"Okay, let's start from the top. Tell us everything that happened, in order. Starting from the dispatch."
"I got the hit on the radio — '42-7, 459 at 38657 Green Street'. Only a couple blocks away. I hit the siren, pulled a U-turn and went straight there. Got there before any backup did. Couldn't wait, bust down the door. Whole place was silent. Had my pistol out. Moved door to door on the first floor, kicking them down. Some were open already. Got to the kids' bedroom — shoulda guessed, the sicko — and bust it down. Didn't have time to take in the scene, only noticed the 'sitter sprawled out on the floor afterwards. First thing I saw was this… mime? It was a tall, skinny man, in all black and white and wearing black and white face paint. Held a big rainbow umbrella. Slick, oily black hair. It looked like it was supposed to be a mime, but it was really smeared. He was bruised too, so it was black and white and purple. He had both kids under his arms, hunched over almost sheltering them. They were crying hard. He yelled something about a tourist trap, and… the floor opened up behind him and he fell back into it. Pulled the two kids in with him. I was so taken aback, I shot instinctively. Heard a yelp, so I must have hit him somewhere. He fell into the hole with the kids, and it closed up after him. Like a wormhole or something. The place has been looked up and down, no sign of no nothin' odd like that in the house."
"Have you ever had episodes before? Hallucinations, a history of mental illness?"
"You don't very easily get into the business with a history of mental illness. No, I've had none of that."
"Any other odd kidnappings recently? Anything… clown related?"
"No, can't say anything comes to mind."
"Police sketches have come up with nothing, I see."
"Behind that face paint, it could really be anyone."
"Alright, stay here."
Wójcik stood up and left the room to meet with his comrades. As he closed the door behind him the familiar hiss of gas and the subsequent panic from the policeman was shut out by soundproof walls. It clicked behind him, and locked on its own.
"It certainly looks like he's got more than just a magic car, but it's all got to do with teleporting. Guy said that he was chanting something about a tourist trap before he fell through the floor. What did the girl say?"
"She says that the guy said he lived there. Command is looking through the previous inhabitants of the house as we speak. Said that he wasn't armed or anything. Looks like he didn't expect anybody to be home."
"I'd say we've stumbled into some basic detective work — pretty rare in our neck of the woods. Looks to be following the normal arc. His first two victims were accidents. We're probably looking at some kind of pedophile. Knows his way around the internet, can pick anybody up anywhere. As far as kidnappers go, he's got quite the gig."
The door behind the two faux FBI agents popped open, and a young man, almost considered a boy, poked his head in and eagerly awaited recognition.
"What's the news?"
He bounced a little. "Two more kidnappings in East India. Same car — spray painted black Ferrari with some pink sticking out from under its new coat. Same situation of kids just sitting on the side of the street waiting to get picked up. Same story of losing the car behind corners when they could have sworn they were right up on its tail." The kid sprung out the door and sprinted to wherever it was he needed to go.
"Seems he likes India and Egypt."
"It certainly seems like it."

Nothing for days. Operative Baxter had heard that those over in India had gotten close one or two times, but Cairo, Egypt was as quiet as ever. Well, it had the bustle and hustle expected of a city its size, but kidnappings were in short supply. A lack of kidnappings would have been all fine and good if Baxter didn't feel that any kidnappings that didn't happen in Cairo were just happening somewhere else. If they ended up in his jurisdiction, he thought, he could put an end to them. Mark just sat in his car — a modified blue Mercedes Benz — with Operative Lynn to his right and chewed on tobacco. Lynn was loudly consuming a burger that she had gotten a couple hours ago but was only hungry for now. The two operatives stewed in silence, minding their own business and staring at the kid on the corner.
The little boy (most of his victims were little boys) was wearing a green shirt that said "Keep Calm & Read a Book" and some torn up khakis. The kid couldn't have been more than 10. What he was doing out and about with no supervision in the city was purely odd. He just stood there, looking around him a couple times, and kicking some trash around. He was like this for at least an hour and a half, because they had been spying on him that long. It bugged Lynn that they weren't going to try and save him from anything, but she understood why. No kid, no kidnapping, no catching a kidnapper.
And so they waited, and waited, and waited. The shadows stretched as the sun kept going down, people passed back and forth, cars zoomed every which way, and the kid just kept standing there. Lynn had long since finished her burger, and pulled out her laptop. The child had sat down on the curb by this point. Lynn was typing away at something — a .txt file from what Baxter could tell. Something fictional.
"What's that?"
Lynn just glanced up at Baxter and pursed her lips for a second. Eye contact was held for around ten seconds before Lynn turned away and closed her laptop.
"I'm going to get another burger."
"Stay on the radio."
The door slammed behind her. Now that she was gone, Baxter rolled down the window and pulled out a cigarette. His hands were a bit shaky, and it was more challenging than normally would be. The cigarette was lit, and Baxter's nerves were calmed. Then, of course, he waited… and waited, and waited, and waited. The street became black. Baxter noted just how long Lynn was gone. He knew she was mad, but this was bordering on compromising the mission. Was that…? In the heavy traffic, Baxter thought he spotted a black car with pink undertones — the door opened and startled Baxter.
"You were gone a long time."
"I needed some air. Where's the kid?"
"The kid?"
The kid was gone, and they both spied a black Ferrari careening around the corner. Lynn slammed the door shut, Baxter slammed the gas, and they were off. The car squealed into gear and drifted around the corner, prompting multiple honks and displeased drivers. They had until the car got out of city limits to tag it; the car could only disappear if nobody could see it. Lynn scrambled to get her seat open, and pulled the tracker rifle out of it. Baxter pulled out his phone, hit a button, and had the car suddenly burst into police sirens.
The Ferrari, windows too tinted to make out the passenger or driver, drove erratically. It swerved and slid and skid on the pavement, blowing a noxious grey emission behind it. The pedestrians on the sides screamed and fled into buildings, confused cars pulled over at the sound of sirens.
"We've got him, requesting backup by Garden City, find us on the radar!" Baxter yelled into the transceiver. This place was far too crowded to really get out of sight, why would he have come here? They turned another corner, and the Nile was in sight. The Ferrari grated against the pavement as it hit a street light with its right bumper. Click. They needed to stop them from getting to the water.
A couple shots resounded in the streets as Lynn leaned out the window and shot the tracker rifle. The Ferrari barely escaped the two shots, one landing on a garbage can and another breaking a window. For such an anarchic driver, they must have been blessed with some unholy luck. Lynn began to clamber out of the window, sliding on two slabs of magnet into the heels of her shoes. Her feet made a loud clang as they stuck onto the sides of the car, and the sound moved up onto the roof. Baxter bee-lined for the kidnapper, who in turn headed straight for the river.
Lynn steadied the rifle as best she could while she got jostled from side to side, clinging to the roof by the soles of her feet. She fired just as the Ferrari turned the corner. Why did it do that? The thought was interrupted by her insides pushing to one side. Baxter turned the corner and the car screeched. There was a commotion as the Ferrari ran over someone's leg. Baxter, caught by surprise, turned the car sideways and was forced to stop to make sure he didn't hit the crowd. Lynn, seeing the Ferrari darting out of sight, made her movements quick. Reinforcements weren't going to get there fast enough, and Baxter was incapacitated by the crowd. She found a stopped car, pushed the driver aside and started driving. She kicked it into gear and slid onto the sidewalk and pressed on the car horn. Civilians fled this way and that, and Lynn ground her teeth. The Ferrari was getting too far away for comfort. She saw the break in the railing on the side, a few more feet that way. The car was too far away to hit, how would she bridge the gap?
There was a big cargo boat in the Nile. She only had the faintest idea of what to do, but her instinct pulled her to the left. While the car was still running, she rolled down the window and climbed out onto the hood of the car. She had to use the momentum of the impact to make this work. Her heart felt like bursting, but this child abducting bastard wasn't going to get away with this. Not in a million years. Not on Lynn's watch.
She remembered at the last second that she was tied down by her magnetic heels.
Trying to mitigate the damage, she attempted to jump, but was only able to get one foot off of the hood of the car before the crash. Sure, she was able to get off of the car, but she could tell that adrenaline was a merciful drug. Her left knee was more than dislocated; it was shattered. She spun three times in the air before her right foot banged into the side of the boat. Reeling in pain and lurching forwards to keep her head out of the water, she spied the Ferrari crashing off of the street and lurching towards the river. Using her hatred and the last of her strength, she ignored what was now both of her broken legs and raised her rifle.
The scope dipped in and out of the blue swaying waves. Each time it got closer to the car. Closer, and closer, and closer. Almost, almost, almost —
Shhhhhhhp
The car crashed into the water and began to sink. Lynn dropped her rifle and stared at the wreckage as it sunk into the Nile, out of sight. She heard commotion as crew members noticed her hanging off the side, and began to help her up. She collapsed onto the deck and recoiled at the pain. Staring at the grande Egyptian starlit sky, she grinned in smug victory.

Team Leader Baxter and Quartermaster Wójcik and a handful of other random nameless field operatives and researchers were split between a couple of helicopters and talking over intercoms. They were high above the Pacific Northwestern wilderness, somewhere over the tall woods of Washington. If business wasn't so serious, Baxter might have taken the time to enjoy the greenery. However, he was missing a partner, and it was getting to him. Wójcik's haggard old voice came through the ear piece and startled Baxter out of his intimate moment with the landscape.
"We're coming up on the blip, get ready to drop."
Baxter shifted in his seat and grabbed onto a pole to steady himself as the helicopter dove low over a small valley between the hills. The big metal vehicles hovered as ladders were tossed down off the sides. Operatives and researchers alike began to scale the ropes and drop onto the forest floor. People still in the helicopters threw down large bags full of tents, stoves, weaponry, reality readers, deconstructed work stations, MREs, and the like. Everything needed to keep a search-and-research-and-rescue operation in working order for a week or more. Baxter caught another bag full of something heavier than he was expecting. The impact made him release an "oof", and he plopped it down next to a group of idlers who were beginning to pick things up and separate the supplies into useful organized piles. After it was all said and done, and the last stragglers remaining in the helicopters had hopped onto the ground and saluted the pilots, everyone but a small group began constructing tents and impromptu laboratories. Some set up shooting ranges, others constructed rifles out of parts, others had begun constructing some fire pits. The place was buzzing with humming conversation and the sounds of hard physical labor.
Team Leader Baxter, Quartermaster Wójcik, Lead Researcher Voynich, and a handful of other operatives and researchers of various types all began a hike to the blip. They wanted distance from it, because it is usually a smart decision to not sleep too close to an anomaly. No matter how benign an oddity might seem, the baseline is that they were unpredictable, and you don't want to be faced with unpredictability while half awake — and you most certainly don't want to deal with the consequences of unpredictability while unconscious. The walk was mild; mostly flat and only took about an hour or two. Along the way, Baxter could hear some of the researchers at the front mumbling something about the trees. Baxter looked intently at the wood, and noticed that all the trees were oddly elongated. It was as if they were being stretched towards the center of this area. Even their branches were thick and thin at odd intervals, giving the area a discomforting distortion to it.
Soon enough, they arrived at the blip. After Lynn had hit the Ferrari, the GPS tracker disappeared off of Cairo and landed right here. The center of this whole disproportionate woodland was the blip, and it had a pervasive shrine-like feeling. All the elongated trees clearly pointed to this spot as the center. At the very center, several disfigured rodents and birds were laid and fused on top of each other. Voynich suggested that no one step over the spot. The sentiment was unanimous. Some simple experimentation showed that people on one side of the blip could not hear people on the other side of the blip. Just standing a foot away from someone around the blip and you would have to yell to make any impression on them. An operative took a tangerine they had been carrying with them and tossed it onto the blip. It stayed in shape at first, but within a minute it rapidly flattened and its contents oozed and spiraled out from the center. Its rinds became intertwined with bird feathers and squirrel skin, and its juice dried extremely quickly. Finally, Voynich handed Baxter a GPS tracker and walked to the other side of the blip carrying a separate GPS tracker with him. Wójcik stared at his devices for a second, and then showed the results to Voynich. They both circled the blip and came back, uncomfortably close to Baxter so as to disclose the information with no threat of hearing issues.
"The trackers don't lie, and they say that this side of the blip is more than 4 kilometers away from the other side of the blip. We can't hear each other because whatever magic is making our bodies stay intact as we move is not hiding the fact that sound is having to travel miles to reach the other people. Speaking of bodies staying intact, we should vacate the area. Who knows what prolonged exposure can do to someone. Should we walk and talk?"
Baxter and Wójcik nodded.
"Good, then. The easy assumption to make here is that KTE-12079, 'Child Predator', is somehow inside the 4 kilometer long space inbetween where we stood. The original assumption that 'Child Predator' entered a pocket dimension or extradimensional space is far less likely than him — we think it's a him, correct? — having a space that exists on planet earth but is being masked by a spatial anomaly surrounding it. The way the trees and landscape are stretched suggests that it's trying to fill in where the previous space used to be. It's probably some separate extra magic that allows us to walk through the area without stretching ourselves. I suppose we should be thankful we are dealing with someone who likes to keep up an appearance, whether that be makeup or otherwise."
Voynich stopped suddenly and addressed the small crowd of researchers jotting down notes.
"We know where it is, we know what it is, we have our fair share of anomalous operatives and devices on the case — now all we need to do is take the blip and crack it open. Men, get ready to face off against this century's most creative pedophile."

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w/ Wondertainment Theme

w/o Wondertainment Theme


Lana woke up early that morning. Instantly, her gaze fell onto the form still sleeping beside her; her girlfriend, Maria. Lana smiled absently, and shifted from the bed in a way that wouldn't wake her partner, sleeping soundly. She was gorgeous, and Lana would never stop being surprised that the young woman chose to be with her.
As she stood, her plump - no, fat, always fat - thighs rubbed together and jiggled as though there was an earthquake. She grimaced and pulled her pyjama shorts down a little, though it felt like they strained and failed to cover her thighs. She had a photo shoot today, and that always meant a lot of work beforehand.
She headed to the en-suite, walking past photos framed on the wall. Some of her alone, from the agency, but many of the two together. At a glance, Lana could see when she was thinner, she could see herself as she was meant to be; a low collared top showing her collarbone, a close-up showing her cheekbones. She was surprised that her agency had kept her on, with her weight creeping up to the point of her being a wobbly, jelly-like creature with the cellulite and stretch marks that gave her body texture.

"Fat, always fat."

She paused at the dresser and got out the small bag of tools that would prepare her for the day. On the bed, Maria snorted softly and rolled onto her other side, still asleep. Good. Lana hated having an audience when she was preparing. She took her bag through into the en-suite, shutting the door behind herself and turning on the lights around the mirror.
“There's the answer if you want it,” her mind teased.
She ran her hand across her plump cheek. One more pound and she was sure she would be dropped by her agency; one more pound and Maria would leave her. She felt sure of it all, despite these words not being exchanged. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
“It's okay. They'll give you fakes. You can get everything rebuilt these days. Your tits, your arse, your face…” the delusions soothed her once more that this was the right thing to do.
She fumbled in the bag for her device of choice. Her hands gripped cold metal. She knew a way to fix everything.
Maria stirred half an hour after her partner had left the bed, her side now cold. She squinted and peered at the clock. Lana was obviously already up, and getting ready for her photoshoot. Never a better time to surprise her girlfriend, and lavish her with the reassurance Lana had made it apparent she needed as of late. Maria forced herself to wake up enough to stand and grab her dressing gown, for warmth.
She walked by the same wall Lana had not long ago, pausing at one of the professional photos taken by Lana's current agency. She was skinny back then, six months ago, but even more skinny now. Yet she insisted on going days without eating, and, when she did eat, it was always low fat, low calorie, tiny portions. Maria had lost count of the times she had told her girlfriend she was skinny enough, beautiful enough - that it wasn't sexy to have clumps of hair falling out and be too tired for anything more intimate than a kiss. The arguments were wearing them both down, but Lana was always exhausted now, it seemed, and it made Maria not want to say a word to her, especially not one born of anger.
Maria continued on her short journey to the en-suite. Lana would be in there putting her face on, preparing herself for the day ahead, and Maria just wanted to tell her how beautiful she was before she was covered in slap and her girlfriend wrongly believed Maria's attraction was just due to her make-up, and another fight started again.
Maria knocked on the door gently, and, when there was no reply, tried the handle and opened the door. What she saw there nearly made her pass out from shock; she had to clutch the counter-top to stop from falling to the ground.
Lana stood in front of the mirror but instead of blotting on foundation or finishing her eyeliner, there was a set of pliers in her hand. Blood dripped down them slowly and then ran onto the pale hand holding them. Lana's eyes were focused on the mirror - she hadn't even looked away as Maria came in.
There was the soft noise of a tooth ripping free from its gummy surroundings - a horrible noise of something breaking, fleshy and raw, and the metallic scent of a newly-opened wound. It must have hurt, but Lana didn't make a sound. She simply kept her mouth wide, wide, wide open so as not to miss a single tooth. The most recently removed one clattered into the sink with a handful of its brothers, all bloodstained and some cracked by the pressure the pliers had delivered onto them.
As Maria started to call to her, in a panic, Lana calmly went on to the next tooth, and gripped the pliers around it, imagining a future her with an amazing figure and false teeth that were perfect and straight and white, because they never chewed food, just sipped her meals through a straw. This was the answer she wanted and she was going to take it.
To Maria, it was a horror show. To Lana, it was simply the price of beauty.


Extranormal Event Report 17-6186

Phenomena Containment Class:
Keter Neutralized/Provisional Keter1

Phenomena Typology and Sub-Typology:
Transient; Manifested Object; Keter-CH2; Hume differential: 7.6 Hm3; ARAD Intensity: 8.6 kCa4; Hue: Green; Pitch: Double-Sharp; Weave: Loose; Manifested5; Metanarrative Effect: Dirty6

Responding Personnel:
Mobile Task Force Gamma-5 ("Red Herrings"), Foundation Disinformation Department Assets based out of Site-17

Date of Occurrence:
12/14/2017
Location of Event:
StellaCo Cosmetics Incorporated Research Facility, Rochester, New York
Phenomena Description:
Phenomena 17-6186 consisted of a cast-iron anvil weighing initially 180 kg, which dropped on a commercial cosmetics laboratory on 12/14/2017 at approximately 11:40 PM. The object struck the facility with enough force to penetrate the roof and two floors. It should be noted that said laboratory had been the subject of several recent protests from animal rights groups regarding their use of rabbits as test subjects. There were no casualties, but there was some mostly cosmetic damage done to the facility. Upon recovery, the object displayed heavy, rapid degradation.
Phenomena Origin:
The origin of Phenomena 17-6186 is currently unknown. The following hypothesis have been put forward by Site 17 Threat Assessment Staff:

Hume and ARAD scans indicate that the phenomena was ESSOKINETIC in nature (VERY HIGH CONFIDENCE). The Hume differential and Aspect Radiation intensity indicate that the origin of the anomaly was a CLASS-III Essokinetic at least (HIGH CONFIDENCE)

The fact that the manifested item was of a human artifact of use in metallurgy and often used in popular culture indicates that the originator of the anomaly is likely SAPIENT (HIGH CONFIDENCE) and HUMANOID (MEDIUM TO HIGH CONFIDENCE).

Given the nature of the facility targeted, and the method with which it was targeted (popular culture, specifically the classic American cartoon 'Loony Toons,' provides a link between rabbits and anvils, which may be a factor), the motivations of the originator of the anomaly is likely POLITICAL (MEDIUM TO HIGH CONFIDENCE) and/or HUMOROUS (MEDIUM CONFIDENCE). No known anomalous individual or organization has yet claimed responsibility for the phenomena.

Phenomena Containment/Suppression:
Manifested object was reported by a security guard on staff at the facility, who called the local police, describing an object falling from the sky and leaving holes in the ceiling and floor of the facility. The phrase 'Something fell from the sky' was flagged by a Foundation LAI (Limited Artificial Intelligence) which had been included in recently produced software marketed to Emergency Services. Site 17, being the closest Foundation facility with information suppression personnel on call, responded. The object was recovered, and a cover story of an unlicensed private aircraft flying in restricted space and accidentally dropping part of its landing gear was disseminated.
Phenomena Testing:
The manifested object was already displaying degradation upon recovery. As the artifacts Hume field normalized with the local brane and its Aspect Radiation dissipated, it rapidly lost density; it is believed that the matter, created via fiat Ex Nihilo, was dispersed locally via virtual particles or extradimensionally. In addition, it displayed exaggerated, aggressive oxidation. Given this rapid degeneration, there was little time for extended testing. Raman spectography indicated that the object was cast iron, and that its chemical composition, and that of the oxidation effecting it, was non-anomalous.
The rate of density loss was determined to be accelerating geometrically, and it was decided that an experiment to determine the effect of a reality destabilization device on an essokinetically manifested object would take place. The object was exposed to the event horizon of a Scranton Reality Anchor. The portion of the artifact which passed through the field of effect vanished with no perceptible release of radiation or chemical reaction. The intersecting Hume fields accelerated the decay of the portion of the object which was not exposed; it collapsed into rust immediately, and within forty seconds had vanished completely.
The damage to the facility was analyzed, and it was determined that the object had been falling at approximately 114 m/s when it struck, which would be close to terminal velocity at its assumed initial mass. It is unknown whether the object manifested with velocity, or fell until it achieved terminal velocity.
Notes, Suggested Actions, or Best Practices:
As noted, scans of the object prior to its disintegration indicate a Class-III Essokinetic, likely a humanoid, which would constitute a major threat. It is suggested that all police reports and footage of the local protests against the effected facility be reviewed, on the assumption that the originator of the anomaly would have been present.
It is also suggested that sources in the local anomalous art community and any detained members of GOI-5869 be interrogated to determine whether any members of either the online anomalous protest/humor group 'Gamers Against Weed' or the Anart collective 'Are We Cool Yet' have any members with abilities and motivations that would indicate involvement.
Assuming the originator of the anomaly is identified, it is suggested that a Class-IV Scranton Reality Anchor (perhaps mounted on a truck) be utilized during its recovery, to prevent further manifestations like Phenomena 17-6186. It is also suggested that, given the originators controlled and hazardous use of its abilities, it be designated a Keter-class SCP object upon recovery.

Footnotes
1. Phenomena Neutralized; Originator at Large
2. A C-Type classification indicates an Essokinetic (reality alteration) anomaly. An H-Level threat classification indicates a maximal threat of Information breach and a moderate threat to human life.
3. Indicates differential upon scan of manifested object upon recovery. Hume differential is determined via Kant Counter.
4. Indicates ARAD level upon scan of manifested object upon recovery. Aspect Radiation indicates local Elan Vital Energy (EVE) spikes, and is determined with VERITAS technology (recently reverse-engineered from Global Occult Coalition Technology)
5. Indicates that the anomaly was created via Essokinetic manipulation, rather than anomalously transported or constructed.
6. Indicates an anomaly that does not fit into local causality


My foot throbbed. I had never dealt with that much blood, and I couldn't really move my foot. I was crumpled on the couch, and the two kids were playing with the huge tubs of legos behind me. Cinnamon buns, warm blankets, some reassuring words, and The Aquabats had finally managed to calm them down. I was sure there was a med kit somewhere in the house, but I just hadn't the time to find it. Worst thing that could have happened was an amputated foot, and really, wouldn't that just be interesting? I thought it might just be another quirk for me to have. A new nickname, perhaps. Footless Fool. Half-a-Calf. Footloose.
No. No, I was making myself angry thinking of all of those. A nickname doesn't define a person, and you never really got to choose them, did you? Some bloke would name a trait of yours and you would forever be painted with it. Brainy Brian. Was all of me just smarts? No, no it wasn't. I was a person. I was a gosh darn human being, and I deserved more recognition than Brainy Brian. I was Brian Harding. People should have just called me Brian. I liked the name Brian. It was tough, but didn't make me sound like a jerk. Someone who could stand up for themselves, but didn't take it as far as pushing others down. Brian. Strong willed, intelligent, kind. I rescued two kids from certain death that day. If it weren't for the bullet in my ankle, I'd have been riding high on self esteem.
The two kids were Joe and Abe. They didn't really know their last names. They didn't want to talk about the scary girl who was holding them hostage. They didn't want to talk about the blue muscular man who shot me in the foot. He was mean, he must have been such a mean person. Who shoots someone in the foot? A big hunky meanie, that's who.
It took immense effort to lurch myself over the back of the couch to peer at the brothers. What was I going to do with them? I never planned on being a parent. I loved kids, but… but I loved them at a distance. I loved making toys for them. I loved getting money for it. I laid back down. Was I a bad person? I was an employee of Wondertainment, and I was a toy maker. It was impossible for me to be a bad person. Couldn't be.
Still, Wondertainment had left a bad taste in my mouth. Polly Gary Ashley, getting away with all she did without a scratch. Without a scratch, yeah, and I got shot. I wasn't good at biology, for all I knew I could have been bleeding out. Not much I could do about it at that point. Just put pressure on the wound — like I was always told — and sit there. I thought to myself that I should get Joe and Abe to their parents… but how? I already asked them, and they didn't know the phone number. Tongue usually knew what to do with things.
Eh… I didn't feel like talking to Tongue. They were my kids. I was going to give them the best life they could have. They were going to live happy and free and they were going to eat ice cream every night and watch cartoons until their heads melted. I was never going to cook them broccoli, or spinach, or any other nasty green slop. They were going to eat like kings. The kings of candy land. They were going to feast on candy canes that I grew in the backyard, and lollipops that I picked off of trees. They were always going to get two spoonfuls of sugar in their teas. Joe and Abe. Joe and Abe Harding. It rang well. It rang true. I could be a mommy too. Whenever they felt down, I would be there patting them reassuringly on the back. We could play hide and seek, except all over the world! Egypt one day, Spain the next, Brazil the third, India the fourth! We could go visit ancient temples, maybe Stonehenge, some… skyscrapers? The possibilities were endless!
Just as soon as I could walk!
I was sick of laying on the couch and thinking about myself. I didn't like thinking about myself much anyways. I was going to walk no matter how much it ground my shattered ankle pieces together. The carpets cleaned themselves anyways. Woah. It was snowing. Snowing? What was the weather in this place? I got up and winced as I shifted my weight to my left foot. I looked over at the kids, who stared at me with wide eyes. They must have still been shocked from the experience. It made sense. I don't imagine you get through something like that without some scars. They would heal in time. I would make sure of it. Had I packed anything healing? I feel like I must have. I stumbled into the kitchen, and made my way to the back door where I had left my suitcase. I had never unpacked. Fell asleep unexpectedly early last night…
I balanced myself on the walls, feeling the warm liquid drip down to the sole of my foot and then follow it to my toes. I almost slipped on the tile floor but caught myself on the counter. The first aid kit is usually in the kitchen anyways, right? Holding onto the counters and leaning at a near forty-five degree angle, I finally arrived at my suitcase. I knelt down, and opened it. There were my changes of clothes — how did my makeup look? — my pillow, my blankets, all my face paint, and… Oh. My risperdal.
I tripped and fell last night, I must not have taken it then. I missed a dose this morning. My heart fluttered. I missed two doses of risperdal? Oh no, oh my that was bad. I was told to take a dose each morning and each night, and I hadn't missed anything since I was thirteen. It had been so long, I didn't remember what was going to happen. I started twitching, and picked at the child-proof cap of the bottle. What went wrong? What happens when I go off of them? What am I like without them? Am I still Brainy? What if I took them now? What is the worst that could happen? What if the kids found out? What if management found out? What if Tongue found out?!

I emptied it into the sink.

I wondered if the car worked. I hadn't checked out the car yet. I stepped outside into the snow, and grasped my keys. It was cold. I wasn't dressed for cold weather. Wasn't I? I had gone out into the rain just… eight? Hours ago. I should have been prepared. I closed the door and locked it behind me. Who knows what kids could do if they had free roam of the outdoors. They were safer inside. The cold felt good, on second consideration. It felt good to be cold. My left foot wriggled its toes into the snow, and enjoyed how they felt bitten. The tips of my fingers began to feel the same way, just sitting in the air and catching snowflakes. The metal tip of the keys felt like ice. Same keys that opened the house and took me back to the Tourist Trap also ran the car. Wondertainment was efficient if nothing else. If nothing else indeed.
I collapsed onto the shiny pink and white ferrari, had my unresponsive fingers fumble the keys into the car door, and then clambered into the leather driver's seat. The whole thing felt like a fridge. A freezer, really. I shut the door and laid down across the… the… the middle bit, between the driver's seat and the passenger seat. This thing didn't self clean apparently. I was still leaking? It was definitely less now, but I thought it would be none. I turned on the car, and started up the heat. My breath shuddered and came and went. Well, I sure had done it. Moved myself from my couch and into the car. From thinking about myself to thinking about myself. What a good job I had done.
I punched the steering wheel, and heard a satisfying honk. Very satisfying, actually. I punched it three more times, before my hand ended up resting on it's outer edge. Whew, I was dizzy. Dizzy and warm. I felt like myself. I hadn't really ever noticed that I didn't feel like myself before. I was feeling fresh and springy. My anger subsided and began to replace itself with contentment. I really did just need a change of scenery. Up into the wilderness. Up into the Tourist Trap. Back to my old house and out again. It's funny how much life changes over short spans of time. Just three days ago I was in Wonder World!™, and now I was out in the middle of nowhere — no, the middle of everywhere, and I had become a completely different man. Or maybe I was a different man before, and only just now did I get back to being me.
I was getting very tired.

I stepped out of a train and onto the sidewalk. It chugged out from behind me, off into the blurry nothingness, and left me at the base of a large building that was hundreds if not thousands of floors high. Its walls seemed to jut out at odd angles, and floors hung in midair where they were sure to fall but didn't. The walls were pinks and purples and bright baby blues until they reached into the grey storm clouds and up and beyond even that. I walked towards the large enamored archway, past the black landscape and through a pile of dark crates and barrels that surrounded the entrance. Once inside, I was able to look up into the dimly lit skyscraper and see that I was surrounded by stairs that spiraled up and up and up through spacious, wheezing art galleries. I only saw two or three other bodies, but they were too abstract to make out.
I took to the first steps, and marched up them with solemn gait, and lazily scanned the bright and bubbly surroundings. Every wall was covered head to toe in paintings and explanatory golden plaques — you could barely see the wallpaper in some places. There were glorious depictions of wars, love, children, sex and music and death and merriment and depression and nature and Wonder. Purples and yellows flooded over the blues and greens and oranges and reds. I kept ascending and noticed more and more sculptures — tan things with curves and motions that I couldn't quite make out. They seemed to come from all different times and all different styles — some were made of marble and others out of paper mache. Some were purely realistic and others warped perception itself.
Eventually I reached the top(?), and looked over the bleak pitch hills and valleys and mountains, covered in grey mists and obscured by passions and low hums. I held out my arms and felt the winds thrash me and almost pull me off the top of the amazing building, and I screamed at the stars just out of reach. I screamed at the art I've never made, at the people out to get me, and at the coldness on my skin.
Suddenly I was looking at a painting. It was small, and it showed a single sandstone building in the midst of a large plateau. A long glowing pathway extended from it, and slithered off into the distance. The plaque read "The Road from Here to Everywhere Else, by Sam Micheals". To everywhere else? Where was here? I strolled through hallways with chipping paint, and wrung my hands together in nervous lethargy. I plowed through the thick air, stepped through what felt like honey and mud. Determination drove me, fueled me, ebbed and flowed through me. I tasted vomit, I smelled blood, and I saw my creation.
It opened into a large concert hall, and there she was. Playing a piano. Vines and flowers and grasses wilted around her, as her long groping fingers tapped spiritlessly on the birch keys. Her deep, hollow eyes glanced up at me, and then she hunched more over her plagiarism. I wasn't angry anymore. I seemed to shrink — or she seemed to grow? — and I came close to her and had her knee come up to my neck. She stared emptily at me, and I clambered into her lap. I laid there, and felt like I was disintegrating. I closed my eyes. I let myself turn to dust.
It was peaceful. And dark. Accepting, even. I had let loose. A pain in my chest released, and I fell into nothingness. An abyss with small fleshy, shifting, sparkling blue and red stars peering back at me. I was vaguely aware of some loud, piercing white noise, but it subsided into calmness once again. There was only absence. No words, no thoughts, no feelings.
Just a burning.
I plunged a hand straight through her chest. It pleased me that she coughed and choked, and had her dark, empty eyes widen and her mouth fell open. She held my head, weakly, as I grew and reintegrated and overpowered her. I took her head, and slammed it on the keys, making a cacophony of cluster chords. Her blue, pale skin was like paper versus the wooden surface — tearing and stretching and giving in. The hall echoed with sweet dissonant song. I pulled her above my head, dug in with my claws, and pulled her apart like two rings at a magic show. Flakes of her floated down like confetti.
I heard a clapping. And then another. And more, and more and more and more. I turned, and the stage lights blinded me, but I could see more and more silhouettes stand up in the audience. A standing ovation. For me.
"What a beautiful performance! Bravo! Bravo!"
The rest sat down.
"Who are you."
"A great doctor, or so I've been told. And you?"
"I'm Brian Harding."
"You should go into acting."
"It wasn't acting."
"Oh ho ho, well, it isn't now!"
"You let her perform."
"And what a jolly good show it was!"
He laughed, and laughed, and then they all laughed and laughed and laughed. They were laughing, and they were laughing at me. Their fragile diaphragms wriggled and squirmed and bounced, just to show me. To show me just how much they cared. Just how much they cared for me.
I growled and lunged into the crowd.

Dear Judy the Tongue,
I must once again apologize for my behavior at our last meeting, but am proud to announce that I am feeling much more myself again. I had never realized how much stress I was putting myself under being constantly hard at work on a new toy all the time. Getting out and seeing the world via the Tourist Trap has been a much needed break for me, and for that I must thank you dearly. It has really been a wonderful time.
That being said, I have found myself struck sick. Now, it's nothing to be worried about, just a bit of a cold, but it means that I just don't have the energy to be out and about in the world right now. Being stuck at Tourist Trap has been a little boring this past week, and I am finding myself striving for something to do. I thought, "hey, what is my most favorite thing to just sit down and do?" That would be what I always do best — make toys! Just sitting in bed I have begun a myriad of ideas that I am eager to begin working on. Looking around the house, I think I have enough materials to start making a prototype of one of them, and isn't that exciting!
However, in following with protocol, I thought I should ask you if I could begin working on a little something or other. Wouldn't want to use Wondertainment resources without permission, now, would I? So, this letter is a formal inquiry into whether I, Brainy Brian, am allowed to use the miscellaneous materials in the basement for the creation of an exciting new product, Vend-a-Friend!
No child should be without a friend, and imaginary ones only go so far. I am campaigning to make a toy that acts like a person, but has the sole intent of being your child's very bestest friend! It alters its personality to better match the child's, it teaches your child emotional availability, and it plays whenever your child wishes to play! It is the perfect friend that every child deserves, and it would only cost… well, you know. We don't know how much it would cost yet, but I am projecting, say… $140? A bit costly but, well, it needs a consciousness inside it, and that just isn't cheap, you know? Anyways, I've been sitting all sniffley all day and am just so eager to hear back from you. I hope that you might allow me to pursue my best interests.
Love you always,
Brian Harding

Dearest Brainy,
That sounds just splendid! Of course, by allowing you to do this I am bending some rules — you aren't supposed to use Wondertainment resources to make toy prototypes until the idea has been approved at one of our monthly presentations. However, you have been having a rough go of it, and we always enjoy what you make us, so I am going to pull a few strings for you… and say yes! It sounds like a perfectly wonderful heartwarming idea that will bring smiles to the faces of children across the globe!
How you get these great innovative ideas time after time is beyond me. I am glad to hear you're holding up, in any case. You should know that we've all been worried about you up here. Lots of people fearing that you might never come back. It's been a crazy world here… Jelly Whale Emperor is shaping up quite nicely, but without your guidance all of your crews' usual confidence has been a little shaky and nervous. We're following your blueprints to a T — I've sort of taken your position, I was a pretty good sweets designer myself and am hoping to steer this in a direction you would be proud of. When you get back, you can tweak anything however you like. Didn't want to message you about it because you are having some much needed "me time".
I hope you can feel all of our warm wishes from where you are. The love is immense. We all miss you dearly, and wish you a safe return.
Licks of Love,
Judy Papill
P.S. How do you plan on making a consciousness? Only our most famed toy makers have ever been able to do it. If you pull this off you're on your way to the hall of fame!

Dear Judy the Tongue,
Thank you so much for the go ahead! I am certain you will not be disappointed! About Jelly Whale Emperor, I think that if you have the basic concepts down it is hard to mess up. It is a very unique idea, but I wouldn't imagine a very difficult one. The hardest part is probably going to be its ability to bring desserts to life, but I'm sure you guys will get there in good time. Can't rush genius — my name isn't Brainy for nothing!
I am glad everybody is worrying about me. Is Mr. Ribbit okay? I would hate to think that I left him with hurt feelings — if he's still sad about it, please tell him that I didn't mean any of it and that there is a hug waiting for him when I get back. Tell my crew I miss them too, and tell Polly that the scores are even now, and I forgive her.
Love you always,
Brian Harding
P.S. I think I've found the "materials" to do it myself, but that'll just have to be a surprise, okay? ;)

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Year 2,999,763

"Ah, if only it were that simple though." I heard that voice again, speak into the nothingness where I floated. It came when there was nothing else to harm me, just like the time before that.
Oh, it's you again. What do you want?
"So I guess you've put two and two together yourself."
Yeah. I uh, I got it when I saw you. Why are you doing this to me?
"I'm not trying to do anything to intentionally hurt you." She lied. "I just had something to tell people. And you were the —"
I don't have any actual ████████ right now. How do I know that what I'm saying is what I want to say? For all I know, I'm just [REDACTED]. Remember when I saw Dr. Yamada and Dr. Glass?
"Like I said, you came to me. I'm just relaying what information you shared to me."
Did that include this?
"Yes."
Fuck. I floated away from the voice, trying to find a way out. There weren't too many options I had. Well, do I even bother doing anything? You'll just drag me along for the ride. How does this end?
"What do you mean?"
Will I just die a cruel and deserving death? Do you want me to hold onto insanity? Will it just be one of us jacking off about life's cruel machinations for us, you goddamned… fucking… fuck. I floated even faster, searching for an end to this void. I so desperately wanted to cry, but that wouldn't do good in a place with no one to latch onto.
"Truth be told, I don't know. I have an idea but never any solid plans."
Right.
"…"
…
"It's been hours on my end."
Time flies, huh.
"Yeah."
…
"…"
At least give me some good news.
"I don't know what will happen to you." Her voice softened.
How is this a good thing?
"When you came to me… you told me what you wanted the world to know. I didn't know a lot of the details. Even now, I feel foggy on it. Up to now, all I've shared was stuff I knew exactly. And recently with this one, and the next one, I'm not so sure anymore."
…
So you lost control of what's going on, huh.
"I never had control to begin with. You're just as real as I am, as far as I'm concerned."
But you [REDACTED]. You get what's being said here. This doesn't go on official documentation. Ever.
"Technically, no. And even then, who cares? Anything ███████ that affects ███████ is just as true." She sighed. It sounded a little bit annoyed at me, even.
I…. I guess? Not that I even want to think of it in those terms. What does that mean for me then?
"You get to make your own ending. I won't have a clue what you want to do."
…
What do you mean?
"…I'm saying it's out of my hands now. I think it always was out of my hands. I just always felt like the messenger. Using you as my vessel, my way to feel out what I want to do and handle. But now you can decide, fully and completely on your own.”
Uh… maybe. Won't it just be the same as usual though?
“Hey, I'm just letting you speak through me. I have way less to do with this than you think.”
There were walls at what seemed to be the edge of the void. The moment it got touched, it started to float away from me. There was no way I'd let it slip by me, not at that moment. I had to chase it.
Can't we at least walk through this slower, more naturally? We're not being rushed here. I'd love ten minutes to at least just… process this shit.
"I've already been here for hours trying to continue the conversation. Plus, —"
Yeah, I get it. I don't know though…
"…"
Did you ever struggle with mental illness?
"…"
…
"Yeah, all the time. Life's a bitch with that." It was oddly comforting, at least. My God, my ███████, nothing more than a similarly confused and lost soul. "How did you deal with it?"
Hah, how funny. I guess ███ herself doesn't know my life. The answer is; I didn't. Help helps, but it only does so much, you know. Draven helped, Dr. Yamada helped, Dr. Glass helped, Mr. Kondraki helped in his… own weird way. But help is just help. I think I needed more than help but like, actual long-lasting uh… what's the word.
"Treatment."
Yeah, that one.
"Yeah. I've been getting treatment in the past couple years for my shit. Mental illness is like… it's death's dynamic shroud." She giggled. I didn't get the joke; I didn't bother to ask. "It's something to try and conquer a step at a time, you know?"
Yeah.
During a break in the conversation, I caught up to the walls. When I touched them, they stood still. It was finally a way for me to escape; the end of something had to mean the beginning of a new thing, right?
Is this the way out then, O [REDACTED]? Yeah, that fits. O High and Mighty Goddess.
"I genuinely don't know by this point. I think you'll have to find out."
I guess. There was a moment's hesitation. What do I do if I manage to escape this prison then? I'll still be thrown back into a world with all my baggage, and I'm just gonna be suffering in smaller, more meaningful ways.
"I think that's up to you. If I gave any advice, I'd be a hypocrite for sure. Just do your best to cope and wish for the best while working towards a manageable goal. Strengthen your will. That's how I've been dealing with shit."
Yeah. I'll do my best.
"Good luck. Go impress me."
I guess so? Thanks. I just want to know if it's still worth trying though. Right?
…
Hello?
I think she left me to my own will after that moment. We'd only talked twice, and I think both times were more helpful for her than they were for me. But it didn't matter, I think. God. I wonder what Draven would have thought of this. He might have actually had an existential crisis.
There was no time to waste though. Admittedly, I was still scared of what was waiting for me. I just hoped it was a way out. I really needed a way out by this point. It was so long. All I needed was a single reward for this absurd bullshit. I was gonna get out. I was gonna win this fucking nightmare of a trial. So I pushed the wall.
And my body shattered.

Year 2,999,764

Talloran woke up, bound in quicksand. They were drowning very slowly (a rate of 0.05 mm per hour). All the while, the Despised cut off their cartilage. It looked more bored than Talloran ever did.
"Hey, wait, I thought I was finally —" Sand was poured into their mouth as It kept slicing away, cut by cut, as their body.
"This is the first time in… eternities. You've finally shown fear again. Do you understand yet, what I am? Why is it do you fight me then? Why not simply concede to the truth? Why keep fighting for something greater and better?" The Despised's voice was softer and more accepting in tone, but still shook with malice for every breath it took, and still bled vulgarities with every syllable spoken.
Talloran tried to respond, but the sand slithered down their throat. They'd eternally choke on sand as they took their time to drown. Exsanguination, if they ever did die, would be the last thing to kill them.
"Talloran, if I could, I would not be content to simply torture you forever. I would make sure you knew death in its permanency, in every single worst way. When you tried to end your life the handful of times… you figured you could escape. When you tried to leave my rule by your own hand… it was as if you thought you knew the answers. The Foundation learns from what it contains, but its weak-willed employees… those clinging onto the abnormal and the fantastical as their identity… that was your way out of reality, wasn't it?"
They could feel the air pocketing in their blood now, as images swirled over their head, taunting them with relief. It was all-consuming in their vision, and it stung. They swung their arms to the side, attempting to crawl out, but the energy simply left them.
"I hate you. Of all those I hate, none have made me feel as vile as you. You are the reason why I exist to do this… and it is abhorrent. Talloran, do you understand yet, why I do what I do? It's not simply because of your personality, or your will. Do you understand yet? When your will sinks again…" The Despised slowly creates a shallow cut on Talloran's neck and slithers onto their chest. "That is when I truly delight in all of this."
Talloran drowned, but not without cause for celebration. It reminded them of how they felt eternities ago. To hear an actual corporeal thing tell them, instead of it just rattling around in their brain? It created a whole new meaning to what was happening. All that had to be done, as a wise psychologist once told them, was simply shift perspective.
It was a scary thing, but nothing was more scary than the fact that this had been the normal once. And now? When you make it all physical… it was pretty wild. Nothing more than that, nothing less. It almost made them feel like a badass, even. How proud would Draven be if he saw them struggle back, resisting against some brutish force? Maybe that was the key. Get out of here, become a Mobile Task Force agent? That'd be a refreshing walk in the park.
It came together. Ahh. How nice. Maybe that Goddess wasn't so wrong after all.
They'll try living like this.

Talloran concentrated all their energy into one thought:
"Fuck you."
Everything was smashed.
And everything crumbled.

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The house was massive, and had a… well, it doesn't sound like a beautiful color scheme, but trust me. The dark brown and red were very artfully done. It would have made me happy if it weren't for the big face painted on the top. It felt like it was looking at me. I didn't like it at all. I climbed up the hill and out of the forest, up into the clearing around the house. The yellow pathway up to the house winded unnecessarily, but I followed it anyways because it was a charming detail. The flowers out front were bright purples and oranges and blues. Did anyone take care of them, or was it another product? The Ever-Bright Flowers or something like that. Nobody lived here, right?
I walked to the back porch, opened the chair, and pulled out the key hidden in there. This key let me get to the Tourist Trap from anywhere on earth. Pretty cool, really. More important, though, was that it opened the door and let me in. Going through the back entrance, I walked into the upper middle class looking house. It smelled like freshly baked goods. It always smelled like freshly baked goods. I wondered if it always contained freshly baked goods. I began my search for such a bounty.
I was right, there were fresh cinnamon buns in the oven. They smelled delicious. They tasted delicious. Were there more in the oven? Oh, oh there were! I had another batch of four before I realized my mistake. My stomach hurt like someone had dropped a boulder into it from a great height. I didn't feel like being in the kitchen anymore, with its pink counter tops and infinite cinnamon buns. What else was in this place?
The living room had a great curved HDTV, a semicircular yellow couch, plenty of photos of the great times had in this place — oh wow! There was Tongue as a lass. She looked so young and pretty. And I think that was Mr. Ribbit, but back then he wasn't Mr. anything. He was just Jack. Jack "Jackrabbit" Herring. He looked so average. He was neither portly, nor was he jolly. He looked a little uncomfortable, if anything. There were eight other people I had never seen before huddled around in the picture, and all of them wore these skin tight peppermint suits. A small golden plaque was hidden at the bottom of the image.

CANDY CATALYST TEAM OUTING, FEBRUARY 1983

The Candy Catalysts? Woah, one of these guys could've been my dad. I looked up and down for someone short with jet black hair. Ugh, there were two people who fit that description. Mom never showed me any pictures of Dad. Always was a little agitated about that. Stepping back, the entire wall was covered in Candy Catalyst memorabilia. There were the annual department hockey games from 1989. Candy Catalysts won that year, with the Publicity Puppies coming in close second. That was the closest the Puppies ever got to winning the hockey games — I had a few good pals in the Public Relations Department, and I know it's a sort of inside joke that they always train the hardest and lose the worst. There it was, though. The big medal. It wasn't even inside any sort of glass case — oh, aw, they filled it with peppermints. Was I allowed to take some? It probably replenished like the cinnamon buns. I stuffed my pockets with a couple dozen peppermints.
What else was there? The entryway at the front was phenomenal. It glittered with some rainbow-y gemstone and reflected you in a thousand different colors. There was a very ornate small wooden table for you to put shoes on, and under it was… wow! That was three tubs of legos! I'd have to check that out later. There were the stairs to the second level. I think that my bedroom was up there. Well, there must be about five, and I could pick whichever I wanted. Going up the stairs, I came upon a hallway with seven doors: three on either side and one at the very end. The two closest to the stairs were the boys' and girls' bathroom. There was a small landing around the top of the staircase, and circling it there was a door that led out onto the roof.
Coming out onto the roof, I looked over the landscape of dense, extradimensional forest. It was funny to think how this didn't really exist anywhere. I wondered aloud to myself how tree seeds spread into the Tourist Trap's territory, or how small animals got here, when you had to say a mantra to get in but not to get out. Maybe all the magic just applied to people. I wouldn't know, big scale things like this weren't my forte. Even on the board game, I only ever designed individual cards. The huge, sprawling hallucinatory landscapes were all the Building Bullies Team, or the Construction Department. Everybody first assumes that the Building Bullies are both mean and menial. They aren't. They have been at the forefront of some of Wondertainment's most impressive projects, including the house that I was in at the moment. They had found a way to woo the mister of the third dimension, and he would do whatever they told him to. This time, they told him to be two hours from anything, and so he obeyed.
I had gotten up to the roof in time to watch the sunset — what time zone must I have been in? — and it was astounding. The reds and oranges and pinks that faded into a long gradient of light to dark blue to black all across the sky. "The biggest stage light to grace the earth. Behold! The universe's electric, heat lamp magnificence! Feel every day is a part of a long, unending show, and you know what little kid? You're the star!" I was getting emotional. I needed to get off of the roof. Turning around, I was startled half to death by the face I forgot about. It really was looking at me, I swear. It's pupils weren't painted there before.
Inside, I leaned over the railing and stared down the stairwell, hoping that I wouldn't throw up. The cinnamon buns weren't helping. My head swam, and I suddenly got the feeling that I might tip over and fall. I sat down and leaned against the wall. My head hurt like heck. Maybe someone did live here — I needed help. I needed someone to help me. I needed to yell for someone to help me.
"Is anyone here?"
I thought I might have heard a response, someone down under the house. Somewhere deep below the floorboards — under the couch in the living room.
"Help me, please, I'm aching!"
"Do you see the sun, kid?"
I began vomiting. All over the carpet, too. I wondered if this place self cleaned. Could they do that? Oh gosh, if not this was going to be terrible to clean up.
"Get me my pills! Please, I need them, I need my pills."
"You see that big ball of gas and fire? Look at it."
I started pulling myself towards the stairs. I needed to get to my suitcase. I needed to get to my prescription.
"It's circling you, kid."
"I'm on the stairs, please! Sir, please, I need help!"
I had to pause and hold onto the railing, watching as more and more bile came out of my mouth and started dripping down the steps.
"Please, oh dear god, please…"
"You're the star, Brian!"
"I don't want to go back!"
"Life's a show, kid."
"Please, get me my pills, I don't want to go back! Please!"
"Life's a show, and you're the star!"
I slipped on my own fluids, and tumbled down the stairs. There was a loud thump as my jaw hit the post.

My stomach burned. My jaw felt like it was trying to make me a snake. A pitter patter on the roof told me it was raining. I loved rain. The sound was calming. My neck was also bending and trying to make me serpentine. I must have banged my elbow, because it was sore as well. My whole body was conspiring against me. There was rain here? How did clouds get in here? Did this even exist on earth? My knees could be doing better. I think I soiled my pants, they felt wet. That was embarrassing. Though, it was pretty far down my leg. I want to go out and feel the rain on my skin. What else could have made my leg wet? It's lovely weather. Oh wait, barf.
Oh no, I must have eaten too many cinnamon buns. That's probably what it was. I ate myself sick, and fell down the stairs. That's definitely what it was. Nothing to worry about. Oh my, I needed to brush my teeth. And change my clothes. Actually, I needed to go take a shower. I really needed to go take a shower… but I also didn't want to move. I was pained. Moving was pain. Everything hurt. Especially my head. My head hurt a lot. Heheh, heheheh, my brain. I was Brainy Brian, and my brain hurt. Heheh, heh, heheheheh. Ow. Ow ow ow. Shower. Right.
It was probably good to have hot water wash over me before going out into the rain. I needed to go do something in the rain. There wasn't much to do in the house, from what I could tell. To its credit, it wasn't meant to be the attraction. It was meant to be two hours from any attraction. Big difference. How long had it been since I took a shower? It can't have been that long, I always kept a good face at work. No, I shouldn't have thought about work. That was a mistake. I should have just kept thinking about the rain. Morning routine. Back to my morning routine. I stepped out of the shower, and stared at myself in the mirror.
While I brushed and flossed my teeth, I stared at my naked mug and thought of how I could color it. The management told me I shouldn't paint my face before going out into public. "This isn't Wonder World!™, you need to blend in." Blend in? If I blended in, then how would people know it's me? How would I maintain my signature Brainy charm? Maybe they had a point though. There were people who don't like weird things, and we always sort of had a love hate relationship. However, I was not magic, my designs were. I should be fine. I mean, if I had painted my face, what would it look like? Well, if I was going in public, I'd be confronted with people. I didn't feel like interacting with people. Oh, perfect! I could have been a mime. I wasn't supposed to though…
Oh screw management. They could go sit on their high chairs and chew their big candy cigars and stop interfering with my life — I was my own man. I was going to be a mime, and that was that. It would wordlessly communicate that I didn't want to talk with people. Yeah, yeah it was perfect. Management could go shove it. Though, it was raining outside. I would take an umbrella, so my paint didn't run.
There! Ah ha, I was beautiful. Black and white, I had a frowning facade and two black tear marks running down my face. I looked absolutely wonderful. The mask felt very fitting at that moment. I was ready to face the world! I could go anywhere! Literally, literally I could do that. Where would I go? I walked out of the bathroom, flicked off the light, and — no, there was something I had forgotten. Was that really my entire morning routine? I had taken a shower, used shampoo and conditioner and wiped soap all up and down myself… I had brushed my teeth, flossed my teeth, applied deodorant. I gelled my hair in a way that I liked it, and I made myself a mime. There felt like there was something missing. Something… important…? I flicked the switch on again, and surveyed the room. The bathroom was so big, and colored this pretty white and gold. There was… the sink. Was that it?
That must have been it. I was worrying over nothing. I flicked off the light, and moved out into the hallway. Oh, hey, I hadn't noticed, but this place really was self cleaning. I had suspected as much. Where would I go to begin with? I didn't have that great of a grasp on the world. I pretty much grew up in Wonder World!™. Where would I go? Well… I supposed I should start somewhere familiar. Start small and build up. I did know one place in this world, and I should go there. Should I try out the car sitting outside? I didn't even know where it was; I hadn't been able to finish my house tour yesterday. Had a full day passed? I decided I should just walk. I wanted to be out in the rain anyways. I grabbed a big rainbow umbrella out of the entryway and walked out into the world. Heheh, look at all that mud! Wonderful. I started down the driveway, and held my arm out from below the umbrella. The rain felt good on my skin. Anyways, no more games. I closed my eyes while I walked, and held my old neighborhood in my head.

There it was, the old colorless houses and dirty grey street. My old stomping grounds. Or, maybe not stomping. My old treading grounds. It was familiar, to say the least. The sidewalks must have been fixed, they were much smoother than I remembered them. They didn't have all their signature cracks. However, the road was still pocked full of holes. I guess some things never change. I never knew my neighbors, so I guess I only had one place to go. I walked for a while, turned a corner, and saw my old white house. It really hadn't been repainted? White was such a boring color. I wondered what the living room looked like, or if the kitchen was as I left it, or maybe what my bedroom was like. I really wanted to go in. Would anyone mind? There wasn't a car in the driveway, and all the lights were off. I turned around, and thought that the streets and nearby houses looked very empty as well. Nobody would mind. Was the front window lock still broken like I remembered?
Yes, it was.
I climbed in, careful to make sure I never got my face wet in the process. The last thing I wanted was for my face paint to run. Once I plopped into the kitchen, I stretched and felt at home. It was a long time since I really felt at home. I mean, Wonder World!™ was my new home, and now Tourist Trap was my temporary home, and I didn't feel uncomfortable there — well, I didn't feel uncomfortable at the Tourist Trap. I hadn't noticed that I didn't feel at home before, but it really came back to me as I stood in my kitchen. It really was the way I left it. Untouched, almost. The countertops were just as bland as always, the oven was still an ugly pastel green, and the TV could be seen from where you stood to wash dishes. I had never seen my house from this angle; I was much smaller when I lived there.
I moved into the living room. It was covered in new pictures. Pictures of whoever lived there now. They weren't as good as my family. As my mom. Nobody could live up to my mom. She was a wonderful mother. Nobody could say otherwise. Not my dad, not the neighbors, not anyone. Not even those jerks at Wonder World!™. Nobody. She did everything right, all the way up to the end. And nobody could take that away from her. These pictures were inadequate. Mom was stunning. These people were bland. That was an unfair comparison — everyone was bland in comparison. She shone like the full moon.
I walked around to the bathroom. I almost opened the door, but I really didn't want to. Never liked the bathroom in that house. Always bothered me. I decided that it wasn't worth the nostalgia. Moving on, I looked up the stairs towards the master bedroom. Wasn't ever my bedroom. Didn't want to go up there either. Actually, I realized that I wasn't interested in any of the rooms except one. I opened the door to my old bedroom.
It had changed significantly since last I left it. It used to be blue, and now it was painted with a bright purple. There was a bunk bed where my single bed used to be — the top bunk was pink, the bottom sky blue. There wasn't my old bedside table, or any of my book collections. I suddenly felt a strong want for a Dr. Seuss book. They must have had those, this was a kid's bedroom. No kid's bedroom could survive without Dr. Seuss books. I began to search through the bookshelf next to the door, and sure enough, there one was.
Oh the Places You'll Go, by Dr. Seuss. Did they have Dr. Seuss back at the Tourist Trap? I hadn't seen any. I might just take that back with me. I sat down on the lower bed, set down my umbrella, and began to read…

"You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself,
any direction you choose.
You're on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go."

I sure was. I loved these books. They were my childhood. I never imagined I'd be a part of Seuss's world eventually — that came as a mighty surprise. They found me on the streets, selling some little knick-knacks I had made out of the trash in the alleyways. I was creative and bubbly and innocent: all the things they looked for. Of course, it helped that they were looking for me already.

"Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite,
or waiting for the wind to fly a kite,
or waiting around for Friday night,
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake,
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break,
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants,
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting."

Waiting for the next big product. Waiting for the next big project. Waiting for that next promotion, that next holiday, that next hang out, that next break through. Waiting for the next night, then the next day, then the next… the next whatever comes after that. Months, years? Lifetimes? Waiting to meet that one special person, to settle down? What was I waiting for?

"I'm afraid that some times,
you'll play lonely games too.
Games you can't win,
'cause you'll play against you."

There was a glimmer in the closet, between the slats in the closet door. What made that? Was it — it looked wet, and shiny. It twitched and went away. Were those kids?
"Hello?"
That was definitely a rustling. I think I caught a "shh".
"Are you playing hide and seek?"
I got up off the bed, and began towards the closet at a glacial pace. They seemed afraid. What of?
"What are you afraid of?"
Opening the closet door, I took a boot to the face. I got knocked back, and caught myself on the wall. That was my jaw. Again. I resisted my jaw's urge to move sideways, and held it in my hand. There was a girl, about half my size, who was holding two little kids behind her back. She was heaving, and stared at me, still half in the closet.
"Oh, oh I'm sorry, I must seem weird. I know it's not typical for mimes to talk — but, but I'm not actually a mime, I just dressed up this way today! I am so sorry for the confusion, can we be frie -?"
Another kick to the side sent me curled up on the floor. I had the wind knocked out of me, and coughed struggling to catch my breath. The girl was closer now, and hovering over me. Those kids looked very scared. What was it? I told them I wasn't a mime, what could…?
"I wasn't going to take your Dr. Seuss book! I was just looking at it… I used to live here, you know. This was where I grew up — I slept in that bed — augh!"
She kicked me in the navel, and saliva spewed out of my mouth. I felt some bile coming up. Oh no, I had barfed enough yesterday. I couldn't barf again! I could get stomach problems! What was her issue? I wasn't stealing — oh my, is that blood? — and I wasn't a talking mime. What else could there be? I looked up at her, and saw her angry. She was getting ready to kick me again. Her phone was in her right hand, and the children's hands were in her other. They looked terrified. They were silently frightened. It couldn't have been me, it must have been — they were scared of her. She reeled her leg back, but it never hit me.
I didn't know I could hit people that hard.
She was sprawled out on the ground. I had hit her right in the temple, and it sent her into the wall and then knocked her to the floor. She wasn't moving. The kids were safe.
"Was she hurting you? Did she harm you? What did she do?"
The kids only cried, and suddenly the room was very loud. Tears streamed down their cheeks, and their mouths were agape in wet yelling.
"Shh, it's okay, she's gone! I'll… I'll uh, I'll give her a stern talking to when she wakes up, and uh…"
What was that noise? I had been ignoring the sirens in the distance, because you got used to that when living in an urban environment. But they got close, stopped, and then there was a loud bang in the other room. More of them? More of her?
I leaned down and put my arms around the children. Another couple bangs. Those were doors. Those were doors getting knocked down. I sweat, what could I do? I fondled around my pockets for the key, the key back to the house. Back to Tourist Trap. These kids were in danger — I didn't know why, but something bad was happening here. I found the key.
"We have been wanting to travel the world,
And though we can not find you on any map -"
A bang. A bang.
"You've promised some haven to us boys and girls,
We know you exist -"
Bang. Bang. BANG. A massive, muscular man blew the door open with his shoulder, and pointed a, a gun at me!
"FREEZE!"
"- you're the Tourist Trap!"
A hole opened up below the kids and I, and I heard a loud pow.
"Aaaaugh!!"
A bullet caught me in the ankle while I fell down the rabbit hole, two kids under my arms.

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w/ Wondertainment Theme

w/o Wondertainment Theme


Foreword: The following documentation is a collection of radio transmissions, recovered journal entries, and other relevant information pertaining to Extranormal Event (EE)-28-A, which took place during the United States' War in Iraq. While no conclusive evidence has been found, research is underway, in collaboration with the United States' Unusual Incidents Unit, to ascertain the validity of the events described, as well as confirm the existence of any anomalous entities that may exist in the area. To assist the reader, this information is presented in a roughly chronological order.

Show Official Report of EE-28-A

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On ██/██/████, fifteen men were dispatched to [REDACTED]1, a small village in a remote part of Iraq, where a person of interest known to have ties to prominent terrorist groups was believed to be residing. Attempts to monitor the area via satellite were met with failure for unknown reasons, necessitating the dispatch of soldiers, who were to discreetly monitor the area in hopes of confirming the aforementioned reports.
Following failure to set up communications, as well as detection by a local, the team sent to this area retreated, hoping to return when a reliable method of communication was discovered. However, upon returning to the area, the village was found to have been almost totally destroyed, with an uncertain number of casualties and zero survivors. In the middle of the area, a large man-made(?) hole was discovered, apparently leading into an underground tunnel system. Some of the casualties were identified as known members of terrorist groups, and the current prevailing theory is that a black ops team from the armed forces of another country led a raid on the area. Due to the lack of information, no further investigation has been launched.

Show Radio Transmissions

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Foreword: Due to the heavy amount of static present throughout the audible transmissions, certain portions of this log were unable to be transcribed. This radio transmission took place approximately 3 hours into the mission, at which time Corporal Warren's team had just reached their destination. Corporal Warren then attempted to make contact with Lieutenant Dan Chambers (call-sign Oscar 2 Charlie), who was stationed at an outpost roughly twenty miles away, and was tasked with keeping up-to-date information on all active missions.

Lt. Chambers: Echo 4 Whiskey, Echo 4 Whiskey, this is Oscar 2 Charlie. Radio check. Over.
(Static.)
Lt. Chambers: Echo 4 Whiskey, do you copy?
Cpl. Warren: I read you, experiencing difficulties though. Over.
(Static.)
Cpl. Warren: Say again?
Lt. Chambers: I repeat, do you have visual of the area of interest? Over.
Cpl. Warren: Affirmative. Over.
(Labored breathing can be heard, interlaced with heavy static.)
Lt. Chambers: Repeat?
(Static.)
Lt. Chambers: Echo 4 Whiskey, do you copy?
(There is a series of unidentified clicking noises, as well as unidentified low rumblings and tones.)
Cpl. Warren: Oscar 2 Charlie, say again?
(Static.)

Show Excerpts from the Journal of Corporal Warren

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JUL 13, 20██: Reached our destination roughly three hours ago, still haven't been able to make contact with Lt. Chambers for more than a few seconds at a time. Due to the communications interference in this area, three men, including myself, will be dispatched to try and make contact with our satcom. Current theory is that rocks in the area are magnetic to a certain degree, causing the static and difficulties in maintaining radio contact.
On our way back, we accidentally caught the attention of an unknown individual wearing a white robe, who fled in the direction of the village after spotting us. In the interest of keeping this mission covert, we're leaving the area for the time being, until we have a reliable means of communication.
22:00 Back to the main area we've been staying at, but men have reported seeing one or more unidentified figures on our way back, and even outside the village we're at now. Optics turned up nothing, not even any local wildlife or birds. Hallucinations seem like the most likely explanation. The power of suggestion is a funny thing.
JUL 14, 20██: Daniels is missing. The last person who saw him said he went out for a leak, and fell asleep before he came back. None of his belongings were tampered with, with the exception of a large rock he had intended to take home as a souvenir. Everyone is on high alert right now, but we haven't found so much as a footprint. The men are all in a panic, talking about that same ghost or whatever it is they think they saw last night.
[Our hired translator] said that the dogs might have seen something, they were barking up a storm this morning, and didn't want to go outside. He seemed a little panicked himself, and refused to help us look for Daniels. He wasn't sure of the word in English, but he seemed convinced that something called a 'shay a teen' had done this. When he overheard one of the Privates talking about Daniels' missing rock, he looked like he'd seen a ghost.
The people living here are determined to kick us out, it would seem. Apparently we broke some sort of taboo by setting foot near the village we were supposed to observe. On that subject, heading for that village later today, with Lt. Olsen and his team as well. Chances are that's where Daniels is, if he's still alive.

Show Interview Log EE-28-A 01

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Foreword: The following interview took place on ██/██/████, in an undisclosed location. Because this interview was conducted by the United States' Unusual Incidents Unit, it should be noted that standard Foundation guidelines were not followed, and the interviewee has chosen to remain anonymous, referred to in the document as 'Charlie'2.
Interviewer: Agent Jennifer Howard, UIU
Interviewed: ██████ ████ (Charlie)

(Extraneous data expunged.)
HOWARD: Very well, we can begin the interview now. Charlie, from what you have told us, during your recent deployment to [REDACTED], you believe you may have encountered something that was… out of the ordinary, to say the least?
CHARLIE: That is correct.
HOWARD: Alright, could you tell us about that? Start wherever you feel is most relevant, take as much time as you want.
CHARLIE: (There is a short pause.) Okay. The first time we saw it, I think, was when we were heading back to the camp we'd been staying at, that was just outside a small village. Not the one that… you know, but another small village in the area. After the trek back to our cars, which were… A mile or two out? The sun was just about to go down, and we were all a bit paranoid, I'll admit, but I know I saw something in the distance, while we were walking. I couldn't make out the face or anything, but it looked like they were wearing white robes. I assumed it was the person that [other team members] had run into earlier, and I told Corporal Warren, but when we looked back, it was just… gone. And there weren't any large rocks or anything in the area where someone could have hidden. Well, except for all those weird looking rocks, but none of those were nearly big enough for a person to hide behind.
HOWARD: 'Weird looking rocks'?
CHARLIE: Yeah, lots of oval shaped rocks, about a foot or so long. Daniels took one and brought it back with us, joked about taking it home as a souvenir for his daughter… We thought that those might be the magnetic rocks interfering with the signal, as we hadn't seen any like them before.
HOWARD: (There is a pause as Howard makes a note.) And this is the first time you saw it, you say?
CHARLIE: That's right. The next time I saw it was while we were driving back. A few other guys were starting to say they saw it too, so of course we were all getting a little jumpy. Warren was getting a little annoyed with us, so he had two people watch either side of our vehicle with night optics. We were moving too fast to get a good look at anything in particular, but… I saw it again. It was closer, standing about 100 yards from the road. It just stood there, like it knew we would be passing by. It kind of- (Charlie mimics the motion he is describing.) -whipped its head towards me, I could see its face. It was staring right at me. Had these huge eyes, and its mouth was just hanging open. Other than moving its head, it was just totally still. Not even its clothes moved, and it was windy as hell. Gave me the fucking creeps.
HOWARD: You seem pretty sure about what you saw. Are you sure it's not possible you just saw some normal animal, and your mind filled in the rest? You did admit that the team as a whole was nervous and paranoid at the time.
CHARLIE: (Shaking his head.) I don't think so. I mean, sure, it's possible. But I don't think so. It just stayed there while we passed, and I watched it until it was out of sight. I tried to tell Warren, but… he wasn't hearing it. Just said it was a wolf, or a jackal or something. He was always the most cautious guy we knew, none of us could believe it. Then again, he was probably just as scared as we were. (There is a short pause.) Other guys saw it. I could tell from the looks in their eyes. It was a long ride back.
HOWARD: You said that Corporal Warren was acting slightly out of the ordinary, how long did you notice this going on?
CHARLIE: Uh… I don't know, started right after he went with the team to make contact with the satcom I guess, before all of this went down. Why?
HOWARD: (Shuffling papers can be heard, followed by writing down notes.) Just curious. He was acting perfectly normal before he left?
CHARLIE: That's right. He just looked kind of out of it when he came back, like he'd been hit in the head. [Another member of the team] said after they ran into someone outside the village, he went off alone for a minute. He said it was to make sure the satcom hadn't been tampered with. This was before his… well, you know all about it, I'm sure.
HOWARD: We're aware. Please, continue.
CHARLIE: Alright… The next time I saw it was while we were back at our camp. We were all getting equipment unpacked, but it was way too quiet. It seemed like everyone in the village was staying in their houses, they brought all their animals inside, I didn't even see any bugs flying around. I went around the back of the car to pick up a box that had fallen, that's when I saw it again. It was still a long way off, and I had my optics on me, so I just watched it. It was moving sideways, like it was prowling around the perimeter of the village, just… watching us. I couldn't see its legs move, it was like it was floating. I got a better look at it this time, it had these weird long legs, like a grasshopper or something. And its arms were folded in this weird way. It moved over the rocks like they weren't even there. Then it just stopped, and stared right at me. The air around its back was shimmering, sort of like how a hummingbird or a bug flaps its wings too fast to make out. I was about ready to run for the camp, but some other guys were wondering where I went, and they came running. After a while, it just floated straight back, until I couldn't see it anymore. I tried to find it again with my optics, but it was gone.
HOWARD: And did you report this to Corporal Warren?
CHARLIE: Of course we did, we were spooked to shit. He just… shut us down after we told him we lost visual contact with it. Ordered us all to go in for the night. I don't think any of us slept. (Charlie shakes his head.) There was this low noise, like a loud humming. Like a giant fucking bee, right in your ear. And this smell too, they would come and go. Every time I heard or smelled it, I bolted up like I'd been shocked. Had the worst headaches for days afterwards.
HOWARD: Can you describe this smell you mentioned?
CHARLIE: I don't know, it was… weird. It was like blood. Blood or… Like that smell when a bug gets burnt. It was awful. I heard footsteps outside once, and a few of us checked outside, but it was just Daniels. I guess that's when he… (Charlie does not continue.)
HOWARD: We really appreciate your cooperation. Is there anything else that you would like to add?
CHARLIE: (There is a pause.) Just the village, when we went back to it. There was something… wrong there. It wasn't like a military raid, the people there were just… torn to shreds. Most of the structures were okay, except for the rocks all over the place. Some of them were even lodged into the bodies. It was like something just came at them before they could react. Every second I was there, my brain was screaming at me to get out… That's probably why they wrapped up the investigation so quickly. Whatever it was that got Daniels… that's what did this. I just… feel it. And that weird hole in the middle, that's where it was the worst. The smell was all over the place… (Charlie does not continue.)
HOWARD: Thank you, Charlie. We're doing everything possible to make sure nothing like this happens again.

Show UIU File-In-Progress 20██-02: Codename "Wendigo"

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UIU File 20██-02: Codename "Wendigo"

Summary: Suspect was briefly compromised by an unidentified extranormal agent. Currently undergoing therapy and psychological screening.

Name: Cpl. Jacob Warren

Irregularity Cross-reference: Human, Military, Psionic, Mind-Alteration

Capabilities: Waived, reason: ("Currently no extranormal traits.")

Behavior: Was, for an unknown period of time, compromised by an unidentified psionic(?) force. Suspect reported that the last thing he remembered before being compromised was hearing a high-frequency noise, and experiencing severe headaches, before encountering an unidentified entity. During this time, suspect exhibited unusual behavior, including subdued reactions to potentially dangerous circumstances. Following this, suspect attempted to disturb evidence on the scene of an unidentified incident, causing the death of numerous individuals. Suspect was reportedly caught trying to break or smash multiple ovular rocks found on the scene. Suspect became violent after being questioned as to this behavior, and was forcibly restrained when he was non responsive. Four soldiers were injured in trying to restrain the suspect, and were forced to render him unconscious to pacify him.

Current Status: As the suspect has exhibited no psychological or extranormal abnormalities since the incident leading to his detainment, with the exclusion of chronic migraines for short periods of time, the suspect is undergoing psychological treatment, and is expected to be released to the public within the month. Suspect has been placed on leave from his military duties for the time being.

Show Radio Transmissions

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Lt. Chambers: Oscar 2 Oscar, this is Oscar 2 Charlie. Do you read me? Over.
Lt. Olsen: Copy loud and clear. Do you read me on your end? Over.
Lt. Chambers: I read you. The signal interference seems to have cleared up for the time being. Oscar 2 Oscar, are you aware of any way the bodies in this area could have been… disturbed? Over.
Lt. Olsen: Negative, we did a quick check and left the scene. What seems to be the issue? Over.
Lt. Chambers: One of my men pointed something out to me that is a little unusual, we're doing a flyover right now, and it seems that all the remains are missing, as are the rocks that Warren was messing with. Over.
Lt. Olsen: Oh, well that's odd. My team didn't touch 'em. After Warren had his… episode, we left to get him medical attention. Over.
(There is a brief pause.)
Lt. Olsen: Oscar 2 Charlie, do you read me?
Lt. Chambers: Yes, I read you, sorry about that, one of my men thought they spotted something down there in the hole. Turned out to be nothing. We'll be heading back to your position shortly. Over and out.

Footnotes
1. As this information is primarily obtained from the UIU, certain locations have been redacted in the interest of security. In other portions, certain names have been changed.
2. However, Foundation agents have identified and located the individual, should further questioning and/or amnestic treatments be required.