Pandemonium, Part 1

     Pandemonium lived up to its name on the best days. On the worst? It lived up to its name.
     There was no chance of calm in a city of every monster imaginable, every mythic pantheon flooding the streets with god power. There was a whole neighborhood that had been taken over by a gang of carnivorous unicorns. Ever seen a herbivore stalk prey? It's eerie, creepy, completely unnatural. But that's Pandemonium for you.
     Even in this realm of no safety, the chance of danger must be minimized. But it's not a job for everyone, that's for sure. Especially if you deal with monsters and gods, the ones who make all the trouble. There's a hierarchy everyone knows and follows, but they only go so far. It's okay for the most part, but that doesn't make it any less annoying.
     My job is to minimize the danger. Protect the public, keep the peace. In a place named Pandemonium, it's near impossible. My job is to defy the odds.
--
     I can hear her outside of my door, hear her debating mentally. Her hand hovers in front of my door, poised to knock. Waiting...waiting...
     I'm not really part of the force. I'm not an officer, a detective, or an analyst. I'm not a private investigator. I'm a specialist. I might be in the same building as the regular guys, but everyone knows I'm not one of them. The only doors the secretaries hesitate in front of are the chief's (who happens to be the Norse god Tyr - ever heard of him?) and mine. It's all about power, and since I don't have to follow Tyr's orders, I guess it freaks them out a bit.
     With my feet propped on the desk and me already leaning back to relax, I really don't want to deal with the indecision outside of my door. But I know how it is.
     "Come on in, Belinda," I call out. In she walks, Belinda Montclair, a cute, timid ghoul. She's the only ghoul working in the department, which I guess contributes further to her anxiety. I always do my best to be professional and kind no matter who I'm dealing with, within reason. Belinda tends to stretch those limits, and I can't help trying to get her to smile. I don't think she realizes or notices my efforts.
     "Hey, Mal," She murmurs, head bowed. She continued addressing her shoes, "Clemmons and Swanson have requested you. They need some help. And, uhm, I'm supposed to warn you that they also have a consultant with them."
     "Oh, wonderful," I lie. Poorly. I hate dealing with detectives in the first place, and a consultant is the last thing I need. "So, you lead the way." I swing my feet off my desk and stand, working out the knotted muscles in my back with a nice stretch. The last job I was on was a doozy, a real pain. At least I'd only be sore and bruised for a few more days. The bad guy wasn't so lucky - actually he was a pile of ash. Silver linings.
     Belinda waits for me to join her at the door before starting off through the narrow hall to guide me through the bullpen. It's a chaotic mess, always is. Tidy, hygienic, but a craze of paperwork, shouting, and muttered cursing. Caffeine is the one true god here, at least until an actual god walks in. I stick to water and booze, figuring the two balance out my liver and kidneys. Yep, that's what I tell myself.
     Cops unconsciously tense up as I pass them by. They don't actually notice me - their conscious minds don't recognize it, but their subconscious instinct does. Their lizard brains, tasked with keeping them alive, are working overtime in my presence. As we get closer to the detectives' desks, I mentally review what I know about them.
     Clemmons is female, tough as nails. A lamia with a grudge against men, but then, all lamia have a grudge against everything male. Swanson, male. Used to be human, but got bit by a thrope on the job and now goes furry every full moon. Otherwise, an okay guy. The consultant, however, is going to be a mystery. I don't like mysteries. Hence specialist, not detective.
     Belinda stops at the cubicle housing the two detectives, her hands wringing nervously in front of her. It's Clemmons who looks up first, a scowl on her face.
     Giving me a sour smile, she says, "Glad you could make it, Cassel." Everyone here knows my name, but leave it to a lamia to make it sound contemptuous.
     "Detective Clemmons. Swanson. Where's your consultant?" I ask. Belinda begins to edge away while I talk, eager to be anywhere but here. I wish I could join her.
     "Probably went to use the bathroom. You took your time." We both know I didn't, and I struggle to keep my inward feelings just that, inward. I want to rip Clemmons's head from her body and shove it down a garbage disposal... Instead, I smile.
     "Sorry about that."
     She snorts, but backs off. No one seems to like when I smile, but I guess it's only natural. For them, my smile usually heralds great violence. However, this time it was meant to suppress her pissy attitude... I guess it still did its job...
     Through the clamor of our noisy surroundings, I hear sneakers on linoleum, not an officer, and they're trying to get the drop on me. My face drops of emotion, and I whip around, arm lashing out at speed, hand closing on the cold flesh of a neck. I keep moving forward, push hard, the idiot's body slamming into the opposing wall while I snarl. Silence falls, the only sound permeating the air is the wheezing of the man I've pinned against the wall. Other detectives, officers, employees have stopped what they're doing to check out the commotion.
      "Malachi, wait!" Swanson cries out, exiting the cubicle. "He's the consultant." My gaze doesn't waver, doesn't falter. I simply open my hand, dropping him in a heap to the floor. 
     The wheezing becomes a laugh as he instantly hops back to his feet. "Wow! No one has gotten me in centuries! I always get the drop on people. How'd you do that?" The voice is eager, a lot like an excited child. My brain reviews what my eyes took in when incapacitating him. Shaggy blonde hair, a smattering of freckles, brown eyes, cold skin...vampire. No wonder he's so surprised.
     "You're a fanger," I say. No reason for me to ask what I already know as fact.
     "Sounds almost a little speciest."
     "Did it? Sorry. I forget you guys like to call humans blood bags but get pissy about the same treatment."
     "Hey now! No need to get all serious, right? I mean we're going to be working together after all."
     "Nope. No way," I shake my head, cast my eyes toward Swanson. "I'm not working with this moron. So, the specialist or the consultant, take your pick."
     The kid, I can see now that the fanger got changed while looking only about 17 or 18, appears offended. "I'm useful," He says, eyes locked on mine. He's gone entirely serious, solemn. 
      "I doubt it."
     "Want proof? Fine." His eyes close, and I know what's about to come. I want to yell at him to stop, or better yet rip his tongue out - but damn wouldn't that look suspicious? He speaks in soft tones, "You're a father, a husband...son of...no, that can't be right. Why can't I see...?" Every eye is focused on me, and it takes all of my willpower to keep from ending this guy right here and now.
     "You're wrong."
     His eyes flick open and he frowns. "Oh? What part?"
     "All of it. I was a father, I was a husband. It was a long time ago."
     "Time is relative with a human." I want to laugh at his ignorance. I haven't been ever been human, even if I smell like one.
     "Let me tell you a secret, fang-boy," I lean in close, everything about me going hard and cold. I speak in low pitch that snake-bitch-Clemmons and fur-face-Swanson can't hear, but the vamp can. "I'm not human. Never have been. You wanna talk relative time? I'm thousands of years old. You're five hundred, tops. Try that seer crap on me again, and I'll do you the favor of making you a real seer by removing your eyes from their sockets." Okay, so, it might be a little harsh... I am a nice guy, but sometimes people push the wrong buttons. Such as my dead wife and daughter. There are some things you don't talk about, some things you leave alone.
     "You're scary," The fanger says, eyes wide. I try not to look surprised, but I certainly didn't expect so blunt a reply.
     "Uh...thanks?" Not really sure what to say here... A smile bursts onto his face, making him look like a little kid on Yuletide. For my part, I'm firmly bemused. Who knew scary was fun?
     "Man, so cool. I mean, I'd prefer you not kill me, but wow! No wonder you're considered a specialist," He babbles, and I slowly move back a couple of paces, no longer seeing a point in trying to be intimidating. "My name is Wallace, but please call me Wally."
     "Malachi Cassel," I nod in introduction. So I was expected to work with this joker... I could manage. He seemed different from the normal crop of Pandemonium citizen. Might be a good experience for me I guess. Turning back to the detectives, everyone gets the cue that the show is over. "What's the case?"
     Swanson shares a look with Clemmons and clears his throat before beginning. "We think a god has gone rogue." Shit. A serious accusation, and no wonder they needed me. The only people who could possibly kill, or in this case apprehend, a god were Tyr and me. They didn't wanna call in their boss because they had no solid evidence.
     "Any idea on which pantheon?"
     "We think it's a meso." 'Meso' as in Mesoamerican, not Mesopotamian, as in Mayan, Incan, Aztec. Those guys tended to party hard, and yet were still sober enough to be unbelievably savage. Great.
     "Lemme guess, all circumstantial at the moment, yeah?"
     "Uh," Swanson nods sheepishly, "Yeah." 
     "This is one big favor you're asking."
     "We can't go to the chief with it, you're the only chance we've got..."
     Clemmons won't look at me, so I know this request is serious. This is what I get for being a generally decent person... "Alright," I nod. "Lemme make a call before you fill me in on the different deaths." Last part is inferred by fact of them being homicide detectives.
--
     "I know it isn't much to go on. That's why I need your help." I'm back in my office, trying to get some idea on which pantheon to be looking at. I still dunno the details, but if any Meso is acting a little strange, some god will know.
     "Yes, Mal, I understand. However, I must ask, what will I receive in return?" The voice is silky smooth, the voice of a liar, through and through. I'm beginning to think I should have gone to Coyote for help.
     "Loki, you owe me. This would make us even." Dealing with these guys sucks. You'd never believe all the gods and I were once childhood friends. That we ever played together as children. Sometimes, I'm not even sure my memories of those times are true - but what else am I gonna do?
     "Mal..." Loki pauses, and I force myself to keep from sighing in impatience at his dramatics. "I do this for you and the score is settled? We owe one another nothing?"
     "Yeah. But don't try that trickster crap with me. I know you. You'll try and set up a situation of danger to rescue me from, which will make me owe you. Not gonna work."
     "I'm hurt you think so low of me." 
     "Oh, shove it."
     "Fine. Anyway, from what I already know, Krishna of the Mesopotamians has been acting strange as of late."
     "Great." Meso of a different sort. The phone slams down into the cradle of the receiver, and I put my fingertips to my temples. Never thank a god. They basically hear "I owe you one" when you say it. It shouldn't be so difficult though, really. It's like pulling teeth.
     I let out a sigh. Tired. Bone weary. But hey, I was tired after the first hundred years passed. I've been tired for so much of my life, what do a few more days, weeks, months, years matter? Eventually I will be killed. Just gotta do my job until then.
--
     I open the door to my office, ready to work on the cases, when I find myself face to face with Wally. Uncomfortably close, I blink and he takes a few steps back.
     "Sorry, that Clemmons chick was freaking me out, giving me a hardcore gruesome stare. Tactical retreat," He explains.
     "Well, she is a lamia, so... They don't tend to like men. Any men."
     "How does Swanson work with her then?"
     "Oh, she likes him. Probably the only man she gets along with. Story is, first day of work here, she accidentally bumped into him, but he went crazy apologizing - didn't even know she was a lamia either so," I shrug. "Guess she kind of views him as a cute little pet. Did even before he got bit."
     "Huh. Well, she's creepy."
     "Don't let her hear you say that. Between you and me though... Yeah. She is."
      "Well!" Wally claps his hands together and bounces on the balls of his feet. "Let's solve a crime, shall we?" He turns, gestures for me to go forth. I shake my head and take the lead, him trailing after me like a puppy. Goofy kid.
     We get back to Swanson hurriedly gathering the case files and his notes. The only greeting we receive is a slight nod of the head from Clemmons. As Swanson got the last of his stuff together, looked at me with a small smile.
     "How'd your call go?"
     "Loki gave me a lead," I reply casually. Clemmons snorted, but I understood it. No one could muster a single positive feeling for him since he fathered Fenrir. Creating a kid just to be a god killer could do that. It wasn't even just the Norse pantheon ticked about it. No pantheon was pleased with a god killer in Loki's hands. What no one knew, as neither of us had told anyone, was that I'd gone ahead and taken Fenrir. Since I'm not technically a god, I wasn't in danger of getting accidentally killed. Fen was still a pup, so he stayed with me. I couldn't care less about Loki, honestly. To me, he was just a man who had never grown out of his angsty teen phase. Like how Zeus had never grown out of his player phase.
     "Eh. I would've preferred Coyote, but Loki owed me a favor," I shrug.
     "You sure know a lot of gods," Clemmons murmurs, favoring me with a look of strange intensity.
     "All of them, really. I'm betting your perp is a Mesopotamian god. The mesos have cleaned up their acts a considerable amount. Outright slaughter is no longer their style." Not anymore, I added silently. Not since I dropped the hammer on them.
     "Wait until you see the files," Clemmons says. None of the people working here besides Tyr know who I really am, the truth of me. But Tyr has always been the one god I truly trust, my best friend in most respects.
     Swanson finally got himself together and handed me the papers. Wally stood on his tip toes behind me, trying to read over my shoulder.
      "First kill doesn't seem unusual until you look at the symbols drawn in blood on the wall," Swanson supplied. I cared less about the written reports and more about the pictures. Gods and monsters, they have pretty signature ways of killing. You can tell a lot from the photos alone. 'Course, none of the people here know it. They don't have the life experience to identify the specific signs. This kill... It was supposed to look like a meso did it, that much is clear, but I can see the inconsistencies, the set up. 
     "Anyone bother to translate the symbols?" I ask, already fairly certain they hadn't based on the various symbols' meanings.
     "Ah, no. An expert has been contacted, but hasn't gotten back to us yet."
     "Yeah, well... This one," I said, holding up the photo and pointing, "means rainbow. Couple others here, but they're all pretty congenial in meaning. It's a ruse. If this had been legit, you can bet it would be all blood and thunder. As it stands, it's a bunch of fluff."
     "You sure?"
     "Look, I'm a specialist. Take me at my word, or don't, it's up to you. But I know what I'm talking about."
     "Okay..." Swanson appeared unconvinced. Didn't matter to me, I already knew who did it. I could feel Wally's eyes burning a hole in me. If he truly was a high-seer, and I figured he was,he knew. Didn't know the specifics, but he was aware I already had the answer.
     For show, I viewed the other files flagged in the case, and made sure to nod and grunt in affirmation as needed. Finally, I was given leave to go, and waded through the sea of the bullpen to the bank of back elevators. One pinged open before I could even hit the down button, and I stepped inside.
     "Your destination, Mr. Cassel?" A disembodied voice asked. Elevators all across Pandemonium are operated by wraiths. They never have to sleep, and always know when one of the living approaches them. This particular wraith was one I knew. His name was Ralph.
     "The lobby, Ralph. Any floor that gets me out of here."
     A chuckle echoed through the elevator cab and the doors slid closed. Wraiths are good at their job. See, the floor I was on was 107. Hell of a long way down. Because of this, wraiths move at a fast pace, enough to give you a head rush, but not too fast to make you sick or injure you. To me, it's easy to be nice to them and treat them like any normal person, but some people find it difficult. However, the promise of a high impact death normally keeps them polite enough.
     The doors pinged open. "Thanks Ralph. Have as good a night as you can."
     "Thank you, Mr. Cassel. Be safe." The doors closed once more, and off he went.
     I left the lobby, coming out into the capital storm of Pandemonium. The center tower of Necromicon stretched far into the sky, climbing up and up until it disappeared into the gray above. On the streets surrounding me, there was chaos. Laughter, shrieks, screams, a thousand conversations pulsing through the air. I shook my head to clear it, and started off in the direction of my home.
     A chill had seeped into the flesh and bones of Necromicon, the city seeming to retract into itself. Cold days always led to change in the layout of the streets and buildings. Luckily, I wasn't effected because my lodgings were on the fringes. Almost in the middle of nowhere, but not quite nowhere yet.
     I could tell I was being followed, but I knew who it was, so didn't mind. Usually, I didn't like people knowing where I lived. It was invitation for an attack on my life. Or an invitation for that person to be attacked in order to get information on my location. This time, it didn't matter. The seer undoubtedly had the strength I thought he did, and he'd already seen how things would play out. He might as well know what his new address would be.
     When I finally made it, I smiled. The bunker wasn't much to look at, it was the underground house that made it such a great dwelling. Tramping through the grass, which is a lot more like human hair than any plant I know of, I simultaneously sent out a mental signal to my various security defenses to exempt my visitor. As I stepped up to the bunker's hatch and spun it open, I could already hear Fenrir scratching at the inner door of the house. The little beast howled, a pathetic puppy cry, and I snorted. He was always happy when I came home, but crazy impatient about it.
     With the bunker's hatch open, it was a quick trip down the narrow stairs to the real front door. Swinging it open, I was ready for the black furred body launching itself toward me. Catching the critter, Fen changed form to that of an eight-year old boy. One with pale skin, black hair, and intense dark green eyes.
     "Hey, buddy!" I greeted the god killer who was already like my own son
     "Dad! Did you bring me anything?" Most days, Belinda let me pilfer the candy dish on her desk to take something back from Fen. The candy was made for ghouls, and appealed to them and not much else. I was the only one who took treats from Belinda's dish.
     "Not tonight, but! I brought you a new toy."
     "Really?!" He asked, body quivering in excitement. I knew the fanger had already made it down the hallway leading to the actual front door, so set Fen down with a smile.
     "Yeah. Go check it out, kiddo." He ran off, through the front door and down the hall. I heard a muffled cry and a few thumps before Fen raced back through the door, dragging the fanger with him. The strength of a god killer... He would be a handful.
     Depositing Wally to the ground, Fen looked up proudly at me and smiled brightly. I couldn't help but laugh and mussed his hair.
     Rogue god aside, life was pretty good at the moment.