band preparing themselves for a very, very active set tonight. I-Cell takes that as their cue and crosses the dancefloor to the door to the Green Bar, where they're let in by a striking blonde woman. I-Cell enters, the blonde man enters after them, they talk, he is not a generous conversationalist, instead choosing to cross to the bar and order beer and "a steak", Imogen noting that Club Apocalypse doesn't even provide menus, in fact, between this and the last time they saw him here, he's probably the only person he's ever seen eat in Club Apocalypse. "Galt." a voice in dull monotone says from across the room. Belial sits alone at the booth, gesturing for the blonde giant to sit. They do, as Imogen and the other sit and discuss among themselves what is to be done. 

Eventually, Belial and Galt finish their discussions, Galt comes over to the agents and flatly remarks that Belial will see them now. 

Belial sits and speaks with the agents, explaining that they'll be brought into the secret, lower dancefloors of Club Apocalypse to attend an after-party. There's lots of moving parts, but their presence tonigh is required, though he assures them that nothing...untowards...will become of them. He stops midway through his sentence and looks past them. "How did you get in here?" he asks. The agents turn and are greeted by a familiar face, sneering with obvious rage, NRO DELTA Section chief Adolph Lepus stares a hole in Belial. 

"Maryland. I know you have your hands in this". Lepus snarls. 

"I'm sure I don't know what you refer to." Belial flatly replies.

"You give me an answer you little fruit. Maryland. What the fuck is going on in Maryland? You think I don't have a clue? I know what who you are. Same goes for you-" He turns his aggression to the three agents. "Don't think you're fooling me here, I know Green when I see it. Don't think you gave us the slip or nothing, you're old friend Halimah? She's in real good hands now, you just wait-"

Lepus doesn't finish the sentence. He isn't there. Clouds of fuzzy, strobing color bombard the agent's eyes like phosphenes, as their eyes adjust, Lepus is gone, his phosphene silhouette slowly fading from view. They turn to Belial, the color dancing and fading away in his palm as he lowers it. "An unwanted guest. Do not concern yourself with him. He is not relevant to tonight's activities." he says with certainty. "Remain here, we will collect you once the set is over. You are invited to the afterparty downstairs. In the meantime, enjoy yourselves. Drink. Eat. Be Merry. We will seek you when we're ready." Belial rises from the table, his expression flat and cold, and without so much as a handshake or a nod, exits to the Neophyte Bar. 

I-Cell stuck to their alcove for the duration of Charnel Dream's first set. Too afraid to fraternize with the immense Aryan nursing a lager at the bar. The exception being when Imogen, seeing that "Galt" would frequently eat in the Neophyte bar (and was the only one she had ever seen getting food at Club Apocalypse), inquired to the bartender what food was available. "Whatever you want" was their answer. She figured business at Club Apocalypse would better done on an empty stomach and returned to their table. Irena spied one of the Men in Black slink into the bar and order "Drink, please" before retreating to a corner and spending the next few minutes awkwardly attempting to gnaw the cap off the bottle. Finally, Charnel Dreams entered the Neophyte Bar, uproarous applause and the hollering of an emcee heralding the ending of their first set. They retrieved beverages then made their way downstairs for the afterparty. I-Cell sensed their cue and followed, Galt tailing them. 

A massive ballroom greeted them at the bottom of a set of wrought-iron spiral stairs. A team of black-clad occultists worked in tandem scrawling a pentagram in the centre of the ballroom, the attendees giving them a wide birth. "It's tacky, but it has a use" a voice says. Stephen Alzis, dressed to the nines, flashes a toothy grin. "Ah, the Lord of Life's guests are here." the cell members can't help but spy the sneer spreading across Belial's face at being addressed as such. "Help yourself to any beverages, it's a party!". "On the house?" asks Irena. A pregnant pause. "You're funny, careful." replies Alzis. As the preparations are made, the agents drift to the bar. Belial approaches them. 

"How would you like to make a deal? A favor for a favor"

I-Cell ponder the proposition, being in debt to the Network - again - doesn't sit right with them. Though after some debate, they decide to humour Club Apocalypse's proprietor. 

"Follow me to my office." He sees flatly. They do. Belial leads them down a flight of stairs, the walls eventually turning to bare rock, tunneled as if by giant moles. They're lead to Belial's office. Statue of crouching squids, teakwood boxes with esoteric symbols adorn the walls and corners. Behind his mahogany desk, an immaculately kept SS uniform sits in a glass case. 

"A deal was made between Alzis and a third party. They are to appear here tonight. This guest is a servant of a..." Belial takes a moment to select his words. "rival power. Call it a religious difference. I would have this man killed, were it up to me, but he is a guest of honour, and someone that Alzis sees as useful, or perhaps simply amusing to keep around."

"Who are they"

"You will see. I bring you here to make a proposition. I want you to kill this man for me. Not here, not now, obviously. He is a guest of The Network, guests of our organization are afforded that right to not be killed outright - most of the time - at Club Apocalypse. But soon."

"And in exchange?"

"I know much. We have a mutual enemy in Majestic. I can offer you details on their activites that I'm sure your masters will find...interesting. I know you, Ms. Imogen, are interested in that fraternity they call the 'Exalted Circle'. I can offer you much on them and their activities."

The promise of actionable intelligence on the Exalted Circle tempts Imogen. I-Cell discuss their options. Eventually, they settle on an answer. 

"Deal."

Belial blinks. "Good, then. For now though, I believe we are needed upstairs." and with that, they are led upstairs to the ballroom. Charnel Dreams in the midst of their second set. After a few songs, their frontman, Anton Merriweather, speaks in the microphone. 

"Alright boys and girls, tonight's fun is bought and paid for by the man himself, and he'd like a word with you." A holler from the crowd as Merriweather forfeits the microphone to Stephen Alzis as he takes the stage. I-Cell feel themselves being pushed, little by little, towards the edge of the pentagram.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we have exciting news." the Egyptian announces. "As many of you know, we sent your friend and mine, Ginette Wirtz, our very own Lady of the Land, down South to go and get herself a man." Cheers and wolf-whistles sound from the margins of the lightless ballroom. "Well, boys and girls, I hear she's found herself a suitor. Let's put our hands together to welcome home to lucky lady and her man!"

Static fills the air. Heat shimmers play across the pentagram. Vertigo. A crack. Blue-white light fills the room. A women adorned in heavy piercings and tattoos daubed in blood wearing a bridal veil and waving a bouquet stands off from the centre. Standing in the centre of the pentagram, covered in gore, eyes wide with fear, and rage. Eyes wide with insanity, stands a man I-Cell recognizes. Tom Murphy, Agent MONTY. He lets out a barbaric yawp and waves around an M16A2, apparently phasing no one in the ballroom. "I went out and found myself a MAN" Wirtz hollers out in a fake southern drawl before hurling the bouquet into the blackness. Laughter fills the room as Monty lurches, swears, and screams. Irena and Isaac stare in abject horror. Imogen doubles over and loses her lunch. There is laughter. Laughter, and a song. 

"Here comes the bride, all dressed in white". 

From the stage, Stephen Alzis and his band laugh. From the margins of the room, Belial stares, deathly cold.