Steeled Spies #3: The Cracked Mirror

What Lies Beneath the Façade of the Reformation's Compound?

Art by Spookitty

The ghost town made of the Reformation’s block was complete. Gone was the searing graffiti, the ground-based cars, the champions of the cause. Had it been earlier in the night, the shock might have dropped her on the spot, but all Lucille Devenreux could muster up was a determined look to her remaining allies, determined to get answers.

“Must be a helluva psyop then,” Agent Steele mused.

Lita was stunned. “You guys had the joint caked last I checked.”

“This is Ace’s work,” Devenreux huffed, “but I don’t know how the hell she cleaned it all out!”

“I do.” The hippie-punk replied.

“Right, the pre-recruit days.” Steele remarked. Devenreux turned to face Lita, the dark gray agent letting out a heaving sigh before spilling it all. “My man and I stumbled across a giant metal dome some twenty years back. Dead center of the street, looked like that Colosseum where they used to have all those bot battles in. ‘Cept it was so much more. Like a giant maze with all sorts of strange tech-n-shit. Some of the assholes in there said a phrase. Dimension alternator. A phase-shift sort of device from one place to another, to where is anyone’s goddamn guess. No one’s been able to unpack it since then. Feels like a bad acid flashback every time I think about it.”

“It wasn’t virtual reality of any kind?” Devenreux pressed.

Lita shook her head. “No, felt too real. Felt way too real.”

“No one ever found a switch either,” Roger chimed in. “And last I checked, the Lab couldn’t make heads or tails of it either.”

“What Lab?” Devenreux asked.

“Third-parties reviewing reports,” Steele covered, the gray sensing Lita’s laser-eyed thoughts from the back seat.

“But you said switch?” Devenreux pressed.

“Figure of speech,” Lita retorted. “Ours was in one of the police stations we was after, but we blew it to hell and back. There was no one part of the sucka. And when we made our exit, only thing left was the busted-up cop cage. No dome, no crazy mazes, just a ratty lil’ station up on the streets.”

“That means one of the buildings has got to be it,” Devenreux resolved. Just like that, the light gray leader opened the car door and bolted into the vacant street.

“Don’t slip up again.” Lita growled, clambering over the ammo box, “Just cause I ain’t in boots don’t mean I can’t put my foot up your ass.”

Roger scoffed, striking a match off the steering wheel. Once the flame kissed the cigarette clenched in his fangs, he calmly gave his retort. “She doesn't know a lick about the Force, Lita. Keep your tits cool and your head on ice.”

“Why you so chill about that shit?” she shot back.

“Call it instinct.” the field agent replied. “Something ‘bout her says she’s on the level. I got by 20 years working on my gut, 10 in recon. Maybe it’s the way she smells, maybe it’s the way she lit into you like the 4th of July back at our HQ. Point is, I think the bitch is square.”

Just as the punk went in for the retort, Steele headed her off. “And before you bust out the big F word ‘feral’ on me, don’t forget you got the Twist of Cain in you too. And if you didn’t, you’d be a heap of fuzz and strawberry jam back in the east wing of Haven.”

Lita went to fire back, but the truth of it made for one hell of a blockade. She cracked a wry grin and extended a gloved fist. “Least we’re best feral fucks in the business, right?”

Steele bumped her one with his leather-clad paw. “Now let’s make sure El Capitan won’t get blindsided by the ghost of a silver cop.”

The agents stepped outside the car and met their revolutionary, who was trying to piece it all together.

“Most of these were just for arts and crafts anyhow,” Devenreux started, her voice strengthening. “Maybe we just start going through the complexes one-by-one.”

“If you’ll permit me a suggestion,” Roger said between drags, “but I believe the true odd one out was Town Hall down at the end of the street. And last I checked, the Metal Queen dug putting her junction points in places of authority, and HQ was about as authoritative as you can get around here.”

Devenreux turned towards the building, the tower black and the polished granite of the staircase now dulled and weathered. She shuddered for a moment, trying to steel herself. “God I hope someone made it out alive,” she grimaced, turning towards the duo. “Alright, let’s try it.”

The group piled back into the Charger as it roared towards the steps of Town Hall. Once there, they climbed them, all three armed with rods and with flashlights. Whether it was an omen or a saving grace, the front doors were unlocked, and for the time being, no alarms sounded off down the halls, just the click of Roger’s heels and the soft patter of the women’s sandals.

The midnight blue flooded Lucille’s safe haven, and anywhere the light did not tread, the trio were met with pitch-black shadows. All traces of its loving intimacy had been swept aside, the flashlights cutting through in harsh streaks of white. It was just enough to see past the ends of their snouts.

“Your office was in the ballroom, correct?” Steele asked. Her startled blue eyes met his before nodding. It wasn’t the look of someone with something to hide, but it walked an awful thin line for the gray agent as they made their way for it.

Where the joyous gathering of a hundred activists had once stood, only the cold floor remained. The cold floor, and the lone white door off to the side. When Devenreux parted the door, sat plain as day on her desk where galleys upon unbound galleys of speeches once lay, etched by the slices of moonlight, was a single lever. Like a spike it jutted out from the tabletop, the silver metal catching the team’s collective beacon of light.

“Good God” were the fair-furred wolf’s only words.

“The fuck is this funny-book bullshit?” Lita scowled.

“Well, I know it wasn’t there when we left.” Steele dryly observed. He walked over to the lever, snapping a few shots of it with his portable camera. “Only one way to see what it does.” he said, wrapping his black-clad digits around the top. Instinctively, Lita and Devenreux got behind him, their respective peacemakers drawn and ready for whatever came with the switch’s flicking.

He swung the lever from left to right. A rush of white light blasted at their backs. As the white veil roared down the hall, the Reformation’s headquarters began to reemerge. From the warm lights to the remains of the day’s gathering.

To the sudden rush of jackbooted, black-clad wolves rocketing towards the trio.

Steele drew his Mauser, Devenreux and Lita snapping to his side. The three fired round after round into the rush knocking down one after another as they…faded? Dissolving into a glassy dust, the onslaught vanished with each volley of laser fire until there were none left. For a moment, the trio caught their breath.

“Now you know how I felt.” Steele said, smoke pouring from his teeth and nose.

It was the only line he could get off before a wretched cry of “YOU SONOFAFUCKINGBITCH” came and the sight of a bloodied brown security guard, his yellow shirt caked in red, came stumbling into the ballroom, falling to the floor. Devenreux bolted for the young hound, Lita and Steele hot on her tail.

When they made it, the guard was delirious. Devenreux leaned in close, holding the youth’s face in her hands. “What happened Ray? Tell me everything you know.”

The guard shivered before realizing who was there. “Death. Nothing but death. They picked us off, one after the other after the other after other and…dammit, I don’t know who’s left.”

Devenreux did her best to soothe the young man. She could feel her own resolve start to break, only for a shadow to fall on her and the felled guard.

Standing there, as smartly dressed as ever, in his same honest suit and honest tie, was their one champion in the court of the Board: Nathaniel Draco. Alive, armed, and dangerous…

TO BE CONTINUED…