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“Are you ready? It’s almost time!”
There is an edge to his voice, but Cristal won’t be rushed, not tonight.
“Just a minute,” she calls. She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous – the past is the past; she’s in control, she’ll be safe, she’s made sure of it. The helpless naïve girl she used to be is no more. Her decisions are what brought her here, to this man, this tower, this night that will change everything.
She looks at herself in the mirror and smoothes down her dress. All eyes will be on her soon, no matter how tonight goes.
(They’re prepared. They’ve made sure that nothing was left up to chance, that success was guaranteed. But Cristal also knows that things don't always go according to plan, ever since that fateful encounter with the Etoiles Noires spun her world on its axis, opening up a path she had never even envisaged before.)
Her hair is perfect, her makeup immaculate. Inside her, the certainty that they’re doing the right thing, that they’re changing the world for the better, is burning like an ember.
She’s ready.
With one last deep breath, she steps out – chin up, shoulders down, like she’s taking to the stage – and takes his hand.
*
Naziland is huge, Ziggy thinks as he surveys the room, but if you look closely, it’s not that impressive. There are cracks in the walls and chips in the paint, and everyone seems bored out of their skulls. No one is smiling, barely anyone is talking. Everyone is just waiting for something to happen.
And don’t get him started on the music, which is utterly boring.
It might be the worst party he’s ever been to.
If Marie-Jeanne ever finds out...
*
“Are you ready? It’s almost time!”
Johnny paces outside the room she’s locked herself in, gnawing on his fingers. He doesn’t know why she cares how she looks tonight – it’s not like anybody will see them.
He’s so nervous – not that he would ever tell the others, especially not her. He wonders once again if this is really the right thing to do. Sure, they’ve escalated their actions lately, making a bigger and bigger splash each time, but a bomb? Some mornings he wakes up before her and wonders how things got away from him like this, how he let things go this far. If things could have been different, if he’d made different choices.
He’s itching for another joint, but he needs to be sharp. Maybe a really weak one, just to take the edge off? He needs to shake the bad feeling he’s got about tonight.
He told her about it, once, but she said she didn’t need his negativity, and since when did he need to think anyway? So he just tries to tell himself she knows what she’s doing, that she’s never steered him wrong so far, that she’s far more clever than he is. It’s going to be okay. Probably.
She’s been right before. The message about the kidnapping, that was her idea, and it seemed like a mistake for a while but it turned out alright in the end. He made the right decision then.
(She says this is the last thing and then they can leave, start over somewhere else, have a totally different life together where they’ll just be happy.
But the truth is, he can't really picture it.)
Finally, the door opens. She’s ready, looking stunning as usual in her dress and heels – not very practical, but she’s never cared about that. Image is what matters, she always says. That’s what people will remember, and they’ll definitely remember tonight.
She takes his hand confidently, and they walk through the hangar together, the rest of the gang gathering around them as they go, jittering excitedly, or perhaps nervously. Johnny tries to look unbothered.
“Let’s do this, people,” Sadia says, and they’re off.
*
Cristal strides into Naziland like she owns the place, and in a way she does, now. Guests are cheering, flashes almost blinding her as she's led about the room to receive congratulations. She’s never seen her mother so happy, her father so proud.
She’s on top of the world, climbing higher than she’d even thought possible, and it feels...
*
There is a commotion in the corner of the room. A security guard is holding someone back, a screetching woman, clutching a bottle of cheap liquor in one hand and her high heels in the other.
Holy shit, Ziggy thinks. That's Stella Spotlight. He's seen enough pictures of her that he would recognize her anywhere.
“The Etoiles Noires are here,” she shrieks, hysterical, flailing as the guard tries to subdue her without hurting her. “They’ve got a bomb! I was at the café, I know everything! Run!”
Then she lets out a chilling laugh.
“Or just keep dancing! We’ll all be dead soon anyway!!”
The whispers around the room are half-pitying, half-indignant. The Gourou really did a number on her, they say. Did you hear about her and Zéro? Apparently he rejected her, I wonder if that’s why she’s here tonight. She’s clearly on drugs. Jealousy is such an ugly emotion.
Stella is still laughing and laughing and laughing, and then another guard rushes in, plunges a syringe into her neck, and she finally goes quiet. They drag her away discretely, and the band starts playing again as if nothing happened, a retro tango tune no one is dancing to.
"Back to work!" someone snaps, and Ziggy starts moving again.
It would take more than this to spoil Zéro Janvier’s big night.
*
“I’m going to freshen up,” Cristal tells Zéro, leaning in close. There’s a photographer pointing his objective right at them.
Zéro nods absently, bringing her hand to his lips perfunctorily. He doesn't even take his eyes off of the guest he’s talking to. He’s such a bad actor, Cristal thinks, it’s a wonder they even made it to the wedding. She guesses the tragic fairytale story bought them a lot of goodwill from the media, but once the honeymoon phase is over it won’t fly anymore. He’ll need to step up his game, because she won’t be made a fool of.
She gets stopped a few times en route to the bathroom, smiles politely at more or less heartfelt congratulations, turns down at least one proposition, promises she’ll pass on business cards.
The place is a maze and she’s too distracted to notice where she’s going. On the way back she makes a wrong turn, and instead of finding her way back to the balcony, she ends up in a dark, deserted hallway.
Chills go up her spine, but she makes herself take a deep breath. The past is the past. She’s in control. She’s safe. She makes herself take a few more steps towards the dark, just because. She can't let the fear win. She clutches her purse tight, the weight of it reassuring.
Her heart is pounding in her chest but she makes it to the end of the concourse – a small victory – and is about to turn around and go back the way she came when raised voices sound below her, startling her.
Apparently, Stella Spotlight showed up uninvited and made a scene earlier, spouting her usual paranoid nonsense; perhaps this is her, getting thrown out? She tiptoes closer, curiosity superceding her nerves.
But as she approaches, it’s not the old actress’s voice she hears. A cold sweat washes over her, and the room starts spinning.
*
“Hey, Bowie, if your tray is empty you’re supposed to go back to the kitchen and get another one,” says Ziggy’s supervisor, and he’s had enough of her condescending tone.
“You know what?” he says, taking off his tacky bedazzled bowtie. “I quit. You people all suck.”
She’s yelling insults at his back as he rushes out the door, but he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s got more important places to be.
Hopefully he can get back in time to catch Marie-Jeanne at closing.
*
“It’s too dangerous!” Cristal hears Rockfort say. “I’ll go.”
“Don’t be stupid, you’ll fuck it up,” answers the voice from Cristal’s nightmares. “Look at the state of you, you’re shaking like a leaf.”
Cristal is paralyzed. She can only watch as Sadia walks away, holding something in her hands, and Rockfort takes something out of his pocket that he lights up unsteadily and takes a deep drag from.
Stella was right, Cristal realizes. The Etoiles Noires are here. Did they come back to get her? She feels dizzy, something starting to buzz in her ears. She should run out and sound the alarm, but her joints seem to have locked up.
She thought she was past this. She’s been working so hard with her therapists, ever since the kidnapping, and yet she’s powerless to stop the memories washing over her, overwhelming her senses, threatening to drown her. Sadia’s voice barking orders; Rockfort’s hands tight on her wrists; the cold and dark of that hangar, the sound of their constant in-fighting, the tasteless mush they fed her—
Her mouth is once more flooded with the sourness of fear that didn't leave her once over the endless days she was held – only a week, Zéro told her later, the first time he visited her at the hospital. It had felt like a lifetime.
It had saved her, that visit, by giving her purpose when she had felt so lost. He’d explained his vision, laid out his plan, and of course she’d seen right away why radical action was necessary – she had almost paid the ultimate price herself, hadn’t she, and for what? The crime of being born lucky? She’d gone to the Café full of goodwill and sympathy, ready to put aside the news reports, willing to be convinced that the Etoiles Noires had their reasons; she’d wanted to believe that they were just like her, deep down, just normal people who’d been unlucky in their circumstances.
Instead, she’d found Sadia and her sadistic rage, and Rockfort and his thugs, who’d let it all happen, following their boss like dumb attack dogs, jumping and biting and sitting when she said the word.
Below, Rockfort is walking aimlessly in the dark, waiting for his master to come fetch him and sick him on their next innocent victim.
Cristal finally manages to make herself move. She nears the edge of the balcony, slowly, slowly. Carefully, oh so carefully, she opens her purse and takes out the small revolver Zéro gifted her on their first "date," removing the safety.
Monopolis will be safe soon, now that they’ve won, but she can’t wait. She can’t risk them not being caught, not when they’re right there in front of her. Therapy is all well and good, but there will never be another opportunity to take back control like this, for real, forever.
She adjusts her stance the way she’s been taught, feet slightly spread, four fingers under the trigger guard. She raises her arms and places Rockfort’s head in her sight, drawing in a slow breath through her nose.
He’s still smoking, his eyes darting around nervously, mouthing something under his breath incessantly. Scared, she realizes. He seems much smaller than in her memories, where she’s made him out into a giant, monstrous figure. Without his makeup, he actually looks really young. Not ugly at all. Under different circumstances…
She falters, letting out the breath she was holding.
Now that the moment has come, she can't remember if he really hurt her, personally. He was more careful than the others, and he argued with Sadia a lot over what they should do with her, buying her time.
Does he really deserve to die like this? He should pay, of course, for the things he’s done to others, and for terrorizing her, but perhaps some prison time would do it?
He looks up just then, and their eyes meet – his are wide and frightened, and she wonders if that's how she looks to him too. There’s a flash of recognition on his face. He winces, and it makes him look sorry.
“Look up!” comes another voice, and Cristal startles hard, whipping around to face its direction.
The noise is deafening, the recoil taking her by surprise. She’s knocked a few steps back and for a second, she can’t comprehend what has happened. But then – Oh, god. She’s fired, she’s shot the gun without even realizing, and now Sadia is on the ground, clutching her middle, Rockfort doubled over her.
“Sadia? No, nonono, please, Sadia, oh fuck, I love you, don’t leave me, please, please!”
Cristal has done it. She’s taken her revenge, the way she’s dreamt of so many times.
It doesn’t feel good. Nothing she’s done today felt good, she realizes, like a fog lifting from in front of her eyes. Not the wedding, not the victory. Not this.
She just feels – numb. She should be healed, victorious, triumphant, but she just feels utterly hollow. How did she let things go this far?
Below, Rockfort’s voice is shredding, pain and terror laced through it, and Cristal watches, impassible, as he sobs like a child, holding Sadia’s lifeless body to his chest, rocking her back and forth.
Human after all. What does that make her?
She was right, earlier: this night really did change everything.
In the distance, something starts beeping, and in the next second—
—the air—
—j u s t—
———s e e m s———
————— t o ——————
———-———————————————————-—
*
The end.