"Where did you say you went to school again?" Dr. Ellingbrooke tapped the unblemished eraser of her Ticonderoga #2 pencil against her chin. Erasers were for mistakes, after all, and she didn't make those.
"Uh. Campbell High. It was the only school in my hometown. W-what does this have to do with anything we were talking about?" The man shifted in his seat, the aluminum frame creaking slightly at the side-to-side motion. He wiped his palms slowly on the thighs of his jumpsuit trying not to draw attention to how clammy he was suddenly feeling; his interrogator's gaze seemed to bore deeper into his discomfort with every moment that grew between his answers and her next question.
She wasn't writing anything down, not really anyway. Her pencil lowered for but a split second, just long enough to check something or make a quick mark. His posture as straight as can be, the man strained to look over the top of the clipboard and make out just what she might be scoring or noting but it was a useless effort.
"So why do you want to work for the Foundation?" She asked the next question with the same flat affect all the others had come with. It carried no consideration for the flow of topic, no obvious connection to any other line of questioning, but she asked it all the same.
The man in the jumpsuit furrowed his brow upon hearing this and cocked his head ever so slightly. "Didn't you already ask me that?"
"No." She shook her head almost imperceptibly, tapping the pencil against her lip now. "A similar one came up but not like this. Answer please."
"Well I don't. I…I'm not sure I want to?"
"Not sure as in you're conflicted?"
"Well, no. Not really. I mean, it's not clear? You've told me I volunteered for this program but I don't really remember doing that. This all seems just…really fucking out of proportion to me, ma'am. Respectfully."
Dr. Ellingbrooke dipped into two very shallow nods as she made another tally over some other portion of her sheet. When the pencil came back up from the clipboard, the eraser found its way between her teeth in a sort of gentle, bored chew.
"You killed two people, Mr…" Her eyes slipped down to the sheet then back up to her interviewee. "Harper. Dillon Harper of 6648 Rotterdam Drive. The chance to commute a pending death sentence sounds like a pretty fucking proportionate reward for what we're asking, but that's just me."
"Yeah you say that but this is just really surreal. You're like the fifth person to tell me how lucky I am to have this chance but I just don't see it. A secret testing program, waking up in an interrogation chamber, being questioned by people in labcoats…It's some novel-tier bullshit. Why didn't you ask me right away after my trial? Why now? Hell, even before my trial."
Dr. Ellingbrooke was nonplussed by the rising tension in his voice and spoke with a mild but very well enunciated hostility of her own, "You were allowed to exhaust your options through the justice system before we intervened."
"Bullshit. You just wanted me desperate. Fucking desperate and sentenced to die."
"Is that how you feel, Mr. Harper? That you had no choice; that it was this or death?" Her voice suggested interest. Hope, even, for what his answer might be. But the forced raise of her eyebrows belied the callous she was developing against this line of thought. She'd quite literally seen it a thousand times.
"I-…Of course not. But why are you doing this to me? So I feel like I don't have a choice? Free labor from a desperate man? I just don't get what kind of people get off on this cruelty that you think you can just play with me like this. I may have to pay for my crimes, yes, but maybe I should be rotting in a cell…for what I did. I-…" The man's breathing shuddered slowly as he inhaled and exhaled several times/ He fought back whatever emotions tried to spill over and into the interview.
The woman on the other side of the table leaned back and folded her arms crossed her chest, pinning the clipboard against her.
The silence grew as the man's shoulders slowly slumped, his breathing becoming more controlled and steady. His face almost drooped, suddenly showing an age and fatigue he had not allowed it to get the better of him but a few minutes sooner.
Dr. Ellingbrooke asked but the man's face betrayed the answer, "You're no good to anybody, are you?"
The man chewed on the inside of his cheek and slowly shook his head, unable to look her in the eyes or verbalize an answer.
With the soft click of her flats against the cold tile, Dr. Ellingbrooke collected herself and stood up. A soft buzzing and the sound of a deadbolt turning preceded a cold metal door's opening.
"There are just a couple more immunizations to give you before we return you back to your cell. The orderly will be right in." She didn't bother to look at him, or smile, or provide even the faintest hint of charm beyond what she had already said. But these words were one last polite lie that she couldn't quite explain the need to provide.
As soon as she left the interview room, Dr. Ellingbrooke lowered her clipboard to her side and opened the door to the adjacent observation room. Inside, two men stood around a monitor softly lit with the white-gray glow of CCTV that had been fixated on this exchange.
"Natalie, I trust you had fun with that." One of the two men, the one with a lab coat on, greeted her through slightly gritted teeth. The other man, the one at at the console, excused himself and closed the door behind him providing the courtesy of privacy. It saved them all the embarrassment of him having to be ordered elsewhere.
"You know full well this has to be right every time we make a change. We cannot afford pipeline problems with our operation at this scale, Manny."
"Yes, Dr. Ellingbrooke, I am happy to share your…enthusiasm for sound and repeatable processes but your improvisation is fucking bothersome. I seriously doubt the authenticity of the results when no one gets asked more than two or three identical questions before you start to deviate. They must. Be. Repeatable."
"The human psyche, even in such tightly controlled quarters, is a deeply complex and layered thing that requires provocative and reactive questioning based on exposed thoughts, evolving inner monologues, and complex connections which we must all carefully watch and evaluate." She tossed her clipboard the short foot or two between herself and the console, letting the evaluation rubric show the evidence she had collected. 'Mr. Harper' had received a failing mark in 7 of her 15 criteria.
Dr. Eates looked down at the clipboard and turned to face the monitors as motion caught his attention. An orderly entered the interview room and was briefing the man in the jumpsuit, who ended the exchange by rolling up his sleeve and presenting the veins of his forearm. The orderly injected the needle, withdrew it, offered a cotton ball for the bleeding, then left.
Thirty seconds later, Mr. Harper began to clutch at his right pectoral.
In another thirty seconds, he was dead.
"I can live with one in a hundred, Manny. What I can't live with is one in five failing to accept the programming." She carefully placed her hand on his shoulder as she watched another iteration of his code and care go down in flames before their eyes. Yes, the death was bothersome to the parts of their souls that remained intact, but after a couple of restless nights they could all be easily rationalized away. The error in the programming, however, felt a good deal more personal.
"I'll get with the fellas in QA and we'll go through your data. Thanks, Natalie." He said without turning away from the monitor. The orderly reappeared on screen and checked for vitals on the now deceased.
Somewhere else in the bowels of Site-19, two engineers in biological hazard suits waited patiently. A third man in a hard hat holds down a button on a panel as a track churns above their heads, passing empty hook after empty hook. Several seconds later, a 3-meter long rectangular plastic pouch emerges from whatever dark place the track originated. Within this plastic pouch is the silhouette of a human being in a hunched, vaguely fetal position. Following behind it, nine more nearly identical pouches.
The engineer lets go of the button once all the pouches are clear of the wall. The men in hazard suits grab the first pouch, pull it out into a separate track, and slice the bottom open with a box cutter. A thick, viscous goop spills out onto the floor, yellowish-red in color even against the sterile-white fluorescent lights overhead and cold concrete below.
As the pouch opened up, the human figure within slide out onto the industrial floor. It was pink and covered in indistinct chunks of strange organic matter, like a newborn child. There he was, 'Mr. Harper' number 7105.
"Alright, let's get 'em cleaned up." The engineer instructed as the other iterations of 'Mr. Harper' were cut free.
This whole process was messy. Imperfect. At times unscientific and even immoral. But for the folks down here in the "D-Class Wing" it was something they had to cling to and use as a shield to depersonalize from what they were asked to do. A clone emerges from a vat of soup, per-packaged with the genetic markers for a more obedient personality and a trusting nature. They clean it up, dress it in a standard issue jumpsuit, test its motor function, and send it along. Send it along to die.
Meanwhile, Dr. Eates tweaked the weighted emotional scores of his latest build. It's clear that the guilt of the implanted crimes was not traumatic enough to reinforce the implied debt to society. But he had to carefully counter-balance this against the clone's implanted love for family and desire to see the world improved for a son and wife he knew he could not see again. It only hurt to think about if he actually stopped to think about it. In the meantime, they would remain cleverly considered variables in his code with function calls and annotations for a better tomorrow.
Dr. Ellingbrooke grabbed a new rubric and prepared for another interview. Her job was ceaseless vigilance in the face of an imperfect system. Any and every member of the Foundation knew that they were being asked to possibly lay their life down and die in order to protect their family, their friends, their future progeny, and normalcy itself for a sacrifice they may never come to learn of. Each of these 'Mr. Harpers', no matter how real or fake they may in truth be, needed to be capable of that same level of investment. Even if it had to be artificially induced.
There was science to be done. Lives to save.
The ranks of the D-Class were not about to fill themselves.

More from ManyMeats


Dread & Circuses Hub | A Fractured Curtain »

There it was. Before her stood the exact circus she had seen in her vision, brightly lit and teeming with childlike wonder. The late afternoon sun cast an orange glow overhead, something she wasn't used to around those parts, possibly some kind of effect of the circus itself. Cassie had never been to one before, never experienced the wonder nor the allure of its fantastical nature, but that wasn't important to her. The only thing that mattered was getting all the information she could out of the secret organization that ran it.
She had to pay the entrance fee, of course, but it was a minor price to pay for what needed to be done. The carny asked her how old she was, but she kept it vague and let him know that she was an adult. “Yes, I came here alone,” she said defensively to no question having been asked. “Can't a grown woman enjoy the circus?”
The carnie, who was tall, lanky, and had eyebrows that were far too thick to be natural, simply shrugged as he granted her admission. It seems their security was lax, as they didn't even recognize her right away. It was all too easy. There had to have been more challenges waiting for her inside.
The calliope music felt as if it wanted to burrow its way into her head and control her thoughts, and it might have even been successful. It was hard to tell. The black cotton candy was no doubt drugged, so she naturally refused any offerings of the sort. Her mission was a singular one and she had no time to play the games of the so-called Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting no matter how much fun and excitement they promised to provide her with. Even the petting zoo with its adorable-yet-unorthodox animals that were simply begging her to pet them…
No. It was all part of the ruse. She knew better. The quicker she infiltrated their defenses and got out, the better, as she knew that even she wasn't completely immune to their tricks. However, this was after coming to realize that she was within the petting zoo's fences, her hand happily outstretched onto the head of a pink baby goat. On her face was a wide, almost manic grin as she continued to pet the adorable creature. And it was pink! Pink! Among her favorite colors! Even the children around her weren't as excited as she was to be near so many animals of varying colors and shapes.
It was truly a magical moment, but she stood up straight and straightened her purple coat and other actions related to straightening so that she could resume what was most important. That same coat coupled with her multicolored beanie meant she must have fit right in at a place like that. The Clowns she passed by were distorted in ways that only Clowns could be, making her wonder what they fed the poor souls who worked there.
“Are you having a fun time!?” one of the Clowns asked her in an unbelievably jovial voice as she stopped and moved closer to him. His head was too big and shaped almost like a balloon, but she ignored that.
“Yeah,” she answered plainly, keeping an eye out for anyone who may have been listening in on their conversation. “Hey, uh, who runs this place?”
The Clown grinned from ear to ear and asked, “You see all of this, and yet you think there's a leader? You're more optimistic than I am! The closest thing we have is the ringmaster, Icky!”
Cassie shook her head slightly, getting even closer and lowering her voice as much as she could while remaining audible over the crowds. “You don't have to put on this act with me. I know all about this place. I'm gonna help you.”
The Clown stared blankly at her for a moment, his jolly nature put on hold. “What?”
“I get it,” Cassie went on. “You don't have to say anything. Just point me in the right direction if you know what I mean.”
With his face still suspended in awkward happiness, the Clown hesitantly raised an arm and pointed to one of the many striped tents, this one a little out of the way compared to most. She nodded to him knowingly, making her way to the tent immediately. As she looked back, like she always did, she could see the Clown talking to another Clown, his eyes still following her as she left.
Not good, she thought. They must have been more brainwashed than she had thought. She should have guessed. Regardless, the situation would only become more perilous from here on out.
Instead of going to the tent that was pointed out to her, she veered off and broke into a sprint between the tents, cages, and teens who had snuck off to smoke in private. The calliope music felt as if it was becoming more insidious with every face she passed by peering into her soul, knowing exactly what her purpose was. Would they turn her into one of their own? She had to keep her mind clear, but whispers could be overheard saying how she was obvious, how she would be roasted alive. All she needed to do was find something damning, a document or the right opportunity for a photo, and she would get out of there, but she couldn't leave empty-handed.
"Excuse me, ma'am,” a deep voice spoke from directly in front of her as the glow from the setting sun was blocked out by the image of a large man with a peculiar face. It took a moment for her to process, but it hit her that this man's entire face was all the way upside-down. It was as if an artist had merely lost their patience when drawing a portrait that day. When it hit her that what she was looking at was clearly impossible, she gasped as her heart sank. “Can I help you?”
“I knew it,” she said, her breathing becoming more rapid. “I knew it! You've all been behind it all along, haven't you? Pulling the strings, making this nightmare… I know exactly what you've been up to.”
The large man reached out and grabbed her coat by the collar, lifting her feet off the ground. She could get a better look at him like that, and vice versa, but the moment didn't last as he carried her into a more private setting inside a small, unlit tent nearby. He pulled up one of many stools present and lowered her onto it, folding his arms as he looked at her sternly, his brows rising in order to do so.
“Who sent you here?” he asked, towering over her as she gently took a seat.
“Nobody sent me,” she answered honestly. “I'm here because you've been making my life a living hell. It's my burden.”
“Your burden,” the strange man repeated in a mutter, stroking the top of his head where his chin was. “To my knowledge, I don't think I've seen your face before. Why would we do such a thing to someone we don't even know?”
Cassie grimaced, scooting the stool backward inch by inch to gain a safe distance from the man. “Tell me who you are.”
“I'm called Manny here,” he replied calmly. “It's no secret, either. That tells me you've been left in the dark by whoever fed you information on us. It doesn't have to end poorly for you.”
Having what she would describe as a healthy buffer of space between the two of them, Cassie continued. “Nobody fed me information.”
“Listen here!” a woman's voice yelled as a Clown Ringleader made her presence known, bursting through the flaps of the tent. “I've had it up to here with you goons barging into the Circus like you own the place! It's like you're not even trying anymore! You really think these Clowns are gonna turn traitor at the drop of a dime?”
Cassie's breathing remained erratic and her mind spun in a tempest of thought after intrusive thought. “I'm here to expose you all! The world needs to know the truth!”
The man grumbled. “I can't make sense of anything going on in her head.”
Icky narrowed her eyes as she bent over to get a better look at Cassie, procuring a flashlight from her pocket to shine in her face. “Geo Sea? Essie P? CIA? FBI? Local police? Manna? You seem like you're in over your head, so it would benefit you to start fessing up.”
“You mean you're not with the police? Or the FBI or CIA? Or is this just a misdirection?”
“Do we look like pigs to you?” Icky questioned, motioning as if to present herself. “I mean, some of the Clowns, sure, but they're self-conscious about their snouts, so don't bring it up.”
Cassie got lost in her own head for a minute, some of the strings coming unraveled as she quickly had to make sense of everything again. “So you're separate from all of it. Then that means you must be the good guys! I had a vision of this place. This exact place. I had to come here, but I wasn't sure why. It's never clear.”
“Perhaps she's clairvoyant,” Manny suggested to the ringleader. “That could prove useful if what she says is true.”
“That's the difference between me and you, Manny,” Icky said as she pointed a gloved finger at the man. “You see usefulness, I see potential. Very fine line between those things.”
Cassie spoke up before the two of them could argue about the minutiae of their phrasing. “Do you really think I could be clairvoyant? The caregiver at the psych ward I go to says it's dangerous to think of things that way.”
Icky once again narrowed her eyes, puckering her lips in thought. “Psych ward?”
“They put me there to control me,” she said immediately. “They don't want me talking about any of this. They're afraid.”
“And this vision… It looked exactly like this very Circus?”
Cassie attempted to nod but found it difficult to fully visualize what she had in her mind, or even what she had seen prior to coming into the tent. “I think so.”
“Not a vague hallucination of some kind? Vague enough to apply to just about anything?”
“No,” Cassie protested. “It was…” She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. “It was it. I know it. It was the city. The… hidden one. The hidden city.”
Icky turned back to the man and said, “Get her to Tinkles. We'll see what she has to say on a clearer mind after some Clown Impulse Suppressants.”
The man nodded, kind of, as Icky left the tent. “Come with me, kid,” he said to her as she hesitantly stood up from her stool.
“What are Clown Impulse Suppressants?”
“They'll help calm you. Believe me, you'll be able to think more clearly after you come down from one of these.”
Cassie still didn't move to follow him. “Do they get rid of the thoughts they're trying to put in my head? I didn't consent to anything they've made me think about, you know. I don't know anything about them. Okay?”
Taking a moment to pause, Manny lent a hand in front of her. “I promise you're safe from whoever intends to harm you here. You're going to have to trust me.”
She looked down, taking notice of the dirt and the bits of forest that had clung to her coat. Her hands were dry and cracked, her feet aching and her hair knotted. It wasn't even clear to her how long she had been away from home. Slowly reaching out to accept the man's hand, she conceded. “Okay.”

There was some kind of balloon that kept hitting the floor beside her, over and over until she turned to see what it was. A Clown, red nose and pigtails. She came in and out of view with each bounce, the red balloon she was mounted on looking as though it would surely pop each time.
“What…” she mumbled, followed by a groan as she struggled to get herself moving again.
“You're awake!” the Clown loudly exclaimed, putting a cease to her bouncing as she stretched out her neck to get a better look at her. She had a grin that reminded her of a sleep paralysis demon and Cassie wasn't entirely convinced she wasn't. “We all have episodes sometimes!” she went on. “Sometimes they're TV episodes, like an episode of Law and Order! And sometimes they don't have an order! Or law, for that matter! But don't worry! You're in good hands! Even though you're not a part of the family… yet… that doesn't mean I can't treat you like you are! As I always say, every Freak is always valid in their own Freaky way. I lied, I never say that, but every always begins with a first! Ooh, I like that.”
Cassie shut her eyes tight and opened them again. Sometimes that would be enough to get rid of a hallucination. “Are you real? Would you tell me if you were real?”
“As really real as real can really get!” she shouted happily. “My name is Lollipop, but you can call me Lolly! What's your name?”
After a deep groan, she answered, “Cassie…”
“Hmm…” Lolly rested her chin on her fist, getting a real good look at her for some reason. “Cassie… Cassie… Hmmmmmm…” Her face lit up as she triumphantly announced, “Tootsie! Way less of a Humdrum name, you can thank me later when you realize you love it.”
“Where am I?” she asked, still not fully awake.
“A tent! Tinkles' tent, to be specific. He's the doctor here, went to Clown college and everything. You came here last night, remember? Tinkles gave you the Clown Impulse Suppressants, you got all hazy and asked to go to the bathroom, you could be heard stating, and I quote, ‘It just disappears forever!' Then you passed out! On the toilet, I mean.”
Shaking her head, Cassie groaned again. “I don't remember any of that. Stop trying to implant memories into my brain.”
“I would never do such a thing! Not even if I could! Which, to be fair, I've never tested… But I wouldn't start with you! That'd be rude! I'm just here to watch over you.”
“That's my job, Lolly,” another woman's voice from within the tend spoke. She tried to get a better look at who it was, but could only make out that she was a Clown in her hazy state. A Clown with a lot of reds and greens. For hallucinations, they felt all too real.
“Well, okay, technically Zoozoo's here to watch over you, but I'm here so that you're not alone with Zoozoo. And I'm also the Ringleader's favorite and most trusted!” She lowered her head bashfully and bit her lip. “And her lover. And that's important to remember! Even if you're only gonna be here for a day… or two, I dunno, Icky and Manny are both, like, really really cautious of people.”
“The Circus was real?” Cassie said incredulously, having not been able to believe her own memories several times in the past. “Oh, god… My family must be worried sick. They've probably already called the police. I'll be in the hospital for months…”
Lolly audibly gasped as her eyes gained a fiery glow. “Sounds like they wanna lock you up, and I am adamantly opposed to that on a deep and spiritual level!” She got down on one knee beside Cassie's bunk and said, “I know I'm not supposed to do this, but… will you be my friend? And… uh… run away to join the Circus? I know! I know! It sounds like a whole thing, but I promise it's worth it! We're all Freaks here! You'd fit right in!”
“I'm not a Freak,” Cassie declared firmly, making Lolly recoil. “It's dehumanizing… I'm just different. And different is okay.” She was no longer talking to Lolly, but rather to herself. For her, it was the same thing. “I won't dehumanize myself. I'm valued and worthy of love.”
“But…” Lolly started, showing her puppy dog eyes in their full glory. “I never said you weren't all of those things you just said! It's not a bad thing to be a Freak. Becoming a Freak was the best decision I ever made.”
Cassie sighed and shook her head. “I guess I have to settle with that. I should call my parents and let them know I'm alright.” She reached for her pockets to retrieve her phone only to realize that her jeans were entirely flat around those areas. She had spent extra on women's jeans that had actual pockets and they had let her down for the last time. “Where's my phone?”
Lolly could be seen smiling nervously, a small noise that possibly could have passed as a laugh escaping her. “About that,” she said through her clenched, perfectly white teeth. “They might have taken your phone because you haven't been cleared as a non-threat yet. And by might, I mean definitely.”
“Lolly,” Cassie said with a straight face and tempered voice.
“…Yeah?”
“Am I being kidnapped?”
The Clown held up two fingers as if she was about to pinch the air and said, “Maybe just a little bit? But it's for good reason! If this is really all by mistake, then you'll be let go, no questions asked! Well, maybe a few questions asked, but I'm sure they're doing a background check right now and obviously, since you're innocent, you'll be fine!” Her mouth closed as she was still smiling, but there was clearly something more she wanted to say, so Cassie waited for it. “It's just that it'd be real nice if you could join the Circus- I can even give you the grand tour! Last guy I gave the tour, well, lemme tell you, last time I'll be giving a tour to an adult!”
“I'm not a child,” Cassie said, confused. “I'm nineteen.”
Lolly nodded along, saying, “Right, you're an adult, of course! Sometimes you uh… assume everyone's a child when you work at the Circus, but hey! Nineteen's a great age! Don't you wanna stay nineteen forever? You'll have the joys of being a kid and the freedom of being an adult if you stay here.”
“I think I need an adult,” Cassie protested, moving to stand up only to realize she wasn't as balanced as she thought she was. Her head felt like it was about to give out, forcing her to lean on the top bunk beside her to stay on her feet. “Did you really drug me?”
“I didn't,” Lolly replied, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “Tinkles did, but I can't be held accountable for his actions! I already need to be held accountable for all of my own, and let me tell you, that's a lot of actions.”
Cassie took a second to think it over and sighed. “I mean… I did barge into the Circus like a maniac. Feels like it all happened so fast. One minute I was talking to a Clown, and the next I was being interrogated by a Clown… That couldn't have possibly been real. I'm off my meds, I'm seeing things and… remembering things that aren't real. I don't even know how long I've been on the run looking for that stupid vision I had, and… I mean… I'm not crazy, I just need my meds to be balanced! If my meds aren't working, I've gotta be put on more meds or… or different meds next time and… I don't know if I can go through another med change because I'm already almost entirely through the list of antipsychotics they've got available and I just wanna experience life for once without a fucking desert in my mouth as a side effect!”
She looked to Lolly, who didn't seem to be at all perturbed by her little outburst. They never did seem to care all that much. But this one was different. Gentle and kind hallucinations were one in a million. “We're used to much worse around here,” she assured her. “Trust me, much worse. We're a family of Freaks, every day is something completely different from the last!”
Looking at her more intently, Cassie poked her side, eliciting a giggle from the Clown. She couldn't have been real… “Hey, why are both of you wearing your full makeup?” she asked, realizing that a clown certainly wouldn't be in makeup 24/7 unless she sincerely misunderstood how that job worked.
Zoozoo leaned back in her chair. “Capital C,” she said confidently. “We're not clowns by trade. We're Clowns for life.”
“And if you leave, you'll think this was all just a dream,” Lolly pointed out. “Or in your case, a hallucination. Or a hallucination in a dream. Hallucidreams. Can you get hallucidreams?”
“I'm having one right now…” she confirmed.
Lolly took Cassie by the hand and, before she could have a say in the matter, placed it near her ear, where a handkerchief was already beginning to slide out on its own. “Pull,” she told her.
And so she did. She pulled as more handkerchiefs came out of her ear, each tied to the last and as clean as a whistle. And they weren't just appearing as if they came out of her ear, either. They were quite literally coming out in the dozens directly from the canal. When she had pulled enough handkerchiefs out, Lolly then began weaving them into designs that not only stood on their own, but began moving and speaking nonsense on their own as well. They were in the shape of people, their mouths moving and a whole lot of nothing important coming out.
“Look!” Lolly exclaimed. “It's congress!”
Not knowing what had come over her, Cassie began to laugh at the impossible display. Truth be told, it was nothing she wasn't already used to in some capacity. She wasn't sure how this was supposed to prove that she wasn't hallucinating, however.
“In these hard times, I feel like some cuts are necessary.” Lolly procured a scythe from her pockets somehow and sliced the heads off of all the handkerchief people, their talking immediately silenced as they all fell lifeless to the floor. Slowly, the handkerchiefs began to rise again, moaning and wailing, painting legitimate fear into Lolly's face.
“Ah, crap!” she said, continuing to slice through the cloth. “I forgot you can't kill a status quo! Tootsie, get out while you still can! Save yourself!”
The Handkerchiefs burst into flame in the blink of an eye as the tend flap opened to let the morning light in for a brief moment. “Lolly,” the same voice as the magician woman from the night before rang out. “What have I told you about playing with the economy?”
Lolly sighed, reciting the phrase, “Economic interests and values aren't to be played with outside of specific roleplay scenarios.”
Icky neared them and hugged Lolly from behind, the two of them smiling ear to ear. “Good girl,” she said next to her ear. All of a sudden, Cassie felt awkward for looking in the same direction as the two.
“Oh!” Lolly interjected. “Tootsie is innocent and she can join the Circus and be a forever-friend! Pleeeaaase? Can we keep her?”
Icky sighed. “Well, the good news is that she is innocent. The, uh, “bad” news is that we can't just abduct people off the streets. Or… shouldn't abduct people off the streets. Clearly we're able to…”
“But she wants to join!” Lolly argued. “You should have seen how happy she was when I did something as simple as a handkerchief trick! Imagine how much happier she would be if she saw more! Plus, she's already stayed a night with us! That's basically like joining the family already! She can be a Carnie! Or a Clown! Oh! Or even a magician! Don't we need more magicians or something?”
“No,” Icky replied plainly. “Not particularly. And she still has to make that decision herself. Just because you want a friend doesn't mean she wants a new family.” She narrowed her eyes and looked Cassie up and down, smirking much like Zoozoo did. “I mean, she is fresh meat that isn't too bad to look at…”
“Do you interview all your clients by undressing them with your eyes?” Cassie said as she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Only the lucky ones.”
“C'mon!” Lolly shouted, grabbing Cassie by the hand and dragging her out of the tent. “The Circus is so much better from out here!”
As Cassie looked around at the morning scenery surrounding the two, shortly followed by Icky, she realized she didn't recognize any of it. There were red cliff sides in the distance and the immediate area had no trees whatsoever. This was somewhere far from Oregon, to be sure.
“It's northern Mexico, if you were wondering,” Icky mentioned as if reading Cassie's mind. “Congratulations on making it to day two of Circus company. Not many get to learn about our weird little secrets, least of all a Humdrum such as yourself. I've got work to do, but I'm sure Lolly and the others can keep you company for now. Oh, and…” She rummaged through her invisible hammerspace and pulled out several odd items like bookshelves, axes, and live animals before getting to Cassie's phone and handing it to her. “All yours. Sorry about the whole drugging thing, better safe than sorry.”
As Icky was leaving for the striped tents, Lolly bounced up and down for a moment and could barely contain her excitement. “You see? We're good guys! This place is the most magical, wondrous, mind-blowing, exhilarating place in the world! No, the multiverse!”
“How do I get back home?” Cassie asked, much to Lolly's disappointment.
“Oh. Right. Icky can take you back whenever you're ready. It's just a doorway away with magic! You'll stay around long enough to see more magic, right? Just wait until you see the Menagerie of Mayhem, the Hall of Humans Extraordinaire, and you have to see the Fun-lover's Funhouse!”
Cassie stood for a moment to view the entirety of the Circus from a distance, admiring its ability to be like a shining beacon even in the morning sun. “So magic is real, huh?”
Lolly nodded with a big grin on her face. “And a world of infinite possibilities. Otherworldly travel! Unbelievable spectacles! Unlimited adventure! And just think- you were lucky enough to not have to go home after the first day! Because you're like us! Well… kind of. It's not a misfit's world out there. But here, the less you fit, the better! And don't take that out of context!”
“And I'll be fed? And safe?”
“You bet! You're not the only one like you here. Sure, the Clowns need Clown milk, but not everyone is a Clown! We take care of all needs, big or small! Just… don't worry about Manny for right now. He's more focused on profit than Icky, and you don't exactly have a superpower that can sell tickets.”
Cassie tightened her grip around her phone, looking at the endless texts and missed calls from her parents, and replied that she was alright and being taken care of. She wasn't sure what else to add, since no matter what, they were going to be worried sick. While she did want to get back to them and have that comfort she had been lacking ever since she took off, it wasn't every day someone got to explore the realm of real, genuine magic. “Okay,” she said finally. “I'll stay here for a little bit. But if I get too uncomfortable, I'm gonna take that doorway thing back home, alright?”
Lolly couldn't have been more satisfied with her answer, wrapping her arms around her in a tight, soul-crushing embrace. “You'll love it! I promise! Welcome to the Circus of the Disquieting! And welcome home!”
“Yeah, yeah, home, Circus, all good,” another Clown said, holding a clipboard to his chest. It was Tinkles, she barely recognized him from the haze of the previous night. “Clown Impulse Suppressants work? That's good, that's good, take one at night before going to sleep and we'll see where you're at.” He handed her an unmarked bottle of pills followed by a form from his clipboard to be filled out. It was in the opposite order from how she was normally prescribed drugs, but she couldn't have expected anything more from a hallucination.
“Now we're both on the same meds!” Lolly pulled out her own bottle of pills from her pocket and added, “See? We're matching!”
“What are the side effects?” Cassie asked just in case it was all real. At least, everything except for Lolly. She knew she was a hallucination no matter what.
Tinkles shifted his feet and said, “For humans? Drowsiness, dizziness, slowness, bloating, a Clown-like resistance to just about everything you can think of, that kinda thing.”
“No dry mouth?” It would have been a first.
“Not that I know of.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank god. Seems like every antipsychotic in the world just wants to-”
“See there's your problem right there,” Tinkles interjected. “Using human medicine. That stuff is way behind the times!”
“It's true,” Lolly nodded in agreement. “You should check out some of the other Worlds and see what they have to offer. I love this World and all, but it can be a little dull at times. Which is why we're here! When the world needs a little cheering up with a hint of magic, we can spark some joy and creativity in them! Everyone deserves as much!”
Cassie leaned in closer to Tinkles, whispering, “Just out of curiosity, do you see that Clown there?” She pointed at Lolly, who was daydreaming about something or another after her speech.
“More than I'd like to,” Tinkles responded, making his way back inside his white tent.
Cassie stared straight ahead while Lolly stared directly at her face, soaking in the secondhand wonder of the newbie. She smiled a bit, then turned to face Lolly. “What did you call it? Menagerie of Mayhem? Can we go there first?”
Lolly quickly began jogging in place as she grabbed Cassie by the hand, her terrifying grin on full display. “You won't believe your eyes! Or your nose! Seriously, you might wanna cover your nose around some of these wonders.” Her jogging finally took a direction and the two went speeding through the Circus as Cassie couldn't help but feel the excitement rush through her.
At the very least, it was going to be one hell of a trip.

Dread & Circuses Hub | A Fractured Curtain »


I <3 the Circus!
<< Pt. 3 - Wherever You Go, I'll Follow | Herman Fuller Hub | Pt. 4: For Fear of Falling | Pt. 5 »

A hush flowed across the crowd like a wave, and the space at the center of the Big Top that had once held prancing horses and tumbling clowns was suddenly and dramatically empty.
"Humbly, I hail you, hopeful hordes! Hearken now, hysteric hominids! Humble, yes, but herald holding hyperbole, hells no! Hear hedonistic hypocrisy hawked here, to be sure, however heuristic. How high? Heaven herself hallucinates at the hope!
Thus, I present to you, Heaven's Flight!"
Herman Fuller's sonorous voice fades back into the shadows, and I could hear the crowd beginning to stir in their seats. I'm never certain if it's because of their expectation for whatever show was about to begin, or if it's because they're still trying to figure out whatever the hell Fuller just said.
I swear he does that just to confuse people, but it makes sense. With the omnipresent auditory assault from the calliope putting everyone into such a suggestible state, I guess the weird confusion that comes from Fuller's diatribes works to make our patrons even more excited about the strange things they see.
It doesn't really matter now, and I breathe deeply, centering myself for the show that is about to begin. Fraust can sense my anxiety, and I can feel one of their tentacles quietly wrapping itself around my ankle, centering me, reminding me that I will not be alone for long out in that dark gulf above the center ring.
The "mundane" aerialists begin their routine with a flourish, dropping from their hidden places in the shadows near the tent's sloping canvas roof, their sequined outfits sparking in the spotlights with radiant flashes of kaleidoscopic fire. What they lack in "special talent", they more than make up for in being damn good at what they do.
Fraust is always going on about how some of them must have SOME touch of the talent to do some of the things they do. "Normals can't do what we do, but the stuff they CAN do is damn near magical."
But, Icky assures me that there is nothing truly magical about what it is they do. Hard work, dedication, and an obscene amount of training goes into their routines, and it shows. The copious amounts of cocaine probably helps too.
They're so in sync with the rhythm, the music almost seems to flow with them as they whisper through the air. I'm a bit jealous of that part, it's taken me ages to just get my damn cues right. I don't really hear the music once the show starts. I just watch Fraust. I see them move, and I just… know where I'm supposed to be.
The aerialists stopped practicing with us months ago. They said the way that Fraust does their thing makes them nauseous. I get that, they really must be in tune with their own bodies to do what they do, and seeing Fraust… contort the way they do has got to be disconcerting.
I don't see it that way, of course. I watch Fraust melt into shape after shape with a thrill that's so intense that it borders on the obscene. I can feel them moving in a way that the others can't, and the way Fraust undulates… arouses me. It couldn't be nauseating, the thought of my left hand being nauseating in how it moves is just as utterly alien a concept. It is just the way things are, and that very surety centers me just as much as it turns me on.
Fraust once again notices my thoughts and they look up at me with that ridiculous grin. "Shh, love. We're about to perform. We can do that later."
For a moment, my cheeks burn with a hint of embarrassment at being caught out like that. I'm still not used to how free these people are with their sexuality. Adding Clown physiology into the mix, and it's only natural that the level of "experimentation" that goes on would be a part of the social norm.
Barbara in Accounting would be having a fit if she could see me now.
I grin back over at them and give one of their appendages an affectionate squeeze. "Go on. It's just about time for our cue."

Fuller stepped once more into the ring and raised his hands as the spotlights centered on him, giving his form that weird nimbus he loved so much.
"And now! Turn thy thoughts to this tantalizing temptation tapestried there, this terpsichorean tableau. Twinned testaments to the tenuous tractility that these two transpose, truth! Thus this theatrically trenchant test thus…. BEGINS."
That was it, that was the cue. The spotlights winked out as if they were never even there, leaving behind a strange and otherworldly glow in the air directly above the center ring. My heart thudded in my chest, but still, I waited. It wasn't my time yet.
The glow deepened, brightened, coalescing enough to show a huge clear bowl, filled with black water. It hung there, suspended in the air above the space where Fuller once stood, and the water was as still and unmoving as if it were made of the same glass as the bowl it filled.
The glow brightened again, and a ripple broke the still surface of the bowl as something moved within. The audience couldn't see that part, but what they did see sent a ripple of sound that mimicked the movement atop the bowl. A pale form, sinuous and slender, inhuman and almost serpentine, moved with the dark fluid of the bowl.
Aquatic, it moved through the water with its undulations allowing tantalizing glimpses of strange flesh against the glass: a thick trunk of muscle here, a trailing tendril there. A ghostly face, momentarily lit by the strange glow elicited a gasp from those in the crowd that were paying the closest attention.
I grinned. Fraust loved how weird they could make themselves look, and I could tell by the pattern in the water that they were going for the "naga in the water" look tonight. The people below couldn't be certain of what they were seeing, and that only added to the weirdness of it all. The face was human enough, the torso was anything but.
Once more I found myself taking a centering breath. It was almost time. This first part was always the hardest, the waiting. I had to time my jump just right, so that when the spotlight came, I was on the platform only long enough for the crowd to recognize me as a person, one of them. As if.
The music began then, dark and discordant, a deep base thrumming in the air like a heartbeat, dipping low enough to be inaudible, but loud enough to still be felt. It tingled in my chest, along my arms braced against the rigging, tickled my feet on the narrow platform. It was almost time.
The "creature" in the bowl below me began to thrash in time with the throbbing pulse of the music, sending waves of water cascading down the sides of the bowl. Someone shrieked in surprise as another thick coil of pale flesh slid along the inside of the glass, this time trailing an oh-so-human hand. I could feel their fear in a way that I never could before. Taste it, like a pungent narcotic in the air. Only heartbeats left.
Then it came with a rush, a crashing crescendo of musical chords and Fraust reared out of the water. Thick muscles stood out on their torso like ropes, holding the serpentine form clear of the sloshing water of the bowl. They let out an otherworldly howl, harmonizing with the discordant chords just enough to give the music a presence that everyone in the tent could feel.
Then the spotlight snapped into being and I was limned in silver.
For just the briefest of moments I stood there, letting the sudden intake of breath from the crowd showcase their recognition that I was there. A lone figure, tiny with the impossible height, preparing to face down the monster in the water. Then, that frozen moment ended, and I leapt into the air.

The time in the air always seems to stretch into infinity for me. If I dared to breathe during the long plummet to the entirely too-shallow pool beneath me, I could easily breathe for a lifetime. Or so it seemed. Time slows to petrified eternities between each heartbeat, and I can feel myself disassociating from the world around me. It is as if the very air I moved through was stripping away my identity as I pass through it.
Then, I was there, and instead of the expected impact against the water that everyone below me knew was coming, my arrow-straight body was instead captured in the writhing tentacles of the horror my Lover had become. In that sudden, explosive moment, the glass bowl appeared to shatter, sending waves of dark water spraying outward as Fraust pushed up and out to catch me in a forest of suddenly uncoiling tentacles.
The crowd shrieked in horror or shock, and even if I could hear them clearly, I probably wouldn't be able to tell which. Instead, my world had narrowed to the sliding tendrils of warm flesh that wrapped and unwrapped themselves around me. For what seemed like whole minutes, I pulled my way through Fraust's embrace, seeking the rigidity I knew had to be there.
Then the smooth shaft of the pole was there in my hand. I gripped it tight, and the fall I hadn't felt was suddenly arrested as I swung wide and around, using my downward momentum to send the free-hanging pole into a wild spin.
Fraust was flung away from me in a cloud of snapping tentacles and a roar of displeasure that shook the seats in their platforms. They snagged a line and spun, tucking their tentacles in close and reforming them to once more look almost human. For a second we hung there, suspended together in that awful void, our eyes locked onto each other.
Then, on cue with another rush of the music, they leapt at me, vaulting through the space with an effortless ease that would be impossible for a mere human. Immediately I grabbed the pole with my other hand, pushing down and tucking in as I inverted, my legs extending upwards to be parallel with the pole. I had only a heartbeat, as Fraust's furious rush sent the pole careening through the air once again as they latched onto it.
The music crashed once more and they leapt upwards just as I let go, and once again I slip past Fraust's grasping limbs, tucking my legs up to my chest just in time to miss a "clumsy" strike that would have pulled my intestines out through my navel. I keep meaning to suggest that the move doesn't miss and do exactly that, but I forget that thought almost as soon as it forms as I reach out to snag the bottom of the pole in my grasping left hand.
The momentum pulled me in to another perfect arc, from inversion to vertical, back to inversion as I swung beneath the pole. For a moment we hung there, the menacing form of Fraust twitching like some sort of fucked up anatomical storm cloud above my upturned feet. Then they began to advance down toward me, tentacles writhing about their body in a display of weirdly contorting flesh.
With no warning aside from a wink unseen by the crowd, Fraust leapt again at me and I snapped my body out, pulling my shoulder hard against the pole and extending my legs straight out from the now-spinning pole. Fraust shrieked in rage and lashed out, their tentacles wrapping around my legs to arrest their fall.
Then we were once more frozen in place, Fraust dangling from my ankles above the floor, their twisting turbulence spinning us faster in the air. A physicist would claim that what we did was impossible, that no one could generate momentum while suspended in the air by another performer in shoulder-mount flag. They'd probably be right, but Fraust isn't just anyone.
Somehow they managed to find purchase in the free-floating motes of dust that were just a ubiquitous fact of life in the Circus, just enough to push us forward into an ever faster spin. I breathed slowly, focusing on keeping the screaming muscles in my abdomen taught, maintaining the impossible position against the Fraust's weight and the accelerating spin.
As the speed picked up, it actually got easier to keep the position as centrifugal force threatened to rip the pole free from my grasp and send us careening into the stands. That had happened once during rehearsal. We'd torn a hole straight through the side of the Big Top, and Manny had nearly took my head off as he bitched about the effort it took to repair the tent.
Apparently a lot goes into repairing holes torn in the fabric of a construction that casually warps dimensional reality like it was a child's plaything. Who would've thought?
At the moment, I certainly wasn't thinking of that sort of thing. The burn in my shoulders was beginning to really remind me how much it sucked to hold on to that damn pole as we spun like a fucking top in the middle of the air. It's a love-hate thing, performing for the Circus. It really fucking is.
And, just like that, it was over. With another inhuman roar, Fraust sent out snapping tentacles to wrap around the pole just as they slid their hold on my legs up to my hips. With a grunt, I'm ripped free from my grip as if I hadn't just been holding on for dear life just a second before. They tossed me into the air like a dog worrying at a chew toy, and I let my body go limp to make the rag-doll effect more pronounced. It wasn't hard, and the snapping whiplash was gonna give me one helluva headache when this was all over. Like it always did.
They hurled me into the pole, and the impact of the hard rubber against my abdomen was loud enough to sound like a gunshot in the sudden stillness of the tent. I folded into it, wrapping my body around it and gripping the thing tightly between my thighs and chest. As Fraust pulled free, I remained behind, a tiny thing wrapped against the unforgiving pole, trapped above the swirling chaos that was my partner and soulmate.
Why the fuck do I do this?
Oh yeah, because now it was MY turn.
Fraust always says that I become something else when we hit this point in the show. Like, something possesses me. Maybe they're right. Maybe I'm just ecstatic to give that lovable freak back some of what they just put ME through.
With a grunt, I flex out and let go. The motion of snapping to full extension pushes me away from the pole and once more I am free falling through the air. Towards Fraust. Towards that bastard that just slammed me at Mach Three Point whatever into that fucking pole. They say I get this gleam in my eye that sometimes scare them more than the dead eyes of the Factory Wardens.
That's easy to believe. Those mechanical monsters are soulless. My soul is very much present, and it is very much looking forward to this.
I let out a wild yell as I plummet past Fraust, then my hand snakes out to grasp one of Fraust's waiting tentacles. The momentum of my fall added to their sudden flex pulls me once more into a wild arc and suddenly I'm back above them. I grab their shoulder with my free hand, pulling their tentacle up to pull the tentacle tight about Fraust's throat. They let out a choked gasp as I twist the tentacle once more about their neck, cutting off their air flow.
A moment to brace, then I surge upwards, my hands once more finding the pole. I tuck in, then lash out with both feet, connecting squarely with Fraust's face… knocking them free from the pole.
They tell me that this fall is the scariest for our audience, but they love it the most. With a crash that seems to shake the world, they impact the ground far below. I pull my feet in, then lock them into place on the pole just long enough to push myself to the top. From there, I grab a hold of the small cushion placed there and pull myself up and over the pole.
I pause there, my legs and arm stretched out straight from my body, balancing on the palm of my hand, my fingers gripping the top of the pole with crushing strength. And I hold it. Long enough to look down and see Fraust feebly writhing on the ground far below. Long enough for the crowd of deathly-quiet patrons to just about guess what comes next. Long enough to show that the prey has just become predator.
Then, I push myself up to full extension, then slam myself down, causing the pole to jerk free of it's unseen clamps.
This fall is not a free fall. It is purposeful. The pole has become my spear, and I am the weight that will surely drive it home. The mere handful of seconds it takes for me to fall stretches out once more into infinity all around, and all there is in the universe is my connection to Fraust, their eyes and mine locked together.
Then the tip of the pole sinks into Fraust's chest with a sickening crunch and black gore explodes from their mouth in a grotesque fountain. Once more I snap up, then shove down, and the pole sinks deeper into Fraust's shattered chest. They let out a bubbling shriek, full of horror and pain, their tentacles writhing feebly against the penetrating shaft of my improvised spear.
Then, with no warning, the spotlights wink out, and the entire world goes dark.


Having seen the fence of the Zone through the windshield of the armored jeep, Malburg sighed hopelessly and leaned back in his seat. Three-foot tall indecent inscriptions along with illustrations for them have not disappeared yet. He remembered fighting like a lion to leave memetic protection the territory the Seven and its vicinity, and almost getting into brawl with his counterpart from Nineteen over it, but to no avail. Although he understood that now there was no choice. The defense had to be removed, and instead of the dull box of Corporate Business Industries International, civilians had the pleasure of seeing the Zone Seven, resembling a huge fancy cylinder from the outside.
“There is some rally at the entrance again,” the driver said compassionately and, without waiting for instructions, turned onto a bypass road.
“Go to the back door,” Malburg ordered belatedly, nodded to himself and buried himself again in a thick, heavy file lying on his lap. It was daily schedule - a pile of scrap paper, because everything still won't go according to plan…
His assumptions were confirmed almost immediately. At the back door there already was a large group — or rather, a small crowd — of civilians. Mostly with cameras. Paparazzi. Malburg confusedly smiled to himself in the rear view mirror and returned the bored expression on his face. The jeep stopped. The guard jumped out and rushed to the Malburg's door, but he was beaten to it, and the head of the department, getting out of the car, almost crushed someone's leg. Flashes of cameras snapped. The reporters were excitedly talking. Malburg narrowed his eyes, not covering them with his hand, and began to smile again.
“Good day everyone, good day… Sorry, I am in a hurry, no, no, what?.. Wait for an official statement. Take pictures? Of course you can. As if I can stop you…” a lighthearted laugh, “No, I have no right to comment on this issue, wait for the press conference. Well, I sympathize with you very much, you'll get to the next one…”
Flashes were striking from all the sides. God knows what they will come up with in the tabloids. Today's linen suit was not too expensive, but not cheap; brand shoes, but it's unlikely that they'll be able to make out the icon, but the cufflinks are a catastrophe, and why did he choose these cufflinks for the sake of all… Distracted by soothing thoughts about style, Malburg, accompanied by security, has finally reached the saving entrance and with dignity (but very swiftly) entered the building. SMACK! Something hard and brittle at the same time hit his back with a disgusting sound, the guards slammed the door behind him, but it was too late. Malburg pulled the jacket off and glared at the stain from a rotten egg.
Dammit.

The host asked another question with the expression of a butcher who damn likes his work:
"What are your comments on the recent rallies regarding the demand to release these political prisoners from 'containment' by your Foundation?"
“You see, we are not related to the judicial system. I very much respect the active citizenship of the protesters, but they were likely misinformed.”
“Well, if you were following the news, then you yourself might have noticed that people are mostly demanding the release of a person who is held by your organization as object number 11001. Judging by the available sources, he is no different from other people except his past political activity in South-Eastern Asia. Could you enlighten our viewers about the aspects of this case?”
Malburg sighed shortly.
“This is not a political prisoner. This is not a human at all. Now any research institute can request comprehensive reports in our scientific department. As I see, you had little preparation time?”
The host of the show smiled radiantly, without reaction to the quip.
“It's just extremely important for our viewers to get opinion from a source that is reliable and close to the subject. By the way, since you yourself have already started talking about the judicial enforcement system: if the Foundation has nothing to do with it, then how do you recruit employees in penitentiary institutions? Especially since, according to the available information, almost all of them died during their “work”?”
“We really invite prisoners for voluntary cooperation, warning them that our work is dangerous,” explained Malburg, while mentally addressing not wholly decent expressions to the host and his habit of sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. “But we have the right to do so, since we ourselves are risking no less.”
On the host's face appeared such interest, as if he was just thinking about whether to enlist into D-Class.
“Oh, and under what conditions do they agree to such risky labor? Don't misunderstand me, but mass manifestation of selfless dedication among this category of people seems very unlikely.”
“I'm afraid I have no right to disclose the terms of contracts,” the head of external affairs confessed with a lean face, “there is such a thing as confidentiality. But I assure you, you would also agree!”
In response he got just a very satisfied smile, which did not bode well.
“Oh, no doubt. But after all the consent of the prisoners themselves is not enough, you know. It is necessary to actually get them out of detention places, and your Organization, as far as I understand, succeeds in that without any difficulty. Don't you think that this is clearly contradicts with your recent assertions about the lack of relation to the judicial-executive system?”
“Not at all.” Malburg remained calm. “We don't perform law enforcement functions in any way; we are scientists, researchers, not law enforcement officers and, of course, not jailers. Yes, we have treaties with some prisons, but, I assure you, prisoner cooperation has been and remains voluntary.”
“So you, being an unaccountable branch of a foreign organization, whose goals are not fully known and clear, using the “agreements” with prisons, are dragging out free the most dangerous criminals, right? And all this is explained only by vague phrases about the good of mankind.”
“With your permission, I will not disregard the theses put forward by you, so that everyone has an adequate idea of our activity. First, the SCP Organization is international and decentralized. It is hardly appropriate to talk about it's “foreignness” - Malburg smiled to the camera. “Secondly, the criminals don't get freedom - they, let's say, participate in correctional work under strict supervision. And finally, we have educational brochures in which our goals are fully disclosed. We are ready to provide them to everyone interested.”
The presenter, smiling indulgently, looked at the guest as if Malburg had come to his house with an offer to buy a miracle vacuum cleaner.
“Well, living in Russia, we would both know perfectly, how the contents of different brochures sometimes differ from reality…”

The Department of External Affairs had got it the worst. Such blows were unheard of. Employees of the department dealt with all the hardships quickly, gracefully and cheerfully, and then continued to chuckle in smoking rooms and in the dining room over the other services, which were always running from pillar to pole. Now only pale ghosts were left from cheerful "externs", who flickered in the corridors, appeared somewhere and immediately vanished, answered constant phone calls with lifeless voices, and also made petty revenge to the other departments — the ridiculous message about abnormal activity would be transferred to the scientific service, then they would send a task force to the address of the next prank call. Ghosts vaguely hoped for suspension or dismissal, even with amnestics, but the punishment for this acts of revenge was much more cruel - they were given double load and extra charge so that there was no chance to refuse.
The externs' revenge on their own boss was far more sophisticated, and most importantly - completely legitimate. About every hundredth call was directed to him. His secretary managed half of them, but as a result, the phone still rang nonstop. That is - at all.
Malburg anxiously glanced into his reception room. In the office the phone was already ringing. Nina put the handset away from her mouth like if preparing to begin a one and a half hour briefing, and the head of the department, leaving the briefcase at the door, hurriedly retreated.
Ten meters from the office, an indifferent “Hello” resounded behind the left shoulder, and Malburg didn't even need to turn around and wait until the unknown and inconspicuous clerk would take off his tie.
“Tharnis, what do we have?”
“FSB Deputy Director and SMF Colonel. Need to talk to Dr. Lemis. And one more meeting.”
“Exactly in that order? For a start I'd…”
“These are appointments scheduled for ten AM.”
“But how would I…”
“Don't know.”
Malburg waved his hand in annoyance and quickened his pace, heading for the conference room.

“Here, for example, several names of organizations” Sounded at the fortieth minute of the air, now more reminiscent of the third degree. “with which your Foundation is fighting, as you assure, trying to defend the future of the planet: Serpent's Hand, Meat Circus2, Dr. Wondertainment… Do not take for distrust to this information, but to the majority of our viewers such nicknames will remind only of comic book villains.”
Malburg was terribly thirsty, but his throat was not dry, and taking a sip from a glass of water was like to demonstrate your own nervousness. He was not nervous, but who would believe … Familiar names made him smile again.
“As long as the Organization is in business, you can be afraid of the personalities you mentioned no more than of the comic book villains.”
The host grinned with anticipation.
“So it's just that many independent sources insist that even without your Organization, humanity would have nothing to fear. For example, on the basis of the documentation that came into general possession, even such a respected in certain circles society as the club “Marshall, Carter and Dark Limited” was recorded as enemies of the Foundation. Is an antique auction a threat to the human race?”
“I'm afraid you are poorly informed. This so-called "club" is engaged in illegal trade, including anomalous drugs, weapons and even people!” Malburg shook his head disapprovingly. “Many of its members are associated with organized crime. Pursuing one goal - enrichment,
they can easily sell the most powerful anomalous weapons of mass destruction. Our duty is to prevent that.”
The counter look was no less judgmental. It was evident that both interlocutors had a worthy practice in this matter.
“I don't think that it is appropriate to make such statements without having solid evidence. Or in the absence of the representative of the opposite side, anyway. And you?”
It has become clear to Malburg what will happen next, and he braced himself, like a predator, ready for a dangerous fight with another predator. The voice sounded immaculately courtesy:
“Ready to repeat and prove these statements in the presence of a member of the club.”
For the host's smile, turned to the camera, for sure somewhere there were technical standards.
“Well, in this case, we welcome in our studio the official representative of the club "Marshall, Carter and Dark, Limited", Julia Lvovna Hadzhiyskaya!”
An impressive brown-haired woman entered the studio proudly and not without grace. Malburg even with his trained eye couldn't determine her age, but he discerned barely noticeable traces of numerous plastics, cosmetic procedures, and possibly other means available to the Club. She was wearing a rather strict suit, that at the same time did not hide her curvy forms and was clearly capable of competing in cost with the contents of wardrobe of DEA's head. Hadzhiyskaya had a pretty face of a serious, but naive girl, but in her eyes, framed by lush eyelashes, Malburg saw the cold calculus of a professional killer, who came after him. Approaching the podium and graciously greeting the host, Julia turned to Ged and said dryly:
“Hello.”
“Good evening, Julia… uh… Lvovna.” Malburg responded tenderly.
The representative of the club frowned slightly at such a greeting, but, unfortunately, did not disappear. The presenter immediately turned to her:
“Julia, you heard the whole discussion in the waiting room?”
She nodded shortly.
“Yes of course. As head of the Public Affairs Division, I can say that the club will not make any complaints against Mr. Malburg's statements, despite numerous… incidents related to the Organization, which he represents here.”
Malburg looked at her with irony, waiting for an invitation to speak. Noticing this, the host immediately turned to the guest.
“Seems like you wanted to repeat and prove your claims?”
“Still ready to do this,” said head of external affairs, and boldly taking a glass, took a sip of water.

Dr. Lemis, had pity and moved the meeting, and the “one more meeting,” appointed by Tarnis, limited itself to an exhausted man in a checkered suit looking Malburg in the eyes for twenty seconds, then saying: “Tsagn” and leaving the conference hall. So by noon, Malburg had already managed to lock himself in his office and from time to time answered calls.
While the interlocutor was speaking (most often in an angry and verbose manner), the head of the department managed to pour in some more nutrient mixture and sign a few more papers.
- …everyone's on strike! As soon as we learned that we are a shell corporation… I already fined and rewarded, I don't have any idea what to do, take some actions…
Like what?
“Call shell corporation section.”
“Young man, I have already been redirected five times! Am I gonna be told anything or what?!”
“I'm actually the head of the department. Call in SCS. Have a nice day.”
Click. Overtime orders. "Due to the production requirements, I'm asking…" Quite a serious stack. Enough for two or three more calls. And here is another call.
“…come on, redirect, I'll tell him everything right now! I will complain!”
“Good day.”
“Oh… Hello. I am the mother of Vladimir Nikitenko, he was taken out of prison, seems to be transferred to you, how is he?”
How would I know?
“In good health, do not worry.”
“Oh, can I see him?”
“Not yet, visits are prohibited. Have a nice day.”
“I have rights! I will com…”
Click. Ring.
“You already here? Good news.” The voice of a friend from the group of effective interaction with the population sounded unexpectedly joyful. “Another D-Class wife assures that he called her. And he has been missing in a space-time anomaly for three years now.”
“Awesome! Redirect to the science department.”
Click. Malburg stretched with pleasure and rubbed his hands. That's better. The phone rang again - just three seconds of respite, well…
“Hello, Malburg. Did you receive the documents?”
“Um… What documents?”
“Oh, Jesus.” The interlocutor sighed irritably. “This is from the Nineteen. Did the documents arrive?”
“WHAT documents?”
“O'rite, we'll send them again. Check out immediately, we are waiting for a response. And you understand that you need to work on inter-regional correspondence coordination? Well, good luck.”
Click. And silence. Malburg, without thinking twice, stuck to the bottle with the nutrient mixture. There was a Cognac Lheraud label on the bottle - reputation had to be maintained. The phone rang again.
“Hi! We have an object here, it needs to be… phaha… contained… Send a task force!”
“We ain't going to contain your dick, young man.”
“Do you remember me?” Rejoiced teenager on the other end. Somewhere nearby, his friends giggled.
“I was told. That's all, don't bother us.”
Click. Ring.

It has been almost an hour since the beginning of the broadcast. Malburg, having already drained his glass of water and no longer having the opportunity to cool down, went on the offensive.
“I hope you will not deny that your… firm uses methods that are not completely clean, including morally?” With obvious irony, he asked Julia.
One of the immaculate eyebrows of the Club representative rose up. An expression of misunderstanding appeared on her face.
“What do you mean?”
"Blackmail, bribery, political killings, trade in prohibited types of goods … I think you know better than me."
Now the other eyebrow has risen.
“Why so? Some of our clients have actually gotten into quite delicate situations, but in all known cases their membership was suspended until the final resolution of the issues that arose. We by all means support the impeccable reputation of the Club, otherwise it would not have existed for so long. With regard to the rest of your claims, all of our activities, unlike other organizations,” A shadow of a scornful smile slipped across her face “has always been and remains absolutely transparent and is controlled accordingly.”
“Well, we all know how long the cosa nostra existed, don't we? Unfortunately, not only honest organizations survive in our imperfect world. I remember how one club have put up an interesting thing at the "antique auction" at a modest price of more than a million euros - a collar with handcuffs, in which every day there was a random person.3 It could be you.” Malburg looked at the host. “Or me. Or any of those who now hear us. Few died their own death… Gentlemen love such entertainment, don't they, Yulia Lvovna?” He looked at the camera. “This object is stored by us. Because our goal is to secure, contain and protect, and not to indulge in disgusting barbaric entertainments.
"Indeed, in these turbulent times, it is very difficult to conduct honest business." Julia sighed with regret. "For example, some time ago, some bandits attacked one of the club's warehouses. They cruelly killed the guards before they managed to report the attack, picked clean everything that was stored there. We were saved from bankruptcy only by the fact that everything was insured. So, among the stolen items, there really was an object very similar to that described by Mr. Malburg. The working conditions of such artifacts are sometimes very specific, and due to the fact that the Club, as a matter of principle, does not involve people in the testing of items with dangerous or unknown properties, a large number of them remain gathering dust in warehouses in an inactive state, of course, in no case being put up for auction. However, if something had such terrible anomalous properties as those that Mr. Malburg had previously described, then all forces and means would be thrown at destroying or deactivating it. Undoubtedly the Foundation did the same as soon as it received this artifact, did it, Mr. Malburg?” With these words, she looked him directly in the eyes. The cold calculation was still read in them, but Julia's lips were touched by a smile, visible only to the head of the DEA. “You don't let these poor people die in these handcuffs day after day, do you?”
“No, we do not allow it, Julia Lvovna,” Malburg reassured her. “And tell me, when the police take drugs and guns from the bandits during a raid, is this called a robbery?”
“Well, I am very glad that this time you deviated from your usual methods in favor of common sense.” Julia parried coldly, “As for the robbery, the police arrest people, not pump them full of bullets, and certainly they don't brainwash witnesses. Do you have anything to say?
Malburg had a lot to say.

"Have a nice day", two more signatures and another call. This time, nothing articulate from the tube came. The phone suddenly burned his hand and Malburg, throwing it on the table, found that the white plastic began to melt and turn blue. This has really infuriated him, and before he could even think with gloomy joy that now there could be no calls,
when suddenly the phone rang again. He automatically took the cooling handset. Someone's terribly familiar mocking voice reported:
“… if anyone asks, we do not plan any actions in relation to the CBG in West Africa. Reason: The Sahara is large enough, and the sand grinds gears well…”
Malburg threw the handset down, took a sip from the bottle and, running his fingers through his hair, continued to sign the papers. Ignoring the locked door, an unknown clerk poked into the office:
“Breaking in from neighbouring dimensions again? I'll fix it.”
Watching the clerk turning the blue-colored phone in his hands, Malburg thought with anguish that if it continued that way, he wouldn't last long. He needed a break. With such a load it was impossible to handle it all with just a glass of whiskey. A respite, just a day, half a day, a few hours - and he will be back in the ranks, fresh, determined, energetic …
The Savior entered without knocking. In this hour of despair, he became a blonde in a black suit, strangely similar to his secretary Nina.
“Sorry to interrupt” The Savior said, casting an indifferent glance at the clerk. “In two hours you should be in the studio. Live air. Here are the materials.” The Savior threw a red thin folder to Malburg, who has brightened right along.
Nina went to answer the calls, the clerk kept turning the phone around, and Malburg, flipping through the materials, thought about how well things sometimes turned. Live air. This is a decent program, without stupid calls from the viewers, which means that he will have a maximum of a couple of interlocutors, and a buffet table behind the set, and a sweet TV host,
whose pretty head is probably not crammed with gloomy rumors and prejudices, and a couple of hours after the broadcast, waiting for the return plane …
A miracle, miracle indeed.

“You've mistaken us for someone else,” Malburg once again said sincerely, looking at Julia. The dispute about who has started it all was already about fifteen minutes. Yulia's voice was ringing with metal, the head of the Organization's DEA chose the tactic of condescending kindness. “Our combat units always act strictly according to the protocol, I read reports.
Your people were the first to open fire, and it was all so typical that I was surprised that they were shooting not from tommy guns.”
Guest's answer was full of resentment.
“Well, of course, the reports of your operatives should be believed unconditionally, because there is no one to refute! You've probably also awarded them for the murder of people armed only with batons and their own courage!”
The host put his hand on her shoulder:
“Julia, you shouldn't, just remember why we are here.”
The eyes of the woman which were absolutely dry a second ago, as if on cue, filled with tears and glittered in the frame. There was a heavy sigh.
“Yes of course. It just hurts to remember. The club provides adequate compensation to the families of the deceased workers, but for some things it is not enough. One of the killed guards had a four-year-old son, Petya, his father was trying to earn enough for his operation.”
Fingers with a perfect manicure got a silk handkerchief and a small photo out of her pocket. The first Julia pressed to her eyes, the second put under Malburg's nose. “Here! See who your thugs have doomed to a slow and painful death!”
The head of external affairs became gloomy when Julia began to resent, realizing that from an emotional point of view he had little means against female resentment, and even less so against tears. He glanced briefly at the photo and then automatically looked away, feeling the characteristic light dizziness and confusion of thoughts. Tone, in which he addressed the host, now sounded a bit reproachful:
“Please, this turns into a farce. People with photos of little sick children go through trains, and don't participate in live broadcast.”
The host gently turned the guest, not tearing the handkerchief from her eyes, to the exit.
“It's true, Julia, go, you need to calm down.” In response, she sobbed and withdrew readily, and the presenter turned back to the main interlocutor. The photo remained to lie in front of Malburg. “I apologize for the scene, however, the fate of Petya, although not directly related to the topic of our conversation, is very important to our audience.” He sent a look designed to melt a stone heart to the camera. “Dear TV viewers, little boy Petya is very seriously ill, but fortunately, he is curable. He really needs your help. Right now in the upper right corner of the screen you will see his photo, send a text message with the word "Petya" to the short number below it and make a modest donation for a good cause. Together we will save the boy's life!” After that, the host turned to the guest again, instantly returning his face to the former hospitable expression. “Well, with this finished, back to the subject of the broadcast. Tell me honestly, Mr. Malburg, do you like working in your Organization?”
“Indeed. It is my honor to protect the safety and tranquility of the citizens of the whole world.”
Slow ironic applause would be best suited to the response indulgent smile.
“Well, quite commendable. And how did your parents and friends feel about the work so respected but full of dangers?”
The guest blinked, trying to concentrate. His head was spinning more and more.
“Parents? Well, of course, they were glad…”
The host's smile widened.
“Really? Would you tell me then when have you last seen them? Or talked to them? As far as I remember from the leaked data, your Organization has very severe restrictions regarding contacts with relatives and friends.”
Now Malburg himself wondered why, for the first time in many years, he even remembered the existence of his parents. However, he has lied unperturbed, as always:
“Well, at this New Year's eve we had a dinner… Two hours.”
“Why so uncertain?” Asked the host not without venom in his voice. “Hard to remember? This is no good way to treat rare meetings with relatives. If there were any meetings. Mr. Malburg, did it seem to you that for organizations with such size, number of options and such level of secrecy as yours, it would be extremely impractical to keep control of what slips from the tongue of employees at home? It is much easier and more convenient to make sure that they do not have a home. You never thought that with the presence of amnestics, potent memagents, and other things, you could make anyone into your present self - unconditionally devoted and not thinking about anything and anyone except work?” The smile became wider and wider. “Don't lie to yourself, Mr. Malburg, you haven't met your parents for many years and you don't even remember them, and they don't know that they even had a son. If they are still alive, of course.”
During the monologue of the host, his interlocutor leaned forward several times, trying to interrupt him, but he didn't succeed - the microphone was muffled, or what? At some point, he again squinted at the picture of the boy. Something painfully clenched in the back of his head, and the mental images that he held in his head began to blur. Malburg forced himself to look away and collect his thoughts. "They are still transmitting the photo." As a past field agent, he sensed great danger, but he needed to respond, and he answered, not really delving into what he was saying, concentrating on assessing the situation.
“What kind of horrible assumptions do you make? I remember my parents and I am sure that they are alive. Yes, we communicate little, and I regret it, but I work a lot, and they understand it, understand why I never talk to them about work… The essence of our secrecy is that a person capable of giving out confidential information family will never be accessi…
have access to this information. Failures - one in a million, and then we, of course, try to hush up the matter. But it never happened that we would use violence if we can do without it.”
However, the host didn't even pretend that he was interested in the guest's answers anymore. As well as in the camera, viewers and ratings.
“Calm down, Mr. Malburg, there's no need for scenes and melodrama. Your time is already running out. And even more so, why be so nervous when everything has changed so much?” On this phrase, in his grin, for the first time on the air, sincere joy finally flashed - the joy of a madman. “No more secrets, no expunged data and denied access to protocols, memory erasing and everyone's lies. Now everything is open for everyone, and the world will never be the same.” Without interrupting his speech, he went to the podium, stood opposite Malburg, leaning his hands on it and stared into his eyes with a look full of strange curiosity.
“So, Mr. Malburg, in this regard, if you please, answer on one simple question. Are we cool yet?”

Footnotes
1. SCP-1100-RU - Dictator. Individual capable of eliminating cognitive distortions and instilling obsessions in large groups of people. - Translator's note.
2. Russian Branch GOI - group of (presumably) cultists most known for making “art pieces” for sale by heavily modificating human bodies. - Translator's note.
3. SCP-1202-RU - The Snitcher Collar. Chained collar and handcuffs that produces an unknown random person in it when not directly observed. The person dies 24 hours later from heart failure. It is unknown if the collar takes people from another dimensions/timelines or erases them from existence in current one. - Translator's note.


On the inside of a psychiatric hospital, a woman observed a monster. A creature with a spherical head, covered with thousands of eyes. She had already screamed until her throat became dry, but, due to the very nature of the place she was in, nobody had heard her. The monster was watching her, but didn't seem to want to attack her.
It wasn't the first time the woman had seen the monster. That thing was the cause of her being in that place, but that was no longer something important. She remembered firing some kind of fire weapon. She remembered hearing screams, and then… an environment that always was white.
But the creature never stopped watching her.
And as the monster began to open its head, showing jaws whose teeth had even more eyes, the woman began to scream again.

― - ―

In an alley, a homeless man opened a trash can looking for something to eat. There were times when he would think about what his life used to be, but he barely noticed a flash. If a proper psychologist had checked him out, they would have noticed that, among other things, he was beginning to have Alzheimer's. But did that really matter?
He heard a weird sound behind him. He turned around, to realize that it had only been Tom, his cat. He found it a few months ago, and decided to try to take care of him.
In the trash can, there was a milk carton, still closed. He picked it up and, although it was expired, took several sips. That night he had been lucky.
He turned around, intending to give the cat some. But all he saw was a winged centipede, about three meters long, finishing eating Tom.
The homeless man dropped the packet of milk, which spilled onto the ground.

― - ―

In a bar of bad reputation, some men watched the news. 485 people had disappeared throughout the week. Most of them were patients with a mental illness.
One of the men commented that his sister had also disappeared. She was hospitalized for seeing a man holding a spoon, and who had the entire upper part of his skull missing, with bite marks. The only thing left of his face was a disrupting smile.
Most laughed at the man's story, but he defended himself, saying that his sister was ill, and that as funny as it might be, he was worried about her.
The place fell silent.

― - ―

A policeman, sitting in his office, listened to a disturbing story. Some teenagers said they had seen a couple disappear into thin air, piece by piece.
They said it looked as if they were being eaten by something invisible.
It was the fourth report he had received about someone disappearing into nowhere.
He wondered if he was facing a case of mass panic.
He wondered if it had something to do with the rest of the missing persons.
It didn't take long for him to reach the place where the guys claimed to have witnessed the unimaginable.
When he saw that there was a security camera on a nearby lamppost, he was relieved.
When he saw the recording, he felt that all the horrors which, as a child, had been hiding under his bed, had suddenly risen at the same time. He felt that the monsters had decided to remind the world why they were feared.

― - ―

In a scientific facility, an alarm sounded. One of the most hostile entities had breached containment.
And for some reason, everything was going to Hell.