Penance

Chapter Thirteen: Hell's Bells

"Alastar."

"I know."

"Alastar, I know these people."

"I know, Cary."

"They're all-?"

"Dead Master Builders. Yep."

Sirius squeezed off several warning shots into the oncoming horde, biting his lip and stepping back until he bumped into Good Cop when the shots had no effect. "Ah," Good Cop said. "Just a moment-" He swiped the pistol out of Sirius's hands and popped the cover off. "Sir, do you still remember how to fence?"

"Well, it's been a few years, but I should-" He paused. "...You know, a crowbar isn't exactly designed with fencing in mind-"

"Unfortunately it's the best we've got for now. Think you and Cary can hold them off for a couple minutes?"

"Are you out of your mind- what are you even doing?"

"Making some adjustments and hoping Cary doesn't decide to strangle me for it afterwards," Good Cop quipped as he conjured tools made of magic to do... whatever he was doing to Bad Cop's laser gun. Bad Cop quirked an eyebrow at his brother, but said nothing, instead taking the crowbar from Sirius.

"Hey!" the President protested, but fell silent when Bad Cop broke the hooked end off before handing it back. "...I can't see how that little piece is going to do you much good."

"Not like this it isn't," Bad Cop agreed. Sirius stared as he fashioned a pair of brass knuckles from the broken piece of iron.

"You're sure that'll work?"

"We're about to find out." Sirius sighed and rolled up his sleeves, giving the iron bar a few test swings. When he glanced back up, they were surrounded. The looks on the ghosts' faces were unsettling, to say the least. As he looked at them he could see anger; grief; fear. He felt cold, then, like ice was running through his veins.

Master Builders, each and every one of them... And their deaths are our faults... He breathed in and out slowly to try to calm his nerves. He couldn't blame them for wanting revenge- he would, too. Bad Cop glanced over at him as the tip of the crowbar dipped slightly, watching him warily. Would it really be so bad to just... let them? It's no less than I deserve...

Almost as one the crowd of dead Master Builders swarmed them, separating Sirius from Bad Cop with a speed the officer couldn't keep up with. He growled, throwing himself into the fight, but the ghosts were remarkably organized, making a concerted effort to keep him from getting to his friend. It made him wonder- was the Ringmaster controlling them, the way he was controlling Keelan? But at least it was keeping their attention off of Good Cop, allowing him to finish making his adjustments.

Good Cop glanced up as the crowbar slipped from Sirius' grasp and hit the floor with a solid thunk, followed shortly by the President himself. "Sirius!" he shouted, but the President didn't answer, hunching over and disappearing in the swarm. He gasped as he went unexpectedly cold, as though icy fingers had reached into his chest; it was like the whispers all over again, but inside him where he couldn't block them out. Bad Cop faltered, apparently feeling the same thing, and Good Cop could only guess that was what had affected Sirius so badly.

He steeled himself against the despair so persistently trying to drown him, and snapped the cover of the blaster back into place. In his peripheral he could see Bad Cop go down; he'd given it his best, but his fighting style was useless against the intangible, when only the strikes enhanced with the iron would land. Good Cop took aim.