The Alarm Clock at the End of the World

Part 75

Earlier that same evening.

A tall and lanky punk nearly falls off his bar stool when we enter. His mohawk is about four inches wide, bleach-blonde with roots and the once-black uniform almost entirely covered with patchwork. Slogans like “Keep Warm, Burn out the Rich,” “Erase Racism,” and “Advertise Here, Inquire for Rates!” Three kids at the stove look up from their steaming pots when he speaks.  “Tophel!” he cries and embraces Mephis, who seems uncomfortable, but returns the gesture just the same. 

The boy on the left has chosen green liberty-spikes, proudly glued in place a good six inches off his head. The girl is pretty, with a purple bob that is so lustrous that I think it must have been dyed today. She looks familiar. The second boy’s thick black hair has been shaved, but not trimmed, approaching a half-inch in length, almost long enough to spike it.

Mephis looks as though he’s never performed a hug before. “Have preparations been made?” He pulls himself free. “Simon Magus, allow me to introduce you to Nepotism Baldwin and Dr. Filth.”

“The Dr. Filth?” Simon asks apprehensively. “The superhero?”

“That’s never been confirmed,” I say. Simon is still shaking my hand.

“Nice to meet you in person,” Simon says slowly, looking me in the eye with a raised eyebrow. “What’s with the sunglasses?”

“Prescription,” I say.

“Shattered his retinas,” Mephis says. “Can’t see blue without them.”

I look from Simon to Tyr, struggling to read what passes between them. “Diving accident,” I say.

“How sad,” Simon says and turns to shake Nepotism’s hand. “Bureaucraticus. I’m a big fan. We have everything worked out for a diversion that will get you into the party. You have to be dressed up and in position in less than 30 minutes.” Simon motions for us to have a seat at the three empty bar stools as the punk kids sit down beside him.

I seat myself across from the bob-girl. I know I’ve seen her face before. Simon continues. “SpectraCom has been doing a lot of tests on animals that push the limits of federal regulations. Animal Liberation Army has been protesting and calling for violence against SpectraCom for years. In the name of the ALA, these three will be doing the fun part of sneaking you into SpectraCom’s party.”

“What’s the fun part?” Nepotism asks.

Liberty-Spikes grins. “Paintballs.”

“Paintballs?” Mephis asks, appalled.

Simon nods. “Red. Blue. Green. Yellow. Firecrackers too. We’re going to shoot them over the hedgerow.”

“Paintballs?” Mephis asks. “Firecrackers?”

“And smoke bombs,” says the black-haired boy.

Simon says, “That’s when the three of you crawl through the hedges and make your way to the buffet table.” Lifting an empty plate from the setting before him, he says, “As long as you have a plate in your hand by the time the smoke clears, you should be golden.”