The Alarm Clock at the End of the World

Part 70: Prologue, Part 2

I was in no position to make waves, I just wanted to live my life and not “disappear” like too many people have done after the Superhero War. I didn’t want to say anything dangerous now, but who knows what buttons of mine could be pushed at what time. It’s the filthy breeding of danger.

I slip back through the crowd of dancing kids toward the kitchen. The bartender looks at me angry when I move past him, head bowed, jacket collar pulled high, but in typical fashion, he says nothing. If he were to point me out for being out of place, that would bring the roving microscopic Everpresent Eye down on him. He has just as much to hide. The Secret Inspectors push about, craning their necks.

The Secret Inspectors were created to keep Metro City fair. They are not police, and they are only loosely government employees. They are like superheros, but more biased. Secret Inspectors stay anonymous by trading bodies after every investigation so the same inspector never inspects twice. Secret Inspectors can dispense judgement in all situations as they see fit. They have affectionately been called “The Party Mayor’s Cudgel.”  Unless a death warrant is mitigated, the SI take notes and report back to central command.

I jump through the saloon-style doors to the kitchen. I need to get some place out of sight real fast. Ducking out of the way to hide behind an over sized shelf with an array of spices and salts that disguise the smell of rotted meat in the kitchen. From my pronounced correspondence with Mike, I know that this bar gets most of its meat from dumpsters of meat-packing plants and fast-food restaurants selling their stock when they go out of business.

A poster on the wall offers a reward for a daughter named Ashley, who went missing. Keith and Kim desperately want her return. Mike is at the grill, cooking up something that looks vaguely like the stomach of an animal.

Penalties for dissent include death, and other punishments that may seem unnecessary in the future. If you have caused any kind of discomfort to the system, the judges in Metro City are a bloated Hammurabi, and the punishment is meted out to fit the crime. I’ve seen entire families murdered or worse, publicly shunned because they spoke out against a war other civilized nations considered barbaric. I haven’t been accused of anything yet, which can be worse than the crime.  

A suspect can simply be “disappeared,” like your average run-away or prostitute or murder victim. The Secret Inspectors like to get the job done real fast. Mike looks up from the grill. His eyes are wide and bloodshot from the massive amounts of cocaine he has been doing to stay awake. He has not slept in seven years, simulating REM sleep by watching mosquitoes fly about in a bog while doing line after line of pure South American rails. The last time I saw him, he was going on three years and usually spit out gibberish, acceptable for the occasional profundity.

Go to Part 71