(RECOVERY NOTES: Documents were recovered during excavation of the ███████ site. Site was believed to be connected to foundational Initiative elements, destroyed during the presumed “Cloudburner” action. Documents found sealed in a buried section of brick, believed to be a former fireplace. Authenticity of documents is still under review.)

R,
Finally home, despite the Austrian winter seeming determined to murder us on the train. Stuck for hours on some bleak peak, feeling the floor roll like an old ship while the snow sounded like it was trying to chew through the glass, it was enough to give credit to H's old-woman bleating about sins and curses. Still, we survived, and are roosted back at the Munich estate. We've just finished unpacking, and your letters had ended up on the bottom of the mail pile. Chances of fate, and all that. So, if this letter finds you a bit late, it's due to travel fatigue and not a slight. I'm sure you'll find some means to be offended anyway.
In response to your primary inquiry, we do not as of yet have a set date. Some say solstice, some equinox, and V still insists that until Jupiter is ascendant in the third house, even attempting to plan is doomed to failure. In essence, not dissimilar from last year. However, I can say that the dates and times are all that still remain to be decided. The last few items and texts have been collected, and we even had luck with the old Hospitaller roosting in Constantinople. V, again, assures us everything is genuine, but I suppose time will tell. I imagine the planning will continue up until the actual evocation, but it seems like the next couple years will be the end. It's odd, thinking of an end, finally. Once you walk a path long enough, it becomes its own purpose, I suppose.
I have no plans to return to France, nor do I plan on making any. I understand your love of it, R, but all I can see is a poxy whore with divine makeup. I said it before, and I'll say it again, the heart of your city is rotten, and if it wasn't so necessary to collect and collate the old alchemical texts at Flamel's hidden chateau, I'd insist you quit that place. It has a rotting force to the will and the body…but I'll say no more. You know my mind, and I yours, and despite both our natures, we do what we must. My wife insists, however,on visiting Florence next Yule; perhaps you could join us, duties permitting.
We will remain in Germany until next fall, assuming nothing more concrete is decided, then return to England. It will be easier to wait there, and if we have not made a decision by then, it may behoove me to re-examine the Dogger shards. My door remains open for you, wherever it may be. I worry that the old texts might be seeping in too much. They were blind men, R, who happened to grasp the key to the kingdom. If you ascribe too much wisdom to their jottings, you'll go mad.
And now you'll grunt and dismiss me as a block-headed old Mason who couldn't hear the divine if it shouted in my ear. I broke with them because of that, R, so stow your grumbling and relight your pipe. That's no divination, R, just old-fashioned deduction. If we are going to do this, really do it, we can't be bogged down by fear of divine wrath. The tools may have been made by mystics and priests, but we are scientists and explorers. At least some of us, and enough to know that what we do is not what we wish to do, but what we must do.
We cannot cower like scared children under our beds, trusting the divine force of our parents to protect us. At some point, we must pull back the covers and do for ourselves. We fight not just for ourselves, but for humanity! We cannot accept our chains merely because they are comfortable. We are a race of adults, and it is well past time we took up that mantle in truth.
That's why I clashed with E so much, at the start. Well, our start. I dismissed his flowery titles and popeish Latin engravings. For what we are, and what we intend to do, what other than The Order of Iscariot could suffice? What he did for silver, we will do for the cold iron of truth, and with our own hands.
Best wishes, and I hope the letter finds you well. And sober!
D.

D,
I've had an odd windfall. After L and A scattered to the winds, I've been stuck in Heidelberg waiting for fresh materials. As I detest idleness, I decided to do a little digging through various archives at the university. Some interesting finds, but it turns out there's still a partially crumbled transcript of that disastrous presentation that Z produced, all those years ago, at least up until they hauled him off the podium. We were lucky the university was as happy as us to make it discreetly go away. It didn't end up saving him from the Church, in the end, poor devil. Still, a fine bit of history. We still don't know why he did it, if he just cracked or if it was an attempt to expose or blackmail. Imagine, exposing what amounts to thousands of years of work to secure clout with a few academics!
Before you start blustering, yes, admittedly we don't know for sure. Z was never careful. Earnest, but not careful. You of all people must admit that. The amount of blood and empty treasuries you've left to preserve secrecy is testament to your security. Maybe it truly is as you and others had said, Z was just an old fool who tried to bring some context to his life, at the expense of the entire Initiative. Still, if you'd like to argue about it, please feel free, I have likely months of free time, and watching you wet your pen with increasing sizzling and impotent vitriol does help pass the time.
I've attached a copy from one of the better preserved sections. Who knows, maybe it'll end up in a museum one day, a relic of the time of struggle and rebirth.
I stand before you now not to argue over the existence of God. God lives, and if he did not, then he does now. God exists as far above and outside us as we exist outside the lives of crawling, blind creatures in the mud of the ocean's bottom. However, God touches our lives much moreso. It exists as a force, a light, a hand that seeps into every aspect of all that was, is, or will be. For many this is a comfort, the sense of purpose and connection that brings context to life. Others, however, those of learning and firm purpose, like you assembled men of knowledge here assembled, may balk and scoff at the idea of a divine will constructing reality.
To you gentlemen, I say now, you are correct.
The presence of God represents a stifling, constricting force. It chokes and smothers the will of humanity and reality like an overprotective sow, suffocating those it presumes to nurture. God is a cradle, and egg shell that has long outlived its purpose. Today, I will detail to you the why and how that God must perish so that we may live. With no nod to the so-called corrupt or satanic forces of the world, we will explore, as men of science, the reasons and evidence lending to the sentence of death. We will observe with open eyes the unvarnished reality of the world, and you shall learn of others who, even now, labor for this end.
As men of science, I implore yo-

D,
Massive news, massive finds. We will need to shift our timetable from years to months. I've sent word to others, but you are the core of the English arm, and you need to be here. I apologize, I didn't intend to override you, we simply stumbled upon an opportunity, and couldn't wait to clarify with you.
The John Dee archive wasn't complete. We found the hidden portion. D, he was closer then we or anyone ever dreamed. Our experiments with perceptive alchemy and spirit vision? He'd already advanced beyond physical anchors, even to metaphysical control! He likely saw even more than we can, even with V's Rubedo lenses. He may even have seen the Veil, even if it's unlikely he fully understood it. We've found a manuscript full of formula that don't appear anywhere else in his known archive. D, they go even deeper than the Gnostics, they directly mention the Veil and the Fog. This is it, D, that “if only” we were hoping for.
I beg you to come here with all due speed. You have an eye for the old Alchemical riddles that I can't hope to match, and some of the manuscripts are damnably suggestive. H insists that they record failures, but I'm convinced these processes will work, that they were just never fully tried. If it's true, and Dee never fully finished the exploration, we could close a loop left open for centuries. Imagine finishing something even the old master couldn't or wouldn't do, I admit it gives me chills even now.
We'll need to move swiftly, and part of my call is to keep the Rosicrucian from catching wind. They'd mean well, as they always do, but you know what a mess they would make. Imagine what would happen if they knew someone was working out the tools needed to engrave the tombstone of God? World reformation indeed, well-meaning fools lead by bored nobles and coin lent from
Forgive me. It seems the old wounds of separation may still bleed with the right pressure.
With that, I will wait with trembling anticipation. Please, make haste, if only for the sake of my nerves.
Best Wishes,
A

The Esteemed ██████ D█████████
The Justus laboratory can, indeed, acquire what you have requested. The agreed-upon sum will be more than sufficient, and transport is being arranged. This letter is, in some ways, a formality.
There is a concern among the associates. We are men of science, not mysticism, and there is a concern that this may be related to some of the most base aspects of the old Alchemist and Necromancer arts. We have endeavored to bring acceptance and respectability to the world of chemical investigation, and distance ourselves from the mystical ravings of men seeking to produce gold or immortality.
Your pardon is humbly asked if this comes as a shock, and your tact understanding should it be a warning. No more will be said, and should something occur, we are merely distributors, and are otherwise unconnected to whatever ends you may find.
It is difficult to imagine what needs would be filled for a private individual with a little over a metric ton of high-purity mercury. Should the old arts indeed have been more than stories, it would be enough to make a man an emperor, or produce enough Stone to allow an army to bodily breech the final door of death. Science is the spirit of questions, and this sudden, and well-backed request does raise many.
Should you have questions, the laboratory mail service will route them to the necessary receivers. We hope that whatever it is you are doing, we will see the results in scientific journals, and not tawdry broadsheets.

D,
I do apologize, and I mean no personal affront, but I cannot just accept your assurance that all will be well. I know you feel I've been paying too much heed to your old colonists, but the American cabal is raising valid points, and we should at least be listening. It isn't just foolhardy to dismissing a dissenting voice, it's stupid, and dangerous, especially considering what's at stake.
No, I haven't “given up to popery” as you put it. I don't even agree with E's general thesis, I am an avowed Gnostic, one of the few with us, might I add. I view the felling of the Demiurge as the only true goal of not only mankind, but any form of thinking life, at whatever layer of reality. However we must kneel to the simple, yet total truth: As Above, So below. We cannot begin to understand the effects and ripples we will be sending forth. Attempting to simply bypass the innate laws governing reality through what amounts to brute-force application of a host of disciplines will, by its very nature, have unforeseen effects.
Despite your pronouncements, neither you, nor anyone else, can truly state what will or will not happen with any certainty. It may be a worst case, but there is a real chance that reality itself could collapse. Alarmist, perhaps, but we will not get a second chance. We must get this right. One does not need to kill one's parents to leave their home.
I plan to again call for a vote on the containment initiative. Your disdain for the “colonials” notwithstanding, it would be foolish to simply dismiss their ideas, especially in light of recent discoveries. I would hope you will give the proposal at least some thought.
Respectfully,
L

R,
I will never understand the oddly aggressive cowardice of Spaniards. They speak, and charge, and rattle sabers, but when the time comes to do the work, suddenly they wish to talk, to plan and consider. That, barrel out with a savagery more in place in the new world, rather than the old. If I'm forced to listen through another round of hand-wringing and philosophy while E smiles that gloating grin in smug silence one more time, I swear that I will next see him over the barrel of a pistol at a dozen paces. Still, at least it's one problem dealt with. I'm not unsympathetic, but the world is not so kind as to allow one such an elegant solution. Besides, what chains could truly hold god? Who's to say that others, long ago, though the same. In the end, I'm glad most saw the need for direct action, even if there was some quibble on the steps.
It was wonderful to see you again, and in better health. I will not say I told you so, but it is good to see the “salons” of Paris have not let too deep of a mark. I do apologize for not having more time, but as you know my wife's health demands consideration. She is much recovered, and hopes she didn't alarm you. She still refuses anything beyond the basic medical sciences, despite my assurances and even demonstrations. I fear she still has much of the church's brand on her soul still, and I am not ashamed to admit I do fear it will bring her to ruin in time. The pain is at least under control, though the treatment does leave her drained. All the more reason for haste, yes?
At least we were able to collate between the Dogger shards and what you scraped up from that moldy catacomb. A whole cycle, lost and buried…just seeing some of the tablets was enough to make the blood run cold. Still, we've come too far to shiver overmuch now. I've reached out to the others, and barring any fresh nonsense. I think we'll be able to finally move from discussion into real, final action. Securing supplies and transport has been no small task, but in the end, we can't commit anything less than our all and expect to succeed. In a way, even if we do fail, we will shift the balance enough that our bones may yet bask in victory. Don't call me a fatalist, now, I'm just being reasonable. What is it that C always says, “failure is always an option” and all that?
I was deeply saddened to hear about your son. At least, from what you've said, it sounds like recovery should be somewhat direct, once he's through the worst. Anything at all I can provide, please don't hesitate. I know we're supposed to be gathering strength, but if a man cannot help a friend, then what is the point of it all, honestly? It's strange, thinking on it. It would be easy to call up the mystical “bad luck”, but it does seem that many of us are having a rough go as of late. Perhaps V's right, the shadowy hand tilting our plots out of true. Bit of rot, really, but it does seem more weighty in the dim, small hours.
Regardless, we march on. Most of the materials, at least on my end, are secured. Just waiting at this point for the location, assuming one can be found, and not forced to be created. E's looking, but you know what I think of his lauded “network”. A conglomeration of spies and rubbish, and that…thing he calls his “fist”. Aside from the classlessness, I have real worry that they may expose something, if only from ignorant, drunk rambling. I've already had Rosicrucian trash sniffing about, and I've even heard some speaking in quiet halls around the old club…we need speed, R, and for more than just auspicious reasons.
Forgive my wandering. I've had to keep up appearances for the last few days, and finally thought to send something. I'll have something more functional for you in the coming days, and if you're settled I can have a parcel sent as well. I do hope this finds your old bones well, and I insist, again, you must come up at least for the fall. Stay a time, give us both a chance to breathe some open air. Yes, yes, I ramble when I'm weary, off I go.
Regards, D

D,
Sorry, but I must follow as needs dictate. You may speak of your dislike of celestials, but they have access where others do not. It is not as if they will be involved, and I am confused over your talk of corruption. We must draw out the thin secrets of the old tombs, and of the locked lands, if one can do this better than another, why not use them?
The woods, bones and silks will be more than effective cover. Everything is in readiness to be moved, though some assistance may be helpful, if not needed. If a small accident could be arranged? The Nightmare of Europe is gnashing and rattling, and our ships would make fine plunder in his jaws. Better to leave him with dry bones, rather than the real flesh. The stones will not be harmed by water, and the texts are well secured. They will keep well past a sinking, but I cannot arrange without suspicion here. As you will, we will find a way forward regardless.
So many have worked for so long, is it not strange to, now, complain over the hands laying the last bricks? Perhaps I am biased, I am but a mercenary, not a grand lord or scholar like so many of you. I see the world for what it is, and worry no more about it, as all I can see may be bought with gold. Worry not, war and plague have not stopped me in the past, a few egos will not now.
S

Ladies and gentlemen,
We stand now overlooking a great cliff of history. The world that was, and is, lays behind, and the future before. However this future is new, and unknowable, the first truly unbound future the world has ever known. In the coming months, much will be asked of you, but I know we can meet this challenge. It is no longer theory, or whispered rumor, I will state to you today with clear, open voice, in text, in whatever form you may need to hear it:
Within the year, we chosen few will murder God.
Place away your rebuffs and cries of symbolism and theory. In any and all forms that he or it may take, we will end the existence, the life, the event that is God, and we shall do so with our own hands. We shall rip humanity free from these dim, grasping tentacles that have ensnared our souls since the beginning of time, and strive forth with open eyes and minds, even if what they show us is difficult to take. Humanity will stand up proud, for the first time free from meddling.
I ask you all to recommit your efforts. We enter into the crucial time now, and the smallest lapse may have dire ramifications. Focus on what we, each, must do. Leave behind the petty squabbles and posturing. Soon, it will matter little. I thank you all for your efforts thus far, and only hope to congratulate you again after the end.
B

D,
Amazing. Manages to blow hot air as if he was still lord, acting as if it wasn't blood and sweat of hundreds now, and thousands through time, that got him there. That damn blue blood, eh? Something to be said for showmanship, though. It's easy to dismiss through text, but when the man speaks, it's hard not to be drawn along. I was at the Vienna meeting, all those years ago, and I think that's likely why I've stayed on so long. It's a comfort as I sit here, damn near in the ice chest of the world, overseeing the planting of old stones like some modern-day Jacob. Thankfully fewer dreams, or at least less prophetic ones.
We've managed to secure some of the last of the supplies, and I thank you for it. I know dealing with that old mercenary S can be a chore, but he does get results. Imagine what those sailors would think if they knew what we had here? That the great frozen lands of death actually played host to an old diabolist and a cabal of lunatics? I suppose, for some, it'd be not all that unexpected. The cold, D, the cold. It's not even chill, it's numb, it burns like fire until it kills the flesh. I've seen living men frozen like statues, locked in a moment of gasping death, in mear hours. I'd speak more, but I know how terribly squeamish your English heart gets around the macabre. Without A's pumps and boilers, we wouldn't be able to draw breath, let alone work.
There's been steady progress, at least. Once this is finished, we all head for Indonesia to finish the last of it. Not much left, really, and it's strange to think of an actual end. At some point, the means become the end. Don't worry, I've spilled too much innocent blood and sinner's tears to start in on philosophy again, but it is no dross thing to step back a moment and admire.
Imagine if someone knew. Someone outside all this. Show them the years and years of work. Tons of gold, oceans of blood, enough chemicals to turn all of Ireland to gold, enough tones to drown out the roar of a hurricane. The riches of a legion of arcanists and wizards from the depths of time, wisdom stolen from every point on the great wheel of Time, all to write the largest and most complex magic circle the world has ever known. And even that is just the physical, the things we can see. Soon all of it comes to an end, and we sever the throat of the thing that had drunk the devotion of a whole reality since before time was time. Leave me my pride and my musing, D, I know they can never know, but I'm old and the cold outside reaches for my heart, let me warm myself with a gaze to the navel.
This time next year, provided everything goes correctly. I hope to catch up to you and R at the Austrian estate once the screaming dies down. I've taken to waving at the whalers when they sniff around some of the outer ice flows, when we have to pop up topside to recover caches. I do wonder what they think of us, likely some ice demon of beast, eh? I'd think I've gone a bit mad down here, but we both know that happened long ago. Tell R he still owes me a game of wist. We'll settle the debt once god is dead, hooray hooray.
Y

Lord ██████ D█████████,
We are saddened to receive word of your absence from the coming meeting. We hope to receive you back once you return, and wish both you and your wife well. Sometimes a change of air does wonders for the health. The east, while often barborus, does carry secrets that can benefit even the modern man.
We do, however, have a small question. It appears you have withdrawn a sizable sum from the club account. While your personal finances are, indeed, personal, we have had questions raised. This, and your, at times, aggressive withdrawal from public life does elicit concerns. It's almost as if you're preparing from a much grander journey than the one stated, or worse. We simply hope you are, and continue to be well.
The ██████████ Club

R,
Just a spare scrap before we hurl into the breach. It is breathtaking. We shall make of the world an alembic, and purify the dross matter that makes up life. The vibrations are trimendous. I watched K weep blood today, and treated it as no more than a sneeze. I watched B press his hands into a solid stone, and leave prints as if it was wet clay. The shell of the egg of the world is cracking, R, and we are swinging the hammer against it.
D

Likely caption: "THE LIGHT, THE LIGHT, THE LIGHT IS COLD AND EMPTY". Author unknown.

R,
Forgive my long absence. Time moves strangely now, or perhaps it's just finally age catching up. I've retired to the Austrian estate now, assuming it will endure. We've all scattered, it seems, criminals fleeing to the shadows to deny the crime. I still believe in what we did. In a small way, it was needed, but we could not have known. I knew I would have to leave England when I saw the snows falling in July. An eruption, they say, the simple, mundane rumbling of the world. They view the death of spring with the blind stoicism of a cow walking up to the hammer and spike. E wrote, telling me how much he yearns for death, but is willing to follow the blackest of necromancy to endure, knowing what lies beyond that final door. Final, ha, if only!
We did it, R. Whatever else, we accomplished what we set out for. God is dead, and the hands of man murdered him. We knew there would be complications, but…we could have never guessed. Sometimes things are secret for a reason, sometimes things are put beyond grasping hands to keep harm at bay. We reached despite the warnings, and too late realized our frail forms could not hope to even understand the obligation, let alone bear it. Yet now, we must.
At the very least, most of us feel this way. I admit the magnitude of change does weigh on me, and every time that cruel, yellow sun rises I shudder despite myself, but we accepted the risk. I may morn for the easy life of ignorance, but I will not even entertain the idea of returning to it. A few others have approached me, out of need or ambition, and we plan to, as they say, “make a go of it”. Amusingly, it seems my business and societal contacts, so often dismissed as base and distracting, are serving well despite the change. You know I've never enjoyed profiting off the misery of others, but if it is to happen, why not I? It's not as if I'll face judgement for it anymore, now will I?
My wife is dead. The strain was too much, and we both knew it was likely. She chose her fate…and now, I must choose mine. I do not think I will make it to the Austrian estate, R. Or any other, for that matter. It's time to embrace what we have unleashed. If we are to live in a slowly decaying world, we must pull ourselves up to at least enjoy it. Or, failing that, manage to not scream and weep until voice and tears turn to blood. I will not revel in the corpse of God, but neither will I shy from it, or behave as if my suffering will somehow raise him again.
You will understand, in time. Or, perhaps not. Time is such a soft, pliant thing for us now, isn't it? I think I might do what so many have advised me to, and see about opening that little museum I always toyed with. A private place for those with eyes to understand and see. Should you grow worried, R, and I know you will, then drop by sometime. No, no, not the London estate, I imagine by the time this reaches you the things in the basement will have rendered it a sinkhole. The northern one, the cottage near the creek we used to ramble by. You'll know when you see it.
For what it's worth, I am sorry R. I can't morn any longer, and since I cannot weep, I will smile though broken teeth.
D

D,
I sit here, in the old rooms we used to know, and I question what I am even doing writing this. You are gone, vanished from the world, and only the darkest of rumors even hint at you. More than three years, and yet somehow everything is still spinning. We've fractured so much, swallowed by mysticism, superstition, science and even blind ignorance. Somehow the Wounds keep opening, yet the bleeding never drowns us as we thought it would. You would despair to see the state your old haunts are in, though maybe you know? France is opening its mouth to swallow all of Europe, yet even that is just a footnote in the end. What good is an empire when an oil lamp can burn off the Channel?
I write, and a storm rages outside. There are others, but far from here, chasing something that wears clouds like a cloak and speaks with fire. The cottage is crumbling, but enough for an old man and some memories. I can see the spot where we sat, and listened to your mad grandfather ramble about the far spheres and bloodthirsty adventures until late in the night. Back before we knew, before they came and whisked you off on a patents and new family, and me to university. I found the letters, you old fool. Supposed to burn them, but somehow I knew you'd keep some, if only to gloat or threaten. I suppose I should, but I will not. Let another, someday. What harm will it do?
I know this will not reach you. I wouldn't even know where to begin to post it. However, as you would say, symbolism matters. Where have you gone? Have you truly joined with that husk that was M? So many questions, but then the one who could answer them is dead, isn't he? We made sure of that. So I keep them, and pour them into the page. My son died last spring. Something got into his blood, and he broke into shards of light that sliced through stone like old cheese. Everyone was screaming, but I couldn't help but feel the smallest bit of envy.
The thunder is marching closer now. I think I may go to meet it. They'll call me a hero, I'm sure. Leave me my flair for the dramatic, you were just as bad. Are just as bad. Will be just as bad? I miss you, I admit it. So many fallen away now. I don't care what they tagged on you, or what names you hid and slithered under. I say at the end, at least, that I am Rechter, and that you are Dark, and we killed God and damned the world. Let them call us madmen or mercients, until the stars burned out we stood where no other would. Now I will bury these, and go forth, because wherever you are, Dark, this old, withered flesh isn't what I need to get there.
What greater honor than to be killed by the murderer of God?


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I might not make it.
Adrian tensed in preparation for the inevitable sting of the bullet.
Except it didn't.
The bullet froze halfway to his head. Angel, not a stranger to anomalous combat, followed up with several more rounds, each of which decided to give up halfway. He frowned, dropping the weapon.
"Vesper failed to mention you were also unnatural."
He isn't.
The thought invaded both Adrian and Angel's consciousness as an arm stretched out from the shadows, followed by the unkempt figure of Mamba. Black blood pulsed through his veins, and his cold, unblinking eye exposed no emotion.
Angel raised an eyebrow, amused.
Mamba continued his silent approach before abruptly launching the suspended ammunition backwards. Countless white wings unfurled behind Angel, flaring into a brilliant white tempest.
He was also unnatural. Adrian didn't know much about the Special Assets Directive other than the fact that it existed, and it involved paranormal operatives. Back at the academy, anyone who displayed the slightest hint of an anomalous property was immediately swept up by administration. When they resurfaced — if they ever did — it would be as a Coalition operative.
They'd tamed this force of nature, he realized.
Angel swung several wings forward, sending a wave of razor-sharp pinions towards Mamba. The one-eyed telekinetic pulled a nearby dumpster in front of him to block the barrage before sending the feather-pierced mass back towards Angel, who promptly flapped all of his wings to thrust the dumpster backwards with a violent gale.
Garter told you to leave, Ross.
Mamba directed a barrage of scrap metal and pipes towards Angel. Glancing towards where Mamba had ripped his makeshift ammunition from, Adrian spotted an access into one of the numerous pillars supporting the upper city. It was an out, certainly, but Mamba stood no chance against the killing machine that loomed above him.
He looked back. Angel perfectly absorbed all of Mamba's projectiles into his storm of wings, forcing Mamba to stumble backwards. He desperately tried to block Angel's endless hail of feathers, but for each one he successfully deflected, dozens more would take its place. His arsenal wouldn't be depleted anytime soon, either, judging by the hundreds of frenzied wings behind him.
Finally, Angel managed to graze his opponent's shoulder, sending agonizing toxins throughout the telekinetic's entire body. Somehow, Mamba's face remained expressionless, but his eye glanced towards Adrian.
Down the column. Find Babel. Talk there, insisted Mamba.
Adrian paused for a moment realizing that there wasn't anything he could do to help Mamba. And if he didn't make it out alive, the telekinetic would have suffered for nothing.
Enough people have suffered at my hands.
He allowed himself one last glance while sprinting towards the towering pillar. The expression on Angel's face shifted from amusement to disgust as he began to realize his voiceless opponent would never sing for him in painful screams. Mamba slumped against a pile of stacked crates, desperately clawing at the cover. His lone eye strained from the excruciating venom flowing through his blood, until he finally grasped a crimson vial of rubedo.
Go.
Adrian felt the fire of a thousand black suns on his back as Mamba's makeshift alchemical explosive detonated, and then there was silence.

Adrian firmly clasped the metal framework running down the entire length of the kilometer-tall shaft. He figured he'd already been descending for an hour, but there was no way to know for sure. Usually, when he was left alone with his thoughts, time passed much more slowly.
Cramming his leg between two beams, he formed a sort of sideways knee bar, giving himself a moment to wipe away the cold sweat dripping from his brow. The whole chamber hummed with distant machinery, pulsing with a hollow presence. The Servants of the Silicon Nornir had buried the beating hearts of their silicon gods far below the surface, and these pillars were the veins of the living city.
I've got to be close to the bottom by now, he tried to convince himself. No doubt he'd already descended hundreds of meters, and his strength was definitely waning. He'd have to find a platform to rest on before he succumbed to exhaustion and fell towards certain death.
At least I'll be alone. Since he'd entered Eurtec through the backdoor of some backwater nexus nearly a week ago, Adrian hadn't dared to sleep a wink.
Scanning the area, he located a small niche where he'd be able to sit somewhat comfortably on. He sized up the jump, then, quickly deciding he couldn't make it, took a deep breath and scaled a wall of wires before swinging onto the ledge. Adrian collected his breath before collapsing onto the cold steel platform, wiping his brow with hands that had begun to bleed from clinging so firmly to rusted metal.
Rusted?
These shafts weren't made to be accessed, even by the Servants of the Silicon Nornir. In all their careful planning, the caretakers certainly would've made sure moisture wouldn't intrude upon the inner workings of their city, let alone accumulate rust. Sure, the lower floors may have been in utter shambles, but the Nornir's systems were immaculate.
I'm not alone.
He sat up and immediately analyzed his surroundings, but could barely make out anything beyond the veil of shadows. He sighed, then took a deep breath. The air was cold and putrid, but it would sustain his consciousness for a little while longer — hopefully enough to reach the bottom.
Adrian slipped off his jacket and tied it around his waist tightly to create a makeshift harness, which he attached to several of the taut wires spanning the entire height of the shaft. It would definitely be riskier than clambering down the framework, but it would also be faster.
He gave the wires a good tug before grasping it firmly and pressing against the wall. It'd be enough to hold his weight as he horizontally descended the shaft.
After about a minute, he could make out the bottom. The tunnel was in fact not as deep as he'd thought, but it had been flooded with a dark liquid resembling crude oil, giving the illusion of a continuous tunnel. Several mangled forms dotted the surface, but he couldn't quite make out what they were.
Then the smell hit him, followed by a realization.
The forms were corpses.
Adrian closed his eyes and took a shallower breath. Pressing firmly against the wall, he realized he'd seen the liquid once before. Mamba's wound festered with something like this. He knew this was here, and he wanted Adrian to know, too.
What else did he know that I don't?

Adrian had managed to drop safely onto a ledge a few meters below him, landing with a clean roll. He'd have been relieved to have reached the bottom if it weren't for the fact that his whole body ached — he could hardly even think through the nauseatingly acrid fumes. He'd need to free himself from the suffocating miasma.
He quickly located a small hatch, no doubt an access panel. Ramming into black grime with his shoulder, it creaked open before falling off its hinges altogether, allowing Adrian to step out into the subterranean bowels of Eurtec.
The Undercity wasn't technically part of Eurtec — the lowest floor of the city proper was several stories above where Adrian now stood. However, in order to capitalize on vertical space, the underground had been allocated to any machinery that didn't directly contribute to the Nornir's systems. Over time, debris accumulated in pockets between the machinery, forming a ethereal mechanical wasteland where concrete towers stretched towards a black sky and light was a rarity.
Adrian collapsed against the pillar, finally allowing sleep to overcome him.

The world around him faded to nothing, replaced by the darkness of a festering womb where silent screams echoed under a starless night. Adrian found himself paralyzed in the tenebrous maw, seeing through closed eyes.
Adrian?
An unspoken whisper drifted to him over wandering currents of hypnagogic malaise. He wanted to reach out, but a sense of lethargy consumed him as he began sinking into the ebon abyss of cimmerian waters.
Why are you here, Adrian?
And then he realized he was drowning.
He frantically reached for the surface but found only more black bile. Anguished laughter replaced the earlier silence, entering his eyes, his ears, his lungs, his heart, and primal desperation overtook him. He would be consumed, and there was nothing he could do.
The darkness had finally come for him. It had taken everything else from him already — his parents, his comrades, his only friend…
And then for a moment, he could see her, even through the darkness. Jaiden lay peacefully submerged in a glowing white capsule, silent and still. Wires replaced her hair and a blindfold covered her eyes, but he still knew it was her.
"Jaiden?"
You shouldn't be here, Adrian.
Bile filled his lungs, but he could still speak.
"Where are you?"
He felt something pull him away from her, out of the darkness. He clawed at the waters, begging for the darkness to give him just a moment more, but its only response was a mocking laughter. Jaiden whispered one last thought to him before being swallowed again by the rolling black waves.
I'm in the dark.

When Adrian awoke, he wasn't alone. A grotesque, elderly man with an extremely prominent jaw sat next to him, trying to drink from a canteen but spilling water all over himself, while a Latino woman covered in scars leaned against a glass-tipped spear to his left.
Adrian turned to face the man for a moment, before realizing the sharp pain in his shoulder. A raccoon was wrapping a makeshift bandage around it, concealing the dark grime that had burned a hole in his jacket. He tried to brush away the small, fluffy mammal, wincing as he strained his wounded arm. The raccoon chittered several times in protest before finally leaping to the ground.
The man with the malformed jaw spoke first in a thick German accent, with surprising clarity. "I am called Baron."
His mouth twitched as he muttered the last word.
"Lucia," added the woman. "Can you stand?"
Pressing himself against the wall, he grimaced as a sharp pain jolted through his arm.
"Allow me." Baron extended a slender, six-fingered hand, which Adrian initially refused. Perhaps it was his distaste for the anomalous in general, or simply that he didn't trust strangers, but he continued painfully pressing himself against the pillar.
Baron sighed and placed his arms on Adrian's shoulders. Despite his deformed figure, he had surprising strength, and pulled Adrian to his feet with ease.
The raccoon stood on its hind legs, purring softly as though trying to say something.
"What brings you to this domain?" Baron inquired.
Adrian squinted at the strange crowd surrounding him. "That's for me to worry about."
"Fair enough," Baron grunted in response. "May I at least ask your name?"
"Glenn Forrester," Adrian replied curtly.
Baron attempted a weak smile, nodding. "It has certainly been a long while since I've last seen trees," he mused.
Adrian did not respond. Instead, he gazed out into the rows of pillars, where the darkness seemed to scorn him as the shaft had earlier. Only, this darkness blistered and grew the more he stared at it, swallowing however little light there was.
The lady glanced into the shaft. "He came from the black pool, but he isn't a shadow walker,"
"Shadow walker?"
"Foul creatures without any civility," offered Baron. His mouth twitched before he continued. "They taste even fouler,"
Lucia turned to face Adrian. "How did you survive falling into the black pool?"
"I didn't fall down. I climbed down, from Halfway,"
Baron chortled. "Why not travel the sewage route, as the rest of us have?"
Adrian flexed his hand. "I didn't have an option. I was escaping,"
Lucia shifted her weight, holding the glass spear over her shoulder. "Most everyone down here is escaping from one thing or another," she paused. "What were you being chased by? And is it still looking for —"
Suddenly, the raccoon scampered next to Lucia, nudging her in the ankle. She snapped her head up as an unidentified form plummeted hundreds of meters into the darkness of the black pool.
Baron growled and pushed Adrian back away from the pillar as Lucia raised her spear, staring at the darkness behind the access panel. They stood in tense anticipation for several tense seconds.
A dark form clambered out of the pillar as the black substance pooled at the base of the pillar. An oversized arm stretched through the access panel first, followed by a decaying, faceless figure. Releasing a depraved screech, the creature swung at Baron.
The deformed figure caught the shadow walker's claw with his forearm before being knocked to the ground, offering Lucia an opportunity to charge with her spear. Leaping upwards, she slashed at its neck, causing the entity to stagger backwards. Baron charged the shadow walker, ramming it back inside of the pillar and over the ledge, returning it to the black pool.
He panted for a moment, gazing into the murky abyss. "We'd best depart," he looked back towards the others. "We were on the path of return."
Lucia nodded in agreement, and turned to Adrian.
"You can follow us back if you want," she informed him in a tone that suggested she meant "if you want to survive."
Baron nodded and began walking away from the pillar, followed by Lucia and the raccoon. They were out of sight within seconds — the same amount of time that it took Adrian to decided he didn't want to face any more shadow walkers alone.
"Where are you guys headed?" he called out, sprinting as best he could.

Babel was the only real settlement in the entirety of the Undercity. Situated around a tower of rubble and refuse, it was illuminated by a single shaft of light emerging from a sewage tunnel in the ceiling. The locals believe that the settlement was first inhabited by a handful of Servants of the Silicon Nornir that had been trapped beneath Eurtec as it was first constructed. They'd painstakingly constructed the tower from nothing but junk to approach the opening far above them, hoping to escape.
Of course, the town's founders had long since disappeared. Babel's denizens primarily consisted of exiles and refugees inhabiting tents and alcoves in the tower, who had chosen to live down here, despite the hardships — surviving for the sake of survival.
As Adrian approached the edge of Babel, he realized that a shoddily-constructed scrap metal wall had been constructed around the perimeter of the settlement. Glass shards sparkled under the light next to misshapen corpses and black puddles.
Lucia noticed Adrian staring at the barrier. "The walls are somewhat new. They keep the shadow walkers out."
Baron shielded his eyes as the trio and raccoon stepped into the light. A few eyes turned to watch them as they entered, but the vast majority of settlers were preoccupied with their own business, sorting through salvage or spit-roasting bats, rodents, and other strange creatures Adrian had never seen before. Despite their liveliness, he could feel the underlying weariness that burdened Babel's inhabitants.
Soon enough, they were able to locate an unoccupied fire pit. Lucia whispered something to a nearby Indian lady before stepping back as an implosion lit a small fire. Adrian jumped a little, prompting Baron to chuckle before taking a seat next to the fire. Lucia notified the others that she'd be off to purchase some kebabs, at which the raccoon chittered happily.
Adrian studied his companions by the crimson glow of the campfire while waiting for Lucia to get back. The raccoon lay flat on its stomach, staring just past the fire as though it were thinking about something. He turned his attention to Baron, whose small, black eyes reflected the light of the flame. He picked at the fingernails of his six-fingered hand with a smaller, four-fingered hand, which Adrian could now see were both withered and pale. Wrinkles quivered on Baron's completely bald forehead as he hummed a classical tune through large, uneven teeth.
"You aren't human, are you?" inquired Adrian.
"I'm sorry?" Baron looked up.
"No offense, but you don't exactly look human,"
Baron smiled sadly, before looking down. "My forefathers were human. Obsessive, selfish, vile humans who committed unspeakable sins, yes, but is that not how we all are?"
Adrian didn't respond.
"I was a child when my home was razed by men in black," a heavy sadness filling Baron's raspy voice. "I still have the urges sometimes, but it is for that reason I have come here to simply live — that I might be the last of my blood."
He turned to look Adrian in the eyes. "That is my tale. Will you now tell me yours?"
Adrian looked up into the light, knowing that somewhere up there was the world he'd been born in.
"There isn't much to tell," he decided.
Baron frowned. "Nonsense, Forrester. Surely there must be a reason you descended into the darkness."
Jaiden, of course.
But why?
What did she mean to him?
They weren't madly obsessed lovers, or even lifelong friends. They had no duty to each other, and they definitely weren't bound by blood. Hell, she might already be dead for all he knew, and yet here he was, still searching for her.
"I'm searching for a light in the darkness."
Baron exhaled deeply, shaking his head. "You will find no brighter light here than the one overhead, Forrester. "
Adrian nodded, staring into the fire until his eyes began to sting.
"I do not contest, however," Baron added with a grin, "that food tastes better in the dark."
Lucia approached them carrying several kebabs in one hand. She smiled gently, offering Adrian a skewer. Looking up, he realized that Lucia's hair was noticeably shorter.
"Did you get a haircut?"
Lucia chuckled. "We had a bit of a disagreement over the price,"
Baron nodded understandingly. "She sells her body," he added.
"She what?"
Lucia chuckled before explaining. "I can exchange detached parts of my body as currency,"
She wiggled a four-fingered hand for Adrian to see. "Some parts are worth more, some less, but everything is worth something,"
"You still have not informed me what you exchanged a finger for," pouted Baron.
Lucia smirked. "It bought me your friendship, didn't it?"
Baron paused for a moment, looking at his six fingers, before shrugging in agreement. "Birds of a feather flock together,"
I don't belong here, Adrian realized. He wasn't anomalous in any sense, and he didn't want to be, either — even if it meant he stood a chance against the terrifying powers that dominated the world behind the Veil.
The mere existence of the anomalous discomforted Adrian, something that years of training with the Coalition had failed to resolve. They'd never be able to completely erase the trauma he'd accumulated over a lifetime. Even now, in the presence of Baron and Lucia, he didn't feel safe, simply because of who they were.
"Hey, Glynn?" Lucia interrupted his thoughts. "I didn't spend a whole lock on beef for you to waste it."
At this, Baron's eyes lit up. "The merchants have returned?"
Lucia nodded silently.
"One moment," he mumbled, dashing away towards the tower.
Lucia shook her head, sighing. "Some upper city company sends guys down here to trade trinkets. Baron's obsessed with collecting shiny things," she explained.
She gingerly placed a kebab in front of the raccoon. "Here you go, Lukas,"
"Lukas?" asked Adrian.
"Yeah. He told us himself. Or, wrote, I guess," answered Lucia.
"He must be a very smart raccoon, then,"
Lucia shook her head. "Oh, he isn't a raccoon. He's a raccoon-shaped human."
Adrian blinked. "What?"
"It just happened one day. He used to work as a doctor with the Foundation — the Manna Charitable Foundation, they come around once in a while — and then one day, he just woke up, and he was a raccoon."
Adrian nodded before looking at his shoulder. The dark blotch had spread, and the wound itself oozed with black blood. "So he knows what happened to my shoulder?"
The raccoon chittered quietly.
"The black substance. No one knows what it is, but the shadow walkers just began showing up one day, bringing it with them,"
Lucia looked towards the gate. "We kill the shadow walkers easily enough, but the black pools never go away."
Finishing her kebab, Lucia stood up. "You're lucky we found you before the shadow walkers did," she paused. "Once Baron gets back, we're heading back to the tent to get some rest. You can stay with us until you can find yourself lodging,"

When he fell asleep, he found himself in the darkness again.
Adrian?
The whisper echoed around him. Strangely, even though it surrounded him, the shadows didn't touch him.
"Jaiden."
You shouldn't be here.
"Shouldn't be where? Babel?"
In the dark.
"What does that even mean, 'in the dark'?"
The dark is within you, and I am in the dark.
Her whisper shattered, and the hollow closed around him.

Adrian woke with a cold sweat. Baron snored loudly against the wall while Lucia lay motionless on the floor and Lukas lay flat on the ground, limbs splayed in every direction. The soft glow of the outside peeked through a gap in the bottom of the tent, inviting Adrian back out.
He took a deep breath of the cold Undercity air, walking up the tower. That was two nights in a row he'd dreamed of Jaiden.
The dark is within you, and I am in the dark, he recalled. How helpful. The whole of the Undercity was drenched in darkness. It didn't mean anything — it was just his mind messing with him, delirium clouding his better judgement. But even then, he still couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something. He shivered, sending pain through his entire shoulder.
The dark is within me.
Adrian tilted his shoulder, wincing. Undoing the bandage with one hand, he was able to clearly see the black substance pooling in his shoulder and eating away at his flesh.
His mind reeled as he blinked several times in quick succession, trying to make sense of his own reasoning.
I've seen her in my dreams for two nights. I've had this black substance in my wound for two nights. Coincidence? Maybe. Two puzzle pieces with a notch and a tab didn't necessarily go together.
This black substance was brought here by "shadow walkers", who come from black pools. The black pools are filled with corpses. Those two jutted out like two protrusions — there needed to be another piece between them.
One foot after another, he approached the light at the top of the tower. How did an insignificant rubedo smuggler with a few fortunate connections stumble upon all of this?
How indeed. The uninvited thought pierced his consciousness, fired from the barrel of a familiar gun.
He looked up. A scrawny telekinetic with a scarf wrapped around his lower face was levitating several crates off of a hanging scaffold that had been dropped through the hole in the ceiling. Mamba's eye met Adrian's for a moment, before being interrupted by an individual in an immaculate dark suit.
An upper city company, Lucia had said.
And just like that, the jigsaw fell into place. He shot a glance at the crates, which, aside from numerous warnings, were marked with just three letters, that stood for three names.
Marshall, Carter, and Dark.

Halfway Lost

Outfounded Hub

Within The...


TO CATCH AN APEX PREDATOR
The Hunt for Oregon's Most Dangerous Game

Names: Asmodeus, "King of Beasts"
Investigated By

Central Sightings: Oregon
E. Empira

FORWARD
My journey starts in Boring, Oregon, the least boring city in America.
If you've been living under a rock, you may not have heard of my good friend Allison (@blackqueen on twitter, check out her art!). And if you haven't heard of my good friend Allison, then you've almost certainly haven't heard of what she allegedly found on a hike just outside Boring. Maybe you've heard his name: Asmodeus, "King of Beasts".
Like the Armadillo, Asmodeus is a fairly recent find; there's no hard evidence anyone saw him before the 2000s, and even the hypothetical trails I've drawn up could be attributed to any ol' monster in Cryptid Pattern V1. A multitude of origins for Asmodeus have been proposed: The likeliest rumor posits that Asmodeus escaped from the infamous Thule Cult of the Scarlet Simulacrum (write-up coming soon!), who were using its reptile DNA to create a cabal of immortal neo-nazi demigods. If true, Asmodeus couldn't have been around for more than thirty years, which would explain the dearth of settler and indigenous accounts.
Regardless, nobody can dispute Asmodeus's existence these days. With a multitude of photos, testimony, and carnage in Asmodeus's wake, it's an undeniable fact that a dragon has found its way into our humble home.
Already, Asmodeus's influence over the area is undeniable: people mull about listless and fearful, hopes placed into the hands of the far-off towers of an uncaring city as their insufficient infrastructure grows in obsolescence by the day. [EDIT: I have been told this is just what rural America looks like in a post-9/11 world, and wholeheartedly apologize to Boring for singling them out.]
None too many of the locals have seen Asmodeus. Obviously, I was frustrated; you'd be after a dead end, no? But you don't quit when the going gets tough, so I moved on to the nearby Trailhead Park, off to strike green gold.
Strike it I did.
"RC" was a simple man who just wanted a vacation. To that end, he'd booked a ticket from Portland and made his way to the park, where a simple hike turned into something so much more sinister.
[AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'd put the pictures RC shared with me here but he owns full rights to them, and will, quote, "sue my ass until it's concave" if I put them up on a CC-BY-SA site. Jerk.]
RC recalls biking down the Springwater Corridor when he saw a great beast thrashing about the treeline. Now, RC's no vet, but he could immediately tell that this wasn't just any critter. This beast was massive, covered in a thick matte of blood and mud with bits of flesh peeling from the poor bugger. But even so, this beast raged on, on the offensive with what RC swore was a pack of cougars. Looking at the pictures he took? I believe him.
(I still don't know why he wanted to take another vacation in Boring. When questioned, he told me to "mind my own business".)
After purchasing some extra bear spray, I made my way up the Springwater Corridor. I didn't find Asmodeus (or any cougars for that matter), but there was a gap in the treeline that could have been Asmodeus. I've got it marked on a map, which I'll be releasing once my search concludes.
More to come.

peyton at 17:08:16

shit youre actually doing this huh
pics or i dont pay up

null

UraniumEmpire, do you think you could reconsider this? "Asmodeus" is an extremely dangerous anomaly; you can't just spray it with bear spray and expect to come out alive.
It seems like you really do have a passion for cryptid hunting I respect that. But the thing you're hunting is antithetical to life. Maybe consider chasing the Pineland Robots, instead?

DumpsterFelonies at 18:58:45

good luck! <3

null

Can we not urge her on? This thing kills people.

UraniumEmpire at 21:19:00

<3!

null

Guh. Don't say I didn't warn you.

UPDATE 1: On the Hunt
What's up, Parawatch! Update on the Asmodeus case.
So I did some treking today, and my god is Asmodeus a treat to hunt. Even before heading through the treeline gap from yesterday, I was finding super fun stuff.

Pay up, peyton.

Now I'm no biologist, but does this look like the skin of an Oregon native? What about the the fact that I found it in near-literal sheets? What about the trail of dried, blackened goop, streaking into the woodlands like some macabre spider web?
Make no mistake, the stench is nigh unbearable. I literally have no words to describe it! Looks like our pal's in dire need of a wash; maybe I can point him in the right direction? :p
Sorry if my commentary isn't as witty as before, I'm just really excited. Can you blame me? A picture's one thing (and I don't mean to imply Allison's a fraud!), but to have the proof in your hands, in ridiculous quantities, gumming up your nose with the worst of stenches to show you it's real real real, that you're on the right track… it's intoxicating, you know? It's fuel.
I had to head back into Portland to retrieve some supplies. Asmodeus won't just show up at my doorstep, which means I'm gonna have to go really deep into the bumfuck wild. Between work and splurging on a GPS hotspot, I've got about three more days to find Asmodeus, but what a day today's been!
Wish I could have put more here, but it's been a blur. Following the damage, the blood, the indentations that are obviously Asmodeus's footprints. I've traveled a shitton of ground.
Good night, Parawatch. More to come.

DumpsterFelonies at 22:05:44

you can do it, babe! <3

UraniumEmpire at 22:10:49

love you too, babe <3
bed time

null

Oh god, you're actually going to kill yourself.

complicatedavrillavigne2002 at 22:30:11

> close up of what's obviously garter snake skin
Fake and straight, but points for not going after bigfoot like everyone else.

null

As much as I hate to enable this, I can confirm that that's what "Asmodeus"'s "skin" looks like.
Even if she is faking it, doesn't it concern anyone else that she's glorifying this ideal of an impromptu wilderness venture with the intention of encountering an extremely aggressive anomaly? If the wilderness doesn't kill her, I'm afraid the thing she's chasing might. Isn't safety more important than internet clout?

captain_yugoslavia at 22:34:01

you call EVERYTHING fake and str8

complicatedavrillavigne2002 at 22:49:36

And you're telling me it's not?

captain_yugoslavia at 22:51:00

fair. too much straight things. overrepresented

UPDATE 2: Into the Woods
Did a lot of walking today. I'm well out of Boring by now.
I think Asmodeus is throwing me for a loop. According to my GPS, I've gone way out from the corridor. I'm still finding bits of lizard skin, not as much as before, but the blood's stopped. Come to think of it, I didn't see too much of it near the end of the last stretch, either.
It occurs to me that, being a five foot six ape, a twenty-five foot lizard is probably faster than me. But he can't be running, can he? He must have come to Boring for a reason, otherwise dumb luck would have prevailed in the somethingteen years since his first sightings. Maybe he already achieved something, but what then?
I can't stop now. Not when I know he's out there, you know? I've got his skin.
Also, complicatedavrillavigne2002: come to Portland if you want several pounds of lizard skin and an asskicking2.
Two more days. More to come.

DumpsterFelonies at 23:41:30

stay safe, babe! don't catch rabies :<

UraniumEmpire at 23:42:59

I'll be fine, babe. <3

DumpsterFelonies at 23:47:00

<3

peyton at 23:47:41

gay.

UraniumEmpire at 23:49:06

it's not gay if I'm Catholic

LandonOfTheLand at 23:43:08

ooooo, asmodeus! me and my ex went backpacking across cascadia after college, and we were soooooo excited to meet that funky little critter. never saw him, though. :<

UraniumEmpire at 23:45:01

damn bougie backpackers

complicatedavrillavigne2002 at 23:46:22

I love getting my ass kicked by scrawny womanlets who can't open pickle jars.
(<3)

UraniumEmpire at 23:48:11

i have a knife, bitch
(<3)

complicatedavrillavigne2002 at 23:54:30

Make sure to bring the dirty bubble wrap you called "skin" w/ you.

UraniumEmpire at 23:57:03

not a single person believed me but you'll all be sorry when im sitting on my throne of nobel prizes

UPDATE 3
I'm still trailing Asmodeus.
Logically, he has no reason to run. We don't call him the "King of Beasts" for nothing, you know? There's nothing to be afraid of, unless this is some kind of moon curse. I think that'd be cool.
There's less skin in the gaps. I know there's been a lot of talk of Asmodeus's supposed healing factor, but this comes from scraping against trees, no?
… could he have been molting?
It occurs to me as I'm writing this (and sorry for the stream of consciousness), but I really do wonder what it is I'm looking for. Perhaps that's why I'm looking for him, to know more. Good enough reason as any, it's… hard to leave the house these days, sometimes. But if that's the case, am I really hunting Asmodeus, or am I just looking for an excuse to get out and do something?
So how do I know I'm doing something? How do I know if I'm actually chasing Asmodeus?
… I don't know if it matters. At least I'm trying, you know?
…
I don't know if I even believe in him.

null

Why do you insist on ignoring me?
I've been telling you this isn't worth it the whole time! Just because you're bored, it doesn't give you a free pass to throw yourself into danger. You're messing with a literal, actual demon, and I've been screaming this at you for four days now!
Turn! Back! Tell me you heard me, tell me to fuck off or thank me but fuck's sake don't keep me out in the cold!

null

You know what, fine. If you're too stupid to heed my warnings then you deserve whatever Asmodeus gives you.

null

Whatever you're typing up, just be quick about it. Or have someone ban me, I honestly don't care anymore.

null

Seriously? I know I was a bit of a jackass in my previous posts but this kind of guilt-tripping is plain cruel.

null

Why haven't you responded it's already 3 joke's not funny

null

I get it I was a dick please please respond

null

please respond i didnt mean it

null

im sorry

Update 4: I'm not dead edition!
Holy shit, this goes deep.
So first of all, sorry for the wait! I just spent three days in a county jail before being released without charge. How crazy is that? It's like I'm a real journalist!
Alright, so the hunt went… it really went. I spent a whole day (maybe two?) wandering in circles because this Asmodeus business is fucked up but my god, the things you learn about yourself. For example: did you know that when you don't sleep for a whole day, your body receives a huge burst of energy? It's true! I felt it.
This is all scatterbrained because the jailhouse let me buy coffee but I'm sorry, I've uncovered baby's first conspiracy! Get this: the park rangers are in on it!
So it's like midnight or something (and the stars were really beautiful) and I run into this park ranger. Now, this man was tall, bald, and smelled of rust, and also I'm seeing him in the middle of the wild, so I'm immediately on edge. Thankfully my phone's still got power (don't use it and charged a spare battery!) so I immediately begin recording.

Ranger: -be necessary, really. Now-
Me: Am I being detained?
Ranger: Ma'am, that's… look, I'm not a cop. I'm a park ranger.
Me: Well, mister ranger, am I being detained?
Ranger: I… look, I need you to leave, alright?
Me: On what grounds?
Ranger: (HIGHLY suspicious pause) There's been a bit of a… wildlife problem, ma'am. The, uh, park is closed.
Me: Wildlife? (Ranger tries to interrupt me) What kind of wildlife?
Ranger: Ma'am, are you alright? You look a little… wobbly.
Me: I'm perfectly fine, and that's beside the point. What kind of wildlife is prowling the park, huh?
The ranger feigns a sigh at this point, likely to catch me off guard.
Ranger: … do you promise to walk with me if I tell you?
Me: What have you got to hide, officer? You're not covering up a visit from Asmodeus, King of Beasts, are you? Not some government g-man trying to keep us from the truth?
Ranger: Ma'am, it's two in the morning, there's an ongoing wildlife issue, and you look like you're about to fall over. Look, just… come with me, I can tell you anything you want to know, but you need to come with me, alright?
Me: Hah. Nice try, but-
I'm cut off by the sound of something falling to the ground. The officers told me I "passed out from dehydration" at this point, but you can decide for yourself once I post the audio clip.

I woke up in a jail cell with a killer headache. I'm willing to bet they microchipped me, but I don't have enough money to check with a doctor. They gave me some bullshit story about a "critically endangered apex predator" or something along those lines. Couldn't even name the species, and that was when they were still answering my questions.
They're in on something and I know it. Why would they close the park in the wake of Asmodeus's most famous sighting if he didn't exist? Why wasn't the Trailhead Park closed, too? Why did the rangers collude with local police to keep me for the full 72 hours?
I've got work coming up, so consider this the end of my battle with this mystery. But the war's not over, not even a little.
Keep your eyes peeled, Parawatch, and good night.

null

… damn it. At least you're safe.

Footnotes
1. For the uninitiated, a cryptid is sorted into Pattern V if its bite mark forms a "V".
2. jk, luv u


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"The Bowe Decommission, Part Three"
And your toys are my toys and my toys are your toys…
More by this author!

Dr. Dan swept back into Mission Control, amazed that he could still sweep. On the wings of a Red Bull. "Update me."
Frewer glanced back at him. "Tav-666 is cleaning up at Site-37 with some help from outer space." Dan winced at every element of that sentence. "I've got Dr. Clef on the line, you want to talk to him?"
"What?" Dan snorted. "No. Never." He walked into the middle of the room, spreading his arms wide. "Put the remaining 19 inventory up there, I wanna see how we're doing."
The big board was soon plastered with dozens of anomalies, arranged by containment class. "Hmm. Not many Keters left, only a few Euclids. Another day or so and we'll lick this thing." He finished stretching, and momentarily lost control of his body. "Whew. Okay. Hit me."
Frewer yawned. "Robot bear in Ho Chi Minh City."
"More like a teddy bear, cybernetics notwithstanding. Georgie Porgie thinks every monster is a murder monster. Call Wilson's."
"Attacks on our field hospital in Eritrea. The CI flattened half a town, and we brought in the locals for treatment and amnestics. Something's been hunting our patrols ever since."
"Something."
Frewer flipped both hands in a gesture that clearly said 'Don't ask me'. "Details are thin. It's red, and it's angry. That's all I've got."
Dan glanced at the board. "Uh-huh. Any of those injured locals a quadriplegic?"
Frewer glanced up at him. "You're creepy. You know that?"
Dan nodded. "Stabilize the patient, put him in a hyperbaric chamber and roll it out into the wilderness. He's 3631-2, and 3631-1 is trying to protect him. Get 'em both in one place and containment'll be a snap." He tried to snap his fingers; he missed.
"Awesome. Next up is Site-77… oh, good god." Frewer looked away from his screen. "Giant… giant spiders. Eeeeugh." He forced himself to look back. "Sorry, sorry. Giant spiders at Site-77. They've overrun the research wing. Oh, god, that's awful."
"Not as awful as you'd think. Those researchers are fine, physically, though they'll probably have nightmares for a while." Dan shook his head. "Is this all they got from Site-37? Jesus. Tell security to use high-frequency emitters, twenty-five-k or higher, to drive the spiders into a cell."
Frewer stared at him.
"They're not really spiders, they're dogs."
The entire shift stared at him.
"Well, okay, spiders that act like dogs."
Silence.
"Fine spiders by dado."
Frewer nudged the man beside him, who began relaying the order.
"What? I had some time left over, and I heard those entries are fun."

The shuddering mass of ooze stomped blindly up the wide cargo ramp. General George Bowe watched, fascinated. "Remember the plan."
The pilot nodded warily as his cargo plane took on its unlikely passenger. "I drop it on the feeding zone, then lure it to the visitor centre."
"And flush out their last hiding place." Bowe was almost shuddering himself, with anticipation. That wasn't part of the character, however, so he kept it in check.
An anonymous labcoat ran up beside him. "Sir! We've found it."
He was willing to excuse the insolence, this once, because he was in a very good mood. "Well done. Install it in the conference room, and have our religious friends join me. We'll all be on the same page, very soon." He glanced back at up the plane. "All of us."
Isn't it lovely when a plan comes together.

"Call coming in from 43."
"Christ, I thought we were done with that. Put 'em on."
Dr. Daniil Sokolsky's image appeared on the board. "Finally! We're under attack." He paused. "Sort of."
"Everyone's under attack," Dan sighed. "You were in the queue. But… how are you under attack? You've got those memetic billboards up, and anyway the Bowelition already gave up on you."
There were scattered snickers at the term 'Bowelition', and Dan fought back a smirk.
Sokolsky waved a hand dismissively, nearly striking the webcam. "We think this is a straggler. They crop-dusted the billboards with 3533…" Dan's brain filled in the name, Metaphysiclean! "…so they don't work anymore."
Dan rolled his shoulders. Chemical warfare after all. "Alright, well, describe the anomaly."
This time Sokolsky did strike the webcam. "It's 4119."
Dan blinked. "Miss Dynamite?"
"Yeah. She's dynamiting shit on Highway 21. Took out a retreating Mekhanite convoy — not too upset about that, obviously — but also every drone we've sent after her. We know the containment procedures, we just can't implement them at range!"
Dan thought about that for a second. Just for a second. "Good speakers on those drones?"

She looked up at the clouds, fighting the urge to look at the sun. Fighting the urge to look down at the trees, at the birds, at any discrete, explodable object. Without her goggles, it was rough going.
She didn't have an overall game plan, except perhaps to make enough noise that someone would finally take notice. She'd been in containment long enough to know that cooperation got you privileges, but only chaos got you change.
The general had confirmed that point for her.
"Thalia Contreras!" She couldn't tell where the voice was coming from; it seemed, in fact, to be coming from every direction at once. She scanned the horizon.
"I'm Dr. Dan. We haven't met."
"Obviously. Or you'd have exploded." There. She spotted the drone, and the drone was suddenly spotted with a viscous, orange fluid, and then even more suddenly the drone was violently gone. Boom.
"I realize you're frustrated," the voice continued from slightly less directions than before. "I've looked over your file, and it hasn't been updated in quite some time." Another one. Boom. "Maybe you'd like to talk about that?"
"Talking never got me anywhere." Now that she knew they were coming from all directions, all she had to do was turn in place. Boom. Boom. Boom.
"It might, if you talk to the right person. A person in the right frame of mind."
"Terrified, you mean?" Boom.
"Conciliatory. How's this strike you: the Foundation has diplomatic relations across multiple alternate universes. What say we try and find the one you come from, maybe let you head back there some day?"
She paused. She could almost hear the drones circling, at extreme range. She wondered if she could just pirouette, once, and take care of them all. But she hesitated. "Why should I believe that? If I've learned one thing about you people, it's that you don't tell the skips anything."
"Well, that's about to change." The voice sounded honest, if distant and tinny. "After what's happened this week, there's really no going back to the way things were."
She considered this for a moment, then sighed. "I don't know where I'm going, anyway." She sat down on the tarmac, and closed her eyes.

"No time to celebrate. Got something on a subway security camera, in… Tokyo."
Ouch. "Okay, let's see it."
The image that formed on the main screen was… odd. The subway car was empty, save for one solitary man sitting on one of the bucket seats. It looked like someone had sprayed him, and the seat, with a fire extinguisher.
Dan actually gasped. "Motherfucker."
The dust which covered the man was slowly spreading to the other seats. He was breathing, low and slow, and his eyes were shut tight.
"I need access to the subway's… oh, hell. I need access to the subway's PA system. Can you swing that?"
Frewer nodded. "Got it already. Overwatch don't fuck around. Say the word!"
Dan took a deep breath. "Put me on."

"Harold? Can you hear me?"
Harold Thompson, former SCP Foundation researcher and present marble-themed King Midas, looked blindly up at the subway car ceiling. "Who's… there?" he rasped, a cloud of dust bursting from his cracked lips.
"Harold, please listen closely."
"Don't… you mean… SCP… 28… 60?"
"Real names only, doctor-to-doctor. It's me, Dan."
Thompson coughed, and the seats across the aisle began to turn grey. "Dan? Who…" He coughed again. "Dan who?"
There was a pause. "Dr. Dan," the voice muttered.
Thompson began to laugh; it ended, as it always did, in more coughing. "I thought… we were using… real… names?"
Silence on the PA, for a moment. Then, reluctantly: "Fine. It's Cosmo."
"Cosmo." Thompson nodded, slowly. "I thought… you… were dead."
"And I thought you were in a coma."
"Lots of… coma people… walking around… today." Thompson started chewing the grains between his teeth.
"We're gonna try and get you out of there as soon as possible," said Dan, "but I need you to do something for me."
The middle-aged pseudo-statue uttered a gravelly, choking sound. It might have been a second attempt at laughter. "What… can I do for you… Dr. Dan?"
"Stay in the car. We can remote-close those doors, but you're more than capable of opening them when you hit the next station. Even in your condition."
Thompson nodded, painfully. "That's… what Bowe… wants, right? Concrete… man… goes berserk… in a crowd."
"No, he wants you to want to do that, and he wants me to think you will, so I'll have to play my hand. Shut down the entire Tokyo subway, or quarantine one of the largest cities on earth. Anything to keep that dust from getting out. He wants to use you to prove a point."
Thompson wiped a layer of dust off his face. "And you'd rather… I stayed… put."
"Yes. And I think you will."
Thompson slouched in his seat. "Why."
There was silence in the subway car for a moment.
"You haven't… got… an answer. Maybe… I want… an entire… city… of dust. To keep… me… company. Maybe… I'm going… to make you… kill me."
Another moment of silence.
"You know… what this… is like. The waiting. You… you know. You must."
The PA system finally came back on. "I'll write up a decommissioning order myself, if you stay in that car. If you don't, I'll… well. It won't be worth my time, then, will it?"
Thompson stared unseeingly into space. He blinked, slowly, with great care.
Finally: "I hope… they use… your plan… this time."

Dan watched as the train was decontaminated. The passengers had been told that the sculpture in the closed-off car was a spontaneous art project, and could not be moved for copyright reasons. It was shaky, as cover stories went, but it held.
"Did you think he was going to walk out of there on you?" Frewer asked.
"No."
"But you had to say what you said, anyway. Just in case."
Dan wrinkled his nose. "We all take bad cop lessons. It's not pretty, but it works."
Frewer nodded, and patted him on the shoulder. "It bugged you, huh? Old softie." He stood up. "Your secret's safe with me, Cosmo."
Safiro sat down in his chair, eyebrow already raised. "Cosmo?"
"Yeah, who's Cosmo?" Sophia Light was standing at the double doors again. Vaux was standing beside her, struggling with a full tray of coffee.
Dan blew out his cheeks. "If that whole tray's for me, I'll tell you."

General Jack Wilford watched the cargo plane head back towards Site-19. "Almost missed them."
The chopper pilot glanced back at him. "Our stealth tech is good. Maybe too good."
"Why do we even have a plane big enough to carry that thing?" He looked down at the galumphing mass of dirt, uprooted trees, and viscous black sludge which was staggering towards the canyon.
"So we can take it home when it gets out." The pilot frowned. "I hope we've got a second plane that isn't at 19."
"Alright, well, let's track the fucker for a mile or so, then call it in and pick up our passenger."
The pilot nodded. "I hope Dr. Goggles knows what he's doing, this time."
Wilford scowled. "He always knows what he's doing. That's the problem."

"WHERE?" it wheezed, spitting up gallons of black goop. "WHERE?!"
An excellent question! said the voice in its head. Where, where, where. But where what?
"Where ARE they?! I can't see them! I can't SMELL them!" It snapped its massive jaws, clipping the vast, undulating tongue and drawing a sheet of dark red blood. "I can smell YOU. I can't SEE you, but I can SMELL you. I can't see ANYTHING!"
And I can't smell anything, the voice purred. But I can hear you just fine. You needn't even speak; I know how difficult that is for you. The voice paused. You have marvellous diction, however.
It thrust one gigantic, sopping foot through the roof of a green sedan, clutching at the interior with its claws. It barrelled lopsidedly through the parking lot, wearing the car like a squealing metal shoe. "Shut UP!" it roared, wetly.
Let me take a different tack, then. Something more direct. What are we looking for?
"PEOPLE!"
And why are we looking for them?
It swung its tail in a wide arc, demolishing a row of information stands. "PAIN."
The voice sounded satisfied, smug even. I can get on board with that.

Vaux stared at the monitor. "What."
"It's… 682," Light said. "And it's wearing 035… as a hat."
Dan felt like singing.

Go into the building.
It strode through the corrugated awning and the thin, warm-weather walls like they were nothing at all.
There's always humans here. They infest spaces like this.
"They're an infestation," the reptile agreed. Together they smashed their way through a long, glass-ceilinged hallway. There were maps on the walls, and video monitors, and kiosks. It scraped the ragged remains of the car across everything, reducing the room to splinters and pulp.
They're hiding, but they're here. These weak shelters fall apart without the little termites to maintain them.
"Termites," it squealed, putting one foot clean through the cracking floor and tearing up the foundation from above.

The room was silent. Everyone but Dan was transfixed.
"Wow," Light finally managed.
Dan nodded. "Bowe's getting desperate. This horrible idea was old even back when I was still gainfully employed." He swanned into the middle of the room, arms extended, and turned a pirouette. "682 can regen the ectoplasmic burns, and 035 can give it focus and direction."
"You don't seem particularly upset," said Safiro. She did.
"I'm not. They're headed for nowhere."
"What?" Safiro was staring at him, now. "They're heading… they're heading for our backup base!"
He shook his head. "Who said anything about a backup base?"
Light put one hand on his shoulder, and he stopped spinning. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
He grinned at her. "Yes. I'm orchestrating my masterpiece."
He walked over to an unoccupied console, and pressed a button. "Tau-1, this is Dr. Dan."
"Go ahead," Wilford growled.
"Execute Duke Protocol."

They burst out of the structure in a hail of glass and timber, and were confronted with what should have been an awe-inspiring sight. Neither of them were capable of awe, so instead they looked down at the enormous cleft in the ground with equal parts frustration and surprise.
That, said the voice, is one very large hole.
"Where are the PEOPLE?" the reptile bellowed, its voice echoing across the Grand Canyon. "The FILTHY, STUPID, DISGUSTING PEOPLE?!" It swept at the ground in front of it, tearing great jagged rifts in the rock.
Does it matter? We're free! We can do whatever we want!
"I WANT," it hollered, blood oozing between its teeth, "PAIN!"
"Got your pain right here, you ugly green fuck," a familiar voice boomed from the heavens.
They both looked up — the mask didn't have much choice in the matter — and saw that the new voice had come from a helicopter which they hadn't been able to hear over the lizard's ragged breathing and perpetual low-tone growl.
The helicopter's door was open.
There was a man standing in the open door.
A man surrounded by—

"What?" Vaux almost shouted. "What?"
"WHAT?!" Light shouted.

A man surrounded by butterflies, in every colour of the rainbow, fluttering in the downdraft and dancing merrily around him. He had a cruel, severe look on his pinched, bearded face, an old-fashioned camera around his neck and a military cap on his salt-and-pepper mane. He was grinning down at the pair of them with thoroughly manic enthusiasm.
"You ready for round two, dumb and ugly?" He was speaking through a megaphone. "You're dumb, you're ugly. If you can't tell who I'm pointing at, you can draw straws. Or, you could, if you had opposable thumbs like honest, sapient creatures do."
There was a fire burning in the reptile's heart, and two fires burning in its brain. "KILL."
Yes, let's.

"Please explain," Light breathed.
"What, and take all the fun out of it?" Dan's hands were in his pockets again, and he was rocking back and forth on his heels, smiling serenely.

The thing it knew as Kondraki, the thing which had dared, which had dared to ride you, okay, I see why that would be upsetting but please let's stay focused! Don't do anything rash.
"GET OUT OF MY THOUGHTS." It leapt into the air and snapped at the chopper, which pulled away from the ledge and hovered over a two-kilometre drop. "GET OFF MY FACE."
"Oh, is that your face?" Kondraki taunted. "I thought it was your back end."
It snapped its head to and fro, searching the landscape. "THERE." It lumbered into motion.
There? There what?
It ran pell-mell back towards the parking lot, picking up speed as it plowed through minivans, trucks and motorcycles. Once it had run far enough, it began making a wide turn.
I don't think I like where this is heading. I don't think I like where we are heading.
"HE DARED."
Yes, but that doesn't mean you need to dare him back!
It was now charging towards the canyon, towards the helicopter, towards a rocky outcropping which could serve as a makeshift…
You can't be serious.
"DIE," it howled, with all the fury of an indestructible hell-beast scorned, and it thrust them both over the edge of the precipice.
Kondraki flipped the megaphone off the tips of his fingers, and it followed them down.

Dan hadn't often wished he lived in a movie, but he did right now. Time would slow to a crawl, the vignette would be perfectly framed: the gigantic lizard, slathered in dripping black ooze and burgundy blood, leaping into the empty space above the canyon. Its jaws snapping at the helicopter which banked hard away from it, the man with the butterflies waving goodbye with his right hand and making a rude gesture with his left, laughing. Postcard-perfect.
In reality it looked like someone had thrown a gigantic pile of rotten garbage off a cliff. The reptile crashed to the bottom of the ravine with comical speed.
The resolution on the feed wasn't nearly good enough, but Dan imagined, he imagined that the expression on the mask turned from comedy to tragedy just before it hit the ground.

There was a moment of silence, and then the room exploded.
As Safiro called up the Site-19 tally and checked off the final two major anomalies, as ten researchers and five agents loudly applauded, Sophia Light gave him a warm, appraising look. "408?"
He winked at her. "408."
"I don't get it," said Vaux. His face reflected this statement.
"The butterflies," Light explained. "They're illusionists. They manipulate colour to take any form they want to." She laughed, rolling her eyes. "Damn, you really had me going there, Cosmo."
He sighed. He suddenly felt like he might collapse; the endless moment of crisis had passed, and the past week was suddenly asserting itself.
Something dawned on her. "Wait. Cosmo. Did you… did you redact your last name so people wouldn't know you'd changed your first name?"
He sat down at the SCP-179 console, and laid his head down on it. "Machiavelli got nothing on me." He closed his eyes.
She tapped him on the shoulder. "682's going to wake up any second now. It'll be injured, but it'll be hopping mad."
He rubbed his face into his labcoat sleeve. "It'll knock itself out in about five minutes."
"What? How? Why?"
He smiled, where no-one could see it.
"Because hell is other anomalies."

This is all your fault.
"SHUT UP!" It launched itself into the canyon wall, dragging two of its broken legs behind it. It smeared its face across the limestone, trying to dislodge the mask. "YOU STUPID, POINTLESS THING! SHUT UP!"
We should've been invincible, you and I! With your brawn, and my brains, the sky was the limit! And you threw us down a hole. You let that idiot human manipulate you!
"SHUT UP!" It reared back and smashed itself into the wall again, and a rain of boulders slammed into its back.
You're as bad as they are.
"SHUT UP!"
You're as stupid as they are.
"SHUT UP!"
You might as well be human, you're so worthless and—
"SHUT UP!" It drove itself into the rocks, thrashing and squealing and trailing blood and black ooze, hammering itself against the immemorial solidity of the Arizonan strata until neither of them could say anything for quite some time.

"Dan." He was shaking. Someone was shaking him? "Dan."
Someone was shaking him. He woke up. "How… how long…"
"Just a few hours. Sorry."
He pulled himself together, every fibre fighting against the effort. "Uuuuugh." Light and Safiro were standing beside him; he squinted at the latter. "Couldn't sleep?"
She shook her head.
"Me either, apparently."
Light was smiling. "Tau-1 just called in. They're routing us a message from Site-19."
He nodded. "I'm not gonna stand up."
She inclined her head, and Frewer hit a button on his console. The beaming visage of General George Bowe appeared on the centre screen.
Dan waved, and yawned. "This… one of those ominous defeat speeches?" He ran his tongue around the inside of his desert-dry mouth. "Or is it an ominous victory speech?"
"That depends on your perspective." Bowe looked prim, proper and pressed, the very model of a modern army general. "Though I doubt ours are all that different, at this point."
Dan climbed groggily to his feet. "Yeah, we've been through a lot together, you and I."
"Two dead men, having a party." Bowe hadn't shut his mouth since the feed had started, and Dan found himself staring at those unnaturally-white teeth.
"I do feel like death." He looked around the room; no more energy drinks. He sighed, and it felt like half his soul came out with the sound.
Bowe raised both eyebrows. "But I've given you a purpose! I've given you new life."
Dan was still staring at those teeth. Suddenly, he was staring at a dead pixel in the centre of one of them.
A dead pixel? In Site-01?
Bowe shut his mouth with an audible snap. "And now, I'm taking it away. Goodbye, Dr. Dan."
The transmission died.
Frewer spoke first. "Sir, we've got—"
"I know. I know, I know, I know." Dan was having trouble breathing. "I know. Shit. Uh. Shit. Get that chopper back here, I need… I need to go. Call Wilford. Take me to the launch pad." He smacked a palm into his forehead. "No. No time for that." Time's up. His eyes were watering. "Shit shit SHIT SHIT."
"What's going on?" Light tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but he was pacing too quickly for her.
"We don't get dead pixels in Site-01. We don't even use screens that can get dead pixels."
"What are you talking about?"
Safiro cleared her throat. "Site-17 just had a containment breach." She was staring at Dan. "096."
"The fucker," Dan muttered. "Fucked me with my own plan. Is the chopper ready?" He headed for the doors.
A voice came over the radio. Wilford. "We're tracking 096. Get Dr. Dan out, ASAP. As long as he's there, the Council is in danger."
"They're all somewhere else," said Dan. His eyes were darting back and forth. "Can't have O5s where there's an active anomaly."
Light furrowed her brow. "What? What active anomaly? There's no active anomalies allowed at Si—"
"Sir," said Frewer, pointing at the screen. "You're gonna want to see this."
"It's too late. It was always too late." He had one hand on the door handle. "I have to go, now. It'll be here in minutes."
"We're not gonna just let you die," Light whispered. This time she did put one hand on his shoulder. "We'll figure it out."
"I'm already dead," he said. "This is just the burial at s—"
"SIR!" Frewer was shouting. "You are DEFINITELY gonna want to see THIS!"

The gangly grey streak burst across the American plains, running fit to shame the wind. There was a sonic boom.
It wasn't running THAT fast.
"The breath of shuttered childhood breaks upon the fetid fragments of the fear unspoken in the fragrant watches of the emptiness beside the—"
"MOON"

They watched in breathless silence as Moon Champion swooped down, cardiovascular steed writhing between his clenched thighs, and snatched the bolting demon from the ground. Both monsters thrashed and kicked and tore at each other as they broke the sound barrier again.
"It has been an honour, a pleasure, a scholar and a gentleman." Moon Champion's voice was so loud, the speakers crackled. "You, sir, are a steely-eyed missile Dan, and I salute you."
Dan almost cried.
The radio crackled again. "Now, why don't I fix your little problem and LIGHT THIS CANDLE?"
Dan did cry.

"Ascend," Sauelsuesor sang in Moon Champion's heart. "I'm here."
"My lady!"
"My champion," she smiled. He could feel it. The smiling.
He released his thighs and kicked, and the already thoroughly-flattened cow-heart-spider tumbled down into the sky, still gibbering inanely to itself.
The grey beast clawed at his face/mask, it screeched and wailed and tore blindly at him. He gunned the jetpack harder, and hugged it close.
"Honey!" He was almost screaming, as the atmosphere broke around them in liquid flame. "I'm coming home, and I brought dinner!"

Dan stared at the screen.
"I guess that's a wrap on Moon Champion," Frewer whispered.
Dan dried his face with his labcoat sleeve, then looked at his team through bleary eyes. Light, Vaux, and Safiro were staring at him. He couldn't figure out their expressions. Suddenly, he couldn't figure anything out. How do brains?
He fell back, catching himself on a console. He didn't trust himself to speak.
"Time to clean up," Light said. She turned to Safiro. "Gather your shift. I want everyone in the common room in half an hour, for debriefing."
Dan snapped his fingers, and it worked this time. "One more thing, actually."
Light arched an eyebrow. "What?"

"This is a waste of time," Bumaro growled.
"We're back in school?" asked Yttoric, arms folded in front of him.
Bowe began to write on the whiteboard. "This is where our disagreements end."

THE CHURCHES MUST PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO BOWE

He turned to face them again.
Bumaro nodded. "Creepy."
Ytorric nodded as well. "Yes, very creepy. So what?"
Bowe turned back to the whiteboard. There was a new message below his:

i dont know who that is

He turned to look at the researcher who was standing by the door. "What the hell is this?"
The man looked both terrified and confused. "I don't know!" He shook his head. "Uh… maybe there's more than one anomalous whiteboard?"

Dan walked over to the whiteboard, uncapped a marker and wrote, slowly and deliberately:

THE SPIES MUST CONFESS

"I'm watching you for O5," Frewer said immediately.
"I'm watching for you General Wilford," said a woman behind him.
"I'm an informant for the Chaos Insurgency," Safiro remarked, and then she actually put both hands over her mouth.
Everyone in the room turned to stare at her in shock. Everyone except for Dr. Dan. "And an excellent informant you were, Kelly. It was like having an inside man at Site-19, I couldn't have asked for more." He capped the marker. "I think you'll find it significantly harder to send messages off-Site now, though."
Light's mouth was moving, but she wasn't saying anything. Dan tapped the whiteboard with the marker. "You wouldn't believe the paperwork it takes to bring an anomaly to Site-01. I give you SCP-2330, the memetic compulsion whiteboard. It wasn't easy smuggling it out during a siege, either, let me tell you." He erased the board completely, scrawled one final message:

THAT'S ALL, FOLKS

and then headed for the door.
The agents moved to restrain an unmoving Safiro, and Light followed Dan in a daze. "Hey, wait up."
"I don't know how much wait-up juice I have left," he said, as they passed through the double doors.
"Are you mad at me?"
He stopped and turned, barely resisting the urge to yawn in her face. "About?"
"You know damn well what about."
He shrugged. "I knew you wouldn't shoot it into the sun. I say you, but I actually mean them. Maybe you would've."
She nodded. "In a heartbeat."
He smiled at her, and began to walk away again.
Suddenly, the events of the past hours cascaded over her in a wave of unresolved insanity. "Wait, though. 408 can't actually speak, and I don't think they can hold a megaphone. Can they, Dan?"
He was sweeping down the hall, labcoat billowing behind him.
She ran to catch up. "Dan?! Can they?!"

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