By Donovan Bertch
Originally Published in Unfading Daydream Vol. 3 #1
“This is, by far, the single stupidest job you’ve ever talked me into, Twenty-Four.”
“1. You’re forgetting about the Norway Vampire case, and 2., you agreed to it.”
The man in the backseat frowned as he adjusted his tie, grimacing as another bump in the road sent it leaping out of his hands. “Agreed is a strong word. So is coerced, now that I think about it. Exit 35, by the way.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure, Dick?” Twenty-Four grinned, swerving the van to the side (and ignoring the loud honks that followed) as he merged into an exit. “This kinda gig is what we got into this business for, remember? ‘Agent Twenty-Four/Seven, and co., private eyes for that which the eye can’t see!’”
“Still regretting that infomercial.” Dick gripped the nearest grab handle like a vice as the van slammed to a stop behind a line of cars at a stoplight. Tall and dark-skinned, with a grey suit and a dark violet tie, he looked like a Wall Street accountant who had been shoved into a roller coaster ride against his will. “I’m trying to figure out what the hell possessed me to go along with this as long as I have.”
Twenty-Four shrugged, his overcoat and shifting as he shuffled around for the seat-adjuster. He leaned to his right, knocking away empty microwave meals as he felt around the side of his seat. A loud honk interrupted him, snapping his hand back to the wheel. “Must be my winning personality,” he replied, driving ahead past the now-green light.
Dick scoffed. “That’s gotten us some real winners so far. A haunted house plagued by nothing but asbestos, a werewolf that turned out to be a labrador stuck in a Halloween costume-”
“Labradoodle,” Twenty-Four replied, moving his right hand once more off the wheel, this time to “comb” his short, black hair with his fingers. “It was a labradoodle. Urgh,” he groused, “I need a freaking hat. I keep telling you to remind me to get a kick-ass hat, Dick!” He curled a strand of hair in his fingers. “How can I stand alongside history’s greatest crime solvers without one?”
“-not to mention,” Dick continued, through gritted teeth, “About five legal threats in the past week.” Dick flipped to the next page in the document he held in his free hand. “Three of them from our landlord.”
“It’s gonna be fine.” Twenty-Four adjusted his rearview mirror, tilting it from side to side. It creaked with every little nudge, its shoddily-taped base straining under its weight. “I mean, a whole grand, upfront. Upfront! That means he’s desperate.”
“So are we,” Dick muttered. “Seriously. This is the best work you could find? I can think of at least five ways I’d rather be spending my Sunday than sinking to the bottom of the ocean.”
“Technically,” Twenty-Four argued, “A submarine doesn’t sink.”
Dick rolled his eyes, glancing back down at the document. “You’re lucky I’m just as greedy on a bad day as you are on a good day. Take a left at the next light.”
“I know where I’m going.”
“If you knew where you were going, we wouldn’t need to have a map.” Dick sighed, crossing his arms. “And if we were going anywhere worthwhile, it wouldn’t come up as a blank on...literally any online map.”
“Have a little faith, Dick!” Twenty-Four turned around, hand still on the wheel, as he made his left. “I think after all our years working together, you’re taking me for granted. You really should show me the respect I de-”
“Truck!” Dick suddenly exclaimed, slamming his arms flat against his seat.
“...what?” Twenty-Four turned his attention back to the road. “What the hell’s a de-”
---
“-truck came out of nowhere, completely took us by surprise, but my quick thinking got us out just in time,” Twenty-Four explained, pride evident in every word. “Dick was panicking.”
“We almost died,” Dick growled.
“But, we didn’t.” Twenty-Four shook his head. “You gotta think about the positives.”
“I...see.” The man in front of the two tapped his finger against his chin. “And...what does that have to do with-”
“All that’s to say, Mr. Phillips, we’ll need an extra $50 for some minor travel expenses. And an extra $100 on top of that for ticket fees.” Twenty-Four smiled, like a shark closing in on its prey. “‘S the nature of the business, you understand.”
Dick put his face in his hands. “Oh my god.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Phillips replied, fishing around in his pocket. “No need to worry there. For what we are about to uncover, no price is too great.”
Twenty-Four’s grin widened. “In that case, can you toss another $20-”
“So, Mr. Phillips,” Dick interrupted, “That’s our ride?”
“Indeed, Richard-or do you prefer Mr. Tracy?”
“Call him Dick!” Twenty-Four insisted.
Dick grimaced. “Please don’t. It’ll only encourage him.”
“It’s a respectable name!” Twenty-Four argued.
“If you bring up Robin one more goddamn time-”
“Mr. Tracy, then,” Phillips quickly interjected. Walking ahead, he led the two towards the nearby dock. A drab, rusting submarine sat at its side, bobbing up and down as the waves rolled through. It was a faded yellow, with what seemed to be no small amount of dents dotting the frame. The vehicle had clearly seen better days.
As if spotting the doubt on his face, Phillips sighed. “I know it’s not the most visually appealing of vessels, but I assure you, it’s entirely seaworthy.”
Twenty-Four crossed his arms. “That’s what they said about the Titanic, you know.”
“Hm.”
“Well, it’s certainly something,” Dick eventually said. “I really do have to ask, though. Why call the private eyes? Sure, we handle some…” He side-eyed Twenty-Four, who offered a cheeky smile in response. “...unusual mysteries, let’s say, but you could probably search for this squid of yours with some scientist and get a lot more out of it”
“Technically, it’s a creature akin to a squid,” Phillips corrected, “Frankly, its true form may be well unimaginable to our human minds. As such, I thought it would be something of great interest to you.”
Dick stared at him for a moment. “What.”
Phillips blinked back. “...I’m sorry, was that not in the email? I was certain I mentioned this in the subject line.”
Dick swiveled to the side to face his partner. “Twenty-Four. Explain,” he hissed.
Twenty-Four tugged at his collar. “I may have left out a couple details, but the job’s still just a little jaunt in the ocean blue-.”
“Now.”
“He wants us to go to some underwater city-Raleigh, or something-and capture Cthulhu.” Twenty-Four hastily replied. “As in, the literally Lovecraftian squid god-thingamawhatzit from space. Makes you go insane and all. That Cthulhu.”
Dick took a deep breath. He turned back to Phillips.
Phillips raised an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”
“Several.” Dick sifted through his jacket pockets, quickly digging out the van’s keys (which he’d confiscated from their previous owner not five minutes prior). “Thanks for your time, Mr. Phillips. Twenty-Four, we’re leaving.”
“Aw, come on!” Twenty-Four whined. “It’s good money you’re leaving on the table!”
Dick glanced back at Phillips. “No offense meant, Mr. Phillips, but this job just isn’t for us. We have to be selective about our cases, you understand, after some...” His eyes snapped back to Twenty-Four, who briefly cowered under their glare. “...dubious financial decision making on my partner’s part.”
“In my defense,” Twenty-Four muttered, “I legitimately thought I was helping out a princess from Switzerland. How was I supposed to know they didn’t have a monarchy?”
Dick growled. “You could Google it.”
“...the Internet was down.”
“It was through email-no, we are not doing this again.” Dick sighed, and continued. “Be that as it may, the cost of taking a deep-sea pleasure cruise to find an all-powerful octopus, when we could be taking more local cases, is a little too much for us to handle right now.” He held out a hand. “Consider this a consultation call, free of charge.”
Phillips chuckled. He snapped his fingers. The submarine’s top hatch opened up. A burly, bearded man (clad in the most cliche eyepatch-and-captain’s-coat combination that either Twenty-Four or Dick had ever seen) climbed out of the hatch. In his left hand, he held a glimmering silver briefcase. He hopped off the submarine, landing on the dock with a thud. He walked up to the trio, handing the case to Phillips, along with a stack of papers that looked old enough to be biblical.
“Thank you, Captain Dyer. Mr. Tracy,” Phillips finally spoke, opening the case. “Let me impress onto you one thing, at least. We are taking a trip that will take us to the South Pacific, and deep underwater besides.”
Twenty-Four almost pushed Dick off the dock in his scramble to look inside the case.
It was stuffed full of hundred dollar bills.
Lots, and lots, and lots of hundred dollar bills.
Phillips smiled. “I would be remiss not to pay you your fair share for such a journey.”
Twenty-Four closed the case shut, grabbing it. He proceeded to storm towards the submarine. “C’mon, Dick, we’ve got calamari to fry!”
“Oh, you’ve got to be-hold on!” Dick rushed up behind him, spotting Phillips and the captain speaking as he and Twenty-Four reached the submarine’s ladder. “Twenty-Four, I can’t be the only one who thinks this is seriously weird. What kind of guy just has hundreds of bucks ready to go for something like...this?”
“A rich idiot with no day job, clearly. Or some kind of start-up guru. Or both.” Twenty-Four opened the hatch, beginning to climb down. “Either way, we make out with a cool five...no, that looked like ten thousand!”
Dick groaned, grabbing at Twenty Four’s coat. Pulling him back up, he placed his hands on Twenty-Four’s shoulders. “Listen. To me. Our rent is due in a week! We’re going to the middle of nowhere, God knows how many hours off! There’s no way in hell we won’t get evicted!”
“Dick, c’mon.” Twenty-Four’s smile grew. Dick could almost see the dollar signs in his eyes. “All we’re doing is taking a more...rustic underwater tour. We do that, we pay off our rent tenfold-hell, we could probably buy the building! Maybe even do some renovations to Shadowfax.”
Dick frowned. “I still refuse to call it that.”
Twenty-Four shrugged. “You’ll come around. Look, this case could pay out big for us. What’s the worst that could happen?”
---
“Seriously,” Twenty-Four shouted, pulling his coat up above the rising water. The interior lights flickered above him, flashing off and on like he was part of the world’s lousiest rave. “Why did I let you talk me into this, Dick?”
“Quiet, you!” Dick slogged through the submarine’s new, impromptu swimming pool, making a beeline for Phillips and the captain at the helm. Dyer seemed unperturbed by the loud creaks and thunks echoing inside the vehicle. Phillips, while mostly stone-faced, was still clearly frazzled (if his attempts to scoop his papers and hold them up like he was christening the new King of the Pridelands had anything to say about it). Dick grabbed Phillips by the collar, causing the man to stumble slightly, his grip tightening on the papers. “You said this piece of junk was seaworthy!”
“‘S not a piece of junk, it’s a piece of crap,” Dyer replied, his voice gravelly. “I’d know, I built the thing myself.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better!”
“It is absolutely seaworthy!” Phillips insisted. “We’ve just never made it this far before! The pressure must be intense the closer we get to our destination! If I’d known-”
“You’re the one searching for this freaking city!” Dick growled. “It’s your job to know! And with all that cash you have, why couldn’t you get a better ship!”
“Because that’s all the cash I have!” Phillips held his documents out. “Renting this vessel, paying the Captain, finding these maps-it took all I had! I spent my life savings on this!”
Dick’s face went pallid. He immediately let go of Phillips collar, stumbling through the water. He found himself leaning against a wall, ignoring the pressure pushing it further towards him. “We’re all going to die.”
“We’ve gotten out of worse!” Twenty-Four insisted. Show some positivity!”
“Fine. We’re all going to die quickly.”
“You know that’s not what I-” Twenty-Four glanced out the nearest window, his eyes scanning the outside. “I bet you we can find a way out of here and back home in no time at…” He paused. “Huh.”
“...what’s ‘huh,’” Dick cautiously asked. “Is it a good ‘huh’ or a bad ‘huh’?”
Twenty-Four craned his neck slightly. A large, dark mass floated next to them, the only visible part being a set of similarly-shaped windows to Dyer’s own vessel. He could barely make out a set of figures mimicking his own stare, out of their windows. “It’s a ‘huh, that sure looks like another submarine out there’ kinda ‘huh’.”
“What?!” Phillips quickly passed his maps to Dyer, rushing to the window. His feet sloshed as he stumbled towards Twenty-Four. “Move!” Twenty-Four hopped to the side, Phillips instantly pressing himself against the glass. “Damn. They must have followed us down here!”
“What makes you say that?” asked Twenty-Four as he moved to another window. “They could just be some renegade scientists, out to uncover the secrets of the briny deep, or some quack indie movie-” He paused, his eyes widening. “Uh. Dick?”
“Captain,” Dick began, ignoring Twenty-Four, “Do we have some sort of hailing system? We can try to get their attention with an SOS-”
“Broke,” Dyer replied, his gaze following a pipe dangling from the ceiling, creaking with every swing. “Like ‘vrything else.”
“Dick, we have a problem!” Twenty-Four insisted.
“We have lots of them right now!” Dick barked. “Yours can wait!”
“He’s right,” Phillips snarled, slamming his hand on the wall of the sub. Dick jumped back as another leak simultaneously sprung up below him. “We can’t let them get to R’lyeh before us!”
Dick put his head in his hands, his voice muffled. “Are you seriously worried about that when we’re drowning?!”
“I’m startin’ t’gree with the suit,” Dyer replied.
“Full speed ahead, Dyer!” Phillips ordered. “As fast as you can take her, ram straight into that submarine!”
Dyer raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t you dare listen to that lunatic!” Dick warned.
“Do it!”
“Don’t-”
“Guys! They have a friggin’ harpoon gun!” Twenty-Four roared. “And it’s turning towards us!”
The room fell silent.
“So, uh.” Twenty Four glanced at the others. “We should probably do something about that.”
“Ram them, now!” Phillips demanded.
“Listen to that lunatic!” Dick exclaimed.
Dyer gripped the helm steering wheel. “Alright. Been nice knowin’ ya.”
The flickering lights finally shattered as the wheel was turned.
After that, everything went dark.
---
The first thing Twenty-Four noticed when he woke up was the fact that he woke up.
Sure, he was freezing.
Yeah, the ground felt weirdly...squishy, a little muddy even.
His coat was soaked, and his mouth felt like it’d been stuffed with saltines.
But he was awake.
This meant one of two things.
He only trusted one other person to give him an honest answer.
“Dick?” He asked, coughing up a bit of water as he stumbled to his feet. His sight was blurry, a haze of wavy lines and ever-shifting blobs. “Dick, you there? Holy crap,” he groaned, wobbling a bit on the slippery ground. “Did we make it? Are we alive, or is this Hell?”
A loud, raspy cough answered him. “Get back to me once I figure out the difference,” Dick muttered. He held the side of his head in his hand, blinking slowly. “So, after the concussion’s better, really.”
Twenty-Four’s vision slowly returned. It didn’t give him much to look at, however. A sea of dilapidated, sickly green buildings laid before him. None seemed to have any semblance of symmetry to each other, shooting up from the ground like dormant rockets in a silo. The ground beneath him seemed like a mix of mud and moss, shattered pieces of flooring dotting the landscape. Pieces of the submarine were scattered around, though the other occupants did not seem to be among them.
“...so,” Twenty-Four began, “I think we’re in Raleigh.”
“I really don’t think that’s the name.” Dick pushed himself up, trudging over to Twenty-Four. “Any idea where the sub is?”
Twenty-Four gestured grandly to the debris before them.
“Phillips?”
“Nope.”
“And the captain?”
“No dice.”
Dick sighed. “So we’re trapped in Atlantis with god knows how much oxygen left and no way to get home.”
“Yup.” Twenty-Four shook his coat. His grin returned in full force. “Let’s get explorin’.”
“...hell,” Dick shrugged, offering a smirk of his own. “Not like I’ve got a better idea.”
A loud click echoed behind them.
“We can think of a few,” a muffled voice replied. “Hands up. Now.”
Twenty-Four let out a yelp, his hands immediately reaching for the sky. Dick followed suit, albeit a tad more slowly.
“You’re from the other submarine,” another voice growled.
“Wow,” Twenty-Four muttered, “And here I thought we were the detectives.”
He shivered as he felt a cold piece of metal touch the back of his neck.
“Was that really necessary?” Dick whispered, his eyes darting back and forth as the same sensation ran up his spine.
“Kinda.”
“Quiet.” Footsteps echoed around the two. From behind, a man in a dark green cloak approached, slowing to a stop in front of the duo. A few others flanked him, dressed in similarly shadowy garb. “You’re very lucky to have survived your little accident. Well, so are we, I suppose.”
“In the spirit of generosity,” Twenty-Four offered, “I’ll forgive you for trying to kill us first.”
“Hmph.” The man stretched his arms wide. “And I will forgive you for your insolence. For you see, you have allowed us to step foot on hallowed land.” He chuckled, lowering his hood. His face was pale, almost sickly, and a scar ran down the length of his face. “But where are my manners? I am known as Craftson. We are-”
“Cthulhu cultists.” Twenty-Four interrupted.
The man froze. The others quickly exchanged glances, whispers erupting around Twenty-Four and Dick.
“What?” Dick asked. “How do you know that?”
“All green ensemble, trying to act super mysterious. This guy has a scar.”
“Lots of people have scars,” Craftson muttered.
“They gotta be cultists.” Twenty-Four gestured with his head towards the cloaked figures. “Or cheap Harry Potter cosplayers, could go either way. Plus, they’re pulling a dramatic speech instead of killing us. You don’t do that unless you want to recruit someone.”
“W-well,” Craftson replied, his voice shaking slightly. “You certainly think you’re clever, don’t you?”
Twenty-Four shrugged, his hands still in the air. “I’ve read a book in the last century, if that’s what you mean.”
Craftson’s face twisted into a sneer. “It will be a true pleasure to see what our Lord does to such an insolent whelp such as you.”
“Oh, good vocab word,” Twenty-Four drawled. “‘Insolent.’ Rolls off the tongue.”
Dick clenched his teeth. “Can you try not pissing off the people with the guns for once? I swear, this is Norway all over again.”
Twenty-Four rolled his eyes. “Now you remember Norway.”
“Can we shoot them now?” One of the cultists asked. “The others from their ship may already be near the Great One!”
“There’s no way they could make it to the Hall of Awakening in such a short amount of time!” Craftson scoffed. “Even if they did,” he added, reaching into his cloak. He pulled out a set of papers, rolled up in his hand, “We have their maps! Our victory is assured!”
Dick’s eyes widened. “Where did you get those?”
Craftson chuckled. “We found them washed ashore, safe and pristine. It was a gift from divine providence, taken from the hands of the unworthy into our-”
Twenty-Four let out a laugh, his hands wavering in the air as he heaved from his laughter.
“Is it so hard to let me finish a sentence?!” Craftson shouted, his attendants quickly taking a few steps back. “What in the world are you on about now?!”
“...those’re totally fake,” Twenty-Four eventually said, a tear welling up in his eye. “Like, ridiculously fake. I’m just…” Another stream of laughter burst from Twenty-Four. “You guys are complete idiots!”
Dick’s eyes fell on the maps. They looked just like the ones Phillips had, same crinkles and all. Either the deep-sea pressure was finally making Twenty-Four crack, or…
Craftson paused, turning his attention to the two once more. “...a lie,” he replied, “Meant to take us off our guards. Heed not their words, my fellows, for they seek to disrupt our glorious purpose!”
“Oh, no,” Dick quickly added, grinning. “Our client told us all about them. They made duplicates to throw anyone off the real trail and like...I dunno, make them walk into a nest of sharks?”
“Wouldn’t that be a pod?” one of the cultists asked.
“No, it’d be a collective,” another replied.
Twenty-Four waved his hand in a “so-so” fashion. “I think it’s a murder of sharks. Point is, you’d be strolling straight into them.”
“...prove it,” Craftson snarled. He approached Twenty-Four and Dick, holding the maps out. “Show us just what’s so wrong about these maps.” He gestured towards the men holding the guns to the two. “Lovett, West, lower your weapons.”
“Uh, sir, are you sure?” Lovett nervously replied, his gun hovering right behind Twenty-Four’s neck. “I don’t think this is a good idea-”
“Do not interrupt me!” Craftson snapped. “Do as I say, or face the Great One’s wrath!”
West frowned, but lowered his gun; Lovett holstered his own a moment later.
As the two lowered their arms, Craftson placed the maps in Twenty-Four’s hand. “Now, show us the true path to our almighty lord-we may even reward you with a place in his new world!”
“...you know,” Twenty-Four noted, “I can’t tell if you’re talking about the giant space squid or Jesus at this point.”
Craftson blinked. “What-”
Clutching his hand around the maps, Twenty-Four slammed his shoulder into Craftson’s chest. As the man reeled back, Dick elbowed West in the face. West stumbled back, Dick quickly taking the chance to grab his pistol. Taking aim, he fired at Lovett’s feet. Lovett jumped to the side, away from Twenty-Four and Craftson.
Twenty-Four immediately made a run for it, dashing past the remaining cultists, Dick in hot pursuit.
“After them!” Craftson yelled. “Don’t let them get away!” As the cultists gave chase, Craftson’s gaze turned to Lovett and West.
“Once we return to the surface, you’re both expelled.”
“Yes, sir,” they whimpered.
As Craftson and his attendants gave chase, barking orders back and forth, Lovett was thinking about just going home. West was considering a change in career.
Neither wondered why the sound of footsteps hadn’t gotten any more quiet since Craftson left until it was too late.
---
“I can’t believe that worked,” Twenty-Four breathed heavily, his back against the wall. “Oh, God, I was not made for cross-country.”
Dick craned his neck around the corner, scanning the horizon. “You’re just lucky these guys are bigger idiots than you on a bad day.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Twenty-Four scoffed. “I never have a bad day.”
Dick turned around. “I think we’ve lost them. Let’s get a good look at those maps and-”
He paused.
A dark brown fedora sat on Twenty-Four’s head.
“Where did you get that?”
“Found it.”
“...you found it.”
Twenty-Four shrugged. “Well, I found it on the head of one of the cultists. Not like they’d really need it down here.”
Dick sighed.
“What? If I’ve said it once, Dick, I’ve said it a thousand times-” He tipped the hat, leaning against the wall. “A detective is nothing without his kick-ass hat.”
“I’m too exhausted to bother with this right now, but we’re getting rid of that the instant we get home,” Dick grumbled. “Maps, please.”
“Killjoy.” Twenty-Four held out the maps, Dick quickly snatching them up. As he unfurled them, Dick’s eyes fell on two words written in bold print:
“CTHULHU FTHAGEN”
“...not ominous in the slightest,” Dick mused. He ran his fingers across the map, following the hastilly scribbled pathways like a maze on the back of a restaurant menu. “Based on this map, it looks like we landed close to the city center. There’s one central pathway out; everything else is a dead end.”
Twenty-Four stuffed his hands in his pockets as Dick continued on, turning around to look down the alley. He raised an eyebrow.
“...hey, Dick?”
“One second,” Dick replied. “We passed the creepy Taj Mahal-looking place…took a left at the former baths...” He turned in Twenty-Four's direction, looking upward “We should be close...to…”
An enormous, ornate door stood in front of them. A gigantic skull, jaw open and teeth jagged, adorned its front.
“...so yeah,” Dick concluded, stuffing the maps in his suit. “I think we found our catch.”
---
Footsteps echoed through the darkened hall. Water dripped down in fits and spurts, the intensity growing the closer the two got to the hall's center.
“Do you think it's actually a squid?” Twenty-Four asked. “I mean, like...what if it's an octopus?”
“What's the big difference?” Dick asked, cringing as his shoes squelched on the sopping wet floor.
“How many tentacles will be strangling us, that's what.”
“I think it's gonna be a boat.” Dick tiptoed over a small hole in the floor. “Some kind of escape device to keep the city's people alive to rebuild.”
“That's lame.”
“It's more realistic than a big fish.” Dick shot Twenty-Four a glare. “And it might be the only way we have out of this place, once we find Phillips and the captain.”
Twenty-Four shrugged. “I just figured we'd steal the Cultists’ ride.”
“...they'd all be stuck down here.”
“Yeah, but they wanted to be.”
Dick rolled his eyes. “...point taken. Still, we don't know what else is out there, so keep on your-”
There was a squishing sound underneath his feet.
“-toes.” Dick grimaced, raising his foot. A footprint greeted him, indented into one of a series of long, green tubes. “Twenty-Four, watch your step-”
Twenty-Four, for once, seemed to be utterly silent. He stared ahead, jaw slacked.
Dick really, really didn’t want to see what Twenty-Four was gawking at.
All the same, he looked up.
He immediately regretted his decision.
The tubes ran the length of the remainder of the room, tilting upwards about halfway through. The tubes attached to a conical, wrinkled green head, with dark spots at the root as if they’d been soldered on with a flamethrower. It wasn’t just a head, however; though the room’s poor lighting made it hard to make out the finer details, it was clear that there was a neck, and a pair of arms. The arms were crossed, the elbows sitting on what appeared to be some sort of cliffside.
Dick didn’t want to know how far down the cliff went, or what laid beyond it.
“It’s real.” Twenty-Four stumbled back slightly. “Holy shit, Cthulhu’s real. Monsters are real.”
“Uhuh,” Dick responded, his tone filled to the brim with disbelief and no shortage of panic.
“It’s an actual, real monster. No costumes.”
“Nope.”
“No labradoodles.”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“It’s an actual, breathing monster.”
“...do we know it’s breathing?”
“No.”
The two looked at the creature for a moment, in all its majesty and horrific glory.
“It’s like Kermit the Frog had a kid with frigging Godzilla,” Twenty-Four eventually surmised.
Dick blinked, slowly. He looked back and forth between the monster and Twenty-Four. “...Oh, God, why did you make me imagine that?” he muttered, wincing.
“Self-defense mechanism so I don’t run out of this room screaming, probably,” Twenty-Four admitted, his voice shaky.
“You know what, that’s fair.”
“...why, though?” Twenty-Four eventually asked.
“Why what?”
“Why the heck was Phillips so desperate to get this thing?” Twenty-Four paced across the tentacles, taking care to step in the gaps between each rather than the appendages themselves. “It’s one thing to look for monsters-we do that all the time-but we never want to take them home.”
“He could have sent a drone, or some kind of unmanned sub,” Dick realized. “Instead, he wanted to find this thing in the flesh.”
Twenty-Four nodded, still pacing, but faster than before. “Not to mention, he freaked when he saw the other sub-even the morons in the cult seemed more chill than he was about getting here. You’d think they’d be clamoring to find Cthulhu too, but they were…” He paused, tapping his foot and muttering under his breath. “What’s the word, what’s the word.”
“Worshippers,” Dick suggested.
Twenty-Four stopped. “...not the word, but you’re not wrong.”
Grabbing back out the maps from his suit, Dick continued, “Think about it. If they worship Cthulhu, of course they’d be calm and reverential in what’s essentially their holy land. If their recruitment drive was anything to go by, they wanted us to be the same.” Dick gestured towards the creature. “The maps to them were a sign, something to prove that they were worthy to be here in front of their god. It’s just another part of their belief. But Phillips...he didn’t seem like a believer.” He looked back at the maps. “The way he kept these maps safe on the sub, and the way the cultists just found them…something just doesn’t add up. What makes these so important?”
Twenty-Four snapped his fingers. “That’s just it! They’re not! They’re not fakes, but they’re red herrings, meant to lure people into here and-”
He froze.
“...huh.”
Dick grimaced. “Good huh or bad huh?”
“Take a guess,” a voice declared from behind them.
At that moment, a bullet whizzed past Twenty-Four’s head, the sound fading as the projectile traversed the room. Twenty-Four and Dick wheeled around, fists in the air.
A sigh came from within the darkness. “Really? You plan to win a gunfight with your fists? I can’t say you’re not optimistic.”
Footsteps approached the two, familiar faces coming into view. Phillips and Dyer, both with pistols in hand, stopped a good twenty feet away from the two. Phillips smiled at the two. “I’m surprised. You’re smarter than you look, the both of you.”
“Oh, you’re too kind,” Twenty-Four muttered. “Trying to kill us costs extra, you know.”
Phillips smirked. “Duly noted.”
“So, the maps were just a red herring?” Dick asked, his foot moving slightly to the side. A bullet hitting the space next to his leg stopped it cold. Dyer’s pistol was still smoking when he lowered it, a sinister grin on his face.
“Indeed. A necessary distraction, really. I really couldn’t tell who was going to make it here first,” Phillips admitted. “I have to say, though, it’s far easier to take two people out than it is to take twenty. I’ll have to do the latter later, but for now, I’ll take victory where I can find it.”
“Is this how you get your kicks?” Twenty-Four held his hands in the air; Dick followed suit. Phillips and Dyer circled the two, leaving Twenty-Four and Dick with their backs to the gigantic creature that shared the space. “Or are we a special case?”
“You are simply pawns in a much larger game. But, if you want to know the truth…” Phillips cocked his gun once more. “Let’s just say that a blood sacrifice does wonders in ensuring the end of the world.”
“Isn’t that a little extreme?” Dick asked. “What’d the world ever do to you?”
“It called me mad.” Phillips glared. “It called me insane for wanting to uncover the secrets of the universe, for wanting to find the truth behind our existence-”
“So was that before or after you tried to murder people for seafood?” Twenty-Four asked.
“...” Phillips aimed at him. “Perhaps my tale is too complex for the likes of you.”
“Says the guy speaking in Shakespeare,” Dick offered. Twenty-Four let out a snort.
“Knew you had it in you.”
Phillips fired.
Twenty-Four tilted his head slightly to the side.
There was a squelch.
There was a roar.
There was lots of screaming.
And then-
---
“-and then we got out thanks to Cthulhu getting pissed off that he got shot,” Twenty-Four explained, handing his landlord a check. “Don’t really know what happened to Phillips or the cap after they fell down the cliff, though. Guess they’re dead. Maybe. All turned out well, though. Turns out Cthulhu is pretty chill once you get to know him.” He shrugged. “Sure, we did vanish from the face of the Earth for a week. But, we got the rent, so that’s what’s important in the end.”
The landlord stared at him. “You’d better hope this doesn’t bounce,” he growled, “Or I’m calling the cops the next time I see you walk out this door.”
“It’s good, don’t worry.” Twenty-Four let out a wave. “See you next month.”
He slammed the door.
“You couldn’t even think of a better lie than that?” Dick asked, flipping pages in a book.
“Look, it was either that…” Twenty-Four glanced at the office’s kitchen. A tall, lanky man stood at the stove, cooking up some eggs and bacon, with an apron that read “Interrupt Me and Swim with the Fishes.”
One of his tentacles lifted the frying pan, the man watching as the eggs flipped in the air.
“...or admit that Cthulhu lives in our house,” Twenty-Four sheepishly finished.
“...fair.”
“Don’t forget the pancakes, Cal!”
A wayward tentacle lifted itself into the air, and gave what could best be described as a thumbs up.
Dick sighed. “This is my life.”
“This is our life,” Twenty-Four corrected. “So…
“…what’s our next case?”