Opus Veda

Rajesh felt his way behind the sergeant. He prayed for this to be a simple power cut - just another night in London - but the timing of this one was too neat. With nothing better to say he demanded an explanation from the captain. Taylor ignored him, returning to the hallway and calling for security. They shouted back and declared the entire area was down. Outside, a chorus of alarms yelled from all around.

"The whole borough can't be down," Rajesh gripped the table, as if needing balance, "it isn't the season for it, are you absolutely certain!?"

"Not yet, but if it is we prepare for the worst," Taylor took a radio from the woman who minutes ago had so frightened Rajesh. Static replied. Glowing phone screens punctuated the hallway as bouncers searched for signal and found none.

The captain growled, donning his helmet and drawing his pistol.

"They're here! Everyone get on the rear exit; I'll lead our guests through the club and try to break through the front."

Samantha whimpered. Rajesh heard the click of tasers and the hiss of unsheathing blades.

"Captain what the hell is going on!?"

"You know damn well what!" Taylor's voice wobbled, scaring Rajesh even more, "this meeting is over. Follow me when I say and when we get outside, run for the most public area you can find. Clear!?"

The guests inched forward, until the nightmare became real. Slowly, the alarms outside sped up, rising in pitch till they screeched, and in a single note, went out. Silence. Then a white flash, more, clapping like an applauding audience. A code, telling a secret over the night's sky no one yet knew, but knew to fear.

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Then the siren called for them. A shrill, discordant cry, stabbing their chests. A cry that invoked the hot shame of social failure; the pain of a lover's rejection. Others heard a mother wailing at a child's funeral. It was a sound of disbelief, despair, and resignation. The low moan of its acolytes who, from all the world had dealt them, had chosen to do evil in return.

Rajesh understood he was done. The siren had woken him before, in the distance, tantalising him with the death of someone who wasn't him. Tonight was his turn. He crawled under the table, squeezing beside his trembling assistant on a floor slick with urine. The door slammed shut as the captain abandoned them. When the siren ended, all that remained was for the things it summoned to create their newest content.

Their method was clinical, allowing their victims to make noises only when the message demanded it. What they left behind was suffocated of anything good; carcasses strewn behind marked doors none dared enter. All Rajesh heard, as his life approached its end, was the thud of dropping bodies and a muffled yelp of a once frightening woman. Then quiet. A gasp. Something hit the wall and spilled. The door creaked open, a helmet clattered through it.

The table flew away. Spotlights illuminated them. Samantha cried behind praying hands as the sergeant struggled for air. A red dot recorded. The anthem of Revolution Britannia, 'God Save the King', twinkled from a speaker. Seconds remained.

Rajesh wanted to laugh - exposed for collusion before he could choose either way. A message for a public that didn't really care. He squinted through his fingers at the beaked face of his executioner. One of its midnight eyes leaked a dull bruise - their symbol of suffering, one they promised to return to the guilty until all the nation would learn: guilt was all that was left now.

Samantha pleaded her insignificance. The executioner's head twisted in disagreement. The message had to go out. Rajesh took her soaked hand and met the camera's gaze. A wall of knives rose high like the crest of a wave, and in one motion, plunged into their bodies.