Precinct 78 - field note journal of Detective Debra Alexander
The subject was apprehended at 0600 hours this morning during the Jersey Steel Plant Riot. Screening upon intake revealed that the subject was heavily intoxicated. Significant non-lethal force used by officers on site to bring the subject into captivity. Mental condition is at times briefly stable and more often highly volatile and aggressive. Subject is exhibiting symptoms of multiple personalities influencing this behavior. Intake tried to remove the mask and subject became extremely violent, needing to be restrained in a straight jacket and screaming repeatedly: "It has no mask! It has no mask!".
Current prescription includes sedation from 15mg of Diazepam administered 3 times a day. Subject's behavior drastically alters when sedated compared to the final window of the day where we do not administer a fourth dose. Dosage is considered high and vitals are being monitored while waiting for stabilization.
Detective Alexander flashed her badge to the front desk officer to be admitted. "Sergeant Smithers", she addressed her superior promptly. The man's silvery grey mustache and horseshoe hairline accentuated the Sergeant's fatigue. "The team has completed 72 hours of observation. We made sure the media could get a good look at her", Alexander continued to Smithers.
"Humanizes the bitch I guess", Smithers said crudely in his guttural tone. The Sergeant downed half a cup of straight black coffee from a mug and licked the remnants sloppily off his mustache. "Maybe we'll get less of these imitator whack jobs, running around with masks and trying to play pretend vigilante justice."
"I know Sarge, I know", Alexander sighed and ran a hand through her short brunette hair. "I want to stop all this terrorist activity as much as you do, but we could lose our only window to actually have a conversation with her and see what's going on up there."
Smithers didn't bother to reply. His eyes were fixed on a run of the local morning news, showing images of looting on 5th avenue by several masked individuals with crimson ink blots splotched upon their faces. Chaos often inspired mimicry as its greatest form of flattery. But Smithers was the last audience to be pleased.
"You need to stop watching that, it'll just make your mood worse." Alexander grabbed the remote and switched the television off. "Just reminding you that we've weened her off Diazepam for 8 hours following the 72 hour observation period. I'm going in there just to get some dialogue, don't expect much."
Smithers didn't feel like saying any more and grunted affirmation. The wound was too fresh to forgive what had happened to Sanchez. Sanchez's face was bruised and unrecognizable, propped up on multiple supports in the intensive care unit.
Alexander flashed her badge to the officer before being admitted into the interrogation room with a loud buzz alarm to accompany movement of the metal door. One wall was complete reinforced plexiglass and the subject was already prepped for interrogation. Knotted up in a straight jacket with cuffs on both wrists and ankles.
"I know you don't really want to talk to us in this condition, but we need to understand what causes this kind of behavior and your degree of mental awareness and responsibility for the crimes you've committed." Alexander, a seasoned detective, pulled up the chair across the table for herself, placing down the folder of paperwork and notes onto the metal table. Still, the blood-like crimson ink blobs shifting about on the unremoved mask were unsetttling to Alexander.
"We've ran some identification on you. There's really no point in hiding behind that mask any longer." Alexander refused to use that name the media liked so much - The Crimson Countess - names have power. "Alicia Scarponi. Date of birth March 2nd, 1991. You are a resident of Unit 46, 125th street, Harlem New York." Alexander added a bit of small talk, not that it mattered, but it worked for other interrogation subjects. "You know I used to walk by there all the time when taking the train. Down by Claremont Avenue?".
Up to this point, Alexander practically talked to herself. The subject remaining silent as her masked face tilted at an odd sideways angle, Alexander continuing to chatter. At mention of 'Alicia', the ink blobs scattered frantically across the subject's mask. A white theater looking mask with black bands about the eyeholes and two cloth coverings over the eye openings. The ink shined brightly against the white of the plastic.
"It has no name", the voice that came out was hoarse, but vaguely feminine. Like nails on a chalkboard mixed with a slight hint of New York. The subject remained adamant about this, leaning forward while straining against the straight jacket.
Alexander worked to stabilize the situation. The little sleep she had gotten last night wasn't helping. Just staring at this batshit case for three days had made it nearly impossible to sleep. "Look Alicia we know who you are. We're past that point now. I'm here to talk to you, while you're not sedated and drugged up, to figure out what's making you behave so violently."
The subject's neck had rotated so far sideways that she vaguely resembled the unorthodox flexibility of an owl. A pulse of crimson imagery ebbed and flowed across the mask, as if a physical manifestation of the thought behind it.
"There is no Alicia, there is no name", the subject grated back stubbornly.
"Then what would you like me to call you by, if this is causing such a problem?". Alexander swallowed forcefully with practiced patience. "The Crimson Countess?". The words came out awkwardly with a grimace.
The subject's face became adorned with a clown like extended smile from the formation of the ink blots which scattered again into chaos. Her neck straightening back in line and the tension against the straight jacket easing. "It has no name. The name is for Them." The subject nodded her head vigorously in the direction of the onlookers in the interrogation control room. "And sometimes, the name is for Us", the subject's head tilted back to nod at the bare ceiling for several moments.
It was going to be a long session, Alexander thought to herself. She should have studied child psychology instead.
Precinct 78 - field note journal of Detective Debra Alexander
Asking questions is like pulling teeth with this one. Extremely unpredictable when not sedated with Diazepam. We have adjusted to an in between strategy, a strong dose of 20mg twice a day. This forces sedation for a morning interrogation and enough time for legally required rest for the subject during the day. A second unmedicated session is held during the night hours.
I've mentioned to Smithers that sleeping has been getting increasingly difficult. For the first week I managed 3 to 4 hours which is normal. The second week that we've been at this, I'm managing less than 2 hours and sometimes 1 hour of sleep.
Progress is incredibly slow, but we are starting to catalogue meaningful entries from the subject. Subject is able to give more cohesive answers when sedated to explain abrupt and impulsive answers when unmedicated. Forensics is currently analyzing the entries for further behavior analysis.
Forensic behavioral analysis file - subject: Alicia Scarponi
"You look better without the mask and a proper shower", Alexander started with some small talk. Alicia looked far more human now, her fiery hair neatly washed and tied back in a ponytail. There was no need for the straight jacket. Cuffs on Alicia's wrists sufficed.
"Thank you", Alicia responded plainly. Her green eyes had a piercing stare on occasion that softened when silent and undisturbed. "Do you think I could get a touch of sparkling water like yesterday?".
Alexander already had the bottle handy and passed it over the table to Alicia. "I'd like you to explain something that you sputtered out to us last night. You said 'It, use It. Not he, she, or you. It.' Any explanation or reaction you can give to that?".
Alicia delicately cracked open the bottle of sparkling water. A mild, smug smile forming on her rose colored lips as her fingers tapped against the sides of the bottle. Even in this form, her mannerisms creeped Alexander to the core, but the detective never showed it.
"I think that one's self explanatory don't you?", Alicia quipped while downing a quarter of the smaller bottle in one tilt back.
"Alicia, I'm going to need you to give us a bit more than that, okay." Alexander's voice came off stern, but patient.
"Detective, you have some awful nosey questions. It gave those answers, not me. The only real explanation I can give you is a memory involving my father."
Dave Scarponi was a miserable bastard who worked at the Jersey Steel Plant. The smoke plume that emitted from that place produced an utter atrocity that blemished the Manhattan skyline on a windy day. Working the line was exhausting, monotonous, and liquor after work became mandatory. Preferably whiskey.
He barged through the front door much later that evening with a slight stumble. Dave's timing was unpredictably variable and Adam never bothered to prepare for it out of tremendous discomfort. The hours Adam resided at home were so foreboding that he never mustered the courage to anticipate his father's arrival. Staying in a constant state of denial, until otherwise forced out of it, resulted in dire consequences.
"Adam, there's no milk in the fridge! I told you to get some, why didn't you get some at the corner store." Dave slammed the fridge door in annoyance, the contents rattling about. He limped onwards trying to catch sight of Adam and make sure the young man answered the pressing questions. Working the line made his knees incredibly stiff, particularly the right one.
"Adam, I know you're in here. The lights are on. Your dad just came home from work, the least ya can do is talk to him." Dave limped forward to Adam's room. "There ya are, why didn't you —"
An awkward silence ensued as Adam and Dave looked at each other. Adam dressed in a plain maxi dress, and a cheap shoulder length wig. The little things that gave the 22 year old comfort when his father left home. Dave had come home earlier from work than expected and as soon as he heard the thunder of the steps, fear paralyzed Adam into defeat.
"You filthy maggot of a son!", Dave roared and grabbed Adam by his arm and shoulder. "You're no woman no matter how hard you try to be, you hear me, you bitch boy you?!".
Adam already knew where Dave was taking him. At least his father never outright beat him. But the fear of it eventually happening always hovered over Adam's head.
"God didn't make women like this, evil women with hair on their legs and beards that they have to shave!". Dave forced Adam over the sink and started running the cold water. The plug on the drain holding the water in as it piled up. Dave's forceful grip on Adam's shoulder held him down, head first.1
"When your mother died, I fed you, I clothed you. I gave you everything you needed, boy. What have I done to be wronged like this! Every. God. Damn. Day! You find something else to wail about and sing a different song."1
The water started to pile up enough in the sink that Adam couldn't turn his head any more to avoid the depths. 'Just hold your breath, close your mouth and nose. Just hold your breath, close your mouth and nose', Adam repeated to himself vigorously.
"So that's it?", Alexander responded. "Your father never hit you, beat you, no actual physical violence?".
A frown creased on Alicia's face before she let it go for a very blank and serene look. "No, he didn't." Silently, It whispered the correction. 'It has no pain.'
"Thank you", Alicia responded plainly. Her green eyes had a piercing stare on occasion that softened when silent and undisturbed. "Do you think I could get a touch of sparkling water like yesterday?".
Alexander already had the bottle handy and passed it over the table to Alicia. "I'd like you to explain something that you sputtered out to us last night. You said 'It, use It. Not he, she, or you. It.' Any explanation or reaction you can give to that?".
Alicia delicately cracked open the bottle of sparkling water. A mild, smug smile forming on her rose colored lips as her fingers tapped against the sides of the bottle. Even in this form, her mannerisms creeped Alexander to the core, but the detective never showed it.
"I think that one's self explanatory don't you?", Alicia quipped while downing a quarter of the smaller bottle in one tilt back.
"Alicia, I'm going to need you to give us a bit more than that, okay." Alexander's voice came off stern, but patient.
"Detective, you have some awful nosey questions. It gave those answers, not me. The only real explanation I can give you is a memory involving my father."
Dave Scarponi was a miserable bastard who worked at the Jersey Steel Plant. The smoke plume that emitted from that place produced an utter atrocity that blemished the Manhattan skyline on a windy day. Working the line was exhausting, monotonous, and liquor after work became mandatory. Preferably whiskey.
He barged through the front door much later that evening with a slight stumble. Dave's timing was unpredictably variable and Adam never bothered to prepare for it out of tremendous discomfort. The hours Adam resided at home were so foreboding that he never mustered the courage to anticipate his father's arrival. Staying in a constant state of denial, until otherwise forced out of it, resulted in dire consequences.
"Adam, there's no milk in the fridge! I told you to get some, why didn't you get some at the corner store." Dave slammed the fridge door in annoyance, the contents rattling about. He limped onwards trying to catch sight of Adam and make sure the young man answered the pressing questions. Working the line made his knees incredibly stiff, particularly the right one.
"Adam, I know you're in here. The lights are on. Your dad just came home from work, the least ya can do is talk to him." Dave limped forward to Adam's room. "There ya are, why didn't you —"
An awkward silence ensued as Adam and Dave looked at each other. Adam dressed in a plain maxi dress, and a cheap shoulder length wig. The little things that gave the 22 year old comfort when his father left home. Dave had come home earlier from work than expected and as soon as he heard the thunder of the steps, fear paralyzed Adam into defeat.
"You filthy maggot of a son!", Dave roared and grabbed Adam by his arm and shoulder. "You're no woman no matter how hard you try to be, you hear me, you bitch boy you?!".
Adam already knew where Dave was taking him. At least his father never outright beat him. But the fear of it eventually happening always hovered over Adam's head.
"God didn't make women like this, evil women with hair on their legs and beards that they have to shave!". Dave forced Adam over the sink and started running the cold water. The plug on the drain holding the water in as it piled up. Dave's forceful grip on Adam's shoulder held him down, head first.1
"When your mother died, I fed you, I clothed you. I gave you everything you needed, boy. What have I done to be wronged like this! Every. God. Damn. Day! You find something else to wail about and sing a different song."1
The water started to pile up enough in the sink that Adam couldn't turn his head any more to avoid the depths. 'Just hold your breath, close your mouth and nose. Just hold your breath, close your mouth and nose', Adam repeated to himself vigorously.
"So that's it?", Alexander responded. "Your father never hit you, beat you, no actual physical violence?".
A frown creased on Alicia's face before she let it go for a very blank and serene look. "No, he didn't." Silently, It whispered the correction. 'It has no pain.'
Officer Branning dropped a brown bag onto the table, retrieving two heavily smeared cream cheese bagels and passing one to Officer Wade. They looked fresh, clean cut, youthful, smelling of cologne and inexperience. Chowing down at the observation table on the other side of the plexi glass. "Just the us(ual)", Branning chimed to Wade through a mouthful of cream cheese. Detective Alexander had been reassigned to another case. Running it up the chain to the Lieutenant, Smithers had reached the conclusion that Alexander couldn't mentally handle any more days on the 'Crim Case', as it was being nicknamed now. The two young guns would suffice for now.
"Little recap before we get in there?", Wade asked.
"Sure, let's do it." Branning's response coming off equally casual. To the two young guns, this practice wasn't far removed from interrogation drills at the police academy.
"Yeah, I took some notes here. Mainly just for nasty guy, I'm not sure which one we're walking into for this take. But nasty guy is the only one that needs any prep."
"Yeah totally. I wrote this pointer down here, 'Crim = It. And Crim has no mask….I mean 'It' has no mask. Right, right you following me?".
"I got that too, here's another one to look out for. 'It has no name'. Crim = No Name. Just gotta remember, call it It, no mask, no name."
Sergeant Smithers listened in the background as the fresh blood idiots kept going on and on. Crim is not It, you fools, Smithers thought to himself.
"You know dude, Branning - like if It has no mask, don't know why It's getting so freaked out. Like we literally have this mask here in the baggy, what the fuck is this creep talking about?".
Smithers' blood pressure raised for a moment, he could feel the flushing warmth running to his face. "Idiots, they only send me idiots", he muttered under his breath. It would be at least another week before he could get a proper detective assigned.
"Gentleman!", Smithers walked up behind the two officers. "Sorry, was just listening in on you two bright youngsters. That's an excellent, line of questioning. Why don't you go in there and ask It yourself?".
Alicia could immediately tell the two new faces were heavily inexperienced. They asked a lot of basic questions that Alexander and some other officers had already asked her.
"Can It confirm Its full name and date of birth?", Officer Branning asked clumsily.
Alicia scoffed and gave a half entertained and half devilish smile. These two probably had zero context on the effort the rest of the team had taken to properly identify her.
"You're asking me to repeat information Detective Alexander already extracted on her own", Alicia said bluntly with a heavy hint of stubbornness.
"Right ok, we don't have to be all touchy touchy because you're not Crim…you're Alicia right?".
Alicia snorted. "Even if I was Alicia, you two wouldn't be able to spell it out anyways. No one has ever spoken to Crim…in here". Alicia looked around the place in disdain, as if Crim was not worthy of being treated to such a low life establishment.
Officer Wade had a young man's temper and immediately shot up from his chair. "Well we're not the ones that shoot up on fentanyl and go around punching up police offers! Sanchez has a family you know."
"Yeah", Branning chimed in. "We're the ones asking the questions around here." Branning held up the plastic baggy with the mask in it. "No more nice guys, we're just getting straight to the point. Crim keeps saying 'It has no mask', over and over again. Translate that for us."
Alicia's green eyes were wide and intensely focused at this point. Barely blinking and keeping strong eye contact with both Wade and Branning. "So that's what you need for the little book today." Her voice carried an air of triviality. "I can't explain It to you all naked like this. Give It back to me." Alicia's words carried venom now.
Branning and Wade were caught off guard for a moment. Not expecting such a drastic change in emotions and being less experienced with the mentally disturbed. They looked at each other for a moment and Branning retrieved the mask from the baggy. Branning held the silk fabric covering the backside and slipped the covering over the far side of Alicia's head. Wade held the mask itself and guided it into place.
Previously clear of color, a splash of red formed on Crim's face and calmly floated about, forming a manner of abstract symbols. Crim's voice hovered between Alicia and It. Feminine, commanding, and deeper than the average woman.
"If there is a mask, why are my lips moving", Crim gave a sinister laugh at the confused looks of the young officers. "There is no mask!".
The detectives grimaced uncomfortably. Crim took a moment to settle down from the unhinged fit of laughter, and eventually recounted the events.
The approach road to the steel plant was already littered with riot police. Their large vans and heavy gear intimidating in the morning light, but there were far too few of them. Only twenty five to thirty in number, but they stood resolute at the factory entrance.
The rag tag group marched forward in chaotic fashion. The homeless, the destitute, the underpaid, the downtrodden, the victimized, and the unheard. Those were the individuals behind the many white and crimson splashed masks. Many held signs and posters, a couple toting loud air horns and megaphones.
Some of the messaging focused on more specific concerns, like wages in the factory or Mayor Garfield's strategic 'restructuring' of the pension plan that robbed a large portion of benefits. But the overwhelming choice of words remained clear - "There is no mask!".
The police had never seen anything like it. Three hundred of the finest trash of society limping and yammering in their direction. There in lay the problem. The Mayor, the chief of police, and all his subordinates would much prefer to sweep the trash into the alleyways and off the main streets. But this time, the trash had something to say back.
Crim gestured for a megaphone and raised her hand serenely. Immediately the raucous and blasting stopped, and Crim began warming up her megaphone in the focus of silence. "My fellow citizens. Today is the day that we make our voices heard. No more sitting in town halls, calling your representatives and being left on voicemail. No…today our voices will be heard and broadcast for the city, the country to hear." Ironically the hum of two news helicopters droned under the rich feminine tone of Crim's voice.
Four hundred meters and closing. "We have a dream. We dream of equity, democracy, and civility. We will not pretend that these basic rights are afforded to us any longer."
Three hundred meters and closing. "Make no mistake my fellow companions. This is a battle of Us and Them. There is no I, Me, or You. There is no mask. Only Us and Them."
The sergeant on the other side could feel the tick of her foot twitching about in her boot. The adrenaline dose before the storm. "Remember squad, reasonable force and contain the crowd away from the entrance. I repeat contain the crowd from the entrance."
200 meters and closing. The sergeant took a deep breath and raised up her megaphone. "Halt! I'm here to remind you under code 18, section 2101, acts of organizing and participating in a riot are unlawful. I encourage everyone to turn back now!".
100 meters and closing. Crim looked the officers directly in their faces. "Cute outfits. Black looks really good on you. And did you all come here just to watch us die, or are you going to shoot us?". A hint of chalkboard carried in Crim's voice, and with that all hell broke loose as the crowd openly charged towards the officers. Not one of Us was afraid to die today.
"Gas 'em and hold the line", the sergeant called out before her visor lowered and her voice muffled. Canisters of tear gas shot out into the crowd, releasing a thick hazy plume. The older and middle aged wheezed the worst, the masks designed for aesthetics and providing effectively no relief from the tearing and burning sensations.
Crim collapsed to her knees, hacking violently. She had asthma, and ten years of chain smoking didn't help either. Her body retching violently in distress. In the haze, Crim spotted the officers demonstrating relief, conversing as if the task of suppression had been much easier than expected. Crim even spotted the sergeant requesting a group of five officers to step forward and deter the crowd further, with riot sticks.
Crim felt a thin film of acid shoot up the back of her throat from coughing so much. The tears still streaking her eyes to a blur. She was mistaken, they were coming for her.
The sticks whacked her body a couple times and Crim retched at first. Crying out in pain and distress. Then she stopped heaving, becoming utterly still and taking it. The officers were confused at the lack of movement.
"You're going to have to do better than that", Crim grunted through the pain. They hit her harder a couple times and Crim's body began to vibrate violently again.
Only a matter of time before It arrived. The officers rained blows upon Crim's body as she was technically resisting, and not adequately subdued. "It feels no pain!", It shrieked a horrible unearthly cry. In the most inhuman way, It leaped off the ground with the fervor of a demonically possessed baboon. And the grating cries to match.
"It hungers for the pain! It kills for the pain!". It caught an officer to the face in a fury of savage blows. Pouncing on them mercilessly and pounding in their visor, then their face, with no restraint. The brutality and inhumanity of It, made the officers pause momentarily before drawing their stun guns.
It wailed demonically in triumph, punching away, before 1500 volts coursed through Its body.
"It feels no pain! It feels no pain!", It shrieked horribly with sporadic violent twitches. But this time, It did feel pain. It looked around and noticed the others; too weak, and downtrodden to rise again to fight. Tear gas was no joke, and suddenly the adrenaline started to wear off and the pain got so much worse.
"It feels no pain! It feels no pain", It shrieked constantly until finally collapsing face first to the concrete.
"Little recap before we get in there?", Wade asked.
"Sure, let's do it." Branning's response coming off equally casual. To the two young guns, this practice wasn't far removed from interrogation drills at the police academy.
"Yeah, I took some notes here. Mainly just for nasty guy, I'm not sure which one we're walking into for this take. But nasty guy is the only one that needs any prep."
"Yeah totally. I wrote this pointer down here, 'Crim = It. And Crim has no mask….I mean 'It' has no mask. Right, right you following me?".
"I got that too, here's another one to look out for. 'It has no name'. Crim = No Name. Just gotta remember, call it It, no mask, no name."
Sergeant Smithers listened in the background as the fresh blood idiots kept going on and on. Crim is not It, you fools, Smithers thought to himself.
"You know dude, Branning - like if It has no mask, don't know why It's getting so freaked out. Like we literally have this mask here in the baggy, what the fuck is this creep talking about?".
Smithers' blood pressure raised for a moment, he could feel the flushing warmth running to his face. "Idiots, they only send me idiots", he muttered under his breath. It would be at least another week before he could get a proper detective assigned.
"Gentleman!", Smithers walked up behind the two officers. "Sorry, was just listening in on you two bright youngsters. That's an excellent, line of questioning. Why don't you go in there and ask It yourself?".
Alicia could immediately tell the two new faces were heavily inexperienced. They asked a lot of basic questions that Alexander and some other officers had already asked her.
"Can It confirm Its full name and date of birth?", Officer Branning asked clumsily.
Alicia scoffed and gave a half entertained and half devilish smile. These two probably had zero context on the effort the rest of the team had taken to properly identify her.
"You're asking me to repeat information Detective Alexander already extracted on her own", Alicia said bluntly with a heavy hint of stubbornness.
"Right ok, we don't have to be all touchy touchy because you're not Crim…you're Alicia right?".
Alicia snorted. "Even if I was Alicia, you two wouldn't be able to spell it out anyways. No one has ever spoken to Crim…in here". Alicia looked around the place in disdain, as if Crim was not worthy of being treated to such a low life establishment.
Officer Wade had a young man's temper and immediately shot up from his chair. "Well we're not the ones that shoot up on fentanyl and go around punching up police offers! Sanchez has a family you know."
"Yeah", Branning chimed in. "We're the ones asking the questions around here." Branning held up the plastic baggy with the mask in it. "No more nice guys, we're just getting straight to the point. Crim keeps saying 'It has no mask', over and over again. Translate that for us."
Alicia's green eyes were wide and intensely focused at this point. Barely blinking and keeping strong eye contact with both Wade and Branning. "So that's what you need for the little book today." Her voice carried an air of triviality. "I can't explain It to you all naked like this. Give It back to me." Alicia's words carried venom now.
Branning and Wade were caught off guard for a moment. Not expecting such a drastic change in emotions and being less experienced with the mentally disturbed. They looked at each other for a moment and Branning retrieved the mask from the baggy. Branning held the silk fabric covering the backside and slipped the covering over the far side of Alicia's head. Wade held the mask itself and guided it into place.
Previously clear of color, a splash of red formed on Crim's face and calmly floated about, forming a manner of abstract symbols. Crim's voice hovered between Alicia and It. Feminine, commanding, and deeper than the average woman.
"If there is a mask, why are my lips moving", Crim gave a sinister laugh at the confused looks of the young officers. "There is no mask!".
The detectives grimaced uncomfortably. Crim took a moment to settle down from the unhinged fit of laughter, and eventually recounted the events.
The approach road to the steel plant was already littered with riot police. Their large vans and heavy gear intimidating in the morning light, but there were far too few of them. Only twenty five to thirty in number, but they stood resolute at the factory entrance.
The rag tag group marched forward in chaotic fashion. The homeless, the destitute, the underpaid, the downtrodden, the victimized, and the unheard. Those were the individuals behind the many white and crimson splashed masks. Many held signs and posters, a couple toting loud air horns and megaphones.
Some of the messaging focused on more specific concerns, like wages in the factory or Mayor Garfield's strategic 'restructuring' of the pension plan that robbed a large portion of benefits. But the overwhelming choice of words remained clear - "There is no mask!".
The police had never seen anything like it. Three hundred of the finest trash of society limping and yammering in their direction. There in lay the problem. The Mayor, the chief of police, and all his subordinates would much prefer to sweep the trash into the alleyways and off the main streets. But this time, the trash had something to say back.
Crim gestured for a megaphone and raised her hand serenely. Immediately the raucous and blasting stopped, and Crim began warming up her megaphone in the focus of silence. "My fellow citizens. Today is the day that we make our voices heard. No more sitting in town halls, calling your representatives and being left on voicemail. No…today our voices will be heard and broadcast for the city, the country to hear." Ironically the hum of two news helicopters droned under the rich feminine tone of Crim's voice.
Four hundred meters and closing. "We have a dream. We dream of equity, democracy, and civility. We will not pretend that these basic rights are afforded to us any longer."
Three hundred meters and closing. "Make no mistake my fellow companions. This is a battle of Us and Them. There is no I, Me, or You. There is no mask. Only Us and Them."
The sergeant on the other side could feel the tick of her foot twitching about in her boot. The adrenaline dose before the storm. "Remember squad, reasonable force and contain the crowd away from the entrance. I repeat contain the crowd from the entrance."
200 meters and closing. The sergeant took a deep breath and raised up her megaphone. "Halt! I'm here to remind you under code 18, section 2101, acts of organizing and participating in a riot are unlawful. I encourage everyone to turn back now!".
100 meters and closing. Crim looked the officers directly in their faces. "Cute outfits. Black looks really good on you. And did you all come here just to watch us die, or are you going to shoot us?". A hint of chalkboard carried in Crim's voice, and with that all hell broke loose as the crowd openly charged towards the officers. Not one of Us was afraid to die today.
"Gas 'em and hold the line", the sergeant called out before her visor lowered and her voice muffled. Canisters of tear gas shot out into the crowd, releasing a thick hazy plume. The older and middle aged wheezed the worst, the masks designed for aesthetics and providing effectively no relief from the tearing and burning sensations.
Crim collapsed to her knees, hacking violently. She had asthma, and ten years of chain smoking didn't help either. Her body retching violently in distress. In the haze, Crim spotted the officers demonstrating relief, conversing as if the task of suppression had been much easier than expected. Crim even spotted the sergeant requesting a group of five officers to step forward and deter the crowd further, with riot sticks.
Crim felt a thin film of acid shoot up the back of her throat from coughing so much. The tears still streaking her eyes to a blur. She was mistaken, they were coming for her.
The sticks whacked her body a couple times and Crim retched at first. Crying out in pain and distress. Then she stopped heaving, becoming utterly still and taking it. The officers were confused at the lack of movement.
"You're going to have to do better than that", Crim grunted through the pain. They hit her harder a couple times and Crim's body began to vibrate violently again.
Only a matter of time before It arrived. The officers rained blows upon Crim's body as she was technically resisting, and not adequately subdued. "It feels no pain!", It shrieked a horrible unearthly cry. In the most inhuman way, It leaped off the ground with the fervor of a demonically possessed baboon. And the grating cries to match.
"It hungers for the pain! It kills for the pain!". It caught an officer to the face in a fury of savage blows. Pouncing on them mercilessly and pounding in their visor, then their face, with no restraint. The brutality and inhumanity of It, made the officers pause momentarily before drawing their stun guns.
It wailed demonically in triumph, punching away, before 1500 volts coursed through Its body.
"It feels no pain! It feels no pain!", It shrieked horribly with sporadic violent twitches. But this time, It did feel pain. It looked around and noticed the others; too weak, and downtrodden to rise again to fight. Tear gas was no joke, and suddenly the adrenaline started to wear off and the pain got so much worse.
"It feels no pain! It feels no pain", It shrieked constantly until finally collapsing face first to the concrete.
Epilogue
The inner lighting of Ruth's Steakhouse carried a pleasant ambiance. A warm yellow bulb over each ornate leather booth, set at the optimal temperature to encourage comfort and conversation.
"This way madame", the hostess escorted Alicia to the reserved seat. Alicia always had clients handle the reservation, but she did her part and showed up a few minutes early. Alicia made a show, just to herself, of removing her black fur overcoat. Hanging it up on the ornate hooks that fine establishments such as Ruth's kept handy on the wooden exterior of the seating arrangement.
She pulled out a pocket mirror once seated and gazed at her reflection. Sometimes Alicia had a hard time recognizing herself, dressed in a luxurious crimson dress and black velvet gloves. She pulled out a touch of lipstick to adjust the right corner of her lip line.
"Oh Alicia, there you are. Sorry I'm running late. Damn City Council meetings. Every time we have a guest speaker it seems their list of grievances get longer and longer." Mayor Garfield's clear but tender voice still carried weight. The older gentleman reserved the huffy shouting matches for governing matters of the city. The type of man who knew how to compartmentalize: one voice for the wife, another for the children, and yet another for the paramour.
Alicia clicked her pocket mirror and smoothly replaced both items into her purse. Rising to embrace Mayor Garfield and exchange a quick peck on the lips. Everything had a mechanical and superficial overtone when paid company livened the night. Mayor Garfield's mouth always smelled of fresh mint; Alicia smelled of lilac perfume and scented oil.
Alicia had grown accustomed to the sporadic morning calls from the Mayor's Mansion. The attendant politely asking,"Ms. Scarponi, the Mayor asked me to inquire if you're available for dinner this evening." A little Manila envelope pressing through the mail slot of her apartment doorway in the early afternoon. Unmarked and showing a pregnant bulge in the middle.
"That's quite alright, Oscar", Alicia adjusted her dress to sit down at Mayor Garfield's gesture. "Your attendants have been ringing a lot more frequently lately". Alicia shot Garfield a sly look. "I'm flattered you enjoy my company, but really, I'm just asking if everything is ok up there". Alicia vaguely gestured toward Garfield's forehead.
"Smoking allowed here?", Garfield always made a show of asking the wait staff if cigars were allowed in the establishment. A matter of practiced optics to better his 'tough on crime' reputation. He pulled a small pair of clippers from his coat pocket, clipping the end of the cigar and lighting it instantly. "Light?", he offered to Alicia. Alicia retrieved a cigarette holder from her purse and partook in kind.
"It's that bastard police commissioner", Garfield's voice slipped into aggravation for just a moment before pulling back in. "Slipped up in front of the Council and gave them the impression we don't have those masked nut jobs under control." Garfield took a deep puff into the cigar and exhaled a plume of smoke with a sigh.
Alicia knew the entire routine by now. The Mayor rarely asked her how she felt or what was on her mind. She was here to savor the words, emotions, and desires hidden deep inside the complicated man. "I'm sorry to hear that Oscar. You try and be a stand up man for the city…and this is how they repay you." Alicia affectionately squeezed his hand across the table.
"Listen", Garfield continued with the side of his mouth full of cigar. "I thought I would have time for a show tonight, but Jeanine is complaining that I don't get home till late. What do you say…we take a couple loops around the block and I'll drop you off back at your place?".
Alicia raised her eyebrow delicately. She wondered why he bothered still making an excuse after all these months. She knew the game. At first everything was fresh. For a month or two they enjoyed dinner, a nice broadway show, and a romantic night together at the Plaza hotel. Then inevitably broadway shows were traded for 'rides around the block'. A convenient and expeditious way to end the night.
Alicia flashed back to the last experience vividly. "That shit you rub on yourself smells so good", Garfield had murmured in her ear. His mouth preoccupied with nibbling her neck all the way down to the exposed cleavage of Alicia's breasts. 'Shit I rub on myself', Alicia scoffed internally.
"You know Oscar, you're the boss. I'll accommodate whatever you want, on your time." The practiced phrase came out effortlessly.
——
A while later a black heeled sandal clicked onto the road from the sleek black limo. The rain poured down heavily from the night sky and Alicia pulled out her umbrella as the limo barely waited, and took off. She waited for a moment as the limo drove out of sight and she headed down the adjacent alleyway instead of approaching the apartment building's entrance.
As she moved forward, Alicia tossed aside the overcoat, umbrella, heels, and finally paused for the laborious task of undoing the dress. Unfortunately Alicia wasn't able to undo the mild soreness and sloppy wetness that seeped out between her thighs. She didn't care that the expensive items were immediately ruined by the grime and the rain. Unfolding the elaborate updo of her fiery hair, she stood effectively naked in her underwear as the downpour transformed her.
Task accomplished, Alicia walked forward towards a slumped figure at the end of the alleyway. A pudgy homeless man laying on a pile of trash bags by the dumpster. A white and crimson splashed mask upon his face. As Alicia approached, he slipped off one of his many coats, and pulled out a mask from within - handing both over to its rightful owner.
"The tides are turning in our favor Atticus. The City Council and the Mayor cannot stop their infighting. It, will soon be their undoing. They won't be able to contain Us for long."
Crim extended an outreached hand, helping the man lift himself up.
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