Erin let Janey pay for lunch, since it would be more worth it to avoid the hassle of arguing. By the time they split apart, Erin was so  less time talking than mentally arranging for her Pawn death. The electric tingle may have ended by the time they got the check, but she was certain it was going to return.

Interacting with Pawns was usually pretty safe compared to Protagonists, Erin told herself as she got back to her desk. She considered making a list of things she should do before she died on Friday, but her heart wasn’t into it.

She had finished revising one program and set about cleaning up her comments and detailing the revisions for Joel and Mike’s work, so they could see where she made changes.

The light changed at the doorway of her cube. It was a wide man, wearing a police uniform, cap, and belt included. Erin’s eyes slid to his gun before returning to his face as she asked, “How can I help you, officer?” What else was Erin going to have to deal with today?

She started to stand up, as he asked, “Are you Erin Razor? I am Officer Kevin Douglas, with the Meridian City Police Department. We have a few questions for you, do you have some time?”

Erin glanced at her computer’s clock, seeing it was nearly two. “I am sort of at work right now. Could I ask what this is about?” Erin wanted to ask how he got into their offices. This floor didn’t require keycard access, but the floor Janette worked on did, because they did government work.

The man watched her, seeming more sympathetic than suspicious. “It’s about Greg Cogsworth. We understand he is a coworker and we wanted to talk to you about him.”

Erin bit her lip and swallowed. She’d forgotten completely about visiting Greg’s cube that morning. “...Where do you want to question me?” Surely he wasn’t going to do this here, in front of everyone. 

He shook his head. “We aren’t ‘questioning’ you for anything, Miss Razor. We requested one of the conference rooms here, if you don’t mind. It should be quick. I’ll introduce you to Detective Grant.”

Erin nodded, locking her computer and checked herself over. She didn’t quite know why she did this, but it seemed like the right thing to do, trying to appear presentable before the cops.

It’s not like she might find a ‘this person is guilty of the ‘crimes’, please arrest her’ crumb on her sleeve. And he’d said it was about Greg. 

Officer Douglas walked away, his gaze meandering the cubicle farm, almost hesitant as if he might have forgotten where the conference room was, the modern labyrinth of corporate design. Erin didn’t say anything because she found in her experience most people of authority, whether it be managers or officers, would rather flounder than be offered help that could be construed as undermining or pitying.

The officer did find where he wanted to be relatively quickly, a smaller room meant for video conferencing. He motioned for Erin to sit in the room, which consisted of a table with about six chairs all facing a camera and television.

In her mild paranoia, her eyes scanned the camera to see any indication of it being on. Set halfway into the wall at around shoulder height, the camera was clearly high quality and new. Whoever installed it had forgotten to install power at the back of the cubby for the video camera, so a cable stretched from out of the wall slot and to an AC adapter plugged into the wall a few feet away.

The camera, after a few moments of study, was indeed turned off.

Erin took a seat, and the officer motioned. “Alright, I’ll get Detective Grant. Thanks for your cooperation.” He didn’t sound like people sounded when they were on high alert. The officer left the conference door open, allowing Erin to see into the hallway out of the conference room.

It wasn’t long until an unfamiliar, angular woman. More striking than stunningly beautiful, she looked like a lot of women who had clawed their way up a male dominated career path: sharp-eyed and emotionally distant. Erin suspected the tight smile was a very well rehearsed expression. “Hi. Erin Razor? I am Detective Tara Grant. I hope I am not taking you away from anything important?” 

“Yes I’m Erin. Nothing immediate, at least. So... what are you questioning me about?”

Erin could see Officer Douglas lingered nearby in the hallway. Erin’s view of the man vanished as Detective Grant started closing the door. “No questioning, or anything of that sort. Too much paperwork and- frankly- there is no suspicion cast on you for Mr. Cogsworth’s death. And don’t worry, I am not closing this all the way. Just trying to keep a healthy level of privacy from any nosy white knights.”

Erin had begun to feel slightly alarmed, though she could see that the door was indeed cracked open. She’d been distracted by the wording of that last phrase. She could only think of one ‘white knight’ around here. “Makes sense…. Greg’s death?”

Grant motioned to the table and said, “Take a seat, I will explain in a moment.” The woman then moved to the camera.

Erin took a seat as the Detective, very curiously, unplugged the camera’s power cable.

The taller woman turned around to Erin again, smiling a little more satisfied and safe. “Much better.” She moved to take a seat a little further from Erin, notably not between Erin and the conference room door. If Erin were the paranoid type, she’d remember that Officer Douglas would be just outside waiting for her if she tried to flee.

The business with unplugging the camera was bringing out her paranoia.

Detective Grant continued, “I didn’t want any prying eyes, so I could speak candidly. I do want to know one thing, before I continue.” The detective leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, “Please tell me you are here of your own free will and no one is pulling your strings?” Erin understood immediately.

“Oh, you’re worried I’m the puppet? Oh, that makes a lot more sense.” She flashed a quick smile of relief. “No, I was also- Yes. I am not a puppet. I know about the Protagonists, the willess NPCs with whom they interact and how criminals mostly have the same backstory, fodder for the Heroes to fight regularly.” As Erin spoke, Detective Grant relaxed visibly.

“Thank you. Sometimes it can be a little unhealthy to be too overt about asking. It’s uncommon, but officers have been known to get infected by breaking the fourth wall around NPCs.” She smiled, a real smile, and the severe affectation she wore faded some.

Erin was still unsettled, something about the cop’s general disdain set her on edge.

Detective Grant continued, “Frankly, I hate this duty, especially with NPCs involved. Better than shoveling Invader’s shit for the camera, but only just.” 

‘Invader’ was a term used by people who believed the Protagonists were aliens, screwing with humanity for fun. Her face was something harsh, reveling in her frustration. “Those poor scumbags who get trapped into being criminals, they can’t know better. They are like children, or dogs.” She paused, blowing out a breath slowly, taking a moment to ruminate.

Erin didn’t know what to say, really. She wasn’t much for talking about this sort of thing with other people directly, and certainly not at work. “I can only imagine.” Erin worked in an office with one the city’s most prominent heroes.  She could imagine just fine, but it didn’t help to push people this natively angry. 

Grant rolled her eyes. “You have no idea. Both the Police Chief and commissioner and a couple detectives and a handful of uniforms, all mindless drones. I drew the short straw today for suicides. No Invaders employed by Meridian PD though, so you have us beat there. We’re one of the lucky few cities. Fucking monsters.”

Erin made a face, drawling a little, “Tyson is a nice enough fellow but it is kind of terrifying being around him. I guess he’s why you were being so cautious?” She appealed to Grant’s dislike, but kept the topic away from herself.

“Yeah, and rumor has it your former friend is a puppet too, so we had to be careful. Like I said, you aren’t under suspicion of anything. Greg Cogsworth killed himself over the weekend and had a deadline call us so that we could find the corpse.”

Erin stiffened at this. Greg had every right to commit suicide, but she wished she could have helped more. “Deadline?” She knew the term, and was asking more out of surprise that Greg set one up. Grant didn’t realize Erin knew the term. 

Detective Grant explained, “Deadlines are a service provided by some suicide assistance programs. This one from a company called LifeRight. We found the number written on a piece of paper next to the phone.”

Suicide rates had skyrocketed since the arrival of heroes, specifically the Protagonists which broke all suspension of disbelief. It was higher among the religious, but the highest correlator was the number of Protagonists in the nearest city. It wasn’t talked about much, but decriminalizing suicide nationally became necessary and there were even non-profits set up to help people that couldn’t stand living in this world and need help dealing with post-mortem details.

“You don’t seem too surprised about this.”

She didn’t have anything to hide. “I gave him the number. I thought he’d try to take use of their counselling services a little more before he made a decision.” Erin paused, “He was awfully depressed on Friday, but he was known to be generally melancholic. He was a nice guy, I sympathize.” She didn’t have anything to hide. Besides, Detective Grant was another backdrop like Erin. Surely that distinction counted for something. Especially with her nasty attitude towards puppets and Protagonists.

Detective Grant offered nonchalantly, “And you knew about LifeRight because...”

Erin grimaced, “They helped my mom and me out when my father passed away. Why does that matter?” Erin didn’t like this game, not especially from the detective she knew for all of five minutes.

Her father killed himself when she was fifteen. She’ll always remember him as a quietly friendly man, constantly making bad jokes but always kindly and small. Mom had later explained he had been raised in a particularly religious Roman Catholic family, which he had happily escaped. Some of that faith in a higher power must have stuck. When everyone found out the Plot was an uncaring and unforgiving power, faith in a benevolent god dropped significantly. 

Her mother had to work to make ends meet for a couple years without life insurance assistance to help out with bills. LifeRight was very early in its inception at the time, but they still reached out to Erin’s mother at the time and provided what little help they could. Fourteen years later, they are a considerably larger outfit.

Erin never blamed any of the people who had taken the obvious escape from this world. She might have taken the same route for herself, if she wasn’t so cynical that she didn’t fear that the next life wouldn’t be just like this one. Suicide was now the fourth leading cause of death in the country today.

Grant smiled apologetically, as hollow as her others. “Sorry. It’s in my nature to pry. When some of my more unusual channels implied you might have been friends with a puppet… well… I wanted to make sure I understood better. Of course, the only reason I even looked for you is because Greg wrote a final note, and you were mentioned. That you gave him the number makes more sense now.”

Erin would be surprised if they didn’t have a desk worker who used the same forums that Erin herself maintained in order to keep tabs on the city’s hero world, since it was better news than the filtered television broadcasts.

Erin spoke as Detective Grant dug into her pocket, “He mentioned me?

Grant nodded, finally having fished a phone from her pocket. “Yeah. One second.” She unlocked the phone and offered the phone to Erin after a few moments to pull something up. Erin took it, confused. On the screen was a photograph of a letter. “Go ahead and read it,” the detective said.

Erin’s concern didn’t abate as she hesitantly zoomed in on the letter and began scrolling as she read.

 

“If you are reading this, I am sorry. I don’t mean to hurt anyone.

 Angela died three years ago, and since then, I have been nothing but a shell of a     
man since then, dying a little each day. Friday was the last straw.

 Erin Razor, my coworker, should have finished the last of my pressing work and
now I can die, hopefully with as little trouble as possible. Thank her for me. The 
number she gave me was a comfort in a dark place, and I am happy to be free of
unceasing agony I faced every day. I hope everyone has a better life than I did. 
I hope everyone finds peace, like I hope I find mine. Best Wishes. “

 Greg’s handwriting was clean and neat, except when it wrote the word ‘Angela’. Erin gave a half smile, not amused, but appreciative that she might have helped Greg a little. She hoped it hadn’t been all the Plot forcing him to die. He deserved better, but she did hope he did find peace. Erin gestured vaguely to Detective Grant, but said, “I hope he found what he was looking for. Thanks for sharing.” She offered the phone back. She just wanted Detective Grant out of her life. 

Detective Grant, who’d been leaning back in the chair, leaned forward again but she did not take the phone. She rested her elbows on the armrests, her fingers steepled to a point. “Read the first letter of each line.”

Erin stared at the screen for a moment, trying to puzzle it out. When she realized that each paragraph was a different word, it fell into place.  Erin, very carefully, put the phone on the table, pushing it back to the detective, without a word.

‘I Am Ennui.’ That’s what it said. It was a calling card. The calling card of the most powerful and dangerous mass murderer - or murderers - of the world. Supposedly.

No one knew for sure if Ennui even existed in a tangible sense, but theories range from some sort of literal incarnation of depression, or just an ultra-secret cult organization intent on killing people in ways that are impossible to prove as anything but self-inflicted.

The more cynical, Erin among them, believed ‘Ennui’ was just a tool used by whatever thing created all the puppets, the Plot. Something to keep the high numbers of suicides from breaking the fourth wall for the Protagonists. A fiction, made real by the manipulation of a little reality.

Ennui was reported on the news as an unseen force in the world, a supervillain that threatened everyone in the world equally and anonymously. For many still sentient, Ennui was just part of the same system that stole their friends and family and made them into puppets, another cog that twisted their universe to an unseen Plot.

And Erin’s name was now connected to Ennui’s name, in some tiny, small fashion.