The speed fluctuator had malfunctioned once more.
Sparks burst from the maintenance panel and smoke rushed through the back of the machine, but this was no surprise to Doctor Conagheim. He ran multiple tests on the fluctuator and tried multiple configurations, but his efforts seemed futile. He powered down the apparatus and walked back to the cafeteria. He sat down at his usual spot, near the window overlooking what was left of Earth, and drank his afternoon coffee.
Ever since becoming a scientist, he always believed that there could be a multiverse. To some people, it would be considered a necessity to find and travel to suitable universes in times of universal cataclysmic events. The thoughts of universe-ending threats did not scare him as it only pushed him to realize what must be done. As he finished his afternoon coffee, he walked back to his office and finished his report.
"Outcome… results were negative… the speed fluctuator was badly damaged… the wide-bandgap semiconductors need to be replaced… and the maintenance panel needs repairs," Conagheim repeated what he typed to fix any errors he made. As soon as he finished, he filed in his report. It would be a few minutes later that his assistant, Charles, would enter his office.
"Doctor Conagheim," Charles entered. "Erica from Ethics is on the phone. She wants to speak to you." He waved his assistant off and put the phone on speaker.
"Yes, Erica? What's the problem," he asked.
"You know why I'm calling you."
He rolled his eyes and explained to her, "Look, I'm positive that we can get it to work. Just give me a little more time to test the fluctuator and-"
"John, you know we can't keep funding you forever. Capitalizing on this project has cost me a lot more than it has for you. I've tried to keep the Board off our backs, but they've seen what you've done. I'm afraid I'll have to fire you, and you know what happens after."
He fell silent to her words, considering his options before he responded. "Hold on, let's make a deal."
"What do you want?"
"Give me at least three more tries. If I fail, fire me, do whatever you want with me. I don't care what you do to me, I just don't want you to destroy it," he worried with fear in his voice.
Erica sighed with doubt in her voice. "Fine. I don't believe you can do it, but I'm counting on you." The call cut out and Conagheim placed the phone back.
This had been the first time he had actually felt stressed. He had been confident in everything he did, but this time, it was different. He placed his hands on his forehead, combing through the front of his hair, breathing out. He never thought that he would fail, never once in his life. Even though he wanted to be challenged, he thought it would never be like this. He laid down on his bed, thinking of Erica's words repeatedly, and slept, aggravated by it.

This would be a new morning for the doctor. He slowly got out of bed, still exhausted by the thoughts of losing his job. It kept him up all night, but he'd try to put them in the back of his head.
As the sun peeked on the surface of Mars, the doctor walked towards the cafeteria. He had looked different; tired and spent than usual, and it didn't take long for passing scientists to realize this. He continued his daily routine: ordering his daily cup of coffee and sitting by his usual spot. Just to regain the energy he lost, Conagheim had to order three coffees. The doctor rubbed his heavy eyes and walked back to his office.
His office was full of schematics and redesigns, all of which he thought could work. Which one of you will work, he thought to himself, which one will make me proud? He sat down at his desk to think. He wanted to make sure the best would come out of his project; there was no time for failure.
Time was ticking.
He scanned through the collection of schematics, sliding his finger at the edge of each one. He grabbed three of them and walked towards the central chamber. He placed the three schematics on his working station and collected the tools necessary to rebuild the fluctuator. He recruited free researchers who no had projects to work on and began working on redesigning the machine. It would only be a few hours until Conagheim and his team finished redesigning the fluctuator into what had been drafted in the first schematic.
"Begin stabilization," he ordered the researchers, staring down the two of them.
The researchers powered up the fluctuator and observed. The stabilization increased rapidly as the fluctuator began shaking.
"Fascinating…" Conagheim wrote into his notes as he observed with interest.
"Stabilization at 50%. Station power at 75%," the programmed announcer noted.
Soon enough, Erica had entered the chamber to observe Conagheim's creation. "So this is your first shot, hm? I don't think this will actually work," she commented.
"Of course it won't work, it'd be a miracle if it did," he responded. They both looked on as the fluctuator started shaking.
Soon, the lights above the chamber began flickering.
"Stabilization at 75%. Station power at 60%."
The fluctuator began shooting bolts at the windows and every item in the room began to shake.
"Turn it off. I feel like something's wrong," ordered Erica. The doctor stepped closer to the windows as one of the bolts cracked the window in front of him.
"Not yet, Erica. It's almost there, just wait for it…"
"Stabilization at 90%. Station power at 45%."
The chamber began to shake rapidly into a semi-earthquake, which rattled the station.
"Turn it off. It's not going to work," she ordered him.
The doctor hesitantly walked over to the control switch and pulled it down. The lights stopped flickering, the station stopped quaking, and the fluctuator malfunctioned once more. Parts of the fluctuator shot towards the chamber windows, cracking them. Smoke rose from inside and the maintenance panel was lit on fire. As the smoke rose towards the ceiling, the emergency water systems were deployed and water was directed towards the machine.
"I told you it's not going to work. Hopefully, you can impress me next time." She wrote on her clipboard and walked out of the room. Conagheim sighed and looked straight at the broken fluctuator. His team of researchers exited the chamber, leaving the doctor inside.
"Well, not everything is perfect. I hope this one works."
He walked over to the first schematic and took it down from the wall, ripping it into two. He took the two schematics remaining and walked back to his office. He would not attend the daily dinner service or any special event that night. It would take him all the time in the world to get things right.

Conagheim slowly rose from the bed, his hand immediately moving to rub his aching temples. His office had been scattered with blueprints and schematics he kept for a while. He stood on the metallic floor, let out a sigh, and gathered himself together. He stuffed the scattered papers into his locker and slammed its door.
"God, what am I going to do," he quietly asked himself.
He showered, got himself dressed, and walked towards the cafeteria. As he passed through the halls, the other scientists noticed his posture as they looked at him with a disgusted look. As he entered the cafeteria, he ordered his coffee and sat at his usual spot.
A few minutes later, Charles came in and asked Conagheim, "How are you holding up, sir?"
He smiled in sarcasm as he drank his morning coffee. "Never felt better."
"Well, don't worry, sir. You'll get them this time. Here, hope this helps you." Charles placed a sprinkled chocolate donut on the coffee table and left soon after. Conagheim grabbed the donut and began to eat it. He felt more energetic and was ready for the rest of today. He left the cafeteria and proceeded to walk back to his office.
Once he entered his office, he opened the packed lockers again. He grabbed the one he carried with him before and went to the research center. He assembled his research group and they walked to the central chamber together. Once there, the team began to reassemble the fluctuator.
After several hours of modifications, the redesign was complete. This schematic is supposed to obtain and store a portion of the station's energy while producing its own energy, he wrote.
"Begin stabilization," he ordered the researchers. The researchers powered the machine and observed its working. A few seconds later, Erica entered the central chamber.
"Alright, I'm here to see this for myself. Are you sure that this will work?" she queried.
"Yes, I am a hundred percent positive that this time, it will work. I've been working on this all night."
"Energy portion obtained. Stabilization at 70%. Station power at 30%. Energy generation activated."
"So this is your plan?" she asked unamused.
"If it gets this machine to work, then yes," he responded.
Erica wrote down on her clipboard, her face stern. He began to sweat as he looked at her. He redirected his attention back towards the fluctuator. Soon, the station's lights began to flicker again and sparks began to fly out from both the equipment and the machine.
"Stabilization at 85%."
This time, it was worse.
"We need to shut it down." She walked over to the researchers handling the control equipment. "I want you to shut it down right now," she ordered the researchers. Both of them shook their heads as Conagheim walked closer towards the windows.
"Believe me, we're not shutting it down."
"Stabilization at 90%."
Sparks continued flying from the equipment and the fluctuator began to rumble. Small debris fell from the top of the chamber onto the floor. The researchers blocked Erica from reaching the controls and Conagheim observed the fluctuator with excitement.
"Conagheim, I'm going to shut down this thing right now if you don't!" she threatened, pointing her index finger upwards at his face.
"I'm sorry, Erica. I can't let you do that, not when we're so close." The light began to shudder and flicker, the chamber began to shake, and more debris began to fall from the ceiling.
"Stabilization at 100%."
"This is it…"
Suddenly, electricity flowed into the fluctuator as it released a powerful electromagnetic orb that shot across the chamber. The orb instantly crashed through the windows and bounced throughout the chamber. Researchers and mechanics ducked as the orb came too close to them. The ball vaporized some of the equipment and two personnel in the process. After a few seconds, the orb erupted, sending an electromagnetic pulse and shutting down the station's power grid.
"Emergency power activated."
The lights came back on as it displayed the fluctuator, which was destroyed in the process. Everyone in the chamber slowly got back on their feet. Erica still felt the vibrations of the shockwave.
Erica looked at Conagheim, slapped him, and shouted, "You almost killed me! You idiot!"
She stormed out of the chambers as the other researchers looked back at him. He looked at all of them and dismissed them. He stood there as time passed on.

The next morning, Conagheim rolled out of bed, his body planted on the gridded, metal surface. "He muttered quietly to himself as he awakened, feeling the effects of the drop. He cleared his weary eyes to find… nothing. Everything was clean for once but on his desk laid a note. He walked over to his desk and read it.

John,
This is your last chance. Make it count.
Erica.
P.S. I got the chance to clean up your mess. You're welcome.

He folded the letter and stuffed it into his pocket, thinking about her. He walked out of his office and into the cafeteria. Erica was waiting for him at his usual spot, uncommon for him. He ordered coffee and sat down next to her.
"So, you saw it?" she asked.
"I couldn't miss it," he responded.
"You know you can't keep this up forever. I had high hopes for you, but you fucked up. You never gave up, but it's about time you did," she harshly advised him, remembering the events of yesterday.
He sighed, "You don't believe in the impossible, Erica. You never did." Once he finished drinking his coffee, he got up and walked out of the cafeteria. Erica was still sitting there, pushing her pen in hand.
He went back to his office and cleared his locker full of schematics, but he kept one. He went towards the central chamber and began fixing the fluctuator himself. He wouldn't want anyone else near his creation he had worked so hard on. I really shouldn't depend on them. They've sabotaged my beautiful machine, I can only trust myself, he thought to himself.
Before he called the researchers over, he typed something on a datapad, the contents unknown and the receiver unnamed, and placed the datapad next to the fluctuator. Afterward, he called over his team of researchers into the chamber. With this last chance that he has, it was now or never. He had doubt in his eyes, fear on his mind, and sweat running down the front of his forehead. The researchers on the control equipment turned their heads towards Conagheim, who sighed.
"You know what to do," he hinted, staring down at them without moving his head. The researchers pulled the activation switch, observing the fluctuator as it began powering up. Everything began to proceed as normal, until time began to pass by. As time moved on, the station would begin to shake and everything would go wrong. The doctor would be blind to this failure and he would never open his eyes to the reality of things.
The station was losing power as the fluctuator was close to reaching its maximum point. The alarms sounded throughout the halls of the station as researchers and mechanics began scrambling trying to find a way to escape the doomed station. Doctor Conagheim and his team of researchers watched through the windows of the central chamber as the fluctuator spun quicker. Erica ran quickly to the central chamber to find the doctor. Once she made it to the entrance of the chamber, she swiped her identification card and entered.
"John, explain to me what the hell is going on. The station is losing power and-," She looked at what was happening. The fluctuator had become unstable, the chamber was collapsing, and the station's power was being drained by the machine.
"It's… working.."
Doctor Conagheim looked behind him to see Erica in shock. He walked over to her and explained everything to her, "Erica, you've made it! Right at the moment where I will not fail this time! I've done it, it's finally working!" Erica looked back and forth at the doctor and the unrestrained machination until she came to realize what was going on. Finally, she slapped Conagheim in the face.
"Are you insane?! Look what you've done! By God, you're going to destroy this whole station! You need to shut it down right now."
Conagheim looked right back at her and told her, "And lose everything that I've worked hard for? We are this close to unlocking the multiverse. We can't give up now!"
Erica's patience had thinned out. She walked over to the control equipment, pushed the researchers aside, and proceeded to initiate the shutdown. "Oh no, you don't!" He pulled her away from the control equipment and started arguing with her.
"Don't you see, Erica, this is what humanity's future holds. I can save us from extinction!"
"Get a hold of yourself and realize what you're doing. You are about to destroy all of our hard work. Stop this now!"
"No, this will be for the greater good of humanity and nothing will be able to stop it once it is done." He hoped.
"No! I won't calm down. I knew you were batshit crazy when you started drafting these ideas. You know what, I'm actually glad we divorced. I just can't stand your stubbornness anymore!" Erica looked away from him.
"Stabilization at 75%. Station power at 25%."
He felt what Erica had said to him. He walked towards her and thought about what he was going to say. "Erica… I only wanted to do this… so we could have a better life for ourselves. Call me insane, but I just wanted to be with you. I never wanted to let you go…"
Erica, still feeling anger in her veins, slowly turned towards him. "If you wanted a better life for us, why put me through this?" He had no answer. "You didn't have to do this if you wanted to be with me. You've put everyone at risk… and that's how far you went," Erica sighed. She looked down at the doctor as he slowly grabbed her arms and put them around his neck.
"Stabilization at 90%. Station power at 10%."
"Whatever happens to us, I assure you, I'll always be by your side," he comforted her. The two got closer to each other as the fluctuator generated a black hole and pulled everything into it, dilating and creating a Big Crunch. The two of them stared into each other's eyes and leaned into a kiss before being swept off their feet.
"Stabilization at-"

Silence.
There was nothing but silence.
Was he dead? Was he just unconscious? Was he waiting for his inevitable death?
His mind told him that he'd be okay, but his body told him otherwise. He felt nothing, he couldn't feel himself age or move around.
He felt like he was in limbo.
He felt cold, his body swelled with contusions. He could hear the almost silent meshing of what sounded like transforming globules. He slowly opened his eyes, slowly revealing what he had hoped for all his life, like a curtain unveiling a prize. He was astonished, bewildered. He knew that he wasn't dreaming or any of the sorts. He had accomplished his life's work, but now, there was no home to return to.
There would be nowhere to go, no goal to complete, no award to be given, and no one to love.
He was alone.
"Hello?"


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The Boat is Sinking
Audio: Voice by Author. Deep Ocean Underwater Ambience by SoundEffectsFactory
License: Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported

Open Mic Night at Stacker's THURSDAYS 10:00

The world is drowning; the flooded stage beckons. A sailor comes forth from a keel.
No one is listening, yet here you are. Enjoy this watery spiel.
“I offer this rhyme to this deluge of mine.”

The Boat is sinking! The Boat is sinking!
Group yourselves into six!
Side by side and hand in hand,
You'll jump into the Styx.
The Boat is sinking! The Boat is sinking!
Group yourselves into five!
Father, Mother, Sister, Brother,
And Death, all ready to dive.
The Boat is sinking! The Boat is sinking!
Group yourselves into four!
Each face East, West, South, and North.
Each will never see shore.
The Boat is sinking! The Boat is sinking!
Group yourselves into three!
One for rowing. One for towing.
One to toss in the sea.
The Boat is sinking! The Boat is sinking!
Group yourselves into two!
Be partners or be nemeses
Beneath the deep of blue.
The Boat is sinking! The Boat is sinking!
Group yourself into one!
Pull the ships from the ocean floor
To sink once more in the sun

The world is quiet. No specter. No flood.
The bar fixes up for the night.
The smell of caffeine and alcohol linger through the light.
‘Til next week.


This story was originally posted to youtube under a CC 3.0 Share Alike/Attribution license here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zF5emLF41eg
With it I continue down a path.
Image is from here: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:017Apocal%C3%ADptico_II.jpg

▸ More by this Author ◂

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F.A.Q.

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November 29th, 2006.
Markus Matthews was terrified and there was nothing he could do about it. The month was nearly over and Shaw showed no signs of giving the necklace to a new holder. Markus could feel himself slipping away every few minutes and had to catch himself in order to remain conscious. Or whatever this was.
Right now he was in a somewhat large white room lined with windows and a huge black stone pillar at the center. Shaw's footsteps echoed off the walls and Markus realized quite suddenly that the pillar was a coffin. Or a sar… sarcophagus? That's the word.
Shaw stopped walking as the coffin creaked loudly. Then the front of it opened on a hinge and a man covered in black tattoos stepped out, smiling widely when he saw Dr. Shaw in front of him.
"Ahh. An offering?" The tattooed man said through clenched teeth.
"Uh, not exactly." Markus could feel his stomach almost come up to his throat, but Shaw showed nothing on the outside. "Was just checking up on things, you're early."
Shaw offered a hand.
Able chuckled to himself and walked up to Shaw. He took Shaw's forearm and gripped it, "You carry Shaw's necklace."
"Yes. That's me. I'm him."
"Good. Arm yourself." The tattooed man let Shaw's arm go and stepped back.
Shaw nodded and reached for the pistol in his shoulder holster. A sword impaled Shaw in the chest before he could pull the trigger. Security agents filed into the room immediately and opened fire. Markus felt himself slipping away one last time, and soon all three of them were gone.
March 3rd, 2018:
Able stepped out into a pitch black room. He was alive again. An amplified voice came from somewhere above him. "Hi. Shaw again. I owe you one."
Large turrets he couldn't see popped out of the ground and opened fire.
April 20th, 2024:
"I have to apologize, I couldn't be there when you woke up so I had to record this in advance. The bullets are real though."
Able managed to say "Face me coward!" before the turrets began their work.

Able awoke 3 more times. Each time Shaw was there waiting. Until the end, of course. Able stepped out of his sarcophagus into the same room with the turrets. This time no voice greeted him and no bullets fired. A crack in the ceiling let a bit of sunlight through and the entire western wall had crumbled into rubble. He could see the tiled floor now and a single observation window which reflected a bit of light.
He walked over to the window and smashed it with a sword. Inside the observation room was a collection of equipment he didn't recognize, some chairs, a desk and the skeleton of what appeared to be a goat, with a very familiar piece of jewelry inside its rib cage. Able reached down and picked the necklace up.
He could immediately feel the force of another mind prying into his own. He could've dropped the necklace, it didn't affect him immediately, but his pride and competitive nature wouldn't let him. Instead he closed his eyes and prepared to fight on another battlefield.
He opened his eyes to a plain white room. Across from him stood Shaw. No jewelry. No false faces. The real Shaw. What was left of Shaw's hair was gray. He wore a pair of oversized glasses with thick lenses and Able was having trouble figuring out where the man's neck ended and chin began. Able also knew, without a doubt, that this was the man who'd been killing him for the last… wait how long had it been?
"Well," The nebbish man across from Able said. "This has never happened before."
Able chuckled. "What happened to your Foundation?"
"Cracked. Right down to the bottom."
"My brother?"
Shaw shook his head but didn't say anything.
"Iris?"
Shaw tilted his head slightly. "We're what's left."
"What happens now?"
A large rifle materialized in Shaw's hands.
Able pulled a black jagged sword out of thin air. "Fair enough."
Afterward, the last man on Earth walked out into the world.

« With A Target | Vs. Hub | Come Together»


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North's Author Page: Intelligence Agency Data Archive-Subject: North

Leaving the snow marked.
A trail for them to follow.
I tripped to the ground.
Sigils of defeat.
I'm laying in my own blood.
Waiting for rescue.
If only they came.
I no longer feel my legs.
A flow of crimson.
The shifting of leaves.
Movement in the frozen trees.
Sharp claws on cold wood.
Raising a firearm.
Dazed from the previous wounds.
Trying to keep still.
Spotting more movement
Ignition of gunpowder.
Several loud shots.
Shame, none hit their mark.
A young girl walked into view.
Wrapped in a fur coat.
Eyes, glowing bright green.
A command to drop the gun.
Instant compliance.
A smile, cold as ice.
Her eyes an emerald sheen.
She was my new friend.
The blink of an eye.
More crimson flows, stained the snow.
Turning pink by now.
Upon arrival.
Witness to a frozen corpse.
Its liver missing.
Bloody prints, a trail.
Into the forest, they go.
To contain a Fox.


The idea of the Foundation having a Human Resources Department seemed kind of stupid.
It wasn't like the establishment was well known for reducing casualties; the health care was, ironically, incredible. People, depending on the job, were given different benefits, sick times, maternity leave and health coverage.
The Human Resources and Communications Department were the poor bastards that had to deal with the people that nobody else wanted to.
The words 'pay raise' are banned.

"For the last time, Dr Karson, you cannot take sick leave because of a 'suspected infection of an anti-memetic virus'. I may not be directly involved in containment or analysis, but I have seen more than my fair share of reports to know that anti-memes do not work like that, nor would you be able to report them. And if you did, Dr Karson, it'd be considered an infohazardous breach and you'd be detained."
Osiris Wentworth heaved a heavy sigh as he placed the phone back onto the receiver, rubbing his eyes as the fan on his desk continued to blow mildly cold air back into his face. Damn thing never managed to blow perfectly cold air, just room temperature, not that Wentworth could complain at all. Room temperature was better than an insanely hot office. Why'd they even build an office underground when they knew damn well that the ventilation shafts periodically broke down around here?
Of all the things in his life, working as a consultant for the Foundation's HR&C Department was not one of the things that even crossed his mind. He couldn't even remember how he got here, just vague memories of a lockdown at his old workplace, an interview and then being sat at orientation. Then again, his long- and short-term memory were absolutely garbage, so it was entirely possible that he'd just forgotten how he'd gotten here in the first place.
A few minutes passed uneventfully, silence smothering the tapping of keys as Wentworth tried to prepare himself for the swathe of emails that he was about to get. Dr. Karson was one of the most annoying and persistent 'clients' - to put it nicely - that they had to deal with. Wentworth shook his head clear of thoughts as he continued typing; As long as he had his fan to keep his room cool, he was alright.

His fan broke.
Wentworth stared, mortified, at his sputtering and smoking fan. Three years on the job and the longest running fan so far; it had a post-it note stuck onto it that read 'Kyle the Third - 02/02/12'. Guess that'd have to be rewritten when he got the next fan in from that slightly shady Chinese business. 'Kyle the Fourth' didn't sound quite right in his head. Then again, he'd seen 'Kyle the Third' every day for the past three years.
Offering a small salute to the third fallen soldier that had fallen prey to 15-hour work days and weak wiring, Wentworth stood from his desk and wiped away a few beads of sweat around his forehead that had quickly taken form. Jesus Christ, this entire department block was an HR nightmare in itself. He made a mental note to bring up the ventilation to Lohan, a few offices down. Maybe he could stick that on his fourth soldier too, somewhere near the name. Not to close, though - nothing could ever come near it.
Osiris' office door groaned open, the rushing smell of slightly musty carpet meeting him at the door, shaking his hand and promptly punching him in the face. He took a small step forward, just enough that he wasn't in the doorway; The smell staved off just a little as he glanced around the somewhat darkened corridor of HR&C. It must have been later than he originally thought as there wasn't a soul around. Wentworth couldn't blame them - god knows he didn't want to be in this corridor any more than the next guy.
"Samson? Do you have Karson's file in your office? I might need it in the next five minutes?"
Wentworth knew how annoying his incessant knocking was, but if Samson was this insistent on not responding to him then she could deal with it. After around three minutes of knocking intermittently with timed blocks of silence, Wentworth rested his hand on the door and gave it a gentle push.
"Samson, I'm really not in the mood for—"
Click. Unlocked.
Suspicion rose in his mind as he stared around the interior of the office. They all looked the same anyway, but this office just felt a little more same-y than the rest of them. There weren't even any recognizable family photos, posters from summers long passed or a calendar on the wall that counted down to the next vacation day. Just a fairly blank office with his nameplate on the desk.
Wentworth stared for what felt like an hour. His nameplate. Last time he checked, his nameplate was back on his desk, in his office, which was behind him in the corridor that he just came from. Wentworth took a staggered step into the office, checking over his shoulder a few times to check to see if his original office was still there. Clear as day, there it was, with Kyle the Third still somewhat in view.
The desk held his valuables too, if not slightly altered. The family photo that he usually kept in his second drawer was on his third, his nameplate read 'Dr. Osiran Wentsworth' which not only wasn't his name, wasn't the correct designation. Wentworth had to admit, though, that being a doctor was pretty cool. His mother's phone number was stuck to the top of a desktop computer. His mother was dead. At least, she was the last time that he checked, which admittedly wasn't for a few years.
On the far corner of the desk, however, stood the trophy of his extra-dimensional office. A beautiful white, plastic office fan that had 'Kyle the Fourth 03/03/12' posted onto it, still blowing air out into an empty room. The handwriting was even his own, just as illegible as he remembered it.
It was still technically his fan, right?

"It's official, Osiris, you're a fucking genius."
Wentworth stepped back to look at his actual desk, a smug grin on his face. His fourth soldier in a row; the mystical Kyle the Fourth. Not only was it not made in China - Made in Vancouver - it produced cold air. A part of him wondered if another version of him was pissed off that his fan was now missing.
Wentworth sat back down at his office chair, spinning in it a few times before turning back to face his computer. The dim screen lit up again, this time displaying a red massage that contrasted the standard work background.

Re: Sick Leave - Dr Karson. From: ten.pics|nosrakd#ten.pics|nosrakd

Osiris Wentworth slammed his head on the desk.


“Fuck! What did you do, Ais? What did you do?!”
Aislyn paced back and forth, her eyes wide with panic.
“You've completely lost it. Completely fucking lost it. And now you're lost in some forest you've never seen before, pacing back and forth and yelling at yourself.”
Ais stopped abruptly. She was right. This wasn't helping. Had she said that to herself? She meant to say that to herself. Deep breaths. Deep. Breaths.
Slowly, the panic ebbed. It wasn't gone, but it had quieted enough for her to think. She tried to piece the events of the last few hours back together. The logical part of her brain said she'd need to in order to figure out what to do next.
Everything had started on the trip back from her latest mission. No, that wasn't quite right. Everything had been building up for much longer, she realized. This was just when it all blew up in her face.

Aislyn spent most of the return trip deep in thought. Most of the agents she had accompanied were on the other side of the transport. Made sense. Ais took up most of the side she was on, after all. Standing at a bit over six feet, no one could really call her anything other than tall. That wasn't really the problem, though. Ais's body was hardly human. Her skin was covered in a layer of durable golden scales, and her reptilian head was crowned with two ivory horns that curved to flow straight behind her. On her back was a large set of wings that, even when furled, still managed to occupy a significant amount of space. The four-foot-long tail didn't help either.
Not that it really bothered her. After all, she had willingly chosen to be like this. She still faintly remembered what it felt like before her first manifestation. It was as if she had just become aware that she was dreaming in a black void, and needed to decide on what she was going to look like. The memory was normally a happy one for her; she couldn't help but laugh at herself a little. Seriously, a dragon? And not just that, but a GOLD dragon? She couldn't just go for being a normal human or even something a little more modest. No, she just HAD to pick the most iconic fantastical creature she could. Ais couldn't help but find her past self's silliness amusing.
Today, though, this memory brought her no joy.
The transport slowed to a halt as they arrived back at the Foundation. The agents all moved to disembark. One of them carried the unconscious form of a young, four-year-old boy in his arms. An orphan now. She wouldn't ever be told the details, of course. But even the Foundation couldn't keep her from connecting the dots on her own. She knew the boy's parents were dead because the Foundation had gotten involved. If it weren't for them, the little boy would still be happily living with his family at home. She couldn't help but feel responsible. Surely there was something she could have done, right? To keep this innocent family from being torn to pieces?
She tried to remind herself that, sometimes, this sort of thing just happened, despite anyone's best intentions. It was an unfortunate inevitability. This wasn't her first mission after all. She should know this.
She still remembered when she had started going on these missions. She'd been at the foundation for some time by then and had developed a good reputation. Always cooperative. Spotless record. Eventually, the Foundation learned that, for reasons still not really understood, Ais had what appeared to be a full immunity to cognitohazards, memes, anti-memes… anything that tried to forcibly affect her mind, really. A very useful trait to have for an organization trying to capture and contain such anomalies.
They asked if she'd be willing to help them in their efforts, and she readily agreed. They provided her with some basic training. Enough to make sure she wouldn't be a liability to the agents. Made sure she knew that there were risks. Not that she took them very seriously. She'd learned that her physical body was pretty expendable. Not only did her tough scales protect her, but any injuries she managed to suffer regardless only seemed to persist until she demanifested. Every time her body manifested once more it seemed to be in perfect condition. The minor telekinetic abilities she possessed on top of that were icing on the cake.
This all made her a good, low-risk asset. She often found herself deployed as a sort of detector or scout where the Foundation suspected mind-altering effects may be present. She enjoyed this. It made her feel helpful, and she had managed to keep some of the field agents she was with out of trouble.
The Foundation tried to make sure the missions she was sent on had a low risk of harm to her. Unfortunately, even their vast resources couldn't always reveal everything lurking in the shadows. Despite their best efforts, Ais eventually started to run into the many horrors that tried to lurk out of sight.
Eventually, Ais started to die.
Ais shuddered and gagged as flashes of memories better left buried rose to the surface.

Ais found herself standing in the middle of a burning building, surrounded by the charred corpses of a team of field agents. One of them raised its head.
“Why did you get to live?” It croaked out in a rough, raspy voice.
“Why did we have to die?” Said another.
“You don't deserve your life.” croaked a third.
All the bodies seemed to stir, each joining in a steady chant as they crawled towards Ais: “You don't deserve it. You don't deserve it…”
Ashen hands gripped her legs, trying to pull and tug Ais down into the pile of burning flesh beneath her.

Another flash of memory and she saw a toddler turn and attack its mother, driving its teeth into her eyes to devour them from their sockets. The mother stood paralyzed, unable to move, a frozen expression of pure terror plastered on her face. Until her child rammed its fist into the holes where her eyes had been and somehow turned her brain into a thick slurry, which it started to pull out and eat as well.

Another flash and she felt a hard, piercing sensation running through her chest, piercing right through her heart. Another flash, and now she felt as if her muscles, tendons, and ligaments were being slowly, oh so slowly, peeled apart as she laid in a pool of her own hot blood. Another flash, and -

Ais doubled over on the floor of the empty transport gasping for breath. These sorts of breakdowns were becoming more and more common. She had been lucky so far. The more major episodes, like the one she was experiencing right now, hadn't occurred where anyone could directly witness them. If someone asked about a recording or her odd behavior during a more minor breakdown she'd just make up an excuse.
In a world of unexplained strangeness, this was pretty easy. Her body alone let her claim she could hear high-pitched frequencies that were disorienting her, smell things others could not… At this point, she was almost scared to think about how many incorrect pieces of information lurked in her file.
Even her psych evals were easy to fool. They couldn't probe her mind, so all she had to do was smile and act cheerful. Even if she was screaming inside.
But Ais knew she couldn't keep this up. She knew her mind was breaking.
She resolved to ask to no longer be sent out. It was a painful thing to do. She hated being confined to her cell, even if she was given one that was a bit roomier to account for her extra bulk. She still felt caged. Trapped.
But they would find out about her deteriorating mind eventually if she didn't stop, and she didn't want to think about what would happen then.
Ais was knocking on the door to an office a few minutes later. A short, silhouetted figure motioned her inside.
“Hello Dr. Wakely,” Ais said as she entered.
The short researcher looked up from her computer screen. “Ah, SC- ahem. Ais. Hello.”
Ais gave her a small grin. “Thanks.” She said. She hated being called by her official designation.
Dr. Wakely nodded. “Is this about your mission? You don't need to worry. The agents already filled me in.”
“… Is the kid okay?”
“Yes, he will be. We gave him some amnestics. He'll think we're a special hospital that his parents have sent him to for his condition.”
“But… his parents are dead.”
“You know we can't tell him that.”
“Yes b-”
Dr. Wakely raised a hand to cut her off. “Look, Ais. I know you've been upset since Dr. Fritz was removed from the project. Things like this certainly don't help. Maybe you need to take some time?”
Dr. Wakely was right. Wasn't that why Ais was here in the first place? She should just go and rest… But the doctor had unintentionally hit upon a sore subject. Dr. Fritz was the original head researcher assigned to Ais. She had become close to him, until one day he was just… gone. Without a word. Without warning.
“You still haven't even told me WHY he was removed.”
Dr. Wakely sighed. “We've been over that. It's classified. At a high level. I'm only barely qualified to know why.”
“Why can't you even tell me if something bad's happened to him?!”
“Ais, you know how the procedures work!”
“Why are those the procedures? Why are we even doing any of this?! Dr. Fritz just disappears-”
“Ais-”
“We're out orphaning children-”
“Ais!”
“And I can't even get a basic explanation on anything!? Wha-”
“Enough!”
“Will you shut up for five seconds!”
Ais wasn't even thinking anymore. She took the thin, spectral arms that represented her telekinetic ability within her mind and sent one of them flying towards the smaller woman. It passed through her throat and formed a wall of force over her trachea, making it impossible for her to breathe, let alone speak.
The doctor sat in shock as she felt her diaphragm trying fruitlessly to pull air into her lungs. No one had known Ais could exert her telekinetic force on something's internals. Even Ais herself had assumed she could only use her abilities on something she could see.
Dr. Wakely was a high-level researcher, however, and she had been trained for just this sort of thing. Her mind quickly deduced that her predicament was Ais's doing. She also knew there would be a guard stationed outside. After all that shouting he was sure to burst in at the slightest hint of commotion. The small doctor began to move for an emergency alarm on her desk.
Ais's burning anger was quickly replaced by icy panic as she realized what was going on. She couldn't get in trouble now. She couldn't. It would ruin everything.
She balled another of her spectral arms into a wad of kinetic force and hurled it at Dr. Wakely. It connected with her cheek. The smaller women went tumbling from her chair. Ais's mind was too flustered to track her movements enough to keep the telekinetic plug manifested on her trachea, and it dissipated as a result.
Ais slid down to the floor on her knees, tears forming in her eyes. “What did I do? Oh no. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.”
There was a loud banging on the door. “Dr. Wakely?! Are you okay?!”
Ais turned to look at the door in terror.
Ais demanifested herself in her panic. The guard burst into the room just in time to see her body fade away like a wisp of smoke.

Ais would manifest again in the woods surrounding the facility around an hour later.
She would briefly panic and yell at herself.
She would remember everything that happened before.
Knowing she had just assaulted a high-level Foundation employee and ran, she would come to the conclusion she was now being hunted.
And then one single, overwhelming thought would enter her head:
RUN


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Open Mic Night at Stacker's THURSDAYS 10:00

A survivor walks in, from what? Who knows.
Picking up the mic that was left on the stage.

“I offer this poem in my own voice.”

I go to stand before a crowd, my life blue.
Fighting an undying urge to call to you, my love.
Witnessed from below the blackened road of few, pools of crimson.
Keeping calm and dry, unlike a certain two.
Watching as they drown, within a slew of dew.
Hurting from your pain, the amount they caused you to suffer through.
How I miss the smell of your shampoo, my love, and joy.
Oh, how I wish we could begin anew, to keep creating memories.
Alive and well, so I can hold on to you. My friend and lover.
My heart, my soul, my very being. Broken.
Harmed for a lack of foreseeing. Dying.
By the groups of Imaginary unageing beings. Hatred flows.
The blood runs thick like black cherries. Along the wounds.
My mistakes for not being cautionary. The price too high.
My entire life, fragmentary. The want to die.
Instead of rambling on. Like past voice.
An effort to avoid bloodshed. Enough has spilled.
I take my leave. To avoid my soul from being red. Staying blue.

A damaged being.
A survivor.
Leaves the stage changed.
Til next week.


Report to the Site Director by Dr. Israel Leibowitz
Re: The Containment Breach on 15 September 2018

I am a little confused by this whole affair, if I am going to be quite honest with you. Site-09 is not known for having containment breaches. And this isn't because we have such good security that nothing can possibly escape and it isn't because we have only Safe class objects or anything. We don't have any containment breaches, Site Director, because, as you very well know, we do not have any objects that require special containment procedures. Despite this obvious fact, earlier this year, on 15 September 2018, three members of my staff have reported that their was a containment breach of an entity that I have no recollection of and our records have no mention of. With this in mind, in a show of loyalty to my subordinates, I am submitting the following report.
I will begin from my perspective, to give you a personal account of the situation, and then I will go into what each of my staff members claim they saw as it becomes relevant.
15 September 2018 was a Saturday and, as such, we were operating at minimum staff at the Site. Dr. Quan and I were manufacturing Class-I amnestics in Synthesis Lab 2, to reach the weekly quota, when the two of us caught a whiff of a concerning smell. Fudge. Since I am aware that you transferred to this site from a containment site, and don't have a lot of experience with amnestics, I will explain: During the production of amnestic compounds with Y-909 compound, a few aromatic alcohols and aldahydes are formed, specifically Vanillin, Acetoin, and 4-Anisaldehyde, which, when mixed together in the air, smell strongly of fudge. So, in summery, Dr. Quan and I believed we had an amnestic leak on our hands.
We first checked our distillation equipment for leaks, but found none, so in order to cover more ground, I volunteered to check the amnestic storage tanks while Dr. Quan checked the ventilation. As I was heading to the tanks, one of the few people still around at the site, whom I will refer to as Dr. A to preserve his identity, claims that they saw a reptilian humanoid entity enter the site from the south and break into the Site-09 break room. They claim that the entity was about 1.7m tall and appeared to be carrying a small satchel with an iron bound book resting in it. When Dr. A was discovered by the entity, they claimed the entity rendered them unconscious with blunt force trauma to the head utilizing said book. When Dr. A was recovered after the incident, they seemed to have no bruising or markings of any kind on their body, but they were found unconscious near the break room.
When I got to the storage tanks, I carefully checked the seals and back flow traps to make sure there were no leaks or holes in any of them. When I determined they were all secure, I made my way back to the Synthesis Lab, where I found Dr. Quan had passed out. When I examined him, he appeared to have been rendered unconscious from blood flow restriction to his brain via blocking off his carotid artery. I didn't have much time to examine him, however, since I was rendered unconscious shortly there after and don't recall awaking until after the rest of the ordeal.
Another one of my staff members' testimony, Dr. B, seems to contradict entirely with my account. Dr. B claims that I exited Synthesis Lab 2 after Dr. Quan was already unconscious. They go on to claim that, as they followed me from the shadows, I rendezvoused with the reptilian humanoid and seemed to know them very well. They overheard us talking about an apparent entity being contained in Site-09. It was a humanoid that could manipulate memories that was being studied for use in new amnestics, so they claim. Apparently, the reptilian humanoid and I were in cahoots and planing on helping this entity breach containment. Which is rather ridiculous, I am head of amnestics research, you'd think that if this thing existed, I'd be the one who'd want first crack at it.
After they overheard this, Dr. B claims they were spotted, after they made an involuntary noise, by the humanoid reptile. Analysis after the event shows much the same thing it did with Dr. A, unconscious with no sign of trauma on the body.
Dr. C was apparently just coming into work, when they saw a humanoid reptile, a young woman, about the age of 16, and I exit Site-09 from the north entrance. They claim that they called out to us, and the girl and I hurried away from them, while the reptilian humanoid approached them. Seeing the humanoid reptile brandishing his iron book, Dr. C retreated and attempted to hide in one of the bushes that surrounds the Site. The reptilian human gave up the chase fairly quickly and Dr. C conjectured it was due to the creature not having a lot of time left to do whatever it was he was doing.
The reptilian humanoid regrouped with the girl and I about 150m from the north entrance to the Site, when Dr. C claims that the young woman put her hands on my temples and I fell unconscious. After I was knocked out, Dr. C said that the girl disappeared completely, leaving no trace. The reptilian humanoid then lifted me onto his shoulders and carried me back into the facility.
Dr. C claims that he waited about 20 minutes before re-entering the Site and, upon investigating, found myself unconscious in Synthesis Lab 2, Dr. A unconscious in the break-room, and Dr. B unconscious in hallway 2C.
Upon the resuscitation of all the present staff, no one, besides Dr. C, claimed to have any memory of what happened. Because of this, I ordered a mnestic treatment for everyone present, leading to the testimonies outlined above. Because I appeared to have an account incongruous with the other members of staff, I increased my dosage of mnestics to the threshold of safety limits, but did not recall anything further.
After an extensive investigation of the amnestic pipelines in Site-09, the official conclusion of my team is that an amount of Class-G amnestics leaked from one of the pipes leading to the storage tanks and mixed with some of the Experimental Compound 07 that was being desiccated in Synthesis Lab 1 at the time. We are unsure how this resulted in a mass hysteria event, but further investigations into the reactive nature of these two substances for use in a memory implanting substance is ongoing.

- Dr. Israel Leibowitz, Head of Thaumaturgical Chemistry, Site-09


Open Mic Night at Stacker's THURSDAYS 10:00

A stage! Check. Corny Collins cosplay? Check. Big band? Hmmm. Nope. Ah!
The last guy left a guitar. Why not. Check. Magic Mic? Check. Backup vocals? Check. All clear. Action!
“I offer this song in another's voice.”

Hey there, my cool, cool cats and ice cubes!
Stay right where you are!
'Cause it's time for Open Mic Night!
Brought to you by Stacker's Coffeehouse and Bar!
Every Thursday night come on down and sing, yeah
(Bop-bee-ba, ba-ba-ba-ba, bee-ba)
Gimme all that you got when the 10 o' bells rings
(Bop-bee-ba, ba-ba-ba-ba, bee-ba)
Get your hat tossed in
Your nerves shaken away
And then you sing-a-strum-a-say-a
What you need-a to say
Could be a crash or a clown
Just be the coolest kid in town
Oooo! (Ba, ba-ba-ba) Oooo! (Ba, ba-ba-ba)
Oh every Thursday night, don't matter when or where, yeah
(Na, na, na, na, na, na-na-na-na)
Stacker's gon' be there with a ready player, yeah
(Na, na, na, na, na, na-na-na-na)
You play your heart right out
And let the music in
And when there's no one left to play
We'll play it all again
You better wear the crown
And be the coolest kid in town
Oooo! (Ba, ba-ba-ba) Oooo! (Ba, ba-ba-ba) Oooo! (Ba, ba-ba-ba)
Coolest Kid in Town!

A stage.
A guitar.
Magic Mic.
‘Til next week.


by Captain Kirby

“I… I think I want a divorce.”
Elle couldn't believe the words she heard. It'd been only five days since she and Jonathan flew back from their fiftieth anniversary trip to Peru. They hiked for three days to see Machu Picchu. It looked exactly like they remembered it from their honeymoon. They even had sex at the same camp site, which felt the same because they both got work done before the trip. It was a near perfect recreation of those happy days they enjoyed fifty years ago. Like nothing had changed. In some sense, nothing had changed. Fifty years does little to stone structures and clay houses. It takes centuries to produce any visible decay.
Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for marriages.
“But why?” was all Elle could manage.
“It's hard to explain.”
“That's not an explanation.”
Jonathan opened his mouth to speak, but caught himself. Elle just stared at him. There was a missing line in the script. Jonathan floundered under the limelight, losing the patience of his one woman audience. He looked at Elle with eyes that begged for mercy. Maybe if he pleaded hard enough she could feed him the next line.
Jonathan walked around to take a seat next to Elle, instead of across from her. This wasn't blocked but Jonathan embraced being off script.
“When I married you, I loved you, and I still do love you.”
“Bullshit.”
“Please let me finish,” Jonathan set his hand on Elle's shoulder, “I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life, but— but that's when I thought that meant another sixty years at most. It turns out, our lives are going to be much longer than that. I don't know but… something scares me about being bound to the same person forever.”
Elle shrugged Jonathan's hand off of her shoulder. She refused to look at him. She barely heard his excuse. Her head took a trek through the trail of memories she had made with Jonathan. It got lost in the woods.
Jonathan sighed. He stood up and walked away, leaving Elle at the kitchen table.

One statistic that people used to find interesting is that 50% of marriages end in divorce. However, after September 12th, 2020, this statistic changed to 100% of marriages that end, do so in divorce. People don't talk about the statistic much, since it's not that surprising. In fact, most preachers who conduct weddings omit “until death do us part” from the list of vows.
People who tied the knot before that fateful day in September approached this change of circumstance in different ways. Some decided to take life by the balls, and begin a string of affairs in hopes that their partner will not notice. Others sat down and talked it out, which occasionally resulted in an open marriage. But most acted like Jonathan. They panicked, and got a divorce.
Experts pointed to the spike in divorce during the year 2023 as evidence that it took about three years for the initial shock of the situation to fade from the public conscious, and for people to accept their new circumstances. However, not all married couples ran for the hills. These same experts used the spread of divorces over the following twenty years as a measurement of the strength of marriages around the world. Some people held on upwards of thirty years. But even in relationships like these, people panic.
Another interesting statistic that changed after September 12th, 2020 is the number of red light districts that cropped up in the following thirty years. Approximately 30% of investment in construction was put into building out 21+ entertainment facilities such as discotheques, bars, and strip clubs (the other 70% was split largely between residencies, and new facilities for expedited food production). A poll taken in 2030 indicated that 38% of people spent more time talking to strangers in public than they did in their houses. That time spent at home was usually dedicated to sleeping, or copulating with said strangers.
Historians deemed it “an age of hedonism”.
And there are few individuals who are more willing to indulge in intense hedonism than the recently divorced.

Even after months of going to these places, the lights in the dance club gave Elle a headache. She pushed through it, dancing among the other young physiques, chasing endorphin rushes. Sweating bodies brushed up against hers in time with the music. But there was an obvious disconnect between certain groups of dancers. Some stuck together in throngs, grinding together like a single cohesive organism, while others separated out into grids or circles, where everyone repeated their one or two favorite dance moves until the song changed.
This is how Elle differentiated between the sheep, and the wolves in sheep clothing. She would usually find a group of younger people to weasel her way into. She'd follow their movements. Feel the friction between them. It gave a sense of belonging, of togetherness. There was no need for communication. Everyone just knew. It's the closest thing to intimacy Elle experienced since the divorce.
Elle ducked out of the mosh pit after her body could no longer keep up with its demands. She made her way to the bar, where she found an open seat. She waited for about a minute to see if someone would buy a drink for her. Elle wanted a conversation, and it's much easier to have someone else start a conversation with her. To that end, it's much easier for a guy to buy her a drink if she doesn't have one already.
A young man with a bowl cut and a polo shirt that was probably one size too large sat down next to Elle.
“Two lemon sickles,” he told the bartender.
“A lemon sickle? I don't think I've heard of one of those before,” Elle said.
“It's like a Bloody Mary, but with sprite and lemonade.”
“Huh, sounds interesting.”
“Good. I was hoping I wouldn't have to drink both myself,” the man shot her a smile. It had that mixture of pride and smugness that comes from pulling off a planned pickup line. Not that he did anything too clever. Elle played into the set up. She'd stopped working against people who wanted to talk to her. Besides, if they succeed, they'll feel more confident, and that makes the conversation flow easier.
“So, who am I buying this drink for?”
“Elle. What about your name, Mr. Mystery Drink?”
“Jared, but really I prefer Mr. Mystery Drink.”
Elle forced a laugh, “It sounds like something I'd hear out of a spy movie.”
“That's probably the best thing I've heard all day. I was a big James Bond fan when I was a kid.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I saw The Spy That Loved Me during its opening weekend.”
“You're letting your age show,” Elle said. Jared cocked his head to the side in confusion.
Elle motioned to Jared's physique, “You don't exactly look like you're in your eighties.”
Jared blinked once, and then turned away, “With the way the world is now, age really is just a number.”
Playing off of age was an important part of the bar game. No one wants to feel old, but it's even more important that they don't feel like they're with someone who's old. There's this self awareness that comes with reminders of age. Namely a reminder that their bodies were not meant for them. It took a fragile combination of ignorance, self-manipulation, and denial to feel comfortable in one's own skin. But facades so haphazardly constructed were bound to fail from time to time. And in the rubble, there was room for exploitation.
“Don't worry about it,” Elle replied, "I like older men anyways." Jared's smile returned. The fantasy was resurrected.
The bartender set the drinks down between Elle and Jared, “Two lemon sickles.”
Elle and Jared raised their drinks and muttered a “cheers”. They talked late into the night, until they noticed the crowds thin on the dance floor. Jared took this as a cue to invite Elle to his place. She accepted. It was this condo on the sixth floor of a newly built complex, complete with glass walls and one of those elevators with the touch screens inside.
Jared and Elle had sex that night, and in the morning Elle woke up just in time to slip out the door before Jared noticed.
Sometimes Elle told herself that she did this to get back at Jonathan. Other times she told herself she did it out of some self-pity. But really, at this point it became more of a habit. It was mechanical. She spent the night with about one out of every five guys she talked to. And really, that was how it worked for a lot of people. Jared has a success rate of one out of six. The bartender had a three for eight batting average.
Elle sat on the bus back to her apartment in the back, and peered out the window. This was the only time Elle had to think. The rest of the day would consist of working her shift at the barbershop, followed by finding food and then heading back out to the club again. It felt easy. It felt routine. But she couldn't shake the sense she was missing something. Not Jonathan, the hole he left was shaped differently. Maybe it was her daughter. She hadn't heard from Stacy ever since she called about the divorce. It ended with regretful things being screamed from both sides, but mostly Elle's.
She told herself she'd call Stacy anyways when she got home, but forgot promptly after getting off the bus.

One area of study for a number of historians was the effect that the age of hedonism had on the birthrate. Experts at the beginning of that era predicted that the birth rate would have either increased slightly, or drop to nearly zero. The increase would be caused by the additional focus on sex that the western world underwent. While safe sex was often promoted, most methods are not 100% effective. Condoms break, and pills fail. The second option was considered much more likely, since governments around the world were petitioned to regulate pregnancies and births.
But neither of those things happened. Instead, the birthrate decreased, but only by about 60%. Governments did not set their foot down due to lobbying from Pro-Life activist groups, but companies did.
Prometheus Labs, the primary purveyor of cadavers used in their patented brain transplant surgical procedure, noted the danger in letting the world's population go unregulated. After the procedure gained mainstream popularity, and the insurance firms began covering the costs of the surgery, Prometheus Labs started sterilizing 50% of the bodies they sold to customers.
As to why Prometheus did not sterilize all of the bodies, the answer lies in their business strategy. It is difficult to advertise “Youth for You” if there is no supply of youth to sell. The statistics regarding Prometheus' harvests are not well known, and it is widely suspected that the numbers were never aggregated in any meaningful way to avoid the possibility of poor optics. Regardless, between medical records and quarterly earnings reported by Prometheus Labs, experts estimated at least 31% of people born between 2010 and 2050 were harvested.

Looking at the pregnancy test, Elle felt a familiar wave of disbelief. It felt like the divorce all over again. A sudden, unexpected change in her life that she would have to adjust to emotionally, mentally, and physically. It demanded an entire change in lifestyle. And just when she had fallen into the rhythm of her hedonistic escapades. That red line in the middle of the apparatus was the universe's middle finger to Elle.
It's not like she hadn't dealt with kids before. She and Jonathan had Stacy, and that turned out fine. Except this time, Elle was alone. Before she could lean on Jonathan, and Jonathan could lean on her. The burden was split between two people.
She shook her head, and started getting ready for work. She hated herself for wishing Jonathan was back, which sparked her hatred for Jonathan again. Tracy and Raquel at the barbershop could tell Elle wasn't totally there. Raquel offered to take over for after she almost cut some kid's bangs too short. Tracy was waiting in the break room for Elle to arrive with her arms crossed, leaning against the refrigerator.
“Hey Elle,” she said in her signature, sing-songy voice, “how's it going?”
“Kind of tired,” Elle replied. She collapsed onto the couch across from Tracy.
“Sure.”
Elle nodded, and let her gaze wander around the room some more. She didn't notice Tracy sit down on the couch and swing her arm over Elle's shoulder.
“Something's up, isn't it?” Tracy asked. She raised her eyebrows to reinforce the “gotcha” moment. It was clear that she was expecting some drama, some tea. Something entertaining.
“I'm pregnant.”
“Oh! Well, congrats! Who's the lucky guy?”
“I don't know.”
The smile on Tracy's face disappeared. She slowly took her arm off of Elle's shoulder. The break room suddenly felt quieter.
“Are you going to keep it?” Tracy asked at last.
“Do I have a choice?”
“I mean,” Tracy let her gaze drop to the ground, “you could get an abortion.”
The break room stirred in its own silence. It was a good question. It was one of those questions that makes people think. But then again, it always made people think. Making that sort of choice for someone else is a choice that's worth thinking through. The word “abortion” rang in Elle's head. Elle looked up at last, and she thought it was written in red and pink paint on the opposite wall. She rubbed her eyes. It disappeared. She was just seeing things.
“I don't think I can.”
“Did you catch it too late?”
“No. I don't think I could— like, we're immortal, right?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, what if the child is already alive? It's not like I can just kill it. This is worse than killing it. It's just an eternity of… whatever that would be. I can't tell myself with ‘well, it was going to die sooner or later', I can't say ‘at least it didn't feel pain'. I— I don't know if I can do that to another thing.”
"Well, you caught it early, right? They don't let you have the abortion if they think the immortality is going to effect it."
"How sure are they?"
"Pretty sure? I think? I know a friend of mine got turned away because of it…"
"I don't think I'm able to bank on 'pretty sure'."
"Do you think they would have abortions if they were doing that to another living thing? Someone would surely shut down the clinics if that was the case!"
"I just don't know!"
Tracy caught herself before she yelled back even louder. She took a deep breath, "Ok. Yeah. You seem like you're pretty set on it then. I'm sorry I yelled at you."
Elle opened her mouth to say something else, but nothing came out. She didn't want to cry, so she didn't. She got much better at keeping tears back since the divorce. Some warm washed over Elle. Tracy was hugging her.
“I'm just tired of shit like this happening to me,” Elle said at last.

The majority of bodies harvested by Prometheus Labs and other cadaver curating organizations were secured between the ages of 18 and 28. A wide variety of curation processes were used to optimize for both quantity and quality, but almost all processes targeted campuses for higher education. After news of early abduction cases spread like wildfire throughout the world, universities were forced to increase security. The exact number of kidnappings is currently unknown, as universities who failed to protect their students would actively suppress any reports of abduction to maintain good optics.
Despite the efforts of secondary education establishments, more and more parents began to send their kids into mentorship programs, or local vocational schools. The number of people graduating with a bachelor's degree per year dropped by 43%, and the number of doctorates awarded dropped by 68%. The stagnation of higher education led to a lull in technological advancement that the world would not recover from until the 2090s.

Elle got out of her rental car in front of a fifteen-story dormitory. It was the tallest building on the Colorado University campus. Marcus was supposed to meet her out front, but he wasn't there. Must've been running late studying or something. He did say he had a calculus midterm next week.
Elle hadn't felt this happy in a long time, really. She felt the same way when she visited Stacy for her parent's weekend. And eighteen years ago, Elle never thought she'd experience one again. She wouldn't guess that she would have done a half-decent job raising a child on her own. Especially not a child who would get a full ride scholarship (since that was the only way he was going to college on her measly income).
Elle took a seat on a bench next to the sidewalk. It's funny, after all these years she would've thought that colleges would've changed more. But there were still kids tossing around Frisbees, walking to class with backpacks, and complaining loudly about homework. Students could choose to shut out the rest of the world to concentrate on their studies if they so liked. Things felt simpler here.
After a few minutes, Elle checked her watch. She decided she'd give Marcus about five minutes before calling him. She was a bit early after all.
“Excuse me, may I sit here?”
“Sure,” Elle replied. She looked up from her watch to see a woman in her late-forties. Elle could've sworn she'd seen her before. It took a few moments to place it. The blonde hair, and the brown eyes. The dimples in her smile. She started to ask a question.
“Sta—“
But she stopped herself partway through. Her mind finished doing some mental arithmetic. It didn't match up. None of it matched up.
“Are you ok?” the woman asked.
Elle said nothing. She just stood up, left the bench, and got back in her rental car. She sat in the car and stared blankly into the steering wheel. A sound played over and over again in her head. It was the sound of something breaking. Shattering even. It was one of the many casualties made by the war between the human mind and too much time.
A knock came at the window.
Elle looked up. It was Marcus.
“Sorry I'm late!” he said after Elle rolled down the window.
“No, it's fine.”
Marcus got inside and put on his seat belt.
“Um, mom? Are you ok?”
Elle smiled a little. It was a funny question really. If he had asked if she was “good”, then the answer would be no. If he asked if something was “going on”, the answer would've been yes. But after she thought about it, Elle realized she was ok. She was only ok. She didn't know if she was able to be anything other than ok ever again.
“Did I ever tell you that you have a step sister?” she asked Marcus.
“Once or twice, yeah.”
“You want to hear some stories about her?”
“Um, yeah. Sure.”

While certain statistics that came out of the early stages of ΩK were unexpected, there were also a number of statistics that surprised no one. Mental health saw a large decline in the population during the Age of Hedonism, mostly in the form of clinical depression. It is believed that this rise in clinical depression is responsible for the end of the Age of Hedonism, as more and more of the world's population no longer expressed interest in the activities found in the red-light districts.
A number of mental health campaigns began to combat the world-wide epidemic. The results were hit-or-miss. People are not entirely sure how the global emotional slump resolved, or if it resolved at all. Due to the takeover of cybernetic enhancements in favor of the old transplants during the late 2120s, it has been difficult to differentiate between symptoms of clinical depression, and the restrictions caused by living within these new mechanical bodies.
The Age of Hedonism was an intriguing time. It was reminiscent of a resurgence of the Roaring Twenties. It was a time of self-indulgence, and a time of morally questionable practices. While we may still have an eternity to experience, until significant advancements are made in biotronics or neuro-robotics, it is quite likely we will never see a time like this again.

Elle hated nights like this. Nights where she would just look at the phone, and debate if she should call Jonathan. She didn't miss him anymore, but there was this itching curiosity. An undeniable pull of the question “what is he up to now?”. She never gave into it. But that didn't stop her from sitting in a rocking chair for thirty minutes, just glaring at the landline.
She'd just got back from a trip to Macchu Picchu she took with Marcus as a graduation gift. When they reached the ruins, Elle went around and compared pictures she took from her honeymoon to the way the place looked now. She could actually see some evidence of decay in a few places. The wall wasn't quite as tall here. The edges on the stairs were a little sharper there.
“I mean, aren't you more than a century old? Of course, this place would look different!” Marcus said at one point. It made Elle laugh. Maybe it was different when she went up with Jonathan for the second time. She didn't bring the pictures then, so maybe she just couldn't tell.
That's what brought her mind back to Jonathan. That's what brought her back to the phone. And now she was having one of those nights.
Except, this time, the phone rang. Elle picked it up, out of instinct more than anything.
“Hello?”
“Hi, umm… is this Elle?”
“It is. Who are you?”
“It's umm… it's Jonathan.”
“Oh.”
Elle rocked in her chair with the phone pressed up against her ear. She didn't say anything, because she couldn't think of a single thing to say. There were too many options. She didn't know if she should be friendly or standoffish, if she should be upset or glad. All her emotions balanced each other out, and left her in a state of silence.
“How are you doing?” Jonathan asked.
“Ok. What about you?”
“Ok. Well, honestly, I'm surprised. I expected you to be more upset.”
“With you?”
“Yeah.”
“Honestly? Me too.”
The silence settled in again, but this time Elle was the one who broke it.
“Is there a reason you called?”
“I guess I wanted to check in. I wanted to know if you were ok. I do still care about you, you know.”
“That makes one of us.”
“Are you sure you're ok?”
“Yeah, I'm sure. If there's one thing I've learned this past, like, twenty-five years, it's that things get a lot easier when I stop caring so much about myself, and the things I can't control.”
“That sounds unhealthy.”
“It's quite liberating really. I'm less angry, less sad, less stressed out. I'm ok.”
“And you're happy with that?”
“I'm ok with that.”
“I think that's all I can hope for I guess.”
“It's kind of late. I should probably be going to sleep.”
“Alright. Well, it was nice talking to you again.”
“Nice talking to you too.”
And Elle hung up the phone.


Yet another vs. tale. The content of this post originated on my Youtube channel and is CC 3.0 share alike/attribution.
Image is from TheVolgun here: https://www.reddit.com/r/SCP/comments/95jpra/scp106_photography_contest_submission_thread_with/e3uqap5

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There was a crack over the site-wide intercom system, a low whimper that built into a beautiful scream, and the old man tilted his head to the side.
They were playing his song.
He could tell, there were notes of fear and anger in that scream. A well seasoned meal.
The old man disappeared into the floor immediately. The researcher he'd been chasing made it into the waiting arms of the rescuing MTF with a story that she'd tell for years.
The old man came up from the floor into the chamber with the screaming man. If the old man had been paying attention he'd have recognized the place as the containment cell he'd escaped hours before. He'd have noticed that the door was open for the first time in years. But all the old man saw was fear, strapped to the table.
The old man grinned widely, his eyes wrinkling as he did so. And then the scream was cut short. The old man stopped and opened his eyes and there in front of him was a stubby armed potato man with a painted on face. The arms were wrapped around his meal's head, which was twisted at an unnatural angle.
This… thing… had just interrupted his dinner. The old man finished emerging from the floor and felt an emotion he hadn't in a long time: Rage.
Then the door slammed shut, and the whole room began to hum as the generators kicked back on. They were being magnetically lifted into the air again. He was trapped. Here. With no food but the stubby armed man. As the machines outside began to apply layer after layer to the outside of the cell, the Old Man slowly walked over to this interloper and reached a hand out to its face.
His hand didn't pass through as he'd expected. This wasn't flesh. It was hard, like stone. And worst of all, he felt no fear from this thing.
The spray paint bubbled away, but it still stood there. Impassive. Uncaring. Staring into nothing.
The old man turned away from it and looked around. And the thing was behind him. It twisted his neck. The old man's neck snapped, and he screamed. He turned his head around to look at the thing without twisting his body. Still impassive. Still uncaring.
He pushed his hand through it again. The concrete resisted him but gave way eventually. When he passed through it was hardly damaged. Again and again he passed through it. Again and again he'd make the mistake of looking away, and it would break another bone.
They'd knit back together on their own. Eventually. But the pain was real. And eventually… the fear was real too.
The old man started to cringe away from the inevitable break. But as days turned into months, the concrete that made up the statue slowly broke down. Crumbling away to reveal the rebar frame underneath. Most of the concrete found its way into his pocket dimension as he popped in and out of the world.
When he was done, he surveyed his work. Staring at it for hours. Its arms were just long pieces of rebar now, bent around the central frame. It wouldn't ever hurt him again. He began to slip into the floor and as soon as he turned away he felt the steel pierce his chest. He felt a rib break in two. Fine. He'd destroy the steel too.
Eventually nothing was left but piles of rust, dust, and a memory of fear that the old man wouldn't soon forget.

« Consequences and Collarbones | Vs. Hub | With A Target »


Lake Ontario is a hotbed for dimensional weirdness. Parareligions have historically exploited it to aid in their magics, things like the eels slip out of extradimensional space routinely, and if you've ever worked with the Nu-3 crew, chances are you've seen pockets of the lakebed that are larger than the lake itself. The reality researchers argue about what phenomena are at work and Multi-U tries to use this as best as they can for multiversal travel. That's all beyond us.
Point is that, since 1999, we've been trying to lock down on the weird. The Department of Occult Containment constructed the Arete Dimensional Array running across the lakebed, intended to monitor every blip in spacetime and seal up anywhere deemed too dangerous. More mazes of pipes and sensors than most containment sites have. Does it stop dimensional weirdness entirely? No — you can't contain an entire lake. Does it make our lives a lot easier? Yes.
Of course, this runs into problems. Sometimes wormholes will open in the middle of equipment or near it, and as that repeats precipitate builds up. Junk from alt universes, creatures that barely qualify as animal life…
Here, look this over. I think it should be more useful than me blabbering on.

Incident Date: 07/08/2004
Overview: Maintenance Crew Lamedh discovered the cadaver of a tripedal entity, fused with the primary access hatch to the E/1 Pipeline. Upon clearing the cadaver, Crew Lamedh entered the pipeline and found an ecosystem of fauna and flora inhabiting its interior. All organisms bore resemblance to the tripedal entity, and are suspected to have relied on the electricity transported through the pipeline's cable bundles as an energy source. The colony died after 10 minutes without an electricity supply.

Site-201 Containment: Arete Dimensional Array

Recovered Precipitate Matter: 2006—2010

Fragments of the Alexander Mosaic, its construction matching that of the ancient Roman mural in baseline reality. The sole difference is the presence of M4 Sherman tanks in the place of each individual's head.

A cathedral built in the Gothic architectural style. Statues of human bodies fused into a spherical mass and adorned in crowns lined the walls, and stained glass windows depicted a planet entirely surrounded in Gothic structures. The cathedral, having been constructed from cardboard, dissolved over the course of two hours.

[…]

Incident Date: 19/09/2006
Overview: 100m3 of sapient gelatinous material blocked the Point B maintenance tunnel. The mass vocalized to maintenance crews in French, repeating that it had "transcended to the highest universe." Vocalizations continued as the gel was drained.

Incident Date: 03/02/2007
Overview: Maintenance Crew Dalet had their submersible followed by a remotely operated underwater vehicle (ROV), which stayed at a constant distance of 20m from the vessel. The Foundation seal was emblazoned on its side. Activity lasted for two hours until it vanished.

[…]

A truck holding 50 copies of Oh the Places You'll Never Go!, an illustrated book in a similar style to Theodor Seuss Geisel that depicts anomalous locales and city states. The author is listed as "Dr. Blackwood." Water damaging has prevented thorough analysis.

The solidified concept of "inhaling." The material was visualized as a crystalline structure composed of disembodied human mouths, and it would absorb all gasses or dispersed particles that contacted it. Maintenance crews found it blocking the D/1 Elan-Vital Energy funnel, absorbing the funnel's thaumic energy supply. Neutralization was completed by breathing on the substance.1

Eight surveillance devices found in various areas of the Arete Dimensional Array. Each is equipped with underwater thrusters, claws to grip to surfaces, and camera equipment. Notable similarities to the construction of the ROV encountered on 03/02/2007 exist.

[…]

Incident Date: 05/10/2008
Overview: The body of 100m long blue whale (Balaenoptera musculus) clogged the D/1 funnel. A flag depicting a whale extended from the blowhole, and the cranium was found to contain a "command center" where dead, 3m long blue whales were positioned at computer terminals. The craniums of these whales contained further command centers with smaller whales.

Incident Date: 24/06/2009
Overview: A wormhole opened at the Point E lakebed station, producing an organism identical in size and shape to Point E and its connected pipelines. The organism initiated in behaviors believed to be part of a courtship display but accidentally self-neutralized when a pipeline "tendril" collided with a Scranton Reality Anchor. Full information on the ensuing reality destabilization is restricted.

Incident Date: 11/03/2010
Overview: Sensors detected a burst of thaumic particles near the Point A lakebed station. Readings corresponded to the artificial opening of a Way leading from an extradimensional space. Mobile Task Force Nu-3 ("Limnophobia") was scrambled to the area but found no signs of residual thaumic energy, Way activation, or any form of dimensional instability deviant to the local baseline.
No signs of malfunction were present in the sensors. Monitoring of the area was increased.

[…]

A sealed metal container marked with "WARNING: FOOD WASTE INSIDE. DISPOSE AT ONCE." All container contents were Allison Eckhart-Class Allison Eckhart Hazards and had to be jettisoned into dimension AE-9870 to prevent Allison Eckhart dispersal through Lake Ontario.2

[…]

Incident Date: 11/04/2010
Overview: The full staff of Maintenance Crew Aleph, working on Point A exterior plating, reported a sense of being watched to Command. No observations with sonar, infrared, or other such viewing equipment found signs of abnormalities. Work proceeded as planned.

Incident Date: 11/05/2010
Overview: Maintenance Crew Aleph claimed to have found an excess of "nothing" encompassing the Point A Power Generator. Crew Aleph used all available tools to try and remove the excess, in one case using underwater mines to destroy the "nothing," damaging the generator in the process. Out of concerns regarding memetic infection, MTF Nu-3 was dispatched to investigate.
MTF Nu-3 reported that nothing was present.

[…]

A large mechanical entity emblazoned with the Foundation seal, equipped with four humanoid containment units, eight tendrils, and homing torpedoes. The entity had projected a metaphysical cloaking barrier while at the Point A Power Generator, disabling it to attack Maintenance Crew Aleph on 11/06/2010. Four personnel were pulled into its containment units before it attempted to conjure a Way. The threat was neutralized when Agent A. Bridger rammed its "head" into a nearby dimensional tear with a submarine, severing it.3

END OF REPORT

Documentation supplied by the Site-201 Dimensional Oversight Committee.
Further information may be provided on request.
SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT.

Bear in mind that this is the craziest of what we get. Most of the time it's more mundane, like four-sided triangles and creatures bending along seven spatial axes, but when it escalates it escalates hard.
With that said, welcome to Aleph Crew of Zeta-0, Plumbing Duty. This is how the job will go: when Command sends the signal we'll suit up, hop in the nearest submersible, and dive off to anywhere maintenance is needed. Doesn't matter how broken or how dangerous it is. We will get there and we will fix it. You'll be the one keeping all our paratech in check. If our auto-exorcists can't excise another reality's demon, that's on you. Don't screw it up.
Oh, and before I forget, don't swim near any dimensional tears. It's easier to fall out of reality than you'd think.

Footnotes
1. Conceptual fragments in the vicinity corresponded to "sinking," "flailing," and "drowning."
2. How such a large quantity of Allison Eckharts could be stored in the container without suffocation occurring is unclear.
3. No contacted multiversal Foundations have claimed responsibility for this and the previous surveillance incidents.


I have been

waiting.

waiting for what, though?

i have not a clue.

it started a while back

this text thing.

at first, i had no clue what was going on

i thought that, perhaps

it was just my computer

that was fucking up

and then I started noticing it in people too

they walk strangely

around the site was how I spotted them

always somewhat askew

who are they, anyway?

You really aren't meant to be here. The person you are reading about no longer exists, nor was he ever really a person. You're simply sitting here, staring at a blank terminal whilst you think you're reading an epitaph of some sort.
Stop reading.
Researcher Blake does not exist. He never has existed. Please contact your HCML Supervisor immediately.

they keep

getting

in the way

i asked them to move

a few times

politely, of course.

but they kept insisting

that they must walk here

that I was the one led askew

i don't know how many times

i insisted

that i was sitting down

He was an error. That's all he was, in truth.
An error that gained sentience but was still fundamentally broken
We told Blake that he may help. We told an error that he would be fixed, at some point. We gave him a job, a role, a friend, a few researchers to attach him to the mainframe.
Blake still does not exist.

I wasn't always that bad

whatever this is, it's a new development

we are were all confused

They told me that

I was going to be "fine"

I was going to be rebooted

I've been stuck here

walking in circles

i keep telling them things but they can't hear me

It was strange how attached we all grew to someone that no longer exists that never existed. Blake was just another researcher, in our eyes.
We sent in a request to the Ethics Committee that Blake could possibly be an actual person that had gotten… connected to a server somehow.
We asked to make him a body.
That's why Blake doesn't exist has never existed.

I've been

sat here

We waited for so long for his eyes to open.
waiting

Waiting for what?

We've been waiting for you, Blake.
I've been waiting for you.

Why do you insist on doing this?
Is it that hard to believe?

Why do you insist on not existing?


Florence, Italy
"The name Murano Philter is actually a… what's the word…" Tutore Sebastian Fausti searched for the exact term as he took up the glass bottle from its position within the case. He placed it on a sturdy table erected nearby and removed the stopper. It appeared to be a perfume bottle, and contained a volume of water.
"Misnomer?" Elena Fabbro offered, pulling her black hair back over her ear.
"Yes, yes that's it." Fausti nodded. "A philter is another name for a love potion, and this contains nothing but water." He took up a pair of paper cups and poured the water from the bottle into each one. "An infinite supply of water, granted, but still."
"I was under the impression that this was exhibited in Venice?" Elena took up the glass and sipped at it, pleasantly surprised to find clear, delicious mineral water within.
"It takes on the properties of water around it— a sewage line burst near the Venetian Academy, and until it's repaired, we're keeping it here in Florence."
"Hmm." Elena nodded. "And this is an interactive exhibit?"
"The bottle has proven to be unbreakable— it's probably Barivoer's finest piece."
"As in Angelo Barovier? I wasn't aware he was involved with anar— that is, occult art."
Fausti's brow furrowed. Were he a priest, he would have made the sign of the cross. "'Anart' is what happened when an American hack decided to animate a few soup cans spilling on canvas. No emotion, no craft, no presence." The Tutore replaced the Philter in its case.
As he did, Elena blinked, deliberately, making sure to get a good, long look at the piece. "Mi dispiace. The education in Eurtec is more… focused on contemporary art."
"Hmm." Fausti nodded, drinking the rest of the water. "I'm afraid that the glassware wing here is still… under construction. Occultic glass art is not very popular in this day and age— the argument is that 'if you've seen one moving stained glass window, you've seen them all'."
"Philistines." Elena shook her head. "…talking of…"
"I know where this conversation is going." Fausti laughed. "Follow me."

"A rival to the David. Was Barazzi really so brash?" Elena disposed of her now empty paper cup as they exited the elevator.
"By all accounts, the man had an ego the size of Europe." The Tutore chuckled. "This exhibit isn't quite open, but I see no harm in giving someone so dedicated to the occult arts an early preview."
Elena beamed at this as they turned into a large room with black walls, a ring of lights overhead illuminating a centerpiece with a decapitated statue standing in the center, clutching a granite javelin. "The Goliath. Unbelievable."
"Arguably the crown jewel of the Florentine academy," Fausti agreed. "Of course, we'll be displaying it with the head separate, just in case." He waved her over to the front of the piece.
Before the statue, in a glass case, was its head, bald, unattractive, and noseless. This last detail caught Elena's attention. "Where is its nose?"
"Destroyed by the pebble the David hurled at it. We have some fragments in storage, and plan to display photographs of them."
"It's a shame that Barazzi was executed for this." Elena shook her head. "The techniques he used to animate this are… forever lost."
"We're not even sure it was purposeful. Barazzi's desire to compete with Michelangelo may have given it life all on its own." Fausti put his hands together. "This is a valuable piece. Three attempted thefts in the last decade."
"Three? I've heard of two." Elena's eyebrow raised.
"The third one happened only this last month. The bumbling fools tripped every alarm, managed to make off with a piece of jewelry that was found in a gutter the next day."
"Valuable?"
"Costume jewelry, a replica of a diamond piece we have in high security storage." The Tutore waved his hands around. "This exhibit isn't complete, of course. We plan to have displays about its history and the artist, and we've even recovered some of the original statuary it did battle with."
"Aren't you afraid it's going to animate if exposed to its old opponents?"
"It's been inactive for over five-hundred years, and the neck's too damaged to be re-attached." Fausti waved it off. "Someone would have to staple it back on, and anyone willing to damage art that badly is a monster."
"Agreed." Elena looked around the room, blinking very slowly and deliberately. "There is one other thing I would like to see, if I would be so permitted?"
"By all means."
"Clarice's Doom."
Fausti inhaled softly, and nodded. "Certainly. Jewelry is on the third floor. I can even show you the piece that those fools attempted to steal…"

Two hours later, Elena Fabbro sat in her room at the Santa Monaca Hostel, uploading the images that her retinal cameras captured. Her cohorts on the other end of the call viewed them with no small measure of interest, even as Elena chided them. "Tripping every alarm? Really, Antoine? Are you trying to have them get your scent?"
"I realize it was obvious, but it was the quickest way to test them all." On the other end of the Skype call, a garbled voice spoke. It was a formality— they all knew each others name and faces, but it was best to hide them from eavesdroppers. "We have the means to disable them, we know the layout, we have retinal scans, and we have confirmation that the Goliath is out of storage."
"Now, we just need to reattach the head." Piotr spoke from another window. "That's going to be tricky. The head is on a pressure-sensitive stand, and actually getting it to stay on the body without damaging it is…"
"Going to be next to impossible," Elena agreed. "Uploading something to you. Found it on display in the special collections wing."
She uploaded a file entitled "firstflorentineitem.pdf" to the chat.
She could hear the incredulity in Piotr's voice, even through the garbling. "So, we're literally going to be molding it back on using these things."
"We don't even need all of them, I don't think." Antoine sighed. "These descriptions are so vague. Didn't the Spectre steal part of this in the 60's?"
"Where do you think I got the idea from?" Elena grinned. "So, do we have a timeline of when we can do it?"
"Sunday," Antoine decided. "The Academy isn't open, and they have minimal night guards. If the Goliath goes mad, then we don't have to worry about anyone dying."
"So, three days." Piotr affirmed. "I'll go in tomorrow and see what occult defenses I can get rid of, and try to skirt around the ones I can't."
"Good luck, P." Elena yawned. "We need to rest. My body's still on Tokyo time."
"Same here." Antoine's channel let out a garbled yawn. "May you sleep with a loose leg." Then, the call disconnected.
"Why do the Spanish have such odd idioms?" Elena shook her head and closed the laptop, before she collapsed on the bed. Her dreams smelled of granite and Euros.