TOP OF THE ROCK

☆ | 2.0

☆

"YOUR EYES ARE LIKE STARLIGHT NOW."

It's a soft, scratchy ringtone, paired with the faint vibration in her palm—an innocently concealed signal for the next move.

"I ought to say, 'no, no, no, sir,'" Marilyn Maxwell sings quietly, shadowed beneath the constant hum of Dean Martin. "Mind if I move in closer?"

Her gaze zeroes in on the brilliantly lit tree, radiating with warmth and joy, almost burning the holiday spirit into the fucking night sky.

"At least I'm gonna say that I tried..." Another loving lull, barely audible in the rippling crowd of tourists. "What's the sense of hurtin' my pride?"

The lights flicker, flicker, flicker—

"I really can't stay..."

A satisfied smile curls at her lips.

"Oh, baby, don't hold out..."

—and everything goes dark.

"Baby," she drawls beneath a wave of surprised gasps. "It's fucking cold outside."

Now.

In one smooth, fluid motion, she kills the song, slides the burner phone to her ear, and nods. "Okay, Blue, we're out."

"Out."

"Atom did it." With a halfhearted laugh, she shakes her head. "Whatever the fuck that bitch did, it worked."

A faint chuckle floats through the line, thick and raspy with an unspoken victory. "Blew a transformer. Manhole explosion. Knocked out the grid. As far as 28th to 72nd."

Perfect.

With a wry smile, she glances up at the cut silhouette of 30 Rock, towering up into a starless sky. Nothing but a dim haze coats the entire city, obscuring everything but the looming shadows cast in the weak glow of too many phone screens.

They decided on darkness. People feared darkness, and in those moments of insecurity, the fragility of this city was damning.

In mere seconds, every trace of that fucking holiday cheer lingering in the icy air had descended into hushed whispers, little wisps of panic and dread fluttering around her from a million unlucky motherfuckers who decided to flock to this tourist trap for Christmas Eve. If only they knew.

"It's out," she snickers. "Everything."

"Is Cadillac in place?"

As she searches the street, devouring every inch of exposed gravel in the faint headlights, stagnant as the ocean of darkness floods into the street. Suddenly, all those people resemble ghosts, flickering through the fleeting light, speaking softly and suspiciously about the blackout. Her teeth grind together. "I don't know," she mutters bitterly, craning to her tiptoes to find something in the constant flow of shadows. "Can't see shit."

"Find him."

Without another word, Blue hangs up on her.

Fuck. A curse unravels in the back of her throat, twisted into the strand of bile that burns the top of her mouth. Biting back the vicious urge to scream in frustration, she swallows the surge of nausea frantically. This isn't the time for her to pick a fight with him; she knew it wouldn't change anything. Somewhere in the moments that held everything together, the responsibility had fallen on her, and this wasn't what she fucking signed up for. This... wasn't at all what she signed up for, but they were in the final moments of a midnight marathon, and someone had to find the finish line.