Red Denizen

Well, this could have gone better… Jeremy thought, as he surveyed the wreckage of the warehouse. It was a bloody mess. Bits of crate and various body parts strewn about the place. But in the center of the room was the only reason Jeremy and his team were here. Clutched in the cold hands of a rather badly mutilated corpse, was the Knife.

Jeremy turned to the men behind him. "You have two hours. This mess had best be undetectable, especially for them. And not like last time, either. That place could have passed a white glove test. What kind of warehouse is that kind of spotless? Williams, you're in charge. I'll head back and get the acquisition to Mr. Marshall. Two hours. Go."

With that, he carefully placed the Knife in his briefcase (making sure not to touch it. Mr. Marshall was very clear about that) and walked back to his car.

It was an hour drive back to the MC&D New York offices and Jeremy spent most of it lost in deep thought. TA year ago he was wearing thrift store suits and was the overworked/underpaid assistant to one of the most powerful CEOs in the state, responsible for sweeping all the unsavory aspects of his boss' life under the rug. Dead prostitute? Re-located to the bottom of a New Jersey river. Blackmail? Amazing what street thugs would do for five grand. Feds wanting to look at the books? His doctoring would stump all but the best of the best forensic accountants, and he has already paid those ones off. But yet he was still just a flunky. The perfect assistant, he thought with a wry grin, always prompt and never outwardly power hungry or overly ambitious ambitious. But after all he has done for Mr. Peters, he was never more than the assistant. Never told more information than he needed to get some job done. Granted, Jeremy knew he was the power that got everything taken care of. But he was also smart enough to realize that he knew far too much about Peters' shady dealings to ever be free of him. That is, until Mr. Silas Marshall came along.


He walked into his office one day (6:30 sharp. one minute late, and he'd never hear the end of it) to see a strange man staring rather distastefully at the mess that was Mr. Peters' desk. Jeremy immediately went into to overdrive and assessed the situation. The man had a crispness about him and exuded a relaxed air of authority. He seemed the kind of man who got what he needed with very little effort expended by himself. His suit looked like it was worth more than Jeremy had made in his entire life. His tie clip was larger than normal, like it was meant to be seen ,and appeared to be gold with some kind of green gemstone inlay. Jeremy's eyes lingered on it for half a second longer than intended. The lines of the man's suit were too clean to be concealing a weapon, so obviously not a Fed. He was alone, so he wasn't yet another mob boss. Finding no obvious motive for the man's presence, Jeremy coolly walked to his desk and cleared his throat. "Good morning, sir. Mr. Peters won't be seeing anybody before 9am. Do you have an appointment?"

The man turned and his face lit up. Speaking with a slight London accent "Ah, you must be Jeremy! Actually, I need to speak to you before William gets here."

"I'm sorry, sir. I wish I had the time, but I have things to prepare for Mr. Peters before his next appointment. Shall I alert Mr. Peters you are here?"

The man just grinned. Outwardly, it seemed like a genuine smile. But it had a coldness that made Jeremy feel like a fish staring into the face of a shark. "Oh Jeremy, trust me. You'll want to hear my offer. And if you're worried about old Bill walking in seeing you idly chatting up a client, I assure you that you'll be just fine. Now tell me, how do you like your job here."

"Sir?"

"Silas, please. Silas Marshall. No need to be so formal, Jim. May I call you Jim? Or do you prefer Jeremy? I've heard quite a bit about the efficiency of your work for Bill. Quite extraordinary. How do you manage?"

"Sorry, er… Silas. I do prefer Jeremy. I know entirely too many people called Jim, James, or Jimmy. And I'm not anything special. I do what Mr. Peters asks, and I leave it at that."

"Come now, Jeremy. Don't be so modest." Silas Marshall's voice lost its jovial tone. "Seriously, don't. Bill is on the edge of disaster for himself. You can stay loyal, and the best case you can pray for is that you walk away with your life. Or, you can tell me what I need to know, and you might walk away unscathed. Tell me enough, and you may find a few extra zeros in your bank account come morning."

Outwardly, Jeremy kept his face stony. Inside, however, alarms were going crazy. Sure, Peters was not a very savory man. And Jeremy had his suspicions about him and his friends from the "gentleman's club" he frequented. But it is highly improbable that this Marshall knew of any of that. This could be a test of loyalty from Peters, or an excuse to finally get rid of him. While mulling this over, Jeremy found his eyes drawn to Mr. Marshall's tie clip. Upon closer inspection, it was definitely gold. With a cartouche of a bat and the letters M, C, and D. The M seemed to be emerald, rather than engraved. Why am I analyzing his bloody TIE CLIP?! Jeremy reprimanded himself.

What he really wanted to do was just land this Mr. Marshal one on the jaw before calling security, he slowly and calmly straightened up a stack of papers Silas has knocked askew in his outburst. He then said: "I don't know just what you may think you have heard, Mr. Marshall. But William Peters is my employer, and any concerns you have should be directed to him. As you have not shown any identification as law enforcement, I will again ask you to provide proof of an appointment with Mr. Peters. Otherwise, I shall have security escort you from the premises. Am I clear?" Jeremy hissed.

Jeremy expected Mr. Marshall to yell, shout, or at least tell him he would regret this decision. Instead what happened actually managed to surprise him. Marshall smiled. An honest, warm smile that actually reached his eyes this time. "Well done, my boy! Loyalty is a very hard commodity to come by, and I would know about hard to come by commodities. Had you caved in to simple threats, we would have no use for you. It was no lie that Bill is in trouble. He has become incapable of doing much more than drinking and whoring around rather than doing any real work. Or even paying his membership dues, for that matter… Normally, we would make him just disappear, but I find myself in need of a new assistant. Bill brags of you often. He says you're worth 3 times what he actually pays you, possibly more. It's a shame, really… So, rather than simply do away with the bad blood, I offered a bargain. His company, for his pathetic excuse of a life. Frankly, this place is worth more to my organization as liquid assets, so we will be selling it. You, however, have a choice. You can stay here and face whatever changes, and criminal charges, that will come. Quite possibly losing much more than your job. Or, which is why I am here, you can come to work for my organization."

"When you say 'organization', who do you mean? Have I heard of you before?"

"My dear boy, if you had heard of us, I'm sure I'd eat every cent I have. We are a gentleman's club that caters to… special interests. Incredibly exclusive and selective in our membership. Your old boss an associate of ours. Not a full member, mind you, but he had some of the satellite perks."

"What a very elegant way of telling me absolutely nothing while avoiding the question of whom you actually are."

Mr. Marshall placed a folder on the desk. "This is the contract of employment with us. Think it over. If you are interested, my card is inside."


Jeremy sat at his deck finishing the paperwork for the Knife, and prepared it for storage. The evaluation for resale was low, and the whole project was earmarked for transfer to the Storage Container People. He was about to hand his missive to one of his clerks, when a message popped up on his computer from Marshall's secretary. A cute little thing he had hoped to have a drink with one of these days….

Mr. Carson.

Mr. Marshall is requesting you in his office at your earliest convenience.
He also asks you have carton XA-1101 prepped for collection.

Betsy Haversham
Desk Secretary of Mr. Silas Marshall

Jeremy pulled a wry face. He was hoping to call it an early night.

Please inform Mr. Marshall I shall be there in 2 minutes with the latest retrieval report in hand.

Jeremy Carson
Deputy Director of Acquisitions

He called two drones from the next room over. Mindless things; with blank eyes that didn’t quite seem to be seeing. Creepy as hell, but damn they were efficient. You just had to talk to them like you were programming a computer.

"You two. Retrieve carton X-ray Alpha one-one-zero-one. Transport to collections bay four. Go."
After their wordless departure, Jeremy collected his now finished report and proceeded to Mr. Marshall's office.


"Jeremy, my boy! I hear tonight was a rousing success!"

Jeremy walked into Silas Marshall's personal study. "Hello sir. I've got the knife report here. Recovery squad suffered 80% casualties, better than projected. Williams is heading the clean up. Whatever task force they send should find your average dusty warehouse. However, I think this is another item for our friends in Special Storage."

"Always the formal one, you are. Won't even accept the brandy I won't even bother offering… Send the report to Carter's office and he'll arrange the transfer. Jeremy, you've performed admirably this past year. The acquisitions department has never run smoother. So I think its ti-"

Mr. Marshall was cut short by a rather small mousy girl poking her head in the door.

"Sorry to interrupt sir, but Mr. Carter is calling for you. He says he need you in his office, and that Mr. Carson should come too. He said to tell you that he is there, as well."

Jeremy didn't like the way she hesitated on the word "he". Something big was going on, and he didn't like surprises.

"Tell Walt that we were already on our way. Come, my boy! Big night for you ahead. Tell me, do you know the history of our little clubhouse?"

Jeremy was taken aback. He'd only met Mr. Walter Carter once before, on his first day. A big stone of a man, showing little interest in anything and very quick to anger if you crossed him. He wore a similar tie clip to Mr. Marshall, except his featured a ruby 'C' in the cartouche. (What was it with those tie clips, and why did they always stand out in his mind?) Thankfully, he'd had little reason to interact with Mr. Carter, as acquisitions would be Marshall's department. "I can't say I know much of the history of it, to be honest. I just know how we run today: with you as Head of Acquisitions, Mr. Carter as PR and Guest Relations, and Mr. Dark overhead."

"'Monsieur D’ark.'" Silas corrected. "He says he hails from France, originally. He prefers their appellations, at any rate. We started in the mid-16th century, actually. With the boom of Cabinets of Curiosities that were very popular amongst the wealthy. Of course, most of them were rubbish. Common refuse shaped and worked by shysters until they looked like a mermaid, or a bird with a scorpion's tail. Some were just fossils. Boring, all the same. But occasionally, something truly fantastic would pop up. Like our comb or the knife you brought in yesterday. True treasures of the world. And Monsieur D'ark was widely known to be one with the most fantastic of treasures. Eventually he bought himself a shop in London, and set himself up as a man of many wonders. Businesses grow as they become successful and soon he recruited the original Misters Marshall and Carter."

"The origi-"

"Hush boy, I've a lot to get through. Anyway- Soon enough, others noticed that these trinkets weren't just cheap fakes bought in the next town over. These were genuine articles and people wanted to borrow them for their own collections or usage. Certain other groups began to take notice of these wonders. So D'ark decided to make our club more exclusive and much more secretive. Now you see where we are today, hidden yet very successful."

At this point, they had arrived at the doors to Mr. Carter's office, and Mr. Marshall started fidgeting with his tie clip. "Jeremy, tonight your life changes yet again. I had high hopes for you, dear boy. Tonight, we make you a partner in our little business"

With that, Silas opened the door and it took all of Jeremy's will not to scream


Inside the office were two people. Well, one person, at least. The second looked like little more than a desiccated corpse in a rather strange and complicated wheel chair. It's body shriveled and blackened, as if it has been left in an open fire. Jeremy thought it was a corpse until it spoke.

Its voice was little more than a breathy raspy croak, and sent shivers up Jeremy's spine. The voice seemed to come from the Thing, but it's jaw never moved in the slightest. It didn't even appear to be breathing. The Thing in the Chair beg an addressing Marshall in French.

"Marshall, we have been waiting for you. This body does not have time for your dalliances, as you very well know."

"I do apologize, Monsieur D'ark," Mr. Marshall responded in English. "I was simply bringing the young Jeremy Carson up to speed about the purpose of this meeting tonight."

"Bah." spat Mr. Carter. "You have always been one to talk too much, anyway. You obviously didn't tell him the important things. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be about to piss all over himself at the sight of Monsieur."

"I was just getting to that, actually." Mr. Marshall said stiffly. "Would you gentleman care to assist?"

"I will take it from here, Silas. You go fetch the materials." D'ark rasped in English. "Jeremy Andrew Carson, is it? You have done well here. So well in fact, we wish to give you the office of Marshall."

"I'm s-sorry?" Jeremy stammered in spite of himself. "I'll be taking over Mr. Marshall's position?"

"Yes." the Thing that was to be addressed as Monsieur D'ark hissed. "But also no. You’ll take the office of Marshall, just as Silas will take the office of Carter. Walter here will add to the continuance of Myself."

Jeremy's mind was still trying to process all this information, when Mr. Carter returned. Behind him trailed two of the drones he has called earlier, carrying a very old wooden case marked XA-1101.
"Finally." hissed Monsieur D'ark. "Set that down and leave us. Marshall. Carter. Begin the transfer. My time grows ever shorter."

Wordlessly, the two drones set the box on the floor, removed a small collection of items, and placed them on Mr. Carter's desk before leaving. The desk was now taken up by two small knives made of what appeared to be silver, but glowed with a sheen that gave Jeremy a headache when he tried to focus on them. There was also a small bowl and an opaque black bottle.

Mr. Marshall and Mr. Carter took off their tie clips and placed them next to the bowl. To Jeremy, both of them seemed to change imperceptibly. Almost like they had deflated. His eyes were drawn to the clips, and the two men seemed to go from Misters Silas Marshall and Walter Carter, to just Silas and just Walter. Their air of authority just… gone.

"It always feels odd taking this off in public. Makes one feel… Exposed…” mused Silas out loud. It was just Silas, now. No title or appellation immediately springing to Jeremy's thoughts.

"Oh get on with it." barked Walter, grouchy as ever.

Silas just rolled his eyes, and poured a strange oily substance from the bottle into the bowl.
"Jeremy, I need you to come here. Now these clips are completely normal, aside from being the finest gold you'll ever lay eyes on. Inside each of them, however, is one of the wonders I mentioned earlier. In Mr. Marshall's clip: a flat plate of emerald. In Mr. Carter's: a ruby one. That small plate contains everything you'll need to hold the office it belongs to. Think of it like a desk manual. But if you were to take one now, it wouldn’t work for you. They’re still imprinted on Walter and I. A single drop of blood is all it takes. Only the fluid in this bowl will wipe them clean, and allow for re-imprinting. Monsieur D’ark, if you would?”

Monsieur D’ark, who remained quiet throughout this odd ritual despite his earlier impatience, rolled his chair over and laid a single finger on Mr. Marshall’s clip. The emerald flashed black so briefly that Jeremy almost thought he imagined it. The front of the clip opened with a snap, revealing a small emerald plate with etchings that almost looked like a circuit board. He then did the same to Mr. Carter’s, revealing a similar ruby plate with a slightly different circuit pattern.

“Thank you, sir.” Silas said, deftly dipping the plates in the bowl, careful to avoid wetting his fingers. “Now, Jeremy, it’s time to acquaint you with your new title.” He picked up one of the knives on the table. “Hold out your hand. I onl- Oh, don’t cringe like that! I’m not going to cut across your palm. Do you have any idea how many nerves are there? I only need a drop, so I’m just going to prick your finger. Honestly, you have seen far too many movies…”

Sheepishly, Jeremy held out his left hand, and Silas gently poked the tip of the middle finger. He heard Messer D’ark mutter approvingly about “the blood of the sinister hand”. He tried to pay it no mind. This was looking more and more like a voodoo rite by the minute.

With a small bead of Jeremy’s lifeblood on the tip, Silas touched the knife to the emerald plate. The plate seemed to shimmer for a moment. Then it was done. A perfect orb of blood sat in the center of the emerald plate. Silas then placed it in the empty clip with the M carved out, closed it, and handed it to Jeremy. “Welcome to the fold, Mr. Jeremy Andrew Marshall of Marshall, Carter, and Dark.”

When the clip touched his hand, Jeremy felt himself stand up a bit straighter. His mind was whirring, trying to process all the new information that was introduced by the clip. Names of employees, which recovery teams were on assignment and which were not, history of the company, dates, times, faces, facts, trivia. It was so fast that Jeremy almost couldn’t handle influx of knowledge. He must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew, he was sitting in a chair while Mr. Carter (Silas? No… Mr. Carter. But he had Silas’s face.) was trying to get his attention.

“Jeremy? Are you with us yet? Ah, there you are! For a moment, I thought we might have accidentally scrambled your skull! Everybody takes the office differently. Walter over here damn near wet himself when he took the mantle of Carter 30 years ago! Don’t look at me that way Walt, you know it’s true. Stand up now, get your bearings. How do you feel? ”

Jeremy stood and looked at himself in the mirror across the room. While he didn’t look any different per se, he almost didn’t recognize himself. He saw the tie clip, horribly out of place on his now rumpled and somewhat ill-fitting suit (I’ll have to fix that) But yet, everything was different. He had a look in his eyes that he didn’t recognize. A look that said he knew that all he had to do was ask, and the most powerful men in the country would bend at his feet. It almost looked strange to see that look on his own face, a look he had seen many times on the faces of his various bosses. Jeremy, always the flunky, but now with the power he had always served.

“Don’t let it get to your head.” Monsieur D’ark rasped. “You were chosen for this role because you’ve seen what happens when people go mad for power and authority. You now answer to nobody but Myself. That makes My interests your interests. Your role in the grander scheme of things is to run the Acquisitions Department, and keep our little business venture profitable. Anything less than perfection will result in your replacement.”

“Of course, sir.” Jeremy replied, almost not recognizing the tone of his own voice.

“You’ll find your new contract in your desk.” Mr. Carter said, shaking his hand. “Salary, account information, it’s all in there. You may want to get yourself a better tailor, as you have a new image to maintain. Nobody will recognize you as Jeremy Carson as long as you wear the badge of your office, or at least have it on your person. As far as they will know, this transfer never happened. You are Mr. Jeremy Marshall, and always have been. Jeremy Carson was transferred away. Of course, one of the first things you’ll need to do is find another acquisitions manager. I’ve left a few names for you to scout out on your desk, to get you started.”

“Now, as for our dear friend Walter Frances Falkner…” mused Monsieur D’ark. “It is time for you to join Me. Silas. Jeremy. Leave us. I believe you both have new business to attend to.”

“Best we be off.” Mr. Carter muttered. “This is something nobody need witness. Nor ever has, now this I think about it…”

When they closed the doors behind them in the hall, Mr. Carter once again shook his hand. “Again, welcome to the business, Jeremy. You know where your offices are. The number to my tailor is in the top right drawer of your desk. First thing you should do is give him a call. You’ve a new image to maintain, after all. I hate to just throw you to the wolves, but I’ve got an item to arrange to have sent to our friends at the Foundation.”

Jeremy Marshall sat down at his new desk, slowly running his fingers across his new tie clip. “So this is what it’s like here. Well they were definitely right about one thing. I really need to call that tailor…”