Bishie Style SL: Engine Room: Birth of Monstrum (Escape from Club Apophis 21)

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STORYLINE: The brass ring hissed to life, gears grinding as the hologram burst into shape, projecting the scene into the center of the workshop. The view was from a pocket of time thick with the grime of the industrial age. Gaslights hissed, casting a sickly yellow glow on wet cobblestones. They weren’t watching history. They were trespassing in it.

ARCHIVAL RECORDING — CHICAGO, FEBRUARY 14, 1929

The speakeasy pulsed with brass and gun oil, jazz horns bleeding through the haze of cigarette smoke. Beyond the bar’s false wall, men in pinstripes and fedoras polished Tommy guns, their voices sharp with the kind of bravado born from knowing the law itself had abandoned this city.

At the far end of the room, seated as though on twin thrones, were two figures no gangster would dare disturb.

The Ruler leaned on his cane, the cut of his coat immaculate, his features marbled in the elegance of old courts. He looked out over the tables with the disdain of a monarch forced to sit among peasants. His deep voice was velvet over steel when he spoke:

“Since the War, crowns topple like dominos. Kings strangled by parliaments. Czars executed by mobs. Maximilian Spyder whispers his poison into the ears of the newborn of our kind, turning subjects into citizens.” He spat the word like a curse. “A grotesque reversal of the natural order.”

Beside him, lounging with insolent ease, MasterGin twirled the stem of a coupe glass between long fingers. His smile was sharp, feline, a smear of lacquered sin under the low light.

“Oh, listen to you,” Gin purred. “The last Emperor of Shadows, pouting because the world doesn’t curtsey with quite the same flourish. Monarchies fall, darling, because velvet chains go out of fashion. People want jazz, motorcars that roar like beasts, liquor brewed in bathtubs filthy enough to make them forget they’re mortal." He lifted his glass. "And I, for one, adore it."

The Ruler’s eyes narrowed. “Industry belches smoke. It pollutes everything. Filth. Men who sit on factory thrones are lords unfit even to polish my boots. And you—” he leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl, “why do I suffer you, jester? Why should I not unmake you here and now?”

Gin’s laughter was silk on a knife’s edge. He leaned closer, brushing his hand, featherlight, against the Ruler’s chest, daring the strike.

“Because, my King,” he whispered, eyes gleaming with decadent amusement, “without me, your immaculate mausoleum of a world is unbearably dull. Admit it, Horemheb. You crave my disorder. My sin. My razzle-dazzle.”

The Ruler stiffened, outraged by the touch, his voice carrying like a curse through the smoky air. “You dare defile my righteous presence with your corruption, in a public house? I should kill you for it.”

Gin only tilted his head, his grin curling like smoke. “Tell me again, my King, how wicked I am. Say it slowly this time.”

The Ruler’s nostrils flared. “Pervert. Worshipper of Apophis.”

“And you,” Gin countered, purring the words, “are the greater pervert. Because nothing excites you more than watching purity rot.” The tension between them was electric, sharper than the knives hidden in the gangsters’ coats. Gin leaned in closer still, his voice velvet and venom. “Even your goddess Ma’at, keeper of order, never demanded the destruction of chaos, -- only its balance. That’s why you don’t kill me, my King. Because together,” his hand traced the Ruler’s arm, insolent and intimate, “we are balance.”

The Ruler’s lips parted, perhaps in denial, perhaps in warning, when the world dissolved into a percussive nightmare of gunfire.

Bullets, like angry iron hornets, tore through the opulent room as glass rained like diamonds. In the smoky haze, men screamed, their fine suits blossoming with crimson. The Ruler staggered, not from the force, but from the sheer insult as hot metal ripped through his side. His face, a hardened mask of granite, twisted not with pain, but with the divine and absolute outrage of a god whose temple has been defiled by insects.

From the shadows of the victorious side, a single, portly figure in a fine suit watched his men execute the last of their rivals, a cigar clenched in his teeth. He was the architect of the carnage. The Ruler’s incandescent gaze fell upon him.

In the space between heartbeats, the immortal was upon him, his hand gripping the man’s throat, lifting his considerable weight effortlessly off the ground. The cigar dropped, showering embers on the floor. The gangster's psychotic glee vanished, his eyes bulging with a terror. He stared at the bullet holes in his captor's chest, at the man who should be dead but wasn't.

The Ruler spat curses in the tongue of Pharaohs, each syllable an avalanche of titles and divine rights, before his voice dropped to a whisper that cut through the cacophony. "You command with fear and coin. An empire of grime."

"Wait, darling," MasterGin cooed, gliding to their side with an artist's appreciation. He circled the pair, tapping a long finger against his chin. "Don't smash the new toy. He's an absolute couture specimen of the age. All brutal ambition and vulgar appetites. Like a tailored suit cut from filth." He leaned in, sniffing the air around the gangster. "He absolutely reeks of it. Greed. A vulgar, but undeniably powerful, perfume. We could learn from this one.”

The Ruler’s grip loosened, and he dropped the man. The mob boss collapsed in a heap, coughing and rubbing his throat before pushing himself to his feet.

"Name’s Capone," he coughed, straightening his tie, his fear already being masked by opportunism. "You two aren't from Chicago, but I know power when I see it. Maybe we can do business."

The Ruler sneered, a look of profound disgust. He turned his back on the mortal, a gesture of ultimate dismissal. He no longer saw a man, but a lesson. His gaze swept across the carnage, and for the first time, he truly saw it. This was not chaos. It was a hostile takeover.

The billowing smoke, tainted by the coppery reek of blood, was the new incense. The staccato rhythm of a fallen pocket watch, ticking its last seconds on the floor, was the new hymn. He looked at the dead men, not as warriors, but as assets, expended. His eyes fell upon the Tommy gun, its polished wood and blued steel a marvel of mechanical death. Beside it lay a fallen briefcase, burst open to reveal stacks of money, - prayers to a new, paper god.

This was the new order. An empire not of faith and bloodlines, but of gears, capital, and mass-produced violence. His divine right was a useless relic here.

"He commanded them with this," The Ruler said, his voice a low rumble. He nudged the machine gun with his foot. "And paid them with worthless paper." He gestured toward at the cash. "A throne of bullets and false wealth. While we were gods. That man…” he gestured dismissively toward Capone, “…he does not demand worship. He buys it. He doesn't need a crown. He doesn't even need gold. He has paper men believe is worth dying for.”

"Savage, yet it has a certain… allure," MasterGin said, gliding to his side. "Don't you find mortal delusions fascinating?"

The Ruler was silent for a long moment, the chaos of the scene reflected in his ancient eyes. Then, he smiled. It was a chilling sight, devoid of all warmth, the expression of a predator discovering a richer hunting ground.

"You were right, Lucien," he said, his voice ringing with the cold clarity of a funeral bell.

He knelt, not in reverence, but in appraisal, and picked up a single, blood-spattered dollar bill. As he turned it over, his gaze fell upon the pyramid on its reverse. A sneer twisted his lips.

“They dare inscribe my tomb upon their paper and call it theirs.” With a contemptuous rip, he tore the bill in half, shredding the All-Seeing Eye from the pyramid.

"Mortals never change, only what they value does," he said, his voice ringing with cold clarity. "We will not command armies, but corporations. Our new priests will be their politicians, their CEOs, their bankers. We will amass wealth beyond the dreams of Pharaohs and control their world from the shadows."

He stood, crumbling the blood-soaked shreds in his fist, his eyes burning with a new, terrible purpose. "We will build a syndicate on the foundation of their avarice."

He looked at Gin, his gaze alight with fire.

Gin’s smile sharpened, a blade curving upwards. “The serpent swallows the sun. A Mafia of Monsters.”

(Present Day, 2055)

The hologram flickered and died. The swirling vortex of Roman numerals in the brass ring collapsed into nothing, leaving only the sound of ticking gears in the sudden silence of the workshop.

Minjo, Echo, Ghost, and Plague stood frozen, their faces pale in the soft glow of the vacuum tubes.

They hadn't just found a major clue. They had just witnessed the birth of Monstrum.

I hope you all like this Art Deco themed travel to the past. Readers of my blog and this Apophis series got a treat this chapter, the scoop on the Ruler, MasterGin and Monstrum! ....From the current Engine Room round, is a gorgeous suit and accessories from ArchiveFaction. I love the over the shoulder coat, I wore for half the year their other shoulder coat, it's so great to have a new style. You get what pieces you like, or buy the whole set. I used the Fatpack for Jacket to show some more retro warm colors. The brooch on the lapel is a gift from this round. It's mod, so I tinted it gold. ...Over at Androgyny Event, are the Coffin Core Glasses by Phase. It's mod so you can scale the size for a perfect fit, and tint the frame and lenses. ...MasterGin is wearing Priscilla Dress which comes with fits for Reborn-Burly Pecs-Mounds-V-tech-Waifu, and Legacy Athletic. The Dress is semi-transparent lace with corset. I dressed it up as a crossover between 1910s and 1920s. ...The Swiss miss hairpins are ZAP hair 146 at Engine Room. It's mod so you can turn on masking, or tint. ...From Guild is a wonderful neck corset that makes me think of a train grill. It's a fun look. ...From AURO is the Ritzy Opera Cigarette holder. I love me a long steam cigarette holder, and let me pick clove cigarettes too! It has 4 AO animations. ...From the Muses is lovely retro style BOM undergarment, The Alanguie Chemise. It's wonderfully made with nice texture details. It comes in either black or ivory. ...From Cult are the Agatha Boots with a guillotine heel! Twisted, and perfect for Halloween. ...From Static is the Sultry Parasol of black satin and lace. Just wear it and it will trigger a pose animation. ...From Duplexity is a table that worked perfectly for the Art Deco themed room, the Pathfinder's set with Table, stools, and Relic. It's PBR enabled and looks great with advanced lighting. I did something crazy and uses the Stools as Plant stands. They were mod, so I could scale them up or down and they matched the table perfectly! ....The setting is unlike anything else in SL, a truly Art Deco style room with all the lux glitz too. I added to the wall custom wall carving for the Sun and Apophis. I think it worked out pretty well. .... (Yes, I spent a lot of time working on this chapter. With lots of new events are coming for Halloween, I will be very busy, so I might have to pause Apophis for a bit. I will do what I can!)

On him, The Ruler of the Night:

Jacket: Archivefaction_Penumbra Blazer_Legacy M, fatpack [mesh](Engine Room)(1650L)

Tie: Archivefaction_Penumbra Tie_Legacy M [mesh](Engine Room)(350L)

Pants: Archivefaction_Penumbra Trousers_Black_Legacy M [mesh](Engine Room)(330L)

Cloak: Archivefaction_Penumbra Cloak_Black_Unrigged [mesh](Engine Room)(550L)

Gloves: Archivefaction_Penumbra Gloves_Legacy M_Slim Fingers [mesh](Engine Room)(550L)

Brooch: Archivefaction_Penumbra Albert Chain_PBR [mesh](Engine Room)(Gift)

Shades: PHASE Coffin Core Glasses [mesh] (Androgyny Event)(250L)

Hat: CRYPTID Noir Fedora [mesh]

Staff: David Heather Ankh Staff [mesh]

Shoes: Deadwool Dandy shoes - non rigged - black/silver wingtip [mesh](360L)

Head: LeLUTKA CAMDEN 4.0 [mesh](3990L)